The Fighter Queen

by John Bowers

  "Where were you during all that?"

  "In the comm center with a bunch of other officers. We had no weapons except a few sidearms. Captain Cowdrey of the Marines had given me a respirator in case of gas, and I was able to remain conscious when everyone else was out. Finally, when the fighting had pushed the Marines all the way back and it was clearly over, I gave the order to surrender."

  Onja gazed at him a long moment, her blue eyes reading his pain.

  "I wish I'd been there with you."

  "No, you don't.”

  "How did they treat the women?"

  "Pretty much the way we expected. They'd lost a lot of people and they were pissed. Most of the women had passed out from the gas, but that didn't matter; they raped them where they found them, asleep, awake, or dead. It was the most god-awful thing I ever saw."

  "And how did they treat you?"

  His eyes glazed slightly at the memory.

  "Not all that bad, actually. The Sirians respect rank. They separated me from most of the others. They brought me to Sirius after a few weeks, and I spent time in several different camps. They moved me every few months at first. I think they were afraid I'd organize the other prisoners if I stayed in one place too long."

  "You would have, too," she guessed.

  "No. If we had mutinied, there was really no place to go. Not until the Space Force arrived and started bombing the planet. That was when we finally got loose and came down here. But without the invasion to keep the Sirians busy, they would've rooted us out of here a long time ago."

  She leaned over and kissed him.

  "The last time I saw you, you were still a major. How did you get to be a colonel? Did you promote yourself?”

  He grinned and shook his head. “It was the damnedest thing. While we were in the ready room briefing for the evacuation, a message came in from Luna 1 promoting me to colonel. It was before they knew I was abandoning the base to the Sirians. I think they intended it as a posthumous promotion, because they didn't think any of us would survive."

  Onja wrapped one arm around him and nuzzled his neck.

  "I never thought I would see you again," she murmured. "I wanted to believe you were still alive, but everyone kept telling me you were probably dead. But even then I never stopped loving you."

  He grinned in the dim light. "Not even after you teamed up with Johnny Lincoln?"

  She sat up abruptly and stared at him. "You know about Johnny?"

  "Railsplitter? Oh, sure. Every time a new prisoner came into one of the camps I would quiz him for war news. Every one of them told me the latest about you. You made quite a name for yourself out there."

  "Were you jealous?" she asked cautiously.

  "Maybe a little," he admitted. "I'm human, after all. It wasn't easy to be separated from you. I knew you probably thought I was dead. I knew you were sleeping with your pilot, and I knew you'd probably fall in love again. It was inevitable. Especially someone like Lincoln, from all I heard about him."

  "I couldn't help it, Major," she explained. "After I started to fly with Johnny, I held on to you as long as I could. But the day came when I had to let you go. I didn't want to, but …"

  "You don't owe me any apologies. I seem to remember giving you a direct order about finding yourself a good pilot."

  "And I did. He was the best in the service."

  Landon nodded. "That's what I heard, too. I was sorry when he was killed."

  They fell silent for several minutes.

  "Onja," Landon said finally, his voice carefully neutral, "after Johnny Lincoln … how do you feel about me?"

  She took a deep breath; she'd been expecting the question.

  "When I was with Johnny, I loved him. I mean, I really loved him. He was close to my age and we were a dynamic team. He wanted to marry me, and if it hadn't been for the war I would have done it. But I never forgot you, Major. You were my very first love, and I never loved Johnny any more than I loved you. The only difference was that I figured you were dead."

  She paused, and he waited.

  "After Johnny died I thought I could never love anyone again, and I never did. It was too painful. But he died a long time ago. More than twenty years now. I had to let you go once, and I had to let him go, too. Now, like a miracle, you're back from the dead."

  Her blue gaze fixed on his eyes and held them for several seconds. "I still love you, Major," she whispered.

  He kissed her gently, his eyes moist.

  "I love you, too, Onja. I've ached to hold you again, and I still can't believe this is real."

  "I'll never leave you again. Don't ever try to send me away. I have to check in on Johnny, but as soon as I know he's okay I'm going to ask General Osato to accept my resignation from the Fighter Service, effective immediately."

  "What about your squadron?"

  "I have a very competent exec.”

  "And your career?"

  "I never wanted a military career. I just wanted to kill Sirians. I've done that. I wanted to find my mother and sister, and I've done that. The only real happiness I ever found was when I had someone to love, someone who loved me back. That was you, and later Johnny. After I lost the two of you, there was nothing but the vow to Sophia." She bit her lip briefly. "My vow has been fulfilled. I have you back, and I'm not ever going to be lonely again."

  Landon pulled her into his arms and held her against him, burying his face in her short, spiky hair, breathing the perfume he remembered so well.

  "God, Onja!" he breathed. "I love you so much!"

  Epilog

  Wednesday, 9 August, 0243 (PCC) — Lincoln Enterprises, Denver, CO, North America, Terra

  It was a golden summer day in Colorado, the sky clear and deep blue, the air fresh and lightly breezy, perfumed by the mingled scent of pine needles and rocket fuel.

  Angela Martinez stood near a parking apron that flanked the runways at Lincoln Enterprises and searched the western sky for any sign of approaching spacecraft. She was forty‑five now, still slender, her hair black as space. She glanced at her wristwatch and sighed, then walked back to where she'd left the hovercar.

  "Damned Space Force people, never on time!" grumbled Oliver Lincoln III from his hoverchair beside the car. "That son of yours will be late to his own wedding!"

  "I think he already is," Angela said with a smile.

  "Just like his old man!"

  Lincoln's words were caustic as always, but Angela had known him all her adult life, and recognized a gruff gentleness in them. It had taken some heavy loss and terrible pain to mellow him, but mellow he had.

  "We've waited this long," she said philosophically. "We can wait a little longer."

  "Meantime, the chaplain is probably charging us by the hour!" the old man grumbled, his thin white hair straying in the breeze. "And that damned cake will probably melt. Be nothing but a puddle of icing when he gets here!"

  "Cakes don't melt, Grandpa!" she chided him gently.

  "Mark my word, this one will!"

  The sonic boom reached them then, echoing across the clear Colorado sky.

  "There it is!" Lincoln barked, his words betraying his sudden excitement. "About damned time, too!"

  A second sonic blast reverberated across the sky, and Angela stepped away from the car, shading her eyes with her hand as she scanned the sky again. She was about to step back into the shade of the car when she caught sight of a contrail, a pencil line of white just starting to streak the blue at the extreme edge of the atmosphere. As she watched, a second contrail appeared, and she smiled.

  "There they are!" she whispered. "Johnny's coming home!"

  "Johnny," Lincoln repeated, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "And Onja."

  Lincoln turned up the gain on the portable radio in his lap. They heard only a crackle of static at first, but several minutes later, as the contrails grew larger and dropped lower …

  "LincEnt Control, Timberwolf. Proceeding downwind at twelve thousand with my wingman. Request approach and
landing instructions."

  Angela's heart swelled as she recognized her son's voice. So clinical and professional! Just like his father.

  "Timberwolf, LincEnt Control. The traffic pattern is clear; wind is southwesterly at seven knots. You are cleared for immediate approach and touchdown."

  "Thank you, LincEnt Control!"

  "That's a roger, Timberwolf. Welcome home, Johnny!"

  As Angela watched, the contrails died as the two ships descended into warmer air, and now she could make them out, dull black dots against the sky. One was a PulsarFighter, the other a small orbital shuttle. The thunder of jets reached her now, a steady roar as they proceeded east, dropping toward landing altitude. She and Lincoln watched them make a sharp left turn, flying in pair formation, then turn again until they were headed straight in, landing gear and flaps now visible. She swallowed down the lump in her throat as the sleek spacecraft screamed over the runway and touched the tarplast, their gear puffing blue smoke as they settled.

  The smell of jet exhaust was suddenly overpowering, but to Angela it was as sweet as Vegan perfume as it washed across her on the breeze and faded downwind.

  "God, that's a sweet spacecraft!" Oliver Lincoln III whispered behind her.

  Angela didn't respond. As the fighter rolled to a complete stop and began shutting down systems, she was running, feeling the wind in her hair, her skirt billowing out behind, until she reached the apron and could go no farther. She stared up anxiously at the cockpit canopy.

  Johnny Lincoln II stepped out on the wing and grinned at her. She waved, and he waved back. She ached to get her arms around him, but he turned to the gun turret and released the hatch, pulling it open. He leaned inside and straightened up a moment later, holding a slender, delicate arm in his hand as the girl inside crawled out.

  Angela stared in disbelief; Johnny had written that Tonja was Onja's niece, that there was a close family resemblance — but it was like stepping back twenty-two years, to the first time she'd met Onja Kvoorik. Except for her long hair and green eyes, the blonde girl standing on the wing of Johnny's fighter could have been Onja's younger twin.

  Johnny jumped down and lifted the girl off the wing, then took her hand and led her toward his mother.

  "Johnny!" Angela's eyes were streaming, and she couldn't say any more, but her smile said it all.

  Johnny threw his arms around her and lifted her off the ground, turning her all the way around, then kissed her on the cheek.

  "Mom! God, it's good to see you!"

  "Johnny!" she sobbed, unable to hold it any more.

  "Mom, this is Tonja. I wrote you about her."

  Angela nodded helplessly, laughing and crying at the same time. She reached for the blonde girl and hugged her, too. Tonja stared at her with wide green eyes, overwhelmed, but obviously pleased.

  "Where's the baby?" Angela managed. "You didn't bring him home in your fighter, did you?"

  Johnny laughed.

  "I was going to, but Aunt Onja wouldn't hear of it. She's got him in the shuttle."

  Angela turned then to look at the second ship, which had parked twenty yards away. The clamshell door had opened and several people were climbing down. Onja Kvoorik walked toward her, a bundle in her arms. Beside her was a man Angela had never seen before, followed by another blonde woman with Vegan features.

  "Onja!" Angela put an arm around the Fighter Queen's shoulder and gazed in awe at the child she held in her arms.

  "Isn't he beautiful?" Onja smiled.

  "Oh my god!" Angela whispered. "My grandson!"

  Onja handed the baby to her, then kissed her on the cheek. "It's good to see you, Angela. We brought some friends who wanted to attend the wedding; let me introduce you to everyone."

  * * *

  "Jesus Christ!"

  Johnny turned at the familiar voice, and laughed as he saw Oliver Lincoln III moving toward him in his hoverchair.

  "Jesus Christ! You'd think the goddamn war was over or something! Couple of ships land and everybody goes crazy. Leave an old man sitting by himself in a goddamn hoverchair!"

  "Gramps!" Johnny grabbed his hand and pumped it, laughing at the pissed‑off expression on the old man's face. But Oliver's eyes were shining. "How the hell are you, Gramps?"

  "Well, I get older and meaner every day, but nobody gives a damn. How the hell are you? Let me look at your face!" He touched a bony finger to the flesh on Johnny's cheek, turned his head with his other hand and traced a finger down his jaw line. "Hell, they said you had third degree burns on your face! Looks natural enough to me!"

  "The Space Force has the finest cosmetic surgeons in the galaxy," Johnny told him happily. "But you should've seen me before reconstruction. I'll show you the holos later."

  Oliver shook his head.

  "No need. All I care about is that you're safe and you're home. God, I missed you, boy!"

  Johnny's eyes filled unexpectedly, and he hugged his grandfather briefly. He coughed back the emotion and introduced Tonja. The old man stared at her intently, holding her hand between both of his.

  "God Almighty!" he whispered. "The last time I saw anything this beautiful was when your dad brought home that Vegan girl." His eyes twinkled. "What was her name?"

  Johnny laughed.

  "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Lincoln," Tonja said quietly.

  "And I'm thrilled to meet you, my dear. From now on, you just call me Gramps, like the kid here. Welcome to our family."

  She smiled shyly, but with pleasure. "Thank you."

  Angela and Onja joined them; Angela leaned forward and passed a bundle into Lincoln's hands.

  "Take a look at the next generation of Lincolns!" she said proudly.

  Oliver Lincoln stared in disbelief at the creamy white infant in his arms, who looked back at him with clear blue eyes and made sucking noises with his lips. The old man said nothing for long seconds, but when he looked up his eyes glistened.

  "What's his name?" he asked.

  Tonja smiled happily. "Oliver Lincoln IV," she said.

  "You named him after me?" he whispered in awe.

  "Of course," Johnny said. "You're the man who won the war. You're the Fighter King."

  Oliver looked at Angela, and the look in his eyes was priceless.

  "They named him after me, Angie! God! I wish Rosemary was still alive! What a day this would have been for her!"

  "Hey, Gramps, don't get too sentimental," Johnny said, putting a hand on the old man's shoulder. "We still have a wedding to attend. A double wedding."

  Lincoln nodded, shaking it off. He allowed Tonja to take the baby.

  "That's right!" he said. "And you're late, as usual! The goddamned cake is gonna melt!"

  "Cakes don't melt, Gramps."

  "This one will! Mark my words!" He turned and looked at Onja, who'd been standing there smiling. "Onja! You made it back! My god, you look as lovely as ever!"

  "Yes, I did. Thanks to you. I'd have been dead years ago if it hadn't been for Lincoln fighters."

  "Let me look at you!"

  "Leer at me, you mean! You're still an old renegade, Oliver!"

  "And you still love me for leering! Who's this?"

  "Robert Landon, sir." Landon bent over to shake hands with the old man. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

  "And I'm honored to meet you, Colonel," Lincoln replied respectfully. "I've heard a lot about you, and I want you to know you're always welcome at Lincoln Enterprises!"

  "Thank you, sir."

  "I'm thrilled that you and Onja found each other again after all these years."

  "Thank you, sir. I'm very sorry about your son. I never met him, but I followed his career even from the prison camps. He was a good man. I wish I'd known him."

  Lincoln nodded painfully. "He was a good boy. The war has touched us all in one way or another, I'm afraid."

  "Yes, sir, it has."

  "The Sirians killed my sister, too. Fifty years ago."

  "I didn't know that. I'm sorry to hear it."<
br />
  "Well, we can't dwell in the past. We all have life to live. Johnny didn't die so we could stand around and feel sorry for ourselves. He died so we could go on living. And I think you, Colonel, are about to embark on a new life with my favorite Vegan gunner."

  Landon smiled and glanced at Onja.

  "Yes, sir, I sure am. It was very gracious of you to allow us to be married at your home."

  "I wouldn't have it any other way. She's my daughter now. And that makes you part of the family, too."

  Landon nodded gratefully. "I'm honored, sir."

  Oliver turned his gaze to Ursula, who stood quietly with a tentative smile.

  "I swear to Sophia, looks like another Vegan girl!" he declared.

  "Ursula Negus, sir," the blonde said, shaking his hand warmly.

  "Captain Negus was in the 213 with Johnny and me," Onja told him. "We lost track of each other for several years, but we met up again on Sirius. I asked Ursula to be my bridesmaid."

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, dear," Oliver said. "God knows I love to be surrounded by Vegan women!"

  Angela turned as a fourth person approached, this one in Star Marine uniform. He was middle-aged and powerfully built, with a deceptive grace to his walk that suggested he wasn't a man to trifle with; but she detected a weariness about him as well, as if he'd been through some great ordeal.

  "What happened to you?" Landon asked him.

  "I was a little airsick. I don't do well with reentry." He smiled ironically. "Too many combat drops."

  His eyes fell on Angela, and he stared at her for long seconds, his lips curving into a smile. He extended his hand.

  "Kevin Willis," he said. "Thirty-third Star Marines."

  Angela took his hand, her eyes expanding a little. She felt her skin tingle.

  "You're in the 33rd?"

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  "How long?"

  "Most of my life, I think. After the 33rd was wiped out at Titan, I was assigned to Romeo Company when they rebuilt it."

  "So you fought at …"

  "Alpha Centauri and Periscope Harbor. Yes, Ma'am."

  "My god," she whispered.

  "Ma'am?" He looked puzzled.

  "My brother was in the 33rd. He was killed at Periscope Harbor."

  Kevin Willis clutched her hand a little tighter, as if to comfort her.