Dragon's Honor - Kij Johnson [100]
“Excuse me, Geordi,” Beverly said, “but weren’t old-fashioned fireworks banned sometime in the twenty-first century? I seem to recall that they were incredibly dangerous.”
“And fighting carnivorous, spacefaring lizards isn’t?” La Forge whispered conspiratorially. “Look, if you won’t tell Starfleet, I won’t.”
“My lips are sealed,” she said, “but let’s not make a habit of this.”
“Ah, Captain,” the Dragon said warmly. “I see you’ve joined us. Good, I was wondering when we were going to hear your poem.”
Picard choked on his tea. “I’m sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “My poem?”
He dimly remembered the Emperor saying something about a poem at the banquet the night before. In all the subsequent confusion, he had completely forgotten about it.
“Of course,” the Dragon said. “It’s tradition. The guest who has traveled the farthest to attend the wedding recites a poem at the reception, as does the priest who administers the vows. That’s you in both cases. You have to do it. It’s unlucky if you don’t. Isn’t that so, Lu Tung, my brother?”
“It is indeed a tradition, Nan Er,” the former rebel confirmed.
“Hah!” the Dragon laughed. “No one else can call me by that name, but he’s family now so that’s all right. Anyway, you must recite a poem. I assume you’ve been working on one.”
“To be honest, Excellence,” Picard said, “I have been otherwise engaged for the last day or so.” He paused, searching his memory. “The Federation, however, is home to many great poets. My own planet has had its share, all more proficient than I. If it is all same to you, I would be delighted to share the work of one of my favorite poets with you.”
“Very well,” the Dragon said. “It’s all new to me. Proceed.”
Rising to his feet, Picard coughed once and began:
“Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments, Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosey lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come,
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”
Picard bowed briefly to the enthusiastic applause of all but Master Kakkh. Then he regained his seat beside Beverly to find the ship’s doctor dabbing at the corner of her eye with the hem of her sleeve. “Oh, I can’t help it, Jean-Luc,” she said. “I always cry at weddings.”
He looked back on the past twenty-four hours. “I know exactly how you feel,” he said.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen