The Snow Queen (9 page)

They were
midway across already. She kept her eyes fixed on the elder’s back, hearing the
atonal wind-charmer’s notes that held back death shrill above the groaning pit.
It was not the weaving of some magic spell, but the activation of automated
controls that diverted the wind curtains to the travelers’ protection instead
of their destruction. Knowing that was no great comfort to her when she
considered the potential for human error, or for a sudden failure in such an
ancient system. There had been control boxes once that did what the whistle
player did now; but as far as she knew the only one that still worked hung on
Starbuck’s belt.

Safe
.
Her boots found the security of the far rim.
She controlled the overwhelming desire to let her legs melt out from under her
and sit down. Gundhalinu’s sweating face grinned at her gamely. She wondered
whether he was trying not to think about the return trip, too. Looking ahead
again, she read triumph in the

Even here,
so near the pinnacle of Carbuncle, the hall was overpowering in its vastness;
she imagined it could hold an entire villa from Newhaven, her homeworld. Fiber
hangings in chilly pastels drifted down from the geometric arches of the
pillared ceiling, winking and chiming with the exotic song of a thousand tiny
handmade silver bells.

And across
the expanse of white carpet—an off world import—the Snow Queen sat back on her
throne, a goddess incarnate, a taloned snow hawk in an ice-bound aerie.
Unconsciously Jerusha drew her cloak closer around her. “Colder than the
Karoo
,” Gundhalinu muttered, and rubbed his arms. The
Elder Wayaways motioned them to wait where they were, went ahead to announce
their presence. Jerusha was sure that the dark, distant eyes beneath the crown
of pale hair were already more than aware of them, although Arienrhod did not
acknowledge them, but gazed out across the hall. As usual Arienrhod had struck
Jerusha’s eye first; but now, as she followed the Queen’s gaze into the nearer
distance, a searing line of light, the hum-snap of an energy beam striking
home, wrenched her attention away.

“Schact!
”
Gundhalinu hissed, as voices cried out and
they saw the knot of nobles split open as the bolt knocked one sprawling onto
the rug. “Dueling—?” His voice was incredulous. Jerusha’s hand tightened on the
empire-cross of her belt buckle, barely controlling her sudden outrage. Did the
Queen mock police authority to the degree of staging murder in her presence?
Her mouth was open to protest, to demand—but before she could find words, the
victim rolled over and sat up, not blistered or charred, with no blood staining
the snow-field purity of the rug. A woman, Jerusha saw; the fads in clothing
affected by the nobility sometimes made it hard to tell. There was a faint
distortion of air as she moved; she had been wearing a repeller field. She
climbed gracefully to her feet with an elaborate bow toward the Queen, the rest
clapping and laughing their amusement. Gundhalinu swore again, more softly, in
disgust. As the nobles shifted, Jerusha caught sight of the black figure, the
cold gleam of metal, and realized that the one who had playacted the murderer
had been Starbuck.

Gods! What
sort of jaded half wits would try to burn each other down for laughs? They
treated a weapon that could maim and kill like a toy—they no more understood
the real function or significance of technology than a pampered pet understood
a jewelled collar.
Yes—but whose fault is
that, if not ours?
Arienrhod’s gaze caught her suddenly in mid-expression.
The strangely colored eyes stayed on her; the Queen smiled. It was not a
pleasant expression.
Who says the pet
doesn’t understand its collar?
Jerusha held the gaze stubbornly.
Or that the savage doesn’t see through the
lie that makes him less than human?

The Elder
Wayaways had announced them and was backing from the Queen’s presence as
Starbuck came to stand beside her throne. His hidden face also turned toward
them, as if he were curious about the effect of his playacting.
We’re all savages at heart
.

“You may
approach, Inspector PalaThion.” The Queen lifted a desultory hand.

Jerusha
removed her helmet and walked forward, Gundhalinu treading close behind her.
She was certain that no more than the bare minimum of respect showed on either
his face or her own. The nobles stood off to one side, striking poses like so
many hologrammic traders’ dummies, watching with sincere disinterest as she
made her salute. She wondered briefly why they found playing at and with death
so amusing. They were all favorites, young-faced—the gods only knew how old in
reality. She had always heard that users of the water of life became pathologically
protective of their extended youth. Could it be that there really came a time
when you had experienced everything you could possibly desire? No, not even in
a century and a half. Or could it be that they simply didn’t know, that
Starbuck hadn’t warned them of the danger?

“Your
Majesty—” She glanced up, half at Starbuck, then back at Arienrhod enthroned on
the dais. The sweet girlish face was made into a mockery, a mask like
Starbuck’s, by the too-knowing wisdom of her eyes.

Arienrhod
raised a finger, the slight motion cutting off her words. “I have decided that
from now on you will kneel when you come before me, Inspector.”

Jerusha’s
mouth snapped shut. She took a moment, and a long breath. “I’m an officer of
the Hegemonic Police, Your Majesty. I have sworn an oath of allegiance to the
Hegemony.” She gazed deliberately at the rising back of the Queen’s throne,
through her, around her. The blown-and-welded surfaces of glass, the shining
spirals and shadowed crevices dazzled her eyes with the hypnotic spell of the
Maze; the bizarre artistry that catalyzed out of Carbuncle’s volatile mix of
cultures.

“But the
Hegemony stationed your unit here to serve me, Inspector.” Arienrhod’s voice
startled her attention back. “I ask only the homage due any independent ruler,”
putting a slight emphasis on independent, “from the representatives of
another.”

“Ask and be
damned!” Jerusha heard Gundhalinu breathe the words almost inaudibly behind
her; saw the Queen’s eyes flash to his face, marking him in her memory. Starbuck
moved down one step from the throne, almost lazily, the gun still swinging from
a black gloved hand. But the Queen lifted her own hand again and he stopped,
waiting wordlessly.

Jerusha
hesitated, too, feeling the stunner that weighed heavily at her side, and
Gundhalinu’s quivering indignation behind her. My duty is to keep the peace.
She turned slightly, toward Starbuck, toward Gundhalinu. “All right, BZ,” as
softly as he had spoken; not softly enough. “We’ll kneel. It’s not such an
unreasonable request.”

Gundhalinu
said something in a language she didn’t know, his pupils blackening. On the
dais Starbuck’s fist went tight over his weapon.

Jerusha
turned back to the Queen, felt the eyes of the onlookers, no longer indifferent
now, pressing hard on her shoulders as she dropped to one knee and bowed her
head. After a second there was a rustle and a creak of leather as Gundhalinu
dropped down heavily behind her. “Your Majesty.”

“You may
rise, Inspector.”

Jerusha pushed
herself to her feet. “Not you!” The Queen’s voice struck past her as Gundhalinu
began to get up. “You kneel until I give you permission to rise, off worlder As
she spoke, Starbuck moved like an extension of her will to his side, the heavy
arm in fluid black closing over Gundhalinu’s shoulder, forcing him back to his
knees. Starbuck muttered something in the unknown language. Jerusha’s hands
fisted beneath her cloak, slowly opened again. She said brittlely, “Take your
hands off him, Starbuck, before I run you in for assaulting an officer.”

Starbuck
smiled—she saw his eyes crinkle, insolently, the face alter beneath the smooth
surface of his mask. He did not move until the Queen gestured him away.

“Get up,
BZ,” Jerusha said it gently, keeping her voice together with an effort. She put
out her hand to help him to his feet, felt him trembling with fury. He didn’t
look at her; the freckles stood out blood red against the darkness of his skin.

“If he were
my man, I would discipline him for such arrogance.” Arienrhod watched them,
expressionless now.

Punishment enough.
Jerusha glanced away from his face,
lifted her head. “He is a citizen of Kharemough, Your Majesty; he’s nobody’s
man but his own.” She looked pointedly at Starbuck still standing at her side.

The Queen
smiled, and this time there was a trace of appreciation in it. “Maybe Commander
LiouxSked sends you to me as more than just a token female, after all.”

That proves you’re not omniscient
. Jerusha’s mouth pulled into a
tight half-smile of her own. “If I may ask your indulgence, then, I would like
to make the point that—” she moved suddenly, and with a hidden nerve-blocking
pinch, took Starbuck’s gun away from him, “these weapons are not toys.” The
blunt metal grip settled in her hand, the tube pointed like a cautionary finger
as he started toward her; she heard the excited twitter of the onlookers. “An
energy weapon should never be aimed at anything unless you’re willing to see it
blown apart.” Starbuck froze in mid-motion, she saw his startled muscles tense
and twitch. She lowered the gun. “A repeller field will fail under a direct hit
one time in five. Your nobles should keep that in mind.” The Queen made an
amused noise, and Starbuck’s head twisted toward the throne, light dancing
through the spines of his helmet.

“Thank you,
Inspector.” Arienrhod nodded, making a curious motion with her fingers. “But
we’re well aware of the limits and liabilities attached to your off world
equipment.”

Jerusha
blinked her disbelief, held the gun out again silently, butt first, to
Starbuck.

“You’ll
regret this, bitch,” for her ears only. He twisted the gun out of her hand,
bruising her palm, and strode back to the dais.

She
grimaced involuntarily. “Then ... with your permission, Your Majesty, I’ll
present the Commander’s monthly report on the status of crime in the city.”

Arienrhod
nodded, leaning out to lay a possessive hand on Star buck’s arm, as one might
soothe a hackled dog. The nobles began to drift away, backing out of the
Queen’s presence. Jerusha suppressed a smile of pained empathy. The report was
no more significant than a hundred others before it, or any that would follow;
she would sooner be elsewhere herself. She reached down and switched on the
recorder at her belt, heard her commanding officer’s voice reciting the
statistics on the number of assaults and robberies, arrests and convictions,
off world or domestic crimes and victims. The words ran together into a
meaningless singsong in her mind, raising all her familiar frustrations and
regrets. Meaningless ... it was all meaningless.

The
Hegemonic Police were a paramilitary force stationed on all Hegemony worlds, to
protect its interests and its citizens ... which usually involved protecting
the interests of the local on world power structures. Here on Tiamat, with its
low technology and sparse population (half of which barely even entered into
the Hegemony’s consideration) the police force was only a single regiment,
confined to the star port and Carbuncle for the most part.

And its
activities were confined, hamstrung, restricted: the breaking up of drunken
fights, the arresting of petty thieves, an endless cycle of nose wiping and
futile prosecutions, when right under their own noses some of the most blatant
vice in the civilized galaxy went unchallenged, and some of the Hedge’s most
vicious abusers of humanity met openly in the pleasure hells where they were so
much at home.

The Prime
Minister might symbolize the Hegemony, but he no longer controlled it, if he
ever had. Economics controlled it; the merchants and traders had always been
its real roots, and their only real lord was Profit. But there were many kinds
of trade, and many kinds of traders ... Jerusha looked up at Starbuck,
slouching arrogantly at the Queen’s right: the living symbol of Arienrhod’s peculiar
covenant with the powers of darkness and light, and her manipulation of them.
He was all that was rotten, venal, and corrupt about humanity, and Carbuncle.

Crime and
punishment on Tiamat—in effect, in Carbuncle—as on other Hegemonic worlds, had
been split into the jurisdictions of two courts, one presided over by a local
official chosen by the Winters and acting under local laws, and one by an off
world Chief Justice, who passed judgment on off worlders under the laws of the
Hegemony. The police provided the grist for both mills, and to Jerusha’s mind
the harvest should have been bountiful. But Arienrhod tolerated and even
encouraged the presence of the Hedge’s underworld, creating a kind of limbo, a
neutral ground convenient to the Gates. And LiouxSked, that pompous,
boot-licking imitation of a man and a commander, didn’t have the guts to stand
up against it. If she only had the rank, and half an opportunity’ Do you have
any comments to make about the report, Inspector?”

Jerusha
started, feeling stupidly transparent. She switched off the recorder, an excuse
to keep looking down. “None, Your Majesty.”
None
that you’d want to hear.
None that would make the slightest
difference.