by Greg Cox
You can say that again, Riker thought glumly. He reached out to claim his winnings.
The hidden stairway led to a maze of subterranean tunnels running beneath the Imperial Palace. Worf navigated through the tunnels by the sickly green glow of bioluminescent tiles embedded along the center of the walkways, much like the emergency lights on most Starfleet spacecraft. The tunnels smelled musty and old, and looked as though they had not been used for decades, if not centuries. Cobwebs hung like sticky gray curtains across every archway, while a thick layer of dust covered every exposed surface. Worf heard water falling slowly, drop by drop, somewhere in the distance. Rats squeaked and insects chittered behind the walls and beneath his path; sometimes small creatures scurried out of sight moments before he caught a glimpse of them. Vermin, he thought disdainfully. He was tracking bigger prey.
If not for the years of neglect and disrepair, it might have been easy to get lost in this byzantine underground labyrinth, but Worf easily discerned the route the thieves had taken. They had left a trail even a human could follow: torn webbing, footprints in the dust, and scratches alongside the walls of the tunnels where the outlaws must have scraped some of the larger items they were carrying. Worf suspected the jade elephant must have smashed against the tunnel walls a few times. A little while later, he discovered fragments of broken porcelain lying on the floor of the tunnel, where a clumsy thief must have dropped one of his prizes.
At an intersection where two tunnels met, he came upon a more provocative clues. Two pairs of footsteps, one pair small and delicate, came down the left-hand tunnel, eventually merging with the route taken by the caravan of thieves. Worf could not know for certain, but he would have been willing to bet a hundred Huch in Klingon currency that the left-hand tunnel eventually led to the harem of Lord Lu Tung, the last known location of the coveted Green Pearl. Judging from the footprints in the dust, before they disappeared entirely in the disorderly trail of the thieves, the Pearl appeared to be traveling of her own free will. Worf grunted. The tracks supported Dr. Crusher's theories regarding a secret lover and possible assignation. Worf did not know whether to condemn the girl for her disobedience or applaud her for her spirit. In the end, it didn't matter; his own duty compelled Worf to return her to her father in time for the wedding.
Candlelight flickered up ahead. Worf's eyes, accustomed to the faint green glow of the tunnels, blinked against the sudden brightness, which seemed to be coming from just around the next corner. Worf's grip tightened on his phaser. Crouched over to form a smaller target, he stalked forward as quietly and stealthily as he could. A small white mouse scampered out of his way, squeaking loudly. Worf could have gladly bit its head off.
A shadow of roughly humanoid proportions fell across the light on the wall, then vanished in a flash. All of Worf's senses went on alert. He crept to a point mere centimeters away from where the tunnel took a sharp turn to the left. Straining his ears to their limit, he thought he heard the sound of controlled breathing. He sniffed the musty air; above the omnipresent reek of decay, he scented the unmistakable tang of fear. Someone was waiting in ambush just around the corner, someone who desperately did not want to be found.
Worf dived around the corner, feeling something whoosh through the air where his head should have been. He hit the ground rolling and was halfway up, one knee resting on the dusty floor, before another heartbeat had passed. “Freeze!” he barked, drawing his phaser on a young male Pai standing by the curve in the tunnel. A woman screamed behind him, followed by the sound of soft footsteps charging toward his back. The woman, whoever she was, was no warrior; without even turning his head, he grabbed hold of her outstretched arm and flipped her over his shoulder onto the floor. His phaser, held tight in his other hand, never wavered; it remained pointed at the Pai youth, who held on tightly to what looked like a solid gold statuette in shape of a monkey. That was what the youth tried to hit him with? Worf felt embarrassed that he had actually bothered to duck such a ludicrous weapon.
Rising to his feet, Worf quickly surveyed his surroundings. He was in a cavernous basement approximately the size of the High Hall of Ceremonial Grandeur. A number of lighted candles, resting upon ancient casks and crates, illuminated the chamber; the smoke from the candles rose and disappeared in the shadows concealing a high, vaulted ceiling. Looking around, Worf was not surprised to find the missing wedding gifts.
They made an impressive pile. Instead of being neatly laid out as they had been when Worf first viewed them, they were jumbled together, with smaller objects tucked into or teetering atop larger objects. The elephant had an entire range of thick golden cables hung across its back. Worf wondered whether they had managed to move all the gifts at the same time or if the theft had required multiple trips. How long had Atherton and the rest of the security team been knocked out?
He kept one eye on his prisoners. The young man still stood by the entrance to this underground vault. His golden robes, although wrinkled and smudged with dirt, looked as though they had been expensive once. Surprise gave way to anger on the boy's face. He was handsome by human standards, Worf judged, although somewhat lacking in character. The Green Pearl's secret lover? Worf suspected as much. “Drop the monkey,” he said. It fell from the Pai's hands, striking the rough brick floor with a metallic clank.
Her breath knocked out of her, the girl lay motionless for a moment or so, then stirred and sat up. The minute she opened her brilliant chartreuse eyes, Worf knew he had found the Green Pearl of Lu Tung. Her tiny slippers matched the footprints he'd found earlier in the tunnels. “Who are you?” she asked, staring wide-eyed at Worf's inhuman visage. “What are you?”
Worf ignored her query, his gaze searching the dimly lit corners of the vault. “Where are the others?” he asked. These two alone could not have possibly carried all the gifts through the tunnels, not in a dozen nights.
“Dismissed,” the youth said. “That is, I allowed them to return to their quarters.”
“And who are you?” Worf demanded. He had never seen this particular Pai before.
Despite the phaser aimed at him by a ferocious-looking Klingon, the boy put up a brave front. His hands on his hips, his chest thrust out proudly, he declared, “I am Kan-hi, Second Son of the Dragon.”
The Green Pearl, kneeling upon the floor, sighed in adoration. Worf felt like sighing, too, albeit for a far different reason. Their mission, he realized, had just become much more complicated.
He tapped his comm badge. “Captain, Worf here. I have news for you. . . .”
Chapter Fourteen
THE GAME HAD TURNED into a rout. The men started gambling away their concubines, their wives, their interplanetary yachts, even their estates. Several were down to the plain cotton undergarments they wore under their elaborate robes. Their fine clothing, along with everything else they had brought to the party, was stacked beside Riker. All of their estates and other possessions were neatly listed on a scroll laid by his elbow. Riker kept expecting his lost phaser to turn up in the ante. It never showed, but it was about the only thing on the planet he hadn’t won yet.
Moaning out loud, he laid down his third straight in a row.
“That cleans me out,” Lord Li Po said, rising slowly to his feet. “I will have my wives, concubines, and servants delivered to you following the wedding.” He bowed deeply.
Meng Chiao had also reached the limit of his resources. He teetered upon wobbly legs. “A wealthy fool soon parts with his fortune.”
“Hey!” Riker said, startled. “That actually makes sense!”
“Pay him no heed,” Li Po said. “He is too drunk to recite it properly.” Even as they spoke, the Speaker of Aphorisms slumped, then slid down onto the floor. His mouth hung open as his eyes fell shut. “See what I mean,” Li Po said.
Only the Dragon-Heir himself remained in the game. Riker faced his last remaining opponent, who just happened to be the Heir to the entire Dragon Empire. Those bachelors still remaining conscious, stripped nearly as
bare as the exhausted serving girls, crowded around the game, watching every move. Under such close observation, Riker realized, there was no way to lose on purpose. He had no resort except to pray that his winning streak ended right now.
“Perhaps we should stop,” Riker suggested for about the fiftieth time. The last time he tried to leave the game, assassin or no assassin, Chuan-chi had posted guards by the door to prevent him from departing.
“Oh, no,” said the Heir. “You must stay. It is—”
“—a matter of honor,” Riker finished for him. “I know, I know.” Pai had a bad case of gambling fever, Riker decided. He felt like an old-time explorer, introducing smallpox to unsuspecting populations.
“Deal,” the Heir said tersely.
Chuan-chi had a good poker face, not showing much beside a sort of focused dyspepsia, but now his eyes flickered as he inspected his cards, the rapid eye movements suggesting that he was checking his hand again and again, as if not believing them.
They were playing Rigellian Hold’em. Each of them had three cards remaining facedown on the floor, their identity unknown until the conclusion of the betting. Riker consulted his own hand, and breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t have so much as a pair. Good, he thought.
Chuan-chi raised his gaze from his cards, and stared evenly at Riker. “Although I shall not inherit the whole Empire until that far-off day when my father goes to greet his ancestors,” he explained, “Pai belongs by tradition to the Dragon-Heir. I will wager this planet itself against everything you have managed to win.”
He can’t be bluffing, Riker decided, unless he’s also the finest actor on Pai. This was looking better and better. He could lose it all on this hand. No doubt the Heir would eventually end up redistributing his winnings among his friends and allies. “Agreed,” Riker said.
He flipped over the cards on the floor.
The Dragon-Heir laid down four aces, but it was a full minute before Riker could put down his royal flush.
“Excuse me,” he said numbly. “I really have to stop now.”
“Entering Pai orbit in approximately five minutes, sir,” Lieutenant Tor announced. The Andorian turned her antennae toward Data.
“Onscreen,” Data said. Pai—a blue-green sphere frosted with cloud cover—appeared on the main viewer. Data identified the various continents in view. By his calculations, the sun would be rising over the Imperial Palace in less than half an hour. “Location of the surviving G’kkau warships?”
“They’re hot on our heels, Data,” La Forge stated. “They should be here any time now.”
“Orders, sir?” Lieutenant Melilli asked.
“We will hold our fire,” Data said, “until we receive word from Captain Picard that the wedding is concluded and the treaty is in force. Then, and only then, will we be free to defend Pai from G’kkau aggression.” Data briefly glanced over the faces of the officers now stationed on the bridge: Tor, Craigie, Kamis, Melilli, and Geordi. Could they be apprehensive about the coming confrontation with the G’kkau ships? A good commanding officer was responsible for the morale of all personnel under his command; that was a recognized Starfleet principle. Data judged that this was an appropriate moment to say something inspirational. “In the meantime, there is no harm in raising our own shields. In fact, there is a sixty-seven-point-eight-six-four-three-percent probability that the Enterprise will survive this mission.”
“What about Pai?” La Forge asked. “And our people down on the planet?”
Data did not think it advisable to announce the appropriate probabilities out loud. “It is now nearly dawn at the Imperial Palace. We must suppose that Captain Picard has used his inestimable diplomatic talents to resolve all of the outstanding difficulties surrounding the treaty.”
“I sure hope so,” La Forge said, “because I don’t think the G’kkau are going to wait for the wedding reception, let alone the honeymoon.”
That was unlikely, Data thought.
The Sacred Temple of Perpetual Harmony was anything but. Beyond a filigreed archway looking out onto a garden full of fragrant cherry blossoms and beneath an open skylight designed to capture the first rays of the rising sun, utter turmoil raged among what was supposed to have been the wedding party.
“Betrayed by my own son!” the Dragon wailed.
“With my only daughter!” Lord Lu Tung lamented.
Well, Picard thought, at least they’ve finally found something in common.
Kan-hi, his hands in shackles provided by Chih-li’s guards, stood defiantly off to one side, flanked by both Worf and the Minister of Internal Security. A doddering old priest, who looked to be about two hundred years old, appeared completely baffled by the confusion. The Green Pearl knelt weeping by the altar, occasionally casting longing glances at her captive suitor; someone had managed to get a wedding gown of emerald and olive onto her, but the veil was already soaked through with tears and the bride near the point of collapse. Beverly hovered near Yao Hu, unable to offer much in the way of consolation, and holding hands with Hsiao Har, who seemed to share the heartbreak of the other girl. In time, Picard guessed, the Heir’s daughter would have to answer for her part in the Pearl’s escape from the harem, but presently everyone was too upset over the illicit couple to worry much about any accomplice. Troi waited near the entrance to the temple, keeping an eye out for Riker and the groom, who were due to arrive at any moment. Thankfully, the bulk of the wedding guests were still sleeping off last night’s celebrations; the actual wedding ceremony, Picard had learned, was a small private affair usually limited to the bride and groom’s immediate family. Under the circumstances, the crew of the Enterprise had been allowed within the temple, but the several dozen Pai nobles visiting the palace were here for the feasts and receptions after the religious ceremony. More small favors, Picard thought, although what I could really use is a miracle or two.
His comm badge chirped, and Data identified himself. “The Enterprise is prepared to defend Pai,” he stated. “I trust the wedding is about to commence.”
“Your trust is gravely misplaced,” Picard informed him. “What is the status of the G’kkau fleet?”
“Our plan was largely successful, but not completely. The vast majority of their ships are now drifting without engines in a comparatively benign sector of the nebula. Judging from the transmissions we have monitored, I understand that it will be days before even the nearest G’kkau ships can arrive to rescue them.”
Picard had no sympathy for the stranded ships. “How many vessels got through, Data?”
“Five, sir, including the Fang. I am afraid they will be in range of Pai within the hour. Have you alleviated the Dragon’s doubts about the treaty, sir?”
“Not yet,” Picard admitted. He stroked his chin, feeling stubble. His eyes burned for lack of sleep. He had hoped for a shower and shave before the wedding; instead, after spending nearly the entire night playing ch’i, eating inedible meals, and tracking down a runaway bride, he was no closer to convincing the Dragon to join the Federation. Never mind the treaty—he wasn’t sure there was even going to be a wedding this morning.
“I hope there is the possibility of a speedy resolution, sir,” Data said.
“You’ll be the first to know,” Picard promised. “Picard out.”
The Dragon-Heir suddenly appeared in the doorway with Will Riker in tow. Sometime in the night, Picard noted, his first officer had exchanged his dress uniform for a much more impressive assemblage of Pai robes; he hoped this meant that Riker had made a good impression on the Heir and his associates. Right now, every little bit helped.
Riker, looking fatigued and a bit sheepish, approached Picard. “Sir,” he began, “there’s something I need to tell you.”
But Picard had his eye on the front of the temple, where an angry Heir appeared to be confronting his brother. “Not now, Number One,” he said. “We have a crisis on our hands.”
Evidently, news of the Second Son’s crimes had finally penetrated the Dragon
-Heir’s quarters. “Thief! Traitor!” Chuan-chi screamed at his younger sibling. “Not only the wedding gifts, but my bride as well! How could you be so dishonorable?”
Kan-hi did not shrink from his brother’s accusing gaze. “I love Yao Hu,” he said, “which is more than you could ever do for her. As for the wedding gifts . . . well, I confess I had debts to pay before I could provide for Yao Hu in the manner she deserves. Besides, the irony appealed to me. What a sham all these feasts and gifts are. No amount of treasure could ever sanctify this mockery of a marriage!”
“When I am Dragon,” Chuan-chi snarled, “your execution will be my first act as Emperor.” Reaching into the folds of his saffron robes, the Heir consulted a small timepiece. Looking on, Picard found this peculiar behavior for a man who has just found out that his brother tried to steal his fiancée. Chuan-chi stared up at the skylight. He checked his timepiece again. What is he waiting for? Picard wondered.
The old priest also looked to the skylight. “The sun is coming,” he said, stamping a wooden staff upon the floor by the altar. “We must proceed with the wedding.”
Would there still be a wedding? Picard held his breath, watching all the principals carefully as they hesitantly looked upon each other. In the end, he observed, and despite the best efforts of Kan-hi, Yao Hu, and the still-elusive assassin, everyone had made it to the church on time. But had the events of the evening torn Pai’s fragile alliances apart?
“I suppose there must be a wedding,” the Dragon said, “for the sake of the Empire.”
Lord Lu Tung nodded. He walked over and looked at his daughter. “It is a matter of honor,” he said gravely, as he helped the tearful girl to her feet.
Yao Hu choked back sobs. “Very well,” she said, raising her chin up high. “In the name of peace, I will marry the Dragon-Heir, but my heart will always belong to my beloved Kan-hi!”
“So be it,” Chuan-chi said. He seemed strangely unmoved by his bride’s passionate declaration of love for another man. His gaze kept darting back and forth between the slowly lightening sky and his father,the Dragon. Minutes before his wedding, Picard observed, the Heir kept watching the skies—almost as if he was anticipating the arrival of an alien armada.
