The Rising Darkness (Space Empires Book 1)

by Selby, Caleb

“And just who are you?” asked Fedrin.

  “My name is Tarkin,” replied the Branci confidently. “I can pilot this ship out of the atmosphere without a computer.”

  The Iovara continued to list, prompting several of the officers to tether themselves into their stations or risk falling out of them.

  “The Iovara is no ordinary ship,” Jonas called down from his station. “She’s the biggest atmospheric capable ship in the navy. She’s not like piloting your average shuttles back home. So thanks for the offer but no thanks.”

  Tarkin looked up at Jonas and nodded. “I mean no disrespect, but I have flown bigger.”

  “There are none bigger!” Jonas snapped. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  Tarkin nodded. “I have flown freighter ships for the Asar Mining Company. They are atmospheric capable and are easily twice the mass of the Iovara. I have flown them unaided by guidance computers multiple times.”

  Jonas sat back in his chair with misgivings written all over his face but with no more comments to make.

  “We either give him a try or risk punching our main thrusters in atmosphere,” Kesler said. “Doing that would almost surely cover the ground in radiation.”

  “Thrusters aren’t an option,” Fedrin stated with authority and then reluctantly looked at the Branci standing uneasily before him. Finally Fedrin sighed and shook his head. “Ok Tarkin. Give us your best,” he said motioning to the vacant piloting station. A murmur echoed through the bridge as the other officers exchanged looks about the bizarre scene they where witnessing.

  “Everyone shut up!” Fedrin snapped. “He’s your only chance at survival right now. So keep your comments to yourself until he’s done!”

  You could have heard a pin drop on the bridge as Tarkin promptly made his way to the piloting station. All eyes in the room were fixed upon him, a thought he pushed out of his mind. As he reached the station, he quickly looked at the input panels. The controls were more advanced then he had seen on the civilian ships but the layout was generally the same. With one last deep breath, he reached out for the multiple levers, his six arms making easy work of it, and slowly leveled off the mighty ship. As the list corrected, several officers clapped their hands in approval. Tarkin did not pay heed. He continued to slowly and expertly, guide the bow of the ship upward at a manageable angle and gradually increased the thrust from the secondary engines until she was moving at a solid pace.

  Only as the ship ascended out of the atmosphere did Fedrin breathed again as the piloting was immediately transferred to automated systems that could operate outside an atmosphere.

  “Who is with us?” Fedrin asked as he stood to his feet, the events of Tarkin’s miraculous achievement already taking a backseat in his mind.

  Kesler shook his head in stunned silence as he counted the ships that started to make their accent with them.

  “Who is with us?” asked Fedrin again with more emotion in his voice.

  “Only the Defiant and Bolter made it out,” Kesler hesitatingly answered. “The rest are still on the ground.”

  “Signal the ones still on the ground!” ordered Fedrin as he dropped back into his chair and frantically looked at his own computer screen. “Ask them what assistance we can offer them?”

  “Their transmitters are down,” answered Kesler as he looked on in overwhelming sorrow and pity at the flames dancing upon the hulls of once mighty warships. “They are falling apart, Sir. It’s just going to be us three. I’m sorry.”

  For a moment, it looked as if Fedrin’s grief would overpower him and he would breakdown right on the bridge. But he quickly regained composure and looked up resolutely. “Have the Defiant and Bolter follow our lead and keep a tight formation. We’re not out of the woods yet!”

  Several dull sounds suddenly rattled the ship. Fedrin looked up and glanced at Kesler. “Don’t tell me...”

  Kesler nodded in response to Fedrin’s assumption. “Traffic control fighters have opened fire on us!”

  “Damage report?” Fedrin asked as he left his chair and walked over to Kesler’s station.

  “No primary systems damaged yet,” Kesler replied, “but our shields have taken quite a beating from the fire already. If they keep it up, they’ll rip through very soon.”

  “Lieutenant?” Fedrin asked, glancing up at his tactical officer.

  Jonas nodded his head in agreement. “Our shielding is down to eleven percent. One more solid volley and they’ll punch through with no problems.”

  “Commander Drezden is reporting that he is also being fired at by the patrol crafts and wants to know if he has permission to retaliate,” stated Kesler.

  Fedrin sat in his chair and rubbed his stubbly chin, all the while starring at the main screen shaking his head. He slapped a button down on his chair console and cleared his throat.

  “This is Admiral Fedrin to pursuing patrol craft squadron. Disengage now, or I will order my gunners to take you out. I repeat, I will shoot you down! You have no chance against our weaponry. You must know this. Withdraw, or be destroyed!”

  Several quiet seconds followed before another warning sounded at Kesler’s station.

  “Commander Drezden reports that his ship has sustained another volley and that his shields are now on the verge of collapsing,” Kesler reluctantly voiced.

  Fedrin shook his head. “Mr. Jonas!” he said, determination resonating in his voice. “Take them down!”

  The turrets on the three fleeing war ships turned and roared to life, firing several rapid volleys at the pursuing patrols. The big guns of the fleet ships in the hands of experienced gunners were no match for the lightly armored patrol vessels. Moments later, they were all shot down.

  Fedrin watched as the last of the ships burst into flames and spun out of control back toward the surface of the planet.

  “We’re clear and free,” Jonas reported in a subdued tone, never having fired on his own ships before.

  “Computers state that we brought down eleven patrol ships,” Kesler added.

  Fedrin’s head hung low. “Survivors?”

  “No life pods were launched,” Kesler answered.

  Fedrin nodded slowly. “Can we establish a tele-link with Larep?”

  “I’ve tried half a dozen times already,” Gallo, the chief communications officer, answered from his post at the front of the room. “The transmissions are going through but nobody’s picking up. I’ve tried the capital building directly and the defense counsel building on multiple wavelengths. Nothing!”

  “Maybe there’s electromagnetic interference from the explosions?” Jonas suggested.

  Gallo shook his head. “At this range, no amount of EM disruption could block out our primary transmitter. There’s just nobody answering.”

  “We are however receiving dual transmissions from the Defiant and the Bolter,” Kesler interrupted.

  “Put them both on screen,” Fedrin replied as he turned to face the large screen at the head of the room.

  Two frazzled men, neither of which were in uniform, appeared on the split screen at the front of the bridge. Drezden, commander of the Defiant and close personal friend to Fedrin, looked shell-shocked, unable to speak. He had obviously been crying. Sanders, commander of the Bolter, looked furious.

  “What just happened?” Sanders snapped.

  Fedrin shook his head in a daze. “I don’t have any answers for you.”

  “What’s Larep saying?” Sanders asked. “I can’t get through to anyone down there. And why in the world did they fire on us? That was the most messed up half-hour of my entire life! I just don’t get it, Fedrin, I don’t get it!”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Fedrin repeated. “Our transmissions are not being answered either. We’ll keep trying and I’ll let you know as soon as they get back to us.”

  “How many people died?” Drezden quietly asked.

  Fedrin shook his head and looked over to Kesler. “Any thought on numbers yet?”

  Kesler shrugged. “It
depends on how many of the crews were on leave, which I won’t know for sometime. At the low end, I’d venture that at least twenty to thirty thousand lives were lost between dock workers and personnel aboard ships.”

  Drezden closed his eyes. “Thirty thousand,” he whispered and shook his head.

  “What of the fleet?” Sanders asked. “Surely it’s not just us?”

  Fedrin slowly nodded. “From the looks of things, the primary explosion occurred just under docking point four, right beside the main nuclear fuel depot for the fleet.”

  “It took out ten ships before we even knew what happened,” added Drezden.

  “So no accident?” Sanders asked, already knowing the answer.

  Fedrin shook his head. “Not a chance. Today was the first time in two years such a number of ships were on the ground at the same time. Someone had this whole thing planned out, likely months in advance.”

  Sanders shook his head as he looked at images of the devastation on one of his own screens. “I wonder how they pulled it off?” he said, still in awe of the carnage.

  “I bet it didn’t go exactly as they were planning,” said Drezden thoughtfully.

  “What do you mean by that?” inquired Sanders.

  Drezden shrugged. “Wasn’t docking point number four the originally slated docking point for the Iovara?”

  Fedrin shrugged and looked toward Kesler who nodded with affirmation.

  “It was changed last minute by the traffic control authority to bay number seven due to several failed couplers in bay four,” Kesler said.

  “So what are you saying? You think the sabotage was intended to take out the Iovara?” Sanders asked.

  Drezden shrugged. “I think it’s safe to say she was the priority target, plus whatever else they could get with the ensuing blasts and secondary explosions.”

  “It’s an interesting thought, but I doubt it,” Fedrin said. “Other than the fact that this is the flagship, there really isn’t anything overly significant about it.”

  “You’re aboard her,” Drezden said sharply.

  Fedrin smiled and shook his head. “I appreciate the value you place on me but I am quite replaceable my friend.”

  “You’ll have to pardon me Admiral,” Sanders suddenly interjected after some commotion sounded out behind him. “There are a couple of issues that I need to address on my ship. Looks like two of our airlocks are swinging open in the breeze.”

  “By all means,” Fedrin said, waving the commander off. “We’ll be in touch.”

  “Do we have a heading I can plot in?” Sanders asked before signing off.

  Fedrin glanced at the screen to his side and then nodded. “I think we’ll head straight for sector eighteen and meet up with the Hornell Battle Group.”

  “Thank goodness the Hornell fighters weren’t on the ground with us,” Drezden added. “Loosing the teeth from a fighter carrier at this stage of the war could foreshadow the end.”

  Sanders nodded. “Agreed.”

  “I’ll have Kesler inform the Hornell and her escort ships of our situation and have them hold position,” Fedrin added.

  “Aye, Sir,” Sanders said and terminated his transmission.

  “I need to run too,” Drezden said. “We got pretty cooked back there and I need to make sure everything’s ok.”

  Fedrin slowly nodded as he still struggled to gather his racing thoughts.

  “You ok?” Drezden asked before signing off.

  Fedrin looked up. “No...no I’m not old friend. But I don’t have time for anything else right now.”

  “I’ll be here if you need anything, ok?” Drezden said sincerely.

  Fedrin looked up at Drezden and nodded before signing off. Fedrin sighed heavily. So much had happened that he had trouble processing it all. His head ached horribly as he tried to grasp on to the details and the sequence of events. Yet, his headache paled in comparison to the heartache he felt upon considering the deaths of the tens of thousands of crewmembers that had perished in a mere instant. He forced himself not to think about them. He had to appear strong and resolute on his bridge, now more then ever.

  “Is my ship ok?” Fedrin asked rising to his feet and looking about his cluttered bridge.

  Kesler gave his screens an once-over before turning around and offering a shrug and a nod. “Looks like all main systems are set to go. We’ve got a couple of things still being locked down in the secondary hangar bay but other than that, I’d say we’re good.”

  Fedrin looked up above to the next level. “Jonas, how about it?”

  Jonas nodded, and then looked down from his post. “Shield sensors appear to be showing inconsistent readings and will have to be worked on after the other critical systems are tended to. Until that is taken care of, we should avoid combat at all costs.”

  “And the weapons?” Fedrin asked stepping off the central command platform and making his way toward a monitoring station across the bridge.

  “Most of the main weapon systems and particle defensive turrets seem to be intact. We did manage to burnout three secondary DEG placements on the port side but they can be repaired outside of dry-dock and as long as there aren’t any glitches, that should be taken care of in just a day or two.”

  Fedrin looked up from the monitor and turned to Gallo. “Keep signaling Larep. We need to see what’s going on down there as soon as possible. And Kesler, try and piece together exactly what went down chronologically. Look over the security cam feeds from all surviving ships and the docks. I want to know who did this and how.”

  “Then we can start some punishing!” said Jonas, patting his firing controls affectionately.

  “Sure Jonas. What ever makes you happy,” Fedrin said with a role of his eyes as he made his way back to his platform.

  A high-pitched series of unique beeps suddenly sounded at Gallo’s station, prompting Fedrin to look up sharply.

  In well-rehearsed motions, Gallo flipped a number of switches and tuned in several sensitive dials, all the while intently watching a small screen. He nodded with approval when he was done. “Alright, Admiral. This is it. We are receiving a priority one coded transmission from Larep, the capital building to be precise.”

  Fedrin froze.

  “It’ll take a few minutes to initialize,” Gallo said “but initial scans confirms this transmission is legitimate.”

  “Who is it?” Fedrin asked.

  Gallo shrugged. “Not sure. Looks like it’s being set up by an automated encryption system and the sending party is not ready to speak yet.”

  “I’ll take it in my quarters,” said Fedrin and made his way toward the door. “Kesler, plot a course to sector eighteen and inform the Commanders in the Hornell battle group of our situation.”

  “Right away, Sir,” Kesler answered.

  “Gallo, notify the Second, Third, and Northern Fleet Admirals of our circumstances and arrange a secure tele-link with them for this afternoon. We will have a lot to discuss.”

  “I’ll get on it,” replied Gallo.

  Fedrin took two steps toward the door before abruptly stopping and turning toward the piloting station. “Tarkin, we all owe you a great debt. Your expertise saved the lives of everyone on this ship. Thank you.”

  Tarkin bowed to Fedrin graciously without saying a word.

  “Keep her running gentlemen,” Fedrin said with a lump in his throat as he began to walk off the bridge.

  Kesler let out a loud sigh as he went to work on his tasks.

  “Well isn’t this just lovely!” Jonas exclaimed from atop his post.

  “You’re not kidding,” Kesler called back. “My shore leave was only few hours away! Goodbye Larep! Goodbye beautiful women I’ll never meet. Goodbye happiness,” Kesler finished as he waved out the window.

  “So you think it was the Krohns?” Gallo asked when Kesler quieted down.

  “It’s got to be,” Kesler answered. “Who else would do something like this? Who else would have the means?”

  “Yeah
but how?” asked Jonas. “If you haven’t noticed, Krohns kind of stick out in a crowd, what with that whole reptile thing they got going on.”

  Kesler shrugged. “I really don’t know. I don’t even think I want to know. It’s just too creepy.”

  “You said it,” Jonas said.

  Tarkin watched with great amusement as the officers talked amongst themselves. He himself was a man of few words and usually only spoke when spoken to, and this time was no different. Although riding high on his impromptu success, he still knew he had to be careful. Branci were not well liked at most places outside of their home world in the Federation but a fleet warship was an almost certain breeding ground for racism. He would have to watch his step and keep close to those friendly to him.

  2. The President

  Fedrin walked briskly to his room. He tossed his uniform jacket over a small table near the door and walked straight to his wall-mounted tele-link.

  “Still initializing,” he said to himself looking at the priority-one transmission blinking in red on his screen. He shook his head in frustration and then walked from the tele-link to the small window between his bed and desk. He leaned against the cold metallic hull and gazed out, as his world grew steadily smaller and smaller.

  “When did it all go wrong?” he found himself asking as he gazed over the sandy, arid planet he called home. “When did the difference between right and wrong become clouded? When was shooting down his fellow servicemen a necessity in order to survive?”

  He brought his hand up to rub his tired face and noticed that it was trembling, undoubtedly from the adrenaline surge of the past hour. He formed a fist to hold his fingers still, then suddenly slammed the cold unyielding wall. He slammed it over and over again, ignoring the pain. Tears of sorrow mixed with anger that he had valiantly held back while on his bridge, now flooded his eyes. Visions of his burning fleet and dying servicemen flashed through his mind. His grief was immense.

  He stood there transfixed for a few more moments before forcing himself to look away, no longer able to bear the sight of his barren world. As he left the window he wondered when he would return. Perhaps he never would.