Saved by the Alien Dragon

by Stella Cassy

There was an explosion, and the ship rocked back and forth. Ranel's voice on the comm again: “Captain Dashel to the command deck! Now!”

  From the look on his face, I could see he knew I was right. He couldn't afford to stay here while his vessel was being assaulted. He reached into a drawer, pulled out a spare space suit, and tossed it at me. “Fine. Put this on. And hurry!”

  The suit was about four sizes too big for me, but I didn't have time to worry about that. I hitched up the trouser hems so I wouldn't trip over them and followed him.

  As we ran down the corridor, I saw that Dashel was trying to avoid the stares we were getting from the crew members. I knew I was putting him in a difficult spot, but I didn't care – after all, the position he'd put me in by bringing me aboard was far worse.

  When we entered the command deck and Ranel saw us, his eyes practically bulged out of their sockets. “Captain, what is the meaning of this?! What's she doing here?!”

  Another blast hit the ship, throwing us all to one side.

  “No time for that now,” Dashel said, taking the captain's chair. “Situation report.”

  “Three short-range vessels are attacking us,” Ranel said, still glaring at me. “Configuration unknown. We don't have anything in our database of Pax ships that matches them, but they're out-maneuvering us and shrugging off our blasters. Our shielding's been reduced to thirty percent.”

  I stared at the viewscreen, unable to believe my eyes. Sure enough, three small ships were buzzing around us like flies. They were armored spheres with arrays of long, multi-jointed appendages branching out from their surfaces. The mechanical arms were firing sharply focused lasers, plus clusters of tiny bulbs that exploded on contact.

  I'd seen them hundreds of times, but never in the air before.

  “My God,” I whispered. “They're flying.”

  “Yes, damn it, they're flying! They're flying right at us!” Ranel yelled. “Captain, are these the kinds of valuable insights you brought her on the command deck to provide?!”

  “They're Digger units,” I explained quickly, trying to shake off my surprise. “Manned mining orbs, meant to dig, blast, and roll through dense layers of rock. Those clever bastards have rigged them with propulsion engines.”

  “They still shouldn't have the life support capabilities for space travel,” Ranel grumbled.

  “They don't need to make it to deep space,” Dashel mused. “Just to the upper atmosphere, so they can take us apart piece by piece. Natalie, now's your time to shine. What do we do?”

  “You're trusting a human prisoner with this ship's defenses, just because she let you fuck her?!” Ranel balked, shaking his head. “Captain, by the authority of the Hielsrane fleet and in accordance with Code Nine-Four-One-One-Two, I deem you to be of unsound mind and hereby relieve you of your command, effective immediately.”

  “We can discuss that later, commander.” Dashel turned to me expectantly. “Natalie? We're waiting?”

  My mind raced as I went over everything I knew about the Digger units, and the personnel who manned them.

  “Okay, they're each only able to carry six explosive charges,” I said. “Can you tell me how many each one has let off so far?”

  The helmsman tapped the keys on his console quickly. “Two of them have let off three charges each. The third's been hanging back, relying on his lasers instead. They seem to be attacking in a rotation; two engage while one retreats, then they switch off.”

  “Then we target the one that's still got all its charges,” I told Dashel. “Right now, he's the biggest threat, and he'll also make the biggest boom thanks to the bombs he's carrying. Can you magnify your image of him onscreen?”

  The helmsman increased the magnification, and I studied the orb quickly. “That Digger is a Model Epsilon, which means it's got heavier armor plating on its top and sides in case of cave-ins, but lighter armor on its underside to balance it out. It's slower and bulkier, so it should be the easiest target. See that area where the plates are separated? Ranel, concentrate your fire on it. One solid blast ought to be enough to super-heat its insides and detonate the bombs.”

  Ranel goggled at Dashel indignantly. “Dashel, you can't honestly expect me to take orders from—.”

  Another blast. This time, one of the consoles erupted in a shower of sparks, sending a crew man to the floor with burns on his face.

  “Do as she says,” Dashel said, still looking at the screen. “Now.”

  Ranel blinked, then sighed and tapped the commands into his keypad.

  A thick golden column of destructive solar energy – in essence, an artificial solar flare, shaped and directed by the ship's weapon systems – blasted forth from one of the tubes on its underside. It hit the Epsilon's vulnerable undercarriage, and the sphere glowed an angry crimson as its thick hull blistered with heat from the inside out. It spun off to the side, then erupted in a series of explosions, reduced to floating debris.

  The other two Diggers hesitated in midair, as though taken aback by our sudden show of force. Then they started to close in again. One opened fire with its laser cannons, while the other hung back, as though taking shelter behind it.

  “These two are Psi Models,” I pointed out. “They're lighter and faster, but they pack less of a punch as a result – they're built to withstand their own ordnance in case they find an unexpected vein of reflective metal and it gets bounced back at them.”

  They both opened fire with their laser cannons, and the ship shuddered.

  “They seem to pack plenty of punch to me,” Ranel snarled, checking his tactical console. “Shields are down to fifteen percent.”

  One of the Psi orbs discharged its last three bombs at our starboard side in rapid succession.

  “Move the ship so our remaining shield generators absorb the blast,” Ranel shouted to the helmsman.

  “No! Belay that order!” I said.

  Ranel looked like he'd been punched in the mouth. “Have you lost your fucking mind? They'll blow a hole in the hull!”

  “Just the empty shuttle bays! Target that orb with your solar blasters!” I insisted. “Now, before it's too late!”

  “Do it, Ranel!” Dashel snapped.

  Ranel punched the buttons, his fangs bared. “Fine. Firing solar blasters. I wish I could say it's been nice serving under you, 'captain.'”

  The bombardment struck the shuttle bays, and the ship groaned deep in its core, as though it might tear itself in half. The viewscreen fizzled for a few seconds, then returned – the objects on it were a bit grainy and pixelated, but still visible as the solar blaster discharged again.

  The fierce beam pierced the orb like a hot needle shoved through a grape. Webs of glowing red cracks formed all across its surface and it combusted gloriously, raining us with bits of shrapnel.

  “Would you like to tell us why you felt that little victory should cost us our shuttle bays?” Ranel asked tightly.

  “The lasers on the Psi Diggers can't operate continuously,” I explained. “They drain too much power for that. After each sustained discharge, they need fifteen seconds to recharge before they can fire again. While you were moving the ship to avoid the bombs – which have a relatively low energy output – they'd have recharged, closed the distance, and been in a perfect position to slice off one of your engine nacelles. But I'm sure you already knew all that, right?”

  He bristled, then turned to Dashel. “The third Digger is retreating. It appears to be damaged.”

  We turned our attention to the screen. There was a gout of blinding flame bursting from its side, and it drifted off at just over half speed, spinning to one side and trailing smoke behind it.

  “Excellent,” Dashel said briskly. “Set a pursuit course, and let's end this.”

  “I wouldn't recommend that, captain,” I suggested.

  Dashel turned to me, tilting his head. “Why not?”

  “Because those Diggers were being piloted by Mosets, and that 'damage' is just them popping the plasma flares they're e
quipped with in case of a cave-in. Ever fought Mosets before?”

  He shook his head, bemused.

  “They're feral predators that travel in packs, like wolves,” I told him. “They may take orders from the Pax, but when left to their own devices, their tactics are very specific. The swiftest and fiercest ones go in for the kill first, while the slower and weaker ones hang back. If the leaders are dispatched, the weaker ones retreat. Usually limping, so they'll look like they're easy prey and tempt their enemies to pursue them...right into an ambush by the rest of the pack as they close in behind you, trapping you. That way, everyone gets a taste of blood. Follow that Digger, and we'll find ourselves face to face with about a dozen of their friends. Then, with us gone, they can pick off your drop-shuttles as your people on the ground deal with the loss of their central command structure and scramble to regroup.”

  “That's fascinating,” Ranel said impatiently, “but what do you propose we do? Just let them get away, so they can attack us again with impunity?”

  I thought it over. “Can we keep an eye on them from a safe distance? Chart their course, maybe try to predict where they'll touch down?”

  The helmsman shrugged. “We can't exactly read their minds, but we could probably come up with a decent estimate...narrow it down based on the terrain in the area, and what could accommodate a bunch of orbs that size.”

  I turned to Dashel. “Signal your other drop-shuttles. Give them the coordinates when we can figure them out, send them the specs detailing the orbs' offensive capabilities and weaknesses, and have them converge on that location. We can ambush their ambush.”

  Dashel turned to Ranel. “Do as she says.”

  Ranel's normally ruddy scales were turning a sickly shade of salmon pink. He punched in the commands and data for the other ships, then looked up at me, scowling. “Anything else I can do for you? Some comfy pillows, perhaps? A nice mug of tea and a Retelii scone?”

  “No,” I retorted smartly, “but when my plan works, you can kiss my ass.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Trust me, I don't need to know more about your disgusting human mating rituals than I already do.”

  12

  Dashel

  Natalie and I had returned to my pod. She was in the hygiene chamber, and I was using a sonic stitcher to make some minor alterations to the space suit she'd been wearing. Thankfully, my mother had taught me how to use the tool when I was a hatchling. Never wait around for your wife to do your sewing for you, Dashel, she'd said with a smile, because I promise you, she'll have about a hundred more important things to do.

  The rest of my crew certainly had plenty of more important tasks to see to than making a uniform suitable for a human woman. Repairing the shuttle bays, for instance, and the damage to the other areas and systems thanks to the Diggers' sneak attack.

  I could almost feel my second in command pacing outside my door before the bell chimed. “Come in, Ranel.”

  He burst in furiously, but before he could say anything, I asked, “What's the status of the other drop-shuttles? Did they engage the remaining Diggers?”

  Ranel bristled. “Yes.”

  “And were they successful?”

  “The Diggers were confined to a narrow canyon on the planet's surface, and...dealt with, yes.”

  “That's wonderful news.” I made a great show of thinking it over. “With all the ore in the planet's surface blocking our sensors, I wonder...would we even have been able to detect them down there, if we hadn't known what we were looking for?”

  “Perhaps not. Sir.” Each word was torture for him.

  “So we'd have found ourselves eaten alive by a pack of hungry Mosets if it weren't for Natalie. Interesting.”

  “Still,” he pressed on, “we have to talk about what happened earlier on the command deck...”

  “You mean your attempted mutiny? Don't worry, Ranel, I'm perfectly willing to forgive and forget.”

  “Attempted mutiny?!” he sputtered indignantly.

  “What else would you call it when a first officer tries to wrestle command from his captain during a moment of crisis?”

  “I specifically prepared you for this eventuality at the space dock.” Ranel's voice was like claws digging into steel. He was trying so hard to keep his composure, despite clearly wanting to rip my head off and punt it out the nearest airlock. “I told you I'd been assigned in the event that you weren't ready for this command, so I could take over in a crisis. I wasn't supposed to tell you that – in fact, I was countermanding orders by doing so – but I still did, out of respect for you.”

  “I appreciate that. Now I'm telling you that I've decided that will not happen. I will not allow it under any circumstances. I've earned this command, and even if you disagree with some of the choices I've made, the fact remains that they ensured the safety of this ship and its crew in a situation when your leadership wouldn't have. If you'd taken over for me on the command deck earlier, we'd have been reduced to a cluster of irradiated space junk, courtesy of a handful of rusty mining machines. So if you decide you're going to relieve me of command, you'd better bring a whole lot of other Drakon with you, and they'd better be armed to the teeth, because it will take a full-scale mutiny next time. Am I making myself clear, commander?”

  “Yes sir.” The two words were combined in a single barely intelligible growl.

  “Good. Now prepare a landing party, and make sure to include yourself in it. We're going back down to N-7 so we can secure the remaining slaves and ore, prevent more mining gear from falling into enemy hands – or paws, I suppose, in the case of the Pax – and establish a surface base of operations in order to dig our heels in against the insurgents. Trying to keep the planet locked down from an orbital position is obviously not a reasonable plan.”

  Ranel raised an eyebrow. “And are these your orders, or the human's?”

  “The idea is hers. The orders are mine. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “May I ask why you want me down there with you, when as first officer, it's my responsibility to command the ship in the captain's absence?”

  I smirked. “After everything that was just said between us, Ranel, I'm not especially confident you'd let me back onto this vessel once I'd left it.”

  I saw an expression on Ranel's face that I'd never seen before in all the years we'd known each other: Genuine hurt. “Dashel, what happened earlier—I did it out of concern for you, that's all. Everything you've been through, the pressures you've been under...I thought you had snapped and acted accordingly. No matter how we may disagree, in these matters or any others, I hope you know I would never show such disloyalty to you.”

  From anyone else in his position, I would have expected it to be a lie, just so he could get me off the ship and then take over after all. But I'd known Ranel for too long. He took his duty to the fleet seriously, but he was also too honorable and direct to engage in subterfuge. “Very well. You stay here, supervise the repair efforts, and keep us updated.”

  “Yes sir.” He saluted, spun on his heel, and left.

  “You can come out now,” I called in the direction of the hygiene chamber.

  Natalie stepped out. “How did you know I wasn't still in the shower?”

  “That would have been a very long shower, even for a female,” I observed with a grin. “Ready to return to N-7?”

  “If it means preventing the Pax from retaking the planet and keeping them from killing my fellow slaves? Absolutely.”

  Less than forty cleks later, the Wyvern was touching down lightly on the surface of Nort a short distance from N-7. Natalie and I marched down the retractable ramp, with four armed crew members behind us.

  As we stepped off the ramp's edge onto the sandy white terrain, another tale from the Earther storyteller of my youth sprung to mind: “Treasure Island,” in which a ruthless band of pirates condemned their captives to death by forcing them to walk down a narrow wooden plank and plunge into the dark waters below.

  This used to give
me nightmares as a hatchling, and now, as the Wyvern lifted off again and returned to the upper stratosphere, the memory made me shudder. I hoped we'd fare better than those poor doomed sailors had.

  We began to trudge toward the domes of the N-7 camp. The sand beneath us made it hard to keep our footing, and I noticed that the security personnel accompanying us were having trouble keeping their blaster rifles at the ready – they were too busy stumbling, sinking, and trying not to fall over. The wind made it worse, sending the pale grains up in whirlwinds that choked us and stung our eyes.

  When we'd almost made it to the rounded entrance with its heavy blast doors, I noticed that Natalie was getting ahead of the rest of us. It made sense – she was used to getting around in this environment, and I surmised that she was eager to check on the welfare of the other people who'd been kept as slaves.

  Still, it seemed like an unnecessary risk. “Natalie,” I cautioned, “maybe you shouldn't...”

  But before I could finish the sentence, a short, furry white figure popped up from the sand near her position and grabbed her, pressing the barrel of a large metal device to her temple.

  13

  Natalie

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  I'd been so used to making my way across the dunes of Nort that I'd instinctively left the others behind, not thinking about the dangers which might have been awaiting us here. Now I was in the firm grip of a Pax with an energy weapon pressed against my ear.

  Dashel and the other Drakon raised their blaster rifles, but the Pax just held me tighter, sneering. “Put your weapons down and surrender! Now, before I vaporize this female!”

  “She's a human,” Dashel answered evenly. “We are Hielsrane. What makes you think we care whether she lives or dies?”

  Nice bluff, Dashel, I thought, even if that's not exactly the most comforting thing for me to hear right now.

  The Pax scoffed. “Don't even think of trying to deceive me, you moronic lizard! You brought her along on your mission, you aren't keeping her in restraints, and just now you called out to her with concern! She's clearly important to you for some reason, so throw down your blasters or she dies!”