by Greg Cox
Is that true? Riker wondered. He couldn’t make head or tail of the Pai’s complex rules of honor.
Kan-hi’s fists clenched at his sides. He looked like he was ready to explode. Riker remembered his own “brother,” Thomas Riker, and some of their own bitter conflicts. Not to mention the malevolent jealousy of Data’s brother, Lore. Brother against brother. Was the sorry saga of Cain and Abel some sort of universal constant? Kan-hi definitely seemed ready to kill his older brother, in the name of who knew what ancient slights and rivalries.
Instead, he spun around and staggered, reeling, toward the exit. “I don’t have to stay here and be insulted,” he called out, “especially by you!” The door slid open and Kan-hi disappeared into the hall. Chuan-chi watched him go, a thin smile playing upon his lips.
“I fear my brother is not feeling well,” the Heir said to Riker.
“Shouldn’t someone go after him?” Riker suggested. How am I supposed to guard both princes if one of them goes storming off like this?
“No,” Chuan-chi said. “He will undoubtedly be back shortly. He loves gambling too much to stay away for long.”
“Perhaps we should not play—”
“Nonsense, Honorable Riker,” the Heir said decisively. “It was your idea, so we shall stay where we are and continue our game. Let my idiotic brother wallow in his wounded, misbegotten pride.”
Meng Chiao shook his head sadly. “The egg of the eaglet is the hammer of the woodsman.”
“Huh?” Riker said. Lacking any other options, he dealt another hand.
“Ah,” the Dragon said, rubbing his hands together. His fingers were sticky from the sauces and secretions of the last few hors d’oeuvres. “I’m afraid I have your Imperial Rat-Catcher cornered.”
Picard eyed the playing board. “Which piece is that?”
The Dragon cackled to himself. “Really, Captain, you are most amusing.”
Picard was losing badly, or so he gathered. Although ch’i looked not dissimilar to chess, he could barely keep up, not because he was not a good chess player but because he was, and kept expecting the piece that resembled a knight (if an incomprehensibly ornate knight) to move like one, only to learn that it did something else entirely. There was no apparent queen, only several sorts of nobles and other characters, each of whom appeared to move in different ways at different places in the game, which was turning out to be extremely long.
More important, he had made little progress in convincing the Dragon of the urgency of the Empire’s situation. Nor had Counselor Troi managed to turn the Dragon’s attention toward the as-yet-unsigned treaty. She remained sitting by the fireplace, watching the seemingly endless game, and making occasional light conversation, which, to her credit, the Dragon certainly seemed to appreciate. If nothing else, he thought, perhaps Deanna will help the Dragon to see the women of the Federation in a more favorable light.
“Sir,” Picard began again, “the G’kkau are utterly ruthless. I know you have great—and doubtless well-earned—confidence in your own forces, but the G’kkau have hundreds of warships and you have rather fewer, or so I have been informed.”
“I have forty-five interplanetary ships, and six nebular cruisers,” the Dragon said calmly. “That should be ample.”
“But the odds are overwhelmingly against you,” Picard said.
“So much the better,” the Dragon told him. “It will make for much honor for the victors.”
“And if the victor is not the Dragon Empire?” Picard asked grimly. “We must consider that possibility. Is it worth risking the potential suffering of your women and children in the event of a G’kkau victory?” He regretted having to be so blunt, but perhaps he could use the Dragon’s sense of chivalry to make the old man see reason.
“Of course not,” the Dragon responded. “All the more reason, then, for the Empire to win.” He winked mischievously at Troi. “Your move, Captain. I still hold your Overeducated Fool.”
“So you do,” Picard said, trying hard not to sigh.
“This is the matter-antimatter reaction chamber,” La Forge explained. “In a very real sense, the MARC is the heart of the Enterprise.”
He stood before a large plane of transparent aluminum and pointed at the reaction chamber on the opposite side of the sheet. His guests, he knew, could observe only a complex assembly of carbonitrium and molyferrenite alloys. His VISOR let him see a lot more. Even through the thick, transparent sheet La Forge saw the radiance of the dilithium crystals cradled within the reaction chamber, and he watched the high-frequency EM field around the crystals crackle and vibrate, producing a rainbow of colors beyond the narrow range of ordinary human vision. He looked on, wonderstruck as ever, as a trickle of antihydrogen met its positive counterpart, igniting a transcendent, space-warping fire that seared itself upon the optical sensors in his brain.
“Most impressive,” said the Celestial Mechanic of the Imperial Court.
You have no idea, La Forge thought.
“If we were to join the Federation,” the Celestial Mechanic asked, “would this technology be made available to us?”
The Pai scientists were humanoids of ordinary size and body temperature. So far, their tour of the Enterprise had been placid and uneventful. As public-relations gigs went, La Forge had experienced a lot worse, the groups he had escorted ranging from arrogant Federation ambassadors who thought they knew everything there was to know about warp drives to throngs of hyperactive children on field trips from the ship’s classes and day-care facilities. With any luck, La Forge thought, he could get back to his real work soon.
“That would be up to your leader, the Dragon,” he said. “If he thought it would benefit your empire, it would be shared with you, along with engineers and technicians to train your people.”
“It would unquestionably make nebular travel much easier,” the Astronomical Savant said.
“At its top sustainable speed,” La Forge estimated, “the Enterprise is able to cross the Dragon Nebula in four and a half days.”
“Astounding,” the Celestial Mechanic said. “I certainly hope the Dragon bears that in mind.”
“Feel free to mention it to him,” La Forge said. “Now, would you like a sneak preview of something I have planned for tomorrow?”
The two Pai scientists looked at each other for a second. “For the wedding?” the Astronomical Savant asked.
“Yes. We are to mount a light show for the festivities. It’s scheduled for right after the ceremony, but as you two are fellow scientists, I thought you might appreciate the technical details. Also”—La Forge grinned—”I’m quite proud of what we whipped up, and I would love to show it off to you.”
“We should be delighted,” the Celestial Mechanic said. His colleague assented readily. La Forge had gotten the impression that the Celestial Mechanic outranked the Astronomical Savant, but he wouldn’t have bet a warp field coil on it.
They took a turbolift to Holodeck Three, and La Forge led the Pai scientists into the empty holodeck. The scholars swiveled their heads about, uncertain what to make of the glowing yellow-on-black grid pattern. “Is this the light show you mentioned?” the Celestial Mechanic said uncertainly.
“It’s very nice,” the Astronomical Savant added in haste.
“No, no,” La Forge chuckled. “This is just the empty stage. Computer, run Program Seven-D/La Forge/Fireworks. Freeze just after inception of program.”
Instantly, a blue-and-green globe appeared in the center of the holodeck, floating serenely at eye level.
“Pai,” La Forge explained. “The entire show will be staged from on board the Enterprise. Much of the remote equipment is already orbiting in space. The rest will go out first thing in the morning. We’re using our defensive phasers to produce light and color instead of the usual destructive force. Additionally, I’ve added a few new twists, including a transformational hyperbolic extender which should interact with some of the colored phasers to generate some terrific effects.”
&
nbsp; “It sounds most . . . technical,” the Astronomical Savant commented. La Forge guessed that he hadn’t understood most of his explanation. He wondered what sort of engineering background an “astronomical savant” required.
“I suppose it does,” he said. “Forgive me for running your ear off, but I am pleased with what we’ve managed to accomplish. Let me show you the mock-up. Computer? Run program at twelve times speed.”
The globe lit up. Coruscating light flickered and rippled, sheathing the entire globe in a radiant display. Sheets of light shimmered, showing patterns half-hidden in the color.
“It’s all based on the auroras of Earth, my home planet,” La Forge said, unable to keep silent. While it might seem ironic to assign a blind man the job of designing a light show, La Forge had leaped to the challenge. Hey, he thought, Beethoven was deaf, wasn’t he? Through his VISOR, he watched his artificial auroras unfold, until the last swirls of iridescent light wrapped around the globe and wisped away.
Pretty good, he thought smugly, if I say so myself.
“That was it?” the Celestial Mechanic asked. He sounded distinctly underwhelmed.
“Sure it is,” La Forge replied, with a little more heat than he intended. “That was state-of-the-art Federation technology.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” the Celestial Mechanic cooed soothingly. “It’s really quite pretty. We just didn’t realize there wasn’t more to it. I mean, after your description—”
“Wait a minute,” La Forge said. “Is there a problem with the light show?”
“No, not at all!” the Celestial Mechanic said.
“It’s lovely, really,” the Astronomical Savant added.
“There is something wrong with it.”
“Not wrong, precisely,” the Celestial Mechanic said. “Just rather ordinary.”
Ordinary! La Forge bristled at the suggestion, then took a deep breath to calm himself. There was more at stake here than his own ruffled ego. “I think you’d better explain this to me,” he said. “I want my light show to reflect well on the Enterprise—and the Federation.”
“I’m sure it will. It looks as though you had worked very hard on it,” the Celestial Mechanic reassured him. “The only problem—”
“—and it’s just a little one, a tiny little thing,” interjected the Astronomical Savant.
“—is that it wasn’t five years ago that we went through the Dragon’s Tail, so almost everyone remembers it.”
“Since you what?” La Forge asked.
“Went through the Dragon’s Tail,” the Celestial Mechanic repeated. “Rather poetic, really, calling it that. But what it means is that, every century or so, Pai and the rest of the Empire’s core system passed through one of the nebula’s trailing clouds of gas. The gas interacts with the solar and atmospheric gases to produce a display of lights a little like yours.”
“Well, very like yours,” the Astronomical Savant said. “It lasts about a year.”
“I was just an Underscientist of the Fifth Rank,” the Celestial Mechanic recalled, “but I managed to do some work on it. It was breathtaking.” He looked dreamily at the miniature globe, quiescent again. “The gases develop rippling effects, like scales in green and pink, and flat planes of color that beat against each other—”
“The little pops of certain compounds interacting—”
“The shimmering and the iridescence—”
La Forge looked from one scientist to the other. “So what you’re telling me is that the Dragon Nebula naturally produces a light show like this every so often.”
“Well, not quite like this. It’s a lot more active.”
“More colors,” the Astronomical Savant agreed. “And it did it just five years ago. Almost everyone will remember it. It is truly unforgettable.”
So how come I’ve never heard of this spectacular natural wonder before? La Forge thought angrily. Then he remembered that the Dragon Empire had been cut off from the rest of the galaxy for generations. “All that work,” he muttered. Right down the wormhole.
“Oh, I’m sure your little show will be charming,” the Celestial Mechanic said. “Doubtless it’s more impressive at full size.” He glanced around nervously. “Can we inspect your warp nacelles now?”
“Lieutenant Kesel can explain the workings of the nacelles to you. Barbara?” he called to an assistant engineer from the Dark Horse system. “Can you explain to these gentlemen how the warp nacelles work? I have to get back to work.”
Do I ever, he thought.
“It’s my turn,” the Dragon said gently. “If you recall, I have two turns in a row when my Peasant Farmer surprises your Homely Maiden.”
Dozens of black and white figurines were deployed across the varnished surface of the playing board. The sights, sounds, and smells of the busy kitchen faded into the background as Picard tried to focus on the game. They had been playing ch’i for at least an hour now, but he could not begin to make sense of the strategies involved. The Dragon’s technique for teaching him the game seemed to be to explain nothing until Picard made a move, and then to explain to him how he had forgotten some esoteric and eccentric rule. He hoped his growing frustration was not weighing too heavily on Deanna’s empathic senses.
“Excellence,” he said, determined to keep working toward the only victory that counted. “Please understand that the Federation is not in any way interested in lessening your honor or your autonomy as an Empire. In fact, Federation membership would offer you greater opportunities for honor, as you enter into new relationships of mutual respect with peoples and societies you might otherwise never encounter.”
“Yes, yes,” the Dragon concurred without much interest. His gaze remained glued to the gameboard. “It looks as though you have forgotten your Drunken Guard, Captain.”
“I think perhaps I must have,” Picard sighed. “Which piece is the Drunken Guard?”
“The one I am about to take,” the Dragon said, reaching down for one of Picard’s obsidian pieces and adding it to his growing pile of tiny statues. Picard began to fear that his entire “kingdom” would be depopulated before he convinced the Dragon to sign the treaty.
“You have an extraordinary variety of pieces in this game,” he said. “Just as the Federation nurtures an infinite variety of cultures.”
“That’s because we actually play a number of games with them,” the Dragon said, blithely ignoring Picard’s editorial commentary. “For instance, this is the simplest variety: straight ch’i. In Married Bliss, however, all the pieces are ‘wed’ in pairs, who then fight one another, as well as uniting to fight outsiders.” One of the pug-faced dogs bumped the Dragon’s elbow, jumping up on its hind legs to beg for food.
“The simplest version,” Picard said, incredulous.
The Dragon tossed the last, uneaten morsel of p’u tzu to the hungry dog. Picard was glad to see it go. “Oh, yes,” the Dragon said. He clapped and the chief chef rushed to his Emperor’s side. “Nan Hai, the captain looks hungry. Bring us a plate of the Thousand-Year Eyes.”
Picard heard an amused chuckle from Troi, one quickly stifled into a fit of coughing. “Oh,” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I am so sorry, Your Excellence, Captain. This one seems to have inhaled a bit of dust or flour.”
The Dragon smiled at Troi. “Here, have a sip of my wine, from my own glass.” The Emperor’s eyes twinkled as he spoke, and Picard experienced a sense of foreboding. The Dragon appeared to be taking too much of a liking to Deanna; Picard hoped the Emperor was not expecting the counselor as a wedding gift as well.
“Sir,” he said, hoping to distract the Dragon from Troi’s abundant charms. “Perhaps you can explain your move to me. . . .”
“Sir, I have intercepted another of those communications,” Lieutenant Melilli announced.
Seated in the captain’s chair, Data kept his gaze on the viewscreen ahead of him. The Dragon Nebula filled the screen, its swirling vapors concealing a myriad of mysteries. “I assume you are not usi
ng the word ‘communications’ unadvisedly.”
“Naturally not, sir,” Melilli replied with a certain asperity. “The computer clearly identifies it as some sort of communication.”
Data nodded. He had not yet broken what he assumed to be the G’kkau’s code. Their encryption techniques had proven unusually challenging, perhaps because of their distinctly nonhumanoid thought processes. Under other circumstances, and with less at stake, the puzzle might have provided him with a stimulating source of recreation. “Can you locate the origin of the transmission?” he asked.
The Bajoran’s earring jingled as she bent her head to inspect the readings displayed on her console. “Still hard to peg down,” she said, “but the message has just been repeated. I may be able to triangulate from our respective positions at the first and second iterations of the message.” She tapped a number of pressure-sensitive pads. “Yes, there we are. The message is being transmitted from a source in the Epsilon-Tertius sector of the nebula, one moving toward Pai at approximately warp six.”
“That would put them at Pai at roughly four in the morning, Imperial Palace Time,” Data calculated instantly, “at least two hours before the wedding. That is unfortunate. Because the treaty will not yet be in effect, there will be nothing we can do to obstruct the G’kkau.” He felt safe in assuming the intercepted messages came from the G’kkau; there was a 98.7445 percent probability that he was correct. Furthermore, judging from the rising plasma concentrations in the nebula, more than one ship was approaching Pai.
Lieutenant Melilli appeared to share his conclusions. “Could we engage the G’kkau fleet before they get there?”
“I am afraid not,” he said. “By the time we intercept the fleet, they will be well within the boundaries of the Dragon Empire. To take action against the G’kkau would violate the autonomy of the Empire.”
“Isn’t there anything we can do, sir?” Melilli exclaimed passionately. Data suspected that memories of Bajor’s own trials during the Cardassian Occupation were coloring the lieutenant’s emotional responses. In his experience, Bajorans placed little emphasis on the Prime Directive when confronted with political oppression. He, however, was not Bajoran, and neither was Captain Picard.