Author's Note:
I will be a bit busy over the next few days, which is why I wrote this chapter in a tearing hurry; I haven't even had the time to continue reading the book my aunt gave me as a present.
I have reached the point where Bilbo Baggins celebrates his birthday and uses the ring to disappear in front of the crowd.
XXX
Story Arc: First Contact with a Rogue Trader Militant
Episode 3: Dinner with the Lord Trader (II)
Chapter 10: Advice from the Lord Captain of Kingsglaive
Plot: After three hours, the seven chosen humans are ready for the most important dinner of their lives. They just need to be escorted to the hall and listen to some advice to avoid a disaster.
XXX
POV Narrator
After three (relatively) grueling hours of preparations and waiting, the seven humans were escorted into an elegant waiting room, an environment with high ceilings that smelled of fine wood and rich fabrics. Each of them had been dressed from head to toe, transformed into a pawn ready for a sumptuous stage.
Aiden Shepard moved uncomfortably in an asymmetrical-cut black and gray leather suit; the reinforced seams and the matte reflections of the material made him look like a cyberpunk hacker straight out of some underground district. On his left wrist, a heavy dark metal bracelet caught the silvery light of the room, displaying twelve small flush-set diamonds that sparkled at his every minimum gesture.
Not far away, Captain Anderson maintained a rigidly formal posture, enhanced by a midnight blue and black paramilitary uniform. The cut of the outfit recalled the solemnity of a naval admiral's uniform, but the martial rigor was broken by blatant luxury: instead of the classic service medals, several gold and silver brooches stood out on his chest, studded with diamonds cut into unusual geometric shapes that reflected sharp flashes onto the dark fabric.
Malloy looked as if he came from a completely different era, wrapped in the rustling layers of a highly elegant kimono, colored in a deep black and a vibrant golden yellow. The chromatic contrast and the pride of his bearing made him resemble a shogun in the midst of his peak economic splendor. Around his neck, he wore a massive necklace of 108 solid silver pearls, each embellished with microscopic golden engravings reproducing ancient symbols.
Ed Mercer and Kelly Grayson stood out for their calculated aesthetic coordination. Mercer leaned against a wall with the detached air of a boss from old noir films, albeit contaminated by a distinct cyberpunk nuance in the technical fabrics of his dark suit; his fingers were decorated with imposing gold rings holding large oval gems, which intercepted the light with every movement of his hand.
By his side, Kelly exhibited a magnetic bearing, form-fittingly wrapped in a sinuous deep purple evening gown that flowed fluidly to the ground. High black heels elongated her silhouette, while her long dark velvet gloves rose above her elbows, creating a perfect frame for the matching necklace and earrings that shone on her décolletage. Next to Ed, she transmitted the vibrant energy of a famous high-class artist, the untouchable woman of the underworld boss.
Malcolm Reynolds, faithful to his nature that resisted formalities, had received a decidedly less pompous but character-filled outfit. He had the proud and weathered look of a space cowboy: a long black leather coat brushed his boots with every step, and a wide-brimmed hat shaded his watchful gaze. The only real hint of ostentation was pinned to his chest, where a seven-pointed gold star shone thanks to small gems set on each end, similar to that of a sheriff from a remote frontier.
John Carter, finally, appeared as the most disruptive element of the group. His attire did not suggest the expectation of a gala dinner, but rather the imminence of a wild adventure. Wearing a light tunic, loose trousers, and flexible boots reminiscent of the Prince of Persia style, Carter clutched a magnificent ceremonial sword at his side. The weapon, a stunning piece of craftsmanship, boasted a blade forged in pure gold that cast warm and lethal reflections on the walls of the room.
Malloy broke the silence of the room. He ran his fingers over the silver hemispheres that weighed heavily on his chest, making them clink against each other with a metallic, rhythmic sound. "A hacker, an admiral, a shogun, a mobster, a singer, a cowboy, and an adventurous prince... these aliens' sense of fashion is extravagant," he commented, as he played with the pearls around his neck, his gaze lost in studying his companions' disguises.
Aiden Shepard raised an arm, letting the room's light caress the geometric facets of his new jewel. "We can at least say they love precious metals and jewelry," he commented, seeing that all of them had received an expensive accessory, a mark of luxury that felt almost like a diplomatic branding.
Kelly stood in front of a large mirror with a golden frame. She did a half-turn, enjoying the rustle of the purple fabric brushing against her legs, and then touched the profile of her face with her fingers wrapped in the black velvet of her glove. In the mirror, her skin appeared incredibly smooth, devoid of any sign of fatigue. "It's a bad thing to say, but I like being a high-profile prisoner. They offered me a full treatment; I have never felt more rejuvenated and beautiful," she said, looking at herself in the mirror, feeling as if she had suddenly returned to being twenty-one, with the energy of youth flowing under her skin once again.
Malloy turned toward her, resting his hands on his hips wrapped in the sumptuous yellow and black kimono. "These aliens know their stuff when it comes to beauty treatments, just look at Captain Anderson. He looks twenty years younger; if he dyed his hair and were less serious, he could pass as one of our peers," he said, puffing out his chest slightly and feeling, perhaps for the first time in his life, like a true VIP surrounded by interstellar luxuries.
The light atmosphere was abruptly interrupted by Captain Anderson. The officer imposed himself in the center of the available space, straightening his shoulders inside his rigid blue and black uniform. The brooches on his chest sent back sharp reflections. "Even though we look ready to attend a masquerade party, this is not a pleasure meeting," he said, his stern gaze shifting from one man to another—and then to Kelly—trying to keep everyone present grounded, which could be decidedly harder for some of them precisely because of the rejuvenating treatment they had just received.
Malcolm Reynolds leaned his back against the wall, crossing his arms over his long black leather coat. His cowboy hat cast a sharp shadow over his eyes. "We know, this is a First Contact situation. What we do today will have an effect for decades, centuries, or even millennia to come," he said with a serious expression... which lasted for only a few seconds before the corners of his mouth curved into a cynical grin.
He shifted his body weight, swaying slightly on his boots, while the seven-pointed gold star on his chest swung lazily. "Unfortunately, nothing of what the Systems Alliance taught us can really help us. Look at where we are, what we are wearing, and what we have to do," he added with an amused expression, shaking his head slightly, fully aware of the ridiculous scenario in which he found himself.
John Carter took a step forward, letting his right hand rest naturally on the finely crafted hilt of his new weapon. The pure gold blade inside the sheath produced a faint metallic friction. "Malcolm isn't wrong; the academy regulations are garbage. We might as well pick up a sci-fi novel and draw inspiration from that," he said. A flash of irony crossed his eyes, certain that if he were to tell anyone what had happened to him that day, they would reply that it sounded like the plot of a good book or the screenplay of a niche TV series broadcast late at night.
Malloy snorted a laugh, raising his hands to emphasize the point, while the wide sleeves of his kimono fell back, revealing his forearms. "What have I been saying all along? These aliens basically walked out of an Anime; if I were the only human on this mammoth ship, I'd think I ended up in an Isekai," he commented, proud to be the official founder of the "the situation is so absurd that we just don't care anymore" faction.
The air in the room changed abruptly as Shepard tensed his muscles. The black and gray leather of his cyberpunk suit tightened over his broad shoulders as the hacker took a step forward, his gaze narrowing into two icy slits. "There are no guidelines, so what? We still have a job to finish, and I will finish it, one way or another," he declared. His voice was low, cutting, making him look much more intimidating than before in that outfit, like a cybernetic predator ready to strike.
Anderson felt the surge of tension, and his posture softened by a fraction of a millimeter—a hint of genuine relief that smoothed his features. "It's good to know I can always count on you, Shepard," he said, feeling decidedly more hopeful with the man from Chicago by his side, a rock of pragmatism in the middle of this theater of the absurd.
Ed Mercer stepped away from the back of the room, walking with measured strides. The gold rings on his fingers cast colorful glints on the walls as he gestured to restore order. "Understood, we are in an unprecedented situation, but we are still soldiers of the Systems Alliance. We are about to meet the Captain of the Moonbreaker, the so-called Rogue Trader Militant; let's make a good first impression, and humanity will only stand to win," he said. His firm tone sought to strike a middle ground, as he found himself in an intermediate state of mind between Malloy's easygoing relaxation and Shepard's iron seriousness.
Staying a step behind, Kelly watched the course of the exchange. Her eyes settled first on Anderson, then on Shepard's massive figure, before lingering on Ed's profile.
'So far, we are four competent people out of seven. Ed wasn't the right man for me, but he is a good captain,' Kelly thought, feeling mentally on the same wavelength as Anderson and Shepard, the only ones who seemed to fully grasp the gravity of the moment.
Malloy interrupted everyone's thoughts with a theatrical sigh. He placed an open hand on his stomach, slapping the fine fabric of his kimono with a loud thud. "I'm just a pilot; this dining-with-the-Boss thing is more for politicians. I'll just stay quiet and enjoy the view and the food," he said, showing with that genuine gesture that he was the simplest and most sane man among the seven present, fully intent on not getting an ulcer over alien diplomacy.
Shepard turned toward the pilot, his facial expression turning harsh and unyielding again, though a corner of his mouth betrayed a hint of exasperation. "An excellent idea, Malloy: you stay quiet. Let's leave Captain Anderson and Kelly to be the ones to talk politics," he said. If he had possessed the authority at that precise moment, he would have gladly forbidden the pilot of the SSV Tokyo from participating in that dinner before he could cause some irreparable disaster in front of the Rogue Trader.
With a nearly imperceptible hydraulic hiss, the heavy, decorated leaves of the waiting room door separated, sliding smoothly into the walls.
'I wonder what beautiful alien woman I'll see this time,' Malloy thought, instinctively straightening his back and adjusting the collar of his kimono. Over the last three hours, his eyes had only crossed paths with gorgeous alien maids in full uniform, and he expected yet another graceful figure to act as their guide.
His expectations were abruptly shattered. Instead of a maid, an imposing figure crossed the threshold, filling the doorframe with his massive bulk. It was Gladiolus Amicitia.
The man advanced into the room with heavy, rhythmic steps, clad in dark ceremonial armor that combined matte metal plates with fine leather trim, typical of the Kingsglaive elite. The fabric of his uniform bore silver embroidery that glinted under the room's lights. Behind him, mirrored, two subordinates in full uniform with their faces covered took up positions on either side of the door, rigid as stone statues, their hands resting on the hilts of their short standard-issue blades. Gladiolus stopped in the center of the room, planting his boots on the floor and emanating an aura of physical power and military discipline that forced Shepard and Anderson to scrutinize him with immediate professional respect.
"Gentlemen and Lady, I am the Lord Captain of Kingsglaive, Gladiolus Amicitia, the First Shield of Lord Bahamut, and I will be escorting you to dinner," Gladiolus said. His deep, baritone voice made the air in the room vibrate while he maintained a strictly professional demeanor and firm eye contact with the group leaders.
A shiver of pure adrenaline ran down the spine of the Systems Alliance's senior officer. Captain Anderson imperceptibly clenched his fists at his sides, feeling the golden weight of his new brooches on his chest.
'The time has finally come to meet the Lord Trader of this ship and of all these aliens,' Captain Anderson thought. He regulated his breathing to maintain his composure as the awareness of facing a historic turning point weighed heavily upon him: he knew, with absolute certainty, that he was about to experience one of the most important moments of his entire career or, in all probability, of all human history.
XXX
Gladiolus and his subordinates escorted the humans through a veritable labyrinth of corridors. The heavy thud of military boots echoed rhythmically on the polished surfaces. The only people present along the way were other members of the Kingsglaive, rigid on their patrols, and an occasional maid darting silently along the walls. Fortunately for the humans' nerves, they did not encounter any massive and eerie Gray Knights during the march.
Malcolm Reynolds looked around, raising his gaze toward the ceiling joints. He studied the curvature of the walls with the clinical eye of someone who understands ships, one of his greatest passions. "This place has a very different feel from the rest of the ship," he commented, touching a bulkhead.
Until that moment, the humans had not been able to move around much on the flagship of the Azure Galaxy aliens. However, if in the first part of the journey they had walked as if they were aboard the most advanced and technological ship in the universe, now they felt as if they were marching through the secret dungeons of an ancient castle of stone and metal.
Gladio spoke without turning around. His deep voice boomed through the wide corridor, explaining what was simple common knowledge to his people: "This part of the Moonbreaker is called Noiresville, a restricted access zone. This is the territory of the Rogue Trader and the High Command, so the aesthetics and functions are quite different. If we go deeper, we will end up in the so-called Royal Quarter, which looks in every way like a palace."
The humans had many other questions pressing to come out. However, they decided to keep them for later, exchanging only eloquent glances so as not to annoy the Captain of the Lord Trader's personal guards.
Soon, the group and its escort came to a halt in front of a monumental dead end. They found themselves facing a huge dark metal portal, reinforced with massive studs and archaic veins, which looked like it had come straight out of an old haunted castle from Earth's horror literature.
Aiden Shepard clenched his fingers around his wrist, observing the grotesque details of that barrier. 'I have seen technologies beyond anything the Citadel Council can hope to create in the next hundred or even a thousand years, but their leader prefers a door like this?' he thought, finding the whole matter deeply strange and contradictory.
Gladio planted himself in front of the portal. Instead of opening it, he spun around toward the seven humans. He raised a gloved hand and ran his fingers through his dark hair, exhaling a short sigh. He was about to do something completely unusual compared to his rigid work protocols, but at that moment, he decidedly preferred to avoid an unnecessary clash or a diplomatic incident between the delegation and his Master. Taking a minute or two to give some advice would not hurt anyone.
"To make your job and mine easier, I will give you a few warnings," Gladio said, crossing his arms over the monumental breastplate of his armor.
Kelly stepped forward with grace, straightening her back in her purple gown and showing off her best diplomatic skills, learned through extra courses for officers and perfected by striking up valuable friendships with some Asari on the Citadel. "Lord Captain, we thank you for this help. We will be glad to listen to what you have to say," she said, softening her tone to show maximum openness.
Gladio nodded gravely, his facial features turning to steel. "Let's start with the two rules of life and death. Number one: do not insult Lord Bahamut's intelligence. He considers himself first and foremost a mad researcher of knowledge. If you tell him or insinuate that he is stupid, you will be lucky to receive only a kitchen knife in the eye," he commented with an expression so serious it left no room for doubt.
Malloy froze on the spot. His hand instinctively stopped playing with the 108 silver pearls. "Are you joking?" he asked, swallowing hard as his stomach tightened, making him completely lose his appetite.
"No," Gladio replied, shaking his head slightly with absolute coldness. "Honestly, as far as closed-door meetings are concerned, I've had to protect guests from Lord Bahamut more times than the other way around," he confessed, having by now lost count of the times when, as the First Shield, he had to physically parry the sudden blows of his own Master.
Ed Mercer adjusted the collar of his gangster jacket, trying to maintain his composure and quickly process the information to keep the group calm. "Understood. Don't insult his intellect and everything will be fine, right?" he asked, wanting to be mathematically sure he understood the line not to cross.
Gladio raised a second finger. His gaze narrowed into an even darker warning. "Number two: you should also avoid calling him a coward or insinuating that he is not a warrior. If you do, he will get angry. Depending on the situation, he might just glare at you... or he will grab someone by the throat and break the table using them as a battering ram," he concluded, vaguely mimicking the gesture with his hand and making the second and brutal rule of life and death clear once and for all.
'With a temperament like that, how did he end up becoming a big shot?' Captain Anderson thought, imperceptibly tightening his lips while keeping a mask of cold, calculated suspicion on his face.
Gladio, intercepting the silent doubts of those present, stepped slightly away from the door, letting the dark metal frame his imposing figure. "Two of Lord Bahamut's greatest loves are knowledge and war; when they are insulted, things end badly. But he is an equally mad and brilliant man: he can control himself to an inhuman level or unleash himself like an unstoppable beast," he openly confessed, aware of and resigned to the idea of serving a deeply bipolar leader.
The Captain of the Kingsglaive took a step to the side. His armor made a sharp clattering sound of metal plates. "It is a combination of his current mood, the environment, the circumstances of the meeting, the entourage, who the guests are, and what they want. Based on that, Lord Bahamut will act like a politician with a silver tongue and enormous patience, or like someone who could punch your jaw loose if you step on his tail... metaphorically and literally," he concluded his explanation, letting the final warning drop like a boulder into the already heavy air of the corridor.
Ed Mercer exchanged a quick glance with Malloy, adjusting the gold cufflinks on his cyberpunk shirt sleeves. "And what circumstances do we find ourselves in?" he asked, gritting his teeth and secretly hoping that his pilot's blatant, easygoing luck was somehow contagious to the entire group.
Gladio did not answer right away. He remained silent for a full minute to reflect, his dark eyes staring into space as he assessed the recent ship reports and his Master's mental state.
"Before arriving in your Galaxy, Lord Bahamut settled his scores in grand style with the Galvans, so all his bad impulses have been more than satisfied," Gladio finally said, breaking the silence.
In the previous dimension, the Moonbreaker and its crew had directly targeted Azmuth's palace due to Bruce Bel Bahamut Belmont's deep personal grudges; however, the devastating assault and subsequent plundering of Galvan technology were already proving crucial for the strategic and technological development of the Voidwalker Fleet.
Gladio continued, imperceptibly relaxing the tension in his shoulders: "Lady Blight and Lady Yamana have stimulated him intellectually, emotionally, and physically over the last few hours. They are wearing the clothes and jewelry that Lord Bahamut appreciates, and the chefs have prepared his favorite foods reserved for special occasions." The Captain spoke clearly about how the entourage and the environment, at the moment, were completely favorable to diplomacy, acting as powerful stabilizing factors on the leader's psyche.
Malcolm Reynolds toyed with the brim of his cowboy hat, pushing it slightly back to clear his watchful gaze. 'There are black flags in sight, but just as many white flags,' he thought, certain that relaxing too much during that dinner would be the first, fatal mistake of his entire life.
"And you humans are a blank slate," Gladio resumed, sizing them up one by one without any trace of malice, but with brutal military honesty. "No past actions that have led to a centuries-old grudge, you don't look like a threat of any kind... you are more of something to be ignored or used as potential trading partners," he said, openly sharing the general opinion of the ship: the humans of that Galaxy were not much in their eyes, especially when it came to the ability to build, armor, and design interstellar starships.
Aiden Shepard clenched his fists inside his black and gray leather gloves, keeping his eyes glued on the alien warrior. 'The fact that these aliens look down on us can work to our advantage,' the hacker from Chicago thought, his mind already at work calculating how to exploit that underestimation to his own benefit, ready to wring out any possible concession.
Not far away, Malcolm Reynolds took a deep breath, observing the monumental details of Noiresville's bulkheads. 'Many would feel insulted or say that these aliens share the arrogance of the Asari. But with a ship like this, I understand why they think they are better than us,' he thought to himself, shaking his head slightly; he was certain that if he had a colossal ship like the Moonbreaker in his hands, megalomania would go to his head in no time as well.
Gladio finally turned toward the massive portal, placing a gloved hand on the hydraulic release device. "In short, Lord Bahamut is in an excellent mood; Lady Blight and Lady Yamana are among the women who best keep him in line and urge him to make fairer decisions. You are in a better situation than many others who did not escape unscathed," Gladio concluded, offering that last, rough reassurance to the human beings before the big step.
"Then it's seriously my lucky day," Malloy commented with a wide smile, rubbing his stomach as his appetite, which had vanished shortly before, returned with a vengeance.
Kelly, however, did not share the same optimism. She crossed her arms, squeezing her fingers wrapped in her long black gloves against her elbows. "But if by chance we insult his intellect or his courage, what exactly can happen?" she asked, determined to calculate every single millimeter of risk in case someone in the group made a false step.
Gladio shrugged his massive shoulders, the metal segments of his armor producing a sharp clattering sound. "In the best-case scenario, nothing. In the worst, he will throw a glass or a plate at you," he replied with absolute composure, as if talking about a mere tavern trifle.
Ed Mercer arched his eyebrows, cracking a half-grin to ease the pressure. "So we go from certain death to a possibility of domestic violence," he commented, straightening his dark jacket, suddenly confident he could survive a flying plate to the head or something similar.
"If it makes you feel any better, Captain Kelly, Lord Bahamut mainly targets men when he loses his temper," Gladio specified. Immediately after, his dark eyes suddenly snapped toward the group's pilot.
Malloy felt pierced by that shred of uninvited attention and raised his hands in defense. "Why are you looking at me?" he asked, blushing slightly under the warrior's gaze and feeling completely unfairly judged.
"You have the face of someone who is asking for a slapping," Gladio declared flatly. The Captain of the Kingsglaive, after all, was still not entirely sure why the maids had insisted so much on inviting him specifically to occupy the seventh seat at the table, nor did he understand the abstract logic behind the need to have exactly seven humans instead of six.
"Then I'll do my best to stay quiet," Malloy commented, bringing his index finger and thumb to his lips and mimicking the sharp gesture of zipping an invisible zipper.
'We wholeheartedly hope so,' the other six humans thought in unison, exchanging glances loaded with silent prayer.
Captain Anderson regained control of the conversation, tightening his grip on the buckle of his admiral's belt. "Any other advice?" he asked, demanding to have all strategic bases covered before that portal opened.
"No jokes about incest, homosexuality, and polygamy. Absolutely avoid talking about religion, and try not to say that democracy is better than monarchy. He is a staunch monarchist and pessimistic about democracy, to say the least," Gladio listed, rattling off the last, simple behavioral precepts.
John Carter raised an eyebrow, absentmindedly stroking the gold hilt of his ceremonial sword. "How staunch?" he asked, intrigued by such a total rejection of modern political systems.
Gladio looked upward, as if trying to retrieve fragments of chronicles faded by time. "Centuries ago, when he was still a teenager, before the appearance of the First King and the Unification Crusade, Lord Bahamut started an armed rebellion to kill the usurper and retake command of the Archduchy of Bahamut," he recounted, recalling events that belonged to a remote era for his people. "One of his supporters, who had helped him ascend the throne that belonged to him by right of birth, suggested he change the form of government a bit. He wanted to propose a parliamentary monarchy or even a parliamentary democracy, with Lord Bahamut relinquishing the title of Archduke in favor of that of Chancellor," he added, accentuating a grimace of clear disapproval.
Aiden Shepard crossed his arms over the gray leather of his cyberpunk suit, his eyes narrowing into two shiny slits. "I don't think it ended well," he commented, having already sensed the macabra conclusion of that piece of history.
"He killed him in front of the entire war council," Gladio confirmed with chilling casualness, as if describing an old childhood memory or simply rougher times. "First he shot him in the knees, then he stomped on his head with his foot until it became a puddle of blood on the floor. Fortunately, those with softer hearts were not present in the room."
Malcolm Reynolds spat out a half-breath, wrapping himself tightly in his black leather coat. "And what happened next?" he asked, fascinated and at the same time disgusted by that display of primordial ruthlessness.
"He sat on the Archduke's throne. He declared that the monarchy would disappear only over his dead body and that anyone who ever tried to take what was rightfully his would die," Gladio said, his facial features contracting into an expression of absolute seriousness.
Shepard took a step forward, letting the light of the room make his diamond bracelet sparkle. "And how well did he keep his word?" he asked, eager to decipher the real psychological caliber of the man they were about to meet.
Ecco la traduzione del quinto e ultimo blocco di testo, che conclude il capitolo.
Anche in questa sezione conclusiva ho prestato la massima e assoluta attenzione alla concordanza al femminile, in particolare:
"Frankly, only family members or individuals too essential to be replaced can put forward bold proposals without risking death," Gladio exposed, revealing the exquisitely pragmatic and ruthless side of his sovereign. "In all other cases, traitors or dissidents have been killed in public, made to disappear under mysterious circumstances, died violent deaths as soon as they were no longer useful, or exiled to remote places where they can cause no harm." A cold account that, paradoxically, outlined the figure of a calculating ruler, perhaps even preferable to the initial image of a completely uncontrolled, murderous fury.
"I have a feeling that populism is frowned upon, while elitism is appreciated," Kelly said, shrugging her bare shoulders as she imagined the guillotine as a widely abused tool by those people. Without knowing it, she had hit the nail right on the head.
Gladio kept his gaze fixed on the reinforced metal of the portal. "Lord Bahamut was the right hand of the First King, the first and greatest supporter of the U.S.K.Y. Royal Family and its values. The Moonbreaker and the title of Rogue Trader Militant are his reward for centuries of exemplary service to the Crown and the Country," he explained, providing the final, monumental piece to outline his leader's psychological profile.
Captain Anderson tensed his neck muscles, mentally reviewing the strategy. "No insults to his intellect or his honor as a warrior, no bad jokes, no discussion about religion or monarchy versus democracy," he recapitulated aloud, to imprint the guidelines into everyone's minds.
"Keep these essential rules well in mind, and nothing will happen to you," Gladio confirmed, nodding gravely before turning fully toward the barrier. Then, all of a sudden, his eyes narrowed. "You'd better move to the left or right, out of the door's entry area," he ordered sharply, flexing his knees and planting his boots in a lightning-fast guard stance. [1]
Malloy was the first to spring aside, visibly terrified. The others followed suit, while Aiden Shepard moved last, keeping his gaze fixed on the warrior's massive figure.
"What is happening?" Kelly asked, her voice slightly cracked with perplexity and tension as she squeezed herself against the side bulkhead in her purple gown.
"I took longer than expected to give you useful advice; we are late," Gladio explained, his gloved hand clawing the heavy iron handle of the portal. "This can lead to an irritated or bored Lord Bahamut. If he gets bored, he might pass the time playing at throwing knives at the entrance door. That way, whoever enters learns not to be late, or to knock first." [2]
Malloy widened his eyes, unable to hold his tongue despite the invisible zipper mimed just moments before. "Does your Lord want to kill you, or is he just crazy?" he asked, breaking his vow of silence after barely two minutes.
The other six humans shot him a glare so blistering it could have incinerated him on the spot.
Gladio cracked a bitter smile, his gaze steeped in cynicism. "Have you only just realized that Lord Bahamut is crazy? He was born warped. Unfortunately, his madness goes hand in hand with his talents... and perhaps we are crazy too for following him across the universe and beyond," he commented ironically, before triggering the lock with a dull metallic boom and throwing the doors wide open.
In that precise millisecond, an object zipped at extremely high speed from the darkness of the hall, cutting through the air with a hiss.
With superhuman reflexes, Gladio raised an arm: his hand closed into a fist just inches from his own face, catching mid-air an unusual purple alien fruit, crossed by a vivid yellow stripe in the middle.
The Captain of the Kingsglaive brought it to his mouth, tore a generous bite out of it with his teeth, and smiled happily, chewing with gusto. "Excellent news. Lord Bahamut is in a more than good mood if he's throwing sweet fruit at me. If any of you are good at making people laugh, you might leave the Moonbreaker buried in gold," he announced, stepping across the threshold and letting his subordinates position themselves behind the humans as a rearguard.
Hearing those words, Malloy took a step forward and puffed out his chest beneath his yellow and black kimono. "This is my moment," he declared solemnly, planting his hands on his hips in the proud pose of a superhero ready to save the day.
The Systems Alliance admiral stepped up beside him, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder with a chilling seriousness. "If we all get out of this alive, Malloy, I am subjecting you to a mandatory psychiatric evaluation," Anderson said.
"Honestly, I think everyone present is going to need one," Malcolm Reynolds muttered, raising a hand to adjust the brim of his cowboy hat on his forehead. "If we tell anyone back home what we just heard and saw, they'll give us straightjackets right away."
Kelly took a deep breath to soothe her racing heartbeat, smoothing the folds of her long purple dress. "Captain Anderson, Commander Shepard, and I should be the ones doing most of the talking with the Rogue Trader," she whispered to the group, feeling tenser than she ever had in her life, even more than she had been on her wedding day or at the exact moment she had signed her divorce papers.
'Finally, we will see with our own eyes who rules this mammoth ship and such an extravagant crew,' Aiden Shepard thought. Without hesitating for a single instant, the hacker from Chicago took the first step across the threshold, leading the group inside the sumptuous dining hall.
To be continued...
XXX
Author's Note:
Okay, I was supposed to write about the dinner, but I wrote about the humans' journey to the room where it is held instead.
Well, in the next chapter, we will definitely see three big shots from the Moonbreaker speaking with our seven favorite humans.