by Shae Mills
Korba cursed his decision as he watched the helpless creature scramble away from him, but he did not have time to lament his mistake. He could tell from her path that she was heading directly for his weapons arsenal and its barely detectable force field that would knock her dead in a split second.
Instantly, he was in motion, his mind flashing through his options. In mid-stride he reached for his throwing knife. A well-executed delivery would pin the sheet to the floor, possibly slowing her flight, but in a fraction of a second he dismissed the thought. The way things were going, it would be the first time in his life he missed his target.
Korba was gaining fast, knife still in hand. His superb powers of perception told him that he could lunge at her at the last moment, redirecting her beyond the force-field boundary. He jumped an obstacle she was forced to round, and he sprang with all his force. He hit her in the back with his full weight, hurling her away from the shimmering blue security zone.
Before she could recover, he was on his feet. He pinned her ankle to the floor as she turned on her back, attempting to scramble away from him. His left arm came around as he went to sheath his blade.
Chelan saw the weapon and shrieked in terror. She was going to die, and her chest heaved as she lurched back on to her stomach, trying to get her legs under her.
Korba released his grip on her twisting ankle to avoid breaking it. Her bones felt fragile to him, and he knew that he had already hurt her by the force of his immense body slamming into her small frame. With the knife sheathed, he straddled her and reached for her arms in an effort to subdue her. But she had anticipated his move.
Tears streamed down her face as she realized that her last futile hope was to fight. With unimaginable speed and agility she swung around with her arm, hitting her assailant squarely in the side of the head with the full force of her elbow, a blow that would have incapacitated any normal human.
Korba reeled from the unexpected strike, anger exploding from within. In all his years of fighting the best of the best, no one had ever managed to land such a well-placed hit. But before he could shake off the dazing effects, Chelan had struggled out from under him and was on her feet, her sobs racking her exhausted body. She turned back in the direction she had come and staggered forward.
"No!" shouted Korba, as he sprang from the floor. He grabbed her about the waist and flung her away from the weapons she had only now noticed and sought to acquire. Korba twisted his body under her as she dropped, cushioning her fall. Then he raised himself up on one arm, his leg immobilizing her lower body, his other arm still clutching her around her waist. She lay on her stomach, her body completely lax. She used what small amount of energy she had left to weep at her perceived impending death.
Her hands covered the back of her head instinctively as Korba slumped over her, his forehead coming to rest on her slender back. He fought for dominion over the unexpected litany of powerful emotions vying for supremacy, distress and rage all welling up together. Slowly, he removed his leg from her and sat up. Taking a moment to calm himself, he touched his aching face, his ire abating. Then he looked at her, his victim vanquished, her body offered to him for the taking. He reached for her shoulders, turning her toward him and drawing her into his lap. Her arms fell limply at her side as her tightly closed eyes pressed out the last of her exhausted tears.
Korba brushed the tangle of hair from her ashen face, his heart still banging in his ears. He glanced over her body and pulled the edges of the sheet together, concealing her trembling frame. Restoring his own composure, he held her quietly, gazing down over her exquisite facial features, his mind searching for words, unfamiliar English words.
Finally, her muted cries began to subside, and she dared to open her eyes. She looked up into the dark, featureless form looming over her. Her search revealed nothing, the man's face shadowed by cascades of long, black hair.
The fear in her eyes propelled Korba into unfamiliar territory. He had seen that look thousands of times before on the battlefield, just moments before he struck the final, fatal blow. But that was not going to happen here, and instead he had to follow a different path, a path he had never pursued before. He had to soothe his victim.
She looked like she was about to scream, and Korba pressed a gloved finger gently to her lips and uttered, "Shhhh." Only then did he realize that he was rocking to and fro, attempting to console her.
He removed his finger and spoke in a low, soft voice. "Please don't struggle. I don't want to hurt you further. I apologize for startling you with my presence."
The alien remained silent, and Korba sucked in a deep breath as her beautiful dark eyes pleaded with him. He swallowed hard and continued. "You were heading directly for a security field that would have killed you instantly. I had no alternative but to strike you."
Chelan heard the sincerity in his deep voice, but she could only think of the knife blade she had seen earlier. She felt paralyzed by fright, but she also knew that he had had ample time with which to kill her, and he had not. She went to speak, but words would not form. She took a sudden, deep breath and was unexpectedly wracked with violent waves of anguish, overcome by such an outpouring of emotion and grief that she convulsed. Involuntarily she clutched at her assailant for any degree of comfort she could extract. Rolling in his lap she hugged in to his waist and cried.
Korba was momentarily bewildered by the little alien as she wrapped herself around him like the tendril of a delicate vine. But his physical reaction was reflexive, and he drew her up his body, pressing her tightly to his chest. As her last audible sobs subsided, he lowered his head, burying his face into the soft tangle of golden-brown hair, her scent intoxicating, her softness alluring.
The heaving of her body began to ebb, and finally she tilted her face toward his, her ear pressed against him, her eyes firmly shut. Chelan was nearly too exhausted to breathe, let alone move. She could hear the slow, steady heartbeat of the man reverberating through her thoughts. She could feel his shroud draped over her and the warmth and concealment it supplied. His powerful arms cradled her effortlessly, and she shuddered to think that she had even tried to struggle, for now she knew he could have snapped her in two at any time.
She wondered if this was the leader Marri had spoken of, but she was too drained to ask. She felt his arms hugging her into him, and although his chest felt as though it was plated with steel, she welcomed its protectiveness. She could feel his rhythmic breathing upon her face, and she knew that he was looking at her, but she also knew that it was futile to open her eyes. The lighting was too dim, and her vision would reveal nothing. Her breathing slowed as his rocking calmed her, and she felt herself drifting off to sleep, a well-deserved sleep, a healing sleep.
Korba felt the last vestiges of her tension drain away as she nodded off. He pulled her back from him slightly and looked desirously at her beautiful face, her enchanting features. He touched a final tear and watched as it dried upon her smooth young skin. His fingers lingered, her flesh beckoning to him. "Ah, my Lady," he whispered longingly.
Korba's thoughts seized, the use of the formal title of respect escaping unbidden from his lips, taking him by completely by surprise. Then he watched, spellbound, as his fingers irresistibly traced over her jaw and her supple lips. He felt like a man possessed.
Korba tilted his head back, taking in one long deep breath. The throbbing in his chest had quit, and it was now replaced by a dull ache. For reasons defying all logic, Iceanean law, and culture, he found that he never wanted to let the fragile alien go, and for a long time, he did not.
Chapter 13
Korba did one last check of all systems and reports, and then turned his attention to the roster for the two battleships' fighter flights. All appeared to be in order except for one small technicality. One of the pilots scheduled to fly the next circuit had received a minor head wound while training a couple of days before, and his file had been flagged by the computer. It appeared that either he had slipped through the screening s
ystem or he was disobeying orders from the Flight Commanders as far as a no-fly restriction. Korba would check first to make sure the doctors had given him the go-ahead and then would find out why the Flight Commanders had missed the flag. As for the pilot, one had to watch the personnel carefully on these long and uneventful trips, as they often jumped at any opportunity to relieve boredom, even when their status was marginal. The potential for catastrophes to occur during high-speed landings on the flight deck were large enough without a head injury added to the mix. Dealing with the Flight Officers was on a whole other level, and Korba would handle them directly.
Korba was interrupted as an indicator light flashed. He rose and turned just as the doors parted, and in walked Dar. "Well, my friend," grinned the blonde Warlord, "I see you are still alive and well."
Korba met Dar, and the two men embraced. "Yes, so it would seem."
"I wondered if you were going to reply to my status report. I didn't know if you felt that it did not require a response, or if your time was so well occupied that you were incapable of replying."
Korba smiled at Dar's note of impish sarcasm. But Korba was having trouble playing along as he charted the possible courses the conversation would eventually take.
Dar sensed Korba's subdued manner the moment he stepped through the Command Center doors. "Let's cut through the garbage," he stated as he settled into a chair adjacent to Korba's, his smile receding. "Here we are, hurtling toward home in two vast warships with nothing to do and supposedly not a concern in the world, and I discover you with your chin dragging on the ground."
Korba carried two drinks and handed one to Dar, raising his glass in salute. Dar reciprocated. Korba sat heavily in his chair and looked directly at Dar. "I am preoccupied," he said flatly.
"No kidding!" Dar waited for some elaboration but realized none was forthcoming. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Preoccupied with what?"
Korba looked away. "With Manza's project."
"Ah, the alien." Dar smiled. "Is he having trouble with her, or has he decided to dissect her into little bits for his collection?"
Korba rubbed his eyes wearily and then pushed himself out of his seat. "No, to both questions. He no longer has her."
Dar stood and approached Korba cautiously. "She died?" His voice betrayed his surprise.
"No," said Korba a little too curtly.
Dar rounded Korba and faced him directly. "Where is she?"
Korba lifted his eyes beyond Dar to the entrance of his chambers.
Dar followed his gaze, questions flooding into his mind. Then he looked back to Korba. "Why?" he breathed.
"I don't know," replied Korba brusquely. He turned away again and took a sip of his drink before setting it down.
Dar confronted him. "You don't know," he mimicked. "You don't know!" he repeated raising his voice. "Just what do you intend to do with her?"
Korba walked away from him, but Dar stalked him relentlessly. "I don't have to remind you, of all people, about the rules and regulations regarding such cargo."
Korba swung around, his eyes ablaze, but Dar continued. "The fact that she was ever on board in the first place is a serious problem in itself. Are you mad? A primitive alien, if that is indeed what she is, in the Empire's Primary Warlord's personal quarters! And with access to the Command Center!"
Korba fought for restraint over his burgeoning anger. Dar was finally pushing their long friendship to the brink. "She is not a simple alien, and she is not a threat," Korba stated in a cool and controlled voice. "She's highly intelligent and she's..." He hesitated. "And she's different."
"Different!" reiterated Dar. "I'll say she's different. She's an inferior primitive, and she has managed to maneuver herself into your bed, a feat which, so far, no decent Iceanean woman has managed to do."
Korba's response was instantaneous. He reacted with a speed that even Dar hadn't imagined possible. His fist connected squarely with Dar's jaw, which sent the blonde Warlord crashing to the floor.
Only then did the enormity of the dilemma within Korba's mind make itself obvious to Dar. Korba had never struck him before and, in all their years of sparring, he had indeed never been able to. The forces that drove Korba now were beyond reason, and Dar remained prostrate where he fell, both out of a sense of self-preservation and as a gesture of supplication. Dar now realized that, for whatever reason, this girl was no ordinary alien. She couldn't be, for no one had ever driven Korba to behave this way before.
But Korba did not take Dar's prone position as total compensation for his statement. Grabbing the large man up off the floor as if he were weightless, Korba slammed him down across the control panels. Dar offered no resistance as Korba pressed his forearm into his throat.
"Don't you ever quote chapter and verse to me again!" he shouted, his body radiating rage, his eyes burning holes in Dar. "I make no decision carelessly, and though I may be unable to explain my actions totally, I do nothing without exploring all the ramifications first." Korba hesitated, releasing his grip slightly. Then without warning, he increased his hold on Dar, restricting the man's breathing to a critical level. "And don't you ever make slanderous statements about with whom, and how often, I share my bed. If I ever choose to mate with an outsider, that will be my decision, and my decision alone. It will not be the Empire's, it will not be the Breeders', and least of all, it will not be yours!" Then as fast as he had grabbed Dar, he released him and turned away, his fist slamming into the adjacent wall where he steadied himself.
Dar picked himself up, rubbing his jaw and throat. It was obvious that Korba was deeply disturbed, but Dar wondered if even Korba understood why. That fact had just become rudely and painfully clear to Dar. But he knew that Korba, out of a sense of duty and loyalty to the Empire, would never misstep in a way that would put anyone or anything at risk. However, whatever was causing this present calamity needed to be dealt with. Dar knew he had to help his friend come to a resolution. He just hoped that Korba didn't kill him in the process.
He approached the Overlord cautiously and placed his hand on the man's rigid shoulder. Korba did not move. "I'm sorry," Dar apologized. "I didn't understand the depth of your feelings. I want to help."
Korba turned slowly toward Dar, gently touching the side of his friend's slightly swollen face. He leaned back against the wall, exhaling sharply as he folded his arms across his chest. "I'm the one who should be sorry, my dear friend."
"Do you want to talk about her?"
Korba was silent as he looked toward the entrance to his chambers.
"Will you tell me about her?" requested Dar quietly.
Korba looked back to him, his jaw set, and he nodded with resignation.
Dar turned back toward their chairs, and Korba followed. Both men sat down slowly.
"I don't know where to begin," started Korba. "She's different, she's exotic, and she's so utterly alien in every way. She's everything the status quo isn't."
"You've always been a bit of a rebel, haven't you?" Dar observed, still rubbing his tender face.
Korba managed a bit of a smile. "She's everything she appears not to be. She's from Calley, and all records show beings of moderate intelligence at most, yet she exceeds that by far. Marri says her knowledge base is exceptional and that she has mastered several of her world's languages. Marri's other reports on her indicate that she possesses a strong will bolstered by a newfound fortitude. She is both eager to learn and is more than a little resourceful intellectually. And apparently, according to Stose, she has ultimate control over her body with her mind when she tries. When I returned to sickbay some days after she came aboard, she had given up on herself. Stose said her rapid deterioration was self-induced and that she was near death. Yet she rebounded quickly." Korba's voice became quiet. "She appears weak and defenseless..." He hesitated. "Yet she is not."
Dar picked up on the slightly bruised ego and watched as Korba brushed the hair from the side of his face. He revealed the sizable split in his skin just in f
ront of his ear. So astonished was Dar that his mouth gaped.
"Don't gloat," admonished Korba.
Dar pressed back into his chair. A wide grin grew from one side of his face to the other.
Korba groaned. "Oh no. I can see that I'm never going to live this one down."
Dar said nothing, his state of euphoria nearly at a fever pitch. Finally, he could stand it no longer. "That small, out-of-shape, out-of-sorts alien female did that to you?"
Korba rolled his eyes, almost wishing he had kept his mouth shut.
Dar was about to burst. He sprang from his chair and walked in tight circles in front of Korba. "She drew first blood," he uttered in amazement.
Korba watched as his friend mused over the incident. Then Dar stopped suddenly and turned to Korba. "How?" he asked in earnest.
Korba shrugged. "We had a scuffle, and she second-guessed me."
Dar returned to his seat. The seemingly small incident was actually not so small when one considered the magnitude of the adversary she had chosen to fight. Dar looked back at Korba. "What other surprises does our little guest have in store for us?"
Korba simply shook his head.
Dar reclined in his seat and stretched. He threw his head back and looked to the ceiling. "What do you plan to do with her?"
Korba reached for his drink. "I don't know for sure. Train her, teach her, condition her..." He hesitated. "Learn from her."
Dar tilted himself forward again, resting his arms on his knees. "What will you do with her when we reach home?" Dar didn't really expect an answer. He already knew that Korba would have considered that and realized the hopelessness of such a situation. It was probably the one issue that ate at the Warlord the most. Korba's brooding silence confirmed Dar's thoughts.
