by Selby, Caleb
Trab breathed in deeply and then exhaled. “Before the beginning, before time was time, before the planets were formed, before life was created there was only Yova, the creator.”
Fedrin found himself rolling his eyes. “Creator? As in a god?”
“Precisely,” answered Trab unfazed by Fedrin’s lack of faith. “Yova saw fit to fill the emptiness of space with innumerable stars and planets which were his chosen medium to support the greatest of all of his creations, life. Millions of different forms he created, each one different, each one beautiful in its own special way.”
“And why did he do this?” asked Fedrin skeptically. “To watch them torture themselves and be miserable? If so, this god is a pretty messed up guy!”
Trab walked in front of Fedrin and sat on a grassy bank beside him. The folds of his robe flowed in the gentlebreeze as he spoke. “Yova made these life forms for one reason and one reason only Fedrin.”
“And that was?”
“Companionship.”
Silence followed. “Companionship huh?” Fedrin finally said. “Sounds farfetched.”
“It doesn’t it all,” answered Trab promptly. “Think of it this way. If you were the greatest painter in the world, would you not want others to see your work and comment on it? Would you not want galleries to be built and stories to be written about your pieces? Would you not want praise for what you had accomplished? Would you not be righteously angered for those who praised others for the work you had done? Although on a much grander scale, so too does Yova wish to be acknowledged as the great artist, architect and creator that he is! He desires his creations to love, honor and admire him for what he has done and in return for their praise, receive fellowship, love and blessings from him. For what glory is there in being a magnificent artist without an audience to display for?”
As Trab spoke, Fedrin thought back to his days at the Central Larep University where he studied for several years prior to attending the Military Academy. He vaguely remembered some gray-haired, university professor lecturing on the obscure theories of intelligent design and other equally bizarre superstitions of ancient days. At the time, Fedrin had shrugged them off as primitive folklore. But now, in the presence of this powerful and obviously more advanced being, the thoughts were becoming less and less primitive by the moment.
“Lets say for sake of argument you’re right,” Fedrin voiced up. “Lets say this universe was made for some god to brag about how awesome he his. If that really is the case, and I’m not saying it is, he really messed things up. Either that or you’ve got your fairytales confused because last time I looked around, there wasn’t a lot of love and fellowship going on.”
Trab turned his hooded face toward Fedrin and spoke sorrowfully. “The whole of creation has indeed been corrupted by a growing darkness Fedrin. It spreads from planet to planet debasing all it comes in contact with. Where it finds love, it introduces hate. Where it finds peace, it teaches war. Where it finds innocence, it brings corruption.”
Their conversation paused momentarily as a large shadow slowly cast itself over the precipice on which they stood and a low but distinct rumble sounded throughout the valley growing louder moment-by-moment. They both looked up and watched just as an elegant, mighty craft flew stealthily overhead. The ship itself was like nothing Fedrin had ever seen before. It bore all the same elegance and beauty of the towers comprising the Sion city, while at the same time resonating with awesome strength and authority a hundred times more potent than that of the Iovara.
“The Conquer has returned from the front,” remarked Trab, the word “Conquer” resonated deep inside Fedrin and nearly giving him chills.
“She’s…she’s beautiful,” Fedrin stammered, imagining it flying side by side with his own ships battling the Krohns and whoever else dared challenge them.
“I’m sorry Fedrin, but we have no ships to spare,” Trab suddenly said, as if he had been reading Fedrin’s mind. “We need every last one we have for our own war.”
Before Fedrin could reply, three more ships appeared overhead, rumbling loudly, following the same flight path as the Conquer. All had the general appearance of the former, yet they were each badly damaged. Large burn marks streaked across their hulls, huge indented explosive marks spotted their fuselages and small streams of smoke trailed behind their engine cores.
“What has happened?” implored Fedrin in awe.
Trab’s voice was still filled with sadness as he answered. “They too have returned from the front...all that remains from a battle group of thirty such ships.”
For the first time since he had heard fabled stories of them from his youth, Fedrin suddenly realized that the Sions were not omnipotent, near immortal beings as he had been taught and believed. These mighty and powerful beings were quite mortal, and their ships were not indestructible. The realization was sobering.
“With whom are you at war?” Fedrin earnestly inquired, almost not wanting to know of a race powerful enough to take out Sion warships by the dozen.
Trab paused before answering, as if the answer weighed on his mind. “We war against a dark power known to us as the Unmentionables,” he began. “They are the legacy of terrible demons that once roamed these stars and now act as a scourge upon all of Yova’s creations. Equipped with sinister abilities to deceive others and mask their appearance, they have started innumerable wars, wiped out entire civilizations and inflicted untold sufferings in their wake.”
“Have they ever acted against us?”
Trab nodded. “Until recently, we have effectively stood against them in their efforts to openly attack you. But they have managed to reach you over the years by orchestrating the Refrac Conflict and more recently by stirring up the Krohns against you. And regrettably, they have also since infiltrated your society and are responsible for a number of recent travesties including the destructions of the Sixth and Second Fleets.”
Dozens of questions began to race through Fedrin’s thoughts. He wanted to ask them all but wasn’t sure where to start. His head was beginning to hurt as it had done during the first Sion visit and he began to realize that the pain was a limitation of the communication system they were utilizing.
“You say they can mask their appearance,” he finally stated as he tried to ignore the building pain. “Does that explain why my government has images of me in the dock security cams even though I wasn’t there?”
“That is but a small sampling of what they are capable of doing,” answered Trab. “They have used their chicanery with utmost proficiency to subjugate entire races to do their bidding. And in truth Fedrin, they have seeded many agents within your own Federation with assumed and stolen identities, just waiting for their time to act.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense!” Fedrin objected. “Why go through all this covert effort to undermine us when we pose no threat to them?”
“Aside from their ambition to dominate all of creation, your people possess something of great value that they earnestly desire,” replied Trab.
Fedrin looked up curiously. “And what is that?”
“A tree,” answered Trab.
A throb of pain suddenly erupted in Fedrin’s head and it took all his willpower not to call out in agony. As the pain grew, the city began to fade from view.
“No!” Fedrin called out, realizing the link was ending.
“You have activated the failsafe,” Trab announced, explaining to Fedrin why the session was abruptly ending. “Your physiology cannot maintain this link any longer.”
“But I still have more questions!” Fedrin yelled.
“And we will provide answers,” replied Trab. “But not now.”
Fedrin’s eyes immediately opened and he sprang from bed in near delirium as his faculties slowly returned. Once alert and calmed down, he sat down at his chair panting for breath and holding his head as the unbearable pain from moments earlier, slowly subsided.
“A tree?” he said to himself and then shook his head. He now h
ad more questions then ever before and no foreseeable plan for finding any answers.
***
The officer burst through the door and ran down the cluttered hall, fiercely clutching a piece of paper in his hand. Packed boxes, cheap shelving units and stacks of near toppling paperwork created formidable obstacles for the young officer to navigate as he fought his way to the office at the end of the hall.
“General! General Darion!” he called out as he nearly tripped over a carelessly placed data card case outside the door. “General, we got it!” he finished and gasped for breath as he presented the man behind the desk with the wrinkled paper.
The man behind the desk was General Darion. He was as conceited as they came but not without reason. He was tall, good-looking and at thirty-two years, was very young for his position as Chief General over the combined land forces in Larep. He was generally popular with his men and even more popular with the ladies. When not in uniform, he wore clothes that were out of his price range and slightly too young for him. He held a reputation of being the “playboy general” which he enjoyed thoroughly as it made him the center of attention at every party and club that he attended (which was often). Gone were the days when being a general was synonymous with honor and valor. In the anemic realm of the Namuh Army, it was nothing more than a status symbol, which Darion flexed at every opportunity.
And so it was that the playboy general slowly looked up from his data pad where he had been chatting with several women for the last hour and slowly reached for the paper being thrust upon him by his young officer. His eyes quickly skimmed over the contents until a slight smile crept over his pampered face.
“What’s going on in here?” Field Marshall Jarvik asked, appearing in the doorway. “Loson, you off your meds again?”
“Oh you’re so funny!” replied Loson with a role of his eyes. “Check it out,” he added with a nod toward the paper.
“Is that what I think it is?” Jarvik asked, his eyes suddenly gleaming with anticipation.
“Sure is!” Loson replied. “A senate courier just delivered it downstairs.”
Jarvik squeezed into the small office. “Well, don’t just stare at me like that General! What does it say?”
General Darion’s smile grew and he turned back to the paper and began to read. “General Darion: on behalf of the Defense Expenditure Appropriation Committee, we are pleased to grant your increase of requested fiscal assets available immediately.”
“Hoorah!” Jarvik shouted as he pumped his clenched fist in the air. “Its about time!”
“What’s all the commotion about?” yet another officer inquired as he poked his head into the office.
“We were granted our budget increase!” Loson announced. “Who’s ready to go shopping?”
“I’m going tonight!” Darion said and laughed loudly. “Then after that, it’s party time!”
The officers cheered.
It was hard to believe, but it was true. After eleven months of lobbying and nearly begging, the Nineteenth District Army had finally received their increase in funds. General Darion, the interim executive officer over the district, had called in all favors and had even gone into debt on a few others to get the right result.
The result itself was an incredible feat: an increase in funds for a ground based military unit. It was the first time since the Refrac War that a tactical ground force had received an increase in funds outside of normal expenses. With the primary emphasis of defense focusing more and more in the extra planetary arena, the home world district forces had undergone extensive atrophy. There just wasn’t the need anymore, or so the opponents of the bill had argued, to further fund a land based army when funds were scarce.
Darion opened a drawer in his desk and slid a tall bottle across to his men. “I’ve been saving this for you,” he said and smiled. “You’ve earned it!”
Loson eagerly reached for the slender bottle but Jarvik quickly grabbed his arm and picked up the bottle himself. “Its for us Loson...not just you,” he said followed by a roar of laughter.
“Whoa General!” one of the other officers exclaimed upon examining the bottle. “Real fruit juice? Where did you get it?”
Darion smiled. “It was a gift,” he said not at all convincingly.
His officers smirked, knowing the costly bottle had most likely been part of a military contract bribe.
“Its bottled on the Branci home world!” Loson suddenly exclaimed as he pointed at the markings on the face of the bottle. “You better start upping your gift standards General. Now that we have the money I want to start seeing some real signs of affection from these contractors. No more of these Branci imports.”
Darion smiled. “I’ll pass your comments along.”
“Hey, if you don’t want any I’ll have your share,” Jarvik said.
“I didn’t say that,” Loson said as a he shoved an empty glass toward Jarvik. “I just hope the bottlers washed their hands this time. So help me if I find another Branci beard hair in my glass again...”
The other officers looked at Loson in bewilderment.
“You’ve got issues,” Jarvik said with a shake of his head. “Serious issues.”
Loson shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
Jarvik shook his head. “To Senator Trivis!” he called out as he lifted up the bottle to the ceiling and began to pour each man a full serving of the juice...a rare delicacy in any quarter of the Federation but especially on the desert home world.
“Senator Trivis!” Loson repeated, toasting the air and then downing his entire glass. “I knew I should have voted for him!” he added followed by hearty laughs all around.
The revelry slowly made its way out of Darion’s cramped office and toward the conference room at the opposite end of the cluttered hall. Darion smiled as he closed his door in a vain attempt to drown out the noise. It had taken all of them months of long days and sleepless nights writing letters, lobbying politicians and finding the right leads to get their bill approved. It wasn’t an easy sell. The deciding factor finally came down to the seemingly all-powerful Senator Trivis. He had been convinced of their cause only three days prior, following a long conversation with Darion and the Defense Council immediately after the Sixth Fleet disaster.
And while the destruction of a majority of the Sixth Fleet would have seemed to spell doom for the bill, Trivis had masterfully turned the tragedy into stark realization of the vulnerability of the ground defenses, which led to a landslide ruling in favor of the bill.
Darion set the report on his desk and then glanced around his cramped little office. Rodent holes littered the floorboards of the yellowed walls and the ceiling sagged in several places due to a series of neglected roof problems. Cobwebs occupied the corners and dust coated nearly every surface. Yet, it was the best facility Darion could find with his bare-bones budget after the destruction of the Defense Complex nearly a year ago. He smiled at the thought of the nice offices he could rent with the money he was just awarded. He pictured a nice suite in one of the bigger Larep skyscrapers with a sprawling view of downtown.
“That would do quite nicely,” he reasoned and then smiled.
8. Revelations
“We are receiving a transmission from the Hornell,” Ensign Gallo announced after Fedrin stepped onto the bridge “Transfer it to the main screen,” ordered Fedrin as he made his way to his seat and looked up.
The multilevel main viewing screen in the front of the room came to life and Commander Kendrick’s jolly, bearded face filled it up.
“Hello there, Admiral!” bellowed Kendrick, followed by a hearty laugh. “It’s good to be back with the fleet! There’s nothing quite like coming along side the Iovara’s big guns to make a fella feel safe in bed at night!”
Fedrin smiled. “I heard you had good hunting?”
Kendrick chuckled. “If I had shot a tied up norpis calf in a pen at point blank range with a rocket launcher, it would have been better sport.”
The Iovara off
icers laughed, a few clapped.
“But it was nice to get the pilots familiar with the new Comet Fighters,” added Kendrick. “They’ve been itching to use them on something other than drones...though I still think our drones do better than those Refrac. I never saw a sloppier group of ships in all my life. Pitiful!”
“Well thanks for taking care of them just the same,” said Fedrin. “Its one less thing we need to worry about.”
Kendrick nodded. “Speaking of thanks, with your permission Admiral, I was planning on inviting all the command crews to join us for a small victory celebration this evening!”
The officers on the Iovara Bridge perked up and eagerly looked at Fedrin. Fedrin had a lot of work and planning still to do, but indulging in a party for a few hours wasn’t going to drastically change any decisions he was going to make one way or the other. He reluctantly shrugged and nodded. “I suppose we could manage that,” he said much to the excitement of his officers.
Tarkin leaned over and whispered to Kesler. “So do I count as command crew yet?”
Kesler smiled. “We’ll get you there buddy! Don’t you worry.”
Tarkin smiled.
“Ok then,” Kendrick said. “The meal will be ready in about two hours. Come over anytime before that.”
“Sounds great,” said Fedrin. “Are you going to break out some of the real food?”
Kendrick looked offended. “Of course we are!” he said and then, laughed. “Life is too short...and getting shorter all the time. We’re breaking out everything we’ve got! Bring your appetites or stay home!”
The Iovara officers cheered, excited at the thought of real food and a chance to unwind, none more so than Tarkin who clapped his three pairs of arms mightily and let out a series of deafening shrieks.
“Better reserve two servings for Tarkin!” commented Jonas followed by a laugh.
“Will do!” said Kendrick with a smile. “Looking forward to meeting him!” he added and then ended the transmission.
“Lieutenant,” said Fedrin promptly.