Thousands of salvos of missiles released to the surface. Surface defense arrays fired incessantly, knocking them out in clusters leaving a haze of explosions across the skies. Seemingly defying all possibilities one missile slipped through the counter-fire, taking out a surface cannon turret.
A hole appeared in the defenses. Destroyers shifted in, concentrating their fire. Xilo’s surface shielding glowed red and orange but managed to hold, until it didn’t. The resulting explosion toppled an adjacent surface cannon turret which further cascaded across the surface in the form of blue lightning, forcing the planet-wide shielding to momentarily readjust. In that moment, additional surface fire penetrated, again blasting large holes at the surface, and disabling additional defense nodes.
“Pull back all ships. Connect me to Zukov Gulin!” he growled excitedly.
“My Karvok,” announced Gulin.
“It is time, Zukov Gulin. You have your entry point. It is up to you to liberate Xilo now.”
“To the Purists, Karvok!”
Gulin closed the channel and entered the sequence for navigation targetting, then opened a link to the other pilots. “It is our turn to sacrifice my brothers, may the Purists reign once again. On my signal.”
He took one extended moment to stare down on his beloved home planet. Scarred as it was, it was his home. He laid his finger on the control, and went hurtling toward the planet.
From above, the launch of the Gulin’s division was invisible, but milliseconds later the planet’s surface lit up in purplish, white lightning. The main shield array collapsed under multiple titanic explosions.
“All ships, move in!” yelled Zorlog, so excited his voiced cracked.
"Zuvok," reported his tracing officer. "We have multiple enemy attack vectors."
"Put on the tactical" Zorlog ordered, too excited to give it immediate attention. The destroyers moved, lancing deadly plasma beams into the defending League cruisers, tearing them apart piece by piece. Other smaller ships descended down into the murky skies, systematically bombing the massive surface defense cannon.
Out of the corner of his eye, Zorlog noticed something in the navigation display. The image revealed itself as a cloud of images moving in from all directions.
"Who are they!" growled Zorlog.
"They are our ships, my Karvok!"
Another tracing officer interrupted, his low growl climbing to a shrill cough. "Karvok, the second division is out of formation. It appears they are moving to surround us. Third division ships are also realigning."
Zorlog glanced over to the tactical in disbelief, confirming the maneuvers for himself. The image of Zuvok Zerg appeared on the communications monitor. "Zorlog, I no longer recognize your control over this fleet. I am assuming command!"
"We do not have time for this, you fool. Xilo awaits us!"
"Yes, Xilo is in my grasp. It is only a matter of time for the Purists, but it is time you no longer have. I will not see you become the next Emperor! You are insane."
"Helm! Evasive!"
"Zerg's ship is firing!"
Zorlog marched down the deck and kicked his helmsman from his seat, breathing hotly in seething lunges. The second division was already inflicting considerable damage to the Kirbetz and most of the remaining loyal ships of his first division, but some of the first division moved away, opting to stay neutral in the clash, creating a hole.
But instead, Zorlog brought the gigantic cruiser around, pointing it on a course directly in line with Zerg's ship. He racked the cruiser's burners to maximum, and let loose a penetrating wave of fire.
Zerg's ship managed to manoeuver out of the way just in time, but not before sustaining multiple damaging strikes. The Kirbetz leapt to acroluc, leaving behind Zerg’s cruiser to heave and ripple within the resulting gravity waves, twisting and crumpling in turmoil as its multiple systems failed, allowing the massive vessel to sink down into Xilo’s darkened, war-torn skies.
Zorlog's cold laughter flooded the communications channels as his ship shot away. His loyal followers clung to the Kirbetz's wake, following as closely as they dared, no more than 50 ships in all.
Behind them, they left a devastated Xilo, and an elusive, unobtainable victory.
* * *
The Dancing Queen was in position and the Galactic Alliance fleet was well out of range of the impending supernova.
Ryan had not directly witnessed the mutiny occurring within Zorlog's war machine. His attention was focused upon a true and final strike at the Xilo’s tremendous war machine.
Three strategically located Nubok captains signaled their readiness. Ryan need only to squeeze the release and the missile would be on its way into the immense Xilo sun. It would spell the end of the most feared galactic military presence in the galaxy.
"Confirming all ships in the clear, Sir."
It was McClary's voice, a man taken from his home planet. Like so many other victims, he had seen his loved ones butchered and tortured, had been sentenced to a life of fear and pain. The Xilozak and Txtians were creatures guilty of so many indescribable, horrific crimes.
Ryan watched Xilo’s gigantic sun slowly turn in front of him like a mesmerizing powerful god. A second, smaller sun orbited around it, spinning vigorously to keep from being swallowed up. He opened the shields to full extension and let the light of the heavens lay bare into the cockpit. Unlike other times, the stars seemed flat, their beauty dulled, cold, judging.
Who do you serve?
That was the question Tseman asked him long ago. It was strange he remembered that. It seemed to mean nothing until now.
Who do you serve?
Why did that question plague him so? All he had to do was press this button and end all of this pain and suffering. He had the power to wipe them all out.
Who did he serve? The Galactic Alliance - a rag-tag group of rebels? Or more importantly, the victims of this evil empire, like the Xeronians – a gentle race he literally owed his life to.
He tightened his grip on the firing button, but something held him back. The question would not let him go.
Who do you serve?
Aviore. He served her most of all. But what of God? How would God condone this? Where was he? Not out here. Not in the slave camps. What would the sentence be upon his soul for committing genocide?
Selfish to think of himself, now.
But genocide. The killer of millions – no in this case, of billions.
That is a stain that would blemish the Galactic Alliance as long as it existed. And how long would it hold together with such a start?
"Commander, are you alright?"
It was Gem.
"I ah... I'm having some trouble. Need to make a decision now. Answer me a question, Gem."
"Yes, of course."
"You know you have free will. The Xeronians told you so after we rebuilt you. You didn’t have to stay and support me, nor integrate yourself into a ship of war, into the Dancing Queen. So why? What is your purpose?"
"When I… became. You were there. I desired to know. Who I am. Who you are. I wish to be... loved."
Ryan almost laughed. "Loved?"
"Yes. By my friends, by you Ryan."
"But you're..."
"Alive. I am another form of life, like the others, your friends, Showmish, Xeronian, Humans."
"Yes, you are, of course. I am sorry, did not mean to offend."
"Have I helped you with your decision?"
"No, not really."
"Is there an answer to this question?"
"What do you mean?"
"I am aware of your question, of course. But there are some questions that cannot be answered. They can only be evaluated for meaning. Lessons are learned through the act of attempting to solve the problem, but the solution to the original problem will always elude you. The important fact is that you are not erroneous in your attempts to pursue the solution."
Ryan thought about the strange reply for a while. His com notification was beeping persistently
.
They were waiting. They were all waiting.
He made his decision. It may not be the right decision, but it was sound, nonetheless. "Gem, these missiles require mass to be effective, correct? The more mass, the more destructive?"
"Yes. They need a considerable amount of mass to reach a critical reactive process in order to produce a sufficient explosion."
"Let's just say we drop one of these into the small sun, instead. What would it do to Xilo?"
"Such an impact would vary. Although the inferior sun’s mass is well below the Chandrasekhar limit, the device would indeed cause it to supernova. The resulting coronal mass ejections would certainly destroy Xilo if it was at perigee, although the current position is far from that. At its current position, the predominant amount of this energy should be absorbed by the primary sun. This would certainly destabilize the chromosphere of the primary sun, and most notably destabilize output radiation, result in heavy CME activity for an estimated duration of 1,213 years, although the primary sun’s mass should ensure it will remain predominantly stable."
"Quite a few ‘shoulds’ in your answer.”
“I cannot be precise. Far too many variables. I assume you have changed your plans?"
"Yes. I am in need of an alternative."
"The missile should be detonated when the smaller sun is strategically positioned partially behind the main sun, as it is now. As I stated, most of this explosion would be absorbed by the primary sun, but the remainder of the energy would escape."
"And Xilo?"
"As I have stated there are too many variables to state with certainty. The planet could experience severe devastation, or remain unscathed. The latter is of reduced possibility."
"But this should definitively destroy the surrounding Xi-Empire fleet. We must remove that threat."
"The powers considered here are vast. This event will most assuredly destroy any vessels orbiting Xilo, specifically on the exposed side."
“Agreed.”
“But destroying Xilo, killing billions, that should not occur.”
“I cannot simulate this without considerable time and the creation of a number of proven models.”
“Then we base our decision on what we know, now.”
"Recall the Nubok ships. Instruct them to retreat to a safe position."
"I informed them. The captains do not sound very enthusiastic."
"Are they refusing?"
"No."
"Good. Actually, send them coordinates where we’ll convene after we launch the weapon. I want the Nuboks to transfer the other star-killers into our hold. Tell them to ready for transfer."
"They want to know if you intend to launch the weapon."
"Of course, but they need to get the hell out of here."
"They will comply, but they wish to inform you that they have no intention of leaving without you."
"We will be fine, as a matter-of-fact, better than fine. Much more preferable that it’s just you and I to worry about."
"Prepare the weapon for launch. You know the new target. Can you make the appropriate calculations?"
"Yes, although the gravitational and magnetic fields do pose a challenge."
"Then guess."
* * *
An insignificant speck of matter in the form of a missile approached the small sun. Its onboard program checked and double-checked its coordinates as it approached. As it first entered into the corona, 10 levels of shielding enveloped the minute device, but that could not protect it fully from the fiery energy ahead. The shields collapsed one at a time, each providing precious seconds for the weapon to inject itself into the chromosphere that much farther. Just as the last shield began to reach its failure point, the missile detonated, triggering a chain reaction that was critically devastating. The sun’s corona expanded and transformed into a hot, bright white, which then inverted, momentarily emanating sharp hues of red, blue and violet light.
The core of the sun destabilized, churning as the gravitonic waves rippled across its surface. And then it erupted. Concentric rings of matter, on different angular planes, flared away from the dying furnace. The fiery wavefront crossed millions of kilometers within seconds, losing energy only due to the incessant pull of the hungry gravity well of the primary sun. The wobbling remains of Txtia was hit with the full force of the wave, and the remnant planet atomized in an instant. The menacing wavefront flashed on, passing through the inner rings of asteroid belts and toward the system’s outer orbiting planets, dispersing energy as it traveled.
It hit Xilo with one hundredth the power it had when it struck Txtia. The bulk of the mighty Xi-Empire fleet, both Purist and Zigot, thousands upon thousands of vessels were instantly reduced to molten liquid, the enormous Tikonda station included.
Initially protected by the planet, a portion of the mighty fleet survived but only for a few more moments. The concussion wave wrapped around the planet like the hand of death, pulled in by gravity, ripping at the remaining helpless warships, throwing them outward into the darkness, bent and twisted, now unrecognizable in shape, their crews hammered into jelly from titanic forces.
A portion of Xilo's atmosphere ionized as the pulse of incredible energy burned through it, reaching the planet’s surface and pounding the land mass into seething seas of lava. The great sprawling cities of the Xi-Empire vanished, driven downward into the crust. Waves of molten metal from the decimated fleet pasted the area like a burning blanket.
The planet wobbled ever so slightly.
Xilo’s moons were next. The smaller moon, Kzak took the full brunt of the energy wave, its underground bases easily permeated and flushed with a penetrating blast, traveling through the expansive network to flare out the moon’s dark side. It left no survivors. Arkov, the larger moon, was positioned slightly behind Xilo’s shadow, and in turn missed the massive barrage of energy, although it’s exposed surface was wiped clean of any sign of Xi-Empire defense systems.
And the wave passed.
Billions had died, instantly, unexpectedly.
Xilo’s atmosphere surged back onto the barren, blackened surface, alighting a continuous roiling front of fire. Torrents of storms churned to life, feeding upon intense temperatures and unbridled kinetic energy. Red skies darkened to opaque blackness and lightning danced in spidery bursts from pole to pole.
Seas initially boiling in the heat, surrendered vast amounts of water into darkened, angry cyclonic storms, which raged rivers of scouring rain down upon the blackened, scarred lands.
But Xilo survived.
On the night side of the planet, the sprawling mega-cities yielded to darkness as power distribution systems failed, their citizens struggled against monstrous winds as they sought out safe haven. Skies above glowed in unnatural hues of red and orange and flames danced in the winds, bringing with it the stench of sulfur and fire.
To the survivors - the end had come.
Within the depths of the capital city of Zenux, far underground, the Emperor surveyed the planet with the last few surviving scanners. The destruction Xilo experienced was unthinkable, horrific, and somehow, slightly familiar. He had seen this before, a weapon so powerful it could destroy a sun. He racked his memory, but could not recall where he had acquired this knowledge.
Who or what could have done this? No, it was not the Purists. Zorlog was not mad enough to devastate Xilo to this extent. Something or someone else had done this. He turned the tracing scans outward, searching, and soon found what he was looking for: ships, numbering in the thousands, now approaching in attack formation.
* * *
Far beyond the boundaries of the Xilo system, a string of battle-scarred ships stopped fleeing. They had barely escaped the wall of energy that had scoured over their own home planet, managing to stay ahead of it until it had finally dissipated. They had blasted by the Galactic Alliance fleet undetected, dwarfed by the radiating wavefront that had been produced by the exploding sun.
From a distance, they had witness
ed the demise of the Xi-Empire. Their home planet, once clouded with Xilozak and Txtian ships engaged in civil war, was laid barren, wiped clean of any standing force.
A new enemy was now encroaching, and their intention was clear.
The small group of fleeing Xi-Empire ships had little chance against such numbers, and so they watched and waited.
* * *
On Xilo, the last of the Zuvoks scrambled to regroup the remains of a once powerful fleet, in desperate haste. No longer were they concerned about their internal differences. The last of the warships pulled together to form a protective force. These were ships that had been in dock for repairs and refitting on the dark side of Xilo, and a sparse few that survived the onslaught within the underground bases of Arkov, the larger moon. They assembled with brave determination, many vessels barely space-worthy. It was a valiant, bold act.
The Galactic Alliance fleet met the grim survivors with zealous satisfaction. The remnants of the Xi-Empire were blasted into oblivion without hesitation, without concern, and with unparalleled ease.
Ryan brought the fleet into orbit of the scarred planet and ordered the communications officers to send a simple and direct message: Surrender.
The moment had come, despite the incredulous odds.
Throughout the Freedom’s bridge officers grinned and laughed, letting go the tension and fear of a battle now past. Realization was beginning to sink in. The Xi-Empire had been defeated.
In a short time, the Emperor personally transmitted a message from the surface, in the form of multiple languages.
“We surrender.”
* * *
The Zigot Emperor was shuttled up from the surface, leaving behind a chaotic effort of survival and suffering.
Ryan and his most valued generals were seated along a semi-circle table, official representatives of the Galactic Alliance. They shifted uncomfortably as they waited, each reflecting upon their own thoughts.
No one truly believed this day had arrived.
As the Emperor stepped into the room, tension rose exponentially. Not all were prepared for the sight of the tall, fierce-looking Zigot. Stooping to enter, its mere size was menacing. It carried itself across the floor with a flowing grace, attesting to a creature of position and power. It silently glared down upon its conquerors. Its black insect-face a mask.
A Bellicose Dance Page 62