by Selina Rosen
"They're not stupid, Van. There are about a billion little tasks that we need done, and there's no reason they can't do them. It will save us that much time."
Van Gar nodded in a defeated sort of way, and went back to cutting out the next hole.
"I bet he doesn't think I'm boring in bed," Drew said taking some small pleasure from watching the snarl that leapt to Van Gar's face.
Chapter 8
Even with everyone helping, the ship had run out of power and was starting to sink into the sand two hours before they rolled the transport off the ship and into the desert night.
They had cut the transport so that it was completely open on the sides except for support for the roof. The shields from the ship formed a canopy extending three feet out all the way around the transport.
Drew sat at the controls and looked back at the sinking ship. Five years ago she had lost all memory of her life before that moment. Now, as she saw the Garbage Scow sinking silently into the sands of the Galdart desert, she felt in a way that the last five years of her life were being erased as well. Her life at this moment seemed to have no point past getting herself and the others out of the desert alive. For a woman who always had a plan it was a very humbling feeling.
She was married to a man she didn't know, traveling on a planet she didn't remember, and watching the only home she knew sink into the sand. In a few seconds, the Scow would be out of her line of sight, and in a few more hours it would disappear completely in this ocean of sand. All it would be was a memory. And memories could fade or be removed, and then the last five years would be gone, too, and she would have no past, no point of reference with which to judge her life. She'd been there before, it hadn't been pleasant. Memories were supposed to be all that you had to judge your life by. But big chunks of her life were missing; erased and forgotten.
Was her life better or worse? Who could really tell? She'd been happy in her role as Drewcila Qwah. Happy with the life of a Salvager. Happy with her reputation. But was that her? Or the life that Erik had chosen for her by telling someone with no memory "this is who you are."
She went over a dune and she could no longer see her ship.
"I am Drewcila Qwah," she whispered. "If I am queen of anything, I am Queen of the Salvagers."
"What'd you say, Drew?" Van Gar asked.
She looked at him. She had almost forgotten that he was sitting there. She looked at the Chitzky, his chest exposed because of the missing Velcro, and smiled.
"Everyone is someone. Aren't they, Van Gar?"
"Are you doing your deep, philosophical thing, Drew? Because if you are, it's just scary, and all that shit is lost on me as soon as you get past the 'life is like an empty beer can' phase. That I can relate to. All that other crap just goes over my head."
Drew laughed.
Something large and dark ran across their path at that moment, and she had to swerve to miss it.
"What the hell was that?"
"What?" Van Gar shrugged. "I didn't see nothin'."
"Something ran in front of us, about the size of a dog."
"It must have been a shadow."
"Of what, dunder head?"
"The only life form in the Galdart is the Hurtella," Fitz reminded them.
"Must of been a Hurtella, then," Van Gar said with a shrug. "It probably looked bigger because it got caught in the headlights. Can't you go any faster?"
"We're using a solar powered motor, remember?" Drew asked. She grinned when he hit himself in the head.
"Then how are we running at all?" Facto asked.
"Batteries. If we keep our speed down, they should hold till the sun comes up. Once the sun's up, we can fly." Van Gar answered at length in an attempt to make up for his earlier statement.
"What happens if we run out of power before the sun comes up?" Stasha wanted to know.
"We won't," Drew assured her.
"But what if we do?" Stasha persisted.
"We sink like a fucking rock into the burning sand of the Galdart," Drew answered, not without irritation.
"Oh." Stasha pulled a face.
"You had to ask," Zarco said with a laugh. "How many days will it take us to get out of the desert?"
"Three, if we're lucky."
Drew looked back at him.
"I have a more important question. Once we get out of the desert, how much Lockhede territory do we have to cross through before we make it to Gildart?"
Zarco moved to where he could see the map on the console. He frowned. "A hundred miles."
"Lovely."
They lapsed into silence.
Drew drove through the night, then Van took over for her, and she tried to sleep. She wasn't having much luck. Even with the reflective shields, all the ventilation, and the breeze that their now very fast pace was making, it was still close to a hundred degrees in the transport. First, she undid the Velcro on her coveralls, then she pulled the tops down. By high noon, she had removed them completely, and lay on top of them in her underwear. She had expected to hear some sort of protest, but a quick glance around showed that her companions weren't wearing much more, and in the case of her fur-covered friend, Van Gar, considerably less. He had to be absolutely miserable.
She still wasn't comfortable, but exhaustion took over and she fell into a restless sleep, filled with dreams she would try to interpret later without much success.
Van Gar looked back at where Drew tossed and turned, and wondered what she was dreaming. It seemed to Van Gar that he had no past either. Nothing that had happened to him before he'd met Drew seemed to bear any significance in his life. A blur of mediocrity. Going nowhere. Until that fateful day almost five years ago when he had met Drewcila Qwah in a crowded Salvagers' bar.
Van Gar had never liked Erik Rider, so he hadn't immediately understood why he had felt such a loss when Drew told him about Erik's death. Now he realized why—Erik was so much a part of what both he and Drew had become. Because in a way, Erik was as much responsible for making him all that he was as he was for making Drewcila.
"Games within games," Van said with a sigh.
"Excuse me?" Zarco was sitting in the seat beside him now.
Van Gar started to ignore him, but then thought better of it. This was, after all Drew's husband. The man she had lived with before she had stepped into Van's life, and the man she would, more than likely, be living with when she stepped out of his life.
"I was just thinking about how everyone seems to be playing with my and Drew's lives."
"What do you mean?" Zarco asked defensively.
"In a game, when you make a move, you don't always know the outcome of that move. It seems like the best move at the time, but you won't know till later whether it was or not. If you were playing the game without an opponent, you could easily correct any mistake. But most games don't work that way. So, you make your move, and they make their move, and in making their move, they change completely the way you were going to play out your hand."
He looked at Zarco to see if he was listening. He was, so Van went on. "You have everything you want, except that your country is at war. Your enemy steals your wife, and you do nothing." Zarco started to protest and Van held up his hand. Zarco remained silent and Van went on. "That's your first move. A move that could be rectified except that your opponent removes you wife's memory so that you can never regain what you have lost. Erik likes money, so he creates Drewcila Qwah to hide your wife. Then moves her into my life. Drew is ambitious, and becomes the best Salvager in the galaxy. She and I go on without any knowledge that we are only pieces in a game. We still don't know how the game is going to end. It's become more and more complicated. The more players you add, the more pieces you move into play, the more complex the game. The only thing I'm sure of right now is that however things come out, Drew and I are going to lose. Considering that we never even knew that we were playing the fucking game, I think that's pretty crappy."
Zarco just looked at the alien for awhile, taking in all he h
ad said."You're in love with my wife."
The alien totally ignored his statement.
"You think I should have gone after her?"
"I would have. Failing that, I think you should have left her where you found her. As soon as you found out that she had a new life, you should have let her live it, instead of pulling her right back into your game."
"I'm not playing any twisted game, and I resent you insinuating that I am. Taralin is my wife. Taralin is Queen of Gildart. Would you have me leave her in a world of Salvagers?"
"You already made your move, and now you're trying to take it back. You let them destroy Taralin, and now you're going to destroy Drewcila Qwah."
"What right do you have to tell me how to treat my wife?"
"What right do you have to put Drew in danger? As long as she is Drewcila Qwah, she belongs more to me that she ever will to you. And I've got news for you; Drewcila Qwah will never belong to any male. Own a couple, maybe, belong to one? Never."
"Are you blaming me for our current position? Because I hardly think that you can blame it on me. The Lockhedes, maybe, but I . . ."
"Drew never would have been a target if it wasn't for you. Drew and I would likely be half way across the galaxy. And having just unloaded a cargo of junk, we'd be spending our earnings in some tacky over-crowded bar and beating up some humans."
"And that's the life you'd have her lead?"
"It beats all hell out of burning alive in the fucking Galdart desert!"
"Holy fuck!" Zarco screamed.
Van Gar was so taken aback by the King's use of Salvager slang that he damn near hit the looming shape in the middle of their path. He slammed on the brakes and slammed the transport into reverse.
Drew awoke with a start. "What the . . . Oh, shit!" She scrambled to her hands and knees and headed for her laser canon. "Move, move," she yelled at Zarco.
He moved, and she sat down in the seat quickly.
"I thought those damn things only came in small," she screamed at Fitz.
"The Galdartian Hurtella has been known to reach lengths of fifteen feet and may weigh as much as three thousand pounds."
"Why didn't you say that before?" Van Gar screamed.
"I saw no need to startle anyone."
"So considerate!"
Drew sat ready to fire.
"It seems to have stopped chasing us," Van Gar announced. "They're a helluva lot faster that they look."
"Go around it," Drew suggested.
As soon as they started to move, it started to chase them again.
"Shoot it," Van Gar screamed, throwing the vehicle into reverse again.
"I don't know if anything will pierce that shell."
"Then shoot it in the head."
It stopped chasing them again.
"What does something that size find to eat in the middle of the desert?" Stasha asked curiously.
"Idiots that try to cross all this sand," Drew screamed.
"Try to go around it again, Van. This time, make a bigger circle."
It didn't work. The thing moved three times as fast this time, and was almost upon them before Drew could fire. The blast barely missed his head, sending a shower of sparks into the beast's face, which made it stop and think for a moment. Then, much to their dismay, it charged them.
"Fuck!" Drew fired again. The shot, fired in haste, hit nothing but shell, and only served to add speed to the animal's charge. It slammed into the transport, and they lurched sideways. It backed up and then started to charge them again.
"Damn it, Drew, shoot the fucking thing!" Van screamed.
Drew fired. This time she hit the creature in the head, and the animal stopped in mid-charge, a steady stream of blood pouring from the wound.
Then before they had time to rejoice in its death it charged them again. It struck them in the side, and this time there was the unhealthy sound of metal crunching, and someone screamed.
Drew fired again as the transport lurched to a stop.
The bolt hit the beast in the head, and it stopped just as its beak-like mouth looked like it was going to tear a chunk out of the side of the transport.
Drew fired again just for good measure.
Van and Drew looked at each other.
"Fuck," they said.
"What a dick on a baby," Drew swore.
"I think Tim is hurt," Stasha said, kneeling beside him.
"No such luck, he just passes out when he gets excited," Drew said.
"You're kidding, right?" Facto asked.
"I wish she was." Van sighed and followed Drewcila out of the transport and into the sizzling heat of the sun to look at the damage. The right track was damaged and was not going to move without repair. Drew rubbed her hand over her eyes.
"How bad is it?" Zarco asked.
"Well, I hate to dash anyone's hopes, but . . . we're all going to die."
The canopy gave them some shade to work in, but without the effects of movement, it wasn't much better than being in the sun. Despite the desire to work without any clothes on at all, Drew and Van had put their coveralls on to work in, hoping that they would both protect them from the vicious rays of the sun and hold in some of the sweat which evaporated from their skin as soon as it was created in the intense desert heat.
To make matters worse, the transport was sinking the whole time they worked on it.
It took them a little under an hour to repair the damage done to the track, but the ordeal had taken its toll on them all, and everyone was very quiet as they started out once more.
This time, Drew sat beside Van Gar, canon at the ready. She scanned the horizon with a pair of binoculars every few minutes, looking for any sign of a Hurtella. The idea was to avoid them if at all possible.
It was dark before Van Gar and Drew decided to change places.
"Why don't you get some rest, Drewcila," Zarco said. "You look exhausted. I could drive this thing for awhile."
"Can you fire a laser cannon?"
"Yes."
"Then why don't you take point and let Van get some rest?"
Van Gar started to protest.
"Don't give me any flack, fur ball."
He nodded, and moved to the back of the transport, leaving the other seat for Zarco.
Drew started the transport moving while Zarco got into position. The gun felt good in his hands. While part of his preparation for the throne had included extensive military training, he hadn't had a gun in his hands for years. The entire war had been fought, and while he had called all the shots, he hadn't fired a single one.
At times when the daily casualty reports came in, and lives were counted in numbers, and victories were won on the bodies of the dead, he had felt so removed from it all that in a way it had been, as the Chitzky suggested, a game. He had fought the war with his generals on paper, and with computers and calculators. It was only when he had the time to look at the news, or thought of his missing wife, that he saw the numbers as people.
He had allowed Taralin to become one of those numbers, but no longer. He'd fight for her now. He would sit here with this gun, and watch out for things that wished to hurt her, and he would kill them. He wasn't going to play games. Not anymore.
"You keep scrunching your face up like that and it might become permanent," Drew said lightly.
"I was just thinking."
"'Bout what?"
"Well, mostly about you. About what I should have done. What might have made things different."
"It's about five years late for that shit now, isn't it?"
"What do I have to do to win you back?"
Drew looked only at the desert in front of her. It was a while before she answered. "I'm not a fucking trophy, Zarco. I'm not the same person you knew. In a lot of ways I don't even know who I am. And every second that I am around you, I become less and less sure that I ever knew.
"How can I really be anyone if I don't have a past? After all, a person is only the impressions their memories have left them with. Am I Tar
alin Zarco, or am I Drewcila Qwah? Maybe I'm a combination of both, or perhaps none of the above? Maybe I will never be whole until I somehow link the past you remember with the person I have become.
"The problem is that I was perfectly happy 'til you came along and told me that I'm not who I thought I was. For now, the only way I can stay sane is to be the only person I know how to be, Drewcila Qwah, and it would help a hell of a lot if you could accept that, and quit trying to make me over in your fucking image."
