A Cat at Bay Page 27

  “How are we going to be communicating with them?” Capt. John Marsh asked, as always jealous of his turf.

  Jones thumbed through her notes. “We have been using open-access e-communications, Captain, but apparently a few of their people have learned spoken English, mostly by monitoring Terrestrial commercial broadcasts.”

  Someone muttered, “Oh Gawd, I hope it wasn’t Dame Edna reruns.” Jones glared around but no one broke eye contact.

  “However, apparently they do speak Trader-Talk as well their native language, so you will be acting as an interpreter if needed, Commander.” Again Rachel gave little response, aside from a nod.

  “How can we be certain that this isn’t a ploy or trap of some kind, ma’am?” Oddly, that came from Major McGregor, the medical officer, and not Cdr. Na Gael.

  “We can’t. That’s why I want you to stay here, Arthur, and why I’m not calling Col. Khan back from leave. We’ll be friendly but wary, and I assume they will do the same. However, I feel, and Vienna agrees with me as does London, that this is an opportunity we can’t afford to let pass by.” Jones worked hard to keep the triumph out of her voice.

  If Regiment could do this, it would mean great things for them, and for her, and she intended to give it her best. If this goes well, I’ll have proved that I’m just as good as anyone, even Drachenburg—better than Drachenburg, for all of his string pulling and politics.

  “Any further questions? No? Very well then, the Veitketers have invited us to meet with them tomorrow afternoon. I’ve accepted, and we’ll be working out the details today, with a full briefing in the morning. You are dismissed, except Cdr. Na Gael. Na Gael, I will speak with you in my office.”

  Rachel gathered her things and followed Jones out of the room. As they went down the hall, Jones wondered what was wrong with her associate. Well, she’d find out soon enough.

  “Be seated,” Jones said, and Rachel sat in one of the chairs across from the general’s desk. “Tea?” Jones inquired as she poured herself a mug.

  “No, thank you, ma’am.”

  “You’re being awful quiet. I’d have thought you would be the one asking about security and warning us to be alert,” Jones observed, pointing to the xenologist with her tea mug.

  Rachel took a deep breath and let it out. “I didn’t see much point, ma’am. You’ve already made up your mind and seem to have things well in hand, so there’s no reason for me say anything.”

  Evelyn Jones stared at her advisor. Cdr. Na Gael wasn’t protesting, or fighting, or challenging her, and there hadn’t been a single smirk or wise-ass comment since she’d gotten back the previous morning. This is not normal. I like it, I want to see more of it, but it is not normal. “Rachel, is something wrong? This doesn’t sound like you at all.” In fact, it sounded perilously close to her advisor’s state following the episode with the stasis field. “Are you hiding something?”

  Rachel made an intricate swirling gesture with her left hand. “Let’s just say my leave was a bit less restful than I had hoped, ma’am. There were some very complicated matters to sort out that I hadn’t anticipated needing to deal with. Sort of like going on vacation to Naples and having Mt. Vesuvius erupt while you’re sunbathing.” Rachel gave a half smile and a snort, shaking her head. “Only not that simple to deal with.”

  “Good heavens! Do I need to call in someone to backstop you?”

  “No, ma’am. It’s just a matter of getting re-oriented and back into the routine.” Rachel wrinkled her nose. “That and I forgot the rule about always, always avoid fish on Sundays if you are eating more than fifty kilometers from the shore.”

  Now it was Evelyn’s turn to snort. “And stew served just before inspections. Amazing what people try to hide under spices.” She shuddered a bit. “What do you think about the new equipment?”

  “I haven’t tried it out yet. I’m still reading the manuals. I’d hate to break something by just launching in and punching buttons, especially since it looks expensive. Um, ma’am, why was it not sent to Capt. Ahkai first?”

  “You’re closer and can give me a first impression. She won’t report until she’s taken it apart, put it back together, and back-engineered it to make tea and toast.” Jones leaned back in her chair. “You’re dismissed. And be prepared to interpret for us tomorrow.” Jones paused. “Do you know anything about the Veitketers?”

  “No ma’am. But that doesn’t mean much. It’s a big universe, about which I know very, very little.” And with that odd statement, Rachel left.

  Something’s wrong with her. I wonder if she’s ill? If she is, and she’s lying to me, I will dismiss her as soon as we’ve confirmed friendly contact. She’s a walking discipline problem as it is.

  Commander Na Gael pretended to be asleep. She dozed off in vehicles so regularly that people had come to expect it, and if more than half the time she wasn’t really napping, they never noticed. She’d snagged a seat in one of the troop carriers as a way to avoid Jones and the other staff officers. The Wanderer wanted a bit of thinking time, and this was the last chance she’d have to get it before they got to their destination.

  I don’t like this proposed meeting and alliance, for all that Jones and the others think they’re being careful. Rachel hadn’t been sure at first if her objections were from her unending paranoia or just due to an injured ego a well as a still healing body. She’d gotten too used to being almost necessary to the Regiment, and her none-too-small self-opinion reacted poorly to the prospect of having to share her turf. However, for this planet’s sake, allies would be very good. And my feelings are immaterial in the face of necessity. She’d two-thirds decided that she was jumping at shadows.

  Khan’s phone call that morning had changed her mind. Her “cell phone” had rung just after 0500 that morning. Rahoul was calling from home, which was a first, and she had been afraid that he and Panpit needed her to help with a sick child. No, instead he’d had one of his rare but strong prescient spells. Nothing certain, but he was very concerned about “a meeting.” Since Jones hadn’t told him about what was in the works for the day, Rachel’s alarm bells had rung louder as she talked to him. She’d gone ahead and briefed him on what she’d known at that point. If Jones screamed at her, so be it. Just before they left headquarters a message from him had popped up on her data-link. He was going to go on standby until she phoned him back, ready to return to duty at a moment’s notice. God bless you, Rahoul. I owe you yet another favor.

  And then there was the news that the greeting party were to go without arms. Rachel almost bolted from the morning briefing right there, before what little diplomatic sense she retained kicked in. The Azdhagi had required that the Sapient Republic delegation come without military escort, and humans, especially some English humans, tended to be sticky about shooty-things meaning overt hostility. Rachel considered the very notion foolish in the extreme. But Jones had insisted, and Rachel had complied—edged weapons aside, of course.

  The hole in her files also worried her. She’d found nothing about a human-alien alliance for at least another century. Which again might not mean anything. The Trader files had as many lacunae as data points, and it could be that the humans, Veitketer, or both, decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Wouldn’t have been the first time. How often have the Azdhagi told other people to go in peace, but just go? Dozens at least, I think. And Himself always says that the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. But he also said that the Traders retained the capacity to learn, and thus far she’d seen no examples of it. Rachel shifted a little and drifted into real sleep.

  Her vehicle was one of the first to reach the initial staging point, two kilometers from the Veitketer’s ship. Rachel hopped out and stretched, acting as calm and unconcerned as if they were going for a pleasure stroll on a winter evening. She wasn’t cheered by the prospect of a long walk while she was still recovering from a murder attempt, but no one needed to know that. In fact, she’d decided that once this alliance was cemented, if it prov
ed to be as good as Jones believed, she would go into semi-retirement and return to her and Zabet’s business and the Azdhag Empire, at least until Jones retired. I owe Joschka, but not this much. Especially not after the rock fall.

  “There you are, Cat One. Let’s get moving, shall we?” Jones sounded more cheerful than usual, nearly manic to Rachel’s ears, and she slammed her shields up hard.

  “Yes, Command One.”

  They’d gone about half a kilometer when Jones realized that the xenologist hadn’t brought her usual field kit. That’s odd, the general officer thought. Rachel was also in her most human-looking form and wearing brown contact lenses. She remained quiet and slightly withdrawn, as if lost in thought. “Cat One, where’d you leave your field bag?” Jones wanted to know.

  “Back at the vehicle, Command One. There didn’t seem to be any call for it, and I can have someone bring it if necessary.”

  Jones almost stopped right there. Damn it, she’s lying to me. She’s broken our agreement. Once we’ve established contact with the Veitketer, I’m terminating her contract.

  The perimeter scouts reported nothing new, so the group continued on, coming to a halt in the thick oak woods surrounding the Veitketers’ ship. Jones sent more scouts and a small reserve into positions around the ship, then waited. Rachel leaned against a tree and studied what they could see of the Veitketer ship, a slight frown on her face. Capt. Sandra Monroe approached the smaller woman. “Something wrong, Cat One?”

  After a second the Wanderer shook her head. “Not really, Hunter One, just trying to remember where I’ve seen a ship like this before. It seems very, very familiar, but it could just be because so many cargo ships look alike. Sort of like American pick-up trucks,” and she grinned a little as Monroe nodded emphatically.

  Three figures emerged from the ship’s open entrance, and Rachel came over to stand at Jones’ shoulder, expression politely neutral. Jones waited as the trio approached. They were humanoid, just under two meters tall, and lean, with pale yellow-green complexions and very dark hair—almost as dark as Rachel’s. The men had greenish, slit-pupil eyes that seemed reptilian. The oldest of the three, with fading hair, bowed slightly to Jones.

  “You are Brigadier General Evelyn Jones?” His voice sounded smooth but a touch nasal, with a slightly rough accent.

  “Yes. And you are Elder VanDere?” Jones said, offering her hand.

  “Yes,” and he shook, his hand cool to the touch. “These are my assistants, Goght and Harmant.” Like the Elder, the two men were tall and lean. “They speak English, but not as well a I do, Brigadier Jones.”

  The officer smiled. “I brought a translator, since you indicated that you were familiar with Trader Talk. My adjutant, Captain Kwame Ngobo,” and the Ivorian man nodded, “communications officer Captain John Marsh,” the dour technician gave a slight bow, “and logistics officer Captain Sandra Monroe.” The blond smiled and one of the Veitketer gave her an appreciative once over.

  The Elder’s attention came to rest on the woman standing beside Jones. “And this is your translator?”

  “Commander Rachel Na Gael is serving as interpreter,” Jones explained as Rachel inclined her head in acknowledgment.

  Elder VanDere smiled broadly. “Excellent! Please, come into our ship. I do not wish you to think us inhospitable by making you and your people stand around in your woods, although I must say you do have a very attractive forest.” He gestured toward the ship’s entry, and Jones and her party followed.

  As the Welsh officer and Veitketer elder exchanged small talk, Marsh’s beckoning gesture caught Rachel’s eye and she dropped back. The Veitketer Harmant asked in Trader, “What exactly is the role of a communications officer among your people?”

  Mental teeth gritted, Rachel translated, and Marsh replied, “I oversee and coordinate signals and radio information, and am in charge of maintaining all the equipment required.” Rachel “stumbled” over some of the more technical terms the men used in their discussion of radio, optics, and signals, as if she had a limited vocabulary.

  After half an hour or so of introductions and discussion, Jones felt quite satisfied, although she had developed a bit of a headache. Elder VanDere seemed truly interested in a working partnership between the Veitketer and Earth’s governments, and Jones was quite impressed with some of the capabilities he suggested that his people might be willing to share with the humans, in exchange for Terran products and what he called “cultural goods,” apparently meaning literature, music, and such things.

  The Elder excused himself for a moment, and Jones took the opportunity to see how the rest of the party was faring. The Regimental personnel seemed satisfied with what they’d learned from their counterparts. Rachel looked paler than usual, however, and Jones brushed the back of the Wanderer’s hand, trying to establish a link. Rachel gave a discreet shake of her head as pain stabbed behind Evelyn’s eyes. “Don’t even try, Command One. The Veitketer have a blocking field switched on. It’s not uncommon during diplomatic negotiations,” she explained very quietly.

  Jones’ glanced around, asking, “Who else besides you and I are affected?”

  “Chan, and possibly Lee, although I can’t be certain.”

  Jones finally took a hard look at her advisor, and felt a rush of concern. If I have a headache, she must be utterly miserable! Plus having to translate for almost everyone has to be wearing on her, the officer thought, feeling a flash of mild guilt. Jones made a note to herself that when this initial meeting was over, she’d have Na Gael teach more people Trader phrases and terms before she left.

  As she waited for Elder VanDere to return and thought over the meeting, Jones began to wonder. The Veitketers’ offer of an alliance seemed so well planned and prepared that it felt a little too perfect. And as much as she hated to admit it, Rachel’s reluctance to encourage or even comment on the Veitketers proposals, and the alien’s lack of knowledge, made Jones uncomfortable. The suspicious part of the officer’s mind had been pointing out that the Veitketer Elder had not asked anything about the xenologist, even how she knew an alien language well enough to translate. And the revelation of the blocking field raised her hackles.

  Elder VanDere returned and apologized, “Apparently some of your scouts startled one of your animals and it triggered an alarm.”

  Curious, Jones inquired, “What sort of animal?”

  “Tan, four footed mammal with split feet and something like branches on its head,” VanDere explained.

  “Ah, a male deer. They eat plants and this is their mating season, so they tend to act a bit odd and are less shy than usual.”

  “Interesting. We no longer have large herbivores on our home planet because of our large population. We transplanted ecosystem samples onto other worlds to serve as preserves,” the green-skinned man replied, and Jones did her best to look interested.

  The Elder caught himself. “My apologies, General Jones, I forget this is not a pleasure meeting. Would you care to inspect our communications center? I believe we are a bit ahead of your technology in this area,” and he smiled in self-deprecation, “although your weaponry is far better in some ways than ours.” Jones allowed herself to be flattered, and started into the large, well-lit room.

  A thud and a cry of pain came from behind them. Rachel spun and dashed around the corner, Jones not far behind. Captain Monroe was being helped into a sitting position and holding her arm, which bent between the elbow and the wrist. Blood had already started staining her uniform, and Rachel dropped down onto one knee, very gently taking Monroe’s arm in her hands.

  “Look at me,” Rachel ordered, and Monroe turned towards her. “Take a slow, deep breath. Good. Now let it out slowly, yes, that’s right. Breathe in, and out.” Rachel pitched her voice lower than usual, and Monroe seemed to relax as Jones watched. “How does it feel?”

  “Better. It’s going numb.”

  “Good, let me know when you can’t feel any more pain.” Rachel looked around. “Hunter Three, I
need your help. Come here and hold Hunter One’s shoulders. Hunter One, I’m going to have to pull and rotate your arm just a bit to get the bones lined back up so I can start them knitting. I want you to look at Command One, and not me. Got that?”

  The Danish lieutenant crouched down behind Monroe and steadied her as Rachel backed a bit, easing the broken limb off to the side and out of Monroe’s sight. “Yes, ma’am. And it doesn’t hurt anymore,” the woman said, doing her best to stare only at Jones.

  “Captain, what happened?” Evelyn asked, trying to help distract her injured officer.

  “I wasn’t paying attention and must have tripped on something, Ma’am. Started falling backwards and put my hand out, but it skidded and I landed wrong,” Monroe said. As she was talking, Rachel had been mouthing something to Nielsen, who tightened his grip on Monroe’s shoulders. Rachel’s hands pulled and twisted and there was a quiet click. Monroe gasped.

  “Sorry. Should have warned you about the sound. Need to start the bone knitting,” Rachel said.

  Jones glanced at the medic and noticed beads of sweat on her forehead. How much pain must she be in, if just trying to talk to her gave me a headache? Rachel’s breath hissed through clenched teeth as the bleeding stopped and the torn skin seemed to be closing. Then she rocked back, saying, “Try moving your fingers.”

  The blond Canadian did as requested. “No problems, ma’am. And it doesn’t hurt, just a little ache.”

  Rachel stood up and staggered as if physically exhausted. “Command One, I didn’t try to completely Heal everything, just started the process and stanched the bleeding. I suggest that Hunter One report to Dr. McGregor to have the arm x-rayed and to make absolutely certain it sets straight. And I’d like to send a note with her, explaining what I did so he’ll have it for his records.”

  Jones didn’t like it, but had to agree. “Monroe, take Nielsen and go back to where the others are as soon as Cdr. Na Gael gets her message written.” Monroe started apologizing, and Jones waved it away. “No Captain, accidents happen. We’re not in combat, so there’s no point in your running the risk of re-breaking it.” She turned back to the Veitketers, who had been watching the whole episode with great interest and murmuring in their language.