The low thud perfectly punctuated the last verse of Amoloran's prayer. Loman glared upwards and gobbets of flesh spattered his face, just as they did with many of those who stood about him. He pulled something lumpy from his forehead and stared with disgust at the piece of bone and brain he held between his forefinger and thumb. Amoloran hung quivering in the frame. He retained his jaw, but the rest of his head had disappeared. Loman turned and marched angrily away — Claus, then Aberil, hurrying to catch up with him.
"I'm sorry," said Claus. "I'll punish that idiot on the scanner."
"Interesting one," admitted Loman. "Explosive grafts in the bone of his skull. Detonated, apparently, by a recitation of the Fifth Satagent."
Upon reaching the stairs, he turned once again to face the vast room. Studying face after face in turn, he detected only blank or sympathetic expressions — no one in sight dared show any amusement at his embarrassment. Glancing at Aberil he sent, "I think you know."
Aberil's knife was out and slicing across Claus's throat before the man had a chance to realize he was in danger, then Aberil tripped him and sent him flying face-down to the floor, to prevent him spraying too much blood over Loman.
Wiping a few spatters from his robe, Loman said, "It's good to have family with one in such situations. Welcome home, First Commander Aberil."
Scar was behaving quite strangely, but then perhaps that was understandable considering he was now inside the twin of the vast entity that might have been described as his mother. The dracoman, rather than holding himself to his customary stillness, had released himself from his seat and was pushing his way round the craft in agitation. Cormac was also agitated — they had survived, but it seemed debatable how much longer they might do so. The clonks and slitherings had centred on the airlock and now he could hear a low ratcheting sound.
"Dragon, what are you doing?" he asked, his finger pressed down on the com button.
"I am coming in," Dragon replied, which was not exactly a comfort.
Cormac noticed the Outlinker's head come up at this, and how the boy reached his hand up to the hood of his exoskeleton.
Noticing Cormac's attention, Apis said, "Both airlocks can be opened from outside."
Of course — this was a fact of which Apis was well aware.
"I wouldn't bother with your hood or mask," said Cormac. "If Dragon wants to kill us now, there's not a lot we can do about it." He glanced towards Gant, noticing that, even though the Golem cradled an APW as he undid his seat straps, his expression was resigned.
"It seems to me that Dragon must have some purpose for us," opined Mika, her attention focused on Scar. She still looked ill, but the inhaler she had just used seemed to be having some effect; at least she hadn't yet required another sick-bag.
"But what purpose?" asked Cormac. "We know it's pissed off at the Masadans and intends some damage there, but in my experience when Dragon intends to do some damage it usually involves large smoking craters. I can't see why it wants us at all, unless it intends to throw this landing craft at one of the Theocracy cylinder worlds."
Now there came sounds from the inner door of the lock, and as a group they pushed themselves up from their seats and moved over to the opposite side of the craft. As the wheel of the lock spun, Cormac sensed something of what the previous occupants of this craft must have felt when Apis had opened it to vacuum. The door cracked open, and all down its edge fleshy fingers intruded, dark red and covered with scales. Slowly, working on its hydraulics, the door continued to open, and in this Cormac felt some comfort. Knowing Dragon's capabilities he felt it a good sign that the door was being allowed to open at its own rate and had not been already ripped off its hinges. This meant it likely Dragon wanted to keep this landing craft in a usable condition. He just hoped it wanted the same for its occupants.
Fully open, the door revealed fleshy chaos: a pit of ophidian pseudopods terminating in flat cobra heads, each containing a single pupilless blue eye where a mouth should have been; tangles of thinner red tentacles; fleshy webs as of those between the toes of an aquatic reptile binding much of this mass together; and visual flashes of cavernous life beyond. The craft filled with the smell of cloves, of burnt meat, and of a terrarium. The mass oozed its way in, pseudopods hooking up into the air with their blue eyes darting in every direction; then a new addition forced its way through, and rose above them. This had a ribbed snakelike body, pterosaur head and sapphire eyes. Cormac experienced definite deja vu and wondered what opaque conversation would now ensue.
"I am dying, Ian Cormac," said the pterosaur head.
Cormac pushed himself away from the wall towards the centre of the craft, hooking the toe of his boot on the seat back and folding his arms across his chest. "I've heard that one before."
The head turned so that its eyes focused on Scar. "But I will live," it added.
This was more like the Dragon of old: conversations that were like a sorting of wheat from chaff and discovering potatoes.
"What do you mean?"
The head swung back towards Cormac, spraying milky saliva across the rows of seats below him. Not for the first time Cormac wondered how many heads like this each Dragon sphere possessed, or if they could manufacture them at will — as they did dracomen.
"I will destroy the laser arrays," it said.
"Well, that's… helpful."
"They have five ships equivalent to Polity mu-class battleships."
"Of the type you've already encountered?" suggested Cormac.
"That one did not survive the encounter."
Cormac noticed Apis flinch.
"You didn't exactly get off lightly," Cormac said.
"I will not get off at all this time."
Now, despite not intending to be dragged into one of those circular and somewhat pointless conversations Dragon seemed to specialize in, Cormac could not help but yield to his own confusion. "So why the hell are you going there?"
"To live again."
It figured.
"What do you want with us?" Cormac asked.
"As I destroy their laser arrays and satellites, your descent will be unhindered. Rebellion will then come to the Theocracy, and my legions will arise."
"What the fuck are you talking about? Did that mu-class battleship fry part of your brain?"
The head swung once more towards Scar.
"I name thee Cadmus," it said, and withdrew as it had come, the lock closing behind it.
"What was that all about?" asked Mika, and all that had just occurred had sufficiently bemused Cormac so that it took him a moment to realize that she had actually asked a question.
He turned to her. "Shame you chose that question for your initiation into the world of normal conversation. I haven't a clue."
"Seems things are going our way… sort of," said Gant, easing his grip on his APW when he found that he had crushed the stock.
"Yeah, and that worries me," Cormac replied, then turned to Scar. "What was that Cadmus stuff about?"
Staring fixedly at the airlock, Scar replied, "I do not know."
"I know who Cadmus was," Apis suddenly said, and they all turned to gaze at him. He went on, "He is a man from Greek myth — on Earth. We were learning about Greek myths in our history lessons, as Farins, our teacher, says that a general knowledge of humanity is necessary even if your intended career is only in metallurgy." Apis paused and took a breath, and Cormac wondered if this same Farins had been on the destroyed Masadan ship. Apis continued, "Cadmus was a man who killed a dragon then pulled out its teeth and sowed them in the ground. From the teeth grew men who were going to kill him, until he threw a precious stone amongst them. They started killing each other as they sought to possess this stone. Those that remained alive joined him, and helped him build something… a city I think…" Apis ran out of words.