“Oh look, it’s a trap,” Stone Guardian’s navigation officer’s voice was dry as paper.

  Stone Guardian’s Captain grunted and then murmured a quick “Quiet” as he looked at the command screen, watching the rest of the fleet of Dragon Lord Titus Sol Eringar drop into normal space. Into the waiting arms of a combined Elven, Dwarvish, and Fae fleet.

  They had warned him, begged him. Even undertook a misguided attempt to browbeat him into seeing that of course the summit taking place at Kal Amore Station was a trap. But Lord Titus Sol had ignored the first two and after the third he had executed 27 of his executive staff. Well, 27 of his humans- men and women who had earned names 5 times over. The Dragon officers, the officers that had actually spoken, had simply been reprimanded or demoted.

  His brands burned at the disloyalty of the thought, so Captain banished it, trying to focus on his death. For that was what it was. The Stone Guardian was a troop transport ship- well armorer, fast, but relatively poorly equipped when it came to weaponry. The troop transport ships had dropped into the real 5 standard seconds after the Talon in a standard Claw deployment- destroyers and battleships preceding the support/boarding ships. By the time the glowing stars and planets of the Amare system had crystallized into the planets and their satellites around the Stone, the battle was well underway, with the incoming transports and bombers running the risk of colliding with the frantically maneuvering warships as they spun up their Ether drives to retreat.

  “Abort! It’s a trap. All ships of the 1st Eringar Fleet, evacuate the system at once!” Dragon Lord Titus’s angry voice screamed out over the ship wide band, and Captain waited for the retreat formation, even though it would not do anyone any good. This was bad. He hoped his crew couldn’t see through his facade of calm as his mind tried to grasp how completely screwed they all were.

  As traps go, the allied forces had executed theirs almost perfectly, pinning Lord Titus’ forces between the slower Dwarven heavy Dreadnaughts and the faster Elven and Fae Cruisers.. With the planet-sized Kal Amore station at the fleet’s back, the odds of escape were slim to none. They had started launching missiles and torpedoes when the first warships had blinked into existence, and explosions were whiting out the viewing screens of the bridge as the Stone lost port shields to multiple explosions.

  He keyed his flight command com, “Guardian flight, execute evasive plan Eros bell. He knew it was his imagination that felt the Stone flip end over end as it repositioned and corkscrewed into the new formation- here at the center of the ship the inertia compensators had no problem compensating. Still, the slight tug at his stomach felt real enough.

  Stone’s sensors chimed a mournful sound and Communications swore, “We lost Water and Fire right out of the plaking gate sir, Wind has lost her dorsal shielding and Ether drive, so she’s plaked in a- nope never mind she’s gone. The Goddess is raping us good Cap. Gold’s port shields are down to 10% and her engine housing is severely damaged. She is falling back…”

  Captain let Comm’s profanity laced status report wash over him as Stone’s computer system automatically compensated for the loss and damaged ships in the formation, racheting the slaved drives down to keep them all together. His fingers twitched and Gold Guardian was dropped from the formation. The dropship trooper inside of him cursed him for a plaking sphincter, but the flight commander in him felt nothing. Gold had to be cut loose. Stone’s drive flared as the remaining 7 ships of the flight picked up speed heading stationward. But where would they head after? His eyes flickered to his comms record, and his brows drew down in puzzlement as he stood up, interrupting Comms, “What is the retreat formation?”

  Comms glanced at his screen and his face paled. “No formation given sir, Fleet Command is gone.”

  Captain’s brands burned, but he kept his voice calm as he said, “Fleet Formation, main viewer,” the image of the Gold Guardian being torn apart by volley after volley of charged rail gun fire disappeared and was replaced with gold and red fleet symbols. Gold for those commanded by Dragons, red for those with all human crews. And the Gold ships were almost gone.

  Captain thought he was going to pass out from the pain of his burning brands. Even as screwed as they were, even as outmatched and outgunned as the fleet was, the rate of disappearance was faster than it had been if they had been destroyed, and the ship movements told the story with devastating clarity. The Dragons were running, and they were using their human slaves as a living shield to give them time to spin up their Ether drives.

  “Plake,” It was Second who said it and it was just one word, but from a woman who was one of the most stoic members of his command staff, it was enough. Captain wished she had kept her plaking mouth shut.

  Seconds were rock solid- the captain gave orders and expected them followed. Seconds followed them and made others follow them- never faltering, never showing anything but complete and utter confidence in the Captain, in the flight, and in the fleet. Her curse was confirmation that everything was going sunward and they were as good as dead.

  Just like that the damn broke. The bridge crew’s brands flared the red of disloyalty as everyone started talking at once.

  "Plaking cowards"

  "Everyone knew it was a trap"

  "They've doomed us all"

  He opened his mouth to tell them to shut up before their brands triggered and burned them to death… nothing came out. They were right. Every one of them.

  Lord Sol Lot Eringar had spent 700 years building the Eringan clan into the largest, most powerful of all the dragon clans. Sol Eringar had been among the first to see that humans, who reproduced at nearly 20 times the rate as Dragons, could be used to bolster fleet numbers. He had transformed a race of servants into a race of warriors using the Brands. And those warriors had pushed back the encroaching Elven, Fae and Dwarven forces.

  It had taken his hatchling 10 years to squander his legacy. Titus was barely old enough to change his form- a mere 300 years- and was so obsessed with proving that he was old and wise that he routinely confirmed that he was young and stupid.

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  And when a trusted intelligence agent had reported a meeting between the three allied races, Titus had thought this the perfect opportunity for Eringar to lop the head off of the snake and solidify his slipping status in the clans.

  It was a trap. Everyone knew it was a trap. Everyone except the Lord Eringar. And now he had squandered the bulk of his force, abandoning his fleet without even the most basic retreat plan, leaderless. In a fleet that was built on loyalty, discipline and absolute obedience, where independent thought was punished swiftly and brutally, this was a death sentence.

  ALL of the dragons were leaving. Admiral Tol Jared, whose ship he had first served on, Captain Miras, whose crew the Stone Guardian had once pulled out of a besieged crash site on Gallo's 6.... all of them. They were all abandoning the much larger human fleet to save themselves. It would not save them. There weren't enough Dragons to stand against the allies for long. The clan was doomed. His brain twisted in upon itself, focusing on one truth.

  Dragons rule. Humans serve. That was the rule. The rule branded into his skin. The rule they all lived by. But that rule had failed. That rule had doomed them all. Forfeited everything.

  Deep inside of him, something broke. Then the rest of him broke, splintering into thousands of pieces. His brand seared his whole body. The black ancient script glowing red and going into white. His crew had stopped talking, and he realized that was because he was screaming.

  Cap was dying! Second frantically searched the bridge for signs of Fae sorcery. How had they gotten through the safeguards?

  In all her years of serving by his side, Cap had always known what to do. He had led them through death time and time again without so much as a grimace. Now, with his crew on the verge of Brand suicide, with the universe disintegrating around them all, he did the best thing he could do. He went crazy.

  He jerked and pitched to the floor, a blood curdling cry ripping from his throat. It was a scream full of pain and fear and despair, and it was getting worse. HIs brands were starting to glow white as the heat from them continued to intensify. The stench of burnt hair and clothes reached her nostrils as the brands started to burn the Cap’s body. Tampering safeguards, designed to prevent anyone from changing the brand.

  "Auto dock" she roared as she leaped to the Captains side, "Helm find a way out of this death trap. Tactical, assume formation control. Sensors, get me a sit rep.

  The auto dock had scanned Captain by the time she made it to his side. "His internal organs are shutting down." The ship’s computer reported, "he will be dead in approximately 5 standard seconds."

  "Adrenaline. Now."

  "The amount needed to achieve resus-"

  "Authorization override second in command alpha gamma 478" she ground out and slapped the panel on his chair. A syringe flashed out and plunged into his chest.

  Wish I had earned a name. It was a stray thought, and silly. If you want a name, just pick a name. He had a name, didn't he. Or a…designation? Reality fluxed and thought swirled together and coelessed into…. Stone. He was Captain of the troop transport ship Stone Guardian, and he had work to do.

  “....just let him plaking die, sir. It will be better than burning alive, which is what we are all going to do. By the way, Sun and Moon Guardians are failing and will both go straight into the Goddess’ cunt about 1 standard minute before we do. 45% of our ships have been worm food for the fates-damned Grave-lord and the rest are as good as so”

  “COMMUNICATIONS!” Captain croaked out of a throat that felt like all of the water had been drained out months ago and replaced with sand.

  The bridge activity paused again, “Yes, sir?”

  “Communicate. Less.” Second pulled him up to his feet, “Second, report.”

  “Well sir, I would not put it quite in that flowery language, but Communications summed it up pretty well.”

  “Sounds bad,” he fell into his chair and started tapping out a battle plan, as he did he craned around the bridge, then keyed his mic, “Drop troopers, get geared up and prepare for battle, Captain Griffin, please report to bridge.”

  “Yes sir it is. I know you think you need to keep the troopers busy sir, but getting them all dressed up to die seems a little mean.”

  “Thank you for the feedback, Navigation, now start getting me a fleet wide reverse thrust attack vector plan, speed to flank.”

  “Sir?” The bridge activity was still paused.

  Captain sighed and then stood up, “Okay, listen. Things are really bad. The worse I have ever seen them.”

  They waited in silence until the Second cleared her throat, “But?”

  “There is no ‘but’; this is a plaked up situation and I can see no version of this where we live. Guess what? That does not matter.” He heard the door open behind them, “Captain Griffin, what do we do?”

  Her steely gray hair pulled back in a severe bun, the old trooper commander snarled out, “We serve sir.”

  “How do we do that, Captain?”

  “We fight, we kill, and we die, sir”

  He scanned the room, “Get back to your jobs. Communications, get me a fleet wide channel. Tactical, I need a threat and vulnerability assessment of the approaching Elven-Fae fleet. Find me the closest Elven ships.”

  “You want the weakest, sir?”

  “Negative. I want the strongest.” He finished his battle plan and sent it to the other Captain’s hand held, “Grif take a look at this”

  “I have the fleet wide channel sir.”

  “Great, patch it to my chair” he winced as a babble of panicked voices blared out of his arm chair. He immediately thought of how he had so effectively shut his own crew up mere seconds- was it only second- before, “Comms, blast that channel with the loudest static package you have,” then, in the moment of stunned silence that followed their speakers blaring with screeching static, he spoke to the remaining fleet. “This is the Captain of the Stone Guardian troop transport ship. If you want to die crying in terror, keep doing what you are doing. If you want to at least take some enemies with you, then follow the battle plan I am sending out to your ships right now and slave your ship’s nav to mine.. Fight well, die clean.” He ended with a drop trooper slogan, since if they did what he wanted them to do, everyone would be some kind of drop trooper before long.

  “On the way up here, I heard you caught fire” The Captain of the Griffin drop troop platoon perched on his chair arm and waved at his battle plan “apparently it roasted your brain.”

  “Sure as Toberus felt like it did,” He stood, “Get your people ready and in position.” He then turned back to Navigation, “Got my vectors yet?”

  Even Nav, knew there was a time for sarcasm and a time for none, “Yes sir.”

  “Overlay it with the report from tactical and put it into the system.” He watched and the two plans combined and were then merged with the battle plane, with the Stone sending out orders to the other ships in the fleet.

  His chair chirped at him and he stood again, “Okay, this is going to be our last one, so let’s hit the nail on the head. Helm.”

  “Sir”

  “Flip and burn. The rest of you get ready to die.” Second tapped him on the shoulder and then gestured at his body, “Oh, and if someone could find me some pants, that would be great.”