by Greg Dragon
Cilas had been a bright spot in Joy’s complicated life and what they had done began to eat at Helga steadily, never leaving her mind. Much of it had to do with the fact that Helga felt entitled to the commander, Joy or whoever else be damned. They had bled, ate, and slept together during the toughest years of her life, and being with him had come as natural as sharing a canteen during a firefight.
He had been gentle and loving, not hurried and rough like any of the men she had been with before. It had complicated what she had set out to do, which was to share with her new captain a night of forbidden pleasure; the kind you always remember, but dared not repeat. The tension between them had reached a boiling point, and with the Ursula being away from the Rendron, it was the opportune time to jump him.
What she hadn’t accounted for was the confusion that would come with it, the fear that he had used her as a proxy for Joy Valance. Why else would he have been so gentle and loving, kissing her literally everywhere and—she bopped her forehead with her palm-heel, disgusted with herself. Here she was, the sole woman on a team, and she had started sleeping with her commander.
It was what she had been cautioned against by her old instructors like Loray Qu. Women who did this opened themselves to unwanted attention, especially once the men started bragging and the others learned that she was “open for business.”
Cilas would never do that, she knew, but the fact that he had stopped trying after that first time made her think that he was feeling guilty too. They had been cruising along with much downtime and chats, yet the topic of discussion never touched on what they had done. Most cycles, it was just the two of them on the bridge, yet he never brought it up again, even when she threw him bait, hoping he would take it.
Helga sighed. What was she expecting? Cilas had proven time and time again that he could stay icy no matter the situation.
An unfamiliar tone played across the intercom, bringing her out of her thoughts. At first she ignored it, thinking that it was one of the Nighthawks running tests, but then Ursula spoke, announcing that she was coming out of light speed.
“What in the worlds? We’re dropping out?” she said, then ran out of the shower and quickly dressed.
“Ate?” She heard Cilas’s voice on her wrist comms.
“On it,” she said after placing the attachment on her ear. They were caught off guard by the announcement, since it was expected that they had another twenty-six cycles worth of light speed.
Helga found herself suddenly anxious that something had gone terribly wrong. If the computer malfunctioned or something else had forced them to stop, it would throw them off their timeline and they could be stuck in repairs for months. If they were off course, they couldn’t correct it, since the encoded navigation kept the coordinates a mystery. For this trip they were at the mercy of the Ursula’s AI, which had been downloaded directly from the Rendron.
From what Helga understood, only Retzo Sho knew the location, and if they were stranded and had to call home, he would still need the council’s permission to send the location to her. This, of course, was unlikely, considering their history with traitors, pirates, and corruption. Retzo would need to prove that the Ursula wasn’t compromised, and with so much to lose, he would probably command them to make the jump back home.
She skipped the uniform and grabbed a shirt, tucked it into her shorts, and threw on a robe over it. There was no time to worry about protocol during an emergency, especially with the mission at risk. On the bridge she saw the Nighthawks gathered at her station, staring out at space. It was as if they expected to see Sanctuary appear, and assumed that it would show up at any moment.
“Let me in,” she shouted as she crossed the threshold on bare feet. She slipped past Cilas, ignoring the look of surprise on his face, then jumped into her chair and ran some queries on their status and location.
“Deceleration has been engaged. The time remaining for supercruise travel: three hours, five minutes, and twelve seconds. Current speed: 1,498.96 megameters per second. Warning, manual override disabled. Update: signal has been sent to Sanctuary station. Estimated time of delivery: thirty-one minutes and five seconds—correction, sync has been established with Sanctuary station.”
Helga exhaled with relief, and let out a little laugh. “Commander, all reports check out as positive, and we’re on course to reach Sanctuary in less than two cycles.”
“How are we just learning this?” Cilas said.
“It seems that a part of hiding its location was to give us a false estimate of time. I’ve never seen this done before, but the ship is healthy and cruising along in tip-top shape. There doesn’t seem to be any issues that would’ve caused us to come out of light speed, and you heard our girl. We’ve established a link, but it won’t allow me access to navigation.”
“I don’t think that’s the Ursula’s doing, Ate,” Quentin said. “I think the blank you’re getting is because this is uncharted space. We were already there and have no indication that we jumped within the range of charted Anstractor.”
Though Helga knew he was wrong—going blank was not one of the actions a radar would take when in uncharted space—she chose not to correct the Nighthawk. After all, her job was to get them there safely, not correct their every assumption.
“Well, radar or no radar, we need to prepare for more surprises to come within the next few hours. The computer is giving me the estimate of two cycles until we dock, but this is the same computer that had us believing that we would be traveling for a month.”
“Solid observation,” Cilas said. “Tutt and Lei, go suit up in case we reach Sanctuary faster than expected. Ate, thanks for getting up here so fast, but we need to be ready for anything, so now’s the time to get dressed. I’m going to see if I can get a message to the Rendron with an update on our status. Has anyone checked the cargo?”
“I did earlier,” Helga said. “Her vital signs are looking good, though she is very much in stasis.”
“I hope they know what they’re doing,” Quentin said. “It still bothers me that we’re on a ship with that thing. What worries me is that all it would take is one mistake to have it free, sending out beacons to any lizard in the vicinity. Do we know whether or not it can keep jumping bodies?”
“They can’t,” Cilas said. “The spy leaves his body to enter another’s but it is a one-way trip with no reversal or further transference. It’s practically suicide for the Geralos that do it. I echo your concerns; if she manages to wake and plays the part of a frightened girl, she could easily trick an amateur into letting her out. I’ll brief the council on our concerns as well as the crew in charge of transporting her to the laboratory.”
They quickly separated to go prepare, and Helga hurried to her compartment to change into her flight suit. This had become her standard attire, but she decided instead to pull on the tight 3B-XO suit. She installed her pins above her heart, strapped on a gun belt, and slipped into a pair of soft-soled shoes.
The 3B-XO suit, or “3B suit,” was a leotard made from an alien material that did a number of useful things. It regulated body temperature, protected against sudden loss of atmosphere, and regenerated damaged cells in the body. Due to these amazing properties, it became a crucial part of an ESO’s loadout. It was practically mandatory for spacers traveling in smaller craft, but wasn’t yet regulation, though the smarter operators wore it daily to bolster their chances at survival.
On the Rendron, 3B suits had become a bit of a fashion statement for cadets, especially those who were proud of their bodies. The material it was made of was plentiful, though had to be grown, therefore it was rather cheap to supply. Officers were disallowed from walking around in those tights, but Helga and Raileo would often wear theirs when it was time for CQC exercises.
“Everything okay, Ate? Are we still on course for two cycles?” Cilas said. She hadn’t even heard him when he walked up to the bridge.
“Nothing’s changed, Commander,” she said, giving him a knowing smile. “We�
�re still on for two more cycles of flight.”
26
A Geralos dropship drifted in silently over a red landscape. Below it, crouched in the company of six men, Helga Ate watched its silhouette slide behind the clouds. She studied the ship as it came into view and then rose to her feet and sprinted down the side of the hill. In the distance was a road leading to a village that reminded her of Almadun, back on Meluvia.
Within this invented world of Helga’s mind, the people were Casanian and the buildings were Meluvian. This was how she knew that she was dreaming, though lucid as she was, Helga could only react and go off instinct. Since opening up her mind to the psych back on the Rendron, her dreams took on a clarity she hadn’t experienced before. They were like memories from a Helga who existed in another timeline, sending her visions when she closed her eyes to sleep.
The men around her held no significance, and their faces were all unfocused or forgettable. Apparently she was their commander, a position she had only experienced back when Cilas was in recovery. Here it felt real. She was the woman in charge, and there was no Cilas to guide her along; the men deferred to her.
She and her company of fighters watched the ship fly over, and when it was gone, began to evacuate civilians into a fleet of rusty transports. Dream Helga had known a raid was coming and had set up evacuation protocols. Her scouts got on hover-bikes to reconnoiter the enemy’s approach, and she ran back into the town’s square, toting her modified auto-rifle.
After a few minutes—time was hard to account for in this dream—a scout came speeding back, then hopped off his bike to inform her that the Geralos were coming. Helga ordered him and the rest to join their comrades in the buildings, where they were setting up an ambush for the unsuspecting raiders. Helga heard small-arms fire coming from the entrance to the town, which meant the lizards had arrived.
“Now,” she screamed into her comms, and a group of Marines waiting on the outskirts rushed in to flank the raiders and kill the few that were slinking around the perimeter.
Helga had expected a small raid party, but what she was witnessing was a company of lizards inside the gates. Her men were losing ground, and now the Geralos were kicking in doors and trading shots with the men she had hiding inside the buildings. She got on her comms to instruct her scouts who had caught a unit of Craqtii slipping in from the rear. “No prisoners,” she shouted, and that was all her fighters needed to open fire on their captives. Craqtii were formidable but they never carried guns, so catching them off-guard made it easy.
“Burnette, how’re we looking?” she said, as they ran through the rear gate to look for more Craqtii.
The report never came but the scene changed to her being on a hill overlooking the hovering dropship. “You ready, Lieutenant?” a familiar voice said, and she turned to see Quentin Tutt crouched next to her. The hill was made of red clay, and their PAS suits were speckled with it, along with blood and dust. She hadn’t noticed that she was wearing the PAS before, and wondered why they didn’t have helmets.
“We will win Vestalia back,” she screamed, words that she could never imagine herself using, but this Helga was shouting it as if it was the most natural thing to do.
“Or die trying,” Quentin said, completing the phrase, and she stood up suddenly and stretched out her arms before falling forward towards the dropship. Her PAS reacted quickly, bringing to life the rockets in the bottom of her boots. She landed on the ship’s nose, which surprised the sleepy Geralos inside the cockpit. He reached for his gun, but wasn’t able to grab it before Helga fired off several rounds from her auto-rifle.
Even with the shields powered down, the glass should have been impervious to projectiles. Geralos pressure-panes took focused fire from an energy cannon in order for them to collapse. In this dream however, her bullets punched through the glass like paper, and she killed the pilot and the rest of the crew before hopping inside the cockpit, followed closely by Quentin Tutt.
She sat up in bed, soaked in sweat, and reached for her wrist-comms to see the time. It was 0:490, Vestalian Navy time, and an hour past the time she should have been up. “Dammit,” she whispered, shaking her head. That felt real. Why did it feel so real?
“Hey, Lieutenant, you alive?” said Raileo Lei over the intercom, and she rolled her eyes with annoyance before summoning the will to get up.
“What?” she said sharply into her comms as she struggled to a sitting position. Her compartment was the same size as the one on the Rendron, with a table, sink, and locker mounted to the bulkhead. It was a charming space, which she’d adorned with personal effects, but in this new cycle after that intense dream, it felt like a prison with an annoying warden in her ear.
“Sorry to wake you, ma’am, but I thought that you should know that we have Sanctuary on visuals.”
Did she hear him right, they had finally arrived? Her mood did an about-face as she rushed to the sink to clean herself up. “Thanks, Lei,” she said. “I’ll be right there.” She took a quick dip in the shower, grabbed the rest of an unfinished protein bar, and then ate it while she dried herself.
When she got to the cockpit she saw the station in the distance, a pulsing white dot against a backdrop of black. She felt the presence of the men as they crowded around her seat, so she had the Ursula magnify the image of the station.
“Oh, that’s how it looks, eh?” Raileo muttered to himself as he stepped in beside her for a closer look at the holographic magnification.
“Yep, and you will see it larger than life in less than a cycle’s time. Are you ready?” Helga said, sticking out her tongue to tease him.
“Between BLAST and the Rendron, I’ve been trained to be ready for anything, but what could prepare a boomer for something like this?”
Quentin stared on in silence and Helga read a lot of emotion in his hard, narrow face. He was leaning against the back of one the chairs with his fingers kneading the leather as if he meant to put a hole in it. She made to say his name, but thought it better to let him process the moment.
Here it was, Sanctuary, home of the Alliance elite, a remote space station where the rich and powerful segregated themselves from the rest of the galaxy. Helga, like most spacers, had been led to believe that the station was a myth. This dawned on her as she sat in silence, watching the hologram rotate in front of her.
To think that over 190,000 lives were born and raised on that station, some oblivious to the fact that there was a war going on, while others were involved with the council. If you were born on Sanctuary, your life was privileged and safe, while poorer Vestalians were forced to enlist or pile onto a hub. Sanctuary was its own reality, a community of elites from every planet.
From a distance it looked like a tiny moon with lights dancing across its surface, but in reality it was shaped like a ring or belt, wrapped about an orb. To Helga it was a wheel with numerous spokes running to the center, where a round shield-generator pulsed brightly as if it were a captured sun. The outer rim seemed comprised of rotating metal sections and glass. On the hologram, which she magnified even more, she could see buildings below a facade of clouds scattered across the aqua-colored translucent hull.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Cilas said, walking up to stand next to her chair. “Had a chance to visit once, back when I was barely out of BLAST. It would’ve been me, Cage and Lamia, accompanying the captain on some business. But we learned that our mark had been tipped off, and had left instead for Traxis, riding with a group of diplomats. I was so upset. I just knew that I’d missed my shot to see something truly amazing, something of our own. A second chance is unheard of, Helga. I’m lucky to be here, seeing this.”
Helga looked up at him and there were tears in his eyes that he wasn’t bothering to hide as he stared out at the station. Never before had she seen him this emotional, and she wanted to throw care to the wind and reach out to take his hand. “Are we going to lose you once we dock, Cilas Mec?” she said instead, and he placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. She re
ached up and held it, no longer caring what the others would think.
It was a treat to see him so excited, but she wondered if he would take time off to truly enjoy the station. Cilas and his one-dimensional view on duty had her believing that he wouldn’t stop to smell the metaphoric roses, but what she saw in his emotional expression convinced her that she was wrong.
Sanctuary was the hope and pride of the Alliance, and evidence of the things that could be accomplished when the planets worked together. She knew Cilas, all the way up to Retzo Sho, wanted bigger things for Vestalians, things deemed impossible by those who dared not dream. Dreams like winning back Vestalia and eliminating the Geralos, then having the Alliance focus on trade and enhancement; one planet uplifting the other, the galaxy the better for it. Sanctuary was a reminder of this to Cilas, which accounted for the tears.
“That wonderful construct has communities of people from all over Anstractor,” he mused. “You will see Casanians, Meluvians—I think there are Louine living in Sanctuary as well. When we dock, you’re going to feel culture shock unlike anything you’ve felt before. You will see why we fight, and why you’re in a key position to help us win.” He was talking to all three of them now, looking from face to face, his commanding voice becoming that of a captain’s.
“Wow,” Helga said under her breath, trying to imagine what it would look like when they were inside and walking about. Cilas had mentioned there were Casanians, and it forced her to wonder at the chance of her brother Rolph being there. She hadn’t seen him since childhood, but what if he’d amassed enough influence to earn a ticket to this remote station? What if he had a family?
A tribe of Ate’s on Sanctuary, she thought. I could have nieces and nephews. The thought of tiny Casanian tots brought a smile to her face. Well … maybe one niece, which would be amazing. Unless he’s been busy, and a family is waiting for me out there. The smile faded from her face. It was ridiculous to think that he would be there, waiting. Still, the fact that there would be Casanians made her wish the Ursula would speed up, but the trip was automated, and tampering with the controls would not do much.
