RIBUS 7

by Shae Mills

  Dar nodded his agreement. Tarn stared at the screen and added, "So ROPE's influence in decisions pertaining to the redirection of some shipments and the allocation of funds and priorities is what's causing the governmental destabilizations?"

  Korba nodded an affirmative.

  Dar remained quiet for a time and then spoke. "Now all we have to do is to estimate the odds of such a scenario being true."

  Korba was in deep concentration. "Yes. But if I'm right, and if all five planets are in use, the manpower required from our ships will be enormous. There is no telling the length of time it would take to remove the colonies, let alone track down the infiltrators. If it's an interminable job, we could hold up the progress of the battleships as the fighters can only travel so far, and that would undoubtedly interfere with Ticees's plans for us."

  Dar shrugged. "Obviously Ticees has taken this into account by asking us to investigate."

  "I'm not so sure," countered Korba. "He asked us to investigate only. I don't think the possibility of a ROPE involvement has occurred to him. Ticees looks at things from the position of a negotiator, not as a warrior."

  "Even so, investigations and diplomatic solutions take time," offered Dar.

  Korba sighed. "We were asked to investigate, yes, but even Ticees wouldn't trust us to negotiate or act as some sort of intermediary. I'm sure he thinks it is nothing and simply wants a report. If any mediation is required, he could send out a contingent of Imperial arbitrators from any number of sectors. No, he does not plan on any delays with the RIBUSes arriving home as ordered."

  Tarn tore his gaze from the screen. "I would say that ROPE is definitely involved, but that only three of the planets are in use." Tarn pointed to the three that he had selected.

  "Why?" asked Korba.

  "Because the dead zones on these two planets are too close to the heavily populated Sector 8. ROPE wouldn't jeopardize their activities being inadvertently picked up by a stray ship travelling in that area. Besides, Sector 8 has much better surveillance technology than the rest of the Rigilean system."

  "You could be right," Korba acknowledged. "When will our ships be within a reasonable range to send in fighters? I will want a fast strike without replenishing transports slowing things down. They can catch up once we are engaged."

  Tarn's eyebrows rose. "If we suspect ROPE, why would we send in fighters at all? Why wouldn't we simply bring the ships to bear and blow the planets to bits?"

  Korba drew in a deep breath. "If they are breeding colonies, the Guild will need genetic information. Incinerating the planets will obliterate all the evidence. Besides, the approach of two battleships would not go unnoticed. We could lose the kingpins before we even got within range."

  Tarn nodded and turned back to the computers, calling up more information. "Fighters will be in range within ten weeks on our present course. If we deviate around the Ziclon asteroid system, approximately six weeks."

  "No," Korba countered. "We'll continue on course. ROPE is cautious and observant, and they will expect us to pass through the belt, as they are no doubt aware of our presence and location. If we deviate in the direction of Rigil, they will be suspicious. They will have less time to react when the fighters are dispatched if they have had no warning prior to that event."

  Dar had been silent throughout the men's conversation. He knew the serious implications of ROPE breeding colonies and their potential effect on the Empire. They would be military colonies, heavily fortified and difficult to eradicate. And ROPE was militarily sophisticated. Though this was a tiny battlefield in the grand scheme of galactic warfare, the potential for massive losses was huge. He turned away and headed for his equipment. "I will begin drawing up contingency plans immediately, based on both the three-and the five-planet scenarios. I will present it to you next week, if that is adequate."

  Korba nodded. "That will be fine. It will give us the time we need to review and to report to Ticees."

  Tarn stood and looked at Korba. "I will return to the Bridge now, if you permit, Sire."

  Korba nodded at Tarn. "You may. I trust that you will be available instantly for future consultations on this."

  "Of course, my Lord. I will remain on board at all times." He replaced the hood of his shroud and tipped his head to Dar. "Commander, a pleasure, as always."

  Dar said nothing but bowed his head. Tarn turned and left.

  Korba settled himself as Dar took a few steps toward him, his eyes intent on Korba's face. Korba looked up at him, allowing his composure to slip a bit now that his officer had left.

  "There is only one critical, preemptive loose end to tie up," Dar began quietly as he studied his friend. "I assume that we will use equal personnel and equipment from both ships?"

  Korba nodded, and Dar continued. "I also assume, from what I have seen and from doing brief calculations in my mind, that the total mission should run around five months, or possibly longer if the situation is as drastic and volatile as perceived?" Dar waited for Korba's response.

  Korba remained fixed on Dar's eyes and nodded a cautious affirmative.

  Dar swallowed hard. "We cannot afford direct communications between the fighters and the battleships in the beginning. ROPE will pick up the transmissions and be forewarned. So one of us will have to lead the assault directly." Dar hesitated. "Who shall it be, you or me?"

  Korba looked at Dar for a brief time longer, his jaw set. Glancing up toward his sleeping quarters, Korba drew in a large breath.

  Dar knew what Korba's dilemma was, for normally the black-haired Warlord would have automatically assumed the position of ultimate commander. But Dar did not know exactly where his friend's relationship with his fascinating alien stood, and he decided to let Korba make the choice.

  "I will," Korba finally stated.

  Dar was taken slightly aback by Korba's response, but he did not ask for an explanation. He looked into the troubled eyes of his friend and nodded to him. "If you change your mind," he offered, "let me know."

  Korba smiled, and with that, Dar bowed his head to him and left.

  Korba was not entirely sure of his decision, but for now it did not matter. There was still ample time to change his mind, and he knew that Dar would be more than willing and happy to take over.

  Korba looked toward his chambers. He revered the act of strategic planning, he craved the exhilaration of war, he savored the excitement of the kill, and he reveled in the glory of victory. And if he was right about the whole battle scenario, this was going to be the mother of all battles, and he wanted it badly. So why was the thought of leaving Chelan so soon plaguing him? And indeed, could he bring himself to leave her at all?

  Chapter 17

  Chelan remained deathly still in Korba's bed as she listened to the conversation in the Command Center. She thought she recognized Korba's voice, but she was not sure. The language and its inflections were still too foreign. But she could tell that there were three men. She wondered if the voices belonged to Stose and Manza, or Fremma, or if she could add yet two more bodies to Korba's crew count.

  When first disturbed, Chelan felt a nearly irrepressible urge to seek out the identities of the men. But she finally convinced herself that exploring was not necessarily in her best interest, as the past had proven more than once. Besides, she knew intuitively that Korba would resent her intrusion, for it was appearing more and more to her as time went on that her presence, wherever she truly was, was not exactly common knowledge. She didn't know precisely why she felt that way, but it did add an interesting piece to her puzzling situation.

  Now, all seemed quiet. Chelan peered around her surroundings and immediately spied a neatly folded white gown on the bedside table. She smiled. He thought of everything. Carefully, she sat up and then paused. Her back felt much better. But she wasn't sure if it actually was improving, or if it was simply the ointment still at work. Her exposed flesh began to prickle, and she quickly donned her new gown.

  She eased out of bed, and as she stood, her
world spun, forcing her to take a moment to steady herself. A shooting pain traversed her temples, and a bright light flashed through her central vision, then dissipated. "What the hell?" she muttered. But as quickly as the episode hit her, it vanished. Chelan straightened herself and tried to refocus. It was obvious that she needed to be up and around more, she decided.

  Looking toward to the entrance, Chelan strained to net even the smallest of sounds that would alert her to anyone's presence, but she detected nothing. Softly and cautiously, she padded down the stairs on silent, bare feet. Near the entrance, she again paused, listening carefully while holding her breath. The cold air was banefully still, and she wondered if the Command Center was now empty. Timidly, she peeked out and saw no one. She took a tentative step forward, finally daring to breathe.

  The main chair swung around, and Korba faced her. Chelan jumped and suppressed a cry, her hands clutching at the breast of her dress.

  "Sorry," apologized Korba gently. He rose and started for her. "I didn't mean to frighten you." He stopped just below her while she caught her breath.

  Regaining her composure, Chelan spoke. "I didn't know if you were still here or not. I heard voices, and then all was quiet."

  Korba remained riveted to her, drinking her in with his eyes. He did not speak.

  Chelan felt suddenly self-conscious and then realized that the onus of the conversation was on her. "You had company?" she queried softly.

  Korba smiled. "Yes, but they're gone."

  Chelan fidgeted with her gown as she stared back at him. "Is there some sort of trouble, with the ship, I mean?"

  "No," he replied simply, his smile broadening. "All is well."

  Chelan waited for him to elaborate and then finally smiled back at him. "What are you staring at?"

  Korba nodded to her. "You. You're beautiful."

  Chelan blushed. Nervously, she ran her fingers through her tangled hair. Suddenly feeling bashful under his quiet scrutiny, she sought a temporary diversion. With her own fingers hopelessly ensnared in her long tresses, her salvation came to her. "Do you mind if I take a shower?" she asked shyly. "I think I need one."

  Korba nodded at her again. "Be my guest." And he took a step backward, thus relieving her of some pressure. "You may have one any time as long as the Command Center is clear. You do not have to ask."

  Chelan managed a small smile of relieved appreciation. She turned but then halted. "Oh, what about the ointment? Can I get the pad off?"

  "Sure," said Korba warmly. "It's just attached with a simple adhesive. Call if you need help."

  "Thank you," she replied in a whisper. Chelan hesitated again, rendered temporarily spellbound by his radiant smile. "Uh... the bar on the edge of the shower..." Her voice trailed off as she searched for words. She glanced down and then looked back into Korba's inquiring eyes. "Can I use it, I mean, is it safe?" Chelan was flustered, and she averted her eyes, her skin pinking.

  Korba chuckled and turned away from her, moving back toward the consoles. He threw a glance over his shoulder at her. "Yes, Chelan, it is safe to use everywhere."

  Chelan promptly turned a bright red. She spun on her heel and briskly scampered into the workout area. God, she thought to herself, what an idiot I am. She was sure that he now considered her a blathering adolescent, and her stomach churned.

  She entered the shower area quickly, immediately pushing the awkward conversation into a secluded corner in her mind. She was removing her gown when another spike of pain penetrated her head, this one deeper and stronger than the last. Her world tilted, and an aura of shimmering lights traversed her vision. Chelan steadied herself against a counter. Maybe it was the ointment. Surely that was it, some sort of reaction to the medication. Taking a deep breath, she shook herself from a daze that threatened, and tried to concentrate on the task at hand.

  Chelan disrobed quickly and then braced herself for the icy onslaught, but she was pleasantly surprised by the water's soothing warmth. She wondered if he had adjusted the temperature for her, and then she smiled to herself. Of course he had.

  She took a cursory look behind her to see if he was there, but she was alone... well... as far as she could tell, she was. Chelan grabbed the blue-white bar and coated her body and hair quickly with its cleansing effects. She was still in awe of the magical substance, and someday she would have to ask him about its qualities.

  Chelan wanted to linger in the warmth, but she was too self-conscious, still worried about possible intrusions. Stepping out, the water once again slid from her like beads from a well-oiled surface. She dressed hurriedly and started back toward the Command Center, praying that Korba would still be there. As she rounded the entrance, she detected a movement to her right from the sleeping area. Chelan turned and watched Korba descending the stairs. Her first gut reaction was that her privacy was being infringed upon. But she quickly quelled her feelings, angry at herself for even thinking such a thing. The room was his, and it was she who was the intruder.

  Korba's eyes met hers as he brushed by her and headed toward the workout area. "Come here," he requested, smiling at her as he passed.

  Chelan followed him obediently. Once inside the cavernous room, he led her over to a large bench and offered her a seat. She watched him as he sat down beside her and reached for her shoulders. Gently, he turned her away from him.

  "I believe that this is long overdue," he said softly.

  Chelan flinched as she felt him run both hands down her hair. She remained very still as he began combing out the multitude of tangles and mats. Chelan didn't know what he was using as she hadn't noticed him holding anything beforehand. But whatever it was, it was soothing, and she closed her eyes and finally relaxed. He was incredibly patient, not to mention gentle, and she did not feel one single strand pulled from her head. In what seemed to be a very short length of time, she once again felt his hands run the length of her hair as he laid it softly down her slender back. Then he was still.

  Chelan could feel his gaze upon her. Shyly, she turned to face him. As she did, his eyes traced over her, and she looked away, blushing. He reached to her and pulled the sides of her hair forward, his hands letting the long locks fall gracefully down her chest.

  Chelan peered at the glistening strands of golden-brown silk, and she gathered the ends in her hands, marveling at how straight her hair now lay. Obviously, whatever he had used was not a simple comb. She smiled and looked up into his adoring eyes. "Thank you," she uttered softly.

  He simply smiled back at her and reached for her hand. He placed a comb-like instrument into her palm. "It's yours," he whispered. With one hand he brushed back a few tendrils that strayed along the side of her face, his fingers tracing tenderly along her jaw. He watched as she looked down at the comb, bashfully avoiding his study. He placed a finger under her chin and raised her face. Then he leaned to her and took her pretty lips.

  Chelan felt her body liquefy. His kiss was long and tender, his taste foreign and heady. He was smooth, he was attentive, he was masterful, and he was simply delicious. But it was his scent that truly captivated her. It infused into her, enrapturing her, a pheromone that seemed to leave her love-struck. All she wanted was to get as close to him as she could, to bathe in him and to be bathed by him. He was all male, and he was pure sex.

  His kiss left no part of her mouth untouched. His gentle, oral caress belied the lethal strength she felt emanating from him, yet she cared not that he could do with her as he pleased. Her skin flushed at her own carnal thoughts, wishing she could will his kisses lower, and her breasts ached at the thought of what she yearned for him to do.

  Then he released her and looked between them. "I have much to do," he whispered, his voice a deep rumble. "And you have much to learn."

  Chelan swallowed hard. At the moment, she didn't want to learn anything. She just wanted him, all of him.

  The last thing Korba wanted to do was stop, but he needed to attend to his command. Drawing on every morsel of restraint he had left, he sto
od.

  Chelan's eyes followed him, and then she rose to meet him, feeling oddly uncomfortable about sitting in his presence. But her knees wobbled, and Korba instantly steadied her.

  "Now," he said, "I have something set up for you in the Command Center." Sure she was stable, he turned and beckoned her to follow. Once at the main console, he offered her a seat at one of the terminals and then sat down in his own chair beside her.

  "I know Marri briefly introduced you to some superficial information, but I have loaded a wealth of material about our culture and our people in here," he explained. "There is also some general information on the Empire and its history. The planet we are heading for, my home planet, and now the home of the Empire, is known as Iceanea. There is also a history of it, a recent accounting of its peoples, and a history of its geology and geography from recorded past to present."

  Chelan gazed at him, her eager mind barely able to contain its enthusiasm over what he had just presented to her.

  Korba smiled, delighted at her keenness. He continued as he pointed back to the screen. "But most importantly, here is our language." He hit a few buttons and then turned to her. "It is complicated, and the process of becoming familiar with it will be difficult, but necessary. I will help you with it whenever I can, but the rest will be up to you. To make sure that you stay on track, all the information I told you about will be written in a graduation between the two languages."

  Korba paused, her fawn like eyes momentarily distracting him. "To begin with," he continued, "the computer has translated the start of each subject area directly into your English. Over time, as you read further, the more detailed and interesting information will progressively be written in our language. By the time you get to the end, all the material will be in Iceanean. It is the universal language of the Empire, and you will need it so that you may function in our culture. You will not survive without it."