by John Bowers
“Birgitt, you’re going to make me fat! I haven’t eaten this well since before the war.”
“You look like you’ve lost a few pounds,” she smiled. “They didn’t starve you, did they?”
“They don’t starve prisoners,” he said. “Actually they feed pretty well, but their idea of a good meal is a lot different than ours. They think biscuits and gravy and hog lard are the building blocks of evolution.”
Birgitt laughed and sipped her tea, watching him fondly.
“It’s awfully good to have you home,” she told him. “Your father looked happier this morning than I’ve ever seen him.”
“He looked pretty tired last night. How’s he doing?”
“It’s difficult. The Sirians can be pretty hard-nosed…but you already know that.”
Erik nodded, unable to speak because his mouth was full.
“How did it go last night?” she asked. “You made it back before curfew.”
He nodded, swallowing. “I just walked around a little. Got some air.”
“You didn’t run into any patrols?”
He shook his head. “I stopped into a bar and had a beer…there were soldiers inside, but they were pretty friendly.”
“Did they know you were Vegan Guard?”
“They asked, I told them. It’s amazing—now the war is over, they all want to be friends. The occupation troops, anyway. The guys who fought the war are a little less cordial.”
She smiled. “Maybe it won’t be so hard for you, then. What are your plans now?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t thought much about it. Up until yesterday my only goal was survival. Now that I’m home, I might actually have a future.”
“Well, you have a home here as long as you want it. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” He dug into his boiled egg with a spoon. “But I should eventually get my own place. Soon as I find a job.”
“I understand. But don’t rush it. Take as much time as you need.”
They chatted aimlessly for several minutes.
“What about Hans?” Erik asked presently. “You said he has his own place. He must have a pretty good job to be able to afford that at his age.”
Birgitt’s smile faded and she avoided his eyes.
“He moved out three years ago.”
Erik stopped chewing and stared at her.
“Wait a minute…he’s only nineteen! Or am I confused? He’s six years younger than me, and I’m twenty-five…”
She sighed and met his startled gaze.
“Hans joined the VYC right after the war. He lives in a barracks with the rest of his unit.”
Erik felt his skin tingle as he stared at her. He had never heard of the VYC, but the name sounded sinister all by itself. The fact that he’d never heard of it heightened his feeling of unease.
“What hell is the VYC?”
She chewed the inside of her lip and frowned.
“The Vegan Youth Corps. The Sirians recruited him.”
“And he fell for it? What do they do?”
“Nobody knows for sure. They wear military type uniforms and make a big show of public service, helping disabled veterans and handing out food to the homeless, things like that. But…”
“There has to be more to it than that.”
She wrung her hands. “We think so too, but when we do see him, Hans won’t talk about it. He doesn’t go to Temple anymore and…” She looked up at him with imploring eyes. “Erik, do you think you might be able to find out? Hans will talk to you, I’m sure of it.”
Erik saw the distress in her eyes, the first overt sign of worry she’d shown since he got home. He privately doubted Hans would tell him anything; if the Sirians had brainwashed him, nobody would be able to do much for him. But he took her hand and squeezed it.
“Sure, Birgitt, I’ll talk to him. I was looking forward to seeing him anyway.”
Erik found the camp on the southern edge of Reina, two or three miles from the Norgaard home. It was built right on the bank of the Queen River, and looked brand new. He was certain it hadn’t been there the last time he was home.
The camp wasn’t as big as a military base, only about ten acres, but bore a strong resemblance to every Guard base he’d ever seen. He saw an administration building, a mess hall, several rows of barracks, and a wide parade ground with an obstacle course on one side. Instead of a Cult temple he saw what looked like a Christian chapel, with a cross sitting atop a short spire. Force fence posts surrounded the perimeter and a slight shimmer between the posts indicated the fence was on. The main gate opened onto Flod Gata, which paralleled the river, and an arched sign over the entrance announced the name of the camp:
Camp Martin Vaughn
Vegan Youth Corps
The Sirian Binary flag hung from the top of the flagpole; beneath it was a blue flag he’d never seen before—did Vega have a new flag? Two sentries manned the guard post just inside the gate, both wearing sidearms. Erik’s expression darkened as he recognized their ebony uniforms and the slashing lightning bolt on their shoulder patches—Sirian Elite Guards.
Erik studied the entire layout from across the street, then took a deep breath and walked purposefully toward the main gate. He no longer looked like an escaped prisoner of war. Except for his slightly shaggy hair, a couple of showers and some new civilian clothing had transformed him so that he looked no different than any other Vegan man his age. But his instincts were on full alert as he approached the guard shack and made eye contact with the nearest sentry.
“Can I help you?” the SE sentry demanded in a brisk, military voice.
Erik produced his ID packet without waiting to be asked. The sentry took it but kept his eyes glued to Erik’s face.
“I understand my little brother lives here,” Erik said. “I was hoping I could visit him.”
The sentry stared at him for long seconds without speaking; a second sentry stepped out of the guard shack and the first broke eye contact long enough to inspect Erik’s ID.
“What’s your brother’s name?”
“Hans Norgaard.”
The sentry handed the packet back. “What’s your business with him?”
Erik raised his eyebrows. “He’s my brother. I haven’t seen him since the war started.”
“War’s been over for three years. Where’ve you been?”
Erik grimaced. “I just got home yesterday.”
“Veggie Guard?”
“Yeah. But like you said, the war’s over.”
“Put your hands on top of your head.”
Erik complied. The second sentry stood watching while the other frisked him for weapons. Erik didn’t move until he was done. Satisfied, the first sentry nodded to the second, and the second lifted a comm unit off his belt.
“Cigarette?” The Confederates seemed to have a love affair with tobacco, something he had learned in prison camp. The sentry held out a pack, and Erik took the extended cigarette. The sentry offered his lighter.
“Thanks, but I’ll smoke it later.” Erik dropped the tobacco tube into a shirt pocket. “I usually save them until I can enjoy them with a beer.”
He offered a ghost of a smile—no point in making enemies when he didn’t need to. The sentry’s stone face relaxed just a fraction and he nodded. The second man hung the comm unit back on his belt, stepped into the guard shack, and returned a moment later with a plastic visitor’s tag.
“Pin this on your shirt.” He pointed. “Go to the Admin building and show the clerk your ID. She’ll tell you where to find your brother.”
Hans Norgaard had been fourteen years old the last time Erik saw him. Now he was nineteen, and Erik was slightly shocked at the sight of him. The brothers met in a day room of the Administration building; when Hans walked through the door it took Erik a moment to recognize him. Hans had gained three inches and thirty pounds since their last meeting, and all of it was muscle. He still had the sparkling blue eyes, the curly blond hair, but was no longe
r a boy. Tanned and fit, he looked like a man.
They embraced joyfully and turned in a circle, looking each other over and slapping shoulders. Erik kissed the younger man on the cheek.
“Goddess!” he breathed, “Look at you! You’re all grown up!”
Hans laughed and pulled out a chair. He was dressed in camouflage work fatigues and combat boots, a black beret on his head. Two chevrons on his sleeve reflected his rank. “When did you get home?”
“Yesterday. They released me on Saturday; I’ve been in transit ever since.”
“You don’t look any the worse for wear. Did they treat you all right?”
Erik nodded, feeling slightly foolish. Here sat his brother in a Confederate uniform, asking if the Confederates had mistreated him.
“Yeah, as long as you follow the rules. More than anything, captivity was boring. What’ve you been up to?”
Hans regarded him a moment, the smile fading. He broke eye contact long enough to pull a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and light it. Acrid blue smoke swirled around his head.
“You like those things?” Erik inquired with a frown.
Hans shrugged. “It’s an acquired taste. They’re good stress relievers.”
“Not very healthy, though.”
“I guess not.” Hans sucked smoke and eyed his older brother. “I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here, like this.”
Erik nodded. “It crossed my mind. I fought the bastards for two years, spent three more years locked up, and here you are…”
Hans sighed. “You think I’m a traitor.”
“I don’t think anything. I’m asking.”
“Well.” Hans sighed again. “The war is over. We lost. I had the option of crying over it for the rest of my life or taking advantage of the situation. So I made a decision. I ran out of tears a long time ago.”
Erik processed that, nodding slowly.
“The last time I got a letter from you, you were talking about fighting them. You wanted to enlist.”
“I know. But the war ended before I was old enough. The Guard wasn’t taking anyone under seventeen.”
“So what changed?”
“Lots of things. Erik. I know you don’t approve—I can see it in your eyes. So I’m not going to make excuses or try to help you understand. It’s my life, and there’s a new Vega now. We have a different future than the one you fought for, and the SE gave us a choice—either embrace it or get out of the way.”
“Who is ‘us’? You and who else?”
“Everyone my age. They came around to the high schools and gave lectures. They offered us a chance to take our place in the new Vega. The alternative was to spend the rest of our lives as subjects. I don’t want to be a subject.”
“How many others made the same decision you did?”
“Unfortunately, not very many. Fewer than two percent, I think.”
“You don’t want to be a subject, so what does that make you? A master?”
Hans snorted impatiently. “Of course not! Look, the Confederacy is our ally now. Like I said, the war is over. They didn’t come here to destroy us, or kill everyone! They have plans for Vega, a whole new direction. They like us, they don’t hate us! Dad’s generation will never believe that, I know, but guys like you and me, Erik…we’re still young! We can adjust to new ideas, get with the program, and build a better tomorrow. With native-born Vegans in leadership roles we have the opportunity to help our fellow citizens recover from this catastrophe.”
“So you agree that it’s a catastrophe.”
“Of course it is! I miss the old Vega just like you do. I loved the way things were, but they’re gone now and we’ll never get them back. We lost, Erik. You lost. You gave it your best shot, but they were too powerful. So we make the best of it, reclaim what we can, and take the only path still open to us.”
Erik was silent a moment. Hans sounded like a recruiting ad, or a commercial.
“What, exactly, is the VYC? It looks awfully military to me.”
Hans laughed. “You mean the uniform? That’s just to give us a sense of pride, of belonging. It’s actually an educational program, training for the future. We learn discipline, regimentation, physical training—”
“Weapons?”
Hans nodded slowly. “Yeah. We have a rifle range. We also learn self-defense and hand-to-hand combat. Nothing wrong with those things, is there?”
“No. Everybody should know how to fight back.”
“Right.”
“So…is there an enlistment period, or are you in for life?”
Hans sighed, his eyes losing expression. “Did Dad put you up to this?”
“No. Dad never mentioned any of it.”
“So it was Mom.” Ever since he was little, Hans had considered Birgitt his real mother.
Erik nodded. “She’s worried about you.”
“Did she tell you what I did for her? She didn’t, did she?”
“What did you do for her?”
“By joining the VYC I got her a lifetime exemption from slavery and rape. She was scheduled for Domestic Companionship about the time I joined, but now she’s safe. There are benefits to my being here.”
“What’s Domestic Companionship?”
“Women like Mom…married women around forty…sometimes have to service the troops. They go on dates with Confederate soldiers, guys our age. I think you can guess what that means.”
Erik felt his stomach twist a notch, but kept his face neutral.
“And you saved her by joining them.”
“Yeah. It was a benefit. But I didn’t join them, Erik! I just took advantage of what they were offering.”
“How long have you been in?”
“Almost three years.”
“And you’re already a corporal.”
Hans glanced at his sleeve and grinned. “You work hard, display a willing attitude, you get rewarded.”
“How’s the pay?”
“Not bad. I get housing, meals, and clothing for free, free medical—like you had in the Guard.”
Erik studied him a moment. “You happy?”
“Yeah. I’d be a lot happier if more people understood what I’m doing, but that will come. It takes time.” Hans leaned forward and placed a hand on his brother’s arm. “They’re not bad people, Erik. The Sirians. They’re just different. They’ve taught me a lot.”
Erik smiled thinly. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take your word for that,” he said. “I’ve had a slightly different experience with them.”
Hans nodded knowingly. “I understand that. Like I said, it’ll take time.”
Erik stood up to leave and Hans followed suit. “Thanks for stopping by, Erik. I’m glad you’re home safe.”
Erik slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay too. You look like a Nordic god. A real Viking.”
Hans beamed.
“Just remember…” Erik’s eyes narrowed. “Real Vikings never surrendered. And they never forgot who their enemies were.”
He tweaked his brother’s chin and walked away.
Chapter 5
Tuesday, 7 January, 0200 (PCC) – Reina, Vega 3
Hans Norgaard watched his brother walk out the gate with a hole in his heart. For the first time in over a year he felt like crying, but as he told Erik, he’d run out of tears long ago. Slowly, he turned and strode down the sidewalk toward his barrack, emotion swirling through his chest. He couldn’t blame Erik; there was no way he could understand after what he’d been through. Hans didn’t know the details, but he knew Erik had been in the war from the first day to the last, had been wounded twice, and had barely survived the final battle, in which ninety percent of his company was wiped out. It had to be hard for him to see Hans here like this, working for the enemy…or what Erik considered the enemy.
Hans reached his barrack and stepped inside. The long room was empty; his squad was out digging a new latrine. As corporal he rated his own private room, and he went in
side and sat down on his rack. He lowered his face into his hands and sat breathing deeply for several minutes. He knew his dad and Birgitt considered him a traitor; they had never openly said so, but both had opposed him joining VYC, in spite of the fact that it gave Birgitt a lifetime exemption from sexual servitude. Both were devoted followers of Sophia, and neither had been able to reconcile his decision with the tenets of their faith.
And now Erik also disapproved. Over the months he had come to terms with his parents’ disapproval, but Erik’s appearance brought it all back. Once again, he felt alone in the universe.
He jumped to his feet at a knock on his door. He quickly stepped forward and opened it.
Capt. Blackwell stood there, resplendent in his ebony SE uniform. His eyes bored into Hans’s face for a moment, then his expression softened. “You all right, Corporal?”
“Yes, sir!”
Blackwell glanced around the room. “Permission to come inside?”
“Of course, Captain.” Hans stepped aside, and Blackwell entered the room, closing the door gently behind him.
“You had a visitor.”
“Yes, sir. My brother. He just got home from prison camp.”
“Really! He was in the Guard?”
“Yes, sir. He was career, even before the war started.”
“Pretty rough on you, huh?”
Hans forced a smile. “I’ll be okay, Captain.”
Blackwell sat down on the end of the rack and removed his hat. He ran a hand through his dark hair as he studied Hans, carefully.
“Sometimes, Corporal, we find it hard to stand our ground, even when we know we’re right.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m guessing your brother has some reservations about you being here.”
Hans nodded unhappily.
“Understandable. He fought the Confederate army, lost, and now finds his little brother consorting with Confederates. You see his point, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir, I do. That’s—that’s what makes it so hard.”
Blackwell nodded sympathetically.
“I thought so. Well, you know you’re on the right side of history here, so don’t let it throw you. And don’t be too upset with your brother. He’s been through a lot, and it’ll take time for him to adjust.”
