by Greg Cox
“A great delicacy. Thousand-year-old lao shu.” Picard felt obliged to take another bite and swallowed heavily. On top of the awful taste, he now noticed the disgusting texture of the thing, which succeeded in being gritty and slimy at the same time.
“Quite so,” Picard said with difficulty. “I am not familiar with your lao shu. An animal, I take it.” His Universal Translator had been stumped for a more descriptive synonym.
“It is a small beast, native to Pai, so big—” The Dragon held his hands a few inches apart to demonstrate the size; Picard noted the Emperor’s overlong fingernails, which made the vizier’s elongated nails look trimmed. “—not including the tail. Much like your rat, but with gills. We take a small lao shu and bury it for a millennium in an earthenware pot packed with spiced preservatives. When we dig it up, it has dissolved into this delightful substance.” He pointed a nail at the half-eaten cake in Picard’s hand. “You like it?”
“It is quite delicious,” Picard said, perjuring himself without hesitation. Given a choice, he would have rather eaten a Denebian slime devil.
The Dragon laughed and reached across to slap him on his back. “I see you are a man of no little refinement! Excellent! I have too few people to share these gourmet delights with. You will not believe this, but most people, including my own sons and my most educated mandarins, would sooner die than eat lao shu. Can you imagine that?”
“I am trying to,” Picard said.
“Mu!” the Dragon hollered. As if by magic, the chamberlain popped into sight again.
“Yes, Most Excellent and Exalted One?”
“Our guest is a true connoisseur. Inform the high chef of this. Command him to exert himself for the captain’s supreme delectation. Only the most exotic of repasts are worthy of his rarefied sensibilities.”
I don’t like the sound of this, Picard thought. “Really, Your Excellence, there is no need to go to any extra trouble on my account.”
“Nonsense!” the Dragon said, dismissing Picard’s objections with a wave of his hand. “It is my pleasure . . . no, it is my great good fortune to have this unlooked-for opportunity to finally share the highest refinements of Pai cuisine with someone capable of appreciating them.” He patted his generous belly. “Oh, Captain, the sublime, unfathomable tastes we two shall savor this night . . . !”
Picard’s heart sank, perhaps to console his apprehensive stomach. “Of course,” he agreed. “If that is your pleasure.” He peered at the remains of the lao shu and tried to estimate the minimum number of gulps required to finish it off. Even one more seemed too many. Starfleet expects every officer to do his duty, he reminded himself. Valiantly, he took another bite.
As the morsel worked its way past his gag reflex, he spoke again, hoping to turn the discussion to more serious matters: “Excellence, earlier you stated that you wished to speak with a warrior, someone who could fully understand your concerns.”
“Quite so,” the Emperor said. Perhaps, Picard thought, the Dragon would now broach the subject of the G’kkau; he was eager to discuss the Empire’s defenses. “Those Federation mandarins are all very well, but soft. I wanted to be able to hammer out the last of our agreement with another fighting man.”
Hammer things out? Picard grew more worried. “My understanding is that the treaty is already final, awaiting only the wedding itself to take effect.”
“Well, yes, that is what the clerks and bureaucrats would no doubt like to believe—oh, well done, sirs!” Down on the courtyard floor, the dancing paper dragon had advanced to acrobatics, capturing the Dragon’s attention. The head of the dragon, complete with bulbous eyes and long plastic fangs, had just jumped through a loop composed of its own tail and hindquarters. Propelled by the athletic legs of the concealed performers, the coils of the dragon formed increasingly intricate designs above the marble frieze embedded in the courtyard. It was a wonder that the mock dragon did not tie itself into knots, or else trip over its many pairs of humanoid feet, but to Picard the spectacular stunts were merely an unwanted distraction from the business at hand.
“Regarding the treaty,” he said, “if there are any details I can clarify for you . . .” He hoped the Dragon’s concerns were not too complicated. There wasn’t time for another round of extensive negotiations, not with a G’kkau warship already prowling the Dragon Nebula.
“Oh, the details are fine, I’m sure,” the Dragon said, not taking his eyes away from the feats of the acrobatic dragon. “It’s the treaty itself that bothers me.”
Picard felt success slipping away, along with peace and safety for the Pai “How so?” he asked.
The Dragon finally turned and met Picard’s gaze. “There is no honor in this treaty,” he stated. “Upon reflection, I fear that joining your Federation, as worthy as it doubtless is, can only compromise the honor of the Dragon Empire and my own throne.”
Picard resisted an urge to sigh wearily. It was clear he would have to reargue the Federation’s case from first principles if he was to complete his mission on Pai. Briefly, he wondered if anyone in particular had placed these doubts in the Dragon’s mind prior to his arrival. The Heir? The Second Son? Lord Lu Tung? The chamberlain? At the moment, it didn’t matter; he had to change the Dragon’s mind quickly, before the wedding tomorrow.
“Many races and worlds have found the Federation an honorable and effective mechanism for mutually beneficial cooperation,” he told the Dragon.
“I am quite certain they have,” the Dragon agreed amiably, “but those worlds are not, after all, the Dragon Empire.” He drew himself up proudly. “Since the days of our ancestors the Empire has flourished beneath the sacred Dragon Nebula without any dependence upon other worlds. Through our ancient and venerable traditions we have achieved the very apex of civilization. Any alliance or association with lesser states can only diminish us. No offense intended, of course. We are happy to have you as our guests and to share with you the blessings of this, the most glorious and magnificent realm in the history of the universe.” A look of concern crossed the Dragon’s face. “In the past, I fear, we may have been too miserly with the fruits of our glory. No more! I look forward to treating you to more of the pleasures of Pai.”
As if on cue, the servers returned and laid another tiny plate upon his small table. Picard barely glanced at the contents of the plate; he had to convince the Dragon of the seriousness of the situation.
“Excellence,” he said, lowering his voice, “forgive me if I speak bluntly, but it is only concern for your people that compels me to be the bearer of bad news.” He fixed the Dragon with a solemn stare, determined to hold on to the Emperor’s full attention. “Starfleet has reason to believe that a G’kkau invasion of Pai is imminent, perhaps only a matter of hours.”
The look the Dragon gave him reminded Picard of an indulgent grandfather humoring a small child. “The G’kkau, yes. Your people have spoken of them before. No doubt these nasty lizards have proved bothersome, even dangerous, to other races. But, Captain, look around you. This is the Dragon Empire. What have we to fear from these scaly barbarians?”
“I fear you underestimate the G’kkau,” Picard objected. “It is no reflection on your honor to admit that you may face a genuine threat to your people and your way of life.”
The Dragon shook his head. “No more gloomy words, Captain. This is a wedding, a joyous occasion, and you are an honored guest. Relax, enjoy yourself. Here: try this raw kao tzu.”
Picard eyed the pale, fleshy lumps on the plate. “Kao tzu?”
“It is like your slugs, but with more flavor.”
Chapter Four
“MY GOD,” BEVERLY MARVELED, “look at this place. It's like going back in time.”
Being an android, Data could not share in the doctor's enthusiasm, but he did find their present surroundings to contain numerous points of interest. He sat between Beverly and Counselor Troi on a low couch behind one of the great jade dragons looking out over the courtyard. He listened to the music, compared i
t against 375 similar melodies composed over the last 2,452 years, speculated on the composition of the performers' instruments and the effect the choice of physical materials had upon the quality of the sound, performed an olfactory analysis of the incense pervading the atmosphere and judged it to be both nonintoxicating and harmless, admired the acrobatic skill of the dancers beneath the dragon facade, observed discreetly the captain's interactions with the Emperor, memorized the faces and costuming of every attendee at the banquet, and calculated the odds of successfully completing their mission, which, judging from the captain's expression and body language, were diminishing by the minute. Simultaneously, he socialized with Beverly and Deanna.
“In fact,” he responded to the doctor's observation, “this setting only mimics the appearance of a traditional Chinese palace. Careful inspection reveals the existence of an advanced technological infrastructure supporting much deliberate artifice. The dragon costume, for instance, contains several components constructed from complex polymers, while the uniformity of tone produced by both flautists suggests that their instruments were mass-produced. Furthermore, the ambient temperature in the courtyard is identical to that of the interior chambers, suggesting some form of concealed heating apparatus; indeed, meteorological conditions on the planet's surface, as observed from the Enterprise, would indicate that the actual outdoor temperature for this region of Pai should be several degrees lower than the conditions we are experiencing. In addition . . .”
“We get the point, Data,” Troi interrupted gently. “Pai technology is not as primitive as it appears. Which stands to reason, of course; the Dragon Empire would not qualify for Federation membership otherwise.” A server came and laid several fresh dishes before them, then disappeared back into the tower. “Anyway,” she continued, “this sort of formal occasion is hardly the best way to judge everyday life on Pai. Ceremonial events tend to emphasize tradition over convenience. Even on Betazed, we'd never think of serving a replicated meal at a state banquet, although my mother once . . . Damn!” She rescued the trailing end of her right sleeve from a dish on the low table beside their couch. “These big sleeves keep getting in the way. How do you manage to keep yours so clean, Beverly?”
“Practice,” the doctor said, deftly lifting a sugared rice ball to her lips.
Troi gave her a dirty look, and tried to wipe a smear of sticky amber sauce off her robe. “Maybe this is the real reason Pai clothing is so heavily decorated,” she said ruefully. “Stains don't show.”
“That seems unlikely, Counselor,” Data commented. “A high degree of ornamentation is displayed in almost all their artifacts, even when that ornamentation is so small as to be indiscernible, as with the chamberlain's monocle.”
“His monocle?” Beverly asked.
“Yes,” Data explained, “the metal ring containing the lens is engraved with a very detailed rendition of seventeen nightingale-like avians flying through a tropical forest. More indirect evidence of advanced technology: a laser would most likely be required to execute the engraving with such microscopic detail.”
“Which you can see?” Troi said.
“Dr. Soong provided me with excellent eyes,” Data said. He scanned the courtyard, observing and cataloging the many instances of elaborate decoration on both the furnishings and the diners' attire. “It is interesting. Most cultures, having reached this level of surface ornamentation, go into a backlash of sorts, when they begin to simplify, often to as great an extreme. I wonder when—” He stopped speaking suddenly, his attention caught by a sudden glint of light near the door through which the servers came and went.
Nearly invisible in the flickering glow of the paper lanterns, something small and silvery hung motionless in midair. Data estimated it was approximately 5.87402 meters away from where he now sat—and 8.00003 meters from the Dragon and the other personages upon the dais. He stood up slowly, being careful not to overturn the uneaten delicacies arranged around him.
“Data?” Troi asked. “Is anything wrong?”
“That is what I am attempting to determine, Counselor,” he said, keeping his gaze fixed upon the tiny, floating object.
The device glinted again, and Data realized that it was turning itself, as if scenting the air for something. Or someone. He stepped toward it as it began drifting away from the eastern tower, gathering speed as it moved. The object was clearly aiming for someone on the dais. He eyed the angles and made some quick internal calculations. He did not wish to create a disturbance, but . . .
A servant, bearing a tray of steaming fruit jellies, stepped between Data and the object, blocking his view. “Please be seated,” the servant began, “and enjoy these humble refreshments. They are called the Blessings of Summer's Last Rejoicing, and—”
There was no time to explain. Data seized the servant by his shoulders and swung him out of the way. Startled, the man stumbled backward, eliciting a cry of alarm from Troi as the Blessings of Summer's Last Rejoicing slid off his tray into her lap. “Data! What in the world?” Beverly exclaimed, even as Data quickly located the mysterious device once more, hovering only 1.2488 centimeters from where he had last seen it.
Abruptly, it darted forward in a straight line for the dais and its occupants. Data noted its acceleration and reacted appropriately. He leaped away from his couch, past the looming jade dragon, and snatched the object from the air less than 3.6507 meters from the dais. Holding on to it carefully, he inspected the device: a finned, needle-tipped dart no more than .99998 of a centimeter long. It wiggled between his fingers, still struggling to jump free. He immobilized it by breaking off the bottom fin.
“Data?” Picard said loudly. Data removed his focus from the intercepted dart and evaluated the reactions of the captain and the others present to his unexpected actions. Had he been human, he suspected he might have been embarrassed by the commotion. Everyone in the courtyard was now looking at him, and many of the young men had risen angrily to their feet. He assumed they would not attack unless given an order to do so, but recognized that this assumption could not be considered irrefutable. The chamberlain was cowering in the shadows at the rear of the courtyard, evidently uncertain whether to intervene. The musicians, their performance interrupted, retreated with their instruments to the four corners of the courtyard, while curious faces peered out from beneath the disguise of the dragon. He glanced behind him and saw, with regret, that he had created a mess as a result of the necessary swiftness of his response. The displaced servant was kowtowing frantically before Counselor Troi, apologizing—almost faster than the Universal Translator could accommodate—for the viscous red goo that was now spattered all over her elegant indigo robes. Beverly tried to help the unfortunate servant pick up the pieces of three shattered plates, but that only seemed to distress the man more. Interesting, Data thought. He trusted that the two women were capable of handling the situation on their own. He turned his attention toward the dais.
“Your Excellence, esteemed gentlemen.” He nodded politely at the rulers of the Empire. “Captain, I must apologize for causing a disturbance. It was in an effort to intercept this object.” He held up the dart; the crippled missile vibrated between his fingers. He noted that a miniature asp had been engraved along the narrow shaft of the dart, its venomous fangs rendered in detail far too minute for the average human eye to observe.
Clearly, he deduced, the dart was of native origin.
His analysis of the dart was interrupted by the sound of high-pitched humming coming from somewhere beneath the missile's metal casing. The noise was not unlike that of a phaser on overload. Data hastily calculated the probability that a self-destruct mechanism had been activated and concluded that it would be wise to put some distance between himself and the dart. Employing the full strength of his artificial limbs, he hurled the dart straight up into the sky. The humming grew louder and more shrill as the dart ascended to an altitude of approximately 15.4682 meters before detonating overhead. The bright red explosion consumed the dart entirely
, leaving not even ashes to fall back down to the floor of the courtyard. Curiously, some of the banquet guests applauded the explosion, perhaps assuming it to be part of the evening's entertainment. Data regretted the destruction of the dart before it could be fully examined. He also reminded himself to contact Geordi regarding his planned fireworks display; the explosion had suggested to Data several other pyrotechnic possibilities. Perhaps a deliberately induced phaser overload channeled into visible wavelengths . . .
Nothing like an assassination attempt to perk up an otherwise dull party, Picard thought. He had no doubt that an assassination was exactly what Data had prevented. But who, he wondered, was the dart's intended target?
With the Dragon's permission, the android had approached the dais and briefed Picard on his actions and observations. Data remained standing before the dais, awaiting further instructions from Picard, while Mu fretfully attempted to calm the rest of the banquet guests. “Please sit down. All is in order. There is nothing to see, nothing at all,” he said over and over until the various soldiers and dignitaries appeared appeased. At his command, the dancing dragon resumed its performance, although few seemed interested anymore in the make-believe creature's caperings; all eyes stayed fixed upon the dais where Riker, Lu Tung, and the Dragon's two sons crowded around Picard, curious to hear more about the mysterious dart. Only the Emperor sat apart from the others, scratching his chin through his beard and eyeing Data with open fascination.
“Astounding!” the Dragon declared. At first Picard thought he was referring to the apparent attempt at murdering one of them; then he saw that the Dragon looked more interested in the golden-skinned android. “He moved so quickly! What manner of being is this?”
