The High Ground

by Melinda Snodgrass

  23

  POLITICS, POLITICS, POLITICS

  For Hissilek it was a relatively cold day so the French doors that opened onto the garden were closed on this December afternoon. A few intrepid couples had gone outside to admire the winter-blooming flowers. The girls themselves looked like inverted blossoms in their skirts and billowing cloaks, but Mercedes had noticed that a number of the young ladies were wearing tailored jackets that were clearly inspired by her O-Trell jacket. Mercedes knew that the crown set fashion trends. She’d just never expected to do it in quite this way. The effect only extended so far—the civilian ladies’ jackets fell to their knees or even their ankles. Mercedes’ uniform was still considered scandalous.

  Evergreen permeated the air and danced with the scent of hot apple cider. The heavy beams in the ceiling were festooned with evergreen boughs dotted with tiny star-shaped lights. Fifteen-feet-tall Christmas trees anchored the four corners of the room, and a monster of a tree, fully twenty-five feet tall with its glowing star almost brushing the ceiling, was at the far end of the room. Presents were heaped at its base. In two hours children from less affluent parts of the capital city would be escorted in to receive presents directly from the hands of the Emperor and Empress.

  On one of her weekend visits home Mercedes had suggested to her father that they hold a reception for the students at The High Ground before the palace Christmas event. Afterwards the young officers could deliver extra gifts to various churches around the city for distribution to children who weren’t lucky or photogenic enough to be invited to the annual imperial Christmas party. Of course the press would be alerted to these activities.

  “I like it,” her father had said. “You’re starting to think like a politician.”

  “I thought I was thinking like a ruler.”

  “What do you think a ruler is?”

  “I thought we were above politics.”

  “There’s not an interaction in life that isn’t political on some level, my dear. And well done starting to put your stamp on the officer corps. That’s important.”

  Her gaze now went to her father. His entire attitude was self-satisfied and expansive. He held a cup of eggnog by its delicate handle and was threatening to baptize the Marqués C. de Vaca with its sticky contents. Constanza was chatting with a number of matrons including Vice Admiral Markov’s stout wife, but keeping a wary eye on Carisa who was squatting in front of the Christmas tree peering at the presents. Her tiny hands were twitching, desperate to reach for the gaily wrapped boxes, her human nanny hovering nearby. The twins held hands and gazed longingly at the tree. Izzie made flirty eyes at Boho, who looked amused, while Tanis stood with her back to a wall eyeing the shifting crowd with calculating eyes. Beatrisa had Jasper demonstrating fencing moves with a bread stick, and Julieta was arranging a sprig of holly in Sanjay’s lapel. Estella was seated next to Conde Alfred Brendahl. He was an older man, recently widowed, and he and her sister had their heads bent over a holo from his ScoopRing. It looked like they were reading a book together.

  Even Mercedes’ ladies had paired off. Sumiko was with Hugo, Cipriana with Arturo and Danica was accepting a cup of eggnog from Mihalis. Unease at seeing two of her ladies in close association with her cousin’s children became an aching knot in the pit of Mercedes’ stomach. Of Duque Musa de Campo himself there was no sign. It was a calculated insult and would probably cause comment within their circle, but her father seemed unconcerned so perhaps there was no reason to be worried. Now if Arturo and Mihalis were making moves on Julieta or Estella, then she’d be worried.

  Mercedes drifted through the room smiling, nodding, exchanging pleasantries with the nobles of the FFH who had gathered for the event. There were a number of nobles from off world, and even the youngest Rothschild representing his family. A family that stubbornly clung to holdings on the climate-devastated Earth. She wasn’t sure if that showed nobility and loyalty to the human home world or a desire to be at the top of the heap even if that heap was a dung heap.

  “We’ve had women entering recruiting stations on every world. We need to construct a response.” Mercedes overheard the quiet conversation from a clump of uniformed officers and a couple of men in grey morning dress who were gathered at one of the buffets. It was Vice Admiral Markov who had spoken.

  “The Emperor needs to set some sort of policy,” an officer with a great deal of chest candy on his breast said in heated tones.

  “He let it get out ahead of him, and now the damn lawyers are involved.” It was Captain Zeng talking. “And we’re being sued, alleging that equal protection demands that all the daughters of the FFH should also be required to attend The High Ground.”

  “And some of them are bound to make it through first year and then their graduation is inevitable.” This was from another highly decorated officer.

  “Fortunately most of the daughters seemed to be horrified at the idea,” Markov chuckled.

  “But the law doesn’t always reflect popular opinion.” This was from one of the men in civilian attire. He gave a regretful headshake. “We should never have used the American constitution as the basis for the League.”

  The civilian noticed Mercedes and his eyes narrowed. The cold calculation in that look sent a shiver through her, and Mercedes quickly reversed direction. She then mentally kicked herself all the way across the room wishing she’d had the courage to speak up. Of course talking back to her commanding officer was unwise at best and catastrophic at worst. Although she could make the argument that she was actually Markov’s commanding officer. Mercedes wondered if her father had ever flirted with these confusing ideas.

  She spotted Tracy in a corner by one of the Christmas trees. He was staring down into his crystal eggnog cup with a surprised expression. She joined him. The scar on his left temple was twisted and raw and it pulled his eyebrow upward, giving an ironic cast to his face.

  “This is actually good,” he said in tones of wonder. “Dad always buys it at Christmas and it’s just nasty. And yellow.”

  “This is homemade.”

  “Wish I could take some home. If Dad tried this he’d stop buying that stuff that looks like cat vomit.”

  “I’ll see to it you get the recipe and a bottle to take home.” Her voice was jumping.

  “You’re laughing at me,” Tracy accused.

  “A little bit. Actually it’s nice. Your delight in things I just take for granted makes me appreciate them more.” She looked across the room to the table where the giant crystal punch bowl sparkled atop its cut-crystal pedestal. “I should get some,” Mercedes said.

  He correctly interpreted her hesitation. “Yeah, it is a bit of a hike.”

  “And I’ll get waylaid by some bore,” Mercedes added.

  Tracy held out his cup. “Want a sip?”

  “Yes, thanks.” She took a sip savoring the sweetness and smoothness followed by the bite from the bourbon and rum. They stood side by side watching the glittering crowd and their classmates all nicely coupled up.

  “So, how did we end up the only people without dates?” Mercedes said, trying to make it sound humorous rather than pathetic.

  “Well in my case it’s because I’m a loser.”

  “And in my case?”

  “You want a serious answer or a joke?” Tracy responded.

  “Serious.”

  “If you hook up with anyone who has the standing and rank to be with you it sends a message and disrupts the balance in this power dance you’re all doing.”

  “True. This whole power thing is isolating,” Mercedes said as she watched Davin jump down from the podium that held the orchestra.

  The Christmas carols gave way to a sprightly samba and a number of couples took advantage of the sheer size of the room to start dancing. Cipriana, Sumiko and Danica were among them.

  “And now they are actually dancing,” she sighed.

  “And you’d like to.”

  “Yes.”

  “I may have a solution,” Tracy
said.

  “Oh really?”

  “Dance with a nobody. There are no power repercussions at all.”

  “Just a whole other set of problems. And I thought you didn’t dance.”

  “Somebody started to teach me, and I decided not to insult her by not continuing.”

  “And who’s been continuing your lessons?” Mercedes asked. There was a hot flutter in her chest when she contemplated his potential partners. She smothered it.

  “Hugo’s sisters.”

  “That could be a good match for you,” she forced herself to say.

  “I expect Mama Devris wants to do a good deal better than me now that they’re on the first rungs of the nobility ladder.”

  He fell silent and the frown was back. It made Mercedes sad. He had seemed so happy for a few brief moments. “So, get on with it,” she pushed.

  “What?”

  “Invite the girl to dance.” She set the cup down on a ledge on one of the supporting pillars that marched around the edges of the enormous room.

  The glow was back; he held out his hand, started to speak, then his hand dropped to his side. “We can’t. You know that.”

  “You’re not afraid of Boho.”

  “No, but this is the palace and you’re you and I’m me, and there’s a limit to how much even you can push the boundaries.”

  She thought about the conversation she’d overheard. The societal boundaries were already creaking and cracking and people weren’t happy. She couldn’t afford a misstep. She nodded. They were silent once again.

  Why did the holidays always make her sad?

  * * *

  “…you’re you and I’m me.”

  The words seemed to hang between them. He had made her unhappy and he wanted to kick himself. Tracy struggled to shake off his own melancholy, brought on by the fact he was lying to his dad.

  At first Alexander was horrified by the scar, but then delighted when Tracy had explained it had happened during one of the practice bouts at his dueling society. Just an accident. His father had read about the tradition of dueling societies at The High Ground, and was thrilled that his son had been invited to join that elite company. So the first tiny lie had ballooned into a monstrous lie, and his dad was no doubt spreading it all over the neighborhood. Tracy just prayed that none of the neighbors would find a way to check.

  Mercedes gave him a quizzical look and he forced a smile. “Hey, I never thought I’d get here. And through the front door, no less. My dad comes here. Well, not here here. He makes formal wear for your dad. He’s been in the private suites for fittings.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “I don’t know why I’m bringing it up.”

  “Maybe because there are these weird connections between us,” Mercedes suggested. “I haven’t forgotten the beach. Actually you just keep rescuing me.”

  “And you’ve repaid the favor. Thanks to you I’ve gotten much better in the Infierno. I’ve almost pulled even with Kunst.”

  “Your hit scores are much better than his. I have to say it got a lot harder when we went live,” Mercedes said. “They can try to approximate the gee forces in the simulator, but it’s not the same.”

  “No shi— kidding. The backs of my thighs and shoulders are one big bruise.”

  “What about your bu—” Mercedes broke off saying butt as abruptly as he’d cut off the unwary shit he had been about to utter. He looked back over his shoulder and discovered why. Rohan Aubrey, the Conde de Vargas, was standing behind them.

  “Your Highness. Belmanor.”

  “Sir,” they said together. But neither of them saluted. Tracy had learned that lesson.

  “I’d best go circulate. And keep an eye on my sisters,” Mercedes said, and with a nod to Tracy she moved away.

  Tracy tried to think of something to say before the silence became any more awkward. Aubrey removed the problem by leaning in and saying softly, “I received your report, Cadet. Nice work.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Aubrey just beamed at him. Tracy couldn’t help himself; he added, “What are you going to do, sir? About the missing ships?”

  “The situation is being researched. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to your classmates while I continue my efforts.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Aubrey dropped a plump hand onto his shoulder. “I have my eye on you, Belmanor.”

  Tracy watched the portly man waddle away. He wasn’t sure whether the final words were a threat or a promise of something good. You never knew with the FFH.

  * * *

  There was a small Christmas tree in his study. The multi-colored lights blinked languidly, illuminating the handmade ornaments, from crocheted snowflakes to gingerbread men. All of them created by his nine daughters over the years.

  I know he’s disappointed that none of us were boys, but he does love us, Mercedes thought as she peeked around the door. Her father seemed to sense her scrutiny. He looked up from his tap-pad, smiled and motioned for her to come in.

  “You wanted me, sir?”

  He held out his hand. She laid hers in it, and he pulled her close and bestowed a kiss on her cheek. “Sir? Is this what comes of a military education?”

  Mercedes smiled. “Well, it seems inappropriate for this junior officer to call her emperor and commander-in-chief Daddy.”

  “And while this daddy would prefer it I suspect you are right.” He sighed. “I suppose every parent faces the moment when their child becomes an adult.” He shook off the pensive mood. “But yes, I did want you. It’s time for you to get a lesson in another form of warfare that you won’t learn at the academy. Pull up a chair.”

  She grabbed one of the large leather wingback chairs from in front of the desk and dragged it around next to his. He touched his pad and a large holo appeared in the air over the desk. There were various filters overlaying each other. The top image was of a snowy world orbiting a red-tinged sun.

  “Yggdrasil,” her father said.

  Her brows twitched together in a frown as Mercedes tried to place the unusual name. She snapped her fingers. “Hidden World. The most recent one we’ve found.”

  “Very good. Discovered and reintegrated seven years ago. I put Quentin D’Amante in charge of the place. You remember him?”

  “Duque from Kronos. I danced with one of his sons at my quinceañera celebration. I don’t recall much about the father. I was a bit giddy that night.”

  He answered her smile. “You were my fairy princess.”

  “I think your memory is a bit hazy. I was so awkward and pimply at fifteen, and all that puppy fat.” She shuddered. “Julieta was far more fairylike at hers.”

  “I think you are all beautiful.”

  “Are you going to feel that way after you get through six more?” Mercedes teased.

  “At least I can combine the twins.”

  “Poor twins. They never get to be individually special.”

  He gave her a thoughtful look. “Very true, my dear. I hadn’t thought about it in quite that way.”

  “But you were saying about D’Amante…”

  “He’s ambitious. We had a rather pointed conversation about his son and you while the two of you were dancing. Point being that I tend to keep an eye on men like that, and SEGU has discovered some interesting associations.” He swept a hand across the holo and a new page appeared.

  The letterhead was an elaborate rendering of Seguridad Imperial. Mercedes glanced over at her father’s profile, starting to show a bit of five o’clock shadow on his dark cheeks. “Not exactly discreet for a spy agency,” she said.

  He turned to look at her full on and there was a quizzical expression in his dark eyes. “You continue to surprise me, Mer.”

  She studied the report. “He’s aligning himself with Cousin Musa.”

  “Subtly. There’s not enough here to confront him, but enough for me to be alarmed.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “That’s what
I brought you here to see.”

  Another sweep of the hand and a series of financial records slipped into place. It was a bewildering array of information from tax receipts, to city and planetary budgets, and bond measures. Seeing her look of bewilderment her father walked her through the pages of figures explaining that there had been a disruption to the economy when the League moved in and new owners took over the major businesses on the planet.

  “The primary export from Yggdrasil is gadolinium. It’s a rare earth element that helps shield our ship crews from neutrons. D’Amante has been skimming.” Her father reacted to her look of shock. “Perfectly natural for a planetary governor. Those are always plum assignments—particularly on Hidden Worlds. But I want to send a message.”

  “How?”

  Fernán swept aside the financials, and brought to the fore another document that showed massive amounts of gadolinium in warehouses on Nueva Terra, Belán and Ouranos. He raised one eyebrow inquiringly. Mercedes chewed on her lower lip; she utilized the holo to bring up the current price of the element. It was shockingly high. She then said hesitantly, “Someone’s been stockpiling gadolinium. Making it scarce. Which drove up the price?” She couched it as a hesitant half-question, unsure of her answer.

  Her father nodded approvingly. “Exactly.”

  “Who’s buying all the gadolinium?”

  “Me.”

  “Didn’t that cost a lot of money?”

  “I control the Imperial Reserve. Money is not an issue. We just put more into circulation.”

  Mercedes shook her head, coping with the idea of magic money that could just be miraculously created. Her father seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts.

  “It isn’t something you do too often or too casually. Because of this quantitative easing it has increased inflation across the League.”

  “I’m sorry to be stupid, but what exactly does that mean?” Mercedes asked.

  “Goods cost more, and money costs more.” He chuckled at her confused expression. “Meaning that interest rates go up so it’s more expensive to borrow money.”