Joan Vinge - The Summer Queen

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 there 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.