CALLEY (RIBUS 7 Book 3) (2 page)

Suddenly, she banked hard left, her heart nearly stopping. The fighter had come out of nowhere, its tracers flashing by her within centimeters. Marri looked over to the rear-facing hologram and set her lasers on target. But then she gasped at her next realization. The ship was one of her own. “Damn it, Gainy! You nearly got yourself killed!” she shouted with ire.

“Get out of here, Marri!” he retorted.

“You get back to your position, and that is an order,” she barked as she dove her fighter toward her goal.

Gainy followed in relentless pursuit. “If you won’t listen to logic, at least let me back you up!” he shouted.

Marri smiled. “Just talk to me next time. Don’t try to shoot my damn plane out from under me.”

Gainy laughed. “My dear warrior, if I had tried to shoot you from the sky, do you not think I would have succeeded?”

Marri’s eyes shone. “Maybe, my friend. But not likely.”

The two fighters seared through the scorched air to the downed vessel. Marri slammed hers to a halt, jumped from the cockpit, and ran hard to the crumpled plane. Crashing to her knees, she reached for the fallen figure and rolled him to her.

“Damn it, Marri,” Ilan rumbled. “Get your ass out of here.”

“Not without you!”

“You will get yourself killed. God damn it, Marri. Half my side is blown away. Get out of here, now!”

Marri ignored him and scrambled through the debris to the underbelly of her fighter. There she pressed a button and the travel pod was released. She raced back to him. “You will be fine,” she assured him breathlessly.

Ilan moaned and clutched at his gaping wound. “You are insane,” he said. “I am going to die regardless.”

“Shut up,” she ordered as she packed his wound with his shroud. “You are still talking, aren’t you?”

Ilan let his head drop back, his agony stealing his precious breath.

Marri rolled him into the tube and then looked down into the flight helmet that obscured his clouding eyes. “Listen to me, you stupid bastard. I just risked life and limb to scrape your wasted carcass up off this damnable planet, so the least you can do for me is stay the hell alive.” She began sealing the tube, cringing as new explosives rocked the night sky.

“Let’s get out of here!” yelled Gainy from his protective perch.

Marri looked down at Ilan. “Now, all you have to do is breathe for the next two minutes until I get you to the main cruiser. Should you decide to give up and die like a coward, do it in front of the doctors and not on board my ship or on my time. Is that understood?”

Ilan would have smiled if he could, but he sobered at the thought of those two minutes. That was exactly how long it was going to take him to bleed to death.

Marri dragged the pod to the underbelly of the fighter and hoisted it into the ship’s fuselage, the antigravity mechanism making the move effortless. All in place, Marri scrambled into the cockpit. She didn’t know how many more men she had lost, but now was not the time to take stock. She signaled to Gainy, and they pointed themselves toward the heavens, their afterburners catapulting them from the hell below.

The evening breeze toyed gently with the leaves of the tall aspens, the sinking sun dancing a staccato on the foliage. Chelan took a breath of fresh, clean air and looked up into the blue sky. Picking her steps carefully, she tiptoed down to the crisp, clear stream. There, she sat upon a rock and dipped her feet into the frigid water. She shivered slightly and then smiled as a small trout came to investigate the intrusion into its tranquil world.

Chelan continued to stare into the pristine water, her mind and thoughts at ease. Then, suddenly, she tensed. The water was turning pink, stained by some elusive dye from some unknown source. She glanced upstream through the abundant boulders that pockmarked the water’s course. Her breathing hitched. The granite rocks were oozing red, the bloodlike substance contaminating the virgin stream.

She clutched at her throat and dared to look down. Her feet were now obscured by the brilliant liquid. Chelan recoiled and tried to withdraw her legs, but a torn and bloodied hand sprang from the depths and clawed at her soft flesh. She screamed as she tried to stand, her legs shredded by the dismembered arm that fought to drag her down and drown her in the sea of blood.

She screamed again and sat bolt upright, her heart racing, her face drenched with sweat. “Jesus,” she uttered as she sprang from the bed, attempting to get her breath. Reaching a chair, she grabbed her shroud and sprinted from her chambers. She had to get back to work.

The main chair in the Command Center turned to meet her, and Zane smiled. “My Lady,” he acknowledged warmly.

Chelan hustled to put on her shroud as she moved to a chair beside him. “Zane,” she returned quietly.

The Commander watched her. “You should get some more sleep, my Lady,” he offered.

Chelan threw him a glance. “I need to get to work. I can’t sleep anyway.” She turned to the console and began to manipulate the computers.

Zane continued to study her. “You can’t do everything yourself, my Lady. And you certainly can’t afford to take things so personally.”

Chelan slumped forward over the workstation and buried her face in her folded arms.

Zane looked down momentarily. “You have had another nightmare, haven’t you.”

Chelan sat back and peered up at the ceiling, her weariness consuming her. “I shouldn’t have missed it,” she whispered.

“Everyone missed it. And Toran gave the final orders, not you.”

Chelan looked at the new Warlord. “I can’t help it. I feel responsible.”

Zane shook his head. “Salizar and the whole team missed it.”

Chelan swiveled in her chair and stood, turning her back to him. “So many died,” she commented ruefully. Suddenly, she whirled around and faced him. “How do you do it? How do you cope? How does anyone? It is such a damn waste. You are given the best fighters in the galaxy. They scan the area with remote sensing equipment that is beyond imagination.” Chelan gestured toward a large photo on the main screen. “Look at that resolution. There are more pixels per square centimeter than I have cells in my body. I could call up each grain of sand individually and measure it with an accuracy so great that it becomes nonsensical. Yet I could not accurately pinpoint an enemy base, and now possibly thousands of our best lie rotting on that damnable planet. And you say I need sleep?”

Zane looked at her from under his brows. But he remained cautiously mute.

Chelan pivoted from him and then stood still with her head hung. “And yet I know you are right,” she admitted.

Zane stared at his hands while his jaw worked. “Was it the same dream?” he asked.

Chelan sighed and then resumed her seat. Finally, she allowed herself a small smile, appreciative of his concern. “Yes.”

“Your Earth ways and ours combined?”

Chelan nodded. “It is always the same. It entwines all the beauty of my world into one location. There is a peace and serenity unmatched by anything you could imagine. The landscape, the trees, the sky, the water—it is all so tranquil and unspoiled. It calls out to me and I respond. As I sit by the stream, I treasure all of the splendor about me, yet my contentment is far deeper. It is as if I anticipate that something beautiful is about to happen. It is as though I am waiting for some momentous occasion, some happy event that is unexpectedly shattered. Suddenly, war and strife are dragging me down. I am floundering and I can’t help myself. I half expect someone to jump in and save me, but no one comes.”

Zane looked into her pretty eyes. “It is our ways, my Lady. They are dragging you down. You were not bred for this.”

Chelan shook her head. “All jobs have stress.”

“No, this is not the same,” countered Zane. “You are gentle, your inherent nature that of a nurturer. You seek to mend, not wound. You may call this a job, but its effects run too deep for you.”

Chelan pondered his observation. “You think I should withdraw?”

Zane hesitated. “No, my Lady. Your abilities are indisputable. When Ticees offered you the position as an air reconnaissance interpreter, he did so because of your talents. But no one intended for you to immerse yourself in the consequences of your conclusions, or in any direct ramifications thereof.”

Chelan shuddered, the mere name of the deposed Emperor filling her with hatred and dread. But she shook herself free of him and returned to the present. “I don’t know if I can separate the two.”

“If you wish to continue, you must. We are the military might. We make the ultimate decisions. We can take your analysis and do with it what we please. Our successes or failures depend on our interpretations of the facts you present to us. You do not hold the power of calling the final shot. You can only do your best, as can we.”

Chelan looked at the man, her eyes traversing his handsome features. “I do need rest,” she whispered.

Zane nodded to her. He stood and moved to the console, taking the liberty of turning the main screen off.

Chelan looked up at him, a sly grin on her lips.

Zane smiled down at her. “Forgive me, my Lady, for my insubordination. But your rest must be total.”

Chelan’s eyes finally twinkled. “You dare to cross the Empress?”

Zane chuckled. “No. But I trained for many years under your mate, and I think I feel as he does. Though you and I have known each other for only a short time, I seem to know you intimately. You will not lop off my head for making forceful suggestions, especially those pertaining to your well-being.”

Chelan swiveled side to side in her chair, her chin set on her ebony-clad fist. “You are right again,” she admitted. “But what I don’t understand is how men as sensitive and perceptive as you can also be so cool and calculating in the field. How do you separate the two?”

Zane stepped back and reached for his shroud. “It is you, my Lady, who forces the separation. Your mere presence demands it.” He smiled at her warmly. Then he walked up the stairs of the Command Center. “You rest,” he ordered. “I will be back to check on the mission shortly.”

Chelan nodded and watched him leave. She smiled to herself. He was so young and yet so good. He was one of the best Warlords ever to come up through the ranks, and no one had missed his potential right from his birth. He commanded RIBUS 5, and, like the other Warlords, he was deadly efficient.

Chelan sighed, her eyes heavy. She needed more than rest. In fact, she needed a sabbatical. Suddenly, a light on the console flashed, and Chelan sucked in a breath. She punched in a code and the message began to unravel before her eyes. “Oh, Marri,” she whispered sorrowfully.

Chelan continued to scan the data. Ten of Marri’s best were missing, and three were seriously hurt. Chelan turned away and dug her fingers into her fatigued eyes. Ilan was among them, and she could feel her throat constrict. She had come to know the warrior well over the months they had been together before Toran and RIBUS 6 were dispatched. She had struck up a bond quickly with him, his past involvement with her no doubt a catalyst. Ilan had accompanied Tarn on the Calley landing crew and had been directly involved with her abduction so long ago. Now they were close friends, and his injury struck her to the core.

Chelan sat back and closed her eyes. It had been ten Earth years since she had been snatched from Earth by Iceanean warriors, ten long years within the realm of the Galactic Empire, and ten long years of never-ending chaos.

Now was no different. Her mate, Korba, had overthrown the old Empire almost two Earth years ago, and ever since then the Empire had been under restructuring from the inside out. Though things appeared relatively calm on the home front, a nefarious uprising was festering once more. ROPE, the Risinean Order of Planetary Enterprises, was rearing its ugly head again… and
stable
was only a relative term.

Then Chelan warmed. She was mated to Korba, now the Emperor, but also tied intimately to Fremma, the new Commander of RIBUS 7. All she wanted to do was live out her life in tranquility, surrounded by the men she loved, either on the decks of RIBUS 7 or in the Imperial Palace on their home planet, Iceanea. But she was also well aware of the structured, violent military society she had been drawn into. Combat was their life, suppression and eradication their mission, and she could not escape the chaos no matter how hard she tried. Just look at this morning.

Chelan groaned. Then, unexpectedly, her mind wandered, a blonde-haired Warlord drifting into her thoughts. There had been another man in her life within the Empire, a lover who had ignited her soul beyond imagination, but now he was gone. He was the Commander of RIBUS 8: Dar, a Warlord of extraordinary standing, a man of indisputable power. Her bond with him had formed early on, but when she chose Korba as her Letted mate, Dar had withdrawn from her.

The Iceaneans’ interpersonal unions were not bound by monogamy, but as the years had gone by, Dar, despite his culture’s easy mores, had decided he could no longer share her with Korba and Fremma. His solution? He had left with his ship when the old Empire fell two Earth years ago, never to return.