A Bellicose Dance

by Patrick M J Lozon

  That will leave bases, slavers and traders exposed. The slavers and traders are trying to ignore the war. No profit in it. They will attempt to avoid the hotspots and keep their cargo moving. That's where our divisions come into play. We will seize or destroy these bastards one at a time. We close in, determine the right moment, then we strike."

  A quiet acknowledgment moved throughout the room. It was not until now that they all fully realized the implications of what had been stated. It was a plan – one that could possibly result in the defeat of the Xi-Empire.

  "Just so all of you understand. I intend to launch the missile myself from the Dancing Queen. The three other Nubok ships that will also be carrying the weapon will act as a safety measure in the event that I fail."

  The room filled with talk. They did not like the idea at all.

  "Who will command the fleet!" demanded the Brog.

  "Yes. What if you are killed? Is anyone of us here prepared to succeed you?" the question was posed by Wharsoff.

  Ryan held his hands in the air, and the crowd quieted.

  "I will elect my successor before I leave. I do not expect anyone will contest that, correct?"

  No one spoke up.

  "Good."

  Wharsoff stepped through the crowd, slightly stooped and weighted down with combat weapons. "Why do you elect to do this mission alone?"

  "This must be done with stealth. This does not require a fleet, nor will I endanger ours. I cannot delegate this task to anyone else." Ryan avoided his eyes, staring into the globe. "Don't try to change my mind. I've already decided. Just keep to the plan. Everyone will be busy enough herding the last of this scum back to Xilo anyway."

  He faced them again. "Wharsoff, Lortay, YushTar, and Gor. You will each be in charge of a division. Leave as soon as your troops and equipment are ready. Split up everything as evenly as possible. Kanook, you manage the details. I want a full complement alongside the Freedom. We have a population aboard to protect. YushTar, your area will include the Gedricka base. That's a key port for the Purists. Destroy it. Every freighter, every slaver, every warship, everything owned by the Empire must either be boarded or destroyed. I'll have this division remain here for a day or two until the Purists are out of tracing range. Then we'll take Meghellan."

  "What do we do with prisoners?" asked Lortay.

  "We cannot take prisoners." Silence hung in the air for a moment as the gravity of Ryan’s words took shape.

  "How can we close up this quadrant in such a short time?"

  "The slavers and traders will be traveling together for protection. They’ve been doing it since the start of the war. This should help somewhat. Otherwise, we maintain focus and hope lady luck is on our side. We will be depending on our intelligence network. We have only a few Nubok ships. I guarantee we could use thousands more if we had them. But you’ll have to do with the resources we have available. A squadron will be charged with the task of monitoring and following the Purist fleet in.

  “So, gentlemen, timing is everything. We have an incredibly tight window to establish a full impenetrable perimeter around the Xilo system. We can't afford any delays. Push your ships and your crews hard. Accomplish what you can, but make this deadline.”

  "Good Luck."

  Hours passed as the crew and volunteers shuffled to and from fleet ships. Taxis buzzed between them like so many bees, transferring equipment, weapons, and stores.

  The fleet broke into five separate divisions, branching out in various directions. Each was on a difficult mission. Each was on an impossible deadline.

  * * *

  Aviore watched her husband, admiring the way he commanded the attention of his generals, pulled them into his feverish vision of victory. He had forgotten she was there, by his side, the whole time. He was so absorbed in what he was doing.

  She understood him a little more. It made sense why he drove himself so hard. It was part of him. She reached over and quietly took his hand. He turned, surprised.

  “Why don’t we go for a walk, Ryan.”

  Kanook nodded back at him, indicated he had things in control.

  “Maybe that’s a good idea,” he sighed. The energy seemed to drain out of him. She smiled at him. “You could use some time to relax.”

  She led him out into the corridor. Neither felt like talking, Ryan needed the quiet to wind down, and they were both content to just have one another at their side. Aviore appreciated moments like this. It was not often that he had time for her.

  They took a shuttle down into the center of the ship, to an area labeled 'Market Square'. The square was not unlike a Xeronian park - a circle of green vegetation surrounded by large streets. A small artificial sun beat down upon the area, providing a pleasant afternoon sensation. Many people, of all different races, had claimed the storefront shops as their apartments. A few entrepreneurial types had even opened up stores, bartering goods, as money was non-existent.

  If this ship ever became an active trader, this would be the business core. He could only wonder if the Ancient Ones once bartered here, with other exotic aliens - people now only remembered in parables and legend.

  Aviore pointed to the center of the park to a row of light green and crimson dressed small trees. "We just planted those. They'll grow fairly fast under this artificial sun. Very good oxygen producers, and substantial filters at that. Once we have all these areas recharged and the circulation systems working, we expect to have a complete ecosystem in place, that is, once the system stabilizes.”

  Ryan loved it. Last time he had seen this area it was gray and dead. “This is beautiful, flowers, bushes, trees. Makes me feel homesick."

  "A long way from what it was before. This whole central area was bare, everything was dead - eaten by those things." She shuddered a little as they walked. "Even the soil was dead. We had to replenish and enrich every cubic foot of it before it would grow anything."

  "Well, it looks like you have a green thumb - I mean – you have the magic touch.”

  She looked at him quizzically, not quite catching the meaning of either slang term.

  “I see you even have sprouts of grass coming up," he added, attempting to skim over the awkwardness.

  "Yes, these grasses are very close to Earth's versions, if I recall correctly. What we call grass is slightly different. It grows like a thick vine, taking root every few centimeters and rolling over the ground like a thick green carpet. I expect these varieties to flourish, that is, if the children would stay off of it."

  Ryan saw three of them darting from the trees. Their small voices carried sounds of unabashed happiness. It echoed memories of his past, reminded him of the times of long ago, times when he was a boy. A sad realization came to him. "I didn't even notice that we had children on this ship until now."

  "You're kidding me. We've found hundreds of them. Human, Showmish, Krelp, Brog, even Nubok."

  "It's amazing they've survived."

  "They deserve a better life. We have to give it to them."

  "Don't be so solemn. Look at'em. They've already made a home here."

  He smiled at her. “True.”

  "You know, I'm really not that bothered that they are wrecking the foliage. If I'm doing all this greenery work for any reason at all, I'm doing it for them."

  A small man approached them, slightly balding, but looking no more than 30 Earth-years old. Dark eyebrows covered soft gray eyes. He was dressed completely in brown, with dark, thick-heeled boots. He favored his right hand, carrying it tightly against his chest. It was probably an injury sustained during captivity.

  "Commander?" he asked, in Earth-English, hands now joined as if he was praying. Dark eyebrows twitched nervously.

  "Yes, what can I do for you?"

  "You're from Earth, it's been told. Is that right?"

  "Yes, I am.” Ryan stumbled over his next words. He had become too accustomed to speaking Trinarieit. "Where were you from?"

  "Canada... Vancouver, actually. I was a reporter."


  "Got too curious for your own good," chuckled Ryan.

  "Yes, I guess I did." Thin lips curled up. Gray eyes shone back amusement.

  How long had it been since he'd smiled?

  "I just want to tell you that the people around here, they all look up to you. We are 100 % behind you. Whatever you want us to do, just ask."

  "I appreciate it."

  "You're a legend, Commander, a hero. The real McCoy. I never thought I would actually have a chance to meet you."

  "Uh... Thanks again. As for that legend stuff, don't you have to be dead to become a legend? I don't require such fame," Ryan chuckled again.

  "How long have you been out here, Commander? I mean in space and whatnot."

  "I really don't know. I’ve lost track of time. It's been years."

  "Possibly well over one of your decades by now," corrected Aviore, in fluent English.

  "You know, being a reporter and all, I would really be interested in getting your story. If I ever get back to Earth, it would be the hottest news catch ever."

  "Sorry. I don't have time for biographies. Even if you had such a story, no one would believe you anyway."

  "Yes, they would. You’ve been away a long time. The raids were a little too numerous and the aliens a little too bold to ignore. Hell, when I left, there was a special UN commission assigned to establish a worldwide defense agreement between all our countries."

  "I’d have liked to see that, all the countries joining forces in peace.”

  “I guess it has been a long time," he stated, more to himself than anyone else. Thoughts of home flooded back, faces of his family, friends. Faces came up with names he couldn’t remember, and other memories irritated him with hazy features of those with their identity long lost.

  He remembered his black Buick though, long since abandoned in the desert. He had spent countless hours sweating out the imperfections of that machine.

  Now it's all gone.

  An awkward silence followed as the Commander was lost in thought. The former reporter finally cleared his throat, politely managing to grab his attention.

  Ryan jerked back into reality. "Sorry."

  "No problem. My name is Johnathan Jones," he stuck his hand out as a formal introduction.

  Ryan chuckled heartily, "That's a good name. Like an adventurer. He shook his hand. We'll get together sometime, after all of this is over, OK?"

  "Great. Maybe, with a little encouragement, I can convince you to let me write your biography."

  "Maybe."

  Johnathan turned away but hesitated. With a quick spin on his heel, he spit out his question. It had been difficult for him to work up the courage to do it. "Commander, will we ever get back to Earth? Do you even know where it is?"

  Ryan was tempted to tell him he could bring him back at any time but held his tongue. No one goes back home. Not now. After maybe, but not now.

  "Yes, I know where Earth is, at least I believe the information I have at this point, is accurate. If it's possible, you'll be brought back home, but only after this war is over."

  Thick eyebrows slowly lifted from a creased frown. Johnathan had learned to accept things as they were. After the war, if they survived it, they would be brought home.

  Such as it is. He had made a good life for himself on the Freedom. Who knows, maybe when the time came, he may not even want to leave? He had been eyeing a certain woman from deck seven. Signite she was, but lovely, once one overlooked the burns that covered her body. She had welcomed him into her bed with that warm, loving smile. He had foolishly declined, citing some ridiculous excuse. She had looked away then, so full of hurt, undoubtedly blaming her appearance. He had to make amends. He just needed to know how long he would be out here. He bowed slightly to the Commander and his wife and hurried away, satisfied he knew how the chips would fall, at least for the near future.

  The two watched the man in brown retreat down the corridor.

  "What a strange little man," Aviore commented softly in native Signite.

  They resumed their stroll.

  "Haven't you told your people you know where Earth is?"

  Ryan followed her lead, replying in fluent Signite. "Apparently it's not common knowledge. I’m sure they'll find out soon enough, though. I won’t be the only one holding that secret. Last roster I checked we had a handful of Earthmen and Earthwomen signed up for astro-navigation, not to mention those lucky enough to receive a vaskpar, like Kanook or McClary. Word will spread. Either way, I can't be bringing anyone home, not yet."

  "Ryan, if we ever do win this war, what are we going to do? I mean - after?"

  "Whatever you want," he replied, offhandedly.

  "No, seriously, where do you want to live? Earth? Signus? Out here? I want to know."

  Ryan was baffled. He'd never considered it. Strange that he'd never really thought of it. After the war...

  "I really don't know," he answered quite honestly.

  "Well, think about it. OK?"

  "How about making a home here? I'm sure it will make a fine place to raise a family."

  "A family! I see. Now you're talking children," she teased.

  He laughed. "Keep your pants on, we're not there yet."

  "You mean that literally," she replied coyly.

  Ryan looked into her eyes. A familiar flame was burning within them.

  They retired early that day.

  The war could wait.

  * * *

  The next day they moved on the Purist base Meghellan. Zorlog had left a regiment on the base to operate the large cannon array. Ryan appreciated the gift of target practice for his weapons teams.

  They claimed seven destroyers in varying states of disrepair. They towed them into the Freedom’s bays for retrofitting and repairs. The warships would make a fine addition to the fleet once operational.

  Parties were deployed planet-side to obtain food and water stores, as well as anything else that would be useful. Thousands of individuals worked in unison, around the clock in ceaseless shifts. An enormous amount of food, supplies, water, and air was brought back to the Freedom.

  Aviore oversaw each and every cargo load of vegetation that was imported up. Each plant was carefully selected and then painstakingly transplanted from the surface of the planet, and also from the remains of Meghellan's hydroponics areas. This was the last shipment of raw material she needed. Once again life was teeming in the hydroponics areas of the ship, within every separate generation cell, and within every living area of the ship.

  As the cleanup effort wound down, Ryan managed to free himself from the bridge and search out Aviore. When he arrived in the ship's main hydroponics area, he couldn't help but gaze about in awe. The room was large, with a 30 meter high ceiling and 150 meter circular walls. Thousands of types of trees and plants were jammed into the area, choking off practically every clear spot on the floor. A couple pathways led to the main corridors, allowing the staff to move through the maze. A constant breeze from the air circulation systems swayed treetops and rustled leaves in a serene song.

  Aviore was working on the central purification system, a gigantic filtration unit that reached up and into the ceiling of the gargantuan chamber. The central unit was a large cylinder with a diameter of at least 50 meters. Its walls were transparent. Ryan walked up close and peered in. Lines of purplish light traveled through a matrix of filters, like a roving charge of electricity, floating over varying colors of mossy substances that filled each porous layer.

  He looked up. She was far above him, on a portable external elevator. A section of the filter was pulled out like a drawer of a chest of clothes. She waved to him from above, quickly closing the layer and lowering the lift to meet him.

  "What do you think?"

  "Absolutely incredible. It's amazing. I’ve never been here, but I heard it was a tangled mess prior."

  "Yes, it was. Took a lot of work to get it back into shape. We had to pull in the big guns to get this working.”

  Ryan looke
d at her, puzzled.

  “The Xeronian technicians,” she said, laughing slightly. “They understood how this filter system worked right away. But I've never seen anything like it before. After the principals behind it were explained to me, I had to kick myself. It was so simple. Just the same, it's very touchy. Swings out of balance easily."

  "Why the lift? Why not just turn off the grav plates?"

  "The filters need the gravity for consistency, so we improvise."

  "It's hot in here."

  She glanced up. Ryan followed her gaze. Embedded in the ceiling, much like the one at the market square, was an artificial sun. Its rays reached every corner of the extensive room, feeding each plant with its life-giving rays.

  "Took us a while to get that working again too. It uses a lot of power," she commented.

  "I imagine it would. Did Tmaurau repair it?" he asked.

  "Yes, he had to, no one else could. Apparently, this particular one taps into the main power conduits of the ship, most other systems run off secondary feeder lines. This one was special for some reason, at least, that is what he told me." She looked back down at Ryan, who was still inspecting the ceiling grid work.

  "Don't be such a worry-wort."

  "Well, it's an old ship."

  "And it was built to last a million years," she added. "These Ancients knew what they were doing. From what I’ve seen, they've surpassed our technology 10 times over. I even saw a few Xeronians scratching their heads when they first started looking at some of these systems."

  "I would have paid money to see that. Are we producing enough oxygen yet?"

  "I think we're finally stabilizing. With the addition of the trees from the base, I estimate, if anything, we'll be overproducing within five days. I'll need to get over and check the monitoring systems within the next few hours. Gem's helping me figure it all out. She's been a great help. She helped me organize the vegetation for maximum growth potential and about half a dozen other things at the same time."

  "Keep her busy, otherwise, she gets bored, and you know what happens when she gets bored."