by M. D. Cooper
“Why are you yelling at me? Shoot at them!”
Strax turned to see that the harness was still attached. He reached low with his good arm, using his large pincer to sever through the leather straps that kept the beast tied.
“Haha! We’re moving!” the human laughed.
The dragon stomped forward, sending Sybillians flying with a sweep of its massive tail. But still, it beat its wings without getting any air.
“How do we get it to fly?” Strax stammered.
“It needs incentive!” Steve shouted back.
Strax took a deep, cleansing breath, turned back, and stabbed his good claw as deep as he could into the dragon’s flank. A blast of pure flame was vomited from the beast’s mouth, right onto the three soldiers before him – toast, before they even knew what hit them.
Despite the thrashing and stomping, the dragon was surrounded on all sides now, the soldiers keeping a safe distance, but close enough to chuck a spear or two at the two men on the dragon’s back. The Emperor was screaming something in the back, clasping his head in terror.
They were trapped, on the back of a monster straight out of a fairy tale for children. And Strax was trapped sharing his last moments with a meaningless human.
This day was getting worse and worse.
“I have an idea!” Human-Steve shouted.
“Another one?”
“Always!”
“A good one, this time?”
“I don’t see you dying right now! Do you?”
“My arm is hanging by a tendon!”
“That’s your fault for not listening to me!” he scoffed, “now, scream!”
And with that, the lieutenant ripped off his shirt and started making loud whooping noises to the sky, kicking the dragon with swinging legs and punches. To top it off, he shot the plasma pistol in any and all directions in the air, making a complete and utter fool of himself.
“Fire!” yelled the emperor, “but don’t you hurt Muffins!”
Before they could even get a shot in edgewise, the dragon pushed off the ground, roaring, belching fire on the soldiers. Terrified, it took to the skies, beating the air with its leathery wings in an attempt to get away from the many guns.
“Yeehaw!” the human shouted. “Fly, Muffins, fly!”
The dragon flipped in the air, almost knocking the duo off, but Strax clutched a spike tightly with his free hand, holding his breath as the drink that have been in his shell came spilling out his mouth. The poisoned drink rained down upon the soldiers, who shot up at the dragon as the emperor shouted in terror.
“Good boy, Muffins!” said Steve, the pitch of his voice rising. “Keep going! That’s a good boy! Or girl! You’re a sweetie, aren’t you?”
The dragon huffed smoke, turned right side up, and kept pumping forward. Now that the world was right side up, Strax was beginning to get his bearings, but vertigo was setting in mighty fast. He clasped the ridge spike before him tightly with his claw, his injured arm hanging limply, uselessly, by his side.
“I’m not quite sure what you mean by sweetie, Human-Steve.”
“Just Steve, thanks,” the human grumbled.
“Just-Steve, why are you calling this massive creature sweet, when in fact it wants the two of us dead?”
“Aw, shucks, maybe so it might like us? I don’t know, Commander, it’s worth trying!”
“Good girl, sweetie, good girl,” he cooed, flopping his limp arm against the dragon’s hide in a poor imitation of a gentle caress.
Now in the sky, the dragon seemed more contented with being freed than angered against the duo for hitching a ride on his back. The swoops and whirls became that of joy, no longer trying to buck them off. The harness fell away as they gained altitude, which only seemed to make the beast even more delighted – if you could call it that.
“Now, Just-Steve, land Dragon-Muffin so we can take back my ship!”
“I’m not flying her, commander,” said the human, bashfully, “she’s making her own path. I’m a soldier, not a dragon tamer!”
The vertigo seemed to double now.
“So we have no way down?”
“She’ll land when she wants to. Right, Muffins?” The human gave the beast a gentle pat on her shoulder. She seemed rather contented, now. Her wings beat a swift, gentle rhythm as the three of them rode through the clouds. Little droplets of moisture clung to Strax’s uniform, but the cold wasn’t what was bothering him.
Now that the fight was over, and the castle was shrinking to a pinprick in the distance, he was beginning to feel the true pain coursing through his arm. He couldn’t release the claw that was clamped to the dragon’s spike, as it was the only thing keeping him balanced. The adrenaline stopped making its way through his body, and in turn, the blood began to sputter and pour from his wound.
He was bleeding out.
“Human-Just-Steve,” he said, weakly, “I need medical attention.”
“Shit,” he said, “sorry! I should have a better grasp of my language in times like this. I’m sorry commander, I have no way to land this beast.”
“What about those soldiers? The ones who fought at your battle of Gringotts?”
“It’s from a book. In it, they just let the dragon tire itself out.”
“Ah.”
“How long can you hang on, back there?”
“Well, seeing the rate at which my artery is spewing blood, and the current wind speed and the… chopsticks…”
“Hang in there, commander! I’ll make her land!”
Strax could barely hear him. He could barely see him, either – or anything else, really. When his body turned to soldier mode, the adrenalin thickened his blood so it would stay inside his veins. But as relief washed in, so did blood thinners, and now everything was running out of his wounds like it was being power washed before a committee show.
Everything was very green. And loud.
He heard the blast of a plasma gun, then nothing more.
Chapter 6
Strax awoke to blue skies, green nature, and the smell of roasting flesh.
He scrambled to his feet, a move he regretted instantly. He needed to think, to focus, not to let instinct take him over like an animal. He should have scouted the area quietly before making a move. He didn’t need his captors knowing he was awake.
The events of that day came rushing back to him in an instant: the betrayal, the escape. The Travan Empire taking over his beloved Ascendant! He steamed inside his shell at the very thought.
“Ah, good, you’re finally awake!”
Just-Steve appeared out of the corner of his eye, a stack of firewood in his hands. He dropped the wood on the ground, crouching beside the small pile and making as if to start a fire. He glanced occasionally at his commander, his fleshy face distorted in some odd way Strax could not understand.
“How long have I been unconscious?” asked Strax, relieved not to be in enemy hands. He still kicked himself mentally for forgetting his training.
“Not very long. About two hours? You were in and out there. I kept your chest hydrated with some water I found in a nearby creek: from what I hear about your species, it’s the easiest way to be sure you don’t have any complications.”
“Complications?”
The human brandished a twig in his direction, pointing it at his arm. “Complications. I cleaned the wound best I could, cauterized it with my pistol. Washed away as much of the blood as I could. The arm should be salvageable: as soon as we get back to the shuttle, we’ve got the medical kit that can stitch it right up.”
“You shouldn’t even have a pistol. You were meant to leave that in the ship.”
“Well, if I hadn’t brought them, we would still be in that palace, possibly as little piles of ash.”
Strax has nothing he could really say to that: the human was right, gods dammit. He had been so focused on making a good example of himself for the Order that he had walked right into a trap.
“How did you know?” He aske
d, as the human finished his primitive little fire, lighting it with his pistol.
“How did I know what? How to clean your wound? Easy, I read it on file. Or do you mean, how did I know to bring a pistol? You can never know when you’re going to need one. So, I brought two.”
“Do not be facetious. I meant, how did you know we were standing in a trap?”
“Easy. I overheard the servants speaking as they went to fetch the drinks. They had to be sure which one was poisoned, so as not to give it to the wrong dignitary. Not that it mattered: the emperor has built up an immunity to the very poison he was trying to kill you with. Very Princess Bride.”
“There was nothing of a princess about him,” Strax scoffed, “and even less of a bride.”
“It’s a reference to a… a tale in my culture. A cautionary tale. Yes, that’s it.”
Strax wanted to strangle the small man. Why were humans so annoyingly obsessed with tales and stories? Princess Bride. Whatever this Gringotts thing was. Although, the commander had to admit that that last one had saved their lives. The human was a quick thinker, and maybe full of inspired ideas because of the references he so loved, not despite them.
“But the servants were right behind me. I would have heard them.”
“You did, I’m sure of it,” Steve rose, wiping the dirt from his hands. “But your translator is attuned only to the upper language of Sybillia. Not the common tongue.”
“And you’re telling me you speak their common tongue?”
“Yes,” the human bobbed his head enthusiastically, “I mean, no, not conversationally. I just recognized enough of their words to tell what was going on.”
“But…” Strax sputtered, then realized suddenly it was the first time in his career that he was at an actual loss for words. “But how? We do not have their language on record!”
“You do, but high command didn’t think it necessary to hire a voice-guy for the translators,” he said, “not while they were so unwilling to sign over to the Order. It costs money to program those things. I read a book on the common language here, memorized most of what I could. It was worth not getting any sleep last night, totally saved our skins.”
“And ruined diplomatic relationships between Sybillia and the Order for the rest of eternity.”
“Commander,” the human froze, “please excuse my language here, but I think that relationship was tarnished the moment Sybillia decided to fucking kill you!”
“Fair point.”
“In any case, the coms are down,” the human said, now calm. The use of offensive words had an oddly calming effect on the creature. “I think the emperor was not making an empty threat when he said he was going to take over your ship.”
“So, he has the Ascendant.”
“We can assume as much, yes.”
Strax rose to his feet. His damaged arm was stiff, somewhat numb, but it was no longer causing him pain. The human had done everything properly to clean his wound. As much as he hated to admit it, Human-Steve was upholding every value the Order stood for.
Well, except for sneaking those pistols in. They had saved his life, but still.
“We need to regain control of my ship,” he said, his entire focus on keeping his composure. “We need to let the Order know that the Travan are in control now, not us.”
“Agreed,” the human said, “but night is falling. It would be unwise to attempt anything in such foreign terrain, when darkness shields our senses.”
“I would agree,” said Strax, “but any moment we waste waiting means the ship moving further away from our clutches.”
“The ship cannot fly without you on board,” Human-Just-Steve reminded him, “not unless your first mate marks you as prisoner of war, or deceased. Either status would determine Sybillia to be in need of re-enforcements, so the Travan would not want that.”
“So… what are they planning? To wait in orbit for my return?”
“I would assume as much,” said the human, “they probably meant to drug you and bring you on board, so they could leave with you on the ship and skip over loss protocols. They didn’t account for your escape.”
Strax liked how the human downplayed his own involvement with the matter – as if it hadn’t been he who had not only noticed the betrayal first, and planned their escape.
“Whatever happened to the dragon?” he asked, confused, “Muffins, was it?”
“I begged her to land when you started falling off her back. She understood well enough, and owed us one, after all. She flew off towards the east.”
“We’re going to have to walk.”
“At least until we reach the shuttle.”
“Unless they’ve found the shuttle already.”
“Fair point.”
The human sat down by his fire, extending his pink palms towards the flame. He was calm, poised. He did not relax by the heat.
“Step one, assess access to the shuttle,” Strax said grimly, taking a seat across from the human, letting the fire warm him as the day around them slowly ended. “Step two, take back my ship. Step three…”
“I’m pretty sure those steps won’t be that easy, commander.”
“I never said they would be.”
“They need sub-steps.”
“Most definitely.”
“We have nothing but two plasma pistols and a bit of fire,” Human-Steve said to the flame, “and only three working arms between us.”
“Once we get the shuttle back, we’ll have much more.”
“Perhaps. But it is a far cry from a specialized team, capable of doing anything to get the ship back.”
Strax was impressed: it was the wisest thing the human had said all day. Almost as if he was aware of his own incompetence.
“I’m going to sleep,” the human said, suddenly. “It’s been a long day. I need to recharge my batteries.”
Strax did a double take. “I didn’t think humans had batteries. I assumed you were…”
“It’s a figure of speech, commander.”
“A what?”
“An expression,” he explained. “Something you say when you mean to say something else, to create… I don’t know, a more relatable image.”
“How is recharging batteries relatable? Do you assume I am a mechanical being?”
“No, but the image is accurate, is it not? Like a robot, I am tired. I sleep, and when I awake, I have energy. My batteries has recharged.”
“But a robot, or any mechanical being, needs to be plugged in to charge.”
“And sleeping is like plugging in. Do you get the metaphor?”
“Metaphor?”
“The comparison.”
“I do not.”
“Then I guess I’ll stop using it.”
“Why do you guess? Why not simply do?”
“Good night, Commander,” the human said, sharper than he expected. “I hope you see the daggers in my eyes and the sparks that fly off my tongue.”
“I do not see any…”
“It’s figurative!”
With a sudden burst of anger, the human turned away from him, curling into a ball on the soft ground by the fire. And that was the end of that.
Strax leaned back against a tree and let out a cleansing breath. But it did nothing to alleviate the anxiety he felt. He thought of his crew, in orbit so high above them, fighting an alien threat so much bigger than themselves. The Travan were a mighty warrior race, and having their full force focused on the Ascendant meant that he did not have much chance of getting it back.
But who knows. The human seemed resourceful, after all. Maybe he had a story that could get them out of this mess.
And maybe, just maybe, save the world.
Chapter 7
Strax slept poorly that night. It probably had something to do with the cold, the foreign air, and the arm hanging limply by his side, but that was beside the point.
The commander had always prided himself on being able to fall asleep anywhere – hell, in his younger days
, he had managed to sleep through the boarding of the Golden Truncheon by pirates. He had even managed to fall asleep hanging from his legs, when he had been taken prisoner by the Travan. The first time he had encountered them, actually. He was one of the few to have ever returned from their grips alive.
And, surprisingly, without the aversion to poetry that most POWs came back with. He counted himself lucky.
But tonight, sleep eluded him. Which was good, because it kept him awake enough to witness his second betrayal of the day: The human was a spy.
Just as expected.
Sometime during the night, Human-Steve had quietly risen to his feet – or, at least, had attempted to rise quietly. Strax, being awake, heard every shuffle of his fleshy feet on the soft ground.
The human stirred the fire gently, sending sparks rising in the air. Then, still thinking himself to be perfectly silent, he walked away from the little encampment.
At first, Strax thought the human was relieving himself. He knew next to nothing about the human digestive system, and did not want to know. But when the minutes drew too long, he decided something was amiss, and rose to follow him.
The human was easy to trail: his body gave off so much heat, it left a path as clear as day through the underbrush. Strax poised himself on the points of his spear-like feet, tiptoeing to Human-Steve’s side.
And, much to Strax’s surprise, Human-Steve was on a com.
“And they haven’t hurt you?” he said, his voice tense. Strax crouched behind a bush, keeping his breathing as still as possible. He closed his eyes, having read somewhere that humans were sensitive to stares.
“No, no, but they haven’t exactly found us yet,” said a voice on the other end of the line – female? One of the other humans on the ship, perhaps.
A ship they were not meant to have any communication with. Strax would kick himself later for putting his trust entirely on this untested, untrustworthy being.
“But the rest of the crew?”
“They’ve been sent to their quarters,” continued the voice through the com, cracking slightly. The connection must have been poor. “The upper brass is contained on the bridge, though what’s going on there, we don’t know. I think they’re waiting for your commander, seeing as the leaving protocols are still in place.”