Dragon's Honor - Kij Johnson [18]
“I am trying to,” Picard said.
“Mu!” the Dragon hollered. As if by magic, the chamberlain popped into sight again.
“Yes, Most Excellent and Exalted One?”
“Our guest is a true connoisseur. Inform the high chef of this. Command him to exert himself for the captain’s supreme delectation. Only the most exotic of repasts are worthy of his rarefied sensibilities.”
I don’t like the sound of this, Picard thought. “Really, Your Excellence, there is no need to go to any extra trouble on my account.”
“Nonsense!” the Dragon said, dismissing Picard’s objections with a wave of his hand. “It is my pleasure … no, it is my great good fortune to have this unlooked-for opportunity to finally share the highest refinements of Pai cuisine with someone capable of appreciating them.” He patted his generous belly. “Oh, Captain, the sublime, unfathomable tastes we two shall savor this night … !”
Picard’s heart sank, perhaps to console his apprehensive stomach. “Of course,” he agreed. “If that is your pleasure.” He peered at the remains of the lao shu and tried to estimate the minimum number of gulps required to finish it off. Even one more seemed too many. Starfleet expects every officer to do his duty, he reminded himself. Valiantly, he took another bite.
As the morsel worked its way past his gag reflex, he spoke again, hoping to turn the discussion to more serious matters: “Excellence, earlier you stated that you wished to speak with a warrior, someone who could fully understand your concerns.”
“Quite so,” the Emperor said. Perhaps, Picard thought, the Dragon would now broach the subject of the G’kkau; he was eager to discuss the Empire’s defenses. “Those Federation mandarins are all very well, but soft. I wanted to be able to hammer out the last of our agreement with another fighting man.”
Hammer things out? Picard grew more worried. “My understanding is that the treaty is already final, awaiting only the wedding itself to take effect.”
“Well, yes, that is what the clerks and bureaucrats would no doubt like to believe—oh, well done, sirs!” Down on the courtyard floor, the dancing paper dragon had advanced to acrobatics, capturing the Dragon’s attention. The head of the dragon, complete with bulbous eyes and long plastic fangs, had just jumped through a loop composed of its own tail and hindquarters. Propelled by the athletic legs of the concealed performers, the coils of the dragon formed increasingly intricate designs above the marble frieze embedded in the courtyard. It was a wonder that the mock dragon did not tie itself into knots, or else trip over its many pairs of humanoid feet, but to Picard the spectacular stunts were merely an unwanted distraction from the business at hand.
“Regarding the treaty,” he said, “if there are any details I can clarify for you …” He hoped the Dragon’s concerns were not too complicated. There wasn’t time for another round of extensive negotiations, not with a G’kkau warship already prowling the Dragon Nebula.
“Oh, the details are fine, I’m sure,” the Dragon said, not taking his eyes away from the feats of the acrobatic dragon. “It’s the treaty itself that bothers me.”
Picard felt success slipping away, along with peace and safety for the Pai “How so?” he asked.
The Dragon finally turned and met Picard’s gaze. “There is no honor in this treaty,” he stated. “Upon reflection, I fear that joining your Federation, as worthy as it doubtless is, can only compromise the honor of the Dragon Empire and my own throne.”
Picard resisted an urge to sigh wearily. It was clear he would have to reargue the Federation’s case from first principles if he was to complete his mission on Pai. Briefly, he wondered if anyone in particular had placed these doubts in the Dragon’s mind prior to his arrival. The Heir? The Second Son? Lord Lu Tung? The chamberlain? At the moment, it didn’t matter; he had to change the Dragon’s mind quickly, before the wedding tomorrow.
“Many races and worlds have found the Federation an honorable and effective mechanism for mutually beneficial