by Greg Dragon
By the time she was dressed and ready to go, her mind was free of distractions and she was ready for what was to come. She slipped the helmet into the crook of her arm and stopped to take one more glance in the mirror. Would this be the last time she would get a chance to scrutinize herself? This thought came and went as it always did before a dangerous mission.
“Let’s go,” she heard Quentin shout from outside, and though it wasn’t a command, she took it as a sign for her to get on with it. Bypassing the lift, she used her rocket boots to fly up to the railing that ran around the dock and pulled open a door leading to the main passageway that would take her to the bridge. Her wrist-comms buzzed and she saw that it was Zan, alerting her to the course being set.
She found the cockpit and sat next to the Cel-toc, who looked almost human reclined in the co-pilot’s seat. “Ready on your order, Commander,” she said, turning to look back at Cilas as he sat perched upon his captain’s chair. Strapped into stations on the starboard side of CIC were Raileo and Quentin, fully dressed in their PAS including the helmets.
The doctor was nowhere in sight, but she had enough training to know to get into a station before a jump, so Helga didn’t worry for her; she just assumed that she would have wanted to be around other spacers during a risky jump. She noticed that Sundown was not in place either, and for a brief moment she wondered about the two of them.
“Take us to Arisani, Lieutenant,” Cilas said over the intercom, which was code for, “Get your rears strapped in or risk being sucked out into space if we have a breach.”
Sundown finally emerged, dressed in the armored skin suit that was the battle uniform of the Jumpers, with his las-sword secured to the back of it and a gun-belt hanging loosely below his ratty duster.
On his feet were some specialized Sanctuary security boots that would allow him to jump and hover when activated, similar to that of the PAS. He stood out from them, which was dangerous since being unique could denote rank to the enemy. Suspected leaders were the sniper’s favorite marks to drop, but this wasn’t a big concern for the Jumper. He stepped into the nook of a station and activated the magnetic locks before tipping an invisible hat at her.
“Doctor Rai’to, are you strapped in?” Helga said, affording her the courtesy, just in case she wasn’t thinking clearly.
“I am, inside of my office,” Cleia said, and Helga looked over at Zan and gave her the nod. The Cel-toc strapped in and removed her hands from the console and Helga took over, checking on the status of the Ursula. With Zan hooked into the system of the ship, she could have simply asked for a report, but she preferred to read them over hearing them from the android. Soothing voice or not, there were some things she preferred to do the old-fashioned way.
“Ursula, we are cleared to jump,” she finally said, and just like that they were off.
3
One minute the holo displays and terminals were showing nothing but blackness and the next there was a large red planet against the inky backdrop, with a neat ring of debris wrapped around it. The Ursula was back in Alliance space, having jumped from the mysterious quadrant of Sanctuary, now wiped from the ship’s navigation to preserve its secrecy.
The ship’s AI spoke, informing them that the jump had been a success and all systems were a go. Helga looked over at Zan and winked, and the Cel-toc responded with a slight bow and smile. She hadn’t been taught to do this; it was just something she would do whenever any of the organics treated her as something other than a machine.
It was Helga’s way of telling her that the controls were hers, and this was reinforced by the young lieutenant pulling her restraints and standing up to look back at the crew. “We’re back in Anstractor,” she said, throwing her hands up in a celebratory gesture.
“Planets, to think that I survived to see this day,” Sundown murmured, forgetting that his comms were live.
“Back in the schtill.” Quentin stepped out from his station to join Cilas at the back of the bridge. The corvette’s layout was different from conventional space ships, with the bridge and CIC occupying the same space, separated by a raised platform upon which sat the captain’s chair.
There was a railing to allow Cilas to stand and look down on the cockpit and its segmented stations, but for all intents and purposes, it was a wide-open deck, allowing the crew to move about without any obstruction. On the overhead were handles, and more stations recessed into the bulkhead so that in the event the artificial gravity failed, they could always find a place to take control of the ship.
Helga and the Nighthawks joined them back there, as they stood at attention about the starmap.
“Welcome home, Rover,” Cilas said, causing the Jumper to regard him curiously.
“Rover, Commander?” he said and then seemed to think on it for a second. “I’ve been called everything in the book since arriving on Sanctuary, but this one is a first. What does it mean?”
“It means that you’re our wild card, brother,” Quentin said matter-of-factly.
“Plus it works better than, ‘Jumper who dresses like a pirate,’” Helga teased before averting her eyes to where Raileo Lei had returned from retrieving Cleia Rai’to from her office. “Welcome to Anstractor, Doc,” Helga said, and the woman bowed deeply before rushing over to the cockpit to stare out at the planet in front of them.
“Thank you, Lieutenant Ate,” she said. “I never thought I would ever get the privilege.”
Cleia had been born and raised on Sanctuary station, which was an isolated refuge that served as the Alliance’s headquarters. No one knew the location of Sanctuary, and its access was carefully monitored and controlled by an advanced A.I. To gain access to the station took having the money or position to get the council’s attention, and then there was normally a vote, followed by rigorous process to confirm that you weren’t a threat.
Getting in was impossible, and getting out was nearly as hard. The Nighthawks, having been given access and then clearance to depart, were only allowed this privilege due to their last mission, which was to deliver a cadet whose mind had been taken over by the Geralos.
The trip—both arriving and departing—was only possible through the Ursula’s A.I. communicating with that of Sanctuary’s. The route was unknown, and the station itself was always on the move, so even if the course was tracked, it would be difficult to return once you left. Even still, ships that approached without Alliance credentials were destroyed, and Sanctuary was armed with enough tracers to mince up a Geralos fleet.
Sanctuary’s citizens were meant to stay on the station, living out their lives peacefully until the war with the Geralos was won. Cleia and Sundown were exceptions, having been given clearance by the Alliance council to aid the Nighthawks efforts. So, for the Traxian physician, being here and seeing Arisani was a dream come true, and Helga saw the tears in her eyes when she walked up to grip the back of her chair.
“Alright, so now that we’re here,” Cilas said, bringing their attention back to him. “First order of business, we need to appraise the state of that station, the proximity of any non-Alliance warships, and a point of entry. I am open to ideas, but remember that we must remain dark to the enemy. If we’re exposed they could start killing the hostages or call in a fleet to take on Ursula. Any thoughts?”
“I can deploy a drone to scan their perimeter and give us a visual,” Raileo said.
“Any objections to the drone?” Cilas looked at them one by one. “Looks like it’s unanimous, we’re using a drone. Chief, get started right away, and report if you see anything remotely suspicious.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Raileo said, seeming happy to feel helpful once again.
“Second, Ursula is too much ship to be in the vicinity of that satellite. She will stay here, cloaked, while we use the dropship to make our approach. Lieutenant Ate, set a timer on the Ursula’s system. If we haven’t communicated our status and are not back on board within five cycles, I want an SOS primed for the Rendron to send some help. If there is no ans
wer when that SOS is sent, I would like for one to be sent to Aqnaqak. In the event that one isn’t answered, then Ursula is to jump to Meluvian space, where she is to orbit while sending out a beacon, requesting Alliance help. In our absence, once the five cycles have expired, Dr. Rai’to is to be given communication clearance. Did you get all that?”
“Got it … automate rescue protocols with the closest starships, starting with mother, cycle through the rest, and then automate a jump to friendly Meluvian space. Once there, set a beacon, but give the doc freedom to the ship’s console. You don’t have any phobias related to automatons do you, Doc? Mechanophobia, technophobia—”
“No, Lieutenant, I do not,” Cleia said. “I grew up inside of a house run by Cel-tocs, and as a doctor, I am quite familiar with interfaces, readouts, and advanced machine intelligence. You can rely on me, Nighthawks. I may be a—how did I hear it—’pampered Sanctuary elite, with no idea of the war,’ but my family are proud of our history. I grew up appreciating the Alliance, and it is why I am here, aiding the effort.”
“You being here is our privilege, Dr. Rai’to,” Cilas assured her. “One of the truly great things with us visiting Sanctuary.”
Though Cleia Rai’to kept a look of defiance, Helga saw her skin change from an aggressive shade of lavender to the light powder blue that they were accustomed to.
“Sergeant Tutt, please see to our loadout. We don’t know what’s coming, so let’s pretend that we’re about to drop in on a nest of Craqtii. We’ll be bringing the refugees back, as well as one hostage, so we’re going to want to pack some stasis cuffs, as well as some medical equipment. Sunny, just get ready for action. I am going to update Captain Sho, and then we need to get moving.”
“I’m already set, so I’ll assist with loading the Thundercat,” Sundown said, then the Nighthawks saluted in unison before breaking off to carry out their orders.
When Cleia made to leave the bridge, Helga touched her on the arm. “Hey Doc, a moment. After hearing the commander’s orders it made me think. Are we set up for taking in the wounded? None of us paid attention to that medbay before you came on board,” she said.
“We have eight beds currently,” Cleia replied. “Twelve if we convert the tables—which can easily be done. Why, Lieutenant? Are you expecting a lot of injuries?”
“Yes and no,” Helga said, “but you heard the commander. None of us knows what is waiting for us on that satellite, and the pirates have already killed several innocents. We are the reconnaissance for the Alliance, so our job is to spy and pull out as many hostages as we can. I’d imagine there will be some wounded already, but once the bullets start to fly, we’re only going to add to it.”
Cleia reached out and awkwardly touched Helga’s shoulder, an attempt at the Vestalian sign for friendship. “Whatever comes, we will figure it out, together,” the Traxian said. “And thank you for caring enough to ask.”
“I am also trained as a field medic,” Quentin said. He was already on the lift, ready to ride it down to the dock, but had heard enough of their conversation to chime in. “Dr. Rai’to, I’d be able to assist with anything you ask of me.”
Helga watched the doctor to see if she would accept, since it was Quentin who had inferred that she was one of Sanctuary’s elites.
“I would appreciate that, Sergeant,” Cleia said, which shocked Helga speechless as she stood there watching the exchange. “We are very different, the two of us, and working together I hope to harmonize our similarities.”
Harmonize our similarities, Helga mouthed the words, wondering if it was a Traxian idiom.
“If I don’t get to see the two of you before you depart,” Cleia continued, “I pray that Cyris grants you good fortune beneath her watchful eye.”
They thanked her and separated to take care of their particulars, and Helga grabbed Zan to program her to do as Cilas had instructed. Once that was finished, she went back to her berth and tidied up everything, as if she expected to be gone for a long time. It was the Navy way, but beyond that, doing manual work allowed her to mentally prepare for what was to come. When she was finished, she walked to the dock, and took one final look at her surroundings.
“Deploying drones,” Ursula announced, startling her, and Helga hurried to the R60 Thundercat, where she walked below a wing to its swollen belly and ramp leading up into the cargo hold.
She could hear laughter as she made her way up, and found Quentin and Sundown handling ordnance. They greeted her, but she didn’t stop to chat. Instead she found the cockpit, where she started a sequence of preliminary checks. She had only touched the Thundercat on her first tour of the Ursula but hadn’t bothered till now to sit and play with the controls. Now she realized that she had been mistaken when she wrote it off as a standard dropship.
The R60 Thundercat had a torpedo launcher, installed below her stern, and the wings, which she thought were an unnecessary cosmetic addition, held four energy cannons that were enough to eliminate the shields on any fighter. Dramatically, Helga leaned forward and placed her chest on the console, spreading out her hands as if to embrace it.
“I’m sorry I underestimated you,” she whispered, before sitting back to resume her preparation, starting down a long checklist permanently embedded inside her head.
“Commander,” said Raileo Lei, over the comms. “Commander, our drones, Chiron and Arae, just arrived at the Satellite, Maahes, and there are no ships visible near her dock.”
“Maahes, huh? That’s the name? Very good, Chief Lei,” Cilas said. “Looks like we’re ahead of the lizards, so we’re cleared to move. Nighthawks, get to the Thundercat and prepare for launch. Ray, put Chiron on surveillance; I want to know if even an asteroid makes it within jump distance of Maahes. I want Arae to find Arisani and stay within the vector of the planet and the moon, Argan-10. If anything moves, Ursula is to track it, and if the signature is Geralos, I want to know about it immediately.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Raileo said.
As if on cue, Helga brought up her starmap and synced the Thundercat to the radios of both the Arae and Chiron drones. She brought on the terminals that showed the feeds around the ship, then closed her eyes and whispered a prayer to the maker or anyone beyond that would be listening. She couldn’t qualify her feelings but she was nervous, as if she anticipated something going wrong.
Helga tried to get past it using breathing exercises, blaming nerves and mission atrophy from the lengthy shore leave spent on Sanctuary station. For several long minutes she fidgeted with the controls as her eyes periodically shot up to the screens to see what the Nighthawks were doing. Once Cilas made it onboard, she counted three Nighthawks and one Jumper in the seats, so she updated Zan and pulled up the ramp to seal them in.
“Ready for launch,” she announced, and got the confirmation quickly from the commander. Helga pulled on her helmet and surveyed the dock.
Her eyes found the railing where Dr. Cleia Rai’to was waving her farewell. Helga saluted the Traxian before starting the countdown as alarms began to blare out their warnings. Shields appeared around the perimeter, protecting the key areas of the dock from the incoming loss of atmosphere. When the timer reached zero, the deck below them slid open, and the Ursula ejected the dropship.
Helga let them stall for a time, watching the corvette drift away, then she grabbed the controls and applied enough thrust to start them moving towards the satellite. “Thundercat is clear, Zan, you are free to assume control,” she said into her comms, and smiled when the Ursula’s android pilot confirmed. “Applying max thrust,” Helga said into the intercom after glancing up to make sure that everyone was still seated.
With the connection to the drones being established, Helga got a full holographic view of the satellite. The Thundercat, though able to cloak, would not have the energy reserves to remain shielded. If the pirates became aware of their approach, they could fire a weapon into their unprotected hull. A manned rocket couldn’t destroy them, but it could hit something vital, not to me
ntion it would accelerate the timeline for the Geralos to collect their hostages.
Cilas slid into the seat next to her. “How’re we looking? What’s our ETA?” He wasn’t wearing his helmet, and had busied himself with examining the hologram of the satellite.
“We’re looking at an hour’s worth of thrust to make the station,” Helga said, her eyes fixated on the pulsing light of the satellite in the distance. “I figured that if I come in at this angle”—she demonstrated it with her finger—”I can dock on this level meant for maintenance crews and emergency vessels; then we can make our way down to the living area. We’ll be cloaked so they should not see us on approach. What do you think?”
“With you in the cockpit? Getting in isn’t my concern. What I do worry about though, Hel, is that coming in cloak will make it possible for the enemy to destroy us with a well-timed torpedo.”
“They can try, but with what, really? A shoulder-mounted RPG, fired from behind the shield barrier of their dock? I have to say, Rend, the likelihood of that happening is pretty slim. Still, if that’s how they want to play it, I am more than confident we can evade it. Aside from that, at the angle we’re approaching, they won’t be able to see us from any of the windows.”
“What about radar?”
“It’s an old abandoned satellite, stolen from the Arisanis, who used it for things not related to the war,” Helga said. “There’s no radar, just communication and starmaps. Unless the pirates brought something with them, they are extremely cutoff in there.”
Cilas reached over and lifted her helmet off so that they could speak naturally, face-to-face. He had expressed in the past how much he distrusted comms, even though he knew deep down that it was senseless paranoia. “Helga, I’m struggling,” he admitted. “I’ve never been in this position before, and I’m starting to see the issues that come with what we have.”
“Which position?” Helga raised an eyebrow. “Being commander of your own ship, or do you mean something else?”
