“Sounds like something I might like,” Jax said.
“Well, it’s got talking animals in it, but no talking trees.”
“I like kids’ books,” Luis said. “Maybe I’ll read Treasure Island next. It’s got pirates in it.” He gave Tracy a sideways glance. “Hey, now that the League has stomped Cornell, that means the position of pirate king is available. Maybe you should—”
“No!”
“Ah, you’re no fun. Where’s your sense of adventure?” Luis asked.
“Trumped by my sense of self-preservation. Dear God, are you trying to get me killed?” Tracy said, his voice catching on a laugh.
Baca stroked his chin in a deliberate fashion. “Hmmm, well, then the position of captain would open up…” His crew gave a shout of laughter and Tracy realized he must have reacted without meaning to. “Kidding, Captain, kidding,” Luis soothed.
“You’re all terrible, and I’m going to bed. Don’t plot too many mutinies while I’m sleeping.”
13
WHISPERS AND RUMORS
“It undermines the very foundation of our most sacred institutions!” Blood suffused his pale brown cheeks and his jowls quivered as Conde Suklaa Nestle concluded. He gave a loud, guttural harrumph and took his seat.
Palms were pounded on desks and calls of “Here, here!” echoed around the chamber.
The parliament’s upper chamber was an oval-shaped room with multicolored marble panels. Soft-footed servants waited on call to bring the lords drinks and snacks. Overhead were three massive chandeliers. The lower chamber that housed the Commons was a long rectangle with benches, rather than the desks and comfortable chairs that graced the House of Lords. It was also a far rowdier space than the upper chamber. Though old Suklaa was making an effort on that front, Boho thought.
He studied his manicured nails and considered Nestle’s tirade. His son Sanjay had been a classmate of Boho’s, and was married to Mercedes’ full sister Julieta. The relationship between the sisters had been chilly since the extension of the Rule of Service had sent Julieta off to the High Ground and delayed said marriage, and Mercedes had argued against the marriage because she felt Sanjay had violent tendencies. Boho couldn’t disagree, but the marriage seemed to have worked and if Julieta had doubts or regrets they had been subsumed into anger and resentment against her elder sister.
So was old Suklaa hoping to undermine Mercedes and perhaps have the throne fall to his daughter-in-law? Impossible because Julieta had failed to graduate from the High Ground. She had deliberately washed out at the end of the first year so she could get married, and being an officer in the Orden de la Estrella was a requirement for the throne, and that was one requirement that was never going to be relaxed. The human League ruled over now four alien species, since the disappearance of the fifth and most dangerous of the creatures. No one knew what the Cara’ot might have been plotting during the intervening years. No, it was absolutely essential that the emperor—or empress—be a military leader as well as a civilian leader.
Word had arrived that Mercedes had decoupled a destroyer from her flotilla and was sending it and the freed hostages to Hellfire for debriefing and medical care before they began six weeks of leave. A classified message had been sent to Boho and Kemel that she had a possible lead on a Hidden World and was investigating. Boho had sent back a coded message that the Hidden World wasn’t going anywhere, but the opportunity for good press was fleeting. Her response had been: You handle it. Which meant he would be traveling to Hellfire to personally greet the survivors.
The report she had provided had also contained her request that contraception be provided, and indeed required, of all women serving in O-Trell. That was what had begun this donnybrook in the House of Lords. The Cardinal of Hissilek, one of the Lords Spiritual, was even now heaving to his feet like a broaching whale draped in red. Before the Cardinal could get started, Boho rose to his feet and addressed the man who currently held the speaker’s gavel.
“My lord, if I might offer some perspective.” There was a nod of acquiescence from the rostrum. “We have witnessed the rescue of some two thousand League soldiers and the total destruction of the corsairs. Perhaps a moment of celebration and congratulation is in order before we turn to the pressing problem of our women potentially getting… naughty.” There were a few chuckles and a few grumbles from the older men.
“My lords, the consort is amusing as always, but his is hardly an unbiased voice.” The Cardinal’s sonorous tones rolled across the assemblage. “His loyalty to his wife is both touching and understandable, but his dismissal of our concerns is misguided. Perhaps the Infanta’s barren state has warped her thinking, but this is more than just an argument over contraception. This is an assault on the very foundations of our society. Children are a blessing from God—”
“And convenient cannon fodder,” Boho interrupted. The Cardinal’s harrumph was like rocks on a grater. “My lords, let’s be real. This drive to procreate is directly attributable to our need to contain the perceived alien threat.”
“Not perceived. It’s damn well real,” the Duque de Telqual shouted. “The Cara—”
“Yes, yes, our expedient bogeyman,” Boho snapped back. “They’ve been gone almost fifteen years. Perhaps it’s time we stopped wetting our panties.”
“Are you calling me a coward, sir?” Telqual roared.
“I’m calling all of us cowards, sir. How much do we spend to maintain this massive military force? We never ask if this money might be better spent elsewhere.”
Rohan Danilo Marcus Aubrey, Conde de Vargas and currently prime minister, lifted his head from his chest. He appeared to have been dozing, but there was a glint in his eyes that indicated he had only been faking. “Good heavens, Boho, are you becoming a radical?” He smoothed his thinning and graying red hair and rose to his feet. “My lords, as the man who encouraged the Emperor to include women in the service, allow me to offer some perspective.” He paused for a sip of his tea. “Space is big.” He sat back down.
“Why thank you for that amazing bit of information, Rohan,” Musa del Campo, the Duque Agua de Negra, said. “Your gift for the obvious is breathtaking.”
Rohan stood again. “My point being that there are vast numbers of systems and worlds that we have yet to discover, much less explore. There might be things lurking in the darkness that will test our resolve and our readiness. To exclude over half the population from our defense seems foolish and having contraception makes such service more practical.”
“And what if the practice spreads into the general populace? Aren’t we better off keeping our women safe to bear more children to sustain our military?” the Cardinal replied. “Also, what man wouldn’t fight harder to defend his home, his wife, and his children?”
“You don’t think survival would be enough of an incentive?” Rohan asked sweetly.
After that the debate continued for another two hours with no consensus and nothing decided. In other words: it had been a normal day at parliament.
* * *
“There is a certain masculine quality about her that one can’t help but notice.” A man’s voice.
“And find concerning.” Another voice.
Boho didn’t recognize either of them, which wasn’t surprising. The number of officers who flew desks on Hellfire seemed beyond counting. To be fair it took even more people behind the scenes to keep the frontline troops fighting, or at least ready to fight. Boho was pretty sure they were discussing Mercedes. He considered rounding the corner and confronting them, but decided to hold back and continue listening.
“Father Dunwich says the economic troubles we’re having are because we’ve violated natural law and Heaven’s law,” said the second voice.
“Your Father Dunwich is a crank. Isn’t he one of those Fine Dierum nuts?”
“Well, doesn’t it feel like the end of days?” the second voice said, his tone shrill with outrage.
“No, it feels like we just kicked the shit out of t
he corsairs.”
“Then why did you complain about the Infanta?” the second voice accused.
“Because I wonder if we would have lost fewer people if the consort had been in command.”
It was his cue. Boho stepped around the corner. The two officers, one younger than himself, the other about the same age, braced and saluted. The younger one’s eyes slid to the Servicio Protector Imperial that rested on his left breast. Boho touched the medal with his fingertips. “Looking at this, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir. Discúlpame, sir. I’ve… I’ve just never seen one.”
“No apology necessary. I’m honored to have won it.” Boho didn’t mention that Mercedes had also earned the same medal. “So, on your way to the awards ceremony?”
“Yes, sir, wouldn’t miss it,” said the older man, who was a chief warrant officer.
“Well, lead the way.”
Boho paused in the doorway and studied the people assembled on the dais. Only one woman was present—the hombre who had not gotten knocked up. Showing the expanding bellies on the others wasn’t going to reassure League citizens. The top brass hadn’t wanted any women present, but Boho had overruled them. In all other particulars the palace press office and the brass had followed his instructions to the letter. They had selected the most attractive men from among the rescued crews. One bright young fellow in the press office, Anselmo Moran, had suggested they add a smattering of hombres in addition to officers to the ceremony. Those enlisted personnel with nicely affecting stories could then be featured on subsequent days, which would delight the intitulados. In keeping with that desire to court favor among the lower class Boho had also instructed the Chancellor of the Exchequer to authorize funds to bring the families of the surviving hostages to Hellfire for the ceremony.
One person was notably absent—the erstwhile commander of the squadron. Captain Esteban Singh was on Hellfire, but he was confined to quarters awaiting court-martial per Mercedes’ order. Boho made a mental note to have Anselmo prepare a dossier on the family. Depending on what he found, it might be worth Boho contacting them.
The ceremony was being held in the Hall of Heroes, a cavernous space with a soaring vaulted ceiling festooned with battle flags and ships’ standards. He scanned the assembled crowd. The hombres and officers who hadn’t been selected for the stage sat in the audience with tearful wives, mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers touching and hugging them as if to reassure themselves that they were real. It was nicely affecting and the cameras were catching it all.
Boho strode toward the dais. A man fell into step with him, Mihalis del Campo, eldest son of cousin Musa. Mihalis was two years older and shorter by a number of inches. He was barrel-chested, a bit bandy-legged, but he wore his uniform with arrogant pride, and while he might not have the Servicio Protector Imperial his jacket sported a lot of medals and ribbons. Since they were both admirals neither of them saluted.
Mihalis glanced up at him. “So, we’re spared having either of los viejos bastardos present.” Boho couldn’t mask his surprise at the disdainful words and tone. Mihalis leaned in close. “I heard from Arturo that you two… talked.”
“Ah. Yes, it seems my father-in-law and your father couldn’t abide sharing the stage nor could they convince the other not to attend.”
“A fortunate outcome.” They exchanged smiles. Mihalis gestured toward the dais. “Well, shall we?”
As they walked down the center aisle Boho was glad that Davin wasn’t present to see him and Mihalis in close proximity. Instead old Admiral Kartirci, who commanded the Gold, was present since the squadron that had been captured had come from that fleet.
As they passed one row Boho was surprised to see Conde Maximilian Yuen sitting in the audience. The man’s son had been aboard one of the destroyed corsario ships. He had not expected to see the parent of one of the dead present for a celebration for those who had survived. The older man’s hands rested on a black velvet box. Boho knew it contained a Servicio Protector Imperial granted posthumously to Captain Yuen. Boho had read the after-action report. He knew that Cristobal Yuen had died because of a direct order from Mercedes. He wondered if the father knew that, and if he didn’t how it might affect him if he found out. He glanced over at Mihalis. Boho knew he was playing a delicate game, but it seemed worth the risk of mentioning the man to Arturo and Mihalis. A push here, a nudge there and he could sit back and watch events play out without getting too involved. Once he knew which way the wind was blowing… He didn’t complete the thought.
As Boho mounted the stairs onto the dais the dignitaries and the people in the hall all stood. He indicated they should be seated and took his own chair while the military chaplain led them in an opening prayer. Then it was his turn. Boho moved to the lectern, keyed his ScoopRing to project his speech and began.
“As I look out across this assembly I see family. My brothers and sisters in arms.” He nodded at the uniformed men and the one woman on the dais with him, and swept a hand out toward the men in the audience. “And because of that bond their fathers and mothers, sisters, brothers, and wives are my family too. But our fellowship goes beyond service to the League we all love. We are family because we are human. A species united by our shared genetics. It is that bond that compels us to serve, to place our bodies between our homes and loved ones and the dangers that wait in the darkness. That is why your emperor and my wife, the Infanta, and I will always take any and all steps to protect the soldiers who defend us all. We will bring them home no matter the cost.”
Boho went on to single out certain officers and hombres by name. Telling their stories, praising their bravery. There was a certain irony to it all considering all they had really managed to do was get captured and be rescued, but that inconvenient fact was being buried on this day. He concluded with the motto of the Orden de la Estrella.
“May we touch the stars with glory!” He snapped off a salute.
Everyone came to their feet applauding, cheering, and saluting. Boho turned to the men assembled on the dais and moved down the line shaking their hands. He reached the woman, who held out her hand, but Boho checked the placement of the floating cameras and instead enfolded her in an embrace.
“Do you want me to muster up a tear or two for the cameras, sir?” the woman whispered in his ear.
“You’re a quick and cynical one.” Laughter danced on the edges of the words.
“I know an opportunity when I see one.”
“So what are you doing after the reception, chiquita?”
“I don’t know, sir. What am I doing?”
“I’ll think of something.”
He released her and stepped back. She had managed to muster up tears and she wiped her cheeks while the cameras recorded. Boho glanced over and the press spokesman, Anselmo, gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up.
* * *
“Damn it, what’s taking so long?” Tracy fumed while he paced the bridge. Jax had gone to the spaceport master’s office to pay their departure fee and he had been gone almost an hour.
“Maybe you two humans could go over there, huff about the shiftless alien, and get us a lift-off time,” Jahan suggested. “Oh, don’t wince, Oli… Tracy, you know it will help.”
“All right. Come on, Luis.”
They left the ship and crossed the field. Nueva Terra was a major hub so the giant field was dotted with ships of all sizes and shapes. The passenger liners never landed, but the shuttles and pinnaces, for the more elegant and wellborn travelers, waited to carry the passengers up to the big ships. Loading mechs rolled past with crated cargo, flitters darted across the field taking crews and port personnel to various ships. Tracy didn’t want to pay for a flitter to take them to administration so they hoofed it across the flame-charred concrete. He was soon sweating. It was summer in the hemisphere where New Madrid was located.
Inside the building the air conditioning was going full blast and a vid screen behind the desk was showing a news story while the staff were gathered
around drinking coffee and watching. Jax was folded into a chair quivering with annoyance so his fronds made a whispering sound that wasn’t entirely due to the air conditioning ruffling his leaves.
“Holy shit!” Luis choked. Tracy, leaning on the counter trying to get the attention of the staff, looked over at the younger man. Luis was staring at the screen. “That’s that guy, the one who ripped us—” In that moment Tracy realized it was Boho on the screen. He trod heavily on Luis’ foot. “Ow!” One look at Tracy’s glare and Luis’ teeth snapped shut.
Every nerve in his body screamed that he should look away, walk away, but a macabre fascination kept him watching. When Boho hugged the young woman hombre Tracy gave a snort of disgust. That finally got the attention of the staff. One of the men slouched over to him.
“Yeah?”
“We need lift-off authorization.” Tracy jerked a thumb back at Jax. “Apparently this animated broccoli didn’t communicate that to you.”
“Nah, we told him to wait. We wanted to watch the ceremony,” the man said.
Tracy snapped his fingers at Jax who came rustling over. “Seems strange the Infanta wasn’t there,” Tracy said as he took the credit spike from the Tiponi and paid the fee.
“Guess she couldn’t be bothered,” the man grunted.
Another of the office staff added, “Gene Lake says she got a bunch of our boys killed.” Tracy stiffened at the mention of the notorious yellow journalist. “He said that wouldn’t have happened if they’d given the mission to the duque, but I guess she has his balls in her pocket.”
“There are some things a woman isn’t meant to do. Lead an army is one,” the first man said. Tracy’s ScoopRing pinged as the authorization was sent over from the admin officer’s computer. “There you go, Captain Randall. Safe journeys.”
“Thank you,” Tracy grated. The three of them left the building.
“Madre de Dios! That guy who jacked us up was the consort,” Luis said with suppressed excitement.
The Hidden World Page 13
