by Alma Boykin
The men stared at her for a second, then Chan reached for the desk phone, decision made. “Weber, help her. I’ll secure the lab. If the fucker moves, shoot him in the head,” he ordered, picking up the blast pistol and changing the setting before he handed it to the German. “Security, RSM Chan. Get some men down to the lab immediately. There’s been an incident.”
“Aid kit is inside the large drawer next to the door,” Rachel said, good eye closed as she tried to slow her pulse and quiet her breathing. “I think he nicked the femoral artery, so let’s start there.”
The German slid her blood-soaked black skirt up out of the way and nodded. “Looks clean, but lots of blood. Tourniquet? No, shot missed the artery,” he said aloud. “Edges already clotting, so,” he applied pressure for a minute and then tied a dressing in place. As he finished with her leg, Rachel raised her left arm and unbuttoned her ruined shirt so he could get to the other damage. Running boots outside the door told them that security had arrived, but Rachel didn’t open her eye. She felt someone brace her raised arm so she could relax, while careful hands pulled the cloth away from her side. “It looks like the bullet went through and there doesn’t seem to be much fabric in the wound.” She opened her eye, looked at the hole in the chemical cabinet’s steel door, and then closed her eye again.
“Good, but it still hurts like fire.” With some help she leaned forward and Weber finished bandaging the wounds while three burly Special Forces soldiers none-too-gently hauled her attacker out of the lab.
“Oh bloody fucking hell! Chan, what the shit’s going on?” Major Rahoul Khan skidded into the laboratory, eyes going wide at the blood and mess.
The NCO answered as Weber finished tying off the bandages. “Lieutenant Carpenter tried to kill Cdr. Na Gael, sir. Weber and I were on our way to the lab and heard the shots. Weber tackled the lieutenant as Na Gael lunged clear. We got his gun away and she stunned him. He’d shot her in the leg and side.”
Khan’s jaw sagged as he took in the gory mess. “Good work Chan, Weber. Are you all right?”
“Yes sir.”
Rachel piped up, “The RSM took a crack to the head.”
Chan felt his skull. “It’s nothing sir. Just saw stars for a second is all.”
Khan swore in Punjabi before demanding, “Commander, what’s your status?”
“Bloody angry, Major. And sore, but I’ll be functional in a few days, probably,” she responded a little weakly.
“Right. Chan, come with me. I want you to give your statement to the legal people right now. I’ll call Lt. Rivera from security to take pictures and get the Commander’s and Sgt. Weber’s statements. Na Gael, since it’s probably useless trying to make you go to medical, stay here. Weber, stay with her and see that she doesn’t try to move, and that no one touches anything until after everything’s documented.”
“Yes sir,” Weber replied and Rachel gave the major a thumbs up.
With the sergeant’s help, Rachel shifted into a slightly more comfortable position against the desk and closed her good eye. “Thank you, Sergeant, I’m your Debtor.” He rustled a bit, gazing at the blood spattered on the wall and smeared across the floor and the grey metal cabinet. Time to distract both of us, she thought. “If you still want to know how blast weapons work before you try and use my sidearm, the schematic diagram is on my desk, in the blue folder.” Weber stared at her, then picked up the folder and started leafing through, curiosity apparently getting the better of him. As they waited for the head of the security detail to arrive, Rachel’s “cell phone” buzzed.
Without thinking she answered it. “Na Gael.” She listened to the call, nodding. “Yes. Yes, there’s no question. I got the last bit of confirmation yesterday. Um huh. You are? Good. I want him as badly as you do, but the first call on him’s yours. I’d love to be in, but I’ve just had, ah, an interesting quarter hour and I’m not going anywhere for a while. No, just let me know how it turns out, if you want to. Otherwise I’ll indulge my imagination and get my jollies that way. Roger. Godspeed.”
She hung up and discovered Weber looking at her with a wary, hostile expression. “Commander Na Gael, what’s going on?”
Oh shit, I’m so out of it I forgot he was here.
The intercom buzzed, and he answered, “Laboratory.”
“Sgt. Weber, Lt. Rivera. It’ll be a few more minutes before I can get there, so tell Cdr. Na Gael to stay put and not to touch anything.”
“Yes sir.”
Rachel made a decision. “I’ll tell you, but you have to swear to me that you will never tell anyone else, because this goes back to an incident some time ago. If you agree, go shut and lock the door.” He glared at her, then walked over, locked the door, and returned. “The condensed version, Sgt. Weber, is that several years ago someone passed information to one of our enemies. That information put the families of a number of our troopers into harm’s way. We rescued them and destroyed the invaders, but could not find the leak. Vienna told us to leave it to them. I didn’t. I found out who did it, and where they are, and that it had been deliberate. I gave that information to some people who are in a better position to act than I am, especially after this little mess. That’s who called.”
“You say ‘our troopers.’ You mean the people here then?” he asked.
“Yes.”
His eyes narrowed. “Was this episode while Corporal Max von Grauberg was on rotation here?”
“Yes, it was.” How do you know, unless . . .
Weber knelt down beside her, brown eyes burning with anger. “Max is my brother-in-law,” he hissed in German. “His son was one of the ones taken hostage. Is that what the call was about? Because if so, then I want in.”
Rachel shook her head. “Not possible,” she stated flatly, also in German. “You heard the conversation, Weber. It’s out of my hands now and I’m not going to tell you who or what. If you can trust me, then trust that the people taking action are very, very good, and very motivated, and the leak is going to be exceedingly dead in the near future. I can probably tell you when that happens but I won’t tell you anything else.” He looked at her, his hand resting on the butt of her pistol. And if you don’t trust me, are you going to finish what Carpenter started, since the power level Chan selected is lethal at this range?
He stood up from his crouch and unlocked the door, opening it a crack, then returned to her side. “I don’t like it, ma’am.” And he shook his head, stilling her before she could say anything. “But I’ll accept it. Mission security. And I don’t care for you. But you were the xenology specialist here at that time?”
“Yes, I was. Has your brother-in-law told you anything about that episode?”
He shook his head again. “Only that it happened, and that the xenology specialist was very badly injured protecting some of the children. Because of that, I’ll trust you.”
She relaxed and offered him her least-bloody hand. “Thank you, Sergeant. I don’t ask anyone to like me, just to have faith that I will never betray the Regiment and its people.” They shook and then he laid her pistol back on the desk.
“How does this type of weapon work?” he asked, holding the first of the schematic diagrams where she could point to things. Security came in and interrupted the lecture a few moments later.
It didn’t take a psychic to know what was on General Jones’s mind when she stormed into her headquarters that night. Rachel had managed a nap in her ship’s medical accelerator that evening and was finishing up erasing the mess in the laboratory, since Security had reclassified the place from crime scene to biohazard. When she heard familiar footsteps outside the door, the Wanderer slowly straightened up from her work and tossed the cleaning rags into the haz-waste rubbish bin, then counted. Three, two, one and the door flew open.
“Rachel! What are you doing?” The taller woman glared at her advisor, continuing, “From what Khan said, you should be in bed!”
“Good to see you too, ma’am. I got some sleep and decided to tidy the pl
ace before someone saw the mess and overreacted,” Rachel replied tartly, easing herself into her chair. “How was the meeting?”
“Blessed saints. Can’t I leave you alone for a week without something happening? And what did happen,” Jones demanded, shutting the door and taking the other chair. Rachel gave her the expanded version, leaving the human shaking her head in disbelief. “God, you were lucky. Any idea what set him off?”
“None. I can’t ‘read’ him because of his shields, ma’am. Maybe something will turn up in the investigation,” she offered.
“I hope so. How are you doing? Truth this time, since even you can’t lose as much blood as Rahoul said was on the floor and not have problems.”
Rachel would have shrugged, except for her sore ribs and aching muscles. “The leg and muscles are mostly healing already. The bones will take longer—maybe a week? I ache, and am tired, but otherwise fully functional.” At Jones’s look of disbelief, Rachel allowed, “All right, mostly functional. What I really am is angry. Damn it!” She slammed her fist onto the desktop. “I want his head on a platter and his balls as a trophy!” And I don’t want to spend my waking hours wondering who intends to shoot me next. After three hundred years this crap is getting old. She glared at Jones, who shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
During the ensuing silence, Rachel levered herself out of her seat and began pacing down the length of the lab.
Finally the Welshwoman cleared her throat. “To be honest, I’m surprised that you’re still here. You have every right to leave after this and from what Rahoul told me, I expected to come back and find your letter of resignation. Probably fastened to the wall with a knife.”
Rachel snorted, “I wouldn’t waste a good blade on such cheap paneling.” She leaned back against a worktable and folded her arms, or tried to. “This was an attack by an individual, as far as I’m concerned. If the investigation shows that there was a larger movement to remove me, than oh hell yes I’m leaving and taking my toys with me and the Regiment can swing for all I care.” Hell, you humans can swing, Joschka’s feelings be damned. “Until then, our agreement holds.”
“If this is part of something larger, then we will both be looking for work. Because what I’ll do to the bastards will get me cashiered. And that goes no farther, do you understand?” Jones stated firmly, wearing a fiercely protective expression Rachel had never seen on her before.
I may have misjudged you, general. If so, it won’t happen again, I promise. “Affirmative,” Rachel nodded, adding, “Would you like the good news?”
Jones’s eyebrows rose to her hairline and she waved at her punctured advisor. “Good news?”
“Sergeant Weber and I reached an understanding.”
The officer managed a faint smile, which turned into a yawn. “’Tis an ill wind that blows no good, as they say. And you will go back to bed, because we need you intact if we get called out. Now,” and she flicked the lights off as she left.
Rachel gave the closed door a narrow-eyed look. I wish your words and your emotions matched better, ma’am.
Rahoul Khan acted unhappy. He’d been twitchy for the past two weeks, which at least was an improvement over hovering, which he’d been doing for the two weeks before that. Rachel folded her arms and waited.
“General Jones is not pleased with you.”
And this is news? “She’s not cancelling my leave, is she?” Because if she tries I’m leaving any way. I need to talk to someone I can trust about why my mind is still slipping.
“Oh no. Not at all. She’s just,” he folded his arms, mirroring her. “She wanted to know where you were going. And then she expressed considerable unhappiness at the apparent violation of the rules against fraternization across ranks.”
And you of all people can’t tell her to go soak her head, even if you wanted to, which I suspect you almost do, just so she’ll give you some peace. “I see. She keeps forgetting that I’m not military, doesn’t she? No, don’t answer,” Rachel waved one hand. “Since I’m going to see a medical specialist first, if she complains again, maybe you can point out that specialists don’t travel much, and I have to go to him, wherever he happens to be. And if that crosses not far from Schloss Hohen-Drachenburg, well, people go to take the waters at those cure resorts all the time. And the Graf-General’s going to be working, so I won’t be interfering with his command or getting underfoot in Vienna just by being in the same province as his residence.” And that’s all you need to know.
Rahoul gave her a look, and switched to Trader. “What’s going on, Rada? You’re on guard, I’m having nightmares, and General Jones is—” He cut himself short and ducked a little.
“A bit touchy, and not just because of a looming performance review? Let’s just chalk it up to things being too quiet.” Rachel perched on the corner of her desk, taking some weight off her legs. “I’m on guard because someone’s been poking around but not doing anything. And it’s not something I can report, either.” Someone’s been in and out, but they masked their tracks too well. I don’t like that. It could be something harmless, but then it might not. “On a more practical level: do you want me to block your Gift?”
He took a deep breath. “Yes, please. Just temporarily, so we can see if that’s the problem.”
“I’ll do it for a week, with a gradual release of the block. If it is your Gift acting up, it won’t come back all at once, boom.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s not a fun sensation, trust me.” Very much like having been trapped in a stasis field, actually. Stop that! She jammed the memory down before it could take over.
“Perfect.” He sat down and Rachel put her hand on the back of his neck, establishing a light contact. Fortunately, precognition and temporal sensitivity lay in a different part of the mind from all other Gifts or perception centers, so she could set the block and withdraw without affecting his animal telepathy.
“Right. You’re set. I’m off. You have my emergency contact number.”
He turned the chair and watched her. “Dare I say have fun?” She bared her fangs at him. “Belay that thought. Don’t break anything expensive.”
Rachel did her best to look harmless and mildly affronted. “Me? Break things?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.
“The BAFTA acting award deadline was last week. Shoo.”
She wasted no time in shooing. With a sense of relief, she entered the coordinates for Himself’s home and settled down into the pilot’s seat in the Dark Hart, singing the connection with the ship. She and the creature inside the central processor linked minds and the Trader scout ship moved between the time threads, settling onto one that would bring them close to a node. From there she could easily get to Master Thomas’s world without disturbing anyone or anything else. The psycho-symbiote showed her a large number of timeship traces around Ter-Tri and gave her a sense of discomfort and unhappiness. But was it unhappy at the number, or just because other creatures were tapping the temporal energy it needed? She couldn’t link well enough to tell.
Charles, the bipedal canine currently acting as Master Thomas’s assistant and butler, opened the door for her when she rang the bell. Master Thomas affected a taste for the ancient, and his home, on the outside, looked like a rambling neo-Tudor pile from Ter-Tri, complete with ivy, false half-timbers, and a bit of thatched roof on the section housing the kitchen. Charles wagged his tail and waved Rachel in. “Good morning, Miss Ni Drako. Master Thomas is out, but will return within the hour.”
“Good morning, Charles. Thank you. I will wait in the medical library.”
“Certainly.” He wagged his tail again, shutting the door behind her. She freshened up, changed into one of the dresses that she kept in her guest room at the house, and set to work researching stasis disorders and their long-term results. What she found did not encourage her. Neither did Master Thomas’s words after she told him of her most recent adventures.
He leaned back in his chair, looking over her head at the wall as he thought. His black hair co
at and long white cranial fur set off the rich brocade of his jacket. He tapped the tips of his hoofed digits together and frowned, thinking. “You say things are improving, Miss Ni Drako?”
“Yes, Master Thomas. I’m no longer having difficulty distinguishing observation from memory, but everything remains, ah, fuzzy on the edges, for lack of a better word.”
“May I?” He reached toward her across the desk. She lowered her shields and extended her hand, touching the hard, polished tip of his hooflet. His lightning quick touch flitted through her mind, never hurting but prodding, testing, brushing a few raw edges. Then he withdrew. “You are exhausted. There is lingering damage, tied into your temporal sensitivity, which explains some of your difficulties even though the damage is healing well. I suspect the physical injury has retarded psychic healing, as is to be expected. Stay here for a few days, Miss Ni Drako. Rest. I trust you are not returning to your military positions immediately?”
After having worked with and for him for several centuries, Rada knew the command beneath the question. “No, sir. I am going on leave, attending a social event and being a house guest in a mountain area on Ter Tri.”
“Good.” He frowned. “The Tarqina Elders’ Council has been asking about you.”
She shivered. “Their obsession is unhealthy.”
“I concur with your observation, Miss Ni Drako. Completely concur.”
Rachel landed the Dark Hart in a grove of trees, out of sight of passersby. Then she lugged her bags up to the edge of the road. Maybe I should make a pasteboard sign, ‘Vienna or Bust’ or ‘Will shed for food.’
Happily for her peace of mind, an antique silver and black touring car rolled to a stop a meter from her. The old vehicle’s polished metal trim glinted in the afternoon sun. The driver’s door opened while a broad-shouldered man with bright blue eyes, dark brown hair graying at the temples, and a lighter brown beard rolled down a rear window and said, “Welcome to the Tyrol, Commander. Shall we?” The driver got out and took her bags.