The Hidden World

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “My God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered. It was as if he had read her thoughts, heard her fears, and answered them with reassurance. She found tears pricking her eyelids. “What? What is it? What’s wrong?” His thumbs wiped away the betraying moisture. “Are you having second thoughts?” He stepped away from her. “Please, don’t do anything that will make you unhappy.”

  “No, no, it’s not that. I just wish. I wish I was still young. I don’t want to… disappoint you.”

  “Oh, Mercedes, I have loved you, I think, from that first moment on the beach. Whether you’re eighteen or one hundred and eighteen.” His voice was husky with emotion.

  She twined her arms around his neck, put her lips against his ear and murmured, “Liar. You thought I was a dreadful little princess.”

  “True.” His voice caught on a laugh. “Little did I know just how true.” He gave her a rueful look. “And never worry about how you look. If anybody should be worried it’s me. I’m not exactly an Adonis. Not that I ever was.”

  She smiled a bit mistily at him. “Now, where were we.” She opened his fly and slipped her hand down until she cupped his penis.

  He jerked, sucked in a quick breath, slipped his hands around her waist and pushed her toward the bed. The back of her knees hit the edge of the bed and she tumbled backwards. He slipped off her socks, then snagged her panties and began to pull them down. She lifted her hips to assist him. Tracy drew back, eyes devouring her as he pulled off his boots, trousers and shorts. His erection sprang up from the brush of pale hair in his crotch. She opened her knees, but he didn’t move onto and into her.

  Instead he held her feet and gave them a massage. The muscles in her calves felt like warm butter and she sighed with delight. He kissed the arches of her feet then his hands and lips moved up her legs, stroked her hips and across her belly. His tongue darted into her belly button and electricity shot through to her spine. He continued his exploration gently kissing her breasts, running his tongue around the rough edges of her areolae. Her nipples tightened and peaked and he gently kissed them, then took them in his mouth, nibbling and sucking. Her little gasps became sharp moans of pleasure. His mouth moved on to her neck, kissing and biting while his hands still caressed her breasts. Time seemed to distend and dilate. She seemed to be floating, her body a complex mass of sensations.

  Moisture filled her vagina slick and warm. She found herself desperate for his touch. Grabbing his hand she moved it down to her crotch. His fingers played through her mons, gently flicked across her clitoris. Mercedes felt it swelling, engorging with blood. Sweat broke out across her body and she gave a cry of pleasure as his fingers slipped into her. She kissed his shoulder, tasting salt from the sweat that bathed his body. Tracy slid down the length of her body and tongue replaced fingers as he kissed and teased her, parting the labia. Deep guttural moans erupted from her throat and she clutched at his hair.

  She tugged on his hair pulling him up her body until she could hold his cock, and run her thumb across the tip of his glans. Now his moans matched hers. “Now, please!” she begged.

  “Wait, I should get a condom—”

  “No!” She clutched at him. “It’s all right. I think I’m sterile.”

  “All right.”

  Mercedes braced for the rough thrust, but he slid into her like an otter slipping into the water, soft and smooth. His hips began to move, each thrust taking him deeper into the heart of her. The rhythm quickened, driving, touching, springing away, bringing her to the edge of madness. She kept waiting for him to climax, but instead an orgasm shook her and she screamed her pleasure. She was certain his would soon follow, but instead Tracy began to bring her once more to that shattering pinnacle where there was no sensation, sound, or sight beyond the confines of her body and the moment. It was like nothing she had ever experienced, but she suddenly felt greedy and selfish.

  “Don’t you want… need to… isn’t it time…”

  “Soon,” he whispered against her ear. “I want you to enjoy this too.” And it began again, that slow climb to orgasm.

  He panted against her ear. “I think I have to now. I can’t hold back any longer.” The pace of his thrusts increased until the gimbals on the bed were swaying, and her body was driven deep into the memory foam mattress. Their sweat-slick skin both slipped and gripped as they pumped. She clutched him as if she could melt through his skin and lose herself utterly. He gave one final thrust that brought her close to fainting. The sensations were so intense that her eyes snapped open with the shock of it. His eyes were closed, expression exultant, and the tendons in his neck were etched against his skin as with a hoarse cry he came. The warmth of his ejecta filled her. The only sound was their harsh breaths. Mercedes’ heart felt as if it was trying to break free of her chest. The scent of sex and sweat filled the cabin. She had only known one man’s touch and it had never been like this.

  She thrust her hands toward heaven and allowed her arms to then fall softly across his back. “So that’s what all the fuss is about,” she murmured.

  “Wha?” Tracy murmured sleepily, his head pillowed on her breast.

  “Shhh, nothing, dear one. Go to sleep.”

  * * *

  He woke up, embarrassed that he had been asleep. “Sorry,” he mumbled. His head was on her shoulder and they were pressed tightly together in the narrow bed. “Didn’t mean to doze off. Your arm must be numb.”

  “It’s all right. I enjoyed watching you sleep. The frown goes away.”

  “Sorry, don’t mean to be so dour.” She tangled her fingers in his hair and gave a tug. “Sorry, I know I’m shaggy. I’ll get a haircut on Cuandru.”

  “Stop apologizing. And I like your hair. Makes you look rakish. You were always so spit and polish.”

  “I had to be. Everyone was certain the lowborn scum would disgrace the service. I guess that turned out to be right.”

  “I don’t know how many more ways I can say I’m sorry.” She rolled onto her side, offering him her back.

  Tracy cursed himself mentally. “Sorry. The old grievances are like splinters I can’t pull out. And I apologized again.”

  “It’s okay.” She turned back to face him, sketched the planes of his face with her forefinger. “The hardest thing for me is knowing that you did the right thing. You were that helicopter crew at My Lai. I was the government flak covering it all up. I think it’s why I’ve never stopped loving you even when you put me to shame.”

  “You love me.” He repeated the words, still finding them unbelievable.

  “I do.”

  Tracy wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight as if he could lose himself in her and never let her go. She hugged him back with the same frenzied grip because they both knew this was an instant in time that could not last. Mercedes rested a hand on his chest and pushed up so she could gaze down into his face. Her hair hung like a chocolate and silver waterfall, the curling ends tickling his chest. Her expression was serious.

  “Tracy, do something for me.”

  “Anything.”

  “Don’t report you’ve found me. Don’t call ahead to Cuandru. Let us have whatever time we can steal before I… before I…” She dropped her head, hiding behind the curtain of her hair.

  “You know they’re going to be deploying every resource to find you. And what will they do to us if they find out we held back this information?”

  “Nothing. I’m the Infanta. I’ll tell them I was unconscious.”

  “And they’ll wonder why we didn’t take you to a hospital.”

  “Okay, try this. I decided to use this opportunity to move unrecognized among my people so I could hear their concerns without fear that they would be intimidated.”

  “The Princess and the Pauper, eh?” He chuckled and she joined him in laughter.

  “The Princess and the Tailor’s Son.”

  “We are improbable,” Tracy said.

  “But not impossible,” she whispered, and leaning down she gently kissed hi
m.

  She curled up next to him and her breathing soon deepened into sleep. He remained awake for a long time savoring the wonder of the moment.

  Late in the night he was awakened by her cries. Tears slid from beneath her lashes and wet her cheeks even though she was still asleep. She began to thrash, fighting the covers and his embrace. He pulled her up, gave her a shake. Her fist lashed out and caught him on the cheek. He shook her again. “Mercedes, wake up! You’re having a nightmare.” Her eyes snapped open. She stared at him in confusion then touched her wet face.

  “I killed them. I killed them all,” she whispered.

  “Hush. Hush. You didn’t. They made the choice.” He was careful not to mention the crews aboard the lost ships. Those she had killed. Eventually she fell back to sleep. Tracy lay awake and tried to see the future. It looked bleak so he retreated to the present. He would worry about tomorrow when tomorrow came.

  * * *

  Since Mercedes had indicated her wish to stay with them and remain undetected Tracy had jettisoned the life capsule. They couldn’t risk a snap inspection by customs and planet patrol finding the capsule and making their lives very hard. Once that was done they entered Fold and embarked on an idyllic six days and seven nights being cut off from the wider galaxy as they made their way to Cuandru. The days were filled with conversation, making small repairs on the interior of the ship while Mercedes handed him, Jahan, and Luis tools as they tried to find that elusive electrical problem that had plagued them for months. In the evenings they prepared dinners together. Mercedes had never spent any time actually cooking, but she had assisted her stepmother in approving menus for state dinners and had a wide knowledge of various types of cuisine. Luis practically wiggled in delight knowing he was eating approximations of dishes that had been served at the palace.

  They finished The Wind in the Willows and the crew insisted that Mercedes pick the next book.

  “Oh, dear, that’s way too much pressure. What if my choice displays my terrible taste in literature?” she had said laughingly.

  “No worry there,” Jax said, sliding his multiple eyes toward Luis.

  “Luis picks the most dreadful crap,” Dalea added so there would be no confusion.

  “How many Penetrator books have we heard?” Jahan asked the room.

  “At least they’re short,” Graarack added.

  “Hey!” Luis had bawled. Everyone had laughed.

  Tracy found himself smiling just thinking about it. He shifted a bit in his command chair. Last night neither he nor Mercedes had gotten a lot of sleep and his balls were pleasantly aching. He rubbed at the grit in his eyes, and nodded to Graarack. “Take us out of Fold. Once we’ve translated, tight beam our information to the port.”

  “Does that information include Mer—the Infanta?” Luis corrected himself.

  “Not yet. She wants a couple of days to evaluate the situation before she makes contact with the governor,” Tracy answered. He was trying to sound casual. Judging by the looks his crew exchanged he had failed.

  “Then she better be a crew member,” Jahan said. “Otherwise, they’ll think we’re sex slavers and we kidnapped her.”

  “Don’t be silly. She’s not young enough,” Tracy replied.

  “Hoo boy,” Luis muttered to his console.

  “Better not let her hear you say that,” Dalea said.

  Jahan shook her head. “Captain, somebody’s got to take you in hand and teach you how to be a boyfriend.”

  “I am not her boyfriend. She’s married. We’re friends.”

  “With benefits,” Luis said under his breath.

  “Okay, then you’ve got a lot to learn about being a lover,” Jahan said.

  “We’re not—”

  “Captain! It’s a small fucking ship,” the Isanjo said.

  Tracy, his face burning with embarrassment, gave an inarticulate growl and clutched at his hair. “All right, fine! Get her on the crew list.” He stomped to the access ladder.

  20

  THERE WILL BE PAIN

  The smell of death filled the air. Boho gagged and pressed a handkerchief to his face, tried to breathe through his mouth. “The reconnaissance teams report the same result in the other two cities, sir,” his flag captain, Saban, reported. “Estimates are up to maybe a hundred thousand corpses. I have no idea how we’re going to dispose of them.”

  “Hit the cities with missiles, burn them,” the commander of the fusileros suggested.

  “Don’t be a moron,” Boho said. “Goldilocks planet, houses built, fields planted. We get rid of the bodies, fumigate the houses, and the place is ready to be colonized with no cost to crown or colony.”

  “Sorry, sir, yes, sir, I should have seen that, sir.”

  Saban repeated his question. “So, what do we do with the bodies?”

  “Burning them isn’t a bad idea. They’ll just have to be brought out of the houses. But that’s not our mission. We continue our search for the Infanta.”

  “Unfortunately, we have no indication of where she might be.”

  “We can only assume she was found by a ship and has been removed from the system,” Boho said. “Get with central command and have them run a check of every ship’s Fold course. One of them must have passed near here and intercepted the SOS.”

  “Sir, that could take months.”

  “So why are you still talking to me?” Boho asked with a sweetness laced with acid.

  “What about the destruction of the strike force? Do we report that?”

  “No. We need to investigate what occurred.”

  “We know what occurred. The locals booby-trapped the moons, and the Infanta—the ships—sailed right into it,” the marine said.

  “I’m not sure it’s that simple. We have no idea who wired the moons. And these deaths need to be investigated.” Boho gestured at the houses lining the street. The marine looked puzzled. Boho considered options. Unknown alien threat? No, that might sow panic. Then he had it. “We know that the Infanta obtained the coordinates of this world from the corsarios…” he allowed his voice to trail away suggestively.

  His flag captain’s eyes narrowed and he nodded. “Ah, I see, sir. It’s likely this Hidden World was another nest of the criminals. Unfortunate that the Infanta didn’t manage to get them all.” He touched the fusilero on the arm. “Come along, Barret. We should start an inventory of assets.”

  Boho hurried to the shuttle and ordered a return to the ship. Once aboard he retreated to his cabin, set up the cipher protocols, and drafted a message to Kemel. He laid out the situation—ships destroyed with all hands killed. A planet that had become a charnel house. Mercedes at the center of all this death. He leaned in and dictated, “Perhaps it makes sense to blame all of this on the corsairs. Imply they had another base of operations. It makes Mercedes out to be incompetent, but better that than the truth—that she lost a squadron to the citizens of a Hidden World.” His hand hovered over the send button.

  Boho leaned back and drummed his fingers on the desk. Send or wait? The truth might very well lead to a constitutional crisis and remove Mercedes from the line of succession. The del Campos would certainly use this disaster to force that outcome. So, did it make sense for Boho to get ahead of it? Inform Arturo instead of DeLonge? He was going to have to think on that. Right now his immediate problem was some hombre sending a message to his sweetie about the fate of the squadron. He could use the official secrets act, but that would draw attention to the situation. Boho decided he would claim a Foldstream problem and keep any messages from leaving his squadron until he decided which way to jump.

  What he knew beyond a doubt was that someone had found Mercedes’ life capsule and opened it. One of the exploradors had located the abandoned capsule near the edge and above the plane of the planetary system. There had been traces of blood on the needles, and the medics were testing to verify the identity, but Boho was certain it had contained Mercedes because of a few strands of long hair caught in the crash foam. He had
twined them around his finger and remembered other times he had stroked and combed that long hair.

  There was no doubt she had been found. So why had there been no contact from her or her rescuers? Was she a prisoner or was she running from the disaster she had led? Neither alternative was a good one. Were her rescuers holding her for ransom? Had any demands been made? Something else to check with DeLonge. Except he couldn’t. Until he knew which way to move, Boho didn’t want the old intelligence officer informed. At the moment all the League knew was that they had lost contact with Mercedes’ squadron, and the capsule had been launched. He had at least a few more days to consider before the Emperor and DeLonge would be demanding a report.

  Part of him longed to leave the system and go searching. But where? They had had a fix on this star system because of the information Mercedes had provided, and the distress signal from the capsule had given them a definitive location. To just go searching aimlessly made no sense, and while they were in Fold they would be unable to receive messages. As much as it galled him, holding still seemed like the best option for the moment. He left his desk and poured himself a brandy.

  Where are you, Mercedes? Into whose hands have you fallen?

  * * *

  Mercedes’ fingers were trembling a bit as she reached up and touched the ends of her newly cut hair. The Hajin shifted nervously from foot to foot. The scissors that had done the deed hung from her hand. The long locks littered the floor around the chair. The Infanta’s identity now lay in shreds on the floor around her feet. Mercedes studied the woman who looked out of the mirror at her. Her now red hair just brushed the bottom of her chin, and fell across one eye. Dalea had used some of the dye she used to keep her mane streaked to change Mercedes’ dark brown curls. Mercedes had had long hair her entire life, but she had to admit the color looked quite good against her dark skin and the short bob accentuated her curls and made her look younger. She touched her hair again.

  “So, do you hate it?” the Hajin asked. Worry laced the words.

  “No, no. It’s just going to take some getting used to. I wonder what Tracy will think?” Mercedes added.