A Cat at Bay

by Alma Boykin

  Oh damn. They caught her, too.

  “Sir, the non-human was unarmed aside from this,” the soldier said, handing an ornately carved white shape to its superior officer.

  “Well now this is interesting,” the Keldak field commander purred, rolling the bone-hilted knife in his hands. Rachel had stopped struggling against her captors and stood nearly motionless, attention apparently locked on the object in their enemy’s hand.

  “Very interesting,” he repeated. “Where did this come from, I wonder? It had to come from a high ranking Azdhag, and they never surrender or trade an honor blade.” He mused aloud, walking closer to the white-faced brunette and her guards. “Unless it’s a replica,” and he tried to open it. The blade remained firmly locked in the sheath and he showed his teeth. “No, a very real bahn’leh. So how did you come by this rare artifact, little fighter?”

  Rachel stayed silent and the Keldak commander extended a claw. He laid it on her throat, rubbing it back and forth and forcing her to raise her chin. “Perhaps a little persuasion is in order,” and he drew back and punched her in the stomach, then returned to his earlier position. Rachel doubled over, retching and gagging before her guards hauled her back upright, but she didn’t answer him.

  “How did you get this blade?” He repeated. When no response came, he jerked his head towards the other prisoners. “I’ll just let my warriors play with your allies for a while then, and maybe that will loosen your tongue, like it did theirs. Or,” and a thought seemed to strike him, “are you one of the ones the Azhdag call ‘The Oathbreakers’? The ones who abandoned an alliance and fled, leaving the Azdhag to defeat, and then came back to scavenge the remains? Yes, that seems to fit better. Oathbreaker, betrayer, honorless,” he hissed.

  Jones took a deep breath as one of the Keldak soldiers grabbed hold of her hands, as if to pull her over backwards. Before they could do anything more, Cdr. Na Gael exploded into motion, screaming a battle cry.

  Rachel threw herself at the Keldak’s field commander, claws extended and fangs bared. He started to bring his paw up in a defensive move but the force of her attack knocked the larger mammal to the ground. The two fought claw and fang as the humans and invaders watched with amazement. He scored on her arm and throat, while Rachel’s hand raked down her foe’s flank, grabbing something and sliding it across the floor towards the humans, then dug into the officer’s knee-joint, drawing gouts of purple blood.

  Tufts of fur floated up from the grappling pair and he gave a battle-yowl, rolling over on top of Rachel, trying to pin her with his greater mass. She sliced her claws across his face and gut and he gasped, rolling back and clutching one eye and his bleeding abdomen. The Keldaki officer had dropped the white knife and Rachel snatched it up from where it had fallen, jerking the bone-hilted blade out of its sheath. She said something in a calm, quiet voice, then dove back onto the Keldak, cutting his throat open to the spine. He choked, drowning in his own blood as she watched. And smiled.

  While the guards watched the fight, Monroe rolled and twisted around so she could pick up the thing Rachel had slid towards the other captives. Monroe fiddled with it and, before the guard could notice, unlocked her manacles. She passed the key to one of the other troopers, got to her feet, and shouldered a guard away from the group. A scuffle broke out as the humans freed themselves and turned on their captors. More Keldak tried to enter the command center, but Rachel left her fallen foe and attacked the control panels, slamming doors shut and activating switches. RSM Chan and Sgt. Weber retrieved their weapons and killed two more Keldaki before the English-speaking alien scout shouted.

  “Stop! Or your commander dies, just like ours did.” He had pulled the still-bound Jones against his chest and held a blade to her throat. The humans hesitated and the other Keldak grabbed one or two, pinioning them. Rachel and Jones locked eyes. The human woman gave a very slight nod and the alien took a step away from the ship’s main control panel. Then she smiled a grin that distorted into an inhuman snarl. She took the unsheathed bahn’leh and touched it to her hand, drawing more blood. At the same moment Jones ducked her head down against the blade at her throat, sagging out of her startled captor’s arms. Rachel reared back and threw the knife into the guard’s unarmored chest.

  The Keldaks froze, staring at Rachel. In that moment the soldiers attacked, and after some intense hand-to-hand fighting and close-quarters gunfire, took control of the ship’s bridge. Rachel dove through the fray and clamped her hand across Jones’ neck, stopping the bleeding and Healing the nicked windpipe and torn blood vessels. Jones coughed, then got to her feet as Rachel returned to the instrument panels.

  “Situation report,” and the Welshwoman stopped, coughing again and rubbing a very sore throat. “Report, Command Two.”

  “The control center is secure. Only four Keldak remain outside the control room. We have five injured, including you, but all are mobile. One fatal, Sergeant Thomas,” Monroe summarized.

  “Command One, we have communications with Reserve One,” RSM Chan announced.

  While the soldiers reported and regrouped, Rachel considered the ship’s instruments and gauges. She paused long enough to wipe the bahn’leh on a dead Keldak’s jumpsuit and sheath the weapon, replacing it in her boot before going back to work. Jones had to call her name twice to get her attention. “Cat One! What’s our situation?”

  Jones had to strain to understand Rachel’s words through a thick accent. “There are another twenty Keldak warriors in distance-hibernation. The program the field commander activated will finish awakening them in eight minutes. And these are heavy infantry, not the scouts we’ve fought thus far. Marsh’s signal jam is still working.” Her clipped and harsh tone made one or two of the humans give her wary looks, but she kept her back to them.

  “Can you stop the program?”

  “Negative. I’d have to manually override it at each hibernation pod, and there’s not enough time. However,” and she finally glanced over her shoulder, eye still burning with anger “if you care to fight through the four remaining scouts, I can set the engines on overload and blow this derzhan balkonda to bits. All four are at that door, which is also the closest to the exit.” She pointed with a bloody hand.

  “Command One to Reserve One,” Jones said into the now-working radio.

  “This is One, go ahead,” Khan replied.

  “Is there any activity at your position, over?”

  “Negative, Command One. Two hostiles were seen, but they returned to the ship about ten minutes ago, over.”

  Thank God for small favors Jones thought, then made up her mind. “Cat One, how big of an explosion will the engines make?”

  “Not big at the surface. Maybe a 400 m across and 10 m deep crater,” she said, accent growing thicker. “Most force will be contained by the dirt and water overhead, or vent out the tunnels.”

  “Reserve, fall back to the road. Have the medics ready and continue signal jam.”

  “Wilco.”

  “One out.” Jones clicked off, then turned to the troops. “Hunter Four, get a rear guard together. The rest of you, weapons at the ready. Cat One, how long will we have before the engines overload?”

  “Six of your minutes. I’ll need to stay for a t’kerra to lock the program, so it can’t be overridden once the process begins.”

  “Do it.” Jones looked at her troops. Sgt. Hayden and Lt. Nielsen had picked up Sgt. Thomas’ body, and the injured were ready to move. Chan, Weber, Lee, and Ulianov moved closer to the xenologist, who threw switches and typed feverishly.

  “Weapons free, fire when ready. Cat One open the door.”

  Rachel reached over and pushed some buttons. The metal panel slid open, and the soldiers bolted out. The force of their charge carried them through the few remaining scouts and out of the tunnel leading away from the ship.

  Four minutes later the rear guard trotted out of the tunnel leading to the Keldak ship, Lee in the lead with Chan and Weber not far behind, as Ulianov helped the no
w-limping Cdr. Na Gael keep up with the men. They ran straight for the protection of a small rise, clearing it and then slowing their pace before making their way towards the rest of the soldiers strung out along the road. Ninety seconds after that a dull whine built to a howl, then terminated in whumpf! A fountain of mud and water rose about a hundred meters into the air, then collapsed.

  Jones started looking for Rachel. RSM Chan shook his head. “She went over that way,” and he pointed towards the other side of the roadway. “She wasn’t speaking English anymore by the time she finished ‘fixing’ the ship, ma’am.”

  Jones’s eyes narrowed. I wonder if she reverted to her own language because of stress. Now what? Suddenly she remembered that Khan had learned some phrases of “Trader Talk” as he called it. Well, if that’s our only problem, we’re in better shape than I could have hoped half an hour ago. Jones rubbed her neck and returned to the command post.

  As Chan had observed, Khan and Jones found Rachel on the other side of the road, where she was splashing around in a small stream. Khan stopped well out of her reach and called to her in Trader. She waved her hands underwater some more and swished her tail, replying in the same language. He approached a bit closer, waited until she stopped plashing about, and then made what sounded like a suggestion. She rubbed a little water on her face, then shook her hands dry before standing up. Rachel started with an explanation, then caught herself. Khan folded his arms and she looked a touch sheepish about whatever it was she’d been saying. “Would you care to switch to English, Rachel,” he inquired mildly.

  Rachel seemed puzzled, then shook all over, like a damp cat. “Sorry. Lost my English when I lost my temper. Can you give me a hand?”

  The South Asian officer walked down the bank and reached out, helping her clamber up the grassy slope. He got a good look at her as he did so, and his eyes widened. “Christ have mercy! What happened?”

  She glanced down at her bloody arms and bloodstained jacket and shirt. “He called me an oathbreaker, Rahoul,” and she staggered a little with fatigue. He pulled her closer and kept an arm around her shoulders as they walked back to where Jones and one of the medics were waiting.

  Two days later, Jones looked up from her paperwork-strewn desk at Major Khan and accepted his report. Marsh and Na Gael had devised and transmitted a signal to any other Keldaki ships that might have been in the area, letting the know exactly what happened to scouts who “trespassed and wore out Earth’s hospitality.”

  Jones laid her pen down. “One last question before you go, Rahoul. Do you have any idea why Rachel went berserk and attacked the Keldak field commander?”

  He nodded, “Yes, ma’am, I do. As I understand it, that knife has a special meaning that ties it into some of her vows. And Rachel is deadly serious about keeping her word once it’s given, ma’am. Calling her an oathbreaker and taking that knife away was, let’s say, a ‘gross tactical error’ on his part.”

  “Thank you. You’re dismissed,” and a knock sounded on the door. “You can let Rachel in as you go.”

  Rachel slid in around Rahoul and took a seat across from Jones’s desk. The officer met her advisor’s sober gaze and looked away as the silence lengthened. It was very much like having a cat stare at you, Jones thought.

  “Trouble writing a letter, ma’am?” Rachel broke the quiet, pointing to the scratched and edited draft lying in the middle of the desk blotter.

  “And if I am? It’s not really any of your business,” Jones snapped, instantly regretting both her tone and the words as Rachel leaned forward and frowned.

  “Technically true. However, Sgt. Thomas was a promising noncom who had been talking about making the military a career. He also played classical guitar very well—well enough that I’m willing to forgive his fondness for blasting American hip-hop on the lorries’ intercoms from time to time. Thomas didn’t have much of a sense of humor, but he was a good soldier and a decent man.” She sat back and folded her arms. “So why did he die?”

  Evelyn Jones gripped the arms of her chair, knuckles white. “Because I was trying to protect you.”

  Na Gael shook her head. “No. He died and you and others were hurt because of impatience. Someone failed to stop and analyze the situation, to recognize a potential trap and to wait until there were enough troops available for a true raid, or to lure more of the scouts out of the ship where they could be picked off piecemeal on ground that favored the attacker. And before you fire me or bite my head off, I know this because I did something very similar once and got my ass handed to me, losing eight men in the process. We were lucky to get out at all.”

  How dare you lecture me, Jones thought. You are a civilian, my subordinate. You have no place criticizing my actions.

  As Jones glared at the alien, Rachel stood up. “It’s the same bloody impatience that damn near cost me my sanity two days before Easter, ma’am. For which I’ve forgiven you, but it’s going to be a while before I can forget it.” She started for the door. “I’ll be in the lab. I still have copies of some letters like that one that I wrote, if you think they would be helpful.”

  After the door shut, Jones turned and stared out the window at the bright summer afternoon. That does it. I’m giving her the sack right here and now for gross disrespect and insubordination. What does she mean, questioning what I did last spring? She wasn’t hurt and we destroyed the Larganga. But the more she thought about, the more she had to admit that the alien had a point. An unpleasant, nasty, hard point that would get more than Sgt. Thomas killed if she didn’t do something about it. Jones spent a very bitter hour thinking and reviewing matters. At last she stood and went down to the lab.

  The light by the door shone green and the officer pushed the door open without knocking. Rachel sat with her back to the door, one hand in the drawer where she kept her side arm, the other full of tea mug. Jones noticed new mirror hanging where the xenologist could see anyone coming in without having to turn. Not taking any chances, are we?

  “So, do I still have a job?” The smaller woman inquired, swinging her chair around and looking up at Jones.

  The officer leaned against the desk, folded her arms and looked up at the ceiling, then down again. “Yes. I came to apologize. I shouldn’t have snarled at you, and I should have listened to what you said, and didn’t say.”

  Rachel got up and made Jones a mug of tea, which she took. “Apology accepted, ma’am. Many years ago I knew a promising junior officer who was also very impatient—always hungry for action and eager to charge in where angels, and even I, feared to tread.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He almost got his entire squad killed in an ambush in a narrow mountain valley. Then it took all I could do to keep him from killing himself. But he’s now one of the best men and soldiers I’ve ever known.” Before Jones could ask, Rachel added, “And he’s not anyone in this unit, currently or in the past.”

  The human shuddered a bit and thought as she drank her tea. “How long were you on active duty?”

  I still am, but we’ll just skip that bit, I think. “Let’s see, ah, just a bit less than two hundred years as you calculate them. Enough time to screw up, fall on my face, get reamed out on several occasions, make an idiot of myself at least twice, and to learn never, ever to play high-stakes cards with a senior NCO.” Rachel patted her pocket. “Took a year’s wages to pay him off!”

  Despite herself, Jones had to laugh at her advisor’s rueful tone. “One of these days I’m going to dock your pay for insubordination.”

  “I hope we both live to see that day, ma’am, considering how close we cut it Wednesday night. Speaking of which, how’s your throat, and have your heard what Vienna is going to do about my budget request?”

  “Still sore, and no.” Jones touched the red line just visible over her blouse collar, and she chilled a little at the memory.

  Rachel pointed to her own chair. “Sit, please, and I’ll take a look at it if you wish.” Jones did as asked, and felt cool,
gentle pressure on the healing wound. The ache faded, as did the small tickle she’d felt for the past days. “That should help. It’s going to scar, but won’t be too noticeable.” Rachel handed her back her tea.

  Jones finished and rose to go. “Thank you. ”

  “Ma’am, only in a garden are impatiens a virtue.”

  Jones groaned. “For that you should be drawn and quoted. But point taken.”

  A few weeks later, Rachel scowled at the paper target hanging at the far end of her shooting lane, finger tightening on the trigger. Right, this time I’ll—

  “Cease fire,” RSM Chan called.

  Rachel activated the safety on the pistol, ejected the magazine, and laid both of them down on the counter at her position. As she did, a shot rang out. Oh dear. She leaned back past the divider and watched Chan and Colour Sergeant Martino descending on a soon-to-be-unhappy first sergeant. If it was a junior officer, well, they all need retraining. But First Sergeant Ustinov knows better. Corporal Anthony Lee appeared at her elbow, made some notes as he reeled in her target, and handed her the proper page to sign. “I’ll take care of your weapon if you would like to leave, ma’am. RSM’s suggestion.”

  “Ah. Then I’ll get out from underfoot. Thank you, Lee.”

  Rachel wasn’t pleased with her performance on the range. Even if it is my weak hand, I should do better than that. She was grumping her way back to the lab when a fuzz-cheeked lieutenant whistled as she passed. “Hi Brownie!”

  “And this is where the offices begin,” Sergeant Wolfgang Weber explained to the newly assigned corporal. “We have to go through here to get to the lab, unless we go outside, or take a back way.”

  “The lab is that area on the far end of the north wing?” Corporal Jacques Lavosier tried to remember what little he’d seen when he’d arrived at the 58th Regiment’s headquarters the evening before.

  “Correct,” the German non-com agreed. As they rounded the corner, Weber’s hand swung out, catching the dark-haired corporal on the gut and stopping him. They could hear a woman’s voice, quiet but intense, and louder replies of “Yes, ma’am, no ma’am” from a nervous-sounding man. Weber gestured for silence, and the two crept closer and then stopped just past the turning.