The Chosen Race (Space Empires Book 2)

by Caleb Selby

  Drezden struggled to open his eyes. “My crew. Tell me, how is my crew?” he managed to ask in a hoarse voice.

  Carter squeezed some more water into his mouth. “It doesn’t look good,” he said frankly. “Half of my squad reported that a large majority, if not all, of your crew is dead. I’m sorry.”

  Drezden laid his head back on the floor and closed his eyes as tears built up in the corners. “It’s a devil,” he whispered dejectedly. “Nothing short of a devil.”

  “Beg your pardon?” Carter asked.

  “Whatever has done this, is not a natural creature. It is evil incarnate, I promise you,” he said shaking his head. “Pure evil.”

  “It must have been an Unmentionable,” one of the officers said. “That airlock opening we reported in the Second Fleet debris field must have been when it got aboard.”

  “Just like Fedrin said,” the other added.

  Carter looked up at the other two Defiant officers. “Tell me what happened. Exactly what happened? Don’t leave anything out.”

  “We’re not really sure,” Hoirs, the Defiant’s first Lieutenant, said as he held a cloth over the bleeding nose that Carter had smashed. “One minute everything was fine and the next thing we know, we’d lost communication with the rest of the fleet.”

  “After that, we started having power fluctuations within the ship and the crew started disappearing faster than we could track them,” the other officer said. “In under an hour we lost all control of the ship. Fedrin had said to stay in lockdown but it collapsed as we tried to figure out what was happening and protect everyone. The only room that remained on lockdown the entire time was this one. So we decided to barricade ourselves here and hold out for assistance.”

  Hoirs nodded. “The Unmentionable seemed to wipe out an area of the ship only once the power had been cut. So Drezden had the idea of cutting off our connections from the core and then activated our emergency ion generator. It kept the lights on and the bridge’s life support pumping.”

  “We also managed to remotely cut power to the engines and sever access to the shuttle bays,” Drezden voiced up. “My thought was that if we killed our engines, you would eventually find us.”

  “And the shuttle bays?” Carter asked.

  Drezden shrugged as he sat back up. “I didn’t want whatever got in, to get back out and lay havoc on another ship. As far as I can tell, it’s trapped somewhere here.”

  Carter sighed. “Well, this isn’t good.”

  “Understatement of the year Captain,” Radford commented.

  Carter nodded and then got up and took a few steps away from the group gathered around Drezden. “Melisi, you out there? Please answer if you can,” he said quietly. His effort was in vain.

  “Captain, I don’t like this,” one of the other Raiders spoke up.

  “Neither do I,” Carter quietly responded. “Neither do I.”

  “What are we going to do?” Hoirs asked.

  “I don’t know,” Carter honestly replied. “My gut tells me that we should do everything in our power to get back to our ship and get out of this floating tomb, but my head tells me that we’ll never make it.”

  Both Defiant officers looked at each other solemnly.

  Carter was just walking back to Drezden to ask him if they had control of the escape pods two levels below when the main screen in the front of the room flickered and then activated showing an internal ship transmission. The room in the transmission was dark but the unmistakable figure of a young woman could clearly be seen.

  “This is Engineering Ensign Arteena,” the voice whispered over the transmission. “Can you hear me?”

  “We can hear you Ensign,” Carter replied when nobody else did. “What is your situation?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered, her voice trembling in almost palpable fear. “I’m hiding in cargo hold eleven G-seven with about a dozen other survivors. We can’t find anyone else. I’ve tried all the other ship frequencies but no one else is responding,” she said helplessly. “We’re...I’m really scared. I think something is down here looking for us. I keep catching glimpses of it in the halls.”

  The Raiders looked at each other uneasily and then looked back up at the screen.

  “My battery for the transmitter is going to die any second,” Arteena said when her device sounded a chime. “The main power conduits aren’t working. Please help me! I don’t want to die here!” she continued to speak but her transmission slowly died out, leaving the main screen black.

  Without hesitation, Carter turned toward Hoirs. “Where’s cargo hold eleven G-seven?”

  Hoirs glanced at the other officer and exchanged concerned looks. “It’s two doors down from the aft engine room,” Drezden voiced up.

  Carter picked up his helmet and turned toward the door motioning for his team to follow. “Commander,” he said to Drezden as he latched his chinstrap.

  Drezden looked up.

  “I want you and your officers to try and use our short range transmitters to contact the fleet. They might not work but it’s worth a try. Fedrin needs to know what’s happening here.”

  Drezden nodded and immediately turned to begin the task.

  “Captain Carter!” Hoirs called out. Carter turned his head slightly to acknowledge that he was listening as he kept walking. “You can’t go down there! We don’t even know how to fight these things! We need to get off this ship now!” he finished frantically.

  “I’m not leaving anyone behind in this living nightmare!” Carter yelled back as he walked out the door. He motioned for one of his team to stay. The other four Raiders swallowed hard, gripped their weapons tightly, and obediently followed their seemingly fearless leader toward cargo hold eleven G-seven.

  CHAPTER 9

  The Bunkers

  The Krohn officer tightened the band around his pointed, bony forehead and made sure his yellow officer’s crest about his neck was polished and shining. He wanted to look as composed as possible before talking with his superiors. When, and only when, he was sure he looked perfect, he nervously entered the room. Several much higher ranking officers than him, were scattered about the large room. Most had red crests tied about their necks but he was surprised to spot a blue one in the far corner, undoubtedly one of the leading generals of the campaign. The room had been filled with loud chatter and commotion before he entered, but the moment he crossed the threshold, all the conversations stopped and all eyes of the other officers glared at him.

  He quickly performed a series of respective bows before venturing to speak. “My lords,” he said in a string of reptilian hisses and clicks. “I regret to inform you that our troops have sustained heavy losses trying to breach the Namuh bunkers. Their defenses within are more formidable than we had previously estimated and we have made no appreciable progress for the last ten hours. I humbly ask your leniency,” he bowed his pointed head again and waited for someone to comment.

  “Leniency granted,” one of the Krohns with a red crest finally said. “But this is the last time. I want progress into the bunkers by nightfall! If needed, continue to kill some of your troops every so often to motivate the others.”

  The officer rapidly nodded but was still unsure why this new policy of killing his own soldiers was being implemented. Before this campaign, it was unheard of for Krohns to kill other Krohns! But he knew that if he protested, his superiors would surely have no qualms about killing him. Of this, he was certain. They were vicious and ruthless leaders. He would be the last person in the world to cross them.

  “There is no army in Larep,” the Krohn with the blue crest suddenly spoke up. “There is no General in Larep. There are almost no weapons in Larep. There is no hope in Larep. So I must ask, why have you made no progress killing off the Namuh that dare oppose you? We have assembled one of the greatest military landings in our glorious history and yet we are thwarted fr
om grasping our victory by civilians cowering like rats in holes?”

  “A thousand apologies my, Master,” the Krohn said humbly, his head still bowed low. “It appears that the civilians have found or fashioned weapons and are defending themselves with great tenacity. Indeed, they are a foe worthy of our mighty warriors.”

  “I don’t want excuses!” the blue crested Krohn snapped, pounding the arm of his chair with one of his claws and prompting his tail to stand erect. “I want results! By this evening, I want your troops to occupy the first three levels of the bunkers! Three more by this evening! If it is not done, I will eat your heart for my supper. Do you understand me?”

  The Krohn rapidly nodded his head. “It will be done, my Master.”

  “Then go!” the blue crested Krohn shrieked. “Away with you! Return with news of your triumph or return as a dead hero who died nobly for the glory of the Empire!”

  The Krohn nodded his head many more times as he walked backwards out of the room. When the Krohn lieutenant finally left, Armid looked at Trivis and smiled. “I almost wish working with Krohns had been our assignment. They are so much more pliable than the Namuh.”

  Trivis nodded apprehensively. “They needed the best for the hardest projects.”

  “That’s true enough,” Armid said. “And speaking of projects, where’s the President? I thought he was supposed to be here today.”

  “Defuria is with the refugees...in the bunkers,” Trivis said and then looked at Armid for a reaction to the fact that their leader was tucked away in safety while they were all still doing hard and potentially hazardous work. Armid offered no satisfactory reaction.

  “Then why all this fuss sending in the Krohns?” Armid exclaimed. “Just have Defuria open up the doors and let the blood bath begin?”

  Trivis shook his head. “Defuria wants the Krohns weakened so they’ll be easier to get rid of once they’ve outlived their usefulness.”

  Armid smiled. “Nice.”

  “Seems to be his modus operandi,” Trivis added.

  “How do you mean?” Armid asked. “This is a first as far as I can remember.”

  Trivis shook his head. “Never mind, Armid. Never mind.”

  Previous to their inclusion into the Namuh Protective Federation, the Branci people had never known what war was. That wasn’t to say that the Branci were a utopian, peaceful society without crime or violence; far from it. But the need to rally fellow Branci and march against other Branci for the purpose of conquering or exploitation, was something that had never happened in their history. Some Namuh scholars have argued that given more time, eventually the Branci would have regressed to such acts, but the Namuh arrival likely diverted that reality from ever coming to fruition. Consequently, the Branci had no organized army or military prowess to boast. Yet, within each independent municipalities of the Branci civilization, there were a number of trained local “Protectors” who were responsible for keeping the peace in their respective towns and villages. All told, the Protectors numbered only in the hundreds, but their tenacity and fierceness were near legendary. Even the most racist Namuh, had to concede a certain level of respect for the Protectors, if even half of the tales told of them were true.

  Donned with his handsome officer’s uniform, hair slicked back, his beard brushed and with chin raised slightly in a look of striking authority, Tarkin looked on at the gathered Branci Counsel through the transmission screen. His request had been presented with all the eloquence of a veteran orator and now he awaited their decision. His friend and comrade, Commodore Kesler, stood patiently at his side. Kesler had wisely been quiet during the delivery of the request, leaving it all on Tarkin’s shoulders. If the Counsel was going to listen to anyone, it would be one of their own. They held little respect for Namuh officers, not that Kesler could blame them much.

  Tarkin and Kesler watched nervously as the Branci Counsel members, roughly twenty in all, talked with one another concerning the petition. Tarkin and Kesler could not hear what they said but watched the proceedings with great interest. Some of the members talked with each other in dramatic, animated fashion, occasionally pointing to the screen and then back to their associates. Others sat in their seats, quietly nodded and listened to what other, more vocal, members had to say. Still, others sat alone, apart from the group, seemingly thinking of their own answers, independent of the pressures of the others.

  Finally, after what seemed to be hours, the members returned to a semblance of order and a large Branci, wearing what appeared to Kesler to be a sort of uniform, walked to the center of the group. He wore a silver-plated patch over his right eye and walked with a slight limp. His six arms were massive, at least double the size of Tarkin’s. His strength must have been enormous! A slender sword like weapon dangled in a sheath at his left side and an outdated Namuh-crafted lydeg pistol was fastened in a holster on his right hip. He stood at attention and looked intently at Tarkin.

  “He’s the Chief Protector,” Tarkin whispered to Kesler. “His name is Ganon.”

  Kesler swallowed hard. He was an imposing figure.

  “Tarkin,” Ganon said in a rough voice, seemingly ignoring Kesler. “You have requested of the Counsel that we send our Protectors to Namuh Prime to help rid Larep of the Krohn scourge.”

  Tarkin and Kesler both nodded.

  Ganon continued. “You ask this because the Namuh planetary forces have either been disbanded or have been vanquished.”

  “That is correct,” Tarkin answered again.

  Ganon nodded. “And the bulk of the marine divisions serving in the fleets have either already perished or are unaccounted for?”

  “Correct,” answered Kesler.

  “I wasn’t talking to you!” Ganon snapped, looking at Kesler with disdain and then back to Tarkin for his answer.

  “He is right, Chief Protector,” Tarkin said, looking at Kesler and then back to Ganon. “We are currently on our way back to Namuh Prime now, but even if we manage to fight back the Krohn and Unmentionable Fleets, the Sixth Fleet does not have the troops required to launch an effective counter attack on the ground. Perhaps with time, the Krohns would be pushed back by volunteers and local security forces; but the extra civilian lives put in peril by such a plan is not a tolerable option. If the Counsel can spare even half of the Branci Protectors to aid us in our counter attack, untold refugee lives could be saved.”

  Ganon smiled, a conceited, arrogant smile. It was not pleasant. “Tell me, Tarkin. Why should this Counsel put our Protectors in harms way on another planet? What benefit does it provide us? Where is our interest in allowing our assets to be destroyed on another’s world? Tell this to me, Tarkin.”

  Tarkin cringed. “Because the Namuh are our allies Chief Protector. They are our partners. They are our friends.”

  “Allies? Partners? Friends?” Ganon said and then laughed. “The Namuh want us as their slaves! They want us to do their bidding! They’ve abused us at every turn! They’ve taken advantage of us and our resources to fund their wars and build their empire!”

  Kesler wanted to jump in, but wisely held his tongue. The argument would not be won with anything he had to say. The words and passions of Tarkin would have to suffice.

  “That is not true!” said Tarkin boldly, yet not with disrespect.

  Ganon looked at Tarkin with appall, not used to being challenged so directly.

  “Since day one, the Namuh have tried to be our partners, not our masters,” Tarkin stated frankly. “It is us, the Branci, that have sought and pursued an unequal arrangement benefiting us. It is we that have been the abusers, not the Namuh!”

  “Lies!” Ganon yelled. “Have your days with Namuh clouded your mind so quickly, Tarkin? Have you forgotten the hundreds of Branci kidnappings at the hands of the Namuh? Have you forgotten our people being worked nearly to death in the asteroid mines of Zelin? Have you forgotten these travesties, Tarkin or do
you wish to rewrite history like the rest of the Namuh?”

  Tarkin shook his head. “These heinous acts happened. No one denies this, Chief Protector; but they were carried out by a few evil men long ago. Their actions did not and do not represent the intents or general will of the Namuh people today. Such a notion is absurd, especially in light of the overt recompense the Federation has bestowed upon us. There are evil Namuh just as their are evil Branci. We cannot judge and we certainly cannot condemn an entire people based on the actions of a few from so many years ago.”

  The counsel members behind Ganon stirred, some obviously moved by Tarkin’s passionate oration.

  “What is done is done,” Ganon added promptly, regaining the attention of the Counsel. “Even if the Namuh owe no debts to us, we certainly owe nothing to them!”

  Tarkin shook his head. “The Namuh have given us so much more than we will ever be able to repay: medicine, protection, sanitation, technological advancements, water purification, knowledge about the universe, and so much more all the way down to the lydeg fixed on your very belt!”

  Ganon glanced at his belt and then back to Tarkin. He look frustrated but tried to remain cool. “Trinkets, Tarkin! Mere trifles meant to sway our weak minded brethren to hand over the keys to our world to the power hungry Namuh!”

  “You are wrong!” snapped Tarkin, much to the dismay and amusement of the Counsel members. “They were gifts and gestures meant to show the Namuh’s goodwill toward us. They were gifts we greedily took, but offered nothing in return. You wonder why the Namuh are so resentful of us now, Ganon? You wonder why the few Branci such as myself that wants to give back and actually work for their living have a hard time? You wonder why we few honorable Branci must deal with racism and stifling prejudice at every turn? It’s because of you! You and the rest of you lazy, worthless leaders that will take, take, take, but won’t even entertain the thought of giving back because you are so nervous that there’s another angle! Well it’s high time to stop playing the victim and start repaying your debts!”