The Summer Queen

by Joan D. Vinge

  The others gathered around her; they pulled her forward together, moving into the wind’s teeth with arms linked, as if they were facing an angry mob. She could see nothing, blinded by pelting rain; but she heard the wind screaming, the thud and boom of storm-driven waves crashing over the docks far below her feet. She felt the city itself shudder with the blows. Her feet were suddenly in water up to her ankles as the sea swept up the ramp, flooding the pavement, and poured back down it again.

  Vhanu was waiting for them, flanked by half a dozen more Police, in the security watchpost to one side of the ramp. The men around her crowded inside eagerly, dragging her with them out of the direct force of the wind. But even here the wind found them, drenching them with fresh volleys of rain and spray, whipping her hair loose, blowing it into her eyes maddeningly.

  Vhanu pushed between his men until he stood face to face with her, and there was something in his eyes that made her want to shrink away.

  She held her ground, even as he violated her space, pressing too close to her, intimidating her physically under the pretense of making himself heard. “What do you want?” she demanded, shouting over the wind’s screaming moan. “Why am I here?”

  “This!” he shouted. He caught her painfully by the arm, turning her, pushing her between bodies toward the watchroom’s wide window. She caught a blurred glimpse of the causeway leading down, into what appeared to be nothing but the ocean. There were no moorings, no ships at all visible—only the sea, swirling with unidentifiable wreckage. As she watched, another wave broke against the city’s pylons; its crest barely cleared Carbuncle’s understructure, which was fifty feet above the normal high tide. She felt the city shudder again with the impact; saw water surging up the ramp into the city’s open throat, before windblown spray struck the window in front of her, obscuring her view. She felt cold water lap her ankles again and withdraw.

  She turned away, into the fanatical fury of Vhanu’s gaze, shaken more by the sight of his face than by the power of the storm.

  “I want you to stop it!” he shouted, gesturing at the storm’s elemental madness behind her.

  She stared at him, feeling the attention of the guards around her suddenly riveted on the two of them. “What—?” she cried.

  “Make it stop!” He pulled her back to the watchroom’s door; she felt the full force of the storm tease her, caress her, trying to coax her body out into the arms of its rage. She tried to turn back, but he held her there, letting the storm half-drown and abuse them both. “You heard me! Do it now!”

  She twisted her head, trying to see his face clearly. “I can’t!”

  “Don’t lie to me!” he said furiously. “You control the city’s power supply at will! You turned Gundhalinu into a traitor! They even say you’re the old queen reincarnated— And now you’ve turned the storm, to keep me away from the mers! You’ve ruined your own people’s livelihood. Damn you, the city will be in chaos when the tribunal arrives! They’re in orbit now, but they can’t even land. What are you, some kind of witch? How do you do it? Where does it come from?”

  She shook her head, shaking back her sodden hair, and took a deep, sobbing breath as the wind sucked the air from her lungs. She would have laughed, her disbelief was so utter; except that she knew he meant every word. Oh, Lady, she thought, Lady, Lady … But there was no response inside her. “No one can stop the storm!” she cried. “It has to run its course!”

  “Then you admit you caused it?”

  “No!” she shouted.

  He gripped her arms again, hard enough to bruise her. “Stop the storm, or I’ll order an orbital strike on the city!”

  You can’t! She choked back the words that came to her lips, seeing something like panic in his face. “You can’t—” she said, and it was not a protest, but a threat.

  His own angry response died in his throat. “What do you mean?” he shouted, his hands still bruising her arms. He shook her; the city shuddered beneath them, cold water climbed their legs and withdrew, leaving a trail of flotsam.

  “Your weapons won’t function,” she said, holding his gaze with sudden ferocity. “Their aim will be off. If you try to fire on Carbuncle, you might miss. You might hit the starport complex instead, or one of your own ships, or—”

  He swore. His hand came at her out of nowhere, striking her across the face, knocking her to the pavement in the wind and rain.

  She struggled to get her feet under her and rise, without hands to help her; stunned with pain, battered down again by the storm. Behind her she heard unintelligible voices exchanging angry words. Two of the patrolmen were suddenly beside her, dragging her back again into the relative shelter of the watch station.

  She gasped for breath, tasting blood in her mouth as she was supported between the two men. Two others held Vhanu away from her. The city trembled under another blow. An officer spoke urgently to Vhanu, in their own tongue; she could not hear what he said. But slowly the fury went out of Vhanu’s straining body. The two guards let him go and stood back. He glared at her, immolating her with his eyes as he tugged at the soaked, unyielding cloth of his uniform sleeves. “Take her away,” he said tonelessly. “Lock her up.”

  The three patrolmen led her to the hovercraft, and it carried them back up the street to Police headquarters. They did not speak to her, but their treatment of her was cautious, almost apologetic. She leaned against the window at the corner of her seat, dazed and strengthless, avoiding their eyes. The streets were almost deserted. She wondered whether it was martial law or the terrifying presence of the storm rattling the transparent walls at the end of every alley that kept her people indoors. She wondered, wearily, what their reaction would have been to see her like this … could not carry the thought any further. She was invisible to the few people who did venture out, hidden behind the reflective windows of the Police craft.

  They reached Blue Alley at last. She was led through the station house, past half a hundred uncomprehending stares, and into a cell somewhere deep in its heart. There were other cells around hers; she searched them, looking for Jerusha. But the other cells were all empty. The guards removed the binders from her aching wrists and left her alone, sealed in by a clear wall that gave off sparks when she touched it.

  The cell was cold; she began to tremble, from reaction as much as from the clammy embrace of her wet clothing. She wiped blood from the corner of her mouth with her hand: stood staring at the sticky redness, uncertain what to do with it. There was a narrow cot along the wall, with a single blanket folded at its foot. She wrapped the blanket around her and lay down, stupefied by exhaustion, her thoughts as empty as the space around her. She closed her eyes, letting her mind and body escape into oblivion.

  She woke from restless, nightmarish sleep, to push the blanket away; woke again after more fever dreams to cover herself, shivering with chills. Time passed in a measureless flow, and gradually her sleep became deeper, more peaceful, less troubled by dreams.

  At last she woke again, and her mind was clear. She sat up, shaking off the covers, leaning back against the wall as her body’s sudden weakness took her by surprise. Her mouth was parched and dry, and she realized that her weakness was partly hunger and thirst. There was a plate of food on the floor just inside the barrier at the front of the cell. She wondered how long it had been waiting for her; she had nothing with her to tell her how much time had passed.

  She got up from the cot, managed to retrieve the plate and a cup filled with some unfamiliar drink. She sat down with them again before dizziness overwhelmed her, and waited, motionless, while her heart hammered against the walls of her chest. And then she ate, slowly, savoring every bite of the plainly prepared native food; delaying for that much longer the need to think beyond the present moment.

  By the time she had finished, her mind had begun to function again. Her clothes were completely dry; she pulled them into something like order. She drew back the tangled mass of her hair, braiding it again into a long neat plait. She noticed that t
here were two blankets on her bed now, where there had only been one before. Someone had been here, checking on her while she slept.

  She got up again and went to the front of the cell, calling out. Only echoes answered. She suspected that she was being watched, remembering Vhanu’s pathological fear of her; but there seemed to be no other human being in the cell block. The isolation must be intentional. Vhanu would want even her exact location kept from anyone who might try to find her.

  She touched the bruise on her cheek where he had struck her, and felt a coldness fill her that had nothing to do with the air. Why was she here? What did he intend to do with her? Would he have her deported, without anyone even knowing it, the way he had done to BZ? But if that was what he intended, surely he would have done it already—

  She went back to the cot and sat down, controlling the sudden frustration and anger that overwhelmed her as she realized her helplessness. She thought of Ariele … tried not to, as pain blinded her. She wondered whether Jerusha was still held prisoner here, somewhere; whether Vhanu had had the palace searched, whether they had taken Reede away. Without Jerusha free, there was no one who would be able to change anything, stop anything, help her get free from here.… She rocked slowly back and forth, her fists clenched over buried folds of cloth on her robe.

  She thought suddenly of the tribunal that Vhanu had said was coming to pass judgment on his version of the truth against her own. What was it he had said, in the flood of his accusations, there in the storm—? They’re here, but they can’t land.

  Was he holding her to display to them as an enemy of the Hegemony, the cause of Gundhalinu’s downfall? Or would she simply be kept here, locked away—not even given a chance to speak, until they had come and gone again, leaving him in charge? What would happen to her if he tried to force the truth from her…? She let the thoughts come, every futile, fearful vision; let her mind fill with possible scenarios. She fingered them like beads in a necklace, trying to find some solution to each of them, because thought was the only thing left over which she had any control.

  At last she heard the echoes of voices and footsteps, and knew that whichever way her fate was falling, she would know the outcome very soon.

  She stood up, pulling her rumpled clothing straight again, as the guards came to take her out of her cell—different men this time, not the ones who had seen their Commander strike a defenseless prisoner.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked, keeping her voice even as they locked her hands behind her.

  “To the starport,” one of the guards said.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Commander’s orders,” he said. They led her back through the dreary corridors and out of the station without further explanation.

  The sea lung had passed; she could see clear daylight through the storm walls at the alley’s end. She wondered bleakly how her people were coping with this disaster—how many had been caught outside the safety of the city’s walls, injured or lost in the wild waters. She remembered the sight of the moorage below the city, nothing left to see but the impossible storm surge of the water, and swirling wreckage. She imagined that people would be down there already, below the city and along the shore, searching through what the sea had left them, sorting out their lives. She wondered what they would make of her disappearance, in the middle of all this. People at the palace knew she had been taken by the Police; the constabulary must know that Jerusha was the Hegemony’s prisoner. Word would spread—

  But the storm that had saved the mers and driven Vhanu to this act of vengeance might work to his advantage after all, as recovery diffused the energy of any protest the Tiamatans might make. She had no illusions, either, that Vhanu would not move swiftly to put someone in her place, probably a Winter. Kirard Set was gone to the Mother, but there were too many of his old acquaintances still in the city, waiting for their opportunity to regain Winter’s lost power. And there was no one left who had the authority or influence to protect Summer’s interests against them.…

  They were in the transit tunnel already, on a shuttle threading rings of light like a needle through the darkness. She knew from experience that they would be inside the starport in a matter of minutes. And then … “Am I being deported?” she asked, suddenly unable to endure the pressure of the unknown any longer. “Am I going to disappear, like the Chief Justice? Where are you taking me? I am the Queen. I have a right to know. I want to know where you’re taking me!”

  The squad of guards surrounding her in the otherwise empty car looked at each other. “The Commander said bring you to the starport, Lady. He didn’t say why.” The patrolman who had spoken to her before shrugged, and glanced away. No one else spoke; they avoided looking at her.

  The shuttle reached its terminus, and they took her up through the starport’s interior, leading her finally to the reception hall in which she had once met the Prime Minister and the Hegemonic Assembly. The wide window-wall at the far side of the room showed her the glowing grids of the landing field, below and beyond it.

  She entered the room, surprised; saw Vhanu turn to stare at her, across the expanse of deep blue carpet. He was surrounded by a small cluster of government officials, most of whom she recognized. He kept watching as she approached; his gaze lay somewhere between unease and satisfaction. The other faces around him watched her too, wearing a mixture of expressions.

  Her instinctive reaction, as she saw them there, was relief. If Vhanu meant to deport her secretly, this was not how he would do it. But if that was not what he intended, then she suddenly had no idea what her presence here meant.

  The guards halted her beside Vhanu, and he returned their salutes. Looking away from his eyes, she stiffened as she saw someone enter the hall from the other side.

  Vhanu turned, seeing her stare. The others turned with him, as the new arrivals were escorted into the room: a dozen more Kharemoughis, of varying ages and both sexes, all of them with the aristocratic features and unconsciously arrogant manner of Technicians. Some wore uniforms, others wore the discreetly sophisticated, sexless clothing of highborn citizens. One, she saw, wore a trefoil. She knew without being told that this was the tribunal Vhanu had been waiting for.

  They looked, in varying degrees, relieved and weary and glad to find themselves finally at the end of their journey. They all looked pleased, and somewhat curious, at the size of their welcoming committee.

  Moon glanced again at Vhanu. She saw recognition and sudden pleasure fill his face. “Pernatte-sadhu!” he exclaimed, starting forward to greet the leader of the group. The man he called out to smiled, and held up his hand. Vhanu touched it in a greeting between equals. They spoke together in rapid Sandhi; she heard them use the informal thou, and realized that they were friends, possibly even related somehow.

  She waited, understanding her function here at last; feeling her hope gutter as Vhanu led the tribunal members forward. She had been brought here to be displayed as a scapegoat. But Vhanu had not dared to have her gagged; she could still speak for herself. She gathered her thoughts, watching them come.

  “—I say, Vhanu, couldn’t we perhaps delay these matters for a bit? We’re all extremely fatigued,” Pernatte was protesting, his initial animation fading rapidly.

  “Forgive me for pressing thee,” Vhanu said. “But a series of events have occurred since our last communication that have made it vital for us talk now, before we enter the city.” He looked toward Moon, his face hardening.

  “Oh?” Pernatte said, with overtones of annoyance. He followed Vhanu’s glance until his eyes reached Moon’s face. “What’s this?” he asked, his frown deepening.

  “This woman,” Vhanu gestured at her, “is the reason I must inconvenience thee.”

  Pernatte stopped in front of her. “This pale, bedraggled creature? Is she Tiamatan? She hardly looks capable of inconveniencing anyone—”

  “She speaks Sandhi,” Vhanu said.

  “Oh.” Pernatte looked back at her.

  “Sh
e’s the Summer Queen.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes,” Moon said stiffly. “And I do not need Commander Vhanu to speak for me.”

  Pernatte frowned again, glancing at Vhanu. “And thou’ve brought her here as a prisoner? This is a drastic step. What in the name of a thousand ancestors is happening here?”

  “That is what I need to explain to thee,” Vhanu said, grim-faced.

  Pernatte nodded, finally. “I trust thou will be brief and to the point.” He did not look at Moon again, or acknowledge her presence further. The other members of the tribunal committee fanned out behind him, watching and listening in weary resignation.

  “Yes, sadhu, I shall.” Vhanu drew himself up. The tension radiating from him, and from the officials grouped behind him, was almost a physical heat.

  “This is the woman with whom Gundhalinu is accused of committing treason?” Pernatte asked, as if he still found it hard to believe.

  Vhanu nodded. “She is more than she seems. I consider it imperative that she be removed from Tiamat as quickly as possible, and never allowed to return. She should be taken to Kharemough, where she can be intensively questioned and investigated. Not only did she cause Gundhalinu to forsake his background and commit miscegenation, she led him to pervert Hegemonic policy to suit her own superstitious, primitive beliefs—”

  Moon stiffened, taking a step forward; the guards forced her back, as Pernatte said, “Yes, yes, all that was in the report. But she is the sovereign ruler of an independent government, and however repugnant we may find her actions to be, making her our hostage is hardly justified by—”

  “That isn’t all,” Vhanu said, with a sharpness that made heads turn. “This woman controls—powers, some hidden energy source we don’t know about, that enables her to do things that should be impossible.”