by Alma Boykin
“Haven’t the foggiest,” Rachel admitted cheerfully. She felt stares and noticed McKendrick giving her an especially dubious look. “With all due respect, just because I’m five hundred years old and have done business with and fought with, for, or against several hundred species doesn’t mean I’ve met everyone in this galaxy!” More strange looks came her way.
“We really are in trouble if Manx One’s admitting her ignorance,” O’Neil needled, then shut it off as the others joined their commanding officer in glaring at him.
Rachel wanted to cut the man off at the knees, but this wasn’t the time. “There’s nothing that comes instantly to mind, sir, but I’ll keep working on it.”
Captain Maria de Alba y Rodriguez raised her hand. “I may have something useful sir, Commander. Starting three days ago, the Royal Observers began logging some odd electronic signals. They recorded and sent them to the Astronomical Society—and to us, in case they might just be an equipment test. The astronomers say they’re not doing anything at the moment, and the signals do seem to be originating from Sussex.”
“Are they audio or otherwise, ma’am?” Regimental Sergeant Major Sheldon Smith inquired.
Captain de Alba pursed her lips. “They seem to be both, or rather it alternates between audible and microwave. Which is an odd combination. Commander, I’m sending you the file,” she said to their advisor. Rachel nodded and kept skimming databases.
McKendrick seemed to hesitate, and Rachel lowered her shields even as she searched. He felt restless to her senses ,and he practically radiated suspicion, but not aimed at anyone in particular. That’s bloody odd she observed to herself. I wonder what’s gotten into—ah ha!
McKendrick decided, “Whatever they are, we need to go take a look, and we’d best assume that they are somewhere between neutral and hostile until proven otherwise. O’Neil, is there anything we’re currently short of?”
“Besides funds and guns?” He was channeling Rachel at her smart-ass worst for some reason and even she bristled. The undistinguished officer straightened up and reported, “No, sir. We are at ninety-five percent supply and the items we’re low on are not mission critical.”
Rachel caught McKendrick’s eye and patched an image into the local network from her laptop. “This seems to be a match.” It was a group of insects, roughly two meters tall with dark exoskeletons, standing around a something that resembled a table with a mechanical device sitting on top. “This is from a news report about a weapons technology sale. The insects are called, um, I guess you’d say T’sorwou.”
McKendrick’s distrust and unhappiness hit Rachel like a slap in the face and she raised her shields to full strength, wondering what in the hell was wrong with him. He’d not been this suspicious for months. He asked, “Are they friendly?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t the faintest idea, sir. Not until we find a way to translate the broadcasts—if they’re being made by the T’sorwou and not by someone else.”
“Right, we still assume hostile. Commander, keep digging. You and de Alba assemble the briefing materials. O’Neil, see about getting us ready to move out with at least one overnight away from base. RSM Smith, I want,” he paused, thinking, “only two-thirds this time. The rest as a flying reserve, since this is so close to London. Ben David, you’re staying here for the moment. Everyone got that?” A chorus of assent met his words. “Very well, full unit briefing in two hours. Dismissed.”
As the group scattered to their various tasks, Rachel and Maria de Alba compared notes. “Captain, I’m going to need to access some things in the lab before I can break this apart.”
The black-haired Spaniard nodded, picking up her notes and computer memory stick. “I’ll get the briefing data together then and wait for you to come to me?”
“That sounds good,” Rachel said. “I should have something within an hour—at least enough to know if the signals are really paired or just a coincidence of transmission. Do you need images?”
Maria smiled, “No. I pulled them from what you showed us while the general was talking. And I still have the satellite access you showed me, if needed.” She swept gracefully out of the room, leaving Rachel wondering if her own deviousness was rubbing off. The Wanderer shrugged and returned to her lair.
Once there, Rachel made certain there was no one to see her before opening the wall panel and easing into her ship. She plugged the portable supercomputer into the Dark Hart’s main data processor, then settled back into the command seat and closed her eye, humming quietly. The processor came online and linked into her mind. She was looking for patterns and as the ship read the transmission from the laptop, the semi-sentient creature that guided the time ship joining Rachel in the search. It took a few minutes, but the Wanderer found the pattern and the ship pulled the language out of its communication data banks. When she opened her eye, Rachel had a splitting headache—it felt as if her mind had been twisted into a shape that it didn’t like. She also saw that there were lines of text on the ship’s main display.
She levered herself up and read the communication, then flopped back into the seat and rested one forearm over her eyes. Oh, flaming fewmets. She recited it aloud in Trader, just to make certain that she understood the message. Um, this is going to require a bit of creative obfuscation. Once the pounding in her head eased, she dug around in a cubby under the computer, found some treat flakes for the psycho-symbiote, and thought about McKendrick’s earlier mood. How much did he and the others need to know about some things? Not that much she decided. Rachel sprinkled the flakes into the creature’s tank while she thought. As she weighed matters and watched the orangey thing scarf up its treat, she decided she could leave most of the specifics out without hurting anyone or affecting mission capability. She translated the audio portion from Trader into English and printed out what she needed for the briefing, then caressed the creature and let it nip her fingertips, praising it before packing up her laptop and leaving the ship.
As she walked back to where the communications equipment and its minders worked, Rachel wondered about McKendrick. From the beginning of his tenure with the regiment he’d had doubts about his xenology specialist. That was normal, she’d decided. Humans had good reasons for being suspicious about extraterrestrials, so it was a healthy response. But after ten months he still felt that couldn’t trust her, even though he used her data and generally heeded her advice. They weren’t functioning as a team should, especially a team that dealt with live ammunition and explosives. Rachel thought about it and decided that if McKendrick still distrusted her after this mission, she’d resign for the good of the regiment and go to on-call status. That would lessen the frequency of her headaches, at least. Mammal overload is what I’m suffering from. Too many mammals messing with my peace and quiet, and that includes Joschka.
“Success, ma’am?” de Alba asked when Rachel tapped on the doorframe.
“Affirmative. Good news and bad,” Rachel said. “I’m still waiting for the time someone lands here and asks to be taken to your leader.” She mimicked any of a number of bad movies.
Captain de Alba couldn’t resist asking, “Does anything ever do that, really?”
“Not that I’ve heard. The closest I can recall was, ‘Where the hell’s your commanding officer?’ followed by threats to have us all court-martialed for shooting at its ship,” the former mercenary said after a moment.
The captain double-checked her materials and pulled the memory drive off her main computer. “Do you want space in the briefing or are you going to wait to be called on?”
Rachel held the door open, then matched the taller woman’s pace as they walked down the hall. “I’ll just wait. No point in upsetting the flow more than usual.” They reached the main briefing theater ahead of the main crowd and Maria went down to load the program into the audio-visual system while Rachel took her usual place as the peanut gallery in the back row. The human soldiers soon filled the auditorium, talking quietly as they speculated about what
might be going on. It couldn’t be an emergency, since they had the luxury of briefing everyone before going into the field.
“Ten-shun!” RSM Sheldon Smith called, and everybody except Rachel came to their feet. She was already standing, so she just waited, then leaned back against the wall rather than sitting when McKendrick ordered, “Be seated.” She played with her House sigil pendant, listening to the introductory with half her attention, the other half drifting as she looked over the khaki-clad assembly. Roughly three hundred men and women from around the planet were paying close attention to their commanding officer. Their mood was one of mild excitement, expectation, curiosity and a hint of anxiety—in other words, the usual. One of Rachel’s unofficial duties was that of emotional monitor, looking for problems before they could develop into crises. She sensed nothing that afternoon and relaxed a bit in her slouch.
“Commander Na Gael?” McKendrick pointed.
At Rachel’s nod, the press picture of the T’sorwou replaced the map on the main display screen. A ripple of murmurs washed through the room, and someone said a bit loudly, “Not giant roaches again!”
“No, not giant roaches again,” Rachel confirmed. “I hate to break the news to you, but in this galaxy—as on this planet—insects outnumber mammals. These are the T’sorwou. They are not an expansionist species, and are not known for being particularly inclined to war either, although they are divided into castes and do have a set group of warriors. I couldn’t find a good image, aside from,” and the picture changed to a still shot from the cell-phone footage. Rachel continued, “They are fairly technologically advanced, so anticipate the usual weapons and shielding problems.
“One thing that may work to our advantage if they won’t depart in peace is this.” The picture flipped back to the press-release, and Rachel explained, “The individuals you see there are all male. You won’t see their females—they do not leave the main colonies and planets. T’sorwou females have no role in public life because there is extreme sexual dimorphism in the species. This produced a culture where females are ignored except for reproduction. That carries over into public life.” Rachel paused to let people think about what she’d said. “Based on what I’ve found, the T’sorwou ignore almost all females, no matter what species.” With that she resumed her earlier slouch. McKendrick frowned and Captain de Alba and some of the other women in the group muttered quietly.
McKendrick turned the podium over to Colonel Przilas, who detailed the plan thus far. “Commander Na Gael, were you and Captain de Alba able to decipher the transmissions?” he asked after finishing his brief, and she straightened up again as everyone turned to her with an expectant rustle.
“The signals are indeed a communication attempt. The audio and microwave contain the same data and are a request and threat. Apparently the T’sorwou are at war with or have a feud with a reptilian species and they believe that members of that species have fled to Earth.” She grinned, “If the people of Earth know of any three-meter-plus sapient reptiles hiding here, the T’sorwou would like you to turn the reptiles over to them.” That drew some chuckles and Rachel nodded her agreement. “If no giant reptiles are forthcoming, the T’sorwou will begin trampling flowerbeds, leveling cities, et cetera, et cetera.”
Przilas’ eyebrows rose almost to his receding hairline. “Are there any of these reptiles here?”
“Not that I know of, sir,” Rachel replied easily, fingers crossed behind her back. Dr. Fujimori’s only two point nine meters she told herself. And there is no way the Nippon Branch will give him up!
“You’re certain, Commander?” McKendrick demanded.
She didn’t grind her teeth, but it took some effort. “I can’t be one hundred percent certain sir, but in the past ten years no one has reported any reptiles matching the description provided by the T’sorwou.” The redhead wasn’t satisfied but nodded anyway.
A hand waved and Przilas pointed, acknowledging Lieutenant Slobodan “Sheep” Cluj. “Ma’am, can the T’sorwou really level cities?”
Good question. “From what we know at the moment, no, Lieutenant. The force on the ground appears insufficient for that.” Rachel gave the executive officer a nod, tossing the rest of the answer to him.
“Our observer satellites have not found any stand-off ships or new items in orbit that might be weapons platforms, so it appears the T’sorwou are bluffing. But we don’t know what weaponry they might have in their ship,” Przilas reminded everyone before they could relax.
“Which is why we are dividing two and one,” McKendrick rumbled, taking the briefing over again. Rachel listened and noted who was going where. Moshe ben David would be staying at Headquarters. Too bad, I’d rather O’Neil stayed. There were a few general information announcements, including the reminder that anyone due for rotation who wanted a transfer other than back to their home units needed to start putting paperwork in now, lest it get lost in the queue. As was her habit, Rachel slipped out ahead of the mob to give herself time to get to the lab and collect her gear.
Once there, she checked her “PDA.” Like, her “cell phone,” the device was tied into the Dark Hart’s computers and provided remote access to the databanks in the ship. However, Rachel had changed out some of the program and now the PDA could serve as a translator if she could feed sound into it. She frowned at the two gizmos and wished once again that she was better with technology. There was a definite irony in someone who grew up on a deep-space vessel, who could travel time, and who possessed detailed knowledge about a large number of very complicated weapons system, not being able to create and execute a simple data transfer program. Oh yes, God has a sense of humor, she sighed. Warped.
Half an hour later she accepted a hand into one of the troop vehicles. The soldiers and Lieutenant Shelawi M’theku noted that she carried her medical kit as well as the usual black satchel and walking stick. “Expecting trouble, ma’am?”
“No more than usual,” and Rachel gave them a reassuring smile before pretending to fall asleep as soon as the vehicle started moving. Did she feel bad about not giving the GDF the full contents of the T’sorwou message? A little, but very little. This is not the place or time to try and explain the Houses, she’d decided. Because that was who the T’sorwou were really after—not True-dragons per se, but any House member, not just those belonging to the House that had defrauded the T’sorwou. They must be desperate or frustrated that they can’t easily find what they’re looking for. I’ll just skip that bit for now, since no one needs to know about House members serving in the GDF.
Rachel managed to doze off for a while, but woke in time to hear Lieutenant M’theku grousing about London traffic. Apparently their route skirted too close to the massive agglomeration that was greater London, slowing progress greatly. As a result, the group unloaded just after dark. Rachel took her usual place with General McKendrick at the command vehicle, listening as he spread people out and dispatched Sergeant Lee and the scouts. She’d gotten enough sleep on the drive to keep her going until well past midnight, so she used the quiet darkness to see what more she could pick up from the T’sorwou communications.
Captain de Alba smothered a yawn and leaned back in her seat amongst the communications equipment. “Manx One, is there a way to reply to the T’sorwou and tell them that they have the wrong address?”
“Yes, there is. We can route my PDA’s display onto one of the monitors here and use its language program to translate from their speech into English and vice versa. Send it back using your local transmitter and no one else should be able to pick it up.” Rachel massaged the area under her bad eye as she thought aloud.
“Do it,” a bass voice commanded, and the Wanderer turned around to find James McKendrick looming behind her where she sat. The heavyset man didn’t seem to be too pleased and gestured as he turned, “Manx One, come see me as soon as you finish the wiring.” The women shrugged and did as ordered. Rachel also left her cell phone with de Alba, then silently eased out of the communication trailer
and hunted up Command One.
He was obviously not happy, but tried to hide it. “Boer Two reports that the T’sorwou have erected some kind of dome near their ship.” He handed his advisor some IR images. She took out her loupe and studied them. “Weapon?”
“I don’t believe so, sir. There’s nothing to suggest one, and any reusable devices would be safer within their ship. Standard practice is to keep the delicate and valuable things within hardened and shielded cover,” Rachel reminded him. “And if it were dangerous to them as well as us, the shelter would be farther from the ship and shielded.”
McKendrick thought about her words, expression shuttered. “I’ve written up a message for de Alba to send to them,” he handed her a piece of paper. “Let me know what the answer is.”
Rachel glanced at the text as she stood. “I wager they’ll opt for black olive with extra cheese, but I could be wrong,” and she made her escape before McKendrick could fuss at her.
“High Lord of Glory, what did I do to get saddled with such a pain-in-the-arse?” he prayed under his breath. There were times when Rachel’s wiseassery was just too much, and this was bordering on being one of them. McKendrick shook his head and wondered what was bothering the woman. She seemed to have been getting more distant recently, keeping apart from the officers again, although not as badly as the previous winter. He wished she didn’t remind him of her so much. Na Gael could move very gracefully if she needed to, and every time that she did McKendrick saw her and not his advisor. Well, that should pass soon, he decided, especially if he concentrated on it. Now, what to do if the bugs didn’t go quietly?
Meanwhile, Sergeant Lee and his scouts worked closer to the T’sorwou ship. Lee had already dodged one of the insects’ perimeter guards and he didn’t like the prickly feeling in the back of his neck. He and his men assumed that the invaders could see both visible and IR, and camouflaged for those. But what else might the T’sorwou use? Ten meters to his right, Corporal Johanssen disappeared into a heavy patch of brush. Lee caught a flash of shadow just ahead of the Swede’s position, then heard a loud thud. An equally large shadow loomed directly ahead of the English sergeant and he froze in his cover, hoping the creature would ignore him even as he sighted in on the threat. He heard a buzzing sound. His entire body stung as if he’d grasped a hot electrical wire, and suddenly Lee couldn’t move. He could only watch as the large insect swayed up to him, reached down with one foreleg, and plucked his rifle out of his numb hands.
