by Selby, Caleb
After a quick shower, Tarkin climbed into the doublewide bed, a luxury he had cleverly arranged by pushing two of the single beds together, and let out another contented sigh. Once in bed, he glanced at the refurbished data pad he had been issued on his nightstand and then looked at the imposing stack of memory cards beside it. Each card contained required reading assignments selected by Lieutenants Kesler and Jonas detailing the standard ship operational procedures that all officers must master. Although having already studied much of the material on his own, there were still a number of classified training modules that he did not have access to prior to his impromptu joining of the Navy.
Although his first days serving in the fleet had been hectic, Tarkin had never been happier. Working aboard a Namuh Fleet vessel, let alone the Iovara of all ships, had been a dream of Tarkin’s since he was a boy. The fact that he was finally acting on his dream was almost too much for him to believe.
“Don’t set your sights too high,” Tarkin’s dad used to say when they’d be working together in the fields on their world. “Aiming too high will make you miss everything. But don’t aim too low either,” he would always add later, giving his son a reassuring smile. “You want to aim for what you can get. That’ll make you the happiest.” Tarkin smiled upon recalling his father’s words. If only he could see him now.
He was just reaching for the data pad when he momentarily stopped and glanced around the large room filled with empty dressers, tables and beds. For the first time since his arrival he came to the harsh realization that the luxury he was enjoying of having his own room, had come at the expense of hundreds of men and women perishing or being left behind following the dock explosions just two days earlier. Dozens upon dozens of the ship’s barracks were well below capacity, leaving the ship alarmingly low on personnel, forcing key officers to run mandatory double shifts just to keep the ship running. Although Kesler had yet to finalize his roll call, Tarkin had overheard in the mess hall that well over six hundred of the crew were missing and presumed dead including all of the atmospheric pilots.
Sobered by the realization, Tarkin picked up his data pad with renewed focus and determination. He was needed, maybe not wanted by all, but needed nonetheless.
Now ready to spend several hours studying when he’d rather be sleeping, Tarkin inspected the data pad in his large hands. The model was older and more archaic then the ones he was used to. He turned it around and around, up and down, side to side and back and forth. Eventually he began pressing every button he could find before giving up in frustration and reached for his tele-link.
“This is Data Tech. How can I help you?” a disinterested voice responded over Tarkin’s link.
“Yes, hi thank you. I need help with my data pad please,” said Tarkin in the nicest voice possible.
“What seems to be the trouble, Sir?” the technician asked in near robotic tone.
“Well...I seem to be having a small problem initiating primary applications,” answered Tarkin as he continued to turn the machine over and over trying to figure it out.
The other end was quiet for a moment. “Do you mean you can’t turn it on?” the technician finally clarified.
Tarkin cringed at how his problem sounded. This was not a great way to earn your place on a ship where eight out of ten crewmen were racist against you. “That’s correct, Sir. I’m sorry. I’ve worked a number of data pads but never one quite like this.”
“Is this that Branci fellow that was in my office earlier today?” the tech interrupted.
“It’s possible,” Tarkin said, knowing that he was the only Branci aboard. “I’ve been in a lot of offices today and I...”
“Stupid creatures,” muttered the tech. “Ok. Bring it down. I’ll draw some pictures to help you understand.”
“Pictures won’t be necessary, Sir,” Tarkin said, holding his tongue back from what he wanted to say. “I just need to be shown how to turn it on and use the data card reader.”
“Whatever,” answered the technician.
“Great! I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Don’t hurry,” the tech said. “I just ate about fifteen minutes ago. If I see your face too soon I might lose my dinner all over my keyboard. Have you ever dug out processed food chunks from between keys before? It’s not as fun as it sounds. Believe me!”
Tarkin ended the transmission and got out of bed. It was going to be a long, restless night.
***
“Is your mind open?”
Fedrin looked up to see the unsettlingly familiar hooded form standing in the middle of his room. Before he could respond or call for help, his room began to vanish before his eyes. First his desk faded away, followed by the accompanying chair. Next went his floors and then the ceiling and doors. At last, only the cloaked figure remained surrounded by a dreary gray mist.
“Is your mind open?” the figure asked again.
Fedrin tried to move but could not. “Who are you? Where am I?” he called out.
“Is your mind open?” the figure asked once more.
“You tell me where I am!” Fedrin shouted.
“You must calm yourself,” the figure said in a tranquil, yet authoritative voice. “This neural interface already puts a great deal of stress on your fragile physiology. Prolonged agitation could harm you.”
“That’s just swell!” snapped Fedrin, still struggling to move.
“Please, do not be alarmed,” the figure continued in a tone that tried to sound soothing but wasn’t working for Fedrin. “Your corporal unit will endure no lasting damage during the short period the link is active. However, if you continue to be so frantic, you may potentiate the negative effects of the interface. Now, if you will be so kind as to wait just a few moments, the elders will be with you shortly.”
The red hooded figure finished speaking, bowed to Fedrin and then turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the surreal place.
Fedrin hadn’t understood half of what the figure had said, but he did manage to get the message that he had to calm down, which he tried to do, although it was not an easy task. Going from sleeping soundly in his own bed one minute, to being brought to a strange foreboding place the next by a faceless creature was not Fedrin’s idea of a calm evening.
The place he found himself in was massive. It appeared to be circular with multiple dim lights evenly spaced out on the floor near the wall. The walls themselves arched up mightily and formed an imposing dome, the breadth of which Fedrin could not guess.
In the center of the mighty room, mere feet from Fedrin, was a tree. It had long since died, evident by the dried and withered look of the branches. Yet it stood erect with the help of a few subtly placed supports and was protected from further decomposition by a glass case that had been carefully constructed around it. An inscription was engraved along one side of the case in symbols that Fedrin did not understand.
The place was old...terribly, terribly old and resonated with a peculiar air of sacredness and power.
The lights at the base of the dome cast an eerie array of shadows on the wall, which Fedrin found himself studying when he noticed one move, ever so slightly. He looked at it harder to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him. It moved again, this time he was certain. And then, before he could decide what was happening, it started gliding along the wall toward the floor as if it were descending an invisible staircase. No discernible figure could be made out, yet its movements were elegant and precise. Fedrin’s gaze was fixed on it when out of the corner of his eye, he caught more movement. Another figure was descending along the wall in a downward fashion, again as if it were gliding down a flight of stairs without effort. Then he saw another, this time on his right, and then another on his left again. In all, nine figures emerged and slowly floated down the sloped walls, making their respective ways toward the rectangular lights at the base of the wall.
The first shadowy figure reached one of the lights and instantly morphed from an unformed essence, into
a tall graceful figure clad in a yellow robe with a heavy hood covering its face and long wavy sleeves that covered the arms and hands so that no physical part of the figure could be seen. The figure stood on the light at the base of the room, perfectly poised and perfectly still, appearing almost lifeless to Fedrin’s eyes.
Seven more of the figures found their way to vacant light pads and assumed similar forms and identical garments. A white sash was girded about each of the robed figures and clasped together by a large golden buckle at the front. Fastened to the sash was a thin sword sheathed in a rigid black case, which was ordained in intricate golden designs.
The last shadow descended slower than the rest. It gracefully descended onto the light fixture at the base of the floor in the center of the room and took on a similar physical form as the others but donned a deep black robe instead of yellow and could hardly be made out against the darkened walls of the room. He too had a white sash tied about him but had in place of a sword, a beautifully ornate dagger hung.
No part of any of the figures could be seen, their long robes and hoods covering them completely. All was quiet and tranquil and Fedrin was pondering whether he should speak when the red hooded figure again appeared from seemingly nowhere and took up position to one side of Fedrin. He raised a covered arm and gesturing to Fedrin, began to speak.
“Chief Admiral Fedrin of the Namuh Protective Federation’s Navy, the High Council of Elders of the United Sion Star Systems, welcomes you and wishes you a long, and fulfilled life.”
There it was! The word Fedrin was hoping and praying to hear ever since he could remember. Sions! They had returned! Feelings of excitement and relief built up like at no other time in his life. Surely they were here to help the Namuh once again! Perhaps all was not lost after all?
“It is my honor to represent both my race, as well as the Branci which are allied with us, to you,” answered Fedrin, trying hard to restrain his newfound exhilaration.
The figure to Fedrin’s side continued. “In attendance this hour are the eight system Chancellors of the United Systems, as well as our Sovereign Lord Chancellor, the servant of Yova, the great Trab who rules on high.”
“All hail Trab, the servant of Yova,” all the figures said in unison.
Fedrin nodded in the direction of the figure wearing the black robe with the dagger, assuming correctly that this was Trab.
The speaker faced the Chancellors and continued. “On unanimous decision, we have summoned this Namuh before us this hour as a representative of his people.”
“All hail Fedrin!” the robed figures said together.
The speaker continued. “As is the will of all Sions and our Sovereign Lord Chancellor and servant to Yova, Trab...”
“All hail, Trab, the servant of Yova!” they said yet again.
The speaker kept on, unfazed by the interruptions. “As it is Yova’s will, so is it our will, that all of Yova’s created races honor and worship him.”
The speaker’s hooded head turned toward Fedrin. “Chief Admiral Fedrin, do you agree with this, our greatest order?”
Fedrin looked at the envoy and then scanned the room as if looking for an answer from the other faceless figures lined against the wall. When no answer came, he forced a smile and looked back at the messenger. “To tell you the truth, I have no idea what you are talking about,” he sincerely said and then felt extremely stupid for appearing so ignorant before so great a gathering.
“We humbly apologize,” the envoy said promptly, making a slight bow from his waist. “Our Namuh vocabulary is not perfect. I will attempt to redefine the Sion Order in terms that are hopefully more compatible with your...”
“That is enough!” a very deep voice from underneath the black robe bellowed out. “I will take it from here.”
Without a word, the red-cloaked figure at Fedrin’s side stepped out of the way, bowing at the waist toward Trab as he slowly made his way toward Fedrin. He came closer and closer until he stood directly before Fedrin. He raised one of his covered arms. A wisp of wind hit Fedrin’s face and before he knew what was happening, the domed room vanished and for a brief moment he saw nothing but a deep empty blackness that seemed to swallow him up.
“Hello!” Fedrin called out, his words dissipating before they even left his tongue as if smothered by the permeating blackness. “Hello!” he yelled again, barely able to hear his own utterance.
The blackness gradually cleared and Fedrin found himself on a steep mountaintop overlooking a beautiful valley just before sunset. In the center of the dale was a sparkling city more magnificent and imposing then anything Fedrin had ever seen! Four colossal buildings, each at least a thousand floors high, marked each corner of the sprawling metropolis. Within the central parts of the city were all manners of other fantastic buildings, each beautifully designed with massive arches and geometric designs protruding out of them at all points. Many of the enchanting structures were made out of materials that glistened in the fading rays of sunlight more beautifully than the best, polished gems in all the Federation.
The various structures took hold of Fedrin’s imagination and held it captive in a world of amazing accomplishments and mind bending wonders he could only dream of. Unlike the buildings of Larep and other large Namuh cities that were built first and foremost for function, with only a hint of aesthetic effort slapped on the superstructure as an afterthought, these buildings seemed to have been designed in the opposite direction. Beautiful designs, intricate harmony and natural forms gave the behemoth structures such exquisite grace that they needed no true purpose rather than existence itself.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” the deep voice of Trab asked as he walked up beside Fedrin.
“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my whole life,” Fedrin replied gawking, his gaze still transfixed below, unable to turn his head even if he wanted to.
Both Fedrin and Trab gazed at the stunning city for several minutes in contemplative silence until Trab finally spoke again. “Do you know who created you Fedrin?”
“Created?” asked Fedrin.
“Yes,” answered Trab. “Who created your people?”
“Well,” Fedrin said awkwardly, “No one really created us. We exist because of the adaptive process of progression.”
“Progressionism,” said Trab quietly as if he’d heard of it before. “Don’t tell me that you believe that you evolved from a single cell organism in a swamp somewhere?”
Fedrin wanted to change his answer but didn’t even know how to. He instead said nothing and waited for Trab to continue.
“I knew it,” said Trab in a disgusted, but not angry voice. “It seems that this is the favorite tool of the enemy. I’ve seen it used so many times over the ages and yet its potency never ceases to astound me.”
“What are you talking about?” implored Fedrin.
Trab shook his head. “It astounds me that a relatively sophisticated people such as yours, can unanimously credit some illogical, astronomically improbable event with the creation of something as miraculous and beautiful as life.”
Fedrin tried to look up and see Trab’s face but gave up and looked ahead. “What else is there to believe?”
“What else?” Trab asked, his voice obviously trying to hold back his dismay. “Fedrin look over there, toward the upper right of the city,” he said, pointing his covered arm toward a corner of the city below.
“What am I looking for?” asked Fedrin.
“The azure tower to the west side of the hovering waterfall structures,” replied Trab. “Do you see it?
“I do,” Fedrin said as he scrutinized what appeared to be one of the more fantastic buildings, boasting an array of architectural elements never before dreamed of on Namuh Prime.
“What would you say if I told you that structure came into being without an architect?” posed Trab.
“Come again?” asked Fedrin.
“What if that tower was just the lucky recipient of many cosmic and geologic accidents
? What if the tons of materials and technology incorporated in its construction simply fell into place over a period of time until it finally took the finished form we see it as today?”
“Impossible,” Fedrin answered, seeing where the exercise was headed but unable to steer away from it.
“But what if time was no factor?” Trab pressed. “What if enough constructive accidents and improbable events happened over the course of millions, billions or even trillions of years? Couldn’t enough time eventually allow even the possibility that the building could build itself?”
Fedrin thought for a moment before reluctantly responding. “Even with unlimited time, the laws of the universe would not allow it.”
“And you’d be correct in such a statement,” Trab responded. “But, take what you just said to me about your progressionism belief Fedrin. Your very own body is a compilation of countless simultaneous chemical, physical and electrical-dynamic processes that operate in such amazing harmony that the best scientists in the universe will never be able to emulate it. By comparison, a single cell of your body dwarfs not only the accomplishment of that tower but of the entire city! And yet, you credit the miracle of life to chance? A cataclysmic explosion followed by a series of genetic mutations over the course of eons? It makes no sense, Fedrin! In fact, it defies sense! It is contrary to the laws of entropy that govern the universe!”
“It does sound strange when you word it like that,” Fedrin confessed. “And I mean no disrespect Trab, but what does our origin, or my belief of that origin, have to do with anything?”
“Everything!” shouted Trab, his strong voice echoing over the valley. “It has to do with why we brought your consciousness here! It has to do with why we must fight evil with good! It has to do with our purpose for even existing!”
Fedrin replied simply. “Tell me how.”
