In Evil Times

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “By killing children. Very heroic. Issue the order.”

  “All right.”

  “Now. I want to hear it given.”

  Epps shot her a brief hate-filled glance then brought up another screen, which showed an armored figure. “Major, new orders from the capital. They’re ordering us to stand down. Return to the residence.”

  “By whose authority, Governor?” the soldier asked. His tone was dismissive.

  “Mine! Captain Princess Mercedes Adalina Saturnina Inez de Arango, the Infanta. Will that do?”

  The man came to attention and snapped off a salute. “Highness! At once.”

  The second screen vanished. “Epps, we expect you to make all haste.”

  “I’ll have to make arrangements.”

  A wild notion intruded. “I’ll instruct the Preble to bring you to Ouranos.” She gestured and the communications officer broke the connection. “Get me the captain of the Preble.” She issued her order. One last call remained. She debated whether to make it on official channels or use her ring. She decided to put it beyond the reach of a Freedom of Information request. She left the communications center and returned to her old quarters. The rings lacked the power and range to give her a visual, but she could at least hear his voice.

  Tracy answered immediately. “Well?”

  “They’re standing down.”

  “Oh thank God.” His voice was hoarse with fatigue.

  “I’ve instructed Epps to return to Hissilek aboard the Preble. You’ll get to see your father,” she concluded awkwardly.

  “Any chance—”

  “That probably wouldn’t be wise. This is going to have to be handled… delicately.”

  “Yeah, because God forbid the murder of children discomforts anyone.”

  That stung. “You’re tired. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  After a long moment his voice came back. “I’m sorry. You help me and I act like an asshole.”

  “Take care, Tracy.”

  “Back at you.”

  And he was gone.

  24

  HEROES AND POLITICS

  The troops that had been gathering around the warehouse abruptly withdrew. Traffic began moving in the streets outside. Guth called to a local hospital and rode with his patients in the ambulance. Tracy, Mogdahtar and Brinkerhoff stood together studying the children.

  “What do we do with all of them?” Mogdahtar asked.

  “No idea,” Tracy said. He beckoned to the two adult humans he’d spoken to earlier. “Do these kids have parents? Homes they can go back to?”

  “We had group homes since we all volunteered to have our DNA blended with Cara’ot volunteers,” the bearded man explained.

  “We thought of the children as belonging to all of us,” the woman added.

  “Can you go back there? Presumably you have food, beds, clothing for the kids.”

  “I don’t know. There are probably bodies there,” the woman said.

  “We had a warning from another crèche that the governor’s troops had broken in and were killing the children. The Cara’ot at our location held the doors while we gathered up the kids and got out the back,” another man explained. “I think it’s safe to assume they’ve been killed.” The couple exchanged a glance. “We wouldn’t want the children to see that and be traumatized.”

  Like they haven’t already been traumatized by the gunfight, the dead Cara’ot and the bleeding guys here? Tracy managed not to say it.

  “This was supposed to be a safe rendezvous point,” the older man continued. “But someone must have given away the location.”

  The sunlight streaming through the hole in the wall was briefly blocked. Tracy swung his rifle to his shoulder and whirled round. Coming through the door were three enormously tall and broad figures. They were cloaked and hoods concealed their features.

  “Hold it right there!” Tracy yelled.

  They ignored him and continued to glide deeper into the building. The man gave a cry of joy and ran toward one of them. A long arm and a hand that ended in twelve tentacles came out from beneath the cloak and held him off. “Saa’bet, what’s wrong?”

  He too was ignored and Tracy realized the aliens were ignoring the children, the humans and the three soldiers and moving toward the body of the dead Cara’ot where it lay sprawled among fallen crates.

  Tracy followed them. “Look, I’m sorry. We didn’t understand the situation. We thought we were facing armed rebels.” No response. Another of the figures produced a shimmering cloth that seemed woven from an aurora and reverently wrapped the body. They then carried it away, two on each side, the third supporting the head. They vanished back out the opening in the wall.

  “They don’t want anything to do with us now,” the woman said, her tone mournful. “We’ve proved we’re monsters.”

  * * *

  Mercedes hurried back to the conference room, eager to see how her father would handle the Cara’ot ambassador. The advantage to being home and not posted to a ship was she could take a masterclass in governance and politics from the best purveyor in the League.

  The conversation was well underway when she slipped into the room, the security screens causing her teeth to buzz as she passed through them. There were two aliens facing her father. One was amazingly tall and thin, with skeletal head and face. No hair adorned the bald head but rather seven floating fronds like the tendrils on a Tiponi Flute waved like seaweed in a tidal pool. The other Cara’ot was tiny, sitting in the crook of the tall one’s arm. It reminded Mercedes of an Isanjo but with disturbing differences, in that the limbs had multiple joints as if a Sidone spider had been added into the genetic mix. Neither of them had taken a chair. They stood, quivering with rage, in front of her father. Violence hung in the air. Mercedes tensed, prepared to leap to her father’s defense.

  Fortunately her entrance broke the tension. The sense of threat diminished, but not the rage. The Cara’ot ambassadors regarded her. That’s when she realized there were tiny eyes set in the palms of the Isanjo-like creature’s hands. She couldn’t control the shudder. They turned their attention back to her father.

  “Why should we not call this an act of war?” the smaller alien piped.

  A cold knot settled in Mercedes’ belly. The war with the Cara’ot had killed hundreds of thousands on both sides. How much worse would a new war be? Tracy and Boho were on active duty. Serving on ships that would be swept up in that bloody wave.

  “Because it was a tragic misunderstanding. May I present to you my daughter, Mercedes Arango. Mercedes, these are Juniae.” He indicated the tiny Cara’ot. “And Puukal.” Mercedes exchanged a formal nod with the aliens. Her father continued. “You can’t hold the entire League responsible for the actions of one frightened man,” he said.

  “A man cannot become such a monster unless he swims in an atmosphere of hate and fear and violence,” the tall Cara’ot said.

  “Do all League humans hate us so?” Juniae added.

  “No, of course not. This man is not representative of all humans.”

  “Then you are saying he is mentally ill and will of course be removed from office,” Puukal said.

  Her father coughed. Mercedes moved to a credenza where snacks and drinks had been arranged. She poured him a glass of water and carried it to the table.

  “He will be dealt with, but carefully. For the sake of both our species I think this needs to be kept quiet. My people would be alarmed if they found out about these… offspring.”

  Mercedes winced. Never before had she seen her father be so inartful. The small alien pounced, and given his physical stance Mercedes was surprised it wasn’t a literal pounce.

  “So you admit that your kind fear and despise us. These are lovely, appealing children.” Juniae’s voice was a mournful bell.

  “We have communicated with our people on Dragonfly. Three thousand children were born. Nearly two thousand were killed,” Puukal said.

  Her father gaped.
Exhaustion pulled at his jowls. Mercedes stepped in. “It’s difficult to remove such deep-seated prejudices and it wasn’t all that long ago our species were at war. For the sake of your people and for these children, my father is right. It’s best if this is kept from the general public. I can promise you that Governor Epps will not prosper.” The Emperor nodded in agreement.

  “So will you take custody of the… children?” her father asked.

  “They were born by their human mothers with admixtures of DNA from human fathers. To break such a bond of birth seems cruel,” Puukal said.

  The Emperor opened his mouth, then closed it. He exchanged a long glance with Mercedes. “We’ll save that for later discussions,” Mercedes said. “For now I think it best if both sides focus on how to keep these events from becoming broadly known among our respective peoples.”

  “What of the men who pulled the triggers and killed those children?” Juniae asked.

  “They will no longer have such comfortable postings guarding governors’ mansions and embassies,” the Emperor said. His silvering brows drew together in a tight frown. Mercedes had a sudden vision of the galactic map and the enigmatic and ever useful Sector 470—the place where inconvenient people were sent to disappear.

  “Very well, we will speak to the individuals who were part of the parentage unit,” Puukal said.

  He gathered Juniae back into the crook of his arm and turned to leave, then paused. “We have heard there was a young soldier who defended one group of children. We would like to commend this individual.”

  “That would be Captain-Lieutenant Belmanor,” Mercedes said, feeling a certain proprietary pride. “He’ll be on his way back to Ouranos shortly.”

  “Excellent. Please inform us when he arrives.”

  They left. Mercedes sank down into a chair, realizing that her muscles ached from the tension she’d been holding in her body. “Well, I think that went as well as it could.”

  Her father gave a snort. “As in it wasn’t a total disaster. This Belmanor. He needs to understand the play. Keep him away from the Cara’ot and make it clear he has to keep his mouth shut.”

  “I’ll see to it. So… Epps.”

  “Nothing is going to happen to Epps. After a discussion that will put the fear of God into him he’ll return to Dragonfly and resume his duties.”

  “But I indicated—”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m not going to make an enemy of the darling of the conservatives just to placate a group of BEMs who broke the law. They’re lucky we’re letting these abominations live, and not putting to death every human and Cara’ot who took part in this.” Her father grunted as he pushed back from the table and stood.

  Mercedes watched him leave and tried to picture the upcoming talk with Tracy. The intitulado had a rigid sense of right and wrong and what was fair. It was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

  * * *

  As Tracy debarked from the shuttle with the fulminating former governor of Dragonfly in tow the fusileros waiting on the flight deck muttered among themselves and cast both dark and puzzled glances his way. Tracy was glad he had Mogdahtar and Brinkerhoff with him. He glanced up and saw Donnel clinging to the roof of the bay. The alien was glaring at Epps. Tracy frowned at the batBEM and jerked his head toward the door. The alien skittered away across the ceiling and vanished into a corridor.

  The trio escorted Epps to the bridge and turned him over to Captain Carson. Brinkerhoff and Mogdahtar rushed to get out of navy territory. Tracy saluted and also prepared to leave when Carson grabbed his arm and hissed, “You seem to have friends in high places, Lieutenant.” There was no good answer to be made so Tracy kept silent. “And you brought so much attention to me and my ship.”

  “Happy to oblige.”

  Carson leaned in so close that his spittle hit Tracy’s ear. “You arrogant, self-righteous prick! I won’t forget this, intitulado.” He released Tracy’s arm with a violent shove. “Get off my bridge. You’re relieved of duty until we reach Ouranos.”

  Tracy saluted, bowed and left. He stopped on the Weapons deck and stripped out of the battle armor. His body was slick with sweat and even to himself he reeked. Around him other fusileros were also stripping out of their armor and heading for the showers. He had hoped to grab a shower too, but given the glares from the hombres and remembering how he had gotten attacked in the showers back at the High Ground in his first year, Tracy decided to dress and let Donnel launder the uniform.

  “I’m filthy,” Tracy said as he entered his closet-sized cabin. “I’ll be going to the officers’ lav.”

  “Very good, sir,” Donnel said as he unbuttoned Tracy’s coat and eased it off his shoulders. The small button nose wrinkled as the stink hit him. “Not sure we shouldn’t just burn this uniform.”

  “Yeah, fuck you too.” Tracy then whirled and grabbed the alien by the neck. It wasn’t easy because Donnel’s overly round head rested almost directly on his shoulders. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew what was down there and you didn’t warn me. You let me go in blind, you bastard!”

  “I didn’t know the particulars,” Donnel whined. “I was told there was some dangerous shit going down and I was instructed not to say anything. I may be a black sheep to my people, but there are some lines I won’t cross. Not even for you.”

  Tracy released the alien and sank down onto his bunk. “They were killing kids down there.”

  Donnel knelt at his feet, unlaced and eased off his boots. “But you didn’t. You saved them. You were a—”

  “No! Don’t make me out to be some kind of a hero. I shot a fellow soldier, I disobeyed orders.”

  “You were a hero to those children,” Donnel said softly.

  Tracy covered his face with his hands and muttered, “Why couldn’t you people just obey the laws?”

  “Why couldn’t you people? It takes at least two to make a genetic soup.”

  Allowing his hands to fall into his lap Tracy gave a small laugh. “How many normally go into your soups?”

  “Oh lots.” Donnel stood and indicated Tracy should do the same. He helped Tracy out of his shirt and trousers, then handed him a bathrobe. “Seriously, sir. It’s an honor to serve you,” he said.

  25

  SUCH AN EASY THING TO GIVE

  It still felt strange to come home to his father’s flat. Alexander no longer lived over his shop. Instead the flat was a few blocks away from the new shop in the MidVale neighborhood. It had functioning air conditioning, three more rooms than their old digs, and even a security door into the lobby. Tracy had teased Alexander that a few more years of good sales and he’d be moving into a building with an actual doorman. His father’s cheeks had reddened but Tracy knew he had been pleased. Tracy hoped the shop’s success helped ameliorate his dad’s disappointment over his son’s slow advancement. They were in the elevator when Tracy’s ring tapped his finger. He checked the ID of the caller.

  “Dad, I need to take this, privately.”

  “Of course. Duty calling?”

  “Something like that,” Tracy muttered as he punched the next floor up so the elevator would stop. He stepped out, waited for the doors to close and answered. Mercedes’ image appeared. “Wait until I get someplace more private.” He reduced the image and went into the stairwell. Brought her back up. “Okay, all good now.”

  “I need to see you. We have to discuss…” she hesitated and he broke in.

  “Dragonfly?”

  “Yes.”

  “You look worried. Is there some problem?”

  “No, but we need to make sure it doesn’t become one. Please come to Conde de Vargas’s office at the Exchequer. One hour.”

  Her tone made it clear this was the heir to the Solar League speaking to a loyal officer. He altered his tone to one of clipped efficiency and said, “Ma’am.” He gave a salute. Mercedes broke the connection. Tracy took the stairs the rest of the way up to the apartment.

  “Donnel!” he bellowed as he came through the door. �
�I need my dress blues.”

  The alien emerged from the kitchen with an onion in one hand and a knife in the other. “You want dinner or you want help?”

  “Both,” Tracy said. Donnel gave a long-suffering and exasperated sigh. Tracy headed on to the bedroom that was filled with his childhood memorabilia and in which he’d only spent a scant few days. He didn’t have the heart to tell Alexander that he really didn’t need those posters of the actress Riena Valdez that had served as the inspiration for a number of teenage fantasies.

  He was pulling off his boots when the batBEM entered. Excitement gleamed in the alien’s four eyes and the round face was flushed. “The palace or the admiralty? Will it be another Distinguido Servicio Cruzar? That would stuff it up the bastards’ noses if you won another one of those.”

  “Calm down. It’s not official.”

  “Then why am I fucking in here? And why the dress uniform?”

  “The Infanta wants to see me.”

  “Oh.”

  “But privately.” The Cara’ot’s frown brought Tracy up short. “What?”

  “Call me paranoid but meetings between the heir to the throne and a guy who should be getting hailed as a fucking big hero doesn’t bode well to me.”

  “Yeah, you’re paranoid. Come on, I’m running out of time.” Tracy ran a hand across his chin. “I should probably shave again.”

  “Anticipating a kiss?” the alien asked.

  Tracy thrust a finger at the closet. “Hop to it.”

  * * *

  The expression would have been enough but now Tracy spoke and made his feelings abundantly clear.

  “You’re not serious? You’re not actually going to allow this asshat to continue to govern a planet. A planet previously controlled by the Cara’ot. A planet where this man ordered the murder of their children.”

  Mercedes glanced back at Rohan. He sat, fingers laced over his paunch, an expressionless Buddha. The Chancellor had offered his office for the meeting. It was away from the palace and journalists tended to avoid the Exchequer. By their lights, finance was dull. Mercedes looked back to Tracy. It had been years since they’d last met. She had been shocked to see that he still wore only a lieutenant’s insignia. Well, that would be seen to once this current crisis was resolved. She noted the fine lines forming around those incredible eyes, the gouges at the sides of his mouth, the wrinkle between his brows. She had a feeling he frowned more than he smiled and that made her sad. He was certainly frowning now.