Queen Nebulon was in a foul mood today. Then again, she was always in a foul mood, even when things were going her way.

  “Galmok! Where in the devilish hells is my staff?”

  “Perhaps her Majesty left it in the sitting room? When you went over the war plans with the generals?”

  “Oh,” Queen Nebulon grunted. “Perhaps. Be a dear and fetch it for me, won’t you?”

  Galmok snapped his fingers, and one of his underlings scurried to the next room to retrieve the Queen’s staff. The brutish goblin returned a moment later bearing the silver rod with both hands, bowing deeply to the Queen until he was prostrated before her.

  Queen Nebulon snatched the staff from the goblin with a scowl, and then lurched to the tall mirror beside which Galmok stood. She considered herself for a moment, turning her head, even attempting a little simper, the closest Galmok ever saw the queen come to a smile.

  “Well, Admiral? How do I look?”

  “Magnificent, your Majesty, as always, though today you outshine even the stars themselves,” Galmok smoothly replied. It wasn’t entirely a lie, and Galmok was briefly blinded when Nebulon gave what passed for a twirl, the bright lights of the overhead chandelier catching the polished silver of her ornamental armor, the jewels of her crown, and the huge diamond necklace that nestled in her bosom. If it wasn’t for her perpetual scowl, she might have been beautiful: lustrous dark hair, full lips, and delicately high cheekbones. No matter that her left arm and leg were mechanical prosthetics, and the left side of her face a mass of pink scar tissue.

  “Good. Very good.” Nebulon said, drawing herself to her full five feet and two inches. “We must look our best for the grand review, Admiral. A Queen must lead through inspiration.”

  “Just so; as you say, my Queen,” Galmok replied, bowing. He was well acquainted with his queen’s methods for inspiration: screaming tirades, threats of torture, and flat stares that made even the most hardened shock trooper tremble. He knew that it would take more than a little luck to avoid such displays of the Queen’s temper today.

  Rising from his bow, it took Galmok a confused moment to realize that Nebulon was no longer in front of him. Despite her prosthetics, the woman could move as silently as a wisp of smoke when the impulse took her. From outside the room, the admiral heard a stomping curse.

  “Hurry up, you dolt! I want to get this invasion underway!”

  Down the grand boulevard of the Martian undercity of Verlox they came, the troops and instruments of conquest flanked by thousands of cheering citizens.

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  First the foot soldiers, fifty thousand strong, weapons braced, heads upturned, the city echoing with their stomping march. It had taken the better part of a year to get the goblin shock troopers to march like that—they were good soldiers, but they had absolutely no sense for rhythm or timing—but Nebulon had insisted that her soldiers be able to parade as well as any Neptune Corps Star Knight. So they had trained and trained, using time to march in circles that would have been far better spent on squad-level tactics. The consequences of being out of step had steadily risen, and Galmok was now satisfied that each and every goblin shock trooper, five-hundred pounds of battle-armored lethality, was far more terrified of being out of step than of death.

  The result, Galmok had to admit, was pleasingly hypnotic. The admiral cast a covert glance at his Queen, who stood beside him on the podium overlooking the grand review. Did he detect a trace of a smile? A mistiness in her eyes? Galmok suppressed any hint of self-satisfaction. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Galmok reminded himself. Her moods were as fickle as a goblin in heat.

  Next came a wave of battle-tanks, brutish and slab-sided, followed by a dozen towed transports, planetary assault craft, and space fighters. Most of these were at the staging ground, where the first shock troopers were already loading up. Galmok had reminded Nebulon that one couldn’t very well include the very transports you’d be using for troops in the parade if one wanted to keep to the invasion schedule, and she had reluctantly agreed. Their compromise would shortly be appearing.

  There. Galmok would always be a pilot before all else—in his case, the Manticore 350 had been his mech of choice—and he felt his heart swell as the first of the giant robots presented itself, its railgun-toting arm raised in salute to the observing Queen, each footfall a booming crunch. The hundred-meter tall Wyvern class mech was followed by four slightly smaller Harpies, two modern Manticores—faster than anything Galmok had piloted in his day—and a pair of hulking Basilisks, their shoulder-mounted missile launchers each as big as one of the tanks that had preceded them.

  It took a moment for Galmok to realize that his queen was speaking to him, so overwhelmed was he by pride and nostalgia.

  “Galmok?” she said again, the cheers of the crowd fading, the booming steps of the mechs growing fainter.

  “Yes, my queen? My deepest apologies. I was… overwhelmed by the emotion.”

  For once, Queen Nebulon did not berate him. Indeed, she looked pensive, almost vulnerable, as she watched the last Basilisk make its way to the staging area outside of the city, its massive shoulders rising and falling with each lumbering step.

  She said, “We won’t be foiled again, will we?” She paused, and met Galmok’s heavy eyes with a grimace. “I don’t think my heart could take it.”

  “Nay, not this time, your majesty. The Jupiter Conclave has been defeated. The Neptune Corps is ash. The way is clear.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something? Perhaps the ones who gave me this?” She pursed her lips and gestured with her right hand to the ruined left side of her body.

  Admiral Galmok shook his head, suppressing a snarl at the reminder of their oldest, bitterest enemy.

  “There is only one Dragon pilot left,” Galmok whispered, as much to himself as to his queen. “She will be no trouble. No trouble at all.”

  Queen Nebulon smiled. A real smile, crooked though it was, the first Galmok had seen in more than thirty years. She closed her eyes and took a deep, almost meditative breath. When she opened them, her eyes were hard. She nodded to her admiral.

  “Then let the invasion of Earth begin.”