by Kij Johnson
“Where are you now?” Picard asked.
“Outside the harem,” Worf said, glowering at the guards. “Lu Tung’s men appear reluctant to admit me to the women’s quarters, but I expect to have the matter resolved shortly.”
“You needn’t bother,” the captain said. “Chih-li is taking charge of the investigation here. I’m afraid your presence would only provoke the Dragon; he would surely consider it an affront to the honor of his own security forces. The Pai are quite sensitive regarding such matters.”
“So I have discovered,” Worf confirmed. “The Minister of Internal Security has already challenged me to a duel, but we have agreed to postpone our battle until after the wedding.”
“What?!” The captain sounded alarmed at this new development.
“There is no reason to be concerned, Captain, Worf said. “The minister and I are most evenly matched. It will be an honorable and glorious battle.”
There was a long, uneasy silence before Picard spoke again. “Mr. Worf, I have neither the time nor the inclination to deal with this now. For the present, I suggest you confine your activities to finding the missing gifts.”
“The gifts?” Worf said. “Surely the Green Pearl takes priority.”
“I would not be at all surprised,” Picard said, “if the two matters are related. Find the gifts and you may find the girl as well.”
“Very well, Captain,” Worf said. He inspected the two burly Pai guards who were even now watching him with what looked like bloodthirsty anticipation. It appeared it would no longer be necessary to fight his way past them. Too bad, he thought, but duty calls. . . .
Turning his back on the harem and its guardians, he marched briskly back toward the scene of the crime.
Chapter Thirteen
“DAMN,” RIKER SAID. “I lose again.”
“What a pity,” Chuan-chi said. “Such a shame to see your luck turning to this degree. For a time it seemed you might have bankrupted us all utterly.”
“The seeds of fortune seldom bloom in hydroponics,” Meng Chiao agreed.
Riker shrugged. He'd given up trying to translate Meng Chiao's aphorisms into sense, as well as giving up the last several hands. His once-impressive pile of winnings had diminished to merely a handful of golden coins. “Oh, I doubt my luck could have lasted,” he laughed. “You are all fine players.”
Lord Li Po reached for Riker's discarded hand. “Wait!” Riker said, but before Riker could stop him, Li Po flipped the cards over.
“You folded with a straight flush?” the noble said. “That was a winning hand!”
“It was a flush?” Riker said, feigning surprise. “Oh, so it was.”
Chuan-chi's eyes narrowed as he peered at Riker suspiciously. “I think we must prevent such accidents in the future. From now on, any folded hands will be exposed at the end of the hand, to prevent any further errors.”
“That's not necessary, sir,” Riker said. “It was a simple oversight on my part. The hour is late, I was tired, and I missed the full value of my cards.”
“Nevertheless,” the Heir insisted, “we would not wish you to lose money you would have won had you not been tired.”
This isn't about money, Riker thought, it's about diplomacy. This “friendly” game was turning out to be anything but relaxing. His neck ached and one of his legs had fallen asleep after his having squatted on cushions for hours. He shifted his weight awkwardly. “Making mistakes is just part of the game, gentlemen.”
Lord Li Po coughed gently. “I believe the Heir's concern is that such mistakes might happen so consistently as to warrant a certain, shall we say, dubiety.”
“It is a matter of honor,” Chuan-chi said. Riker suspected he was enjoying the Starfleet officer's discomfort.
“A frosted mirror reflects only grapefruit,” Meng Chiao contributed.
“I see,” Riker said. Losing is going to be harder than I thought. “In that case.”
“Shall we play another hand?” the Heir said.
Step by step, centimeter by centimeter, Worf scanned the High Hall of Ceremonial Grandeur. His tricorder probed the walls and floor; fortunately, no one had shielded the chamber against a scan from within. So far, he hadn't found what he was looking for, but he did not feel discouraged just yet. The High Hall was a large one. There were still many more cubic meters to scan.
The matter of the missing bride weighed heavily on his mind. Still, as instructed by Captain Picard, he continued his search for the stolen wedding gifts.
His fierce gaze never left the readout on his tricorder as he prowled the perimeter of the hall. His footsteps echoed eerily in the vast, empty chamber. He came to a halt a few meters ahead of the northeast corner of the room. The tricorder registered a sudden drop-off in the molecular density of the adjoining wall. Worf smiled, the thin, knowing smile of a hunter who has finally cornered his prey. This is it, he thought.
No doubt there was some mechanism concealed nearby: a lock activated by a signal of unknown nature. Worf searched for the lock for several minutes, but with no success. Whoever had installed the lock had hid it well. This is taking too long, he thought. If the captain was correct, and those who stole the wedding gifts had also taken the Green Pearl, then every second he delayed the bride's life remained at risk. There was no time to waste. He drew his phaser, raised its setting several notches, and fired upon the suspicious stretch of wall. Reinforced wood and tile disintegrated in the red glare of the phaser beam, revealing a hidden stairway descending into the lower depths of the palace.
Worf switched off his phaser. He grunted in satisfaction. The staircase before him was cloaked in shadows, but seemed wide enough to accommodate even a life-sized jade pachyderm. No wonder no one spotted the thieves in the corridors, he thought. They took another route. The discovery of the secret passageway lowered his opinion of the Pai even further. No self-respecting Klingon fortress would come complete with hidden escape routes; a true monarch would rather die than retreat from his own palace. He was aware, however, that other cultures did not share the Klingon's profound contempt for self-preservation, which was why he had come to suspect just such a covert tunnel to and from the High Hall of Ceremonial Grandeur.
Commander Data often invoked a fictional Terran hero who specialized in untangling complicated webs of deception. For himself, Worf had found the stories of this hero, frequently enacted within the Enterprise's holodecks, to be overly cerebral and disappointingly bloodless. At this moment, however, he found himself sharing the sentiments of Data's favorite fictional role model. The game is afoot, he thought.
Phaser in hand, his eyes quickly adjusting to the gloom, Worf descended the staircase.
Geordi's voice sounded tired over the ship's intercom. “The last of the mines has been launched, Data, and should be in place in fifteen minutes. They're outlining a large sphere, just as you requested.”
“Thank you, Commander La Forge,” Data said. “You may return to your light show now.”
“If I have the time,” the engineer grumbled. “La Forge out.”
“Unfortunately, the only fireworks we may see will be the flames rising from Pai as it burns,” Melilli Mera said grimly.
Data looked at her from the captain's chair. “You have doubts, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, I do.” She lifted her chin. “Sir. I still see no reason why the G'kkau should delay their mission to pursue us.”
Data raised his voice. “Ensign Kamis, please open communications with the Fang.”
“Yes, sir.” The Benzite manipulated the touchpads on his console. Murky, shifting forms showed on the forward viewscreen.
“Master Kakkh of the Fang,” Data began. “This is—”
“Hold on, sir,” Kamis said. “That's just static.” The image gelled slightly, and an emerald, reptilian shape seemed to swim into view. “Now, sir.”
“Master Kakkh,” Data said again. “This is Lieutenant Commander Data of the Federation Starship Enterprise.”
“This i
s Kakkh,” the lizard replied. “Your leader is still not there.”
“He is not,” Data admitted.
The screen went blank.
“The G'kkau have broken the connection, sir,” Kamis reported.
“Please raise them again,” Data said.
This time the reptile actually snapped in their direction, showing large teeth that gleamed ominously even in the smoke and dim light permeating the bridge of the Fang. “You waste my time. We have no interest in your idiotic and transparent bluffs.”
Data wondered briefly if the G'kkau played poker. “I did not contact you to bluff,” he said.
“Do you then wish to surrender?” Kakkh hissed with what may have been amusement.
“Not at all,” Data said.
“I see you have left Pai and retreated to the nebula. Very wise, in light of the slaughter to come.”
“Permit me to point out,” Data replied, “that the Enterprise is not currently in the range of your fleet's weaponry.”
“We weep with disappointment,” Kakkh said, reminding Data of an old Earth idiom concerning crocodile tears. “We are comforted only by the knowledge that most of your chief officers remain on Pai, and so will die hideously in the destruction.”
“If you wish to destroy the Enterprise,” Data continued, “you must change course to do so. The fastest approach vector, should you so desire, would be along oh-four-six prime.”
“Sir—” Melilli said, her voice too low to be picked up by the communications channel. Data saw no opportunity, nor any compelling reason, to explain his strategy now.
“Do you intend to sacrifice yourself, you artificial mammal?” Kakkh taunted him. “Would you throw away your pseudoexistence merely to distract me from my inevitable victory?”
“No, Master Kakkh, I have merely called to tell you that you are the second cousin to a throkmelkk.”
There was a moment of stunned silence, then Kakkh recovered his voice. “What!?”
“A throkmelkk, Kakkh. Also, your spawnmates are the product of a level-three mutation involving their farandolae. If they even have farandolae, as I have reason to doubt.”
Kakkh's jaws snapped spasmodically. His tail whipped the inky fumes roiling behind him. “You must die! Die! Die!” he ranted. “Change course at once! Destroy the Enterprise!”
Another large lizard crowded into view on the screen. “Master Kakkh!” Gar protested. “What about Pai?”
“The rest of your crew,” Data added, “are kebbs with irregular V-chromosomes.”
The hisses and howls of rage, along with the sounds of sharp claws scratching against metal, coming over the communications channel threatened to deafen everyone stationed on the bridge. Ensign Kamis lowered the volume automatically. “That should suffice, I believe,” Data remarked. “Lieutenant Tor, prepare to take evasive action if necessary.”
“Yes, sir!” said the Andorian at the conn.
The turbolift doors breezed open behind Data. La Forge bounded onto the bridge. “How's it going?” he asked.
“Within expected parameters,” Data informed him. As predicted by Starfleet files, the G'kkau had proved extraordinarily sensitive to epithets of an evolutionary nature. “Onscreen.”
An empty starfield was replaced by a schematic of the G'kkau fleet's proximity to the Enterprise. The hostile warships were again represented by yellow triangles. Red disks marked the location of the photon mines, which formed a perfect sphere with the Enterprise, indicated by a blue circle, at the exact center of the sphere. The entire G'kkau fleet, led by the Fang, arrowed in on the Enterprise.
La Forge took his place at the Security position, where Worf usually stood. “I can detonate the mines at any time,” he reported.
“Wait for my command,” Data said, watching the screen. The first few yellow triangle crossed over into the sphere defined by the red disks. He waited patiently as more triangles followed them. “Red alert,” he said. “Shields up.”
“The first ships have entered the mined area,” Melilli announced. “Twenty-five percent within range of the mines . . . fifty percent . . . Sir, it's hard to tell exactly how many ships are in range.”
“Please do your best,” Data said.
“It's about seventy percent . . . eighty . . . ninety . . .”
Data examined the visual display on the screen. The lead ships were microseconds away from firing on the Enterprise. He could not risk losing the ability to communicate with the mines. “Fire,” he said.
Concentric circles radiated from red disks, which immediately blipped out of sight. As the expanding circles overlapped with the edges of the yellow triangles, the triangles instantly ceased their relentless motion toward the Enterprise.
“That's most of them,” Melilli declared. “But it looks like a few managed to get out of range of the mines before their drives seized up.”
Without warning, Kakkh appeared on the screen. Smoke no longer filled his cabin, presumably a symptom of mechanical distress. Seen clearly, the skin beneath Kakkh's scales appeared rough and leathery. The pendulous dewlaps hanging from his throat had inflated dramatically; they looked ready to burst. “You—defective kung, you mutated glar—!”
“Yes, Master Kakkh,” Data said, unmoved. “May I say in return that you are the segmented portion of an underdeveloped tadpole.”
“We will listen no more to you!” Kakkh screeched. “You are too base to be heard. But know this: There are five G'kkau warships still functioning. We turn immediately to raze Pai—and ready it for the second wave of G'kkau conquerors! Despite your unforgivable trickery, you have not defeated us. Pai will fall, and the Dragon Empire with it.”
The screen blanked momentarily, then reverted to a view of the surrounding nebula.
“Warp five back to Pai,” Data ordered.
“What about what our scaly friend said?” La Forge asked. “Think we did any good?”
“We have significantly reduced the odds against us,” Data said. “Furthermore, we have delayed the remaining ships so that there is a possibility that the wedding will be completed before the G'kkau reach Pai. Fortunately, our speed exceeds the G'kkau's, so we will have the opportunity to defend Pai, provided that the treaty is ratified in time.”
“That's a big if,” La Forge said. “By the way, I was monitoring your conversation with Kakkh, and I have to ask you something.”
“Which is?”
“What's a throkmelkk?”
“I must fold,” the Heir said.
“Which leaves me winning again,” Riker groaned. With something like despair, he raked the gold coins toward himself. His pile of gold pieces was now large enough that it kept collapsing of its own weight, spreading out over the floor. He had tried stacking them neatly, but he was winning so frequently he barely had the time.
Chuan-chi was doing well, too; but everyone else was losing drastically. Meng Chiao, he of the inexhaustible (and incomprehensible) aphorisms, had only a handful of coins left, and several of the others weren't much better. At least we'll be able to stop soon, Riker thought. He glanced around the outer harem. He'd lost track of the time hours ago, but everyone looked too tired and worn-down to start another brawl, let alone try to assassinate the Dragon-Heir. Some of the bachelors, those less intrigued by the foreign novelty of poker, had already passed out on the various cushions and divans scattered throughout the suite. Snoring, Riker had discovered, was one of those universal phenomena that required no translation. Empty goblets and plates of half-eaten snacks littered the floor, along with the rumpled remains of the silk tapestries that had once hung from the walls. Even the ubiquitous serving girls seemed to be running out of steam. They wore dark shadows under their eyes, if little else, and barely had the energy to dodge the groggy gropings of the remaining bachelors. Only the poker game was still going strong.
All those Friday nights when I couldn't get a pair, he thought ruefully, and now I can't lose.
Lord Li Po dealt a new hand. None of the Pai nobles were
fast at it, having little experience with playing cards, but they getting the hang of it. Riker's cards flew into his hand as if they were sentient. He picked them up and saw a natural three of a kind. Not great, he thought, but not bad enough. He wondered if he could get away with discarding one of his three jacks.
As the hand progressed, it became clear that a couple of the others had good hands. He noted that Meng Chiao appeared confident enough to bid highly; with luck, he'd lose and go out this hand. The bidding was high and fast. A pile of gold grew in the center of the exposed floor space. Meng Chiao laid down his last coin. “The weeds of a humid summer have slippery roots,” he said philosophically. “I have an additional fifty cycee to raise you.”
Wait a second, Riker thought, alarmed. If we start accepting credit, who knows how high the stakes could get? “I would prefer not to take money that isn't on the floor.”
“But we always permit this!” Lord Li Po said indignantly. “One seldom carries enough gold to play for long.”
“You gamble like this all the time?” Riker asked. As far as he knew, this was the first poker game in the history of the Dragon Empire.
“We wager on horses, dice, the favors of unattached courtesans,” Li Po explained. “Naturally, we accept each other's credit. It is the only honorable thing to do.”
“Even my dissolute brother is allowed to tender notes of obligation,” Chuan-chi said, “although it is doubtful that he will ever be able to repay what he already owes.” The Heir fixed Riker with an icy stare. “Do you mean to imply that we would not honor our debts?”
“No, of course not!” Riker said.
“Then we will proceed,” the Heir declared. “The honorable Meng Chiao has pledged a further fifty cycee to this hand. Will you raise or call?”
Riker stared gloomily at his hand. Over the course of play, he had drawn yet another jack, leaving him with an even stronger hand. Now what am I going to do? he thought. I can't take everything they own. The captain would never forgive me. He called Meng Chiao's bet. Please, he prayed desperately, don't be bluffing.
