Turning to K’voq, he asked, “Have any casualties been reported?”
His aide shook his head. “None so far, Governor. The buildings that have been targeted to this point have either been designated as storage facilities, or else were unoccupied at this time of night.”
Morqla nodded at the report. “Interesting.” The number and tenacity of the attacks would seem to have invited at least some casualties, but would not be consistent with what he had learned of the Palgrenai since arriving on this world. While the jeghpu’wI’had been content to destroy structures, equipment, and other matériel during their previous acts of insurrection, they had gone out of their way to avoid injuring anyone, Palgrenai or Klingon alike.
It was an approach the governor could not understand, particularly given the fact that a large number of the conquered had died at Klingon hands. Still, he knew the approach would prove futile. So long as the Palgrenai were unable to do everything in their power to secure their liberation, they had no hope of ever shaking off the hand of their oppressors.
Nevertheless,Morqla reminded himself, this defiance must be crushed. Now.
“Kertral!” he shouted toward his executive officer, who still was in the process of disseminating orders to subordinates. “Execute Special Occupation Order Two!” It was a choice he made with much reluctance.
His second-in-command offered a terse, formal nod before saluting in response to the directive. “As you command, Excellency.”
Releasing a grudging sigh, Morqla shook his head as he watched his troops begin the process of corralling those villagers who still remained in the courtyard. Around the village square, he saw other soldiers kicking or shooting their way through the doors of buildings or using their bat’lethsto tear through the comparatively thin walls of neighboring dwellings, all in the name of rounding up those jeghu’wI’who still remained in the village and carrying out the order he had issued.
The time had come for total suppression of the uprising—merciless punishment not only of those responsible for the revolt but also those who might be complicit in the action. At the moment, Morqla was not concerned that he might be taking into custody parties innocent of any wrongdoing. The priority now was to restore order to the populace and reaffirm with brute force the nature of their status as servants of the empire.
Elsewhere, the telltale pulses of disruptor cannons pierced the night air at the same time as hints of harsh crimson energy illuminated the dark jungle surrounding the village. It seemed that his soldiers had found at least a few of the locations from which the insurgents were attacking and had taken to deploying weapons to deal with the rebels’ comparatively archaic and ultimately wasted efforts.
As expected, the increased measures on the part of his soldiers were causing a reaction from the forest. More of the flaming shot sailed through the air, this time crashing through the wooden walls of homes or digging furrows in the stone façades of the larger structures. Fire could be seen scorching the roofs of several of the buildings surrounding the square, and one smaller dwelling at the far end of the courtyard was already being consumed by massive flames and clouds of billowing smoke.
“Reports are coming in from all of the surrounding provinces,” K’voq reported, holding out his communicator and running to stand alongside Morqla. “The rebels are attempting counterattacks, throwing improvised firebombs at our soldiers and trying to damage disruptor cannons with those cursed catapults of theirs. We’re starting to take casualties, Excellency.”
At last,Morqla mused. It seemed the Palgrenai were indeed still capable of surprising him. Not that it would help them, of course. A line had been crossed, not only by the slaves but by the masters as well, and it was now far too late to turn back. Order demanded that control be restored, by any means necessary.
If that meant killing every jeghpu’wI’for hundreds of qelI’qamsin every direction, then so be it.
“Governor! Look out!”
Only the timely warning from his loyal aide and his own battle-honed reflexes allowed Morqla to avoid the ball of fire coming right at him. He threw himself to the right and rolled across the dry, hard ground just as the massive flaming sphere plummeted from the sky and drilled a hole in the dirt less than an arm’s length from where he had been standing.
Unfortunately, K’voq was between the projectile and the ground.
The Klingon moved too slowly, and the fiery shot plowed into his chest, driving him to the earth. He was dead even before he came to rest in the parched soil, his loose-fitting and rough-hewn clothing erupting into flames as it was coated by burning oil. The stench of sizzling flesh assailed Morqla’s nostrils as he scrambled away from other patches of blazing debris.
More of the projectiles rained down on the village, now coming from points all around the forest perimeter. The steady whines of disruptors and the angered battle cries of his warriors echoed in the humid night as fire painted the settlement in blistering crimson that paled only fleetingly in any feeble moonlight that penetrated the low, heavy cloud cover.
A last gasp, perhaps,Morqla mused with some bitterness as he brushed dust and dirt from himself. Do what you must to retain what little dignity and honor you still possess. It will make no difference.
Looking down, he regarded the unrecognizable body of K’voq, now nothing more than a lifeless shell while his warrior’s spirit made the journey to Sto-Vo-Kor. Rage welled up within him, and Morqla felt his muscles tense, blood rushing in his veins as he drew air into his lungs and released a deep, bellowing howl that rattled every ounce of his being. The Heghtaycry echoed off the walls of the surrounding buildings, augmenting the glorious ritual and heightening the warning he issued to the dead that a warrior was about to enter their midst.
His anger refused to abate, however, fueled by the knowledge that there was no honor in dying before an enemy who attacked from the shadows, one too weak or timid to stand on the field of battle and engage an opponent while looking them in the eyes. It was possible that loyal K’voq might yet be denied the ultimate fate promised to all loyal warriors who died in service to the empire.
“Worry not, old friend,” Morqla said to the still-burning remnants of his long-trusted aide. “I will see to it that you are greeted in Sto-Vo-Koras you deserve.”
Turning away from the gruesome sight, the governor headed into the courtyard and the chaos threatening to consume it. There would be much blood spilled before the sun colored the horizon, he decided, and he wanted to be sure that some of it stained his own blade.
He ran through the narrow streets leading away from the courtyard, toward the sounds of running and screaming coming from the direction of the main entrance to the village. Rounding a corner, he emerged into an open plaza that prior to the occupation had been used by the villagers as a meeting and entertainment venue. Now it was the scene of unchecked carnage as dozens of jeghpu’wI’fell beneath the onslaught of a mobile disruptor cannon. Klingon soldiers added to the unchecked chaos of the scene by firing their own weapons into the scrambling crowd. Others had waded into the mass of villagers, attacking them with blades or with bare hands.
Ruthless bursts of brutal crimson energy sliced through the night air, cutting through wood, stone, and soft flesh with equal impunity. The stench of death filled the plaza, a disjointed chorus of horrific screams and plaintive, vain calls for help or mercy competing with the rhythmic, mechanical cycling of the massive weapon. In the cannon’s operator seat, a Klingon soldier sat with his face pressed to the gunner’s sight that covered the front portion of his head, focusing his view on the disruptor’s computer-generated targeting display. From his own experience as a young officer manning such a weapon, Morqla knew that anyone or anything unfortunate enough to fall within the targeting sights of the cannon’s fire-control computer was as good as dead.