A Vow to Sophia

by John Bowers

  "All right, I'll get back to you. If you're telling the truth, and if Kvoorik agrees to release you, you're out of here." He nodded at the door. "Dismissed."

  * * *

  When Onja left Hinds's office she went straight to quarters, but Johnny wasn't there. She hurried down to the simulator, then the gym, the parade ground, the chip library, the Base Exchange — even checked the ready rooms — he was nowhere to be found.

  "Scorn!" she swore.

  She returned to quarters and waited. When Johnny finally arrived she grabbed him by the shoulders, urgency in her eyes.

  "Johnny! If Hinds offers you a promotion, don't take it! He wants to get rid of you!"

  "I know. I just came from his office."

  "What? You didn't —"

  "No. The prick tried to ship me out to Mars. Tomorrow, no less. I almost fell for it, until I realized he wasn't going to send you with me."

  She threw her head back and breathed a sigh of relief, then wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him.

  "Goddess Sophia! Thank you!"

  "Who the hell is Goddess Sophia?"

  "Never mind. He wants to break us up, Johnny!"

  "But why?"

  She drew back and sat down in a chair. Johnny dropped into the other one.

  "He wants me," she told him. "He's been trying to get me to fly with him since 131."

  "He's got a gunner."

  "Sure, but he wants me. You get it? He even tried to rape me once."

  Johnny jerked upright. "What?"

  "Relax!" she urged, reaching for his hand. "I already took care of him."

  "You had him up on charges?"

  "No." She grinned slightly, then smiled. "I bit him."

  "Huh?"

  "When he shoved his tongue in my mouth, I bit it. Almost bit it off."

  Johnny stared at her uncomprehendingly for a second, then burst out laughing.

  "You bit his tongue? God! I wish I could've seen that!"

  "You should have!" she giggled. "He was so scared it was gone that he was afraid to move. And he hasn't laid a hand on me since."

  Johnny howled, tears streaming from his eyes, and Onja laughed along with him, a rare sight, giggling insanely until they were both weak.

  When they recovered enough, Johnny poured them both a glass of wine, and they toasted Hinds's bitten tongue. It was early afternoon, the squadron was on stand-down, and they had no duty.

  A rare situation…

  An hour later, bathed in sweat and heaving for air, they lay in each other's arms and felt their hearts beat. Onja laid her head on his shoulder and nuzzled his neck, her spiky blonde hair teasing his cheek, and fell asleep.

  Normally Johnny would have done the same, but this time he lay staring at the ceiling. Loving Onja had been wonderful, as always, but there was a shadow in the room this time.

  She doesn't love you, you know. She never will.

  Wednesday, 21 November, 0221 (PCC) — Lunar Base 9, Luna

  Capt. Ursula Negus was tall and blonde, a career officer from Uruguay. But for Onja Kvoorik she would have been the most beautiful woman at Luna 9, as she had the finely chiseled features and lean, lithe body of a fashion model. Her eyes were dark, intense, and passionate, and she was a bundle of energy. In the weeks after she and Hinds took over Squadron 213 it seemed she was everywhere, into everything. Questioning everything and everyone. She rapidly made herself so obnoxious that more than one pilot was heard to remark that he'd like to get her into a rack, but only after punching her lights out.

  Negus was twenty-three, had been in the service for five years, and had two combat kills before coming to the 213.

  One evening three weeks after her arrival, as Johnny and Onja were leaving the mess hall after evening chow, Negus met them in the corridor.

  "Kvoorik!" she called, and Onja turned.

  "Yes, Captain?"

  "Latrine duty!" Negus announced, a cold smile playing across her lovely mouth. "It's your turn."

  "Excuse me?" Onja's eyes narrowed as the taller blonde approached and stopped, facing her. In her hand was a bucket, in the other a mop.

  "I don't think I stuttered," Negus said. "Latrine duty."

  "Officers don't do sanitation duty," Onja replied.

  "As of right now," Negus returned evenly, "you do. I want those heads to shine." She took a defiant stance, and it was clear from her demeanor that she expected resistance.

  "What's this about, Captain?" Johnny stepped forward, a frown across his brow.

  Negus didn't take her eyes from Onja's face.

  "Lincoln, my conversation is with Lieutenant Kvoorik. You can return to quarters."

  "Captain —" Onja began.

  "Maybe you think this duty is beneath you?" Negus taunted.

  "No, but I've never seen an officer pull this kind of duty."

  "Major Hinds believes that no one should be above pulling basic duty. So it's yours this week."

  "This week?"

  "One week. Seven days. Move out."

  Johnny stepped forward again, but Negus fixed her icy stare on him.

  "Do you have a problem, Lieutenant?" she demanded.

  "This is bullshit, Captain, and you know it!"

  Negus looked at Onja again.

  "Two weeks."

  "What?"

  "Goddammit, Captain!" Johnny sputtered.

  "Three weeks, Kvoorik!" Negus turned to Johnny again, eyes narrowed and teeth clenched. "Anything to add, Lincoln?"

  "Get lost, Johnny!" Onja hissed.

  Confused, he backed off.

  "Why are you doing this, Ursula?" Onja demanded softly, her eyes frozen into blue ice chips.

  "Because I am the captain and you are the lieutenant. Now get your hero's ass moving before I make it four weeks!"

  They stood nose to nose for another heartbeat, then Onja grabbed the mop and bucket, spun on her military heel, and strode off down the corridor toward the nearest latrine. Negus followed, leaving a flustered Johnny Lincoln standing by himself.

  When they reached the toilet Onja marched to the center of the room, flung mop and bucket to the floor, and spun to face her tormenter.

  "All right, Captain!" she demanded, "now what the fuck is this about?"

  The other blonde stood her ground, dark eyes hard, her mouth a thin red line.

  "I think it's obvious," she said. "I gave you an order, and you're disobeying it."

  "No, there's something else. You've been a bitch ever since you got here, but this is personal. Something is stuck up your exhaust."

  "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "The hell you don't! If you want to take off those captain's bars we can settle this right here, just you and me!" Onja was shaking with fury.

  "I refuse to lower myself to your level," Negus said, her voice calmer now. "I suggest you draw some water and start scrubbing."

  "Not until you tell me why. Are you jealous? Is that it?"

  "Jealous? Because you're beautiful? I'm not exactly a cow myself!"

  "Maybe because I'm a better gunner than you are."

  Negus's dark eyes clouded, but she didn't bite.

  "Or," Onja suggested, "maybe because you're the CO's gunner, but he'd rather sleep with me!"

  "Fuck you, Kvoorik!"

  "What is it, Ursula? What's really eating you?"

  "I'm onto you!" the other woman said, venom in her voice. "I know who you are. I know what you are! You may fool the rest of these simple pricks, but not me!"

  Onja forced herself to be calm.

  "Why does that make you hate me?"

  "Because I'm a Vegan, too!" the blonde said, her voice turning shrill.

  "I knew that."

  "Of course you did. It's obvious, if you know what to look for!"

  "That still doesn't answer my question."

  "You think you're such hot shit! Forty-four kills! Fucking war hero!"

  "They were Sirians, goddammit!"

  "How do you know? Vega is a S
irian colony now! How many were Vegans?"

  "I didn't ask for ID's!" Onja shouted. "I just murdered the fuckers! These days a Vegan is no better than a Sirian!"

  "I've got a brother out there!" Ursula said, tears in her eyes. "If you haven't killed him!"

  Onja's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"

  "That's my business."

  "If you're in contact with an enemy home world the FIA might make it their business, too. How long have you been on Terra?"

  "How dare you interrogate me!"

  "How do I know you're not a security risk?"

  Negus turned crimson. "Don't you lecture me …"

  "You could even be a spy!"

  "You bitch!" Negus lunged, but Onja sidestepped, threw a hip into her, and she went down. She was up in an instant, in a combat crouch, breathing hard. "I swear to Sophia, I'll kill you!" she breathed.

  Onja stood her ground, waiting. Negus glared at her with barely controlled rage.

  "Did you bring me in here so you could assault me?" Onja asked. "How would that look? The XO attacks a junior officer."

  Negus glared a second longer, then forced herself to relax, still panting with adrenaline.

  "Okay," Onja said. "So you have a brother on the other side. You've got kills, too. Why do you have a problem with me?"

  "It's your attitude," Ursula said. "I kill them when I have to, but you do it because you love it. You know half the enemy pilots are Vegan. How can you be so self-righteous about it?"

  "Have you ever met a Sirian, Ursula?"

  "Yes, I have! They raped me from the time I was twelve."

  "Do I really need to say any more?"

  Ursula covered her face with her hands for a moment, breathing fiercely, then let them drop. Her face was creased with pain, but her eyes still smoldered.

  "I hate you, Kvoorik!" she whispered. "I hate you!"

  "You hate yourself," Onja corrected. "For not having the courage to do what I do. I understand what you've been through —"

  "Do you?"

  "Yes! I'm sorry for your pain, but don't take your personal frustrations out on me! I'm going to win this fucking war and take back what the Sirians stole from me! I made a vow to Sophia years ago and I'm going to keep it, or die trying."

  She caught her breath, continuing in a quieter voice.

  "I suggest you make a few resolutions of your own, but if you can't handle it, then get the fuck out of the service!"

  She gave the mop bucket a kick that sent it bounding off the tiled wall.

  "And if you want this toilet scrubbed, you can do it yourself!"

  She turned and stalked out of the latrine.

  * * *

  Johnny was sitting at the video terminal dictating a letter to his mother when Onja stormed in. She dropped into a chair and threw her head back with a sigh, closing her eyes. Johnny turned and watched her for a moment.

  "Done already?" he asked.

  "What?" She opened her eyes, as if seeing him for the first time.

  "The latrines. You got them clean already?"

  "Shit!" She closed her eyes again and let her head fall back against the bulkhead.

  "I say something wrong?"

  "No. Sorry. It's Negus. She really pissed me off."

  "So you didn't clean the toilets?"

  "Will you forget the fucking toilets!"

  "Whoa! Hey, this is me, okay? I'm the good guy in this story."

  She looked at him again, shook her head helplessly.

  "I'm sorry. Just give me some space, okay? I'm all wound up."

  "Want to talk about it?"

  "No!"

  He lifted his eyebrows. "Oh." He turned back to the terminal, saved his letter in a file, and shut off the screen. "Okay."

  Onja climbed out of the chair and walked over to him, wrapped an arm around his neck, and laid her cheek on his head.

  "Johnny, do you love me?"

  He sat frozen for a moment, then gently broke her hold and turned to look at her, his expression vulnerable. She gazed back at him with her wide blue eyes, the question waiting to be answered.

  "And what if I do?" he said softly.

  "Do you?"

  Trepidation filled his eyes, and Onja realized she'd hit the nail on the head. He wanted to answer, but was afraid of her rejection. She understood completely.

  After a long moment of indecision, he nodded.

  "Yes. I love you."

  She backed off and sat down again, still holding his gaze.

  "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not very smart to fall in love with your gunner?" she asked.

  "Yeah. That was the first thing they taught me."

  "But you didn't believe them?"

  "Oh, I believed them. But I hadn't met you then."

  "Then you're a fool, aren't you?"

  He nodded. "Maybe. But you fell in love with Major Landon."

  She stared at her hands and nodded.

  "And you still love him."

  She nodded again.

  "Then I am a fool."

  She looked up, her eyes troubled.

  "Why did you make me tell you, Onja? If you didn't feel the same way?"

  "Because I wanted to hear you say it. I need someone to love me." Her eyes misted, and a tear trickled down her cheek. "Nobody loves Ursula. And it's ripping her apart. The rejection is killing her."

  "What's that got to do with you and me?"

  She shrugged. "Nothing."

  Johnny got up slowly and walked into the other room. He took off his tunic, his pants, and crawled into his rack, pulling the sheet up over him. Onja came in a moment later and sat down beside him.

  "Major Landon is probably dead, Onja."

  "I know. If he's lucky." She sat there a good five minutes, neither of them speaking.

  "We've got a patrol tomorrow," Johnny said finally. "You'd better get some sleep."

  Onja shut out the light and got undressed. She crawled into his rack and slid up next to him, placing her head on his chest.

  "I'm not a kid, Onja," he said quietly, breathing her perfume. "I'm twenty-three. I know the difference between love and infatuation."

  "So do I, Johnny."

  He waited, but she didn't say any more. He slid an arm around her and pulled her against him. She soon fell asleep, but he lay awake for another hour.

  She doesn't love you, you know. She never will.

  Chapter 25

  Thursday, 22 November, 0221 – Central Atlantic, Terra

  High over the central Atlantic, Captain Ian Pendleton yawned as he finished the last of his tea and set the disposable cup in its holder behind the console of his SST 24-Z. It had been an uneventful flight so far and it was time to start thinking of landing in London. He glanced across the crowded cockpit panel, taking in instrument readings and checking for abnormalities, a habit from the old days when he'd been a Fighter Service pilot. Computers monitored everything, of course, and verbally notified the cockpit crew of anything out of the ordinary, but in fighters he'd been trained to look anyway, because you just never knew.

  They'd left Rio ninety-two minutes ago, were due in London forty-nine minutes from now. Everything looked green, the air was smooth, and he was content. Another milk run. Since the war started he'd been on edge during every flight, for on August 9 the bloody Sirians had not only bombed dozens of cities, they'd also shot hundreds of civilian airliners out of the skies. The SST was cruising at the edge of space, ninety thousand feet above the planet, and at that altitude was an easy mark for anything coming in from orbit. He always felt better when they began their descent and dropped a few thousand feet closer to the ground.

  In the right-hand seat, Bobby Doyle sat relaxed but alert, his unruly yellow hair lying in lumps across his head. A good lad, Bobby was, Ian thought. A bloody Englishman, but a good lad; not everyone had the good fortune to be born Down Under. He'd make a first rate captain one day, Bobby would.

  "Time to start our approach to London, myte," Ian said easily. "Let
's run a checklist."

  "Aye, sir."

  Bobby quickly tapped up a checklist on the amber screen at his elbow and began reading off items, to each of which Ian replied in the affirmative. It was boring stuff, but the familiarity was comforting. The giant transport almost flew itself, carrying the pilots along primarily as referees for the computers. If a man had to fly one of these birds, it likely couldn't be done. But it was a good job for an ex fighter jock, and Ian couldn't grumble about the pay. Lord knew, he got to travel – England to Africa to Brazil and back three times a week, Singapore to Athens to London before that, and God knew what run he'd do when his next posting came up.

  Outside the cockpit the sky was dim, nearly dark. Ian could see stars above, though it was the middle of day. In one sense he hated to leave this altitude, for it was as close as he would likely ever again get to space. But it was time to begin the descent; another few minutes and they would overshoot London.

  They were halfway through the checklist when an amber light flashed on the console and the impersonal female voice of the AI interrupted them.

  "Attent! Incoming transmission from North American Space Traffic Command. Message urgent. Attent!"

  Ian frowned, feeling his stomach tighten just a hair. He glanced at Bobby, who was looking at him with alarm in his eyes.

  "Wonder what the hell Nasty C wants?" Ian murmured. "We aren't even in their air space."

  "Maybe it isn't for us," Bobby offered. "At this altitude we'd pick them up, but it might be just for aircraft over their continent."

  "We'll bloody well find out!" Ian returned. "Input: play NASTC transmission."

  "Ack. Message follows."

  The transmission came over the cockpit headphones, a carefully modulated male voice with a North American accent.

  "Attention all aircraft within range of this transmission. This is an emergency warning broadcast from the North American Space Traffic Command. Ground-based and orbital Ladar have detected many unidentified spacecraft breaking out of hyperspace over the northern hemisphere within the last five minutes. Atmospheric penetrations have been monitored over North America, Europe, and Siberia. At present there is no accurate count of these spacecraft, but they number in the hundreds. The United Federation Fleet is moving to intercept where possible, but at this moment have not made contact. It is therefore to be assumed that these spacecraft are hostile.