by Alma Boykin
“Much appreciated,” Rachel replied, giving up any attempt to play ignorant. “I trust security will be better this time? Kl’dosha is still a bitter world, last I heard.”
The fading shape turned toward her and made a gesture of assent. “Much better.” It vanished as the transmat beam did its work, leaving no trace of the smoke-creature’s presence.
Before Rachel could relax, a sharp voice inquired, “Commander Na Gael, what exactly is a Wanderer?”
She turned to address the speaker, a member of one of the South American branches, judging by the accent and the trim on the woman’s uniform. “It is a member of a space-faring species.” A series of dull thumps and thuds issued from the gallery. Rachel sensed anger and fear rolling towards her, interspersed with cooler heads and confusion.
Secretary Nguen stepped forward and cleared his throat, “How long have you been with the GDF, Commander Na Gael?”
“Just over twenty years, Secretary. I was hired by General Eastman in 1986.”
“And is what my former assistant called you correct? Are you a Wanderer’s bastard?”
Rachel took a deep breath as she thought back to the remains of Kerkala. Never again, not here, not on my watch if I can help it. She looked over the gathered personnel, now calming but still very hostile, and noticed Joschka and Adele von Hohen-Drachenburg standing in the shadows of the gallery, minus the other Austrians. Rachel returned her attention to the Secretary. “Yes, sir, I am.”
“I see,” the Secretary commented thoughtfully. “And was your mother human?”
A laser sight’s red dot flickered at the lower edge of her peripheral vision. Bitter and very, very tired, Rachel took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and answered. “No sir, she was not.”
Silence filled the hall as he took in her words and then made his decision. “I see. Well, in any case, the matter seems clear. I’m sorry, Commander Na Gael—” A cry from the gallery cut off his words. The shot hit Rachel squarely in the chest.
“She’s starting to come around.”
I don’t want to. I want to sleep until the Lord comes again to judge the quick and the dead. I believe in the Holy Ghost, the holy catholic church, the communion of . . . Rachel drifted up through the fog of words and sensations. “I am not.”
“Too late,” Adele said. “We caught your eye blinking.”
Damn it to hell and back. Rachel opened her eye, then closed it again as some idiot tried to shine a light into it. “Do not do that. You can’t tell if I have a concussion that way.”
“Sorry, ma’am. Don’t try to sit up just yet, ma’am,” an American said. “You seem to have cracked ribs along with the lump on your skull.”
“I can tell.” Join the army, see the galaxy, and get shot at by everyone from St. Michael down to Satan himself. I want to go home. Drakon IV is a haven of peace and rest compared to this hellhole.
“You are not leaving until the weather clears,” Joschka said. “A most impressive storm is raging outside the walls, even by my standards.”
“So you may as well finish waking up so we can get you off this cold stone floor,” Adele added.
Rachel raised her shields before she looked up. Joschka, Adele, Jones, and Ngobo peered down at her. “If you scare me like that again, I am going to kill you,” Jones informed her.
Why not, since you don’t like me anyway. Oh, stop that. “I’ll take that under advisement, ma’am. How long was I out?”
“Two hours. Gräfin Adele says you have no long-term brain damage.”
“Good to know, ma’am.”
The others conferred for a moment. Rachel closed her eye, letting herself float without thinking, trying to drift away from the here and now. «Are you trying to die, Rakoji? Truth,» Joschka demanded, leaning the full weight of age, rank, and station against her.
«I don’t know—awful.»
«Why?»
«To make the pain go away, and the madness. I, Joschka, Jones hurt me, body and mind. I can’t tell what is real anymore.» The confession cost her a great deal.
«Adele is a mind healer.»
«And I’m not human and she doesn’t have clearances.»
«Farg it, you’re right.» Joschka withdrew, then returned. «Right. I am pulling you out of England as soon as I can. Not officially,» he assured her, «just time away, because we can’t replace you right now. We’ve got xenologists double-tapped as it is. Yes, I’ll have you come to Austria. You can keep Adele out of mischief.»
Rachel groaned.
“Right,” Jones said, ignorant of the flashed conversation. “You are going to bed until the weather clears. That’s an order.”
“Thppppth.” Rachel managed before Adele slipped through her shields and put her out.
Two mornings later Rachel watched tendrils of mist clinging to the valley floor, wrapping in and out of the dark pine trees that give the Black Forest its name. The heavy fabric and multiple layers of her Goth outfit kept her warm and she leaned black-clad elbows on the garden wall as she gazed westwards. Just over an hour to sunrise and a warm day forecast—one that would finish opening the roads and the military airstrip that the few remaining personnel would use for their departure. She stared without seeing, lost in thought and speculation.
Rachel didn’t turn around when Evelyn Jones’ footsteps crunched up the gravel path behind her. “Good morning, ma’am.”
The taller woman joined her in contemplating the scenery for a moment. “Evelyn, Rachel, and its too bloody early to be up sightseeing. Are you wearing 1880s night camouflage for a reason?”
Rachel turned to face the woman. “I’m leaving as soon as I can get to my ship. I’ll give you my emergency contact number, but I doubt you’ll ever need it. You humans do just fine without me.”
Jones looked her in the eye, holding her gaze and asking, “Does this mean you plan on leaving permanently?”
“Yes. I’m resigning.”
“Why?” the sandy-haired woman asked, arms folded.
“As I said, you don’t need me. Not anymore. And now that everyone knows what I am, it’s too dangerous for you and me both if I stay. You’ve played your hole card, as you once called me. And no one else in the organization will trust me again after the other night.” After all, you don’t, so why should they? Rachel turned away from her commanding officer, staring up at the black bulk of the schloss.
“You’re a prima donna, you truly are.” Jones raised her voice, cutting through the darkness. “You were correct my lord general, she’s trying to run away.”
Rachel winced in mild chagrin as Joschka and Adele strode up, Major Khan close behind. “I believe my teenage niece refers to this as a ‘pity-party’,” Jones commented.
The quartet arranged themselves so that the alien was trapped, her back to the garden wall. “Conspiracy?” she inquired mildly.
“Not exactly. Just four people who don’t want you to run off quite so quickly,” Khan answered for the group.
Joschka folded his arms. “Were you aware that in your startlement at the bounty hunter’s arrival you dropped your shields?”
Rachel blanched and jerked backward, colliding with the rough wall at her back. “Oh sweet Lord. How bad was it?” Blessed Bookkeeper, what leaked?
In the slowly growing light, Rachel saw Adele shake her head. “Not that bad, Rachel. You stayed calm, and only those in the room who were already sensitive seem to have noticed anything.”
Before Rachel could recover, Joschka inquired mildly, “What happened at Kerkala, Rada? Why ‘never again, not here, not on my watch’?”
Rachel turned her back to her associates, gathering her wits for a moment. Right, pretend that Joschka knows as little as the others do. “Before coming here, I commanded a mercenary company of fighter pilots for a number of years. At one point we were hired to help provide mapping, reconnaissance, and security for the people investigating the causes and results of a riot that turned into a genocidal war in the city-state of Kerkala, later
called the Kerkala Massacre. We were some of the first outsiders to come in, before any cleanup had been attempted, and as commanding officer of the aerial security and observation component, I accompanied the investigators on the ground until all the survivors could recognize the strangers as non-hostile. Imagine if you can a city the size of the London metropolitan area, with a comparable population. Over two-thirds of that city had been burned, looted, or both, and at least half the inhabitants were dead, with another thirty percent wounded. I will spare you the details.”
Rachel paused to let the images sink in before continuing, “What the investigation found was that one creature, Vermala gel Krescht, had used rumor, innuendo, old prejudices, and new lies to create a climate of fear and hostility within Kerkala. He lit the spark when he arranged the assassination of one of the few neutral parties, an older priest and mediator respected by all of the factions that had developed. Why had Vermala done it? Because he wanted to. He was arrested, but obviously escaped to Earth. And you know the rest of that story.
“As I walked through the ruins, I swore that if I ever encountered another creature attempting something similar, I would do everything in my power to stop him, her, or it,” she concluded.
Joschka began filling in the rest of the story. “Let me guess. You felt something similar happening here. And so you decided that the quickest way to defuse it would be to provide a target for all those emotions, without trying to manipulate them yourself. Because if there was one focus, when that focus was gone, the possibility of something similar happening might also be gone.”
Rachel nodded, “Yes, sir. After the snipers reached the gallery, I didn’t see much of an option. I’d anticipated that someone might attack me, so I wore the body armor as a precaution against knives or a handgun, as I usually do. But what would be the effect of shots coming from an unknown source just after a denunciation of conspiracy?” She let the explanation fade off. Defense Force people were many things, but never stupid.
Major Khan picked up the thread. “That Vermala thing didn’t think we would get free as quickly as we did, or that one of the Americans might be just as nasty-minded as it was. As soon as Gen. Jones and Gen. Heath sorted out who was where, courtesy of Gen. Drachenburg’s people,” and at this he bowed slightly towards the Austrian before continuing, “we overpowered the guards at the entrance to the gallery.”
“The Austrians and two Americans accounted for the riflemen on the north side,” Jones said, “while we and a Canadian got the riflemen on the south wall. We all reached the gunman in the passage at the eastern end of the hall seconds after he’d fired. But that one gunman could have been enough to spark a blaze if you hadn’t kept all the attention and hostility focused onto yourself. Prima Donna.” Rachel managed a weak grin back toward the smiling officer, who added, “or so the Graf-General and Lady Adele think.”
Joschka shook his head. “Not think. Know.”
“In other words, Rachel, we want you, and we don’t think you’ve really given up completely on this planet and its people. How about giving it a second chance?” Jones concluded.
Rachel sensed Joschka and Rahoul’s growing concern as she let several seconds tick past. Not for you, Evelyn, but for the Regiment and for my own honor. “All right, I’ll stay.”
“Good!” Jones declared. “Now, I want breakfast. The Graf-General requested a table for five. Khan, please go confirm the request.”
“Yes Ma’am. Glad you’re staying, Rachel,” and he gave her shoulder a friendly buffet before going inside.
“And you still have broken ribs, so let’s get you off your feet, shall we?” Adele von Hohen-Drachenburg chivvied a not-too-reluctant Rachel inside.
Joschka raised a hand. “Jones, a word with you.”
“Yes, sir?” At his gesture Jones followed him off the terrace.
The two general officers walked to the far end of the garden, away from any prying eyes or ears. “The shot that hit Rachel. It did not come from a standard Earth rifle?”
She shook her head. “No sir. It was a heavy-duty blast rifle of some sort. I have it for her to analyze once we get back to Britain, although I don’t think I’ll tell her where it was acquired.”
Joschka looked sober as he phrased his next question. “And I assume her armor failed?”
“Yes, sir, it did.” Jones made a circle with her hands. “An area about so big seems to be ruined.”
He took a deep breath. “Did we just see a miracle? Because by your account she should be very dead.”
Jones looked at the Graf-General with a perplexed expression. “I’ve asked myself that, sir, although it might have been a slightly different miracle than what you’re thinking. Captain Ngobo claims, and I have no way to prove otherwise, that he saw the sergeant shift the blast rifle’s power level just as the lieutenant in charge of the group yelled and interrupted the Secretary’s speech. If he decreased the power by accident . . .”
The officers looked at each other, then turned back towards the door to the Schloss. Joschka added, “Something else that you might want to know. The Secretary had intended to say ‘I’m sorry, Commander, that anyone has doubted your loyalty and service to the Defense Force simply because you are not human. You have my full faith and confidence.’ He told me just before he left last night.”
What? Why did he not inform me? I am her commanding officer. Jones fought down her annoyance for the moment. “That’s very good to know, my lord general.”
“Indeed, it is.” He looked up at the sky. “There had best be coffee at breakfast or someone will be most unhappy.”
Someone besides me? Jones decided it wasn’t worth the effort, for now. If they trust the alien I’d best at least act as if I do too. Besides, if everything went well, she’d have a better command soon. Rumor had it that Drachenburg was favored to be next in line for military head, but she was also a combat commander. And she, too, had friends and a sponsor in high places. “I suspect they will, my lord general. And tea as well.” She’d only had one cup and it was not enough.
(May 2005)
Sergeant Wolfgang Weber, having learned from other people’s bad judgment, made absolutely certain that the light was green before he knocked and opened the laboratory door. “Commander Na Gael?”
“Kommen Sie herein.” He shook his head a bit at hearing something besides regulation English and stepped into the xenology specialist’s lair. The Alien, as he thought of her, sat at her desk, studying the display floating above her computer terminal while typing furiously on a keypad. Weber waited a moment before waving his clipboard to get her attention.
“Yes, Sergeant? What can I do for you?” She left off her work and turned towards him, expression turning sympathetic at his slight flinch. “Sorry. You’ve not seen me up close without something over the eye, have you?”
“No, ma’am. But I’ve seen worse.” He glanced down at his list, reminding himself why he was here. “Ma’am, the records show that you are overdue to re-qualify for your weapons authorization.”
Her eyebrows rose and she looked over at a desk calendar. “Oops. Handgun or rifle?”
“Both, Ma’am. RSM Chan put you on the schedule early morning tomorrow.”
“How early, Sergeant?”
“0600 ma’am.”
“Thank you. My compliments to RSM Chan, and please tell him I’ll do both, if possible.”
“Very good, Ma’am,” and he checked something off on his list and left at a rapid clip.
Later that afternoon, he and the Regimental Sergeant Major secured the underground firing range for the day. “RSM, do you have time for a question?” The stocky, Asian-looking senior non-commissioned officer grunted his assent, and the brown-haired German sergeant asked, “Does Cdr. Na Gael really try to qualify on three different weapons?”
Richard Chan snorted as he finished policing the last shooting position for any spent brass the corporals might have missed. “She doesn’t try, Weber. Come in the morning and see for your
self.”
“Yes, Sergeant Chan,” Weber replied, recognizing an order when he heard one.
The next morning, the xenologist walked into the firing range a few minutes before six. She carried a medium-sized camouflage pattern bag in one hand and a hard-sided rifle case in the other. “Good morning Sergeant Chan! Which position?” she asked, gesturing towards the series of fifteen shooting stalls.
“Number six, ma’am. We’ll start with handgun. I’ve asked Sergeant Weber to come so I can observe for a change, rather than running targets.”
The woman laughed as she set her bags on the concrete floor of the assigned station. “I hope I’m not that bad, Chan. It’s been a while, but really.”
She unzipped the top of the camo bag and pulled out a gun belt, which she slung around her waist with practiced ease. A black handgun case followed, and the RSM looked over her shoulder as she opened it. “Weber, fifty rounds of nine millimeter, please.” By the time the German had returned, Rachel had clear shooting glasses on and a pair of muffs hung around her neck. An unfamiliar nine-millimeter pistol lay on the counter in front of the shooter, its receiver out. RSM Chan handed her the ammunition and she looked at the box before loading the gun and a second receiver, which she slipped into a case on her belt. “Standing first, dominant hand,” the RSM announced, and he and Weber followed Cdr. Na Gael in putting on their muffs.
Weber blinked as she set hers on top of her head, then realized that she had ears on the top of her skull, not on the side like a human. His hackles rose a few centimeters. Chan called, “Range clear, weapons free, fire when ready.”
The first three rounds appeared a bit scattered, but the rest formed a tight cluster on the heart of the paper target. “Both hands,” Chan ordered, and ten bullets pierced the target’s head. “Weak hand.” Now Weber was very curious to see what the alien would do, since she had been shooting left handed up to this point. This cluster, on the target’s abdomen, scattered somewhat wider than the earlier ones, but remained well within acceptable limits.
