Dagon’s shirt clung to a thick chest and left his muscled arms bare. His black trousers resembled the cargo pants Immortal Guardians favored on Earth but had fewer pockets. They also molded to his muscled thighs with every step he took.
Even the way he walked appealed to her—long, strong, powerful strides, his big boots thudding like a drumbeat on the floor. Though he tempered his steps a bit to accommodate her shorter legs, she liked that Dagon didn’t slow to a crawl as if she were a child he thought couldn’t keep up.
He paused and motioned for her to enter a room near the next curve in the hallway.
Smiling, she stepped through the doorway. Her eyes widened as she slowed to a halt. Much larger than she’d expected, the room appeared to be divided into two sections. On the right, several men sat at tables about the size one might find in an office cubicle on Earth, polishing and servicing weapons. On the left, one man stood alone with his back to them at a U-shaped workspace that boasted a plethora of electronic equipment and tools she couldn’t identify.
The wall beyond him displayed dozens of weapons, each different from the previous one. She noted multiple firearms. Some looked like they could take down a damn dinosaur. That or blow up a ship. Others were so small and compact that even Eliana could hide them in her clothes with none the wiser. There were also staffs with a wide variety of lengths and tips. Most were plain. A few, however, swirled with beautifully engraved designs. A variety of maces graced the wall as well, and… She practically salivated when her gaze landed upon the blades—long, short, straight, curved, and everything in between.
She looked up at Dagon, who waited patiently beside her while she looked her fill. “I’ll have one of everything, please,” she said, her voice full of awe.
He threw his head back and laughed.
All heads turned. Eyes widened. The seated men set down their weapons and rose.
Eliana didn’t know if it was because their commander had entered the room, if it was a chivalrous thing for her, or if they were simply shocked to find a woman in their midst.
The solitary man on the left turned with a frown that smoothed out the instant he spotted them. Abandoning whatever he toiled over, he removed a pair of white gloves, tossed them on the table, and headed their way. “Commander Dagon.”
Dagon nodded. “Joral.”
Joral’s curious gaze settled upon Eliana. He was older than Dagon, his short dark hair graying at the temples, and slimmer of build beneath the leathery-looking apron he wore. Nevertheless, his shoulders and arms bore plenty of muscle, leaving her no doubt that he personally tested each weapon he created.
Dagon rested a hand on Eliana’s back, setting her pulse to racing. “This is Eliana of Earth. Eliana, this is Joral, our chief weapons designer.”
She extended her hand to the man. “Hi. It’s so nice to meet you.”
Joral’s eyebrows rose as he grasped her forearm. “I’m honored to meet you, Eliana.”
When he released her arm, she smiled and motioned to the room around them. “I have to tell you… this is my new favorite place.”
Dagon chuckled. “Eliana is a warrior on her world and—like all soldiers—holds a deep appreciation for fine weaponry.”
Joral’s face lit with amusement, little creases appearing at the corners of his eyes. “Then you are very welcome here.”
She grinned. “Let’s see if you’re still saying that after a day or two of bumping into me every time you turn around.”
His smile broadened.
Eliana turned to the other men, who watched with avid interest, and offered them a wave. “Hi. I’m Eliana. Thank you all for coming to my rescue.”
The men shared startled looks, then offered half bows and murmured responses.
Eliana turned back to Joral. “So, Joral.” She hesitated. “May I call you Joral?” She wasn’t sure what the social protocol was in Segonian society or their military.
“You may.”
“Excellent. So, Joral… I lost my weapons in the battle with the Gathendiens and feel totally naked without them.”
Joral’s gaze dropped to her chest, then hastily returned to her face. “I would be pleased to outfit you with new weapons, Eliana.” He motioned for her to join him as he strolled toward his workspace. “Is there anything in particular you have in mind?”
“Well… what I really want is one of those.” She pointed to the wall of weapons.
“Which weapon are you pointing to?” he asked, following her gaze.
“All of them. I want a wall just like that in whatever room I end up staying in.”
He stopped and cast her a look of stunned disbelief.
Dagon laughed.
Eliana did, too, then shrugged. “What can I say? I love weapons.”
Joral chuckled.
“That’s what I want,” she continued, “but not necessarily what I need, so I can narrow it down if you’d like.”
“I would appreciate that.” Still smiling, Joral bypassed his workspace and guided her to the wall. “Perhaps we could start with a tronium blaster.” He reached up and plucked a blaster about the size of a 9mm off the wall. “This T-23 would suit you well.”
“Dagon suggested blasters, too, but I’m more of a blades kind of gal.”
Joral frowned. “Blades might have sufficed on Earth, but out here blasters are far more efficient.”
“If I have to carry a blaster to put everyone’s mind at ease, I will. But I’d like the rest of my weapons to be blades.”
Joral looked over her shoulder.
Eliana did, too.
Dagon crossed his arms over his chest. “She would like you to fashion her some blades made from mlathnon or alavinin.”
Eliana nodded. “Any metal that can repel blasterfire.”
“With handles that will absorb stunners instead of serving as conductors,” Dagon added.
Eliana didn’t know much about stunners but nodded.
Joral stared at her. “Blades cannot defend you from blasterfire.”
“They can if you make them out of whatever metal Dagon just named.”
Joral again glanced at his commander.
Dagon shrugged. “We didn’t think she could survive until we reached her, yet she did.”
Eliana wanted to hug him again because she knew he still thought she could not defeat blasters with blades but was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“As you wish,” Joral said, his inflection and expression questioning the wisdom of her request. “Which weapons do you prefer?”
Eliana studied the blades. “Are any of these made from the right metals?”
“No. These are strong enough to puncture armor but would be damaged by blasterfire. If you see a design you like, however, I can make what you need.”
“Could you, by any chance, make blades based on a design I provide?”
He stiffened. “None of these are to your liking?”
“Actually, they all are,” she told him honestly. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I wish I could have one of everything here. But I’d feel more comfortable wielding weapons that are identical to the ones I’ve already trained with until I can get a feel for these.”
“Ah.” He relaxed. “Understandable. Come with me.” Herding her into his workspace, he retrieved what appeared to be a large piece of glass about the size of a poster board. Setting it on one of his white tables, he motioned to it. “Show me what you wish your weapons to resemble.”