by John Bowers
Hans stopped, and froze. The voice came from behind him, and to the right. He turned slowly. Erik had stepped out from behind a statue, fifty feet away. He was wearing a dark, heavy overcoat, thick boots, and a woolen cap. His face was in shadow, but Hans could see the gleam of his eyes, as if some spirit burned deep inside them.
“You came alone?” Erik asked. “No SE?”
Hans breathed consciously, his breath drifting away. His heart pounded in his chest.
“Those were the instructions,” he said.
Erik nodded, but didn’t move. His right arm was hanging straight down at his side. Hans thought, but couldn’t be sure, he saw the shape of a pistol in his hand.
“So what do we do now, Erik? I’m here, just like you asked.”
“We’re going to end it.” Erik’s voice was quiet, but in the stillness around them, in the cold air, it carried as if amplified. “Right here, right now. Just you and me.”
Hans swallowed to lubricate his throat. The cold air was sucking the moisture out of him.
“Does that mean you’re ready to surrender?”
“No. I didn’t say that.”
“That’s the only proper way to end it,” Hans said.
Erik sneezed, then pinched his nose with his gloved fingers. The freezing air was giving him a cold.
“There’s another way,” he said quietly. “I think you know what that is.”
Hans shook his head. “No. You want me to kill you? Make it easy for you? I won’t do that.”
“It’s the only way you’re going to get me.”
Hans stood immobile for thirty seconds; neither of them spoke.
“Why did you do it, Erik? You survived the war, you had a good job, you had a beautiful girlfriend…why did you throw it all away? Why did you get her killed?”
Erik didn’t answer. Silence settled over them for long seconds; in the distance, a siren wailed.
“I’m the Sword of Sophia,” Erik said at last.
“Oh, for goddess sake! You don’t even believe in Sophia!”
Erik shook his head slowly. “I didn’t yesterday. I do now.”
“Are you serious! Why? Because of that stupid prophecy? Is that why you did it?”
“No, the prophecy had nothing to do with it.”
“Then why? What are we doing here, right now? Why?”
Another long silence, as if Erik was thinking. Finally,
“Because of them.”
“Who? The Sirians?”
“Yes. They invaded our world, Hans. You’re too young to really understand what we’ve lost, but it’s gone. They took it. They destroyed it. And they’re eating away at the fabric of Vegan society hour by hour.”
“Erik, it’s not that bad—”
“It’s that bad and worse! Goddess, Hans, look at you! They’ve stolen your soul! You not only don’t realize what you’ve lost, but you’re taking their side! You’re helping them rape our people!”
Sudden anger flooded Hans’s chest, making him tremble.
“I explained all that to you!” he shouted. “We can’t fight them! The only way we’ll have a future is to work with them! I’m not going to waste my life crying over a past that can’t be recovered. If you weren’t such a goddess-scorn fool, you’d join me and make a new life for yourself as well! You could have done that! You could have had a wonderful life with Valyn, but you didn’t. You threw it all away, and you got her killed.”
Tears of rage and anguish slipped from his eyes, and froze on his cheeks.
“I’m not going to kill you, Erik, but I am going to take you in.”
Erik ignored the final statement.
“You’re right about Valyn,” he said. “That was my fault. I should never have let her know what was going on. But I did, and she chose to be a part of it. She did help me, but she didn’t deserve what they did to her.”
What I did to her! I can’t tell him that—it would hurt him even more.
“She died in vain, Erik. Don’t let that happen to you.”
Erik’s laugh was like a bark. It echoed off the trees.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Hans? Do you think I have a shred of a chance to survive? I’m already guilty and they know it. There will be a formal hearing, but only to review the evidence. No trial, no jury, no tribunal—guilty as charged, and then the sentence. Do you know what the sentence will be?”
Hans did, but he stood mute. His tears continued to freeze.
“They use a water chamber, Hans. They strap you in a tank and seal it, then they turn on the faucet. Takes about forty-five minutes for the water to reach your chin. And then you drown. Real slow, an inch at a time. Is that what you think I want?”
“I’m not going to kill you, Erik. Don’t think I will, because I won’t.”
“I’d much rather have a bullet,” Erik said.
Hans shook his head, slowly, from side to side. His chest erupted with tiny sobs.
“No. Stop talking this way! You’re my brother. I love you!”
“I love you too, Hans. You’re my baby brother. I could never hurt you.”
“Then stop this! Stop it right now!”
“Tell Mom and Dad I’m sorry, and I love them.”
“Erik! Don’t do this!”
“Be sure and tell Birgitt I called her ‘Mom’. She was always there for me. She deserves to know that.”
“Erik! Goddammit!” Hans raised his pistol, his hand shaking.
Erik’s right hand jerked up and he fired; the bullet passed two inches from Hans’s left ear, making a pop as it passed. Hans still stood frozen, his pistol pointed, trembling.
“Stop, Erik! Stop!”
Erik fired again—this time the bullet passed on the right, terrifyingly close.
“Eriiiiiiiiiiiik!”
Six quick shots exploded from behind Erik, and he staggered. For a moment he teetered, and then dropped to his knees. The pistol tumbled from his fingers and lay smoking on the starcrete. Hans saw the steam from his mouth as he labored for life, for a few more seconds of precious life. Tears blinded the younger brother as he lowered his weapon and hurried forward. He dropped to his knees and took Erik by the shoulders, to keep him from falling.
“Erik!” he sobbed. “Goddess! Erik!”
But Erik was smiling.
“I knew you didn’t come alone,” he said.
As Norma Teasdale walked up behind him, The Sword of Sophia stopped fogging the frozen night air…and closed his eyes for the last time.
His brother wept.
Epilog
Friday, 6 November, 0201 (PCC) – Reina, Vega 3 – (20 months later)
Adam Pedersen hoisted his three year-old daughter, Sonja, on his shoulders as he walked through the crowds. At his side, Marie held his arm as she smiled up at the giggling child. The autumn air was cool and crisp, fragrant with the scents of exotic foods. The Goddess Festival was in full swing, and in spite of the Sirian occupation, Vega was celebrating.
The Temple grounds were ablaze with light, crowds milled about happily, laughing and visiting as they hooked up with acquaintances they hadn’t seen since the year before. In the sky overhead, fireworks blossomed gaily. Balloon vendors handed out treats to children and music played from a dozen bands. Some people were dancing. Young lovers were off by themselves, patrolling the edge of the grounds seeking privacy. For one week of the year, all was well with the planet.
Even so, Adam was alert. He knew predators were on the prowl—he’d seen two men in Confederate grey watching the crowd from the trees lining the street, and there would be others. The enemy could never ignore this many Vegan women in one place at the same time. But he wasn’t unduly worried…Marie had an exemption.
“Daddy, can I have a sweet sausage?” Sonja squealed as they passed an open grill where various meats were cooking.
“You bet you can!” he replied, and swung her down from his shoulders. She grabbed his hand and hung onto a finger as he purchased a hot-sweet treat and gave it to h
er.
“Be careful, don’t get it on your dress.”
“Come on, sweetie,” Marie smiled, taking her arm. “Let’s find a table. It’ll be easier to eat that way.”
Adam looked around, spotted a row of picnic tables, and pointed.
“Right over there,” he said. “Hey, I’ll get us something to drink. Be right back.”
Marie smiled and nodded, then led Sonja toward the tables.
* * *
Hans Norgaard stepped out of his private car and onto the sidewalk. The Temple of Sophia loomed above him at the top of a pyramidal mound, gleaming and majestic in the bright lights. People were still streaming onto the grounds. He heard music and smelled hot food on the chill breeze. His heart thundered in his chest at just being here, knowing what he intended to do. It scared him more than a little, but it had to be done. He really had no choice.
“Yew’ve got to make a clean break,” Norma had told him. “Yew’ve made excellent progress, but yew’re still holdin’ back. That old life—old Vega—is holdin’ yew back. Yew haff to let it go.”
Hans knew she was right, but it was hard. In spite of all he’d learned, everything he’d done, he was still tied to the old life. He still cared what his friends thought of him, what his parents thought of him…and what Erik had thought. Their disapproval was like a splash of cold water on his dreams, his ambitions. He had to break free of that, and he knew they would never change. If any change was to be made, he had to make it himself.
And there was only one way he knew to do that, one line he’d never crossed. No one had ever ordered him to do it, so he hadn’t—his cultural programming was just too strong—but tonight was the night—he had made up his mind.
They ain’t a-gonna trust yew until yew do…yew kin do ever’thing else right…but yew will always be a suspect until yew prove yew’re on our side…
He would make the final break, cut the final cord, right here, tonight.
As a precaution, he wasn’t wearing his VE uniform. The ebony terrified Vegans, men and women alike, and the sight of it would send shock waves through the crowd; instead he was wearing military fatigues, Confederate grey. It was still a uniform, but not so obvious. As he moved onto the grounds, he kept to the shadows as much as possible, moving between booths and temporary structures, walking under trees when he found them. He circled the crowd, watching, looking.
Searching.
Now that the decision was made, now that he was committed, he felt exhilarated, more alive than he had in years. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, his skin tingled. It was liberating.
Women were everywhere, thousands of them. Vegan women, like his mother. Stunning. Gorgeous. There were so many, it was hard to choose. It didn’t really matter, of course—anyone would do. But it would be easier if he could find one alone.
Then he saw her, a young blonde, maybe twenty-five. Sitting at a picnic table with a pretty child. People milled about, but no man was with her. And she was only twenty yards away. With a deep breath he moved in, striding quickly, but not too quickly. He reached her in a few seconds, approaching her from behind, and bent over her shoulder. He seized her by the elbow. The little girl looked up at him, her blue eyes wide.
“Excuse me…”
The blonde’s head swiveled around, her stunning blue eyes gazing into his own. Her lips were inches from his, and on impulse he kissed her, hard. She jerked back with a gasp.
“Goddess!” she whispered. “What do you—”
“Come with me!” He tugged at her arm, pulling her to her feet. “Come with me now, and no one gets hurt.”
She stumbled to her feet and he saw panic in her eyes.
“Wait! Please! My daughter—”
Hans spun her toward the street and began pushing her along, walking beside her.
“Your daughter will be fine. No one will harm her.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. She had a fine, firm figure. Her perfume triggered his lust, and now his mission seemed even more urgent; now he wanted more than just to make a clean break—he wanted her!
“Mommee! Mommie, come back!”
Hans walked faster. They passed under the trees at the edge of the temple grounds and he led her along the street. His car was only thirty yards away. The woman was gasping with fear.
“Wait!” she told him. “Wait! You’re making a mistake!”
“I don’t think so.”
“I have an exemption! My husband—”
“Fuck your exemption!” he snarled, suddenly angry. It had taken all his nerve to steal this woman; if he acknowledged her free pass he’d have to find another one. He wasn’t sure he had the nerve to do that. She might report him, but in this uniform he’d never be identified, and no one would care enough to check his DNA.
“But the SE said—”
“The SE isn’t here! Get in the goddamn car!” They had reached the vehicle and he jerked the door open. He shoved her inside, pushing her head down to avoid injury.
“Where are you taking me? What are you going to do?”
“I’m not going to do anything. You are.”
“What? What do you mean?”
Hans got in the front seat and spun up the turbine.
“You’re going to set me free,” he said.
* * *
Adam Pedersen returned to the picnic table and set down the hot drinks he had ordered. Sonja was sitting alone, her lip curled unhappily. He glanced around, but Marie was nowhere in sight.
“Daddy!”
“Sonja, what are you doing by yourself? Where’s Mommie?”
“Mommie went with the man.”
Adam stared at her, his face turning numb.
“What man?”
“I don’t know. The soldier man.”
Adam’s numbness turned to fear.
“What soldier man, honey? What did he look like? What did he do?”
“He kissed Mommie and took her away. She went with him.”
Adam stood up straight, panic in his heart. He scanned the crowd on all sides, but Marie was nowhere to be seen. He turned in a full circle, tears forming in his eyes, but she wasn’t there. People everywhere, laughing and talking—but no Marie. He shouted her name, but got no answer. He ran up to the nearest group of revelers, and then another, asking what they’d seen. They hadn’t seen anything. No one had seen a “soldier man”.
Adam returned to his daughter and took her by the hand. There was nothing he could do, no one he could call. If it had been a soldier, or even a civilian, no authority on Vega would care. This was occupied Vega. Vega had lost the war, the Confederacy was in control. No woman was safe, not even Marie. Even her exemption hadn’t helped her.
Tears ran down his cheeks, his chest felt constricted. This was occupied Vega.
Marie was nowhere in sight.
Thank You
If you enjoyed this book, it would be fabulous if you could leave a brief review where you obtained it. Readers trust other readers, and the number of positive reviews has a huge impact on sales.
If you’re on Facebook or other social sites, and liked the book, perhaps you could recommend it to your friends there as well. Again, thank you so much. You are my marketing team!
-John
Writing and posting reviews is easy:
You don’t have to be a professional writer or particularly verbose. Reviews by “real people” are what most readers are seeking. Just tell them, in your own words, what you thought of the book. If you can put into words “why” you liked the book you can also add that information.
Don’t give away the ending. Most people hate “spoilers” (although there are a few who actually look for them).
Then give it a rating (usually 1 to 5 “stars”), a title, if needed, and click on the appropriate button (on Amazon, that would be the “preview” button, followed by the “publish” button if you like what you’ve done).
That’s all there is to it. You’re now a seasone
d reviewer.
About the Author
John Bowers began his first “novel” at age 13. It took him nine months and was only 30,000 words, but he finished it. Before he graduated high school, he wrote four more. His teachers were convinced he was the next Hemingway, but it wasn’t to be.
Bowers was raised in a religious cult. Cults suppress creativity, demanding obedience and conformity. Though he wrote several more novels for fun, he never published them, and by the age of 30 he gave up writing entirely.
At age 44 he broke out of the cult, rediscovered his dream, and began writing again. He wrote a juvenile adventure for his children, and then began a science fiction novel. That novel became A Vow to Sophia, the first published book of The Fighter Queen saga.
Bowers is married and lives in California with his wife and three adult children. He is a computer programmer by profession, but a Born Novelist by birth.
Published by AKW Books:
Other books in the exciting Fighter Queen Saga
Star Marine
Rico slammed against the side of his berth as the lander took a hit. His eyes jerked open and sweat poured into them, his mouth leaching dry as he waited to see if they were going down. The lander shuddered violently, seemed to skew sideways, but kept flying, though the ride was ten times rougher than before. He trembled with blind fear and prayed faster, too scared even to cross himself.
He heard the deafening shriek of giant lasers for a brief instant, then felt the craft dive steeply, and realized they'd passed through the saddle. They should reach the runway any second now. Deceleration shoved him forward; he heard men moaning and muttering curses.
"Fifteen seconds, Delta!" Captain Connor shouted in his headset. "We have an engine fire, so the minute we touch down, get moving. Remember the drill — everyone deploy to starboard. Ten seconds! Get ready!"
The second wave descended into an inferno of burning landers and ASC fire; shredded Star Marines decorated the pavement. The lead ship, carrying Delta Company, touched down heavily and began to skid as ground fire churned the pilot into hamburger. The co-pilot managed to fire reverse thrust, then he was killed, too. Converging streams of steel chewed into the lander from three directions, as it swept sideways off the runway, the wing and nose jets competing for control. Hundreds of holes suddenly appeared in the fuselage and dozens of Star Marines were hit. Rico saw daylight and heard the popcorn sounds of slugs ripping through metal. Men shouted, others screamed. Rico rolled off his berth to the deck and strangled in his own saliva as centrifugal force pinned him against a lower berth.
