Sisterhood of Suns: Daughters of Eve

by Martin Schiller

  Kaly smiled deprecatingly, hoping that her companion was wrong. Then she positioned herself in the egress door. There were no hostiles on the roof of their target building, and the bioplasmic mode on her riflescope revealed that the interior appeared to be completely unoccupied.

  No visual, she thought to Ben Di.

  Their shuttle settled into a hover and the rest of her team, accompanied by the Liverna, filed past her and roped themselves down.

  Once they were on the ground, the Liverna went right to work, and opened the door. When it came open, the ‘bot launched a trio of GSG-20 self-guided grenades, set for stun. They flew into the building and began to hunt for targets.

  Tracking them in her scope, Kaly was sorely tempted to grab at her own privates. The grenades were wandering from room to room, and finding nothing to attack.

  It was a dry hole. The General, if he had ever even been there in the first place, was long gone.

  Presently, the Major gave the order to secure and clear the building. The Liverna immediately began a search for booby-traps and when it found nothing, the teams went in.

  As Kaly’s shuttle landed in the street, Ben Di announced that they had found something after all. It wasn’t a secret compartment filled with hidden terrorists though, or even a weapons cache. Instead, the entire back room of the residence was filled with boxes of propaganda pamphlets and cheap copies of the Guzamma biography.

  With the site now secure, the all-clear was sent out, and regular Republican Army troops who had been positioned nearby, arrived on the scene. At an order from their commander, the soldiers dismounted from their trucks and began to haul all of the boxes outside.

  Rather than loading them into the vehicles as Kaly assumed they would, they dumped everything unceremoniously into the middle of the street in a huge, untidy pile. Then the Republican officer walked up, unholstered his energy pistol, and fired into it. Instantly, the blast ignited the books and the whole thing became a roiling mass of flame.

  A lover of books herself, Kaly was sickened by the sight. So much so, that it took her a moment to realize that Margasdaater was growling with rage. The next thing that she knew, the Zommerlaandar was walking towards the fire, and the officer. Her huge fists were balled up and her normally affable features were contorted with anger. Kaly had never seen her so upset.

  The officer sensed her coming, and his head jerked up. As frightening as Margasdaater’s temper was, Kaly knew that if she didn’t intervene--and quickly--the woman was going to do something that she would later regret. She reached out and laid a restraining hand on her friend’s forearm. But it was like trying to lay hold of a mountain that had decided to get up and walk--and just as useless.

  “Astrid? Wait! What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Zis iz boolkekk!!” Margasdaater snarled, shrugging her off. “I didn’t come all zis fekking vay to burn fekking books! Zat’s not vat ve’re here vor and zat’s NOT vat ve stand vor!”

  Instantly, Kaly understood. Zommerlaand had originally been settled by a coalition of northern European peoples, and a radical right wing faction had taken over from within. Their aim had been to use genetic engineering to create a ‘master race’. Destroying texts that they had considered ‘subversive’ in public bonfires had been only one of their sinister activities.

  Although the MARS Plague had cut these dark dreams short, the racist legacy of those times still haunted the Zommerlaandar women. Burning books, no matter their content, went against everything that Margasdaater and her people now believed in, or held dear.

  “Do you have some kind of problem, Trooper?” the officer asked, his hand moving to his holster again.

  More conscious than ever of Margasdaater’s greater size, Kaly boldly stepped in front of her. Her head barely reached the woman’s chest, but she stubbornly stood her ground. “Don’t, Astrid. Please. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Vasquaaz and T’Jinna came up to help.

  “Ermanyaa,” Vasquaaz said. “Don’t do this. This isn’t the way. This pendeya maricaan isn’t worth it.”

  Although Kaly hadn’t warmed to the Specia woman herself, she and Margasdaater had managed to become friends, and her words finally seemed to penetrate the Zommerlaandar’s fury. Margasdaater halted.

  Ben Di interposed herself and addressed the officer. “She’s just tired, Lieutenant. We all are.” She looked at the team, “Come on. Let’s go.”

  The officer nodded warily but kept his hand near his weapon as they boarded their shuttle and left.

  When they had returned to their barracks, debriefed and cared for their weapons, the team nursed their disappointment with glasses of Aqqa. Margasdaater had finally managed to calm down by this point, and she and Vasquaaz engaged in a ribald contest inventing colorful curses for the male officer. Most of them involved hideous accidents to his genitals, and when everyone got tired of adding in their own colorful suggestions, they all settled in to watch an episode of “Laara Lampa”. Somewhere in the middle of the show, Kaly fell fast asleep. None of her teammates even noticed. Most of them had already done the same thing.

  Major ebed Karri didn’t disturb them. There were more missions holding, and she wanted them to be fully rested. Instead, she composed a message to her superior officer, requesting that a strongly worded protest be sent up the ETR’s chain of command.

  Having heard all about the Op and the confrontation over the books, her commander agreed without hesitation, and sent one off immediately. In her message, she reminded their allies of the importance of cultural sensitivity and the need to factor this into their actions.

  Or else.

  Only a few minutes elapsed before the ETR response came back, and a copy of it was forwarded on to Ebed Karri. From now on, there would be no more book burnings--at least not in the presence of any Zommerlaandar.

  Downtown Business District, Nuvo Bolivar, Magdala Provensa, Esteral Terrana Rapabla, 1048.09|25|05:11:19

  Reesy’s first significant contribution to the Loyalista cause occurred quite by accident, and while she was doing legitimate work for the sandwich shop. Alvaraada had sent her downtown with a delivery, along with a stern warning to avoid the temptation to leave behind any subversive literature, or graffiti.

  The delivery itself was to an office building near the Sisterhood Embassy, and after she had turned the packages over to the security guard in the lobby, she was on her way back out to retrieve her bicycle. Then a face caught her eye.

  The woman was one of the customers in a restaurant across the street, and Reesy very nearly missed her. It was lunchtime, and the entire area was saturated with hungry people hurrying to grab their food. When she considered it later, it was the fact that this particular woman didn’t seem to be in a hurry that had alerted her. That, and the fact that her face was very familiar.

  Even though she was dressed in civilian clothing, there was no mistaking Captain Hari n’Kyla. Not after all the time they had spent together at the School. Certain that she would be recognized, Reesy crouched down behind her bike, pretending to fumble with the lock on its security chain, and did her best not to look straight at her.

  If she had had someone to call right then, she would have, but the Loyalistas had given her nothing to work with. Aside from the owner of the sandwich shop, she had no way to contact anyone. The only solution was to leave, and return to the shop as quickly as possible. She wasn’t happy with the idea of breaking away, but she knew that she had to, or ruin everything. Trying to appear as relaxed as possible, she got on her bicycle and peddled off.

  The trip back seemed to take a thousand years, and when she reached her destination, her frustration was compounded by the fact that it was still lunchtime, and Alvaraada was too busy to speak with her. Finally however, she managed to draw him aside, and told him what she had seen.

  “A Sisterhood officer you say?” he asked her.

  “Yes,” Reesy answered emphatically, “I know her. She’s one of their spies. A Captain in the RSE. I
also think she eats her lunch at the café as a regular. The waitress seemed to know her.”

  This last part was pure speculation; she hadn’t actually seen any interaction between N’Kyla and the server, but she had added this detail hoping that it would help win him over.

  Alvaraada stroked his moustache contemplatively. “You did well,” he said at last. “This may be useful. I’ll check and see if anyone is interested. For now, I want you to stay away from that café. No more deliveries downtown for you, chica.”

  “But…“Reesy started to protest. She had secretly hoped to be a part of whatever was going to happen to the woman.

  “No arguments, chica,” Alvaraada warned. “If she recognizes you, we’ve lost her. You understand me? You let your brothers and sisters handle this. You did your part.”

  Reesy acknowledged this with a dejected nod and went into the kitchen to help out the dish washer.

  They had to get her, she told herself. They had to. N’Kyla needed to pay for everything that she had done at the School.

  ***

  It was a beautiful day in Nuvo Bolivar. The sun was shining down on the capitol, but the temperature was just right. Neither too hot, nor too cold.

  It was in fact, the perfect day for lunch at her favorite spot, N’Kyla thought. She’d been careful of course, making certain to leave the Embassy by way of one of its hidden exits, and she’d brought her weapon with her, just in case. Despite Sarah’s endless warnings, she was sure that her civilian clothing, the nearly flawless accent she had when she spoke Espangla, along with the sheer mass of the lunchtime crowds, would work together to keep her safe.

  Lunch at the café was precious enough for the risk involved. Eating al fresco, and being able to enjoy a few minutes as nothing more than a simple woman, with no cares or worries, paid her back for all the long hours that she spent in the COMINT center.

  Besides which, she wasn’t the only one to sneak away for a break, she reminded herself. Plenty of the women at the Embassy did it, and the downtown area had always been free of the troubles that visited other parts of the city. As they all saw it, taking a moment to enjoy life, was another small way of sticking it back to the Loyalistas. Life had to go on whether their enemies wanted it to or not.

  “Are you ready to order, ma’am?” a voice asked. The waitress had arrived.

  “Yes, thank you,” she replied, and then she made her request. Knowing her by now, the waitress had come to her table with a cool glass of tea, and she sipped at it while she watched the people going by on the sidewalk.

  She was still waiting for her meal when she spotted the plain ‘lectri van coming down the street. It wasn’t anything about its appearance that alerted her. There were plenty of similar vehicles making deliveries to the offices all around her. Rather, it was something else, a sense that she got from the occupants, a feeling that something was ‘wrong’ about the van.

  An instant later, the vehicle accelerated, cut across the street and came to a halt right in front of her. Automatically, she began to draw her weapon from its shoulder holster, but she already knew that it was too late. The side door was sliding open, and there was a masked man inside with an automatic weapon. It was pointed straight at her.

  Oh goddess, N’Kyla thought. I fekked up.

  ***

  The assassination of Captain Hari n’Kyla was a major news story, and within minutes of the killing, Sanda Ernan’s press secretary was fielding calls from half a dozen news agencies, and scheduling a press conference.

  That a Sisterhood officer had been killed in the line of duty wasn’t what had created all the hysteria, however. That had happened before.

  Instead, the excitement was generated because the newshounds had learned that N’Kyla had been a key player in the RSE’s intelligence operations in Nuvo Bolivar. This, and the fact that she had been gunned down in broad daylight in the very heart of the downtown district; a place which until then, had seemed safe from terrorism. And even worse, despite hundreds of terrified witnesses, the gunmen had vanished without a trace.

  When Maya had heard the announcement, she had been absolutely certain that Sarah would be beside herself with rage and grief. She was still having trouble believing it herself. Although they had never been terribly close, N’Kyla had been a familiar face. She had been part of the daily routine at the COMINT center. Now she was gone.

  But Sarah managed to surprise Maya, and everyone else. Instead of screaming out orders and demanding bloody revenge, she was oddly calm about the tragedy. Without betraying any hint of anger, she called the entire staff into a meeting.

  “By now, all of you know what has happened, so I will not bother to repeat the news,” she told them. “I will tell you this however; Captain n’Kyla knew the risks. She chose to ignore her safety and paid the price that many other agents have for such carelessness. Take her example to heart.”

  “Now, we have a job to do. We need to find her killers and see them brought to justice. I want every possible lead followed. Dismissed.”

  Maya was stunned by her brevity, and her coldness. She only hoped that if something like this ever happened to her, that Sarah would deliver a warmer eulogy. It was nice to entertain the fantasy that she actually mattered.

  Amandra sa’Tela was far less detached. Although her voice was as steady as always, her eyes were red from weeping. She and N’Kyla had been good friends and she didn’t possess the ‘professional’ distance that Sarah did. She at least, was halfway human, Maya reflected.

  “We already have some leads,” Sa’Tela announced raggedly. “The van has been found. It was stolen. Our teams still managed to lift some trace evidence from the interior however. They are working on it, and we should be able to get DNA reconstructions in several hours.”

  By analyzing the DNA in organic objects such as small hairs, pieces of dried skin, and even sweat, the Sisterhood’s computers could rebuild a virtual image of the person they had come from. It was inexact, but worth pursuing nonetheless.

  With luck, the images would be coherent enough to match with the pictures on file in the ESN database and from there, provide names. Thanks to some careful backdoor hacking, and a few well-placed moles, the ESN didn’t know that the RSE had access to this, and it would stay that way. The last thing they needed right then was any attempt to obstruct what was quickly becoming a complicated investigation.

  One thing that could derail it entirely would be if the occupants of the van had been careful, and there was a good chance that they had been. Thanks to the Marionites and the School, the ETR was aware of many aspects of Sisterhood technology, and they had used this knowledge to foil it in the past in surprisingly simple, yet elegant ways. The wire meshes worn by Ernan and her key staffers had been only one example of their ingenuity. If the same inventiveness extended to the forensic evidence left in the ‘lectri, Maya was well aware of the possibility that the only images they would manage to retrieve would be of the original owners, and not the terrorists. Still, it was a lead, and like any lead, a gamble with both winners, and losers.

  Meanwhile, Sarah was moving on. “What else do we have?” she asked.

  “Surveillance footage from the area, and witness statements,” Sa’Tela said. “There’s a lot to sift through.”

  “Sift it,” Sarah ordered. “If you do not find anything, go backwards until you do. Whoever was involved in this had to have been watching N’Kyla for some time. Also, and I’m certain that you have already thought of this Amandra, get in touch with the Navy and get what they have from their assets upstairs. They may be able to provide us with material that they gathered from their overwatch.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sarah began to add something else, but paused. From her pensive expression, Maya assumed that she was receiving something on her psiever, and then realized that the woman was actually looking towards the techs monitoring the daily broadcasts by the Loyalista spotters. The shooting hadn’t changed their level of activity at all.
<
br />   Confirming this, Sarah turned from the group and scrutinized the map of the city. Then she walked over to one of the techs. Maya and Sa’Tela trailed behind her.

  “That speaker,” she said, pointing towards the map, “the one who just transmitted from the northwestern district. I want you to task one of our Valkyries to handle them. Terminate that target with an area attack. Immediately.”

  Maya stifled a gasp. Such an attack meant that the fighter would carpet bomb the location, and not only kill the terrorist, but anyone else in the vicinity. Up to then, the goal had been to capture, not to kill, and certainly not in such a wholesale manner.

  The tech was less discrete. “Ma’am, they’re broadcasting from the middle of a populated area! If we authorize an area strike, we could take out non-combatants right along with them.”

  Sarah considered this. “Yes,” she agreed. “As the great philosopher Aristotlea once suggested, ‘all things in moderation.’ You’ve made your point, corporal. Task the fighter to deliver a targeted munition instead.”

  Even with this alteration, there was still a good chance that bystanders would be killed or injured by the attack, and the tech began to raise another objection, but Sarah’s expression made it clear that she would brook no further argument from her. Prudently, the woman closed her mouth and carried out her orders.

  “It is high time that these people learned an important lesson,” Sarah said to her companions. “If they fight us, they pay the price.”

  Maya realized then that Sarah had been every bit as angry as she had suspected. And now, someone, and most likely several ‘someones,’ were about to feel the full brunt of her displeasure.

  ***

  Skimming the exosphere at just over 10,000 kilometers, Erin taur Minna had nothing to do in her cockpit but keep an eye on her HUD displays, listen for important communications, and mentally recite the Greenestglen Mantras to herself. Except for infrequent calls by the RSE Special Response Units and the Marines for air support, patrol duty over Nuvo Bolivar was largely a process of waiting, and counting the clouds below her. She didn’t care for this one nano; like any dedicated fighter pilot, she only felt alive when there was a real mission to fly, and traveling in patrol patterns--however necessary--was as far away from that as the Andromeda Galaxy.