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Chapter 10

Drew didn't know how long she had slept. It might have been hours, or it might have been days. She yawned and stretched, loving the feel of the blue silk that enveloped her. She was warm. Not too hot, and not too cold, but just right. Where she lay was soft yet firm—and clean. As was she. None of this was very familiar, but she supposed you could get used to anything, if you had to. She stretched to her full length, and still felt very small laying in the middle of this ocean of a bed.

"Would Her Majesty like anything this morning?" asked a strange young woman.

Drew held her hand to her chest.

"Yes! How 'bout some fucking privacy! And don't ever do that again!" Drew screamed. "Damn, I'm sleepin' here in the buff because, stupid me, I thought I could have privacy in my own fucking room. If I wanted something, I'd go to the door and yell out, real loud like. 'Hey you peons, get me whatever the fuck it was.'"

The young woman looked more than a little shocked, then she bowed low.

"A million pardons, my Queen," she started to back out of the room.

"Hold on a second," Drew took a deep breath. God, she hated being nice before her coffee. "I'm sorry, I'm just not used to having strangers in my bedroom."

She looked around the elaborately decorated room, and grimaced. It was nice, but it really wasn't to her taste.

"God, who picked out this awful wallpaper?"

"You did, my Queen."

"Me? Purple flowers and pink bunnies? Oh, I don't think so!"

"The King has left your room just as it was the day you were abducted," The young woman assured her.

"My name is Drewcila. Who are you?"

"Drewcila, my Queen?"

"Yeah. Taralin is a suck name. Don't you think it's a suck name?"

"It's your Royal birth name, my Queen. The name . . ."

"Yeah, yeah. But don't you think it's a suck name?"

"My Lady, Queen, I have no concept of what 'suck' means."

It was Drew's turn to look shocked.

"You don't?"

"Well, I don't understand it the way you're using it."

"What's your name? That's twice I asked," Drew said impatiently.

"Margot."

"Are you married, Margot?"

"No."

"Do you have a boyfriend, then?"

"No."

"And do you know why that is, Margot?"

The girl shook her head no.

"Because you don't know what 'suck' is—that's why."

"Yes, my Queen."

Drew laughed heartily.

"My name is Drewcila, but everyone calls me Drew. Can you say that?"

"Drew."

"Very good. Now. Can that Queen shit, and quit bowing. It's going right to my head. So, why are you here?"

"I'm your dresser."

"Funny, you don't have any drawers!"

Drew laughed at her own joke—lame as it was. Margot just frowned."Everyone's a critic. So, Margot, where are my clothes?"

Margot held up a yellow satin gown with white fur trim.

"You're fucking kidding me, right?"

"Your mother picked it out for you. Your parents are here, and they are very anxious to see you."

Drew got up, pulling the sheet with her, and started pacing the floor.

"Parents," Drew sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was meet anyone else who insisted that she knew them. "Tell them I'm . . ."

It was Drew's curse that if she gave being sick as an excuse, she immediately started to run a fever. So she quickly dumped that excuse for the one she usually used instead. "Tell them I'm having sex."

"What?" Margot gasped.

Drew looked at the startled look on Margot's face. "Well, I suppose that old stand-by's outtah the question."

"Don't you want to see your parents, my Queen?"

The Queen gave her a hard look, and it took her several seconds to realize why.

"My . . . Drew."

Drew's features softened.

"No, I don't want to see them."

She flopped down on the bed, her face set in a pout.

"No, I don't. They're going to look at me expectantly. And when I don't jump up and down for joy, they're going to get this crushed look on their faces. Then they'll say with a big tear in their eyes. 'Don't you remember me? You used to spit your milk all over me.' Or, 'When you were little you were so cute, you used to chew on the pet zombit. Don't you remember?' It's more that I can take."

Margot had been completely filled in on the Queen's condition, and for that reason she hadn't told the Queen that they had been childhood friends who had grown up together and had no secrets from each other. But it had been hard not to. It hurt that there was no recognition in her friend's eyes, so she understood exactly what Drew was saying.

"You've got to see them sometime, Tara . . . Drew," Margot said softly.

"But does it have to be today? Can't it wait?" Drew felt suddenly lost and abandoned. In a strange place, surrounded by strange things, and strange people. She was surprised by who she asked for first.

"Where's my sister? Where's Stasha?"

"I would imagine that she's with your parents in the morning room."

"Morning room!" Drew scoffed. "Do we also have a noon, afternoon, and evening room? What about a just-thinking-about-morning room, or a not-quite-evening room?"

She ran her hands through her hair, and looked like she wanted to scream.

Margot giggled.

"Now you're laughing?"

"Not-quite-evening room!" Margot giggled again.

Drew shook her head. "Where's my crew?"

"They were given suitable quarters."

"Just great!" Drew had been so absorbed in taking care of her own needs to worry about where anyone else was going. When they didn't try to shove her in a room with Zarco, that had been good enough for her. She could imagine how these people's minds worked, and while she was sleeping in silk, Van and the human were probably sleeping in a drafty box somewhere.

"I want Van Gar put into one of the nicest rooms in the palace. He's not my step-an-fetch-em-boy, he's my Bud, my only friend. The only one I can trust now that I have had my life tossed into the hands of strangers. Van Gar is the only one who knows me, at least he's the only one who knows the same me I know."

She looked at the dress on the floor. "There is no way I am wearing that thing.

"You have a whole closet full of clothes. Stasha had all your clothes cleaned in anticipation of your return." Margot walked to the wall on the right and pushed a concealed button. There was an electrical hum, and twenty feet of silk-covered wall disappeared to expose twenty feet of closet filled with clothes.

Drew rubbed her hands together and trotted—naked—over to the closet, and started going through the outfits. "Cool hologram!"

She pulled out a purple gown, made a face and tossed it into the middle of the room. Thirty minutes later, there was a mountain of clothes in the middle of the floor, the closet was empty, and Drew was wearing a pair of black leather boots Margot had told her were for riding. Drew spun around.

"So, what do you think. Is it me?"

Margot giggled. "Can you not find a single thing to your liking?"

"I can't believe I would ever have worn such crap."

She looked at the bed sheet. "Oh well," she sighed, walked over and grabbed the blue length, then wrapped it around herself in toga fashion. She gazed into the twelve-foot mirror which graced the south wall.

"Divine! Simply divine! Whoever is your tailor?"

"You're not going to breakfast like that!"

"And why not? This is probably the most expensive piece of clothing I have ever worn. Well, that I remember, anyway." She twirled around vigorously, exposing rather more flesh than she believed would be considered proper.

"Well, maybe I should wear underwear. I wouldn't want to appear crude and uncultured."

Margot produced a pair of panties, and Drew slipped them on.

"Well, here I go. Off to meet Mummy and Daddy and all that good rot. Just show me to the just-after-morning-but-not-quite-noon room."

Margot chuckled. "Yes, of course. Would you like me to have these things disposed of?" She indicated the pile of clothes in the middle of the room.

"Disposed of? Are you nuts? Do you have any idea what the re-sale value on that shit is? Just leave it. It looks more homey now anyway."

Margot nodded and opened the door.

"This way, my Qu . . . Drew." She indicated the direction with the wave of her arm.

Drew looked at the expanse of hallway and the Royal Blue carpet that covered the floor. The whole castle seemed to be an odd mixture of the latest technologies and treasures of antiquity, one giant anachronism. Two huge guards fell in behind them. Drew looked them up and down quickly and winked at the cuter one.

"My, I certainly married well, didn't I?" Her question didn't want an answer, and Margot didn't give one.

"In here," Margot waved towards a door, then pushed the button that opened it.

Drew just stood there.

"You're very nervous, aren't you?"

Drew shrugged.

"They're very nice people, your parents. Your father can be a bit rigid, but he is really a push-over, and your mother . . . Well, she . . ." Margot couldn't lie to Taralin."Your mother can be a bit over-bearing, but she usually means well."

"Great, I have nothing in common with either one of them." Reluctantly, she followed Margot into the room.

Zarco got up from the chair he was sitting in, walked over and kissed her cheek, as if he had some right to.

She made a face and quickly wiped the kiss off.

He stiffened, and backed quickly away. "My dear, your parents, Lord and Lady Straight-laced."

The man was very tall and stern looking, as if he lived in constant fear of smiling and thereby breaking his stone face. The woman was short and plump and grinned broadly enough for both of them, but the grin seemed somehow forced and false. Her "sweetness", if it existed at all, was only skin deep, and probably wasted on people she cared nothing about. The one they called her mother ran to her and hugged her, and almost but not quite kissed her cheek.

"Oh, my darling, I thought we would never see you again."

"Lillith, you heard what the doctor said, she doesn't remember. Don't overwhelm her," the father person said.

Drew's stomach was starting to churn, and she felt as if she were going to hurl. She found herself searching for Stasha.

Stasha met her gaze and nodded. She moved quickly and took her mother's arm and led her towards her seat and away from Drew. The only chair empty was the one next to the husband person.

Drew sat down hard, and she must have looked as green as she felt.

"Are you all right, dear?" Zarco asked.

"All right! All right? Do you realize that I went through a whole closet! A fucking roomful of clothes, and there was not a damn thing there I would be caught dead wearing? I'm wearing the fucking sheets off my bed. I have a fucking dresser; like I need any help wearing my sheets! There are bunnies on my walls. Bunnies! Last time I saw one of those, I was eating it, and spitting the gristly bits at the humans sitting at the bar. Kidnapped by fucking Lockhedes, forced to crash land in the desert. I lost my fucking ship. Hell, I lost two ships, both swallowed up by the Galdart sands. Attacked by giant Hurtellas, then we get to plow our way through a riot. Did you people really have to rescue me?"

Drew jumped up and started to run out the door, but it was closed, and she hit the wall in several places trying to find the button. There was a hand on her shoulder.

"You feel better now, Drew?" Stasha asked.

Drew turned to look at her. She was smiling. Drew shrugged.

"Not really. I could do with a drink about now."

"Let's go get something to eat."

Stasha looked around the room.

"Come on, let's go, I'm famished." Zarco said.

Stasha reached for Drew's hand and Drew let her take it and lead her out.

"I'm sorry about the clothes. It was stupid of me not to realize that in five years your tastes might have changed."

Lillith must have overheard. "The dress I picked was suitable. Whatever you've been doing, Taralin, you must realize that as Queen, you have certain duties and responsibilities. You can't walk about the palace in riding boots and your bed sheets!"

"Mother!" Stasha started to protest.

"If I'm the fucking Queen, I can run about buck naked if I want." Drew spit back venomously.

"Well, at least that hasn't changed. You still have a mouth on you."

"If I didn't, I'd look funny eating. 'I'm sorry my Queen but you've got a lovely piece of lettuce in your ear . . . Oh a thousand pardons I forgot you don't have a proper mouth.' I need a drink." Drew mumbled and made her very best stupid face.

"Oh, very funny, Taralin," Lillith said hotly. "You always have to hurt my feelings."

"I don't even know you." Drew spat back. "And here I thought all this brain sucking was a bad thing. I need a fucking drink."

"Tar, what's fucking?" Lillith asked the father person.

Stasha chuckled.

"It's, ah," the father person smiled and looked embarrassed. "It's a slang term meaning . . . I'll tell you later, dear."

 

Drew excused herself after breakfast, and Margot followed her.

"I thought you said she was a little over-bearing. At no time did you say that the woman is a flaming bitch," Drew said accusingly.

Margot smiled and shrugged. "I don't know what that is. Lillith has always been nice to me, but . . . Well, you and she never did get along. You got along a little better after you married Zarco."

"Yeah, I imagine that pleased the status-climbing old whore. She probably really loved me only after I had been abducted."

She shook her head. "Erik told me that my parents were Salvagers like me, and that they were slaughtered by space pirates. I had this vision of my parents being bigger than life; bold and brave. Then when they told me I wasn't really Drewcila Qwah, I pictured my father as being the sit-on-his-lap type, and my mother as the home-baked-cookies type. Instead, we're talking the Ice Man and Super Bitch. Do you know where my crew is now?"

"In the guards' quarters. This way."

Margot led her down yet another hall. At the door, the guards bowed, then started to follow them.

"What do you think you're doing?" Drew asked, stopping and turning to face them.

"Our orders are to go with you where ever you go," they said in unison.

"Paranoia in stereo," Drew mumbled. "Tell you what. Let me see that laser rifle."

They both tried to hand her their weapons.

"Just one." She smiled and took one of the rifles.

"OK. This is my rifle now, and I'll guard myself."

"But, my Queen, our orders . . ."

"I un-order you," she said with a smile.

They must have accepted that, because they stayed at their post.

"Do you know how to use that thing?" Margot asked in shock.

"Use it, hell! I cut my teeth on one of these suckers."

Margot led her to the guards quarters. They were warm, and not uncomfortable looking, but nothing close to the splendor of the palace. Van Gar was laying asleep on a lower bunk. Drew crawled into bed with him. Much to Margot's horror.

"Van," she said softly.

No response.

"Van," she said a little louder, shaking him a little.

He still didn't stir.

"Van, damn it, wake up!" she yelled, shaking him as hard as she could.

He startled awake, and sat bolt upright, hitting his head on the top bunk.

"Fuck!" He rubbed his head. "Damn it, Drew!"

"Where's the dweeb?"

Van Gar shrugged.

"Do I look like a monkey keeper?"

"Do you want me to answer that?"

"If you say yes, I'm going to rip your head off and shit in the hole."

"My, aren't we in a lovely mood?"

"Well, I just love it when you scream me awake, and it just really makes my day if I can follow it up by giving myself a concussion."

Drew rolled over onto his leg.

"Why don't you just use the weapon and get it over with?" he grumbled, rubbing at his knee.

"Ah, quit being such a pussy!"

He saw Margot cringing against the far wall. Obviously, she had never seen anything that looked like Van Gar.

Drew followed Van Gar's gaze. "Margot, I want you to meet my pilot, Van Gar. Van Gar, this is Margot—she's my dresser."

"Your dresser!" Van raised an eyebrow. "And did she dress you in this lovely little frock?"

"This 'lovely frock' happens to be the sheets off my bed, smegma breath."

"Sheets!" Van ran his hand over the fabric, apparently oblivious to the fact that it also happened to be her tit.

"This is real silk, Drew! The real shit. Do you have any idea what the re-sale value would be on this shit?"

"The shit that I'm wearing on my disappointing body?"

"I said I was sorry." Van Gar sighed.

"Apparently I'm the one who's sorry. Anyway, I'm wearing about seven hundred iggys in thread."

"Wow!" Van looked mightily impressed.

"You should see the shit I threw on the floor. There was enough fine cloth there to keep us in beer for ten years."

"Then why are you wearing the sheets?"

"This was funeral shit, Van. Long flowing gowns and drek like that. Nothing I'd be caught alive in."

"You mean dead in," Van corrected.

"No. I mean alive. When I'm dead, you can put me in anything. As long as I'm breathing air, I ain't wearin' none ah that shit."

"Queens don't wear sheets, not even silk ones," Van said.

"Yeah. Well, I ain't cut out ta be no Queen, either. Zarco, he thinks he can kiss me any time he likes, and my parents! You wouldn't fucking believe them. My dad is like some stone soldier, and my mother!" She sat up and threw up her hands.

"What's she like?"

"Imagine Erik in a dress, only a tad bit ruder."

Van Gar made a face.

"Yeah, not a pretty picture. My room you would not even believe. The wall paper has flowers and bunnies on it. And get this; I supposedly picked this shit out myself! It's just too scary."

"Bunnies? You mean those horrid creatures from Earth that almost ate Deltoid 4?"

"One and the same."

"Hell, the last time I saw one of those, we were eating it and spitting the gristly bits at the humans in the bar."

"Exactly! Now you can see why it's so important that we get all we can and get out of this place."

She remembered Margot standing there.

"Margot, could you give us a moment?" The dresser bowed and left the room.

"I gottah get outtah here, or I'm gonna go nuts. I want you to go to the spaceport. Not right away, but in a couple of days. Find out what ships the kingdom owns. I figure they owe us at least two, but we'll shoot for three and a bunch of loot."

"What are you going to do?" Van Gar asked suspiciously.

"When I get done with them at the palace, they're going to be praying to get rid of me. Zarco is going to want a divorce, and I want to know what to ask for in the healthy settlement I plan to collect."

Van Gar smiled and nodded.

"So, basically, you want me to go shopping."

"Hey! This is one of the hardest jobs I've ever done, and it's going to have to have a big payoff to make it worth all the trouble."

"I still don't buy that you're just in this for the money."

"Well, buy this then, baby. My curiosity has been satisfied. I know just enough about Taralin to know that I don't want to know any more." She walked over and opened one of the lockers.

"By the way, you're moving up to the palace. You can bring your monkey if you want."

"Ha, ha."

Drew opened another locker.

"You can rest up in luxury for a few days, and then you can head out to the spaceport in the biggest baddest limo we can find. We might as well live this shit while we can."

"What's all the noise and rioting? You know anything about that?"

Drew shrugged.

"The natives are restless. Who knows. It's a bunch of government shit. As far as I'm concerned, it's just one more reason we need to get the hell out of here. My guess would be that the country is suffering from a post-war depression. And if I'm right, we need to get out while the gettin's good."

"Can you do that, Drew?" Van asked. "Can you cash in while your people are cashing out?"

"These aren't my people. They're just some chumps ripe for the picking. Right now we don't have a whole lot of options. We are shipless. And a shipless Salvager ain't worth a hell of a lot in real space. I don't think we can count on Erik to set us back up. What with him bein' dead, an all. The way I see it, Zarco and his precious people let this happen to me. So, if what I have become eats his lunch . . . well isn't that just kind of poetic justice?"

 

Drew met Margot outside the dorm, wearing one of the black and red guard uniforms.

"You can't wear that!"

"Ah, so now the little dresser girl thinks she can tell me what to wear. Not fucking likely. I like it, it fits me, and it goes with the gun," she said, pointing to the laser side arm which hung in a holster strapped to her hip and leg.

"But that's a guard's uniform!"

"And I love it. See, the tight black pants with the red piping up the sides. And I love the way this shirt buttons here and then here to give it that double-breasted effect. It's black on the outside and red on the inside. So that if you leave it open like this, you can see the red, and it just looks so . . ."

"Scant. You can see most of your cleavage."

"Can you really?"

"Yes."

"Then this is just one of the greatest shirts I have ever worn."

They had reached the palace, and the door guards.

"Well, hello, boys."

They both gave her a shocked look.

"Listen, I left your rifle in the guard house. When you go get it, would you be so kind as to retrieve my bed sheets?"

"Your every wish is my command, my Queen."

"And look here." She unbuttoned one of the guard's shirts so that it hung open, exposing his hair-covered chest. Then she walked over and undid the other fellow's shirt. She stood back and admired her handiwork.

"Oh yes, that's much better. Now listen. As of now, all guards working at the palace must wear their shirts undone in this manner."

"What, my Queen?" the hairy one asked, thinking that he must have misunderstood.

"You heard me, man. By Royal Decree. Now, go on. Carry out my orders. I want to see the chest of every man in this palace by sundown tonight."

At that, she strode into the palace.

"You!" Margot giggled. "You can't do that!"

"Why not? I'm the Queen, aren't I? You screws all keep telling me I am, and then when I do my first official act, you balk. I guess there's just no pleasing some people. By the way, do you know what the people are rioting about?"

"Just about everything as far as I can tell. Not enough work, mostly." She shrugged. "It's not my problem, so I don't bother with it."

"That's typical," Drew said mostly to herself. "Let me tell you something, Margot. If that mob decides it's mad enough, and it starts to crawl over the wall, it will get to be all of our problems in a hurry."

"That won't happen now that the King is back. He'll straighten everything out."

"Yeah, right!" Drew scoffed. "He's probably not willing to get any more involved than you are. His answer will probably be to call out the guard and chase them back. A temporary fix at best—at worst a war between classes. This country's only hope of survival is that the Lockhedes are in the same shape that you are. Of course, chances are that things are even worse there, or they would have won the war. Does Gildart have any more enemies on the planet?"

"Gildart and Lockhede are the only civilized countries on the planet."

"And therefore the only ones capable of making war. That makes a hell of a lot of sense."

She'd seen it before. Planets that had been unaware of technology and space travel until someone "discovered" their planet. Then the rich nations suddenly became technologically superior, and the poor ones became primitives almost overnight. It even explained why the castle was such a mangled mass of carved stone and transistors.

She stopped in her stride and stared thoughtfully at the wall. She seemed to Margot to be thinking, and drawing up conclusions. She took her finger and drew things in the air, and then erased them with her fist and started over again.

Margot watched with great interest as her sovereign seemed to be indulging in a bout of insanity.

"And so." Drew nodded her head and made long sweeping figures in the air. "And then . . . so, if . . ."

She grumbled and made still more figures in the air. She seemed to study her conclusion and then slapped her hands together, rubbing them as if to warm them.

"There is a fortune out there. It's saved other countries from post-war depressions before. It just might work, and as an added benefit make me the most powerful salvager in the galaxy," Drew mumbled.

"What might work? Where did you learn so much about politics?"

"I don't know a damn thing about politics, but I trade in other people's problems. My job is to extract money from what is no longer profitable. Come on, let's go find Zarco."

"Well, you're going the wrong way. He's talking with his advisors. This way."

In a few minutes they had reached the door to what Margot told her was the council room. It was guarded by four of the biggest guys she had ever seen. Without question, they moved aside to let her pass through the door. In fact, they bowed as she stepped into the council room.

The room was buzzing with conversation. A man at the door announced:

"All rise for her Royal Majesty, Queen Taralin Zarco."

All rose, including Zarco, who had been sitting in a throne in the front of the room. But though the over one hundred men and women in the council room fell silent, out in the street, the people were still screaming. The noise filtered through two doors which opened onto a balcony a story above the street.

Zarco took one look at what Drew was wearing and grimaced, then he smiled.

"I see you have found something to your liking."

"Very," she ran across the room and leapt into the throne beside him.

Zarco laughed and shook his head.

"So, my love, what can we do for you?"

"You do for me? Nothing. But me? Well, I have the answer to all your economic problems."

"Well, then do tell, dear," he said indulgently.

"Salvage. Salvage is the answer. We're in a post-war depression."

"Please don't do this," Zarco pleaded in a whisper.

"Post-war depression?" One of the councilors said.

"For over five years this country's entire economy has hinged on your war efforts. The building of war machines, a military work force, etc., etc. Now that's all gone. Those people out there aren't your enemy, and they're not the problem. A depressed economy is your problem. Your economy was probably in trouble when the war started, but the war fixed it temporarily. A false fix, really. You should have used the boost to take real steps towards fixing the economy. Instead, you obviously decided that what was working didn't need fixing, and now you've got rioting in the streets. But I have the answer.

"Salvage. Salvaging is the fastest growing industry in the galaxy. Recycling and re-sale has made many men rich and pulled many countries—indeed whole worlds out of economic disaster. The same machines that were used to build war machines, and now sit idle, can be retooled to disassemble those now-broken and useless machines. The scrap can then be sold at a huge profit to the state. In the right market, you can actually make two to three times what it cost you to build it in the first place . . ."

"My Queen," the young advisor stood up. "With all due respect, are you suggesting that Gildart become the trash mongers of the galaxy?"

The entire council room exploded into laughter. Including Zarco. Drew gave him a hard look and got to her feet. "Silence!" she ordered, and all fell silent. She looked around and grinned. "Too cool." She continued. "With all due respect, morons like you, sir, are the reason that your country is in the shape it's in. There is a big difference between salvage and trash."

She looked at Zarco. "Remember when my ship was sinking in the desert? We took parts from it to build a machine that could carry us out of the desert. We are alive now because of an act of salvaging."

"And I cannot minimize the importance of that act, but it's inconceivable that all the country's woes could be cured by taking parts off of things and selling them. As a nation, we have a certain standard which doesn't include rummaging through our garbage cans," retorted Zarco.

"Do you have any better ideas?" Drew spat angrily at the King.

For a second, she thought that the advisors had drawn all of the air out of the room with their collective gasp.

"I estimate that it's going to take that mob two, maybe three days at the most, and then they're going to come crawling over the wall after you."

"My dear, this room is filled with the finest minds in our country, and together we will find the solutions to the country's problems. And it won't be in the garbage pail of the galaxy."

"Zarco, in this room you have assembled all the greatest tight asses and fools in the country. I'd bet my sweet little ass that none of these men have worked a day in their lives. How can you sit in a room full of politicians and bureaucrats and think that they can help you understand the needs of the working class? You can't take a room full of bloated, over-paid, desk jockeys and pray that they will understand the plight of the unemployed."

Zarco saw the reporters in the back of the room filming and laughing, elbowing each other for the best view of their Queen.

"We can talk about this later, Taralin," he whispered.

"Oh, don't pull that go away little wife and do needle point shit on me. When is the later that we can talk about it? When the people are stomping on our disemboweled innards? Did you bring me back here so I could be your wife again? Or did you bring me back here because of some archaic ritual in which the Queen must die with the King?"

The press was having a field day.

Zarco took a deep breath. "That is quite enough."

"Enough what? Enough sense for the day? Should I leave now so that you can dish out some more shit?" She stepped down off the dais.

"Tell you what. Next time I come in, I'll wear hip boots and bring a shovel." She walked several feet forward, looked at the assembled group, flung her arms wide and screamed. "A real big shovel!"

Zarco's head spun. His beloved wife was making a spectacle of herself in front of the entire advisory council. The press had the story of the year. Much better than the Queen's home-coming! The Council was all abuzz with whispering, and the noise from the street had reached a deafening pitch. He couldn't hear himself think. He got up and strode to the doors, flung them open and strode out onto the balcony before the guards could get there.

"People! My people! We can't fix anything if you do not allow us to work!"

Something flew up out of the screaming mob, and hit him in the head. He put a hand to the bleeding wound in disbelief.

As one guard knocked him to the ground, another opened fire on the crowd.

Drew didn't think. She moved across the expanse in a few great strides. "Cease fire, you idiots!" To add emphasis to her words, she hit them. She looked down at the swelling mob. She couldn't tell how many, if any, had been hit, but it was obvious that it had been all the crowd needed to push them into violent action.

"Moron!" She hit the guard again, then looked down at Zarco.

"What now, bright spot?"

"I'm bleeding!"

"Don't be such a pussy. We're all going to be bleeding in a few minutes if you don't do something."

Already they had dragged him inside, and the King's doctor was taking care of him.

"What would you have me do, dear? Bleed on them?" Zarco screamed.

Drew looked startled and then laughed. "You know, honey, yer kind ah cute when you're mad."

The crowd was getting madder. She stood at an angle to the door so that she could see out, but couldn't be hit by thrown debris. She looked back at the room full of advisors.

"So, here's yer big chance, boys. It's show time. Come on, advise something."

They just stared, and whispered, and dithered.

"That's what I thought," Drew mumbled. She looked back at the crowd and suddenly a smile crossed her face.

"Margot!"

The servant ran forward and bowed.

"We don't have time for that shit. Gather up some of these dopes, go to my room and get all of my clothes."

"But my Queen! "

A bottle came flying in the open door.

"Just do it, Margot."

Margot nodded, called for volunteers and then marched them off in the direction of the Queen's bed chambers.

"Give me that!" She took the riot helmet from the guard who had fired on the crowd. "It's too late to worry about brain damage for you. You'd better give me that, too."

She took his gun.

Then she saw Facto where he stood over the King, looking worried. She took the gun to him and held it out.

"Here."

"Why are you giving that to me?"

Drew shrugged. "Because you're the only one here that I know has a brain, and because I trust you not to shoot me in the back."

Facto raised his eyebrow, and Drew shrugged again. "If my plan doesn't work, I want you to shoot up in the air till I can get my lily-white ass back in here."

Just then Margot returned with the first armload of clothes.

"Wish me luck!" She put the helmet on her head and took the armload of clothes.

"Be careful!" Margot begged.

Zarco finally realized that she planned to walk out on the balcony.

"Taralin! I order you . . ."

He was cut off by her laughter as she and Facto, who stayed just outside the door, strode onto the balcony.

"My people," she yelled.

The mob yelled louder.

She took her gun and fired it above her head.

The mob, having been fired on once, scurried for cover. Then realizing that they were not being fired at, they got quiet.

"My people! We must all bear these ill times. So that I, too, may know what you are going through, I will attempt to live like you 'til this time has passed. As a show of my good will, I give you . . . my wardrobe."

So saying, she threw the armload of clothes down to the mob below. The women, who made up at least half of the crowd, ran for the garments, all else forgotten.

Drew looked back at Margot. "Keep that shit coming!"

She threw armload after armload to the crowd until Margot informed her there was not so much as a sock left to be found of her old wardrobe."My people!" she screamed, but the court herald was suddenly at her side.

"Oyeh! Oyeh! All attend, her Majesty the Queen," he boomed.

The crowd was silent.

She looked at him and smiled. "That's quite a set of lungs you've got there."

He smiled broadly back at her and bowed. "It is always a pleasure to serve You, Your Majesty."

Drew nodded her head, and as he stepped back to stand at her left shoulder, she once again addressed the crowd.

"My people. In my long absence from you I have seen many things, and endured indignities you cannot even think of. Believe me when I say that I know and understand the hardships you are now going through. I'm going to talk to this bloated lot of bureaucrats, and see if we can't do something about the mess we're all in. But anything we decide is going to take time before it works.

"We're not in as bad a scrape as you may think. Yes, things are bad, but they can only get worse if you stand out there in the street and yell instead of doing something constructive to help fix the country. Your words are wasted when you all stand here and scream about the problems we face. We know all the problems. What we need are solutions. Why don't you all go home and write a letter to us, telling us what you think is wrong and how you think we might fix it. I promise to read those letters personally, and bring your ideas to the Council. My husband, your King, is anxious to hear your ideas."

"My Queen," one man screamed from the crowd, "is the King injured?"

"He's got a tiny bump on his head. More importantly, were any of you hurt?"

"Gratefully, no."

"Good. Well, that's all I have to say."

She held her hands above her head.

"Go now, and sin no more!" She bowed low and then hurried back inside.

The crowd was cheering. Chants of "Long Live the Queen" echoed through the open doors until the guards closed them and the sound was muffled.

Drew smiled broadly and raised both her hands triumphantly over her head. "I am indeed the Queen of Bullshit! I've never conned a mob before." She lowered her arms and looked skyward."It's a heady feeling . . . I think I like it." She looked thoughtful for a minute. "Yes, I like it!"

Zarco was on his feet now, and he used his height to look down on her. It didn't really give him the power he had hoped for. He needed to say something. She had just made an ass of him in front of the whole advisory council. He gave her a hard look.

She smiled broadly at him and shrugged. "It's a gift."

His heart melted.

"Well done, my love." He started to clap. He looked at the others expectantly and soon every person in the place was clapping. "Well done," he bent down and kissed her on the top of her head.

"Quit doing that!" she hissed.

"So, can we do the Salvaging thing?" she asked him.

Zarco smiled for the cameras, knowing that no one else in the room had heard her, and said out of the corner of his mouth.

"Not while I am King."

"Then I'm taking my ball," she holstered her gun, "and I'm going home."

With an elaborate wave to the crowd, she swept out of the room followed by Margot. It had been a full day, she thought she'd go down to the courtyard or perhaps she'd go and lounge in the spa. Or maybe . . ."Hey, Margot, where the hell is the bar in this dump?"

 

A lavish dinner was spread. A feast to celebrate the return of the Queen to her palace and her King. Her parents and her sister were there. They had even invited her alien friend so that she would feel more comfortable. They had been waiting several minutes.

Van Gar tapped with his knife on the table impatiently.

"So . . . where is she?" Lillith asked, lifting her nose a little as she glared across the table at the Chitzky.

"Erik in a dress," Van Gar mumbled to no one in particular. He felt about as welcome as a fart in church.

Zarco's face was a mask of calm. "Stasha, would you please see if you can find your sister the Queen so that we can eat this fine feast that the Royal chefs have worked all day to prepare for her?"

Stasha nodded. "At once, my King." As she was standing up, Drew swept into the room, a liquor bottle in her hand. Margot stumbled in the door behind her, obviously just as polluted as her mistress, but not carrying it as well.

"Van!"

Ignoring everyone else, Drew stumbled over to the table and plopped the bottle down in front of Van Gar.

"Wait till you taste this shit! Best shit I ever drunk, an there's a whole shit pot load of it. A whole cellar full."

Van Gar seemed to be having a hard time keeping from laughing. "What's so damn funny, ass hole?" she asked, slapping him upside the head in a playful manner which almost landed him on the floor. "Is my fly undone?" She looked down quickly to check it. "Not that I have to worry about anything flopping out, but you never know what might try to get in the door if you leave it open."

At the head of the table, Zarco clenched his fists. That she had showed up drunk was bad enough, but it was obvious that she would rather talk to her hair-covered friend than any of the rest of them. She'd rather talk to Van Gar than him.

"Please have a seat, Taralin, so that dinner may be served. We have been waiting for you." His patience was stretched as tight as his smile as he gestured to indicate her chair at the other end of the table.

"Wow!" She picked up the bottle in front of Van Gar and poured his glass full before she headed for the chair Zarco had indicated. She stopped half-way there and held up the bottle. "Where are my manners? Would anyone else like a drink?"

"We have servants for that, Taralin," Zarco hissed, his impatience pushing out his teeth like the air out of a tire.

She looked at the girl standing holding a tray, obviously wanting very badly to set it down.

"And you think they can do it better than I can. Let me show you something." She set down her bottle with care, and held her arms out to the serving girl. "Give me that tray!"

The girl laid it in her hands.

Drew took a half-step and set it down on the table.

"There! Now that wasn't so hard."

She heard Margot giggle as she picked up her bottle and proceeded to her seat.

"So, Margot, pull up a chair. There's plenty for everyone."

Margot gave her an appalled look.

"She's one of the servants, Taralin," Lillith rebuffed her.

"Well, then I guess she doesn't ever eat or nothin'. I have all these new things to learn. It really is mind-boggling."

She flopped into her chair and slammed her bottle down on the table.

"I've been wondering. Now that I'm Queen, do I have to shit anymore? Because I haven't yet today, and I was anxious to know whether that was just a Queen thing, or if I needed to take a laxative."

"Can't you do something with her?" Lillith pleaded with Zarco.

Zarco shrugged and was silent. He looked at Fitz, who sat on his right-hand side, as if pleading with him to do or say something to make the Queen instantly act more like the woman they had all known.

"My Queen," Fitz started, "with all due respect . . ."

"Why does everyone start their sentences that way around here?" Drew asked.

"My Queen, your behavior is inappropriate for this sort of affair," Fitz finished in spite of the interruption.

"Say what?"

"You're making an ass of yourself, Drew," Van Gar informed her. He took a slow sip of the wine and smiled. "It is rather good," he said, making his most pompous face. "I'm starved, do you think you could shut up long enough for us to eat?"

Zarco looked at the herald and nodded.

The herald cleared his throat and announced. "The first course is boiled salvoids with buttered carrots."

The course was carried first to the King. Zarco nodded approvingly, and then they carried the dish over for the Queen to view.

Drew looked at the thing that must have once been some sort of bird and made a face.

"Is it dead?"

"Yes, my Queen."

"Then why don't you cut off its head?"

By this point she was turning green. A combination of too much wine on an empty stomach, and the sight of the boiled bird thing with its head still attached was making her feel ill.

"Now I know why I have always preferred eating out of ration packets. You don't have to look at your food."

"Are the salvoids not acceptable, my Queen?"

For answer, Drew threw up on the floor and on the head waiter's shoes.

The waiter's features did not change.

"A simple 'no thank you' would have been sufficient, my Queen." He turned on his heal and headed for the kitchen.

"I'm . . ." Drew threw up her hands, and got shakily to her feet. "I hope my hurlin' all over the waiter's shoes won't ruin your dinner. I ain't feelin' too hot. Think I'll just go find a toilet and crawl in now."

She got up and stumbled to the door, Margot stumbling after her attentively.

The maids had already cleaned up the mess.

"Please serve the meal, Baxto," Zarco said.

"Oh! What has happened to my poor daughter!" Lillith cried. "What have those Lockhede animals done to my little girl?"

"They took out part of her brain." Stasha got to her feet. "For five years she's been living by the skin of her teeth. She's not used to all of this." She swung her arm in an elaborate arc over the table. "You all just keep pushing her, trying to turn her back into Taralin. Well, that isn't going to happen. The best we can hope for is that she'll learn to like us again. Yes, you heard me right. She like us, because we're the ones in the wrong. There isn't anything wrong with her that needs changing. We just need to get used to her the way she is. In some ways, she needs some refining, yes. But five years ago Taralin wouldn't have been able to save us from the desert, or bring in a damaged ship, or have freed us from the Lockhedes. Five years ago she wouldn't have been able to turn away that mob in the street. So, whatever bad things may come with the skills she has developed over the last five years, you can't let them blind you to the fact that Drew is twice the leader that Taralin was."

"How can you say that? She just vomited at the dinner table," Lillith said. "Call me old fashioned, but I think that goes beyond bad manners."

"She just wants you to hate her because she doesn't want to stay here. She figures the only way you'll let her go is if she makes it impossible for you to tolerate her."

Van Gar's head spun around to look at Stasha.

"Yes, I followed her and Margot when she went to talk to you this afternoon, and I overheard what she said to you," she explained.

Van Gar smiled at her, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. Why didn't she tell everything? That, she imagined, was just what the Chitzky wanted her to do. Make them kick Drew out now so that he and she could go off together. But that wasn't at all what Stasha wanted. She wanted her sister to stay here and be happy with her husband, the King. Zarco deserved to be happy after all he had been through, and Drew deserved more than life as a Salvager.

"She really said that?" Zarco asked.

"Yes, and the only way we're going to make her feel differently is to accept her as she is. For instance, the only name she knows herself by is Drewcila. Now I understand that in public we'll have to call her by her name or her title, but in private I see no reason why we can't do her the courtesy of addressing her with a name she's familiar with."

"How can you expect me to call my own daughter by anything other than the name your father and I gave her at her birth, some thirty years ago?"

"Thirty!" Van Gar started laughing out loud. "Thirty! Oh, she's really going to shit!"

 

 

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