The Hidden World

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “I’ll probably marry Carisa,” Mihalis continued. “Get her out of the way, be a link to the old regime and prevent any plots to arise around her.”

  “And the other women?” Boho asked.

  “Julieta and Sanjay are fully committed to us,” Arturo said. That was an interesting bit of information, which Boho filed away. “If the husbands of the others swear fealty, they’ll be spared.”

  “Tanis is devoted to our cause,” Jose offered.

  “The dyke will have to die though,” Mihalis said.

  “Unless you think you can convince her to back us?” Arturo looked at Boho.

  “Not if you kill her sister. Beatrisa is very close to Mercedes,” Boho answered.

  “Well, that makes the decision easy,” Musa said offhandedly.

  “Well, if there’s nothing else…” Boho said. Musa waved a ropey, blue-veined hand to indicate he was dismissed. Arturo followed him out of the sacristy.

  “We noticed you have moved back into the Cullen mansion.”

  “Yes.”

  “We’d prefer that you stayed at the palace so you can keep us better informed.”

  Since Boho had been worried about how to get information back to Kemel and Mercedes this suited him perfectly. He had been planning an assignation with Paloma and to have her carry the information, but now he no longer needed to do that and that was a relief. After the revelation of Paloma’s betrayal he hadn’t wanted to see the girl.

  “All right, but it’s not easy knowing what she did,” Boho grumbled.

  Arturo clapped him on the shoulder. “I know, but you will be well rewarded. You are a popular and powerful figure in League society and beloved by the people. Having you at our side will make the transition smoother.”

  Boho decided to push a bit more. “Since it’s likely I’ll be a widower, do I still get my pick of a del Campo daughter?”

  “I’ll discuss that with Father. We might have to use the girls to cement wavering allies, but you would be my first choice to have as brother-in-law.”

  * * *

  It had been an elaborate undertaking. After Boho had brought the warning, Kemel and a very few trusted people began to bring in doubles to play the Emperor, Mercedes, Constanza, and Carisa. To limit any access to the faux emperor, word had gone out that Fernán was under the weather and had taken to his bed.

  The plan was to take a commercial shuttle up to rendezvous with Boho’s flagship, and, operating under the theory that the fewer people who knew the less likely it was to be leaked, they had intended to use only a pilot and copilot off Boho’s ship, no additional security and certainly no servants. Mercedes had foolishly assumed that the royals could survive ten hours without such attention.

  Unfortunately, this idea had been met by howls from Constanza who insisted they had to bring her latest life coach/nutritionist/yoga instructor, Henry Guthrie. Kemel and Mercedes had been vociferous in their objection, but it had only taken two sentences from Carisa to reduce their arguments to rubble.

  “She’s going to be a basket case if he comes along. Without him—full out meltdown.” So, despite the spy master’s fears, Guthrie was coming along. Mercedes wished it could have been Davin, but he and the Blue fleet had been off searching for her, and, while they had been ordered back to the capitol, their arrival time was uncertain.

  They left with the crowd of palace employees at the end of the work day. Thanks to the winter weather, it was easy to hide their familiar features with bulky coats, hoods, and hats. Mingling among the crowd of workers returning home at the end of the day they caught public transport at the bottom of the Palacio Colina. During the tram ride her father grumbled, while Constanza huddled next to Guthrie rather than her husband. He patted her hand and whispered in her ear as they slid along the mag rail. Carisa stared out the window and Mercedes nervously touched the pistol in her pocket and the knife in a sheath on her ankle.

  Kemel had told them to get off at the Soho stop in Stick Town. As they stepped off the tram Constanza gazed at the Tiponis swaying past and shuddered. On corners, pods of Flutes were gathered, playing their fast-paced and incomprehensible gambling game. Their excited tooting filled the air. Carisa was looking around with an expression of delight. She turned to Mercedes.

  “I can’t believe I’ve spent most of my life on Ouranos and I’ve never seen this part of the city.”

  “Thank God,” Constanza quavered. “This is insane. Why are we endangering ourselves this way? Why are we doing this?”

  “There’s been a threat against us,” Mercedes said soothingly. She and Kemel had agreed that neither her father nor her stepmother needed to know the exact nature of the threat. The Emperor would have disrupted their careful plans to bring down the del Campos and Constanza would have been reduced to a quivering mess.

  Mercedes turned and looked off to the west toward Pony Town, where once the Belmanors’ tailor shop had been on the outskirts of the Hajin area. Tracy hadn’t seen his father in years. She was losing her father to dementia. Her hand went to her belly. And she would bear a child who would never know his or her real father. Sadness threatened to overcome her. It all felt so hopeless.

  Before Constanza could have a complete emotional meltdown a taxi flitter flew up and dropped to the ground in front of them. The door opened and Ian waved them in. They were then whisked away to the spaceport where a freight shuttle was waiting.

  “We’re not taking the imperial pinnace?” her father asked.

  “No, sir, we need people to think we’re still at the palace,” Mercedes said.

  “It looks dirty,” Constanza said with a wrinkle of her perfect nose.

  “We’ve made every effort for your comfort,” Guthrie said. “And I’m here to serve, ma’am.”

  Mercedes threw a desperate look to Carisa who gave a small nod and slipped an arm around her mother’s waist. “Come on, Mummy. It’s all going to be fine.”

  Ian bowed and Mercedes gave him a wistful glance. “I wish you were coming.”

  He smiled. “So do I, but it would look odd if the head of your security detail was suddenly absent.”

  “Holiday?” she suggested brightly so he would understand she was joking.

  “What are those? You’d best get aboard, Highness. See you once this mess is resolved.”

  On board she found Carisa settling her parents into their couches, and then helping her mother buckle in. The cargo area had been retrofitted with acceleration couches and a cabinet containing an oven and refrigerator. Guthrie bustled about setting tapas trays into the oven to be heated once they reached orbit. The bare composite walls had been covered with tapestries. Despite the changes, it was still a big space designed to carry cargo and in fact there was the lingering smell of herbs and spices that had apparently been the last cargo hauled.

  Mercedes headed toward the cockpit. As she passed Guthrie he said, “We will serve refreshments after liftoff, Highness. Everything was to Lord DeLonge’s specifications.”

  “Excellent.”

  She moved to the bulkhead that separated the crew compartment from the cargo area, and touched the entry chime. Beneath her feet she could hear the growing thrum of the engines coming online. The pilot and co-pilot turned as she entered. They started to unhook their harnesses to stand, but she waved them back down. Despite their civilian garb it was clear they were O-Trell. “At ease,” she said. “How are we effecting the rendezvous with the frigate?”

  “I’ve fed in the coordinates. They’ll remote pilot and bring us in.”

  “Don’t trust us to fly ourselves,” Mercedes said.

  The pilot shrugged. “Precious cargo. Best take your couch, Highness. Liftoff in four minutes.”

  Mercedes returned to the cargo hold and strapped in. She brought up the countdown clock on her ring and watched the hologram as the minutes ticked past. She found herself worrying about the fetus as the gee forces pressed her into the acceleration couch. The shuttle was well shielded, but space was a cruel and hosti
le environment, and this cargo shuttle was not equipped with a gravity generator. She was fine in freefall, but she was glad it would be a relatively short trip and then they’d be safely aboard Boho’s flagship with full gravity.

  Constanza whimpered as they raced for the exosphere. While she traveled off world with her husband frequently, it was always in the comfort of the various imperial spacecraft. These rough surroundings were not to her liking. For Carisa, her time in the service had been fairly recent, so the jarring ride was familiar, and while her father had been years away from his time in O-Trell, he seemed to be handling the launch with stoic resolve. A trickle of sweat crawled down Guthrie’s cheek and was shaken loose to hang like a crystal teardrop in the air. Apparently, he was unfamiliar with space flight.

  The main engines cut as they entered orbit. Guthrie unhooked his tethers and began to prepare covered plates with a selection of appetizers. Mercedes waved him off. Weightlessness was amplifying the queasiness from her pregnancy. She might be fine in freefall, but the baby was making its objections known. After the royals were served, the man entered the cockpit to deliver food to the pilots. The door slid shut behind him. Constanza stared at the covered plate in confusion.

  “You can slip your hand through the membrane, Mummy, and pull out the tapas,” Carisa explained and she demonstrated.

  Mercedes closed her eyes and wondered what Tracy was doing.

  * * *

  Anselmo was waiting in his office when Boho returned from another meeting with the del Campos. “Anything?” the young man asked.

  Boho shook his head. “They don’t trust me that much. They’re not going to tell me the exact moment they kick off their coup.” Boho moved to the sideboard, which he had stocked with an array of alcohol, and poured himself several fingers of scotch. The smoky scent wafted up, and some of the tension in his chest eased.

  “We need to time the release of the statement announcing the pregnancy. That way it looks like the del Campos are reacting to their hopes being dashed.”

  Anselmo’s nagging raised a bubble of irritation. “Yes! I know that!” The pressure in Boho’s chest was back. He tossed back the whisky, letting the heat roll down into his belly, though the warmth couldn’t quite counteract the roiling of nerves as he contemplated. Once the press release went out, the del Campos would know he had played them false. Their reaction would be swift and probably violent.

  It was as if the young aide had read his mind, for Anselmo said brightly, “My God, Musa and Mihalis will be enraged knowing you outplayed them. Good thing you got the Infanta and the rest of the family safely out of harm’s way.” He sounded delighted by the prospect that harm, like an amorphous monster, might be rolling toward them.

  Boho pushed aside his fear of what would happen to him if their plans failed and Musa succeeded. He forced himself to focus on the problem at hand. “It has to be soon. I think we have to roll the dice, and trust to luck. Go ahead and release the birth announcement. Let’s force their hand.”

  “Will Admiral Pulkkinen be back in time?” Anselmo asked.

  “That’s part of the luck factor. But I’ve always been a pretty good gambler.” Except when you’re not. He dismissed the traitorous thought.

  “Yes, sir.” Anselmo bustled out.

  * * *

  Dalea looked up when Tracy walked into the medical bay. The small space smelled of antiseptic and the tincture of lavender that Dalea used as the base for her massage oils. “Headache or stomach acid?” she asked.

  It irritated him that she knew his physical ailments so well; almost as much as he resented the ailments. He pushed it aside. “Neither.” They had just come out of Fold heading back to New Hope and a rendezvous with Dr. Engelberg. “I was catching up on the news. The palace released an announcement—Mercedes is pregnant.”

  “Oh, how lovely for her.” The Hajin continued straightening a drawer of medications.

  “Dalea, is this baby mine?”

  She turned slowly and looked down her long face at him. “Captain, that is an inappropriate question to ask and you know it.”

  The use of the title rather than his name told him she was serious and annoyed. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Dalea, don’t bleat about doctor/patient privacy to me. As far as I know you don’t actually have a medical degree, and this is me.”

  “And Mercedes was under my care and in this case my loyalty is to her.”

  “So, you’re really not going to tell me?”

  “No.” Her tail was swishing in irritation. She turned back to the open drawer.

  “So, I guess that hedging, legalistic answer means… the baby is mine.”

  She turned on him, hands planted on her hips. “Tracy, think about this for one second. Don’t you think Mercedes would have told you?”

  He stared at the toes of his boots and the momentary burst of joy deflated—of course she would have told him. She had wanted to stay with him, to give up the throne for him. She wouldn’t have kept such a thing from him. So maybe none of it had been true. After all she had returned to Boho and immediately allowed him to bed her. So much for love. Dull anger roiled his gut and a pounding headache began.

  He looked up and Dalea was holding out her hand. Pills rested on the soft pink skin of her palm. Her other hand held a cup of water. “Antacid, aspirin.”

  He accepted the pills. Even with the water it was hard to force them down. His throat was just that tight.

  26

  MISDIRECTIONS AND REVERSALS

  Reports rolled in that factions of the police and marines loyal to the del Campos had taken control of the spaceport and the main power station for Hissilek. Parliament had been called into an emergency session.

  “You need to get to parliament. Rally support among the grandees and the diputados,” Kemel said, and it was an order not a suggestion.

  They were at a safe house deep in Squirrel Town rather than at SEGU headquarters. Fortunately, since the building that housed the intelligence service had already been taken over by rebel forces. Boho’s Isanjo batBEM, Ivoga, had suggested the location, pointing out that people like the del Campos would not be caught dead in the alien neighborhoods, and it would never occur to them that other members of the FFH might feel differently.

  “No, sir, you’re wrong,” Boho said. “This won’t be won in parliament or by throwing our troops against theirs. We have to win this in the streets, with the people, and I have to lead it.” His ScoopRing pricked his finger and he took the call. It was Anselmo on an encrypted line.

  “Sir, nothing’s happening up here at the palace.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Uh-uh, and Captain Lord Rogers and Matthew Gutierrez—”

  “Who?”

  “He’s the actual commander of Servicio Protector Imperial. I know it seems like it’s Ian, but it’s actually—”

  “Get to the point, Anselmo.”

  “Uh, right, yeah, anyway he wanted me to ask if you wanted to redeploy their troops and agents to parliament or elsewhere in the city?”

  Boho and Kemel exchanged a look. A dull ache filled the pit of Boho’s stomach. “They know,” he said.

  “Beg pardon, sir?” Anselmo said.

  “Nothing. Yes, tell them to deploy at parliament and the Plaza de los Héroes. They can decide who goes where.” Boho continued, “And get me an open-air flitter. Use the one from the Emperor’s Ruby Jubilee.”

  Kemel gave a small cough. “Sir, they’ve taken over traffic control. Grounded everything except military and police vehicles flown by people loyal to them.”

  “Well, shit.”

  “There’s the Emperor’s antique car collection and the stables,” Anselmo suggested.

  “I want to make an entrance not be a laughing stock.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  Boho broke the connection. “I guess we need to highjack a flitter,” he said to Kemel. “And how the hell did they find out the family was gone?”

  “We’ll find out. Right n
ow, you have to get a warning to Mercedes.”

  “What if they just take out the shuttle?” Boho voiced his fear.

  “If what they told you is true, they won’t do that. They need Carisa. They’ll try to take the shuttle.” The old man’s matter-of-fact delivery was infuriating. Boho wanted to be soothed.

  “Dios! It’s set up to be auto-piloted to my ship.”

  “Which means they would just need to change the coordinates and take it to a ship loyal to Mihalis.”

  This time the lack of passion from the SEGU chief snapped Boho’s control. “We should never have let him return with part of his fleet,” Boho raged. “I don’t know why I listened to you!”

  “We had to if we were going to spring this trap. But recriminations won’t help now. You need to call Mercedes. Assume it will be intercepted so be careful. They have to think we haven’t figured this out.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Boho calmed his spinning, angry thoughts. How to deliver a warning? Then it came to him. There were advantages to being known as a clothes horse and a frightful dandy.

  * * *

  “My dear could you please go to the front closet and see if I left my uniform topcoat there. It needs to go to the tailors. It’s not fitting quite right.” There was a few seconds lag between the words. Mercedes frowned at Boho’s image in the hologram. His expression was bright, smiling, but there was a tension in his jaw, and he was blinking more than usual. After twenty-three years of marriage she knew every nuance that crossed his face. He was upset. It took her a few minutes to parse the message he was sending her.

  Uniform. Front closet…

  She looked toward the cockpit and realized that the door was still shut and Guthrie was nowhere to be seen. How long since he’d taken food up to the pilots? She checked the time and realized she had dozed off. It had been close on thirty minutes. There was no reason for him to still be in the cockpit. “Of course, my darling.” She broke the connection, released her restraints, and pushed off the couch. Carisa gave her a curious look. Mercedes cocked her head and gave her an intense look. Carisa released her harness and floated over to her.