Is the Coalition perfect? Of course not. Even the Heavenly Court is made up of individuals. For all their wisdom, they disagree and rule their Principalities in different ways. Even so, the order the Coalition brings is preferable to the chaos that would rule without.

  – Countess Sarania Rende

  

  

  Apex dismissed the message with a thought. Many of the numbers that were tucked away at the corners of his vision were still a mystery to him, but the notifications he had learned how to move about, minimize, or banish. The warning did worry him, but he didn’t need it obscuring his sight.

  “Your reserves are low, so you won’t be able to use your plasma lance. That’s fine, it would cause more damage than we’d like. If you can, try to avoid damaging their Quintessence tanks. We could use the fuel.”

  Soaring through space in quiet contemplation, Apex did not reply immediately. He had already taken steps to preserve fuel. The concept was not alien to him – a fire burned through wood, a reservoir depleted over time. He was not used to managing a resource like this, but understood scarcity. When Sallus had laid in a course, he had used his thrusters to get up to speed and then simply coasted. It was much like gliding, for him, but here in space he needn’t worry about the air slowing him or gravity dragging him downward.

  He just… kept going.

  Apexillos had a number of questions about this forthcoming attack. He had questions about almost everything. Since awakening in this new time, he had barely managed to find the time to process what had happened. His status as a Great Dragon was a source of pride, but as a creature accustomed to laying plans out in years, he and his kind were rather bad at repeated rapid improvisation. The mental stress of doing so had taken its toll, and only now was he able to truly focus.

  “Sallus,” he spoke abruptly. “Necromancy is an art that was maligned heavily in my time, and I cannot imagine that has changed here. You and your… Cult… invested heavily in calling me here, using complex and ancient rituals that you likely had to enhance on your own.”

  That was a conjecture, not a question. Apex let that linger for a while, but the elf did not say anything about his guess. He presumed, then, that he was either correct or very close to it. That was interesting, to him.

  “My point is that you invested a lot of wealth and great personal risk for this.” The dragon spoke, and while doing this he silently noted that one of the numbers in his vision gave a rough estimation of time of contact with the coordinates, and an estimated time before detection. He had time.

  “I have every reason to hate these ‘thirteen heroes’ you also wish to kill, but you clearly could have lived a comfortable life had you never gone down this path. What drives you so intensely?”

  This time, Apex didn’t follow it up and let the question linger. He’d give her time, since he now knew roughly how much time he had left before bringing up another important topic. He needed to know how his ally thought – what motivated her – before he could feel comfortable working with her. The question had begun to gnaw at him once he had realized the horrific cost of bringing him back – both monetarily and morally.

  Apex cared little for the morals of Lesser Folk, but necromancy was something even dragons avoided.

  “That is a complicated story,” Sallus finally answered. “We aren’t friends, Apex, but I doubt that’s what you were trying to be. The Cult of Renewal was my creation, though. I can tell you that the Cult believes that the immortality the heroes gained is unnatural, and it is crippling the natural development of all the Enlightened Races.”

  “Hm.” Apex grunted his reply but did not pry further. That seemed far too noble-sounding a goal for him to believe that was the sole reason she did this. In the end, it didn’t really matter, though.

  He didn’t care why, only that he had a chance to take back what was his.

  This would take a lot more effort than he’d like.

  “Let me change the subject,” he rumbled. “I am a long dead dragon unfamiliar with what I am about to face. My only weapon is unavailable even if I knew how to use it, my body is a metallic corpse that is barely held together, and I have no weapons and outdated defenses against a military vessel. I can’t even use magic reliably right now. I presume you have a plan?”

  The response was immediate, this time.

  “Draconis vessels are old, yes, but you outmass them by a considerable amount and they won’t know your loadout. You could try to bluff them, but if it comes to combat you need to realize your thrusters and maneuvering jets are newer models. You’re faster and more maneuverable than any Draconis ship ever built.” She paused to consider something.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Actually, thinking back to the escape, you also move more like a living creature. Draconis ships just look like dragons, they don’t move their wings and tails and limbs much, except for show. If battle does begin, you can use that. Did dragons fight with their claws and tails often?”

  Apex snorted indignantly. “Often, when forced into battle. It sounds like we should be preying upon a cargo vessel, not a military patrol. Such things would normally be beneath my notice, but I am not ignorant of tactics and strategy.”

  “I have my reasons. Getting cold feet?”

  He rumbled softly, “Never.”

  The bitter coffee was already cold as Lieutenant Moongale, executive officer of the CSS Vibrant Blade, took a long and exasperated sip. He still had one more year of this tour, and he couldn't wait to get away from this boring patrol route. More importantly, he couldn't wait to get out of these boonies.

  It wasn't like he wanted to see action. Nobody spoils for a fight once they've been in one. A lightly armed patrol vessel was hardly his choice for getting involved in a space battle, but he'd been on this route for two years now, and was tired of the same views. He was tired of the same port with its two bars and a single anemic shopping mall to serve as entertainment.

  Even through his boredom, Moongale couldn't help but feel a sinking sensation of dread when the console nearby started bleeping. It was probably nothing, but he had this feeling once before. That time, he had ended up in the infirmary for three months, and it had nearly ended his career.

  “Sir, we have an incoming ship on intercept,” the man at sensors stated. The half-elf sounded mildly surprised, but that made sense. This was supposed to be an easy, dull route. The only reason they were here was to keep the occasional pirate from crossing into Commonwealth space, putting pressure on the nearby Crimson Rock Port to join the Commonwealth for protection from said pirates.

  Moongale hated politics.

  “Would you like to notify the Captain, sir?” The half-elf looked up, curious how the XO would handle this novel experience. The sensors chief had been here longer than Moongale, and knew the ship better than Moongale himself, but contacts on intercept rarely happened.

  “Relax, Chief,” Moongale replied with a wave. He set his coffee down – again – and knitted his fingers together. “Let’s see what we have here, first. Run their IFF code and hail them. Maybe they’re just off-course.”

  The pirates in this area could give them trouble, Moongale knew. He also knew they weren’t stupid enough to provoke an actual response from the Commonwealth.

  “Unidentified craft, this is the CSS Vibrant Blade, your transponder is off. This is a violation of Commonwealth stellar law. Please identify yourself.” The CPO followed Moongale’s orders dutifully, falling into the rote routine with professional fluidity.

  For a moment.

  Chief Petty Officer Margrove made a strange face, brow furrowed and lip twitching. He glanced again at Moongale, then back at his console. Finally, he turned back to the Lieutenant.

  “Sir,” he started slowly, face scrunched in confusion. “It’s a Draconis vessel. I double-checked. No sensor profile quite like it.”

  Moongale’s eyebrow twitched. A Draconis vessel? Here? He searched his memory for what he knew of them. “They’re a lot heavier than us, but are any still in use?” Infamous ships, but Moongale hadn’t studied them in depth. They’d long since become obsolete, so he’d had no reason to remember their specifications.

  “Not that I know of, Sir?” Margrove shook his head and turned back to the console. They were the only crew on the bridge of the small corvette at the moment, so no one could be consulted.

  The comms crackled to life, and a stern female voice resolved over the brief static.

  “CSS Vibrant Blade, I regret the confusion. Evacuate to the lifepods immediately. You are outgunned and cannot run. This vessel now belongs to the Cult of Renewal. You will not be harmed if you stand down. Resist, and no mercy will be shown.”

  Margrove looked to Moongale in bafflement, his professional mask cracking for an instant. The Lieutenant had no explanation for him, however.

  “The Cult of Renewal out here? What do those crazies want with us?” Moongale muttered. Louder, so Margrove could hear, “Request their identification again. Stall just a moment.”

  The XO flipped the intercom on for ship-wide broadcast. “Captain to the bridge. We are now entering combat readiness. All crew members to battle stations. Shields up.”

  Indicators on the console lit up as the crew dropped what they were doing and began preparations for battle. Moongale rubbed his chin as he mused how to approach this. As a larger ship, a Draconis – even an outdated one – might be faster than them, but the design had not been made for maneuverability. Countermeasures would likely be simple flares, but he was pretty sure it had shields.

  Margrove spoke into the comms as ordered. “Unidentified vessel, you are in Commonwealth space. You have no authority to demand this ship. Please identify yourself, or you will be presumed hostile.”

  “Weapons, are you online yet? I need a spread of Sparrow missiles. Four should be enough for an opening salvo. Weapons hot, but hold fire until my mark or the Captain’s.”

  Things were moving quickly. Protocol was not being followed exactly, but this was not a normal situation. Moongale would have laughed at it normally, but that weight in his gut told him that this was not something he should ignore.

  “Captain on deck!”

  The crew member barked that as he entered, the bridge getting more crowded now. Four people was what it could hold, normally, but that was getting a bit tight. The incoming crew member, Petty Officer Second Class Jaxom, hurried to his station just as the Captain strode in behind him..

  Lieutenant Commander Bastia glanced around the bridge. “What’s the situation.” The half-orc woman was terse and professional as she settled into the chair. She was likely in this backwater due to her species and brusque manner, but she’d gained Moongale’s respect… and that of the rest of the crew.

  “Cult of Renewal ship, but it’s a Draconis. No ID yet but they’re requesting our surrender.” The XO didn’t mince words, catching up his CO as quickly as possible.

  Bastia furrowed her pale green brow and grunted. “A Draconis? Are they threatening us with that piece of junk? Get me a visual if possible.”

  The comm channel hissed again. “This is your final warning. Remove yourselves from your vessel, or we will take it by force.”

  The woman’s voice was confident and stern. Moongale had no idea how she intended to enforce her decision with an ancient relic like that, and the Cult wasn’t known for having a space navy.

  Bastia sighed, “I suppose we’ll have to cripple them.”

  Abruptly, the comm opened again. This time the voice was deep, booming, and guttural. It spoke with a strange accent, stressing a few syllables in an archaic manner.

  “This is the Stellar Vessel Draconis Apexillos, and you are on my ship. Remove yourselves or I will remove you. Now.”