by Greg Dragon
“What’s that?” Helga said, anticipating a joke, but then an alarm started to blare and she saw that the shields had dipped below the 20% line. While she had managed to keep enough of the fighters busy to where the reduction of their shields was slow, the cruiser too had begun to fire on them, and since those were controlled by AI, it was difficult to outrun.
“You’ve got to make it fast, because I have at most a minute before I shunt our thrust for the Rendron,” Helga said. “Can the captain do something about their guns? I’m at 19% and dropping.” She could feel her heart starting to drum as they pushed towards the Aqnaqak, close enough to see the dock but far enough to be eliminated before making it inside.
“Ate, get off the thrust and shunt your shields,” Joy said. “Put everything you got into that generator. Captain Cor has you targeted, but you need to be close enough for the beam. We’re going to escort you, but you have to trust us. Lock the Vixen down and get off your guns.”
Helga couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was there a chance that Joy Valance was one of the rebels in Alliance blues? It would make sense, considering the high position she held on the Inginus, and this ridiculous command to go quietly while relying on her fighters for defense. She wanted to ask Cilas, but he wouldn’t be able to be objective, considering that Joy was his girlfriend.
She looked over at Misa to see if she was thinking the same thing that she was, but the ensign hadn’t heard Joy, since they were speaking on private comms. Her swollen face was still staring at her console as she picked out opportunities to use the cannon. “Hey, Misa,” Helga said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Strap in. I’m retracting our guns in order to shunt all of the power to our shields.”
“Is this it?” Misa said, her eyes a mixture of wonder and sadness. “Are we done?”
“No, but we can no longer fight if we hope to survive this. We’re being asked to shield ourselves while the fighters handle the Genesians.”
Misa nodded and sat back, reaching for the restraints to secure them before inhaling and taking a deep breath. “Even if this is it, I can say that I’ll die happy having been able to see her again.” She stared out at the Aqnaqak, unloading its cannons into the broadside of the cruiser. The Genesian ship was trying to turn, as it was evident that the shields were failing, and the rebels had decided to run.
Helga diverted the power, and for extra defense, pulled up the blast shields to cover the windows and doors. She sat back and reached over to take Misa’s hand. “This isn’t it for us, Misa. Joy’s an ace, she’ll see us home.”
“You know, when I got rescued and I saw you flying my Vixen over the desert, I felt a wee bit jealous of your skills,” Misa said. “I was probably flying this very vessel while you were back playing at cadet, yet you have done things that we were taught are impossible or too dangerous to attempt. Who are you, Helga Ate? Like, who are you really? I’d love to know before I die.”
“I’m just a little girl that loves spaceships,” Helga said. “I’ve always loved them since watching my brother’s kites, back when we were little. As to the flying, this is a V35 Vixen, a ship I was obsessed with back in the cadet academy. It’s top of the line, one of the Alliance greatest inventions. Versatile in both space and planetary atmosphere situations.”
“Did you fly one in simulations?”
“All the time. Well, I flew everything.” Helga laughed. “But I was partial to the Vestalian Classic.”
They spoke at length about ship types, past missions, and their love of flying, and it was minutes into this conversation when Helga realized that she’d done it on purpose. The wise, older pilot had forced her to start talking about the things she loved, and it gave them time away from the console to allow the Revenants to mop the remaining fighters up.
The cruiser jumped out of Meluvian space just in time to avoid their shields being depleted. Their captain would have known that the first target would have been their FTL drive, so he opted to save his crew by fleeing. The dreadnought stalled, out of fuel, and was recovered by the Rendron’s team of engineers, while the Aqnaqak made short work of the remaining Genesian ships.
When Helga was given the “all-clear” by Joy, she opened the blast shields to allow them to once again see outside. Everything was calm, as if nothing had happened, and the only evidence of a fight was the Revenants flying formation back to the Rendron.
“Is it over?” Raileo said, peering over the divider to stare at Helga.
“It depends,” Cilas answered for her, and she could see that he too looked stressed. “Stopping our escape, that part is over, but for us, I assume we’ve just begun. Wolf will be questioned, and the files we recovered will be studied and placed in the hands of the Jumpers. There will be a reckoning, and I would imagine that the Nighthawks will be a major part of that.”
“After a drink though,” Helga said, as she removed her helmet and smiled.
“After a drink,” they replied in unison.
“Yeah, and with that drink, we can get some food, rest, and then we can witness Wolf’s trial and execution,” Quentin said.
31
Helga should have been excited to be back on the Aqnaqak; she should have welcomed the chance for rest and relaxation, a real bath, and all the alcohol necessary to wash away the pain. What she felt instead was a sinking feeling, a fear of the downtime, and the restlessness.
The last time she returned from a mission, it had taken her over 30 cycles to get back into the routine of the ship. It was the same song and dance from before: she was happy to be alive, surprised that they made it out okay, and anxious for reasons she couldn’t quantify.
If she was being honest, she wanted another mission. Anything to stay off the Rendron, where she still wasn’t comfortable with her fame. Maybe Joy and the Revenants can use my help, she thought. Maybe they could use another pilot. She noticed that the dock was different from when they had left. The place was so clean it should have sparkled, and the only Marines were in a line, running cadence.
The Aqnaqak looked the way she’d imagined it should, and she wondered what would have brought on such a drastic change. She felt the presence of someone behind her, and she turned to see Quentin Tutt. Aside from Helga, he was the only one on the dropship. “You coming out?” he said softly, and Helga scanned the dock through the Vixen’s glass.
She saw a group of Marines who looked to have seen some action recently, they were flanked by two emergency hovering beds, pushed by a pair of medical Cel-tocs. Cilas was helping Misa into one of them, while Raileo Lei was in the other one with his leg propped up.
“Do I have to?” Helga said, wanting to wait for the crowd to break. She could close her eyes and sleep, she was so tired and worn through, and the Vixen’s seat were better than any bunk.
“I guess you could, but do you really want to? We’ve been formally invited to have a meal with Captain Cor.”
Helga fanned the air dismissively. She didn’t know Tara Cor, and couldn’t care less about eating with the woman. “I feel like I haven’t slept in days, but I imagine that my presence will be expected, so I really have no choice. Are they at least going to allow us to wash up before this meal?”
Quentin shrugged, “I wasn’t told, ma’am, but I will see you out there when you’re ready.”
Helga stood up and grabbed her helmet, tucking it beneath her arm. She was about to walk out with it when she remembered that it belonged to the Vixen. Grudgingly she put it down on the co-pilot’s seat, staring at the gash where the bullet had struck. It had saved her life, and that more than anything else made her want to keep it. But it could save someone else’s life in the future, and she didn’t want to rob them of the opportunity.
“Thanks, Tutt,” she said, straightening her uniform. “I guess that sleep will to have to wait.”
Her legs felt weak, and she wondered if she was the only one feeling this way. She followed him out and down the ramp, keeping her eyes forward unt
il she reached the deck. “Hey, where’d they take our cargo?” she said, remembering Joran Wolf.
When she touched down with the Vixen, she’d had the divider up so she didn’t see who dragged him off the ship. “I imagine that he’s in a world of hurt right now, considering the way they pulled him out earlier. Piece of schtill.” He shook his head. “We should get medals for keeping him alive.”
“No argument there,” Helga said. “It would have been easier to let Lei snipe him.”
“He did try, remember? Lieutenant cleared the shot, but Wolf wore a PSG, which is the only reason he survived. But we shouldn’t complain, Ate. What we did will do a lot for the Meluvian people. They’re going to squeeze him for all he knows, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re called on again to finish this.”
“I am done thinking about that man. Right now, I want to get this song and dance over. I’m thinking forced cryo after a drink, wake me up in a week, replenished.” She grabbed his arms and turned him around then tried her best to shove him out the door. He let her do it, though she could feel his muscles flexing below his coat.
A loud noise brought her around, and she almost reached for her sidearm. But it was a transport ship whose engine sounded as if it was dying. It flew in low and landed next to three others on the far side of the hangar.
Helga watched it intently, curious about its inhabitants, since she recalled seeing an assault ship docked and tethered outside the Aqnaqak. She thought that Quentin would keep walking, but he seemed just as curious as she was.
“Maker,” Helga whispered. “What do you think happened to them? Those Marines look worse off than we do.”
She had heard about the mutiny and the hub that had been destroyed, but these Marines looked really haggard, as if they were returning from a war. They escorted a young, slender woman whose black hair was a mess as it hung loosely on her shoulders. She was wearing a jacket that was obviously borrowed, since it swallowed her all the way down to her knees.
Her head was bowed as she dragged her feet next to them, as if all hope was lost. The sheer sadness of her mannerisms made Helga feel sorry for her, and she wanted to walk over there to see how she could help. Were they attacked by the Geralos, or pirates looking for slaves?
It would be the perfect excuse for her to jump into a fighter and seek out the attackers for revenge. She could take the girl with her, let her see the Nighthawks live and in color. Helga would be willing to do it, if anything to get back to doing something real. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about the MLF or the torpedo she’d launched, killing a nation of their men.
“Ate,” someone called, and Helga turned to see Cilas Mec waiting next to the XO, Cinnila Tye. She looked over at the young woman, who was climbing into a transport car with the Marines. What have they done to you? Helga wondered, and lifted her hand to give her a wave. To her surprise, the young woman waved back, and in her eyes, she saw something familiar.
“Do you know her, Ate?” Quentin said, and Helga shook her head, no.
“I don’t know her, but I recognize that look. It’s the same look Ray gave me when we were inside that house getting shot.”
The scene on the Aqnaqak was a stark contrast to what Helga had experienced prior to deploying. The spacers seemed angry, agitated, and quite a few of them looked frightened. As Cinnila Tye took them through some tight passageways, the Marines looked on suspiciously, some whispering to one another when they saw Helga’s spots.
“Ate, put this on your head,” Quentin said, handing her the black bandana that he had used to cover his face back on Meluvia.
“Why?” Helga said, not wanting to touch it. Quentin had worn it in the bush and during several firefights, and she could only imagine the amount of spit and blood that was now part of the fabric.
“Trust me, ma’am, you may want to cover up,” he said, and Helga was immediately angered by the need to hide her identity. She had grown up on the Rendron dealing with the xenophobic attitudes, and as a tried and true ESO, she didn’t feel the need to hide from anyone.
“Keep your snot rag, Tutt, I’d love for one of these thrust-heads to try it,” she said, and then reached around to the small of her back to check if her pistol was in place. It seemed like ages since last she’d held it in her hands, and she wanted to feel it, just in case.
When she found nothing, her heart skipped as she suffered a moment of panic. Had she left it down on Meluvia, in the town that Wolf had raided? A careless move like that would implicate the Alliance since it held her name and identification that would be linked back to the Rendron.
Cilas was watching her, so she gave him a nod and massaged her lower back to pretend that this was the reason she’d put her hand back there. “It’s in your boot holster, Ate,” he said under his breath, and she rolled her eyes, annoyed at herself, though she was relieved to find that it was still on her person. “They try anything with us and it would be the worst mistake of their lives.”
“What’s going on?” Helga said. “Commander, are we in some sort of trouble?”
“Not that I am aware of,” the commander said, but Helga wondered how it was that she didn’t notice the agitation everywhere.
“Commander, ever since we docked we’ve been met with very hostile feedback from the Aqnaqak crew,” Quentin said.
Helga was happy that he spoke up since she was beginning to wonder if she was overreacting. They stepped into a large space that connected several passageways where a cluster of Marines was gathered, yelling obscenities at a man seated on the deck.
“What’s all this then?” the commander said. “Don’t you lot have duties you need to attend to?”
They all stopped their screaming and regarded the Nighthawks, and one man—Helga assumed he was the ringleader—stepped forward to salute the commander. “Commander Tye, we found a traitor and was making him confess. We were—”
Cinnila Tye stepped into the man, so close that their noses were practically touching, and he stepped back instantly and hung his head. “Are you a master-at-arms, Chief Qel?” she said, staring intently into his face, and when he answered her question negatively, she looked past him to the rest of the Marines. “Is there a master-at-arms here? Any of you lot? No? Then I’m going to close my eyes and count to four, and you better be gone from my sight.”
Helga watched as each Marine apologized before they ran out of the compartment in different directions. The man on the deck had been severely beaten, so the commander got on her comms to call for help.
“I’ve seen this before,” Quentin said to Helga, his voice so low that she could barely hear him. “They must have had a mutiny, so now the ship is looking for answers, and the anarchists are weaving chaos, using accusations as an excuse to hurt the people they don’t like.”
Several spacers came into the compartment with a medical Cel-toc in tow. “Nighthawks.” The commander turned to them with a weary expression on her face. “Follow me,” she said, and she started down a passageway, leaving the medics to tend to the injured man.
Helga wanted to know about the mutiny and why it had sparked infighting amongst the crew, but a part of her knew that the Aqnaqak ranks would not be forthcoming with that information. She felt a painful rumbling in her stomach that forced her to stop. She had forgotten how long it had been since she had eaten and had some sleep.
The Nighthawks and Cinnila Tye were already on their way, so Helga quickened her pace to catch up with them. The faster we do this meal debrief, the faster we’ll be off this ship, and then I can finally get some sleep, she thought.
The commander took them past the compartment where they had been given the mission brief, and through a passageway packed with spacers, until they stopped at a tight ladderwell.
“One more level,” Cinnila Tye said, giving them a smile so warm she looked radiant.
Helga followed her up, and they emerged onto a deck which seemed newer than the rest. Looking around at the labels on the
door, Helga reasoned that this was the officer’s deck. The commander led them to an area where the passageway opened up. Several benches were bolted to the bulkhead.
“Please sit here and wait, Nighthawks. The captain wanted a chat. I’ll send up some food. You’re all starved, I bet.”
“And drinks,” Helga said. “Ma’am … drinks, if you don’t mind.”
The commander nodded slyly, then turned to start back down the passageway. Quentin went with her, and that was when Helga realized that they were friends. She stared after them and then glanced at Cilas before taking a seat on the bench.
“That Tutt, he’s full of surprises, that one. Every time I think I have him figured out, he does something completely off. Like look at him there making friendly with the commander.”
“He likes strong women,” Cilas said, grinning. “Big, strong, muscular women.” He laughed. He took a seat next to her and they sat in silence for a time. She realized that she felt nothing like before. At one time this would have had her excited as she contemplated things with the Lieutenant. Now it was no different from Quentin or Raileo sitting there. She didn’t understand why her feelings were gone.
“Doing alright, Ate?” Cilas said, and Helga looked over at him and studied his face. He seemed to be steeling himself for quite the negative response, and she couldn’t understand why.
He’s asking this dumb question again? she thought, wondering if it was him being polite and didn’t really want a response. Of course she was not doing okay. She was tired, irritable, and at her wits end. “Mind if I speak candidly, Cilas?” she said, her jaw clenched, holding back the anger that was ready to erupt.
“Of course,” he said, looking around, and from him doing this, she knew that he was anticipating the explosion.
Helga closed her eyes, remembering the Meluvian clouds. Those beautiful white puffs of nothing, obscuring the blue and pink of the sky. When they were in free-fall it was the best thing she’d ever experienced, so she was able to use it now to suppress her emotion.