Half-Alien Warfighter (Lady Hellgate Book 3)

by Greg Dragon

  She was still not used to seeing this much space for one individual on a ship, but it was the captain, and his cabin was both a meeting room and a place to sleep. Even on a planet, this compartment would have been considered luxurious, and seeing the captain seated on that plush leather couch, brought about the feeling of royalty.

  When the door shut behind her, Retzo Sho gave her a smile. There was nothing behind it; smiling was just the captain’s way. He stood up, and the other two followed his lead, then he beckoned the Nighthawk over. Helga descended the two steps to the sunken, carpeted cabin, and saluted her three commanding officers, holding her fist to her chest.

  “Welcome,” Retzo said, and pointed to a vacant seat, which Helga hadn’t seen when she came in. The three sections of the couch formed a U-shape against the bulkhead, but this fourth section, which she took, could slide into the gap to form a secondary bed. Unlike the other three pieces, it had no back but felt like heaven when she sank into it.

  I could get used to this, she thought, looking around to take it all in. Never before had she thought about captaincy, but seeing the amenities made her open her mind to the potential. The idea of running a starship the size of the Rendron had always seemed daunting and overwhelming. She had seen enough of the captain’s activities to know that he never slept, and while his bed was the size of an officer’s compartment, he was never allowed to enjoy it.

  It was the trade-off for the position. You were treated like a monarch, but your life belonged to the Alliance council. A starship’s captain routinely walked the ship from bow to stern, overseeing operations and answering endless questions. During times of war, thousands of lives depended on his leadership, and from what she heard, it was impossible for him to have any kind of relationship.

  Helga decided that she would be satisfied capping her career as the captain of an infiltrator like the SoulSpur. Leading a squadron would be nice, though that was low compared to helming a ship. Worst case scenario, the Nighthawks could be hers, once Cilas was promoted or made to retire for one reason or another.

  “Good. We are all here,” Retzo said, as he stood in the center of their seating arrangement. “When you returned from Meluvia, Ensign Ate, you were made to stand in for Lieutenant Mec. We gave you a charge, and you delivered exceptionally, not only coordinating efforts to stop a Geralos invader but finding its ship that our computers somehow missed. Your selfless actions and leadership during this crisis saved numerous lives, and I want to personally thank you for your service.”

  Helga was taken aback. She had expected a scolding for the spacewalk, which was viewed as both selfish and reckless for her to take on by herself. At the time she had relied on instinct; she saw the location of the airlock and instantly knew how to reach it. This was the advantage of growing up on the Rendron; she knew those secrets that only a mischievous cadet could know.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said quietly before turning to look at Cilas. “And thank you for believing in me, Lieutenant.” It was quite an honor, but had he really called her in here just to thank her for her service? Deep down, she believed that this was merely an icebreaker, before the real reason for her summons.

  “Ensign Ate,” he continued. “It’s been 472 cycles since you left the cadet academy to become an officer in our Navy.”

  Here we go, I’m about to be grounded, she thought. I saved lives, but I violated protocol, and if I’m lucky they’ll let me stay on with the team.

  “290 cycles since you joined our Nighthawks, Special Forces, and in that time you’ve been on two major missions where you displayed grit and fortitude beyond your young years,” Retzo Sho said. “Lieutenant Mec has shared all the details of your actions in the field, and with this new event and your display of leadership, we think it prudent to promote you instantly to the rank of Lieutenant, Junior Grade.”

  He paused for effect, and Helga’s mouth literally fell open. Blood rushed into her head, and her eyes widened in disbelief. Had it really been that long? Four hundred seventy-two cycles were nearly a Vestalian year and a half, yet she still felt like a cadet amongst these men with all their experience. Despite all that she’d been through and done with Cilas Mec, there was a pang of impostor syndrome. Wasn’t it a bit early for her to be a lieutenant?

  It felt as if her graduation had only been a few cycles back, but when she allowed herself to remember all that they had been through, it felt as if an entire lifetime had passed. Her vision blurred, and she teetered on the brink of consciousness. It felt as if she was in freefall, on a planet whose gravity was pulling her to her death.

  She gripped the leather seat and bit down on her tongue, the same way she’d keep her head when regaining control of her Classic. That did the trick as the pain brought tears to her eyes, and she stood up quickly to thank Retzo Sho, her voice barely a whisper, as she saluted, holding her fist to her chest.

  Retzo Sho stepped forward and removed her ensign’s pin, then turned to his XO who handed him a small box. Smiling that handsome smile of his, he opened it and brought out a brand new pin. He placed it where the old one used to be, and stepped back between his two officers, the three of them saluting her in unison.

  “This was a long time coming, but it’s been a rather hot series of events,” Jit Nam said casually. Helga looked on despite her numbness, and this was when she noticed that Cilas was wearing the pin of a lieutenant commander. Her eyes widened when she saw it, and he winked. They retook their seats, and the captain seemed to exhale.

  We’ve earned this, Helga told herself, trying to suffocate her doubts. She was worried that if she let them fester, it would undo her visit to the psych.

  With this new rank, she wanted to be more like Cilas, accepting all the good things that came with the bad. She inhaled the sweet scent of the compartment and accepted that she was where she belonged. Now she wanted more than anything to jump and scream at the top of her lungs, but for now, she sat listening, wondering at what was to come.

  “Now, a bit of dark business,” Retzo Sho said. “We’re putting together a team of Marines to board and clear that dreadnought. There is a chance, however, that there is a puppet master stationed onboard, and one of our number has become … compromised.”

  He looked at Jit Nam, and the normally aloof commander suddenly looked pained as he placed his large hands on his knees. “Both of you have had experience with corruption,” he said, “so we’ll need you to work with the master-at-arms. Tell them what to look for as signs, and offer guidance whenever you can. None of us have direct experience with them, but the two of you have on one of your missions. Do they look different, or is it impossible to tell? From what I hear, they co-opt your thoughts, becoming you in every way.”

  There it is, Helga thought, the real reason behind this meeting. It felt like a punch to her gut, removing all the happiness from being promoted. She remembered Lamia Brafa, whose mind was taken by a Geralos, allowing him to massacre their entire team. Lamia was a Jumper, trained in espionage and the killing arts. He was an asset to the Nighthawks — the sort of weapon that could singlehandedly take on a score of men.

  “Lamia Brafa was a friend, and our best Nighthawk, even now,” Cilas said. “They took him when we were camping, so none of us saw it coming before he powered on his las-sword. The corruption, it’s much more than being a Geralos puppet. They consume your entire being, adopting your mannerisms, language, and skills. It will be near impossible to know who in our crew the culprit is. Not unless we find this puppet master and kill it.”

  “I dislike the idea of sending you out there after the near-disaster you had coming back from the former dreadnought,” Retzo said. “May I remind you, Cilas, that this is why I pressure you to grow your team. We will always need your level of skill, but you cannot have the same four ESOs doing it. I want twenty-four Nighthawks when it’s all said and done so that you can answer these calls without spreading your people thin. Am I clear?”

  “Crystal, Captain. It will be my first priority w
hen we return to Alliance space.”

  “How did he look?” Jit Nam cut in, staring at Helga with his hawk-like eyes. “The corrupted on your team, how did he look? Did anything change with his appearance when they took him?”

  Helga closed her eyes against her rage. Cilas had said Lamia’s name, yet this man referred to him as, “the corrupted.” She didn’t get Jit Nam; his entire being felt off in the most peculiar way. He was unlikeable, but it seemed almost contrived, as if he wanted to alienate everyone except for his captain.

  When Lamia was turned, she was seated next to him, and he chose to spare her before running off to butcher the rest of the team. It was a situation that had haunted her for countless days after the event. Survival’s guilt was the tip of the iceberg, and it made her think that he saw something inside her that the Geralos wanted.

  “His eyes,” she said mechanically. “They were like yours, blue, but they changed right before he went after the master chief. They turned green, but like no other green I’ve seen in eyes before. They were like crystals, fractured, with a deep emerald color. I saw them change when he was talking to me, and then he got up and walked over to where Cage was sitting.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Jit Nam said quickly, his face softening to reveal his compassion. “Captain, this is a tremendous clue for finding the traitor within our midst. We have records and holos of every crew member, and we can isolate the ones that have emerald eyes.”

  “That won’t work,” Retzo Sho said. “This is too delicate for us to get wrong. Right now from what I see, Helga is the only one who knows what to look for. She describes them as looking like crystal, but think about how easily we could get that wrong. There are certain species on this ship whose eyes could match that very description. Before I go accusing an innocent spacer, I want to be absolutely sure they are the one. They will need to be detained and undergo a proper trial. Do you understand me? We cannot afford to thype this up.”

  “Killing the puppet master won’t stop it either,” Helga said. “When they take over a body, they fully transfer into that form. Their old body becomes comatose and dies an empty vessel. Even if our Marines find it, they won’t know that it is a puppet master. We have to find the indoctrinated; there is no alternative. I’m sorry, Captain.”

  Jit Nam adjusted in his seat, followed by Cilas, who seemed to be still recovering from his treatment. Retzo Sho scanned their faces, then stopped on Helga’s before he spoke. “What do you suggest we do to find them, Lieutenant Ate? You have the most experience. What do you think we can do to find out who this is?”

  “Captain, you tasked me to look into the fights that have been breaking out amongst our rates. I found that many of them have been petty squabbles, started by agitators within the crew. Some are xenophobic, which suggests The Collective and their rhetoric. I would have communications put out a PSA expressing your disappointment, and ask everyone to report instigators, especially those who started once we made the jump to deep space.”

  “That’s not a terrible idea,” Jit Nam said. “Let our crewmen do the heavy lifting on finding the troublemakers within the crew. We can nab those who support The Collective, and if there’s really a Geralos, it too will be brought before us for judgment.”

  “What’s to prevent The Collective from using this to their advantage?” Cilas said. “If I hated the Alliance and what we stand for, I would use that announcement to stir up a frenzy. Unpopular officers would be in my cross-hairs, and I could invent an accusation to bring others into the fold.”

  “That can happen,” Jit Nam said. “But timing is critical, and we don’t have the resources to bring everyone in for a formal interview. If we’re throwing out suppositions, there’s also the chance that the Geralos will go into hiding once the announcement is made.”

  “Where on Rendron is it possible to hide?” Helga said. “Where could a stranger go to avoid eyeballs from spacers born and raised on this ship? If he chooses to do something desperate, then we’ll surely have him, unless he manages to sabotage—”

  “Nothing. Aurora deck will not be happening again,” Jit Nam said, defiantly. “All key areas of the ship are under constant watch while that thing is at large. If anyone so much as hints that they don’t belong, they will be in the brig awaiting immediate questioning.”

  “Sure, Commander, I understand that we have taken precautions, and wasn’t suggesting that you haven’t thought through these plans,” Helga said. “This isn’t some random soldier we’re discussing, however; this is a trained spy, who is committed. I want to remind everyone that Lamia was a loyal Nighthawk before he changed, yet he spared me to go directly at Cilas, our lieutenant at the time. He knew who our leader was.

  “This tells me that he was inside Lamia’s head, not just taking it over but melding with it somehow. They would do this to allow themselves to blend perfectly in when they indoctrinate. Though…” She stopped and gave her words some thought. “Though, for those few seconds in which he said those final words to me, it was quite obvious that he had changed.”

  “What did he say to you?” Retzo said, and Helga looked up at him, then at Cilas, who seemed to be struggling with the memory, the same way that she was.

  “He asked me to excuse him, as if he was going to use the head. It was an interruption to what we were discussing at the time. Lamia was there one second, and in the next, he asked me to excuse him before rushing off to do murder.”

  “That’ll do, Ate,” Cilas said, his eyes apologizing for her having to relive that nightmare. “I knew him for years, and miss him. I think about him every time I put on this uniform. Commander, we’re at your disposal. We will help the master-at-arms with the effort of locating and identifying the Geralos. Of course, my hope is that we’re mistaken, and after our Marines storm that dreadnought we can go back to formal Alliance duties.”

  “As is mine,” Jit Nam said, giving Helga Ate a rare, yet handsome smile. “Keep us up to speed on what you find.”

  11

  Lieutenant Helga Ate was a ball of emotions as she stopped to watch the dreadnought on a holographic display. On the one hand, she wanted to jump up, click her heels, and scream until she got lightheaded, but on the other, she wanted to cry for the state of affairs on the ship. How had the Rendron, this indomitable refuge that she had always known, devolve into an atmosphere of mistrust, and now a Geralos invasion?

  An hour after their meeting in the captain’s cabin, Retzo Sho got on the ship-wide intercom to express his disappointment in the crew. He urged those who “valued their position” to expose the rabble-rousers causing disruption. Any spacer found guilty of disrupting the peace would be arrested and tried for possible discharge. Those with ties to The Collective would be summarily shot, along with the spacers that enabled them.

  It was the harshest speech Helga had heard her leader make, but this was the Alliance Navy, and the time for ambiguity had passed. She descended the ladderwell to the central passageway that ran the length of the Rendron like a spine. She felt the silence around her once the captain had finished speaking. There were stunned faces; a few seemed to be in shock, and hushed conversations all about.

  The most jarring change, however, was the way they behaved. They all seemed frightened when they saw her and recognized her rank. You could cut the tension with a las-sword, and that was saying a lot, as random spacers came up to her saluting and well-wishing to show their commitment to the Alliance.

  This was not what I meant to happen, Helga thought as she quickened her pace to avoid them. She checked the time on her wrist comms and saw that it was almost third shift, but she no longer felt like visiting the range or being around anyone who could see her new rank. Before anything else, she wanted to update the other Nighthawks, but the only way to do that was to go to CIC, where they had been ordered to be.

  Slowing her pace to a leisurely walk, she considered going, but it would mean more unwanted attention. Maybe I should go apply some soap to the exterior of my Classic, s
he thought. It was an arduous task, best left to the Cel-tocs, but like most pilots who were addicted to space, she found it therapeutic to care for it herself. She and several other aces would spend hours on their off-cycles buffing out scratches as if their fighters were precious gems.

  Even thinking about it now made her want to escape, and before she knew it, she was moving with purpose, heading towards the hangar. She would wait till the late hours to update the two Nighthawks, when it was drinking, stories, and good times to be—no, she thought, remembering where she was. There would be no good times coming this cycle, not when that dreadnought lay crippled off their port.

  A set of uneven footsteps snapped her out of her march, and she turned to see Cilas Mec moving to catch her as fast as he could. The new commander had a noticeable limp, and she wanted to scold him for leaving medbay prematurely.

  “I can see the words forming on your lips, so I’m going to tell you to stow it,” he said when he fell in next to her.

  “Where are you off to, Commander?” she said, loving the way it sounded. “Commander Cilas Mec. Thype if that doesn’t sound perfect. Congratulations, Nighthawk. Right now, you’re my favorite commander on the ship.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said with a wink.

  “Don’t you think that you should return to medbay? No point in having all of that work done if you’re just gonna unravel it by tearing open your wounds.”

  “I will when the lizards are dealt with,” he said matter-of-factly, “but right now, we need a meeting. Just us Nighthawks, in private. The Marines are ready to board that dreadnought, but the XO wants one of us to ride along with them. Something about our expertise with the lizards preventing deaths. Figured we’d have us a vote since he won’t let us take the whole team.”