by Greg Dragon
“Both, actually. It’s so much easier when we’re the ones being deployed, and the only worry is the mission. Now I have other concerns that I’m having to repress to be effective. Ursula has no captain right now, and even with the security and contingencies, a part of me fears that she will be boarded. Then there’s you. If something were to—”
“Cilas,” Helga whispered, “don’t. We said we would figure it out, didn’t we? Well, here is our test. Every mission I worry, and you can see it in my eyes, but when things start to happen, it goes away, replaced by confidence. Everything we’ve done, everything we’ve survived, it makes me know that we are better than anything the Alliance throws at us. We believe in you, and those aren’t just words from someone who knows you better than most,” she said, smiling. “You’re Cilas Mec, and we’re your Nighthawks. What’s a bunch of pirates to an ESO?”
4
With the Thundercat cloaked and tethered to the unsuspecting satellite, the four Nighthawks and Sundown had to prepare themselves to spacewalk the distance to the maintenance access point.
In Powered Armored Suits (PAS), this would be simple enough, but Sundown—not having one of his own—would be forced to do it using an EVA suit. There were several on the Ursula, the one that he wore now being a less-bulky Alliance Marine issue, but he would need to rely on manual rockets to steer, which took countless hours of practice to master.
The tether was a tracker beam, which acted as an anchor, locking them in with the rotating satellite as if an invisible rod held them in place.
Helga made sure that everyone was masked and present on her helmet’s HUD, which took a bit of finagling to get Sundown registered since he was the only one not wearing a PAS. He was dressed in EVA, but Cilas had given him a PAS helmet back on Ursula, so she could now see that he was pulling oxygen, and was waiting with the rest of the men.
She dropped the ramp and the four of them floated out into space, where they activated their rocket boots and flew in a line towards the satellite. Helga was nervous watching them go on the holo-feed; she just knew that from Sundown, this was asking a lot, and he was lagging behind the rest of the men, maneuvering himself clumsily but managing to keep up.
Once they were inside the enclosure that was meant for ships docking, Helga left the cockpit, manually activated the ramp, and jumped through the closing gap to fly towards the rest.
They made quick work of entering with the satellite not having a functioning security system. It was an abandoned relic of a former age, once a bustling space station for communication. Now, it wasn’t even a refugee hub, which was typically what would happen to satellites in disrepair. For one reason or another, it had remained empty and powered down, but someone had managed to bring it back to life some time ago.
Hurrying down a corridor, weapons ready and comms only echoing Cilas’s breathing, they emerged into a wide-open compartment that had the largest set of bay windows that Helga had ever seen. This was saying something, given the Rendron had pretty big ones on the luxurious Nero deck, but even Sundown seemed wowed by the size of these transparent portals.
At the moment, however, the outside view offered nothing in terms of scenery as they rotated away from Hiyt, which was the only celestial body in close proximity.
Helga took it in quickly at a seconds glance, too busy monitoring her radar and the shadowy corners of that space. In single file they hugged the bulkhead near the window, then up a ladder to a tall ledge that wrapped about the circular compartment.
Below, over the railing, Helga saw twelve bulb-shaped fusion generators powering the station and keeping it afloat. Until today she had only seen them in vids, and it surprised her that they were this accessible. If they had come to destroy the station, all it would take was a bomblet tossed into their midst.
“Move,” Cilas shouted, and they were through a door and into a long dark passageway whose lights were flickering on and off. She heard the muted thumps of a pistol and raised her own, but a second later she was stepping over the dead man, since they were now moving so fast. It was one of the pirates, which was evidenced by his clothes. He wore a motley mix of stolen fabrics, armor, and a helmet that should not have been in the hands of a civilian.
They were in the passageway for the heads and caught him exiting to return to his fellows. No one was talking since they’d spilled first blood, and now it was all about speed to limit the chance of discovery. Cilas was in his element, leading Nighthawks on a run of stealth and death, so Helga felt confident that they would succeed.
What she wasn’t ready for, however, was what they would find when they made it to the hostages. Just being on this satellite, knowing that there were incoming Geralos, put her senses on high alert.
The passageway ran into a cross-section that rotated before them, presenting different doors, labeled with names that meant nothing to any of them.
“Pulling up schematics for this place,” Cilas said. “Cover me, and watch your aim. A hostage will have a chaperone, so if it’s solo, drop it. We cannot afford to be made.”
They all still wore their helmets despite the breathable atmosphere, so their speech was restricted to comms. Cilas put a hand to the side of his mask and squatted down, while the Nighthawks and Sundown aimed out at the carousel of changing doors.
“Tutt, take the left passage,” Cilas said. “There’s a ladder leading down to the main. Get down there and hold that exit. Ate, you take the right and do the same. Ray, backtrack and climb up to that hatch we passed on the wraparound that brought us here. It’s tight, but there’s a crawl space for maintenance that will take you to a vent that sits above the space where our people are being held. Wait for my signal. Sunny, you’re with me. One of these doors leads to communications, which is a straight shot through to our target.
“When you have eyes on the hostages, let me know and hold your position. We want all the marks dead before they can endanger the civilians. To do this, we need coordinated shots, and no one is allowed to miss. We want zero civilian casualties, and remember, we need one of those thypes to talk. Ray, our capture is yours; hit him where it hurts but we don’t want to kill him. Any questions?”
He waited for a response, then with a nod they dispersed to their separate assignments. Helga reached down and pulled a knife from a pocket on her rocket boots, and held it up with her pistol as she walked her end of the passageway. It curved in slightly as she went along, and with the poor light, it had her on edge. Though it shouldn’t have taken long with her pulsing rockets, it felt like an eternity before she found a door.
Listening in, she heard noises, and the radar on her HUD showed activity ahead. Taking a breath, she eased the door open and peered inside to see the back of a crate. This new compartment was massive, built for storing ship parts and large equipment, but when the satellite was abandoned by its owners, refugees from Vestalia had turned it into a home.
It should have been filled with people living and striving to feed their families, but it was a ghost town, empty, save for a clutch of bodies seated in a circle in the center of the crate homes. Helga had to wonder if the five armed men she saw holding them hostage had murdered the original inhabitants. How would they have done it? Airlock? Sold off to become slaves on someone’s junker casino rig?
This last thought made her angry. She had dealt with pirates not too long before this mission, and had seen how they forced captives into slavery through the use of debilitation implants. Helga saw these men as the same ones she and Cilas had cut down to free their Alliance brothers and sisters from bondage. They were the worst form of Vestalians, preying on their own for credits, territory, and power.
“This is Tutt. I’m in position, with my eyes set on a tall, white-haired dirt bag.”
“Hold your position, Q,” Cilas said.
Helga had to smile. Of course it would be Quentin in position before anyone else. It also meant that he was in the compartment ahead, and would need her in place in case he was discovered. Snapping in
to action, she slid behind the closest crate and surveyed the area to see if any were looking her way. The coast was clear, so she flew up to the top of a stack and knelt next to an electric generator where she picked out one of the men to be her victim.
“This is Hellgate, in position, and I have my eyes on a big guy in red. He should be easy to spot so don’t go stealing my kill, Raileo.”
“He’s all yours, ma’am,” Raileo said, and she could hear him smiling behind his words.
The thought of him happy lifted her spirits, but the ice was still in her veins. She shifted her position so she could lean against the generator, using it as leverage to assist her aim. The other Nighthawks got into position and gave Cilas their updates, and now they were all waiting for his command.
“Drop ‘em,” he said, as if he knew the power of his words, and rightfully so, for in that moment Cilas Mec was a war god ordering death. His Nighthawks responded with deadly accuracy, each killing their man, though Raileo Lei shot two, including Helga’s out of spite.
It all happened in the space of a second, simultaneous fire, killing four men and wounding the fifth. One second they fired, and the next they were moving forward, walking amongst the people, informing them that they were there to help. It happened so smoothly, with no mishaps, and in an instant they had changed from assassins to guardians.
This can’t be it, Helga thought, as she helped a frightened young woman to her feet. She looked around, expecting Arisanis, but every one of these captives were human.
“I thought that these were nobles taken from an Arisani pleasure boat,” Helga said into her comms.
“These are Vestalian nobles who live on Arisani,” Cilas said. “That group of pirates segregated them from the Arisani passengers and took them here. Why? This, I don’t know. Tell you what though, we’re going to find out from our new friend right there.” He gestured towards the wounded pirate that Quentin was now holding up. “While we work on him, Ate, talk to a few of the people and find out what they know.”
Cilas pulled off his helmet and Helga and the others did the same. As soon as she inhaled, Helga regretted it. The place smelled like a week-old refuse dump. That’s when it hit her, the desperation of living in a place like this, in these conditions, with no hope, and no home planet to offer you help.
She had known about hubs her entire life, and people would say, “You don’t want to end up there,” but she had never thought about it, and now that she was here, it broke her heart to think that this was the reality for so many Vestalians. To live like this, hopeless, and then have pirates swoop in and capture you to sell to …
“Geralos,” she said suddenly, causing several people to gasp. “Did any of those thypes mention Geralos? Do any of you know why you were brought here?”
“One of them did say that,” said a wide-eyed woman, who Helga thought looked regal in her dress of white and gold. The woman stepped forward with her chin held high and her smooth umber skin glistening beneath the lights. For a second Helga thought she was wearing a shawl but it was thin black braids about her shoulders. This hair—and there was much of it—was held in place by glowing threads that pulsed a shade of gold periodically, completing her ensemble.
It was fascinating to witness such a royal presence within a Vestalian. Helga couldn’t imagine this woman kneeling in front of anyone, let alone a group of filthy pirate thugs.
“That one there,” the woman said, pointing to one of the corpses. “He said something about selling his soul to the lizards.” She then pointed to the man that Quentin and Cilas were dragging back to one of the crates. “When he said it, he was reprimanded by the one you kept alive.”
“Commander, that one there’s the leader,” Helga informed Cilas Mec, who upon hearing this, gave a nod to Quentin Tutt.
“What happened here?” Helga asked the woman, gesturing to the abandoned crate homes. “Hubs like these are rarely empty, yet you and all these nobles are the only ones here.”
“Are you inferring that we live in this schtill?” said a bearded man who had been eavesdropping on their conversation, and Helga made a sign for him to be quiet. “Alliance,” he grumbled. “Aren’t you all supposed to be patrolling space? Now we have pirates attacking our ships. As if the Geralos weren’t enough.”
“Thought they were tough? Say something else,” Helga said, and the man mumbled an insult but quickly crept away. “Now madam, I see your clothes and know that you all were brought here from somewhere … fancy, but there used to be people living here. Do you have any idea what happened to them?”
“They did a lot of talking, but not much else. Complained about the smell, the state of this place, and how they hated being put on guard duty. My thoughts were that they haven’t had anyone here for a long time. May I ask you something, officer?” the woman said, leaning in closer, “What do you intend to do with us? They took our prince, and he is hurt. We must find him and get him some help.”
“What’s your name, madam?” Helga said, wondering at the woman’s age—it was always hard to tell with nobles since they took such good care of their skin.
“My name is Inodal Mulsa-Aren Tonakit Dar, child. Lady Mulsa-Aren to the commoners, but Inodal to friends and members of the esteemed first caste.”
Helga wanted to roll her eyes, but pushed her politics to the side, reminding herself that correcting isms was not her duty as an ESO.
“Inodal.” She said her name loudly, not caring that she was one of the commoners who was to refer to the lady by her formal name. “We are with the Alliance Navy. You sent a distress call to the A’wfa Terracydes, and we’re who they sent to rescue you. As to your prince and the other non-humans, we are still looking for them. They were taken on another ship.”
“Are any of you hurt?” Raileo asked loudly, and several people groaned or raised their hands.
“Rescue is on its way,” Helga said to them. “We have a physician who will get you all patched up while we take you back to your families.”
“What about the prince?” several said, and Raileo Lei gave Helga a helpless glance.
“The Alliance has vessels out searching for the pirates,” Helga said, addressing the group of nobles. “We know that they are somewhere above Genese. If they still have your prince, we will retrieve him and bring the rest of these traitors to justice. Now, you all need to worry about yourselves. Gather your things, and if you’re wounded, give Chief Lei your name so that we can get you help as soon as we’re back on board the ship.”
“Bless you, child,” Inodal said, bowing to Helga. “May Cyris forever smile on your line.”
“Thanks for all your help,” Helga said graciously, then left to look for Cilas and Quentin Tutt.
She waded through the crowd, moving quickly to get past the curious who reached out to touch her PAS suit. Once free, she observed the crates and how they were jammed together in rows, with some stacked like stairs going all the way up to the overhead. Everything was welded together with pipes, the top floors made accessible by ladders spanning the sides.
This was a true settlement, a satellite town, and though they were given the nickname “hubs” they were no different than small towns on a planet’s surface. To see one so abandoned broke Helga’s heart, because she knew that it would have been violent and frightening to eject everyone from their homes.
The blood-curdling wail of a man in pain revealed where Cilas and Quentin worked, so Helga found the crate and stepped inside, almost gasping at what she saw. Cilas had the man’s arm outstretched on a table, while Quentin Tutt stood over him, slowly fileting the skin from his arm.
“Helga, you don’t want to see this schtill,” Cilas said, glancing at the doorway as if he expected someone else to come in.
“After what I just heard, I want to see it. A woman out there just informed me that these men did admit to holding them here for a Geralos pickup. Can you believe that, Nighthawks? Do you know what that means? To think that some of our own are actively hunting innoc
ent people then selling them to the thyping enemy. They’re communicating with lizards. Please tell me I am dreaming this schtill because—”
“Ate,” Cilas said suddenly. “Focus. We have to get them out right now. Are we clear? I got word from the captain; we are to load them up and make for the A’wfa Terracydes. Bring the Ursula here. Take whoever you want, but we’ll need to be quick. We’ve learned from our new friend that it’s likely an assault ship full of lizards coming to make the pickup. There’s either a base somewhere close where they have more people, or a starship of some sort, since whatever they have here is recurring, and there are no Alliance eyes on this region.”
“They’ve got our attention now, that’s for sure,” Helga said, looking over at the man who was now telling Quentin something. “I will tell Zan to bring her in and dock the Thundercat, then I will need you and the others to get those people to the main exit hatch. Zan will have the jump primed for A’wfa Terracydes, and we can get them there in little to no time. The woman, Inodal, says there’s a prince of some sort out there with them.”
“Everyone proclaims themselves royalty on Arisani,” Cilas said, dismissively. “Even if he’s someone important, it really doesn’t matter. We’re not offering concierge services here. They’re all civilians in need of rescue, nothing more and nothing less. We get them out, drop them off at their station, and then see if we can do more to stop this trade from happening in the future. Get us safe, Lieutenant,” he said, giving her a playful wink.
“Aye aye, Commander,” she said, feeling a bit let down by how he’d reacted. He was classic Cilas, straight to the solutions, and everything done without emotion, but could he not see the madness in what was happening? How could he not react to something like this? Even Quentin had looked up at her when she explained that the humans were to be traded to the lizards. Vestalians were selling Vestalians to the brain-biting Geralos. How could anyone be calm about that?
