The Hidden World

by Melinda Snodgrass

  After the fifth time she had delegated that task, first to her sister Beatrisa, who was still in active service as a commander aboard a flagship, but as the years slipped past it had fallen back into the more normal pattern of paunchy politicians extolling the virtues of the military. Mercedes realized with shock that it had been six years since she had last visited.

  She keyed the radio and contacted High Ground docking control. “Shuttle N751923Alpha requesting permission to dock.” She left off the “imperial” to see if the estrella hombre would actually bother to check the call number. He didn’t.

  “We had no word of your arrival, N751923Alpha.” The flight controller sounded bored and more than a bit dismissive. “Regulation 27a—”

  “This is Rear Admiral Princess Mercedes Adalina Saturnina Inez de Arango, the Infanta. You really want to quote regs to me, hombre?”

  “Um yes, ma’am. I mean… no, ma’am! Sending docking instructions now. Bay three.”

  “Thank you,” she said sweetly and cut the connection.

  The bay door yawned open and she piloted them in, dropping the shuttle lightly onto the landing pad. Once the doors closed and the bay re-pressurized, the inner airlock opened and Vice Admiral Duque Maximilian Vertrant, the commandant of the High Ground, rushed in. He was still buttoning the final button on the coat of his dress uniform while his ceremonial saber flailed around his knees, almost tripping him.

  Mercedes unplugged the helmet from the couch and set it aside. She rose, stretched, and moved slowly to the airlock. Once it opened and the ramp lowered, she strolled out. Vertrant’s eyes flicked across her attire. Not the gown of an FFH lady or the elegant lines of the dress blues. Instead she wore a working officer’s day fatigues. His pursed mouth became even smaller as his lips tightened. When she reached him, she found herself looking down into his thin face because Vertrant was a small man and Mercedes was nearly six feet tall in her stocking feet. His dark skin imperfectly hid the rising flush that Mercedes suspected had more to do with irritation and resentment rather than shyness over being confronted, without warning, by the Infanta.

  Vertrant gave a court bow. “Your Highness, your arrival is an unexpected pleasure. How may we serve?”

  Commander Marquis Chand Ganguly, standing behind and just to the left of his superior officer’s left shoulder, looked as if he’d been stuffed. Over the years he had become more rotund as Vertrant had become even more lean. Ganguly’s raven-wing black hair was now touched with gray while Vertrant’s had pretty much vanished, giving him an even more skull-like appearance. As she watched, a fat bead of sweat slithered out of Ganguly’s right sideburn and rolled across one round dark-bronze cheek.

  My, my, Mercedes thought. I seem to have thrown the cat among the pigeons with my arrival.

  “Just thought it was time I took a look at how things were going at the old alma mater,” she said breezily.

  “Tea, Your Highness?” Vertrant suggested.

  “That would be delightful.” Ganguly whispered an order to his ScoopRing.

  On her previous visits she had gone directly from the shuttle bay to the cloakroom behind the parade ground and from there onto the raised dais like the prow of a mighty ship of stone sailing toward a sea of blue. Now as she walked the interior halls with Vertrant and Ganguly, and trailed by two members of her security detail, she was transported back in time. Eighteen, frightened, forced to take this mad step to satisfy her father’s desperate need to have one of his children succeed him, even though he had to change the law to place a woman on the throne. He had given her two commands—graduate, and find a consort. She had done both. Only one had turned out reasonably well.

  They passed a door and another memory rushed back. Standing outside that door desperate for Tracy’s help to tailor men’s uniforms to fit female bodies. He had touched her at the point where inner thigh met crotch as he measured. She had been a virgin. Now she knew what that surge of sensation meant. I should have slept with him, she thought. Too late. He had vanished from her life years ago.

  Her reveries and regrets were interrupted by Ganguly choking out, “Anything in particular you wanted to see, ma’am?”

  “Pretty much everything,” she said cheerfully. More sweat popped out on Ganguly’s forehead.

  When they reached Vertrant’s office Mercedes immediately circled behind the desk and took the commandant’s chair. The action knocked him even more off balance. For a few minutes they made small talk about families. From childhood it had been drilled into Mercedes to remember details about noble families. That didn’t mean she was above reviewing those details before she met with individuals. She had done that for both Vertrant and Ganguly. At least this time she only had to memorize the names, sexes, and ages of the spawn and spouses for two men, she thought, as Vertrant droned on about each of his three children. When it was a ball or a state dinner she had to remember tedious details for hundreds of people. Then it was Ganguly’s turn to tell her about his eleven children. She noted the glances that were exchanged between the two men. Clearly Ganguly despised Vertrant. Clearly Vertrant hated having his pointed nose rubbed in this evidence of Ganguly’s superior virility.

  In due course an Isanjo, eyes carefully lowered and his supple body bent almost double, slipped into the office carrying a loaded tea tray clutched in his furred hands. The cups, teapot, creamer, and sugar bowl filled the tray so the alien carried the plate of cookies and sliced cake with his prehensile tail.

  Vertrant’s mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed. “Disgusting, Trem! It never occurred to you to make two trips? Return to the kitchen and throw away those sweets.”

  The alien lowered his long lashes to conceal his eyes, placed the tray on the desk, bowed, and retreated. Mercedes suspected the alien batBEMs would enjoy the rejected desserts. Though to be fair Mercedes wasn’t excited to eat cookies that had been that close to an Isanjo’s ass. Tea was poured, milk, lemon, or sugar added depending upon the tastes of the three people. Trem returned with a new selection of treats. Mercedes noticed that the batBEM’s claws were partially extended. After the alien left she set aside the fragile bone-china cup and abruptly changed the subject away from the upcoming soccer game between the High Ground and the University of Caledonia.

  “So now that the niceties have been observed… I’d like to inspect the books, review the résumés of the teaching staff, the number of scholarship students admitted, prueba pass rates, and graduation rates.”

  “Is there any particular reason for this snap inspection?” Vertrant asked.

  “It’s been a number of years since I’ve been to the academy. I feel a great deal of affection for the school and since Rohan stepped down as patron I haven’t heard as much.”

  Glances were exchanged and Ganguly spoke up. “With the expansion it seemed unnecessary to have a patron. It seemed a quaint holdover from a time when only men attended.”

  “Perhaps the solution would be to have a male and a female patron,” Mercedes suggested.

  “An interesting notion, Highness, but so few women make a career out of the military,” Vertrant said smoothly.

  “Rohan wasn’t a career military man,” Mercedes gently reminded.

  “True, but after the scare and military build-up after the Cara’ot vanished, it seemed wiser to have oversight in the hands of career military.”

  There was something to what Vertrant was saying, but still the sensation niggled that murky currents were at work here. “Well, perhaps my sister, Commander Princess Beatrisa, can fill that role,” Mercedes said. “Every indication is that she intends to die with her boots on.”

  “An interesting suggestion,” Vertrant said.

  Tea was sipped, cookies and cake consumed. Mercedes, very aware of the seventeen pounds she had gained over the past decade, confined herself to a single cookie. Once the social chatter had been satisfied, Vertrant authorized her to access the High Ground’s files. As files floated over the desk Mercedes wished she had one of the computer wizar
ds from her class to see if anything had been hidden or removed. Commander Marqués Ernesto Chapman-Owiti came to mind, as did Tracy. She put him firmly aside.

  “You can leave us, Commandant,” she ordered. “I’m sure you have duties to attend to.”

  “Hard to do when I don’t have access to my office, Highness,” he said, just barely avoiding insolence.

  “I have faith in you, Vertrant. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

  There was nothing more he could say. She stood. He bowed. She saluted. He hesitated then saluted. Ganguly’s eyes met hers. He got the message. In this moment she was not a princess. She was a flag captain and the future commander-in-chief of the armed forces of the Solar League.

  4

  SENDING MESSAGES

  Hours later Mercedes stretched. Vertebrae in her back popped and shifted. She reached for her now cold cup of tea and thought better of it. Her stomach had become a tight ball and she feared what might happen if she swallowed anything. Anything beyond the disgust and rage she had been eating for the past hours.

  Her instinct was to call Vertrant onto the carpet and rip him in his own office and remove him instantly. But years at her father’s side had taught her caution. Vertrant had allies in the parliament and he was well liked by the conservative old guard, who were still furious over the inclusion of women in the Rule of Service. Now noble daughters in the FFH also attended the High Ground and promised five years of service to the League if they passed the prueba at the end of the first year and graduated.

  What the records had revealed was that a surprisingly large number of women were making it to graduation but were then being placed in safe, groundside postings, and from there being mustered out due to a variety of questionable medical issues. Virtually every male was passing and entering active duty. Mercedes’ class had started with over eight hundred students. Only three hundred and three of them had actually graduated. Now close to eighteen hundred were graduating in each class. She also noticed a steady drop in the number of scholarship students over the years. That was another troubling statistic. Selecting the brightest intitulados from high schools all across the League worlds meant they always had bright minds joining the officers’ corp.

  She swept a hand through the computer files where they hung in the air before her, banishing them. Leaning back, she placed her forefingers against her lips and considered. The inflated graduation rates when wedded to what she had learned about the promotions board suggested an institution in crisis. Her fury and disgust with her husband drove her to her feet. Mercedes paced the office.

  Like her, Boho knew about the dangers in Sector 470. A place where ships vanished without trace. Add to that the mystery of the Cara’ot. The last thing the League needed was an armed force in decline with an incompetent officer class at the helm. She considered Ganguly’s behavior and decided he was the weak link. She would start there.

  She left the office and wasn’t surprised to find Ganguly conveniently passing by the door where her two SPI agents stood watch. She gave him a smile. “Walk with me, Commander. I’ve a mind to see the gym again.” In that large space and at this time of day, filled with the snarl of gunfire and the shouts of students practicing hand-to-hand skills, it would make surveillance far less likely.

  “Is Chief Deal still active?” she asked as they walked down the corridors.

  “No, Your Highness. He retired some years ago.”

  “Pity. He was quite hard on me, but in retrospect it was deserved and it certainly came in handy during my years of active service.” Ganguly made a non-committal noise.

  They entered the enormous room. A running track circled the space. There was the crash of weights being returned to their cradles. Sharp, controlled bursts of gunfire, and the grunts, smack of flesh on flesh, and shouts of “kiai” echoed off the clear dome of the roof. Beyond the glass dome the nebula hung, its twisting colors like the trailing scarves of an exotic dancer. Mercedes led them onto the track, waved off her security, and began to jog. Ganguly had to join her in order to keep up. Their boots scritched on the sand underfoot. Mercedes was annoyed to discover how quickly her breathing increased. She clearly needed to stop riding a desk for so many hours each day. Ganguly was soon gasping. If he wasn’t as dark as herself Mercedes suspected he would be red-faced.

  As they ran side by side Mercedes said quietly, “So, are you going to go down with him?”

  Ganguly’s head snapped to the side to look at her and he stumbled. Mercedes grabbed his arm to keep him upright. “Not for the seventeen and half percent he shares with me,” he forced past stiff lips. “What are you offering?”

  “A tragic but necessary retirement.”

  “What about my pension?”

  “Haven’t you saved any of that seventeen and half percent? Pity if you haven’t.”

  His lips tightened. Large beads of sweat oozed from his hairline and rolled across his plump cheeks. Some of it was exertion. Mercedes suspected a lot of it was fear.

  “What do you want?”

  “You must know where the bodies are buried. Testify against him. You’ll be shocked… shocked to discover there was corruption at the High Ground and you brought it to the crown’s attention.”

  “I suppose I don’t have any other option.”

  “No. You don’t. Are there any other parties involved in this?” She dreaded the answer.

  “I… I think so, but I don’t know who they are.” She felt a surge of relief that Ganguly didn’t know about Boho. If he had he would have had to share Vertrant’s fate.

  “You have to get me away from him,” he wheezed. “If he suspects…”

  “I’ll handle it.” Mercedes slowed to a jog, then a walk. She left the track heading to the doors. She keyed her ScoopRing and called Vertrant. “Commandant, thank you so much. Do meet me at the shuttle so I can say farewell.”

  “Of course, Highness.” There was a long pause. “The computer has no record of your searches. Was there a problem? I could help if there—”

  “Not necessary.” She cut the link. Glanced over at Ganguly. “Best get the door keyed to your palm and eye.”

  “You’re… you’re putting me in charge? Vertrant won’t stand—”

  “Unless he’s going to eat a bullet, and he’s never struck me as the type, he’ll be leaving with me. Therefore someone has to be in charge. That would be you. At least for now.” They were out in the corridor. “Now go and handle the necessary arrangements.”

  “I should accompany you—”

  “I know the way to the shuttle bay. And just as I doubt he’ll suicide, I doubt he’ll attack me.”

  Ganguly walked away with a rolling waddle. Mercedes headed for her shuttle. Vertrant was waiting in the docking bay. He did have a pair of fusileros with him. Mercedes sized them up. They seemed to be more of a security blanket for Vertrant than an actual threat. And realistically what starman would lift a weapon against the Infanta? She also knew that Captain Lord Ian Rogers, the head of her security detail, was aboard the royal shuttle with seven fusileros who had seen actual combat to augment her SPI agents.

  She held out her hand to the commandant. Vertrant bowed over it, his lips brushing the air. She leaned in and whispered in his ear, “I’m going to offer you an invitation to return with me back to Hissilek, and you’re going to be delighted to accept. Aren’t you?” His gaze jerked up to meet her implacable one. She watched him dither then leaned in even closer. “Or you can be subject to the humiliation of having me arrest you on the spot.” She glanced around the docking bay where hombres were at work on the engine of a shuttle, others cleaning the deck. “The gossip will be all over the academy before the bay doors finish closing. I’m sure you want to spare your wife and children that mortification.”

  The narrow shoulders slumped. Mercedes stepped back. “My father was just mentioning how much he would like to see you. Do allow me to offer you a lift down to the planet.”

  “Your Majesty is too gracious,” Vertrant murm
ured.

  She gestured toward the ramp and allowed him to precede her onto the shuttle. Ian was waiting inside with a pair of security cuffs.

  * * *

  Once she had played hide and seek behind the long drapes and under the massive, elegant desk. Mercedes would have loved to have been that six-year-old girl again who knew that her father was the greatest man in the universe. That life was hugs and the scratch of stubble on her cheek, the smell of aftershave and pipe tobacco. A deep basso voice telling her she was his little querida. Now he was frowning at the images that flickered in the air over his desk. The years had added another chin, and heavy jowls. He was still a handsome man with his skin a deep mahogany color, the black hair lightly tinged with gray, which only added to his aura of distinguished authority. The nose was still an aggressive blade, but the dark eyes were not as bright as once they had been, and he often became confused. Everyone knew what that portended. No one wanted to say the word—dementia.

  The message from Edward Cornell ended. Lord Kemel Dorian DeLonge, the head of SEGU, the Imperial Intelligence Agency, stood and closed the file. One of DeLonge’s soft-footed aides brought up the lights. The Emperor’s jaw was working as if he had the corsario leader between his teeth and was grinding him to pulp. There were six people in the room. Kemel and his two aides, Davin, her father, and Mercedes. Over the years she had become accustomed to being the only estrogen in a room full of testosterone, but she wished that one of her sisters could have shared in these meetings where fates were decided and dominance exercised.

  “So how much is this going to cost me?” her father asked. It emerged as a growl. Glances flew between Davin, Mercedes, and DeLonge. “What? You’re conniving. Don’t think I don’t see it.”

  A discreet gesture from the old security chief had Davin and Mercedes stepping back. DeLonge stepped to the desk and leaned in close. “Fernán, this is a unique and disquieting situation. While it has been our practice to ransom the crews and passengers of civilian ships, we think this is a new and alarming escalation and we wanted your guidance.”