Dragon's Honor

by Greg Cox

  “They can do nothing without the Dragon's signature. It would be better if our pawn assumed control before the assault, but if we strike quickly enough there will be no time to conclude the treaty.”

  “True,” Gar conceded. “But will not the Enterprise fight to defend its own people on the planet?”

  “They cannot,” Kakkh insisted. “Their Prime Directive renders them powerless. Besides, they are but one vessel and we have a hundred G'kkau warships. If they offer any resistance, we will obliterate them utterly.”

  A predatory gleam sparked in Gar's eyes. His inner eyelids twitched with excitement. Kakkh could smell the blood lust exuding from his officer's glands. “In that case,” Gar said, “I hope they do resist.”

  His fangs clashed together, eager for fresh Federation flesh.

  Chapter Five

  THE WEDDING BANQUET was winding to a close, and none too soon for Picard. The rahgid eyes had been just as foul as he’d feared, and several subsequent dishes had only troubled his digestion more. The Dragon seemed determined to put Picard’s gustatory abilities to the ultimate test. He just hoped Beverly had something in her med kit to settle his stomach afterward.

  Swollen, black clouds swarmed overhead, pouring down massive quantities of rain. At first, Picard had expected the banquet to be halted on account of the rain, but apparently the courtyard was protected from the weather by an invisible forcefield. Countless droplets of water collided with the field, then streamed away toward some hidden reservoir. He admired the grace and efficiency with which the Pai had coped with their environment. For all their eccentricities, the Pai could be justifiably proud of their craftsmanship and obvious love of beauty. It would truly be a tragedy if the G’kkau reduced all this luxurious splendor to ruins as they had so many other civilizations.

  Nearby, Riker and Kan-hi had struck up an involved and detailed conversation comparing the drinking games of Pai and Alaska, demonstrating with frequent swallows of something that steamed whenever a server refilled their cups. Picard was glad his first officer was bonding successfully with the younger generation of Pai nobles, although he grew ever more thankful for Beverly’s foresight in shielding Riker against the effects of too much local alcohol. Chuan-chi, the dour bridegroom, occasionally made token efforts to contribute to the discussion, even if he obviously wished he were elsewhere. Picard suspected that the Heir was only going along with this “Penultimate Bestowing of the Undomesticated Seeds” business because tradition demanded it. Once again, he felt sorry for the unfortunate Pearl.

  To his pleasant surprise, Lu Tung had readily accepted Beverly’s offer to keep the Pearl company tonight. “My honorable wife, her mother, died many years ago,” the former rebel explained, “and my . . . activities . . . the last few years have kept me far too busy to seek out a worthy successor. I have my concubines, of course, as what man does not, but none of them are mature enough to provide suitable guidance to a bride of my daughter’s stature. It is not right that a bride should go to her wedding unprepared and indeed, before your kind offer, I feared I would have to rely on, at best, a Concubine of the Fifth Rank to fulfill the traditional duties of the bride’s mother. You say your ‘Dr. Crusher’ is a woman of honor and experience?”

  “I cannot recommend her too highly,” Picard said with total sincerity. “She is a respected physician, a valuable officer, and she has raised a fine and upstanding son.” And more than capable, he added silently, of protecting your daughter from any lurking assassin.

  “Excellent,” Lu Tung said, although his stony expression revealed little in the way of emotion. “On the battlefield, I came to have great respect for the healing abilities of women. Their gender has a natural talent for medicine, I believe.”

  The stoic noble was quite different, Picard thought, from the effusive and temperamental emperor he had sought to depose. Small wonder they did not get along. Lu Tung’s stern demeanor reminded Picard of Sarek of Vulcan, at least before age and illness undid that great man’s emotional control. He found himself hoping Lu Tung would not turn out to be the assassin.

  The Dragon, meanwhile, only had eyes for Data. The Emperor had insisted that the android join them on the dais, and was now besieging Data with endless questions about his construction and nature. Picard almost suspected that the Dragon was intent on learning how to build an android of his own. It was a good thing that Data had no true feelings, Picard thought, because the Dragon’s intense curiosity was enough to make almost any other being uncomfortable very quickly.

  “Amazing, amazing,” the Dragon said, squinting at Data’s skin. “An unusual texture. Why did they not give you a more conventional skin color?”

  “I do not know, Your Excellence. My creator, Dr. Soong, never told me and I never asked him.”

  “And he didn’t put any surface ornamentation on you?” the Dragon asked.

  “No, Your Excellence. It was not deemed necessary.”

  “Well, that could be easily remedied.” Eyes narrowed, the Dragon tilted his head to one side, examining Data as if he were a work in progress. “A little silver and bioluminescent inlay, perhaps some tiling effects on the planes of his face. The forehead definitely cries out to be engraved, and the coloring of the eyes is far too simple. . . . Why hasn’t this been done before, one wonders?”

  “I have not thought of it as a practical possibility,” Data admitted.

  Feelings or no feelings, Picard felt obliged to intervene on Data’s behalf. Excusing himself from Lord Lu Tung, Picard leaned over to join the Dragon and Data. “Mr. Data is a starship officer,” he explained to the Dragon. “Any excess decoration would be unnecessary, as well as contrary to his and our purpose.”

  “Understood, Captain,” the Emperor replied, “but if he were somewhere else—a royal court, say—then one might think of such a thing, don’t you think?”

  Oh, no, Picard thought as the full implications of the Dragon’s interest in Data sunk in. Naturally, an unquestioned ruler such as the Dragon would not consider it necessary, or even good form, to actually ask for any object he desired. It would usually be enough to simply state his admiration for a specific item and he would, as surely as if he had commanded it, be presented with the item. Certainly, the Dragon had more than expressed an interest in Data, who in his eyes must simply be just another manmade artifact. He’s probably wondering, Picard realized with dismay, why I haven’t offered Data to him already. Unless he thinks Data is a wedding gift for tomorrow.

  “In the past,” Data commented, attempting to fully satisfy the Dragon’s curiosity, “my features have been modified for tactical reasons, such as impersonating a Romulan. I suppose, in theory, there is no reason why my appearance could not be altered to suit a more aesthetic agenda.”

  “Precisely!” the Dragon agreed enthusiastically. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. Captain Picard, you must allow me to compliment you on this amazing creation here. Even with its current plain exterior, it can only be an ornament to any ship or court.”

  His mind racing, Picard could not think of any graceful way to extract Data from the Dragon’s covetous grasp. As a matter of fact, the Federation had provided the Enterprise with a generous assortment of gifts to extend to the Dragon Empire, but, at the moment, the Dragon appeared unlikely to accept any substitute, no matter how attractive or well intentioned, for Commander Data. It was clearly essential, therefore, that he separate Data from the Dragon as fast as possible, before it became absolutely impossible to avoid offering the android without offending the Emperor. Out of sight, out of mind. Picard hoped the old maxim held true in this case.

  “Mr. Data,” he said sharply. “Have you forgotten? Commander La Forge requires your presence on the bridge immediately.”

  “Excuse me, Captain,” Data began, “I was not aware . . .”

  The Dragon’s gaze shifted from Data to Picard. A wary expression came over his face. There was nothing to do, Picard decided, but to press on and deal with the consequences later.


  “The bridge, Mr. Data,” he repeated. “Return to the Enterprise at once.” Come on, Data, he thought. You’ve played enough poker. Recognize a bluff when you see one.

  “But what about accompanying Commander Riker to the Heir’s party?” Data asked.

  “Belay that order,” Picard said. Riker would have to chaperone the princes on his own. Picard didn’t want Data on the same planet as the Dragon. “Do as you’re told, Commander.”

  Comprehension of some sort dawned on Data’s face. “Of course, sir,” he said, beneath the probing stare of the Dragon. “I had forgotten about Commander La Forge.” Rising to his feet, he tapped his comm badge, which chirped in response to his touch. “One to beam up,” he said.

  A second later, a familiar golden glow surrounded Data. The android’s form flickered briefly, before dissolving entirely into a shimmering column of light. “Wait!” the Dragon protested, but he was too late. The glow vanished, taking Data with it, and leaving only a few lingering sparks floating in the air. The sparks themselves faded away before the Dragon could say another word.

  “Forgive Mr. Data’s sudden departure, Your Excellence,” Picard said. “But he had urgent business aboard the Enterprise, business vital to the completion of our mission.”

  “I don’t know about this, Picard,” the Dragon said, pouting beneath his bushy white beard. “You Federation sorts seem to have far too much urgent business for my taste. Always running off just when I’m trying to be hospitable . . .”

  “And we are honored by your hospitality,” Picard interjected hastily. I have to change the subject, he thought, and distract him from Data. No matter what it takes. “And speaking of your legendary hospitality, weren’t you going to tell me more about some of the extraordinary delicacies your kitchen is providing for us?”

  “Delicacies? Oh, yes.” The Dragon’s tone lightened, becoming cheerier and less querulous. “Why, you haven’t tasted anything yet, my dear captain. If you thought candied rahgid eyes were a treat, just wait until you try a mouthful of stuffed ragoji bowels! They’re indescribable.”

  I’ll bet they are, Picard thought sourly. He couldn’t help wondering what the bowels were stuffed with.

  After the banquet concluded, following the unavoidable and inevitably awful consumption of the stuffed bowels, the Dragon offered to give Picard and his remaining officers a tour of the palace. Eager to restore the Dragon’s goodwill after the awkwardness with Data, Picard readily agreed to the tour. He still hoped he and Troi would get an opportunity to speak with the Dragon alone at some point, so they could convince him of the necessity of signing the treaty, but that would have to come after the tour. For now he took comfort in the fact that the unknown assassin would have difficulty killing any member of the party while they traveled as a group through the sumptuous decor of the Imperial Palace of the Dragon. Indeed, each chamber seemed richer and more spectacular than the one preceding it. No wonder, he thought, the G’kkau were so intent on conquering Pai. The treasures of the palace alone would make the Dragon Empire a tempting target for a suitably greedy and ruthless people. He was surprised no Ferengi had found his way to Pai just yet.

  Starting with the Pavilion of the Emerald Peacock, the chamberlain led the party through a score of palace rooms, each more improbably named than the last, and in each instance he droned out a set speech about the room, its furnishings, and its history, with the Dragon inserting more down-to-earth comments. Lord Lu Tung begged off the tour after the Memorable Room of the Grand Couch, taking Beverly with him to his rooms to meet the Green Pearl. Picard wished her luck before she left.

  The Heir, the Second Son, and Riker lasted through the Chambers of the Degraded Priests (Upper, Middle, and Smaller) and the Gallery of Hushed Meetings, but they called it quits in the Salon of the Forgotten Cap, wandering off to find the rest of the two princes’ companions at the Penultimate Bestowing of the Undomesticated Seeds. Picard suspected that Riker would have his hands full protecting the Dragon’s sons from each other, let alone the unknown assassin.

  That left Picard, Troi, Mu, and the Dragon to stand before a pair of engraved, gold-plated doors large enough to fly a shuttlecraft through. “Prepare to enter the High Hall of Ceremonial Grandeur,” Mu intoned solemnly.

  “Where we keep the gifts,” the Dragon. He glanced around somewhat wistfully, as if hoping for Data’s sudden materialization. For his own part, Picard was glad that the android officer was safely back aboard the Enterprise.

  “Ah,” Picard said, contemplating the set of large, gilded doors facing him. Mu pressed a unobtrusive button on the handle of his fan, and the heavy, gold doors began to swing open under their own power. Somewhere beyond the doors, Picard heard a gong clang loudly. Automatic pomp and circumstance, he concluded, with an Oriental flavor. He peered through the parted doors, hoping to find something new to compliment. He had seen a number of opulently furnished rooms by now, and it was becoming harder with each new chamber to come up with something new to say about it.

  That this was where the wedding gifts were being stored went without saying, for the hall was crammed with objects of every size, the smaller ones arranged on low tables around the outside of the room, and the larger ones standing in the center atop a colorfully embroidered carpet the size of Ten-Forward. Armored guards, equipped with both swords and hand weapons, were posted in the four corners of the chamber. Inspecting the treasures on display, Picard saw numerous ceramic bowls, plates, vases, pipes, boxes, and statuettes, all of the finest quality, laid on top of the many tables. Hand-painted silk hangings were piled carelessly atop each other, next to what looked like a replicator constructed of solid gold. A five-story miniature temple, complete with hundreds of tiny monks no larger than a fingernail, was carved from ivory, while a throne of fine, dark wood had been varnished until it literally shone. Next to the model temple, Picard saw the priceless Ming Dynasty vase that, along with various other artifacts from all over the Federation (and rather than Commander Data), comprised the Enterprise’s actual gift to the Dragon Empire. There was too much to take in all at once, but, looking elsewhere, Picard’s gaze fell upon, in succession, five intricate bronze dragons, six porcelain tortoises, a pair of lacquered wooden jewelry boxes etched with mildly erotic designs, four stacks of gold-pressed latinum, and a pearl-covered computer padd. And then, of course, there was the life-sized jade elephant standing on four immense, green legs in the very center of the hall.

  “Good heavens!” Troi exclaimed. As she was the daughter of one the ruling houses of Betazed, it took a lot to impress Troi, but Picard wasn’t surprised by her reaction. They had literally found the hoard of the Dragon. Or one of them, at least.

  “Your woman has good taste,” the Dragon commented, “but, of course, females are easily bedazzled by pretty things.”

  Up until this moment, Picard had been aware, but not exactly surprised, that neither the Dragon nor his trusted chamberlain had spoken to Troi directly, nor even attempted introductions. Apparently, they considered it perfectly natural that Picard should have an attractive female subordinate trailing behind him as he viewed the palace. As far as he was concerned, Troi was demonstrating a degree of patience above and beyond the call of duty.

  “Excellence, Grand Chamberlain, permit me to introduce Counselor Deanna Troi, an indispensable member of my staff.”

  The Dragon laughed heartily. “Well, I’m not sure I’d call any woman indispensable, but I can see why you value her so highly.” He eyed Troi appreciatively, so much so that Picard wondered whether she had discarded more layers of clothing than was entirely proper for this culture. By Federation standards, her remaining robe was quite modest, but who knew what the Pai thought of her current attire? He hoped Troi would not go down in history as the woman who scandalized the Dragon Empire, although, to be honest, the Emperor’s grinning inspection of Troi seemed more openly lecherous than appalled. “Quite fine indeed,” he said. “Certainly, your Federation cannot be faulted for the quality of y
our women.”

  “The Dragon is too kind,” Troi said, rather ignoring the spirit in which the Emperor’s comment was intended. “I think you will find the Federation has much to offer the Pai.”

  “And what exactly do you have to offer, my lovely?” the Dragon said with a leer.

  Best to change the subject, Picard decided, before the Dragon expects me to hand over Deanna as well as Data. He observed the armored warriors standing guard over the hoard of the wedding gifts; they stood at attention as stiff and immobile as if they were carved from jade or ivory themselves. Their armor looked to be composed of overlapping plates of polished steel embossed with ornate designs of battling dragons and griffins. Silver filigree outlined each plate, while rings of brightly painted rubber provided flexibility at the joints. A sword was sheathed at each man’s side, and they held shiny, metallic rifles against their chests. Their rigid bearing and stern expressions, glimpsed beneath elaborate headdresses adorned with gold and pearls, reminded Picard of Lieutenant Worf at his most Klingon. An idea occurred to him.

  “Excellence,” he began. “On behalf of the Federation, I would be delighted to provide an honor guard to watch over this fine assemblage of treasures.”

  The Dragon looked puzzled by Picard’s suggestion. “But I have my own guards to do just that,” he protested, “as you can see for yourself. Chih-li, my Minister of Internal Security, has personally supervised the security arrangements for the entire wedding.”

  “And they are more than sufficient, I’m sure,” Picard said hastily. “What I am suggesting is merely a courtesy customarily granted to heads of state such as yourself. I would consider myself dishonored if you will not permit me to offer you some small honor guard as a token of the Federation’s concern for your safety and well-being.”

  “Oh, dear! We can’t have that.” The Dragon’s face brightened. “I know. You can send for your Mr. Data. I would be happy to have him posted among the wedding gifts.”