Recycled Page 2

  "I most certainly will not. Perhaps if you hadn't turned our war machines into scrap metal and our munitions plants into recycling centers, it wouldn't be so costly. Believe it or not, this is my country, mine . . ."

  "All right, all right. Damn! What a crappy mood you're in. Let's say I screw you. Will you let me have my way then?"

  There was a slight pause before the king's retort."I swear, Drewcila! You are the foulest, most vile woman . . ."

  "Yeah, yeah I know. Ya wanna fuck for it or not?"

  "Most certainly not. I will not sell my country's future to sleep with my own wife."

  "Fine, but it's your loss." She racked her brain trying to think of some other tactic. Giving up, she yelled, "Damn it, Zarco! If I have to come to that planet, you're going to be damn sorry!"

  Zarco had no doubt that Drewcila could make him sorry; she usually did. He watched as her face faded from the screen. He paced the floor for a few minutes, trying to regain his composure and slow his breathing pattern. Having a sudden brain storm, he turned to look at Stasha."You will dress up like Drewcila and go on TV . . . back up my speech. The people love her. They'll do whatever she says. In order to discredit your words she would have to admit to her little ruse—that she is rarely on the planet and uses you to talk to them—which would turn the people against her so that they will quit worshiping her. I will write your speech at once . . ."

  "I won't do it, Zarco," Stasha said with conviction."Drewcila is right, and I will not help you lead our kingdom into war."

  "Stasha . . . Drewcila only cares about profits."

  "And Facto's point is valid. What serves Qwah-Co ultimately serves the people. You aren't thinking clearly."

  "I have never been any clearer on anything in my life!" Zarco looked near to the hair-pulling stage."Can you believe her!" Zarco walked over and flopped into his throne looking up at Facto and Stasha."She actually thinks that I would make policy which affects the entire nation in exchange for sexual favors. Tawdry and ridiculous!"

  Stasha's face seemed to crumble then."Don't think that I missed the hesitation in your voice, Zarco." She turned on her heel and ran out of the room crying. Zarco sighed and got to his feet."Stasha, Stasha please." He went after her. At the door he turned to look at Facto."It is easier to run the country than it is to attend to the problems of my own house."

  Facto nodded silently and watched Zarco go. He certainly wouldn't want to be in the king's shoes. He understood that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to separate one's personal feelings from kingdom affairs, but as the leader of their country he should be able to put the kingdom's best interests above his own personal feelings. He was letting his heart rule his head, and a leader could never afford that luxury. Zarco's very righteous anger for the Lockhedes was causing him to tread the path to war. Drewcila had seen the Lockhedes' requests as a way to make more profit, and—though she'd never readily admit it to any of them—a chance for a real and lasting peace. As Drew had tried to explain to Zarco, peace equaled profit, and profit equaled peace.

  Once again, Facto found himself in the position of having to side with Drewcila, not exactly a very comfortable position for him to be in.

  As soon as he was sure Zarco was well out of hearing range, he slipped to the door of the king's office and looked out, making sure that no one else was about. Then he went back to the king's computer and hailed Drew. If they were suspicious of Facto, they'd certainly check transmissions from his computer, but whoever checked up on the king? He'd done this in the past, and, so far, none were the wiser.

  The king was no leader, and Drewcila . . . well, she was always off planet gallivanting across the universe. Someone had to be concerned about the fate of the kingdom, and more often than not that duty fell to him.

  "Ah, Fucktoe," Drewcila cooed."How are you today? Did you find something particularly dull and of no interest whatsoever to bother me with, or has it been an unusually boring day . . . ?"

  "Since I am going behind my king's back at the risk of my very life, do you think you might refrain from butchering my name with vulgar salvager profanities and making fun of basically my entire life?" Facto asked with a sigh.

  Drew shrugged."I suppose I could, but it wouldn't be as much fun. I thought this was a done deal. That you had convinced Zardumb that trade with the Lockhedes would bring about a real and lasting peace, yada, yada, yada."

  "I thought I had. Then yesterday morning . . . Well, he just seemed to wake up determined not to give in. And once the Lockhedes had declared war . . . you can't expect him to give in to them now," Facto said.

  "Actually, yes I can. God! Why are men so stupid?" she started pacing in and out of the monitor's range, which was very irritating to say the least."First Van Gar and now Zarco. Are all men such idiots, or is it only men that I become involved with? Perhaps all the really great sex I give them starves their brains for oxygen until they become stupid. I don't know of course, because I don't remember, but I have a feeling Zarco has always been a moron . . ."

  Feeling forgotten, Facto cleared his throat."My Queen, do you think you could speak to the matter at hand? My time is limited. Every minute we speak is a minute I put myself at risk of being found out."

  "I thought I was speaking to the matter at hand." Drewcila turned her attention back to the monitor, looked thoughtful for a moment, and then threw her hands in the air and exclaimed, "I can't think like this!"

  "Like what?"

  "Sober!"

  His screen went blank, and Facto was left with all the problems of state as his king went off to try to explain himself to his sister-in-law/lover, and his queen went off on a drunken toot.

  Van Gar looked around the space station then back at his ship.

  "Finally we will have a new world. A place for us, and only for us," a Chitzsky male almost as big as Van Gar was booming. He, like most of the Chitzskies gathered around him, wore simple white robes draped over one shoulder. Van Gar had never seen so many of his own people in one place."We will create a world of peace far away from the barbaric races. We will leave behind the turmoil and strife of our life in the stars and once again return to being the creatures of the earth that we were intended to be. No more will we be a scattered people with no homeland. We will leave behind all the possessions of this world and fly off to our new life, our new destination, clean and pure. To Utarus!"

  Van Gar didn't hear much after that. He kept looking around at his people with a feeling of awe. He was being offered a chance to do something that really mattered. A simple life of peace and tranquility, far away from Drew and her scams. He could live in truth, prospering by the work of his hands instead of always hanging by the seat of his pants. Perhaps he would once again find love, and this time with a worthy and monogamous woman of his own race. Of course if he gave the "Pride leader" one of Drewcila's ships, he'd damn well better go off to some distant and remote world. Because if Drewcila ever caught up with him she'd no doubt kill him. Frank told him this about a hundred times as Van Gar was tying him to a pole in the bay of a loading dock.

  Before you could say "convert," Van Gar was wearing the simple white toga, no shoes, no weapon, had signed over the ship and all his belongings, and was in the cargo bay of a freighter with a thousand other Chitzskies heading for the remote, unconquered planet called Utarus.

  It was then that he realized two things. First, that when you got many of his people in a cramped space, sweating, they gave off an altogether unpleasant odor. And second, that Drewcila must have driven him completely mad for him to have ever thought that this was a good idea.

  "He did what?!" Drewcila boomed.

  Frank, who was tired and ragged from having to hitch a ride in an over-loaded salvager cargo bay, braced himself as he said for the second time, "He . . . gave your ship to the Reverend Pard Jar of the Holy Church of the . . ."

  "I heard you the first time, moron!" Drew jumped out of her chair and started pacing and mumbling."Well . . . two can play at this game. He
doesn't want me, then I don't want him. What do I need him for anyway? He smelled funny when he got wet." She sat down again and started patting her knee and looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully."What the hell is he thinking joining some odd-ball fucking Chitzsky cult? He must be completely insane." Suddenly her face became a mask of rage, and she jumped to her feet."He gave away one of my ships! Can you fucking believe that shit? Leaving me is one thing, but costing me one of my better ships . . . well, that's quite another. Jurak!" She waved an arm over her head frantically, and a man ran up to her."Make me a Hurling Monkey with a twist. Hell, make it a double, light on the fizzy, non-alcoholic stuff."

  "But my Queen . . . we were supposed to go back to Barious. We just got you sobered up. Your sister is expecting you. What of the war? What of the economy?"

  "Fuck 'em! Fuck 'em all! Make me my damn drink. Send for my naked dancing boys! I'm depressed, how can I possibly think about anyone else's needs when I'm depressed?"

  * * *

  "I need to talk to my sister, Jurak. We need her here. Zarco . . . well, he just won't listen to reason. Our troops are losing ground daily on the borders, and it's only a matter of time 'til the conflict escalates to attack from the air. How long can she stay drunk anyway?"

  "Apparently that's what she's trying to find out, my lady. So far it's been about a week."

  "Where is Van Gar?"

  "Gone . . ." Jurak dropped his voice to a mere whisper."He came home from business and found your sister . . . well, indisposed if you will. He became angry, and he left. He joined some Chitzsky cult and gave away one of your sister's ships. In truth, I think she could have handled losing Van Gar, it's the ship and her plummeting stocks which have her so depressed. The loss of so much money, I think it's too much for her."

  "I think my sister's good at fooling everyone. She loves Van Gar, and though she'd never admit it, she needs him. Well, she's made her bed, and now she'll have to lie in it alone. Patch me through to her quarters . . ."

  "My lady, I don't think that's such a good idea."

  "Just do it, Jurak. I've seen my sister drunk before."

  Except she'd never seen Drew do that before. In fact, she wouldn't have thought such an act was possible. Of course, neither of these men was Barion, and one of them seemed to have parts . . . well, where parts shouldn't have been. Drew saw her on her monitor before Stasha had a chance to log off. She pushed one of the men off of her, dislodged the other, and stood up staggering—obviously drunk. She grabbed a shirt, half way threw it on, and grabbed the neck of a bottle, from which she took a long drink before addressing her sister.

  "Hey, sis, how's it hangin'? I was a little busy," she slurred out.

  "I could see that," Stasha said pulling a face."Drewcila, we need you to come home. The country is at war, and Zarco isn't thinking clearly. The people need their queen."

  "You can do it. You do a perfectly good job of fooling them. They all think you're me." She walked over and started to rub her free hand up and down the oiled naked body of one of the alien men.

  "But I'm not you, Drew. I'm afraid that without your guidance our country will fall into the hands of the Lockhedes." Stasha shook her head then, not quite believing her own words. That she expected this drunken, over-sexed mercenary to save their homeland would have sounded absurd to anyone who didn't know what Drewcila was capable of when she was sober—or at least approaching it—and motivated.

  "I told the stupid bastard to open up trade with the Lockhedes—to sign salvaging contracts with them. He didn't listen to me. Why should I give a fuck what happens on Barious? Qwah-Co is very diversified. We'll survive. I have my own problems to worry about, you know. Van Gar gave away one of my ships!"

  "While I'd like to believe you weren't engaging in the kind of conduct I just—unfortunately—witnessed while he was with you, I doubt that's the case. Drewcila, what did you expect him to do?"

  "Well, I certainly didn't expect him to steal one of my ships and join some hokey-assed religious cult. Oh, tell me, Clod. Why do all my men turn on me?" she said looking up at the big man as she bit one of her knuckles.

  "My name is Clote," he said, betraying the IQ of a turnip.

  "What . . . ever." Drewcila released him and turned to the monitor, at least for the moment giving her sister her undivided attention."I cannot even start to fuck away my resentment."

  "Drewcila . . . I'm not kidding. You need to come home. You have to talk sense into Zarco. He really thinks . . ."

  "See, that's the real problem. If you were screwing him right, there wouldn't be enough blood in his brain for him to do any thinking . . ."

  "Damn it, Drew . . ."

  "My God, Stasha! You said damn it! Do you even know what it means?"

  "Not really, but I'll say something worse than that if you don't quit interrupting me, stop drinking, and put the kingdom first for once."

  "Screw the kingdom. What has it done for me lately? As a matter of fact, I'm thinking of pulling my salvaging operation from Barious and taking it someplace where they want to make a profit," Drewcila hissed out. Then she took a long swig from her bottle just to accentuate her point—that she wasn't listening to Stasha.

  Stasha took a deep breath and tried to calm down. She knew Drew well enough to know that screaming at her wasn't going to do anything but make her more determined than ever to do just exactly what she pleased."Drewcila . . . our people are dying. They're in pain. Can you feel nothing for them? What about showing a little compassion, is that beyond you?"

  "Ah, that's too bad." Drewcila took her knuckle and pretended to wipe a tear from her eye."Boo fucking hoo! Now back to what's really important: me, me, me."

  "Must you make everything impossible?"

  "No, I only make things difficult. Only you can make them impossible."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Stasha asked in confusion.

  "How the hell should I know? I got it off some movie I saw. I didn't get it then, and I don't get it now, but it sounds good," Drew said with a shrug. She finished the bottle in her hand."Boys, look around and see if you can't find another one of these."

  The two naked men started crawling around on all fours looking through the rubble that covered the floor.

  "Is this how you want to live your life, Drew? Drunk, wallowing in filth, having meaningless sex with dozens of different, well-oiled life forms?"

  "Well, duh!" Drew laughed loudly, flopping back on the bed and showing Stasha a side of her that she would just as soon have not seen. She looked away from the monitor.

  Her sister was drowning her sorrow in liquor and cheap sex. Of course she also did that when she was happy, which was no doubt why Van Gar had left. She loved her sister and she wanted to make excuses for her bizarre behavior. She had seen Drew occasionally put the people's needs above her own mercenary desires . . . or had she?

  After all, nearly every decision Drew had made on the kingdom's behalf had managed to turn a tidy profit and increase her wealth and/or her salvaging empire.

  Maybe it was time that she quit defending Drewcila. Maybe when all was said and done, Drew didn't actually have a better side. Stasha didn't want to believe that, mostly because if it were true, how could she ever hope to reason with her?

  If my sister is nothing but a greedy, selfish egocentric bitch, Stasha thought, how can I possibly convince her to put the kingdom first? She's selfish and motivated only by money . . .

  Stash tried again."I suppose you could move your entire salvaging operation from Barious, but it would cost you a small fortune, and you wouldn't be operational for what—months? I wonder how much money you'd lose on the down-time alone? I wonder if even you have enough money to do it."

  Drew sat up slowly and glared back at her, then she laughed loudly, "I have a shit load of money, Stasha . . ."

  "True, but I'll bet it's not enough to move the operation. And while this war is going on, the country's rather expensive. Spaceports are in danger, recycling centers are even now being co
nverted back into munitions plants, and then there is that other matter . . ."

  "What matter would that be?"

  "That most of your real money—all your iggys—are here in your private, not-as-secret-as-you-seem-to-think safe—at Hepron Station. Hepron Station, which will doubtless be a target in the war. I hope it's a really strong safe, Drewcila . . ."

  "Stop!" Drew screamed, slamming her hands over her ears."Stop! Your cruelty overwhelms me."

  "If you don't sober up and come home there's a very real chance that you could go broke, Drew."

  "Nooooo!"

  Drewcila woke some hours later, alone, and with the queen mother of all hang-overs. She had managed to stay drunk for over a week—something close to a record for her—and now she was sober and suffering from the mega-hangover of death. Her eyes felt dry and sticky, her tongue was swollen, and her mouth tasted like she'd been sucking on dirty tube socks. Of course, with all the other depraved things she'd done, who knows? She might have done that, too. She sat up slowly and waited for the room to quit spinning.