by Mills, Shae
Korba swung his shroud over his shoulders, its voluminous fabric encasing his magnificent body. “I am not too worried about your form of interference, Chelan. I fact, I rather savor it. Besides, I doubt you could control yourself that well.” And he winked.
Chelan’s eyes widened. “Is that a challenge?”
“No, it is not,” he replied firmly. “Whenever one accepts a challenge, he also accepts the possibility of defeat. To spend a night next to you without any hope of a touch would be a fate worse than death, and I have no intention of enduring that.”
“Coward,” she taunted in a whisper.
“You bet,” he replied, pecking at her cheek as he made the final adjustments to his uniform.
Chelan watched him momentarily as she thought about the huge spectacle she was about to be a part of. The event was a celebration for the success of the most recent mission, but Korba was also going to use it as a way to introduce her to the people of his world. Up until now, her presence on the exalted battleship had been a secret shared with only a select few. That was about to change. “Do you care what I wear to the Koll?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could.
Korba’s head snapped up. They had not spoken of the function since their confrontation the day before. Chelan had made it very clear that she wanted no part of the Koll, and until this moment, he had not been sure if she had accepted the event.
“No,” he whispered as he straightened, his heart brimming with pride and warmth. “It will be enough that you are there with me.”
“Okay,” she uttered.
Korba stepped up to her. “Will you be all right?” he asked with concern.
She smiled confidently. “My place is by your side, in private and in public. I want to be with you wherever you go because of my love for you, and nothing will interfere with that.”
Korba hugged her cool body into his. His gloved hand caressed her hair as he inhaled her sweet scent.
“Any preferences?” she repeated.
Korba drew her away from him. “Your gown over your uniform.” He faltered, grappling with the implications of her sacrifice for him. He knew that for her to be on display to his people conflicted with every personality trait she possessed. “Are you sure, Chelan?” he probed.
She nodded. “I will not displease you, my Lord. You will not be disappointed.”
Korba grabbed her to him and pressed his lips to hers. Suddenly, his kiss of appreciation turned into a kiss of passion, and it was Chelan who pushed him away, unyielding to his ardent desire. “Your meeting,” she reminded breathlessly.
A deep tone rose from his chest. He stepped back and nodded to her with a devious glint in his eye. Then he pivoted on his heel and promptly took his leave.
Chelan stood motionless, allowing him ample time to gather weapons and exit the Command Center. Then she sprang into the air, overflowing with delight. “The gown!” she squeaked with joy. “It will be the likes of which he has never seen.”
A tailor was being supplied to her in secret this day, and Chelan was beyond excited. A seamstress she was not, but she did have an eye for fashion even though she had never bothered to apply it to herself. But now she would, and between her ideas and the tailor’s expertise, she was beside herself with anticipation and exhilaration.
Chelan threw on her fitted white gown and ran through the Command Center. She bolted through the doors, her unrestrained enthusiasm startling the six guards. She skidded to a halt in the middle of the corridor and turned to one of the men. “Lazen?” she blurted, barely able to contain herself.
“Yes, my Lady?”
Vividly remembering the lesson Lazen had inadvertently taught her about her new station in life, she flew to the guard, throwing her arms around him and planting an unexpected kiss on his firm lips.
Lazen staggered back against the wall in shock, one hand releasing its grip on his weapon and surrounding her waist.
Chelan freed the man from her embrace. “Oh, thank you for your lesson, Lazen,” she cried. “It is truly a beautiful day.” And before Lazen could recover, Chelan turned and skipped into Fremma’s quarters.
One of the other guards helped him to regain his footing. “I don’t know what you taught our Lady, but the next lesson goes to me.”
All six astonished guards chuckled lightly while Lazen recouped both his composure and his grip on his weapon. He looked toward the doors to where Chelan had fled, and he felt the burn of his lips. “Korba’s a lucky man,” he mumbled.
Chelan began pacing, the gown’s design and the volumes of time and work required to complete it coursing through her energetic mind. Then the doors parted, and Chelan froze as she beheld the person whom she assumed was the tailor.
The man before her also stopped cold. His jaw dropped at the sight of Chelan’s stunning beauty, and he struggled for words as he stared at Korba’s chosen mate. “My Lady?” he finally managed.
Chelan was equally shocked. For some strange reason she had assumed that the tailor would be some wizened, gray-haired old man with bifocals. But what stood before her was a very young warrior, every bit equal in dimension to the Warlords, with their gleaming black hair, the total length of which nearly reached his waist. Chelan had never asked any of the men their ages, but if she had to guess this warrior’s, she would put him at twenty Earth years at most, yet his fully-fledged body indicated he was far from adolescent.
The young man finally roused himself from his stupor and cleared his throat to speak. “My name is Dredon. Commander Dar said that you had need of my services.”
Chelan almost choked as she thought of the services he could no doubt render, but she stifled her thoughts. Instead, she scrutinized his handsome bronze face and powerful body. “Yes,” she finally replied. She paused and looked at him from out of the corner of her eye. “Why don’t they make them like you on Earth?” she mused quietly to herself.
Dredon tilted his head in confusion. “My Lady?” he questioned.
“Never mind,” said Chelan, shaking herself back to the task at hand. “I want to design a gown for myself for the Koll. It must be special, and I need your help because of my lack of knowledge of your designs and fabrics.”
Dredon nodded as he set down a container that Chelan only then noticed he’d been carrying.
“Where do you wish to begin?” he asked.
Chelan’s mind finally began to function clearly again, and she turned from him and resumed her pacing. “First, I need to draw the design, and then you can aid me in your appraisal of it.”
Dredon opened the container and withdrew a pen-like object and a large gray board. Approaching her, he handed her the items.
Chelan was bewildered. She realized that in all her time aboard RIBUS 7, she had never seen anyone write down anything or use any writing instruments.
Dredon smiled at her confusion and took the objects from her. “Here,” he said, walking over to the chairs and setting the board on the table.
Chelan watched him for a moment and then realized that he was not going to sit in her presence, another deference associated with her title, she assumed. She moved to the table and sat and, confirming her assumption, he then sat beside her.
“It’s a laser,” he began. “When you activate it against the board, it forces a chemical reaction that rearranges the board’s molecules.” He took the pen in his hand and showed her a pressure point. Then he moved the pen over the board, and Chelan watched a faint red glow dissipate, leaving behind a fine black line. He turned the pen upside down and pointed to the other end. “This area contains a chemical that reverses the reaction.”
He made a gentle sweep over his previous line, and Chelan watched it fade from sight. Her eyes grew wide as he passed her the instrument, and her long, tapered fingers held it gingerly. She looked up at him. “Can it hurt me in any way?”
Dredon’s eyes sparkled. “No, my Lady. But you will notice that it is pressure sensitive. The harder you apply it to the board, the more the molecules wil
l disperse, and the thicker the line.”
Chelan looked down at the pen and made a couple of experimental sweeps. Then she smiled. “Wow,” she breathed, her awe amplifying.
Dredon nodded to her, and she began to sketch. But his breath caught as he observed her incredible artistic talents unfolding. He watched in wonder as she systematically sketched out a flawless torso of her approximate dimensions and then sketched over it with her well-rehearsed gown.
When she was satisfied with her rendition, she turned it to him and watched his eyes light. “Do your women wear anything like that?” she asked.
Dredon shook his head slowly. “No, my Lady. It is so …” His voice trailed off. “It’s so elegant, so feminine.”
Chelan squirmed with delight. “Can it be done?”
Dredon looked deep into her brown eyes, temporarily rendered speechless by her beauty. He finally exhaled the breath he had been holding. “Yes.”
“Good!” Chelan clapped. “Now, I’ll tell you what I want for material, and you tell me if you have it.”
Dredon turned in his chair to face her directly and nodded.
“The material must be fine, with the shine and drape of satin.”
Chelan saw a faint twitch ripple over Dredon’s features, and she stopped. “Problems already?” she asked despondently.
“Oh, no, my Lady. Probably not with the material, but there is one with the language. What is satin?”
Chelan beamed. She had not thought of the problem of comparing fabrics between two worlds. “You just find a fabric with the hand and sheen I require and I will tell you if it is satin-like.”
He nodded to her, and she continued. “The fine folds you see here we call ruching, and they will run diagonally across the bodice to my hip. The gown must hug me perfectly. From my hips down, it will radiate fully, the back trailing.”
“And may I ask what is the color of the gown?”
“Pink,” she replied cautiously.
Dredon straightened. “I don’t think you’ll find pink material within the Empire, my Lady.”
Chelan’s face fell. “Is there something wrong with that color?”
“No,” he replied. “I’ve just never seen it. Most of our women’s apparel is white, some cream, some black, and occasionally blue.” Dredon shrugged. “In a military society, it is the uniform that speaks for itself. Fashion on Iceanea makes no statements, so there is really no need for diversity, either in style or color.”
“But don’t your men like to see your women in dress other than the uniforms? Wouldn’t they find gowns and other clothing apparel interesting and possibly seductive?”
Dredon grinned. “In our society, women don’t have to seduce men to get their attention. And besides, nothing much you could wear would be much more revealing of the feminine form than our uniforms.”
Chelan saw his point. The skintight, near-living skin of the Iceanean uniform left little to the imagination whether donned by man or woman. She looked at him closely. “You say you have never seen pink within the Empire. What about the dress of women on other worlds?”
Dredon shrugged. “By the Empire, I mean Iceanea. Our men would probably be captivated on the odd occasion by the exotic dress of alien women, but we never see it.” He could tell instantly that Korba’s chosen was confounded. “My Lady, we are warriors. The men and women on this ship destroy worlds. We do not go down and attend their social events or ogle their women. We afford ourselves no such luxury or leisure, nor do we desire it.”
Chelan was struck by the obvious brutal truth behind his words, and she sighed. “But the men of your world still appreciate beauty, don’t they?”
Dredon nodded. “Possibly more than the males of any other society. But we have our own women, and just because I said that we did not take the time to appreciate the women of other worlds does not mean that we would deny ourselves the pleasure if it was afforded to us, or if we cared to. You are a prime example, my Lady.”
Chelan looked down, and her skin pinked. She was not sure how to respond to his obvious compliment, his unfamiliarity making her temporarily uneasy, so she changed the subject. “Okay, how do I get pink material?” she asked with quiet persistence.
Dredon simply shook his head.
Chelan furrowed her brow. Suddenly, she looked up at him, her face alight. “Can your materials take dyes?”
“Yes, I suppose. Certain types,” he affirmed.
Chelan jumped to her feet and raced to the food dispensary at the far wall, making a selection. Grabbing the Sana fruit, she ran back to him and split it open, revealing the rose-petal pink interior. “Would this work?”
Dredon stood. He looked at the fruit, then to her, and smiled. “Maybe, or with the proper mordant.” He was caught up in her excitement, and he returned to the table with a stack of fabric samples.
Chelan whispered. “Mordant?”
Dredon nodded. “A substance, usually an inorganic oxide that combines with a dye to fix it to a material.”
“Oh,” she uttered as she watched him set the black samples to one side and concentrate on the whites. She pointed to the black. “What are those for?”
“Uniforms mostly,” he answered. “Others are used for anything that requires fabric, including furnishings. We design and produce everything we may need on board with materials that are stocked from designated supply planets. That’s what I work on in my off-duty time when I’m not out with Korba or in training.”
Chelan continued to watch as he sorted through the fabric samples, selecting and putting aside specific pieces. Then he smiled broadly at one particular swatch, and he handed it to her.
Chelan took the material, and her heart nearly melted.
Dredon nodded at it. “It shimmers in the light, and it drapes beautifully. But I’m afraid I don’t know what a dye will do to it.”
Chelan’s gaze continued to behold the material. “What is it usually used for?”
Dredon hesitated, watching her carefully. “It is usually worn by a woman during the Letting ceremony,” he answered guardedly.
Chelan’s eyes snapped to his, and she smiled. “Oh, really? How appropriate,” she whispered.
Dredon was struck by her comment. But she was an alien, and she could not be Letted to an Iceanean, especially an Imperial Warlord. It was as simple as that.
Chelan then searched her vocabulary for anything that would approximate the term lace. Failing, she tried to explain. “Where I come from we have a material that comes in many forms and patterns that we call lace. Most of it is very fine, with numerous tiny holes. It’s not woven, it’s an open fabric constructed by looping or twisting threads. Oh, I’m not describing this very well.”
But the warrior nodded and reached back into the container. What he handed to her rendered her mute. Chelan took the sample. It was a beautifully delicate lace, its weave gossamer, its design exquisite. It was perfect. She raised it to the light, and it too danced in spectral splendor.
Suddenly, she grabbed the gown material and the fruit, and she beckoned to Dredon to follow. She stepped into the wash area and peeled the fruit quickly, extracted the pit, and mashed it into the sink. Chelan had not noticed, but Dredon had picked up a few more pieces of the fruit and had already peeled them. He handed them to her for crushing.
Chelan looked down at her hands when she was finished, noticing the slight pink stain to her skin, and she smiled. Holding her breath, she took the material and dipped it in, squeezing the juice into the weave. Withdrawing it, her eyes lit at the beautiful pastel color. Stepping to the other sink, she rinsed it, and her face fell. The color ran.
But Dredon remained undeterred. He snatched the material from her. “Here, we’ll try a super-heated mordant.” He pulled one of his knives from his boot and laid it in the juice. Then he withdrew a small lazgun from his side and adjusted it to a low energy setting. He reached for Chelan’s hand and drew her protectively behind him. He pointed at the sink and then shielded his face.
Dredon then tossed the fabric into the bubbling liquid. Both of them stood silently as the fluid began to settle. Cautiously, Dredon plucked the material out and held it in front of her, the surface still steaming.
Chelan took it from him, holding it gingerly by her long fingernails, and placed it into the other sink. As the fresh water washed over it, Dredon edged to her side. Chelan lifted the material, and they both beheld the beautiful, iridescent-pink fabric.
She gasped with delight and then threw herself at Dredon, who caught her in his powerful arms. “Oh, you’re amazing,” she cried, hugging him close.
Dredon smiled warmly at her as she released him. He looked down at the fabric again. He took it from her and held it under her chin. “It does you justice, my Lady,” he commented. “The color is that of your beautiful cheeks.”
Chelan blushed and snatched the material from him.
Dredon chuckled at her inherent bashfulness. “And now it matches all your skin.”
Chelan finally laughed, and she hugged the fabric to herself.
Dredon then turned to retrieve his knife; the blue blade was dulled and pitted by the heat and the Sana juices.
“Oh, Dredon,” Chelan exclaimed. “What have we done to your knife?”
“It’s okay,” he assured. “If a thorough buffing does not bring it back, there are plenty more where it came from.” Then he sheathed the weapon and proceeded to clean out the sink.
“How much material will I need?” she asked excitedly.
Dredon looked at her. “I’m not sure, but I will dye it myself and make sure that there is plenty. Regardless, though, I should take your measurements so that we can begin with the pattern, and at the same time, I will get a good idea of the amount of fabric we’ll need.”
Chelan nodded as she followed him out of the en suite and into the bedroom. There she watched as he picked up an instrument that looked like a bizarre calculator. “What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s a measuring device that logs in specific body dimensions. It takes the measurements and stores them for further use.”
