by Greg Dragon
7
When the Nighthawks learned that they were to liberate Vestalian hostages, Helga hadn’t thought about the fact that they would be with them for several cycles. Now, as she donned her uniform and took the time to make sure that everything was in place, she realized just how complacent she had gotten since their time on Sanctuary.
Two Vestalian months they had spent there, waiting for a summons to return to Alliance space, and in that time, she had become very familiar with her team members. Cleia was new, and Zan was a Cel-toc, but they were both outsiders to the naval world she knew.
Duty, duty, and more duty was the mantra, and you were always to look your best doing it. On Rendron—her starship home—it was all automatic, like the lights and the doors. You didn’t have to think about life and how to go about it. The shift would begin, and so would you.
Since gaining the Ursula, however, she had become so relaxed that she would violate protocol, and let slights pass. Cilas wasn’t the best at correcting these things, though his stare of disappointment would be enough most times, and though on its surface her liberties were minuscule, she knew that the Alliance demanded better.
Having these passengers walking the decks and being privy to them at most hours of the cycle had forced her back into being a professional, and now in hindsight, she wanted to slap herself.
Wasn’t sleeping with the commander enough? Or was it about toeing the line until he blew a gasket? Her decision-making had been flawed, and she could hear Quentin inside her head, playfully reminding her that she was young.
She picked up her hat and decided it was too formal, then threw it on its hook and grabbed her pins. Has it been that long? she thought. I’ve been so loose with my dress that I no longer remember how to carry myself as an officer?
She sighed audibly, and teased up her hair, then stepped outside to make her way to the bridge. This feeling of discomfort and wanting to escape from people reminded Helga of a much darker time in the past. It was she, Cilas, and Brise Sol stuck inside of a rigged-up floater, waiting on a rescue that wasn’t to happen for months.
Here, she disliked the banter of elites who knew nothing of the war and the people it affected, whereas back then it was the war of words between the two men. She had played mediator, which was exhausting, and she hadn’t known either of them well enough to do more than plead for civility. Now, she was a lieutenant that had enough pull to do something to silence the chatter from their guests.
She thought about putting them to work, which would have been grand being that most hadn’t broken a sweat in their privileged lives, or sealing off the dock to mute their voices from the bridge.
Normally they kept the lifts open to allow free movement back and forth between decks, and the only lock was to Cilas’s cabin, where he would have his regular chats with the captain.
Helga hadn’t mentioned her feelings to anyone, not even to Raileo Lei, because unlike her and Sundown, the Nighthawks didn’t seem to mind their passengers. Inside that pod, with nothing but time, and her fellow Nighthawks at odds, Helga had passed the time outside, wearing an EVA suit with mag-boots.
It would be a welcome escape now if they weren’t at supercruise making for A’wfa Terracydes, so she decided on the next best escape, the one she was wired to do as a cadet: focus on her duty. Dismissing Zan to go recharge, she took her seat at the helm, clipped on earbuds, and tapped her wrist-comms.
No one was on, which wasn’t unusual for the second shift, so she flipped the interface over to entertainment, selected a score, and closed her eyes, enjoying the hard-hitting symphony. It put her in the mood for action, so she ran diagnostics on the ship.
“Helga, where are you?” Cilas spoke over comms, and she glanced at the time displayed on the console. It was the middle of the second shift when they were normally free to do whatever they wanted.
There had been no meetings planned, no training exercises, so his tone surprised her. Did she somehow forget an assignment? She hadn’t been with him since their return to the Ursula, so she wondered if this was a casual call for something else more intimate.
“Hey Commander, I’m on the bridge,” she said, erring on the side of professionalism. “Did you need to speak to me?”
“Yes. I’ve got something urgent to discuss with you and the team. Could you get everyone to my cabin immediately?” Cilas said, but clicked off before she could acknowledge. She hated when he did that; it was something that both he and the captain were prone to do.
There was nothing offensive per se, but it bothered her all the same. It was difficult not to be bothered that for all they shared, he would order her about and not allow any questioning.
Yes, she knew this was unrealistic, juvenile, and whatever else on the surface, but it did hurt her feelings, and she could never bring herself to talk to him about it.
Helga was on her feet in an instant, marching back towards the mess, looking in each one of the recessed stations just in case Sundown was in one of them. Ever since she’d asked him to man the torpedoes on the Thundercat, Sundown had taken an interest in the ship’s defense systems.
She had shown him how to access the schematics, but he would do it privately in one of the empty stations. He wasn’t on the bridge or in CIC, however, and when she found the mess, none of the men were inside.
“Tutt, Lei … Sunny?” she said into her wrist-comms, hoping that they at least had their earpieces in. Nothing, dead silence; it was as if they weren’t even on the ship. That’s when she heard cheering and laughter in the distance and realized that it was coming from the medbay.
Wondering what she would walk in on inside the space, Helga took a breath and hurried on towards the aft. Ursula had three decks: the top had the commander’s cabin, and the bottom held the hangar, berthing, and dock—where they housed the Vestalian guests.
The main deck, which she was now on, held everything operative regarding the ship. From bow to stern, it was a straight shot through with the only doors being for the mess, medbay, and storage.
Starting from the cockpit, a spacer could walk through the bridge and CIC to a set of recessed weapons control stations and the first of two lifts. Past this section was the mess, then the new briefing room, and several small empty compartments—which would likely become additional berthing or storage as time went on. At the back was the largest compartment on the deck, which was Dr. Rai’to’s medbay.
With all the laughing, Helga hoped that she wasn’t about to walk in on something intimate or blinding. There were wounded civilians in there, resting, but the cheers grew louder as she drew near.
Touching the access-panel, she took a breath, not knowing what to expect. She walked in on a performance, with Raileo Lei being the man of the hour. In attendance were all the Nighthawks except for Cilas, and Helga was surprised to see the five patients sitting up inside their beds.
The compartment was circular, and the crew was either seated on an unoccupied bed or standing next to one. In the center, Raileo was singing and dancing a rendition from one of the Rendron’s plays. He was very good, and Helga watched him for a minute, waiting for him to end his routine before joining the applause and approaching him.
“We’re wanted in the Captain’s cabin, Nighthawk,” she said. “Sounds like it is urgent.”
“Does that include me?” Dr. Rai’to said, her skin becoming deep blue and her face a mask of concern.
“Not this time, doc. This one’s for the Nighthawks,” she said. “You too, Sunny. You’re one of us now.”
She led them out into the passageway and up the ladder to Cilas’s cabin. The door was open, and they all entered to find Cilas seated at a round table, with nothing on top of it except the coffee he was drinking.
Three empty chairs were set up for them to use, but Helga seemed to be the only one to have noticed them. She pulled out the one next to him and waited for him to give his approval. This he did with a nod, and she sat, followed by Sundown, and Quentin Tutt.
Raileo was still at the door looking around as if he was in awe of the space. When he became aware that they were waiting for him, he walked over and stood between Helga and Sundown.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” Cilas began. “But this couldn’t wait, and we need to get on it.”
“What’s the situation, Commander?” Quentin said.
“I just got word from the Alliance that there has been some activity on the moon of Argan-10.”
“Argan-10,” Helga said. “Didn’t I say that in our last briefing? It’s the closest potential hiding spot for the lizards, since they dare not try it on Hiyt.”
“You were right,” Cilas said quickly. “Not to mention our satellite Maahes was once in its orbit when it was live. Missio-Tral has drones about that moon, and one picked up a signal on the surface. There’s no holo-vid or photographs, but there is some sort of mass, which could be a camp. The captain wishes for us to investigate, since he believes that it coincides with our mission.”
“Does he suspect that the assault ship we encountered hailed from there?” Helga said.
“Had to come from somewhere, and there was no starship,” Cilas said. “They were on their way in to collect the prisoners, which also hints at a local base of some sort.”
“Thype,” Quentin cursed, looking around at each one of their faces. “The stones on these lizards. That moon belongs to Hiyt, which is under the protection of the Alliance.”
“Stealth and espionage is what they’re best at,” Sundown reminded him. “Quentin, are you really surprised at them making a move like this?”
“Wait a minute, Nighthawks,” Raileo said. “We have a ship full of civilians expecting to be reunited with their families. Are we really going to leave them here with Cleia, and Zan … the Cel-toc?”
“Cleia, Ray?” Quentin said, raising an eyebrow. “Do you mean Dr. Rai’to?”
“Yeah, are we really about to leave them here, waiting, while we go off to investigate this moon?”
“No,” Cilas said. “But we’re not docking with A’wfa Terracydes either; the captain has asked them to send out a shuttle to collect their people from us. Ate, when we’re finished with this meeting, I want you to turn us around and wait. We’ll contact the shuttle, send them our location, and transfer the civilians before heading back to that moon. Tutt, you spent some time with the prisoner. What did he say about their base?”
“He didn’t mention a base, brother,” Quentin said. “Everything I know, you already know, and he hasn’t told me anything since. As far as the moon, he didn’t mention it, but he did say the lizards own Hiyt.”
“The Hiytans own Hiyt, and they are neutral to all this schtill,” Sundown said.
“I don’t think that’s what he meant, Sunny,” Helga said. “The lizards own the space about the planet Hiyt, but they remain hidden doing evil like wiping out the refugees on that satellite. If there is even a chance that they have an operation running on that moon, then we should go look for ourselves, and do what needs to be done.”
“Exactly,” Cilas said, “and this time, we won’t be going in alone. Missio-Tral has drones in orbit over Argan-10, so we’ll have intel coming in to help us coordinate our efforts. I will be in contact with them while we’re on the surface so that we know precisely when reinforcements are coming. Helga, you will take us in, plant us somewhere outside of their radius, and we will use PAS to move in. Sunny, get fitted for a powered-armor suit; the EVA rockets you used last time wasn’t enough. You’re a Nighthawk now, and while I understand your individual needs as a Jumper, for assaults we all need to be identical, or the lizards may mistake you for our leader.
“This brings me to another topic that I need to cover. We have all had experience with the lizards taking over minds, so I don’t need to tell you just how important it is that we remain undetected. There are things we do to mitigate the chance of discovery, however, and with Sunny being new to the unit, I feel it necessary to go over these things again. First things first: anything that could potentially lead to the enemy assuming that one of us is in charge, stay away from it. I’m deadly serious here; if you salute or walk over to me continuously for orders, you put me at risk of getting my head invaded.
“Second, individuality is forbidden. I know that it’s exciting to be part of an ESO unit with the attention that comes from the rates, but what makes us effective is our silence and teamwork. The lizards should see us as shadows bringing death, and if they want to snatch a mind, it will have to be random. After Lamia, I am committed to not seeing a Nighthawk lost in this manner, not again, so take my words to heart: the only thing unique with our appearance is our height. If I could mask that as well, I would, but for now, speed and silence is our best defense. Kill the lizards fast and conceal their corpses and keep the rest of the team aware of your situation.”
Sundown raised a hand, and Cilas stopped talking to give him the floor. “Commander, are you saying that my use of the las-sword will be restricted on our missions?”
“No, we need you at your best, Sunny, but save it for close-quarters combat. With Lamia, we grew reckless, if I’m to be honest. Having a Jumper in our unit tips the scales so much that it’s easy just to send you in and have the rest of us mop up the scraps. Your predecessor was often the first one in, and I believe that got him marked. I won’t do that to you, not unless it’s one of those situations where only you and your skills are able to execute an order. Use whatever weapons you like; there are enough Marines using las-swords not to make me ban them outright. Any other questions?”
“These reinforcements from Missio-Tral, are they ESO or Alliance Marine units?” Quentin said.
“These will be Marines, and they will be there just in case we walk into something major. That’s the thing about this op; we’re technically recon until it’s determined what the lizards are up to down there. Once we know, I’ll radio command and they will give us our next steps, which could either be to clear the compound or back out. This will be by the book, Nighthawks. We cannot afford for any part of this to go to schtill, but if it does, we have Missio-Tral waiting to send in a Marine unit. Ray, are you good? You seem like you have something to say to me.”
“Oh no, I’m just excited,” Raileo said. “Recon means that I may get to use my new pistol.”
8
With the Ursula anchored above Arisani, Helga decided that it would be a good idea to run some checks on the R60 Thundercat. From what Cilas had told them, they would be breaking atmosphere on a moon and executing a landing. That required a dropship, and since returning from the satellite, she hadn’t taken the time to run diagnostics.
It was good practice to check on a ship after it self-repaired and regenerated munitions. The system was advanced, and for the most part, time was all that was required to recharge weapons and shields, but sometimes there would be glitches, and the system would throw false positives, misleading the pilot.
With the drop coming up, Helga didn’t want to chance any problems with the Thundercat. All they had was time, since the shuttle had reported back that it would be there in a little under a cycle.
She could see to the ship, run some additional tests on the Ursula, and still have time to herself. Bypassing the lift, she found a ladder and slowly climbed down to the lower deck.
The earlier laughter and chatter of the people had become more of a murmur, which Helga guessed had to do with the news that a shuttle was coming. After the drama with the pirates and imprisonment on the hub, their Vestalian passengers were understandably skeptical of boarding another strange ship.
The chatter quieted down when her foot touched the deck, and she turned to find several people staring at her with what appeared to be fear. “Everything alright down here?” she said, looking from face to face.
“Nothing is wrong, ma’am,” an older man said. “But we were wondering, why not take us yourselves? This was the plan before, eh? We wonder, what have we done to make you change your mind? Perhaps we can fix
or change whatever it is.”
Helga groaned. Raileo had been tasked with informing the passengers of the change of plans. He was to be clear but careful not to divulge their intent on visiting the moon of Argan-10. What she was seeing now was that Raileo had told them, but failed to come up with an excuse as to why the Nighthawks were leaving.
“We cannot take you because we are wanted elsewhere,” she said. “The place where we’re wanted is classified, but involves us saving more lovely people like you. We aren’t a charter shuttle, we are Alliance warfighters, and after rescuing you our prime concern is seeing to your safe return. The shuttle coming is from A’wfa Terracydes. That was your intended destination, wasn’t it?”
Several of the robed men and women mouthed the answer, yes. “Another rescue calls your attention, you say?” the man said. “Do you know if it is the same pirates? Are you on your way to rescue our prince?”
“Look, sir,” Helga said, wanting an end to the questions. “Even if your prince was our target, and this was connected to what happened to you, I wouldn’t be at liberty to tell you. Missions are classified, period, and I would ask that you not pressure my men for details either, the way you just tried to pressure me. This is what you need to know: a shuttle is coming for you, and it will be here in less than a Vestalian day. It’s likely to be luxury, so you will have all of the comforts you are accustomed to. We hope that you are reunited with your families soon, all of you, including your prince.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said, finally showing her respect. When Helga marched toward the Thundercat, she exhaled a painful bubble of relief. It was one thing to face down an enemy that you were allowed to shoot, but to be assaulted with questions on a classified mission, that was beyond tough. She took a moment to look in on their prisoner, who was still frozen in stasis. Helga didn’t find him the least bit frightening, and was a bit disappointed in the reality of this so-called pirate.
