The Hidden World

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “What’s up? Do you feel all right?” her sister asked.

  “I got a cryptic message from Boho. I think something’s wrong.” Mercedes glanced at the cockpit door.

  Carisa was not slow on the uptake. “Damn, I knew Mummy’s neurosis and hypochondria were going to be the death of me.”

  The engines fired and the two women floated off to one side as the shuttle changed its alignment. “Course adjustment burn,” they said together.

  “Do we know if this was planned?” Carisa asked.

  “Or a new plan,” Mercedes said grimly. “Let’s go ask.” Mercedes used a handhold to send herself flying toward the cockpit. Carisa kicked off from the top of the cabinet. “Girls, girls, what are you doing? Carisa, do be careful,” Constanza called. Her voice was high and tight with tension and barely suppressed anger.

  “Just checking on something with the pilots, Mummy,” Carisa called. She glanced back at her and Mercedes’ trailing skirts. “Damn, I wish we were dressed in something more practical. And I don’t have a weapon.”

  “I do,” Mercedes muttered.

  “Really? You’re amazing.”

  They reached the cockpit door and Mercedes keyed the access panel. Nothing happened. They exchanged glances. “Okay, I guess it’s official. We’re in trouble,” Carisa whispered. She tried to keep her tone light, but a faint quaver revealed her nerves. “What now?”

  “We get inside.” Mercedes took the pistol from her pocket. “Be prepared to take down the pilots if they’ve been suborned.”

  “Okay, but how do we get inside? Hack the locking mechanism?”

  “Take too long. I’ll rewire it.”

  “The wires are behind a composite wall. I don’t think the cheese knife is going to cut it.”

  “No, but this will.” Mercedes pulled the Cara’ot knife that Tracy had given her at that long ago Christmas. As promised the blade entered the hardened material like a hot knife in soft butter.

  “How? And where can I get one?”

  “Cara’ot. So, no, you can’t,” Mercedes said shortly.

  “And that’s rather terrifying that they just casually made something that could cut through a ship’s walls,” Carisa whispered back.

  “Girls, what are you doing?” their father called.

  Oh God, don’t let him decide to try to help us, Mercedes prayed desperately. They had to keep him safe and out of the way. She gave Carisa a desperate look.

  “Girl gossip, Daddy.”

  “You better not be flirting with that handsome captain of your security detail, Cari,” he said with a chuckle.

  “No, sir, I promise to clear all my flirting with you first,” she called back.

  While Carisa had been talking, Mercedes had been plucking at the tangle of wires revealed by the hole she had made in the wall. She closed her eyes and tried to picture the door schematics she had been shown back at the High Ground. It had been a long time. She nudged her half-sister with an elbow, then caught her when the gesture threatened to send her drifting away.

  “Do you remember your electronics classes?”

  “Sort of.” Carisa peered into the wall cavity, traced a few of the multicolored wires with the tip of her little finger. “Okay, I think… I hope this is right. Cut these two.” She indicated a blue wire and a white wire. “And splice them together.” Mercedes used the knife to make the cuts, then stripped the plastic coating off the wires, and got ready to twist the wires together. “You’re probably going to get a shock,” Carisa added.

  “Now you tell me,” Mercedes mumbled around the hilt of the knife, which she had placed between her teeth so she could use both hands. She then froze as the ever present concern over the baby intruded.

  “What’s wrong?” Carisa whispered.

  “Baby.”

  “Oh.”

  “Also have you ever shot anybody, Cari?” Mercedes asked.

  “No.”

  “Then maybe you better get the shock.”

  They traded places. Mercedes returned the knife to her boot and took the small pistol. She braced a foot against the wall so she could hold herself in place in front of the door. She then thought better of the exposed position, and moved off to one side. She gave Carisa a nod. There was a spark and a sizzle, a sharp ow from Carisa, and the door slid open. Mercedes was staring into Guthrie’s shocked and frightened face as he sat in the co-pilot’s couch. The pilot was slumped in his couch and the co-pilot was floating against the ceiling. They were either unconscious or dead. Mercedes noted the snack trays floating loose. Maybe they were only drugged. She could hope. Staring into the barrel of her pistol Guthrie slowly raised his hands.

  “Unharness and move away from the controls. Slowly,” she ordered Guthrie.

  He did so and began to float, arms flailing wildly, which set him to spinning. Carisa flew through the door sucking on her singed fingers. “Check on them,” Mercedes ordered, jerking her head toward the pilot and co-pilot.

  “They’re not dead,” Guthrie stammered. “I would… could never kill anybody. I made that very clear to—” He broke off abruptly.

  “Oh, don’t worry, you’ll give us the name once we turn you over to Lord DeLonge,” Mercedes said. Guthrie’s rather prominent Adam’s apple bounced in his throat as he gulped.

  “It was just a drug to put them to sleep,” he babbled. Carisa, fingers pressed against the pilot’s neck, looked back over her shoulder and shook her head. “What? No!” Guthrie’s voice spiraled with outrage and fear.

  Carisa kicked off, collided with Guthrie, grabbed him by the throat, and slammed him into the wall. “Yes, congratulations, you got played. You’ve killed two men.”

  “What were your orders from the del Campos?” Mercedes demanded.

  “Drug…” His voice caught for an instant then he continued, “the pilots. Drop in a new navigation chip and accept a computer override from a waiting ship. They’re in control now. There’s nothing you… we can do,” Guthrie said.

  “We’ll see about that,” Mercedes muttered. “The pilot told me they had fed in the coordinates to remote pilot to Boho’s ship. We just have to restore that program.”

  “Okay,” Carisa said. “And hope when we sever contact with the del Campo ship they won’t get to us before we reach Boho’s ship. What do you want me to do?”

  “Right now, guard this puke until I find some way to restrain him.”

  “There should be duct tape somewhere aboard,” Carisa offered.

  “And sealant film,” Mercedes added.

  “Please, please, Highness… Majesty, that won’t be necessary. They lied to me. I feel no loyalty to them—”

  “Or anybody else apparently,” Carisa muttered.

  “I won’t do anything. I swear to you.”

  Mercedes studied the man. His cheeks were wet with tears and some of the moisture had broken loose and formed droplets that floated around his woebegone face. He was clinging desperately to a handhold in the cockpit. “Not convinced.”

  * * *

  “I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re good at putting on a show,” Boho said as he watched from his place of concealment in an alley as Paloma played the part of virtuous FFH lady assaulted by alien thugs. They were on the outskirts of the financial district that abutted the Isanjo neighborhood.

  “Thank you. Congrats to you for the plan, and by the way you do a pretty good job of pretending to be a decent human being,” she retorted.

  “Bitch.” Her light laugh was the only response. “Okay, here they come,” Boho said. The police flitter was making a slow loop over the area, the PA blaring out a warning for citizens to remain indoors.

  Seven Isanjo bucks circled Paloma, one grabbed at her handbag. When she fought him, he delivered a very realistic blow to her face. Boho couldn’t help it. He winced. The police flitter dove toward them, speakers blaring,

  “BACK AWAY OR WE WILL FIRE!”

  The Isanjo gathered in closer and grabbed Paloma, clearly making her a hostag
e. They started backing toward the adjacent alley, dragging her with them. Her screams filled the air. Boho could imagine the two officers inside dithering over what action to take. Shoot, and they risked hitting a lady of the FFH. Land, and they would be disobeying what had probably been direct orders from Mihalis or Arturo. As he had predicted chivalry won out. The flitter dropped to the pavement, the doors opened, and the cops boiled out, guns at the ready. The Isanjo waiting on the surrounding rooftops launched themselves off the parapets, landing heavily on the men’s shoulders and bearing them to the ground. In seconds, the cops were disarmed, unconscious, and restrained.

  Boho left the alley, took the offered handgun, and with three of Kemel’s human agents climbed into the flitter. “Not coming with me?” he asked Paloma.

  “I think you can handle it from here.”

  The doors closed and one of the agents sent the flitter airborne. A call came over the radio. “Flitter 323, you made an unscheduled landing. Report please.”

  The agent answered. “Broke up a gang of BEMs.”

  “Please verify with streamed video.”

  “Right away.” The pilot broke the connection and gave Boho a fierce grin. “And fortunately we have video of naughty aliens and a human woman. We’ll have you at Parliament Square before they realize the rescue never happened.”

  “Well done.” Boho brought his ring to life and called Anselmo.

  “I see you have transport, sir.”

  “Indeed. Now I need a flash mob. A big one. Gathered in the Plaza de los Héroes.”

  “Got it.”

  “Have we still got control over the emergency broadcast system?” Boho asked.

  “For the moment. They’re trying hard to hack it.”

  “Well, tell the bright boys to hold them at bay until I can deliver my call to arms to the citizenry. When I start my speech, blast it to everyone’s rings with emergency override on all other media platforms. Send it Leaguewide.”

  “Yes, sir. Make it a good one. Speech, I mean.”

  “That’s my plan.”

  * * *

  The moment Mercedes emerged from the cockpit her stepmother called, “Where’s Guthrie? I want him.” Constanza’s tone was querulous.

  “He’s having trouble with freefall sickness. I’ll send him to you once he’s feeling better. You really don’t want vomit floating around the cabin.” Her stepmother shuddered. Even talking about vomit had Mercedes’ stomach trying to climb up her throat. She swallowed bile and moved to her father.

  If they were to have any hope of escaping the del Campos she needed her father occupied and out of the way. He was wearing headphones, head bobbing slightly in time to the rhythm of music she couldn’t hear. His hands were folded on his paunch and his hair was more gray than black now. Mercedes’ emotions were a tangled mess of sadness, love, exasperation, and loss. She touched him lightly on the shoulder. She was floating directly over him, gazing down into his face. He smiled at her and removed the headset.

  “Daddy, Cari and I need your help.”

  “Of course, honey, what’s wrong?”

  “Daddy, Kemel suspected that Musa was plotting and he wanted us safely away.”

  Her father’s expression darkened. “Why wasn’t I told?”

  Mercedes hurried into speech, “I agree it was wrong of him, but you can talk to him about that later. Right now I think Musa is trying to take control of the ship. The pilots need our help to deal with the situation.” He started to unhook his restraints. “No, Daddy, wait. There’s something that only you can do. We need you to prepare a speech, talk to the people, warn them what’s happening. Reassure them that you’re still here for them.”

  Constanza was staring at Mercedes, growing alarm imperfectly masked by her ferocious frown. “What are you getting up to, Mercedes? You better not be encouraging Carisa to do something foolish.”

  “Hush, woman, Carisa’s a grown woman, not a little girl,” her father snapped at his wife. He looked back to Mercedes. “You’re sure you don’t want me to help you?”

  “Cari hasn’t been out of the service for that long, and only you can make that speech. You’re the one the people look to for comfort and guidance. Just be prepared. We might have to take some hard maneuvers.” She smiled at her stepmother. “So stay strapped in.”

  Mercedes stopped at the equipment locker and pulled out the expected roll of duct tape and the hull sealant film. She returned to the cockpit and Carisa cocked her head like an inquisitive bird.

  “What?” Mercedes asked.

  “You look green.”

  “I’m discovering pregnancy and freefall aren’t mixing all that well.” Cari handed her a sickness bag that was in a pouch next to the pilot’s couch. She gave Carisa the sealant film. Guthrie was still cowering against the wall of the cockpit. He eyed them with equal parts nervousness and resentment.

  “Please, I can help,” he whined.

  Ignoring him, Mercedes pulled loose a length of tape and tore it with her teeth. Cari slapped the film across his body while Mercedes deployed the tape. They soon had him cocooned like a fly in the web of a pair of unsympathetic spiders. The exertion brought on the nausea and this time Mercedes succumbed. She availed herself of the bag and dumped it down the disposal chute.

  “So, what now?” Carisa asked.

  “We try to locate Boho’s ship, figure out how far off course we’ve been pulled, and if we can, break the remote pilot and take back control.”

  “When we do they’re going to know we’re on to them—”

  “And come after us,” Mercedes finished the sentence.

  “Too right, and we can’t outrun Infiernos,” Carisa concluded. She was trying to sound insouciant in the best tradition of O-Trell, and as a daughter of the ruler of the Solar League, but there was a small quaver in her voice.

  “Okay, let’s see what’s in the neighborhood that we can work with,” Mercedes said.

  Together they moved the dead pilot out of his couch and pushed the corpse away so it spun slowly in a macabre dance with the body of the co-pilot.

  They strapped into the couches and Mercedes brought up the scanner. “Pretty crowded neighborhood,” Carisa remarked as the computer identified missile batteries, O-Trell ships, commercial shuttles, freighters, racing pinnaces, weather and communication satellites, and the awkward shape of the space station. “We could try for the High Ground,” Carisa suggested. “Dock there.”

  Mercedes shook her head. “We’ll never make it.” She rubbed her forehead. “We need to play the pea in a shell game.” There were a group of freight shuttles moving like a school of metal fish toward the station. “There. We go hide with them.”

  “The ship is pinging out our call signal,” Carisa objected.

  “So we trade with Boho’s ship or one of those shuttles.” The moment the words left her mouth, Mercedes realized why it wouldn’t work, and so did Carisa, who voiced the problem.

  “The del Campo ship has painted us. Even if we suddenly change call signal, they will still know it’s us.”

  “Damn radar and lidar,” Mercedes said with forced lightness.

  The sisters sat silent for several long minutes as their ship traveled inexorably toward an outcome that Mercedes was very confident wouldn’t be healthy for either her or her father. She put a hand on her uneasy belly and wondered about the life growing in there. The child she would never see if they failed to escape. Tears pricked the back of her eyelids.

  “Somehow we need to go to ground. Lie low until Boho and Kemel spring their counter trap,” Carisa said.

  “Fox hunting,” Mercedes murmured. “You’re a genius, Cari.”

  “Yes, I know.” She paused. “But what did I say?”

  “Foxes go to ground, which made me remember how you train hounds by drag hunting. You lay a false trail that teaches them to follow a scent. How much do you remember of your astrodynamics?”

  “You keep asking me that. Fortunately, the answer to this one is—a lot. I
liked it.”

  “We need a shuttle that’s relatively close and either a missile battery or a large satellite array that’s also close. We match trajectory and velocity with the other shuttle—”

  “Trade call signals,” Carisa jumped in.

  “Both ships boost toward the missile battery or satellite. We kill our engines and have the decoy shuttle nudge us toward the battery. Deploy grapples and hide there.”

  “That’s good. If we go dark there’s a chance the equipment on the battery will camouflage our body heat and the minimal life support we’ll be running. So where do we send the decoy?” Carisa asked.

  “Back toward Ouranos.”

  “We might be getting the crew of that shuttle killed… assuming they agree in the first place.” Cari suddenly sounded rather pessimistic.

  “Perhaps he’ll be a patriot.”

  “Or at least amenable to bribes,” was the cynical response.

  27

  WHEN GAMES GET REAL

  Anselmo had surpassed himself. The Plaza was filled with a shifting crowd of mostly humans, but a surprising number of aliens were also present. That was not good. Boho opened a channel to Captain Lord Rogers and Matthew Gutierrez. “Gentlemen, I don’t know which of you is closer to the Plaza, but we’ve got a problem. A lot of aliens are joining in. That’s not good.”

  “Forgive me, sir, but aren’t more bodies a good thing? Show the lack of support for Musa?” Gutierrez asked.

  Boho struggled for patience. “We want Musa’s troops to think hard about opening fire on unarmed civilians. They see a bunch of BEMs and that becomes an easier choice.”

  “The consort’s correct, Matt,” Rogers chimed in. “Some of them are disaffected military, and we’re trained to kill aliens. We don’t want to give them an excuse.”

  “Do you want us to roust them out of there?” Gutierrez asked.

  “Or the consort could ask them to return home,” Rogers offered.

  Anselmo coughed. He had been monitoring the conversation. “The consort telling League citizens, even second-class citizens, that we don’t want their help is a PR nightmare. And having security agents roughing up aliens would be almost as bad. Gutierrez, your agents are plainclothes. Have them quietly suggest to the aliens that they may be in danger from Musa’s people, and they should pull back. Let them spread the word to each other.”