Author's Note:
Since there are two people in the world genuinely interested in this story, and one of them sincerely asked me to see this officers' dinner, I decided to write this chapter sooner than I had planned.
P.S. I have reached 4/6 of the first volume of The Lord of the Rings, but thanks to a short trip to the nearby city, I was able to buy the second volume.
XXX
Story Arc: First Contact with a Rogue Trader Militant
Episode 3: Dinner with the Lord Trader (III)
Chapter 11: Rogue Trader, Lady Scientist, Lady Justicar
Plot: The most important dinner in human history takes a turn that no one could have ever imagined.
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POV Narrator
The seven humans from Earth were not introduced into a conventional, armored banquet hall. As soon as the massive doors of Noiresville closed behind them, the Earthlings found themselves projected into a baffling environment that mimicked an open, open-air space. The air, crisp and fresh, possessed a bizarre, almost artificial ozone fragrance in its purity; it was moved by an imperceptible yet constant breeze, which kept the temperature at the mild levels of a spring bloom.
Raising their tired gazes toward the upper vault, the humans saw no steel beams or hi-tech panels, but rather a fake volumetric sky of a perpetually changing hue, suspended between pale purple and an ethereal pastel pink. Toward the virtual horizon, the atmosphere warmed into bursts of vivid yellows and orange reflections, simulating an eternal twilight.
On either side of the path, the environmental simulation split into two dichotomous scenarios. On the left, invisible bulkheads projected the gloomy density of a primordial and unsettling forest, dominated by colossal trees whose scorched leaves exhibited the saturated colors of autumn orange and brown. On the right, the scenery shifted radically into a cliff overlooking an alien ocean: the waters seethed in a dark shade between deep pink, purple, and brick red, releasing continuous clouds of hazy vapor that rose toward the vault.
Under the martial guidance of Gladiolus, the seven Earthlings walked along a smooth walkway of silvery liquid metal, about ten meters long, which joined directly onto a circular platform of the same mirrored alloy. Beyond that small plaza, a second walkway continued into the darkness. At the center of the circular structure stood seven monolithic columns of veined white stone, arranged in a ring to support a hemispherical dome. Under the stone vault sat a majestic round table set for ten guests, three of which were already occupied. The perimeter of the dome was brushed by a thick carpet of exotic flowers with stems as black as ebony, scarlet leaves, and velvety purple petals.
Having reached the position, Gladiolus Amicitia detached himself from the group with a heavy step. The segments of his Kingsglaive armor emitted a sharp metallic click as the imposing warrior leaned his back against one of the white columns, crossing his arms over his monumental armored chest to simply observe the scene.
The Earthlings focused their attention on the three figures dominating the table. They recognized Amelia Blight from the previous holographic transmission, but the other two diners were an absolute novelty to them.
Bruce Bel Bahamut Belmont sat exactly in the center, flanked by the Lady Scientist and the Lady Justicar. For the occasion, the Rogue Trader Militant had deactivated his dragon helm, showcasing the androgynous and destabilizing delicacy of his face, with features similar to those of Morgan Le Fay, yet he wore a sumptuous ceremonial battle armor. The outfit fused a rigid paramilitaristic aesthetic with flamboyant elements of an intergalactic corsair. Rigid, geometrically layered silver shoulder pads stood out on his broad shoulders, embellished on the left side by the heraldic engraving of a black dragon with outstretched wings. A soft, voluminous collar of jet-black fur wrapped around his nape and throat, accentuating a sense of opulence and absolute aristocratic status. The breastplate, shaped to follow his slender torso, was enriched at the center by a conspicuous circular silver decoration, surmounted by a crimson gem that pulsed with a faint inner light. Beneath the armor, a long black tunic descended to his feet, split vertically down the front by a dark red fabric insert embroidered with silver, while a heavy black cape trailed regally across the mirrored floor.
To Bruce's right, Amelia Blight exhibited a statuesque physicality, standing two meters tall, enhanced by an elegant gown inspired by traditional Chinese clothing. The dress, long and form-fitting, was crafted from a shiny gold fabric that complemented her generous curves (B120-W70-H99), interrupted at the front by a plunging neckline and along her side by an extremely high lateral slit that exposed the entire line of her leg. The Mandarin collar was fastened by a traditional red pankou knot, from which hung a scarlet tassel. On her imposing shoulders rested a wide, cream-white shrug with flared, flowing sleeves in the hanfu style, the edges of which featured discreet damask patterns. Small decorative red knots adorned her hips and upper arms, while a thin necklace with a golden pendant highlighted her décolletage. Tucked into her neon-yellow dyed hair was a traditional golden jiazhi hairpin with a red tassel, matching her high-heeled gold sandals secured by a thin ankle strap.
To the left of the Rogue Trader sat the Lady Justicar of the Arbites, Mira Yamana. Despite sharing a centuries-old age with her companions, the human witch displayed the immaculate appearance of a 17-year-old girl. Slender within a petite stature of 155 centimeters and delicate proportions (B79/W55/H78), Mira exhibited stark white porcelain skin, long blonde hair, and reflectionless magenta eyes, made glassy by the use of high-tech corrective contact lenses. Her hair, mostly short on the side-swept bangs, featured two lateral tufts on the top of her skull, while a section from the nape of her neck descended in long, thin locks down to her legs. She wore a pastel yellow dress whose structured corset highlighted decorative vertical boning and a central closure. The sweetheart neckline was edged with a delicate, ruffled white trim, broken at the center by a small yellow satin bow. The short puffed sleeves fell off-the-shoulder, echoing the ruffled motif of the bodice. Long white evening gloves covered her forearms, ending in small embroidered scallops. Around her slender neck, she wore a thin golden chain with an embedded fuchsia pendant, coordinated with a small yellow ribbon on the right side of her hair. Mira needed no lenses or disguises to hide her exotic nature: from the girl's back unfolded two majestic white wings of an angelic aesthetic, whose feathered filaments caught the twilight light of the room.
The cultural and visual shock impacted the seven humans with the violence of an electric shock.
'A bombshell space elf on the left, a cute space angel girl on the right, and a succubus who has stolen my soul in the middle,' thought Gordon Malloy, his fingers paralyzed on the collar of his yellow and black kimono, utterly unable to avert his gaze from the three figures.
Ed Mercer and Kelly Grayson remained visibly shaken, fully spellbound by that display.
'Finally, I understand why Kelly betrayed me for an alien woman; I would have betrayed her too if I had faced such a temptation,' Ed calculated, his throat suddenly feeling dry in front of the magnificence of the two women from the Mechanicus and the Arbites.
'I have to agree with Malloy, the Asari are outdated. I wonder what race she belongs to and...', Kelly's thought cut off, unable to process a psychological countermeasure suited to that level of sophistication.
Malcolm Reynolds and John Carter succumbed to the influence of that inhuman charm, but their training and survival instinct allowed them to maintain partial control.
'If I weren't on duty and this beauty couldn't order my murder, I'd try to smooth-talk my way in,' Malcolm thought, gritting his teeth beneath the shadow of his cowboy hat and avoiding any reckless movements.
'Women as beautiful as gold, those are the most dangerous ones,' John Carter calculated pragmatically, feeling the biological pull of that aesthetic but tightening his grip on the golden hilt of his ceremonial sword so as not to give in to the impulse.
Captain David Anderson and Aiden Shepard were the only ones to put up a ironclad psychological resistance, filtering the scene through the lens of cold military logic.
'Diplomats will have so many problems in the future if they don't possess a will of iron,' the old soldier analyzed, straightening the shoulder strap of his midnight blue uniform and tightening his lips into a rigid line.
'Is the Rogue Trader a Femme fatale? Didn't they say he's a man? Maybe it's a translation issue?' Aiden Shepard reflected, isolating his biological sensors from the visual allure to focus exclusively on the taxonomic and logistical anomaly represented by Lord Bahamut's androgynous appearance.
"Take your seats," Bruce Bel Bahamut Belmont began. His androgynous and melodious voice cut through the silence of the dome, while his gloved hand made a fluid gesture to invite the humans to occupy the vacant chairs.
"Whatever you say, I'll do it," Malloy murmured a bit too loudly, his eyes glassy and his mind completely subjugated by the Rogue Trader's aesthetic, who in his nerd eyes appeared to all intents and purposes as a high-ranking succubus.
Shepard shot him a deadly glare but remained silent so as not to break protocol. The seven humans took their seats around the round table, arranging themselves orderly from left to right: John Carter, Malcolm Reynolds, David Anderson, Aiden Shepard, Kelly Grayson, Gordon Malloy, and finally Ed Mercer.
The surface of the table presented itself as an opulent stage of haute cuisine. Fine silver cutlery was lined up in front of each diner, their handles culminating in small embedded gems; the plates alternated sheets of solid silver, pure gold inserts, and bases carved from polished blocks of gleaming amethyst.
However, it was the nature of the food that curdled the Earthlings' blood. The food arranged on the golden trays was sharply divided into two distinct categories: on one side were courses of an extraordinarily delicious and fragrant appearance, mimicking the best delicacies of Earth's high-end cuisine; on the other side, the dishes exhibited aberrant anatomical compositions, luminescent substances, and self-moving biological appendages that seemed to come straight out of a cosmic nightmare.
The thick sheet of solid silver upon which the main course rested cast a dull reflection under the purplish light of the holographic sky. "If you are worried about the food, everything on a silver plate is perfectly edible for your biology," Bruce began. As he spoke these words, he extended his right arm, pointing the sharp tip of a ceremonial knife toward a tray featuring a thick steak of meat with indigo veins, resting on a bed of tube-shaped potatoes of a bright, slimy green.
Gordon Malloy, his stomach contracted from the forced seven-hour fast, did not wait for a second invitation. Taking advantage of the plate's proximity, he drove his cutlery into the purple flesh, lifting a steaming bite before anyone else could formulate a warning. It was the helmsman who tasted it first. His jaw muscles worked the meat for a few moments, then his eyes widened in an expression of pure culinary ecstasy.
"This is the best thing I've ever tasted!" the helmsman exclaimed, his voice slightly muffled but filled with genuine wonder. "It reminds me of beef, but it's infinitely more tender, flavorful, and succulent." Without paying the slightest attention to the stern frown of his superiors, Malloy resumed cutting the meat eagerly, isolating himself from the rest of the world.
"What is on an amethyst plate, however, is reserved exclusively for me and Amelia," Bruce continued, rotating his wrist slightly to shift the blade toward the precious containers of purplish mineral. His tone turned flatter, almost warning: "It won't kill you on the spot if you dare to swallow it, but it will cause a violent indigestion that will make you regret your entire existence."
As he pronounced the sentence, the Rogue Trader Militant focused his attention on the amethyst bowl positioned in front of his place setting. The dish contained a perfect sphere of an electric blue shade and an apparently gelatinous consistency. With a sharp, calibrated movement, Bruce brought the edge of a silver spoon down onto the core of the sphere. The casing cracked with a slimy pop, revealing the anatomical structure of a sort of alien centipede, whose deep-frozen interior had been reduced to a thick, grayish puree through a complex thermal preparation.
At that sight, a shiver of disgust crawled through the stomachs of the Earth officers. Kelly Grayson averted her gaze, suppressing a gag, while Ed Mercer stiffened on the metal bench. The only one showing no biological reaction was Malloy, who continued to chew his purple steak with absolute indifference.
"For the general knowledge of those present, I would like to point out that we Ysatnafians are not accustomed to feeding on insects or arthropods," Amelia Blight intervened, elegantly lifting the long, flared sleeves of her white hanfu so as not to brush against the dishes. Adjusting her glasses on her nose, the Lady Scientist drove her fork into a bowl filled with a salad of purple leaves, whose vegetal filaments were still moving in small, imperceptible reflex spasms. "Those centipedes do not even come from the Azure Galaxy, but Traveler possesses an innate and decidedly bizarre weakness for anything endowed with a chitinous exoskeleton."
'Strict rule: do not touch anything on a purple or amethyst plate,' was the unanimous, silent thought shared by the humans. Even Malloy, raising his chin from his tray for a moment, cast a distrustful glance at Amelia's self-moving leaves and Bruce's insect puree, memorizing the color-coded prohibition.
"What is served on a gold plate, however... who knows?" Bruce resumed, leaning his back against the high backrest of the throne. His lips stretched into a mischievous smile, loaded with an attraction so inhuman that it sent a shiver of mixed pleasure and tension down the spines of Kelly and Ed Mercer. "Go ahead and try, at your own risk."
Aiden Shepard tensed his neck muscles beneath his gray leather cyberpunk suit, his eyes narrowing into two shiny slits as he studied the layout of the golden trays. "Malloy, it's time for you to show your loyalty to the military corps," the Chicago hacker whispered, partially rotating his torso toward the helmsman. Shepard's tone was devoid of warmth, clearly identifying the pilot as the most expendable element of the squad.
"He is only joking, do not listen to him," Mira Yamana intervened, her firm voice cutting through the XO's provocation. The Lady Justicar used her fork and knife with millimeter precision to cut her portion of purple steak, keeping her white wings partially folded against the chair. "The gold plates exclusively contain haute pâtisserie desserts, crafted with rare ingredients and in extremely limited quantities. Traveler simply has an incurable sweet tooth."
Reassured by the blonde angel's words, Malloy reached out toward a golden tray, grabbed what appeared to be a small glazed pastry topped with a thick cream, and swallowed it in a single, ravenous bite. "This is even better than Earth's chocolate cake!" the helmsman exclaimed, his eyes shining with childlike joy as he resumed piling food onto his plate.
'It was definitely too much to hope that the pastry would cause him lightning-fast indigestion, just to get him out of our hair,' Aiden Shepard thought, exhaling a puff of bitter air from his nose before resigning himself to consuming his own portion of meat and green potatoes.
Captain David Anderson clean-cut his lips with a standard-issue napkin, straightening his rigid midnight blue uniform to assume a formal posture. The moment for information gathering had arrived. "Lord Trader, may we finally know for what specific reason your fleet decided to invite our presence to this banquet?" the senior officer asked, his eyes fixed on the hybrid at the center of the table. He was certain that behind this luxury lay a precise containment strategy or a complex geopolitical negotiation.
Bruce halted the movement of his cutlery, raising his only visible eye, whose fluorescent purple raptor-like pupil seemed to pierce through the Captain's composure. "None of you seven belong to my jurisdiction, nor are you my subjects or military subordinates," Bruce explained, placing his silver knife down with a sharp clink against the table's surface. "You have no moral, social, or political obligation toward my person. Therefore, I strictly request that you refrain from calling me Lord, Governor, Captain, Rogue Trader, Archduke, or by any other formal title derived from either your high-ranking nomenclatures or ours."
"In what manner may we refer to you that would please your sensibility?" Kelly Grayson intervened, straightening her back within her purple ballgown. She leveraged her diplomatic past on the Citadel to soften the impact of the discussion, seeking a linguistic middle ground.
"Traveler is the name I have used for centuries when I am forced to interact with foreigners, or quite simply, with those who are not required to bow before me," the hybrid replied, raising his chin imperceptibly with an air of proud, aristocratic detachment toward the imperial titles of the U.S.K.Y.
"Traveler?" Malcolm Reynolds murmured, arching a dark eyebrow beneath the brim of his space cowboy hat. He found the term decidedly bizarre and understated for an individual who ruled a hundred-kilometer intergalactic fortress.
"Traveler is what I am in my soul, what I have become through my wanderings, and what I will remain forever in the future," the absolute leader of the Moonbreaker declared, while a dense shade of melancholic and mysterious solitude clouded his fluorescent gaze. He turned his eyes toward the white dome, tightening his gloved fingertips on the edge of the table: "One day, in the distant future, my path will lead me to join the Elders of the Universe, and then this will remain my one and only name."
'What on earth would these Elders of the Universe be? Another faction of extra-galactic aliens or a coalition of extinct civilizations?' was the confused thought that simultaneously crossed the minds of the seven Earth officers, heightening the sense of technological and cultural inferiority that weighed upon the table.
Sensing the weight of that temporary psychological drift, Mira Yamana extended her white-gloved hand along the silver surface, gently brushing Bruce's fingers. She spoke no words, letting the stability of that physical contact speak for her and restore focus to the Rogue Trader.
"I believe the time has come for official introductions at this table," the angel girl began, retracting her hand to assume an exquisitely institutional and polite demeanor. "I am Mira Yamana. I permanently hold the position of Lady Justicar of Arbites when I am aboard the Moonbreaker to coordinate security protocols. Concurrently, I am a member of the Planetary High Court of the Voidwalkers' Commorragh, within which I hold the office of supreme Iudex."
"I am Amelia Blight," the two-meter-tall elf continued, raising her golden goblet to motion a polite toast. Her green eyes sparkled behind her round lenses: "I am part of The High Command of Voidwalker Fleet, the governing body commonly abbreviated as the High Table, and I hold the position of Lady Scientist of Mechanicus."
'So we are dining with a noble space pirate, a woman who embodies the supreme court, and a scientist who manages the entire military-industrial apparatus at the service of the military. An excellent combination for a highly peaceful First Contact,' Malcolm Reynolds reflected with bitter sarcasm, adjusting his long black leather coat on the bench. He would have never imagined sitting at a table with the highest authorities of an extra-galactic empire.
"Amelia stands at the absolute pinnacle of the kingdom's entire research and development division," Traveler added, and a note of deep, ancient martial pride resonated in his androgynous voice. "Every single kind of heavy weapon, ballistic shield, or cryogenic device you see deployed on the battlefield by the Voidwalker Fleet is directly linked to her intellect, especially the design and calibration of our Star-Mechas. Such as the Guren Type Burnstar."
At those words, a faint blush crimsoned the Lady Scientist's porcelain cheeks. Despite centuries of living together and her intellect recognized throughout the U.S.K.Y., Amelia's heart accelerated its beats beneath the form-fitting golden fabric of her dress, embarrassed by the public praise pronounced by her life partner in front of strangers.
"You certainly do an excellent and terrifying job, Lady Blight," Malloy intervened, raising his own goblet to join the toast. He swallowed a sip of a thick red substance that smelled of strawberry; it contained no alcohol, but the incredible sugar concentration acted on human taste buds like an actual stimulant. "I am just a pilot of civilian and military shuttles, but I must admit that the fiery red Mecha that captured us was simply phenomenal."
"As for Mira, however... she is the only person within the entire fleet who has the legal right to formally accuse me of committing a crime and drag me before an ordinary court," Traveler resumed, his features relaxing into a crooked, eccentric smile. He turned his head toward the blonde angel, grasping her petite hand with both of his clawed hands: "Which she has actually done several times over the centuries. However, I have always gotten away with it, extricating myself from trouble by paying a measly monetary fine... or more often, by offering her a private dinner and a decidedly unforgettable inner show."
'In their kingdom, polygamy is considered a cultural norm, fine, but does no one among the hundred million crew members see a conflict of interest when the Supreme Commander of the fleet and the Judge of the supreme court share the same bed?' Captain David Anderson calculated with alarm, tightening his fingers around the gold pins on his chest and glimpsing a potential hierarchical instability in that command structure.
"Someone has to take the responsibility of keeping you in line," Mira Yamana retorted, letting out a heavy huff from her nose and partially turning her white wings in irritation. "You constantly overdo it every single time you decide to set off on an adventure into the unknown or unleash a frontal war against some local superpower."
"Certain things will never change, Mira," Traveler replied, and his single fluorescent purple eye lit up with a deep, nostalgic retrospective happiness. He turned his gaze toward the Earthlings to share a fragment of their origins: "You must know that she and I, at the beginning of our respective existences, walked the corridors of the Royal Biblia Academy together. I embodied the school's undisciplined thug, the one who skipped every single class that I deemed useless, while Mira was the unyielding head of the disciplinary committee. Since our very first, violent clash, scolding me, reprimanding me, and inflicting corporal punishments or detentions upon me became, to all intents and purposes, her sole purpose in life."
"My purpose in life is not at all to pester you for pure amusement!" the Lady Justicar snapped, her cheeks shifting abruptly to a bright crimson color, torn between the martial anger of the Arbites and deep embarrassment over those private revelations. Her white wings gave a violent nervous shudder: "My solemn duty is to preserve justice, law, and order in the world! And to fulfill this duty, I am forced to keep an eye on you and keep you in line every single second of the day. If I left you alone unsupervised for even a week, you would spark an armed rebellion in some peripheral quadrant or an entire planet would end up exploding!"
"We have never exploded an entire inhabited planet, I would like to point that out," Amelia Blight interrupted in an exquisitely informative and academic tone, raising a finger to correct the Justicar. "Moons or artificial satellites, yes, that has happened, but the U.S.K.Y. possesses exceptionally strict laws and categorical restrictions regarding the Orbital Bombardment of worlds, especially if they are classified as garden planets or origin worlds of a sentient race."
"A truly magnificent thing... a youthful love that has lasted until the present," Kelly Grayson commented with sincere admiration. Her eyes sparkled for a few moments; as a divorced woman who had seen her own marriage fall apart on Earth, she felt a genuine fascination for that centuries-old bond.
"Afterward, to my misfortune, I had to transfer to Amelia's institute, the Ars Magus Academy," Bruce continued, moving his purple gaze to the Lady Scientist, whose statuesque physicality stood out to his right.
"Please, it is decidedly better to avoid touching upon the subject of our school conduct," Amelia cut him short, waving a damask-patterned hand to deflect the flow of memories. Although she immensely appreciated the moments when her life partner manifested his most loving and eccentric nature, her rational mind dictated that she prioritize affairs of State: "Otherwise, we would end up discussing our absurd student misadventures day and night, forgetting about the important matters and the management of our guests."
Bruce Belmont let out a faint, androgynous laugh, then grabbed a solid silver goblet filled with a golden, thick substance, the consistency of which recalled liquid honey. He turned his gaze to the seven humans sitting in an orderly row before him. "Do you have any questions?" the Rogue Trader Militant asked, sipping the golden liquid.
"Innuemerable," Ed Mercer confessed, passing a hand over his cyberpunk gangster jacket and literally not knowing from which bulkhead to start dismantling that wall of extra-galactic mysteries.
"Every single thing we have seen since our boots set foot on the Moonbreaker surpasses by several lengths everything the Systems Alliance considered scientifically possible," Kelly Grayson added, shaking her blonde head. "We cannot even conceive the engineering process necessary to build a ship of these proportions, or the applied physics behind the creation of a portable Star-Gate."
"I have a more immediate question," Malloy suddenly chimed in, leaning his elbows on the table after emptying yet another goblet of strawberry juice. The sweetness of the drink had amplified his lighthearted loquacity: "How is it possible to manage a polyamorous and polygamous marriage between people who are simultaneously at the top?"
"I am not married," Traveler replied flatly, as if he were stating a mundane statistical fact.
At that declaration, Amelia Blight let out a small, resigned sigh, bringing a hand to her forehead, while a conspicuous frown of pure legal indignation painted itself onto Mira Yamana's face.
"Now I am definitely confused," Malloy admitted, scratching his mop of red hair with a lost expression.
'But weren't you explicitly ordered to keep that damn mouth shut for the entire duration of the banquet?!' was the furious and desperate thought that flashed through the minds of Captain Anderson, Shepard, and Kelly, who shot glares at the helmsman capable of curdling blood.
"I would like to make something clear once and for all!" Mira Yamana declared. Her voice as a Justicar ascended by several octaves, carrying the cold authority of the Planetary High Court. With a lightning-fast movement of her petite frame, the blonde girl leaped to her feet onto the silver chair; simultaneously, her majestic white wings unfolded with a violent rustle in the twilight air of the hall, casting an imposing shadow over the table and freezing the breath of the seven Earthlings.
Mira Yamana's feathered wings cut through the twilight air with a sharp rustle, casting a geometric shadow on the mirrored surface of the table. "This weird psycho you see at the center of the table is, to all intents and purposes, a man," declared the Lady Justicar, whose voice as a supreme magistrate resonated beneath the white dome with absolute firmness. "He is 565 years old, he is the father of about fifty biological children and, if I must be entirely honest, I have lost count of how many grandchildren and great-grandchildren now make up his dynastic lineage."
As she uttered those words, Mira leaned forward, wrapping her white-gloved arms around Bruce's armored shoulders in a markedly possessive gesture. The edges of her white wings unfolded further, extending until they brushed against Amelia Blight's statuesque figure. Under the invisible pressure of that mystic move, the heavy silver chairs of the three big shots slid across the liquid floor, locking against one another into a single, compact dynastic block.
"This man is not bound to any of us from a legal or religious standpoint," Mira continued, tightening her grip on the Rogue Trader's jet-black fur collar. Her magenta gaze, made glassy by her standard-issue lenses, passed like a blade over the astonished faces of the Earthlings: "However, he maintains a serious, structured, complex, and millennia-old relationship with me, with Amelia, and with the other chosen members of our Black Cabal. And let one universal concept be clear: we accept new additions to our emotional core if and only if we are all perfectly in agreement."
Bruce Belmont let out a faint, androgynous laugh, resting his head against the crook of Mira's arm. The edges of his black cape rustled on the metal: "You are incredibly cute when you give in to these possessive impulses and make an effort to clarify to strangers that you marked this specific territory several centuries ago, Mira."
"I am not attempting to claim ownership rights over you at all, Bruce," retorted the Justicar, her wings giving one last, sharp beat before folding with geometric precision behind her back. The blonde girl slipped back onto her yellow chair, adjusting the ruffles of her corset with absolute judicial composure. "I am simply laying out the bare facts, so that none of those present get any strange or bizarre ideas in their heads. With those looks, you constantly happen to steal everyone's gaze, and it is well known that you are capable of seriously throwing many individuals' heterosexuality into crisis."
"I can't help it at all," Traveler commented, and a corner of his androgynous lips lifted into an amused smirk. Adjusting his majestic silver shoulder pads, the hybrid flared his nostrils, fixing his single fluorescent purple eye on the table: "Charming the masses is in my blood. Fortunately for me, I can count on unyielding people like you to take care of keeping low-value political or personal suitors away."
"In this, I must fully agree with Bruce," Amelia Blight intervened, raising her chin from her amethyst tray. The two-meter-tall scientist adjusted the frame of her glasses, while an imperceptible smile relaxed her golden lips: "When you get embarrassed, Mira, you take on the appearance of an adorable kitten. And when you get angry or become possessive, you are incredibly attractive, like a big feline."
Amelia delivered that compliment with absolute naturalness, revealing an intimate and deep bond that united her to Mira almost as much as the one that bound her to Bruce.
The revelation about Traveler's sexual identity impacted the seven humans with the force of a structural collapse, particularly destabilizing the three officers who had been spellbound by his charm.
'Personally, I am bisexual, so attraction does not represent a moral obstacle for my standards,' Kelly Grayson calculated, nervously brushing the black velvet of her evening glove. 'But I would have never imagined that a male individual could exhibit such a refined and destabilizing beauty. If circumstances were different, I would try to leverage my charm, but I have no intention of playing the homewrecker in a centuries-old court. Rather, I wonder if there is another male alien of Traveler's same race on the Moonbreaker, perhaps without such a protective entourage.' The idea of dating an effeminate alien endowed with amethyst horns, wings, and a tail was beginning to stimulate her personal curiosity.
Ed Mercer, on the contrary, felt his psychological stability visibly falter. 'Why on earth does the most fascinating creature I have ever encountered in my entire military career have to turn out to be a man?' the corvette captain thought, feeling the urgent need to drown that doubt in a glass of hard liquor or pure caffeine. Unfortunately, the Mechanicus's ballistic table offered only exotic juices.
Gordon Malloy caught his friend's tension and reached his arm along the flowing sleeve of his yellow and black kimono, delivering a solid, camaraderie-filled pat on Mercer's shoulder. "Don't worry in the slightest, Ed, I fully understand you," the helmsman of the SSV Tokyo whispered, his gaze fixed on the golden tray. "I'm in a deep identity crisis right now too. But after all, looking at those two women, it is clear that men like us can only limit ourselves to observing from a safe distance."
Amelia Blight, intercepting the whispers and hormonal confusion of the Earthlings, straightened her back within her golden gown, offering a sociological explanation to ease the pressure: "We Ysatnafians only understood the meaning and concepts of homophobia, polyphobia, transphobia, and racial anti-miscegenation when we officially came into contact with other intelligent civilizations. I must admit that, for many of our people, discovering the existence of such cultural barriers represented an authentic sociological shock."
"Within our territories, the profession of high-class courtesans is fully regulated by the State," Traveler continued, stepping into the discussion with the diplomatic grace of a landing-craft chainsaw. He sipped the golden liquid from his silver goblet, fixing the Earthlings with absolute commercial composure: "We feature state-of-the-art Pleasure Houses designed to satisfy any type of orientation or clientele. Therefore, once this First Contact phase is formally concluded and we are on terms of cordial neutrality, you will be free to do whatever pleases your instincts. On one sole, strict condition: that you are able to pay the fee and that you strictly respect the house rules."
'I have officially identified the exact sector where I will invest every single credit of my entertainment funds as soon as I receive my next leave reward,' Malloy calculated, whose curiosity toward the biology and magnificence of the female species of the Azure Galaxy had just reached its peak.
"They prove to be decidedly much more open-minded than us," Kelly Grayson muttered in a low voice, mentally recalling one or two disciplinary sanctions received in her military past due to her tendency to target both male officers and female colleagues in her romantic sights.
"Apparently, we humans are puritans with a lot of prejudices," Malcolm Reynolds commented, flashing his characteristic note of cynical and biting self-irony while playing with the golden seven-pointed star pinned to his leather coat.
Ed Mercer wiped the sweat from his forehead, visibly tried by that anthropological drift. "Would it be possible to divert the conversation to something else?" Captain Mercer asked.
"I fully support this motion," Mira Yamana declared, her cheeks still showing the aftermath of judicial embarrassment. She lightly clapped her cutlery against the silver plate to call for formal order.
Amelia Blight offered a slow nod, sharing the need to return to the institutional tracks of the banquet.
"I remind you that we are not inside a courtroom, Mira," Traveler teased, partially swiveling his heavy tail on the metallic floor to provoke the Justicar.
"I have the legal authority and the necessary powers to convert any single room I am in into an ordinary courtroom," Mira retorted, fixing the Rogue Trader with the formal severity befitting the leader of the Planetary High Court.
'I am beginning to suspect that Gladiolus Amicitia has been making fun of us the whole time,' Kelly reflected, studying the micro-expressions of the hybrid at the center of the table. 'Up to this point, Traveler has proven to be an extravagant but fundamentally decent host, decidedly more focused on teasing his historic lovers than on slitting prisoners' throats. It is difficult to associate the terrible warnings about his destructive bipolarity with the figure before us.'
"I believe it is a priority to resolve the bureaucratic matter regarding the humans before dedicating ourselves to our domestic affairs," Amelia suggested, her academic voice interrupting the couple's romantic bickering.
At the scientist's words, Traveler and Mira Yamana instantly shifted their posture, resetting their mannerisms to focus their attention on the seven Systems Alliance officers arranged along the semicircle of the round table.
"The time to discuss slightly more official business has officially arrived," Bruce began. In a single, imperceptible millisecond, his entire expression emptied itself of any residual playful androgyny; the air around the Rogue Trader seemed to turn freezing and dense, while his body stiffened on the imperial chair, assuming the algid, cold, and ruthless traits of a leader accustomed to calculating the destiny of entire star systems.
"The Moonbreaker emerged into this specific dimension less than ten standard hours ago," Bruce recited, and his androgynous voice lost every trace of melody to become as sharp as a ballistic blade. "The Systems Alliance scouting patrol intercepted our emergence trajectory, approached the hull of my flagship without possessing adequate information, and automatically triggered the transition to the Sanguinius Protocol. Analyzing the facts in a purely geometric and strategic way, the objective blame for all the structural chaos that has occurred so far falls entirely upon you, humans."
"What?" Captain David Anderson muttered, his jaw tightening in bewilderment. He could not believe the words coming out of the Rogue Trader's mouth: the Earth forces had been neutralized by a cyber-attack, frozen by cryogenic fighters, stripped of their ships, and forced into unconditional surrender, yet they were being pointed out as the primary culprits of the crisis.
"The logic of the facts is incontrovertible," Traveler continued, resting his gloved wrists on the silver table. "I had just concluded my complex transactions with the Galvan civilization inside the Omnitrix Galaxy. My only desire was to arrive in a new galaxy where no one knew my name for a few hours, and subsequently enjoy the quiet of my personal quarters in the Royal District, savoring a good, special dinner in the company of my Witches. With a bit of luck, one or both of them would have gotten pregnant."
At that mention, Amelia Blight instinctively extended her hand to brush her womb over the golden fabric of her dress, while Mira Yamana lowered her magenta gaze for a moment, imagining the possibility of once again holding a tiny baby girl in her arms, endowed with the bizarre heraldic union of two feathered bird wings and two membranous bat wings.
"Instead of being able to grant myself a well-deserved evening of rest," Bruce resumed, and his single fluorescent eye darted to Anderson with glacial detachment, "your patrol appeared at almost the most inopportune moment possible. Consequently, I am forced to handle the bureaucratic paperwork of an unsolicited First Contact and consume my dinner in front of seven unknown officers. In my original plans, I was supposed to wait a minimum of 72 hours before being forced to don this armor and return to duty."
Malcolm Reynolds tightened his fingers around the sheriff's star pinned to his leather coat, letting out a sigh loaded with corporate understanding: "Believe me, Traveler, I understand the nature of your resentment all too well. In my past, I received a one-week reward leave and was enjoying my entertainment inside an Asari Colony, when suddenly an emergency message was delivered to me, informing me that my bridge replacement had managed to get himself shot at the first checkpoint. I was forced to drop everything to immediately resume command of the ship."
'If I were certain of spending an evening of pure private entertainment with a monumental Space Elf Woman with imposing curves and a cute angel girl,' Malloy calculated, following the space cowboy's line of thought, 'I'd be absolutely pissed off too to find myself in front of seven soldiers I don't know.'
"I do not share your unilateral point of view in any way, Traveler," Aiden Shepard suddenly intervened. The voice of the SSV Tokyo's XO cut through the air of the dome like a steel whip, freezing the light smiles of Malloy and the captains. The Chicago hacker planted his green eyes into those of the Rogue Trader, categorically refusing to let himself be crushed by the political weight of this theater: "You break into our sovereign space with your titanic hundred-kilometer military fortress, launch a preemptive cyber and cryogenic attack without any provocation, impose an unconditional surrender upon us under the threat of total annihilation, confine us inside an artificial reserve as if we were zoo animals, and finally, force us to dress up like parade dolls to make us participate in a banquet where the only thing you do is complain about the nuisance we cause you!"
Malloy froze with his goblet in mid-air, sensing the rush of adrenaline that Shepard had just injected into the conversation. He leaned imperceptibly toward Kelly Grayson's chair, whispering through gritted teeth: "And then the N-7 officer told me to keep my mouth strictly shut so as not to cause diplomatic incidents..."
Bruce Belmont tensed his facial muscles, staring at the Chicago hacker through the ideal cross-visor of his lineage. For a few moments, the silence of Noiresville became absolute. Then, slowly, his androgynous lips stretched into a genuine, sharp smile that expressed a deep appreciation for that tone of open military defiance. "I admit that your spirit, hero, is to my absolute liking," the Rogue Trader Militant began, tapping his gloved index finger on the golden table.
"However, pure logic remains firmly on my side," Bruce declared, straightening his torso and projecting his elite authority over the table. "If a perfect stranger unlawfully trespasses inside the borders of your private property, Shepard, you have the full right to shoot him on sight to protect the security of your home. In the final calculus of the law, the objective culprit of the crisis remains the dead man who decided to cross a threshold that was none of his business."
"A legal concept decidedly very close to the old American constitutional doctrine of Earth," Malcolm Reynolds commented, and his sentence took on an even more ironic and seasoned nuance due to his space cowboy attire with a leather coat and a gem-studded star on his chest.
"Following exactly this line of logical conduct, the Moonbreaker deliberately violated the territorial borders of the Systems Alliance the exact moment it emerged from the Star-Gate," Aiden Shepard retorted, clutching the dark diamond bracelet on his left wrist and gritting his teeth. If Earth possessed no countermeasures on the level of brute force, the N-7 was determined not to yield a single millimeter on the level of strategic dialectics.
"From a purely technical standpoint, our routes indicate that we were conducting a routine patrol around the outer border line," Kelly Grayson intervened, trying to smooth the sharp edges of Shepard's logic before the commander's pride could trigger Bruce's destructive bipolarity. "The flagship Moonbreaker could have theoretically emerged right at or outside the legal border of the Systems Alliance, positioning this entire matter inside a complex and gray no-man's-land from the perspective of international law."
"In my capacity as Lady Justicar of the Arbites and member of the Planetary High Court, I shall issue my formal verdict on this specific dispute," Mira Yamana declared, her firm and professional voice cutting short the retorts of Shepard and Bruce before they could even begin. The blonde angel kept her glassy gaze fixed on the center of the silver table, speaking with the absolute detachment of an institutional third party: "The objective blame for the crisis is entirely linked to the unfortunate environmental and dimensional circumstances of the emergence, not to the intentions or actions of the individual natural persons involved in this First Contact."
"As I have always maintained since my early youth, the entire universe possesses a bothersome tendency to amuse itself at my expense," Traveler commented, raising his purple eye toward the fake pastel pink sky of the dome with a resigned grunt.
"The verdict also includes an ancillary sanction," Mira Yamana concluded, partially rotating her blonde head toward her life partner and fixing him with an expression of absolute legal severity. "The Rogue Trader Militant Bruce Bel Bahamut Belmont shall be required to fully compensate out of his own pocket for all material, logistical, and structural damages caused by his subordinates, in addition to paying an indemnity for the nuisance caused to the humans."
Bruce Belmont straightened his back against the metallic backrest, keeping his open palm near the edge of his amethyst plate, while his long purple tail moved with a steady rustle.
"Twenty-one gold bars of 13 kg per person, not a single gram more," Traveler declared, willing to give each human of the Systems Alliance 273 kg of gold.
Mira Yamana extended her hands covered by the long white gloves across the silver table, slightly narrowing her magenta eyes and extending the margins of her feathered wings.
"On the other hand, the humans shall accept that the blame belongs to no one and shall not use this event as a pretext in future negotiations or diplomatic encounters," Mira said, looking toward Anderson, who appeared to be the leader.
Gordon Malloy suddenly leaped to his feet onto the liquid metal bench, spreading his arms wide within his yellow and black kimono and making the heavy silver pearl necklace he wore around his neck clink.
"Before replying, someone tell me how much twenty-one gold bars are worth on Earth?" Malloy asked, standing tall and looking toward his fellow soldiers.
Malcolm Reynolds leaned his back against the white wall of the dome, crossing his arms over his long black leather coat and barely raising his chin under the shadow of his cowboy hat.
"If I remember correctly, the current price of gold is about 80,000 credits per kilogram; the total value of 273 kg is approximately 21 million credits," Malcolm Reynolds said, knowing his way around this kind of stuff.
John Carter moved his feet inside his supple boots, caressing the crafted hilt of his ceremonial sword with its pure gold blade with his fingers before straightening his torso in the chair.
"With such a sum, you can afford to buy private islands, luxury hotels, superyachts, or the entire share package of a medium-sized company," John Carter said, speaking for the first time at the table.
Malloy waved his hands in the air, moving the wide sleeves of his kimono and puffing out his chest with a wide smile that made his eyes spark under the room's pink and purple light.
"It doesn't matter what I have to sign, I'll sign it, and if necessary, I'll lie before the court saying that we humans accidentally opened fire or did something like that," Malloy said, ready to do all this and even more for such a sum.
Captain David Anderson maintained a rigidly formal posture, slightly tightening his lips inside his midnight blue and black paramilitary uniform and fixing the pilot with a stern gaze.
"Lieutenant Gordon Malloy, your words sound almost like an attempt at desertion or treason," Captain Anderson said, in a paternal tone.
Malloy extended his arm forward with his index finger pointed to emphasize his words, moving his body on the bench and looking at the silver and gold place settings arranged along the round table.
"I am thinking about the future: Traveler has the largest and most advanced ship in the galaxy, no one will try to step on his tail, he will come out of all this immaculate. Meanwhile, we risk being dishonorably discharged; twenty-one gold bars could make the difference between living on the street or in a real house, imagine what you can do with such a sum," Malloy said, showing for a moment that he was the smartest among the seven who had thought so far about the big picture and not about the small things.
John Carter looked at the ceiling of the geodesic dome, slightly raising his hands above his light Prince of Persia-style tunic.
"With that much gold, I could build myself a villa on Mars and live like a Noble," John Carter said, having dreamed of a wealthy life for a long time.
Malcolm Reynolds smiled cynically, grasping the golden seven-pointed star pinned to the chest of his leather coat with his fingers.
"I could buy an apartment in New York City and become a detective novel writer, or buy a ship of my own, go independent, and become a real Space Cowboy," Malcolm Reynolds said, while touching his golden sheriff star.
Ed Mercer passed a hand over the collar of his dark cyberpunk jacket, staring fixedly at the silver cutlery decorated with small gems before shrugging his shoulders.
"Honestly, all I wanted was to become a Captain of the Systems Alliance, but such a sum would do my family good," Ed said, appearing to be more resistant to the temptation of gold.
Kelly Grayson adjusted her long black velvet gloves up past her elbows, smoothing the fabric of her deep purple ballgown and tilting her head to the side.
"No comment," Kelly said, wanting to keep her thoughts to herself.
Aiden Shepard crossed his arms over his black and gray leather cyberpunk suit with an asymmetrical cut, letting the room's light glint off the diamonds of his heavy, dark bracelet.
"I don't need gold," Aiden Shepard said, without hesitation.
Captain Anderson straightened his back, tightening his grip on the buckle of his naval admiral belt and maintaining a neutral expression on his rejuvenated face.
"Neither do I," Captain Anderson said, too old and too deep into military life to give up.
Malloy sat back down on the bench with a snap, widening his eyes with joy and bringing his hands closer to the golden trays of alien desserts.
"No problem taking your bars in your name," Malloy said, his eyes glittering.
Bruce Belmont raised a gloved hand, moving his knife away from the tray and faintly shaking his neck wrapped in black fur.
"I will give you the gold; what you do with it is not my responsibility," Traveler said, not wanting to mix himself into the greed for a yellow stone.
Amelia Blight raised the flared arms of her wide, cream-white shrug, moving her elf ears and exhibiting her statuesque two-meter proportions.
"Shall we move on to another topic?" Amelia proposed, certain that if gold were still the subject, a human might grab a knife and do something foolish.
Captain Anderson placed the palms of his hands on the smooth silver surface of the table, leaning slightly forward to stare at the hybrid in the center.
"Out of curiosity, Traveler, how did you manage to become the Captain of this gigantic ship and explore another galaxy? I doubt an ordinary individual could receive such an honor and privilege," Captain Anderson asked, wanting to understand who he was truly speaking with; until now, he had not been able to obtain a clear picture of this individual.
Bruce Belmont spread his clawed fingers over the armrests of his imperial chair, stretching the majestic silhouette formed by the breastplate with the crimson gem and his long black cape.
"Here is my life story in short: I was adopted by a Wild Witch and a veterinarian; I discovered I was the heir to the Archduchy of Bahamut, one of the seven oldest and most powerful nations of Ysatnaf; I organized and launched a rebellion, killed the usurpers, and became Archduke," Traveler said, giving a very simple summary of a few years of his adolescence.
Then, the Rogue Trader Militant placed his gloved hand directly onto the silver plate at the center of his chest, slowly moving the two large, layered shoulder pads decorated with the black dragon.
"Then the long-awaited Messiah appeared, the First True King, the King of Light, and I became his most trusted and intimate ally. I helped him organize the Great Crusade and unify the entire world under a single banner," Traveler said, placing a hand over his heart.
Amelia Blight adjusted the golden hairpin in her neon-yellow hair, faintly shifting her green gaze toward the amethyst plates.
'You are the same person; it's normal that you are your own most trusted ally,' Amelia thought, having known this trick for a long time: I am not the king, I am only his right hand.
Bruce Belmont moved his long purple tail across the mirrored floor with a rhythmic motion, raising his androgynous head with its sharp features.
"We began to colonize space, I became the Warmaster, and, by hook or by crook, I helped with the creation of the U.S.K.Y. and to unite numerous races and peoples under the leadership of the First King," Traveler said, giving a super simple summary of his last few centuries and skipping a great deal of things.
Finally, the hybrid extended his left arm, making a wide circle in the air to show the white dome, the columns, and the fake purple and pastel pink sky that surrounded them.
"Fourteen years ago, the Messiah left the stage and passed his throne to his heiress, causing all my obligations and oaths to conclude. My reward for centuries of service was the title of Rogue Trader Militant and this Supercarrier, the Moonbreaker," Traveler concluded, gesturing with his arm as if to indicate everything around him.
Mira Yamana crossed her white-gloved arms over her pastel yellow corset, faintly fluttering the feathers of her white angelic wings and moving her lips into a grimace.
"Five hundred and sixty-five years told in less than three minutes," Mira commented, giving a small, sarcastic round of applause.
Ed Mercer straightened up on the metal bench, looking at the silver glasses and amethyst plates arranged in front of the three alien leaders.
"Can you tell me what a Rogue Trader is?" Ed asked, having only understood that he is the captain of the Moonbreaker, since no one had explained to him in detail what it was.
Bruce Belmont curled his lips into a sharp smile, slightly turning his fluorescent purple eyes toward the scientist to his right and moving his tail to brush against her leg beneath her shiny gold dress, before turning his gaze to the blonde girl to his left.
'These three are communicating with eyes and gestures, not with words,' Ed thought.
Amelia Blight mimicked the movements of a common citizen, moving her arms and altering her facial expression while lifting the flared edges of her wide, cream-white sleeves.
"A common citizen would say: 'A Rogue Trader? Human, they are the uncrowned Lords of the Kingdom. Imagine a man who possesses a fleet of colossal starships, a private army, and a piece of paper signed by the right hand of the First King himself. That paper grants him the right to go where no one else can go, trade with aliens, and do things that we are not allowed to do. They are explorers, pirates, and conquerors. If you meet one, pray he is in a good mood,'" Amelia declared, imitating an ordinary person from the U.S.K.Y.
Bruce Belmont puffed out his chest inside his ceremonial armor, flaring his nostrils and exhibiting a proud, confident expression as he spoke with his androgynous voice.
"What is a Rogue Trader? They are freedom. While many live and die beneath the blue sky, obeying the laws of the Planetary Governor, I answer only to myself, to the Royal Family, and to the King. I discover stars, I destroy alien empires, and I accumulate wealth that your mind cannot even conceive. I lead the Voidwalkers into the unknown," Traveler said, clearly enjoying answering this question.
Mira Yamana rested her back against the backrest of her chair, assuming a rigid and professional posture and neatly folding her wings stretched behind the nape of her neck.
"Rogue Traders are unique and powerful individuals who serve the interests of the King, the Royal Family, and the entire Kingdom. Their role is a combination of freelance explorers, conquerors, and interstellar traders," Mira explained, giving a more precise answer, almost straight out of a textbook.
Amelia Blight gathered the edges of her form-fitting golden dress, returning to adjust her glasses on her nose and keeping her green gaze fixed on the table.
"We definitely fit much more into the first and third categories," Amelia specified, clearly not liking the idea of being associated with an image of a conqueror.
Aiden Shepard clenched his fingers inside his leather gloves, observing the layered silver decorations on Bruce's breastplate with a stern frown.
'It doesn't look like it,' Aiden Shepard thought, finding it hard to believe this statement.
Kelly Grayson caressed her blonde hair with her gloved hand, moving her body within her purple ballgown and flashing a relaxed smile to soften the official atmosphere.
"You mentioned earlier that you have had about fifty children?" Kelly asked, trying to get Traveler to open up with a question less connected to business.
Bruce Belmont extended his right hand to firmly grasp his silver glass filled with the golden substance, slightly moving the large, curved amethyst-colored horns on the top of his head.
"Officially yes, I might have more, but if the mothers do not tell me they are pregnant, I cannot claim them," Traveler said, as he grabbed the glass.
Then, the hybrid made a sharp gesture with his gloved arm, tilting the goblet and letting the golden fluid fall directly onto the silver surface of the mirrored floor.
"Though, now that I travel from galaxy to galaxy, I doubt they could find me even if they looked for me. Well, I got to where I am without a father, so to my possible and unknown children, I wish them good luck in saving, conquering, or destroying the world where they were born," Traveler concluded, pouring the contents of the glass onto the floor.
Mira Yamana moved in her pastel chair, straightening her corset and moving her long white gloves to accompany her formal words.
"Of the 50 children, four I carried in my womb," Mira said, participating in the conversation.
Amelia Blight gently caressed her womb over the shiny gold fabric of her traditional dress, moving her long elf ears with a smile.
"I carried another five," Amelia said, being the one who had the largest number of children.
The scientist then leaned forward a few centimeters toward Traveler, lowering her voice to a whisper and expressing herself in an ancient Ysatnaf idiom that did not activate the automatic translators of the human Omni-tools.
"I would like a sixth one; a Rogue Trader needs an heir," Amelia whispered, speaking in an ancient dialect that the humans would never understand.
Mira Yamana leaned slightly forward on her pastel chair, tightening her white gloves and faintly fluttering the feathers of her large angelic wings. She brought her lips close to the hybrid's nape, formulating in turn a sentence in the same archaic dialect of Ysatnaf.
"Commorragh also needs an heir for the title of Planetary Governor," Mira whispered in turn, having learned this dialect long ago.
Amelia Blight smiled knowingly toward the Justicar, lifting the golden edges of her dress to adjust her round glasses on her nose once more.
"The Starship for me, the Castle for you," Amelia said, coming to an agreement with Mira, even though she was certain that things would not go as planned: children with Bahamut blood tend to be unpredictable, full of talents and blessings, yet as complex as their father.
Mira's porcelain cheeks flushed with a faint reddish veil as she neatly folded her white wings against the silvery backrest.
"I'll start tonight," Mira said with a slight blush, since more than fifty years had passed since she had last held a baby in her arms.
Amelia Blight nodded sharply, making her long neon-yellow dyed hair sway and adjusting her wide white sleeves.
"Me too; shall we do it together?" Amelia asked, having no issues with sharing.
Mira Yamana crossed her velvet-covered arms over her yellow corset, gently tilting her head to the side in a thoughtful manner.
"Should I bring Akio with me?" Mira said, preferring to have her favorite with her; after all, they had been pregnant during the same period several times.
Amelia Blight extended her hand over the table, brushing the smooth silver surface before concluding the private conversation in the kingdom's native tongue.
"The more, the merrier, but first we must finish this dinner," Amelia said, needing to wrap up the private discussion in the dialect.
Aiden Shepard tensed his shoulder muscles inside his black and gray leather cyberpunk suit, keeping his green eyes fixed on the two women and clenching his knuckles.
'What did the Lady Scientist and the Lady Justicar whisper to each other?' Aiden Shepard thought, always attentive to details.
Captain David Anderson straightened his torso on the liquid metal bench, adjusting his rigid midnight blue and black uniform and resting his palms on the edge of the table.
"If I may be so bold, Traveler, may I ask what your plans are for our Galaxy?" Captain Anderson asked.
Bruce Belmont spread his clawed gloved fingers over the armrests of his imperial chair, slightly shaking the large, curved amethyst-colored horns on the top of his head.
"I haven't the slightest idea," Traveler said, having no real plan.
Mira Yamana raised her chin with the proud pride of the Arbites, faintly fluttering her white wings and showing an expression of blatant disappointment.
"Despite what many think, Traveler is only a crazy and paranoid genius, not omniscient," Mira said with disdain, having met people who held far too high an opinion of her thug.
Amelia Blight adjusted the golden hairpin in her hair, gesturing with her hand toward the gold and amethyst place settings arranged along the round table.
"Most likely we will do the same things we have been doing for 14 years," Amelia said, since although every adventure is unique, some of them resemble each other in essence; and where things resemble each other, patterns and routines appear.
Kelly Grayson adjusted her long black gloves up past her elbows, moving her body within her deep purple ballgown to lend solemnity to her voice.
"What exactly does this mean? If you explain better what you want to do, it will be easier to transmit the message to the other races of the Citadel Council, so we can avoid further misunderstandings," Kelly said, playing the diplomat.
Bruce Belmont moved his black-gloved hand with a lightning-fast motion and, like a stage magician, made an old gold coin appear between his fingers, which began to gleam under the room's pink and purple light.
"The Moonbreaker has a tradition of returning home to the Azure Galaxy, to the territory of the U.S.K.Y., every five years. There is only one year left until our return journey, so we have a time limit that precludes certain activities," Traveler said.
Aiden Shepard did not avert his gaze from the hybrid, letting the light from the geodesic dome illuminate the diamonds of his heavy, dark bracelet as he memorized the information.
'This is good news in part: instead of having a gargantuan ship roaming around indefinitely, it will only stay for a year,' Aiden Shepard thought, cataloging this discovery.
Bruce Belmont slid the gold coin between the knuckles of his clawed gloves, swinging his long purple tail across the mirrored floor with a dull thud.
"A year is too short to explore an unknown galaxy, let alone create outposts or conduct terraforming experiments; many beautiful and interesting things show results only after several years," Traveler said, beginning to play with the coin.
The Rogue Trader Militant puffed out his chest inside his ceremonial armor, caressing the soft black fur collar that wrapped around his neck and shifting his single fluorescent purple eye onto the Earthlings.
"I think I will take it easy for this final year and do things Merchant Prince style. I will take some time to get to know this Galaxy, the main factions, understand what each race and thing has to offer, then I will introduce myself and try to enter into the most profitable commercial contracts, ensuring that the counterpart benefits from it, but not to the same extent that I do," Traveler said, having for the moment only a guideline on what to do with this Galaxy.
Gordon Malloy leaned forward in his flamboyant yellow and black kimono, widening his eyes in surprise and nervously clutching his 108 silver pearls.
"So, you have the largest ship that has ever existed in this Galaxy, a crew that is practically an army, and extremely advanced technology, and you just want to do commercial business?" Malloy asked with a confused expression, having believed that the conquest of the known Galaxy or the destruction of a planet were more probable options.
Bruce Belmont stretched his lips into a crooked, eccentric smile, faintly tilting his androgynous head with its sharp features.
"I am a Rogue Trader; the word Trader exists for a reason," Traveler said, considering it obvious that doing business was a part of his trade.
Mira Yamana crossed her pastel-fabric-covered arms over her corset, casting a rigid glare and a visual jab toward the hybrid sitting at her side.
"It is more profitable for everyone involved when pen and paper are used to obtain something, rather than taking it with sword and fire," Mira commented, throwing a small jab toward Bruce and his little love for war.
Amelia Blight returned to looking at her amethyst tray, moving her long elf ears in a slight nod of assent.
'I doubt we won't use weapons for the entire year, but it would be nice to be able to invest more time and resources into non-military projects,' Amelia thought, preferring to use her talents for the common good or to protect her family.
Kelly Grayson tilted her blonde head with a relaxed smile, looking at the silver plates filled with purple steaks and green potatoes.
"Honestly, I appreciate the idea that you only want to trade goods that come from outside our Galaxy," Kelly said, certain that everyone would be happier knowing the Moonbreaker carried merchandise for their shops rather than soldiers and bombs to drop on them.
Captain David Anderson snapped slightly forward with his torso over the bench, tormenting his chin with his hand and showing a tense, tired expression on his rejuvenated face.
"Thank you for explaining what you want to do, Traveler; we are slightly more relieved, but I still have one torment: what will happen to us humans? Will you keep us here until you have finished studying this Galaxy?" Captain Anderson asked, posing the most important question of all, in his opinion.
Bruce Belmont tensed his body muscles inside the breastplate with the crimson gem, suddenly halting the movement of the coin between his clawed fingers. He shifted his fluorescent purple eye along the row of the seven humans, stopping his gaze on Aiden Shepard's massive figure.
"If I am to play the Merchant Prince, killing you and covering up the matter would be a problem, but at the same time, I do not know what to do with you. One of the reasons for this dinner is to understand what you are made of," Traveler said, staring at the seven humans with his good eye, then focusing on Shepard.
With a lightning-fast snap of his gloved arm, Bruce Belmont hurled the gold coin straight toward the N-7 commander's forehead.
"Quick hands," Traveler said, throwing the coin straight toward Aiden Shepard and aiming at his forehead.
Aiden Shepard cut down his reaction times, swiftly moving his gray leather-covered arm to catch the gold piece mid-air, just a few centimeters from his face.
Bruce Belmont raised his chin, stretching his lips into a defiant smile aimed directly at the N-7.
Gladiolus Amicitia, standing with his back against the white stone column, imperceptibly shifted his shoulders inside his Kingsglaive armor, while Mira Yamana barely held back a sigh, restraining the irritation of her wings.
'He's going to play one of his usual little games,' Mira thought, holding back a sigh.
Bruce Belmont extended his right arm toward the table's surface, elegantly grabbing a gold knife with a handle decorated with small gems.
"Hero, I have a proposal for you," Traveler said, having a fine idea in mind.
Aiden Shepard clenched his fingers around the newly caught gold coin, straightening his rigid back against the backrest of the chair and holding the hybrid's gaze.
"Let's hear it," Aiden Shepard said, understanding that something important was about to happen.
Bruce Belmont clicked the metallic segments of his silver shoulder pads, pointing the blade of the gold knife directly at the Chicago officer while speaking with a firm voice.
"You and the other humans will remain on the Moonbreaker for nine days. The seven of you will be treated as precious guests, so expect more invitations to breakfast, lunch, and dinner," Traveler said.
At that exact instant, the Rogue Trader Militant rose to his feet solemnly, abruptly unfolding his majestic bat wings and letting his long black cape trail across the silvery floor with a regal rustle.
"Everyone will experience a small vacation, except for you, Shepard. For seven days you will train under Gladio's gaze; on the eighth day you will rest and prepare yourself, because on the ninth and final day you will enter the arena and fight to show what humanity is capable of," Traveler said, pointing at the officer with the blade.
Bruce Belmont kept the knife pointed forward, stretching his silhouette and smiling beneath the shadow of his large, amethyst-colored horns.
"If you win, I will name you champion among your people and you will be highly rewarded. I will take you and your kind to your home planet and grant preferential treatment to humanity when it wants to do business with me," Traveler concluded.
The hybrid tilted his head slightly to the side, fixing the N-7 with his single fluorescent purple eye and keeping that mysterious smile stamped on his androgynous face.
"Do you accept the proposal, hero?" Traveler asked, behaving as if he had masterminded a plan that only he could see.
The seven humans of the Systems Alliance exchanged looks loaded with bewilderment and mute tension, finally understanding Gladio's previous words regarding his Lord's unpredictable temperament. In that moment, the humans understood that Gladio was not joking at all: his Lord was decidedly bipolar, but not in the way they had imagined.
Aiden Shepard moved his fingers inside his leather glove, looking at the gold coin before parting his lips to give his definitive answer.
Aiden Shepard replied by saying: ...
To be continued...
XXX
Author's Note:
I'll be honest, I had no idea how to end the dinner, so I decided not to end it, but to use it to set up something grander instead.