by Selina Rosen
"My lady, perhaps one of us should stay with you . . ."
"That won't be necessary. Go! Go!"
As soon as she was sure they were gone, she flopped down on the bed and started to cry. Suddenly she felt a comforting hand patting her shoulder. She assumed it was her mother or father, and she cried all the louder, knowing that she had support.
"Geez, Stasha, what's wrong?" Drew asked in the most comforting tone she could muster.
Stasha spun around.
"Drew!" She hugged her sister tightly.
"Stasha this is to kinky, even for me."
"I thought they took you, too."
"What the hell are you talking about, Stasha?"
"Some of the guards," she wiped her nose on the back of her hand in a very un-lady-like fashion. "They were apparently part of some internal rebellion. They are holding Zarco, and they say that unless their demands are met, they'll kill him."
"I guess that's who those two clowns were who ran in here last night. I was in the closet so they didn't see me."
"Why were you in the closet?" Stasha asked. She saw the evil grin on her sister's face. "On second thought, don't tell me." She started to cry. "Oh Drew, they're going to kill Zarco. You have to do something."
"Ah, they ain't gonna kill him. Rough him up a little maybe. But if they kill him, they'll lose their bargaining power, and they're not so stupid as to think that we could let them live. I doubt they are desperate enough to want to die for their cause."
Stasha dried her eyes.
"Where were you?"
"I told you, I was in the closet."
"Why?"
"You said you didn't want to know," Drew said with a smile.
"He's here, isn't he?"
"Who?" Drew asked with well-fiend innocence.
"Well, unless you're a bigger whore than I think you are, Van Gar."
Drew smiled eagerly and clapped her hands together. "If it is Van Gar, does that mean I'm just a tiny whore?"
Stasha shook her head as Van Gar walked out of the closet wearing the Gildart guard uniform that he, like Drew, had taken to as everyday attire.
"Oh, Drew! What about Zarco?"
"No, I'm not sleeping with him."
"That's rather the point, Drew. You're not even giving him a chance."
"Hey!" Drew said in self-defense. "He wouldn't even give me a car!"
"What?"
"Don't ask." Van Gar warned dryly.
"We'd better go tell them that you're still here. Come on." Stasha got up and started pulling her sister along after her.
"Oh, it's so good to be Queen," Drew droned in a dull monotone voice as she allowed herself to be pulled along.
"I can't believe it," Fitz said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Members of the palace guard abducting the King—traitors among our own ranks."
"Remember what the Queen and her friend said about low pay? Perhaps they were right," Facto said.
"The King and the Queen stolen right from under our noses! Abducted while they slept!"
"Well, like it or not, Fitz, you know who that leaves in charge."
The door opened and Stasha swept into the room, pulling Drew behind her.
"The Queen!" Facto screeched in horror.
Drew smiled broadly, rubbing her hands together. "Well, boys, there's gonna be some changes roun' here."
Fitz fainted dead away.
Drew sat in the King's throne, wearing her uniform and her side arm. She had a beer in one hand a cigar, in the other.
"Whenever you're ready, my Queen," the camera man said.
Drew took in a deep breath. This was it, the biggest scam of her life. This was the deal she was going to be talking about when she got old. This was the story all salvagers would know by heart. This was the moment of truth. She was about to become a legend. "Roll em!"
She watched the light they had told her would indicate when the cameras were running. When it lit, she began.
"My friends, I'm afraid the news I must relay to you is not happy. In the night, some misguided souls broke into the palace, killed several guards, and abducted the King. I was only spared capture by the diligent efforts of the palace guards. The abductors now ask for a huge amount of money to release the King. As you know, it is not the policy of this reign to negotiate with terrorists. My five year absence is the proof of just how rigid we are on this matter.
"Until the King is released, I will be in charge, and I hope that I can serve you well. The cards and letters have been flooding in, and I am reading as many as possible. Hopefully, the terrorists will realize that their only chance for survival is to deliver the King safely to us. But, in the meantime, I will fill my empty time by working night and day to cure the ills of our ailing country. Thank you." She worked up a tear.
The cameras went off, and she stepped down. She looked at Facto. "Call a meeting of the advisory Council at once."
"Are you sure, my Queen?"
Drew glared at him.
"At once my Queen." He bowed and went off to do her bidding.
The advisory council and the newsmen waited patiently for the arrival of the Queen. When she appeared, Fitz, Facto, Van Gar, Stasha, and five well-armed guards accompanied her.
"All hail Taralin Zarco, Queen of all Gildart," the herald announced.
She smiled at him as she walked by. "Nice touch." She walked over, flopped down in her chair, and the others assembled themselves around her.
"Sorry to keep you waiting. Now, let's see, what did I have in mind? Oh, yes. You're all fired."
The noise from the group was deafening.
"Silence!" The herald ordered.
"You are all fired. Your salaries are to be stopped at once. Why am I being such a hard-ass? Well, maybe it's because I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Or maybe it's because my cereal lost its crunch in milk. Or maybe it's because I have a whole lot of trouble believing that a bunch of fat-assed bureaucrats, whose idea of struggling is when their holo-deck won't work, have any grasp of what real people go through at all. Maybe it's because I believe that being unemployed in the middle of a post-war depression will give you a better grasp of what is really needed to turn this country around, and make you more able to advise me in the future. But for now, consider yourselves on the unemployment line with everyone else."
She paused for effect, then went on.
"Now, a message to the people. A hundred positions are now open. The jobs will pay minimum wage, and will be temporary. The job is to read the tons of mail we are receiving from the public, and keep a tally of the gripes and recommendations so that I may tackle the most egregious problems first. Apply at the palace gates. Oh, and before I forget. Former members of the advisory council are eligible to apply. That will be all for now."
As the room started to empty, Drew turned to Fitz.
"Get me all the files pertaining to the war. Specifically, any files which deal with the statistics on the loss of equipment in the field, and where that equipment was last known to be. Also, I want to know the location of every re-cycling plant in the country, and how much of what it puts out is used here."
"I can answer that now," Facto hissed. "Gildart does not use its trash. We throw it away."
"Then you're all idiots!" Drew screamed in his face. "Don't talk to me in that tone of voice, Fuckto, or I'll have you beheaded, or something like that. While Zarco's away, I have the power." She laughed wickedly. "Now," she cleared her throat authoritatively, "I want to know how much trash we make a year in tons. I want to know how many spaceports we have, what we import, what we export, and how many ships there are in the Royal Navy."
"So, that's it, then," Facto frowned. "In the King's absence, you're going to implement your maniacal plan to make Gildart the center of the Salvaging universe."
"Ooh you're pushing the beheading thing, Fatso." Drew smiled. "I didn't get to be the best Salvager in the galaxy by not jumping on opportunity. Trust me. Yes, of course I am doing this for purely selfish reasons, b
ut the country will benefit from it. In fact, it will thrive."
Facto nodded. This at least was something he could believe. Drew would do what was best for the country, as long as it profited her.
"What about the King?" Fitz asked.
"What about him?" Drew asked.
"Shouldn't we try to find him?"
"Do you know where he is?"
"No," Fitz answered.
"Well, neither do I," she shrugged. "OK, we've wasted enough time on that shit. On to more pressing matters. I need an inter-stellar comlink, and I need it yesterday."
"There is one in the King's office," Facto announced.
"Good, then I'll get right to work. Oh, and while I'm thinking of it, bring me a guard's contract. I want to see what we're doing wrong and correct it at once."
"As you wish, Your Majesty."
"And bring me a case of my favorite beer . . . Oh, and get me ten of the finest naked dancing boys on the planet."
"Will there be anything else, my Queen?" Facto asked through clenched teeth.
She looked thoughtful for a full minute. "Nooo, that ought to just about do it for now." Then she let out a peal of near-maniacal laughter, rubbed her hands together and looked at Van Gar. "Now I, Drewcila Qwah, shall become Queen of the Salvagers. All trash shall come through me, and all men will bow their knee and cry when I pass, 'Praise Drew, from whence all garbage flows.'"
Facto wondered how far from the truth her statement was.
Chapter 12
Despite the guards' protests, Drew had gone to the garden alone. She sat silently in the dark, contemplating the day's events. Everything she had ever dreamed of was right there within her grasp. All she had to do was play her cards right, and she would have the fleet and the salvaging port she'd always dreamed of. But certain things were not as easily manipulated as an empire. Everyone made such a big deal out of absolute power. Drew didn't know what they were bitching about. The so called burden of power was probably the easiest thing she'd ever had to deal with. Yeah, like, it's so awful always having people waiting on you hand and foot, and having everything your way.
But power couldn't fix everything. She was confused about being this other person that she couldn't remember. Surrounded by people who should fit into her life, but just didn't somehow. Zarco was her husband, but all she felt when they told her he had been abducted was the joy of being able to carry out her plans without him getting in the way. Yet in the garden with him, she had felt something. If he hadn't told her she couldn't have that car, she would, more than likely, have spent the night with him instead of Van Gar. Not because she had any real feelings for him, but because he had feelings for her. When she was with Zarco like that, and no one else was around, she could feel the love he had for her, hear it in his voice. He wanted more than her body, he wanted her love. In the life she could remember she had never had anything close to that. She had always imagined it would be different with Van Gar. But while the sex was incredible, it was obvious that he saw her in no different light that any other sex partner had; a convenient, and in Van Gar's case, only mildly amusing, fuck. She didn't know why that bothered her so much, but it did. No one else had ever complained, and here he was, her best friend, and he had the utter gall to tell her that she was a lousy lay. Even more amazing than that was the fact that even after he had blasted her sexuality, she had slept with him again, and she had enjoyed it. She decided that if Zarco ever was returned, and if she was still here when he was, she was going to have sex with him and tell Van Gar that Zarco was much better in bed. That would get the old furball's goat.
She felt something cold against her neck.
"Don't make a sound."
"I was beginning to think you'd never get here. A person could get piles sitting on one of these concrete benches, you know."
"Don't pretend that you planned for this meeting. I know you ordered the guards not to follow you."
It was about that time that he felt something cold and hard in the middle of his back. He allowed the gun to be taken from his hand by the Queen, and moved to face her as the beast ordered.
"Good job, Van."
She looked the man up and down and recognized him as one of the door guards.
"Marcus, isn't it?"
"Yes, my Queen."
Drew smiled at the contradiction of action and words. Kidnapping the King, but still addressing her in the proper manner.
"Marcus, I am not a fool. I knew there was a traitor among the guards. Why would I tell them anything but what I wanted you to hear? I figured if you knew I was walking in the garden alone you'd either surface to abduct me or talk to me. So, which is it?"
"Why did you say what you said about the abduction? Why did you lie?"
"How much faith can a people have in their kingdom if the King's own guards have turned against him?"
"We wish the King no ill will. We only want the changes we have outlined, not cash as you said."
"Zarco's well, then?"
"He sends this message." Marcus handed her a folded piece of paper. She didn't open it.
"He will remain well as long as I do," Marcus threatened.
"I meant what I said about not dealing with terrorists."
"I am not a terrorist, my Queen. I simply want the government to do something about what's happening out there. I want the same things that you do. Just implement the programs, we'll release the King, and no one need know."
"The things you ask for are simplistic, idealistic and utterly ridiculous. If I do what you want it will kill what's left of Gildart, your enemies will easily overrun your borders and we shall all go down together. Where will the money come from to implement your programs?"
"By taxing the rich."
"You would have to tax them till they became the poor to do the things you would have us do."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"I suggest that you keep the King out of my hair for two months and put your trust in me. In my five years away I have learned many things. I can make this country prosper again, if you just give me the chance."
He looked thoughtful.
"There's nothing to think about, Marcus. We play the game my way or we don't play at all. I kill you, your people kill Zarco. Then I do whatever the hell I please. Any way you look at it, I win. The only thing you have to think about is whether you want to win, too."
"I could let Zarco go now," he said in a threatening tone.
"And I finger you as his abductor, you and all your accomplices are tried and convicted, and it takes me a little longer to get what I want." She seemed to calculate all that, then smiled broadly. "I still win, and you still lose. There's only one way that we both win."
Marcus nodded in defeat. "What do I tell your husband, the King?"
Drew smiled. "Tell him that I said that I now understand why he couldn't come after me, and that I am a very hard woman to deal with."
"What about me?" He asked, suddenly realizing that he had not only been seen, but recognized.
"The next time you spend this much time away from your post, you will be fired."
He nodded and ran away.
"So, what now, Drew?"
"There is a giant gap in the salvaging industry now that Erik is dead. You and I are going to fill that gap. Come on, let's start calling."
Facto walked past Zarco's office. He had risen early and hadn't been able to go back to sleep. He had already passed the open door before he realized that the light was on. He walked back to stand in the doorway.
Drew sat at the comlink console. Her hair was a mess, her shirt was undone till it was indecent, and discarded caffeine cups littered the desk. Van Gar lay on the couch asleep, a rifle in his hand. Margot sat asleep in a chair. It was obvious that Drew had been working through the night.
"Yeah, Lue, that's right. Queen of ah fuckin' country . . . You heard right, I'm taking over Erik's operation. Van Gar and I . . . What's in it for you? Well, let me tell you, Lue. This country of mine doesn't kno
w the meaning of salvage. There are mountains of textiles here. Cloth, organic fiber cloth, Lue. Not the cheap shit, either. And do you know what they do with it when they're tired of it, Lue? Hold onto your hat. They throw it away."
She pulled the receiver away from her hear, and even Facto could hear the man on the other end screaming.
"That's right, Lue. Tons of it thrown away in the landfills to rot . . . Yes, there's a huge work force, they just need to be trained and put to work . . . That's exactly what I was thinking, Lue. Your people would be perfect for the job . . . Your share? Oh, thirty percent of the profits sounds right to me . . . Forty is as high as I'm going . . . Lue, you're taking my heart right out of my chest, my country needs this money! . . . You're killing me! . . . OK, OK, Lue. Fifty . . . Give me a week to get things set up." She hung up the phone and laughed.
