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

by Alma Boykin

  Lee confirmed the officer’s suspicions. “Could you hand me that blanket please, sir?” Rahoul looked around the room, found a soft tan blanket, and passed it to the NCO, who draped it over the unconscious woman. He straightened up and walked back to his commanding officer. “I think she’s going to die if she keeps this up, sir. I keep asking her to stop, but she refuses.”

  “What exactly is she doing?”

  “She goes into her ship and does some kind of, I’d call it mind meld with the creature and the computers in it, sir. She’s trying to look forward in time, I think, or to force data out of the future.” The brown-haired man waved his hands, frustrated by his inability to explain or understand. “Each time she comes out she’s more drained, and food and sleep don’t help. We did manage to stop an assassination but it hurt her, sir. And her injuries have not healed very well.”

  “Her shoulder,” Rahoul said, and the younger man nodded. “Sergeant Lee, I believe you and her. But unless there’s something urgent, I think we all need to eat something and rest. I’d already had a long day even before you two scared a decade off of my life.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lee let his relief show. The general could make sense of things—that was what officers were supposed to do. And Lee could go back to taking care of Rachel, which was what he was supposed to do. “Oh, sir, she wrote this out.” Lee pulled two pages of notes off the top of a stack of newspapers.

  Rahoul found something clean to sit on while Lee made tea and heated supper. The general read his advisor’s notes, his gut starting to churn as he followed her logic. Why had the Home Secretary not been informed of the Carrington-type event in time to take steps, when the GDF as a whole had several days’ notice and then the last-minute update? Why had the Army and domestic security groups, including the police forces, not been informed? And who started the “spontaneous” attacks and mob violence in the cities, which had coincided exactly with the loss of electrical power? Who should have anticipated something like that? And why had Rachel been informed of the Carrington event only via her private backchannels, while the other branches learned from their governments?

  Sergeant Lee set down tea and something food-like beside Rahoul, and he ate and drank without tasting anything. “Sergeant Lee, I do not like what she’s found,” the tired man said when he emerged from his thoughts. When combined with what he’d seen that afternoon, Rahoul felt torn between red rage and tears of grief.

  “It scares the hell out of me sir,” Lee agreed. “She said that we needed to contact you because you’d seen this before. Have you, sir?”

  “No, I’ve never—oh dear Lord.” Now his stomach truly churned, and he pushed his hands against his temples, trying to will away a building headache. “If her suppositions are correct, and if this is not just a series of very unfortunate coincidences, then yes, I have. Back when Andrew Whitehead was in command. It was the first mission we had after I became executive officer. Do you remember it?”

  Lee searched his memory. “Ah, I don’t think so, sir.”

  “Children.”

  The tall NCO’s eyes sprang open. “The bird-like things that kidnapped some troopers’ children! When we thought we’d lost Rach—ah,” he caught himself, “the Commander in the explosion.” Brown eyes narrowed and he turned, looking toward the sleeping alien’s nest. “Sir, we never heard how the aliens learned our identities and family locations, did we?”

  “No, we did not.” Rahoul frowned, still rubbing his temples. “London said that they were looking into the matter, but that was all I ever heard.”

  Lee shook his head, still looking away from Rahoul. “Wolf Weber knew something. I sat next to him during a personal security briefing and, ah, I can’t remember who was giving it now—anyway, sir, they said that we needed to be especially careful with Internet things because someone or something could conceivably track us to our families. Wolf snorted and said under his breath, ‘and just like last time, they will be found and terminated if they do.’ It didn’t make sense at the time.” Lee turned back to the officer. “What if Rachel kept looking and found something? Something she told Wolf about or that he learned about?”

  “His cousin’s child was one of those kidnapped, so you are probably right. If someone in government worked against us, gave the information to the aliens . . .” he didn’t have to finish. Lee went pale and Rahoul crossed himself, hands shaking, nauseated with anger at the betrayal.

  “Why, sir?”

  Rahoul shook his head. “Not important yet. First we have to confirm treason and prevent whatever Rachel is trying to stop. Then we find the traitor and stop him or her.” He leaned left and right, stretching his back a little. “Then we can ask why. But right now I need to know where I can stretch out for a few hours. I’m not expected anywhere until at least midday tomorrow, and I need sleep so I can think.”

  “There’s a loo around the corner there, sir, and a spare bed over in the corner, behind the blackout curtain. Not fancy,” Lee added quickly as Rahoul stood up. “But no bugs.”

  “Thank you, Lee. Wake me when Rachel stirs, please.” After making a quick trip down the hall, Rahoul fell into the doss bed, asleep as soon as the curtain fell to.

  Tony slipped back into the main room and knelt beside Rachel. His lady remained unconscious, so deeply asleep that she didn’t even respond to his touch. Tony picked up her cold hand and stroked it, wishing he could take some of her burden. Her words had scared him, and his mind shied away from the pain of imagining what would happen if she pushed herself to the breaking point, or if they failed to stop their enemy. Instead, Lee gently adjusted the blanket over the sleeping alien, poured a mug of tea, washed the dishes and disposed of some empty tins, then sat back down on the wooden chair and picked up Commander Na Gael’s computer.

  She’d shown him how to use it access the Internet and how to tap the security network using one of her passwords. “Don’t worry about the security aspect, Tony,” Rachel had reassured him. “There’s a secondary access level that you don’t see on the screen. All you get is your basic security level, plus use of some additional unit data search capabilities and my ship’s computer. However,” she’d wagged her finger and looked stern. “I do not care to find that you and the Dark Hart have launched a multi-day game of battle chess, poker, or skat. Nor do I want to get a bill for a fourteen-inch Procyon optical telescope with built-in tracking and digital photography capability and the extended life battery pack that goes with it.”

  “They have it available already, ma’am? I thought it had been delayed.” Then he realized that she’d been winding him up. Tony shook his head yet again at her eccentricity as he logged into the regimental network and began looking for more information on radio astronomy and signals enhancement. He found one or two things and pulled them into Rachel’s “file cabinet.” After making certain that Rachel was still asleep, he found the paused game of battle chess that he’d started the day before. He could barely figure out how to play the complex game, but he loved watching the graphics.

  Some time later he heard, “Move the cruiser two jumps on a heading of zero two zero slash minus zero three zero.” Lee did, and watched with delight as the opposing picket ship slid out of line in response, opening a hole for his pocket battleship. An amused voice commented, “Took me quite a while to learn that trick.”

  Lee paused the game again, already planning how to take advantage of the new opportunity. “Good evening, ma’am.”

  “Good evening.” She covered a yawn and blinked a little. “Sorry. I need you to do a little data hunting for me, if you don’t mind. This time, run a search for deaths taking place around universities and research centers, outside of the UK. Use a five-week search window, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Am I looking for anything specific?” Lee told the game to save itself and logged back into the Defense Force’s search system.

  Rachel rubbed absently under her blind eye, thinking aloud. “The assassinations have targeted astronomers and s
atellite technicians. Exclude those fields and those specific labs and centers, like the Americans’ JPL or Russia’s Star City. You know better than I do what parameters to set,” she smiled and patted his shoulder. “Thanks in advance, Tony. I’ll be back in a bit.” The woman limped silently toward the short tunnel leading to her ship.

  “Ma’am?” Tony called quietly. When she turned, he said, “Be careful, please?” She gave him a tired smile and nodded, then turned a corner and disappeared. Tony set a timer on his watch before turning his attention to his new assignment.

  An hour later, his watch beeped. The NCO saved what he’d found so far before setting the computer down and stretching. He stood up and stretched more, then went to check on Rachel. As he’d expected, he found her in the pilot’s chair of her strange ship, reclined at a forty-five degree angle. Unlike the past few times that he’d looked in on her, Rachel appeared to be conscious, staring up at the ceiling. Beside her, the usually blank display screen showed a long series of symbols and a few recognizable numbers. Lee watched as her head turned toward the display. The writing scrolled from top to bottom, then shifted sideways to reveal a new set of symbols and data. One set started flashing, then enlarged. Rachel said something, her tone exultant, and a creature in the fluid-filled tank at the rear of the ship splashed.

  “Ma’am?” Tony ventured.

  She turned and smiled, baring her fangs as a ferocious joy lit her silvery-gray eye. “I found it. The node. We have thirty-six hours, as of thirty minutes ago.” The seat rotated so she could sit up, and Rachel tried to stand. She staggered a little and Lee darted in, steadying her again. “Thanks. I shouldn’t have to do this again, depending on what Rahoul can tell us.”

  “You need to eat.” The creature splashed again. “Um, does it need to eat, too?” Tony had no idea what to get it if it did. Fish food?

  Rachel shook her head and said something soothing in her half-guttural, half-melodic language before switching back to English. “It doesn’t really need food, but I suspect it wants a treat.” She took two steps forward and opened a small compartment, pulling out what Lee could have sworn was a fish-food shaker. Rachel opened the clear top of the tank and shook a little bright blue powder into the creamy translucent fluid. Then she lowered her other hand in to the tank, keeping her fingertips just touching the surface. Fascinated, Lee watched as an orangey-brown thing rose up to the top of the fluid and touched her hand, stayed there for a moment or two, then sank again. Rachel fluttered her fingers dry before pulling her arm out of the enclosure and closing the lid.

  “A frog runs your ship?” General Khan sighed from the Dark Hart’s entrance. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

  Rachel sniffed as she put the shaker back into its locker. “It is not a frog. It is a temporally-predatory psycho-symbiote that happens to have developed a taste for powdered ks’karssee. And I want breakfast.”

  As she brushed past the two humans, they exchanged weary looks and shrugged. “Was that in English, sir?” Lee inquired under his breath.

  Rahoul followed his advisor with his eyes and then shook his head. “I barely understand human females, Sergeant Lee. Alien females with time-traveling psychic pets are beyond my ken.”

  “Amen, sir.”

  After she’d gotten something to eat, Rachel stacked her pillows into a chair-like pile and settled onto it. Lee reclaimed his chair and Rahoul brought his seat in from the other room. “All right, Commander Na Gael,” Rahoul began. “Let’s put our cards on the table and see what we have.”

  “First, a timeline.” Rachel began counting off items on her fingers while Rahoul took notes on his data-pad and Lee opened a database program resembling a spreadsheet. “In 2004, we encountered the first mole within the British government. In 2007, the mole was dealt with. I don’t know how, but he is no longer wasting oxygen. In 2009, the Gerzal da Kavalle failed to depart Earth’s surface, although at least two smaller vessels did escape. On New Years 2012, just over two years ago, we found the aliens and some humans in the offices rented by the Exchequer, along with explosives that they’d intended to use to create mass panic in the City at midnight. That same year we briefly lost access to the satellite and research network due to security concerns within the MoD, which they in turn got from the Home Office and OSS4.”

  “I remember that, ma’am,” Lee interrupted. “Dr. Jones at the Royal Observatory held a press conference saying that if people wanted to pay four pounds per image and download pictures of stars, the government were fools not to take the money. She was rather steamed.”

  “She was steamed because it threatened to derail her off-the-books, crowd-sourced star classification project,” Rachel said. “Last summer we—er, oh bother. We, meaning the Dark Hart and I, noticed a large number of timeship visits and reported it. As we—and this time I mean Vienna—feared, it was a sign of trouble. That’s when our current problems started. Someone stayed, probably multiple individuals, and began working in the UK and elsewhere.”

  Rahoul shook his head. “I don’t doubt you, but I need proof.”

  “The Australian Branch has several captures. And the South Africans, of all people, have two catches. Lee has the data, because he’s the one who found it once we knew when to start looking.” Rachel rubbed under her bad eye and Lee shrugged, eyes locked on the computer screen.

  Rahoul began, “The riots started last summer.” He frowned and stared into the distance before continuing, “The big ones began in late August, around the time that the new imam arrived in Leuten, but there had been riots in early July.” The others waited while he thought aloud. “Summer is disturbance season, true, but these made no sense. No Parliamentary bills had been passed recently, there had been no police activity or police-involved deaths of note, and the economy was improving after the financial mess following the Chancellor of the Exchequer’s resignation.”

  “Why did he resign, sir? I never heard a straight story in the news,” Lee inquired.

  Rahoul massaged his forehead. “I don’t recall I ever heard, aside from ‘personal reasons.’”

  “That’s the summer of last year. Then things quiet down.” Rachel flushed a little for some reason. “All is quiet until January, when a can of worms explodes in our faces and we discover that two people within the Army are tangling with extraterrestrial technology, the most recent of which had arrived less than a week before our joint exercise.”

  Lee typed that in, adding, “And nothing until the Carrington Event, unless you count two attempted murders of biologists in North America, a Chinese physicist getting mugged at the International Physics Association meeting—in Luzern of all places—and the three Argentinean chemists getting themselves held hostage in a lab at the University of Santiago, Chile.” He looked up. “The last one caused an international incident that almost broke up the Pampas Branch, and none of these have been solved.”

  “We have the Carrington Event, the landing that wasn’t exactly an alien incursion, and which involved a timeship, urban unrest, and two dead astronomy personnel, all this summer.” Rahoul concluded the list. He started to add something but stopped when Rachel wagged a finger. “What?”

  “First we have the UK government turn over because of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and add an attempt to murder someone from the British Branch for reasons unknown.” She leaned back and folded her arms. “Oh, and an attempt to kill the secretary who coordinates the British use of the Arecibo and V.L.A. radio telescopes with the IRAA.”

  “The what?”

  Lee answered. “International Radio Astronomy Association, sir. They have a special panel that grants telescope time to a few small, independent or student projects every year, in between the larger university and government projects.”

  “And something extraterrestrial coordinated the riot here last month, or at least it was organized using extraterrestrial technology,” Rahoul thought aloud. “Commander, I do not like what I think we are seeing.”

  “Well, sir, we have thirty
-four hours to stop it before all hell breaks loose,” she replied. “So, we need to find who in the government is responsible and what their connection is to . . .” She slapped her forehead. “Ah fewmets, we need to talk to Captain Ahkai.”

  “Yes, we do,” Rahoul said with emphasis. “Otherwise the British branch is going to be going house-to-house in Manchester looking for me, assuming Panpit doesn’t beat them here.”

  “Hand me the computer please, Lee, if you don’t mind. I won’t delete your game,” Rachel promised as she reached for the machine.

  Lee passed it over to her. “Commander, you said you’d found the node. Would it help to warn as many astronomy-types as possible to exercise extreme care, like during that last terrorism watch? I can get the word out through someone I know,” he offered, starting to make a list of who he could call and when.

  “Do it,” Rahoul ordered. “Rachel, get in touch with Ahkai. I’ll call Selassie so she knows I’m not really missing. And I’ll call Gen. Eszterházy.” He stood up.

  “Catch,” Rachel called and tossed him her voice-comm. “Remember how to use it?” At his nod, she added, “The general is under ‘S’ in the directory. Ahkai’s number gets her direct line. The closer you are to the ’Hart the better it works.” Rahoul stalked off without deigning to reply.

  As the two men worked on their own matters, Rachel considered the material that Lee had found. Everything seemed to center on the Home Office. The Home Office—or Interior Ministry, as Rachel thought of it—regulated immigration, controlled civilian security agencies, including the OSS4, and oversaw the police. Rachel began diagramming the connections as best she could, using the information the trio had collected. The more lines she drew, the less happy she felt. “Oh what a tangled web we weave,” she muttered, quoting one of Rahoul’s favorite playwrights. The Wanderer got up from her seat and set the computer on Lee’s chair, turning it so that she could project the results of her work onto the wall. Rahoul finished his calls and came back to find her leaning on her walking stick, still muttering under her breath.