by Selby, Caleb
“What’s wrong?” Nidrid finally asked. “You don’t look well.”
Caton sighed and looked up. “About two hours ago, President Defuria appointed me as acting Chief Admiral.”
Fedrin looked up in complete surprise.
“Defuria’s first order for me was to immediately apprehend Fedrin and bring him and his command crew back to Larep to face charges,” Caton added.
The other Admirals exchanged concerned glances before looking back at Caton. Caton in turn nodded and then offered a reassuring smile. “Rest assured, I have no intentions of assuming the Chief Admiralty or of arresting Fedrin,” he said, causing everyone to let off a collective sigh of relief.
“But why lead us on then?” Sherman asked. “This isn’t the time for games Caton!”
“You are quite right,” said Caton solemnly. “This is not the time for games.”
“Then what’s this all about?” pressed Sherman.
Caton nodded. “When President Defuria appointed me Chief Admiral, he also charged my own Commodore with contingency instructions to replace me if I deviated from his directions.”
“To replace you?” exclaimed Sherman.
Caton nodded. “He didn’t use those words exactly but the idea was definitely implied.”
“But she’s just a Commodore!” exclaimed Nidrid. “She couldn’t replace you. Surely your own men wouldn’t stand for it!”
Caton shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”
“And why not?” asked Sherman.
Caton sighed. “Because Tropnia is no ordinary officer. She is a one of a kind leader. She is beautiful, she has the ear of the President and she has loyal following in the fleet. Add all that together and I have all the ingredients for a fleet-wide mutiny if she wants to start one.”
“Well that’s not an option,” stated Fedrin. “I’d turn myself in before I’d allow something like that to happen.”
Caton nodded. “Which is why I will feign obedience to Defuria for the foreseeable future. Commodore Tropnia will thus remain my supporter and I will retain control of my ships. I can mismanage our movements and positions just enough to give you the time you need to figure out what is going on at home and put a stop to it.”
Sherman and Nidrid slowly nodded as Caton’s dangerous gambit became evident to all. Fedrin looked at Caton with profound gratitude, realizing the tremendous risk he was prepared to take upon himself. “Thank you Caton. Thank you so much. Your actions could very well allow us to restore the Federation.”
Caton looked at Fedrin intently. “It’s all I can do Fedrin. And I don’t know how long I can keep the ruse up so let’s all get to it!”
The other Admiral’s echoed Caton’s sentiment and then one by one they signed out of the conference leaving Fedrin alone in his quarters once more. He leaned back in his chair and closed his weary eyes. He was beyond exhausted but couldn’t justify taking any time to rest. Big decisions had to be made and his sleep, just as every other thing in his life, was expendable.
He reluctantly opened his eyes and found himself looking at a picture of his wife and himself taken near the Ira Sand Dunes overlooking Larep on their honeymoon. The sunlight danced in both of their eyes and testified of love and unencumbered vitality. The more Fedrin looked at the picture, the more he felt as if he didn’t recognize either of the people staring back at him. They were both seemingly too happy and carefree to be anyone he could know.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Fedrin said and looked up to see Kesler walk through the gray doors across the room. “What can I do for you Lieutenant?” asked Fedrin and then smiled. “Want me to assign that Branci to someone else? I hear Tenith doesn’t mind them so much.”
Kesler shook his head. “Tarkin is actually a pretty neat guy. Honestly, I wish he could have joined us years ago. He is going to be quite an asset.”
Fedrin smiled. “I never would have believed you had befriended a Branci if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. He must have made quite the impression.”
“Anyone who saves me from being charbroiled alive at the risk of his own skin has my vote!” exclaimed Kesler.
Fedrin smiled and sat back in his chair. “So what is it that you wanted from me?”
“May I use your computer?” Kesler asked, followed by a nod from Fedrin. “Computer, replay telecast flash on Fedrin,” said Kesler, speaking toward Fedrin’s wall mounted screen.
An image of the docked Sixth Fleet prior to the attack came to life on the screen. Everything seemed as it should be when a sickening familiar sight of the first explosion ripped through the docking bays and proceeded along the row of destroyers, engulfing each of them in deep orange flames followed by billowing black smoke.
“As you all know by now, a terrorist attack on the Larep Navy docks was carried out earlier today,” the familiar deep voice of a reporter solemnly said. “Initial estimates of the damage included the loss of multiple fleet destroyers and cruisers along with tens of thousands of servicemen, dock operators, and engineers making it the deadliest day for the Federation since the Brok III massacre.”
Fedrin watched the telecast curiously, anxious to see what the reporter was going to say next but fearing he already knew.
“As has already been suggested by our Navy correspondent, the primary suspect in this heinous act is Chief Admiral Fedrin who fled the scene in a bloody spectacle shortly after the attack.”
The view on the screen changed to show the Iovara blasting free of her gravitational mooring lines in her desperate effort to escape. The flames that had been eating away at her hull were conveniently cropped out of view.
A picture of Fedrin that was not at all flattering, then appeared on the screen as the reporter continued. “Not only did Chief Admiral Fedrin and his coconspirators flee the scene without offering assistance; it has also been reported that they ordered all surviving vessels to open fire on the docks prior to departure. There are also mixed reports suggesting that the Iovara and her two surviving destroyer escorts, the Bolter and Defiant, chased and gunned down nearly a dozen atmospheric patrol fighters that were arriving at the scene to help coordinate rescue efforts. Attempts to contact Fedrin and the other surviving Sixth Fleet commanders to this point have gone unanswered.”
Another view of the docks appeared on the screen. Smoke and debris filled the sky, blotting out the sun and casting an eerie shadow on the burning ships. Several fire crews could be seen hosing down one of the cruisers with fire retardant in a vain attempt to cool them down enough for rescue crews to get in.
The reporter continued. “Our administration correspondent, speaking on condition of anonymity, was quoted a short time ago as saying, “In my opinion Fedrin, his command crew, and quite possibly the other surviving ship commanders, are the primary suspects in the horrific attacks that transpired today.”
The view changed again, this time showing a handsome news reporter standing on a platform overlooking the remains of the smoking docks. “Our thoughts and prayers go out to the families of those killed in these senseless attacks. We will keep you updated on the situation, as more information is made available. Back to you Godown.”
“Thank you Waren. In other news, the charred remains of Defense Minister Boide were found inside his burnt out Larep apartment late today. Officials are calling the fire that broke out in his kitchen a tragic accident and...”
“End playback,” Kesler said and then looked up at Fedrin. “What’s going on, Sir? Why are they doing this to us?”
Fedrin sighed. “Have a seat Lieutenant,” he said, nodding to a chair in front of his desk. “There’s a lot I need to fill you in on.”
4. The Fate of The Second Fleet
He was a tall, well built man with wild, unkempt black hair and piercing blue eyes. His demeanor resonated with strength and cunning as if he should be commanding men by the legion in fierce battle on a far off world. But his situation at present was a far cry from such a place.
>
Standing knee-high in the waste-processing tank, he cranked down on the jammed outlet valve for all he was worth, his mighty arms bulging as he dedicated every muscle to the task. Slowly, ever so slowly, the valve succumbed to his unwavering strength and turned, allowing the buildup of refuse to once again flow steadily through the collecting pipes.
“Hard at work I see,” an old man with a long white beard commented as he peered over a guardrail above the tank. He held a cane properly over one arm and held the guardrail with the other.
The man in the tank looked up, his blue eyes spotting the familiar face above him. He smiled cheerily; seemingly unaware that he was likely standing in the most grotesque spot in Larep. “Got to keep the system flowing!” he commented and then reached a gloved hand beneath the surface to adjust a pressure sensor.
“Most assuredly,” remarked the old man and then chuckled, shifting his weight as he watched.
The young man stood up from his foul task, grabbed his tools beside him and slung them over his shoulder. “So, is it time?” he asked, once more glancing up.
The old man nodded slowly. “It is,” was his only reply.
The stout man plodded his way through the sludge and over to a metal set of stairs that led out of the basin. Upon emerging from the stench, he walked toward the white-haired man and dropped his bag of tools on the graded walkway. He then leaned on the railing beside the other and looked out across the waste processing plant.
“The loss of the Sixth Fleet means that our enemy is in the final phase of their plan,” remarked the older. “We need to check their progress and align ourselves with those we can trust...and quickly.”
“It won’t be easy,” the younger commented.
“Fighting for what is right never is,” remarked the old man. “But it must be done just the same.”
The worker nodded and then stood erect. “Lets get to it then Professor. We have a lot to do.”
“Surely we do Kebbs,” answered the old man and followed the younger down the platform, the rhythmic rise and fall of his cane preceding his steps.
***
Etana tossed the suitcase onto the bed and began throwing items into it, seemingly at random. Fedrin watched her in complete confusion.
“Out of my way,” she snapped as she opened a dresser drawer behind Fedrin and began emptying contents from it into the luggage.
“I don’t understand!” Fedrin said again. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
Etana slowed for a moment, looked at Fedrin with disdain, and then continued her task. “In two months the Idok is scheduled to form up with the Second Fleet for a week of training exercises,” she said as she went to the washroom to retrieve her toiletries. “After the training week, we are heading to Kumper to patrol the sector for a three month mission.”
“What of it?” answered Fedrin, well aware of the order set he had drafted for his wife’s ship several weeks earlier.
“I have made a request directly to Defense Minster Boide to move the date for that mission to this week,” she continued, speaking from the washroom.
“Why?” Fedrin implored. “What’s wrong?”
Etana returned and stuffed an armful of items into a small bag, zipped it closed, and then looked up at Fedrin. “Because I’m done with you!” she snapped.
Fedrin was dumfounded. “What does that mean?”
“Guess!” she retorted and turned to walk back to the washroom.
She had taken only one step before Fedrin grabbed her by the arm and whirled her around. “Now I’ve had just about enough of all of this nonsense!” he snapped, glaring into her eyes. “I want an answer from you! What is going on?”
She shrugged off his hold of her and walked straightway to her data pad. She swiped through several screens before handing it to Fedrin in disgust.
Fedrin reluctantly took the pad and glanced down at the screen. The image that met his gaze nearly caused him to drop the device.
“She’s pretty,” Etana said indifferently and then walked to the closet.
Fedrin looked at his wife in shock and then back at the pad. The screen bore the unmistakable image of him and a beautiful woman, who Fedrin did not recognize, in intimate proximity to each other.
“What is this?” Fedrin exclaimed, waving the pad over his head.
“What does it look like?” Etana shot back.
Fedrin shook his head and pointed to the pad. “This isn’t me!” he asserted tapping the image. “This isn’t me!”
Etana looked at Fedrin incredulously. “Is that really the best you can do?”
“I’m serious!” he declared. “This isn’t me! I have no idea who that is!” he said, pointing to the woman. “I’ve never seen her before! It must be a fake!”
Etana stormed back from the closet and pointed to a symbol in the corner of the image indigently.
“What’s that?” Fedrin asked.
Etana shook her head impatiently. “It’s an image verification stamp,” she answered as tears began to fill her eyes. “I didn’t believe it when I saw it, so I had the image verified for authenticity.”
“And?” Fedrin asked.
Etana wiped her eyes. “It’s not a fake,” she answered. “The image is real!”
“Where did it come from?”
Etana shrugged. “It was sent to me over the cortex. I’m not sure from whom. Probably by a friend who just couldn’t bare to tell me directly!”
Fedrin didn’t know what to say. “It...it isn’t me though,” he stammered. “I never would have...”
“Save it!” said Etana as she reached for her luggage and shoulder bag. “I’ll send for the rest of my stuff when I get back. You can pile it up in the front hallway closet if you want.”
Etana reached for her data-pad, which Fedrin reluctantly released. She tucked it in her shoulder bag and then looked Fedrin squarely in the eye. Her tears were gone and her jaw was tight. Then, in smooth motion, she brought her clenched fist to cover her heart and clicked her heels in a proper salute. “Sir!” she said in good military order as coldly as if she didn’t know Fedrin. “We’ll contact the Iovara when we reach the Second Fleet. My Lieutenant will forward our flight patterns once they’re plotted.”
Fedrin wanted to say so much but the words didn’t form in his mind correctly so he said nothing. Etana then turned, walked out of the room and out of the apartment without speaking another word. Fedrin stood in the empty room and listened as she opened the front door and walked out, changing his entire world in a matter of moments as the door closed behind her.
“You have one saved message from Vice Admiral Caton,” the computerized voice in Fedrin’s quarters suddenly sounded, waking him from his dream.
Fedrin slowly sat up in bed. Remembering the events of all those many months ago replay in his dream had left him disheartened. He sighed and reluctantly stood to his feet. Reaching for a robe, he wrapped it around himself and walked toward his desk. “Computer, start a fresh pot of lor and play back Caton’s message.”
“Orders received. Please stand by,” the computer answered. A few moments later the lor unit in the far corner began brewing a fresh pot and the transmission screen came to life. The recording showed a very haggard looking Admiral Caton.
“Fedrin,” Caton began uneasily. “There has been an incident. I’m not sure how, but Commodore Tropnia found out about my duplicity and challenged me directly with nearly a dozen of her most ardent supporters. Fortunately, I had several of my own men briefed on the possibility of mutiny and we fended off her attack with no casualties with the use of stun-guns. I’ve since locked all of them up, including Tropnia, in the aft escape pods. I did that rather than use the brig in an effort to keep the incident quiet. Obviously I won’t be able to keep them in there forever. Once the rest of her following hears what happened, the Second Fleet may very well slip out of my control. If that happens, they will likely come for you. Get done what you can before that happens. I’ll try to contact you again tomorro
w morning with another update. I’m sorry. Caton out.”
“End of message,” stated the computer.
Fedrin sighed as he digested the implications of losing Caton and the support of the Second Fleet. He didn’t have long to dwell on it when a beep sounded out on his tele-link.
“This is Fedrin.”
“Evening Admiral. This is Lieutenant Tenith.”
“What’s happening Lieutenant?”
“Wanted to let you now that we should be joining the Hornell carrier group within the hour.”
“Excellent,” said Fedrin as he retrieved his fresh mug.
“I also wanted to let you know that our satellite positional update from the Second Fleet is overdue.”’
Fedrin froze, mug in hand, as he processed Tenith’s words. “Did you run a network analysis?” he asked.
“Aye, Sir,” replied Tenith. “I ran a quick check of the network and the initial results all checked out. I’m not really sure what the problem is.”
Fedrin tried to convince himself that everything was fine and that his imagination was simply getting the better of him but he couldn’t help but think the worse. “Keep trying to get the updates,” he finally brought himself to say. “You can even try contacting the ships directly using the cortex. If that doesn’t work, let me know.”
“Aye, Sir,” answered Tenith and signed off.
Fedrin had just set his mug down and picked up his data pad when yet another called sounded out on his link. “This is Fedrin,” he said wearily.
“Hello, Sir,” said Ensign Gallo.
“What can I do for you Ensign?”
“I need to speak with you, Sir,” Gallo’s timid voice crackled as he spoke.
“Isn’t that what we are doing now?”
“In person, Sir.”
“Is everything ok?”
“I’ll be there in five minutes,” was Gallo’s only answer.
Knowing that Gallo wasn’t a social officer, or one given to exaggeration, Fedrin felt uneasy at his request to meet. As the possible topics of conversation rapidly crossed his mind, Fedrin felt overwhelmed and promptly stopped thinking about it all together, knowing that dwelling on the innumerable ‘what-ifs’ would only drive him mad.
