The High Ground (27 page)

El-Ghazzawy nodded. “Now I suppose you could turn off every device on the ship, turn the crew into frozen, very dead and not very tasty FroPops, but having a multi-million inert chunk of metal floating through space doesn’t make a lot of sense, and you can still be spotted if our enemies paint an area with lidar, radar or particle detectors. The downside to that is that the ship using those sensing devices is also giving away their position. Bottom line—we’re always very aware of each other. Your only real hope is to be overlooked among all the junk that’s floating in orbit around most advanced worlds because you’re sure as shit going to get noticed when you arrive.”

Danica raised her hand. “Why please?”

El-Ghazzawy smiled at her. Cipriana looked pissed and Mercedes gave a mental sigh. “Because you can’t come out of Fold in orbit around a planet. Which means there’s time to get spotted and tracked. So you run like hell for the target world and dive in among their orbital infrastructure. Hope the clutter confuses their sensors.”

“And hope they aren’t willing to shoot down everything in orbit to find the needle in the space junk haystack,” Tracy said.

“That too,” El-Ghazzawy said.

“That still doesn’t explain why these are polished mirror bright,” Cipriana complained.

“There was concern that the aliens might develop an effective weaponized laser. If the bastards did we wanted to send the beams right back in their faces.”

“There are lasers in the game,” Yves said and Mercedes thought he sounded disappointed.

El-Ghazzawy smiled. “Because they look good in a SimBubble. We’ve just never gotten them to the point where they were practical. It takes too much energy to power them up to a level where they can pack a punch.”

He opened a panel on the outer skin of the
Infierno
and pulled out a chunk of depleted uranium. He grunted a bit with effort, and even through his coat Mercedes could see the muscles in his arms bunch. Cipriana sighed.

He heaved the piece of metal at Tracy who caught it and also grunted with the effort of holding it. “A million years of human evolution and we’re back to throwing rocks at each other,” Tracy said sourly.

“Sometimes the simplest tool is the best tool,” El-Ghazzawy said.

Tracy passed it on to Wilson. “Huh, yeah, that would tear the shit out of something,” Wilson said.

“The other great thing about the
Infierno
is it can skip across atmosphere to produce a slingshot effect, plunge into atmosphere without a lot of braking required, and it skips on water too. We took out the Hajin navy with a more primitive version of these. Why don’t you all climb down and get a feel while I check on the other groups. Then we’ll go to the simulators.”

Out of deference to her rank Mercedes went first. The couch swung beneath her, then folded firmly around her armored body. Tracy laid down on the top of the
Infierno
and jacked her helmet into the controls. She found that by shifting her eyes the couch swung side to side, and when she looked straight down it even spun to have her facing down. She laughed delightedly. Unlike almost everything else at The High Ground maybe this was going to be fun.

* * *

Less fun. Discovering that The High Ground posted the simulator scores for the class. Not because she had done so badly. Because Mercedes had the top score. And not by a little—by a lot. The next closest scores were Boho and Jasper. Clark Kunst had the fourth highest. Then there was a large clump of people in the mid-range including Tracy. Sumiko was in that grouping. The lowest third held Cipriana, Yves and surprisingly Arturo. Dead last was Danica with a score so low that it had Mercedes saying in a hissing whisper, “Did you just go to sleep through the exercise?”

“It made me nauseous. And it’s stupid anyway. We’re never going to fly in those.”

“And you know this how?” Mercedes demanded as they hurried toward their quarters for a quick shower before their regular classes. Despite the temperature controls in the armor Mercedes’ body was drenched with sweat. She would be peeling off the skintight one-piece jumpsuit that was worn beneath the armor.

“Because this is all a big sham. Nobody wants us here. They’re doing it because your father has the power to force us down their throats, but even if they let us graduate they’ll put us in groundside offices or at worst on some safe ship where the press can pretend you’re a war leader. The rest of us will just quietly retire after our enlistment is over and pray it’s not too late for us to find husbands, have a normal life.”

The door to their shared quarters slid shut. “First, how do you know there won’t be another war?” Rage made Mercedes yell. She realized some of her anger was fueled, perversely, by her extraordinarily high score. She was filled with anxiety that she would pay for it somehow and was taking it out on Danica. The knowledge didn’t help her calm down and she raged on.

“As Captain Lord Xian says, ‘Space is big.’ We’re pushing into new sectors. We may come up against new alien races and have to deal with them. Why wouldn’t you want to help?”

“I can help by producing cannon fodder for these assholes,” Danica shouted back. “And while they might take my sons I damn well don’t want them taking my daughters too.”

“Wars can come to you,” Sumiko said. “Wouldn’t you like to know how to protect those daughters—”

Danica burst into tears. Mercedes’ anger evaporated and she hugged the small girl. “Dani, I’m sorry. What’s wrong?”

“I’m so homesick,” she cried. “Being home only made it worse. Having to come back up here. And I only got to see Ryan
once
and I’m sure his parents are going to find him a bride before I graduate, and… and… and…” Wracking sobs left her unable to speak.

Cipriana and Sumiko joined in the group hug. Mercedes wished she could offer soothing platitudes, but she knew Danica was probably right. Lord Ryan Casters was in his early thirties, his military service long over and past time to be married and starting a family. Mercedes wondered what a man of his age would find appealing in an eighteen-year-old girl, but maybe he was one of those men who like to baby women, or a less charitable explanation was that he wanted someone young and malleable.

Mercedes led Danica over to her bed, and pulled her down to sit next to her. “I understand this is a sacrifice and a hardship, but please, please don’t abandon me. I need you. And I’m sure Ryan will wait for you,” Mercedes lied. “What a coup to have married one of the first woman graduates from The High Ground. No other debutante can make
that
claim.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Cipriana said. “We might have men lining up.”

Danica brightened a bit. “You really need me, Mer? I’m such a bad student and not very good at all the soldier stuff.”

“Yes. I need you. We all do. We’re a team.” The platitudes fell from her lips. Dross spun into words, but it seemed to do the trick. Danica wiped her eyes, and stood.

“We better hurry,” Danica said. “Or we’ll be late for class.”

Sumiko sidled up to Mercedes and under cover of the pounding water in the showers said quietly, “So how did you rack up that score?”

Mercedes closed her eyes and recalled the exhilaration, the sense of wild abandon she’d felt in that simulator. “I’m not sure. I thought of it as a living thing, a partner with me. Like my horses, where I can think and they do.”

“Minute muscle movement generated by your thoughts,” Sumiko mused. “That makes sense. I was trying to analyze which muscles to use. Thanks for the tip. I’ll bet the boys are really pissed though.”

* * *

At lunch Tracy gobbled curry and rice, and listened to the rants, complaints and conspiracy theories fly around the neighboring tables. There were even a few grumbles from his table, which he had mentally dubbed the Low-Born Scum Table.

“Had to have been rigged.”

“It’s clear she’s just being carried.”

“Skews the scores.”

“Probably promised El-Ghazzawy a better title.”

“Makes the rest of us look like fools.”

Tracy pushed away his bowl, stood and walked past the table that had uttered the last remark. “No, you’re all doing that just fine on your own,” he said. He pitched his voice loud enough to be heard by most of the other tables. “And accusations like that could be considered disloyal at best. Treasonous at worst.”

Sanjay, who had been most adamant in his complaints, jumped to his feet. “Are you questioning my honor,
intitulado
?”

“No, your—”

Hugo snagged Tracy under the arm. “You heard him, he said no,” Hugo called back over his shoulder to Sanjay as he dragged Tracy away. “You looking to fight another duel,
hombre
?” Hugo whispered. “Jesus, you’re like a fucking mongoose, squaring up against anything and everything no matter how big.”

“She beat us, Hugo. Beat all of us.” The big man remained silent, and screwed up his mouth as if tasting and rejecting words. “Oh, not you too? Look!” Tracy spun Hugo around and pointed at the high table. “Look at them.” The professors were gathered around Zeng, heads close, talking while frowns furrowed their brows. “They’re fucking flabbergasted. They have no idea what to do with this.”

“Then let them worry about it. You keep your head down and your mouth shut. Unless you want to end up with as many scars as Jasper,” Hugo warned.

* * *

“So how did you do it?” Arturo demanded of Mercedes. “Let me in on the secret. My old man is always going on and on about how awesome he was as an
Infierno
jock. If he sees this score… well, I’ve got to get it up.”

Mercedes kept her head down over her bowl and tried to blot them all out. She started eating faster, desperate to get away.

“Come on, Mercedes, we’re cousins.” Arturo was wheedling now.

“I didn’t do anything… other than feel it. It just seemed obvious.”

Arturo’s usually pleasant expression twisted, and he didn’t seem so handsome any longer. “Fine, have it your way,
coño
! Mihalis was right. You are out to destroy us.”

It was a horrible and vile word—
coño, chatte, Fotze… cunt
. Shocked at the vulgarity Mercedes choked on a mouthful of curry and had it dribbling over her chin. Boho’s six-foot-four body uncoiled, and his arm shot out across the table knocking over one of the floral arrangements. Water went cascading across the wood. Chairs scraped and people yelled as they escaped the flood. Boho’s hand closed around Arturo’s throat, and he thrust his face into Arturo’s.

“She didn’t do anything. Don’t you think if there was a way to game this thing I would have found it?”

Did you try?
Mercedes thought.

“It can’t be done.”

You did try.

“She beat us,” Boho continued. Arturo’s face was turning red and small choking sounds emerged from between his writhing lips. “You may be my friend, but you are also a fucking idiot being led around by the nose by your brother. He’s going to end up in trouble. I thought you were too smart to follow him there.”

All of this was delivered in an intense whisper. Mercedes could only be grateful that Mihalis wasn’t presiding at their table. The third-years were on a brief rotation out with the fleet. The junior prefect was a second-year student who laid a hand on Boho’s forearm.

“Let up, before they,” he jerked his head toward the high table behind him, “have to intervene.”

Boho released Arturo. Arturo fell back in his chair, massaging his throat. Boho’s fingers had left purple marks on his skin.

“You bastard,” Arturo whispered hoarsely.

“You want satisfaction? I’ve got room on my dance card,” Boho said.

“I’m not going to fight you. I’m not that stupid.”

“Then don’t be stupid about this,” Boho said more gently.

He stood and offered his arm to Mercedes. “May I escort you to class, Highness?”

“Please.” She hesitated then added, “Thank you for defending me.”

“It was my duty. As well as my pleasure.” As they reached the doors he added, “But I’m going to beat you next time.” His green eyes were twinkling.

“You can try,” she replied sweetly.

Boho threw back his head and laughed, then laid a hand over hers where it rested on his arm, and gave it a squeeze. There was a flutter in her chest as if butterflies had been released in her lungs. Mercedes allowed his hand to stay there as they made their way to class.

By the Friday session Tracy had felt like Jasper Talion was up to full dueling speed and that he was holding his own pretty well. Granted it was just defense, but he had felt good.

Now that he was in the actual duel Tracy knew that the student from Nephilim had been going easy on him. Worse, he knew that he didn’t have a chance. Cullen’s blade wove a dance of steel and terror before his uncomprehending eyes. Tracy was gasping and his heart seemed to be hammering somewhere in his throat. He longed to glance at the clock inset in the wall, but fought down the urge. He had to keep watching that blade, Cullen’s cold green eyes, and the superior smile. Tracy longed to cut it away and hated that he couldn’t.

The seconds stood with their backs against opposite walls watching. At the far end of the studio one of the school medics waited, bag at his feet. Occasionally Hugo would let out a groan as a flurry of blows sent Tracy stumbling back. In the gallery set above the fencing studio were other watchers. Tracy heard faint laughter, the rattle of cellophane as someone opened a bag of crisps.

Then the world narrowed to just the breath searing his throat, his aching thighs and bicep, the clang of steel on steel, the resulting vibration as the blow shivered through the muscles in his arm. He wanted to scream at Cullen to
just make an end to it
. He saw Cullen frowning with concentration as his gaze flicked across Tracy’s face, clearly picking the target. The blade lanced out. Despite the decision he’d made to just take his medicine and allow the blow to connect, that animal urge for self-preservation kicked in.

Tracy found himself leaping backwards and with an awkward sweep dropped his blade on top of Cullen’s, disrupting his aim. Tracy’s feet tangled and he staggered forward directly onto the point of the saber. Cullen turned it at the last moment so it slid along his ribs, a ribbon of agony. Tracy cried out in pain. Warm blood coursed down his side.