“I insist. Grandmother is the finest cook in the empire, and she always wants me to bring people home to visit, especially at yobta’ yupma’. She loves showing off the farm for strangers.”
Goran stared down at his tray. “I have not had a home-cooked meal in a very long time. And when I did, it wasn’t very good. My mother was a terrible chef.”
They all chortled at the big man’s bluntness. Wol swallowed some of her replicated, bland skull stew and thought that perhaps Goran had a point.
“And you’ll love my family. They’re the finest people the empire has to offer, you’ll see.”
That clinched it. The last thing in the galaxy Wol wanted to encounter was a happy family. She’d been part of a happy family, once. The House of Varnak had been a most noble House, one of the finest on Qo’noS, until the House head’s impulsive daughter Eral bore a son by a commoner, rather than the man she was to mate with. Eral’s son was taken from her, her lover killed, and Eral herself exiled, left a Houseless common woman. Left without alternatives, she changed her name to Wol and joined the Defense Force.
Ironically, she was the only member of House Varnak to survive. Her family supported the usurper Morjod, who attempted to remove Chancellor Martok from power, and when that coup failed, Varnak was dissolved, most of its members put to death.
Wol did not think she could bear being amid Kagak’s family.
“I am grateful for the offer, Kagak—and Goran, you should definitely accept—but I must decline.” Wol added before Kagak could object further, “We will speak no more of it, Bekk!”
Kagak practically shrank into the bench. “Yes, Leader.”
“How are we to get there?” Goran asked.
“There’s a cargo ship, the Mahochu, that makes regular runs between Pheben and Qo’noS. The cargo master’s a friend of the family.”
“Where will you fit?” G’joth asked with a chuckle.
“Anywhere we want—the ship’s always empty when it goes to Pheben. It goes to each planet, picks up its goods, and then returns to Qo’noS to pass on the items to their distributors.”
Wol swallowed the last of her stew. “That won’t get you back to Qo’noS—and I doubt that the captain will divert the Gorkon to Pheben to pick the pair of you up.”
Kagak laughed, spitting out some of his warnog. “I will find a way to return. I always have in the past.”
“Enjoy yourself,” G’joth said. “I’m sure your feast will be far better than mine.” He laughed in Goran’s direction. “My mother prepares Klingon food with the same skill as yours did, big man.”
Goran frowned. “I thought your mother was a chef.”
“She is—in an Andorian restaurant. For so long has she prepared those blue-skins’ food, she’s forgotten how to make proper meals.”
“Then why not come with us?” Kagak asked. Wol found herself both amused and annoyed by his insistence.
“Because there is more to my return to Krennla than my mother’s inability to keep from bringing her work home,” G’joth said angrily. “I have not seen my family in far too long.” The anger dissipated, G’joth’s easy smile returning. Wol had not seen that smile as much since G’joth’s best friend Davok died at San-Tarah, and she was always grateful for its return. “The same also for Klaad and Krom. We grew up together on the streets of the Kenta District, but I haven’t seen them since I enlisted.”
Wol shivered involuntarily. She had grown up on the estates of House Varnak, which weren’t far from Krennla. At first, she had known of that city only as the thing she looked down on from the aircar in disdain when she came into town with the family—when she even bothered to give them a thought in the first place—grateful that she had been born to a noble House and wasn’t forced to live in such squalor.
Then, after she was exiled, she was forced to live in that squalor. A woman without a House, she had few options, and the ones that presented themselves in Krennla were repugnant at best. She had joined the Defense Force out of desperation.
And G’joth is nostalgic for this? She shuddered at the very thought. But she did not wish to insult her subordinate, so she said nothing.
To her relief, G’joth himself changed the subject. “Do we have any idea who our fifth will be?” The fifteenth had been one soldier short since Trant’s death on Elabrej.
Wol shook her head. “Unlikely. I will ask Vok when next I speak to him, but such decisions are generally made after the repair cycle is through.”
“I look forward to it,” Kagak said.
“Why?” Goran asked.
Grinning, Kagak said, “Because then I won’t be the chu’wI’ anymore.”
Everyone else at the table laughed at that, including Goran, causing the table to shake again. Wol couldn’t bring herself to, though. As Kagak had said, he was the newest member of the squad. Something about him annoyed her, still. Unlike Goran and G’joth, not to mention their dead comrades Krevor and Davok, Kagak wasn’t, she felt, entirely part of the fifteenth yet. While she wasn’t sure if he was the traitor that both Maris and Trant had proved to be before their unmourned deaths, she was equally unsure if he yet deserved to be a part of their squad.
She certainly had no intention of going to celebrate this ridiculous yobta’ yupma’ with him.
“Excellent,” Toq said to the white-haired image of Captain Quvmoh on the screen before him. “I will see you tomorrow.”
“Do not be late, Toq. The Gorlak will leave orbit of Qo’noS at high sun. I will not wait for you.”
“I will arrive on time. I thank you, Captain.”
“Thank your father,” Quvmoh grumbled. “He’s the one I owe half a dozen favors to.”
Toq grinned. Lorgh was not Toq’s biological father, but he had taken Toq in after he was rescued from Carraya, and made Toq part of his House. Most people thought that, when Toq called Lorgh “Father,” he meant it literally, and it was too much trouble to explain the truth to people.
Besides, few people knew the real truth—even Lorgh himself.
Still, having a high-ranking member of Imperial Intelligence for a House head, regardless of whether or not they shared blood, was handy for getting rides. And in this case, it was to visit Lorgh himself. The old man was currently stationed at a base near the Romulan border and couldn’t get away, but thanks to the Gorkon’s repair cycle, he didn’t need to. Toq could come to him.
After switching off the screen, Toq walked away from the communications console, leaving it to Ensign Kline, and moved to the front of the bridge. “Leskit, what is our time of arrival at Praxis?”
Turning from the helm control, the white-haired pilot drawled, “Two minutes. Unless Klarr is on duty, in which case it will be more like seven.” Leskit shook his head. “I came up through the ranks with that petaQ. He’s half blind, half stupid, and half drunk.”
Toq sat in the first officer’s seat to the right of the command chair. “How has he retained his position?”
“He hasn’t. He used to be a pilot. Now they let him dock ships at Praxis because the real pilots usually do all the work. Still, I expect he will find a way to make my life more difficult.” Leskit said that last with an exaggerated sigh.
Toq shook his head and chuckled at the old razor-beast. Then the rear door rumbled aside to reveal Klag.
“Captain!” Toq rose to his feet. “We will dock at Praxis Station shortly.”
“Excellent.” Klag strode forward, his bodyguard, Morr, taking up his position at the rear of the bridge. As he passed the operations console, which was right behind the captain’s chair, Klag said, “Ensign Kallo, open intership.”
The young ensign nodded. “Done, sir.”
“Attention crew of the I.K.S. Gorkon. We have, at last, come home. Our journey to the Kavrot sector has been a success. We placed the Klingon flag on San-Tarah and we were victorious against the foul Elabrej. We have served the cause of honor, we have served the empire, and we have been victorious. I am proud to call you my crew. Qapla’!
”
The entire bridge cried out, “Qapla’!” in response.
Toq turned toward Rodek, standing at the weapons console, and held out his hand. “Lieutenant Rodek, the record of battle.”
Rodek reached under the console and removed an ornate padd. He touched a control, then held it out to Toq. “I, Rodek, son of Noggra, gunner for the ship Gorkon, conclude the record of battle for this ship on the twelfth day in the year of Kahless, 1002.”
Taking the padd, Toq walked two steps down to where Klag stood. “I present the record of battle, Captain Klag. It is filled with exploits of glory and honor, and you will find it worthy of your leadership.”
Klag took the padd and smiled.
A bekk at the back of the bridge cheered. Kline started singing the Warrior’s Anthem. Several others shouted “Qapla’!”
Somehow, Leskit made himself heard over the din. “We have docked at Praxis Station, Captain. It seems they had someone sober on duty.”
Toq laughed. “Not your friend, then.”
“Hardly,” Leskit said dryly. Then he looked back at Klag. “We are home, Captain.”
“Home,” Klag said quietly. “Yes. You have done very well, my warriors. Very well indeed. Now let us leave the ship to Kurak and her minions, so we may once again return to the fields of battle and bring glory to the empire!”
Toq joined in the cheers that provoked.
But his duty was now finished. Once Kurak was done, he would once again speak for this fine crew to the captain. For now, though, he was going to be with the only family he’d known since Carraya.
Two
The Commercial Quarter
First City, Qo’noS
“I find myself reminded why I hate the First City so much,” Leskit muttered as he and Kurak walked through the cobblestone streets of the Commercial Quarter. Most of the First City’s businesses were concentrated here: shops, restaurants, trading posts, and so on. Some were concentrated in single structures, others stood on their own in boxy buildings that acted as satellites to the larger buildings.
The street on which the two officers walked was crowded with pedestrians, primarily Klingon civilians, along with the occasional offworlder. Indeed, by wearing their Defense Force armor, Leskit and Kurak stood out, and most of the others on the street gave them a wide berth out of respect. Their insignia indicated that they were officers, and that meant they were of the upper classes of empire society.
In truth, Leskit would have been happy to have worn civilian clothing, but, as per regulations, he had none aboard ship, and he hadn’t yet had the chance to go home to Kopf’s Cliff to retrieve any. As for Kurak, the Gorkon’s chief engineer and Leskit’s sometime par’Mach’kai, he had picked her up at Command Headquarters, where she’d been requisitioning matériel and personnel for the repair work, and so was also in uniform.
Kurak stared up at him, and Leskit could feel her penetrating brown eyes boring a hole in his crest. “Why do you hate the First City?” she asked, sounding more than a little surprised.
“Oh, the place was very impressive—hundreds of years ago. But now? Time has marched on.”
Now Kurak’s face modulated into one of confusion. “What do you mean? This is where all the finest buildings are.”
Leskit snorted at that. “Finest? Hardly. Perhaps when this style was in vogue during Emperor Sompek’s reign, but now?”
Shaking her head, Kurak said, “Leskit, what are you talking about? And where are we going? We’ve been walking for hours.”
Chuckling, the Cardassian neckbones he wore jangling on his chest, Leskit said, “It’s only been a few minutes, and we’ll be there shortly.”
“We couldn’t simply transport?”
“We’re not on Defense Force business, and I didn’t feel like waiting in a public transporter queue. Besides, it’s a nice night for a walk.” That much was true. Lightning crackled through the cloudy sky. Leskit couldn’t have asked for a finer night to take Kurak to his favorite restaurant.
“If you say so,” Kurak said sourly. “And that still doesn’t explain your disdain for Emperor Sompek.”
“Oh, I have nothing against Emperor Sompek—I simply wish the architects seventy-five years ago felt the same.”
“Sompek’s reign was a lot more than seventy-five years ago.”
With a chuckle, Leskit said, “Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“Leskit, if you do not start making sense, I’m going back to the Gorkon. I shouldn’t even be indulging in this, there is still a great deal of work to be done. Praxis Station has not nearly enough engineers to do the job. Most of the Chancellor-class ships are in for repair and they’re shorthanded because of yobta’ yupma’.”
“Do people still celebrate that?” Leskit asked with surprise.
“Oh, yes. When I worked with Makros, the place ground to a halt when yobta’ yupma’ came around. That’s another reason why I find the Defense Force to be populated with indolent fools—they don’t even appreciate the important holidays.”
That prompted a laugh from Leskit. “Your definition of ‘important’ differs from mine, Kurak.”
“Be that as it may, the few engineers that are available are incompetents and fools.”
“As I recall, that has been your description of every engineer who is not yourself.”
“That is not true.” Now Kurak almost sounded petulant. “Vall was competent. A filthy, sniveling worm, but he was quite the engineer.”
“Indeed. Though I’m shocked to hear you admit that.”
“I am capable of admitting when I am wrong, Leskit. You of all people should be aware of that.”
They turned a corner onto another, narrower cobblestone road, one with fewer pedestrians—just a few older Klingon civilians ahead of them and two Ferengi walking rapidly in the other direction—and the structures now were all the smaller, one-story rectangular buildings that never made it to the First City’s skyline. “True. After all, some of the first words you said to me were that you were not interested in me or in any other male on the ship.” He chuckled. “I must admit a part of me thought that meant you were interested only in other females. Though you disabused me of that notion when you explained your disdain for the Defense Force in general.”
“A disdain I still hold firmly in my heart,” she said with a wicked smile. “Present company not at all excepted. I’ve simply learned to tolerate your idiocy.”
Leskit bowed his head. “Very generous of you, Commander.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Kurak still wore the smile. Leskit had found her to be an ill-tempered shrew of a woman who hated the Defense Force and everything it stood for. One of the finest civilian warp-field specialists in the empire, she had helped design the previous chancellor’s flagship, the Negh’Var. However, when the Dominion War broke out, her family pressured her into joining the military, her skill and reputation earning her the rank of commander.
After the Founders of the Dominion surrendered to the allies of the Alpha Quadrant, she found herself forced to remain commissioned. The House of Palkar must always serve the empire, as she had apparently been told since birth, and all the other able-bodied adults of her House who served had died in battle against the Jem’Hadar, the Cardassians, and the Breen. Until her nephew, Gevnar, was old enough to begin officer training—which he would not be for another year—Kurak had to remain in the Defense Force. If she did not, the House ghIntaq, Moloj, who had been running the House of Palkar since Kurak’s parents’ deaths, had promised to discommendate her. Kurak’s father had made that threat at the war’s commencement, and Kurak was of the opinion that Moloj would follow through on it.
At first, Kurak had promised herself not to form any attachments or do anything more than was absolutely necessary to do her duty, but Leskit was proud to have forced her to rethink the first, and serving on the Gorkon—and almost being killed in a mutiny—had changed her mind on the latter.
“So,” she said, “why is Emperor Sompek to blam
e for the architecture of seventy-five years ago?”
“The entire city was built up during Sompek’s reign. Prior to that, it wasn’t even called the First City, it was simply the Great Hall, located on the highest point on the continent, and had been the fortress from which various Klingons had defended their land for centuries. After Kahless united us, it became the seat of power, but it was not until Sompek that it became a city. It was transformed into a thriving metropolis, with the Great Hall at its center, and each quarter radiating out from it.”
“I know all this, Leskit. Klingons learn this before they can walk.” Kurak sounded impatient, and when she got impatient, she tended to hit things, and Leskit wasn’t in the mood for foreplay right now.
Quickly, he said, “What you may not realize is that, at first, all the architecture followed the pyramidlike style of the Great Hall.”
“As it does now,” Kurak said.
“Yes, but at the time, it was done because Sompek ordered it so. Some had triangular roofs, others had spires, but they all looked more or less alike. The main reason, of course, was defense. Air travel was still relatively new, then, and that construction style allowed weapons to be emplaced within the spires. Only the larger structures, the ones that could be seen from the sky, were built like that. Less care was given to smaller buildings—as you can see.” He indicated the places on this street, all of which were jammed together and favored function over aesthetics. “But then, they were not required to defend the city against an aerial attack. Over time, as technology improved and the fleet that could protect the First City grew, there was a touch more variety—as indeed there was all over the planet. In my own home city—”
“Where is that?”
Leskit blinked. “You don’t know?”
She smiled. “It never came up. And where is this place you’re bringing me?”
A Burning House Page 3