by Greg Cox
“Lieutenant Commander Data is a sentient artificial life-form,” Picard explained quickly. He could understand the Dragon's curiosity—Data was a singularly unique individual—but he wanted to get to the bottom of this dart business as soon as possible. Were the G'kkau responsible somehow, or was this merely the result of some internal intrigue between the Pai themselves? Either way, it boded ill for his mission.
“A mechanism?” the Dragon said.
Picard nodded. “And a valued member of my crew.”
“A mechanism of great value indeed,” the Dragon agreed. He winked at Picard, grinning broadly through his beard. “Your Federation was wise to send him.”
“So it would appear.” Picard felt like he was missing something important in this exchange, but he was anxious to divert the Dragon from his apparent fixation on Data. “Excellence, might I call your attention to this rather disturbing incident?”
“Oh that,” said the Emperor, sounding mildly annoyed at the intrusion of such an uninteresting subject into the conversation. “What about it?”
“According to Commander Data, the device he captured appeared to be a miniaturized flying syringe, probably remote-controlled. I wouldn't doubt that the tip was poisoned.”
“Poison?” the Second Son exclaimed. He seemed genuinely stunned by the notion.
“What an appalling notion,” the Dragon-Heir said. “Only a foreigner could conceive of such a thing.”
The Dragon shook his head. “Really, Picard, I appreciate your concern, but I fear you are making too much of this. This little toy must be a prank, nothing more.”
“A prank, Your Excellence?” Picard was puzzled by the Dragon's obvious lack of concern.
“What else?” the Emperor said jovially. “Why, I have it! One of my Heir's many friends could not wait for the formal banquet to conclude before launching the evening's rowdier festivities. No doubt the dart, if that's what it was, was tipped with some mild intoxicant or aphrodisiac. A bit premature, while we old men are still around, but nothing you need worry about.”
“Are you sure about that, Excellence?” Riker asked. “Such an advanced weapon, just to deliver a love potion. That seems a bit . . . extreme.”
“Oh, no!” laughed Kan-hi. “It's quite common at parties, and it would take strong dose of something to get my brother to loosen up.”
“Silence!” the Dragon-Heir snapped, glowering at his younger brother. “Have you no respect for anything?”
“Not for a loveless marriage of convenience,” Kanhi said. “The Green Pearl deserves better than the likes of you.” Picard was struck once more by the obvious enmity between the Dragon's two sons. He also noted that Lu Tung, the bride's father, remained silent throughout this exchange. What did he think of his daughter's future husband, not to mention the assassination attempt? Did Lu Tung intend to capture by stealth what he had failed to conquer by force?
“That is enough,” the Dragon commanded. “You bicker like old women in front of our honored guests. My apologies, Captain Picard.”
“No apologies are necessary,” Picard said diplomatically. “Yet I would not dismiss this matter of the dart so lightly. How can you be sure that the weapon was genuinely poisoned?” He wished the missile had not destroyed itself so quickly. Dr. Crusher's tricorder could have determined in minutes the nature of the toxin contained by the dart. “For safety's sake, isn't it worth considering the possibility?”
“But, my dear captain,” the Dragon protested, “there would be no honor in slaying a foe in such an underhanded manner. Even Lord Lu Tung, my esteemed former adversary, would never stoop to such cowardly tactics.”
A backhanded compliment if ever there was one, Picard thought, but if Lu Tung took offense at the Dragon's remark, his face revealed no sign of it. “Indeed,” he agreed. “Poison is not the way of the Pai, no matter who sits upon the throne.”
“Not yet maybe,” Kan-hi muttered, “but just wait until my brother is Emperor.”
“You will be the first to know,” Chuan-chi said ominously.
An angry look from the Dragon silenced them both. Frustrated, Picard realized that the Pai nobles were too caught up in their own personal feuds to take the assassination attempt seriously and that, without any physical evidence, there was no way to prove to them that the dart had been intended to kill someone upon the dais. Very well, he decided, if the Pai could not be bothered to protect themselves, then it was up to him and his crew to keep everyone alive and well until the wedding.
“Excellence,” he addressed the Dragon. “Under the circumstances, I should like to summon Lieutenant Worf, my chief of security, to the palace to insure your safety.” He was reluctant to remove Worf from the bridge when the location of the G'kkau warship remained unknown, but Geordi could always take charge of keeping an eye out for the Fang. With an assassin clearly on the loose in the palace, he preferred Worf here.
Unfortunately, the Dragon disagreed. “What?” he said indignantly. “Are you implying that I, the Divine Ruler of the Dragon Empire, cannot protect myself?”
“Of course not, Excellence,” Picard said, “but a little extra caution at this most vital of junctures can only profit us all.”
“Nonsense, Picard. This is a matter of honor. The Dragon Empire does not require the protection of outsiders such as your security chief. I expressly forbid you to bring this man here. You are my guest,” the Dragon stated emphatically. “Please do me the courtesy of behaving as one.”
So much for that idea, Picard decided, unwilling to provoke the Dragon any further. Perhaps later he could devise a pretext for beaming Worf down without offending the Emperor's acute sense of honor. For now, he would have to rely on the officers at hand.
“Excellence,” he said, “some small business has come up which requires my attention. With your permission, I would like to confer with my officers in private.”
“Right this minute?” the Dragon asked, incredulous. “Why, we haven't been served dessert yet. Trust me, Picard, I'm sure my chef has prepared something truly special for the two of us.”
I can hardly wait, Picard thought glumly. “This will not take long. I look forward to resuming our meal shortly.”
“Well, if you must, you must,” the Dragon sighed. “I know too well the demands which befall men of our exalted position. Mu! Escort Captain Picard and his honored associates to the Hall of Supreme Harmony. Do not worry, friend Picard, I shall instruct the chef to hold dessert until your return. In truth, I've always thought candied rahgid eyes taste better cold.”
The Hall of Supreme Harmony was a spacious chamber on the ground floor of the northern tower, not far from the courtyard where the banquet wore on. Hanging silk lanterns illuminated the walls, which were adorned with large blue glyphs of Chinese design. Picard guessed that characters probably spelled out ancient words of wisdom for the edification of the hall's visitors. The air smelled faintly of oranges, and he could still hear the harps and flutes of the musicians playing outdoors. The hall held no furniture, so the Starfleet officers remained standing upon the white polished floor.
“Mr. Data,” Picard said. “From what you saw of the dart's trajectory, can you tell who was the intended target?”
“I am afraid not, Captain. At the point I intercepted the dart I could only determine that it was aiming for someone on the dais.”
“It seems to me,” Riker commented, “that the Dragon would be the most likely target. Why settle for a prince when you can kill the Emperor himself?”
“You're probably right,” Picard agreed, “especially since the Heir appears to oppose the treaty with the Federation. The death of the Dragon would effectively scuttle any chance the Pai have of joining the Federation before the G'kkau invade. Still, we can't take the chance we're wrong. We have to assume that everyone on the dais is a potential target, including you and me, Number One.”
“Lu Tung and the two princes strike me as likely assassins as well,” Riker said. He quickly filled in Troi and th
e others on the tensions among the wedding party. “None of them has an alibi. Anyone could have arranged to have that remote-control device launched during the banquet.”
“Do you think the assassin will try again?” Beverly asked.
“Yes,” Picard said, “and soon. Too much depends on tomorrow's wedding. The assassin will probably try to strike sometime tonight, which means we have to keep our eyes on all the suspects and the likely targets.” Picard looked over his officers. “Number One, I think you should take Kan-hi up on his invitation to attend the Heir's private celebration tonight. That way you'll be in a position to protect both the Heir and the Second Son. Do you think you can manage to guard them under these circumstances?”
Riker shrugged. “It's basically just a bachelor party. How rough could it be?”
“Just the same,” Beverly suggested, “let me give an anti-intoxicant. Then you'll be able to keep a clear head no matter how much heavy drinking you're expected to take part in.”
“A good idea,” Picard said. “Make it so.” He reflected further. “And take Data with you, in case the princes separate. We want to keep a close watch on both of them.”
“The bachelor party is a fixture of much human history and literature,” Data said. “I look forward to observing the phenomenon in person.”
“Just wait, Data,” Riker said with a grin. “If this party's anything like some of the ones I've attended over the years, you're in for a memorable experience.”
“Not too memorable, I hope,” Troi said pointedly. Picard noted for the first time that her robes looked rather the worse for wear. The sleeves were dripping slightly, as though they'd been dunked in something, while a gooey red mess stained the front of the dark blue robe. If he hadn't known better, he might have thought she had suffered some gory injury to her midsection. The sticky red stain smelled faintly of strawberries, however, and Picard recalled the Blessings of Summer's Last Rejoicing, one of the few edible dishes he'd consumed all evening. Conscious of Picard's inspection, Troi blushed slightly as she turned to address him. “What about the Dragon himself? And Lu Tung?”
“I will personally look after the Dragon,” Picard declared. “I need to spend more time with him anyway; unfortunately, he appears to be having second thoughts about the treaty. Even if we succeed in keeping him alive until tomorrow, there's no guarantee he'll sign the treaty unless I can persuade him to later this evening. Counselor, you will accompany me. Your empathic abilities may come in useful during our negotiations.”
“Certainly, Captain,” she said, “although perhaps I should change clothes first?” She glanced down at the crimson jelly soiling her robes.
“Just remove the outer robes,” Beverly suggested. “There are enough overlapping layers in these outfits that you'll still be decently covered by Pai standards.” She helped Troi slip out of the stained blue robe, only to discover that the strawberry jelly had soaked through the next two layers of clothing as well. By the time, they were finished, Troi was clad in merely a single violet gown that revealed rather more of the Betazoid's shapely figure than before, but was still more modest, Picard judged, than her usual skintight Federation uniform.
“Good enough to guard the Dragon,” he said as Beverly bundled up the discarded robes and had them beamed back to the Enterprise.
“That still leaves Lu Tung,” Riker pointed out.
“Yes,” Picard said, “and that poses a difficulty. At the moment, I can't think of any excuse by which one of us could contrive to accompany him after the banquet. And, unless customs are wildly different on Pai than they are on Earth, I can't imagine he'll be attending his future son-in-law's bachelor party.”
“Can't we just offer him protection outright?” Troi said.
Picard shook his head. “It would reflect poorly on his honor, he claims.” Picard deliberated in silence while Beverly administered her hypospray to Riker. “The one good thing,” he said finally, “is that Lu Tung is possibly the least likely candidate for assassination. He has already lost the war, he is not in line for the throne, and, unless I'm missing something, his death would not affect the treaty. All in all, he's more likely to be the assassin than the target.”
“Speaking of targets,” Beverly said, “what about the Green Pearl herself? It's a horrible idea, but I can't think of a faster way of stopping a wedding than by killing the bride.”
Picard scowled. Beverly was right. They had to assume the Green Pearl was in danger as well. He hoped Lu Tung would not go so far as to sacrifice his own daughter, but the G'kkau (and maybe even one of the princes) might have no such scruples. Certainly Chuan-chi seemed less than enthusiastic about marrying the Pearl. And as for Kan-hi . . . well, any child of the Heir and the Green Pearl would inevitably come between the Second Son and the throne.
But how could they manage to protect the Green Pearl? They hadn't even been allowed to lay eyes on her yet. Picard contemplated Beverly Crusher, so elegant and dignified in her formal robes. If anyone of them might be permitted to get close to the bride, it would probably be Beverly. “Dr. Crusher,” he said, “perhaps we can persuade Lu Tung to let you visit the Green Pearl tonight?”
“Fine with me,” she said, “but for what reason?”
“To attend to her, er, physical well-being,” Picard said, improvising. “Heaven forbid she should fall ill the night before her wedding.”
“That might work,” Beverly said thoughtfully, “if you can persuade the Dragon and the others that I'm a qualified healer.”
“You know,” Riker broke in, “while I was chatting with the Heir it came out that the Green Pearl's mother died several years ago. Chuan-chi commented that it was, quote, 'unfortunate' that she did not have her mother to help prepare her for the wedding.”
“Unfortunate for the Pearl, perhaps,” Picard said, “but lucky for us. After we return to the banquet, I will helpfully volunteer Beverly's services as chaperone, surrogate mother, or whatever.”
“And bodyguard,” Beverly added. She took a deep breath to prepare herself. “I suppose this is the closest I'll ever come to being the mother of the bride. Who knows? Maybe this experience will come in useful if and when Wesley ever gets married, not that that's likely to happen anytime soon.” She glanced back toward the lavish banquet. “I just hope he opts for something a little less elaborate.”
The music from the courtyard came to a halt, and Picard heard a smattering of polite applause. “We had better get back to the banquet before the Dragon wonders what's happened to us.” A grim expression came over his face. He did not relish the prospect of candied eyes, chilled or otherwise. Still, duty called and his much-abused taste buds had no choice but to obey. “Keep your eyes open,” he reminded his officers. “A life, and the future of the Dragon Empire, is at stake.”
The Fang drifted through the Dragon Nebula on its stealthy approach to Pai, all but its most basic systems shut down to prevent the flagship from being picked up by sensors on either the Enterprise or the planet itself.
“Master?” Gar said. “The traitor on Pai has contacted us again.”
“It's taken him long enough,” Kakkh hissed. “Very well. Put him through.”
The screen between his forward claws bloomed into life. Kakkh beheld the pink, scaleless visage of their human pawn. He thought the Pai looked apprehensive, but it was hard to tell. These humans were impossible to read by sight alone. “Yes?” he demanded. “You have been a long time in contacting us.”
“Ah, well,” the Pai stammered. “There has been little to report.”
“Little to report? You were going to kill the Dragon. Is he dead or not?”
“At this moment, I must confess, he still lives, although not for lack of any effort on my part.”
“What?!” Kakkh snarled. “What happened?”
“I did my best,” the man said, bristling slightly. “I programmed a venomous stinger to strike the Dragon during the banquet, but a mechanical man snatched it out of the air seconds before it could do
its deadly work.”
The android known as Data, Kakkh realized. He had studied the crew of the Enterprise extensively. Damn the Federation! How dare they interfere with the plots of the G'kkau. “Where are Picard and the others now?” he asked.
“They are meeting privately at this very moment—in the middle of the banquet, of all things. Astoundingly rude and inappropriate.”
“Then how did you manage to leave?”
The noble simpered. “The gentle call of imperious nature. Perfectly acceptable. Unlike the shocking conduct of those Federation buffoons—barbarians, if you ask me.”
“I did not ask you,” Kakkh snapped. He had lost all patience with this foolish human's babbling. “All I asked for is the death of the Dragon, and so far I have been disappointed in your efforts.”
“If not for the unlikely appearance of Picard's artificial creature,” the Pai noble emphasized, “the Dragon would now be dead. My plan was perfect.”
“Not perfect enough,” Kakkh said. “You have another plan, I assume.”
“Naturally,” the man said with what Kakkh guessed was a display of indignation. “My next scheme is already in motion. I am rather proud of it, actually; this attempt has a classical character, really, in keeping with the traditions surrounding an imperial wedding. . . .”
“I am not interested in the details,” Kakkh interrupted. “Just the results. You have failed once. Do not do so again.”
For once, Kakkh was gratified to see an unmistakable expression of fear come over the Pai's insufferably smug features. “I . . . I must return to the banquet,” the traitor said, “before Picard returns and I am missed.”
“Go,” Kakkh said, “but do not forget your mission. The Dragon must die.” With a savage sweep of his right forelimb, he cut off the communication. His eyes swiveled in their sockets, seeking out Gar. “We cannot wait much longer for this incompetent to fulfill his purpose. We will attack Pai tomorrow, and destroy their Empire whether or not the fool has killed the Dragon.”
“The Federation starship is already there,” Gar warned. “How will we deal with them?”
