Dragon's Honor - Kij Johnson [51]
“Most likely,” Data affirmed. “In what quantities and to what purpose we can only speculate.”
La Forge shook his head. “I sure hope the captain and the others are straightening everything out down there. I have a feeling our time is running out.”
“I have no feelings to rely on,” Data said, “but the probability of an imminent G’kkau invasion grows more likely. We must be prepared for any eventuality.”
Ensign Kamis, a Benzite, looked up from the communications console. “Commander Data? Commander La Forge? The Imperial scientists are on board.” Puffs of methane and ammonia rose from the breathing apparatus positioned under his mouth.
“Damn,” La Forge swore. “I meant to be there when they arrived.”
“Please inform the transporter room that Commander La Forge is on his way,” Data informed Ensign Kamis. “Geordi, please say nothing about the G’kkau to the our guests. There’s no point in alarming them until the captain manages to bring Pai under Federation protection.”
“Don’t worry, Data,” La Forge said as he hurried toward the turbolift. “I can be alarmed enough for all of us.”
Data assumed Geordi was joking, but he could not be sure. Humor remained a difficult concept to grasp. He regained his seat in the captain’s chair and consulted his internal chronometer. The Imperial wedding of the Dragon-Heir and the Green Pearl of Lu Tung was to be held at sunrise, approximately 10.5782 hours from now. He hoped that his fellow officers could keep the participants alive until then.
Chapter Eight
A KLINGON NEVER SURRENDERS, Worf thought. Chih-li’s sword dug into his chest. He retreated a few steps more, and a dark, rectangular shadow fell over him. The shadow of death, he thought fatalistically. He looked upward and saw the bottom of a man-sized, metal platform hovering about four meters above his head. A youthful Pai peered over the edge of the platform, gazing at Worf through thick plastic lenses. Of course, Worf recalled. The artist decorating the ceiling.
“Well?” Chih-li inquired. “Death or surrender? I’m afraid I don’t have all day. The Dragon’s security, you know.”
Worf did not respond. Instead, without warning, he bent at the knees, then jumped straight up. Chih-li’s jaw dropped, and the artisan gasped in fright, as Worf’s hands caught onto two sides of the floating rectangle. As he’d hoped, the platform did not buckle or totter under his weight but indeed held him aloft. Hanging on to the platform, he kicked out at Chih-li with both legs. The soles of his boots smashed into the Pai’s jaw, sending his helmet soaring through the air. The gold-and-silver artifact tore through a paper lantern, ricocheted off the ceiling, then rattled noisily across the floor before finally coming to a halt not far from where Worf’s sword had landed. Meanwhile, the force of Worf’s kick upset the platform’s equilibrium. Before the antigravity stabilizers could compensate, one end of the platform tipped toward the floor, spilling the young craftsman onto Chih-li himself. Sliding headfirst off the platform, the youth knocked the Imperial Minister of Internal Security to the ground, where the two Pai lay sprawled in a confused and angry tangle of limbs. By the time Chih-li, cursing loudly, managed to extricate himself from the panicked artist, Worf stood before him, holding both swords in his dark Klingon hands.
“Your choice, Minister,” Worf said gruffly, offering Chih-li his sword back. “Do we continue, or do we halt this conflict in order to better serve my captain and your emperor?”
Eyes wide with surprise, Chih-li contemplated the Klingon facing him. Like Worf, the Pai’s black hair was bound up in a ponytail at the back of his skull. Blood, red as a human’s, flowed from his nose and lips where Worf’s boots had kicked him. Chih-li wiped the blood away with the back of one armored glove while he rubbed his chin with his other hand. The Klingon warrior in Worf hoped the Pai would choose to resume battle, but the Starfleet officer longed for a more sensible decision.
“A most