Scales Like StarsChapter 6
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Merton felt like he was wearing the most heavily armed wedding cake in the universe. His arms were thrust outwards and his legs were spread, and he simply stood perfectly still as intersecting layers of highly complex nanomachines and magical circuitry flowed around his limbs like thick, taffyesque water. He looked down at the billowy, white material, then over at the bald elf and the four armed scantily clad purple dominatrix slash science person who seemed to handle all the fancy gizmos on this spaceship.
To think today had started off so normal. He had been going about his business, firmly sure that dragons and space empires were the realm of fiction. Now, he was on a draconic spaceship, betrothed to a woman he had met twice, and being dressed for a banquet to snub one of her former suitors.
And, from the specifications he had heard, for potential battle.
Also said suitor was also a dragon.
Also, so was his betrothed.
“The smart clothing is tasting your soul,” the purple woman said. “Hold still, we don’t want it to get confused. Calibrating for a mage-blind is like calibrating for someone without skin. Or bones.”
“How comforting,” Merton said, his voice tight.
“Before the dinner begins,” the bald elf said.
“Wait,” Merton said. “What’s your name?”
“Thuwit,” he said, lifting his chin and puffing up his somewhat flabby chest as if he was on parade. “Seneschal of House Castrovel, tutor to the Princess Relix, Master of Assassins.” He pulled some glowing blue liquid to his lips via a clear plastic vial and sucked it all down with clear relish. He shuddered, licked his lips, then continued: “Slave-trained and chem-gelded on the pits of Torel, I survived ten years in the Blood Pits, five years in the Red Scholarium, and two at court as adjunct to Lord Dagon of the Fifth Circle of the Obsidian Eye, who himself served the Prismatic Emperor himself.”
Merton nodded. “Right, got it, Thufir.”
“Thuwit!” Thuwit snapped.
“That’s what I said. Thufir.” Merton grinned.
“Maybe I did pick an imbecile after all,” Thuwit muttered to the purple skinned woman.
“You haven’t read Dune?” Merton asked.
A red warning light flashed on behind the purple skinned woman. She turned to face it, her lower arms tapping at control crystals. She looked back at Merton, her voice severe. “Please,” she said. “Refrain from humor.”
“Does it screw with the smart clothes?” Merton asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Due to being mage-blind, it may misconstrue humor as a request for immediate exsanguinatative relocation.” She looked severe.
Merton coughed. “R-Right. So. Thuwit. My name is Merton Miles.”
Thuwit waited a few beats. “And?”
“That’s it,” Merton said. “Merton Miles. Oh! Sorry, Merton Briggs Miles. My middle name was chosen by rolling on a random name table in an old edition of the FASA Mechwarrior game.”
“I said refrain from humor!” the purple skinned woman said, her voice shifting from serious to utterly dire.
“I am!” Merton exclaimed.
Thuwit rubbed a finger along his temple. He licked his silvered lips and started to pace backwards and forwards, turning on his heel every time he reached one of the curved walls of the room. Merton’s arms were starting to ache. The idea of lowering them felt decidedly suicidal. He gritted his teeth.
“We need something more,” he said. “What accomplishments have you completed in your short, pitiful, mage blind life?”
Merton racked his brain. “Okay...” he said. “I...”
The doors to the banquet hall on The Rad Baron’s solar palace opened with a blare of fanfare, played with traditional red dragon pigheadedness. It was brash and overpowering and hammered into the ears like the lance of a lightspeed charger. Relix bore it with stoic distain and wished she could get away with a bit of shape-shifting. But shifting your form, even minutely, was a great way to begin a quiet war of subtle murder attempts. In fact, it’d be less provoking to be super obvious in your shifting. A subtle shift could add some subtle poison glands to your fingertip, or a biological flechette channel into your arm. Big shifts, like from humanoid to fully draconic forms, were less subtly dangerous.
But ... still dangerous. Since in her full dragon form she was thirty feet long from nose to tail and breathed plasma hotter than the surface of the sun that filled the windows.
Despite that the temptation to make her ears vanish was overpowering.
At last, though, the trumpets faded and the hundred and twenty one banner bearers who held aloft the plumes and flags of the Singularity Principality – with its swirling accretion disk done in red dyed fabric and the blaze of hawking radiation done in colors most races couldn’t see, forming an eye slit like a dragon’s pupil in the heart of the symbolic black hole – stepped back with a rattle and crash of boots and smashing onyxwood flagpoles.
This formed a straight avenue to The Red Baron’s table. He was seated there – as big as he could be while still remaining vaguely humanoid – and to his left sat his fifty six concubines, each one a different race, each one wearing a collar and absolutely nothing else. To his right were the few members of the House Thresh that lived on this backwater. There was Gimtar Thresh, a half-dragon, half-elf who looked as if she ritually starved herself (in truth, her pinched expression was just a feature of a personality that could shatter entire planets.) And next to her was a large black egg with a bow-tie affixed gently onto the top.
Ugh.
She hated dining with babies. They were always so messy.
Next to her, Merton had actually done a halfway respectable job in fancying himself up. He was dressed in proper smart clothes, which had been reformatted into a suit and tie that struck her as understated, but fashionable. The multicolored gemstones in the tie, the golden color of the smart-fibers, the rainbow cufflinks. All quite demure. She nodded subtly to herself, even as Merton adjusted his collar and muttered under his breath.
“When do we enter?”
“Once we’re announced, husband.” Relix slipped her arm through the crook of his arm and nestled close to him. He drew himself up and pressed against her and Relix found another thing to appreciate: He was warm. Humans were delightfully exothermic! Who knew? Well, humans must have, but who cared what they thought? They were mage-blind.
“Announcing the glorious Princess Relix Castrovel of the Third Talon of the Spinward Front of the Chromatic Arm of the Galaxy, Mistress of Fifty Thousand Worlds, Protector of the Dragon Maw Nebula, and Scourge of Pirates,” a humanoid man with pale green skin, of a race Relix didn’t care to recall the name of, boomed out. He was reading from a gilded scroll, and looked rather at ease ... and then his brow furrowed as he found the scroll unfurled, and unfurled more, and finally, touched the ground at his feet. His reading went slower as he leaned his head forward. “And her husband...”
Merton whispered something that sounded an awful lot like: Heeeere we go.
“Merton the Merciless, Emperor of Mongo, Ruler of Moldavia, Scourge of Carpathia. Galor of Ghosts, Prophet to Goblins, Builder of Dungeons, Friend to Dragons. Savior of Kharak and Hiigara...” he paused. “Adjunct to the Lady of Pain, YISUN and Zardoz. Mechwarrior and Mechcommander, Chapter Master of the Salamanders and Rogue Trader of his Holy Majesty of Glorious Terra. Smiter of the Swarm, the Horde, the Undead Scourge of Azeroth...” He paused again. “Champion of Hadley’s Hope, CEO of the Weyland-Yutani Corporation, and...” He had worked his way almost all the way down the scroll. “ ... and ... Master ... of Orion.”
Silence filled the hall.
The Red Baron slowly set down his goblet – he had taken a sip near the beginning of the announcement and had slowly stopped as the list went on and on and on and on. He stood, then laughed. “We have a world eater here! Come! Let me get an eye on you!”
“Oh wonderful,” Gimtar muttered, her snide voice carrying all the way to Relix’s aching ears. “This dinner conversation is going to be fascinating.”
They came to their seats and sat down. Merton’s brow furrowed as he looked at the egg with the bowtie. He looked at Relix, mouthing confusion at her. She shook her head subtly. Then the Red Baron clapped his hands and waiters swept forward. Soon, the table was cluttered with normal red cuisine. There was a whole wild boar, who was snuffling at the table settings, stepping past goblets, large furry tail flipping from side to side. Merton grabbed his goblet before it got knocked over, showing he knew proper red dragon table manners. Next to the boat were several toughs of elkerian mind-eels.
The Baron grabbed one with a scaled fist, and the eel started biting impotently at his wrist. He popped it into his mouth and started to chew, the squealing of the eel filling the air as he looked right at Merton.
Merton, to Relix’ shock, looked back with a kind of cool, casual expression.
“So!” The Baron growled. “Who was your most difficult enemy to best in single combat, oh world eater.”
“Sans,” Merton said. “Sans Skeleton.”
“One of this ... Undead Hoard?” The Baron narrowed his eyes.
“A freelancer, actually,” Merton said, leaning back in his seat.
“Uuuugh!” Gimtar groaned, then breathed a gout of flames onto the boar. The boar cried out, then dropped to the tabletop, knocking a few goblets over, splashing wine onto empty chairs. She reached out and grabbed some still burning boar flesh in her clawed hand, then chomped down on it.
“My sister lacks an appreciation for the martial arts,” the Baron said, sounding irritated.
“Well, fortunately, my wife and I think as one,” Merton said, grinning at Relix.
Relix looked at him. Her brow furrowed. And then she realized ... that her husband was actually trying to be something more than just a false front. He was trying to actually be a partner. If she and he got along, the Baron would see no weakness. No place to slide himself into her life and swoop her into his own household. Her heart started to race as she grinned back. “Yesss,” she said. “Should we tell him about, ah, Mongo?”
“Mongo!” Merton laughed. “Mongo, Mongo, Mongo!”
“Mongo?” The Baron asked. His veneer of joviality was starting to wear thin. He had grabbed up three more mind-eels, and they were squealing and writhing and chomping at the air and his fingers.
“It’s how we met,” Merton said. “I was leading a fleet of, oh, five gunships. They’re primitive next to your ships. Fusion torches, no shields, no adamantine armor, no sophisticated magitech other than a few simple light spells, you know.” He waved his hand. “But we were loaded for bear. X-Ray lasers, railguns, tac-nukes...”
“Don’t forget your drakes,” Relix said, grinning.
“How could I forget the drakes?” Merton said, taking her hand, then kissing her knuckles. “I used to think they were the most beautiful draconic being in the galaxy ... until I met you.”
Relix flushed. Her hearts started to thump thump faster and faster. Her nipples tingled and she looked aside, grinning despite herself. Merton laughed and kissed her knuckles again. His warm, warm, warm lips were so soft against her scales. Her tail coiled around his ankle under the table – even as Merton looked back at the Baron. “We were in trouble. Mongo was defended by this tin-pot dictator, Ming, and while I had the orbital advantage, they had better heat sinks, since they could tap into the methane lakes. So, I had lost two of my ships when suddenly, this beauty appears...”
“Youuuu!” Relix squealed.
“Oh, honey, I meant the Talon-9,” Merton said, grinning.
Relix slapped at his shoulder and Merton laughed.
The Baron, meanwhile, had gone from pretend jovial, to forcing a smile, to literally crushing his goblet between his fingers while smoke roiled from his snout. He was still sitting there and fuming as Merton wrapped his rather colorful tale of impaling Ming, the former Emperor of Mongo, through the chest with the nose cone of his last remaining sublight fighter. “And, well, I don’t want to brag, but lets just say that Ming’s daughter cried out a lot that night ... but there weren’t many tears,” Merton said, winking at the Baron.
Relix chortled, her tail having gone from squeezing Merton’s ankle to wrapping entirely around his calf. Her hand had dropped to cares shis thigh. She looked at him and wondered: Had she noticed how handsome he looked? Yes, he had no scales, but at least he wasn’t hairy. Beyond that tuft on his head, but it was quite well managed. And his eyes were the most remarkable shade of chocolate brown. She cocked her head, barely listening as he described the reason why he was called the Galor of Ghosts.
Dear gods, his eyes are beautiful, she thought. Not just remarkable, not just arresting. They’re honestly beautiful.
Then Relix sat up, her eyes widening.
“And then I said: Yes, sir, this man indeed has no genitalia,” Merton said, grinning.
The Baron snorted, despite himself, while his half-sister threw her head back and let out the most horrifying series of harpy laughs that Relix had ever heard. The egg wobbled from side to side, almost falling off the table with mirth. As the mirth faded, Relix tried to cover her own reaction by picking up a goblet of blood wine and drinking it down. Her throat bobbed – and she missed the warning sign until it was far, far too late.
“You do tell many good yarns,” the Baron said, his tones light. Airy, even. “But I wonder, how do you handle when facing something more than local brigands and sub-magic pirates?”
Relix choked on her bloodwine. She coughed, trying to speak, but Merton – too confident by half – said: “I expect I can handle myself.”
“Shall we see that?” Baron asked. “How do you feel about a gentleman’s wager.”
“Honey,” Relix said, putting her hand on Merton’s shoulder. Her claws pricked his skin through his smart clothes, trying to get his attention.
“This is a talk between males, Princess,” the Baron growled, his own claws lifted, his fingers spread.
Merton’s poker face remained game. He picked up his glass, tipped it back, then set it down. Relix noticed, then, that despite having been doing that the whole meal, the cup had never been even close to empty. Let alone refilled. Merton was picking his battles – blood wine was strong, even for dragons. “What would the terms of the wager be?”
“Simple,” the Baron said, his voice growing flat. “If you don’t win, I rip your throat out, take your woman, your holdings, your house and your planet.”
“Is that all?” Merton asked, his dryness only slightly marred by a tiny hint of fear.
The Baron grinned, wickedly. “If you win...”
“I get him,” Merton said, nodding to the egg.
The Baron looked deeply confused. “You ... want my cousin?”
“I’m magnanimous,” Merton said, shrugging.
“Yay!” A muffled voice came from within the egg.
“Shush, Brash!” Gimtar hissed.
Relix leaned her nose close to Merton’s ear, risking a quiet whisper. “Honey, you have to accept. The Baron’s challenged your honor and pride. Pulling back now means that the Baron will think you’re weak and we’ll be up to our snouts in assassins within the day.” Her hand caressed his thigh, as if this was a more sensual caress than a strategic one.
Merton grinned. “As the challenged party, I chose contests, yes?”
The Baron shrugged. “Is that the mode among your kind? Very well.”
Relix felt her belly turn to ice. Bex Thresh might be a braggart and a showboating bully, but he wasn’t the Baron of the Singularity Principalities for nothing. He had been using complex sublight strategic and tactical maneuvers since before he had cleaned off his eggshell. The many black holes of the Principalities meant a great deal of gravitational flux, as well as resource rich accretion disks full of Hawking Pirates and nihilists. He had been dodging railguns, plasma torpedoes, suicide assassin squads and death drones since before he had gone into heat. Any avenue of conflict, from the strategic to the tactical to the physical...
All led to disaster.
“I challenge you to a game of my people – one that reflects the high regard we have for dragons, both Prismatic and Chromatic,” Merton said, then thrust his finger at the Baron. “I challenge you, Baron Bex Thresh of the Singularity Principalities ... to DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS!”
The Red Baron leaned back in his seat. Hardened metal groaned and wood creaked. His scaled hand cupped his narrow snout and smoke roiled from his nostrils. “Is it some kind of strategy game?” he asked, curiously. “Like Gateway?”
“Uh, kind of,” Merton said, nodding.
Oh no, no, no, no! Relix thought.
“I accept,” the Red Baron said, grinning broadly.
Merton was feeling like he had been grabbed by a rather large, three headed dog and then wrung through a huge mess of nerd-mashing machinery. His head and shoulders were studded with knots of tension, while his lower back twinged as if he had spent his whole day lifting boxes at the box factory. And the fact that he was still half certain that he wouldn’t live to get out of these smart-clothes before they decided to relocate his blood was just a delicious, terrifying cherry on the top of the longest, most unpleasant dinner conversation he had ever been a part of.
For one thing, Relix had been really into her act. That was technically a good thing, but it was kind of hard to think of bullshit and spin it into a convincing story when huge boobs were being mashed against your face. Not that Relix was exceptionally stacked, but Merton was judging based off a comparison of the other, vast array of titties that had been mashed into his face.
I.E, zero. Anything was bigger than zero.
But there had also been the living food, the fact that the person across the table had been a feudal era psychopath, and the fact that Merton had gotten a good look out the window. The whole freaking palace had been built onto the photosphere of a fucking sun. The entire dinner had been his brain screaming at him about all the manifold ways that they were going to die. But now? Now they were back on the Talon-9 and Merton could-
“What. Were. You. THINKING!?”
Relix’s hands grabbed onto his shoulders and she started to shake him. She was roughly the same height as he was, but her muscles were corded with enough strength that Merton was positive he’d get whiplash if she kept that up. He lifted his arms, crying out.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!”
Relix let him go, panting, her cheeks flushed. Her scales were a glittering silver, so that meant that her blush showed up as a warm blueness that spread along her cheeks. But as he watched, he saw the color shift to red, her frilly hair-feathers lifting up as she made herself look bigger. She stabbed her finger at his chest. This was even scarier than it would have been normally, since her finger came to a wicked, bladed claw-tip.
“I told you! I told you that he was a tactical and strategic genius! You could have challenged him to Egg, Talon, Tail! Or dice! Something where you’d at least have a chance of winning!”
“He’d have respected ... Egg, Talon Tail?” Merton asked, making the mental cultural translation fairly easily. He wondered which beat which.
Alma
- 08.12.2020
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