by Greg Dragon
Knowing this, Helga wondered why they hadn’t spoken about the hangar incident, when the lieutenant had assaulted her, then left in a huff. Since then they’d been to the bar together, flew countless patrols and more, yet the situation had never come up, as if it never happened.
“Joy, are we good? Not socially, I mean … y’know, service-wise. Am I not going to be invited out with your Revenants in the future? You were cross with me after that scrap with the lizards, and I just want to clear the air,” Helga said.
Joy looked over at her as they walked and gave her a friendly wink. “Nothing I said was personal, little sister, you should know me better than that. After everything we’ve been through together, who wants a grudge? Life’s too thyping short. But it won’t be the last time, will it? You do stupid schtill all the time. Maker take me, you’re reckless beyond belief.”
“I know, but—”
“No, you need to hear this, because if I don’t say it, no one will. That schtill you pulled, if you were a Revenant, I would have grounded you and you would have hated me for it. I wonder at you sometimes, Helga. The way you fly, it’s as if you’ve never been a part of a team. Which is odd because you were raised here, where all they drill into us is teamwork-teamwork-teamwork. Yet when you get inside a cockpit it’s Lady Hellgate against the world.”
“Can’t say I have an argument against that. I don’t know what to say,” Helga said. “I learned to fly off simulations, and as a cadet there weren’t many of us who were interested in piloting. ‘Only the mad become fighters.’ Ever hear that one? Of course you have. I was top of my class in a cockpit, and I’m still standing, so what does that say?”
“I may be critical, but don’t get me wrong, Helga, I am very impressed with your skills. You do things that none of us are bold enough to do, yet perform them easily, as if it was the simplest thing. If you would stop being defensive for one second and listen to what I am saying, you would see that I am trying to help you keep that life you’re so intent on tossing. When you’re with us you need to act like a member of the squadron, just like on Meluvia. Do you remember that?”
Helga nodded.
“Call out your kills, keep us aware of your situation, stay in formation … all of the things we practice cycle after cycle.”
“I’ll be better about that in the future,” Helga said.
“Good, that’s all I wanted to hear.” They ascended the long ladderwell, which brought them to the port side of Rendron’s main deck. There were benches, a set of tall bay windows, and several spacers posted up, having private conversations. It was an unofficial lounge, this hub that bridged the officer’s decks to the living quarters of the rates.
Helga wondered if there would be a Retzo Sho sighting, since this was where he would move back and forth from his cabin to the CIC. She was barely listening to Joy, who was still scolding her as they made their way over to a vending machine that served up coffee. Joy touched a few selections—a practiced move—then handed Helga a disposable mug full of the delicious-smelling black liquid.
She grabbed a few pastries and found a bench where they ate in silence for a time, but Helga was thinking on Joy’s words, how she should fall in line when flying with them.
“With all due respect, Lieutenant, you know that I wouldn’t say anything to offend, but your flight patterns are predictable. You employ tactics taught by pilots using the same techniques from the very first war above Vestalia. In all this time, they’ve learned our moves and know what to expect when we jump in. Why do you think we took such a long time to run them off, when their aces are nowhere on the level of our own?
“You call me reckless but I get the lizards to make mistakes,” Helga continued. “I mastered the Classic through hours of simulation, and no matter the situation, I get them every time. You are an ace, and I look up to you more than you would ever know, but if I take your advice I would be ineffective, and it is why I stayed a Nighthawk.”
“Ouch,” said Joy under her breath, wincing as if she’d been struck. She sat up straight while staring forward at some arguing spacers, then crumbled up the pastry’s wrapper before pushing it down inside her empty mug. “How old are you Helga? Eighteen, nineteen?”
“I’m eighteen.”
“Exactly,” she said, turning on her now. “Barely out of the academy, and you have this whole conflict figured out?”
“No, but I do know about piloting, which is what we’re talking about. I don’t want this to be a constant thing between us, so in emergencies, I will stay away from your squadron.”
“Planets, you’re such a child,” Joy said, and mushed Helga’s hair playfully before standing up. “I do love you, though, and in time you will see reason. I just hope it doesn’t come at the cost of one of our lives. Helga, the pattern is predictable, yes, but we know it is, and that’s the point. We stay disciplined, and when the lizards bite, we break that pattern and we kill them.
“What in the worlds do you think we did before you came out of the cadets? Sat on our hands and let the lizards get the upper hand? No, we were doing the same thing we’re doing now. Baiting and trapping them, then celebrating after.”
Helga saw that she had a point but was loath to admit that it was her arrogance that made her fly the way she did. Joy was the only person who criticized her, and now was making an argument that forced her to second-guess herself. “You’re the lieutenant,” she said, finally. “Shall we make our way to see ‘grumpy’ like you said?”
“Please, let’s,” said the older woman, smiling confidently as she stood up. “How does it feel not knowing as much as you would like to think you know?” she said, twisting the knife.
“Thype you,” Helga muttered.
“There’s my Helga,” the lieutenant said.
7
The starship Rendron was but one of several warships that was perpetually at war with the Geralos. She was one of the sleeker Alliance battleships, her design a throwback to the flying fortresses that once littered the skies of Vestalia.
With four levels of decks, each serving a specific purpose, the Rendron housed over 3,200 spacers and 1,521 civilian citizens. Most of these civilians were retired Navy personnel, or refugees from former conflicts whose children became cadets. As an Alliance warship, Rendron had seen countless battles, most of them ambushes in which she had been victorious.
With the introduction of the infiltrator program, Rendron was able to take the offensive on the war with the Geralos. The two ships, Inginus and SoulSpur, which at the time was being captained by Jit Nam, acted as scouts and attack dogs, allowing Rendron to stay out of any direct conflict.
This wasn’t to say that the starship couldn’t hold her own, with 300 cannons wrapped around her hull and energy torpedoes that were always primed. Wedged below her bow was a laser cannon, which fired a concentrated tracer meant to split a ship in half.
Consequently, this was where she would be the most vulnerable, so the compartments in that area were used for storing excess cargo. Armor, what little it had, was dedicated to this area as well, though the captain relied on the shield generator that was considered top of the line.
The name Rendron was short for Rendrona, as in, Queen Rendrona Nyx. She was a famous Genesian leader who convinced her planet to aid the Vestalians. With her help and ingenuity, a new starship was built, and in honor of her efforts it was christened Rendron.
Helga Ate didn’t know this history, though she was a beneficiary of its legacy. She had been raised and taught to fly in the same hangar that she now observed from a hidden ledge high above the fighters. It was an old hiding place from her childhood where she used to go to avoid her duties.
To gain the ledge took some guts and knowing the layout of the stacks. Usually Helga would find a cruiser, scramble up onto its wing, and then jump and grab on to a section of the bulkhead. If she were able to maintain her grip, she would shimmy her way up to the topmost overhang where they stored the fuel reserves.
It was here
that she would camp out and do whatever she pleased, and though it was lonely, it was her own little space on a ship where everything was shared. Private berthing like the one she had now took becoming an officer to earn. The seven years before that upgrade had her in the female wing of the tween deck. There the racks were no better than the brig.
For years Helga held on to the bitterness from that time, particularly the bullying that came from her being the only half-Casanian. It wasn’t something that you forgot, or grew out of with time, and no matter how nice the bullies became in their adulthood, she was still that little girl inside.
Despite all of this, Helga remained proud of her human heritage. It was her father’s heritage afterall, and she remembered him well as a man of great honor in duty and service. He gave his life for the Alliance, and fulfilled his legacy as another Ate that served. She remembered him in his uniform, chin raised in defiance at anything that dared to come.
He was her idea of humans, indomitable, even when their planet was gone. The cadet academy destroyed this image of humanity to a young Helga, and what replaced her father’s image was the reality of a ship, crowded with desperate and ruthless people.
Every other planet not named Geral had devoted resources to helping the Vestalians, but to walk amongst them, you would think it was all for a favor owed. Vestalian humans, now a minority in the galaxy, were xenophobic beyond understanding. Admittedly, the adults were better at hiding their distrust of aliens, but she had grown up with their children, who routinely bullied her for having Casanian spots.
Now as she sat staring down at the dockworkers going about their duties, Helga had to wonder why she was so committed to serving the Alliance. It was a complicated situation, and one that tortured her more than anything else. They were her people—she was half-human, after all—but her childhood made this difficult, even after the psych removed the pain.
She hated thinking about how alien she felt on her own mothership, but her mind stayed busy and her memory was superb, so everything from her past was lucid.
She watched a green-haired Meluvian escort a Cel-toc to a stack of reinforced fuel canisters. He nodded to a human man who was rushing over to one of the ships, and the man met him jovially as if they were old friends. They embraced and it became apparent that there was more to their relationship.
Intrigued, she shifted her position to peer over the edge, but then there was a loud noise, which almost sent her plummeting to the deck. It sounded like an explosion, and sirens started blaring everywhere. Grabbing her gear, Helga got to her feet and scrambled nimbly across a beam, then swung down to the cruiser and slid off its wing.
She sprinted past several stunned spacers, even pushing her way through a group of Marines. There was no time for niceties, not with that particular alarm blaring the way it was. It indicated an attack, and she needed to know from where, not to mention she needed to be in place in case the Nighthawks were summoned.
As expected, her wrist comms started vibrating, but it wasn’t Quentin or Raileo. It was Cyulan Ore, an old friend from the cadet academy. Cyulan was with the communications crew and reported to Genevieve Aria. “Ensign Ate?” she said.
“This is Ate,” Helga replied. “What in the worlds was that noise? Are we under attack?”
“Officially … we aren’t sure just yet, but it looks like it occurred on Aurora C, engineering deck. Commander Nam asked me to make the call. You’re wanted in CIC.”
“I am on my way,” Helga said, remembering how close she and Cyulan had been as girls. They even shared the same rank, but Cyulan didn’t have the stomach to do the things she did. “We should catch up,” she said quickly. “I miss our chats from back in basics.”
“I do too,” the young woman said. “Hopefully this isn’t much of anything, just bored thypes having some fun. Talk to you later?”
“Of course, and please let the commander know I’m on my way.”
Helga sprinted to the CIC and paused at the door, straightening her clothes as best she could and wiping the sweat from her brow. After grooming herself, she took a deep breath and stepped inside. The place was organized chaos, with officers running about as if the deck was on fire. They were leaning over comms, whispering orders to their teams, and shouting the reports back to one another.
In the center of this maelstrom was the stoic Jit Nam, standing at attention with his hands behind his back. Helga found his coldness frightening, though to his officers it was probably inspiring. She stepped forward and saluted, then waited for him to acknowledge her.
“Do you have anything to report, Ensign?” he said, though she could barely hear him over the shouting.
“There’s likely to be a rebel—”
He held out a hand to stop her, then brought the same hand up to his chin where he stroked his beard ever so lightly. “How are the other Nighthawks? Rested and ready, I hope.”
She wondered why he’d stopped her. Didn’t he just ask her for a report? “We’re good, Commander, these slow cycles have allowed us to work in some key executions. The next time you need us we’ll be ready to act, and once the lieutenant is back we’re looking to possibly recruit another member or two. Sir, can I ask what is happening to cause all of this?”
“Cycles.” He repeated the word as if it was disgusting on his tongue. “It’s such an odd term, don’t you agree? Why don’t we just stick with ‘days’? We go out of our way to have our systems emulate the Vestalian calendar. Bright lights during the first and second shifts, dim ones during the third. Cycle, cycle, cycle, those are our days now as spacers. We should be intentional with our words. So you’re thinking about rebuilding?”
Jit Nam was more arrogant than she could ever imagine. For him to infer that they were all Vestalians was ignorant at best and she couldn’t let him get away with it. “Commander, we use ‘cycles’ because we’re an Alliance ship with crew members that represent all the allied planets. While cycles are based on our Vestalian days, the term was created because we are one Navy.”
Jit Nam turned, revealing the hint of a smile, and Helga felt ridiculous for telling him something he already knew. The commander pointed to a monitor where a diagram of the Rendron was displayed. It was outlined in white grid lines, but for a portion near the stern, which was a solid red splotch.
“A large-scale explosion occurred on the upper deck of the engine room,” he said.
“Explosion? Wait, has there been some sort of accident, Commander?”
“Of course, Ensign Ate. What else could it possibly be?”
Helga took his words as sarcasm since he had told her that there was unrest on the ship. First the fights and the xenophobia, then this explosion, timed for when the engineers were at chow. For it to be near engineering made it hardly a coincidence. If you wanted to cripple a starship, you start with the brain, which was what engineering was. It was the best place for sabotage, and while he never said it, Helga could feel it all the way to her toes.
“Do you need the Nighthawks, Commander Nam?” she said, wanting him to get to the point.
“No, I just wanted an update on your status. Mandatory downtime were the words used by our captain, but I need you to stay on comms, just in case we need help.”
He turned to stare at the monitor, but she thought she saw him give her a subtle nod before doing so. It was his way of telling her that she was dismissed, but there was something about it that made her think this had been a test. She wondered why he would summon her here when he intended for her to do nothing. This was Commander Jit Nam, XO of the Rendron, and she had been personally summoned.
He did this on purpose, she thought. There must have been someone there, who he suspects is involved. “Mandatory downtime,” were the words he said came from the captain, but it was the commander who asked her here, not Retzo Sho. Did this mean that he was going against his captain’s commands, or did he really mean for her to do nothing?
Helga became frustrated; she wasn’t used to this double-speak and multi
-layered plotting of the Alliance command. It was its own form of language, granting and removing permissions with a string of unrelated words. Cilas hadn’t given her the memo, so now she felt lost and worried that she had finally reached her depth.
She saluted the commander and left CIC, sprinting to reach the ladderwell as the alarms continued to blare. The ship was in a frenzy, with Marines gearing up and spacers at their stations. Explosions were taken seriously; they were rare and could take many lives. They should never occur, so everyone was worried that it was the Geralos. The commander would not say it, but she had read the call for combat in his eyes.
Helga pulled up short. I’m just scrambling like the rest of them, she thought. I should be composed and strategic, like the position warrants me to be. Those had been Cilas’s instructions in one of their many talks about leadership, but Jit Nam was a mystery she still couldn’t unravel. On a whim, she touched the clip on her ear, activated her wrist-comms and called up Cilas Mec. He still was in medbay, but she hoped he would be able to talk.
“Ate, hey,” he said, slurring his words.
“Cilas, sorry to bother you, but I am struggling. The commander says one thing when he wants to convey something else. Hold, that didn’t come out right, but you know what I mean. Don’t you?”
Cilas laughed. “Commander Nam? The captain is really having you report to him? What did he say? Maybe I can help.”
“That there’s been an explosion on Aurora deck, but he called me to CIC to brief him on the state of the crew.”
“The crew? Not the explosion?”
“Yes, he wanted to know what I’ve learned, but then followed it up by telling me to relax and stay on my comms. So confusing, this man. He asks me to report but as soon as I start talking, he goes off on this tangent about days versus cycles. Like, who cares? We all get the meaning, use whichever makes sense to you, man. I’m standing before him thinking, why is the commander rambling? Never seen him like that before; he may not be getting any sleep.”
