Star Marine!

by John Bowers

  Periscope Harbor today is a thriving seaside resort town. Visitors arrive from all over the galaxy to ride the shuttle boats out into the harbor and watch the exotic periscope seals frolic in the shallows beneath the transparent hulls. One can still see the wrecks of QuasarFighters, Lincoln landers, and one or two ResQMeds that lie at the bottom of the harbor. Where the airport once stood — now Periscope Harbor Interstellar Spaceport — one can visit the Star Marines Monument. There is a holographic list of the names of the men who fought that desperate battle, with holos and biographical data, and hour-long videos are available for any who care to view the footage that was recorded during those four tragic days.

  If your vacation plans ever include Beta Centauri, Periscope Harbor is a must-see stop, if only to visit the monument. We must never forget the raw courage and sacrifice that was manifested there to preserve the freedom of all peoples for all time.

  Tell your children.

  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 seasoned 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.

  The Fighter Queen

  The Citadel, New Angeles, Texiana, Sirius 1

  New Angeles lay sprawled across an ancient lakebed, ringed by low hills a few hundred feet high, every square mile gleaming in the blistering heat. The city filled the entire lakebed, flowing up the slopes toward the small sharp peaks until it could flow no farther. Toward the center, skytowers stabbed into the summer sky.

  The peaks to the north were higher than the rest, more forbidding; no homes graced their slopes, nor any civilian installations. Instead, a military base stood guard at the thousand-foot level; a twisting road snaked its way even higher, up to the Citadel.

  The Citadel looked something like a medieval Terran castle, but sported anti-spacecraft (ASC) batteries and electronic shields to deflect incoming space strikes. The Citadel was military headquarters for Texiana, and the Chief of Staff for all Confederate Forces had his headquarters there.

  Major General Martin Vaughn stood in front of his staff in the Planning Room of the Citadel, his rugged features wrinkled with concern. Tall and dark, with an unruly shock of curly black hair, he was every inch the Confederate officer in his light-grey, red-trimmed uniform, a pound of ribbons and medals on his chest.

  "Periscope Harbor has been a resounding success," Vaughn told the assembled officers. "Thanks to intelligence developed by our mole in the Federation, we were able to beat off the Feddie assault and save Beta Centauri. For now, anyway — I have no doubt they will try somethin' again.

  "Another matter has been brought to my attention, however. I will let Colonel Draper give you the details."

  Vaughn took his seat as another officer stood and moved to the front of the room. Draper was a bookish sort, thin and humorless. Without a word, he thumbed a console switch and the lights dimmed, then a holograph flashed to life. It was the picture of a young woman.

  "This is Onja Ka-vorik," he said by way of preamble. "She's a Federation Fleet fighter officer. Not a pilot, but a gunner."

  He swung around to scan the faces of the men at the table. Every last one was leaning forward, intent on the feminine portrait.

  "The Feddies," Draper continued, "call her the Fighter Queen."

  "That girl is a Vegan!" a senior captain blurted. "By all that's holy, I swear she's a Vegan!"

  Draper nodded grimly. "Indeed she is. We don't know a great deal about her yet, but our agents have managed to learn a little. She was born on Vega under our occupation and somehow got off the planet when she was about twelve years old. Ka-vorik is her adopted name; we don't know who she was before that, but we are still lookin' into it."

  The fifteen officers around the table barely seemed to hear him. All were familiar with the characteristics of Vegan women, knew that Vega had centuries earlier bio-engineered its population for physical perfection (something to do with the worship of their pagan Sophia goddess), and a few even owned Vegan slaves. But this girl, in an enemy uniform, was so stunning as to take their collective breath away.

  "I'd shore as hell hate to git killed by some honey like that 'un!" another officer breathed. "She ought to be in somebody's stable!"

  No one laughed — they were all thinking similar thoughts. The woman in the picture was a classic Nordic beauty — wide-set, sky-blue eyes; medium-high cheekbones; full, pouty lips; creamy white skin topped by short, spiked, snow-blonde hair — and a penetrating gaze as cold as arctic ice.

  Draper, annoyed that the holo was distracting his audience, thumbed a switch to turn it off. The men all seemed to slump back in their chairs, as if the holo had held them magnetized. Draper scanned their faces once more.

  "The Feddies are damn proud of this little whore," he told them solemnly. "And well they might be. No one, on either side, has come close to her in combat kills. As near as we can calculate, she has official credit for more than four hundred fifty of our combat fighters, one destroyer, and two troop transports. She also participated in the destruction of one of our carriers, the David Duke, though she didn’t get credit for the kill.”

  He paused significantly, to let that sink in.

  "What else do we know about her?" Vaughn asked, to keep the briefing on track.

  Draper recapped. "Born on Vega, smuggled to Terra at age twelve, adopted by a family in Norway, joined the Feddie Space Force the same day we attacked the Federation. Served in the asteroids, later on Luna; went on medical leave after bein' wounded when the Duke was destroyed. Fought at Alpha Centauri, was wounded again, then took part in the Feddie assault at Periscope Harbor.

  "She's now thirty years old and has refused promotion at least twice, because she wants to keep on fightin'. She likes it! She's been quoted as sayin' her mission in life is killin' Sirians. She's the best gunner they’ve got, and we need to stop her."

  Draper sat down, his face flushed with anger. Vaughn took the meeting back.

  "Well, gentlemen," he said quietly, "as you can imagine, this Vegan bitch is an enemy of the Confederacy. As of today, we are publishin' a memo. One million sirios, d
ead or alive. Any fightin' man who can kill or capture the Fighter Queen will receive the reward, tax-free. If he can take her alive, she will be awarded to him as a personal slave.

  "Are there any questions?"

  Asteroid Outpost

  A Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal book

  “Where does this lead?” Tarpington asked as Spencer trotted to catch up to him.

  “You can’t go down there.” Spencer took him by the arm. “Come on, man, you have to leave now.”

  Tarpington shook him off. “What’s your problem, Tim? I’m just looking around.”

  But Spencer’s expression was pained.

  “Look, this isn’t a Federation facility. It’s private property. You need permission to look around.”

  “I don’t need permission, Tim. I’m with you.”

  “I don’t have the authority—”

  But Tarpington was already gone, striding quickly down the cross corridor. The far end was dim, but he saw handrails and steps leading down. The image of a dungeon flashed through his mind, and his heart beat a little faster. Just before he reached it he stopped and turned to his left, his jaw dropping and his eyes growing wide. His heart hammered harder than ever.

  Spencer bumped into him, then turned and looked as well. Before them, clearly visible behind a wide window, was a brightly lit room. A woman was suspended from the ceiling by the wrists, completely nude, her head hanging as if she were dead or unconscious. She was no kid—she was at least thirty-five, maybe older; she looked slightly emaciated but her bare breasts were full and heavy. Her hair was cut short in a style fancied by many housewives. She rotated slowly as if in a light breeze, her feet dangling barely a foot above the tiled floor. Tarpington stared in complete shock as he gazed upon the cuts, bruises, bites, and burns on her pale skin. Sitting to one side on the floor was a generator with coiled cables and alligator clips.

  “Jesus Christ!” he whispered. “Who is she?”

  Spencer was so agitated he was almost sobbing.

  “I dunno, man. I told you not to come down here! You should’ve listened to me!”

  But Tarpington pressed his hands against the window. He stared at the woman closely, trying to recognize her.

  “I’ve never seen her before. What’s she doing here? She was never processed through the court.”

  Spencer took his arm and literally tried to pull him away.

  “Get out of here, David! Get the fuck out of here right now!”

  Tarpington took a step back, his eyes still glued to the woman. Who was she? Why was she here? Who had authorized…this?

  He heard a footstep behind him, the solid click of hard leather on the starcrete floor.

  “Oh, Christ!” Spencer gasped.

  Tarpington turned. He clearly recognized the third man, and opened his mouth to speak.

  “You should listen to your lover boy, faggot!” the other man said.

  Tarpington didn’t see the sap until it crashed into his skull. Pain flashed through his head and then he was falling. Everything was black before he hit the floor.

  Starport

  by John Bowers

  Askos Queen – Orbit of Environ

  Col. Oliver West stood on the bridge of Askos Queen, code named Troop 1, as the two starships orbited the planet of Environ. Askos Raven, code named Troop 2, was fifty miles to starboard on a parallel course. Raven was empty, its vast cargo bays available if needed. West hoped they wouldn’t be needed.

  Capt. Mios, master of Askos Queen, stood a couple of feet to West’s left, his body tense as he watched the navigation holos on the bridge. Two pilots were seated six feet forward with similar holos in front of them, and the advantage of viewports so they could actually see where they were going. Mios was an experienced civilian spacer who could truthfully claim he’d made at least one run to every commercial port in the galaxy, though he was only forty-one years old. West had known him for years, personally and professionally. This wasn’t the first clandestine military operation Mios had been involved in.

  So far everything had gone according to plan. Environ Space Traffic South had logged the flight plan and granted permission for execution, pointing out several spacecraft in the vicinity that the two merchants should watch out for; Environ space was crowded at all times and accidents were always a threat. West felt his arteries tingle as anticipation pumped adrenaline into his blood, but everything looked good. They had completed half their orbit, and were just crossing the dawn line over the planet, heading for the night side. In twenty minutes everything would begin to happen.

  ***

  For two days Tyler Unruh had lived in the same cabin with Third Squad, First Platoon of Dragon Company. Now the cabin was empty. Everyone making the landing had moved down one deck to the modified cargo hold where fifteen landing craft waited to deliver them to the surface of Environ. Most of the men had already boarded and were belted securely into their boats, one platoon to each boat. A few officers and noncoms stood about outside the open hatches, reviewing last minute details, issuing final orders. Tyler stood beside landing Boat 9, feeling unaccountably nervous. Rocha stood beside him, trembling slightly.

  “I guess you’re on your own, kid,” Rocha said with a grin. “From here on you won’t need me to babysit you anymore.”

  Tyler nodded. “The colonel already told me. I’ll be okay.” He fell silent a moment, feeling a trifle guilty. “You be careful, okay?”

  Rocha laughed, an explosive release of tension. “No problem. I’ve trained for this.” He clapped Tyler on the shoulder. “See you when I come back aboard. Thanks for behaving yourself.”

  He turned and stepped through the open hatch and disappeared from sight.

  Tyler looked around. He really shouldn’t be here, he thought, because when the time came to release the boats this deck would be depressurized, but he wanted to see as much as he could see. And it would be at least fifteen minutes before the boats departed. For just a brief, irrational moment, he almost wished he was going with them. There was something about them, a bond they shared, something fraternal—he’d never been a part of anything like that.

  The group of officers and noncoms at the other end of the deck broke up and men started heading his way. It took Tyler a moment to recognize Cpl. Toews, all decked out in his helmet and combat gear. As always, the corporal looked severe, his head down, his lips compressed as he strode toward the boat next to Tyler. As he reached the hatch he noticed Tyler and stopped, staring at him a moment.

  “You’d better clear this deck,” Toews said. “They’ll be depressurizing it soon.”

  Tyler nodded. Toews turned to enter the hatch.

  “Corporal!”

  Toews turned back. Tyler stared at him, ill at ease.

  “Look, Corporal—I just… I want to apologize for the other day. Almost running over you. I guess I was thinking about my own problems and had my head up my ass. I’m really sorry I scared you like that.”

  Toews stared hard at him, then nodded abruptly. Without a word he disappeared through the hatch.

  Tyler stared after him, feeling a little let down. Toews hadn’t even said “thanks”, or “forget it”. Nothing. Just a hard stare and a nod. Now he felt foolish for even making the apology, though he had done it sincerely. He shrugged and turned toward the lift at the end of the cargo hold. As Toews had said, it was time to clear out of here—he didn’t want to be around when the ship’s crew depressurized the hold.

  He walked along the row of landers, fifteen of them sitting nose to tail, gleaming in the overhead lights. They would be released through a launch tube at the forward end, each boat advancing on a conveyer until it reached the exit. As each boat reached the tube it would be launched with compressed gas, and once clear of the ship would fire its own engines for a controlled descent to the planet below.

  Tyler reached the lift and stepped inside. The door closed automatically and he pushed the button for Command Deck. Col. West had told him he could watch the launch from a
small observation lounge just off the bridge. There wouldn’t be much to see, but in spite of the circumstances this was the most exciting thing Tyler had ever been a part of and he didn’t want to miss any of it.

  The lift started to rise and Tyler looked at his watch. Ten minutes to launch. He had time.

  Suddenly the ship’s engines fired, thrusting him against the side of the lift. His eyes widened in alarm—the ship was already in orbit, so why were the engines—

  Twin hammers hit the starship with the loudest noise Tyler had ever heard. A giant hand slammed him into the side of the lift, crushing the air out of his lungs, and the lift began to spin wildly. Pinned and helpless, for the second time in four days Tyler Unruh was sure he was about to die.

  ***

  Askos Queen crossed over the dark side of the planet, the sun blotted out by the orb of Environ. Col. West felt his blood pressure increase slightly as the big moment approached. Askos Raven was still in position to their right, and would soon be jumping to hyperspace. The chief pilot was talking to STC South as if Queen were also going to jump.

  “Environ Traffic South, Askos Queen; preparing for hyperspace in four minutes.”

  “Roger, Askos Queen, copy four minutes. Trajectory lane is clear, nothing inbound.”

  “Thank you, South. Askos Queen.”

  West glanced at his watch. At the same moment, he felt Mios tense beside him. Mios was staring intently at a holo-screen that displayed air traffic inside the atmosphere. West looked and for a moment saw nothing out of order…

  “What is that?” he murmured a second later. Two pinpoints of light seemed to be rising straight up at incredible speed; a flashing collision warning followed them as the onboard navigation radar determined their projected course—if nothing changed, they would intersect with Askos Queen in less than a minute. West felt his mouth turn dry.

  “They’re going too fast for manned spacecraft,” Mios replied, his voice almost detached, as if his mind were on other things. “Got to be intercept missiles. Mach Six at least.”