In Evil Times

by Melinda Snodgrass

  The angry voices sputtered into silence. However offended they might be, no one would dare talk over the crown. Tracy found his own emotions were in turmoil. A deep-seated prejudice had been revealed. It had been easy to accept the presence of the women when it was Mercedes and her ladies, but this? Would he want his wife in harm’s way? Or the daughters he might father by this mythical wife? Yet in a life-and-death crisis he had put Mercedes in a fighter and sent her up against a heavily armed ship. He could only conclude he was conflicted. Along with everybody else in the parade ground.

  Tracy returned his attention to the rostrum. This was the first time in the twenty-six years of his reign that the Emperor had given the commencement speech at the High Ground. Tracy was living through momentous times. He should listen and try to set forever in memory the experience.

  4

  THE SATYR IN THE GARDEN

  The air in the academy’s gardens was heavy with moisture and the clashing scent of flowers. Boho’s hand was at her waist and Mercedes discovered that it felt more confining than affectionate. She stepped away, using the cake-smeared mouth of her youngest half-sister as the excuse.

  “Carisa, darling, don’t you have a napkin?”

  The youngest child of the Emperor had inherited her mother’s nervous disposition and her lower lip began to immediately tremble. She was also well aware of the fishbowl-like existence of an imperial daughter. She eyed the surrounding camerabots with the air of a cornered rabbit.

  “I… I must have dropped it,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “No need to worry, sweet. Here.” Mercedes knelt and offered her napkin.

  As the nine-year-old mopped icing from her lips, Mercedes looked at her family. Estella, nineteen and as serene as always, stood with her fiancé Conde Alfred Brendahl. The widower was twenty-three years her senior and had five children from his first marriage, but he seemed kind and gentle and they shared many interests. His value to the throne was his powerful leadership position in parliament.

  And if Rohan is going to pull this off we’ll need him, Mercedes thought.

  Her gaze found her youngest full sibling. Julieta stood with her fiancé and his family. Sanjay looked like a thundercloud, his wealthy banker father looked resigned. Julieta looked peevish. It had apparently begun to penetrate that there wouldn’t be a wedding any time soon.

  She ran her gaze down her half-sisters—Izzara and Tanis, Beatrisa, the twins—Delia and Dulcinea, Carisa. Her father stood with Carisa’s mother, his fifth, current and probably final wife, Constanza. He was wearing his practiced public smile. Constanza radiated coolness and elegance. Suddenly a sharp frown furrowed her brows. Since Constanza was staring in her direction Mercedes wondered what she had done this time to provoke her stepmother’s ire.

  A soft voice from behind her called her name and memories came crashing back. Four years old, standing in the circle of her mother Maribel’s arms. The ache in the chest, the trickle of tears down her cheeks.

  Mercedes scrambled to her feet and whirled to meet her mother’s gentle gaze. She hadn’t been able to remember anything her mother had actually said on that long-ago day when Maribel had left the palace. Mercedes could only recall her confusion and fear, and her mother’s strained smile.

  When Mercedes asked about her mother’s absence it had been soothingly explained how Maribel’s new husband had a great responsibility assimilating a Hidden World, and how Maribel had new babies to care for, and that’s why she didn’t come to Hissilek and the palace.

  The last time Mercedes had seen Maribel had been at Mercedes’ confirmation and the celebration of her tenth birthday. By then she had understood, at least in a vague way, about her father’s desperate pursuit of a male heir and how that pursuit now had Mercedes dealing with yet another stepmother.

  Now Mercedes knew Maribel hadn’t come to visit because her father hadn’t allowed it, nor had the parade of wives who’d come after her. Mercedes glanced back at Constanza. Clearly the presence of the first empress wasn’t making the fifth empress very happy.

  All this passed in a flash, and Mercedes found herself blurting out an absurdly childish greeting. “Mommy!” Her mother glided forward and enfolded her in an embrace, kissed her on both cheeks. “I didn’t expect… What a surprise. I’m so pleased,” Mercedes stammered.

  Maribel glanced over at her current husband who was already deep in conversation with the Emperor. “Fernán felt it was only right I be present for your wedding. Since your graduation was so close to the wedding I suggested we come for both and he agreed. Also Hector needed to discuss some tax allocation issues with Fernán, and the children are at an age where I feel comfortable leaving them. That’s really kept me close to home the past few years.” She paused and added, “And Dullahan has proved to be a difficult world to pacify.”

  It was too much information and much of it unnecessary, presented, Mercedes realized, as justification and also a subtle apology for her eleven-year absence. Mercedes smiled and tucked her mother’s arm beneath hers.

  “I’m just glad you’re here.”

  Maribel surveyed Mercedes’ trousers, the jacket adorned with service ribbons and the medal, and shook her head. “You look shockingly attractive in your uniform.”

  “Or just shocking,” Mercedes answered with a smile. “But people do seem to be becoming accustomed to the sight.” She changed the subject. “So, tell me of my half-siblings.” The minute the sentence was out Mercedes regretted it, for her mother cast her a guilty glance.

  “It was my duty,” she whispered.

  “I know. It’s all right. I hope someday to meet them.”

  “I’m sure you will. Julian will be here at the High Ground in three years. Martin two years after that.”

  “So… boys,” Mercedes said.

  “Yes.” Maribel paused then added, “All six of them.”

  Mercedes threw a quick look at her father, then at her eight sisters. “Ah, yes, well… My…” she stammered.

  “Probably not something we want to stress this week,” her mother said softly and abruptly switched topics. “Please introduce me to your fiancé. He seems very dashing.”

  “Oh, he is. Boho, darling. I want you to meet my mother,” Mercedes called, and he turned his thousand-kilowatt smile on both of them.

  * * *

  Tracy stared at the puff-pastry canapé stuffed with sour cherries and blue cheese that he held between thumb and forefinger, and reflected that every formal event surrounding the High Ground seemed to be an excuse to eat. It began in the very first year with the academy’s patron, the Conde de Vargas’s welcoming ball. Graduation even here on the station was proving to be no different.

  After The Speech the three hundred and three graduates had trooped across the stage, accepted their diplomas, shaken hands with the Emperor, received his jovial congratulations, returned to their seats, and then in some bizarre custom dating back to old Earth had all thrown their hats into the air.

  Now they were in the academy’s garden where a band played appropriately martial music, alien waiters slipped through the crowd with trays of champagne, buffet tables groaned under a wide variety of delicacies, conversations bubbled in harmony with the fountain, and the gardenia bush near Tracy seemed to be trying to suffocate him with the sweet cloying scent of its flowers. Overhead the ceiling was a clear dome through which could be seen a trailing edge of the nebula and the bright glitter of stars. As Tracy watched, a space liner slipped into view, heading for the docks on the station’s ring far above them.

  “You planning on eating that thing or framing it?” a jovial voice asked. Tracy turned to see Davin Pulkkinen grinning at him over the rim of his champagne flute.

  Tracy jammed the canapé into his mouth and mumbled around it, “Wool gathering.”

  “Personally I feel like I’ve been rooted. My legs are still aching, and there aren’t enough chairs,” Davin added as he surveyed the milling crowd. “I hate these mill-and-swills. You got your
orders?” he asked in a sudden change of topic.

  “Yeah, I’ve been assigned to the Triunfo.”

  “Ooh, big ship.”

  “Yes. Easier to get lost in the crowd,” Tracy said.

  “Like that would ever happen with you.”

  “Because I’m such an asshole?” Tracy grumbled.

  “Yeah. And that’s actually a compliment, you prickly bastard. You’re too bright and too opinionated to keep a low profile.”

  “I have a feeling neither of those are real assets for a lowly lieutenant,” Tracy said sourly. “How about you?”

  “What I expected. Desk job on Nueva Terra.” Davin glanced at his right arm and Tracy again had that flare of guilt. It might be covered by Davin’s sleeve and glove, but Tracy knew what lay beneath. A very high tech and elegant prosthetic. Davin had lost his arm in the same accident that had killed Hugo and Tracy still felt responsible.

  Davin correctly interpreted Tracy’s frown. “Not your fault, hombre. How many times do I have to tell you that? And it’s my fault I never managed to get proficient with my left hand.”

  “Why did you stay in, Davin?” Tracy asked, honestly curious. “You could have gone home after you were injured.”

  The customary crooked grin faded and the class joker looked surprisingly serious. “Don’t laugh. I realized I’m actually pretty patriotic. And I wanted to serve. At least for a while.” The merriment returned and he added, “I’m going to put in my five years, muster out and become an aristocratic parasite.”

  Tracy grinned. “And I expect you’ll do it very well, my man.”

  “What about you?” Davin asked. “Are you gonna be a lifer?”

  “Probably, since the parasite thing isn’t really an option for me.”

  Davin clapped him on the shoulder with his artificial hand. It was a hard buffet made almost painful by the gel and metal that formed the hand. “Well, good luck and stay in touch, okay?”

  “Sure.” But Tracy suspected he wouldn’t. He had never been good at optimizing his connections, as Mercedes had frequently told him.

  His eyes drifted around the crowd. Mercedes stood with her two full sisters and a tall and graceful older woman. The three younger women were hugging her. They looked like a tableau of the Graces. To Tracy’s eyes Boho, standing nearby and looking smug and contented, was the discordant note. The satyr in the garden.

  He longed to talk with her. Tell her farewell. Ask about her posting. But he couldn’t. An intitulado like himself could not walk brazenly over to the imperial party and speak to the heir to the throne, and if he did Boho would find a way to make him pay. Tracy found himself rubbing the scar at his temple.

  He whirled, sickened by the sight. He looked for his father and found him in the center of a knot of women. Alexander was flushed and clearly torn between embarrassment and pleasure over all the attention. The word had gone out that he was making the Infanta’s wedding gown, with predictable results. Women had flocked to the shop. The neighboring businesses were annoyed as hell over all the traffic. Fabric wholesalers were calling. Vasilyev’s ire had exploded all over social networking, and Tracy feared that after his dad ceased to be a one-day wonder the fashionable designer would find a way to have his revenge.

  It seemed both of the Belmanor men were walking a tightrope over a chasm filled with the flames of FFH resentment and disapproval.

  He made his way through the crowd of graduates and families. Many of his classmates were in huddles comparing their orders. He once more felt that sense of isolation that had dogged him throughout his three years at the academy.

  Almost the last person he ever wanted to speak to again laid a hand on his shoulder and brought him to a stop. Baron Jasper Talion was silver-haired, despite being only twenty-one, and his right cheek was laced with dueling scars. Talion had been cultivating Tracy since their first year. Talion wanted to have talent around him as he made (in his view) his inevitable rise to admiral, and he had assumed Tracy would service Talion’s meteoric rise. It never seemed to occur to him that Tracy might have his own ambitions in that direction; Tracy had remained polite but tried to keep his distance because he knew Talion was a stone-cold psychopath. It was a very real concern what Talion might do if he ever decided Tracy was a threat. Or possibly merely inconvenient.

  “Which ship?” Talion asked.

  “Triunfo,” Tracy replied shortly and tried to move on.

  A bright smile touched Talion’s lips. “Excellent. Me as well. Together we’ll make an impression.”

  “I’m just planning on doing my duty,” Tracy said and knew he sounded like a prig.

  “What division?”

  “Weapons.”

  Talion nodded sagely. “Appropriate given your math skills.”

  Tracy forced himself to ask, “And you?”

  “Infierno pilot and I’ll be gazetted to the fusileros if a ground action is required.”

  “Appropriate for you too.” Talion wasn’t stupid. He gave Tracy a sharp look, and Tracy once more wished he was better at hiding his emotions. “Well, I’ll see you aboard,” Tracy concluded lamely. Then added, “I need to catch up with my dad.”

  “Me as well.” Talion frowned. “And they dragged along my fiancée.” His tone was pure disgust.

  “You’re getting married?” It was a foolish question and Tracy mentally kicked himself.

  “Yes. She’s only sixteen. The plan was for us to marry next year, but now that’s been tossed into the crapper with this nonsense out of de Vargas. Well, I haven’t met her yet so I’d best go do that.”

  “Yes, that probably would be good.”

  “I want you to meet my father,” Talion said and turned, assuming Tracy would follow.

  Tracy had no desire to meet the elder Talion. It was Jasper’s father who had bestowed those twisting scars to his face. Tracy sensed the psychopath fruit hadn’t fallen very far from the sociopath tree. He was rescued by Ernesto, who grabbed him by the shoulder.

  “Just the man I was looking for! Come on, I want you to meet my available sister.” Ernesto gave a suggestive wink. “I’ll bring him back to you later, okay, Jasper?” Ernesto finished.

  For an instant a frown clouded Talion’s face. It quickly cleared and he smiled. “Sure.” He glanced at Tracy. “For someone in your situation the offer of an unmarried FFH sister should always be cultivated. Though I’m surprised you’d introduce him,” Talion said to Ernesto.

  They watched Talion stroll away. Once he was out of earshot Ernesto said, “He doesn’t even realize he’s insulted you. How do you stand it?”

  Rather than answer and perhaps display how much it did rankle, Tracy said, “You don’t have an unmarried sister.”

  “That’s why I used the word available, as in available-tobe-met. How Talion chose to interpret that is not my problem.”

  “You should have been a lawyer rather than a biologist.”

  “It was my study of living creatures that told me you were an organism desperately seeking an escape from a dangerous situation.”

  “So you know,” Tracy said softly.

  “Like I said, I’m a biologist. Years of research has led me to the highly technical and very professional conclusion that that,” he jerked his head toward Talion’s retreating back, “is one sick monkey.”

  Tracy laughed. “Well, thanks for the rescue.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Post-grad work at SolTech. After I finish my doctorate I expect I’ll end up in an R&D lab somewhere, figuring out new and novel ways to kill aliens.”

  “Well, good luck. It was fun competing with you,” Tracy said with a smile and held out his hand.

  They shook. “And with you. Be safe out there,” Ernesto added.

  “Who knows, maybe I won’t ever have to use any of those fancy new weapons you cook up.”

  “Here’s hoping.”

  Tracy resumed his progress toward his father. Only to be stopped again. This t
ime by Cipriana. She laid her fingertips on his forearm.

  “Rumor has it you’re going to be aboard the Triunfo.”

  “Rumor is correct.”

  “So am I.” Her tongue wet her upper lip and she cast him a smoky glance from beneath her lashes and drew a finger across the back of his hand. Even through their gloves the touch was liquid fire.

  “Uh… oh,” he choked out while heat shot through his groin. It had been a long time since his last visit to the Candy Box, the pleasant brothel patronized by both the Belmanor men.

  A smile danced in the back of her dark eyes. “I’m perfectly happy to be sloppy seconds.”

  “Wha… what?”

  “I know how you feel about Mercedes, but you can’t have her so why not—”

  “For God’s sake, Cipriana,” Tracy hissed, grabbing her by the arm and giving a warning nod toward the camerabots hovering over the royal family, and ironically over his father. “Have a care,” he warned.

  “Worried Boho will hear and cut you again?” she asked, and traced the dueling scar. Her hand drifted away from his temple, down his cheek, and traced his lips.

  “Worried about Mercedes’ reputation, your reputation and my commission if we’re caught—” he whispered.

  “What? You don’t think hombres fuck?” She stepped in close, her breasts brushing against his chest. Her arms twined around his neck. “Think of the money they’ll save not having to roll into brothels once there are women aboard the ships.” Her pelvis thrust against his groin.

  “Sweet Jesus! Cipri, you are, you are—”

  “Horny,” she whispered in his ear then glanced down at his crotch. “Why look! Somebody’s happy.” Another sultry glance and she pushed away from him. “See you on board, Lieutenant.”

  Tracy dropped his hands to shield his raging erection and raced out of the garden. His father gave him a questioning, wistful look. By a jerk of his chin Tracy tried to indicate he’d be right back. He found the toilet and rushed into a stall.

  The curve of her cheek, his hands crushing her dark curls, a mixture of aromas, vanilla and spice, jasmine and underlying it all the heady scent of woman. Her lips soft and welcoming, the tip of her tongue hesitantly touching his. Driving his tongue deep into her mouth tasting her, matching breaths and moans of pleasure. Her body pressed against his…