Rieven looked at the red dragon skeptically. He almost thought ‘there’s no way’, but then he remembered how frequently he’d been thinking that lately and decided it could be true. He smiled sardonically at the dragon and said “How inviting of you to correct this misunderstanding. How is it that his ship exploding around him did not murder the flying fish?”

  Heat Death Virabdhara glowered at him, “Do not mock that which you do not understand. Tread here carefully, ye who do not yet fly.”

  That phrase heralded the opening of hostilities, or at least it would if Rieven did anything at all to aggravate this dragon. He looked at his datapad and saw status reports for the ships in the fourth navy coming in. It looked like they had only lost about fifteen or twenty vessels, the tallies were still being figured, with another thirty out of commission for the short-term. The numbers were remarkably not as disastrous as shooting down seventy or eighty of the enemy so quickly usually were. He looked at the datapad, eighty-seven. Eighty-seven dragon vessels destroyed. That left him with, assuming the worst, fifty-three in fighting shape. A little over four thousand lives. He tapped on another tab, four thousand three hundred and six lives, half of which were ready marines. He could do this.

  He looked back up. “Rising Sun Ahknahten did not act in honour. He declared what reality was without asking reality if it agreed. That is unwise and foolish, yes?”

  The red snorted agreement. Rieven continued “Is there not a price to be paid for committing fully to an act of egregious folly?”

  The answering smile he received was so devious that Rieven could almost swear he had just made a mistake, but he hadn’t. He was sure he hadn’t. He didn’t think he had. He looked down and saw that all ships that were capable had reported readiness, and those which were incapable were prepared, upon final command from Rieven, to drive into the fleet at near FTL, or as close as they could manage given the short distances.

  His contact screen alerted him to another problem. An entire runic structure was now circling the Fourth Navy in at least three dimensions. It slowly revolved around them, emitting an ominous green and gold light that reminded Rieven of sunlight filtering in through the trees. He looked up sharply at Virabdhara. “What is this?”

  The dragon, still grinning rasped out “You do not yet appreciate the power and the rapidity available to Rising Sun Ahknahten when he is enraged. Your torpedoes might manage to disrupt the working in time, but also they might not. Do you want to gamble with the lives of your Fourth Imperial Navy or would you prefer to gamble with just your own life, Commandant Rieven?”

  His datapad pinged a message from Ono: Sir, take the gamble. The skquiblies are telling me that they think this is the prelude to some sort of quest or ritual combat to resolve differences. It might net us some hand-to-hand and my boys are getting the wiggles from too much sitting, they need their asses in one of those dragon ships yesterday. Plus, dying to a working sounds less fun than Grumles’ ex.

  That gave Rieven pause. He wasn’t going to gamble on the destruction of the fourth just because he had a small chance of success if there was another way to go about it. You never know if you don’t ask, he thought. “Heat Death Virabdhara, are you speaking of ritual combat?”

  Virabdhara let out a rumble of low laughter. “Yes, my little imperial friend, I am.”

  The questions came rapid-fire now, “Ritual combat to the death?”

  “Not necessarily, though it would be unsurprising if that were to occur.”

  “Ritual combat between whom?”

  “Between the leader of your navy and Rising Sun Ahknahten.” Hmm, thought Rieven, that sounded promising, but also concerning.

  “Ritual combat in support of which tradition?”

  “Of the Heavenly Skies’ tradition.”

  “Revised question, ritual combat in support of which of Heavenly Skies’ traditions?”

  “In bleeding a new foe and in turn being bled by him. Our ships have fought and died. Our crews have fought and died. We know the measure of your ships, as you do ours. We know the measure of your crew, as you do ours. We do not know the measure of your leadership, as you do not know ours. We would have combat to determine your standing within our empire’s rankings, and to put to rest this feud that should not have happened in the first place.”

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  Well, that was a head-trip, thought Rieven. Personal combat with a dragon, you could not do much better than that in the tales. His datapad pinged with another message from Master Sergeant Ono: Sir, every marine in this navy will hate you forever if you don’t beat his ass. Trevors has seven hundred on you winning.

  Well there you have it. Consent of the governed. Rieven smiled. Just a few more details to iron out. “What happens to my navy if I lose?”

  “They are escorted to the edge of our empire and permitted to depart.”

  “What happens if I win?”

  “That depends on the manner of your win, but nothing less than their safe escort to our empire’s bounds and their peaceful departure, and perhaps more. It is at the moment, uncertain.”

  “What are the rules?”

  “No external axiom workings. None shall interfere in any way, on pain of torment till death. All else is permitted.”

  His datapad pinged from Ono: I’ve just put down 15,000 that says you’ll eat his eye while he’s still twitching. What? Rieven was confused. Why would I eat his, oh never mind. I guess an eye is the new version of a crayon now. Whatever. Assurances. If I could get some way to trust this thing then it sounds perfect.

  “Assurances?”

  Here, the dragon stilled and it seemed he looked through the screen into Rieven’s soul for a long moment. “I give you my son as surety.” Huh. That was solid stuff. Ok then.

  “When shall I receive your son?”

  “I will send him over to your vessel the Hidden Dagger directly. Once you have secured him, please treat him in good faith. You and your guard may shuttle to the Paradisiacal Halls for the ritual combat.”

  Rieven asked “Which one is the Paradise Halls?” He shortened the name to see how much give the social boundary had.

  “My vessel, the Paradisiacal Halls, like the cycle of an age, paradisiacal.” Apparently no give, but no recoil either, he thought. Better not push any more.

  “Very well Heat Death Virabdhara. Lower the working around our fleet, commence the transfer of assurance, and I’ll be there directly. Rieven out.” He closed the comm link and looked to his bridge crew. They all looked at him sadly. One even had pity in his eyes.

  “Sir, you”

  Reiven interrupted quickly, not wanting to let that sentiment mature. “No. No sadness, no pity. I do not go to the slaughter. He will go with me if I die, but I don’t expect to depart. Big red said nothing of internal threading, just external workings of axiom. I should give a good showing. Master Sergeant Ono even has money on me.” Rieven joked, though he was concerned because he had no reference for the size of these creatures, but he was the commandant of the Void Spectres and that had certain prerequisites. It also had certain dues; pay the rent, earn the rank every day. Room for him there was available for as long as he could keep it.

  He thought his chances in the upcoming were good. “XO” he called. Lieutenant Commander Gahst saluted him and walked over from the wall where she had been standing out of the way as he had the conversation.

  “Sir!”

  “You have the con.” As she moved to sit the chair, he whispered “Get our boys back home if I fall. No death charge, and no arguing.” She grimaced, but nodded her head and sat, a look of grim warning on her face for anyone who didn’t immediately look away.

  The contact screen showed a blip. The shuttle must be on its way over. He looked and saw that the working around their fleet came down the moment the shuttle crossed the line. “Well,” he said, “I’d better go meet that son of a snake and welcome him to the Hidden Dagger.” He saluted the bridge and every officer stood and saluted him. Eyes were watery, but underneath the tension there was tethered excitement. They wanted to see their captain fight a dragon!

  Rieven turned and left the bridge. Two marines followed behind from where they had stood outside the bridge on guard. He wandered through the halls and saw his crew lined up all the way to the shuttle bay in one continuous salute. His eyes turned glassy and he gave one salute in return and walked through the halls looking dead ahead. Rieven knew if he looked at anyone his eyes might leak.

  When he reached the closed doors to the shuttle bay, he found a squad of ship’s marines standing just in front in their battle rig, a full bodysuit made of a mix of electronics and axiomatic metal. It could function with both mundane and axiomatic power. It was a marvel of the discovered world. Just recently developed too. He had been there for the initial testing that proved them functional.

  Any source of energy stopped functioning immediately in the presence of axiom. Gun powder went inert, explosive putty would not light, lasers would not fire. A kinetic round would lose all momentum and velocity. Axiom was the great technological destroyer, the little death the engineers cursed and blessed every day.

  These suits of armour, however, had axiom channels that connected to the axiomatic lines within the body, what the more mystic in the empire liked to name as chakras or meridians. Nanoneedles allowed the user to funnel the axiom out of the body and into the suit. When you needed the mundane functions, the suit would block the nanoneedles and they could be opened again near instantly. The only weakness was that the mundane functions did not provide axiomatic shielding. Hell of an upside though, so they used them.

  “Sir” said the lead marine, corporal One-hand “we are Jackie Boy’s detail. Here to keep him comfy and safe.” She gripped the handles of her lasgun and hand ax with both hands when she spoke. Rieven wondered which was named comfy and which was named safe.

  “Jackie Boy?” he asked.

  “Big Red’s son. That’s the boy part.”

  “What about the Jackie part?”

  “You see sir, we were in the hold, waitin for more explosions and listening to you talkin to him and we figured he’d have another unpronounceable name, not something sensible like Jack; and it stuck. Name’s a name’s a name. Sir.”

  “Very well corporal, please lead the way.” She turned and signaled with a nod for the door to open. As they started walking into the hanger he asked “Do people still make bets about why you got your name but still have both hands?”

  She laughed. “Only those who need a little straightening out, but don’t you worry sir, I tell them one of the stories and then I get them straightened out right quick and then we’re good to go! Minimal pain.” Rieven chuckled. Minimal pain for who? There’s no way that the poor idiot who asked left the discussion with no pain. Though that did answer the question of how there were so many conflicting and outlandish versions of how she got that name. Figures she would start most of them.

  He stopped in the hanger by Master Sergeant Ono and his squad. “Hello Ono. You’re an odd duck.”

  Ono laughed. “Still thinking about my bet are you sir? Well, I felt it was a good way to waste money with the boys when they were feeling a little out of sorts. Wanted to get into the spirit of things, you know?” Rieven did know what he meant. A little moral boost was great, though he doubted the marines needed help, they probably were more excited for the ritual ahead than the dragons were.

  The outside doors began to open, allowing space for Jackie Boy’s shuttle.

  “Let’s welcome in a dragon into our den.”