The Hidden World

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “Oh, he’ll piss and moan. Men always do. They all love long hair.” She tossed back her mane. “They don’t have to take care of it.”

  Mercedes laughed. “You’re probably right.”

  “We’ve got you listed as an engineer so I dug one of Luis’ stained tee shirts out of the laundry.” Dalea gave her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry but we need—”

  “People’s eyes to just slide across me. I get that.”

  She took the proffered tee shirt and got out of the chair. “Highness.” Mercedes looked back, surprised at the use of the honorific. Over the past days the crew had begun to relax around her. “Please, don’t hurt him,” the Hajin said softly.

  With a sigh Mercedes turned to the doctor. “I think that’s unavoidable. Don’t you? This interlude will have to end. He knows that. I know that.”

  Dalea busied herself with putting away the hair dye and the scissors. “Then why are you prolonging it?”

  She stared down at the toes of her boots. Why indeed? Because she was happy? Because when she was in his arms it allowed her to occasionally forget the bodies at Kusatsu-Shirane? Because in their lovemaking she had found a delight and joy she hadn’t thought possible? Because she feared what she would face when she returned to her own life? The well-deserved fury and grief from the families of the dead that would wash across her? The faux concern from politicians and others in her class who would then plot and connive and mock behind her back? She knew the military debacle had the potential to shake her father’s reign. It certainly threatened the succession.

  She folded her hands as if praying and pressed her fingers to her lips. Finally, she said, “Because I’m selfish, Dalea.” The alien seemed taken aback by her honesty. “And I’m scared. When I go back…” A stone had lodged in her throat. She turned away and swallowed hard. It didn’t move. She finally managed to croak out, “I’ve failed my father. The families of my officers. I don’t know what they’ll do to me.”

  “No concern for the parents of the crewmen?” Dalea asked.

  Mercedes shook her head. “The officers under my command were all FFH. Their families are powerful, they can damage me. And they all have seats in parliament. Then there’s the cabinet officials, the intitulados can’t really so any—” Something in the Hajin’s large eyes stopped her. She replayed her words and realized what had shocked the alien. “Yes, I’m a product of my upbringing. I’m as entitled as Hell.”

  “I apologize, Highness, I meant no—”

  “No, you’re not wrong. You, all of you, are like mirrors. And I don’t much like the reflection of myself that I’m seeing.” She made a vague, helpless gesture. “Thank you for doing my hair. I appreciate it. And… and I’ll try to… do better.”

  * * *

  If there was one thing a military could do efficiently it was clean up messes. Pits had been dug, bodies had been pulled from the houses in the city closest to the spaceport and burned. Where purification had really set in, the furniture that cradled the bodies had also gone on the pyres. Houses had been cleaned and fumigated and all of this had been accomplished in three days. They were now preparing to move on to the second city.

  Boho was inspecting the crates that were stacked in the warehouse at the spaceport. Delicate painted lacquer boxes, netsuke carved from stone and resin, and even one that appeared to be actual ivory. Which meant it was at least six hundred years old. The last elephant had died three hundred and seventy years ago. The ivory trade had been banned long before then. He slipped the delicate figurine into his pocket. There were katana menuki and even a couple of katanas and a wakizashi. They had clearly been packed for shipment but never collected. This implied that a ship had been coming. Did it abort its landing once it hit the debris of the imperial strike force? Could this be the ship that had found Mercedes?

  Boho’s ScoopRing tapped his finger. The latest batch of Foldstream messages from the capital had arrived. One was from Anselmo Moran. Boho had pulled him out of the palace press office and made the young man his personal press liaison. Anselmo had recorded the message in Boho’s office. A security screen shimmered around him. “Hello, sir. There are starting to be rumbles that something untoward has happened to the strike force. Kemel is doing his best to crush the speculation while still keeping the Emperor under control. I took one of Musa’s office drones out for drinks and learned that Musa has sent for Mihalis. They obviously know about the missing ships, but are sitting on it for now. I also took the liberty of running an opinion poll offering you or Mihalis as the person best suited to take over the League in the event of something tragic happening to the Infanta. I sampled populations on five worlds. The people prefer you by nine percent over Mihalis. If I factor in you being a widower that number increases to thirteen percent. Just thought you might find that interesting and useful.”

  Boho left the warehouse and hurried to his waiting shuttle. The two fusileros standing guard snapped off salutes. “Bring the crates aboard the shuttle.” He climbed the ramp and went to where the pilot was playing a game on his ScoopRing. “We’re returning to the flagship.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And get Captain Saban on the radio.” A few moments later his flag captain contacted him.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “We’re returning to Ouranos.”

  “The entire squadron?”

  “No, just the flagship. I need to consult with SEGU. Captain Lord Chu will take command. Tell him to continue the cleanup in preparation for turning the planet over to colony services.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He broke the connection. The two guards were depositing the final crate in the back of the shuttle. Boho buckled into his couch while the engines began to whine and then roar. The gee forces generated by liftoff pressed him into the cushions. Two and a half hours to match orbit with the flagship. Roughly five days in Fold to get back to Ouranos. Time enough to have contingency plans in place depending upon which way the wind was blowing.

  * * *

  Tracy elected to take them into dock. The space around Cuandru was crowded with ships, military and civilian, station scooters, racing pinnaces, trading vessels, missile platforms protecting the largest shipyard in League space, and fabrication frames holding ships in various stages of construction. Suited figures, mostly Isanjo, climbed and darted around the massive skeletal forms. The flare from their suit jets and welders sparked against the dark like newly born stars. The main station was a massive ring. Ships nuzzled up to docking gantries, hummingbirds sipping nectar from a metal flower.

  His eyes flicked between the computer readouts, sensors, and the visual through the port. Through the headphones he listened to docking and navigation instructions from docking control. He heard the clatter of boots on the ladder and risked a glance over his shoulder. It was Mercedes, though he had to do a double take. Her glorious mane had been chopped off, the hair dyed red. A pang of regret ran through him. He removed one ear bud.

  “What’s this?”

  “We had to alter her looks,” Dalea said somewhat defensively. “If we were going to get her past the customs agent.”

  “I’m sure the agent would be on the lookout for the Infanta to be aboard a tramp trading vessel.” He gave a snort of derision.

  “Tracy,” Jahan said. “Her face is on the money.”

  He felt foolish and to cover he muttered, “I never carry cash. Nobody carries cash.”

  Luis removed a twenty-Real bill from his wallet and snapped it open. It showed the Emperor. Luis quickly reversed the bill and Mercedes looked out at him adorned with a diamond choker, and her hair, that tragically lost hair, in an elaborate updo with a tiara perched atop the tresses.

  He gave an inarticulate growl, inserted the ear bud, and returned to his task. Only once did he take over from the computer. At the last moment before docking he feathered the starboard jets, spun the ship, and brought it gently to rest against the gantry with the grace of a butterfly landing on a leaf.

&n
bsp; “Well done,” Jahan said as she decamped from the back of his chair.

  Mercedes laid a hand on his shoulder, leaned down and whispered, “You were the best pilot in our class.”

  The whisper of her breath against his skin sent a shiver through him. He recovered and shook his head. “Not true. You were.”

  “So, who’s going down the well?” Jahan asked. “And if I hear everybody we’ll have to draw straws because we need to leave someone aboard. Except for me, because I am, by God, going to see my spouse and kits.”

  “I’ll stay since I’m just going to be doing research,” Jax offered. “I’ve got to find somebody to buy this equipment; otherwise we’ll have a hard time paying our docking fees.”

  There was an orderly rush to the ladder. Mercedes took Tracy’s arm and since he didn’t want to let go they took the lift down to the crew deck. “So, what shall we do?” he asked.

  Mercedes tugged at his hair. “Get you a haircut.”

  “Dalea cut yours. I could have her do mine.”

  “All she did was chop. I want you to have it styled.” He rolled his eyes and she punched his arm. “All right, we’ll table that for now. So answer this, where will we stay?” she asked.

  “I was thinking the Saint Regis.” It was the most expensive hotel on Cuandru, frequented by celebrities and the FFH. He wanted…? He wasn’t sure what he wanted. To make sure she was comfortable? To prove to her that he could be her equal? Keep her in the same luxury that Boho could provide?

  Mercedes took his face between her hands and gently shook his head back and forth. “No. First, you don’t have to prove anything to me—”

  “Do you have to be telepathic?” he complained.

  “Second, there’s too much risk of me being recognized there, and, finally, I’ve spent my life among those kinds of people. Let me have another life. A time, however brief, where I don’t have to…” She didn’t finish the thought.

  Jahan, sliding down the ladder, had overheard them. “If I may make a suggestion. There is an Isanjo treehouse hotel called the Wind’s Retreat. It’s not too expensive, it’s on the outskirts of Shuushuram, but there’s a mag tram stop nearby so you can be in the city center in no time. And the food is very good.”

  They exchanged glances. “It sounds delightful,” Mercedes said. “Thank you, Jahan.”

  “My pleasure. Enjoy yourselves. Tap me when you’re ready to leave, Captain,” she concluded and went bounding away.

  Tracy packed a holdall, and he and Mercedes headed for customs control. As they shuffled forward Tracy found himself with sweating palms and an increased heart rate. He risked a glance at Mercedes. From the set of her lips he knew she shared his nerves, but that was the only indication she was worried. Dressed in a pair of his stained cargo pants and Luis’ tee shirt she no longer looked like the heir to the throne. And, indeed, the agent’s eyes slid right across her as he gave Ximena Sanchez’s papers a cursory glance. She took Tracy’s arm again and gave a little skip as they headed for the space elevator that connected the planet to the station. He gave her a questioning look.

  “I’m having an adventure.”

  He laughed and hugged her closer. He noticed Graarack and Dalea in close conversation. The Hajin broke away and trotted over to them. “Let me know where you are staying,” she said to Mercedes. “Despite how well you are doing I want to keep an eye on you. Your body was put under enormous stress.”

  “All right.”

  After Tracy bought their tickets Mercedes plucked the credit spike out of his hand, ducked into a store, and emerged with a very pink bag. He lifted an eyebrow inquiringly.

  “Underwear. I’ll wear your pants, but I’m damned if I’ll wear your shorts.”

  “If you want to shop—”

  “There’ll be a better selection on the planet.”

  As they settled into their seats Tracy said, “I’m always surprised that Graarack joins us down the well. Most Sidones know their appearance is unsettling as hell to other species and tend to be more circumspect.”

  “I don’t want you to take this wrong, but how did you end up with—” Mercedes broke off abruptly.

  “My crew of misfit toys?” Tracy said with amusement.

  “I wouldn’t have put it quite that way but yes.”

  Tracy set his ring to the privacy setting so they wouldn’t be overheard. “After I bought the Selkie I needed crew. I was new to this false identity thing and I was afraid humans might catch me in an error. I found Jahan on an employment board. She brought in Dalea who brought in Graarack. I found Luis. He had run through his muster out pay and had gotten sideways with a gambling establishment. He was also young enough to be completely narcissistic and not pay all that much attention to me.”

  “And Jax?”

  “He came later. I got hit with a repair that I couldn’t afford to make. Jax offered to buy in.”

  “It’s not common. Humans and aliens serving together as equals,” Mercedes said.

  “Well, being captain does make me more equal than everyone else,” Tracy said with a smile. “But I hear what you’re saying.”

  “I wonder if we ought to try integrating the services.”

  “Parliament would never allow you to put aliens in uniform. Hell, I don’t think they’ve fully accepted having women in the service.”

  “And after my disaster they’ll probably end that policy.”

  The shadow in her dark eyes and the furrow between her brows made him wish he had the power to comfort her. But there was nothing he could say.

  21

  COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS

  Cuandru was heavily forested on all three continents. Deserts and grasslands were rare and the planet had a thriving business supplying rare wood to the League for use in the homes and ships of wealthy humans. Many noble O-Trell captains tricked out their cabins and dining rooms aboard capital ships with various kinds of timber from Cuandru. The planet’s real export, however, was her people. The Isanjo were extraordinary high steel workers. They flowed off their world to build the cities and ships of their human conquerors and to work as servants.

  The hotel was in an old-growth forest to the north of the city. Mercedes and Boho had visited Cuandru on one of their royal visits, but hadn’t left the city center or gone much beyond the confines of the governor’s mansion. She had thought it was a ribbon-cutting for a children’s hospital, but she couldn’t quite recall. The second time she visited she had christened a newly built star cruiser by smashing a bottle of champagne on the bow. O-Trell had her so heavily tethered to the cruiser that she’d felt like she was trapped in a web. The implication that she couldn’t handle herself in a spacesuit had irritated her, but a princess learned to smile and never complain. That had been four years ago, and she hadn’t set foot on the planet during that trip.

  The trees matched and in many cases exceeded the height of the now extinct redwoods of Earth. Mercedes stood at the foot of one massive tree looking up at the narrow bridges swaying between the branches high overhead. The Isanjo eschewed them, preferring to soar through the trees using only hanging ropes and trailing branches. The presence of the bridges and ladders suggested that humans were welcome at the Wind’s Retreat. She noted the claw marks on the trunks of the trees indicating that the Isanjo also had little use for the ladders.

  Tracy emerged from the building that held the front desk, kitchens, and dining room. It sprawled across several of the gigantic branches nearest to the ground. The circumference of those branches would have matched the trunks of trees on other worlds. He climbed down the ladder and keyed his ring. A holo map sprung to life. “Okay, we’re in the Star Dancer room, which is…” He turned in a slow circle until the nav point settled over a dot on the map. “Over there. The desk clerk said they’d bring my bag and I’m going to let them.”

  They crossed the clipped grass to the indicated tree and began to climb. After the first two ladders they had to take two bridges to reach their tree. So tight was
Mercedes’ grip on the carved wood bannisters that her knuckles turned white. Tracy wasn’t doing much better. As they inched across Mercedes spotted a bellhop swinging through the trees carrying Tracy’s holdall with his tail so he could use both hands and feet. Tracy noticed him too.

  “I hate that guy,” he said. Mercedes giggled.

  Eventually they reached the room. It was no surprise it was constructed of wood and it swayed lightly in the wind. Shutters covered the windows with the slats open sufficiently to allow a gentle breeze to flow through, carrying the scent of loam and pine and the songs of Earth birds that had been added to the biological diversity of the planet. A large bed dominated the space with six plump pillows and a crisp white duvet. There were chocolates on the pillow. A small table held a carafe and glasses. Through an open door they could see the bathroom with its Japanese-style soaking tub. Mercedes wondered where they got the water. She hadn’t seen any pipes snaking through the trees. The case was placed on a luggage stand. The Isanjo bellhop stood respectfully nearby. Tracy pulled out his credit spike and tipped the alien.

  “A question,” Mercedes said. “Where does the water come from?”

  “A cistern on the roof, madam,” the bellhop replied. “The water is heated by solar panels. There’s a separate filtered tank for drinking water. We get a lot of rain here.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If there is anything you need just ring.” He indicated an intercom.

  “Do you have room service?” Tracy asked.

  “Of course, sir. There are menus in the desk drawer.”

  The alien left and Mercedes moved into Tracy’s arms. The sway of the treehouse was similar to the feeling aboard Boho’s sail boat. She pushed away that reminder of her husband. After a long deep kiss she said, “So I gather we won’t be going out to dinner tonight.”

  “My vote would be to test out that bed, then a long soak in the tub, followed by dinner in the room.”

  “And another test of the bed?” she asked.

  “I’ll have to see how much stamina I have.”