The Sword of Sophia

by John Bowers

  “Then tell me, Ingrid. Please, tell me his name.”

  She blinked at him for several seconds, her lips pressed together. Erik felt suddenly pinned by that direct gaze, as he had at the temple four nights earlier.

  “But in that day, Sophia sent a sword, a sword of justice, and the invader was torn asunder,” Ingrid said.

  Erik was stunned. Electricity seemed to flow through his body, and for a moment he couldn’t move. Then the light faded from her eyes, and she looked at the floor.

  “His name is Nils Jenssen,” she said.

  * * *

  Birgitt Norgaard always felt bit of trepidation when someone called at the door—it could be anyone. Even with a full exemption, she was nervous, because laws could and sometimes did change.

  She wasn’t prepared for the face she saw on her doorstep. The woman was tall, about thirty, with long blond hair and silver eyes. Birgitt’s mouth dropped open in shock.

  “Mrs. Norgaard? I don’t know if you remember me. My name is—”

  “Erika Sebring! Sweet Sophia, we thought you were dead!”

  The blond woman smiled tentatively, perhaps a little nervously.

  “Come in! Please, come in!” Birgitt practically dragged her into the house and closed the door. “Sit down. Here, at the table. Can I get you anything? Some smoked fish?”

  Erika fumbled with her purse, but shook her head.

  “Thank you, I’m fine. I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday—”

  “Oh, it’s no bother. Let me make some tea. At least that much. We can visit.”

  Erika nodded quietly. “Of course.”

  Birgitt got the teapot going and dropped into a kitchen chair facing her guest. Her heart was still tripping at sight of the long-lost newswoman. Her sudden reappearance after five years was both thrilling and terrifying; thrilling because Erika had survived the war, but terrifying because her own daughter, Jacquje Norgaard, had been with Erika when she disappeared. A feeling of dread slowly rose up in her chest—they had long suspected that Jacquje was dead, but it had never been confirmed. Maybe it was better not to know for sure.

  “Tell me, Erika. Where have you been all this time? You disappeared just a few days after the invasion.”

  Erika seemed nervous, jittery.

  “I was captured on the Southern Plain,” she said quietly. “I spent a year as a military slave here on Vega, and then they sent me to Sirius.”

  “Sirius? Goddess! I didn’t think anyone ever came back from there!”

  “They don’t,” Erika said bluntly. “Mine is a special case. It’s so bizarre that I can’t quite believe it myself.”

  “When did you get back?”

  “Just a few days ago. Mrs. Norgaard, I wanted to come and see you sooner, but everything has been so busy…”

  “Don’t you worry about that. I understand. Your life must be in turmoil right now.”

  “Yes, it has been. But yesterday I got some information that I had to share with you. Actually it’s better that I waited…”

  “Is it about Jacquje?”

  Erika stared at her a moment, pain in her eyes. She only nodded.

  “Is she…dead?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Norgaard. I’m sorry.”

  Birgitt’s lips compressed slightly; she never took her eyes off Erika’s face.

  “We suspected,” she said after a moment. “She never came home; we called the network, but they had lost contact with you both—they didn’t know anything.”

  “It was crazy down there,” Erika told her. “We were trying to find out what the Sirians were doing, but we had to dodge the Sirians in order to get the story.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “We were on our way back when it happened. We ran into some soldiers—literally ran into them—and they…” She blinked back tears of memory. “Well, you don’t want to know those details. But for whatever reason, they killed Jacquje and didn’t kill me. I don’t know why I survived and she didn’t. I wish I knew.”

  Birgitt placed a hand over the younger woman’s hand. “Don’t you go feeling guilty because of that,” she said quietly. “Sophia is in charge. She has a plan. You were spared for some higher purpose.”

  Erika sniffed. “I’d like to believe that.”

  “Believe it. I’m just grateful that one of you survived; at least now we know what happened.”

  The teapot began to whistle and Birgitt leaped up. She poured the water into a clay pot and dropped in tea leaves to steep. She sat down again.

  “Yesterday,” Erika continued, “…well, it’s a long story. But yesterday I found out where Jacquje is buried. I thought you’d like to know.”

  * * *

  Erik had been home a little more than a month. He’d been fairly busy during that time, meeting his brother, meeting old friends, finding a job, and working. He had also toured the city a few times and got a feel for how things were, but hadn’t spent much time researching the new laws and how they affected him. For example, he was pretty sure he would be in deep shit if he attacked a Confederate soldier or other Sirian, but apparently he could safely rape a Vegan woman as long as she didn’t have an exemption card. What he didn’t know was what would happen if he murdered a Vegan citizen.

  There were two ways to find out—one was to ask a consty; the other was more direct.

  He didn’t see any consties.

  He remembered Nils Jenssen well enough. Nils was one of the dads who showed up at school events when Erik was growing up. Erik had known his kids, had gone to school with them for years. They hadn’t been close friends, but he’d never had any quarrel with them.

  He knew the neighborhood where Jenssen lived, less than a mile from his own house. It was modest and comfortable, another of those tree-lined avenues perfect for raising a family. It was tragic that Jenssen’s family had been taken from him, every bit as tragic as the horror that had overtaken the entire planet. Thousands of other families had suffered similar losses, and thousands more would still do so. A lot of married men were now single, their wives lost to the slave trade, but most of them didn’t take their sorrow out on some innocent girl.

  Nils Jenssen had.

  In prewar Vega he would have been tried and executed for what he’d done. By taking advantage of the Confederacy’s casual attitude toward rape, he had dishonored his entire family and made their sacrifice worthless. Erik had no pity for him.

  Jenssen was home when Erik found the address, and answered the door. It was already dark but Erik hardly felt the cold. He was burning with anger, and it took an effort to keep the tremor out of his voice as he introduced himself.

  Jenssen remembered him.

  “Oh, yeah, sure. You’re Karl’s boy! Come in! How’ve you been?”

  Erik stepped inside and wiped his feet on the mat. Jenssen closed the door.

  “Can I offer you a drink? I only have Nektar.”

  “No, thanks. I won’t stay long.”

  Erik gazed at the older man, his eyes missing nothing. Jenssen had gone to seed. His eyes were watery, his hair shaggy, and he hadn’t shaved in days. Erik could smell the alcohol on him—he must have been drinking all day.

  “Take a seat!” Jenssen said, eager for company. “Tell me about yourself.”

  Erik settled into a chair. “I ran into an old friend today. She told me about your wife. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Jenssen stared at him in surprise. He’d been ready to visit, and right off the bat Erik brought up his most painful memory. He blinked once or twice, then dropped onto his couch. He sat nodding slowly, but found no words.

  “I’m sorry about your sons, too,” Erik said evenly. “I hear they were killed in battle. I lost a lot of good friends too.”

  Jenssen cleared his throat. “I guess—I guess you were out there too?”

  Erik nodded. “From the day it started until the day it ended.”

  Jenssen nodded but didn’t reply.

  “My friend said someone killed your daughter, too, but didn’t
give any details.”

  Jenssen’s eyes closed tightly. He lowered his head.

  “Some Sirian son of a bitch took her. I don’t know what all he did to her, but she never came back. They found her body a month later.”

  The other man shook with sobs. Erik took a deep breath and waited. He wanted Jenssen alert for what he had to say. It took a minute or more. Jenssen got himself under control again and wiped his eyes. He looked up.

  “Sorry. I thought I was over it.”

  “You’ll never be over it,” Erik told him. “Not completely.”

  Jenssen blew his nose. “I guess not.” He put the handkerchief away. “Who told you all this?”

  “Ingrid Klaussen.”

  Nils Jenssen sat frozen for several moments, his eyes glazing slightly. His lips parted as he registered the rage in Erik’s eyes.

  “Why did you come here?” he asked quietly.

  “I think you know why. If not, you can guess.”

  “Oh goddess! I should have realized. You never came here before. I barely remembered you.”

  “Funny you should invoke the goddess,” Erik said. “You said Sophia had to pay.”

  Jenssen clasped his hands together, began wringing them unconsciously.

  “I barely remember what happened, Erik. It was like a nightmare.”

  “It was sure as hell a nightmare for Ingrid. She still hasn’t got over it. I don’t think she ever will.”

  “I’m sorry for what I did. She didn’t deserve that.”

  “No, she didn’t.” Erik stood up. “But saying you’re sorry doesn’t fix anything. The penalty for rape is death.”

  Nils Jenssen looked suddenly old, pitiful. If not for Ingrid Klaussen, Erik might have felt sorry for him. He remained seated, looking up. He nodded slowly.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Your bill is way past due.”

  Jenssen lowered his gaze and stared at nothing for a moment, his eyes losing focus. He nodded again.

  “I never had the courage to do it myself.” He looked up again. “Will you do it for me?”

  Erik nodded grimly.

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  Chapter 15

  Saturday, 22 February, 0200 (PCC) – Reina, Vega 3

  The night seemed colder than before. Erik walked along the bank of the Queen River, keeping to the footpath. No one was out at this hour; clouds had gathered again and the wind on his neck had a bitter feel. He wrapped his thin jacket more tightly and strolled with his head down.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d killed a man—far from it. But before tonight, everyone he’d killed had been dedicated to killing him. Two or three times he’d dispatched a wounded enemy, men too badly hurt to defend themselves, but they were invaders. It might be against the rules of civilized warfare, if there was such a thing, but he had never felt bad about it for long. Tonight was a little different.

  Actually he didn’t feel bad as much as he felt morose over the whole sordid affair. Killing Nils Jenssen didn’t solve anything, or make restitution. Jenssen’s death would not un-rape Ingrid Klaussen or restore her to her previous state, but it was a fair punishment for what the man had done. Jenssen himself had known that. The penalty was fair under pre-war Vegan law, and well deserved. Erik had only been the instrument of execution.

  With no destination in mind, and in no hurry to get there, Erik walked slowly, almost aimlessly. The cold was invigorating. A light snow began to fall and the air turned freezing. It stung his face.

  His path took him by the Temple of Sophia, a hundred yards to his left. As he continued on the footpath, the temple towered majestically into the freezing night, brilliantly lighted in spite of the snow, which swirled faster by the minute. The sight of it reminded him of the youthful priestess, and what she had said to him. Sophia has seen your path. Go, and fulfill your destiny.

  What the hell did that mean?

  She’d been babbling about the prophecy of Sophia’s sword, a passage he barely remembered. Whatever had triggered that remained a mystery in his mind.

  But it had been downright spooky when Ingrid had repeated the same passage to him just a few hours ago. He had no idea what to make of it, except that maybe the local water was contaminated. He shook his head in wonder and continued walking.

  Ten minutes later he spotted the River Pub, its lights dim through the dusting snow. He wasn’t really in the mood for Confederate companionship, but it would be nice to get in out of the cold, maybe have a beer.

  It might also provide a nice alibi, if he needed one.

  The same bartender was on duty. He slid a beer toward Erik and took his money.

  “Third time you’ve been in here,” he said quietly. “You got a death wish or something?”

  Erik shook his head. “War’s over. That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

  The man shook his head and walked away. Erik sipped his beer. The place was noisier than usual, more crowded, the laughter more drunken—it was Saturday night. Erik’s eyes roamed the room, recording faces, counting bodies. Some soldiers were milling about, engaging in horseplay, so he couldn’t be sure, but it looked like at least a hundred men, maybe more, and at least thirty Vegan women. Several of the girls were partially nude, letting the soldiers paw them. At one table a couple was actively having sex while everyone else ignored them.

  “Well, well, look at this,” a voice said from his side. “It’s the religious freak. You came back.”

  Erik glanced to his left and saw the same bar girl who had approached him on his first visit. What was her name…? Sallje.

  “Did you come back to apologize?” she asked with a cynical smile.

  “Apologize for what?”

  “For insulting me. You did call me a whore, you know.”

  “I did not. The sergeant called you that. You need to work on your memory.”

  She tilted her head and slid a little closer to him.

  “I’m willing to forgive you,” she said coyly, “if you’ll buy me a beer.”

  He studied her face for a moment. She had large brown eyes and a sexy, pouting mouth, but he wasn’t seduced by her looks. Valyn was much prettier—as beautiful as they all were, some Vegan women were just better looking better than others.

  “I will,” he said, “but before I do, let’s understand each other—your seduction routine isn’t going to work on me, so save your energy.”

  Her eyebrows floated a little higher. “You don’t want to fuck?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Then what’s the point? Why bother to buy me a beer?”

  “Because you asked for one. And I might enjoy talking to you.”

  For just a moment the hardness faded from her eyes and the tip of her tongue slipped out to moisten her lips. She reached out and straightened the collar of his jacket.

  “You know what, religious freak? I think that’s the nicest thing anybody has said to me in a long time.”

  They found an unoccupied table near the back wall. It was dim and smoky, and uncomfortably warm—a giant fireplace was only six feet away, and it was roaring.

  Sallje drank her beer down an inch and studied Erik’s face, interest in her eyes.

  “So what’s your story, religious freak? You said before that you were a prisoner of war.”

  Erik nodded. “For three years. Before that I was Regular Guard.”

  “Did you see a lot of action?”

  “Enough for a lifetime. What about you? What was it like for civilians?”

  “Scary. There were all these conflicting news reports about the fighting, but it was hard to follow. I don’t think anybody outside the military really knew what was going on.”

  “Same for us. We only knew what was happening right in front of us. There was no ‘big picture’ for the guys on the ground. Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  She smiled quietly. “It’s okay. So…what was it like? I can only speak for myself, of course, and my family. I have three sisters
younger than me, and it was terrifying. We kept hearing rumors of slave transports and women being raped. Nobody knew what to believe, and everybody hoped it wasn’t true…but we were afraid that it was true. During the second year we started to run out of things. Food got really expensive, and suddenly you couldn’t get other things, like toilet paper and toothpaste…

  “Everybody was praying for victory.” She laughed. “Hell, I don’t even believe in the goddess, and I was praying! My younger sisters were still in school and they were recording letters for Guardsmen. They had lists of names and they would address them to specific soldiers, to encourage them.” Her brow furrowed in pain. “My youngest sister sent four different letters before one of them got to someone who hadn’t already been killed. Every one she sent before that came back as ‘undeliverable, killed in action’.”

  She took a deep, shaky breath, unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

  “We heard stories of long battles, bloody battles…”

  “Those were true.”

  She nodded. “But then another town would fall, another city was captured. They kept getting closer.”

  “What happened when it was over?” he asked. “When they finally got here?”

  “Reina looked like a ghost town. They entered the city in convoys, completely unopposed, thousands of them, and not a soul was on the street. Nobody came out for three or four days, until they started issuing edicts over the comm sets. Suddenly you could buy food again, and the stores were filled with everything. It was like the Goddess Festival—the Sirians were our salvation.” She grimaced. “At least that’s what they wanted us to think.”

  Erik took a deep swallow of beer and glanced around the pub. He saw the outer door swing open, and Sgt. Jeff Kilburn came in. Erik returned his focus to Sallje.

  Sallje lit a cigarette. She noticed the look in Erik’s eyes and explained.

  “I didn’t smoke until I started working here. The soldiers got me hooked.

  “Anyway, we found out about the rape first hand. The first time she tried to go shopping my mother got stopped at one of those checkpoints and two soldiers teamed up on her. About a month later the lady next door got selected for slavery…and she was over fifty!”