The Hidden World

by Melinda Snodgrass

  Cool fingers touched his cheek. Tracy jerked out of the half-dream. Mercedes was standing directly in front of him and close, very close. She jerked her hand back at his startled reaction. Tracy reacted just as quickly, grabbing her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, while at the same time he said, “It’s all right. You just startled me.”

  “You had such a hurt and sad look on your face.”

  “Memories.” He shrugged and released her. “They’re never a good thing.”

  “Really? I have some nice ones of you.”

  “Don’t!” He jumped to his feet and started for the door.

  “We were very good… friends once.”

  “That was a lifetime and a marriage ago,” he snapped. He looked back hoping he had hurt her and was then ashamed when he realized that he had.

  Mercedes sank down on the bed. “We all do what we feel we must.” Her throat worked as she swallowed hard. “I suppose the citizens of Kusatsu-Shirane thought the same.” There was an ocean of grief in her dark brown eyes.

  He walked back and sat down next to her. “You didn’t kill them. League policy killed them, and people like me warning them what would happen if the League ever found them. Maybe I should have told them to contact the League and petition to join, but there was money to be made selling what appeared to be antique Japanese artifacts because they had been on a long-view ship for hundreds of years. And they wanted to continue with their social experiment to create the perfect Japanese society.” He shook his head. “No one’s at fault and everyone’s to blame.”

  She laid a hand on his thigh. “Thank you for trying to share the burden, but I’m the one who came here with a military force. I was cocky after Rockfleet. When we found the information, I thought I could add another habitable world to the League.”

  “Come home a hero,” Tracy said.

  She nodded. “Yes. Instead I’m the architect of a disaster.” She shook her head. “The del Campos will use this to finish destroying me. They’re already well on the way.”

  “How?”

  She looked down at her hand and began twisting the elaborate wedding set, spinning it around and around. “The mannish princess who can’t conceive, and can’t satisfy her husband enough to keep him from straying.” She yanked off the ring. It left a red indentation like a brand on her finger. “They’ll soon be whispering that I’m like my sister Beatrisa and prefer women.” She gave her head a shake. “But enough. Tell me about yourself. How did you get this ship?”

  “Luck and theft at just the right moment.” He reacted at her look. “I figured if the League had said I was a criminal I might as well live up to it. But before you ask, I stole from a Cara’ot warehouse.”

  “Ah. Smart.” She glanced down at the ring in the palm of her hand then closed her fingers over it. Thrust it into her pants pocket. “And have you… married?”

  “No. I never met anyone I wanted to marry.”

  Her eyes were locked on his. “Liar,” she said, her tone both soft and husky.

  Tracy was suddenly very aware that their thighs were pressed against each other, shoulders touching, her hair tickling his ear, and their lips only inches apart. “Mercedes… Highness… I’m… um…”

  “You saved my life,” she said softly, and taking his hand she laid it on her breast.

  Tracy shot to his feet and stared down at her. “No! Not because you’re grateful. That would be worse than never having you.”

  She came to her feet bristling with outrage. “You loved me once.”

  “I still do,” he blurted and realized his emotions had betrayed him and he had said it. He fell back on the only defense left to him and the source of his greatest pain. “And you’re another man’s wife.”

  “God damn your middle-class morality. He gets to swan about seducing anything in a skirt while I have to look the other way and never follow suit?”

  “Oh, thanks. So now I’m just the means to get back at your philandering husband? Wasn’t there some highborn jackass to pin the horns on Boho? Or did you think it would have more sting if you schtupped the lowborn scum?”

  “That is not what I meant! God, do you have to be so prickly?”

  “Well, forgive me, Highness, for not grasping the subtle distinctions of your proposal.”

  They stood facing each other quivering with outrage. A sudden smile blossomed on her lips and she started to chuckle. For an instant it fanned the flames of his anger even higher and then he reached the same conclusion and he began to smile and then laugh.

  “And just like that we’re eighteen and fighting again,” Mercedes said.

  “Dios, you would think we would have learned something after all these years.”

  Mercedes held out her hand. He took it. “Let me try this again.” Her expression sobered. “My life has been bound by expectations, rules, and protocol. I married a man I didn’t love. I’ve failed to give the League an heir. I’ve failed as a military leader, and the very thought of me and what I represent has driven the population of a world to commit suicide. I have to live with all of this, but I would like to have one moment of happiness in the midst of all this grief.” She was blinking back tears.

  Tracy gripped her shoulders, “Mer, I—”

  They were interrupted by Jahan’s voice over the intercom. “Captain, we’re ready to lift.”

  “Be right there.”

  “And so you are saved,” Mercedes said. Her voice held a mixture of sadness and humor.

  Tracy stood devouring her face, longing to kiss away the sadness, smooth the lines out of her skin. He forced himself to release her. “See if you still feel the same way after a night’s sleep. I don’t want to add to your regrets and grief.”

  Tracy left before temptation overcame his scruples.

  * * *

  It was a nerve-wracking few hours as they made their way out of the plane of the debris field and tried to avoid the remaining moons. The wreckage had begun to fall into an orbital pattern forming a sparse ring comprised of human ingenuity and human hate. In time orbital decay would take the larger pieces and they would burn up in the atmosphere. A funeral pyre in the sky, a charnel house below, and falling stars to mourn them all. Acid filled Tracy’s stomach as he tried to contemplate what awaited Mercedes when she returned to Hissilek. She had led four ships and some six thousand soldiers to their deaths, and only she had survived.

  They had a day and a half before they reached the point where he would feel comfortable entering the Fold. Before that, they had to have some sense of where they were going. If it had been just his crew they would probably have gone to Wasua and tried to sell the equipment. Mercedes complicated matters. Should they return her to the capital? Take her to Hellfire and fleet headquarters? The huge shipyards at Cuandru where the fleet also had a large presence? It would take roughly the same amount of time to reach Wasua and Cuandru. Ouranos was a longer journey. And should they send a Foldstream message to Hissilek informing them of the rescue of the Infanta and where they were taking her?

  By now fleet headquarters probably knew they had lost contact with the battle group. Mercedes would have informed them of her whereabouts, which meant the League had the coordinates and were even now scrambling to send ships to Kusatsu-Shirane. The League would also know that the capsule had been opened, so would it be better if the Selkie waited here for the rescue ships to arrive? No, he needed plausible deniability that he and his crew hadn’t been trading with the Hidden World. They had to dump the cargo and wipe every hint of this and every other Hidden World from their data banks before they faced the League. Their story would be that they had picked up the distress call from the life capsule and come to render aid, and the princess had ordered them to take her… where? Which brought him full circle. Where did Mercedes want to go? He had to ask her before they were ready to translate into the Fold.

  He met Jahan on the ladder. “So where are we going?” the Isanjo asked.

  “I don’t know.”


  “I thought you were going to ask her.”

  “I forgot.”

  “Ooooh.”

  The long glissando and the gleam in her large eyes made him blush. Which made him angry. “I’ll get to it! Was there something else you wanted?”

  “Wow, cranky much. Just to tell you and Graarack that dinner is about ready.” She flipped around and went swarming down the ladder head first.

  * * *

  The nightmares were waiting. Faces of men trapped behind emergency bulkheads that had slammed shut trying to defend the bridge against the icy touch of space. Their mouths wide as they screamed or gasped for breath. The slack faces of dead children. Proximity alarms wailing. Nance leaning over her, preparing to pull down the lid of the life capsule. One of the bridge crew rushing them. “Why her? I have a wi—” Nance shooting the man then leaning in close. “Tell my wife…” Pain as the needles drove into her body. Vision narrowing. The closing lid cut off the rest of his words. What had he wanted her to tell his wife?

  Mercedes jerked awake from a brief sleep she hadn’t intended to take, sat up, and clawed her hair off her sweat-bathed face. She would tell the woman that her husband’s last thoughts and words had been of her. That he loved her. She hoped it was true.

  She got up, hitched up the too large pants, and went in search of company. Alone was not a good place to be right now. She found them all in the galley preparing a meal. The food smelled good and she realized she was hungry. All of them surveyed her. So many eyes: nineteen between the aliens and the humans. The expressions ranged from curious to guarded to excited to… she couldn’t interpret Tracy’s.

  “May I join you?” she asked.

  “Of… of course,” the young man, Baca, stammered. He scrambled out of his chair.

  “Thank you,” she said softly as she sat down.

  The Isanjo carried over a pot of stew, vegetables and lamb in a thick gravy. Another bowl held rice. There was a vegetarian casserole for the Hajin, and the Tiponi was shifting his lamp between various wavelengths. Once he was satisfied he poured the contents of a small bottle into his pool of water and climbed in. There was a bench along one wall. Tracy, Baca, and the Isanjo squeezed onto the bench leaving a large hassock for the Sidone and a tall chair for the Hajin. For a few minutes they were all occupied with passing and serving. Then everyone began to eat. An uncomfortable silence gripped the table.

  “So, let me see if I can remember all your names. Things have been rather… hectic since I woke,” Mercedes said. She smiled at the Hajin. “Dalea, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Jax.” The Flute swayed and bowed. “Graak.”

  “Graarack,” the spider corrected.

  “Oh, yes, of course, sorry. Jahan and Luis.” Nods all around. The silence returned. “So, what is the plan?”

  “Actually, I was going to bring you some dinner and ask you that very question if you hadn’t joined us,” Tracy said. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Where were you headed next?” Mercedes asked.

  “Kronos,” Jax said. “But there’s no reason to go now. We don’t have the promised cargo for our client.”

  “Our itinerary doesn’t really matter,” Tracy said hurriedly. “Depending on when… well, when the capsule was jettisoned, the League will have already received the distress call. They’ll also know the capsule has been opened. They’re going to come looking for you.” He hesitated then added, “I’d prefer not to wait here for them.”

  “Yes, that might be awkward. So, what’s closest?”

  “Cuandru and Wasua, Highness,” Graarack said.

  “It would be helpful if we could unload this cargo before we go there,” Jax said.

  “Jax! Stop it,” Tracy snapped.

  Mercedes set aside her spoon. “Allow me to assure you that the crown will be appropriately grateful for my rescue.”

  The Tiponi’s fronds fluttered and rattled, the alien’s version of delight. “Oh, well then.”

  “It should be Cuandru,” Tracy said. “The shipyards are there and a large military contingent.”

  Mercedes turned to Jahan. “Do you have family there?”

  “Yes, Highness, my mate… husband.”

  “Children?”

  “Yes, three, but they’re pretty much grown. The youngest just started college. My girl works at the shipyard and my eldest son is on a construction crew on Dullahan.”

  “And your husband? He didn’t mind…” Mercedes’ voice trailed away. She didn’t know how to say staying home without making it sound accusatory.

  “Raising the kids and staying home?” Jahan gave that Isanjo tooth-baring grin. “Oh, no. He’s a homebody. Gets sick in freefall and hates dehydrated food. It was an easy division of labor. And he does work. He designs games for tap-pads.”

  “How interesting. Anything I would know?”

  “Um, probably not, Highness. They’re designed for Isanjos and really need more than two hands to play.”

  “I see. And it’s not required that you keep calling me Highness.” Mercedes swept the table with a look. “Now that we’re all acquainted, ma’am will suffice.” Murmurs of yes, ma’am whispered around the table.

  Mercedes helped clear the plates. Graarack brought Tracy a tap-pad. Mercedes noticed the red wash into his cheeks. He looked embarrassed. Intrigued she paused to watch.

  “I don’t remember where we were,” Tracy muttered.

  “The chapter entitled ‘Wayfarers All’, page one hundred and fifty-nine, second paragraph, the sentence beginning, ‘As she forges towards the headlands she will clothe herself’,” Jax said. The look Tracy gave him should have shriveled his fronds.

  “What is all this?” Mercedes asked.

  “We read aloud after the final meal of the day,” Jahan said. “Each one of us picks a book from our species. You can’t really know a culture until you’ve heard their poetry and read their great literature.”

  “What a lovely custom. And an interesting way to spread understanding,” Mercedes said.

  “Yes. Pity you don’t allow it in your schools and universities.” The Isanjo’s eyes seemed cold as she stared, unblinking, at Mercedes.

  The Hajin’s head swung between them, and she quickly said, “Though, God help us, we all had to read Moby Dick.”

  It was awkward. Mercedes hurried into speech to try and cover. “So, what human book did you select?” she asked Tracy.

  “The Wind in the Willows,” he said.

  Mercedes returned to her chair and sat so she could watch his face. “Please, do read.”

  He cleared his throat several times and the two spots of color remained on his cheeks. He began. “She will clothe herself with canvas; and then once outside, the sounding slap of great green seas as she heels to the wind, pointing South! ‘And you, you will come too, young brother, for the days pass, and never return, and the South still waits for you. Take the Adventure, heed the call, now ere the irrevocable moment passes!’” His voice cracked on the final words. He coughed, reached for his beer. She watched his throat work as he swallowed the last sips. There was a bit of stubble forming at his jawline—silver and gold. It caught the light. She wanted to touch it.

  He read a few more pages then said, “That’s all the voice I have tonight,” he said. There were a few grumbles of disappointment, but the group began to break up. Jahan and the Sidone headed for the bridge. Baca headed to his cabin. The Hajin medic paused and said, “You should rest, Highness… ma’am. Your body and mind have experienced a form of death.” She left the galley.

  Tracy stood and offered his arm. “Allow me to escort you.”

  She stood and laid her fingertips on his arm. “Thank you, sir.”

  They walked in silence down the short hall to his cabin. He stopped at the open door. “Well… goodnight.”

  A silence like drifting feathers fell between them. She allowed her hand to slide up his arm. “So, I’ve slept.”

  “Ah, have you? That’s…
nice. Okay.” He ran a finger around his collar. She wanted to laugh.

  “Yes, and I believe I’ll take the wayfarer’s advice,” she murmured. She leaned in and kissed him.

  19

  WORRY ABOUT TOMORROW WHEN TOMORROW COMES

  They practically tumbled through the door, arms wrapped around each other’s necks, lips locked together, breaths coming in short gasps. Mercedes noticed that Tracy had the wit to lock the door and place a privacy notice on the outer panel. He used only one hand as if he couldn’t bear to release her even for an instant. Her fingers were clumsy as she struggled to unbutton his shirt. She was frantically toeing off her boots and kicking them aside. One of them hit the wall and made the material ring like a bell.

  She wore a tee shirt borrowed from Dalea. Like the trousers it was too big. Tracy gripped the trailing hem and pulled it over her head, interrupting her attempts to get his shirt undone. She growled in frustration, and yanked the shirt tails free from his waistband. She then followed his example and just pulled it over his head. Boho had a mat of dark hair on his chest. Tracy’s was pale and rather sparse. She ran her fingers down his chest marveling at the contrast of skin and crisp curling hairs.

  He unhooked her bra. The straps slid down her arms and her breasts spilled free. He gave a moan and buried his face between her breasts, his hands cupping them. His lips and tongue played across her skin. Fire shot through her body followed by the sensation that warm honey was flowing rich and heavy into her pelvis. She arched her back and clutched at his shaggy, graying dishwater-blond hair.

  He unzipped her borrowed trousers and they slid down to her ankles. She stepped out and kicked them aside and was suddenly shaken with unease. She glanced down at the way her belly now bulged slightly over the top of her panties. There was a bra bulge that had crept up on her as the years had passed. She was shaken with doubt. Would he still find her attractive now that she stood exposed, bared to his gaze? She shook her head trying to veil herself with her hair.