by John Bowers
“You deserve it,” he told her after she threw her arms around him in gratitude, “after what you’ve been through.”
“Oliver isn’t paying for this, is he?”
“No. I’ll be billing him for bringing you home, but that’s all. You’re paying your own way here.”
“How can the building afford to let this go so cheap?”
“The building is doing just fine. They overcharge for everything, so don’t worry about them.”
“I just don’t want to be obligated to the SE.”
“You’re not.” He grinned. “You’re obligated to me.”
Brandon had also got her the job interview at RHN, with the admonition, “You’re in the pilot’s seat, so don’t take any shit—they need you more than you need them.”
That had been three days ago. Now, tonight, she had her old job back at twice the salary, plus back pay, and a killer apartment with an unrestricted view of Reina from one of the tallest buildings in downtown. Life couldn’t get much better.
She had just finished dinner and was going over her notes for an interview planned for tomorrow, when the software announced a visitor.
“Major Marlow is at the door, Miss Sebring.”
Surprised, Erika opened the front door and gazed up at Brandon Marlow’s grinning face.
“Major! I didn’t expect you this evening.”
“I’m a surprise a minute. Can I come in?”
“Of course.” She stood aside, her blood pressure rising slightly. She had spent three weeks with him in hyperspace and felt she knew him pretty well, but the sight of that ebony uniform was still intimidating. “Would you like a drink?”
“I don’t s’pose you have any Lightning?”
“No, I don’t. But I do have Nektar.”
“Hog piss. Okay, I’ll take it.” He removed his peaked cap and followed her into the living room. “How’s apartment life?”
“Actually I haven’t had time to really enjoy it,” she confessed as she poured him a clear green drink. “But I love the place.” She handed him the glass and settled on a sofa as he took a chair facing her. She drew her feet off the floor and tucked them underneath her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Just checking in. Making sure nobody’s bothering you.”
“So far so good. That exemption works like a miracle. I had to use it this morning on the way to the office. When they saw the SE stamp their faces turned green.”
“Who were they?”
“Couple of patrol cops.”
“Vegan?”
She nodded, frowning. “Looks like even Vegan men are molesting women now.”
He nodded. “The laws have changed. It’s inevitable.”
Erika frowned. Right now she didn’t want to think about that, so she changed the subject.
“Does Oliver know that I’m home?”
“Not yet. I’ll be calling him soon.”
“When you do, tell him thanks. I owe him big time.”
“I don’t think he sees it that way. According to him, he got you into that whole mess.”
“He didn’t send me to the Southern Plain. I was on assignment; chances are I would have been captured anyway.”
“That’s what I told him, but he didn’t buy it.”
“Major…when you talk to him, can you ask him what happened to my cam girl? I know she was shot, but I never saw her again. I don’t even know if she survived.”
Brandon grimaced and shook his head. “She didn’t. Oliver told me that much.”
Erika’s heart seized with pain. She leaned forward. “What happened?”
He sipped his drink and gazed at the floor.
“After the troops left, he carried her to a farmhouse. She was still alive at that point, but died a few hours later. That’s really all I know.”
“Did he…say where she was buried?”
“No, I don’t remember anything about that.”
Erika chewed her lip. “I should notify her family.”
“You want me to do that?”
“No, you’d only scare them.”
“Me?” His eyes twinkled in an effort to lighten the mood.
“Your uniform. Anyway, it’s something I should do. But thanks.”
She gazed into space, deep in thought, until he brought her back.
“Now I’ll ask you a favor.”
She looked up.
“Stop calling me ‘Major’.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s much too formal. My name is Brandon.”
She smiled slightly. “Okay.”
“Thank you.” He tossed down the last of his drink and stood. “Now I’m taking off. You know where to find me if you need anything. My office is only six blocks from yours.”
She followed him to the door. “Thanks again for everything. And let me know how Oliver is.”
“I will. Talk to you in a few days.”
* * *
It was dark and quiet inside the Temple of Sophia. After a long climb up the outer steps to the entrance, one descended on the inside to reach the Sanctum. Rows of empty seats lined the pyramidal interior, much like the seats in a sporting arena. At this hour the building was empty, except for the image of the goddess herself, which stood tall and serene in the center of the main floor. Incense burned in censors on all three sides of the statue, leaving a smoky residue hanging in the air. It was a pungent, pleasant smell, and it transported Erik back to his childhood, when he had attended Temple every week with his parents. Nostalgia flooded him, and for a moment he almost forgot his disillusionment.
He settled into a chair on the bottom row while Valyn approached the goddess and knelt, making the Sign of the Cult with her hand, a triangular motion that touched both shoulders and her heart. She whispered a prayer that Erik couldn’t quite make out, then bowed her head in Silent Acceptance for several minutes. Erik closed his eyes and relaxed while he waited. It was cozy in here, warm after the snow outside; here one felt protected, like in the womb. It was a seductive feeling.
Sitting with his eyes closed, Erik sensed movement in front of him, and looked up. He had expected to see Valyn, finished with her prayers and ready to leave, but his heart leaped at the sight of the priestess standing in front of him. He didn’t recognize her—she was quite young, and he hadn’t been here for five years or more. But she had the same serene, ageless gaze that every priestess had, a nonthreatening, penetrating gaze that seemed to burn right through his head. She was wearing the full traditional robe of a Mature Priestess, multi-hued, almost glowing; her headdress cascaded over her shoulders, hiding her hair and leaving only her face visible. She had eyes of emerald.
“You have been away,” she said quietly, her voice sweet and youthful.
Erik nodded, unable to tear his eyes away.
“You have suffered.”
For some reason his throat felt dry. He wanted to answer, but couldn’t. He nodded again.
“Sophia knows your pain,” she said quietly, soothingly. “Sophia has wept for your sorrow. Sophia has tasted your tears.”
But Sophia didn’t do a damn thing about it.
“Would you like to commune with Sophia?”
Unexpectedly, Erik’s eyes stung with tears; his chest froze up, he bit his lip. But he shook his head.
“No,” he managed. “I wouldn’t.”
The priestess was not offended.
“You have lost your faith,” she said. “Sophia understands. Many believers have been tested in these times.”
He made a supreme effort, and cleared his throat.
“Too many people have died,” he said hoarsely. “Where was Sophia then?”
She was silent a moment, as if thinking, or receiving a download.
“You have fought the invader,” she replied. “You resisted, yet the invader conquered. This era was predicted, many years ago, in the Scroll. Passage 136.”
He lowered his head. He’d forgotten that passage. Now he remembered, but he�
�d always thought it was allegory, not literal. Could it be possible that the Sirians were destined by scripture to conquer Vega 3? He couldn’t believe that. Why would Sophia allow her people to be raped and enslaved just to fulfill some ancient prophecy? Prophecies were mythical—or so he had always believed—but the consequences of conquest affected real people! People he knew!
His heart pounded at this information. He looked up again—the young priestess was gazing at him, her expression never changing. Slowly, she extended her right hand, and placed it gently on his forehead. He flinched, but didn’t move. He was dimly aware of Valyn, standing behind the priestess, watching.
The priestess closed her eyes.
“The invader came from across the stars, and inhabited the planet. They slew the faithful and profaned the Temple; they ravished virgins and made sport with mothers; they carried many into captivity.
“But in that day, Sophia sent a sword, a sword of justice, and the invader was torn asunder. And the faithful rejoiced, and wept, and gave thanks for retribution.”
Erik trembled, for reasons he didn’t understand. The words were ancient, familiar; he remembered reading them many years ago. They had never meant anything to him. Even now he wasn’t sure of their import, but somehow they gave him strength. He felt an unexpected peace flowing into his bloodstream, like a pain-relieving drug. He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.
The priestess removed her hand, and Erik looked up to meet her emerald eyes.
“Sophia has seen your path,” she said in that same even, unemotional voice. “Go, and fulfill your destiny. May Sophia’s tears guide your steps.”
She stood there five more seconds, then turned and moved slowly away, disappearing through a portal at the base of the statue.
Erik didn’t move, his head spinning in wonder.
Suddenly Valyn was there, looking down at him. “Erik…are you okay?”
He lifted his eyebrows and breathed deeply, as if waking from a trance. “Yeah. I think so.”
“What was that about?”
“I have no idea.” He stood up and took her hands. “But…I think I feel better.”
“Better about what?”
“I dunno. Just…things. How about you? Feel better now?”
“Yeah, I do. It always helps me to come here when things are on my mind.”
They reached the top of the Sanctum and descended the steps to the street.
“Who was that priestess?” Erik inquired. “She must have been in high school the last time I was here.”
“I don’t know her name. I think she came up from Sophiastad last year. She’s new.”
Erik was silent as he remembered her face, the maturity in her manner, far more mature than her years.
“What ever happened to Ingrid?” he asked suddenly. “She was in convent the last time I was here.”
“Ingrid Klaussen?”
“Yeah. She was in my graduating class.”
Valyn was silent a moment, then replied sadly. “She had to drop out.”
“How come? She was the most religious girl I knew. Talked about Sophia all the time. Drove the guys crazy.”
“She finished her studies and was ordained. But about six months after the war…”
Erik caught her hesitation and looked at her. “What happened?”
“She was raped.”
“Oh, scorn!”
“A priestess has to remain a virgin until the day she dies, or she’ll never gain immortality. The bar is much higher for them than for the rest of us. Once they make that commitment, there’s no turning back.”
“So she had to drop out of the order?”
Valyn nodded. “It was like a death sentence for her. She lives in seclusion now, never goes out. No one has seen her in over a year.”
Erik ground his teeth in sudden rage. “Goddess-scorn Sirians!”
Valyn stopped and took his arm, turning him to face her. Snow crystals swirled about them as she looked into his eyes; her breath frosted the air.
“Erik, it wasn’t Sirians. She was raped by a Vegan.”
Chapter 13
Friday, 21 February, 0200 (PCC) – Denver, CO, North America, Terra
Oliver Lincoln III gripped the handrail as he stared out at the blizzard sweeping past the control tower window. The snow was so thick he could barely see the runway fifty yards away, and he couldn’t see the fighter at all. His knuckles turned white as he listened to the chatter over the radio. The controller stood ten feet to Oliver’s right, gazing into a radar sweep as he tried to talk the pilot down.
“Maintain descent, Sierra Foxtrot, touchdown in thirty seconds. Can you see the runway yet?”
“Negat, LincEnt!” the pilot blurted over the wall speakers. “Nothing but white. Altimeter is erratic and I think the Pitot tube must be plugged—my airspeed shows zero.”
Oliver peered through the window and sweated. The man in that cockpit was a friend. Lee Hatley was the lead test pilot for Lincoln Enterprises, which manufactured combat fighters for the United Federation Space Force. Oliver had known him for a dozen years, and this was the first time he’d ever heard fear in Hatley’s voice. If Hatley was scared, the situation was dire indeed.
“Touchdown in twelve seconds, Sierra Foxtrot. Bring your nose up, you’re starting to sink. Touchdown in eight—Bring your nose up! HIT THE POWER! ABORT! ABORT!”
Oliver saw it then, just a flash of wing lights at the very edge of the snowstorm, six feet above the ground, going like hell. It flashed past like a meteorite, trailing a long tail of flame, and then it was gone. The thunder of afterburners rocked the control tower, rattling the windows. Oliver sagged as he released his breath, and everyone on the floor heaved a collective sigh. Oliver looked at the controller, a veteran named Miller—Miller looked just as drained as he felt.
“I don’t think we can bring him in,” Miller said. “His instruments are out and his AI is all fucked up. If it wasn’t for this weather he could land VFR, but he’s completely blind up there.”
“How much fuel does he have?”
“He’s okay on fuel. He could make it to Omaha or Wichita easy—hell, he could fly to Chicago—but without instruments they might not let him land.”
“What choice do they have? They can’t just let him crash!”
“Sure they can. He isn’t their problem, he’s ours.”
Oliver clenched his jaw and turned away. Hatley was testing a new upgrade to the SolarFighter, an electronics upgrade that had malfunctioned and killed most of his instrumentation. The test had been hurried because bad weather was expected, but the front had moved in three hours ahead of schedule and paralyzed the Mountain States with high winds and blinding snow. Hatley had checked with the tower when he encountered the weather—a fighter had to operate in all conditions—and Oliver had agreed to let the test continue. But minutes later, when the SolarFighter hit the really cold air, everything had gone to hell.
Maybe it was a good thing—if not for this event they might not have known what effect freezing conditions would have on the upgrade—but now both the fighter and the pilot were at risk. The fighter was worth six million terros. The man was irreplaceable.
Oliver turned back to Miller, who was still waiting for instructions. Oliver was the number two man at LincEnt, subordinate only to his father. His dad should really make this decision, but he had put Oliver in charge of the Fighter Division, to sink or swim. In any case, his dad was out of town.
“So there’s no place in Colorado where he can land?”
“Nowhere in the Rockies. Everything is socked in, all the way west to Salt Lake. And without instruments, no civilian installation is going to take him.”
“And we can’t bring him down here.”
“Well—we might, but if he misses he could take out half the factory.”
Oliver sighed. “Goddammit!” He turned in a circle, grinding his teeth. Finally he reached for the microphone. “Let me talk to him.”
Miller hand
ed him the headset. Oliver keyed it.
“Sierra Foxtrot, LincEnt.”
“Sierra Foxtrot.”
“Lee, it’s Oliver. Where are you now?”
“I’m somewhere between heaven and hell, Ollie. Don’t even know which direction I’m going.”
“Your compass is out?”
“Not completely, but it’s erratic. I think we miswired that upgrade somehow. I’m surprised the damn radio works.”
“Can you get above the weather?’
“Sure.”
“Do that, Lee, and get a visual on the sun. Use dead reckoning to get clear of the weather front, then see if you can find a place to eject.”
The speakers were silent for a moment.
“Did you say eject?”
“That’s affirm. Maybe somewhere in the desert; I don’t think the storm has hit New Mexico yet. Be sure to give us your location, as near as you can, before you do.”
Another pause.
“Ollie, this is a six million-terro space ship. You want me to just let it crash?”
“No! I don’t want you to, but without instruments there’s really no place you can land. What other choice is there? Just be sure the fighter doesn’t hit anything or kill anyone.”
“Maybe I can belly-flop it in the desert.”
“Negat on that! Too dangerous. I can’t risk losing you.”
“Hey, if it goes south I can still eject.”
“Negat, Lee! Do not try to land it. Just point it at the ground and eject.”
Oliver heard a sigh over the radio.
“Roger that. I’ll call you in an hour or so. From Arizona.”
Leaving instructions with Miller to keep him posted, Oliver left the control tower and trudged through the snowstorm toward his office, five hundred yards away. Head down against the driving snow, he second-guessed himself all the way. If they lost that fighter, his dad would have his ass for dinner, and Oliver didn’t blame him. But what other choice was there? If the fighter crashed in a developed area their liability would be huge. And if they lost Lee Hatley, the loss to LincEnt’s expertise would be incalculable.
