In Evil Times

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “Okay, I don’t exactly know what I’m promising—”

  “Don’t let them put you in a box.” With a grunt she swung her daughter into her arms.

  “Sumi, we’re all in boxes—wife box, mother box, soldier box, princess box. Maybe the only place we get to be totally free is inside the confines of our own skulls.”

  “No, not even there. Eventually they wear you down until there’s nothing of you left,” Sumiko said hollowly.

  “This is hormones talking. I remember how brooding my stepmothers got late in their pregnancies. Everything will look brighter once you’re delivered,” Mercedes said.

  The other woman stared dully at her daughter. “They suck you dry too.”

  After that there didn’t seem to be much more to say. Mercedes found an excuse and left. And realized she still didn’t have any answers.

  7

  DEADENED TO THE PAIN

  The troop transport carrying one thousand estrella hombres and officers deploying to new ships was due to come out of Fold in three minutes. Tracy stood in the observation pod eager for his first glimpse of the Isanjo system. Right now his only view was of the grey twisting reality of the Fold. Outside the port it looked like grey lint shot through with lances of prismatic colors as Foldstream messages raced past, leaving behind a scattering of chiming notes as if the encoded words had become music in the transition. How the sound manifested through the hull of a spaceship no one could explain. Nor could they explain why Foldstream messages physically manifested in the Fold. The average citizen just accepted that it worked and didn’t worry too much about the why or the how. Orden de la Estrella was less sanguine; O-Trell scientists were constantly trying to decipher the mysteries of Foldspace.

  Tracy found himself wondering about the content of those messages. Love letters from wives left waiting at home. Break-up letters. Orders from O-Trell Command. Business contracts. No one would know because the irony was that a ship in Fold could neither communicate nor receive communications. They could just wave at the messages as they flashed past. If there was a way to intercept them it would be a hell of an advantage to an enemy force. Hide in the Fold near a target world or battle group and snoop. It was why Orden de la Estrella scientists had been looking for answers for generations.

  When a ship was traveling the vast distances between systems they rarely saw a message flash by. This close to a major League world and the shipyard in orbit above that planet, it looked like fireworks were going off beyond the view port.

  “Thirty-second warning,” a voice came over the intercom, interrupting his pondering. “All hands prepare for translation to normal space.” Tracy gripped a handhold while navigation provided the countdown. “Three, two, one, translation.”

  For an instant Tracy had the sensation of being turned inside out and there was a sudden sharp pain in the back of his eyes. Then it was over. The view outside the port showed him Cuandru’s distant sun; in the lower left corner was the edge of a gas giant banded in colors. It was the closest object in this part of the system. They were still too far out to see Cuandru itself or the Kawasaki shipyard where the Triunfo was being outfitted for its next patrol.

  The intercom whistled and this time it was the voice of the captain echoing through the ship. “Attention—we are three hours out from the Kawasaki shipyard. Now that we have re-entered normal space we have access to the Foldcast of the royal wedding. All non-essential personnel gather in the galley for a replay.”

  Tracy stood and parsed the transport captain’s words. He hadn’t couched it as an invitation, which implied it was an order. But he hadn’t actually ordered all hands to attend the Foldcast. Still if Tracy didn’t show up it would be remarked upon, as there were only a handful of officers among the one thousand enlisted star men traveling on the transport. He reluctantly headed to the elevators.

  Usually the passengers and the crew ate in shifts. With everyone present, apart from a skeleton crew on the bridge, the galley was packed with sweating male bodies and one lone woman. Tracy spotted Cipriana seated at a table closest to where the video was playing. She was surrounded by officers—including the transport’s captain—all puffing and preening. Talion wasn’t in the flirting circle. He was propping up a back wall looking bored and scrolling through his ScoopRing.

  Cipriana laughed up at the adoring males and sipped a glass of champagne. Tracy noticed that while her hand might swoop toward one of the men she never actually touched them. That was not true of Lieutenant Vizconde Lucien Wessen. He was a transfer from the frigate Eclipse rotating to the Triunfo. A handsome man with red-gold hair, and a mustache that he constantly brushed with his index finger, he smirked more than smiled. His hand fell onto Cipriana’s shoulder often and once even slipped beneath her braided hair and touched the skin on the back of her neck. Tracy didn’t have a good enough view of Cipriana’s face to tell how she felt about that.

  There was muted conversation in the room overlaid by the sound of cheers and church bells from the download playing on the screen. Crowds lined the streets of Hissilek waving flags and tossing flowers at the royal carriages rolling past. The hoofbeats of the horses set a syncopation to the cathedral bells.

  Every seat was taken. Tracy could have pulled rank and ordered an hombre to give up his chair, but he was just as happy to huddle among the men standing at the back of the room. BatBEMs were moving through the crowd handing out glasses of champagne. Donnel was carrying three trays and using his fourth hand to dispense glasses.

  “Well, won’t this be fun,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “Oh, and don’t drink that,” he said with a nod to the glass Tracy now held. “It’s real cheap shit.”

  “Would it get me drunk?”

  “If that’s the goal I’ll find you something better for later.” Donnel moved on.

  The carriage carrying the Emperor and his daughter reached the front of the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity. The white stone of the soaring building was blinding in the summer sun. The four matching palomino horses pulling the gilt-and-glass confection stamped and tossed their heads, setting their white manes flying. Guards lowered the steps and the Emperor stepped out, reached up his hand to Mercedes.

  A stone lodged itself in Tracy’s chest. He couldn’t see her face through the veil, but the sleek lines of the dress accentuated her height and caressed her curves. The skin of her bare right shoulder was rich cocoa against the white of the gown. Another camera angle revealed the opals flashing in the sunlight. The other carriages were disgorging the sisters, the Empress, and the older woman who Tracy now knew was Mercedes’ real mother. The three littlest princesses carried baskets filled with rose petals. The bridal party entered the church.

  “They certainly know how to do a spectacle,” Talion muttered into Tracy’s right ear.

  Tracy had been so focused on Mercedes he hadn’t seen the other man approach. The pressure in his chest and the tightness in his throat made words impossible. Tracy gave a nod and managed a grunt.

  Interior cameras took over. The nave of the church seemed dim after the brilliant sunlight outside, though the stained-glass windows wrapped ribbons of color around the guests. The great organ and a chamber orchestra played Handel as the wedding party arrived.

  The Cardinal of Ouranos waited at the altar, impressive in his vestments. On the step below the prelate stood Boho in his dress uniform. He was surrounded by his groomsmen, among them one of Tracy’s classmates—Lieutenant Lord Arturo Espadero del Campo. The inclusion of Arturo in the wedding party was interesting. He and Boho were good friends, but was it all that politic to have the youngest son of Musa del Campo, Duque Aqua de Negra in such public view?

  Tracy knew that the del Campo family was not happy over the change in their status. Perhaps this was a way to signal peace between the families? Or maybe it was nothing more than friendship? Somehow Tracy doubted that. None of Boho’s other compatriots were present. Like Cipriana they had been ordered to their postings. But not Arturo. N
o, this was political.

  Tracy’s mind continued to whirl, trying to think of anything other than the fact that Mercedes was about to marry Boho. He gave a mental head shake and corrected himself. No, she had been married to him for several days now. Tracy studied the faces of the guests as they came in range of the cameras following Mercedes and the Emperor’s stately advance down the aisle to a classical trumpet voluntary. He tried not to look at Mercedes, beautiful Mercedes, but it didn’t work.

  The father and daughter climbed the steps to the altar. The delicate and understated train his father had designed flowed across the stone like snowfall. The music fell silent. There was a murmured exchange between the Emperor and the archbishop. Then the Emperor took Boho’s hand and placed Mercedes’ hand in his.

  There was a sharp crack and Tracy reacted to the sudden pain and the flow of warmth across his fingers. He looked down at the snapped stem of his glass now coated with blood from his cut finger. Talion was staring at him.

  “Must have been a flaw in the glass,” Tracy muttered. “Be right back.”

  He ducked out of the galley and rushed to the bathroom. He started to pour the champagne down the sink then thought better and tossed it back. It was as terrible as Donnel had indicated, but the heat helped loosen the knot in his chest. He threw away the broken glass, washed his hands and wrapped the cut forefinger in his handkerchief. He stood with his hands braced on either side of the sink, reminding himself over and over that the wedding had already taken place. It shouldn’t have this kind of power to affect him. Pretending he was convinced he headed back into the galley, and was relieved to discover he had missed the exchanging of the vows. The archbishop, hands upraised, was issuing the final benediction.

  Talion held a second glass and offered it to Tracy. “Here. I was sure you would want this,” he said quietly.

  “Thanks.”

  “The only way to get through a wedding is to be deadened to the pain.” Their eyes met for a long moment then Tracy nodded.

  The captain of the transport stood, held up his glass. “God save the Infanta and her noble consort.” The assembled crowd repeated the toast. Tracy remained silent. The second glass went down as fast as the first.

  * * *

  Cuandru was very green. Tracy didn’t spot a single desert as he studied the world rotating beneath him. The polar ice caps were standard for a “Goldilocks” world, and oceans and rivers cut through the green that Tracy knew were immense forests. The transport moved into the night side of the planet and Tracy saw a tiny flare of fire out on one of the oceans. He had just seen a launch. To avoid disturbing the trees the Isanjo’s launch facilities were on massive floating platforms on the equatorial band of various oceans. Most people reached the surface via the large space elevators that linked the planet to the massive shipyard stations orbiting overhead.

  Since the trees hid most of the lights of Isanjo cities, Tracy brought up a new view on the screen of the massive shipyard toward which the transport was slowly maneuvering. Flares of light off welding torches lit the dark of space all around the skeleton of a ship that was tethered in a floating construction cage. Seven such cages were grouped on all sides and above and below the massive rotating ring of the Kawasaki shipyard. Each held a ship in various stages of construction.

  All along the circumference of the ring, ships were nosed up against the cosmódromo. The large battle cruisers and flagships looked like nursing whale calves against the bulk of the station. Smaller ships were more like hummingbirds or mosquitoes suckling at the ring.

  Tracy felt a pressure against the soles of his boots as the maneuvering rockets on the transport fired, altering their trajectory. The station drew closer, a wall of metal. Tracy was impressed. He had thought the cosmódromo that housed the High Ground was big. It was dwarfed by Kawasaki.

  There was a bump that signaled they had docked. Tracy headed for the airlock where Donnel was waiting with his kit. The officers would be debarking first so there was a scrum of uniformed officers and their batBEMs at the doors. Cipriana was there with her batBEM, a pretty little white-furred Isanjo, which made her dark fur mask all the more startling. Cipriana joined Tracy while they waited for the egress ramp to lock and pressure to equalize.

  “Well, this is it,” she said.

  “Yep.”

  “Nervous?”

  Tracy analyzed his feelings. “I’m not sure. Yeah, a bit.”

  “Me too. The third-year cruise still felt like pretend. This is for real.” Tracy nodded. “Do you know where we’re headed?”

  “Berth twenty-three. I downloaded a schematic.”

  “Duh, I should have done that. I was just relying on Kaat to get me there.”

  “Well, allow me to be your guide, Lieutenant Lady Delacroix.” He offered his arm.

  “With pleasure, Lieutenant Belmanor.” She laid her fingers on his arm. Tracy noted with pleasure the stares and glares from the other officers.

  The airlock cycled and the exodus began. It should have been senior officers first, but they all deferred to the lady, which meant Tracy and Cipriana were the first ones to enter the cosmódromo.

  “Wow, what a shitho… letdown,” Cipriana amended.

  For the station couldn’t have been more different than the cosmódromo that housed the High Ground. The latter was a station in orbit over the capital world of the League, catering to the rich and well connected, and was therefore lavishly appointed with shops, gourmet restaurants, hotels, even joy houses. Kawasaki was a military facility with all the charm or lack thereof that that implied. The flooring was a basic grey composite material. Instead of the scent of flowers from a park there was the tang of cleaning products, oil, and cheap food.

  There was the sound of hurried footfalls and Talion joined them, taking up a position on Cipriana’s left. He twined her arm through his. “So here we are,” he said.

  Cipriana slipped her right arm through Tracy’s. “Yes, here we are. Who knows what adventures await.”

  “I think when you’re in the military you hope there won’t be any adventures,” Tracy said.

  “Not if we want to advance. What was that old toast from the British Royal Navy?” Talion asked.

  “To a bloody war or a sickly season,” Tracy said.

  “That was the one.”

  There was a call from behind them and again the sound of running footfalls. “Hoy, Cipri, wait.” It was Wessen. Tracy watched Cipriana assemble a smile and turn to face the other lieutenant.

  “Why, Lucien, how lovely.”

  “Allow me to escort you.” He was a bit breathless, which implied the captain at Lucien’s last posting had not been as rigorous about physical activity for his officers.

  Cipriana lifted her arms wing-fashion, which perforce raised Tracy’s and Talion’s. “I’m afraid I’m all out of arms, but thank you.”

  A look of annoyance flashed across Wessen’s face. “Well, then I shall see you aboard the Triunfo.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Cipriana said, and began walking briskly away almost towing Tracy and Talion. The smile was wiped away.

  “Want me to break some particularly vulnerable part of him?” Tracy asked.

  “No.” She flashed him a bright smile. “I can handle it.”

  “Don’t hesitate to call upon us if you can’t,” Talion added.

  As they walked around the hub there was the usual frenzied activity of estrella hombres and officers rushing about. They all looked very serious and focused, as if their various tasks were terribly important. After three years living in the military culture Tracy knew it was busywork bullshit that supposedly kept them prepared for when it might not be bullshit.

  They could have taken a moving walkway or rented a cart but by tacit agreement the three comrades walked. It felt good to be moving after the confines of the transport ship. It was a long hike, but eventually they reached berth twenty-three. A pair of fusileros guarded the access ramp of the gangway. Tracy, Talion and Cipriana ext
ended their rings to have their orders read. After a moment the fusilero on the left gave a nod, then both guards came to attention and snapped off salutes. Cipriana gave a giggle that she turned into a cough. The trio returned the salutes and started down the length of the gangway toward the airlock that was dogged open.

  “So let’s go make names for ourselves,” Talion said. His eyes were bright with excitement.

  “I’m just going to try to get through the next five years without screwing up,” Cipriana said.

  “I’m just going to try to get through the first day,” Tracy said.

  “You’re a pessimist,” Talion replied.

  “I’m a realist. Some kind of shit will always happen.”

  * * *

  “Welcome to the Triunfo, Lieutenant.” Captain Marquis Dumas de Vilbiss looked to be in his mid-fifties. Slim without being fit, his spade beard was streaked with grey, and the grey at his temples added to his distinguished appearance. De Vilbiss had hazel eyes that held a wistful expression. He glanced back down at his tap-pad. “Your grades and performance reports are impressive.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I also understand from Commander Baldinini that you have a beautiful singing voice.”

  “The commander is very kind.”

  “Jeffery said in his Foldmail that he gave you voice lessons for all three years at your academy. Jeffery doesn’t do that unless the student is very talented.”

  Baldinini was the High Ground’s choir director and bandleader. Tracy hadn’t really wanted to add one more activity to his school schedule, but thought the training might prove useful if he washed out of the academy. Now it was back to haunt him.

  “I was very fortunate to have the commander’s attention.”

  De Vilbiss left his chair behind the desk and came closer to Tracy. He rested a hip on the desk. “I’m a great lover of music. One of my hombres is a particularly talented musician and he plays for me and my officers at dinner. I think it would be a very nice addition to have you sing while he plays.”