RIBUS 7

by Shae Mills

  "I know," Manza said anxiously. "That's why we must act quickly."

  But Stose did not move. "She's an alien. I think the Commander should be notified before I—"

  Manza grabbed Stose roughly by the front of his shirt. "Look!" he shouted. "Tarn is speaking to Korba at this very moment. I realize her presence is a problem, but very shortly she will be a dead problem! Now, all you have to do is stabilize her, and I will take all the responsibility." Manza let go of Stose abruptly.

  The doctor straightened his shirt and returned quickly to the girl's side. He felt her head and temple and then moved his experienced fingers over her throat and neck. "She has a severe concussion and a significant cranial lesion." He removed a device from his pocket and passed it over her head. "Brain swelling is at a minimum... so far." Stose glanced at Manza.

  Manza shifted his weight. "Tarn blasted her with an instant coolant," he stated tonelessly.

  "He's a pretty good judge of the amount," commented Stose.

  "He's a good judge of many things," mumbled Manza as he stared on, visibly concerned about the patient.

  "She'll need to be warmed," Stose ordered, and Ilan immediately moved to retrieve a thermal covering.

  Manza began to strip away her clothing as Stose gathered some equipment. Ilan covered her cool body with a layer of the shimmering ultrathin material, and Stose set to work.

  First, he injected the girl's carotid artery with a medication that would halt further brain swelling. Working rapidly and efficiently, he drained excess fluid from her cranium, cauterized bleeders, removed bone fragments, and fused torn skin. A small, variable handheld laser did most of the mending; biobonding gels did the rest. And when Stose was confident that no further brain swelling could occur, he removed a small pressure indicator from her skull and closed the wound. "She will still be out for a long time, a few days, even," he speculated. He moved off to the side and cleaned the equipment meticulously, always conscious of alien contamination.

  "She's okay?" questioned Manza.

  "Physically, I'd say yes," began Stose cautiously. "I'll do some brain scans shortly to make sure, but I'm confident that all is well." Manza nodded as Stose paused to take a good look at the girl while he wiped his hands. The icy frosting on her hair was gone, and her golden-brown locks cascaded over the edge of the table. "Where's she from?"

  "Calley," answered Manza. "Her acquisition was somewhat of an accident," he continued, hoping Stose would ask no further questions. "I will use her to update our files on the Calley humans."

  Stose shuddered. "If you're still alive, old man. Korba is liable to toss you out with her when he hears—"

  But Stose was interrupted as the sickbay doors rolled back and Korba burst in with Tarn on his heels. The Warlord passed Ilan and Stose with surefooted fleetness, catching Manza off guard. Korba seemed to cover the sickbay area in a single stride, ensnaring Manza across the throat with his forearm. Manza was slammed against the wall with bone-crushing force, his shoulders pinned by the Warlord's powerful grip. "You have served me long, and you have served me well, Manza, but your explanation of this incident had better be excellent, or I will slit your throat with my own hand right here and right now."

  Stose wondered if Manza would indeed live that long, as Korba's stranglehold was already killing him.

  Korba's voice boomed. "This is a military ship, not a specimen lab, and you well know our prime directive of no extraneous interference with primitive planets or peoples!"

  Manza could not breathe, let alone speak, and the redness of his face told Korba to relax his hold. Then as suddenly as Korba had assaulted him, the Commander released him and strode across the room to the far wall. Korba fought to contain his anger while Manza slumped to the floor and fought for air.

  Korba took a deep breath, his azure eyes burning. Just what was he going to do with an alien woman on his ship? He whirled around in an agitated flurry of black and moved toward the limp figure sprawled upon the table. The answer came easily. She would be disposed of immediately, her body dispatched into space as just another insignificant casualty of war.

  Everyone remained riveted to his spot, the crumpled Manza still on the floor trying to regain his breath. All eyes were on the Warlord as he positioned himself by the alien's side. He drew his knife, raising it swiftly to her slender throat. Manza froze but dared not speak. He did not want his turn sooner than anticipated.

  But Korba's hand did not run the shimmering blade through the woman's soft flesh. Instead, he stared down into her serene face, and his eyes narrowed. She was stunningly beautiful. She was exotic, and her alien coloring and features instantly captivated him.

  Ilan squirmed as his eyes darted to Tarn. He had seen that reaction before.

  Korba remained motionless as his mind raced. He had never had any trouble with military decisions before. The directive was clear, the solution was logical, yet he remained inert. His thoughts swirled, and then he protectively rationalized his original decision. He glanced at the shape outlined by the thin covering. She was alien, she was unconditioned, she was primitive, and she was physically and mentally inferior. She would be nothing but trouble. She would not understand her situation or circumstance. She would not fit into Iceanean society or survive the planet's harshness, and suddenly, the Warlord shuddered.

  Korba was shocked at himself. To even think beyond her immediate execution to her possible feelings or her future life floored him. He tore his eyes from her and closed them. It was the fatigue of the trip plaguing him. It had to be.

  Tarn glanced at Manza and then looked back to Korba. He had never seen the powerful Warlord hesitate before. Even with Korba's back to him, Tarn could see the turmoil within his Commander, the same turmoil that had consumed him on Calley when making the decision to bring her on board.

  Manza held his breath as the knife blade glinted in the bright lights. Suddenly, Korba sheathed the deadly weapon. He raised his glacial eyes to the ceiling and shifted his weight. "Manza!" he shouted, his deep voice shattering the frozen atmosphere. "You are relieved of all duties for the duration of the trip. Upon our arrival at home, you will answer directly to the Lord God Emperor himself."

  Korba turned away from the girl, and his eyes sliced into Manza. "You will remain with her for the entire trip in sickbay. She may not leave this room, and no one here will mention her presence to anyone. You may conduct whatever tests and administer whatever interviews you deem fit to fill in your miserable missing pages on Calley's inhabitants. You will receive no privileges, and you will stay out of my sight. Stose will be at your disposal only, and I said only, at his convenience, and if time permits. No other medical personnel will be advised of her presence."

  Korba hesitated and then walked to the door. "Stose!" he commanded.

  "Yes, my Lord."

  Korba's voice tempered. "Is she going to be okay?"

  "Yes, my Lord."

  Korba dared not look back at the body, and he kept his eyes on the door. "Tarn."

  "Yes, Sire."

  Korba lowered his voice further, almost sounding tired. "I'll deal with you later."

  No one spoke as Korba hastened from the room, and all stood in relieved but stunned silence. Ilan was the first to move. He stepped up to the table and looked into the face of the ashen beauty, and a chill ran up and down his spine. With no more than her presence she had disarmed two great warriors and completely confounded the Empire's greatest Warlord.

  Ilan shook his head and walked over to the open door. Suddenly, another shiver overtook him. This was the Empire's most celebrated warship, and the toughest battle ever waged was going to occur aboard these very decks. Ilan knew the face of the Empire was about to change, but just how far and when... He took a deep breath. The calm before the storm lay before him... if she survived.

  Chapter 7

  Korba swam to the edge of the shimmering pool. His powerful arms hoisted his massive body effortlessly from the icy depths. He squeezed the excess water from his
hair and flicked the droplets off his smooth skin. He then rounded the corner of his training area and entered his sleeping quarters.

  The communiqué had come yesterday: an unexpected but welcome rendezvous with one of the Empire's other great warships. She, too, had been called home for reasons still unclear, but any order from Ticees himself was followed unquestioningly.

  Korba's mind began to stray. He thought of Ticees and wondered how the Emperor was doing. They had been close friends from the time of their first meeting, and Korba had helped instruct him in the ways of Iceanean hand-to-hand combat. Korba had welcomed the chance to train the new Emperor, a man not much younger than himself, and they had developed a close and special bond over the years.

  It had been an extraordinary relationship forged right from the beginning, and it was impossible to determine who respected and revered whom more. Korba was well aware of the strong and pure lineage of Ticees and the utmost importance of the position and status the Emperor was bred into. Korba was also aware of the awe and the fear Ticees struck into the hearts of peoples throughout the Empire. But Korba had insights into Ticees's character that few other men had, and the Warlord respected him for the great mortal man he was. Korba did not fear him as the god he was perceived to be.

  Ticees, on the other hand, probably held Korba in more reverence and esteem than the other way around. The majestic Overlord was his idol when it came to combat and his mentor when it came to wartime strategies. Ticees also respected Korba's breeding and the long line of outstanding and exalted warriors who were his ancestors. Even though, over the years of training, Ticees had easily become Korba's equal on the battlefield, Ticees retained a deep and unshakable admiration for the dignified and renowned Warlord. As a result of their tight bond, Ticees was privy to the emotions and the compassions buried deeply within the war-hardened man. Their friendship was not only natural and inevitable, it was born out of necessity, for not only were they well aware of each other's strengths, they were well aware of each other's weaknesses.

  Korba slowly finished drying his ironhard body, his muscles rippling in obvious testimony to his tremendous strength. He was not bulky by any means, for strength could not compromise agility, flexibility, and sheer speed. He was 290 pounds of dense, conditioned muscle and catlike sinew. He was a true human fighting machine, the ultimate product of the finest genetic manipulation.

  He pulled on his skintight pants and smoothed out any wrinkles that dared to lag behind. Then came the knee-high boots, reinforced to protect vulnerable shinbones and ankle tendons. Each boot sheathed two knives, the two outer ones designed for quick access and weighted for throwing, the two inner blades designed for close combat. Each weapon was skillfully crafted to fit the hands of the individual warrior and tailored to fit his particular need.

  Korba slipped into his uniform jacket, closing it skillfully along the hidden seams. Next came the gloves, completing the final encasement of his impressive body. Korba drew a deep breath and walked out into the Command Center. He took a brief look at the displays just as his intercom came alive.

  "Docking of the Command Shuttle complete, Sire. Commander Dar is on his way."

  "Thank you, Lest."

  Korba made a brief search with the scanners through the adjacent corridors and rooms, carefully avoiding the sickbay area. Then the indicator light flickered and Korba allowed access. Dar strode in.

  "Dar," Korba greeted the man.

  "Ah, you black-haired rogue," replied Dar warmly, their right forearms meeting. They drew together and embraced.

  "To what do I owe this honor, old friend?" prodded Korba affectionately.

  "Well, to tell you the truth, I'm not exactly sure," replied Dar. "But I assume that you received the same come-hither request that I did, and what Ticees wants, Ticees gets."

  Korba nodded, "Yes, I did, and I can't say that I'm too upset by it." He smiled. "It would be nice to set foot on the old home base again."

  Dar swung his shroud off his shoulders, carefully laying it over the back of a chair. "What's your bet on his motive? Trouble with the Southerners or implementing further plans to deal with ROPE?"

  "ROPE, I suspect. He doesn't require both of us to quell any problems on Iceanea, and word has it that Toran is returning also. Requesting all three of us indicates something of extreme importance. Either that or the three of us are finally getting a long-overdue rest. We've been out here for a few too many years even for my tastes."

  Dar nodded, his long, silver-blonde hair catching the room's lighting. Korba reached for a couple of glasses and a fine homebrew of liqueur as he watched his friend. Korba smiled to himself as he recalled old jokes about Dar being a mutant. The silver-blonde hair had always been a source of badgering from his men, but it served Dar well when it came to the ladies.

  He had been a shock to the breeders upon his birth. Dar was from the same stock as Korba and, as far as anyone knew, pure blonde hair had never existed on Iceanea. Geneticists were in an uproar for years as they meticulously searched every genome looking for any coloring abnormalities. In every other respect, Dar was a superb specimen of the Iceanean breeding program. He was nearly a carbon copy of Korba, seven feet in stature, and he had the same unique build and deadly combination of muscle and sinew. He had the same flawless, bronze, swarthy skin and was ruggedly handsome with his piercing azure eyes. Dar had long been a contributor to the breeding program, but so far, none of his offspring had exhibited the same unique hallmark in their hair coloring.

  Korba handed Dar a glass and poured the dark blue liquid. "To home."

  "To home," replied Dar, a smile lighting his face.

  The two men sat down. "So, how did it go with the Orleon system?" Korba asked.

  Dar stretched out. "No great problems. Three of the four planets ended up cooperating fully after a small show of force. Signet had long awaited joining the Empire because it's in dire need of fuel, and it has plenty of other unique resources to trade in exchange. Jammi and Sun were expected to hold out, and they did, but shall I say that we persuaded them differently? It was Tanis that was the problem. Reports indicated that they were as eager to join the Empire as Signet. But as you know, their attitude changed abruptly last year, and I don't have to tell you of their importance to us for both economic and military reasons." Dar hesitated, taking a sip of his drink.

  "ROPE," stated Korba.

  "Obviously. The eradication of the ROPE members was rather a long process. They've become very skilled at infiltrating the general populace as well as the governmental levels. Their tactics, however, are no longer subtle, and a lot of innocent people are disappearing. It took an inordinate amount of time to track down the headpins, but it was done, and ROPE is now out of business on Tanis." Dar took another casual sip of his drink.

  Korba watched him and smiled to himself. He knew Dar actually downplayed what had occurred. He had heard reports of the fiery battles that had ensued once the ROPE members had been found and isolated. ROPE had quickly brought in reinforcements to hold the planet, and casualties on the Empire's side, although relatively few, had been far more than anticipated. ROPE was getting stronger and more advanced. Korba also noted the subtle reference to ROPE being out of business, but the Empire took no prisoners and left behind no bad seeds. Millions had died.

  "So enough of that," said Dar. "You'll undoubtedly get your fill of statistics and details when we convene with Ticees. Besides that, how have you been doing?"

  "Not bad," said Korba, righting himself slightly. "All was pretty routine right until the end. One of our major transports was heavily damaged, resulting in a brief repair stop for a fighter on Calley."

  "Calley!" exclaimed Dar. "That's a pretty densely populated planet for a repair stop."

  "Yes, I know," said Korba. "It was unavoidable. Originally they were to set down in an isolated area of the polar caps, but four black fighters exposed to satellite surveillance negated that option. Anyway, the repairs were effected, and all returned safely. Ou
tside of that blunder, all went well with the Balatesian system, and our casualties were minimal."

  Dar detected a slight hitch in Korba's voice, but was not sure of his observation. Korba was not an easy man to read. He eyed his friend closely. Korba had supreme control over his entire body, so even tiny slips took on momentous proportions. No one else would have noticed the subtle evasion, but Dar, like Korba, had spent years training to read unverbalized thoughts and betrayals, and Dar had caught his friend. "More happened on Calley than simple repairs," he ventured warily.

  Korba drew a deep breath and stood. "Manza got out of hand," he stated dryly.

  "Collected a few too many flora and fauna samples, did he?" Dar quipped, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. But the blonde Commander quickly stiffened. Dar could tell he had accidentally hit on the actual problem.

  "You might say that," said Korba quietly. "A native was venturing too close to the operation, and Manza was to dart her." Korba hesitated. "But he disobeyed orders, and Tarn had to shoot her." Korba sighed. "And then Tarn disobeyed orders, and now the female is on board. And that's the problem stated very briefly."

  Dar knew that was not the entire problem. If it had occurred on board his ship, the men would have been punished and the alien disposed of. The fact that she was still on board and alive indicated that there was much more to the issue. "Where is she? Has she created some sort of trouble?"

  Korba turned to face Dar. "She's confined to my private sickbay, still in a coma. And no, not directly."

  Dar rose and pressed a button activating the security screens that scanned the entire main sickbay area. The first room showed two doctors and an assistant attending to a warrior. Dar switched to a second scanner and panned closer to the soldier. Korba stepped in behind Dar.

  Dar smiled. "Looks like one of your men met his match in the training room."

  Korba nodded. "His name is Res. He's new to this mission and a little too eager to season."