The High Ground Read Online Free Page B

in my set could never pass, though you occupy a station in the lower middle class,” Alexander sang, altering the
H.M.S. Pinafore
lyrics somewhat. He had a pleasant baritone voice, and had bequeathed his singing ability to his son. It was as close as Tracy had ever heard his father come to criticism of the FFH and it both surprised and comforted him.
    Alexander once again looked at the bolts of fabulously expensive spider silk that would become the uniforms for Space Command officers. His father sighed, shook out the cheap uniform and hung it on a rack.
    “Should we send it back?” Tracy asked.
    “Best we not draw attention to ourselves,” his father answered.
    Tracy checked the watch set in his sleeve. “Shall I go get us lunch?”
    His father nodded. As Tracy left he saw his father walk over to Bajit, lay his hand on a bolt of spider silk, bend in close and say something.
    * * *
    That night Tracy ate alone for his father had gone to deliver new evening wear to Lord Palani. It was a horribly hot July night, and he found the leftover paella nauseating. Grabbing his tap-pad he went out in search of a breeze, and rode the loop rail down toward the one public beach near the capital city.
    The beach was more rock than sand, and dangerous rip tides could sweep the unwary far out to sea, but it was the one place where “cottages” of the wealthy didn’t commandeer the coastline. The scent of brine and rotting seaweed filled his nose as Tracy scrambled down a hillside toward the seawall. Coarse grass clung to his pants legs, and the sand shifted and squeaked beneath the soles of his sandals.
    He settled onto the wall, feeling the rough surface of the rocks bite through the fabric of his trousers. There was a breeze off the ocean. Tracy threw back his head, allowing the sighing wind to cool his cheeks and carry to him the boom and hiss of the waves hitting the shore. After a few moments he opened his eyes. The nebula blazed across the sky, a riot of twisting colors with stars inset like diamonds in the fabric of a mad painter’s dream. The smallest moon—Lynx—was already up. Soon the other two, Panacea and Thalia, would join her.
    With a sigh Tracy pulled his gaze from the display overhead, and pulled out his tap-pad. He had two new messages and they were from SolTech and Caladonia. A hard knot settled into his gut, and Tracy’s breath shortened. He clasped his hands together, both desperate and terrified to open the messages. With shaking hands he opened them both in quick succession, putting them up side by side on the screen.
    For a moment his heart tried to fly to meet the glowing nebula. Both universities had accepted him! Then he hit the next to last paragraph in each missive.
    We are, however, unable to offer you a scholarship at this time as our records indicate that you have been offered a full scholarship to The High Ground, and we would prefer to offer our funds to a student who has not already qualified for aid at another institution of higher learning.
    The final paragraphs detailed registration, the dates classes began, and links to housing requests. None of it mattered. There was no way his father could afford to send him to either premier institution. For a moment he allowed himself to hope that New Oxford would still offer him a scholarship, but he knew it was a vain hope. He had been offered a full ride to The High Ground, and the other colleges knew it. He should take the Fortune Five Hundred’s largesse and be appropriately grateful.
    His throat ached. Tracy stared stonily at the frothing waves and examined possible plans for his life. He wasn’t very successful. All he could see was continuing to work with his father, ultimately inheriting the tailor shop, becoming as blind and stoop-shouldered as Alexander, and then dying.
    * * *
    A ghost in the palace, that’s what I’ve become.
Mercedes walked the halls.
    That hadn’t stopped her being saddled with a new title. A public announcement by the