A Cat at Bay Read online

  “That’s what the scouts report, Defender Kir. I had them out as soon as it was safe, and all they found was a 40-brii crater, with the remains of a stony-iron meteorite in the bottom, still steaming. We’ve put monitors around the crater as a precaution and are watching the area, over.”

  Kudos to the scouts: it takes a big pair to go into a fresh crater, even one that small. Rada made a note to herself to pass on to Lord Peitak, should he need to augment the Imperial scout forces in the near future.

  She let her subordinates handle things, content to observe. They needed to stay used to operating with or without her. Over time she’d managed to quietly “corrupt” (as an arch-conservative had once said) the defense forces by encouraging initiative among the soldiers, and the quality of troops at her command had improved markedly over the centuries. Then again, homeworld defense was not as glamorous as front line action, but even more critical in many ways, in her opinion. King-Emperor Shi-dan had had the same thought all those centuries ago, because he’d hired her, then protected and promoted her to her current station. In another generation they might not need me at all! That’s what I hope, at least she mused, making another note, this time about comm equipment.

  An orderly sidled up to her, interrupting her thoughts. “Lord Defender, the seneschal sends his greetings and wishes you to meet with him as soon as possible.”

  She tucked her data-link into its pouch. “Please carry my respects to Lord Rreis, and tell him I will be there momentarily.” She gave the orderly a thirty-second head start before she logged out of the DCC. “Carry on Defender Kir.”

  “Yes Lord-Defender.” He bowed, and returned his attention to the hazards plot screen.

  The seneschal didn’t quite cheer in relief when she arrived at his office, but was obviously pleased to see her—for a change. She bowed and he made the gesture for her to sit, which she did. “Lord Reh-dakh, do you know anything about human temperature preferences?”

  The woman looked puzzled. “A little, my lord. They do best between about 288 and 293 degrees, and 45 to 65 percent humidity.”

  The green-scaled noble ran a claw over the metal edge of his writing table and sounded frustrated. “The servants say that the delegation members have started wearing heavier clothes and requesting more blankets. I had the temperature in their chambers increased, but they still seem cold. Especially the Assistant Ambassador.”

  Rada ran through what she knew about human physiology and health. “How much have you increased the temperature, my lord?”

  “To nearly 33 of their degrees.”

  Her eye bulged. “My lord, that’s not good. May I have permission to speak with their servants, and with the delegation if necessary?”

  “Yes. I do not want any accusations of lack of hospitality, or anything else!” Great Lord Rreis was delighted to hand one of his problems off to someone else.

  She nodded, then rocked back onto her heels and stood up. “I will see to it at once, my lord.”

  Rada sent a message to the Sapient Republic delegation, asking to meet with them. Then she interviewed the servants assigned to the delegation. There are times my reputation for eating people alive is useful, she admitted to herself as she considered what she had learned. The humans had started asking about the temperature of the rooms on the third day after their arrival. Apparently the Assistant Ambassador was the most sensitive to cold, because he’d requested extra quilts and a portable heater for his rooms, and even asked if there was some way to cover the windows to keep more of the heat in. The Admiral appeared the least affected by whatever bothered the other delegates, although he did not complain about the warmer temperature in his quarters.

  As she waited for her appointment, Rada triple-checked her medical records and manuals. No diseases could cross from Azdhag to human or vice versa without a vector, and that vector couldn’t have survived the human’s trip to Drakon IV. And the delegation had been in isolation for three weeks on their trip in, so neither they nor the ship’s crew could be carrying any of the other diseases that had symptoms similar to what the servants reported. Their diet is a little worrisome, especially that junior ambassador, the vegetarian. It was possible that a lack of protein could be partly to blame for the humans’ inability to keep warm, she thought. But two of the personal servants had offered observations that worried her and that did not tally with short-term protein deficiency in humans. She strode towards the humans’ quarters, pondering the problem.

  A guard announced Lord Reh-dakh and Rada walked into the public reception area of the delegation’s quarters, almost panting as a wave of heat hit her. After the requisite courtesies, Ambassador Bolton took the initiative. “Your message said something about our quarters being moved. Is there a problem?”

  Rada frowned slightly. “There was one that has been defused, I hope. It’s not related to your party, but rather to a matter of honor that might spill over into this section of the palace. However, my message said ‘changes to your quarters,’ and that is what concerns me, Excellency. May I speak freely?”

  “Certainly Lord Reh-dakh, although we’ve not observed any changes to these rooms aside from what we’ve requested,” the ambassador pointed out.

  She nodded. “Your Excellency, Lord Rreis approached me with a question about the temperature of your chambers. He said that you have been bothered by the cold. Is this correct?”

  “Yes. Especially my assistant. He’s originally from NeBrazil and is sensitive to harsh winters.”

  “Have you had any difficulty getting around, Excellency? Or you, your Honor?” Reh-dakh watched the two men very closely, noting that the younger seemed to be having trouble writing, as if his hand were asleep.

  Bolton shook his head. “I’ve not, Lord Defender.”

  “I’m fine, Lord Reh-dakh,” Juan Ch’ien declared.

  No you are not, not the way you smell. “Your Honor, what did you have to eat for supper? I apologize for the strange questions, but I will explain in a moment.”

  He thought back, or tried to. “Ah, I had tea, and a salad, and vegetable soup, and some kind of grain.”

  “How often have you been having salad?” Rada leaned forward, trying to get a better look at him. Pale, poor circulation, smells a little ketotic, chilling, I wonder if he’s started hallucinating? That’s the next phase, I think.

  “Twice a day. They’re very good and quite filling,” he said.

  She turned her attention to the Ambassador. “Your Excellency, Admiral, gentlemen, have you also been eating the salads?”

  They had, except the Admiral. “I’ve had one or two but I prefer cooked vegetables and meat,” he admitted. The assistant ambassador looked disapproving.

  Rada regarded the men soberly. “I’m afraid that you are all suffering from a form of food poisoning. The greens have an alkaloid in them similar to hemlock and wolfsbane on Earth. It causes gradual reduction in circulatory efficiency and neuromuscular paralysis in mammals, and builds up over time.” She ran a hand over her face. “I didn’t think to warn you or the seneschal, so this is partly my fault.”

  Ambassador Bolton looked skeptical. “What makes you so certain about all this, Lord Reh-dakh? You seem to be very familiar with human medicine and Terran plants for a non-human who has apparently lived among Azdhag for so many years.”

  “I served as a paramedic and Healer, among other things, with humans and other species for many years before I began serving the Azdhag Empire, Excellency. I’ve also been to Earth a few times. And I avoid uncooked Azdhagi greens ever since the first time I ate them and overdosed. The alkaloids have different secondary effects on me than they do on humans,” she explained.

  Juan Ch’ien reached for his stylus, or tried to. His fingers didn’t seem to be working right. The ambassador noticed, as did Lord Reh-dakh. “Juan, are you all right?”

  He nodded and tried to say “Yes, Ambassador,” but couldn’t seem to coordinate his mouth with his thoughts. Bolton looked aghast and drew back, while Lo
rd Reh-dakh leapt to her feet and came around the table, pulling Ch’ien’s chair away from the others.

  Without asking permission, she laid her hand on his forehead, then swore. “Your Honor, I need to treat you for advanced alkaloid poisoning. Do I have your permission?” Ch’ien tried to respond, but had trouble getting his breath.

  Kundera spoke. “Lord Defender, do you give your word of honor that you will not hurt Mr. Ch’ien?”

  She reached into her boot and pulled out the bahn’leh. “By my honor, I so swear,” she said, drawing the blade and laying it against the veins in her wrist, nicking the skin and running the flat of the blade over the drops of blood. The metal flashed blue, then faded, and she sheathed the weapon before returning her left hand to the human’s temple.

  Admiral Kundera nodded in approval. “Treat him, Lord Reh-dakh,” he ordered, and she placed her other hand on Ch’ien’s wrist. Ch’ien struggled, then subsided as warmth started spreading from his shoulders down his torso and arms. Breathing also became easier, and he relaxed further, leaning his head back against Rada’s chest and closing his eyes.

  Rada concentrated on the human’s circulation system and heart, reaching with her Gift and pulling the chemicals out of the cells and into the blood stream, while keeping his heart beating and his breathing steady. She worked faster once he stopped fighting her, concentrating the toxins in his kidneys and liver as much as she could do safely. His pulse stabilized and grew stronger and she slowly disengaged, noticing as she did that she was drenched in sweat. Rada lifted her hands off the human and stepped back from him.

  I’d better check the others before I faint from the heat. She turned her attention to Ambassador Bolton. “Excellency? Your symptoms are not as advanced, but I’d like to check if you have no objection.” He hesitated, looking at his flush-faced assistant.

  “Trust Reh-dakh, Charles,” the admiral reassured him.

  Bolton made up his mind. “Very well, Lord-Defender. And please see to the rest of my party.”

  She did as requested and by the time she finished with the trade envoy, Juan Ch’ien had improved enough to open his collar and fan himself, perspiring from the heat in the room. The other men had not been poisoned as severely and took less effort for her to treat, but she was still exhausted by the time she finished.

  Lord Reh-dakh bowed to the humans. “If you will excuse me, I’ll leave you to your rest. May I respectfully suggest that you avoid the salads from this point on?”

  The ambassador rose to his feet. “We will certainly do so, Lord Reh-dakh. Thank you.”

  “Mine was the ill, so mine the cure, Excellency. I’ll have a word with the seneschal, so this never happens again,” she said.

  A commotion erupted outside the door. Something heavy slammed into the wood as loud voices screeched in anger. Rada ran towards the door. “On guard,” she ordered. The sergeant drew his flank arm and handed over her weapons’ belt. She pulled the door open, then slammed it shut behind her. She heard the door bar lower as she took in the tangle of male Azghai rolling back and forth across the corridor. “Stop this,” Rada ordered, drawing her sword and slamming the flat of the blade down on the first head to roll within reach. Lord Blee staggered and Rada grabbed Den-ban’s foreleg, twisting it so hard he screamed. He started to pull away and she let him, positioning herself between the two. “You are dead. You have violated his imperial majesty’s pledge of protection over his guests, and you are dead. In ten seconds, there will be no one in this hall or I will inform him myself of this, and I will claim both your hides for bench covers. Go!” Both males, panting and bleeding, tensed. She looked from one to the other, her free hand flipping loose the tie-down on her blaster and starting to draw it. Den-ban turned tail and fled. Blee gave Rada a look of pure poison and departed the other way, leaving her alone in the hall. She counted to one hundred before sheathing her sword. “Idiot males.”

  Rada tapped a rhythm on the door. The guard unbolted the door and slid it open a talon’s width. Rada said a few words and he followed her out of the humans’ quarters. A servant appeared in the hall and Rada stopped him. “Turn the heat in the humans’ quarters back down and give them two pitchers of water every hour for the next six hours. Healer’s orders.”

  Instead of the King-Emperor, Rada spoke with the crown prince. “It shall be dealt with, Lord Ni Drako,” he informed her.

  “Thank you, your highness.”

  Three sixts later, Reh-dakh, Lord Defender of Drakon IV, Imperial Councilor and daimyo of Singing Pines and Burnt Mountain, would have torn her hair out with frustration if she hadn’t needed it for insulation against the cold.

  “Why have you not brought the rest of the winter supplies into the main house? Or continued the avalanche patrols that I ordered?” She drummed her fingers on the top of the comm monitor’s table, the clicking of claws on wood an audible sign of her annoyance.

  The reptile’s spines flared a bit. “Lord Mammal, there have been greater needs and demands on my time. It is easy enough to get to the stores where they are and the cold is keeping things fresh and limiting the vermin. I’ve told the manager at Burnt Mountain to see to the patrols because they fall within his jurisdiction and avalanches are more of a problem for him than for Singing Pines,” Royal Estate Steward Ksskt explained, managing to be both obsequious and whiny.

  Count your blessings that I can’t reach through this screen, incompetent oaf, his lord snarled behind her calm demeanor. As Rada formulated her reply, the door to her quarters opened and she turned, then rose to her feet and bowed very low. A brown-skinned Azdhag entered the public area, heavy winter robe swishing, talon-clicks muffled by elaborately tooled leather gloves.

  He looked around, obviously curious, then waved towards the Lord Defender. “You may rise, Lord Reh-dakh. Finish your business—this is an informal call.”

  She straightened. “Thank you, Imperial Highness,” and turned back to where her steward waited, not bothering to mask his impatience. You are an utter fool.

  “Steward Ksskt. I will be coming to the manor in three sixts. By then you will have done as I ordered or you will find other employment on a different manor. Is that clear?” He started to protest her order, then hesitated, eyes widening.

  “Is there a problem on my sire’s estate?” The Crown Prince had come up behind Rada, looking over her shoulder and watching the exchange with great interest.

  Rada looked at the steward, who had shrunk, neck spines so flat they seemed to be burying themselves into his scales. “Not any longer, your Highness. Correct, Steward Ksskt?”

  “All is as your magnificent Sire might wish, great Lord Imperial Highness! I shall see to these matters personally!”

  I can smell his fear through the screen. Sad but impressive, Reh-dakh sighed. She looked at Prince Di-dosk, then back at the screen. “Thank you Ksskt. Reh-dakh out.” She closed the connection as the Prince backed a pace to give her room to stand.

  Servants had already laid a tea table suitable for her royal guest, and he took his place after leisurely walking through the suite, studying Rada’s few visible personal possessions and ornaments. The Prince Imperial lingered in front of a small table placed beneath a picture of a winged human drawing a sword, then settled comfortably on cushions the servants had left for him. “Join me,” he ordered, and Rada took her place opposite him, pouring hot tea and uncovering the plates of savories for his pleasure. She waited until he had made his selections before taking any tea.

  “Do you think that the Steward will do as you ordered?” Di-dosk inquired after several minutes of silence as he ate.

  “Yes, after having waited as long as possible and found more excuses.” The Wanderer spoke with the voice of experience. “Might I have your Highness’s permission to go to Singing Pines on the morrow?”

  Di-dosk considered her request. “Yes, you may. Provided you can return in two days,” he cautioned.

  “Thank you, your Highness. The next storms are not due for four more da
ys and I will make the best use of the time you have granted me.”

  He inquired further into the condition of the two royal estates under her nominal supervision. After receiving satisfactory answers, he leaned back and she refilled his teacup. “Lord Commander, my honored sire says that you are more familiar with human history than is anyone else at court. If this so, will you explain to me how humans lost their belief in honor and duty?”

  She considered for a long moment. “Your Highness, I believe it started during the first phase of what they call ‘The Ideology Wars.’ A group of young people began teaching the equality of all save those who adhered to the old ways, or who belonged to the culture that had dominated the old hierarchies. Along with many bad and unjust practices that indeed needed to be ended, valuable concepts such as public honor and a duty to one’s faith and culture were also lost.

  “I think that is where it began, your Highness. There are still some worlds where you will find humans who believe in duty and honor much as we do, including, it seems, Vice Admiral Kundera. But they are not the leaders of the Sapient Republic at the moment,” she concluded.

  Crown Prince Di-dosk considered her words. “I will want to speak with you more on this matter, when I have the time.”

  “Certainly, your Highness. My time is yours to command.”

  “What is that picture?” He inquired, pointing to the one he had studied earlier. She retrieved it and laid it on the low table.

  “The original is a window made of colored glass. Almost two thousand years ago the window stood over the high altar of a military chapel on Earth. The figure is Saint Michael Archangel, who is called the Defender of Heaven and is the patron guardian of soldiers.” She smiled down at the picture.

  The amber-eyed Azdhag picked the frame up and studied it while she refilled his tea. He tapped the image with his bare talon. “That looks like a True-dragon in the far corner.”

  “It is. For millennia many humans considered dragons a symbol of evil,” she said, as a tart voice spoke into their minds, «Twits, all of them!»