The High Ground

by Melinda Snodgrass

  He was glad to have this new task because it kept him from thinking about how he had failed Mercedes in biology. Sure he’d brought her the trashcan, but it was Ernesto who had been of real help to her. Why hadn’t he offered to help? Had he taken Cullen’s contempt to heart? Had the duque’s son’s threats truly cowed him, and made him scared to talk with Mercedes even in a school setting?

  Thinking about Cullen made Tracy think about the duel, and the hollow feeling hit his gut again. A hard shake of the head did little to dislodge the fear and the regret.

  Concentrate, he ordered his troubled and rebellious mind. He once again bent to his task.

  The Epsilon outpost was the League’s most distant base—out on the Scutum-Centaurus arm. The Avanzada was almost the width of the galaxy away from Ouranos, which orbited a sun in the Perseus arm. After an hour and a half an interesting pattern emerged. Ships that were listed in repair manifests would suddenly never be mentioned again. On requisition orders parts were designated for repairs on specific ships. Those orders also stopped when the ships stopped being listed in the garage.

  Five ships, small, fast, lightly armed explorador ships carrying a complement of two hundred and twenty-five men, had vanished from the records. They were the Mercury, the Ave Rapaz, the Challenger, the Restive and the Desafiante. The first stopped being mentioned three years before. The most recent, the Ave Rapaz, vanished from the records back in May.

  Curious now, Tracy looked to see if the scout ships had been repaired in any garage at the other twenty-three Avanzadas. They hadn’t. He tried shipyards in orbit around various League worlds. Nothing. He even tried the third-rate facilities in orbit around Earth, that sad overheated and storm-racked planet where only a few End of Timers and hopeless romantics still chose to live. No mention of the ships. A dull ache settled in Tracy’s temples.

  So the physical ships had seemingly vanished. What about the humans who crewed them? Pay manifests proved to be impossible to access. Tracy leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin, his hand rasping on stubble, and contemplated how to get the information. An idea occurred to him and he leaned back over his tap-pad. The League might not allow a junior (almost) officer to access actual coordinates of the myriad ships in the fleet, but security wasn’t all that tight in other areas.

  He checked sales receipts at the various bars, restaurants, shops and brothels on Epsilon when a ship docked and calculated the resulting increase in revenue correlated to the number of crew that would have been assigned to that ship, and that information also gave him the rotation schedule of the ships returning for resupply. He could trace the drop in revenue when any of the five ships stopped returning. Which meant their crew hadn’t been reassigned to the outpost.

  The data seemed to indicate that five ships and their crews had simply vanished. If that had happened why had there been no press? Usually if a League ship was lost it was front-page news. Tracy leaned back in his chair and rubbed the top of his head as if trying to push out the headache that gripped him. Maybe he had just missed the coverage. Prior to his graduation Tracy had paid little to no attention to fleet news. Tension quivered along his nerves as he bent over his tap-pad and searched the news sites. He hadn’t missed anything because there was nothing. Over a thousand men had disappeared and there had been no outcry from anyone. Apparently not even their families.

  Just how far would the conde wish him to go? Cowardice and curiosity warred for primacy. Curiosity won. He had managed to access names on credit spike accounts at various bars on Epsilon. He picked the name of a low level enlisted estrella hombre, and located his planetside address on Kronos. Discovered he was married with six kids. He created an email address that looked like it might come from the bank, and sent a query to Señora Patricia Denning regarding her husband’s pay. It would take a while for the message to bounce through the Foldstream and reach her, and some time for her answer to return.

  Tracy set aside the puzzle of the five missing exploradors, and turned to his homework assignments. The door chime sounded. It was Hugo and Sumiko.

  “Come on,” the man said, “Jasper says he’s got time for you now and the Sabers studio is empty.”

  “Let me change,” Tracy said. He grabbed his gym clothes, and went into the bathroom. “I hope he’s bringing swords,” Tracy grumbled as he rejoined them.

  “I think you can take that as a given,” Sumiko said. “He strikes me as a man who has a lot of swords in his collection.” Hugo made a snorting sound. Tracy tried really hard to control his features and bet that he looked like a stuffed dummy. “What?” She thought for a moment, then rolled her eyes. “Oh God, you just made something dirty out of that, didn’t you? Of course you did. Boys!” She spun on her heel and marched out the door.

  20

  THE STRONGEST PART OF THE BLADE

  The Sabers fencing society had a gym just for their own use. Apparently the Black Feathers had one as well. The High Ground took its dueling seriously, Tracy thought as he looked at Jasper standing cool and elegant in his fencing gear, a mask under one arm, saber hanging negligently from his good hand. His broken arm was in a sling, a slash of black against his padded jacket. He wore tight white breeches, white socks, and soft white shoes.

  “Get a jacket and mask from the rack.”

  Tracy did as he was told. “Do I get to wear this padded thing when I fight Cullen?” he asked as he pressed the velcro on the jacket closed.

  “Of course not. Shirt sleeves,” was Talion’s impatient reply. “And you won’t wear the mask either.”

  Seeing the world through the mesh of the mask was disorienting. Tracy tried to focus as Talion held out a sword. “This is a saber. Be careful, the edge is sharp,” he warned as Tracy reached for the weapon.

  “All the better to cut you with,” Tracy muttered.

  “Exactly,” was the comfortless reply. “We don’t use épées for affairs of honor. They’re a stabbing weapon and there’s too great a chance of death. The saber is a slashing weapon.”

  “How else do you get a sexy scar,” Sumiko said in her acerbic way. Talion gave her a sharp look. Hugo chuckled and stared at her fondly.

  Well that’s interesting, Tracy thought, then jumped a bit when Talion hit him on the shoulder with the flat of the blade.

  “Pay attention.”

  “Sorry. I just can’t believe…”

  “Well, it is happening so deal with it,” Talion said.

  Tracy inspected the sword—saber, he corrected himself. It was far simpler than he’d expected given what he knew of the FFH. He had expected an embossed and jewel-laden hilt. Instead the guard was a simple round bowl of metal covered with crimson enamel, shielding an austere metal handle. Talion took hold of his saber, and demonstrated the proper grip. Tracy followed suit and realized the enamel bell protected his hand quite well. He peered down the length of the blade, and bounced the thing experimentally in his hand. He guessed it weighed around five hundred grams and was perhaps one hundred and five centimeters long. He had a feeling the weight wouldn’t feel all that negligible after a few minutes of trying to wave the damn thing around.

  “The only really usable portion of the blade in terms of inflicting damage is the first thirty-three centimeters—from the point to about a third of the way down the blade. You can parry closer to the hilt—it’s the strongest part of the blade, and best suited to take the stress from a blow. The main thing you have to remember is don’t get your feet tangled. You do that, and it’s over. I don’t have time to teach you how to actually fence. I’m going to do my best to teach you how to defend yourself. It will work for a while, and might make Boho decide to just take the cut and get this thing over with. He won’t want to look like a fool by taking too long to draw first blood.”

  “What happens if I draw first blood?” Tracy asked.

  “Then you win, but that won’t happen,” Talion said bluntly. “You’re limited to the torso, the arms and the head. Legs are off limits so don’t go flailing away
and accidentally hit him there. If you were to do that you’d get a beat down.”

  “Because cutting me with an archaic weapon isn’t punishment enough,” Tracy muttered.

  “Okay, the first thing that will happen is the seconds will inspect the blades to make sure no one is cheating by bringing in a longer or heavier weapon. Then the salute.” Talion demonstrated. He had been holding the saber at an angle pointed at the floor. He snapped it up to a vertical position, the blade in front of his face, and swept it down again. “After that you will return to the resting position until the handkerchief is dropped and Mihalis as the highest born will give the command to begin. He’ll say allez.”

  Sumiko giggled. It wasn’t something anyone expected and they all looked at her. “Sorry, I just think it’s hysterical that you boys have established all this elaborate ritual to wrap around a basic desire to just whale on each other.”

  Talion looked offended. Hugo and Tracy exchanged a meaningful glance, and Hugo patted Sumiko on the shoulder. “You’re probably right, but that doesn’t change the fact Tracy is about to get a whuppin’—”

  “So we ought to get back to it,” the baron said sharply.

  “Doesn’t Boho have to ask if Tracy will apologize?” Hugo asked. “I’ve been reading up on this,” he explained in answer to Sumiko and Talion’s surprised glances.

  Tracy didn’t care and wasn’t impressed at Hugo’s diligence. He burst out, “Fuck no I won’t apologize. He hit me.”

  Talion ignored his outburst and looked at his seconds. “He won’t in this case, because it’s Boho’s contention that Belmanor insulted a lady, and no apology is ever acceptable for that.”

  “Good, because I’m not going to apologize,” Tracy said again. He almost added, She asked me to dance, but bit back the words deciding that such information getting out wouldn’t be good for Mercedes.

  “All right then. Keep your weight evenly balanced on both feet and watch my eyes and the end of my blade. We’ll go slow to start.”

  Talion’s blade wove back and forth. Tracy managed to catch about half of the hits, and he felt the shudder down the blade and into his arm. As he anticipated, about five minutes in the saber became a dragging weight, and his muscles began to cramp. He also knew that Talion was moving very slowly.

  They took a brief break then started again, and this time the pace of the blows increased and Talion advanced on him with quick sliding steps. Tracy tried to hold in place, but was knocked to the ground. Talion reached down and pulled Tracy back to his feet.

  “When I advance you have to retreat. Keep me at sword’s length. That’s when you have to be careful and not trip yourself.”

  “Isn’t there like lunging and stuff?” Tracy asked, and he demonstrated, imitating what he had seen in movies and SimGames.

  “Try it,” Talion said as he took up the en garde position again.

  Tracy awkwardly swung the blade trying to imitate Talion’s smooth movements. He then tried lunging toward Talion’s chest. Talion jumped back while at the same time sweeping Tracy’s blade aside. It knocked Tracy off balance and he stumbled forward when he failed to meet the expected resistance. At the same time Talion made a quick reversal, lunged and slashed Tracy across the chest. He heard and felt the grate of the blade on the mesh that covered his padded jacket. Tracy staggered back and regained his balance. He had a pretty clear and sickening idea just what that cut would have done if he hadn’t been wearing protective gear.

  “And that’s why you’re not going to try and be aggressive and take the fight to him. You’re going to retreat and retreat and retreat and defend yourself for as long as you can. It would be bad if he cuts you in the first seconds of the fight. If he does don’t tell anyone I coached you.”

  “Yeah, it’d be a shame if I damaged your reputation,” Tracy muttered ironically.

  “Oh, you couldn’t do that. They know I’m the best, but some of the Saber members might make jokes and then I’d have to school them. It could cause bad feelings in the society. Let’s go again. We have four more nights to practice. Let’s not waste them.”

  “We have soccer practice and I have choir on Tuesday.”

  “We’ll work after.”

  “Homework,” Sumiko reminded.

  Talion shrugged. “This is more important.”

  “Boys,” Sumiko said explosively and left the room.

  * * *

  Hot water pounded onto his head, and drew hisses of pain when it struck the bruises that stippled his chest, back, side and arms, making Tracy look like a pinto Hajin. Talion hadn’t been gentle. Even with the protective mesh Talion had mostly just used the flat of his blade to drive home the lesson. Occasionally he would use the edge, and the searing scrape of metal on metal put Tracy’s teeth on edge. He couldn’t help but contemplate how that blade was going to feel against his flesh.

  Snapping off the water he tottered out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. Tracy had thought the training he did each morning had him in top condition, but fencing used a whole different set of leg muscles and his thighs were aching. He gave an experimental rotation of his right shoulder. Yep, that hurt too from the weight of the saber.

  He opened the door of the bathroom and gave a yell when he found himself eye to eye with Donnel. “Jesus, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

  “Pardon, sir.” The alien was holding a bottle in one hand and a jar in another.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought you might require treatment after your training session.”

  “I’m not even going to ask how you knew.” Tracy sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed. “What’s in the jars?”

  “Tiger balm, and a particular lotion that we Cara’ot find soothing. I’m pretty decent at massage too.”

  “No, that’s creepy.” Tracy went to stand, and felt his back catch. Even the brief time sitting had allowed his muscles to stiffen. He dropped back down onto the mattress with a groan.

  “Have it your way. Should make physical training tomorrow morning just a lot of fun.”

  “Okay, damn you,” Tracy said before the alien reached the door.

  Tracy managed to roll face down on the bed and Donnel went to work on his back and legs. The alien wasn’t kidding; those four hands worked at cramped muscles, and the lotion was soothing to his dark purple bruises. After a few minutes Tracy said quietly, “I’m going to get cut on Saturday.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s going to hurt.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m scared,” he said softly.

  “And that’s okay too, sir.”

  Thirty minutes later Donnel stepped back. Tracy sat up and ran a hand through his hair. “Thanks, that helped.”

  “My pleasure, sir.”

  “I gotta get started on my homework. Bring me a coffee. I think it’s going to be a long night.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Donnel whisked himself out the door. Tracy dropped his towel and changed into sweat pants and a T-shirt. The tiger balm was warm on his skin and his muscles felt like soft gel. He sat down at his desk, opened his tap-pad and found an email from Señora Denning. She reported that the automatic deposit of her husband’s pay vouchers were coming through just fine.

  The cracking tension gripped Tracy’s body, undoing all the good Donnel’s massage had done, and a pounding started in his temples. There were only two explanations—either Orden de la Estrella had sent the five ships on long secret missions. Or the five ships and all aboard them had been lost and the League didn’t want the broader public or even their families to know.

  And apparently the conde suspected that he was also being kept in the dark. Now Tracy just had to figure out how the tailor’s son was going to contact the man whom some had called the Emperor’s right hand and let him know.

  21

  WINGS & PRAYERS

  The armor wasn’t custom fitted and Mercedes found her breasts being squashed painful
ly against her chest. They were all exchanging glances, but Sumiko, the most endowed of all of them, described it succinctly: “Like having a never-ending mammogram.”

  The armor was carbon polymer with dura-steel edging. Servomotors at the joints made it relatively easy to move, but Mercedes wouldn’t have wanted to try and dance in it. They clanked out of the changing room, helmets beneath their arms, and into the ready room where the rest of their class was assembling. This was their first meeting with the Infierno instructor. Apparently the man was so good that the academy sent him out to give refresher courses to the fleet during the first quarter.

  The man turned at the ladies’ entrance, and Danica and Cipriana actually gasped. The pilot looked to be in his mid-thirties with velvet brown eyes, black hair and a spade beard and mustache.

  Cipriana leaned in to Mercedes. “He looks like he should be riding an Arabian stallion across the Sahara on old Earth,” she whispered.

  “I am Captain Baron Tarek El-Ghazzawy. Now if you’ll follow me into the shuttle bay we’ll get started.”

  The two bulky shuttles had been moved. Instead the cavernous space held seven Infierno fighters. In a corner was another multi-crew fighter, the Talon. It looked far more like a craft of war—needle-nosed, sleek swept-back wings. Parked it looked like it was going a thousand miles an hour. In contrast the Infiernos were small saucers about twenty feet across with the cockpit dead center. The domes were open on all of them.

  El-Ghazzawy led them to the nearest fighter. Some of the boys looked longingly back at the Talon. El-Ghazzawy didn’t miss it. “Yes, it looks cooler and it had its uses to deliver strike teams, but we can use shuttles to deliver troops and cover them with this darling.” He rested a hand on the curving side of an Infierno with the same pride and affection a man would show his favorite dog or horse. “The Talon can’t match the punch of one of these. We still have a few Talons operational, but they are being phased out and sold as surplus.