The Hidden World

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “Still too proud. Whine, Belmanor. Grovel for me.”

  Twenty-six fucking years and nothing had changed. Cullen had said almost the exact same thing back in the tailor shop when they had both been eighteen. And this time there was no imperial cousin to intervene or father to punish his own son for impudence. Oliver knew what he should do. He also knew he couldn’t.

  “It’s our fault, your grace,” a new voice intruded. Graarack’s eight legs had dropped to approximate a human curtsy. Even with the sibilation the abjection was obvious as she bowed and scraped. “Captain Randall—” She broke off abruptly as she realized that she no longer knew if that was his name. “Our captain wanted to inform League authorities, but we—” she gestured with her four appendage limbs indicating the rest of the crew “—outvoted him.” She bowed her head almost to her knees. “We’re a bad influence.” She then looked up and gave him a limpid look from those enormous, faceted eyes.

  Her intentions were good, but humans had an instinctive recoil reaction to big spiders. Also, like Oliver, Cullen had been trained at the academy to think of aliens in terms of their potential threat. Add to that it was rare to see a Sidone off their harsh and rocky world, and a bad outcome was inevitable. Oliver could see the anger and disgust rising in Cullen’s green eyes. He quickly stepped between them. For Graarack, for the rest of the crew, he would eat shit. It was the least he could do after lying to them for all these years.

  He gave a perfectly executed court bow. “Your grace, I most humbly beg your pardon. My crew should not be punished for my lack of judgment.” He risked a quick glance at Cullen’s face. Not enough. He swallowed bile. “Once again you have schooled me in proper behavior and I deeply appreciate it.”

  A smile curved those perfect lips. Lips that touched—Oliver recoiled from where that thought would lead him. Cullen slowly clapped. “Bravo, Belmanor. I enjoyed that.” He turned and walked to his shuttle trailed by his officers and guards.

  The crew of the Selkie and her captain stood in the icy darkness and watched the fire of the shuttle’s engines melt the ice. It dwindled to a star and vanished into the bay of the frigate in orbit above them.

  “Old friend of yours?” Baca asked, irony dripping off every word.

  “And he took our loader,” Graarack said mournfully.

  The crew began heading toward the Selkie, dejection etched in every line of their tired bodies. The chances of them ever stumbling across another Cara’ot ship were astronomical.

  “What did he do to you that you hate him so?” Jahan asked quietly. She had used a private channel so the others wouldn’t hear.

  “I don’t want to discuss it.”

  She shrugged, a suit-yourself gesture, and headed for the ship. Oliver stood by the derelict feeling as empty and abandoned as the ship.

  He married the woman I loved. The woman who broke my heart.

  2

  IS ANYTHING ABOUT YOU TRUE?

  Oliver sat in the galley of the Selkie staring into his coffee cup. Through the soles of his boots he could feel the soft rumble of the engines as they made their way toward the edge of the solar system. There they could safely make the translation into Fold. The tension on the bridge as he’d given orders had been displayed as a silence so deep it seemed a weight pressing on his skull. His normally garrulous crew had been voiceless automatons. He had left Baca and Jahan switching out the transponder so if Cullen did report them they couldn’t be traced. Oliver had retreated to the galley.

  The coffee had long since gone cold. He took another sip. The liquid hit his acid-filled stomach and bile rose into the back of his throat. He stood and put the cup into the cocinar to reheat. He probably wouldn’t drink it, but he needed something to occupy his hands during the upcoming confrontation.

  One by one they entered. Baca’s footfalls firm and loud. Dalea’s two hooves clip-clopping delicately on the floor, Graarack’s eight claws clicking. Jax was a soft rustling as he undulated into the room and took up a position in his pool of nutrient-fortified water. Jahan’s furred and padded feet made no sound as she darted in and took the chair at the other end of the table. There were awkward, inconsequential conversational exchanges as coffee, tea, and the thick red bilge that Graarack liked to drink, and snacks were obtained.

  Once everyone had settled Jahan gave him a cold stare out of her huge eyes. “Okay, Captain. So who are you? Really?”

  An excellent question, Jahan. Wish I had an answer beyond the obvious.

  He sighed, spun the coffee mug and finally said, “My name is Thracius—Tracy—Ransom Belmanor, formerly Captain Lieutenant Belmanor of His Imperial Majesty’s star command.”

  “I thought you were just an hombre, a grunt like me,” Luis yelped. “You were a fucking officer?”

  “’Fraid so.”

  “Only aristos, fucking Fortune Five Hundred pukes, get to go to the High Ground,” Baca raged.

  “That officer called the captain an intitulado,” Jax fluted. “That means untitled so he’s not FFH.”

  “I was a scholarship student,” Tracy said.

  “Best tell us everything, sir,” Graarack hissed softly.

  Tracy sighed, began. “I was born on Ouranos. My father is a tailor in the capital. I grew up for the most part in the capital city, Hissilek. I was given a full ride to the High Ground. I graduated, served about six years and then I got court-martialed. That’s the story.” He shrugged and took a sip of the coffee.

  “Why did they court-martial you?” Dalea asked. Her large eyes were fixed unblinking on him and she was absently running her hand back and forth along the length of her black and red mane.

  “Did it have to do with that story you told us? About those half-Cara’ot children?” Graarack asked shrewdly.

  “Indirectly, yes. They trumped up charges. Said that I stole from O-Trell.”

  “So, you did kill kids,” Luis said. His tone was stony.

  “No!” Again too loud and too sharp. He moderated his tone. “That part was true. I protected them until cooler heads prevailed. The crown wanted to bury the story. They might have been half-breeds, but the citizens wouldn’t have reacted well to stories of children being butchered. I tried to get it out, go public. They found a way to stop me.” He shrugged again. “As they say—never bet against the house.”

  “And this man… this man who confronted us,” Jahan said.

  “And stole from us,” Luis added aggrievedly. Jahan’s tail twitched in irritation. “Sorry,” the comm officer muttered.

  Jahan looked back to Tracy. “What is he to you and is he likely to become a problem for us?”

  Of its own volition his hand went to the scar on his left temple. The scar that pulled his eyebrow up, giving him a constantly sardonic look. The scar that Boho had bestowed on him. It was a great relief that none of his crew had twigged to the identity of their nemesis. How many more awkward and unanswerable questions would have been raised if the crew figured out that Cullen was the imperial consort? If they had Tracy would have had to lie to them again, and he really wanted to avoid that outcome.

  “Oh, shit,” Luis breathed. “You didn’t get that in a sodding engineering accident. That’s a fucking dueling scar.” There was no point denying it. Tracy nodded. “Dios m í o! Is there anything about you that’s true?”

  There didn’t seem to be a good answer so Tracy stayed silent. Into that accusatory quiet Jahan spoke:

  “What is true is that he’s a very good captain. That he has dealt fairly with all of us.” She turned her large eyes on Luis. “Gave you an extra share when your mother needed surgery.” A glance to Dalea. “Let you have seven months at home when your sister’s pregnancy wasn’t going well, and you still shared in the profits from those runs.”

  “Let me buy an interest in the ship even though I’m an alien,” Jax offered.

  Tracy couldn’t bear the fact they were forgiving him. He unlocked his chair, pushed it back, and stood. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you,
but I didn’t want to burden you with keeping my secret, and there’s a lien against Thracius Belmanor. O-Trell can garnish my income and any holdings until my debt is repaid. If you want me off the ship I’ll understand. There’s no reason for the rest of you to be in danger because of me.”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” Jahan snapped.

  “I would like to know how you came by the money to make the down payment on this ship,” Jax said. There were nods of agreement from the rest of the crew.

  Tracy gripped the back of the chair. “I’d gone looking for my batBEM. He was a Cara’ot. I didn’t realize that was the day they had all disappeared. I ended up in a Cara’ot warehouse down at the Cristóbal Colón Spaceport. Fortunately nobody else had twigged that they were gone either. I… uh… appropriated some goods.”

  “Goods like these?” Jahan asked as she reached into the pocket of her coveralls and pulled out a handful of vials. There was a gasp of reaction from the assembled crew.

  “You are goddamn lucky that officer didn’t order all of us searched,” Tracy exploded at his XO.

  She shrugged in that boneless way of the Isanjo. “I figured they wouldn’t want to risk alien cooties. And you’re welcome. There’s enough medicine here to get us at least a modest payday. But back to you. What did you steal?” His wince made her grin, exposing her long canines. “Oh, excuse me, appropriate, Ollie… Thracius…” She gave her head an irritated shake. “My God that’s a mouthful.”

  “Use Tracy. That’s what most people called me.”

  “That’s gonna take some getting used to,” Luis muttered.

  “Not medicine. I was on Ouranos, in the capital. The Cara’ot weren’t going to risk having contraband drugs around, but there were a lot of luxury items. I took a pouch full of Phantasm gems.”

  Jax gave a glissando whistle. “Yes, that would explain why you have so much equity in this spaceship.”

  Tracy gestured at the vials. “Do we know what those are?”

  “Not a clue,” Jahan said cheerfully. “I figure Dr. Engelberg will tell us.”

  “And find us buyers,” Jax added.

  “He’ll want a cut,” Luis said.

  “He’s entitled. He’s taking most of the risk and he uses the money to keep his clinic afloat,” Tracy said.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be a dick. I’m just still really upset about watching a fortune get stolen right out from under us. The damn League will just sell it and take the money to build a new gold-plated bidet to wash the Emperor’s royal ass.”

  “I don’t think Cu—that officer has any intention of turning over the contents,” Tracy said.

  “Shit, that makes it even worse! Can we report him? Come on, Captain. You know the guy. Let’s snitch on him.”

  “And draw attention to us?” Jahan yipped. “Don’t be an idiot.”

  An alarm sounded. Tracy pushed back from the table and used the surface to lever himself to his feet. He was numb with exhaustion. “We’re at the Fold point. Let’s get to the bridge.”

  * * *

  New Hope was an unprepossessing rock that didn’t spin on its axis, which meant that the thin strip between the sun side and the night side was the only livable area. It was the first planet settled by humans after the Folddrive had been invented. The fact they had stopped and put down roots on such a marginal world was a mystery to Tracy. Perhaps they were sick of being in a tin can or they feared the next few systems they explored would be worse. The harsh conditions on many of the first settled worlds were one reason that women had become precious commodities, the act of childbearing critical to the survival of the early colonies.

  New Hope had survived because the conditions had led to a highly developed medical community. Over the centuries the colony realized that this was their best hope to build a viable economy so the five biggest cities all boasted major hospitals with various specialties. The wealthy and elite came to New Hope to be treated, and doctors trained at the medical schools left for League worlds where they catered to the nobility and the well-connected and became very rich.

  The Selkie’s crew came to see Dr. Michael Engelberg, a brilliant physician with a no-nonsense attitude, strong opinions, and a clinic that treated the less elevated members of society, with a particular focus on children. In addition to handing out medical care Dr. Michael set aside funds to cover the cost of tickets to the planet for poorer families. The doctor was also one of their fences for contraband medicines the Selkie picked up on the various Hidden Worlds where they clandestinely traded.

  Their best seller was hormonal contraceptives. With the Cara’ot gone it had become more difficult for women to obtain the banned substance and a vigorous black market had arisen. Tracy preferred to stay away from the criminal cartels that manufactured the illegal drugs. Apart from unsympathetic men with large guns, the drugs the cartels made had varying degrees of effectiveness and some had proved to be deadly when corners were cut. On Hidden Worlds with less draconian laws the Selkie crew were able to buy drugs directly from actual pharmaceutical companies. Tracy supposed it was a distinction without a difference since League laws required citizens to report any Hidden Worlds to the government, so Tracy and his crew were still breaking the law. They were just breaking a different one and not dealing with violent people. Dr. Michael never asked where they came by the banned medicines and Tracy never offered an explanation. The fewer people that knew the safer those Hidden Worlds would remain.

  Engelberg’s clinic was in the fifth city on the planet, Caduceus. Given the paucity of livable land all ships docked at the orbiting cosmódromo and visitors were ferried down via shuttle. They explained their frequent stops at New Hope with the claim that Tracy was a patient of Dr. Engelberg’s suffering from a chronic heart condition. To explain how he could afford this level of care Tracy had cultivated the idea that Oliver Randall was the ne’er-do-well fourth son of a knightly family. His years at the High Ground and those spent serving among highborn officers had enabled him to ape the rounded vowels and clipped consonants of the FFH. Tracy’s false papers were first rate, and each time they passed through a planet with stricter entry control Tracy inserted saliva packets into his cheeks in case he was pulled out for a saliva swab. There was a reason false identities cost so much to obtain. At birth every human child’s DNA was checked to make sure there were no alien additions to the human genome. Those results were then placed in a database. The criminals who sold false identities had to supply not only IDs, vehicle licenses, and Medicare cards, but also place the fake identity’s DNA in the database and provide you with a sample of the saliva, which they would be happy to refill for you at a cost. Fortunately, Tracy had a doctor who could handle that for him. Thus far he had never been pulled aside for the swab, but he always wore the cheek implants just in case.

  Since this time they were carrying Cara’ot vials, they wanted to be damn sure he wasn’t searched so Dalea had, in addition to the other treatments, dosed Tracy with a tincture that had turned his eyes red and blotched his pale skin into an unattractive piebald. He affected a hacking cough, and a stage blood packet secreted under his tongue left his handkerchief alarmingly gory. Given his state the officer at the entry checkpoint seemed reluctant to touch his ID, much less subject him to a search. They did, however, do a thorough search of Jahan and the agent knew enough to check her marsupial pouch. They found nothing beyond the normal objects. Tracy was carrying a holdall that contained a bewildering array of prescription bottles, an elegant straight razor, and underwear. The Cara’ot vials were in among that welter of medicines. Tracy had placed the underwear on the top. When the agent started to remove the briefs to get to the bottles he noticed a blood smear on one of them, some crap on another, and snatched back his hand. They were waved through and were soon headed to the planet.

  Dr. Michael and his much younger wife, Kathy (who was called a lab technician but was actually a very fine researcher in her own right), met them at the terminal. They were hustled into a waiting flitt
er. Once the security damper was up Engelberg turned his pale, blue-eyed gaze on Tracy. It was always disconcerting to Tracy; the eye color was so unusual among humans, and against his dark skin his eyes seemed to glow.

  “Always with the flair for the dramatic. What, you were enacting the last act of La Traviata? A case of tuberculosis hasn’t been seen in three hundred years,” the doctor complained.

  “What, you didn’t like the blood? I thought it was a nice touch,” Tracy said as he spit out the blood packet.

  “Someday you’ll be so clever you’ll hang yourself,” Engelberg said sourly.

  Kathy punched her husband on the upper arm. “You don’t have to sound like you’re looking forward to that, Michael.”

  “So, what have you got for us, Oliver?”

  Jahan gave him a glance pregnant with questions. Tracy gave a minute shake of his head. She acquiesced. Tracy fished out the vials and handed them over to Engelberg. “Not sure. We came across a Cara’ot ship. Unfortunately, this was all we managed to get.”

  “What happened?” Engelberg asked as he turned the vials between long, narrow fingers, held them up to the dome light, and squinted at the contents.

  “The League happened,” Jahan said.

  The physicians exchanged alarmed looks. “Did you lead them to us?” Engelberg asked.

  “And why aren’t you in jail?” Kathy added.

  “We think the commander wanted a payday,” Jahan answered when it became clear that Tracy wouldn’t.

  “Ah, well then,” Kathy said and she snatched a vial away from her husband, and began subjecting it to the same assessment.

  “Good to know venality extends even to our noble troops,” Engelberg grunted. “Have you got my contraceptives?”

  “Yeah, Dalea mixed them in with a bunch of legal drugs. They would have had to check every pill in every bottle to locate them.”

  “Still a risk.”

  “Yeah, well, being a…” Tracy paused, searching for a less pejorative term.