CALLEY (RIBUS 7 Book 3) (7 page)

Fremma hustled down the corridors of RIBUS 7, crashing through the Command Center doors. Tarn whirled to face him. “RIBUS 10 is up and off, Sire.”

Fremma studied the screen before him, the spectacle of RIBUS 10 leaving orbit causing his breath to catch. Suddenly, the Warlord turned in a flurry of black. “Why wasn’t I informed of this?” he boomed at Tarn’s back.

“The decision didn’t come down until late last night, my Lord, and I—” But Tarn did not have time to explain. Fremma was gone.

*****

The solitary Imperial fighter landed abruptly in the Emperor’s private hangar at the Palace. Fremma extracted himself and leapt to the ground, guards scrambling in all directions to accommodate his unexpected arrival. Fremma ignored them and flew through the security checks on the way to the main Command Center.

Once inside, Fremma stopped, stilling his thudding heart while his ears strained to listen. “Chelan!” he called. Hearing no response, he rushed to the hidden room, the doors parting obediently for him. “Chelan,” he whispered.

Chelan stirred but she could not rouse herself completely. Someone was calling her name from the murky depths of her mind, but she knew not if the voice was rooted in reality or not.

Fremma tore off his shroud and flight gear, rushing to the bedside. “Chelan,” he uttered softly as he sat beside her.

Chelan finally opened her eyes to him. “Oh, Fremma,” she moaned. “Fremma,” she whispered as she reached up and hugged him around the neck.

“Oh, my Lady, I am so sorry.”

Chelan sighed. “He is gone. It is going to be such a long year.”

“No, my Lady. The year will go by quickly. There is so much for you to do here in addition to the reconnaissance work if you so wish. Korba will run the Empire as a whole from his ship, but all of Iceanea awaits your direction if you choose to participate. All his top advisors are here to assist. You say the word, and the masses will welcome your governance. Shape the Palace and the world as you wish.”

Chelan brightened a bit. “It is definitely exciting, but it all seems so daunting at the same time.”

Fremma smiled at her. “To step into your position untutored would swamp the best of rulers. We know that. You will take it slowly and only tackle the areas you can handle. You have met most of the advisors over the past year. You get along wonderfully with them, and they with you. They are used to running everything, from the Palace kitchens to the diplomatic relations with the South. No one expects you to do it all. No one could.”

“I know. And much of it does intrigue me. But when I decided to fill the shoes of Empress completely, and not just as a figurehead, I expected Korba to reign by my side.”

“We all did, my Lady.” He paused. “Actually, that is not true. We all hoped he would. But an Overlord he has always been first. Becoming Emperor has changed nothing.”

Chelan was quiet, pondering her fate. She had always been an organizational genius, a project manager beyond compare. She had invariably stepped up to the task when required, but the truth of it was, she preferred to tackle whatever was placed before her on her own. Ruling a planet did not fit that plan. But rule she would, in whatever capacity she was able. She would not let her precious mate down, nor the people of Iceanea.

Fremma stroked her lean back. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Chelan released him, shaking her head as she looked up at him. “No, I am fine. But I would like you to take me with you to the decks of RIBUS 7 when you return. I want to stay there with you until you have to leave. I can meet with the advisors there and hammer out the details on where I am to start.”

Fremma nodded. “No problem, my Lady. I will be glad to have you.”

Chelan stretched her tired body. “When do we leave?”

Fremma smiled. “Right now if you wish.”

Chelan threw back the sheets and stood. “Do you mind if I go to the gardens first before we depart?”

Fremma chuckled as he stood. “That should be, ‘I am going to the gardens before we depart. I will inform you when I am ready to leave.’”

Chelan groaned as she drew a sheet around her. “Oh god, Fremma, that is so not me.”

“No, it is not you. And neither Korba nor I would ever expect you to change. But when you slip into the role of Empress, you will eventually become at ease with slipping into the demands of the title, and that includes the assertive personality it requires. It will not happen overnight, but you will see, it will come.”

“I am skeptical.”

“Well, think of me, or even Korba. We behave very differently in private with you than around our warriors. But we are still the same people, with the same values, the same personalities. Just our demeanor changes. The job demands it.”

Chelan nodded. “I know. But like you said, it will take some time. Ordering people around is not my strong suit.”

Fremma chuckled. “No, but you are a fair and caring person. You would never order anyone to do something frivolous or inappropriate. Your subjects already know that by the man you are bound to. Korba would not have Letted an unworthy woman. Therefore, your subjects already admire and respect you. They are well aware of your position of power, and they will expect it to be shown, doled out somewhat delicately and with much forethought. Consider it making requests of your subjects.”

Chelan smiled as she reflected. “There was a woman on my planet. She was a princess. She melted the hearts of all she touched, and she did everything with such regal grace and decorum. She was simply amazing.”

“You will be just like her. I have no doubt.”

Chelan glanced at him. “I hope so. I would love to be just like her in the people’s eye.” She hesitated and straightened her shoulders. “I will make it so,” she said confidently, and she headed off to the shower.

Afterward, she reentered the main suite and found Fremma where she had left him. She grabbed her shroud and looked at him expectantly. “Did you wish to come with me?”

Fremma shook his head. “No, my Lady. I will await your return in the Command Center.” He moved to her and stroked her soft cheek. Then he held her close and nestled in under her long silken hair. He lingered for a moment and then stepped back. “You turned him down.”

Chelan’s eyes searched his. “How do you know?”

Fremma turned to retrieve his shroud. “I can tell,” he whispered.

But Chelan grabbed his arm. “How do you know?”

Fremma hesitated. “Your scent, Chelan—you are still receptive.”

“But if I had allowed it, I would not have been pregnant immediately.”

Fremma smiled as he donned his shroud. “With us you would have been.”

Chelan moved in front of him, questions abounding. “My scent changes when I ovulate, right?”

Fremma nodded.

“Then why did Shan miss it?”

Fremma adjusted his shroud and then became still. “He was not looking for it, my Lady. And you were a woman of the South to him. He was not familiar with your body. When he learned of the baby, he was shocked. He said that you had just bled and that it was impossible.”

Chelan looked at him out of the corner of her eye and tried to still herself as she thought of her next question. “But Ticees tracked my cycles by the nerve block pills. I was around him every day. Why could
he
not tell?”

“He was not Iceanean, Chelan. He did not have our senses.”

Chelan turned away from him, but Fremma caught her by the arm. “What is it, my Lady?”

Chelan shook her head. “It is just frustrating at times to be constantly reminded that your men know more about my body, alien as it is, than I do. It should not be that way.”

Fremma smiled. “That is not your fault, Chelan. That’s a function of Calley’s repressed society.”

Chelan smiled back. “It is not just that. On Earth, man has always tried to elevate himself far above the animal kingdom, refusing to admit his association with it. All animals can sense receptivity, and yet we refuse.”

Fremma reached for his weapons. “But your sense of smell is not as well developed, Chelan. Ours is inbred. We need it to ferret out the enemy in places where eyes and sensors do not function.”

“That is true. But the frustrating part is that even if we had the ability, we would not use it or admit to it. That would be too animalistic.” Chelan gave a wry smile. “The men of my world think nothing of rape, pillage, and torture, acts so barbaric that the mere thought of them nauseates. Children are abused, mentally, emotionally, and at times sexually. Women suffer all of the above and are treated as chattel, and in some cultures, as possessions of far less value than the clothes on their backs. And the list goes on, ad infinitum. But we claim we are above animals.”

Fremma concealed his lazguns beneath his shroud, his mind deep in thought. “Your world is still primitive, Chelan. Your people’s goal is to become civilized, and the first step toward that end is often the refusal to associate with the larger group of which they are a part. Your people see animals as dumb and uncivilized. In an effort to elevate themselves, they refuse to look in the mirror: the reality is too brutal for them to acknowledge.”

Chelan mulled over his words. “You may be right, but that hardly justifies the acts we perpetrate against our own kind. There is not another animal species in the world that seeks to harm its own deliberately on such a huge scale or to such a barbaric degree.”

“Your world’s time will come, Chelan. It may take centuries, but if your species is to survive, it will have to make some very hard and restrictive choices.”

“Like what?”

“Like genetic screening and some attention paid to the family environment. You cannot breed indiscriminately forever and hope that medical advances will always take care of all of your woes. You have seen our inventory of genetic tests. Our bodies are giant biochemical reactions, all intricately pieced together and controlled by genetics. As your world progresses and finds this out, then and only then will your kind be able to truly improve themselves. You cannot hope to serve a perfect main course if the basic ingredients are inferior. If you try, you spend your time masking the offending flavors rather than serving up the full potential.”

Chelan exhaled sharply. “Oh, but where we are concerned, so much more must be addressed, things that I don’t think ever will happen. We, the human inhabitants of our world, have our rights, dear Fremma. And one of our rights is to breed like rabbits regardless of our genetic makeup and deficits. No matter what the consequences to our overburdened planet, we have the indisputable right to go forth and multiply.”

Fremma shrugged. “But as with all populations, a critical point will be reached and then supersaturation occurs. Something in the chain breaks down and the population is brought to its knees, usually by some disaster or disease. No population is immune—not the simple bacteria, and not your humankind. Your planet is a closed environment. It cannot continue to support rampant disregard for its resources. It will reach a crisis point.”

“Oh, but Fremma,” Chelan chided. “We
are
immune. After all, we are not animals. We have God on our side. He will save us.”

Fremma looked down and chuckled. “I see the futility to which you refer. But my point stands. Your people breed animals for their temperament and physical traits. Eventually that must also apply to your own kind to some degree. Our best technicians cannot keep a fighter in flight if the pilot chooses to abuse the laws of physics. If your race is to succeed, the most brilliant must eventually take control, and do so fairly. Yes, diversity is the key to survival, but the dispersal of potentially fatal genes throughout the entire population, propagated by blatant disregard for some assemblage of purity and strength, sets you up for extinction.”

“Korba,” he continued, “once told me about one of your conversations revolving around cancer. Almost all cancers are genetically predetermined and environmentally triggered. As your population grows unchecked, pollution will increase around you, further weakening the masses. Eventually, something will provoke global-scale destruction. It may be the release of a new pollutant, a new pathogen, or, as the Telesians tell us, your world’s assault on its own ecosystem. Look at what is happening to your world’s protective ozone layer.” Fremma raised his brows. “There are not many other triggers as sensitive or as effective as radiation for tipping the scales toward disaster. Your immune systems will fail.”

Fremma straightened. “Your scientists may not have the time or the ability to compensate,” he said. “And you and I both know that the gods are not going to intervene.” He smiled slyly. “Including us, my Lady.”

Chelan smiled back and then patted his shoulder. “I know, my gentle warrior. Nature will take care of her own. She always has.”

“Not just nature. Education is the key, across the board. It is the single most powerful determinant to a culture’s success.” Then Fremma nodded toward the doors. “But enough about your dismal little planet. Off you go to the gardens. I shall wait here. I have plenty of work to attend to.”

Chelan smiled at him and then headed for the doors. As she exited the Command Center, the guards bowed, instantly falling into place around her.

The walk to the partially restored Palace gardens did not take long, and the moment Chelan stepped through the main entrance, an elderly woman ran up to her. The guards bristled but allowed the approach.

“Oh, my Lady,” the woman exclaimed as she bowed. “I am so honored to meet you in person.”

Chelan bowed back, the gesture automatic. “And you are?”

“I am Dory, the curator of the grounds, my Lady.”

Chelan smiled. “I would love to spend a little time here. I have not seen the gardens since the takeover.”

“Oh, by all means! I am afraid many things are not up to their former glory as of yet, but we are all working hard.”

“I suspect it will all be very lovely just as is.”

Dory smiled and then glanced at all the security. “It will take me but a moment to clear the grounds for you, my Lady. I will just—”

“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary, Dory. I have my men with me, and touring while the workers are here will give me the opportunity to meet them.”