Van Gar hadn't really thought much about being unstrapped, without the benefit of seats, in the cargo bay of a ship during reentry and landing on a planet's surface. Several Chitzskies were badly injured, and no one walked onto the surface of the planet without several bad bruises.
To make matters worse, after talking to several of the others at length, he began to get a picture of just how badly they were being scammed. If Drewcila found out what he had done, after she beat him senseless for giving away one of her ships, she was going to laugh herself into a coma at his stupidity.
He should have known better. A lifetime as a salvager and over eight years in the company of the Queen of Grifters should have made him immune to even the best bullshit line. And the "Pride Leader" just didn't have that good a line.
He felt like the universe's biggest idiot.
Utarus' surface was bare and desolate, with a sparse scattering of blue and red geodesic domes—the only structures in sight. There were the beginning of what might eventually be plants, and many Chitzskies doing the work of machines—moving dirt and rocks in buckets or pushing around wheel barrows. The "Planet Coordinator's" speech started with, "This is our home . . ." and as far as Van Gar was concerned, it went downhill from there. They learned that the "Pride Leader," Reverend Pard Jar, hadn't come to the planet with them, and that no one knew his actual name. He was "sacrificing" himself, staying in space, roaming the galaxy. And he would continue to do so until he had gathered up the remnants of his people and brought them all here to fulfill their destiny.
What the hell have I done? I left the only woman I've ever loved and a lifestyle I enjoyed to do what? Come to this godsforsaken wasteland to work myself to death. All to punish Drewcila. Drewcila, who is probably drinking the very best of alcoholic beverages, screwing whatever she likes, and living in the lap of luxury while I bake here, working my ass off to make some scam artist—who's not good enough to wipe the sweat from Drewcila's feet—rich. What the hell was I thinking? . . . That I was sick to death of being that whore's trained boy, that's what. That just once I wanted to be treated as if I really mattered, as if not just any warm body could take my place. So now I'm here, in hell, and there's no one, no one at all, to stop Drew from doing just exactly what she wants to do.
Van Gar started yelling, and didn't appear to have any stopping point. His Chitzsky brothers and sisters all around him thought he was in a home planet-type rapture, and they all started to sing a hymn as Van Gar wished for death.
Drewcila sat at her place on the bridge, at least for the time being everything but business forgotten. They were on their way to Barious as fast as the ship and the hyperspace by-way would allow them to go.
She looked at the figures that poured onto her screen on the left, even as she watched news reports from Barious on the right. Neither made her very happy. Her stock was plummeting all over the galaxy, and the reason for it was clear from the newscasts. Zarco had closed down all recycling operations on the planet and put everyone to work, either drafting them to military duty or rebuilding the military equipment he needed for the war he wanted to wage.
She was shifting shipments of salvage that were supposed to be landing on Barious to be reworked for resale to three of her smaller operations on other worlds and satellite installations, but they couldn't keep up. Key shipments were being delayed, production couldn't maintain their quotas at this rate, and salvage was stacking up everywhere. It was an incredible mess.
Suddenly the screen showing the newscast went blank. For the next several minutes she tried without any luck to reach Barious. Either the entire planet had just blown up, or more likely someone had detonated a communications disruptor. Technology had advanced to the point that such weapons didn't do permanent damage, however it could be hours—maybe even days—before they could repair the damage done by such an attack. Her stocks plummeted still more sharply.
"Heads will roll," Drewcila mumbled.
"What's that, my Queen?" Jurak asked.
"Detonating such a device at a time of war hardly gives anyone the upper hand. You wipe out communications on the entire surface of the planet, and that more or less puts everyone in the dark. So you have to ask, 'who would gain anything from this?' Zarco, of course. Zarco is purposely keeping me in the dark. This could mean only one thing, that he is up to something—something he knows I won't like. The question is what? He doesn't have sense enough to pour piss out of a boot without directions on the side, and his only real motivation, ever, seems to be his winky. So someone else must be pulling the strings—but who?"
She got up and started pacing back and forth, tapping her chin with her forefinger."Who would benefit by the country going to war?"
Jurak thought for a moment."No one, my Queen."
"Precisely . . . So the war isn't the main objective. Closing down the salvaging operation is, and who wants the salvaging operation closed down?"
"No one, my Queen. Salvaging has made the country prosperous."
"Which is why they hate it," she laughed out loud, and then walked over and plopped back into her chair."It's the nobility, the rich fucks, Jurak. They don't want the country to be prosperous, or the people to be happy, because then they aren't in control. They would have been against treaties with the Lockhedes from day one. It would have been easy for them to sway King Panty-waist to their side, because he's one of them." She looked back at her monitor."So, how deeply and completely are they entrenched?"
"I . . . don't know?"
Drew sighed."Jurak, don't take this the wrong way. You're a nice guy and all, but damn you're lame."
"I'm sorry, my Queen."
"Crap, not even going to argue with me," Drew muttered under her breath. She sighed again."Forget about it and get me a beer."
"Yes, my Queen." He went over to the cooler, dug a beer out of the ice, opened it and brought it to her. She sighed again as she took it from him, and waved her hand dismissively.
"Go on, get out of here."
He bowed low and left.
Drew screwed up her face and mocked him."Yes, my Queen, I'm a fucking idiot. No, my Queen, I don't have any brain at all. Who would have ever thought that the day would come when I'd grow tired of all this bowing and scraping?" She took a long drink of her beer and settled back into her chair to watch her stocks plummet and feel her blood pressure rise. She smiled as she made a decision. No doubt it would be an unpopular one, but it was one that she could live with.
Dylan and Arcadia made their way through the palace greenery towards the back gates to the palace grounds. The gates were well guarded, and the guards well armed, so Dylan had no idea how she thought they were going to get out when they got there. Arcadia stopped short and pulled him against her into a bush full of thorns against the palace wall. As Dylan plucked a thorn from his ass, he remembered one of the reasons he hated nature so much. He soon saw the reason for Arcadia's sudden movement as two guards walked past, just inches from them. Dylan started to breathe again only when they were well gone.
"What now?" Dylan asked in a whisper.
"I was hoping you had a plan," Arcadia said with a hopeless sound in her voice.
Dylan sighed. Short of an all-out attack on the rear gate, and some really good luck, he didn't have a clue."Have you noticed that they have changed the palace guard?"
"No, they all look the same to me."
"Well, they have. I didn't think anything of it, just thought it was part of a rotation, but now I realize that what they've done is to change guards who were loyal to Drewcila for guards who are loyal to the King. Drewcila's people would never have killed Pristin, and they certainly wouldn't be hunting us down now. I mean, you are, after all, one of Drew's favorite toys."
"And she mine," Arcadia said in a voice filled with a smile. She suddenly jerked him around, and all sign of mirth left her face."He's setting a trap for Drew."
"Damn! And I was counting on her to rescue us."
"We have to get out and warn her."
"And again I ask how?"
Arcadia started looking around in all directions. She'd never admit it, but her feelings for Drewcila Qwah went far beyond friendship. Otherwise, she more than likely wouldn't have agreed to be one of the multitudes of people Drew slept with. Unlike their boss, Dylan got the feeling that Arcadia wasn't into screwing people just for fun and profit.
"A frontal assault on the main gate?" Arcadia finally said, seeming to come to the same conclusion he'd come to—that it was really their only option.
Dylan shook his head."Suicide. I'm not ready for that yet."
Arcadia tried her wrist-com for the thousandth time, even more frantic now than she had been before, because she realized that Drew was the real target. Their communicators weren't working—some kind of jamming device had no doubt been implemented to make sure that the people on the outside were kept completely in the dark.
"We have to do something. The courtyard isn't big enough for us to elude the guards indefinitely," Arcadia said, adding to the list of things for Dylan to worry about. Till then he had just assumed that Arcadia was so good at this that she could keep them hidden.
Arcadia's eyes suddenly lit up, and she grabbed his hand and started pulling him along again. When he saw which way they were heading, he pulled her to a stop."Are you crazy?" he whispered."That's the bunkhouse."
"Exactly," Arcadia said excitedly."Lots of flammable stuff . . ."
"We start it on fire, and create a diversion," Dylan finished, looking at the blaster in his hand. He nodded his head in agreement, and they started moving again.
He had a clear shot through the door at a mattress inside, and he took it. They moved quickly to a better hiding spot and waited. In mere minutes the bunkhouse was in flames, and as they had planned, nearly every guard on the premises went to where the excitement was. They left the back gate with only one guard, and Arcadia shot him.
"I don't like it. I don't like it at all," Drewcila mumbled. Stocks were still plummeting, and Barious was still a complete communication wash out. She'd had to re-route still more barges loaded with salvage.
"Jurak?"
"Yes, my Queen?"
"Re-route all scrap to one of our other facilities until further notice, or we have stopped this idiotic war, whichever comes first," Drew said thoughtfully.
"But, my Queen . . . our . . . our other facilities cannot possibly handle the extra pay loads. Many people on Barious . . . They'll be without work if we . . ."
"I know all that," Drew said hotly, pounding her fist on the console and losing all the data on her screen."Shit!" she punched buttons till she got the data back."Don't you think I know all that, Jurak? That's exactly why I didn't want this war. But your idiot king has apparently forgotten who wears the pants in the castle. Which would be who, Jurak?"
"Definitely you, my Queen."
"And why is that, Jurak?"
"Because my king is an idiot?" Jurak guessed.
"Precisely!" Drew looked up at him and smiled."See, I think you're a great guy. I wonder why none of the others like you?" She looked thoughtful for a moment."I can't be sending expensive ships loaded with expensive salvage into spaceports in a country on a planet where a war has been declared—not while I'm blind. That would just be insane. Who knows but that the entire country hasn't been overrun by the Lockhedes?"
"What about us, my Queen?" Jurak asked nervously.
"What about us, Jurak?"
"What about us flying into a spaceport blind? Maybe into hostile territory?"
"Why, it sucks, of course. Still, what choice do we have? After all . . . I am losing a shit-pot load of money." Drew got up, practically skipped over to the ice chest she kept on the bridge at all times, opened it and extracted a beer. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Jurak giving her a disapproving look. She stood to her full height and popped the cap off the bottle on the corner of one of the consoles."Don't get your panties in a knot, Jurak, it's only a beer."
"My Queen, with all due respect . . ."
Drewcila coughed, "And that would be a lot, 'cause ah me being queen and all."
Jurak straightened even more than usual, cleared his throat and waded in, "Your Majesty always starts out with beer and good intentions, then after a few beers . . . Well, Your Majesty seems to forget that there are matters which need Your concern, and You . . ."
"My Majesty gets shit faced drunk and starts screwing everything that moves." She looked painfully thoughtful for a second, "and some things that don't. Why is it that you can do everything right most of the time, but you screw up, get drunk even once, and everyone has to throw it in your face forever? Answer me that question, Jurak."
"Drewcila," he temporarily slung away all formality and tried to reason with her on her level."You're always drunk," he reminded her gently.
Drewcila laughed and flopped into her chair, spinning around to face him."Well, that would be once, wouldn't it?"
"I hardly think that now is the time to . . . well, tie one on as you say."
"Chill out, Jurak. Have a brew. I know when it's time to work, and when it's time to play. I'm not going to get drunk." She looked at the monitor as if she expected at any minute it might tell her the answers to the very meaning of life itself, then said in an almost detached voice."There are two things that piss me off more than anything else in the universe. You know what those are, Jurak?" Without giving him a chance to answer, she held up one finger."Losing a butt load of money." She held up two fingers."Men who openly defy me, start wars, or go off, give away one of my ships, and join fucking religious communes. So, needless to say, I'm royally pissed off and hardly in a party mood. So smile—unless you're afraid your face will crack—kick back, and relax for a minute. How does my tongue look?" She stuck it out.
"Still blue and yellow spotted," Jurak said making a face.
"Damn! I was afraid of that." Drew sighed and took a long drink of her beer. It calmed her stomach and her nerves. She wondered if she could get in touch with Van Gar. Try to talk some sense into his head. Or maybe, and this was extreme and must mean something, she should tell him some bullshit story about how she was wrong, and she'd change, and quit doing all the things that pissed him off so badly. Just as soon as she figured out what they were . . .
She missed him. Missed him to the point of distraction. It sucked, too, because it meant she must actually harbor some real feelings for him. In which case it was a good thing he was gone. Life was good. Hell, it was great! She did what she wanted, when she wanted, with who she wanted. She sure as hell didn't want anything screwing up her party. And there was always Arcadia, loyal and trustworthy. While her feelings might be similar to Van Gar's regarding Drew's behavior, she at least had the good sense to keep her mouth shut.
Well, most of the time anyway.
Drew'd worked damn hard, and she'd gotten everything she'd ever wanted. A huge salvaging empire, a fleet of ships rivaled by none in three galaxies, giant recycling centers, and whole satellites bore the Qwah-Co logo. She had the admiration of her people, power, and more money than she could ever possibly spend.
Now the men in her life were flushing her dreams down the toilet. Van Gar was gone, she still wasn't sure just why, and that idiot husband of hers had started a war which threatened her empire.
Some days, being queen just sucked.