Gimtesh whimpered. But the simple truth was…
She hadn’t actually hurt for a day and a half.
She was half-dragon. That meant her shapeshifting skills were weaker than that of a purebred dragon. But they were not nearly as weak as many pure dragons assumed – something she had taken advantage of in her lifetime as a member of a vicious, cut throat chromatic household. So, she had subtly and carefully rerouted the parts of her biology she needed to live around the six inch wide metal spike rammed through her guts. Turning off the nerves had taken delicate hours of meditative focus.
But the end result was that she was still alive and only in mild discomfort!
All in all things were looking up for Gimtesh Thresh. So long as no one checked too closely and she found a chance to get the fuck away from Emperor Xosh and this whole sorry business.
The front of the bridge was dominated by a curving view pane, and that pane was dominated by a long-range scan of the planet Earth. The world looked like many worlds that dracons had terraformed and made their own: White and fluffy clouds, broad expanses of green and brown and ocher and blue. But all of that was a secondary concern to Emperor Xosh and his admirals. The ships of the 42 nd Legion had been highlighted and outlined, with their potential attack vectors charted out by attentive war-scribes and astronomers.
Xosh stood with General Bryaugh and Admiral Thresh – Admiral Thresh was Gimtesh’s third cousin twice removed and the fucking cunt hadn’t even glanced her way.
“What are their chances?” Xosh asked.
Admiral Thresh shrugged, her scaled hands spreading wide. “Poor. We outnumber them, we have war-spheres, we have the B-Suits.” She grinned, her teeth flashing. “I think we could even try for occupation.”
Xosh tossed his head. “No. I want the end of the Castrovel line to be marked and underlined . We destroy the planet.”
“There’s one problem with that,” General Bryaugh snarled. Omadon Bryaugh had become a general of a household of brutes in the simplest, most direct way. By being smart. Cunning. Clever. He wasn’t the largest black dragon in the Dominion, but Xosh had an unnerving feeling that he could think circles around him. Which was part of why Xosh planned to have Omadon die heroically in this battle. After he had served his use.
“What’s that?” Admiral Thresh snarled, her tail lashing.
“Simple,” Omadon said, rolling one shoulder as if he was stretching out for a workout. His scales gleamed as he grinned. “This solar system’s ley-lines are locked down tight . It’ll take multiple multi-megaton warheads in the right places, at the right time, to bust them open. Now, that won’t matter for the humans...” He sneered. “They’re mage blind whelps, according to your intelligence.” He nodded to Emperor Xosh. “But it means our warspheres can’t fire their main weapons unless-”
***
“-they’re in the right orbit,” Admiral Rushok said, his voice grim. “That means that they have an enforced bottleneck and a timeline.” He gestured down to the holographic display table some technicians had yanked from his flagship, the Winking Rogue, and set up at the United Nations Space Defense headquarters. It showed the orbital elements of the 42 nd Legion and where the warspheres would have to reach.
Admiral Xu pursed his lips. His thick Texan drawl was utterly at odds with his stoic, Asiatic features. But he asked the pertinent question: “How long will take for one of these warspheres to do the hokey pokey and get into position?”
“Three hours,” Relix said, her hands clasped behind her back. She was dressed in human political styles – something needed, if you wanted to make a good impression to a bunch of mage-blind monkeys. A phrase she had only used once, in private, which had led to an incredibly pleasant hour long spanking session from her husband. “They need to maintain distance, or else their hellcannons will cause interference with one another.”
Admiral Xu glanced at Admiral Rushok and Merton. Merton was reflexively petting Brash, his fingers moving gently along the small dragon’s spine. Brash nipped at his finger with every pet.
“Well then...” Admiral Xu said. “The plans have been transmitted.” He looked over at the last member of the meeting – Speccy was looking down at the holographic table with a frown. “You’re absolutely sure this will work? I don’t want another Battle of Jutland out there.”
“It’ll work,” she said, her voice firm. “We’re talking about six thousand year old technology. All the bugs have been ironed out. Trust me.” She smiled, ever so slightly.
As Admiral Xu took his leave and Admiral Rushok vanished in a crackle of teleportation energy. Brash crawled atop Merton’s head, getting ready to sweep him up into his B-suit form. But before he did, Relix stepped over to him. Her hand went to his cheek.
“Battle of Jutland?” she whispered.
“A...uh, old naval battle. On the ocean,” Merton said. “It was the first big naval battle after nearly a century of technological development. It was a total disaster for both sides – shit broke, things didn’t work as expected. Fuck, the British admiral was using signal flags to communicate in an era with radio, where every gun had a range of miles .”
Relix hissed. “Well, I hope you all do better than that .”
Brash swallowed Merton whole. A moment later, Merton shook himself as he connected to Brash’s systems. During the weeks of prep, someone had fed Brash a half ton of metal and a few chunks of weapons grade plutonium, refilling his weapon stocks. Merton felt a cold, icy ball in the pit of his stomach.
“Beam us up,” he said – and the teleporter flashed . He, Relix and Speccy arrived on the bridge.
“Open hailing frequencies,” Relix said.
***
Gimtesh Thresh let out a theatrics whimper of pain as the forward screen flickered on. There was Relix Castrovel. She looked terrifyingly official, dressed in a charcoal black suit that was as severe as it was unadorned. The sheer lack of adornments and gold and jewelry should have made her look impoverished and poor. But she wore it with such grim determination that poverty transmuted into total and absolute determination. Beside her stood her husband. Merton Miles. He was dressed in a B-suit, which made him look like an utterly lethal black dragon.
“You have one hour to surrender unconditionally,” Relix Castrovel said. “And face a trial for crimes against sentients by the United Nations.”
Emperor Xosh made as if he looked behind himself, then forward again, like he was checking something. He spread his arms wide, laughing boisterously. “Oh, Mrs. Merton...” He said, his voice as jeering as a crow’s. “I believe you have mistaken the position that you are in. You believe you are the new ruler of the Five Talon Empire and that I am a rebel household. But you are speaking to Emperor Xosh of the first dynasty of the Chromatic Dominion with three fully armed and operational Warspheres and a battle fleet . Even discounting the spheres, we outnumber you four to one . ”
He stepped forward, tail lashing.
“Surrender now...and I’ll merely crucify you and not glass that pathetic marble you’ve decided to hide on.”
Relix chuckled.
Her eyes flashed.
“I hoped you’d say that.”
She snapped her fingers.
A sudden blare of alarms and klaxons came from the sensor consoles and scrying pool.
A kobold sensor officer jerked so hard that his shako hat fell off and clattered to the deck. He tapped at controls then screamed out in his piping voice: “Detecting launches from the surface of the planet! T-Thousands of them!” He looked back over his shoulder.
“Humans are mage-blind monkeys!” Admiral Thresh snarled. “What could they be launching?”
Xosh stomped forward.
And then he laughed. And laughed loud .
“ Mage-ships !?” he laughed. “You...you are launching mage-ships ?” He thrust his clawed finger at the screen, grinning broadly. “Launch a million wooden hulled, paper sailed, cannon strapped galleons into space, and I’d slaughter them with a singl
e needleship. You think I will tremble at whatever patheti...c...navy…”
Relix was grinning.
And in the background of her bridge – which had been modified to have large window displays – Emperor Xosh could see the ships rising out of the clouds. They shed waters in vast, sheeting curtains, and blazed in the sunlight shooting through the pale blue atmosphere of their world. Each one, suspended in a bubble of magically generated atmosphere, pushed forward not with sails...but with vast, mile devouring propellers, each one large enough to grind a needleship up and not even notice. Twenty of them were easily the same size as his largest battleship – broad, flat topped ships, covered with tiny fighter craft. Dozens more were peppered with cannon that matched any railgun on his fleet. Still others were deadly looking tubes that set off every radiological alarm on the deck.
The fleets of humanity - so long constrained by Earth’s blue oceans and blue skies - rose into space, dripping with water and dragging along tufts of clouds. They sailed away from the world of their birth, born aloft by magic as old as the Five Talon Empire and dragonkind itself. What had once carried galleons and sailing ships between the stars...now carried modern, 21st century navy ships into space .
As the fleet approached, Xosh slowly leaned back in his throne, hearing the wailing radiological alarms in his ears.
“How many nukes do they have?” Admiral Thresh whispered.
“F-Fifteen...thousand,” the kobold sensor officer breathed.
Princess Relix smirked.
Emperor Xosh, sitting on his throne, snarled. His fingers flexed, then clenched. He slammed his fists into the armrests of his throne, springing to his feet. He thrust a single dramatic finger at the screen.
“Damn the nukes. Full speed ahead.”
Chapter Ten: Roll that Fort Save!
A klaxon blared throughout the entire launch bay. Svenk Blackscale tried to not cringe at every high, piercing note as he scrambled into his fighter craft, a draconic voice growling from the PA system.
“All wings, launch!”
Svenk Blackscale was not a heroic member of House Bryaugh’s space force. That would have been a remarkable trick for a kobold – even one that had the one tenth dragon blood that was required by the stern admirals and generals that led House Bryaugh’s military forces. But as Svenk wasn’t even a willing member of the space force, heroism felt like it was asking just far too much of his skinny body. His hands shook as he tugged on the flimsy flight helmet and strapped it into place, while goblin technicians swarmed over his fighter craft.
Svenk didn’t know what other noble houses of the Five Tal- er, the Chromatic Dominion used. He knew that he had been trained on the ASP-1011. It was named for its primary armament: A pair of alternating maximized wands that were loaded with the Melf’s acid dart and searing rays spells. They were fairly powerful spells, requiring a class three wizard to enchant them. Thus, most of the ASP-1011s cost was sunk into those two wands and their power source, leaving only a fraction for, say…
“Here,” a female goblin who had had half her face replaced by cosmetic bioplasm after a close call with an exploding reaction thrust a breather into Svenk’s claws. He took it and stuck it to his muzzle, trying to breathe slowly and carefully.
Life support. Shields. Armor. By a dragon’s tits, the only thing that the ASP-1011 had on top of its armament was its speed. And that was because it had nothing else. A frame of aluminum and cloned dragon bone around cockpit, reactor, engine and guns. The goblin workers sang a cheery work song as they screwed and then welded his cockpit shut.
“Please save me, Tiamat...” Svenk whispered. “Please, please save me.”
“This is General Omadon Bryaugh,” a snarling voice growled through his helmet mics. “Wings 12 and 10 are to flank our bombers as they go after the spelljammers that form the centerpiece of the human armada. Their vessels are primitive, relying on only the most simple magic to keep them aloft. Designed for the sea, they will surely fall easy prey. Fighters, you are to focus on the enemy strike craft, if any are launched.”
Svenk nodded.
He could do that. Primitive. He could handle primitive. He had flown four combat missions against pirates, and several of them had used mage-ships. Mage-ships were when you combined a sailing ship with an enchanted magehelm. He pictured belling sails falling to pieces under streams of acid and beams of fire. He liked that image. It was an image to make even a kobold less of a cowards. But still not a hero. This was why, as the fighters prepped for launch, he closed his eyes.
He could never bear to watch the launch.
He felt the gravitic catapult take hold, then heard the faint thump thump thump of a goblin slapping his fuselage. That meant he had-
Acceleration smashed Svenk into his seat and dragged his mouth open as he screeched at the top of his lungs, even as his ASP-1011 shot out of the launch tube that made up a good chunk of the mid-section of the battleship he had served on ever since an impressor came to his hole and forced all the fighting aged males out with morph gas and shock-prods. Then his eyes snapped open and he swung his head around.
And…
It was moments like this when Svenk did not regret his inability to hide when the impressors came. For all the fear and the horror and the killing and the eventuality of dying, he had to admit that space – especially space during war – was utterly beautiful. The space between stars was a black richer and deeper than the most powerful black dragon, and the stars shone with a harsh purity that had no twinkling, no winking, no softening. The curve of the planet and the moon that they were fighting over shone in the distance, and between him and the planet, there was the human armada. And what an armada.
There had to be thousands of ships there. None had thrust plumes or contrails, but each retained a stately beauty about them. There were flat topped ships that cut forward through space, pushed forward by immense columns of propellers that ground and spun behind them. Svenk didn’t know how propellers worked in space, but he figured that the magehelms had something to do with it. There were narrow ships that were studded with turrets, cylindrical ones that bore only a single sparse looking conning tower, but still cruised forward with a predator’s hunting grace. Peppered among them were the more familiar designs of his supposedly hated rivals: Metallic dragons tended towards elegance and beauty...but that didn’t mean the destroyers and battleships and torpedo boats he saw intermixed with the human formation weren’t exceptionally deadly.
“This is Talon Leader,” the sneering voice of Talon Leader Gigzor, the preening, brown nosing, power grabbing, butt kissing schemer, filled his ears. “The scaleless fools have not even launched their fighters! Follow me, Blackscales! Let us show the humans how kobolds die!”
How kobolds kill , you idiot, Svenk thought. Then, gulping, he realized that Gigzor might have meant exactly what he said. After all, Gigzor knew who was listening in on their coms.
Maybe it was stuff like that that got him promoted?
Either way, Svenk sighed and throttled his engine up.
***
“We should send in the B-suits!” Emperor Xosh snarled.
Admiral Thresh did not bridle. It was clear she wished to do more than bridle to Gimtesh. But no, Admiral Thresh instead forced herself to take a deep, calming breath, then said: “My lord Emperor, that would be unwise. We do not know the capacity of the enemies. There are a great deal of them and if we lose here today, that will give the Metallics time to organize and come here to the human’s defense. If we give them a foothold, then this civil war may last decades, rather than months.”
Xosh’s tail lashed. “All the more reason we should commit now!”
Gimtesh could see the eagerness in Xosh’s eyes. The thirst to see this end, and end quickly. She gulped and focused on adding – cell by cell – slightly more length to her left foot. She made sure to do it slowly. Carefully. And only when people weren’t looking at her.
She’d only have one shot.
“If we
send in the kobblers...” General Bryaugh said, not looking up from the scrying pit – where glowing icons indicating the first waves of kobold fighters approaching the combined enemy armada. “They can see what the weak points are.”
Thresh gestured to Bryaugh, as if to say: See?
Xosh’s tail lashed. He looked as if he was considering, deeply. But Gimtesh could hear the quiet grinding of his teeth. He slid his arms behind his back and nodded.
“Very well. Carry on.” He spoke the words through gritted teeth. And as he took his seat at the command throne, Gimtesh grew her foot out just a little bit more. Just a little bit more.
***
Merton Miles stood in the airlock, looking at Princess Relix. Relix smiled, shyly, at him. “Come home safe, okay?” she whispered.
“Promise,” Merton said. The weirdest thing about wearing a B-suit (I.E, a transformed dragon that was genetically engineered to be used as a suit of power armor) was that you didn’t actually feel like you were in a suit. Rather, you felt the wind on your scaled balls and had a hard time remembering that normally, you were a squishy human. He grinned slightly as Brash hummed cheerfully in his head. “Now, I gotta get out there.”
Scales Like Stars (Dragons...in...SPACE! Book 1) Page 27