TICEES

by Mills, Shae

  *****

  Her next encounter with consciousness was the following day, though she had no idea that she had already spent two Iceanean days within the cavern as her body and mind began the slow process of mending. She opened her eyes, squinting against very bright light, and she realized that it was midday. She also knew that drinking was her most immediate concern. Steeling herself, she set about the chore of lapping up the moisture. Once she had endured the agony for as long as she could, she relaxed and took several restrained and painful breaths.

  Her next thought was food. Her battered body needed energy, and she began the laborious process of fumbling through her shroud, looking for the concentrate she had packed. Time dragged on as she forced sprained and cracked fingers to sort through the voluminous material that concealed the life-supporting supplement. As evening came, she was rewarded, but her energy was spent, and she could not eat. Evening turned into night, and Chelan slept again.

  *****

  Chelan awoke on her fourth day in the cavern faced with yet another dilemma. Pressure wounds were opening on her shoulder blades and buttocks, and she knew it was imperative that she get off the damaged flesh. Her work for the day consisted of the grueling task of rolling onto her side and facing downslope while bracing herself so that she did not tumble. She ate only a tiny amount of the concentrate, aware that her stomach could mount a protest against the food, and convulsions were the last thing her damaged body needed to endure.

  Soon thereafter, Chelan realized that she had to get out of her uniform, and it was crucial that she get cleaned up. The uniform had been her savior to begin with, insulating her from the cold and protecting her in general. But now it was her enemy. She was weak, and she had open wounds. Though her urine output was minimal due to her dehydration, she was keenly aware that her body excretions would fatally infect her. Now her bid to move down the cavern and away from the ice was paramount to her survival. She needed warmth, and she needed sanitation.

  Chelan’s movements were distressingly slow, and minute acts were agonizing and trying. She had to calculate every maneuver precisely, for she could ill afford risking any further injuries through blunders. She rested often, receding in and out of uneasy sleep. She had to be constantly aware of her positioning, her balance critical to preventing herself from rolling down the rocky incline. After many hours, darkness was upon her, and she finally gave in once again to exhaustion.

  *****

  When she awoke the next time, the light was very dim, and she did not know if it was early morning or the next evening. Either way, it did not matter. Her whole concept of time had been destroyed long ago. For her, minutes were measured by her endurance and her ability to cope rather than being dictated by the Iceanean sun.

  Hours passed, and as she inched along she could feel the air getting warmer. Finally, she rolled onto her raw back to survey her surroundings. Slowly, a small smile crept across her lips. She was thunderstruck by the beauty that surrounded her. “My god,” she mumbled. “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  The cavern was massive, and the ceiling was an intricate weaving of rock and ice interlocked as if created by large, loving hands crocheting a beautiful piece of fine lace. Huge columns and arches of solution-etched rock appeared to provide the main support for the ceiling area. The fine white mineral was also the main constituent of the walls and floor.

  Chelan continued to look around. “Calcite,” she whispered out loud. “Beautiful calcite.” She felt almost as though she had been deposited within the depths of the wondrous Carlsbad Caverns. Exquisite cave draperies hung from the ceiling near the walls, some up to thirty meters long. There, the white undulating fabric of fine calcite was decorated with serrated edges that looked like delicately applied fringes.

  The center of the lacy ceiling was composed mostly of thick, blue ice. Its nearly transparent presence and its odd optical properties allowed vast amounts of the Iceanean sunlight down into the cavern, illuminating the awe-inspiring beauty. Everywhere Chelan looked, it was as though the cave had been meticulously and caringly hung with Christmas ornaments, and her eyes grew large.

  Near the edges of the almost circular cavern, the ceiling dropped, and with the lower elevation it became progressively composed more of rock rather than ice. There, conical stalactites hung like so many icicles on a home’s eaves. Most of them were the white of pure calcite, but in one area they were stained in brilliant colors of yellow, tan, red, and orange, contaminated beautifully with the iron that was present in the host rock.

  Drips of water leapt lazily off the stalactites and down to the cave floor, forming spectacular stalagmites that appeared to reach up to the nourishing parents above them. Closer to the cavern walls, some of the stalagmites and stalactites joined, forming the elegant columns that would have rivaled the beauty of Greek and Roman architecture.

  Chelan closed her eyes momentarily, listening to the sounds of the cavern, the trickles of water and the echoes of fine splashing. This was a spelunker’s dream.

  She then craned her neck as far as she dared and looked down the ever-flattening slope. Her eyes followed the rivulets of water as they ambled drowsily to their final resting spot: a large pond of crystal blue water. Chelan gasped. There was her supply of water and her source of cleansing moisture. Excitement coursed through her. She had to reach it, and the sooner the better.

  Chelan began edging herself toward the pool where an eerie and enticing mist hung protectively over it. Her journey was slow and tedious, yet she took the time to avoid damaging the fragile cave beauty that abounded on the floor. At times she wanted to stop and savor the sights, but she knew that privilege could wait. Her wounds were her first priority, and she clenched her teeth against her physical misery as she slithered along the damp floor.

  After what seemed to be an eternity, she reached her destination. She collapsed by the pool’s edge in utter exhaustion. She took several tortuous breaths, ignoring her painful ribs, and then she closed her eyes, focusing. The air seemed warm and fresh, and she wondered if the water was warm also, possibly heated by the planet’s massive internal engine, Iceanea’s lifeblood. But Chelan was too fatigued to test it, and she fell asleep before even trying the pool’s temperature.

  Chelan slept long and hard and awoke late the next day. Right away, she could feel the burn of her compromised flesh. And to make matters worse, she had a fever and felt ill. It was the infection she feared, and now time was against her. As quickly as she could manage, she began stripping away her shroud and uniform. Critical moments passed, and finally she lay on her stomach, naked. She gasped for air, and her eyes watered from the pain of her frantic motions. She no longer cared what the temperature of the water was. She needed to cleanse her wounds, and she pushed herself over, splashing into the pool. The searing sting of her ulcerations nearly shocked the breath from her.

  Forcing battered limbs to work, she struggled to pull herself to the rock ledge where she laid her head. Once still, she wept while she waited patiently for her vanquished body to relax and for the agony to dissipate. Chelan closed her eyes, and as her discomfort lessened, she began to languish in the pool’s healing warmth, her body suspended from the torment of gravitational pressure. Then she noticed the extreme buoyancy, and she knew that the mineral content of the water was high. She smiled wryly. “Well, now we’ll see if all those health spa pushers really have anything to crow about,” she mused out loud.

  As the remaining day began to meld into evening, Chelan struggled out of the pool and lay panting on the edge. Her joints screamed out in protest from her exertion, but she could not spend forever in the healing water. She had more to attend to. Groping for her uniform, she shoved it into the pool and watched it soak while she caught her breath. Next, she fumbled through her shroud, extracting her food and the lazguns, setting them to the side and out of the way of the water. Still on her stomach, she began the grueling task of rinsing the cloths, her damaged fingers and hands laboring torturously.


  Chelan watched as the soil from her uniform quickly dissipated and disappeared down into the depths of the shimmering pool. It was then that she realized that the pond probably had an extensive underground network, nurtured by the cavern waters and cleansing itself at some point far from the light of day and the eyes of man.

  As night began to descend upon her, she felt better. She pulled the clothing from the pool and then lay still for a time. Though the air had seemed relatively warm, she now realized it was far from adequate for her naked body. Chelan shivered. Her uniform would dry quickly, but it was wet right now, and she was cooling fast.

  Chelan shuddered against the cold, and she reached for her lazgun. She had to stay warm as she could ill afford the extra energy requirements that she would have to expend to combat the cold. She looked over at the cave wall, her new destiny. She grabbed her clothing and pulled the material close to her. Then, scuttling painfully along the rough floor, she headed toward the solid cavern wall.

  Chelan collapsed behind a sizable stalagmite and rested her head on her arms as she struggled for air. Then, adjusting the gun to a moderate energy setting, she blasted the wall. The rock immediately glowed red, showering the area with rich, radiant heat. Chelan rolled out from behind the stalagmite and onto her shroud, soaking in the warmth. She closed her eyes and instantly receded into sleep.

  *****

  Chelan awoke in the morning and rolled partially to her side. She blinked up at her new surroundings. She lay very still and paid close attention to what her body was telling her. She felt better, and the intensity of her chronic aches and pains was diminishing. But best of all, her fever was beginning to recede.

  She could not remember how many days had passed, but somehow she felt that she was out of the woods as far as severe internal injuries went. She knew she had some abdominal puffiness, and it hurt to press on it, but whatever was wrong did not seem to be life-threatening at the moment. And there was nothing she could do about it anyway.

  Chelan turned slightly and reached for her gun. She shielded her eyes and head with her shroud and blasted the rock again. Her uniform was dry, but she wanted her body to be exposed to the air as much as possible. Besides, it was just too much work to get the uniform on, and as long as she had the warmth from the rock, she did not need it.

  Chelan then decided it was time to reassess her injuries. She pushed herself to her side and edged her way up the stalagmite, being careful to keep her shroud between it and her tender flesh. Bracing her shoulder against the column, she rested on her hip, and then she settled.

  Upon her first perusal she noticed that she was gaunt and a mass of multicolored bruises. Only her inner thighs had escaped the discoloration. Chelan looked as though someone had gone over her thoroughly with a baseball bat. Both knees and elbows were still swollen, and her right ankle was ballooned. Her shoulders ached, and she knew that her back was in bad shape, but there was no way to look at it.

  She strained around to glance at her buttocks, and she winced at the size of the pressure wounds. But then she sighed with relief at the fact that the angry redness of the raw and weeping areas seemed to be subsiding. The edges of the lesions were healing, and she knew it was just a matter of time before all the compromised flesh sloughed off and the areas scabbed over. But it was important that she stay off the wounds, and even more important that she keep her circulation going.

  Chelan slumped down and levered herself onto her stomach. It was time to eat, and she consumed more of the concentrate. She remained near the cave wall for the next two days, resting, eating, sleeping, and allowing her body to mend. She knew that she had enough food for about two months, but beyond that she was stuck. Chelan smiled wryly. She would go through all this pain and work, struggling to heal, just in time to get better so that she could die of starvation. That would figure.

  Finally, it was time for another therapeutic spa, and she began the long trip back to the buoyant water. As soon as it was possible, she would start strengthening herself in the pool, its support and warmth allowing her maximum movement with a minimum of strain.

  Chelan tipped into the water and then rested her head on her arms along the rock shelf that ringed the pool. She allowed her eyes to wander back up to the splendor that was hung about the cavern like so many fine tapestries.

  She looked to her left as she faced the entrance to the cavern, and her eyes widened at the beauty contained within the dramatic flowstones that lined the walls. Large flowstone waterfalls abounded, their undulating surfaces tenderly caressed by the saturated waters that nursed them. They, too, were stained in places with the same striking colors of the stalactites. Some oozed blood red, while others flowed with the warmth of the sun in beautiful yellows and oranges.

  Then Chelan peered in front of her to the cave floor. Below some of the rooftop icicles were smooth, bowl-like depressions, carved out by centuries of aerial combat as each drop of water from above assaulted the solid rock below. In some of the depressions, namely those below dripping stalactites, were jewel-like cave pearls, spherical in shape and lustrous with their cryptocrystalline composition.

  Other areas of the cavern floor harbored forests of intricate lace like Christmas tree stalagmites. Chelan smiled. Those areas were the land’s equivalent of the coral reef, equal in beauty and just as delicate.

  Everywhere she looked, the surfaces of the various flowstones were veneered with cave velvet. The macrospeleotherms were coated with crystal faces of calcite that brilliantly reflected the light, giving the surface of the features a luster not unlike the regal fabric. Some of the cave curtains were coated in a brilliant blue velvet, and Chelan gasped; their beauty was beyond description. She had not noticed them upon her initial entry to the cavern, and she knew the stain was from the mineral azurite. It was a strikingly vivid color, the same beautiful blue that was Korba’s eyes, and Chelan wept for him for the first time since she had left the Empire.

  Chelan finally dragged herself from the pool and shuffled heavily over to her shroud by the wall. She lay down and tried to still her sobs. She wondered if Korba knew she was gone yet, or if Ticees would withhold the information until he returned from the battle. It didn’t really matter, but somehow, deep down in her heart, she could feel his pain. He knew.

  Suddenly, Chelan’s tears ceased, and her blood frosted over as her thoughts turned to Ticees. Chelan smiled coolly. He would be beside himself by now, wallowing in grief and guilt over what he had done. But the most satisfying thought Chelan had was that he would be plagued by fear—fear of Korba and the ongoing fear that someday his brutal and dastardly act would be discovered. She closed her eyes, a sense of vindication sending a wave of satisfaction throughout her healing body. She was glad she had lived, for the sense of gratification and the elation that overtook her at the thought of his desperation were worth all the misery she was forced to endure. Her only regret was that she had not been present to see his face at the precise moment he realized that she was actually gone … forever.

  *****

  The days passed, melding together almost seamlessly, and Chelan continued to recover. She guessed roughly that she had been in the cavern for close to two Iceanean weeks now, and she knew that all Ticees’ search efforts would have been exhausted. She had seen the unexpected and early flyby just before the storm hit, and she knew that their sensors would have picked her up. They would have assumed she was consumed by the storm, totally unaware that she had, in fact, been cradled by the colossal planet. She felt as though she had been conceived and nurtured by the matronly womb of the giant world, and now, as her body healed, she was about to be reborn. She would be rebirthed into the quiet world of the cavern, safe from harm, and safe from Ticees.

  The only sadness she felt was for Korba, and as she thought of the grief that would overtake him, she began to cry once again. But she knew that there could have been no other way. She had to be dead to him, and she found solace in the knowledge that through her death, he would live.
>
  Chelan snuggled down into her shroud and hugged herself with her strengthening arms. She closed her eyes as she mourned for her losses, while at the same time she warmed at the thought of the lives she had saved. And slowly, the pretty woman was consumed by a gentle and soothing sleep, totally unaware of the lone ship that flew far above her on silent, ebony wings.

  *****

  Korba had come to the Dead Zone to pay his last respects to the beautiful woman he had loved so deeply, and unknown to him, he had landed his primary fighter not three kilometers from the hidden cavern. He stepped out of the ship, and his feet touched the frigid and unforgiving surface. Korba removed his flight helmet and his protective face shield, allowing the planet’s iciness to flow over his skin, his flesh becoming as frozen as his deadened heart.

  He looked out over the bleak wasteland. His face burned, and he took a deep breath of the savage air. Then he knelt down, facing in the direction that the storm had traversed, the storm that had taken his Chelan two long weeks ago. He pulled her gown from his shroud and clutched it to his face, his tears coming to him easily. He said nothing, for he had no words with which to adequately describe the grief and the torment from which he suffered.

  Slowly, his mind travelled back in time, and he thought of his first night back on RIBUS 7 after the Rigilean conflict. He remembered nothing else about it except her, the sound of her soft voice, and the sweet sound of her request that he make love to her.

  Immediately, Korba hunched over, and his body convulsed. Unbidden, his mind traced through each moment of their times together, each individual touch remembered precisely, each touch so real it tore painfully at his lacerated heart. He would remember them all as if she had been with him yesterday.

  Korba shuddered again, his body contorted in agony. There would be no child, and he would never again hear the sound of her voice or feel the touch of her hand upon his skin. His pain ripped through him, leaving him bloodied and dying inside, his soul as desolate at as landscape beneath him.