by John Bowers
"Mrs. Lincoln?"
Maxine didn't move.
"Mrs. Lincoln? The telecomm, it is for you." Graciela advanced a few tentative steps onto the verandah, looking nervous, almost frightened. That was how she was, Maxine knew, pretending to be frightened. Part of her cover, no doubt. She was robbing them blind on a daily basis.
"Mrs. Lincoln?"
Maxine pulled the shades off her eyes and glared at the young woman.
"Who is it, Graciela?"
"I think — he says he is your son, Mrs. Lincoln."
Maxine's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with suspicion. "Give me that!" She snatched the remote out of Graciela's hand and slipped it onto her head. "Hello! Who the hell is this!"
For just a moment there was no reply, just a faint static as if the signal were passing through the radiation of distant stars.
"Mom?"
Maxine's eyes widened again. She knew that voice! She knew it! No one could fake that voice!
"Ollie? Ollie!"
"Yeah, Mom, it's me. How're you doing?"
Maxine sat up straight, shaking hard, tears streaming down her face. Her son was calling! From beyond the grave!
"Oliver! Where are you? Are you alive? What happened to you? Where have you been? Oh, my god! It really is you, isn't it!"
She heard him laughing. "Yeah, Mom, it really is me. I'm alive and I'm in good health. Look, I only have a minute; is Dad there?"
"No, he's at work. Ollie, where are you? When are you coming home?"
"I'm still on Vega, Mom. I don't know when I'll be home. But don't worry, all right? I'm safe."
"I knew you were alive!" she declared. "I knew it! Ollie, is Victoria with you? Is she all right, too?"
A long pause followed, then his voice came back quietly.
"No, Mom. Victoria is dead. We had her funeral last year, remember?"
Maxine nodded, barely able to talk.
"Yes, I remember now. Ollie, if you see her, tell her I love her. I love you, too. I miss you both. Come home when you can."
"I will, Mom. I love you, too. Tell Dad I'll call him at the office tomorrow."
"Ollie —"
"I have to go now, Mom. Tell Dad what I said, okay?"
"Yes, all right. Ollie, come home soon. And bring Victoria with you!"
The call went dead. Maxine sat there a moment, still weeping, then dried her eyes and leaned back on the chaise lounge. She replaced her shades, took a deep breath, and wondered once again why her husband didn't care that her children were both dead.
* * *
Oliver Lincoln II slipped into the chair facing the glass partition. Jeremy Mason was already seated on the other side, staring at him with vulnerable eyes. He managed a smile.
"Mr. Lincoln, thanks for coming to see me."
Lincoln glared at him a moment, then spoke to the receiver in the glass.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Mason?" he demanded.
"Sir?" Jeremy looked surprised. "Look, I'm sorry I won't be able to work for a few days, but …"
"Oh, don't worry about that, Mason. Didn't I tell you? You're fired."
Jeremy looked shocked.
"Mr. Lincoln, you can't fire me just like that! As soon as I get out of here …"
"I don't think you're getting out. You're going to be doing some serious time."
Jeremy spread his hands, a reasonable look in his eye.
"Sir, with all due respect, I haven't been tried or convicted yet …"
"Are you saying you didn't do it? You didn't beat Rosemary to a pulp?"
"No, sir, I did not."
"Well that's strange. She said you did!"
"You're going to take her word for it? What does that prove?"
"Sergeant Cedarquist told me you admitted it to him."
"Hey, he had a gun to my head. He was gonna kill me if I didn't confess!"
Lincoln's eyes narrowed. "Was he? Too bad you confessed, then."
Jeremy's face flushed and his hands clenched into fists.
"Mason," Lincoln told him, "I gave you a chance. You did a good job for me, too. But now I know the truth about you; they tell me you were once a good cop, did a heroic deed, even lost your leg. And you were making a fine comeback." He shook his head slowly. "I really admired you. But now … Anybody who would beat up on a woman? Hell, you're not even a man!"
Jeremy leaped off the chair and slammed into the protective glass.
"Fuck you, you rich cocksucker!" he screamed. "I'll be out of here some day, and I'll make you eat those words!"
Lincoln stood, gazing contemptuously at him.
"You do that," he said. "And the minute you set foot on LincEnt property, I'll have you shot on sight."
He turned and walked out.
Soderstad, Southern Plain, Vega 3
Brandon arranged the connection through military channels so Oliver could call his family. The call was made from Brandon's suite, and after Oliver signed off he sat staring at the floor for a moment. His mother was clearly losing it — or maybe she'd already lost it. He'd worried what kind of strain his disappearance would put on his parents, but there had been nothing he could do about it.
"Everything okay?" Brandon asked, coming in from his bedroom.
"Yeah." Oliver nodded.
"Your folks okay?"
"I need to call again tomorrow," he said, and explained why.
"No problem. Just say when and I'll set it up. You ready for a day on the town?"
Oliver stood, shaking off his mood, and nodded. He was in his fatigues, and ready to go. Tascha kissed them both good-bye and Brandon led the way to the roof.
"She really likes you, you know." Brandon grinned at him.
"I know. She tried to crawl into my bed last night."
"Tried to? You didn't let her?"
Oliver shook his head. "I'm a little burned out right now."
"That's understandable. But Tascha can overcome burnout in anybody. Just give her a chance and you'll be amazed."
"Hey, she's your slave, not mine."
"Ollie, if she didn't have my permission, she wouldn't have even tried."
The SE hovercar lifted off the roof and Brandon headed into the main part of the city. Oliver got a better look at the devastation as they passed close to some of the skytowers; windows had been blown or burned out, and he saw evidence that people still lived in those rooms. Now and then hungry faces stared back at him. Thin curls of smoke drifted up from the streets below. The whole scene had a post-apocalyptic atmosphere.
"Ollie, where we're going you may see some things you don't like. I'm not going to try to shelter you from them, all right? But I'd appreciate it if you keep your thoughts to yourself. As far as anybody will know you're a Sirian Army private and you're with me. Nobody is going to ask you why, because nobody dares question the SE. You don't have to talk to anybody or answer any questions." Brandon met his eyes. "Fair enough?"
Oliver nodded. "What if I don't want to look?"
"Then don't look. And for god's sake, don't try to be gallant!"
Oliver didn't like the sound of that. It gave him a pretty good idea what he might see.
It wasn't as bad as he feared, but it was bad enough. Brandon visited a handful of collection stations in the city, most of them set up on vacant lots or street corners where damaged buildings had been bulldozed. Regular soldiers stood guard, but the person in charge at each one was SE. At sight of Brandon, everyone came to attention, and the SE in particular deferred to him as if he were a general.
Brandon inspected each station, asking questions, checking records. Each station consisted of a small, portable office and a tracked vehicle with three cells inside. The cells held Vegan women. A few of the cells were full, but most had room for more prisoners.
"Is this what I think it is?" Oliver asked Brandon when they had a moment alone. His teeth were clenched so hard his jaw ached.
Brandon nodded. "We collect them at various places around the city, and when we
have enough for a shipment, they're transferred to the spaceport."
The women varied widely in appearance and physical condition. They were all Vegan, of course, so they were all extremely good looking. The majority were forty or older, but Oliver saw several in their twenties and thirties. Here and there a teenager glared back at him.
"How come you're taking kids?"
"Curfew violators," Brandon said. "There's a tremendous demand for young girls, but until the war is over we're taking mostly mature women. Our people go out every day looking for a certain profile, and when we find one, we bring her in. But those who violate curfew or single themselves out in some way — well, they've been warned. They have to pay the price."
"Do you approve of all this?" Oliver asked when they were back in the hovercar.
Brandon sighed. "I don't have the same moral objections that you do," he admitted, "but there are certain aspects that I don't care for. Taking kids is one of them."
"What about stealing a woman away from her family and making her a slave?"
"Ollie, don't do this. We've had this conversation before. Let it go."
"Christ!"
After leaving the last collection station, Brandon headed for the spaceport. There Oliver saw a fairly complex operation; a hangar building had been converted for SE use; inside were several offices and numerous dormitories. There were also showers, a medical inspection station, and a mess hall.
"All the comforts of home," Brandon told him. "This is where the shipping manifests are prepared. Medical exams are done, and some women will be rejected for shipment. Those who pass will be fingerprinted, voice-printed, DNA-mapped, and logged into the slave database. Once that happens, they're on their way to Sirius."
"Is there no appeal?"
Brandon looked at him as if he were a child. "This isn't a criminal court. This is a cattle yard. These women aren't people any more, just raw product. We're harvesting the planet to feed the slave market. I know it sounds cold, but that's how it is."
Oliver just shook his head, staring at face after face, body after body. The women here had been bathed, coifed, perfumed, and well fed. They wore sexy clothing and looked as if they were about to attend some fabulous society ball. Only — they were all miserable. Few were willing to meet his eyes, and those who did, for the most part, looked crushed. Here and there his gaze was met with defiance, but most had already lost all hope.
"What happens to the women who fail the medical? You let them go?"
"Only if the medical condition is life-threatening. Most are transferred to barracks to service the army."
Oliver turned and headed for the door. He couldn't bear to look at another broken spirit. This whole operation was some pervert's wet dream.
When his official work was done, Brandon sat down in front of a database terminal.
"What was that reporter's name?" he asked. "The one you were telling me about."
"Erika Sebring."
Brandon entered the name, the approximate date of capture, and hit the search icon. Seconds later a display came up.
"Look at this," he said. "You just hit the jackpot!"
Oliver leaned over Brandon's shoulder, his heart suddenly thumping. Erika's picture stared back at him from the search screen, her silver eyes looking defeated. She'd lost weight, he saw, but otherwise appeared healthy enough.
"Is she still on Vega?" he asked.
"Yep. But just barely. Looks like she was entered into the database just a couple of days ago. She'll ship out any time now."
"Where is she? Can we get to her?"
"Sophiastad. That's about four hours north of here." Brandon printed a hardcopy of his search results and stood up. "Want to take a trip?"
Chapter 41
Sophiastad, Sophia Alps, Vega 3
The last time Oliver had seen Sophiastad, over a year ago, it had suffered some bomb damage but was relatively intact. Now it was in Sirian hands, and Oliver anticipated total destruction; the armies would have battled street-to-street, house-to-house, as they had in Soderstad.
But the city sat serenely astride the Alps as if nothing had touched it. Even the bomb damage of the previous year had been repaired.
"The Guard didn't want it destroyed," Brandon told him. "They fought like a son of a bitch to keep us from reaching it, but once we did, they declared it an open city and pulled out."
"Thank god for small favors," Oliver said. He gazed at museums, temples, ornate towers, and government buildings. To the credit of both sides, the "Paris of the Galaxy" had been spared.
Brandon located the spaceport and settled the hovercar in front of the SE compound. Oliver followed him toward a portable building behind a forcefence. At the sight of Brandon's ebony uniform, the guard snapped to attention and delivered a nervous salute. Brandon brushed past him with Oliver on his heels. Inside the portable, another man snapped to surprised attention, this one a lieutenant.
"Captain!" he gulped. "Can I help you?"
Brandon produced the hardcopy he'd printed in Soderstad and gave it to the lieutenant.
"I want to talk to this woman," he said officiously. "Immediately!"
The lieutenant glanced at the photo briefly, then looked up. "May I ask the Captain —"
"I said immediately!" Brandon bellowed. His eyes narrowed. "What is your name?"
"I am Lieutenant Hale, Captain!"
"Well, Lieutenant Hale, get your ass moving and bring this woman out here. Right now!"
Hale didn't move. His face fell, as if he felt trapped.
"Captain, I regret that I can't obey that order."
"No?" Brandon took a threatening step closer.
"Captain — we shipped our entire consignment a little over three hours ago." He seemed to draw into himself, as if expecting to be beaten. Oliver, watching, almost felt sorry for him.
Brandon stood perfectly still for ten seconds.
"You shipped them?" he whispered, then took a deep breath: "Goddammit, you shipped them!"
"Sir, they …"
"Jesus Fucking Christ!"
Lt. Hale trembled; after all, that was the purpose of taking slaves, wasn't it? To ship them to Sirius?
"Which starship got them?" Brandon demanded. "Is it still in orbit?"
"Sir, I don't …"
"Find out!"
Oliver stood in bitter disappointment as the hapless Lt. Hale got on the telecomm and began trying to track the shuttle that had taken the slaves. Ten minutes and several calls later, he spun to attention in front of Brandon.
"Captain — the slaves were loaded aboard CSS Robert Byrd. The ship has cancelled orbit, but is still in the star system."
Brandon glared at him a moment, then turned and stalked out of the office, Oliver at his heels.
"Any chance of calling that ship back?" Oliver asked, a hole in his heart.
"No." Brandon's voice was lifeless. "Once it cancels orbit, we lose jurisdiction. Those ships are privately owned; when they are under way, they become an entity unto themselves, until they reach their destination."
"What about the other end? Can someone meet the ship and get Erika sent back here?"
Brandon smiled tolerantly. "I don't have that kind of power, Ollie. I can do a lot of things here, but at home I'm just a midlevel officer. SE on the other end won't give a shit what I request or why. She's out of our reach."
Oliver slammed a fist into his palm.
"Goddammit! I got her into this, there must be something I can do to get her out!"
Brandon eyed him narrowly. "You in love with her?"
"No. But ever since I came here I've been like a fucking jinx. Everyone I've had contact with has gotten raped or killed or — raped and killed. I'd like to salvage this girl if I can."
Brandon walked toward the hovercar and climbed inside. He sat staring through the windscreen as Oliver joined him.
"She's important to you?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
"All right. I have a cousin in New Birmin
gham — that's where slave shipments make planetfall — and I'll contact him. I can get him permission to make direct contact with the shipping company; I'll send him a voucher to purchase Miss Sebring. I'll ask him to take her to the plantation and leave her there."
Questions popped into Oliver's head, but he waited.
"I'll give orders not to molest her. I'll contact my dad and ask him to keep her safe until I get home."
"When will that be?"
"Maybe another year. Doesn't matter, Ollie. She'll be safe there, a lot better off than she is now."
"And when you get home?"
Brandon turned to look at him. "You have to understand, there aren't any starships bringing Vegan women in this direction. It's strictly a one-way ticket. She'll be my guest for as long as necessary. Eventually, when things have quieted down and regular passenger service to Vega is restored, I'll bring her home. I think I can even arrange for an exemption, so she won't get picked up again."
"How long will all that take?"
"Who knows? Three, four, maybe five years."
Oliver ran a hand across his face. "That's going to cost you a fortune!"
"Yes, it will."
"I'll reimburse you."
Brandon nodded. "I thought you might." He fired the turbine. "Let's get back to Soderstad."
Southern Plain, Vega 3
An hour later, skimming across the Southern Plain, Brandon broke into Oliver's thoughts.
"Ollie, you're going to be here for a while. You know that, don't you?"
"I kinda figured that one out."
"Could be a year or more."
"That long?"
"Could be."
They fell silent for thirty seconds.
"That nitrogen capsule," Brandon said.
"What about it?"
"Takes about nine months to gestate a fetus, doesn't it?"
"Yeah. So?"
"Tascha has nothing better to do."
"Tascha!" Oliver stared in disbelief.
"Sure, why not?" Brandon shrugged. "She'll never be a mother on her own. I had her hypnoed when she was fifteen. She's a great fuck, but I don't want any kids from her; and she would love to be a mother."
