She paused as realization struck her.
Great! Drewcila may not have written this, but she told the script writer what to say. I'm making a political statement that will forever condemn the nobility, and which will further implicate the Lockhedes as the aggressors in this war . . . So be it. Zarco should have listened to Drewcila. The nobility had no right to attempt a coup, and why should I give one good damn about the Lockhedes or their fate?
"Let us not dwell, on this day of all days, on how my poor husband died, but on how he lived. Let us move forward, ever forward, to achieve that which he most wanted—an end to war, and a lasting peace with the Lockhedes. A peace that shall only come about with open trade agreements and the over-throwing of their current puppet leaders. Zarco was a man of vision, and I loved him . . ." Her voice broke in sobs again."As he loved me. We had plans for the future of the country, and plans for our future together. We shall no longer be together, but I can make sure that the plans he had for our great nation do not die with him."
Stasha was glad her speech had ended, because she started really crying then, and had to be helped away from the pulpit by Dartan. Her parents would not be allowed to speak, but a long line of fake ministers and dignitaries would be giving hours more of eulogies, and Stasha couldn't stand it.
"Please, Dartan, take me away from this."
He nodded and obliged. He wasn't really needed there any way. The director had everything under control. He led her away from the funeral, which was actually being held in the castle courtyard, although they had broadcast that it was being held on the grounds of the Royal Summer Home in Vardalian. There was a cemetery there in which all of the royals for the last three hundred years had been buried. They easily authenticated the location, which was actually half the kingdom away, with a well painted back drop of the Vardalian skyline. Everything was fake except Stasha's tears.
Dartan led her into the castle. "My lady," he put a strong arm around her shoulders."Why are you so grieved? Did you love your brother-in-law so much?"
"Oh, Dartan, I'm afraid my reasons for being so grieved are less than pure, and my pain too deep to tell to a stranger as we stand here in the hall. Did you know the castle has its own bar?"
"Dartan!" Drewcila paced her office. She stopped to look at Van Gar."That little bastard runs around with his nose up my ass all the time, but when I really need him, I can't find him. Dartan!"
He came running into the office, his hair a mess, and his clothing rumpled. He smelled of liquor and had lipstick smeared all over his face.
Drew smiled.
"My Queen?"
"Do you realize the funeral is over? You were supposed to run around and bug the piss out of the mourners. The director had to grab some half rate actor to take your place."
"I'm sorry, my Queen."
"He smells like your sister," Arcadia said without turning around.
She looked at his rumpled appearance and sudden blush, and she smiled even more broadly."Well, at least you had a good excuse. Clean yourself up and meet the director in his quarters. You're about to go into the field to talk to our troops."
Dartan sighed."And where would that be, my Queen?"
"Out in the guards' barracks. Just wait 'til you see what they've done out there, it's great!"
"Yes, my Queen."
Dartan passed Stasha in the hall on his way to his quarters to get changed, and he smiled. She smiled back. A few extra minutes had been all she needed to pull herself back together and look presentable. Unlike Dartan, she didn't seem to mind at all making her sister wait.
"Well?" Stasha asked as she sat down across from Drew.
"I just wanted to say," Drewcila sniffled."I was so moved by me." She bit her knuckle.
"You aren't funny, Drew," Stasha said with a frown.
"I've had it on good authority that I'm actually
quite
funny. Mommy and Daddy came by after the funeral and called me a bunch of names, most of which weren't in my vocabulary, but I'm sure weren't nice. Among other things, they seem to think that I have completely corrupted you."
Stasha thought about that for a minute, then smiled."You know. I think they might actually be right."
"I'm so proud . . . So, I'm wondering . . . can we have the folks deported?"
"Don't ask me today. I'd be inclined to agree with you."
"Then what better time to ask?"
"What are they doing?" Stasha asked of Van Gar and Arcadia, successfully changing the subject.
"Van Gar is getting the Qwah-Co armada in position for attack. Arcadia is busy keeping Qwah-Co Industries alive by re-routing freight and keeping us as operational as possible."
"What are
you
doing?" Stasha asked her sister, who appeared, at least for the moment, to be doing nothing more important than sitting with her feet planted in the middle of her desk smoking a cigar and drinking a beer.
"I'm launching a major air offensive against the Lockhedes, which will be followed closely by a deployment of ground troops. I'm writing up trade agreements for the new Lockhede government to sign, and I'm assassinating a high-ranking Lockhede government official."
"Oh, is that all?"
"No, I'm also cleaning my toilet bowl."
President Ralling looked at the screen in front of him. The bitch had once again hacked her way into his private system.
"So . . . piss head. In a gesture of fair play I'm about to give you one more chance to call off your idiotic war and make peace," the Barion queen said.
Ralling laughed. At that moment he was feeling pretty cocky, and he remembered what general Tryte had said."You're no doubt a fine public speaker, but you are no military strategist."
She laughed at him."You underestimate your opponent, butt itch. I'm a business woman, the head of a major corporation. Do you truly believe that a corporation works any differently than the military? There are financial maneuvers, and there are hostile takeovers, and all are governed by
timing
. Do you understand the importance of timing in all matters?" She didn't give him a chance to answer."No, I didn't think you did. Now, one more time, dunder head. Will you surrender?"
"We most certainly will not. We are one jump ahead of you, Qwah. You will rue the day you decided to tangle with me," Ralling said. He knew his ships and troops were in place, ready to attack within the hour, and there was nothing she could do to stop them now. Now they would be victorious, and he would see that smug grin wiped clean from her face before he danced through the streets of the capital with her head on a stick.
"Let it never be said that I didn't give you a chance."
She was gone, and almost immediately computers started humming in distress all around him.
"Oh, my gods!" one of his aides cried out.
"What is it, man?" General Tryte asked, rushing to stand at the man's shoulder.
"The Crilaten and the Limphondic are both under attack . . ."
Tryte took over from the man."My gods! It looks like they've sent out their entire fleet!"
"But . . . that's not fair! It hasn't been forty-eight hours yet," Ralling said, losing it.
"We must move our ships from the planned attack to save them," Trailings said.
"No!" Tryte said."That's no doubt just what she wants us to do. She must have figured out that we know just where they are, and that we are about to attack them."
"If we don't help the Crilaten and the Limphondic, they will go down," Trailings protested."Thousands of lives will be lost, and we will lose our best—our
only
defense in space." He looked at Ralling."You must now realize that this moron has led us all to our deaths."
Ralling looked from the vice-president to the general. Tryte seemed to have been wrong about everything so far.
"If we pull our ships from where they are and send them to save the Crilaten and the Limphondic, there is no guarantee that they will win. We might suffer heavy losses among the rest of our fleet, and then how will we stop those tanks?" Tryte said."We must go on as planned. Don't let her pull us away from our target now. With all her ships engaged with our battle cruisers, they can't protect the tanks. This is our chance to blast her. To bring her to her knees. We must trust our troops on board the battle cruisers to be able to handle the Barion armada, and we must move on as planned."
Trailings threw up his hands and stomped around the room."This man is quite mad. If you won't send aid to the battle cruisers, then do what you should have done all along and surrender now! Stop all this death and madness."
Ralling looked at Tryte."You had better be right . . ."
"Gods, man!" Trailings screamed."He hasn't been right yet. About anything! Not even about toying with Taralin Zarco's brain." Trailings laughed at the look on Ralling's face."You trust this man totally, and yet you didn't know even that about him? Tryte is the one who ordered Taralin Zarco kidnapped, and he's the one who had part of her brain removed, and he's the one who gave her to Eric Rider to re-program. Your good man Tryte here
made
Drewcila Qwah."
"Is that true?" Ralling demanded.
"No, of course not, this man is a raving lunatic," Tryte said.
"It's all a matter of record. If you aren't too stupid to figure out how to get into the top secret government files—which both you and I have access to—you can look the information up for yourself," Trailings said."I did."
Ralling glared at him because he didn't have any idea at all how to access the web and find out top secret information—access or no access. Hell, half the time he couldn't figure out how to get into his own web site. Not wanting to show his ignorance, he did the only thing he could do."We will go ahead as planned." He glared at Tryte with meaning."You had better be right, Tryte."
Thirty minutes later the Limphondic started its descent, followed shortly by the Crilaten. It became painfully apparent that while they might have had more weapons, the Barions hadn't been lying about at least one thing—the Barion weapons were superior.
Their attack on the Barion tanks and troops started even as they were still living through the shock of losing the last of their inter-stellar fleet. They could hear the voices of the commanders of the raid.
"My gods! They run on for miles!"
"Blue ranger squadron, make your pass."
They could hear the bombs, and then the fleet leader came back.
"What the hell! They aren't real! None of the tanks are real! It's a trap, it's a trap! Get out . . . Gods! Where did those come from? Oh my gods! We're surrounded! They're everywhere."
"What's everywhere, man! What is it?" Tryte demanded.
"Salvaging barges—fully armed . . ."
He screamed, there was an explosion, and then nothing more from him. The remaining commanders ended in similar fashion until there was nothing but static to be heard from the transceiver.
Tryte removed his blaster from its holster, put it in his mouth, and fired. No one even tried to stop him.
Minutes later there was a distress call from Yeoul Base. They were being bombarded by the same salvaging ships that had wiped out their fleet.
Ralling laughed, and the others all turned to stare at him."Well, at least he was right about what they would be attacking." Suddenly he pitched forward in his seat and seemed to have a seizure. Then he was still, his eyes wide open, and drool coming from his mouth. One of the generals ran up to him and tried to get his pulse. The general looked up at Trailings.
"I believe that . . . he's dead, sir. Mr. President."
"Good. Then someone patch me through to the Queen of Barious, and let's stop this all right now."
Drewcila was throwing a huge party in the "War Room."
"So how did you do it?" Dartan asked, now that they were off camera."I don't for a minute believe the crap that we told the public, and as for the President of Lockhede having a very opportunistic heart attack, I'm just not buying that, either."
"Elementary, my dear, Dartan. We attacked the battle cruisers with everything we had for two reasons. First, to keep them from seeing the Chitzskies that were piloting the in-coming salvager barges, and second to make them think that there was no way we could protect our 'tanks.' They attacked the fake tanks at the same time that our ships got into position, and we took them out. As they were getting the information that Yeoul Base was being bombarded, the assassin I hired moved into position and killed the president, leaving the vice-president—who wanted to deal with us all along—in charge. And now, because we so totally trounced them, it isn't very likely that they will be able to pull together an even slightly successful resistance from among even their most blatant Barion-hating extremists."