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. At nine feet tall with jagged edges and all of them 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,' and 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 glorified scrapheap, 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 center 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. 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."
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 whispered, 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?" Michael asked curiously.
"It is already miserable!" a stout, grey alien shouted in a nasally voice.
