Rieven turned to Master Sergeant Ono, a look of childlike wonder on his face. “Ono, I have found the new standard for success.”

  Ono looked at him mutely for a moment then croaked out a “Yeah, that’d about do it.” It’s even more amazing that I imagined, Rieven thought, if it can pull the smart out of the smart ass. Well, this is a sight and no mistake!

  He could see through the viewscreen, now that they were coming up on the statue, that the it was situated atop a low building with a shallow dome. The shuttle was making for an opening on the far side of the monument, circling around to provide a safe route and probably also an up-close view of the thousands of details that revealed themselves upon closer inspection. He thought, how do you fit so much detail into one statue? Wait, is this one cast? No way. This can’t be one piece cast from a single mould, and with that level of detail! He spoke to the dragon remoting into the control console, “is that monument cast from a single mould?” Ono looked at him like he was crazy for asking. No, it more like it was because he cared to ask. It’s a statue, Ono would say, who cares? Just kill the dragon in a minute and look at the statue later.

  The dragon responded through the control console “No. It was not cast. It is a single piece of metal that was moulded to this shape by an axiomatic working which mimicked his lordship Heat Death’s form at the time of the working. It is a perfect reproduction, down to the outer layer of atoms on his lordship’s person, though sized larger to allow for more of the Paradisiacal Halls to gaze upon his grandeur.”

  “Wait” said Sergeant Ono, brought into the conversation now that they were discussing axiom, “I thought dragons couldn’t thread axiom through matter.”

  “We cannot, sir, nor can any other species in the universe. Like every other civilization that has been, that is, or that ever will be, we shape the axiom which causes heat in a location to increase, or decrease, or to mould itself after a pattern, or any other number of things. We don’t manipulate the matter directly; the axiom does that for us. Why do you ask?” This last bit was said with a little derogatory disappointment in the voice.

  “Just curious” grumbled Ono. He looked to Rieven, his face the image of an aggrieved child falsely accused of an imaginary crime. Rieven laughed. Boy would they be surprised when the time came for the ritual combat.

  “That sounds right to me. I am grateful for your explanation. Thank you.” The voice did not respond, likely having been instructed to answer queries only. The fact that the monument was modelled off Big Red on an atomic level, at least outwardly, explained what Rieven was seeing. It was a sight both beautiful and terrible to behold. It was concerning how many spines and claws and teeth this thing had. No wonder their ships looked so menacing.

  Their shuttle dipped low and brought them to an entryway. He could see that the double-doors were just beginning to open slowly to either side as they moved towards it. While he felt a mild flash of panic at the sight of the too-small entryway rapidly approaching, he knew he could betray no flicker of fear or hesitation. The dragon flying the ship would be doing this intentionally to get a rise out of him and force him to show any sign of weakness, which it would most likely record for later use. Rieven yawned. He heard Ono unclip a small compartment on his arm and pull something out. Rieven turned and saw the master sergeant smoking a cigar, having lowered only the portion of the helmet which covered his mouth. It was one of the most ridiculous things he had seen in ages and it caused him to guffaw in genuine amusement.

  The shuttle passed between the doors, only centimetres of clearance on either side. This was a close one. He didn’t know how the dragons did things, but anywhere in the fourth, this pilot would be strung up on charges of endangering others, the monument, the shuttle, the doors, the air after the inevitable explosion, and general stupidity. It would be the end of that person’s life as a free man. Rieven made a mental note to inquire about this with Big Red later, should occasion permit.

  As the shuttle entered the hanger, he expected to see artificial lighting. Instead what greeted his eyes were the soft reflections of the light outside. It appeared that innumerable mirrors had been placed about to redirect light which shone in from soffit vents under the gables of the building. It was just as bright inside as out. I wonder what they do for nighttime, he thought.

  The shuttle touched down gently and the viewscreen cut off and faded to black. Reiven turned to Ono and said “Looks like the ride’s over. Shall we?” Ono nodded and ordered everyone to the rear of the shuttle.

  “Form up. I expect professionalism and decorum. We are not tourists. We are not children. We are not going to gawp and gape and ooh and ahh. We represent his imperial majesty and the might of his Operatic Empire, and we represent the Fourth Imperial Navy and, even more importantly, we represent commandant Rieven. We will not do anything that casts aspersions on his character, his office, his person, nor his navy. Am I understood?”

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  A chorus of “Sir, you are understood, sir.” came over the comm.

  “Additionally, if even one of those buggers moves towards us with aggression, wait a beat for the stand down order. If none is given, shoot them and, since we don’t know what ordinance it will take to finish the job yet, keep shooting until they either change shape or catch fire. Am I understood?”

  A much happier and enthusiastic chorus of “Sir, you are understood” came of the comm.

  “Beautiful” said master sergeant Ono, “what a joy to be comprehended. I want silence on the comms and zero chatter.” The comms were quiet. He turned to Rieven. “Sir, we await your order” so saying, he stowed his cigar, closed up his helmet, and turned sideways to allow Rieven to pass in front of him into the formation. Rieven walked into the formation and Ono closed it, walking behind and slightly to the right of him. Rieven was left-handed so the right was his weaker side. Private Ignore took the left side. Ironic.

  Once he was ensconced within the small formation, Rieven spoke to the terminal. “Please open the shuttle door and lower the ramp.” Immediately there was a hiss followed by diffusing mist as the atmospheres regulated themselves to standard. Unlike Jackie Boy, they waited for the mists to dissipate before they made their way down the ramp. Situational awareness in hostile environments took precedence over the Law of Drama.

  Outside the shuttle they saw a small group of dragons arrayed a short distance from the ramp down. As he walked up Rieven looked at them. They were mostly like Jackie Boy. These were smaller, though not by much, and their colourations were mostly uniform, rather than Jackie Boy’s mix. There was one noticeable exception. At the front waited a dragon who was hunched over, its wings larger than seemed reasonable for a creature of its size. Reiven thought, this must be what the awkward in-between stage looks like before they manifest a dragon’s mythical body. I guess those transition-years are tough to look at no matter which species you are.

  As Reiven’s formation came up to the waiting dragons, the marines kept their heads on a swivel, searching for anything that would need to change shape or catch fire. He could practically hear their desperation to be first to smoke a dragon personally. There was only a limited amount of time before Rieven would claim that honour unto himself and if they wanted first then they had to hope like they’d never hoped before. Rieven smirked. Good luck with that, I don’t think you’ll be getting first today.

  The hunching dragon looked up and made a motion that might have been a bow but was hard to discern as it never let go of the staff of office that it leaned on for support. Rieven looked at it looking at him. He thought, I’m not going to speak first; an official in an enemy army held lower standing than the leader of his army. That was probably universal, right?

  The dragon grimaced and spoke. “I am Borogovdha. I am the Heat Death’s personal envoy. I am disappointed that you would play games. I was informed by the Heat Death that you would act in good faith, for your strength is such as to make games meaningless, yet you play children’s games. You are weakness. You make him a teller of falsehoods.” The other dragons hissed at this and some tensed, ready to launch themselves into the ranks of the humans at the slightest provocation.

  Rieven looked at him as he commanded his face plate to retract, his eyes were cold and still. “Tread carefully, ye who do not yet fly; for death is come on swift wings to devour the unaware.” The reception group cried in outrage and Borogovdha took one step back and lowered himself slightly, taking what looked to be a pre-launch stance.

  “I don’t know how quickly those ginormous wings will make him sir, but please do be careful” came Ono on the private comm channel.

  Borogovdha hissed out, “You speak of what you do not know; to name yourself death. This thing is not done. Not even by the demon-hearted.”

  Master sergeant Ono switched to the squad channel and said “Boys, things are about to get hot and heavy. Call out your targets now. There will be no order of restraint given if one of them twitches this way. Remember, shoot until it changes shape or catches fire. Use whatever works.” The channel was immediately filled with everyone calling out their preferred targets. Their formation was partially surrounded by the dragons, so only half the squad had clear lines of fire. Those at the rear were keeping alert. So far no one else had come up behind them. The only dragons they could see were the ones they were about to light up in the front.

  Rieven waited for the squad to finish calling their targets before he spoke again. When he did, he used a voice that matched the cold stillness of his eyes, like the breeze winding through a snowy plateu. “Borogovdha personal envoy of Heat Death Virabdhara, I was invited here in good faith by your master. I now see that his personal envoy lacks all honour. Thrice you have offered me offence without cause; for this there is a price. I will now take payment and charge your master for my service of ridding him of the rotten fish in his house.” Rieven was plagiarising greenie without shame, but his ritualistic formula seemed to be applicable here and should eliminate blame when bullets flew – metaphorically speaking. They had lasguns and kinetic rifles, but you never knew what would work, it was still tricky to get axiom threaded into light. Hopefully soon their lasguns would not fail to an axiomatic shield.

  Borogovdha had reached the ends of his patience. His powerful wings swept back and he launched forward at speed, his staff of office left behind without ceremony. The other hand was formed into a claw, ready to rip and to tear. He reeked of cruelty and bad intentions. Private Slickback had called dibs earlier, so his weapon was the only one to sound. He’d elected for a good old fashioned kinetic rifle. With a yell, six hundred rounds per second of face-melting slammed into Borogovdha. He instantly changed shape into a bloody unrecognisable mess and fell to the floor just ahead of the private, his momentum halted by the rounds of fire. Slickback did not stop firing until it became clear that the dragon would not in fact catch fire.

  “First!” he yelled into the squad comms excitedly, flicking blood off the toe of his boot. He looked heroic with the blood spray on the front of his armour, especially across his faceplate. The others groaned and whinged about the lost opportunity.

  Rieven smiled inside. Money had just been lost, along with something infinitely more valuable: bragging rights. Slickback would go down as the first human to shoot a dragon down at four metres. First try. No contest. History. He was getting a medal for that, not one member of the squad doubted it.

  Before the other dragons could react, being a little shocked at their leader’s change of fortune, a great roar came from within the building, and the dragons slowly stepped back and drew up straight, folding their wings close to their bodies.

  Then with a crash, Big Red landed behind the dragons.

  He was angry.

  So was Rieven.