Dragon's Honor - Kij Johnson [54]
“We also have lived honorably for generations.” Chih-li sighed wearily. “Yet there is little we can do when the Dragon allows nothing.”
“What the Dragon does not know about his defender’s actions will neither anger nor dishonor him.”
“You interest me strangely, Lieutenant,” Chih-li said. “Please clarify.”
Worf was encouraged by the Pai’s lack of ire. “I would suggest that we protect him without his knowledge, that we establish such forcefields and other barriers as we can without alerting him to their presence.”
“Yes,” the minister said thoughtfully, stroking his chin. His lip was still swollen where Worf had kicked him. “After all, it may be the honorable thing for the Dragon not to care about his life, but a man dedicated to the Dragon’s welfare can honorably take what measures he deems necessary.” Chih-li gave Worf a serious look. “We cannot inform the Dragon, of course. To do so would infringe upon his honor in an inexcusable fashion. I am curious: what would your people consider such an act?”
Worf gave the matter some thought before answering. “Treason, most likely, but it could also be seen as refusal to follow the orders of a dangerous commander.”
“The Dragon is not dangerous!” Chih-li protested.
“He is dangerous to himself.”
“A good point,” the Pai said, apparently mollified. “And the punishment for such treason?”
“In the Federation there would be a court-martial, which, if the individual in question was convicted, could result in punishment ranging from expulsion from Starfleet to fines and imprisonment.”
“Soft,” the minister said.
“It seemed so to me when I first joined Starfleet.”
“And where you come from?”
“In the Klingon Empire, an individual committing such an act would, if caught, be forced to run barefoot over k’atha blades.”
“And if he saves his leader’s life with such disobedience?”
“He would be permitted a pair of sandals.”
Chih-li smiled warmly, clearly impressed by the finer nuances of Klingon justice. “On Pai,” he said proudly, “the common punishment for such a thing is to induce the disobedient one to eat a live huang lang shu.”
Worf scowled. “That seems rather soft, merely eating something.”
“The huang lang shu is a small animal capable of living for short periods without air. Placed in a suddenly constricted environment, he will attempt to bite his way free.”
“Eating his way out of the malfeasant,” Worf said. “That is moderately creative.”
“It has long been thought so,” Chih-li stated. “It was my father’s father’s idea, when he was the Supreme Advisor for Exquisite Punishments to the previous Dragon.”
“Your grandfather devised this method? Most ingenious.”
Chih-li bowed as much as his armor permitted. “In my grandfather’s name, I thank you.”
“It seems rather complicated, though,” Worf said. “You need to have the correct animal present.”
“The ideal punishment is not always the most convenient,” Chih-li explained. “Treason is an exceptional circumstance, of course. Most ordinary matters are less involved. For instance, if you and I were to attend a dinner together, and I were to accidentally spill your wine and fail to offer my own goblet and my outermost robe in atonement, you would be entitled to remove my second concubine from my harem, keeping her or selling her as befits your preferences.”
Worf doubted that any Klingon female worthy of the name would allow herself to be bartered in such a transaction. Still, he was intrigued by the intricacy of the Pai’s code of honor. “What form of misdemeanor,” he asked, “would cause the removal of your first concubine?”
“Really,” the Pai said, blushing beneath the bruises on his face, “I cannot say. It would be most improper to speak of such matters in front of an honored guest.”
Worf was pleased to note that he had gone from an unwanted intruder to an honored guest in so short a time. Despite their eccentricities, he concluded, the Pai were an honorable people at heart, unlike the despicable G’kkau. More than ever,