by Greg Dragon
Helga Ate sat up in the bed and looked around the room through blurry eyes. She didn’t know where she was, and as the memory of her nightmare faded into nothing, she felt the pain on the side of her head and remembered that she had been fighting.
She closed her eyes and forced her mind to focus. There was the push through the town with Cilas and Raileo, a push that lasted at most an hour but felt more like eight. Then they had the shootout inside the house, and then that rooftop ... Raileo had been shot. Cilas too, now that she remembered, but none of his bullets had broken flesh.
Then there was the ride across the ocean, not to Kua, but to somewhere further north on the Zolen coast. He had taken them to the home of Ati Lars, who was fresh out of favors for the invaders of his land. When he saw Raileo’s condition, he rushed to his aid and lent them his home.
Home. That was an understatement. The monk and ex-politician stayed in a sprawling villa with staff. Helga, who initially believed the old man to be mad, had realized quickly that he was, in fact, being truthful about his past as a member of the Alliance council. The irony of his obvious wealth not matching his dress and demeanor was not lost on the young Nighthawk, who had exchanged looks with a confused Quentin Tutt.
Beyond housing them for the night he had sent for a physician to treat the Nighthawk’s wound. That was all she could remember, so she assumed that a bit afterward she had gone to bed, but now as she looked around, she realized that she hadn’t slept long.
There were enough rooms in the house to give each Nighthawk their own accommodations. Helga wondered where they’d placed Wolf. All it would take was one mistake and he would slit their throats and escape back into the jungle. He was an ESO, after all, and an MLF leader in that region. He could make one call and the villa would be reduced to rubble, which wouldn’t be fair to Ati who had gone out of his way to help them. But so far Ati Lars and the villa were the only bright spots in this blood-splattered mission, so she accepted that they were due after everything that happened.
She felt fatigued and agitated, which she guessed was due to being roused from her sleep. What had woken her up? That was the question as she sat up in the bed and listened. Helga stood still long enough for her eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness, and then she finally heard it repeated, the noise that had pulled her from that deep abyss of nightmares.
It was a rhythmic thumping, which seemed to be coming from the room adjacent to hers. Her mind went to several scenarios, from someone having sex with one of Ati’s servants to a piece of machinery—possibly a generator—sitting too close to the wall. Whatever it was, it was too loud to ignore, and exhaling her frustration, Helga hopped off the bed to investigate.
She probed around in the darkness, unsuccessfully looking for her uniform, but when she didn’t find it, she grew even more frustrated and decided to step out in what she had on. In tight Navy-issued shorts and undershirt, Helga walked up to her door and cracked it open.
The rooms were on the second floor of the house and opened out to a balcony that wrapped around the building. Four doors ran to the right of where she stood, and the moon hovering high above the tree line gave enough light for her to see where she was going.
Helga made to knock but considered her appearance, bare feet, and the current situation. She cursed her stupidity, training above all else, and she ducked back into her room and grabbed her pistol from underneath the cushioned headrest. Keeping it pinned to her leg, she went back out and walked up to the door.
She saw her mistake as she was about to knock. What if Cilas was in there, and here she was, half-naked and knocking on his door? There would be no explanation sufficient to explain why she was there. She quickly dipped back inside her room again and turned on the light, revealing her backpack in a corner.
Sparing no time, Helga quickly dressed, pulling on some wrinkled pants and the top she wore when they arrived on Meluvia. It stunk like the rest of her things, and she immediately wanted a bath. I must have been really tired to lay my smelly bum in that bed, smelling and looking the way I do, she thought.
It was so embarrassing she could almost scream, but the knocking came back to force her to focus on what it was she had set out to do. She looked at the time. The hour was late, but there was still plenty of night to be had. Whatever was going on next door, she just needed it to stop so she could get some rest.
Helga went back to the door and this time she knocked, keeping her pistol by her leg. The door opened to what seemed like a party. There were five people inside, sitting and lying down, having a chat. On the bed with his leg propped up in a sling was Raileo Lei, who looked every bit of a man hopped up on drugs. Whatever had been given to him to relieve him of his pain had his eyes looking bloodshot with a smile across his lips.
Seated next to him was Cilas Mec, who gave her a nod when their eyes met. His shirt was missing, and he was bandaged up and on the ground. Seated in front of him was none other than Joran Wolf. This was the first time she’d really seen him since his evacuation was a dark and misty affair. He was extremely attractive, the type of man that needed the most confident of partners to trust being with him.
He was human, dark, with his snow-white hair pulled back into a ponytail. But it was the eyes that got Helga, causing her to unconsciously fidget and catch her breath. They were the color of mustard, giving him an exotic edge that made it hard for her not to witness him. His physique, like most ESOs, was immaculate as well, and he gave her a cursory bow after their eyes met.
Behind him on a chair was their host, Ati Lars. He was chewing on a bit of root, which Helga suspected was the source of Raileo’s happiness. Next to him was Quentin Tutt, who unlike the others seemed alert and ready for anything. Helga turned her head to see who it was that had opened the door, and an attractive older woman gestured with her head for her to come in.
Helga stepped inside the room and was about to put away her pistol when her eyes again met Wolf’s and she decided to keep it, just in case. “What is this?” she said to Cilas.
“Oh schtill, did we wake you up?” Raileo said. He was back to being the goofball she had met back on the Aqnaqak.
“What was that banging?” she said, turning to stare at Raileo, and the chief began to laugh as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
“He’s on our spiced tea,” Ati Lars said from behind her. “Local blend that makes you extremely happy.”
“Must have had a whole thing of it, the way he’s carrying on,” Helga said, and Raileo began to laugh uncontrollably, hammering the wall with his fist. And there’s my answer, Helga thought, not feeling amused. She turned to once again look down at Joran Wolf. “Lieutenant, I’m confused. Why is the prisoner free and hanging out with you lot?”
“He’s on our other spiced tea,” Ati Lars said with a grin, and everyone but Helga and Cilas started laughing. “Still a prisoner but now he’s friendly. Lieutenant Cilas wanted to ask him a few things, and so we helped to make Commander Wolf, eh … more comfortable.” His smile actually widened when he said this.
“I’m asking you again, Wolf,” Cilas said suddenly, his voice harsh and high, as if he was on the verge of cutting him down. “Why did you steal from us to come down here and terrorize the Meluvian people?”
“Terrorize?” Wolf said, shaking his head as if the suggestion was absurd. “I borrowed the weapons to aid the efforts going on here in Zolen, where the indigenous people, my people, Lieutenant, are having to fight to stay on their land. It was a crime, I know, as well as leaving my post, but don’t you dare pretend that I am a terrorist.”
“So that whole storm the capitol bit, where your men murdered civilians in the streets. That is you fighting for your people?” Helga said, her lips a tight line as she fought back the urge to kick him in the face.
“Yes, it was, it really was.”
“Right,” Helga said with disgust, drawing out the word in a low growl. She stepped forward and with her heel, kicked him in th
e side of his head. Being an ESO and a man much bigger than she was, Helga expected Wolf to take the blow and recoil immediately, but her kick was harder than she expected, and he fell over on his side.
She noticed that he didn’t attempt to break his fall, but hit the ground laughing like a madman. It had to be the tea, mixed with something else to paralyze him. Helga was stunned, unsure of how much damage she had done, but not exactly sorry for having done it.
“Ate, if you can’t control yourself, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Cilas said.
Helga nodded and backed away to stand between Quentin Tutt and the older Meluvian woman. Cilas hopped down from where he sat to help Wolf sit back up, and all the while Raileo Lei cackled like a hyena.
For several minutes he interrogated him without using any force. He just raised his voice and repeated himself until Wolf would tell him what he wanted to hear.
Helga imagined that it was torture being in Wolf’s position, paralyzed from your neck and below, with your brain finding it impossible to lie. She was experienced with this sort of drug. It was a popular weapon used by spies to force information out of their victims.
After a time, Helga grew bored and walked out of the room to stand at the railing of the balcony. Ati Lars came out and joined her there, and together they were two statues staring up at the stars.
“Can I ask you a question?” Helga said after some time.
“What’s on your mind?” the old man said.
“Is what he said true, about what is going on down here? Is the government really taking people’s land?”
“You’re very young,” Ati said, smiling as he regarded her before turning back to the moon. “The theft of another man’s property is a practice that is such a part of life that every single intelligent lifeform in this galaxy has either been guilty of it or a victim. Land, as in property, is no different in this, and when it comes to theft, who would be more empowered than the ones we call leaders? Beloved, even your precious Casan has had a history of conquerors on all of its splintered landmasses.
“Vestalia, that planet too. So, you see, we are no different, but whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing depends on which side of the table you were born. See, for me, an aristocrat and ex-servant to the Alliance, the faster the government commandeers the land, the safer and therefore better it will be for the planet. The Navy needs resources, and the machines need fuel. The inhabitants are taken care of and are given jobs within the cities. It is a good thing. Our farmers can continue to farm, lumberjacks can cut down trees, and hunters can keep on hunting.
“The only difference in their lifestyles is the tax that is needed for the greater good. Look, I get it, there’s history, and of course a sense of pride. But we have the Geralos to take care of, or all of this pride will be for nothing. What do these fools think will happen if the Meluvian Navy runs out of resources? Do they think the lizards will just let them live when there are billions of brains for them to bite into?”
Helga chuckled. “I’m sure they haven’t put that deep of thought into it. I know that if it were me and the powers that be wanted the land that I inherited from my parents, they would have to come drag it from under my drunk, fighting rear.”
“Careful, Nighthawk, you are beginning to sound like a rebel. You know it isn’t such a high wall that separates the four of you from him. To be a good soldier you must follow commands, play at being the killing machine while the thinking is left to your officers. Bad soldiers let feelings in, they get political, choose a side, and they learn, all too late, that it’s hard to take orders when they contradict your beliefs. This is our problem, Miss Helga. It’s for Meluvians to sort out.”
Helga regarded him and nodded her head. Maybe he was right. What did she know? “I am an officer, and I can do both. I can have a heart and follow my orders to the letter. Granted, I may need to spend the night in a bar or bottom out a bottle in bed, but I can do both. I’m an ESO.”
Ati Lars smiled at her answer and went back to staring at the sky. They chatted for a bit about the Zolen region, and Helga learned the history of the country. She told him about her brovila bite, and he cosigned Odam’s assertion that she would never be bitten again.
“No, no, it’s a good thing,” he kept on saying, but Helga only shook her head. He didn’t know about the paranoia that came from the incident, her dreams of brovilas slipping into her mouth and taking over her body.
The door flew open and Cilas Mec stepped out, swinging his head from one direction to the next. Helga could tell that he looked frazzled. Quentin Tutt followed him out, closed the door and ran his hand through his hair. “Thype,” was all the big man said, and he shook his head when Helga glanced his way.
“What happened?” Helga said, glancing behind him at the now prone and unconscious Joran Wolf.
“Wolf says that the MLF has Misa Veil. They knew about us from the moment we dropped, and his goons managed to track her to the house where she was waiting,” Cilas said.
Helga’s mind went into overdrive. She remembered her own capture and torture at the hands of the Geralos, who only wanted to bite into your brain. The rebels, however, had no need for Misa outside of a bargaining chip, and the pilot wasn’t important enough for them to make a trade.
“Do you know if they took the Vixen?” she said, grabbing the lieutenant’s arm to get his attention. “Cilas, as long as Wolf stays alive, they cannot kill Misa, and I doubt that they were able to fly the Vixen since it’s an Alliance ship with Vestalian controls. That is, unless they forced Misa to do it.” She paused to think of the best way to present the idea in her head. “Cilas, uh Lieutenant, if we can get to the Vixen and…” She struggled for the words. “… force Wolf to give up the location of their base ... well, we can go get her, just like on Dyn.”
“Damn straight,” Quentin said suddenly, and Helga realized she’d forgotten that he was there. Cilas measured her words, rubbing at his chin, as Helga stood waiting, anxious for him to accept.
“And you’ll be flying, Ate?”
“Yes,” Helga said, inwardly cheering but not wanting to give in to him. She was still annoyed with Cilas for threatening to throw her out for kicking Wolf in the face. “That dropship has heavy focused energy cannons mounted on its wings, and a torpedo that is meant to cripple cruisers. Imagine what it could do to their camp, Lieutenant.”
“So, you are suggesting we destroy the MLF camp, even with Misa down there?” Cilas said, looking at her curiously.
“No, Lieutenant, I am suggesting that we visit their camp inside of the Vixen, prime our weapons, and let those thypes choose between Misa’s life and theirs. We came all this way and he has to leave with us alive or dead. Either we spend time lying to the MLF that we will exchange Joran Wolf for Misa, then rescue her somehow … I guess, or we fly over there, display our military superiority and force them to give up our girl. These are rebels, Lieutenant, who hate humans and non-Meluvians. All they’re going to hear is violence, and I think that it will be a waste of time trying to negotiate with them.”
Cilas smiled, and it was so unexpected that Helga was taken aback. Why is he smiling? she thought as she looked to Quentin and Ati for answers. “You’re right,” Cilas said, and he pointed at her. “You’ll fly us to the camp, and we’ll show them Wolf. Once they see he’s alive and well, they should be eager to trade for Misa. If they get belligerent, then we go with the Ate option.”
“The Ate option?” Quentin said.
“Yes, shred the place apart with energy lances from the Vixen and then release a torpedo to reduce it all to dust. The Ate option, thype them, we’ll drink a glass to Misa’s—”
“Okay,” Helga said, her patience finally reaching its limit. “I know that the objective is to rescue our pilot, but I still feel that we should come from a position of strength.”
“That’s the plan,” Cilas said. “But first we have to go and see if the Vixen is still here.”
26
It felt good to be back in a cockpit flying again, and for the first time Helga felt confident that they would make it out of Meluvia. After being woken up by Wolf’s interrogation and planning out a strategy with Cilas, she had actually slept, which more than anything else surprised her.
Raileo Lei was unconscious in the co-pilot’s seat, with his leg in a wrap resting up on the console. Joran Wolf was no longer under the influence of the chemical truth agent and was back to being gagged and bound on a bench all by himself. Across from him sat Cilas Mec and Quentin Tutt, once again dressed in all black.
Helga had woken up to Cilas knocking on her door, and telling her to get dressed. The goal of their mission was stealth beyond measure, because regardless of what was discussed before, he and Quentin were going in to get Misa.
Helga’s job was to get them close, drop them off, and cripple the camp’s anti-air cannons. It was a great plan, and one that was necessary, but the most important part of the change was that in the event Ati Lars was made to talk, he could only tell them what he knew.
The night before, Cilas misled him into thinking they were going to negotiate terms. Neither he nor Quentin Tutt spoke as they sat behind her prepping their tools, and Helga watched the heads-up display for any movement or warnings. The camp, as it turned out, was in an oasis somewhere within the Swa’re desert.
The MLF had transports hidden on the outskirts of Zolen, which allowed them to freely drive back and forth to their headquarters. They had jammers, thopters, and radar watching the perimeter and sky. It was obvious that Cilas trusted Helga implicitly, and she thought about this as they slowly drifted on a bed of mist.
It looked the way clouds did when you reached a certain altitude, but in Leif, Meluvia at this early hour, it was just what came with the morning. After getting dressed, she had pulled on a rough poncho gifted by Ati Lars along with the shoes she’d worn on the trip down, which were small, black, and built for comfort.