Rogue (35 page)

Trag said, echoing my own thoughts. "Making Zealon queen is what we're here to do, and we won't do it just standing around talking. I say we blow them up from here."

I looked over at Lerotan, who appeared supremely confident in spite of the large army massing in the distance. "Can you do that, Leroy?"

Lerotan nodded. "Yes," he replied. "But do you really
want
to do that?"

"Well, to survive this ordeal, it would seem that our only other option is to go out under a flag of truce." I said tentatively. "We should try to talk with them." I glanced at Wazak. "How did you tell them we were coming?"

Tapping his breastplate, he just gave me another look.

"Your comstone? Who were you talking to?"

"You will see," he said mysteriously.

"You left someone behind, didn't you?" I said accus-ingly. "Someone to contact?"

He said nothing. We kept on moving. Dobraton's army was advancing.

"So, what do we do?" I asked nervously. "Hold our fire until we see the whites of their eyes?"

"Uh, in case you haven't noticed, Kyra, Darconians don't
have
whites to their eyes," Trag said informatively.

"We may not get the chance to fire at all," said Tychar, pointing to the left of the city. "Look there."

Following his gesture, I looked to the north, and in the growing light, I could see that another army was now exiting Arconcia, and this one was even larger than the first.

"WE WILL MARCH ON," WAZAK SAID DECISIVELY.

"You're not serious!" I exclaimed. "We're outnumbered a thousand to one!"

"Have faith, Kyra Aramis," he said.

"Faith?" I echoed.
"Faith?
Great Mother of the Desert!" I urged my drayl onward in an effort to keep pace with him. "We're all about to die, and you're talking about faith?"

"It's a good day to die, remember?" Trag said cheerlessly.

"I take it back!" I said with fervor. "It's
never
a good day to die! Sneaking back into the palace to nab Dobraton is one thing, but are you saying we should just march right up and let them blow us to bits? Or capture us? They might not kill any of the natives, but Dobraton already doesn't like me on principle and doesn't like me much personally, either, so I'm dead meat. Guess I should have thought about that sooner," I added reflectively.

"I will fight to the death to save you," Tychar said, leaning forward to kiss me on the neck. Thrills of desire might have rippled over my skin, but there was no time for that now.

"Yeah, but what good will that do me?" I grumbled.

"I mean, if you're dead—and I'm sure Dobraton wants you dead on general principles, too—why would I want to go on living?"

"Aw, isn't that—what is it you Terrans say?—sweet?"

Trag said. "They really do love each other!"

"Yes, we really do," Tychar said stiffly. "It is nothing to laugh about."

"Well, if you say so," Trag grumbled. "Now, me, I just want to f—"

Tychar silenced him with a gesture. "We will not speak of that now," he said.

The two brothers kept on talking, though; bantering back and forth and distracting me to the point that it was some time before I realized that we were, indeed, still moving forward. Gazing out at Arconcia, to my horror, I saw another army of Darconians begin to emerge from the southern reaches of the city.

"Nowcan
we turn back?" I pleaded, any brave notions I'd ever possessed evaporating with the increasing heat of the morning. "We don't stand a chance in this battle, and, you know, the mountains weren't so bad, were they? We could stay there a while longer, and in the meantime, Dobraton might die from... oh, I don't know... a—a bad cold or something. You never know."

"She's babbling again," Trag commented to Tychar.

"I thought she only did that when we—"

"Enough!" Tychar said in commanding tones. "Her fear is understandable."

"And your
lack
of fear isn't!" I said roundly. "What about you, Zealon? Aren't you scared to death?"

"No," she replied. "I am angry."

"Well, I
was
angry," I said, "and it sustained me for a good, long while, but it's all gone now! Somebody better make me mad again real quick."

"You're a really terrible piano player," Trag said promptly.

"You'll have to do better than that," I said witheringly. "I've heard that one before, and I didn't believe it then, either."

"You are even uglier than Dobraton," Lerotan said.

"Okay, that did it, Leroy!" I said, laughing. "I'm hopping mad now! Put down the bazooka, and I'll jerk a knot in your—er, I mean—Dobraton's tail."

It might not have made me feel any more courageous to laugh, but it did divert my mind from my imminent death. While we were talking, we were continuing to draw nearer to the city, and it was fairly obvious that Trag was just itching to shoot something. Tychar was very quiet, but as we rode upon our drayl, his arm around my waist spoke volumes. Wazak's swagger became even more pronounced as Dragus and about a hundred of the miners, along with one of Lerotan's men and Racknay, split off to the left. A similar group divided from our main force and formed a line to the right, led by Hartak, Zealon, and the Edraitians. Even spread out like that, our force was paltry compared with what we were facing. All of the other offworlders, myself included, were divided up among the three groups, with Trag, still riding with Nindala, opting to stay near Tychar and me. If Dobraton was aiming to target all the aliens, she'd have to take a few Darconians along with us—which, unfortunately, wasn't something she'd ever considered to be much of a deterrent.

"We're in range," Lerotan said quietly to Wazak.

"Just give the word."

Wazak nodded, but cautioned, "Not yet."

Lerotan seemed surprised at Wazak's reluctance to open fire, but the more I looked at what we were up against, the more I realized that we were facing not just Dobraton's army, but what had to be the entire population of Arconcia. We couldn't possibly kill them all— and wouldn't have wanted to. What good was getting Zealon's throne back if there were no subjects left for her to rule?

It was a subtle move, but I saw Wazak tap his comstone and mutter something.

Then, as if on his command, the two factions on either side of Dobraton's central force closed in to form a buffer zone between the new "Queen" and her guard.

Wazak then picked up the pace until we were about a hundred meters from the enemy and stopped. From where I sat on my drayl, I could see that these must have been the ordinary citizens of Arconcia we were now facing, because they were brandishing every manner of homemade weapon imaginable. Despite their numbers, Lerotan's arsenal could have taken out most of them before they ever reached us, and I thought it was pretty sad that Dobraton would sacrifice them in such a callous manner.

"Dobraton!" Wazak called out. "Lay down your weapons, and you will not be harmed."

"He wants
them
to surrender to
us?"
Trag whispered in disbelief. "That's pretty cocky of him, don't you think?"

"Extremely," Tychar agreed. "If nothing else, you can't deny he's got balls."

As you might expect, Dobraton's response to Wazak's demand was a sharp bark of laughter.

"You will not retake the throne with your pitiful little band," Dobraton jeered. "We will not surrender, nor will you surrender to us. Whether you stand and fight or run for the mountains, we will destroy you."

" And your mangy little dog, tool"
I muttered with a grim smile, though, to be honest, Dobraton made the Wicked Witch of the West seem downright grandmotherly in comparison.

"You have given us your answer then," Wazak said gravely. "So be it."

Again, he spoke quietly into his comstone as he motioned for our front line to advance. We'd just about halved the distance between us and our opponents when the buffer zone of Darconian citizens all turned to face Dobraton, leaving an open space of desert in front of where she stood.

If I was surprised, I'm sure Dobraton was completely dumbfounded.

"Again, I ask you to lay down your arms," Wazak called out.

Dobraton looked at him, and then at the force of citizenry who now appeared to be ranged against her.

She was completely mystified but didn't back down for an instant.

"What is this?" she demanded angrily. "I will not tolerate such disloyalty! You will
all be
destroyed!"

"I don't think so," Zealon called out. "You made one small mistake when you took power."

"And that is?" Dobraton sneered.

"The people of this city are not as opposed to change as you are," Zealon said, stepping forward. She looked and sounded quite royal; she would make an excellent queen. Scalia would have been proud. "As Queen, I will give them the changes which they, themselves, decide upon."

A cheer went up from the crowd, evoking a glare from Dobraton. Zealon waited a moment for silence to prevail before she continued. "What my mother began, I shall continue," she said. "The will of the people shall determine our future, not your small circle of followers.

Such a small minority cannot control the entire population of a city if they do not choose to cooperate."

Undaunted, Dobraton shot back, "We control the water, and when the water no longer flows from The Shrine of the Desert, the people of this city will see that I, and I alone, am in control. Thirst and hunger will bring about cooperation."

I almost laughed out loud as it occurred to me that Dobraton probably didn't know about the true Shrine of the Desert—and Wazak had the keys...

"You may attempt to maintain control in that manner, but it would be a serious mistake," Zealon stated firmly.

"The people would not stand for it."

She was right about that, because Dobraton's plan was sure to backfire on her. She might try to maintain her death grip on the city, but it wouldn't last. On any world, oppression breeds discontent, and discontent breeds rebellion; we would only end up fighting this battle again at a later date. The trouble was, some of us might not be left alive to fight it. This had to end blood-lessly, or too many would die.

"There is knowledge which you have not been privy to," Zealon went on. "The water cannot be stopped at the source."

"Perhaps not," Dobraton conceded, "but we could control who received it."

"You could
try"
I said with a chuckle. It was said more under my breath than anything, but Dobraton must have had excellent hearing.

"Why do you laugh,
Terran?"
Dobraton demanded, putting an emphasis on the word "Terran," which made it sound like an insult. "If I have my way, you will be among the first to die—along with those...
cats."

If the way she'd said "Terran" was insulting, the word "cats" sounded downright obscene, and it brought my anger back in full force. She could threaten to kill me all she liked, but the tigers were off limits.

"Yeah, right,
bitch\"
I snarled. "Go ahead and kill us all! That's your answer to everything, isn't it? Somebody doesn't agree with you, you kill them—just like you killed Scalia." I took a deep breath and added, "And you know something, sweetheart? You should fuckin'

fry
for that! And speaking of fries, have fun telling all these people they'll never get to eat at a McDonald's as long as they live.
Then
see how happy and cooperative they are."

A murmur went up from the throng. "McDonald's?"

they whispered.

"Yeah, that's right!" I shouted. "A McDonald's!

Every planet in the known galaxy probably has at least one—except for Darconia! Think about it, now—crispy, salty fries and hot, juicy hamburgers—but you'll never get a taste of them. Ever."

As a rallying cry, it was a bit odd, perhaps, but I waited while the whispers grew, then someone began a chant in a loud voice that sounded decidedly female— and surprisingly human. In a matter of seconds, the chant became a tail-thumping, weapons-clashing roar.

Zealon gave it a few minutes and then held up a hand for silence—and she got it, too. Immediately. "This is but one example to demonstrate the desire for change,"

she said, her voice ringing out across the sand. "Contact with other worlds and other cultures will enrich us all, and we shall take our place among the great planets of the galaxy." She paused there, taking a deep breath for emphasis. Oh, yes, Scalia had taught her well. "As Queen, I shall reopen The Shrine of the Desert. No longer will it be open only to the privileged few, but to all comers." Pausing again, she smiled. "Our people want a McDonald's, Dobraton. And since you are not willing to give it to them, I will."

The cheer that went up from all sides was deafening, and the crowd—her "guard" included—backed away from Dobraton to leave her standing alone in the middle of the desert floor. Dobraton was overthrown.

Never underestimate the power of the golden arches.

IN THE WILD DISPLAY OF JUBILATION WHICH FOLLOWED, IT'S

a wonder no one got squashed. The Darconians themselves probably weren't in any danger, but being part of a mob of happy, tail-thumping, back-slapping dinosaurs is not something I would recommend to anyone less sturdily built than they are. Tychar and I wound up getting thrown off our drayl when one of the Darconians bumped into it, and when a hand reached down to pull me to my feet, I was astonished to find myself looking up into the dancing eyes of a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired human female.

"Captain Jacinth Tshevnoe, at your service," she said gaily. "Though my friends—and some of my enemies—call me Jack. And this guy here is my husband Carkdacund, also known as Cat. You must be the piano teacher." Taking a quick glance at the general revelry going on all around us, she added, "Damned if I know when this melee will end, but it seems kinda dangerous for us Terrans right now. We should probably get the heck outta Dodge while we can!"

I stood up and stared back at her in surprise, but my jaw dropped when I saw the man standing behind her.

With his waist-length black curls and devilishly fanged grin, he was undoubtedly Zetithian.