In Evil Times

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “Well he certainly loves the Infanta.”

  “Same thing.” Cipriana hesitated then asked, “Mer, do you love him?”

  They stared at each other for a long moment while Mercedes wondered if Cipriana had suddenly developed telepathy. She groped for a pillow, clutched it to her bare chest. “I… think so? I don’t feel for him the way I felt for—” She cut off the words as if saying his name was dangerous, because it probably was. She took a breath. “We understand each other. We grew up together. We know our duty and he’s what I need. What the crown needs.” She gave Cipriana a quick smile. “And did I mention he’s handsome.”

  “He’ll be a good ruler.”

  Mercedes stiffened. “He won’t be ruling. I will be.”

  Cipriana looked startled then embarrassed. “Right, of course, I just meant… I mean, do you really want all that on you? You’ll have children, and look at Sumiko. She was the most ambitious of all of us, but she seems so happy with her daughter and a new baby on the way.”

  “Which brings up another problem. I can’t get pregnant too soon.” Mercedes stood, crossed to the closet, pulled out a dressing gown and shrugged into it. “I’ve got to do at least one rotation on a ship to satisfy the old guard. Otherwise they’ll never accept me.” Mercedes frowned. “I’ll need to discuss that with Boho. We’ll be serving on the same ship, but we’ll need to be careful.”

  “Use birth control.”

  “I can’t do that. I thought I was hemmed in when I was a princess. Now that I’m the Infanta it’s much worse.” She sighed. “I never thought I’d say this, but I miss the High Ground. I had a lot more freedom there. Anyway, if I got a pill or a patch somebody would find out, talk, and God what an uproar there would be.”

  “IUD?”

  “And who’s going to insert it? No human doctor would agree.”

  “So go to an alien doctor.”

  “You have noticed I have a lot of security around me.” Mercedes shook her head. “No, Boho’s just going to have to be patient and understanding.”

  “Not his strong suit. He’s a man of robust appetites, and you’ve got to do the deed on your wedding night. With your luck you’ll get pregnant the first time you fuck, then none of this will be an issue,” Cipriana concluded.

  “I know we’re supposed to outbreed the aliens, but there are five known alien races we’ve encountered. There’s no way we can overcome the deficit.”

  “Paranoia’s a bitch,” Cipriana agreed. Then in quavering old lady tones she added, “There are more of them than us and even though we beat them they’re wily and they’re plotting and they have secret weapons and they’ll win and take our women and produce monstrous half-breeds… Like that could ever happen,” Cipriana said in her normal voice, then reverted to the trembling dowager’s voice. “And… and… Oh God the sky is falling!” she concluded with a shout.

  Mercedes was rolling on the bed, clutching her stomach and laughing. She finally sat up, wiped her eyes and said, “I’ll worry about the coming alien apocalypse later. Right now I’ve got to deal with that.” She pointed at the tumbled mass of material. “There isn’t time to hand sew another one. Whatever you say about round-the-clock seamstresses.”

  “So get one printed.”

  Mercedes was appalled. “You know what all the gossiping, back-biting bitches will say.”

  “And what do you think they’re going to say if you come down the aisle wearing that thing? Billions of people are going to watch the live feed. Over the Foldstream no one will be able to tell if the dress was hand stitched or not. They’ll want to see their princess, the future ruler of the Solar League, marrying her handsome consort. It would be better if they’re not giggling.”

  A wild thought intruded. “I wonder…” Mercedes began.

  “What? You’ve got a look that I’ve learned to distrust.”

  “Tracy’s father. He’s a tailor. He’s made suits for my father.”

  “Yeah, emphasis on tailor.”

  “Tracy told me his mother was also a seamstress. She might have left designs…”

  Cipriana jumped to her feet. “You should not be doing this. You’ve stayed well away from him for the past two years. Which was very wise.”

  “He’s still up on the station and I’m sure he couldn’t afford to come home before graduation. And any money they had would go toward getting his father up the High Ground for the ceremony. It’ll be fine,” Mercedes said. “I can at least start there. And I never did get to meet his father.”

  “And you shouldn’t be meeting him now,” Cipriana argued.

  “No, this could work, and be a great public relations coup. Vasilyev is known as the designer for the FFH. If I pick a little known commoner… well, we could make something out of this.”

  Cipriana pursed her lips, considered. “Now that’s actually a good reason for this crazy idea.” She hopped off the bed. “Come on, get dressed. I’ll go with you.”

  2

  WELL, THIS IS AWKWARD

  “He’s likely to become a puddle.”

  Those had been Tracy’s words when she’d suggested he introduce her to his father. In another life. A time before she had effectively ended their friendship and put Tracy firmly in his place. Because of that final conversation she had never actually gotten to meet Alexander Belmanor. Now she had and indeed he had puddled. He stood in the front room of his tailor shop down in Pony Town, and gaped at her. His long, gnarled hands shook with nerves.

  “Hi… hi… Highness, you do honor to my humble establishment, but I’m a tailor.”

  The room was circular, with mirrors on most walls, risers in front of those mirrors where fittings would take place. There was a small sofa against one wall, carpet underfoot, a chandelier that was a poor man’s idea of elegance. Alexander himself was tall, but his hunched shoulders made him seem smaller. There were weary lines around his pale blue eyes and he had the same dishwater-blonde hair as his son, though Alexander’s was liberally streaked with grey.

  “I’ve had the honor of making for your noble father, but I’ve never fitted ladies, particularly ladies of quality.”

  “Your son once indicated that your wife was a notable seamstress. I thought perhaps she might have left some designs that I could examine, citizen.”

  “Of… of course, Highness, but so little time remains before—”

  “Ample time for a dress to be printed.”

  Belmanor looked horrified. “Printed! Highness, that would be shocking.”

  She gave him a smile, trying to calm him. “Most people have their clothing printed. While the officers might treat themselves to handmade garments, those serving in the ranks wear printed uniforms.”

  A shadow flitted across Belmanor’s angular face. She had touched a nerve though she wasn’t sure what unpleasant memory she had evoked. “May I see your wife’s designs?” Mercedes coaxed.

  “Of course. Please, be seated, Highness. Bajit will bring you and your friend refreshment.”

  Belmanor vanished through a door set between mirrors. Cipriana leaned over. “You can see the family resemblance.”

  “Yes.”

  The door opened again and a Hajin minced in carrying a tray with two glasses and a bottle of champagne. The alien’s wide eyes set on either side of the long face were netted by wrinkles, and the red mane running from the skull down his neck and disappearing beneath his shirt collar was touched by grey. He bowed, filled the glasses, left the tray, the bottle and a plate of baked dates wrapped in bacon on a small side table and skittered back through the door. Mercedes took a sip. The champagne was first rate, which surprised her. A moment’s reflection and she realized that if the elder Belmanor catered to members of the FFH it wouldn’t do to serve inferior drink.

  The door opened again and this time it was Belmanor carrying a tap-pad. He offered it to Mercedes. “I loaded my wife’s portfolio on this, Highness.”

  She set aside her glass and began to scroll through the drawings. “Will you
be attending the graduation ceremony on the cosmódromo, Citizen Belmanor?”

  “Most certainly, Highness.” Pride brought a flare of color into his pale cheeks, and he added, “I am very proud of him.”

  “And so you should be. There were eight hundred and thirty-seven freshmen in our class. Only three hundred and three of us will graduate.”

  Winnowed away by the prueba, the vicious test of mettle designed to determine which cadets got to pass on after the first year and become midshipmen. It was a test she and a handful of other students, including Tracy and Cipriana, had avoided because they had thwarted a coup disguised as a terrorist assault. Everyone had tacitly agreed that putting them through a bogus emergency made little sense when they had proved they could handle a real one.

  It sometimes worried her that she hadn’t taken the test. What if she really wasn’t competent and shouldn’t have advanced? A lot of the tactical planning during those chaotic hours had been done by Tracy. At some point the lives of hundreds and perhaps thousands of soldiers would ride on her competence, and what if she didn’t have Tracy or someone like Tracy at her side? She pushed away the thought and bent back over the pad.

  Most of the designs were for day wear. Attractive but nothing terribly exciting. She nibbled on one of the dates. It had been stuffed with cheese and was quite delicious. “So, does Tra—your son ever mention… me?” she said in an oh-so-casual voice that displayed just how deliberate the question actually was. Cipriana’s boot took her hard on the ankle and Mercedes winced. Belmanor looked confused.

  “Um… not really, Your Highness. I mean, he wouldn’t presume.”

  Mercedes nodded and went back to her perusal of the designs. She wasn’t sure if the bubble of disappointment had more to do with Tracy never mentioning her or with the growing fear that she would have to appear in that grotesquery that Vasilyev had created. Just one more fear to add to all the others. Fears about her upcoming wedding night. Fears about her first posting. Fears about actually ruling.

  Mercedes swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat and forced a smile. “These are all lovely, but is there anything a bit more formal?”

  Belmont hesitated, then took back the pad, his fingers hovering over the screen. “This was something she did a few years after our son was born. When she was pregnant with another child. Our daughter. She wanted to design a wedding dress for her. Unfortunately she miscarried and we never… well…”

  “I understand, Señor Belmanor.” Mercedes dropped the formal honorific Citizen for the more personal Señor, and Belmanor noticed. He flushed from embarrassment this time. “No need to relive unpleasant memories. And if this dress represents something deeply personal and you’d rather not share it with me, I would quite under—”

  “No, no.” He smiled and like his son it was a transformative expression. “I think she would be honored to know her humble effort might grace the heir to the Solar League.” He opened the file and Mercedes had a brief glimpse of a flash of crystals, a long sleeve on one arm, and only a shoulder strap on the other. “Let me send it to my ScoopRing so you can evaluate it fully.”

  A moment later and a three-dimensional hologram a meter tall of the dress appeared in the center of the room projected from his ring. It flowed across the body of the faceless female form that filled it. A swirl of crystals swept from the right hip across the bodice to the left shoulder like a spray of stars. The left sleeve ended in a V of material partway down the hand as if pointing toward the finger that would hold the wedding band. The right arm was bare. It was exquisite.

  “You would look amazing in that, Mer,” Cipriana breathed.

  Belmanor flushed with pride then the worried expression was back. “A sleeve could be added to the right arm if you feel this is too déclassé for… for a royal wedding.” He could barely enunciate the final words.

  “Not on your life,” Cipriana said. “Do you know how hard she had to work for those biceps?” She laughed and glanced at Mercedes. “Why not show them off?”

  Mercedes stood and held out her hand to the tailor. “Señor Belmanor. It would be my honor to wear this dress at my wedding. I see no reason why the body of the dress can’t simply be printed, but the beadwork will require hand stitching, and obviously the crystals should be replaced with diamonds. Hire who you need, and bill me accordingly.”

  “Of course.” He bowed. “Highness, if I might make a suggestion…”

  “Please.”

  “You have a dramatic look, Majesty. Opals rather than diamonds would add to the impact.”

  Mercedes’ hand traced the sweep of the crystals on the hologram. “The color in those opals would bring to mind the nebula,” she said, referring to the most evident object that filled the night sky over Ouranos. “Could you accentuate the shape to make that even clearer?”

  “Of course.”

  There was a clatter of boot heels; a light baritone voice called, “Hey, Dad, where are you?”

  The door to the backroom was flung open and Tracy Belmanor entered. He was a bit taller than his father, and broad-shouldered after three years of physical training at the High Ground. The uniform displayed his physique in a very attractive way. He wasn’t strictly handsome—his features were angular to the point of being harsh—but he had a good smile and he was smiling now. His best feature was his grey eyes, large and expressive. The scar on his left temple, a souvenir from his duel with Boho, tugged his eyebrow upward, giving him a faintly sardonic look. Right now his eyes were filled with excitement and pleasure. Both of which died when he saw her. He stared in shock at Mercedes. Blotchy red rose into his cheeks. She felt the heat rising in her face as well.

  “Well, this is awkward,” she heard Cipriana say.

  His eyes fell on the holographic model of the wedding gown. Tracy’s face carried every emotion—he would never be a card player—and she knew his features very well. She had studied his face hungrily over the past three years in moments when she wouldn’t be observed. She read his rage and grief as surely as if he’d spoken. He swept a bow and then at the last minute turned it into a full court obeisance, which in this setting made it an insult.

  Mercedes felt her lips tighten. “Such formality is unnecessary between classmates… and friends, Lieutenant.”

  If she thought to mollify him, the stressed friend just seemed to increase his anger. “Your pardon, Highness. One can’t help but notice that with each passing day the gulf between us widens,” he snapped. The air itself seemed to vibrate with tension. Tracy’s father was looking at him in shock. Tracy’s strange Cara’ot batBEM stood in the doorway, three of his four hands filled with a holdall and gaily wrapped gifts.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Mercedes said. But she was hurt and decided to hit back. “Loyal officers are something I welcome and are not to be taken lightly.” If he wasn’t going to accept her friendship then she would put him back in the proper box.

  “Oh, thank you for reminding me.” The sarcasm barely covered the rage. Tracy braced and saluted.

  Mercedes stared at him, confused. Her ScoopRing gave a subtle chime and she glanced down. A message had appeared, floating in the electronic gem. Lieutenant J.G. She looked around for the source of the message and met the batBEM’s significant gaze. Junior Grade? Another insult directed at the man who had helped prevent a coup and who had graduated second in the class.

  She resolved to speak to her father about it when she returned to the palace. But would it just make things worse if she intervened and drew more attention to Tracy? Then there was the long-simmering animosity between her fiancé and Tracy. Singling out the intitulado—she deliberately used the insulting term for a lower-class citizen of the League to make the point even more strongly to herself—would do Tracy no favors. No, it was time to end the visit and extricate herself from the situation.

  “Then we are agreed, Señor Belmanor. I understand you will have expenses upfront. I’ll arrange for the majordomo to contact you and for a draft to be sent t
o your bank.”

  He gave an impeccable bow, perfect in its depth and grace. “Thank you, Your Highness. We are honored.”

  Mercedes left the shop with Cipriana trailing after her. She imagined she could feel Tracy’s gaze burning between her shoulder blades and she fought the impulse to hunch.

  * * *

  “Dad, you can’t do this!” Tracy said after the front door had closed behind Mercedes and the echo of the bell was still hanging in the air. Inwardly he was kicking himself for entering through the back alley. If he’d come around to the front of the building he would have seen the flitters and security and known a member of the FFH was inside. He could have taken himself off for coffee to avoid them and would never have known it was her. Wouldn’t have had to see her.

  His father looked at him, a puzzled frown on his face. “Tracy, this is our chance—”

  “And Granddad thought winning the claims lottery and getting that factory on Reichart’s World after it was integrated was a chance too and look how that worked out. You lost the factory, racked up mountains of debt, mother died and it took how many years for you and Granddad to pay off what we owed? It’s probably what killed him.”

  His father smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “I think that was more due to a build-up of bile and bitterness.”

  “And what caused that? The fucking FFH. The game is rigged against us. We need to accept that.”

  “Are you accusing our future ruler of bad faith? That we won’t be paid? Is that what you are saying?” Alexander huffed.

  “No, of course not—”

  “Then we are not refusing the Infanta, Tracy. Period.” His father brushed past Donnel and went into the workroom.

  Tracy hesitated for a moment then ran out the front door hoping there was still time to catch Mercedes. There were four flitters just starting to lift off. Tracy got in front of the largest and most luxurious, and waved his arms over his head. There was a ratcheting sound as the armaments on the flitters carrying imperial security locked on him and Tracy’s breath shortened. Unlike the weapons drills at the High Ground, these weapons carried live ammunition. The big flitter dropped back to the ground. The door lifted and Mercedes stepped out. Security was piling out of the other three. She waved them back.