The Golden Queen

by David Farland

  “What do you mean destroy it?”

  “Put it in acid, or crush it, or burn it. It must be thoroughly pulverized on the atomic level.”

  “What if the Guide isn’t thoroughly destroyed?” Gallen asked, half certain of the answer.

  “If the Guide is retrieved, its memory will identify you.”

  “Thank you, Brevin. May you rest in eternal peace. I’ve already got your pants back on you, and all your secrets are safe with me,” Gallen said. He sat back and thought. He knew where Karthenor’s aberlains slept, in apartments near the cantina with windows over the river. He would have to work quickly—get in through the window and remove the Guide before the vanquishers responded to the alarm from the motion detectors at the window. Afterward, a simple toss could send the Guide off into the muddy deep. It would take the vanquishers some time to retrieve the Guide from the water. By then, Gallen imagined he could be well away from Toohkansay, on the trail to another gate and a new world.

  He removed the bereavement hood, closed Brevin’s coffin, and shoved it back into its chamber. He knew that he couldn’t leave poor little Maggie any longer than necessary. He stared at the black bereavement hood. Its metallic cloth was of a heavy weave. Perhaps not as thick as the walls of a room, but it might block radio transmissions from a Guide.

  Gallen could only hope.

  The road from Toohkansay to the Cyannesse gate was clear most of the way, yet Everynne drove with a heavy heart, a sinking feeling of guilt. She had left nine ardent supporters dead behind her and had left Gallen, Orick, and Maggie to fend for themselves in matters beyond their understanding. Yet she drove on. Everynne skirted two smaller towns in an hour, barely slowing the magcar. When she was four hundred and eighty-one kilometers north of Toohkansay, the land began turning to desert, a sandy plain where only a few volcanic flows marred the surface.

  This gate, unlike most, was in open view of the highway. Perhaps ten thousand years earlier, when the gate was built, the landscape had been different. The gate may have been hidden in a forest or swamp, but now it was in open view of the road. Even though the road was nearly empty of traffic, Everynne did not relish the idea of entering from a place where she would be in view of prospective witnesses.

  She began to slow the magcar, but Veriasse waved his hand and whispered, “Keep going! Keep going! Don’t stop. Don’t even slow!”

  She engaged the thruster to speed up, and on her rearview display saw six giant humanoid figures rise up from some camouflaged pit out near the gate. Vanquishers had been hiding, and now were watching them pass, perhaps wondering if they should give chase. If six of them were secluded there, many more would also be hiding.

  “How did you spot them?” Everynne asked when they were far down the road.

  “I didn’t,” Veriasse said. “I just felt uncomfortable. If Maggie was captured three days ago, then the authorities may have been expecting us. They’ve had plenty of time to seal off the gates and prevent our escape. In another hour, they will simply receive confirmation of our escape from Tihrglas, and matters will be worse.”

  “What will we do?” Everynne asked. She looked over to Veriasse. He had been her mother’s protector for six thousand years. He was used to intrigue and danger in a way that she hoped she never would have to be.

  “We will need to form some new allies here. We won’t get through that gate without an armed conflict.” He sighed. “I’d say that the city of Guianne is our best hope. It’s about five hundred kilometers south and ninety kilometers east of here.”

  “Where Mother was killed?” Everynne asked.

  Veriasse nodded slightly. “There is a shrine to her memory. We shall go and see if anyone tends it. Perhaps our allies will make themselves known to us.”

  Everynne swallowed hard, trying not to cry. She had never seen her mother’s resting place. Of all the worlds they. had visited, Everynne had harbored only one secret wish: to see her mother’s tomb. And if Everynne died on this journey, as long as she saw her mother’s tomb first, then she would feel that she had accomplished at least one significant act.

  “I know where three allies are,” Everynne said. “They’re right on our way, and at this moment, they need our help.”

  Veriasse sighed deeply. “You are right, of course. We’ll stop and get them. But I won’t let you put yourself in jeopardy. If they are in trouble, I will try to rescue them. And if I fail, you must promise to go on without me.”

  “I promise.” Everynne’s heart leapt. She had not felt right about leaving Maggie in captivity. She turned the magcar around, and as she soared over the highway toward Toohkansay, she felt light and free.

  Two hours later, Veriasse crept over the hill to Gallen’s camp. The early afternoon sunlight slanting through the trees dappled the leaves in purple and scarlet. Veriasse had pulled the magcar off the highway, hidden it in the brush. He was skilled at moving quietly. In his cloak of concealment, wearing a specially designed scent from the planet Jowlaith that neutralized his body odors, Veriasse could pass through the woods unnoticed by all but the most wary forest animals.

  Thus he came upon Orick unawares. The bear had retired to a glade, and there he had been busy making a small shelter by leaning broken pine branches up against a tree. The shelter was finished, and now the bear sat beside it, engaged in fervent prayer. “Holy Father,” Orick grumbled, shaking like a cub, “spare Maggie and Gallen. Bring them alive and safe from the realm of these damned sidhe. They are innocent of everything, innocent of any desires to do evil. I brought them here by accident, because there was no other way to save their lives, and I did not mean to break your commandments in doing so. If we have sinned ignorantly, I pray that the sins will be upon my head, and that Maggie and Gallen will be found guiltless—”

  “I am sure that your friends will be found guiltless,” Veriasse said, startling Orick. The bear tried to stand, and twisted around so fiercely in his panic that he fell over.

  “You!” he roared accusingly. “What are you doing here?”

  “The gate we sought was guarded by vanquishers,” Veriasse said. “We have been forced to make new plans. I came to see if I could be of any help to you and your friends.”

  The bear gazed from left to right, scanning the woods behind Veriasse. “We don’t need your help. Gallen will handle things.”

  “So, you don’t need the help of any ‘damned sidhe’?” Veriasse smiled. “Your friend Gallen may be a fine man, but he is a stranger to our world. I doubt that he will be able to bring your friend out.”

  “Ah, keep your misgivings to yourself,” Orick grunted. “Gallen got himself a bit of book learning. He knows plenty.”

  “At the very least, I can expedite his plans,” Veriasse offered. “What were his plans?”

  “I’m not sure he has any,” Orick said. “Gallen doesn’t work that way.”

  Veriasse considered. “I’ll leave Everynne to your care. Right now, she is down by the road. I want you to take her deeper into the woods, then come back here shortly after dawn. I don’t want you here to meet Gallen if he comes back.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if he is captured by the vanquishers, then he will lead them here.”

  “Gallen would never do that!”

  “If they put a Guide on him, then he will have no choice,” Veriasse countered. “Please, take her with you, and I will see what I can do for Gallen and Maggie.”

  Veriasse watched Orick head down the valley toward the road. He rummaged through his pack, put on a mantle as a disguise, then walked to Toohkansay. Since he was already dressed and masked as a lord of Fale, no one challenged him. Even if they had, they would find that Veriasse, Lord of Information Managers, was registered as a citizen of the world. His forged records included computerized documentation that detailed much of a fictional life, down to his bathing schedule and the content of meals purchased during the past seventy years.

  Veriasse went to the northwest quadrant of the city where the aberlai
ns worked. He found the place to be heavily guarded. Green-skinned vanquishers on roving patrols were a sure sign that dronon guards resided within. In some places, he found that the living walls of the city were blackened by fire. Obviously, resistance bombers had been at work here within the past few weeks, and Veriasse suddenly became very concerned about Maggie.

  He had worried before about her treatment by the dronon and her lord, but he had not considered the very real possibility that her greatest threat came not from her captors but from the local freedom fighters. Before, when he’d heard that Maggie was captured, he’d wondered why Karthenor had made such a poor choice of worker, but now he saw that indeed Maggie might have been exactly what the lord needed—someone who was alone in the city, someone who would not be missed. By taking slaves who were well tied to the community, Karthenor would only have earned further resentment.

  Veriasse cursed himself, wondering if he might be able to get in touch with some of these freedom fighters. But he had to find Gallen first.

  As he had imagined, the exterior of the compound was well secured. In sensitive areas, the dronon had installed heavy doors that would resist bombing.

  Veriasse finished his scouting expedition and went down to the pidc. There he requested to view all documents that Gallen had studied. The teacher gave him the information, and Veriasse was impressed. Gallen had tried to retrieve data on Maggie’s rooming situation, but the computer had not given him such sensitive information, nor would it supply a map of the interior of the compound. So Gallen had requested information on all areas where the aberlain compound did not extend, and had thus retrieved a negative image of the compound. By requesting maps of the laundry chutes which went through the floors below, he had been able to decipher the location of the living quarters for the aberlain workers. Veriasse studied the map, saw that most of the rooms had exterior exits. But Gallen went one step farther. He had requested computerized readouts on the electrical output for each room. One of the apartments had been left idle for three days, then suddenly recorded a tenant who turned on the lights each evening for a moment before retiring.

  Gallen had taken his questioning one final step. The room had a southern exposure, and Gallen had asked the city computer to study the temperature records for the room and then determine whether the occupant left the windows open at night. The computer responded by showing that for the past two nights, the windows were left open, but the computer shut them when the temperature dropped below a certain threshold.

  Veriasse smiled, impressed that some rustic could negotiate through the city’s information system so smoothly. At the same time, Gallen showed some gaping holes in his education. For one thing, the boy didn’t know that he’d left a data trail that would indict him. Veriasse asked the computer to run a credit check on Gallen, found that the boy was attempting to purchase clothing, ropes, and air exchangers—items he would need for his rescue attempt. Yet Gallen was broke. Veriasse used his credentials as a Lord of Information Managers to have the computer transfer credits from his personal account into Gallen’s account, then he ran a security-delete on most files that mentioned Gallen’s name.

  He sat for a moment, thinking. Before Gallen tried to climb in that open window, he would need to neutralize the motion detectors. One could build a simple jammer that would disable any warning the motion detectors might send.

  Veriasse would have to work fast, if he were to complete the jammer before Gallen tried to rescue Maggie.

  Maggie tried to sleep, but after Avik left her, her lust kept her awake. Near dawn, her Guide quit stimulating her sexual appetites, and Maggie was free to dream: she dreamed of Tlitkani, of the dronon, and in her dream Maggie’s heart stirred with passion. The queen walked across a plaza of white stone, and her chitin flashed gold in the sunlight. She was perfect in every respect—without a flaw or blemish, not so much as a nick in her exoskeleton, and all around her was a great celebration. Dronon warriors with their heavy front battle arms knelt at her feet, battle arms crossed and extended in a sign of reverence. Tan dronon technicians with thin little segmented hands stood by to adore her, too, along with the small white workers. But among the insect hordes were many humans in all manner of clothing and attire, worlds of them, dancing and capering about, gazing at with adoration shining from their eyes. Little human children had made garlands of flowers and strewn them at her feet, and a song rose up from humans and dronons alike, their voices raspy with fervor, praising the Golden Queen.

  In her dream, Maggie felt such a profound respect for the golden one that tears streamed from her eyes. To simply gaze upon her caused a height of religious feeling unparalleled in all Maggie’s life.

  Maggie woke, eyes still streaming with tears, and her Guide whispered to her, “This is a vision I have given you of the future you shall help bring to pass. When a dronon looks upon its Golden Queen, it feels the ineffable sense of awe and wonder I have shared with you. We shall insert the genes that cause this condition into the fetuses of your children, so that they will no longer view the dronon as aliens, but will see them as brothers. Today you begin laboring within the inner sanctum of our compound, and you will help in the great work of bringing to pass the Adoration.”

  Having said this, the Guide had Maggie rise from bed, shower, and go down to eat. She was dead on her feet with fatigue, and after breakfast, the Guide had her walk into a part of the aberlains’ working compound that she had not visited before. On her previous days, Maggie had worked only at the reproduction labs, but far more of the aberlains’ labors were spent here in the research department, the inner sanctum of the aberlains’ lair.

  Here, she joined Avik’s research team, which was supervised directly by Lord Karthenor. Here, Karthenor engaged in decoding dronon DNA so that the genes that carried Adoration might be discovered. To work here was a great honor, and the Guide stimulated Maggie’s emotions so that she approached her task with a proper sense of reverence.

  The research department was dark and warm, with dim red lights to simulate conditions on the planet Dronon itself. Black-carapaced dronon vanquishers patrolled the corridors while dronon technicians worked side by side with humans in their sterile white coats.

  Maggie was put to work on a gene scanner, dyeing and scrutinizing dronon DNA. Thousands of healthy dronon specimens had given tissue samples over the past six years, and all of these were well catalogued. Now, Maggie and the aberlains studied samples from unhealthy dronon.

  So it was that Maggie spent her day encoding the DNA of dronons who were born with lung defects. Genetic aberrations that led to weaknesses were never tolerated in dronon society. The congenitally insane, retarded, and deformed were always killed when their abnormalities were discovered. So Maggie found herself working with tissue from dronon infants. The workers who had shipped the specimens from Dronon had not taken great care to clean and prepare the tissues. Instead, they had shipped crates filled with pieces of the dead. The whiplike sensors had been ripped off the young dronon mouths. The feelers were then placed in refrigerated boxes and labeled according to deformity.

  Maggie’s job was to carefully unwrap the feelers, remove small samples from each and label them according to specimen, then place each in a gene decoder. Computers would then store information on the mutant DNA, match identical genetic structures from different samples of mutants, and thus by defining the areas of aberration, learn which genes controlled which functions.

  Maggie worked at her grisly task all morning. For days she had been fighting her Guide as it attempted to stimulate her emotions. When she was angry or frightened, the Guide continually sought to calm her, send feelings of bliss. Maggie had found herself nursing her anger, trying to overwhelm the Guide. But now she was so weary that she could not fight it any longer. If not for the Guide, she would have collapsed from exhaustion. But the Guide kept her awake.

  The Guide carried her about the room, fed her comfort and information. She knew that her work was important, and Maggie found hers
elf wishing that she could do more, hoping she would discover the actual genes that led to Adoration.

  But the most important work was left to others, to aberlains with greater skill. They worked with tissues from the criminally insane, decoding genes from those few dronons who did not adore the Golden Queen.

  Few such specimens had ever been born in dronon history, and they had been completely eradicated. Since the dronon used their own dead to fertilize their fields, the tissue samples of these insane individuals were rarely available. Still, a great search of the dronon worlds would eventually turn up a few new individuals. Maggie could only hope that when such samples became available, they would be sent here to the laboratories on Fale, so that she might have the honor of decoding them.

  The tissue samples that Maggie used came from dronons who were born with a disorder that caused the chitin around their breathing orifices to form scarred nodules that could block the air passages. The breathing orifices on a dronon consisted of a row of nine holes located on the back upper hips of the dronon’s hind legs. The orifices led to small lung sacks between the inner wall of the exoskeleton on the hip, and the hip muscles themselves. The dronon could not properly be said to have hearts. Instead, a rhythmic movement of the back legs caused the hip muscles to pump oxygen through the lungs and oxygenated blood through the rest of the body. For this reason, a dronon actually pumped blood more efficiently when it walked or ran. When it stopped walking, it would be forced to crouch and rhythmically bob up and down to keep its circulation going.