He rested his head against the stall wall, closed his eyes, tried to catch his breath. Shame gripped him followed by a soul-shaking sorrow. Mercedes would marry Boho, become empress, and he would never even speak to her again, much less touch her.
5
WHEN YOU NEED A WHORE
“You wanted to see me, Daddy?” Mercedes asked.
Her father stood, bouncing lightly on the soles of his feet, hands clasped behind his back. He was frowning down at an elaborate 3D holographic display that spread across the surface of his desk. It looked like an architect’s rendering of towering office buildings and pedestrian market areas. With a wave he banished the images. He hugged her, then stepped behind the desk and keyed the office’s security measures.
Her stomach clenched. Then this wasn’t a “Daddy” moment. It was official. “Is something wrong, sir?”
“No, no. This is just a conversation that I don’t want to go beyond this room.” He gestured at the two high-backed leather chairs on either side of the now cold fireplace. Mercedes hesitantly perched on the edge of the seat.
Her father was frowning. He leaned forward, clasped his hands between his knees, and cleared his throat. “You know it’s vitally important that you not get pregnant until after your first tour of duty. You must wait five years.”
Hot blood rose into her cheeks. “I know that.”
“So how are you planning on avoiding… that?”
“I… uh… I’m not sure. I know there’s birth control, but it’s technically illegal… I suppose we could argue that we are the law, but…”
“It’s never a good idea to look like we’re flouting it,” her father said dryly.
“And then there’s the church…”
“Which is already unhappy over your elevation. We don’t need the Holy Father and the College of Cardinals to get their shorts in a twist.”
Embarrassed, she focused her eyes on the carved mantel. “So, nobody can know if I use birth control.”
“Correct.” He paused and added, “Not even your husband.”
Startled, Mercedes looked back at her father. “Don’t you trust him?”
“I think it’s good policy that a ruler play their cards close to their chest and not give anyone leverage over them.”
Mercedes nodded. “That makes sense. So… do you have any suggestions?”
“Not really, my dear. My problem has never been trying to prevent pregnancies.” He smiled but it was both grim and bitter.
Nine daughters from a man required to sire a son. It had to be a blow to his ego that he fired only girl bullets.
Mercedes stood and shook out her skirt. “I’ll think of something.”
Her father returned to his desk and deactivated the security screens. Mercedes paused at the door. “Daddy, I understand why you want Lady Poni and the Marquesa, and Rohan’s daughter and… well, I just wondered if I could have one of my friends in my wedding party.”
“Who in particular?”
“Sumiko.”
“She didn’t come to your graduation.”
“No, she’s very pregnant. A shuttle flight wouldn’t have been wise.”
“Just as well, probably not the reminder we want to present since your lack of fecundity is undoubtedly going to become a topic of discussion a year or so on.”
“I suppose so.”
“Also her stepfather and husband aren’t terribly useful to me.”
“I understand,” Mercedes said, but her voice sounded hollow even to her.
* * *
Condom? No, that would violate her father’s desire that Boho not know. IUD? She’d have to find a doctor to insert the device and they might talk. Actually they would probably refuse. Her Lusitano stallion, Utopia, gave a sudden buck as if to say, I know you’re not paying attention and I’m going to take advantage. Mercedes laughed, leaned forward and patted the glossy black neck. He was her favorite horse in the royal stable. She was going to miss her family, but Utopia was something else she would miss. During her schooling she had been able to return home for leave and holidays. During the five years of her tour such opportunities would be few and far between. Capital ships rarely returned to Ouranos so any leave she took would probably be on distant worlds.
She could hear the hoofbeats of her ubiquitous security riding in the trees to either side of her. Directly behind her rode Captain Lord Ian Rogers, who commanded her personal security. He was linked not only to the troops riding all around her, but to the camerabot floating overhead. For once it didn’t belong to the press, but was being monitored by the chief of Servicio Protector Imperial, Agent Matthew Gutierrez. Presumably Ian and Gutierrez were talking. She wondered what they were saying. Were they talking about her?
She had grown up under constant surveillance. She was accustomed to it and normally didn’t mind, but now the fish bowl was inconvenient when she was supposed to find access to birth control. Years ago both Cipriana and Mercedes’ batBEM Tako had offered her a contraceptive patch. She probably should have accepted, though God knew it would probably have lost its potency by now. She probably should have used it back then. Slept with Tracy. She had ridden since childhood. Boho wouldn’t know she wasn’t a virgin. Well, it was too late now.
She cued the canter and Utopia went rocking off down the trail. Ironically at the High Ground she had been far freer than she was now, she reflected, as her body swayed in concert with the motion of the horse. She had been at a military academy aboard a space station. Also the batBEMs had been far more accommodating about outwitting High Ground security. Now there were literally thousands of people watching her, servants, cooks, chauffeurs, gardeners, guards both military and SPI, court functionaries and flunkies, petitioners, and family. Her every move was noticed and scrutinized. Resentment had her unconsciously tightening her legs and Utopia was now at a full hand gallop. Mercedes threw back her head and laughed. The frenzied gait matched her mad mood to the mad plan she had just concocted.
She needed birth control that wouldn’t be recognized as birth control. She didn’t dare ask her doctor—that would immediately be reported. She might trust Tako to go to the Cara’ot and purchase the patches, but the batBEM was probably being watched too, and even if the Hajin got it back undetected there was always the worry that a maid might discover the stash and rat her out. Not to mention that SEGU, the intelligence service, conducted routine sweeps of all the imperial palaces. She should have asked Cipriana for help and advice, but her friend had left immediately after the graduation to take up her post. Mercedes needed an experienced woman to advise her. What she needed, she had realized, was a whore.
There were brothels all over Hissilek, from the very elegant joy houses at the base of the Palacio Colina that catered to the males of FFH and initiated their sons into the mysteries of sex, to less exalted establishments that provided respite for horny tradesmen, and places where their less well born sons could shed their virginity. There were even brothels that serviced the various alien races. They were supposedly strictly off limits to humans, but there were whispers that some human males did sample the forbidden and illegal fruit. The very idea was revolting to her. She knew Boho had a reputation as a Don Juan, but she had to believe he had never stooped to that.
Mercedes sat deep in the saddle and brought Utopia down to a trot. The big stallion whinnied and tossed his head. He had been enjoying the gallop. She spent a moment trying to imagine how a human could possibly couple with a Tiponi Flute. Which of the many orifices on the aliens that looked like ambulatory bamboo would one use? She felt herself blush and gave an embarrassed little giggle.
She leaned forward and whispered into the horse’s mobile ear. “Where can I go that I can slip the leash, my Iberian prince? Any suggestions?”
A sudden memory of that crowded street in Pony Town swam before her, the little shops, the payday lender, the Candy Box. “Oh shit,” she murmured. “I don’t think they’re selling candy.”
Another memory forced its wa
y into her thoughts. Tracy seated with her in the flitter. “I could pretend…” she had started to say to him. He had stopped her from saying more. She stopped herself from even thinking it now. What was done was done.
She picked up the reins, and tapped Utopia with her leg. “Come on, I need to run an errand.”
* * *
Once again her entourage was blocking the street outside the tailor shop. Mercedes turned to Captain Rogers.
“I’m just here for a fitting with Señor Belmanor. There’s no need to overwhelm the poor man, and all of you crowded into the shop will make it difficult for me to change so please wait here.”
Rogers turned to one of the fusileros. “Surround the building.”
“Oh, please, Captain… Ian, just make a sweep of the area and then wait by the flitters. I seriously doubt there are assassins lurking among the garbage cans. And your behavior could be construed as insulting to the citizens who live here.”
“I mean no disrespect, Highness, but there are a lot of aliens in this neighborhood,” Rogers said.
“And I’m sure the revolution is about to be launched in Pony Town.” He flushed at her sarcasm. “Please just wait. Señor Belmanor is tailor to my father and his son is one of my officers. Let us do him the courtesy of not treating him and his employees as if they were criminals.”
She entered, the bell over the door ringing loudly. The older Belmanor shot out of the backroom.
“Hi… Highness,” he stammered and bowed. He quickly keyed his ScoopRing. “Did we have an appointment today? I thought—”
“Mr. Belmanor. I need a favor.”
“Of course, Highness. Anything.”
“I need a veil, or something that will serve the purpose. And I need you to let me out the back door.”
“Highness?”
“There’s something I need to do and I really don’t want my security detail to know. I won’t be gone long.” He looked terrified and trapped. “I know I’m asking a lot, but I have always been able to trust your son and his service to me has been beyond exemplary. I know where he learned those habits of honor and loyalty. So I’m asking you to do the same.”
Alexander Belmanor blushed just like his son, blotchy red patches that were painfully obvious on his pale skin, but the look of fear had been replaced with one of pride. His bow was deep and formal, a full court bow incongruous in the untidy room. “Come, Highness, I have just the thing.”
“Perfect.”
Mercedes followed him through the door into the backroom where the elderly Hajin and a female Isanjo with pale tawny fur were busy working at chattering sewing machines.
“You have seen nothing!” the tailor said, his tone severe.
The Hajin bowed his head. “Of course, sir.”
Alexander led her to a small roll of dark blue material netted with tiny crystals. Grabbing up a pair of scissors he quickly cut off a length in a curving line that meant it would drape gracefully over her hair. The netting enabled her to see, but when she looked in the mirror her face was a mere suggestion, a shape and nothing more.
“Perfect.”
She moved back into the front room and peeked out one of the bay windows. Her entire detail was back at the flitters, their sweep clearly concluded. The long gnarled fingers knotted nervously as Belmanor watched her.
“Okay.”
Back through the workroom and Belmanor opened the backdoor and bowed her out. Mercedes noticed that he quickly closed it and she appreciated his consideration. He would not presume to watch where she went. She hurried down the odiferous alley past overflowing garbage cans. At the corner she pressed herself against the side of the building. The stucco was hot against her back. Just as she had been trained by Chief Begay, she took a quick three-second look. The nearest guard had his back to her. She darted down the side street and ran to the front door of the Candy Box.
As she suspected it was indeed a brothel. She knocked. The door was opened by a young woman with a toddler perched on her hip. The child’s face was smeared with spaghetti sauce.
“Yes, Madama?”
Mercedes glanced back down the street toward the flitters and her waiting guards. “May I please come in?”
“Of course.” The woman stepped back.
“I… uh… need advice. Could I speak to the person in charge of this… establishment?”
The young woman gave her a smile. “Of course. I will take you to her.”
“Could I just wait?”
“We have several clients in reception right now. I wouldn’t want you to be embarrassed when they go upstairs.”
“Yes, that would be awkward.”
Mercedes followed the girl down a hallway. Through an open doorway she spotted a large kitchen with a big wooden table in the center. A number of women were busy setting food in front of a group of preschool-age children. There was a woman nursing a newborn. It was not what she had expected in a whorehouse.
Her guide took her to a door at the end of the hall, tapped lightly and led her in. An older woman with beaded and cornrowed red hair looked up as they entered.
“This lady has questions for you, Margo.”
The girl and the toddler left and Margo studied Mercedes. “Husband troubles, my dear? Can he not perform or is it something else?”
“Um… no, not that.” Mercedes looked around the neat and professional office. “I’m not married. Well, not yet. I’m getting married in a few days and… and… I need to know how not to get pregnant. At least not yet.” The words rushed out of her.
“Well of course that’s not something we would ever do,” Margo said, and Mercedes’ heart sank. “Contraception isn’t legal for League citizens.”
Desperation formed a knot in Mercedes’ chest. She had thought she was being so clever. The idea of trying to find a Cara’ot warehouse and a compliant alien ready to help her was daunting. “I… I understand. I just don’t know what… where… but if you can’t help…” She turned toward the door.
“Wait. I had to be sure. Sometimes the police send in plants to try and catch us breaking the law.”
“Then—”
“Yes, we can help you. We keep a supply of patches—”
“No, I need something that won’t be noticed.”
“Well, we have a doctor on site who can implant either a contraceptive nano-needle or an IUD.”
“Okay, those sound good.” A concern intruded even as the madam was tapping her ScoopRing. “Wait, could either of those be detected during a physical exam?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then that won’t work. I have to have one annually.”
The woman gave her a puzzled look but didn’t question. Mercedes supposed that was probably an asset for a madam. “What about a diaphragm?” Margo suggested.
Mercedes thought back to her biology class at the High Ground. Mostly they focused on alien physiology and how to efficiently kill them, but there had been no censorship of the textbooks, and she’d used the opportunity to fill in the obvious blanks left by her tutors when it came to human sexuality. She regretfully shook her head. “No, I need something that won’t be seen for what it is. Not by anybody—maids, him… others,” she added as she thought about the SEGU agents who would make regular sweeps through the small palace she and Boho had been given for their personal use.
“Real religious family, huh?” Mercedes made no answer.
Margo stood and walked over to a cabinet. Her back was to Mercedes. When she turned around she was holding a small sponge and bottle. “Sponge and spermicide. Really old-fashioned, but the Cara’ot make this spermicide and it’s very effective. Soak the sponge with the spermicide and insert it before intercourse. He won’t feel it unless he likes to pleasure you with his fingers.” Mercedes felt herself blushing. “Put the spermicide in a pretty bottle among your creams and perfumes. Keep the sponge in your make-up drawer. No one will be the wiser.”
Mercedes took the sponge and bottle and tucked them into her skirt pock
et. “Do you get women often?”
“Yes. And most of them are ladies of the FFH. I don’t envy your lives.”
“What do I owe you?”
“Fifty Reals.”
Mercedes gave her one hundred. “I’m surprised there are children here given…” She gestured toward her pocket.
“My ladies have a baby because they want to have a baby.”
“But this can’t be a good environment for children.”
Margo bridled. “They don’t go in the public wing. I don’t let diaper-sniper creeps in my place, and overall it’s a pretty good life for a kid. They have playmates, there’s always someone around to look after them. And having them gives me some padding for the lean times.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We get the government subsidies just like anybody else.”
“But the women are unmarried.”
“Yeah, the church hates it, the government doesn’t care. They just want kids. We’re doing our part.” A note of pride crept into her voice.
“So you think it’s important—”
“Absolutely, there are more of them,” disgust dripped off the word, “than there are of us. We’re outnumbered in our own League. And those liberals in parliament better not keep pushing this full citizenship idea. The BEMs should be grateful they get to live and work among us.”
Entering into a political discussion about work visas versus voting citizenship wasn’t really what Mercedes had in mind. “Do the girls grow up and work for you?” she asked.
“Only if they show an interest and aptitude. Like all kids ours go to school, some even get to college if they’re bright and can win a scholarship. They learn trades, they go out into the world. But we only have to worry about educating fewer than half of them. After a few years most of my girls get married, take their kids and go off with their new husbands.”
“I had no idea.”
In Evil Times Page 5