by Alma Boykin
The sound of rain on the roof caught Eastman’s ear as soon as he set foot in the lab, and he frowned. “Surely the roof is not that thin,” he said, looking up at the ceiling. He backed up and listened from the corridor, then returned to the xenologist’s workspace. Indeed, the rain sounded much louder inside the lab. “Is it the windows?
“Actually, sir, I believe that the roof really is that thin, and that someone did it on purpose. Would you rather have a disaster going,” she pointed up, “or . . ?” She pointed back down the corridor leading to the main bulk of the headquarters building.
“I’d rather not have one at all.” He shook his head and lifted a stack of papers out of the chair beside the desk, then sat. “Sit, Commander. We need to talk.”
“Ah, it might be more comfortable in my quarters, provided that does not cause a personnel problem, sir,” she offered, a little tense and obviously uncomfortable.
He stood up again. “No, whatever makes you comfortable. Just leave the doors open and there will not be any trouble.” She nodded and led the way up the spiral stairs into her tiny flat. At the end of a little passage between paired bookcases, Eastman saw two chairs in front of a small fireplace. A microscopic kitchen took up the space to the right of the hearth, while a flash of white linens revealed her sleeping area to the left side. She bustled around, turning on lights and poking the fire into brighter life, then messing about with something on the stovetop. He took the larger of the two chairs and pointed. “Now sit.”
She settled rather gingerly onto the other chair, her tail slipping through a gap in the back, her body tense and wary. “Relax please, Rachel, I’m not here as the commanding officer and I’m not going to bite your head off,” the black-haired man reassured her. “I just want to ask something, or ask about something, really.”
“Sir?”
“What can’t you tell me?” She looked at him as if he were a branch on a log. “What is it that you are not allowed to go into detail about, Rachel? I need to know so I do not accidently cause you problems,” he elaborated, hoping for a reply of some sort.
Her shoulders dropped and her released her death-grip on the arms of the chair. “Ah, that’s easier, thank you, sir. And would you like tea? I have some already brewed.”
He nodded and in less than a minute she poured two mugs, one for him with a bit of sugar and one with a drop of milk for herself. “I keep the food things sealed and separate from lab materials, sir, so don’t worry about getting the wrong powder or a misplaced tissue sample.” Rachel sat carefully, mindful of hot tea and again working her long tail through the space in the chair. “So, what can I not tell you. Anything about the future is off-limits, that’s easy enough. And I cannot tell you what to do, aside from the obvious.”
“What sort of obvious?”
“Duck, look out, don’t eat red berries just because the birds do, that sort of thing.”
Eastman laughed and shook his head, drawing a small smile in return. “I suppose ‘don’t push buttons on unfamiliar equipment’ and ‘never stand in front of firearms’ fall into that category?”
The smile widened. “Exactly.” She drank more tea and rolled her head around, relaxing tense muscles. “There are also things I cannot tell you how to do, even if you ask me directly.”
“Such as defending a planet,” he said. She nodded. “Why? Or why not? Is someone worried that we humans won’t learn on our own if you tell me how to protect my world?”
A half-thoughtful, half-sad look crossed the alien’s face. “More tea?” She poured refills, buying herself thinking time. She cradled the heavy white china mug in both hands and remained standing, leaning against the fireplace mantle. “It is not just humans on Terra, General Johnny. We, that is, those of us who travel through time in more than just one direction, are bound not to provide certain types of information or assistance. When Wanderers first developed the power to travel backwards, sideways, and forwards through time and space, some amazingly wise soul or souls created the Laws of Time Travel. And enforced them.” Her eye widened and her deadly serious expression sent a bit of a chill down Eastman’s back. “Others besides the Wanderers developed time travel on their own, but all of us are bound by the same Laws and are also bound to enforce those laws. For me to tell you, even as Johnny-the-individual, what is supposed to happen, or how best to secure your planet, could start something that would shift Earth’s timestream enough to warp the future. Or in my case, warp the known past, which is the worst thing that can be done.”
“So you can’t kill a Hitler or warn about a Krakatoa.” The very idea angered him. “That’s not bloody fair.”
A sad, quiet voice replied, “No, it is not. Believe me, General Johnny, the universe is far less fair than you can imagine.”
Why was she sad? She could avoid disasters; skip out and leave everyone else to stew. Then he thought about how he would feel in a similar situation. Rachel could avoid the disaster, but she’d know that people she knew and might care about would suffer. She wasn’t human, but Eastman had a shrewd idea that they shared at least some emotions and attachments. Rachel drank more of her tea and stared into space over his head as he studied her.
“Could you tell me if my concerns about earthquakes getting stronger were valid?”
“What? Hmmm, probably. I suspect that’s what all the other xenologists do, sir. You ask if the blue button is safe to push, and they look for wiring diagrams, check to see if the circuit is de-energized, and then say yes or no.” She shrugged, her tail rumpling along with her shoulders. “I can just do it faster sometimes.”
“On a slightly related topic, have you heard about the North American branch?”
“If you mean the proposal to divide it somehow, then yes.” He nodded and her tail rumpled again in response. “I’m a little surprised they’ve not done it yet, given the geographic area they are supposed to cover.”
Eastman drank more tea before telling her, “Rumor has it that they are going to approach you to take the new spot, if they are serious about dividing and if they get permission and funding.” She didn’t respond to the bait so he added, “or ask Vienna to assign you there.”
“No,” she hissed, hand tightening on the mug until he could see bones and blood through her pale skin. “No, absolutely not.”
“Can you tell me why, so I can have some more ammunition besides ‘she’s too valuable for me to part with’?” Eastman kept his tone light as he watched her shiver, her tail now full as a bottlebrush, her ears invisible, flattened against her head.
Rachel started, stopped, took a deep breath, and turned away. “I . . . raised a child. In North America. She was,” her voice caught as her accent thickened to near unintelligibility. “She was murdered. Her killer tortured me before killing her. My eye,” her words broke off.
Eastman didn’t think. He reacted, standing up and putting his arm over her shoulders, hugging her as she shook. “You won’t go to North America, Rachel. I’ll make a note in your paperwork, and tell Vienna as well, that personal reasons make it impossible for you to function in the North American environment.”
“In an emergency I could do it, sir, but,” she fell silent as he tightened his grip on her shoulders.
As soon as he felt her stop trembling Eastman released her and returned to his chair. “In an emergency we all do what we have to, Rachel, but I will not knowingly ask you or anyone else to rip open old wounds.”
“Thank you.” She turned back to face him. “Sorry. Nothing against American or Canadian culture, just too many memories.”
He decided to take it as it was, and shrugged in turn. “Understood. You do realize that you’re not quite as advertised?”
Rachel stared at him, then started laughing, setting her mug down and almost doubling over as she tried to catch her breath. “Blessed Bookkeeper, that’s funny, sir!” The alien tried to settle down but started laughing again. “Me? As advertised?” She wiped her eye with the back of her hand. “Sorry. You have n
o idea how long it has been since anyone has accused me of fitting a description or press release.”
“I can imagine.” A series of pieces suddenly clicked into place. “Did Joschka von Hohen-Drachenburg put you up to applying for this position? Because if he did I really am going to get even with him one way or another.”
She shook her head, twitching ears barely visible against the shadows and dark paneling. “No, sir. As you know, we’d worked together before and he sent me the ‘help wanted’ ad, as it were, but that’s all.”
Eastman’s suspicions remained intact despite her denial. “Very well.” He stood up and set the tea mug on the mantle, turning to go. “One thing, Rachel.”
“Sir?”
He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eye. “If things ever are about to blow up under us? Do not tell me or anyone else here.” Eastman walked out before she could reply, leaving her standing in the shadows.
The next week, Brigadier General Joschka Graf von Hohen-Drachenburg received two letters from England. One, from Jonathon Eastman, let him know that the xenologist had some flaws but was still working out well enough and warning Vienna, through Joschka, to never try assigning her to North America despite any pleas they Yanks and Canuks might make. The other letter, hand-written in beautiful calligraphy, began in perfect formal German. It expressed hopes that he was doing well and most respectfully requested that the Graf-General keep in mind certain well known limitations under which the xenologist assigned to the 85th Regiment of Foot (Combined Arms) worked.
Joschka smiled a little at Rachel’s missive until he reached the second page. Still handwritten, it continued in a language he’d not read in over a century. The HalfDragon grimaced and began sounding out the symbols and text, then stopped abruptly, turning red as he recognized several of the choicer terms the writer had used. His fanned a little, trying to cool off before anyone saw him. “Do not ever, ever, even think of putting me in that kind of situation again, you slime-shedding excuse for a reptile’s bastard, by prompting General Johnny or anyone else! Or as your chosen deity is my witness . . .” and Rada described in graphic detail exactly what she would do to him, as well as questioning his ancestry, manhood, and ability to control his bowels.
“Very respectfully, your most obedient servant, Rachel Na Gael,” the letter closed in German, again with the most formal of language. Joschka shredded the pages, then grinned a little despite the threats, savoring some of the memories that they called up. Major Gupta’s Hairball is alive and well, he chuckled to himself, lighting his pipe.
Cat Among Dragons Chronology
Prequel Novel: Hubris
Prequel Novel Forthcoming: Renaissance
In Rada Ni Drako’s Personal Chronological Order:
A Cat Among Dragons – Short Story Collection [AD 5140-3640]
“Hairballs” – Short Story [AD 3618 or so]
Juniors and Justice – Short Story Collection [AD 3648-3696]
A Double-edged Wish– Short Story Collection [AD 1973, 3705-3860]
“Schree’s Rest” – Short Story [AD 3900]
“Revolution from Above” – Novella [AD 3910]
Promises and Powers – Short Story Four-pack [AD 1978-1983]
“On a Bleak Midwinter” – Short Story [AD 1981]
A Touch of Power – Short Story Five-Pack [AD 1983-1984]
(Forthcoming) Fanning the Flames – Short Story Collection [AD 3998-4036, 2001]
(Forthcoming) Where Angels Fear to Tread – Novel [AD 2004-2010, 4155-4193]
All published titles are available from Amazon.com.
All bold titles are also available from Kobo and Barnes and Noble.