Fic: Sailor Draka of Bore
Sailor Draka of Bore
An extremely silly fanfic by Andrew yclept Aelfwine.
The characters and situations of the Draka series are copyright S.M. Stirling. The characters and situations of "Sailor Moon" are copyright Takeuchi Naoko. The characters and situations of Ranma ½ are copyright Takahashi Rumiko. The characters and situations of the Gor series are copyright John Norman. They may not be used or reproduced commercially without permission. The use of these characters and situations is not to be construed as challenge to said copyright. They are merely borrowed for this work of non-commercial fanfiction, from which the author derives no financial benefit.

Warnings: Parody. Silliness. Bad garb. Sentences beginning with "Too..." Comedic violence, applied to deserving targets. Sexual references. Draka modalities, filtered through anime modalities. Cute genetically engineered post-human warriors in sailor suits. Cute genetically engineered post-human warriors out of sailor suits. Yours truly.

No Tuchux or Draka were harmed during the making of this fanfic.

Citizen Usagi Ingolfsson stood naked beside the stream. It was an early spring day, chilly and intensely fresh, and she was grateful that for once she had been given an opportunity to go swimming without her exercise turning into yet another lemon. Not that she minded the passionate encounters with her classmates and companions in the fight against the Dark Alliance and for the future foundation of the glorious Crystal Final Society, but they did make it difficult to fit in her daily laps.

The West North American Nature Preserve had proven an ideal place to spend the school holiday. Her friends, feeling less compelled to prove themselves in single combat with ferocious wild animals and feral sapients, had chosen to pass the day in less strenuous fashion, remaining at her family's hunting lodge, built on the ruins of what had been the Yankee city of Fort Collins. A smile crossed her face for a moment as she thought of sweet Mamoru Van Reenan, her future male consort, still trying to perfect the boron microcrystal stems of his armour-piercing combat roses, and her dear comrade Rei Terreblanche, Sailor Mars, working with fossil DNA and the memories of her past self to reconstruct the predatory hamsters which had prowled the red savannahs of her namesake planet in the time of the ancient Silver Domination, before the serf revolt destroyed its atmosphere and wrecked the jeweled cities and broad canals. Which we will rebuild, as we will rebuild the glory that was the Moon Archonate.

There would be time for that later, once all the Race were ready to learn of their glorious past and magical present. For now... she sniffed at the wind. Within two kilometers' radius were two grizzly, a dozen elk, Citizen Ranma Von Shrakenberg and his/her fiancées having a very good time, an unregistered stealth-cloaked aerospace craft and hmmm... five unmodified male humans in desperate need of a shower. Raiders from Planet Bore, I presume, hoping to pick up some poor Servus or feral human female. Well, barehanded puma hunting has been getting a little dull.

By the scent, they'd just disembarked, and would shortly pass out of their vehicle's crude cloaking field, no doubt feeling very impressed with themselves and their ability to sneak up on their intended prey. Should I put my clothes on? Nah... this spring air feels nicely bracing, and they have even weirder attitudes towards nudity than most ferals. Let's mess with their tiny minds. Usagi strolled towards them, softly singing a traditional Draka children's song.

"I love you, you love me
We of the Race are a family.
Serfs may hate, so long as they obey,
That's why we must fight each day."

The Gorean raiders popped into view. Two wore leather loincloths, open vests of an off-orange fur-like material, and helmets which might have been made from some sort of fuel can, with a cut-out for the face and crude bat wings riveted on the sides. Two more were dressed in kilts of red cloth and breastplates fashioned to resemble an overmuscled male torso. Their wingless helmets bore Greek-style crests. All four carried tape-wrapped sticks and hexagonal shields of crudely painted thin metal.

Their leader wore a toga-like garment, and carried no weapons but a stick with a knob at the end, decorated here and there with flashing lights as if to remind the observer that his culture did, in fact, possess batteries. "Female of Earth!" he bellowed.

"Male Feral Human of Bore!" Usagi replied, pitching her voice an octave below his. She was pleased; usually the vast vocal range her human ancestors' genetic science had given her was useful only for filling in on bass parts when there weren't enough boys to handle them, and she much preferred to sing soprano.

"It's called Gor, insolent female!"

"Ah calls it lahk Ah sees it. Your planet must be boring as all hells, given that y'all apparently felt compelled to wander all the way over here just to scream at me."

The Gorean's face went red. Hope he doesn't make himself collapse. It's no fun when the enemy break before you can even play with them. "Now you prance about in your false-boy clothes, and take pride in the wiles by which you destroy manly men and turn them to the weak pseudo-males of your Urth, but soon you will wear silks, collar, and brand!"

Usagi snorted laughter. "If y'all have got silks and collars, why the hell don't you wear them, 'stead of those ridiculous getups? And while we're talkin about clothes... I ain't wearin' any, boy. How come you ain't noticed? Never seen a naked woman before?"

His eyes went wide. "I... impossible! You're a free woman of Urth! You're supposed to wear clothes, until we strip them from you, thus forcing you to display submissive modalities!"

"News flash, boy. I'm Usagi Ingolfsson of the Draka, and we ain't had a nudity taboo since Happousai de Bruyn invented Martial Arts Strip Poker in 1869. And y'all are feral serfs. Stupid ones, at that, and scarce worth the trouble of breakin' to the Yoke, which is the only reason why we of the Race ain't yet bothered to squash y'all and your giant bug bosses flatter than we squashed the Yankees."

"Too," declared the Gorean leader, "you have failed once to repeat a single sentence I have said, thus demonstrating the unnatural standards of prose by which tyrannical Urthly females unman their men, who are weak and unmanly. We must teach you to respect the Pastor-Archdukes and call them by their proper description of 'giant insectoids,' not by the rude and biologically untruthful term bee-you-gee."

"And while you're at it, I suppose, you'll make me write term papers about male dominance and female submission and start my sentences off with 'Too'? And teach me to not snicker when I hear someone say 'modalities' or 'cuddly slut'?"

"Too, female of Urth, you begin to comprehend your situation!"

"I surely do. Quite obviously I'd better kill you without going through my usual 'In the Name of the Race, I will punish you' routine, because if I took the time I might have to hear another word of your drivel." Executing a flying kick that might have made Jackie Chan turn green with envy, she stove in his chest.

The fight that followed was scarce worth the description, being most unfair. Laughing, Usagi dropkicked her final victim's carcass into the upper branches of a pine tree. Grasping the stylish Drakon Transformation Pendant that hung from its platinum chain about her neck, she called out "Sailor Draka Transform!" The sight was perhaps not as titillating as usual, as she had no clothing to vanish, briefly revealing her uncensored glory, before being replaced with her black combat sailor suit, but such was life.

She keyed her transducer. :Anyone up for a little conquest?

:Where? Rei replied, her mind voice sharp, yet tinged with fondness. :We told Captain Samothrace we'd leave his pet Yankees alone, long's they didn't try kidnapping any more Draka to appear on that Samothracian Idol show of theirs.

:Not Samothrace, silly. They've got to be here to ally with the Race and the Klingons when Bh'arney and the Th'ele-th'ubbies attack the Alpha Quadrant, remember?

:So, where?

:Planet Bore.

:There? Why?

:Because they're too stupid to live. And they smell bad. And their prose is appalling.

:Didn't the Archon declare that we'd leave them as a monument to human stupidity, and a reminder of what could go wrong if we let a bunch of giant bugs who read too much crummy evolutionary psychology when they were undergraduates run our society? said a second familiar mind voice, that of her Mamoru.

:Mamo-chan! Where were you when I called a few moments ago?

:One of our time-travelling future children dropped in for a snack, and traumatised the household Servus with a passing remark. Apparently their distant descendants will be able to sleep at night without a Draka checking under their beds for monsters. The poor dears were quite upset, so I had to comfort them. Twice. Each. Because everyone else was off hunting ferals, or mewed up in a lab and not answering her transducer. The things I do in the name of Domination...

:Poor Mamo-chan. Don't tell me it wasn't fun.

:Well, they were most endearingly grateful, but it's just not the same without my darling killer bunny girl.

:Would you stop flirting, please, and remind us, said Rei, :why we're not going to listen to the Archon's order and leave the idiot feral serfs on Planet Bore to their unimaginative little games?

:It wasn't an order, Usagi said, :only a suggestion. And some of them were sniffing around on our planet. I'm sure Uncle Genma will understand.

Here endeþ ðe chapter.