So here’s the honest truth: I wasn’t a superman, I was a super-Neanderthal. Close to the real thing, but a dead end. Sam was the true progenitor — by the time the war started, she must have had some secret medical facility all prepared so Gashwan could put her through the same treatments I got. Sam was given the pheromone powers of a queen, but she stayed looking human, so no one would suspect what a threat she was. Over time, she’d eliminated her competition, built her big Black Army, and conquered the planet.
What was next? The League of Peoples would never let her leave Troyen, that was for darned sure; but she could have children. The next generation would still look human, so they’d have no trouble sneaking onto Technocracy worlds. After that, how long would it take for them to manipulate their way into top positions of power? A few decades maybe. My father would have himself a dynasty, secretly dominating human space.
But the dynasty would come from Sam, not me. I was never destined for anything but the trash heap.
Funny… for a long time, I’d felt guilty wearing an Explorer’s uniform when I didn’t think I deserved it. But surprise, surprise, I’d been perfectly suited for the Explorer Corps from the moment of my conception. No one could possibly be more expendable than me.
40
RACING THE BALROG
"Why did you do it?" Festina asked Gashwan. "Why did you help Samantha with everything? You’re too smart to think she’d be grateful — it’s a wonder Sam didn’t kill you as soon as she’d gone through her transformation."
"She would have tried," Gashwan agreed. "But I ran off to join Queen Temperance a few days before the job was done. My assistants finished the process. I doubt if they’ve been seen since."
"Then why?" Festina asked again. "Why help a ruthless murderer?"
"Because it was interesting," Gashwan said, as if that should have been obvious. "A pretty little challenge. And because I owed Alexander York a favor."
"What favor?" I asked.
She pointed to her nose: the old ugly scar running the length of her snout. "He gave me this."
Festina stared. "Alexander York hurt you? Damaged your face?"
Gashwan shook her head. "Alexander York helped me, with something no Mandasar would have done. He got human surgeons to destroy my sense of smell." She reached up with a wrinkled hand and stroked the scar affectionately. "They weren’t very skilled at dealing with Mandasars, but they got the job done. It’s trickier than you’d think — not just excising the olfactory nerves, but creating enough scar tissue inside the nostrils that the membranes can’t absorb odor molecules."
"But why?" Festina asked.
"To be free," Gashwan said. "Free of control by queens. Free of being terrified by warriors. Free of getting my moods altered by anyone who walked by. I got my brain into a state I liked, then cut the cords so no one could change me."
"That’s why you could betray Verity," I muttered.
"Why I was valuable to Verity," Gashwan corrected. "Other doctors told the queen what she wanted to hear; I told the truth. Mostly. The same with Temperance — she appreciated me because I couldn’t be swayed like other people around her. I’m the reason Temperance survived the war as long as she did. Smart objective advice. And now that Temperance is gone, I’m the one in charge, aren’t I? Because my brain isn’t muddled by every whiff of sweat drifting on the breeze. I’ve become my own queen."
Festina looked at me; I caught her gaze but said nothing. Like it or not, Mandasar society depended on communication smells: conveying emotions, providing feedback, tuning folks in to each other. Humans do the same with tone of voice and body language. Rejecting all that, Gashwan had become a sort of sociopath, untouched by the people around her. Disconnected.
Which is why she could go along with Dad and Sam, when their plan would lead Troyen into war. Gashwan thought it was interesting — a pretty little challenge.
If she wasn’t crazy before her nose got hacked up, she sure was now.
"Hey, kids," Tobit’s voice sounded in my ear, "you want a status report?"
"You’re on the roof?" Festina asked.
"More like an open parapet walk… though Mandasar architecture doesn’t conform much to the medieval European school. A true parapet needs some nice machicolations running alongside—"
"Phylar," Festina interrupted, "shut up and talk to me."
"Sure thing, your admiral-tude." I could hear the grin in his voice. "The bad guys have sent us four Larries: three outside the walls and one inside. They aren’t firing at the moment — just hovering and scaring the crap out of everybody. The guards are taking potshots at them, but arrows bounce right off."
"What about Kaisho?" Festina asked. "Any sign of her?"
"You’ve lost Kaisho?"
"Kaisho lost herself."
"Isn’t that disquieting." Tobit went silent a moment, then came back on. "I don’t have a good view, but the moss up front might be glowing brighter. Could just be my imagination."
"No, it’s probably some fresh hell coming our way." Festina sighed. "Anything else?"
"The Black Army has broken through the defense perimeter, and the palace guards are falling back to the next canal. Looks like an orderly retreat. I suppose they’ll form up again and kill a few more Black Shoulders at each canal they come to. It ain’t going to hold the enemy off forever, but they’re buying us time to pull off our brilliant plan. We do have a brilliant plan, right, Admiral?"
"Sure," Festina answered. "I’ll wave my hands and pixies will teleport the bad guys into the heart of the sun."
"Oh good," Tobit said, "I was afraid it would be something impractical."
"I could go to the battle lines," I offered. "Make some royal pheromone and see what happens."
"What happens," Festina said, "is you get shot by guys in gas masks." She turned to Gashwan. "I don’t suppose you’ve been saving a tac nuke for a rainy day."
"That rainy day came and went," Gashwan replied… and even she had the decency to sound subdued. "The first weeks of the war weren’t pretty, human — the Fasskister Swarm didn’t take out every missile silo in time. Unshummin survived because all the queens wanted to keep the palace intact… no bombing the pretty silver throne. Other cities weren’t so lucky. They say Fortitude’s old stronghold in Therol still glows in the dark. As for Queen Clemency in Koshav…"
We never got to hear about Queen Clemency. Gashwan was interrupted by Dade screaming over the radio. "Admiral, Admiral! There’s a Sperm-tail on the horizon!"
"My God," Festina said. "Maybe Prope does have a conscience. Have you turned on our anchor?"
"Affirmative, Admiral," Dade answered. "But the tail isn’t coming to us. It’s just quivering in place — its tip is dangling into one of the canals."
"Tug-of-war, Tobit!" Festina shouted. "You know the drill." To the rest of us, she snapped, "The roof. Run!"
Gashwan opened her mouth to say something… but we were already racing for the up-ramp. I looked back just before I disappeared into the stairwell; she was staring straight at me with a hint of sorrow on her face.
Gashwan. My creator. Maybe even my mother — if I had Mandasar DNA in me, Gashwan must have got it from somewhere. But I never slowed down to wave good-bye. I didn’t like her any better than I liked the rest of my family.