by Alma Boykin
Back in the communications vehicle, Rachel handed over the message and smothered a sigh. McKendrick didn’t believe her and didn’t trust her analysis of the images. Am I being oversensitive? she mused, thinking back over the past nine months. No. If this were January, I’d be oversensitive. Now it’s a problem. I’m second-guessing both Command One and myself and nothing good will happen. It’s time for me to retire before one of us ignores our better judgment and a large number of people die—or worse. Once the mission ended she’d turn in her papers. Her decision felt right and she relaxed, even as de Alba made an unhappy noise. A second, unhappier sound followed the first and Rachel leaned over to read the communications officer’s display. “Oh dear. That’s a bit sticky,” the Spanish woman commented.
“I’ll break the news. Command One’s already unhappy with me anyway,” Rachel offered.
“No, Sheep will take it,” and Captain de Alba dispatched Lieutenant Cluj to bear the bad news. He returned with McKendrick and Przilas in tow, and Rachel squeezed back against the side of the small space, trying to get out of the way and not hit any switches.
The bad news—the T’sorwou didn’t intend to leave without at least one prisoner. Worse, they’d caught three scouts and claimed they were in the process of rounding up the rest. Rachel didn’t doubt them, and she wondered what McKendrick’s next step would be.
The redheaded Scotsman growled in his throat. Were the T’sorwou that good or had Lee’s people been careless? Well, now he had a hostage situation to deal with as well as a reconnaissance in force. Lovely. “Wires Two, go fetch Hunter One,” he ordered and the curly-haired Slav disappeared. “Manx One, this ‘House’ refers to the lizards?”
“Yes, sir. That’s the term used for their clans.” Her words fit the message and McKendrick turned back to the problem at hand. O’Neil trotted up a bit out of breath and Rachel slid out of the trailer, making enough room for the logistics officer to at least squeeze into the hatchway.
As the officers discussed the situation, a third message came in. “We have seven human soldiers in our possession. We also know that at least one House resides on this planet and we insist that you cease operations against us and either turn the House members over or stand aside and allow us to retrieve them ourselves. Our foes are your foes and only wait to cause you as much injury as they have caused us.” McKendrick read aloud over de Alba’s shoulder.
“And if we don’t, sir? They seem to be leaving a great deal out of their communications,” Przilas observed.
“Indeed,” McKendrick agreed. “Tell them we need to contact our political leaders—and ask what happens if we don’t agree to their requests. Be polite, please,” he added.
O’Neil had been thinking. “It’s too bad we can’t bluff them, claim that we’re turning over the House or whatever and instead give them an armed squad. Or maybe hand over a bunch of crocodile bones or dinosaur bits and say we terminated the House ourselves.”
The other officers looked dubious. “I don’t like the thought of giving them more potential hostages. Didn’t something like that happen when Jones was in command here? They tried to rescue hostages and got trapped and had to fight their way out,” Przilas reminded the others. Out of sight, Rachel shuddered, feeling memories crawling up, trying to force their way into her awareness.
“The South Asians weren’t so lucky. They lost twenty in something like that,” de Alba added.
O’Neil, closest to the hatch and not willing to give up, poked his head outside. “Manx One, do the House creatures look like dinosaurs?”
An amused voice replied, “No sir. They look more like dragons out of one of your fairy tales, except with round ears and whiskers. No wings usually.”
Disappointed, the Englishman pulled back into the vehicle. “Well that’s a complication.”
The computer cheeped and the four officers turned to read the incoming message. “Warrior-leader McKendrick: if your government does not turn over our enemies, we will call in our reinforcements and take the House by force. We will also execute our prisoners as an example. You have until darkness tomorrow to turn over those whom we seek,” Przilas read. He looked at McKendrick and shrugged, “Well, now we know.”
The three men left the communications trailer. After waiting a few minutes to let the place air, Rachel eased back in. She didn’t say anything—just took a seat on some storage boxes in a corner, thinking. After a while, de Alba yawned and stretched. “Where’s Sheep?” she asked.
Rachel said, “Command One carried him off when he went back to the command trailer. Do you need a leg-stretch?”
The Spaniard yawned again, “Excuse me! Yes, I do. Can you watch things for a moment until I get back?” de Alba asked, already out of her seat and edging toward the hatch.
“Certainly. I’ll stay until you or Sheep get back. Promise not to break anything.” Rachel slid into de Alba’s place and settled down, not touching anything. She let her face settle into grim lines. The T’sorwou weren’t bluffing, she was certain of that. An idea began forming in Rachel’s mind as to how the situation might be mitigated, at least as far as the hostage problem went. She turned the pieces over in her mind, wishing she knew more about the T’sorwou. Why did I leave the laptop back at H.Q., thought, sighing. Because only a week ago she’d finally finished repairing it after it got drenched in saltwater the last time she brought it into the field.
Maria de Alba returned with Lieutenant Cluj. Rachel excused herself and decided to go to the medical station, just to check in. Then she found a quiet corner and took a nap, still turning things over in her mind.
By midmorning it was clear that a stalemate had been reached. The T’sorwou remained insistent that they would not leave without at least one House member and they remained determined to execute the captured humans. For his part, McKendrick and the British government could not hand over non-existent creatures to the interlopers. A raid in force had been suggested and vetoed. “We don’t know about their in-ship defenses, we don’t know the layout of the ship, and by the time we fight our way in and locate our people, the T’sorwou would have had plenty of time to kill them.” Rachel listened silently and applauded just as silently—she’d discovered something that could turn the trick in the humans’ favor, but she didn’t know if she could use that knowledge.
Rachel twisted inside, trying to decide what she should do. She kept thinking back to O’Neil’s idea and wondering if there was any way it could be made to work. Not the crocodile bones part, but other bits. There might be, if her guess was correct.
Rachel poked her nose into the command vehicle and communications trailer once or twice, but no one needed her or had any questions. So she borrowed her PDA back. “It will be a while before the deadline. Just whistle me up if something comes through and it can translate from a recording.” Sheep nodded and Rachel sauntered off to do a little research. And to send a message or two. As she did, she noticed Knox the raven perching on a corner of the Brutus command vehicle, looking flustered. Irked James until he tossed you out, did you? The bird glared at the woman with more than a hint of “sod off!” She flicked her claws at it and continued meandering.
Meanwhile, Lieutenant Ekaterina Gretchkaninov returned to the temporary base with some interesting observations. “They ignored me, sir.”
Przilas and O’Neil blinked. “You’re certain that they knew you were there and watching?”
The Russian woman nodded vigorously. “Very sure, sirs. One of them pointed at me and then returned to whatever it was doing. I saw them move Lee and his men into the shelter and out of the main ship, and the T’sorwou didn’t bother me, or approach—or anything.”
The American drummed the work surface with one hand. “Maybe Manx One was right and they do ignore all women.”
“But how would they know, since we all wear uniforms and body armor?” O’Neil pointed out reasonably.
Gretchkaninov coughed and the men looked at her. “I took the risk of removing my armor. I
t was quite obvious that I was different from a male.”
“Well done, Lieutenant, and don’t ever do anything like that again,” Przilas told her, trying not to smile. Even with her armor on you’d have to be blind to mistake Gretchkaninov for a man, the colonel observed silently before dragging his thoughts back to the situation at hand. “Hmm.”
O’Neil raised an eyebrow as the executive officer wondered aloud, “How many women do we have here?”
“I’ll get Lieutenant Chow and find out, sir.” The Englishman trotted out.
Meanwhile, Rachel’s investigations and queries had born fruit. She sat back under a tree, enjoying the shade and thinking hard. The T’sorwou truly had to return with proof of their efforts or they would be punished severely by the other members of the warrior caste for failure to fulfil their duty. Thus their insistence on having something to show as evidence, be it an actual member of a House, or evidence of having killed a House member, or the remains of human soldiers. And the humans’ satellite net showed a group of ships gathering just beyond the orbit of Mars.
Ways existed to determine membership in certain Houses such as Drachenburg or Hitori through bioenergy scans. Rachel assumed that the T’sorwou’s claim to posses the correct equipment to find what they were after, even among humans, was valid. That meant that a number of innocents would be swept up along with some people in very sensitive military or government positions. The security risk made even Rachel’s mind boggle—and that was just considering the four or five House members she knew of.
Rachel weighed the options and wondered if she should inform McKendrick of her idea for a possible solution to the impasse. She decided not—definitely not. He’d veto it out of security concerns. Or he might start asking about the Houses. Or have her locked up pending a mental evaluation. But if she took the chance then the scouts would be released, the T’sorwou should leave without looking any further for the Houses, and it just might pay off some of Rachel’s own Debts. That alone, clearing some of the deaths and sins off her slate, appealed. She didn’t believe in the Bookkeeper, Paymaster, and Debt Collector of the Traders pantheon any more, but she owed someone reparations for her sins over the centuries
She looked again at the message she’d composed, added her House sigil and name, and sent it on a secondary frequency that the humans weren’t monitoring.
An hour later, Rachel tapped on the side of the communications trailer. “Hullo! Want this back?” she inquired.
“Thanks,” de Alba smiled. “We’ve not heard anything yet. Did you find what you were looking for?”
Rachel nodded as she passed the PDA over. “Yes and no. The good news is that the bugs are serious about wanting to trade. The bad news is that they are deadly serious. It has to do with something about getting killed for failure if they return empty handed from a mission.”
“Oh dear. Backs to the wall. Those rarely end well,” de Alba winced.
“Agreed. I’m off to tell Command One what I found.” Rachel sauntered out of the trailer again. I do not like this, but I don’t see many other options.
McKendrick was noncommittal. “Well, not much we can do. London is fretting over the idea that it might signal weakness. You know about the astronomers’ find?” She nodded silently and McKendrick dismissed her.
Rachel found an unoccupied troop transport and climbed in. She took off her body armor and emptied her pockets. She also left her holdout weapon and bahn’leh in the vehicle. She kept the medallion bearing her House insignia—a dragon and a star—and a small vial holding three pills. She bundled everything else neatly and tucked it into a cranny between a seat and the back of the cab. After taking a last look around the camp she walked into the woods, easily dodging the perimeter patrol.
She stopped just outside the T’sorwou’s apparent observation range, hesitating. Would it work? It should—the T’sorwou recognized her claim as a War Lord and as Head of House Ni Drako despite her sex. What sex? The Traders cut it out, remember? Maybe this will start cleaning some of the blood off my hands. Now, let’s see if the side effects are as bad as I remember. There’s a reason I only tried these painkillers once—Himself damn near panicked. She swallowed the pills, washing them down with cold, fresh water from a little brook there in the woods. She stood up and walked steadily towards the first T’sorwou guard position. Within a minute the early fall colors began blurring as the drug took effect and scrambled her senses. The scents of old leaves and early wood smoke became faint sounds and the afternoon bird chirps felt like someone pelting her with small rocks. At the rate the painkiller’s side effects took hold, she’d be lucky to stay on her feet much longer.
“Sir, sir,” Hunter Five caught McKendrick’s attention. “Look over here!”
The general clambered up onto the top of the Brutus command vehicle in time to see Sergeant Lee and his entire squad not quite running toward the camp. Per earlier plans, the GDF soldiers prepared for either an attack if the T’sorwou tried to advance using Lee’s squad as cover, or to rush out and try for a rescue. But nothing followed the soldiers, and Lee’s people slowed their pace before reaching the secondary perimeter. McKendrick met Lee as soon as he’d been cleared to enter. The soldiers were scratched and bruised, but appeared otherwise unharmed. “Report,” McKendrick ordered, wondering what kind of miracle his scouts had pulled off.
Lee started, then stopped. The tall sergeant began again, “They roughed us up a little when we got caught, and again when some of us tried to escape this morning. They can apparently see ultraviolet as well as infrared, sir. The bugs locked us up in their ship, but didn’t do anything more or ask us questions. We weren’t sure what was going on until this morning when one of the bugs—their leader, I think, because he’s the biggest—one, showed us a computer readout in English. It said that they were going to execute all of us as a warning for you to hurry up. That’s when they moved us outside their ship and handcuffed us. About fifteen minutes ago a bunch of coming and going started, with bugs scrambling out of their ship. Our guards hauled us outside and I thought they were going to kill us. Instead, there was some sort of commotion and two of the things marched up dragging Manx One.”
He paused for a breath and McKendrick’s eyes bulged. Tadeus Przilas, standing behind the general, swore viciously when Lee continued, “The bugs’ leader looked her over and then pulled off the necklace she was wearing. It must have meant something to the bugs, because the next thing that happened is they let us go. Before I could say anything, they’d secured her. Then the biggest bug swung one of his arms back and slammed his ‘fist’ into her head so hard it knocked her to the ground. Two of the bugs grabbed her and dragged her into their ship.” Lee swallowed hard. “Then they drove us away from their camp, undid our cuffs and chased us this way.” The tall sergeant stared at the ground, then met the general’s eyes, his own brown ones suspiciously damp and very angry.
McKendrick didn’t say anything. Przilas stifled a groan, then ordered, “Boer Two, tell Rose One everything you can about the T’sorwou and what happened.”
“Yes, sir,” the noncom agreed, leading his squad back towards where Gretchkaninov waited.
As he left, RSM Smith walked up with a bundle in his hands. “Corporal McIntosh found these in one of the lorries,” he said. The general took one glance at the xenologist’s weapons and armor, spun on his heel, and stormed into the command vehicle, furious at his advisor. The raven, who had been lurking around, dove in behind the human, silent for once.
“Did McIntosh find a note or anything?” Przilas asked, noting the jumble of knives, wire, and other items from Rachel’s pockets. He picked up a knife and admired the intricate carvings on the bone hilt and sheath.
“No, sir.”
An hour later, as McKendrick and Przilas were trying to decide how badly the commander’s actions had hurt the regiment, a voice from outside the command vehicle gasped, “Damn it. Confirm status of target.” The two officers emerged to find Lieutenant Cluj listening to
his radio. “That was Corporal Tsvangi, sirs. He says that the T’sorwou have hung Manx One from a tree near his position. He says that she’s all bloody and looks dead. Tsvangi thinks they tortured her.” A growl rose from the listening soldiers, especially Sergeant Lee, who had just emerged from initial debriefing.
“We’re not leaving her there are we, sir?” Lee begged.
The general glanced to the western horizon. It would be full dark in twenty minutes, he decided. “No, we are not. But you’re not going, Boer Two. Neither are any of the scouts.” His cold expression stopped any protests and McKendrick raised his voice. “We’re going to recover her body. Not provoke a full-scale attack. Is that understood?”
A mutter of “yes, sirs” came back. Well, if she’s already dead, I can’t kill her myself. And she can’t give them any more information, the general snarled as he ordered his exec to organize the retrieval.
Przilas had no difficulty finding volunteers for the mission. In fact, he had more than enough, as everyone who could wanted to be in on the project. In the end he sent Captain de Alba and a squad one way and another group out in a different direction as a distraction, both with orders to retreat if challenged or if they even thought there might be a problem.
Captain de Alba’s team ghosted up to within ten meters of where the Commander’s body hung. It still glowed warm to their night-vision equipment and someone hissed, “I bet she wasn’t dead when the fuckers left her.” The sergeant quickly motioned for silence and Corporal White slipped around to take up a scout position closer to the T’sorwou ship.
