The High Ground (16 page)

“Jewelry and pretty dresses,” Mercedes said, joining in the fun. She stood in front of a mirror attempting to cover a dark purple bruise with foundation. Clark Kunst had managed to slip a hit past her guard on Friday.

The words passed her lips and Mercedes gave a cough, and stared down at her trousers in consternation. She looked up to meet two sets of appalled eyes.

Danica, confused, looked from Mercedes to Sumiko to Cipriana and back. “What? What’s wrong?” she asked.

“There’s going to be press waiting when we land,” Mercedes said hollowly.

Cipriana ran a hand down the front of her thigh. “And we can’t put back on our approved uniforms… since we cut them up,” she said.

“You must not mention that!” Mercedes said quickly. “And whatever you do don’t mention Tracy. That could get him in so much trouble.”

“Better him than us,” Cipriana replied.

“No.” Mercedes drew herself up to her full height and looked down her nose at Cipriana. “He is not to be punished for assisting the crown.”

“So, he takes one for the crown, as Chief Begay would say. That’s serving too.”

Pushback came from an unexpected source. Danica darted over to stand in front of Cipriana. Her hands were clenched at her sides. “No. He’s nice. He helped me with geometry and… and did you hear him this morning? It was like an angel—”

“Ho ho, Dani’s got a crush,” Cipriana said in a singsong voice.

“I do not!” As usual Danica had gone immediately to her first line of defense—tears.

Mercedes was furious with Danica. Why did the girl have to be an endless watering pot? Mercedes shied away from examining all the sources of her anger. Instead she said, “He’s an
intitulado
. Your father would
never
allow such a misalliance,” Mercedes added, and cringed because she sounded like a strict duenna.

“She doesn’t have to
marry
him,” Cipriana drawled. She ran her fingers across her lips, and across her breasts. “Probably more fun if she doesn’t.”

“You’re disgusting,” Mercedes snapped. “Talking like he’s a prize stud—”

“Ho ho!” Cipriana’s eyes were glittering with bitter fun. “Better back off, Dani. It seems Mercedes is interested and la Infanta takes precedence… in all things.” She reached into her holdall and pulled out a tiny, thin square envelope. “Need one of these?”

“That’s a… that’s a… that’s a…” Danica stuttered like a lawnmower engine trying to catch.

“A
contraceptive
. Yes, it is.”

“They’re not permitted,” the small blonde girl gasped.

“Not in all cases,” Sumiko, ever the pedant, said. “Where another child might endanger a mother’s life they can be prescribed. They’re not impossible to get, you just have to find an unscrupulous doctor.”

“Or have a sympathetic Isanjo maid who knows how to get them from the Cara’ot.” Cipriana waggled the envelope in front of Mercedes. “These are
much
better than the human version. Trust me, I know.”

“You’ve had… You’ve had…”

“Danica, really you sound like an idiot. Yes, I’ve had sex. A number of times. It’s fun.”

“But they’ll know. I mean,
he’ll
know… on your wedding night,” Danica said, gobbling like a terrified turkey hen.

“Three stitches,” Cipriana replied, holding up three fingers. “Three little stitches and you’re revirginated. The Cara’ot doctors offer that service too. I’ll take advantage of that once we’re done with this bullshit and I get engaged.” Cipriana turned back to Mercedes. “So do you want this or not?” She waved the envelope again.

A thread of worry shot through Mercedes. Had others observed her friendship with Tracy? “No! I am the Infanta, I can’t… and I’m not interested in him. He’s beneath my notice—”

Cipriana circled back to her original point. “So, then we can blame him.”

“
No!
”

“You did go off with him on that first Saturday,” Sumiko pointed out.

Mercedes rounded on her. She felt like a bull surrounded by picadors. “You knew? How did you know?”

Sumiko shrugged and put another dress into her holdall. “We’re not actually here to learn anything or become officers. We’re here so you are chaperoned and you can get a box checked that lets you be empress.”

“You really think that?” Mercedes asked. “You really think we’ll never have to serve aboard a ship or fight or anything?”

“How many battles has your father personally led?” Sumiko asked.

“Oh that’s true.” Mercedes frowned. “Although I think there was a skirmish when they had to pacify a Hidden World, but that was before I was born. Still, Daddy was on a ship, at least for a little while.”

“You’ll get a desk job. That’s my bet,” Cipriana said as she drifted to a mirror and applied lip gloss.

Mercedes chewed at her lower lip. “Do you think that means we won’t get to train in an
Infierno
?”

“You sound disappointed,” Danica said.

“It looks like it might be fun.”

“And part of your argument for letting us wear pants,” Sumiko said. “Which sorta brings us back to our present problem. I guess the
Infierno
training works as an explanation for the change.”

“Or we just put on our civilian clothes,” Cipriana said. “Civilian dresses. That way the press will never know.”

Sumiko brought up a holo screen on her ring. Frowned at the print. “Regulation 37b: Civilian attire when on the
cosmódromo
is only permitted on Saturdays.” She looked up and added unnecessarily, “Tomorrow is Monday, and until that shuttle actually lifts off we’re on the
cosmódromo
.”

“So, we change on the shuttle,” Cipriana snapped.

“Yeah, good luck with that. Dressing in freefall. And as I recall you were puking your guts out on the flight up,” Sumiko said nastily.

“Just because you’re a stolid
cow
who has no sensibility…”

“Stop it!” Mercedes yelled. “You’re all making me crazy.” She hung her head, steadied her breathing. “We’ll change after we land but before we leave the shuttle.”

“Oh, good idea,” Sumiko said and Mercedes resented the fact the other girl sounded surprised.

Her batBEM sidled up next to her, and placed some toiletries into the holdall. “Cadet Princess, if I might…” Tako said softly.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Might I humbly suggest that you wear your uniform and face down the critics. You have shown yourself capable of facing down all manner of obstacles. It would mean a lot to the staff.” She nodded her long head in the direction of the other batBEMs.

“Why would it matter to you?”

“If you ladies succeed then more women will follow and perhaps, in time, we would be allowed to serve.”

Now the alien had Mercedes’ full attention. “What are you saying? That aliens should serve in the
Orden de la Estrella
?” The Hajin inclined her head in affirmation. Amusement warred with anger. “What an absurd idea.
Orden de la Estrella
exists because we can’t trust you,” Mercedes said.

Tako veiled her eyes with her long lashes, and backed away. “So sorry to have offended, Cadet Princess.”

The soccer team had a shuttle just for their use because before their actual leave began The High Ground was going to play the University of Caladonia. The planetside school had delivered a drubbing to The High Ground in the team’s home stadium and the academy team was eager to avenge the insult by beating Caladonia on their home turf in Hissilek.

Which meant Tracy wasn’t riding down the gravity-well with staff or other bits and sundries heading back to Ouranus, or unable to go at all if he couldn’t have hitched a ride. The cost of a shuttle fare to the planet was well beyond his means. He might be just a substitute and resent the time, but it did mean he got to go home.

They were all strapped in while their coach, Commander Phillip McWhinnie (behind his back they all called him Whinnie or Whiny when they were really annoyed with him), floated in the front of the shuttle.

“Okay. We have to not suck tomorrow. The Conde de Vargas is going to be watching, and his prestige is on the line. I also know he and President Tummelty have a significant wager going so more than just Rohan Aubrey’s pride is riding on the outcome.
So don’t fuck it up and cost our patron money.
”

“Also rather awkward to go to his house for a ball afterward if we’ve lost,” Boho drawled.

The heavy paper gave a crackle as Tracy touched his coat pocket and the invitation that nestled inside. No mere ScoopVite for the conde. The invitation had been waiting on Tracy’s desk. His name flowed across the front of the champagne-colored envelope in cursive script—Cadet The Honorable Thracius Ransom Belmanor. Inside, the embossed invitation elaborated on the time and place of the Salutation Ball. Dancing, champagne supper, attire formal/dress uniform. There was no refusing. Tracy wondered if he could manufacture an injury between now and tomorrow night? He turned his attention back to the coach to avoid thinking about the ball.

“So our biggest problem is their striker, Montoya. He’s incredibly fast and fit so I expect you two,” McWhinnie pinned Jasper Talion and Hugo with a look, “to stay on him. Boho can’t do it all.”

“I did what I could. At least I held them to four goals instead of seven.” It was said in tones of faux humbleness, but the smirk the tall cadet gave the rest of them had Tracy gritting his teeth.

McWhinnie scrubbed at his face. “The game tomorrow is critical. If we lose again we won’t make the varsity championships. That has never happened. And it’s by God not going to happen while I’m coach. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” they said in obedient chorus.

“Now get a good night’s rest tonight. Don’t go out drinking and whoring. Technically your leave doesn’t start until
after
the game.”

“So we can get drunk at the ball?” Pulkkinen called merrily.

“If you’re that stupid, sure,” McWhinnie shot back.

“Then I guess whoring at the ball is right out too,” Boho drawled and there were more shouts of laughter.

Twenty minutes later the blunt nose of the shuttle and its broad stubby wings began to nuzzle the outer fringes of the atmosphere. Their re-entry speed formed a cushion of air in front of them but the atmospheric gasses still ignited, treating Tracy to a spectacular if alarming light show as fire licked along the sides and wings of the shuttle.

They broke through the final cloud cover. Their speed had been reduced so that the flames were gone, but a corona of heat pulsed on the edges of the wings. The pilot banked and took them in toward the military side of the Cristóbal Colón Spaceport. The engines gave a final burst, pressing Tracy back in his couch, and then they landed with the delicacy of a swan dropping onto the water.

Tracy hung back as the others headed for the doors. The babble of conversation faded. He unhooked his webbing and walked slowly off the shuttle. Enlisted
fusileros
had unloaded the cadets’ holdalls. Tracy was surprised to see Talion loitering while his batBEM picked up his case. Donnel stood nearby holding Tracy’s small bag.

Talion approached Tracy. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Have you got a place to stay?”

Tracy hesitated, trying to decide how to answer that. Could he go to the tailor shop? Probably. Did he want to? That was less clear. Talion interpreted his silence as a negative.

“Look, my family keeps a house here on Ouranos. It’s not that large and it’s not in the best neighborhood, meaning it’s not up on the Palacio Colina, but you’re welcome to stay.”

If you ever want to get ahead you have to learn to build and trade on your connections.
A rich alto voice rang through his memory. The refusal that hovered at the tip of his tongue was swallowed, and he gave an awkward nod. “Thank you, I’ll take you up on that.”

* * *

The smells of aftershave and tobacco. It was warm and comforting and familiar. Mercedes paused in the door of her father’s study and soaked it in. The water chuckled and bubbled in the gold-etched vase of the hookah as the Emperor pulled in a last lungful of smoke. Mercedes chuckled too.

“What’s funny, Mer?” her father asked.

“Nothing. I’m just happy to be home.”

He opened his arms and she ran to him. The linen of his shirt was rough against her cheek. She sighed with contentment as his arms closed tightly around her. “I… I missed you,” she whispered against his chest.

“I missed you too, darling,” and he kissed the top of her head the way he had when she had been a child.

She pulled back from his embrace and the light from the lamp on his cluttered desk fell on her face. Fernán’s brows twitched together in a sharp frown when he saw the bruise blooming on her cheek.

“What the devil is this?”

“Martial arts training.”

“They allow a man to strike you?” It was less a question and more a statement of outrage.

“Daddy if I…
when
I graduate I’ll be assigned to a ship and people might shoot at me. Truthfully being hit is a lot less scary.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

Mercedes perched on the corner of his desk. “I’m learning this style called capoeira. It combines dance and acrobatics. And I’m really good at it.”

“I bet you are. You were always the best dancer at your recitals.”

She leaned forward and slapped him on the shoulder. “Liar.”

“No, no. Biased perhaps. Aren’t most fathers?” he asked with a smile. Resting his elbows on his knees he leaned forward. “So, how is it going?”

“Like you’re not getting regular updates from Markov and Zeng,” Mercedes said.

“Yes, of course I am, but I want to hear from you.”

Mercedes slid off the desk and paced the shadowed confines of the office. The blinds had been drawn against the late afternoon sun. Fall had arrived so the room was quiet without the ever-present hum of air conditioning. Instead a large ceiling fan made of sek wood from Cuandru beat a slow cadence. The breeze from the blades ruffled her hair. It felt good to have it out of its braid and hanging loose and heavy down her back. While she assembled her thoughts Mercedes studied the paintings and hangings that adorned every wall.