by Greg Dragon
Trisk A’lance raised a hand to indicate understanding, then stood up and walked around to the front of the desk. “Commander Mec, you make a great point, and eloquently stated at that. For I have known greed in the most disappointing places, so I’m no fool not to consider that it could happen among our ranks. How do you suggest we find who it is? Arisani law decrees no arrest be made without proof beyond a reasonable doubt.”
“We will need to put our minds together, Sergeant,” he said. “We brought along the box from a ship’s computer. Whoever it is will have a contact code, one we could call from in here and trace its source back to our traitor. The problem is we haven’t been able to crack it, not just yet, as we were forced to jump here in order to bring your people home.”
Trisk A’lance bowed. “You are heroes to the Arisani people, Commander Mec, so know that I will do my best to help get you the answers that you seek. A box, you say? As in a control box from the console of a fighter?”
“That’s the one,” Helga said, surprising them both, but it wasn’t as if Cilas was speaking to a superior officer, so she didn’t understand the reverence and respect being shown by the other men. “Ship was a luxury cruiser; probably some rich diplomat’s love boat that got taken and converted into a battering ram. If you have a cipher that can hack into modern-day equipment that should be sufficient to get us the logs on their communications.”
“Very good, Lieutenant. That we can do,” Trisk A’lance said before turning to give Cilas a smirk. “Not much happens on a station, as you can imagine, so I’m looking forward to cracking open this box to see what was happening before that ship ran into you. The traitor hunch, I can’t qualify it, but what I look forward to finding is exactly where this ship was taken, and who was on the manifest prior to it being robbed.”
“Bound to be hundreds of dead people, or worse, Geralos captives. Are you sure you want to go prying into that sad reality, Sergeant?” Cilas said.
“Plenty of people have been missing over the years,” Trisk A’lance said, his voice barely a whisper as if the words caused him pain. “Had the people on the Lucia not fought the way they did, they too would have just vanished, and us none the wiser for it. That is why you are heroes. You brought back survivors that were there, people who fought to reveal these pirates, so we now have an answer to the disappearances. So to answer your question, Commander, yes. That sad reality will provide some closure to a lot of families here.”
“I understand fully, Sergeant A’lance, and I hope you find it, but I look forward to reading those logs to see what communications were made on this station.”
Cilas gave him the control box, and they exchanged more words and assurances before going their separate ways. It was now a matter of waiting for the sergeant’s cipher to crack the box, so Cilas suggested they split up, just in case the sergeant was the traitor, or someone else in the station that could tip off their mark.
“Okay, this station is a ring,” he said, “and on this map you can see that it’s segmented into four distinct regions—A, B, C, and D. We’re in A, the largest region, so that’s where Ate and I will remain, but I want you, Sunny, in B, Ray in C, and Tutt in D. We’re looking for anything suspicious, like someone trying to escape to gain the port. The sergeant’s people will be scanning those logs heavily, and it is likely that our mole is someone on the inside. You see something funny, use your instincts, but keep me up to speed on comms. Got it?”
They all concurred and then they were off on their separate assignments. Helga smiled when she realized that he had chosen her as his partner, ignoring the fact that it looked extremely fishy, especially when he sent the others far away from them. She wanted to gloat and tease him about it, but thought better of it when they were in the passageway leading out.
There were lots of people—Arisanis, mostly—going about their business, but Cilas seemed dead focused on wading through them to gain the greater mainline. When they reached it he seemed to relax, and she jogged forward to fall in next to him. “Well, that went well, I think,” she said, looking up at him, but he was still staring forward, pretending to not see her trying for eye contact.
“Let’s hope he isn’t the one we came for,” he said, exhaling. “We can handle much when we’re in PAS suits, but an entire station of armed guardians, armored at that? I don’t say this often, but we would be thyped, though a part of me knows that we would get him somehow.”
“Oh, he’d go down, Cilas, you know he would, either by your knife, Ray’s quick-draw, or Sunny doing some magical Jumper thing,” she said, laughing at her words. “It’s the loss you don’t want, and being that I was there with you on Dyn, I know the cost, and I don’t want it either. I think he’s honest, for whatever that counts. I was watching him when he spoke to you, and he really does seem to revere us as heroes. I say he’s going to give us our mole, and then we can find the rest of them and do what ESOs do.”
“I love your fire, Lieutenant,” Cilas said, finally meeting her gaze. “Oh, how thyped those boys are going to be once we catch on to them. It will be a righteous culling.”
“Will they sing of our conquest, sweet Cilas?” she teased, and surprisingly he laughed and shoved at her playfully as they walked. They became serious when they passed the dock again and entered the commerce block where the crowd was so dense that all they could manage to do was get through it. “And we’re supposed to somehow monitor this zoo?” Helga said. “If you wanted to get me alone, there were much better ideas to get rid of them.”
“This is 100% real, so stow the accusations and get salty,” he said. “I didn’t choose you to mess around; I chose you because you have a knack for finding things that don’t fit. That, and you’re the one that I trust more than anyone else on that ship. No disrespect to the men, they can fight, and they go above and beyond at their duty, but like you mentioned, it was you that was on Dyn. Helga, I can’t express to you how grateful I am to you and all my Nighthawks who stood in that cave, fighting off maker knows what, all so that Varnes could perform surgery on my abdomen. Any other unit would have pushed on without me, especially with a capable team leader like Cage Hem. But you all stayed, and Wyatt nearly died for it. Yeah, I don’t get along with Brise, but I appreciate him just like I appreciate you, because he was in that unit that stayed with me.”
“You know, Cilas, a simple ‘because I trust you, Helga’ would have sufficed instead of bringing up memories of schtill I want to forget,” she said, shaking her head. “Plus, it wasn’t up to us. Cage loved you like a brother, and it was evident. He wouldn’t hear any other options; we were going to patch you up and wait however long it took until you were mission-ready. Brise and I were rooks, evergreen, and it was just following orders, nothing more. But we have been through a lot, and you’re damn right you trust me more. I was the crazy cruta running at guns to help save your stubborn bum down on Meluvia. Remember that?”
“Of course I do. You take every opportunity to remind me,” he said, laughing.
“Seriously though, Cilas, I’ve been thinking. Why do we do this? Are we that messed up, me, you, Ray, Tutt, Sunny, Brise, and all of the other ESOs? Do we have some wiring missing up here, something in our psych examination that says ‘a splendid candidate for the suicide corps’? Because what we do is nuts, Cilas, absolutely batty stuff. They send a handful of us at ships full of the enemy, onto planets that we don’t know, to try and root out one of their own. Who does that? We do that, and why? Because we can? Because they put us through BLAST and turned us into professional killers and psychopaths? What are the positives to being a Nighthawk, outside of the bump in commission and the individual berths?”
“The positives?” Cilas said. “That’s easy. We get to see more of the galaxy than most ambassadors and space explorers. As to the negatives, it depends on the person, but if I wasn’t me I guess I’d say it’s the constant game of chance with our lives. The life expectancy of an operator is a third of your average crewman. We live fast, awful lives, fil
led with pain, death, and nightmares, but none of us in this unit are what you would deem normal, now are we? I had a pretty dreadful upbringing, so the chance to get out beyond the starship was well worth the risk. Point me to an ESO that comes from privilege and I’ll have a hundred credits ready to meet that lunatic.”
Cilas stopped and touched her on the forearm, bringing her around to face him. “You really don’t get just how good we have it, do you?” he said, giving her a sad and patronizing smile. “These security officers you see, standing at attention by every door. Haven’t you wondered why they’re using people instead of Cel-tocs? It’s because the credits it costs to keep a Vestalian employed is significantly less than maintenance for an android.”
“But this place is beautiful, and those guards all live here with their families,” Helga said.
“The station is beautiful because it is owned and operated by the Arisani elite, but for an outsider to be given refuge,” he whispered while widening his eyes and giving her a nod for emphasis, “they would need to commit to certain conditions, like—”
“Working for practically nothing,” Helga cut in. “Great, so we brought back kidnapped Vestalians to their slavers. Tell me, Cy, are all stations thyped up, or am I just the unluckiest girl in the galaxy?”
Cilas didn’t answer, just stood frozen as if in stasis; he wasn’t even blinking. Helga had slipped in the name Cy, which she would call him when they were intimate. It was done on purpose to knock him off his throne, which she didn’t like him using to school her as if she was a cadet. She couldn’t count on him not exploding, but he knew her better than most, so she decided to roll the dice to try and change the subject.
“Helga, don’t call me Cy when we’re in uniform,” he said. “Wait, I’ll go further because I know what you’ll say next. I meant uniform metaphorically, got it? Can we not go where this is going?”
Helga let out a laugh before using her hands to seal her mouth. “Alright, Cilas” she said. “I’m sorry, but I really, really like the name.”
He touched her chin playfully and lifted it up, then caught himself and exhaled, before starting back down the path.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he said after a while, and Helga decided to take her time to answer.
“I was just thinking that with places like this, I am constantly being reminded that there is life beyond our war with the Geralos. Like Sanctuary, none of these people give a damn about us, yet on our ships all we hear is that the galaxy is doomed if we let the lizards win. Puts things in perspective really, now that I am finally getting the whole view. I am what I am, just like you are what you are, Cilas Mec, and I don’t think either of us would be good with a life that would see us grow bored.”
“Already thinking about retirement?” he said, smiling. “There have been plenty of spacers to find a station home once they’ve been discharged. I doubt you’d have to live like the Vestalians here, since your commission would be decent, and you could save enough to float you as an old woman.”
“As if either of us will grow old,” she mumbled, annoyed at his poor attempt at a joke. “No, I don’t have any station aspirations, Cilas. You asked, and those were my thoughts.”
They found themselves inside of a seedier area of the station. It was a hive of apartment homes, their windowed doors stacked closely in columns with their inhabitants crowding the passageways. They were dressed like hub-dwellers, in simple clothing that were a touch above rags, obvious hand-me-downs from the wealthier citizenry.
“Looks like we’ve finally reached the honest part of the station,” Helga said, as she observed the fearful looks they received from just about everyone.
One glance inside a home whose door was malfunctioning showed a rack and bunk installed on a wall behind a metal table with chair, and a looming glass window, circular and decorative, which let in a cyan light. It had charm, and would have been a dream for a young cadet, Helga mused, but for the five Vestalians who lived there, it had to be crammed and uncomfortable to live in.
“No wonder they all sit out here in the passageway,” she said. “Want to bet it’s no coincidence that it took us walking thirty minutes to find it from the port entrance?”
“Careful, Helga, we’re here to conduct an investigation, not judge the Arisani government on their treatment of refugees. Best to file this away inside your memory for the future as a reminder of how lucky we are to be a part of the Alliance,” Cilas said.
“Are we lucky though, Cilas? Are we really?” she said. “We fight an endless war, while the rest of our people hole up in corners of the galaxy, living in schtill and squalor. Now you see why our passengers bothered me, living like kings while this happens right above their planet. I get it, they chose to come here and live in a storage cabinet, but everywhere we’ve gone, it’s the same helpless situation for Vestalians.”
Cilas chuckled, which annoyed Helga because she knew that she’d either said something stupid or juvenile and was about to get a lecture.
“A few more missions under your belt and I wonder how much your thoughts and comments will have changed when it comes to holes like this. I used to think the same thing, having come from a hub, where all I knew was survival, and distrust, especially of my fellow Vestalian unwanted. I was just a boy when I got sent to Rendron, but I can still remember the hunger that came with life on an abandoned station. At least here, they get healthcare, security, and rations. I have yet to see an emaciated child begging for food, or someone getting shanked, raped, or eaten. The way you speak tells me that you haven’t seen the real Vestalian refugee situation, and until you do, I would suggest that you stow your opinions. This isn’t bad, it really isn’t, and we don’t want to make trouble for these good people.”
“Got it. I’m sorry I said anything,” Helga said, checking her rage.
He was right, as he tended to be on subjects such as these where he was more than an authority, and though she disagreed that seeing worse conditions would somehow soften her stance, she didn’t want another argument that ended with her feeling naïve and foolish.
13
As Helga explored the station with Cilas, looking for someone or something they did not know, she began to pick up on the culture and the little tells that revealed what was below the surface. Things weren’t really as put together as they appeared. There was a stark difference in the statuses of the three species that called it home.
First you had the Arisanis, who dressed well and were generally pleasant people. They were the politicians, business owners, and anything they wanted to be. Then you had the Genesians who served them, who were the managers, law enforcement, and clerks inside the stores. Helga could tell them separately from the others since they wore their planet’s flair. The last were the Vestalians, who had the biggest population of the three. This struck her as odd, since A’wfa Terracydes was an Arisani station. She also noticed the downcast eyes and general fear they exhibited.
“Are we sure these workers aren’t slaves?” she said to Cilas.
“Slavery is outlawed throughout the galaxy, Helga. Do you think they are so brazen that they’d have it here?” he said.
“Maybe,” she said. “You can’t tell me that you haven’t noticed all the signaling.”
“I have, but I think what you’re seeing is shame, and misreading it as fear. You aren’t from a hub, so let me explain. When they see these PAS suits, they know we’re Alliance, which they see as either crazy or lucky, depending on the hub and the people. Here, they feel ashamed around us, because we’re fighting the Geralos. Arisani culture is big on strength, so the Vestalians can’t escape feeling guilty about not being a part of the fight.”
“So why not join the Alliance, if it’s so shameful?” Helga said. “We could use the numbers, that’s for sure.”
“You already sound like a recruiter. I should tell the captain so he could send you back to Sanctuary,” Cilas said.
“That’s not funny, not from you, Commander. The fact that you ca
n actually do it makes it the most terrible sort of joke.”
It was hard not to notice the comfort that Cilas displayed with walking through the slums. Helga had decided that that was what this was. Unlike her, he didn’t seem to mind the staring and touching that occurred. It was almost as if he was used to it, and after a time it became too much for her to ignore.
“So, you’re actually good with this?” she tried, and he looked down at her, surprised.
“There are hubs everywhere,” Cilas said. “It doesn’t matter if it’s on a planet like Meluvia with towering high-rises, or on a satellite like this. They call them different things, sure, and the reasons behind them vary depending on the situation, but everyone deserves a home, don’t they?”
“Of course,” she said. “I wasn’t inferring that they shouldn’t exist.”
“I know,” he said, “but my point is that hubs provide homes for those without, and the conditions are merely a circumstance of that, not the intent.”
“Well now I feel like schtill, Cilas. Thanks for that,” Helga said, reeling.
Cilas stopped suddenly and touched her elbow, making her turn to face him.
“Alright, Nighthawk, bring it in,” he said. “If we’re going to talk, you’re going to have to let down some of those defenses. When I correct you, it’s on things that I know. Piloting, now that’s your area, and when it comes to that, I shut my mouth. Now, hubs, knife-fighting, leading ESOs, I’m the authority, despite how much you think you may know. The fact is you’re young, Helga, and you don’t like that feedback, but it’s a fact. I have five years of experience on you, so stop taking everything so personal.”
