by Alma Boykin
RSM Smith made a note and looked over at the Israeli. “That seems quite rapid, sir.”
“His last posting was to the South African Branch, but he is just finishing three months’ parental leave. Apparently Iceland is quite generous in that area.”
General Khan scrolled through the display in front of him, then inquired, “Do you have any word on when Vienna will assign us an executive officer?”
“Soon sir, according to this morning’s e-mail. It seems there are two possible candidates, and Headquarters is being very careful on the placement of both. The Russians are also looking for someone.” Moshe frowned at the screen.
Sheep Cluj nodded his agreement. “That will be a tough slot after what happened to Colonel Petrovna.”
“Someone get eaten?” Rachel asked in a too-chipper tone.
“No,” Rahoul stated, a touch of steel and ice in his voice. Rachel bowed her head in acknowledgment of the correction. The rest of the meeting went smoothly.
“Commander Na Gael?” Rahoul inquired at last, looking over at his advisor.
She sat forward in her chair, back straight as always. “Dr. Chandrasekar’s tests on the apparent seed-pods proved negative. As best he can determine, the items are native to this planet, but have been modified genetically. Whatever changes were tried appear to have failed—the seeds are sterile. He suggests keeping an eye out for more but does not believe that they represent anything threatening or extraterrestrial, and I concur. There is nothing else to report at this time.”
Rahoul made a note and nodded. “Very well, Commander, thank you.” He looked around at the others. “Does anyone have any final questions or thoughts?” The alien raised her index finger and he acknowledged her.
“Yes, sir. Is there a reason for the fountain in the garden?”
The commanding officer sat back and let his executive reply. “Yes there is, Commander. As you recall, there has been some question about shifting to a completely independent water supply for the base.” At Rachel’s nod, de Alba continued. “The fountain is the final part of the new internal water treatment system. It re-oxygenates the water before it’s circulated back through more filters and into the primary system. Before you ask about winter, or a deliberate attempt to contaminate the system, there is a bypass.”
“So no floating toy boats, or coloring it for major holidays, or turning it into an absolutely magnificent beer cooler, in other words.” Rachel sighed, looking disappointed.
“Spoilsports,” someone else muttered under their breath. De Alba looked around, but didn’t recognize the voice, so she didn’t pursue it.
Rahoul’s mouth twitched, but he managed to keep a straight face despite his sudden vision of turning the thing into a giant suds machine. General officers can’t play pranks he reminded himself. “Very well. Since there is no further business, you are dismissed,” he said aloud, rising to his feet. The others followed, and he turned toward Rachel. “Commander, a word with you.” She collected her satchel and then fell in at his right shoulder, where she could see him. She trailed the general down the main corridor, the metal tip on her cane making a faint tap with every other step. It was a sound he’d been hearing intermittently for almost a quarter of a century, Rahoul realized with a bit of a start. Could it really be that long?
He waved her into a seat in what was now his office and studied the Wanderer-hybrid as she in turn eyed the new décor. Was that silver in her hair? It was—a few threads just off center in her widow’s peak. She seemed to have regained the weight she’d lost during her illness earlier that year, he was glad to see. Rakoji da Kavalle—or, as he knew her, Commander Rachel Na Gael Ni Drako—had become a friend over the years, and Rahoul didn’t care to think how much harder things would have been without her presence. Despite her irritating habits, she was calm and steady, a rock in a storm when things were at their worst. He sat back in his chair as she finished her inspection of the office. “Truth, Commander,” he started in Trader, her working language. “What is your status?”
The half-blind woman considered his question, her prosthetic ears twitching a little. “I’m at ninety-five percent, sir. I’m afraid that is the best I will ever be, now.” She looked off to the side, then returned to meet his inquiring gaze. “That September hurt me more than any of us realized—me, you, Joschka, even Himself. I won’t collapse again any time soon, sir, but I’m going to need a fair amount of recovery if we have seventy-two-hours of non-stop combat. God forbid,” she added quickly. Perking up, the scarred brunette continued, “I learned some better signals identification techniques and obtained a new set of body armor, as I told Captain ben David, with better optics correction for my monovision. Also found a little something for Mrs. Khan and for Robin and Sita, if it’s not inappropriate.”
“And for me?” Rahoul teased.
“I’m back—that should be gift enough for anyone,” Rachel smiled sweetly. Khan shook his head before smiling back. She sobered. “I want to get you better personal weapons and body armor, sir, but I can’t. I’ve pushed the bounds of technology back-transfer to the breaking point as it is.”
The English general leaned forward, as serious as his advisor. “That reminds me of something I’ve wanted to ask you for a while. The little bits and pieces that you’ve added to the lab, or that you use in your paramedic kit—could they cause problems at some point?”
“Not for you, sir. If someone were to find them, and if that person really wanted to, I could get in trouble. However,” Rachel shrugged, “the people who enforce the rules are already out for my blood, so it doesn’t change anything.”
“The Traders?”
“Affirmative.” Khan noticed the woman’s slight shiver and decided to change the topic.
“Are you comfortable being under my command and taking orders from me? And will you obey them?” He needed to know, and the sooner the better, if he needed to replace her.
Rachel relaxed and sat back in her chair. “Yes, yes, and mostly yes, sir. As long as you trust me, will at least consider my suggestions before dismissing them as absolutely insane, and don’t scream every time I act first and report second, then I see no reason for things to change. If not, sir, then I’ll go into partial-retirement.” It was the same agreement she had made with his predecessors and it had worked quite well thus far.
Rahoul considered her words, then nodded briskly. “Very well. I assume the things you bought for my children do not have small parts or make loud noises?”
The xenologist recoiled, eye wide, with an offended expression. “Are you suggesting that I would give someone else’s kitlings small wind instruments or things that might ooze, leak, piddle, or explode?”
“In a word, yes.” Khan laughed as she did her best to look innocent and harmless.
Colonel Desta Selassie was a striking woman, Rahoul thought, as he shook hands with his new executive officer. A touch under two meters tall, Col. Selassie looked at ease in her uniform, confident and ready for whatever weirdness awaited her. Her close-trimmed black hair accentuated her dark eyes and high cheekbones. The colonel’s résumé included fluency in English, German, Amharic, and Arabic, a master’s degree in electrical engineering, and secondary training in computer science.
Their conversation only confirmed Rahoul’s initial impression. Selassie didn’t come from a military family, nor had she been planning on a career in the military. That was until, “Rocks don’t walk and don’t shoot, sir. They killed our cattle and captured or killed half my village. We fought back, but we didn’t have the weapons or knowledge to stop them. It was the Southern European Branch and the Ethiopian Army, with the help of God, who stopped the things. And there were women fighting beside the men from Europe! I’d heard of women warriors, but not soldiers, sir.” And now she was here. Rahoul was glad to have her.
“I assume you’ve had the tour of the place?” he asked at last.
She nodded. “Yes, sir. I must tell you, this is the strangest Branch headquarters facil
ity I have seen.”
The general glanced around his office and nodded. “It was and is. Apparently there is quite a tale involved, but the only person who knew the entire story passed away a few months ago. I believe the original intent was to hide in plain sight.” He still couldn’t quite fathom what Brigadier Eastman and the architects had been thinking—or drinking—at the time.
“Everything does seem very well done, sir,” the Ethiopian woman added. “Although the sergeant—I believe Lee was his name—said that we couldn’t see the laboratory facility because of work in progress.”
Khan woke up his computer and called up the live camera image of the lab door, noting that the light above it was green. Major General McKendrick had gotten tired of not knowing the status of the laboratory until someone walked down to check the light, so he’d had a camera installed. All it showed was the door and the light, nothing else. “You need to memorize this,” he said, turning the screen so she could see it. “Green light means that nothing is going on that can’t be interrupted, even if the door is locked. Yellow means work in progress that shouldn’t be disturbed but it’s not dangerous, although the door may be locked. Red light means that something potentially hazardous is going on and Commander Na Gael should not be disturbed unless it is a dire emergency. If the light is off, there’s nothing in progress aside from staff work, or Rachel is off duty.”
“And if there’s no light? Or camera?” The slight smile and twinkle in the colonel’s eye warned Rahoul that her sense of humor might rival Rachel’s.
Rahoul turned the screen back. “Then you will have heard a loud noise from that end of the building and evacuations should be underway.” He got to his feet and she mirrored him. “Let’s go. You can see the place and the safety features and meet our xenologist.”
They started walking toward the lab but stopped when they heard a commotion from the far end of the hallway. In Rahoul’s experience that never boded well, and he braced himself for the slam of the concealed blast doors swinging shut to contain whatever “minor excitement” was erupting. Instead, a large, black, one-eyed, jaguar-like cat charged down the hall toward Khan and Selassie, its fur standing on end and its fangs bared. The animal didn’t make a sound or check its speed as it hurtled past the startled officers and galloped around the far corner. “What was that?” Selassie gasped.
“That was the xenology specialist, Commander Rachel Na Gael. Who had better have a very good reason for rocketing through the building as if her fur were on fire,” Khan replied, torn between worry and irritation. RSM Sheldon Smith strode up, as calm as the xenologist had been rushed, and carrying one of the xenologist’s walking canes. “Smith, do you know what’s going on?”
“Yes sir,” he affirmed. “Someone decided to play a little prank on Cdr. Na Gael. It was not funny in the least and potentially very dangerous. She determined who did it, and I’m going to find First Sergeant Lee and dissuade her from attacking the perpetrator.” Despite his words, it was apparent that the senior noncom was in no great hurry to intercept the fleeing feline.
“Prank?” Selassie’s eyes were wide. None of her other assignments had tolerated pranks or practical joking on base.
“Yes, ma’am. Someone thought it would be amusing to change the labels on some chemical bottles, among other things. Cdr. Na Gael managed to vent the lab and neutralize the reaction, but she almost lost her hand when a flask erupted. And that’s with safety gloves on.” Smith didn’t seem to feel that Rachel’s reaction was too extreme, and Khan was inclined to agree with his assessment. “She promised not to use claws, sir.”
“Then carry on, Sergeant Smith. Whoever did it is safer with her in feline-shape,” Khan observed, and the RSM nodded.
“Very good, sir. Ma’am.” And the NCO strolled down the hall toward the firing range at the far end of the complex, lower level.
“Sir, I don’t understand,” the colonel frowned. “That was a very large and angry animal we saw. How can it be safer than something else?”
Khan started turning back towards his office. “Because she will just terrify the person who played the ‘prank’ and scare some sense into them. Otherwise, she’d probably kill them. Don’t worry, Selassie. If she’s under control enough to tell Smith what she’s doing, she’s not going to hurt her target that badly. Smith and Lee will see to that.” He thought for a moment, “In fact, I believe that we don’t know anything about the matter aside from what will be officially reported.”
Half an hour later someone tapped on the general’s door. “Enter.” The door opened and a small woman with brown-black hair and a single eye pushed the wooden and steel entry open.
“RSM Smith said you wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes, Commander. Col. Selassie, this is Commander Rachel Na Gael, the branch’s xenology specialist. Commander, Colonel Desta Selassie is the new executive officer,” Khan said, introducing the two. As he watched, the women studied each other like two cats meeting for the first time. Rachel extended her hand.
“Pleased to meet you and welcome aboard, Colonel,” the smaller woman offered with a smile. Selassie accepted her hand, then registered the claws that curved over the tips of Rachel’s fingers and the almost metallic silver-grey, slit-pupiled eye. Desta blinked but didn’t flinch, and both Rahoul and Rachel smiled wider.
“Thank you, Commander. You are not from Britain, I take it?” She’d heard rumors about the Branch xenologist—everyone had—but she’d expected an eccentric scientist, not someone or something like this!
Rachel looked over at Khan, who nodded for her to answer. “No, ma’am. I’m an import, you might say. Many years ago someone decided that it might take an alien to catch an alien, and so I was hired as the Branch’s xenologist. No one’s grown irritated enough with me to fire me yet, so here I remain.”
At Khan’s gesture the two women sat down and he perched on the front corner of his desk. “Desta, Rachel is the senior xenologist in the GDF. She was active duty prior to joining us as a civilian, so her former rank holds. To be quite honest, Rachel could probably command the Branch as well as you or I,” he explained, and Rachel nodded gravely. “In fact, she’s acted as number three a few times.”
“Only in dire emergencies, Colonel,” Na Gael assured Selassie. “As you can tell, I’m not really fit for combat anymore,” and she gestured towards her face and then her cane. “I tend to scare children on Halloween.”
That gave Rahoul an idea, although he winced inwardly at the Wanderer’s choice of phrase. “Rachel, remove your patch, please.” She gave him an odd look but obeyed. Apparently she’d anticipated something along that line, because she also took a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped it over that side of her face, removing some of the cosmetics.
Desta stared at the red-flecked white orb under the patch and the long scar that ran from the tip of the other woman’s widow’s peak across the eye and almost to her jaw. More scars formed a lacy white network across the socket and cheekbone below the blind eye. “Dear Lord! Commander, what happened?”
The smaller woman replaced her patch and tucked the cloth back into her pocket before answering. “Everything but the long scar is a result of being tortured. The scar was punishment for disobeying a direct order—and no, none of it happened here.” She turned to Khan; “I assume you had a reason for that, sir?”
“Yes, I did.” He left it there and she didn’t press, although he could tell she was not happy with him at the moment.
Col. Selassie put two plus two together. “The black animal that ran through the hall—that really was you?” Her eyes were wide, and she leaned back a little from the other woman.
“Ah, yes.” Rachel ducked her head as Rahoul folded his arms across his chest, waiting for the story. “I lost my temper at someone. One of the junior officers apparently thought it would be cute to play a little prank on me. Unfortunately, his memory for A-level chemistry was not as good as he thought, because what was supposed to just make a mess instead cause
d, well, let’s just say the culprit won’t do it again.”
“Very well, Commander,” the general decided. “You are dismissed.” After she left and the door was shut, Khan stood up, motioning Selassie to remain in her chair. “I wanted you to see her as she is, now, so you won’t be taken by surprise later. People sometimes react poorly to their first sight of her.” He sat back down in his chair.
Desta considered the xenologist. “She’s seen the gates of Hell, hasn’t she, sir?”
“She’s seen them from both sides.”
Selassie touched the small silver cross hanging from a discreet bracelet. “It leaves its mark.”
“It does. Which is why she also works with the chaplain and Dr. Albioni. She has skills as a councilor that make her doubly valuable to the Branch. She is also an irreverent wiseacre and can be painfully sarcastic,” Khan warned his new number two. “As well as having an ego only slightly smaller than the Pacific Ocean and being one of those people who refuse to admit that they might need help. If you are like most of us, you’ll have the urge to strangle or shake her on occasion.” He shook his head, running a hand over his close-cropped, dark brown hair. Selassie wondered if the xenologist had contributed to the faint gray haze at General Khan’s temples, then remembered that he had two small children at home.
The next morning, Rachel had a leisurely wake-up and stretch before seeing about food. She’d barely started eating when bam, bam, bam! someone began pounding on the door to her quarters. She got up from the table, breakfast bowl in hand, walked over, and pulled open the door. “What is it?” she demanded, annoyed and concerned both.
The very young-looking sergeant said, “There’s a possible situation, ma’am. Staff briefing in two hours.”
“Two hours,” she repeated, raising her eyebrow. This idiot was bashing her door in for a non-emergency?
