by Alma Boykin
> The True-dragon was concerned and rightly so, given her partner’s position.
“Yeeeess,” Rada answered. “Actually, quite yes. There will be no contact between Terran humans and the Empire until, oh, two thousand Azdhag years and more after when the job was. So I’m clear there.” She sounded relieved.
Zabet nodded, head still over the woman’s shoulder. <
“Yes it was. Please don’t remind me.” Rada felt the wordless sympathy and apology. “Thanks, and sorry for still being so touchy about that. It needs a few more years still, I think. So,” she changed the subject, “who should apply for the job? Commander I’m keeping, I’ve earned that. But what about the rest of the name?”
<
“I’m not so certain it’s common enough, though.” Rada thought aloud, “And I don’t want to slip and reply as Lord Ni Drako; superior officers might take it badly,” she grinned with understatement. “I’ll do a little digging en route and see if the alias I used the last time I worked with Yori, arrrgh,” she caught herself, “with Joschka is still good. That one also has paperwork attached, which will spare even more time. It was,” she dredged her memory, “Rachel Na Gael.”
<
“Glad you approve,” Rada teased gently. “Now, if you want to arrive in as many pieces as we started . . .” she cautioned, and Zabet withdrew, taking her usual position braced around the central computer’s processor. The woman lay back and started singing the melody the ship had been harmonizing to. The harmony simplified then rejoined the melody and faded away as the ship finished fold-jumping and weaving, arriving at the Plum Blossom Resort’s landing pad with a gentle bump. The woman stood up, opened the ship’s main entrance and stepped out, bowing to her companion as Zabet flowed out the door and stretched. “As you requested, so it shall be, oh lovely silver dancer.”
<
“Yes boss. Have a wonderful time,” and the mammal waved, then stepped into the ship.
Zabet waited until it took off before making her way to the resort’s gate. <
Somewhere between the threads of the timestreams, Rada wondered if her boss suspected why her Pet was willing to go back to Earth. The mammal hoped not: she hated being teased, especially about her personal life, such as it was. Oh, knock it off, she scolded herself. Joschka sounds like he’s grasping at straws. You might not get the job. And you might not want the job once you dig up the buried clauses; what if I’m supposed to work in North America as well as in Britain? Both of which were very valid points and helped Rada tell her heart to take a flying leap into the nearest supernova.
Commanding Officer’s Office, 58th Regiment of Foot: Great Britain, Late July, 1983
It was a typical English morning: cool and damp. Brigadier General Jonathon “Johnny” Eastman sat in his office reviewing the xenology candidate’s application packet one more time, searching for what was setting his internal alarms to high alert. Despite all the positives, something about her papers seemed odd and he tried to sort out what it was.
She sounded almost too perfect, but her letter of recommendation came from the best source possible and the reference swore up and down that the woman was indeed all she claimed to be, although he wouldn’t explain why she had no telephone number and got her letters at a Post Bureau box. “She’s just eccentric. Should fit in well,” he’d said. After some quiet investigation, Eastman had arranged for her to come and interview and on the basis of her reference’s recommendation, had opted to bypass the first step of meeting the candidate at a neutral location off base. Instead, after a careful check of her background, he’d arranged for her be picked up at a location away from the headquarters and brought in. So he sat and combed through her application one last time and wondered what he might be overlooking? It nagged him and he frowned at the pages. Then a voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Sir, Commander Rachel Na Gael is here,” the sergeant-secretary announced over the intercom.
“Very well, send her in,” he replied, rising to his feet as a most unusual looking woman walked in. The almost slender figure couldn’t have been much more than 160 centimeters tall, with dark brown-black hair that swept back from a small widow’s peak into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her oddly pale complexion matched her pale grey left eye. A patch covered her right eye and despite her cosmetics he could see faint traces of scars emerging from under the patch and extending towards her ear. Na Gael wore a dark grey jacket of vaguely military cut and a matching split skirt, plain white blouse and black boots. Eastman noted also that Commander Na Gael used a cane, favoring her right leg, and he wondered if her physical problems were related. “General Eastman?” she inquired, switching her cane so she could extend her right hand.
“Good morning, Commander Na Gael. Please be seated,” he said, shaking her hand and gesturing to the two chairs in front of the desk. She took the one farthest from the entrance, angling it so that she could see both him and the door. Interesting, he thought. Na Gael sat straight-backed and waited patiently as he studied her.
On impulse, Eastman bypassed the usual pleasantries and cut to the matter at hand. “I must admit, Commander, I am intrigued by your resume and letter of application for the position of xenologist. It’s my understanding that military and scientific experience such as you describe having are almost mutually exclusive,” he stated, and the woman nodded. “Especially in someone as young as you seem to be.” She smiled slightly.
“Yes, sir. I am not as young as I appear, so thank you for the compliment! I received my initial education before taking up a military career and have done my best to stay abreast of developments as time and postings allowed,” she explained. “As you can see, sir, meeting the physical standards to remain on active duty has become nearly impossible, but I wish to continue serving in some capacity and this seems to fit my skills.” Eastman sat back and thought about her answer, neither pleased nor displeased. He also noted her faint, odd accent. There was a hint of German, but of something else also.
The interview went very well: almost too well, in fact. Na Gael had the skills he dearly wanted in his Xenology Specialist, plus military experience that would make it easier for her to integrate into the GDF. That she had been cross-trained as a paramedic would make his medical officer blissfully happy, although it could cause complications in the field. She spoke English, German, and a little French and Czech, “just enough to get into trouble or order a meal,” she admitted. Commander Na Gael also confessed that electronics and computers were not her strong suit as compared to biology and chemistry, something that fit with her medical training. But Eastman remained slightly unhappy. There was just something odd about her that he couldn’t quite put a finger on.
“Would you care to see our laboratory facilities, Commander?” he offered after they’d talked for two hours or so.
“Absolutely sir, provided I’m not going to be in the way of anything,” she replied. “And I’d like to examine the ladies’ washroom as well, if possible.”
Eastman ducked his head, embarrassed at his lack of courtesy. “Certainly, Commander Na Gael.” He got to his feet and she followed him out the office and into the main hallway of the headquarters building. He pointed to the correct door and she vanished, reappearing with commendable speed. As they walked towards the laboratory, Eastman watched her doing her best to minimize her limp while matching his brisk pace, although she did lean on her cane. She looked around, obviously making mental notes about something.
Suspicious, he as
ked, “Are you looking for anything in particular, Commander?”
“No sir, I just make a habit of always memorizing where any and all exits are. It’s saved me a few times, “ she told him. “The front door is not always the best way to depart when the lights go out,” and she chuckled at something, offering a knowing grin.
He found himself warming to her despite himself. Damn it, I want to hire her. But there’s something still not quite cricket here, Eastman thought. “This is the laboratory,” he opened the door and let her precede him. She took a few steps inside before looking around.
The space was not as large as Eastman would have liked but the equipment was the best that the 85th Regiment could acquire. Commander Na Gael seemed to be making more mental notes as she studied the facilities.
“A very nice space and the natural light is a good feature,” she smiled, gesturing towards the bank of windows. “If I were hired, would there be any problems if I were to upgrade some of the analysis equipment? What you have is excellent,” she hurriedly assured the general officer, “but I have access to some things that can make life easier and probably safer for everyone.”
Commander Na Gael’s declaration got his attention and Eastman frowned. “It would depend on the source and funding availability, Commander Na Gael,” he reminded her and she nodded. “Pardon me if I am skeptical about your finding better tools than we have access to.”
She smiled and nodded slightly, conceding his point but not saying anything further on those lines. The small woman finished looking around and said, “Not large but high quality and quite well located! I assume there are blast doors between the lab and the rest of the building?” At his uncomprehending look she explained, “Some of the materials I’ve encountered do not react like you’d expect them to and devices can be misleading. I’d hate to have someone injured outside the lab because of an error or nasty surprise inside it.” She rubbed under her missing eye and Eastman wondered if she had discovered that the hard way.
“Not yet, Commander, but you have a very good point and it is one we should have thought of before now,” he admitted. “Do you have any further questions about the facility here?”
She shook her head. “None that you can answer before I’m hired, sir.”
They returned to his office and as he shut the door he realized what it was that had begun bothering him. He couldn’t hear her. Normally he felt something in his mind when he was around other people, but her thoughts were not there. Without thinking, Eastman focused on trying to “hear” her. Commander Na Gael’s eye widened, then narrowed.
<
“Ah,” the black-haired officer started and Rada’s smile broadened as she felt his confusion and dismay at her observation. Thus far, she liked what she had seen and General Eastman seemed to be the kind of officer she could work with, especially after his quick recovery from her “words.” She decided to take advantage of his momentary confusion. “I’m curious about why the GDF is including quarters and meals in the pay-package you are offering.”
He caught up rapidly, gaining more points from his potential employee. “Because the person hired will be on call 24/7. Rather than trying to come in at all sorts of odd hours, for unknown lengths of time, it is easier to have the Xenology Specialist stay here except for their days’ off. The quarters are similar in size to those of my staff officers,” Eastman said. “Would that be a problem for you or your family?”
She decided to let one of her own cards show. “No sir, not at all. I have no family still living and am not married or in a relationship.”
That was no more than the truth and she watched Eastman cover his relief with a polite, “I’m sorry to hear that, Commander.”
She shrugged slightly, “It’s long in the past, sir, but thank you.”
They sat in silence, studying at each other, and Rada waited for the inevitable question. Or had he not twigged onto her letter of recommendation? He didn’t seem the sort to miss something like that but appearances could deceive.
He made up his mind. “Commander, I am very pleased with what I see and it appears that you would be a very valuable addition to my staff. However—”
Here it comes, she thought.
“Two things bother me. First, why is there no trace of you in the Ministry of Defense or American Department of Defense databases prior to 1980?”
Joschka should have covered that when he added me to the Austrian files, she thought, making a note to let him know. Aloud she explained, “Because I am an independent security contractor.” Eastman frowned slightly and looked puzzled. Apparently the term she used hadn’t come into general use yet, so Rada added, “or to put it bluntly, a mercenary, sir, and I was employed neither with the MoD nor with the DoD.” She watched him recoil. Before he could say anything more she asked in turn, “And the second thing?”
“Why does Brigadier General von Hohen-Drachenburg say that your skills are unmatched on Earth? That’s a most unusual recommendation.” His eyes narrowed and she could sense him probing her again.
Be careful what you ask for, Brigadier. After making certain that he was unarmed and calm, she said, “Because it’s true. Because,” and she concentrated for a moment, shifting into her true shape, black ears swiveling. The man’s eyes went wide as he took in her feline ears, nearly silver eye, and clawed hands. She worked hard not to laugh or to show anything besides polite waiting. “I’m not human. As Brigadier General the Graf von Hohen-Drachenburg knows from working with me before. If you can look in the Austrian intelligence service records, you will find that I have a most-secret clearance from them going back to an episode in 1973 in the Tirol,” she added.
Eastman recovered far more quickly than she would have thought. “I’m going to kill Drachenburg,” he stated, regarding her with a new interest in his eyes. “I really am. I take it you are not originally from Earth, are you?” She shook her head and to her surprise he smiled! “All right, tell me why an alien wants a job like this, since I assume your intentions are honorable or I’d be dead or entranced by now.”
She dropped her shields and let him see that indeed, her intentions were honorable. “Because everyone has to work, Brigadier, and I was being completely honest about my injuries. I have trouble running or carrying a thirty-kilo pack for long distances. And because I don’t like seeing people bullied by those who happen to have nothing more than superior firepower as an excuse. I’ve had enough of that, thank you!” she concluded tartly.
Eastman laughed with delight, leaning back in his chair and grinning like a schoolboy who’d just pulled off a magnificent prank. “Oh heavens, this is perfect. Military, scientist, a conscience, probably knows more about what’s out there than anyone else on my planet, and sitting in my office looking for a job. Commander Na Gael, if you still want to work with us, and pending paperwork approval, you are hired,” Eastman put out his hand to seal the bargain.
“Ah, not to be rude, General, but I’d like to see the contract before agreeing to anything. For your protection as well as mine,” she explained.
He handed her a multi-page document and she skimmed through the boilerplate. The paragraphs about clearances, confidentiality clauses, background checks, and all the usual for this type of contract held no surprises. The third page, however, contained a deal breaker and she looked up with a frown. “I cannot accept the travel requirement, General Eastman.”
“Which one?” She passed him the offending page. “The xenologist will work with all branches when necessary, going to other locations for consultation when required to do so,” he read aloud. “You don’t travel?”
“I’ll travel but not to the Americas,” the woman stated flatly. “Not unless there is a true, dire emergency of planetary proportions. This,” she t
apped under her missing eye, “happened there and I cannot guarantee that I won’t be incapacitated by flashbacks if I go to North America. Clarify the clause, please, or I will have to decline the position entirely.”
Eastman considered her request and managed to hide his utter glee. No more fear of the North Americans poaching his xenologist! “Let me see that,” and he added the travel restriction phrase. “No travel outside of Eurasia unless in case of true emergency as determined by the regional Branch commanding officer, and agreed to by both the British Branch commander and the chief xenologist at GDF headquarters.”
Rada smiled and read farther, then paused again. “May I see your pen?” She started making small cross-outs on almost every page.
“What are you removing?”
She handed him a page. She’d lined through the “non” in every reference to noncombatant. “Situations may arise where I need to defend myself, or to handle weapons. I try to avoid that sort of thing, but I refuse to be prohibited from protecting myself if my life is in danger.” And I’m not going to go down without a fight if the Traders decide to come after me, she snarled silently.
“I’m sorry, Commander Na Gael, but I cannot approve that.” Eastman warned, “In the rare case that you might need to leave headquarters, I’ll assign you a guard. Otherwise it is in violation of the Geneva Conventions.”
The silver eye turned cold. “No one wanting to invade your planet will be bound by your Geneva or Hague Conventions or anything besides the most current Laws of War for this sector of the galaxy. And according to those Laws currently in effect, everyone directly employed by a planet’s military, even those classified as civilian contractor noncombatants by your government, is ruled a combatant to be so treated.” The woman stopped, locking eyes with him. Eastman tried not to shiver at the implications in her words. He’d never thought about that, and he was not sure that anyone else in the GDF had either.
