by Greg Dragon
“Yeah, and you probably won’t be knifed or raped for making the wrong turn amongst those tents either,” Cilas said under his breath.
Raileo chuckled, and Quentin seemed to recognize the unspoken connection between the two men because he gave Helga a questioning look. Cilas stopped below the wing of the sleek black vessel. It was a model known as a V35 Vixen, one of the fastest dropships in the Alliance.
Helga tried to see if she could see anyone through the windows but they were just as dark and impenetrable as the vessel’s smooth hull. As she made to tell Cilas that the pilot may be late, a panel in the side popped out and folded down to become a ramp leading them up into the vessel.
The inside of the dropship seemed more luxury than military, with plush leather seats, carpeting, and an entertainment console installed in the aft. “Are we in the right place?” Raileo said, looking from face to face as if waiting for one of them to give him permission to sit.
“This is Captain Cor’s personal ship,” a high-pitched voice said, and then a freckled face emerged from the cockpit, followed by a slender body in a tight black 3B suit. “I’m Ensign Misa Veil, and I’ll be your pilot for this mission. Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Mec, Ensign Ate, Sergeant Tutt, and Chief Lei.”
“Likewise, ma’am” Raileo said, grinning from ear to ear.
Helga was dumbfounded as she scanned the woman from head to toe. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen, all legs and short-cropped green hair, which was obviously dyed because she looked like no other Meluvian that she had ever seen. This has to be a joke, she thought, and she shifted her gaze over to Cilas to see if his reaction was the same.
“The captain has an infiltration grade dropship as her personal taxi?” Helga said, trying not to laugh. “This is a V35 Vixen with an interior modified for a queen. Do you have the necessary upgrades in case this thing goes off the rails?”
“Yes, ma’am, she’s good to go. Reinforced plating under all that blackness that you saw out there. Radar suppressants, Phantom engine for both speed and stealth, fuel reserves, powered shields, and two focused energy cannons in case we need to bite back at anything trying to swat us down. You also have a pilot with over five years of drops, not limited to friendly moons, and planets like the big blue one out there. I’ve seen some schtill.” She giggled. “Not to worry, the captain put you all in good hands.”
With that she saluted and pulled a set of double doors open, revealing the cockpit and a large, shaded glass overlooking the displaced Marines.
“Five years of drops. Did I hear her right?” Helga said to Cilas, her voice so low that he had to lean forward to hear. “That girl could be your daughter, Tutt. No disrespect in asserting that, but unless she’s been flying missions since she was ten, I question that asinine assertion she just made.”
Cilas laughed and looked at Quentin who smiled as if he was in on the joke, and Helga looked to see if Raileo too knew something she didn’t. The young man shrugged. “I’m not laughing at you, Ate,” Cilas said. “It’s just funny that for all of our dealing with one another in the Alliance, we each know very little about the histories of our ships. Misa is a woman, but her genetics look to be pure Aqnaqak descent. I can bet her parents served on this ship just like their parents, and their parents before them. Misa is a result of the Aqnaqak’s complex history, and due to that, she will probably outlive us all.”
“You’re going to have to enlighten me, Lieutenant. I somehow missed this whole Aqnaqak thing in history class,” Helga said.
“Of course you missed it. It isn’t taught, just like all the darker elements of our Vestalian history,” he said, leaning back. Misa gave them the order to strap in and they all fastened their restraints. “See, the lot of us were born on vessels like Rendron and Aqnaqak,” Cilas continued. “And we like to pretend as if those ships have always been Alliance-centered.
“Before the lizards, Vestalia was just like Meluvia, a big rock full of people that didn’t necessarily like one another. Every race has its infighting, and we humans were no different. The Vasulan Empire, especially, was in the business of establishing their superiority, no matter the cost. On the planet they forbade the mixing of races. Anyone born outside of their lands were considered the enemy, and for that, they stayed at war with several nations. When the lizards invaded, the Vasulans escaped in the Dezoan, Vestalia’s greatest battleship.”
“I know the Dezoan,” Raileo said. “That they did teach us in history class.” He grinned at Helga, and she rolled her eyes at him, unimpressed.
“What does any of that have to do with Aqnaqak?” she said, thinking that Cilas had veered off from his point.
“The part they don’t teach us is that the Dezoan made a deal with the lizards, giving them prisoners of war in exchange for free passage. That’s how much they hated the rest of us. They worked with the Geralos to conduct experiments on their people. They wanted to be stronger and more resilient in order to outlive the rest of us when the lizards prevailed. That was just the tip of the iceberg. They captured Casanians, Louines, and Meluvians for their experiments, keeping the successful formulas for their own people and air-locking the mutants that resulted from the failures.”
“Maker,” Quentin whispered, his eyes wide with horror as he listened to Cilas’s story.
“Well, eventually the Alliance caught wind of their activity, and they were labeled an enemy and set upon by every other ship in Anstractor,” Cilas said. “Human on human combat ensued … and despite the Dezoan’s superiority, it eventually surrendered to the Scythe, which had found a way to penetrate its defense. The Vasulans were defeated, and the Dezoan was dismantled and rebuilt into what we know now as the Aqnaqak. Those experiments… well, they were integrated into the crew, while those behind the treason were tried and air-locked above Traxis.”
“What an awful history,” Quentin said.
“It is, but dig deep into any ship’s past and you’ll find bones that have been hidden to make us seem like innocents,” Cilas said. “The lizards are cruel, but so are we. They just managed to get the jump on us when we were busy eating our own. Many spacers on the Aqnaqak are descended from those awful experiments. Ensign Veil is one, as you can tell by your confusion, but inside that young-looking body is an experienced officer that is qualified for this mission.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Misa’s cheerful voice sung, and Helga wondered if she’d heard everything that had been said, or just the last part from Cilas, since his voice had elevated. Her inquiry into the woman’s age would have been insulting, and the last thing she wanted to do was to make a fellow pilot dislike her for an ignorant opinion.
She thought about how she would feel if it was her in that cockpit and a young ESO woman had come aboard, only to gossip about her racial mixture due to seeing the spots on the side of her head. It would open up the scars from childhood, particularly her years in the cadet academy, and she would probably hate that woman. “If you can hear me, Ensign Veil, I apologize for my questions,” Helga said. “I forgot myself and didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Trust me, Ensign Ate,” she said. “I am used to it. Now, prepare for launch and the smoothest ride down to that beautiful planet known as Meluvia. Woo!”
Helga exchanged glances with Cilas. Meluvia was indeed beautiful, and it would have been considered a paradise if not for the threat of the Geralos. Everything on the planet was colorful, including its people with their freckled skin and flowing dark green hair. The only planet that came close to theirs was Vestalia, the human planet, but after being conquered and forced into space, the planet now belonged to the Geralos.
They shot out from the Aqnaqak and flew past the Rendron, which Helga watched from her window, wondering how it was that the ship didn’t feel like home. On her first mission, she had missed it somewhat, thinking of sleeping inside her own bed, but it was a brief thought that vanished once she began to embrace being a Nighthawk. Talking to Cilas, who was alway
s candid, she had learned that they would always be on the go. Getting homesick could affect the mission, so they learned to forgo all comforts.
Cilas had violated this by being with Joy, but she too would always be on the go. He knew the chances of not seeing her again, and she too knew what she had, and what to expect. They were tough like that, and Helga smiled to herself thinking about it.
She had always liked Cilas, from the first time she saw him come to the academy, and she, like all the other young girls, had felt herself go weak. Then she was invited to the Nighthawks, and in a flash they were together, going through the hell of Geralos imprisonment. It had pulled them closer, but not as close as she’d like for them to be, and then came Joy which she accepted, because Joy was her friend.
She looked over at Cilas, hoping to catch his eye—a lot could be communicated in that momentary glance—but he was ice cold as always, looking over the plans. Quentin was staring at his personal handheld, and Raileo was asleep. Sleeping, really? She wondered at the rookie. Either he was so good that he didn’t have the first mission jitters, or he was an idiot who underestimated what was about to happen.
“Ever wonder why Meluvia didn’t just take in our refugees?” Quentin said.
“They did initially, Tutt, but our Allied government opted out, saying we’d rather fight to win back our planet,” Cilas said. “What would you rather do? Fight to win back yours or run off to a pretty new planet?”
“Have you seen Meluvian women?” Quentin said, surprising Helga, who would have expected that sort of comment to come from Raileo Lei.
“They are so blindingly beautiful, huh?” Helga said, staring at him. “So irresistible in fact that thype the planet, there is sex to be had.” She threw her hands up for effect, which caused Quentin to snicker despite himself. “You would go there, and these dumb, beautiful women, they would all be waiting for you right? For all of that hard, Vestalian—”
“Even if we chose Meluvia, and we settled down there,” Cilas said, cutting her off, “it would only be a matter of time before the lizards showed up. When it comes to the Geralos, we have one choice: kill them with extreme prejudice, or we die. Not to mention, if you’re wealthy, you still do have that choice. But for the rest of us who are poor, it’s either military service or a hub.”
“I love Meluvia and its people, but the Alliance needs us up here, kicking lizard butts,” Helga said.
“You’re singing the same chorus as the rest of us, ma’am. I was just curious, since there’s enough room to accommodate everyone,” Quentin said. Helga could tell that she’d lost points with the sergeant, when she went on her tirade about Meluvian women. Perhaps he didn’t like her; some men didn’t like women who talked too much. It made her want to dislike him, but it was unfair to assume. She had cut them off with a lecture, so maybe this time it was her mistake … either way, she decided not to respond.
“Who knows what the future will hold?” Cilas said then. “We’ve been winning most of our battles up here. If we can get them out of Meluvia and keep pushing back on space, we can take the fight home to Vestalia and work on winning back our planet.”
6
“Hey, Nighthawks, you awake back there?” came Misa’s voice over the comms. “I can see that you all are buckled in, but it’s about to get bumpy, so hold on. Prepare for entry into Meluvia’s atmosphere.”
“Bumpy is an understatement,” Helga said. “Try breaking atmosphere with a Vestalian Classic.”
“May as well pull your lids on now,” Cilas said, and Helga reached up and unhooked the helmet that hung directly above her seat. It was a charcoal black color that matched her uniform with a mask that had a HUD. She pulled it on and waited as a flashing cursor appeared on the glass. It then disappeared for a few seconds and then several icons appeared on the side.
There were five in total, one for every other helmet on the Vixen. It showed heart rates and blood pressure, along with icons that represented comms. “These are actually PAS helmets, though they’re first generation – pretty old. Guess the captain swapped out the standard ones for drops, but these should be great for communication and defense.”
“How do we activate comms?” Helga said.
“You don’t. Just talk and we will hear you,” Cilas said. “It’s automatically triggered, unless you want privacy. There’s an area near your chin, if you slide your finger here, to the right. Touch it and you will see an arrow, move your finger around to select your target. Once you have the person selected, you can talk and only they will hear your voice.”
Helga reached up and tried it, fascinated by the tech, and she activated the arrow and moved it over to Cilas’s icon. It was the first, outlined in blue, so she assumed that it was him. “Testing one, two, three,” she said.
“I hear you loud and clear, Ate,” he said.
“Prepare for atmospheric entry,” Misa said, and blast shields slid out to cover the windows and left them in perpetual darkness.
Now all Helga could see were the icons on the HUD, and then the lights began to flicker on and off as the ship began to shake. As they broke past the clouds to enter Meluvia, she felt a queasiness in her stomach that she hadn’t experienced since her first simulated drop as a cadet.
She didn’t understand it. She was an experienced pilot, but her body was reacting like a frightened rookie. She closed her eyes against the sensation, trying to will it away, but it wasn’t working, and she began to worry that the helmets would betray her accelerated heart-rate.
Opening her eyes, she looked down in the corner and saw that her bpm was suddenly red. Thype me, she thought, and pushed back against the fear, but her mental strength was waning, and she wanted to scream.
“Everything good, Ate?” said a voice in her ear, and she saw that it was Cilas through his private comms. She wanted to answer but found she couldn’t move. It didn’t make any sense. She had done this twice before. Panic rose inside her chest. “You got this,” Cilas whispered. “You are Helga Ate. The woman who landed our disabled Britz on the surface of Dyn. You’re an ace, Helga, you’re meant to have wings. Don’t let the past cloud your judgment, you know who you are, and I am here with you. I am right here; can you see me?”
“I can see you,” she managed, “Thanks.” She hadn’t felt this embarrassed in a very long time and she kept her eyes closed, fighting back the tears. Her fear drained away slowly as the shaking began to subside, and she wondered if it had anything to do with her not flying the ship. In the past she had always been where Misa now sat, and even if she was the co-pilot, she was in control of some aspect of the ship.
Maybe I should have sat up front, she thought. Maybe this fear had to do with trust, since she didn’t know the pilot and couldn’t see outside. The last time she had experienced darkness and being stuck in a room, she had been a prisoner of the Geralos.
Misa said something cheerful, but Helga missed it as she exhaled and opened her eyes. There was a shudder, which made her grab the edges of her seat until she saw the blast doors open to reveal thick clouds all around.
“How close are we to the LZ?” Quentin said, rubbing at his neck as he sat up. The three men looked at Helga for the answer, and since she’d already plotted it out in her head, she was more than happy to share.
“Well, we just broke atmosphere over Levinone, which is 15,000 km from Harmon … give or take,” she said. “It would take about four hours flight time to reach the country, but it looks like we’re still applying thrust, which cuts that time in half.”
“So about an hour?” Raileo said, and Helga looked at him to see if he was joking.
He grinned at her playfully. Who is this guy? she thought. “Try two hours,” she said. “Plus however long it takes to fly over Harmon to reach the Ru’oi Isles.”
“Why not ask the pilot?” Raileo said.
“Well, for starters she’s not one of us, and could be tortured into giving up the minute details of our mission down here,�
� Helga said. “Normally I’d be flying us in, but then we’d have to hide the ship. Misa has her orders, which is to fly over Harmon and allow us to jump out over the northernmost Ru’oi Island. Once she’s let us out, she will probably go somewhere to refuel. She’ll land and find herself a room then wait for a call to come pick us up.”
“And what if we don’t make it?”
“Maker, Lei, what the thype?” Quentin mumbled. “Don’t ask schtill like that. Especially not before a mission.”
“Sorry, Sarge,” the young man said.
“It’s okay, we have to be thorough, and failure must be planned for.” Cilas finally spoke up. “In the event that we don’t make it, Ensign Misa will return to mother. We have seven days to get it done, and if we need more time, I will let her know. So gather your packs and check their rockets. I don’t want to lose any Nighthawks on this drop.”
“Torture, ma’am, you mentioned torture,” Raileo said.
“Yes. If our target knows anything about our mission, he could hunt down the non-ESO … namely, our pilot, and do things to get answers from her. Torture is always a possibility, so we keep our orders on a need-to-know. Even I don’t know the details. They are inside of the lieutenant’s brain,” Helga said. “How old are you, Lei?”
“I am nineteen, ma’am.”
Wow, he’s even older than me, Helga thought. “Have you been in combat yet, outside of simulation?”
“No, ma’am, this will be my first time. But not to worry, I got this. I know myself, and—”
“Listen to me,” Cilas said suddenly. “This isn’t the Alliance Navy. This is Extraplanetary Spatial Ops. You don’t ‘got this,’ and you don’t have it figured out. You’re a prospect, talented, and one of the best to get through BLAST school, which is why you’re on my team. But none of that means schtill when it comes to our missions. Most of what we do is covert, and you are lucky if mother knows where you are. There’s no backup, no rescue planned. If we get caught, tortured, or killed, the mission gets burned, as if it never happened. So get your head out of your rear and listen. She’s been through the schtill, and you haven’t.”
