Queen of Denial (20 page)

"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.

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 know 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.

"Sucker!"

She immediately started punching buttons again.

"Hello, Cramont? . . . Yeah, this is me, you old slime . . . No, I ain't dead. Listen, have I got a deal for you! . . ."

Facto walked away, shaking his head. Whatever she was up to, things weren't going to get back to normal until Zarco was returned. He could only hope that would be soon.

A week later, the council room was full again, but this time it was a decidedly different advisory council. This group sported weapons of all kinds. Wore clothing that was scruffy, indecent or both. And reeked of alcohol and smoke.

The reporters waited in eager anticipation for their Queen. Covering the news had become decidedly more entertaining since the Queen's return.

The herald ran into the room as if the very devil was at his heels, and started almost before he stopped moving.

"Her Royal . . . the Queen!"

The reason for his haste was evident when the Queen came bounding through the door, with her entourage practically running to keep up. She walked over to her throne and sat down so hard that she spilled the beer she held in her hand. In her other hand she held a smoldering cigar.

"Sorry I'm late, but I was busy passing a kidney stone."

She looked over her shoulder at Facto.

"How was that?" she whispered, taking a drag off her cigar.

No response.

Drew shrugged, coughed, and pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket.

"My people, my friends, my business associates. Please bear with me while I . . . ah!"

She wadded the paper up, threw it behind her and removed the cigar from her mouth.

"Screw it!"

The crowd roared with laughter. Drew smiled broadly and took a drink of her beer.

"Sheesh I only have two hands, how do they expect me to hold a fucking paper. I've been working in trash for five years, and I know when something stinks. Face it, our country's in the toilet, and at this point we can either walk away and let the shit keep floating, or we can flush and start over again."

The hot ashes off her cigar fell on the red velvet arm of the throne, and she quickly poured beer on it to stop the spreading fire.

"I'm going to ask all of you to think for a moment of the country as a business. A business that is experiencing a sudden, giant loss in profits. Crash! The bottom falls out of your market, and you're stuck with a warehouse full of product that you can't sell. What happens? Any good business person knows that you have to lay off your employees and re-tool! We haven't.

"Factories all over the country have been trading in the business of war. They re-tooled their assembly lines to make the battle machines and tools of war, but now the battle is over. I'm sure another will arise soon. But for the time being, I'm sorry, but there is no war. So, why aren't they going back to what they were making before? Because no one has any money to buy the things they would produce, because they've all been laid off. It's a vicious cycle, and the only way you can stop such a cycle is to bring something completely different into the picture.

"That is where my friends come in. Each one of them is an expert in his own field of salvaging. So, you may be asking-just what is Salvaging? Well, let me tell you. Go to your garbage cans. Are there plastic bottles in them? On the galactic market, plastic bottles are worth money. What about cloth? Did you throw out an old shirt? What about paper? All these things and more are worth money. Not enough to cure the country's woes if considered singly, but multiply your trash by every trash can in the country. Then think of all the machines of war that lie broken and scattered across the land. Think of the cars and planes and space ships littering the country's landscape. Now nothing more than an eyesore, these useless things can make us enough money, and bring us enough jobs to put us back on our feet.

"OK. I know the next question. What happens when all the scrap of war is gone? What then? How do we keep our country from falling right back into the same trap? Simple. By making Gildart the Salvaging capital of this galaxy. By turning our three little spaceports into major Salvaging ports. By training our people in the fine art of Salvaging.

"So, what is Salvaging? Simply put, we will take other people's garbage and turn it into cash. I don't think anyone can find fault with that. Except maybe the people who have everything they want right now. People who still have a job, who don't have bills, and in fact aren't being touched by this economic crunch that is affecting all of you.