by Selby, Caleb
After again glancing at the idle transmission screen, Fedrin took a shaky step toward his bed, sat down on the edge and buried his face in his hands. The all too familiar feeling of helplessness began to creep back over him as it had done many times in the preceding weeks and months. He wasn’t ready for this job, not by a long shot. He had only held the position for seven months, but it already felt like an eternity to him.
Although he hadn’t known it at the time, his life as he knew it ended the day he accepted the Chief Admiralty. Of course, it didn’t happen all at once, but by the time his wife left him, he had lost track of who he was and the people that he had once loved. He had become nothing more than a critical cog in the Namuh war machine but had lost everything else.
His torrent of thoughts prompted him to glance at a picture of his estranged wife on the near wall. He marveled at the fact that even with all the bitterness associated with her, he still couldn’t resist a faint smile when looking at her. Her brown hair fell to her shoulders outlining her gentle face and her piercing green eyes, filled with vitality; they haunted him with memories of happiness that were once his.
He reluctantly looked away from her picture and let his eyes scan over his crowded wall. He shook his head as he pondered how important the many things mounted and framed on his walls once were. But the dust covered honors, merits, and certificates that he had amassed over the course of his distinguished career, now seemed hollow and meaningless. Who cared anymore that he had graduated at the top of his class at the Venter Military Academy? Who cared anymore that he had received every possible honor and recommendation during his training? For that matter, who even cared that he was Chief Admiral? Since his predecessor’s untimely death, Fedrin had been hard-pressed to maintain a semblance of command within the fleets, as well as with his outspoken critics in Larep, the Namuh Protective Federation’s Capital city.
After countless weeks of wondering, Fedrin had finally concluded that the reason he wasn’t esteemed the way he assumed he would be as Chief Admiral, was his lack of commanding presence, an attribute gifted by nature, not learned or studied. He remembered vividly, the unwavering confidence and bold charisma that Nebod, the former Chief Admiral, always had when dealing with situations big or small. Every word Nebod uttered as Chief Admiral resonated with power, knowledge and strength and was treated as divine inspiration amongst his subordinates. These mannerisms were in stark contrast to Fedrin’s more timid, passive approach to leading and this proved to be a challenge, in some form or another, on a near daily basis for Fedrin, not that he blamed his men. As a rule, men have a built in reluctance to lend their lives to those who have not earned the sacred trust that such a monumental act requires. Nebod had earned that trust and thus his men’s loyalties. Fedrin was still being proved.
“Was it really only seven months ago?” asked Fedrin to himself, spotting the small picture of himself and Nebod nestled in the midst of Commander Recommendations that he stopped needing years ago.
Nebod had been the Chief Admiral over the combined Namuh Fleets for nearly a decade before Fedrin had assumed the position. Nebod had led the Namuh Federation with the utmost proficiency in its Second Great War for many years and he was justly credited with saving the Federation from the brink of demise on several occasions.
It was nearly two weeks after Nebod’s celebrated victory, at the Battle of Zelin IV, when he was killed in what was called an ‘unfortunate accident,’ aboard one of the public transport pods in Larep. News of Nebod’s death came as a great shock to the war weary Federation and his passing was mourned for many weeks, both by his own people and by the Branci race, which Nebod had done much for.
Thus it was that the little known Commodore Fedrin of the Sixth Fleet became the acting Chief Admiral over all of the fleets. Although humbled by the grand task that lay before him, Fedrin was thrilled with the opportunity to lead the fleets the way he saw fit. The day he was sworn into his position, he determined in his heart to be a great leader, that would become immortalized with his success in battling the enemy, and ensuring a safe and secure Federation. But the overwhelming stress, responsibility, and anguish that Fedrin suffered in the first month alone, made it clear that the position was not nearly compensated for by the honor and glory that he had naively assumed came with the title. It was an unending, relentless, consuming, and thankless task that drained all other facets of his life and gave very little in return.
“Transmission initialized,” a computerized voice suddenly announced from the console across the room, shattering the silence and bringing Fedrin back to the gloomy reality at hand.
Fedrin stood erect and walked immediately over to his tele-link, breathed out deeply and activated the transmission. No sooner had he done so when a massive headache came upon him and a voice echoed through his head. “Do not listen to their words,” the voice spoke in a raspy but unmistakably distinct voice.
The unnerving terror Fedrin would have felt upon hearing an unknown voice in his head was overwhelmed by the growing pain that accompanied the ominous warning. So great was the pain that Fedrin thought he would collapse to the floor in agony. But as quickly as it had started, it subsided, leaving only a dull throb in its wake. The peculiar spoken words however, echoed through his thoughts loudly.
As the screen came to life, Fedrin was nearly overwhelmed by the sight that met his gaze. President Defuria sat in a high-back leather chair behind the imposing presidential desk, surrounded by the entire Defense Council and several other cabinet members. All had a look of profound sobriety upon their faces and all looked as if they would personally like to strangle Fedrin to death.
“Admiral Fedrin,” a tight jawed, bitter looking man spoke up, taking a small step ahead of his companions.
“Minister,” Fedrin replied, acknowledging Defense Minster Boide, one of Fedrin’s most outspoken critics.
Boide continued. “By unanimous decision of the Defense Council, you have been relieved of the Chief Admiralty pending a thorough investigation into today’s events.”
“Investigation?” asked Fedrin. “Of what?”
Boide shook his head. “Of the charges brought against you,” answered Boide.
“And just what are the charges?”
“Treason, sedition, sabotage, murder and espionage,” replied Boide frankly. “You are hereby ordered to relinquish command of your vessel immediately and present yourself to the brig so that you can stand trial for your heinous acts.”
Fedrin scanned the faces before him in complete shock. “May I ask on what grounds these charges have been brought against me?”
Boide had a disgusted look on his face as he once again took center stage. “The charges are based on your part in the destruction of the Sixth Fleet, your disregard for thirteen atmospheric traffic ordinances including opening gun ports in dock and lastly for your overt action against eleven of our traffic control fighters, resulting in eleven pilot deaths.”
Fedrin shook his head in bewilderment. “Are you crazy? I didn’t have anything to do with the explosions! And as far as the flight ordinance violations, the docks were on fire! I tried to get takeoff clearance and only blasted my way out when nobody would grant it! And I only shot down the control fighters after they opened fire on us. And I’d repeat each of my decisions in a heartbeat if I had to!”
“Spoken like a true psychopath,” remarked Boide and shook his head.
“Excuse me?” Fedrin exclaimed. “What about the fact, that we were sitting in a raging fire, don’t you understand?”
“A fire you caused!” another council member spoke up.
“I already told you, I didn’t cause the explosions! Has the whole world gone mad?”
“We have video proof that you did it!” another councilman snapped. “There is no denying it Admiral! You are a traitor!”
“You are a murderer!” another yelled. “My nephew worked those docks for ten years! Now he’s dead! You killed him!”
“Heed not their toxic w
ords,” the familiar raspy voice sounded once more inside Fedrin’s head. “They speak lies for they are the children of lies. They know only how to destroy and corrupt. Now behold the deceivers for who they really are!”
The vindictive and scornful men standing around the President’s office suddenly changed into hideous monstrous forms, the likes of which Fedrin had never seen before! The creatures filled the screen and crowded out the President’s desk, obscuring the view of the seated man. The horrifying spectacle lasted only moments before the alien forms flashed back to that of the dignitaries, leaving Fedrin with vague images of large scaly heads and slithering appendages.
“Why did you do it Fedrin?” Boide then asked, apparently unaware that their true forms had been momentarily revealed. “Did the enemy promise you something in return? Lands? Spoils from the war? A safe haven for you when we lose? Something more? What Fedrin? What?”
“That is enough Minister,” President Defuria said, standing to his feet. “I’ll take it from here.”
“But what about the...” Boide started to say, pointing at an open data pad.
“I said I got it,” Defuria said firmly, motioning toward the door. “Now if you will all kindly step out, I will meet up with you in the situation room momentarily.”
“Fine,” Boide reluctantly replied, obviously put out. He then bowed to Defuria and then looked up at the screen to give Fedrin one more disdainful look before marching out of the room followed by the other members of the Defense Council.
Once they had left, Fedrin looked at the President suspiciously, not trusting anything he saw or heard.
Defuria casually crossed his arms and leaned against the front of his desk. His stance suggested he was relaxed and wanted to transmit that feeling to Fedrin. Fedrin kept his guard up all the higher.
“We’ve got quite a mess on our hands don’t we,” Defuria said, shaking his head. “Real shame about what happened, real shame.”
“Sure is,” said Fedrin coolly.
Defuria nodded slowly, seemingly planning his next words carefully. “There have been whisperings about outside forces interfering with our affairs Fedrin.”
“Oh?”
Defuria nodded. “You haven’t heard anything of this, have you?”
“Haven’t heard a thing,” answered Fedrin, unwilling to share the information about the strange voice or divulge what he had just moments earlier seen.
Defuria skeptically nodded before looking up at Fedrin with a sincere expression. “Fedrin, why don’t you turn around, come back home and help us clear up this whole mess. Even if you are innocent and this whole thing is some elaborate setup, you look guilty by running. Don’t you see that?”
“Don’t go back,” said the voice in Fedrin’s head. “He is trying to beguile you.”
Fedrin slowly shook his head. “From the sound of things, I’ve already been convicted. If I return now, I’ll just be coming back for my sentencing. With all due respect, no thank you Mr. President.”
“Fedrin, this is your last chance,” Defuria said firmly, unfolding his arms and motioning to Fedrin like a wayward child. “Come back now and I promise I will protect you. Ignore this chance, and there is nothing more I can do for you!”
Fedrin thought for just a moment before waving to the president. “Thanks, but no thanks. I like my chances better up here.”
“Don’t be a fool Fedrin!” Defuria suddenly yelled. “Come back! Think of the Federation!”
“I am,” replied Fedrin before reaching for the cutoff switch. As he did so however, he noticed an eerie glow begin to emanate from Defuria’s hands and face. It pulsated as he breathed and gave Defuria a fierce and powerful presence that Fedrin suddenly feared. Without another word, Fedrin flipped the switch, ending the bizarre transmission.
Fedrin stood back from the tele-link and shook his head. What had just happened? He felt like he should contact someone...anyone about what he had just witnessed. But whom could he trust? He was now an outlaw. He tried to decide on a course of action. Nothing came to mind. Once again he felt lost and helpless. What was he to do?
***
Tarkin placed his three trays of food down on the table and sat down across from Kesler.
“Hungry?” asked Kesler, looking at the multiple trays piled high with food with amusement.
“A little,” Tarkin answered honestly, missing the sarcasm of Kesler’s tone completely.
Kesler smiled and then took a bite of his sandwich.
It had been nearly ten hours since the three surviving vessels had made their traumatic escape from Namuh Prime. The rendezvous with the Hornell Carrier Battle Group was still several hours away so Kesler had taken it upon himself to familiarize Tarkin with the Iovara’s essential features.
Initially, Tarkin had received his fair share of nasty looks and snide whisperings from the various crewmen while roaming the halls with Kesler. But as the narrative of Tarkin piloting the Iovara to safety spread, he was treated less and less with bigotry and more and more like the hero he was. There were, of course, some crewmembers that didn’t care what Tarkin had done, but they soon became the minority as his reputation spread.
“These are for you,” Kesler said as he slid a silver data stick and a security access card over to Tarkin. “The stick has some training modules to get you familiar with some Navy policies and procedures. They will need to be completed before you are permitted to enter into active duty. It’ll probably take you a few weeks to do all the modules and then take the exams. Normally this is all covered in basic training and classroom settings but under the circumstances…”
“I’ve already completed all of them,” Tarkin interrupted. “It should only take me a few hours to take all the exams.”
Kesler looked at Tarkin curiously. “You’ve gone through the Navy officer training program already? On your own time?”
Tarkin shrugged and nodded. “I didn’t go to an academy so I wanted to be ready when I finally got here. I didn’t want to be behind my Namuh counterparts when I started.”
“But why?” asked a bewildered Kesler who had never picked up a textbook in his life unless absolutely forced to.
“Because, whether I like it or not, as a Branci serving in the fleet, I know that I will be under extreme scrutiny. I must give no occasion to my comrades to think of me as an inferior or less intelligent officer if I am to become an active and useful member of the crew.”
Kesler sat back in his seat and shook his head slowly. A few minutes of quiet passed before Kesler thoughtfully spoke again. “The last Branci I interviewed before you, told me that the only reason he was interviewing was because he had to show he completed five interviews a month in order to remain on Federation welfare assistance. He told me that even if I offered him a position, he wouldn’t take it. After he said that, he laughed and walked out.”
Tarkin closed his eyes in deep sadness and perhaps, a touch of embarrassment.
“Tell me something Tarkin. What makes you so different from so many other Branci and how can we get more of you?” Kesler asked, looking intently at the finest specimen of the Branci race he had ever seen.
Tarkin smiled. “First off, I am nothing special. I am simply the product of my influences. Had my influences been different, I may have very well ended up just like so many others that seem anxious to take but never entertain the notion of giving.”
“And what were your influences?”
“Two men,” replied Tarkin simply. “My father and the former Chief Admiral of the navy.”
“Nebod?” exclaimed Kesler. “You knew Chief Admiral Nebod?”
Tarkin nodded as a far off look filled his eyes. “In a manner of speaking. I met him briefly when I was but a boy.”
“Under what circumstances?” exclaimed Kesler.
Tarkin took a sip of water and then sat back in his chair. “Before our alliance with your world was finalized, a terrible illness spread over my world, killing tens of thousands of my people. Although your peop
le possessed the medicine to heal us, your government was hesitant to intervene for fear of contracting the disease themselves.”
Kesler nodded, remembering even as a child, the outcry from many activists demanding that the Namuh government help the struggling Branci.
Tarkin continued. “Nebod disregarded orders from Larep and brought an entire relief fleet to our world.”
Kesler chuckled. “I remember my folks watching that story unfold on the telecast when I was a boy. It caused quite a stir as I remember.”
“His actions likely saved my people from extinction,” Tarkin said emphatically. “If it wasn’t for him, I likely wouldn’t be here now.”
“He was quite a guy,” Kesler added.
Tarkin nodded and then smiled. “He personally came to my home during that infamous trip.”
“Why?” asked Kesler in amazement, wondering why a Chief Admiral would have an occasion to make house calls on an alien world.
“To tend to my mother who was gravely ill with the plague,” Tarkin answered.
“But why Nebod?” pressed Kesler. “Surely a medic could have handled it?”
Tarkin shrugged. “True, but the medic needed help carrying the supplies up into the smaller villages that could only be reached by foot. Nebod offered to help.”
Kesler shook his head. “Incredible.”
Tarkin nodded. “When they had finished, my mother was on the road to recovery and my father was weeping with gratitude. I remember him offering Nebod what few worldly possessions we had for payment but Nebod graciously refused, saying that our well-being was reward enough.” Tarkin sighed before continuing. “That day changed my life Kesler. What Nebod and your people did for my family was more than I could ever repay.”
“Incredible, simply incredible,” Kesler said, marveling at the impact Nebod’s actions had on a mere child.
“Nebod was the only ranking Namuh that ever saw value in our backward and at the time, primitive people,” Tarkin continued. “He saw us as equals and treated us with dignity and respect.” Tarkin shook his head. “His views were not shared by everyone however. A few bigots saw us as inferiors, good for nothing more than hard labor. Several asteroid plantation owners even had the audacity to kidnap some of us for use as slaves.”