The High Ground (26 page)

“Isn’t there like lunging and stuff?” Tracy asked, and he demonstrated, imitating what he had seen in movies and SimGames.

“Try it,” Talion said as he took up the en garde position again.

Tracy awkwardly swung the blade trying to imitate Talion’s smooth movements. He then tried lunging toward Talion’s chest. Talion jumped back while at the same time sweeping Tracy’s blade aside. It knocked Tracy off balance and he stumbled forward when he failed to meet the expected resistance. At the same time Talion made a quick reversal, lunged and slashed Tracy across the chest. He heard and felt the grate of the blade on the mesh that covered his padded jacket. Tracy staggered back and regained his balance. He had a pretty clear and sickening idea just what that cut would have done if he hadn’t been wearing protective gear.

“And that’s why you’re not going to try and be aggressive and take the fight to him. You’re going to retreat and retreat and retreat and defend yourself for as long as you can. It would be bad if he cuts you in the first seconds of the fight. If he does don’t tell anyone I coached you.”

“Yeah, it’d be a shame if I damaged
your
reputation,” Tracy muttered ironically.

“Oh, you couldn’t do that. They know I’m the best, but some of the Saber members might make jokes and then I’d have to school them. It could cause bad feelings in the society. Let’s go again. We have four more nights to practice. Let’s not waste them.”

“We have soccer practice and I have choir on Tuesday.”

“We’ll work after.”

“Homework,” Sumiko reminded.

Talion shrugged. “This is more important.”

“Boys,” Sumiko said explosively and left the room.

* * *

Hot water pounded onto his head, and drew hisses of pain when it struck the bruises that stippled his chest, back, side and arms, making Tracy look like a pinto Hajin. Talion hadn’t been gentle. Even with the protective mesh Talion had mostly just used the flat of his blade to drive home the lesson. Occasionally he would use the edge, and the searing scrape of metal on metal put Tracy’s teeth on edge. He couldn’t help but contemplate how that blade was going to feel against his flesh.

Snapping off the water he tottered out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. Tracy had thought the training he did each morning had him in top condition, but fencing used a whole different set of leg muscles and his thighs were aching. He gave an experimental rotation of his right shoulder. Yep, that hurt too from the weight of the saber.

He opened the door of the bathroom and gave a yell when he found himself eye to eye with Donnel. “Jesus, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Pardon, sir.” The alien was holding a bottle in one hand and a jar in another.

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought you might require treatment after your training session.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you knew.” Tracy sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed. “What’s in the jars?”

“Tiger balm, and a particular lotion that we Cara’ot find soothing. I’m pretty decent at massage too.”

“No, that’s creepy.” Tracy went to stand, and felt his back catch. Even the brief time sitting had allowed his muscles to stiffen. He dropped back down onto the mattress with a groan.

“Have it your way. Should make physical training tomorrow morning just a lot of fun.”

“Okay, damn you,” Tracy said before the alien reached the door.

Tracy managed to roll face down on the bed and Donnel went to work on his back and legs. The alien wasn’t kidding; those four hands worked at cramped muscles, and the lotion was soothing to his dark purple bruises. After a few minutes Tracy said quietly, “I’m going to get cut on Saturday.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s going to hurt.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m scared,” he said softly.

“And that’s okay too, sir.”

Thirty minutes later Donnel stepped back. Tracy sat up and ran a hand through his hair. “Thanks, that helped.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

“I gotta get started on my homework. Bring me a coffee. I think it’s going to be a long night.”

“Very good, sir.”

Donnel whisked himself out the door. Tracy dropped his towel and changed into sweat pants and a T-shirt. The tiger balm was warm on his skin and his muscles felt like soft gel. He sat down at his desk, opened his tap-pad and found an email from Señora Denning. She reported that the automatic deposit of her husband’s pay vouchers were coming through just fine.

The cracking tension gripped Tracy’s body, undoing all the good Donnel’s massage had done, and a pounding started in his temples. There were only two explanations—either
Orden de la Estrella
had sent the five ships on long secret missions. Or the five ships and all aboard them had been lost and the League didn’t want the broader public or even their families to know.

And apparently the conde suspected that he was also being kept in the dark. Now Tracy just had to figure out how the tailor’s son was going to contact the man whom some had called the Emperor’s right hand and let him know.

The armor wasn’t custom fitted and Mercedes found her breasts being squashed painfully against her chest. They were all exchanging glances, but Sumiko, the most endowed of all of them, described it succinctly: “Like having a never-ending mammogram.”

The armor was carbon polymer with dura-steel edging. Servomotors at the joints made it relatively easy to move, but Mercedes wouldn’t have wanted to try and dance in it. They clanked out of the changing room, helmets beneath their arms, and into the ready room where the rest of their class was assembling. This was their first meeting with the
Infierno
instructor. Apparently the man was so good that the academy sent him out to give refresher courses to the fleet during the first quarter.

The man turned at the ladies’ entrance, and Danica and Cipriana actually gasped. The pilot looked to be in his mid-thirties with velvet brown eyes, black hair and a spade beard and mustache.

Cipriana leaned in to Mercedes. “He looks like he should be riding an Arabian stallion across the Sahara on old Earth,” she whispered.

“I am Captain Baron Tarek El-Ghazzawy. Now if you’ll follow me into the shuttle bay we’ll get started.”

The two bulky shuttles had been moved. Instead the cavernous space held seven
Infierno
fighters. In a corner was another multi-crew fighter, the Talon. It looked far more like a craft of war—needle-nosed, sleek swept-back wings. Parked it looked like it was going a thousand miles an hour. In contrast the
Infiernos
were small saucers about twenty feet across with the cockpit dead center. The domes were open on all of them.

El-Ghazzawy led them to the nearest fighter. Some of the boys looked longingly back at the Talon. El-Ghazzawy didn’t miss it. “Yes, it looks cooler and it had its uses to deliver strike teams, but we can use shuttles to deliver troops and cover them with this darling.” He rested a hand on the curving side of an
Infierno
with the same pride and affection a man would show his favorite dog or horse. “The Talon can’t match the punch of one of these. We still have a few Talons operational, but they are being phased out and sold as surplus.

“Note the weapon ports that line the rim of the
Infierno
. It carries a combination of missiles and slug weapons.”

Off to her left Mercedes heard several of the men having a whispered conversation.

“I took out seventeen Cara’ot fighters in one go,” Davin said.

“Still not enough for the Ace achievement,” Kunst replied, his tone scornful. “You need twenty for that. I got it.”

El-Ghazzawy must have had very good hearing in addition to being telepathic because he turned toward the clump of boys, smiled and said, “Hanging out in your living room in a SimBubble is way different than when you’re pulling gees, trying to read all your screens, and sometimes just using your eyes… you get mentally overloaded. And add to that that somebody is actually trying to shoot your ass out of space and you can’t just reload the game if you die. But out of curiosity—how many of you have played
Star Fighter
?”

All the men raised their hands, even Yves. Mercedes was a bit disappointed to see Tracy among them, but then thought,
Well boys will be boys.
Sumiko started to raise her hand, then pulled it down. El-Ghazzawy caught the movement.

“Cadet Lady, is that an I-sort-of-played gesture?”

“I snuck in and used my brother’s SimDeck. I wasn’t supposed to, and I only did it once so I’m not sure that counts.”

“Probably not,” Sanjay said with a laugh. “You probably barely figured out the controls.”

“True that,” Sumiko said.

“Well, this will be an interesting experiment then,” El-Ghazzawy said. “Will familiarity with the game be a help? I think this is shaping up to be an interesting experiment and possibly a battle of the sexes.”

“No contest,” came a voice from back in the crowd. Mercedes wasn’t sure who’d said it.

“Don’t be so certain.” It was Ernesto. “Studies by the US Air Force back on old Earth indicated that women can pull more gee forces than men and have quicker reflexes.”

“Then it sounds like we should have been using them before now,” Yves said.

“Up until now they’ve had a different role,” was El-Ghazzawy’s noncommittal reply. Mercedes couldn’t get a read from his bland delivery how he really felt about it. “Okay, sort out into seven groups, and let’s look at some actual cockpits.”

“And what then?” Boho asked.

“On to the simulators.” El-Ghazzawy reacted to the men’s disappointed expression. “No, you don’t get to hop in a twenty-two-million-Real fighter without some practice, and no, your gaming experience doesn’t count.”

Mercedes was startled when Sumiko didn’t stick with them. She went off to a group that included Hugo, Davin and Arturo. Tracy walked over to where she, Cipriana and Danica stood. A few moments later Ernesto, Mark and Yves joined them. There was a moment where Mercedes felt like she had drawn the dregs, and how could that be because she was the Infanta? She should have the best people around her. She studied the faces around her, forced a smile and thought,
Well maybe I do
. She certainly had three of the smartest people in the class.

They moved to an
Infierno
. Its surface was polished mirror bright and it threw back their reflections oddly proportioned in the curved vehicle. The boys clambered up the arched side without any hesitation and headed toward the dome. Mercedes and her ladies exchanged glances. Mercedes shrugged and followed them up. There were two large metal loops set near the edges of the stationary central section of the
Infierno
.

“What are these for?” she asked, pointing at a loop.

“Cranes hook on there and lift the craft for reloading armaments. The missiles and slugs are in the belly of the craft and fed into the outer belt,” Tracy said.

Mercedes stared down into the tiny cockpit. The walls beneath the clear dome were matte black and she saw the tiny pinpoints for holo projection. Directly in the center was a gimbaled acceleration couch. It looked more like an entertainment center than a craft of war.

“There’s no way to steer it,” Danica said.

“You do it with shifts in the body; the cockpit couch can sense them and it’s very sensitive. You don’t need large movements,” came El-Ghazzawy’s voice from behind them.

Ernesto spoke up. “And eye movement as well. Right?”

El-Ghazzawy nodded, leaned down into the cockpit and lifted up a cable. “You jack into your helmet so it also becomes a sensing device.” He took a helmet from Cipriana and demonstrated. She widened her eyes at him, her eyelashes fluttering like a frantic butterfly. He pretended not to notice. Or maybe he really didn’t notice.

Cipriana pushed. “Is it that way in the game?” she asked.

El-Ghazzawy didn’t answer. Mark did. “No, you have a controller for the game as well as your SimHelmet.” Cipriana glared and Mark looked confused. Mercedes hid a smile.

El-Ghazzawy lectured them about the weaponry, how the rotation of the outer rim allowed each gun to have a cool-down period before it was brought to bear again, the maglevs that kept the spinning outer rim attached to the stationary inner structure of the craft. How each
Infierno
carried seven hundred of the small, highly explosive missiles that had their own small rocket engines that ignited after they were thrown free of the fighter. They were very powerful, but best at close range. There were also several ports that just threw chunks of depleted uranium and iron. Those were only propelled by the speed of the
Infierno
and the spin of its outer belt.

“So they’re a pray and spray sort of weapon,” Tracy said.

“Exactly,” El-Ghazzawy said with a smile.

“It’s a little alarming to me how much of our success in battle seems to depend on that,” was Tracy’s dry response.

“Oh, on the big capital ships there’s a lot more tactics involved. It’s when the fight gets up close and personal that reflexes… and prayer come into play.”

“Getting in close could be tough with such a reflective craft,” Ernesto said.

“Speed and maneuvers will be your friends.”

“Why not make the fighters dark? Sneak up on them?” Yves asked.

“First there’s no sneaking—”

“But SEGU has dark ops ships,” Ernesto objected.

“Weelll.” El-Ghazzawy drew out the word. “That’s more propaganda from our brethren in the intelligence service than fact. Despite what you see on the stream or in your games we don’t have cloaking devices and using non-reflective materials does nothing more than add to the cost and make defense contractors happy. Space is cold. Really, really cold, as in minus 270.45 Celsius, minus 454.81 Fahrenheit cold. Passive sensors will find you. Even if you shut down the engines you still have to keep the humans inside alive so there’s heat being generated, not to mention the people. Bodies are like little flares.”

“What about putting the crew in cold sleep?” Yves Petek asked.

“Takes equipment to power the cold sleep capsules,” Tracy said.