A Good Day to Die (Star Trek: I.K.S.Gorkon, Book One) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Keith R.A. DeCandido was born and raised in New York City to a family of librarians. He has written over two dozen novels, as well as short stories, nonfiction, eBooks, and comic books, most of them in various media universes, among them Star Trek, World of Warcraft, Starcraft, Marvel Comics, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Serenity, Resident Evil, Gene Roddenberry's Andromeda, Farscape, Xena, and Doctor Who. His original novel Dragon Precinct was published in 2004, and he's also edited several anthologies, among them the award-nominated Imaginings and two Star Trek anthologies. Keith is also a musician, having played percussion for the bands the Don't Quit Your Day Job Players, the Boogie Knights, and the Randy Bandits, as well as several solo acts. In what he laughingly calls his spare time, Keith follows the New York Yankees and practices kenshikai karate. He still lives in New York City with his girlfriend and two insane cats.

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Excerpt

Chapter One

The faces of the greatest warriors of the past ten centuries stared down at Klag, son of M'Raq.

Throughout the Hall of Warriors on Ty'Gokor, a huge, windowless, high-ceilinged room carved out of the very rock of the planet's greatest mountain, statues of the strongest Habnagh rendered some of the finest heroes of the Klingon Empire. They loomed over the warriors assembled for the induction ceremonies for the Order of the Bat'leth.

Captain Klag stood by a barrel of bloodwine. He found the libation to be barely drinkable, but then Klag had always had a more discerning palate than most when it came to alcohol. In order to accommodate the hundreds of warriors present for the induction ceremony - who would be spending the entire night in celebration - the High Council had ordered the bloodwine in bulk. An Empire still recovering from the economic ravages of a prolonged war was not going to acquire an especially lofty vintage for the occasion.

Still, they could at least have provided something less watery, Klag thought as he he refilled his mug by scooping it into the barrel.

Next to him, Klag's second officer and doctor did likewise. Lieutenant Toq and Dr. B'Oraq had come down with Klag from the I.K.S. Gorkon to cheer their captain as he was given one of the Empire's highest honors.

Around him, warriors shouted, sang, wrestled, laughed, ate, and drank. The sounds of celebration echoed off the high ceilings of the Hall, reverberating off the walls and the statues themselves, so much so that Klag could not determine the origin of this shout of triumph or that cry of pain that reached his ears.

Klag looked up at a statue far across the room from where they stood.

Toq followed his gaze. "Who is that, Captain?"

Shaking his head, Klag thought, Youth. "That is Ch'gran."

To Klag's relief, Toq recognized the name. "The lost colony."

"Yes." Klag gulped down some bloodwine. "Captain Ch'gran led the first fleet that attempted to colonize another world after the Hur'q pillaged Qo'noS. For many turns, the finest engineers constructed spacecraft, using whatever meager resources the Hur'q had left us. Many called them fools. Many called them wasteful. But Captain Ch'gran knew that we would never regain our honor, never be able to avenge ourselves on the Hur'q, if we did not conquer space. Soon, seven mighty vessels had been built, and Ch'gran led them out into the vastness of the black sky - only to be lost forever."

"Not quite forever," B'Oraq said with a smile as Klag drank some more bloodwine. "Didn't they at last find the colony remains on Raknal V?"

"Yes," Klag said, "but that is a different story." He raised his mug. "To Ch'gran!"

Not only Toq and B'Oraq but several others who had gathered nearby repeated the toast. "To Ch'gran!"

Then they all gulped their bloodwine. Several warriors head-butted Toq, who returned the gesture eagerly. One did likewise with Klag.

"You tell the story of Ch'gran well," the warrior, who sported a commander's insignia, said after pouring some bloodwine in the general direction of his face - some of it even making it into his mouth, but most of it running through his brown beard.

"You honor me, Commander - ?"

"Grakal, son of Kerr. You are Klag, son of M'Raq, are you not?"

"Yes."

"The hero of Marcan V!" Grakal turned to his companion, standing unsteadily behind him. "I told you it was him!"

"It cannot be," the other Klingon said. "Klag lost his arm at Marcan V."

"It is true, my right arm was taken from me at Marcan." He scooped up some more bloodwine. Grakal and the others looked at him with faces ranging from expectant to confused to so inebriated as not to care - but they obviously expected another story.

Who am I to deny them? "I served aboard the Pagh under Captain Kargan."

One of the drunker warriors raised his mug. "To Captain Kargan!"

"To Captain Kargan!" many of the others repeated, and drank their bloodwine.

Klag pointedly did neither, but continued his story. "The Pagh was one of twelve that faced six Breen and Jem'Hadar vessels on that great day at Marcan. The battle was glorious - many warriors died that day in battle, but they took the despicable Breen and the honorless Jem'Hadar with them."

Several members of Klag's audience - which had already doubled in size - cheered at that. Warriors were always up for a good story, drunken warriors even more so, and this was a story Klag had yet to tire of telling.

"When the battle had ended, only two ships remained: the Pagh and one of the Jem'Hadar ships. But we were both severely damaged. The fifth planet had breathable air, so Kargan ordered us to land. The Jem'Hadar did the same."

"So the fight was to continue on the ground?"

B'Oraq asked with a smile.

Klag shot her a look. She, of course, knew this story, but she spoke as one who enjoyed hearing it again. "Yes. Our stabilizers had been damaged, so when we entered the atmosphere, we were thrown across the ship like riders on a bucking mount. By the time I regained my senses, I was on the deck, my right side pinned by the tattered remains of the command chair. I couldn't feel my right arm, but I could see it sticking out from the other side of the debris. With a mighty shove, I rolled the twisted piece of metal off me with my left hand - and then I stood to get a damage report." Klag took a long gulp of bloodwine. "My right arm remained on the deck."

"That is no way to lose an arm," Grakal said.

"No, it was not. I was furious - an anger that increased a thousandfold when I saw that I was the only one who lived through the crash. Our fine crew did not deserve to die such a death after having survived the Jem'Hadar!"

The warriors grunted and shouted in acknowledgment of this injustice.

Klag left out the great glee that he experienced upon seeing the corpse of Captain Kargan. A member of the influential House of K'Tal, and as great a fool as ever lived, Kargan had kept Klag under his heel for a decade. Too inept to inspire warriors to go into battle, but too well connected to be removed from duty by any honorable means, Kargan kept Klag as his first officer in order to cover his own inadequacies, blocking all opportunities for Klag to be promoted, and using Klag's greater skills to further his own lacking honor.

However, Klag saw no reason to pollute the story with Kargan. This was his moment of glory. "It was therefore left to me to finish what we had begun. After all, if I survived, some of the enemy might have as well - and that meant the battle was not yet over."

"The battle is never over as long as one of the enemy yet lives." The words were originally spoken by Kahless, now quoted by a woman who stood next to Grakal.

"Yes." Klag smiled at the woman. He drank down the rest of his bloodwine, then refilled his mug. "In fact, ten Jem'Hadar and one Vorta still lived amidst the wreckage of their ship. Armed with a mek'leth, I went to greet them."

"Only one warrior, with only one arm, against ten Jem'Hadar?" one warrior said, skeptically.

"Do you doubt me?" Klag asked. In fact, it had been only seven Jem'Hadar, but ten was a rounder figure....

Before the warrior could answer, one of his comrades slammed him in the stomach. "Let him speak, fool!"

Pointedly looking at each member of his audience save the skeptic - now doubled over in pain - Klag said, "The Jem'Hadar may have been bred for combat, but the heart of a warrior cannot be grown in a Vorta laboratory. Within minutes, I stood amongst the corpses of my enemies, my mek'leth stained with their blood and the Jem'Hadar's white drug. I was triumphant! Our victory paved the way for our forces to penetrate the Allicar Sector."

Grakal nodded....