Fate of Terra

Chapter 11.1 - Adaptation

The troopers stormed into the alien ship's cargo bay, their mechanized armor making them a fearsome sight to behold. Each one was roughly eight hundred pounds of gleaming black ionized metal with a tinted faceplate. Nine feet of serrated edges and each carrying an assortment of weapons, they were an intimidating gesture towards the group of aliens they were now facing.

Pandora intoned in his head, 'Air is good,' as Michael followed his soldiers through the lock. Kat took position on his right and Marcus was on his left, slightly behind the couple. Entering the hold, Michael's first impression was that it was a lot like the one he'd seen in the 'Firefly' series, albeit quite a bit bigger. Dingy corrugated metal made up the deck, bulkheads, and scaffolding overhead.

Warily watching the humans enter was a large alien delegation consisting of over a dozen races, about a third of them wearing some kind of loose-fitting spacesuits. They had told Michael, and Pandora had confirmed,  that this was their flagship. He thought it looked like a serious attempt at polishing a turd, but so long as their bigwigs were here he didn't much care.

A blue-skinned alien Michael recognized as a being a Felician, the same race as Dejah, stepped out from the centre of the group and spoke surprisingly well-enunciated English. "Well met, humans. My name is Revarjah," He spoke in a gravelly voice. "Do you require assistance?"

Michael's eyebrows rose and he gave a light chuckle, "No, but 'you' might if you don't explain what it is you're doing here with what might be construed of as a war fleet." The way he said 'might be' made it clear he wasn't impressed and that the aliens weren't operating from a position of strength.

This caused some muttering among the alien ranks, but Revarjah merely gave an amused snort and explained, "I do apologize for arriving as such unannounced, but we had predicted you to be currently embroiled in a fight with the B'Amuf. We are- were," He spread his arms dramatically and his lips curved into a smile, showing he found it every bit as outrageous as it sounded given the situation, "Your rescue party."

Michael couldn't help it. He burst out laughing, the sound echoing around the enclosed space eerily. He found himself liking this alien despite himself. Marcus was working hard to keep his impersonation of an Easter Island head in check while a few mechanised soilders could be heard with strangled snorts of their own amusement. 

A few of the other aliens shifted nervously at the outburst. Marcus shook his head and muttered something about it being a few months too late.

After wiping the tears from his eyes, Michael asked in an amused voice, "And your group of suped-up freighters was going to take on over a thousand B'Amuf warships how, exactly? Though, don't get me wrong. I love an underdog as much as the next guy, but it seems like an awful lot of effort you've gone through to cobble this fleet together for so lofty a goal."

"Well," Revarjah said, as if discussing a plan that had sounded much better when they were coming up with it, "ideally the main B'Amuf fleet would have left by now, having knocked out your main military assets and landing an occupation force. We would have only had to fight the paltry force they left behind in orbit before defeating their ground forces and linking up with any of your resistance groups we could locate."

There were nods from the group behind him, as if everything he was saying sounded quite logical. Michael realized they had witnessed a B'Amuf takeover before. "After that," The speaker continued, "We would share our technology with you, establishing good relations." 

Micheal had the distinct impression that, in a limited fashion, they had reached some success with efforts like the one Raverjah was explaining. However, it also felt like this was a larger scale attempt than their previous ones. Silently he wondered, 'Why?'

There was then an uncomfortable pause before he admitted, "We were hoping to then use your planet and its population and industry as a launching pad against the B'Amuf. You would be the least pacified race out of the conquered planets and in the best position to lead the effort."

As Revarjah looked around at the armored guards, he was reminded of the warlike nature of the humans he'd witnessed in their television broadcasts. Oh, the Felcians were a warrior-race themselves, proud of their own martial prowess, but in terms of scale, they were nothing when compared to the massive, destructive wars that had rocked Earth. "The last broadcast we received from your planet showed the B'Amuf warships had you surrounded. We'd greatly like to know how you managed to overcome them if it was, in fact, you."

Actually, the very last images had been a terrifying mass of missiles heading outwards while hundreds of thousands of primitive aircraft had lifted off from the surface. Many in the delegation had wanted to turn around at this. Surely, the B'Amuf would not stand for such opposition. They would treat the humans as a lost cause, wiping them from existence.

But Revarjah was a scholar in regards to the Terran broadcasts and had been adamant that their resistance would hold true. That if any race could manage to survive a B'Amuf invasion, it would be the humans. Still, to overcome such a technological superiority and actually 'win' was staggering.

Michael smiled, showing his teeth as he'd seen Dejah do and countered with a question of his own, "How is it that you speak our language?" He wasn't about to reveal Pandora's existence. She was their ace in the hole and he didn't have a clue how artificial intelligences were received among the galactic community.

Revarjah mirrored his smile with one of his own and said, "We have been receiving your signals for quite some time. Around 14 of your years ago, not long after being conquered by the B'Amuf, some of us began trying to decipher them. At first there was only static, but as we analyzed more of it and homed in on where it was coming from, we were able to gain a picture. Today, I believe we have almost as clear an image as the television sets in your living rooms. By magnifying the area where the signals come from before the particles are dispersed, we're only a couple of years behind in reception."

He shrugged and continued, "English was the language most commonly broadcasted, so when programs I believe you show to your children came on teaching your language, it was those which some of us chose to learn."

Indeed, he'd fallen in love with the range of emotions he'd observed in the broadcasts. He'd filled a hole caused by the death of his family with a willingness to learn about these Terrans. Revarjah was moved by their dramas and war stories, fascinated by their documentaries and science fiction films.

Michael was impressed with the resilience these aliens showed. Then something clicked. 'Conquered,' He realised, then addressed the group in surprise, "You're all part of the 23 subjugated planets in the B'Amuf domain."

The blue-skinned alien appeared taken aback that Michael would have that information, but gave a neutral shrug. "Most of us are. Some are from trade delegations that don't like the B'Amuf any more than we do. Some are freedom fighters. Others have simply been recruited to the cause or don't have anywhere else to go."

"Won't the B'Amuf make life miserable for the people on your home planets if they find you're part of an uprising?" Marcus asked curiously.

"It is already miserable!" A stout, grey alien shouted in a nasally voice.

Revarjah held out a hand to calm the one who had just spoken and explained in a pained voice towards Michael, "The B'Amuf will indeed make our citizens suffer if they ever find out our identities. As it is, I think we managed to fake our deaths convincingly and none of these ships can be linked back to our home planets. Still, it would be devastating if you were to tell the B'Amuf about our involvement." He knew the humans now had something to hold over them if they so wished, but they were already in a vulnerable position.

Michael scoffed, "Like I have any love for those slugs. If they find out, it won't be from us." Revarjah shot him a relieved look at hearing that.

Finally, a hulking, bull-nosed alien with dusky green skin and what looked like a transparent oxygen mask over his face stepped forward abruptly, causing Marcus to raise the barrel of his 'handgun' imperceptibly. He'd been acting agitated the entire time the two were conversing and it seemed he could no longer contain himself.

"Enough!" The alien shouted in a crackling voice, ignoring those behind him that were trying to pull him back. "Tell me what you've done to our ships." Revarjah made placating gestures with his hands trying to get him to calm down.

The large brute absently swiped at the hand reaching for his shoulder. "No! He will answer to me or I'll make him answer," He bellowed, the crackly translator on his suit working in barely recognizable English. Dwarfing Michael, he came to rest a few feet away, blocked by two armored troopers. The alien sneered, "I won't be held captive by a mere boy."

Turning to the delegation, he spoke his alien language that Pandora was able to recognize from the B'Amuf database. She helpfully translated for the humans present, "He still hasn't told us what happened to the B'Amuf. The only explanation is that they made some kind of deal. The humans are stalling! I bet even now the B'Amuf are on their way."

Michael shrugged and said in the silence that followed, "Well, it is true that they are on the way here." Amidst the stunned expressions there shown the triumphant one of the dusky green creature. It made a discreet gesture which caused Kat to blur into motion.

There was a scream from the ramparts above them as her throwing spike was lodged into the vacuum-suited would-be sniper. She suddenly appeared in front of the one who'd made the gesture, her other arm extended towards his head holding her heavily customized 'pistol', a red dot appearing between the green alien's horrified eyes.

She titled her head and intoned dryly, "You've just volunteered to be made an example of." The shot rang out, reverberating around the compressed space, startling all the remaining aliens. Brain matter and black blood burst from the gaping hole and the nerveless body collapsed to the deck.

Michael stuck his little finger in his ear and rubbed the itch he had from the sudden pressure the noise caused. "What I was going to say," He continued, as if nothing had happened, "Was that the aliens are coming here because we defeated their first invasion force. We predict them to send another one, most likely considerably larger, within the next few months."

The assorted aliens looked shocked as they rubbernecked between Kat's gun and the pile that remained of the dusky green upstart. Then, one of the scaly lizard-like people of Isaac's race stepped forward stuttering, "Yo- You're actually using projectile weapons inside a ship?" By the end of her statement, at least Michael 'thought' it was a her by the lack of the prominent ridge of bone he'd seen on Isaac,  her voice became quite shrill as a sign of her distress.

"Why not?" Michael asked, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "How thick are your hulls?"

The alien turned to Revarjah and he furrowed his brow and said, "Around one of your inches in metal with roughly five inches of insulation."

"One inch," Michael repeated dully, seeing what the scaly individual was getting at. He sighed as Marcus muttered something that sounded distinctly like, 'fucking deathtraps.' 

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. The hulls of the first Apollo craft were only a few millimeters of aluminum thick. Still, he'd built the Intrepid to withstand full-on nuclear blasts without shields. His hulls made these ones look truly pitiful, and that was without considering the new isotopes or the regenerative qualities the nanites gave them. If he remembered correctly, as soon as the shields on the B'Amuf ships had been overloaded they were absolutely shredded. Perhaps now he knew why...