by Shae Mills
Just then the doors burst open and in rushed Stose. "Manza, what the hell..."
Korba swung about, his azure eyes now ablaze with a blue flame that halted Stose in midstride.
"My Lord!" stammered Stose, looking quickly at Manza and noting the fear in the man's eyes. "What is going on?" he asked, his gaze returning to his Commander.
Korba pivoted away from both men in an attempt to collect his disseminating thoughts. Then he whirled about to face Stose. His muscle tension eased minimally, and his jaw relaxed. He stepped toward the doctor.
Stose felt a brief wave of panic as the great man approached him, and he swallowed hard, wetting his parched throat. Korba stopped but did not speak. Stose took the initiative, not out of curiosity, but out of a need to break the stifling tension. "Sire?" he questioned hesitantly.
Korba lowered his voice. "In what condition is the girl?"
Stose's eyes darted to Manza for guidance, but he received no help. He looked back at Korba. "Not good, my Lord. She's in a self-induced psychosis. She appears to have given up hope for herself and is now close to imminent death. She is deteriorating quickly, faster than I would have ever thought possible."
"How close?" demanded Korba, his renewed harshness startling the doctor.
"Well, judging from her body tone and reserves, she could last a month or more if we forced fluids. In the beginning she accepted small amounts of water, but lately she refuses, and now she is regressing much more rapidly. She has in fact accelerated her own demise. She sees death as her only way out of her situation, I suppose."
Korba tilted his head slightly, eyeing first Stose and then Manza. "Why?" he questioned, his voice a low rumble. "What has occurred here?"
Manza summoned every bit of courage within him to speak. "It's actually a common phenomenon among some primitives exposed to what you might say are excessively challenging or stressful situations. Rather than fighting or accepting their plight and adapting, they give up, lose faith, and cave in to grief and hopelessness. The people of Calley have only superficially been touched by space and foreign cultures such as ours. The presentation of the facts surrounding her predicament proved too momentous for her to deal with, and she broke. All species of animals exhibit this behavior when presented with extreme stress beyond their control."
"Then, she is weak?" queried Korba.
"Ah... no, not necessarily," replied Stose. "Quite the contrary, in fact. She responded rather strangely to her situation originally, assuming it was a prank perpetrated by a friend of hers. Through her own deductive reasoning she came to the conclusion that this was not possible. Other aspects of her behavior when we first released her indicated that she has a high degree of adaptability and intelligence, but that display was short-lived."
"So what is the problem?" Korba demanded.
Manza finally pushed himself from the wall and stepped forward. "I can only guess, my Lord, but it could be that whatever situation drove her to seek isolation on Calley where we found her had weakened her ability to cope. She was smart enough to deduce that she was never going to return to her home. And at that revelation, she assumed the position in the sickbay she is in now."
Korba's eyes narrowed. "And what was the nature of your conversations with her?"
Manza licked his dry lips. "When she became conscious, we attempted to explain her situation and her location. I told her that we wished to perform some tests and to study her if she would allow." Manza glanced at Stose for support, and the doctor nodded, urging him on.
"She did not respond much to us initially, and I did try to converse with her after her release. She asked for proof of her location, but I indicated that it was not possible for me to substantiate my claim that she was on a ship in space as both she and I were confined to this area. I mentioned a couple of details about Iceanea and the people, but she indicated that anyone with any sort of imagination could come up with such a bizarre story."
"She then asked if she would ever see her family again," interjected Stose. "When we said no, she mumbled something about being abducted by a cult and..." Stose hesitated and glanced anxiously at Manza.
"And what?" commanded Korba.
Stose's attention snapped back to the Warlord. "And she requested that we please not rape or torture her."
Korba was staggered. He knew of such barbaric and ancient practices, but the Empire had long ago taken a tough stand on both infringements, executing unquestioningly all perpetrators of such violent crimes. "Cult," repeated Korba quietly. "What's a cult?"
Manza explained. "Well, it seems that some of Calley's humans are still in the throes of explaining unknown events through mysticism and religion. Extremist groups in both areas, shunned by the mainstream practitioners, engage in bizarre rituals that range from harmless meetings, chants and prayers, to brutal acts of abuse, sexual or otherwise, through dismemberment of other creatures, and even sacrifices, sometimes including human. I have been studying what sketchy documentation the Telesians have on such practices, both pertaining to Calley and to other similarly evolved planets. And as a side note to all this, during wars on her planet, of which there are many, it turns out both practices, rape and torture, are performed routinely. In fact, roving gangs of men regularly attack and rape the women of the opposing side as a form of demoralization. It is also used as a power advantage by the victor over vanquished. In fact, in one particular recent battle on her planet, men would—"
Korba held up his hand. "I don't want to hear about it."
Stose nodded. "Well, her planet is rife with such activity. But in her case, it seems that she has associated our black clothing with a demonic cult and has chosen to explain her abduction to herself in such a manner. Being young and female on Calley apparently makes her more susceptible to such repugnant acts carried out by these agencies, and by men in general."
Korba turned away as thoughts and questions tumbled through his mind. He sat himself on the edge of Manza's table and looked at both men. "Other than her abduction, and our unfamiliar uniforms and their unfortunate coloring, I assume we have done nothing to instill such thoughts in her mind, have we?"
Both Manza and Stose's eyes met. "Ah, there was one seemingly small and quite unintentional incident that occurred right in the beginning," stammered Manza uneasily.
Stose took a tentative step toward the formidable Warlord. "While she was recovering, I simply removed a catheter and attempted to insert a local anesthetic to ease any irritation caused by the tubing. Her subsequent physical exposure combined with my approach put her into hysterics."
"Did you explain your actions?"
"Yes, my Lord, but it was to no avail. Her reaction was extreme and totally unprovoked."
Korba stood. "How long does she have?"
Stose squirmed. "At her present rate of degeneration, maybe a couple of days, a week at the most."
Korba turned away from the two men as a pang of despondency enveloped him. He was surprised by the extent of the emotional drain that was overtaking him, and he took a deep and calming breath. Korba ran his hand through his coarse black hair and then strode toward the doors leading to the sickbay area. There he turned back to the two men. "Stay put," he ordered, and with that, he disappeared into the main examining area.
Stose and Manza remained motionless, both relieved that they were still standing, unscathed and alive. They looked questioningly at one another, but neither man dared to speak.
Korba moved warily through the great white room in the direction of the monitor. As he cleared the central table, the small, seemingly insignificant form that had haunted him came into view. Korba steadied himself and instinctively replaced the protective hood of his shroud over his head.
The girl was slumped on the floor, her back against the wall. Her head rested on her knees, which she had drawn up tightly against her chest, a thermal sheet the final binding and impervious layer. Korba could not see her face, as her waist-length hair obscured her features, its tendrils reaching to the flo
or.
He moved cautiously forward, one part of him yearning to touch her while his senses balked at the notion. With only a meter between them, Korba crouched down on one knee. His left hand automatically clenched the throwing knife tucked in the sheath of his boot, his body taut with apprehension and deliberation. Irresistibly drawn, he reached out with his free hand and brushed it past a solitary lock of hair. He picked up the fine strands and watched as they spun a web on either side of his fingers. He peered down at the alien tresses, captivated by the color rendered even more golden against the infinite blackness of his glove.
Korba tried to think of what he should do to put the poor, frail creature out of her misery, but the process of simply contemplating her demise disconcerted him. A brief twinge of pity passed through his psyche, yet another foreign feeling to assimilate, yet another emotion he had definitely never reserved for an alien.
Korba finally released the gossamer silk and inched himself closer. He could hear her shallow breathing and smell the scent of decay about her. Tentatively, he reached out again and placed his fingers on her wrist, his left hand tightening about his blade. Her only response to his touch was to signal her dire status with an ever-weakening pulse.
Korba berated himself as he realized that he had not bothered to ask Stose or Manza her name. But it was too late now, and whether she could respond was doubtful at best. He slid his hand under her chin and raised her head gently. The girl's eyelids flickered against the light and opened in his direction. He could tell that her deep-brown eyes attempted to penetrate the blackness of his shroud, searching for the hidden form beneath, but she found only emptiness, her vision registering lifelessness. In silent resignation, her eyes closed, and Korba allowed her head to rest.
He could feel his heart pounding. Her beauty had struck him before, but her dark eyes held a magic that nearly rendered him breathless. "You can't die," he whispered, his thoughts temporarily thrown into disarray over his desire for her life.
He released his grip on his knife and settled himself on the floor, staring at her, fascinated by her. His mind searched for words, but he knew nothing of her language. In a soft Iceanean whisper, he spoke. "Will you let me help you?"
Her eyelids labored fruitlessly but did not open. A small tear emerged just as her grip around her knees collapsed. Korba's lightning move broke her fall, and he lowered her upper torso to the floor, her total flaccidness propelling him into action.
He jumped to his feet. "Stose!" he yelled. "Get in here!" And at the same time his hand slammed into a switch that opened the sickbay doors to the main corridor. Security men and guards flooded into the room just as Stose flew in through the far doors with Manza on his heels. Both men immediately came to the same conclusion: the alien was dead.
Korba's voice became an ominous rumble. "I have no rationale for what I am about to do, and I expect no questions from anyone. I do expect that all matters pertaining to this alien and my decisions about her welfare or demise will go no farther than this room. I have taken note of all those present, and you and you alone, along with the Calley landing party, are the only people who know of her existence. If I learn that others on board either Imperial vessel are aware of her presence, the unwise gossiper will die swiftly by my own hand. I trust that this is fully understood."
Not a single man flinched. Not a single man would dare disobey the fierce Warlord. Korba swiftly removed his shroud and covered the fallen girl. He whirled around and instantly noticed that the warrior in charge of his entire security force had arrived. "Fremma!" he shouted. "Take her to my chambers through the lower corridors. Stop for no one and say nothing."
Manza stepped forward, his mouth agape in protest. But Stose slapped him hard in the chest, preventing his advance and his likely death. Korba caught the motions of both men but chose to ignore them.
Fremma stooped and carefully picked up the frail body as though she weighed mere grams. He left immediately for the Command Center.
Korba moved to the main intercom panel. "Stanza!"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Have Marri report to my quarters immediately. Tell her to wear a gown, nothing black, and no military garb or weapons."
"Yes, Sire."
Korba punched the intercom off and turned to the cluster of bewildered men. He strode past the warriors and stopped in front of Stose. "I need you to go to my quarters and stabilize her quickly. If she begins to awaken in your presence, sedate her." Korba's voice softened. "After that, what will she need?"
Stose focused as his mind ran down a checklist. "Fluids first. If she will drink, that is best. Food, but that can come later. Electrolytes, ah... a combination suited to her metabolism would be best, but I will need to formulate that... preferably in the water but infused if necessary. I can use what we have available for our people to start. And warmth, that's important. Calley is not cold like Iceanea, Commander. The temperature of your quarters and the Command Center will chill her to the bone. The rest is strictly up to her, whether she chooses to fight or die."
Korba nodded his understanding, and then turned toward the door. As it opened for him, he looked back toward the two men. "Stose, I want you available to me exclusively, as always. If anything occurs requiring your attention, divert it. Start an infusion immediately, and I will take it from there."
Stose nodded obediently. Korba's glacial gaze lifted from Stose as the doctor scurried away to collect supplies, and it fell on Manza. "I want all the material you have on Calley and its inhabitants. I need everything. And I also want all the records and files you have made on..." Korba hesitated.
"Chelan, my Lord," informed Manza.
"Chelan," Korba repeated quietly. "I will access them from the Command Center. Have them available immediately, including all the information on her language."
Korba did not wait for Manza's reply but strode out into the corridor followed by a throng of men. He made his way to his Command Center, and as he reached the main entrance, the two ever-present sentries parted for him. Korba entered his exclusive domain, signaling all his men to remain outside.
He passed by the central command area and headed directly for his personal living quarters. There, Fremma stood in a vigil over the robed body of the girl, awaiting further orders.
Korba stopped a distance from the bed. He looked at the woman briefly and then to Fremma. Korba's most trusted bodyguard stepped slowly way from the bed and approached his Commander. "Can I be of any assistance?" came the quiet voice.
Korba's gaze returned to the girl. "Not right now."
Fremma nodded his respect to the Commander and began to take his leave. As Fremma passed him, Korba placed a hand on the warrior's shoulder. "Thank you, Fremma."
The young man smiled. "I'll be right outside if you need me." And he continued on his way.
Korba stepped up to the sleeping platform and stopped beside the bed. He carefully removed his shroud from her, leaving the white sheet wrapped tightly about her. Remembering Stose's instructions, he covered her with several layers of bedding. He poured a glass of water and then sat beside her. A small ripple of distress seeped through him at her sporadic and shallow respirations. He removed one of his gloves and dipped a finger in the water. Holding his breath, he tenderly ran the moistness along her cracked lips.
Chelan's lips parted slightly as small drips of the fluid trickled into her parched mouth. He repeated his motion as she responded weakly, her soft moans causing his heart to clench. Mesmerized by her, Korba brushed the matted locks of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her soft flesh. She murmured something, her sweet feminine voice causing his touch to falter. Then her head turned toward the shadowy man, and her eyes began to drift open.
Korba sprang from the bed and fled into the Command Center. She did not need to see another male, least of all one clad in black. But he would leave her only briefly. He moved to page Stose.
"Yes, Sire?"
"Where the hell are you?"
"On my way,
my Lord."
An indicator light flashed, and Korba allowed entry. Fremma stepped through the doors. "Marri, my Lord," he announced.
"Show her in."
Fremma stepped back through the door, and Marri walked in. She stopped just inside the entry and smiled at the Warlord.
Korba's mind acknowledged the fitted white gown, complete with a full, flowing skirt. The white accented Marri's dark skin and blue eyes, her black hair hanging loosely about her muscular shoulders.
"Do you approve, my Lord?" she asked, smiling as she twirled a full circle just before descending the stairs.
Korba did not move but nodded his countenance impassively. Marri realized that the onus of the conversation was on her. Approaching him coquettishly, her smile broadened. "Well, my Lord, to what do I owe this pleasure? Could it be that you have finally succumbed to my advances, your damnable protective shield finally failing?" She stepped up to the Warlord and wrapped her long arms about his neck.
Korba smiled back at the radiant woman. Her company was always welcome, but Korba removed her arms from his neck and kissed her chastely on her forehead. "Sorry, Marri," he said as he turned toward his quarters, "My summons of you is for business, not for pleasure. You are my most trusted female warrior, and I have a project for you."
Marri pouted playfully and then followed in his footsteps as he led her into his chambers, a sly smile returning to her face. She caught up to him just below the sleeping platform and grabbed his hand. She turned him toward her. Few people were allowed to touch their Commander with such familiarity, but Korba and Marri went back a long way together. Their relationship, although professional when pertaining to work, did have an informal quality to it. He enjoyed her aggressive advances most of the time, and tolerated them the rest.
"Oh, come on, Korba, let's stop being coy," she teased. "What project of yours could possibly require this type of dress? And no weapons allowed? I assume then that there won't be much of a struggle." She grinned mischievously. Marri's hands slid up the Warlord's smooth, muscular thighs and edged together at his groin. She pressed near him.