The Fighter Queen

by John Bowers

  The air was musty and stale, but cool against his skin. He could hear the echo of his boots against the stone floor, and tried to walk softly, but the torn muscle in his calf made that difficult. He reached the first corridor and stopped, peeking carefully around the corner. This one also led away into the distance, with no clear end in sight. Somewhere in the distance he heard a whining sound, like a power generator, but nothing else. He stepped around the corner.

  Walking slowly, blood pounding in his ears, he swallowed down his fear and hoped no one spotted him. A hundred feet into the corridor, to his right, he saw a door. He gripped his rifle tightly and tried the handle. Once again, luck was with him — the door opened. He peered into a small room with another door on the opposite side. The room, paneled in flat, unimaginative military colors, was empty. He started toward the second door, his rifle ready. Hopefully the room beyond would be deserted, and he could wait until the next assault broke into the place.

  He reached for the door handle … and heard a woman scream.

  Displaced Persons Compound, Glenville, Texiana, Sirius 1

  The displaced persons camp was located near Glenville, a small Texiana town, roughly a hundred miles north of New Angeles. It was mostly farming country, the air pungent with smells of crops and cattle. Less than a mile from the camp was an airport the Federation had taken over for its own purposes. The runways were too short to handle civilian shuttles, but they could easily handle medical evacs and PulsarFighters. Life at the camp was far from ideal, but to most internees the biggest irritation was the constant thunder from spacecraft that shook the ground day and night.

  Missie Simonian sat by an indoor pool watching dozens of young people splash and play in the water. She knew some of them but preferred to be alone. With the war still raging and people dying every day, it hardly seemed right to be having a good time, a fact that seemed lost on those in the pool.

  The camp, she had to grudgingly admit, was actually pretty decent. It wasn't home, but the accommodations were modern and the grounds were nicely landscaped. She even had her own room, well furnished and really quite nice. But she didn't like being there at all; she wasn't a criminal.

  "Hi!"

  Missie turned to see Seth Baker plop down beside her. Like Missie, Seth was the citizen son of a Vegan slave woman. He grinned energetically, hoping to get a smile in return. All he got was a wide green stare, almost a pout.

  "Why aren't you swimming?" he asked, clasping his fingers behind his head and drawing his elbows back to show off his youthful muscles.

  She shook her head and sipped the iced tea in her glass.

  "I hate getting wet."

  "You hate everything. You're not much fun sometimes, Tonja."

  "So find another friend."

  He stared at her for long seconds, mining for a glimmer of good humor, then shook his head and looked back at the swimmers.

  "I don't have to. I already got you."

  "Lucky you."

  He scowled impatiently.

  "Hey, I bet I'm the only friend you've got! I never see you talking to anyone."

  She glared at him and his bravado wilted. He lowered his head and waited for her to release him from her hypnotic stare.

  "Okay, you got your reasons. Who doesn't? Things could be better for me, too."

  She took another sip of tea and set the glass down, standing up abruptly.

  "I'm going for a walk."

  "I'll go with you!"

  He hopped to his feet like an eager puppy and followed her out of the natatorium. Sunlight hit them from two directions but the day was pleasant, a steady breeze cooling them from the northeast. Missie turned down a starcrete path that led away from the main complex of admin buildings and Seth strode along at her side, four inches taller and swaggering slightly.

  "Heard any war news?" he inquired.

  "Not since yesterday."

  "Me, either."

  "Anything about your dad?" Seth's father was in the Sirian infantry, still fighting Federation forces.

  "No. He was still alive three weeks ago. Goddamn Feddies! If they'd waited just one more year I could've joined up. I'd give anything to get in the middle of this!"

  "You are in the middle of it," she pointed out. "So am I."

  "You know what I mean. I want to fight. I want to kill Feddies."

  She pointed to a pair of guards patrolling the perimeter of the camp a quarter-mile away. "Start with them."

  "Shit! Don't do that, Tonja. You know I can't. What good would it do?"

  "Exactly. You need to grow up, Seth. The war's lost. Give it up."

  "It's not lost!" he almost shouted. "We haven't surrendered. And we never will!"

  "I guess dead people don't have to surrender."

  "Huh?"

  She stopped walking and looked up at his earnest face. Just ten months his senior, she felt like an adult next to him.

  "Do you think Sirius is going to push the Feddies off the planet? And then what? Retake Vega? Push them all the way back to the Federation?"

  "Sure, why not?"

  "Why not?" She shook her head in dismay. "With what? We've got no space fleet left! Most of our men have been killed or captured. They're here, Seth! They're here!"

  He stared into her wide green eyes with his heart exposed and shook his head slowly.

  "I'm sorry, Tonja. I know what they do to girls like you. I won't let them. I'd fight to the death to protect you."

  For just a second she stared at him in disbelief, then her lip curled.

  "Like you did the last time?" she spat.

  His eyes filled with despair. "That wasn't my fault!"

  "Then whose fault was it? 'Hey, look, it's our guys! Let's go see what they want!'"

  She turned and started walking again. Seth trotted to catch up.

  "Well how was I supposed to know they'd think you were a slave?"

  "That's not the point, Seth. You just told me you'd defend me to your last breath!"

  "And I would!"

  She wheeled on him again. "But you didn't!"

  He spread his hands helplessly. "What the hell could I do? There were four of them!"

  "There were six, and they all fucked me! You didn't even try, Seth! You didn't even go for help!"

  "They were our guys! I was confused!"

  "You were scared! Look, it happened, okay? I don't blame you. But don't pretend to be my knight in shining armor! Because you just aren't up to the job."

  "It won't ever happen again," he promised. "I learned my lesson. Next time … I tell you what, if the Feddies ever try anything like that, I'll …"

  "Oh, god!" she moaned. "You just don't get it, do you? I've already been captured, Seth. How do you think I got here?"

  They continued walking in silence. Missie's long hair strayed in the breeze and Seth strode at her side, wanting to be a man, not quite there yet. A flight of PulsarFighters lifted off from the Glenville facility and crossed the camp as they streaked for altitude, their rolling thunder deafening the young people for over a minute.

  "Goddamn Feddies! I'd like to kill all of 'em!"

  Missie stared at the brilliant sky where the fighters had disappeared, and wondered. Could one of them be Johnny Lincoln II? She knew he operated off a carrier, but had no idea where he went, or what he did. He might fly into Glenville every day and she would never know it.

  They walked until they reached the far end of the camp. Beyond the forcefence was a pasture, and beyond that — somewhere — the war. How far away the fighting was she didn't know. She turned and started to head back. But Seth stopped her.

  "Hey," he said, his eyes casting about to make sure they were alone.

  "What?"

  He licked his lips and put his hands on her shoulders.

  "Look, we're both stuck here until they let us out. I was thinking maybe we … well …”

  "What?"

  "You know."

  "No, I don't. What?"

  He shifted nervously, th
en suddenly kissed her. He straightened quickly and held her gaze earnestly.

  "I really like you, Tonja. I want to be more than just friends."

  "Are you talking about sex?" she asked bluntly.

  "Um, well … it's no big deal, is it? I mean, you're sixteen. You had your virgin rite. Nobody's gonna care."

  She felt her cheeks growing warm. She had missed her virgin rite.

  "What about me? Maybe I care."

  "But we're friends, aren't we? You like me, don't you?"

  She turned and started walking. He hopped along by her side.

  "I'm not ready to get pregnant, Seth. Find another girl."

  "You don't have to get pregnant! Look, we're both adults here!" He grabbed her and spun her around. "We're the same, Tonja. We're both Sirian, but we're half Vegan, too. We have a lot in common."

  She stared at him for ten seconds, searching his eyes.

  "Do you love me, Seth?"

  "Sure I do!"

  "Or are you just horny? Did your dad have other slaves?"

  "Well, yeah. What's that got to do with it?"

  "Did he let you fuck them?"

  The boy's face began to color.

  "I'm not going to be your slave girl, Seth. That's what it is, isn't it? You have a slave mother, but you're a Sirian. I have a slave mother, and I'm still a slave girl. Forget it! I'm nobody's slave."

  She turned and started walking again, furious at him. She'd made twenty feet when he replied.

  "What about that Feddie officer?" he called.

  She spun around and retraced her steps, walking right up to him.

  "What about him?" Her eyes were like green lasers.

  "I bet you'd do it with him." Seth was sneering. "Are you his slave girl? Did he fuck you?"

  Gritting her teeth in fury, she slapped him with all her strength, rocking his head to the side; it sounded like a pistol shot. His eyes hardened murderously.

  "Don't ever do that again!" he said.

  "Don't ever speak to me like that again!" she replied in a shaking voice. "You have no right to treat me with disrespect!"

  "I think I have a right to know," he said.

  "A right to know what?"

  "If he fucked you."

  "You have no right to know anything about me!"

  "So he did fuck you."

  "No he didn't!"

  "Then how come you're so friendly with him?"

  "I'm a prisoner here, just like you. He came to see me. What am I supposed to do?"

  "He's the enemy."

  "So?"

  "Maybe you're a traitor?"

  "He's the one who captured me and my family. When he came into our home I tried to kill him. Does that sound like I'm a traitor?"

  "Why didn't you?"

  "Why didn't I what?"

  "Why didn't you kill him?"

  "He knocked me out cold."

  "Did he rape you?"

  "No."

  Conflicting emotions flickered across Seth's face. He didn't want to be angry with her, but things weren't going the way he wanted them to.

  "You want me to kill him for you?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "There's no reason to. He didn't hurt me. He didn't hurt Adam. We're all safe, so it worked out."

  "We're losing the goddamn war, Tonja!"

  "We've already lost it. Too many people have died already, Seth."

  "One more wouldn't make any difference."

  Their anger had subsided. They walked slowly back the way they'd come.

  "It would only get you killed, too. I don't want anyone else to die. Will you forget about it? He didn't hurt me."

  The boy frowned in confusion.

  "I think you like him."

  "I don't have any feelings for him."

  "He's the enemy, Tonja. He's a Feddie."

  "You don't have to remind me."

  "What did he want? When he came here?"

  "I don't know."

  "I do. He wants to fuck you."

  "So do you."

  He stared at the ground as he walked, but didn't reply.

  "Let's just be friends, Seth. Things are too complicated right now."

  "Maybe in the future?" he asked.

  "I don't think so."

  "Maybe?"

  She shook her head.

  "No."

  Chapter 24

  The Citadel, New Angeles, Texiana, Sirius 1

  Lance stood flat against the wall by the door, his heart pounding, and listened. The scream came again, followed by the muffled voice of a terrified woman; he couldn't make out the words. Listening closer, he heard a man's voice as well.

  The woman screamed again — but this time it sounded different — a choking, gurgling sound.

  What the hell was going on?

  Lance closed his eyes. He was tired, scared, and his leg was killing him. He wanted nothing more than a quiet, dark place to hide until help arrived. But it sounded like someone on the other side of that door needed help more than he did.

  Taking a deep breath, he drew the bayonet from its sheath on his belt and fitted it over his rifle barrel, locked it with a twist, and turned to the door again. He could still hear men's voices, but the woman had gone silent. As he reached for the door handle, he heard a second woman's voice. He drew the door slowly into its recess, keeping clear of the opening until it was wide enough to step through.

  "No, please! I haven't done anything! For Sophia's sake, stop!"

  Lance stepped through the doorway. The sight that met his eyes was too horrible to believe.

  The room appeared to be a dormitory, perhaps a brothel. Narrow bunks lined one wall, each with the accoutrements of bondage, including wrist and ankle restraints. Along the opposite wall Lance saw eleven nude women, each one attached to the wall by wrist manacles, hanging by their arms. At the far end, four hung limp, heads down, hair draped over their faces, blood splashed in great quantities over their breasts and stomachs; their throats had been cut.

  The seven women nearest him were still alive, hanging in helpless terror as they awaited their executions. Two Confederate soldiers stood with their backs to him. One was watching while the other, clearly enjoying himself, stood before the next victim, pulling her head up by the hair as he toyed with her, tracing the flat edge of a vicious knife along her throat. The woman, who looked about forty, was sobbing in abject horror, pleading for her life. The soldier, who looked about nineteen, was grinning gleefully. The front of his tunic was soaked in gore; he was standing in it, his pants and boots soaked with it.

  Lance took it all in with a retinal snapshot that would haunt him for the rest of his life — however long that might be.

  The woman facing the knife screamed helplessly as the soldier placed the point against her throat and prepared to cut. She jerked and struggled, but couldn't escape the homicidal intent of the man in front of her.

  "Hey, motherfucker," Lance Williams said in a quiet voice, with a calmness he didn't feel. "Why don't you back off before I blow your fuckin' head off?"

  Both Sirians turned in surprise. The one nearest to Lance reached for his sidearm as he spun, but Lance had already taken aim, and a single round from the Spandau blew a hole through his heart. The Sirian skidded six feet backward and fell heavily, his skull cracking on the stone floor.

  Lance took a step forward, now aiming at the man with the knife.

  "Drop the knife, motherfucker," Lance told him quietly. "You touch that woman and I'll feed your balls to you with a long-handled spoon."

  The boy was scared, as evidenced by his expanded blue eyes, but his racial hatred overpowered his fear.

  "Yew better put that rifle down, yew black bastard!" he sneered. "How the fuck yew git in here, anyway?"

  "I ain't gonna tell you again, peckerwood. Drop the knife."

  "Fuck yew, niggo!"

  "You'd like that, would you?" Lance advanced slowly, painfully, one limping step at a time. "That why you killin' these prett
y women, peckerwood? You like boys instead?"

  The Sirian's face contorted in rage.

  "Fuck yew! I ain't no goddamn faggot!"

  "Well you sure as hell ain't no goddamn man, are you? Real men protect women, peckerwood. They don't cut their throats."

  Lance was within six feet of him now, close enough for the Sirian to attack if he had the nerve; the rifle was still trained on his chest.

  "You wanna kill somebody, boy?" he taunted. "Why don't you kill me? Then you can call yourself a man."

  The woman against the wall had stopped screaming; her chest heaved as she watched Lance approach, tears still running down her cheeks, her mouth open and gasping. Her eyes, wide with fear and hope, never left his face. The other women also watched in breathless anticipation. But Lance didn't take his eyes off the Sirian.

  "Put down the knife," he said, taking another step.

  The Sirian watched him, the knife still clutched in his right hand. He had no sidearm, so if he chose to fight, he'd have to use the blade. He seemed to be calculating his chances.

  "Drop it," Lance said quietly.

  "Fuck yew! I drop the knife, yew'll kill me."

  "Maybe. But if you don't drop it, I'll kill you for sure. So you got a choice. How brave are you?"

  The Sirian, sweating now, blinked uncertainly.

  "Cracker."

  The soldier's eyes flew wide at the insult, and he lunged.

  "Niggo!" he screamed.

  Lance swung the rifle butt and caught the Sirian in the side of the head, barely sidestepping him in the process. The soldier lost his footing in the blood and hit the floor hard, smashing his nose against the stone. He twisted onto his back, still holding the knife, and dug an elbow into the floor, trying to push himself back up.

  But Lance loomed over him, pressing the bayonet against his stomach.

  "I'd stay down there if I was you, cracker."

  "Yew goddamn serf bastard! Yew cain't talk to me like that!"