Dragon's Honor

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Dragon's Honor Page 23

by Greg Cox


  Another jolt rocked the Enterprise. The floor tilted abruptly, then righted itself. Riker grabbed on to Kan-hi, now the Dragon-Heir, while Beverly steadied the Green Pearl. Hsiao Har fell on top of Deanna, but they managed to untangle themselves without too much difficulty. Picard glimpsed a flash of green through the starboard windows. So far, the shields seemed to be holding up, but for how much longer?

  “Captain,” Deanna said breathlessly, “I recommend the short ceremony.”

  “Agreed,” he said. Facing the young Pai couple, he cut straight to the chase. “Do you, Kan-hi, son and heir to the Dragon, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  “I do!” Kan-hi said. He reached for Yao Hu, but his chains held him back.

  “Do you, Yao Hu, called the Green Pearl of Lu Tung, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  “Most gladly!” breathed the bride. She seemed delirious with joy.

  Green energy burst over the port side of the lounge, only partially deflected by the shields. Picard struggled to keep his balance, seizing the edge of a tabletop. Bride and groom fell toward each other, each one holding the other up. The overhead lights flickered briefly, then came back on again. The Enterprise was taking a beating, Picard realized. Even a pack of lizards can take down a dragon—if the dragon is restrained and can’t fight back.

  Here, at this moment, there was only one way to free the dragon. . . .

  “By the power vested in me by the United Federation of Planets, in accordance with the temporal ruler of the Dragon Empire, I now pronounce you man and wife.”

  That’s it, he thought. The wedding is official, so the treaty goes into effect.

  He tapped his comm badge. “Mr. Data, fire at will!”

  The wide front window of Ten-Forward offered him a perfect view as half a dozen photon torpedoes shot forth from the bowels of the Enterprise. Two of those torpedoes converged on a G’kkau ship that was directly facing the front of the Enterprise. That has to be the Fang, he thought, feeling a surge of satisfaction as the torpedoes slammed into the G’kkau flagship. Bands of blue-white energy crackled like lightning over the hull of the Fang, leaving its gleaming green surface pitted and scarred. This “fang” was going to need a lot of dental work after the battle was over. He doubted if the G’kkau would be so quick to encroach on the Dragon Empire the next time they felt the need to expand their own territory.

  The Enterprise followed its torpedoes with a bombardment of steady phaser fire. Talk about fireworks, he thought, wondering if Geordi could come up with anything to match this show. Picard turned away from the window to find Kan-hi and Yao Hu still staring at him expectantly. What now? he wondered. I thought we were finished.

  At the back of the room, still holding tightly to Hsiao Har, Troi caught his eye, then puckered her lips.

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “I almost forgot. You may now kiss the bride.”

  “Really?” Kan-hi asked. He couldn’t seem to believe his good fortune. Not too surprising, Picard thought, when you considered that he had gone from disgraced criminal to husband and future Dragon in less than an hour.

  “Make it so,” he said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  IF THE ACTUAL WEDDING WAS RUSHED, the reception was a lavish, leisurely affair. Over a hundred Pai notables, and a sizable percentage of the crew of the Enterprise, milled about and mingled amid the sweet-smelling cherry blossoms of the Emperor’s gardens. Gigantic paper lanterns, some mounted on high-flying kites, provided brightly colored illumination as Pai’s sun gradually crept toward the horizon. Food and drink were provided in abundance, although Picard contented himself to a cup of tea—Earl Grey, hot—beamed down straight from his own replicator. He’d had quite enough of exotic cuisine for the time being, thank you very much.

  Strolling through the gardens, he found Worf and Chih-li seated upon a bench beneath a shady tree. Was the Klingon attempting to master the intricacies of ch’i? If so, Picard wished him both good luck and endurance. Drawing nearer, however, he saw that the Dragon’s Minister of Internal Security was shuffling an ordinary deck of cards. “Greetings, honorable captain of the most honorable Worf,” Chih-li said. “We have agreed to settle our duel by playing this game of poker. Lord Li Po informs me that it is an honorable game comparable to the clash of mighty armies.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose,” Picard said. He gave Worf a warning glance. “Be careful, Mr. Worf. Be very careful.”

  Continuing down the path, he came at last to an wide, open courtyard full of Pai and Starfleet personnel. A raised dais, bedecked with hangings of silk and satin, had been erected on the southern edge of the courtyard. He recognized a few of the dignitaries seated upon the dais: the Dragon and Lu Tung, sitting side by side at last, as well as Geordi La Forge and Beverly. Chuan-chi, the treacherous former Heir, was conspicuous by his absence, as were the happy couple themselves, presumably for a far more joyous reason.

  He was amused to see Master Kakkh upon the dais as well, his scaly body wrapped in bandages and coated with a smelly blue salve. Kakkh had had no choice but to throw himself upon the mercy of the Pai after the Fang lost its life-support capabilities. The rest of his crew was confined under house arrest in the murky tunnels beneath the Imperial Palace, which was actually the kindest place to keep them. As the senior ranking officer among the G’kkau, however, Master Kakkh had been “invited” (in the strongest possible terms) to represent the G’kkau at the wedding reception as a demonstration of the “new and lasting peace” between the G’kkau and the Dragon Empire. Kakkh’s tongue flicked miserably at the flying insects attracted by the glowing paper lanterns hanging over the dais. He did not look like he was having a good time.

  “Captain!” La Forge cried out. “Hurry. You’re just in time for the fireworks!”

  Picard ascended the steps to the dais even as the first skyrocket zipped into the sky. It exploded in midair, throwing off a huge bouquet of gold and silver sparks and emitting a bang loud enough to shake the tea in his cup. More rockets followed, some whistling, some screaming like banshees before they detonated in a symphony of light and smoke and noise. The awestruck Pai oohed and aahed along with their Federation guests, reacting as much to the bangs and whistles, Picard noted, as to the colorful spectacle filling the evening sky.

  “Listen to it!” enthused the Dragon. “The noise! The sounds!”

  “Indeed,” Lord Lu Tung agreed, holding his hands over his ears to protect them from the loudest bangs. “Most remarkable.”

  Picard sat down between La Forge and Beverly. “Congratulations, Geordi,” he said. “Your show is an unqualified success.”

  “Captain, you have no idea.” La Forge confessed, “I was really stumped there for a while. Then I remembered—what about gunpowder? Good, old-fashioned fireworks . . . like they used to make in the old days? The Pai have never seen anything like them, and neither have our people.”

  “Excuse me, Geordi,” Beverly said, “but weren’t old-fashioned fireworks banned sometime in the twenty-first century? I seem to recall that they were incredibly dangerous.”

  “And fighting carnivorous, spacefaring lizards isn’t?” La Forge whispered conspiratorially. “Look, if you won’t tell Starfleet, I won’t.”

  “My lips are sealed,” she said, “but let’s not make a habit of this.”

  “Ah, Captain,” the Dragon said warmly. “I see you’ve joined us. Good, I was wondering when we were going to hear your poem.”

  Picard choked on his tea. “I’m sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “My poem?”

  He dimly remembered the Emperor saying something about a poem at the banquet the night before. In all the subsequent confusion, he had completely forgotten about it.

  “Of course,” the Dragon said. “It’s tradition. The guest who has traveled the farthest to attend the wedding recites a poem at the reception, as does the priest who administers the vows. That’s you in both cases. You have to do it. It’s unlucky if y
ou don’t. Isn’t that so, Lu Tung, my brother?”

  “It is indeed a tradition, Nan Er,” the former rebel confirmed.

  “Hah!” the Dragon laughed. “No one else can call me by that name, but he’s family now so that’s all right. Anyway, you must recite a poem. I assume you’ve been working on one.”

  “To be honest, Excellence,” Picard said, “I have been otherwise engaged for the last day or so.” He paused, searching his memory. “The Federation, however, is home to many great poets. My own planet has had its share, all more proficient than I. If it is all same to you, I would be delighted to share the work of one of my favorite poets with you.”

  “Very well,” the Dragon said. “It’s all new to me. Proceed.”

  Rising to his feet, Picard coughed once and began:

  “Let me not to the marriage of true minds

  Admit impediments, Love is not love

  Which alters when it alteration finds,

  Or bends with the remover to remove.

  O no! it is an ever-fixed mark,

  That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

  It is the star to every wand’ring bark,

  Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

  Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosey lips and cheeks

  Within his bending sickle’s compass come,

  Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

  But bears it out even to the edge of doom:

  If this be error and upon me proved,

  I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”

  Picard bowed briefly to the enthusiastic applause of all but Master Kakkh. Then he regained his seat beside Beverly to find the ship’s doctor dabbing at the corner of her eye with the hem of her sleeve. “Oh, I can’t help it, Jean-Luc,” she said. “I always cry at weddings.”

  He looked back on the past twenty-four hours. “I know exactly how you feel,” he said.

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