The High Ground (31 page)

“So what have you got for us?” Donnel asked.

“Come. We’ve set out an array of products for your human, appropriate to his financial status.”

“Broke?” Tracy snapped.

“We will work with you. You are Donnel’s.”

Feeling like he’d been relegated to the status of “pet” Tracy followed the creature as it undulated across the floor. There were resin steel crates on all sides with pathways through the stacks. Tracy glanced down all of them. Most were empty, but in a few other equally strange-looking creatures were working. One was carefully removing glittering gems from a lined case and inspecting them with its grotesquely large and distended eyes. They weren’t normal gems found on almost any planet, but rather phantasm gems that had been grown in the gizzard of a female flying lizard that could only survive on a particularly poisonous world in the Sidone system. Down another row a stork-like Cara’ot was busy framing an exquisite oil painting of a serene pool, the water showing a multiplicity of shades of blue and a profusion of red and yellow flowers on the banks of the pond.

Donnel clattered past Tracy and held a quiet conversation with their guide in a lilting language unlike any he’d ever heard.

“Is that Cara’ot?” he asked.

There was again the glockenspiel laugh. “Cara’ot are the people.” The “silly” was unspoken, but Tracy knew it was there.

“The language is Caratolian,” Donnel explained.

“I’ve never heard it before.”

“Because we don’t speak it outside our communities, or allow it to be learned by outsiders,” the Cara’ot trader explained. “As traders it’s required that we know all the known languages, but now we primarily use English and Spanish. Almost all of the races do. You humans have a singular ability to… dominate any conversation, shall we say.”

“But you used Caratolian just now,” Tracy objected. “And I’m an outsider.” His eyes narrowed. “You very deliberately want me to know that you’re keeping something from me.”

Donnel cocked all four eyes at his companion. “Told you,” he said simply.

Again Tracy had that feeling that unseen currents were flowing around him, and that he was caught in the undertow.

They reached a table covered with a black velvet cloth. Arrayed on it were various graceful jars, razors, and a knife with a slim handle that glimmered like grey pearl. It rested in a silvery sheath. There were medallions that Tracy recognized as decorative zipper pulls, and a few single earring studs that looked like banded onyx in shades of red and grey.

The centiferret swarmed up a leg of the table and began to pick up items using eight of its front hands. “A depilatory that removes the necessity for shaving. Shaving cream that causes the skin to tighten so you get a closer shave if you prefer the old-fashioned method. This razor’s handle—” the creature pressed it into Tracy’s hand and he felt it begin to morph until it conformed to the shape of his hand “—designed to perfectly fit your grip, and the blade will adjust to the shape of the face.” The Cara’ot picked up the sheathed knife. “Boot knife. Same theory as the razor. It and the sheath adjust to paper thinness for greater comfort. It expands.” The creature drew out the blade and it shifted into a silver glitter.

Tracy tested the edge with the pad of his thumb at the same time Donnel shouted, “Don’t!”

Tracy gave a shout of pain as the blade sliced into his skin. He sucked at the welling blood. “Shit, that’s sharp!”

“Yes, we use a similar material in our scalpels. But even sharper.”

“What’s the material?” Tracy asked.

“Ah, that’s proprietary information,” the centiferret said. Tracy thought it was smiling, but it was hard to tell given the shape of its mouth.

Donnel picked up one of the jars. Cool opalescent colors shifted in the light. “This cream is very effective at treating arthritis. I noticed your father’s hands, and thought this might ease him.”

Tracy took the jar. Opened the lid. The smell was sharp, medicinal, but also pleasant. “It works?”

“Guaranteed.”

“Okay. I’ll take these zipper pulls.” He picked up two shaped like an abstract rune. “The cream, this earring, the razor, and the boot knife.”

“Very good, sir.” The creature wore a ScoopRing on one of the middle legs. It curled into a ball, brought up a holo, figures flickered past, and a final amount settled and floated in front of Tracy. He eyed it, thought about his bank account, swallowed and nodded. It could have been a lot worse.

His purchases were individually wrapped and placed in a clamshell-shaped carryall of gold with a silver ribbon for a handle.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” the Cara’ot trader said.

“And you.”

Tracy and Donnel left the warehouse.

“I figure the earring is for Ernesto, what about the rest?”

“The two matching zipper pulls are for Hugo and Sumiko. I bought the razor for Jasper. Should help negotiate the scars.”

“The depilatory cream would have helped more.”

“Yeah, but he’d never use that. Wouldn’t show how tough he is.”

“I didn’t think you liked him. Why buy him something?”

“I don’t think he knows just how little I like him.” He looked down at the alien trundling along at his side. “And God knows I have enough enemies.”

“True. And the knife?” Donnel pressed when Tracy remained silent.

“For Mercedes. I figured that’s not too personal.”

“And it might help keep her enemies at least a few more inches away,” the alien said dryly.

* * *

“Well, Merry fucking Christmas.”

“Cipriana!”

Mercedes hadn’t meant to sound so old-maidish, but for the most part she and her ladies had managed to avoid using the more coarse language that was heard at the academy. They were back in their quarters at The High Ground two days before Christmas.

“Well, I guess this is what the military means when they ask for
volunteers
,” Sumiko said drolly, trying to lighten the mood. She then sighed and added, “I did so want to spend Christmas with Hugo and his family. It was going to be so warm and—”

“And crass,” Cipriana snapped.

“Cipriana!” Mercedes said again.

“Now you’ve done it,” Danica said to Cipriana. “You’ve taken her from shocked to angry.”

Cipriana rounded on the small girl who sat cross-legged on her bunk. “You’re taking this pretty damn placidly.”

Danica shrugged. “What else can we do? Mercedes decided that she would show how dedicated she could be, and we had no choice but to come along.”

Guilt seized her. “Look, I didn’t want to do this, but when the message came in my father and I talked it over, and…”

“And he thought it would be a good PR stunt,” Cipriana said.

If only I were a better liar
, Mercedes thought. Then she could claim this was all her idea, but she knew she would never be able to pull it off.
I need to work on that. I’m beginning to think lying is part of ruling.

Honestly she had no desire to be sitting in the nearly empty academy for the next week and a half while others got to attend balls and parties, tour the display of lights, go caroling, and hear midnight Mass at the cathedral. Mercedes had wanted to watch the twins and Carisa tear into their gifts, and watch the delight on the face of one of the younger girls when they found the coin baked into the plum pudding at Christmas dinner.

She had known when the message had arrived on her ScoopRing and five minutes later when she’d been summoned to her dad’s office what was about to come.

“It’s a good move for you. It will show your dedication to defend the League.”

“Against what? Oh, wait, my ladies, because they are going to kill me.”

But he was He Who Must Be Obeyed (and she had to accept it was a good public relations move) so Mercedes and her attendants had returned to the
cosmódromo
earlier that day.

Their batBEMS had brought up their gifts—boxes of them—and they were arrayed under a Christmas tree in the observation lounge.

“So anybody a Christmas Eve present opener?” Sumiko asked hopefully and received a chorus of emphatic noes.

“Is there anyone of the male persuasion to share our dismal holiday?” Cipriana griped.

“I think that scholarship student from Nueva Terra stayed,” Sumiko offered. “He couldn’t afford to go home, and nobody from Hissilek invited him.”

“Big whoop.” Cipriana threw herself down on her bunk and hugged her pillow.

Silence settled and Mercedes began to unpack and hang up her clothes. Tako slipped through the door and whispered to her, “Several young gentlemen have invited the ladies to join them for eggnog, cookies and carols in the observation lounge.”

“Which gentlemen?” Mercedes asked.

“Who cares!” Cipriana countered and bolted for the door.

The observation lounge was lit only by the fire of the stars beyond the wide windows and the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. The tree filled the room with the sharp scent of pine. There were six men ranged on the sofas—Tracy, Boho, Davin, Hugo, Ernesto and Mark. Mercedes checked in the doorway, amazed to see them. It didn’t escape her notice that Tracy and Boho were on different sofas and separated by the width of the room.

“What are you all doing here?” Mercedes asked.

“Our duty to the League,” Boho said gaily as he jumped up and ran over to her. He kissed her hand. “And the lady who will lead it.”

Hugo was at Sumiko’s side, his arm around her waist. “When we heard we knew we couldn’t leave you to face the holidays alone so we all volunteered. Besides, we’re no fools.” He gave a grunt as Sumiko dug an elbow into his side.

Cipriana ran a critical eye over Ernesto’s long, lean form, smiled and did that panther walk thing she did. She laid a hand on his arm, smiled up at him and purred, “Maybe you can tutor me in… biology.”

The scholarly Ernesto looked poleaxed. Mercedes turned away to hide her giggle, and found herself looking directly at Tracy. He and the other scholarship student, Mark, were holding back, showing proper deference to their well-born classmates. Tracy’s eyes met hers and there was an intensity to the stare, an urgent communication.

Holding out her hand she moved to them using what she thought of as her regal glide. In turn the scholarship students bowed over her outstretched hand.

“Thank you for your willingness to share our exile. We’ll find some way to make it jolly,” she said.

“Highness,” they murmured.

“Mr. Belmanor, might I have a moment of your time. I have a trig question.”

He bowed. Wilson stood like a clod, then it finally penetrated that she wanted him to step away. He gave a hurried bow and went off to join Hugo and Boho.

“He’s not very bright, is he?” she whispered to Tracy.

“Oh, he’s smart. Just not as well trained in how to behave around the Fortune Five Hundred.” The mobile brows twitched together in a sharp frown.

“Say it,” Mercedes ordered.

“He thinks rubbing elbows with all of you will literally rub off, and he’ll be accepted. I—” He broke off abruptly.

“Know better,” Mercedes finished quietly.

“I’ll remain prudently silent.” He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small package. It was elegantly wrapped in silver paper with a blue ribbon. “This is for you. Merry Christmas.”

A quick glance around to make certain they were unobserved and she slid the present into her pocket. “Oh, Tracy. Thank you. I didn’t get you anything.”

She felt stupid and cruel. She had thought about putting him on the Christmas list that she presented to the majordomo, but she was afraid it might cause comment. She assumed that her father as well as SEGU inspected the people on her list, and it would draw unwanted attention to Tracy if she included a scholarship student. It wasn’t as if she could do her own shopping. She didn’t even suggest a gift for most of the people. That was handled in the protocol office.

“Don’t worry. You taught me how to dance.”

“And it earned you a scar.” She wanted to touch the ridged mark at his temple, but controlled the impulse.

“Hey, it makes me look dashing.” He gave a shrug that meant to indicate it didn’t matter, but she knew better. She sensed the mark would torment him for the rest of his life.

“How are you two…” She cast a look at Boho, as always the center of a laughing group of people.

“He pretends I’m appropriately chastised.”

She laughed. “I think you will never bend that stiff neck.”

He gave her a rueful smile. “Yeah, I guess I don’t do that go-along-to-get-along thing very well, do I?”

“
No
, really? I’d never noticed.” She touched the package in her pocket and said softly, “Thank you. I’ll open it later.”

* * *

Back in his quarters Tracy was kicked back on his bunk, getting a jump on the reading for Crispin’s history class. He hated the class, but also found it easy unlike many of the others. His dad had been cool with his volunteering to return to the
cosmódromo
over the holiday. It gave him such a thrill to think of Tracy rubbing shoulders with FFH, and with the Infanta, no less.

His ScoopRing pricked his finger twice indicating an incoming text. He brought up the message. It floated in the air before his eyes.

I couldn’t wait to open. Had to be private. Explanations difficult. Luv it, but what???

Boot knife
, he typed back.

Who am I fighting?

Never know.

Tracy thought about what Donnel had said and added:
U might need it someday. U don’t have guards.

Surrounded by soldiers.

And your hens.

Snarky. Want to thx you in person. Can we meet?

Cameras.

Didn’t Donnel fix that once?

Point. Will check. Hang tight.

He pinged his batBEM. A few minutes later Donnel arrived. There was a napkin hanging down the front of his shirt.

“You were eating. Sorry,” Tracy said.

The alien shrugged and pulled the napkin out of his collar. “Snacking. What’s up?”

“I need you to do that thing with the cameras again. Mercedes wants to meet.”