TICEES

by Mills, Shae

  Ticees dropped to his knees in stunned silence. Her beauty was marred, her skin pale.

  Fremma continued to cradle her as his fingers gently touched her bruised cheek. “Chelan,” he called gently. “Look at me, pretty woman.”

  Slowly, her grief-stricken eyes opened to his. “Oh, Fremma.” She winced. “My gentle Fremma,” her voice barely a whisper.

  Fremma hugged her closer. His fingers traced over her face, and he shuddered. Her left eye was beginning to blacken, and her lips were split, and Fremma’s heart ached.

  Ticees remained silent, watching the warrior, the man desperate in his bid to console the little alien. He wished he could help, but he knew that he should remain in the background.

  Fremma looked down into her bloodshot eyes. “What happened, Chelan?”

  Chelan closed her eyes and her tears flowed. “He’s gone,” she whimpered, her chin beginning to quiver. “I’ve been stripped of him.” She stiffened and moaned, her face burning, her head and teeth aching.

  Fremma held her a long time, and Ticees hung his head. Then the Emperor looked away, asking himself what he had done, and why. He had wanted her, but now he was forced to confront the devastation he had just levied upon her, and his conscience stirred.

  Fremma finally pushed her away from him and looked down at her. “He will return, Chelan,” he assured quietly.

  Chelan shook her head. “I will never see him again,” she whispered. “I can feel it in my heart.”

  Ticees took a deep breath and edged forward. “Chelan,” he began.

  Chelan jumped, aware of Ticees’ presence for the first time, and she twisted in Fremma’s arms, pressing into him with a violence that nearly knocked him over. “No!” she cried. “Keep him away from me!”

  Ticees recoiled.

  “Fremma, he sent Korba away!” she wailed.

  Fremma was stunned. “Chelan, it was a mission—”

  “No!” interrupted Chelan as she pushed from him. Her tear-stained eyes pleaded with him as she clutched his shroud. “No. Dar was next in line. There was no reason not to send him! Dar was first in line for this mission. Ticees did this deliberately to separate us.”

  Fremma gasped at her blunt accusation in front of the Emperor. “Chelan, that’s not true.”

  Chelan let her head fall, and she convulsed, the pain in her face eradicating what little defense she could muster.

  Ticees moved to his feet, shaken by her accurate and perceptive revelation. After all this time, his behavior nothing short of godly, she had still pegged the situation accurately. He actually felt himself breaking into a sweat. “My Lady,” he pleaded. “Our military intelligence indicated the possibility of Iceanean bloodlines at this site. It warranted sending my best man.”

  Chelan was well aware that there was always that chance, no matter what the battle scenario, and Korba could not fight them all. The Emperor had merely stacked the deck somehow, twisting the intelligence … adulterating it … or burying it. But voicing her thoughts would get her nowhere. “You’ll see, my dear, Fremma,” she uttered. “He’ll send you away, too,” and she slumped into his lap, her energy spent.

  Fremma looked up into Ticees’ tense face, and the warrior took a deep breath. “It’s okay, my Lord. She’s just upset by his departure. She’ll recover soon. If you could just leave us,” he whispered. “Please, Sire. I’ll help her.”

  Ticees simply nodded and left.

  Fremma was still for a while until he was sure the Emperor was gone, and then he lifted her to him. She was unmoving, her body and spirit vanquished. “Ticees is gone, Chelan,” he whispered, but she did not respond.

  Fremma rose with her cradled in his arms and returned to Korba’s chambers. Carefully, he laid her on the bed and watched as she immediately turned, clutching Korba’s pillow tightly to her burning face, his scent calming her, and she instantly fell asleep.

  Fremma slumped into a chair, his stomach turning as he thought about her words. Since the Rigilean mission, it was to be automatically assumed that warrior bloodlines had been acquired. To assume otherwise was pure folly, so the intelligence was irrelevant. It had indeed been Dar’s turn, but he was down at a training camp, and Fremma hoped that was reason enough to select Korba, although his gut reaction indicated otherwise.

  Fremma felt his blood cool at the revelation that Chelan could be right. He had numerous duties to perform, and with Dar gone, she was going to be left alone, a lot. He stood abruptly. Was she correct? Was there an underlying subterfuge?

  Fremma felt panicked. He had to talk to Toran, but he dared not leave her right now. He paced until he felt drained, and then he lay down beside her, surrounding her with his arms. Suddenly, the solution came to him. He would take her with him wherever he went if she chose to follow. He would not, and indeed he could not, deny her his security and comfort in this time of suffering.

  He knew Korba had delivered the blow to her face. And he also knew that the great Warlord would only strike the demure woman in an utterly deranged state of mind. Things were not well in the Empire, and Fremma had an uneasy feeling they were only going to get a lot worse.

  Chapter 12

  The first couple of weeks after Korba’s departure were hard on everybody as Chelan continued to recede into herself. Fremma spoke to Toran about her, and the black-haired Warlord became increasingly concerned. He had started to visit her in an effort to console her, but soon he was forced to withdraw from her completely. His uncanny resemblance to Korba only intensified her grief, and Fremma was forced to ask Toran not to see her anymore.

  Chelan had quit her aerial reconnaissance training as she was unable to concentrate properly, and finally Ticees was forced to send Salizar back into the Imperial service. But Fremma was not about to give up on her. Though demands on his time were great, he took as much leave as he could, acutely aware of the threat that too much time away would have on his advancement to Second-in-Command. As a result he was forced to place her in jeopardy, even going so far as to take her with him to the training fields. The weather was severe, the hours were long, and the conditions were poor. Men and weapons were continually engaged around her, but she endured it all, and Fremma had to admire her fortitude in her grim determination to avoid Ticees.

  But the biggest threat to her now was her lack of sleep. She insisted on keeping up with Fremma, accompanying him everywhere, including meals, and the physical toll on her was vividly apparent. It tore Fremma’s heart out to watch her deteriorate so rapidly, and he prayed for Korba’s safe and speedy return.

  Ticees was also distressed. His actions had quite the opposite effect he had anticipated, and Chelan continued to withdraw further and further from him as time passed. Though he was always the perfect gentleman and watched out for her carefully, she was barely able to look at him, let alone speak with him. He knew that she held him solely responsible for Korba’s fate, and she was right. Ticees tried desperately to make amends as he truly had come to care for her deeply, but his efforts were constantly thwarted, and his frustration escalated.

  The weeks turned into months, and still Chelan remained distant and aloof, her only attention bestowed upon Fremma. The one bright spot in the whole mess was a slight stabilization in her moods and an easing of the downward-spiraling depression that had taken her. She had begun sleeping in the workout area while Fremma trained, and the additional rest helped her immensely. But most of her recovery was strictly physical, the sleep doing little for her overall emotional outlook. Sadness still dominated her demeanor, and her vitality seemed permanently snuffed.

  As a last resort, Fremma decided to jeopardize all for her. He went to Ticees and demanded a week of leave, threatening to withdraw from the Imperial forces if it was not granted. Ticees was initially infuriated, but he realized that Chelan was in desperate need of help. He could do nothing with her in her present state, and Fremma’s attention was his only hope. He was also well aware of Fremma’s value to the Empire, and Ticees had no desire to lose
a good man, so he granted Fremma the leave.

  But what Ticees had not anticipated was the extent to which Fremma had planned to work with Chelan. The warrior immediately moved into Korba’s quarters and relieved himself of all activities, personal and professional.

  The effects on Chelan were indisputable as she instantly responded to the constant attention and the increased rest. Within two days she was nearly her old self and had begun to engage Fremma sexually, her vivacious beauty returning.

  Fremma was elated with her recovery and was soon caught up in her attentive love and never-ending devotion, almost to the point of never wanting to leave her. But he knew her balance was fragile because she never spoke of Korba, and Fremma in turn never mentioned him, not wishing to disrupt the precarious equilibrium she had finally reached.

  As his week with her came to an end, Fremma decided once again to make some changes, and he went directly to Ticees. He wanted his hours reduced to sixteen Earth hours a day so he could return to Chelan for the following eight, thus following her schedule rather than forcing her to tolerate his. Fremma was pleasantly surprised when Ticees granted his wish, the Emperor realizing immediately that he could not deal with the alien if she slipped back into her depressed state.

  As a result, it was not long before she began attending Fremma to some of the meals, and Ticees was delighted to be in her company once again. Her spark had returned, and she even began to converse with the Emperor, almost to the point of friendship. Ticees was extremely pleased, and his desire to possess the little alien once again mounted with each passing day. He knew that she was not committed to Fremma in the same manner she was to Korba, and he felt it was only a matter of time before she began accepting him also.

  But in the weeks that followed, Ticees’ plans encountered an unexpected and inflaming setback. He had assumed that Chelan was now comfortable enough with her surroundings and with him that she would allow Fremma to go to the training fields unattended. That was indeed the case, but far less frequently than Ticees had anticipated. Ticees had departed one morning to spot-check Fremma’s training of new men, and was shocked to find Solis in his place.

  Ticees had returned promptly to the Palace, enraged at Fremma’s insubordination and apparent deceit. He had entered silently into Korba’s chambers with full intentions of reprimanding the warrior but had been stunned to find him fully engaged with Chelan. The Emperor nearly lost control of his seething rage as he watched them consume one another. But rather than bursting forward and halting their bonding, Ticees watched with rapt attention as Fremma’s powerful bronze body plunged into the feminine softness below him. Ticees wanted to leave, but he could not. He was spellbound, his eyes riveted to Chelan and her acts of love with the warrior. Ticees was thunderstruck by the powerful thrusts that Fremma inflicted upon her willing femininity, and he had been equally stunned by the fact that such a small woman could receive all of such a large man without being hurt. His own loins had ignited as he watched her slender white fingers surge over Fremma’s moist body, and Ticees could only think of her sensual touch on his own skin, his throbbing erection driving him nearly mad.

  Chelan cried out in the throes of ecstasy and her all-consuming orgasm, and that cry had sent Ticees staggering back out through the door. He slumped against the wall as he struggled with his heated emotions and with his lust-ridden body. And at that very moment, he came to an irrevocable decision. Fremma had to be detained, one way or another, and he knew exactly what to do.

  Ticees did not take long to act, and soon Dar found himself ordered back to the Palace. The blonde Warlord, confused about the sudden change in his orders, immediately went to Fremma’s quarters seeking answers, but he was absent. Dar then intercepted Toran, but he could not shed any light on the situation either, offering only to alert Fremma to his arrival when and if he saw him.

  Dar sat in his chambers rubbing his brow in frustration when Fremma burst in.

  “Dar! Am I glad to see you.”

  Dar stood and embraced him. “What the hell is going on around here? Ticees is too busy to see me, Toran doesn’t seem to know a thing, and you look as if your best friend has just died.”

  Fremma nodded weakly as he withdrew from him. “It’s something like that,” he mumbled as he slumped into a chair.

  The Warlord sat down across from him, his movements stiff with apprehension.

  “Chelan’s been having a hard time,” Fremma began, but stopped as he noted Dar’s bewildered expression.

  “But why?” queried Dar. “I thought that she and Korba had worked things out with Ticees.”

  “You weren’t told?”

  Dar froze. “Told what?”

  Fremma hesitated. “Korba’s gone. He’s been gone for over two months. Ticees sent him and RIBUS 7 to the Arganon system.”

  Dar was instantly on his feet. “I was next in line! Why was I not called?” Dar stopped, his eyes on fire as his voice lowered. “Why was I not told of this?”

  Fremma stood. “I have no idea, Dar, but things around here are far from well.”

  Dar’s eyes met Fremma’s. “Why have I been summoned back?” his voice barely concealing his trepidation.

  Fremma could only shake his head. “I don’t know, my Lord. I was not informed of your arrival.”

  Dar’s fist slammed into the wall, and his head slumped. “Damn it, Ticees. You play dangerous games.” Dar took several deep breaths to still the upheaval within him. “How’s Chelan?” he asked quietly.

  Fremma looked down. “She says that Ticees deliberately stripped her of Korba and his protection. She feels even now that she will never see him again.” Fremma hesitated. “I am not sure what happened between them the morning of his departure, but I found her in the workout area, her face bruised and swollen, her lips bloodied and split at Korba’s hand.”

  Dar turned slowly, his eyes betraying his utter disbelief. Fremma nodded. “When she saw that Ticees had accompanied me, she went into hysterics, screaming accusations at him. Then she told me to wait and see. She told me that I would be the next one to be sent away.”

  Dar’s eyes narrowed. “Have you received any orders?”

  “No,” replied Fremma. “Quite the opposite. I was finally forced to demand leave from Ticees for Chelan’s sake. He granted it begrudgingly, but she improved immediately, though she still will not speak of Korba.” Fremma looked down. “She still maintains that Korba is lost to her, and that, with time, Ticees will take her.”

  Dar recoiled. “Take her how and for what purpose?”

  Fremma shook his head. “I have no idea, but—”

  Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and both men swung around. Dar admitted entry and a young sentry stepped in with a small disc in his hand. “Orders from the Emperor, my Lord, for you and for Fremma, sir.”

  The two men looked at each other. Dar snatched the disk from the man, his guts suddenly in a knot. “Thank you,” he muttered, and the sentry bowed and left.

  Dar stood motionless, looking down at the disk. He then glanced at Fremma.

  Fremma tensed. “She was right,” he grated out. “She did not foresee Korba’s death. She foresaw her own, and that disk is her death warrant.”

  Dar flew from his chambers and into the Command Center. His blood was cold, and he slammed the disk down into the console. Fremma moved up beside him, and the two men watched the code scroll by.

  “The Matzar mission,” whispered Dar, “and you’ve been assigned as my Second-in-Command alongside Solis.”

  Fremma turned away in a flurry of black. “That mission wasn’t to be given the go-ahead for months.”

  Dar curbed his emotions while he continued through the material, his disbelief mounting. Without speaking, he turned and walked back into his chambers. Sinking into his chair, Dar turned his thoughts to Chelan, his beautiful Chelan. He loved her so much. He had deliberately avoided her out of his love, and now he was faced with the possibility of losing her permanently. Just why such dark th
oughts invaded his soul he could not pinpoint.

  Fremma walked out of the Command Center and joined Dar. He was filled with dread as he observed the Warlord’s poorly concealed agitation.

  Dar looked up at the officer. “RIBUS 8 leaves tomorrow.”

  The words slammed into Fremma, and the blow knocked the wind from his lungs.

  “You leave now, my friend, to prepare for my arrival.”

  Fremma could not move or speak. Then there came another knock on the door, and neither man reacted. Finally the doors opened.

  Solis stepped in, immediately sensing the pall in the air. “It seems,” he began very quietly, “that we are being mobilized rather abruptly.” Solis’ eyes travelled from one man to the other. “But despite the short notice,” he continued cautiously, “it appears that Ticees has readied RIBUS 8 himself, my Lord. All systems are up.”

  Dar finally looked at Solis. “Anything else?”

  Solis shifted his weight uneasily as he glanced at Fremma’s drawn face. “Just that our fighters await our arrival, my Lord. Fremma and I leave now.”

  Fremma was staggered by the information. Dar spoke, interrupting the warrior’s thoughts. “Fremma, where is Chelan?”

  “Asleep,” he whispered.

  Dar’s fists clenched spasmodically.

  Fremma steadied himself. “Say good-bye to her for me,” he uttered, and he turned and left quickly, followed by Solis.

  Dar sat quietly for a long time, trying to sort through everything. He rubbed his brow, his anxiety mingling with his anger in a lethal combination. “So, Ticees,” he seethed. “We win the battle, but you win the war.” He stood abruptly and looked to the ceiling, his voice scathing. “But we will return, and you had better hope that our Lady is well.”

  He took a deep breath, frustrated by the fact that there was nothing he could do. To send a communiqué to Korba would only distract him, and possibly fatally. And Dar had no concrete basis by which to justify taking her with him and putting her in direct jeopardy. It was simple; she had to survive until their return. There was no other solution.