Free The High Ground by Melinda Snodgrass

island of femininity in the midst of a sea of testosterone. Mercedes knew for a fact that Vice Admiral Markov was married, but even spouses weren’t permitted at this welcoming banquet. Clearly the rituals and traditions of The High Ground were uniquely male. Would they be adjusted to accommodate the four nobly born women?
Only time will tell
, she thought.
    The band struck up the League anthem and with a scrape of chairs and scuff of feet everyone stood. A
fusilero
slapped his rifle, and banged the butt of the gun on the floor announcing with a roar:
    “All rise for His Imperial Highness Fernán Marcus Severino Beltrán de Arango!”
    Her father entered and walked toward the high table. As he passed he glanced briefly over at her. For the briefest instant her father’s eyes, cold and demanding, met hers.
    She received the message loud and clear—
don’t fail me
.
    He looked away, and the image of a work-weary father miming his message of love to an unaware child flitted across her mind. She wished that gesture of love had been given to her. Instead she was left with only the crushing burden of expectation.

6
UNPLEASANT TRUTHS
    Reveille had sounded, piped through speakers in the rooms and echoing down the halls. Tracy was already up, dressed in his workout clothes—sweat pants, T-shirt and running shoes—and heading down the corridor toward the mess hall when the recorded bells rang and the bugle blew. At home he’d risen with his father at five so there was time to work before school. His interior alarm had brought him awake at the normal time, and he saw no reason to linger in bed. Drills were scheduled for eight, and he wanted to be sure his breakfast had time to settle before some drill sergeant laid into him.
    It meant he once again dressed without assistance from his batBEM, and he wasn’t sorry. Last night when he’d returned to his room after the banquet he found Donnel waiting for him. As the Cara’ot helped him out of his jacket he said, “I took the liberty of laying out your gym clothes for tomorrow, and loading your text books on your tap-pad, sir.”
    “Uh… thank you.”
    Donnel motioned for him to sit on the bed as he pulled on gloves. Tracy jerked when the creature knelt and carefully removed his mirror-bright boots, giving them a brush with the sleeve on one of his arms. “I also added a map to your class schedule. Wouldn’t do to be late on your first day.”
    “Thank you,” Tracy muttered again. Donnel motioned for him to stand. Once again he found himself obeying, and jerked nervously when the alien unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers.
    “I will be waiting in the shower area with your undress blues after drills.”
    “Really, you don’t need to do that. Really you don’t,” Tracy objected as he stepped out of the puddled material. He could hear the desperation in his voice.
    Donnel rocked back onto two of his three legs and gazed up at Tracy out of those strange eyes. “If I may be so bold, sir… it will place you at a disadvantage if you do not show the proper attitude toward the serving class. Again, your pardon, but you are already operating at a deficit as a scholarship student. If you wish to hold your own you must behave as if there is no difference between you and the FFH. One way to demonstrate that is to seem at ease with personal servants. I hope you will forgive my bluntness, sir.”
    “Yeah. Okay. I see your point. I’ll see you after drills. And… uh… I can handle… the rest.” He gripped the waistband of his shorts, determined to hold them in place.
    “Very good, sir.” Donnel brushed down the dress uniform and hung it carefully in the closet. “If that will be all I will see you in the morning.”
    But fortunately Tracy had dodged that by rising early. He was finding this level of attention rather creepy. He might have to ape his betters—his mouth twisted at that unconscious use of the word—when he was around them, but in the privacy of his