Half-Alien Warfighter (Lady Hellgate Book 3)

by Greg Dragon

  “I wonder who will get the honors,” Helga said, as she tried to picture the top officers on the ship. “Toro Hanes, you think, or maybe, Genevieve?”

  “Who knows, but if it were either of them, they would have been selected by now, don’t you think? I don’t want to speculate, but part of me thinks it will be an import from another ship, possibly Aqnaqak.”

  “Or from Sanctuary?” Raileo said. “Maybe we’ll learn that this really is a mission to collect our new commander from the station. I still don’t see why we can’t just park here, deploy builder-drones, and build our own Illnyx using the schematics from the infiltrators.”

  “Nonsense,” Helga said, grimacing. “Did you not hear Cilas? Without an FTL drive, there’s no point in building an infiltrator class ship. We don’t have that technology, Ray. It’s as mysterious as it comes, and our allies refuse to share it. We could build the shell, but we would still need the Genesians. Do you know how faster-than-light travel works? It isn’t the same as cruising; you don’t just accelerate and fly across reality.”

  “Well, I know that, come on,” Raileo said. “I’m no thrust head, but you were there with me seeing the Inginus repaired by our own engineers.”

  “I was, and typically we store a drive or two to rebuild, but as Cilas said, we’re a bit thin there, and none of us have the smarts to develop them. Understand? Our builder has a program for the creation of an infiltrator, but the core and internal parts are things we order in from Genese. See, it’s difficult to explain, but it involves manipulating reality through crystal technology. An FTL drive uses crystals to manipulate space, tearing holes in the fabric of the black, allowing us to jump from one place to the next. It acts like a funnel.”

  She illustrated this by making a cone shape with her hands. “Small upfront, large in the back, and us on the inside, none the wiser. Without this technology, a trip to Meluvia would take whole decades. There would be no visiting friends, or girlfriends stuck in villages. Unless you wish to meet your offspring.”

  “That is pretty disturbing on every level,” he said. “So we are fully dependent on the Genesians for FTL travel?”

  “The Genesians and the Geralos, to be exact, though no one knows who learned it first. Both species figured out how to jump across the galaxy, and when the Geralos invaded, it was the Genesians who bailed us out. Oh, I forgot the Louines in that list of FTL developers, but they won’t share their knowledge, so they don’t really count. From what I hear, they have an engine that can generate wormholes. They can reach anywhere at unreal speeds, but they don’t share, so thype them. Whatever.”

  “The more I hear about the Louines, the less I like them,” Quentin said, coming to life like a Cel-toc whose power had just come on. “With the technology and science they’ve mastered, they could change life as we all know it.”

  “I think that one day they will come around when we truly need their help,” Cilas said. “And then the Geralos will find themselves in trouble.”

  “Since we’re speculating,” Quentin said, “Commander Nam giving us a break leads me to think we’re going to be gone for some time. That was all him, and not from the captain, as you can see he wasn’t here. Speculating as we are—off the record—I think the commander is looking for our support. He’s got the second biggest chair on the ship, and his captain believes in the Nighthawks.”

  “By support him, are you saying he is looking to be captain?” Helga said.

  “No, but he has to politically stay on our good side because if anything were to happen, he’s got the seat. Commander Nam is a man of order, and if anything disrupts that, he finds a way to correct it. I was on SoulSpur for a time; that man runs a tight ship. So, having your ESOs’ trust and belief will help keep that order if ever he needs it.”

  “I agree,” said Raileo, “though he was legitimately excited for you, Commander.”

  Helga thought on Quentin’s words. Would Jit Nam care so much for Cilas that he would hold an impromptu meeting? No, he’s following orders, she decided, since nothing the captain did was unintentional.

  “Captain Sho is a genius,” she said, and the three men looked at her quizzically. “I’m just glad he’s on our side.”

  “Go and get that hand treated; we’ve held you up long enough,” Cilas said.

  “Yeah, what happened there, Ate?” Quentin said, and she remembered that he had treated her back when she was wounded on Meluvia.

  “I’m good, Quentin, really. It’s embarrassing, but anyway, I lost my temper and punched my Classic’s console. The console won that fight, by the way,” she said, and started laughing.

  “Well, that was a damn good punch. I’m happy to see that the right knuckles were bruised. Had you hit that deck with a badly formed fist, we would have to put you in a cast, and that’s no good.”

  “No good at all, I agree, but I’ll take my leave so you gents can get on. Chat each other up about boy things, or whatever you discuss when I’m not around. Rend, congratulations, and I will see you men tomorrow.”

  20

  “What a mess,” Helga whispered, as she splashed cold water on her face. She had been thinking about Bira, the cadet, and how they’d let her down.

  She plopped down at the table and felt beneath it for the bag that held a hidden flask. Without looking at it, she uncorked the top and put it to her lips. The sweet liquid tickled then burned, and she closed her eyes briefly as it made its way down. Then the top was back on, just as smoothly as she had removed it, and it was back below the table to await another sleepless night.

  It was a practiced movement, this dance with the flask, just in case she had to hide it in a hurry. It was a ridiculous paranoia, since her door was never open, and a master-at-arms would never storm into an ESO’s compartment.

  The contents of the flask was wine, smuggled from Meluvia, a rare vintage that was especially strong. Since the mission was for Aqnaqak, an untidy and undisciplined ship, she had taken advantage of the lapse in security and brought the wine onboard with her.

  One sip was all it took to feel the tingling in her extremities, and as her muscles relaxed she could no longer focus, much less obsess over anything. She slumped forward on her elbows, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. There was something about the Mohawk and the way she wore her uniform. It was neat, though her sleeves were rolled up to reveal the knife strapped to her bicep.

  “I have a look,” she said, drunkenly, then laughed at how ridiculous that was. “I look like an idiot,” she said, laughing even harder. Then her head found the table and she was out.

  Sleep came in, not bothering to knock, and sent her spiraling downward into the depths of a new nightmare. She was lying in a bed, naked, but it was too big to be her own, and when she reached down to feel the sheets, she was surprised by the quality of the fabric.

  This is odd, she thought, since she never slept in the nude. Did I blackout drinking? I can’t even remember last cycle. She patted the sheets, looking for something to trigger her short-term memory. Whose bed is this anyway? Where in the worlds am I?

  Helga’s eyes came up to a familiar space with a glass desk and steps leading up to a large black door. It was the captain’s cabin, and judging by her nakedness, the two of them had been up to something highly inappropriate.

  Scanning the compartment, she looked for Retzo Sho and found him standing in front of a window, naked as the day he was born. Seeing him like that, this man she practically deified, sent shockwaves down her legs to the tips of her toes. “Captain?” she said, hugging her knees as she watched him staring at nothing. His lips were moving, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  Helga climbed off the bed and crossed the crimson and gold carpet to stand next to the captain, who looked to be in a trance. She wondered how she had come here, and why she couldn’t remember anything. “Retzo?” she tried, and why shouldn’t she use his name? Would there really be a need for protocol now that she had slept with him?

  She slid u
p behind him to wrap her arms around his chest, but then she heard what he was saying and she stopped. Never before had she heard someone make the sounds he was making. It was a guttural sound, slushy and wet, like a piece of fruit thrown into a blender. It reminded her of when she was captured by the Geralos, and that was when she recognized the language.

  Her captain, the most beloved man on the Rendron, was speaking like a Geralos as he stood there in the starlight. She thought of her friends that had been killed or tortured, and how no one would believe her if she told them.

  Looking around for her pistol, she saw the bundle near the bed and decided that it wasn’t worth the risk. She looked around for a weapon or something else that could restrain the captain.

  Her eyes fell on his necklace, which he had placed on his desk. He had always worn it, for as far back as she could remember, and it was forged from magma-based aethium, which was priceless on any planet. She knew it was special to him, but didn’t know the reason, though she guessed it had to do with his naval service.

  Her hand found it nimbly, released the catch, and tugged at it firmly to gauge its strength. This was futile since aethium was used to tether starships, and she threw it around the captain’s neck to garrote him. He was so tall that she had to climb onto his back and wrap her legs around his waist for leverage.

  Helga squeezed her eyes shut, then started rocking back and forth, interlocking her feet to trap him as she pulled even harder on the necklace. Retzo Sho came to his senses and began to struggle for his life. He tried to worm his fingers into the groove where the chain bit into flesh, but Helga doubled her grip and pulled until it cut into her hands.

  In a desperate attempt to dislodge her, Retzo jumped and fell backward, crushing her beneath his weight. In this new position he had destroyed her advantage, and she contemplated releasing the chain to gouge out his eyes instead. They struggled for a long time, and despite the wire cutting into Helga’s hands, she twisted and pulled violently with her legs still locked around him.

  Eventually the fight was gone from Retzo Sho. He made one final attempt to get her off by driving an elbow into her ribs. Helga came awake screaming, writhing, and clutching at her abdomen. She looked at her surroundings and saw that it was her own compartment.

  “It was only a dream,” she whispered with relief. It had seemed so real, and as she lay there, dazed, she looked down at her palms for marks from the thin necklace. All she saw were the signs of an ESO, which were two discolored callouses on her forefinger and palm-heel. The nightmare made her shiver. What would have made her dream something as horrible as killing the captain of the Rendron?

  She hopped out of bed and grabbed her wrist-comms and scanned it, seeing that it was still the middle of the third shift. This explained the Vestalian nightscape displayed on every vid screen. At this hour most spacers would still be asleep, so she dragged herself out to the head. A cold shower and a meal, is what I need, she thought. And no more drink before sleep.

  After a shower and a protein bar that she found inside of an old jacket pocket, Helga could not go back to sleep. She had washed away the nightmare with the cold cleansing mist, and was now too wired to lay back down. There were about two hours left before the start of the first shift, so she decided to get dressed and take a walk.

  With the hour being early, she could explore the same way she did back when she was a cadet. The lights were dim, as was the case when a starship entered the third shift. It trained them to keep a set pattern for sleeping, and the passageways were kept dark to discourage night owls. Helga bopped along like a child, touching the bulkhead with her fingertips, humming an old folk song to herself.

  Cilas had mentioned a hobby, her picking up something that wasn’t piloting or training with the team. She loved to sing, and the thought cross her mind that she could join the entertainment troop and perform in front of an audience. It was funny how easily she forgot her talent, since it came so naturally she assumed that everyone knew it.

  The passageways were empty so she turned her hum into lyrics. It was a song her mother had taught her about being brave in the middle of the night. A sleepless Marine waved at her as she passed him on her stroll. They crossed paths, and Helga thought she recognized him but couldn’t place the face.

  She was terrible with names, and even worse with remembering people from the academy. One of her councilors had explained to her that it was a form of self-defense, and that she was the type to keep others at bay until they’d earned her trust. She stopped before a door with a star etched into its metal surface. It was the brig where they kept the criminals, but she had come to see the girl, whose body played host to the Geralos.

  “What are you doing, Helga?” she whispered. She hadn’t planned to come here, especially not in the late hours of the cycle.

  “Lieutenant,” a young woman said from behind the desk near where Helga entered. The place was unlike any other compartment on the ship, and it didn’t appear that being a jail was its original purpose. The space looked to have been for storing large canisters or ship parts. It was near the hangar and should have been linked to the dock.

  “Lieutenant?” the woman said again, bringing Helga out of her thoughts.

  “Yes, Sergeant … Rys,” she said, reading her nameplate. “I came to have a look at the cadet.”

  “She’s in stasis. Captain’s orders. You won’t be able to talk to her or touch her through the barrier.”

  Helga looked around at the fifty or so cells, stacked in two rows, and extending the length of the compartment. Each inward-facing cell used shield technology instead of bars, allowing the MA to see the prisoner while preventing them from escaping. Most of the inhabitants were there for fighting, insubordination, or some other minor offense, but the cells at the top didn’t have the shields, just a hatch to deposit food when it was mealtime.

  She reasoned that inside of these were the truly wicked members of society. But Bira wasn’t at the top; she was in the lower front, where the guards could keep their eyes on her. Helga nodded at the sergeant, then walked up to the shimmering shields. She placed a hand on its surface and was surprised at how much it felt like glass.

  The yellow color dissipated from where her hand made contact, and all of a sudden she could see inside where the girl stood frozen, staring out.

  It was hard to not see her as an innocent cadet, but the memory of Lamia killed that thought. What stood before her was a vicious assassin with beautiful emerald green eyes, and due to this Helga saw her for what she really was.

  “I’ll let you have a chat with her,” Sergeant Rys said, winking as she began her walk to the other end of the space.

  Helga watched her go, then when she was out of earshot, leaned in and whispered to the frozen, indoctrinated child. “Do you want to hear something funny, lizard? Stop me if you’ve heard it, but I don’t think you have. The irony is quite delicious, so you’re going to want to hear it. Do I have your attention?” She paused as if to wait.

  “You came all this way, murdering us and taking the mind of this girl. And for what? To gain access to us? To bite into a Seeker so that you can see the future? Well, here’s one in front of you.” She spun around to show off her body. “I was in your prison on Dyn, Louine, but you all couldn’t bite me to find out what I was. Turns out my blood is toxic to your kind—well, the Casanian part, that is—so you skipped me. You had inside your hands the very thing you murdered thousands to find. How does that make you feel? Me standing in front of you, here.”

  The Geralos girl just kept on staring with a murderous glint in her eye. Am I imagining that she put a scowl on her face just now? Helga thought. No, that doesn’t make any sense. She’s in stasis and can’t make any facial expressions.

  “Not fair, is it?” Sergeant Rys said, and startled Helga causing her to jump back from the cell.

  “What’s not fair?” she said, noticing some movement to her right, but it was just the shield animating as the yellow tint returned. It became op
aque, to obscure the prisoner, and then an image of her file materialized and hovered in the place where Helga had initially placed her hand.

  “A beautiful child, probably destined for captaincy, is not even allowed to live to graduation,” the sergeant said. “They take us, just like that. Especially us women. The lizards love us.”

  “We get the gift,” Helga said nonchalantly.

  “Not you, since you’re obviously mixed species. Seekers can only come from full-blooded Vestalians. Consider yourself lucky for that. The rest of us are fair game.”

  “Oh yeah, you’re right,” Helga said, trying her best not to laugh. She held no grudge against the young MA, but her ignorance was immense for someone so sure of herself.

  “They probably don’t care either way. They’ll snatch you up with the rest of us, won’t they?” the woman continued. “Snatch you up, use you, and take over your body. It’s a wonder we continue, knowing they have all these advantages. That poor young girl’s life was wasted, just like that. Maker, how long must we suffer? Look at her in there, so young!”

  “She’ll be hailed as a hero one day, once we find a way to wipe them out,” Helga said. “Maybe not her specifically, but every spacer who fell victim to the robbery of their minds.”

  “Do you know what I find odd?” the sergeant said, walking up to touch the glass. Helga bit down against the urge to cut her off, knowing she was about to get a sermon.

  “What’s odd?” she said, forcing a smile, trying to be patient in this early hour. She had heard from Joy that forcing a smile would lighten the mood towards positivity.

  “The lizards ran us off our planet and continue to hunt us down, all for our Seekers, to use the power for their own wicked means.”

  “Okay, and?”

  “And we don’t know or seem to care who among us the Seekers are. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? I would think that we would test children for the gift, then send them somewhere for protection. Then we could force the lizards to come to that region of space. We could surround them with our warships; I’m talking Rendron, Aqnaqak, Scythe, and Missio-Tral. We could turn them into space dust as they come out of their jumps.”