by Shae Mills
Chelan's excitement instantly turned into anxiety as though a switch had been flipped, but she was determined to concentrate on the windfall of knowledge he was offering her. She looked deep into his azure eyes as she tried to prioritize her questions, but the words were not forming. Another sudden bolt of light bisected her field of view. She squeezed her eyes tight and then looked back to the screen, her own language taking on unfamiliar forms. But that was okay, he had just said that the language would change, right? When she looked back at him, his eyes appeared to fade to a crystalline blue, but then that was normal too. After all, he was alien, wasn't he? She forced her mind into submission, gathering her nebulous thoughts. "When we reach Iceanea, will you be leaving me?"
Korba had not expected such a far-reaching and pointed question from her so soon. He considered his answer very carefully. "My career is a hard life, Chelan, and a dangerous one. I cannot always be around to protect you."
Chelan could feel the grim grip of alarm infringing on her senses, and she searched his eyes frantically. "Protect me from what?"
"You have so much to learn before I can answer that. In some ways our life is simple; in other ways it is very complicated and exceedingly harsh."
Chelan felt panic consuming her as her earlier happiness was ripped from her. A morbid sense of despair returned, and she stared at her hands in her lap. She remained quiet and unmoving. She wanted to go home, and she was rapidly losing her ability to cope. With her jaw set, she looked back into his handsome face. "Just what all does your career entail? I mean, I know you are a Commander, but who or what do you command?"
He sat back in his chair and watched her. He did not relish this moment at all. "I'm a warrior," he began. "I use force to suppress uprisings when all other avenues have been exhausted."
Chelan drew a shaky breath. "We have soldiers on Earth for exactly those reasons. They go off to battle, and some don't return. But most do, and that's the chance you take if you become involved with one of them." Chelan could hardly believe what she had just implied, but she didn't care. She didn't want to lose this man, for right now he was not only her soul source of security but also her one frail link to sanity.
"Chelan, you don't understand my position yet, not my standing in my culture, nor my status within the Empire. It is much more complicated than that, and much more complicated than you expect."
"Then help me learn about you," she asserted. "I need to learn." She hesitated, her voice softening. "I want to learn."
Korba admired her fortitude. As to whether he would, or could, leave her once they reached Iceanea, he himself was not sure. Rather than struggling with the question, he had decided to see what happened between them as the trip progressed. But what he could not bring himself to tell her was that he could be leaving her sooner than she expected, and that fact was beginning to gnaw at him. Regardless, he was feeling more than ever that it was necessary for him to go. The mission was volatile and fraught with unknowns. The Empire required the best to lead it, and he was that man. In addition, he wanted to see how she would function without his guidance, especially as she learned more about him and his culture. She was bright, intuitive, and resilient, and how she assimilated the information and reacted to it would be crucial to determining her role in their world. But more importantly, he wanted to see how he functioned without her. Right now, for reasons he couldn't process completely, he was totally obsessed with her, and that realization made him uneasy.
Chelan finally broke the silence, trying to appear brave. "So how do you activate this thing?" she asked, staring at the keyboard.
Korba hesitated and then drew closer. "This activates it"—he hit a button—"and it's already directly connected to the mainframe computer so you do not have to issue any further commands to it specifically." Korba looked at her. "Are you familiar with the computers of your world?"
Chelan's eyes narrowed as another bolt of pain hit, this one radiating down her spine. "What do you know of our world's computers?" she asked with an unintended hint of hostility.
"I don't know anything personally, but a group of beings known as the Telesians do, and from what sketchy data they were able to supply recently, we duplicated their knowledge. This keyboard, although archaic, approximates what data we have on your computer systems. Can you use it?"
Chelan's vision cleared as the pain receded. She looked down at the keyboard and automatically began typing proficiently. Instantly, she called up a menu and began sifting through the subjects available to her. Her mind wandered over the material, but as hard as she tried to focus, her heart was not in it. She could no longer concentrate. Her fingers ceased their motion, and she sat quietly and stared blankly at the screen.
Korba felt for her, but he didn't know how to help. He had too many thoughts and emotions of his own to sort through, and his efforts to console the grieving woman would be ineffective. Finally he spoke. "When you have progressed completely to Iceanean, I will show you how to use our technology. There are centers that can be attuned to your voice, and all the information from multiple sources can be extracted verbally. As you progress through the language area, this computer will aid you orally. Though this keyboard is primitive by our standards, it will still allow you to access chosen subject areas loaded in the universe's most powerful mainframe." He paused. "Any questions?" he asked quietly.
"No... thank you," she said weakly, still staring at the screen. Chelan's world spun again. She thought about telling him that she was feeling odd, but she was too timid. And whatever it was, she was sure it would pass.
Korba was still searching for ways to help ease her worries when Chelan unexpectedly rose from her chair.
Suddenly, she didn't feel at all well. Her stomach was in turmoil, and the pain in her head was back with a vengeance. The anxiety of the revelation that her future was far from certain and secure was overtaking her rapidly. She could no longer think coherently, and she noticed that the palms of her hands were sweating profusely. Her world corkscrewed through space, and her thoughts ruptured into shards.
It is all a lie, she told herself suddenly. A deception. She was the brunt of some ill-conceived experiment, a lab animal for some warped group of people. These were not aliens, and she was nothing to them. Korba was... she didn't know what he was, and she clutched at her gown. She liked the man, but he was like all the others she had known. He was out for himself and she did not matter to him..
A profound depression wound its tendrils about her mind in a matter of seconds, staggering her. She felt almost disembodied. Her heart was racing, and she began to look frantically for a distraction. What was left of her faculties told her to sit down and talk to the gentle man, but she was becoming oddly irrational. She could feel herself slipping away from all semblances of reality. She furrowed her brow in an attempt to focus. "Could you show me how to use the exercise equipment?" she asked quickly, not looking at him.
Korba was slightly unprepared for her question considering the present atmosphere. "Certainly," he responded guardedly. He rose very slowly. "But not until your back heals." He had now detected all the rapid, drastic changes in her body chemistry, and he was becoming concerned. He reached for her shoulder, but Chelan swung under him and turned her back to him.
"Could I learn now, please? I won't use any of the equipment until I am well."
Korba felt the bite in her voice, and his muscles tensed. "It would be easier to learn everything if I could demonstrate the equipment with you, setting it up for your body dimensions and—"
Chelan flew at him as the last of her mental and emotional resources collapsed. She pounded her fists against his chest in frustration and pain. She needed to fight. She needed to get away. And she needed to escape now.
Korba was mystified. He could have easily prevented her blows but chose not to.
Chelan struck the unflinching man again and cried out. "Who are you? What are you? What do you want from me? What do you want?" She looked up to him, her eyes wild. "I am n
ot one of you, and I don't belong. Why did you take me away from my family?"
She was wracked by sobs. She wrapped her arms about herself defensively and edged backward. "Run!" a voice shouted in her head. Chelan was momentarily staggered by the cerebral intrusion.
Korba took a step toward her. All he wanted to do was comfort her, and he reached for her to draw her to him. But Chelan recoiled from his touch and bolted up the stairs away from him.
Turning, she yelled down at him. "What am I to you?" she shrieked. "Just a lab rat to experiment on, to stick knives into to see if I bleed? Why didn't you leave me to those two vultures, Stose and Manza, or were they tired of me?"
The Warlord was genuinely dismayed. He had never witnessed such behavior before, and he was at a loss as to what precipitated such an extreme reaction. He took a few tentative steps toward her, his thoughts in turmoil.
Chelan winced, the voice returning. "He will get you... he will hurt you..." She backed up from him, pointing a trembling finger at him. "Or is that it? Maybe you're not a Commander at all. Maybe you're a lowlife subordinate, assigned to extract whatever you can from me for them. Maybe your superiors know exactly what strings to pull, caging me with someone as stunning as you."
Chelan's head throbbed, and her gut wrenched. She just wanted to die. With the last of her strength, her voice hoarse, she attacked again. "Space? So just what is your assignment, alien man? To manipulate me to your bed to see if our two species can conceive? Why don't you just rape me so that we can get it over with?"
Chelan grabbed at her gown and whirled toward her room, running up and inside. She threw herself on the bed, her back spasming with pain. But she did not care. She actually hoped that the pain would kill her. She clutched at her head. She was hyperventilating, but she couldn't help it.
Korba nearly stumbled on the first stair, his chest heaving. What had he done? What had gone wrong? Rape her? The words slammed against his skull. He had killed many a man for crimes much less heinous than rape, and her accusation and inference split him at his core. Before he knew what he was doing, he was in motion, his powerful muscles catapulting him up the stairs of his chambers.
Chelan's eyes were wild with fear. Screaming, she pushed herself with her legs to the far side of the bed, attempting to scramble away from the ebony demon before her.
Korba caught her ankle in midstride, dragging her back across the bed. "Chelan!" he shouted. "I'm not going to hurt you!"
Chelan kicked at him as he went to restrain her. "No! Stay away!" she screamed. "Let me go!" she shrieked as he straddled her waist and pinned her flailing arms. Chelan shut her eyes as she thrashed about desperately.
Korba grated his teeth as he tried to balance a fine line between enough pressure to hold her but not enough to hurt her. "Chelan!" he yelled.
Chelan wrenched against his grip and then glared up into his glowing eyes. "Go ahead!" she spat. "I've been forced before!" And her struggles suddenly ceased as she tilted her head up and away from him, squeezing her eyes tight.
Her sobs clawed at his soul, her words shredding his heart. She had been forced before? And she expected him to repeat such a vile act? Emotionally and physically worn, he felt her body go limp beneath him, surrendering completely to him. Slowly, he lifted himself off of her, releasing her hands. He watched in stunned silence as she rolled onto her side, curling away from him into a fetal position.
For the first time in his life, Korba was at a loss as to what to do. He wanted to embrace her, to console her, but he knew that he should not touch her. He wanted to talk to her, but he realized that in her present state, there was no point.
He collapsed on the bed beside her, staring up at the ceiling, emotionally drained. He had been wrong all along. The situation had been hopeless from the beginning. He had been a fool to give his heart to an alien, and Dar's lecture reverberated in his head.
Suddenly, the mission to Rigil tasted even sweeter to him, and he closed his eyes tightly. His mind was now made up. He would definitely lead the mission. He longed for the battle; every muscle in his body coiled tight. He was a fighter, and he was the best, a Warlord like the Empire had never experienced before. He was made of steel, and so was his heart. He was a finely tuned killing machine, and killing was precisely what he truly hungered for. The only thing that could quench the present maelstrom within him was the blood of others.
The young woman remained motionless. He tensed his rippling stomach muscles, slowly raising himself into a sitting position. He swung his legs over the edge of his bed, glancing momentarily behind him at the pathetic alien creature. Korba ran his hands through his thick, black mane. Resting his arms on his thighs, he let his head fall forward, his hair cascading down the sides of his face. His mind went temporarily blank as the marrow in his bones turned to frozen sludge. After a moment, he rose and strode from the room.
He headed into the training area and knelt by the pool, splashing some of the icy water onto his face. Suddenly, he stood, tearing his uniform from himself. With the speed and agility of an Olympian, he knifed into the tranquil blue water and began to swim the length of the massive pool. His bronze arms caught the dim lighting of the room as he continued to drive himself relentlessly. Lap after lap he persisted, and time pressed on. Finally, he hoisted himself from the frigid depths and sat on the edge of the pool. His legs dangled in the water, and his chest heaved almost painfully. He raised one leg and rested his forehead on his bent knee, his fatigued arms limp at his side.
It was ridiculous, he thought to himself as his mind began to clear. Dar was right, as usual. It was nothing other than her exotic alien beauty that had put him in this position, and he was no longer going to be compromised by such useless aesthetic whims. There were plenty of beautiful, not to mention willing, Iceanean women for him, and they all had the desirable characteristics Chelan did not. They all possessed superb genetics, excellent conditioning, stable emotions, and most of all, they shared his common ancestry and culture. His people were a nation of warriors, and Chelan typified nearly every culture he had been trained to eradicate.
Korba whipped his head back, his hands wringing out the excess water from his hair. He stood and stretched out each powerful muscle individually. Tomorrow he would arrange for someone else to take over her care. It was time he immersed himself fully in the command of his ship and with the new mission, which involved being on the Bridge rather than in his chambers with her.
He would allow Chelan to remain in his quarters simply because there was no place else to keep her discreetly. Besides, if she stayed in the Command Center, he could keep an eye on her. At the moment, just why he would even allow her to live eluded him, but for reasons defying all logic, he could not bring himself to kill her now.
Korba was content with his decision for the time being, and he proceeded to dress with a new and fresh appreciation of his military garb and the position and duties it bestowed upon him. He took a deep and cleansing breath as he did up his jacket.
Just as he was about to leave the training area, an unexpected concern crept into his mind, and he wondered about Chelan's back. He knew that their struggle would have renewed her agony. But shaking his head, he called upon his years of mental discipline and obliterated the thought from his mind. She knew where the ointment was, and she knew how to apply it.
Chapter 18
Korba awoke early after only a few hours of sleep. Raising himself from the bed in a small hidden room in his training area, he stretched his muscles and then began walking toward the Command Center. At the entrance to his sleeping quarters, he paused, wondering how she was doing. He contemplated checking on her but then thought better of it. Yesterday she'd had made her preferences pretty clear.
Entering the central command area, he automatically began a check of all system readouts and then verified the ship's location and course. Confident that everything was in order, he moved to the end of the main console and donned his shroud. Once its voluminous material was tacked down
properly, he pressed a small switch. A hidden compartment slid into view, and he removed two lazguns from its depths. He checked the settings on both weapons and then drew them inside his shroud, where he attached them to his waist.
Punching an intercom button, Korba spoke. "Fremma."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Come in, please."
The main doors parted, and Fremma strode in. The Warlord glanced at the warrior while he made some final adjustments to his shroud. "Fremma," he began, "I'm taking you off your regular duty for an extended length of time and giving you another assignment."
Fremma remained motionless, silently awaiting his orders.
"I want you to take the main VIP quarters across the corridor for a time, possibly seven or eight months at the least. Right now, I am resuming my command to the fullest capacity. Shortly, I will be leading the assault against the ROPE forces causing trouble in the Rigilean system. Your assignment will be to look after Chelan and her needs, answer her questions, and help her to become familiar with our language and our culture."
Korba paused and searched Fremma's eyes for signs of reaction, but found only strict obedience. Korba continued. "The main objectives of your assignment will be to keep her presence furtive and to keep her out of trouble. During this time, she may remain in my quarters." Korba shifted his weight. "Any questions?"
Fremma's mind worked quickly, looking for answers to explain this sudden turn of events. But he knew it was not his place to question. "No, my Lord," came his inevitable response.
"Fine," said Korba, ascending the steps and passing by Fremma. He stopped near the doors and turned back to the warrior. "I have transferred all the known files on Calley's cultures along with information on the language, English, to the system in the VIP suite. You may look them over as you see fit. I have decided to move you to the diplomatic suite both for convenience and as a small token of my appreciation for what you are about to undertake. I am now heading for the Bridge, and you may begin moving whatever you need to your new quarters. Spend the next week relaxing and brushing up on English. You'll need it until she can master some semblance of our language. In the meantime, she can keep occupied with some data I have loaded for her in the mainframe. I will keep an eye on her until you are ready to take over her full care."