The Hidden World

by Melinda Snodgrass

  Outside the forty-story residential tower the streets were filled with people returning from lunch. Boho signaled to his security detail, who waited nearby, that he was heading back to the port. A passing taxi caught his eye. Rather than wait for his detail to reach their flitter and return for him, he flagged it down. They could bloody well get their butts in gear and follow. It sank down and the door raised. He climbed in and was startled to see his driver was a human woman. She correctly read his expression and grinned at him. “If you want a different cab, sir, I’ll understand, but I was in O-Trell, and learned to fly shuttles. I won’t crash you.”

  “No, no, it’s quite a charming change. The spaceport, please.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  After Boho alerted the shuttle he was returning he decided to pass the time by engaging with the woman. “So, your husband doesn’t mind that you’re—”

  “My man got killed. Mining accident on Nephilim. Wasn’t much work for a woman to do there so I dumped the kids with my mama and enlisted. After five years I had my muster out money, the insurance settlement for my man, so I gathered up the kids and relocated to Kronos. Bought a cab.” She shrugged. “Sometimes men get out, but a lot of ladies like to travel with me. I do all right.”

  “How old were your children?” He found the story startling.

  She shrugged. “Young. But you do what you have to, right? Mama did good by them. I sent home my pay, and we’ve gotten to know each other again. Kids are tough. They’ll do okay.”

  Boho leaned back trying to digest what he’d just heard. He wondered if his and Mercedes’ kids would do “okay” if they ever had any. A mother destined to rule an empire. A father who was… what? Royal drone? Military figurehead? What exactly was his role?

  They reached the spaceport. Boho inserted his credit spike and gave her a tip as large as the fee. The woman gave him a startled look when she saw the amount. “Thank you, sir, thank you most kindly. “She then noticed his name. Her expression was balm to Boho’s wounded and worried soul. “Oh, Dios! My lord… Excellency! Forgive me for my foolish chatter.” She was trying to salute, trying to curtsy while seated. “If I had realized—”

  Boho held up a restraining hand. “Please, no need to apologize. The Infanta and I are grateful for your service.”

  Her gabbling thanks were cut off by the closing of the flitter door. His SPI detail were tumbling out of their flitter and running to catch up as Boho walked to the waiting shuttle and the honor guard of fusileros who saluted as he walked between them. The stamp of booted feet and clash as rifle butts hit the concrete was a hollow echo of his non-existent power.

  * * *

  The air scrubbers on the San Pedro station weren’t top of the line, so Tracy got a clashing mélange of all the restaurants and food stands in this area of the torus, seasoned with a whiff of the septic tanks. Unlike the stations orbiting more upscale planets and catering to upscale travelers, San Pedro lacked the central park running through the torus to help sweeten the air. Instead there were a few sickly-looking trees in pots, and planters of flowers. There were a lot of Tiponi Flutes around. Maybe the station administrators were hoping the ambulatory plants could help with the oxygenation issues. While the humans still outnumbered them, the San Pedro station had a lot of aliens. Isanjo and Flutes primarily, but there were a few Hajin. Tracy had just finished purchasing a bouquet of flowers from a Hajin florist. There weren’t a lot of choices. The creature mostly carried the herbs that went into the Flutes’ aromatic and slightly hallucinatory stim sticks. There were various fresh chilis for Isanjo cuisine, and a Hajin plant that provided leaves that the Hajin enjoyed chewing but made humans violently ill. Bottom line, the flowers weren’t all that pretty, but the Hajin had tied them together with a shiny ribbon and wrapped the bouquet in a cone of glitter-covered blue paper.

  Deciding that maybe the daisies weren’t enough, Tracy made a dinner reservation at one of the better restaurants on San Pedro. Meaning it had tablecloths, china plates, and real silverware. He then hopped on a tram heading around the torus. The Sweet Retreat was a nondescript building in a row of nondescript buildings. The church didn’t approve of prostitution, but was wise enough to know it couldn’t be proscribed in a culture that put such a premium on the celebration of machismo. Since the government paid subsidies to people with children, the brothels also had an alternate source of income that allowed the women to start families. Some of the children were put up for adoption to childless couples, but most women ultimately ended up marrying one of their clients and leaving the profession.

  Such was not the case with Lisbet Montego. She had stayed in the sex trade and eventually became a madam with her own establishment here on San Pedro. It had been a pure accident that she and Tracy had reconnected. The Selkie had stopped at San Pedro for routine ship maintenance, and Tracy had decided that three years of celibacy was too much and maybe he needed a bit of maintenance too. He had gone in search of a joy house. He had walked through the door and met the eyes of the proprietress, and had a dislocating moment of being sixteen years old and faced with his first nearly naked woman. His father had taken him to the Candy Box, the brothel in their neighborhood in Hissilek, for that rite of manhood that was so much a part of League culture. Girls had their quinceañera, boys got taken by their fathers to whore houses for their first sexual encounter.

  Lisbet had been nineteen, experienced but close enough to him in age that she wasn’t too intimidating. He had visited her a few more times before he had gone off to school at the High Ground, but by the time he returned to the capital after his court martial she had been gone. Now, all these years later, here she was again.

  He hadn’t been certain she would remember him, but in case she did he’d rushed to her, hand outstretched, and introduced himself, “Oliver Randall,” he had said with emphasis, and watched the quick understanding as recognition become calculation in those dark eyes.

  “So pleased to meet you, Oliver. Welcome.”

  They then had a lovely and private reunion. She hadn’t asked him why he was using an alias. He never offered to explain. Their relationship was one of a shared present, never looking forward or back. All very convenient.

  That had him check his long strides toward the back door. Convenient. He had never asked if the arrangement was equally convenient for Lisbet. Not that Lisbet had ever indicated that she wanted something more and she was a strong enough woman that he figured she would have spoken up. He shook off the discomfort and touched the door panel. It had been keyed to his palm, another indication of just how convenient the rut had become. The back hallway took him past the kitchen where a young woman was spooning apple sauce into the rosebud mouth of an infant in a high chair. The baby kept making spit and apple sauce bubbles that then burst to cover her mouth and chin with goo. Tracy thought it was disgusting. The young mother kept laughing, clearly delighted. The baby spotted him and let out a sound like a chuckling loon. The girl looked around.

  “Oh, Oliver, welcome. Lisbet is in the office doing payroll.” She nodded toward the flowers. “How pretty. Are those for her? Let me get a vase for you.” She stood. The baby’s face folded into a shape of misery and let out a wail at this abandonment. “Shush, Stacy, I’ll be right back.”

  “Yeah, Stacy, don’t be such a baby,” Tracy said. The girl laughed. Tracy wanted to kick himself for the ponderous attempt at humor. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Armed with a vase and the bouquet Tracy continued down the hall to the office. Lisbet looked up with a warm smile. She had dyed her hair again, this time to resemble the multi-colors of a Hajin’s mane. She had chosen streaks of gold, silver, and red to weave through the elaborate braids, and it looked amazing against her smooth coffee-colored skin. She came around from behind the desk and gave him a kiss. He tried to hug her and ended up tipping a bit of water down her back.

  “Damn, I’m sorry.”

  She was laughing. “It’s all right. Why you sweet thing, you brought me fl
owers.” She took the bouquet and buried her nose in the petals. She looked delighted and Tracy gave a mental sigh about how much crow he was going to have to eat when he next saw Jahan, because the Isanjo was sure to bring it up. He set the vase on the desk, and pulled Lisbet into a proper embrace. She tasted of coffee and the caramel candies she liked.

  “I made us a reservation at Graze. That okay?”

  She pushed him back and studied his face. There was mischief dancing in her eyes. “All right. Either you’ve done something that you think is going to make me really angry. Or… you’ve hired a relationship coach. Which is it?”

  He felt himself blushing. “Neither… well, maybe sort of… My XO, she said… well, she just said some… things… got me thinking…”

  “Tell her thank you for me.” She returned to her desk, and arranged the flowers in the vase.

  Tracy trailed after her, and removed the disguised contraceptives. Lisbet swept them into a drawer, pulled out her credit spike. “Any price increase?”

  “Not this time.”

  “Wish whoever is supplying these to you would move to the patches. Those Cara’ot patches were so great. Remembering to take a pill is a pain.” As the money transferred to the Selkie’s account Tracy again felt that sense that the relationship between himself and Lisbet was very one-way. She paid him for the birth control, plus a markup, and he paid her nothing for the time he spent with her apart from delivering the medicine.

  Unaware of his roiling thought she smiled up at him. “Let me finish up here and I’ll be right with you. What time is the reservation? Is there time for us to… relax?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

  When Lisbet entered she was carrying the vase of flowers. Tracy, propped up in bed, keyed off his ScoopRing and watched as she placed them on the dresser and gave them a final careful adjustment. She then catwalked toward the bed. Her fingers found the zipper on her dress. The sound was a rasping purr and the dress dropped to puddle around her feet. She stepped out of it. The lacy lilac bra and panties were lovely against her dark skin. She crawled up the bed snagging the covers away until she rested against his naked body. Despite his mental turmoil his body had no doubts. It responded with enthusiasm.

  6

  WHAT HAPPENED TO US?

  When Boho’s shuttle landed at the Cristóbal Colón Spaceport there was no imperial flitter waiting to take him to the Palacio Colina. The shuttle pilot had radioed ahead informing the palace of his arrival. This wasn’t an oversight. It was a calculated slight. Being forced to take public transport, Boho would be required to stop at the gates and prove his bona fides before being allowed into his own home. Clearly Montgomery had not exaggerated the direness of the situation. A small cold knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Boho grabbed up the jewelry box. The bauble he’d intended for the youngest Lacey daughter had become a gift for Mercedes. He had a feeling he should have gotten bigger emeralds.

  He was recognized by the young fusilero at the gates. The boy had stayed magnificently expressionless at the arrival of the imperial consort in a common cab with his security squeezed inside with him. The cabbie was paid, and Boho walked through the gates.

  “Would you like transport home, your grace?” the guard asked.

  “No, it’s lovely. I’ll walk and enjoy the sunset.” Now that he was within the confines of the palace his shadows peeled away to give him the privacy he desperately needed.

  The indigenous flora that had managed to survive the onslaught of the Earth-evolved plants filled the late afternoon air with perfume. All the vegetation, both terrestrial and that native to Ouranos, were taking advantage of the cooler temperatures and the autumn rains to blossom and pollinate. The nasal passages accustomed to the filtered air aboard ship reacted to the onslaught and Boho gave a mighty sneeze. With a clap of wings birds just settling down to roost for the night erupted from the trees, and a lapin, serenely grazing on the lawn, bolted for the clipped hedges, its long tail and equally long ears flapping in alarm.

  At the pinnacle of the hill sat the royal palace. Private quarters and public rooms, it was like white fondant icing on the top of a cake. Boho took the walkway that led around the hill. On the far side, facing the chaparral, was the palace that had been given to Mercedes and himself on their wedding day. The Phantasiestück Palace had been built by a previous emperor to house his lover. In the years since Boho had carried Mercedes across that threshold love had faded into boredom. Mercedes still lived in the palace. It had been seven years since Boho had spent any significant time in the tiny, jewel-like house.

  The old Hajin butler was gone. A new, younger alien now stood at the open door. Apparently the guards at the gate had alerted the household of the master’s return and the staff was at the ready. “Your grace, welcome. A fire has been laid in the drawing room. Have you any particular requests for dinner?”

  “No, I’ll take pot luck. Where is the Infanta?” Boho asked.

  “Her Imperial Highness is not presently at home.”

  Boho checked the watch set in the sleeve of his uniform. “Does she usually work this late?”

  “Her Majesty often works until eight or even nine each night.”

  “I see. Has my wife been informed of my return?”

  “Yes, sir.” Like the gate guard the Hajin’s long face remained expressionless.

  “I believe I’ll retire to our suite and clean up. I’ll dine when Mercedes returns.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Boho headed for their bedroom. As he went he glanced into various rooms, noting that they had the look of a place that was lived in. In the vid room there were pillows scattered on the floor in front of the entertainment center. Clearly Mercedes preferred lounging on the floor to watch shows or play games. In the drawing room a small table had been set up and another Hajin was laying out a second set of silverware. It made sense that Mercedes didn’t eat in the large dining room, and it also implied that she dined alone. There was a flash of relief and pleasure at that realization. Boho had seen how her long-time aide Jaakon gazed at Mercedes. It seemed they had not become lovers. A good thing, or he might have to insist she find a new factotum.

  Entering the bedroom Boho was startled to find a pair of intense blue eyes staring daggers at him from the bed. The lilac point Siamese cat slowly blinked, turned its head away, and washed a paw with all the disdain that only a feline could bring to bear.

  “So she does have someone in her bed,” Boho said. The cat yawned.

  An apricot-colored peignoir had been tossed across the back of a settee. Boho picked it up and held it to his face. It was redolent with the scent of Mercedes and her favorite perfume. He felt a stirring in his groin. He rang for a servant and ordered that a tub be run. Life aboard ship didn’t leave many opportunities for a good long soak.

  After a bath and a cigar Boho strolled naked into the bedroom to find that his batBEM had arrived with his luggage and laid out an outfit appropriate for a late supper with one’s spouse—pale gray slacks, soft shoes, silk shirt, and a smoking jacket. Boho found the nervous nature of the herbivorous Hajin irritating, so he had settled on an Isanjo. The neotenous eyes set in the piquant fur-covered faces were pleasing and he liked the quick intelligence and fast reflexes of the creatures. Ivoga also had a rogue’s nature and had proved very useful to Boho. The alien did everything from keeping watch for returning husbands, to rifling through the private documents of officers and nobles—and most importantly rival gamblers.

  The deft fingers, claws retracted, buttoned his shirt and held the jacket for him to slip into. Boho gave Ivoga a careless pat between the pricked ears and strolled back to the drawing room. It was eight-thirty. A footman entered with a tray of assorted cheeses, grapes, and crackers. He uncorked a bottle of red wine. Boho tested it, swirling the liquid through his mouth, and nodded his approval. Apparently the wine cellar hadn’t suffered during his absence.

  It was almost nine before he hear
d the click of heels on the marble floor of the entryway. Her voice, husky and musical, inquired how Fingell’s day had been. There was an inaudible answer from the Hajin butler. The footsteps approached and Mercedes paused in the doorway and surveyed him.

  “My dear.” Boho gestured a greeting with his wine glass.

  He studied her. It had been ten months since they’d last been together. He saw the weariness in the bags beneath her eyes, the set of her shoulders, the frown between her brows. He also didn’t miss the way her expression hardened as she gazed at him. It was going to be one of those sessions. The fact he didn’t stand forced her to cross to him. Her eyes flicked to the various servants who had appeared and were pulling out her chair, holding her napkin, entering with plates. She leaned down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He turned so his lips were against her ear and whispered, “I see the niceties still must be observed before the staff.”

  “Don’t make me rethink that,” she whispered back. She took the chair that was being held for her by the new butler. Once she was seated, wine poured and plates delivered she motioned for them to be left alone.

  He waited, but she didn’t speak, just began to eat. With each bite and passing moment of silence Boho’s irritation increased. He finally set aside his fork, mentally flipped through his possible conversational gambits. You summoned me was considered and rejected. He finally reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the jeweler’s case. With most women it would work. But this one?

  He slid it across the table. Mercedes set aside her fork, dabbed at her lips with her napkin, and stared at the box. She finally pulled the silver ribbon and removed the top. The emeralds set in platinum glittered against the midnight velvet. “Very nice, but really not my color.” Her tone was colorless.