The Green Queen

by Margaret St. Clair

  "Un-hunh," the historian answered. He was looking at her with a faint grin, but his eyebrows were still folded in a frown.

  "But what's that thing in the yard behind it?" She pointed. "It doesn't seem to be made of the same material as the house. It looks like an afterthought."

  "The beehive-like thing?" Horvendile answered. "Yes, it was an afterthought. When the settlers found out that living in the open country was dangerous, some of them still wanted to stay. They built shelters, hoping that if they spent part of the time in them, it might be safe to live in the houses the rest of the time. Would you like to look at the shelter, Leaf?"

  "Yes, I would."

  They started around the house toward the shelter. Bonnar followed them.

  The shelter was a crude elongated dome about seven feet across and six feet high. It had been painted a leaden gray on the outside. It couldn't have held more than one person in comfort, and two people would have been its absolute capacity. There was no window anywhere in it.

  "Do you want to look inside?" Horvendile asked when the three were standing around the shelter. "If it's like most of the hastily-built shelters, the door rolls up like those old desks we saw in the museum."

  "Yes, I'd like to see inside."

  Horvendile fumbled along the ground and pressed. After a moment, a section of the side of the shelter slid up. They peered within.

  "I can't see anything," Leaf said. "It's got too dark. Turn on your torch, Horvendile."

  He obeyed. The interior of the shelter leaped into visibility. Leaf gave a cry.

  "Oh, a man! A skeleton."

  "I'm sorry, Leaf," Horvendile answered. He had already switched off the torch. From the tone of his voice, he was disturbed. "I didn't know there would be anybody inside."

  "No, of course not. How do you suppose he died?"

  In the dusk, Bonnar could barely make out that Horvendile shrugged. "Might have been radiation exposure. He might have been already sick when he went to the shelter. Maybe he got a bad case of fungus; people have died from it. Or if the others went away and left him, he might have starved."

  "Or he might even have killed himself," Leaf said with an attempt at composure. She seemed to raise her hands to her head. "I can still see the bones," she said in a flat, uninfected voice. "Like a tree of white needles coming out from the spine. Horvendile, I know what happened to him."

  "Oh? What was that?"

  "He broke his leg after the others left him, and he couldn't get to his food. He was afraid of radiation poisoning—that's why he was in the shelter—but it wasn't that that killed him. He starved to death."

  Horvendile was silent for an instant. Then he flicked the beam of his torch on her face. Bonnar saw that she was very white. "How do you know?" Horvendile asked.

  "He told me."

  Horvendile gave a faint, soft whistle. It was almost dark under the trees, but the nightly band of moon-like radiance was spreading over the sky. None of them moved for a moment, though Bonnar found that he was shivering within his protective suit. Then Horvendile said, "Well—we'd better find another house where we can sleep."

  Leaf seemed to have lost all interest in the houses. She stood by passively while Horvendile settled on a big, rambling building with boldly tesselated walls, followed him docilely along the path to it, and stepped inside with her maddening somnambulistic air when he had managed to get the door open. It was not until their three sleeping-bags had been laid out around the walls of the central hall—well separated from each other, Bonnar saw with relief—that she recovered any of her vivacity.

  "This house seems absolutely virginal," she said, sweeping the cornice and walls with the beam from her torch. "I suppose the checkerboard designs were too much for any of Jansen's followers. But why don't the lights come on, Horvendile?"

  "After two hundred years?" the historian answered. "It's wonderful that the houses are as well preserved as they are. Besides, Jansen didn't realize that there are enough radioactive metals at almost any spot at all on Viridis to furnish power. (You remember what I was telling you, Bonnar.) As far as that goes, we don't use radioactives very much for power even in Shalom. Jansen depended on solar energy."

  "And I suppose the mirrors are br—Oh! What was that?"

  "That" had been a shock that had sent Leaf almost to her knees. She clutched wildly at the wall to recover herself. The whole room shook and tilted.

  "Earthquake!" Horvendile exclaimed. He pulled Leaf and Bonnar under the door jamb. "Safest place," he said in explanation. "House is well built, though. Don't be scared." The room shook again. From somewhere deep below there was a long, grinding roar. Then the house settled back into silence and stability.

  "That's probably all for tonight," Horvendile said after a moment. "Leaf, are you all right?"

  "Yes. I—I expect I'm just hungry. For a minute I thought I saw something step down ... Never mind. It's been a long time since lunch. Let's have some nutrisoup."

  For three minutes or so there was a silence broken only by the sounds of rapid swallowing. They were all trying to make the period of exposure as short as possible. Then Leaf closed her helmet and got to her feet.

  "I'll be back," she said.

  "The plumbing doesn't work either, my dear," Horvendile said lazily.

  When she was gone, Bonnar's anxiety was suddenly too much for him to contain in silence. "Horvendile—" he said.

  "Yes?" The smaller man leaned toward him. In the light of the two torches his face was the face of an ally.

  "Horvendile, what's Leaf hunting anyhow?"

  The other man shook his head. "I don't know. I just don't know. When I try to find out, she either won't answer or gets angry. I didn't think she'd be like that with me."

  The last words sent a muted pang of jealousy through Bonnar. "No, I don't know what she's hunting," Horvendile continued. "I feel that it isn't, umh, quite what she'll be hunting later. And I suppose she isn't sure what she's looking for herself."

  He began picking up the empty nutrisoup cartons and straws. He tossed them into the big black-tiled fireplace and set fire to them. "Botanist I know was out in the field with a party last year," he said in explanation, "collecting specimens. He said they didn't have any trouble at all with carnivores, even with Felodons, unless they left nutrisoup cartons lying around. Then not only the carnivora jumped them, but even some of the little egg-layers. I guess nutrisoup smells better to them than it does to us."

  The cartons burned with a waxy crackling. The chimney must have been almost clear; very little smoke came out in the room. There was a plop and then another one as two night-flying moths, attracted by the sudden light, hurled themselves against the permapane. Leaf reentered the room.

  "Bonnar," she said without preamble, "do you think you could put the 'copter down about two miles from here, pretty nearly southeast, tomorrow?"

  "Sure. I mean, I'd be glad to."

  "Thank you. And now, let's go to bed. I think we must all be tired."

  Bonnar had trouble getting to sleep. His protective suit was a miserably uncomfortable thing to sleep in, and his personal difficulties, the spot he was in, weighed on his mind. About midnight it began to rain. The sound, at first, seemed an added vexation, but as the noise increased to a steady drumming roar, he found it soothing. He slept deeply for four or five hours.

  Next day was rainy also. He put the 'copter down where Leaf told him, and he and Horvendile watched her from the shelter of the cabin as she moved about slowly in the grayish haze of rain. He and the historian found little to say to each other.

  Toward noon it cleared. They had their nutrisoup in the open. Suddenly Leaf, who had been sucking away on her straw like the others, pushed the carton from her. It fell on the ground and rolled over. Pinkish liquid began to spill out.

  "It's here," she said in a high voice. "Here."

  "What's here?" Horvendile demanded. He got to his feet and stood facing her, nearly as exc
ited as she was. "What's here? What are you talking about?"

  "The—what I was hunting for. What I thought I was hunting for. The thing."

  "Where is it? What's it like?"

  "It's a—a long way down." She pointed to the ground. "Hundreds and hundreds of feet. The quake last night changed the level. It's under layers of lava. But it's here."

  Horvendile was biting his lips. He seemed exasperated enough to be grinding his teeth. "What's there?" he demanded. "What are you talking about? Leaf, for God's sake!"

  "I'm trying to tell you," Leaf answered reasonably. She put one hand up, as if she would have pushed a strand of her dark red hair away from her face. "I don't know what the name of it is," she continued. "It's about four feet long, a sort of gold color. Not gold, really—more coppery. It's shaped like a spindle, only shorter and more thick."

  "And that's what you've been looking for all the time? A spindle-shaped thing made of gold?"

  "Yes. I mean no—it's what I thought I was hunting. The real thing I've been looking for is—I don't know how to express it—more big. That's why I haven't been able to find it. It's like the biggest letters on a map. You overlook them just because of their size. This gold thing wasn't hard. I don't know why it took me so long to pick it up."

  "But you can see this gold thing, down through the rocks?"

  "Yes."

  "And you don't know what it is? What it was used for?"

  "No. I get an impression of fire from it. It's empty now."

  Both the men were staring at Leaf. She lowered her eyes to the ground, where the pink puddle of nutrisoup was spreading out. For a moment there was silence. Then from the brush behind them came a single deep resounding note.

  All three spun round. Bonnar and Horvendile knew what the belched-out sound meant; Leaf must have surmised. The Felodon—an outsize, even for Felodons—was coming toward them in a series of graceful, easy, exceedingly fast leaps.

  It stopped on the edge of the brush. It put its head up and gave a scream like a demented woman's. Then it crouched, ready for the last of its leaps.

  Now, a stuffed cloth Felodon makes an attractive nursery toy. Its coloring—lavender and green—is pretty, the thick plush in which a toy is covered is pleasant to handle and pet. Even the creature's ferocious fangs, which are so dirty that the slightest scratch from them is dangerous, become amusing in a toy. But a Felodon in the flesh is a very different matter. The funniness evaporates; the belching hunting cry becomes as unamusing as a lion's roar. The creature's graceful body and pretty fur only enhance the impression of malignity. An angry Felodon seems to incarnate malevolence and hate.

  Leaf, as well as the two men, was armed. With three guns, they were bound to kill the Felodon in time. But a Felodon, besides the walnut-sized brain inside its narrow skull, has a secondary brain in its rump, and an auxiliary nerve center under each kidney. A Felodon is apt to be exceedingly hard to kill.

  Bonnar had been assessing the situation. They were too far from the 'copter to make a run for it; there were no trees near that they could climb. (The Felodon, despite its savage claws, is unable to get any further off the ground than it can jump.) It looked like they were in for it.

  Horvendile thrust Leaf behind him. "Run," he ordered harshly. "Run, get in the 'copter. Well hold him off."

  Leaf put out her hand and pushed his gun aside, "It's all right," she said. "I'll send him away." Before Horvendile could stop her, she was walking steadily out toward the Felodon.

  Her movement seemed to trigger the big animal's nervous instability. It did not even give its usual short warning scream. There was a twitch along the fur of the lavender flank. It leapt.

  Bonnar was too amazed to feel horror, to feel any emotion at all. Mouth open, eyes wide, he waited for Leaf to buckle and roll under the impact.

  The Felodon's long leap seemed to corrode in mid-air. For a moment it hung motionless, like a green and purple Nijinsky. Then it dropped, rolled over, and collapsed in a wildly waving tangle of tail and claws a little in front of Leaf's feet.

  Leaf bent forward a little. The Felodon stopped moving. It seemed to have turned to stone. Leaf put one hand out over the green plush head. She made a lifting motion. Clumsily and almost reluctantly the Felodon got to its feet.

  It spat at her. Hatred and frustration and helplessness made its nasty little eyes almost incandescent. Once more it spat at her. Then it screamed very briefly and trotted off into the brush.

  Bonnar realized that he was panting. He looked at Horvendile. The smaller man was very pale, and his forehead was wet.

  "That was almost a miracle, wasn't it?" the historian said. He managed to laugh. "Leaf—Leaf—it was worthy of the Green Queen herself!"

  Bonnar stood very still. At Horvendile's words something had clicked inside his brain. There was much that was still unclear to him; sudden insight warred with blank incomprehension. What Leaf herself was hunting, what had happened to her, what Horvendile's role was—he could form no idea of these things.

  But the enlightenment that had come to him was absolute. It was not reasonable, but he knew that it was true. The Green Queen was a character in a mask he had made. She had never existed, and the mask itself was becoming a nuisance. Yet someone, perhaps the government, perhaps someone high in the government, wanted Leaf to assume the role of the Queen.

  That was why she had been propelled into the Apple Pickers, why Bonnar himself (and perhaps others?) had been set to pull and prod her into behaving as was wished. She was to be a puppet, a figurehead, very far indeed from a real queen.

  Such a procedure was dangerous. The danger to be avoided by it must be great.

  Could Bonnar use his new knowledge to save himself? Perhaps; and now that he knew this much, he might be able to learn more. Oh, yes. There were all sorts of possibilities.

  Horvendile had gone over to Leaf. He put his arm around her and drew her to him. Bonnar looked at them unseeingly. He had begun to smile.

  Section Two: The Myth

  Chapter Four

  "SO WE set up an anti-Leaf," Bonnar said. "There was a place, a node, in my original verbal mask where the development could be attached ..."

  "THE GREEN queen is supposed to have certain traditional powers," Bonnar explained wearily. "She has clairaudience and clairvoyance and cryptaesthesia, for example."

  He paused, and glanced at the Auglinger. How was she taking all the big words? Yes, just as he'd expected, her jaw was dropped and she was looking at him blankly. Her expression was always blank; she had remarkably stupid eyes.

  He sighed. "I mean," he glossed his own word choice, "that the Green Queen is supposed to be able to hear and see things happening at a distance, and to perceive the contents of closed containers and so on. Now, we can't do much in the way of simulating powers like those. But the Green Queen is also supposed to be able to kill with a gesture of the hand, to be able to revive and restore by a touch. We can approximate those gifts artificially.

  "That's why it's so important for you to learn to manipulate, and manipulate skillfully, the rods hidden under your clothes. Do you understand?"

  The Auglinger looked at him doubtfully. After a moment she nodded, though even more doubtfully, her carroty head. "Yes. I guess."

  "Good. Try it again. This time, the long spark."

  Caroline Auglinger glanced at him nervously. With a good deal of wriggling she managed to get her plump white hand down inside the waist-high slits of her embroidered robe. More wriggling, a series of body-bumps. A moment of painful expectation, while she visibly felt along the row of controls in the front of her dress. Then, at long last, from her stiffly outstretched left hand, there shot out a feeble spark.

  "You're using the wrong hand," Bonnar said patiently. "You must stretch out your right hand and work the controls with the left."

  "Oh. I thought I was using my left."

  Once more Caroline Auglinger, Green Queen, anti-Leaf, fumbled inside her
robe. A nimbus appeared around her head and then flickered off again. There was another pause, long, painful, expectant. The Auglinger's milky skin grew flushed.

  From the end of her extended right hand a long, blue spark shot out. It was a good, powerful-looking spark, quite the best she had yet produced. Bonnar wanted to applaud.

  The spark hung in the air for a minute. Slowly it began to sag down, in a paling, dispirited arc. Before it could touch the floor or disappear entirely, it seemed to correct itself. It shot back up Caroline Auglinger's wrist.

  The woman uttered a sharp, surprised cry. "Oh! Oh; I've stung myself!"

  Bonnar felt no desire to laugh. This had happened a number of times before; no doubt it would happen several times yet again. "Yes," he said. He put his hands over his eyes. "You'd better rest."

  Caroline Auglinger relaxed. From the unnatural, ram-roddy stiffness her body took on when she was trying to impersonate the queen, her normal slumped posture reappeared. She sat down in a chair with a thump. "Thank you," she said.

  Bonnar took his hands down from his eyes and looked at her. Why did he dislike her so? She was reasonably young, not impossibly bad looking. And yet he continually felt an intensity of dislike that, from a male to a female, was surprising. The more he attempted to train her in her role, the more he resented her.

  Partly, of course, it was because she simply wasn't Leaf. He found that he was unconsciously trying to make her behave as Leaf would have behaved. And when she showed herself recalcitrant and inept, his dislike of her increased.

  But there was more to it than that. Would she do for the Green Queen at all? She had to; she was all they had. And they had trained her carefully. They had dieted her to make her lose weight, exercised her to make her less flabby. Experts had worked painstakingly on her diction, her bearing, her voice.

  But no training could disguise the tawdriness of her spirit. It was incurable. It shone through every improvement that they imposed on her, and rendered the changes ludicrous. Whatever they did, she remained a silly, vapid woman, dressed up for a queen.