Chapter Five

A/N: After being...away for a while, I'm increasingly coming to realize that this fic is pretty much crack. (Other than the bits where it's ripped-off canon.) XD

She had a plan.

The perfect place to find dragons? A dragon shelter, of course.

An equally perfect place to annoy Wann? The shelter at which Wann volunteered.

And a place in which to continue the legend of the Pink Booster? As equally promising.

Too bad Wann apparently wasn’t on duty, she thought as she brought down the door with a fire grenade, Decepshun stepping neatly over the wreckage.

“Get out if you wish to live!” she yelled to the volunteer who came rushing out. Not Wann, unfortunately. “I am the Pink Booster, and I’ve come to free the dragons!”

True, if you defined “free” as “arrange to rush into Cain’s waiting transport to be made into wraiths”.

She grabbed the volunteer. “Are you the only one here?” she demanded of him. She didn’t want to accidentally kill anyone, and she needed to seal this exit. “Tell me the truth or I’ll send you to Abandonn’s dark harvests early!”

“No, I’m the only one here, Kitt was late again, I just—please don’t hurt me—“

Too bad about Wann’s tardiness.

Meorganna flung him out the door, and sealed it behind her. Good.

She marched on to the stables, feeling top of the world once again. She threw Blarre’s timed disrupter mines around them, planning to create a dragon stampede; she’d checked the entrances beforehand, and found only two. The back way would be perfect for them to rush out into the not-so-loving arms of his Crew’s trapping gear. Knock down the compartments, then set off the mines at the front; simple logic they’d run right into captivity.

The lights flickered, and then went off. Perhaps she’d damaged the system in her entrance. She activated a hand-held mag-light, and kept on with her task. One minute ‘till explosion, A section covered, B section covered, just C then exit and wait…

“I have been watching you, boy.”

The voice had been from somewhere in the shadows. If it had been there at all. Magna Draconis, was she hallucinating or what? She glanced around, shining the light, but could see no-one.

“Who’re you calling boy?” he called. “Did you miss the C-cups?” She scattered the mines like she needed to; she couldn’t waste time.

Black energy gathered around the mines, lying inert in the corner. Mag-freeze. She glanced around again, intensifying her light, and still couldn’t see a thing. Shadow gear? If only Vizz had finished building the heat sensors…

“Identify yourself!” she shouted.

“You have gained power since the last time I saw you. Prove yourself not completely weak in this battle, Moordryd Paynn.”

He—it, whatever!—knew who he was! Not Dual’s voice, couldn’t be the Dragon Booster, couldn’t be her father and her father wouldn’t call her boy anyway…

“This Dual has taken the name that should rightfully be yours. Destroy him,” the voice continued.

“Wait, what? The Pink Booster should be Dual?”

“Yes,” the voice sneered. “Dual was never a Booster. Xe was weak. You may be stronger, with my help.”

“I could’ve called myself Dual the whole time? I didn’t have to be stuck with some dumb codename like the Pink Booster? The bastard!”

A laugh. “Yes, yes. Kill him and prove yourself.”

Well, after an insult like that-- Justifiable homicide, clearly. Rid the world of the name-stealing crime-foiling menace for good.

“Who are you?” she yelled again.

“Your destiny—if you are worthy.”

The mag-freeze suddenly disappeared. It felt like warmth had replaced a shadow. She kept looking, staring around for whatever it had been, and then remembered; mines, get out, now.

She and Decepshun raced for the exit, haphazardly throwing out the remaining mines in their wake. Hopefully the dragons would bash their own way out if their stable areas didn’t get a direct hit.

Exit up ahead; she threw a mag-bolt at it to blast it open. The plasteel buckled, but didn’t break. She swore, and offered a second, which had more effect, making it ripple and bend misshapenly; she activated ramming gear finally, and tore through it as the mines went off behind her.

Through!

The open transport suddenly started moving towards her, and knocked Decepshun as she leaped. They fell aside; she looked up to see the thief-calling-himself-Dual, black-clad figure atop the opposite rooftop.

“Cain?” she called.

Muffled sounds came from a closed transport wheeled to their left. So Dual had made it here in good time.

Odd, especially since he was on foot. Dragon thefts usually took some time in the execution, but he hadn’t always managed to get there and stop them. In the area, probably, Meorganna decided. Or the mag-freeze had lasted a lot longer than she’d thought…

She still shivered. But she’d prepared for this.

The concealed wraith came up behind Dual as Meorganna manipulated the controls, and seized him by the scruff of the neck, shaking him like a rag-doll.

“I know where you stole your name now!” she yelled, and magged up to meet him.

Prove yourself worthy.

She could take him, easy.

Dual hadn’t let go of his mag-staff yet. He tried to fight; Meorganna blocked him. She heard the sound of rushing steps, like a coming flood.

The dragons. Oh yeah.

A mag-push shoved the main transport back in front of the exit, catching the dragons as they stampeded out. It was just a moment of distraction, but Dual’s kick caught her squarely in the ribs; she ducked back, and Dual ripped the fabric of his outfit from the wraith’s mouth. She saw a flash of pale skin on slender shoulders, crossed by bright blood. (Very skinny boy. Poor kid.) The wraith shimmered into visibility as Meorganna activated its defences, ramming gear with the iron ball held ready; it was close, no way he could avoid it—

He didn’t avoid it. Dual leaped on top of Meorganna before she could stop the activation, both plunging from the rooftop, and the projectile glanced off both of them as they plummeted to the ground, Moordryd on the bottom as the armour barely managed to take the hit.

Little black-and-gold-and-pink dragons danced inside his head as he finally raised it. The boy was peeling himself off her, flinging himself back; he was going to the transport to help the dragons, Meorganna realised. She pressed the button to seal it; they would have done most of their stampeding by now, and the vast transport held at least ten. Ten would be enough. Too bad they hadn’t been able to herd more.

Right. Reinforcement time!

The invisible wraiths crowded Dual as he lashed out with his blocking staff, rather clumsily. Looked like the fall had really taken it out of him.

Free Cain and the others? But the mysterious voice had told her to prove himself—had promised power—

She could hear Cain’s muffled voice. She went to get them out of the transport.

“Dragon Eyes, attack!”

Dual jumped—on what had to be a wraith’s tail, Meorganna realised—and let it fling him away, his mag-staff hitting the top of the transport to get him flying rather awkwardly down on the other side. Decepshun lifted Meorganna without prompting, sending her down; there were some dragons still fleeing the shelter, surrounding them.

Angry dragons, too. Meorganna watched smugly as Dual fended them off, and then had to start fighting herself as an extremely irritable-looking Nautilus-class snapped at her.

And the shadow, the deep dark shadow beyond, and then the dragons were rushing away and she heard the cries of her friends as they watched the stampede surge towards them, and she waited for the voice again.

Dual’s blocking staff glowed a bright red-gold, and she saw the tension in his body as he put the last of his resources into this battle. He hit the transport lock, breaking the system as Meorganna tried to break him, slamming viciously to his shoulder where the ramming gear had hit him, and they both jumped down as the dragons flowed around them.

Crap crap oh crap oh crap…

Dual got in a lucky hit, his staff glowing brightly, and then darted back into the dark building.

Where the…shadows were…

“You have failed,” the dark voice said, and she ran back to her friends.

--

The darkness felt cloying, palpable sticky hands reaching out for her as she ran, trying to ignore the pain in her shoulder and the utter exhaustion trying to claim her. The Pink Booster shorted the lights, she told herself, that was all, and the dragons had escaped but they would probably find their way back. It would be fine.

Someone. Something.

“Who are you, little insect?”

She ran on. Somehow she reached the storeroom, and closed the door and pulled off the mask and grabbed the spare pair of overalls Becca kept there and finally activated her VIDDcomm.

“Hello? Dragon City Security, please, help me, our shelter’s been attacked, please come!”

That was that, she thought as the shadows seemed to surround her. She-was-hurt-in-the-explosion, she-needed-your-help-brave-officers, no-I-haven’t-seen-anyone-masked, please-don’t-release-my-name, I-I-I—

She couldn’t stand it any more. The fuse box was just outside the storeroom. She flung herself to it, and somehow managed to get the lights on.

Weird. It didn’t seem like the system had been damaged much, after all. And…

…and the entrance was sealed. No explanation for how Kitt Wann had made it in. She fiddled with the controls some more, and after throwing a rock at it managed to get it slightly open just before DCS arrived.

--

“Too bad we lost the dragons,” Cain said as they slunk away towards home, the sirens blaring in the distance as Faiar’s men arrived far too late.

Yeah, too bad. Fuck it.

She supposed she should think about Dual. The voice had seemed to know something about him, and especially the original one to call themselves Dual (some kind of shemale, apparently). Which made them…

….some other vigilante-haunt-thing, she supposed. Like the Dragon Booster (was Dual a friend of his, for taking the name so deliberately?) or the random Dragon Priests or even her father, who knew more than her even if he hadn’t been able to tell her the right codename from the start. Something like that. Just one of those things that happened when you were an armoured vigilante bearing an ancient artefact from the first dragon-human war.

But the shadow had promised power, and she had failed him…

“Let’s go home, Cain,” she said.

--

“Dragon City Security, please, help me, our shelter’s been attacked, please come!”

Moordryd cackled. That tape he’d recorded from Dragon City Security Patrol wasn’t going to get old, ever.

“Dragon City Security, please, save me! I’m such an innocent damsel in distress!” he mocked for the rest of the Crew’s benefit, trying to make the falsetto sound fake. “Ooh, yeah, I call myself greatest on the streets, but I could never deal with an eensy-weensy little explosion, not like great heroes like the Pink Booster and her friend Moordryd Paynn!”

“We get the message, Moordryd,” Swayy said, rolling her eyes. “We don’t get dragons.”

“I guess,” Moordryd muttered. They hadn’t been stealing nearly enough for her father to be happy. “But it’s Wann, it’s always funny…”

Blarre threw a rotting cushion at him. “Fifty-sixth time, it’s not.”

Moordryd sniffed imperiously. “Fine,” he said, and went back to dwelling on Meorganna’s latest race. She’d won, and her father had approved of that at least, and for once the Penn brat hadn’t pulled a second, thrown down a pit almost immediately after the race’s start following a good blast to his Aero gear, and with Vizz’ heat sensors for shadow gear perfected she could really put some plans into place.

“So, Moordryd, what’s that cousin of yours like?” Rancydd asks. “Swayy reckons she was Cain’s girl, you know, just rode in from Stone City and already she’s flinging her knickers on top of our fridge…”

“I said to shut up about that,” Cain snapped.

Moordryd shrugged. “She’s more picky than you’d think. ‘S why she’s not that keen on hanging out with you guys.” He took a look around, seeing if his shot had hit home. “And it was her bra, not her knickers.”

Swayy took in a sharp breath. “How’d you…”

“Cain told me,” Moordryd said serenely.

“You know, I didn’t see that much of her,” Swayy said, raising an eyebrow. “Hey, considering she’s apparently your cousin, who looks a whole lot like you, and you’re best friends…”

Moordryd and Cain both shook their heads hastily.

“Don’t go there.”

--

“It’s too bad the Dome is the final race in your suspension period,” Parm observes, glancing across at Kitt. “It’s worth almost fifteen percent of the Academy total scores this year! You’ll have to finish in the top two, Artha. You don’t have the racing record to back you up otherwise.”

“Then I gotta win this thing!” Artha says. “I’m only behind Meorganna and Marianis in the point scores for this one, and if I make first I might get even with Meorganna.”

“Only if Marianis does pretty badly,” Kitt points out. “But if you just focus, stableboy…”

“I am focusing,” Artha tells her, manipulating his VIDDgame controls.

Kitt rolls her eyes, but sits beside him anyway. “Not like that! Anyway, I think you can do it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” His brows narrow, and he sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as the game beeps. “Haha! I—” He stops in disbelief.

“I win! I win!” Lance cheers for himself.

“And I suppose a giant dragon foot squashing the two leading racers is in the game, is it now?” Parm asks indignantly.

“Well, um…yes?”

I see Wyldfyr snickering as they quarrel; he looks amusedly down as Artha reaches for our littermate to plant a noogie on his head, swishing his tail somewhat impatiently as he waits for his and Artha’s scheduled warm-up session.

“Fix it, Lance,” Parm eventually advises, giving the game to him as he and Artha file out with Wyldfyr for Mortis’ session, and Lance trots off into a corner as Kitt slumps back, closing her eyes.

“Kitt, wake up!” I hear him call a while later, rushing over to us. “Look at what’s in the game! It’s Meorganna, I saw her getting illegal black market gear from this guy named Malto, he’s…”

“Mmphgug?” she asks sleepily, then forces herself to alertness. “What? No, that can’t be. Parm said he’d check her out, and he hasn’t mentioned finding anything yet.”

Lance shakes his head. “No, look, they’re on the screen right here, he’s giving her Elite Class mag-channelling gear…”

“I just see that giant dragon foot,” Kitt says, and she’s right. We had both drifted off somewhere; is it possible Lance did the same?

Lance scowls. “But it was there!”

“You sure?” she asks. She looks down at the dragon foot again, and I don’t blame her for her scepticism. “Maybe you should just fix the game,” she says. “I’ve got to finish the course notes for Artha, anyway.”

“I am sure!” Lance yells, sulking.

--

Mortis does allow me to accompany the others to the race; it is very good to be outside again, walking through the streets, although Kitt has to ride with Parm on Cyrano. This is slightly unfair; I feel I could carry her, and it’s hardly as though she’s built like Marshall Budge, although as we continue to the racing arena I must admit that I am still slightly weak from the long time of rest. Artha enters the dome, the other racers gathered in their places and the Academy officials above, while Parm performs his final calculations.

It’s certainly going to be an…interesting…race.

“Stay out of the way of the others, stableboy,” Kitt advises. “Let Phistus gets too close and he’ll smash you, Marianis has great night vision, and you know Khatah.”

“And Meorganna’s cheating,” Lance mutters.

“Don’t get paranoid, Lance,” Artha says with a sigh. “Right. Got it.”

“Follow Kitt’s strategy!” Parm warns. “I have ascertained that caution is most definitely the best policy…”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, and I see Wyldfyr’s head tilt amusedly from this distance.

The dome begins to close.

--

Moordryd took the final opportunity to glance up at the crowd in the light. “Armlet, pretty please could I get infrared vision on the helmet?” he muttered as he stroked her arm. Even if it didn’t work, the illegal gear was still secured to Decepshun’s 'caps; she needed to win the race to make up for the dragon theft failures, and she wasn’t going to let anything stand in her way. “Ultra-Pink Darkness Defeating Glamour?”

He saw the screen in front of her eyes shift, the colours seeming to reverse from light to dark and vice versa. Looking up at Marshal Budge, he began to notice a side effect—and averted her eyes in horror.

X-ray vision!

He kept looking at the audience, noticing an attractive woman in a suit that showed up as dark blue over deep red skin, and kept looking as her clothes seemed to disappear entirely, softly-drawn contours of bare skin appearing.

Oh, the things I could do with this…

She glanced up at Wann. There was an extra layer or two to her top, and as she stared she realised what it had to be.

“Cain, the infrared works! Didja know Wann stuffs her bra, not that it does anything for her? I mean, I totally wouldn’t bother, especially since she still looks way flat, no wonder she was jealous…”

“I doubt she was jealous,” Cain replied. “And, uh, Moordryd? The race?”

“…Oh yeah.” Meorganna looked up at the descending roof, now blocking Wann from view. “So, Wann, I guess the puberty dragon just wasn’t interested? Want a bit of silicon gear to go under the top?” (All right, she was still okay-looking and in proportion and stuff, and she kind of wished she had a bit longer to play around staring, but—ha ha! Wann stuffs her bra!)

“Moordryd, now’s not the time. Lend your helmet to me after the race?”

The dome closed.

--

We see Artha speeding through the darkness, Meorganna catching up behind him. Her mag-burst glows brightly, and he responds in kind; he doesn’t seem inclined to show any mercy, not today and not to her. I see him aim a powerful series of shots at her while Wyldfyr dodges the obstacles; and then Meorganna veers off suddenly, her dragon knocking down Hyve while she makes sure the rider doesn’t recover.

“Wulph—is—out!” Marshall Budge booms.

They’re racing behind Marianis and Pyrrah now, whose staffs strike visible sparks between them. Artha’s blast forces Meorganna into them both, and Pyrrah falls to the ground, though the other two are saved by their dragons. I see Marianis racing on into the darkness, away from the others.

Looks like one racer’s actually obeying the strategy.

Lance and Parm have wandered off, probably looking for better reception; Kitt’s watching carefully, but the screen shows even less than what the racers can see, and it’s up to Artha to win this.

Phistus’ hammer shows up on screen, blocked by Artha’s staff. They race each other past the turnstiles, and then Phistus is down as the turnstile pounds on him. I blink. There was some glint at the corner of the screen, mag-energy, Meorganna’s maybe…?

“Go stableboy!” Kitt pumps her fist into the air.

Parm returns to us. “Lance is telling his stories again,” he says, irritated. “How is the race? How is Artha?”

“He’s doing good,” Kitt says, and then gasps. Meorganna’s whip lances towards him, starting to steal his energy; he blasts it quickly, though, and she drops it as it burns her hand. “Woah! Better turn down the mag-moves, stableboy.”

Lance comes up beside Kitt. “She’s cheating, I saw it! Please can you come wait by the air vent with me?”

“All right,” Kitt says grudgingly. “But only for a little bit, okay? If this Malto isn’t there I’m going back.”

The race continues; the screen shows Marianis in her corner of the track, dodging the obstacles nimbly. Khatah’s next to feature, doing his signature mag-jumps over and with the turnstiles as the audience admire his sheer skill, and then Meorganna, not nearly so graceful as he but almost as effective.

And ramming into Khatah, Shock-Ra reeling but not quite down, and then blue star gear from them both, making her back off. At least for a while.

Kitt returns. “Nothing in the air vent,” she says. “Wonder what got into him?”

Oh, it’s Artha and Khatah now, on the screen. We both watch nervously; if he defeats Khatah and Marianis both, he’ll finish at least in second. They fight with blocking staffs, and then Artha’s starts to glow with mag-energy; he suddenly seems to explode with it, and Khatah is thrown to the ground.

“Artha! What about—” Kitt begins.

“He’s already been to the Academy!” my littermate calls back. “I have to do this, all right?”

Kitt bites her lip. “Then beat Marianis fairly, stableboy!”

Meorganna’s already with the other competitor, though, and I see them both leap on the turnstiles as they fight, dark shadows travelling through the air.

“Sounds like Meorganna’ll do it for me,” Artha answers, satisfied. “Where do I go to wait for the gate to open?”

“They change it every year--I can't tell you,” Kitt says. “But if you keep on the track you should be fine.”

“Good.”

She stands up. “I’m gonna see where Lance has got to now,” she says. “You right, Parm?”

“Yes yes, we’ll be fine. Go see what he’s up to,” Parm says absently, and continues with his calculations.

“Marianis—is—down!”

Meorganna’s dragon, burdened with ramming gear, hit the turnstile on which her mistress’ opponent stood; poor Marianis was sent tumbling to the ground, and Meorganna jumps over her as they continue, in the vague direction of the air vent while the camera focuses on Artha’s race once again. He and Wyldfyr do well, nimbly and quickly taking on the track; and then a flood of blue star gear hurtles out of the darkness, nearly toppling them as they dodge. It doesn’t let up, glowing with mag-energy on top of its power.

And then Lance’s footsteps running in, and words I did not want to hear:

“Parm! Kitt’s been captured by Malto!”

“Lance! Enough,” Parm says, and that manages to halt my rush, at least for a moment. “I’m sure she’s fine. I can get her on her comlink, right here, I'm sure soon—”

I run.

“Beau, wait—”

--

We have scoured the city for several hours, Parm and myself and Lance and Artha and the ex-Red when they finish their race. I could smell no trace of either Kitt or the presence claimed to be Malto (black-light green, I think, and a faint acrid gear-stench all under the strong sense-shields he had thrown up to protect against tracker-dragons) anywhere beyond the airduct, which means that his hideaway could be anywhere.

If he has not harmed her. I race through the city, and try my best to hope as it grows dark and the chances of finding Kitt seem infinitely weaker.

--

Word didn’t turn around as they entered, studying figures on the screen labelled ‘Wraith Feedback’. “First place, Meorganna. My congratulations. Now give the Elite Class gear to me.”

She paled. “How did you—”

“I was the one who taught you,” he said frostily. “But I am quite impressed, daughter,” he added, and she sighed in relief. “Initiative and cunning. A chip off the old draconium block. But give it to me; it’s far too powerful for a person your age.”

“It could help against the Dragon Booster, Father,” Meorganna said hopefully.

Word shook his head dismissively. “That coward hasn’t shown his face since we defeated him—and your mag-moves should be sufficient. Particularly against that lone human you and Cain have been whining about.”

Meorganna took a step back at the sudden scowl that had crept to her father’s face. “Yeah. I’ll capture Dual for you, no problem,” he boasted. “Like you said, he’s just some lone kid with a few tricks. We’re getting to it.”

“See that you do,” Word commanded, the tone uncomfortably close to the one he had frequently used in the time before the armlet (TBA, Moordryd thought of it).

“Yes, Father.” Moordryd and Cain turned together to leave, until her father spoke again.

“And I’m taking you to the dressmakers’ tomorrow at tenth claw, Meorganna.”

“What?”

He continued as though she had not spoken.

“You have a date with Saul Reptilis, of ReptiliCorp, later that day.”

“But—why—“

“Really, Meorganna. As my niece, you are expected to have social responsibilities, and he will someday inherit his father’s corporation.”

“But—but isn’t compulsory heterosexuality a tool of the patriarchy?” Meorganna improvised. He really didn’t want to spend the day with some Sun City brat.

“That’s why I had no objection to your inclinations before, of course,” Word said, waving her protests ("Father, I wasn't...") aside like thin cobwebs. “The thought of someday combining Paynn Industries’ might with ReptiliCorp’s lands and manpower—or possibly an alliance with Samson Levia’s boy, or perhaps Dragon Master Ria’s or Ister’s sons—”

“Marriage is a bourgeoisie institution of oppression…” Meorganna hazarded.

Word smiled. “Not,” he said, “for you.” His tone was final, and Moordryd and Cain took the opportunity to exit.

“And, Cain?” Word said. “Keep your hands off my daughter. Do I make myself clear?”

Cain paused; Moordryd waited. “Yesmrpaynnsir,” he said eventually, and they went at last.

“So. Are you going to tell him, or should I be the one to get skinned and broiled alive?” Cain hissed, when they were safely out of hearing distance.

“That I like girls?” Meorganna shrugged. “Later, I guess. I’ll meet a nice girl someday, and I’ll let you watch and if we get together you can be best man.”

Cain rolled his eyes. “All right. As long as I can watch.”

--

I see my littermate first, searching some distance away, leaping with Wyldfyr across the rooftops and the growing dark. He doesn’t seem to notice me, like me busy searching for our friend in half-light.

And then I see her, lying still near the edge of a building some distance from me. Artha’s seen her too; he’ll easily beat me to it, but I hurry anyway. If only she is all right…

He leaps from the dragon and goes to the edge next to her, quickly reaching down and pulling her up. She moves, reacting to the sudden awakening. She’s fine; I’m joyful. But they’re too near the edge, both of them, and she’s falling back from him, and then he stumbles and reaches out into empty air as she plummets down—

—and, leaping, I save the day by bringing her up in a mag-lift.

“Beau!” She touches my neck gently. “Thanks.”

Artha looks paper-white when we jump down to join him. “Kitt! I’m so sorry, thank the Magna Draconis Beau was around, please say you’re okay—“

“I’m fine, stableboy.”

She’s not, quite; but looking up at the racing track so far above I’m amazed she’s alive at all. She must have been thrown down there, all that time ago; Malto will pay, I vow.

He sighs in relief, and switches on his viddlink. “Guys? We found her on top of the Bethel apartment complex. Somehow, she’s okay.”

What did she do to live through the fall, anyway?

“I tried to pull a mag-inversion,” she explains. “It worked. Sorta.” Drained, and she’s only using one hand to hold to my saddle; but she lives. “Didja catch Malto?”

“Nobody even saw him.” Artha slams a fist down on the saddle. “Scales! Lance was right the whole time—about the Malto guy, about him helping Meorganna cheat, about everything?”

“Yeah, Lance and me saw him waiting at the vent and he threw me down,” she says. “Don’t tell me Meorganna got away with cheating?”

“Yeah. First place, and she’s too long gone for Security to find anything,” Artha says bitterly. “If only we’d—!”

“You came second?”

“Yeah. Kitt, I’m sorry this happened to you, I’m sorry I nearly chucked you off a building for a second time—”

“Don’t sweat it, stableboy. And you know what?” she asks as we turn back to home. “Meorganna just made her biggest mistake yet.”

“Cheating to win? I wouldn’t mind making mistakes like that—”

“She told you that she needed to cheat,” Kitt explains. “You did good, stableboy.”

My littermate seems to brighten, flashing her a grin. “Hey, thanks. And you didn’t see the last half of the race, did you? It was really close, I must have been just a dragonlength behind Meorganna when the door opened, but we had to dodge a turnstile, and then….”

He gives us the full detail of the race as we travel home, four friends together—yes, the Red included for now, who joins me in an eyeroll at Artha's monologue.

--

“I’m glad to see you’re alive. You had us worried,” Mortis says, and despite his scowl he’s entirely honest about that; and then he ruins it for us. “You should have believed Lance, though.” He curls an arm protectively around the boy. “He was nearly murdered today alongside you, because you would not listen. Again.”

“Mortis, but—” Lance begins.

“No buts, Lance. You both narrowly survived today. Is there anything more I can do to drive in the seriousness of these matters? You must listen. Have you any idea of what your friends felt while they did not know if you were dead or alive, Kitt? Beau searching the city for you, hurt though he has been?”

She takes in a sharp breath, looking down at me. “Oh. I’m sorry—”

“I didn’t believe Lance either,” Parm says. “Artha too. None of us did. You can’t single her out—”

“None of you have been chosen to be the Dragon Booster, either!” Mortis says. “You receive a higher standard because you must, Kitt!”

Artha shakes his head. “What Parm said. She was the one hurt. We all should’ve—”

“It’s okay, stableboy.” She dismounts, looking apologetically at me. “Sorry I didn’t believe you, Lance. I’m sorry I put you through that, guys.”

Wyldfyr shrugs.

I’m still just glad she’s alive.

And anyway, Mortis has us battle Drakkus and the like…

But that’s our duty. We must try hard to meet that standard, of course, and Mortis always knows what to do. But I do not blame Kitt for something each of us failed to do.

“Thanks for saving me,” Lance says determinedly. “It’s okay.”

“Stable Beau,” Mortis orders. “Likely he’s exhausted after his efforts today. And complete twenty-five laps of the stable grounds—on foot. You don’t appear to be keeping up with your individual training.”

She nods, though there’s a slight grim edge to her as we reflect on the training she is doing. “All right.”

I see the faint shape, looking across at the window; I try to count the number of times she goes past, but after about fifteen I think I fall asleep, and it’s not until late morning she comes in and promptly sleeps.

--

“…and I like racing, stealing dra—ah, stealing, I mean buying, good fashion designs to wear, uh, and eyebrow tweezers and sparkly nail polish and girly stuff like that?” Meorganna improvised, drawing to mind the arcane rituals she’d had to perform on the dressmaker’s advice.

Saul looked confused; Meorganna raised a hand awkwardly behind her head. “Never mind,” she said, and managed a soprano giggle. “So what do you like doing, Saul?”

The Sun City brat (nearly a whole year younger than him, though only a few months Meorganna’s junior), was utterly unappealing. His facial expression resembled nothing so much as unbaked cookie dough, and he spoke with an irritating emphasis every second syllable or so.

“Well, I like my actuarial classes,” he said. “My parents had me placed in the Tech Academy a year early.”

“What fun,” Meorganna said.

He glanced at her suspiciously; apparently his sarcasm detectors weren’t quite as non-existent as she’d thought. She giggled again. “Math is so hard,” she said. “I always got so confused about algebra in school!”

He smiled. “It’s not so tough,” he said. “I don’t think you would want me to tutor you, though.”

“Well, not really,” she said. “No offence, of course…”

The waiter arriving thankfully pulled them out of the conversational hole with her dracosheep steak and his scalelettuce salad; she saw his glance at her laden plate and realised she’d probably have to confine her diet on future occasions. Maybe not just out in public. Eww, fat chicks…

“Dragon racing’s an exhausting sport,” she said, digging in. It wasn’t like he’d ever had the chance to spend that much time up in Sun City, and she wasn’t going to throw away good, expensive food on the geeky brat’s dime. “Are you a vegetarian?”

“Yes. I feel that many creatures on this planet are sentient. The dragons sense a lot, and some even think that the hydrags also feel. So I like to be safe.”

Meorganna sniffed. Even though her father did want dragons to rule, he still wanted to be the one in charge over them; and she wasn’t about to weep and moan about the plight of poor yummy dracosheep. “That’s so moral,” she said, opening her eyes in admiration.

“I can give you some pamphlets if you like. My parents don’t fully approve, but still…”

“That’d be great! Thanks so much!” Meorganna said enthusiastically.

Inside herself, she rehearsed several choicely profane remarks. After glimpsing but failing to capture Dual last night, and sleeping in half the morning, her father’s admonitions meant she had no choice but to try to impress Reptilis. He hadn’t even allowed her to get the really nice dress that did interesting things to her cleavage, either. Bastard…

She tried to hold back a yawn as she listened to Reptilis’ droning.

Hmm, the pamphlets weren’t too bad, she thought, flicking through them for the sake of something to do while Reptilis was still eating his healthy carrot-cake dessert. ‘Course, she’d already known that Decepshun was smart, black dragons always were, and hopefully she’d be taking her home soon enough.

“…And did you want to meet again?” Reptilis asked, shocking her out of her reverie. “Perhaps in a week or so?”

“I’ll have to see what my father says.” Meorganna laughed nervously. “He’s very strict, of course…”

“I sympathise,” Reptilis said, extending a pudgy hand across the table to pat hers. “Au revoir, then.”

“Whatever,” Meorganna muttered as soon as he was out of earshot, and stalked her way out, trying not to trip over the dress.

Cain waited with Decepshun.

“Magna Draconis, talk about boring,” Meorganna complained. “And my feet hurt. High heels suck. And—wait up!” she called as Cain and Coershun went ahead. “Where’re you going?”

“This place I checked out!” Cain called. “Race you?”

“Any time!” Decepshun’s thruster gear activated, and keeping an easy pace alongside Cain she worked off some of the frustrations of the date as they sped through to Down City.

“The Green Gherkin,” Moordryd read aloud as Cain stopped under the grimy sign in a dingy street.

“The stables are to the back,” Cain said, dismounting.

“All right.” Setting Decepshun up with a nice feed bowl and tipping the stablegirl, he went with Cain to enter. “And this is…”

“I asked Swayy for all the gossip,” Cain said complacently, and pushed open the door to a smoky interior. “Let’s go.”

Moordryd’s first image of the interior of the place was Hazaard of the Dragon Flares, engaged in a rather less than platonic embrace with the Fist Clobber; as he looked around, he saw Shurykyn and Kwarry sharing a pink-coloured drink between them, next to Brawwnn, who had managed to wear both rather too much and too little leather for anyone’s good.

“Cain, where is…”

“It’s a gay bar,” Cain told him, putting down some coins on the bar. “I’ll take the Scale Surprise,” he told the bar…person, who was wearing a spangled dress but looked a little heavy-featured. “With a black umbrella in.”

“Wait, and Swayy told you about it? Does that mean she’s…Yeah, I’ll go for a Scale Surprise too,” Moordryd added to the barperson, who was giving her a rather penetrating sort of stare.

“We only take paying customers,” the barperson said, scooping the money off the stained table.

“And some Draconian Fries as well,” Moordryd ordered, flinging down his share of the cash. “So, Swayy…”

“I don’t think she races on that side of the tracks, aside from that party last year,” Cain told him, sparking a particularly treasured memory of Moordryd’s where Blarre and Swayy had made out for a full seventeen seconds in a Dragontide Truth or Dare game. “Apparently she asked Vizz…”

“Oh.” Now that he thought about it, he supposed he’d seen Vizz casting longing glances at Rancydd before—and maybe a little vice versa? “Interesting.” The barperson arrived with their drinks, and Moordryd took a long sip. “How come I got a blue umbrella?”

Cain shrugged. “Just drink it.”

“Alcoholic?” Moordryd asked, not that that was a bad thing, and seedy places like this didn’t always ask to see your racing registration card.

“Nope. That’s the surprise.” Cain drained his glass in a single go. “Not bad.”

“Oh, right.” Moordryd looked up as two more people entered, surprisingly enough a woman and a man, Marianis and Dorsull of the Dragon Fish. “D’you think they don’t know about this place?” she whispered to Cain, jerking a thumb at them. It’d be totally drac if Marianis’ reputation for knowing everything was shattered, and she and Dorsull were close friends at the least…

“See also, you and me here. Well, more you than me.”

“What about you and me?”

“Hey, Marianis!” Cain called. “I saw you in the Survival Dome, you were so doing better than the stablebrat.”

She looked at them, her eyes travelling up and down Meorganna’s dress. “You’ve got some pretty drac moves yourself,” she said to Moordryd.

“Thanks,” Moordryd said. Marianis was pretty, and she was being nice to Meorganna… “Sorry I had to knock you down. You’re still ahead of the rookie, right?”

Her record was excellent; though the Dragon Fish didn’t participate in as many races as other Crews, she and Dorsull would both inevitably make the top three in each they showed up at, and her status as a Crew-leader on top of that meant she would probably be a major contender for a while yet. So she couldn’t be too nice to her, Meorganna vowed.

“Yes. The mag-moves he uses are risky. Why do you feel so confident about them?”

“I’ve been…trained, I guess,” Meorganna said.

“We Crews could pool our resources and learn them if we wanted,” Marianis said. “However, we consider them dangerous power.”

“Well, it usually seems like it’s just me and the stableboy using them on each other,” Meorganna hazarded. “I didn’t think it was so big a deal…”

“At least you’re not as aggressive as your cousin,” Marianis said, her cool eyes resting on Meorganna’s face.

That’s not fair! I’m still me!

“I’m really, uh, glad you think so,” she said. “He’s just been leaving me with Cain to tour the City…I don’t think he likes hanging around with me that much…”

Marianis sat down on the chair next to him, as opposite Dorsull did the same for Cain.

“Perhaps he doesn’t approve of your racing successes,” Marinis suggested. “Or the amount of time I hear you’ve been spending with his lieutenant.”

That was Marianis for you. She did that coolly inscrutable smile where you weren’t sure what she was thinking, and then she’d bring out the tri-stinger and reveal she knew some crucial bit of information.

“Oh, Cain’s fine,” he said. “It’s all on Moordryd’s orders, though he was kind enough to show me this place.” Mix lies with truth.

“And is it what you expected, little fish?” Marianis asked, and he could hear the smirk in her voice.

“Oh yes,” Meorganna answered, and then Marianis kissed her.

Pretty expert as kisses went, Moordryd supposed. Talented, Marianiz’ slippery tongue apparently discovering new places to penetrate within her mouth, and dispassionate at the same time, manipulating her for what she could get out of her.

It was totally hot and everything he’d ever imagined, she was slick beautiful Marianis and she wanted her, and maybe afterwards they’d go to her place and try lesbian sex until and after morning…

“Word Paynn. On which side of the blanket are you related to him?” Marianis asked breathlessly.

“Uh, my aunt’s sister’s side,” Meorganna said, trying to actually think while the blood seemed to be going…somewhere else. Or was that not how it worked on girls?

Marianis drew her closer, her arm around Moordryd’s waist. “You don’t resent your aunt’s death?”

“Well…” Shewasamanandranoff? “It wasn’t my fa—my uncle’s fault.”

“Word likes dragons better than humans, it seems,” Marianis said. “How many dragons does he keep?”

“I don’t know,” Meorganna said blankly. Are we going to get back to making out? “I like dragons too.”

“Thieves have been stealing the dragons of the Crews,” Marianis told her, her hands making a complex pattern over Meorganna’s thighs, above the silky material of her dress. “We worry—perhaps a man like Word could help us—”

You’d better be worried, Moordryd thought. I don’t work hard for nothing.

“He lets his son do most of the Crew stuff. I think,” Meorganna said.

“Then—” Marianis lifted Meorganna’s chin with a surprisingly strong hand, smooth and fine—“you should watch. For Word’s dragons. Your cousin may be unwilling—but if you ever need help, don’t hesitate to ask the Dragon Fish.”

She kissed her again, finally, taking Moordryd’s breath away, until out of the corner of her eye she saw an exhausted-looking Kitt Wann walking in the door. She looked up, startled, and saw Marianis’ eyes on her, attentive.

“Lava Pickup,” Wann said, flinging some coins down and wiping at a scrape on her cheek. She looked totally burnt out, with her right wrist bound stiffly in bandages, and Moordryd wondered what had happened to her.

“Hey, Wann, what dragged you in? Lose another race?” Meorganna called.

Kitt turned a cold, bleak glance on her. “It’s just that I met one of your friends—no. Never mind. One of us has deeper pockets for libel actions.” She placed goosebumped hands around the steaming drink before her and managed to swallow it straight down, no painful owmymouths or anything. She must’ve been cold. Moordryd was impressed.

Then he remembered.

“I don’t have any friends in Dragon City, aside from Cain—and this lovely lady I just met,” she said, though she wasn’t sure the suave gesture to Marianis came off quite right. “You say something that obviously means him, when he’s been with me practically the whole time—” and he’d have told me, wish someone had, I could’ve used the laugh— “it’s slander. Libel only if you write it, and I’m not sure you know how.”

Wann’s scowl deepened. “Thanks for the correction. And I wasn’t talking about Cain.”

“Kitt, you know the Dragon Fish listen,” Marianis said to her. “Perhaps we could all…settle our differences?”

“So not in the mood for information brokering, Marianis. Time for me to get out of here.”

She strode back outdoors into the night, towards whatever business was keeping her out at godawful.

Information brokering…?

“So you were telling me about your uncle’s dragons?” Marianis hinted, leaning over to her.

She looked across to see Cain and Dorsull out of the corner of her eye, a whispered conversation with Cain removing Dorsull’s hand from his thigh…

Too bad. Marianis was incredibly attractive.

“We’ve got to go too,” Meorganna said, hurriedly standing up and going to fetch Cain. “Nice meeting you. I’ll call you.”

Marianis raised a slender blue eyebrow. “I could give you my comm number,” she said.

“I’ll look it up. Come on, Cain.”

--

“Sudden,” he remarked.

“Meh. I’ve got to talk to Malto,” Meorganna said. “And she was so just out for information. You were all right distracting Dorsull?”

“Yeah, I was just explaining I wasn’t interested. What about Malto?”

“You were seen,” Meorganna said coldly into her VIDDlink. “By at least two people. I thought you said you were the best at what you did?”

“By whom?” Malto’s face snapped on screen. “And don’t try that tone with me, girl. You’ve given me the power to ruin your reputation.”

Meorganna flushed. Perfect Meorganna-from-Stone-City… He’d never have had these problems as himself.

“My uncle,” he said, “and apparently Kitt Wann.”

“The blue-haired racer with the really bad attitude? I didn’t think they’d find mag-prints on the body,” Malto said. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Yeah, she’s a body. Zombie Kitt Wann totally just walked into a bar and got a Lava Pickup to feed her vile undead lusts.” Meorganna rolled her eyes. “What happened?”

Malto looked taken aback. “I threw her off the track. You’ve probably looked down yourself, goes straight to Down City. Like I always say: no evidence, no witness, no crime.”

Yeah, straight to Down City. He was actually right. Wann couldn’t have lived through that. Wonder who saved her, the Dragon Blunder making a last-minute appearance?

“Wann’s alive. You screwed up.”

“And you still owe me my payment. One word from me to racing officials, and…”

“Don’t worry. Wann’s one person, with a known grudge against me. She won’t be telling anyone any time soon.”

“I don’t do assassinations. In case you were wondering.”

Meorganna gestured dismissively. “Doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter.” And that’s probably a little, you know, drastic? “My uncle didn’t mind so much. I’ll make sure you get your chance to do business.”

“Don’t make me wait too long. Tell him I’ve got a sample of Reptilico’s new turbo-launcher gear.”

“I’ll pass your message on,” Meorganna said. “Until then, don’t call me—and ignore Wann.”

“Understood.”

Maked vigilantes reported in the night, perhaps helpers of the Pink Booster, fighting ostensibly to aid dragons… the news twittered away, and she thought she saw another shadow far-distant in the streets, the one called Dual. She couldn’t be bothered, tonight, homeward bound with Cain at his side.

She dreamed of shadows.

A mask, no, a dark blindfold, the other man’s lips meeting his, shapeshifting-Tran whispering elaborate enchantments into his ear as they lay down.

“You have more friends than you think, Yama. You could…”

He could feel the contours of the body Tran wore, mounting him gently as a shadow himself, no, something else, and he could feel a raised diagonal scar across Tran’s chest over his back, not something of theirs, the particular memory sparking, it could not be…

“Like I said, you have more friends than you think…”

“This is foolish!” He would have thrown Tran off, were it not for the blindfold hampering his vision. “Stop this harebrained scheme! We both have no choice but to value you, but still—!”

“You remember the Prophets?” Tran’s high tenor or what usually passed for it, mercifully; he could not have borne it if it had been the other.

“It meant nothing. We only did what we had to; I follow Armeggaddon, the dragons deserve their freedom—”

“The dragons deserve to live! We all do. If you choose to provide an end…”

“Not now. Please.”

“Then let us forget Armeggaddon. For what time we have left.”

“If I must.”

--

Artha has raced, Kitt has battled, and neither have won.

It’s about time for me to change that.

Her wrist still unhealed though both of us now somewhat recovered, I take my rider to travel down to the Wastelands, not saying a word, where I know we will find something we need.

“Beau? What is...this?” she asks uncertainly, slowly dismounting. She looks up at the statue before us. “The original Dragon Booster. I…”

My mark glows, and the star at the base of the statue activates, revealing the ancient comm-unit. I do not know how I knew it; only that it was there, and someday the Dragon Booster and I would need to hear it again.

“This is…” Kitt holds it with reverence. “Old. I can’t…”

And the voice speaks, as red smoke burns and screams of war echo in me.

“War has come to Dragon City. Beau and I are the only things standing in its way. We have allies, sure. Many dragons, many humans, but the responsibility is so great. They want a leader. What if I lead them wrong? Still, I am the Dragon Booster, and I’ve got to try.”

She takes a deep breath, looking down at it. “I’m not him,” she says eventually, and it’s then that I realise this has been precisely the wrong message for her! She manages to laugh, though. “And I wouldn’t let them make statues of me, either.”

A fair point.

“I’m not even sure I’m the Dragon Booster,” she says. “But still. In my own way, I’m going to try.”

She looks into my eyes, her cool hand on my forehead. “Thank you, Beau. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, and if it’s not right please tell...”

I concentrate, and look within myself to transform.

Grey to the right, white to the left; I am become a parti-coloured dragon, split for two halves. Not quite the original, but nonetheless appropriate enough for this purpose.

Dual.

--

Parmon Sean double-checked the address on the form.

This Citadel was most definitely his destination, with the long line of people outside it; he hoped the popularity was a sign in its favour. He had also read testimonials from racer Megan Dedrovic, who had long since left the Dragon Eyes, and other Academy and Elite class racers beside her (admittedly typically from ten or more years ago—to his shock, he had discovered that Drakkus and Mortis had both fought in that era as well, and had subtly interrogated Mortis to find that none of the testifiers apparently had any connections more significant beyond normal association with the other two).

Artha had laughed and called it “shady”, and he hadn’t found the chance to tell Kitt at all with all of her absences, but the fact of the matter was that the job happened to offer extra wave-variance and semblance-distortion experience and perhaps even a lend of Elite class gear, was well-paid, and the administrators had assured him they understood completely his commitment to Sharp Edge came first. It was a perfect job where they evidently appreciated his skills, and if there was any funny business he would investigate and inform people. (He really would. He wasn’t like that.)

An organization to support and sponsor gifted racers who hadn’t been accepted by the Academy for one reason or another, reputation or lack of Crew-support or arbitrary penalties and so on. Rather egalitarian in general outlook, didn’t charge anyone for signing up, was extremely up-to-date with present technology despite not teaching the ancient mag-techniques and lore—and, well, maybe there was a catch, but with the Dragon Booster to help they’d bring a corrupt firm to justice if they had to.

The mag-rack approached him, and he gave a squeak and a jump as he noticed it.

“Parmon Sean. Applicant for technical assistant position at Slithercorp. Follow me please.”