by Cary Caffrey
She tapped the screen again and a three-dimensional map popped up, performing a slow rotation over the table.
Sigrid saw the regions of the southern industrial zones. Most were covered in the blue of the Consortium, but there was an ever-encroaching blotch of red sneaking eastward over the Andes mountains, threatening to swallow them whole.
"The marquis has proven somewhat of a surprise. In less than four months he's managed to seize nearly all of the surrounding territories. With the war raging in the north, we are all but cut off. Still, he's never moved against the Consortium. Not until last night."
Sigrid turned from the map back to the image of Lars Koenig. Blond, blue-eyed, lean and strapping, the man didn't exactly look like the ferocious Khan the magistrate made him out to be. He looked as if he'd be more at home in dance halls or orbital gambling parlors than commanding legions.
"Don't let his looks fool you," the magistrate said, as if reading her mind. "He's scum of the worst kind. Narcotics. Weapons. Sex trafficking! He's got his fingers in the worst of it. Heaven knows what he intended for my daughter."
"I know what he intended, Magistrate." Visions of her friends on Scorpii flashed in her head, the countless girls strapped to laboratory tables on Bellatrix, twisted and disfigured. "Your daughter would not have survived. None of those girls would. If this marquis knows what your daughter is, you can't let this go unpunished."
"Then I'm glad we both agree. Unfortunately, war with the Cabal is a luxury I can ill afford. With the fall of Buenos Aires, many of the mercenaries I chose to employ have fled. It seems the Federation is offering triple pay to anyone willing to fight."
"The Mercenary Guild would never sanction the termination of a contract—especially under wartime conditions, Magistrate. When word gets back to Vincenze—"
"I'm afraid the guild has its own problems. And Vincenze Station is a long way from here. Contracts are no longer honored as they once were, and now the safety of the Crossroads hangs on a knife's edge."
In that moment, Sigrid knew why the magistrate called her here. Since childhood she'd been trained for moments such as this—to be asked to do what she did best: to take another person's life. For revenge. For honor. For coin and contract. This was the way of the mercenary.
"You want me to kill him. You want me to kill Lars Koenig."
"Kill him?" Sigrid saw a bitterness well within the woman, threatening to pour out and spill across the table. "Lars Koenig moved against my house, Ms. Novak. He tried to take my daughter. My daughter! I don't want you to kill him, I want you to destroy him! I want you to burn his entire operation to ash. I want his flesh peeled from his bones—his manhood swinging from the parapets!"
If the magistrate had let her anger get the best of her, at least it was a rage Sigrid understood. Lars Koenig was no different from the Randall Gillingses or Harry Joneses of the world. For them, her daughter was nothing more than a tool. A means to an end. An asset to be used and discarded. And like her, Sigrid knew the magistrate would go to any lengths to protect her family and her home.
Flushed and red, the magistrate took a moment to pour a glass from the pitcher, drinking deep. Wiping her mouth, she placed the glass carefully back down on the table.
"Forgive me. I lose myself where my daughter is concerned. I love her very much. It is a weakness. If you hadn't come along when you did, she would now be in the hands of the marquis."
"Your daughter is still in danger, Magistrate. If this marquis knows what she is, then you can be assured that others do as well. More men will come. They will always come."
"Which is why I need your help."
"Killing the marquis won't save her. She will always be in danger here. If you truly want to save her, then you must send her away." Slowly, Sigrid raised her eyes to meet the magistrate's. "You must send her away with me."
"No. Impossible. Her home is here. At my side."
"On New Alcyone she can have a home. She will be safe amongst her kind."
"And learn to be like you, I suppose?"
"If that is what she wishes."
The magistrate rose. She walked slowly to the window, where she stood with her back to Sigrid. "I've seen your life contract, Ms. Novak. I know that Lady Kimura sold you away."
"Whatever Lady Hitomi did, I'm sure she had her reasons."
"Oh, she had her reasons, Ms. Novak. The Federation might consider you a terrorist, but as far as your mistress is concerned, that makes you a liability. I do know why Lady Hitomi sold you: she had no choice. If she hadn't, you can rest assured the CTF would have come down on her with everything they had. She abandoned you, Ms. Novak. She betrayed you to save herself. And now you propose to bring my daughter to her? Why would I believe my daughter would be safe with the likes of Lady Hitomi Kimura?"
"Lady Hitomi would never betray—"
"She already has! She did so the moment she sold your contract."
The words of the magistrate were harsh and cutting, though still Sigrid refused to believe it. Hitomi was more than a master or even a mentor. In many ways she had come to be like a mother to her. Sigrid couldn't believe she would betray her. She wouldn't.
"You are ronin, Ms. Novak. A warrior without a master. I need your help. But perhaps you need my help even more. There are no slaves in the Crossroads. Only free women and men. You can help all of us, just as I can help you. I can offer you what your previous mistress could not. Home. A future. Hope."
Sigrid had heard enough. She'd come here for information, and now she had it. Whether it was the information she wanted didn't matter.
"I'm leaving here, Magistrate. If you're smart, you'll let your daughter come with me."
Sigrid turned to leave, but the magistrate grabbed her by the wrist. "You will never get off this world, Ms. Novak."
Sigrid took one look at the hand on her arm. "Are you threatening me, Magistrate?"
Moving fast, faster than she'd expected for a man his size, the colonel leapt forward. The talwar sword was in his hand, threatening to slash between them. Only the raised hand of the magistrate stayed him. The blade hung in the air, inches from Sigrid's wrist. The magistrate gave a nod with her eyes, and only then did the blade retreat. The colonel snapped back to his previous position, the sword back in its carved scabbard.
"It's no threat," the magistrate said. "Only a statement of fact. Earth is all but cut off from the Federation. The CTF has taken great care to make sure this rebellion stays sequestered here. They will never let a known terrorist off the planet, especially one accused of murdering the Council."
"I'll find a way."
"With slavers? Smugglers? Yes, I do know of your plan. You will not leave this planet. Not without my help. You'll need letters of transit. Visas. A ship and a crew to fly her. I can provide all these things."
"If I kill this man—the marquis?"
"Yes, Ms. Novak. If you kill the marquis. Do this service for me, and I will help you return home. Or—" her grip tightened on Sigrid's wrist "—or, you may stay with us. Stay with me. Serve at my side."
"Serve you?"
"As my Lady Protector. Not for me, but for my people. For the Crossroads and all of the Free Southern Territories. Lady Kimura was a fool to cast you aside. A mistake I don't intend to make. Whatever you've done, whatever crimes you've committed, no one will judge you here. It's your choice, Ms. Novak. A way home or a home here. I can offer you both."
Sigrid stared back at her, felt the grip of the woman's hand on her arm. She was desperate. She would do anything, say anything. But Sigrid was desperate as well—desperate to find a way off this world, to return home and to find Suko.
But to do so would mean abandoning those girls. And she knew what fate awaited them if she did.
She also knew her mind was already made up, and it had been for some time.
"I want to see your daughter, Magistrate. And the other girls, too. All of them. I want them to know what's at stake. And when this is done, I want them to come with me—if
they so decide."
"We both want the same thing, Ms. Novak. Perhaps together we might have the power to achieve it."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Presents
"You have got to be kidding," Sigrid said.
Sigrid stood in the doorway, staring into the room that was to be her quarters in the magistrate's private villa. The word lavish didn't do the place justice. The furniture appeared handmade and centuries old. And there didn't seem to be one flat surface that wasn't decorated with a spectacular floral display.
Retrieving a single red rose from one of the many vases, Franco Alvarez raised it to his impressive nose and took a great sniff.
"This can't all be for me," Sigrid said.
"This? Why, this is merely the vestibule, Ms. Novak. Here are your quarters."
The port master walked past her and threw open a set of double doors. Sigrid held up her hand to shield her eyes from the brilliant light that flooded in. Sunlight streamed in from a large gated patio set off a main room so large she could have parked her ship the Morrigan on its marbled floor.
"I thought they were just going to stick me in the barracks."
"Barracks are for sell-swords and mercenaries," the port master said, "not for the slayer of the Council for Trade and Finance."
"I'm no slayer, Mr. Alvarez."
"So you keep saying. Shall I report that the accommodations are to your liking?"
To my liking? Is he serious? "They'll do."
Franco snickered at her side. "Then I shall take my leave. Nuria here will see to your day-to-day needs."
"Nuria?" Sigrid looked around, only then noticing the woman standing there. She was young; she couldn't have been more than seventeen. She was a slim, quiet creature and standing so still Sigrid hadn't noticed her behind the enormous potted palm.
"Nuria will be your lady's maid."
"My lady's what now?"
"Your lady's maid, Lady Novak," Nuria said. She then curtsied.
"Lady Novak?" Sigrid said. "I'm no lady, Nuria. I'm just Sigrid."
Franco brought his hand to his mouth, clearing his throat. "Actually, the magistrate herself has named you Lady Protector of the Free Southern Territories. You are Lady Novak. The staff has been instructed to refer to you as such."
"Goodness!"
"You'll be wanting to wash and change," Nuria said, stepping forward and practically peeling Sigrid's jacket from her shoulders.
"Whoa, hold on there." Sigrid retreated from the girl's reaching fingers. "I'm fine."
Again, Franco cleared his throat, if more loudly than the first time.
Sigrid turned and caught a reflection of herself in a crystal-framed mirror. Every inch of her skin was smeared with layers of grime and a fair amount of her own blood. Her hair was a twist of tangles. Most of it was knotted and bunched to one side. And her "borrowed" riding leathers were hardly cut for her figure.
"Well, I suppose I could do with a scrub."
"Of course," Franco said, and then grinned, "your ladyship. The colonel will be here in an hour to brief you."
"Brief me? Brief me on what?"
"I'm afraid that information is above my pay grade. Good day, Ms. Novak. And…good luck."
With a bow, he backed out the door, closing it behind him, leaving Sigrid to stare after him.
"This way, Lady Novak," Nuria said, dragging her quite insistently toward the bath.
"Oh, very well."
~ - ~
There wasn't much for Sigrid to do in the bathing department. Apparently her new lady's maid took great pride in her work. As Sigrid reached for the fastenings of her boots, Nuria brushed her hands aside, bending to the task of undressing her herself.
"I'm perfectly capable, you know."
Nuria gave a snort, as if that were the most ludicrous thought in the world.
"Up!" Nuria said, indicating Sigrid should raise her arms. Sigrid did, and just in time as Nuria whisked her top up and over her head.
Beside her, an immense bathtub was quickly filling with steaming water along with an obscene amount of foam. The tub was easily large enough to accommodate half a platoon of soldiers, though Sigrid wasn't about to complain. Letting out a long, low moan, she eased herself into the piping hot water, all the way until she was fully submerged.
After the constant pounding her body had taken over the last few days—what with all the shooting and the burning and being hurled through the air—the bath was just the ticket. Floating just above the marbled tiles, the nagging aches in her arms, back and shoulders ebbed gently away. She wasn't about to let her lavish accommodations and pampering go to her head; she hadn't forgotten why she was here, after all, but for the moment, it felt glorious.
It was twenty minutes later when Sigrid stepped from the water, pink and pruned. Nuria wrapped her in a floor-length towel, then led her to a vanity, where she proceeded to expertly comb out the nearly three days' worth of tangles in a series of efficient strokes.
"I can see you've done this before."
"Mm." Nuria nodded.
"Were you always a lady's maid—I mean, for the magistrate?"
"No, Lady Novak."
"Then how did you come to be in her service—if you don't mind me asking?"
The girl stopped her combing, if only for a second, just long enough for Sigrid to feel her tense up.
"I'm sorry, Nuria. I had no right to ask. That was rude of me."
"No, it's all right. It's just, well, I'm not that person anymore. I won't be made to do those things. The magistrate says I don't have to."
Sigrid didn't have to ask what "those things" were. She knew what fate befell most teenage girls of the indentured classes. The lucky ones went to the factories. For the rest, it was the flesh-traders. Or worse.
"Lady Van de Berg saved my life. She saved all of us. After the war started, we had nothing. The factories were shut down. There was no work—no food. But Lady Van de Berg fixed all of that. If it wasn't for her, I'd be dead. Or worse, still working for the flesh-traders, whoring myself for pittances in the alleys."
Nuria resumed her combing, taking out her anger on the last of Sigrid's tangles with a renewed determination. Sigrid endured the tugging. It was the least she could do after dredging up the girl's past.
With her hair freshly dried and brushed, Sigrid rose, handing Nuria the towel back. She reached for her clothes, the dusty pile of riding leathers, but Nuria leapt to intercept her.
"Please! I'll have these sent out and properly cleaned first."
"And deloused," Sigrid added, scratching absently at her midriff. "Well, I'll need something to wear—or am I to be paraded around naked?"
"Lady Van de Berg ordered a complete wardrobe to be prepared for you. The colonel took care of it personally."
"The colonel?" Sigrid said, surprised. "Old stone-face did that? He didn't exactly strike me as a fashionista."
"It's all waiting for you in your dressing room."
"Dressing room? Why, this place just goes on and on, doesn't it. Well, lead on!"
Draping a robe over her shoulders, Nuria led her through the great room and into her own private sleeping area—an entire suite unto itself. The dressing room was just off a small parlor. Cocktail dresses, evening wear, and suits, both casual and formal, hung in neat rows. Sigrid reached for a black pinafore dress, holding it against her torso. A perfect finger-length. And a perfect fit too. They'd matched her measurements to a millimeter.
"The colonel picked this?"
"He thought it best you should be prepared for all contingencies in the forthcoming operation."
"Contingencies?" Sigrid didn't have a clue what kind of contingency might call for a pinafore dress, though she was afraid to ask. Clearly her first impressions of the colonel were way off. Sigrid hung the dress back up on the rack.
Pulling open a drawer, she found something far more to her liking. She pulled out the folded garment and held it up. It was a simple, black military coverall. "Perfect."
&n
bsp; Tossing the robe aside, Sigrid stepped eagerly into it, first one leg and then the other, pulling the stretchy material all the way up and over her shoulders.
Fixing the last of the fastenings, she pivoted for a better look in the full-length mirror. While the coverall might lack the color and flair of her old Kimuran uniform, the seamless, matte-black material formed a perfect second skin on her person. A pair of high, buckled boots, complete with platformed soles, finished the ensemble.
Not bad at all.
"You look beautiful, Lady Novak. A warrior princess."
"A warrior without any weapons," Sigrid remarked, patting her hips where her weapons harness would normally be.
Nuria smacked her forehead and muttered a short curse. "Of course! I wasn't thinking. The armory!"
"Armory? There's an armory in here? In my suite?"
"Why, of course, Lady Novak," Nuria said. "Where else would it be?"
"Right. What was I thinking? What lady's boudoir would be complete without one?"
The armory was hidden behind a locked panel in the far wall. Nuria keyed the lock and the door slid soundlessly aside.
The lights flicked on and Sigrid stood there blinking in awe at the sight before her. Now she felt at home. RPGs, eSMGs, grenades, mortars, trip-mines, tasers and an endless array of sidearms sat mounted on racks. And blades. Goodness, the many blades. Sigrid picked up a heavy bowie knife as long as her forearm. "The colonel doesn't mess about, does he?"
"The magistrate instructed us to anticipate all your needs."
"Yes," Sigrid said. "I can see that."
With Nuria's help, Sigrid proceeded to kit up.
It was like being tended to by a master tailor. All Sigrid had to do was stand there with her arms spread wide. Nuria did the rest. First—and without any direction from Sigrid—she fitted her with a holster and harness. The gun belt sat low on her hips and clipped around each of her thighs. Nuria adjusted it to a perfect quick-draw height. Then, in each of the holstering clips, she attached a pair of matching Markov 18 mm recoillesses. The sidearms were beasts, more cannon than pistol.
