Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 12

Despite the guards' protests, Drew had gone to the garden alone. She sat silently in the dark, contemplating the day's events. Everything she had ever dreamed of was right there within her grasp. All she had to do was play her cards right, and she would have the fleet and the salvaging port she'd always dreamed of. But certain things were not as easily manipulated as an empire. Everyone made such a big deal out of absolute power. Drew didn't know what they were bitching about. The so called burden of power was probably the easiest thing she'd ever had to deal with. Yeah, like, it's so awful always having people waiting on you hand and foot, and having everything your way.

But power couldn't fix everything. She was confused about being this other person that she couldn't remember. Surrounded by people who should fit into her life, but just didn't somehow. Zarco was her husband, but all she felt when they told her he had been abducted was the joy of being able to carry out her plans without him getting in the way. Yet in the garden with him, she had felt something. If he hadn't told her she couldn't have that car, she would, more than likely, have spent the night with him instead of Van Gar. Not because she had any real feelings for him, but because he had feelings for her. When she was with Zarco like that, and no one else was around, she could feel the love he had for her, hear it in his voice. He wanted more than her body, he wanted her love. In the life she could remember she had never had anything close to that. She had always imagined it would be different with Van Gar. But while the sex was incredible, it was obvious that he saw her in no different light that any other sex partner had; a convenient, and in Van Gar's case, only mildly amusing, fuck. She didn't know why that bothered her so much, but it did. No one else had ever complained, and here he was, her best friend, and he had the utter gall to tell her that she was a lousy lay. Even more amazing than that was the fact that even after he had blasted her sexuality, she had slept with him again, and she had enjoyed it. She decided that if Zarco ever was returned, and if she was still here when he was, she was going to have sex with him and tell Van Gar that Zarco was much better in bed. That would get the old furball's goat.

She felt something cold against her neck.

"Don't make a sound."

"I was beginning to think you'd never get here. A person could get piles sitting on one of these concrete benches, you know."

"Don't pretend that you planned for this meeting. I know you ordered the guards not to follow you."

It was about that time that he felt something cold and hard in the middle of his back. He allowed the gun to be taken from his hand by the Queen, and moved to face her as the beast ordered.

"Good job, Van."

She looked the man up and down and recognized him as one of the door guards.

"Marcus, isn't it?"

"Yes, my Queen."

Drew smiled at the contradiction of action and words. Kidnapping the King, but still addressing her in the proper manner.

"Marcus, I am not a fool. I knew there was a traitor among the guards. Why would I tell them anything but what I wanted you to hear? I figured if you knew I was walking in the garden alone you'd either surface to abduct me or talk to me. So, which is it?"

"Why did you say what you said about the abduction? Why did you lie?"

"How much faith can a people have in their kingdom if the King's own guards have turned against him?"

"We wish the King no ill will. We only want the changes we have outlined, not cash as you said."

"Zarco's well, then?"

"He sends this message." Marcus handed her a folded piece of paper. She didn't open it.

"He will remain well as long as I do," Marcus threatened.

"I meant what I said about not dealing with terrorists."

"I am not a terrorist, my Queen. I simply want the government to do something about what's happening out there. I want the same things that you do. Just implement the programs, we'll release the King, and no one need know."

"The things you ask for are simplistic, idealistic and utterly ridiculous. If I do what you want it will kill what's left of Gildart, your enemies will easily overrun your borders and we shall all go down together. Where will the money come from to implement your programs?"

"By taxing the rich."

"You would have to tax them till they became the poor to do the things you would have us do."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"I suggest that you keep the King out of my hair for two months and put your trust in me. In my five years away I have learned many things. I can make this country prosper again, if you just give me the chance."

He looked thoughtful.

"There's nothing to think about, Marcus. We play the game my way or we don't play at all. I kill you, your people kill Zarco. Then I do whatever the hell I please. Any way you look at it, I win. The only thing you have to think about is whether you want to win, too."

"I could let Zarco go now," he said in a threatening tone.

"And I finger you as his abductor, you and all your accomplices are tried and convicted, and it takes me a little longer to get what I want." She seemed to calculate all that, then smiled broadly. "I still win, and you still lose. There's only one way that we both win."

Marcus nodded in defeat. "What do I tell your husband, the King?"

Drew smiled. "Tell him that I said that I now understand why he couldn't come after me, and that I am a very hard woman to deal with."

"What about me?" He asked, suddenly realizing that he had not only been seen, but recognized.

"The next time you spend this much time away from your post, you will be fired."

He nodded and ran away.

"So, what now, Drew?"

"There is a giant gap in the salvaging industry now that Erik is dead. You and I are going to fill that gap. Come on, let's start calling."

 

Facto walked past Zarco's office. He had risen early and hadn't been able to go back to sleep. He had already passed the open door before he realized that the light was on. He walked back to stand in the doorway.

Drew sat at the comlink console. Her hair was a mess, her shirt was undone till it was indecent, and discarded caffeine cups littered the desk. Van Gar lay on the couch asleep, a rifle in his hand. Margot sat asleep in a chair. It was obvious that Drew had been working through the night.

"Yeah, Lue, that's right. Queen of ah fuckin' country . . . You heard right, I'm taking over Erik's operation. Van Gar and I . . . What's in it for you? Well, let me tell you, Lue. This country of mine doesn't know the meaning of salvage. There are mountains of textiles here. Cloth, organic fiber cloth, Lue. Not the cheap shit, either. And do you know what they do with it when they're tired of it, Lue? Hold onto your hat. They throw it away."

She pulled the receiver away from her hear, and even Facto could hear the man on the other end screaming.

"That's right, Lue. Tons of it thrown away in the landfills to rot . . . Yes, there's a huge work force, they just need to be trained and put to work . . . That's exactly what I was thinking, Lue. Your people would be perfect for the job . . . Your share? Oh, thirty percent of the profits sounds right to me . . . Forty is as high as I'm going . . . Lue, you're taking my heart right out of my chest, my country needs this money! . . . You're killing me! . . . OK, OK, Lue. Fifty . . . Give me a week to get things set up." She hung up the phone and laughed.

"Sucker!"

She immediately started punching buttons again.

"Hello, Cramont? . . . Yeah, this is me, you old slime . . . No, I ain't dead. Listen, have I got a deal for you! . . ."

Facto walked away, shaking his head. Whatever she was up to, things weren't going to get back to normal until Zarco was returned. He could only hope that would be soon.

 

A week later, the council room was full again, but this time it was a decidedly different advisory council. This group sported weapons of all kinds. Wore clothing that was scruffy, indecent or both. And reeked of alcohol and smoke.

The reporters waited in eager anticipation for their Queen. Covering the news had become decidedly more entertaining since the Queen's return.

The herald ran into the room as if the very devil was at his heels, and started almost before he stopped moving.

"Her Royal . . . the Queen!"

The reason for his haste was evident when the Queen came bounding through the door, with her entourage practically running to keep up. She walked over to her throne and sat down so hard that she spilled the beer she held in her hand. In her other hand she held a smoldering cigar.

"Sorry I'm late, but I was busy passing a kidney stone."

She looked over her shoulder at Facto.

"How was that?" she whispered, taking a drag off her cigar.

No response.

Drew shrugged, coughed, and pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket.

"My people, my friends, my business associates. Please bear with me while I . . . ah!"

She wadded the paper up, threw it behind her and removed the cigar from her mouth.

"Screw it!"

The crowd roared with laughter. Drew smiled broadly and took a drink of her beer.

"Sheesh I only have two hands, how do they expect me to hold a fucking paper. I've been working in trash for five years, and I know when something stinks. Face it, our country's in the toilet, and at this point we can either walk away and let the shit keep floating, or we can flush and start over again."

The hot ashes off her cigar fell on the red velvet arm of the throne, and she quickly poured beer on it to stop the spreading fire.

"I'm going to ask all of you to think for a moment of the country as a business. A business that is experiencing a sudden, giant loss in profits. Crash! The bottom falls out of your market, and you're stuck with a warehouse full of product that you can't sell. What happens? Any good business person knows that you have to lay off your employees and re-tool! We haven't.

"Factories all over the country have been trading in the business of war. They re-tooled their assembly lines to make the battle machines and tools of war, but now the battle is over. I'm sure another will arise soon. But for the time being, I'm sorry, but there is no war. So, why aren't they going back to what they were making before? Because no one has any money to buy the things they would produce, because they've all been laid off. It's a vicious cycle, and the only way you can stop such a cycle is to bring something completely different into the picture.

"That is where my friends come in. Each one of them is an expert in his own field of salvaging. So, you may be asking-just what is Salvaging? Well, let me tell you. Go to your garbage cans. Are there plastic bottles in them? On the galactic market, plastic bottles are worth money. What about cloth? Did you throw out an old shirt? What about paper? All these things and more are worth money. Not enough to cure the country's woes if considered singly, but multiply your trash by every trash can in the country. Then think of all the machines of war that lie broken and scattered across the land. Think of the cars and planes and space ships littering the country's landscape. Now nothing more than an eyesore, these useless things can make us enough money, and bring us enough jobs to put us back on our feet.

"OK. I know the next question. What happens when all the scrap of war is gone? What then? How do we keep our country from falling right back into the same trap? Simple. By making Gildart the Salvaging capital of this galaxy. By turning our three little spaceports into major Salvaging ports. By training our people in the fine art of Salvaging.

"So, what is Salvaging? Simply put, we will take other people's garbage and turn it into cash. I don't think anyone can find fault with that. Except maybe the people who have everything they want right now. People who still have a job, who don't have bills, and in fact aren't being touched by this economic crunch that is affecting all of you.

"You saw the old advisors reactions to my proposal. All they cared about was how it would look. Look to whom? The Lockhedes? The rest of space? So what! Who is so important to impress that we put our own needs behind the need to look esthetically pleasing? I say being prosperous is impressive. Let them be impressed by how rich our populace is, and let them be impressed by the size of our spaceports.

"And now I'm going to ask the press to leave so that we can get on with this meeting. Thank you."

"My Queen," a reporter in the back protested, "we have always been allowed to sit in on every advisory council for the duration of the meeting!"

"I have said everything that is of interest to the people. All they need to know for now. What will happen from here on is all just complicated bull shit that will be a real snore. We'll be talking at length about such interesting things as weights and measurements, and how many more toilets we'll need at each spaceport to handle the new traffic. Mostly, I don't want you here because we plan to do some serious work here, and I don't want to have to worry about everything we say. I want the members of this council to give their opinions on what they know, not on what the home audience may think. I don't want you to take pictures of someone asleep or someone doodling. I have more important things to do than worry about giving you my good side, and the people at home have better things to do than watch my friend Beamer snore. Now, I thank you for your coverage. Get out."

Despite their protests the Queen's guard hustled out the press.

When they were all gone, Drew looked at her motley crew of advisors and smiled.

"So, now to get down to business. Who's going to get us the scales?"

"Tory found six huge scales on Jastin. He can get 'em for a song," a big man announced.

"All in favor of buying the scales from Tory?"

"Yo!" They all yelled.

"OK, cool. Now, how many bathrooms to a station?"

"I'd say a total of six at appropriate distances around a port with twenty-four stools and ten showers in each," Van Gar suggested.

Drew shook her head thoughtfully.

"I don't know, that's a hell of a lot of plumbing," she said.

"There ain't nothin' I hate more'n ta land at a port and have ta go back ta m'ship ever time I gottah take a crap," a petite green-haired girl in the front row said.

"Point taken, Terry," Drew said. "OK, all in favor of the twenty-four john theory?"

"Yo!" They screamed.

"Well, then I guess that concludes the business for today. All in favor of getting shit-faced drunk . . ."

"YO!"

The servants brought in the bar and the liquor.

 

Zarco looked through the bars of his cell at the man watching the TV. Marcus had only agreed to remove his hood when Zarco had told him that he recognized his voice, anyway.

"Marcus, why do you continue to hold me? Can't you see it's not doing you any good? Taralin doesn't know how to rule the country!"

"No, but Drewcila Qwah does." Marcus pushed the view screen over so that Zarco could see it.

". . . just three weeks, Queen Taralin Zarco has brought about amazing changes in the economic climate of the country. Unemployment, which only three weeks ago was at an all-time high of fifty-six percent is already down to thirty-seven and dropping daily as the Queen's program goes into full swing."

They cut to a picture of a land fill and a piece of equipment digging up the piles so that a whole herd of men and women could start to pick the valuables from the trash. A news man stuck a microphone in one man's face.

"How do you feel about digging through trash for a living?" the reporter asked.

The man smiled and shrugged. "I don't look at it as digging through garbage. I look at it as cleaning up Gildart. Making the planet cleaner for my kids. I used to look at taking out the garbage as a distasteful task. Now, instead of making trash, we make money."

The reporter moved the microphone back to himself. "There you have it, Tost. Not only have the Queen's programs given jobs to thousands of people, but she has inadvertently solved the nation's landfill problems. Back to you, Tost."

Tost was grinning when the camera flipped back to him. "We go now to Jen Gaston at the old Hammer Munitions Plant where things are . . . well, a little different. Jen?" They switched to a young woman walking though a silent factory.

"Thanks, Tost. Well, things are quiet now, but as you can see, Hammer Munitions has new equipment. This equipment will all be used for the country's new industry—Salvaging. This machine lifts large things, tanks, cars, etc., so that they can more easily be disassembled by these." She held up a pneumatic wrench. "This plant will launch into full production tomorrow morning. So, where is everyone? Well, follow me." She went down a long hall. When she opened the door, you could hear voices. Inside was a room full of people.

"These people are finishing up two weeks of intensive training in preparation for their new lives as Salvagers. All the indications are that the Queen will be making good on her promises. By the end of this year, unemployment might very well be at zero. Back to you, Tost."

Again, Tost was smiling that pasted-on, camera-ready smile. "Thank you, Jen. On a not so up note, there are once again protesters outside the walls of the Royal palace."

They cut to a man standing in the middle of the mob. He had cornered a protester, and obviously intended to interview him whether he liked it or not. "This is Rod Tently, on the street outside the Royal palace. So, sir, what is the problem? I mean, unemployment is on the decline. What else do you want?"

"There is more wrong with this country than just unemployment, man. We think the Queen just doesn't care about anything but making money. She told us to write letters, but so far only the unemployment problem is being addressed. What about medical care and the plight of the farmers? What about crime? She's put a bandage on a scratch, and is ignoring the fact that the patient is still dying."

"But surely there hasn't been enough time to address all the problems we face."

"I don't think our Queen will address any problems unless we make her."

"So, there you have it, Tost. Some people would be suspicious if your gave them a gold brick."

Tost was still smiling, and it was more than Zarco could stand. He turned away from the set.

"Can't you see, Marcus? Her plan is not working. She doesn't understand the needs of the people."

"She understands better than you do. The news man's right. They're not giving her enough time. One thing at a time. The economy was the biggest problem, and she's tackled that one. Rather well, I might add. I've been out there. Gildart used to be such a dirty place. You never saw it, because inside the palace walls things are so clean. But out in the streets there was trash everywhere. No one wanted to claim the trash, so we walked around, over, or through it. Now it's gone. The streets of the Capital are cleaner every day. She's one of us, and she's going to do what's right for us, the working class. She's not going to care what the Lords and Ladies of the court think are worthy causes. She doesn't even care about being popular."

"I could work with her. Let her help me with decisions."

"You'd slow her down, if not stop her altogether. No, you'll just stay right here till the Queen has a chance to fix hundreds of years of Royal stupidity."

 

Drew watched the screen and tried to block the noise in the street out of her mind. "Fucking peasants," she said lightly to Van Gar. "Why, I gave them gruel just the other day, and would you listen to them? Go down and tax them at once, Fuckto. A 'standing in the fucking road, bugging the shit out of the Queen' tax."

Facto just sat there, his eyes dull, and shook his head.

"I don't think our Queen will address any problems unless we make her," the man on the screen said.

"Oh, damn!" Drew drawled out, "he's figured me out."

"Perhaps you had better start to address the other problems of state," Fitz suggested. "Such as the return of the King."

"Now, Fitz, let's see. Medical, farmers and crime . . . nooo. No one said a damn thing about the missing King."

"None the less, don't you think it's about time that you at least tried to negotiate for Zarco's return?" Facto hissed. "It's been three weeks since we have heard anything. Aren't you even worried?"

"Give me a little while. Maybe I'll have time to worry about it five years from now."

"You are being so harsh," Facto said. "So unforgiving. You weren't here, and you don't know what Zarco went through every day because of your abduction. If you would just meet with these people, at least make sure they are feeding your husband, and that he's well."

"You know, Facto. I have to ask myself if either of you were so insistent when I was out in space someplace having my brains liposuctioned?" There was silence, and Facto even looked down at his feet to avoid her gaze. "That's what I thought. Now, I happen to know that Zarco is in good hands. As far as I'm concerned, he's reaping what he has sown. He wouldn't come after me, and I'm not going after him. Your efforts would be more effective if used to help me run the country the way you're supposed to, instead of begging me to give in to the demands of these terrorists. Why don't you tell me what you told him? How it's my duty not to go after him."

"Those were different circumstances . . ." Fitz started.

"Yes, they were. The enemy during a war captured me, and everyone knew they intended to hurt me. Zarco, on the other hand, is being held by some disgruntled palace guards who I believe have no intention of damaging their King." She was mad, so mad that she couldn't see straight, and she really didn't know why. Then it hit her, and she yelled out. "I'm expendable, but he's not! When it was me, no one gave a flying fuck. Well, now it's his turn, and I don't give a diddly damn, either!"

"He cares about you," Fitz assured her.

"But not enough to go against what you two advised, and you two advised him to let me rot."

"You're being unfair."

Drew shot Facto a heated stare. "Unfair! Unfucking fair! Let me try to spell this out so that even you morons might understand. Zarco let the Lockhedes suck my brains out because he didn't care enough to come after me. Because of this, twenty-six years of my life are lost to me. Totally lost—not even a blur. Among the memories lost is my love for Zarco. So now I don't care enough to go after him. In my book, things are just starting to get even. If you can't advise me without giving me shit about Zarco, then you can get on the bread line with the rest of those advising fucks. Now, go to bed or something, I'm tired of dealing with you."

She glared at them and they bowed low and left.

Drew ran a hand through her hair. "That's something I'm never going to get used to, " she mumbled.

"What's that?" Van Gar asked quietly.

"People bowing when you've just told them to go fuck themselves." She turned her chair so that she could look out at the screaming crowd in the street. It was now ten at night and they didn't look or sound as if they were going to stop anytime soon. "Arg, Van, the crown weighs heavy on my brow." Drew only half laughed. This Queen thing was starting to be a real drag.

"Maybe it's time you stopped trying to build your own little Salvaging empire and started trying to be Queen." It was obvious by Stasha's tone that she was in no way happy with Drew. "Face it, Drew. You found a quick fix for the unemployment problem, and I'm not saying that was any small task. But you don't really have any more idea what the 'people' have to deal with than Zarco did, and you don't understand politics."

"Didn't I just ask you to leave?" Drew moaned.

Stasha smiled. "I'm not one of your advisors. I'm your sister. Aren't you even worried about Zarco a little?"

"No," Drew said quite truthfully.

She picked up a beer and took one long sip, then she took the can from her lips and looked at it.

"Did anyone ever find the human?"

Van Gar laughed and shook his head. "What the hell has that got to do with anything? You didn't even like him, and I bet you ask about him twenty times a day."

"Well, I just think it's curious, that's all. I mean he just sort of vanished. It doesn't make any sense. So every time I try to clear my mind of all the bull shit, red tape, and paper pushers around here, my mind says, so whatever happened to that earth man?" Drew shrugged and Van Gar laughed.

After a moment Stasha joined the laughter. Then she looked at Drew and stood up. "I think I'm going to try and get some sleep."

"Well, good luck with the dissident choir singing just outside." Drew threw her half-full beer can out the window. It hit the laser proof glass and rattled to the floor, spewing beer everywhere. Drew and Van Gar both started laughing.

"That's the second time you've done that today," Van Gar laughed.

"They keep it so fucking clean that I keep forgetting it's glass."

"Margot, take a memo." Margot was at her shoulder immediately with pad and paper. "To the household staff: Don't wash the damn windows."

"For real?" Margot questioned. It seemed to her that half the time the Queen gave an order, it was just a joke. Then, just when she was sure the Queen was just joking, it turned out that she wasn't, as was the case now.

"Of course for real, Margot," Drew said in a very Queenly tone.

Stasha turned in the doorway and smiled at Drew. "You know, Drew, if you aren't very careful, you're going to wind up liking this 'Queen thing' as you call it. And you might even be good at running the palace, providing you don't drive all the staff crazy first. Good night."

"Good night, Stasha." Drew watched her go.

"Margot?"

"Yes, Drew?"

"Why don't you cash in your chips for tonight?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why don't you go to bed?"

"You sure you won't be needing me?" She looked at Van Gar. She had a feeling there was something going on there, but she didn't want to jump to conclusions. And it would be improper to leave her Queen alone with a man other than the King, without at least offering to stay.

"Don't be silly, Margot," Drew drawled out. "You know we can't have sex till you leave."

Margot blushed brightly, bowed low and left.

"She's such a nice girl. I don't know why you have to do things like that to her. She remembers you as being the sweet, mild-mannered sovereign. You don't have to go out of your way to shatter her memories."

"Oh, give me a big break." Drew got up and went to the window to stare out at the screaming masses. "She likes me better this way. They all do, even Fuckto, though he'd never admit it. These people have no life of their own. They all stand around and live vicariously through the King and Queen. So they're happy when they're not boring."

She turned away from the window and went about scouring the room for some half-full beer she may not have finished.

"You're really twisted," Van Gar laughed. But it must have sounded as hollow to Drew as it did to him. She spun around as if he had dropped something, and tried looking into his eyes. He avoided her gaze, and turned away.

"OK, what's wrong?" Drew demanded.

"Nothing."

"Oh, don't give me that shit. What do you think that I did, that I of course did not do, because I am perfect in every way?"

"It's nothing . . . really."

"That bad." She made a face and slumped into her chair. "I'm getting a refrigerator unit put in here," she mumbled, "not a damn beer in the place."

"Why don't you just call for one of your lackeys?"

"Is that what's eaten ya? All this Queen shit?" She shook her head. "Damn it, Van, we're making a small fortune here, and building a Salvaging empire of our own. Right under these fat bastard's faces. Do I have to remind you that we've very cleverly conned an entire nation into doing what we want?"

"You are completely absorbed in this whole power trip, Drew. Making laws and ordering people around." Van Gar looked at her hard then. "Where is this all going, Drew? Just exactly what is it that you're striving for? What is your hoped-for end product?" He shook his head at the blank expression on her face. "You don't know, do you, Drew? There never was any real plan here."

"Whatever happens, we'll be a hell of a lot better off than we were."

"We. What's that mean, Drew? We. The way I see it, it looks like you're going to be too into being Taralin Zarco to ever go back to being Drewcila Qwah."

Drew jumped out of her chair. "Don't ever say that! I don't like this Queen shit. It's just a means to an end."

"But what end, Qwah? Where do I fit in?" He paused for a moment, then continued. "I've got news for ya, Drew, I'm not going to stand around playing pet alien for much longer. You've got me waiting here for you to figure out just what you're going to do about your new life; who you can use, and how you want to use them. But you're not going to use me. I'll hang out for awhile because I've got no place better to be. I know this must all be a bit much to swallow, and I can't say I wouldn't act the same way in your place, but sooner or later you're going to have to make some choices. How you want to live your life. Who you want to be. Stuff like that. When that happens, if I happen to fit into those plans, well, that's fine, but if I don't . . . I'm not going to let you make me into something that fits what you want. You know what I'm saying, Drew?"

She grinned. "You won't be my Chitzky boy toy?"

"Can't you be serious for even a minute?" Van Gar chided.

"No. Because I'm not Taralin Zarco, I'm Drewcila Qwah. And to prove it, let's take the Royal limo and go bar hopping." She skipped across the room, took his hand and started pulling him towards the door.

"We can't do that, Drew."

"Bull shit, Van. I am the Queen. I can do anything I like."

"Drew, it's not safe."

"So. It never was safe."

"There is a riot in the street. You're not supposed to leave the palace grounds without an armed escort."

She stopped, let go of his hand and turned to face him, hands on her hips. "So, you coming or not?"

"I wouldn't dream of missing it."

 

 

Back | Next
Framed