by Shae Mills
Korba eyed the cavern's contents briefly, registering the large volume of explosives and weaponry. He glanced at a handheld sensor, and it indicated all clear. But Korba knew better than to trust it completely. He nodded to Ilan to take the left side of the cavern as he inspected the right. Both men took up their task, stalking every space as though it harbored their executioner.
The two men met at the far end, both taking a moment to replenish their depleted oxygen. Then Korba nodded toward the continuation of the tunnel, and the men were once again immersed in dingy blackness. But their progression was soon halted by the dilemma imposed by yet another fork in the passage.
Korba searched Ilan's eyes as the warrior calmly awaited his orders. Korba considered the ramifications of their separation and calculated the probability of their simultaneous deaths. With no real options open to him, Korba pointed to the right. Ilan immediately and unquestioningly disappeared into the darkness. With no further hesitation, Korba then began his own leg of the mission alone.
The tunnel narrowed quickly, almost fading out just before expanding into another mid-sized chamber. This one was very tenebrous, as only one lantern glowed insipidly along the right side. Korba cautiously traversed the center of the storage area, his lambent eyes taking in a quick inventory of the numerous medical supplies.
Suddenly, his heart crashed against his chest, and he dropped low, his nostrils assaulted by the acrid smell of fear. His muscles were coiled tight, his breath held. Silently, he pulled his second throwing blade from its sheath as his eyes scanned for motion, every muscle fiber in his body begging for explosive release.
Then it came. His heart skipped a beat as he lunged to his right, an expertly thrown blade sizzling by where his chest had just been. Korba's wild eyes picked up a flurry of movement at the far end of the chamber. He instantaneously released the knife from his left hand, sending it hurtling after the figure disappearing into the far tunnel.
He jumped to his feet, his ears picking up the dull thunk of his blade hitting home. He drew his hunting knife as he stalked his wounded quarry, knowing all too well that whoever he'd hit was probably not dead. He ducked into the tunnel's entrance, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness while he sniffed the air. His assailant was wounded, scared, and from the scent, female. And judging from the blade she had thrown at him, she was well trained.
Slowly, he started into the passage, cautiously rounding a sharp curve. He braced himself, sensing a nearby presence. He halted, holding his breath. Hearing his victim's labored breathing, he looked to the ground, observing the abundance of blood. He knew that his knife had hit well and that it had punctured a lung, but the length of time until death was unpredictable. He had to finish his job.
As he crept into the next small chamber, he found his prey backed up against a wall. She raised her face to meet his as Korba raised his knife, and they both froze.
Korba's heart stopped. He looked into her deep-brown eyes, her light brown hair spun over her shoulders in a tangled web. His vision coursed over her heaving chest to her swollen abdomen, and a pit instantly formed in his stomach. Korba was swamped by a profusion of powerful emotions and shackled by crippling indecision.
She spoke, her voice a harsh whisper. "To what do I owe the privilege of being stalked by the Empire's most revered Warlord, the Overlord himself, dear Korba?" she asked mockingly, her eyes ablaze with abhorrence.
Korba attempted to clear his murky mind. Then suddenly, his eyes snapped wide as her arm muscle flinched. The flash was instantaneous, and Korba dropped, flailing his shroud over his head, his last vision that of the woman's upper torso disintegrating in a blaze of light. Korba lurched to his side and away from the intense heat. Daring to open his eyes, he looked up into Ilan's stricken face.
"Damn you, Sire! How long were you going to wait?" he shouted. Not expecting an answer, he stepped around Korba to the limp carcass and picked up her right hand, her fingers still clutching her lazgun.
Korba shook a myriad of disturbing images from his mind as he rose to his feet.
Ilan took a deep breath. "Are you all right, my Lord?" he asked quietly.
Korba turned away, attempting to collect his thoughts. "Yes, and thank you, Ilan. I owe my life to you."
Ilan was silent while he watched Korba closely. He had seen the great Warlord hesitate for the second time, and Ilan knew that it was for the same reason. He had seen Korba waver in the sickbay on that fateful day, and now it had happened again. The warrior wondered if he dared speak to the great man, but he remained mute.
Korba knelt as he sheathed his knives. Ilan handed him the blade from the remnants of the corpse. Korba paused as he looked at the blood on the knife. He reached for a portion of his shroud and slowly wiped the weapon clean. Ilan touched his shoulder gently. "It was not Chelan, my Lord."
Exhaling sharply, Korba let his chest collapse onto his elevated knee. He struggled to harness his fragmented thoughts. Ilan realized then that his observation had been disturbingly accurate, for he, too, had seen the woman's striking resemblance to Chelan.
But what Ilan had not recognized was the additional agony that had sliced through Korba's mind and heart, causing the Warlord to hesitate an almost fatally long time. The woman had obviously been with child, and as Korba thought of killing her, images of Chelan pregnant with his baby had unexpectedly ripped through him. Never before in his life had he ever hesitated in making a kill in the battlefield... until now.
Korba gasped for air, almost feeling ill. Even through the months of war, she was still with him, still in his mind, in his heart, and buried deep within his very soul.
Ilan knelt by him. "My Lord," he called, jarring Korba back to reality. "We need to get to the surface."
Korba nodded. He rose to his feet and faced Ilan. But the warrior spoke first. "Nothing that has happened here will go beyond these walls, Sire. You can be assured of that."
Korba took a deep breath. "Thank you, Ilan," he said quietly.
Korba collected his thoughts quickly and began to concentrate on the mission once again. The two men made it to the surface and found the rest of the party alive and well. Most of the escaping breeders had gone down the right tunnel, and Sirus's men had dispatched them. Marri and her group had caught up with Sirus's other two men and had killed four breeders. Including the pregnant woman who Ilan had slain when he saved Korba's life, there were a total of twenty-four dead enemies, plus one of their own warriors.
"What's the status of the rest of the area, Sirus?" Korba asked.
"All indications show that it is clear, my Lord."
"Good. Give your men a break, and when it gets dark, you can link up with Gainy again."
"Yes, my Lord."
Korba turned to his group and signaled one of the sentry ships down, knowing communications were still sketchy, especially from the ground. "Report," he shouted.
"All fine for now, Sire. Our central forces are presently engaged in Sector 64, but so far there are no problems."
Korba stood quietly for a moment. "Tell them to proceed as they see fit, and we will join them in approximately four hours' time."
"Yes, my Lord," and the ship began its ascent.
Korba turned to his group. "Four hours to rest. Stay close and stay alert, and no one wanders off alone. Meet back at the ships then, and no later."
The men nodded as they moved off toward their fighters. Ilan headed directly back to his ship to check over some contingency plans and to further investigate the communication problems. Marri remained behind and stood next to Korba, expecting him to respond to her. But he turned away and walked off toward his hovering ship. She could sense that he needed to be alone with his thoughts, whatever they were, and she would not intrude.
* * *
Korba sat down beside a large boulder and slipped off the hood of his shroud. He leaned back in exhaustion. He knew that he needed sleep desperately, and he made a mental note of his guard's position in case sleep was to come to him. But
his troubled mind was burdened with the visions of the woman in the tunnel. She had borne an uncanny likeness to Chelan, and her obvious pregnancy had caused him to falter. The alien beauty still haunted him over the light-years, and he ground his teeth in exasperation.
His mind suddenly wound back the hands of time to a segment of his life before he had entered the Imperial Command. Korba closed his eyes as images of Sabina, the Iceanean beauty who had stolen his heart so many years ago, squeezed into his thoughts.
He had met her during his military training while on leave in a remote mountain village in northern Iceanea. They became friends, and on subsequent periods of leave, Korba began returning to the village, finding himself irresistibly drawn to the demure beauty.
Their relationship grew and blossomed, and Korba knew that some day the young woman would be Letted to him. The following winter, Korba had completed his military training and had been inducted into the Empire's primary elite fighting force.
He had always been watched closely by the Empire's Breeding Guild, and their interest in him at this time was intensifying. He had been the end product of centuries of experimentation with the most promising and most productive bloodlines. His genealogy was simply flawless.
It was not far into his military career that the Empire realized that it had indeed struck gold with Korba. Wasting no time, they began the extensive task of training and honing the future Imperial Warlord.
But soon the Breeders descended upon him, demanding that he do his duty and participate in the Empire's program. Korba had always been an unpredictable rebel, and the pressure applied to him was met with stubborn and contumacious opposition. He originally defied them in hopes of teaching the all-too-powerful Guild a lesson when it came to ungraciously demanding the services of a future Warlord. But simple stubbornness soon turned into a burning vendetta of refusal and rebellion when the Guild began direct attacks on Sabina. They accused her of deliberately swaying him from his Imperial duties, and they constantly reminded her of her supposedly inferior genetics. They told her endlessly that she was not worthy of the Empire's future Warlord, and their constant belittling eventually took its toll on her. But the final battle lines were drawn when the Guild rejected Korba's request to become Letted to Sabina. Mutinously, he went through an implied bonding ceremony with her in secret.
From that point on, the Breeders began pursuing a different, more clandestine pathway to obtain the genetic material they so desperately wanted from their budding young Warlord. They suddenly left Korba and Sabina alone, and with the passage of time, the young couple relaxed their guard. Korba falsely assumed that the Guild had given up, not wishing to tackle a man who had now become the Emperor's own personal good friend.
Within five years, Korba had been proclaimed as the Empire's newest Warlord and given a ship of his own to command. Having attained his goal of Commander, Korba felt that his military career was nearly complete, and he looked to Sabina to fill the last void within him, his desire for her to bear his child.
In his fourth year of his command, he took his leave to coincide with Sabina's estrus. They spent an entire week together in ecstasy as they completed their bond of love with Korba's impregnation of her. But the Breeders had been patient. If they could not have the man himself, they would be satisfied with his genetic material, and Sabina now harbored that within her body.
Years before, a spy had been planted within Sabina's household as a housekeeper. After many years of waiting, the woman had finally witnessed what the Breeders had been waiting for. They moved swiftly, and one morning they snatched Sabina on her way to work. They bound and gagged her for the long and inconspicuous trip to a small medical facility located far to the south of her village. But what they had not anticipated was her loyalty and undying love for Korba, and her desire to protect his wish to deny the Breeders his line. Sabina was well aware that the Guild would not be satisfied with cloning her mate's genetic material, so early in the journey, she strangled herself with the ropes with which they had bound her, knowing that by the time they found her, her body would be cold, and with her death would come the death of Korba's seed. As added insurance, she activated a tiny capsule she had had implanted deep within her in case she ever found herself in this situation. The contents of the capsule would degrade all the DNA throughout her body, working just as well after death if not used outright to produce death. It was her failsafe.
When she had not returned later that day the great Warlord was notified, and he used the power of his potent command to conduct a massive search. Ironically, he led the one branch of the investigation that discovered Sabina's hastily discarded remains. The panicky culprits had foolishly left their signature on her body by attempting to retrieve any possible embryo or live seed from deep within her, but they were unsuccessful.
Initially, Korba's grief and guilt appeared insurmountable, for he had witnessed personally the end results of the Guild's desecration of his mate's body. Her loyalty to him and their passionate desire for a child had resulted in her premature and senseless death. But he would avenge her.
Shortly thereafter, he immersed himself in the duties of the Empire, throwing every ounce of his mind and body into the act of war. After an intense year, he attained the maximum military achievement possible, the command of RIBUS 7. And with that, he took on another battle, the systematic elimination of all the Empire's Guild members who had even the remotest tie to the death of his beloved Sabina.
His executions were swift, unpredictable, and absolutely flawless. He employed no one's services except his own, and he spoke to no one of his vendetta. There were rumors throughout the Empire about the possibility of the Warlord's involvement with the untimely demises of both high-and low-ranking officials in the Guild. But no evidence could ever be obtained.
The Guild registered complaints and accusations directly with the Lord God Ticees himself, but the Emperor still required the elusive proof before he could act. Deep down, however, Ticees knew that the only person capable of killing with such precision was his dear friend. But the young Emperor also understood Korba's mission, the mission to decimate the top of the all-too-powerful Breeding Guild. By not pursuing the matter and by not calling Korba up personally, Ticees indirectly condoned the man's actions, and thus allowed him to continue unchecked.
Korba's operation came to a close one year after he started and two years after Sabina's death. For the next decade, he was fully engaged in his duties on board RIBUS 7, as well as with those back at home with Ticees.
During that time, his ebullient indulgence with the Empire's women became well known. For a race whose sexual exploits were pursued with abandon and without so much as a turn of the head, Korba still managed to gain a reputation throughout the Realm. It was said that his sexual appetite and prowess was matched only by his desire and equal competency for combat. But he was superbly controlled and meticulous with his relations, never once spilling his seed. The constant stream of uninseminated suitors left the Breeding Guild with no choice but to give up on him, and shortly thereafter, they announced that his bloodline was terminated.
With the official end of his genetic line and his realization that there would never be another Sabina, he released himself from his sexual rampage and decided to pursue a life of abstinence and war, a career and lifestyle he had adhered to unwaveringly for the last twelve years. In a manner, it was his final way of paying respect to Sabina, at last putting her memory to rest and bringing to a close the tragic chapter of his early life and love.
Korba swallowed hard, and once more he looked up into the tranquil black sky. Slowly, Sabina's image faded from his mind. He thought briefly of Chelan, his beautiful Chelan, and a small smile touched his lips. And then she, too, began to fade from his thoughts. Summoning every ounce of his mental discipline, he pushed the demure woman into the far reaches of his troubled soul. History would not repeat itself. He would not let it. And with that he closed his eyes and redirected all his energy toward his one true
calling in life, that of raining down unrelenting death and destruction upon his enemies.
Chapter 33
Not long after Chelan's day-long encounter with Fremma, the warrior presented her with two fine throwing knives, both custom made for her hands. It had now been a couple of weeks since she'd received the weapons, and her throwing had become predictably deadly. Her speed and strength increased rapidly as she exercised with the free weights and machines with dogged determination.
Chelan entered the Command Center and noted its usual emptiness. Fremma was very busy as always, and she had caught only momentary glimpses of Dar. Adhering to her routine, Chelan spent the first hour of the day using the exercise equipment, paying special attention to the muscles of her upper body. When fatigue set into her arms, she rested until her strength returned before beginning to throw.
Today was shaping up to be another fine day, for she felt refreshed and eager to begin. Picking up her first blade, she rolled the hilt around in her palm, savoring the feeling of security and power that it gave to her. She threw it at the target with all her might and watched as the blade sank deep into the center of the white square.
Chelan smiled as she picked up the second blade with her left hand. She gripped the handle firmly and took a deep breath. Then, with stealth and precision, she released the knife, the blade sinking just slightly left of the first.
Chelan was elated. She skipped down to the target and withdrew the weapons. As she returned to her starting point, she studied the black matte blades. She wondered if Fremma would also consider supplying her with a couple of the combat knives; their beautiful blue blades intrigued her. She would have to ask, if she ever saw him again.
Now Chelan stood with a knife in each hand and stared at the target. This time she would try throwing them in a quick succession, something she had never done before.
Dar had seen her first throws and was suitably impressed by the young alien's rapid progress and her extraordinary accuracy. He remained in the shadows of the entrance as he watched her carefully. His eyes narrowed in anticipation as he noted that this time she held both blades. It would be a motion that would throw the body off balance if one did not think through the actions carefully, and Dar felt himself holding his breath.