"Well?" Facto asked, looking with displeasure at the bottoms of Drewcila's boots where they rested on her desk.
"They won't surrender. The vice-president, he would in a heartbeat, but he's not in charge. I need to see what I can do about that. In the meantime . . ." She seemed thoughtful for a moment."They will attack sometime before the forty-eight hour deadline I gave them. So we need to be on the highest possible alert, Dirty-Dog-Dick-Red-7 or whatever," she said with the flip of her hand."The minute they attack us we will not only meet them with force, but we will then attack them with everything we have, and we will do it where it hurts, hitting one of their biggest military bases. You want to stop them attacking you, don't lob bombs at their civilian population, you take out their military strongholds."
"Are you forgetting that they are militarily superior to us?"
"To the country maybe, and even that is in serious doubt." Drewcila looked at him and smiled."But they can't stand against the country and Qwah-Co Industries. I have literally hundreds of ships, all fully loaded with weapons they aren't supposed to have. And I have something else the Lockhedes aren't counting on. An army of the fiercest foot soldiers the universe has ever known. The problem is it's going to take time for me to get them here, and every time they make a strike against us, successful or not, it costs us lives and, more importantly, it costs us money." She took a drink from the bottle in her hand, then looked at him."Go get Van Gar and send him in here."
"Drewcila . . . you could call him on his com-link," Facto protested.
"I . . . I know that. Don't you think that I know that? I need to think, and I can't do that with you standing peering in my brain," Drewcila said.
Facto bowed, then ruined the effect by stomping out of the office.
Drewcila re-ran the fabricated tapes the Lockhede television stations were running. The more she watched them, the madder she got, and then she had a sudden brain storm."Oh, I am truly brilliant!" She got on her comlink."Dartan! Get your ass in my office on the double."
He was there before she had time to lower her arm, bowing and scraping, with his full news crew in tow.
"Not them, just you, Dartan." The others quickly left the office as Dartan moved closer to her desk."Take a load off."
"What, my Queen?"
"Sit down. I want you to see something." She ran the footage again.
"I have seen, my Queen, blatant lies . . ."
"Brilliant propaganda. They are losing battle after battle, and morale, which was already low, goes right into the toilet. How do you raise morale? Tell the people you won something, even if you have to lie. Problem is they don't know who they are dealing with. When it comes to dishing out bullshit, no one can stand shovel to shovel with me. You get what I'm saying, Dartan?"
Dartan swallowed hard."Not really, my Queen; if you'd allow me to bring in just the interpreter."
Drew sighed, thought for a moment, and then spoke slowly."I'm going to make my own propaganda, and you're going to help me."
Dartan chewed on that for a minute, and then his eyes widened."You mean . . . We're going to make up the news? Give the people false reports?"
"Yes. And we're going to boost the signal so that it goes not only on every television in Barious, but on the whole stinking planet."
"Oh, my Queen, I don't think that I could . . ."
"No thinking will be necessary on your part. I will be hiring someone else to do that. All you have to do is follow his guidance. Meet me back here in an hour. I just have a few more things to set up before we go."
He nodded and left the office, head hanging low. He stopped in the doorway and turned to face her."My Queen?"
"You still here, Dartan?"
"My queen, if I do this . . . It goes against everything I believe in. When the people learn what I have done, they will never take me seriously again, my career will be over."
"Who says anyone's ever going to find out? Besides, do you want to be a reporter, or a war hero? The fate of the entire country may very well rest on your shoulders. And here's the shit . . . if you won't do it, I'll find someone else that will, and that mother fucker will be the most famous broadcast journalist in Barious instead of you."
Dartan understood just enough of what she'd said to know that he really didn't have a choice."Always happy to serve my Queen," he said, bowed, turned, and left.
Van Gar walked in, followed by Facto."Well?" he asked flopping in the chair across from her.
"I want you to coordinate half our salvaging fleet. Send them to pick up every single one of your people and have them come directly here as quickly as possible. I need as many as possible of both here in the next thirty-two hours."
"Using this equipment?"
"Yes, can you do it?"
Van Gar looked hurt."Well, of course I can. Shreta can help me. She's homely, but very capable."
"Great. I have to go on a little field trip. Foxtrot! Go and fetch Arcadia."
"Wrist-com, Drewcila," Facto said in a pleading tone.
"Trying to get rid of you again, Factoid," Drew said waving her hand dismissively. Facto sighed and stomped out of the room again."I only have one little thing left to do, and I didn't want stiff pants to know." She got on the intergalactic communicator, found a closed channel, and after several missed tries finally reached the party she intended. A large speckled alien with three chins and one eye filled the screen in front of her."Ah, Viny! Good to see you again."
"Drewcila, always a pleasure. What can we do for you?" the creature drawled, his voice coming out strangely as the translator he spoke into interpreted his language into something she could understand.
"I need a top notch assassin, best you got. Money's no object, and I need him here as quickly as possible."
"Money's no object? A sentence I never thought I'd hear from the lips of Drewcila Qwah. It must be very important. Who is the target?" Viny asked.
"Don't want to say that over the air in case this channel's not as closed as I think. My country's at war."
The alien laughed."It's Barious. Of course you're at war. It's your planet's favorite pastime."
"Yeah, well it's wreaking havoc with my profit margins. I want the war over, and I want it over yesterday, and that's where your people come in."
"You just want one?"
"That ought to do it, yeah. How soon can you get one here?"
"Twelve to fourteen hours . . ."
"That's too long."
"I have one who can get there sooner, but he's sort of a screw up. Missed his last target, and shot himself in the leg."
"Twelve hours is the earliest you can get someone here?"
"Yes, I'm sorry, they're all on this side of the galaxy. It's the busy season here."
"Do the best you can."
"Don't I always?"
"Yes. Give my love to the wife and kids."
He laughed."Caught the wife cheating, and I had the bitch killed."
"Just the kids then." The transmission closed.
"Who are you having whacked, dear?" Van Gar asked coyly.
"Now, now, don't spoil the surprise."
Arcadia and Facto walked in the room.
"What's up?" Arcadia asked. She looked better than she had earlier, so she must be getting over her hang over.
"You and I have to take a little trip."
"Did you talk to her yet?" Arcadia asked Van Gar.
"Not yet. We said we'd do it together."
Drewcila sighed."What's this shit?" Both Van Gar and Arcadia turned to look at Facto."Fraction, be a good man and go fetch Shreta."
Facto made an unhappy noise, turned on his heel and left."All right, now that we've completely ruined the royal tight ass's day, you want to tell me what the hell's going on?"
Van Gar looked at Arcadia. She nodded, so he started, "We've been talking . . ."
"I'm not going to choose between you. Why the hell should I?" Drewcila said with a dismissive shrug."Everything's fine the way it is now."
"We don't want to make you choose between us," Arcadia said.
"We want you to choose us," Van Gar clarified.
Drewcila was silent as they got into the limo and left the castle. Finally she looked at Arcadia."So let me get this straight. I can be with Van Gar and you, but no one else, and not at the same time?"
"That's right."
Drewcila fell silent again, brooding. When she finally spoke again, it was to ask."No one else, you mean like—ever?"
"That's right."
"What if you're both gone?"
"That's not going to happen. No matter how hard you work at it."
She looked at Facto."I just don't know if I could do it. I mean . . . only the two of them, for like the rest of my life, it just seems so . . . restrictive."
"I think if we can share you and only be with you, it's not that much of a concession for you to pledge yourself to us."
"See, and now they're using words like pledge. I'm not pledging shit to anyone. You're my advisor, Fuck Toad, what do you think?"
"I think you're the queen of our country, and that as such you have certain responsibilities. You should find a mate of the opposite sex, and of our race, marry him, settle down in a monogamous relationship, and give the country at least one heir. Since that is about as likely as you ever saying my name correctly more than twice in a row, I think this is a less detestable alternative to what you currently do, which causes the country and the crown constant embarrassment, and has made the tabloids rich," Facto said.
Drew seemed to think about what he said, then looked at him."I've said your name correctly as much as two times in a row?"
"On several occasions, actually."
"Damn! See? I am losing my touch." She looked at Arcadia."What if I say no?"
"Lose us both forever," Arcadia said with conviction. Drewcila gave her an incredulous look."All right! All right! If you don't agree to our terms, we are going to be pissy and hard to live with—forever."
Drewcila had no problem at all believing that. After all they'd been doing that for years. Choosing between them would have been impossible. Giving up a long parade of mostly forgettable lovers would have seemed like too much to ask just a few days ago. However after the incident with the sex tattoos, and after sleeping with Zarco and the bad taste that had left in her mouth, giving up what could be equally bad lovers to keep the two best lovers she'd ever had hardly seemed like a sacrifice at all. Then there was that other thing, that thing she didn't like to admit even to herself. She actually cared about them. If she could actually have both of their company all the time without them being at each other's throats . . . well, she couldn't imagine anything closer to perfect.
"You know, until now I have had to keep the two of you in separate parts of the galaxy to keep you from ripping each other apart, and now you're saying you aren't going to fight. That you're going to share me. I just have trouble believing that," Drewcila said skeptically.
"Do you have any real feelings for me?"
And now the bitch was going to make her say it out loud. Drew looked at Facto, who shrugged and said, "Just pretend like I'm not here, just as you normally do."
"You know I do," Drew answered.
"And Van Gar?"
"You know the answer to that as well."
"And we both love you. So neither of us is willing to let go, and I think we all know that you are never going to just choose one of us, because while you'd never admit it, our relationship is much more than just sex, and so is your relationship with Van Gar. After all these years, I think you owe us some sign that you're committed to us."
"Why do you both have to be so stinking possessive? Couldn't we all just get along and let me do whatever the hell I want to do?" Drew asked "Is that too much to ask?"
"Do you really not give a damn about how either he or I feel? What we want?" Arcadia asked."Because if that truly is the case, then maybe Van and I should walk away before we invest too much more of ourselves."
Suddenly Drew felt a horrible gnawing pain in the pit of her stomach. Oh, my gods! I think that's guilt! Well, that just sucks!
"All right, all right!" Drew snapped out."You win. My life is over, are you happy?"
"Yes!" Arcadia threw her arms around Drew's neck and kissed her. To Facto's dismay, articles of clothing started to be removed. He coughed loudly, and the two women turned to look at him.
"What?" Drew asked."I'm making out with one of them, so it's all right. I'm not cheating."
"I'd rather not watch," Facto explained.
"Driver! Stop the car," Drew ordered, pulling out of Arcadia's grasp. When the limo stopped she opened the door and kicked Facto out. She threw a fistful of iggys into his lap."Get a cab. We'll meet you back at the castle."
Facto stood up as the limo took off and brushed himself down. Dartan and his crew, who had been following them, stopped.
"Something wrong?" Dartan asked.
"No . . . I . . . I just wanted to stretch my legs."
"By falling on your rear?" Dartan asked with a smile.
"Young man, I assure you . . ."
"Need a ride, old man?"
"Actually, yes."
The Captain of the Starship Intertwined paced the bridge.
A younger member of his crew turned to look at him for guidance and wisdom, "Captain . . . couldn't we just go around the planet?"
"No! Damn it, son!" he started in a voice so butch it could change a car's tires, "Don't you understand? It's worse than that. If we continue to travel in these temporal streams, we may very well pop back to a time when we didn't exist at all."
A voice boomed from the darkness that surrounded them."Cut! Cut! Could you maybe try a little thing we like to call acting?"
The Captain peered into the darkness and screamed back in his true voice, which sounded very much like he belonged in an all-boys' choir."Don't blame me! I didn't write this Trytee crap. How am I supposed to find any inspiration at all when I'm spitting out such crap as, 'If we continue to travel in these temporal streams we may pop back to a time when we didn't exist at all.' I mean . . . can that even happen?"
Sabtos sighed. The incompetent little fairy had a point.
Sabtos pulled at his goatee. He was the best producer in the entire nation, and as a director he was a genius. He wondered for the thousandth time since he'd started this project why he was working on such a crap picture."Someone find out if that's technically possible."
"It's not," a voice said from the darkness.
"Ah . . . who are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"I . . . I don't know."
"Well, think about it, and get back to me later."
"Listen, lady, I don't know who you think you are, but I'm trying to film a movie here, and time is money."
"And money is time," a female voice different from the first said.
"I really miss Pris," the first voice said.
"Lights up," the director ordered. As the lights were going up he put on his most angry director voice."Listen, people, groupies aren't allowed . . ." he had been standing up out of his chair as he spoke, and when he saw who was standing there he almost fell. But he was able to turn it into a deep bow."My Queen, a thousand pardons, how may your humble servant aid you?"
"By producing and directing my war."
Stasha was glad she had been in her own quarters and not in the medical unit with Dylan when Facto came to tell her that Drewcila had considered her feelings and was allowing her to make all the decisions concerning Zarco's funeral.
There was a great deal of guilt swimming in her head as she tried to make the arrangements. Mostly because Drew had been right, and after sleeping with Dylan she had all but forgotten about poor Zarco.
She could still feel Dylan's hands where they had touched her, and when she thought about what they had done, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
Drewcila hadn't just been being her usual deceitful self. Zarco had been a horrible lover. Oddly enough, she had thought she'd experienced orgasm before, and just didn't think it was the big deal others made it out to be, or worse yet that there was something wrong with her. After her night with Dylan, she knew that she hadn't been the problem.
Besides which she now admitted, if only to herself, that what she had felt for Zarco was sick infatuation and not love at all. Because she was sure that she was now completely and totally in love with the human male who made her blood boil.
Then there was that other thing—Zarco had never loved her. She also admitted that Drew had been right about something else—Zarco hadn't loved Drewcila, either. His attachment to Drew, like Stasha's attachment to him, was a sick desire to own someone who didn't want you. He might have once loved Taralin, but Drewcila wasn't Taralin in any way that mattered. Maybe he had truly believed that he could turn Drew back into Taralin, but right now Stasha even doubted that.
So this whole thing was just very hard for her. On the one hand she was pleased that her sister had considered her feelings instead of just flushing Zarco's remains down a toilet, as Drew had suggested at least once. On the other, everything had changed completely for her in the last twenty-four hours, and she was finding it hard to feel anything but relief at Zarco's passing. He had completely disregarded her feelings, slept with her sister, and perhaps most surprising of all, he had been easily replaced in her heart by another.
So it was that she found herself rushing through the arrangements, always doing what was least expensive. The more she worked on trying to feel grief over his passing, the more things she found to be angry about. She would go into the past trying to remember some tender moment they had shared, and would wind up dredging up yet another time when he had completely discounted her and how she felt. By the time she got around to ordering the flowers, she decided he really didn't need them.
She would be expected to give a eulogy, and since she never wrote her own speeches, that meant she really needed to talk to Drewcila. Margot, who had been helping her with the preparations all day, had just announced that Drewcila had recently returned to the castle.
"I've got to go talk to my sister about the eulogy. Keep trying to reach the priest."
"Yes, my lady," Margot said.
Stasha was glad it was a long walk to her sister's office for many reasons, not the least of which that she had to remind herself that she would be expected to still be angry with Drewcila, and that she was supposed to be deeply grieved. The euphoric post-orgasm smile Stasha hadn't been able to wipe off her face all morning wouldn't do. She stopped herself from dropping by Dylan's room on her way. If Stasha had seen him, she would have had to stop at least long enough to have sex with him, and she had many things to accomplish. Besides, then she never would have been able to wipe the smirk from her face.
When she walked in the office, workmen were moving in still more electronic equipment, and maps and charts and graphs were being plastered to the walls—and surprisingly—over the windows. Her sister sat in a chair looking at where a window should have been, her back to the room. But the strangest sight of all had to be Van Gar and Arcadia working together at a computer console on the far side of the room. Just yesterday evening Stasha had been present when the two had run into each other in the hall. They had addressed each other with such animosity that Stasha had been sure they would come to blows. It had been all Drew could do to keep them separated. Now they were chatting idly as they worked, just as if they were the best of friends.
"My pussy itches. It must be going to rain," Drew announced.
"Drewcila . . . must you always be so disgustingly crude?" Stasha said, thinking that she should have known that her sister wouldn't make it very hard for her to find something to be upset at her about.
"Stasha, what in hell's name do you have your panties in a knot about this time?" Drewcila spun around in the chair, and there was a cat sitting in her lap. Drew was scratching its head.
"Ah . . . nothing. Sorry, I'm just a little tense. I thought you were saying . . . Oh, never mind. Listen, about the eulogy, have you written that yet?" Stasha asked.
"You write it, Stasha. If I write it, it's going to say something I took off a bathroom stall, like . . . Here I sit all broken hearted—Tried to shit, but only farted. I'll pretend like there is some deep hidden meaning to it, people will believe that there is, and soon it will be the prayer recited at every funeral. We don't want that, do we? Royal responsibility and all that good rot. Think of something really nice to say about the stiff. You loved him—I didn't."
Stasha looked from the workmen to her sister. Apparently Drewcila didn't really care who knew how she felt.
Drew seemed to know what she was thinking."Movie people. If you can't trust them, who can you trust?"
"Just what are they doing?" Stasha asked curiously.
"Making this look like the greatest war room ever. See all that new electronic hooha? None of it's real. It's just painted cardboard boxes with holiday lights stuck through holes and little pieces of plastic glued on to look like buttons. See all the graphs and maps and stuff? None of the information on the graphs means shit, and none of the hundreds of military bases on those maps even exist." She laughed then."Those rank amateurs will rue the day they decided to screw with me. Right now, even as we speak, a huge battalion of particle board and plastic-coated cardboard tanks are being built in the Taralin Desert. Painted cardboard tubes are being made into hundreds of anti-aircraft guns which will be set up on every building more than fifteen stories tall . . ."
"Drewcila! You can't fight a war with bad stage props," Stasha said in disbelief.
"A little respect for these people's craft, Stasha. I'll have you know they're very good stage props!" Drew protested "I've hired the best studio in the country and some of the brightest stars. We can't lose."
"You are completely insane. However, since I have seen you do crazier things that actually worked, I'm not going to worry about it. But Drew . . . I don't think I can write a eulogy, not and make it sound like I'm you."
"Would you like to borrow one of our script writers?" Drew asked.
"I'm serious."
"So was I . . . Listen, Stasha, I don't care what I say about him. Seriously, would you really want to speak the words I'd have to send him off? I'm only good at bullshit when I think it can get me something," Drew said.
Stasha nodded silently and almost asked for the script writer."I'll think of something that will come from the heart." She was about to leave when Van Gar and Arcadia laughed at something. She turned to look at them, and her face must have shown her disbelief, because Drewcila answered the look on her face.
"They have decided to share me, and in return I have promised not to cheat on them," she said with a shrug.
Stasha smiled back at Drew and said in a flippant tone, "So you've finally decided to settle down."
Drewcila laughed."Yeah, what can I say? There comes a time in a young salvager's life when you realize it's time to stop screwing around, settle down with a huge Chitzsky male and a Valtarian lizard woman, get a nice ship, maybe buy a couple of small satellites . . . So, are you still mad at me?"
Stasha sighed and told the truth."I want to be. I ought to be. It's just hard to stay mad at you. I don't know why, really. You certainly seem to work hard enough at keeping me mad."
A man swept into the room holding up a sketch of a uniform."Too fluffy, Kraling. I must look tough, ready for battle and smug as hell. And so must all my generals."
The man grumbled as he rolled up the sketch and left the room.
"Wardrobe!" Drew exclaimed, throwing up her hands.
Stasha smiled and left.
Drew threw the cat out of her lap and stood up. Then she scratched her crotch and addressed Van Gar and Arcadia, "I don't know if this crap is ever going to wear off."
"Let's see your tongue," Arcadia said.
Drew stuck it out.
"It doesn't seem as dark today. I'm pretty sure it's fading."
"My crotch itches like a mother fucker," Drew said.
"Drew, I swear, if you give me the space crabs again . . ." Van Gar hissed.
"Keep your pants on, ass bite, I don't have crabs."
"How do you know?"
"I'd know if I had crabs," Drew said.
"You didn't last time," Van said. He turned to glare at Arcadia, who was chuckling, "You wouldn't think it was so damn funny if you could get them."
"Especially not if you got them on your whole body," Drew said with a laugh.
"That's right, assholes, laugh it up. But I swear . . ."
"Calm down." Drew rubbed at his shoulders, knowing they were tired from working at the computer all day."I swear I don't have crabs, and with this new arrangement, if I ever have them again it will be your fault, since as you said Arcadia can't get them."
He turned to look at her, a tentative smile on his face."Then you've decided to accept our proposal?"
"Yeah, but only if you don't call it a proposal." She shrugged."What the hell. Crabs wasn't all that pleasant for me, either. In fact, the only thing worse is this stupid tattoo shit, which neither of you are ever to talk me into doing when I'm drunk and feel like experimenting."
"Agreed," they both said.
"Oh, and stop doing that. It's just too creepy."
"Ok," they said. Drew sighed deeply and wondered just what she'd gotten herself into.
Dr. Sortas, who had once held the lofty position of palace surgeon, now found himself mucking pissy clothes from a shower stall. Early that morning when they had first started this work detail, Kentoric, a man Sortas had known since his childhood, had decided he wasn't taking orders from a commoner. The guards had marched him out into the courtyard and shot him. Then they ordered the rest of them to haul his body to the dumpster. Since then, no one had thought it was a good idea to buck the system.
Greed. Greed for money and position had led him to this. He'd had more than any one man should rightfully have, and he'd wanted to keep all of it and get still more. Then Drewcila came in with her maximum wage and her demotion of the nobility and shook his world to its foundations. But he hadn't actually lost anything but prestige, and how tangible an asset was that really?
He wondered about his family and how they were faring at this time. Whether they knew he was a prisoner. If they even knew if he was alive. He'd heard talk that the families of the nobles involved in the failed coup attempt were being evicted from their homes and land. They were being offered a choice of taking up residence in one of the work houses or going into military service. He and his wife had never had a particularly good relationship before, and he was assuming she probably hated his guts right now. Thank the gods both the kids were grown. Of course that meant it was probably military service for them, and probably on the front lines.
What a mess.
"You there! Back to work," the foreman ordered.
Sortas nodded, pulled yet another urine covered piece of alien clothing from the shower and stuck it in the sack. They wouldn't even give them rubber gloves.
"Sortas," the man working beside him said in a whisper. Sortas looked at him."A few of us are thinking about trying to make a run on the guards."
"Then only a few of you will die," Sortas whispered back."We're not soldiers, we're professional men. These are Qwah's men. You saw what they did to Kentoric, and that was just for refusing to work. I'll have no part of it. I'm going to get out of here alive if that's possible."
"Do you really think Qwah will let any of us out alive?"
No, he really didn't, but their only real chance was to hope the queen might show a little mercy. Escape was just the quickest way to die."It's a better chance than escape."
"You two shut up!" one of the guards bellowed.
Zarco had helped the nobles to displace these men from their cushy, well paid jobs as castle security. Now that they were back, it wasn't likely they were going to let him forget it.
They were doomed. Men with a death sentence waiting to be hung. Maybe it was better to at least try to make a break for it. Maybe a quick death was the best they could ask for.
"I'll look ridiculous!" Van Gar protested, pulling on the way-too-small uniform he and five of his Chitzsky brothers and sisters had been dressed in.
"Honey, shut up and do what the director tells you," Drew said as wardrobe went about putting the final touches on the new "general's" uniform she was wearing.
"Tell me again why the uniforms are three sizes too small," Shreta asked, struggling with the collar of her "costume."
"Because it makes you look bigger," the director said. He addressed them."Now, when I cue you, you will stick these pills into your mouth." He handed them out."They will then start to foam. Let the foam erupt naturally from your mouth, and snarl and look like ravenous beasts. This is your motivation. You have come here to make your home, but no sooner have you bought your property and started to set down roots than these bastard Lockhedes start bombing your new homeland. You're a warrior race, and you're not going to stand for that. So you will don the uniform of a Barion soldier and do your part at the front lines to protect your new homeland. Do you have that?"
They all nodded.
"Let's see it then! A little maniacal but righteous anger . . . without the pills." The Chitzskies all started growling."Very good, I'm living it." He turned to Drewcila."You, my queen, need no direction." He turned away from her and shouted."Lex! Lex, get over here!"
The actor who had been playing the Captain of the starship Intertwined ran over, a wardrobe woman still fussing over his general's uniform.
"No offense, but aren't people going to recognize him and realize that your top military advisor is a two-bit TV actor?" Van Gar asked in a whisper at Drew's shoulder.
"No, they'll think, Gods! Why that general is so good looking he looks just like that actor Lex Icon. People like to follow and take orders from attractive people, everybody knows that," Drew explained.
Van Gar threw up his hands and walked over to join his Chitzsky brothers and sisters in front of the blue screen, practicing looking mad.
"Dartan, are you ready?" the director asked.
"I suppose so," he said, adjusting the glasses the director had made him wear because he said they made him look smarter.
"Everyone! Take your places and remember you have to get it right the first time. This is live television people, there will be no second take. Are we ready?" He looked around quickly."Then start shooting in three, two, gods! I hate shooting live television, one!"
Ralling was watching their doctored report of the events at Hepron Station for the fortieth time, thinking what a stroke of genius it had been, when suddenly his monitor phased out, and then there was a Barion reporter in glasses looking at him. The man was standing in what appeared to be some huge underground chamber carved from solid rock.
"The queen has called a press conference, and we are waiting now for her to enter the war room from where she plans to make her monumental speech concerning the Lockhedes' most recent attack and the state of our military readiness, which has been under fire from the Lockhedes. We are currently in a secret underground bunker, miles below the surface of the planet. This war reaction base was set up three years ago to harbor the king and queen and top aides in case of attack. A facility from which they could conduct a war safely. Special communications equipment has been set up to boost the signal so that the people of Barious can be kept abreast of all that is going on even though we are many miles below the surface of the planet . . . It appears the queen is now prepared to speak."
Then Qwah's face filled his screen. Ralling wondered if his enemies knew that by boosting their signal to get it above ground they had boosted to every monitor on the planet. Stupid woman. He had but only to watch his TV to learn all of their plans.
"People of Barious. Since these are such urgent times I will try to speak to you in language you understand, so that we won't need an interpreter between us. This is not a time for mirth. I, your Queen, must address you on a matter of grave importance. As you know, the nobles did push us into a war with the people of Lockhede. I have tried to explain our position—that of your king, my dearly departed husband, and my position as well—but most of the leaders of Lockhede want to bring death upon their own heads. Only one of their leaders, who shall remain nameless for his own safety, has spoken out to try and save his people. Unfortunately, the others would not heed."
The camera panned out then, and Ralling could see that Qwah was flanked by a large, good looking Barion man, and a Valtarian lizard woman. All three wore stunning black uniforms with literally dozens of medals hanging from them. All around them were maps and charts and sophisticated electronic devices of all kinds.
Qwah continued, "Still, despite their stubbornness, I have given them forty-eight hours in which to stop this madness. I do not believe that they will. Some idiot has told them that they are militarily superior. Rest assured, my people, and sleep soundly, because this is not the case. They have doctored tapes of the battle of Hepron Station, bringing lies to their people. But you, my people, have seen the reality of what happened and know that while we were out-numbered and out-gunned, we did utterly smite them . . . That's like queen talk for we killed the shit out of them. I can only guess that they have done this to raise the morale of their demoralized people. These people are hungry, they're poor, and the man who is their president was not even elected by them, but is a man who—unlike the nobles of our country—led a successful coup against the people of his country.
"We should not be angry with the people of Lockhede, for this is not their war. Oh no, this is the war of their filthy rich leaders. Leaders who will put their people in harm's way to take that which is rightfully ours. The sad truth, my people, is that they never wanted trade agreements with us. They don't want to enjoy the same wealth as we do—they don't want to share. The leaders of the Lockhede nation want it all, or they want nothing. They want what you have, what we have worked for. They want to take our homes, our factories, our spaceports. But they will not succeed.
"I have made an agreement with the Chitzsky people. They have purchased the land the nobles are being evicted from, and the money they have paid for this land will be used to further add to our defensive capabilities. The Chitzskies had just made payment on this land when the first of the bombs rained down on Hepron Station. They rushed to our aide, and this is how we did so utterly smite . . . I can see why everyone likes that word so much . . . utterly smite the Lockhedes at Hepron Station. Our homeland is now their homeland, too, and they consider the attack on us to be an attack against them. They have joined our army, are currently being put into position, and even as I speak to you, my people, they are ready to attack on my command. And now a few words from Four Q General Jurak on the state of our military readiness."
The camera panned up at the big man standing behind her."Let me first say that our armed forces stand firmly behind the queen. Any confusion caused by the nobles' uprising is firmly behind us. We have never been more willing and more able to serve any monarch in the history of our country. There are rumors flying around that much of our military arsenal has been scrapped. This is simply not true. Yes, military equipment has been scrapped out and sold, but that was defective and/or obsolete equipment, and money from the sale of it has been used to buy state-of-the-art equipment and build underground, covert bases all over the country. It has also been used to place anti-aircraft guns on all of our larger buildings, and to purchase many tanks. We have never been as militarily strong as we are now, and let us not forget that the last time we fought the Lockhedes, we did . . ."
"Say utterly smite. I just like the way it sounds," the queen prompted.
"We did utterly smite them. Let me close by saying . . ." he seemed to be rattled then, as if not quite sure of what he was going to say next. Then his voice rang out strong and true, and with a strength of purpose the likes of which Ralling had never heard before."We are determined that if they continue to travel in these temporal streams, we will knock them back to a time where they didn't even exist!"
"Very well said. Thank you, General," the queen said."So, my people, kick back, pop a brew, and wait for the fireworks." An interpreter suddenly appeared in a little box at the bottom of the screen, and was busily explaining the queen's words."If they will not make peace with us, then we're going to kick their asses up around their shoulders so that they have to wear them for collars, walk with their fingertips, and eat with their toes. The decision rests on the shoulders of their country's leaders. They must make peace and start negotiations for trade agreements, or we will turn their country into a smoldering hole. Which, by the way, I understand would be an improvement."
She nodded her head, and the reporter was back on camera fidgeting with his glasses and his earpiece.
"I'm told we have footage of some of the Chitzsky troops and the new tanks which are on the move heading towards a destination unknown. Apparently these are shock troops, and will be deployed at a moment's notice if any attack is made on Barion soil. This is live via satellite and . . . There we go."
The monitor showed acre upon acre of huge Chitzskies foaming at the mouth and pounding on their chests while uttering alien battle cries. There were thousands of them. The scene changed swiftly to long, straight lines of high-tech tanks rumbling along to a destination unknown. Thousands of them, extending as far as the eye could see.
The reporter was back on the screen."We will try to keep you updated on all the recent events as we have the details."
The screen went black, and then returned to the fake video Ralling had been watching.
He punched a button on his communicator."Tryte! Get down here now!"