Dragon's Honor - Kij Johnson [38]
“Excuse me, Doctor,” Lu Tung said, stepping between her and the iron door. He held up his right hand before the dragon’s eyes. “Lord Lu Tung and guest,” he said loudly. “Provide admittance for two.”
To Beverly’s surprise, the dragon’s jeweled eyes moved.
Two pairs of moist lips murmured in Riker’s ears. Four graceful hands burrowed beneath the folds of his dress uniform.
“If you prefer,” Kan-hi said solicitously, “I’m sure private chambers can be found for you and your new admirers. Isn’t that so, brother?”
Chuan-chi acted merely bored by the sight of two of his own women crawling over Riker. “Naturally,” he said. “It was the Emperor’s wish that we extend you every courtesy.” Clearly implied in his tone was the suggestion that the Heir’s own wishes were quite different from his father’s. Not that it mattered to Riker. He couldn’t allow this amorous pair to separate him from the princes he was responsible for protecting. I just hope Captain Picard appreciates my devotion to duty.
“Maybe some other time,” he said, trying to gently shove the beaded woman away from his face. “Not that your … staff … isn’t charming, but I would prefer the honor of your own company this evening.”
Kan-hi was not convinced. “But what about making love, not war?”
“That’s just an expression.” The beaded maiden slid off Riker’s lap as he struggled to his feet. He felt the other woman hanging from his shoulders, her painted toenails barely grazing the floor behind him. “Thank you very much, miss, but … I’m very flattered, but … excuse me …” Using both hands, he pried the women away from him as courteously as he could until, abruptly, he found himself standing free and clear—with a saffron ribbon dangling from one hand and a string of beads wrapped around the other. “Oops,” he said weakly.
“Dog!” an angry voice cried out. “Defiler of Pai womanhood!” The voice came from the warrior with the blackened left eye, who lumbered toward Riker with rage blazing in his one good eye and moral indignation reverberating in his voice. Up until now, Riker hadn’t realized just how big the man was. His skull looked roughly the size of a bull’s and his fists were as big as baby Hortas. He weighed easily three hundred pounds, not counting his robes. Sumo wrestling, Riker recalled, was of Japanese origins, not Chinese; but considering the sheer mass of incensed warrior stomping this way, he couldn’t help wondering if maybe the original Pai colonists hadn’t imported a sumo or two.
“This isn’t as bad as it looks,” he said, trying to shake the incriminating garments from his hands. The yellow gauze clung like static to his fingers. The string of beads tangled itself into knots. I can’t believe I actually said that, Riker thought. He felt like he’d transported into some bad bedroom farce, except that the homicidal behemoth charging him was not a figment of any playwright’s imagination.
Was the Heir likely to intervene? Riker half expected Chuan-chi to halt his attacker with a single firm command, but heard nothing from either the Heir or Kan-hi. Reluctantly, he reached for his phaser, ready to stun the charging man into submission. There was no point trying to reason with the man; Riker knew berserker rage when he saw it. His fingers searched for the phaser, coming up empty. What the hell? he thought. Where did my phaser go?
The dragon’s eyes sparkled.
Refracted light glinted off the polished surface of the rubies as they rolled in their sockets, inspecting first Lu Tung and then Beverly herself. She thought she heard a low, mechanical hum coming from the interior of the door. The rubies’ gaze returned to Lu Tung. He held his upraised hand still, and Beverly noted, for the first time, a matching ruby on one of Lu Tung’s many golden rings. Two thin red beams of coherent light jumped across the centimeters separating his hand from