Dragon's Honor - Kij Johnson [67]
“That would depend,” Worf said gruffly, “on what a fu t’ou was.”
“A sort of herbivore,” Chih-li explained, “good for pulling wagons.”
“Ah,” Worf said. “A sark. In the Federation, it would depend on whether the beast had been goaded, and whether the goading had been consciously effected, at which point the individual responsible would be fined and sent into therapy for treatment of the instability that would cause one to deliberately hurt an animal. If convicted of the accusation, that is.”
Chih-li scowled. “Not a very interesting penalty.”“In the Klingon Empire,” Worf said proudly, “such an event would require the death of the offending sark, and a payment of five thousand Huch.”
“Only five thousand?” the minister asked. “We would cut off the offending neighbor’s hand as well.”
Worf shook his head slowly. “According to Klingon law, we would cut off the hand of an offender only if they appeared too cowardly to discipline their own sark.”
The minister gave the matter some thought. “What crime,” he asked eventually, “would require the amputation of a hand under Federation law?”
“There would be nothing to merit it,” Worf admitted. “Federation justice emphasizes rehabilitation over punishment.”
Chih-li sighed disapprovingly. “I hope you will forgive me for again saying that the Federation seems rather soft.”
“They are anything but soft in their dealings with their enemies,” he said.
“Really?” the minister asked. He appeared skeptical.
“I am proud to have fought several battles as a member of Starfleet,” Worf declared sincerely.
Chih-li gave Worf a serious look. “If you say so, then it must be so,” he said gravely, displaying the genuine respect of one honorable warrior for another. “In that case, I suppose the Federation must be forgiven a certain, shall we say, gentleness in their internal dealings. Still, such slack justice would never work in the Dragon Empire.”
“Nor among Klingons,” Worf admitted.
They came upon the massive golden doors of the High Hall of Ceremonial Grandeur. The huge doors loomed before them. Worf was pleased to see that the doors remained locked and secure. He decided to notify the security team within of their arrival; he did not wish to be fired upon by a trigger-happy guard. “Worf to Lieutenant Atherton,” he hailed the leader of his security team. “Worf to Lieutenant Atherton, please report.”
No one responded to his hail. He tried another frequency, but still there was no reply. A low growl escaped his lips. “Something is wrong,” he told Chih-li. “Open the door.”
The minister pressed a silver-plated button on his armor, and the great doors began to swing open. Somewhere in the distance a gong sounded. Worf drew his phaser, setting it on stun.
The colored flames of many hanging paper lanterns bloomed to life as they cautiously entered the Grand Hall. Worf swung his phaser from left to right, ready to immobilize any foes who might be lurking behind the doors. Instead he was greeted by silence—and emptiness.
“The gifts!” gasped Chih-li.
“The guards!” Worf exclaimed.
The gifts, including the massive jade elephant, were gone. Only empty tables remained, bare of the trinkets and treasures that had previously adorned them. A dozen guards, from both the Dragon Empire and Starfleet, were sprawled upon the floor, unconscious or worse. After determining that the chamber contained no apparent threats, Worf knelt beside Lieutenant Atherton, a tall blond woman in a yellow-and-black uniform, and checked her pulse. It seemed steady.
Convincing Chih-li to accept a female security officer had been a challenge in its own right, Worf remembered. Now he hoped his persistence had not condemned Atherton to serious injury.
He tapped his comm. “Worf to Enterprise. I require medical assistance.”
A calm female voice answered promptly. “This is Dr. Selar,” she said. Worf recalled that Dr. Crusher was currently elsewhere in the palace, tending to the Green Pearl of Lu Tung. “How can I assist you?” the Vulcan physician