A Bellicose Dance

by Patrick M J Lozon

  "How soon can it be implemented?" asked Ryan.

  "It is necessary to upgrade the communications systems of all ships, all nodes, that are to be integrated into the network. And we must deploy a large number of communications relay probes."

  "Right," stated Ryan. "We’ll need to outfit all our ships, and since our priority is also improving the surveillance on our enemy, to integrate this system into our probes and relays throughout the network."

  "That," stated Taldig, "requires reconnaissance vessels that are able to move about undetected by the Xi-Fleet. That includes surveilling Xilo Prime Quadrant. Xilo's security tracing perimeters are unparalleled. Given their heightened alert status, I fear we may not be able to successfully infiltrate their system.”

  "The ability to remain undetected by Xi-Empire's tracing scanners is not impossible," commented one of the council members.

  It was Tsaurau's cue, as he was head of sciences. "Yes, such a feat is not impossible. However to move in very close, and maintain position for an effective duration, is difficult. Such a vessel must undergo the continuous scrutiny of continuous scans. We have looked into the problem. Some consider such an achievement to be virtually impossible. We will not surrender so easily. In the meantime, we have discovered an interim solution."

  "What's that?"

  "The actual physical design of the ship plays a large role in this problem. A very small ship, with confined living quarters, can be very successful."

  Wharsoff stepped ahead. "Perhaps we assign these missions to the race best equipped to deal with limited space, as this is a collaborative effort."

  Gor growled. "The Narkusites would readily join our cause, as well as the Domeheads."

  "Yes, you are right my friend," hissed Wharsoff. "Unfortunately, the Narkusites are but a few now. Alas, they are almost extinct - they were one of the first victims of the Xi-Empire. It is said one cannot even find a Narkusite on Ikaire. Their greatest remaining population resides only on Xilo itself, as generational slave descendants."

  "Gor, who are the domeheads?" asked Ryan.

  "The Nuboks," corrected Wharsoff. "They do not appreciate being referred to as domeheads. It is true they are of small stature, and their heads are somewhat domed shaped…”

  “Yes, domeheads,” interrupted Gor.

  Wharsoff hissed. “They would be ideal for travel in a compact vessel."

  "Have we made contact with any of these Nuboks?"

  "We had a very good trading relationship with them," announced Wharsoff with pride, tongue forking out in swooping circles. “But that was before the war.”

  "Good. Wharsoff you are in charge of opening communications with them, and any other known races. I'll want a representative for each one here, on this base, as soon as possible."

  "There remains the question – where shall we find the required starships, if we cannot assume them," Taldig announced.

  Ryan held his tongue, waiting to see if anyone would mention the ships within the Maskaffa.

  "I have had a recent communication from my base," announced Lortay. "We have had 12 more ships brought in, in as many days, by the Showmish Captains. There are promises of many more. Apparently, the civil war has caused an unprecedented retraction of the Xi-Empire fleet patrols. Xi-traders have been left defenseless."

  Ryan expected as much, but he did not want the group to be overly optimistic. The tide of civil war could cease as quickly as it had started.

  "Yes, as I said before, we have an opportunity. I cannot stress enough, however, that this bit of luck will not last indefinitely. I want the word spread. We must become more aggressive. Seize everything and anything we can get our hands on. Then we move on the fringe planets, take what we can there. That means offensive disabling of Xi-colonies."

  He glanced over to Lortay. "Lortay, your communications are not secure. No further transmissions until we upgrade to the Xeronian system. All messages must be sent via messenger until the network is up."

  Tmaurau added, "I have already inspected the Signite ship. If its construction is typical of the other Signite vessels, refitting time for adaptive shielding, improved weapons and drive systems will be minimal. Once I have finished at the Signite base, I will travel to the Brog moon. I am not familiar with their technology, and so, I cannot estimate refitting time on their vessels."

  Tsaurau was quick to dispute his new offer. “Father, are you sure? Perhaps your younger apprentices can…”

  “Nonsense. I shall lead the engineering parties myself. We are at war, my son. If the stress kills me, so be it. I shall die honorably, not as a Xi-Empire slave.”

  The aggressive words shocked the Xeronian crowd. The Par flooded with a disarray of concern. One awareness resounded ever so strongly, gaining momentum: they were at war as war had arrived.

  Ryan pulled away from the Par, as their realization seemed almost painful. He had a hard time understanding them as it was. Their thoughts bleeding into his mind through the Par was disassociating enough. It was all too alien.

  "Thank you, Tmaurau.”

  Eyes turned toward him. Eyes full of concern, and of fear. “Wars are won as battles are won. Battles are won through strategy, logistics, weapons, and most importantly, sheer willpower. Every step a person takes to help this movement is a step toward victory. Even with the Xi-Empire overmatching us in numbers, we still have superior technology, because of our Xeronian allies."

  "This will be a war of skill, as well as technology," Taldig proclaimed. "The training of the new crews will decide the outcome of the battles. They must be trained to be properly prepared."

  "We have a training base set up already, with ample room for more recruits," proposed Lortay. "But we cannot undermine our training program by flooding it with those requiring general combat training. I suggest the Xeronian and Signite tactical experts join forces and design a comprehensive and focused program. Compartmentalize the effort."

  "Your logic is sound. Such a venture will be very effective," Taldig agreed.

  "Which again leads us back to the problem of people," Ryan said, unconsciously verbalizing his thoughts. Attention turned to him. "We must have starship pilots, technicians, people with advanced knowledge and skills. Hard to find. They do not grow on trees."

  "I do not understand the relevance to trees, Ryan,” Tsaurau stated. “This comparison is quite confusing. Botanists are definitely a requirement for managing a ship’s food management system."

  “No. No. Don’t be so damned literal. I just expect we won’t have enough knowledgeable, educated people.”

  "Xeronians have much knowledge and skill. I am sure they can teach and we will learn. Then we will become the teachers," added Wharsoff.

  "We cannot join you in your war vessels. We are not a violent race. We cannot control the machines of war."

  "Do you think you are better than us!" growled Gor.

  "Hold!" yelled Ryan, attempting to squelch the Brog's inflammatory thunder. "The Xeronians are my friends. What you see around you are the only known survivors of their entire race. They cannot afford to lose even one of their people. There are many of us. We do not fear our own extinction if we die. Not even you, Gor, can say that your death will mark the end of the Brogs.”

  “Everyone does their part. The Xeronians are helping. They have offered to train us, to teach us, even provide us the means to protect ourselves and fight back. We are all allies to the core, am I clear?"

  Gor grunted an acknowledgment.

  "Commander," Wharsoff spoke, addressing him respectfully in his newly assigned title. "The problem may not be as bad as you think. The Narkusites, Brogs, Nuboks, and Signites were all once proud space-faring peoples. This is just a logistical matter of coordination of effort. You will find that freeing those enslaved will provide us the resources we require.”

  “Thank you for your optimism, Wharsoff. However, to accomplish this, we need to free our brethren. The next question is - do we have enough space in our two bases to train and fee
d these people?"

  "We do not have any idea of the numbers of individuals. Any estimate would be too premature," suggested Tsaurau.

  "Fine," stated Ryan. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. As of this moment, we start putting our plans into place. Collect your ideas, no matter how small, or unimportant - everything counts. Let's take a break and reconvene shortly."

  Tsaurau approached Ryan. "You have been invited to talk with the Eldest. It is unusual for Tseman to see her subjects out of the council chambers."

  "Yes, I sort of figured that. You're going to have to show me where she is. I'm afraid her location is not within the Par’s records."

  Tsaurau responded with a matter-of-factly, "I know."

  On the way to Tseman's quarters, Tsaurau seemed unusually brisk, his movements stiff and deliberate.

  Something was troubling him.

  Ryan quietly waited for him to divulge his problem, as it was a Xeronian custom to respect one's silence.

  "Ryan, we have found a small inconsistency in your recent medical examination. We need to verify that this aberration truly exists, or if we are experiencing problems with our equipment."

  "What kind of inconsistency?"

  "We may have discovered a degenerative condition within the central muscle controlling your circulatory system - I believe you call this organ the heart."

  "What's wrong with my heart?"

  "I do not wish to worry you. My announcement is unsubstantiated. More tests are required."

  "Really, Tsaurau, I find that hard to believe. Your people's medical examinations are thorough, results of every test reviewed meticulously. This much I know - firsthand. So don't be offended if I find your unsubstantiated findings substantial. What's wrong with my heart?"

  "We believe certain compounds ingested during your period of slavery may be having latent adverse effects on your internal organs, your heart in particular."

  "Can your people do anything about this?"

  "Surgery is required. Re-constructive grafts must be cultured. This takes time and the corrective procedures will have a dramatic effect on your body. You must allot for adequate recovery time."

  "That's the one thing I cannot afford, my friend, time."

  They arrived at the entrance to the Elder Tseman's quarters. Two large, ominous, white and gray-veined granite doors blocked their way. Tsaurau announced their presence over the Par, following Xeronian protocol.

  He looked back at his Earthman friend. "Please reconsider. We believe the degradation is accelerating. You may be in very real peril."

  Ryan found the choice of words amusing. In peril - now that was funny.

  “Don’t worry so much, Tsaurau. After all, the Xi-Empire might take care of this little problem for me.”

  The doors opened, swinging inward into Tseman's quarters without a sound. The room was dark in comparison to the standard Xeronian's. The Elder’s affinity for bright light must dim with age. They stepped in, Tsaurau taking the lead. Ryan gave the area an inspecting sweep with his eyes. The walls were bare rock, the floor, a black gloss of midnight. There were no ornaments, no multi-dimensional art, no appeasing furniture. Only two fountains positioned in the center of the room. Water shot upwards toward the ceiling and fell back down into small wading pools at the base of each fountain. Something was out of place. It took a few moments to register in Ryan's mind. The noise of lapping water was hushed, somehow suppressed to a whisper.

  Seated between the two fountains, on a large, red, velvety pillow, was the familiar outline of Tseman. Her head was tilted back, her face to the ceiling, her eyes closed. She had to be meditating.

  They stood there for minutes. Ryan checked her, then Tsaurau, then her.

  Couldn’t she tell we were here? It would probably be a little too rude to clear his throat or something.

  When she opened her eyes, Ryan almost jumped. She was staring at them, but she didn’t seem to see them. It made Ryan's hair on the back of his neck stand up.

  Then she was back, back to reality from wherever she had been.

  "Join me," she said quietly, beckoning with a wiry limb. "Sit."

  The two lowered themselves onto the hard floor, into a cross-legged position.

  "I have reached out beyond. I have found what I did not wish to find... You intend to claim the mothership within the Maskaffa."

  "Yes," stated Ryan.

  She watched him with those eerie penetrating black eyes. Tsaurau nudged him in the ribs.

  Apparently, his answer was not required.

  She glanced over to Tsaurau. "You cannot claim such a prize without a price." Her old body literally creaked as she shifted her weight on the pillow. "I must repeat a story once told to me when I was a child. It is the truth about the Maskaffa spider. The truth about the Flukken war, beyond the data contained within the libraries."

  "There were once a people called the Flukkens, of the planet Tolum. The Flukkens had achieved many great things in their time, but not without sacrifice. Their science, their technology, their vast knowledge, had all been accelerated prematurely. They obtained wisdom without earning it. You see, the Ancient Ones had befriended them, and with mistaken good intent, had decided to help them. They adopted this race, acted as a sponsor for them, and cleared barriers to allow them relations with other races."

  "Inevitably, internal conflict arose within their peoples. It spread to their colonies like a disease, escalating to the atrocity of war. All Flukkens were pulled into this dissension, as none could see through their own barbarity. Their lives, filled with such passion of what one could only label as religious ideals, drove them with an unbridled insanity. "

  "This war distressed the Ancient Ones. They offered to help in negotiating a peace, to function as arbitrators. A special envoy was sent to Tolum. Part of this small fleet included the vessel we call the mothership."

  "Unfortunately, their arrival was misinterpreted as a threat. The Flukkens, overcome with fear and distrust, struck out at them in reflex. The Ancient Ones retreated to the safety of the Maskaffa Spider. But they did not abandon their purpose. One lone ambassador returned to Tolum.

  The Flukkens, realizing what they had done, were profusely apologetic. That was the foothold needed to allow their ambassador to begin the negotiations."

  She stopped, out of wind, her breathing short and raspy. Ryan went to stand up, to offer help, but she held up her hand, motioning him back down. "I am very old, Ryan James. Time takes its toll, the body loses strength, it cannot be stopped."

  She continued on, her breathing labored but stable. "The Flukkens were accomplished biologists, in such a context that all of their other technologies paled in comparison. A Flukken researcher, a very brilliant and confused individual, led his team to develop a new weapon - a new and incredibly dangerous life-form. It exceeded their expectations in its ability to kill, including their ability to control it."

  Her dark eyes roamed, mesmerizing, beckoning. Ryan could feel himself being pulled into them, back to a world of death. Visions of pain, confusion, fear - so great it wrenched at him, jerking into one twisted, sickening moment. He looked away.

  "Yes, so you see, since they were not able to control this creature, it spread like a plague throughout their planet. Reproducing at an incredible rate, its offspring infiltrated every continent. There was nowhere to retreat. This weapon did not choose sides, did not follow direction, it knew only how to kill and consume, and so it slaughtered ceaselessly, decimating the population, unchecked."

  “Truly a tragedy,” Ryan acknowledged.

  "The greatest tragedy of all was that their civil war had finally ceased. A peace agreement had been successfully brokered by the Ancient Ones. They had already initiated the first phase of operational peace through the disarmament and reduction of war vessels. At the time of the breakout, warships of the Flukken fleet were being taxied into the Maskaffa Spider for decommissioning. The creature managed to find its way into space in very short time, infesting the e
scaping vessels from Tolum, which unknowingly carried the deadly cargo. Panicked captains issued distress calls, and in turn, their rescue ships became infested. The creatures spread from ship to ship, eventually reaching Ancient Ones’ vessels. An emergency force was dispatched to their aid. The Ancient Ones’, regiment arrived in time to rescue some of the Flukken population, and some of their crew members, but they were too late for most. It is rumored that there are ships adrift inside the Maskaffa Spider that contain these creatures to this very day."

  "Tseman, correct me if I am wrong, but that must be well over a thousand years ago," commented Ryan. "They can't still be alive."

  "Time is a strange thing. A thousand years to some is but a blink of an eye to others. Who is to say for sure?"

  A chill ran up his spine. This spooky talk made him uncomfortable.

  "Why so secretive?"

  "Knowledge can be dangerous. From stories come rumors, from rumors, come seekers. Things are often better forgotten.”

  A long silence followed. The old Xeronian woman shifted her weight slowly, her eyes now dimmed with sadness. "What you must understand, is that millions of lives fell prey to these creatures. The Ancient Ones attempted to save them, but it was in vain. They found Tolum teeming with these monsters, and all native life obliterated. The creatures had resorted to feeding upon themselves. The Ancients, in disgust, incinerated the surface of Tolum, eliminating any threat of further contamination, but in the process making Tolum inhabitable."

  Ryan glanced over to Tsaurau. The Xeronians face was typically placid, but he could sense the alien had withdrawn within himself. He had even removed himself from the Par. Ryan understood why. It would not do to share such horrors with others.

  He contemplated the grim tale. A whole planet wiped out - like Xeronia, lost with so many lives. It was unfathomable.

  “But you said they saved the Flukkens didn’t they, and what of their colonies?”

  “Yes, some of the population survived, but their hardships were not over for them. Their colonies suffered diseases and catastrophes. Death followed them with an insatiable desire. Their population faded soul after soul. Within a few centuries, a once proud flourishing people were reduced to only memories.”