Queen & Commander (Hive Queen Saga, #1)

by Janine A. Southard

  She wanted to ask the young man who that had been, but he didn’t give her the chance. “What do you want with Alan Jones?”

  Rhiannon didn’t like his attitude. “None of your business.” Whatever she had to say—even if she was just here to do a survey on preferred beer flavors among university students—that was for Alan’s ears only. This boy had no right to pry into Alan’s affairs. How did he know she wasn’t his long-term girlfriend who wanted to talk about a pregnancy scare?

  Whether Alan joined her Hive or not, she’d make sure he knew this kid had tried to worm into his private life.

  The young man’s eyes widened at her vehemence. His pink lips quirked up on the left. “It’s very much my business, little girl. I’m Alan Jones.”

  Well, she could understand why the student in the hall hadn’t liked him. It was as though he knew that calling her little girl would be so condescending, so embarrassing that she’d be tempted to leave. Just like he’d made the student in the hall leave. Had the kid really been kicked out or just annoyed out?

  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Actually, it was funny in a cruel way. She held out a hand for him to shake.

  “Rhiannon,” she introduced herself, “soon to be Queen-Commander Ceridwen.”

  He went back to his computer screen. “No thanks. Send Professor Cantor back in if you see him.”

  I won’t be dismissed out of hand. “No what?”

  He deliberately angled the screen towards her and opened up a match-3 game. “No to whatever you want me to build for you.”

  “What if what I wanted to build was your own future?”

  His game ended with cascading explosions. He started a new one.

  “Not interested in being your prodigal slave either. I’ve met plenty of Queen-Commanders. I’m not desperate.”

  He certainly had a straightforward way about him. He wasn’t going to be fooled by the veneer of Hive, only to be disappointed when he realized just how makeshift her group was.

  “I bet you have,” she said. “I bet the older Queens and Commanders wanted to control you, for your own benefit, of course.” She saw him stop playing, even though the timer on his game continued to count down. “I bet the younger Queens don’t treat you like a real person, preferring to tease you for being a kid.”

  He stilled and quirked his head to the side, but he didn’t look at her. He also didn’t interrupt.

  “I bet your funding is about to run out for your projects because soon you’ll be a normal student’s age instead of a curious prodigy. I bet you’re interested in working on larger projects, not smaller ones, but can’t get assigned or permission for anything because you’re all alone and without a Queen’s voice.

  “I bet you do want to find your own Queen. One who trusts you. One who treats you like a full Hive member. One who understands that you’ll be just as interested in your research as you will be in her. One who doesn’t expect you to dance attendance, but who does provide structure for your days and opportunity to mingle with other brilliant people. One who will make sure those other people take you seriously as well. One who likes you for you, not for your skills or the prestige you bring her.”

  She stopped and waited. She didn’t say I bet you’re going to join my Hive. She’d planted the fruit tree, but would it bear citrus?

  He focused on her now, with all the intensity of that brilliant mind. He’d said he’d met plenty of Queens, but had he ever met one like her?

  “You’re not a Commander at all, are you? You’re a Perceiver!”

  She tried to smirk mysteriously. Give the man some clues, and he’d seen through her charade. A good sign. “That’s not what the Test says.” She could fool a computerized test, but she couldn’t fool a man with a lot at stake. She just had to hope that he, too, had been so frustrated by his situation that going non-traditional made sense.

  The smile he gave her grew across his face, eventually making extra lines all the way back next to his jaw. “Congratulations.”

  She giggled, surprising herself with her delight, and perched on the table behind her. He understood! He understood what she’d done and how she’d done it. He appreciated the skill.

  “Now I want to do the same for you. Join my Hive.”

  He shook his head. “What exactly do you want to do for me? Because I don’t need you to change my Test scores.”

  She shrugged and leaned back on the desk to cross her legs. “I couldn’t do that anyway. But I can be the Commander you need.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Don’t tell me you want a standard Queen instead of a Commander. Queens need so much more attention and are much less interested in helping you organize your projects and coworkers.”

  He nodded and gestured for her to continue.

  “Here’s the deal. I’m putting together a very small, very unconventional Hive. I can’t promise you anything right away. We’re just getting together, very young, and we’re not backed by any clout other than the fact that we’re a Hive. But! But I can promise to listen to whatever you tell me, to depend on you for original ideas, to make sure everyone treats you fairly, and to fight for your interests whenever you need me to.”

  His smile faded again. He leaned back, mocking her posture. “Will it be worth it, Perceiver-Queen?”

  She tilted forward, keeping the same distance between them, as though his motion had drawn her there. He sounded disinterested. He looked disinterested. But she almost had him. She could feel it.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “And I won’t lie to you about it.”

  The muscles around his eyes relaxed when she refused to make false promises.

  “Sold,” he said. “Well, provisionally.”

  “Provisionally?”

  “The university is required to allow each student two provisional Devotions. It’s part of their public charter.” His voice turned rueful. “And you’re right. I really like this lab and Professor Cantor, but I’m going to be fifty before I find the Commander I need.” With exaggerated grace, he fell to the floor at her feet. “I pledge you my Devotion. My life and my hands are yours for a year and a day,” he swore. “May we choose never to part.”

  She put her hand on his brown, shaggy head. He needed a haircut, unless this was an intentional look. “I accept your life and your hands, and pledge you my consideration and attention for a year and a day. May our partnership continue forever.”

  Oh, I hope those were the right words for this situation. Everything she knew about this aspect of Devotion came from dubiously accurate cinema. But he rose and clasped her hands, one over the other to cement the edges of their trial period. It must’ve been good enough for him.

  “So, what’re you working on?” she asked. Now that she had him, it’d be good to find out his expertise. Maybe he even knew things about spaceships.

  His reply sounded like a memorized speech. “The Myddfai-spatial tensor hypothesis is central to my dee-phil thesis. In my spare time, I work on miniaturizing Alcubierre tensor jets and singing traditional choral pieces.” His eyes widened towards this speech’s end. “How can you not know this? Why didn’t you know this before you came to me?”

  She bit her lip to keep from grinning. “I didn’t need to know what you did, only who you are.”

  His hands waved in the air. “What does that even mean? Sweet goddess of mercy, I’ve pledged myself to someone insane.”

  She gave up the fight to contain the grin and patted him on the shoulder. She was pretty sure he liked her a lot. “Maybe crazy is what you need.”

  She sidled towards the door before he could make any further arguments. “I’ll let you know how things go with the ship I mentioned. We leave in a week if we get it. I’ll send you the details tonight.”

  She made it into the hall before he shrieked again, wordless. The older gentleman, presumably Professor Cantor, was leaning against the wall. “Best of luck, Commander,” he said, jerking a thumb in her new Devoted’s direction.

  “Th
anks.” That. That right there. That made her sure she was doing the right thing. This official, experienced person recognized something in her as a Queen and Commander. This official person believed she had the right to gather up the brilliant and irascible man inside that room. This official person hadn’t kicked her out or demanded to see her credentials.

  “Can you handle him like this?” she asked.

  The older man just shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back into the lab, humming a tune she’d never heard. She guessed that meant yes.

  Before rejoining Gwyn in the skimmer, she sent Gavin a quick message, letting him know the names and positions of the two crew members he’d never met. Luciano Totti and Alan Jones, my Devoted.

  Mine. Not men already in love with someone else, like Victor. Not women or revolutionaries. These two were hers and hers alone. Devoted to their Queen-Commander.

  She received Gavin’s reply in moments. He’d sent the packet to the commissioning agent. She was required to report to an address in the downtown capital for in-person interview this weekend.

  Back in the skimmer, she regaled Gwyn with the story of Alan’s agreement, complete with an impersonation of his helpless shrieking.

  She’d done it. She’d gotten them a Hive the right size to crew the Cauldron.

  “He couldn’t believe I didn’t know anything about his thesis project. That’s something to do with getting a degree, right?”

  She and Gwyn laughed over a job well done. They ignored all the implications for the time being. They could worry later. For now, there were bizarre handicrafts and artisanal foods calling their names. The covered market beckoned.

  Gwyn produced a bottle of blackcurrant from somewhere beneath her seat and took a delicate sip. Without bothering to wipe the plastic rim, she handed the bottle across to Rhiannon. Sharing drinks, sharing germs. They were self-chosen family, and family shared everything.

  Just tell me what you want, Gwyn. I’ll stand up to make it happen for you, just like you’ve always stood up for me.

  Chapter Six: Commander Ceridwen

  Rhiannon reached the address Gavin provided at that time of morning when the sun shone at an angle that simultaneously got in your eyes and didn’t actually illuminate anything.

  The tiny office suite had a waiting room with thin carpets that didn’t cushion the floor. A female receptionist, her lips pursed and chin tilted at a defiant angle, gestured to an area with eight orange chairs. Three other Queen or Commander hopefuls already occupied some of those chairs.

  Rhiannon couldn’t help but notice she was the youngest in the room by at least forty years. Oh yeah, she had a chance. Not. The interviewer would take one look at her and laugh.

  She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or sad. Even her most youthful rival, chewing a wad of gum and slouching like the bizarre angles of her chair didn’t bother her, had to be at least eighty. Middle-aged.

  The second, also eighty-ish, was more formal in a monochromatic red pantsuit. She’d braided her hair so tightly under a golden circlet-crown that her eyebrows extended to her hairline. She exuded seriousness.

  The last was much older, elephant-wrinkled and paler than milk. At first Rhiannon thought she was bald, but a second inspection revealed close-cropped, thinning white hair.

  Rhiannon wished she had the nerve to chop her own hair that short. Women with short hair always seemed happier and more in control of their lives. Her own shoulder-blade length, brown-black waves never seemed to get above her neck when she went to the barber. Such a drastic change shouldn’t be undertaken lightly, her mother had cautioned when she was seven. That warning echoed in her sixteen-year-old ears, no matter how quickly any mistake might grow out.

  The woman in the circlet and red pantsuit gave Rhiannon a slow evaluation, starting at her loose hair, going down to her barely heeled boots, and traveling back up again. Rhiannon did her best to ignore it. At school, the Queenlets who hoped for a Queen’s Test results did the same thing all the time. Those girls tried to one-up each other with these games and psych-outs. Rhiannon stayed away from their mock-courts and proto-Hives and left them to it.

  She’d never be a political, crown-and-gown kind of Queen, even after she went to university. She didn’t want to separate herself too much from normal women. Sure, she’d be blessed with more options and what some called a harem of the best men. But she wasn’t better than them. She couldn’t go on a date or have kids without her Hive’s express permission. She’d always be responsible for more than a single person ever should be. Why did I want to be a Queen again? She grinned to herself, but schooled her face when the red Queen glowered. Right, because I like people and it sounded fun. Who needs to date anyway?

  Rhiannon looked over to the only non-Queen in the room. When will the receptionist call someone into an interview? She could definitely leave all this posturing and glowering behind.

  Maybe when she was done here, she’d have a celebratory-cum-cheering-up moment and hack it all off at the barber shop. She’d leave the building with her head high, confident that she’d done her best to get the Cauldron. Confident that when she tried again in ten years, circumstances would align. She’d find a fashionable capital city barber to change her hair, change her image, change her into the kind of woman who didn’t need cascading locks or face-framing layers to feel good about her appearance. Although, she really did like playing with the ends.

  The lounging Queen snapped her gum. Rhiannon jumped, looking towards her. The gum-chewer didn’t notice her attention, however. She was too busy glaring at the superior woman in red.

  The crowned one sneered at the gum-snapper’s antics. “They’ll never give it to a slovenly thing like you. I’m going to get the ship and the prestige. You’ll just be a sad, washed-up wash-out who never made it as a Queen.”

  Manawyddan give me strength. They’re exactly like the Queenlets and Commanders-in-Training at school.

  The lounging Queen stretched out further, rather than sitting up straight at the rebuke. Her slipper-shod foot nudged the bright pantsuit. The serious one brushed at imaginary dirt. “Well, I have a plan for where that ship is going, further than someone like you could ever be comfortable. What’s your big plan? Mandatory hull washings?”

  Can you even wash the hull of a spaceship? Would you want to risk it?

  “Oh, very droll.” The circlet wearer’s voice dripped with contempt. She turned her ever-so-friendly attention on the eldest next. “And what about you? Will your doctors even let you go into space at your age?”

  The attacked Queen inclined her head, regal and calm. The deep lines in her face gave her a gravity that the one-color-loving woman couldn’t match. No energy, no negativity, nothing could withstand the gorgeous eldest’s bearing. When I’m that age, will other Queens disappear when faced with my mien?

  The most seasoned one’s voice rumbled and whispered, as if her throat had rejected normal speech and could only make important noises. “I’m sure my experience and accumulated wisdom will impress the interviewers. When the ship is mine, I’ll be sure to remember you and pray to the patroness, Ceridwen, for your advancement.”

  The words seemed gentle and serene, but Rhiannon couldn’t help snorting. The glorious one could have meant praying for your advancement into obscurity or some other destination that would keep the red pantsuit far, far away from the Cauldron’s path through the stars.

  The three Queens swiveled their heads, hare-quick, to home in on new prey. They’d happily ignored her until she’d made a noise. Now it was too late for renewed silence. They had the scent of fresh insecurity and would peck away at her until they laid her meager confidence bare for the massacre.

  “What a sweet little girl,” gushed the one in red. “Where’s your mother?”

  Dead, actually. Well, if this Queen planned to come after her for her age, she’d show her appreciation in the way only a younger person could. She raised her eyebrows and furrowed them down the middle, then pulled her head
back onto her neck as though repulsed or doing a proper sit-up. From the way the older woman cringed back, Rhiannon knew she’d succeeded in making the derisive Did you seriously just say that to me? face that she’d seen on her more critical peers. A teenager can out bitch-face you any time, Queenie. Don’t try that tactic with me.

  The eldest cocked her head, more curious than cruel. Perhaps she found it as difficult to gauge Rhiannon’s age as the other way around. As far as Rhiannon knew, this woman had been one of Dyfed’s first Queens, self-made and just as untrained as herself. “Why do you think you deserve Ceridwen’s Cauldron?” She caressed the name like a familiar friend, barely pronouncing the r in the second word.

  Were they really going to make her join their posturing? “My Hive members are young, yes, but eager,” she said. “We want to see the universe, starting near home and working our way out. Our strong desire for exploration bonds us together.” Weakly, perhaps.

  The eldest Queen rolled her head onto her chest, so Rhiannon couldn’t see her reaction. Her neck cracked like breaking bones.

  The lounging Queen looked away. Her skull upturned to the ceiling, she ran restless hands over the smooth plastic beneath her.

  The red pantsuit wearer didn’t talk, didn’t move, didn’t show any signs of life as she focused on her judgment of Rhiannon’s worth. Then she took a noisy breath, spared the room a last sneer, and primly folded herself into the orange monstrosity farthest from Rhiannon’s corner.

  The pantsuit’s rustling shook the eldest Queen from her stupor. She levered herself from her chair.

  “You two.” She pointed at the middle-aged women. “You’re dismissed.” Not checking to see that her orders had been followed, she stalked off through the only doorway, leaving the remaining three hopefuls in silence.

  Rhiannon and the other Queens looked to each other. Should the older two really leave? Did that mean that Rhiannon should too? The lounging one shrugged and tilted back to better ignore her rivals.

  The receptionist’s officious voice cut through the confused silence. “Rhiannon?”