Chapter 5

There was an unfortunate (or maybe that was a fortunate) truth about nuclear weapons and their use in space warfare. Without an atmosphere to transmit the concussive force, or the intense heat, nukes had to depend entirely on radiation and the light burst of their detonation to cause actual damage.

The fifteen fifty megaton warheads that slammed into the Talon-9 and detonated didn’t actually strike the hull of the ship. Drawing that close would have activated various defenses that would have slagged the intricate weapons before they managed to go fusion. Instead, they flew about five kilometers away from the sleek dart of a ship and went fusion with a vengeance. They bathed the ship, from draconic snout to fluted, almost whale-like fins, with enough hard radiation to fry a roc’s eggs. As the adamantine hull blazed with a blue-white heat and the armor plating sloughed like tectonic plates, the Ouster pirates fired their railguns.

Ten railguns, from ten different ships, all firing at a steady shot-per-second clip, each one firing a dart of crude iron through magnetic accelerators that ran from stem to stern of the little, dart like ships. Magic had been used to wring extra acceleration out of the railguns - and extra length, considering how many of the guns had been ‘doubled’ by placing flickering teleport-portals at the midway point.

The slugs struck the adaminte hull and tore gouges the size of cars through deck after deck after deck. Greedy vacuum ripped crew and passengers into the depths of space. A naked Merton struggled and flailed as he was blown outwards and saw the glorious, horrifying sight of the Talon-9 ripping to pieces as its magical reactor core went critical and ripped open a hole straight to the Plane of Positive Energy. The wave of healing energy struck him – overloading his biological functions and burning his every cell with a terrible radiance.

He was drowning. Drowning in pure life.

And then, like a soap bubble popping, he was standing on the bridge of the Talon-9. Next to him stood Relix, looking quite irritated.

“Oh what now?” she asked.

“Pirates, ma’am,” Gunner said, looking up from his console. “They’ve burned through three of our ablative wish-layers.”

“I ... what!?” Merton yelped.

“Uuuuugh!” Relix threw up her hands. “Those spells are so freaking expensive!”

“Whaaaaaaaaat is happening?” Merton asked.

“Hi! I’m Brash!” The small dragon hatchling that had interrupted Merton’s lovemaking leaped onto his head, sticking his nose into Merton’s face.

The Talon-9 accelerated hard enough that it kicked Merton in the chest and sent him falling backwards into a couch that slipped smoothly out of the floor of the bridge. Merton blinked a few dozen times as he tried to grasp what had happened. He had felt the killing radiance. He had felt his eyeballs freezing. He reached out and touched Relix – feeling the strong curve of her shoulder, the softness of her scales. Brash, meanwhile, had curled up on his head like the worlds second most adorable hat and gone promptly to sleep. His snores were a bit like a purr. And, like a purring cat, it set Merton at ease. Slowed his heart rate down to something close to normal.

Relix put her hand on Merton’s hand and explained: “Well, obviously, considering how dangerous ambushes are, we have some perfect defenses.”

“Like ... perfect defenses?” Merton asked.

“Wish spells!” Relix said, cheerfully. “We have three layers of them weaved into the skin of the ship. It’s expensive, though. And a pain in the tail. Fifty thousand credits worth of hard diamonds, not to mention the century and a half of training for each wizard-technician to cast the bloody things.”

Merton blinked at her. “Why. Don’t. I ... wishes!?” He shook his head. “Why don’t you use them for more than a fancy Omega-13!?”

“Uh, because it’s against the law?” Relix asked, her brow furrowing.

“That hasn’t stopped anyone in the history of ever,” Merton said, putting his hands on his head as he squeezed his hair. Brash nosed at his fingers curiously. Merton didn’t have the heart to remove him.

“Merton. There are laws. And then there are laws. There are only three laws that have ever seen an entire household eradicated to the last cell.” Relix put her finger on his chest, teasing one of Merton’s short chest hairs. It was then that Merton realized that he was completely naked. His hand reached out and he found one of the cushions on the curved couch, then placed it above his crotch, his cheeks flushing dark red. “The law against genetic engineering dragons. The law against contacting the Night City. And, finally, the law against the use of wish spells in anything but stabilization and approved terraforming.”

Merton gulped, slowly. “Okay ... so ... wishes can be used for defenses. And ... terraforming?”

“Yes,” she said. “I mean, we dragons live forever, but we’re not that patient.”

“And whole houses have been eradicated over this?” he asked.

“Why do you think there aren’t any Radium, Tungsten, Teal or Zebra dragons anymore?” Relix asked, with the air of someone who couldn’t believe someone could be so dense. Merton nodded, slowly, then looked out at the rest of the bridge. He had kind of expected more to have happened. But as he took in what was happening on the bridge, he realized that space battle seemed to be that kind of battle that went very very slowly, until it went very very quickly. He had time enough to take in the bridge. It was roughly triangular in shape, with consoles along two of the edges and doors along the back. The center of the bridge was dominated by the incredibly comfy command couch. Or at least, the ‘lounge around and watch Gunner do the actual work’ couch.

Speaking of Gunner, he was standing beside several of the consoles – which were worked by a motley collection: A dark skinned, one eared elf who was currently tapping on controls that translated to faint shudders and pulses of acceleration. There was a dwarf without a beard, who was currently listing off targeting solutions with a stutter so intense that it made every sentence take twice as long as it should have. Finally, there was a gobliness, who was dressed in a spacesuit as designed by a fetish catalog, who kept breaking into the firing solutions with the same question.

“T-Th ... The Ou ... Ousters are c-coming in at v-v-v-v-vhu-vector-”

“Can I use the flamers!?”

“For the last time,” Gunner said, his voice calm and casual. “No. You cannot use the flamers, Pyria.”

“But they’re flame throwers!” Pyria groaned.

The door to the bridge opened and in came the four armed purple skinned chick. She looked pissed.

“Why was I not informed of incoming ordinance?” she asked. “I could have activated the PRCs!”

“Because we didn’t know they were coming, Specy.” Gunner said and, at last, at long last, Merton had a name to hang on the four armed purple skinned chick. She crossed two of said arms over her chest, frowning.

“Well, the PRCs are up now,” she said. “We’ve got some planar whipple shields up.”

“We’ve noticed,” Gunner said, frowning. “Hows the power leads?”

“Four of the five portals are up. If you play up our energy requirements anymore, we’ll be tapped out-” Specy said, frowning as she cocked her head.

“We’re just dodging,” Gunner said, shaking his head. His mandibles clacked together audibly. “We have to keep this up until they run out of-” A series of bright flashes filled the forward view-screen, making Merton wince. Beside him, Relix had dozed off. What was with dragons and taking naps during space battles?

“Uh, question,” Merton said. “What the hell is going on?”

Gunner and Specy looked at him. Gunner looked faintly amused. Specy looked like she was trying to evaluate how well he had put his newly enhanced dong to use. Merton felt a flush crawl up his cheeks as he coughed and said: “I think, as Relix’s husband, I should know how to fight a space battle. Just in case.”

Gunner pursed his mandibles, then nodded. “Fine. The Talon-9 is a top of the line draconic demiship. It’s about twenty meters long, but the interior is expanded via the use of demiplanes. Her reactor is a direct portal-feed to the plane of positive energy – essentially limitless, save that we can only pop five portals at once to run energy out. For passive defenses, we have a layer of adamantine with a sublayer of bio-engineered dragon scales for flexible kinetic dispersal, followed up by three level 9 spell slots preloaded with class two wish spells, which are triggered on catastrophic drive failure to return the ship to normal, to return the crew to normal, and to put us a standard DU away from the enemy.”

“A dragon unit?” Merton asked.

“Yeah. It’s the distance that a dragon needs between another dragon before it feels comfortable leaving its hoard unguarded,” Gunner said. “It’s roughly ten thousand kilometers of hard vacuum.”

Merton slowly looked at his wife, who had started to waken up. She blinked, yawned, then said: “What? He said unguarded. With proper guards, I can leave my hoard much earlier than that.” She rubbed at her muzzle. “Have the enemies been destroyed yet, Gunner? I was in the middle of sex.”

“No, m’lady,” Gunner said – shooting a look at Merton. Merton felt his magically enhanced dong shrivel under that glower.

“Ah well,” Relix said, leaning back as she started to close her eyes again.

Merton shook his head, trying to get the conversation back on track. “What are the active defenses?”

Gunner pointed to one of the consoles – where Pyria was sitting, with her green feet up on the console, a small hand-held flamer in her hands. She was firing it into the air, looking transfixed by the flickering orange streamer. “That console controls the planar whipple shields. If the ship detects incoming kinetic or directed energy ordinance, it’ll pop a portal to the elemental plane of water. Anything that gets past that gets hit by the PRCs – the Polar Ray Casters. They’re a series of two hundred wands primed to ray of frost, with meta-magic augmentation worked into the focusing apertures to maximize damage. Via focusing, the rays can knock most missiles out of the air, as well as small fighters, assuming their planar shields are down.”

Merton was starting to come to grips with just how vast the difference between humanity’s technology and draconic magitechnology was and it was making him feel very ... very small.

“Now, for weapons!” Gunner said, his voice casual. Like he’d belted this out before. A lot. “Four railguns along the spine, and five LRPTs under each wings, capable of ripple firing ten plasma torpedoes each. We’ve got five magazines, each one holding a hundred torpedoes. Then we have a backup cache of vortex weapons, in case we really need to get serious.”

“How much ammo for the railguns do we have?” Merton asked, rubbing his palms against his face.

Gunner looked at him oddly. “They ... they’re fed directly by portals to the Elemental Plane of Earth. Technically, their firing starts about ten clicks back in the EPE, with only the last twenty meters of the gun coming out on this ship. Ammo’s not a concern.”

“Jesus,” Merton whispered.

“Now,” Gunner said. “Our enemy are ten different Ouster pirate ships – their clan markings are obscured, but they’re running on black market anti-matter reactors. Hot, efficient, dangerous. Their railguns are all shorter lengths than ours, but they have more of them, and their nukes are a serious pain in the ass.” He waved Merton over. Merton, feeling distinctly underdressed, stood and kept his crotch covering pillow against his junk. Brash, who had remained on the top of his head, snored even louder.

The screen that Gunner showed Merton was instantly recognizable to Merton, because he was the kind of nerd who knew how to recognize orbital and space combat maneuvers. The ten Ouster ships were basically on the Talon-9’s tail, firing a constant streamer of railgun fire, which was portaled away into the plane of water. Nukes swept outwards in jinking patterns, zig zagging towards the ship before being struck down by the PRCs. Some of the nukes did get through and detonated close enough to the ship to leave the hull glowing a cherry red. But not enough of them to really cause them problems. However, Merton could see that the only reason the Ouster ships couldn’t get closer was because the Talon-9 was burning as hard as she could go.

“We can’t go faster without shutting down some of the portal defenses,” Gunner said.

“And if they get closer, they can saturate our defenses with close range fire. I bet they have knife fight weapons. Lasers or something.” Merton rubbed his chin, thinking.

“Telescope them,” Gunner said. “Check.”

“Aye, sir!” The one eared dark skinned elf said. A moment later, she said. “Yup, they have a few dozen industrial lasers each. They’re made for mining ore, but they’re dwarven make. They’ll cut adamantine, given enough time.”

“How long?” Merton asked. Gunner looked amused.

“Thirty six seconds,” the dark elf said.

“Well,” Specy said, stepping up slightly. “Less, if we’re still red hot. More, if we can cool down before we get to them.”

“Can we make our defensive portals bigger?” Merton asked.

“Yes, if we want to suck up all our energy...” Specy said, frowning.

“Okay,” Merton said. “Here’s my plan.”

They listened.

Slowly, Gunner started to grin.

It was not a pretty sight.

Pirate-Lord Kursk tapped three of his five fingers on his thigh as he leaned back in the acceleration creche of the Ouster ship Fuck You I Got Mine. The steady wham wham wham of the railgun going off had gone from a comforting pattern to an aching hammering against his already aching exterior ear-sacks. Kursk was a trullup, one of the sentient arboreal squirrels that had evolved on the elven garden world of Gladefellow.

He had hated it.

He had hated every last second of the saccharine sweetness. He had hated the midnight dancing parties around the fairy circles. He had hated the tweet elven princesses, so innocent in their sheer robes, giving roses and flowers to everyone who came to visit. He had despised the cities, where elven councils had genteelly given over every last scrap of dignity and magical resources to the Five Talon Empire.

Now, here he was, about to nukefuck a princess of that empire into radioactive slag. He could feel the closeness of his victory, like the closeness of a woman in heat.

“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 a sawmill.

“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 dispensor) 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: “Decel! Decel! Decel!”

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 immediately. “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 shifted 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 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 palm and a glowing blade of pure, purple light formed in her palm. She swung it around, then rolled her shoulders ... and shifted. 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.