A Bellicose Dance

by Patrick M J Lozon

  "No. I do not."

  "But you do. You do not comprehend because we are distracting you. Think."

  Tsaurau attempted to focus, fighting through the fog to the more lucid, sharper side. Something very clear, very precise lay just beyond. He pushed through the haziness and understood.

  The Par echoed with surprise and realization.

  "Yes, of course."

  The Eldest lowered her eyes; a fan of radiant golden veins pulsated upon her skull. "It is within the Par we share the intimacy of oneness and the joy of realization." She rose from the floor, as agile as an old panther, an inconceivable motion if one considered her age. She delivered her proclamation with eyes glinting of fire, "We must begin, for time, as we know, is fleeting. The Grafu has come."

  The council nodded in a silent agreement.

  * * *

  Zorlog's power grew with every additional ship under his command. Now a labeled outlaw, nothing remained to hold him back. The Empire had proclaimed him a criminal, and it was his intention to ensure that was a costly decision.

  Through his many acts of piracy, his reputation as a merciless strategist grew. The Empire's elite military ranks hated yet admired his genius. He never repeated the same move and had no perceivable habits. He was impossible to kill. When his ragtag fleet met up with the Empire's finest, they consistently lost, subjecting its Zuvoks to bruised egos, and the Xi-Empire to costly losses.

  Zorlog employed strategies unfamiliar to many. Instead of fleeing from the star cruisers and military bases, he actively engaged them, capturing equipment and drafting many new recruits in the process. But his success was not solely based on his intellect.

  Zorlog was a self-appointed leader of a very old ideal. He was a separatist - a Xilozak Purist - standing against any and all Txtian involvement within the Empire. His campaign was simple: all Txtians were to be cleansed, at any cost.

  The Purist movement ran through the veins of the great Xi-Empire like a cancer. Promoting the ideals of a suppressed and bitter hatred, Zorlog set afire multiple flames. On Xilo, the capital planet, the situation was already destabilizing a tenuous millennia-old peace. Purists spoke out, openly defying persecution, taunting the authorities. Random conflicts seeded the formation of small mobs. Violence led to destruction and death. Policing an aggressive population was becoming impossible.

  Few realized, least of all the fathoms of suffering slaves, that at its very foundation, the great Xi-Empire was crumbling. The rift between its two races, the Xilozak and the Txtian, was growing wider with every sadii.

  The Emperor was not oblivious to this deterioration. He could see his control was slipping away. This was not the first time such waves of discourse fed through the ruling masters. It was inevitable that social attitudes would swing from one belief system to another. He and his predecessors had seen it many times before. The supporters of unity had been suppressing such movements for centuries. He didn’t understand that this time, things were different. The Purists had never had a leader like Zorlog.

  The Emperor called for his Karvoks, the Grand Lords of the Xi-Empire’s mighty military, the strategists responsible for the conquests of hundreds of races.

  They convened in the Hall of the Apocalypse, where all laws were passed and all Empirical decisions proclaimed. The Hall was expansive and intimidating, its walls decorated with the trophies of the oppressed and conquered. Objects of all shapes, sizes, and colors, precious if not priceless, adorned in stark contrast to the gray walls. At the room’s center, imprinted into the floor, was a circle of gold with a diameter of seven meters, a black seven-pointed star inlaid within it. At the circle’s perimeter, where each of the points of the star touched, seven Karvoks stood at attention. They faced each other across the wide expanse, their faces hidden in the gloominess that engulfed the room. Each wore the insignia of multiple medals, trophies of past accomplishments, each adorned in the blood of their enslaved, and as most would testify to, their highest degree of treachery.

  The Karvoks were of mixed descent, some Txtian, others Xilozak. Their hate for one another shadowed only by a shared and cautious respect. To attain the station of Karvok left little doubt of one’s capabilities.

  The Emperor came out of the shadows stealthily, moving slowly, inspecting each Karvok with red serpent eyes. He towered above them, a sinister presence that resembled more of a demon than any citizen would admit. He was a Zigot, half-Xilozak, and half-Txtian, and as such, his appearance was a marriage of grotesque proportion and incredible strength.

  He circumvented the circle, then moved to its center. His voice bellowed through the gigantic room like thunder.

  "There was a time once, long ago, when the Xilozaks and the Txtians fought to kill one another. Our hate brought us to the brink of extinction. Do you remember? Are there any here who can remember?"

  He cast his dark gaze over the small group. None dared meet it.

  Maybe it was too long ago. It is ironic how whole generations can forget their history only to repeat it again and again.

  “Allow me to re-educate you. The wars had driven our races to near extinction. It was a time of death and despair. Xilo herself had demonstrated her impatience with us and our lands, once fertile with food, were struck with famine and disease. There was little to eat, and the need to conquer had long faded in the hearts of even the strongest warriors. All wished only to survive. From such a time came the greatest of all things. A truce between our two races was struck in blood. A Xilozak male and a Txtian female were called upon to mate and bring a new peace. A child was born of them, the first of the Zigot. A new world was born with it!"

  The Emperor raised his arms and stared upward. He growled out a phrase in an ancient tongue. A luminescent globe dropped down, throbbing of red and orange hues. Within it lay images racing by in a blur of motion, dialect, and dialogue, screeching by at an insane rate.

  “Behold our history.”

  A black finger shot out to the globe. "Unrest! It traces through our past like a pestilence. Peace is again deteriorating back into war. You have all seen the signs. It is your generation that has brought this about."

  He waved upward savagely, the globe rose out of sight - a haunting apparition.

  The Emperor glared down at his Karvoks.

  "Where do your loyalties lie?" he asked softly. "I will learn this. You cannot hide the truth."

  A few shuffled nervously in the darkness.

  “As you may remember in the teachings, as the first Zigot child grew, he learned he possessed the powers of a leader. On the 13th zanii, the season of the heat, he assumed the throne and pulled our people together. He demanded peace and the citizens complied, or they died. That was the birth of our Empire! For a thousand, thousand zadii, the Zigot League has kept its people from destroying one another, and we have flourished. When will our citizens learn? I have asked myself that question many times. I have crushed the Purists into the mud with my own hand. I have drunk their blood at our feasts, and still, they rage on!"

  The muscles of his body strained tensely as he spoke, a tightened spring begging to be released. "There is talk of a new rogue leader named Zorlog. Others have aligned with him, corrupting the state of peace. This cannot be allowed to continue. You will bring him to me - alive!"

  One of the Karvoks dared to talk.

  "We have not been able to find him. He is constantly on the move. He knows the quadrants well."

  The Emperor's red demon eyes burned into the Karvok. "But you will find him," came the Emperor's reply. "All of you! Your time of privileged rank is wearing thin. Bring Zorlog to me, or it will be your blood that I will drink!"

  He waved them away. Each bowed and graciously stepped back from the circle, carrying with them a very clear message.

  The Emperor smiled. He felt very strong. He could not remember the last time he had felt so strong. The final catalyst of his power had been found. His religion of terror shall begin very soon. He had waited a long time for this Purist Xi
lozak. He had been patient, for he knew time would deliver a leader with the abilities he required. This one need only be converted... and there were ways to accomplish that.

  * * *

  After a troubled night’s sleep, Ryan had made up his mind. He could not continue hiding within this mountain. He had to find Aviore and his home. But he couldn’t do this alone. He needed Tsaurau’s help.

  Maybe they would loan him a ship, possibly teach him to pilot it. Maybe...

  Tsaurau was not hard to find. He had learned of the alien’s favorite spots. He was either in his study labs or at his favorite park on the third level – the one with the skies of his old home world. This time he found him in his lab, busily designing some strange pictorials and marking up a glass-like board with intricate glyphs. The Xeronian’s manner seemed different, edgy, possibly nervous. A telltale shaking, a constant moving of limbs, eyes a bit wider than normal.

  Almost human.

  "Ryan, it is serendipitous to see you. There is something very important I need to discuss with you.”

  Ryan smiled to himself. He should never have taught him those fringe words. He always made it a point to use the most extraneous words in his sentences.

  “The Ancients have spoken to me and released me of my doubts. The Prophecy is grounded in truth. I believe you are the Grafu.”

  Ryan broke out into laughter. He couldn’t help himself. “I’m not the boogeyman your weird, paranormal ghosts chant about. Look, I’m glad you think there’s some truth to your prophecies, but we’ve already been through this.”

  The alien was watching him with an undefined apprehension. Veins on his temples were pulsing noticeably. “I see.”

  “Try not to be disappointed.”

  “I shall not. You also wanted to ask me something of importance.”

  Ryan glanced down at his feet, shifting a bit uncomfortably for a second. “I, ah, have to find someone. I can’t stay here. I’ve a promise to keep.”

  “But you cannot leave. You are the one we have been waiting for!”

  The alien’s intensity was unexpected, and to Ryan, seemed so ludicrous it was laughable.

  “Look, no one can really predict the future. I don’t care how advanced you think you are. Given all your knowledge I don’t get how you fall for a bunch of hocus-pocus. It doesn’t make sense, in fact, it’s contradictory.”

  “There is more to the nature of the universe than you comprehend. Time is fluid. Causality can be predicted if you have enough data points.”

  “OK, whatever that means, but I do need to leave, and I can’t do this alone. I can’t stay here rotting away in safety while the person I love is suffering under those tyrannical bastards.”

  “Love? So you have found a human mate? Tell me how was this possible?”

  “She was another slave.”

  “I see, and you wish to rescue her. Do you know where she is?”

  “And no, and I don’t know how to navigate through space or pilot one of your infernal ships. So I don’t have a clue how I would rescue her even if I could.”

  “I believe I can offer you a solution. If you are agreeable, we will teach you all the skills that you need, and we will build you not only a starship, but a warship capable of defeating the mightiest of Xi-Empire’s military vessels."

  Tsaurau's words hung in the air, an unbelievable offer. Ryan could not reply, momentarily shocked.

  “Do you understand? You will have the means to rescue your mate.”

  “Why? Why would you do this?”

  “We will provide you the necessary training and the tools in order for you to dismantle the Xi-Empire. It is that simple."

  Ryan half laughed. "You're kidding... aren't you?"

  "Kidding? You are implying a jest, humor? Is that correct?”

  Ryan nodded mutely.

  “This offer is not in jest. This prophecy will materialize. You are the Grafu. It has been verified."

  "Verified? I’m an escaped slave, nothing more. Look at this." He yanked up his pant leg, revealing a jagged, ugly scar of a branding. "You see this! They branded me! I was just a rare, lucky bastard that was able to get away from them alive."

  "Luck? Yet you regard our Elders’ abilities as superstition? Explain to me just how you managed to find our lost ship, how you escaped from enslavement when you should have, most assuredly, perished."

  Ryan could think of only one answer. "I don’t know. I was in the right place at the right time. The Kalmakans said…”

  He stopped. No, he wasn’t going to repeat what the Nitche said.

  “Maybe someone upstairs guided me."

  "Someone upstairs? Are you referring to your religious beliefs - that it was your God that helped you survive? This God guided you to us? What did the Kalmakans say to you? Tell me, Ryan, do you agree with the premise of destiny?"

  "Destiny? Back to predicting events are we? What about you, Tsaurau? What do you believe in?"

  "Religion for many transcends what is known in our paradigm. Beliefs vary in many cultures. To be more specific, most Xeronians believe in an extension of the physical body. We believe we have what you would describe as souls. To believe such unprovable phenomenon points to other possibilities – including destiny and deterministic futures, but I remain undecided. The reality is that prophecies are destiny foretold, and they have proven to be accurate. I have seen them unfold in my lifetime."

  “So you are willing to help me? You can build me a warship?”

  “Yes.”

  "I never told you this before, but Earth is a ripe target. The Xi-Empire already knows where it is.”

  “They have not, as of yet, attacked your home because there are other closer, and more profitable targets to pilfer. Earth is indeed a future prospect. Their current preoccupation with Signus will keep them distracted for a time." Tsaurau’s intention was to relay hope. However, his words left Ryan empty.

  “I have to protect my home.”

  "What I offer is a means to an end. Accept your destiny."

  "And in return?”

  “We ask you to protect our colony, as well."

  Ryan reached out his hand. “Fair enough.”

  The Xeronian grasped his hand tentatively.

  “What’s first?”

  "You will undergo an operation. We will implant a vaskpar."

  “Whoa, what do you mean implant?”

  "We are skilled in the development of biotechnology. This device will be grafted onto your brain constructed from your cells, your DNA. The vaskpar will improve your abilities, increase your learning capability, and allow you access to our... information systems. You once asked what the Par is. You will experience this directly. With this, you will learn at an accelerated rate. It is the only way to obtain the knowledge you need in an acceptable timeframe. There is no other way. The vaskpar is the key to opening your mind."

  "You infer I don't know how to use my brain already?"

  "Precisely, you have untapped potential. We are merely accelerating the pace of natural evolution."

  Ryan shot back an irritated glance. "Can't you do something else, an external connection or something?"

  "There is no need to worry. Xeronians have a vaskpar implanted when they are mere toddlers. It is a routine operation."

  Could Tsaurau be more condescending? But his placid features gave little away of his true intent. Probably didn’t even realize.

  "Comparing to the likes of you, a human brain is not exactly the same thing," Ryan returned, a bit more feebly than he intended. The idea of having his skull cut open and some alien device pasted into his brain was far from appealing.

  "Yes, I must agree. Several tests must be conducted in preparation. The operation will be performed tomorrow. Our medical group's preliminary opinion is very positive."

  "Oh, so you already looked into this, did you?" he said, with as much sarcasm as possible. "If I don't come out of this alive, it was nice knowing you.”

  "I personally assure you that yo
u will be safe. I must confess, I look forward to your presence within the Par."

  “So this is the answer to the mystery of how little you do talk to one another. You guys are using that vaskpar thing, aren’t you?”

  "Yes, we relate beyond the spoken word, utilize the language of the mind."

  “I still don't see how I'm going to learn everything I need to know, even with this device. I mean, you’ve been learning since you were a child. I don’t even know the basics of your science.”

  "You will learn. One lesson at a time. We will teach you what you need to know. We have all the knowledge of our people at our disposal. We can certainly formulate a successful approach to training you. But of course, you will have to work very hard."

  "Naturally."

  He motioned to Ryan with a slight wave to the door. "They are waiting for us."

  * * *

  The implant operation went without a hitch. Ryan had a nasty headache which lasted for days after. Tsaurau stressed the operation was successful, and such things were normal. It provided him little comfort.

  At least it was over, and all his parts were still in working order.

  A soothing voice coaxed him. "The pain will subside. How are you feeling?"

  He opened his eyes slowly and glanced around. There was no one in the room. Am I going nuts?

  "This is Tsaurau, Ryan. I am communicating with you through your vaskpar."

  It all made sense. The sound wasn’t coming from his ears – it was coming from within his mind.

  A weird disassociating feeling swept over him.

  Relax. Everything’s OK.

  A door slid open to reveal Tsaurau's smiling, pale face. He had been practicing his human behavior and his attempts were… unnatural.

  "Tsaurau, if you don’t mind you are scaring the shit out of me."

  The alien resumed his original composure. "Very well."

  "You will be glad to hear that the configuration of your brain is remarkably similar to ours. The implant has achieved its functional potential. It will slowly integrate with your mind. You will soon notice its effect. The vaskpar is an aid in the management of your memory and thought processes, a functional amplifier, so to speak. It speeds up certain biological processes. Your brain will take advantage of such improvements. Humankind will eventually progress to your anticipated state on its own, given a few thousand years."