The Sword of Sophia

by John Bowers

  He reached the River Pub and tried the door. It was locked. He pounded on it with his fist, glancing left and right to make sure no one was around.

  “Open up!” he shouted, and pounded harder.

  He heard the door lock snap and the door slid open. Leif the bartender stood there, looking half confused and half angry.

  “What the hell do you want?” he demanded.

  Erik pushed past him and into the pub; warm air engulfed him. Leif locked the door again and followed him.

  “We don’t open until eleven,” he said.

  “I know.” Erik turned to face him. The two men were twenty years apart in age, but of equal stature. Erik was pretty sure that Leif was a loyal Vegan in spite of serving drinks to the enemy.

  “You know who I am,” Erik said.

  “Yeah. You’re a fucking moron who hangs out where you aren’t wanted.”

  Erik stared at him a moment. “Turn on the news,” he said.

  “What? Why?”

  “Turn on the news and find out.”

  Leif reached for a remote switch and the holoviewer above the bar flickered to life. The timing was perfect—a bright red banner painted the bottom of the screen that said BREAKING NEWS. The anchor was introducing Erika Sebring. Erik pointed and Leif looked—Erika’s stunning face graced the screen, but she looked shaken.

  “The Confederate Army was stunned last night when the Homer Murdock barracks were destroyed by the man who calls himself the Sword of Sophia, but whom the Sirian Elite Guards insist is a terrorist. Less than an hour ago, the mystery man was identified as Erik Norgaard, twenty-five, a former Vegan Guardsman who only recently returned to Reina from Camp Clinton, a prisoner of war camp…”

  Erik’s picture replaced Erika’s face, and he heard Leif suck in his breath. Erik grabbed his arm and held onto it while the report continued.

  “In a shocking new development, the SE has announced the identification of a collaborator in the terror bombings; Colonel Paul Royer, of the SE, told Royal Holo News that Valyn Kristensen, the daughter of Regent Peder Kristensen—”

  Erik’s grip on Leif’s arm tightened as electricity shot through his body. They had Valyn?

  “—who was employed by the SE, was caught trying to warn Norgaard that he had been identified, and urging him to flee. Colonel Royer said Kristensen was caught in the act, and was summarily executed as a traitor.”

  “What!”

  Erik released Leif’s arm and pounded his fist on the bar, tears forming in his eyes as he stared in horror at the new image on the screen, the dead body of the girl who had called him not thirty minutes ago.

  “…wants to convey a message to the Sword of Sophia that his reign of terror is over. Royer said that, quote, You belong to us now, and we will get you, unquote. Royer added that anyone, soldier or civilian, who aids or even attempts to aid the fugitive in any capacity whatsoever will be executed. There will be no excuses and no appeals, he said.”

  Erika Sebring’s face returned to the screen and she paused for breath. She looked drained, Erik thought, washed out, as if she had just signed his death warrant herself.

  “From Sirian Elite Guard Executive Offices, this is Erika Sebring, Royal Holo News.”

  “Turn it off.” Erik sagged over the bar, his heart frozen with grief, his lungs barely working. “I need a drink.”

  Leif the bartender switched off the holo and walked around behind the bar. He looked almost as shaken as Erik felt.

  “You?” he demanded. “You’re the Sword of Sophia?”

  “Yeah. Now get me that drink.”

  “What kind do you want?”

  “Lightning.”

  “You never drink Lightning.” But he poured the drink anyway.

  Erik tossed the drink down and held his breath. It burned its way down his esophagus, corkscrewing its way into his stomach, but he was so numb he barely felt it. He let his breath out in a sigh, trying to think, trying to ignore the grief. This is no different than losing a buddy in battle, he told himself. You have friends, men you’ve trained with, lived with, partied with, men whose families you’ve visited, and they die beside you unexpectedly, but you can’t stop fighting. You pigeonhole that pain until you have time to deal with it.

  This was no different.

  He told himself that.

  And pretended to believe it.

  It more or less worked.

  “What the hell are you going to do now?” Leif asked.

  Erik placed both hands flat on the bar and leaned over it, staring at the polished wood.

  “I’m going to save your life,” he said.

  Leif frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you just gave comfort to the enemy, by letting me in here.”

  “Hey, wait a minute—I had no idea—”

  Erik’s head shot up. “Do you think they’ll believe that? Do you think they’ll care?”

  Leif stared at him and swallowed hard. “No.”

  “No. That’s right, they won’t.” Erik stared at him, his thoughts racing. He was going to lose, but this wasn’t over yet. “Here’s what you’re going to do, Leif. You’re going to do exactly what I tell you or you’re going to die. Understood?”

  Leif nodded unhappily, his eyes stating plainly that he wished Erik had never walked into his bar back in January.

  “You’re going to call your girls and tell them to stay home—”

  “What? We open at eleven. This place will be full of soldiers for lunch.”

  “Shut up. Listen and live. Tell the girls to stay home. Tell them there’s a gas leak or something and it’s too dangerous. But you open on schedule, and you serve the soldiers as best you can without the girls. Okay so far?”

  Leif nodded, looking less thrilled by the minute.

  “Do the soldiers bring their girlfriends for lunch?”

  “No. Most of them are on duty. They only bring the girls at night.”

  “Good. At exactly twelve noon you walk outside. Take out the garbage or something, something that looks normal and innocent. I don’t care what you do, but do not be inside this building at one minute past noon.”

  “Why? What happens at noon?” Leif looked startled.

  Erik stared at him for a long moment, as if debating whether to tell him.

  “Just don’t be inside,” he said. “Be fifty yards away, at least.”

  Leif’s eyes widened in fear and anger.

  “You’re going to blow this place up? Goddess scorn, man, I work here! This is my livelihood!”

  Erik grabbed the Lightning bottle at Leif’s elbow and poured himself another drink.

  “Not my problem,” he said, and downed the shot.

  “You can’t do that!” Leif shouted. “This joint is Vegan owned!”

  Erik shrugged, as if it didn’t concern him.

  Leif grabbed him by the coat collar.

  “Look, I’ve got a wife and a disabled son! A war veteran, like you! I’m their only means of support! You take this place out and we’re all fucked, because I don’t have any other skills.”

  Erik pulled loose and took a step back. He slipped on his woolen cap.

  “Where’s the bomb?” Leif demanded. “Where did you put it?”

  “Them,” Erik corrected him. “Six of ‘em. I planted them weeks ago. You’ll never find them.”

  Leif came around the bar, his eyes frantic.

  “Please, man! I’m begging you! For the love of Sophia, don’t do this!”

  Erik lifted his chin, his teeth bared, and gazed at Leif with slightly crazy eyes.

  “I gotta go,” he said. “I have an appointment with a military installation on the north end of town.” He headed for the door, then turned and pointed. “Twelve o’clock—you be outside.”

  He went out the door and disappeared into the snow.

  * * *

  Leif the bartender dropped onto a stool and rested his elbow on the bar. Great Gracious Goddess, how had this descended on him? Wh
at had he ever done to that crazy son of a bitch? Putting him in the middle like this! Threatening his income just to kill a few last Sirians before they caught him?

  Leif was as patriotic as anyone on Vega, but he knew, had long ago accepted, that the war was over. Vega had lost, and no matter how much he hated it, nothing but another war could change that. He had resigned himself to survival, for himself and his family. And now this crazy motherfucker was going to take it all away.

  It took Leif ten minutes to make up his mind. Then he reached for the phone and placed a call. To the Sirian Elite Guards.

  Chapter 31

  Thursday, 3 April 0200 (PCC) – Reina, Vega 3

  It took Erik two hours to make his way downtown. He had found ways around most of the checkpoints—back alleys, sewer drains, rooftops—one had to be inventive, and definitely cautious, but anyone with basic infantry skills could move around town without being noticed.

  He heard the sirens long before he reached his destination. The snow muffled much of the city’s ambient noise, but the sirens cut through, and they all seemed to be heading toward River Pub. He had considered actually bombing the place as a diversion, but there were several problems with that—one was that it would be impossible to know for a certainty that no Vegans were inside; no matter what Leif said, it was always possible an off-duty soldier would bring a Vegan girl in at lunchtime. Another problem was that it would, indeed, put Leif and the bar girls out of work. He hadn’t even considered that the night Sallje had stopped him, but it was a consideration every bit as valid as not killing Vegans.

  The third reason it was a bad idea, was that the SE weren’t stupid—someone, somewhere, would catch on to what he was doing, that he was deliberately diverting resources away from where he wanted to be. So instead of actually bombing the place, he had convinced Leif that he was about to do so and scared him so badly that Leif had no choice but to call the SE. The sirens told him Leif had done exactly that.

  And Leif would send them north to check “military installations” where Erik had “an appointment”. That should tie up quite a few men for quite a few hours. Long enough for Erik to do what he needed to do.

  By a quarter to twelve, he was in place.

  * * *

  Hans Norgaard was still feeling cold inside as Norma piloted their hovercar through the gathering snowfall toward his parents’ home. He could still feel the kick of the pistol and hear the roar, smell the powder smoke, and see Valyn’s brains flying out her ears. He could barely believe he’d done that. He hadn’t even had it in mind to do that, but at the exact moment that Maj. Marlow threw his gun on the floor, a message had flashed through his mind that it was the right thing to do. Col. Royer had practically accused him of collusion when it was discovered that Erik was the terrorist, but by killing Valyn, Hans had defused that notion for the moment. He still had to find Erik, of course, and somehow capture him, to put all suspicions at rest.

  But he had killed Valyn!

  He hadn’t known Valyn well, hadn’t even seen her in years. She’d been one of Erik’s friends before the war, someone Erik dated, and after the war Hans had been aware that her father, already Regent under Queen Ursula, had been fingered by the SE to run the planet as their puppet head of state. Lots of people had cursed Regent Kristensen for doing what he did, but Hans was pretty sure the man had no choice—his wife and daughter had been hostages in the matter, and he had done what he must to protect his family. Valyn, like Erik, was a true Vegan patriot, but like Hans, she had bowed to the inevitable and gone to work for the SE.

  Only…Erik had somehow coerced her to help him in his vengeance crusade, and that had been her undoing.

  And I killed her!

  If Hans was ambivalent about the whole thing, Norma Teasdale was not. She was practically giggling as she headed toward the Queen River.

  “Boy, yew are one surprise every goddamn minute!” she chortled. “Yew blew that girl away like she was a fuckin’ scorpion snake! I gotta tell yew—I was ready to do it myself, if nobody else would, but I nearly wet myself when yew drew and fired.” She laughed out loud.

  Hans stared out the window and squirmed. He didn’t want to admit to his trainer that he was squeamish about what he’d done, especially when she was so excited about it. The truth was that he had never even fired a shot at another human in his life, until that fateful moment. Now he was struggling with guilt over the whole thing. Yes, she was a traitor, but so was his brother, and…

  Oh, goddess! Would he have to shoot Erik, too?

  A squad of Confederate infantry stood on the street in front of the Norgaard home as the SE car settled to the street. Hans and Norma got out and walked up to the door. Their ebony uniforms deflected any questions from the soldiers, who were regular Army. Hans rang the bell and the door opened a moment later. Birgitt stared up at him in surprise, her eyes red and her face drawn.

  “Hans! Oh, Hans!” She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight, almost pulling him off balance. She drew him into the house and began to cry.

  “It’s okay, Mom! It’s okay.” He tried to calm her, but she was sobbing, trying to talk about several things at once, and making no sense at all.

  “The soldiers!” she wept. “They came here and they—accused me—of killing all those people! They—they said that I—was the S-Sword of Sophia! They said it was my phone that set off those bombs!”

  “Mom, settle down. It’s all straightened out now. Just calm down.”

  “I gave that phone to your brother over a month ago! He needed a phone and I hadn’t used it in years!”

  “Shhh! Look, let me make you some tea. Just be quiet now.”

  Norma stood in the doorway and watched, her expression bemused but respectful. Birgitt didn’t seem to notice her presence.

  “Hans, what’s going on? Is Erik really…”

  “Yes, Mom, he is. He’s been killing people for weeks now. I have to stop him. Do you have any idea where he is?”

  Birgitt stared at him, confused. She looked at Norma, then back to her son.

  “Wh-where did he get those…bombs? How did he—”

  “He works at NordTek. They manufacture them there.” The mines weren’t from NordTek and Hans knew it—NordTek had been inspected and inventoried, and came up clean. But Birgitt didn’t need complex explanations right now. Hans got a teapot steaming and sat down in a kitchen chair. He took Birgitt’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

  “Mom, do you have any idea where Erik is now? I have to find him before the SE does.”

  “He—he should be at work! He left here this morning to go to work.”

  “He isn’t there. Someone tipped him off and he ran. I need to know who he hangs out with, where he might go.”

  Birgitt shook her head, struggling to think.

  “I…He sees Valyn sometimes. Valyn Kristensen. But I—I don’t think he has any other friends. Nobody that he talks about, anyway.”

  “Would Dad know?”

  “Maybe. You can ask him.”

  Hans poured Birgitt some tea and talked to her for a few minutes, until she was calm. He introduced Norma, who smiled and said hello. Then he went to search Erik’s room. It took him only minutes to realize that Erik had left nothing incriminating behind—his brother might be a terrorist, but he’d taken care to protect their parents from suspicion. Hans was grateful for that.

  They went to NordTek next, but it was only a formality. They’d received radio confirmation earlier that Erik had left hastily after receiving a private call on his pocket phone. He’d claimed a family emergency and just walked out. Hans interviewed Erik’s supervisor and even talked to the company president, Adam Pedersen, but learned nothing of value. Erik was in the wind.

  And the wind was blowing cold.

  Then a call came in that Erik had been sighted at the River Pub, a saloon that catered to Confederate soldiers. Hans and Norma hurried to the scene, only to find it swarming with SE. The information they picked up there kept
them running all over the north end of the city for the rest of the day.

  * * *

  Erik located Liv’s Diner without trouble; it was a small hole in the wall on a side street, quaint and homelike, with only six tables and a counter. When Col. Royer walked in the door for lunch, Erik was seated at a corner table by the window, head down, working on a bowl of hot soup. Only one other customer was in the place, an elderly man at the table farthest from the door. Royer walked in and took a seat at the counter, completely oblivious of his surroundings, and smiled at the waitress, who was well into her sixties.

  “I’ll have the usual, Klara.”

  “Coming right up, Colonel. I hear you identified the killer.”

  “Yes we did. We’ll have him in custody by nightfall.”

  Erik stole a glance at Klara, who didn’t look all that thrilled.

  “Well, I guess the SE always gets their man,” she said. “I’m sure the families of those poor soldiers will be pleased.”

  Royer nodded, a frown on his leathery face. “I just wish we’d found him sooner. I can’t believe the carnage he’s caused.”

  Erik waited until Klara returned from the kitchen with a bowl of hot soup. She placed it in front of Royer and poured him a cup of steaming tea. Royer picked up his soup spoon and dipped it in the bowl, blowing on it to cool it.

  Erik stood up. He dropped paper money on the table and headed for the door. Klara smiled at him.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Come again.”

  Erik waved as he reached the door. He was behind Royer now, and he stopped at the door, twisted the lock, and pulled out his bayonet. He turned toward his target, six feet away, and lunged.

  Klara screamed.

  Royer’s head spun around, but too late—Erik wrapped his left arm around the man’s neck, locking it into a vise, and drove the bayonet into his right kidney—not immediately fatal, but debilitating. Royer’s slender, rock-hard body went rigid with pain, but Erik twisted his neck and cut off his air, holding him immobile while he released the bayonet and jerked Royer’s pistol out of its holster. He shoved the pistol into his coat pocket, then gripped the bayonet again and twisted it.