The Sword of Sophia

by John Bowers

  Hans let her push him down on his rack, face up, and begin tugging off his boots. She pulled off his pants next, and then his shorts. He lay naked in the cold room, goose bumps rippling across his skin. Norma quickly peeled off her own garments and climbed on top of him, kissing him deeply.

  “I been waitin’ for this all day,” she murmured.

  Hans didn’t try to stop her. Emotionally he was in no mood for sex, but Norma was a whore at heart, and always managed to bring him to arousal. She was thirty-nine years old, divorced, and had two adult children, but none of that seemed to concern her. She saw Hans as her personal toy, and played with him at every opportunity. He moaned.

  Goddess help him, she was ugly as sin, but she had a great body, and she knew how to use it. For fifteen minutes she put him through a workout that erased most of the day’s frustrations, and after he climaxed he lay weak and gasping.

  “Feel better now?” she grinned, gazing down at him from directly above his face.

  Hans blinked at her, then laughed. “What were we talking about before?”

  “That’s the spirit!” She climbed off him and pulled on her uniform pants. “Why don’t we git some supper, then we can figure out what to do next.”

  They crossed the courtyard to the mess hall, which was jammed with noisy soldiers, and ate at a small table against the wall. The greycoats ignored them—ebony uniforms made them nervous—and they discussed their progress in quiet tones.

  “Yew know what he did, don’t yew?” Norma said as Hans fed his face. “He deliberately sent us on a goose chase all over the city. That was strictly a diversion, nothin’ more.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “That bartender said he was gonna attack some military installation on the north end. But did he? No.”

  “Maybe the bartender was lying.”

  “I don’t think so. He was too scared.”

  “Maybe Erik saw all the soldiers looking for him and had to abort the attack.”

  Norma reached out and gently slapped his face.

  “Wake up, sweet dick! Yewr brother is a lot smarter than yew are. He wanted Colonel Royer, and he had to git us outta the way so he could git to him.”

  Hans stared at her in sudden understanding.

  “Goddess Sophia!” he gasped. “You’re right!”

  “Of course I’m right. He prob’ly thinks Royer killed the girlfriend, and he damn sure knows Royer was pumpin’ her.”

  Hans frowned. “What makes you think—”

  “He chopped up Royer’s dick!” she shouted. “Jesus fuck, use yewr head! Only one kind of rage makes a man do somethin’ like that, and that’s rage over a woman. By all rights he shoulda killed Royer outright, but he didn’t—he left him alive, so he could suffer for the rest of his days. He hated that man.”

  Hans stared at her with glazed eyes, and swallowed hard.

  What will he do to me? I’m the one who actually killed her!

  Norma read his expression and nodded.

  “That’s right, sweet dick. When he finds out yew killed her…”

  Hans felt his stomach bubble up, and swallowed as salty fluid surged into his throat. He grabbed a glass of cold water and drank it down quickly, to suppress the reflex. Sweat popped out on his forehead.

  “When did you put all this together?” he asked, his voice almost a croak.

  “When we heard about Royer.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “Now the good news is that he prob’ly don’t know yet that Royer didn’t kill the girl. If we move fast, he may never know. But yew haff to find him.”

  Hans stared at her numbly.

  “And…” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “…yew haff to kill him!”

  Hans closed his eyes in a silent prayer. How had he got himself into this position?

  “Hurry up and finish yewr supper,” Norma told him. “We have a lot of work to do.”

  * * *

  Erika was sitting in front of her mirror, removing her makeup as she prepared for bed. It had been a busy and crazy day. First the Homer Murdock barracks had been bombed, killing well over a thousand men, then the “terrorist”—Erika still thought of him as the Sword—had been identified. He hadn’t even sent a v-mail this time…things were probably too hot for him.

  Erik Norgaard?

  She still could hardly believe it. In fact, she wasn’t sure she did believe it. He had ridden in her hovercar on the trip down south and back, they had talked about Jacquje…

  And the girl, Valyn Kristensen, gunned down in the SE Executive Office…by Hans Norgaard! Could the galaxy get any crazier?

  It had. Brandon had been arrested, threatened with prison, his career in a shambles. Brandon, a lifelong SE man, a respected Confederate officer—it was unbelievable.

  And then Col. Royer, carved up like a Festival goose!

  Not that he didn’t deserve it. Erika had met him once or twice and he made her skin crawl. Royer was the worst of the worst, the picture of SE efficiency, a poster boy for inhuman cruelty. It was he who’d ordered the girl’s death, he who had cashiered Brandon for refusing to kill her…if any human being, friend or foe, ever had to suffer that kind of torture, Erika was glad it was Royer. The SE, as an organization, was by definition ruthless and cruel, but they didn’t need men like Royer. Nobody needed men like him. He was just too pathological about his job, a true sociopath.

  Her phone rang. She jerked at the sound, and stared at it a moment. Goddess on the mountain, what now?

  It rang again. She picked it up.

  “Erika Sebring.”

  For just a moment there was silence, then a familiar voice filled her ear.

  “Hi, Erika. It’s me, Erik Norgaard.”

  Erika’s heart swelled, and she spun around on her vanity stool.

  “Erik! Where are you? The whole Confederate Army is looking for you!”

  “I know. Do you know how to get hold of Hans?”

  “Erik, wait…is it true? Are you…?”

  “Yes. Sorry I didn’t send the v-mail after the barracks thing, but I figured it was time to keep quiet.”

  She stared at the carpet a moment, without really seeing it.

  “You still there?” he asked.

  “Yes! Yes. What—you asked about your brother?”

  “Right. Any idea how to reach him?”

  “I think he’s billeted at the Nord Gate barracks.”

  “I know that, but I need to talk to him without going through an exchange. Do you have his personal number?”

  “No, I don’t. But I know who probably does. Major Marlow.”

  “The SE man? Can you get it from him?”

  “I think so. It might take an hour or so.”

  “I’m in no hurry. When you get the number, just call Hans for me. Give him a message.”

  She nodded quietly. She could hear the tension in his voice, the strain. He knew it was over. He was waiting to die. Tears misted her eyes.

  “Okay. What’s the message?”

  “Tell Hans where to meet me. I know he’s looking for me…tell him I’m ready.”

  “Erik, what—what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to meet my brother. Whatever happens next is up to him, but one of us will walk away alive. I promise him that.”

  He told her where he wanted to meet, and Erika wrote it down.

  “Erika…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for being there for Jacquje. She was lucky to have a friend like you.”

  Hot tears spilled down Erika’s cheeks, and she caught her breath suddenly, a half sob.

  “Erik, I’m sorry! I’m sorry it was her and not me! It was my fault!”

  “No it wasn’t. It was the Confederates’ fault. But her bill is paid now, a thousand times over. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Erika tried to answer but words would not come. She sobbed helplessly into the phone.

  “One more thing,” Erik said. “This is important. Don’t tell the SE wher
e to find me. Just Hans. Tell him to come alone. Can you do that?”

  She nodded, gasped for breath, and got her voice back.

  “Yes, okay. Erik, you aren’t going to kill him are you?”

  “No. I can’t kill my own brother. Hans has to live.”

  * * *

  Erika dressed quickly, ignoring her makeup—if the SE caught her unpainted they would just have to deal with it—and grabbed her purse. She rushed for the door and jerked it open—

  Brandon Marlow stood there, his hand reaching for the bell. He looked as surprised as she was.

  He grinned. “Miss me?”

  “Oh! Brandon! I-I was…just coming to see you!”

  “Good thing I got here first. You would’ve wasted a trip.”

  She pulled him inside, closed the door, and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him greedily.

  “God damn!” he exulted when she let him go. “I should get out of jail more often!”

  “What are you doing out? I didn’t expect to see you until some time tomorrow.”

  He peeled off his overcoat and laid it across a table.

  “Captain Croswell and Lieutenant Rice showed up at the stockade a couple of hours ago. It seems Colonel Royer did not file the paperwork yet, and they demanded my release on their authority. They said they didn’t believe I acted unreasonably, and if Colonel Royer still wants to charge me he can do so at some future date. In the meantime, I’m restored to duty.”

  Erika sighed her relief. “What are the chances Royer will still charge you?”

  Brandon picked up a bottle of Nektar from an end table and poured a shot into a glass.

  “From what they told me about Royer’s condition, I don’t think it’s likely he’ll care what happens to me. I could be wrong, of course…” He drank the shot straight down, then scowled at the glass. “Hog piss!” he declared. “Sweet hog piss, but hog piss.”

  Erika studied him for a moment.

  “So…does this mean you’re not resigning from the SE?”

  His eyes narrowed as he returned her gaze, and he carefully laid both hands on her shoulders.

  “It means I won’t be forced out,” he said.

  Her mouth tightened in disappointment.

  “However…” He squeezed her shoulders lightly. “…this whole thing has put things into a new perspective for me. I did some thinking while I was in that cell.”

  “What kind of thinking?”

  “The Sirian Elite Guards is a tough outfit. Always has been. We do some bad things and I’ve always known that. I’ve overlooked a lot of things others did, because sometimes I had to do bad things myself. But Royer…” He shook his head, his eyes glazing. “I’ve run across men like him before, high level officers who make the really atrocious decisions. Decisions that ruin lives, decisions that kill people.”

  Brandon turned away and sat down on the sofa. Erika settled in a chair across from him, elbows on her knees, her eyes intent on his face.

  “But I never had to work directly for anyone like him, never had to take their orders on a daily basis.” He shook his head, his eyes met hers. “I’ve sent thousands of women into slavery, but I can’t just shoot an unarmed civilian, especially a woman. I never have, and I never will.”

  Erika’s lips parted with hope, her eyes gleamed.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. You remember Oliver Lincoln—I think I told you once that he was trained as a Vegan sniper.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I remember.”

  “What I didn’t tell you is that one afternoon he was looking through his sniper scope and he found me in his sights.”

  “You?”

  Brandon nodded. “Ollie and I go away back; he was my roommate in college when I did graduate study on Terra. I visited his home in Colorado, and later he visited me on Sirius, just before the war broke out. We were good friends. We disagreed about nearly everything, especially politics, but we were still close. So Oliver saw me in his sights and he had to make a decision. His job was to target this uniform, like I’m wearing now, and kill everyone he could find who was wearing one.”

  Erika twisted in anticipation, her eyes wide as saucers, like a child hearing a ghost story.

  “I was with two other SE men, both officers. One on either side of me. Oliver killed them both.”

  Brandon’s eyes narrowed, his forehead creased—the incident was still difficult to think about.

  “I didn’t hear it coming, none of us did. One minute we’re all standing there in the fresh air and sunshine, and the next thing I hear is two watermelons exploding. The men on either side of me hit the ground like two sacks of garbage, blood and brains all over the sidewalk.” He shook his head slowly. “Only then did I hear the shots, and I can tell you, I almost shit myself. I knew another shot was coming, it had to be, and I ducked for cover as quick as I could. But…there was no third shot.

  “I didn’t find out why until months later, when I found out Oliver was a prisoner. I went to see him, and he told me the story. His sergeant was screaming in his ear to kill me, but Oliver didn’t shoot. He let me go.”

  Erika was astonished to see Brandon suddenly seize up, mouth open, and tears spring to his eyes. For a moment he was too choked up to speak.

  “He had every right to kill me, Erika. I was his sworn enemy. But he didn’t, because he recognized me through his scope. And—we were friends.”

  “My goddess!”

  “Ever since that day—and it was more than four years ago—ever since that day, I’ve wondered if there was some reason he spared me, something more than just friendship. Like maybe, you know—some purpose to my life.” He wiped his eyes with a knuckle, then smiled in embarrassment. “Silly, huh?”

  “No!” She shook her head vigorously, her long hair swinging. “No, not silly at all. Did you ever find the answer?”

  Brandon grimaced and stared at his hands.

  “No, not yet. But if there was a purpose, I know damn well it didn’t have anything to do with shooting unarmed girls in the head. And if I stay in this job…sooner or later, I’ll have to work for another Royer.” He raised his eyes to meet hers. “One Royer was enough, Erika.”

  Now it was Erika whose eyes filled, but they were tears of joy.

  “Do you mean it, Brandon? Do you really mean it?”

  He nodded. “I can retire now on half pension, which is better than a kick in the balls. And the plantation earns a good living. I was never much of a farmer, but I’m a pretty damn good administrator, and I can hire experts to run things.” He smiled weakly. “I know a couple of guys back home who love kittens and will take good care of them. And if you’re okay with Tascha…”

  “I am. Yes, I am!” She leaped across the intervening space and kissed him, hugging him hard. “Oh my goddess, I don’t believe this! Is this really real?”

  Brandon hugged her back and laughed as he buried his face in her long hair.

  “Yeah, it’s real. It’ll take a week or two to process the forms, but we can be back home a month from now.”

  He kissed her hungrily, then pushed her back a few inches.

  “I almost forgot—Tascha is wondering if you’re busy on Saturday. She wants to go shopping with you.”

  “Yes! I’m free. Tell her we’re going to empty the stores! We’ll need a cargo hover to bring home the loot!”

  She kissed him again.

  He frowned.

  “So what was so urgent that you were coming to see me at midnight?”

  Erika’s eyes sprang wide, and she gulped.

  “Goddess! I completely forgot.”

  She got to her feet.

  “I got a call a few minutes ago from Erik Norgaard…”

  Chapter 34

  Friday, 4 April 0200 (PCC) – Reina, Vega 3

  The Queen’s Clock Tower stood in the center of a wooded park in the geographical center of Reina, a gleaming marble obelisk that speared six hundred feet into
the night sky. The starcrete base stretched a hundred feet around, dotted with benches, statuary, and fountains. Inlaid floodlights bathed the tower in brilliance from all sides, ensuring that the clock was visible at all hours from any part of the city. The tower was two hundred years old, a historic landmark that had graced every tourist brochure ever printed before the war; anyone visiting Reina simply had to see the Queen’s Clock Tower. Legend had it that Queen Sophia, Vega’s very first monarch, had set the gears in motion herself at its christening.

  At four o’clock in the morning on a freezing April night, the fountains had solidified into sculptures of ice; the circular base was slippery with frost. The woods of the surrounding park were dark, the ground covered by snow. Hans Norgaard peered at the tower from the darkness at the edge of the trees, his body numbed by the frigid air, his breath floating away in solid crystals. His heart was pounding with fear, but it wasn’t the fear of death. The message from Erika Sebring had said Erik didn’t intend to kill him…but what would he do if Erik refused to surrender? He didn’t want to kill his own brother.

  Yet he had to take him in. One way or the other.

  Screwing up his courage, and holding his pistol against his body to keep the mechanism from freezing, he stepped out of the trees and began walking forward, toward the light. As he walked his eyes watered from the cold, his scalp tingled. His skin felt like it belonged to someone else. Breathing was difficult, but he forced his lungs to keep working. This had to end, here, tonight.

  Somehow.

  He reached the edge of the base, a hundred feet from the tower. Erik was nowhere in sight. Hans looked up, impossibly high up, to the face of the clock, and wondered—he knew there was a lift inside the tower, to take tourists to the top, and for maintenance. Could Erik be up there? Waiting for him? Was it possible Erik had lied to draw him out? That he was taking aim, even now, with the intent to kill?

  Anything was possible, but he didn’t think so.

  He began walking across the base, carefully, his boots cracking the thick frost. He walked slowly, every nerve alert, his eyes dancing from side to side, missing nothing…or trying to miss nothing.

  Ten feet.

  Twenty feet.

  Thirty feet…

  “That’s far enough, Hans.”