by John Bowers
"You do look a lot like her, except you're older."
"That's right. So why don't you cut out the hostility and just answer my questions?"
He stared at her a moment, then shrugged.
"What do you want to know?"
"Where is Adam … where is Daddy now? Is he still alive?"
"I don't know. I've been in the Alps for over a year. Your spacecraft have fucked up communications so badly that I haven't had any mail most of that time."
"When was the last time you saw him?"
"Just before I shipped out."
"Last year?"
He nodded.
Onja felt an electric excitement. At least her father had been alive as recently as a year ago!
"Where does he live?"
"Across the street from NordTek. Last time I saw him, anyway."
She frowned. "NordTek is gone, Axel. Burned to the ground. I've been all over that neighborhood. No one I've talked to knew anything about him."
His youthful face took on a pained expression. "NordTek is gone?"
"Completely."
He shook his head sadly. "Shit! That would kill the old man. That place was everything to him."
"What's your mother's name?"
"Inga."
"When did they marry?"
"I'm not sure … Two twenty, I think. Right about the time the war started."
Onja felt a stab of resentment, but forced it down; her father would have known he'd never see his first wife again — Vegan slaves never returned — so she could hardly blame him for picking up his life and trying to move on.
"What was her maiden name?"
"Halvorsen."
"Had she been married before?"
"No."
"How old is she?"
"Now?" He tried to think. "I'm not sure — maybe fifty. She's quite a bit younger than Dad."
"Are there any other brothers or sisters?"
"No. I'm the only one."
Onja sat there a moment longer, staring at this young stranger — her half-brother. No wonder he looked like her father's family; he was her father's family. Somehow, over all these years, it had never occurred to her that she might have other siblings she'd never met. The reality left her numb.
"Are they treating you okay here?" she asked finally.
"Yeah, not so bad. They don't give us women, but otherwise it's okay."
She didn't reply to that. Half-brother or not, Axel Pedersen was a Sirian at heart. It was the only culture he'd ever known.
"I'll visit you again," she said quietly. "After the war. If you behave yourself, you can still have a good life."
"My life was already pretty good. Until your fleet showed up."
"It will be even better than before. You'll see."
He shrugged, as if it didn't matter. Then a thought occurred to him, and he met her eyes again.
"If you find out anything about Mom and Dad — will you let me know?"
She nodded. "I'll get word to you. I promise."
Tuesday, 23 February, 0241 (PCC) — Displaced Persons Compound, Reina, Vega 3
It took another day. Using the name Inga Pedersen, and cross-referencing on Inga Halvorsen, General Nash's staff found another hit, this one in a refugee center on the north end of the city. It was really more of a shelter for homeless, since most of those interned had lost their homes to the bombing and subsequent fighting. Onja and her bodyguards walked down camp streets choked with Vegan civilians, many of whom glared at their Federation uniforms.
The camp administration gave them an address within the camp and minutes later Onja rang the bell of a nondescript prefab shelter bearing the number 2437. After thirty seconds, it opened and a fiftyish woman peered out. Onja gave her a critical once-over, but could find nothing at first glance to dislike. Her hair was still blond; she looked fit and healthy.
"Is your name Inga Pedersen?" Onja's eyes remained hard, giving nothing away.
"No." The woman shook her head vigorously. "You must have the wrong address. My name is Halvorsen."
"Inga Halvorsen?"
"Yes. I-I don't know anyone named Pedersen."
Onja glanced at Tommy Royal, then back to the woman. "May I come in?"
"Why?" The woman's eyes, already alarmed, now clouded with fear. "Who are you? What do you want with me?"
"I want to talk to you. May I come in?"
"I'm — no, I'm afraid not. My room is a mess."
Onja glanced past her shoulder at the tiny interior of what was no larger than a studio apartment; the place was neat as a pin.
"I didn't come to inspect your housekeeping. I'm here about your husband."
The woman blinked, her lips parting. "My h-husband?"
"Yes. May I come in?"
The woman began to tremble. "What do you want here? What does the Federation want here? Haven't you done enough?"
Some part of Onja wanted to dislike this woman — after all, she'd replaced Onja's mother — but found it impossible. Inga Halvorsen was clearly terrified.
Onja's expression softened.
"I'm not here to hurt you. Please, I need to ask you some questions."
Inga glanced past Onja at Tommy and the Star Marines. "What about them?"
"They'll wait outside."
* * *
Onja settled onto the edge of a chair as Inga stood a few feet away, unconsciously ringing her hands.
"Would you — like some tea?"
"No. Thank you. I only have a few questions. It shouldn't take long."
Inga's tongue traced across her lips, and she settled onto a sofa.
"I'm looking for Adam Pedersen," Onja told her carefully. "Yesterday I talked to his son, Axel. He told me you were his mother."
Inga's eyes flew wide at the name of her son. All pretense vanished.
"Axel is alive?" she whispered. "Where is he?"
"He's a prisoner of war, right here in Reina."
Inga's hands covered her mouth and she began to sob.
"Oh, goddess! Axel! I haven't heard from him in months!"
"You can rest your mind," Onja assured her. "He's doing fine."
"They won't hurt him, will they?"
"Not as long as he behaves himself. Prisoners are well treated and well fed. Once the Sirians are gone, he'll probably be able to come home."
The older woman lowered her head and sobbed for almost a minute. Finally, regaining her composure, she wiped her eyes and shook her head.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"It's all right."
"Thank you for telling me."
"I'm glad it was good news." Onja bit her lip, waiting a moment for Inga to recover enough that she could discuss the other matter. A moment later, Inga was looking at her again.
"Tell me about Adam Pedersen," Onja said quietly.
"How do you know about Adam? Why do you want to know?"
"Adam is my father."
Inga stared at her, uncomprehending. "Your father? How is that possible?"
"You did know he was married before, didn't you?"
"Yes, of course. But …"
Her breath seemed to catch in her throat.
"Goddess Sophia!" she gasped. "Are you …?"
"Onja."
"Onja? You're the girl Adam …"
"He sent me away when I was twelve years old. He told you about me?"
It was almost more than Inga could handle. She stared at the blonde officer for long seconds.
"I can see the resemblance now," she said. "Yes, Adam told me. Sending you off-planet was the hardest thing he ever did. He … he had nightmares about it, because he never knew if you made it, or if the Sirians caught you somehow."
Onja felt her eyes begin to mist. She blinked it away, determined to maintain iron control.
"I had nightmares, too. I wondered if the SE ever figured out that he deceived them. I was afraid they would kill him if they found out."
Once again Inga was silent. Finally she looked at the floor.
<
br /> Onja felt a stab of alarm. "What?"
"They did figure it out," Inga said quietly. "Just last year."
Onja felt her face turn hot. A terrible dread welled up in her chest.
"What happened?"
"They picked him up. Later they questioned me, threatened me, everything. They said someone in the SE helped Adam smuggle you away, and they wanted names. Of course I didn't know any of that. They used hypno on me, but I had nothing to give them. So they let me go."
"And my father? What did they do to him?" Onja's body was rigid, her heart barely beating.
"I don't know. I'm sure they interrogated him, but I don't know what all they did to him. I-I never saw him again."
Ice water flowed through Onja's veins.
"They killed him?" she whispered.
Inga shook her head. "Adam took his own life."
* * *
Two hours later, Onja knelt by her father's grave, located in a well-kept cemetery on the banks of the Queen River. The grounds were verdant and serene, untouched by the war. Cult triangles were visible on many headstones, but Adam's grave was adorned only by a simple marker; engraved were his name and the dates of his birth and death. Tommy and the Star Marines waited a dozen yards away.
Onja made the Sign of the Cult, then leaned forward and placed both hands on the cool grass as tears flowed down her cheeks. Tears of love, tears of regret. She'd come so close! Only a few months, less than a year.
"Daddy," she whispered, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry! I came as soon as I could. You saved me, and I wanted to save you. I would have saved you!"
For ten minutes she sat there, talking to her father, the man who'd risked everything to protect her from the enemy. Finally she stood, wiped her eyes, and turned away. Tommy was waiting and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"I'm sorry, Major," he murmured.
She leaned against him, grateful for his strength.
"The worst part," she said, "is that he didn't know I was alive. If only he'd known I was trying to get back to him — I wouldn't feel so bad about getting here too late."
The Outback, Sirius 1
Landon and his commanders gathered in his cave and listened as Capt. Easton lectured.
"One of my teams located an old prospector last night," he said. "He told them that there are only about a dozen men garrisoning the depot, and no military maneuvers in the area for six months to a year."
Easton spread out a hand-drawn map and the others gathered around it.
"We reconnoitered the depot." He pointed. "It's built into the side of this ridge, about twenty miles from here. Looks like the Confederates took advantage of the caves, so we can't tell just how big the place is, but we did spot defenses here, here, and here. Looks like a couple of laser nests and one machinegun position. Nothing we haven't seen before."
"What about the rear?" Landon asked.
"We couldn't find one. My thinking is that there's nothing strategic in this area, so these defenses are pretty much symbolic, since the enemy never expected it to come under attack. Hell, the place has been there for decades; it's not even a real military base, just a supply dump."
Landon nodded thoughtfully. "You may be right, but we can't depend on that. How do you plan to assault it?"
"Head-on. From what we saw, the nests weren't even manned. But we can place a couple of snipers on the opposite ridge to cover our advance, and work a couple of fire teams in behind them at the top of their ridge. Once we get inside the perimeter, we can use grenades on the nests and then assault the main gate. I don't think they'll put up much of a fight."
Landon turned to Major Zimmer. "Any disagreement with that?"
Zimmer frowned and chewed his lip.
"What about communications? I don't see any microwave dishes on the map."
"We didn't see any," Easton replied.
"So we don't know how they communicate with their superiors. Be nice to prevent them from raising the alarm when we hit."
"Most likely they use hand-held devices. We just need to take them out fast, before they can call for help."
"That sounds risky," Zimmer said. "We have no heavy weapons and we don't know enough about the facility; I'd rather use a diversion just before the assault, get their attention on something else. They probably aren't expecting trouble, and if we can keep them in that mode we'll be a lot better off."
Easton scowled his annoyance, but Landon studied Zimmer thoughtfully.
"Any idea what we can use as a diversion?" he asked.
Zimmer shrugged. "Given the mentality of the Confederates, I can think of one possibility. We have a lot of slave women with us, and a few Confederate uniforms. Maybe we can distract them that way."
The Depot, Outback, Sirius 1
Sirius A was low on the horizon, its long rays slanting across the ridges and canyons. The entrance to the Confederate supply depot was steeped in gloom as a military hover vehicle approached up the only road in the area. Pvt. Charlie Jones stood beside the main gate and watched it. Curious — no one had advised him to expect a command hover, yet the man in the right front seat was clearly an Army officer. The pilot was an enlisted man, and two sexy whores sat in the back.
The hover drew to a stop in front of the gate and Charlie stepped forward and saluted. The officer, a captain, returned his salute.
"What's your name, Private?"
"Jones, sir."
"Well, Private Jones, I need to see your commandin' officer."
"I'll need to see some ID, Captain."
"Never mind that, I don't want to go inside. Just call him out here."
"Sir?" Charlie frowned. He'd never heard an officer talk like that before.
"Don't know if you were ever advised," the captain said, "but there was a prison break up at Camp Hope a few days ago. Bunch of Feddies got loose and some of 'em headed this way. We been huntin' 'em down, but so far all we found was these two whores that were with 'em." He nodded in the back. "Now I ain't got time to fuck with slaves, so I figgered your people might want 'em."
"Yes, sir. So …"
"I need to see your CO. Right now, Private!"
* * *
Nine Confederates stood in a semi-circle around the hover. Ursula Negus, wearing a threadbare slave dress, felt her skin crawl as the depot commander ran his hands over her body. Other men were fondling Waukena.
"This here bitch is Vegan," the commander said. "Goddamn! I ain't seen one o' these in a while!"
"She's all yours, sir," Capt. Easton smiled. "I just want 'em off my hands. I got a job to do and don't have time to deal with 'em."
"Well, we can sure use 'em here," the commander said, turning Ursula to inspect her from behind. "We only got a couple girls, so these two can spice things up a little. After we git 'em washed up. Christ, they're dirty!"
Ursula gritted her teeth as the man's hands intruded between her thighs. She'd been several days without male attention, and the relief had been welcome. But her hypno-conditioning was still strong, and he was touching her in all the "right" places.
Suddenly she spun, threw her arms around him, and kissed him so hard he stumbled backward.
"Fuck me!" she panted. "Please fuck me! Right now!"
The commander's eyes widened in surprise; he laughed in delight, but pushed her gently away.
"Easy, sweetheart!" he said jovially. "Plenty of time for that. You'll get all the action you want, just as soon as …"
A shot rang out. Halfway up the ridge, a Confederate soldier, who'd been watching the little gathering at the gate, collapsed without a sound. A second shot took the head off Pvt. Jones, who fell heavily into the dirt ten feet away. The Confederates dived for cover. Only a couple carried rifles, the rest were off duty. Easton quickly drew a sidearm and opened fire, killing the two men who were trying to unsling their rifles. Ursula hit the ground beside the Sirian commander, who was fumbling for his own weapon. She leaped on top of him, kissing him feverishly; the distraction slowed his gun hand, an
d before he realized it, she grabbed his pistol and shoved it under his chin.
"You make one move and I'll burn out your fucking brain!" she snarled.
He stared at her in shock. Before he could reply, Ursula heard shouts and running feet — the Fed Infantry who'd been hiding along the road were rushing the gate.
The machinegun above the depot stuttered to life, and bullets slammed into the hover vehicle above her head. Ursula hugged the ground, but kept her weapon against the commander's chin. The evening air was suddenly filled with laser and automatic weapons fire, then the gun on the ridge fell silent and infantrymen surged into the depot. Ursula risked a glance around and saw half a dozen Sirians on the ground, dead or dying. Two Fed Infantry had the rest pinned against the fence at gunpoint.
"You all right, Captain?" one of them asked, bending over Ursula.
"I'm okay. Got the depot commander here."
"Okay, Ma'am. I got him."
Ursula stood up shakily, her adrenaline pumping. She leaned against the hover and wiped her brow with a wrist. More men were crossing the road and streaming into the depot. It was over.
She turned to Capt. Easton — and froze. Easton was down, shot through the head. Sprawled across him, as if in a grotesque love embrace, was Waukena, riddled with machinegun fire.
* * *
The haul was incredible. The depot was much larger than anticipated, and included things they hadn't even realized they might need. In addition to food, water, weapons, and drilling equipment, they found generators, fuel, vehicles, medical equipment, communications gear, heavy weapons, even furniture — enough of everything to outfit a much larger force for months or even years.
"Clean it out," Landon told Major Zimmer when he heard the news. "We don't know if they raised an alarm when we attacked, but even if they didn't, we may only get one shot at the place. Use every available vehicle and bring back as much as you can. We'll disperse it among these caverns."
It took most of the night to finish the job.
The following morning, Landon took Zimmer's report and learned for the first time that Easton had been killed. He sucked a deep breath and shook his head.
"And I was just starting to like that guy!"
"It was a damned shame, sir," Zimmer agreed. "But his diversion worked. He was the only casualty, except for that slave girl."
