Clawing Back from Chaos: Book 9 in the Cat Among Dragons Series (A Cat Among Dragons)

by Alma Boykin

  The senior staff officers and RSM looked at each other, their relief and sense of success fading into disquiet. “You are saying that Meecham had help, in other words,” Col. Selassie said. “Non-human help.”

  “Or that Dr. Meecham was not what she seemed,” Sigurdson added.

  Rachel picked up one of the things she’d brought back from the Army laboratory and tossed it to the Icelander. “Make it light up,” she said. “Think at it that it should glow.” The ruddy-cheeked man frowned with concentration, but nothing happened. He passed the piece of whatever it was to Col. Selassie, but again there was no response. Only Capt. ben David and Rahoul drew any sort of reaction from the device, and even then ben David couldn’t be sure he wasn’t imagining it. Rahoul tossed the thing back to Rachel, who held it on her open palm. It glowed with a painfully intense green-white light. “Before you worry, this is all I can get it to do. Which is nothing like what Dr. Meecham used it for. And I’m getting a headache from the strain.” She let the thing fade and go dark. “Generally this sort of thing is incorporated into communication devices, so that purely telepathic species can communicate with non-telepaths and vice versa.”

  Sigurdson regarded his commanding officer with curiosity, then turned back to their advisor. He waved his hand toward Rahoul and Moshe. “Why could they get it to light up?”

  “Because they can manipulate energy. Or rather, Rahoul and I can, in very different ways. Moshe carries the potential, even though he himself does not have the ability—like carrying a gene for blue eyes, even though his are brown.” At the blank looks Rachel sighed. “Is it time for me to do that lecture again, sir?”

  He smiled slightly. “It would seem so. Without glowing accessories, I suggest.”

  “And please make new slides this time. If I have to see one more clip of Ari Heller trying to bend a fork I’m going to,” the Israeli caught himself. “Ah, anyway, more recent examples would work better, Commander.”

  Rahoul’s smile vanished as a hint of her wicked grin began lifting the edge of Rachel’s lips. “No. Absolutely not,” he said. “I preemptively forbid whatever it is you are thinking about doing.”

  She drooped and pouted. “You’re no fun, sir.” She sent him an image of himself, dressed as a veterinarian, on a slide about animal telepathy. He replied with the memory of her with a pink ribbon bow and silver bells on her collar under a caption reading “Were-creatures.” Rachel raised her hands in surrender.

  But underneath the laughter, Rachel sensed an unease that matched her own. Who had provided the parts and finds for Meecham, and why?

  Spring did not rank high on Rachel’s list of favorite seasons for a number of reasons, chief among them being command staff and general personnel rotations. She hated late September, but the chaos of spring grated on her sense of order. Even the promise of the first rose bloom couldn’t quite balance the irritation of having a new assistant thrust upon her. “Sir, I don’t need anyone just now,” she’d said to General Khan, not quite whining.

  He’d been implacable. “Your current needs have nothing to do with it, Commander. My staffing situation comes first. Dismissed.” She’d departed his office, stopped in the hallway, stuck her tongue out at the door while wiggling her fingers like elk antlers, and made a rude noise, before returning to her lab. He’d been snappish around her since January, making her more irritated than she already was. At least she had the prospect of going hunting the next day to cheer her up before the spring crop of newbies appeared.

  Lieutenant Richard “Rick” Walker blinked at the array of strange foods available for breakfast at the headquarters of the British branch of the Global Defense Force. He vaguely recalled hearing that officers and enlisted had identical morning meal options, though they ate in different rooms, but he hadn’t imagined quite this much variety even for officers. The night before, his guide had informed him that lunches and suppers were sometimes different, but most of the information had flowed in one ear and out the other due to extreme jet lag and general exhaustion. At least his roommate hadn’t arrived yet, so the American got a night’s peace and quiet before rising for breakfast. Walker’s new immediate superior, Captain Moshe ben David, grabbed a tray and waved towards an isolated part of the semi-buffet. “Halal and kosher are over here, along with vegetarian. If you’re vegan, you’re probably in the wrong line of work.”

  Walker glanced at that section of the buffet, but opted to stay with things he recognized. “Over hard, please,” he asked, pointing to the fried eggs.

  The corporal on meal duty looked puzzled for a moment, then began cooking and slid the result onto a plate. “One egg or two, sir?”

  “Two please,” the lieutenant replied, and a second egg sizzled to firmness while he got bacon, fried potatoes, and some tomatoes. A small bowl of fruit and a large mug of coffee made up the rest of his long-awaited meal, and he turned, looking around for where he was supposed to sit.

  Ben David, already eating, caught Walker’s attention and waved him over to one of the tables, pointing to an empty seat across from him. “No assigned places at breakfast, especially on weekends since we eat when we want to. Otherwise, the end of the tables closest to the food belongs to junior officers, so you can get up and fetch if the mess orderlies are busy. Section heads usually sit toward the far end, and Rachel sits wherever she wants to unless the general is around, and then she usually sits near him if there’s room.” Walker nodded his understanding, since his mouth was full of fried egg. That was an acceptable reply, apparently, because the Israeli adjutant went back to his meal, sipping tea before draping smoked fish over a piece of bagel.

  “Is this seat taken?” a woman’s voice inquired, and ben David shook his head, then pointed to a place beside him. “Thank you.” A dark-haired woman in gray civilian clothes set her tray down beside the captain’s. “Anyone need more tea while I’m going that way?”

  “No thank you, ma’am,” Walker replied. What was a civilian doing here, and why was she eating with the officers instead of with the other civilian contractors? That’s how things were arranged in the North American Branch’s facilities.

  When she returned, the woman put down her mug of tea and settled awkwardly into the chair beside Walker’s boss. Ben David swallowed the last of his bagel and frowned a little. “Problem, Rachel?”

  The woman snorted, concentrating on cutting a recalcitrant sausage. “Not really, Moshe. I just landed funny when I jumped out of the tree yesterday is all.”

  The American, completely confused, tried not to stare at the woman as ben David laughed quietly. “That explains the commotion I heard when I went by Col. Selassie’s office just after noon. How many did you get?”

  “Three corporals and one sergeant, plus two officers for good measure. I like even numbers.” The woman looked up and flashed an unpleasant smile. Walker’s eyes widened with surprise as he took in the patch covering her eye and the collection of scars marring her face. A network of marks emerged from beneath the patch to cover her cheekbone, puckering the skin well across her face, while a long scar ran from her widow’s peak over her blind eye, and almost to her chin. The stark white marks were only a little paler than the rest of her skin, in contrast to her brown-black hair and gray eye. She set down her knife and extended her hand. “Commander Rachel Na Gael,” she introduced herself.

  “Lieutenant Richard Walker, ma’am,” he replied, shaking the offered hand and noticing how cool it felt.

  Captain ben David wiped his mouth and apologized. “Sorry Walker, Commander. I should have introduced you.”

  “No harm, no foul, as the Americans say,” the woman shrugged before applying herself to the food in front of her. Walker wondered where she was putting it. He recognized the eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, and toast, but not the other things on her plate.

  Ben David watched the woman, obviously amused. “How can you eat curried kidney, Rachel?”

  Her mouth quirked into another grin as she swallowed. “The same way I e
at sausage and shepherds’ pie. I don’t ask what it was before it appeared on my plate. Surely you have the equivalent back home?”

  “We have T.I.P.—thing in pita. And don’t eat at a shawarma stand where you can’t see the meat before they cut it.” He shuddered theatrically. “Uncle Avigdor swears he got something once that fought back when he bit into the bread, and it wasn’t over-fermented yoghurt sauce, either.” Commander Na Gael and the Israeli bantered a little more about military food, falling silent when an Indian officer in spotless fatigues stalked into the officers’ mess. He looked around, and apparently found what he wanted, because he strode directly over to the three early risers. Na Gael and ben David sprang to their feet and Walker followed close behind.

  “Be seated,” the officer said. “Commander, I understand that you participated in the security drill yesterday?” He did not look pleased, and Walker put the pieces together with the scarred woman’s earlier comment about “getting” several officers and others. The American also noted that the officer’s accent was pure English, not the quick delivery and lilt of an Indian or Pakistani.

  “Yes, sir. People are still not looking in trees and—” she began, but the senior officer cut her off.

  “And so you took it upon yourself to add a little verisimilitude to the exercise. Clear it with Colonel Selassie next time, please? I don’t care to read about your being perforated by friendly fire.” The ice in his tone sent shivers down Walker’s spine, and he made a note never to get on this person’s bad side. But the woman seemed remarkably unconcerned.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And I don’t want to hear about any more contests between you and Capt. Gretchkaninov for how many security personnel you can capture, either. Is that clear?” He held out his hand.

  Na Gael appeared to be struggling to keep a straight face as she replied, “Yes, sir.” She then rooted around in her pocket and produced a silver coin of some sort, which she handed to the man. He left to get breakfast.

  Ben David leaned over and whispered, “What was the wager?”

  “That I’d get eight,” she explained in a quiet hiss. “Ekaterina cornered First Sergeant Lee and used him as bait, so my count was down.”

  “That was underhanded.”

  “Very,” the woman agreed, then straightened up as the English officer returned and sat on her other side. “Before you start, sir, allow me to introduce Lieutenant Richard Walker. Lt. Walker, Brigadier General Rahoul Khan.”

  Walker’s back snapped straight. He should have known who the man was! The general extended his hand and Walker shook it a little gingerly. “Be easy Lieutenant. Saturday breakfast is not a formal meal, so you may relax.” The dark-eyed man studied his new subordinate thoughtfully. “Walker. Is your family originally Scottish?”

  “I think so, sir. Dad says that it was originally spelled w-a-u-l-k, and he thought we came from the Hebrides, sir.”

  “Interesting.” The general smiled slightly before applying himself to his breakfast.

  “Kippers, sir?” Na Gael asked, offering a plate of small fish-like things. The general shuddered and the other two chuckled, as if it were an old joke.

  “If you’re finished, Richard, now is a good time to see more of the base, since the sun is up and the rain has stopped for the moment,” ben David suggested. He looked around the woman to the general. “If you don’t need us, sir?” The other man shook his head, and David got to his feet and picked up his tray.

  “Yes, sir,” Walker said, also rising, then following his division head to the washing-up area, where the two men left their trays before leaving.

  Once they had gone, Khan sat back and turned to his advisor after taking a large swallow of tea. “How badly did you hurt your leg, Rachel?”

  “Just twisted it a bit is all, sir. Nothing a little rest and time won’t cure,” she assured him.

  Rahoul’s eyebrows rose. When Rachel’s expression failed to change he shook his head slightly and returned to his breakfast. Rachel ate a second helping of kidneys and refilled the general’s tea before excusing herself. As he watched her limp out of the room, he wondered which would be easier—making her take care of herself or reassembling the sea cliffs of Cornwall. Well, she’ll be busy sorting out the new arrivals, he mused. That should keep her from dropping out of trees onto oblivious NCOs. He fished the coin out of his pocket and looked at it. As he’d suspected, it was not from Earth, and he tucked it away again with a smothered sigh.

  “Oh, and Commander,” Major Sigurdson added later that morning, as he dropped off a parcel that had been delivered to him in error, “You will have a new bodyguard. A Lieutenant Andrew Wales, Royal Navy will report to you this afternoon.”

  “Very well,” she absently replied, still busy with something under the microscope. “Stop moving you little . . .” she trailed into a foreign language, and the Icelander shook his head and let himself out of the laboratory. He wondered how much of her eccentricity and distraction was for show and how much was real. She could be as grim as a character from the sagas at times, and just as focused.

  Shortly after the dinner hour, a stranger poked his head through the lab door. He studied the facility, then stepped in and cleared his throat when the woman at the desk failed to notice him.

  The woman looked up from her computer and startled. “Oops, sorry,” she apologized, removing the strange device from over her good eye. “Three-dimensional projections don’t work well when you lack binocular vision,” she explained. Her voice sounded warm and young, with a faint accent that the man had trouble placing. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Lt. Andrew Wales. Captain Anita Oldman said that I’m to report to Commander Na Gael.”

  The woman gave him a puzzled look before the light dawned. “Ah, you drew the short straw. Have a seat, Lieutenant.” She waved him to the spare chair by her desk. After he settled, she inquired, “Did Captain Oldman say anything about what I need from you?”

  The young man shook his head. “No, ma’am.” Rachel noted intelligent hazel eyes and golden brown hair with a blond streak in it, as well as a small scar at his hairline. His face showed character more than classic good looks, and she nodded to herself. She lowered her shields a bit and read his surface feelings—curiosity, a bit of trepidation, and determination not to mess up. Rachel smiled at the last.

  “As you can tell,” she waved toward the walking sticks in the umbrella stand by the desk, “I don’t get around that well on rough ground, and staircases are the bane of my existence. If we go into the field, you’ll be acting as my bodyguard unless General Khan or I specifically order you not to. Before you panic, that really means that you’ll serve me as a spare set of eyes and hands.” She grinned, “You will get quite tired of hearing ‘here, hold this please. No, like this’, I assure you. I may ask you to operate some small electronic devices and to assist me now and then with things in the lab, but I’ll do the dangerous or finicky bits myself. Do you have much science training?”

  “A little, ma’am. My specialty was logistics and tactics, but I passed my A-levels in chemistry and physics.” He felt a little better about his temporary assignment. Although he’d be spending more time at the base than in the field, learning how to speak “boffin” might prove useful later.

  “That’s sufficient, Lieutenant. I just need to know that if I ask you to hand me a chemical, you’ll understand what has to be handled very carefully, and why we use fume hoods and isolation boxes. Do you have any questions for me?” She leaned forward slightly and rubbed her right knee. Since it was her right eye and the right side of her face that seemed disfigured under her makeup, Andrew assumed the injuries were related.

  “Not really, though . . .” He shifted a bit uncomfortably. “Pardon me if I seem forward, ma’am, but were you injured in a lab accident?”

  She straightened up. “No. It’s no secret, although I ask that you not go gossiping. I let my guard down and was shot in the leg by someone who had infiltrated the lines du
ring battle.” He blinked, taken by surprise. Then he bit his tongue as she lifted up the patch and revealed a dead white eye with red speckles on it. “I lost the eye when I was tortured. You may hear the full story if you are here for the annual escape and evasion training, or you might not. I prefer not to talk about it.” She lowered the patch. “If you see me with two eyes, I’m wearing a contact lens. It causes less talk when I’m around civilians.”

  “My great uncle wears a special hair piece to help cover the steel plate in his head, ma’am,” Andrew told her. She relaxed at his words. Captain Oldman had warned him that Commander Na Gael was cautious about people’s reaction to her disfigurement, and Andrew could imagine how some responded.

  “You got in last night?”

  He shook his head. “This morning, ma’am. Travel orders got crossed.”

  She smiled sympathetically. “In that case, you are free to do whatever you need to do for the rest of the day. I strongly suggest walking through the base, each floor, end to end. Ah, what is your clearance?”

  “Most secret, ma’am.”

  “Good. There’s nothing you shouldn’t see so long as you don’t go poking your nose into locked rooms. Major Sigurdson gave you the two-pound tour I assume?” Wales nodded, and Commander Na Gael continued, “Good. You won’t get too lost, then. I’ll give you the grounds orientation tomorrow, since there are a few things I need you to be aware of that I prefer to keep out of common knowledge. Oh, and see that door?” She pointed toward the panel at the top of a set of metal spiral stairs. “Unless you see me in the lab first, never, ever enter my quarters without knocking. Knock, open the door, call me by name, and then come in. I do not react well to surprises if I’m asleep.”