A Cat at Bay

by Alma Boykin

  The object of his interest lay still, only the slight movement of her chest hinting that she was alive. It would be at least half an hour before she began regaining consciousness, giving him time to study her without her becoming uncomfortable. He brushed some stray hairs away from her eye with his hoof and considered matters.

  She could not exist. Obviously the female mammal did, thus posing a problem for the rules of reproductive biology. Two species as different as K’atians and Wanderers could not crossbreed—their genes simply would not combine, and any gamete should have been rejected by the K’atian immune system and have been miscarried. But no, or at least not according to what his protégé claimed. He did not doubt her recollection—or rather he did not doubt that she believed it was true. The equine biped carefully turned the female’s head, noting how well the reconstruction of her facial bones had taken. He wondered if she was aware of the journal article published about the surgery and results. Probably not, since she focused on non-surgical techniques, as befitted her talents and expertise in emergency medicine and trauma care. Privately, he suspected that she was not truly the natural offspring of her parents, but rather a chimera. Her sire most likely had her made, for reasons her mentor did not care to guess. Oh, there were other possibilities to be sure, but that was the simplest explanation for Miss Ni Drako’s existence.

  Not that Master Thomas had ever spoken of his supposition to his mentee. He sat carefully in the chair beside the bed, taking the girl’s cool hand and stroking it with his hooved digits. He hoped that she would awaken soon. He had come to be rather fond of the little half-breed, in as much as his kind ever formed attachments to members of other species. What had begun as an exercise in self-preservation and an observational experiment had developed into something more. He would miss her when she died, Master Thomas realized with a bit of a start. How odd.

  What to do about her hunters? He stroked the limp hand and pondered the situation. Once the Azdhagi learned of the attack, he was quite certain that they would act, although he did not know how. He suspected that it would most likely be in a defensive manner, so as to prevent a future assault on the King-Emperor’s token mammal. The humans of Earth would do nothing, because there was nothing to be done. And although her business partner could have been a consideration, Zabet’s separation from House Nagali rendered her a non-player in the matter, unless her Pet were attacked again in her presence. Master Thomas considered his allies and contacts, weighing their potential willingness to assist against the likelihood of his needing them for other matters in the future. He did not care to call in alliances for something this minor and decided against acting. This was a matter for his mentee and her allies to deal with and not worth his intervention, the equine determined at last. The aggressors from Tarqi da Kavalle had been punished for the most part, although some inquiries had revealed that at least four of the Traders had gotten away between the half-breed’s escape and the destruction of the Traders’ ship by the humans. They had taken . . .trophies . . . with them.

  The hand in his forefoot moved slightly, and the equine laid it back onto the bed covering. His associate had cautioned that their patient would probably panic if she were restrained in any way and Master Thomas had no desire to upset her. The mental damage that had been inflicted along with the physical injuries was considerable, and there was no need to hurt her further.

  Rada awoke. She hurt. I’m not dead. She listened and heard breathing, not hers. She opened her eye and saw ceiling beams, and the shadow of lace curtains on the wall below them. The pattern seemed familiar, and after a moment she recognized it from the guest room two doors down from Master Thomas’s consulting room. She turned her head and saw him sitting, watching her.

  “I owe you a tremendous apology, Miss Ni Drako. I took a liberty that I am not allowed and tried to sedate you without your knowledge so that I could examine you without causing further trauma. In that I failed.”

  He’s never apologized before. What do I say? She swallowed, or tried to, and he helped her sit, handing her a glass of water. She drank. “Thank you sir. I accept your apology.” I do not want to know. I need to know. “What did the examination show, sir?”

  “As I had feared, you indeed suffered tertiary trauma, physically, from the nanomedical procedure. I trust you noticed your difficulty with locomotion?”

  “Yes.” And the pain, the tearing, and the other problem.

  “It required surgical intervention. Rakash Hwee performed the procedure. It restored bladder and urinary function. However, nothing could be done for the reproductive organs, Miss Ni Drako, because of the damage and subsequent scarring. The remnants have been removed.”

  Rada fought down a wail of despair, struggling to stay properly detached. “Ah. That explains the lack of pain and the regional muscle weakness.”

  Master Thomas smiled. “Correct. You must rest.” He patted her hand with his own. “After then, I wish to see your ship’s medical record, in order to add it to your files.”

  “Yes sir.” He left. Rada waited until she heard nothing but silence. She rolled over, taking her time to keep from hurting the weakened muscles. Then she screamed into the thick pillow. She cried until her eye burned and screamed until her voice failed. You shattered my last dream. You vicious, thrice-damned, evil, vile . . . She ran through every malediction in her considerable collection. Then she slept, pursued by nightmares.

  The next morning she returned to the library to find that book on nanosurgical reconstruction that Master Thomas still wanted her to read. Rada discovered the book back on the shelf. She opened it and started reading as she walked, accidentally bumping the tea table. Canisters, jars, spoons, and other things clattered to the floor, a few rolling under Master Thomas’s chair just out of spite. “Fewmets.” She set the book on the chair, got down on all fours, and started rounding up the escapees.

  “Come back here you,” she felt around under the chair and found a canister of chili pepper. “Really? Oh, for adding to chocolate. And the humans think I have strange tastes in food?” Rada reached farther and her fingertips brushed a small bottle. “Ugh,” she stretched, wincing, and rolled it close enough to pick up. It had a dropper cap.

  Rada sat back and looked at the bottle. This is the sedative he used. She held the bottle close to her ear-hole and shook it. It sloshed. This is enough to kill me. She opened the cap and loaded the dropper. He’s not here, Charles is not here, I will be dead before they can do anything. No pain, no memories, no nightmares. I’ll be free.

  Half the length of the dropper appeared as she lifted the cap, full of dark liquid. Rada hungered for the promise it offered.

  All at once, instead of the bottle, she saw Rahoul Khan and Joschka. “If Rakoji da Kavalle is dead, then Rada Ni Drako has everything to live for,” she heard in her memory.

  I have nothing. The Traders saw to that. They ripped my last dream away when they destroyed my womb and everything attached to it.

  Joschka’s voice spoke. “Promise me, Rada, promise me, us.” She tasted again Joschka’s emotions: fear for her, anger at the Traders, a ferocious desire for her to live, and love that dwarfed everything else. The emotions had overwhelmed her, driving her to make that damned promise.

  Dropper loaded, bottle open, Rada fought the silent, hidden battle. At last, hands shaking, she closed the bottle and put it on the little table beside Master Thomas’s chair.

  Rada chose to live.

  Lieutenant Colonel Rahoul Khan adjusted the cuffs of his dress uniform and sighed. Loudly. His wife Panpit giggled at his grumpy expression. “I think I’m starting to understand how Rachel felt when we made her wear that pink bow and little silver bells,” he said.

  She put her hands over her mouth to muffle her laughter. “Pink bow and silver bells? Oh that was vicious, love!” The South Asian officer thought back to Rachel’s predicament, sitting there at the end of a leash—an enormous black cat with an elaborate pink ribbon bow and little bells on her collar. Panpit�
��s dark-green eyes danced with mirth and he gave her a quick hug. “She must have been furious!” Panpit laughed, and he nodded.

  “Oh, she was. We still haven’t told her who came up with the idea, nor am I ever going to. Someone else can risk life and limb.”

  A light hand tapped on the door to the couple’s room and Rahoul went over and cautiously opened the door. “That didn’t take long,” he exclaimed, gesturing for their visitor to come in.

  Rachel smiled a little. “Well, I’ve had a bit of practice.” Panpit finished gathering her evening wrap and Rahoul put on his topcoat, then ushered the ladies out of the room. “Are we driving or walking?”

  “I assume we’re walking, since it’s so close,” Panpit replied, giving Commander Rachel Na Gael’s hair a close inspection. Rahoul had warned her that Rachel’s waist-length plait had been hacked off at ear level in late September, and Panpit was curious to see how the older woman was wearing it now. She’d pulled it back in a net snood, held at the top with a silver filigree and black-crystal barrette in the shape of a butterfly. The lift doors opened and the trio stepped into the lobby of the elegant old hotel, decorated with greenery and flowers for the Christmas and New Year holiday.

  A broad-shouldered gentleman with a neatly trimmed brown beard and mustache gave them a discreet wave and rose from his seat by the fireplace. “Good evening Colonel, ladies.” He smiled.

  Khan gently pushed his petite wife ahead. “Good evening, my lord General,” Khan replied as Rachel dropped a very old-fashioned curtsy, making the others chuckle.

  “So formal, Miss Na Gael?” the Austrian nobleman teased gently, taking her hand for the equally old-fashioned kiss.

  “Remind me what century this is again, my lord general?” Rachel retorted, smiling broadly.

  “The twenty first, which means no one is allowed to be fashionably late.” The Graf-General pointed toward the door, and the four walked out of the brass and wood lobby into the damp chill of midwinter Vienna.

  “My lord General, where’s your bride?” Panpit asked, tucking herself close to her husband as he took her arm.

  Joschka gave a long-suffering sigh. “She’ll join us at supper. It seems she found a sale at Zur Schwäbischen Jungfrau.”

  Both Panpit and Rachel grew very attentive and Rahoul shuddered. “My Rani, remember that we’re on a soldier’s budget.” Panpit’s infectious laugh rang out over the snow, drawing answering smiles from passersby.

  They crossed the Ring and threaded their way through the New Year’s crowd to the Rathaus, the old city hall. General Joschka and Adele—the Graf and Gräfin von Hohen-Drachenburg—Commander Rachel Na Gael, and Lt. Col. and Mrs. Rahoul and Panpit Khan presented their identification and were admitted to the military and diplomatic reception, dinner, and ball. They stopped by the cloakroom, then the ladies adjourned briefly to freshen up, emerging to find the men chatting with a Russian and an American. “I’ll bring up the tail,” Rachel offered, letting the couples go ahead.

  Joschka shook his head. “No, come between us, please.” Rachel acquiesced gracefully, falling in behind the nobles and giving Panpit a chance to study the others’ dresses.

  Gräfin Adele wore a blue-lavender evening gown that set off her silver hair and light-blue eyes, and didn’t clash with her husband’s sash and decorations. Rachel had chosen a black, ankle-length dress with a standing collar and modest sweetheart neckline, embroidered with a black-and-silver pattern of stylized dragons and stars along the hem of the full skirt and with blue-green piping on the cuffs, collar, and neckline. Her eye patch also had silver trim around it, and she wore black gloves with blue-green around the cuffs. The effect was both exotic and severe.

  Khan smiled at his beautiful young wife, whose simple green velvet gown matched her eyes, highlighted by gold filigree earrings and necklace and a gold clip in her midnight-black hair. Then they followed their hosts into the Gothic-inspired room and began circulating among the dignitaries. When Khan first attended an affair like this one, he’d escorted Rachel and she’d given him a suggestion. “Pretend it’s a theater or a game, Lieutenant. You’re playing a part, along with everyone else in the room. They are as worried about getting soup on their shirtfronts as you are, so relax.” It had worked then, and it still worked. He and Panpit mingled, sipped white wine, and acted as if they belonged in the glittering crowd.

  Rachel vanished briefly, reappearing among a cluster of Austrians and Norwegians. “Who’s the tall blond general?” Panpit whispered.

  “My commanding officer, General Helmut Eszterházy,” Rahoul said, leading her over to the group.

  At a lull in the conversation, Col. Khan caught the general’s eye. “General Eszterházy, I’d like to introduce my wife, Panpit. Panpit, Major General Helmut Eszterházy is military advisor to the Secretary.”

  The strikingly handsome officer bowed slightly towards the couple. Eszterházy gestured to the redheaded woman standing beside him, who extended her hand to Panpit. “Frau Colonel, my wife Ingrid. It is a pleasure to meet you at last Mrs. Khan—you are even lovelier than your husband’s descriptions suggested.” Panpit blushed, and the general’s wife gave him a little elbow in the ribs as Rachel smiled at the byplay. The civilian soon yielded her place to an American officer and drifted off to mingle some more.

  After about half an hour or so, a footman in eighteenth-century livery called the group to supper. Joschka had arranged things with the mess chiefs so that Rachel sat beside his wife, allowing Adele to guard Rachel’s blind side—Khan had warned him that Rachel was still skittish about being in crowds. Khan thought she was holding up very well after a week of meetings. He noticed Panpit watching the Graf-General and Gräfin closely, and under the cover of the arrival of the first course inquired, “Something catch your interest dear?”

  “Are Rachel and the Graf-General related?”

  “No, but they’ve known each other for a very long time.”

  Panpit raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps that explains it.” She turned her attention to the soup.

  Seated on Commander Na Gael’s other side was Colonel Ynocencio Kohl from Argentina. They discussed Argentinean wines, opera, and other light topics. “Have you ever visited Argentina, Commander Na Gael?” he asked.

  “No sir, I’ve not had the pleasure, although I’ve read about the area. I’m afraid work keeps me rather busy and I don’t speak enough Spanish to be comfortable traveling in the Americas alone,” she admitted, looking slightly embarrassed.

  He tutted and patted her hand, then did a double take as he looked at her fingers. She curled them under and said quietly, “Accident in the laboratory.”

  Col. Kohl gave her an understanding look, “Ah. You’ve probably heard about our little problem along that line.”

  “Yes. A true shame—Dr. Gutierrez was such a good botanist. It is a great loss to Argentina and to his family,” Rachel said.

  After a pause, the topic changed to other matters. Rachel turned to the Gräfin and found her watching. Adele brushed Rachel’s hand and sent, «How are you doing, Rachel?»

  «A little tired, but otherwise fine. The crowd is not as bad as I’d feared.» Rachel sipped her water as a waiter slid the salad course in front of her. She’d been trying to eat without exposing her tender fingertips, and as a result she was slower than the humans around her.

  Adele noticed and frowned slightly. «Has anyone looked at your hands?» The silver-haired Healer demanded. Aloud she said, “Commander, it really is a shame that you don’t drink wines. This red is truly outstanding.”

  «Not really, my lady. The problem is that the claws are regrowing and keeping things sensitive. Perhaps another four months and my hands, at least, will be back to normal.» “I’m glad to hear that. I read somewhere that reds were going to be problematic this year because of the recent cool summers,” the brunette observed.

  After the meal and before the dancing started, Gräfin Adele and Panpit Khan drew their husbands into a corner while Rachel excused herse
lf to get some fresh air. “My lord, Colonel, what happened to Rachel?” Adele demanded quietly, light blue eyes boring like drills into the two men.

  Khan looked around for listeners and took a deep breath, “Are you certain that you want to know, my lady? The story is not exactly suitable for a social occasion,” he cautioned.

  “I’m a nurse, Colonel, and my medical opinion is that your advisor seems to be suffering from lingering effects of major physical and psychological trauma. What happened to her?” Panpit shifted so she was closer to the Gräfin than to her husband and the Graf-General. The men considered, then told their wives a highly edited version of the story. Even so, Panpit shivered in horror.

  “You may not be able to answer this, Rahoul,” Panpit ventured, “But were all of Rachel’s injuries, um, external?” It took him a second to decipher her delicate phrase.

  “I suspect they weren’t, but the only people she’s ever spoken to about her experience are her mentor and Major Sandra Monroe.” As Khan spoke, the women’s expressions hardened and the Graf-General’s eyes started to turn ever so slightly red with anger.

  “Blessed St. Michael,” the general snarled, “they didn’t do anything by halves, did they? Thank God Weber and Lee were able to get her out.”

  “And you are going to dance with me tonight, my dear husband, even though you don’t care for it!” Panpit announced as Rachel came back into sight, melting snowflakes spangling her dark hair.

  The quartet made room for her and she smiled slightly at Mrs. Khan’s declaration. “If you can get your husband onto the floor, you have my deepest respect and admiration, Panpit.”

  Rachel smiled even more broadly as the Graf-General chuckled, “Colonel, it seems you have been outflanked. I suggest you surrender before the siege engines arrive.”