by Shae Mills
"Yes, my Lord," acknowledged a voice quickly.
"See that all is secure for Commander Tarn's arrival."
"Yes, my Lord."
Korba sat back in his chair and closed his eyes momentarily while his powerful mind went to work. It was now time to prepare for the long journey home.
Chapter 3
Chelan squinted at her watch through the glare caused by her small flashlight. Her heart was racing. It was 3:00 a.m., and someone or something had awakened her. She fought to soothe her rapid breathing, and her ears strained to capture even the faintest of sounds.
She wasn't sure what the noise had been. Had it been a gust of wind? No, there were no rustling leaves, and her tent was still. Her imagination was beginning to dominate her senses, and she instinctively shuffled away from the side of her small abode, a strangely comforting move. She held her breath, listening.
The night was moonless, and she knew that peeking outside was not only futile, but too nerve-racking to even consider. Besides, anything close enough to see was too close for safety. And, if she did happen to spot something, no matter how innocuous, it would be of no consolation, for Chelan knew that she would simply die from fright. No further sounds intruded, and eventually, a wary sleep overtook her just as the first rays of dawn washed over her.
Ten o'clock arrived, and Chelan lay sleepily, staring up at the roof of her tent. "Well, I survived," she whispered as she smiled gratefully. Not being on the breakfast menu of a marauding grizzly, or even worse, a marauding man was definitely a good feeling. Chelan quivered. The 3:00 a.m. incident came back to her vividly, and she knew it had not been a dream. Something had definitely happened. Slowly, she extruded herself from her sleeping bag and sat up. Warily, she peeked out of her enclosure and looked about her. All seemed well.
Chelan sighed with relief and began to loosely schedule her day's events. She ran her fingers through her tangled, waist-length hair, and as she did so, her first goal of the day became clear. Water... bath... yes, that sounded good. She had passed a stream of some significance quite a way back on the old, abandoned road, and a small gully perpendicular to the neighboring ridge looked like a plausible spot for its headwaters.
Grabbing a towel and some soap, she began her morning trek, cautious as always for signs of bear. As she ascended toward the small ridge in the midmorning sun, sweat beaded on her forehead, and she began to feel uncomfortably sticky. Locating the stream now became mandatory, and she trudged on.
She was careful to stop frequently and survey the surrounding terrain, locating herself relative to her camp. It would be pure folly if she got lost now. With nothing on but a loose-fitting top and shorts, she was not about to climb any trees to pinpoint her location, nor would she be able to safely spend a night under the stars without her shelter.
After what seemed an eternity, she arrived at the small gully, but her worst fears were realized. Either the stream began elsewhere or it was underground. Catching her breath, she could see that she was not far from the summit of the ridge. Deciding to take in the view it would afford, she puffed on. The climb steepened rapidly, and it was not long before Chelan was regretting her decision. Maliciously, she pinched at her soft tummy with disdain.
Weight had rarely been a problem in the past, but with the long hours devoted to her doctorate, it had recently become a parasitic condition. Chelan was a pretty woman, and her facial beauty was usually accentuated by a tall, slender frame and fine bone structure. But lately she had packed on extra weight, partially out of depression and melancholy. She had never been short of male suitors, but Chelan was shy and unassuming, and she sometimes wondered if she now kept herself plump as a form of protection. However, even with the extra pounds, the wandering eyes of men were constantly confirming her curvaceous appeal.
But now, her weight had gotten out of hand, and she hoped that this trip would somehow be enough of a rejuvenation that it would restore some good old-fashioned self-control, not to mention self-confidence. She had decided that once she got her weight down, she would adhere to a regimented and rigorous exercise program. After all, and she smirked at the thought, she was not going to be buried in a piano case, at least not if she could help it. Chelan took another deep, but far from adequate, breath. The program would definitely have to incorporate some aerobic exercises, as her burning lungs attested.
After she conquered the summit, a large shady tree was her next objective, and Chelan collapsed under the nearest one immediately. With time, her breathing eased, and her heart stopped throbbing. Calm restored, she sat up and surveyed the area below her. It looked to be a beautiful glacial valley with gentle U-shaped slopes on both sides. The heavy foliage made it appear to be blanketed with a thick layer of variegated velvet. It was a flawless fabric with only small wrinkles here and there. It wasn't anything a large loving hand couldn't smooth, but Mother Nature was not an absolute perfectionist. The odd fold gave the fabric, whatever its content or weave, its individual character and personality. Chelan smiled. The fabric of this land was that of royalty and majesty.
Scanning the area once more, she spied a rather large clump of deciduous trees not too far below her. Maybe that was the water she sought, her opportunity to escape from the grease and grime that threatened to encase her within reach. The sun was now high enough that finding a cooling stream was even more compulsory. Struggling, she urged her complaining body up. At least it's downhill from here, she mused, and over the edge of the ridge she went.
The forest around her appeared to be quite old and relatively undisturbed, as only a few of the aged grandmaster trees had fallen. Her trek was unimpeded for the most part as the dense foliage of the trees had kept the overburden to a minimum. Chelan plodded on methodically, carefully watching her heavy steps lest she trip and injure herself.
Just as the ground leveled out, something caught her eye, and her heart stopped. She stood motionless as she studied her surroundings. She hadn't heard or seen anything, yet she clutched at her chest and held her breath, listening carefully. She glanced at the ground momentarily, picking her next step carefully while pondering whether it should be forward or backward.
Her eyes shot forward again, and this time she suppressed a cry of surprise. Before her, not twenty paces away, stood two very still, black-shrouded bodies. Their presence was made even more disturbing by the fact that the visibility in the forest was excellent and their sudden appearance was exactly that—sudden.
Their garb was a strange, dull black-on-black, rendering them nearly nonexistent when shadowed. Male, no doubt, she noted, judging strictly by their sheer size. But no features, facial or otherwise, were apparent. Their heads were covered by voluminous hoods, which melted into the flowing shrouds that ended just below their knees. Their hands were also gloved in the strange black material, and the ensemble was completed by tight-fitting knee-length boots, the tops of which were barely concealed by the bizarre cloaks.
The sun was slightly behind Chelan, but even when it managed to strike the serene figures, it seemed to be absorbed by the garb. She looked at them carefully while trying to calm her pounding heart. She took a shaky breath and fought for control over her mounting panic. Her mind raced. A morbid feeling enveloped her when she thought of running; being friendly appeared to be her only weapon. Besides, she concluded, in my shape, I would not get far.
Chelan took a deep breath. "Hi," she uttered in the most confident voice she could muster. "Maybe you two can help me?"
She hesitated, expecting a response, but she received nothing. She was now more than simply anxious. Dread was descending upon her like a pall. Had she stumbled on some strange cult? Were they hunters? And why were they so still... so silent... so spectral?
Regardless of their identity, her blood ran cold, her senses telling her that she was their quarry. She needed to think clearly and to do everything possible to protect herself. "Look," she began, "I'm here with three other men, and we were out looking for some water. I know that they are
close by, but it seems that I've become separated from them." Chelan shifted her weight uneasily. "Have you seen them?" She swallowed hard. They had to fall for it, for she was beginning to feel that her very life depended on it.
Chelan flinched as one of them finally stepped forward. His motion exuded sheer power, his footsteps soundless. She felt herself losing control, her composure abandoning her. Something had to be done and quickly, or she knew there was no hope.
The shrouded figure picked his footing carefully, and when he was near, he produced a metallic cylindrical object from under his cloak.
Chelan was riveted to her spot, but as he approached she noticed a needle-like protrusion from the tube. Alarm spread through her like quicksilver. She frantically glanced around, knowing full well that flight was out of the question. He was simply too close. Fighting suddenly became her only dismal alternative. That needle was meant for her, and she was going to do everything within her power to avoid it.
Surprise was on her side. Men didn't expect women to fight, especially to fight effectively. It had been years since her last martial arts class and even longer since her last tournament. Her muscles were out of shape and tight. Anything she did now would be a one-time shot as she knew she would probably do nearly as much harm to herself as to her opponent. But she had no choice.
The second man was now in motion, a mere meter behind the first, and Chelan was as ready as she was ever going to be. When the first man was four paces from her, she sprang from her position, kicking across her assailant's arm and sending the cylinder off to the side.
Chelan did not wait for a reaction, and she immediately jumped again, throwing all her weight behind her extended leg. Her heel drove hard into the perceived midsection of her attacker. It was an effective blow as the shrouded figure staggered backward into the person behind him.
Chelan's mind registered quickly that despite her well-executed strike, the man was far from out of action. Her only recourse now was to flee. To confront a now wary and no doubt angry assailant was not an option. She instantaneously turned up the hill as the two figures struggled to regain their footing. But alas, her flight was futile, her decision ineffectual, as she whirled only to face yet a third shroud.
This one would not fail in his bid to impede her flight as Chelan noticed too late the weapon held in his gloved hand. His blow would be final, and Chelan's world abruptly went black.
Chapter 4
Tarn had chosen Calley for the repairs because of its suitable atmosphere and the dense foliage appropriate for cover. Needless to say, it was also en route to home base on board the battle cruiser. He had ordered three other fighters to accompany him for protection, although he knew Calley was virtually defenseless by the Empire's standards. However, when dealing with a crippled ship, any alien interference was an annoyance that had to be dealt with effectively.
Ilan had selected a spot on the planet's night side and had successfully maneuvered the damaged fighter down. Tarn was also accompanied by Tan, a weapons specialist and a highly prized and skilled technician. The second companion, Manza, was not Tarn's choice but rather a pest whom he tolerated only minimally.
Manza was an aging warrior, well past his prime, but valued for his expertise on planets and their inhabitants. He was a researcher and a scholar, and he was assigned to many important missions as a recorder of events. He oversaw and accurately documented all negotiations, and upon any failures, he oversaw and recorded the progress of the ensuing takeovers. Although more at home with diplomatic missions, he had worked many times under Korba's command and under the commands of Korba's equally competent complements, Dar and Toran.
Tarn realized Manza's value when helping them understand and effectively deal with the psychology of different cultures, but Tarn found him to be an irritant. Manza's thirst for knowledge was insatiable, and it consumed him at the expense of all logic and efficient decision-making. This situation was no different.
Manza had jumped at the chance to go to Calley as he wanted fresh data on the little blue planet. Tarn had told him firmly that there would be no contact with the inhabitants, but Manza's enthusiasm was unrelenting and irrepressible. Manza didn't care. Just some logging of the local flora and fauna was sufficient to excite him beyond all reason.
Tarn had not really needed another man, but partially out of respect, Tarn succumbed to Manza's exuberant request. The old man had been a prime warrior in the past, and he was one of the first experimental successes of the Empire's exalted breeding program. Manza was pure Iceanean, and his blue-black hair, now streaked with gray, and his brilliant azure eyes attested to that.
Life had not been particularly kind to Manza, but his faithful and fiercely patriotic past had now earned him a somewhat loftier and less demanding, although no less important, position. He was often found by the Emperor's side, a place all men loyal to Ticees wished to be, and a place few men ever stood.
The ship's repairs had progressed more slowly than expected, as damage to the elaborate weapons systems was always a problem. Unfortunately, dealing with them on an alien planet only further complicated the tedious process. Extreme care had to be taken, not only for the men's safety but for security reasons. An explosion could quite conceivably obliterate the crew but leave enough of the fighter behind to create countless problems for a blossoming primitive planet.
Tarn had seen it happen many times before on other developing worlds. Uncivilized peoples had an insatiable appetite for technology, and if allowed to advance naturally, mental and emotional development often kept pace. But if technological advances came too fast, or if materials beyond their understanding were inadvertently introduced too soon, primitive beings usually succumbed to their own greed and poor sense of fair play.
Maturity, moral and social, were paramount to the success of new civilizations. But Tarn knew all too well that the ability to kill often reached an efficient peak long before the finely tuned abilities of self-control, compromise, and consideration for others fully fledged.
The Empire itself had nearly floundered under its own potent possession of power, its obvious military supremacy running amok. But through sheer luck combined with some degree of foresight, the Empire survived its budding adolescence, and now the men at the top were honorable, equitable, and brilliant. They were loyal to the Empire and to themselves, and they policed their own as well as they governed their people.
Tarn leaned back in the cockpit of his fighter. He ran his gloved hand through his long, blue-black hair as his azure eyes studied the scanning sensor. It had been five hours since dawn, five Calley hours, and five hours too long. Repairs were now nearing completion, but Tarn's attention was no longer on the fighter's progress. His eyes narrowed as he followed the bipedal life form that was blundering in their direction. The landing party had detected the lone female on their way in but had decided to take the chance that she would not be a problem. Unfortunately, this had not turned out to be the case.
Tarn's sleek, ebony fighter hung motionless in the morning air, cushioned by its antigravity field. His mind sorted through his options as the female closed in on them. He drew a deep and agitated breath. Tarn was Korba's Second-in-Command and a well-seasoned officer used to making fast and efficient military decisions. But the dilemma presented by this creature was simply annoying, and Tarn shook his head wearily. Of course she had to be diverted, but just to what degree was the question. Tarn could not let her see the ships for he knew nothing of her relative importance or position in life on Calley. He did not care if she saw any of his men for they were too similar to the males of her own species for that to create a problem. The solution, therefore, was to daze her with a safe, short-duration drug, allowing his men just long enough to depart before she awoke in an amnesia-induced fog.
Ilan and Manza moved toward the ship, obediently following Tarn's silent command. Tarn spoke. "She's too close. Dart her, make sure she is well, and then return promptly."
Both men nodded their understanding,
but Tarn could read Manza's poorly contained exuberance. "Manza," he growled. Tarn's icy eyes penetrated him. "No communication and no extraneous contact. Understood? You will see that she is in a safe location after the drugging, but that is all. And Manza!" he shouted, "that is not a request. That is a direct order."
Manza's face registered disappointment as he begrudgingly acknowledged his Commander and trudged off muttering something inaudible. Tarn watched the two men depart, and then he returned his attention to his scanner, watching their progress toward the girl. Suddenly, he smiled. He knew she would not see them until she was almost upon them due to the light-absorbing qualities of their military garb, and in a strange way, he felt sorry for her.
Tarn continued to watch as he thought of the material that clothed his powerful body. Laybren was an interesting fiber that the Empire had used for all its warriors' clothing for many centuries now. It originated in the Ark solar system from a small and relatively desolate planet with a thin atmosphere. As odd as it seemed, a strange reptilian beast known as the Lyebrex extruded the fiber as a nesting material. There was a distinct lack of building materials on the planet's bleak and barren surface, and millenniums of evolution had equipped the large lizard to produce its own.
Laybren harbored astonishing optical properties that allowed it to absorb vast amounts of spectral light, thus shielding the nests from visual marauders. In addition to being exceedingly strong, it was also an extremely effective insulator. The Lyebrex would spin large nests, lay a proliferation of eggs, and then cover them with more Laybren, protecting them effectively from the planet's harsh conditions. The insulating quality of the fiber protected the eggs from 70ºC day temperatures and nearly -120ºC night temperatures. It was a characteristic that had proved invaluable to the Iceaneans, as ultrathin body suits could be fashioned to safeguard its people from their own planet's harsh and frigid conditions. Its thinness allowed for completely unhindered body motion, which was an essential property required by their fighting warriors.
