The Summer Queen

by Joan D. Vinge

  Ananke swore, starting forward. Reede pushed him back again, out of the way; raised the stunner and took aim. He fired. The offworlder in the process of dropping his pants behind Ariele clutched his groin with a yelp of disbelief. He collapsed on the floor, in a sudden puddle of his own urine, as he lost control of his body functions.

  “Ariele!”

  Heads turned all around the room, away from the spectacle in front of them, toward him. The offworlder who was fondling Ariele let her go, pushing her away roughly as she tried to cling to him. She stumbled free, turned unsteadily to stare at Reede along with everyone else. Her eyes were glassy and uncomprehending. She looked down at herself, up at his face, away again, with a peculiar quirk of her head.

  Reede came on into the room, brandishing the gun. No one moved, all of them caught somewhere between chagrin and disbelief. “Ananke,” he said, and pointed toward Elco Teel, “cover the little perverts, over there. Don’t let them go anywhere.” He watched Ananke move forward, holding the two knives in plain sight, to stand guard in front of them. “Now,” he said, to the mob of sullen, silent men who still surrounded Ariele.

  One of them took a step toward him. He raised the gun and the man backed up again. But he read the speculation in their eyes as they began to realize how outnumbered he was. Ananke looked his way, uneasy.

  “I’m calling the Blues,” Reede said, certain that he had everyone’s attention, “and reporting this gang bang. Maybe you cocksuckers want to hang around and see how much fun you can have with the Queen’s daughter before they get here … or maybe you want to see how far away you can get instead.” He touched his remote with his free hand, putting in a callcode.

  The offworlders began to move, one by one—toward the door this time. He kept the gun trained on them as they passed, their steps quickening as panic began to set in. They were out of the building inside of half a minute, dragging along the piss-stinking one he’d crippled. The door slammed shut behind them. He was sure they wouldn’t be back.

  He moved slowly across the room to the spot where Ariele stood, her face still dazed and unfathomable as she tried to pull her clothing back into place. She stopped trying as she saw him come toward her, and held out her arms. “Reede…” she whispered.

  Reede stuck the stunner through his belt and pushed her hands aside. He caught the strap of her tunic, keeping his eyes on her face as he pulled the soft, shining cloth up over her breasts, sliding the strap back onto her shoulder with gentle, noncommittal motions. She put her arms around him, pulling him against her. “Stop it,” he said, and shook her off. “Stay there.” He started back across the room to the place where Elco Teel stood; realizing, annoyed, that Ariele was following him. Reede studied Elco Teel’s pouting, frightened face, his pouting, frightened companions.

  “Did you really call the Blues?” Ananke murmured, staring at him.

  Reede laughed. “No,” he said; saw Ananke relax, and the young Winters start to relax with him. His own body stiffened as Ariele came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him again, sliding her fingers into the seal of his shirt. He pulled her hand free irritably. One of the Winter girls gave a high, nervous giggle, watching Ariele’s hands crawl over his body as if they had a life of their own.

  “You think it’s funny?” Ananke said, suddenly. Reede looked at him, surprised by the hard bitterness of his voice. “You really think laughing at her makes you safe? Makes you one of them—?” He jerked his head at Elco Teel and the other boy. “The next time it might be your turn, sister—”

  The girl glared at him, sidling closer to Elco Teel, taking hold of his arm.

  Reede stepped forward, catching the expensive, diaphanous shimmercloth of her tunic at its collar. He ripped it open to her waist with a sudden, brutal motion. “And next time they might not bother to put you in the mood, first, sweeting—”

  The girl cried out, shrinking away from his touch as she pulled her torn clothes together. Elco Teel’s face tightened, but he made no move to stop it, to help her. The other Winters gaped, wide-eyed.

  Reede turned his back on them, pushing Ariele away, maddeningly aware that he was starting to get an erection. He swung back to face Elco Teel; held his hand out to Ananke. Ananke passed him his blade silently, uneasily. Reede raised the knife until its tip was touching Elco Teel’s throat. “I didn’t call the Blues, because they might object to what I have in mind for you, little man,” Reede said softly.

  Elco Teel went white, his whole body seeming to shrivel back from the knife’s point.

  “This was no accident, was it, Elco Teel?” Reede murmured, tracing an infinity sign along the quivering length of Elco Teel’s neck. Even Ariele was silent and still now, waiting and listening; no longer touching him, although a part of him was still aware only of her, the feel of her, the smell of her— He wrenched his attention back. “Your old man put you up to this, and the Source put him up to it, am I right?”

  “I don’t know,” Elco gibbered. “Yes—maybe— Da gave me the drug! He said I could get back at her, at you, because you took her away from me—”

  Reede’s hand jerked downward in a sudden, slashing movement, and Elco Teel screamed in pain.

  Reede stepped back, inspecting his work. Elco Teel swayed on his feet, making a mewling whine as he stared down at the hanging ruins of his expensive clothes; at the thin, precise line of the wound running from his throat to his navel, the spreading ribbon of red oozing out of it as he watched.

  Reede caught Elco’s chin, lifting his head ungently. “Now listen to me, you little turd. You tell your father … you tell him it didn’t work. And tell him he’s out of his depth. You tell him it’s a closed game, between me and the Source. That this is just a warning. That next time they’ll have to put the pieces of your body back together like a puzzle just to bury you.… And that’s nothing, compared to what I’ll do to him. Do you think you can remember all that?”

  “Y-yes,” Elco Teel whimpered. Tears leaked out of his eyes.

  “Then go tell him.” Reede wiped his blade on the rags of Elco Teel’s shirt and stepped aside, opening a space for Elco Teel and the others to escape. They fled, Elco Teel leading the way.

  Reede watched them go, listened for the heavy reverberation of the slamming door. He put his knife away.

  Ananke did the same, echoing his motions. Reede saw the look on his face then, half stunned admiration and half concern. “What’s going to happen now?” Ananke said finally.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Source—”

  Reede grimaced, realizing with an odd annoyance that the concern in Ananke’s eyes had as much to do with him as it did with Ananke’s own safety. He shook his head, and shrugged, all the response he could bring himself to make.

  Soft hands touched him again, unexpectedly, and he started. Ariele was back beside him, caressing him, her lips brushing his cheek. Her touch was more tentative this time, but still it made his body sing like a plucked wire. “Stop it,” he murmured; but this time it was harder to push her away, as if something was slowing his motions, weighing down his resolve like gravity.

  Ananke stood watching them, with uncertainty coming back into his face.

  “Go back to the club and find Niburu,” Reede said. “Tell him everything’s all right.”

  Ananke glanced at Ariele. “What about—?”

  “She’ll be all right.”

  “Maybe I should stay, and help you get her home.…”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he snapped, when Ananke still hesitated. “Get out.”

  Ananke nodded, with obvious reluctance. His eyes stayed on Ariele, on her hands, her mouth, and the things they were trying to do to Reede’s body, as he started for the door.

  Reede jerked free of her again as Ananke went out; taking hold of her arms when she reached for him. His skin seemed to burn where she had touched it. Elco Teel must have slipped her a dose of possession. He knew that it breathed through the skin, making someone who wa
s under its influence contagious, infecting whoever touched them with the same helpless arousal. The throbbing ache in his loins spread through his entire body, making him sweat, making him burn. He told himself that it was impossible, drugs didn’t affect him at all— “Ariele,” he said fiercely, shaking her. “You don’t want this. Stop it!”

  She struggled against his hold, her eyes filling with tears … her eyes that were like agate, like fog, like no eyes he had ever seen. “I didn’t want them—I wanted you. I want you.” Suddenly she was soft and yielding in his grip, candlewax touched by flame, clinging to him everywhere, warm and fragrant. Murmuring, “please, oh please … Reede please … only you. Only you.…” She pressed her lips to his half-bared chest, devouring him with kisses. His own arms were suddenly strengthless as he heard her speak his name, as he saw recognition in her eyes.

  “No,” he said, as her arms slid around him. “No, Ariele—” His hands rose to push her away; but now his hands seemed to have gained a life of their own, fusing to her flesh, refusing to stop touching her. Helplessly he felt the silk and velvet of her skin, the pressure of her body against his, making his nerves sing as though some live circuit had closed between them when they touched … and he knew that the impossible had happened. His mouth found hers, in a long, deep kiss. He knew that he was lost.…

  She sank down along his body, pulling open his clothes, kissing him everywhere; drawing him down with her onto the cargo mats as the cold, barren space around them dissolved into waves of heat.

  * * *

  Ariele woke out of a dream of a dream, feeling the heaviness of arousal still congesting her languid body, making every motion deliciously sensual. She ran her hands down over herself, finding that she was naked beneath bedcovers; not what she had expected to find. She opened her eyes and discovered the ceiling of a room she had never seen before, but no memory at all of how she had gotten to this place. She felt a sudden coldness drop through her as she saw herself in her mind’s eye, saw a cold, echoing space in which she was surrounded by strangers, offworlders with hard hands and soulless eyes, letting them … letting them.…

  But the images metamorphosed like cloudforms, and it was no stranger, but Reede Kullervo holding her, caressing her, peeling away her clothing as his kisses dissolved her mind into seafoam.… His hands on her, melting her very flesh from her bones as they opened and explored her. She remembered the burning sword of his manhood tracing a fiery track across her skin, its white heat driven deep into her loins, searing the soft folds below with its exquisite passage as he sought, and found, and took possession of the secret core of her being; as he buried himself souldeep in her annealing, fluid depths.…

  She remembered a slow, deep rhythm that went on and on, filling her, fulfilling her, in a way that she had never known before, until she screamed like a sea bird with the length, the depth, the purity of sensation as her pleasure crested and fell away into blissful release … only to be carried upward to crest again, by the rhythm that went on and on, driving her into delirium dreams.…

  She turned her head on the pillow, as the cascading memories dissolved into the brightness of day. Turning away from the light that filled her eyes, she searched the space beside her for a form, a face; suddenly afraid that she would not find him, not find anyone—

  But he was there, to her relief and joy, lying beside her, sound asleep. She studied his face, turned toward her; fascinated by the sight of him at rest, at peace. He never looked that way, so peaceful, so vulnerable, when he was awake; he was always like a fist full of thorns, filled with potential pain. It was what had drawn her to him, the hint of danger, the wildness in his eyes. But it was the man sleeping next to her now who had held her: the haunted, haunting stranger she caught glimpses of as they talked together about the mers. She was sure it was that man who had kept coming back to her, even while something inside him fought against it, keeping her at bay, keeping him unreachable and untouchable.

  She reached out, touching his cheek, so softly that she barely proved his reality. She let her hand trace the line of his jaw, down along his throat, his shoulder. She had never been allowed to touch him, before; he had never let her. She studied the tattooing that tendriled the length of his arm, fascinated by the complexity of the designs. Someone had told her once that they meant he was some kind of criminal; the prospect had secretly excited her.

  But he had denied it, when she had found the nerve to ask him about them. And now, looking at the beauty of the many-colored symmetries, patterns resolving into other patterns even as she looked at them, by the magic of their design, she did not believe it either. They made her think of secrets, transformations, messages with hidden meanings. They reminded her of the mersong … of the mystery of human existence, in all its richness and variety … things that she could contemplate forever, like these exotic patterns, and the mysteries of the man who wore them …

  Reede’s hand came alive suddenly, under her touch; caught her own hand in a painful grip. He sat up, staring at her, while the emotions on his face changed and changed again, so quickly that she could only see his anger. Her smile died stillborn, and she shrank back from what she found in his eyes.

  But he looked away from her again; sank back, to lie motionless in the bedding, with his hands covering his face. “No,” he whispered. “No.…”

  Ariele pushed herself up; dared to touch him again. He did not shake her off, and so she moved closer, to rest her head on his shoulder. He flinched, but still he did nothing to prevent her from being there.

  “Oh, Reede,” she murmured, against his neck. “I love you so much. You’ve changed everything for me.”

  He said something in a language she didn’t know, that sounded like a curse. “You don’t know anything about love, or about being changed … damn you,” he said bitterly. But his arms went around her, pulling her to him, cradling her against him as if he were afraid she might disappear. He stroked her hair. “What am I going to do?” he said, to the ceiling, or the air.

  “Are you worried about my mother?” she asked.

  He looked at her blankly. “What?”

  “She won’t be angry with you.… She might even be happy with me, for once.”

  Something like comprehension filled his eyes; but he only grimaced. “Don’t tell your mother. For gods’ sakes, don’t tell anyone!”

  “But why not? Everyone already thinks—”

  He sat up, glaring at her in furious desperation. “You don’t even know the truth—”

  She stared at him. “Then tell me.”

  “It’s too late,” he said, shaking his head. He lay down again beside her. “Too late…” He looked away from her eyes, down along her body. His hand reached out, uncertainly, to touch her breast, making her shiver and stretch with languorous desire. He rolled over, beginning to kiss her, beginning to make love to her again, with an urgency that took her breath away … and then sensation was all she knew.

  TIAMAT: Hegemonic Starport

  “Did you enjoy your tour of the complex, Lady?” Vhanu asked, behind him.

  Gundhalinu turned away from the window wall, abruptly startled out of his reverie. He had managed to lose himself in the spectacular, eye-numbing view of the starport’s landing grids; avoiding conversation, letting the incandescence twenty meters below him burn away all conscious thought for minutes at a time. Vhanu’s question forced his attention back into the crowded reception hall as the Queen and her husband joined them. Jerusha PalaThion, who had accompanied the Queen on the tour, stood with them now, staring out at the grids as if her own mind were somewhere else entirely.

  “Yes. It was fascinating,” Moon said, her voice holding just the right amount of awe. Her glance left Vhanu’s face briefly; Gundhalinu saw the wary amusement in her eyes. It was not the first time she had set foot in the complex, although Vhanu did not know that. The last time had also been the night of the Assembly’s arrival on Tiamat; but then it had marked the beginning of the end, the Final Departur
e of the Hegemony from Tiamat, and not the Return.

  She had not been an honored, invited guest then. She had been an exhausted refugee … and so had the young inspector Gundhalinu, missing and presumed dead. Together they had come out of the wilderness, starving, frozen, and wholly unexpected; and although the natives were forbidden to set foot in the complex, the duty sergeant had taken one look into the eyes of Inspector Gundhalinu, who had risen from the grave, and let them pass.

  They had arrived in the middle of a celebration exactly like the one taking place tonight, and the pleasure and unspeakable relief he had felt, to find himself back among his own people, alive, safe, and going home, had matched the celebration of all the assembled guests in the hall that night.

  He glanced at Jerusha PalaThion again, at her expressionless face, wondering what she was thinking tonight. She had been Commander of Police then; this time she was only a Chief Inspector. But her life had undergone so much change in the years between—almost as much as his own had—that he could not imagine what her reactions were. He remembered suddenly how she had smiled as she came into the infirmary room where he was being treated; how her pleasure at the sight of him had filled his beaten, shivering body with warmth and strength.

  And he remembered the looks on the faces of the Assembly members who had followed her—thinking they had come to honor one of their own, a Kharemoughi Technician who had been lost in the barbaric wilderness—as they saw the scars of his failed suicide attempt on his wrists, and listened to him blurt out his forbidden feelings for the Tiamatan woman who had saved his life.

  He glanced down at his wrists, as if he would suddenly find the red weals of fresh scar tissue standing out against his skin; although he had had all traces of them removed long ago, and scarcely even thought about them anymore. He felt surprise as he realized that, because once he had been so certain that a day would never pass when he would not think about them, even if they were made invisible; when he would not hate himself simply for being alive.…