Clawing Back from Chaos: Book 9 in the Cat Among Dragons Series (A Cat Among Dragons)

by Alma Boykin

  Shikali squirmed, reaching for his weapons. Rada turned her back, trusting Zabet to keep him out of trouble one way or another while she advanced on Prince Tee-shai, sketched a bow to the startled noble, and said, “Your Highness, what do you know about a little difficulty at ClearSprings Depot?”

  “Nothing, by all my ancestors and all they held dear, this I swear Lord Reh-dakh.” He remained calm and when Rada dropped her shields a little, she sensed nothing but dismay and confusion—and certainty. She bowed a little and started turning.

  “Raargh!” She fired, then grabbed her left arm where the blaster bolt intended for her back had grazed her. She smelled charred flesh and her left hand went numb. Faster than thought, she transferred the pistol to her weak hand and fired as Zabet let loose her own round. Shikali jerked and dropped, as did his bodyguard.

  «Fewmets and shattered shells, what in the name of the nine hells was that fool thinking?» Zabet called to all within hearing distance. «He almost killed His Excellency.»

  Rada, now sitting on the floor as she tried to slow her heart and stop her own bleeding by force of will, shook her head. She kept her pistol trained on Shikali’s body until Zabet flashed the sign for “dead.” Rada activated the safety on her own weapon, slid it awkwardly into the holster, and started inspecting the burn. Time seemed to slow—never a good sign—and she gave Zabet a look. The True-dragon holstered her own weapon and rushed across the room, her talons skittering on the floor. She got a firm grip on Rada’s upper arm, pressing on the artery. “Your Excellency, do you have a Healer on staff?”

  Tee-shai recovered his wits. “Yes, I do. Seahlak, call Healer Eerlah please.”

  An hour later, Rada and Zabet departed Deklali. Rada risked letting go of the symbiote’s mind to see where the king-emperor was. In the greater throne room, but with only a few nobles in attendance. Did she dare? The symbiote hit her with a pop of temporal energy, a sort of slap, warning that it would not tolerate what she had in mind. Too much traffic around Drakon IV, too many bodies in the audience chamber. Coming on top of her injury, the mental blow shook Rada out of her predator’s focus and she let go of the idea. The Dark Hart landed at the customary place. Rada opened the door and Zabet marched out. A large male Azdhag stalked in as soon as she cleared the entry. Rada tried to get up to bow, but Prince Imperial Shy-kii rose onto his hind legs, then pushed her back into the pilot’s seat with one large, gauntleted forefoot. “Not until the Healer gets here. My honored sire learned of your difficulty two hours ago and we have been waiting for your arrival.”

  The Wanderer was in no condition to argue with two-hundred kilos of muscular reptile. “Yes, Imperial Highness.”

  “And he ordered me to inform you that no member of the Imperial Lineage had anything to do with either the ambush or the subsequent attack.”

  “Thank you, Imperial Highness.”

  “Nor will there be any feuds. Beeltal’s heir killed and,” Shy-kii stopped, unable to say the word, “ate.”

  “Dismembered, Imperial Highness, I believe was what the Guard reported.”

  “Thank you. Dismembered Shailak’s heir in a mating frenzy. He has little memory of the event. The Healer said that she believes that such amnesia is normal, given that we no longer,” he grunted, the Azdhag version of throat clearing, “dismember each other.”

  I wouldn’t go that far, Your Highness. Your great grandfather took someone apart with his bare talons as I watched. “Indeed, Imperial Highness.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and backed away, yielding the space to an aggravated female in Healer purple. “Lord mammal, why did you not wait for a proper Healing? With all due respect.” Rada closed her eye as the Healer set to work.

  I cannot win. And I still need a vaca—.

  She woke in her quarters three hours later.

  Rada opened the panel in the wall, poked her head out, and heard a gasp, then the sound of breaking glassware. That’s not auspicious she thought, peering towards the commotion. “Uh, ah, are you Commander Na Gael?” a nervous voice inquired from the far side of the laboratory.

  “That’s me,” the one-eyed female confirmed, easing forward and keeping her hands in clear view of whoever was working. She wrinkled her nose at the sting of formic acid fumes. “And shouldn’t we clean that up before it trips an environmental alert?”

  “Oh yes, quite right.” Dr. Ransar Chandrasekar carefully turned off the testing equipment and moved two flasks farther away from the edge of the lab table while Rada got the appropriate neutralizing agent and turned on the venting blower. After they got the spill contained and cleaned up, the scientist asked, “Aren’t you back early?”

  “Rachel Na Gael” thought for a moment, then went to the desk by the main door, unlocked and opened one of the top drawers, and checked a small black box with a green light on it. “I don’t think so. Today is July 18, isn’t it?” The wall calendar and the screen of the computer on the desk both read July 18. The South Asian chemist shrugged. “Twenty-four hour shifts do that,” Rachel observed in a soothing tone, and the portly man nodded emphatically.

  “Oh yes, Commander Na Gael, very much. And then a surprise inspection by Dr. Spaustet from Vienna, and a mix-up in staffing, and . . .” he launched into a litany of everything she’d missed in the past week. She listened carefully, making mental notes. Apparently whoever had been scheduled to rotate in as the new executive officer had proven “unworkable” at the last minute for some reason, and Vienna—in a rare attack of wisdom—had opted to leave the current staff intact at least until the following year. That’s strange—they don’t usually do anything that smart, even by accident the Wanderer observed tartly. Ah well, they’ll change things as soon as they realize what a good decision it was.

  Dr. Chandrasekar wound down after a few minutes. It certainly sounded as if someone had squeezed the events of her eight personal-year absence into one Terran week. “Are you certain that you are not back early?” he inquired again.

  “Well, my leave papers said I was to come back on July 18 of this year, so no, unless things have changed while I was away.”

  “They haven’t, Commander,” Major Maria de Alba y Sanchez said from the doorway. “I’ll tell Captain ben David that you’re back. Dr. Chandrasekar, do you have any results from your tests on those seed-things?”

  A flurry of activity ensued, and Rachel slipped up to her quarters while the others were distracted. The room was a bit musty, but otherwise the same as usual, and Rachel dumped the contents of her bag onto the chair beside the fireplace. She visited the WC and then changed into her “uniform” of grey jacket and skirt. The Wanderer-hybrid also hung her new body armor and helmet on their hooks on the wall, beside her gun belt and within easy reach of her bed nest. She put a few imported treats into the tiny fridge and turned her cell phone back on before returning to the lab.

  Since Dr. C. was still working and didn’t want assistance, Rachel slipped out the back door of the lab and began checking on her precious roses. She pulled some errant grass and weeds as she worked back and forth down the long alley toward the big tree. About halfway from the building she stopped, suddenly noticing something new at the end of the rows. Something large was making splashing noises just beyond the tree. With some trepidation, she approached it and saw that the grass had barely started to grow over several trenches that led from the thing to the vegetable garden and glasshouse. “Where did this come from?” she asked no one in particular.

  Someone had put a fountain at the end of the rose alley. It was a very nice little thing, roughly two and a half meters high, with three levels and a pool about three meters across, all of it made of warm brown-and-cream stone or tinted concrete. There was a second, small pool with a much lower kerb on the side away from the building and garden, and it took Rachel a moment to realize that it was for animals to drink from. That’s thoughtful she observed. Whoever had put the thing in had been very careful not to interfere with the roots of the giant ash tree.

&
nbsp; “Trust you to come here first, rather than checking in as you’re supposed to,” an amused voice said from behind a hedge that divided the rose ally from the kitchen garden and glasshouse.

  Rachel turned and smiled. “I don’t care to disturb work in progress, sir, or to be underfoot.”

  Brigadier General Rahoul Khan smiled in return and extended his hand. “Welcome back, Rachel.” When she changed her cane over to shake, the South Asian officer pulled her into a quick half-embrace, then released her. “You look better.”

  She nodded. “Thank you, sir. A while away did wonders.” She studied her friend—and now commanding officer—in turn. “Command suits you.”

  The English general smiled wider at the praise. “We’ll see. Things have been rather quiet recently.” He looked off into the distance at the tree-covered hills beyond the perimeter fence. “Rather too quiet for my taste, actually. But you will hear all that tomorrow at the staff briefing. Go check in with Captain ben David and start catching up on the threat reports, Commander Na Gael, and I expect you at supper tonight. You are dismissed back to your duties.” Rahoul shifted from friend to superior, and Rachel nodded her assent, pleased with the change she sensed in him.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The alien returned to the lab in time to help Dr. Chandrasekar clean up the last of his testing materials, then left him to write up his report in peace while she obediently limped down the corridor to the adjutant’s office and officially informed Captain Moshe ben David that she was back from leave.

  The black-haired Israeli smiled as he made the note. “What did you bring me?”

  “New body armor for me, with a carry handle attached to the back collar so you won’t have to work as hard when you drag me. Plus an attachment that lets you watch movies on your night-vision monocle without the colonel knowing. Want one?” She waited to see if he would take the bait.

  “Really?” The sniper hesitated for a second, then shook his head and grinned. “You’re pulling my leg. Besides, I already have a rail mount for my mini movie-viewer.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me one bit, Captain. You Israelis lead the planet in, how does RSM Smith put it? Oh yes, ‘corner-takeaway-ninja tactical accessories’ I believe was the phrase.” Rachel leaned against the doorframe and grinned back at him.

  “Just because my Uncle Avigdor patented the first rail-mounted tactical coffee mug doesn’t mean . . .” he started, but the phone rang. Rachel excused herself as ben David picked up the handset.

  She took her time walking back to the lab, poking her nose into the infirmary to let Dr. Albioni know that she was back and leaving a note for the senior NCO. Always stay on the RSM’s good side she observed. They know all the ways to get even, and then some. The alien twitched her prosthetic ears and began the return trip to “her lair,” as the soldiers called the laboratory wing. She noted several new faces during her trip. Staff rotations generally occurred twice a year. Why it happened that way, no one exactly knew, unless it was to make it easier for the bureaucrats to argue that it wasn’t their fault when transfer paperwork was routed to the wrong place, since there was so much of it all at once. It was another of the Global Defense Force’s quirks that Rachel would have changed, had she been in charge. Right, as if you’ve been able to change much about the Azdhagi Defenders in how many centuries?

  Supper that night consisted of salads and catching up on “news.” Rachel picked through an overly generous serving of vegetables, searching in vain for animal protein, while Major de Alba filled her in on various events. “And Major O’Neil retired two weeks ago,” the Spanish communications officer and acting executive informed the xenology specialist.

  “Really? That’s a bit early, isn’t it?” She took a sip of milk to wash down what had, to her disappointment, proven to be a carrot.

  De Alba shook her head and swallowed a large fork-full of greens. “No. Apparently he’d been considering it for a while, and his wife was promoted to a very nice position at Rolls Royce with full benefits.”

  “I hope they do well,” Rachel replied. As much as she despised Oatmeal O’Neil, she didn’t actively wish him harm. Not that’s she’d be forgiving him any time in the near future, but she didn’t want him to suffer. Much. All right, if he got hit by a lorry I’d probably smile a little, she forced herself to admit. Fate and justice and all that. But I wouldn’t push him too hard off the kerb.

  “So what did you do for holiday, Rachel?” de Alba inquired.

  “Oh, a little sight-seeing, caught up some correspondence, visited an old acquaintance, the usual sorts of things.”

  “No saving the universe single-handedly?” Lieutenant Pedro Bustos’s eyebrows rose slightly in disbelief.

  Rachel shook her head. “No. I leave that to my business partner. She’s the brains of the operation. I’m the pretty one,” she finished, deadpan.

  Maria gave the alien a concerned glance, but didn’t say anything. Instead, one of the new junior officers, someone from East Asia judging by their coloring, asked, “What kind of business, ma’am?”

  Ouch, southern United States accent. Misread that one. Unable to waste a perfect set-up, the Wanderer said, “We sell Girl Guide biscuits—cookies, I think you’d say. There’s a large market for them in what you call the Andromeda Galaxy.”

  Maria and an eavesdropping Rahoul winced and shook their heads as the lieutenant’s eyes went wide. “Really, ma’am?”

  Should I? Rachel wondered, sorely tempted by the fact that the bait had been taken. Might as well: sheep need to be sheared every so often for their own benefit. She crossed her fingers out of the American’s sight, leaned forward, and continued. “Oh yes. There’s quite a demand for them among connoisseurs. Granted, the exchange rates are a bit of a challenge, but you can make a quite decent profit if you time the market correctly.”

  “Well I’ll be,” the young man said, sitting back in his chair. “Who’d of thought it.”

  “And if you’ll excuse me?” Rachel looked toward Rahoul, who nodded his permission while working very hard to keep a straight face. “Good evening ladies, gentlemen,” she said, taking her tray and glass to the washing-up area.

  Rahoul mentally sighed. Rachel was back to her old wise-assery, something that both pleased and irked him. Pleased because it meant that she was feeling all right again—irritated because she could be very disruptive if he didn’t make her keep it within bounds. Something else to add to the list for the executive officer to do, he noted silently.

  At a different table in the officers’ mess, Moshe ben David noted Commander Na Gael’s departure and wondered if he should tell her why the executive officer who’d originally been assigned had been reassigned elsewhere twenty-four hours prior to his scheduled arrival. Vienna had planned on sending Colonel Ali al Shabaz, formerly of the North African Branch, to Great Britain. That is, until routine research into the colonel’s files led to someone reading a note in one of Commander Na Gael’s reports from seven years earlier regarding events in Saudi Arabia and the role that then-Major al Shabaz and his father had played in having the 58th Regiment removed from the investigation. That had led directly to the deaths of over a hundred bedouin, the loss of a number of Saudi Army personnel, and the need for the South Asian Branch to get involved. Based on the report, someone in the military personnel assignments section at the GDF’s global headquarters had realized that having al Shabaz and Cdr. Na Gael in the same Branch would be a blindingly bad idea, and had so informed several people. As a result, the Libyan officer had been reassigned at the last minute to one of the Latin American branches.

  Moshe wasn’t supposed to know all the background, but the person who discovered the notation in Rachel’s report had called him to see if, based on his knowledge of Cdr. Na Gael, she had been completely honest and accurate in her analysis. Moshe had said that, if anything, the alien had probably understated the facts, at which point the person in Vienna had started looking on her own, with the current result. Moshe slowly che
wed his dessert and decided against telling Rachel. It wouldn’t make any difference, anyway.

  “Be seated,” General Khan ordered, and his staff officers, plus Rachel and Regimental Sergeant Major Sheldon Smith, took their places at the conference table in the staff briefing room. To Rahoul’s right, Major de Alba filled the slot of acting executive officer. The foot of the table belonged to the RSM, who sat with his back not quite to the door. Captain ben David shifted restlessly in his chair across from Major de Alba as he tried to keep his restless energy under control. Beside him, Lieutenant Eri Daijin seemed quiet as a temple statue in contrast. She was acting logistics officer in the wake of Major O’Neil’s unexpected retirement, after having been his primary assistant. The third acting staff officer, Captain Slobodan “Sheep” Cluj, kept glancing down at the displays, trying not to be caught skimming the morning threats report, which he’d not taken time to read yet though he should have.

  Commander Na Gael held down the “head” of the table. This was in part because she was left-handed, and it kept her from crowding other people and vice versa. It was also because her equipment and papers tended to expand to fill all available space, and—although this reason was never mentioned aloud—because it gave her an unobstructed field of fire toward the door, just as the RSM angled so he had a straight shot toward the window.

  “To begin with, welcome back, Commander Na Gael,” Khan started. The xenology specialist nodded in acknowledgment, and he continued. “We’ll hold your report for last, since it will be the shortest.” He paused, “I trust.” The side of her mouth quirked up into a little grin, but she didn’t speak. “Major?”

  As hoped—and as usual when action was neither pending nor being recovered from—the staff meeting went fairly quickly. “Unless something changes in the near future, Captain Thorsten Sigurdson will be arriving on Friday to begin serving as logistics officer,” Moshe announced.