by Greg Dragon
HALF-ALIEN WARFIGHTER
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2019
Thirsty Bird Productions
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in retrieval systems, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recorded or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Cover Art by Tom Edwards
For more books by the author
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1
Helga Ate sprinted after the lightning-fast Raileo Lei as he descended a ladderwell and ducked into a passageway. They were wearing their PAS suits, and the light he carried was a mere formality, but Helga was using it to calm her nerves as they worked their way through the ancient, derelict ship.
Somewhere up ahead was Cilas Mec and Quentin Tutt, taking point on the discovery, and Helga began to feel the walls closing in as her night vision changed the colorful paint on the bulkhead into several shades of monochromatic gray. It made the ship look as if it was part of a dream, and since there hadn’t been any life signs, she worried that something was inside waiting for them.
Every corner seemed to move, the shadows taking form to point a gun at her, or turn into a beast, scrambling across her path on all fours. She felt her heart rate increasing as she squeezed into a passageway with one side collapsed, but it was only a few meters, and she emerged at the top of another sizable ladderwell. The path that Cilas was taking seemed to be going deeper into the belly of the dreadnought. It was a large ship, not as large as the Rendron, but large enough to have them searching it for hours.
As she picked up her pace to catch up with Raileo, Helga began to notice a few things about the ship. First of all, there were no corpses, though she could smell the decomposition, even with her helmet on. The night vision showed blood trails and smears on the bulkhead, and everywhere revealed signs of a struggle. There were computer screens, shattered and out of commission from stray bullets fired from the Geralos weapons. There were spent shells, discarded weapons, and everything was in disarray, which was the first sign of a ship with no crew.
Two more ladders down, and she almost ran into the backs of her three fellow Nighthawks.
“Looks like they brought them here,” Cilas said, pointing to a passageway that was covered in a crusty organic material.
“It’s been terraformed with the spores that allow lizards to breathe oxygen,” Helga said. “There’s only one reason they would need to breathe while they were in here.”
“Yes, to bite into the heads of the dreadnought’s crew members,” Cilas said.
Helga felt a chill run through her body as she recalled being a prisoner of the Geralos. It was on the moon of Dyn on her first mission, where the lizards had taken over a settlement. Inside the atmosphere domes, where the settler’s lived, she had seen the exact same growth, reminiscent of a termite nest, pushing out from the bulkhead, obscuring everything. It had a vile smell, like manure, but it allowed the lizards to remove their helmets and share the atmosphere with human beings.
She hoisted her auto rifle in preparation of what was to come. All of the humans were dead—their life signature would have shown, even if the Geralos didn’t—so it would be some sort of killer machine, or an army with the means to block scans.
Cilas nodded, crouched, then stepped into the passage with the silent giant, Quentin Tutt, on his hip and Raileo Lei close behind them. Helga—who was only in the back because she had piloted the ship that brought them here—stopped worrying about keeping up, and took her time stepping inside. She had cryo-rounds loaded into her ASR auto-rifle, and the first bad guy who showed his face would be a block of ice if he tried to get the drop on them.
The thought made her wary, so she dropped a proximity screamer on the deck, which wedged itself inside the Geralos gunk. If they were being followed, the device would blare out a warning, and their would-be spy would find himself in a world of hurt. Leaning into her ASR, she followed Cilas through, letting her rocket boots pulse into a hover.
With the assistance of the boots, she no longer had to run to keep up, so it was easy to stay on Raileo’s flank as long as she kept her head clear. The PAS suit worked off reactions and thought, so panic could ground her, or worse, send her sprinting off into another passageway.
When Cilas stepped out into what would have been a mess hall, he held up his hand and made the sign for them to hold. He didn’t have to; Helga saw what he was seeing. The growth had taken to the bulkhead here, lending it the appearance of a cave, and the temperature was freezing, which forced her PAS to adjust by heating itself. There were warnings on her HUD, red flashes of text moving too fast for her to read, but that paled in comparison to the sight of the crew, hanging like stored meat from hooks screwed into the growth.
Every human from the ship had been brought here to be bitten, which was evidenced by the gaping holes in each of their heads. Their skin was pale, almost to the point of being grey, causing Helga to check to see if her night vision was still on. But Raileo had his light, illuminating the large compartment, and there were brown marks on the bulkhead, and several other colors from areas that hadn’t yet been covered.
Helga felt sick, but her anger became the stronger reaction, and despite Cilas’s warning to stop, she stepped forward. On the deck, frozen, just like the human crew, was a Geralos commander lying on his stomach. His gruesome face was twisted in pain and his tongue stuck out between his teeth. Whatever had killed him looked as though it had been extremely painful, but he showed no signs of being cut, shot, or choked to death.
Cilas knelt down to examine him as the rest of the Nighthawks looked on. Helga felt a feeling come over her, something like an icy snake slithering around inside her stomach. She knew that it was fear, because she and Cilas had gone through what these poor souls had experienced when the Geralos came aboard this ship.
“Whoa, a Geralos lizard in the flesh,” Raileo said as he squatted down next to Cilas, his face a mask of wonderment. “Thype me, but they’re horrific. Vids and holos don’t do them justice. This is one ugly cruta. Planets! I wonder which one of these poor bastards managed to kill this piece of schtill.”
Helga’s eyes were on a woman who was hanging frozen like the rest of the crew, but for one difference. She was Casanian, and her features reminded the Nighthawk of her long-dead mother, from the well-shaped bald head to the carmine skin and scattered black spots on her scalp and shoulders. The woman’s eyes, wide and as black as space, showed a fear so intense that Helga fought back tears.
“He died when he bit her,” she managed before clearing her throat loudly to compose herself. “The lizard, he bit into this Casanian woman’s head. Her—our blood is toxic to them.” She forced a chuckle. “Speaking from experience here, looks like she was the sole Casanian on this ship. He being the only dead lizard in here speaks to his greed or deviance. If I was to make a guess, he snuck in behind the others, daring to bite into the one they told him to avoid.”
“Geez, that’s really good, ma’am. You get all that from seeing this lizard?” Quentin said. “You have the eyes of a hunter. I believe that what you said really did happen here. They left him in disgrace, for violating their rules, then set up the ship as a salvage trap to catch more of us.”
“Which means there is something here to kill fools like us who come on board,” Raileo said.
“Good job catching up to the rest of the team, Ray,” Helga said, sarcastically.
“What do you think
they have waiting, Lieutenant?” he said, casually ignoring her.
“Something mechanical and deadly,” Cilas said, his eyes still on the Geralos.
“Like a rigged training Cel-toc, or something custom,” Quentin offered.
Helga didn’t like the sound of that. A custom machine was unpredictable, and she wasn’t prepared to lose any limbs, let alone see a teammate die. She decided that no matter what, she wasn’t going to fall behind. Whatever did this would want to separate them from one another, and she was not going to become easy prey.
“Movement,” Raileo said, and Helga spun to see where he was pointing, but it was one of the bodies slumped over on the bulkhead, shifting from the shudder of the engine.
Helga made to give him a piece of her mind but saw a tall, slender figure emerge from the doorway. It was a rusty remnant of the first war against the Geralos, and while she knew what it was, the shock of seeing a first-generation Cel-toc almost cost her her life.
If not for her senses as a seeker, she would not have been able to react in time. “On your flank, Ray!” she exclaimed while sliding down to a knee and firing on the android. The Cel-toc, who had raised an arm to spray the room with a nerve agent, never had a chance, as it collapsed from Helga’s cryo-rounds punching holes inside its head.
Helga didn’t realize that she was growling as she fired, but when clarity returned she took a deep breath and tried to ignore the look Cilas Mec was giving her. She had saved their lives, but she couldn’t focus on this as her adrenaline was spiked and she was ready for any other surprise the dreadnought had to offer.
Cilas was on his pulse rifle, backing against the bulkhead, scanning the room for what Helga assumed would be hidden hatches or doors. They were at a disadvantage standing inside this circular compartment, and though there were only two ways to get in and out, the seasoned Nighthawk didn’t want to take any chances.
“Nothing special here, Lieutenant,” Raileo said after examining the Cel-toc thoroughly. “Just your standard android. Old and somehow functional, doing what it was programmed to do: murder anyone that dares to board this ship.”
“Actually, Ray,” Helga said, “The Geralos would have rigged the androids to collect more victims. I would think that as hard as it is to find humans dumb enough to board this wreck, having their Cel-tocs kill us would be an unforgivable waste of food.”
“Ate’s got a point,” Cilas said. “He would have bagged us and placed us in stasis to await his master’s return, but this one learned the hard way not to jump out at ESOs.”
“There’s bound to be more,” Helga said. “What’s our engagement protocol, Rend, uh, following my actions here, of course?”
“We need one Cel-toc functional to download its program, so don’t do any more headshots if you can help yourself,” he said, shaking his head.
It was hard for Helga not to smirk at him scolding her for nailing a difficult shot, especially since he had ordered her to spend time at the range mastering her aim. Headshot on a surprise attacker in a tense situation, unexpected? If Cilas Mec meant what he was saying, she would have been surprised.
“Nice shot,” Raileo whispered as they made their way out, and Helga had to smile, as it felt good to see the hours of practice finally paying off. “But next time,” he continued, “You want to hit the core before the head. This way, you have more chances to stop him before you go for the kill.”
Helga rolled her eyes at him teaching her the same basic instructions they’d all received in the cadet academy. She wondered if he was serious, or if this was his way of getting back at her for the joke earlier. So she turned to stare at him, and stayed that way for two long seconds that probably felt like ten.
“I-It was a joke, ma’am,” he said, flashing a smile. “Basic pistols, remember? I wouldn’t seriously be standing here—”
“Shut up, Ray,” she said, and turned to do a skip to make her rocket boots pulse to life. As she caught up with Quentin and Cilas, she could hear Raileo laughing inside her comms. “Hush. Focus,” she said, turning on him again, and he grew quiet instantly, but she could still see him laughing through his helmet’s transparent glass.
She still found it odd that she could order Raileo and Quentin around. She had known that command would come eventually, her being a ranked officer of the Rendron. Though, to be eighteen and a Nighthawk telling an older rating to shut his mouth, she had a hard time believing she could get away with this, but here they were, and there Raileo was, obeying her.
The Nighthawk’s mission was to find the crew of the dreadnought, which they had already managed to do. So now they had to march on the bridge and bring the thrusters to a halt. Though the dreadnought was tethered to the Nighthawk’s starship, Rendron, they did not want to take the risk of it somehow getting loose. Helga was ready and she was salty. After the headshot, her confidence had her thirsty for more action.
Cilas pulled up short at the end of the passageway where it ran into another running parallel to where they stood. “Ate, go down that direction, and Tutt, you take the other. Careful, it wraps, so you may run into each other. Confirm your shots, and stay on comms. Ray, you’re with me. We’re going to breach this door.”
She nodded and pulsed her boots as she made her way down the dark, mysterious corridor. There was a fire in the distance, its light illuminating the outline of a door, which she opened to a compartment embroiled in flames. Helga knew that she should call it in and wait for instructions from her lieutenant, but she pressed on to investigate and found another passageway leading away from the fire.
She stepped past the flames despite her PAS suit screaming a warning, and slipped through to the much larger passageway, stopping to allow her temperature gauge to normalize. There were doors on either side of this one, so she placed the rifle on her back and pulled out her sidearm. The last thing she wanted to do was to accidentally cryo-shot Quentin, so she lifted the pistol to her cheek and pulsed slowly, ready for surprises.
One of the doors was open but there was no light, so Helga crept up to it and chanced a peek inside. She saw nothing but crates, and a door on the far side, so she stepped inside and suddenly she was on her back and staring up at none other than Quentin Tutt. She didn’t know what happened, or what he had done to flip her, but all she remembered was that in a blink of an eye, she had been floored by the big man.
“Sorry, ma’am,” the Marine said as he quickly helped her to her feet.
“Its fine, Tutt. Thanks for not shooting me just now,” she said.
“Never that,” he mumbled as he turned and led her through the door. Together they cleared the remainder of the compartments, thoroughly checking the shadows for Cel-tocs or Geralos. Cilas reported that he and Raileo hadn’t found anything, and eventually they caught up to where Helga and Quentin were searching.
As a team they ascended another ladderwell—which Helga hoped would take them to the deck that held the dreadnought’s bridge. She had been ready, but the inactivity had chilled her resolve to normal, and now she was over-thinking things and worrying for her team.
At the top was a sealed door that had the Alliance symbol for bridge. “Get ready,” Cilas said. “As we trained, I want a textbook breach. Remember, shoot to maim, not kill. That goes for Cel-tocs. Anything else is free to die. Tutt, you ready?”
The big man nodded acknowledgment, and Cilas adjusted his rifle, triggering a fuse from its muzzle, which he used on the locking mechanism. The door sparked and the latch fell off, allowing him to pull it slightly ajar. He stopped when it moved a few more centimeters, then turned to look at the rest of the Nighthawks. “Go dark,” he said, and yanked it open, tossing in a bomblet before turning to shield his mask.
The tiny orb exploded into an intense white light, blinding anyone unlucky enough to see it. Helga’s mask shaded her eyes as she charged in after her lieutenant, who was already firing on several shadows inside the bright white light. From the slenderness of their limbs and their bulbous humanoid heads, Hel
ga knew that these were Cel-tocs and not Geralos. She added her own shots to the mix until the light faded and they could once again make out some detail.
They were on a bridge, at least what used to be a bridge, and on the deck were several Cel-tocs, burning and twitching from bullet wounds, but for one who was seated, still wired to the dreadnought’s console. “I think we found our intact program,” Helga said, flashing a mischievous smile at Cilas Mec. She hadn’t thought about his words when the bomblet went off, and she only now realized that she had been shooting to kill.
“Yeah, luckily we have an intact one,” he said, crossing to where the Cel-toc sat inside the pilot’s seat. “Even luckier is the fact that this one is actively piloting the ship.”
2
Helga and Raileo worked on the Cel-toc pilot, removing the lines that attached him to the ship. They detached the head while taking careful steps to avoid damaging the database. It was intense, focused work that took the better part of an hour, but in the end it was a success. Raileo placed the head inside his pack while Helga slowed the ship and powered down its defense systems.
“Good job, Nighthawks,” Cilas said.
“Yeah, that went surprisingly well, but now we need to find a way off this ship,” Helga said.
“Leave it to me,” Quentin said. “I know the way, and it should be much quicker since we’re done searching every compartment.”
He took them back into the passageway through a series of tight corridors. Though they had come this way, Helga stayed on her gun, just in case they had missed a potential ambush from before. The ship was quiet, ghostly quiet, and the radars on their PAS stayed silent.
“A true ghost ship,” Helga muttered to no one, but Raileo glanced over at her with what appeared to be concern.
He couldn’t possibly be frightened of spirits, she thought, this gunslinging ESO from the Rendron? She wanted to ask him but knew that the embarrassment would force him to lie. All she had was that glance, which was enough to tell her everything she needed to know.
