The same question travels in muted tones among Jophur stacks responsible for tactical evaluation. Pastel shadows of troubled concern flash across light-emitting ring flanks, while a worried mist wafts over that portion of the control center. Specialist toruses grow hot as they interact with computers, laboring to solve this quandary.
How did the Earthship survive such a fierce assault?
Is this yet another insidious wolfling trick?
Are they still receiving protection from the meddling Zang, in violation of the basic rule that each life order should mind its own business?
Are the hydrogen breathers truly willing/ready to risk Armageddon over matters they could not care about, or comprehend?
Now the senior priest stack ventures to challenge our captain-leader openly.
Striding forward on its ring of legs, that illustrious/sacred composite being nods its oration peak in a circle of righteous accusation.
“THIS IS INTOLERABLE! BY SENDING THOSE MISSILES, YOU/WE HAVE SURELY ALIENATED ANY AFFECTION THIS COLONY OF RETIREES MIGHT HAVE NURTURED FOR OUR RACE, CLAN, AND ALLIANCE!”
The captain-leader, perhaps sensing a precarious situation, replies in calmer tones, venting aromas of sweet confidence.
“OF REPERCUSSIONS THERE WILL BE FEW.
“OF LEGAL FAULT, WE HAVE NONE, SINCE THOSE DIRECTING THE RAYS WERE CLEARLY OUTLAWS, ACCORDING TO THE CODES OF THEIR OWN LIFE ORDER.
“WE ACTED TO PROTECT A TREASURE SOUGHT BY ALL OXYGEN-BREATHING CIVILIZATION.”
Many crew-stacks vent agreement. But the priest-stack is in no mood to be mollified.
“FEW REPERCUSSIONS? EVEN NOW, EXPLOSIONS CONTINUE ROCKING THE HABITAT WHERE OUR MISSILES FELL! THE ENTIRE GREAT STRUCTURE IS IN JEOPARDY!”
No denying that it is a serious matter. Lawsuits may result, dragging through the courts for thousands, or even millions of years. Nevertheless, confident-soothing aromatics swell from our glorious commander.
“THE SOCIAL AND PHYSICAL FABRIC OF THIS HABITAT WAS ALREADY TORN APART BY THE MERE PRESENCE OF PATHOGENIC TERRANS. NOW, ALL STACKS TAKE NOTE: OUR ONBOARD LIBRARY HAS DOWNLOADED POPULATION DATA FROM THIS MACROHABITAT. REGARD HOW A MAJORITY OF OCCUPANTS HAS ALREADY DEPARTED!
“SOME FLED TO OTHER RETIREMENT HOMES, FARTHER FROM THE DANGEROUS PASSION-WAVES OF YOUNGER RACES.
“OTHERS HAVE CHOSEN TO ABANDON RETIREMENT! EVEN NOW, THEY REJOIN OUR LIFE-ORDER, SEEKING COMPANIONSHIP AMONG THEIR FORMER CLIENTS, BECOMING ACTIVE ONCE AGAIN IN THE FLUX- TURMOIL OF THE CIVILIZATION OF FIVE GALAXIES.
“A THIRD PORTION OF REFUGEES HAS MOVED ON. AHEAD OF SCHEDULE, THEY DEPART, AIMED FOR TRANSCENDENT REALMS.”
Reverent silence greets our commander’s news. Within this very stack — among our/My own conjoined rings, there is brief unanimity of spirit. From Master Torus all the way to the humblest greasy remnant of old Asx, there is agreement about one thing — I/we/you are privileged to live in such times. To take part in such wonders. To see/observe/know events that will be legendary in eras beyond the morrow.
Our captain-leader continues.
“So, LIKE THE EMPTY SHELL OF AN OUIUT EGG, THIS HABITAT IS LESS IMPORTANT THAN IT MAY APPEAR. A MERE FEW TRILLIONS REMAIN IN THOSE TORTURED PRECINCTS. FOR THAT REASON, LET US CONCERN OURSELVES NO MORE WITH ITS FATE. ANY REPARATIONS ADJUDGED AGAINST US CAN BE PAID TRIVIALLY OUT OF OUR REWARD, WHEN THE EARTHSHIP IS SAFELY IN CUSTODY, SEALED BY JOPHUR WAX!”
The captain-leader’s supporters cheer loudly, emitting joyful scent clouds. And yet, our/My contribution to the acclaim seems weak, lacking enthusiasm. Some of you rings, as tender and compassionate as a traeki, dwell dismally on the bad luck of those “mere few trillions.”
Relentlessly, the priest-stack maintains its indictment.
“SUCH FOOLISHNESS! HAD YOU FORGOTTEN OUR OWN DIFFICULTIES? WE HAD EXPECTED/HOPED TO FIND AID HERE, IN RIDDING DEAR POLKJHY OF ITS HUMAN-PLUS-ZANG INFESTATIONS. NOW SUCH HELP WILL NOT COME AT ANY PRICE!”
Our captain-leader hisses, rearing higher upon the command dais, clearly losing both temper and patience. Underlings quail back in dismay.
“THAT SITUATION IS UNDER CONTROL. ZANG PESTS ARE ISOLATED. WHILE THE QUARANTINE HOLDS, NO PRIORITY EXCEEDS THAT OF CAPTURING THE EARTHLING SHIP!”
Others may be impressed, but the priest-stack is not intimidated by shouting or physical gestures. Instead, that revered ring pile moves closer still.
“AND WHAT OF COMMUNICATIONS? WE HAD PLANNED USING LOCAL HYPERMAIL TAPS TO CONTACT OUR CLAN/ALLIANCE. NOW THOSE SERVICES ARE RUINED. HOW SHALL WE INFORM SUPERIORS OF OUR DISCOVERIES/OPPORTUNITIES ON JIJO? OR SEEK AID IN PURSUIT OF THESE EARTHLINGS?”
Subordinate ring piles scurry away from this confrontation between tall, august stacks, who now stand nearly close enough to press their gorgeous, fatty toruses against each other. Dense, compelling vapors clash and swirl around them, driving to confusion any lesser Jophur who happens to get caught in a backdraft. Stretching higher, each great lord tries to overawe the other.
From a privileged point of view, clockwise and slightly behind, I/we perceive the captain-leader using an arm-appendage to draw forth a hidden sidearm. Nervous tremors surge down our fatty core.
MY RINGS, WILL HE SHOOT?
Suddenly, the taut tableau is interrupted. Word-glyphs from the ship’s chief tactics officer cut through the acrimonious stench like an icy wind, reminding us of our purpose.
“The Earthship comes within range! Soon it will pass nearby, on its way to the transfer nexus. Interception/opportunity will maximize in ninety duras.”
Like two antagonistic volcanos deciding not to erupt — for now — our great lords back off from the precipice. Their stacks settle down and cease venting odious vapors.
Some things need not be said. If we succeed now, no reward will be denied this crew or its leadership. No forgiveness will be withheld.
Scans show that nearby space is filled with debris from the great calamity. Innumerable ships can also be seen peeling off the retirement habitat, seeking to escape toward the local transfer point.
Warily, we search among these sensor contacts for possible threats — for warships or other entities that might interfere, the way Zang globules hindered us, last time the Earthlings seemed within our grasp. Each vessel receives scrutiny, but none seems to be in range this time, or of a class strong enough to obstruct us.
Nor do the wolflings try to hide among these refugees, using them as decoys. Unlike at Jijo, the trick would not/cannot work, for we have kept them in sight ever since the disintegrator beams shut off. Clearly they know it, too, for their sole aim appears to be speed. To outrace us. To find sanctuary in the knotty worldlines of the transfer point.
But to get there, they must pass us. Logically, there seems to be little going in their favor.
And yet — (points out our/My second ring of cognition) — for three years the wolflings and their clients have proved slippery. Ever ready to spring devil-tricks befitting Tymbrimi, they have thwarted efforts by all the grand military alliances. Now we face rumors that the sluggish forces of moderation have begun to rouse, here and there, across the Five Galaxies. If that happens — if the Earthers manage delay after delay — there is no telling what the pargi and other cautious fence-sitters might bring about!
Yes, My rings. Our wax overflows with disquieting worries. And yet, won’t all that simply make our glory greater, when we Jophur succeed where others failed!
From Polkjhy, an ultimatum goes forth, similar to one the Terrans spurned before, when we sought them with beams and bombs under Jijo’s ocean waters.
