A Touch of Power (A Cat Among Dragons Book 5) Read online

  A faint, staticy voice replied, “Command One Cat One go ahead.”

  “Hold your position and report.” The static worsened and he adjusted the radio, turning down the volume. More static and then her heard nothing. “Cat One come in.” Silence.

  FitzWarren tapped the ground with her boot toe. “Command One, the rock and steel interfere with our radios.”

  “I noticed that, Radio One.” Should he send others after the five, or wait? As he waited, he heard a gasp from behind and above, on the rise behind the cave.

  “Intruder,” someone broadcast and he watched, gape-jawed, as a reddish glowing object descended from above, as if to land not far from the cave, on the back side of the next rise inland. He felt a humming vibration that made his bones ache. The thing settled behind the low hill and the vibration surged before stopping completely.

  “Code delta, repeat code delta,” Eastman ordered, retreating to the command vehicle where he had better communications equipment. He clamped one hand to his earpiece as a burst of static made him wince. As the soldiers moved out, forming a half-circle around the intruder but not shooting, Eastman heard an irate voice in the clear, followed by the squall of rusty hinges.

  He turned back to the cavern in time to see a soldier backing out of the cave, pushing the gate open with one hand, the other steadying his rifle. Four vaguely human shapes emerged from the cave mouth, hands in the air, followed by Commander Na Gael and the other three soldiers, weapons also drawn. Na Gael limped forward and stopped in front of the figures, hands planted on hips, giving them what-for. She sounded for all the world as if she was scolding them, but he couldn’t understand the language. Should he approach, or deal with the ship?

  “Any motion from the intruder?” He asked FitzWarren.

  “None reported, Command One.”

  Eastman took the safety off his sidearm and approached the group at the cave, staying clear of the lines of fire. Cat One, harangue finished, stood as if waiting for something. The figures lowered their arms. Eastman heard a metallic voice replying to Cat One’s complaints and realized that the four captives wore survival suits and helmets. He stopped beside her.

  <> she said in his mind, and he did.

  <<“. . . Doctor Moolti cleared us for the research project, and we have copies of his letters, and our forms for use of live subjects and non-technology transfer agreements.”>>

  Na Gael held out one gloved hand, expression stern, and the figure removed a rolled up page from an external pocket on its black and grey suit. It unrolled the page and tapped the edge, and Eastman saw a mishmash of symbols and colors appear on the blank page. No, it was a display of some kind, a soft screen. Rachel explained, <> She took the screen and studied it, scrolling through the jumble. All at once her head jerked up and she brandished the device. She didn’t yell, but she certainly let everyone within earshot know she was not pleased. Eastman frowned as he “heard” her scolding, <>

  The suited quartet shifted and a different metallic voice began in the half-musical, half-guttural language, << “But the scholars don’t have the material we need to finalize our theses, and we’ve taken every precaution required by university procedure to ensure non-interference in the native culture and technology level.”>>

  “Then what is that,” Eastman blurted, pointing in the direction of the new arrival.

  “Command One, I believe we should take these,” Rachel glared at the intruders, “scholars, and see what they know.”

  “Bring them,” Eastman ordered, leading the way. The presence of so many armed and irritated humans must have made an impression, because they strangers obeyed.

  As soon as they caught sight of the ship, one of them began protesting. Na Gael, unimpressed, replied in tones that reminded Eastman of his fourth-form English instructor.

  Eastman’s headset squawked. “Command One, we have one intruder emerging now.”

  “Hold your fire unless fired upon. Cat One?”

  She shook her head. “Ah, very good Command One. I believe we have a simple, and stupid, answer to all our questions.”

  <> Eastman demanded silently.

  She nodded, pointing with her head at the figure tramping through the gorse, a flask of some kind in its gloved, four-digit hand. It stopped abruptly when one of the captives yelled at it. A rapid conversation ensued and two of the figures from the cave started walking to the person from the ship. Some of the soldiers tried to stop them but Na Gael raised a hand. “Let them sort this out. They started it.” Na Gael left the other aliens and returned to Eastman’s side. “Idiots.”

  “What’s going on?”

  She folded her arms, peeved. “Oh, this lot overstepped the bounds of their research authorization so far that they are practically floating in space. The other lot are, well, that one is a student of two of these, and is getting told that,” she rubbed under her eye. “Eh, there’s no pronoun in your languages for its sex. Anyway, student there is going to fail anthropology so hard that student will be looking for work at student’s planet’s version of a fish-and-chips cart.”

  “These are research students?” Eastman couldn’t believe his ears.

  “Yes, from the University of New Blenheim. I know of their professor, and there will be hell to pay, to use your term, when he gets my report.” Now she looked as smug as a cat locked overnight in a dairy. “Not from me directly, of course, but through the Dukorlig Scholars, since my credentials date from after he died.”

  “Someone’s studying us?”

  Rachel nodded, arms still folded, eye on the aliens. “The Dukorligs study everything. And New Blenheim is known for its ancient history department.” She rubbed under her blind eye. “What do you want to do with them? If you want prisoners, I’ll have to do a lot of talking to the Rowfow steering their transport. And I’m not sure who else is waiting outside your atmosphere for the undergraduates. I think that’s your word for the ones in the transport.”

  Eastman considered his standing orders from London and Vienna. He lacked the authorization to establish communications with an alien university. “You say there’s another vessel lurking within the solar system to collect that one?”

  “Yes, sir. Just past the moon, in your blind spot. It’s probably lightly armed for self defense but I’d need to know more about it before I can say anything else.”

  He had no desire to start a war over stupid student tricks, in case one of the intruders had friends in higher places. Eastman covered his eyes with his hand for a moment. “You are certain that this is not an invasion party?”

  “No. Drinking party, judging by the empties they tossed out, but not an invasion.” She sounded amused and exasperated both, and her calm demeanor helped Eastman decide.

  “Warn them to leave or else, Cat One. All of them.”

  “Very good, Command One.”

  The two creatures from the cave returned to their waiting associates, and Rachel stalked down to speak to them again. She pointed to Eastman, the atmospheric vessel, and the cave. One of the others replied and Rachel shook her head, then pulled back the hem of her coat and showed the intruder her carry weapon. The quartet leaned away from her, and she removed something from her jacket pocket and held it out for them to look at. The closest figure studied the thing and retreated a further pace. Rachel pointed back to the cave and all four aliens started walking.

  “Cat One, what about the others?” Capt. FitzWarren called.

  “Keep everyone at least twenty meters from the ship unless they want all their bones cracked by the repulsor field. They’re leaving as soo
n as we’re clear,” Rachel called back. Indeed, the painful humming vibration began again and as Eastman watched, the lozenge-shaped form levitated, rising higher and higher. A bright light appeared at one end and the thing disappeared into the overcast sky.

  Rachel and the soldiers followed the four researchers into the cave, then returned and locked the gate again. “They’re gone, Command One,” Sgt. McWilliams reported.

  “What did you tell them, Cat One?” Eastman demanded.

  She covered a yawn. “Sorry, sir. Translating like that takes a phenomenal amount of energy. I told them that unless they left, you’d destroy the students’ vessel and hold the students as prisoners, and I’d send word to New Blenheim that the University staff needed to collect all ten of them—the four researchers and six idiots who followed them. And that we’d send the Rowfow back with the message, leaving the researchers stuck here.” Rachel gave him an faintly vicious grin. “The researchers did not seem especially keen on the last bit, for some reason.”

  FitzWarren gave the xenologist a puzzled look. “Why not? The boffins I’ve been around would give their eye-teeth to have more research and observation time that they didn’t have to pay for.”

  “Ah, but these,” she searched for a word, “twits? Is that what you say? These twits are from a lower gravity world, roughly eight-tenths of your normal, and need a much higher concentration of hydrocarbons in their respiration gas. They could survive out of those suits, but they’d be sick and exhausted. And even worse,” she gave FitzWarren an evil smile. “They’d be stuck with the bill for the Rowfow’s return trip to collect them. Timeships are not inexpensive to charter, let me assure you.”

  “Could you return them to their proper place and time?” Eastman inquired, forgetting who might be listening in.

  Rachel tipped her head to the side so far that her temple almost touched her shoulder and Eastman winced. She blinked at him, reminding him of an owl. <>

  “Disregard. Radio One, Hunter One, start pulling our people in and cleaning the site.” Eastman walked back to the command vehicle, turning his attention to more important concerns, such as concocting a good cover story for the night’s events.

  At the staff debriefing two days later, Captain Wormley shook his head, complaining, “That’s the dumbest reason for a planetary invasion I’ve ever heard or read about, sir, Commander Na Gael.”

  “It is rather stupid,” Col. McArthur agreed, rotating his chair and leaning forward so he could better see Rachel.

  She shrugged and spread her hands. “Hydrogen and stupidity, gentlemen, Captain FitzWarren. The two universals, found in every corner and every culture.”

  “And what was the other ship doing, if the first were researchers?” FitzWarren asked after the chuckles and sighs died down.

  Rachel rolled her eye. “They were members of, eh, I’m not sure what your word is. A group of students, all from the same sexual class, living in a group residence and sharing costs? One is a student of the researchers and thought it would be fun to follow along and ‘scare the primitives.’ Apparently the students’ clan or ancestral group has legitimate business in this area, and the student and friends convinced the carrier ship to make a side-trip.”

  McArthur’s jaw dropped. “You mean a bunch of frat brothers borrowed one of their parents’ cars and came here to drink and sight-see? That truly is stupid, the most idiotic, most foolish thing I’ve heard in years. I can’t believe it.”

  Rachel’s eye narrowed and she began typing on the recessed keyboard at her seat. “Oh? More stupid and unbelievable than,” and the master display in the briefing room changed from the map of the location with video insets, instead showing an American tabloid’s front page. McArthur read the headline and sank back into his seat as the Brits and others grinned. Na Gael typed some more. “Or this?” The headline of the day’s Sun appeared. “Or as unbelievable as the claim that the female on page three has no artificial enhancements?”

  “Stop right there, Commander,” Eastman snapped, raising a warning finger. “You’ve made your point.” She tapped away and the display returned to the original images. Her mischievous grin remained in place.

  Shady Grove (1984)

  “Rachel, can you read a glamour?”

  Commander Rachel Na Gael rocked back in her seat, utterly befuddled by Brigadier General Jonathon Eastman’s question. “Read a what, sir?”

  He loaded more mushy peas onto his fork. “I said, can you read a glamour? Can you tell if someone has been enchanted or confused by, eh.” He ate his peas and hunted for a word. “Not magic per se but power of some kind.”

  The other officers at the table looked as perplexed as their xenologist, except for Lt. Rahoul Khan. A thoughtful expression crossed the newly minted junior officer’s face and he chewed his bite of ham with careful deliberation as he waited to hear what the answer might be.

  “I can’t sense if someone has been confused in the past, unless the person or thing doing the manipulation caused physical or chemical changes to the subject’s brain.” Several officers paled as Rachel continued, “I can sense if a human is being manipulate in the current time, especially if it is an empathic effect, unless the empath is shielding their work as they do it.”

  Eastman cornered his xenologist in the laboratory the next afternoon. “I realize that this is not strictly within the regiment’s official purview, Rachel, but I’m hearing things about a musician that bother me greatly.”

  She twitched her ears. “Things beyond the inability to carry a tune in a wheelbarrow, I take it.”

  “That he’s using music to seduce people, women for the most part, against their will.” Eastman shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable. “I, that is, I’m not certain there is anything to the stories, but someone I trust is not happy with what she sensed, and she’s alerted me to trouble before.” He studied the scene outside the laboratory’s bank of windows. “It has to do with casting a glamour.”

  “Ah yes,” Rachel put the pieces together. “You wonder if the man is using music to manipulate people against their usual inclination, like this,” and she began humming, then singing as she opened one of her desk drawers. “Christmas is coming/the goose is getting fat/please to put a penny in the old man’s hat.” She finished the verse and grinned.

  To Eastman’s dismay he realized that he’d taken a strawberry bonbon out of his pocket and froze, hand poised to drop the candy into the open drawer. “How did you do that?”

  “Your shields are down, and you associate Christmas with charity and that song with children. Like most humans, you approve of charity and you like children. That left an opening I used to suggest that you’d enjoy giving me a reward for my music. That’s how it works if the empath relies on generosity and good will.”

  “That’s still wrong.” He stared at the candy as if he’d never seen it before, then put it back in his pocket. “You’re manipulating me.”

  She leaned back in her chair and rotated side to side. “Yes and no, sir. I’m tapping your innate personality, but not forcing you to give me a sweet. Can I compel you? Not easily, especially if you truly do not want to do something, but yes, I can if you are unwary and your shields are down, and I’m willing to expend a lot of energy.”

  He raised and firmed his mental defenses. That’s terrifying. He’d heard her warnings about manipulation through Gifts, but he’d never experienced it before and it shook him almost to his core. “Right. I do believe we’re taking a trip, Rachel. We’re going to the Medieval Faire and folk festival in York, which happens to be where the person of interest is performing.” He recognized the gleam appearing in her eye and added, “I’m driving.” Her droop and pout told him he’d guessed right. “I’ve ridden with fighter pilots before, Commander Na Gael. I wish to preserve what little of my cardiac function remains.”

  She began humming the lullaby, “Lamby, lamby, sweet little lamb,” and Eastman sensed gentle pressure against
his shields. He thinned them a fraction and suddenly felt as if he ought to apologize for thinking that she’d break every speed limit in Great Britain if allowed. After all, she was just a poor innocent little . . .

  “Stop that.” He shook a finger at her as he raised his shields again. The feeling cut off, even though she continued humming the children’s tune. She heaved a loud sigh and stuck her lower lip farther out. He ignored it. “We’ll leave early on Friday morning. Dress so you blend in, please.”

  The hum stopped. “Yes, sir.”

  True to his threat, Eastman pulled out of the regiment’s concealed parking garage an hour before dawn on Friday. Rachel tucked her skirts closer and stared out the window, watching the passing landscape as the long spring twilight faded. She’d put in green contact lenses and wore makeup, concealing her missing eye and scars. Her green and brown blouse and skirt reminded him of some of the folk singers he’d seen, and she wore her hair in a loose braid with a green bow tied to the end. He’d settled on a pair of jeans he’d forgotten he had. After half an hour he remembered why they’d ended up at the very bottom of his civilian clothes stack: the waistband had shrunk.

  Fortunately for his mental picture of himself as lean, trim, and twenty, they reached the site of the faire before the snugness became a problem. He parked at the end of the designated area and got out. Rachel took a little time, explaining, “Stiff. Sorry.”

  “Right. While we’re here, I’m John.”

  “Very good, John.” She sniffed the air. “Is that roasted meat from the faire?”

  “Yes, and we’ll get to it later.” He set off and she hurried to catch up. Eastman noticed that she’d found a curly wood walking stick somewhere, and had tied a ribbon under the curved head. The ribbon matched the one in her hair and the colors suited her new eye color and tan.

  He paid the entry fee and they walked through the gate, among the first to arrive at the faire. A line of tents and booths extended before them, leading to stands and a large, lavishly decorated platform. People in medieval and fantasy costume walked past as if on errands or going about daily life. The “theme” set the Faire in the time of Robin Hood and King John, and Eastman noted a sign proclaiming an archery contest later that morning, and a joust in the afternoon.