The High Ground (12 page)

Tracy didn’t miss the irony that edged Crispin’s words. What surprised him was how few of his fellow classmates seemed to hear it. Only a few of the FFH were frowning. Most were looking unperturbed, seemingly accepting this as their due.

The introductions began. Tracy wasn’t sorry to start to put names with faces since almost none of the FFH had offered him an introduction. And he now had names for the final two ladies. Cadet Lady Cipriana Delacroix, and Cadet Lady Sumiko Tsukuda. After that there were a lot of cadet conde, and cadet caballero, and cadet sir, and cadet lord, and cadet vizconde. Mercifully most of the students didn’t decide to expound beyond their noble lineage. It was his turn. Tracy stood, tilted his chin up and said, “Cadet Thracius Belmanor.” He sat back down. No need to say he was a scholarship student. His cheap, pale blue undress uniform announced it to the world.

Once this odd form of roll call was over Commander Crispin inclined his head and said, “I’m pleased to meet you all.”

The doors sighed open. Tracy and a number of other students looked back to see who was the latecomer. It was the Infanta and the blonde girl. Both of Danica’s eyes were swollen nearly shut, the surrounding skin purple and black, a contrast with the stark white bandage that covered her nose. Mercedes had her arm around the smaller girl’s waist.

“Forgive our belated arrival, Captain Professor,” Mercedes said. Her husky alto voice made music of the mundane words.

“I understand Cadet Lady Everett had a medical issue to be resolved. You, however, Cadet Princess, have no excuse. Meet me after class and I’ll assign your punishment.”

Mercedes looked scared and hurt. She opened her mouth as if to argue, then thought better of it and found a seat. Unfortunately it was on the opposite side of the room from Tracy, but as close to the other ladies as she could manage. Perhaps there was safety in numbers and he ought to be more amenable to Wilson?

Tracy turned his attention back to Crispin. The man stood, head bowed, shoulders tense. He gave a nod as if answering an unspoken question and looked up. His gaze was focused only on Mercedes.

“So, why do we have an aristocracy?” the professor asked. Glances were exchanged.
Is this a trick question?
No one responded. “Too hard? How about this one? When did we acquire a hereditary aristocracy?”

Tracy saw Cullen nudge the man to his left and whisper to him. The man who had introduced himself as Caballero Davin Pulkkinen hesitated then raised his hand and said, “Uh… we’ve always had them.”

“Technically correct if a rather broad and overly general answer.”

Oh, you got one of your buddies to test an answer for you, didn’t you?
Cullen was a clever bastard, Tracy decided.

“Anyone else care to try?” Crispin asked.

Tracy gritted his teeth. Men had won high honors and titles in the service.
But not if they sit cringing in the back row
, an inner voice prodded him. He tried to force his hand up, but his arm seemed boneless, limply refusing to obey his brain’s command.

Del Campo raised his hand. Crispin acknowledged him with a raised eyebrow. “By the twenty-first century there were only a few noble families on Earth, and they didn’t have any power. They were mostly… ornamental,” Arturo drawled.

“Quite true.” Crispin’s pale eyes swept across the assembled class. “Do you find our current crop ornamental, Cadet?”

The imperial cousin smiled. “Oh, we are very ornamental, sir. Especially the ladies.” He bowed toward the four girls. “But our fathers, now, they have a great deal of power. I’m assuming your task is to whip us into shape so we can exercise power as efficiently as our paters.”

“Correct on both counts, but I return to my original question. Why did that happen?”

“Aliens. Aliens happened.” It was the plump girl Sumiko who spoke up.

Once again Crispin’s eyes swept the room and he tsked. “Put to shame by the fairer sex, gentlemen. Yes, Cadet Lady, we found we were not alone.” He touched a panel on his desk and a holo screen sprang to life. Turning, Crispin wrote in the air, the words appearing on the floating holo.

“In 2127 scientists under the leadership of Tamil Al-Shabaz working at the Musk Institute built the first prototype Fold engine. By 2143 the exodus had begun. For twenty-three years we sought out and settled habitable planets, but then we stumbled across the Hajin. While they had inter-system space flight, their lack of a faster than light speed engine meant they offered little threat to our home world. Still the contact caused significant consternation back on Earth. Particularly among the more traditional religious sects.”

Crispin glanced back over his shoulder and gave them a tight smile. “At base we really are just aggressive monkeys, and very fearful of
the other
. And we had found the Other.” His voice gave a capital to the word. “It made us far more sanguine about the superficial differences between our races, creeds and colors. Whatever our outward differences might be we were at least human. At any rate the conquest of Belán was easy—”

“Yeah, we kicked the shit out of the BEMs,” Davin Pulkkinen yelped.

Crispin went on. “But…
but
on the Hajin home world we found the embassies and trade goods of other alien races. Which strongly indicated that someone other than humans had access to faster than light—FTL.”

“We know all this.” Cullen’s voice freighted with ennui cut through Crispin’s lecture.

The professor turned slowly to face the class. “Cadet Vizconde Cullen. I believe your title appends to the words
dorado arco
. Am I correct?”

“Yes.”

Crispin began walking up one of the two stepped aisles that cut through the desks. “Golden arch.”

Cullen was frowning. “I know what it means.”

“Do you know what it refers to?” Crispin stood at the end of the row, looking at Cullen. The cadet was looking less annoyed and more worried. “It refers to a chain of hamburger stands from old Earth. Vastly wealthy, international in its reach, but none the less a restaurant selling cheap food to the poor.”

Crispin climbed a few more steps and stared down at the fat boy. “Cadet Petek, your father is the Duque de Telqual. The name derives from Telcom. A phone company.”

There was a growing rumble of outrage. Several of the students had come to their feet. To Tracy’s delight Crispin drove on undeterred by the shouts of fury.

“Cadet Lord Favreau. Your father’s last name is Nestlé—that company sold chocolate as well as various other snack foods.” The professor had switched on a lapel microphone so his voice powered over the offended din.

“I’ll have you fired!” Cullen shouted and he had enough charisma and sheer physical presence to silence all the other ranting students. “My father will not tolerate—”

“SIT DOWN.” Crispin’s voice echoed off the walls. “All of you. I’ve been teaching history at The High Ground for seventeen years. I fought in the battle of Hells Point when we reintegrated the Hidden World of New Mecca. I will not be threatened by some spring of nobility. And I will be heard!”

The realization hit Tracy—this wasn’t Crispin’s normal lecture.
So why?
Tracy wondered. Once again Crispin was staring at Mercedes. Tracy looked from the man to the girl. She was flushed, uneasy at the close scrutiny. Tracy looked back to Crispin. His mouth was working. He looked almost as uncomfortable as the Infanta.

“What is it you’re trying… wanting to say, sir?” Tracy called.

Crispin shot him a glance that was an odd mix of anger and relief. The professor walked up a few more steps until he stood abreast Mercedes.

“Cadet Princess, our society is a construct that grew out of insecurity, fear of the Other, and a need to establish beyond any doubt that we were better than the aliens we had subjugated. And we reinforced that superiority in ways both actual and symbolic by creating an aristocracy based on corporate wealth and power.

“It was logical to use these entities as the foundation for the League.” The man’s voice had taken on the cadence of a lecturer as he gained confidence. “They had helped finance our initial settlements, but make no mistake, the FFH is an anachronism. We managed to contort this outdated form of governance into something that can actually rule a hegemony spanning light years,
but
it is as fragile as a soap bubble. Rapid change can affect stability.”

“And I’m that kind of change. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it, Commander Lord Crispin?” Mercedes’ voice was calm and low, her nerves expressed only by the faint tremor on the final word.

“Yes, Your Highness. You and your ladies. And not just to this institution, but to our very way of life. What is happening is a cultural experiment and those rarely turn out well.”

“There were economic studies in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries that indicated that integrating women fully into society resulted in a better outcome for those societies,” Tracy called. His early timidity burned away in the face of the attack on Mercedes.

“That might have made sense when we were limited to the finite resources of a single planet,” Crispin said, turning on Tracy. “But resource scarcity isn’t our problem now. Our problem is population density or more precisely the lack thereof. We need more humans. Therefore our women are precious, their role in society sacred.”

“What is it you want me to do? Quit? Become a royal broodmare? Well, I’m not going to quit. I’m going to make it.”

To Tracy’s ears it sounded like a cry of desperation rather than a statement of certainty.

Crispin’s expression hardened and he turned again to face Mercedes. “Then let us see if you can.” As he stalked back down the steps toward the desk he called, “We’ll begin with the Climate Wars of 2077.”

* * *

“You need to step on that encroaching little
cucaracha
and depress his pretension,” Boho said over lunch.

“I don’t think the faculty would appreciate my condescending to a professor,” Mercedes said mildly as she dipped up a spoonful of asparagus soup.

“Not Crispin. The
intitulado
, the tailor’s son.”

“So, that’s Tracy’s background—” The words were out before she thought better of it.

“Tracy? How do you know his name?” Boho demanded with a frown.

“I… I must have heard it during… during roll call.”

“Crispin didn’t call the roll and you weren’t there when we all introduced ourselves,” Cipriana pointed out. Mercedes shot her a venomous look. Cipriana gave a bland smile in return.

“And he gave his name as Thracius,” Yves Petek added unhelpfully, mumbling around a large bite of croissant spread thickly with cheese.

Mercedes gave a sharp gesture with her spoon like an agitated conductor, and demanded, “Why are we discussing this boy? And I noticed none of
you
stepped up to defend me… us.” Mercedes raked the males at the table with a cold glance. “Perhaps you agree with Commander Crispin?”

“Well, of course we do,” Arturo said with the air of a parent talking to a particularly slow child. To Mercedes’ eyes her cousin looked like a smug otter with his sleek brown hair and superior half-smile.

“Well, I don’t,” Boho said.

“And I detect a decided browning of your nose,” Arturo said, his tone pure acid.

Mercedes tensed but Boho merely smiled. “I stand as friend to the Infanta, and will be ready to serve her as she sees fit.” He inclined his head in respect. He glanced over at Arturo. “As should we all. We will all owe her our allegiance… in time.”

“For now you owe my father your allegiance.” Mercedes stood. “And it is
his
will that I am here so it behooves you to… to…”

“Back off and butt out,” Sumiko said. She also stood. Cipriana and Danica rose but more slowly. The blonde girl looked particularly pathetic, her mouth half open as she struggled to breathe past the packing in her broken nose.

“And now we have class and I won’t be late again,” Mercedes said.

“So what’s your punishment?” Yves asked.

Mercedes stiffened ready to take offense then realized the question was prompted more out of fear than a desire to gloat. She decided the fat boy had reason to be worried. He was likely to come in for more than his share of demerits and punishments.

“I have to clean the bathroom in our quarters for the next week.”

“By which she means us,” Sumiko said in response to Boho’s and Arturo’s outraged expressions. “
We
know our required roles.”

You too?
Mercedes thought as she watched the plump girl walk off in her stolid flat-footed way.

Tracy was working through a particularly tricky orbital mechanics problem. It wasn’t like high school where you were clearly in geometry or calculus class. He realized early on that he was going to have to be flexible and jump from discipline to discipline to reach the solution.

The buzzer on his door sounded. The nasal blare broke his train of thought and he lost the thread of the problem. Irritated, Tracy threw down his stylus and considered ignoring whoever was disturbing him at—he glanced at the time code in the corner of his tap-pad—9:17 at night. The buzzer sounded again. Hitching the belt of his bathrobe tighter Tracy strode to the door. He tapped the door camera and was stunned and alarmed when Mercedes’ strained face appeared in the screen.

He touched the admit icon and the door slid open. Tracy was relieved to see she was accompanied by the plump girl. The next thing he noticed was the stack of folded undress uniforms held by the Infanta.

“May we come in? Good, thank you,” Mercedes said in a harried whisper as she darted past.

Tracy was acutely aware that he wore only his jockey shorts beneath his tatty old bathrobe. As Sumiko stomped past she gave him an amused look as if she’d read his thoughts. “Shut the door,” Sumiko ordered.

Tracy did before he thought better of it, then the reality and the dangers inherent in the reality came crashing home. “Princess… Highness… You can’t be in here—”

“I need your help.” Her voice throbbed with despair like the toll of a bell in a minor key.

“What do you need?” The words just emerged. Tracy comforted himself with the thought that it was his duty to serve his ruler.