by Greg Dragon
Crouched behind the desk, stuffing items in a case, was none other than Commander Tyrell Lang. Cilas closed the doors behind him and hid the pistol behind his leg. He didn’t think that Lang had noticed him yet, so he eased over to the side to see what he was doing.
As he suspected, the commander was leaving the ship, but had stopped by his cabin to empty out his drawers. When Lang finally saw him, his eyes were angry and confused. He doesn’t know what I want, he thought. I can see the gears turning in his head.
“What are you doing, Commander?” he said, breaking the silence. “Are you really about to abandon the ship? Did I miss your announcement? The one where you tell everyone onboard to evacuate? I somehow missed that command, and from what I just saw on the bridge … it looks like everyone else missed it too.”
Tyrell Lang made a sudden move, and Cilas leveled the pistol at his head. “Commander, I’m relieving you of command of this ship,” he started, but then Lang did the strangest thing. He knelt on the deck with his hands on his knees and began to laugh hysterically.
“I relieve you, sir, under the authority of Retzo Sho, and the Galactic Alliance of Anstractor. For your reckless hazarding of your command, your drunkenness, and placing the lives of your crew in jeopardy. I assume full responsibility with this, and will report to Captain Sho with what I have witnessed. There will be others to corroborate my claims, whenever the time comes that you will be tried. You will accompany me to an escape pod, where we will launch from the Inginus and dock on the Rendron.”
“Planets, you’re actually serious,” he said, his face flushed with anger. He got up from his knees and placed the case on the desk, and spread his arms for effect. “You relieve me of my command of the scrap that once was Inginus. Great, the wreckage is all yours, son. May she serve you well.”
“Over a hundred crewmen lost their lives due to your terrible leadership,” Cilas said. “You chose to be aggressive when we were badly in need of repair, against a superior power with a high-powered shield. Did you think that doing this would somehow impress Captain Sho?” Now it was Cilas’s turn to laugh.
“One hundred thousand credits are yours. Just, let me go, Lieutenant,” he said.
“One hundred thousand credits? I don’t want to know how you came by that, sir,” Cilas said. “Tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to take that case you packed and the two of us will find an escape pod. You can explain everything to Captain Sho.”
“The captain ordered you to do this?” he said, looking disappointed. “Look, I can’t—”
“Oh, yes, you can,” Cilas said, stepping forward to detain him. But Lang feigned at the last minute and swung a fist into Cilas’s face. It caught him in the nose with blinding success, forcing him to kneel on the deck. For a split second he couldn’t see, but he could hear Lang scrambling out.
When the pain allowed for his eyes to open, Cilas noticed that Lang was gone. He got to his feet and was out of the cabin instantly, running so fast that if anyone got in his way, they would have been bowled over by 80kg of pure adrenaline.
Though he was upset with himself for letting Lang get away, he could no longer think clearly enough to dwell on it as a failure. His mind went to the times when he was running with Helga, right below the very deck that he was now sprinting down. He recalled seeing the hatches attached to the escape pods, and he knew that if Lang made it down the ladder, he would never see him again.
As he reached the ladderwell, he leapt down several flights. Luckily he didn’t twist an ankle as he turned and pushed a crewman out of the way. He gained the main passageway—the one he used to jog with Helga—and beyond the crewmen milling about, he could see the back of the commander.
Pushing past anyone in his way, he picked up the pace after Lang. A few tough-guy Marines took issue with his pushing, but Cilas had no time for confrontation. In his mind he was on a Nighthawk mission, tracking down his prey, and like the many Geralos he’d put to death, Lang would learn that he was quite efficient.
The commander glanced back and saw Cilas coming, so he too began to run. This was disaster in that passageway, despite it being wider than any on the ship. But he was the commander so nobody dared stop him from fleeing.
At one point when the path was clear, Cilas got a good view of his back. He was already frustrated and wanted to take a shot. But was he good enough to hit him? And if he hit him, could he be certain that it wouldn’t be fatal?
It would lead to insanity; the already stressed out crew would rally around their leader, and he would be arrested or killed. It was bad enough that he was actively chasing their commander through this crowded passageway. The instant he brought up the pistol, or made any aggressive moves, an MA would be alerted and they would never hear reason.
Lang didn’t stop at the escape pods, but instead ran into the officer’s wardroom. He’s going to lock that door, Cilas thought with frustration, and then he will be trapped inside. He tried to speed up to catch the door before it shut, but by the time he made it there it was too late.
Pulling up short to pace in front of the door, Cilas thought about how he could enter. The door was built to keep the unwanted out, and was as smooth as the bulkhead that held it. There would be no prying it off or kicking it in. He would only be able to enter with an override.
He touched his comms and picked up his pacing, mostly because his adrenaline was still up. “Genevieve,” he said. “Patch me through to Captain Sho.”
“Are you on your way with the commander?” she said.
“No, he gave me the slip and ran. Jenny, can you believe this man? He offered me a hundred thousand credits to let him go. What is going on?”
“I wish I knew, but the captain does. Hold on, I’m patching you through to him right now.”
“I heard,” said Retzo Sho almost immediately, and Cilas didn’t know what to say. “It’s okay, Lieutenant, he can run for now; that is, if you think that the Nighthawks can find him,” he said.
“Sir, he’s still on the ship, but has locked himself inside the wardroom. Is there any way you can speak to the Inginus and get the crew safely off, sir? Commander Lang should have done that, but no announcement has been made. Bringing him to the Rendron will be very difficult, sir, if the Marines are under the impression that I mean to harm their commander.”
“Hold that thought,” said Retzo Sho, and then the comms went dead.
Did I lose him? Cilas thought, looking at his wrist pad. A drip of sweat smeared its surface, and he lifted his arm to wipe his face. He was sweating profusely from running so hard, harder than he’d run in months. The runs with Helga had just been jogs, light enough to avoid running into the crewmen that they passed.
He checked the time on his pad, and saw that a whole minute had passed. He tried Genevieve again, but even she wasn’t picking up now. “Thype!” he exclaimed, and slammed his fist into the door. What was he supposed to do now?
There was a commotion behind him as a group of Marines approached, led by a large man who Cilas assumed was the Inginus master-at-arms. He recognized him from the range but he didn’t know his name. He saw that they were armed, and his eyes scanned the area for an advantage.
“Is there something I can help you with, Lieutenant?” the man said, his hand hovering over the sidearm that was strapped across his chest.
Cilas was stuck; this was the end. Nothing he could say would be a sufficient explanation for chasing their commander across the ship. Someone had called and reported the disturbance, and he was thinking it was Lang himself.
As he made to rush at the crowd of men, a jingle played across the system. Cilas recognized the tune. It was from the Rendron. It would play when the Captain was about to speak.
“This is Captain Retzo Sho of the Rendron. Commander Tyrell Lang has been relieved of his command by Lieutenant Cilas Mec. He is to be afforded the respect of a commander of an Alliance vessel. Lieutenant Mec will see to your repairs and proper evacuation protocol. Inginus Prime, you’
ve done us proud, so hold your heads high. Lieutenant Mec will see you through this as I await you on the Rendron.”
The jingle played once more and then there was an unsettling silence followed by a loud commotion in the passageway. The MA dropped his hands, and saluted Cilas briskly, followed by the Marines, who seemed stunned by the announcement.
“First order of business, master-at-arms. I need you to get this door open,” Cilas said.
He moved out of the way, but then there was a sound, like an explosion from the inside. The MA moved quickly, overriding the controls and pulling open the door to the wardroom.
Inside was a long table with chairs all around it, but the glasses and plates had shifted during the fight. Some were on the ground, shattered into pieces, while others were intact and remained in place. It wasn’t the sight of these broken dishes, however, that made Cilas exhale with frustration.
Commander Tyrell Lang sat at the head of the table, his mouth stuck open as if he was about to sing. They could see the hole where the bullet had passed: through his mouth, the chair, and the bulkhead. From his gaping maw the smoke still lingered, and a smell like sulfur permeated the air.
35
The reality of the last few months did not settle in until Helga Ate was back aboard the Rendron. She had been given a formal request to return to the ship, along with Joy Valance and her Revenant squadron.
It didn’t really matter, since Joy had committed to return the morning after she’d spoken to Cilas. During the night sometime he had spoken to her again, and she learned the bad news about the Inginus and Commander Lang.
In the morning during breakfast, she had informed them about everything. Millicent had taken it the hardest, since her husband was killed when the ship got split. It had been a quiet launch home in the wake of that revelation, but Helga was excited to be finally returning home.
As she left the hangar with the Revenants in tow, she noticed the lingering looks and the gaping mouths. She had thought herself skinny after the events of Dyn and the pirate ship, but the way the crew regarded her made her think there was something more.
Is it that bad? she thought, trying to remember how she appeared before setting out with Cilas. She had less hair, and a little more weight, but that was about it… not counting the PAS armor that she wore. A smile crossed her face when she recalled how good it felt to slip into the armor for the first time. She had been so happy that nothing could bother her, not even the things that Wyatt had said.
She wished she still had her armor; then none of these stares would even bother her. Seeing the HUD readouts about your health and stability, and the fuel gauge that never seemed to dip lower than 50%. That pulse it would do when you walked too fast, like a bird flapping its wings to get ahead a little faster. Oh, how she missed that suit. She felt naked now without it.
It was surreal for someone who had grown up being bullied to now have the same people looking on as if she’d risen from the dead. Maybe it’s something else? she thought. Maybe they are in awe of me. She glanced back at Joy, who was still on her comms, talking to Cilas and smiling. It had started before she docked, and now she lingered back, chatting away as if nothing else mattered.
Helga had expected to have her by her side as she walked these familiar passageways. It would have been an excuse to talk, to play guide while she avoided those staring. With Joy she wouldn’t have to notice the looks and relive old memories that she’d suppressed. Now with every step she felt the darkness coming on, and she was once again cold and alone.
Maybe I should have stayed on Meluvia, she thought.
When Joy saw Helga looking, she gave her a wink and sped up to join her, taking her hand. “You’re a bit of a celebrity, Ate. I feel like one of your handmaidens,” she said. They were passing through the Merchant Center, with its kiosks stacked against the bulkheads. Everywhere they went had clumps of crewmen, however, and most of them looked on as their squadron walked past.
“Celebrity?” Helga said. “Most of these people don’t even know me. It’s Cilas who’s the celebrity. They’re just gawking at my cheekbones.”
Although she spoke what she felt, Joy Valance laughed it off and went back to being a schoolgirl on her comms. The other Revenants were strangely stoic, and it reminded Helga of her first night on the Inginus. She, Cilas and Brise didn’t know who to trust—least of all the commander—so they had made an effort to keep to themselves. But then Joy Valance happened, and they got integrated quickly. That was their Joy, the irresistible extrovert. No one was allowed to hide.
Helga found herself alone and stopped to see what had happened. When she looked back, she saw the Revenants huddled in front of one of the screens. “We’ll catch up later, Ate,” Joy said, waving her off. “Cilas says that they are waiting, and that you should take the elevator.”
Elevator access. It must be serious, Helga thought, remembering what Joy had told her about Cilas going after Commander Lang. It was big news now, the disgraced officer, and the brave lieutenant hunting him down amidst a hostile ship.
The idea of meeting Retzo Sho to talk about Dyn gave Helga butterflies, and nausea. She didn’t want to relive the trauma. Inginus and Joy had felt like therapy after everything she’d been through, not to mention her daily runs and range visits with Cilas.
She was so much happier now than she had been when they were in that escape ship. The door to those memories had been sealed—outside of nightmares and times like this. Now they were going to make her talk and relive the pain of the past. It had crippled her psyche; didn’t Cilas understand how hard this was for her? She reasoned that he was so in love that he no longer cared how she felt.
The familiarity of these Rendron compartments allowed her to move on, regardless. She toyed with remembering pieces of Dyn, but even the few that came made her angry. “Why are you all staring at me?” she said all of a sudden, fed up with the eyes.
She had been through too much to be patient with their antics. Not after everything, not after Dyn, not after finding true acceptance with the aces of the Revenant squadron. The first “spots,” or “half-breed” that got thrown her way would be eating her fists and feet. She waited for it, she anticipated it, and she accepted that when it came, she would lose control.
“Hellgate,” someone called, and she looked over at a group of women.
Here we go, she thought, feeling the fire in her chest. That was another nickname she hated. It was a gross mispronunciation of her name. Hellgate. The cadets had thought it clever to nickname her something evil like that.
As she spun on them to remind them that she was an ESO operator, they stood up in unison and saluted. Helga stood there, frozen, unable to process what was happening. It was respect, it was adoration… was this what the stares were about?
A year ago, she was one of these women when the Nighthawks would walk the ship. Seeing their PAS armor, knowing that they were deadly effective … she’d wanted to be one of them, badly. Now she sucked in her emotions and returned the salute, then turned to continue her walk.
Helga Ate had returned, and she was not the little “half breed” that they had made fun of. For some reason she had thought that returning would renew feelings of happiness for her. It was her childhood home, after all, but the place seemed to be nothing but a reminder of her past, the painful past of being an outsider who was constantly jeered.
But here were crewmen saluting and smiling as she passed. They regarded her with a respect that normally came with a fleet-wide reputation. The same respect she’d seen given to Cilas no matter where he was.
Maybe this “Hellgate” had become more than a jeer. It had become legendary to those who knew.
I like this, she thought, grinning as she reached the elevator lobby. “I can get used to this treatment,” she said as she touched the icon indicating up.
About The Author
GREG DRAGON brings a fresh perspective to fiction by telling human stories of life, love and relationships in a scienc
e fiction setting. This unconventional author spins his celestial scenes from an imagination nurtured from being an avid reader himself. His exposure to multiple cultures, multiple religions, martial arts, and travel lends a unique dynamic to his stories.
See Greg’s author page at gregdragon.com or keep up with his latest books and appearances through email.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
About The Author
