A Bellicose Dance

by Patrick M J Lozon

  The suit statistics on the wrist panel checked A-OK. He twisted on his helmet. The full readout display came on above his eyes. The interior air storage was reading full, good for about four hours uncharged. Direct oxygen injection tanks would last an extended six hours, but he opted to use standard air supply. He hurried to the airlock, stopping just outside of it to check a storage bin.

  "Gem, what key do I need to open this hatch?"

  "No# 188590."

  "Got it."

  He stepped into the airlock and triggered the controls: gravitation off, auto-sterilization on. He checked his chronometer, which read in Xeronian time but had roughly the same concepts of seconds and minutes. The actual time durations were most likely very different than Earth time, but it was all relative in the end.

  Preparation had taken him about seven minutes. He had to move faster. He felt his body begin to float as the effect of the gravitation plates faded. Gem had already pressurized the life tube extension to match the slaver’s. Sensors indicated the interior of the ship was at about three atmospheres and dropping. Ryan opened the Dancing Queen's airlock and pushed himself down onto the other ship's hull. The transition made him a little queasy but he remembered his training and fought down the nausea. His body would adjust. He glanced at the foreign airlock. "Gem, where's the hatch control!"

  "To your right, approximately one meter, a discolored plate, flush with the hull."

  Ryan found it and turned the keypad deployment control and attached the decryption key. The small black box went through at least 10,000 electromagnet signatures before it found the lock. The ready button blipped happily. This was a much better solution than blowing the lock.

  One final glance at the helmet visual display. Weapons check: OK. Ryan crouched, rifle ready, and slammed the key. The exterior hatch door slid open. Air from inside the slavership rolled into the tube, tainted with the wisps of white smoke.

  Ryan peered into the ship. The smoke was entering through a leak in the lock's interior door. A large alloy beam had torn through an interior bulkhead and ripped part of the hatch off its hinges. He could see a weak light shining through the opening. He pocketed the key and stepped into the alien ship. Despite the damage, surprisingly, the gravity plates were still functioning.

  "I estimate about 1.75 Earth gravity," Gem reported.

  "Little late in your announcement, aren't you, Gem? Go ahead and close the Queen's airlock."

  The smoke was thick inside the ship. It filled the top half of the corridor. He crouched low.

  "Heavy smoke, probably an internal fire very close to this proximity. Moving on." His rambling was more for record than anything else. Gem was able to pick up all his feeds, including his vaskpar signal.

  He rolled out into the center of the corridor, checking both directions quickly. He remembered studies on this class of vessel. Bits and pieces all useful, yet elusive. He never felt sure. He discussed the direction of the slaver holding bays with Gem. "Up two levels and down amidships about 75 meters, right?"

  "I agree. However, tracing scans indicate the concussion from the previous explosions may have compromised the integrity of level three. Recommend you use the maintenance shafts through to level two."

  "On my way."

  Ryan wasted no time in moving. He was currently on deck five. He found the maintenance shafts and jumped down the null-gravity tube to deck four, rolled, crouched. Again, no enemy fire.

  Deck three, rolled, crouched. Nothing.

  He was moving to deck two when he heard a noise. He triggered the sound amplifier within the helmet. Xilozak voices, 20, maybe 30 meters away. He pushed himself off the wall with all of his strength and barrelled down the rest of the way, landing on the deck feet first, half crouched with rifle ready. There were three of them, directly ahead. All had their attention focused on a small wall panel - an escape pod control. One of the crew glanced up, saw him and reached for his blaster. Ryan shot quickly, carefully, taking down all three in a split second, but not before catching the look of grotesque surprise on their dying faces.

  No others were visible down the corridor. He ran, hugging close to the wall, branched to the right and ran down to the next corner. Two more of the crew saw him and ran toward him. He rolled and leveled two blaster shots into their bellies. They went down ungracefully.

  One more right and the hall ended with a sealed door.

  "Gem, is there an override?"

  "Behind the third panel to the right."

  Ryan ripped it open, plugged in the access command, and stepped back. Nothing happened. He glanced back nervously. "It's not opening!"

  "The doors are magnetically sealed. The circuit has to be closed in order to break the electromagnet override."

  "Then I'll fuse the sonofabitch!"

  He set his rifle to wide dispersal and blasted the panel. With the seal broke, the door slid partly open, then stopped. A small breeze began pulling a stream of smoke-laden air past the doors. He looked through the opening. The emergency lighting was intermittent; the corridor was almost completely dark. Smoke drifted down into the darkness in a lazy current.

  "Looks like we have a small amount of decompression going on, Gem."

  He grabbed the door and forced it open. It gave easily. He moved in cautiously. Markings on the walls again looked familiar. He was in the holding cell throughway. The corridor was lined with sealed doors on both sides. Each had a tag stuck on it with Xilozak inscriptions. He inspected the alien writing by the light of his helmet.

  "Can you understand this chicken scratch, Gem?"

  "I cannot decipher the form, although I am familiar with Xilozak language."

  "Great. I don't want to just open these doors. A slave may think I’m a Xilozak and attempt to kill me."

  "Do you wish to leave them?"

  "No. Maybe there’s a master switch somewhere." Ryan looked around.

  "Possibly, at the entranceway," hinted Gem.

  There it was, near the door. A large yellow switch. An inscription was posted in red below it.

  "The Xilozak inscription reads: DANGER DO NOT OPEN!" warned Gem.

  "Thanks, Gem. But I can actually make that out."

  He readied his rifle and pulled the switch. All of the doors slid open at once, one cell spewed out an atmosphere of yellowish-orange colored gas. Ryan glanced at the suit's filtration reading. It was dispersed enough that it wouldn’t kill any human slaves but breathing it would not be pleasant.

  "Looks like most of them are oxygen breathers," he commented to Gem.

  "Yes, very strange."

  "Why?"

  "Because there are considerably few races that breathe oxygen, most require a higher density of helium or nitrogen, some even hydrogen."

  "Sounds like we hit the jackpot." He proceeded to the first open door. There were half a dozen reptilian creatures, many looked quite sick.

  "Gem, I've seen these things before."

  "Yes, they are Showmish. They have unusually powerful eyesight and highly respected cognitive powers."

  Ryan proceeded on to the next door. Empty. The following one was blocked by the bulk of a hulking, hairy creature with black sectioned tentacles. Ryan stepped back quickly.

  "I've seen this thing before, as well."

  "It's a Brog. We are very limited on information about these creatures. One point of warning, they are extremely ferocious and possess superior strength."

  "Yes, I’ve seen that before."

  He glanced across the corridor, into the opposite cell, all the time making sure he kept a level aim on the Brog. But the creature did not move. The other cell was dark, and he could not see within, but something was there. He moved closer, turning his helmet lamps to full power. Humans! A group of them huddled together in the darkness.

  He could feel the Brog watching him, but still, it had not left its cell.

  That was a good sign.

  He stepped into the cell with the humans. The room was filthy with floors covered in vomit an
d excrement. The visual display in his helmet showed the temperature to be 105 degrees, humidity at 80 %. He was glad to be in his suit.

  They moved away from him quietly, pressing themselves up against the wall. A quick scan of faces - Aviore was not one of them. Ryan's small amount of hope died.

  "Captain, there are indications that an internal fire is approaching the main power conduit. The magneto containment still contains antimatter. It is in jeopardy. I suggest you rush."

  "Gem, run a scan, look for any other humans on this ship, exclude this group. I need to know if Aviore could be here."

  He decided to start with English and flipped on his outside speaker. "I have come to rescue you. There is not much time, so gather up your sick and come with me."

  Some seemed to understand him, as they started to get up. One of the men spoke to him in English. "Are you from Earth?"

  "No time. Move now, or we will all be dead." Ryan stepped out, and they followed. The Brog was gone. It had moved to the end of the corridor. "Stay close to the wall." A surge of intense vibration shook the deck.

  "My scans reveal no other humans aboard," reported Gem, "and deck four just lost all atmospheric pressure. Deck two is in danger of immediate decompression."

  "We'll need an alternative route. There should be an airlock just down this corridor."

  "Affirmative. I will detach and reseal to that lock. Estimated time is five minutes."

  "Good, get moving and run the flex-tube to the cargo hold airlock. I'll have company."

  Ryan checked the other cells and found the remaining empty. The slaver probably unloaded most of its cargo on its last stop. He made his way back quickly. Some of the Showmish had moved out to see what was happening, but most remained where they were, too sick to move. He approached them cautiously.

  "Gem, set up Showmish translation through my external speaker."

  "Done."

  "You must collect your sick and follow me if you want to live."

  The Showmish language echoed through the air with a lyrical string of tones. The aliens took a moment to acknowledge him. With a nod, they began to prepare to follow him, the healthy hoisting the sick to their feet. The two groups were ready. They looked to him expectantly, waiting for his next command.

  Ryan started down the corridor beckoning them to follow. They followed behind as quickly as possible. "Gem, what's your status?"

  "The ship has been relocated. I have just established a seal. You must open the airlock from inside."

  They arrived shortly after. Ryan searched the wall for the control panel and activated it. The panel lights flickered, then died.

  "Damn it!" He banged it with the butt of his rifle. It lit up. He triggered the sequence and hoped the lock still had enough power to operate. It was common practice for each lock to have its own backup circuits, but this one was obviously on its last legs. The outside hatch opened slowly. A minor pressure change shook the flex-tube, but the seal held.

  "Gem, we look OK. I'm opening the inside hatch." The inside airlock door clicked and began to slide. The power drain dimmed the panel's lights.

  "A large heat signature is emanating from within the main power conduit. You have very limited time, Captain."

  "I know, I know."

  The door was open enough. He signaled to the group to start through. They were caught off guard by the absence of gravity, but they somehow managed to keep moving through to the Dancing Queen's cargo hold, mostly by sheer momentum.

  "Gem, I have to go back. The Brog may be able to understand me."

  "You may not make it!" warned Gem.

  “Just close the lock and wait.”

  Ryan ran, heart pounding, breathing fast. He passed the Brog cell and slid to a stop. Another Brog, smaller than the first, lay motionless in the middle of the cell. He stepped in, reached down and touched it. Was it alive or dead? Watching it briefly, he noticed an almost imperceptible movement. It was breathing, but very shallowly. It must be close to death. He tried to move it, but it was too heavy. A growl from behind him caught his attention just in time to see a waist-thick tentacle swinging down at his head. His reflexes saved him. The months of combat drilling took over. He rolled and he came up with his rifle leveled at the midsection of the Brog.

  But he did not shoot.

  Surprisingly, it reached down and purred at the other Brog, running its tentacles through its fur.

  It must be its mate!

  A shiny glint of metal flickered in another of its tentacles. It was the control panel of the escape pod.

  This is no damned animal, this is an intelligent creature!

  He lowered his rifle and walked around the beast to the doorway, hugging close to the wall. He could feel it watching him under all that hair, but made no further effort to attack him. It just sat there and mewed. He stood at the entrance and beckoned at it to follow. No reaction. He waved again and still, it continued to ignore him. Finally, fed up, he re-entered the room, approached the smaller Brog, bent down and ever so slowly, tried to pick it up.

  It growled, and he jumped back. He had seen these things in action before and was not about to get killed by one.

  Surprisingly, it seemed to have understood. In one deft movement, it wrapped its tentacles around the smaller Brog and hoisted it over its shoulder as if it were a mere matchstick. Another tremor vibrated through the ship.

  "An explosion has breached the hull on your level. Fortunately, your corridor's emergency hatches held. However, the primary power conduits are collapsing," reported Gem.

  "On my way." He rushed out into the hallway. To his relief, the Brog and its precious cargo followed him. The way to the airlock was still open. He ran as fast as his legs would take him. The Brog stayed on his heels effortlessly, unhindered by its tremendous burden.

  “Gem, open sesame.”

  The grav plates gave out with a sickening lurch just before they reached the lock. Ryan's momentum kept him moving toward the airlock. With a few small adjustments off the side of the hall, he flew right through, without breaking his neck in the process. The Brog was close behind, managing the null gravity without concern, adjusting his course with small nudges from his many powerful tentacles, which spanned the width of the corridor, it barely fit through the tube.

  Ryan arrived at the Queen's brightly-lit cargo bay, half expecting to be slammed face first into the floor, ready to roll. That didn't happen. Gem had lowered the grav plates to a minimum. The Brogs sailed through a second later. The bay was a confusion of twisting, turning bodies.

  "Gem, gradually increase the gravity to normal."

  Ryan closed the locks and activated the sterilization jets. They soaked the inside of the life tube along its length. He brought the pressure down to slightly above full vacuum within the airlock and broke the seal of the life tube. Sterilizing droplets blew out into space, and the tube contracted in. Satisfied, he closed the outside hatch. His feet, now firmly placed on the floor, began to feel the weight of his body return. A quick glance back showed that the slaves were sorting themselves out, reorienting to what is considered ‘up’ and ‘down’ - a meaningless concept where gravity does not exist – although its effect was increasing.

  "Gem, release the grav lines and move out to a safe range."

  He headed to the cargo bay's interior airlock. The decontamination sequence started automatically when he entered. In a second he was through. Within a minute he was in the pilot's chair.

  "Gem, display sensor status on tactical."

  "Tracing sensors indicate no other vessel within scanning range."

  "Good. Calculate a course to Xeronia. We have to get these people help, some of them are very sick. We'll move out on standard random evasive, I don't want anyone second-guessing our destination."

  "And I need simultaneous Showmish, Earth-English, and Brog translation, Gem.”

  “I do not know Brog, but I will make an attempt.”

  “Good enough.” He flipped on the ship's intercom system. "Ev
eryone please remain calm. For those who understand, we are heading for a safe place and will be accelerating. Please stay seated on the floor and avoid moving around."

  "Gem, I think it would be worthwhile to retrieve their computer core. Do you think it's still intact?"

  "The bulkhead behind the main bridge is where the design specifications indicate its original position. However, most of that bulkhead has been destroyed.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Remind me to check where the core is before I attack our next slaver, OK?”

  “I’ve been scanning the condition of the ship. It is deteriorating rapidly. The main auxiliary power circuits are nearly drained. An antimatter breach is imminent."

  "I'm sure the residual magnetic signature will hold up a little while longer, Gem."

  "Nevertheless, I would suggest sending the robot for retrieval. Core extraction is not within a human's capability."

  "Fine."

  Ryan brought the Dancing Queen around and positioned it a few hundred meters from where the slavership's bridge used to be, which was now an exposed jagged, gaping hole.

  “Well, is it still there?”

  “Yes,” replied Gem. “It is intact.”

  Ryan ran down to the machine shop and yanked out a box about the size of a small storage chest.

  “Wake up, Ziggy.”

  The unit sprang to life. The legs, arms, and antenna extended out. It twitched and turned as it went through a self-diagnosis check then rose up on three long legs. Ziggy was now looking down on its human master. The robot was gangly, with three long arms and an even longer set of legs. With a saucer-shaped head and a short, cylindrical body, it looked somewhat like a spider.

  Ryan smiled. Quite a creation.

  "Time to go to work, old boy."

  The robot's single red eye blinked back at him.

  "I need you to retrieve something from the other ship - the memory core. You can exit via the pilot’s airlock. Gem, download the information to Ziggy."

  Ryan headed back to the cockpit, Ziggy at his heels, hydraulics and motors humming. The robot exited through the airlock and was out in space a moment later, his small burner unit navigating him towards the ship.