RIBUS 7

by Shae Mills

  Both Warlords noted the long, deep gash across the man's chest. "Actually," Dar said with a smirk, "there must be two green men... Res for getting into a battle over his skill level, and the other party for not being coordinated enough to pull his blade." Both men chuckled.

  All humor aside, Dar hit the next switch, and the screen showed a vacant experimental area. The next view came to life and there sat Manza, diligently attending his computer. "What's he working on?" Dar asked.

  "The history of Calley, or Earth as their people call it. He's been studying old Telesian data, and he's becoming quite proficient with one of the planet's primary languages, known to them as English."

  Dar studied Manza for a moment longer and then switched the screen to Korba's personal sickbay area. There, on the central examining table in one of the private rooms, was the draped body of the girl. Dar could not see much of her from the scanner's angle, but he could see her long, tangled hair cascading from the table. "Ah, light brown," he observed as he threw Korba a wolfish grin. "I see you have another genetic mutant on your hands."

  Korba returned the smile, but it was strained.

  Dar watched her rhythmic breathing. "How long has she been this way?"

  "Four days. Stose says all brain functions are normal, or at least he thinks they are for her kind. It's only a matter of time now before her consciousness awakens."

  "And then won't Manza be in his glory," Dar stated quietly to himself.

  Korba turned and headed up the stairs that led away from the Command Center. Dar switched off the screens and followed him. "Does Manza really think he'll get any accurate data?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean her psychological profile will be all out of whack. She's not going to react normally when she realizes her situation. She's a primitive. From what I know of Calley, all previous interactions with our kind have only resulted in their culture weaving mysticism and folklore about the incidents, raving madly about gods and some such nonsense."

  Korba nodded. "I don't think that much has changed in the past two thousand Calley years since the majority of those interactions, either. But Manza is happy, and if all else fails he can update the Telesian records on any genetic evolution that has occurred and document her specifically."

  "Has he performed any physical tests yet?"

  "None that I'm aware of. Stose did some basic blood work and body scans pertaining to her injury. I'm not even entirely certain how similar Calley's humans are to our own." He paused. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. She's Manza's concern, not mine."

  Dar's eyes narrowed as he watched Korba carefully. The blonde Warlord sorted through his friend's words and took a deep and uneasy breath. Not your concern, he thought to himself. He looked away briefly, his own apprehension and agitation mounting. Your words say one thing, my friend. But your well-hidden turmoil says quite another, and he shuddered.

  Chapter 8

  Manza ambled into the main room of the private sickbay, pausing to look briefly at his specimen from a distance. He leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest and sighing. "Ah, my young lady, when are you going to awaken and fill my empty mind?"

  He straightened and walked over to the main table. He leaned against it with both hands and stared down into her face. He wondered if he should ask Stose to do some physical tests or body scans¸ but then decided against it. He would wait until she was awake and much stronger. That way the tests would be more accurate. He just hoped that she would cooperate. Oh well, he mused. She will with time, one way or another. She has no choice.

  Manza pressed his gloved hand into the side of her neck and checked her pulse against the monitor's reading. It was high compared to Iceanean women, but then she was also out of shape and much smaller in build. Manza peeled back the opalescent thermal sheet and checked the field providing each arm and leg restraint. All was in order and secure. The feeding tube was functional, and so was the catheter. He had Stose taking regular urine and blood samples and running complete panels on them. All the results were being channeled into the main medical computer, where at some later date he would analyze the data.

  Manza slid one hand under her shoulders and his other hand under her hips and rolled her ever so slightly, checking for pressure damage. The tables were specifically designed so that bedsores were a rarity, but once in a while one occurred, and Manza was being extra careful with his precious patient.

  He re-covered his project with the sheet and stepped back. She was beautiful, especially with the long, light-brown hair. Iceanean women had similar thick hair, but it was always black, so it was invariably refreshing to see other colors, especially such exotic coloring as Commander Dar's. Manza smiled and then chuckled. Maybe the two of them should get together, he jested to himself.

  He drew in a deep breath and then strode off to what was now his study. He had much more literature about Calley to read and so much more to learn. He sat back down at his console, and his fingers began to play rhythmically over the control panels.

  * * *

  Chelan felt herself breathing rapidly, almost in sobs, her world still black. Her mind was a fog, but through it she told herself to wake up. She strained to open her eyes, but they hurt. She tried to move her hands, but she could not. "Oh, no," she whimpered. She took several rapid breaths, wondering if she was paralyzed. But no, she couldn't be. She could still feel.

  She licked her parched lips while she searched her memories. Only tiny snippets of recollection were coming to her. She had been on a trip. Yes, that was right. She had been driving. My god, what had happened? A car accident?

  Chelan turned her head to the side and strained to open her eyes once again. Reluctantly, they obeyed. She squinted against the bright light. Stay calm, stay calm, don't move, you may be hurt, she told herself.

  Her vision slowly adjusted to the glare. She made a cursory scan of her surroundings, trying to locate the intense source of light, but she could not. It simply seemed to emanate from all around. Everything was stark white, no color, no metal, no visible cupboards, counters, or doors. Bracing herself, she lifted her head cautiously, keenly aware that any movement could spark pain from yet undetermined injuries.

  She was warm, yet the air was cool. The light sheet covering her obviously provided the comfort. Looking up, she noticed a nondescript container suspended in midair above her and the colorless liquid within it. Only then was she aware of the raspy feel of the tube down her nose and in her throat. She needed water, but her strange surroundings prevented her from calling out. If this was a hospital, it was definitely something new and not like any hospital she had ever seen.

  Chelan let her head fall back to the table. She swallowed hard, and her throat hurt. She tried to raise her hands and feet, yet she could not. She wiggled her fingers and toes, and all seemed well. Then she tensed her muscles, sensing no discomfort. So why couldn't she move?

  Suddenly, she thought about her family and the distress they would be in. They needed to know where she was and that she was all right. But where were they? Surely they would know where she was as she always carried identification. Someone would have notified them. Right?

  Chelan heard a swoosh. She turned her head to see doors part where she was unaware that any existed. A tall man dressed in a loose white shirt and pants strode in.

  Stose stopped instantly. "Well, well!" He exclaimed, his white teeth bright beneath his smile. "Our pet project has finally shown some life." He moved to the side of the table. "Hello. My name is Doctor Stose, and I have been looking after you. Now, what might we call you?"

  Chelan eyed him skeptically. He was handsome, but his unearthly blue eyes pierced her. He was strange in a manner or in a look that Chelan could not pinpoint. He also had a peculiar accent that she could not place, and his English seemed strained.

  She went to say her name and then hesitated. If they had found her after a car accident, they would have had her identification and known her name. She rolled her tongue around
in her mouth to moisten it and swallowed hard. "Where am I?" she appealed in a hoarse whisper.

  "Ah," said Stose. "I'm going to leave that explanation to a colleague of mine. I will get him shortly." Stose touched the floating container of liquid and studied its level. "In the meantime, how do you feel?"

  "Fine, I guess," uttered Chelan. "What's happened to me?"

  "Well," hesitated Stose, "It seems you had a fall."

  "A fall," repeated Chelan, as she struggled to remember. "How long have I been here?"

  "Oh, let's see... approximately six of your world's days," he estimated as he rounded the table and headed across the room.

  Chelan licked at her dry lips, and then her eyes opened wide. "Six days!" she exclaimed. "Six days?" She turned her head in a wide-eyed search for Stose, but he had disappeared. Her breathing increased rapidly. Six days! Oh no! She felt a wave of panic overcoming her. She raised her head as her vision strained in the direction Stose had gone. "Doctor... Doctor..." she called.

  A second set of doors parted, and Stose returned, moving to the foot of her bed. Her breathing eased slightly as she followed him with her gaze. But suddenly another man appeared in the doorway, his azure eyes fixating on her. Chelan's panic returned instantly, but this time it was barely controllable. The tall, muscular figure dressed in black jarred Chelan's memory. A vision of two shrouded figures approaching her slammed into her mind, and then came the ominous realization: this was no hospital. She strained to rise, but her effort was futile.

  She cowered as the black figure approached her. She closed her eyes and wished that the nightmare would go away. Where was she? What did they want? And who were they? She tried to calm herself. She must not antagonize them. She must appease them. She opened her eyes to see the older man beside her.

  "Well, it's good to see you awake, young lady. My name is Manza, and I am here to meet your every need, or at least most of them."

  Chelan's mind raced. What kind of name was Manza? He had the same obscure accent as Stose, but his English flowed more freely.

  "I was worried about you, even though the good doctor here assured me of your health and eventual full recovery."

  Chelan glanced down at Stose, who was still stationary at the foot of her bed. She swallowed hard and winced at her sore throat.

  "Ah, I see that a glass of water would be in order," interjected Manza. "You should have requested one."

  Stose immediately went to the side of the room and returned with what appeared to be a normal glass filled with water. Chelan's eyes followed his path, and she struggled to see where the glass and the water had come from.

  Manza took the glass from Stose and slipped his hand under her head, helping her to drink. "Do you feel well enough to eat?" Manza asked.

  Chelan had not even considered hunger, but she decided to mollify them by cooperating, whether she was hungry or not. She simply nodded.

  Again, as if by some hidden signal, Stose was in motion. First, he carefully removed the tube from her nose, to her immense relief, and she sneezed. Stose and Manza smiled. Next, the doctor placed a small rectangular object on her upper chest and watched it. He nodded to Manza, and Manza's face indicated approval.

  Chelan cleared her throat. "Where am I?" she asked in an apprehensive whisper.

  Manza smiled. "You are on the Empire's primary cruiser, the Royal Imperial Battleship, number seven, or as we affectionately call her, RIBUS 7... um... with a hard 'I' as I believe it is said in your language."

  Chelan blinked. "Battleship," she exclaimed. "At sea?"

  "Ah, no," hesitated Manza, his eyes darting to Stose. He shifted his weight somewhat uneasily and looked back into her eyes. "In space."

  A broad smile passed over Chelan's features, taking both Stose and Manza by surprise. She allowed herself a small laugh. "Oh, I see," she grinned. "I get it. I've been set up! Let me guess, my boyfriend arranged this for our first anniversary. This would be just like him. Besides, I knew he would try to sabotage my trip." She smiled to herself, not entirely sure of her revelation. Then she looked around the room again in astonishment. "Boy, he spared no expense on this one, did he?"

  Manza and Stose looked at one another in wonderment, but neither moved or spoke.

  Chelan closed her eyes and attempted to rationalize her situation. She had always been greeted by some surprise on special occasions. Her boyfriend, Jim, ran his own company and was an organizational genius. Some of his capers in the past had been rather elaborate, and he had more than ample funds to pull things off.

  She had met him just over a year ago during one of her summer jobs, and he had immediately fallen for her. Chelan, on the other hand, had always regarded him warily, as she did all her male suitors. But Jim was aggressive and used to obtaining what he wanted, both professionally and socially. Chelan's parents had liked him immediately, and their pressure on her to maintain a relationship with him had worked. She genuinely liked the man, but his overbearing assertiveness made her uncomfortable at times. In the beginning, he had been angered by her refusal of his physical attentions, but then he had backed off, hoping it was only a matter of time before she would succumb to him.

  This caper would be just like Jim, but there were two things that really bothered her. How had he arranged to have her knocked out? That was probably too risky even for Jim, unless it had been an accident, or god help him if he had used Rohypnol. The other thing was the color of the two men's eyes. They were definitely not normal. Contacts perhaps, but like none she had ever seen. Oh, and the tube down the nose, that was really good. And then there was the room. Yes, the room would take some explaining.

  As she began to scrutinize her surroundings once again, her faith in her assumption that this was all a prank devised by Jim was waning fast, and she could feel her panic returning. Her eyes settled on the two motionless men. "Where's Jim?" she asked, straining to control her voice.

  "Jim?" questioned Manza.

  "Yes, Jim!" she retorted. "Where is he?"

  "I assume," began Manza, "still on Calley, or Earth, as you call it."

  "Stop it!" she shouted angrily, her outburst causing her head to ache. "This has gone quite far enough. Let me go!" and she wrenched at whatever restricted her.

  "Calm down," requested Manza firmly. "I'll answer any questions you may have as best I can. As I said before, you are in the private sickbay area of the Empire's battleship, RIBUS 7. And as Doctor Stose explained, you have been here for six of your Earth days due to an unfortunate fall."

  Chelan lowered her head and ceased her pointless struggles. She was in the company of a bunch of lunatics. Her mind returned to the incident in the forest, and she remembered her original reaction. A cult. Yes, that was it. She had blundered into the domain of some outlandish religious faction, and now she was a victim. Her heart sank, the realization of her situation crushing her spirit. She closed her eyes and turned her head from Manza, a veil of defeat vying for supremacy over her raging panic. She felt nauseated and dizzy. She broke into a cold sweat, and she felt disoriented. All hell was breaking loose inside her and she was powerless to prevent it.

  "Now, what may I call you?" requested Manza softly.

  "Chelan," she replied weakly.

  "Good," said Manza. "Now, maybe we can communicate a little better."

  Stose finally moved, and suddenly the invisible restraints around Chelan's ankles began to lift and part her legs. Her eyes popped open. "What are you doing?" she shrieked.

  Manza took a step backward in surprise, and Stose froze. She was in hysterics. "He's simply removing the catheter," soothed Manza, and he watched as her head thudded back to the table, her body wracked with sobs. Manza finally nodded to Stose, and the doctor proceeded. He reached between her legs and removed the tube. Chelan screamed, her legs shaking uncontrollably.

  Manza was silent as he watched the monitors; the alien's vitals spiked to dangerous levels. Stose disposed of the tubing and then returned. Chelan struggled for air, her body beading with p
erspiration, her level of stress threatening to destroy her. She looked in Stose's direction, and her eyes went wide with terror. She observed the metallic syringe-like tube in his hand. "Stay away!" she wailed. "Stay away!"

  Stose stopped, and Manza placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her. "He's only going to give you a local anesthetic to help with any residual burning. He's not going to hurt you. Please remain still."

  "No!" she cried, her eyes stricken with dread.

  Manza looked at the small device on her chest, comparing the readouts to those on the main monitor. Her heart rate and blood pressure were skyrocketing. Body chemistry numbers, relatively stable for days, were fluctuating wildly. Manza searched his memory anxiously, concerned over the dire state of his charge. Modesty, self-consciousness, and shyness were all words that filtered into his mind, concepts and emotions long lost to his race and culture.

  He quickly waved Stose away and allowed the restraints to bring her legs back together. The sobs began to subside, and Manza breathed a sigh of relief. He signaled silently to Stose, and the doctor immediately put the syringe away and moved to recover her clothing.

  "Chelan, I'm going to release you," Manza said firmly above her soft cries. "Don't move abruptly, as the table is narrow. Also, you have a head injury. Please rise and move slowly. I'm having your clothes brought to you, and you may dress." He received no response from the girl, whose eyes were still closed tightly, her body still consumed by violent tremors.

  Tentatively, Manza reached out, gently touching a tear. He looked closely at the small drop of fluid. Tears were virtually never shed by man or woman on Iceanea even under extreme duress. Excess moisture in the eyes on a planet with such extremely low temperatures was not conducive to good health, not to mention basic comfort. And after decades of precise mental control over unwanted emotions, tears were virtually unheard of.

  Stose returned with a neatly stacked pile of clothing. He placed it on the foot of the table, and Manza signaled for him to accompany him out. As the doctor passed by Chelan he drew his hand under the table, and the restraints dissipated silently. Manza took one last look at his distraught patient as he and Stose reluctantly departed. Manza sighed. She was going to be more of a problem than he had anticipated.