War Games

by K S Augustin

  The only problem with her explanation was that it added an undesirable element of pressure to their relationship. She could already see her driver follow the statements to their logical conclusion. If, as a lieutenant, she refused to meet the demands of her superior officer, there was the tangible risk that she would be tried and executed…if the commander was so inclined.

  Cheloi didn’t like it, never liked her partners to feel that they were coerced in any way, but she had no choice. She had to keep her cover. And she was determined to have her driver however she could.

  “But you were already determined to kill me, weren’t you? Even before Koul approached you?”

  It answered so much. Lith’s strange apprehension when they first met, the determination on her face during the military exercise at Bul-Guymem, the struggle Cheloi could feel that went on inside her, as if resisting the Colonel was more than just a matter of propriety. Koul had catalysed Cheloi’s musings and everything clicked precisely into place.

  Lith leant back against the chair with closed eyes. She looked exhausted. “I was so stupid,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I walked into this without thinking. Nils kept telling me about the cruelty of the Perlim, showing me vids and reports. Things my parents refused to talk about. And, being a child of refugees myself, I wanted to do something about it.”

  Cheloi controlled the start that twitched her body at Lith’s mention of someone else. She knew that name and, within a few seconds, she had it. Nils was the young firebrand who had left the Free-Perlim Council. She thought he might have moved on to other things but it seemed not. Lith was tied up with him? It certainly seemed so from a professional angle. Was it the same personally as well? Cheloi gritted her teeth as imagination put Lith next to the handsome young orator she remembered from her briefings. They looked perfect together and a stab of jealousy hit deep in her belly.

  “He trained you to infiltrate the Empire?” she asked shortly.

  But Lith didn’t notice the tone, lost in her recollections. “It wasn’t just him. Nils had a group of friends who helped him. Militants like himself who thought the Fusion’s Free-Perlim Council liked the sound of their own voices more than true justice.” She snapped her eyes open. “And I still agree with that,” she added mutinously.

  Cheloi admired her courage, even if it was more than a little foolish. In years past, she would have laughed at someone like Lith, equal parts bravado and ideology. But now she could only sit and be fascinated by her, wondering what it would be like to be defended by someone so strong and righteous. She could never be sure whether Eys would have ever caught her if she stumbled. That was part of the dizzying excitement of being around her. But she knew without a doubt that Lith would. Lith would be there for every trip, every fall, ever vigilant and supportive. What would it take, she thought, to call such a woman her champion?

  The Colonel rose and, with measured steps, walked to the door and locked it. Behind her, she heard a quick intake of breath.

  She hated herself as she walked back to the table, skirting the edge so she was standing in front of Lith. Reaching past her, she moved the empty glasses and bottle to the bureau before extending both her hands, palm ups, to her driver.

  In a delicate move, Lith placed her hands in Cheloi’s and stood.

  Cheloi moved close, shutting her eyes and nuzzling Lith’s cheek. It was soft and downy, fragrant and warm. “I don’t–”

  I don’t want it to be like this. I don’t want you to feel forced to do this.

  “Hush,” Lith soothed quietly. Then she took Cheloi’s face in her hands and kissed her.

  Cheloi felt she had been starved up till that moment. The Perlim, the Nineteen, faded into the distance as Cheloi pressed herself against the other woman, moving her hands down to pull her closer. She felt a shiver race through Lith’s body.

  She pushed Lith backward against the table, then further until she was lying on the table. She wanted to rip the clothes from her body and bury her face in scented flesh. Undo the composed neatly pulled-back hair and run her fingers through their burnt-honey length. But she knew she couldn’t succumb to such rash actions.

  With sure movements, she pushed up her driver’s tunic and undervest. Her hands, trembling and a bit rough, caught against the smoothness of skin, eliciting a small moan.

  That sound broke Cheloi’s mesmerised reverie. She took a step back, undid her own tunic with unsure fingers and threw it over the nearest chair, leaving her vest on. She attacked the rest of Lith’s uniform next, stripping off shoes and trousers. How she wanted to bury herself in Lith. Her nose, her tongue, her fingers. She wanted to lick the woman from head to toe and then do the same thing in reverse. But she just didn’t have the time.

  She bent and licked, smiling as—after many sultry, salty minutes—the other’s convulsions rocked the table. If she could not be with Lith, skin against heated skin, then this was the next best thing. When her driver finally subsided, Cheloi kissed her then straightened.

  Lith’s eyes were glazed and heavy-lidded but she had enough presence of mind to notice the tenor of Cheloi’s movements.

  “What—?”

  “You need to get dressed.” Cheloi bent over and kissed her bare torso.

  “But I–”

  “Now.”

  Gently, as if assisting a child, Cheloi pulled her driver from the table and helped her dress, holding her as she stepped into her trousers, sliding on the undervest and buttoning the tunic, tucking a scrap of lingerie into a pocket. Performing such mundane tasks was comforting because it took her mind away from the willing flesh so close to hers.

  Cheloi ran a critical gaze down Lith’s figure when she was done. She stepped closer only one more time, to restrain a tendril of hair that had worked loose of its confining bun.

  “Leave the door unlocked when you go,” she said.

  “And what are you going to do?” Lith whispered.

  Cheloi smiled tightly, the shutters that walled off her feelings from the rest of her now back and well and truly in place. She headed for the bureau and picked up the bottle and one of the glasses.

  “I think I’ll get drunk.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cheloi stretched out in bed slowly, as if in pain. She had turned down the climate control in her bedroom hours ago, when she first entered, and it was now cooler than normal. She thought the heavier brush of air would soothe her overheated skin, but she was wrong. There was too much going on for a mere tendril of cool, filtered air to solve.

  The dinner hadn’t turned out the way she’d anticipated at all. Instead of receiving, she gave. She hadn’t thought about it much at the time, beyond the overriding desire to see Lith’s body again. Then, when it was unfolded before her, like a present from one of her lust-driven dreams, she wanted to touch. Kiss. Rub. Then, while she was doing that, she wanted to see her lover explode in orgasm, jerking to a physical imperative beyond her control.

  She had wanted to feel Lith’s mouth on her own. She had mental images of both of them naked against the cool timber of the table. But instead of mutual release, she had been snared by the danger of their position and the urgency of action. In the end, only one of them could shudder and thrust with release and, with responsibility weighing heavily on her shoulders, it could only be Lith who found such a release.

  What had happened? She had made a decision, had the perfect opportunity presented to her and then, instead of slaking her carnal thirst, had indulged in a hasty, one-sided session of lovemaking that no doubt left Lith as unsatisfied as herself. She wanted to wrap her limbs around that warm, lissome body, lay down next to it, whisper sweet words of apology and promise into Lith’s ears. In the end, she had done none of those things.

  Because her training kicked in.

  She must really be in the job too long, Cheloi thought, if physical yearnings couldn’t circumvent her ingrained sense of politics, timing and the risk of being discovered. After days of fantasies and worldly though
ts, the reality of what she did fell far short of what she had wanted to do. She felt like a failure and wondered if Lith thought the same.

  “I wouldn’t blame her,” she said into the darkness, her voice bleak.

  She tried searching for a slumber that her recuperating body still needed, but it was still more than an hour before she fell into its embrace.

  Day 1,570 of the War:

  Cheloi looked around as word came of the heavy skimmer’s approach. The afternoon was hot and dry and her soldiers were starting to wilt in the heat. Beside and half a step behind her, Rumis was relaxed but attentive. She knew he would snap to stiff regulation stance the moment the skimmer appeared above the rim of the collapsed mountain. Koul, formal and aloof, stood slightly more than the regulation distance away.

  Arrayed in front of her, the platoons were ramrod straight. Infantry, Strike, Artillery, Counterstrike, Engineers, Intelligence, Communications, Medical, Support. Because she had asked for a delegation from each sector to be aligned front and centre, their traditional pennants formed a swathe of colours across the troop mass…or would have done if there had been even a wisp of breeze dipping into the rock-hewn bowl. In the still air, the flags fell limply from the top of their tall blue poles.

  Behind her, the sector commanders were also present: Wakor from Black, Mazhin from Blue, Pish from Red, Twol from Yellow. Even Vanqill had taken a break from his marauding to make it to the event. Not that he had been given a choice. She had surreptitiously inspected his form when he first arrived and was pleased with what she saw. His black hair gleamed in the relentless sun and his pale skin glowed almost as much as the polished buttons on his tunic. He looked every bit the determined and competent Perlim officer, which was important because Cheloi’s entire gambit depended on him.

  The heavy skimmer eschewed grace for a sudden descent through the anti-detection field. First, there was a bleached blue sky above and a patch of bare ground before them. Then with a low crack, a large ovoid ship appeared. The heat from its engines baked the already hot air.

  Cheloi heard the sound of hundreds of boots as they snapped together. She straightened but kept her eyes focused directly in front of her, confident that her subordinate commanders were following suit.

  The small ship hovered for a moment then landed. A thin seam appeared along its side, outlining a door, before it fell forward, forming a ramp with four shallow steps. Flanked by two Senior Colonels, the representative of Central Control—the brain of the Perlim Empire’s military arm—descended to the barren earth of the Nineteen.

  Cheloi stepped forward and saluted. “Rep Kodnell, I am Senior Colonel Cheloi Sie in command. Welcome to Territory Nineteen.”

  He must come from the same planet as Koul, she thought. There was no picture of Kodnell that accompanied the news of his visit. The Perlim obviously thought him a critical resource and kept him as anonymous as possible. But now that he was here in the flesh, she could see the species similarities between him and her second-in-command. They were both pale with a skin hue that looked unnatural, resembling translucency, and they both had the same colourless eyes. But Koul’s characteristic coldness was replaced by an intelligent, openly curious, briskness in the other and Cheloi knew that the most difficult part of her mission was still ahead of her. This man would not be easy to fool.

  “Senior Colonel Sie.” He returned the salute and her hand dropped to her side. “You are highly regarded at Central Control.”

  She nodded once, quickly. “Thank you, Rep Kodnell. May I introduce the senior officers and my staff.” She turned and indicated Koul with her right hand. “This is my second-in-command, Colonel Koul Grakal-Ski.”

  Kodnell’s eyes flickered before he acknowledged the officer.

  It was the briefest of movements, and Cheloi pretended she hadn’t noticed it as she introduced the rest of the men, then moved onto the general inspection. But she had. That one quick dart towards and away from Koul, just after she said his name and before Kodnell nodded…that barest hint of recognition spoke volumes.

  It told her that Koul had not been content to merely conspire in her death. He had been also working a parallel track of somehow discrediting her by going over her head and sending reports about her. But where? Directly to Central Control and Rep Kodnell? The look that flashed between them was one of a fellow conspirator acknowledging a source or peer. Was anyone else privy to these backstabbing communications? Wakor or one of his cronies:? Some other intermediary further up the command chain? Whoever it was, it made Cheloi angry. She didn’t begrudge Koul his ambition but loathed his sly cunning. When the time came, if she could, she’d do something about that.

  By the time the introductions and mandatory inspections were complete, two hours had passed. With relief, Cheloi led the way underground for the major briefing session. With the exception of her first day of command, which had been unseasonably rainy, she had never been so happy to descend into the rough-hewn tunnels.

  It was a cosy fit in the largest of the complex’s briefing rooms. With a nod, Cheloi directed Rumis to lock the door before they began. She watched the two officers who had accompanied Kodnell. Their faces were as impassive as his, their postures equally rigid. Did he depend on them for advice? Or did they have their own orders to meander around her camp, casually picking up tasty scraps of information, the same way a skullpecker picked up remnants of carrion? While she had been expecting the Rep to have company, she hadn’t expected two officers of her own rank. With Senior Colonels looking over their shoulders, soldiers instinctively gave answers where none were sought, and not necessarily the correct ones either. She’d have to set Rumis on their tails to make sure nothing untoward happened.

  Kodnell directed one of the officers to dim the illumination then began his briefing.

  What followed were three hours of depressing news accompanying an array of charts that revolved sedately in the air above the long desks. Depressing for the Perlim, that is. Cheloi quelled a start of happy surprise and forced herself to pay attention. Her mind was taking each piece of information Kodnell was presenting and running away to formulate a new way of bringing the whole war to an end. She twisted each piece of data this way and that, to see if there was a better way of accomplishing her mission. The danger was that she would be so caught up with new ideas that something vitally important might slip past her. Kodnell, like the rest of Central Control, was too elusive to leave a record of what he was saying, so she would have to depend on her memory for recollection of important facts. And that meant paying attention.

  Amazingly, Kodnell told everyone in the room, despite the best intentions of the planetary commanders and more effective tactics, casualty rates were up. The beautiful and destructive ionic storms that ravaged Menon’s upper atmosphere were particularly virulent of late, the result of an increase in solar flare activity within the system. That had led to compromise transports, where fewer vehicles ferried more people to and from the surface. Recent transport accidents were resulting in greater deaths.

  The solar physicists had predicted a small window of relatively clear weather before the storms started up again with a fury. Kodnell, with no trace of embarrassment, admitted that his trip had been timed to coincide with such a window and that he would be getting the hell out as soon as possible, just before a complete and temporary halt to all transports. There was a low animated hum at that revelation.

  “You’re speaking of an embargo,“ Mahzin remarked. “May I ask how long it will last, Rep Kodnell?”

  The sector commander was obviously perturbed, shifting in his seat and fidgeting with the sleeves of his uniform. Kodnell impaled him with a piercing glance.

  “The Perlim ground forces will be required to make do with whatever supplies are already on the planet for one full month.” He waited for the renewed hubbub to die down. “At that point, the ban will be reconsidered.”

  One month with no supplies. Cheloi let that thought bounce around in her head for a little while before
putting it to one side.

  There were also heavy casualties from increased rebel activity, Kodnell continued. Somebody was starting to pull the fragmented rebel groups together. The Perlim were now securely holding only forty percent of Menon’s territories.

  And if all that wasn’t bad enough, the Fusion was causing problems by harrying the fringes of the Empire itself and threatening to use a combined force to take over systems along the Perlim’s tattered edges.

  In truth, the Empire would have been happy to get rid of its poor planets. They drained more resources than they gave back. But it was a matter of galactic pride that they did not succumb. As a result of this new action, the Emperor had ordered a diversion of valuable resources away from Menon and towards the boundaries, where they reinforced a straggling defence line. If the Fusion made good on their promises of invasion, Kodnell told them, the Empire was ready.

  Once more, soft low voices filled the air at the news. Cheloi knew what her officers were thinking. A prepared Empire was all well and good, but not when it threatened their own actions on Menon IV. And why divert resources when Menon was supposed to be the most critical conflict? Varied opinions reached Cheloi’s ears. One of her sector commanders was adamant that a war with the Fusion was inevitable while another scoffed at the idea, pointing out that the Fusion had not engaged in any direct military action for centuries.

  Kodnell cleared his throat. The muted discussions died down.

  “There is another complication,” he added grimly.

  The tide of public opinion, despite the stranglehold the Empire held on communications, was also slowly turning against the Emperor. Leaked figures of deaths, equipment mishaps and lost battles had begun appearing on the underground nets. Subjects were starting to get angry, some even going so far as to unfavourably compare the military dominance of the Empire with the more pacifist Fusion.