The Fighter King Read online

  The building rocked as another bomb went off, but he was into the main room now, barking commands at the holovid.

  The holo materialized in the middle of the room, showing a hollow-eyed anchorman who looked as if he'd just been dragged out of bed.

  "… unconfirmed reports of hostile spacecraft attacking the city … no official word as to the identity … advised to remain indoors … emergency crews responding …"

  Oliver leaped to his feet, shaking and infuriated. He ran back to the bedroom window and looked out in time to see five more explosions blossom in different parts of the city. Somewhere a siren was wailing, somewhere a laser battery opened fire. Two more SolarFighters streaked by in pair formation, locked into a hard turn as they raced from their target — or toward it. Somewhere nearby he heard men yelling, women screaming.

  Barely able to breathe, he returned to the main room and stared at the holo. What the hell did he do now?

  by John Bowers

  published by AKW Books

  THE FIGHTER QUEEN SAGA

  In chronological order:

  The Fighter King

  The Sword of Sophia

  A Vow to Sophia

  Star Marine

  The Fighter Queen

  NICK WALKER SERIES

  Sirian Summer

  Rebel Guns of Alpha Centauri

  OTHER BOOKS

  Joseph Lexxus and the Drug Runners of Altair

  Starport

  The Fighter King

  by

  John Bowers

  AKW Books

  Washington

  An AKW Books eBook

  Published by Kalar/Wade Media

  Copyright 2010 by John Bowers

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by AKW Books, an imprint of Kalar/Wade Media, LLC, Washington.

  You are granted a non-exclusive license to this work. You may make copies or reformat it for YOUR OWN USE ONLY. You may not resell, trade, nor give this work away.

  ISBN: 978-1-4524-4548-9

  Created in the United States of America

  First publication: January 2010

  2nd publication: November 2011

  Cover art: Joseph Bowers and Howard Milligan

  Cover design & composition: Howard Milligan

  Star background: Sololos

  Shadow man by Emyerson

  Map by Joseph Bowers

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters are a product of the imagination of the author and any resemblance to any real person, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The name “AKW Books” and the AKW logo are trademarks belonging to Kalar/Wade Media, LLC

  to Faith and the kids

  Acknowledgements

  Don Muchow, Lawrence Paine, Harry Hofman, and Joe Bowers

  Map of Vega

  Map of Vega

  Prolog

  Wednesday, 27 May, 0195 (Post Colonial Calendar) — Rural Missibama, Sirius 1

  The tour bus lay on its side at the bottom of a small ravine, its back broken. One lift jet lay several yards away; two others appeared damaged. A blackened hole gaped out of the engine compartment. Peering down, Victoria Lincoln could clearly read the name on the side: CONFEDERATE TRAILWAYS.

  "I see bodies." Tony Colombini's holocam was glued to the wreck. "Six, at least."

  "You getting it all?" Victoria had her hands full to keep the car hovering; it was designed to operate above a smooth surface, and the uneven bottom of the ravine was defeating the inertial automatics.

  "Getting everything. They're all girls."

  Two hoversleds bobbed above the wreck, keeping Victoria alert to avoid them. Both bore official insignia, and she wondered how long before they would challenge her. Milling about the wreck were at least a dozen men, some wearing uniforms. One was pointing in her direction.

  One of the hoversleds suddenly veered toward her, approaching to within fifty feet. An alarm flashed on her console, and a voice burst from her cockpit speakers.

  "This is a restricted area. Yew are not authorized. Set down on the highway and prepare to be interrogated. If yew fail to comply, yew will be shot down!"

  Victoria forced a smile and waved at the other vehicle, though she could see no one through its tinted cockpit windows. She banked quickly and dipped toward the highway above the ravine. Two men watched from beside an official car as she hovered and touched lightly down.

  "Let me do the talking, Tony," she said breathlessly.

  "I always do," Tony replied. "Should I keep recording?"

  "Yes, as long as possible. But don't piss them off. If they say stop, then stop." She felt her heart flutter as she began shutting down the turbines.

  A big man in a white Stetson hat was at her door before she could get it open. He glared menacingly.

  "Who the hell're yew!" he demanded as she popped the clamshell door and stepped down. "Don't yew know this is a restricted area?'

  Victoria smiled brightly before answering, giving him time to notice her long legs and slender waist. The desert wind filled her long hair and lifted it in a heavy brown wave.

  "I'm sorry" she said, "but I don't know your name."

  The big man seemed to swell.

  "I as't yew a d'rect question, young lady! Who the hell are yew?"

  She held out her hand, still smiling. "Victoria Lincoln," she said. "North American Holo News."

  He faltered for the first time.

  "North America? Yew mean — from Terra?"

  "Yes, that's right."

  "What the hell is a Yankee newsgirl doin' on Sirius?"

  "I'm a foreign correspondent. Sirius is my beat." She handed him a small leather case containing her credentials. He stared at it indecisively.

  "Well —" He returned the ID. "— this may be yore beat, but yew better just beat it somewhere else. This place is strictly off limits to yew."

  Victoria blinked rapidly, her smile fading.

  "Do you have the authority to send me away?" she asked. "Are you a police officer?"

  "I'm Sheriff in this district. I reckon that gives me the authority."

  "In that case, Sheriff —" She smiled again. "— maybe you can explain to me why I've never been refused permission to cover an accident scene before. What makes this one different?"

  "Yew don't need to know that. Hey! Yew! Put that camera down! I said this is off limits!"

  Victoria glanced around in time to see Tony lower the holocam and fade back into the vehicle. She faced the sheriff again.

  "Let me get this straight," she said evenly. "A tour bus goes into a ravine. Possibly people are killed. That's news. Why can't I cover it?"

  "Yew don't need to know that. Besides, why would people on Terra give a damn about a bus wreck on Sirius?"

  "Come on, Sheriff. If I'd known it was off limits I wouldn't have come all the way out here. But I'm here now, and I have to justify the expense of coming this far. Can't you give me anything at all?"

  "I don't think so."

  "Just tell me if anyone was killed. And how many."

  "No can do."

  "Then tell me why you can't tell me. What's the big secret? Afraid the bus company will sue you?"

  In spite of himself, the big man grinned. "Did anyone ever tell yew how impertinent yew are, Miz Lincoln?"

  Her smile turned dazzling. "My daddy tells me that all the time! How about it?"

  Heaving a sigh, the burly sheriff pushed his hat back an inch and scratched his fringe while gazing at the pretty brunette.

  "I tell yew what, Miz Lincoln. Even if I did tell yew anything, yew couldn't use it. This here's a KK matter, and nobody kin report on it 'less they give the go 'head. Yew see what I'm say
in'?"

  Victoria's smile faded at mention of the KK. Other names for them included state police, secret police, and Gestapo. The highest law enforcement agency on the planet, the very name of the KK evoked fear in serf and citizen alike.

  "That bus must have some pretty important people inside," she said quietly, "if the KK are involved."

  "I cannot confirm or deny. Now the best advice I kin give yew is to git back in that hovercar and git the hell out of here before they show up. If yew don't …"

  She nodded slowly, then forced a smile.

  "Thank you, Sheriff. You've been very enlightening."

  "I'm happy yew think so."

  "What was your name again?"

  "I never tol' yew my name. Yew didn't see me and I didn't see yew. Git movin', Miz Lincoln."

  With another smile and a nod, Victoria climbed back into the hovercar, fired up the turbine, and lifted off.

  "What did you find out?" Tony asked as he covertly scanned the accident scene for the last time with his holocam.

  "A big fat zero," Victoria said grimly, turning the car toward New Birmingham. "That sheriff was afraid to talk."

  "Must be something big."

  "Yeah. Big as in KK. They have jurisdiction over this one."

  Tony frowned, as uneasy at the mention of the KK as Victoria had been. Named from the Greek word kuklos — meaning "brotherhood" — the KK was the modern incarnation of an ancient terrorist brotherhood on Terra known as the KKK.

  "Tony, who do you know that's important enough for the KK to take over the investigation of a bus wreck?"

  Tony frowned, his dark eyes narrowing. "President of Sirius, members of the parliament, any number of politicians …"

  "Those bodies back there were girls, Tony. Teenagers." She looked at him expectantly.

  His eyes widened. "The Vegan choirgirls?"

  "That's what I'm thinking. They were on their annual culture tour. Performed last night in New Birm, and they were headed for New Angeles. I bet a quick vid call to NA will confirm that they never did show."

  "Jesus!"

  "Not only that, but the Vegan desk reported last week that Queen Ursula expressed concern about the choir's safety. A lot of people on Vega didn't think they should make this trip."

  "Looks like they were right."

  "Soon as we get back, let's contact our 'unnamed sources' and find out what we can. If we're right about this, it could be the biggest story we've ever covered."

  Book One: Sirius

  Chapter 1

  Thursday, 28 May, 0195 (PCC) — Rural Texiana, Sirius 1

  In the rolling foothills of northeastern Texiana, Oliver Lincoln III stood on top of a ridge and peered through binoculars at a large animal grazing in a meadow almost two thousand yards away. A hot breeze dusted the ridge at his feet, raising eddies that made him squint. Beside him stood his friend, host, and former college roommate.

  "Forget it, Ollie," Brandon Marlow said. "That buck is over a mile away. You'll never hit him with that antique."

  Oliver lowered the glasses and turned to look at Brandon, his clear grey eyes challenging.

  "Never tell a Lincoln 'never'," he said. "I'll get him with the first shot."

  Brandon nodded at the centuries-old rifle. "With that?"

  Oliver unslung the Springfield 03 rifle from his shoulder, gazed lovingly at it, and nodded.

  "With this." It had been rebuilt, but was still an original.

  "You hit him on the first shot," Brandon offered, "and I'll pay for your starship ticket home."

  "Already have my ticket. What else you want to wager?"

  Brandon shrugged. "I'll let you bed one of my slave girls."

  "I was going to anyway. What else?"

  Brandon laughed, gestured helplessly. "Okay, tell me what you want."

  "Nothing. Just shut up and watch."

  Oliver twisted the sling around his left wrist, pulled the rifle stock against his shoulder, and braced himself against a large boulder. At twenty-four, he was an unlikely looking marksman — five feet nine, two hundred Terra pounds, portly, paunchy, his dark blond hair already thinning.

  He peered through the telescopic sight, adjusted the cross hairs for the wind and distance, located the target, and carefully took aim. His reputation was on the line.

  He sighted through the scope, laid the crosshairs just behind the animal's shoulder, and took a deep breath.

  He let half of it go …

  And held it.

  He pulled evenly on the trigger; slow, careful, steady pressure, keeping the target locked.

  The rifle slammed into his shoulder; smoke drifted away on the breeze, the roar echoed across the ridgeline. Oliver returned the scope to the buck. Beside him, Brandon Marlow also watched through glasses.

  Two seconds drifted by.

  Suddenly, the buck staggered, bolted, and went down. Kicked twice. And lay still.

  "I'll be goddamned!" Brandon Marlow lowered his glasses in awe. "I would've bet a hundred sirios you couldn't come within ten feet of him. Not at that range."

  Oliver snapped open the rifle bolt to eject the cartridge. His grin was almost a sneer.

  "Been shooting since I was six," he said. "Hunted with my dad in Wyoming and North Dakota. Don't ever question a Lincoln's ability with a rifle."

  "I'll be damned," Brandon repeated. "Well, for Christ sake, let's go fetch the buck! We feast on venison tonight!"

  Marlow Plantation, Texiana, Sirius 1

  The plantation house sat on a small rise overlooking the Texiana River. Three stories high, it covered a quarter acre, but unlike many Sirian plantation homes, didn't conform to the Sirian ideal of whitewashed antebellum architecture from Terra's Ancient South. Rather, the design was more functional, flat and layered.

  Seated on the veranda, Oliver Lincoln III carefully sipped a glass of Sirian Lightning. Clear as water, it was hot as napalm and carried the kick of a rocket. His eyes watered as the fiery stuff trickled down his throat.

  "So your daddy finally sprang for a trip to Sirius." Brandon Marlow was a big man, six inches taller than Oliver and broad at the shoulders. Good looking, easy going, wide smile. A native Sirian by birth, he'd been Oliver's roommate for a year at Berkeley on Terra.

  Oliver grinned. "My old man is a tight ass," he said. "He promised he'd send me on a trip when I got my degree, but when the time came he combined it with business so he could write it off. Officially I'm here to meet with the Confederate Defense Ministry about the fighter contract. 'And oh, by the way, take a week and have some fun while you're there.' So I came to see you first."

  Brandon laughed. "I'm glad you did. What's it been, two years? Seems a lot longer."

  "Two years," Oliver agreed. "I was starting my junior year when you came to Berkeley."

  "I had a great time there. I still remember Christmas at your house. Your spacecraft factory was very impressive."

  Oliver nodded.

  "I have a couple of friends in the fighter fleet," Brandon continued. "They swear by Lincoln fighters. They won’t fly anything else.”

  Sixty years earlier, Oliver's grandfather had been a partner in a major defense corporation, but split off to establish his own company. The result had been Lincoln Enterprises, which manufactured deep space combat fighters and sold them to the military. Defense cuts by the Federation Congress had forced Lincoln to diversify; LincEnt had begun to build deep space yachts as well. A few years later, lifeboats had been added to the product line.

  "So how is the fighter business?" Brandon asked. "You getting enough sales?"

  "Thanks to your government. It's been so long since we've had a war at home that our more dovish politicians think military hardware is a waste of money. But the Confederacy has had a few fights over the years, so they like to keep their claws sharp."

  Brandon smiled absently and gazed across the river toward the farmland that stretched to the horizon. His eyes seemed to glaze slightly.

  "That's what happens when a s
ociety becomes complacent," he said. "They get used to good times and don't think anything can ever threaten them. We don't have that problem here. We're still a frontier world. We know what dangers are out there."

  "All I know is, the Confederacy is good for business."

  Brandon poured more Lightning, then eyed his friend carefully.

  "How long will you be here? A week?"

  "At least. I might stretch that a little. The old man can't very well stop me."

  "Great! I'll give you the grand tour."

  Oliver nodded. "I have to meet with the ministry tomorrow and I want to see my sister while I'm here, but I'll be back the day after that."

  "Victoria is on Sirius?"

  "She's based in New Birmingham."

  "I didn't know that. She still gathering the news?"

  "Yep. The black sheep of the family. Not interested in making money or spending it, she says. Just wants to 'make a difference', whatever the hell that means."

  Brandon laughed again. "Well, when you see her, tell her to watch her step. Freedom of the press may be popular back home, but the Confederacy isn't quite so generous. Foreign correspondents make the government a little nervous."

  Oliver sipped his drink, wiped his eyes, and set the glass down.

  "So what's all this business going on between Sirius and Vega?" he asked. "Last I heard, sounded like a fight was brewing."

  Brandon waved a hand carelessly. "Like everything else," he said. "Politics. Trade issues, mostly."

  "Didn't I hear something about Vega executing Sirian criminals?"

  "Where'd you hear that?"

  Oliver shrugged. "I don't remember. Somewhere."

  Brandon nodded. "That's also part of it. It used to be, if one of our citizens committed a crime on Vega, they handed him over to us for trial. Now they're trying our people themselves, and if they find them guilty, they execute them. We won't stand still for that."

  "You think it's worth going to war?" Oliver asked.

  Brandon let his breath out noisily.

  "Not my decision to make," he said. "But I wouldn't be surprised."

  Chapter 2

  New Birmingham, Missibama, Sirius 1