by Greg Dragon
Now instead of charging in to use shield and thrust manipulation to outwit the enemy, they would have to run and do what they could to stay out of the fight. She smelled the leather before she could detect Sundown’s presence, and though she hated when he would sneak up like this she continued staring forward at the screen.
“Starting to think you have a little crush there, Jumper,” she joked, finding it hard not to smile in anticipation of his response.
“I am afraid that your senses need a lot more honing, la’una. This Jumper’s heart is on ice until he is again acknowledged by his brothers in the agency.”
“And?” she said under her breath, expecting a snarky follow-up. Sundown could pick up on sarcasm and innuendo better than anyone she knew, and would answer with something wise and above her head, before adding his own sly comeback.
“And, I don’t think your commander would approve of me attempting to dock within an occupied station.”
It took all of the willpower Helga had to not turn on him angrily to inquire what exactly he was hinting at. He knew about her and Cilas, and though she had assumed it, this last quip was more than enough of a hint that he was in the know. She inhaled and held it until she started to feel her head float, then exhaled it steadily, no longer able to focus on the terminal.
“Hey Sunny, I know we’re joking around, but can I ask you to make that topic classified, as in never bring it up again?” she said.
“I am a Jumper, and we don’t know gossip, la’una. What we speak about, regardless of topic, stays between you and me,” he said.
“Great,” she said, now turning to square up with him, crossing her arms. “So, you’ve given me a new nickname and I haven’t a clue what it means. If this is another half-alien slur, I’ll give you a name that you will never live down, and all the Nighthawks will be ordered to use it on you. Now, what is a la’una?”
He smiled again, and she took notice of how much easier he was now that they had discussed her Seeker gift.
“Ahh, I get ahead of myself, Helga. La’una is a Virulian word, and I struggle to find a good Vestalian meaning. The closest I can come up with is, child that hasn’t fully realized her potential, or maybe, a scholar that has only begun to truly study. It isn’t meant to be offensive, especially the child portion, which I now see can be misinterpreted considering the differences in our age, but you can—”
“So it’s a cute name for someone with my abilities that hasn’t the faintest clue as to how to control them?” she said, watching his dark, bloodshot eyes.
“Yes and no, but in time perhaps I will find better words to explain it. For Virulians it is a word within the heart spectrum of our language. We do not call everyone with your potential ‘la’una.’ It is reserved for the top students, normally called that by their masters, or fathers with their sons, mothers with their daughters. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said, feeling a bit embarrassed. “You’re saying that you see something inside of me, and you care enough to give me a Virulian pet name. Are you trying to be my daddy, Sundown?”
“No, but as far as rituals are concerned, we have bonded whether we want to be or not. We have exchanged life debts, spilled blood, and shared knowledge of the dark education. For me as a Jumper to ignore this energy would take violating everything that makes me what I am.”
“I like you too, Sunny, but right now all I’m concerned with is getting us away from that ship. We’re ripe for an ambush if we’re not careful lingering about, and I’m of the mind that our captive there is implanted with a tracker, sending our location back to those pirates.”
“Have you told the commander?”
“He knows, but we can’t do much about it,” Helga said, turning back to the terminal. “You remember Wolf? Oh, wait, you weren’t with us then, but yeah, the last hostage we had with us was back on Meluvia, and he came with a tracker node hidden beneath his skin. We already scanned our pirate friend, but unlike Wolf, we can’t just cut him open to find the bug and disable it. So, here we stand, waiting to be ambushed inside of a recovering ship.”
“Let them come,” Sundown said, as if her concern was as menial as wanting more wine for their stores. “After this victory, and our sacking the station, if these men don’t know they’re outclassed, then they deserve everything coming to them if they continue to pursue our ship. No, Helga, I doubt there will be anymore coming. What is likely to happen is more pressure being levied to the Genesians to pay their ransom.
“That prince they have in captivity, he is worth more credits than you can imagine, and there will be important people who do not subscribe to the laws of our Alliance willing to give the outlaws whatever they want for that man to taste freedom again. We should be very careful moving forward, as I believe that our actions could set off a shockwave that comes at the price of numerous lives.”
“We’re only here for the transfer, but these Arisanis are taking their time.” Helga sighed. “I want them gone, Sunny, like last cycle, because then we can return to the mission and get away from playing transport.”
“On that we agree, young Ate. I too wish to see what the Geralos have hidden on that moon.”
“You haven’t had a chance to use your new las-sword either,” she said, smiling. “You would never admit to wanting to use it, but I can’t wait to see you in action with that thing.”
There was a buzz inside her ears before Cilas’s commanding voice came on. He sounded hushed and out of breath, as if he’d just finished running or fending the enemy off. “Ursula command, this is Rend. Do you copy? Hellgate, are you there?” he said, using callsigns and codenames the way they were taught. When communicating across an open comm-link, you never knew who or what could intercept your signal.
“This is Hellgate, with Sunny. What’s the situation?” Helga replied.
“Thrust is on cruise, and we’re looking good, but stay on standby just in case we need rescue. The enemy is disorganized and panicked, so barring complications, we should have control within the next hour.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she whispered, but he was already gone and she felt foolish for uttering those words. That was too casual, she thought, inwardly scolding herself for the faux pas. I need to be careful.
“Have you told him what you are yet?” Sundown said, causing her to look over at him wide-eyed, as if she’d just swallowed a ration bar whole. She didn’t realize that he had heard her, and now her face was flush with embarrassment.
It was a legitimate question, being that it came from the one person who would understand her struggles, but this did nothing to belay the anxiety that came rushing into Helga’s mind, causing her to feel suddenly fatigued.
Of course she wanted to tell Cilas that she was one of the gifted that the Geralos sought, but what would come from that? He would have to tell Captain Retzo Sho, and then she would be sidelined to avoid contact with the enemy, or worse, promoted to a position that guaranteed her stay, safely onboard the ship.
Helga was quiet for a long period of time, unaware that Sundown, seeing her struggling, now regretted asking.
But her paralysis soon broke for her to stutter out an answer. “Excuse me?” she tried, and when he gestured for her to ignore him, it only served to make it worse. “I’m, I mean that I do plan to, but haven’t and … well, you know how it is, Sunny. Should I? Does it even matter if he knows?”
“In the case of children, you may want—”
“Sunny,” she said, louder than she wanted, but it was out before she could compose herself, embarrassed that he would suggest something so absurd. “We are not having children. What in the worlds would make you … thype, man, no, there won’t be any children. If that’s what you’re concerned about, I will never falter where that is concerned. Think I want to give the Alliance another poor child to mold into one of us? You can forget that schtill, man, not going to happen. Moving on,” she said loudly, as if to drive the point home that they were finished with that discussion. “E
arlier on the dock, when you looked in on our passengers, how were they managing down there?”
“Restless, frightened, and demanding,” Sundown said quietly. “Most of them have key positions in the government, and wanted me to ask the commander if they could use the communicator to send a message back home. I had to explain the difficulty in doing such a thing, and explain that there were limits to what we—the rescuers—will do for them.” He sighed. “Of course, the correspondence they want isn’t even dire, just political queries, and a bunch of minor quips that could really be handled within the ten cycles or so it will take to get them back to the planet. The doctor was a great help in keeping emotions in check, often translating my meaning when I came off too harsh.”
“So, they listened to her,” Helga said, pleasantly surprised to hear this about Cleia Rai’to.
“She’s an impressive individual,” Sundown said, and then there was enough of a pause to have Helga wondering whether or not he would say more. “As you know, I’ve lived on Sanctuary for over a Vestalian year, and in that time I have come across all manner of abusers in positions that gave them access to countless lives. Doctors and security officials are trusted to carry out the duty of their station without much oversight, and on Sanctuary more than anywhere else, the abuse I witnessed was extensive.
“Dr. Rai’to, and the humble way in which she carries herself, despite having one of the hardest degrees in her field … well, that alone tells you, doesn’t it? She’s one of those rare breeds, doing a job not for credits or position, but because she really does care. Down there she took control, speaking to the Vestalians, and taking note of their ailments and provisions that they needed. They not only listened to her words, but one magistrate offered her a position. She refused it, Helga. We’re talking about an Arisani clinical job, beyond the war, and with enough pay to have her living like a queen.”
“Thype me for being the only spacer on this ship that the good doctor hasn’t won over with her charm,” Helga said, glancing over at him.
“I’m surprised,” Sundown said. “She speaks highly of you on a consistent basis. One would argue that she admires you greatly, and wishes to be like you in many ways.”
Well look at me playing the part of the insufferable jerk now, Helga thought, feeling terrible for questioning the doctor’s motives.
“I don’t deserve that level of adoration from someone as accomplished as you make her out to be. I’m just another unwanted, mixed-species brat that got left outside the front door of the Alliance’s starport. Even now I second-guess myself, because life is moving fast and I have yet to figure out where it’s taking me.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit. From what I see, your career is on a collision course with command or a second seat to an Alliance figurehead,” Sundown said.
“Nice of you to say those things, Sunny, but I wish that my career meant more than it actually does to me. I feel like I’ve been going through the motions, leaning on Cilas and Captain Sho to be my sole point of navigation. I keep thinking that one day a light will go off, and everything will make sense to me in this universe. Not meaning-of-life stuff, but clarity and purpose for why we are where we are, and what I want my piece to be. These last few years I’ve just been following orders and accepting what comes from that, but I have to tell you, Sunny, it isn’t enough.
“Why don’t I have any real individuality anymore? When I set out to be a Nighthawk, I had goals and aspirations just like everyone else. Now it’s just a blank, and to be honest it’s truly frightening.”
“One day you are going to see something, or be somewhere that will reignite that want for something of your own, la’una,” he said. “On these missions that take all of your focus to dodge and deliver death in the art of fighting, you don’t get to be romantic or reflective until the smoke clears. You and I both know that in the aftermath, the pain of reflecting is much to bear, and from what you’ve told me, you are unwilling to face it, so it keeps you in a state of going nowhere.”
“I knew that you would somehow work this back to me facing my fears and whatever other rhetoric is inside that Jumper code of yours,” she said, smiling.
“Doesn’t make it any less true, now does it?” he said, and though she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing her agree with him, inside her mind Helga decided that he was right.
10
Upon reaching the hull of the disabled cruiser, Cilas Mec and the Nighthawks worked their way into the hole created by the Ursula’s torpedo, and Raileo went to work, hacking a door that had been sealed in order to protect what was left of the ship.
They were through it in minutes, resealing it behind them as they took to a wide, hexagonal passageway, but an alarm started to blare, warning the ship that there had been a loss of atmosphere.
“We’re exposed,” Cilas grunted into the comms of his PAS. “Stay sharp, they may have civilian captives. Fall in on me. Ray, cover our flanks; we’re going straight for the bridge. Don’t get distracted.”
Jogging at half speed with his auto-rifle primed with soft kinetic rounds, Cilas was surprised to find the ship as empty as it was. Doors stood open, some malfunctioned from the electrical failure caused again by the torpedo to the ship’s main generator.
There were a few corpses, and it soon became obvious that the crew had been ordered to abandon the deck.
“Ladder,” Quentin announced, and Cilas reached for it and started up with the two Nighthawks close behind. After four steps he pushed down hard and jumped, pulsing his rocket boots to take him up several rungs until he emerged on another deck.
They were in a small space, with a solitary door that opened out into a passageway that looked more merchant ship than Navy. There were supplies and replacement gear hanging from the bulkhead, and the overhead too was laden with equipment.
As they crept down it quickly they came upon more effects from the Ursula’s payload. Through a fallen door, with the atmosphere smoky and stinking of extinguisher cream, lay an open mess hall damaged beyond repair, the lights flickering and sparking from where wires had been shredded.
“We did a number on this beast, didn’t we?” Raileo said, grinning, and Cilas fought back the urge to scold him about staying focused on the mission.
He didn’t have to tell the Nighthawk. Raileo was always ready, despite his penchant for jokes at the most inconvenient times, and had saved their lives in several situations where his immaculate aim caught the enemy by surprise.
Cilas saw movement, so he slid down to a knee and stared into the scope of his auto-rifle. The reticle took on a deep-red glow, indicating organic life, so he waited to see if he could make out what it was before alerting his men to go in.
A blue, unshaved face poked out and glanced in his direction and Cilas squeezed the trigger and dropped it immediately. Quentin and Raileo, picking up on his cue, rushed into the compartment and took up positions behind tables, firing back at four other figures that had started shooting at them.
Cilas duck-walked past several fallen chairs, relying on the armor of his PAS to keep him alive. One of the men who was shooting saw him approach, but before he could pick off the exposed Nighthawk, Cilas put another round through his head.
The other three fell fast, two from Quentin, and one—a runner—cut down by Raileo’s sidearm. “Press deeper, they’re guarding something,” Cilas said, and they cleared the mess before exiting back out into the passageway, running now as if something sinister was imminent, until they found another ladder leading up. Here it became interesting as they climbed into another cramped compartment.
“Judging by the size of this junker, this is the bridge deck, and we’re going to have resistance,” Cilas said.
He urged open the door, and stared upon row upon row of Vestalian spacers, tethered to the bulkhead like stashed cargo, every one of them in an EVA suit, and possibly in stasis for the journey.
Beyond them was a sealed door, which Cilas knew would take them to the bridge
. “What are they doing here?” Cilas whispered, staring through the mask of one of the sleepers, trying in vain to determine whether they had been put here voluntarily or forced.
“Maybe we can get Cleia—I mean, Dr. Rai’to on the comms with a visual sync to find out?” Raileo offered, and Cilas looked at him skeptically, knowing the mask would hide his suspicions from the young Nighthawk.
Since the arrival of the doctor—who he would be the first to admit was a much needed and excellent addition to the team—he had seen a change in the sniper, who had gone from childish prankster to focused team member all of a sudden.
Still, his suggestion had merit, and having a medical professional on hand could get them the answer they needed quickly, rather than reaching out to Rendron the way they had before.
“Get her on comms quickly, to run her diagnostics or whatever,” Cilas said. “Tutt, you cover that exit, and I’ll watch this one. Ray, you have three minutes, and pray that this isn’t a decoy or trap that we’ve willingly stepped into.”
“Aye aye, Commander,” Raileo said excitedly, and then his comms went silent as he reached out on a private line to the doctor. Cilas and Tutt exchanged knowing glances and the bigger man shook his head.
Unlike Cilas and Raileo, he wasn’t creeping around with a crew member, and though Cilas knew that they knew—through body language and barely disguised innuendo in their off-the-record chats—he didn’t like the fact that he had been tricked into bringing the Traxian onboard.
He could hear Helga’s suppositions bouncing around in his head: “What if they split and hate each other, then Ray gets hurt and she’s forced to treat him?” or, “How do we know she isn’t some Alliance counselor’s plant, playing at spy for our ESO business, all while pretending to be our doctor?”
He chose not to dwell on these thoughts because of the fact that he too had crossed the line with his young, feisty lieutenant. If he said anything, Raileo could volley back his concerns, and what could he say to that, outside of, “Yes, I’m a hypocrite, but Helga is different.”
