It was an unnecessarily long and grandiose progression, of nobles in the colors of their houses, soldiers of celebrated regiments, Imperial Guardsmen in the colors of their inherited stations (i.e., the Smasher of the Imperial Guard was an inherited title, as were almost all the others), priests, ministers, and of course the new Majestrix and her Consort, the latter following serenely behind the former.

I’m sure the Shi’ar had complex thoughts on seeing Xavier. Seeing a cripple chosen as the Consort of their Majestrix had to be hard for a military race, especially one as sophisticated as this one. However, word had long spread that he had received his injury from a spine-crippling blow that was Cursed beyond the means of science, magic, or psionics to heal, and even power armor had notably failed to function properly for him.

It was not that the Consort could not walk; it was that he was Cursed not to walk, and all of the Shi’ar’s technology could not change that.

Also, the fact that he was the most powerful natural psychic any of them had ever met was a factor, fully capable of punching through many Wards against telepathy and administering psychic blows like none other. Certainly the Oracle of the Imperial Guard was not his match...

There was a lot of security, naturally enough, and those marching Imperial Guardsmen weren’t just for show. It was noteworthy that those furthest away from Lilandra were the ones whose loyalties were most in doubt.

The Praetor was directly in front of her. Of his loyalties, there was no doubt whatsoever. Not even the noblest and most arrogant of the Shi’ar dared whisper such things about the Strontian.

The parade came into and lined up before the Court, and the Empress passed within, those chosen to follow moving smoothly after her to take up positions at her right and left hands.

The alert popped up on my iris display, and Red Eyes flickered up in casual warning. “Look sharp, people. Security update just patched,” I said with Voice of the Mage, whoever I wanted to hear it hearing me if they were within a mile.

I watched Xavier’s hands, because he had a psyber-bead link into his chair’s systems that he’d not had the day before, and was monitoring them all. I watched his fingers curl on the edges of his chair. One, two, three...

Only three? The updaters must have been nervous...

His thumb tapped once. Ho, that was a longwave signal coming in, to set off the gravity rupture...

There had to be relays inside the Court itself for some of these things, and Imperial Guardsmen, working with more than a few humans who had no skin in the politics game aside from protecting the Consort, were aiding in tracking them down with great speed. I could have been helping them, but it had been made plain to me that Lilandra wanted me and my Wrecker’d self standing out there looking Impressive, and so I was leaving it to the others.

The Spiders, the engineers, the Shield, the Widow, and really, all of the contingents were happily finding things to do. It was startling how fast Asgardians could actually move when they were in a hurry...

They’d already tracked down the providers of much of the tech, and definitely had located the coders putting in all that stuff. Some formerly-smart computer guys were learning about their homeland’s interrogation techniques in detail right now, which weren’t so merciful.

A Zigandran abruptly leapt out of his seats, over the heads of his betters in front of him, directly towards the Majestrix.

“Got it,” I said, flicking out my hand, and a Storm Shield of hard air closed around him in midleap. The people shouting froze as he rammed into it, and the explosive he’d activated of different organic components combined in his body and blew off in a tightly-contained raging fireball, which blasted a hole in one side of the sphere and went rolling sideways in a crazy spiral.

It crashed right into the middle of the Skrull delegation and slewed around madly. Green-skinned diplomats screamed and died suddenly before lightning crackled, the sphere compressed hard, and the remaining oxygen-devouring flames and viruses vented for the ceiling and were cleansed with arcs of lightning as they did.

Lilandra magnificently didn’t even look at the assassin, and Xavier didn’t raise an eyebrow, just giving the commotion a glance. Gladiator just looked at me as I put my arm down.

The Skrull delegation was very upset, of course, but them dem assassins, making things horrible for everyone. At least the head ambassador was alive, due to the sacrifice of his subordinates. Shi’ar clean-up crews had the air filtered, disintegrated the bodies, and carted off the chairs and ‘ported in new ones in under a minute. You could barely tell anything had happened, save for the surviving Skrulls’ long faces and some empty spaces. Such a shame.

The Hierophant of the Shi’ar Empire soon had his turn, pontificating about the greatness of the Empire, moving on to the formal reading of her imperial bloodline and ancestry, droning about the deeds of her ancestors, hopes that she would continue the glory of her predecessors and the Empire that now followed her, and so forth and so on...

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

Yawn...

“One of the suppliers just tried to spike my food,” Dealer muttered to me in her own Voice, and I saw Gladiator turn his head slightly, as she was a new voice, but one he recognized. He wanted to up his Combicha Level too, after all. “I can’t speak for the rest of the kitchens, and they’re being watched close, however.”

Telepathic orders were going out quickly, and her thoroughly Charmed saboteur was going to be answering some fine questions. He might not even have been going after the Majestrix, as there were a lot of nobles who might have inopportune ‘food allergies’ at an event like this.

Happily, the crown was being placed on Lilandra’s head, and two more signals, a hyperwave dance and a quark pulse, were sent to Xavier’s chair.

Nothing happened, and the coronation went off without a further hitch. Well, except when a line of the distinguished Silver Raptor regiment spun around, leveled their rifles at the Majestrix, and pulled the triggers.

They all slumped to the ground as they blasted one another in the face, a rather unfortunate side-effect of Xavier having a finger on his temple. Lilandra didn’t even glance at them as they fell, shiny breastplates sparking, their determined faces a little surprised at their abrupt deaths.

Yeah, the coronation was over, and we now were invited to the celebration and feast to follow!

--------

“Your Imperial Majesty,” I greeted her after being cleared to approach her.

“Champion Dynamo,” she acknowledged me with a smile as she strolled down the mile-long hallway lined with well-wishers, death-wishers, and opportunists waving madly among them.

“I understand you are going to have a small mountain of congratulatory gifts from various parties, but I think this one will come in promptly useful,” I assured her, holding up a small box suitable for a ring.

“Oh?” she asked in interest. “I have been told you are an alchemist by trade.” She held out her hand, and I handed over the plain box calmly. She opened it up and eyed the plain brass band within curiously. “Very common in appearance,” she noted in amusement.

“Totally by design. It is a Binging Ring.” She glanced at me in curiosity and amusement at the name. “It stores thirty days of food and water. Of course, you must first eat and drink that thirty days worth of food.”

She thought about that for a moment, then looked ahead at the hallway approaching us, her large eyes widening slightly.

“And of course, any poisons you remit into the Ring will not take effect until you reclaim the energy, and can be purified in the interim,” I went on softly.

“So... I will be able to eat and drink to my heart’s content in the feast to come?” she asked quietly.

“Majestrix, you can store thirty days of food and drink in there. You can eat and drink to a dragon’s contentment in the feast to come!” I assured her.

She popped the Ring out of its box and slid it onto her little finger without another word. “I rather think I shall be indulging myself most sinfully this evening,” she mused, giving me a nod.

I half-bowed, and simply held my position as she swept on. I held out my hand as the Consort swept by, and he removed the matching Ring silently as he did so.

They were going to be sampling EVERYTHING at the celebration tonight, and if it was all poisoned to Hell and back, it wasn’t going to matter at all...

--------

Of course, this was a martial culture, and there had to be entertainment.

The Shi’ar weren’t into art at all, and that included artistic dance. Dances for them were basically martial katas and weapon rehearsals. So, ‘dance troupes’ were actually things like staff, spear, and sword masters re-enacting duels and ancient battles, musicians specialized in marches and drumrolls that guided military formations, horns calling out orders, and the like.

Live combat was much more appreciated by those involved, be it sapients or monstrous creatures.

Careful inquiries had actually brought in some Tribal experts a week or two ago to set up a Merciful Arena arrangement, and so those brought in to fight for the glory of the Empress and their factions didn’t have to worry about dying. It meant there were no beasts tearing one another apart, which I’m sure disappointed the bloodthirsty, but the gladiators who were picked could really go at it, since they knew they wouldn’t die and didn’t have to worry about going cyber or something.

---

“Oh, MJ is up!” Webs blurted out from our table, which was set discreetly off to the side where you might put those crazy relatives you just couldn’t push off, and were too important to get rid of. Given we represented the Consort’s homeworld, they couldn’t just fob us off to nowhere.

Happily, we had some actual gods along, and the Shi’ar couldn’t spoof them at all. Also, a Nova Centurion was among our number, so putting the Xandarans close enough to pretend we had prestige was good enough for courtesy.

Gave us a good view of the arena, too.

“Who’s the poor slob?” I asked, as a tall Shi’ar entered the arena first, having that stick-up-the-arse posture of insufferable superiority.

Silk dove for details. “Um, Ky’yrth of the Tauievar. One of the best duelists in the Empire, supposedly. Called the Sapphire Talon for the hue of his plasma sword.”

“He’s using an energy sword against her?” I asked faintly. They all looked at me. “Are they idiots? Please tell me there’s more than one of these songbirds challenging her.”

Silk looked down, scrolling. “Uh, there’s like a dozen famous duelists lined up, challenging one after another.”

I smirked despite myself. “Do they all use energy swords?” I asked archly.

“Five of them are non-Shi’ar...” she reported. “I think one of them is of Master Raza’s people...”

“Oh, so someone who is actually a challenger.” I rolled my eyes. “I guess they figured that only unsophisticated brutes used real weapons on the Colosseum, eh?”

Peggy was looking rather amused, too. “I guess Corsair didn’t warn them about her or anything. Why am I not surprised?”

“There are no Nulls among the Shi’ar,” McCoy murmured, also shaking his furry head. “That poor bastard.”

“So, uh, they’re gonna get owned?” Peter asked, watching the arena intently as another door opened, and a red-headed figure in the traditional attire of a Dragons student glided out from it.

“Just watch. This should be fun,” I assured him.

===========

Author's Note: Remember Webs is Gwen Stacey’s nickname, although she’s Spider-Girl in the papers. Cindy Moon is Silk.