by Alma Boykin
Instead she studied the stonework of the Moorish palace and listened to the little history lecture about the place. Too bad your “golden age of toleration” didn’t really exist, she thought. As little as I like medieval Europe, I’d rather have to live in Vienna in the 1000s than in Hispania, thank you! She should know—she’d visited both. There was a brisk market for historic textile and artifact reproductions, and if some of them were created by the original maker, well, Rachel and her business partner didn’t charge extra.
Contrary to Commander Na Gael’s assumptions, Joschka von Hohen-Drachenburg had been keeping an eye on her as well. Rachel stood at the edge of a group of South African and Brazilian soldiers, listening to them wrap up a discussion about hostile, sentient plants. She’d been about to make an observation when someone knocked on her mental shields. The Wanderer offered her comment, then turned to find Joschka at her elbow. “You’re joining me for supper,” he informed her under his breath, taking her arm before she could object. “If you will excuse us, gentlemen?” Joschka smiled at the others as he led Rachel away.
“I am, my lord General?” she inquired, as he guided her through the clusters of Defense Force men and women toward the dining area.
“Yes. It was one of my conditions for coming.” He gave her a stern look. “And might I remind you, you are the senior xenologist currently working with the GDF, even if you don’t care to use your rank, so you need to meet these men. And please act professional. They are your superiors,” he reminded her. Rachel didn’t deign to reply, instead smiling politely at the gathered diplomats and general officers. “Secretary, Your Excellency, gentlemen, allow me to introduce Commander Rachel Na Gael, the British branch’s Xenology Specialist.”
She’d already met Lieutenant General Helmut Eszterházy of Hungary and Brigadier General William Riley from New Zealand, but Secretary Jan DeBeers, Prime Minister Alberto Gallegos and Major General Kwan Lee from South Korea were new to her, and vice versa. Apparently they’d heard of her, or had been warned, because no one stared at her eye patch and scars. She shook hands with them in turn, then followed the Graf-General and the others to their table.
Despite Joschka’s warning, Rachel had no desire to exercise her infamous sarcasm or temper that evening. Instead, she enjoyed a very good supper, politely declined the assorted wines and liqueurs, and added what she could to the conversation and business at hand. It pleased her to imagine what her enemies would think at the sight of her dining with some of this planet’s leaders. They’d probably wrinkle their noses in disgust and mutter about mongrels and primitive backwaters. Then try to kill all of us. She sighed a little to herself, and at Joschka’s curious look she shook her head and smiled.
The sweet was flan, followed by fruit and cheese. Rachel nibbled lightly at the latter, then explained something about biocyber interfaces to General Lee as Joschka watched her out of the corner of his eye. He liked her choice of outfits for that evening—the brown worked well with her hair, and there was just a hint of the military in the cut and trim of her jacket. It was good to see her in something aside from severe grey. She also appeared more relaxed than she’d been for quite a while. Joschka sipped his wine and decided that, indeed, the time had come to resolve a certain matter between them.
After the requisite speeches, the doors to the castle opened and the group had free run of much of the Alhambra, while one of the Iberian branch officers—who also happened to be a classical guitarist—began playing. Commander Na Gael drifted along with Major de Alba and a group of interested listeners as the major gave an informal history tour. Rachel made mental corrections to her associate’s account but kept quiet, not wanting to ruin other people’s evening. Lord knows, we get few enough peaceful moments in this lifestream, she sighed. Let the humans keep their romantic stories.
As she trailed along behind the others, a shadow emerged from deeper shadow and eased up behind her. Rachel had her cane raised and the blade drawn before Joschka came within reaching distance of her.
“Even here?” he asked, both humor and sorrow in his voice.
Unrepentant, she sheathed the weapon and leaned on the cane. “Even here.”
“Come with me for a moment,” the Graf-General invited. Rachel followed him into the clear fall evening. They walked past two fountains and into a garden that overlooked the city below the Moorish palace. Spicy scents from the damask roses, carnations, and other blooms filled the night air, and Rachel sniffed appreciatively. “One understands why they view paradise as a garden,” she observed, and Joschka nodded his agreement. A hint of breeze slid over a low spot in the garden wall, and she pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders. His presence banished the shadows that still flitted around the edges of her mind and soothed her growing dread for the future. The two warriors strolled the path through the dark garden in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company.
Joschka stopped at a low portion of the wall and watched the moon rising over the palace and the modern city. Rachel eased slightly closer to the old soldier, and he put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her to his side. “A credit for your thoughts?” he inquired in Trader.
“Oh, just that this is bordering on too perfect. Nearly full moon, the scents of the garden, fountains splashing in the background, with bits and phrases of Spanish music on the breeze. It all seems like a dream.” She sighed a bit wistfully.
Joschka reached his free hand into the interior pocket of his tuxedo jacket. “Indeed,” he replied gravely. “The only thing missing is a pair of lovers. But perhaps that lack can be remedied.” He retrieved a narrow, silk-covered box.
Rachel half-turned toward her friend, giving him an odd look that shifted into one of surprise. “Ah, my lord, are you, um,” she stuttered, tongue-tied.
The graying HalfDragon smiled broadly. “I am. Come, sit here.” He drew her to a bench where they could see but not be seen. She settled beside him and Joschka chose his next words with great care. “I love you and I want you to be with me for the rest of my life, however long God grants me. Not as advisor or subordinate, but as partner, friend, and beloved.”
Rachel looked away briefly as he finished, then returned his gaze. The moonlight glittered off a tear, and Joschka thought she had never seemed so beautiful as she did at that moment. “I . . . Joschka, I want to accept. I’ve loved you since we were in the Scouts, and I still do. But . . .” Her voice trailed off as she turned away again.
“But what Hairball?” he prompted, disappointment starting to rise.
“Are you certain that what you love is really me and not who I was all those years ago? Before—” She gestured toward her battered face.
He shook his head. “Rada, those don’t matter. I’ve known you at your lowest and seen you at your worst, and I still love you. You’ve been tempered and tried, and your heart is as beautiful as ever.”
She ducked her head a little at his declaration. “Two things you need to know, Joschka, before I can accept. First, part of my agreement with Himself, Master Thomas, was that I remain celibate. I’ll have to ask him to release me from my promise and there’s a chance he might not.” Joschka shrugged a little, dismissing the possible complication. He doubted that Himself would object. Rachel took a deep breath. “Do you remember that September?”
How could he forget? At his grim nod she gathered herself and continued very quietly, “What you saw was not the worst of what they did to me. Even if Himself releases me, I, ah, can’t be for you what Magda and Adele were. Because of the injuries and internal scarring, it’s no longer physically possible for me to . . . to have normal sexual relations.”
She looked away from his shocked expression and his anger. The silence seemed to stretch on forever. At last Rachel hung her head, rising and turning to leave as Joschka’s reaction confirmed her fears. “Good night, my lord General,” she whispered.
“No, Rakoji! Don’t go,” Joschka hissed, lunging for her hand and drawing her back to his side. He took her face in
his hands, tipping it up toward him. “It does not matter—I still love you. And at my age, sex is no longer so important.” He wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb. “Rakoji. I just want to see you across the library fireplace from me in the evenings and to have you by my side for the rest of my days. What say you, my love? Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she nodded in his hands, smiling and crying at the same time.
He released her to open the box, revealing a necklace of rectangular, faceted, blue-grey stones in a silvery mount. Joschka lowered the gems over Rachel’s head, then fastened the clasp at the back of her neck and ran gentle fingers over the piece and the throat beneath it. “My father gave this to my mother when they were formally betrothed. I’m the first to leave home, and they gave it to me for my chosen beloved.” They kissed. She scooted nearer and settled comfortably into his arms, eye still damp.
“Forgive me for making you wait so long, Awful Clawful. I thought you’d given up,” she admitted, leaning against his shoulder.
His beard tickled her cheek. “No, Hairball. I loved Magda and Adele both very much, and I honor their memories, but my feelings for you only slept—they never died. As great King Solomon wrote ‘Many waters cannot quench love; neither can the floods drown it.’” After a long minute he asked, “Why did you never say anything?”
She hung her head. “Because I wanted you to be happy. When we were in the Scouts you talked about how much you looked forward to finding a stable place to live and raise a family. I knew I couldn’t give you children, or settle down and make a home with you, so I never asked Himself to release me from my promise to him. Later on you were happy with your family, and I didn’t want to disturb you.
“And I was afraid.” Rachel looked up at her friend, the fear in her eye making him squeeze her tighter. “The Traders would have—” She broke off, then tried again. “Even now, if they catch you with me, they—”
He put a finger on her lips, stilling her as he shook his head. “No, they won’t. Not while I live. Rakoji, I swear this to you: they will have to come through me and all of Drachenburg to touch you again.” His eyes turned faintly red as he spoke, and she shivered at the threat, even though it was aimed at others.
In response she embraced him again. He stroked her hair and her back, kissing the top of her head. They heard voices approaching and he stood, leading her farther into the shadows of the garden. They walked arm in arm and she touched the necklace. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Joschka.”
“You’re welcome.” He looked up at the stars and the nearly full moon. “It was the only thing I took with me when I left home. I’m the youngest of four and knew I’d never inherit. Since I didn’t have any skills aside from blade and blaster, I joined the Komets.”
“That makes two of us,” Rachel said quietly. “Blake Krather did end up with some interesting people under his command.”
He snorted at the understatement. “He had a knack for collecting eccentrics. Ingwe Adamski, also.”
She chuckled at the memories. “Well, no normal person is going to sign up with a bipedal raptor with purple eyes and orange plumage, are they?” It had been a bad joke back then and still was, given Adamski’s skill and lasting reputation.
“Were those his real colors?” Joschka had always wondered.
“Alas for him they were, although Major Gupta told me that Adamski’s markings were quite subdued compared to other members of his species. But that’s why our dress uniforms were black and grey—the only colors that wouldn’t clash with him!” She chuckled, and Joschka joined her, then swept her into a hug and kissed her again.
“I wish you laughed as much as you used to,” he whispered.
She smiled up at him and hesitantly stroked his cheek. “Maybe now I can.”
After another comfortable silence, she sighed. “Leopold is going to be scandalized, you know.”
Leopold’s grandfather made a rude noise. “He should have been around when his grandmother married me. There are days when I wonder if he is a changeling, because I know he didn’t get that from her or me!” He thought for a moment. “What’s Rahoul going to say?”
“After he picks himself off the floor, then lectures me about relationships between ranks?” she asked, then shook her head. “No, that’s not fair to him. I think he’ll roll his eyes and sigh. Then give me no end of a rashing. He’s suspected for a while,” Rachel warned. “On the other hand, Panpit will laugh and be delighted, and start asking what kind of ceremony there will be and if there will be babysitters available.”
“Hmm, I thought as much.” He stopped. “Do you want a church wedding?”
She did, but— “I don’t know, my lord. How badly will it complicate matters within the House? Plus there’s having to persuade Himself to release me. And for that matter, I’m still Lord-Defender, and a Guardian, and something tells me that commuting to Great Britain every day from Schloß Hohen-Drachenburg is not really an option.” She sighed and Joschka echoed her.
“And then there’s the difficulty of your being Protestant. Drat it. Love does so complicate matters,” he mock-complained, drawing another laugh.
“If anyone should know, we should, my lord,” came the rueful response.
“Well, I’ve managed to corner and capture you. That’s enough impossible doings for one night,” Joschka chuckled and kissed his love’s hand. “We can solve the rest of this planet’s problems on the morrow.”
Despite her concerns, the meeting went well and uneventfully. Commander Na Gael’s presentation on biosynthetic manipulations and vivicontrol mechanisms was well attended, and she managed to gloss over how and where she’d learned about such technology. Rahoul thought she’d done a decent job, and the Graf-General agreed. “She’d probably be a good classroom instructor for us, if someone could ever get her to settle down long enough and she kept her attitude in check.”
“Too bad the world will come to an end before that happens, sir,” Rahoul reminded his former superior.
“I don’t know,” the Austrian mused. “She’s much improved over when I first met her.”
Before the British officer could change topics, one of the Italian contingent drew the Graf-General aside and someone else came up to ask Rahoul a question regarding an earlier talk they had both attended. What Rahoul had wanted to ask Joschka about was Rachel’s recent behavior, but he couldn’t locate either his advisor or the Austrian again, even after the final session that day.
The next morning, Rahoul managed to catch his advisor as she prepared to leave the meeting area. “Commander Na Gael, what’s going on?”
She seemed confused. “What do you mean ‘what’s going on,’ sir?”
“You’ve been smiling like a cat locked in a creamery. In my experience, that means that you’re up to something.” Rahoul’s imagination churned up a number of possibilities, none of them conducive to his peace of mind.
Well, she did owe her nominal superior the truth, if only for all the grief he’d taken from her over the years. “The Graf-General and I have reached a long-delayed agreement,” Rachel said, with all the dignity she could muster. “He made a proposal, I accepted his offer, and a bargain was agreed to. If you will excuse me?” She slid away before Rahoul could finish sorting out what she’d said.
He frowned as she vanished. It couldn’t be that she was transferring to Vienna. The Graf-General had retired, so it would be General Eszterházy who’d be asking for her, and he hadn’t. And if there was anyone who did not need Rachel’s security and xenology skills, it would be Joschka von Hohen-Drachenburg. “An agreement and a proposal,” the South Asian officer repeated to himself as he thumbed through his schedule. “A proposal?” The light dawned. No wonder she seemed happier than he’d ever seen her! Well, well, he smiled to himself as he hurried to his next appointment. Not that he was going to give her any grief about it. Nooooo, none at all.
An hour later, Rachel tagged along behind the Graf-General as he hunted through a series of s
hops in the old heart of the city. She understood very little Spanish, but did her best to look interested and harmless. They went into a very nice boutique that sold women’s accessories, and she smiled as the clerk took in Joschka’s clothing and manners. The attractive young woman became very helpful indeed, and Rachel stayed out of the way as the older gentleman and the clerk looked at various items. After several minutes, Joschka seemed to remember that Rachel was there. “Come over here, please,” he requested, and she did. “Turn around.” He held something up against her hair as the clerk commented, then apparently suggested a slightly different scarf. “My granddaughter has hair almost as dark as yours and I’m looking for a Christmas present,” Joschka explained in German. Commander Na Gael gritted her teeth against a smart remark, saving it for later. Her friend paid for his selections, then handed them to her. “If you’d put these in your bag please, Miss Na Gael?” The clerk said something and Joschka replied, smiling at Rachel and letting her hold the door for him.
It felt altogether too much like her apprentice days for Rachel’s comfort, and she was about to tell Joschka so when he gestured for her to precede him into another shop. More discussion, and the silver-haired proprietress studied Rachel carefully. She disappeared, then returned with an incredibly soft wool shawl. Rich browns and ambers flowed across the piece, and embroidered golden waves decorated the ends just above the thick, honey-colored fringe. At Joschka’s instruction, Rachel took off her leather backpack, and he draped the piece around her shoulders, then stepped back, studying the result. He asked the lady something, and she nodded and pulled a tray of hairpins and clasps out from under the counter. He selected one in a Moorish pattern with small dots of amber in it, and held it against Rachel’s hair. “Yes, definitely,” he decided, purchasing two clips and the beautiful shawl.
