A Bellicose Dance

by Patrick M J Lozon

  It was, of course, a gamble to spread resources so thin over so many conquered. He knew the risks. Xilo herself had already paid the price of constant war with its depleted resources and despondent environment. But one cannot gain by standing still. If Xilo cannot be rebuilt, the Empire will move to another world. It is a shame that so many lacked his vision.

  The Zuvoks were constantly giving him friction over his mandates. The fleets were not spread too thin - Signus was evidence of that. Other undiscovered worlds will be the same. They will all fall under the supreme power of this galaxy.

  There had been only one race, and that had been so long ago. One race of so many conquered, that had technology greater than the Xi-Empire. For all of their abilities, they too were weak. They had lost their ability to protect themselves. The Xeronians had failed miserably. Their technology, superior as it was, did little to save them.

  Xilo would reign. His plans were in motion.

  * * *

  Before Zorlog left Xilo, he met with the three Tarvoks. The symbol he bore carried an all too obvious message. They were openly shocked. He reassured his three empathizers that his loyalties had not swayed and quickly changed the topic by demanding an inspection of the cargo. The ships were stocked full of a special chemical - a powder discovered by a trader in the Corvelock quadrant. A race called the Brogs used it as a drug to incite hallucinations, but to Zorlog, as to all Xilozaks, it had a much more impressive potential. He left instructions to release it slowly into Xilo's water supply. It would take time, but there was no hurry. There were other wheels that needed to be set in motion.

  The Empirical fleet left Xilo later that day, the Cruiser Bzak in the lead under the command of Zuvok Zorlog.

  * * *

  The ancient slaver Joahack plowed through the emptiness of space, its crew a collection of the vilest and lowest of Xilozaks. The majority had no interest in playing the part of an active, responsible crew. That was one of the reasons the small blip on the remote sensors was not noticed until it was almost upon them.

  The ship was slow, but armed heavily. Its Tarvok was a miserable old Xilozak called Gick. He hated his crew, hated his ship, but enjoyed his trade. They were enroute to the planet Kryle, which was known for returning a healthy profit for slaves. His cargo was almost played out and he had a large number of credits to show for it. It would soon be time for another collection run.

  "Tarvok, we've got a tracing of an unidentified vessel. Almost in weapons range."

  Bick turned his attention to the tracing Avok.

  "What! Will you learn to keep your eyes on that damn thing? What's the heading?" He seemed only faintly impressed as he chewed on a piece of razum.

  "Platzick quadrant, away from us."

  "Platzick quadrant?" He snorted and spit the slimy mess onto the deck plating. It could only be one of two possibilities, another slaver, or another pirate. No one else flies through the Platzick quadrant, at least none with half a brain. Any non-pirate ship would be run down, stripped and have its crew enslaved or blasted into space dust before it reached the outer edge of the quadrant.

  "Get a fix on her. I want to know what type it is. Maybe it's that low-life Zerguna. He owes me a few cases of Beryllium." He spat again. "I'm tired of chewing this scummy razum. It has a texture of snot and turns your fangs brown." Gick had a bad habit of constant complaining.

  "Got a lock on it, Tarvok. Ain't nothin’ I ever seen before. She's an unknown. Can't be a trader - too small."

  "She got any guns?" grunted Bick, biting off another chunk of razum from a bar that had been stuck in his arm pocket.

  "Can't tell. Doesn't look like it."

  "On the screen."

  A computer-enhanced version of the ship rotated on the viewscreen. Gick squinted at the image. His eyesight wasn't as good as it used to be. "There, at the front, maybe two main cannon. Ya see them?" asked his second officer.

  "Yeah, maybe, could be, but I think it's some rich Torzon’s yacht."

  "I say we move on it," urged his weapons Avok.

  Gick sat back in his chair, thinking. His mind was not as sharp as it used to be, either. He glanced over at the Avok. "Have'm primed and hot by the time we're in range. Which shouldn’t be long.”

  He passed a threatening glare to the tracing Avok. “We don’t lose eyes on that, you hear?”

  “Helm, let's go say hello."

  The old ship clanked and groaned at the sudden course change. Gick had to yell over the increased background noise to his Charvok. "Get those lazy son-of-grastias armed and ready in the airlock!"

  The Charvok rushed off the bridge yelling out the names of the elected volunteers. The noise within the ship became worse, drowning out the hurling of curses the Tarvok was making to his crew. Red-faced and angry, he spit several times on the slimy bridge deck. The ship was too slow for his liking.

  The weapons Avok yelled over, "Five charged and ready. I got a problem with number six: overload. I told you we had to revamp these things last time we grounded!"

  That started Gick cursing again. The bridge crew was able to make out the odd phrase, although they kept quiet. They did not want to get the Tarvok too riled up.

  * * *

  Ryan had noticed the old slaver long ago. He'd slowed down almost to point-five subluc in order to investigate. After the initial scan, he knew it wasn't the ship he was looking for. On the verge of jumping back into acroluc, he changed his mind. There would be others Tsaurau had warned him. Yes, he had noticed the markings on its scarred hull. He knew it was too old to be a war vessel, too streamlined to be a freighter, and by the looks of it, it was capable of atmospheric descent. Everything pointed to one conclusion. Ryan pulled back on the burner controls and brought the Dancing Queen around.

  This was a slaver.

  "Gem, we're close enough now. Do a full scan."

  "Xi-Empire: Model 815a-SEN Trader Class, manufactured: Xilo."

  It may not be Aviore's ship, but it was a slaver nonetheless, and that meant there were slaves aboard. The scan showed evidence of a variety of different life-forms present.

  "Pull up a composite tactical display and rotate. Highlight the vulnerable areas. I want to cripple the drive system but keep the ship intact."

  The holographic image appeared, projected by the 3D monitors that doubled as 2D displays in standard mode. The trajectories fully demonstrated that the slaver was changing course in an attempt to intercept. Even though he had seen it almost a parsec back, it had taken this long to respond to his arrival.

  "Well Gem, looks like we're going to have company."

  He manually thumbed the controls and the wing plating pulled back to expose all four main cannon. "So let's roll out the red carpet."

  "They will be in firing range within two minutes," said Gem, "Do you wish to exercise evasive maneuvers?"

  "No, no. We'll remain on course. We'll wait for them. I don't want them to get skittish on us."

  At T-minus 52 he extended upper and lower turrets. The light duty cannon emerged from the hull, encased in small hemispheres of clear quartz, which exposing empty gunner's seats inside. They were set to fully automatic, tied directly into Gem’s main control systems.

  Ryan double-checked the main cannon stats. Although they looked identical, they were two distinct sets. The first pair on each side, closest to the fuselage, were used for long-range sustained firing, where accuracy and power were most important. The second set was used for short burst impulse firing - especially useful in close quarters, as they have a wider dispersal field and therefore, a shorter range. What they lacked in accuracy they gained in penetrating power, as their rapid on-off successive pulses made quick work of any enemy ship's shielding, and inevitably its hull plating. Each of the cannon were connected into the ship's main cooling system, allowing them to fire indefinitely without danger of shut down due to overheating, unlike the smaller turrets.

  "T-minus 10 and counting."

  "Now let's see what you got you bastard," Ry
an said under his breath and reached for his controls.

  * * *

  "Ten more seconds and we're in range, Tarvok," reported the tracing Avok. Gick acknowledged with a spit, horking out a cluster. He then leaned down to grab the attention of his helm Avok, making no intention to hide his disdain. "Can't you make this gist-pile go any faster?" he growled.

  "You won’t like this, Gick. Think we found six cannon," the tracing Avok announced.

  "Then this is sure as Zagnite, not a yacht! Lock onto its main burner and blast it."

  "Locked and firing..."

  The Joahack's cannon discharged, and low, powerful vibrations echoed throughout the ship. Gick, peering into the viewscreen, squinted his eyes in preparation for the tell-tale flash, but nothing happened.

  "What are you doing, ya missed!" he yelled.

  "It's gone, Tarvok!" exclaimed the weapons Avok in disbelief.

  The tracing Avok yelled out excitedly. "Got it! He's faster than anything I've ever seen. Coming around the port side. He's gonna fire!"

  "Brace yourselves!" yelled Gick, and it all broke loose. The slaver's main turrets disappeared in a fiery explosion. The concussion tore through the ship, creating cracks along the outer hull like shattered glass. Any of the crew that were unlucky enough to be in the wrong area died instantly, as atmosphere exploded into the vacuum of space. The old slaver’s automated systems responded. Hatches slammed shut attempting to maintain the environmental systems. The Joahack was losing internal pressure like a sieve.

  Gick glanced over to see weapons control abandoned. Tactical display showed the auxiliary turrets were still engaged, but their blasts were merely glancing off the strange alien ship. Gick staggered over to the weapons control, canceled the auto-targeting and manually redirecting a concentrated wall of fire at the alien ship. He watched in desperation, hoping to see signs of a crippling hit. But the alien ship didn’t even falter. It maneuvered through his blasts with a mocking ease and responded by methodically obliterating each turret, effectively crippling the last of the Joahack's remaining offensive systems. A whole new series of explosions began from deep within the stern. The bridge was now a smoking mass of confusion, sirens, and fires. Panels and conduits broke loose and shot out in countless directions, throwing deadly pieces of jagged shrapnel across the bridge, and through the crew. Gick, now thrown to the floor, felt the hull of the ship shudder from what he knew to be fatal explosions. The Joahack was done.

  A few functioning emergency lights cut through the air which was now thick with smoke and reeking of ozone. A dreadful quiet settled upon the bridge.

  "Is it gone! Zigot take me! Tell me it's gone! He got back to his feet, wincing as he put weight on his left leg, it was bleeding profusely, gouged deep to the bone by a flat piece of shrapnel, which protruded out with a bitter blood-covered edge. He grabbed and yanked. He could feel the muscle tear as he worked it out. The taste of copper filled his mouth, and his vision blurred.

  "Tarvok!" The weapons Avok yelled out, still alive but half buried in a pile of debris, a large bloody gash along the side of his skull. His body twisted under the wreckage, barely visible through the sparse light.

  "Tracing! Tracing I need a report! Where’s the ship! Is it gone?"

  The weapons Avok continued on with his gibberish. "I hit it dead center, I did. I swear. I couldn't stop it." His voice diminished to a whisper.

  Gick wrestled his way toward him.

  "How did it shoot through our shields, Tarvok? It was too far away..."

  “Don’t mind about that now, we need to get out of here. Save your strength.”

  Gick started tossing off the wreckage, ignoring his bad leg. He didn't notice until he worked in close that the Avok had died. He cursed under his breath and scanned the bridge, his chest heaving from the effort. His tracing Avok entangled into the navigation panel, a blackened lump of coal, the helm Avok was on the deck, run through by a metal rod. The rest were gone or dead. Only he remained.

  He dragged himself over to the helm control. Some power still remained, possibly just enough to raise the shield plating. The tracing scanners were all offline, most likely destroyed. He had to inspect what was left of his ship, had to see if the threat was still out there.

  The shielding plates squealed and scraped, slowly grinding back into a retracted position, using up what little remained of the reserve of power. The massive shielding plates came to rest with one final exhausted heave. The sharp, white light of distant stars pierced through the transparent quartz panels.

  Gick limped forward to the edge of the quartz to look down over his ship. The bridge was perched up from the main fuselage, allowing for a clear view all the way across to the stern. The Joahack's destruction was thorough: all defensive turrets gone, the main cannon a tangled web of interconnecting refuse. In many places, the outer hull was breached, like it had been shredded apart by some giant beast. Red and purple flames danced outward from the holes, feeding off what was left of the ship's escaping atmosphere.

  A high-pitched whistle caught his attention. He watched a single hairline crack in the meter-thick quartz creep its way up from the floor and split into hundreds more, fanning out in all directions. It would hold a few gadii longer, but no more.

  He was finished and knew it.

  He bit off one more piece of razum and chewed it vigorously. Then spit a blackened glob at the growing crack in the quartz, and proceeded to laugh.

  A movement caught his eye, out amongst the cover of the stars: a small dot. It grew larger, transforming into a string of lights, silhouetting the shape of the alien ship.

  The enemy.

  The vessel slowed as it approached the bridge and stopped so close he swore he could reach out and touch it. He squinted, straining his old reptilian eyes, searching for a clue. He found it: symbols inset along the vessel's hull. There was an answer to this mystery, an important clue to who his aggressor was. Being the Tarvok of a slaver, he had come to know many languages. It was a hobby, of which he had very few. He scoured his memory for a remnant of knowledge. He knew he had seen the symbols before. He had made one of the slaves scrawl it into his log before he had killed it -an anthropoid, a frail thing. What was it they called themselves... Narkasite? No, it was from a fringe planet, a relatively new find. Yes, that's why he remembered it. The creature had called his planet Earth. Zorlog had already staked it for royalties, for all the good it would do him. Such news travels quickly. Any slaver worth his salt has to be quick on a new find. He had made it a point to pass through there once already and poach a few slaves. It was an insignificant planet populated by a weak race. He had never seen any evidence of such technology during his raids.

  The black shape of the alien ship's main cannon moved ever so slightly. Gick's eyes opened wide.

  The cannon blast, hotter than the inside of the sun, turned his realization, along with the bridge into searing gas.

  * * *

  Ryan looked down at the targeting image. Perfect shot. A shadow of movement from within the dying vessel helped him align and lock the mark.

  One must keep in practice, and not rely solely upon the automatic systems.

  He was pleased with himself. It was a clean kill. Strangely, he felt no remorse. He felt nothing at all. If he'd seen the Xilozak Captain standing there, alone on the bridge, it wouldn't have mattered. Inside him, the old fury was calmed, quenched by an all too familiar endearing, bottomless cold. He shook himself, scattering the forbidding feeling, and let his worries and fears return to engulf him back into his humanity.

  He checked the tracing images. The next step wouldn't be easy. He had to board and quickly. He took the Dancing Queen around the derelict, looking for an intact airlock, and found one amidships. He positioned his ship against the Joahack's hull, deployed the grav lines, and guided her carefully onto the airlock. The life tube extended and bonded to the slaver’s hull with a thud.

  Moving quickly, he pulled on his light-armored suit and helmet.

&nbs
p; The suit was an engineering work of art. The helmet had a vaskpar control interface, with tongue depressor switch controls at chin level serving as a manual backup. The full readout display above his eyes gave the suit's statistics, it was also accompanied by vaskpar feed. The helmet provided a full 270 degree unobstructed view. Inlaid within the back of the suit was an air filtration processor that could synthesize any compatible alien atmosphere and produce breathable air for its user. Reserve air supply was kept in hollowed armored pockets throughout the suit, serving multiple purposes of suit pressurization, joint freedom, and expanded armor plating, at the same time remaining unobtrusive. It was designed for multiple purposes in both null and full gravity combat, with key areas protected, including an intricate exoskeleton of interconnecting joints that could dissipate a focused strike across the body. With respect to all of its armor, the suit was still lightweight, somewhat comparable to a pair of heavy heat-reflective coveralls.

  He dressed quickly, mentally mustering up a checklist.

  Weapons.

  He could feel his heart pounding and his hands slippery with sweat, his mind and body lost in anticipation. He threw open the small arms cabinet, grabbing his blaster and holster. It fit snugly around his waist. He decided to take the disrupter sword as well. It would prove very useful for close contact fighting where shooting a blaster could rupture the hull and kill everyone, including himself. He threw the scabbard around his neck and let it hang on his back. Last but not least, he grabbed the impulse rifle. It was a heavy weapon, but also his weapon of choice. Powerful, with the potential to be quite lethal even in hand-to-hand combat, where it could be used as a melee weapon.