Dragon's Honor - Kij Johnson [49]
Feint. Thrust. Parry. The duel carried them down the long hallway. Chih-li was the more accomplished fencer, technically, but Worf, unencumbered by heavy metal armor, was faster and more agile. This battle is taking too long, he thought, fighting to keep his berserker rage under control. He must not forget his true mission: to protect the Dragon and his followers. In time, perhaps, his superior stamina would wear the Pai down, but Worf did not have time to wait that long. Every second he spent dueling with Chih-li kept him away from his duty. He had to bring the combat to an end as quickly as possible. My mistake, he thought. I should have spent more time in Lieutenant Barclay’s “Three Musketeers” holodeck scenario.
Parrying Chih-li’s sword once more, Worf attempted a sudden riposte. The unexpected thrust took the Pai unawares; he had to jump backward to avoid being skewered between the eyes. Worf did not let up, keeping Chih-li on the defensive. His sword crashed down again and again upon the other man’s blade, forcing Chih-li to use his sword as a shield, not a weapon. Chih-li staggered backward until his back collided with a wall. Worf had him cornered now. A grim smile twisted the Klingon’s lips. He seemed to tower above Chih-li as the Imperial Minister of Internal Security ducked, his head hunched below his shoulders, beneath Worf’s savage blows. Worf wondered if disarming Chih-li would be enough, or would the Pai’s honor only be satisfied by being rendered wounded or unconscious? However, it would not be long now. Worf raised his weapon, ready to chop Chih-li’s sword in two with his very next blow.
Then his comm badge beeped, distracting him. “What?” he exclaimed, glancing down at his chest. Chih-li seized the opportunity, springing upward with the speed of a stampeding targ. The tip of his sword sliced between the pommel of Worf’s weapon and the hand that held it. Worf grunted in pain as his sword went flying through the air, clattering to the ground several meters away from where he now stood.
“Lieutenant Worf?” Data’s voice emerged from Worf’s badge. “Ensign Craigie has detected some unusual signals from the Dragon Nebula. I thought you should be notified, although the readings are within the parameters of what might be expected from a trigol-type nebula under conditions of …”
“Tell me later,” Worf barked, backing away from the point of Chih-li’s sword. “Worf out.” Dark Klingon blood dripped from his palm, staining the golden surface of his badge when he tapped it. Chih-li advanced toward Worf, a triumphant grin transforming his features. Worf felt the swordpoint against his chest, pricking him through his yellow Starfleet uniform. His hand drifted toward his phaser, then halted. No, he concluded, that would not be honorable.
“You fought well, outlander,” Chih-li conceded. “If I required assistance, which I categorically do not, you would be a welcome ally.” Beneath the rim of his helmet, his forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. “I confess, I am unfamiliar with your customs. Do you prefer death or surrender?”
Sitting in the captain’s chair on the bridge of the Enterprise, Data found it odd that Worf cut off his transmission so abruptly. He hoped that he had not interrupted Worf at an inconvenient moment.
Although most of the senior officers had beamed down to Pai, the bridge was fully staffed. Lieutenant Tor remained stationed at the conn, while Lieutenant Melilli Mera, a tall Bajoran woman, sat at Data’s usual post. Data