The Sword of Sophia

by John Bowers

  “Jule!”

  Jule, whose desk sat six feet from Valyn’s, stood up quickly. “Coming!”

  She rounded her desk and, as Valyn looked up, rolled her eyes.

  “Every goddess-scorn morning!” she sighed. “The man’s insatiable.”

  Valyn glanced toward the young officer. He was about thirty, she guessed, tall and good looking, with dark hair and twinkling eyes. He grinned at Jule as she crossed the main floor, wrapped an arm around her when she arrived, and kissed her heatedly, squeezing her bottom with his other hand. Jule preceded him into the office and he closed the door. The name on his door said CAPT. CROSWELL.

  Jule came out four minutes later, looking a little flushed, and headed for the ladies’ room.

  Valyn felt the blood pounding in her face, and tried to concentrate on work.

  * * *

  Erik Norgaard stared at the pale, slender man behind the desk and wondered why he didn’t feel nervous. It was his first job interview ever; he’d joined the Vegan Guard two days after graduating from high school, and had never worked at anything else. Yet here he was, seven years later, and he should be nervous. But he wasn’t.

  Part of it was that he wasn’t desperate, at least not yet. He could stay with Karl and Birgitt forever if necessary, but he didn’t want to. A few days, a few weeks—once he was earning a paycheck he would get his own place, support himself, and be nearby if his family needed him, but he wasn’t going to sponge off them any longer than he had to.

  The man behind the desk smiled as if to put him at ease; Erik smiled back.

  “You were in the Guard,” Adam Pedersen said, glancing at the application.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, first of all, thank you. I know that wasn’t easy. The Vegan people owe you a debt we can never repay.”

  Erik shrugged. “We lost,” he said simply.

  Pedersen nodded sadly. “Yes, but not for lack of trying.” He laid his hands on the desk, closing one over the other. His eyes lost their focus as he stared at the window. “I lost a sister in the Guard,” he said. “At least, I assume she was killed. She never came home.”

  Erik frowned. “I’m sorry.” They raped the dead girls, too.

  “She was only twenty years old. She was in college when the invasion came. Thousands of girls tried to sign up, but the Guard wouldn’t take them. Then Queen Ursula issued an edict that allowed the girls to fight. Olga joined the next day.”

  Erik cleared his throat uncomfortably. “We had a couple of girls in my unit,” he said. “Replacements. They were good riflemen.”

  Pedersen smiled, as if what Erik said made no difference to him. Good riflemen or not, his sister was still dead.

  “So why do you want to work for NordTek? Do you have experience with explosives?”

  “Some,” Erik said. “I spent some time with the sappers, helped lay a few minefields. I’m not an expert, but I learn fast, and I’m motivated.”

  Pedersen nodded. “As you probably know, we manufacture explosives for civilian use—construction and so on—and also munitions for the Confederacy. I tell you that because, as a former fighting man, I’ll understand if you don’t want to produce munitions for the…enemy.”

  Erik shrugged again. “Every time I run into Confederates, they go on and on about how we’re all on the same side now. So…I guess I’ll just have to get over it.”

  “All right. And why did you choose NordTek?”

  “I, uh, heard the name somewhere. I think I saw it on ammo boxes or something. And since I only live a few blocks away, it seemed like a good place to check out.”

  Pedersen dipped his head in acknowledgement.

  “Starting pay is nine hundred crowns a month. After three months, if you work out, it will jump to twelve hundred. Does that sound fair?”

  “Yes, sir. Better than I expected.”

  “I’ll see you here tomorrow morning. Be prepared to get dirty.”

  Chapter 8

  Wednesday, 8 January, 0200 (PCC) – Marlow Plantation, Texiana, Sirius 1

  Dusk gathered along the river as Sirius B disappeared over the horizon. Sirius A had set two hours earlier, and the air was pleasantly cool. Erika Sebring reclined on a chaise lounge near the riverbank, at the bottom of a long, sloping lawn that led back up to the plantation house. The day had been hot, even sweltering, but nothing like Sirian Summer, which had ended just two weeks earlier. Nothing on Vega 3 could compare to the temperatures on this planet; Sirian Summer, which occurred when the planet orbited between the binaries, was as close to hell as Erika ever wanted to get. One of the binaries was always in the sky, and when one of them set the winds became cyclonic.

  But this was nice. The grass was green and cool, insects chattered in the bushes along the water’s edge, some kind of night flyer winged overhead searching for dinner. Erika closed her eyes as a light breeze caressed her face. Living here was deadly boring, but physically comfortable—except for Sirian Summer. If she were to remain a slave, there were worse places to do it.

  Up at the house the patio was lit by gas torches. Maria had fired up the kitchen and the smell of roasting meat reached her on the evening breeze. The kittens were playing some kind of serf music on a chip player and chattered among themselves, more animated than usual. Erika glanced up the slope and took note that the girls were actually dressed—they usually ran around in the skimpiest of garments, but tonight they were decked out in their finest tight skirts and their hair gleamed in the torchlight. Erika caught a whiff of Vegan perfume competing with the smells of dinner.

  She closed her eyes again and drowsed, in no hurry to move. Maria would ring the dinner bell when the meal was ready, and in any case she wasn’t all that hungry.

  The sound of an approaching hovercar made her eyes pop open, and she frowned—it was rare for cars to arrive after dark, unless a party had been planned. She could see the glow of headlights on the other side of the house, but couldn’t see the car itself. She heard the turbine shut down and then it was silent except for the music. She closed her eyes again. Five minutes later she sat up with a start, because of all the screaming.

  Erika stood up in alarm and stared up at the patio—the kittens were screaming insanely, jumping up and down, and she relaxed slightly as she realized they were just excited. They were all babbling at once, and then she saw the source of their excitement—a tall, broad-shouldered man in an ebony uniform and garrison cap. Her stomach knotted as she recognized the uniform of the Sirian Elite Guards. What was the SE doing here?

  As the kittens danced around the SE man, he took them into his arms one by one, kissing each deeply and passionately, then reached for the next. Erika’s skin began to tingle as the truth dawned on her.

  They be Masta Brandon’s puhsonal toys.

  Erika sat down again, feeling numb. Maybe now she would find out what she was doing here, what her final fate was going to be.

  Erika ignored the dinner bell when it rang. Brandon Marlow, if that’s who he was, was deep in conversation with his father. Jeeter served the food at a patio table and the two men ignored everyone else as they chatted. Erika could hear snatches of their conversation, but was too far away to follow it, and wasn’t really interested. The kittens ate at another table, their chatter excited and aimless.

  Sitting alone in the darkness, at the very edge of the torchlight, Erika regretted her choice of clothing. She had come out after sunset to enjoy the evening wearing a two-piece bikini and draped by a white, gauzy, see-through camisole dress that was open in front and obscured nothing. Coupled with her long blond hair and silver eyes, she knew she was visible from the patio; there was no point going inside to change. She sat there another hour, feeling the temperature drop as the river flowed silently past. By the time the men finished eating her bare skin was covered in goose bumps.

  She waited until Jason Marlow went into the house, then stood up and began the long walk up the sloping lawn to the patio. She felt Brandon Marlow’s eyes on her
all the way.

  He sat, relaxed in his chair, leaning back slightly, his right hand wrapped around a glass of Lightning.

  Erika reached the patio and stepped between the pillars, walking straight toward him, feeling as conspicuous as a model on a runway. She stopped six feet away, standing tall and erect, refusing to be intimidated. His lips curved into a little smile.

  “Erika Sebring?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wondered when you were going to join us. You’ve been sitting down by the river ever since I got home. Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Not really.”

  “Eat something anyway. There’s plenty here.”

  Erika pulled out a chair and sat down. The heat from the torches felt good; the goose bumps began to fade. Brandon Marlow stood up and lifted the cover off a serving tray; the meat inside was still steaming. He speared a steak with a two-prong fork and dropped it onto the plate in front of her, then dished up some vegetables, potatoes, gravy, and bread. Next he poured a shot of Lightning into a glass and set it next to her plate. He sat down again.

  “Eat up,” he said. “Don’t want you losing any weight.”

  Erika glanced at him without a reply. He was giving her the once-over, as most men did, his gaze focusing on her breasts…but there was nothing lascivious in his eyes. His gaze was more appraising than lustful, and she realized she was nothing special to him. In his line of work, women were just cattle, nothing to get excited about. No doubt he had raped his share of Vegan women, and he could have his pick. As stunning as she was, Erika knew she was merely average in comparison to some Vegan women, and he was aware of that as well. He was probably no threat to her.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “Eat.”

  Erika picked up her utensils and began cutting her steak.

  “I’m sorry you had to stay here so long,” he said, sipping his liquor. “Everyone treating you all right?”

  She nodded.

  “No one tried to molest you?”

  “Not since I got here.” She took a bite of steak—it was delicious.

  “And before that?”

  She glanced up as if he were crazy.

  “I spent nineteen days on a slave ship, and a year in recreation barracks before that. What do you think?”

  He was silent for a moment, letting her eat. He took the time to light a cigar, then sat watching her. Suddenly starving, she concentrated on her food.

  “You’re probably wondering why you were brought here,” he said after a few minutes.

  “The thought crossed my mind.”

  “What were you told?”

  She took a moment to finish her mouthful, then laid her fork down. She met his eyes directly.

  “You haven’t told me who you are,” she said.

  He grinned. “I figured you knew.”

  “Captain Marlow?”

  He nodded. “Actually it’s Major now, but you can call me Brandon.”

  She nodded slowly, watching his face. She saw no animosity in his eyes.

  “Your cousin Tom said you spent fifty thousand sirios to purchase me, that I was to come here and wait for you. He had no idea why, and neither does your father. I can only guess that I am now your personal slave, but what mystifies me is that I’ve never heard of you and I can’t imagine how you selected me out of all the thousands of other women that were sent here.”

  He puffed his cigar, dribbling the smoke so that the breeze carried it away from the table.

  “I did not purchase you, at least not in the traditional sense. The fifty thousand was to compensate the shipping company for your loss—you would have sold for three or four times that amount. But you don’t belong to me.”

  “Then what? I don’t understand.”

  “No reason you should.” He took a sip of Lightning. “But it isn’t bad news. In fact, for you, it’s very good news.”

  “What is?”

  He leaned forward and laid the cigar in a glass dish, then sat back and smiled.

  “How would you like to go home?”

  Erika stared at him blankly. Had she heard him correctly?

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how would you like to go home?”

  “Home? As in…home?”

  Brandon Marlow laughed, easy and relaxed.

  “That’s exactly what I mean. Back to Vega; back to your family.”

  She stared at him in shock, her mind swirling with questions. What kind of trick was this?

  “Why would you do that? Send me back? And—wouldn’t I just get picked up again? Next time it would be even worse.”

  He was shaking his head.

  “When you go back, you’ll have a full exemption. No slaver can touch you, no soldier can touch you. Not even the SE can touch you. It’s like you were a Confederate citizen.”

  She was frowning now, unable to believe what he was saying, not ready to trust him.

  “Why would you do that? Who are you, anyway?”

  He smiled, rather charmingly. He was a good looking man, in spite of the uniform.

  “I’m your knight in shining armor.” He glanced at his uniform sleeve. “Okay, black armor.”

  She ignored his feeble joke, still frowning. Her lips struggled to form words that were arriving so fast she couldn’t even utter them. Finally she shook her head.

  “But, why?”

  His smile faded, his eyes turned serious.

  “I promised an old friend,” he said. “We tried to rescue you on Vega, but we were a couple of hours too late. Your ship had already left the planet. So we came up with this scheme instead.”

  “What old friend? What are you talking about?”

  “The man who got you into this. He feels responsible for what happened to you.”

  Erika reached for her glass and downed the Lightning in a single swallow. The white alcohol hit her system like a bomb, but did nothing to organize her thoughts. She flashed back three years, to a hovercar convertible traveling a country road in Princess Carlena County; to a blinding sunrise that obscured the traffic ahead, including a military personnel carrier; a collision, a crash into a plowed field, and twenty Confederate soldiers surrounding her and Jacquje Norgaard, her cam girl.

  It had all begun there.

  She stared at Brandon Marlow with blood draining out of her face.

  “Oliver?” she whispered.

  Brandon nodded soberly. “Oliver Lincoln III. He’s paying the tab. And I’m taking you home.”

  * * *

  Reina, Vega 3

  Capt. Blackwell was waiting outside his barracks when Hans Norgaard returned from the mess hall. It was a chilly evening and most of the Youth Corps men were spending the evening inside, catching up on their personal chores and relaxing if they had time. Hans had planned to do some studying, as he was anxious to advance to sergeant. But Blackwell was there as he approached the door.

  Hans came to attention and saluted.

  “At ease,” Blackwell said quietly. “Let’s take a walk.”

  They strolled across the parade ground, in no hurry. A thin layer of fog hung a hundred feet above them, dimming the glow from Vega’s two moons. Hans smelled wood smoke on the evening breeze, fireplace smoke. It smelled fragrant and nostalgic.

  “You’re nineteen now,” Blackwell said, as if it had just occurred to him.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ve been in VYC three full years.”

  Hans didn’t reply. He’d been recruited at sixteen, one of the very first group of VYC recruits. He was a charter member, a ground-floor member. Whatever the VYC meant to future generations, Hans would always be able to say he was there at the beginning. He felt a little pride over that, but still couldn’t shake a vague sense of guilt that had plagued him since the very first day. His parents still disapproved. Most Vegan citizens disapproved. His own brother disapproved. It seemed that no one was willing to open their minds long enough to even attempt to grasp what the VYC was trying to accomplish.

>   “You have a couple of choices now,” Blackwell told him as they continued to stroll. “You can stay in the Corps one more year, or you can join the NVG.” Its official name was still Vegan Guard, but because it was now under Confederate management, most people referred to it as the New Vegan Guard, or NVG.

  Blackwell stopped walking and turned to face him. They had reached the obstacle course. Beyond the force fence flowed the Queen River, and beyond that lay hundreds of square miles of farmland.

  “There is a third choice,” Blackwell said, “one that isn’t available to everyone.”

  “Sir?” Unaccountably, Hans suddenly felt nervous. When he’d first met Blackwell, the black SE uniform had scared the hell out of him, but he’d come to know the man himself and was no longer intimidated.

  “You’re a gem, Norgaard,” Blackwell said. “Four hundred boys in this camp and you’re the only one getting this offer. Do you know why?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Any time you come across a gem, it will be surrounded by hundreds of tons of plain rock. The same is true of people—four hundred lumps of rock in this camp and you’re the only gem.”

  It was too dark to see Blackwell’s face, but he didn’t sound like he was kidding. Hans didn’t know what to say.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Blackwell lit a cigarette, offered him one, and Hans took it.

  “If you stay in VYC, you’ll be an asset to the next class of recruits. They can benefit from your training and experience, and be better off for it. If you go into NVG, you’ll serve as a non-com; you’ll get a squad of your own, but you’ll never rise higher than Master Sergeant. Not a bad career, but you can do better.”

  Hans smoked quietly, but didn’t speak.

  “The third option, as I said, is only offered to a few.”

  Hans waited, but Blackwell remained silent.

  “And what is that, Captain?”

  “We’re starting a new organization,” Blackwell said, “called the Vegan Elite Guards, or VE. As I said, it’s brand new, only a handful of members so far. It will be comprised solely of young Vegan men like yourself, every one an outstanding example of Vegan leadership. Like the Sirian Elite Guards, it will never be very big, will never number more than a few thousand. The reason for that is the word elite. The elite of any society are the very top layer, a very thin slice of the very best. The VE will represent the finest that Vega has to offer.” He dropped a hand on Hans’s shoulder. “I’m recommending you as a second lieutenant in the VE.”