Dragon's Honor

by Greg Cox

  Worf shook his head slowly. “According to Klingon law, we would cut off the hand of an offender only if they appeared too cowardly to discipline their own sark.”

  The minister gave the matter some thought. “What crime,” he asked eventually, “would require the amputation of a hand under Federation law?”

  “There would be nothing to merit it,” Worf admitted. “Federation justice emphasizes rehabilitation over punishment.”

  Chih-li sighed disapprovingly. “I hope you will forgive me for again saying that the Federation seems rather soft.”

  “They are anything but soft in their dealings with their enemies,” he said.

  “Really?” the minister asked. He appeared skeptical.

  “I am proud to have fought several battles as a member of Starfleet,” Worf declared sincerely.

  Chih-li gave Worf a serious look. “If you say so, then it must be so,” he said gravely, displaying the genuine respect of one honorable warrior for another. “In that case, I suppose the Federation must be forgiven a certain, shall we say, gentleness in their internal dealings. Still, such slack justice would never work in the Dragon Empire.”

  “Nor among Klingons,” Worf admitted.

  They came upon the massive golden doors of the High Hall of Ceremonial Grandeur. The huge doors loomed before them. Worf was pleased to see that the doors remained locked and secure. He decided to notify the security team within of their arrival; he did not wish to be fired upon by a trigger-happy guard. “Worf to Lieutenant Atherton,” he hailed the leader of his security team. “Worf to Lieutenant Atherton, please report.”

  No one responded to his hail. He tried another frequency, but still there was no reply. A low growl escaped his lips. “Something is wrong,” he told Chih-li. “Open the door.”

  The minister pressed a silver-plated button on his armor, and the great doors began to swing open. Somewhere in the distance a gong sounded. Worf drew his phaser, setting it on stun.

  The colored flames of many hanging paper lanterns bloomed to life as they cautiously entered the Grand Hall. Worf swung his phaser from left to right, ready to immobilize any foes who might be lurking behind the doors. Instead he was greeted by silence—and emptiness.

  “The gifts!” gasped Chih-li.

  “The guards!” Worf exclaimed.

  The gifts, including the massive jade elephant, were gone. Only empty tables remained, bare of the trinkets and treasures that had previously adorned them. A dozen guards, from both the Dragon Empire and Starfleet, were sprawled upon the floor, unconscious or worse. After determining that the chamber contained no apparent threats, Worf knelt beside Lieutenant Atherton, a tall blond woman in a yellow-and-black uniform, and checked her pulse. It seemed steady.

  Convincing Chih-li to accept a female security officer had been a challenge in its own right, Worf remembered. Now he hoped his persistence had not condemned Atherton to serious injury.

  He tapped his comm. “Worf to Enterprise. I require medical assistance.”

  A calm female voice answered promptly. “This is Dr. Selar,” she said. Worf recalled that Dr. Crusher was currently elsewhere in the palace, tending to the Green Pearl of Lu Tung. “How can I assist you?” the Vulcan physician asked.

  “The security team has been rendered unconscious in some fashion. They may require medical care.”

  “I will be beam down momentarily,” she said. “Selar out.”

  While Worf contacted the Enterprise, Chih-li inspected his own guards. “My warriors appear to be unharmed, although sleeping,” he stated. “Perhaps some gas or airborne anesthetic? I trust your people are similarly situated?”

  Lieutenant Atherton stirred slightly, but did not wake up. “I believe they are well,” Worf said, “but I will know more after our doctor has examined them.”

  “What puzzles me,” the minister said, looking around at the vast empty space that surrounded them, “is how anyone could have removed so many objects, and objects of such size and comparative cumbruousness, in what was such a limited amount of time.”

  “A transporter?” Worf suggested.

  The minister shook his head. “This chamber is shielded against transporter theft . . . which reminds me, I will have to lift the shields in order for your medical officer to beam down.” He tapped a few commands into a miniature computer concealed in his gauntlet. “No, whoever performed this task had something less than two hours in which to complete it, which suggests an impressive access to manpower —discreet, efficient manpower.”

  Worf recalled the staggeringly wasteful display of wealth that had earlier filled this chamber. The minister’s deductions sounded reasonable. “Every noble in this palace has a large retinue, do they not?”

  “They have a not inconsiderable quantity of followers,” Chih-li conceded.

  “How many would have enough men to do this?”

  The minister thought for a moment before answering. “Anyone in the Dragon’s immediate family. Lord Lu Tung. Perhaps a handful of others. Anyone else would have had to bring in too many followers to maintain the deception that they were here for his comfort alone.”

  Energy crackled in the center of the chamber. Worf recognized the familiar sparkle of the Enterprise’s transporter. Dr. Selar materialized before their eyes, then walked briskly over to one of the fallen Starfleet officers. She ran her medical tricorder over the man’s unconscious body. Chih-li’s eyes widened perceptibly at the sight of Selar; evidently, he was not used to female doctors, let alone Vulcan ones.

  “They appear to have been drugged, Doctor,” Worf informed her.

  “Yes,” she confirmed. “This one was, at least; I assume the others were affected by the same agent. The symptoms suggest verapnerharmon or a local variant of that substance: largely harmless, but guaranteed to knock out most humanoids for three or four hours if admitted into the air supply in sufficient quantities. I imagine this chamber has a closed ventilation system?” she added, looking around.

  “Yes, they all do,” the minister said, “to prevent someone from poisoning the entire palace. Not, I hasten to add, that any Pai would ever stoop to so dishonorable a ploy.”

  “Indeed?” Selar said. She raised a quizzical eyebrow. “In any event, a strong stimulant should rouse the victims, although I recommend continued medical observation for the next forty-eight point five hours.” She looked at Worf. “I will arrange to have the Starfleet personnel beamed directly to sickbay.” She turned toward Chih-li. “I assume you can secure appropriate accommodations for the incapacitated Pai.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” the minister said, more flustered than Worf had ever seen him before. “Thank you for your assistance, er, Doctor.”

  Selar’s expression did not change in the face of the security minister’s discomfort. She walked away and began administering stimulant infusions to both Pai and Starfleet victims. Chih-li waited until she was several meters away before addressing Worf. “Quite astonishing,” he said at last. “I have never seen a woman behave with such forwardness.”

  “Vulcans require some getting used to,” Worf replied diplomatically. Confident that his team was now in good hands, he turned his attention to the larger issue of the theft. “I’m afraid I must notify my captain of the disappearance of the gifts.”

  Chih-li nodded glumly. “And I must inform the Dragon.” He looked as though he would have much rather fought another duel to the death.

  “What is missing?” Picard said sharply.

  Worf’s deep baritone came clearly through the comm. “The display of gifts, sir.”

  “I heard you clearly, Lieutenant. I simply could not believe what I heard.”

  Picard rubbed his right temple. Thanks to modern medical science, headaches were a fairly rare phenomenon, but he thought he felt one coming on. The situation on Pai was growing more complicated by the moment. He had barely signed off with Data, and was in fact standing between the oak cupboard and the bench the Dragon had occupied, when Worf hailed him to
reveal the latest disaster. He listened carefully to Worf’s report, then shook his head wearily. Worf had explained to him about the verapnerharmon, but he still found it hard to accept that six Starfleet security officers, not to mention a squad of armored Pai guardsmen, could allow several tons of gifts—including a life-size jade elephant!—to be stolen from under their noses.

  Could the G’kkau be involved in this theft, he speculated, or the mysterious assassin? How did this tie in with the treaty, the wedding, and the imminent G’kkau invasion? The assembled gifts would be a tempting target for any thief, he thought. It might well be that the disappearance of the wedding gifts had nothing to do with the rest of the intrigue surrounding the royal wedding, but how could he be sure? “Mr. Worf,” he said, “I want you to investigate this robbery thoroughly. It may have little bearing on our mission here, but we can’t take that chance.”

  “Understood, Captain,” Worf said. “Chih-li and I fully intend to apprehend the thief and recover the gifts.”

  “Chih-li?” Picard asked. He couldn’t place the name immediately.

  “The Minister of Internal Security,” Worf reminded him. “We are conducting the investigation together.”

  “Very good, Mr. Worf. Make it so.” He paused, then spoke again. “And, Worf, I apologize if I sounded cross just now. This wedding is proving more stressful than we anticipated.”

  “Most human weddings do,” Worf commented, “in my experience.”

  Worf signed off, and Picard wandered back toward Troi and the Dragon. Mu, he observed, had interrupted the Dragon’s conversation with Deanna to whisper something into his emperor’s ear. The nervous Chamberlain now looked absolutely stricken; his face was as pale as one of the ivory playing pieces on the h’i board. The Dragon himself seem taken aback by Mu’s news. “What?” he said loudly. “All of the gifts? Even the elephant?”

  Picard quickly explained to Troi what had occurred. “My condolences, Excellence,” he said. “I share your surprise—and concern.”

  “Stealing the gifts from a wedding, and an Imperial wedding at that!” The Dragon was clearly appalled at the very idea. “I cannot comprehend it. What has become of honor that anyone could even think of such a thing?”

  Picard found it odd, and more than a little annoying, that the Dragon should be more distressed by the prospect of a thief among his people than by the certainty of an imminent attack by the G’kkau. He found himself hoping that Worf would uncover a link between the robbery and the G’kkau; maybe that would finally focus the Emperor’s attention on the alien menace. “I am sure,” he said, “that the combined efforts of both of our security forces will quickly locate the thief and the missing gifts.”

  “Yes,” Troi added. “Lieutenant Worf can be very resourceful. And persistent.”

  “I hope you are right, my dear,” the Dragon said. Raising his goblet, he downed a large quantity of wine. The strong brew appeared to calm him. His smile returned, as well as the gleam in his eyes whenever he looked upon Troi. “It is good that you are here,” the Emperor said to Deanna. “A beautiful woman can be such a comfort in times of trouble.”

  Not necessarily, Picard thought. Watching the Dragon watch Deanna was anything but a comfort; instead, he foresaw still more trouble ahead.

  “What do you mean the Dragon is not yet dead?” Kakkh hissed angrily at his agent on Pai. “You promised he would die tonight!”

  “It was that captain, Picard,” the traitor whined. “If not for him, the Dragon would be dead by now, and I would be the new Emperor!”

  Not for long, Kakkh thought silently. It was fortunate that his pawn was only an image on a viewer and not actually on board the Fang; otherwise, Kakkh doubted if he could resist the temptation to devour the foolish Pai noble in one satisfying gulp. Two failed assassination attempts in one night! How hard could it be to kill one old mammal?

  “My method was exquisite,” the Pai continued to protest. Kakkh did not need to smell his fear to know that the nervous-looking human on the screen was no longer as arrogant as once he had been. The Pai babbled as much to reassure himself as to allay Kakkh’s doubts. “It was a flawless scheme, of classical design. I mean, poisoned ma erh tsai mao tan ch’ing no less! Why, do you know that no one has been murdered by poisoned ma erh tsai mao tan ch’ing for close to two millennia?”

  “Perhaps,” Kakkh snarled, “that’s because it doesn’t work!” He fixed cold, reptilian eyes on the worthless mammal whose pallid face appeared on the screen between his forelimbs. His inner eyelids winked malevolently. A forked tongue flicked between his fangs. “Be sure you understand me, Pai who would be Dragon. Tomorrow I will conquer Pai, one way or another. If you fulfill your promise before we arrive, you will be rewarded. But if we must lay claim to Pai without your assistance, then you will be merely one of many to fall beneath our claws. Do you comprehend what I am saying?”

  “Yes,” the Pai gulped. “Your words are must clear. The Dragon will die before dawn!”

  I’ll believe it when I smell it, Kakkh thought skeptically. He cut off the communication abruptly. Stupid humanoid! His jaws ground against each other in irritation. Dealing with these unreliable mammals made his scales itch.

  Gar slithered up beside him. “Master Kakkh?”

  “Yes?” Kakkh hissed.

  “I have reason to believe that the Enterprise has intercepted some of our transmissions to Pai. They have also been scanning the nebula with a variety of sensor sweeps. They may have detected the presence of the fleet.”

  Kakkh snarled, then sank lower into his command pit. His tail whipped back and forth a few times. “No matter,” he said finally. “The end of the game draws near, and there is little the Federation can do to stop us. We shall strike before the wedding and before the wretched treaty can be signed. Pai cannot join the Federation if Pai no longer exists!”

  The more wine the Dragon drank, the more he appreciated Troi. He was openly flirting with her now, much to Picard’s irritation. The Emperor’s growing infatuation with Deanna did not make it any easier to convince him of the desperate urgency of the G’kkau situation.

  At the moment, for instance, the Dragon had moved over to a seat by the fireplace next to Troi and was showing her each of the different ch’i pieces. The counselor had the slightly uncomfortable look of a woman cornered at a party. “This one is the Lascivious Wife,” the Dragon said, winking at Troi. “In most versions of the game she moves every direction but forward, in leaps of two. You see how she holds the Intemperate Staff so tenderly?”

  “Excellence,” Picard broke in, hoping to rescue Troi and salvage his mission at the same time. “I must remind you that we have definite confirmation now that the G’kkau will be attacking Pai within hours. We face a crisis of interplanetary proportions.”

  “Must we deal with that now?” the Dragon sighed. “I was just about to explain to your lovely woman the romantic inclinations that brought my great-grandfather the title of the Patient One.”

  Troi rolled her eyes. “Please, Captain, tell us more about the dreaded G’kkau.”

  “You shouldn’t trouble yourself with such matters,” the Dragon said soothingly. “Here, have some more of this wine.”

  “But I find the subject fascinating,” Troi said, batting her eyelashes. “How frightening are the G’kkau, Captain?”

  Deanna was definitely performing above and beyond the call of duty this mission, Picard thought. Certainly, she was making greater progress with the Dragon than he was, as proven by the resigned look that came over the Emperor’s ruddy face as he reluctantly turned his attention back to Picard. “I can deny you nothing, fair maiden,” he declaimed dramatically. “Now then, Picard, these creatures are reptiles, correct? Lizards?”

  “In some ways, yes,” Picard told him, “but sentient and undeniably aggressive.”

  “But still lizards nonetheless,” the Dragon insisted, “so they can hardly be the terrifying warriors you describe. Lizards are soft and useless creatures, scarcely
even edible, although there is one delicious little recipe . . .” His voice trailed off as his bleary eyes searched through the kitchen around them before abandoning the quest. “Anyway, surely the mighty Dragon Empire is capable of scaring off a few lizards in spaceships?”

  “They have more than a few ships,” Picard argued. “Close to a hundred in fact. And the G’kkau are far more fearsome than you imply. To our certain knowledge, they have razed dozens of planets already.”

  “Danger or no danger,” the Dragon said loudly, “honor demands that we remove them ourselves. Indeed, if they are as ferocious as you say, it is all the more important that we comport ourselves fearlessly.”

  Picard felt as if he were slamming into a brick wall at warp speed. Was there no way to convince the Dragon to accept the Federation’s aid before tragedy struck? “Your commitment to honor is more than admirable,” he tried again, “and Starfleet has no intention of impugning your courage. We—”

  “Enough!” the Dragon said sharply, his patience clearly exhausted. “If you have nothing new to say, I do not care to continue this discussion any further.” A scowl marred the Emperor’s usually jovial expression as he glared sullenly at the gameboard. Picard feared that he had worn out his welcome, a fear confirmed by the Dragon’s very next words. “The hour is late,” he declared, yawning theatrically. “Perhaps we should continue our game another time?”

  Under other circumstances, Picard would have liked nothing better than to abandon the pointless game and retire for the evening. Unfortunately, the treaty remained in doubt and the assassin was still at large. How can I continue to guard the Dragon, he thought, when I am so obviously about to be dismissed? “Are you sure, Excellence? I feel I still have so much to learn about the proper playing of ch’i.”

  “Perhaps another time,” the Dragon replied. “I fear I am keeping you away from your duties, Captain, not to mention your rest. No doubt your many concubines await you.” Picard began to protest, but the Dragon had stopped listening to him. “Ah, woe is me,” he said, his words clearly directed toward Troi. “A poor old man, all alone in this world of thieves and scoundrels, with no one to keep him warm at night. . . .”