The Fighter Queen

by John Bowers

  "Hell, I'm a noncom. But we've got a colonel in the camp. Most of the men already look up to him. He'll know what to do, if we can just get him out."

  Ursula smiled again, and on impulse stepped forward and kissed Willis fully on the mouth.

  "Then let's get him out!"

  * * *

  The ragtag entourage of slaves and prisoners trudged up to the main gate at Camp Hope as if everything were routine. The hover vehicle had been left in a ditch down the road to avoid suspicion, and the women had mingled with the men.

  Confederate Cpl. Naaman Smith was guarding the gate.

  "Where'd these bitches come from?" he demanded, eyeing the females as the group halted in front of the gate.

  "Jefferson," Kevin Willis told him. "The base got hit a little while ago and they ran for their lives. We picked them up."

  Smith looked a little uncomfortable. By now everyone knew Jefferson had been hit.

  "The women said the base is a wreck," Willis said, enjoying Smith's reaction. "They were lucky to get out alive."

  "Some of them are in Confederate uniform," Smith said, eyeing Ursula. "That one looks like a Vegan slave."

  "We were naked," she explained sullenly. "We grabbed whatever we could find. You have hot water here? I really need a shower."

  Something still troubled Smith. He scanned the group.

  "Hey! Where's Bruno and Chester?"

  "Back up the road," Willis said. "Some of the women were wounded. They sent us on ahead."

  Smith frowned as another thought struck him.

  "Jefferson's twenty miles away. How'd these bitches get here so quick?"

  Willis lost patience.

  "Will you open the goddamn gate! We're tired and hungry and you're trying to play fucking detective!"

  Smith glowered at him, but turned and keyed a combination that raised the gate in the outer wall. Willis brushed on past him.

  "Thank you! Asshole!"

  As Willis stepped by, Smith turned to reply, but Ursula slid an arm around his waist and jammed her pistol into his ribs.

  "If you make a sound," she said in a low, cruel voice, "I'll burn out your heart. Walk with me, and keep your hands in plain sight!"

  Startled, Smith looked into her eyes. He saw no compassion, no humanity, and his blood chilled. He walked through the gate with her arm still around him. Inside the gate, in the lee of the guard tower, she removed his sidearm and handed it to Lisa.

  Only six men were on duty at this time of day — Smith at the outer gate, Juliette at the forcefence gate, another man in the guard tower, and two men in surveillance and communications. Major Krieger was in his office.

  Everything happened quickly.

  After Juliette opened the inner gate, Willis slugged him in the face and relieved him of his laser rifle as he fell, tossing it to one of his fellow prisoners. He gave the sidearm to another. Yamaguchi strolled casually toward the Admin building and stepped into the comm room. The man inside had a slave girl bent over a table and was easily captured. The man in surveillance had his back to his equipment and hadn't seen what happened outside. He was taken totally by surprise.

  So far, not a shot had been fired.

  With four guards neutralized, those with weapons burst into the guards' barrack, where they found eleven men lounging about, a card game in progress.

  "Nobody move!" Willis said in a clear voice. "The Federation has landed and you're all prisoners."

  The Sirians stared at him in shock. One man lunged for a weapon, but Yamaguchi cracked his skull with the butt of his machinegun. The rest were quickly shackled to their racks with their own E-cuffs. The room contained enough weapons to arm the rest of the prisoners.

  The last stop was the mess hall, where the first dinner shift was being served. Ten men were eating, two more at work in the kitchen. The intruders entered through three doors, effectively surrounding those inside. Completely unprepared, the Sirians raised their hands. Yamaguchi and three prisoners marched them into a storage room, E-cuffed them, and locked them inside. Willis turned off the kitchen equipment.

  "Is that everybody?" he asked when Yamaguchi returned.

  "I think so. Except for Krieger."

  "Go get the colonel."

  * * *

  Major Jeremiah Krieger sat at his desk, torn with indecision. In his hand was an order — not a request this time — to deliver a minimum of one hundred nonwhite POWs for duty in the lunar mines. It was signed by Col. Alexander, an aide to Major General Andrew Jackson Davis, commander of the SE.

  How was he going to sidestep this one?

  The door burst open and Krieger looked up in alarm as four armed prisoners surged into the room, weapons pointed at him. They took up position on either side of the door, their eyes grim.

  "What in god's name is going on here?" Krieger demanded.

  Robert Landon stepped into the room. Krieger, halfway out of his chair, settled back with resigned finality.

  "Colonel Landon," he said tiredly. "What can I do for you today?"

  "You can surrender your command, Major," Landon said. "You and your men will be well treated."

  Krieger's face twitched, and he started to smile.

  "Today, Major," Landon said. "Right now."

  Chapter 15

  Thursday, 18 February, 0241 (PCC) — Reina, Vega 3

  "Stop here."

  Private Svensen slid the hover out of traffic and settled it heavily beside the broken sidewalk. Onja stepped down and looked up the grassy knoll at the battered but imposing structure that dominated this part of the city. They had passed the Temple of Sophia the day before without stopping, but now she wanted a closer look.

  Tommy Royal and Cpl. Lansing dismounted and came up on either side of her, but Onja shook her head and waved absently.

  "You can wait here. I don't think there's much danger."

  "Just the same, Major —"

  "That was an order, Corporal."

  "Aye‑aye, Ma'am!"

  But Tommy remained at her side as she slowly mounted the steps toward the temple. The temple roof was gone, the statue of the goddess visible between the columns; even as a ruin it was a magnificent edifice. Childhood memories washed over Onja as she drew near; the temple had been the center of the culture she was born into.

  They reached the base of the building and stared up at the tall columns, pocked and pitted from bullets and laser fire, but still standing.

  "Big," Tommy said uncomfortably, not sure if he should speak but somehow unable to stand the mood. Onja nodded.

  "I was baptized here," she said so softly he had to strain to hear.

  "Baptized? You mean like we do at home?"

  "No. The Cult of Sophia dips the infant's feet in the water. That fountain, right in front." She pointed. "It contains the holy water, Sophia's tears."

  "Why the feet?"

  "To guide the believer on the Path of Rightness. A moral path. Feet baptized in Sophia's tears are supposed to never stray off the right path."

  "Major, who is this Sophia, anyway?"

  "Sophia. The Mother of the universe. The Giver of life. The Goddess, the Divine Queen. Sort of like the Virgin Mary of Terra, but — different."

  "Sounds almost like …"

  "Mythology? Yes, it does, doesn't it?"

  Onja mounted the steps to the entrance and Tommy followed, keeping a step behind. In spite of the city bustle around them, it was quiet here, almost eerie.

  "You'll have to wait out here," Onja told him. "Only the Vega‑born are allowed inside. I won't be long."

  Tommy shifted his sidearm and turned to look back down the slope where the two Star Marines watched unhappily. Oblivious to the tension among the three men, Onja moved deliberately forward and passed between the columns. The main entrance to the Sanctum was still intact, although the Sanctum itself was bathed in sunlight because the roof was missing.

  It was very much as she remembered; the pews arranged in triangles around the goddess, altars on all
three sides; the smell of incense, another baptismal at Sophia's feet. The goddess herself towered twenty feet above, yet seemed smaller than Onja remembered.

  In spite of all she'd been through — her assimilation into a Christian culture since leaving Vega, and her subsequent cynicism toward religion in general — Onja felt a tightening in her chest, almost a reverence, as she stared at the magnificent sculpture before her. Each groove, each angle, each feature of the statue was flawlessly perfect. The body of the goddess was stunning, just like the women in whose hearts she lived, yet the war had desecrated her. The head had been shot completely off.

  "You have traveled far."

  Onja turned, her blue eyes wide with emotion. A robed priestess stood there, gazing peacefully at her. The woman was dressed in fabric like spun gold, a dazzling rainbow of colors. She appeared ageless, for though her face was lined, her eyes radiated; she was as lovely as any woman on the planet.

  "Yes." Onja stared at her, unblinking. "How did you know?"

  "You are a child of Vega. Yet you wear the invaders’ uniform."

  "I'm with the United Federation Fleet."

  The priestess nodded, stepping forward until they were face-to-face.

  "You have returned as a liberator, to free the chosen of Sophia."

  "Yes."

  "Bless you, child. You have walked a moral path."

  Onja didn't reply. She'd slaughtered thousands of Sirians, and quite a few Vegans. Was that a moral path?

  "You have destroyed life," the older woman said slowly, as if reading her thoughts. "This troubles you?"

  "It does."

  The woman nodded knowingly.

  "For what purpose have you killed?"

  "To win the war. To free Vega. To throw the invader off the backs of our women."

  "Your motive is pure. Where the motive is pure, there is no sin."

  "I feel guilt."

  "That is the proof you have not sinned. When you kill and feel nothing, then you are in mortal danger." The priestess reached out and took her hands. "You have been away for a long time."

  "I escaped as a child. Almost thirty years ago."

  "This was your home temple?"

  "I was baptized here as an infant."

  "Sophia's tears have protected you. She has guided you back here. Would you like to commune with her?"

  Onja glanced up at the headless statue.

  "It would appear the goddess is dead."

  "She is headless, but the statue is only a representation of the goddess. Sophia lives forever."

  Onja stared at her in indecision.

  "Something yet troubles you, child?"

  Onja nodded. "Before I escaped, the enemy took my mother and sister as slaves. I made a vow to find them."

  "A vow to Sophia?"

  "Yes, Priestess."

  "Then you shall find them."

  "They're on Sirius, Priestess! How can I possibly succeed? Even when the war is over …"

  "I understand. Many years have passed. Many battles remain to be fought. You are uncertain about the future."

  "Priestess, I've been fighting for twenty years. Just to get this far. I don't know how much longer …"

  "No one knows such things. But your vow was pure. Your motive is pure. You will find them."

  "I'm also looking for my father. Here, on Vega. I don't even know if he's alive." A tear slid down her cheek.

  "Your quest will succeed. What you ask is not selfish. Sophia will aid you." The ageless woman smiled tenderly, sadly. "Would you like to commune now?"

  Onja stared at her for long seconds, took a deep breath, and nodded. The priestess led her toward the altar facing the statue. Onja stood before the goddess, feeling very small and insignificant, just as she had at twelve years old. Her charcoal uniform seemed almost an affront to the deity’s virtue, but she knelt and placed both hands flat on the altar. The priestess walked around the altar, dipped a finger in the baptismal, and touched Onja's forehead on the right and on the left, then touched her chin.

  "May the peace of Sophia dwell within you," she intoned softly. "May the grace of Sophia fill your heart. May the wisdom of Sophia guide your steps. May the tears of Sophia stay your feet to the Path of Rightness. May the faith of Sophia defend you against all evil. And may the love of Sophia comfort you.

  "You are a child of the temple. Sophia has seen your pain. She has wept for your distress. Sophia has brought you home, and she will dwell with you forever.

  "Sophia's tears."

  Onja made the Sign of the Cult, touching both shoulders and the bottom of her heart. The priestess produced a small wafer similar to a Host, and placed it on Onja's tongue. Onja closed her eyes in Gracious Acceptance, bowed her head briefly, then stood abruptly, her sky‑blue eyes gazing up at where Sophia's face should have been.

  "Thank you for coming, my child. The renewal of one believer's faith renews the faith of all believers."

  "I'm grateful to you, Priestess," Onja said, turning to face her. "It's been a long time."

  "Sophia keeps track of her children. Time is irrelevant to Sophia. Sophia has brought you home."

  Onja blinked rapidly.

  "Do not abandon your quest, my child. Your diligence will be rewarded."

  Onja nodded silently, unable to speak. She dipped her head and kissed the woman's ringed fingers, then turned and walked purposefully out of the Sanctum.

  Tommy Royal heaved a sigh of relief as Onja emerged into the daylight.

  "I was starting to worry, Major," he said. "I was thinking of coming in after you."

  Onja swept the city panorama with her eyes, feeling lighter than she would have dared believe.

  "Feel better?" he asked.

  She nodded slowly. "Yes."

  "What do we do now?"

  "We keep looking."

  Chapter 16

  The Outback, Sirius 1

  Given a choice, Col. Robert Landon would never have agreed to escape before Federation forces actually landed on Sirius 1. By the time Willis and Yamaguchi reached him, however, it was far too late for caution — two guards lay dead in a vegetable field, another had been killed in the camp, and the entire garrison taken prisoner. Those things couldn't be reversed.

  The problem then was how to move almost a thousand prisoners to safety fifteen hundred miles away before the breakout was discovered.

  And that was only the beginning. What followed became a logistical nightmare.

  Several things worked in Landon's favor — no alarm had been raised when the prisoners overpowered the guards; all local military attention was focused on rescue efforts at Jefferson Fleet Base; and the road to the south was unimpeded by cities or military bases. With two hovervans, seven smaller vehicles, and the vehicle stolen by the escaping women, almost a hundred fifty people could be transported — but the camp held over nine hundred prisoners, including females. The top speed of the slowest vehicle was only two hundred knots, which promised a seven or eight-hour trip to the Outback.

  A decision had to be made quickly. Landon conferenced with Capt. Easton.

  "My men are infantry, so we can walk," Easton said. "Give us half the weapons and get your own people out of here. We'll follow, and you can send the vans back for us. The Star Marines are welcome to march with us."

  "Christ, Captain!" Landon objected. "That's seven hundred men! You'll be completely exposed."

  "With the colonel's permission?" Rocky Yamaguchi piped up.

  "Don't stand on formalities, Private. You have something to contribute, spit it out."

  "Yes, sir. How about you just move the first group a hundred miles or so, then come back for more? Everyone who's on foot keeps walking south, and we leapfrog with the vehicles until we get where we're going. Every mile we make in that direction reduces the risk of capture."

  Landon nodded. "Captain?"

  "Works for me," Easton said.

  In the end it had been Easton's men who solved the problem more decisively. While Landon's gr
oup moved the fighter pilots and some of the slave women south, the infantry flagged down a civilian convoy of cargo hovers returning from the Outback and commandeered them. The vehicles had made deliveries to a mining camp and were returning empty; the unarmed pilots were easily subdued, and the entire contingent of soldiers and Marines crowded into them. Within ten hours, everyone who was going south had arrived in the Outback.

  That, as it turned out, had been the easy part.

  Friday, 19 February, 0241 (PCC) — The Outback, Sirius 1

  Landon jerked awake, senses alert, and found himself in the front seat of the hover vehicle the women had stolen from Jefferson Fleet Base. Waukena was still asleep in the seat behind him, and the Fighter Service captain was dozing at the controls.

  The wind was blowing, carrying with it a fine grit that stung his face and threatened his eyes. He glanced at his wristwatch — he'd been dozing for three hours. He stepped onto the ground and looked at the sky, where Sirius B, the weaker of the binary stars, gleamed coldly back at him. He walked down the line of vehicles behind him.

  They'd parked in the lee of a low ridge to hide the vehicles as much as possible from observation. He hadn't seen a real tree in the last hundred miles, but the Outback featured lots of brushy growth, and some of it had been piled up as camouflage. Strung out down the draw, sleeping on the ground, were most of the prisoners from Camp Hope; their combined body heat would look like a flare on an orbital IR sensor. Before the day ended he had to find shelter for all these people, or their escape was going to be very short-lived.

  "Morning, Colonel."

  Landon stopped. Cpl. Willis and his friend Yamaguchi stood twenty feet to his left, looking as grimy as he felt. Dark stains on the ground at their feet explained what they were doing; Yamaguchi was pulling up his zipper.

  "Can't sleep, Corporal?" Landon said.

  "No, sir. Too keyed up. This whole thing is my fault."

  "Well, no point thinking about that now. We're here, and we have to figure out what to do next."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Do me a favor, will you? Collect all the Marine officers and have them report to me in fifteen minutes."

  "Yes, sir."

  "And Easton, too."

  Both men hurried away and Landon returned to his vehicle. Waukena was awake, blinking and yawning. She smiled at him. Capt. Negus was standing beside the hover, rubbing her face to wake herself up. When she saw Landon, she saluted.