Scales Like Stars (Dragons...in...SPACE! Book 1) Page 12

  “Cap,” his gunner – a short, squat dwarf who, like all Ousters, had been made smaller and smaller by the years of magical transformations that people who joined their clans had to undergo. Ousters built small ships, and built them to survive in space. If you joined, you had to get small too. Kursk had himself lost two feet of height, and hadn’t regretted it a bit. “We’re running a bit low on the nukes.”

  “Get the gobblers to build more. We have enough spare parts...”

  “The wrangler says the gobblers are getting antsy. They wanna invent something.” His gunner looked back over her shoulder, her own sideburns a fierce, bristling pair that had been dyed and spiked into a sawblade pattern. It made her look like she had eaten an industrial workshop.

  “Put them on the screen,” Kursk growled.

  The main screen flickered from the view of the space battle to the gobbler wrangler. The incredibly tired looking blue skinned torriie who had been put in charge of managing their pack of goblins was smoking what seemed to be her tenth cigarette. Behind her, several goblins were running about. One was swinging on a lamp. Another one had set himself on fire and was rolling around on the floor while the others chanted: “Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!”

  “Yeah, cap?” the torriie asked.

  Kursk put on his best smile, despite the throbbing headache that was starting to burn through his brain. The hammering of the railgun, plus the nearly three Gs they were burning...it was hard to take, even with contra-gravitic enchantment reducing the actual practical gravities to almost draconic norms. “I hear your gobblers want to invent shit.”

  The goblins all shut up and, in an instant, were standing before the camera. “Yes sir sir, sir yes!” one of them said, saluting so hard he almost knocked his goggled helmet off his head.

  “Which one of you has an idea ?” Kursk asked.

  The goblins shuffled. Then one of them raised his hand. “I had this idea for a torpedo that like, fires other torp-”

  “Space him,” Kursk said. The goblin had time to say ‘wha’ before the gobbler wrangler had grabbed him by his scrawny throat, jammed him into the goblin airlock (which doubled as a trash dispenser) and slammed down the leaver. The sound of the goblin’s scream was irritatingly silent. Kursk would have enjoyed hearing it. The other goblins had gone very still. “Anyone else want to not build nuclear weapons?”

  The goblins shook their heads in unison.

  “Then start building some fucking nukes,” Kursk growled.

  “SIR!”

  The shout of his gunner jerked Kursk’s attention away from the gobblers – the screen winked back to a view of the space battle. The view was everything he had wished for. He grinned, fiercely, as he watched the dragon’s demiship start to slew to the side. Their engines were sputtering incoherently, and while their portal shields did flick up occasionally, they didn’t stop every single shot that was hitting. He looked at his gunner.

  “Hit the scryer,” he said.

  “Aye...” She paused. “They’ve had a total magic cascade failure! I think it’s their armor .”

  “The bane of arcane magic,” Kursk chuckled. Everyone knew that wizards and sorcerers and arcanists and bloodchanters and ciphers couldn’t so much as light a candle if they were in heavy armor. The same was true of ships – dragons could make the arcane spell mishap chance close to zero. But they couldn’t make it zero . And that meant...he rubbed his chin and then said: “All ships. Hold off on the fire. Lets board this bitch and see if we can sell some dragon steaks!”

  A lusty cheer came in from every com band as the Ousters accelerated forward. Several looped left. Several looped right. Kursk put himself on a zenith arc. But the bulk of the Ousters headed straight in.

  Straight in.

  Straight.

  In.

  Something buzzed along Kursk’s brain. A tiny suspicion that, he thought, was the root of why he never liked Gladefellow.

  He could sniff when things were just too good. The demiship wasn’t even firing its cold jets, or its non-magical ordinance. He snarled and tapped at his coms, bringing them on again: “Decelerate! Decelerate now ! ”

  And that was when every defensive portal on the draconic ship snapped open on the same flank and dumped sixteen billion tons of liquid water from the Elemental Plane of Water into space between them and the primary Ouster boarding thrust. The liquid water flash froze and flash boiled all at the same moment, expanding outwards like a kinetic shotgun, and six Ouster ships smashed in so fast that they barely had time to kick on deceleration burns. The searing flashes of their anti-matter self immolations was enough to make Kursk cry out in fury and rage both, even as the wave of hard radiation bathed his ship and caused every single system to spark and crackle and flicker.

  The demiship’s engines roared back to life, swinging it around to bring railguns to bear on the left flank of the Ouster attack. The two ships that were approaching there turned into stars, their internal oxygen burning up in a single flash.

  “Nooooooooo!” Kursk screamed. “Fucking ramming speed! Now! ”

  Every last droplet of anti-matter felt as if it was being set off behind Kursk. Several giants were tea-bagging him, their massive balls smashing him into the chair. That was how it felt, at least. The needle of his ship plunged towards the demiship, which was still trying to bring its railguns to bear. But Kursk’s ship and the other remaining Ouster ship both crashed into the adamantine hull with a rending tear . Every single pre-bought spell slot that the Ouster ship had left port with went off in the same motion. Ant-Carry was cast on each crew-member, to let them carry the sudden weight pressing on them as gravity ripped at their forms. Mage Shield and Mage Armor both flared to life, turning aside the impact and making the prow into something close to a magical knife.

  And, of course, magic missiles kicked on too.

  Kursk saw it on the screen as the nose of his ship thrust into a large corridor. Several men at arms who had been rushing to their positions were cut down by a sudden streamer of perfectly aimed darts of pure force. The one who managed to dive into cover before the spray was finished was screaming for reinforcements. But then the front of the bridge opened – as if the view screen had turned to reality. Kursk undid his crash webbing, drew his chain-saber and pulled his DK-Bolter from his holster, then leaped onto the demiship.

  “Kill everyone !” he bellowed. “Every last fucking one!”

  ***

  Relix was on her feet before the ship had even stopped shuddering from the boarding impact. “Evacuate the decks!” she said. “Get the civilians to the storm cellar! And get me my sword.”

  “Yay!” Brash clapped, then leaped off of Merton’s head. He transformed as he flew, landing on the deck before the two of them. He had shifted into a sleekly muscled, humanoid form – toned and strong, with human skin and raven black hair. The only clue he was a dragon was his golden, slitted eyes, the fine patina of scaling on his chest in the place of chest hair, and his eighteen inches of dick. Because dragons had a theme , it seemed. He pulled a tricorn hat from literally nowhere and set it on his head. “Avast, maties!”

  “Where did you get that hat?” Merton asked, slowly, still clutching a pillow to his junk.

  “Oh! I shapeshifted my palm so that it was holding a hat! The hat’s actually my cells, but it just looks like a hat!” Brash picked up his hat, showing a very tiny filament wire of black hair connecting the hat to his scalp. “See?”

  “...then why didn’t you shapeshift to have clothes ?” Merton asked.

  Brash looked utterly confused. “I...those words were all in Galactic Common, but...none of them made any sense in that order.”

  Gunner, meanwhile, had grabbed onto Relix, frowning. “You are going to the storm cellar right now. We have less than twenty men at arms left. Each Ouster ship carried its own goblinoid swarm and the Ousters. They have DKs and chain-blades and power armor.”

  Relix snarled. “This. Is. My. Ship. And you’re my people . And I will be
damned if I let some space pirate do anything but die aboard her.” She snapped her fingers, holding out her palm. A flash of magic surrounded her hand and a glowing blade of pure, purple light formed in her palm. She swung it around, then rolled her shoulders...and transformed . Her scales thickened and expanded, from the smooth snakeskin of her normal form, until she was covered in armor plating. Her wings actually folded back until they were gone, while her tail became short and stubby. Her muzzle lengthened and a pair of horns grew from her forehead, then fanned outwards, creating an almost samurai-helmet style look around her head. She rolled her shoulders again and Merton could hear the creak and groan of her armor-plates shifting.

  Then, without a word, she started stomping towards the exit.

  Merton looked at Gunner and Brash. Brash looked a bit chagrined. “I could do that, if I wanted too! The psi-sword, I mean. I just...haven’t. Yet.” He blushed, then gasped. “Oh! I know!” He leaped onto Merton’s head.

  Before Merton could say anything or do anything, Brash spread. It felt a bit like having warm, moist latex slurping over your whole head. Merton didn’t even have time to scream. The tight, moist membrane slurped along every inch of Merton’s skin, until he found himself entirely enclosed in darkness. After an agonizing second of blindness, a pair of pinpricks thrust into his ears and there was a loud clunk and he could see out of his eyes again. He looked down at himself and yelped . He was covered in gleaming scale and hardened armor. Claws thrust from his fingertips, and he felt a thrumming, pulsating strength. He felt the wind breezing along his back and his shoulders.

  Hi! I’m ARMOR NOW! Brash’s excited voice boomed in his head.

  Firstly, Merton thought. Volume. Secondly...WHAT THE FLYING FUCK!?

  Gunner, meanwhile, was gaping at the pair of them. The rest of the bridge crew was gaping. Every one of them looked utterly and completely shocked, as flummoxed as Merton felt. Which was faintly comforting, now that he thought about it. But before he could ask any questions, the loud roar of something between a chainsaw and a lighting storm and the end of the world echoed down the corridor, and he could hear the faint cry of Relix’s voice. His heart squeezed and Merton moved without thinking. He leaped forward.

  And smashed his head into the ceiling. He rebounded, hit the ground on his scaled belly, then skidded five feet.

  Wheeee! Brash giggled in his head. At least he wasn’t booming anymore.

  “Ow...” Merton growled, then put his palms under his feet. He forced himself up – and that motion sent him flying backwards, shooting into the bridge. He yelped as he realized he was about to hit the front of the bridge – and reflexively beat his wings. Wait. Wings? The sudden pressure at his back stopped him cold in the air, and a wind billowed around his body. Merton spread his hands wide, trying to balance himself. His feet clicked onto the ground. But then the roar of gunfire came again. This time, he ran forward but modulated his movement. This meant he cleared the bridge in two bounds and was in the corridor a moment later.

  The view swirled with a sudden sandstorm of information. Outlines flickered on around each of the Ousters that were swarming forward in the corridor. Health bars snapped up over each one and a haze of targeting reticles and sword-swing indicators. Merton saw Relix staggering backwards as a swarm of goblins – each one armed with a shimmering, midnight black knife – leaped onto her armored form. She spread her arms wide, growing extra arms underneath each goblin to fling them aside. This filled the air with goblins, and made Merton realize what he needed to do.

  Brash! Target lock ! Merton thought – looking at a specific goblin. The rest of the targeting data faded away and Merton saw exactly where he’d need to kick. His bare foot kicked out and he saw that his leg and foot were both black scaled and draconic. The impact of his foot into the goblin’s belly folded the cackling creature in half, sending it arcing over to smash into the helmeted face plate of one of the Ouster boarders.

  Look out! Brash thought, his voice more excited than afraid. Warning indicators jerked Merton’s head down as one of the Ousters leveled a gun that looked like it was a cross between a crossbow and a lawnmower and a plasma gun. It fired a searing buzzsaw of plasma that shot past where Merton’s head had been, the blade exploded against the wall behind him. Merton took a single step forward and punched the Ouster in the head, as hard as he could.

  He had expected a lot of things.

  None of them had been the Ouster’s head vanishing like a soap bubble of blood, and their headless corpse flipping through the air, trailing crimson.

  Merton felt his gorge rise. But it got worse.

  He felt Brash’s disgust and horror as well.

  And both Merton and Brash got sick at the exact same time.

  Which meant Merton went flying out of the Brash-suit’s mouth, hit the ground, and skidded on a belly slick with lubrication that he didn’t even begin to want to identify. Merton skidded to a stop right before the tallest looking Ouster – which still meant he was pretty short. But that didn’t matter when one was naked and on their belly, and the other was in power armor, holding a roaring chainsaw cutlass and a pistol that looked like it fired entire swords out of its huge barrel. The Ouster’s helmet was off, revealing an incongruously adorable squirrel-like face, marred only by a pair of huge, puke-orange orbs for ears.

  The ouster grinned.

  “The husband,” he purred.

  He lifted his sword. The chainsaw edge roared.

  Merton lifted his arm, knowing it was useless.

  The chain-saber came down, sputtering with smoke and oily fumes.

  And smashed into a shield of crackling green energy. The impact jarred Merton’s arm and left it completely numb. But the Ouster rebounded with a shuddering jerk, his sword groaning as the teeth failed to bite into anything. Merton stood, his lubricated feet skidding along the ground. The green shield on his arm was formed exactly like Captain America’s shield. Complete with the star. He whispered, slowly: “When he throws his mighty shield...”

  “A mage!” The Ouster growled, righting his posture.

  “All who oppose his shield must yield !” Merton bellowed and threw in the same motion. The green shield flew outwards and smashed into the Ouster’s chest plate with a sound like a gong. The Ouster went flying backwards and the shield rebounded to slap against Merton’s arm.

  “Merton, look out!” Relix shouted.

  Merton turned and saw one of the goblins running at him, holding a hissing cartoon style bomb over her head, cackling like a maniac. Merton simply had to think his shield into a weapon and it transformed into a ray-gun. A stream of green light struck the goblin’s bomb and the corridor between Merton and Relix got painted with a fine red mist. Then Relix was at his side and both turned to face the Ouster.

  The Ouster leveled his pistol and Relix froze.

  “Take another step forward,” the Ouster growled. “And I riddle your pathetic monkey with enough Lethe shards that even if you rez him, he’ll be a dribbling infant.”

  Relix’s hand tightened on her sword. Her eyes flashed.

  “Who are you?” Merton asked. “Who sent you?”

  “I am the Pirate Lord Kursk of the Ouster Clan Smoke Jaguar-”

  “Clanner scum!? Really?” Merton asked.

  The Ouster glared at him.

  Which is why he completely missed Relix opening her mouth and hitting him with her breath weapon. As her nose had steamed earlier, Merton would have bet money on either cold or lightning. It turned out that his first guess was the right one. The blast of raw ferocious cold almost turned his own skin blue, just by standing next to her. When the swirl of white and flash-frost had faded, the Ouster stood – statue still, his face still trapped in a quiet glower.

  Relix breathed slowly out.

  Merton smiled at her, then turned around. He knelt down and picked up a tiny, shivering Brash. The small dragon had turned into his quadrapedal form, save he was barely large enough to fill Merton’s cupped palms, and was hiding hi
s head under his wings.

  “Hey, little buddy...” Merton whispered, caressing the dragon on his back with a single pinkie. He felt very soft right now. Brash peeked out from under his wing, his eyes filled with tears. He flinched slightly at Merton’s smile – and Merton felt a sudden almost blinding level of utter and complete rage. It started with the very idea of Baron Bex Thresh of the Singularity Principalities being anywhere near Brash, let alone being a father figure. It spiraled outwards to include the entire Five Talon Empire for being a place where Brash would need to learn to hide his tears.

  It was the rage that was at the heart of his decision to ask for him in the first place. So much had happened, and other than a few questions, no one had actually asked Merton why he had asked for the egg. And the reason he been so simple, so mushy, that he was kind of glad he hadn’t had to admit it. Not to that hard nosed wife of his, nor her many gruff advisors.