The Fighter Queen

by John Bowers

  "I don't know."

  "You had a gun to that Marine's head."

  "And I was praying he wouldn't call my bluff."

  "You were bluffing? If he had decided to shoot Adam, you would have let him?"

  "I can't lie to you, Tonja. I just don't know."

  She felt a rush of disappointment, but tried to keep it from showing.

  "One thing I do know — Aunt Onja would have killed them both."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely. She is one tough lady. Adam is her nephew, and family means everything to her. Those Star Marines saved their own lives when they put their rifles down."

  Missie was intrigued. "I didn't like her," she admitted. "She seemed so bossy."

  "Like I said, she's a tough lady."

  He stirred, gently removing her arms from around his neck.

  "Why did you call me here, Tonja?"

  She gazed deep into his eyes, her expression solemn.

  "Just what I said before. And …"

  "And what?"

  She bit her lip briefly, her heart thumping in her throat. Terrified of losing her nerve, she said it in a rush.

  "I want to go to bed with you."

  * * *

  Johnny Lincoln II sat down abruptly, shock on his face.

  "What did you say?"

  Missie felt her cheeks flame; this wasn't happening the way she'd planned it, and her words had come out all wrong. A million thoughts fired in her brain, but she sat mute, unable to answer. She felt tears welling again.

  "Tonya, you can't just … I mean …" Johnny looked as dazed as she felt. "How old are you?"

  "Seventeen," she whispered. "What does it matter?"

  "It matters. I could get in big trouble bedding an underage girl."

  "I'm not under age!"

  "You're under eighteen."

  "So what?"

  “In my culture, you’re not an adult until you turn eighteen. Adults can go to prison for sleeping with minors.”

  "There's nothing like that in Sirian law."

  Johnny didn't look convinced, but let it pass.

  "So why do you want to do this? Are you trying to make things up to me? Is that it?"

  She frowned and shook her head vigorously, her fear forgotten.

  "No! I would never do that. I just …"

  "What?”

  "I want to be with you. I want to spend time with you."

  "You can do that without sex."

  Her eyes widened a fraction and her trepidation returned.

  "Johnny, I'm sorry! If you don't want to, I understand."

  "Don't want to?" He laughed, incredulous. "Christ, who wouldn't want to? I just never heard any girl say anything like that before."

  Missie was mortified. She'd had such high hopes for this meeting, but she was fucking everything up again.

  "I'm sorry."

  "Stop saying that. Just talk to me."

  "I don't know what to say." And now she was afraid to say more.

  He smiled encouragingly. "What were you thinking when you sent me the message?"

  Her eyes lost their focus as she thought back. Long seconds passed in silence, until she recaptured the one decisive emotion that had prompted the call. He might laugh, but things could hardly get much worse than they were now.

  She focused her green eyes on his face and told him.

  "I'm in love with you."

  The words hung suspended as Johnny stared at her in silence. Finally he took a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his face.

  "You're in love with me."

  "Yes."

  "What makes you think so?"

  Her eyes misted; everything was lost. She might as well tell him everything, because the evening was shot.

  "All my life, I've been afraid," she said. "I'm a Sirian, but I look like a Vegan, and that's all people see. Especially men. They don't care what I'm like, whether I'm a good person; they don't care that I'm a loyal Confederate citizen. They see my Vegan body and everything else stops. I've been groped and squeezed and kissed ever since I was little. I never felt safe unless my dad or Adam were with me. I had to carry my citizenship ID everywhere I went."

  She glanced up at him; his eyes had narrowed, he was listening intently.

  "I know what men want. I know what real slave girls have to endure. I was lucky that my dad raised me as a citizen, but I still didn't feel safe. And then, when we started losing the war, I realized one day that, when the Feddies got here, I would be in even more danger. Because Feddies hate Confederates."

  Johnny's eye twitched, but he didn't contradict her.

  "So now I would be trapped between Feddies and Sirians too."

  "Federation fighting men don't rape women," he said.

  "Not ever?"

  "Every army has a few bad apples, but it doesn't happen often. Anyway, what does all this have to do with me?"

  "Johnny … when I'm with you I'm not afraid."

  "I'm glad to hear that. But that's hardly the same as love."

  She clasped her hands together and stared at her knuckles.

  "I've never been in love before. I didn't even find very many guys attractive. I always felt like a target, so if someone paid attention to me I didn't feel flattered or cared for, I just felt like a target." She glanced at him. "Then you showed up. I was terrified of you and those Marines; you were the enemy. If anyone should have threatened me, it would be you."

  She shook her head.

  "But you didn't try to hurt me. You even came here to check on me. And you didn't try anything, ever. It was the first time any man ever showed me that kind of concern."

  "Tonja, there must be lots of guys who …"

  "Not Sirians."

  "Feddies, then."

  "I don't know any other Feddies."

  "We have a couple million men on the planet. You'll meet some of them."

  "Why would I want to do that? I love you."

  He stared at her, at a loss.

  "I don't know what to say. I guess you know how you feel, but it sounds pretty thin to me. We've had such little contact. You don't really know me."

  "I know all I need to know. You're a good person, Johnny. I've never met anyone like you before. I know you'll go home some day, but I want to be with you as much as I can before you do."

  He shrugged. "I have a four-day pass. I can stay four days, anyway."

  She blinked at him. "You're going to stay?"

  "I can't very well leave tonight."

  "I thought … After all the things I said, I was afraid you wouldn't want to be with me."

  "There's no place I'd rather be, especially if you're in love with me."

  "Johnny — I only told you that because you asked. I'm not asking you to love me back."

  Johnny stood up and reached for her hand. She also stood and let him draw her into his arms. He kissed her gently, hungrily, then pressed his face into her neck, breathing the fragrance of her long blonde hair.

  "Love you back?" he murmured. "It wouldn't be hard."

  Lincoln Enterprises, Denver, CO, North America, Terra

  Angela Martinez entered the executive office with a stack of reports and dumped them on Oliver Lincoln's desk. He stared at his computer screen, focused on production figures and cost overlays. As she turned to leave, he spoke.

  "Sit down, Angie."

  Angela turned, surprised. He was still intent on his display, but she made her way to the chair and took a seat. A moment later he leaned back with a weary sigh and gazed at her.

  "How long you been working here now?" he asked.

  "Twenty-three years. I started when I was nineteen."

  "And you're how old now?"

  She smiled. "Don't ask."

  "Nineteen and twenty-three," he mused. "Makes you forty-two."

  "Mr. Lincoln, you're smarter than you look," she teased.

  "I've known you over half your life, Angie. You're almost like a daughter to me. You're a great secretary and you're a won
derful mother to my grandson."

  "Thank you."

  "So you can tell me it's none of my business," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "But goddammit, you need to get married!"

  Angela dropped her gaze and her smile faded.

  "You've got to be lonely," he said.

  She nodded. "Yes. But I only loved one man. I don't think anyone could take his place."

  Lincoln folded his arms across his chest.

  "You're looking at it wrong," he told her. "You don't find someone to replace John, you find someone to fill the hole in your life. Johnny Lincoln is dead. You loved him. You will always love him. But he can't do anything for you any more."

  She smiled sadly. "He never did, actually. Except give me a son."

  "You had one night with him. And you've sacrificed the last twenty-two years because of it."

  "I haven't sacrificed anything. I raised his son and I'm proud of that."

  "Yes, you did," Lincoln conceded. "But your son is an adult now. He has his own life to live, and you have yours. Angie, you've taken care of everyone but yourself. Now it's time to take care of you!"

  "Onja always said that," Angela admitted. "Every time I see her, she asks about my love life." She laughed. "As if I have one!"

  "Rosemary worried about you too," Oliver said. "Many times she told me she wished you'd find someone. Looks like everyone sees it but you."

  Angela sighed. "I'm over forty. How many prospects can there be?"

  "I'll tell you — the war's almost over, and there'll be millions of men coming home. A lot of them have been in it from the beginning, men who never married and dedicated their lives to fighting the war. They're going to want to settle down. Find yourself a veteran, Angie, someone who's been through hell and can appreciate the value of a good woman. Someone who just wants to live in peace."

  Angela smiled. "I'll think about it."

  Lincoln allowed a smile to crack his weathered features.

  "I'm proud of you, Angie. I just want you to be happy."

  She stood suddenly and leaned across the desk, kissing him on his bald head.

  "And I love you, Mr. Lincoln. You've been like a father to me for the last twenty years."

  He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "All right, this is getting pretty sappy. You'd better get back to work."

  Displaced Persons Compound, Glenville, Texiana, Sirius 1

  As the temperature dropped, the snow fell faster, wet and heavy, forming drifts against the camp buildings. Feddies in the guard towers relaxed at their posts, expecting no trouble from the civilian internees, especially on such a cold night. Hot coffee and doughnuts were more important than the infrared monitors.

  Not far from the main gate, a solitary figure slithered from building to building, darting across the open spaces until it reached the VIP apartment. Dressed completely in black, the figure was starkly visible against the snow, had anyone been looking. Moments later it slipped into the hallway of the apartment building and disappeared.

  Unnoticed.

  The intruder shook snowflakes off his overcoat and proceeded directly to a utility room behind the stairwell, slid open the door, and turned a brilliant beam of pencil-thin light on the electronics panel. The flick of a switch suddenly cut all power to the building, leaving the rest of the camp unaffected. Another switch cancelled the emergency backup batteries.

  The intruder stood there a moment, breathing deeply, building his courage. Ready at last, he dropped the overcoat where he stood, drew a large knife from his belt, and started up the stairwell.

  With the power shut down, the lock on the door to the VIP apartment had ceased to function. Normally locked by electromagnet, the door was now held in place only by inertia. Gripping the knife in his right hand, the intruder silently slid the door aside.

  * * *

  Johnny Lincoln II saw the landing tunnel of UFF Bush looming like an open mouth. Sweat poured off his body as he wrestled with the yoke of his wounded fighter.

  "Timberwolf, your speed is too high! Abort! Abort! Abort!"

  "Negat! I'm bringing this mother in! You can't stop me!"

  The tunnel yawned before him like a cavern. He felt the vibration from the damaged rocket engine, felt the fighter swing wide of the tunnel, driving straight for the side of the carrier. He was going to hit! There was nothing he could do to stop it!

  "Timberwolf! Abort, goddammit! Abort!"

  "No! I can't! I'm bringing my gunner home!" He wrestled the yoke, jerking it to the right with all his strength.

  He looked through the canopy, saw Aunt Onja sitting astride the nose of his fighter. She was grinning.

  "You're a complete fuck-up," she said. "You're not your dad, Johnny. Nobody's as good as the Railsplitter."

  "I'll save you!" he gasped. "Dad died to save you! I've got to try!"

  Onja threw back her head and laughed. "You're going to save me? You and whose army? I'm the Fighter Queen!"

  "I can do it!" he gasped. "I can do this!"

  "Fuck you, kid! You got us into this in the first place. If you were half the pilot your dad was, I wouldn't need saving. Get out of that cockpit and let somebody else try!"

  He waved her desperately to the side.

  "Aunt Onja, I can't see! I need to see the tunnel! Move! Please!"

  She laughed again. Johnny struggled, craning to see around her, to find the opening to the landing tunnel. Unable to see, he thrashed from side to side. Lunging against the canopy, desperate to see —

  "Johnnyyyyyyyyyy!"

  He jerked upright in bed, scalded by Tonja's scream. Something hit him hard; sharp metal ripped across his back. Tonja rolled to the floor, screaming hysterically. Johnny fought against the blanket, dimly aware of a third person in the room — on the bed with him.

  The blanket bound him, encumbering his movement, so he twisted to the left, diving to the floor. The intruder lunged again, sharp metal whistled past his throat, and he felt the weight of what had to be a man. Opposite him, Tonja, now on her feet, still shrieked.

  Unable to use his arms, Johnny threw his weight against his opponent, rolling over onto him, kicking wildly to get free. Pain jolted him as the knife came down again, this time piercing his hip. Blood spilled out of him.

  Slowly the blanket lost its grip, and Johnny was able to move his left arm ever so slightly. He shifted his weight again, now able to pin the attacker's knife arm, but a knee slammed into his groin and sickness spread through his belly. He suddenly needed to puke.

  Tonja had come around the bed and now stood at Johnny's feet, paralyzed with indecision. She had stopped her mindless screaming, but now yelled his name over and over. That didn't help much.

  The person beneath him now had the knife arm free again, and drew back for another strike. In desperation, Johnny threw himself to the right and rolled, unwittingly unraveling the blanket as he did. The intruder was up now, on his feet, just an outline in the darkness.

  Tonja screamed.

  God! He had to save her!

  But the intruder was coming at him. Johnny drew back his legs and kicked hard with both feet, hitting the knifeman in the stomach, driving him back across the bed. Fighting waves of nausea, Johnny scrambled to his feet, free to defend himself for the first time. He grabbed Tonja and flung her across the room, away from the bed. The intruder was coming up again, and now Johnny saw the barest glint of light on the metal blade in his hand, thanks to a distant light tower visible from the window.

  Johnny crouched, instinctively taking the stance he'd been taught in Personal Combat at Grand Forks. The intruder lunged again, and Johnny sidestepped, grabbing the knife arm even as the blade sliced his wrist, and spun his attacker around. His opponent screamed in agony as Johnny twisted the arm halfway out of its socket, then drove him back against the wall, shattering a lamp; leveraging with his feet, he drove his fist repeatedly into that mysterious face.

  After the fourth blow, with blood spurting in all directions, the intruder slumped and slid
to the floor. Johnny stood over him, panting with adrenaline, and twisted the knife free of the other’s weakened grip.

  He stepped back, heaving for air, more frightened than he'd been since — when? Shooting the landing tunnel in a broken fighter? The night Tonja's brother had shot at him? The day he'd pulled a GAM off Onja's fighter? The war was starting to run together in his mind.

  He wiped his forehead with an arm, felt blood smear his skin. He had no idea how badly he was hurt, but his heart was still beating.

  Tonja was suddenly in his arms, sobbing, clinging to him. He wrapped an arm around her, but never took his eyes off the shapeless body on the floor.

  "Lights on," he said, but nothing happened. "Emergency backup," he tried, but again nothing. The bastard must have cut the power. He'd never have got through the door otherwise.

  "Johnny! Are you all right?" Tonja was getting herself under control.

  "I think so. What about you? Did he hurt you?"

  "No. But I thought he was killing you."

  "He tried to. If you hadn't screamed —"

  "You were having a bad dream. You woke me up, and that's when I saw him."

  Johnny heaved a deep breath. "See if you can get some lights on. I want to see who this bastard is."

  "I think the power is out."

  "Don't these buildings have some kind of backup?"

  She moved away and came back a moment later, a portable torch in her hand.

  "Use this," she suggested.

  Johnny took it and thumbed the switch; a powerful beam cut across the floor just as the unconscious intruder began to stir. Johnny pushed Tonja behind him again and knelt in front of his attacker.

  "Okay, pal, who the hell are you? And why did you try to kill us?"

  The intruder moaned, coughed up blood, and opened tortured eyes, averting them from the light.

  "Not trying — to kill her," the bloody mouth mumbled. "Just you."

  "You wanted to kill me? What did I ever do to you?"

  "You — you're a Feddie. And — and you r-raped her."

  Tonja stepped forward in astonishment, dropped to one knee in front of the intruder.

  "My god!" she whispered.

  Johnny looked at her in surprise. "You know him?"

  She nodded. "His name is Seth Baker."

  "Who is he?"

  "He's like me. Vegan mother, Sirian father. Son of a slave. He hates the Federation and he's frustrated because he's too young to enlist."