Dragon's Honor - Kij Johnson [91]
The Green Pearl, kneeling upon the floor, sighed in adoration. Worf felt like sighing, too, albeit for a far different reason. Their mission, he realized, had just become much more complicated.
He tapped his comm badge. “Captain, Worf here. I have news for you… .”
Chapter Fourteen
THE GAME HAD TURNED into a rout. The men started gambling away their concubines, their wives, their interplanetary yachts, even their estates. Several were down to the plain cotton undergarments they wore under their elaborate robes. Their fine clothing, along with everything else they had brought to the party, was stacked beside Riker. All of their estates and other possessions were neatly listed on a scroll laid by his elbow. Riker kept expecting his lost phaser to turn up in the ante. It never showed, but it was about the only thing on the planet he hadn’t won yet.
Moaning out loud, he laid down his third straight in a row.
“That cleans me out,” Lord Li Po said, rising slowly to his feet. “I will have my wives, concubines, and servants delivered to you following the wedding.” He bowed deeply.
Meng Chiao had also reached the limit of his resources. He teetered upon wobbly legs. “A wealthy fool soon parts with his fortune.”
“Hey!” Riker said, startled. “That actually makes sense!”
“Pay him no heed,” Li Po said. “He is too drunk to recite it properly.” Even as they spoke, the Speaker of Aphorisms slumped, then slid down onto the floor. His mouth hung open as his eyes fell shut. “See what I mean,” Li Po said.
Only the Dragon-Heir himself remained in the game. Riker faced his last remaining opponent, who just happened to be the Heir to the entire Dragon Empire. Those bachelors still remaining conscious, stripped nearly as bare as the exhausted serving girls, crowded around the game, watching every move. Under such close observation, Riker realized, there was no way to lose on purpose. He had no resort except to pray that his winning streak ended right now.
“Perhaps we should stop,” Riker suggested for about the fiftieth time. The last time he tried to leave the game, assassin or no assassin, Chuan-chi had posted guards by the door to prevent him from departing.
“Oh, no,” said the Heir. “You must stay. It is—”
“—a matter of honor,” Riker finished for him. “I know, I know.” Pai had a bad case of gambling fever, Riker decided. He felt like an old-time explorer, introducing smallpox to unsuspecting populations.
“Deal,” the Heir said tersely.
Chuan-chi had a good poker face, not showing much beside a sort of focused dyspepsia, but now his eyes flickered as he inspected his cards, the rapid eye movements suggesting that he was checking his hand again and again, as if not believing them.
They were playing Rigellian Hold’em. Each of them had three cards remaining facedown on the floor, their identity unknown until the conclusion of the betting. Riker consulted his own hand, and breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t have so much as a pair. Good, he thought.
Chuan-chi raised his gaze from his cards, and stared evenly at Riker. “Although I shall not inherit the whole Empire until that far-off day when my father goes to greet his ancestors,” he explained, “Pai belongs by tradition to the Dragon-Heir. I will wager this planet itself against everything you have managed to win.”
He can’t be bluffing, Riker decided, unless he’s also the finest actor on Pai. This was looking better and better. He could lose it all on this hand. No doubt the Heir would eventually end up redistributing his winnings among his friends and allies. “Agreed,” Riker said.
He flipped over the cards on the floor.
The Dragon-Heir laid down four aces, but it was a full minute before Riker could put down his royal flush.
“Excuse me,” he said numbly. “I really have to stop now.”
“Entering Pai orbit in approximately five minutes, sir,” Lieutenant Tor announced. The Andorian turned her antennae toward Data.
“Onscreen,” Data said. Pai