The High Ground

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “Find that uniform in a trashcan, did you, Cadet?” Zeng’s voice was soft and low.

  Tracy tried to analyze the tone. It didn’t sound threatening. It sounded more like… a suggestion.

  “Yes, sir. That’s exactly what happened.”

  “Excellent. Will there be any more… ah… trashcan recoveries?”

  “One, sir.”

  “Good to know. Keep it to one.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Zeng drifted away. Tracy watched the thin officer until he disappeared around a corner. Maybe not everyone at The High Ground is an adversary, he thought.

  “Are you planning on joining us, Cadet Belmanor?” Crispin asked as he walked past.

  “Uh… yes. Sir.”

  11

  PRETTY, PETTY THINGS

  Saturday. He had survived the first week. Tracy checked the clock. 5:23. No drills, no classes. Homework, but it was manageable. Zeng had said they could explore the rest of the cosmódromo.

  Feeling indulgent he settled back on the mattress and keyed his ScoopRing. He called up a map of the space station and studied the layout. There was a hyperloop train that connected the module containing The High Ground to the central ring. From there a tram made a circuit of the ring which was comprised of docking bays for the great star cruisers, luxury hotels, restaurants, shops, small parks, nightclubs, and joy houses.

  Inside the spokes that connected the great wheel to the central hub there were warehouses to store goods delivered to freighter docks on the hub (apparently it wouldn’t do to have luxury liners cheek by jowl with a grubby freighter). Also in the spokes were cheap housing, cafés and joy houses for the crews of the freighters and the stevedores who managed the machines that unloaded those ships.

  The massive central hub also contained command and control for the station. From there the crew monitored the wobble and yaw of the station, and fired the exterior jets that maintained the station’s trim and kept the spin that provided one gee of gravity to the residents. The engineers also maintained the vast array of solar panels that provided power to the inhabitants.

  Tracy switched to check the Reals in his bank account. He was surprised to see it had increased from sixty-three to one hundred and sixty-three. His dad had deposited money in the account. Tracy knew how much that one hundred Reals represented. With Tracy gone Alexander had probably hired a new employee to pick up the slack, and that person would have to be paid. Even if the new employee was an alien and could be paid less than a human it still represented a significant added cost.

  His eyes slid to the closet where the impeccably tailored dress uniform hung in silent rebuke. He still hadn’t called his dad to thank him. Partly because he had been so busy with classes and homework—and tailoring jobs. Now both members of the Belmanor family “made” for the royal family, Tracy thought with faint amusement. Not that he dared impart that particular bit of information to his father over an open and insecure line. From Zeng’s remarks it was clear the administrators of The High Ground knew exactly what had happened, but were choosing to wink at the transgression. Better not to undermine that plausible deniability.

  But schoolwork was just an excuse and he knew it. He hadn’t called because he didn’t know how to heal the wound that his harsh and hateful words had inflicted. How could he ever make amends for that? Was a simple “I’m sorry” going to be enough? And there was still resentment that had kept him from making the call. Tracy had realized that he’d been manipulated by Alexander and that still stung.

  Irritated by his tangled and contradictory emotions, Tracy muttered a curse, threw back the covers and headed into the shower. He’d finish his homework and then head out to explore the cosmódromo.

  * * *

  Bored. Bored, bored, bored, bored, Mercedes thought as she watched Danica and Cipriana dithering between jeweled hairpins. The pins were topped with glitterflies, a bird-like species native to Ouranos. Similar to hummingbirds on old Earth, glitterflies had iridescent bodies, but faceted insect-like eyes in stunning colors of blue, purple, red, copper and gold.

  The two girls were debating the relative merits of the jewels that formed the eyes on the pins.

  “I bet you get those back to the academy, and have Zeng tell you to either put them in a drawer or he’ll confiscate them,” Mercedes groused.

  In addition to all the regular rules and regulations of The High Ground there had been a special list just for the women that stated only stud earrings could be worn. No rings apart from ScoopRings, no bracelets, no pins, no dangling earrings. Apparently Cipriana thought she’d found a loophole with the hairpins.

  Flipping the thick heavy braid over her shoulder Mercedes waved it at the pair. “You keep trying to game the rules,” Mercedes went on, “and they just might decide to make us cut our hair.”

  Danica turned. She was wide-eyed with alarm. “They wouldn’t.”

  “They could,” was Sumiko’s grim assessment.

  Danica clutched at her honey-gold hair as if fearful it might escape. She spun back to Cipriana. “Let’s not risk it.”

  “You’re such a little chicken. I rather fancy having someone gently tease these out and then run his hands through my hair,” Cipriana replied.

  “You have anyone in mind?” Sumiko asked dryly.

  “I have several candidates.”

  Mercedes frowned. “You get caught y copular and you’ll be out of here.”

  “It would almost be worth it.” Cipriana reacted to Mercedes’ expression. “Oh, relax, Mer, as if I can’t stop a boy at second base. For right now I’ll settle for some snuggling and kissing. I promise I won’t abandon you.”

  “You better not. So, are you buying those stupid pins or not?”

  “You should maybe think about when we start Infierno training. Those things could come loose and be a danger in zero gee,” Sumiko said.

  “You are such a spoilsport,” Cipriana snapped. Sumiko opened her mouth to respond.

  The realization hit Mercedes that she was heartily sick of her three ladies. There was such a thing as too much togetherness. At least in the palace she had had privacy at night, and gardens to roam without an entourage. She slipped out of the shop while they squabbled and the sales clerk began to show them how to lock the pins into their hair in a way that would resist zero gee.

  There was a park that formed a ribbon of green between the stores, hotels and restaurants. A small river bubbled over artistically placed rocks. Overhead fat-bellied cloudbots floated along depositing faux rain showers onto the grass, trees and bushes.

  Across the pedestrian mall she saw Tracy dressed in jeans, a white shirt and his regulation issue boots standing in a shop that displayed hauntingly beautiful tapestries spun by the Sidone spiders. A handkerchief-sized tapestry rested in his hands. He held it with the same reverence a priest would show the Host. Mercedes slipped up behind him in time to hear him say, “It’s amazing, but I can’t afford that. Thank you for letting me see it.”

  Tracy handed the tiny tapestry back to the proprietor, who looked annoyed, but then noticed Mercedes. A broad smile stretched his mouth.

  “Your Highness. An honor.”

  Tracy glanced back, and those dark grey eyes lit with pleasure. He smiled.

  “What are you doing?” Mercedes asked.

  “Exploring.”

  “Would you like to go exploring together?” The words were out before she thought better of it.

  His eyes flicked about searching for her companions. “I’m not… is it… permitted… can we…?”

  “I’ll send for Tako. She should be chaperone enough.” Mercedes keyed her ScoopRing. While she murmured to her Hajin batBEM she heard the shop owner say, “Did I tell you it was two hundred Reals? My mistake.” The man’s eyes flicked between Tracy and Mercedes. “I misread. It’s only one hundred, and for a friend of the Infanta I could offer a discount…”

  Tracy stiffened. “I don’t accept favors.”

  Mercedes grabbed him by th
e sleeve and yanked him away from the counter. “You really are an arrogant, stiff-necked prig,” she said in an undertone. “This is how the world works.”

  “Well it shouldn’t!”

  “But it does. If you ever want to get ahead you have to learn to build and trade on your connections. You’ve scored a connection many could only dream of having, so use it.”

  “I won’t. I’d hate it if you thought I would use you—”

  Mercedes smiled at him. “I don’t, and I can tell when people are just being friendly because they want something from me. Besides you weren’t even all that friendly in the beginning. In fact you were rather rude.”

  “I didn’t know who you were.”

  “Sometimes I wish you still didn’t.”

  Tracy glanced again at the counter and the delicate square of silk magic resting there. “I’ve never owned anything like that. But buying something when it’s not useful…”

  “Will it give you enjoyment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you treasure it?”

  “My entire life.”

  “Those seem like useful things,” Mercedes said softly.

  “All right, I’ll… I’ll do it.” There was a tremor in his voice. Excitement? Fear? Mercedes wasn’t sure.

  They walked back to the counter. The proprietor looked hopeful. “What was that discount?” Mercedes asked. The man began to answer, and she quickly said before the amount emerged, “Also I fancy that piece. It would brighten a wall in my quarters.” She pointed to an elaborate geometric piece one foot by two feet. Their eyes met. The man gave an almost imperceptible nod. Tako’s hooves clicked on the polished floor as she slipped into the shop.

  “I can sell the piece to the young lord for thirty-five Reals.”

  Mercedes shot a sideways glance at Tracy. His expression was bemused, probably because of the title that had been bestowed on him.

  “My batBEM will take my piece. Please package it for her now.” She pressed her ScoopRing against the reader, and was grateful Tracy didn’t see the amount that had been deducted from her account. If he had he would know that the shop owner had practically given him the tiny tapestry.

  Her hanging was wrapped and tied with a ribbon. Tako accepted the package. Tracy’s purchase had been folded into a small gilt box. He placed it reverently in the satchel that he had slung over his shoulder.

  They left the store with Tako trailing after them. Mercedes glanced at the jewelry store. Her three ladies were still engrossed in the trays of shining baubles. “So, where shall we go?”

  “Someplace where we can look at the stars,” Tracy said.

  “I thought you’d want to go to the river walk.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve seen trees.”

  “You’ve seen stars too,” Mercedes teased.

  “Not like this. Not without atmosphere and humidity in the way. And that’s our future.”

  “You had to remind me, didn’t you?”

  * * *

  It turned out there were three observation lounges on the cosmódromo’s ring. The map Donnel had downloaded to his pad and ring proved invaluable, and Tracy and Mercedes found themselves in the smallest lounge and the one farthest from the commercial quarter. On the way the Infanta had Tako pause to buy them a picnic lunch consisting of cheese, a small loaf of French bread, and a bunch of grapes. Tracy splurged on a bottle of sparkling wine for them to share.

  Now they were settled on a deep curved bench on the outer shell of the ring. There were no missile emplacements or satellites in view, and so far they hadn’t seen a single ship or shuttle pass by. They also didn’t have all that many stars because at this point in the station’s rotation they were looking at the twining brilliant gasses of the nebula. Tendrils of red, blue and gold light seemed to reach for the stars whose light was wan and faint at the edges of the vortex.

  “Here’s to us—we made it through the first week,” Tracy said, raising his paper cup in a toast.

  “Doesn’t feel like much of a victory when there are so many more weeks to go.” Mercedes sighed. “And I’m afraid it’s just going to get worse.”

  “But you’ve won every time,” Tracy said.

  “Really? It doesn’t feel that way.”

  Tracy set aside his hunk of bread and ticked points off on his fingers. “You took down that guy who hurt your friend, and earned Deal’s respect. You got the uniforms changed and then you met their impossible deadline—”

  “Only because of you.”

  “True, I helped, but you had the idea to come to me. And I came out of it okay. Now Mark and I don’t look like charity cases any more.”

  “It seems so stupid to treat you like this. The fleet needs you. Really smart men who want to be here.”

  “You might recall that isn’t exactly true in my case,” Tracy said and he frowned down into his drink.

  “What happened that changed your mind?”

  “Parent manipulation happened. My dad totally played me.” He hesitated then added, “And he hit me. He’d never hit me before.”

  “Why?”

  “I was rude to Cullen.”

  Mercedes looked shocked. “That seems excessive.”

  He couldn’t stop the grin. “I also stabbed Cullen with a pin.” He didn’t tell her why he had done that. Less because of what Boho had said and more because of what it revealed about him.

  “Oh, so that’s why he hates you so much.” Mercedes had a great laugh. Throaty and deep, like water gurgling over stones in a stream.

  She sobered and asked, “Have you talked to your dad?”

  Tracy shook his head. “I said some really terrible things to him when I left. I don’t know how to take those back. I mean, I can’t take them back.”

  “He made your dress uniform, didn’t he?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then it sounds like he understands and forgives you.”

  “Which actually makes me feel worse. But you were saying that O-Trell needs us—” She giggled. “What?”

  “O-Trell. How quickly we pick up this nonsensical military lingo.”

  Tracy grinned though his embarrassment lingered. “Your point? Anyway, Orden de la Estrella,” he said pointedly, “needs us how?”

  “Seriously? Have you looked at Yves Petek? The fact that he is going to be an officer is just scary. Not that he’s not nice, but he has no more business being here than Danica, or… or me for that matter.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. And what happened to ‘I’m going to make it’?”

  “My father says twenty percent of being in charge is looking like you believe you’re in charge. I was just following his advice.”

  Tracy gripped her hand. “You’re going to make it.” Tako, who had been sitting patiently on her haunches and staring at them unblinking, suddenly shifted. Tracy pulled his hand away. “And O-Trell isn’t stupid. That’s why they have the prueba at the end of first year. You don’t pass you don’t go on.”

  Mercedes looked sick and she set aside her handful of grapes. She stood up and gazed out the viewport. The light from the nebula formed a rainbow halo around her. “Then what’s the point of dragging everybody up here? Why does every boy in the FFH have to do this except the ones going to the church?”

  “Why do all of us intitulado have to do RCFC in high school?” Tracy countered. “It was all that bullshit that made me decide I didn’t want to be a soldier.”

  Mercedes turned back to face him. “But here you are.”

  “Yeah. Well, at least I’ll be an officer.”

  Mercedes crossed to him and took his hands in hers. “You’ll be a good one.” Dark rose suffused her cheeks. A warm spot blossomed in Tracy’s chest and there was a distressing reaction in his groin. He looked away quickly.

  His eyes met Tako’s as she stared unblinkingly at them. That dark gaze and her very presence reminded Tracy of the gulf that loomed between himself and Mercedes and could not be bridged. He gently pulled his h
ands free, grabbed his cup and tossed off the rest of his wine.

  “We should probably get back before someone notices that we’ve been together,” he said shortly, suddenly remembering Cullen’s warning. He started stuffing the leftover cheese, bread and fruit into the bag.

  Mercedes held out her hand and pulled him to his feet. “There is one more thing…” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “May I give you some advice? I don’t know the military, but I grew up with these people.” She looked down and fiddled with the sleeve of her dress. Her eyes met his. “You’re proud. It’s apparent to everyone, but you need to… well, hide it better.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My class is used to people like you being more… ingratiating. When you’re not they notice you and not in a good way. I know you want to better yourself.” The warmth Tracy had felt toward her turned to hurt that made breathing hard.

  Better yourself. Better yourself. The words kept pounding through his head.

  Mercedes went on. “Well the best way for you to accomplish that is to find a way to be useful to some of our classmates.”

  “Like I did with you,” Tracy said harshly.

  “Yes, but pick some who aren’t too well born so they won’t be insulted by your overtures and cultivate them.”

  “Well, forgive me for my mistake in cultivating you. Clearly I was out of line to pick someone so well born,” Tracy snapped.

  Mercedes’ eyes widened and an expression of dismay crossed her face. “I… I’ve said something wrong, haven’t I? I didn’t mean to.” Tracy spun on his heel and walked away. “What did I say?” she called after him.

  He didn’t look back. A churning cold rage closed his throat and made it ache. He returned to the busier areas of the cosmódromo. A trash incinerator panel beckoned. Tracy strode over to it and pulled the box containing the Sidone tapestry out of his pocket. He meant to throw it down the chute, but he wanted one last look before he trashed it. The colors and the intricate beauty caught him. It would be criminal to destroy such art. No, he would keep it, but as a reminder of who he was, that they couldn’t be trusted, and that he was on his own.