by Greg Dragon
There had been no apology after the sortie, but every one of the pilots had introduced themselves to her. This she knew was the lieutenant’s doing, and it made her feel good that her flying had impressed her this much. “Shore leave, what is that?” Helga said with a wink, and they both started laughing hysterically.
“So, Cilas Mec … care to dish?” she said, running her forefinger around the mouth of her mug.
There it is, Helga thought. I knew this couldn’t just be about my flying. “You mean Lieutenant Cilas? My Lieutenant Cilas?” Helga said.
Joy Valance sat up suddenly, as if something had lodged itself inside her throat. Her brown eyes widened. “Oh, I didn’t realize,” she said, quietly. “I was just curious. Y’know how it is.”
Helga tilted her head unconsciously, trying to read the lieutenant’s face. “What just happened there, Lieutenant?” she said. “Are you—oh.” It finally dawned on her what had made the lieutenant react the way she did. “My Lieutenant,” Helga whispered, thinking. “No, Lieutenant Cilas and I aren’t … no, not like that. We’re just friends,” she said, quickly taking another sip of her beer.
She wanted to disappear. Why had she taken this woman up on her offer of a drink? It had to look bad: the words she’d used, her reaction now—
“Good!” the lieutenant said. “Girl, I was about to say … oops,” She spat out beer as she burst out laughing. “Awkward, right? Because if you and he were a thing, you wouldn’t like me right now. Let me just leave it at that.”
Is this woman drunk? Helga thought. “So you and Lieutenant Cilas are…?”
The lieutenant lowered her eyes and sipped at her beer. That was all the answer Helga needed for her feelings to get involved. She felt confused. No—more like hurt. But that isn’t fair, she reasoned. Cilas didn’t know how she felt, plus it wasn’t allowed, and he was so much older.
Excuse after excuse went through her brain as Lieutenant Joy Valance talked on. Helga was no longer hearing her, only the thoughts in her head, the thoughts that let her know that Cilas was now out of her reach.
Joy Valance was no beauty, but she had good bone structure and a pretty pair of light brown eyes. She was intelligent, and an officer, not to mention the top ace on an Alliance interceptor. The woman also had the sort of confidence that was irresistible to men like Cilas Mec.
“…this is why I called you out for the drink to explain,” Joy said. “It was Cilas’s idea all along.”
“I’m sorry, could you repeat what you just said?” Helga said, hopeful that the lieutenant was saying that the whole romance with Cilas was a prank that he was pulling on her.
“I was letting you know that the Vestalian Classic thing was Cilas’s fault. He suggested that model when he heard you would be on my squadron,” she said. “He told me that you were an ace in the making, and that all of your simulations were done in a Classic. I said, Cilas, you are going to get your girl killed, but he was like, no, Helga is the best. So I owe him a few things, and I owe you an apology,” she said.
Helga wanted to hate her now more than ever, but she was being too honest and it made her even more likeable. She felt her brows knitting as she stared at her face. Then she shut her eyes defiantly and nodded. “How are you so cool?” she said, pushing back the hurt to change the subject to something else.
“Cool?”
“Yes, cool as in relaxed. Just look at you. I want to be you when I grow up,” Helga said.
Joy started to laugh again and Helga joined her, letting it all hang out. The beer helped her heal, and she drank more to make herself numb. She forced herself to be happy for Cilas, no matter how absurd it was. They had been out in space forever, and he would be just as lonely as she was. Being together was never an option so why should she begrudge him for finding happiness with this woman?
“You’re really funny, do you know that?” the lieutenant said. She was on her fifth mug and it had become obvious that the alcohol was taking its toll. “You wanting to be me. Girl, if I could fly half as well as you, I would not be here on this raggedy ship,” she said, and started laughing again.
Helga didn’t know what to say. It was drunken honesty, but it was honesty nonetheless. The lieutenant had given her one of the greatest compliments. Her words managed to push off the sadness she felt for not having Cilas while pulling in a want to get back to action.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said, reaching forward to touch her hand. “Thank you, but I mean it. Cilas is a very lucky man.”
Since winning the fight with the Geralos destroyer, the Inginus began salvaging parts from the debris. This was common practice for Alliance warships, considering the lack of resources coming in from the planets.
It had been days since the excitement, and Helga was doing better – well, better in that she was sleeping more, and had left her compartment for more than eating and taking a shower. She had kept to herself, but no one bothered her and somehow she knew this was due to Joy. The Inginus Marines had heard about her skills so she was no longer treated like an unwanted refugee.
This thawing of her icy comrades did not serve to make her friendly. She still saw them as dangerous, and kept her back to the bulkhead whenever she passed a crowd. This was what she was doing now as she waited by the range for Cilas to arrive. They had agreed on a time to shoot and she wanted to pick his brain about the Alliance conspiracy.
The lieutenant showed up with Joy in tow, and she saw that they were pretending that they weren’t an item. She wondered just how many people were actually fooled since Cilas had a hard time not looking at her.
Joy gave her a wave and a knowing look, and Helga quickly returned the gesture. They hadn’t spoken much since that night at the bar, but she still felt a deep connection with the woman. Something in the way they bonded went beyond words. It was when their eyes met; there was an understanding there that went unsaid.
Joy spoke to Cilas briefly and stepped in to kiss him before she left him to walk back down the passageway. He looked ready to go after her—a man that couldn’t get enough. But he was strong and resisted, walking to Helga with a forced smile.
“Ready to work on that dead eye?” he said, cheerfully.
“I’m ready now.” Helga forced a smile. “Turns out sleep can be a good thing.”
He stopped in front of her with his hands on his hips, looking past her face at the closed door. “Surprising, isn’t it?” he said. “But I do have to warn you that the men who run the range are a bit ... closed-minded? The idea of an alien woman fighting on our side … well, they have their own opinions, and it isn’t very nice.”
“I can handle a bunch of racists. Are you saying that they won’t let me shoot?” she said.
“Well, they’re still Marines, and if you’re with me then they will leave you alone.”
Helga thought about the cold reception she’d received when she first got on the ship. Now she understood why they took to Brise and not her.
“When Vestalia was invaded, the Casanian military answered the call,” she said. “They bled to protect their allies instead of turning their backs like the Louine. Humble civilians put down their tools and picked up guns for the cause. Many of them lost their lives, Cilas, leaving the planet filled with widows and orphans. I won’t be treated badly for my lineage. Not here on this ship nor back home on the Rendron.”
“Hello, Ate, this is me you’re talking to,” Cilas said, looking a bit offended. “Nothing you’re saying is news to me. Just keep your head and let me handle them.”
Helga wasn’t so sure about Cilas’s promise. He wasn’t the one who had grown up with humans that made every alien out to be the enemy. Her spots were a target, and many had taken aim, using her as the avatar for the cause of their suffering.
“They can’t help themselves,” she said, defiantly. “But if they start with me, they will learn quickly why I made second class.”
“Let’s go kill some virtual lizards,” Cilas said, his jaw jutting out as if he exp
ected a fight. Stepping past Helga, he pushed open the door, and she followed him inside to an extremely cold passageway. The walls were reinforced Louine glass, impenetrable to laser and ballistic weapons.
Helga stumbled on a ramp that seemed to come from out of nowhere. She looked around, embarrassed, hoping that no one saw, but when she made to follow Cilas again, she saw that he was watching her.
“Are you okay?” he said.
“I’ll live,” she said, biting down the urge to tell him off. The one thing that always annoyed her about Cilas was his incessant need to play the guardian. She didn’t know if it was just because she was a woman or if he saw her as a younger sibling. Either of those realities did not make her feel good. She was a Rendron warfighter, trained to bring death to the Geralos scourge.
How dare he pretend that a mere stumble could have hurt … she wasn’t his girlfriend, and she damn sure wasn’t helpless.
She reached forward and pushed him as he walked up the ramp, and he stumbled and caught the railing, stopping in his tracks. She hadn’t meant to hurt him; it was just frustration leading to action. But he was her superior, and she froze when she realized what she had done.
Cilas turned around slowly and regarded her curiously. “Did you do that on purpose, Ate?” he said.
“Okay, Lieutenant, I did push you, but I swear I did it respectfully,” she said, adding a grin and hoping that it would diffuse the offense somehow.
“You’re a little schtill, do you know that?” he said. “Always with the jokes and the messing around. I’ll be ready next time, just remember that. You’ll be surprised how fast I am. You don’t want to test me, Helga.”
The utterance of her first name came with mysterious undertones, and as he turned to continue walking she wondered if it was part of the threat. Either way she felt stupid. Why had she pushed him like that? Children pushed each other playfully, not grown up Alliance spacers.
When they got to the top there was an open lobby. The bulkhead was lined with all manner of weapons. There were auto rifles, pulse rifles, starguns, and pistols. In front of these weapons were several Marines with long beards and muscles corded like rope. One took off his shades to eye her up and down, and she shot him a glance that could melt a glacier.
Cilas introduced himself and placed his hand over the identification scanner. The computer chimed, then displayed all of his information, from his place of birth to his numerous combat accolades. “Welcome, Lieutenant,” said the beard, and saluted him sharply. The rest of the men did the same, and Helga would have rolled her eyes if she wasn’t used to it.
Cilas was a big deal wherever he went, and being so close to him made it easy to forget. For the first time she was confident that this boy’s club wouldn’t give her trouble. And she glared at one menacingly, daring him to say something now that he knew who she was.
They picked out a variety of ballistics weapons and went inside one of the private ranges. These were tight passageways built to be impenetrable by the bullets, and would display virtual targets picked out by the computer.
“They can’t hear us in here,” Cilas said, “and I doubt they thought to bug all of their gun ranges. This is why I suggested it, but let me hear what you think. I’ll hover close so I can listen, but keep firing – just in case they’re watching.”
Helga did as he said, and began to shoot at her targets. She found that her aim was much better than she thought. She was proficient with the handguns and above average with the pulse, but the auto rifle was a lot for her frame, so that was the weapon she decided to focus on.
“I’ve been wondering something,” she said, as she aimed down the sights. She put two bullets in the hologram, shattering it immediately. A diagram of the body appeared on the screen to her right, showing that she had put both rounds near the creature’s heart.
“How is it that our Alliance leaders missed the fact that this moon was a trap? Why did they choose to send us in alone when they could have jumped in Inginus from the start? Wouldn’t saving human lives be enough to warrant an Inginus-led strike? Yet they send in the Nighthawks—assassins, not rescuers. Then they add two rookies to a six-man team of seasoned veterans. It’s a very confusing oversight, wouldn’t you agree?”
Cilas stepped up next to her and triggered his own set of targets. One by one he dropped them with precise shots to their vitals. Helga wondered if he was human, his aim was so immaculate, and he did it all so easily that it was over as soon as it started. He didn’t even bother to check where his bullets had registered. It was as if he knew, and didn’t need the computer to tell him.
“You said a mouthful,” he said, “but I can explain why you’re here. We needed a pilot and I made them choose you. Brise, on the other hand, was a good engineer. He won the lottery over several other people so he got the chance to join us. There’s no conspiracy about you two, but Lamia Brafa is another thing. He’s been on missions with us before but he isn’t an ESO so his motivations were outside of my scope.”
Cilas inhaled a deep breath and placed his weapon down on the table. He then picked up a pulse rifle that looked like a toy. “Bottom line for me, Helga, is that my men are dead at the hands of an ally. No matter how much I want to chalk that up to schtill luck, it still bothers me that they could corrupt a Jumper. You saw Brafa’s skills, and he’s talked to you about his order. Jumpers train their minds to prevent exactly what happened to him.”
“Are you saying that Lamia Brafa’s order is behind what happened to us?” Helga said.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think that we’re in danger for surviving Dyn. The Alliance military sees this as a botched mission but I have a deep feeling that someone orchestrated this entire thing. This someone would be a part of Captain Sho’s circle of trust, and this is why I kept the details from Lang.”
“I get it now, Lieutenant, but what are we to do? I don’t know this ship, and they obviously don’t want us here.”
“Just keep your mouth shut about what really happened on Dyn, even if you’re pressed to contradict me,” he said. “We’re on this ship for a while; they won’t be jumping until they’re ready. Adapt and excel, the way you were trained. When the time arises I will pull you to the side and tell you our next move. Until then, stay cold and keep a set of eyes on your six.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. He wasn’t giving her any ideas that she hadn’t had before, especially when it came to watching her back. Brise had left, leaving the two of them, and she wondered if he’d wind up dead on a hub orbiting Vestalia. “What will happen to Brise?” she said, finding his eyes.
“He’s going to have one hell of an adjustment fitting into civilian life. He was new military, so he’ll have no commission, and Rendron is a war machine. Civilians aren’t welcome on there. Plus, he wouldn’t want to be on there when he’ll be seen as a coward the rest of his life. I think that he’ll find a hub, get himself some shelter, and live out the rest of his years in poverty and peace.”
Helga couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but she knew that civilians had it the hardest. It was why parents sent their children to war fleets like the Rendron. They would become cadets, cared for and trained well into their teens, and then they’d join the formal military where food and shelter were provided.
This beat the alternative of the disgusting hubs, where humans preyed on each other in an overpopulated space. “I can’t believe Brise would choose this reality over being here with us,” she said. “No matter his reasoning then, he’ll be seen as a coward. It’s unfortunate. He lost a lot for the military but no one will believe us about him, will they? You don’t have to worry about me, Cilas, I won’t say anything. I’ll just keep my head down and do my part.”
“I know you will, Ate, that’s why I have you here. It’s just the two of us now. We’re the last of the Nighthawks,” Cilas said.
After three hours of shooting, Helga was sore but better, and the lieutenant walked her to her compartment after they agreed to meet
again. “Those hard legs in there won’t give you trouble,” he said, “just in case you want to come back without me. We’ll be fighting again soon, Ate. Me, you, and some good recruits. We’ll rebuild the Nighthawks, and you will help me make it a great unit again.”
“I will,” she said, as they clasped wrists in the standard gesture of friendship within their unit. Then he was gone, back to Joy Valance, and she was left in that doorway feeling lonely again. Helga had mixed and conflicting feelings about Cilas but made it her own personal battle to suppress them. The world had been so dark and unfriendly after the horrific time on Dyn, and she had reached that point where life itself was becoming a painful thing.
Every waking moment was a reminder that she didn’t belong. She should have been shot or bitten down on that moon, yet she had been spared to return to … what? Even the silence that the Inginus afforded when she was on her cot in the compartment was torture. She craved the sound of something, anything.
Helga grabbed her head. It was happening again. She didn’t understand why this was happening to her. The doubt and the severe feeling of … blah, whenever she was alone. Her mind went to the bar where she had shared the drinks with Joy, and the feeling she had afterwards when the liquor took hold of her mind.
It was one of the only nights she had managed to fall asleep, and as she’d traded stories with that stranger, she felt a bit like she belonged. Her body craved that feeling again. No—her body craved companionship. It had been too long. She needed something to escape from her doubtful mind. So she took a transport out of the common quarters and stepped off in front of the bar.
27
The life of an Alliance spacer was one of extreme discipline, and love for humanity that dipped within the waters of fanaticism. To make it onto a squad you had to care about your people; anything less and you were forced onto a hub to live out the war that wouldn’t end.
Cilas Mec cared, but it wasn’t because he had to. The young man cared because he had been raised on one of those hubs. There was something about seeing people feed on each other like rats that became so much a part of him that he was never able to shake it. Gangsters ran the hubs, and his father—a discharged, former Marine—had developed a gambling habit that made him into their slave.
