The Xeronia colony was a full-fledged multi-level underground city, built inside a hollowed-out mountain that was kilometers high. It was a completely contained world with thousands of separate systems that worked together in unequaled harmony. Ryan knew the level of technology required to build this must be hundreds, possibly thousands, of years ahead of his own kind. He could only marvel at the incredible engineering around him. He bombarded Tsaurau with questions, knowing but a few could be answered satisfactorily. Nonetheless, the Xeronian valiantly struggled to translate concepts and ideas alien to his translating abilities.
"How long to build this?"
"We have been here almost two hundred planet years, but it did not take that long for the initial hollowing of the mountain. That would not have been acceptable. The colony moved within the mountain after, approximately, two years from the time we arrived. We have, since then, continued to expand our living space in order to adjust to our growing population. It is a challenging task. We must be careful not to weaken the mountain's structure, as it is at the mercy of powerful stresses imposed upon it by many different sources. We must always be careful of the energy output of our equipment. We do not want to be discovered again."
"Discovered? What meaning?"
“It means to be found.”
“Found by who? Xi-Empire you hide?”
Tsaurau ignored the question, choosing to continue the walk. The trip took almost an hour before they reached the entrance. Near the end of the trip, they came upon a small shuttle that resembled a golf cart. It roamed quietly down the corridor carrying two Xeronians, propelled by means unknown.
"We not ride?" Ryan asked.
"Exercise is good for the mind and the body," replied Tsaurau.
"I guess that means we could," Ryan replied with some chagrin.
They finally arrived at the entrance of the Chamber of the Elders. The chamber was dome-shaped with walls curving up to a point at least 40 meters above them. On both sides of the main walkway, dim lighting emanated from the bases of richly decorated columns that reached to the ceiling. Their tops were invisible in the darkness, as the meager light was unable to penetrate.
Strange it was so dark.
Luminous paintings spanned to the ceiling, glowed eerily down through the murkiness, bathing the floor in soft hues. Ryan studied the artwork as he walked. He noted that many of the paintings seemed to move as his perspective shifted.
"They are something."
"Yes, they include many scenes of our past home world and depict key turning points in our civilization. They are largely religious artifacts, replicas of some of our most famous treasures of Xeronia. They are not, unfortunately, the original works, although they are irreplaceable treasures in their own right, created by some of our most gifted artists. Many have considered it their life's accomplishment to be involved with the construction and embellishment of this sacred room. The walls around you reflect the multiple millennia of our race's existence."
Ryan attempted to translate his words. Some he could tie together to guess their meaning.
"This room is sacred. The voices of the Eternals are heard here. That is why we colonized this planet."
"The Eternals?"
"The Ancient Ones speak with strength here."
Ryan shook his head, “Speak in riddles. Who are they?”
"Long ago, our planet was in danger, and our world was on the verge of veritable extinction. Our moon's orbit had been in a slow decay for centuries. The resulting gravitational fluctuations pulled at the Xeronia's surface with unparalleled devastation, causing tectonic disruptions on such a massive scale that they destroyed most of our cities, our homes, our industry. We had neither the means nor the knowledge to save ourselves. The Ancient Ones arrived, saved our planet and our civilization. They restored our moon to a safe orbit and helped us rebuild. They taught us much, provided us the knowledge to allow us to reach out into space. We were eager students, grasping at the ideas we had not as yet developed. Now, tens of thousands of years later, we are well beyond the level of science and mathematics that the Ancient Ones were known to have."
"Where they now?"
"They are lost to us. They simply disappeared into the vastness of space. We never made contact with them again. We have found only artifacts to attest to the fact they had once traveled through this end of the galaxy. It is ironic that the ship that brought you here was one of our first exploration-class starships. The Ancient Ones helped us manufacture those particular vessels. That very ship which brought you here departed from Xeronia almost two thousand years ago – that is to be precise, these planet years. The measurement of time is relative."
“Do you know happened?”
“Happened?” It was Tsaurau’s time to question.
“To crew of the ship I arrived on.”
"Their last log indicated that they had established contact with a primitive culture. Some aberrant facts were noted about the native's paradoxical knowledge of technology. No other entries were logged, and nothing else is known. It is assumed they perished. Exploring is a dangerous avocation."
“Dangerous, I am very familiar with that term.” Ryan's eyes had not stopped wandering. The art, the colors, the scenes, all seemed so... alien, but so beautiful.
They approached a massive semi-circular desk of solid granite.
“When we began hollowing out this cavern, many of the technicians heard the voices. The Elders were called in. There was no doubt where the Council chambers should be located."
Tsaurau lowered his voice to a soft whisper. "It has been said that the Elders can feel the threads of time to come. They hear the whispers of the ghosts of the Eternals. It is not by accident that the location of this chamber, this point in space, is polarised."
"What meaning?"
"There is an aberration - a blemish, if you will," Tsaurau stopped his explanation, leaving it incomplete, as the Elders began to appear, their faces hidden within shadows.
A spotlight shot down upon the two of them, slightly blinding them under its intense rays. A hushed silence followed, only to be shattered by a scratchy, deep voice of the Eldest.
"We extend our appreciation to Tsaurau and to our guest," she stated in native Xeronian.
"Yes, my Elder," Tsaurau replied, bowing slightly.
She spoke again, this time in Trinarieit. "We have convened to determine if he is the one the Eternals have spoke of. If he is indeed, the one of the prophecy."
Ryan felt them studying him. The spotlight seemed hot, its rays, white and blinding. He could just make out the image of the Eldest through the light. Her eyes were closed, her gaze turned upwards. Wrinkles enveloped her face and skull, like ripples in sand, but somehow she did not appear ugly to him, just very, very old.
After what seemed like ages she lowered her eyes and brought her full attention to bear on Ryan. Black eyes burned into him like hot coals.
"It seems the voices of the Eternals remain silent."
Another Elder spoke. "If you are the one, you are destined for greater things Man-from-Earth. We of Xeronia regard you with friendship. You are free to walk amongst us. We… empathize with you, for the difficulties you have suffered under the Xi-Empire regime. Know that you are now free from your bonds of slavery."
With that, Tsaurau bowed, and Ryan followed suit. They backed out, facing the prominent shadows of the council, never turning around. Only when the door slid shut to the chamber did Tsaurau resume talking.
"Thank you for following our customs... we do not turn our backs to the Elders, out of respect."
"No problem. When in Rome, do as the Romans do."
The Xeronian regarded him with interest. “You talk in your home language, mixing your dialects. I must learn of this language.”
“Not a problem,” he responded in his native English.
“Interesting inflections. Regardless, there are important matters to discuss. I must warn you, Ryan, not all of us believe in the prophecy the Elders refer
red to."
“Prophecy? What they mean? They say I the one?"
"The prophecy is less ambiguous and more literal than most. The Chosen One is the protector and the destroyer. If you are the one, that is to be your destiny."
"Protector what, destroyer what?"
"You will find in due time," replied Tsaurau.
Ryan shook his head in frustration as they walked. "You drive me crazy with answer!"
Tsaurau turned suddenly, eyes appraising. "Should I begin to question your sanity?"
"No," Ryan said with irritation, "Just thing to say."
“Then it is time we learned to communicate better. I shall learn your English, then?”
“Am sure it will not take long.”
“I look forward to this exercise. I enjoy a challenge.”
Ryan reached over and patted the alien’s shoulder.
* * *
Zorlog was growing impatient.
The slave trade was moving much too slowly for his liking, and he needed to firm up capital if he was to move ahead with his plans. With profits down, his plans were held back. As he marched down to the main airlock, the crew practically threw themselves out of his way. There was never enough room for an angry Tarvok within these tight corridors. At the airlock, he met up with his Lavok. "Ryadin, you must maintain attention, and speed it up down there or I'll have your head."
"Yes, my Tarvok, I will endeavor to meet your standard."
"When is the next communication window to Xilo?"
"26.00 radii, my Tarvok."
"Very good, Lavok."
There was no salute between them as the airlock closed. Zorlog's crew did not follow formal military code. It was useless protocol. The brief wait in the airlock gave Zorlog some time to think. By the time the hatch opened on the other side, he had already formulated his plan. A new face appeared beyond the open hatch.
"Pressurisation balance complete, Tarvok. The shuttle is ready."
"We'll leave at once, Savok."
He fingered his belt, triggering the intercom. "Lavok Ryadin!" he growled.
A pause...
"Ryadin here."
"I want your detachment to be on the ship before 26.00 radii, no stragglers, understand!"
"If problems should arise?"
"Maintain your schedule, Lavok."
"Understood, my Tarvok."
The shuttle launched from the belly of the slaver Gohk. The Gohk was an old converted Xilozak destroyer that had been mothballed by the military and replaced by a newer, more powerful model. Zorlog had bought it for measly credits, but the refit that had cost him dearly. Now the Gohk could easily match the speed and armament of any one of the new destroyers. Many a Txtian engineer had died once the overhaul was complete, ensuring their secrets disappeared with them. The Xilozak military did not know of the extensive rework on the old destroyer. If they had, they would have hunted him down and either killed or imprisoned him. But Zorlog was no fool, and he had a long history of dealings with certain officials. Precautions had been taken. The kickbacks were exorbitant but effective. It was precisely this reason why Zorlog was so insistent on demanding a profit from every venture. Debt was not an enviable position.
Everything must be done with precise timing. He demanded that of his crew. They adhered to the Xilo time clock with a solemn discipline.
The Xi-Empire had seen to it that Xilo time was the de facto standard throughout most of the known galaxy. If Xilo time structure were compared to Earth, definitions and terms would correspond closely, although the actual elapsed time for each label is not identical. A sadii resolves to a day, radii to hours, gadii to minutes, adii to seconds, although the ratios and units differ slightly. There was no equivalent to a month although a third of a year would be equivalent to a zanii, and a full Xilo year a zadii.
Zorlog's shuttle was headed for a desolate, barren planet called G0015-A. It was at a key location in the Xi-Empire trading industry. Its spaceports were among the best, and its space dock repair and shipbuilding industry was renown throughout. Trade was the life-blood of the G0015-A economy, which lacked most other industries save a few mining operations.
Once they landed, Zorlog and his crew made their way through the crowded, dirty streets. The natives, as well as other visitors, gave them a wide berth. They were known very well on this planet.
Zorlog's group stopped at the main administration building, the office of the Torzon. When the unruly group arrived on the 103rd floor, they spread out and proceeded to escort all the Torzon's other visitors back into the elevator. They informed each that their appointments were canceled.
The secretary was smart enough not to interfere. She simply activated the intercom. "Torzon Jhonk, Tarvok Zorlog is here to see you!"
"Let him in!"
The secretary entered the access code and the doors swung open to a plush office and a commanding view of the G0015-A's capital city. Only Zorlog entered, his crew remained strategically positioned throughout the waiting room area.
"Tarvok, it is rewarding to see you," he said flatly.
"Torzon," nodded Zorlog. He paused a moment, fighting an urge to step over and rip the arms off the official. It would be of such pleasure to witness him scream.
Instead, he calmly, meticulously, pulled off his gloves and tucked them under his gun belt. "I hear you intend to charge me with an additional cargo excise tax. Why is this?"
"That is what I have always admired about you Zorlog, your directness!" replied the Jhonk. "The reason is simple. Your profits are in excess as you do business in this quadrant, yet you do nothing to help cover the costs of maintaining its vibrant economy."
"You mean, you want to raise your kickback, without the support of Xilo.” Excellent. He could work this to his advantage.
"Oh no, Xilo may not officially support this, but I do have the required clearances in the proper levels. The rules are very simple here on G0015-A: If you wish to continue doing business here, you will contribute."
"Torzon, I have a proposition for you. It is also quite simple. You pay me back all the credits of which you skimmed off my last cargo trades and apply them to your new tax. I will be more than happy to accept any credits left over."
"That's preposterous!" laughed Jhonk. "You're a ferzet if you think I'm going to pay you a single credit."
"A ferzet? No need to get personal, Torzon. But you truly have no choice,” warned Zorlog quietly, his hand resting on his blaster.
"Now hold on!" warned Jhonk, "Don't even think of intimidating me. I've already signaled security, and they are prepared to cut you and your crew to pieces. You’ll never make it out of this building!"
"Ah, yes. Cut to pieces you say. You have a vivid imagination." He pulled his hand off his blaster, giving a toothy grimace of a smile. "Don't worry Jhonk, I was merely toying with you. We both know I fully support you, as I have proven so many times in the past.”
“Only to suit your own personal gain, Zorlog. I am not the ferzet.”
“Of course.” Zorlog's mind was spinning with hate. Far too many times these Txtian have interfered with his operations. This was the last time. The time had come to act. It was wasteful, this bantering.
“My Torzon, I will arrange payment. After all, I have no choice."
"Exactly. We have an understanding. You realize who is in control here. Although I must admit, this does surprise me, such unlike the old Zorlog I once knew. You are losing your backbone.”
Zorlog’s upper lip quivered. “I am the same old Zorlog.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Perhaps it all has to do with your current debt? Since you have been so… complimentary, I will do you a favor. I will allow you another option - simply leave G0015-A, but leave without your cargo. It is your decision, of course. Pay the tax or leave the cargo, either will do. Mark my words: Do neither, and I will ensure your credit is called. Your credit will no longer be any good in this quadrant. No one will do business with you. That, I will personally guarantee."
&n
bsp; "You realize you will need Xilo itself to support such a preposterous position, Jhonk."
Jhonk laughed. "In case you didn't notice, we have two of the Empire's finest cruisers in orbit. They can easily annihilate you and that thing you call a ship. All they need is a reason."
"Ah yes, the cruisers. I did notice them on my way in. But they would certainly have a difficult time at it. Regardless of the fun thoughts. I'll need two sadii to get the credits together."
"You have one. No more."
Zorlog approached the large windows and stared out at the view below. From this height, people and vehicles were mere specs.
Ripping him apart would be too easy. It would be so enjoyable to toss Jhonk down from here. The look on his face would be priceless. It would take such a long time before he hit...
Jhonk rustled behind his desk. Zorlog returned from his thoughts and turned to stare the Txtian down. The Torzon quickly averted his eyes.
The smell of fear was thick on him. A putrid stench, rotting from the inside out. In his own building and he was still afraid. Zorlog laughed again, startling Jhonk who was wise enough to remain careful of the slaver’s next move.
"Very well, my Torzon. You will have your credits this sadii. I am feeling generous. The transfer will take place at 26.00."
Zorlog turned his attention from the window and walked out of the office, hesitating mid-stride just beyond the doorway. “This is the last time, Jhonk. I will not see you again. I do not do business with the dead."
Jhonk pressed the switch. The doors closed too slowly for his liking. He knew Zorlog well enough to take the threat seriously. How foolish for him to tip his hand.
A Bellicose Dance Page 13