Free The Snow Queen by Joan D. Vinge Page B

side, striking poses like so
many hologrammic traders’ dummies, watching with sincere disinterest as she
made her salute. She wondered briefly why they found playing at and with death
so amusing. They were all favorites, young-faced—the gods only knew how old in
reality. She had always heard that users of the water of life became pathologically
protective of their extended youth. Could it be that there really came a time
when you had experienced everything you could possibly desire? No, not even in
a century and a half. Or could it be that they simply didn’t know, that
Starbuck hadn’t warned them of the danger?
    “Your
Majesty—” She glanced up, half at Starbuck, then back at Arienrhod enthroned on
the dais. The sweet girlish face was made into a mockery, a mask like
Starbuck’s, by the too-knowing wisdom of her eyes.
    Arienrhod
raised a finger, the slight motion cutting off her words. “I have decided that
from now on you will kneel when you come before me, Inspector.”
    Jerusha’s
mouth snapped shut. She took a moment, and a long breath. “I’m an officer of
the Hegemonic Police, Your Majesty. I have sworn an oath of allegiance to the
Hegemony.” She gazed deliberately at the rising back of the Queen’s throne,
through her, around her. The blown-and-welded surfaces of glass, the shining
spirals and shadowed crevices dazzled her eyes with the hypnotic spell of the
Maze; the bizarre artistry that catalyzed out of Carbuncle’s volatile mix of
cultures.
    “But the
Hegemony stationed your unit here to serve me, Inspector.” Arienrhod’s voice
startled her attention back. “I ask only the homage due any independent ruler,”
putting a slight emphasis on independent, “from the representatives of
another.”
    “Ask and be
damned!” Jerusha heard Gundhalinu breathe the words almost inaudibly behind
her; saw the Queen’s eyes flash to his face, marking him in her memory. Starbuck
moved down one step from the throne, almost lazily, the gun still swinging from
a black gloved hand. But the Queen lifted her own hand again and he stopped,
waiting wordlessly.
    Jerusha
hesitated, too, feeling the stunner that weighed heavily at her side, and
Gundhalinu’s quivering indignation behind her. My duty is to keep the peace.
She turned slightly, toward Starbuck, toward Gundhalinu. “All right, BZ,” as
softly as he had spoken; not softly enough. “We’ll kneel. It’s not such an
unreasonable request.”
    Gundhalinu
said something in a language she didn’t know, his pupils blackening. On the
dais Starbuck’s fist went tight over his weapon.
    Jerusha
turned back to the Queen, felt the eyes of the onlookers, no longer indifferent
now, pressing hard on her shoulders as she dropped to one knee and bowed her
head. After a second there was a rustle and a creak of leather as Gundhalinu
dropped down heavily behind her. “Your Majesty.”
    “You may
rise, Inspector.”
    Jerusha pushed
herself to her feet. “Not you!” The Queen’s voice struck past her as Gundhalinu
began to get up. “You kneel until I give you permission to rise, off worlder As
she spoke, Starbuck moved like an extension of her will to his side, the heavy
arm in fluid black closing over Gundhalinu’s shoulder, forcing him back to his
knees. Starbuck muttered something in the unknown language. Jerusha’s hands
fisted beneath her cloak, slowly opened again. She said brittlely, “Take your
hands off him, Starbuck, before I run you in for assaulting an officer.”
    Starbuck
smiled—she saw his eyes crinkle, insolently, the face alter beneath the smooth
surface of his mask. He did not move until the Queen gestured him away.
    “Get up,
BZ,” Jerusha said it gently, keeping her voice together with an effort. She put
out her hand to help him to his feet, felt him trembling with fury. He didn’t
look at her; the freckles stood out blood red against the darkness of his skin.
    “If he were
my man, I would discipline him for such arrogance.”