A Bellicose Dance

by Patrick M J Lozon

  A small rumble of voices filled the room. General Lortay spoke up. "I assume the plan is to relocate the base personnel to this ship."

  "Yes, we have the capacity. What's the population at the base now?"

  "We're at almost fifty thousand. But we'll be pulling from that number to crew all mobilized vessels."

  Ryan turned to Tmaurau. "We must section off areas of the ship to accommodate different environments. You'll be in charge of the modifications. Wharsoff, you handle the political end and make sure everybody is comfortable with their designated locations."

  "What about the damaged and seized ships?" asked one of the captains.

  "Any work must be done enroute. Put them in tow or dock them in our bays. Assess their value. Destroy what we can’t use."

  "Now, onto other matters. A number of times during this battle I was monitoring the engagements of your ships with the enemy. Although we won, I cannot help but ask myself why. All of us have a long way to go before we're ready to engage the enemy again."

  The crowd shuffled uneasily. They did not take lightly the Commander's criticism.

  "Your strategy was shit. Reactions delayed. Coordination sloppy. If we hadn't the advantage of this ancient technology working in our favor all of us would have been floating in space or stuck in a slave barge by now!" Ryan was almost yelling at the top of his lungs. The blood in his temples pounded. The rage was building inside, as it had so many times before, and he was losing control.

  His eyes scanned the crowd to meet Kanook's. The second officer looked back impassively, devoid of any emotion, totally controlled.

  That’s the way he should be now. What the hell was wrong with him anyway? He can’t let his emotions rule him.

  Calm down.

  Breathe.

  A moment passed. No one said a word.

  Ryan resumed. "Now since I have that out of my system. I suggest we start doing something about this problem. Once we get underway, every last one of you is signed up for mandatory training. It’s time we all learned how to fight effectively as a unit.”

  He looked over and found a soot-covered figure with a ripped uniform. "Dorftal! You were too far ahead, separated from the main fleet. You're lucky you made it out alive.”

  The tired Captain looked to the floor.

  “Just the same, by God it’s good to see your ugly face again.”

  The room filled with laughter.

  “Consider yourself reassigned to one of the base ships – destroyer class."

  "I don't believe I'm fit..."

  "Don't bother arguing with me. You'll only get me more pissed off. I need you in command."

  He directed his attention back to the group. "Every last one of you heed my words. Out here battles are not fought with your heart. No matter how badly you want to win, it simply doesn't matter what you want. Battles are fought with cunning and foresight, anticipation and strategy." He tapped a finger to his temple. "Manoeuvres and plans have to be executed precisely. If not, mistakes are made, and every mistake cost lives. Your troops depend on you. They won't trust your judgment if you lead them into battle without that vaguest idea of how you will win. When you make a mistake – learn from it. Many of you have already lost against Xi-Empire at least once. How many mistakes did you make then? Figure them out and whatever you do, do not carry that baggage around with you. It's counter-productive. Remember our advantage, we have nothing more to lose. There is no surrender."

  He took a breath. The small crowd remained quiet. "If any of you are offended by my speech. Good. It is your duty to lead brave souls into situations where they will have to give 110% just to stay alive. I expect you to give the same amount. The harsh truth of it is, I expect we will be out-numbered and out-gunned whenever we meet up with the Xi-Empire.

  A few of the greener officers glanced nervously around the room.

  “There are a few of you here who think you are the answer to this war. I guess that’s understandable. You have to be arrogant. You have to have an attitude. Just make sure you back it up with results, understand? You don’t, and I'll cut you out of the equation permanently."

  He could tell, by the look in their eyes, they didn’t like what he was saying. He paced back and forth, again suppressing a familiar building rage. Anger was his dancing partner, but he must maintain control. He stopped and faced the group.

  “You may not particularly like me, or what I am saying. Maybe I’m exposing some truths you don’t like facing. Maybe you don’t think my expectations are realistic. Tough. If you don't take the responsibility of command serious enough or you think you're going to get your crew killed, step down now, before it’s too late. So let me repeat the question. If you feel you are not up to command, then feel free to step down now – no ramifications, no reprisals.”

  Silence.

  Someone cleared his throat, another coughed, but no one stepped forward.

  "Alright then, consider yourselves committed. We have less than 36 hours to get the hell out of here. I want it done in 24.”

  “Dismissed!"

  The officers filed out, grumbling amongst themselves. Every last one of them avoided his gaze.

  He wasn’t exactly instilling admiration in them right now. Hell, he expected some of them to step up and resign just to spite him. But they didn’t. Maybe they believed in what he was saying. His truth was their truth. They had to improve or they would fail.

  As he watched the room empty, his pulse slowed to a steady throb. He rubbed his arm. A wave of tiredness crept over him. He sat down, took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  Was he doing the right thing? This was his role, wasn't it - to push everyone beyond their limits? That is the only way they could win. Go beyond the possible and do the impossible.

  Their small victory was just that, small. Once the Xi-Empire decided they were a serious threat…

  But no one needed to know his fears – no one - not even Aviore.

  * * *

  Despite Ryan’s angry proclamations, the Alliance teams met the challenge admirably. The move out of Gairf base was accomplished in record time. Everything was loaded, right down to the smallest scrap pieces of usable metal. The officers pushed themselves as much as they pushed their subordinates, fuelled by anger, challenged by the Commander's deadline.

  Gairf was not to be left completely abandoned. A small detail remained at the base for reconnaissance and communications. It was manned by a group of volunteers who were ready to scuttle as soon as the enemy appeared.

  The convoy filed away with ordered precision. They were destined for Grak, where they would pick up supplies and recruits. They had very little time to train and prepare themselves for the ensuing battles. Their time to strike was now, but they were not ready.

  Ryan reviewed the latest intel from the Nubok spies. Xilo undoubtedly knew about them now, but the Xi-Empire wasn’t reacting yet. How long would they continue with this internal war of theirs was anyone’s guess. In the meantime, the Alliance would take advantage of it. That was a surety. Things would not be to their advantage forever.

  He had a message to deliver, to everyone. He had to be precise, eliminate all ambiguity. They were on borrowed time and they needed to accomplish the impossible.

  He set up a rotating schedule to deliver his speech to the Galactic Alliance population. His first address was held in the mothership’s auditorium. A crowd numbering into the tens of thousands stood before him. This room had seemed, not so long ago, expansive. One’s voice would literally echo off the distant walls, but not now. Every square meter was crammed full of curious Alliance citizens, of all races. Many had never seen the Commander, nor understood the part they were expected to play.

  He glanced over to Aviore who was at his side. She smiled at him and mouthed a simple phrase. “They are waiting.”

  He cleared his throat. “Members of the new Galactic Alliance, I welcome you to freedom.”

  The hall shook with a roar, the cry of elation welling up from
the masses. He had to wait, an eternity it seemed, for quiet once again to settle over the crowd. “We have survived the Xi-Empire by escaping from it. They will not allow us to remain free. We all know they will come for us again. I say to you, not this time!”

  A roar started from behind and surged forward. The floor shook with a constant drumming.

  “We are the weapons of their destruction. We will succeed because we must succeed.”

  The crowd started stomping on the floor and clapping out a rhythm that someone had initiated. The chant began to build in volume and tempo.

  “Death to the Empire! Death to the Empire!”

  He held up his hands. “Wait! Hold!”

  Quiet slowly settled upon the room. “We can only do this with everyone’s help. We need to know your skills. What did you do before you were enslaved? What do you know? Some of you may feel you have nothing to offer. You are wrong. There is a place for everyone in this war… Everyone!”

  He scanned the crowd.

  So many hopeful faces.

  “Some of you may not be able to fight. I understand this. But this war will not be won by only those who take up arms. There are many critical support functions needed. You can join a medical team, cook the food, repair machines. The opportunities are endless. Choose your task. Do your best. That is all I ask of you. Through your help, we will bring freedom. But, freedom without sacrifice is merely an illusion. It will require all of us to take down the Xi-Empire.

  The sea of faces stirred, mulling over his words. He could feel their excitement surging, like an electric charge, building, ready to spark.

  “I’ve made a decision in recognition of this moment. Something I hope that all of us, and I do mean all of our races, can appreciate in their own way. This vessel which protects us from the cold of space does not have a name, as yet. As she is the flagship of our fleet, that is simply not fitting. So, I now christen this vessel, the Freedom. May she provide a home to the homeless, relief to the suffering, and hope to those who have lost all. And she will, with our help, bring death to the Xi-Empire!”

  The crowd thundered. The chant returned, reverberated somewhere near the rear, and raised in intensity, flooding over the cheering in a wave, racing through the crowd in a storm.

  “Death to the Empire!”

  “Death to the Empire!”

  “Death to the Empire!”

  Ryan waved, deafened by the roar. He stepped down, and in seconds was out of the room with Aviore in tow.

  Too many people. It truly scared him.

  “You should have stayed, they love you.”

  He stopped. “I’m not a politician, nor an entertainer. And I’m not a power-hungry fool.” He hit the control panel for the turbo-lift. “And I am certainly not an icon for these people.”

  Aviore bit down on her lip. But he was an icon, whether he liked it or not, he had become one. They looked to him for hope.

  Ryan canceled the remaining speeches. Recordings would be sent out to the fleet and further presentations coordinated without him.

  He had better things to do.

  * * *

  Wharsoff had performed exceptional work. Living quarters were modified to meet the varying alien requirements. The ship was subdivided into small pockets of ethnic cultures. Each had their own piece of what they once called home. Even Ryan and Aviore, who determinedly remained on the Dancing Queen, finally swayed to the pressure and relocated to the human section of the ship. It was by no mistake this section contained a particularly superior apartment reserved for the likes of a Commander. It was spacious, enticing, with many exclusive features, that made their quarters slightly more impressive than most. They enjoyed their new place, yet neither felt truly comfortable there.

  Their work soon pulled them apart.

  Aviore utilized her linguistics expertise to teach Trinarieit. Few of the crew had the privilege of vaskpar implants. The most basic of barriers – communication – had to be overcome. She worked long hours, many of which she spent instructing future instructors. She would send them off to coordinate more classes, more training. Every child, every adult of every race needed to know Trinarieit. This was the first step in winning a war.

  Once the program had developed a proper momentum, she applied her botanist knowledge to help rebuild the hydroponics area. It had to be restored to operational functionality before existing oxygen and food supplies dwindled to nothing. She worked hand in hand with McClary, who had been assigned the responsibility of atmosphere and water supply.

  The Scotsman had to maintain a remarkable juggling act. He worked with Dorftal and Lortay to keep the Freedom supplied with air and water and simultaneously helped out Aviore in the hydroponics area.

  Supply vessels were constantly being dispatched to raid a nearby moon or planet for raw materials, all under the watchful eye of the Commander as such moves always increased the chance of being located by Xi-Empire forces.

  Everyone wanted to see the hydroponics systems fully functional. This did little to alleviate the stress on the rebuild teams. McClary helped Aviore as much as possible, but she was the one who truly understood the marriage of biology and technology. Aviore pulled from multiple botany sources and seed banks, sending McClary on special trips to pull samples. Prepping the main hydroponics decks was painstaking and laborious work. By the time the fleet arrived at the Grak base, seedlings were growing, but the work did not stop there. The central hydroponics area was only one of many. The ship was designed in a nodal, compartmentalized fashion. There were hydroponics cells throughout, nevermind the naturalized park areas which needed to recover from a barren deadened state. All of this had to be functioning before the supply convoys could stop.

  * * *

  Ryan was pulled in so many directions, he wondered if he would retain his sanity. Officer appointments, duty rosters, role definitions, command structures, all the organizational matters of running a fleet of hundreds of thousands of combatants, plagued him every minute of every day, not to mention the everyday rigors of Fleet Commander.

  To top it all off, he also had to fit in time for his ongoing officer training program – where he conveyed his recent studies of history in war to all of his generals, captains, 1st and 2nd officers, examining in detail battle strategies and formations that they would employ in the near future.

  Throughout it all, he missed his new bride. He had developed a need for her, to keep her close, but she wasn’t – she was lost to him. She had been absorbed into the Alliance war machine.

  It was not only Aviore that was involved but Gem as well, who had been drafted by the Xeronians to link into the Freedom's main systems and help restore the thousands of ship’s sub-systems that had yet to be resurrected.

  This had evolved into a new type of war.

  Ryan, alone on any free cycles he managed, started his own research project, as the Freedom was not without her own mysteries. Artifacts and information were being discovered every day. This was critical information that he was not about to let go. He doggedly continued his research, arranging an hour here, skipping a meeting there.

  It was important to him as the Ancient Ones posed an answer to all of this - a race more powerful than 10 Xi-Empires. He searched for but found little that would provide answers about this mysterious race.

  The Ancient Ones had ensured their privacy by wiping clean any and all information related to themselves within every computer core. Remnants of the purge programs responsible had been found throughout the cores. Insidious as they were, their purpose was clear. The Ancient Ones were a secretive people, and they had no desire to share their knowledge, or their history.

  A few clues did appear intermittently as the ship was opened up for use: the odd printed text, small hand-held computer units that had somehow retained their data, multiple objects of unknown purpose, some artwork.

  In a small room that would pass as a chapel, on a wall of polished stone behind what resembled an altar, were etchings so intricate they were n
o thicker than a human hair. One had to look closely to see the paragraphs of an ancient dialect, mathematical patterns and symbols, and star mappings of age celestial bodies. At the very center of this wall, a truly remarkable shape presented itself. Veins of golden luster splayed out like a silken spider's web, drawing the eye inwards towards a tiny small light emanating from a white crystal. It was a star, unmistakably, of a system buried deep in the fathoms of an undetermined galaxy. If anything, the artifact was a beautiful thing to view up close. But to Ryan, this was much more, for he believed it was the very epicenter, the home star system of the Ancient Ones.

  Ryan managed to get word to Aviore. Hoping that it was possible she could decipher the glyphs written upon the artifact.

  “Hello, husband.”

  Ryan stood up so quickly he almost banged his head on the altar.

  She laughed.

  God, he loved that laugh.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  “Well, apparently you are the Commander, and you just need to give the order,” she taunted.

  There were bags under her eyes, lines on her face. She was beyond tired.

  “And you need to get some rest.”

  “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

  He turned to check his reflection on the wall’s black mirror-finish. “Yeah, I guess you have a point.”

  “And what have you been doing?”

  Soft hands massaged his shoulders as she drew close to him.

  He grabbed her and kissed her passionately.

  “I could make love to you right now.”

  “Who’s stopping you?”

  He didn’t need any further coaxing, proceeding to lock the door and pulling her up onto the altar. They took time after to hold one another, each knowing they were quickly running out of time.

  “So what is this mysterious thing you beckoned me to investigate? I am sure the original builders of this room did not have this in mind.”

  “The wall behind us, do you see this?”

  She moved in closer to study the inscriptions. “I can make out some similarities here with other languages, plus a number of very unique markings. This is going to take some time, Ryan.” Her features reflected the stress of too many long hours.