RIBUS 7

by Shae Mills

  Chelan actually gasped at the length of the list, which documented each desirable feature and its range of acceptability. Prime Breeders, which Dar said Marri was, had to be within acceptable ranges throughout 96 percent of the parameters. Contained within the main file were a list of specific traits that were mandatory for Prime Breeders to possess, with most emphasis being applied to IQ, mental and emotional stability, and overall physical health. These, along with other attributes deemed essential, required that the Prime Breeder be rated within the 98th percentile, or their status was dropped.

  Farther down the list were features deemed desirable, but their acceptability ranges were less stringent, although, Chelan noted, not that much less so. Traits in this category documented all body dimensions and went so far as to include such fine details as finger length and foot size. Facial attractiveness was also considered paramount.

  Chelan drew a deep breath. She had noticed that quality in the few people she had met. Putting it bluntly, they were all beautiful. Chelan raised her brows. They were simply perfect. But why would a race of warriors require such a quality? She would have to ask someone at some point.

  She then looked back at the material and pushed on. The main thrust of the directives behind the Prime Breeder's high standards was exclusively directed toward producing exceptional human war machines. Whole lineages, and each individual contained within the genetic lines, were further tested and screened for certain characteristics. These attributes included reaction times, power and strength ratios, stamina, oxygen uptake and lung capacity, visual acuity, the ability to function under stress, and the ability to withstand g-forces and antigravity fields. Other areas recorded and tabulated went so far as to measure healing times of wounds and the ability to resist infections. Records of battles won and lost in the training fields were also meticulously documented for each individual. Any substandard performance in any of the specified areas resulted in a loss of breeding status and the possibility of exclusion from military service.

  Chelan scrolled through the copious amounts of data, noticing immediately that the charts focused on three specific lineages and their accumulation of desirable characteristics. These three very strong lines seemed to produce far more offspring than all the rest. Her eyes travelled down one of the lists, and they widened as she came to Dar's name. The symbols indicated that he was considered a Prime Breeder, but one of unusually high quality. Chelan gaped at the hundreds of women's names tabulated under his and the hoards of ensuing offspring.

  Chelan could barely regain control of her breathing; her stomach was in a knot. Quickly, she began to type in the symbols that correlated with Dar's breeding status, and began to search for information on him specifically and on anyone else close to his parameters. After a few seconds, the computer flashed a lineage line produced by a man named Toran. Chelan had heard the name before and knew that he was the Commander of another battleship.

  Chelan's apprehension quickly turned into curiosity and excitement. She asked the computer to search again, but this time the screen came up blank. Dar and Toran were nearly perfect. "What about Korba?" she questioned out loud, her fingers typing quickly. Finally, in exasperation, she sat back. No matter what she tried, the Warlord seemed to not exist.

  Trying a different approach, she called up Dar's name again and went to the section that listed all his genetic traits and the status of each feature. Dar's were all exceptional, with one major problem showing up under hair coloring. "Some problem!" she quipped, giggling at the note.

  Suddenly, she stopped and concentrated. Korba's got to be perfect, she thought to herself, and a faint ache reappeared in her chest. Chelan typed in Dar's genetic status symbols and began upping their percentages slightly where she could. Most traits, such as muscle proportion and density, muscle tone, fast and slow twitch fibers, nerve actuation, reaction times, ligament strength, body dimensions, skin tone, fine muscle coordination, flexibility, overall strength, and visual perception, were impossible to upgrade beyond their 100 percent level. Others, such as reasoning ability, emotional control, muscle control, nerve and glandular control, predictability, control over heart rates and blood volumes, basal metabolism, and IQ, she could only raise an infinitesimal amount.

  Then she stopped. "Think, Chelan, think." She chewed at her lip, and then her eyes lit. She called up a section on guidelines for warriors, and typed in predictability. It was as she suspected. For the military elite, such as Dar, higher points were scored for being unpredictable.

  Chelan typed in self-control, and several subdivisions appeared. Higher points were given for sexual control and for emotional and physical self-control when dealing with equals and superiors. However, higher points were also given for lower control when dealing with inferiors and when in the battlefield under extreme conditions. Chelan wondered how they could walk such a fine line between the two situations, but she decided that their training probably had a lot to do with it, rather than pure genetics alone.

  Chelan then scoured the charts for the subdivisions for physical control, and the computer displayed an enormous list of qualities complete with their percentiles as they pertained to Dar. The list went on and on, and she was flabbergasted at the degree of detail that was obviously rigorously monitored. The Iceaneans were simply the elite of human specimens and were basically flawless.

  She drew a deep breath and continued her search for information on Korba. She returned to Dar's statistics. Smiling again, she raised the percentage for hair coloring way up and adjusted a few more minor details. Her finger hovered over the Enter button. She could barely contain her excitement as butterflies abounded in her nervous stomach.

  Finally, she hit the key, and Korba's name flashed in front of her. Chelan sucked in a breath, actually feeling proud of him. But when she advanced the screen, she sat back in her chair, stunned by what she read. There was no list of women or offspring under his name. It simply read, LINE DISCONTINUED.

  Chelan rubbed her brow in confusion. "Any questions?" came Fremma's voice behind her.

  Chelan was nearly startled out of her chair. She turned and glared up at him. The smile on his face indicated to her that he was obviously pleased with the reaction he had extracted from her.

  While Chelan stilled her pounding heart, Fremma bent over and peered at the screen, a glass of water in one hand. "Ah," he said, pointing to the information, "if you want an answer to that one, you'll have to ask Korba himself."

  Chelan swiveled in her chair so that she could face him directly. "No one knows?" she asked in amazement.

  "No. Including the irate Breeding Guild." Fremma sipped his drink, and hesitated. "Maybe Dar knows, but no one else that I am aware of."

  "Can't the Emperor force him?" Chelan asked, her voice rising.

  Fremma smiled down at her. "If you could come up with a safe way to force a superior physical specimen like Korba, with all his military might, security, and loyal men, to take time out to breed without doing bodily harm to him when he's already made up his mind not to cooperate under any circumstances"—Fremma drew a deep breath—"then you would be the richest, most valued, most pampered Imperial subject the galaxy has ever seen."

  Chelan stared into thin air, her mind racing.

  "So," interjected Fremma, his voice interrupting her thoughts, "any other questions? Ones that I can hopefully answer?"

  Chelan smiled at him as he sat himself down in the seat next to her and nursed his water. "Are you a Prime Breeder?"

  Fremma's eyes widened at her unfamiliar directness. He paused for a moment before answering. "Yes, I am," he replied, regaining a slight smile.

  Chelan tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair as she mused. "How many are there?"

  "It varies from year to year, but probably about twelve hundred men, and approximately one hundred thousand women on Iceanea alone." He hesitated. "But the computer could tell you for sure."

  Chelan leaned forward and looked deep into his beautiful blue eyes. She grinned li
ke a Cheshire cat. "So what do you do, send in a sperm sample once a month?"

  Fremma tipped back in his chair and laughed uproariously, taking Chelan by surprise. Collecting himself, he looked back at her and shook his head in amusement. "At times, I wish it were that easy and that simple." He leaned forward while taking another sip of his water, his eyes never leaving hers.

  Chelan was not sure she wanted to continue the conversation, but her curiosity had the best of her. "So," she began apprehensively, "what does happen?"

  Fremma grinned, contemplating whether or not the shy woman would appreciate his answer. He hung his head for a moment, and then looked up at her. "Well, several times a year, when a group of women come into estrus, the Guild selects one of us to impregnate them. Sperm samples cannot be used because of possible tampering, manipulations, mishandling, or fraud. So if you are chosen, and each man is, usually once a year depending on his location and mission, you are temporarily relieved of duty, and you spend however long it takes back on Iceanea to create successful pregnancies. And that depends on the number of receptive women, which usually is between five and twenty, sometimes more."

  Chelan sat still, utterly aghast. "You have to actually sleep with them?" she exclaimed in a strained whisper.

  Fremma winked at her and whispered back, his voice teasing. "Yes, you have to sleep with them." He chuckled, "And because of their status, in the case of Dar and Toran and a few chosen others, the impregnation is witnessed and documented directly by a couple of Guild members, just for added certainty."

  Chelan nearly felt ill at that thought. "But you don't even know them, the women I mean. How can you..." Her sentence broke off as she shook her head with disgust.

  Fremma smiled at her reaction. Then he reclined comfortably into his seat. "Dar told me about the discussion you two had, and he filled me in on many of your world's mores, or more specifically, yours. So I don't find your reaction surprising." Fremma was silent for a moment, and then his face became serious. For some reason, her disapproval of his world's breeding agenda suddenly struck him personally. He had never thought anything about his role in it, and now feeling defensive, he sought to make a point she would not forget. He sat up and placed his glass on the console. "At the risk of sounding conceited, I'm going to put you on the spot."

  Chelan stiffened slightly as he drew his chair close to her.

  "If you had been raised all your life to believe that there was nothing wrong with the Breeding Guild, and that its doctrine benefitted the people and the Empire as a whole, and you wanted to do your part for the Empire as a contributing and loyal subject"—he hesitated as he shifted closer to her, staring deep into her brown eyes, his voice lowering—"would you get upset at spending a couple of nights with Dar, or me, or someone like us?"

  Chelan swallowed hard, temporarily transfixed by his eyes. She flinched. "That's not fair," she whispered back to him.

  "Why?" he questioned softly.

  "I know you."

  "How well?" he countered, a smile touching his lips. "Well enough to marry me, since that is a preferred requirement of some in your culture?"

  "No," came her indignant reply. "Of course not."

  Fremma slipped out of his chair onto his knees in front of her. He kept his eyes riveted to her as he removed his gloves. And then, ever so seductively, he slithered out of his jacket.

  Chelan's muscles tightened but she remained calm, remembering Dar's words and praying that they were true. Impulsively, her eyes flickered over Fremma's perfect body, his rich skin, and his well-defined muscles. His long blue-black hair cascaded over his sculptured shoulders and down his powerful chest. His abdominals were like corrugated steel, melding perfectly into his hard, flat pelvis. Chelan found herself oscillating between heated anticipation and muted wariness.

  Slowly, he reached for her knees, his hands gently caressing her as he parted her legs slightly. He inched forward. Fremma kept his eyes on hers as he reached for her face. Softly, he stroked her creamy skin, and she closed her eyes to his gentle touch. His thumb traced her satin-smooth lips as one hand slipped behind her head, holding her still. His fingers then slid down her throat, feathering over her neck, and trailing away just before reaching her breasts. He leaned into her.

  Fremma's lips brushing over her skin like a whisper left her dazed. She could smell his male scent, its combination with his sensual touch melting her from within. His hand tangled in her hair, drawing her head back and exposing her slender neck fully to him. Then she felt his tongue taste her sensitive flesh, the moistness of his lips sending shock waves throughout her being.

  Chelan felt herself flush, and an unexpected and unfamiliar warmth flowed between her legs. Every muscle in her body clenched with desire. She felt weak, powerless to move. His lips trailed up her neck, his tongue tasting her jaw, her cheek, and finally her lips. Chelan moaned, and he entered her soft mouth, caressing her inner warmth with his tongue, exploring, penetrating.

  Chelan ignored her escalating dilemma and caved in to her body's stubborn demands, responding instantly to him, her tongue meeting his in mutual pleasure. Her hands grazed his chest, his hot skin singeing her fingertips.

  Slowly, he withdrew from her and looked down into her beautiful face. Then, he returned to her, nuzzling her ear, nipping her lobe, savoring her. "Do you know me well enough now to make love to me?" he whispered, his voice a low rumble.

  Chelan's eyes flew open, and she sucked in a breath as she realized that she had been ensnared. He had made his point blatantly clear.

  Fremma also knew that he had gone far enough to make his case, but he had felt her body respond to him, and he could smell her readiness. He knew that he should withdraw, but he was unable. He kissed her mouth again, and she reciprocated, her hands tenderly kneading his fevered flesh. He moaned at her touch, her fingers igniting a fire banked deep within his soul, a fire he had always carefully avoided fueling with her.

  His respiration took off, and he closed his eyes. He returned to her neck, consuming her passionately while his hands caressed her hair, her shoulders, her arms. Then once again he withdrew slightly, her sweet scent and soft touch beginning to cloud his control. He kissed her ear. "Answer me, Chelan," he demanded in a deep growl.

  Chelan was completely flustered. He was a sexual menace, and he had her cornered. Her answer was yes pertaining to the original argument, but a yes spoken now would put things beyond her control. Her hands were trembling as she slid them up his chest to his shoulders. She pushed against him gently. He respected her pressure and pulled back from her, his hands still holding her firmly. She saw the lust that filled his eyes, his massive, bronze chest rising and falling rhythmically and deeply.

  Her body was bursting with a primal need. She wanted him, all of him, and the intensity of her desire stunned her. Every fiber of her being yearned to be filled by him. Then she froze, entranced, as she watched him slowly and lasciviously slip one of his hands down his abdomen toward his uniform. Chelan's eyes followed his hand's path, and she gasped when she beheld the extent of his arousal. He was huge, and he was more than ready to take her.

  All of her earthly values suddenly crashed in on her at once, activating what was left of her senses as she clung tenuously to her loyalty to Korba. She drew back farther and dared to look into his eyes. His regard was that of heated passion, while hers was that of profound apology. She touched his lips gently with her long, tapered fingers and watched as his eyes closed and his breathing stopped. Suddenly, she looked away from him. She clasped her hands tightly together at her chest. "Oh god, I'm so sorry," she uttered quietly. She looked back at him, and sucked in a shaky breath. "The answer is yes," she whimpered, "but I can't."

  Chapter 24

  Several days had passed since Chelan's sensual encounter with Fremma, and her subsequent meetings with him had been stiff on her part, but only briefly. She learned quickly that he held nothing against her for her decision, and soon she was once again caught up in his playful humor an
d easygoing personality.

  He had never again approached her physically, and Chelan was increasingly drawn to him out of curiosity as to his true feelings toward her. She was much too timid to ask him outright, but just spending time in his attentive company was more than enough. However, as time went on, she was constantly set upon by her body's betrayal of her suppressed desire. She was fighting a losing battle, so to compensate, she buried herself in her studies.

  She had begun to speak Iceanean with the gentle warrior and was progressing rapidly. Fremma soon ceased speaking English, forcing her to learn even faster. She was also covering the material in the computer at an astonishing rate, taking time out from reading and speaking with Fremma only to use some free weights in the workout area and to sleep, which she did as little as possible.

  Today she woke up a little groggier than usual and decided a shower was first on her agenda before settling at the computer. She walked out into the bright Command Center and noticed that Fremma was absent. She padded into the workout area, her vision straining against the darkness, but it too was empty. Relieved to be alone, she hustled to the wash area. There, she slid out of her gown and entered the shower, cringing under the cold water. She had been too shy to ask Dar to change the temperature as Korba had done, but the water was refreshing, and she meticulously cleaned her flowing hair beneath its icy fingers.

  Chelan didn't linger. She grabbed a towel from a nearby table and attempted to rub some warmth back into her chilled skin. Then she stood in front of the strange mirrors and glanced at herself, but this time she did not simply move off and get dressed. Slowly, she let the towel fall and looked intently at her new body. She had lost all her extra weight, approximately thirty pounds of it, she guessed, and she was pleased with her five-foot-nine-inch frame. She had been exercising regularly over the past few weeks when she was alone, and the weights were beginning to add definition to her smooth muscles.

  Chelan gazed at her generous, upright breasts, half wishing she had a bra to make sure they stayed that way. But right now all was in place, and that would have to do. She stared momentarily at her hard, dark nipples, their contrast to her milky white skin strangely erotic even to her.