The Snow Queen

by Joan D. Vinge

  “He won’t get off-planet.” PalaThion pulled at the empire sign on her belt buckle. “We’ll get him.”

  “Don’t bet on it.” Mantagnes studied his feet, disgusted.

  “Then let him try finding a hiding place from charges of attempted genocide.” She waved a hand. “Woldantuz, let’s put these other beautiful people in the bottle where they belong. At least we’ve got all the evidence. And a witness. Starhiker, I’ll need your testimony.”

  “Count on it, Blue.” Tor nodded, feeling her urge for revenge blaze up as C’sunh was led past her. Two of the others followed him before she saw Oyarzabal.

  “Persiponë?” He pulled his guard to a stop. “I guess I won’t be takin’ you with me after all. Not where I’m bound now.”

  “You wanted to make me into a vegetable, you lousy bastard! That’s all you ever wanted!” She pushed past PalaThion to stand in front of him. “I hope you stay there until you rot. I hope you never even see another woman—” She remembered suddenly that he had tried to stop it at the last; and that the few seconds he had won her had made all the difference.

  “I didn’t want you dead, that’s all! Even havin’ you like that was better than havin’ you dead.” He leaned toward her; the Blue held him back.

  “Speak for yourself.” She folded her arms. “Since you’re the only one you seem to think about.”

  He looked away, at PalaThion. “If you want what I know about this, just ask. I’ll tell you anything.” PalaThion nodded, and one of the other men swore under his breath. Tor realized that Oyarzabal’s life wouldn’t be worth a drunkard’s damn from now on, no matter where they sent him.

  And there would be no getting off this world for her now, no matter what she did. Oh, gods, why can’t I ever do anything right? She hugged herself tightly, because there was no one else left to hold her, or to hold. She felt PalaThion look at her, found an unexpected sympathy in the woman’s eyes. PalaThion’s head moved imperceptibly, until she was looking at Oyarzabal, and past him.

  Tor stepped forward, still holding onto herself, protecting herself, as she closed with Oyarzabal. She kissed him briefly on the mouth. She stepped back again, and they wouldn’t let him follow. “So long, Oyar.”

  He didn’t answer her. The Blues led him out of the room. Tor moved back to stand beside Pollux. Why is it? Why is it? That you never want what you’ve got till you’ve thrown it away?

  - 46 -

  Jerusha leaned forward across the duty desk, craning her neck to follow the sight of Dr. C’sunh and his fellow would-be genocides being led away into the detention wing. Oh, sweet revenge! There was nothing sweet in her smile. She had broken Arienrhod’s plot at the last possible moment; and even though she couldn’t touch Arienrhod herself, she had set the Summers on her, and they would keep her safe until the day of her execution. Maybe there is some justice in the universe, after all. “Starhiker!”

  Tor Starhiker glanced through the thinning screen of self congratulatory blue uniforms; she sat drinking strong tea under the watchful gaze of Pollux. She got up from the bench, came striding through the patrolmen toward the desk. Jerusha watched her come with bemused interest. Her clinging body wrap left considerably more of her chunky body uncovered than it covered; she walked like a dockhand, oblivious to the casual ogling of the men she passed. A plain, pragmatic face was emerging through the smeared makeup, and her lank mouse-colored hair was chopped off bluntly at ear length. Ye gods, there’s a human being in there. Jerusha remembered abruptly that one of the men she had just sent away seemed to be in love with that human being. Damn it, why can’t right be right and wrong be wrong ... why can’t it be simple, just once? I’m sick of gray. She shook it off as the woman stood before her. “How are you doing?”

  Tor shrugged, lost a drape of cloth and pulled it back onto her shoulder. “All right, I guess. I mean, considering ...” She looked away at the doorway to the detention block.

  “Well enough for a monitored testimony?”

  “Sure.” Tor sighed. “I guess I don’t get to appear at the trial, huh?” She rested her hands on her hips.

  The trial would be held on some other world now. Jerusha smiled, understanding the irony. “Consider yourself lucky. Dr. C’sunh has a lot of friends, and they’re all out there.” She gestured at the ceiling.

  Tor made a face. “At least once we’re gone from Tiamat, you’ll be safe from them. Your statement will do all the damage that you could, as long as it’s properly recorded; and I’ll make damn sure it is, believe me. I just hope it’ll be enough to drag in the Source. If the—” She broke off as a fresh clot of strangers entered the station. No, not strangers. She stood up, saw everyone else in the room turn to stare with her.

  “What the—”

  “Arienrhod?”

  “Moon!” She heard herself say it, heard Tor echo it, without taking time to wonder. She saw two sturdy Summers behind the girl, carrying Gundhalinu’s body. “Shit ... !”

  Moon hesitated as she saw Jerusha move out from behind the desk, but she stood her ground resolutely as the handful of patrolmen gathered around them.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Gundhalinu!”

  “I thought he was—”

  “Is he dead?” Jerusha caught Moon by the shoulder, all her perspective gone.

  “No!” Jerusha saw the anguish on the girl’s face as she wrenched her around, and she let her go in surprise. “He isn’t dead. But he’s sick, he needs a medic.” Moon’s hand reached out toward him, couldn’t quite touch him.

  “That didn’t matter much to you two days ago, did it?” Jerusha looked past her at Gundhalinu’s lolling head and closed eyes, his gaunt, sweating face. She gestured for two of her own men to take him away from the Summers. “Get him over to the med center; hurry. And carefully, damn it! He’s worth more than diamonds to me.”

  They carried him away, carefully. The two Summers nodded at Moon, almost making obeisances, and went back out into the alley. Moon didn’t try to follow them, or Gundhalinu, with more than her eyes. She had gotten herself a long golden gown somewhere; even with her hair straggling down around her face her resemblance to Arienrhod was incredible.

  “And you’re under arrest, Dawntreader, in case you’d forgotten.” My gods, this is too much for one day. She lifted her hand, summoning another officer.

  Moon grimaced. “I haven’t forgotten you, Commander. BZ ... Inspector Gundhalinu ... I escaped. He found me again. He was bringing me in when he collapsed.” She said it all unblinkingly.

  “Sure he was.” Jerusha unhooked the binders from her belt, said very softly, “That’s the biggest crock I ever heard. Fortunately I choose to believe it, for Gundhalinu’s sake.” She saw the girl’s marked throat, remembering abruptly that she was a sibyl. Jerusha lowered her hands with the binders toward her belt again, grudgingly. “I suppose these aren’t necessary, sibyl. But you didn’t come here to tell me that. Why the hell did you come?”

  Moon smiled briefly, ironically; the expression looked alien on her face. She stopped smiling. “I came because the Queen wants to cause a plague to kill all the Summers in the city, and I know who’s going to start it.”

  “You’re too late.” Jerusha grinned with self-satisfied triumph, until she saw Moon’s reaction. “No—I mean we’ve already stopped it. We’ve got the guilty parties, they’re our permanent guests right now.” She gestured toward the lockup, mellowing in the warmth of fortune’s smile.

  “Already? It’s over? They didn’t—” Moon glanced over her shoulder at the station entrance. She looked back at Jerusha again, stricken, abruptly realizing that she had sacrificed her freedom for nothing.

  “They didn’t. The Summers are safe. Arienrhod has failed, and she’s under house arrest. She won’t get away from your Lady.” A passing patrolman called congratulations to her; she nodded.

  Moon’s face twitched as though she didn’t know what to feel, as though there were more layers to the knowledge than even she could pen
etrate. “How ... how did you find out?” wearily.

  “By chance; with unintentional cooperation from—” She turned to Tor Starhiker, eavesdropping behind her.

  “Hey, kid,” Tor raised a hand, and Moon blinked with recognition. “Hey, Pollux, come here!”

  “Persiponë?” Moon half frowned at Tor’s unglamorized face, still only half-sure. She looked past her as the pol rob came toward them.

  “What’s she under arrest for?” Tor jerked a thumb at Moon, indignantly, a little too impressed with her own role as key witness. “It’s not against the law to impersonate the Queen, is it? Not your laws, anyhow.”

  “That depends on how well you do it,” Jerusha said. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “You know each other?”

  “Since today. That seems like forever.” Tor shook her head, strained for a smile. “Look what she’s done to your hairdo, Polly .... So what happened, cousin? Did you find him? Did you get him out of the palace? Did you see the Queen—did she see you?”

  “You were in the palace?” Jerusha demanded. The clear wall of official accusation turned the girl into a prisoner again. “To meet the Queen—”

  Moon felt the change, and defiance beat back at her. “To find my cousin!” She glanced quickly at Tor, nodded, blushing. “You know what ... who I am, don’t you, Commander?”

  Jerusha nodded, keeping her distance mentally. “I’ve known for a long time.” Tor looked blank beside her.

  “So has everyone; except me,” Moon murmured bitterly. “I was the last to know.”

  “I still don’t know,” Tor said.

  “Did Gundhalinu tell you?”

  “No, Arienrhod did.” Moon twisted a strand of hair.

  Jerusha started. “You saw her?”

  “Yes,” almost a whisper. “She wanted me with her to share ... everything. Even Sparks,” coldly. Moon reddened again; angry, not ashamed. “She wanted me to forget that I’m pledged to him; forget that I’m a Summer; forget that I’m a sibyl. And when I wouldn’t forget, she tried to kill me.”

  The bitterness increased a magnitude. Jerusha frowned as her own surprise deepened. Moon rubbed her eyes, swaying where she stood; Jerusha remembered all that she had been through, and how much of it had been for Gundhalinu’s sake.

  “Sit down. Pollux, bring us some tea.” Jerusha dismissed the waiting guard, touched Moon’s elbow, turning her toward the seat along the wall. Moon looked surprise at her; Jerusha felt a twinge of surprise at herself. Pollux moved away obediently through the trajectories of official activity. Tor included herself in the rest of the invitation: “Get me a refill, Polly.”

  “You said Arienrhod tried to kill you?” Jerusha sat down.

  Moon dropped heavily onto the seat, a little away from her; Tor stretched out fluidly at the bench’s end. “She told the nobles I was a sibyl, and they tried to throw me into the Pit.”

  Tor sat up straight, speechless for once.

  “Her own clone?” Jerusha felt her incredulity fade even as she said it. Yes, that’s the Arienrhod I know. No competition.

  “I’m not Arienrhod!” Moon’s voice shook with denial. “I’m wearing her face, that’s all.” She pulled a hand down over her own, her fingers clawing, as though she wanted to strip it off. “And she knows it.”

  Pollux returned and passed around tea with the silent propriety of a butler. Jerusha took a sip from her bowl, letting the scalding heat rise inside her head. It could be a trick, another trick, her coming here. But for the life of her she couldn’t imagine what purpose could lie behind it.

  “They tried to throw you in the Pit?” Tor prodded, staring at Moon’s throat. “What happened?”

  “It wasn’t hungry.” Moon drank her tea, a strange emotion moving across her face. Tor looked pained. “BZ—Inspector Gundhalinu came in with the Summers and made them let me go.”

  “You mean that fishing pole with you was a real Blue?” Tor asked.

  “He was once.” Jerusha rested her heavy-helmeted head against the wall. “I hope he will be again.”

  “He never stopped wanting to be anything else,” Moon said quietly. “Don’t let him give it up, and throw everything away. Don’t let him blame himself for what happened.” She gulped tea.

  “I can’t keep him from doing that.” Jerusha shook her head. “But I’ll make sure no one else blames him for it.” I can save his career; but I can’t save him from himself ... or from you. “Tell me,” her resentment crystallized into accusation, “by all the gods, what do you see in Starbuck, that bloody genocide—”

  “Sparks isn’t Starbuck ... not any more.” Moon set her empty cup down on the bench, rattling it as the genocide registered. “And he never knew about the mers. But you do.” She looked up, with realization turning suspicion in her eyes.

  From you. Jerusha glanced away abruptly. “Yes. Your friend Ngenet—told me the truth about them.” My friend Ngenet ... who trusted you, and trusted me to know about you. She shook her head, shaking loose her own mixed emotions.

  “Ngenet?” Moon shook her own head, rubbed her face again. “You must have known it before. Any sibyl knows the truth, you can’t deny that,” including the whole of the Hegemony in the accusation. “You want to punish Sparks for killing mers on off worlder land—for splattering blood on you while you stand and watch them die, with your hands out begging for the water of life! And you want to punish me for knowing the truth—that you’re punishing my world for your own guilt.”

  Tor sat listening with wide ears, but Jerusha made no move to get rid of her. She made no move even to answer, cupping the Hegemonic seal of her belt buckle with cold fingers; Moon watched her intently through the long moment. Jerusha frowned. “I don’t make the laws. I just enforce them.” Wishing, as she said it, that she hadn’t said that much.

  Disappointment showed in Moon’s eyes, but she didn’t press the argument. “Sparks isn’t Starbuck! He wasn’t Starbuck in Summer; and there won’t be a Starbuck any more, when Winter’s gone. Arienrhod did it to him, and he only let her do it because—because she was so like me.” Moon glanced away. Jerusha felt a pang of sympathy at the girl’s sudden shame and confusion. She stared at the trefoil tattoo. “Sparks was the one who told me about the Queen’s plot. He was coming here when she caught us—he didn’t care what you did to him, or me, as long as you kept our people from dying.” She looked up.

  “If he wants to make up for the last five years, it’ll take more than that. It’ll take him the rest of his life.” Jerusha tasted venom.

  “Do you hate him that much?” Moon frowned. “Why? What did he ever do to you?”

  “Listen, Moon,” Tor said. “Everybody in Carbuncle has a reason to hate either Sparks Dawntreader or Starbuck. And that includes me.”

  “Then you gave him a reason to hate you.”

  Jerusha looked away. “He repaid us all a hundred times over.”

  Moon leaned forward. “But at least you owe him a chance to prove he doesn’t belong to the Queen now. He knows everything about the Source’s plan—couldn’t he testify for you? He knows other things about the Source, things you could use—”

  “Like what?” interested in spite of herself.

  “What happened to the former Commander of Police? He was poisoned, wasn’t he?”

  Jerusha felt her mouth fall open. “The Source did it?”

  “For the Queen.” Moon nodded.

  “Gods ... oh, gods, I’d like to get that on tape!” With a spare to play every night, to sing me to sleep.

  “Enough to drop the charges against us?”

  Jerusha refocused on Moon, saw determination running swift and deep in her strange eyes; realized suddenly that she had been led blindfolded to this point—that the girl was still fighting for her lover’s life, and her own. You’ve learned the rules of civilization well, girl. Resentment struggled inside her, died stillborn. She looked at the trefoil tattoo again. Hells and devils, how long can I go on hating her face, when there’s no pr
oof she ever deserved to be born with it?

  “Will you let me go and bring him here?” Moon half rose, anticipating her surrender.

  “It may not be that easy.”

  Moon sat down again, her body taut. “Why not?”

  “I let it be known all up and down the Street that Sparks was Starbuck, when I learned about it. The Summers must already know who he is.” And I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t know that I wanted it to happen that way. “They won’t let him leave the palace now.”

  “He was supposed to be all right! That’s the only reason I left him there!” Moon cried her betrayal to the air; faces turned to stare at her across the room. Her eyes glazed suddenly, vacant windows. Jerusha edged away from her, away from contamination. “No, no!” Moon’s hands clenched into fists. “You can’t use him and let him die! I did it all for him—you know that’s why I came here. Not for you, not for the Change .... I don’t care about the Change, if it means he has to die!” It had the sound of a threat. “Sparks isn’t going to die tomorrow—”

  “Someone has to,” Jerusha said uncomfortably, uncertainly, trying to pull her back into the real world. “I know he’s your lover, sibyl—but the Change is bigger than any one person’s wants or needs. The Change ritual is sacred; if the Sea Mother doesn’t get her consort, there’ll be hell to pay from the crowds that came to see it. Starbuck has to die.”

  “Starbuck has to die.” Moon echoed it, getting slowly to her feet. “I know. I know he does.” She put her hand to her head, her face drawing pain, as though she struggled against some compulsion. “But Sparks doesn’t! Commander.” She turned back, her face still strained. “Will you help me find First Secretary Sirus? He promised me,” she smiled suddenly, sardonically, “that if there was anything he could do himself to help his son, he’d do it. And he will.”

  “I can contact him.” Jerusha nodded. “But I want to know why.”

  “I have to see someone, first.” Moon’s determination faltered. “Then I’ll tell you, and you can tell him. Persiponë, where’s Herne now?”