The Sword of Sophia

by John Bowers

  Erika felt terribly conspicuous as they crossed the busy concourse toward the gate where their shuttle waited. She was the only Vegan woman in sight and all eyes turned in admiration; a few whistles and catcalls reached her ears, but they died quickly when the admirers spotted the ebony-clad SE Major at her side. For the first time in her life, Erika actually felt safer in the presence of the SE.

  The orbital shuttle delivered them to Commerce Dock 4, where they boarded a slave ship bound for Vega 3. To Erika’s surprise, the ship was CSS Robert Byrd, the same ship that had brought her to Sirius.

  This time, however, her status was different. The same First Mate who had kissed her as she left the ship the last time greeted Brandon Marlow rather nervously and eyed Erika in obvious discomfort. Erika gazed into his eyes with absolute contempt and strode, with her head up, to a slave cabin that would serve as her stateroom on the outbound voyage.

  She didn’t see pimply-faced Junior anywhere.

  Twenty minutes after they boarded, the ship disconnected from the dock and maneuvered away from the planet. Once clear of all orbital satellites and spacecraft, Byrd leaped into hyperspace and was on its way.

  The cabin was located toward the stern of the ship, a small space that only slept two. Erika stowed her luggage, such as it was, against a bulkhead and picked the lower berth for sleeping. The cabin had no amenities, as it was designed to contain slaves, but at least the door was unlocked, granting access to the heads and showers. Brandon Marlow went forward to consult with the ship’s captain, then returned and stowed his own luggage next to Erika’s. It took her a second to make the connection.

  “You don’t plan to sleep in here, do you?” she demanded, staring at him in alarm.

  “Of course. You don’t think I’d leave you here alone? With all those horny crewmen on the loose? That’s a really seedy bunch. They’d rape you in a heartbeat.”

  “They already have,” she told him. “This is the same ship I came in on.”

  “Then I rest my case.”

  “I don’t think they’d dare bother me with you on board,” she said. “Everybody I’ve seen is terrified of that uniform.”

  “Ain’t that a shame!” he grinned. “And I’m such a nice guy.”

  She couldn’t resist laughing.

  “Just the same, there are thirteen other cabins on this tub, so you can take your pick.”

  “I already have. I’m sleeping right here.” He patted the top bunk and winked. “I like to be on top.”

  She had to laugh again, but she still didn’t like it. During the week he’d been at the plantation he hadn’t laid a hand on her, hadn’t even kissed her. But he was still SE and she didn’t know the first thing about him. By default, she could hardly be expected to trust him.

  “It’s nineteen days to Vega,” she said. “How do I know you won’t rape me?”

  “I didn’t rape you at the plantation, did I?”

  “You were too busy with the kittens.”

  He nodded and smiled at the memory. “Yeah, they did keep me pretty occupied. They love to ride the pole.”

  “But the kittens aren’t here,” she pointed out. “And I am.”

  “Relax,” he said. “I left another kitten on Vega. Her name is Tascha, and she makes the others look like dogs.”

  But Erika stood her ground. “Nineteen days, Major! Have you ever gone nineteen days? Celibate?”

  He nodded. “Occasionally.”

  “Sleeping in the same room with a Vegan woman?”

  He laughed. “My, you certainly have a high opinion of yourself.”

  “No, I don’t. You do. That’s why you invaded my planet.”

  Brandon Marlow, obviously enjoying the exchange, sighed contentedly.

  “Relax, Miss Sebring. I made a promise to an old friend. If I raped you, he would not be very happy with me. So you’re perfectly safe.”

  She eyed him warily. “Is that the only reason?”

  He nodded slowly, eyeing her back. “Yeah, pretty much. You are pretty hot.”

  She sat down on her bunk, her hands clasped together. “That isn’t very reassuring.”

  Reina, Vega 3

  Erik Norgaard’s first week on his new job was refreshing. He’d been hired at the lowest wage and got handed the most menial jobs, but it didn’t matter—he was no longer in prison camp and he was busy. Using his hands and straining his muscles felt good; the job didn’t require any mental skills but it left him too tired to think anyway, and when he did have time to think he had Valyn to think about, which was a lot more pleasant than anything in prison camp.

  He worked mostly in the warehouse, helping other men pack explosives, stencil crates, and load them onto cargo hovers. Although NordTek dealt with volatile materials, the work wasn’t really dangerous. None of the industrial explosives would work without the proper detonators, which were handled separately, and the military munitions were microchip encoded to prevent accidents. What Erik did learn was that NordTek manufactured a lot more military stuff than he had expected, and he wondered why—the Confederacy wasn’t waging any wars that he was aware of, so why did they need so many landmines and P-gun shells? Training exercises? Or were they stockpiling for a future invasion somewhere?

  It wasn’t his problem and he didn’t dwell on it, but he could only wonder.

  He ran into Adam Pedersen one afternoon in the warehouse, and paused as the slender blond man asked him how it was going.

  “It’s going well,” Erik told him. “I appreciate the job.”

  Pedersen smiled. “Johannssen tells me you’re a good worker. That’s all I need to hear.”

  Erik shrugged. “It’s good to be busy.”

  Pedersen nodded, almost distracted, as if he didn’t really care. Erik realized something else was on his mind. Pedersen ran his hand over a crate, his fingers tracing the stencil.

  “What unit were you in?” he asked. “In the Guard.”

  “Fifth Royal Infantry. I was career.”

  “Ah.” Pedersen nodded. “You said you got college girl replacements.”

  “Yes, sir, late in the war. Since we were a regular unit, most of the college girls went to the volunteer outfits because their losses were so high. Most of our replacements came from other regular units, until they started running out of men.”

  “Do you remember the names of the girls in your unit?”

  Erik nodded. “Kristiana Smak and Julya Bergman.”

  “Um. Any others?”

  “No, sir. We only had the two. I think there were about a dozen girls altogether, scattered throughout the battalion.”

  “Does the name Olga Pedersen ring any bells?” Pedersen smiled sadly.

  “No, sir. I’m sorry.”

  Pedersen dipped his head, embarrassed.

  “I’m sorry too. Sorry to bring it up. I know those are bad memories. It’s just that…we never did know what happened to my sister. I don’t even know what unit she was assigned to.”

  “You’re pretty certain she was killed?”

  “No, I’m not. But she never came back, so…”

  “She could have been…” Erik stopped. That possibility was even worse than what Pedersen was thinking.

  “Captured?” Pedersen said. “Is that what you were about to say?”

  “Yes, sir. But if that were the case…it would be better if she was killed.”

  “Yes. I agree.” Pedersen sighed, smiled again, and dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Well, thank you, Erik. I hope I didn’t dredge up too many bad memories.”

  “No, sir, not at all. I’ll keep her name in mind. If I ever learn anything, I’ll let you know.”

  Erik got his first paycheck at the end of the week and, after dinner at home, dropped into the River Pub again. Again the place was full of Confederate soldiers and scantily-clad Vegan girls. Once again Erik ordered a beer, paid the exorbitant price, and stood at the bar drinking. The music jangled his nerves and the tobacco smoke stung his eyes, but he gazed around the ro
om for several minutes until someone noticed him.

  “Hey, it’s my favorite Veggie!” The young sergeant from the first night reached for his hand and wrung it as if they were long lost friends. “Haven’t seen you in a few days. What’re you up to?”

  “Found myself a job,” Erik said. “I had to—this place is expensive.”

  Jeff Kilburn laughed and motioned to the bartender.

  “Give my Veggie friend here a refill!” he shouted. “This one’s on me.”

  Erik grinned good-naturedly. “Thanks.”

  “So what’s new in your life, Erik? Besides the job, I mean? Been gettin’ any?”

  Erik laughed. “That’s a little personal, isn’t it?”

  “Hey, we’re all adults here, right? And after where you’ve been…”

  Erik sipped his beer. Actually there had been plenty of sex in prison camp, at least in the beginning. The Sirians had brought in women twice a week, Vegan women, most of them black or Asian. Slave women.

  But he didn’t want to think about that, or discuss it with Jeff Kilburn.

  “I’ve been doing all right,” he said noncommittally.

  “Well, tha’s good.” Kilburn had obviously been drinking for some time. “But if you ever need anything, you know, you’re in the right place. We can fix you up with anything you want.”

  Erik regarded him a moment without smiling. It might be interesting to see exactly how Kilburn would “fix him up”.

  Kilburn caught his expression, and Erik smiled. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”

  Friday, 17 January, 0200 (PCC) – Reina, Vega 3

  Valyn Kristensen was at her desk, peering at the terminal. A new data file had been moved into her queue for merging and she was hardly able to believe her eyes. Over the past few days she had run across some troubling data, such as the list of middle-aged women selected for Domestic Companionship—a euphemism for sleeping with teenage soldiers—and women selected for slavery. Most of the names on those lists were accompanied by flat photos, and she had seen a few faces she recognized.

  But this list was different. This data contained the names of men who raped Vegan women. Vegan men. How the SE collected this data she wasn’t sure—was it possible these men reported their own crimes to the SE? Or the Constabulary? Under the current regime rape was no longer a crime, so they wouldn’t fear arrest or prosecution, but why would they tell on themselves?

  She didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. What concerned her was the fact that civilian men, most of them middle-aged, were forcing themselves on other men’s wives. A closer look at the data told her that many of these men, though not all, had lost their own wives to the slave trade—which accounted for their loneliness, but in no way excused their subsequent actions.

  Even worse…nine of the names in the file had committed such acts against young girls. Valyn’s heart thumped in horror at the very idea. How could any man do such a thing? Let alone a Vegan man?

  “Kristensen!”

  Valyn jumped. She hadn’t heard the door open behind her. She spun around and looked up into Col. Royer’s eyes. He was scowling.

  “In my office.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Her blood ran cold as she got to her feet, so scared she could barely stand. He held the door as she hurried through it, then closed it behind her. She heard the lock turn.

  Oh, Sophia! Please, no! Not today, not yet!

  Royer walked around behind his desk, his cold blue eyes on her face.

  “Did you take care of the virginity thing?”

  She gulped and nodded, her face feeling tight.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He stepped back from his desk and waved her toward him. “Come around here.”

  Trembling visibly, she walked woodenly around the desk. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her against him, bending his head to kiss her.

  “Colonel!” she gasped when he released her lips, “please…”

  “Don’t beg, Kristensen. You have too much dignity for that. Turn around and bend over the desk.”

  Tears ran down her cheeks as she obeyed, terrified beyond belief. She leaned over the desk and rested her elbows on the surface. Royer stood behind her and positioned her to his satisfaction.

  “I warned you about this the day you were hired,” he said conversationally. “If you took care of the virgin thing it shouldn’t hurt that much, but even if it does I don’t want to hear you scream. Understood?”

  She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  She closed her eyes with dread, and began silently reciting Sophia’s Creed, only her lips moving. She felt Royer lift her skirt, felt his hands on her bare skin. Her breath came in shallow gasps, she prayed faster. She heard him unlatch his belt, heard his pants drop to the floor, then his hands tightened under her belly as he leaned over her.

  The pain was worse than she expected. Air exploded out of her at the first thrust, but she managed to bite back a scream. She sucked air rapidly and clenched her fists, feeling her head swim.

  Royer took a moment to better position himself, then resumed his assault. Valyn’s mind went numb as he dropped into a steady rhythm…not too fast, not too hard, but still painful. She heard him breathing faster, felt the heat from his hands. Her head bobbed and her stomach churned, but somehow she endured it for several hours…

  …or so it seemed. When she opened her eyes the desk clock revealed it had only been three or four minutes…the longest four minutes of her life. She heard him groan, felt him shudder, and then he stopped moving and placed both hands on the desk beside her. He breathed deeply for another minute, then disengaged and pulled her skirt down. When she straightened up, swaying, he was buckling his belt again. He pulled her against him and gave her a squeeze.

  “It’s four o’clock,” he said. “Take the rest of the day off. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  She nodded dumbly, too dazed to speak, and made her way to the door. She had trouble opening it and fumbled with the handle. She heard a buzz and a click—Royer had unlocked it remotely. She never remembered returning to her desk, shutting down her workstation, or getting her things out of the ladies’ room. Jule found her as she was struggling into her coat and gave her a hug.

  “I’m sorry, honey, I know that had to be rough. But it will get better, I promise.”

  Valyn gazed into the older woman’s eyes and saw genuine concern, but it didn’t register. She just had to get out of the building.

  Moments later she found herself on the street, hanging onto a lamp post, snow crystals stinging her face. Traffic was moving slowly through the fresh slush that had fallen since noon. The cold air refreshed her a little, cooled the fever in her mind, and helped her focus. So that’s it, she thought. That’s what it’s like. Since the invasion more than a million women had suffered that fate, and she had often wondered what horrors they experienced.

  Now she knew.

  Until now she had been spared all that, because her father was the Regent. She had been exempt, and felt guilty.

  She didn’t feel guilty anymore.

  But in that day, Sophia sent a sword, a sword of justice, and the invader was torn asunder. And the faithful rejoiced, and wept, and the people were vindicated.”

  —The Scroll of Sophia, Passage 137:2

  Book Two: Occupation

  Chapter 11

  Monday, 17 February, 0200 (PCC) – Reina, Vega 3

  The building housing Royal Holo News looked pretty much the way Erika Sebring remembered it. It was good to be back; her eyes glistened as she gazed up at the blue sign across the top of the building. She had never expected to see it again.

  The street wasn’t as busy as she remembered, but there was still a crowd, people streaming this way and that. The main difference was the women—every female on the sidewalk, from grandmothers to teenagers, were dressed like whores. Vegan streets had always been a treat for male eyes, but what she saw now—she could only imagine how it must affect a man’s l
ibido.

  Not that she had room to criticize. Brandon Marlow had educated her before she left her flat—no skirts below mid-thigh, no bra, show as much skin as possible. The only concession he allowed her was panties, because her exemption permitted them.

  She entered the building lobby and took the antigrav lift to the 25th floor. When she stepped into the RHN lobby the girl behind the desk was a stranger, but that was no surprise—she hadn’t been here in nearly five years. The girl, a pretty Asian, looked up with a smile.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here to see the news director,” she said. “My name is Erika Sebring.”

  The girl did a double take, and her smile widened.

  “I remember you! You worked here before the war.”

  “Yes, I did. Were you here then?”

  “No, I was in junior high. But I saw you on the holo a lot. Just a moment, I’ll see if Mr. Steinbach is busy.”

  Erika felt slightly foolish. The girl looked about eighteen; she probably thought Erika was really old. A moment later the girl looked up with a smile.

  “Mr. Steinbach is expecting you. Please go on in.”

  Erika smiled her thanks, took a deep breath, and pushed through the glass door into the newsroom. The babble of voices was familiar. As she made her way down the center aisle toward the office at the rear, heads popped up, conversation died. She heard her name whispered, then again, louder: “It’s Erika Sebring!”

  A man leaped out of a cubicle in her path, a slightly heavy man with a deeply lined face and thinning dark hair.

  “Erika!” He threw his arms around her in a bear hug, lifted her off the floor and spun her in a circle. He set her down again, his face flushed, laughing. “Goddess! I thought you were dead! What the hell happened to you?”

  Erika stared at him in disbelief.

  “Viktor?” She laughed in pure delight. “Viktor Lundgren! It’s so good to see you! I figured you had retired by now!”

  “I was planning to, but we’re under new management. They persuaded me to stick around and help get the network back on its feet.”

  “YEW!!”