Rogue

by Cheryl Brooks

  Not knowing the proper etiquette for meeting someone on Darconia, I wondered if I should have bowed or saluted or something, but he took my letter without preamble. Having perused it briefly, as though to confirm what he’d already expected, he gave it back to me with a hand whose fingers would have spanned nearly two octaves on any keyboard instrument in the galaxy.

  “I am Wazak, Chief of Security for the palace,” he said. “You are the teacher, Kyra Aramis. You will accompany me now.”

  Nodding dumbly, I reached down for my bags, never dreaming of saying no for even a moment. I couldn’t imagine that there would ever be any problems with crime or breaches of security with him around, because one look at Wazak was enough to make anyone want to walk the straight and narrow forever. It occurred to me that I ought to have offered to shake hands with him, but I had an idea that his grip would have ended my career as a pianist.

  “You will not touch that!” he said sharply, and for a moment there, his hand seemed to edge toward the holstered pulse pistol that hung from his belt.

  I glanced around briefly to see what important piece of official property I’d inadvertently touched, and, not seeing a thing, I looked up at him with as blank an expression as I possess, and asked, “Touch what?”

  “That,” he said, pointing to my luggage. “They will see to it.”

  I nearly jumped out of my skin as I realized that I was now being flanked by two more Darconians, not as big as Wazak, but still quite imposing. They picked up my heavy bags with no more effort than it would have taken me to pick up a silk scarf, and despite the heat, I found myself shivering. There went faux pas number one, and I hadn’t even left the spaceport!

  Wazak started off, and I followed him with all the cheerful demeanor of one who was marching off to be fed to the lions—or, in this case, the lizards. Then I went from wondering if they were going to eat me to what they might be intending to feed me in order to fatten me up a bit before grinding me to a pulp with those teeth. I hoped it wasn’t animals or insects. Call me squeamish if you will, but I didn’t think I’d care for crunching on beetles or crickets, and I never had eaten meat. Plants were what I preferred, but all I saw were a few bristly-looking things sprouting between the cracks in the rocky pavement—nothing green anywhere. The wiggling grubworm image ran through my mind again, and I shuddered with revulsion, but I didn’t see any of them, either. What did they eat? I didn’t dare ask Wazak. Aside from the fact that he didn’t look like the type you’d ask “What’s for dinner?” something told me that I wouldn’t care for his reply.

  Something else occurred to me: they didn’t wear clothes. What was I going to do when mine wore out? I’d have to take really good care of them, or I’d end up wearing nothing but belts and jewelry like the natives. It was hot enough that I wouldn’t freeze to death, but still, I didn’t think I’d care for it.

  I looked at Wazak’s back (it was the largest and most eye-catching thing in sight), noting that his breastplate was held in place with strips of some kind of leather. I had almost gotten to the point of deciding that I could wear a dress made out of that when I realized that the leather had scales; without anything else to eat, these lizards might have to eat each other. Stricken with a sudden wave of nausea, I wondered just how much I’d have to pay for a return ticket to Earth.

  Wazak led me out to an open-sided hovercraft of some kind, and there were two other vehicles that served as our escorts—each carrying three well-armed guards. It seemed like awfully tight security for a piano teacher, though I had come a very long way at considerable expense, and it probably made sense to keep me out of harm’s way—at least until I reached the palace. It was also possible that this was simply a ceremonial escort, but, of course, I didn’t ask.

  Along the way, I was heartened by the sight of a camel-like creature being led down the street, carrying a large pack on its back. I say heartened because, if there was one animal like that, there were bound to be other, lesser creatures that the lizards might use for food. I was sure I could have eaten meat if given no other choice, but it seemed to me that something farther down the food chain had to eat plants, so maybe we could eat the same thing. I chuckled to myself, wondering what the Queen would say if I were to come tripping into the palace requesting Camel Chow for dinner.

  I spotted a few non-Darconians on the streets—though none that looked particularly human—and some of them were wearing long robes made of a rough, white fabric to protect themselves from the burning sun, which made me feel much better with respect to the clothing issue, too.

  Looking over at Wazak, I decided that I could get used to the scales eventually, but the fact that the Darconians put me in mind of carnivorous dinosaurs didn’t make me very comfortable with them. They even had tails! I told myself that I was being silly; they were intelligent beings, and as such, it shouldn’t have mattered if they had three heads, but I was still uneasy. I might have been less so, if Wazak had been a bit chattier, but he kept his eyes on the street and surrounding areas as though assassins lurked around every corner.

  As we moved deeper into the city, an odd thing happened: buildings and streets abruptly gave way to open ground, and I began to see more plant life, and also understood why the city had been built there. It was an oasis, and, as in any desert, water is worth more than just about anything, even to a lizard. Off in the distance at the center of the fields, I could see what had to be the palace. It made sense to have the crops and trees grown near the source of the water, but it was still the reverse of any city I’d ever seen, and, with no room to expand, the layout certainly limited the amount of land available for growing crops, though the operation appeared to be fairly intensive. If there was a square centimeter of wasted space, it wasn’t apparent from the road.

  I could understand the way the city was mapped out now, and I wished I’d been able to get a look at it from space. The farms were in the center, encircled by a single road from which the other streets stretched away from the heart of the city like spokes on a wheel. To further reduce the amount of land wasted by putting streets through, there appeared to be only one road to the palace—appropriate from an ecological standpoint, though an escape route might have been useful in case of attack.

  Still, the armed guards notwithstanding, Arconcia seemed peaceful and prosperous. The buildings had been a bit more seedy-looking out near the spaceport, but improved in quality as we moved through to the heart of the city. It was possible that we were simply passing through the nicer end of town—which would make sense, since it was the only direct route from the palace to the spaceport—but all in all, it was an attractive city. Everything I saw was made of stone, too, and stone carving seemed to be the decorative touch of choice.

  At this point I noticed that while I was finding the scenery interesting, the locals all seemed to think I was pretty darned interesting myself! Since the vehicles we rode in were open, any of the passersby could see me quite plainly, making me wish I’d been wearing a big hat, as much to protect myself from their inquisitive stares as from the sun. To my surprise, Wazak seemed to notice this and commented on it.

  “They have never seen a human before,” he said. “They are… curious. Do not let it disturb you.”

  “I would be, too, I suppose,” I agreed. “Curious, that is—” I added quickly—“not disturbed.”

  He nodded as though he understood, and I decided to take advantage of his efforts to reassure me by asking a few questions.

  “Um, Wazak,” I began timidly. “Is there anything special I should know before we get there? You know, like certain things I should or shouldn’t say or do?”

  I thought he waited a long time before he answered me, and just about the time I decided he wasn’t going to say anything at all, he replied, “Queen Scalia is tolerant of breaches in etiquette.”

  He didn’t say anything else. So much for being chatty. I tried again.

  “Is th
ere a rule book of some kind that I could read?”

  Wazak shook his head. “No,” he replied, “but you are to be an honored guest in the palace, not a servant or a slave.”

  “Slave?” I echoed. “You mean you have slaves here?” I found this difficult to believe. I mean, I’d never read any mention of such a thing in the descriptions of Darconia I’d found.

  Wazak hitched his tail beneath him before he answered me. I wondered if sitting on it was the reason for his discomfort, or if it had been my question which disturbed him. Avoiding my eyes, he said, “Not many. The Queen is a… collector.”

  “A collector?” I repeated. “Of what?”

  “Exotic slaves,” he replied. “She finds the different species fascinating.”

  “Well, I can understand that,” I said reasonably, “but why do they have to be slaves?”

  Wazak might not have known many humans before, but he did seem to know an expression of horror when he saw one, and he hastened to assure me that the slaves were well treated and not used for drudgery, though they did have certain duties to perform. But even so, he didn’t seem to care for the idea any more than I did.

  “The Queen has also encouraged other species to settle here because of that fascination,” he went on. “She enjoys the… diversity.” The way he said it led me to believe that he didn’t particularly enjoy “diversity” himself, though it did explain the aliens I’d seen on the streets, and possibly my own presence, as well.

  “Is that why she wanted a human to teach her daughter the piano?”

  “Perhaps,” Wazak said evasively.

  “But I’m definitely not a slave?” I was pressing the point more than I needed to, perhaps, but I wanted to make absolutely certain of this before we went any further. “I get paid, right? And I don’t have to stay here if I don’t want to?”

  “That is correct.”

  While this was comforting, it was also what he would have said in any case.

  “But I’ll live in the palace?”

  “Yes,” said Wazak. He seemed to be getting rather testy by this time, but I figured I was safe enough, since presumably the Queen would be upset if her security chief slugged the new piano teacher on the way to the palace. He might try to intimidate me, but I was pretty sure he wouldn’t kill me.

  “And where are the slaves?” I asked. “Will I see them?”

  “They are quartered in a special area of the palace.”

  That would be the jail part, I decided. The part with bars on the windows and locked doors so they couldn’t escape. “Special?”

  “It is more suited to the requirements of their species.”

  This was sounding even worse, more like a zoo than a prison. “Don’t they try to escape?”

  “They are not… unhappy.”

  By which I suppose he meant that they were happy, though I doubted it. I couldn’t imagine anyone ever being happy about being a slave!

  “Really?” I tried not to sound overly skeptical, but it was difficult.

  “As I said before, they are well treated, and they are… protected.” Wazak seemed to be getting more irritable by the second, for the tip of his tail was now tapping the side of the car in much the same way that an impatient person will tap their foot. He obviously didn’t care to discuss this any further.

  “Like pets, then,” I said in an effort to sum things up quickly.

  I wasn’t sure if the concept of having pets was familiar to him or not, but he nodded anyway. As we were approaching the palace by this time, I was momentarily diverted by the view, so I left it at that.

  To say that the palace was ornate would be a serious understatement. It appeared to have been constructed from something like marble, while the lesser structures were made of a type of sandstone. With its gleaming, domed roof, imposing pillars, and multitudes of arched doorways lavishly decorated with floral carvings, it made the Taj Mahal look like a quaint little cottage.

  “Nice place,” I remarked dryly.

  Wazak’s facial expressions might have been more subtle than a human’s, but if my eyes didn’t deceive me, what was on his face was essentially a smirk. However, he didn’t take the opportunity to brag, and when he did speak of the palace, his tone was merely informative. “It is built of a type of stone called shepra, which is highly prized. It is quarried in the mountains near here, along with other precious stones.”

  His gesture indicated the mountains I’d seen on the horizon. I almost let out a snicker, because if that was what he called “near,” I wondered what he would consider to be distant—halfway around the planet? I also wondered how many slaves it had taken to haul the shepra across the desert and then build the palace. A vision of Hebrew slaves building the pyramids of Egypt—same weather conditions, too—popped into my head.

  Wazak seemed to be reading my thoughts, for he added, “And it was not built by slaves, and not strictly for the Queen. It was built as a monument to our people.”

  He seemed to be quite proud of that fact, though he didn’t come right out and say it. As I gazed at the structure, I concluded that while it might have been intended as a tribute to the Darconian people, it was also a monument to beauty. Perhaps living in a barren desert had made them appreciate beauty all the more, making it as highly prized as the shepra—or the water.

  And music!—what could possibly be more beautiful than that? Now I understood why I was there: to bring more beauty to an otherwise harsh and desolate world. And I would do it, too, because if they weren’t all tone deaf, these people were going to love Mozart. And Brahms. And Beethoven. Maybe even Bach. I just hoped the kid could play.

  Chapter 3

  My other hope was that they understood just how much water a member of my species would require to survive in such a climate. I seriously doubted that they bathed in water as we did on Earth, and I’d have been willing to bet that they didn’t drink two or three liters of fluid a day, either. Their scaly skin probably didn’t perspire; it was more likely they were similar to other reptiles and stayed out of the sun to avoid getting overheated. Aside from the fact that there wasn’t much else around to use, this was surely the reason they favored stone as a building material—good insulation.

  The heat was unrelenting, and even the breeze created by the movement of the hovercars didn’t help very much. My mouth was dry, and I could already feel the skin on my face beginning to tighten up and burn. Being pale even by human standards, I doubted that I would last a day out in the desert, even with adequate water. I knew I could survive with a lowered water content in my body, but it would take some time for me to adapt. I ought to have tried to drink less on the journey here, but this was one of the finer points about life on Darconia that I hadn’t anticipated. I’d read that there were deserts, but I hadn’t known I’d be living right in the middle of one of them! Maybe that was why the job had been posted on Earth; we were too far away to know many of the details. Now that I was here, I was wishing I’d paid a little more attention to the fine print—and I might have, if there’d been any.

  When we stopped at an entrance to the palace, Wazak actually helped me out of the hovercar. I suppose his irritation with all my questions was overborne by the need to observe at least some of the niceties, and as before, his two sidekicks carried my luggage.

  Once underneath the portico, the temperature seemed to drop about ten degrees, and I heaved a sigh of relief. I couldn’t even tell that I’d been sweating—the air was so dry that it evaporated immediately—until I brushed a hand across my arm, and it felt slightly gritty with salt.

  “You will require some refreshment,” Wazak said stiffly. “This way.”

  I found myself following him again, and as his buddies disappeared with my stuff, I wondered if they would go through it and confiscate all of my clothes. This was a palace, after all, and perhaps there was a rule I didn’t know about: “Thou shalt not we
ar more clothing than the Queen,” or something of that nature. I also wondered if shoes were permitted. I had worn some of my nicer shoes—they were an iridescent turquoise and had the virtue of matching my dress—since I thought it was possible that I’d be meeting the Queen. Now I wished I’d worn slippers instead, because the way my footsteps were echoing off the walls, I sounded like a herd of elephants strolling through the corridor. Wazak, on the other hand, was barefoot and the soles of his feet made a soft slapping sound as he walked. I figured he must have had calluses about an inch thick on the bottoms of those feet—walking across a bed of hot coals would have been no trouble for him at all. That was one way to keep the slaves from running off; just keep them barefoot and they wouldn’t step a meter beyond the palace walls.

  I was glad Wazak had mentioned refreshment, because I was getting pretty hungry by then, on top of being thirstier than I’d ever been in my life. I had no idea if it was dinnertime or lunchtime or what, but if this was how hot it was in the early morning, I would be remaining inside the palace for the entirety of my stay.

  As if he’d known what I was thinking, Wazak announced: “It is time for the evening meal. You will be dining with the Queen.”

  “What?” I squeaked. “Right now? Don’t I have to change clothes or pass through a weapons sensor or anything?” Perhaps I needed to be vaccinated against something, too. Or I might need to be decontaminated. After all, I might be carrying a germ that would wipe out the entire population. They didn’t know.

  Wazak stopped and turned to face me. “Do you have a weapon?”