The Hidden World

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “Oh, sorry. Word is that Edward Cornell captured three O-Trell ships. Two frigates and a scout.” Guttermann breathed the corsair leader’s name with the awe one usually reserved for the Holy Trinity.

  The news was shocking enough that it yanked an overloud reaction out of Tracy. “What?”

  “Exactly. Our little ship isn’t likely to be of much interest, but anybody who carries expensive cargo, well…” Jibran gave an expressive shrug. “Just wanted to give you a heads-up. If Cornell puts those babies in his fleet… commercial shipping better look the hell out.”

  “Those ships are complex and require a lot of crew,” Tracy said. “I doubt they could run even one of the frigates, and even the explorador would be difficult since they upped the crew complement to five hundred. Assuming it’s one of the newer ships. Is it a new ship?”

  “Don’t know,” Jibran said.

  “Which is why they’re going to chop them,” Abe said pointedly to his partner. It had the feeling of an ongoing argument. “We get one of those O-Trell scanners for the Bonaventure and we’re going to clean up.”

  Jibran shook his head. “Why do you keep saying that when there is no evidence? It’s been weeks. We would have started to see components hit the market by now if they were going to chop them.”

  Abe’s chin thrust out. “They always chop.”

  “When they capture liners and freighters. This is the first time they’ve grabbed military ships. Cornell might have plans.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  The couple descended into squabbling. Tracy lost the thread as he contemplated state-of-the-art military ships in the hands of pirates. It was a terrifying prospect. But if the corsairs couldn’t run them and weren’t chopping them, what the hell were they doing with them? He looked up to find Lisbet staring at him. There was a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Tracy picked up his fork and began walking it between his fingers.

  Lisbet reached out and pressed her index finger between his brows. “Hello. You’ve gone far away.”

  “Sorry. This is… disquieting news.”

  She gathered his hands in hers. “I think you won’t be spending a few days with me,” she said softly.

  He pressed a kiss onto her palm. “Forgive me?”

  “Of course. You can take the man out of the military, but you can’t take the military out of the man.”

  * * *

  “So let me see if I understand this.” Baca was speaking very slowly. After three years of having the young man aboard Tracy knew what would happen. The words would come faster and faster and he would get louder and louder. “You want us to go looking for the most successful and ruthless corsario in League space, instead of avoiding him like the fucking plague!” Luis added a new quirk to his usual rant: After he finished speaking he leaped to his feet and waved his arms over his head.

  Jahan imitated the flailing arms. “And what is this? Are you invoking the Holy Spirit? About to speak in tongues?”

  “I’m upset,” the young human huffed.

  “We got that,” Graarack said dryly.

  Baca gave the aliens an exasperated look, and turned back to Tracy. His outthrust jaw and knotted brows told the tale. “Answer the damn question, Captain.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am going to fucking explode!” Luis stormed over to the coffee maker and drew himself a mug.

  They were all gathered in the galley. The Selkie was in Fold so there wasn’t a reason to have anyone stationed on the bridge. There was the faint odor of red curry from last night’s dinner, the astringent scent of Jax’s wading pool, the faint smell of sweet rot from the meat that fed Graarack. It should have been nauseating. The fact that it wasn’t was the clearest indication that they were crew, family.

  “To amplify on Luis’ concerns, what exactly do you think we can do? You’re not proposing we rescue the O-Trell soldiers all by our little selves?” Jahan asked.

  “Especially since the fucking O-Trell stole our shit,” Baca called. He blew loudly across the surface of his coffee.

  Tracy answered Jahan first. “No, of course not.” He looked at Luis. “And that wasn’t all of O-Trell, it was one guy.”

  “So if we’re not staging a rescue what are we doing?” Dalea asked.

  “We get a lead on the corsarios’ whereabouts and we tell O-Trell or SEGU or whoever will listen to us,” Tracy said.

  “This is foolishness,” Jahan said. “We often carry contraband. We trade with Hidden Worlds, which can earn us a prison sentence—”

  “Not to mention the terrible effects on the Hidden Worlds if the League should learn of their location from us,” Dalea said. Her tone was disapproving.

  “We can’t risk this. And you can’t ask it of us,” Jahan concluded. Her long tail was weaving an agitated pattern in the air behind her head.

  Tracy stared down at the tabletop. Drew his finger through a drop of spilled beer. He took a pull from his lager glass, wiped foam off his lip, and reflected that this was the trouble with crew as co-owners. He couldn’t just order them.

  Jax let out a long trill that segued into words. “The crown and the families of the officers ransom captured soldiers. There is no reason for us to be involved.”

  Tracy made one last attempt. “Normally I’d agree with you, but this situation isn’t normal. Never before have they captured military vessels. And nothing is hitting the markets so the corsarios aren’t chopping the ships. So what are they doing with them?”

  “You’re not suggesting they’re selling them,” Jax said. “No one could afford to buy a frigate, much less two.”

  “Which might mean they intend to use them,” Graarack said.

  “Which is why we need to stay the hell away from them,” Luis said, thus bringing them full circle.

  They began to break up, moving out of the galley. Jahan jumped onto the table and peered into Tracy’s face. The tip of her tail brushed his cheek. “Thank God we learned your full background before you tried to sell us on this plan. If you hadn’t we’d have all decided you had lost your ever-loving mind. I guess once an O-Trell officer always an O-Trell officer.”

  “Everybody keeps saying that, but it’s not true. They fucked me over. I’m done with them.”

  “You keep telling yourself that.”

  Tracy retreated to his cabin. He sat on the edge of the narrow bunk, hands clasped between his knees, and tried to analyze why he felt this need to get involved? Why did he still have such conflicted feelings about the Orden de la Estrella? He had fought bitterly to avoid going to the High Ground. He was damned if he’d be a soldier. It had taken an act of cruelty on the part of his father to get him to go. An act that had almost shattered their relationship, until Tracy realized how much his father had actually sacrificed to give his son the opportunity to rise above a life of drudgery in a tailor shop in a rundown neighborhood.

  Once he reached the academy, Tracy discovered he was good at it and despite the insults he’d endured from his FFH crew mates he had loved ships and the grandeur of the cosmos. And always lingering at the back of his mind were the stories of intitulados who had won acclaim and noble titles through acts of military genius. Tracy himself had won one of the highest honors O-Trell offered and done it in his first year at the High Ground. Now all those years later he felt the perfect fool. If he’d won a title he might have been accepted by the FFH, but Mercedes was always going to be beyond his reach.

  He forced his thoughts away from pointless memories. When the corsairs captured passengers and crew, ransoms were paid. He imagined that Cornell and his merry band were confidently expecting the same outcome, but this was military personnel and warships and they didn’t know the lengths to which the Emperor and his daughter would go. From personal and very painful experience Tracy knew exactly how far they would go. He could see an outcome where both captured crew and corsarios found themselves dead. Was that the end result he was tryi
ng to avoid, or was it just that, deep inside, the kernel of the O-Trell officer remained? A disgraced officer who wanted to prove he wasn’t a disgrace?

  He gave his head an angry shake. No, while he was concerned for the fate of the captured crews, the truth was he had been fantasizing about coming before Mercedes with information that would make him the hero.

  “Let it go,” he whispered to the room. “For God’s sake let it go.”

  8

  WE MAY BE CALLED UPON TO SACRIFICE

  The throne room was her least favorite place to hold meetings, but in this case it had seemed prudent. She needed to overawe and possibly intimidate. It was a cavernous space, the high glass barrel roof supported by massive carved pillars, and all the glass and marble made sounds harsh and bright. Seven broad steps led up to the imperial throne with its sunburst design on the top. One step down and off to the right was Mercedes’ throne. The back formed a five-pointed star. One step below her and to the Emperor’s left was the smaller throne for the Empress. Its back was formed to look like a bouquet of lilies. The wall behind the steps and thrones was covered with an enormous and elaborate Sidone tapestry of stars, comets, and galaxies surrounding the imperial crown.

  Mercedes waited in the small antechamber behind the tapestry and used the surveillance cameras to study the people assembled at the foot of the dais. Salted among the pacing nobility were intitulados who stayed very still at the fringes of the crowd. Mercedes had to admire whichever member of the FFH had thought to include parents whose children were the ordinary hombres, who carried no titles and lacked both the money and the status to aid them. They would provide sad stories for the press, and put more pressure on the crown.

  She glanced over at her chief security officer. “Well, Ian, do you think they’ll riot?”

  He sucked at his teeth, scratched his chin. “I expect the intitulados to behave, but I put no bets on the rest.”

  “You have such a low opinion of our class,” she murmured. She forced herself to chuckle.

  “Long experience. We’re an entitled bunch of gits,” he said.

  “Well, best get this over with. Waiting isn’t going to make it go any better,” Mercedes said.

  Rogers walked away to where Robrecht, the imperial seneschal, waited and tapped him on the shoulder. Nods were exchanged and Robrecht stepped out from behind the tapestry. Mercedes found herself mouthing the words as he called in sonorous tones, “Her Serene Highness Rear Admiral Princess Mercedes Adalina Saturnina Inez de Arango, the Infanta.”

  If the inclusion of her military rank into her title hadn’t been enough of a hint, the message was clearly received when she emerged wearing her dress uniform. That caused some mutters among the waiting members of the FFH. The less well-born citizens remained mute, scarcely daring to raise their eyes. She wanted to stand, but knew that might display her nerves. Instead she forced herself to sink down onto the embroidered pillow that cushioned the hard metal and stone of her throne.

  “I understand you have a petition for us,” she said.

  A man stepped forward. Mercedes had studied the dossiers on everyone who had been cleared by palace security. This was not Commander Singh’s adopted father. Instead it was Conde Gustaf Yuen. His son, Cristobal, had been in command of the second frigate. SEGU investigations had indicated that Cristobal hadn’t needed a boost from the promotions board to attain the rank of captain. It had just been his misfortune to have to serve under the inexperienced Singh.

  Yuen bowed. “Your Majesty, I have been asked to speak on behalf of the families.” Mercedes hated these statements of the obvious. She fought back the desire to respond and merely nodded. “Highness, an alarmingly long time has passed since the first demand arrived from the corsarios. Recently the demands have become more frequent and…” He gave a delicate cough. “Threatening. We—” he gestured at the waiting parents “—fear that the next messages we receive will carry more tangible evidence of the corsarios’ waning patience. We sought this meeting so we might, respectfully, inquire as to when the requested monies will be sent.”

  Mercedes had to admire the word choice requested monies rather than ransom. This was a man who understood that words had power. “We share these concerns, Conde, but this situation requires a different solution. These are not innocent civilians—these are officers and hombres in the Orden de la Estrella. This is, bluntly, an act of war and must be treated as such. Therefore it is the decision of the crown that no ransom will be paid.”

  There was a moan of despair from several of the women. A growing rumble from the men. “So our sons suffer because they serve?” one of the noblemen yelled.

  “All of us who wear the uniform understand we may be called upon to sacrifice.”

  “As you sit safe and secure in the imperial palace,” another man drawled.

  Mercedes stood. “In two days I will be boarding the dreadnaught San Medel y Celedon, taking command of a strike force and leading an expedition against the corsarios.” She waited for the reactions to die down then held up her hand. “Believe me when I say the crown understands the gravity of this situation, and shares your worry. Which is why we are going to get them back.”

  “You are running a grave risk with the lives of our children,” Yuen said. “Once the brigands know you are coming what is to stop them from killing the hostages?”

  A new voice intruded, a woman’s. Her words were insouciant. “Do credit them with some intelligence. Live hostages are leverage. Dead hostages… well, bodies are so messy to clean up.”

  Equal parts amusement, joy, and irritation washed through Mercedes as she met the quizzical gaze of Commander Lady Cipriana Delacroix whose married name was… Mercedes came up blank. The wedding had taken place off Ouranos. She had sent a gift. She also hadn’t seen Cipri in almost five years. Not since Cipriana had been given command of an Estrella Avanzada that was far out on the edges of League space and a solid three weeks’ journey even in Fold.

  Mercedes recovered herself. “Not to mention it earns them only death,” Mercedes added. “Commander, your arrival is welcomed if unexpected. To what do we owe—?”

  “One of my people back at the star port has a son aboard one of the captured ships. They petitioned for my help.”

  What wasn’t said spoke volumes. Mercedes and Cipriana exchanged a long glance. If this person was FFH they would have been present. Which meant it was someone vital to the running of the station. Another noble pulled Mercedes’ attention away from Cipriana.

  “Assuming you find the bastards, isn’t there a chance the prisoners will be hurt during the attack?”

  “I refer you back to my earlier comment regarding risk and the assumption thereof by military personnel. I assume you all have the good sense not to mention our plans beyond the confines of these walls. If word of this reaches the press then the odds of success will diminish. Now if you will excuse me, I have a rescue to arrange.” As she walked past Rogers she whispered, “Bring Lady Cipriana to my office.”

  * * *

  They fell into each other’s arms once the office door closed behind Jaakon.

  “Oh God, it’s so good to see you!”

  “You look frightful.”

  Mercedes laughed. “I’m so glad to see you haven’t changed.”

  Cipriana lifted a strand of Mercedes’ hair that contained a large streak of gray. “Was there a tragedy on Ouranos that killed all the hairdressers?”

  “Nobody cares how I look,” Mercedes said.

  “Evidently that goes for you too.”

  Mercedes gestured to the chairs that were arranged by the fireplace. Servants had laid down a fire and it was snapping happily, throwing shadows on the walls. “So who is this person who has the power to send an O-Trell star base commander back to the capital?”

  “The head of the machinists and dock workers union. He’s demanding an answer about his kid. Repairs and refueling have slowed to a crawl. Next up on the agenda—a complete work stoppage. He knew we were scho
ol chums so he’s got my tits in a wringer.”

  “Unpleasant.”

  “To put it mildly, and I’d like not to have the high command thinking that a woman in charge of a star base is a mistake, even if it’s just a safe and dull assignment in which to bury a problem.” Mercedes’ questioning look made Cipriana chuckle. “You’re adorable. Surely you don’t think I got this posting as a hat tip to my incredible skills. I just hung on long enough to get promoted into irrelevance.”

  “Then why did you stay in after…” Mercedes couldn’t bring herself to say the word. Cipriana wasn’t as squeamish.

  “After I got raped? Because I was damaged goods. How could I come home and have Daddy find me an appropriate husband and make babies for him?”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. You were having sex from sixteen on.”

  “My choice. What Wessen did to me made me realize that we women have no power, no agency. I wanted to be sure I was never that vulnerable again. So I stayed in and just kept getting promoted until I plateaued.”

  “But you did marry.”

  “Had to. I didn’t need the whispers that I was unnatural.” She noted Mercedes wince. “I see you’re getting the treatment all powerful women get, from Joan of Arc to Elizabeth the first, to Hillary Clinton. But back on me: I married James, my dreamy professor who is happy to have an extended sabbatical while he writes his book on the philosophical underpinnings of fantasy from Malory, T.H. White, Tolkien, and Martin to Haditha and some Sidone whose name I can’t pronounce. Between my salary and the trust Daddy settled on us we have a comfortable life and I’ll retire a captain with a decent pension. Would have been nice to get that bump to rear admiral, but that will never happen.”

  “I could make sure it does,” Mercedes said.

  Cipriana reared back in her chair. “And be accused of taking advantage of our relationship?” She grinned. Her teeth were bright white against her ebony skin. “I would be delighted.”

  “I’ll handle it as soon as I’m back. Which fleet’s in charge of your sector?”