Authors: K. S. Augustin

Balance of Terror (38 page)

“This is the Colonel’s quarters,” he said, indicating an otherwise anonymous door. “Most of your time will probably be spent shuttling between here and your own quarters.”

Lith frowned at the seamless black panel. It was strange how it looked like every other door. As though a monster – the Butcher – didn’t weave her plans of death from behind its bland exterior. Just thinking about what went on behind that door, the orders that resulted in thousands of innocent casualties and deaths, was enough to get her blood boiling and give her a much-needed burst of courage.

She smiled into the Major’s dark eyes. “I’m sure I’ll be kept very busy,” she told him.

He laughed and led her further down the corridor. “If you’re working for the Colonel, you don’t have a choice.”

He stopped outside another door and palmed it open. “This is yours.”

Lith stepped into the room that was to be her new home. It was a compact space, with a small bathroom off to one side. The air inside was stuffy and smelt a little mouldy, something Swonnessy noticed as well, because he stepped sideways to the climate-control panel just near the door and activated the ventilation fans. After waiting to make sure the characteristic whirring began, he continued forward and put Lith’s soft-pack down on her bed.

“The Colonel is usually up quite early, but you’re not expected on duty until seven. It’ll be worth your while to get fresh uniforms to her the night before rather than try scrambling around in the morning.”

She nodded.

“I’ll leave you to get settled. Let’s meet for lunch in an hour and I’ll take you through the rest of your duties.”

“Thank you for your help, Major.”

He smiled. “Welcome to Nineteen’s HQ. I’ll see you back at the canteen.”

Lith watched him leave and swiftly locked the door behind him, letting out a long breath only when she was alone.

The day had started out with a flurry, with sub-Colonel Grakal-Ski arriving to pick her up from the shambles of Blue sector command precisely at six. Not that he drove the wheeler himself. It was obvious to Lith that Grakal-Ski thought himself above such petty activities and she tried to smile reassuringly at the nervous-looking ensign who had been ordered to act as the Colonel’s chauffeur.

The Colonel had tried to be courteous to her, but it was a futile effort. No matter how much a smile tried to curve his lips, or how outwardly solicitous his words might be – “Are you sure you have everything, Lieutenant?”; “No, there’s no need for you to drive. I’m sure Ensign Kavky will be more than happy to get us back to HQ”; “Should you have any questions about HQ protocol, please feel free to approach me” – they couldn’t hide the essential coldness, the distinct feeling of aloof calculation, behind his eyes.

Grakal-Ski might be polite to her now, but Lith was certain that could easily turn into a frigid rage should she ever displease him.

Major Rumis Swonnessy, on the other hand, seemed to be no more than he appeared to be. She was surprised by how friendly and courteous he was and by the clear respect he showed the Nineteen’s commander. Lith was sure he was also a big hit with the ladies. Those laughing eyes, dimples, and smooth voice could coax the most reluctant woman (or man, come to think of it) to bed.

Senior Colonel Cheloi Sie, however, wasn’t what Lith was expecting at all. She had been anticipating the reserve, but not the courtesy. And she had certainly not expected to find her...attractive. The Colonel’s short practical haircut emphasised her bone structure, camouflaged by only a light padding of fat that made her seem more approachable and less like a flesh-filleting knife. Her skin was darker than Lith’s but lighter than the dark chocolate of her eyes. Her lips, dark and bluish in tinge, looked like they smiled often. And her voice was calm and melodious. If they had met in a bar somewhere, Lith might have even struck up a conversation with the attractive woman. And that thought scared her.

She grimaced as she flipped open the flap of her soft-pack. She thought she could still feel the impression of the Colonel’s hand against her own. The touch had been firm and decisive and Lith conceded that it was only a touch of immaturity that made her expect something chill, soft and clammy.

“Why couldn’t it have been soft and clammy?” she muttered. She paused in her unpacking, looking down at her upturned hand as if she could see the outline of Cheloi Sie’s fingers etched on her palm. With a rough movement, she rubbed it against the side of her trousers.

“A butcher,” she told herself in a stern voice. “Not attractive. Not interesting. Just a better-than-average mass murderer.”

And concentrated on getting ready for lunch with Major Swonnessy.

Copyright

Balance of Terror

ISBN 978-0-9871445-8-4

© Copyright KS Augustin 2012

Cover art: Derek Murphy

Editors: H Hammond, John Young

A Sandal Press book

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