by Greg Dragon
“Bad day for the fool who does that,” he said. “But I get the morale thing; we’re about due for a win. Before Meluvia, we lost the Inginus, and a lot of its crew had family members stationed here on the Rendron. This is the painful healing period after so many lives were lost. Our people are still hurting, and it can manifest itself as aggression.”
“Ray, I know that it can come off as if I think all Vestalians are blunt objects, but—” Raileo Lei grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the way as several masters-at-arms sprinted past them and up the ladderwell. “Sheesh, is it so bad that you need to run me over?” she screamed at them, and the woman near the end rushed back to where they stood.
“Sorry, Lieutenant, but a fight just broke out on Cyrus,” she said, touching Helga’s shoulder in a gesture of friendship.
“Anything we can do?” Helga said, but the woman was already gone, running to catch up with the rest of her team. The two Nighthawks exchanged glances, and then Helga spoke under her breath. “Ray, what if that shove was unprovoked? You saw it, didn’t you? The surprise in her eyes. It could have been a staged distraction by The Collective to lead the MAs away from something happening on that deck.”
“Cyrus connects to the bridge deck, so that’s concerning, but it’s the most secure and defended deck on the entire ship,” Raileo said. “Plus, I doubt it’s that; the Marine doing the shoving was Vestalian. Why would an anti-Vestalian terrorist group have the very species they hate inside their ranks?”
“Because it has always happened. Didn’t you pay attention during your history classes? Hate groups assimilate members who hate themselves, or hate the group they belong to enough to speed along a movement to humble them. A Vestalian with The Collective probably agrees that this is an impossible war, and that instead of having allies to help, we should be back on the planet taking a stand. It’s illogical, but so is hate, and that is what we’re dealing with: pure, unmitigated hate.”
“Should we go up to see if anything else is happening?” he said.
“No, looks like they have enough MAs on the job,” Helga said. “Not to mention there’s surveillance up there. If this was an attempt at sabotage, everyone involved just signed their own death certificate.”
Raileo followed her away from the excitement, forgetting about the tiny girl who had taken the elevator up to Cyrus deck.
It was abnormal for a cadet to be anywhere outside of the academy, but children were prone to mischief so she didn’t raise many alarms. There were some that called to her, asking her to state her business, but she was small enough to escape their clutches as she continued her journey to the bridge.
When she had stepped off the elevator a Marine was waiting, and he had questioned her intentions, forcing her to concoct a story. She had shown him her burns, then pointed to a woman, saying that she had come to take revenge. The Marine, angered by her tale, had moved to confront the abuser, and while this happened, she slipped into the passageway, past the scary man who had recognized her from before.
She followed the signs to the bridge, which was the final destination on her trip, and entered an adjacent compartment where they kept spare uniforms and equipment. For several hours she worked on a vent, prying off its grill to expose the tight crawlspace. She pulled herself inside—a considerable effort—then inverted her body to flip around and reached out for the grill to pull it back into place. Now it would be a waiting game, but there was only one more step in her journey. Tired from the running and the tremendous stress of discovery, Bira Sun, the once-cadet, shut her emerald eyes and slept.
15
As a cadet, Helga’s personal time had been so limited that exploring the entirety of the 527m starship was impossible. In fact, the last Vestalian week had her visiting decks that she had never known, and it became evident how little she knew of her starship home, despite having lived there the majority of her life.
On Nero deck there was berthing for technicians whose jobs were unique to the Rendron, and there was limited interaction between them and the rates. Here she saw a variety of aliens: Meluvians, Traxians and even Louines, all working together to keep the ship in tiptop shape.
Visiting them had been the highlight of the investigation, since she wasn’t used to seeing so many non-humans occupying the same space. For Helga, it was refreshing but disappointing as well. When she was bullied within the academy for having an alien parent, why hadn’t they bothered to show her Nero deck? Here, within reach, was a cultural mélange that would have done wonders to her confidence.
Isis deck was another wonder, built for retired spacers and their families. It was a large open space—similar to a hub—stacked with portable assembly homes. There she saw more diversity, and not just species but age as well. The culture here was completely civilian, with technology leveraged to make it a world within itself.
When Helga first stepped off the elevator it reminded her of a simulation. The bulkhead and overhead threw out a number of holo-effects, making it appear that she was in a fenced-in community on a planet or moon. It was only when she tried to walk past the perimeter that the illusion was broken by the enclosing bulkhead.
These two hidden gems tucked away from the general Navy renewed Helga’s faith in both the Alliance and her captain. She hadn’t known the lengths he’d gone to do right by those who had served the Alliance, not to mention the way they spoke about him, how he would visit, and take time to acknowledge them.
One man, who referred to himself as “the mayor,” would not let her leave until he had given her some food, telling her that she would need to eat more if she expected to survive against the Geralos. Helga didn’t have the heart to tell him that she had killed her fair share, but she stayed for a meal and didn’t regret it.
Here there was family, an idea that always seemed impossible on an active warship. Some made it work, of course, but their child would belong to the Alliance. Family meant more to Helga, and she imagined that if given the chance, she would want her child to have a choice.
This old man and his friends were family. They had served, survived, and would live out their last years together. There was something beautiful about it, though strangely sad in its own way. With these thoughts in mind, she decided that she would stop with the doubts. These generous families deserved their peace, but there was a Geralos on the ship.
She remembered how it felt to live in fear of being a victim, and now every spacer was experiencing this. There was the general unrest, but there were also attacks on aliens, and the retirees informed her that it was a group of Marines influenced by The Collective. As if the Geralos weren’t enough, now there were xenophobes targeting aliens, and this part really lit a fire within Helga.
After Meluvia, she had expected to come “home” to sleep, relaxation, and her ESO routine, but The Collective and their treachery had somehow made it onto the ship. The Rendron should have felt like the safest place in the universe, yet here she was being warned about cowards ambushing innocents.
She left Isis deck determined that she would find the Geralos and the thugs in Alliance uniforms. This way things could go back to the way they were, and she would no longer have to stay half-cocked, ready for anything at any moment. There was a general caution that warrior professionals had and, like all ESOs, it was coded into her DNA. What she felt, however, was several levels beyond that caution; it was an all-encompassing rage welling up inside her chest.
Helga had started to have nightmares again, of another explosion killing hundreds of spacers. This seemed to be the stress from the Rendron manifesting itself in her dreams, but the clarity of these last few made her think that they were more. She didn’t see them as visions, but sight unique to her as a Seeker, and the implications frightened her if they didn’t stop it, fast.
That night she dreamed of being back in the galley with the Geralos saboteur, but this time her shots went wild and she panicked. He had spun on her then, shooting with deadly accuracy at her weapon, forcing her to drop it thro
ugh stunned, mangled fingers. She had expected him to shoot her, but what he did instead was open up his repulsive mouth, then shove his hand inside it.
Helga, seeing the opening, scrambled from the hatch to dash towards him, rockets coming alive on her PAS, speeding her advance. When she was about to swing her fist, she felt a burning inside her head. It was painful but she couldn’t scream as the alien entity invaded her brain. Frozen and frightened, she reached up to her helmet, trying in vain to pull it off in a desperate attempt to retain control.
Her reality faded along with her sight, and she knew then that the indoctrination had begun. This would be her end, Lieutenant Helga Ate, corrupted by the Geralos, who would now have a position within the Nighthawks, with access to Alliance secrets and control over part of the crew. The most frustrating part of this was that she would be viewed as a traitor. Her legacy would become that of destroying the Rendron, and accelerating the human genocide.
Helga woke up grasping at her chest, relieved that it was only a nightmare. As she made to get up, she heard a buzzing sound that caused her to automatically look down at her wrist. “Not here. I took it off,” she grumbled groggily, patting the sheets to see if it was there. The buzzing seemed to intensify, and she found it near the foot of the bed, buried inside her discarded clothes.
She sat up quickly and sifted through them until her fingers closed around the wristband. When she held it up to see what it was, there was a hologram of Joy’s face hovering above the screen. “Answer your door, cruta, I’m growing mold out here,” she said, and before Helga could respond she was startled by Joy pounding on her door.
Hopping up quickly to let her in, Helga worried that her friend was in some sort of trouble. The dark woman strode in as if she owned the place, then stopped by the table and took a seat. She looked different somehow and it wasn’t just her demeanor. Her hair was out, wild and free, loose curls bouncing with every step. “When’s the last time you’ve been out there?” she said.
“By out there, do you mean space?” Helga said.
Joy Valance nodded then looked about the compartment. Helga observed that the lieutenant was in her Revenant flight suit. Was all of this commotion just to invite her on a trip? “I was out there not too long ago, when we rescued those engineers from Aurora deck. Granted, I was in a PAS with magnetic boots. I haven’t been in my Classic since the last time we made our rounds.”
“Then get dressed. We’re running patrols. I already checked with your team lead, and he says that you’re free, officially, until we return to Alliance space. They’re salvaging that junker but it doesn’t mean we’re in the clear, so me, you, and Milli should go take a look around. Just thirty minutes of thrust, no supercruise adventures. It will recharge your batteries, Nighthawk, unless you want to sit around here playing at master-at-arms.”
“So, you know that I’ve been looking into things,” Helga said, embarrassed that Joy was aware of her obsession. She wondered who had spoken about it and how many others knew. Outside of rank, she wasn’t trained or qualified to be doing a formal investigation, but she had wanted to find the Geralos so badly that she had chosen to act on her own. “Does Cilas know what I’ve been doing, Joy?”
“He’s the one who told me, so, yeah.”
“And let me guess, he told you to come take me out, since I am obviously losing my schtill?”
“Yes, and no. He was concerned, but I know what cures you, so I’m here. Look, don’t be upset with him. He’s only looking out for his pilot, and we’re sisters, built the same. We don’t do well when we have downtime, do we?”
Helga smiled at her calling her sister. Joy was her best friend, and they were similar in many ways. She sat across from her at the table, not bothering to pretend there was any urgency to her request. “You’re right about me being restless, but there’s something else,” she said.
“Is it Cilas?” Joy interrupted. “He’s available for loan, if you promise to send him back home afterwards. I know you have some experience, and I suspect that there’s magic in that chiern of yours. But you are my girl, and if it will make you happy, I will allow it just this once.”
Helga studied her face intently, knowing she was joking, but almost hopeful that she wasn’t. She wanted Cilas but fought against it, and perhaps a tryst would satisfy her urges. This was pure fantasy, Joy’s offering, and the thought that once would cure whatever this was she felt for him. She looked away quickly, worried that the older woman could read her thoughts.
“Terrible joke, and he’s my CO, plus what if he decides that he wants to stay? Am I still your sister then? You’re so full of schtill, you don’t know what I’m working with over here.”
“The places you go inside of that head of yours,” Joy said smiling, then stuck out her tongue before reaching for her hands. Palms on palms was an intimate gesture, but since Joy had called her sister, it was an invitation for her to share what was really bothering her. The hand-holding was a promise that whatever she told her would not leave the compartment, and if it was something offensive to Joy, she would vow to hold no grudge.
Helga completed the ritual by leaning forward so their foreheads touched.
“I like your new hairstyle. It brings out your eyes,” Helga said. “But don’t do that tongue thing. It makes you look like a Geralos.”
“Uh,” Joy remarked, shuddering to emphasize that the very thought gave her chills.
“Yes, uh. I should know; I’ve been up close with a couple of them.”
“That experience I do not envy. The closest I ever want those things is enough for my cannons to disable their ships. A lizard in my face… I can’t even imagine it. Everything you all are made to do sounds like pure lunacy to me. I’ve offered before, and it stays open: be a Revenant. You’re a bird like me, not a viper like Cilas and the rest of the boys.”
“I’ll agree that I’m a bird, but if they’re vipers, then so am I. Had I not taken BLAST and was just a pilot, doing drops and patrols, I would jump on your offer in a heartbeat. I want you to understand. I adore you, and Millicent, so the offer is tempting. Believe me, I would be happy flying wing with you, but I’ve seen and done things, Joy. Things I won’t talk about. Things that have changed me for the worst.
“Now, I’m no longer a bird; I am an ugly, spotted snake with wings. Don’t you see, Joy, I never had a chance to be a Revenant, even if I wanted to. The only reason I met you was because we were rescued by your infiltrator. Had I not become an ESO, I would be one of these spacers, trapped on the ship. I’m sure I would have become an ace, eventually, but how long would it have taken for them to give me a shot?
“Becoming a fighter for the Rendron is a privilege, and I wasn’t a popular cadet. You and I would never have met one another, and I would still be a sad, lonely reject. The Nighthawks changed my life, and though it was traumatic, I found you, Cilas, and myself. I now have a team that relies on me. How could I ever leave them?”
“After that speech, who would?” Joy said. “But you must understand how helpless I feel when the two of you are on a planet and not here. I pull my hair out when we receive no updates, and all I have to stop it is the drink. You keep selling yourself short when you would have been a brilliant ace. But I get it; you’ve tasted blood and decided you like it too much.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit dramatic, Joy? Do you really think I stay because I love being captured, shot at, or worse?”
“Deny it. I dare you.”
“So, what if you’re right? Does that make me broken, a lost cause for love? Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a Marine like my father. I had nothing else to hold on to but that memory of him and all of his shiny medals. As an orphan on the Rendron, I saw how differently the ESOs conducted themselves. They had class, unlike the aces and Marines, and were special in their own way. That became my focus. I loved ships but I wanted to be one of the elite. When I passed BLAST it felt as if I finally became myself, and this was what the universe meant for me to be.”
“Thype the universe, Helga. You would have excelled at anything you set your mind to. You’re badass, so you went for Special Forces, and now you are the talk of the same ship that gave you schtill. The invitation stays open: the Revenants will be here when you’re ready for a change of scenery. Cilas knows I won’t give up. There’d be no hard feelings if you chose us.”
Helga sighed. Joy was persistent, but they held hands so she knew that she was being sincere. She was brooding and she knew it, so she decided to change topics to something she wouldn’t normally share. “Joy,” she said, her voice struggling with the effort. “Does your brain hang on to the most awkward moments of your life, constantly torturing you whenever you sit still?”
“No, not really. I can’t say it does.”
“Mine does, and I hate it. I hold on to the times when I’ve inadvertently hurt friends and loved ones. I won’t even get into the missions and the things that live inside of my head.” She released Joy’s hands to touch thumbs to fingertips and then placed them against her temples for emphasis.
“That sounds like hell.”
“Well, I am Lady Hellgate!” Helga said sarcastically, and it was so loud a proclamation that the two of them started to laugh. Oh, how it felt good to laugh, to really laugh, when it came out so unexpectedly that it flooded your eyes with tears. Helga immediately forgot where she was going with the conversation, and it really didn’t matter, since it felt great.
“See, Helga?” Joy said. “This right here is life. Being with someone you share a love of flying with, and having a proper laugh. Can you feel it?”
“I can, and it feels good. Makes me wonder if this is how people will laugh once we win our planet back. I know it’s naive, and there’ll always be fighting, but I like to think that this is what we’ll give them. Laughter like ours, once we all can relax and not worry about the lizards biting into our heads. I can see it, the celebrations, once the last lizard warship gets traced into stardust. Our people will party like they’ve never partied before, and they will honor us, Joy, for giving our thyping lives to this war.”
