They didn’t say that, of course, but the possibility of being blamed for such a debacle was foremost in their minds. So the answer, or nonanswer, was to leave the Queen as she was. A mind trapped in an unresponsive body. And that, to the monarch’s way of thinking, was completely unacceptable. But what to do? She didn’t know. And not knowing gave rise to a feeling of helplessness—which was a strange sensation indeed.
The Queen’s thoughts were interrupted by a soft chime— and the swish of fabric as one of her administrative assistants appeared at the regent’s side. “Chancellor Ubatha is here to see you, Majesty,” the functionary said. “Shall I show him in?”
“Yes,” the monarch replied. “Who knows? Maybe he has some good news.”
The assistant withdrew, and no more than a minute passed before Ubatha entered the chamber and crossed the room to stand at the Queen’s bedside. Having left Parth’s estate, the offi?cial had executed a long sequence of carefully thought-out com calls, while fl?ying to the Summer Palace. Then, having made the necessary arrangements, the rest of the fl?ight was spent mourning the loss of his mate. From the Chancellor’s perspective, the being he and the Egg Ubatha loved had been replaced by a hard, ruthless creature who was willing to trade honor for power. Now the functionary was tired, worried, and, above all, frightened. “So, how do I look?” the monarch wanted to know.
“Like dinner on a spit?”
The reference to the metal cage that supported her body was an attempt to put her visitor at ease, but Ubatha had seen the contraption before, and was in no mood for levity. “No, Majesty,” the offi?cial replied, as the usual cloud of pheromones wafted around him. “But there are those who would take advantage of your disability if they could.”
So saying, Ubatha launched into a forthright account of the trip to Parth’s estate, the ensuing dialogue, and the shocking discovery that one of his own mates was part of the plot to depose her. It was a lot to take in, but the Queen was no stranger to political plots, and, having rid herself of the individuals in question, could understand their motives. Or their alleged motives. But what if Ubatha was lying? That was unlikely, of course, given that the offi? cial was accusing one of his own mates of treason, and remained subject to her pheromones. But every possibility had to be considered. Especially given her condition. “No offense, Chancellor,” she said. “But why should I believe you?”
“Because the coup is already under way,” Ubatha replied grimly. “Go ahead, request that a shuttle be sent to pick you up, and see what happens.”
The royal had access to a voice-operated com system, so she made the call herself. Less than thirty seconds passed before the Queen was piped through to an admiral and a well-known member of the Nira cult. He listened to the request, apologized for the fact that all of the Queen’s shuttles were currently undergoing maintenance, and promised to contact the royal the moment one of them became available.
The Queen felt a rising sense of rage, but managed to control it, as she broke the connection. The eyes that sought Ubatha’s were black as space. “You were right. . . . I won’t forget—and I’m sorry about your mate. You have a plan?”
“Yes, Majesty,” Chancellor Ubatha answered. “There are some individuals that we can trust. . . . And insofar as I can tell, the Thrakies are completely unaware of the plot. One of their shuttles will pick us up in roughly thirty minutes. Once we’re on board, the conspirators won’t be able to strike without attacking a very important ally.”
The Queen tried to move her body. Any part of her body—
but there was no response. “And then?”
“And then we’ll be taken aboard a Thraki ship,” Ubatha replied.
“But won’t that make it easy for them?” the Queen wanted to know. “Once I leave Hive, they’ll be free to put their own Queen on the throne.”
“No, they won’t,” Ubatha answered fi?rmly. “Not so long as you are off-planet running the government—and communicating with the population. But it’s going to take time to identify all of the conspirators and weed them out. There’s reason to believe that the rot runs a lot deeper than the individuals I met with.”
What Ubatha said made sense, so the Queen accepted it.
“So, where will we go?” the royal wanted to know.
“To a place where you can rest, and no one will think to look,” Ubatha said secretively. “Not at fi?rst anyway.” And the two of them were gone thirty minutes later. PLANET EARTH, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
The slaves had been taken prisoner in places like Petaluma, Fairfi?eld, and Concord before being marched through an urban wasteland to that part of the sprawling metroplex still referred to as San Jose, and what had once been the local convention center. But the huge building had another purpose now, and as Commander Leo Foley watched from a distant rooftop, he knew the long column of raggedly dressed people were about to enter a slave market where men, women, and children were sold to work in underground factories, toil on remote farms, and staff the brothels that had begun to pop up all over the area.
All of which was part of the criminal subculture that had grown up to replace the government structures the Ramanthians had systematically destroyed. It was a feudal system in which gang bosses lived like lords, competing armies fought for turf, and the rest of the population were slaves. The situation was not only barbaric, but helpful to the Ramanthians, who could simply sit back and watch the animals destroy each other.
And that was why Foley and the government-sponsored Earth Liberation Brigade was about to disrupt the illicit economy by taking the slave market down. Assuming the resistance fi?ghters could overcome the mercenary army that Otto Tovar had assembled to protect his business interests. That was very much in doubt, because Tovar was a retired general, who theoretically knew more about ground combat than Foley did. It was important to study the complex before attacking it, because unless the guerrillas were extremely careful, their fi?rst major battle would be their last. Strangely, as she and the rest of the slaves were led into the convention center, Margaret Vanderveen was glad to be there. Even if the fl?oor of the main auditorium was covered with fi?lth, a woman continued to utter a series of yelps as a guard whipped her, and the Mozart Requiem’s Dies Irae was playing full blast over the PA system. Because Margaret was tired. Very tired, and looking forward to a rest, even if that was within the confi?nes of a slave market. The whole thing had begun shortly after a badly damaged Ramanthian scout ship passed over the old mine where she and her companions had been staying and crashed off to the west. Once a badly injured aviator wandered into Deer Valley and collapsed, Margaret and her friends tried to save the Ramanthian, but were unable to do so. Shortly after the warrior’s death, Margaret realized that the alien’s chitin was abnormally thin. At her insistence, samples were taken and preserved in vials fi?lled with alcohol, drinkable alcohol that Benson had been reluctant to part with.
