CORAM

by Bonnie Burrows

  To be honest, I don’t have much of a voice now, being just a Lieutenant. But I spoke up anyway, and I was put in charge of a pilot project to start the Protocols on Lacerta. When I arrive on

  Lacerta, I’ll be accepting a field promotion to Lieutenant Commander, and I’ll be working closely with the Knights and the Corps to get this project running. Once we’ve proven its effectiveness on Lacerta, we’ll be starting it up on Earth and everywhere else in the Commonwealth, and we’ll be making it available to all of our allies. Since the Chimerians have that fifteen-year head start on us, I plan to hit the ground running and not let up.”

  “Can I assume,” Ergal asked, “that the Protocols will work as well with other creatures under Chimerian control as they do with Chimerians themselves?”

  “I see where you’re going with that,” answered Leanne. “You’re remembering that along with the remains of the one at the Spires, we also discovered the remains of what was found to be a grass dragon that the Chimerian was controlling. We know the Chimerians are only partially telepathic with life forms that don’t contain their own genes; they have to inject their genes into another organism to control it.

  The Protocol technology can identify any organism, sentient or otherwise, with Chimerian genes. Its designers were very careful about that. The Chimerians’ defenses against this weapon are limited, and there is one critical limitation to the technology itself. Isolating what may be just one specific gene out of the genetic information of every creature in a particular area is a very subtle and delicate task. We’re talking about molecular-level scanning over what may be large areas, like a whole city as you just saw.

  Plus, the expression of Chimerian genes can be switched on and off for camouflage, and that makes them even harder to detect. Part of what makes this technology so effective is that it can force a particular gene to express if it knows what it’s looking for—and in the case of the Chimerians, we know.”

  “So, the Chimerians have a slight edge,” said Hillman, “but it’s one we can take away from them.”

  The Sudolian officer spoke up. The voice of Commander Lovan was ethereal, sounding like a long exhalation. Leanne found herself again guarding her emotional reaction to this being, and wished that she could get over her instinctive defensiveness about the Sudolians once and for all. It was unworthy of an officer. Lovan said, “This technology was not our only means of dealing with the Chimerians, as I recall. It was developed after earlier measures were already in place.”

  “Yes,” Leanne said, sounding professional. “There was the biological defense weapon, the anti-Chimerian retrovirus that was used to cure individuals who were infected with Chimerian genes. The retrovirus had different methods of delivery, and they were all effective—but it was a reactive, defensive weapon, and using it at all depended on capturing, cornering, or subduing someone who was under Chimerian control. We still have access to the retrovirus; the Fleet Medcorps has kept supplies of it stored away.

  The Fleet Headquarters on Lacerta also has the data for the formula, and they’ve already prepared a supply of it in case they need it. The order to proceed with that went out as soon as the incident with Sir Rawn and Sabian was reported; we can have it ready to deploy at a moment’s notice. But what I’ve just shown you is a proactive and offensive weapon, a weapon that can take away the Chimerians’ advantage that the Captain mentioned. I want them stopped cold.”

  “The Ruling Aerie in Silverwing City on Lacerta will be ready when you get there,” Hillman said.

  “I know,” said Leanne. “For security reasons, I’ll be delivering the specs and schematics for the Protocol tech in person; I didn’t want to transmit it and run the risk of it being intercepted. But I know they have time on their heavy-duty fabricators set aside for when I

  arrive, and I’ve been given the name of the Knight who’ll be reporting to the Spires along with me and helping me coordinate the effort: Sir Coram Dunne. I want to have everything in place within a week and be ready to report back to Earth.”

  “We’ll have you there by this time tomorrow,” said the Captain.

  “I appreciate that,” Leanne said.

  “Then if there’s nothing further, now that everyone’s been apprised of what’s going on,” the Captain said, rising, “this meeting is adjourned.”

  The ship’s senior officers filed out of the conference room, and Leanne with them. In the corridor outside, Leanne walked with Captain Hillman. The Captain said, “I’m sure you’ve looked up the service record of Sir Coram.”

  “Of course,” said Leanne. “Standard procedure.”

  “What do you think of him?”

  Leanne frowned a bit, not in annoyance but in consideration. “He’s got an impressive record, naturally. He’s no Sir Rawn, but he’s one of their best dragons. Cited for conspicuous valor against the Scodax, veteran of battles against hostile occupations and colonial insurrections on some of the Frontier planets where the Commonwealth had interests, served with distinction in disaster relief on three different planets. I expect we’ll work well together. Why do you ask?”

  “I looked up your record as well,” said Hillman. “I’ve noticed you have a history of

  requesting assignments where you’ll be working with Lacertan Knights or Corps members. It seems you have a bit of a…personal interest in them.”

  Understanding the Captain’s meaning, Leanne said, “I have a natural interest in them, Captain. If I may be so bold, you probably looked up my record like you did Sir Coram’s. You know what happened…on Dorian III.”

  “Yes,” said Hillman, “I know.”

  “Captain,” said Leanne, “permission to speak freely?”

  “Granted, of course,” said the Captain.

  Leanne said, “I didn’t join the Fleet because I wanted revenge for what happened to my parents, or because I thought I could bring them back. I wasn’t a naive girl; I was almost a grown woman, and I thought that even if I couldn’t bring back my parents, I could still help to keep what happened to me from happening to someone else.

  And I don’t like to work with the Knights of Lacerta out of some hero worship. Yes, one of them rescued me, and because of that, I trust them and admire them the same as everyone else does. I know they’re the best because when I was very young, I saw how good they are. They couldn’t save my parents, but they saved so many other people on the planet where I grew up. They protected me, they were kind to me, and they’re the best. I don’t think they’re gods. I think they’re an example to follow.”

  “So, there’s nothing personal at all,” asked Hillman, “about you wanting this assignment out of all the assignments you could have had?”

  “Nothing personal,” said Leanne, “except what I said earlier. I believe in this project now like I believed in it then. I thought it was something that should have been done fifteen years ago. I thought it was a mistake not to do it when it was first proposed. When Sabian turned up alive again and went after Sir Rawn, I looked on it as an opportunity—a chance to correct that mistake.”

  “I understand,” Hillman replied. “And I see how driven you are to do this. I think Earth and the Fleet picked the right woman for this assignment. I look forward to your success.”

  “So do I, Captain,” said Leanne.

  _______________

  Back in her quarters, Leanne set herself down comfortably on the bed where, only a few hours ago, the dream had come for her again, and called, “Display Sir Hagen Maxon.”

  A swirl of pixels over the bed congealed into a hologram of a proud, powerful weredragon Knight in silver, blue, and red armor. He was brown-skinned like Captain Hillman, except with a brighter, warmer tone, and had a short, close-cropped beard; he was built as one would expect the triumphant veteran of years of battles to be. Though she was no longer sixteen, Leanne could not help but feel a swell of excited admiration in her heart every time she looked at the image of the Knight who had saved her all those years ago.

  “Disp
lay Sir Hagen Maxon in dragon form,” she commanded.

  The hologram shifted, and Sir Hagen appeared in his other body, scales glistening, dragon neck arched majestically, horns protruding regally from his dragon head, wings and tail fully

  unfurled—formidable and magnificent in every aspect, the image of dragon might and valor.

  She had not been entirely honest with Captain Hillman, Leanne knew. It was true that she did trust and admire the Knights of Lacerta, a trust and admiration that she had in common with millions of other people on a thousand and more planets. It was true that she respected their

  ethic of protection and service, if necessary at the cost of their lives. And it was true that she did not think of them as gods—at least not quite.

  Looking at the image of Sir Hagen Maxon, who had come to her rescue when she was a girl even as she saw her parents being borne off to a horrible death, she felt the same way as she had since she was on the cusp of womanhood. Sir Hagen was not a god, but he loomed in her heart and her imagination almost as a mythic figure. The admiration and love—yes, it was a kind of love—that she held for him had guided her path in life from Dorian III to now. It had taken her to the Fleet. And it had even framed and

  informed her choice of lovers.

  After losing her parents, Leanne had started a journal as a form of therapy on the advice of her counselors. She had not written in it for longer than she cared to think, because she was now a trained and disciplined officer who knew how to handle danger and even how to help others who were traumatized as she had been. But when she was actively keeping the journal, she had recorded all of her most intimate feelings in it, including her feelings about the Knights. One line from her writings back then still resounded in her mind at times like these:

  They’re everything I want to be.

  Leanne knew that she had never fully, deeply explored the meaning of those words and the reasons why she wrote them. She had not even discussed it in its fullest depth with her counselors, though perhaps they suspected what it really meant. It cut all the way down to the heart of what she thought of herself as a person, her identity, her place in the universe. Leanne had set out to be one thing, and she had succeeded—because it was the nearest thing to what she really wanted to be, something she could scarcely dare to admit because of everything that it

  implied and everything it could mean.

  It was there, and it was a part of her. And every time she was in the company of a Knight or a Corpsman or anyone from Lacerta, every time she lay with a dragon male, and every time she remembered the dragon man who’d saved her, the feeling returned to her.

  Now, she was going to Lacerta, and that feeling would be with her every minute. She must not let it distract her—but it would be there.

  Feeling the need to return to the here and now, to look forward instead of back, Leanne called, “Display Sir Coram Dunne.”

  The hologram in the air parted like a swarm of fireflies, then settled down into another image scan, this one of a Knight very different from the one who had saved Leanne’s life and set her on a path to where she was today and would be tomorrow. Concentrating on the image, she turned her mind toward the days before her, the tasks they would bring—and this one, who would be at her side at a time that might decide the fate of every human-inhabited planet.

  _______________

  The shiny towers and dome of the Spires, where the Knights of Lacerta were trained and headquartered, were surrounded by immaculately groomed fields and trees and rows of hedges, with dragon men and women strolling along them and swooping and circling above them, making the Spires seem almost a magical place.

  And in one of the meadows, bordered by trees and hedges with a stone footpath running along one side, a group of excited and shouting young weredragons, some in their human shape and some in their reptile bodies, cheered and bellowed and hissed at what was happening in a raised arena of stone that sat at the center of the field. In the arena, resting atop a platform of stones half a meter high, two young male Lacertans in dragon form busied themselves at trying to thrash and flail each other within an inch of their young lives.

  The rule of their competition was that no blood was to be drawn. Body slams, blows of fists, slaps of wings, and whips and slashes of tails were permitted. Fangs, claws, and horns were not. Whoever drew blood defaulted the victory to his opponent. On their honor to pummel into submission but not to wound, the two young combatants had at it, each blow drawing a chorus of mixed human and reptilian whoops and shouts from the spectators forming a ring around the arena.

  The first dragon was of a green hue that tinted and faded into bands of blue up and down his body and a tint of turquoise on his chest and stomach plates. The second was green with stripes and swaths of tan and gold and bluish tints on his plates. Neither was prepared to give the slightest quarter. Now, they circled one another, hissing, tails twitching threateningly.

  Then, they lunged, slamming into each other like a scaly Scylla and Charybdis, locking arms and pressing chest against chest. They broke their hold, only for one to come swinging at the other with a mighty whoosh of his tail, sending the opponent tumbling back to the edge of the arena. There lay the other term of defeat: whichever opponent allowed himself to be knocked from the stone platform onto the grass was the loser.

  The green and gold dragon skidded almost to the edge and stopped himself with claws dug deep into the stone. Indeed, around the entire circumference of the arena were the long gouges of other combatants who had stopped themselves going over in the very same way. The dragon with the gold swaths pulled himself back to his feet and lunged at his foe. Again, they crashed together, pushing back and forth with the strength of scale-jacketed sinews. And the whooping of the crowd went on.

  The two dragons flailed furiously at each other, slamming neck against neck, one

  colliding his chest with the other, tails beating at each other’s legs and hind parts. Their wings beat at the air with the same fury as they beat at one another’s reptile body. As neither gained the upper hand—or claw—once again, they broke off and returned to circling each other. They opened their dragon jaws wide and bared their claws, not as a threat of harm but as an attempt to sharp intimidation, purely from instinct.

  Neither of them was daunted at the display. The blue-tinted dragon threw himself forward at his gilded foe. The gilded dragon made a feint and a spin to one side, sending the other careening through the space where he had been and spilling onto the stone floor of the arena. At once, the fallen dragon pulled himself up to a crouch and wheeled about to face his opponent, but the

  gilded dragon was ready for him.

  He moved in, brandishing his tail, and swiped it through the air, connecting with the blue-tinted dragon’s jaw and toppling him to one side. The toppled dragon righted himself and prepared to lunge again. And again, the gilded one brought forth his tail, this time catching the bluish one on the side of the neck. Once more, he spilled over to one side. This time, the gilded dragon leaped onto him, and the two of them locked talons together and thrashed on the floor as they had thrashed standing up.

  The crowd roared at the ferocity of their display. With a mighty shove, the blue-tinted one forced the two of them into a roll that put the green and gold one now on his back. Blue-tint spread his wings while pressing the other onto the stone, but green-and-gold snaked his tail up between them and wrapped it around blue-tint’s neck. The bluish one shrieked loudly and threw himself to one side, pulling his foe into another roll. They thrashed about on the floor of the stone arena, the golden one coming up to his knees and starting to batter his tail up and down his opponent’s jaws, neck, and chest. It became a torrential rain of savage blows. The golden one screeched, and his opponent roared out his defiance…

  And in the midst of the noises of combat from the arena and the shouts of the crowd

  surrounding it came the whirring of a hovercar over the grass.

  The spectators looked in the di
rection of the approaching vehicle and saw that it had one occupant, a human female wearing an Interstar Fleet uniform and a serious expression. She stopped the hovercar and let it float a couple of meters from the spectators as she climbed out.

  “One side,” the human female called. “Official Fleet business; one side, please.”

  The young Knights, trained from first initiation that official Fleet business was one of the things that took precedence over sport, parted to let the woman pass by them and walk up to the edge of the arena. She looked onto the stone platform to see the gilded dragon still flailing away at his adversary, oblivious to everything else until the ebbing of the shouts from the crowd made him curious. He pulled himself away from the dazed but still defiant blue-tinted dragon lying under him, and turned his attention behind him. There he saw Lieutenant Leanne Shire standing with her hands on her hips, her businesslike expression unchanged from when she’d arrived.

  The crowd was quiet enough now for everyone to hear her say, “Lieutenant Leanne Shire of the Interstar Fleet. I’m looking for Sir Coram Dunne.” She looked directly at the gilded dragon whom she had found winning the bout. “That’s you, correct?” She recognized him from his scans in his dragon form.