TICEES (54 page)

“PRIORITY CLEARANCE. COMMANDER KORBA, RIBUS 7. RETURN HOME IMMEDIATELY. CHELAN MISSING AND PRESUMED DEAD. TORAN.”

Ticees lay down on his bed as he heard Toran leave. Originally his need to cover his tracks reigned supreme, but now that she was gone, that need paled in comparison to the agony he felt deep in his heart. He was in shock. He kept expecting the beautiful woman to walk in, to tease him about her absence, and to ask him to take her up in his fighter. Ticees closed his eyes. What was he going to tell Korba, and what was this going to do to the man who had been his lifelong friend? What was this going to do to the Empire?

Ticees rolled over, and then, catching her soft scent on his pillows, he bolted from the bed. He ripped off the blankets and sheets and gathered them together. Then he stopped. His stomach turned as he twisted the fabric in his fists. He clutched them to his chest as he arched backward. “Chelan!” he cried. “I loved you!” He sank to his knees, wracked with bone-crushing despair.

The hours passed, and he was spent. Pushing himself up slowly, Ticees gathered all the bedding and threw it into the main disposal unit. Then he became aware of himself. He had not showered since his assault on her, and his thoughts darkened. Ticees staggered into the wash area, tearing his uniform from his body. He dove into the bath and began feverishly washing the scent of her terror from his skin. He felt dead inside, and he wondered if indeed that was what he would be upon Korba’s return.

*****

The week passed dreadfully slowly, and Ticees never left his quarters. Toran attended him periodically, but for the most part Ticees never ate or spoke. He still maintained the searches over the Dead Zone, knowing full well that his vigil over the area was futile, but he could not help himself. He did not know why, but it seemed to be the least he could do for her in her death.

Toran walked in on him this morning and watched him sitting in front of his console, his eyes sifting through piles of negative reports. Toran moved up to him and touched his shoulder. “You must eat, Sire. You can do nothing for her in her life or in her death if you yourself succumb.”

Ticees scrubbed his hand over the facial hair that now covered his haggard face. He rose slowly and looked at Toran. Then he stepped past him and walked into his chambers as Toran followed him. He picked up his shroud, donning it slowly, and then turned to the Warlord. “Okay. Let’s go,” he whispered.

Suddenly, the main doors crashed open with a violence that nearly shattered them. Both men jumped, startled by the abrupt intrusion and explosive impact. Then both held very still as an ominous, shrouded figure strode in. The man came to an abrupt halt and then pulled back his hood. Toran and Ticees held their breath as the man pulled off his flight helmet, hurling it with a power and a savagery that betrayed the ferocity within his soul. With head lowered and fists clenched, his massive chest rose deeply several times, and then he threw back his mane of shredded, blue-black hair.

Both men froze as Korba’s wild eyes cut into them, but he did not speak, and neither Ticees nor Toran dared move. Slowly, Korba’s eyes scoured every possible area of Ticees’ chambers, methodically taking in every detail. Then he proceeded past them directly to Ticees’ bed. He looked down at it, and his nostrils flared.

Korba remained very still as Toran cautiously approached him. Korba glared at him, the tempest within the Overlord’s eyes causing Toran to falter. Korba drew in several rapid breaths as he tried to maintain a fragment of control over the beast that yearned to be cut loose. “Any news?” he growled in a deep rumble.

Toran shook his head slowly, wondering if he dared speak.

Korba turned slowly and faced him directly. “What happened?”

Toran glanced at Ticees and then looked back at Korba. “No one knows for sure, my friend,” he replied solemnly, his voice quiet. “She just left.”

“She wouldn’t just leave!” he boomed.

Toran swallowed hard. The man before him was unrecognizable. The Overlord was demon-possessed, a cold-blooded ruthlessness etched into every fiber of his murderous features. Toran braced himself. “When I arrived back here, Ticees had already implemented a worldwide search. She was picked up by a contingency’s scanners during a flyby in the Dead Zone, but a storm was upon her.” Toran paused, his guts turning. “I sent RIBUS 6 up immediately to scan for her …” Toran stopped as he looked into Korba’s inhuman eyes, their malevolent stare causing Toran to shudder. “But they could not find her. She is buried too deep,” he whispered.

Korba did not move. He did not even flinch.

“Since then …” Toran hesitated, his voice catching. “We’ve maintained a planetary search, concentrating on the Dead Zone, but there’s nothing.”

Korba remained inert, and both men watched him warily. Finally, he moved, walking stiffly from Ticees’ quarters to his own. Ticees and Toran followed as Korba entered his chambers. He scanned the room, his eyes settling quickly on his bed. He looked at the pink gown, his jaw firmly set. Slowly, he turned away and walked into the wash area, her lingering scent all around him and threatening to break him down. Then he pivoted and approached Ticees and Toran as though stalking prey. His searing blue eyes burned into the Emperor. “I want to talk with Fremma,” he breathed between clenched teeth.

Ticees flinched. “That’s not possible, my friend.”

Toran’s eyes flew to the Emperor’s, shocked at the fact that Ticees had withheld such important information from Korba.

Korba stepped back. “What do you mean, that’s not possible?” he hissed.

Ticees swallowed. “I assigned him as Dar’s Second-in-Command. He’s on RIBUS 8.”

Korba suddenly became very rigid, his eyes riveted to Ticees. “You sent RIBUS 8 on a mission?” he ground out. “And she was alone!” he shouted.

Ticees braced himself, but it was too late. Korba’s motion was surreal, and he slammed into Ticees’ body with bone-crushing force, hurling him to the floor.

“No!” shouted Toran as he grabbed Korba, using all his strength to pull him off Ticees.

Korba allowed Toran’s restraint. He was on the verge of killing Ticees, but he needed information first.

Ticees recovered his footing but did not dare to retaliate.

“You left her alone!” shouted Korba. “You drove her to her death through loneliness!” His voice was scathing. “You deliberately ordered us away! Just what in hell did you intend to do with her once we were all disposed of? What?” he roared.

Toran held onto him firmly, and finally Ticees responded. “So it was I, was it? It was I who was solely responsible for her loss, was it? And you, my Lord, hold no responsibility for her morbid depression! Then tell me, why did Fremma and I find her the morning of your departure, collapsed in the workout area, her face raw and swollen, her lips split? Was I responsible for that, my good friend? Is that the way you used to say good-bye to Sabina so many years ago?”

Korba lunged at Ticees, but Toran slammed him up against the wall. “Back off, both of you!” he shouted. “Neither one of you is in any position to lay the blame.”

Korba’s savage glare remained fixed on Ticees as his chest heaved. His voice was low and strained. “I will get to the bottom of this, my friend,” he spat. “And somehow, somewhere, I will find the information necessary that will condemn you to your miserable death, a death which I will gladly deliver by my own hand!”

“Stop it!” shouted Toran. “Damn it, Korba. I’ve been with Ticees over these past days, and no one save you has suffered over her loss more than he. He has not slept nor eaten nor left his chambers. Whether you like it or not, he cared for her, and he cared for her well.” Toran shook him hard. “You will find no fault with Ticees, and you will find that out for yourself with time.”

Korba finally focused on Toran and took in several deep breaths. Ticees dared to step toward them, his eyes heavy with grief. “I know that you blame me. But I also mourn for her loss, for I, too, loved her.”

Korba’s merciless eyes impaled him. “What the fuck do you know about love?”

Ticees recoiled. Toran pressed into Korba harder, restraining him from charging and ripping Ticees’ head from his shoulders.

Ticees wisely took several steps back. Finally, the Overlord straightened himself and broke free of Toran’s hold. “Leave me,” he ordered in an ominous growl.

Toran struggled to get his breath and then nodded to him. He stepped past Korba and grabbed Ticees by the shroud, pulling him forcibly from the room.

Korba stood still for a long time, assessing all. Then he moved back to his bed and looked down at the pink gown. His eyes coursed over it, noticing the precision and care with which it was laid out. It was no accident that she was gone. She had calculated her departure, and the gown had been left for him as a symbol of her undying love for him. Something or someone had forced her to leave, and Korba would avenge her death.

Slowly, he reached for the dress and raised it to his face, burying himself in her scent. He lingered as he clutched it tightly to himself. Then he looked down at his right hand, the hand that had struck his beautiful and innocent woman so long ago. He reeled with cat-like speed, slamming his fist into the wall as hard as he possibly could. He screamed out her name as he felt the bones in his hand splinter into slivers.

Korba grabbed his decimated flesh, his face contorted in agony as he collapsed to the floor. “Chelan!” he wailed. “Why did you leave?” He sagged forward onto her gown and cried for the first time in his life.

Korba awoke the next morning, still slumped on the floor, still clutching Chelan’s gown with his one good hand. Rising slowly, he stretched his aching muscles and looked around his room. It was no longer home. It was a tomb of death, and he needed to get out. Staggering on his feet, he trudged into his Command Center and fell into his chair. He winced in agony as his hand throbbed. Slowly, he reached for a combat knife and hooked the razor-sharp tip under the seam at his wrist. Carefully, he slit the glove open along his palm, the material splitting wide and revealing his swollen flesh. He sheathed the knife and then peeled the glove off his broken fingers. He stared almost catatonically at the mangled mass. He would have to see Stose at some point, but that would wait.

Shaking off the pain, he linked into Ticees’ mainframe, calling forth information on the searches done and the people involved, along with their final reports. Korba sat for hours sifting through the data, carefully scrutinizing even the smallest of details and paying special attention to the suspect transport. There were so many unanswered questions that he barely knew where to begin. As the hours passed, his mind became clouded with a grief so stifling that he could hardly breathe, let alone focus. As evening approached, he was finally exhausted, and he paged Toran.

Within minutes, his long-time friend entered his chambers and moved to the Command Center. There he found Korba hunched in his chair, holding his ruined hand. Toran knew that Korba had inflicted the damage himself in his misery, but Toran decided not to haunt him about getting medical attention. The pain Korba was enduring was his way of administering partial punishment for his role in Chelan’s death, and nothing Toran could say or do would diminish that torment or alleviate his suffering.

Korba looked up at him. “Toran,” he greeted grimly.

Toran managed a small nod and pulled up a chair facing him.

Korba leaned forward, his voice low and raspy. “Where have you been over the months that Dar and Fremma have been absent?”

“In the training fields, my friend. I knew they had been ordered out, as I was here then, but I just assumed that you had been informed and told that all was well with Chelan.”

Korba nodded. “How was she before you left?”

Toran searched his memory, and then began, his voice soft and low. “She was not well upon your departure. Dar was away, but Fremma attended her day and night. I tried to help, but my presence only aggravated her depression. Ticees never touched her but offered his help when he could. She continued to deteriorate, and finally Fremma demanded leave to spend a week here with her.”

Korba’s eyes widened. “And Ticees granted that leave?”

Toran nodded. “He was more than willing, for he, too, realized her dire state, and he did more. He allowed Fremma to adjust his entire training schedule to fit Chelan’s biorhythms. Fremma never left her side, and within a very short period of time she was nearly her old self.”

Korba was not sure that he wanted to hear that Ticees had permitted Fremma such liberties to be with Chelan. It was absolving Ticees of the guilt that Korba so badly wanted to pin on him, and it only served to vex him further. “And after Dar and Fremma left?”

“I do not know, my friend. I, too, left at that time.”

There was a knock on the door, and Korba allowed entry. “My Lords,” came Salizar’s acknowledgement as he bowed to them.

“Come sit down,” offered Korba.

“Yes, my Lord,” and Salizar pulled up a chair facing the two Warlords. Salizar was nervous being in their presence, but finally he spoke. “I offer my condolences, Sire,” he whispered.