Barbarians

It's been a long time comin'

And the table's turned around

'Cause one of us is goin'

One of us is goin' down

Sick Puppies - “You're Going Down”

Admiral Fujimoto ordered the fleet forward, as Nassat disappeared from the Bridge. The Khonhim responded to their maneuvers though not as they had at the start. With the loss of their stealthed screening element, it compelled them to fall back on brute force, and in a straight-up fight, the odds were not in their favor.

“Keep them boxed up,” Hélène growled, as the range closed, “I don’t want them scattering and hitting our flanks.” Acknowledgments came in from the rest of the task force as her orders went out, as their displays were suddenly filled with thousands of new targets.

“Missile separation!” the tactical officer called out. “Reading thirty thousand...repeat three zero thousand...enemy guided projectiles inbound!”

“Fire plan Sierra,” Fujimoto said, as the task force returned fire. So far the only new wrinkle the Khonhim had come up with were the stealthed fighters, and with those out of the way, the fight was now a familiar one. Antimatter rounds reached out to swat the incoming missiles aside, while others raced for the enemy ships. The battle became a game of speed chess...lightning-fast fire and counterfire coupled with rapid course adjustments. The modern naval engagement happened far too rapidly for anything but a computer to follow, but as the patterns began to emerge Hélène pounced on the opportunities given her like a jaguar. Holes began to appear in the enemy fleet as ships were damaged or destroyed, though the engagement was not one-sided. Zaaronq itself shuddered as klaxons began to blare, as the enemy missiles found the chinks in her armor. The battlecruisers Kukri and Wakizashi were brutally hammered, rapidly shedding lifepods, as the rest of the task force shifted position to protect them.

But without more ships or some radical new technology, the Khonhim fleet was fighting a losing battle. They fell back against the planet, fighting for every inch of ground, but one by one they pounded them into scrap. And yet they still refused to surrender, despite the continuous messages sent by Admiral Fujimoto, until the rest of the enemy turned tail and scattered, leaving their fallen brethren behind.

Hélène collapsed back into her chair, with beads of sweat on her brow. “Damage report,” she got out, feeling the post-combat crash coming on as the adrenaline in her system began to break down.

“Hull damage to Decks six through nine,” the engineer reported. “Turret Three is offline, and Drive has been degraded by 19%. Estimate...thirty-six hours to complete repairs.”

“Understood,” she nodded. “Expedite the Search and Rescue teams to recover the lifepods, and I’ll want a preliminary report on the status of Kukri and Wakizashi. We need to know if they can be repaired, or will it will force us to scuttle them?”

“We should know something within three hours,” the engineer replied...as Nassat returned to the Bridge with Jiyazh in tow.

Admiral Fujimoto gritted her teeth. “May I ask what he’s doing here?”

“I asked Jiyazh to speak to the inhabitants of Gzuj, hoping to convince them to surrender,” Nassat replied. “He has agreed to this, to save lives.”

She snorted in distaste. “Considering how the Khonhim fleet continued the fight until the bitter end, I somehow doubt the ones of the surface will act any different,” she said in disgust. “But by all means...make the attempt. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” The tone of her voice suggested she was less than enthusiastic on the subject.

“...did they die well?”

Nassat and Hélène turned to face Jiyazh, who was staring at the display. Shattered ships and wreckage filled the screen.

“Yes...they died well,” Fujimoto said at last. “As well as anyone could have asked of them.” There was an odd cast to her eyes as she regarded him before she turned back to Nassat. “Even if they surrender, we can’t afford to stay here forever, nor can we spare the troops needed for an occupation force. They’re certain to bring reinforcements, and if we get bogged down, we’re done for.”

“I understand,” Nassat said. “Do we have communications with the planet?”

“We’ve been broadcasting since the battle began,” Hélène replied. “So far, no response.”

Jiyazh took a deep breath, as his jaw set in a hard line. “Then I suppose it is up to me,” he said. “If you would patch me in, Admiral?”

It was obvious she still harbored doubts about the wisdom of this turn of events, but after a moment she gave him a curt nod. The communications officer tapped an icon on her console, and said, “Live mic.”

There was a long pause, as he marshaled his thoughts. Finally, he began to speak. “I am Jiyazh Ghuuyaz, and I once had the honor of leading our people in the Great Crusade. I speak to you now, from the flagship of the enemy, and ask you to acknowledge me.”

Silence.

He tried again, and again there was no answer. On the third attempt, however, an image flickered to life on the screen. “I am Dhozom Asakh, and I speak for the people of Gzuj.” His eyes narrowed as he regarded Jiyazh. “You have no standing among our people, Dhyaksh,” he said. “Another has taken your place, and he leads us now.”

“I am not here to lead you, Dhozom Asakh,” he replied. “And while I no longer have standing, I have information you do not. If you wish to save the people of Gzuj, you would do well to listen.”

“I do not hear the words of traitors,” Dhozom hissed. “You stand with our enemy, and yet claim the rights of the Khonhim? Why should we listen to anything you have to say?”

“Because I am trying to save lives,” he said. “Your warriors are defeated and driven from the field. The battle is lost. There is no dishonor in recognizing that.”

“Others will take their place,” he growled.

“Perhaps...but not in time,” Jiyazh reasoned. “If you accept the humans’ terms, they will do everything possible to spare your planet further bloodshed.”

“We are not as defenseless as they think,” Dhozom shot back. “Let them come. We will show them the error of their ways, once our hands are around their throats.”

“You will never get that chance,” he said quietly. “They will raze the planet from orbit, and leave you to die. There is no honor in a senseless death, and even less for a commander who would inflict one on his own people.”

“You speak to me of honor?” he snarled. “You, who led us into defeat? Who even now finds his place in the arms of our enemy? I would rather die than embrace that kind of honor.”

“That can be arranged,” Hélène murmured, earning her a look from Nassat.

Jiyazh colored yet stood his ground. “And your children?” he asked. “Are you so willing to send them to their deaths?”

“Better for them to die with honor, than live as slaves,” Dhozom said, “though I would not expect you to understand that, for you have forgotten what honor means.”

“I have not forgotten,” Jiyazh said. “I once thought as you did, Dhozom Asakh. I was proud to be a warrior of the Khonhim, from the time I earned my first blade. But the universe has taught me a harsh lesson...that there is another choice. That there is something besides victory or slavery.” He glanced in Nassat’s direction. “That there is a way to stand on equal ground, with those we once called our enemy.”

“Never”, Dhozom seethed. “You may drink their poison, but not I. If you are still Khonhim...then show us the honor we deserve.”

And with that, the screen went dark.

The bridge froze in silence, as the crew waited for someone to speak. Finally, Jiyazh bowed his head.

“...do what you must,” he whispered, as he turned away, heading back to his quarters with a heavy heart.

Nassat stood in shocked quiescence until Hélène cleared her throat.

“Your orders, Marshal?” she asked.

He gazed at the planet, so teeming with life, and wondered at the strange twists of Fate that had brought him to this place.

“...carry out the bombardment,” he said at last.