by John Bowers
As Erik prepared to sit down at the assembly line, Lars Thomasen stopped next to him.
“What kind of explosion do you think it was?” he asked pointedly.
Erik shrugged. “From what I saw on the holo, it looked like plasma.”
Lars nodded. “That’s what I thought, too. How many people do you suppose have access to plasma these days?”
Erik turned and looked directly into his eyes. Lars gazed steadily back, unwavering, his expression neutral.
“Just you and me,” Erik said quietly. “And maybe a dozen other people who work here.”
Lars held his gaze for another ten seconds, then laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Whoever is behind this,” he said slowly, “I hope he’ll be careful. If he keeps it up, it could end badly for him.”
Erik nodded. “Especially if someone turns him in.”
Lars’s cheek twitched. “I don’t think that’s likely.”
He walked away.
* * *
Brandon Marlow sat in the SE conference room with Lt. Rice and stared at the holoviewer as they reviewed the surveillance chips. There were hours of video to inspect; the only reliable footage came from the three guard shacks that had been destroyed—the footage was beamed to the SE Executive Offices as it was recorded and stored on chips—but there were other cameras as well, farther away. So far none had revealed anyone approaching the checkpoints near the time of the explosions. Even with the help of filtering software, finding a suspect was going to take time.
“The plasma must have been planted sometime during the day,” Rice speculated. “Probably during the rush hour, when the street was crowded.”
“And set off later,” Brandon agreed. “Remotely.”
“Are we looking for a man or a woman?”
“Good question. I’m guessing a man, but only because thousands of ex-Guardsmen know what plasma is and how to use it.”
“But a woman could have planted it. If she’s working for a husband or boyfriend, she could plant it and he could trigger it later.”
Brandon nodded. “Possibly. But those guards look the women over pretty closely. They’re always after fresh tail, and the way women dress it would be pretty hard to hide a bomb.”
“Not in this weather. They’re all wearing heavy coats, and there could be hidden pockets. I think we should take a close look at all the women who were detained, try to identify them, and check them out. Those checkpoint guards are alert for traditional weapons, but they might not notice a plasma device.”
Rice quickly programmed a macro to isolate all women taken inside the guard shacks. On any given day, each checkpoint would be the scene of two or three sexual encounters as the young soldiers detained women who caught their fancy and took them inside for a quick liaison.
“Whatever you find, be sure to check the results from each checkpoint against the others. If we find a match, we’ve got our woman. If that doesn’t work out, get the software comparing faces from all checkpoints.”
“Right.”
“Keep me posted.”
Chapter 21
Saturday, 22 March 0200 (PCC) – Reina, Vega 3
The sun was out Saturday morning and the air was warmer than it had been in days. Most of the snow had melted by the time Erik and Valyn reached the family park across the street from the Temple of Sophia. The sky was clear but cold, the breeze fresh—a glorious winter day and a clear invitation for people to get some fresh air. It was only midmorning, but the park was filling up with families. Valyn leaned against Erik as they strolled aimlessly, her head against his shoulder.
“Where did you get the plasma?” she asked quietly.
“Found it.”
“You didn’t steal it from your job, did you?”
“Goddess, no! They inventory that stuff carefully. If anything was missing they’d lock the place down until they found it, and Mr. Pedersen would be in a world of shit.”
“Where did you find it?”
“Does it matter? What you don’t know you can’t repeat, even if they torture you.”
She shuddered. “Don’t talk about torture, please! This is scary enough already.”
He stopped walking and turned to her, pulled her against him, and kissed her cold lips.
“If any of this goes sideways,” he said, “and it might…”
“I won’t give you away, I promise.”
He shook his head. “Wrong answer. If you get pulled in, you tell them everything you know. You hear me? Everything.”
She was shocked. “Erik, they’ll kill you!”
“And if they think you’re involved, they’ll kill you.”
“If I tell them everything they’ll know I gave you names.”
“Right, but only because I asked. You didn’t know I was a terrorist.”
“Terrorist! That’s not what you are!”
“To them, that’s exactly what I am.” He gripped her shoulders. “Listen, the only thing that matters if I get caught is that you don’t pay for my crimes. You are not responsible for them and I don’t want you taking the blame.”
She gazed into his eyes a moment, and tears formed in her own.
“Erik, are we ever going to have a future together? You and me?”
He shook his head slowly, sadly, his brow furrowed with pain.
“I doubt it, Valyn. I wish we did, but I really don’t see how it’s possible.”
She closed her eyes and pressed her face into his chest. He had bought a heavier coat and it provided a thick cushion for her cheek.
“I love you, Erik.”
“I know.”
“Ahh, young love!” said a voice from behind him. “Such a wonderful thing to see.”
Erik turned in surprise at the familiar voice, and Valyn pulled back from his embrace. Adam Pedersen walked slowly toward them, smiling, his face flushed with cold. Beside him walked a beautiful woman, definitely a ten on the Vegan scale, and between them a little girl not quite two years old. Erik smiled.
“Mr. Pedersen! I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”
Pedersen and his family stopped a couple of feet away.
“Erik Norgaard, this is my wife Marie. And my daughter, Sonja.”
Erik nodded at the lovely blonde. She was the picture of Nordic perfection—not too tall, but well endowed, with stunning blue eyes, slightly wide-set, and high cheekbones. Her smiling lips were lush and sexy, her hair the color of snow; she wore it in a swirl around the top of her head.
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Pedersen.”
Marie Pedersen extended her hand, and Erik took it.
“Adam has spoken of you. The pleasure is mine.”
“Thank you. This is my friend, Valyn Kristensen. Her father is Regent Kristensen.”
Adam’s eyes narrowed but his smile remained fixed. “I thought she looked familiar,” he said, extending his hand. “I believe I’ve seen holos of the Regent’s family.”
Valyn smiled. “Those are several years old,” she said.
“Yes, but you haven’t changed all that much. You’re still just as lovely as you were then.”
Erik knelt in front of the child and smiled at her. She took a shy step back, a finger hooked in the edge of her mouth.
“And your name is Sonja?”
She stared at him with the open-eyed innocence of the toddler, glancing at various points on his face.
“I’m glad to meet you.” He stuck his finger toward her. “Want to shake fingers?”
She stared at his digit a moment, then frowned and wrapped her own tiny finger around his. They shook.
“You sure are a pretty girl,” he said, and stood up again.
“Say ‘thank you’,” Marie told her daughter.
“Think kew!” the little girl said.
“You have a beautiful family, Mr. Pedersen,” Erik told his boss.
“Thanks, Erik. And you have a gorgeous girlfriend.” He tilted his head slightly. “She is your girlfriend, I take it?�
��
Erik glanced at Valyn, who pinked with embarrassment—they had never discussed the actual terms of their relationship, though she had declared her love for him more than once. Erik grinned at her, then nodded to Pedersen.
“Yes. She is definitely my girlfriend.”
Adam nodded approval. “Good. You’re only young once. Live hard and love twice as hard. No one knows how long it will last.”
Sunday, 23 March 0200 (PCC) – Reina, Vega 3
Erik remained at home Sunday morning while his parents attended Temple services. He took the time to reflect on his next move, and whether he should even make a next move. He had three plasma mines left, and the bayonet. The mines had plastic cases and wouldn’t be detected by a weapons scan, but the bayonet was a different story. He didn’t carry it to work or anyplace else where he might get caught with it.
He spent considerable time thinking on what Valyn had said a few nights earlier. If he stopped the killing now, it was likely he would never be discovered. He could walk away and live the rest of his life without fear of capture. On the other hand, he could harass the enemy as long as his ordnance held out and make them suffer a little, throw a little fear into them for a change. The problem was, as his dad would have told him, totalitarian regimes usually retaliated against the civil population when confronted by terrorism (or what they considered terrorism). And, of course, there was no way he could continue indefinitely. Sooner or later he would make a mistake, or his luck would run out. He would be caught, and his life would be over.
Was that a risk he wanted to take? He had already risked his life in the war, and failed to stop the Sirians. What did he hope to accomplish with his present course?
He had no answers. The truth was that the thought of continuing scared the hell out of him, not only for himself, but for Valyn. The other side of that coin was that he still had three plasma mines…and it was a shame to waste them.
He was still in a dilemma when someone came to the door.
Erik opened the door, halfway expecting to find that his parents had forgotten their keys. He was more than a little surprised to see his brother standing there, in full VE uniform.
Hans laughed at the shock in Erik’s eyes.
“Aren’t you gonna let me in? It’s cold out here!”
Erik recovered and stepped back, letting the handsome young Viking inside. He closed the door and turned; Hans greeted him with a bear hug, still grinning.
“You look great, Erik! Been eating Mom’s cooking, I’m sure!”
Feeling a little giddy, Erik laughed. “Yeah. Sure beats prison food.”
“Got a job yet?”
“I do.” Erik traced the lines of Hans’s ebony uniform with a finger. “Did you get promoted or something?”
Hans shook his head.
“I’m not in VYC anymore. I’m now a lieutenant in the Vegan Elite Guards.”
Erik’s eyes widened a little. “Never heard of it.”
“It’s new, only formed a couple of months ago.”
“Military?”
“Not really. Hey, you got any beer?”
“Are you old enough for a beer?”
“Don’t make me kick your ass, now.”
Erik pulled open the nitro-cooler. “Okay, you can have a beer, but please don’t smoke in here. Birgitt doesn’t like the smell.”
“It’s a deal.”
Erik popped two beers and they moved into the living room. The fireplace had just about burned out, but Erik threw another log onto the flames. Hans settled into his dad’s favorite chair.
“Tell me about your new job!”
“Tell me about yours. You have nicer work clothes.”
Hans laughed. “Like I said, it’s not really military. More like police work. They’ve got me tracking fugitives.”
“What kind of fugitives?”
Hans waved a hand evasively. “All kinds. I don’t worry about what they’ve done, it’s my job to find them and bring them back.”
“Are you qualified for that?”
“I have a training officer. She’s really good, and I’m learning fast.”
“She?”
Hans nodded. “A Sirian woman. Ugly as hell, but smart.”
They chatted for close to an hour, keeping it light. Erik wanted to ask more questions, but knew he wouldn’t like the answers. Hans had chosen a different course, one he could never approve, but it was his brother’s life. He did note that Hans was carrying a sidearm, but didn’t ask about it.
The parents came home shortly after noon. Birgitt was ecstatic at seeing Hans again and fussed over him as if he’d returned from the dead. Karl shook his son’s hand with some reservation, pleased to see him but with a distant look in his eyes.
“So how was Temple?” Hans asked as they all settled down to a light lunch. “I haven’t been for awhile—what do they talk about these days?”
Karl cleared his throat. “The subject today was about the terrorist attacks against the Sirians,” he said.
Hans frowned. “I heard something about that. What’s it all about?”
“Where the hell have you been?” Karl demanded. “It’s all over the city!”
“I’ve been down in Soderstad for a few weeks. It wasn’t on the civilian news, but I picked up a rumor somewhere.”
“Well, some brave soul has taken it upon himself to attack some Sirian checkpoints with plasma bombs,” Karl said.
“No shit! That’s a pretty stupid thing to do.”
“Maybe so, but the Confederates are crapping their pants. There are ten times as many soldiers on the streets now than ever before, and everyone is getting searched everywhere you go. There’s an SE man at every checkpoint now.”
“Sounds pretty bad.”
Karl shrugged. “It’s inconvenient, but nobody seems to care. Everybody but the Sirians is ecstatic over it. Finally it’s the Sirians who are scared.”
Hans frowned but didn’t reply.
“What were they saying in Temple?” Erik asked, repeating the original question Hans had asked.
Karl buttered a piece of bread and began chewing it.
“Oh, the priestess was going on about the sword of Sophia. She sees the whole thing as the fulfillment of some prophecy or something. I don’t put much stock in that stuff myself, but you should’ve seen the worshippers! I’ve never seen so many tears flowing during a service. People are acting as if this guy is some kind of saint, sticking it to the enemy.”
“People are happy about it?” Hans asked.
“It was truly inspiring!” Birgitt said. “I was even crying myself.”
Erik felt his stomach knot. He gazed at Hans, who had turned pale.
“What’s wrong, Hans?”
His little brother looked up as they all turned their eyes on him. He sighed.
“I’ve been transferred to Reina barracks,” he said. “I was hoping to reestablish old friendships, but this is going to make me about as popular as dog shit.”
“What is? What are you talking about?”
“They’ll probably send me after this guy.”
They were enjoying a glass of Nektar by the fireplace when Karl asked his younger son for a favor.
“Hans, I need a travel pass to Princess Carlena County. Can you help with that?”
“Sure, Dad. Just tell me when you want to go.”
“Maybe next weekend. We found out what happened to your sister.”
Hans leaned forward, his eyes wide. “Tell me!”
Birgitt jumped in and related what Erika Sebring had told her. Before she was done, Hans’s eyes had filled with tears.
“I’ll get the travel pass,” he said. “And I’d like to go with you.”
Karl looked surprised, but pleased. “I was hoping you would. How about you, Erik?”
Erik thought quickly. Lake Francesca was on the way to Princess Carlena County. He took a moment with his answer.
“Actually…I’m not sure I’m up to visiting her grave,” he
said. “But I’ll go with you as far as Lake Francesca. I have a friend there who was wounded in the war. I’ve been wanting to visit him for a while now. You guys could drop me off and pick me up on the way back.”
“You don’t want to see Jacquje’s grave?” Birgitt looked disappointed.
Erik squinted in pain. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can handle it just yet. There’s just been too much death.”
“I understand, dear.” She laid a hand across his.
“Next Saturday then?” Hans asked.
Everyone agreed.
An hour later Hans declared he had to go. Birgitt hugged him, Karl shook his hand, and Erik walked him out to his car. On the street, Erik gave his baby brother a hug.
“Are you okay?” he inquired. “Everything working out for you?”
Hans nodded. “There’s a rough spot here and there, but yeah, things are fine.”
“There are always rough spots. You said you’re staying at a barracks somewhere?”
“Right. The VE is very small right now and we don’t have our own facilities yet. I’m staying at the infantry barracks on Nord Gate.”
“How long will you be in Reina?”
“Until they send me somewhere else. It’s sort of like being in the Guard, you don’t make those calls yourself. There’s always somebody higher up telling you what to do.”
Erik grinned. “I remember that very well.” They shook hands. “Take care of yourself. And don’t let that terrorist slip up behind you.”
Hans laughed. “Not a chance. Norma watches my back.” He saw the puzzlement in Erik’s eyes. “My training officer.”
“Ah. Got it.”
“It’s good to see you, Erik. Take care of yourself.”
Erik watched the younger Norgaard drive away…
…and made a mental note to steer clear of the Nord Gate barracks.
Chapter 22
Tuesday, 25 March 0200 (PCC) – Reina, Vega 3
Brandon Marlow woke earlier than usual and sat up, peering through the darkness of his bedroom, his eyes feeling gritty. He’d slept badly the last few days, struggling to get a lead on the terrorist. The problem was, there was nothing to grab on to. The video footage had netted nothing, no one had seen anything, and Reina was a city of two million souls—it could be any one of them. Beside him Tascha stirred, but didn’t wake. He had ridden her hard last night, working off some of his frustration, and she was worn out.
