John pointed at the flapping thing on the rear viewscreen. “What the hell is that?”

Goraidh leaned forward, squinting against the brightness in the otherwise dark bridge. “I would say that’s a dragon.”

John shook his head. “That can’t be a dragon.”

Goraidh shrugged. “If you say so.”

John’s knuckles grew white as he clenched the flight controls. The console’s alarm beeped to warn him he was leaving the stellar shipping lane. “What’s it doing?”

“I would say flying.”

“Flying?” John spluttered.

“Looks like.”

“But it can’t be flying!”

“Seems to be doing a pretty good job of it to me.”

“No, I mean it can’t. It’s not possible. For it to fly, it would need atmosphere for its wings to push against. There’s no friction in a vacuum to allow it!”

The barbarian thought it over and nodded. “Sounds reasonable enough. Slow down, I’ll yell it out the porthole.”