War Games Page 7

  Then she was hit. She knew the sensation instantly but it still didn’t numb the painful jolt that coursed through her body. Her harness locked almost every joint in her body and she toppled off the wall, her rifle spinning away from her. It was two and a half metres to the sandy floor below and she was helpless, unable to cushion her tumble. Luckily, the rigid harness took most of the impact but contact with the hard ground rocked her from teeth to toes and knocked the breath from her body.

  Gasping, Cheloi moved her head out of the dust and sand and saw a pair of boots. Against painful pressure, she forced her head to angle higher.

  Lith!

  That was what her brain was trying to tell her. In her zeal to eliminate Koul, she had forgotten about her aide. The expression on Lith’s face was intriguing. In the quick glance she’d managed to get, Cheloi saw pride mixed with determination with an underlying thread of horror.

  Cheloi could still talk, but Koul arrived at a run before she thought of anything to say. She dropped her head. It was too painful fighting the harness’ rigidity. She couldn’t see Koul but she didn’t miss the pleasant surprise in his voice.

  “Well done, Lieutenant. I think I can safely say you’ve just won us the pennant.”

  Cheloi scowled, but only the sand beneath her face saw it.

  Koul Grakal-Ski flicked the silky white pennant onto his desk as he entered his quarters, a rare grin on his face. That would make two wins, a year of humiliation, for his superior officer in the simulation exercises. Moving to the bathroom, he stripped off his clothes and threw them in the laundry bin just by the doorway. It was already halfway full, and Koul’s expression of mirth sapped away.

  Menon IV might be the gateway to his greatness, but it also demanded a sizeable dose of humiliation as payment. Even discounting the repressive presence of the Senior Colonel, he still had to bear the inconvenience of sharing an orderly with the other Sub-Colonels and Majors in HQ. He wasn’t blind. He knew the Empire was hurting in terms of recruitment numbers, but he hadn’t battled his way to his current rank only to be treated like one of his subordinates.

  Under the cold stream of water in the shower cubicle, Koul washed the dirt of Bul-Guymem from his skin. He had known that Sie was aching for revenge after his last victory and had rationally concluded that his chance for a second success was slim. But neither he, nor the Senior Colonel, had counted on the Senior Lieutenant.

  Koul switched off the water and towelled himself dry.

  Lith Yinalña.

  What a mass of contradictions that woman was. He didn’t need to be a psychic to know that she had secrets somehow connected with the Nineteen. Her desperation when she approached him in Blue sector was obvious. Normally, he treated the insistence of junior officers with the silent contempt they deserved, but there was an interesting edge of rashness in her request to see him. It wasn’t fear, even though that might have been completely understandable. Caught in the disaster of the rout, watching her commander get killed, both were enough to send any young soldier into wild-eyed hysteria. But there was none of that in Yinalña. She may have tried to play it that way but he saw through her in an instant.

  There was something at Nineteen’s HQ that she wanted. Wanted badly enough to lie about the trauma of losing a beloved superior and plead for reassignment. Her request was backed up by the sector’s Sergeant Major, so she’d obviously done her work on him. And, because he had nothing better to do, no current plan to put into play, he initiated the transfer.

  On a whim.

  Koul dressed in a pair of loose field trousers, but kept his feet and chest bare. Barring an emergency, he had the rest of the evening to relax. Padding back to his anteroom, he locked the door and settled into a chair behind his desk.

  Activating his console, he scanned the timestamps and sender identifications for the latest message from his wife, sighing when there wasn’t one forthcoming.

  It was approaching Spring Festival on his home planet. Taelsa had probably taken the children to visit her parents. He missed his children. And he missed his stubborn, beautiful, aristocratic wife. She, who had the pick of men paying court to her, had instead chosen a young career officer to make her life’s mate, much to the angry disappointment of her parents.

  It was because of Taelsa that he had volunteered for the Menon campaign. He knew what she had to endure because of him. He despised the open scorn his in-laws heaped on him purely because he was a man of humble beginnings and, without him around, they took out their frustrations on their daughter. She tried to gloss over the facts when she sent him a letter, but he knew all the players too well to be deceived by her casual comments. The only way he could exact revenge for their behaviour, short of killing them all in swift strokes, was by being a success. Promotion to General. Perhaps even a junior seat at Central Control. And when he achieved such prominence on a galactic scale, not merely the planetary pond her parents so condescendingly played in, he would exact revenge.

  For now, however, it was still too painful to travel home on leave. Pain in seeing what his family had to endure and pain in his inability to do anything about it. In her parents’ eyes, he was still little more than the inexperienced captain who had wedded their rich daughter. The fact that he was now second-in-command to the most vital territory on the planet meant little to them. They wanted titles, nothing less. And he had made a vow not to return home until he had that title in his hand. And when he did, he’d shove it down their throats so hard….

  Koul was brought back to the present by the sensation of his fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm. Slowly, he unclenched his fist and looked down at the crescent-shaped imprints embedded in his hand.

  But there was nothing he could do about the situation if Sie remained in command. Under orders from certain factions of Central Control, he couldn’t even transfer away to a different territory. Every second Sie remained was one more second Taelsa and the children had to endure the scorn of her parents.

  His thoughts turned back to Yinalña.

  Why had she helped him at Bul-Guymem? He thought Yinalña was soft and ineffective, but she had shown a surprising edge during the exercise.

  In contrast, he hadn’t been fooled by Sie. By the chats with her new driver. Their cosy walks around the camp’s inner perimeter. All this time, he had been looking for a hint of impropriety between her and her adjutant, when it was more a question of gender than looks. On an intellectual level, Koul really didn’t care about her personal proclivities. But the Empire did.

  Was evidence of such an abomination enough to destroy an otherwise promising career? Perhaps. But Koul had to make sure he made his plan airtight. A mere suspicion of impropriety was not enough. The Colonel’s record was spotless. Koul had pored over it enough times to have the major entries seared into his brain. He’d get no help from that quarter. And Swonnessy was as clean as he was loyal. Maybe he could get more ammunition from Yinalña herself?

  First thing in the morning, he decided, he would put a rush on the lieutenant’s detailed record. Maybe then it might take only weeks for the paperwork to get to him, rather than the usual few months. There might be something in her record he could exploit. There had to be. But, for now, there was little else to do but relax.

  He put his feet up on the desk, nudging aside the pennant with his toes, and leant back in his chair. Waiting for the morning.

  Chapter Six

  Day 1,507 of the War:

  Where was Koul when she needed him?

  Cheloi ignored the tremor of her fingers as she fastened the button on her tunic’s collar and gave her hair one last cursory brush. There was no reason to be nervous. It was just dinner. So Rumis was on three-day leave and Koul was settling down to drink serious amounts of alcohol with his friend, Wakor. So what?

  This was only going to be the first time she had dinner alone with her aide. What was there to worry about? She had been dropped into raging fire-zones, had to crawl through rough terrain with one broken leg, ex
ecute people at point-blank range, all without batting an eyelid. So why was her throat suddenly dry and her hands shaking? Was it because she was finally going to spend some personal time with someone she’d been watching for days? Someone who made her heart beat a little faster every time she caught sight of her?

  Cheloi frowned at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She should try thinking of something else, something that would help her focus.

  Like the exercise at Bul-Guymem three days ago.

  Her hands stilled.

  She had seen a different Lith Yinalña that afternoon. The loss of the pennant (again) was a minor incident next to the memory of Lith’s face. There was horror, determination, even a touch of anger, but none of the wariness she was used to. Why? Why the change during the exercise? Had her aide finally come to some agreement with Koul?

  Cheloi closed her eyes and took a breath. Here she was, questioning and re-questioning motivations while still lacking hard evidence to prove anything either way. Perhaps it was high time she left the business and let the Fusion use younger, harder individuals to carry out its secret aims. Despite what she had told Copan so flippantly, it didn’t feel like a game any more. She was starting to take things a little too personally, second-guess herself too much. Perhaps this was something she could mention during their next session.

  The decision made, a strategy plugged neatly away in her brain, Cheloi felt once more in control. One more time, she checked her clothing then walked out of her quarters to the commander’s dining-room a few doors down the corridor.

  It would have been nice to see an encroaching dusk through clear windows or watch the effects of breeze wisps as they rattled through the needle-shaped leaves of the dry-climate trees. Instead, she was stuck underground.

  No matter. With any luck, maybe even within the year, she might be able to end all this and head home.

  Cheloi was surprised to see Lith already present when she arrived. For the first time she noticed how cosy the room was, with its curved walls, small oval timber table and four matching chairs. The rectangular serving-table, nestled against a panel of scraped earth, closed the space even more, its timber sheen contributing to an air of welcoming intimacy.

  “Lieutenant,” she greeted, and deliberately pinned a small impersonal smile on her face, “I hope you had a pleasant day?”

  “It was busy, but pleasant,” Lith replied, sliding her gaze away. Her hands were clenched in front of her body, as if she was trying to stop them from doing something. The atmosphere was fraught, which was not what Cheloi wanted at all, but she couldn’t think of a way to break through the tension. She wanted to relax and appreciate the sound and look of her aide. Meanwhile, the object of her gaze looked as though she was about to be thrown into a pit of lava.

  The door buzzed and two orderlies entered with a range of dishes. Lith focused on them as if grasping at a lifeline, giving Cheloi the freedom of scanning her aide’s hair and the variety of blonde tones that overlaid each other before being severely constrained and clipped back. The strands looked like spun metal, perfect and shining.

  “Would you like some wine, Senior Colonel?” an orderly asked.

  “Yes, why not?” It was only regulation, low-alcohol wine, but it suited the scene.

  And what scene is that? The seduction of my driver?

  The two glasses were filled and, with quick salutes, the two young men left.

  Cheloi sat first, as was only proper, then Lith. In order to impose symmetry, the table had been set at the two narrow ends, where Cheloi could watch every nuance flitting over Lith’s face without getting distracted by her intoxicating scent.

  “So tell me,” Cheloi asked as she expertly flicked open the intricately-folded serviette and laid it across her lap, “what do you think of being stationed here at HQ?”

  Lith unfolded her own napkin with more deliberation. “Sometimes, at night, I can feel the vibrations from exploding shells. They get quite close, don’t they?”

  Cheloi nodded while casting her gaze over the dishes on offer. “We’re in a sheltered position here, but the rebels set up random barrages trying to find us.” The noodle-based accompaniment looked particularly tempting this evening. “The Nineteen’s position on a land-bridge means we don’t have many options regarding where we can site our headquarters. Unfortunately, that makes us more vulnerable.”

  She heard her own voice, sounding stiff and wooden. Discouraged, she settled into silence. Only the clink of cutlery and the scrape against dishes broke the quiet.

  “Why are you here?” The question from Lith was sudden. “Why are y–we making war on these people?”

  Ah.

  Cheloi, still in the middle of placing some food on her plate, looked over at her. The steam shimmered Lith’s features, emphasising the sadness in those large hazel eyes. She knew in that moment that Lith had nothing to do with Koul. Because Koul, and everyone associated with him, knew exactly why they were here on Menon and were rabid in their enthusiasm for the war and its objectives.

  Suddenly, in the space of a heartbeat, her entire world changed. If Lith could ask such a dangerous question, if she wasn’t allied with her treacherous second-in-command in any way, was the way open to further intimacy? Dare Cheloi grab the opportunity that was presented to her?

  She put the serving spoon back on its rest and placed her plate on the table in front of her.

  “That’s a very provocative question, Lieutenant,” she replied, her tone mild. “It would be grounds for treason in some of the other territories, or even in other sectors of this territory.” She ate a forkful of food. “Are you asking for a history lesson? Or is it more about my personal motivations?”

  “Every Perlim who’s fighting the war is a volunteer,” Lith said. “I know that much, just as I know why I’m here. I was wondering why you were, Colonel?”

  It was an impudent question, no doubt about it, but it tickled Cheloi’s sense of humour.

  “I’m good at what I do,” she explained without rancour. “It’s how I live my life. So my masters sent me here to complete a mission and I’m doing that to the best of my ability.”

  “I see.” She paused for a second. “So it’s just a job for you?”

  “I’m a career officer. This is my career.”

  Lith took a sip of wine and Cheloi watched her throat as she swallowed, the slight undulation as the liquid coursed down to her stomach.

  “But what about the deaths?”

  Cheloi shrugged. “Every Perlim soldier is a volunteer, as you say. They know that war is a bloody business. Nobody forced them to join up.”

  A part of her wondered why Lith had requested assignment on Menon if she was so ambivalent about the campaign. There were many other options for young military officers throughout the galaxy without being nailed down on a hostile backward planet along one of the Empire’s thin fingers of territory. The old suspicious Cheloi would have dug into this a bit deeper, but the new Cheloi was intoxicated on the potential of Lith’s presence. She realised with a start that she was prepared to overlook a lot, perhaps more than she should, in order to slake her thirst.

  Lith was persistent. “But what about the people on this planet, the massacres that have taken place….”

  She meant, of course, Sab-Iqur, or events very much like it. Would the name of that village end up pursuing Cheloi across the galaxy, screaming vengeance in her ears every night? It was that thought that made her voice a little brusque.

  “I have my orders, Lieutenant, just as you do.”

  “Of course,” the junior officer replied quickly, dropping her eyes. “I understand.”

  The conversation moved to general topics after that, but Cheloi’s focus was sharp.

  Lith’s eyes were wide and bright, darting often to her dinner partner across the table, her dark eyelashes fanning seduction. There was a flush along her cheekbones, a hot invitation. She tried to hide it, to keep the self-conscious waver from her voice, but the effort was futil
e, as if she was straining to keep back a tide of water with a wall made of tissue paper.

  Lith didn’t want to like her. Didn’t want to feel this attraction. Whatever the reasons, the outward signs of a fierce internal battle were obvious, and Cheloi watched them closely as she ate. What would happen if one of those restraints broke? If sheer determination wasn’t enough to hold back the chemistry between them? Would the resulting conflagration consume them both?

  Something along the same lines must have occurred to Lith, because she finished her meal with hurried gulps and stood up abruptly.

  “Thank you, Senior Colonel. I should go.”

  And she made a move towards the door. Towards Cheloi.

  There were so many reasons why it was a bad idea to pursue beautiful Lith Yinalña. It would put the equivalent of a loaded weapon right in Koul’s hands. It was bad policy to fraternise with people under one’s command. It would dent her credibility as a military commander. It might distract her at a critical moment. It might destroy her cover and end up killing her.

  There was only one reason why it was a good idea. It wasn’t because she was lonely. It wasn’t because she yearned for the touch of flesh against flesh. It wasn’t because commanding entire battalions to their deaths, eliminating whole communities, was ripping her to shreds.

  It was simply because she wanted to.

  That want drove her out of her chair almost as fast as Lith, stopping the woman before she cleared the length of the table. The food, the wine, was forgotten.

  “I….” Cheloi tried to find the right words. Failed.

  Lith licked her pink-brown lips, making the fullness glisten. Cheloi could breathe in her scent, a slight floral note interlaced with the clean musk from her skin, overlaid with the aroma of young, red wine. They were only centimetres apart.…

  There was time enough to pull back, something deep inside told Cheloi, time to retreat from a commitment she might later regret. The seed of doubt took hold, tugging her away from the brink, just as the vibrations from a detonating shell hit them. It must have been close, because even the table rattled, knocking the cutlery and plates against each other with metallic clatters. Lith was thrown forward.