by Shae Mills
* * *
Chelan lay still for a long time, trying to regain some semblance of control over herself while making sure that the two men were truly gone. Then, slowly, she pushed herself into a sitting position, her muscles protesting, her head swimming. She clutched the sheet to her body as she looked about the room warily. From her elevated position she could now see the spotlessly clean counter tops and storage areas. It had been the angle of the elusive lighting that had obscured the room's subtle relief, but for now she was not concerned about what she could or could not perceive. She was singularly focused on her escape.
Sure that the men were gone, Chelan carefully eased off the table that had been her captor for so long and reached for her clothes. Dressing in her flimsy summer shirt and shorts did little to ease her insecurities, so she once again drew the sheet around her protectively, binding it tightly across her chest.
She winced. Every part of her body was stiff, and her head throbbed. Straightening, she carefully picked her way to the door that had allowed Stose's original entry, but it did not yield to her advances. Nothing did. It only took moments before she realized that she was utterly powerless in the room. There were no familiar switches, handles, or latches. No matter how hard she tugged or pushed, nothing responded to her bidding. And she now noted that the strange lighting cast no shadows, an observation that confounded her further. She was indeed in a cold and alien environment. She did not know who her captors were or what they had planned for her, but she was convinced that it was far from good.
After trying everything possible to escape her sterile confines, she retreated to the farthest corner of the room and slumped to the floor, her back against the wall. She hugged her knees as renewed sobs of anguish and desperation swallowed her weakened body. A profound sense of foreboding flooded over her as thoughts of her family suddenly filtered into her tortured mind. Somehow, through the mist of fear and distress, no matter how courageously she fought against the concept, she knew she would never see them again.
Chapter 9
The sweat beaded on his forehead and ran in rivers down his back and chest. Korba swung his sword toward his adversary once again, metal mating with metal in a dance of attempted death.
Both men squared off, giving each other a momentary break as their bodies pleaded for oxygen. Korba's eyes pierced his enemy as his right hand wielded a two-meter-long sword, his left hand a thirty-centimeter dagger. Either instrument would have normally done its job swiftly and proficiently, but today Korba's adversary was Dar.
Thousands of men and women looked on in awe as the two Warlords sparred in a duel that if left to proceed unchecked would leave both mortally wounded, or both too exhausted to strike the final blow. Korba and Dar were equally matched down to the finest detail of body and mind. An actual fight between them would not only prove futile... it would be unthinkable.
It was a rare occasion when both the Commanders had a chance to come together to hone each other's wits and talents, and it was a welcome one. The true honor and privilege, however, was felt by the crew who witnessed the finest example of hand-to-hand combat the galaxy had ever seen. It was a spectacle of unparalleled skill, might, and precision, displaying a level of expertise to which they all aspired.
On this day, both Dar and Korba had visited one of the main training areas on board RIBUS 8. Both took pride in working individually with their men and in overseeing their warriors' fighting skills when time allowed. But not long into this practice session, with over seventeen thousand warriors in attendance from both ships, it was suggested that maybe the two Warlords could give a long-overdue demonstration. Both Commanders embraced the opportunity, as it was rare that they could practice their skills against anyone remotely close to their own caliber.
Specific weapons had been chosen by each man, and any additional weapons normally part of their military garb were removed. Both men would fight with their upper bodies unclothed. This was an arrangement Dar and Korba had adopted from a very young age when they first recognized their consistent ability to stalemate one another. The material of the military jackets protected against poorly executed blows and sometimes obscured small wounds within the blackness. Therefore, without the jackets, even the smallest nick induced by the other's blade could be readily noticed by onlookers, and the fight called in that manner.
The two weapons entwined once again as each man used sheer, brute strength to push the mated swords into a position above their heads, their knives engaged in concert between them at waist level. They seemed to be in suspended animation as their minds worked to calculate future moves and countermoves. Korba and Dar's eyes were locked in an equally critical battle as they searched each other's thoughts through the depths of glacial blue.
"Time!" came a shout from the throngs of onlookers.
Instantly, the two men parted, their chests heaving while their ironhard muscles relaxed. Roars of appreciation sounded from all around the training area as the warriors crowded near their two Commanders.
Korba extended his now-weaponless right hand to Dar. "A pleasure as always, my friend."
"A pleasure indeed!" exclaimed Dar as he grabbed his friend's arm.
Both men's smiles lit up their swarthy faces. Dar released his grip and turned toward the crowd. "Thank you, Sanz," he said to the official spotter. "Now, are there any questions?" he shouted to the masses.
Above the clamor and the glow of smiles there came no questions, only looks of wonderment and admiration.
"Fine, then," announced Dar. "You may return to your training after joining me in thanking Commander Korba for aiding me in this little demonstration."
As if on cue, the entire crowd sank to one knee in Korba's direction, followed by a brief bowing of heads. With a subtle and silent prompt from Korba, the entire assembly rose as one.
Korba nodded his head in their direction and then turned with Dar toward the massive entry doors. Both Warlords accepted their jackets and shrouds from their personal guards as they strode from the training area into the outer corridor.
"You will rest in my quarters?" offered Dar as the two men proceeded down the hall.
"Another time," returned Korba. "I wish to return to RIBUS 7 tonight to go over patrol schedules and a few other details with my officers."
Dar nodded an affirmative and bade his friend good-bye.
* * *
Korba lay back against his chair in the Imperial shuttle. He would use part of this time to reflect on his battle with Dar. It felt great to push his mind and body to the limit, the mental and physical exertion forcing clarity of thought through the haze of boredom brought on by inactivity. He knew he was going to need all the stimulation he could get to stay alert on this leg of the trip, as it would be nearly nine Iceanean months until the ship touched home base.
It was rare that one of the large cruisers was ordered directly home, and Korba always hated such journeys. This time, of course, it was worse. The order had come through when both RIBUS 7 and 8 were at the farthest boundaries of the Empire. The only redeeming features were the linkage between the two battleships and the diversity afforded by the intermingling of the two crews.
Korba closed his eyes, concentrating on the patrol schedules. This was another precaution the two Warlords had devised to be implemented whenever they were in close proximity to one another. The Empire could easily sustain the loss of one battleship and its crew and Commander, but the loss of two together was inconceivable. For that reason, two or more ships coming together outside of a battlefield scenario was a rarity. But on occasions such as this, when Imperial cruisers did link, constant random patrols from both vessels wove a continuous web in all directions about them. Never-ending streams of sensor data were fed to the battleships' main computers, allowing instantaneous warnings of any impending problems. They were used as a backup to the main ship's own tremendous sensor systems, and also served as an exercise to keep the pilots working and alert.
Both ships always remained a saf
e distance from one another in case of an accident or attack. If one ship was consumed by a fiery explosion, the second would be safe from all debris and the inevitable blast percussion. It was probably a matter of overkill as far as safety went, for not even the most advanced forces of ROPE would be suicidal enough to mount a direct attack on an Imperial cruiser, but both Dar and Korba were keenly aware of the possibility of a subtle invasion by a single entity. It was ironic that on such a colossal and sophisticated vessel, a single nondescript person working from within could inflict more havoc on the Empire than an entire military attack from without.
The shuttle's docking was imperceptible as it came to rest at Korba's personal airlock. The Command Pad housed two shuttles, eight long-range fighters—four primary and four secondary—and two small transports. All were fully manned and armed for use at any time and at a moment's notice.
A small indicator light flashed, signaling that the Command Pad was secure, and Korba headed out of the shuttle accompanied by his ever-present shadows. He walked from the hangar and passed through several sealed and guarded doors on his way to his personal chambers. The final set of doors was activated only by his touch, the sensors analyzing and comparing the unique body chemistry his hand offered upon presentation.
Palm locks had once been used, but inventive and meticulous scientists employed by ROPE had managed to duplicate important palm prints. Though obtaining a complete set of prints was a painstakingly slow process, this subterfuge, if achieved, could afford the enemy invaluable information and power.
The complex organic compounds contained within the moisture of the skin posed quite another dilemma. Despite an exceedingly advanced knowledge of chemistry, the total sum of the substances characteristic to each human being was impossible to duplicate. Thanks to the Telesians, the brilliant beings had hit upon a way to produce individually unique sensors that would analyze literally thousands of potential scent combinations given off by any one person. By combining the inimitable sensors and matching their capabilities to each person... well, so far nothing created by any adversary had managed to come even close to defeating the Empire's unique identification system. But the Telesians were constantly updating and refining their technology, for they were only too aware that the Empire's enemies would stop at nothing in their quest to devise countermeasures.
Korba entered his vast domain and walked past the expansive pool and the myriad of exercise and fighting equipment. He rounded the far end closest to the Command Center and sauntered over to the massive black wall that spanned the entire length of the workout area. He activated a small switch, and the complete surface appeared to evaporate, revealing the spectacle of space.
Even now, Korba looked in awe at the pinpoints of light cast among the eternal darkness. He felt a warmth and a loneliness entwined together within his heart. He also embraced an obscure sense of oneness and comfort with these two contradictory emotions. He knew that the sense of warmth emanated from his familiarity with the universe and his station within it, yet the loneliness that enveloped him often left him perplexed. Was it because his stature and position demanded a degree of isolation and seclusion? Either way, it did not matter. He was accustomed to it, although not always at ease with it.
Even when surrounded by thousands, his physical prowess and mental superiority set him apart. The only time his courtship with solitude was ever challenged was when he matched wits with Dar. Maybe that was why he was so close to the fair-haired Warlord. They understood each other's emotions and passions, and on the few occasions when they were able to spend time together, their intimate friendship temporarily washed away any enveloping emptiness.
Korba despised the uncharacteristic intrusions of such abstract concepts. Emptiness! He turned away from the screen as unacceptable feelings seeped into his mind. It was the precise definition of emptiness that had always contributed to his struggle with understanding loneliness. Could one be lonely without being empty? Or was it the marriage of the two emotions that caused the worst upheaval? Were they separate entities, or degrees of the same? And just what was it that plagued him at vulnerable moments, like now, when he was not preoccupied by the exhilaration of war? Was there a solution that could quell both emotions to a manageable level, or were they mental weaknesses that he had to abolish completely?
Korba ran his gloved fingers through his ebony hair as he began pacing. So what was he, lonely, or empty, or both? No, that was not the question. He was alone by necessity, set apart from others by his imposing rank and reputation, his physical and mental supremacy eclipsing all those around him. So the dilemma now centered on the concept of emptiness. Was he desolate, and if so, what part of his life or heart was vacant? Though these questions had periodically irked him in the past, the force of their intrusion upon his thoughts right now vexed him.
Korba sucked in a deep breath as the light of partial understanding flooded into him. He swung around and faced the screen. It was not his career or his accomplishments that were lacking. His mind and body were almost always amply occupied. The void was in his heart alone, and something new was causing this upheaval.
His jaw clenched. Korba's powerful hand hit the viewing screen switch unnecessarily hard, and the panoramic vista of space dissipated from sight. He had been uneasy for quite some time now, and he had blamed it on the protracted trip home. But the match with Dar had cleared his head. His adversary right now was not loneliness or emptiness; it was an unrealized struggle with the insignificant alien onboard his ship. Her presence, for reasons he could not comprehend, was eating away at his mind, and it had to stop.
Korba strode to the Command Center and halted in front of the numerous screens and displays. His breathing quickened. The ship and crew was vulnerable only from within. Was she a plant by ROPE, so deviously conceived and concealed that every calculated move seemed to be an innocuous coincidence?
Korba realized that he had been avoiding looking in on Manza's little experiment, and he was not sure why. But it was obvious now that he had better start taking an active interest. Well over two weeks had passed since her untimely arrival on board RIBUS 7, and who knew how much information she had extracted from Manza or Stose in that time?
Korba punched the buttons that would display the private sickbay area as a sense of urgency overcame him. The first screen danced to life, displaying the central examining area. The main table once occupied by the young female was empty and there was no sign of her. Korba activated the second screen, revealing Manza bent over his damnable computer, no doubt analyzing hoards of useless information.
Korba dashed through the remaining rooms, the scanners showing only the normal personal and operations of the private sickbay area. The girl was nowhere to be seen.
Korba felt a twinge of panic that sent him reeling. Panic had never even been in his vocabulary, and the emotion took him totally by surprise. It staggered his innermost senses. He paused for a moment, clearing his contaminated mind, and then pressed the main security button.
"My Lord," came the instant response.
"Stanza, I want men down at the main entrance to my personal sickbay area immediately. Have them wait outside for my arrival."
"Yes, my Lord," replied Stanza.
Although still in full military garb, the Warlord reached for an additional high-energy lazgun as he approached the main doors. His hand stopped millimeters from the stock, his mind urging him to take it as if by rote, his emotions screaming at him that it was already too late. He withdrew his hand with a snap and rushed into the central corridor, his personal guards springing to attention.
Korba arrived at the main entrance to the sickbay not far behind Stanza's security men. He automatically took note of each shrouded figure and identified each man by his subtle body moves. They were some of the ship's best, as Stanza had undoubtedly detected the extreme urgency in his voice.
"Wait here for my orders," commanded the Warlord, and he signaled his personal guards to stay put. Korba sensed his men's
uneasiness at leaving him alone, but they remained fixed at their posts by his command. He strode into the sickbay area and headed directly for his quarry. He moved swiftly and silently through the security doors and into Manza's new chambers. The startled man jumped to his feet, reaching for his lazgun in one smooth motion. But the Warlord was far too fast for the aging warrior, and he knocked the weapon from Manza's hand in a flurry of shadowy motion.
Manza faltered backward in confusion and shock, his eyes widening as he realized who his assailant was. "My Lord!" he gasped.
"Where is the girl?" Korba demanded harshly as he threw back the hood of his shroud.
Manza swallowed hard as his mind grappled for an explanation as to the source of Korba's rage. "She's in your central sickbay area, Commander," he answered quickly. Manza's thoughts of self-preservation accelerated his reasoning processes. "The monitor, my Lord, would not have picked her up unless it panned."
Manza pressed back against the wall as Korba stepped toward him. The Warlord's arctic stare silently demanded more information.
"She recovered several days ago, enough for me to explain superficially where she was," Manza began hurriedly. "She has since slumped into what seems to be a terminal catatonic state. She has neither entered a true sleep, nor eaten, nor spoken since. It is obvious that she is unable to grasp her situation and adapt in any way. I have therefore ordered Stose not to intervene, but to allow her to expire naturally while we monitor and observe her. In her present state, she will give us no useful information, so upon her death I will perform some physical tests, take various tissue samples, and the whole incident will be laid to rest, my Lord."
