by Greg Dragon
“Coming up on the LZ now, Commander, nothing appearing on radar, and we can see the, um, crash site of the ship that we’ve been led to believe is a Geralos compound. There’s likely drones patrolling the immediate area of our op, so I’d like to take it down here and have us cover the rest on foot.”
“The structure is a ship?” Cilas asked, and she could feel his frustration grow from the intel missing such a crucial bit of detail. “Well, structure, camp, or ship, whatever, our mission is the same: we’re going to have a look at it. If the lizards are still blind to our arrival, we still control the element of surprise, so set us down as soon as possible, Helga. We’ll travel the rest of the way using PAS.”
Helga shifted the Thundercat’s energy, giving full power to the shields. Even if someone was to find where they landed, she wanted the damage to be minimal if they attempt to destroy their ship.
There were several rock formations near where they flew, tall, stacked boulders, like giant, gravity-defying cairns. It was a forest of stones stretching out for kilometers in all directions, and Helga put them down inside a tiny, rubble-filled clearing, masterfully avoiding contact with the rocks.
She and the Nighthawks gathered in the dropship’s hold, double-checking their PAS suits and loadouts. Helga grabbed her auto-rifle and slid it into its place behind the pack on her back.
Tucked under her arms were two hidden holsters, a Hooligan accessory, courtesy of one Raileo Lei. There she slid her favorite sidearm as well as a new addition that Quentin had gifted her back on the Ursula.
Every piece of gear that she now wore had sentimental value that brought her closer to her team. There was the PAS suit itself, the armored representation of an ESO, and the thing she had looked forward to wearing back before BLAST training and the long road to becoming a Nighthawk.
Her auto-rifle, a Vestalian element-loading ASR, was picked up in the war-battered streets of a town in Meluvia on her second mission with Cilas, and first mission with Quentin and Raileo Lei. One of her handguns was meant to be ceremonial, as it was engraved with her name and callsign, but it was such a beautiful pistol that she now used it as her primary service weapon.
The final and most sentimental piece was the black-steeled Jang, a marine-issued knife. This had come from Cilas, who made her promise to keep it close so that she would never be captured again. Like the others, she tucked the blade into its place on her rocket boots, where it would rest until close-quarters combat demanded it.
Once the Nighthawks were ready to go, they congregated at the ramp, and Cilas inspected their gear, something he normally didn’t do before missions.
“This will only go to schtill, if we let it,” he said calmly. “If Ate’s right and we got the drop, then we control this battlefield, starting right now. Remember that. We are the ones in charge of how this plays out. Do you copy?”
“Loud and clear,” Raileo said, a little too loudly.
“Once the ramp drops, we’re flying low, using the rockets on our PAS. Don’t disturb the stones. I don’t know what this is, and I don’t want to know. Let’s get to that downed ship or whatever nice and quiet before Lizzy gets wise. Ate, you take us in. Nighthawks, we’re live. There’s bound to be hundreds of lizards, and if an alarm goes off, they’ll swarm on us like a plague. Stay together, stay tight, and we’re going to find out what they’ve got going on down here. If it’s a prison camp like we believe, then the mission is simple: lock it down, and call for backup.
“Now, if it’s something else, we gather intelligence and stay undetected. The plan is to sweep the entire place, eliminate all threats, and report our findings back to the captain. Ate will take us in, but comms stay clear unless you have something to report to me or the team. Once we breach, I’ll take point, but the four of you will operate in pairs. Sunny and Tutt, Helga and Ray. Keep your maps up, just in case we get separated, and we’ll switch to private comms if we’re forced to split-up once we’re in. Any questions?”
“When we’re finished, do you think that we could explore this moon a bit?” Raileo said, and when the rest of the Nighthawks shot him a questioning look, he countered with a smile to show that he was joking.
“Will you be looking for a flower to brighten up a lovely Traxian’s day?” Helga whispered to Raileo on a private channel. Even through his mask she could see his face go white, and it was all she could do to not fall over laughing, but this wasn’t the time for games. No one else spoke, so Cilas started his countdown which ended with an alarm from the Thundercat’s intercom.
The Nighthawks ran out onto the rocky surface before Helga sprinted and jumped to activate her rockets. Like birds of prey, they flew together in silence, Helga in the front, Cilas and Raileo staggered behind her, and Sundown bringing up the rear with Quentin Tutt.
Helga’s focus was on the rocks and navigating through them, though they could have flown higher to avoid it all, and risk detection by radar or a reaper drone patrolling.
She would periodically glance up at her PAS suit’s HUD to account for the other Nighthawks’ location. Dyn seemed ages ago, but the scars from her experience there were still present. Nighthawks dropping at every juncture had become the norm, and a part of her expected the same thing here.
One positive thought that made her smile was seeing how comfortable Quentin was now, flying about in his powered armor suit. When he had become a Nighthawk, he had struggled with the nuanced, cerebral controls, but now he was an expert, slipping through the stones just as gracefully as he would if they were on the ground.
The forest of cairn-like structures ended with a drop-off into a scenic basin. So deep and wide was its beauty that for a moment Helga’s anxiety was replaced with a sense of wonderment.
Nothing made you feel more insignificant than seeing the creativity of nature, unprovoked. The misty land below them would hold a number of vicious, territorial creatures, and somewhere ahead was a Geralos operation, but from where she flew, the only thing that mattered was the experience.
Helga had to admit that where Dyn was a dull grey rock, full of craters and shadows, Argan-10 was a lush, lovely splendor, and flying freeform above it all took her breath away.
It looked every bit the exotic escape that the wealthy elite would use for vacation homes, and in the distance above the clouds, like detached stalactites rebelling against gravity and inertia, drifted several floating islands with their own set of trees and stones.
Now she understood why Raileo wanted to explore the place before they left. Why was this the first time she’d heard of Argan-10? It was a mini-Vestalia, and would have been a great source of refuge for the displaced Vestalians living on hubs.
She made a mental note to ask Cilas and Quentin. Perhaps the moon was considered sacred, or there was something else below the surface that kept out all manner of spacer but the Geralos.
From the shots she had seen from the orbital drones, as well as the fly-by they had done after breaking atmosphere, the so-called compound that they were to investigate was a disc-shaped vessel that had crash-landed on the surface. This meant that it was accidental, and unlike Dyn, the moon wasn’t being used as a refuge.
The atmosphere was toxic, there was that, and a person living here would never have the privilege of feeling the sun upon their skin. Terraforming was possible, but that would still be limiting, and every trip beyond the oxygen generator would require a 3B XO-suit.
One of the floating isles appeared below her through the mist, so she descended and landed on its surface, running between the trunks of its trees as she stared up through the canopy of leaves above them.
“This is surreal,” she muttered to no one in particular, forgetting that she had been on a private chat with Raileo Lei.
“Surreal is an understatement. I want to live here,” Raileo said. “Though this thing we’re currently on is starting to move, and I don’t like it.”
Helga picked up her pace before leaping and taking flight up and off the island, twisting and divi
ng expertly into the mist, as the other Nighthawks struggled to keep up with her. It began to rain, a light lush affair that threatened their visibility as the mist seemed to grow, and the wind picked up, threatening to toss them.
Knowing the danger in flying through a storm, Helga dove deeper into the basin, until they could see the tops of the trees. Argan-10 was untamed, and this was evidenced by the way everything grew, without the interference of civilization or industry.
She kept them low, flying through the dampness of the mist until they were a kilometer out from their destination. Landing again, she checked her fuel gauge, and was pleased to see that she had only consumed a quarter of her reserves. That meant that they had half a tank to toy with while they investigated the downed ship, and would be able to fly back out the way they’d come, easily.
Helga was always impressed with the PAS’s handling of energy consumption, and wished that whoever had built them would use those talents on outfitting spaceships. She had never been stranded in her PAS suit, but twice in her life, she’d been stuck inside of a cockpit recharging her crystal reactor core while counting down the seconds before a Geralos spotted her.
Even the memory of those two unfortunate moments served to give her goose flesh below her armor’s protective shell. The PAS was attractive, form fitting, and malleable, not to mention it had a tool or function for every situation. It was what had made her want to become an ESO, and now that she was one, she still felt privileged to own and operate it.
“On your lead, Commander,” she said over the general comms. “We’re about one klik out so we should avoid the air. As you can see by those bent trees and the unnatural fissure cutting through them, this is where that ship touched down and wrecked everything in its wake before slowing to a halt up ahead. We can follow its tracks, so to speak, and make our way to it, silently. Anyway, I’ll shut up now.”
“Good flying, Ate,” Cilas said, walking up to place a hand on her shoulder. “I was a bit worried when you started flipping around, but you got us here so fast I didn’t have time to be frightened. Now, let’s get moving and keep your eyes open. Don’t let the beauty of these trees lull you to sleep because it’s very likely that we’re walking into an ambush.”
“Commander,” Sundown said, causing Helga to look in his direction. The Jumper never spoke, and she worried that his superior senses had picked up on something they missed. He pointed to a thicket of trees on the left side of the wide, jagged depression that they were in.
Helga saw a myriad of lights, obscured by the mist and darkness from the tree’s thick leaves, blocking the sun from above. The lights seemed to wink and dart about, and she wondered if they were in fact fireflies.
“Thype me,” Cilas exclaimed. “Good eye, man, we need to move.” He was already sprinting alongside Sundown, who had his las-sword free and out to the side where it had less of a chance to nick any of them. Helga reached back for her auto-rifle and grabbed a clip full of cryogenic rounds.
Whatever Sundown had seen would be near the flora, and she didn’t want to be responsible for burning down a whole forest just to ward off a predator. Then she went down, hard, her face planted into the sand, as something with some weight bore her down.
All manner of shouts were in her ear, and she could hear the chattering of Cilas’s auto-rifle and the hum of Sunny’s las-sword. Chaos ensued, and she found herself unable to move her limbs, not because of injury, but because whatever it was that had mounted her had both her arms and legs pinned down.
For five minutes of hell, she stared at rocks and listened to terror, and though she could answer the queries that came in amidst the screaming, she was helplessly stuck, listening to it.
Eventually the pressure was gone, and she scrambled up, surprised that the glass on her helmet was intact. All about her was what could be best described as splattered, crablike monstrosities with their blood and guts still wet on the stones.
Cilas yanked her up and pointed behind her, where one of those creatures was missing a head. It had twelve segmented legs, like a Vestalian crustacean, though its shell wasn’t strong enough to withstand kinetic bullets. Her attacker had fallen to Sundown’s blade, but was so heavy that it had kept her out of the fight.
Helga got her bearings and looked about, praying that none of them had been seriously wounded. Everyone was breathing heavily, and she could see their heart rates spiking on the readouts of her HUD, but they all seemed to be unscathed as they paced about the area with their weapons out.
“Guess this answers my question as to why no one has exploited this paradise moon,” she joked, her voice cracking from the adrenaline.
“Yeah, and something tells me these were mere annoyances compared to what awaits us within those trees,” Quentin said. “We need to move, double-time, especially now, since it’s likely the lizards could hear our weapons.”
Cilas cursed to show his agreement, then walked around to give her armor a quick examination. “Their legs have spikes, as you can see, and that one there was trying to pull you from out of your shell. It damaged the surface, but the weaving held, thank the maker. Are you alright? How do you feel?”
“We should move like Quentin said, Rend. I am good. Nothing is hurt, thanks to your swiftness stopping it short.” She caught a lump in her throat and stopped to collect her bearings before the emotion of her narrow escape could break her down.
She took the time to close her eyes and inhale deeply before exhaling steadily between her teeth. “Good looking out, Nighthawks, thank you,” she managed before starting ahead of them down the path. And thank you, Sunny, she thought, remembering how he’d sounded the alarm.
The auto-rifle was a powerful, reliable weapon, but when they had been jumped she couldn’t hoist it fast enough to react. Remembering this angered her, along with the prospect of having to be rescued. She was irritable, angry, and annoyed, and since the weapon was part of her failure—as far as she was concerned—she replaced it with her trusty handgun.
As they marched, she brought it up to examine the craftsmanship that had made it special enough to be a commemorative weapon. Engraved was her callsign “Hellgate,” which in this instance gave her a clarity that she needed.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” she heard Cilas say over private comms.
“Golden, unless a bruised ego counts as an injury,” she joked. “Let’s just get to that ship and find what we came here for so that we can get back to Ursula.”
17
“Movement,” Cilas announced, and Helga checked where he was pointing and raised her pistol, ready for action.
The ground in front of them exploded, showering them with rocks, and Helga dove to the side, tucking and rolling, ending up on one knee. It was reflex, borne from drills practiced hours on end, and as she regained her senses from what she assumed had been an attack, she spun around to check on the Nighthawks. They too were recovering from their reactions, but none of them seemed to be injured or down.
In the area of the explosion, however, was one of the creatures that had attacked them before. This one was a juggernaut, easily dwarfing the others, at four times their size. The explosion hadn’t come from a landmine or bomblet, it had come from the crustacean escaping the tunnel it burrowed below.
It was perched above Quentin, who was seated with one hand shielding his face and the other gripping his knife. The creature had two of its appendages raised, poised to punch a hole in his PAS.
Cilas was up, firing into the creature, who slammed down its legs, causing Helga to scream in horror. Stones flew up with a loud thud, where its legs barely missed the Nighthawk. Quentin had timed the strike and rolled, leaving a deep gash in its abdomen.
Helga was already firing from both of her handguns, but the creature had nimbly tucked back into its hole. Now they were all up and running, knowing that at any time it would burst out from below them. Helga took the initiative and launched herself into the air, activating rockets.
“Nighthawks, fly.
You need to be off the ground,” she screamed into the comms as she stopped her ascent to hover several meters above the rocks. She realized immediately that the warning was unnecessary, since they had followed her lead to hover just below the tree line.
The creature emerged once again, rocketing upward from the dirt, but Sundown powered off his rockets to fall on top of it, driving the las-sword down into its skull. A horrid scream came from its gaping maw, sending chills down Helga’s spine.
“What are those things?” Raileo said, barely catching his breath.
“I think they’re called szilocs.” Sundown said, using a bit of fabric to wipe his sword. “They pick up on vibrations on the ground, like the kind we make when we walk.”
“It’s settled then, we’re staying afloat,” Cilas said. “Planets, what gives? Tell me, of all the ways to go … impaled by a lobster is not how I want to be remembered.”
“How many of those things do you think are below us, waiting for a thump right now?” Raileo said.
“I don’t care to know. Kill the chatter,” Cilas said. “Let’s get to that thyping ship; we’ve been delayed enough.”
“Not to be the bearer of bad news, but we’re not out of the schtill just yet,” Helga said. “We’re all pulsing our rockets to stay off the ground, which doesn’t take a lot of energy consumption as you know. But over time it will drain our reserves, and if you recall we just spent an hour crossing a misty basin of maker knows what.”
“What are you saying, Ate?” Cilas said, flying over to hover in front of where she drifted.
“We need a contingency, Rend. What we have in reserve is our only means of getting back to the ship once this is finished.”
Cilas cursed then looked around, wracking his brain for another means to avoid the bloodthirsty szilocs.
“Commander, if you’ll let me?” Sundown said, and Cilas almost seemed relieved that the Jumper had saved him.
“What do you think, Sunny?” he said, flexing his legs to keep his altitude when his rockets began to idle.