Recycled (3 page)

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 converted 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.

She tried to remember why she had decided to sober up. Of course she was having trouble even remembering her name. She got up slowly, stumbled through the garbage to the bathroom, and landed on the toilet with a thump. It took awhile for her to actually start pissing since her body had no doubt forgotten how in the who-knew-how-many-hours she'd been passed out. But once she started, she began to wonder if she was ever going to stop. She started to wonder how pissing constantly might affect her life. It wasn't a very pretty picture. Maybe she'd just piss until all her bones had turned to dust.

Fortunately she did eventually stop pissing. She rose, walked over and looked in the mirror and jumped at the sight of her own reflection. Damn! She looked as bad as she felt. She stuck out her tongue and found that it was covered in large blue and yellow spots. First she thought with alarm that she had some terrible disease, but then she vaguely remembered that they had painted her tongue and her privates with somebody dye made from some plant she couldn't remember the name of now. The person who had done it had sworn that the dye was harmless, but her tongue was swollen, and her crotch itched, so she started to wonder just how harmless it was. Of course chances were that her tongue was swollen from too much drinking, and her crotch was itching from too much sex, so who knew for sure? She couldn't remember how long the treatment was supposed to last. They promised her it would enhance her sexual pleasure, but she'd been too drunk to know if it actually did anything besides look weird. She'd have to ask one of the people she'd had sex with, if she could remember who they were.

"Where the fuck is my toothbrush?" She found it floating in the toilet and frowned."See, there's the shit. Cause when you're drunk, ya just fish it out, wash it off, and no one's the wiser." She groaned and leaned against the wall holding her head with one hand as she flushed the toilet with the other."Good bye ol' friend," she said as the tooth brush spiraled downward."I should have stayed drunk. What made me decide to sober up? Is it a religious holiday or something? Hey! I know one of you assholes can hear me. Bring me a tooth brush, and it had by God better still be in the wrapper."

In seconds Jurak was there with a toothbrush—still in the wrapper."Thanks." She took it from him, stacked about two inches of toothpaste on it from the wall dispenser, and then started brushing her teeth, making the foam erupt from her mouth on all sides as she did so. She brushed her tongue, then spit, getting foam all down the front of her body and the shirt she was almost wearing. Unfortunately it didn't seem to be dislodging any of the dye from her tongue."Fuck . . . this day just gets better and better. Why the hell did I sober up, Jurak? And perhaps we had better work on remedying this problem . . ."

"My Queen, your sister . . ."

Drewcila turned to face him and shoved him so hard that he almost fell down."Now I remember! I'm losing money! I'm losing a butt load of money. Crap! Where are we?"

"We're still docked . . ."

"Are you fucking nuts! Kick anyone who isn't crew off the ship, close the hatch, and get this tin piece of shit in the air, man. Chart a course to Barious ASAP. I'm getting in the shower. When I get out I want us to be untethered and on our way to Barious. Do I make myself clear?"