by Shae Mills
Chelan realized that the end was near with the last of her resources on one vast ridge and Fremma's over the next. Her latest aerial surveillance had discovered hidden forces far to the south of her, and she could barely contain her excitement. She suppressed a smile and took careful control of her body, using what Yanis had taught her to hide her thoughts.
Sending a large contingent of her best fighters north, she saw Fremma's immediate and predicted response. Suddenly, she launched her final assault, catapulting her hidden fighters out behind Fremma's forces and taking them by surprise. While his men engaged hers in air-to-air combat, the fighters that had headed north, drawing him out, veered south and bore down on his base. Within seconds, she had eliminated most of his remaining air defenses before they had a chance to get off the ground.
Fremma was stunned, but only momentarily. Then he grinned to himself. He would capitalize on her overconfidence, regrouping and waiting for the allocation of her remaining forces.
Korba remained riveted to his spot, mesmerized by the battle raging before him. He, too, recognized the scenario, and the prowess and cunning Chelan displayed dumbfounded him. He knew Fremma well, and he could tell that the warrior had pulled no punches. The carnage and the destruction that Korba was witnessing on the screen was real. Fremma had not allowed Chelan to attain what she had achieved. She had come by it honestly, with deadly potency.
Suddenly, Chelan realized her mistake, a dire miscalculation made in her overanxiousness to inflict as many casualties as possible. Another massive hidden squadron that she had missed was mobilized, surrounding her forces. Systematically, Fremma began annihilating her, both on the ground and from the air.
Chelan was scrambling. Her weapons were severely depleted, and Fremma knew it. Then she thought of Earth. Suddenly, she unleashed everything she had left in her air command, forcing her pilots into Kamikaze maneuvers. As her fighters rained from the sky upon Fremma's ground stations, she took her Commander and hid him in a maze of underground corridors.
"What the hell are you doing?" shouted Fremma, shocked at the havoc she was wreaking by using her fighters as suicidal bombs.
"An old trick I learned from a race of people on my planet," she told him, smiling at the destruction she was inflicting.
Quickly, Fremma began scanning for her Commander as he, too, moved his underground. Finally, they both sat still. "I don't believe this," commented Fremma under his breath. The screen flashed at them. The outcome was unacceptable. It was now up to the few men on the ground.
Korba smiled. He had only seen a couple of scenarios come this close to a stalemate during his career, and its solution was hand-to-hand combat between the Commanders. This would prove interesting.
"It's you against me," taunted Chelan exuberantly.
Fremma watched as his final ship succumbed to its wounds. Suddenly, he turned on her, his eyes wide with boundless exhilaration. "But you can't do that!" he shouted.
"You can't do what?" she shouted back, slipping from her chair, consumed with laughter.
Fremma stood. "You can't use your planes as—"
"As what?" she goaded.
Fremma's eyes were wild with the taste of heated pursuit. He stalked her. "They are Imperial Fleets, and they adhere to Imperial Protocol. We never deceive our friends or our enemies."
Chelan backed away from him slowly, feeling for the Command Center stairs with her bare feet. "Maybe you have to adhere to Imperial Protocol, but I am not Iceanean, and I don't have to. Where I come from, all is fair in love and war."
Korba was entranced by her epicurean body as she retreated from Fremma with the stealth of a wild cat. Her muscles were hard and well-conditioned, yet her obvious femininity was retained. Korba's eyes ran the length of her satin smooth legs exposed by the slitted gown, and he felt his body respond. She began up the stairs, her every move oozing wanton seduction. But then his mouth went dry as Fremma resumed his advance.
"So it comes to this. You against me," she cooed as she felt her way up the stairs. "Since I broke your protocol, and since we are both well aware of the stakes, let's fly in the face of the Empire and negotiate."
Fremma halted and grinned. "What do you propose, my Lady?"
Chelan's body percolated with desire and sexual prowess. Her voice was low and enchanting. "I propose that I forfeit the war, my friend, for both our sakes, and that you do something unprecedented in Imperial history." Chelan crouched down and lay back enticingly along the stairs. She arched herself toward him, letting her silken hair flow off her full breasts.
Fremma could barely contain himself. He stepped toward her. Chelan drew her knees up at his advance, and Fremma faltered. "And what is it that you propose that I do, my Lady?" he breathed. Chelan licked her lips, and Fremma felt he was going to burst. He thought of entering her soft folds here and now, and his passion consumed him, clouding his senses.
"I propose that you take me prisoner," she whispered.
Fremma placed a hand on either side of her, lowering his virile body to her. Chelan parted her long, slender legs to his advance and allowed him to press close.
Korba held his breath, for he could see what Fremma could not. Chelan lay back and surrounded his hard waist with her hands. She smoothed them over his hips as he began his final descent.
"And what should I do with my prisoner?" he rumbled.
Chelan slid one hand into his groin, feeling him harden against her. She raised her legs, surrounding his waist and locking him to her. She ran her tongue along his neck while her other hand reached down and slipped a blade from his boot. "'Come into my parlor,' said the spider to the fly," she hissed.
Fremma suddenly froze. He pushed up slightly and looked down at his side, his blade pressed firmly in under his ribs in what would be a fatal stab wound.
"It seems, my friend, that you have just lost the war," Chelan gave the blade a gentle nudge.
Fremma jerked back, realizing she had indeed won. She released her legs, and he sat up, raising his hands in genuine defeat.
Chelan twirled the blade expertly, looking first at it and then at him. "But I am a fair victor, and as the victor, I hereby change the stakes."
Fremma watched her warily, his breathing easing only minimally. She rose provocatively, her strong muscles making her movements appear to be fluid gold. As he stood, she stepped up to him, holding the knife at her side.
Korba's exhilaration faded rapidly. He could see now that her impassioned desire for Fremma was not part of the game. Korba's throat constricted, and he recoiled at his intense feelings of pain and possessiveness. He had lost her.
Chelan spoke softly as she handed Fremma the knife. Her eyes looked deeply into his, her face betraying her need. "I award you the spoils, my Lord."
Fremma's heart skipped a beat as she leaned forward to kiss him. But Fremma's next motion was far from gentle. With all his force, he grabbed her and flung her behind him defensively. He held tightly onto her arm, preventing her from hitting the floor hard. Twisting, he wielded the knife toward the workout area.
Chelan was stunned and had barely recovered from her shock at Fremma's violent maneuver when she watched in horror as he suddenly dropped to one knee. Chelan saw the blade spill from his hand, and she became frantic. She scrambled to her knees just as he spoke.
"My Lord," he gasped.
Chelan was still reeling in confusion when she looked up and saw the hooded figure step into the light. Her eyes flickered quickly to the kneeling warrior as she attempted to sort through the surreal scene before her.
Suddenly, the words my Lord slammed into her head, and she looked back up at the shrouded man. Instantly, she noted the tattered state of the soiled Imperial garment.
Slowly, Korba pulled back his hood. Chelan felt weak, but she struggled to her feet, trying desperately to regain control of herself. She glanced up into his eyes and stifled a cry of shock. It was really him.
Korba signaled to Fremma, and the warrior rose. Protectively, Fremm
a took a step back and stood just in front of Chelan. Chelan was instantly thrust into the depths of emotional disarray. She could not bear to look up at the Warlord any longer. Quickly, she expertly signed to Fremma that she wished to go.
Fremma caught her request in his peripheral vision, and he signed, "No." Korba spied the communication between them, his awe of Chelan magnifying exponentially.
Finally, Fremma's thoughts coalesced. "My Lord," he breathed. "It is good to have you back. Does Dar know that you are here?"
Korba looked briefly at Chelan before speaking. "Yes. The ship's sensors picked us up a short time ago. It will be quite a while before all are on board."
Chelan had become absolutely rigid, her jaw set and her eyes focused on the floor. She struggled with the nearly unbearable onslaught of conflicting and confusing emotions. She felt dazed and desperately trapped. Forcing herself, she looked up at the Warlord. His once metallic blue-black hair was dull and hung in long, untidy locks about his war-worn face. The stain of battle and death still adhered to his bronze skin, and Chelan suppressed a shudder.
Fremma shook his head. "The fighters, my Lord, how did you make it to us? The distance..."
"As soon as we were engaged we knew that time was going to be an issue. The Rigileans put out a call for supply ships from other sectors to shadow you. Those ships replenished us along the way."
"And the mission, Sire?" queried Fremma warily.
Korba responded slowly, tearing his eyes from Chelan. He walked torpidly to a counter and began removing his gloves. He took a deep breath as he labored to peel them off. "I would not call the mission a success, but the colonies of ROPE are no more." Korba turned back to Fremma. "There will be a full report and discussion in a couple of days after the men have had time to rest and recover."
Chelan peered up at Fremma as the warrior nodded his understanding. Korba spoke again. "I would like you to assist my men on the main boarding platform, Fremma, as many of them require medical assistance."
"Yes, my Lord," came Fremma's obedient response. He turned quickly, glancing sorrowfully at Chelan as he rushed past her.
Chelan cringed, feeling horribly exposed. She was scarcely managing to stand upright, let alone extinguish her desire to run from the room. And she could barely keep her body from quaking as she caught Korba's movement toward her.
He swung the torn shroud off and let it drop heavily to the floor. Chelan summoned all her courage to look up at him as he descended the stairs toward her. She stood motionless, hardly daring to breathe. Her eyes traversed the handsome face she remembered so well, and her heart skipped several beats. Questions flooded into her mind, but crippling embarrassment threatened to tear her asunder. He had seen her with Fremma, and she was mortified.
Korba stopped just in front of her. "You look well, my Lady," he said quietly as he stared into her shy eyes.
"Thank you," she whispered. "I am well." Suddenly, she saw the muscles in his face tense, and he took a step closer to her. She looked to the floor, grappling for composure. His body was too close.
His eyes blazed as he scrutinized the slash across her slender throat and the healed wound on her shoulder. Chelan fought for equilibrium as he gently traced the lines of her injuries with his fingers. "What happened?" he grated.
"It was an accident," she blurted, swallowing hard as the terror of memory flooded into her addled mind.
He remained silent. Chelan's anxiety skyrocketed. "May I be excused, Sire?" she whispered urgently. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading with his.
Korba recoiled at her use of his formal title, and he removed his forgotten fingers from her throat. "No," he said dryly as he turned from her and walked toward the console. "I want to speak with you."
Chelan took several badly needed breaths. She watched his back as he worked off his jacket, his movements alarmingly slow and stiff.
He spoke without looking at her. "You have mastered our language beautifully, Chelan."
"Thank you," she replied, biting her lip. "I learned to speak it fairly proficiently even before you left." Chelan sucked in a large breath, her uncontrolled stab at him for his departure surprising even her.
But it pierced Korba directly. He hesitated. "I see you are also quite proficient at our very complicated battle language."
Chelan was momentarily transfixed, watching as he labored to finally remove his jacket. She looked at his flawless bronze back for the first time, her eyes narrowing. "Dar gave permission for me to learn it," she acknowledged almost imperceptibly. She saw him nod, but then he became very still. His long tangled hair reached down his back, nearly to his waist. His skin glistened in the light, his muscle definition extraordinarily pronounced. And then she saw the tremor.
He raised his face toward the ceiling as if stretching a sore and tired neck. Still with his back to her, he pressed a button on the console. "Stose, to my quarters immediately," he commanded.
Chelan shuddered at hearing Stose's name and instantly became even more distressed. She took a hesitant step toward Korba and then thought better of it. She stepped back and looked to the floor, not feeling at all well.
Korba folded his war-torn jacket in his hands. He looked down. "Has Dar taken good care of you?" he asked almost inaudibly.
"Yes, my Lord."
Korba closed his eyes once again at her formality. "And what of Fremma?"
Chelan felt dizzy, sure he hated her for her words spoken so long ago, and definitely now for what he had just witnessed. "He has taken the best of care with me. I could have asked for no more," she whispered.
The tension in the room was palpable, and Chelan looked toward the main doors, wondering when he would allow her to leave and praying for salvation in whatever form it might take. She desperately needed to regroup.
Korba winced as he struggled to corral his tattered thoughts, his tangled emotions frayed. With his jacket still in his hands, he turned toward her.
Chelan gasped at the sight of his right pectoral laid open by a massive, angry wound. She was instantly terror-stricken. She flew to him, her eyes darting frantically from his chest to his eyes and back. She stopped just in front of him and watched the gash open and close to the rhythm of his labored breathing. Chelan reached out and touched his skin, her trembling fingers gently kissing the pulsing tide of blood. "What happened?" she cried.
Korba turned from her, the touch of her fingers too much for him to bear. The look in her distraught eyes unexpectedly cast him into his own personal purgatory. "A small explosion occurred on board the fighter," he answered numbly. "I caught some shrapnel."
Chelan moved to face him. "Tell me what to do!" she pleaded.
"No!" he said sternly, afraid to let her touch him again. "Stose will be here momentarily."
Chelan reeled from his slap of rejection. She took a step back from him, a fresh wave of pain overtaking her. She remained very still, her emotional wounds every bit as raw and open as his chest.
Confusion reigned. She had waited months for him, prayed for him, longed for him. But now she had been tipped into a caustic vat of indecision. She had felt guilty all this time for innocently spurning him, but now he seemed a dark and foreboding stranger, a man who had left her for legitimate reasons, but who now seemed to repudiate her outright. And what of the offer she had just made Fremma? Could she turn on her word to him, her feelings for him? Could she break the bond she had forged with him in the faint hope that the man before her still wanted her? Just where was her allegiance? Just where did she stand? And even if she managed to sort through what she truly wanted, would any of it be reciprocated?
Her new life, her newfound comfort zone had just evaporated in the blink of an eye. Defensively, her pain turned to anger and her heart solidified.
Korba straightened his tired torso, unaware of the searing pain he had just inflicted upon her. He nodded toward his quarters. "Have you been comfortable here?"
Chelan looked at him icily. "I have not stayed here."
&
nbsp; Korba's muscles flinched. "Where have you been staying?" he demanded.
"I stay with Fremma," she replied defiantly.
Korba took a step toward her, and Chelan instinctively shrank from him.
"How long?" he breathed between clenched teeth.
Chelan stared into his wounded chest as he loomed over her. "Since the day you left," she whispered. Her heart instantly gave in to her misery, and she closed her eyes. She knew she had uttered her words to deliberately hurt him, and she wanted to cry. She didn't hate him, she loved him, and she was being cruel.
Chelan felt her knees weakening, and she knew she was about to collapse before him in a withering heap. Her eyes stung, and she felt terrible. But she also knew the damage was done, and she felt that it was irreparable. "May I be excused, my Lord?" she pleaded quietly.
Korba stood motionless. He could not speak.
Suddenly, Chelan whirled from him, bolting up the stairs and running from the Command Center. Yanis caught her in his arms but she twisted free and flew into Fremma's quarters. She dove onto their bed and coiled up in a braided steel cable of pain and anguish, praying for Fremma's comforting return.
Korba remained riveted to the floor, his eyes still on the doors from whence she fled. He began to breathe heavily, his chest sending spasms of pain throughout his body. "Damn you, Chelan," he uttered under his breath as he struggled with her gut-wrenching words. "Damn you, Fremma!" he shouted, turning toward the Command Center console and slamming his fist down. He hunched forward as upheaval wracked his weary and defenseless body. "Damn you, Fremma." he repeated quietly. "You did your job too well."
Korba squeezed his eyes tight and winced. He clutched at his wound and groaned with agony. His world began to spin, and he shook his head, attempting to clear his senses. His shredded hair matched the state of his body and spirit. He ground his teeth and clenched his jaw. The moment he saw her again he knew he was in trouble. He still wanted her, but it was now obvious she had found another. Dar had said that her words of ire and accusation so long ago were born out of illness, but now he wondered. To save himself from another Sabina, he needed to isolate himself forever from the bewitching alien. Fremma could have her, but not on his ship. She was an enchantress who sapped his soul, draining his essence and leaving him mortally weak. It was time to move on, and he knew of only one way to rid his tormented mind of her. He pressed the intercom.