by K S Augustin
“Stop Senel from slitting Vanqill’s throat, you mean?”
ll three officers grinned in a rare moment of camaraderie and Cheloi felt the last of the tension bleed from the room.
Koul’s voice softened. “Let me think of something. There’s a reported rebel ammunition dump just beyond Black sector’s current sphere of operations. I think I can arrange a distraction for him.”
“Thank you, Koul.”
She made to stand up, thinking to pay a visit to the Tactical Room next, when Koul said something else.
“I have a surprise for you.”
Cheloi stilled before straightening. “Oh?”
“You lost your aide more than a month ago. Well, I have his replacement. Come, I’ll introduce you.”
Rumis shrugged behind Koul’s back, indicating he had no idea of what was coming. Whatever it was, Koul had kept things very quiet. Cheloi trained her face to impassivity.
“That’s very, considerate of you. Lead on.”
They left the briefing room in silence.
Cheloi heard sounds of industry from the kitchens as they entered the subterranean canteen. It was past mid-morning and preparations were already under way for lunch. For now, all the tables were unattended, the chairs unfilled, except for one.
A frown started gathering on Cheloi’s brow as the three of them approached the canteen’s lone customer, zigzagging through the rows of tables and hastily pushed back chairs. She felt a wave of impending doom lapping at her feet, surging higher the closer they got to the lone, occupied chair.
Had Koul somehow guessed…?
But how would he know? She kept that part of herself bottled up tight, vacuum-sealed against the world.
When they reached the inhabitant, in a rare moment of courtesy, Koul smiled and gestured with his hand. The stranger stood up. Correction, the woman stood up and turned around.
She was as tall as Cheloi with dark blonde hair, olive skin and hazel eyes. Unlike the Colonel, who sported a shorter more military cut, her longer hair was pulled back and pinned in a sleek bun, exposing streaks of pale gold. Cheloi imagined those golden streaks gleaming in the sunlight, as warm as the colour in her eyes, then quickly quelled the thought. What the hell was she thinking? Golden streaks? Warmth? What was wrong with her?
It was only the expression in those eyes that settled her again. She saw wariness, mixed with a degree of apprehension. That calmed her. Dislike, cynicism, anxiety, all these she could deal with, was comfortable with, although it made her wonder exactly what Koul had told her.
She knew what Koul thought of her in his private moments, because there were no truly private moments in the military, only relative ones. If Koul thought he was getting intelligence on Cheloi from intermediaries who were willing to talk, then it would be best for him to remember that it cut both ways.
Spraen. Cheloi’s lips twitched momentarily. Koul might think it an insult, but she enjoyed the comparison to one of the ravening scavengers of Perlim myth.
Coming to pick at your bones, eh Koul?
“Senior Colonel, may I present Senior Lieutenant Lith Yinalña.”
Cheloi clicked back to the present.
“Yinalña.” She rolled the name over her tongue, stressing the second syllable. It didn’t sound very Perlim-like.
The lieutenant, her soft military cap clutched in one hand, saluted smartly. Cheloi returned the salute and offered a handshake which, after a moment’s hesitation, was taken. Yinalña’s hands were warm but rough, indicating that the junior officer often dabbled in manual tasks. There was a sense of strength and capability in the short greeting, two traits that Cheloi usually admired.
Usually. She wasn’t liking any of this. She darted a quick glance at Koul but his expression was open and innocent. Or at least as innocent as an expression got on that particular face. She introduced Rumis, and they began a desultory conversation, but her eyes were still on Lith Yinalña, moving up and down her body in quick strokes, taking in the curves of her breasts and the swell of hips that the jacket couldn’t hide. The lieutenant’s pulled-back hair emphasised her high cheekbones and full lips. They may have been of the same height, but Yinalña was younger and less androgynous than Cheloi. The Colonel felt something flutter again, deep in her stomach. Her hand was still warm from the brief handshake, but the rest of her felt frozen and icy with premonition.
She was going to be trouble. Cheloi could feel it in her bones, a feeling compounded by the fact that it was Koul who brought her here. That figure, that hair, those lively welcoming eyes. Cheloi felt like she was standing on the edge of a dark precipice on a summer’s day, a glowing sun eclipsing disaster.
“Where did you find Lieutenant Yinalña?” Cheloi asked her second-in-command, making her voice casual.
“Quite by accident, while on a tour of Blue sector.”
So, last week. If I can believe him.
“If you recall, you sent me there to carry out an evaluation of the situation.”
Yes. It was not a happy time for the Empire. An entire company had been lured into a rebel ambush and killed almost to the last soldier. Koul had recommended withdrawing the company’s remnant to facilitate a regroup and injection of fresh soldiers. Cheloi agreed.
“Yinalña’s commander died during the retreat.”
“I see.”
“But the company’s Sergeant Major commended her diligence and engineering dexterity to me and I thought you would find that useful.”
It was only a slim straw but Cheloi grabbed it. It was nothing she wanted to articulate, but she had to get rid of her new staff officer as quickly as possible. “Won’t she be missed? After all, it’s the engineers that keep the wheels of the Empire turning.”
“She’s only had informal training.”
“So she’s not a formal member of the Engineers then?”
“No.”
Cheloi tried not to let the disappointment show. “No safer posts available?”
No, that question came out too quickly. She knew she shouldn’t be pushing matters so hard and so soon. Even now, she saw a trace of speculation in Koul’s pale eyes and cursed herself for handling the conversation so ineptly. If she’d been thinking, she would have accepted the driver with an offhand negligence then quietly ordered Rumis to find some way of getting rid of her. But something about Lith Yinalña unbalanced her in a way that more than three years of combat in a war zone hadn’t.
Koul’s words were slow and deliberate, clear signs that there was much more going on in his head than he was willing to admit.
“She volunteered for a posting at the front. I thought it a natural solution to the problem. Was I incorrect in my assumption?”
Koul tried to look puzzled but Cheloi saw behind his gaze to the underlying cold calculation. She knew she was going to have to concede the point.
“As always, Koul, you anticipate my wishes,” Cheloi smiled tightly and raised her voice to encompass the other two. “Perhaps Major Swonnessy can show the Senior Lieutenant to her quarters. We can set up a quick briefing for later this afternoon. Rumis, see to it.”
“Immediately, Colonel.”
Rumis Swonnessy smiled broadly at the lieutenant as he reached for her soft-pack, shrugging the bag’s thick strap lightly onto his shoulder. “Follow me.”
The speculative gazes from two pairs of eyes followed the figures as they wound their way out of the canteen.
Lith looked around her with unabashed curiosity. All the military facilities she’d been assigned to had so far been on the planet’s surface. This was the first time she’d been given an underground post.
“A bit different, isn’t it?”
She looked over at the man who accompanied her and nodded agreement. He was Major Rumis Swonnessy, Senior Colonel Sie’s adjutant. She hadn’t expected such a handsome face to match the reputation he had already built up. And she hadn’t expected such a pleasant personality either.
“The Nineteen, as you already know, is a l
ong and thin territory, and all the transport routes travel quite close to our encampments. Central Control thought that siting our headquarters aboveground would make it easier for rebels to target us, so we were ordered to construct it underground instead.”
“It’s, er, very impressive.”
Actually, the word Lith was thinking of was more along the lines of oppressive, but she couldn’t say that to someone who was showing her around with such obvious pride. The canteen they had just walked from was near an exit, but Swonnessy pointed out corridors that led to other exits aboveground. Lith feverishly memorised their positions, afraid of an imminent attack of claustrophobia.
They passed through the administrative block, where the Tactical and Information Rooms were located, and she was shown where the Communications Room was situated, near the end of a long tunnel. Above her head, square panels of light, evenly spaced, illuminated the regular scraping texture of the walls and the grainy texture of the floors. Small crunches indicated footsteps of soldiers as they passed the pair, intent on their own tasks. It was like being in the belly of some infernal beast or trapped in a military-run underworld. Lith shivered, her guilty conscience prodded by the fact that she was actually where she had originally planned to end up. Her feet slowed as she fought the instinct to grab the bag off Swonnessy’s shoulder and flee. She fought to take in a full lungful of air. Was there a problem with the ventilation systems or was it her own fear, constricting her lungs and making it difficult to breathe?
Oblivious, Swonnessy happily chatted on, pointing out other major points of interest. They passed to the accommodation block.
“This is the Colonel’s quarters,” he said, indicating an otherwise anonymous door. “Most of your time will probably be spent shuttling between here and your own quarters.”
Lith frowned at the seamless black panel. It was strange how it looked like every other door. As though a monster—the Butcher—didn’t weave her plans of death from behind its bland exterior. Just thinking about what went on behind that door, the orders that resulted in thousands of innocent casualties and deaths, was enough to get her blood boiling and give her a much-needed burst of courage.
She smiled into the Major’s dark eyes. “I’m sure I’ll be kept very busy,” she told him.
He laughed and led her further down the corridor. “If you’re working for the Colonel, you don’t have a choice.”
He stopped outside another door and palmed it open. “This is yours.”
Lith stepped into the room that was to be her new home. It was a compact space, with a small bathroom off to one side. The air inside was stuffy and smelt a little mouldy, something Swonnessy noticed as well, because he stepped sideways to the climate-control panel just near the door and activated the ventilation fans. After waiting to make sure the characteristic whirring began, he continued forward and put Lith’s soft-pack down on her bed.
“The Colonel is usually up quite early, but you’re not expected on duty until seven. It’ll be worth your while to get fresh uniforms to her the night before rather than try scrambling around in the morning.”
She nodded.
“I’ll leave you to get settled. Let’s meet for lunch in an hour and I’ll take you through the rest of your duties.”
“Thank you for your help, Major.”
He smiled. “Welcome to Nineteen’s HQ. I’ll see you back at the canteen.”
Lith watched him leave and swiftly locked the door behind him, letting out a long breath only when she was alone.
The day had started out with a flurry, with sub-Colonel Grakal-Ski arriving to pick her up from the shambles of Blue sector command precisely at six. Not that he drove the wheeler himself. It was obvious to Lith that Grakal-Ski thought himself above such petty activities and she tried to smile reassuringly at the nervous-looking ensign who had been ordered to act as the Colonel’s chauffeur.
The Colonel had tried to be courteous to her, but it was a futile effort. No matter how much a smile tried to curve his lips, or how outwardly solicitous his words might be—“Are you sure you have everything, Lieutenant?”; “No, there’s no need for you to drive. I’m sure Ensign Kavky will be more than happy to get us back to HQ”; “Should you have any questions about HQ protocol, please feel free to approach me”—they couldn’t hide the essential coldness, the distinct feeling of aloof calculation, behind his eyes.
Grakal-Ski might be polite to her now, but Lith was certain that could easily turn into a frigid rage should she ever displease him.
Major Rumis Swonnessy, on the other hand, seemed to be no more than he appeared to be. She was surprised by how friendly and courteous he was and by the clear respect he showed the Nineteen’s commander. Lith was sure he was also a big hit with the ladies. Those laughing eyes, dimples, and smooth voice could coax the most reluctant woman (or man, come to think of it) to bed.
Senior Colonel Cheloi Sie, however, wasn’t what Lith was expecting at all. She had been anticipating the reserve, but not the courtesy. And she had certainly not expected to find her…attractive. The Colonel’s short practical haircut emphasised her bone structure, camouflaged by only a light padding of fat that made her seem more approachable and less like a flesh-filleting knife. Her skin was darker than Lith’s but lighter than the dark chocolate of her eyes. Her lips, dark and bluish in tinge, looked like they smiled often. And her voice was calm and melodious. If they had met in a bar somewhere, Lith might have even struck up a conversation with the attractive woman. And that thought scared her.
She grimaced as she flipped open the flap of her soft-pack. She thought she could still feel the impression of the Colonel’s hand against her own. The touch had been firm and decisive and Lith conceded that it was only a touch of immaturity that made her expect something chill, soft and clammy.
“Why couldn’t it have been soft and clammy?” she muttered. She paused in her unpacking, looking down at her upturned hand as if she could see the outline of Cheloi Sie’s fingers etched on her palm. With a rough movement, she rubbed it against the side of her trousers.
“A butcher,” she told herself in a stern voice. “Not attractive. Not interesting. Just a better-than-average mass murderer.”
And concentrated on getting ready for lunch with Major Swonnessy.
Chapter Two
Cheloi thought that ordering Rumis to get Yinalña out of the way till afternoon would have given her some breathing space, but it was a measure of how the small introduction affected her that it took almost an hour before she realised it had the opposite effect. On any other morning, she would have kept her adjutant close by, a useful tool in foiling Koul’s more obvious ambitions. But in the desperate flurry to escape, Cheloi had forgotten it was that time again—the monthly wrangle over the orders from Central Control. And, as Koul accompanied her to the Tactical Room and then onto her rounds with the senior non-commissioned soldiers, she knew he was not going to let her out of his sight.
She tried not to let his presence bother her and led the way back to her office, clicking the privacy indicator to let a returning Rumis know she was not to be disturbed.
Koul Grakal-Ski.
She watched him as he eased himself into the chair on the other side of her desk. He wasn’t classically handsome, but there was something compelling about him, something brisk and refreshing like a dramatic ice-storm from the southern peaks of Perlim Prime. Or there would have been, if he ever wiped the cynicism from his eyes. Like her, he had never been observed indulging in romantic entanglements although there were rumours that he had a wife and two sons on the Perlim home-world. Maybe he didn’t care for his family because he spent more than half of his vacation periods on Menon IV rather than taking advantage of the fast shuttles off-planet. He was, Cheloi admitted to herself with black humour, a truly ambitious career officer.
“You would have received the latest intel-pack from Central Control,” Koul began without preamble.
“Yes. This hasn’t been an easy campaign.” She
pulled together a subset of reports and directives from the neat stacks on her desk, and tried not to think of Lith instead. Curse Koul for throwing such a distraction her way.
“We shall prevail.”
Irritated, Cheloi took his statement for the piece of instinctive doctrine that it was and ignored it.
“Since the Empire moved to batched landings,” she began, handing over information as she spoke, “we’ve seen a fifteen percent decrease in individual catastrophic failure incidents. We continue to hold Territory Eight against heavy opposition and have made gains in Territories Thirty-One, Twenty-Seven and Eleven. We’ve lost Territories Two, Thirty-Three and Thirty-Four.”
In his private moments, Koul had to admit that the Perlim Empire was slow and creaky in adapting to the situation on Menon. It had taken months to formulate even the rudiments of a ground-based plan, time that the rebels had exploited to consolidate their own position and bolster support from the local population.
“Central Control still sees Territory Nineteen as pivotal, holding the blocs of northern and southern territories together. They are satisfied that we’ve managed to hold the Nineteen but,” her voice thickened with reluctance, “would like to see more proactivity in routing rebel forces from our sectors.”
“An admirable idea,” Koul commented, his pale eyes gleaming as they met hers. “I suggest transforming the Green sector battalion into small, mobile strike teams. Roving companies.”
“No.”
“Why not, Senior Colonel?” His voice was innocent. “Fight fire with fire. Attack the rebels’ guerilla bands with ones of our own, just as nimble and flexible as theirs.”
