TICEES (51 page)

He looked down at her as his hand pressed her head into his chest. He could feel her shallow respirations, her soft breath on his skin. He began to tremble. “Oh, Chelan. I’m so sorry.” Ticees gathered her body tightly and pressed her into him, imparting his warmth to her. “Oh, Chelan. Why couldn’t you be willing?”

Ticees raised his head from her, trying to get air and trying to deal with his agony. What had he been thinking? What had he done? He began rocking her, trying to console both her and himself.

He stilled himself and looked down into her calm face. His hand brushed along her cheek as his eyes travelled down her body. He held his breath as he allowed her to uncoil, and his eyes widened with horror. His hand coursed over her leg, her thighs and ankles bruised with his finger marks. “Oh, shit,” he mumbled.

He remained over her for a long time, wrestling with his thoughts. All was lost. She would never be his, and indeed, he did not deserve her. He stood and laid her on the bed, his actions frantic. He needed to get out. He felt sick, and he had to get away. He could no longer look at her, and he had to leave. He had to think. He had to figure this out and make it right.

He covered her tightly with blankets. His breaths came in ragged gasps. He could no longer contain his panic or his grief. He was beyond reason. He grabbed his shroud and threw it on. He snatched up his lazgun and ran from the room. He could not possibly bear to be present when she awoke, to look into her stricken eyes or deal with her pain and torment. He needed time. But most of all, he needed answers.

Chelan awoke abruptly, her body in pain, her head throbbing. Quickly she looked around, realizing that she was still in Ticees’ chambers and in his bed. She tried to rise, but a spasm of agony shot through her head and neck, and she groaned, falling back into the pillows. She opened her eyes again. It was morning, very early morning, and she strained to remember what had gone before. She remembered Ticees and the drink, but little else.

Slowly, she pushed herself up with her arms, every part of her hurting. Her muscles were stiff, and she felt bruised. She clutched at her head for a moment, feeling at though she was going to faint. Then she threw back the blankets and hung her feet over the edge of the bed.

She looked down at her legs and saw the marks. She took several deep breaths and tried to stand, but she doubled over and clutched at her abdomen, her internal organs cramping sharply. Chelan exhaled explosively, her eyes wide. What had he done?

Chelan clung to the side of the bed as she struggled to her feet. Why was he so rough? She walked stiffly to the wash area when suddenly nausea hit her, and she was sick. Panting, she was again rocked by crippling cramps. Finally, she slumped to the cold floor and leaned back against the wall, trying to collect herself. She had to get back to her chambers. She had to have a bath.

Chelan closed her eyes, her temples pounding. She swallowed several times, trying to moisten her dry throat. Shadows drifted in and out of her mind, and she bolted upright. Her breath caught. She held her head in her hands as she forced her mind to work. No, they weren’t shadows. They were shrouds, three of them. Chelan’s eyes widened with terror. Did Ticees have three men with him? Did they all …?

Chelan reeled against the horrendous possibility. Her mind began to rebel, colors and images surging past her in disarray. Then everything flashed white, and she saw Stose. Chelan clutched at her chest. No, it wasn’t Stose, it was a doctor, the doctor from her past. Chelan keeled over and convulsed. Her stomach knotted, and her lungs burned. Nothing was making sense. Why was she thinking of a man in white? Why were visions of her childhood rape tormenting her weakened mind?

Chelan sat up and pushed her tangled hair from her face. Then her heart stopped. “Breeders!” she cried.

Chelan jumped to her feet, ignoring her pain. She ran into the bedroom and threw on her gown. “No,” she whimpered as she staggered through the main doors and down the corridor, barely able to remain upright. She fell onto her bed and clutched her pounding head as she tried to think. Where was she in her cycle?

Chelan righted herself and took several deep breaths, trying to pin down her scattering thoughts. She counted backward to her menses and moaned. Was it possible?

She tore open the drawer on the night table and gasped. The bottle of muscle contractors was gone. Chelan grabbed for the bottle of nerve blockers. It seemed to take forever for her trembling hands to release the top. She dumped them out, the pills splashing all over the nightstand. Hurriedly she counted them. Then she recounted them.

Chelan slumped forward and cried out loud. She slipped off the bed and thudded to the floor. One of the pills was missing. He had planned it. Chelan sobbed as she pressed her hands forcefully into her abdomen. “The bastard planned it!” she screamed, and she clutched at herself almost with abhorrence.

She began rocking herself, setting her jaw as she sorted through the calamity. He had manipulated her with the intent of forcing her to bear his child. He had counted the pills and had deviously tracked her cycles. And he had removed the contractors so that she could not force an abortion. He had planned it all so well, and she yelled out in frustration and anger.

Abruptly she pushed to her feet. She was suddenly repulsed by her own body, and she bolted for the shower. Her tears flowed endlessly as she frantically scrubbed her herself until her skin was raw. She dug deep into herself, her own long nails tearing at her bruised flesh, purging her body of what fluids she could. Only when she could bear no more did she crumpled to the shower floor in a heap.

For a time, her mind was blank. She turned her face up to the cool water and attempted to clear away the filth that threatened to muddy the clarity that she so desperately needed. She tried to concentrate, but what lanced through her thoughts first were Korba and his pain. She clutched at her temples and squeezed her eyes tight, oscillating between profound despair and festering rage.

Finally she forced herself to leave the cleansing effect of the shower. She shuffled into the bedroom and sat carefully on the bed. She tensed, her feminine softness swollen. She winced at the pain and then took some of her weight with her arms. It was time to gain control of herself, and it was time to think.

She took several deep breaths and channeled her thoughts. Ticees by his act had challenged the Let, and Korba would be forced to defend it. He would come home to find her pregnant with Ticees’ child, and the conception would have witnesses and have been documented, making it appear that she had agreed. Whether Korba accepted her lot with Ticees or whether he challenged it, she was lost to him, forced to bear a child that was not his.

Chelan hugged herself and concentrated. She had to think through this carefully. She had to cover everything and all her alternatives, for her conclusions would dictate her actions.

She could not go to Stose to be checked or to ask for more pills, for he would ask too many questions, and she could not trust herself to remain strong. If he found out, or even suspected trouble, he would tell Korba of her plight, and the Warlord would die trying to kill Ticees. She could tell no one, for few would believe her, and any of those who did would probably perish by Ticees’ hand.

Chelan rubbed her brow. She could lie to Korba and tell him that she had chosen Ticees willingly and ask him not to challenge for her sake and his. But Chelan shook her head. Korba knew her and her loyalty too well. There was no possible way he would leave this unchallenged.

Then her eyes went wide with fear. He would die trying to defend her, and she could not live with that. She jumped to her feet. She had to get away. She had to leave, and her departure had to be ultimate and final.

Instantly, she began to make plans. She would go to the Dead Zone. There, her chances of survival were nil, and that’s what she sought, her death in exchange for Korba’s life. Chelan knew that Ticees would leave no clues about the truth, and he would lie passionately to cover what he had done. By going to the Dead Zone she would perish without a trace, and the last remnants of the truth, the seed within her, would perish also. Her body could simply not be found.

Chelan hugged herself. Korba would see her death as her inability to cope with Iceanea and his absence. He would suspect that her deterioration was due to her all-consuming grief, solidified and fatally deepened by their parting fight. She knew that he would ultimately blame himself, and his grief would seem insurmountable. But she also knew he would survive. He had before.

Chelan swung into action. She was not going to give Ticees the child he sought, and for the first time in a long time, she smiled. Ultimately, she had the control. She had the power.

She ran across the room and donned the military uniform Fremma had given her. Then she retrieved her throwing blades, and for the first time since she had come to Iceanea, she sheathed them in her boots.

She threw her shroud over her shoulders and grabbed the protective headpiece she used on the aerial missions. Next came the Command Center, and she began entering codes. A hidden compartment opened, and from it she retrieved two lazguns and a combat knife. Then she hesitated, looking down at the weapons, and her hands stilled. She knew she would die in the Dead Zone, but somehow she felt she had to at least put up a fight and try to survive. She was not sure why that seemed so important. Maybe it was her last way of paying homage to the warrior who was her mate and her one true love. She had to try. She could not simply give up.

Chelan hid the guns under her shroud, sheathed the knife, and then ran to the food dispensary. She packed away as much of the protein-carbohydrate concentrate as she could and then hustled back to the Command Center.

She sat down and set to work. Now was the time to put all her brains to use. She could ill afford any mistakes, and timing was crucial. She began to punch a myriad of military codes into the computer, and she watched as the data came up before her. She knew exactly where she was going and exactly how to get there. Her work with Salizar had given her intimate knowledge of the planet, and with the information Korba had supplied her on Iceanea and her cities, Chelan’s knowledge base was complete.

What she needed now were the schedules for the day’s reconnaissance missions over the Dead Zone. She knew that all her efforts would be thwarted if the scanners on a flyby picked her up. Her timing had to be perfect. She could not be detected.

Chelan absorbed all that she needed about the missions, and then her mind turned to the problem of getting out of the Palace. Chelan knew the transports came and left every few minutes, mostly carrying supplies. It was just a matter of getting on the right one and avoiding security.

Chelan called up the day’s schedules and looked over the transports carefully. Then she found what she was looking for: the shuttle to Satanya left soon, and with a little planning and a lot of luck, she would be on it.

The next step was to get to the hangar and past security. Chelan smiled. Ticees himself was going to be the key to her escape. He had taken her down the security tunnels many times, and she had watched him enter his codes. She knew that getting back through the locked doors was impossible because they were linked to body chemistry sensors, but not so for getting out. The tunnels were for him and the Warlords only, and now they would be for her. She called up a layout of her destination and looked for the private tunnel to the main hangar. Her eyes lit. If she could get out of the corridor and into the flight deck without anyone detecting her entrance, it would be assumed that she had been cleared, and she would simply be permitted to board the shuttle.

Chelan lingered a moment more, absorbing the last of her vital information and taking herself step by step through her plans one more time. Satisfied that she had all she needed, she stood and took a deep and calming breath.

Now she had to move, and move quickly. She did not know where Ticees was or when he would be back, and she could not afford to have him looking for her with the scanners. Chelan ran into the bedroom and took one last look around her. Then she moved to the night table and picked up a couple of the nerve blocks, swallowing both of them. At least she could do without some of the physical pain he had inflicted on her, and she shoved the rest into her shroud.

Chelan stood quietly for a moment as she took in everything around her that reminded her so much of Korba. She had been right. She would never see him again, and a spear pierced her heart. But she knew that her leaving was for the best. She would follow in Sabina’s footsteps, and Chelan smiled. She felt she knew the pretty Iceanean woman intimately, and Chelan knew why she had done what she had. It was for the same reason that Chelan would enter the Dead Zone, and that reason would live to fight another day.

Chelan looked over at her pink gown. Holding her breath, she walked over to it and touched it gently. She knew she could not take it with her, but it was as much for Korba as it was for her, and she held it to her face. It belonged on his bed, just as she once had, and she laid it out carefully, lovingly smoothing out all the wrinkles and folds. It was as if she lay there, waiting for him, and her eyes welled. She stepped back and smiled, her heart brimming with love for the gentle Warlord. He was a magnificent man in every definition of the word, and he needed to survive to keep the Empire strong. Neither she nor Ticees and his barbarism would bring him down.