The High Ground

by Melinda Snodgrass

  Their batBEMS had brought up their gifts—boxes of them—and they were arrayed under a Christmas tree in the observation lounge.

  “So anybody a Christmas Eve present opener?” Sumiko asked hopefully and received a chorus of emphatic noes.

  “Is there anyone of the male persuasion to share our dismal holiday?” Cipriana griped.

  “I think that scholarship student from Nueva Terra stayed,” Sumiko offered. “He couldn’t afford to go home, and nobody from Hissilek invited him.”

  “Big whoop.” Cipriana threw herself down on her bunk and hugged her pillow.

  Silence settled and Mercedes began to unpack and hang up her clothes. Tako slipped through the door and whispered to her, “Several young gentlemen have invited the ladies to join them for eggnog, cookies and carols in the observation lounge.”

  “Which gentlemen?” Mercedes asked.

  “Who cares!” Cipriana countered and bolted for the door.

  25

  YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION

  The observation lounge was lit only by the fire of the stars beyond the wide windows and the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. The tree filled the room with the sharp scent of pine. There were six men ranged on the sofas—Tracy, Boho, Davin, Hugo, Ernesto and Mark. Mercedes checked in the doorway, amazed to see them. It didn’t escape her notice that Tracy and Boho were on different sofas and separated by the width of the room.

  “What are you all doing here?” Mercedes asked.

  “Our duty to the League,” Boho said gaily as he jumped up and ran over to her. He kissed her hand. “And the lady who will lead it.”

  Hugo was at Sumiko’s side, his arm around her waist. “When we heard we knew we couldn’t leave you to face the holidays alone so we all volunteered. Besides, we’re no fools.” He gave a grunt as Sumiko dug an elbow into his side.

  Cipriana ran a critical eye over Ernesto’s long, lean form, smiled and did that panther walk thing she did. She laid a hand on his arm, smiled up at him and purred, “Maybe you can tutor me in… biology.”

  The scholarly Ernesto looked poleaxed. Mercedes turned away to hide her giggle, and found herself looking directly at Tracy. He and the other scholarship student, Mark, were holding back, showing proper deference to their well-born classmates. Tracy’s eyes met hers and there was an intensity to the stare, an urgent communication.

  Holding out her hand she moved to them using what she thought of as her regal glide. In turn the scholarship students bowed over her outstretched hand.

  “Thank you for your willingness to share our exile. We’ll find some way to make it jolly,” she said.

  “Highness,” they murmured.

  “Mr. Belmanor, might I have a moment of your time. I have a trig question.”

  He bowed. Wilson stood like a clod, then it finally penetrated that she wanted him to step away. He gave a hurried bow and went off to join Hugo and Boho.

  “He’s not very bright, is he?” she whispered to Tracy.

  “Oh, he’s smart. Just not as well trained in how to behave around the Fortune Five Hundred.” The mobile brows twitched together in a sharp frown.

  “Say it,” Mercedes ordered.

  “He thinks rubbing elbows with all of you will literally rub off, and he’ll be accepted. I—” He broke off abruptly.

  “Know better,” Mercedes finished quietly.

  “I’ll remain prudently silent.” He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small package. It was elegantly wrapped in silver paper with a blue ribbon. “This is for you. Merry Christmas.”

  A quick glance around to make certain they were unobserved and she slid the present into her pocket. “Oh, Tracy. Thank you. I didn’t get you anything.”

  She felt stupid and cruel. She had thought about putting him on the Christmas list that she presented to the majordomo, but she was afraid it might cause comment. She assumed that her father as well as SEGU inspected the people on her list, and it would draw unwanted attention to Tracy if she included a scholarship student. It wasn’t as if she could do her own shopping. She didn’t even suggest a gift for most of the people. That was handled in the protocol office.

  “Don’t worry. You taught me how to dance.”

  “And it earned you a scar.” She wanted to touch the ridged mark at his temple, but controlled the impulse.

  “Hey, it makes me look dashing.” He gave a shrug that meant to indicate it didn’t matter, but she knew better. She sensed the mark would torment him for the rest of his life.

  “How are you two…” She cast a look at Boho, as always the center of a laughing group of people.

  “He pretends I’m appropriately chastised.”

  She laughed. “I think you will never bend that stiff neck.”

  He gave her a rueful smile. “Yeah, I guess I don’t do that go-along-to-get-along thing very well, do I?”

  “No, really? I’d never noticed.” She touched the package in her pocket and said softly, “Thank you. I’ll open it later.”

  * * *

  Back in his quarters Tracy was kicked back on his bunk, getting a jump on the reading for Crispin’s history class. He hated the class, but also found it easy unlike many of the others. His dad had been cool with his volunteering to return to the cosmódromo over the holiday. It gave him such a thrill to think of Tracy rubbing shoulders with FFH, and with the Infanta, no less.

  His ScoopRing pricked his finger twice indicating an incoming text. He brought up the message. It floated in the air before his eyes.

  I couldn’t wait to open. Had to be private. Explanations difficult. Luv it, but what???

  Boot knife, he typed back.

  Who am I fighting?

  Never know.

  Tracy thought about what Donnel had said and added: U might need it someday. U don’t have guards.

  Surrounded by soldiers.

  And your hens.

  Snarky. Want to thx you in person. Can we meet?

  Cameras.

  Didn’t Donnel fix that once?

  Point. Will check. Hang tight.

  He pinged his batBEM. A few minutes later Donnel arrived. There was a napkin hanging down the front of his shirt.

  “You were eating. Sorry,” Tracy said.

  The alien shrugged and pulled the napkin out of his collar. “Snacking. What’s up?”

  “I need you to do that thing with the cameras again. Mercedes wants to meet.”

  “You two are going to be the death of me.” He heaved a sigh. “Okay. Give us a little time and we’ll tell you where.”

  “Hope it’s not a mop closet or something,” Tracy said.

  “Beggars shouldn’t be choosers.”

  “She’s the Infanta.”

  “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be doing this, but whatever.”

  The alien clattered back through the door and it slid shut behind him.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go alone?”

  Mercedes stopped and looked at her batBEM. Tako was gazing at the floor, hands folded, a picture of deference completely at odds with the brashness of the question.

  “And why would I do that? I’m merely thanking a subject for a thoughtful gift.” It sounded hollow even to her.

  The Hajin’s eyes rose to meet hers. “Then why not thank him in a more public venue? And why did you lie to your ladies?”

  That was a question Mercedes couldn’t answer. Why had she told the others she was going to the library and declined any of their company?

  “I won’t betray you, my lady.”

  Mercedes gave a sharp laugh. “You servants know all our business anyway.”

  “Very true, my lady.”

  “I wonder why we never remember that?” The Hajin remained silent, recognizing a rhetorical question. After a few more moments of dithering Mercedes gave a quick nod. “All right. Wait for me in the library. Good thing the academy is old-fashioned enough to still hang onto dead tree books even after they’v
e been scanned. You can pretend I’m wandering in the stacks if anyone should inquire.”

  “Fortunately that’s not likely to happen.” The alien hesitated, then reached into a skirt pocket and pulled out a thin envelope. Mercedes recognized it at once. It was the same thing Cipriana had waved in front of her. Contraception. “Would you like this, my lady?”

  “No, I can’t.” The batBEM turned away. “Wait. Okay, I’ll take it. I’m not going to use it, but don’t say anything, okay?” She thrust the envelope deep into her trouser pocket.

  “Of course not, my lady.”

  The batBEM clattered off and Mercedes continued on to the upper observation lounge, fingering the envelope. This lounge was far smaller and less well appointed than the big lounge. More like a crystal soap bubble on the outer skin of the cosmódromo. For anyone afflicted by vertigo it was an uncomfortable space.

  Tracy was seated on the low bench that ran the circumference of the space. One hand and his forehead were resting against the clear material of the curving walls. The light from the nebula threw his profile into strong relief. He looked around and smiled, once again transforming that rather plain face.

  A surge of heat raced through Mercedes’ body. She firmly took her hand out of her pocket and away from temptation. He stood and started to bow. Mercedes threw out a hand, restraining him.

  “Don’t. No protocol right now. Just a friend thanking another friend for a Christmas gift.”

  He nodded. “All right.”

  Mercedes sat down on the bench next to him and pulled up her trouser leg revealing her boot. “You can’t even see it, can you?”

  He peered down. “No.”

  She reached into the top of the boot and pulled out the blade. Exposed to the warmth of her palm it quickly thickened and lengthened.

  Tracy leaned back. “Whoa! I didn’t know it would do that. That is awesome.”

  Applying her left toe to the heel of her right boot Mercedes kicked it off to display the sheath strapped to her calf. “Now watch what happens when the point touches the sheath.”

  The instant the blade kissed the sheath the knife again thinned and shortened. She slid it home.

  “That is so cool. I wish I’d bought one for myself,” he said with a regretful headshake.

  “Maybe Santa will bring you one,” Mercedes said, and winced because she sounded arch.

  “I don’t think Santa’s sleigh is rated for vacuum.”

  They fell silent. Mercedes was terribly aware of him. It was cold in the small observation bubble and he was a point of warmth. A mélange of smells wafted from his skin. Lemon from the academy soap, a dusky, spicy scent that was aftershave, a wisp of mint—he had obviously used mouthwash before meeting her. There was a tiny nick from a razor on his right jawline just below the ear. He was staring down at his hands that were tightly clasped in his lap. His breaths, quick and shallow, seemed loud in the silence.

  A shivering tension gripped her; danced along nerve endings, set her heart racing. Warmth settled into her lower belly and there was a sudden disconcerting wetness in her crotch. She studied his lips, faintly pink, a little narrow. Wondered how it would feel to press her lips against them. She licked her lips, cleared her throat, waited. Nothing happened. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t make a move.

  Insecurity seized her. How could it not when she compared herself to the diminutive beauty of Julieta or the elegance of Estella? She was scarecrow tall with a big nose and she had a bubble butt. She was suddenly back at her quinceañera. None of the boys had tried to kiss her then either. It seemed nobody wanted to kiss her.

  The silence was becoming uncomfortable. Soon the moment would be lost. How could a girl reach eighteen and never have been kissed by a man apart from her father? What was wrong with her? Even an intitulado didn’t want her…

  I’m the Infanta. It wouldn’t be proper with the Infanta. Voices swirled through her head. Not her. Her position. That was what made her untouchable. It was also why she had power.

  “I’m the Infanta,” she whispered softly.

  “Beg pardon?” Tracy looked up.

  Mercedes made the decision. “You have my permission to kiss me,” she said. The words were so formal. Would they break the moment or free them from this quivering anxiety?

  The grey eyes filled with excitement and longing. He reached out and slid a hand around her shoulders, drew her toward him. His other hand snaked up into her hair which she had worn loose and long this day. He tilted his head, and pressed his lips lightly, oh so lightly against hers.

  Breaths fluttered and mingled. Heat shot into her groin. She shivered. He started to pull away. She threw her arms around his neck and held him close. His mouth sought hers again. There was more authority to the kiss this time. She sighed, softening her lips. His tongue brushed gently across her upper lip. She gasped, moaned and opened her mouth. Her tongue found his, tasting, teasing, exploring.

  Eyes closed, Mercedes floated in a wash of sensations. She was tremendously aware of the heightened sensitivity in her nipples as they brushed against the material of her bra. How warm his hands felt against her back. The taste of him, both sweet and astringent.

  The envelope in her pocket seemed to suddenly have weight and heft. What if she…? Could she…? Dare she…? He was kissing her neck, his lips exploring the contours of her ears. Between kisses he whispered her name. She moaned and pulled him closer. He made a sound that was part groan, part muffled oath, and tore away from her.

  Three strides had him on the opposite side of the room. His chest was heaving with panting breaths and his fists were clenched at his sides.

  “What? Did I do something… something wrong?” Even to her own ears she sounded plaintive.

  “No. I did.”

  “I said you could.”

  “I know, but things needed to stop before it got… well, very hard for me to stop.”

  “It does rather sweep you away, doesn’t it?” she said lightly.

  “Yeah. Especially for men. We’re pigs. I might not be in the FFH but I want you to always think I’m a gentleman.”

  “There’s never been any doubt.” The madness was ebbing, the fever in her blood fading. Cold reality returned. “I should get back. My ladies know I’d never spend too long in the library.” They shared a forced laugh. “Thank you again for my gift. For both of them.” He shook his head, puzzled. “The kiss. My first. You’d be surprised the things you don’t get when you’re a princess. Good night, Tracy.”

  “Good night, Highness.”

  “Use my name. Just this once.”

  “Good night… Mercedes.”

  26

  LOCKDOWN

  The incongruity apparently hadn’t struck The High Ground command so Mercedes and her ladies found themselves facing a giggling group of ten-year-old girls from one of the middle-class girls’ schools in a gelato store. Christmas was past and they were in that grey emotional hangover period that always seemed to follow the holiday. The field trip had been requested by the school and Mercedes was surprised when The High Ground had agreed. Since it was girls, Mercedes and her ladies had been given the task of telling the children how great a career in Orden de la Estrella would be. Because nothing says a military career like recruiting kids with tasty frozen treats, Mercedes thought. Given the stiff features of the teacher the good sister hadn’t missed the dissonance.

  Judging by the dolphin-squeak giggles and the bursts of excited conversations the little girls seemed far more interested in trading bites of their various sloppy choices than hearing about life in the corps. They had all made their curtsey to Mercedes, holding up the skirts of their school uniforms with a precision that spoke of long hours of practice. After that they had been sent to the counter and all semblance of order had disappeared.

  Mercedes didn’t really care. Looking at the flushed faces like radiant poppies, many with a smear of chocolate sauce around their lips, Mercedes thought of her little sisters, and hated the thought of what
bullets would do to those faces and small fragile bodies.

  The nun watched her charges with a critical eye and after a suitable amount of sugar had been ingested she clapped her hands. “All right now. It’s time to finish up and Her Highness the Infanta and her attendants are going to tell you all about going to school up here and how much they like it.”

  “So that’s what we’re supposed to do,” Cipriana muttered past lips locked stiffly in a grimace-like smile as Mercedes stepped past her.

  Summoning her own smile Mercedes asked, “So how did you all like the shuttle ride?”

  “It was stellar!”

  “It was scary.”

  “It made my stomach feel ooky.”

  “I threw up.” There were several voices that offered variations on that statement.

  “I’ll tell you a little secret,” Mercedes said. “I threw up too the first and even the second time, but you get used to it.”

  “I liked floating. It was like flying. I loved it,” a little girl with red cornrow braids offered.

  “It is, but here on the station you can walk around and it’s that way on the big ships too. Do any of you know why?” Mercedes asked.

  “Gravity,” another child piped up.

  “Well, yes, but why is there gravity on the cosmódromo?” There were puzzled looks. “I’m going to let Lady Sumiko explain that to you.”

  Sumiko started talking about spin. Mercedes decided to treat herself to a frozen lemon gelato. The young man at the counter never lifted his eyes to meet hers and he seemed completely tongue-tied. She thanked him for her cup because as her father had taught her it cost royalty nothing to be courteous.

  Mercedes tossed on a lot of sprinkles and chopped almonds and hid her smile behind her spoon as she listened to the pedantic Sumiko trying to give a simple and stripped down explanation of artificial gravity.

  There was a massive jolt. The cup flew out of her hand. For a wild instant Mercedes watched the scoop of gelato and the cup part company in slow motion. Shit! The gravity’s gone! Her time spent in shuttles and the Infierno had Mercedes grabbing for a handhold. Mercedes noted that Sumiko and Cipriana were doing the same. Dani had already secured herself to a freefall ring. We can be taught, she thought. The children, the nun and the server were not prepared. They started floating, arms and legs windmilling. Fortunately the tables and chairs in the ice cream store were bolted down. The League might trust their technology, but only so far.