by John Bowers
"And what're you gonna do if he wants one? Just say no?"
"Goddamn right! Let him face the wrath of the Star Marines if he's such a big man!"
"Fucker's always armed. He'll just blow you away."
The talk continued randomly, going nowhere. Willis caught Rocky's eye and they walked away from the group.
"Those guys are just letting off steam," Willis told his friend. "But something has got to be done. You and I need to come up with a plan."
UFF Anwar Sadat, Deep Space
"Daddy, I don't want to go!"
"It's done, Onja. I already reported you missing. You have to go now, or everything will be lost."
"Daddy, please! I don't want to leave you! You're all I have left!"
"Onja —"
"Daddy, I have to stay! I made a vow to Sophia. I vowed to find Mother and Sonja and set them free!"
"Onja, listen to me. I love you more than you will ever know, but you absolutely must be on that ship tonight. The money is already paid, I already notified the SE that you’re missing."
"Why did you do that, Daddy? I want to stay with you!"
"Onja, just go! Be safe, be happy, live your life. Forget that stupid vow! Go to Terra and live free!"
"No! No, I don't want to go!"
"Sophia scorn Onja! Do what you're told for once, will you! Get out of my sight!"
Onja Kvoorik's eyes sprang open and she stared into the darkness, her heart pounding. For a long moment she was filled with a pervasive dread, as if the dream portended something momentous. It wasn't really a dream, of course. It was a memory. She hadn't seen her father since that night in the Temple of Sophia, when she was twelve years old.
She crawled out of the rack and stood naked for a moment, glancing at Lt. McLeod to make sure she hadn't wakened him. He was a good pilot and pretty good in bed, but she didn't like him very much. For all his skills, he was rough around the edges, crass and vulgar, and she suspected that only the fact she outranked him kept him from trying to browbeat her.
She walked into the outer room of their suite and settled onto a molded chair. Everything seemed normal; the deck vibrated slightly from the huge carrier's star drives, the hiss of air-conditioning vents the only sound. Onja laid her head against the wall and closed her eyes with a sigh.
Why the dream? What did it mean?
Or did it mean anything at all?
For years after leaving Vega she'd been plagued with dreams of rape — also real memories — but after telling Johnny Lincoln her history, and accepting his unconditional love, those nightmares had stopped.
Johnny Lincoln. Goddess, how she still loved him!
And before Johnny there'd been Major Landon, her first pilot. Landon had been twenty years her senior, but that hadn't mattered. He was the first man she'd ever loved, and after losing him she'd wondered if she would ever love again.
Then she found Johnny — and lost him, too.
That was it. She'd flown with other pilots since then, had slept with them as a matter of expediency, but never allowed herself to become attached. All had been good pilots, and one by one she'd lost them all, too. She didn't dare fall in love again, because the pain of lost love was more than she could bear.
Her mind drifted back to the dream again; again she saw the torture in her father's eyes as he performed what must have been the most difficult task of his life. First his wife and older daughter had been taken from him by the Sirian slave industry; then he'd sent his remaining child away for her own safety.
What happened to him after that? Onja had never known. Vega had become a Sirian colony. A blanket of silence had enveloped the planet, leaving outside worlds to see only the image the Confederacy wanted to project.
A tear slid down Onja's cheek, but she fought the emotion back. She'd come a long way in her quest to fulfill her vow, but the job wasn't done yet. If she gave in to emotion, she might not be able to carry on.
The next big operation would be against Vega. Before too much longer, she might be able to find out what had happened to her father.
His name was Adam Pedersen.
Camp Hope, Missibama, Sirius 1
Landon lay awake and stared into the darkness, his mind running wild as it often did in quiet moments like this. He'd been a prisoner for sixteen years, ever since his thirty-ninth birthday. What an irony — he'd been planning to retire when the war started!
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, turning his face toward the wall. It was moments like this when he most missed the Fighter Queen, that stunning, magical girl who'd made him feel eighteen again. Not only was she the most natural gunner ever to crawl into a Federation gun turret, she was a breathtaking lover. He'd never met anyone like her, before or since; she could have been a top fashion model on any planet, yet she wanted only to kill Sirians.
He worried about her every day. She was still out there, sixteen years later, so successful at killing Sirians that the enemy had put a price on her head. He wasn't a religious man, but he prayed she'd survive the war, and find a way to still whatever demons were driving her.
Landon had just begun to doze, images of the Fighter Queen flitting across his subconscious, when he felt movement on his bunk. Warm, smooth hands slid across his bare chest, and he caught a whiff of some exotic perfume. Vegan perfume. For just a moment in his state of somnolence, he was transported back to Asteroid Base 131, with Onja Kvoorik bending over him. His erection was instantaneous.
"Colonel."
Waukena's lips touched his cheek, then covered his mouth. Landon's eyes opened and he started to sit up, but she pushed him back, and before he could move she slid her leg across and straddled him. His heart pounded with sudden desire, his breath coming in short gasps.
"Waukena!" he gasped. "I told you. You don't have to do this."
"I want to, Colonel. You have been very kind to me. You deserve this reward."
"No." He shook his head slightly, fighting his body's eagerness. "You don't owe me any reward. Go back to your own bunk, Waukena. Do it now!"
He couldn't see her face in the darkness, just the shape of her bending over him, her long, thick hair hanging down toward his face. Her body was sweet against his flesh, her smell intoxicating. His mind battled with itself, trying to balance what was right against a justification to just let it happen.
"I want you, Colonel," she said.
"It isn't right," he told her. "You're a slave."
"Slaves need love, too," she said. "Anyway, you did not make me a slave. You saved my life."
Her fingers were fumbling with his shorts, pulling open his fly. He shivered as they closed over his manhood, stroking it, and for a moment he was afraid he might erupt in her hands. Landon arched his neck as shivers ran through him. His mind protested, but his body ached with need.
"Waukena!" he groaned, trying to think of some argument that might stop her. Before he could formulate one, she slid down onto him, her velvet flesh completely enclosing him, and began to move, rocking slowly, forward and back, up and down.
Landon reached out as if to push her away, but his hands settled on her hips, gripping them, and he began to move her, thrusting up to meet her, to bury himself inside her delicate, sexy body.
He could no longer fight this battle. She was the hottest slave girl he'd ever seen in the camps, and everyone who saw her wanted her. But when he climaxed two minutes later, it wasn't with a Sirian slave of undetermined ancestry — his imagination transformed her into a Nordic blonde from Vega, a stunning girl with blue eyes and short, spiked, snow-blonde hair.
Friday, 16 June, 0237 (PCC) — FSS Robert MacNamara, Deep Space, 2 days out from Beta Centauri
Capt. Ursula Negus had been frightened many times in her life, but never more than now. The freighter, FSS Robert MacNamara, had lain disabled in space for the better part of two days. The merchant crew took no pains to keep the passengers advised of the progress of repairs, but Ursula had learned that, sometime during the second day, the capta
in had issued a Mayday transmission.
Ursula could have told them how dangerous that was, if they were too stupid to figure it out for themselves. The simple solution, if repairs couldn't be affected, would have been to lie silent until the ship was reported overdue and someone came looking. When a ship was overdue, someone always came looking. And MacNamara was only two days from its destination when the drives failed, so was already overdue.
But anyone who came looking for them now would arrive too late, because the Sirians had picked up the Mayday and were already here. Ursula could see a Confederate destroyer through an observation window in the forward lounge, lying two miles away. Her blood ran cold as she watched a pair of shuttles emerge from a cargo bay and start the trip across. They would be here in a matter of minutes.
She hurried back down the companionway to her cabin, her mind racing. Crewmen were bustling about, shouting orders and countermands. Total confusion. Ursula burst into her cabin and sealed the door, trying to think, blood pounding in her ears. Twenty-three other women stared at her with haunted eyes, their faces drained of color. Most were military specialists of one kind or another — nurses, IT operators, a chaplain, a couple of Pink Ladies; Ursula was the only combat gunner, and as a captain, outranked them all.
"Listen up!" she said, trying to force iron into her voice and hide her fear. "We are in the deepest shit of our lives, ladies! The Sirians are here, right now. They'll be boarding within the hour."
A collective gasp raced around the room; a couple of women burst into tears.
"Be calm!" Ursula ordered. "Nothing gives the enemy more pleasure than a hysterical woman. You've all received training in case you're captured, so remember it! They aren't going to kill us, because we're females, and more than anything, they love females. So just relax a little."
"What are we going to do?"
"Can't we fight them?"
"I don't want to be raped!"
"Oh, Jesus! This can't be happening!"
Ursula held up her hand again, breathing heavily.
"Fighting them is not an option," she said, wishing it were not so. "Most of you aren't armed, and those of us who are might only kill one or two before we're gunned down, and that would only make it harder on the rest of you. So, we do not resist! Do you understand? No matter what happens, do not resist!"
"Isn't the crew going to fight for us?" one woman whined.
Ursula sneered. "They're merchies. This tub is unarmed, and most merchies aren't smart enough to handle firearms anyway. If they were, they'd be in the Space Force."
"So we just let the Sirians take us?" the same woman whimpered. "Let them rape us?"
Ursula nodded, her eyes widening slowly.
"That's exactly what we do," she said quietly. "Because we can't stop them. And getting raped is a lot better than getting killed."
Besides, she didn't add, the rest of you may not have that much to worry about. I'm the only Vegan on this tub, and the enemy will be lining up to get at me.
Camp Hope, Missibama, Sirius 1
Waukena emerged from the camp infirmary with a sense of relief and headed back to her quarters. She'd passed her pelvic and was safe for another week.
Word had spread that she was "the colonel's woman", and when she moved about the camp she noticed a difference in the looks the prisoners gave her. She still saw lust in most of their eyes, but a certain respect as well. Not that she minded the lust. As a slave of the Confederacy, her sensuality was the only identity she'd ever known.
Pelvic exams were given to all slave girls on a weekly basis. Any girl who hadn't engaged in sexual activity was potentially in deep trouble. The sole purpose for their presence in camp was to sleep with the prisoners. Landon was a good lover, but a grudging one. She felt comfortable with him, and enjoyed him more than any man she'd ever been with. The only problem was his moral reluctance, which led him to ignore her except when her exam was due.
Before she'd finally seduced him, he'd brought two men in to her at different times to fulfill the camp requirements, a pair of Star Marines named Willis and Yamaguchi. She saw them watching her as she crossed the compound, and smiled at them. They'd both been good to her. Both men nodded, and Willis winked.
Waukena walked seductively, her motion unconscious and natural. Her body was built for sex and her clothing designed to seduce. Her blouse was thin and sleeveless, bulging under her small but exotic breasts; her micro-skirt barely covered her rounded bottom, and her slender legs gave her stride the grace of a racehorse. Her long, luxurious black hair gleamed in the sun.
She looked like a million sirios, yet was barely aware of it.
Undulating unhurriedly across the compound, Waukena reached the entrance to Barrack 1 and stepped inside. The corridor was dim and cool, stretching away to her right. She stopped at the locked door of Landon's suite and pressed her hand to the recognition plate. The door slid open and she stepped through, but before the door could close, powerful arms encircled her. Fear stabbed her as Cpl. Bruno Turner dumped her unceremoniously onto Landon's bunk and ripped away her blouse in a single stroke.
Waukena screamed. Bruno was the one man in camp she feared above all others — she'd talked to other girls and heard their accounts of brutality and torture at his hands. Waukena was the only slave Bruno hadn't raped, and then only because Landon protected her.
Bruno's fist smashed into her cheek, stunning her. She struggled to stay alert as he dropped his pants.
"Fucking whore!" Bruno snarled as he leaned over her. "Think you're hot shit, don't you, bitch? Got the fucking Feddie colonel protecting you!"
A shadow crossed the doorway, and Bruno was flung suddenly across the room. Waukena rolled off the bed and leaned against the wall, still in shock, and tried to make sense of what was happening.
Bruno Turner was as shocked as Waukena. He found himself suddenly off balance, his naked butt on the floor, his back against the wall, everything exposed. He didn't know where the fuck they'd come from, but two Star Marines were bending over him, murder in their eyes. One had a painful grip on his naked dick.
"Listen up, jerk-off!" Kevin Willis snarled in his face. "That's the colonel's woman! You copy? You keep your filthy hands off her!"
"Fuck you, Willis!"
"Oh, no, Bruno," Yamaguchi said, his eyes gleaming with malice, "fuck you!"
His left hand gave a tug and Bruno gasped as his penis stretched. Yamaguchi held up his other hand, and Bruno's eyes widened in horror as he saw what it held — a four-inch sliver of windowpane, thin and razor-sharp. Yamaguchi had taped one end to use as a handle.
"Do you like stuffed sausage, Corporal?" he asked silkily. "How about sautéed mushrooms? I can slice it any way you like."
"You pricks let me go or you're in big trouble!" Bruno panted. "I'll see you both executed!"
"I'm sure you would," Willis told him gently. "I bet Krieger would even let you give the order, wouldn't he. In your squeaky, dickless voice."
"Can you imagine life as a girl, Bruno?" Yamaguchi taunted. "Got to sit down when you pee, can't fuck unless someone puts theirs in you, instead of the other way around? How'd you like to be a girl?"
Bruno panted with rage, but sweat rolled down his face as he tried to decide whether they actually had the balls to do it.
"Let me go!" he grunted.
"Why, Bruno?" Willis asked. "So you can rape and torture the slave girls? So you can beat their brains out against the floor? Why would we want to let you keep on doing that?"
"They're slaves, goddammit!" Bruno croaked. "It's what they're here for!"
"Wrong, asshole! They're here for us, for the prisoners. Not for you to rape and mutilate. What gives you the right to torture and kill the slaves the Confederacy provided for us, Bruno? You want to tell me that?"
"They're available to everybody. Come on, turn me loose before you get in even more trouble. Let me go and I won't —"
"You won't what? Fuck any more girls? I'm sure you won't, Bruno, when w
e surgically remove your dick!"
Bruno's courage cracked, his face broke, and he sobbed.
"I won't report this!" he whimpered. "Let me go and I won't tell anybody."
"But we want you to tell people, Bruno!" Yamaguchi said. "We want the whole camp to know that we cut off your dick and made you cry like a little girl. Imagine how all the prisoners will love that. How they'll laugh at you. Imagine how the guards will laugh. Everyone in this camp hates you, Bruno. Even your own people hate your fucking guts!"
To his horror, Bruno's bowels suddenly gave way, a dark brown stain spreading across the floor beneath him. The stench was instant and overpowering. Yamaguchi turned his face away in disgust and gagged.
"Aw, Jesus Christ, Bruno!" he bellowed.
Willis rocked to his feet and, gripping Bruno's arm, jerked him up as well.
"Get the fuck outta here!" he said. "Go clean yourself up!"
Tears of humiliation ran down Bruno's cheeks, shit ran down his legs. Yamaguchi had released his manhood and Bruno quickly pulled up his pants.
"I'll get you guys!" he snarled, his hatred overpowering his shame. "I'll cut out both of your hearts!"
Willis leaned into his face again, in spite of the smell.
"Eight hundred men in this camp, Bruno! Eight hundred! And they all know. You can kill one or both of us, but the minute you do, you're a dead man. You'll never see it coming, and no one can stop it. The first Krieger will know is when he looks out the window and sees you hanging upside down from the flagpole, with your dick in your mouth."
"You better give your heart to Jesus," Yamaguchi told him, "and do it quick — because your ass belongs to us. Now get the fuck out of this barrack!"
Chapter 4
Saturday, 29 July, 0237 (PCC) — CSS Burnside, Parking Orbit, Sirius 1
The Confederate destroyer CSS Burnside dropped into a parking orbit around the planet Sirius 1 and maneuvered toward Fleet Dock 11, a military space station. Burnside had just returned from the Beta Centauri sector, where it had participated in picket duty and a number of skirmishes with the Federation fleet, which now controlled the entire Centauri region.
