The Sword of Sophia

by John Bowers

Royer pounded the table with his fist. His officers waited calmly until he cooled down.

  “What do we know about the killer?” he demanded.

  Capt. Croswell took a deep breath. “He could be one of ours,” he said.

  “What? Why do you think that?”

  “Every victim except the first one was killed with a bayonet, Confederate issue. Forensics has confirmed that in every case.”

  “What was it you said about the first one?”

  Croswell consulted his notes. “Man named Nils Jenssen. He was strangled to death. He’s the only one who didn’t die by bayonet.”

  “And,” Brandon Marlow added, “he wasn’t in the program.”

  “Then he wasn’t killed by the same man,” Royer guessed.

  “We don’t know, sir. The modi operandi were different, but the timing is suspicious—he was killed just a couple of days before the lawyer, Minore.”

  “Why is that suspicious? You just said the MO was different.”

  “Only because of the timing. Until he was found, we didn’t have any other murders on record for over a year, and the last one before that was a bar fight that got out of hand.”

  “What about fingerprints? Breath trace? Forensics?”

  “Nobody collected any forensics on the early killings. They’re civilians, and we don’t investigate civilian deaths.”

  “We’re going to start. As of right now, I want full forensics on any subsequent killings. Got that? If he’s one of ours, I want to know about it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And if he isn’t one of ours?” Lt. Rice looked up with questions in his eyes.

  “If he’s a Vegan, I want his fucking head! And I want to know how he knows about the program, how he targets his victims, where he gets his data.”

  Rice lifted his eyebrows. “Colonel, the only place that data is available is right here in this office.”

  Royer stared at him in shock, and slowly colored red as the realization sank in.

  “We have a leak in our own fucking office?” he said slowly.

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense, sir. We do have a lot of civilians working here, and most of them have access to that data. It could be any one of them.”

  “Or none of them,” Marlow put in. “Men who fuck women like to brag. It’s possible our killer got his information in a bar somewhere.”

  “You think all eleven men frequented the same bar? That seems unlikely.”

  “Yes, sir, but over a period of time they may have learned about each other—if only one of them talked out of turn, he could have given away the names of others. Personally, I’m inclined to think our killer is a civilian. A Sirian soldier wouldn’t have access to that data, unless he was SE, and only a few SE know about the program.”

  Royer nodded thoughtfully.

  “If it’s a civilian, where’d he get the bayonet? You said it’s a Confederate model.”

  “Yes, sir, but we have twenty thousand men in the city. Any one of them could have lost his blade, or had it stolen. If he failed to report it, we wouldn’t know a weapon was missing.”

  “All right.” Royer cleared his throat, less angry but still frustrated. “Major, I want you to keep on top of this problem. From this moment on, you will be in charge of the Constabulary. You will direct all crime scene investigations and you will collect all the data. I want this guy found and these killings stopped. Clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And keep me in the loop. I don’t want any more holonews stories without my approval.”

  He glanced around the room.

  “Dismissed.”

  Chairs scraped as the other men got to their feet. Royer was already out the door, striding angrily through the room to his office at the far end. His eyes roamed the Vegan women sitting at their terminals, eyes carefully avoiding his. If he ever found out one of them was leaking data from this office, he would have the bitch raped and shot!

  “Kristensen! In my office, right now!”

  * * *

  “Oh, goddess, I’m sore!”

  Valyn Kristensen turned carefully onto her side and laid her right arm across Erik, who lay flat on his back, propped up by two pillows. He squeezed her gently and kissed her on the forehead.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “It’s not your fault,” she moaned. “Colonel Royer has been all over me ever since he got back from his trip, but today was the worst. I think he was angry about something, and he hammered me against that desk until I thought I would die! I have bruises on my stomach.”

  Erik’s jaw tightened in anger. Valyn had been vague in telling him about Royer’s abuse, but he could tell when she had been violated. She tried to bear the burden with stoicism, tried to stay upbeat, but she was gradually wearing down.

  “Colonel Royer needs to die,” he said quietly.

  “Maybe you could poison his food.”

  “What?”

  She giggled. “He always eats lunch at the same place, day after day. Liv’s Diner, on 9th Gate.”

  “Poison isn’t my style. I want to see his blood.”

  Valyn lifted her head and looked at him.

  “Erik, I was only joking. You can’t start killing Sirians! It’s much too dangerous for you!”

  “I killed a Sirian last night,” he said.

  “A civilian. That’s a little different.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. After that news report, the Vegan predators are going to be on the alert. It’s going to be a lot harder to get at them, and a lot more dangerous.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Time to switch targets.”

  “Erik, no!”

  He squeezed her again. “The prophecy says the ‘invader’ was sore vexed. The invader is Sirius, not Vega. So far I’ve been fighting our own people.”

  “Renegades. Men who’ve gone over to the other side. They’re also the enemy.”

  “I know, but I don’t think that’s what the prophecy is talking about.”

  Valyn sat up, letting the sheet fall. She gazed down at him.

  “I’m not sure about this prophecy anymore,” she said. “Just because some young priestess thinks you’re the sword of Sophia doesn’t make it true.”

  “Ingrid Klaussen quoted the same prophecy to me,” he said. “She looked straight into my eyes and repeated it word for word. We weren’t even talking about the Scroll. She said it right out of the blue.”

  “So what? You don’t even believe in Sophia anymore.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe I should start.”

  She bent over and kissed him, then sat up again.

  “And maybe you should stop,” she suggested. “Stop killing, before they catch you.”

  “Who says they’re going to catch me?”

  “They always catch you, if they want to. The only reason they haven’t caught you yet is because they weren’t looking. They have a whole army, Erik! You’re just one man! If the entire Vegan Guard couldn’t stop them, what chance do you have alone?”

  “Invisibility.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  “By the way…” He pulled her down for a kiss. “You’ve got to stop feeding me names now. It’s too dangerous for you.”

  “What else can they do to me? I have an exemption.”

  “That exemption will mean exactly zero if they catch you. It doesn’t stop Colonel Royer, does it?”

  “My father is Regent.”

  Erik sat up and scooted up against the headboard.

  “If they catch you, or tie you to this in any way, they might even go after him. Make an example for all of Vega. They’re ruthless, Valyn. You of all people should know that.”

  Her eyes mirrored fear as she stared at him.

  “You think they’d kill my father?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past them. They’ll certainly cancel your exemption, maybe even your mother’s. And if they do that, they’ll have even more leverage over your
dad than they do now.” He lifted her chin with a finger. “Don’t give me any more names. And if they do catch me, you haven’t seen me since before the war.”

  She stared at him a moment, deep in thought.

  “If they come here, they’ll find your fingerprints, your breath trace.”

  He nodded. “Yes, but they probably won’t come here unless they have some reason to believe you know me.”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  “You have to stop, Erik! Stop now! Don’t give them any more reason to look for you.”

  “They’re already looking for me. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t have allowed that news story to air. It’s the first time any of this has been on the news, which means they’re pissed now.”

  “But if there are no more killings—”

  He shook his head. “I’m going to do this, Valyn. They murdered my sister, they’ve turned my brother into one of them. I lost dozens of friends in the war. I need payback.”

  “Erik—”

  He put a finger over her lips.

  “I don’t believe in the prophecy,” he said, “but a lot of other people do. If the Sword of Sophia starts taking heads, it will give those people hope.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to stop. In fact, I haven’t even started yet.”

  Chapter 20

  Wednesday, 19 March 0200 (PCC) – Reina, Vega 3

  Brandon Marlow was seated at his desk on the twenty-fifth floor, facing the window. It was dark outside, after normal working hours. Another weather front had moved in, obscuring the sky with heavy cloud, and a bitter wind whined around the building, causing the windows to thump each time a particularly heavy gust hit them. At least it wasn’t snowing yet; Brandon was getting weary of the constant cold—seasons on Vega lasted seven full months, which was nice in spring, summer, and fall, but dreary as hell in winter. He missed home. As bad as it was, Sirian Summer was a lot more tolerable than this prolonged deep-freeze. Sirian Summer only lasted a few weeks and the rest of the year was fairly pleasant.

  Brandon’s office was dim, only the night lights burning. Outside the windows the city blazed with light, all the more spectacular because of the darkened sky. He was reviewing Constabulary reports on the serial killer—he was certain that’s what they were dealing with—when, in one blinding instant, his office glared bright as day.

  “Shit!” He jerked his head away as the white light flared briefly, then died as quickly as it came. Brandon dropped to the floor in near panic, spots dancing before his eyes. Had someone set off a nuke in the city?

  But there was no blast wave, no scorching heat. After six or seven seconds he realized it was something else, and got clumsily to his feet. Staring out the window, blinking to restore his focus, he saw a fire raging in the distance, less than a mile away. A ghostly roil of flame still climbed skyward, a tiny mushroom, but it was dissipating fast, and was gone almost before he identified it. He’d seen that kind of mushroom before, on the battlefield.

  Plasma.

  * * *

  Fire units were arriving even as Brandon Marlow set his hovercar down half a block from the scene and jumped out. He stared in dismay at towering flames that leaped up the side of a department store; so far that was the only building involved, but if the firemen didn’t move quickly the fire would spread. Two hover choppers were already in the air, surveying the scene. Bandon walked forward, pushing through a growing crowd of civilians who had come out to see the spectacle.

  A single constable was there, looking helpless as he watched the action.

  “What happened here?” Brandon asked him quietly.

  The constable gave a start as he recognized the ebony, but started talking quickly.

  “Not exactly sure, sir. Looks like the military checkpoint was taken out, but aside from the fire that seems to be the only damage.” He pointed. “Except for those trees in the park.” Two tall pines were also shooting flames skyward, but were almost consumed. The trees were spaced widely enough that the fire didn’t look likely to spread.

  Brandon walked toward the smoldering remains of the guard shack. This was one of dozens of checkpoints that ringed the downtown area; anyone who wished to enter the financial district had to pass through them, but this one had been obliterated. Brandon saw two corpses lying prone, almost consumed by the heat.

  “Any other casualties?” he asked the constable, who had followed him.

  “No, sir, not yet. Fortunate it happened when it did—just an hour ago this street was crowded with people.”

  “Yeah, fortunate.” Or planned. The stink of roasted flesh almost made him gag.

  Brandon walked the perimeter of the blast. The perimeter was easy to identify because the sidewalk had melted from the heat, and beyond that the grass in the park had turned to ash. He stayed out of the blast area itself because he didn’t want to disturb any evidence—let the experts deal with that.

  “I assume your disaster people are coming?” he asked the constable.

  “Yes, sir. I called them first thing. They should be here any minute.”

  “Good. I want everything collected. Everything. Did you see anything?”

  “No, sir, I was two blocks over. What do you think caused it, sir?”

  Brandon turned to reply. Before he could open his mouth another flash lit the sky, this one to the north; an instant later a third flash, a good mile south of the second. Simultaneous detonations, almost certainly, he thought, triggered by remote control. For just a moment the dark clouds reflected bluish-white, then the glows faded. Brandon stared as the little mushrooms ascended and burned themselves out. His heart began to race; he stood with his mouth open, his face numb. He waited for a fourth explosion, but it didn’t come.

  “If you repeat this,” he said quietly, “I’ll have you shot. But to answer your question…”

  He looked into the constable’s eyes.

  “We have ourselves a terrorist.”

  * * *

  “We have to report this, Edgar!” Erika Sebring leaned over Steinbach’s desk, her palms flat on the surface. He gazed in wonder at her cleavage.

  “I have to get an okay from Croswell,” he gulped.

  “Then get it! This is huge news! Half the city saw the explosions! Vega HoloNews will run with it!”

  “Not without SE clearance they won’t. They have to go through Croswell too.”

  “Then get to him before they do! I’ve got the report ready! Let’s do it!”

  He looked undecided for a moment, then looked up into her eyes.

  “I will,” he said, “but you have to do something for me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Relax your stupid moral code for just five minutes and take your turn across my desk.”

  Erika straightened up, flushed with rage.

  “You impotent little cocksucker!” she shouted. “Is that all you think about? You already have your pick of the office! You fuck Kelly three times a day!”

  He stood up abruptly, his own face flushing red.

  “Hardly impotent!” he shouted right back, “or I wouldn’t be talking about it!”

  “Do you think putting this story on the air gives you leverage over me? Are you that stupid? It’s your job on the line if ratings don’t improve, not mine! And the people killed last night were Sirians! I’d think you would care about that!”

  “Five minutes, Erika! Please! You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I did give you your job back. I even got you the back pay.”

  “You had no choice. Major Marlow has you treed.”

  “I would’ve done it anyway,” he whined. “That’s the kind of man I am.”

  “Good goddess on the mountain top! Give me a break!”

  She turned for the door, reached it, and looked back.

  “Kill the story, Edgar, if you’re that dumb. Why the hell do I care anyway?”

  She opened the door and walked out.

  * * *

  FADE IN

  EXT – MILI
TARY CHECKPOINT – DAY

  Erika Sebring stands in front of the wreckage left by the first explosion. Behind her, across the street, a department store has been badly damaged by fire.

  Erika Sebring

  Vegan and Confederate authorities are sifting through the ashes this morning, trying to determine what caused three devastating explosions that rocked the city around eight o’clock last night. No one is saying for certain what kind of explosive was used, but some who have served in the military think if was some sort of plasma device. At least nine Confederate sentries were killed, and the number of civilian deaths is still unknown.

  Both the Vegan Constabulary and the Sirian Elite Guards are asking for the public’s help—anyone who has information that might lead to the identification of the person responsible is encouraged to call the number on your screen.

  From downtown Reina, I’m Erika Sebring, Royal Holo News.

  FADE OUT

  * * *

  Erik Norgaard caught the newscast on his lunch hour at NordTek. Men had been buzzing about the explosions all day, offering a variety of opinions and speculation about who was behind it, and what it all meant. He sat eating a sausage sandwich as Erika Sebring reported from the holo-screen on the wall. He kept a straight face, though his blood was racing. When the report was finished, men began talking over each other.

  “It’s probably the Sirians doing it,” one man suggested. “They’re always looking for an excuse to crack down even harder. This gives it to them.”

  “Would they kill their own people?” someone else responded.

  “How do we know anyone was killed?” the first man said. “We only have their word for it.”

  “It wasn’t a Vegan,” a third man decided. “A Vegan would have been careful not to kill civilians.”

  “How do you know? Plenty of Vegans are turning rogue these days.”

  “We don’t even know civilians were killed,” Erik spoke up. “They said the number of civilian dead was ‘unknown’. Maybe there weren’t any.”

  “Then why would they say there were?”

  “So the population would think they’re in danger. If the only dead are Sirians, nobody would care.”

  “Good point. What I’m wondering…”

  The talk roamed aimlessly until lunch break was over, then everyone returned to work.