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want to live your life, Drew? Drunk, wallowing in filth, having meaningless sex with dozens of different, well-oiled life forms?"
     
    "Well, duh!" Drew laughed loudly, flopping back on the bed and showing Stasha a side of her that she would just as soon have not seen. She looked away from the monitor.
     
    Her sister was drowning her sorrow in liquor and cheap sex. Of course she also did that when she was happy, which was no doubt why Van Gar had left. She loved her sister and she wanted to make excuses for her bizarre behavior. She had seen Drew occasionally put the people's needs above her own mercenary desires . . . or had she?
     
    After all, nearly every decision Drew had made on the kingdom's behalf had managed to turn a tidy profit and increase her wealth and/or her salvaging empire.
     
    Maybe it was time that she quit defending Drewcila. Maybe when all was said and done, Drew didn't actually have a better side. Stasha didn't want to believe that, mostly because if it were true, how could she ever hope to reason with her?
     
    If my sister is nothing but a greedy, selfish egocentric bitch , Stasha thought, how can I possibly convince her to put the kingdom first? She's selfish and motivated only by money . . .
     
    Stash tried again."I suppose you could move your entire salvaging operation from Barious, but it would cost you a small fortune, and you wouldn't be operational for what—months? I wonder how much money you'd lose on the down-time alone? I wonder if even you have enough money to do it."
     
    Drew sat up slowly and glared back at her, then she laughed loudly, "I have a shit load of money, Stasha . . ."
     
    "True, but I'll bet it's not enough to move the operation. And while this war is going on, the country's rather expensive. Spaceports are in danger, recycling centers are even now being converted back into munitions plants, and then there is that other matter . . ."
     
    "What matter would that be?"
     
    "That most of your real money—all your iggys—are here in your private, not-as-secret-as-you-seem-to-think safe—at Hepron Station. Hepron Station, which will doubtless be a target in the war. I hope it's a really strong safe, Drewcila . . ."
     
    "Stop!" Drew screamed, slamming her hands over her ears."Stop! Your cruelty overwhelms me."
     
    "If you don't sober up and come home there's a very real chance that you could go broke, Drew."
     
    "Nooooo!"
     
     
     
    Drewcila woke some hours later, alone, and with the queen mother of all hang-overs. She had managed to stay drunk for over a week—something close to a record for her—and now she was sober and suffering from the mega-hangover of death. Her eyes felt dry and sticky, her tongue was swollen, and her mouth tasted like she'd been sucking on dirty tube socks. Of course, with all the other depraved things she'd done, who knows? She might have done that, too. She sat up slowly and waited for the room to quit spinning.
     
    She tried to remember why she had decided to sober up. Of course she was having trouble even remembering her name. She got up slowly, stumbled through the garbage to the bathroom, and landed on the toilet with a thump. It took awhile for her to actually start pissing since her body had no doubt forgotten how in the who-knew-how-many-hours she'd been passed out. But once she started, she began to wonder if she was ever going to stop. She started to wonder how pissing constantly might affect her life. It wasn't a very pretty picture. Maybe she'd just piss until all her bones had turned to dust.
     
    Fortunately she did eventually stop pissing. She rose, walked over and looked in the mirror and jumped at the sight of her own reflection. Damn! She looked as bad as she felt. She stuck out her tongue and found that it was covered in large blue and yellow spots. First she thought with alarm that she had some terrible disease, but then she vaguely remembered that they had painted her tongue and her privates with