Treading Dangerous Ground

Chapter 1

Treading Dangerous Ground

By Deirdre O’Dare

2279

Main Uni-Fleet Base, Titan

Jayce woke bathed in sweat with an aching hard-on. He’d dozed off on his bunk, bored with this mandatory return to home base, allegedly for R and R. Nothing to do except fret. It drove him half-mad. Of course, he’d had the damned dream again—the one he couldn’t seem to get rid of, no matter what he tried.

Damn, will that night ever stop haunting me? He exhaled in a jerky sigh. It had been over a year, yet the memories were as fresh as yesterday’s.

The action at Morte Ravine was little more than a footnote now in the conquest of Kalibassi. The whole campaign had already been swallowed by history with the discovery of yet more new worlds to conquer. He’d be heading out again soon to one of them.

But he still couldn’t forget. The night had been hot. Kalibassi was always hot. Ninety percent desert, the rest of the planet was one small super-saline ocean, almost absorbed into the sandy land masses.

Their body armor had weighed heavily on tired muscles and blistered skin. It seemed to press the heat into flesh and bone. They’d all thought of taking it off, yet no one dared. Dusk fell as Jayce arrayed his squad along the twisting ravine. It was the only escape route out of Kalibar, the apparent capital of this backward world, once the main force marched in by the wider pass to the west.

Balt—Cadet Lieutenant Baltazar Donovan—was the youngest man, the newest soldier. Fresh from basic training, he was green as the spring prairie. He might have been the top trainee in his class, but training was not combat. Any concerned officer would have done the same, Jayce had told himself. You keep the most vulnerable soldiers close while they learn the ropes.

The plants and pests of Kalibassi were fully as dangerous as their rag-tag military. One bite from a sand spider or any of the small, swift adders brought quick and painful death. Even the thorns of the cactus-like shrubs caused infection and frequent allergic reactions. There was nothing hospitable about the place at all. It was valuable only for the rare and precious minerals the Uni-Council coveted with avid greed. For those resources, another world was taken.

Darkness fell, heavy as the heat. It was one of those rare nights when all three of the Kalibassi moons were out of sight. The desert world’s perpetual haze hid the stars from view. Without their night vision goggles, every man jack of them might as well be blind. The scopes relied on infra-red, which in turn required life. That night, empty darkness as deeply black as boot polish, covered the ugly world.

Kneeling on chelvar ground cloths which were supposed to repel the vermin, the twenty soldiers settled down to wait. The keening wind, blowing off the craggy mountains behind them, made it hard to hear if anyone approached. Although the Kalibasians might be primitive, they knew their home. Besides having extraordinary vision, they could move noiselessly. One could approach, grab you, and slit your throat with one of their vicious obsidian blades, all without making a sound. When long-distance, high-tech weapons did not stop them, they killed with chilling efficiency.

The sand whispered as Balt edged closer, dragging his ground cloth. When he spoke, his shivers stuttered out in his speech. “D-d-damn it, s-s-sir. I-I-I’m scared. I didn’t think I would be, but I’m s-s-scared shitless.”

In his mind’s eyes, Jayce could see the younger man’s face as clearly as if it were broad daylight. He was almost too beautiful—wide-set, liquid ebony eyes fringed with heavy lashes, firm rose-hued lips, delicate features which somehow mirrored his odd mix of Hispanic and Celtic heritage.

When the others teased him over his looks, he took it in good nature. In spite of the beauty of his face, his physique was all male. He had wide shoulders and a trim waist, long muscular legs and an athlete’s grace. In time he would make a good soldier. To do so, he had to survive long enough to learn and mature.

Jayce felt the heat of the younger man’s body. Balt was that close. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he said, his voice coming out in a rasp. “We’re all scared, every fuckin’ time. Not many of us want to die. Certainly none of us want it to happen on some god-forsaken dump light years from home. Anyone who isn’t scared is a complete fool.”

He heard Balt’s rough sigh. “Honest, sir?”

“Hell, yes! I’m scared right now even though I’ve seen action on a dozen worlds, from ice-bound Boreanor to steamy jungles on Questane…and now this s**t pit.”

After a moment of silence, the younger soldier spoke again, softly, so softly Jayce barely heard him. “Is it all right, er, do you mind if I stay here with you?”

Jayce nodded, then realized the action could not be seen unless Balt had his goggles on and was looking directly at Jayce. “No, it’s okay.”

Before the night ended, he found himself holding the young soldier. Just holding him, nothing more, much as a parent would console a frightened child. He only meant to give the elemental comfort of human contact, yet later his dreams took the situation far beyond the reality.

Even now, months later, he could still feel Balt’s sleek, muscled body. He could feel the heat and the sudden awareness which had swept through him. It was a blatantly s****l heat, an encompassing hunger that sank its fangs into him and would not let go.

They all survived the night. Near dawn the Kalibassi rabble finally came. They did not sneak silently. They stumbled along, announcing their approach with whimpers and wails. Laser rifles made short work of them. When the light grew stronger, it revealed the bulk of the refugees had been not warriors but females and cubs. At the revelation, Balt had been noisily sick.

Jayce hadn’t felt too good himself. He’d fought back the urge to puke as he looked over the singed bodies, smelled the acrid odor of burned flesh. The sight was not pretty, nor was there victory in such a deed. Although his people had been warriors since time immemorial, no honor or coup came from remote, indiscriminate slaughter. Times like this, he questioned the career he had chosen, but it was far too late to take another path.

When he went home on leave a few weeks later, his family and clan held a ceremony for him. The sweat lodge, the chants and prayers, and the dancing had all been done to cleanse the evil from his spirit, to purify his mind.

Had it all been in vain?

Perhaps he did not believe enough anymore. He’d been away from the old folks and the old ways much too long.

He’d had a number of women since the night on Kalibassi, yet none of them had really satisfied him. He might just as well have jacked off and saved his time or money. Was this strange haunting desire for a fellow soldier as abominable as it felt to him? He wished he had talked to his grandfather more, confessed this matter about Balt. Could the old shaman’s wisdom have given him some comfort? It was too late now. He’d probably never know. By the time he returned home again, the old man would likely be dead. There was no one else he trusted enough to unburden himself to.

At times he thought he should just swallow the capture pill to end it all swiftly. Perhaps the time would come, although he couldn’t quite do it yet. In a couple of days he would be shipping out again. It couldn’t come too soon. The pressures of combat might drive the memories and the desires out of his mind.

By the ancients, I pray it is so. Otherwise, I think I’ll go crazy.