by John Bowers
God damn, being a decision maker could be a bitch!
He reached the Tower, a five-story building that housed LincEnt’s executive offices, and took the stairs to the top floor. His dad had the big office, the one overlooking the plant and runway; he turned into his own, a much smaller space that overlooked the garbage bins and storage sheds. To his surprise, Rosemary was inside, with the boys.
“Hey!” He pulled off his coat, shook the snowflakes off, and hung it on a peg. “What’re you doing here?”
Rosemary smiled and gave him a quick kiss.
“We were shopping in Denver,” she said. “We were headed home, but the weather got so bad I turned in here. I didn’t want to risk that mountain road, even in a hovercar.”
“Good thinking.” He gave her a hug and turned to the boys. Brad, age three, was looking out the window, a faraway look in his eyes. Johnny, not quite two, sat on the floor against the wall, his legs crossed, swinging a toy aircraft in a circle over his head. He saw Oliver and smiled, his eyes lighting up.
“Airpane!” he shouted, and shoved it out for Oliver to see.
“Yep, sure is. How you doing there, kid?’
“Airpane!”
Oliver turned to Brad, tousled his hair, and settled in his desk chair. Brad didn’t move.
“What a day!” Oliver sighed, and told Rosemary about the emergency. She sat across from his desk, concern in her eyes.
“What’s Lee going to do?”
“I told him to eject in the desert, if he can. He’s on his way now, said he’d check back in an hour. Miller will let me know.”
“So you just have to sit here and wait?”
“Yeah, that’s about it. I could use a drink, but this is probably not a good time.”
Rosemary was silent a moment. “Well, we should get out of your hair. Do you think we could use one of the VIP quarters for a few hours? If this weather doesn’t let up we may be stuck here until tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Good idea. Check with Mrs. Waterbury outside, she’ll give you a key.”
“Okay. You’ll join us?”
“I will, just as soon as this situation is resolved.”
Oliver was waiting on pins and needles. He wished his dad were here—he might have another solution, or at least confirm Oliver’s decision. The decision—and the indecision—was eating him alive.
His desk phone buzzed. He jumped at it.
“Yes?”
It wasn’t Miller in the control tower. It was Elaine Waterbury, the executive secretary.
“Oliver there’s a call for you on two. It’s a subspace from Vega 3.”
Oliver was electrified. “Vega!”
“That’s what it says. Do you know a Major Marlow?”
Oliver felt weak. He hadn’t heard a word from Vega since coming home from there three years earlier.
“Oh, my god!” he moaned. “Yes, I do. Thanks, I’ll take it.”
“It’s voice only.”
“Got it.”
As he punched the button to connect the call, Oliver felt dizzy. Major Marlow?
“This is Oliver Lincoln,” he said into the headset, “the third.”
“Oliver Lincoln the third!”
Oliver recognized the voice instantly. Brandon Marlow had been his roommate at UF Berkeley during his sophomore year. They had hooked up later on Sirius, when Oliver visited the Marlow plantation, and again on Vega 3 during the war. He could hear the grin in Brandon’s voice, could see it in his mind, as if his old friend were sitting across the desk from him.
“What’s this ‘Major Marlow’ shit?” Oliver demanded, laughing. “Did you get promoted or something?”
“I sure did.”
“This isn’t a collect call, is it?”
Brandon laughed from twenty-six light years away.
“No, not this time. I’m phoning courtesy of the Sirian Elite Guards.”
“Still in the SE.” Oliver wasn’t happy about that, but he and Brandon had never seen eye to eye on politics.
“Yes, I am. And before you get on your moral high-horse again, I have some news for you.”
“Good news, I hope.”
“Definitely good news. Erika Sebring is back on Vega.”
Unexpectedly, tears sprang to Oliver’s eyes. “You got her?”
“I got her. She’s been cooling her heels at my plantation for the last three years, but she’s home now, safe and sound. Even got her old job back. With five years’ back pay.”
“God, that’s wonderful! How did you manage that?”
“I didn’t manage it. She did. That girl has fire in her blood.”
Oliver closed his eyes and let the joy flow through him. For close to five years he’d lived under a burden of guilt over Erika Sebring. It had been his selfishness that placed her in harm’s way, and when the inevitable happened, he’d been too weak to protect her. There’d been three of them in the car that day, when they collided with the Sirian troop transport—Jacquje Norgaard hadn’t survived the encounter; she’d been murdered by a Confederate sergeant—but Erika had been taken as a slave, and Oliver had thought of her at least once a day ever since it happened. The relief he felt now was beyond description.
“Brandon, I can never thank you enough.”
“Yes you can. I’ll be sending you an itemized list of expenses. I expect payment in full.”
“You’ll get it. Just don’t cheat me.”
Brandon laughed. “As if you’d be able to tell! Don’t worry, old buddy, I got a lot of satisfaction out of doing this. Now, one more thing—Erika wanted me to thank you, and ask if you know where the other girl is buried.”
“Jacquje Norgaard?”
“Yeah, the cam girl. Erika wants to notify her family.”
Oliver sat in thought for a moment, trying to remember. It took a few seconds to dredge up the name of the town, and he relayed it to Brandon.
“It was a small country cemetery about six miles south of the village,” he said. “There was a temple in the middle of it. There should be a headstone.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll pass that along. Look, I gotta go, Ollie. The SE will probably make me pay for this out of my own pocket, so I better keep the cost down.”
“Thanks for calling, Brandon. Tell Erika I am so sorry about everything. I really mean that.”
“I already told her. As far as she’s concerned, you’re forgiven. Now you just need to forgive yourself.”
Oliver nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe now I can do that.”
“You’d better, or I’ll have to come all the way to Terra and kick your ass.”
“Brandon, before you disconnect, can you do me a favor?”
“Sure. Anything.”
“Since the war I haven’t been able to call anyone on Vega. The planet doesn’t take subspace calls from this part of the galaxy.”
“Sorry, that’s above my pay grade. That decision was made in New Birmingham.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. Look, there was another girl I never told you about. She was a member of my squad, and she was killed the night I was captured. I’ve been wanting to notify her family and let them know what happened, but I could never get through.”
“I can take care of that for you. Do you have the name of a relative?”
Friday, 21 February, 0200 (PCC) – Reina, Vega 3
Adam Pedersen was straightening up his desk in preparation for going home. It was Friday afternoon, quitting time, and he looked forward to the weekend. He had promised to take Marie and Sonja to Sophiastad for an arts festival tomorrow; he already had the travel passes arranged.
As he slipped into his overcoat and reached to turn out the lights, his desk phone chirped.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Pedersen, Major Marlow of the SE is here to see you.”
As always, when faced with the SE, Adam’s blood pressure rose several points. But who was Maj. Marlow? Adam’s military liaison was Maj. Buckner.
“Send him in.”
The door slid open a moment later and a tall, broad shouldered man stepped through. Adam didn’t recognize him, and wondered what this was about. Could there be a problem with the last shipment of munitions?
“Adam Pedersen?” The man gazed directly at him, his face neutral, his voice a solid, confident baritone.
“Yes. Can I help you?”
“Take a seat, Mr. Pedersen. I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”
Still wearing the overcoat, Adam returned to his desk and pulled out his chair. He settled carefully into it, his nerves singing. This sounded serious.
The ebony-clad Major stood in front of the desk and gazed steadily at him.
“Do you know a man named Oliver Lincoln III?”
Adam reacted without thinking, his eyes growing wide and his mouth dropping open. He nodded.
“Yes. It’s been several years, but I met him just before the invasion.”
“I spoke to him this afternoon—”
“Oliver is alive?”
“Yes. You probably know that he was unable to get off the planet when the invasion started. What else do you know about that?”
Pedersen shook his head uncertainly.
“We had dinner the night before the attack; he was scheduled to leave the next day, but the attack came during the night. I never knew what happened to him.”
Maj. Marlow pulled a chair toward him and settled into it. Crossing his legs, he took the time to light a cigarette and foul the air in Pedersen’s office. Pedersen watched in silent disapproval.
“Oliver and I are old friends,” the Major told him. “We met in college, when I studied on Terra. To keep a long story short, he’s a sentimental fool. When the attack came and he found himself stranded here, he took the Vegan side and joined the Guard.”
Adam Pedersen gasped. He’d known that Oliver was partisan to Vega, but this was news.
“He wound up fighting in the Sophia Alps, against the Confederacy. He was eventually wounded, captured, and repatriated home. He’s now safe in Colorado building combat fighters for the Federation.”
Adam sighed in relief and nodded.
“Thank the goddess for that. I only knew him a week, but I liked him. He was an honorable man.”
“Yes, he is.” Marlow blew more smoke. “I talked to Oliver a few hours ago by subspace,” he said. “He gave me your name and asked me to give you a message.”
Pedersen tensed in anticipation.
“Toward the end of Oliver’s military service, there was a girl assigned to his squad as a replacement. Her name was Olga Pedersen.”
Adam gasped again as chills ran through his body. His scalp tingled and for a moment he thought his heart would stop.
“Olga? My…sister?”
Marlow nodded. “Oliver tried to contact you several times after he got home, but as you may know, the Confederacy doesn’t allow incoming calls from the Federation to Vega 3.”
“Yes, I am aware of that.”
“In case you were never notified, Oliver wants you to know that your sister was killed in action on May 2nd, 0196. He was with her when she died. He asked me to tell you that she was his best rifleman, and she served with honor.”
Adam Pedersen compressed his lips as tears flowed silently down his cheeks. He had been virtually certain that Olga was dead, but there had always been the possibility she had been captured and enslaved. Given the two options, he had hoped she was dead. Now he knew for certain, and could put his grief to rest.
He nodded quietly. “Thank you for coming to see me, Major.”
“You can thank Oliver Lincoln.” Marlow stood and pushed the chair back into place. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Chapter 14
Saturday, 22 February, 0200 (PCC) – Reina, Vega 3
The apartment house sat on a quiet street on Reina’s North End. It was an older neighborhood, quiet and tree-lined, but shabby. Most of the residents were retired people, a number of the apartments were for the elderly. Erik found the one he was looking for on the third floor. The hallway was poorly lighted and smelled musty; the walls looked grungy, the carpet frayed. He had to ring twice before he got a response.
“Who is it?” The voice from within was muffled, subdued.
“Erik Norgaard,” he said.
A moment of silence followed.
“Erik?” So quietly he barely heard.
“Let me in, Ingrid. I want to see you.”
“I don’t take visitors, Erik. Please go away. Sophia’s tears.”
Erik rapped on the door with his knuckles. “I’m not leaving until I see you. Open the door, Ingrid.”
“Erik, please!” He heard tears in her voice.
“I’m not leaving. Don’t force me to make a scene.”
Another long pause, then he heard the lock click. The door slid open an inch and she peered out at him. He might not have recognized her if he didn’t already know who she was. She looked pale, drawn…old.
He pushed the door aside and stepped through. She stepped back, clutching a shawl at her throat. She was twenty-six years old, but acted eighty. He closed the door and took a step toward her. She backed away.
“Please don’t touch me!” she whispered. “I’m sorry, but I can’t bear to be touched.”
Erik nodded and moved into the living room. She followed, slowly. He looked around at the furnishings; they were as shabby as the rest of the building, styles from another era. The room was dim, the drapes closed. He felt as if he were in a mortuary.
“How long have you been living here?” he asked.
“How long?” She moved slowly, anciently, toward an overstuffed couch where she sat down. “Ever since…”
“Valyn told me what happened. I hadn’t heard. I’m sorry.”
“Valyn?”
“Valyn Kristensen. We were at Temple the other night, and she told me.”
“I remember Valyn. How is she?”
“She’s fine.”
“And you? I thought you were dead.”
“Not quite. I spent three years in prison camp.”
“I’m glad. I’m glad you’re alive.”
He gazed at her for a long moment.
“Why are you living like this, Ingrid? What happened was terrible, but it’s no reason to stop living.”
She stared back at him out of haunted eyes. She looked almost like a ghost. Slowly she removed the shawl, which had covered her head, and he saw that her hair had been chopped short, barely down to her ears. It had no style, no contour, just ragged ends which pointed in all directions. Erik remembered her from years earlier, when her golden hair had been her crowning glory, swinging almost to her waist. She had been a darling among darlings.
“Yes it is,” she whispered. “My life ended that night. It would have been better if he killed me.”
“Ingrid—”
“I was a priestess, Erik! I already took my final vows! I had to remain a virgin for life, or forfeit immortality! And he took it from me! He murdered me!”
Erik leaned forward, his eyes narrowed.
“Who was it, Ingrid? Do you know his name?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’ll never be punished for it. The Sirians don’t care. Not even the Constabulary cares.”
“I care. Who was it? Valyn told me it was a Vegan.”
Ingrid Klaussen nodded. “Yes.”
“Tell me his name. Please.”
“Why? What good will it do?”
“Because I want to know.”
She stared at him a long time without answering. Silent tears slid down her cheeks.
“Don’t do this, Erik.”
“Don’t do what?”
“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”
“What makes you say that?”
“It’s in your eyes. Erik, you’re a good man. You’ve always been good. Don’t throw away your soul because of this.”
“What about your soul?”
“It’s already gone. I have no redemption.”
“I don’t believe that. If Sophia is a loving goddess, she has to make exceptions for things beyond your control. You didn’t ask to be raped.”
“I’ve been to seminary. I’ve studied this stuff. I know.”
He shook his head. “If you really believed that, you would have taken your own life. But you’re still here, because deep down you know it isn’t true. What’s his name?”
“What will you do if I tell you?”
“I’ll follow him. I’ll become his friend. I’ll talk him into doing something that will bring the SE down on his head. I’ll frame him if I have to. I won’t let him get away with what he did to you.”
She lowered her head and wept.
“He’s already suffered,” she said.
“What do you mean? How has he suffered?”
“His sons were killed in the war. Then his wife was taken into slavery and someone killed his daughter. He was left with nothing. He lost his whole family.”
“How does that excuse what he did to you?”
“It doesn’t excuse it, it only explains it. He was bitter, angry. He said Sophia had betrayed him. He said Sophia had to pay.”
“Sophia had to pay?”
She nodded and looked up, her eyes stark against black circles.
“He came to the temple after midnight, when it was empty. I was the priestess on duty. I came out to minister to him. I tried to comfort him, but he became more and more angry. I tried to calm him, but he began to rant. Then he attacked me and started beating me. He dragged me into the void beneath the statue…” She sobbed again, head down, shoulders shaking. Erik thought she was finished, and in any case he had the picture. But she continued.
“He raped me for hours! He was still there when the Dawn Priestess showed up. That was when he left. If she hadn’t come I think I might have died.”
Erik started to get up and sit beside her, but checked the urge—she didn’t want to be touched. Instead he clenched his hands into fists.
“The worst part?” she mumbled after the sobs died down. “He was my dad’s best friend for years. They used to do everything together. He knew me since I was a little girl. His daughter was a friend of mine; I used to sleep over at their house.”
Erik felt sick. “Does your dad know about this?”
She shook her head. “He knows I was raped, of course, but I never told him who did it.”
