The Rising Darkness (Space Empires Book 1)

by Selby, Caleb

  Even Kesler momentarily realized the candidacy merits of Tarkin. Having overlooked the letters at first glance, Kesler humored Tarkin and opened the files and quickly glanced through them. “Exemplary character, loyal, quick learner, blah, blah, blah,” Kesler quickly read to himself before nodding in approval and looking up at Tarkin. “Very impressive,” he reluctantly said, offering a nod and a half smile.

  Tarkin’s rough face offered his first hint of a smile since the interview began. “Thank you. I’ve worked hard, very hard to get here today. Many of us Branci dream of serving in the fleet and defending our Federation from those who wish it harm.”

  “Oh I can tell,” Kesler said with a hint of a condescending tone. “And in all honesty, you are an excellent candidate...as far as Branci go. But, unfortunately there are no open positions currently posted for entry-level officers in the Sixth Fleet. But I’ll tell you what I can do for you. Because you have such an impressive portfolio, I’ll add your name to the waiting list. How does that sound?”

  Tarkin’s momentary smile instantly turned to pure rage and he jumped to his feet, knocking over the chair behind him. “This is an outrage!” he yelled. “You and I both know that there are dozens of listed positions in the Sixth Fleet and that I am more then capable to fill any number of them!”

  Kesler jumped back from the table, his hand reaching for his holstered lydeg. “Hold it right there big fella.”

  Tarkin eyed Kesler’s weapon, carefully weighing his next move.

  “Why don’t you just get moving while you still can,” Kesler said.

  “If I don’t?” Tarkin asked, still starring at the gun.

  Kesler shook his head. “I’ll make sure your name is blacklisted. Good luck getting a job cleaning toilets on the colony transports if that happens!”

  Tarkin’s many years of hard, and at times tedious work, flashed before his eyes. His dream of serving in the Fleet was being yanked away by a racist Lieutenant and he had no recourse. His helplessness made him angrier. It would have been quick work to kill the Lieutenant, even with him being armed, but the consequences of such an action were not worth it.

  “Now that you’ve experienced my version of Affirmative Action, why don’t you just saunter on out of here and head downtown and apply for a subsidized apartment and a food card. I hear we’re still giving those away to anyone with six arms and a sob story,” Kesler added, motioning toward the exit.

  Tarkin didn’t move.

  “Do we have an understanding here or do you want me to defend myself from a perceived attack?” asked Kesler, once more patting his weapon.

  Tarkin’s mighty arms trembled with anger as he weighed the consequences of landing a few well-deserved blows on Kesler’s face. He had yet to decide his course of action when a deep rumble followed by a series of deafening explosions, sent both men to the floor.

  ***

  “Get up!” Tarkin said gruffly as he tried to prop Kesler up several minutes later. “Come on, we don’t have time to waste!”

  Kesler shook his head and slowly opened his eyes. “What’s going on? What... what happened? Get away from me!” he shouted when he realized Tarkin was touching him up. “What did you do?”

  Tarkin released Kesler and nodded toward the large window. “I did nothing...but someone sure has.”

  “What are you talking about?” Kesler said as he struggled to his feet and made his way to the window. The sight that met him caused tears to flood his eyes. “Help us all,” he whispered as he looked down in horror as half of the Sixth Fleet was awash in flames, the other half struggling to break free of their gravity well anchors to escape the inferno.

  Tarkin shook his head, unsure of what to say or do. Although not a member of the Navy, his heart had long been devoted to it and to see one of her fleets in such overwhelming tragedy was hard to watch.

  “Lieutenant Ke......vara command,” a crackly transmission sounded over the tele-link latched to Kesler’s wrist.

  Kesler immediately brought the tele-link to his lips. “This is Kesler. Go ahead, Iovara.”

  Another static filled transmission followed, “...is co...and wh...you?”

  “Iovara Command, I can’t make out your transmission,” Kesler answered as he walked across the room to get a better signal. “I’m in observation tower three with a Branci. I was just conducting an interview when an explosion erupted somewhere down on the surface. I see fire shooting up everywhere. Please advise. Over!” Kesler looked out the window and spotted the Iovara through the smoke and debris. She was still in one piece. “I say again, Iovara, please advise! This is Lieutenant Kesler in tower three,” Kesler yelled after several more moments of silence passed.

  “Kesler, this is Fedrin,” an authoritative voice finally replied clearly over the transmitter. “Get over here now! We need to take off before our hull overheats and cracks!”

  “Admiral,” Kesler said in a relieved tone. “I’m glad to hear your voice. What in the world is going on?”

  “You know as much as we do,” Fedrin answered. “Now get over here!”

  “I have a Branci here with me,” Kesler added. “What should I do with him?”

  “You’re call, Lieutenant. Leave him or bring him,” Fedrin answered. “I really don’t care. But you better decide fast!”

  “I’m on my way!” Kesler answered and started toward the walkway door.

  “You better hurry,” Fedrin added. “We’re pulling out of here as soon as we can with or without you. We have no choice.”

  “Don’t wait for us!” Kesler said as he opened the access point door and then turned back and motioned for Tarkin to follow.

  “You want me to go with you?” Tarkin asked skeptically. “I thought you don’t like us Branci?”

  “I don’t!” shouted Kesler. “But, I’m not about to let you burn up here. That’s no way to die, even for your kind. Now come on!”

  “Your compassion is overwhelming!” Tarkin yelled back as he turned to follow his bigoted savior.

  Kesler ran down the access shaft followed closely by Tarkin. The two were halfway to the ship when another explosion ripped through the walkway, just a few feet in front of Kesler. Kesler fell back to the ground and scrambled away from the leaping flames as they chased his feet.

  “I hate fire!” yelled Kesler once he reached a safer distance with Tarkin. “I hate it!”

  Tarkin brazenly walked up to the edge of the chasm and analyzed their predicament.

  “I think we’re done for!” Kesler shouted out from several feet behind. “There’s no going back and forward just isn’t happening!”

  Tarkin’s eyes scanned the obstacles for a few more seconds before nodding and walking back toward Kesler. “Can you jump over that?” he asked nodding at the leaping flames.

  “Jump over that?” asked Kesler incredulously. “Not a chance, big guy! We’re toast!”

  “Didn’t think so,” said Tarkin as he grabbed Kesler with four of his mighty arms and held him tight.

  “What are you doing?” Kesler yelled as he struggled to free himself. “Let go of me at once!”

  “Shut up!” snapped Tarkin. “We’re going to jump!”

  “Whoa! I don’t think so pal!” Kesler yelled as he tried to pry himself out of the Branci’s overpowering arms.

  “Trust me,” said Tarkin in a calm yet commanding voice. “I can do this.”

  Kesler looked up into the gruff face of the Branci and reluctantly gave up his futile struggle. He then closed his eyes, and prepared to die. Never in his wildest dreams did he think his last moments of life would be in the arms of a Branci. Surely there were better ways to go.

  Tarkin backed up the walkway a few extra feet and then shot down the corridor toward the gap. Just as he approached the edge of the chasm, he leapt up and through the ravenous flames. Kesler cringed as he felt the intense heat for a brief moment. Then it was over.

  Tarkin released Kesler on the other side of the hole and then turned to continue down th
e ramp. But before they began their run again, Kesler grabbed at one of Tarkin’s arms, prompting the Branci to turn around and face the Lieutenant. The edges of his beard and wisps of his longer hair had been singed and released a steady stream of smoke. The burning hair smelt awful but Kesler hardly noticed.

  “Why did you do that?” Kesler demanded. “Why did you just save my life?”

  Tarkin looked at Kesler’s hand holding his arm and then looked back at Kesler. “Do you think a security guard on the Sixth Fleet’s Flagship would let me enter unaccompanied, especially after these explosions?”

  “Probably not,” Kesler answered.

  “Exactly!” Tarkin said and shook Kesler’s hand off of his arm.

  Kesler nodded slowly. “You saved me to save yourself?”

  “To be honest, I did think about pushing you into the fire and then jumping myself,” answered Tarkin. “But under the circumstances, it would not have been my most prudent course of action.”

  “I see,” Kesler said as they once more started down the corridor.

  The two finally reached the end of the ramp where they were met by a dull metal door outlined with thick rivets. A small circular window was set into the thick door, fixed at eye-level. Kesler pressed a small button on the door’s face and then peered through the window, praying that someone would answer.

  “Anyone that can rationalize that saving a Lieutenant is the best course of action to preserve their own skin as quickly as you just did, is someone I would want to work with,” Kesler said casually as he pressed the button again.

  “You don’t owe me any favors,” Tarkin answered. “You didn’t leave me in the tower and I didn’t let you burn. We’re square, Lieutenant. No debts, no favors. I can make it on my own. I always have. You might say that it’s my own version of affirmative action.”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” answered Kesler, pressing the button yet again, realizing they had only moments before the rest of the ramp would collapse.

  Much to their relief the large door slowly swung inward allowing Kesler and Tarkin to dive aboard the Iovara, the prized flagship of the combined Namuh Navy. Kesler had just swung the large door back in place and was in the process of bolting it closed when a posted guard approached them with his weapon drawn.

  “Halt right there!” he said gruffly facing Tarkin. “Non-uninformed Branci are not allowed on fleet vessels, especially not ones as ugly as you. Now get off!”

  “He stays,” Kesler said, turning from the door and coming face to face with the guard. “And if you ever talk to one of your superiors that way again, you’ll be the one getting tossed out. Understood?”

  “He is not my superior,” the guard said with disgust, raising his nose in arrogance. “The Branci are scum and always will be!”

  Kesler’s eyes flashed in anger as he pointed to Tarkin. “He’ll outrank you three levels by tonight! Now step aside before I look up your number and write you up for insubordination! Got it?”

  The guard did not answer, but did relax his stance and allowed the couple to pass, yet giving Tarkin a disdainful look the entire time.

  “Let’s go Tarkin,” said Kesler, motioning for the large alien to follow.

  After several minutes, Kesler and Tarkin finally stopped their frantic run through the ship’s corridors in front of a set of heavy reinforced doors. Kesler rapidly entered his officer verification code into a small entry pad on an adjacent terminal and the massive doors slowly slid apart, revealing a large, multi level room. The place was in absolute chaos.

  Tarkin cautiously followed Kesler into the disheveled bridge and looked on in awe at the hundreds of monitors, operating consoles and stations scattered around the semicircular room, the literal beating heart of the Iovara.

  “Coolant leak on reactor block sixteen!” someone yelled from one of the upper levels.

  “Port thrusters seven, fourteen, and twenty-two are down!” yelled another. “Numbers three and four are sputtering.”

  “Tertiary ion reserves have ignited!” another officer announced. “Containment teams are responding!”

  “All airlocks sealed and ready to go except for two on aft section G!” someone else shouted.

  Other officers yelled back and forth from their command stations around the bridge in intolerable frustration, while ensigns scurried about the floor setting up the primary ship systems in preparation for the impromptu takeoff.

  Leaving Tarkin at the entrance Kesler bounded across the floor toward his station. Snatching a headset and placing it over his head, he immediately went to work coordinating ship stations for the departure.

  The bridge was in total pandemonium. Nobody seemed to know what to do or where to go. When Kesler made his way to his post, he noticed several untrained substitutes manning critical operating stations, testament to the urgency of the situation.

  “What do you mean you won’t deactivate the gravitational mooring lines?” Kesler heard Admiral Fedrin shout into a transmitter.

  “Just that,” said the calm voice of the traffic control officer. “As I’ve already informed you, I can not authorize your ascent until you’ve received full clearance from Larep flight control. Please stand by.”

  “Look out your window!” Fedrin yelled back. “Do you see those flames? Do you see all those burning ships? Do you see the smoke clouds so thick you can barely see the noonday sun?”

  “There is no need to raise your voice, Sir,” the voice answered.

  “Raise my voice?” Fedrin yelled. “I’ll raise more than my voice if you don’t drop those gravity lines!”

  “Please rest assured that we are taking steps to rectify your complaint promptly,” the officer said.

  “What is that supposed to even mean?” exclaimed Fedrin in exacerbation. “How are you going to rectify the fact that what’s left of my fleet is sitting in a lake of fire? Answer me that!”

  A warning signal sounded at Kesler’s station. “Hull temperature is rising!” he spoke up and immediately started flipping switches and turning dials in an attempt to stabilize it.

  An explosion somewhere outside shook the ship violently.

  “What was that?” Fedrin yelled as he grabbed hold of his chair.

  “Looks like the Triumphant just went up!” an officer replied. “She’s gone, Sir!”

  Fedrin slammed the arm of his chair as tears filled his eyes. “Did you see that? Another one of my ships just went up because you won’t let us leave! Now order the docking authority to drop the lines before more lives are lost!”

  “As I’ve already said, you need clearance to do that,” answered the traffic control pilot like a drone.

  “Temperature still climbing,” Kesler announced as he adjusted several additional knobs on a power transfer panel in an attempt to redirect power to the shielding generators.

  “Heat sinks one thru seven are maxed. Eight thru ten have already melted down!” an officer announced.

  “Drop the lines now before I shoot my way out of here!” Fedrin yelled.

  “I would advise against that, Sir,” the officer answered calmly.

  “Commander Drezden just signaled and said his shields can only hold another few minutes before they’re done for,” an officer shouted out.

  “That’s it,” Fedrin said shaking his head. “Lieutenant Jonas!” he shouted out to the chief weapons officer stationed on a platform above the command chair.

  “Sir?” Jonas asked peering over the railing.

  “Charge all secondary particle weapons,” Fedrin ordered. “Target the gravity line generators!”

  “Your wish is my command!” replied Jonas, turning back to his computers.

  “Admiral, please reconsider what you are doing before you do something we will all regret,” the officer in the traffic tower said in a calm, controlled voice upon hearing Fedrin’s orders.

  “Shut up!” Fedrin yelled and terminated the transmission.

  Fedrin tapped several keys on his command console and then looked
up. “Kesler, have all ships that still have primary functions follow, our lead. Have them blast themselves free and get out of this death trap at all costs. Tell them that I will take full responsibility for their actions!”

  Kesler nodded. “I’m on it.”

  “Weapons armed and ready,” Jonas announced. “Target resolutions are locked and loaded.”

  “Traffic control fighter squadrons just came up on my scope!” Kesler called out. “They’re heading this way!”

  “They wouldn’t,” Jonas said in disbelief, gaping at his screen.

  “Open fire on the generators!” Fedrin ordered.

  “Firing port side particle guns!” Jonas announced as tremendous bursts of energy shot from the Iovara’s turrets, smashing a row of generators on an already burning platform.

  “Targets destroyed!” Jonas announced as the ship, now free of the gravity mooring lines, suddenly lurched upward.

  Kesler nodded. “Confirm that. All lines have dropped and gravitational anchors have been severed! We’re free to climb, Sir!”

  “Atmospheric flight computer is not answering my orders, Admiral!” Kesler suddenly called out in alarm. “We’re listing six degrees to starboard!”

  Fedrin glanced around the bridge. “Who’s manning the piloting station?”

  “No one has reported in for it,” Kesler answered upon glancing at the screen.

  “We have seven atmospheric piloting capable officers and none of them are onboard?” Fedrin exclaimed. “Does anyone here have experience piloting a big rig in atmosphere?”

  The officers looked amongst themselves earnestly, hoping someone, anyone would raise a hand. No one did.

  Fedrin shook his head and was contemplating trying the difficult maneuver himself when someone spoke up behind him.

  “Begging your pardon, Sirs, but I could do it,” a strange voice sounded out near the bridge doorway.

  The Admiral, followed by the other officers turned and looked on curiously as a Branci timidly stepped into the light.