The Golden Queen (31 page)

In his dream, Veriasse rode his airbike, speeding over the dull plains of Dronon with Everynne beside him. Ahead were dark clouds, gray as slate. He could hear the distant rumble of thunder. They drove hard toward the sun as it prepared to dip below the clouds, and he passed under the sprawling leg of a dronon hive city. There was so little daylight left that Veriasse despaired of ever making it to the horizon.

The sun dipped below the distant hills, and Veriasse gasped. Grief passed through him as the night descended. Yet suddenly the white sun flared out on the horizon as if it had reversed in its course, blazing across the blasted land, filling him with hope.

The dream was so real that Veriasse stirred, heard a distant rumble, and realized that thunder was brewing on the horizon. He would have gone back to sleep, but Gallen shouted, “Over here! Come over here!”

Everynne stirred from his arms.

Veriasse sat up. Gallen had fired his incendiary rifle into the air. White chemical fire streamed in the sky like a brilliant flare, then arced toward the ground. Gallen and Maggie had come out of the dead hive city and were now standing on a gun mount. They shouted and waved, and Veriasse looked out over the horizon. In the distance, something massive and black moved in the darkness, crawling over the plains, heaving its bloated body along like a gigantic tick. Veriasse could only see it by the lights at its battle stations, lights that glowed in the night like immense red eyes.

The ground shook and rumbled in pain. Veriasse had not heard thunder in his dreams but the sound of a dronon hive city groaning as it pulled itself over the broken earth.

Gallen hooted and shot another round from his rifle, shouting in an exaggerated brogue, “Come on, you lousy bastards! Drag your ass on over here! We’re tired of chasing after you!”

The dronon city changed course and began moving toward them, its turrets swiveling as the dronon searched for sign of enemies. Veriasse’s heart pounded in his chest. His breath came ragged. They had found the enemy.

Chapter 19

Veriasse could almost not believe his luck. Of all the scenarios that he had imagined, this perhaps was most ideal—to spot a dronon hive city in the distance at night. He went to his pack, pulled out his various paraphernalia. Some of it had taken him years to acquire. A translator he clipped to his mantle was equipped with a microphone that he could speak into, loudspeakers that would throw his voice, and a tiny speaker that plugged into his ear. With it, he could speak his native English softly and have his words translated into dronon in a commanding roar. Meanwhile, the device would translate the dronon’s own clicks into English and feed them into the earpiece.

Veriasse plugged in the earpiece, then flipped on the translator, noticed that Everynne was doing the same with her own translator.

He also pulled out some protective goggles that would keep acid from his eyes, in case a dronon spit at him.

Under dronon law, those who engaged in ceremonial combat were not allowed any weapons to fight with, but for his own defense, Veriasse had brought a small holo projector. He got it out, set it on the ground before Everynne, turned it on: the air above her shivered for a moment, then blazed with an image of a Golden Queen, a hive mother whose abdomen was a great saucer-shaped, bloated sac. Her small useless wings were neatly folded over her back, and she stood regally, her clublike forearms raised as if to do battle, her head held high so that the uppermost of her three eye clusters allowed her to look behind her back while the other two arrays scanned the horizon at one hundred and twenty degree angles. The whiplike sensors under her mandibles swung about wildly, as if she were trying to catch an elusive scent.

Out on the horizon, the great city would drop, then rise on its legs and shudder forward, like a hive mother dragging her egg sac behind her. The earth protested under its weight, and a cloud of dust and heated exhaust poured from behind. Light glowed from the archways above the forward turrets.

Veriasse looked at Everynne. She was tense, standing with arms folded, her face pale. Orick stood beside her on all fours, the hair on his neck raised, his fangs showing as he gazed on.

Gallen and Maggie shouted as they climbed down rungs built into the dead city’s huge legs. In less than four minutes, they made it down. Gallen shouted, “Veriasse, watch out! There’s a sea of dronon warriors swarming out of that thing!”

“I know,” Veriasse said calmly. “They will come inspect us to make sure that their hive queen is not in jeopardy. Then I will battle them for Right of Charn. If we win Right of Charn, then they will lead us to the Lords of the Swarm, so that I can battle one last time. I can only hope their queen grants us the opportunity to battle.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Maggie asked, coming up behind him.

“Then likely we’ll all be killed,” Veriasse answered calmly. He glanced back. In the golden light thrown by the holo he saw the stricken look on Maggie’s face. “I kept trying to warn you,” Veriasse said. “The dronon are highly territorial. If we lose any step of the way, by their own law, the dronon may kill us all.” He didn’t want to have to tell them this, but knew that he had to tell them how to save themselves. “If I’m killed, fall on your knees and lay your arms out in front of you, with your wrists crossed and your head facing the ground. This is the dronon pose of ritual oblation. A dronon who assumes that posture is both defenseless and unable to see the leaders before him. The dronon vanquishers may spare your life if you maintain that pose, although they might strike you lightly with their battle arms. Given our thin skins, even a light blow might kill us. Still, it is your best chance.”

“Are you sure it will work?” Maggie asked.

“It is a part of the order,” Veriasse answered. “The dronon crave order. Yes, I believe it will work.”

The hive city had approached to within two kilometers now, and by its lights, Veriasse could see the black shining carapaces of countless dronon vanquishers scurrying like cockroaches before the great city. At anyone time, dozens of them would rise up on their back legs, sensor whips lashing as they gazed forward and tasted the air. Beneath the rumbling and squeaking sounds of the moving city, a dull roar arose, the clacking of arms and legs slapping against the carapaces of the dronon, the clicking of mouthfingers against the dronon vocal drums as they spoke amongst themselves. The city and its racing warriors moved far faster than Veriasse had imagined.

Veriasse took out his incendiary rifle, fired two shots in the ground in order to give them more light. The chemical fire burned in white-hot pillars, and Veriasse threw off his cloak, stepped forward between the pillars of light, raised his arms over his head and crossed them at the wrists, signaling that he wished to engage in ritual combat. He was dressed all in black-shining black boots, supple black gloves, a vest of black battle armor. Even his mantle was a glossy black, and he hoped that in this light he would look enough like a Lord Escort that the dronon would recognize him as such.

The dronon hive lurched its last few steps, then squatted. The saucer section of this hive was perhaps twelve stories tall and seven hundred meters wide. Each of its eight legs towered a hundred meters in the air before reaching the first of its three hinged joints. The lights from the city showed dronon vanquishers at the gun emplacements, and smaller white workers rushed around them, bringing food and drink. Veriasse wondered if the dronon frequently fed during battle, or if perhaps the dronon were assuming some brave pose.

A dark wave of vanquishers swarmed forward to within a hundred meters of Veriasse’s small band, then climbed one atop another, forming a wall of bodies that bristled with incendiary rifles. The thrumming of their voices rose, sounding like a vast sea of reeds rustling in the wind. The translator speaker plugged into Veriasse’s ear was so overwhelmed by their derisive shouts that it seldom attempted to translate, and Veriasse silently cursed his luck, fearing that he would not be able to hear anything a single dronon might say to him.

Veriasse shouted the formal words of challenge, praying that his translator would phrase them correctly. “This land is ours! All land is ours! A Great Queen comes among you. Prostrate yourselves in adoration, or prepare to do battle!” He waited a moment, and his translator began clicking loudly.

Every dronon suddenly fell silent, and from the top of the wall of living bodies, a single dronon vanquisher raised on its back legs, crossed its battle arms overhead and shouted: “You dishonor us! This is no true Golden Queen before us, merely a projection! Are your minds so simple that you think to trick us?” In the darkness, Veriasse could not see if this dronon wore the facial tattoos of a Lord Escort, but the creature spit acid, as if to say, “You are food.” Veriasse guessed that only a Lord Escort would dare offer such an insult.

Obviously, this would not go as smoothly as Veriasse had hoped. His stomach knotted. “This holograph is only a banner that we carry,” Veriasse shouted. “Our Golden Queen stands behind me! She is not a dronon like you, but all among us humans worship her form. She is flawless and worthy of adoration. A Great Queen comes among you! Prostrate yourselves in adoration, or prepare to do battle!” Veriasse threw his arms out forward in a battle pose and spit on the ground.

The dronon cringed at his insult.

Silently, Veriasse looked backward at Everynne. She held her hands knotted in a fist, and he saw a faint light shining golden between her fingers, showing that she held the Terror in her hand. If these dronon attacked, she would have only a portion of a second to activate the weapon and begin destroying this world. Almost, he hoped that she would activate it now.

The Lord Escort shouted, “I will perform a rite of inspection on this Golden!” Suddenly its wings unfolded and it leapt from the wall, landing within an arm’s length of Everynne. Veriasse could see tattoos on its face—golden waves like rods of lightning striking from each eye. The Lord Escort’s sensor whips waved over Everynne’s head, flashed around her hips. It hesitated a long moment. Veriasse prayed that it would not make her strip, search for flaws.

The Lord Escort pulled at her clothes, but did not remove them. Apparently, it seemed more pleased by the color and texture of the golden material than by Everynne’s pale skin. At last the dronon clicked, “I do not find this one worthy of adoration.”

“She is worthy,” Veriasse said. “She is Golden among mankind, perfect in form, without blemish.”

“She is soft, like a larvae. She is disgusting, unworthy of adoration.”

“All humans are soft,” Veriasse said. “And we find your bodies to be disgusting, unworthy of adoration. Yet we honor your Great Queen despite the differences in our forms. We ask you to do the same. I assure you that you will never see a more perfect human than this Golden Queen, and I challenge you to battle for Right of Charn.”

By battling only for the Right of Charn, Veriasse felt that he was making the decision easier for the creature. If Veriasse should win, there would be a second inspection by and her Lord Escort. In effect, Veriasse was asking for a small thing. The dronon said, “I reject your right to challenge. This is not a Golden.”

“If you reject our right to challenge,” Veriasse said, “then you will dishonor of our kind. If you will not honor our Goldens, then all mankind on all worlds will reject your queen’s right to rule over us. You will start a war unlike any that you have ever known.”

“You threaten us?” the Lord Escort asked. He looked at Everynne, at the Terror glowing in her hands.

“I do not want to be forced into threatening you,” Veriasse said. “But you know what we carry. You’ve chased us across the worlds. If you do not let humans battle for the right of succession, you leave us no alternatives.”

The dronon hesitated. “I speak the truth,” Veriasse said. “Let us battle for the Right of Charn.”

The dronon studied Everynne a moment longer, backed off two steps. “I will go and consult with our queen.” It turned, flew up to the hive city and entered. By now the chemical fires from the incendiary rifles were beginning to die, and in the light thrown from the twisting flames, it almost seemed that the wall of dronon bodies wavered.

Neither Gallen, Orick, nor Maggie moved or spoke, and Veriasse was silently thankful for their good sense. The negotiations were at a critical point. If the queen ruled against them, the dronon would attack in a great wave. If she decided to grant the Right of Charn, Veriasse assumed she would come out with her Lord Escort to do battle.

Ten minutes passed, twelve, and then the Lord Escort flew from the battlements of his hive city, landed on the bodies of his own men.

The Lord Escort raised high on his hind legs, crossed his battle arms over his head. “We have consulted with our Golden. She instructs us to honor you by letting you battle for Right of Charn. I am Dinnid of the Endless Rocks Hive. For ten thousand years we have ruled this plain. Our larvae shall eat your corpses. Our vanquishers shall claim your domain. Your hive shall submit to us!”

As one, a hundred thousand dronon vanquishers raised their battle arms and slammed them together with great clashing sounds.

Veriasse shrugged, tried not to show his concern. Until now, he’d had no idea where on Dronon he might be, but the name of the Endless Rocks Hive was known throughout the worlds of mankind. Dinnid was relatively young and powerful, a son of and her Lord Escort. Rumor named him “The Cunning” for his prowess in battle. It was said that he was the finest strategist among the Lord Escorts, and many claimed that he and his queen would become successors to the current Golden. It was said that Dinnid was only biding his time until his nemesis grew older and more feeble.

Dinnid’s wings flashed, and he darted high into the air, entered the maw of the hive. Ahead of Veriasse, the dronon vanquishers began clacking and mumbling, readjusting their bodies so that an opening appeared in the wall. Veriasse looked back at Everynne, telling her with his eyes to follow. Gallen, Maggie, and Orick followed, too, and they walked through a tunnel formed by the black bodies of dronon warriors.

When they reached the saucer-shaped belly of the hive, the dronon lowered a ladder much like any that a human might use, except that the rungs were spaced inconveniently far apart. Veriasse climbed, noted the thin gray powder of dried dronon stomach acids on the rungs but decided that his gloves would be ample protection. Only poor Orick among the group did not have gloves, and Veriasse hoped that the padding on the bear’s paws would prove adequate insulation.

When they reached the lowest level of the hive city, they came to a security station where strange, gleaming, three-eyed cameras photographed them. Message pods, like tiny balls, whizzed through the air, flying between various levels with a hiss. Small white female dronon workers scurried through the hallways like lice, infecting him with their tremendous energy. They seemed incapable of moving at anything less than breakneck speed.

The group climbed more ladders, and everywhere were tan dronon technicians with green tattoos and long segmented fingers growing from small battle arms. Vanquishers lined the halls. When they reached the mid-level of the hive, Veriasse glanced down one corridor, saw a vast incubation chamber. Thousands of white workers scurried among eggs, adjusting heating devices, catching the grublike newborns as they hatched, regurgitating acidified food into the gullets of grubs.

At last Veriasse climbed to the highest level of the great city, stopped to catch his breath. Dronon vanquishers lined the passage. He stared down the dimly lit hall for a moment, waited for the others to catch up with him. The air here was thick with the acrid scent of dronon, warmed uncomfortably by the heat of hundreds of thousands of bodies. Everynne breathed heavily but tried to stand tall and regal. Orick was panting from the effort of climbing, and Maggie was drenched with sweat when she reached the landing platform. Veriasse let them catch their breaths, then led the way down a long corridor lighted dimly by golden globes.

Some dronon vanquishers raised their battle arms over their heads, crossing them as a sign of respect for Everynne and her retinue, but most of the vanquishers refused that honor.