The Hidden World

by Melinda Snodgrass

  Jahan had no such scruples. “Crook,” she said. Tracy winced.

  “Anyway, whatever we call it, what we do is risky.”

  Off to the east there was the distant glow of the sun side. In the other direction a curtain of darkness. Here in the temperate zone the light was that of a cloudy day and of course it was constant. There was never a night on New Hope.

  At the clinic Kathy rushed away with the Cara’ot vials and the holdall. In her lab she would separate out the birth control from the other pills, and analyze what might be in the faceted vials. Engelberg brought out a bottle of wine. He was a known connoisseur so Tracy eagerly awaited the first sip. This particular red didn’t disappoint. It was like an explosion of roses in the mouth. A sampling of cheese and crackers provided a counterpoint to the lush flavor of the wine.

  The doctor leaned across the coffee table and handed Tracy a bottle of pills. “Here’s the prescription for Jackson. We’ll figure out the monetary part of your payment once Kathy gets back to me.”

  “Great.” Tracy slipped the bottle into his pocket. “So, what’s the word? We’ve been in Fold for the past ten days so we’ve missed any news.”

  “Not a lot. There was much dark grumbling from the more conservative outlets because New Dublin on Dullahan elected its first woman mayor. She’s a vet, retired from star command a few years ago. Interestingly the first lady of Dullahan, Lady Maribel Brangaza, spoke out in support of the woman.”

  Memory returned of the gardens at the palace the day of Tracy’s graduation. The graceful older woman hugging Mercedes. The similarity in their eyes and the height of their cheekbones. Mercedes’ rather aggressive blade of a nose she had from her father, but her mother was etched in her features.

  “Well, she’d sort of have to,” Tracy said. “She is the Infanta’s actual mother.”

  Engelberg looked surprised. “I should have remembered that, but we only see Empress Constanza. One rather forgets about the other four wives.” He paused for a sip of wine and to smear some of the cranberry-infused cheese onto a cracker. “I do find myself worrying about the succession and what’s going to happen. The Infanta has to be in her mid-forties now and still no legitimate heir.”

  This shouldn’t have the power to bother me. Not any longer. I haven’t seen her in fourteen years and it’s been over twenty since she broke my heart by marrying Boho, but for God’s sake, Michael, shut the fuck up. Tracy hoped none of it showed on his face.

  “Oh, there is one interesting bit of trivia. O-Trell increased their standard order of battlefield medicines.”

  Tracy rubbed his chin, feeling the rasp of stubble. He and Jahan exchanged a quick glance. He knew she was thinking the same thing as him—that the League had discovered another Hidden World and was preparing an annexation. He hoped it wasn’t one of their trading partners.

  “Might indicate a training operation,” Tracy said. “Now that the panic over the Cara’ot vanishing has faded it’s been a peacetime footing for all the branches.” Kathy returned and her dark eyes were bright, and there was added color in her chocolate-brown cheeks. “High command might be trying to hone the blade a bit.”

  “Just so long as they don’t actually use it,” Kathy said. “War is not healthy for children and other living things.”

  “That sounded like a quote,” Jahan said. “I like it.”

  She smiled at the alien. “It is and I do too. It was coined by a woman six centuries ago, Lorraine Schneider, an anti-war activist.”

  “That stance didn’t seem to get much traction among you humans,” Jahan said dryly.

  “Because we’re a bunch of truculent, murderous monkeys,” Engelberg said.

  “Doesn’t mean we stop trying,” Kathy countered. “My darling, you are such a pessimist.”

  “I’ve seen little to make me an optimist,” the doctor replied. He picked up her left hand and pressed a kiss onto her palm. “Apart from you.”

  Kathy ran her free hand down her husband’s cheek. “You say the sweetest things.” Tracy glanced over at Jahan. She looked dotingly on the couple. Tracy sighed.

  “So what did they bring us?” Engelberg asked as he poured a glass of wine for his wife.

  She raised her glass to Tracy. “Congratulations, you hit a jackpot. It’s ten vials of dementia treatment.”

  “Can you synthesize a generic?” Engelberg asked his wife.

  “I’m going to try, but even if I fail we’ve got enough to treat at least eighty people.”

  “How about the contraceptives?”

  “Enough to fill five hundred prescriptions for a year.”

  The older man rose, went to his desk, and pulled out his credit spike. Tracy didn’t ask how much they were getting. He didn’t haggle with Engelberg. The man had always dealt with them fairly.

  3

  PULLING STRINGS

  The Foldstream video was shaky, indicating nerves or excitement on the part of the person handling the camera. It was also filled with brief flickers and freezes indicating it had been transferred through multiple relays to try and hide its point of origin. What was absolutely clear were the sulky/devastated/frightened faces of the Orden de la Estrella officers who were seated in front of the corsario spokesman. His pleasure was evident as he walked back and forth behind the line of forty-three shackled men and two women. The officers from the three captured O-Trell ships.

  “So, we look forward to seeing those Reals get deposited in the account.” He paused and added, attempting to ape his betters, “Tout suite. He had dark auburn hair, latte skin, and a rogue’s grin. He was an attractive man who carried himself with the air of someone who knew it. “Once that happens you’ll be able to pick up your people. Oh, one last thing. The ships are ours. To the victors go the spoils.” There was a snort of laughter and a belated, “Highness.”

  The screen went dark. The two people in the elegant office stood silent. The only sounds were the ticking of the antique grandfather clock, the rain pounding against the windows, and the banshee cry of the wind as it swirled around the cornices that graced the imperial palace.

  The hands of Mercedes Adalina Saturnina Inez de Arango, the Infanta, had balled into fists. “I’m going to slap that smirk right off his damn face.”

  “While I can’t disagree with the impulse, Majesty, I’m not sure how you’re going to pull that off,” Admiral Lord Davin Pulkkinen said. “The League has been trying to find Edward Cornell for years.”

  Davin had begun life as a mere caballero, the lowest rank of nobility in the Solar League, but after his promotion to admiral, and being designated as the “Admiral of the Blue,” which gave him command over half the fleet, it was decided that a more grandiose title was in order. And if there was a touch of insubordination and a bubble of laugher in the words, Davin could get away with it. They had been classmates all those years ago at the High Ground.

  Mercedes’ fingers relaxed. She glanced down. Her nails had left indentations in her palms. She gave her hands a shake and found her eyes drawn to Davin’s right hand. The lights flashed and left trails of luminescence through the clear plastic. They were a visual manifestation of the brain impulses shooting down the filaments into the prosthesis, causing the fingers to waggle like those of a cartoon pianist preparing to play. Davin could have covered the missing arm and hand with artificial skin, but never had. Mercedes had always lacked the courage to ask him why. Or the Cara’ot could have regrown it if we’d permitted them to, she thought. Too late now.

  She searched the man’s face for some trace of the class clown, and found it only in the twinkle in his amber-colored eyes. When they’d been young Davin had been one of her husband’s wingmen—if she was being generous, capering court jester if she wasn’t. The years had etched crow’s feet around his eyes and he showed gray at the temples. These signs of life’s toll brought her to her own age. Forty-four. No children. An errant husband whose affairs were the talk of the tabloid press. An increasingly querulous father. Squabbling siblings a
nd their broods—another constant reminder of her own barrenness. And the cherry on top—the five known bastards Boho had sired. And now this. A military and financial disaster and a PR nightmare for the crown once the news got out.

  Some of it must have shown on her face for Davin reached out and brushed her cheek with the back of his real hand. “Hey, Mer. We’ll handle this.”

  She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m so glad you didn’t quit the service after…” she gestured at his prosthetic.

  “It is my honor to serve.”

  “Oh, please, no formality between us.” She gestured at one of the armchairs on the far side of her desk. She took its companion rather than remain behind her elegant and cluttered workspace. “So how the hell did this happen, Davi? The corsarios have never taken military vessels before. What do you know about…” She checked her ScoopRing. “This Captain Esteban Singh? How did he manage to get three ships captured?” She continued reading the dossier on the man. “Dios! He’s only twenty-seven! How the hell did he make captain, much less be given command of a small squadron?”

  Davin cast his eyes up toward the elaborate molding and painting of nymphs and fawns that graced the ceiling. “The promotion board has become rather… generous of late. New members.”

  “Boho’s been in charge of appointments to the board.” Their eyes met and Davin jumped to his feet.

  “Let’s take a walk. I could use some fresh air after months in a tin can.”

  She glanced out the window at the gardens beyond. The late autumn rain was lashing the plants and the trees and bushes bent under the unrelenting wind. “Yes, the weather is lovely,” she said.

  He gave her another grin and she sighed.

  Her secretary and general factotum Jaakon gave her a surprised look as they left the inner office. “Is there something you need, ma’am?”

  “An umbrella. A big one,” Mercedes answered. Jaakon hurried away and returned a few minutes later with the requested umbrella.

  Davin took her arm as they strolled down the halls filled with hurrying servants and bureaucrats. The western wing of the sprawling palace housed administrative offices. The eastern wing was the family quarters. In the center was the state dining room, the throne room, and the gigantic ballroom. The ballroom didn’t get as much use now that the other eight imperial daughters had left home. Only the heir remained, sharing the space with her father and her resentful stepmother.

  They exited through large French doors onto a marble veranda. Davin opened the umbrella and got it over their heads before the rain soaked them both. An expanse of manicured lawn with crushed stone paths fell away before them. At intervals elaborate fountains threw water high into the air like exclamation points. Mercedes watched the raindrops dance frenziedly on the top of the balustrade. The umbrella wasn’t just large, it also hung down past their shoulders, effectively shielding their features from the security bots that circled overhead.

  “Oh, your assistant is good,” Davin breathed.

  “He knew we couldn’t be walking in this weather for pleasure,” Mercedes said sourly. “Let’s go down by the centaur fountain. Even more splash to defeat any listening ears.”

  Davin offered his arm. She took it and they strolled down the path while water bubbled past. She could feel the wet invading her shoes, and his artificial limb was hard beneath her hand. They reached the fountain where four massive centaurs reared and stamped around the central spray. They held aloft spears and horns. Water streamed over their faces and their fierce expressions seemed more like grimaces of discomfort. Mercedes sympathized. She and Davin sat down on the rim of the fountain. Davin lowered the umbrella so much she could feel her hair brushing against the ribs and cloth. To make sure any listening ears were foiled she keyed the privacy setting on her ScoopRing.

  Over the sounds of rain, fountain and the hum from the ring she said, “So what’s the terrible thing that you wanted to tell me that you didn’t want overheard even by my loyal security?”

  “The promotion board has been bought. I began investigating after I started getting all these puppies masquerading as captains. A few questions, and the scam was revealed. Give the board members money, get promoted. It started out with the board members just pushing their own family members, but then someone realized there was money to be made.”

  Mercedes saw where he was going and what he didn’t want overheard. “Is Boho a party to this?”

  “I don’t know. If he is it’s hidden deep, but they’ve been getting sloppy since they’ve been able to operate for so long without anyone reacting.”

  “How long?”

  “Started six years ago.”

  “When Boho took over.” Her voice sounded hollow.

  Davin gave her a sympathetic glance. “It’s really ramped up in the past two years.” He cleared his throat. “Has anything… changed that might account for it?”

  “We put Boho on an allowance.”

  “Ah… oh.”

  She started to stand. A new thought intruded and she sat back down. “Have you taken a look at the academy?”

  He looked surprised at the statement. “No,” Davin said slowly. “I normally only pay attention to the puppies once they’re graduated. And truthfully assignments are handled farther down the food chain. Would you like me to?”

  Mercedes pressed a hand against her forehead. “No, I’ll do it. I wish Father and Rohan hadn’t gotten cross ways. Rohan was a wonderful patron for the High Ground.”

  “I take it Rohan as prime minister isn’t as amendable to imperial desires?” Davin asked shrewdly.

  “Quite so. And Father’s become…well, let’s just say less sharp.” She sighed.

  Davin gave her a regretful look. “I’m sorry to have laid all this on you, but losing three ships to the corsairs is a blow.”

  “I’d call that an understatement. It’s a disaster. With actual warships under their control they’ll be an even greater danger to other military vessels and commercial ships,” Mercedes said.

  Davin considered. “They don’t usually have enough trained crew to fully man one ship, more so now since the redesign of the exploradors has increased the crew complement. Perhaps we’ll be lucky and they’ll just go for the quick and easy money. Sell them for parts.”

  “That assumes we’ll meet their demands,” Mercedes said.

  “You’re proposing to mount a rescue?”

  “That or deliver an object lesson.”

  “That could endanger the hostages.” He hesitated and spent a moment watching the lights play through his hand.

  “You have someone… special among the captives?”

  “My wife’s nephew. Bright kid. Bit of a protégé of mine.”

  “Noted,” Mercedes said and she ducked from beneath the umbrella, stood and felt water squish between her toes. Her shoes were probably ruined. “Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention, my lord.”

  Davin knew they had transitioned from Mer and Davi back into the Infanta and Admiral Lord Pulkkinen. He stood arranged the umbrella over her head and then bowed deeply. “My pleasure, Your Highness.”

  They started back to the palace. The damp cold permeated her bones and put a chill on her heart. The frightened faces of the O-Trell officers hung before her. That had to be the first priority. After that she would begin an investigation, pull the threads, and she very much feared where they would lead—

  Straight back to her husband. Beauregard Honorius Sinclair Cullen, the Duque de Argento y Pepco.

  * * *

  The massive space station that housed the League’s premier military academy swam in the front viewport of the shuttle. Mercedes was piloting, agitating the nerves of her security detail. It both amused and irritated her. The past few years hadn’t given her a lot of opportunity to use her skills, and she wanted to stay current. While at the academy she posted the highest scores in the League’s Infierno fighters. The imperial shuttle, while large and bulky, wasn’t that different and
she loved the feel of the couch that read her muscle movements, and the headset that registered every shift of her eyes.

  The cosmódromo was not a thing of loveliness. Only at the top where the massive solar panels were arrayed did it have any hint of gracefulness. It had been described as a donut with a sausage stuck through the hole, and three squat extrusions on the bottom like fat round legs on an extremely tall three-legged stool. One leg was substantially shorter than the other two, which made the station seem on the verge of tipping. The primary classrooms, dorms, dining room, and gym of the High Ground were housed in one leg. The newer, smaller one held quarters for the daughters of the nobility, who were now required to join their brothers in military training. The third leg held the hydroponic gardens that grew some food for the inhabitants, and manufacturing centers for making water and oxygen for the station.

  The exterior of the massive ring contained docking bays for the great space liners bringing visitors from around the League eager to enjoy the wonders of the imperial capital of Hissilek. Inside were found restaurants, hotels, shops, parks, and brothels for the traveling public’s pleasure. Mercedes flipped to a rear camera view of the planet, enjoying the spectacle of its massive single continent and the blue of its ocean. There was a sense of relief to no longer be on the surface, in the palace, in her office, in the midst of bureaucratic tasks. There was a certain simplicity to the military, a hierarchy upon which one could rely. Not like politics, where smiles and warm handshakes were often masks for duplicity.

  For the first few years after noble daughters were also required to serve, Mercedes had been trotted up to the High Ground to give the commencement address, using her as a sock puppet to say—see, girls can serve too. But the fact she was the heir to the throne and whoever held that throne was required to be a military leader sort of undercut the message. As long as her royal rump was destined for that seat she was going to be an officer in the Orden de la Estrella whether qualified or not. She knew she was qualified. She wondered how many of her subjects actually believed that?