The Fighter Queen

by John Bowers

Landon's head jerked up. "Which slave girl?"

  Ursula stepped forward, her eyes intent on his face.

  "Waukena's dead," she said softly.

  Landon looked stricken. He stared dumbly at the blonde. Zimmer shifted uncomfortably.

  "With the colonel's permission?"

  "Dismissed," Landon said woodenly.

  As soon as Zimmer had gone, Landon took a step back and sat on a folding chair, fighting the tears that came anyway. He felt Ursula slide a hand across his shoulders.

  "I'm sorry, Colonel," she said gently.

  Landon lowered his head and sobbed, his shoulders shaking. Ursula stood beside him, still rubbing his shoulder. She waited a tactful few minutes before speaking again.

  "You were in love with her?" she asked quietly.

  "No!" He shook his head. "Yes!" He shrugged helplessly. "Hell, I don't know! I cared for her."

  "She was a brave girl."

  With a monumental effort, he got a grip on himself and wiped the tears away. His chest still ached.

  "She was more than that. She was a nice kid who never had a chance. Her mother was a slave and she didn't even know her own last name. I hate this fucking planet!"

  Sunday, 11 April, 0241 (PCC) — Lincoln Mansion, Denver, CO, North America, Terra

  Oliver Lincoln III sat in his study and stared out the window at the driving rain. It was almost his bedtime, but he always enjoyed a glass of scotch before retiring. Now that Rosemary was gone, he found the simpler pleasures took on much greater meaning than they ever had before.

  He blinked in surprise as the comm rang on the table beside him. It wasn't unusual for him to get calls at home, but rarely this late in the evening. He set the glass down and leaned forward.

  "Activate call."

  The holo flickered briefly, then steadied as the call was connected. To Oliver's surprise, the call carried a subspace code in the bottom corner, meaning it came from off-planet.

  "This is Oliver Lincoln," he said.

  "Gramps?"

  The holo came together all at once, and Oliver's eyes widened in pleasure and surprise.

  "Johnny! Good god, where the hell are you?"

  Johnny's face looked strained, but he grinned at the sound of his grandfather's voice. He appeared to be outside; Oliver could see a beach behind him with trees similar to palms.

  "I'm on Beta Centauri, Gramps. Periscope Harbor."

  "Beta! How long have you been there? Haven't heard from you in months."

  "I've been here just about two months. I'm with ZF-601."

  "Well, goddamn, it's good to see you! How's the weather?"

  "Oh, it's nice. Listen, Gramps, I don't have a lot of time…"

  Oliver tensed slightly as he recognized Johnny's urgency. "What do you need?"

  "Gramps, this is a shit assignment. There's no fighting here, and I want to get into the war. This place is a rear area."

  "You're getting to fly, aren't you?"

  "Sure, but there's no action. The only dangerous part is the traffic pattern over the spaceport. We've had two mid-airs since I've been here."

  "So request a transfer."

  "I've done that. Three times. My CO is so mad at me that I don't dare ask him again."

  "Can you go over his head?"

  "That's why I'm calling you."

  "What can I do?"

  "President Wells is your friend. Can you talk to him?"

  Oliver sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. What Johnny was asking was certainly possible, but the ethics were questionable. In any case, Oliver was in no hurry to send his grandson into greater danger.

  Johnny noted his hesitation.

  "Please, Gramps! It can't hurt, can it? What's the point of all the hell I went through in training if I can't use it in combat? The war's almost over, and I don't want to miss it."

  "Jesus, Johnny! Your mother would kill me!"

  "Don't tell her, Gramps. She's gonna worry no matter where I am."

  Oliver chewed his lip. "I don't know, boy. I'd be taking huge liberties with Henry's friendship."

  "He's your best friend, Gramps. He'd do it for you."

  "Don't be too sure. He may be president, but he believes in the chain of command."

  Johnny turned and glanced over his shoulder, as if afraid of being caught making the call. When he turned back, Oliver saw anguish in his eyes.

  "Is there anyone else you can talk to?" he asked. "I can't take this duty much longer. They've already started space operations against Sirius, and the invasion can't be far behind. If I miss the whole war, I'll never be able to hold my head up."

  "Bullshit! You're a fine pilot and you have nothing to be ashamed of."

  "Gramps, I'm the best pilot in the Fighter Service, and I'm being wasted in this squadron!" He glanced at his watch, and his distress seemed to intensify. "I'm out of time. Please, just talk to him!"

  "Assuming I do talk to him, which squadron do you want?"

  Johnny stared at him for a heartbeat. Then he told him.

  Oliver wasn't at all surprised.

  Book Four: Consolidation

  Chapter 18

  Tuesday, 17 August, 0241 (PCC) — Jackson, Missibama, Sirius 1

  The street was all but deserted, even though it was early afternoon. An oppressive air of fear hung over the city, and Missie Simonian walked quickly, anxious to get home. She carried a tote filled with groceries, and beside her, Seth Baker carried another. Seth was tall and lean, but walked with the clumsy coordination of a half-grown puppy.

  "The Feddies are in deep shit now!" he declared, his voice ringing down the empty street. "They're gonna find out what Sirian patriotism really means. We'll kick their ass all the way across the galaxy!"

  Missie didn't reply. She was only sixteen, but she hadn't been born in a test tube; if the Confederacy was so powerful, how had the Feddies ever got this far in the first place? Now they were here, on Sirius 1. Just two months ago they'd put their first army on the ground, and three more had followed. Federation forces were only seventy miles from where she stood right now.

  "I'm joining up as soon as I turn seventeen," Seth chattered. "I got a birthday in April, then I'm joining the infantry."

  "April?" Missie glanced at him as if he were insane — April was eight months away. "Seth, in two weeks the Feddies will be here! Where the hell are you going to join up?"

  "I'll fight them! I swear to god I will! Even if I have to join the guerillas."

  Missie stopped, head up, her eyes wide in sudden alarm. That sound! Coming from the sky! She'd heard it before —

  The sky exploded around her as a Federation fighter streaked by two hundred feet overhead. A sonic wave hit her like a fist and she spun into the sidewalk, screaming in terror. Windows shattered and buildings rocked. Flying glass swirled in a brief tornado of wind and sound.

  Missie sat up slowly and shook her head, shaking dust and glass out of her long hair. Seth groaned from the doorway of a shop where he'd landed, the contents of his tote bag scattered around him. He brushed his eyes with a hand and looked around. He saw Missie brushing herself off and crawled quickly to her side. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

  "Are you okay?" he murmured. "Don't be afraid, honey, I'll take care of you. You're safe as long as you're with me."

  He tilted her head back and kissed her, his left hand moving toward her breast.

  Missie struggled against him, annoyed beyond belief, and pushed him away. "Let go of me!"

  Seth reluctantly obeyed, but hovered solicitously as she began retrieving the spilled groceries. She glanced up at him with wide, angry green eyes.

  "If you want to help, then pick this stuff up and let's get home before another one shows up! I don't want to be out in the open if they decide to drop a few bombs!"

  UFF George Bush, Parking Orbit, Sirius 1

  The pilots and gunners of ZF‑111 stood at attention in the hangar deck as their commanding officer faced them. Onja paced slowly ba
ck and forth, checking them visually in their flight suits. After a moment she stopped front-center and surveyed them.

  "That's Sirius down there," she said quietly. "I've been waiting my whole life for this moment. A million people have died just to bring us this far, and now we're going to help write the final chapter of this war.

  "Back when I first joined the Triple One, it was one tough outfit, holding the line at the Asteroid Belt against the Sirians. Now we're on the other end of the gun, and we're going to ram it down their throats. Because you know what?" Her eyes blazed. "We're still a tough outfit!"

  They gave a shout of solidarity, but their faces remained grim.

  "You're all experienced people. You know how to fly and you know how to fight. You don't need a pep talk. But I want you to remember one thing — you're about to exact some payback for all the good people who died in this squadron. The battle cry today is 'Remember 131'. Say it."

  They repeated it, a little raggedly.

  "I can't hear you!"

  "Remember 131!" they bellowed.

  "All right! You have your targets. If you get hit, try to make orbit. If you can't do that, head for the southern hemisphere. We have intelligence that it's fairly deserted, and rescue ships are waiting for your mayday.

  "Any questions?"

  There were none.

  "All right. Good luck, and Sophia's tears. Saddle up!"

  Jackson, Missibama, Sirius 1

  Missie and Seth cut across a broad park that separated two streets. Her home was only two blocks away now, and it had a basement. She wouldn't feel safe until she was inside it with her family.

  "Hey! Girl! Over here!"

  Missie turned. Fifty yards away, on the street she and Seth had just crossed, a tracked vehicle was moving in their direction. Four soldiers were visible in the cockpit, and one was waving.

  "Hey, they're our guys!" Seth grinned and waved back. "Let's go see what they want."

  Missie stood stock-still and watched as Seth headed toward them. Two of the soldiers had left the track and were striding toward the teenagers. Missie's brow knitted and she felt an uneasy stir in her stomach.

  "Hey, guys!" Seth gushed as he reached the two soldiers. "What outfit are you …"

  The men plowed past him, heading straight for Missie. She took a couple of steps back, but they seized her before she could decide whether to run.

  "What's your name, girl?" one of them demanded, pinching her left breast.

  "Who's your owner?" the other one demanded, his hand sliding down over her thick mane of snow-blonde hair.

  She opened her mouth to protest, but one of them locked his lips over hers in a heated kiss. Missie dropped her tote and struggled frantically.

  "Hey, guys!" Seth had returned, and watched in confusion as the pair groped his companion. "What the hell're yew doin'? She's with me."

  One of them spun on him. "Is she your slave? I'll give yew fifty sirios for one night with her."

  "No! No, she's …"

  "Yew don't own her?"

  "No!" Seth looked suddenly scared and perplexed. "She's not a …"

  "Then she's fair game," the other soldier said. "Little slave got no business runnin' around loose lookin' like that!" He grabbed Missie's arm and bent over, shoved his shoulder into her belly, and hoisted her like a sack of potatoes.

  "Let me go!" Missie screamed, and pounded on his back with her fists.

  He dropped her back onto her feet, shook her like a rag doll, and slapped her sharply across the face. "Don't do that again!" he warned.

  Missie screamed as he hoisted her again, her body frozen with terror.

  "Seth! Help me!"

  Seth leaped in front of the pair as they headed back to their vehicle.

  "I told yew, fellows, she's with me! Put her down!"

  "Fuck off, kid! Yew had yewr chance. I offered yew money, so yew lose."

  "She's with me!"

  "Not any more." The soldier gave Seth a shove, pushing him to the ground.

  Missie continued to struggle until the pair reached the track and two men in the cockpit hauled her up.

  "Goddamn, Luke! What have we got here!" one of them drooled.

  "Got us a Vegan girl!" the one called Luke replied as he climbed over the side. "Not gonna be lonely tonight!"

  "I'm not a Vegan!" Missie protested as the four men ran their hands over her body.

  "Yeah, right!" Luke laughed. He grabbed the front of her blouse and ripped it open, revealing a magnificent pair of pale-white breasts. "When was the last time you saw tits like that?"

  "Gawd almighty!" one of them whispered. "I ain't never seen tits like that!"

  "Then you ain't never fucked a Vegan girl," Luke declared confidently. "Finest tits in the galaxy."

  Missie screamed as rough hands squeezed and prodded her breasts.

  "I'm not a slave! I'm a citizen, just like you!"

  "Bullshit, honey!"

  "Listen to me! Please! I'm a citizen! I can prove it!"

  The four men exchanged glances.

  "Yeah?" Luke said. "Prove it. Show me your citizen ID."

  "It's in my tote bag!" she sobbed. "I dropped it when you grabbed me!"

  "Bullshit, honey. You don't even have one." Luke unbuckled his belt and slid his pants down. "Tell Johnson to get moving. Pull down that side street and shut down for a while. We got important business to take care of."

  The other men laughed, and someone relayed the order to the driver.

  From where he sat in the park, Seth Baker saw the track begin to move. As it rounded the corner, he could hear Missie screaming.

  Upper Atmosphere, Sirius 1

  Bombardment of Sirius had been under way for almost a year. Large cities had been laid waste, military installations were under constant attack, and Federation armies were advancing steadily against incredible resistance.

  ZF‑111 launched in pairs from Bush’s flight deck, shooting unopposed through Sirian space. Little remained of the Sirian fleet; their mission now was to continue pounding surface targets, and Onja watched her target holos purely out of habit as Tommy Royal led the squadron toward its penetration point. It seemed strange to be the aggressor instead of the defender. In the early days she and Johnny Lincoln had murdered Sirians trying to penetrate Terra's atmosphere, and followed them down to murder them there as well. Now the roles were reversed.

  As they neared their penetration point and Tommy began slowing the PF for atmospheric entry, Onja's sharp eyes narrowed as she spotted pinpoints on her target holos.

  "Tommy, we've got bandits in the atmosphere. Looks like aircraft."

  She gave him a fix and he acknowledged it. Then she went on the SpectraWav to the rest of her squadron.

  "Triple One, Fighter Queen. I've got about thirty aircraft at heading one three niner, range nine hundred, altitude about eight zero thousand. Looks like they're waiting for us to come down. Tiger Shark, take your section and fall back, give us three minutes, then come down and cover us. We'll play bait for their little trap."

  "That's a roger, Major!" Lt. Walker said crisply.

  Onja felt the first bump of atmosphere and locked her knees over her support braces. The Sirians had no more space fighters, but still had aircraft, and in their desperation were willing to risk them against the PulsarFighters in open combat. Not much of a threat, but an ultrasonic jet could match speed with a PF in the air, so it wasn't a threat to be ignored.

  The first PFs punched through the outer atmosphere, dragging twenty miles of flame, looking like meteors. At that point they were totally helpless, but their speed was so great they couldn't be attacked in any case. It took three or four minutes for them to slow enough for the Sirian jets to catch up.

  Then they came in a wave, riding high in the stratosphere, sweeping down on the heavy PFs from above, straining at maximum thrust to overtake them. Onja was ready, both turrets trained to the rear, and shot the first one down from thirty miles. They kept coming — desperate, foolhardy, inc
redibly brave, firing their cannon and launching missiles. Onja smashed two more, then a fourth.

  "Incoming, Tommy! Two missiles at five o'clock!"

  Tommy Royal flipped the PulsarFighter inverted and dived for the planet below, screaming down at Mach 6 as Onja held on tightly. Above them, two more PFs followed them straight down, but a fourth was a tad slow and took a hit that blew its vertical stabilizer apart. Onja scowled angrily as she saw it on her holos. A ship lost before they even reached their target!

  Tommy rolled out of his dive at twenty thousand and gradually opened the range until the missiles lost their lock and dived into the ground. The other two PFs were still with them, the sky was clear, and they streaked for their target. Chatter in their headsets indicated that Walker and his section had ambushed the enemy planes.

  As they approached the target, Onja armed her cruise missiles and gravity bombs. In spite of her years of combat experience, she felt tense. If Sirian space power was no longer a threat, and air power a minor one, danger still lay ahead. The war wasn't over, and one could still be killed very, very dead.

  The Outback, Sirius 1

  Under a starry Outback sky, Kevin Willis and Ursula Negus carefully aimed a microwave transmitter at the fleet that orbited the planet. It was important that this message not be intercepted, so the antenna alignment was critical.

  "I'm getting a bounce," Ursula said as Kevin adjusted the antenna control. "Looks like it's the Black Forest."

  "Haven't we talked to them before?"

  "Yes. Okay, lock it."

  Ursula slipped on a headset and adjusted her signal. The display in front of her glowed with dim green light. She glanced upward as if able to determine whether anyone would be listening. She keyed the transmitter and began to speak.

  "This is Southern Command. This message is for the Federation fleet in orbit. Please respond on my signal, using microwave transmitter only. Do you copy?"

  She waited a moment, then repeated the message. Beside her, Willis gazed at the sky.

  "This is an unauthorized transmission," came the reply. "You have been told repeatedly, we will not parley with you. Terminate your transmission now."

  Ursula felt her arteries swell with anger.

  "I will not terminate my transmission!" she shouted. "I've been trying for months to find someone with a pair of balls up there, but apparently all the real Federation men are down here!"