by Shae Mills
Chelan felt it was ironic that the way she acquired Fremma's constant attention was through the horrendous loss of the Empire's primary Warlord. With the RIBUS ships fleeing to Iceanea, and with no incoming data to analyze and no Warlord to protect, Fremma was literally on sabbatical. The ships now followed a general routine, and Fremma was not required to oversee the day-to-day activities of his men.
Though it had been weeks since Chelan had heard the distressing news, she was still beset by unexpected crying spells over the Warlord she had barely known. Fremma understood and supported her as best he could while he, too, dealt with his own profound grief surrounding the loss of his Commander and a dear friend. In general, the whole tone of the ship was that of somber resignation, but the Empire's soldiers were conditioned to carry on despite the adversity and the loss no matter what the emotional and physical toll, and they did just that.
Chelan awoke this particular morning and lay quietly in the giant bed. She automatically pressed into the security of Fremma's warm body. She once again entertained the thought of allowing the gentle warrior to make love to her, for her hopes and loyalties to Korba were now dashed. But something still held her back, and she was too emotionally drained to pursue the reasons or the logic behind her stubborn decision. Besides, there was no rush. Fremma was his usual patient and understanding self, content to share whatever she was willing to give, and more than happy to offer himself to her in his entirety.
She reached for the limp arm that surrounded her waist, and she held his hand. Fremma immediately stirred, her gentle touch rousing him from his slumber. He squeezed her hand back and buried his face in her silky hair. Chelan wiggled under his warm breath. "I think I could learn to enjoy waking up with you each morning," she purred.
Fremma rose up slightly and kissed her neck. "I already enjoy it," he whispered. "In fact, I knew I would enjoy it before it ever happened."
Chelan smiled and closed her eyes to his caress. She luxuriated in his tender touch, his soft, physical love acted out upon her creamy skin. "But all good things come to an end," she surmised quietly.
"Oh, I don't know," replied Fremma as he rolled her onto her back. He looked deeply into her eyes. "I may quit my command, just so I can wake up to you each morning."
Chelan forced a smile, knowing that was never going to be possible. She stroked his long hair as he buried himself in her slender neck. "What will you do after we reach Iceanea?"
Fremma's heart skipped a beat. He knew that tone of voice, and he knew the melancholy state she was once again slipping into. He looked up at her. "The rest of Korba's men on this ship will probably be relieved of duty for a time while the ship is refitted. Then, I suppose I could be assigned to oversee the new men who will serve a new Commander, whoever that may be. "
Chelan thought for a moment. "Will it be Tarn?"
Fremma smiled at her. "No. I'm afraid Korba took Tarn with him on the mission. That's why Dar assumed the command here."
Chelan looked away from him momentarily. "I would have liked to have met him. He saved my life."
"He was a good man. And he would have liked to have met you too, Chelan. If he knew you as I do now, he would have known that saving you was no mistake."
Chelan reached around his neck and pulled him down, hugging him tightly. "Where will RIBUS 7 go next?"
"I don't know for sure. I suppose wherever Ticees sends her, even possibly back to Rigil."
Chelan continued to hold onto him firmly. "Can I go with you?" she asked, holding her breath.
Fremma became very still. Chelan could feel her throat beginning to burn. She waited patiently for his response while knowing full well there would be none. The men Fremma commanded were specially trained to protect only Korba. With the Warlord's death, Fremma would be given all new men. There would be no room or time for her. "I'll always love you, Fremma," she whispered.
"I'll always love you, Chelan," he replied, his voice strained. "And I will always come back to you."
They lay together for a long time, unable to look at one another and unable to speak. Then she began to sweep up her scattered emotions as she sought to fulfill one last dream, the ultimate diversion from her pain. "I want to play a war game," she declared quietly.
Fremma tore himself from her. "A war game?" he questioned.
"Yes," she grinned. "Yanis had been playing them with me. He tapped into the training logs a long time ago. I actually think I've become quite good at some of them."
Fremma looked at the devious twinkle in her eye, and his interest piqued. He rose off her and knelt by her side. He hesitated momentarily, and then whipped the sheets from her warm, naked body.
Chelan shrieked and tried to roll away, conscious of the predatory glow in his eyes as he scanned her flawless form. But Fremma grabbed her arms and pinned them above her head. Then he hunched over her and seized her nipple in his mouth, gently but firmly. Chelan laughed, but dared not twist from him.
He straddled her, releasing her breast. "I thought you fancied yourself a lover and not a fighter," he teased.
Chelan attempted futilely to dislodge her hands from his, and then relaxed back down, catching her breath. "Ahh," she hissed. "'Welcome to my parlor,' said the spider to the fly. You've been duped, my fair warrior. I have lured you with love, and now I move in for the kill."
"Oh, really," Fremma smiled, his face alight with curiosity and exhilaration. His eyes coursed over her pinned body. Her beautiful face was framed by a halo of gold-spun hair, her dark eyes aglow with love. Her long, slender neck pulsed with excitement and anticipation, her chest rising and falling in rhythm. He looked at her exquisite breasts, their fullness beckoning to be taken. He could feel her silky, taut abdomen between his legs, and he moaned, momentarily overcome by potent and nearly irrepressible arousal. He moved one hand to her breast, kneading her and teasing her tantalizing nipple with his fingers. "And with what do you intend to kill me, my spider woman?" he asked, his voice heavy with lust.
Chelan groaned, his ardent manipulation of her breast inflaming her. The sight of all his full softness spilled over her stomach nearly drove her mad. She drew her knees up reflexively, her inner recesses aching to be filled. She bit her lip and made her final decision. "With the act of love," she whispered.
Fremma looked at her warily, not sure of what he had heard. His voice was low and cautionary. "A weapon by which most men would choose to die, my Lady. Perhaps you had better explain the stakes a little more clearly." He released her arms slowly and rose off her, slipping down by her side.
Chelan turned to him and ran her hands through his thick hair. "I choose the battle scenario, and we fight as two Imperial forces against one another." She smiled slyly. "The battle is not won until all of the opponent's forces are eradicated, Commanders included. The winner takes all."
Fremma's heart nearly stopped. He nodded his affirmation. "And just what all does the winner take?" he asked.
Chelan did not reply, but lay very still. She smiled seductively at him. Fremma suddenly realized that he had been holding his breath. Something about her had changed, though he could not pinpoint it. He drew a deep breath and moved his hand back to her breast. He gently fondled her as he leaned forward and began to nip evocatively at her succulent neck.
Chelan steeled herself against him, attempting to finish her offer before the warrior's touch distracted her beyond all reason. She bit firmly into his shoulder as she reached down, her fingers brushing over his coiled abdomen to his soft, vulnerable maleness. She looked into his piercing azure eyes while she caressed him. "If you win," she whispered heatedly, "you make love to me, Fremma... tonight."
His eyes went wide, and his heart took off as he thought about such passion, his ultimate desires finally realized. His body quivered involuntarily as a bolt of warmth shot through his loins. He instantly hardened in her hand. "And if I lose?" he rasped.
Chelan swallowed, unsure of his reaction to her stakes. She held her breath. Her fingers tightened
about him as she stroked him deeply. "Then I make love with Dar," she returned.
Fremma eyes narrowed. "Your stakes are high, my Lady, but they are gladly accepted."
Chelan became still. "You don't mind?" she asked in bewilderment.
Fremma removed her hand from him as he leapt from the bed. "No, I don't mind, Chelan." He reached for her and pulled her effortlessly from the bed. He stood her in front of him. "I don't mind for two reasons. Firstly, it's about time you let one or the other of us return to you the countless hours of pleasure you have given to us. And secondly, I never lose a battle. So prepare to die, my Lady. Your trip to heaven will truly be paradise, and I will make sure I bring you there personally, one slow, gentle step at a time." He kissed her lips passionately and then turned with catlike quickness, throwing her gown at her. "Come on," he impelled, a blue flame in his eyes. "Let's not keep the battlefield waiting."
Chelan smiled at him as she slipped her lithe body into the form-fitting gown. Fremma watched her every motion as he donned his uniform. He could not begin to describe the proliferation of torrid feelings that were invading him. It was not so much from the thought of finally being able to make love totally to the alien beauty as from the happiness he felt for her and the long-awaited step she was about to take.
He knew the last of her sexual defenses had finally crumpled, and it was solely her decision, a decision that he hoped she could live with comfortably. It truly did not matter to him which of them made love to her first. What did matter was that it was done tenderly and that she enjoyed the physical bonding above all else. In that way, no matter who shared her love with her first, she would seek the other out later. Chelan would feel the ultimate gift of love that Fremma knew the men of his world could give her. And he in turn could experience her in her beautiful entirety. Be it tonight or not, their time would come.
When he had finished dressing, he reached for her hand and whisked her across the room. "To the Command Center!" he shouted cavalierly.
Chelan giggled, caught up in his happiness and her own. Just as Fremma reached the suite's doors, he halted abruptly. He turned to her. "Does Dar know of this?"
Chelan grinned. "No. But if you screw up, he'll know about it soon enough."
Fremma laughed and hustled her from his quarters and into the Command Center. "Choose your battle, my Lady," he ordered jubilantly as he ushered her to the main console. He took the seat next to her at his own console. Suddenly, the screens before them danced to life.
Chelan smiled at him, and then her fingers began to tap quickly on the Iceanean keyboard. She sifted through the files, looking for the scenario she was most familiar with. Yanis had gone through it with her countless times. Each time, he had changed the parameters and conditions slightly, and each time she learned more about the strategies and the resources available to her. On their final run through it together, Chelan had actually won the game, surprising yet pleasing Yanis. She had not bothered to inform him about the numerous hours she had spent in his absence learning every detail about the Empire's military ships and their weapons. And now she felt confident to take on yet another adversary, Fremma, and her fear of the ultimate act of intercourse.
Chelan selected the battle situation, and Fremma smiled, recognizing it immediately. It was an Imperial battle waged many years ago in the Mezzen system. He had not been directly involved with it, but he remembered it well from his training days.
Fremma began to type on his console as Chelan watched the main screen. "In fairness," he began, "we'll let the computer randomly set the planetary variables."
Chelan nodded at him, and the main Command Center screen blinked to life. Both participants watched as the computer arbitrarily picked a planet for the battle. Atmospheric and surface conditions were critical when deciding on equipment, fighters, weapons, and supplies. Life-support systems were often required, and the life expectancies of both men and equipment were dependent on the atmospheric composition of the hostile planet. As with the Rigilean battle, no battleships were to be employed, so all parameters had to be meticulously calculated. There would be no relief or way to replenish supplies short of what transports could provide.
Chelan's screen began to furnish her with critical information she would use to plan her assault. The computer automatically set time limits on each stage of the planning, implementing, and executing. The computer in turn supplied Fremma with his own information and the same time constraints.
Finally, all the information was distributed, and Fremma turned to her and smiled. Chelan looked back at him, her face full of poorly constrained excitement, her beauty alight. "Ready?" she asked.
Fremma nodded, and they began the game. Suddenly, both of them became thoroughly absorbed in their mission. Each began planning their strategies and compiling their resources. Both worked quietly against the time, studying data, statistics, locations, and conditions. Once the actual assaults were waged, the powerful computers linked in a continual action and reaction simulation. The main screen would indicate to them both the results of their decisions. From there, they would use their own computers to plan their subsequent strategies, implementing their plans with their remaining resources.
Since the planet and the conditions chosen were real, literally anything was possible. Either of the players could order aerial photos of a particular area, and if the flyby was successful in infiltrating the enemy area, the computer would supply the participant with actual photographs with the other player's forces displayed if present and visible. Atmospheric conditions were random and constantly changing.
The game was intricate, and it would last for many hours, possibly days, weeks, or months if the war was waged over the entire planet. But for them, this particular battle was contained to one specific location. If both were careful with their planning and executions, they were in for a very long day at the least. The computer would force the participants to continue until the final blow was struck. There were no allowances for prisoners, escapes, stalemates, or compromises. Defeat was to be final, ultimate, and inevitable.
After hours of fastidious planning, checking, and rechecking, the battle was finally waged. Fremma's assault force wasted no time in taking the initiative, striking the first blow swiftly and effectively. Chelan cringed as her first damage reports began scrolling in. Immediately, she knew why Fremma was such a high-ranking officer and why he was about as close to being a Warlord as anyone could be. Yanis was good, but he paled in comparison.
Chelan warmed. It was only a few minutes into the battle, and she could tell already, barring some miracle on her part or some unthinkable mistake on his part, that Fremma would be her suitor that evening. It was a fact that he was no doubt confident of before they had even started.
She braced herself and set her mind to task again. Both remained fixated on their screens as blows and counterblows were waged in cunningly calculated successions.
As the long hours wore on, Chelan's resources were badly depleted, but Fremma was not emerging unscathed. He took a deep breath. He was genuinely shocked at how formidable his opponent was proving to be. Despite his initial well-executed blows, Chelan had rebounded admirably. Her choices of ships and weaponry were perfect, and most of her strategies and executions were flawless. She seemed to remain calm no matter what the outcome of a battle, and she had the uncanny ability to anticipate many of his moves.
But despite the fact that he was amazed by her ability and her military prowess, he was more than ever determined to win. Somehow her deadly potency on the battlefield made her just that much more attractive to him, and thoughts of taking her to bed with him were invading his mind more and more often, to the point of becoming seriously distracting. Fremma shook his head, attempting to block out the graphic, sensual images.
Chelan, on the other hand, was also surprised. She had honestly not expected to get as far as she had. But then, she had worked for this. She knew that Fremma could beat her hands down on any randomly selected game, and she also k
new that Fremma was well aware of that fact. It had only been out of fairness and a desire to make the whole affair as challenging as possible that he had no doubt allowed her to pick the scenario with which she was most adept at manipulating. But regardless, she was having fun, and deep down she hoped that Fremma won. She wanted him, and badly. "Looks like the final battle," she wagered.
"Yes," he replied quietly. "And you are about to lose your first Imperial war, my Lady."
Korba stepped up silently to the edge of the Command Center, remaining in the shadows of the workout area. He looked at the source of the intermittent speech he had heard upon his entry. He squinted against the bright lights of the Center, and his eyes immediately fell upon Chelan. His heart stopped. The young alien had gone through a remarkable metamorphosis, and her extreme beauty stole his breath. He had believed his months of intense battle had rid his heart and soul of her, but the sudden pit in his stomach and accompanying ache in his chest indicated otherwise.
"You work quickly, my dear Fremma," Chelan commented mischievously as she moved to counter his forces' approach.
Fremma smiled as he watched his screen. "I must move quickly, my Lady. I have better things to indulge upon you with than war."
Chelan chuckled at his innuendo. "Not so fast, my friend," she chided. "You have not won the battle yet."
Korba was captivated further by the allure of her soft voice speaking his language. Her tongue was fluent, her words melodious, her accent and articulations perfect. He took another deep breath as he continued to watch and listen. He was unwilling to move, and possibly unable, for he was spellbound by the radiant woman. He tried forcibly to quell the perturbation welling unbidden from deep within, determined not to interrupt their final moments of play.