by Alma Boykin
The general held a vial on his open palm. It was a bit smaller than a test tube, with a pair of seals across the top. He studied Rachel, whose attention seemed locked on the translucent tube. “I assume you remember what this is,” Joschka stated. She nodded. “And you know what it means.” She nodded again, finally meeting the Graf-General’s eyes.
“It means painful but rapid death with nothing left for postmortem interrogation,” she said quietly, her accent thicker than Rahoul had ever heard it.
“Commander Na Gael, please step outside my office for a moment,” Joschka ordered, and she bowed slightly and complied.
The two men considered the matter. “Your thoughts?” Joschka inquired as he smoothing his neatly trimmed beard.
Rahoul didn’t know quite what to say. “I’m of two minds, sir. Unfortunately, she has a valid concern and as a security precaution she should be allowed the option of suicide. But I’m not so certain I want to give her that just now.”
The GDF’s military commander stood up and walked a few steps to the window, hands clasped behind his back. “I agree on both counts, Rahoul. Perhaps issuing McKendrick orders to have her killed to prevent capture would be better.” The bigger man turned, hard blue eyes locking on Rahoul’s. “But would that order be obeyed?”
“I don’t know, my lord General. And there’s this—will someone use that as an excuse to kill her at the first hint of difficulty because they don’t trust having an alien as xenologist?” Rahoul broached the topic reluctantly, remembering just such an occasion, and knowing what he now did about his superior.
The Austrian’s expression showed that he recognized the irony of the situation. “It seems a conditional release is the best of bad options, backed up by a quiet word to McKendrick. Do you concur?”
“Yes, sir.”
Joschka returned to his seat behind the spotless desk. “Bring her back in, Rahoul,” he sighed. He studied the small woman as she returned to stand before him again. “Commander, lower your shields,” he barked. Startled, Rachel did as ordered and Joschka locked eyes with her, reaching into her mind. After a moment he withdrew, leaving her to stagger a bit as Rahoul caught her elbow and supported her. “Commander Rachel Na Gael Ni Drako, Rahoul Khan and I give you permission to take your own life in the event you are captured and threatened with torture or other forms of coercion. That is the only exception we allow to your earlier promise to us.”
Rachel looked up at Rahoul and then back to Joschka. “I promise that I will not take my own life unless it is in combat conditions or after capture, and then only to protect information and lives. On my honor, this I swear,” she repeated formally, binding herself again.
Rahoul blinked as he realized that they had switched from German to Trader. He glanced at Joschka, who nodded. “Security precaution,” he said. Then he stood. “Colonel, I’d like a brief word with the Commander.” Khan left the office, wondering what Joschka had seen in Rachel’s mind.
The door shut and the two aliens looked at each other. Joschka stood and motioned for Rachel to come around his desk. He frowned down at her, then handed her the vial he’d shown earlier. “Take this with you. I have a second one,” and he patted his tunic pocket. “And this.” It was an envelope, which she tucked away unopened. “You’re scared of yourself, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice gentle.
“Yes, my lord General,” she admitted. Joschka shook his head, then took her in his arms, holding her as she trembled, neither of them able to say what they wanted to say.
He released her after a minute. “I’m going to have a quiet word with the undersecretary and the various branch commanders concerning xenology specialists and options in case of security concerns. It’s a matter we’ve not given enough consideration to recently, and should have. Thank you for bringing this to our attention Commander Na Gael,” he said in German.
“You’re welcome, sir. I apologize for taking so much of your time,” she replied, inclining her head slightly.
“You are dismissed to return to Britain. I’ll see if I can prevail upon General Eszterházy to lend me his chief of staff for a few more minutes and have him escort you out.” Joschka winked slightly and Rachel gave him a little smile.
“Colonel Khan, would you see Commander Na Gael out, please?” Joschka’s secretary started to protest, then returned to her work, sniffing at the violation of her preferred protocols.
“Yes, sir. This way, please.” He opened a door for the smaller, half-blind woman.
“How is the family, sir?” Rachel inquired once they were safely out of Frau Horowitz’s hearing.
Rahoul smiled broadly. “Very well. Both Robin and Sita are walking all over the place, if you can believe it! And they babble away like a pair of jackdaws, although Sita seems a titch bit quieter than her brother,” and he expanded for a few minutes as they navigated through the maze that was the GDF’s international headquarters. Rachel grinned at her friend’s children’s adventures. Eventually Rahoul wound down a little. “Is Aunt Rachel going to come visit any time soon?”
She shook her head. “I’ve taken far too much personal leave time, Rahoul. I need to stay put, more or less, for a while. But please give my regards to Panpit and the twins.”
He smiled again, “I will, if I can get a word in edgewise!” Rahoul watched his friend closely, decided that her pleasure at hearing about his family was genuine, and felt relief.
He took her as far as the entrance lobby, then returned to General Eszterházy’s office while she signed out and began retracing her route to the airport. Rachel didn’t especially care for flying military standby, or flying at all if she wasn’t the pilot, but she’d not been given much choice. Maybe I should just resign she mused, staring into nothing in the bare-bones passenger lounge.
Rather than divide her time between Earth, Drakon IV and the rest of her trading and business area, she could concentrate on two. It might be safer, and there would be fewer reminders of what had happened five months prior. But she’d miss the twins, and she was their godmother and guardian if anything happened to Rahoul and Panpit. Plus, she enjoyed being around humans most of the time and liked being useful. It would be a few decades more before humans could truly defend themselves without someone like her or Joschka helping to even the odds for them, and she hadn’t been asked to leave. Face the truth: you’re staying for the same reason that you started this in the first place—because Joschka asked you to. Aren’t you? the horribly honest and blunt part of her whispered. Well, yes, she reluctantly admitted to herself at last, that was a large part of it. Fortunately for her, the flight she was waiting for began loading at that point, preventing any further painful introspection.
Fourteen hours after she’d left, a tired and hungry Rachel drove into her car’s parking slot in the garage at GDF Great Britain’s headquarters. She dragged herself out of the old Marlow coupe, slung her satchel over her shoulder, and limped toward her quarters. Her path took her through the main office wing of the complex, and she noticed that General McKendrick was working late. He keeps hours almost as odd as mine, Rachel noted, and wondered why. Ah well, none of my business. She made her slow way down the hall, heard a door open behind her and ignored it. “Commander Na Gael?” McKendrick inquired.
She stopped and turned. “Yes sir?”
“That was fast. Were you able to get matters taken care of?” He was backlit, face unreadable.
Rachel was too tired to stop herself. “Yes, sir. You wanted me dead and your wish has been granted.” She’d probably regret her nasty words but at that moment she wanted to hurt him as much as he’d hurt her over the past few months.
The xenologist’s words struck home and the Scotsman flinched. Rachel started turning back down the hallway when McKendrick’s rich bass voice informed her, “That’s cruel, Commander.”
“So am I. So is this lifestream,” she replied bitterly. “If you will excuse me, sir?”
“Not so fast,” and he strode up the night-dim corridor toward
s her. “You are correct—life can be cruel, and I owe you an apology. Several in fact. I know you’re tired, or should be, so I won’t keep you now, but we need to talk about a number of things. Tell Captain ben David when you have several hours free so we can schedule something. Good night, Commander Na Gael.”
“Good night, sir. And I apologize for my harsh words.” She limped tiredly into the darkness as McKendrick watched, wondering how he could bridge the gap between her, him, and the other officers.
For her part, Rachel wanted to curl up in her bed-nest and not wake up for a century or so. Instead, she replaced the materials from her satchel that she’d expended in Vienna and put her PDA-like data link and her “cell phone” in their chargers. When her jacket pocket rustled she remembered the envelope from General von Hohen-Drachenburg. She cut it open with the “ornamental” ceramisteel knife she kept on her desk and caught a credit-card sized item that dropped out. She looked at it and frowned, then read it again and smiled. “By special permission of the Secretary and the commanding general of the Global Defense Force . . .” she was ordered to carry a firearm for self defense, on or off duty. Only for direct self defense, to be sure, but she’d never again be caught like she had been in September.
And there was a note in the envelope, a reminder that she wasn’t as alone as she felt. Rachel slid the permit into her document carrier, tucked the note into her shirt pocket, and retired to her quarters a happier woman.
February, 2010. “No, that’s definitely not normal,” Rachel agreed two weeks later as she looked up from the microscope, “and neither does it come from Earth.” McKendrick frowned as she continued. “Granted, it certainly looks like a rook, but the bones are not hollow, the wing-muscles attach to a smaller keel bone, and no Terran corvid sports little claws on the end of its longest phalange.” She pointed to the end of the outstretched wing. “I’m not certain yet where it originated, but not on this planet.”
James McKendrick picked up the single wing and folded it in and out as he thought, running a finger over the pinfeathers. “Doesn’t feel like a corbie, either.”
His advisor raised an eyebrow and nodded, handing him her loupe. The stocky redhead took off his glasses and studied the plumage, then returned the magnifier. “How many of these have been reported?”
“This is the fourth from England, plus two in Scotland and nine in Wales. People are reporting them because of the West Nile virus warnings this past summer,” the xenologist explained, leaning some of her weight against the edge of the lab table. “Interestingly, I’m not finding any evidence of that virus in these birds, unlike Terrestrial rooks and crows.”
McKendrick frowned, then shrugged, saying brusquely, “Let me know when you can pinpoint a source—and if any of these things turn up any bigger. Say, oh, raven-sized.” He turned and walked out of the laboratory, leaving Rachel to puzzle over his order. She decided once again that she’d never understand humans and didn’t waste any more time on the question.
A few hours later, Captain Moshe ben David tapped quickly at the door and charged into the lab at his usual break-neck pace. “Commander, what do you know about Sergeant Morgan St. John?”
“She’s been here since, um, just a moment,” Rachel pulled a book out of her desk drawer and flipped through it. “Since the early 2000s, sir. Quiet, hard worker, has assisted me in the field on occasion. Fond of the Tarot and apparently quite good at shinny. Why?”
“St. John wants emergency leave but I can’t figure out why. Read this.” He shoved a piece of paper under her nose.
Rachel read it, reread it, and got up from her desk. “It’s for religious reasons, sir. She’s what you might call a neo-pagan ‘Old Believer’.” She handed him back the page, then reached for one of her walking sticks.
He shook his head. “Never heard of a religious emergency.” Just as the GDF’s commanding officer had done, he spun on his heel and trotted down the hall.
As soon as the Israeli adjutant had cleared earshot, Rachel called the vehicle maintenance department. “Sergeant St. John, please.” A brief pause, then “Yes. You too? Problems with what?” She frowned at the phone. “Can you meet me at the tree in fifteen minutes?” She tapped her fingers against the wood of her cane as she waited. “Good morning, Lieutenant Johanssen. Yes, I’d like to borrow Sergeant St. John for a few minutes if she’s not working on something critical. No, no emergency. Yes, perfect. Thank you, Lieutenant Johanssen. I promise I shan’t keep her long.”
A few minutes later Rachel walked out the back door of the lab, her dark grey coat wrapped close against the late winter cold. Sergeant St. John thought the woman looked like a shadow against the grey snow and darker grey clouds, and the human shivered a bit when she heard a raven cry from the woods on the other side of the base fence. Rachel nodded. “That makes two of us, Sergeant. Do you want to monitor or shall I?”
The human considered it, then took a piece of carved wood out of her pocket and stood with her hands in front of her, cradling the talisman. Rachel nodded, closed her eye, and reached inside, then out. She felt something watching her and pushed it away as a distant sense of wrongness attracted her attention. Rachel let her awareness run to the west and north toward—
“Gwynedd.” St. John whispered.
There, in the winter coldness, something moved that should not. It felt alien, even to Rachel, and she reached deeper, touching heat and fire that slept deep in the land.
“Commander? Commander!” St. John shook the xenologist. Rachel took a deep breath, opened her eye and found herself sitting in the snow. “You said something in Old Welsh,” the sergeant explained as she helped Rachel to her feet. Rachel sensed an extra presence inside her head as Logres, the Power of the Isle of the Mighty, looked out through her eye. When she turned to St. John, the other woman held up the carved piece of rowan she’d been holding. The Power acknowledged it, then withdrew a little.
“Don’t be surprised if we go to Wales in the next day or so,” Rachel warned. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
As Rachel brushed off the snow, Morgan shook her head, blue eyes sympathetic. “Glad it’s you and not me, ma’am.”
Rachel gave the human a surprisingly lascivious grin. “No, you’d be happier as the Summer Guardian, I wager.”
Morgan grinned right back. “The Lady wouldn’t give us gifts of pleasure if She didn’t want us to enjoy them, ma’am.” The raven called again and both women sobered, then retreated into the warmth of the headquarters buildings.
The next day brought clearing skies, colder temperatures and a box with three more of the unearthly birds, all from the same town in Wales. Rachel took her usual seat at the back of the briefing theater, looking as inconspicuous as was possible. Lieutenant Eastman, a cousin of the long-retired General Johnny, did a double take. “Not gray today?” he inquired under his breath, gesturing toward her black clothes.
“Doing a wash,” she said quietly, attention elsewhere.
McKendrick also noticed the change but ignored it in favor of the display screen in the new podium. He wasn’t pleased with all the quirks they were having to sort out in the new communications package that had been installed recently. The joys of being on the cutting edge of technology, he grumped to himself—they also got the bleeding edge. Regimental Sergeant Major Sheldon Smith called the briefing to order and McKendrick summoned up a map of northern Wales. “Be seated,” he ordered.
Once the rustling ceased, he began, “You’ve heard about the odd non-birds that have been found in parts of Britain. They are not from Earth, and their numbers seem to be increasing, concentrated in this area.” He circled a town with his pointer. “Yesterday London received a report of people being mobbed by a group of the creatures,” and a picture appeared of pedestrians ducking and fleeing from what looked like a flock of crows. “Someone caught the attack on their cellphone camera and posted it on the Internet. We’ve been tasked with locating the source of the creatures and the cause of the attacks, and with stopping any f
urther mobbings.” Now he looked to the back row of the theater. “Commander Na Gael, do you have anything to report?”
She got to her feet and a ripple of nudges and whispers flowed through the room as people realized she was not in her usual uniform, but wore a stark black turtleneck and slacks instead. “Yes sir. The creatures are called ruchava and are predatory avians from Fregach, an Earth-like planet about eighty-five light years from here. They are not quite sentient, but can be trained to obey commands, rather like dogs, and are used as watch creatures on Fregach and some other nearby worlds. At this time I don’t know who brought them here, how, or why.” Rachel sat back down.
McKendrick filed away her information. “The latest sightings have come from Caernarfon, in Gwynedd. So that’s where we will be going. Commander Na Gael, pick an assistant for this trip.”
“Yes sir,” she called, surveying the group until she located Sergeant St. John, who nodded her agreement. Good. Someone who knows oddness when she feels it.
McKendrick made some more general comments before turning the briefing over to Captain Moshe ben David, the adjutant, who announced the names of those “lucky” enough to be going in the first group. Rachel tuned out the rest of the briefing, concentrating her attention on the second presence in her head, trying to learn more about what had disturbed its semi-slumber. She couldn’t get more than a vague disquiet and the sense of something trespassing. Well, the ruchava certainly don’t belong, and it’s a sure wager that whoever brought them doesn’t belong, either. She tuned back in to the briefing in time to hear that she had three hours before departure, then made her usual early exit.