by Greg Dragon
“Sun So-Jung is with his agency, Ate, undergoing a necessary trial from what I understood from the correspondence,” Jit Nam said. “The length and outcome is something they were not able to share, but if he is successful at whatever it is, he will be taken to a station by shuttle, and you can rendezvous with him.”
Helga became worried when she heard those words. They were neutral and practical, but knowing the commander, it could very well mean that Sundown would be detained for much longer than she expected. He had violated the rules of his order, and had been summoned to Virulia for court. Jit Nam wouldn’t say this in front of the Nighthawk recruit and rates, but the Nighthawks all knew it, and she saw the same concern reflected across all their faces.
“Sunny survived Sanctuary, he can survive anything, let alone a trial, so I believe we’ll be seeing him in a few cycles,” Helga said with some confidence. “Thank you, Commander.”
Jit Nam angled his head and nodded, then surveyed the other faces, looking for additional questions that weren’t coming.
“Alright, Nighthawks, take the cycle, make your goodbyes, eat your favorite meals, and until the next time we meet, maker’s speed. Cilas,” Jit Nam said, stepping forward to grip his shoulder in a Vestalian sign of friendship. “Congratulations on your new command, she is the pride of the Rendron. What a beauty. I was surprised the captain didn’t give you an infiltrator and kept her for himself,” he joked, revealing a sense of humor that Helga didn’t know existed until this instance.
“She’s the newborn baby taking her first step into the black,” Cilas said. “She’s in good hands, Commander. We may bring her back a little dirty, but she will have earned her place as the star of this mighty ship.”
Jit Nam regarded everyone in the space, his long face reverting to a hard mask of determination. “That I don’t doubt,” he said, and then turned and abruptly walked out.
“Was that a joke from Commander Nam just now?” Raileo said, once he was sure that the older man had left the deck.
“You heard the man, get out of here,” Cilas said. “Go kiss your partners, stuff your faces, and pack your gear—only time I’m going to remind you. Get your personals to the dock before 1:110 or you will have to make do with what we give you.”
Helga sidled over to Quentin and jabbed him playfully in the abdomen. “Looks like you get to see your home planet after all,” she whispered, and he looked down at her to reveal the emotions he was struggling with. He squeezed her shoulder to show his gratitude and she trapped his arm to play at breaking it.
“Ate,” Quentin finally said. “I haven’t seen you this happy in a while. Tell me, are you really good with this?”
“Good with what?” Helga said, stopping her tugging at his arm to regard him, puzzling through what should be bothering her.
“New crew and only one of our recruits making it to get some time on the op. Weren’t there supposed to be six? Anders is it, really? And no Sunny? While I know there’s a reason we haven’t learned yet, it still makes me feel queasy rushing out. Mind, I’m happy to go home, to see Genese once more in my lifetime, but how is this different from Sanctuary or Meluvia? I thought the whole point of us coming back to Rendron was to leave with a full complement.”
Helga made a face. “It’s a schtill salad. Wouldn’t be Special Operations if it wasn’t. May as well be cheerful about it.”
“You, cheerful? Now I know you’re blowing smoke up my thrust. Lieutenant Ate doesn’t do cheerful, she does ‘sarcastic.’” That earned him the yank of an arm over an outstretched leg, which he gracefully avoided to walk off, laughing.
Helga watched him clasp forearms with Cilas and then Raileo, the three of them glancing in her direction, a subtle invitation to come and join them. She felt a wave of emotion, bringing with it flashes from the past, and the many near-misses where she almost lost them all. Cilas on Dyn, Raileo on Sanctuary, and Quentin on a derelict dreadnought by himself. She too had faced death, only to be saved at different times by the three of them.
Sundown’s first meeting with her had been as a hero, saving her with his immaculate aim. They had seen fire, and it tempered them, both individually and as a team, and through that temperance they were deadly effective. So what if they were missing Sundown and were short a handful of recruits? Whatever came, as always, they would be ready for it, and while Rendron had kept her miserably grounded, here was a chance for them to spread their wings.
6
The Alliance Corvette, Ursula, newly updated and refitted for covert operations, slid silently along on a translucent blue line of the holographic starmap above Helga’s console. Unlike the return to Rendron those 186 cycles prior, there was no crowd to wish them off, and no speeches from the captain. There wasn’t even a mission, just an order to get geared up and ready to shove off at the top of the first shift.
Helga was elated to have Ina with her in the cockpit of the bridge, as their reunion had been cut short by the commander’s visit. They had to launch under the cover of cloak, and as with most stealthy launches, everyone was forced to be quiet, the silence only breaking when they had jumped to light speed and Rendron was a countless kms in the distance.
“Think we’re good to come out of restraints?” came Ina’s voice from her right, where she sat in her own cozy pilot’s seat.
“Yeah, we can let them go,” Helga said, still in disbelief that she was not only back helming the Ursula, but had Ina Reysor on board, a woman who she could trust to leave in charge of everything. Ina was a ranked pilot, an Ace even, but Helga had never seen her fly a fighter or an assault ship. She would have been vetted stringently as all their new crew was, since this was Captain Retzo Sho’s personal ship. This made it even more unbelievable for Helga. Not only were there four women on Ursula, but one was someone that she actually knew.
“Ursula crew, you’re free to move about now. We’ll be traveling at supercruise for approximately two cycles, so keep all hatches and blast windows sealed,” Ina announced, in a voice that could best be described as strong and sweet.
Helga hated the intercom, and would let Ursula’s computer or the Cel-toc Zan do the announcing while she shouted out orders to the rates in her vicinity. Ina, however, had a gift, and didn’t seem to mind doing it. Ina removed her finger from the intercom activation link and exhaled heavily before staring forward. Helga watched her go through the motions, wondering if she had read her wrong in her rush to relieve herself of announcements.
The red-headed pilot worked at her restraints, slender fingers going through the practiced motions of popping the lock and pulling the straps from her shoulders, then finishing with a lurch forward to tease and throw back her hair. When she sat up, she turned to Helga, who was still watching while removing her own restraints. She let out another heavy sigh before rolling her eyes. “Don’t you hate launches?” she asked quietly so only Helga could hear.
“Sometimes.” Helga laughed. It wasn’t something she expected to hear from a fellow Ace. “Had a bad one before, I’m guessing?”
“Yes, and I relive it every single time I hear that alarm before we’re cleared.” Ina fanned herself, forcing a smile, which brightened up her face. “Won’t affect my duties, Lieutenant. Don’t you go worrying about me and launches.”
Helga shrugged. “Since we’re sharing, I feel the same about breaking atmosphere when we go on drops. Talk about a spike to the chest with every mission, but I’m working on getting over that reaction. I told you about Dyn, didn’t I?”
“You did, back when you and the commander saved me, right after going through all that you did. Thype. Guess it comes with the territory, eh? I can bet that every spacer on this ship who’s seen action has their own personal tick that sets them off,” Ina said.
“Everyone here does, and just like us, they do what they can to get over it. Let me know what you need to help, Ina. Zan is more than capable of handling a launch, really. She’s fully synced with Ursula’s system. All we woul
d need is just to ask, but you know that.”
“Thanks for looking out, Helga, but I got this.” Ina winked. “You brought me on to take care of our lady, and I’m a hands-on type of girl. Even after my situations, I’ve been through no less than twenty to twenty-five launches. It’s not the act of doing it that stresses me out, it’s the restraints, the alarm, and the movement. One thing that does make it easier is when I am the one pulling the landing gear, engaging thrust, and punching in the nav points.”
“Control does help.” Helga nodded. “Same for me, which is why I won’t let another spacer do our drops. Last mission to Meluvia, we had an Ace named Mika take us in. Thought I would die, not because of her flying—girl had skills, but every shudder brought me back to our Britz being perforated over Dyn, and ever rattle from the bulkhead came with memories of my mentor slumped over in his chair. Whew, what a mess. Took just about all my will to get through it.”
“Feels like ten cycles have passed since you saved my life, Helga.” Ina reached over and gripped her shoulder. “I’ve never forgotten that day. I just knew I was dead, and you stood up for me without us even exchanging words. I never asked you why you trusted me, but I need you to know that I’m eternally grateful. You know how I feel about the Navy, after—”
“Ina, you don’t have to,” Helga tried to assure her when she saw how much the woman was struggling.
“No, let me say this, because I’ve been wanting to tell you for years, and in here is the only time we’re alone. I really need to get this off my chest,” Ina said. “Helga Ate, I need you to know that when I received the invitation to try out for this job, I only considered it because of you and Commander Mec. There’s an element of debt owed, a big one, because I wouldn’t be alive if you hadn’t stopped to check on me in that passageway.”
“And I wouldn’t be alive if the commander hadn’t pulled me and Brise out of stasis,” Helga said, reaching up to put a hand over Ina’s, which remained on her shoulder. “You don’t owe me anything. Girl, if there’s anything I can tell you about the Nighthawks, it’s that we all have pulled each other out of the fire at some point. No one is keeping count of that stuff. We take care of our own. Now on to more important topics. What happened to Brise Sol?”
Ina laughed and pulled back her hand, sinking lower into her seat as she rolled her eyes and stared up at the overhead. “Brise Sol, where to start, eh? The last time you saw him was Inginus, correct? When we both got our discharge?” Helga nodded in affirmation, and Ina’s brown, freckled face suddenly became serious. “He was in love with you, and never reconciled it. That, and he really hated the commander; all that man ever did was complain about how unfairly he had been treated. Damn shame too. I thought he was cute, but for an Alliance spacer to be so thyping negative, it made me dislike him. Tried to convince him to move on, since he was obviously skilled and talented, having passed BLAST, and formerly a Nighthawk, not to mention his work as an engineer. He would be an asset to any station or planet. Even from an Alliance standpoint, after discharge he could aid the effort. He didn’t want to hear any of it, he was a failure, and that was that.”
“Did he remain on your ship as part of the crew?” Helga leaned sideways in her seat to glance back through the doorway to see if any of the rates were close enough to eavesdrop.
“No, he had me drop him off at Ilvercom Station, which in my opinion is a glorified schtill-pit,” Ina rejoined. “Handsome man, naturally kind, but broken from all you went through in that Geralos prison. The pragmatist in me believes he’s still there, now a member of that little hub, building crate berthing for the refugees and using that big brain to make life better for them.”
“Sounds like Brise.” Helga smiled. “I just wish that I could talk to him again. I never agreed with the way we threw him out when what he really needed was a psych and some therapy. I was still such a child, and afraid of speaking up. Not to mention, I was going through my own brand of schtill. I do hope he found a new life that comes with some healing.”
“That would take a girlfriend, and one with the patience to put up with his incessant wining.” Ida stood up and stretched as if to signal to Helga that the conversation had become boring. “Have you met the crew yet, Helga?”
“The way they threw us off Rendron, when would I have had time?” Helga complained in a much lower voice. “By the time I blinked out the last bit of sleep, I was seated here next to you prepping for launch.”
“Um, yeah, they did that didn’t they?” Ida laughed, and reached for Helga’s hand to help her out of her seat. Having spent so much time on Rendron, the gravity felt strange, and it made her wonder if something was different now that they had a full ship’s complement, not counting the Nighthawks.
“Ursula crew, this is your captain,” came a loud voice, cutting Helga off before she could say anything else. “Meet below deck at 1:640. Assemble near the nose of the dropship. This goes for everyone, Nighthawks as well.” The two women exchanged looks before checking the time, which at the moment was 1:610.
“This our brief?” Ina inquired.
“Not likely,” Helga replied. “I’m going with formal introductions and preliminary orders, knowing Cilas.” She reached past Ina to pluck her coat from the hook on the back of her chair and slipped it on in one fluid motion. “Funny, you made to take me around and boom, we get summoned to a meeting.”
“Think the commander is eavesdropping?” Ina whispered, provocatively, and the way she said it made Helga wonder if she too knew of their relationship.
Helga cleared her throat and reached over to touch Zan, who was powered down and staring forward like a focused pilot in her chair. The Cel-toc’s eyes fluttered open, and her pale skin flashed red before settling on her normal shade of beige. She smiled welcomely, a part of her program meant for owners and friends. “Lieutenant Ate, a pleasure to see you. How may I serve?”
“Zan, this is Lieutenant Ina Reysor. She is our Ursula pilot, reporting to me and then Commander Mec in that order. Do you understand?” Helga said, to which the Cel-toc made a formal bow towards Ina. “You should find her clearances are similar to mine, with the exception of certain commands pertaining to the Nighthawks. You are to afford her the same respect that you have shown me since we first met.” At this she smiled, and Zan began to blush in the most convincingly human way.
“Lieutenant Reysor,” Helga continued, “This is Zan, a Cel-toc assistant assigned to Ursula, but on this tiny deck of ours, she’s one of us. Zan has been my wingman for multiple contacts, and has shown her quality.”
“Okay, charmed, Zan,” Ina said, somewhat sarcastically, which didn’t surprise or offend Helga, who knew that most spacers viewed Cel-tocs as tools, smart enough to replicate human behavior when they weren’t playing chauffeur or servant.
“The cockpit is yours, Zan. Steer us straight, and communicate with me directly if there’s an emergency,” Helga said as she stepped down from the half-moon pilot’s deck onto the incline of the control center, which took her up past Cilas’s chair. Two strangers she hadn’t noticed before stood at attention by the entrance, saluting the two of them as they walked past. They wore the battle dress uniform of Marines, and carried sidearms.
“You know you’re official when you have stationed guards on your bridge,” Ina complained.
“Better get used to it, girl, it’s no longer just a Nighthawk ship,” Helga explained. “This is now the ACS Ursula, a new class of fighting, Alliance Combat Ship.”
“You were always funny.” Ina laughed. “Good to see they haven’t blunted your edge.”
“Wasn’t for lack of trying, but what’s the point of life if we aren’t able to laugh and sing?” Helga said, surprised at herself for sounding optimistic for once, as they descended the nearest lift to the lower decks.
As the metal shaft cleared to reveal the open space of the hangar, Helga leaned against the guardrail to scan the new faces that gathered there. It was a collection of archetypes,
as if Cilas had been focused on nothing but diversity. Rendron was a Vestalian ship, with a small community of aliens, but even before her refit, Ursula had a Traxian doctor, a half-Casanian Nighthawk in Helga, and a Virulian Jumper in Sunny.
They stepped off to shouts of acknowledgment, salutes, and gestures of respect, but it didn’t go unnoticed to Helga that her youth and alien features prompted the occasional look of surprise and wonderment. Twenty years of life—twelve of which were with the Alliance—and Helga had become used to it. Her looks would never live up to the legend of “Hellgate from the Rendron.”
There were so many stories going around and false rumors spread. Half she suspected came from Raileo, who delighted in pranking her whenever they were off the clock. Much of it was true; she was a rock star, used on posters to recruit female hopefuls into Special Operations.
Two very active years with her Nighthawks had afforded her somewhat of an infamous reputation, which she learned quickly on the Rendron, when the rates all but carried her away on their shoulders upon their return. Those who only heard of her, expected her to be bigger, even physically imposing like Quentin Tutt. It was always the same, that look of surprise and poorly veiled disappointment, when the giant “Lady Hellgate” turned out to be a tiny, effeminate woman.
She approached them, exchanging greetings and settled in between Raileo and Quentin, who would normally give her a bear hug, but kept up appearances by offering a nod. Giving him a wink, she jabbed his arm playfully, then turned to face forward when she felt the tension in the air. Cilas had just descended his own lift, and was bordered by the two Marines from the bridge.
Everyone faced him as he walked towards them, his suit as sharp as a las-sword, and his boots so clean they practically gleamed under the lights. He seemed different in this moment, something much more than their team leader, something powerful. Gone was the star operator playing at helming a warship, replaced by a captain, not only capable, but having accepted his responsibilities and position.
