The High Ground (10 page)

Tracy realized he was lapping a fat boy who was staggering more than running. Sweat streamed down his face and darkened the neck, back and armpits of his T-shirt. His mouth was twisted in agony and his wheezing breaths could be heard above the slap of running feet and the panting of the other cadets. Tracy felt a momentary flash of pity for the suffering boy. Apparently the FFH wasn’t kidding about requiring all its sons to attend The High Ground. Tracy’s eyes went to Hugo a few feet in front of him and running easily.

As for Tracy, pain stitched its way up his side and his lungs were burning. Material twined around his left shin and he almost lost his balance.

“God
damn
these skirts!” Mercedes gasped. She gave him a sideways glance and added in a puffing whisper, “Sorry.”

“S’okay.”

“You didn’t say—” she began.

Tracy became aware of the contemplative gaze from a pair of brown eyes set in an ebony-skinned face. The cadet’s black hair hung in ringlets to his collar, and he sported a gold ring in one ear. A large gold signet ring glittered on a slim hand.

Tracy clenched his fists at his side and forced his legs to pump harder, leaving Mercedes behind mid-word before any more of their classmates noticed their exchange.

At the end of the run the fat boy threw up, and two of Mercedes’ ladies were looking decidedly unwell. The tiny one wasn’t sweating, and her skin was unnaturally pale. The stocky one had blotchy red spots all over her face. Tracy didn’t feel much better, but he had made it and hadn’t humiliated himself.

Three more drill instructors joined their first torturer, and separated them into four groups. The women were kept together and led away toward the mats. Tracy found himself in the group heading toward the shooting range, while Cullen, Talion and Arturo del Campo were among the students heading toward the weights. Cullen draped an arm over Talion’s shoulders. The other man lifted it off. Tracy was surprised to see Cullen laugh. Apparently he would accept disrespect from a fellow aristo no matter how marginal the title or how provincial the planet.

* * *

After the far-too-brief recovery period Mercedes and her ladies were herded over to the mats. Mercedes had hoped that the resentment toward the female invasion of this traditionally male domain would be limited to the officer class. Perhaps the enlisted spacers would be more sympathetic? That hope was quickly put to flight by the look the bald, fireplug-shaped man bestowed on them. Well, maybe it was unique to just
this
man.

“I am Recruit Commander Nathaniel Deal. You will refer to me as Chief. Now get those shoes
off
!”

Cipriana leaned in and whispered into Mercedes’ ear as they unlaced their shoes. “Does everyone in the army feel it’s incumbent upon them to shout?”

They shared smiles that quickly died when Cipriana was grabbed by the back of the neck and yanked erect. “First, Cadet, we are
not
the motherfucking footsore army. We are not air force limp dicks or even wet-footed navy boys.
We
are
Orden de la Estrella
. We might have been an out-growth of the navy, but our captains are smarter, our
Infierno
fighter jocks faster, and our
fusileros
tougher. We get the prettiest whores and the Planet Patrol fears us the most. And that’s why I’m not a fucking drill sergeant. We don’t have sergeants in O-Trell. Now what are
you
?” Cipriana gaped at him. Mercedes sensed her expression wasn’t much different. “
What are you?
” he roared into her face.

“Lady—” Cipriana whimpered only to be cut off by a roar.

“Wrong!”

“Cadet,” Mercedes blurted. “We’re cadets.”

“Still wrong! You are worms.” Deal released Cipriana. “But I’m going to try to turn you into big damn heroes. Now get over here. The first thing I’m going to teach you is how to fall.”

So she fell. A lot. Thrown to the mats with contemptuous ease by Chief Deal. Even with the mats the landing was hard, and Mercedes could feel the bruises beginning to blossom on her hips, shoulders and elbows. Sometimes she fell when she didn’t mean to, tripped up by her absurd outfit. The entire experience was made all the worse by the ring of young men who surrounded the mats and watched their struggles. Oddly enough it was Cipriana who was sniveling. Mercedes thought it would have been Danica, but the tiny blonde just had the look of a person trapped in a nightmare; swept along and hoping she would wake up sooner rather than later. Sumiko was hobbling. The knight’s daughter couldn’t seem to grasp how to slap the mat and roll onto her shoulder so she kept hitting the floor like a sack of rocks.

Mercedes climbed to her feet and looked at Chief Deal. His fleshy lips were curled in disdain as he surveyed the women. “Okay, enough. Since you can’t fall worth a damn I’m going to try and show you how to keep from getting knocked down. Do any of you know the right way to throw a punch?” They shook their heads. “Okay, make a fist. No, not like that.” He stepped forward and peeled Mercedes’ fingers open. “Never put your thumb inside your curled fingers. If you hit hard enough—not that that’s likely, but if you do you’ll end up breaking your thumb. So, like this.” He demonstrated. To Mercedes’ weary mind his hand looked more like a flesh-colored block than anything organic, much less human.

“Now line up and hit me,” he ordered.

Mercedes found herself at the front of the line. She stared at his chest, the muscles cutting lines against his T-shirt. His neck was almost as wide as his head. This close she could see the pores on his nose, a few incipient blackheads. She had no idea where to aim. Deal tapped his chest.

“Just hit me.”

She clenched her fist, careful to place her thumb over her fingers, and punched. It hurt her knuckles and Deal didn’t even sway. He stood like a stone effigy. “Next!” he bawled and Mercedes moved aside.

One by one they hit him. None of their blows seemed to affect him in the least. “Useless,” he muttered. “Take a break.” He turned to the watching men. “Gentlemen.”

Mercedes and her ladies retreated to the edge of the mat and sat down. Her hair was coming loose from her braid, tendrils sweat-plastered to her face and catching on her dry lips. Their servants rushed over carrying cups of water. Tako whispered to her.

“May I rebraid your hair, my lady?”

“Please.”

The Hajin pulled a brush from the satchel she wore slung over her shoulder. Mercedes relaxed and enjoyed the scratch of the bristles against her scalp, and the languorous tug as the brush made its sweep through her heavy curls. She watched the men go through the falls. Most of them were far better at it than she and the other girls had been.

Deal moved to a pile of what she had taken to be giant cushions. He lifted one and Mercedes saw the straps. Holding it like a shield he began to engage the male cadets, having them punch the cushion. Resentment began as a small coal deep in her chest. Deal had stood unprotected against the women. Dismissing them in a way that was utterly contemptuous and offensive. She wanted to react, but indecision held her immobile.

“He doesn’t think we can hit like a boy,” she whispered to Sumiko.

“And he’d be right,” the other girl muttered back. “This is idiotic. We’re not going to be punching people. We’ll be aboard spaceships shooting missiles and… and things.”

Mercedes fell silent. She sensed that this was the first battle in the war to make a place for herself at The High Ground, and that she was losing already. Trouble was she had no idea how to respond. A few minutes later and Deal motioned for the women to join them. He kept four of the male cadets with him.

“Let’s try a little sparring.” With sharp jabs of his forefinger the chief positioned them opposite their male counterpart.

They were being coerced into a situation where they could not win. She ought to speak up and object. But was a cadet allowed to point out that a drill instructor was being unfair? Weren’t they supposed to be unfair?

Confused and afraid, Mercedes gingerly took her place across from Arturo as if they were taking their places in a line dance at a society ball. She glanced over at her companions. Their expressions ranged from outright terror to dumb confusion. The entire situation was bizarre. They all knew each other. The FFH from Consular worlds came to the capital on a regular basis. The children socialized together while their fathers arranged business deals and their mothers arranged marriages.

“Okay, Caddies, spar.”

No one moved. Sumiko’s voice rang out. “This isn’t fair. You haven’t taught us anything. Certainly not how to spar.”

Shame lay like a bad taste on the back of Mercedes’ tongue. She was the daughter of Emperor Fernán Marcus Severino Beltrán de Arango. She should be the one defending her ladies, not a mere knight’s daughter.

Deal shoved aside Sumiko’s opponent, Boho’s friend Clark Kunst, and thrust his face into hers. “War isn’t fair, Princess,” he said.

“Wrong girl,” Cipriana said and pointed. “
She’s
the princess.”

Deal turned to Mercedes. “You have a comment… Your Highness?” If the man’s tone wasn’t enough, the delay in offering her title made the contempt plain.

Mercedes’ stomach seemed filled with quaking jelly. She looked away from Deal’s steel gaze. Her own eyes darted from face to face seeking help, support, comfort.

Arturo caught her glance, and she saw a flash of pity in his caramel brown eyes. He took a step back, and stared down his nose at Deal. “They’re women. A gentleman does not strike a woman.”

A complex and elaborate move that involved an arm and a sweep of the leg, and Arturo was on his back on the mats gaping up at the burly chief. Deal leaned over, and gripped Arturo by the throat.

“There are going to be women on the other side. I lost a friend when he underestimated an Isanjo bitch. She was holding a cub, sweet little mother. She disemboweled him.” He flicked the fingers of his free hand, and curved them. “They’ve got claws.” Deal jerked a thumb over at the four women. “Don’t think they don’t have claws too.”

Straightening, the chief raked the rest of the men with a cold glare. “Any of you pussies strong enough to overcome your programming? We know Peaches here,” he glanced down at Arturo, “can’t.” There were awkward glances all around and not one of the men stepped forward.

Mercedes found herself remembering all the shocked headlines and disapproving editorials that had poured from the news outlets after her acceptance at The High Ground had been announced. There had been many arguments against the inclusion of women at the academy, ranging from how their presence would inflame and arouse the men and sexual license would abound, to the possibility that a man’s natural inclination to protect the weaker sex would distract him from the serious business of killing enemies.

Judging by what was happening at this very moment, the latter concerns had been well founded. Word of this would leak. It would be all over the news services, trumpeted with their usual high decibel hysteria, that the Emperor’s foolish action had weakened the military and that the League was now under imminent threat.

She stepped over to Arturo who was just climbing to his feet. “It’s all right. You must do this,” she said firmly. “Fight me.”

For an instant his confusion was evident, then the calculation began. She sensed he was reaching the same conclusion as her. He stepped back, bowed and said, “I would not presume.”

So it is to be war between our families
, she thought.

* * *

The pulse rifle vibrated in Tracy’s hands as it streaked death toward the distant targets. He knew his rate of fire was far slower than the other cadets. Theirs was an angry snarl while his was a slow buzz as he tried to line up his shots. He had done the same thing during RCFC training, and gotten roundly mocked and abused for it by the drill instructor. Memories of those painful classes had his shoulders tensing.

He was also distracted by what was going on over on the martial arts mats. The sound of the rifles made it impossible to hear what was being said, but he didn’t need words to know that some kind of drama was playing out. Mercedes looked devastated. The men had all stepped back as if an invisible barrier now separated them from the women.

Recruit Commander Yas Begay’s surprisingly delicate hand landed on Tracy’s shoulder. “You’re thinking too much, Cadet. What did I say right at the start?”

Tracy pulled his attention away from Mercedes and glanced up at the round-faced man. “The pulse rifle is a spray and pray kind of weapon.”

“Exactly.” Begay released Tracy’s shoulder, and stroked his chin. “You’re a thinker. You might be a sniper prospect. Takes coolness and a desire to analyze to be a sniper.” The short, stocky man glanced over at the hand-to-hand training area. “So what’s your analysis of what’s going on over there?” he asked quietly.

Startled, Tracy glanced up at the chief, fearing some trick. The man’s expression was blank. Tracy looked back to the mats in time to see del Campo stepping away from Mercedes and giving a deep and sweeping bow.

“They won’t train with the women.” He paused, considering all the ramifications. “That’s not good.”

“Depends on what you think is good, doesn’t it?” Begay took the rifle from Tracy’s hands. “We’ll resume tomorrow and arm you with a Raptor. Young gentlemen often think shooting from cover is cowardly, not sporting, but people like us—we’re not as
well bred
. You take my meaning?” Begay jerked his chin toward the mats. “Chief Deal will have you in his tender mercies next. I’d get over there now. Dismissed!”

Tracy walked quickly toward the martial arts area.

I wonder what instructions your father gave you and your brother before you arrived?
Mercedes thought as she stared at Arturo.
Undermine me at every opportunity, I’ll bet.

Impasse. The other three men stepped away from her ladies. Danica slumped in relief. Sumiko and Cipriana relaxed and they all drew together. Mercedes wanted to cry and knew she couldn’t. She swallowed several times trying to force aside the ache in her throat. Then a soft baritone voice said, “If the recruit commander will permit I’ll spar with my fellow cadet.”