Clouds and Darkness

By Daniel Robinson

"I've come to warn you. A cloud of darkness looms over the universe.

 

An evil of old stirs in the shadows.

 

The countdown to the destruction of everything has begun."

                                                                                           

Seventeen-year-old Jonathan Tomus isn't your typical teenage boy. He lives on a developing planet, on the outskirts of Union space. He lacks interest in the most basic aspects of high school life. He possesses little ambition for his future, except to ensure Laura—his only friend—and his widowed mother's continued survival. This is his piece in life, and he's content with it… until an encounter with a mysterious dark-haired beauty dislodges everything he has come to know. Thrust suddenly into the thick of an ongoing galactic civil war, Jonathan has no choice but to fight for the Union's Strategic Forces against the Colonists. But there are more plots at play than appear, and, consequently, more players. Armed with sarcasm, a blaster, and his wits, Jonathan must overcome his anti-social standings to protect those he loves from annihilation. What he faces is alien to him. What he represents remains to be seen. What he must become is clear.

A Champion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DJR Productions
• Release date: Apr 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781949865011

Daniel Robinson

Daniel Robinson is a 22-year-old first-time author, who was inspired to write this Science Fiction novel based on the theme of Justice and Mercy. Deeply committed to family, Daniel plays the piano and writes both songs and poems, which he hopes to share with the world. A Union Carpenter, with a Boiler operator license and locksmith training, Daniel hopes to major in Sports Journalism.Lover of YA/adventure novels, storyline-based video games, manga, and sports, Mr. Robinson looks forward to interacting with his readers on a personal level through social media. You can find and follow him on the following:Twitter: @DJRobin08426784Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100032925364885

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jonathan:

Bells ring. Class is out. In the halls of Preliminary High School, the checkered floor is littered with old test papers and torn books like squares on a tie. No one cares, though. No one seems to care about anything since the Worlds at War started. I remember the days when you had to push and shove to get to class. Now? I can spread my arms out as wide as possible without hitting anyone.

When I reach my locker, painted on it is a fat crescent moon with a blood-red backdrop. That earns an eye roll. Morons. If someone were going to paint the Colonists’ flag, they should have added the dozen or so stars that go with it; otherwise, it looks stupid. Besides, we’re on Sciloo, a backwater Union colony. . . .

I grab my backpack from the locker. Not until I close the locker door do I see Laura standing there with her pack, waiting for me. Her crystal-blue eyes are a welcoming sight.

Hey! How did you do on your exams? she asks.

I smile. You know; the usual.

Laura tucks several stray strands of blonde hair behind her ear and frowns at me. You did it again, didn’t you? she asks.

I’m pretty sure the again she’s referring to is my recent crusade to expose my teacher’s lack of creativity concerning test questions. Honestly, they might as well give us the answer key if they’re going to make it that easy! I informed the principal about this situation last marking period. Nothing has changed. Maybe he forgot and is in need of reminding. . . .

No, you’re not! snaps Laura.

Not what? I ask, trying to act innocent.

Not going to the principal’s office to rehearse your rants on teachers! she answers, with a stern look on her face.

They’re not rants if they’re true, I correct her. She waves me off.

Once we are outside, I dig in my pack and pull out one of my many baseball caps. The cap fits well over my short black hair. Despite the fact that the sky looks melancholy, it’s only about two in the afternoon and dreadfully humid. Still three hours until sunset. To get home faster, we take a shortcut through the tall grass fields. Of course, Laura has a problem with it because it breaks the rules. What does she know? She’s been here for maybe six months.

Me, on the other hand? I am seventeen, but when my family and I moved here from Earth, I was ten. I still remember the adventures my brother, Darren, and I had playing in the backyard, pretending we were the Union soldiers who hunted down the infamous Alberch Clemance. He was the revolutionary who allegedly sparked the current Civil War between the Union and the Colonists. Even now, thinking of those childhood memories brings a smile to my face. . . .

I turn my attention to Laura. She’s wearing a black skirt and a white shirt with a red vest. A short blue crystal dangles from her necklace. When we became friends, it seemed strange to me that she would wear it every day. I mean, she always has the necklace on. Sure, I had thought to ask her about it one day, but then decided against it. I figure it’s some lucky charm or passed-down family possession, like the chain I’m wearing around my neck that belonged to my dad. Either way, it isn’t important.

Do you have any plans for tonight? Laura asks, trudging loudly through the tall grass.

I shake my head. Now that exams are finished, I plan on taking it easy. You? I ask.

Laura shrugs. I’m not sure. . . . I might go to the clinic. Maybe they could use another hand . . . ?

I laugh.

What’s so funny? demands Laura.

Nothing, I say, with a grin. It’s just that, other than my mom, you’re the only person I know who wants to work at a hospital.

We exit the field onto a dirt road. I spot the little homes not far from us.

Laura stops to look at me. Her arms are crossed. Is there something wrong with wanting to help people? she asks. I can tell she’s starting to get defensive.

Nope, I say, and smartly end the conversation there.

It’s not long before I see my house, a one-floor shack, the color of ashen gray. Overall, it’s no different from any other home on Sciloo—except probably the mayor’s. What sets my home apart from the others, however, is the rare scenery it possesses: a meadow in the backyard and a lake where the shiny blue water mirrors the color of the rare Galcus rubies found only on a planet called Ignigma. The red glow at sunrise and sunset is my favorite thing about Sciloo.

When I reach the front door, Laura waves goodbye.

See you tomorrow! she yells, as she continues down the street.

She lives farther down from me, somewhere. I don’t actually know. I’ve never ventured to see exactly where she lives. I’ve never even seen her parents. Laura told me that’s because they are often on business trips—a lot of business trips. I watch her until she’s out of sight, and then go inside.

Making my way through the medically-supplied living room, where bandages, pain medicine, and peroxide blanket what few furniture we own, I head down the hall to my bedroom. Darren and I shared it, until he enlisted into the Union Strategic Forces (USF). He said he, wanted to be part of a bigger cause. Whatever that means.

I remember my mom coming to me and asking how I felt about him leaving, but, to be honest, I didn’t know what to feel. I was fifteen then. I had lost my dad five years earlier to suicide. Two years after his death my oldest brother was killed, defending his post on a planet called Prague 9 during the Battle for Valconai. Maybe I should have felt angry that the last sibling I had was leaving? I don’t know. I was more concerned about my single mom, living on a recently colonized planet, with only a young green-eyed boy left to help her. It has been tough. I try to make things easier for her by cleaning the house, so she won’t have to when she gets home, getting any kind of groceries we can afford, and staying out of trouble. Everything has checked off. Well . . . everything except the last part.

I toss my pack onto the bed, then return to the living room and access the Updates and Messaging Console (UMC). It’s an old mid-air touchscreen system made centuries ago, it seems. I’m just thankful the system still works. I scour through today’s schedule. A red exclamation point flashes near the bottom corner of the screen. It’s the message box. I press play to listen. The first message is a reminder from school that prom starts tomorrow night at seven and will be held at the Town Hall. I already know that because Laura has been reminding me every day, starry-eyed since Finals were announced. Consequently, she is my date. . . . I press delete.

Next message is from the school again. This time, the principal. He wants to discuss with my mom my continued use of firearms near school property, as well as the various rants (There’s that word again!) I have been making against teachers. I’m tempted to delete this message, too, because the last thing my mom needs to hear is bad news, but I leave it alone.

At least he remembered . . .

When the last message plays, it’s from Mom. I can hear the exhaustion in her voice as she tells me a situation arose at the clinic. She won’t be home until late, but there might be some leftovers I can eat in the refrigerator. I sigh.

That’s my mom . . . always worrying about everyone but herself.

The message ends. I turn the console off, go outside, and take a seat by the lake.

My father’s dog tag rests against my chest, on the chain he left me. The chain is also bearing a thick curved piece of metal. Sometimes, I think the metal resembles half of a heart. The chain is the last thing my dad gave me before he died. Grabbing hold of it, I try desperately to seize a single memory of him being there for my family . . . being a good father . . . but none comes. The sun has begun to set. Rising, I wipe the dust off my pants and start to go back inside. I pause, though, to take one more look at the sky.

Beautiful . . .

Then I head inside.

divider

Alianna:

Why have I been summoned?

It’s the question I have been asking myself ever since I was informed during the Commander’s Assembly that my father wished to see me. Now, I’m left sitting by a fountain in the Great Hall of Kings, waiting for the doors to open and my name to be called. The Great Hall is adorned with polished white marble floors and hollow walls, where statutes of our most-revered leaders stand.

Boring.

I turn my attention to the water and stare at my reflection. A small section of pure white strands stands out from the rest of my dark hair. Normally, I have my hair tied in a ponytail, but it is loose and neat today. Eyes, the color of deep rain clouds, peer up at me, along with my pale white skin. Because the meeting didn’t require any sort of formal dress, I have kept my armor on. The black suit is quite lightweight. Easy to maneuver in, yet it offers suitable protection. I have already begun to make modifications to it. A magnificent ball of flame with opposite lashing tongues is pinned against my chest. It is the seal of my people.

Closing my eyes, I take several deep breaths to gather my thoughts.

Whatever this meeting is about, it most likely has direct relations to why there is an increased amount of ships docked at the main port. Also, all training sessions today were cancelled, perpetuating my suspicions. It can mean only one thing.

War.

Sitting, listening to the water trickling, a delightful thought comes to mind that perhaps the long-awaited day of reckoning has finally come for Klarigon for their role in my people’s demise. Klarigon is the home planet of the Claudians. Our enemy.

Footsteps approach me from the rear. I get a whiff of the faint aroma of a recently smoked pipe. Cinnamon and honey.

A slight smile crosses my face.

Still trying to sneak up on me, Admiral? I call out. My eyes are still shut, however. I open them to see an older, gray-haired man with darker skin standing in front of me. A black cape drapes over his shoulders. A long scar he received decades ago in battle runs through one eye, making it useless and blind; but the other is soft brown. It is good to see a friendly face, and I take the moment to straighten my hair.

You know me all too well, Your Highness, Admiral Ptutark replies.

Admiral Ptutark is Commander of the Rufarion Navy, the finest navy in the known universe: possessing the greatest number of sleek, heavily armored ships, with powerful blaster canons on tap, and a host of determined sailors, as well as the Kho’lecanth—my father’s ship, the largest and strongest in our navy. It would be an understatement to claim a fight against us to be unfair.

It is suicide.

Ptutark takes a seat beside me. Your ship is well-conditioned and ready for use. I saw to it myself, he says.

I start to thank him, but he bats the air with his hand for me not to worry about it.

Ptutark rises. I’ve been ordered to give you this, He unlatches the shoulder buckles that hold his cape and lifts the cape in my direction. On cue, I stand, back straight, as I was taught.

A symbol that you are now a member of the Council, he finishes. There’s a gleam of pride in Ptutark’s eye after he fastens the cape onto me.

I, too, am overjoyed, but remain expressionless. A skill I learned to master.

I wonder if Father is just as proud . . .

Thank you, I say quietly.

Placing a hand on my shoulder, Ptutark is looking at me in a serious manner. You earned it a long time ago, Alianna. Old bintas like me were just too slow to realize that. He cracks a smile.

I almost laugh. Bintas are small furry creatures that would make great pets because they are kind, but all they do is eat and sleep all day. Father considers them a nuisance. But my mother didn’t think so. . . . My attention drifts to the gold epaulette resting against the admiral’s fine white suit.

Finished, Ptutark leads me through the Council doors into a dark room where a fire burns. The fire is the room’s only source of illumination. I make out the faint images of at least ten high-ranked officials in the room. My brother, Phidias, is also here, along with Lord Vauschcoff, the leader of Ramnoth. Our father.

Ptutark is no longer in front of me. Probably took his seat with the other generals. Quietly, I take my seat on the floor.

Pleased you could join us, Commander Alianna, a woman to my left suddenly speaks. It’s Vashtii, Lord of the Army. I can tell by the hoarseness in her voice. There is no way your voice ends up like that, unless you have spent hours barking orders.

Your promotion was overdue, she adds.

Yes, would have been so unfortunate if you weren’t allowed to attend this little gathering of ours. . . . Phidias doesn’t miss his opportunity to interject.

Before I can respond to his sarcasm though, our father commands silence. The entire room falls deathly still.

I know my father’s lack of patience for rubbish. I’m not ashamed to say it is a quality we share. But he seems more irritable than usual, a sign he must have something very important on his mind. I listen closely when he begins telling the story of Pitus, Rufarion’s first great leader, and his construction of a weapon of Arc Wielder technology. It is a story often rehearsed to young children by their parents. According to legend, the weapon contained a power so great it could destroy whole planets, but after the Claudian Betrayal the weapon’s location, as well as its existence, was lost to myth.

Until now . . . I correct myself.

Not many moons ago, an agent of ours was sent to gather information concerning the weapon’s whereabouts. She was successful at finding the weapon’s location, but, unfortunately, was killed while fleeing from pursuers, my father states.

My heart stops when I hear the last part of my father’s sentence. A pit swells in my stomach. The tragedy happened six moons ago, when I was fourteen years old. (Every two moons is equal to one calendar year in Rufarion culture.) The agent who was killed was very dear to me—a close friend, if you will. There were four of them hunting her, altogether . . . only one is still left breathing. I saw to that. Soon, there won’t be any left.

According to my father, the weapon lies in the third realm, in the Stratis System, on a planet called Krithos. The people inhabiting Krithos, he says, are young to the universe and naïve about the dangers that exist within it.

Having convened with my advisors, I have made my decision. Commander Phidias will lead a military assault for the retrieval of this weapon, Father concludes.

At the mention of my brother’s name, I let out a frustrated breath. Why is Phidias leading this assault? Yes, he is older than me and heir to our father’s throne, but he’s classless and predictable. Me? My record of success and leadership speaks for itself, yet when a mission of this magnitude arises, I am overlooked?!

A slight chill crawls up my neck. It is the same one I get when I’m upset.

Ptutark was right. The Council is made up of blind, worthless bintas! It doesn’t matter, though. I’ll find a way to lead this mission. . . .

Speak your thought, Alianna. My father’s voice snaps me back to attention.

I’m at a loss. Can he know what I’m thinking? Did I inadvertently speak out against him and the Council? But I would never be so careless! Regardless, my father clearly senses my disapproval and wishes to hear it. It is unheard of for someone like me to be in their first meeting as member of the Council and be allowed to speak, making choosing my words wisely essential. There is no turning back. The reputation I have worked so hard to build for myself hinges on right now.

I can’t openly criticize my father’s decision. . . . But . . . if I call into question my brother’s capabilities to handle such a daunting task alone and do it without undermining our father . . .

I know just the thing to say.

Commander Phidias is a skilled leader and the obvious choice, I begin. It feels as if I am swallowing nails, but I turn to face the direction my father’s voice came from.

I only request that I be given charge over matters secondary in nature. My assistance will permit the commander to direct his sole attention on the objective, without fear of him succumbing to distractions—as has happened in times past. I cleverly include the last part.

The effect of my words is instantaneous. Listening to the indistinct conversing, and then the arguing of men and women, it doesn’t take long to recognize where they all stand. Most of the generals, including Ptutark and Vashtii, are in favor of my request; but my father’s pretentious advisors insist it would be a mistake to include me in the mission. Contention within the ranks often leads to catastrophe, and my brother and I are not the best of friends. . . .

When our father finally speaks, he leaves the decision to Phidias. While my brother takes his time to weigh his options, I focus on the fire dancing in the middle of the room.

It doesn’t make sense. . . . Why would Father choose today to elevate me to the Council? To hear him give the mission that should be mine to my brother? To taunt me?

Phidias’ scoff abruptly ends the lengthy silence. Why not? She can learn a lot from standing behind me, he snubs.

I note the slight directed toward me but am not bothered by it. I got what I wanted. No one argues.

Losing his patience with Phidias’ childish behavior, our father finalizes the situation with orders for me to leave my ship and army here at Ramnoth.

The fleet is ready for departure. I hear my father rise from his seat. They all do. Dismissed!

Immediately, the chamber doors open to let everyone out. Some light enters in as the council members leave one by one. I stay where I am and listen to the crackling fire. A sudden series of slow claps erupts.

Phidias.

Congratulations, sister! What to do with you now? he asks.

I imagine a grin carving itself into his face. He probably already has in mind some way to remove me from the picture. It won’t work. I ignore him and get up to leave the room.

Grabbing me violently from behind, Phidias pins me against the wall. I don’t resist when he leans close to my face. The fire reflects in his black eyes, giving him a hellish appearance. To his disappointment, I’m not frightened.

It’s not healthy to be my enemy! Phidias warns.

Nor mine. He forgets who he is threatening.

Careful, brother, I warn softly, while pressing the short blade I’m holding deeper into his side to remind him. Or this mission won’t be the only thing I take from you.

Eyes blazing with hatred, Phidias has no choice but to release me. Only then do I remove my blade from his side.

You’ll handle reconnaissance throughout the mission. Understood? snaps Phidias.

Despite his anger, there’s a noticeable wince on Phidias’ face from the small wound I gave him. He should think twice before threatening me again. Rufarions are trained to locate the fifth rib of all species, if applicable. Had I gone any deeper with my blade before I withdrew it, his intestines would have spilled out.

Without another word, Phidias leaves. I allow some distance to grow between us before following suit.

The fire has grown stronger than it was in the past. . . . Phidias should have put it out when he had the chance. It may be too late for him now . . .

I hurry to the docks and board one of the ships there. Soon we are airborne, searching for a weapon no one has seen in over a thousand years and a planet—albeit recorded in the agent’s debriefing—that does not exist in our system’s database.

Wonderful . . .

Chapter 2

Jonathan:

The sun is peeking through my window. Reluctantly, I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom, where I strip, then turn the shower handle to full blast. Leaning my head against the wall, I allow the water’s icy fingers to run down my back, cooling my body from the already stifling heat. It feels good. When I’m finished drying myself off with a towel, I stare into the small glass mirror hanging on the wall. I don’t usually do it. I look too much like my dad. Other than my mom’s bright green eyes, I have his short ruffled black hair and sandy-colored skin.

When I was younger, I loved my dad. From each military tour, he brought home souvenirs for me and my brothers. It was never anything big: a rock from this planet or a small animal from there.

If you’re going to own a pet, then you’ve got to take care of it, he would tell us, while handing over the creature.

Being boys, we made promises of watching the pet and feeding it on time every day. We never did. Within a week the poor thing would be dead of starvation, have run away, or gotten shredded by the room’s ventilation system. I personally killed one by accident. Mistaking some of the creature’s fat for flaps that could be used as wings, I climbed up to the fifteenth floor of the apartment my family was staying in and let it fly, in a manner of speaking. Imagine a small but fat balloon filled with red fluid, dropping fifteen stories. . . . The owner of the apartment didn’t like it either. The desk clerk suffered a heart attack. From what I can remember, she was out of the hospital after a week and doing really well, until one night she thought she heard someone trying to break into her home. (It was a ceiling fan that fell.) She ended up suffering another heart attack. That one killed her. To this day, I can’t help but feel strangely responsible for her death. . . .

Still, whenever I look at my reflection, I see the man who gave up on his family because he was too weak to fight through his post-traumatic stress disorder. A man I will never look up to.

Leaving behind the mirror and its sad revelations, I slip on my dusty boots, a pair of jeans that has seen better days, and a shirt. On my way to the kitchen, I catch Mom asleep in her wooden rocking chair. I sneak my way to the refrigerator and scan the shelves for any leftovers. There are none. I shut the door softly, then turn and study the woman who has taken care of me all my life. Her auburn hair lies carelessly to the side of her face. She looks exhausted. A deep sigh grows in my stomach, forcing its way out of my mouth.

No mother should have to go through this. . . .

After a visit to the closet, I return with a spare pillow and a blanket that I spread over her.

Mom startles at the feel of the blanket. What’s wrong? she asks. Her eyes are wide with alarm.

Nothing, I say.

She relaxes a bit. Why are you up so early? she inquires. School is over. To her, I should still be in bed.

I’m going out to get some food, I tell her.

Mom nods sleepily, mumbling something unintelligible under her breath, and