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Chapter 13

Van Gar had traveled through space with Drewcila Qwah for the better part of five years, and still the woman's utter audacity never ceased to amaze him. Wanting to go incognito, she dragged him off to the King's room where they plundered through his wardrobe till they found something Drew deemed appropriate. Then she had ripped this off, and added that, till the two of them looked like something straight out of one of those sleazy magazines Drew was always picking up at the Salvager stops.

Then she went to the garage and picked out the most expensive limo in the fleet, and asked one of the guards to drive it.

"But my Queen, surely a full convoy is in order. With the riots . . ." the guard had tried to protest as they went out the front gates.

"Riots, shmiots, open this fucking roof and stop the car." He complied. As the angry mob ran towards the car, Drew popped up and fired a clip out of the projectile weapon she had taken to wearing into the air and the crowd immediately parted to allow them to pass through.

Drew flopped onto the seat beside Van Gar. "Ah, the people's love for their Queen."

"Where to, my Queen?" The guard asked.

"The shopping plaza? The opera? Maybe we'll take in a play . . . Nah, fuck it, take us to the nearest bar."

The nearest bar went well. No one recognized her, and they were run out for throwing food at the other patrons. The second bar was pretty good. They got into a fist fight there, and beat up three men. It was only when the police tried to arrest them that she told them that she was the Queen. After she proved it, they left the bar to a chorus of Long Live the Queen, and "come back anytime."

It was in the third bar that all the trouble started. A few men were playing battle ball (a game which consisted of trying to knock your opponent's wooden ball down a hole with your wooden ball before he could knock your ball down the hole) in a far corner. They were also talking politics, and the problems the system was causing them. That was when Van lost Drew. She pretended to want to play battle ball, but then it started, and three hours later it was still going on.

"So, let me get this straight," Drew was saying. "This guy murders this person, is convicted and sentenced, and then they tax the people to feed, clothe and house him?"

"Exactly right," one man answered.

"Well, that's without a doubt the stupidest thing I have ever heard," Drew shook her head and took a long sip of her drink. "No wonder people are rioting outside the palace."

Van Gar sat in a corner drinking, for all intents and purposes forgotten. For a little while he had been sure that he had been over reacting. That Drew was, after all, the same old Drew she'd always been. But as the night wore on, it was obvious that she was more interested in politics than she was in getting stumbling drunk and kicking some butts. More interested in these people's problems than she was in having a good time, and that was just not the Drewcila Qwah he knew.

An hour later she decided it was time to go home. She didn't even stagger when she got in the car. Van Gar's shoulders sagged sadly. Drew wasn't even drunk. Instead of laughing and screaming, she was solemn and quiet. When they got to the palace, she bid him a quick good night and went off to get some sleep—alone. Leaving Van Gar standing, staring at her closed door. He had been hoping that tonight would be different. That tonight she would want him. But tonight was just like every other night for the past three weeks. She was too busy, or too tired, or too something. At any rate she hadn't come searching him out to fill her animal desires. He started to walk to his own room.

"Van," He turned around and saw Drew standing in her door way, wearing nothing but a smile. "Wanna screw?"

"You make me feel so cheap," Van said, batting his eyelashes.

"Only if you're lucky, baby. Only if you're lucky."

He walked into her room and the door closed.

 

He had been waiting for the Queen to return, but as the minutes had turned to hours, he began to realize just what a huge fool he was. She wanted to turn their country into a festering dung heap, where nothing Regal could flourish. He had clung to the hope that she could be changed, at least enough to fit in, but now he realized that would never happen. He had been wrestling for hours about what his course of action should be, and had come to the conclusion that the only thing he could do was talk to her. When he heard that she had returned, he made his way directly to her sleeping chambers, determined to have his say before he lost his nerve. He arrived just in time to see her entice that beast into her room. Shocked and confused, he ducked into the shadows to wait. The beast did not emerge, and he decided that there was only one course of action left. The abomination which inhabited Taralin's body must be killed before she made a laughing stock of the kingdom and its King.

 

Drew slept all of four hours, then she got up and went to her office. One quick call brought Margot, who came bustling into the room, obviously still dressing.

"Margot?"

"Yes, my . . . Drew?"

Drew smiled at her sleepy attendant. "Get me all the data that was gathered through the letter-writing campaign." She looked to make sure Margot had pen and paper in hand. When she saw her making notes, she continued. "Get me kingdom law books and books on social programs. Get me everything you can find on current affairs and prison reforms. Get me records on hospital costs and who's getting care, life expectancies, etc., etc., etc. By the end of the week, I want to have some answers that will shut those screamers up. After all happy people are productive people and productive people make me more money."

By late afternoon, her office was so full of paperwork and books that there was hardly room for people. Drew shook her head. "I should have had it put on the computer."

She was going through yet another pile of papers on hospital costs and adjustments. "Most fucking places would have all of this on computer. Backwards fucking bung hole." Outside, the noise seemed to grow in pitch, and at the moment that it seemed to reach its crescendo, Stasha ran into the room.

"Drewcila, Mother and Father have just arrived!"

"Oh, damn, and just when I was quite sure that I had offended them so badly that they would never return. Guess I'll have to work up a good vomit for the occasion. Have the cooks prepare that spiced meat dish that I absolutely cannot stand."

Drew kept on looking at her papers.

"Mother is quite miffed," Stasha said hotly. "It seems you've turned the ranch they gave you as a wedding present into a bar, grill, and space-port for your Salvager friends. Including a sex-for-hire parlor." Stasha's face glowed pink.

"Hey!" Drew screamed. "Those girls have got to make a living, too!" Van Gar laughed, and she smiled at him.

"Some people just don't want economic progress."

"Drew, that ranch has been in our family for ten generations . . ." Their father and mother stormed past the guards then, and their father finished Stasha's sentence for her. ". . . and you've turned it into a den for the perversions of Salvagers."

"Well, they've got to do their perversions some place. I figured they were better off way out there away from the general public." She didn't look up from the papers in her hand.

"Oh, I see. You don't want the people to find out the true nature of these scum you've got running the country," Lillith screamed.

"In a nutshell, yes." Drew tried once more to concentrate on the papers in her hand. "By the way, I am trying to run the country here. I don't have time to worry about any of this petty family crap."

"Drew, our ancestors homesteaded that land. They built their first homes there out of hand-cut wood and stone," Stasha said appealingly.

"I'm not going to let a bunch of stiffs dictate where I put my space port," Drew said in disbelief.

Lillith walked across the room and slapped Drew across the face. The entire room fell silent. As Drew looked up from the papers, she stared with cold hatred at her mother, and ran her hand over her face where she had been slapped.

"I don't have to justify myself to you, or anyone else," she looked unblinkingly into her mother's eyes. "I am Queen. I am in control now. Not you, and not anyone else. Just me. I have good reasons for everything I do. I don't give a flying fuck if you've got your shorts in a wad because you don't like the way I chose to use our ancestral home. Just get over it. Now, I have just about had it with screaming peasants," she swept an arm towards the window, "and bitching advisors," she waved a hand at Facto and Fitz. "And you have been here all of three minutes, and I've had it up to my dirty ass with you. I am Queen, and this is my party. I don't know you; either of you. I look at you screaming at me, demanding things of me, trying to tell me how to think, act, and feel, and I'm sure that even if I did know you, I wouldn't like you. So get the hell out of my house, before I have you thrown out."

They started to protest.

"Get out, or I swear, I'll have you kicked out on your lily white asses."

"If you do this, I swear you'll never see me again," Lillith swore.

"Ah, so soon?" Drew hissed. She motioned towards one of the guards, and her parents left.

"Facto, Fitz, if I need you, I'll call for you."

"By Royal Law . . ." Facto started.

Drew hit the arm of her chair hard. "I AM Royal Law, Facto. If you haven't taught me anything else, you've taught me that. Now, get the fuck out! I need time to work on all this shit."

Van Gar looked at her. He knew her well enough to know that she was on the verge of throwing a hissing shit fit.

As if on cue, the screaming in the street got louder. She jumped out of her chair and pulled her pistol from its scabbard. She ran to the balcony door and opened it so fast that Van didn't have the time to stop her. She walked out onto the balcony and started firing. She didn't stop till she was out of bullets. The crowd below murmured and rattled around.

"Shut the fuck up! Do you fucking assholes hear me? Shut the fuck up!" Below, the crowd was silent. "I just got the latest reports: unemployment is down to fifteen percent. That was the main problem, and I tackled it. Now I'm working on the others. Or at least I'm trying to, but you assholes won't fucking shut up. Instead of screaming all day, why don't you go look for work? There is some now. Of course, if honest work is too good for you, I have another alternative for ya. I'm passing a new law. It's called the Taralin don' want no dead-beats screaming on her lawn Law. You've got ten minutes to get the fuck out ah here, or I call in the army and tell them to start shooting. That's not the palace guard, which, by the way is now double what it was before the King's abduction. We're talking tanks and big shit here, assholes. So, clear out, or clear things up with your Gods, because one way or another I am going to have some peace and quiet."

She turned to walk in, and that's when the shot rang out. She immediately hit the ground and something landed on top of her. There was a pain in her right arm.

"Up there on the roof," Van Gar screamed, at which point she realized that it was he who had landed on top of her.

The guards opened fire for what seemed like ten minutes.

"Hey, I think that forty-sixth hit killed him," Van Gar announced dryly.

They quickly hustled the Queen inside and the doors were closed. They sat Drew in her chair. She looked at Van, and he smiled.

"It's not bad."

"Well, it's not good," Drew held her arm. "Thanks, Van."

Margot ran in with the doctor.

"You know, we would save Margot about a hundred miles a day if we would just put in an intercom system."

The doctor pulled her hand away and she winced.

"Be gentle with me, it's my first time."

"Ah, she says that to all the guys," Van Gar said lightly.

Stasha looked at him. She saw his trembling hands and the sweat on his forehead. He was putting on an act. He didn't want anyone to know how scared he'd been or still was. She had seen him launch himself at the door even before the shot rang out. Somehow, he had felt that Drew was in danger, and had acted accordingly. And she knew in that instant that Van Gar loved her sister, loved her more than Zarco ever had or ever could. He had flung himself at her without fear of personal injury. All he cared about was Drew. If Van Gar had been King, the country could have gone to hell in a hand basket while he went after his Queen. Stasha knew now why Drewcila would never forgive Zarco, and she understood her sister a little bit better. She looked at the blood the doctor was wiping up, and with the realization that it wasn't bad at all something else hit her.

"Drew, someone tried to kill you."

"Duh, ya think so?" Drew looked dumbfounded, then screamed at her sister. "What was your first clue, the hole in my arm?"

"My Queen," one of the guards ran in and knelt at her feet. "They have identified the body of the sniper."

"Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?" Drew said sharply.

The guard seemed reluctant. "It was Lord Greyston."

"Lord Greyston," Stasha gasped, "but he was one of Zarco's oldest and dearest friends!"

"Maybe that's the point," Facto said. "It's obvious that Drew has no intention of running the country the way the King did, nor does she seem to be in any hurry to locate him and have him returned to power. For the obvious reason that she is getting a charge out of running things. To someone like Lord Greyston, in fact to anyone with a Royal title, it's going to seem that your actions are . . . well, traitorous to your class."

"Charge out of it?" Drew said with raised eyebrows.

"A term I've hear you use many times," Facto said defensively.

Drew nodded.

"I wouldn't suggest a stroll outside, or on the balcony until we can be sure that Lord Greyston acted alone."

Drew nodded again, then looked at Facto and smiled. "I thought I told you to get lost."

"I wasn't quite through the door when the shots rang out. I thought I'd better stay close."

"Is that loyalty I hear in your voice, Fatso?" Drew asked.

"Not at all. If something had happened to you, I would be in charge." He bowed low and departed.

Drew laughed after him.

The doctor had finished dressing her wound. "I put J-16 on it. It should be healed by nightfall."

"Thank you very much."

The doctor started to go.

"Wait! Hold on there a minute, doctor. What do you think about the health care problem?"

"Drew," Van protested, "someone just tried to kill you."

"You're acting like it's the first time that ever happened," Drew laughed.

"Margot, get me a cigar and a beer."

"So, Doc. Let me hear it. What do you think can be done about the health care problem?"

Van Gar threw up his hands. He guessed he'd have to check this thing out himself. He looked around for Fitz, but he was nowhere to be found. Obviously, he had followed orders and left. Van Gar left the office and started looking for Fitz. He found him some ten minutes later talking to one of the palace guards.

He looked at Van Gar and nodded. "And remember, Varge, double security at the doors and gates." The guard nodded and went off. "I heard about the attempt on the Queen's life, and was just fortifying the palace."

Van Gar nodded.

"Do they know who the would-be assassin was yet?"

"Lord Grey . . . something."

"Greyston?"

"Yep, that was it."

Fitz drew in a deep breath and shook his head. "I guess the lack of protocol was just more that he could stand." Fitz shook his head and sighed. He was obviously shaken by what this man had done.

"You stupid sucks would kill someone over protocol?" Van Gar asked in disbelief.

"I know it doesn't mean anything to you, or for that matter to our Queen. But to certain people, especially those of noble birth, protocol is very important. They're very proud of their heritage. And, let's face it, Drewcila is making a mockery of everything they stand for. Lord Greyston was a member of the advisory council, as was his father and his grandfather before him. She's messing with generations of tradition, and it's obvious that some people don't appreciate it."

"People like you, Fitz?" Van Gar asked softly.

Fitz smiled and nodded. "That's no secret. I've tried to get Drewcila to act in a more queenly manner, but you see how much progress I've made. If she would just give in a little. For instance, since her return she has not made any attempt to hold a ball or a banquet for the nobles of the kingdom. Such a simple thing would show them that she respects them."

"But you and I both know that she doesn't. She thinks they are a lot of fat, rich fuckers, resting on their titles."

Fitz smiled and nodded. "Yes, we know it, but there is no reason that they must. And if she would hold a banquet and get to know them again, who knows? Maybe she might even like them. If she didn't, she could at least pretend."

"I'll see what I can do about talking her into it. Meanwhile, there's something bothering me. Something that Facto said."

"Facto? What did he say?"

"He said that if anything happened to Drew, he would be in charge. It that true?"

"Yes, it's true. Why do you ask? Certainly you don't think Facto had anything to do with the attempt on Drew's life?"

"You tell me. Power of that kind is a pretty good motive for murder," Van Gar suggested.

"You can put that right out of your mind. Facto may not approve of Drew. And, yes, it's true that he tried to get Zarco to leave her where she was, but he's just not capable of such a plot."

"I'll tell you something, Fitz. If this little excursion to your planet has taught me anything, it's that you never know anyone as well as you think you do. If it's all the same to you, I think I'll just keep an eye on old Facto."

 

 

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