And so it was. She graced the twenty Reales note. The picture was taken from an official portrait that had her wearing a tiara, long hair elaborately styled, and a diamond necklace at her throat. Now she wore a pair of my stained cargo pants, and one of Melin’s shirts.
Jax came rustling onto the bridge. Now the entire crew and Mercedes were watching, but I wasn’t nervous. I knew I was good. With brief bursts of fire from alternating jets, I took us through the maze of trading ships, station scooters, racing yachts, and military vessels. With a final burst of power from the starboard engines, I spun the ship ninety degrees and brought us to rest, like a butterfly landing on a flower, against a docking gantry at the main space station.
There was a brief outburst of applause. Mercedes leaned down and whispered, “You were the best pilot of our class.” The touch of her lips and the puff of her breath against my ear sent a shiver through me.
She straightened, and addressed the crew. “So what now?”
“We try to find someone to buy the farm equipment, and we pick up another cargo,” Jax fluted.
Melin stretched her arms over her head. “I want a martini and a massage. And maybe not in that order. Or maybe both at the same time.”
Jahan uncoiled from the back of the captain’s chair. “I’m going home to see my mates and kids.”
“If the captain will give me money, I’ll replenish our medical supplies,” Dalea said.
Mercedes smiled at Baca. “And what about you?”
He blushed. “I’m gonna find a concert. Maybe go to the opera, depending on what’s playing.”
Mercedes tugged my hair. “And you need a haircut.”
“I take it we’re going planetside?” I asked.
“Oh, yes,” Mercedes assured me.
Dalea’s makeover worked. The guards glanced briefly at my ship papers, and waved us through and onto a shuttle to the planet.
IT WAS FOOLISH, crazy even. I planned to check us into an exclusive hotel, a place frequented by aristocrats and famous actors. It was going to take most of my savings, but I wanted… I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted. To make sure she was comfortable. To show her that I could be her equal. Fortunately, Mercedes was wiser than me. When I outlined my plan, she took my face between her hands and gently shook my head back and forth.
“No. First, you don’t have to prove anything to me, and second, I’m likely to be recognized, red hair or no, and third, I’ve spent my life with these people. Let me have another life. A short time where I don’t have to remember…” But she didn’t finish the thought.
Jahan advised us, and we ended up in an Isanjo tree house hotel that sprawled through an old-growth forest on the outskirts of the capital city. To accommodate the occasional human visitor, there were swaying bridges between the trees, which Mercedes and I used with white-knuckled effort. As we crept across the swaying bridges, the Isanjo traveled branch to branch, and crossed the intervening spaces with great soaring leaps. The Isanjo were good enough to deliver meals to our aerie, so we spent our first day planetside in bed.
Wind whispered and then roared through the leaves as it brought down a storm from the mountains. It set our room to swaying. Lightning flashed through the wooden shutters, and thunder growled with a sound like a giant chewing on boulders. We clung to each other, torn between terror and delight. The rain came, hammering on the wooden roof, forcing its way through the shutters to spray lightly across our bodies. It broke the heat, and we shivered and snuggled close.
It would have been perfect except for her nightmares.
The next day, Mercedes took command. We went to explore the city, and to find a barber. Mercedes and the Hajin hairdresser discussed every cowlick, natural part, and the consistency of my hair before she would allow the alien to cut. Between them, they decided I should wear bangs. It felt strange, and I kept pushing them off my forehead, only to have my lady reach out and muss my hair each time I did.
We strolled through the Old Quarter, and I bought Mercedes a string of beads that she’d admired. We moved on, strolling along the river walk. Everyone seemed to be taking advantage of the good weather. Families spread blankets on the grass, children tussled like happy kittens, babies cried. Mercedes and I sat on a bench at the water’s edge, listening to the water gurgle and chuckle while we shared an ice cream cone.
We ate dinner at an outdoor cafe. The Isanjo, being almost complete carnivores, know how to cook meat. Our steaks arrived running blood, tender, and subtly flavored by having been stuffed with cheese. We polished off a bottle of deep red wine between us, and talked about books and music and the wonderful things we’d seen during the day. She scrupulously avoided all talk of the empire, the navy, or Kusatsu-Shirane. We shared a dessert, a lighter-than-air concoction of mangos, some local fruit, cream, and pistachio nuts. I drained my coffee, and steeled myself for a conversation that had to happen.
“Mercedes.”
“Yes?”
“You need to talk to someone. About what happened.”
“I will. This policy can’t stand. Not if it’s going to lead to mass suicide,” she said.
I shook my head. “Stop deflecting. You need to face what’s happened, and figure out why you’re identifying more with the people on Kusatsu-Shirane than you are with your own battle group.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.” She stayed silent. I left it there. “So, shall we go?”
“Yes.”
I left money on the table, and we walked out onto the street. The air was soft after the tumultuous storms of the night before. The restaurants were still busy, and the many voices and many languages wove into something that was almost music. Then we heard real music. Dance music. Mercedes turned to me.
“Do you like to dance?”
“No,” I said.
She grabbed my hand. “I love to dance.” And I came along like the tail on her kite. There was a small band playing on a pier that thrust out into the river. Multicolored lanterns hung overhead. The Isanjo danced on the narrow wires that supported the lanterns. The humans, earthbound and awkward, danced on the wooden pier. I felt graceless and stupid. There had been no deportment and dance lessons in my youth, but Mercedes was gifted with grace and rhythm. She made me look good.
The dance ended, and we went off to the small bar to buy drinks. She took a long sip, and then kissed me. I tasted rum and basil.
“So, I’m forgiven for poking at you?”
“At least you notice when I’m crazy,” she said.
“You’re not crazy. The people on Kusatsu-Shirane were crazy.”
“Were they? No one got to force them into a life—”
But she didn’t get to finish the thought because there were murmurs from the crowd. Everyone was looking up. We followed suit and watched pinpricks of light appear and flash like brilliant diamonds in the night sky.
“That’s a fleet coming in,” I said.
Mercedes gripped me tightly. “Take me home.”
It was a misnomer. We had no home, but I understood what she wanted. The comfort of bed, bodies pressed close, a roof to shut out the image of duty and responsibility now orbiting overhead.
We returned to the hotel and our lovemaking had a desperate quality. She clung to me, clawed at me as if she wanted to crawl inside my skin. Finally, I had nothing more to give. I lay gasping, body sweat-bathed, blood pounding in my ears.
Mercedes was curled up in a ball. I put an arm around her waist and spooned her. “Tracy.” It was barely audible.
“Hmmm?”
“Let me stay. Really be a member of your crew.” Tension and desperate longing etched every word, and her fingers clung like claws to my wrist. She turned over suddenly, her face inches from mine. “They think I’m dead. We can go away. Be together.”
For an instant, I was giddy at the prospect. I thought of the worlds we’d visit together. Nights in my cabin. Listening to her read to the crew. But reality returned.
