by Greg Dragon
Time seemed to move along slowly as a calm settled in, removing the fear. This was new; she was normally panicking at this point, and she couldn’t feel the crippling weakness like before. She jumped up and twisted acrobatically, firing a shot at her pursuer. A searing hot bullet from his rifle struck her shoulder but she couldn’t feel it.
Helga landed from her flip and spun to continue firing, but her assassin was down on the deck, dead from a bullet wound in the center of his forehead. Her eyes widened in disbelief at the accuracy of that shot. Even Raileo would be loath to hit his target after pulling off that stunt. It felt amazing; she had never moved so fast outside of a cockpit, and her hand clutched at her chest as she sucked in gulps of air.
Helga’s eyes came open to lights so bright they hurt, which caused her to slam them shut, hoping to return to her dream. The assassin was dead for the first time, and she wanted to explore more of that ship.
Wait, she thought, recalling seeing Cleia Rai’to when she had opened her eyes before. The Traxian had been seated next to her, seemingly watching her sleep. Helga forced herself up, gripping the arms of her chair. She opened her eyes slowly, giving them time to adjust to the light.
Turning her head, she looked over at the doctor, who was busy fiddling around with her tablet. Maybe I imagined her being creepy, she thought, raising her wrist-comms to check on the time. There remained twenty minutes before the start of the first shift. It was time for her to get up, though it didn’t feel as if she’d slept six hours.
“Doc, it’s early. What are you doing up here?” Helga said, watching the Traxian’s fingers dance on the device.
Cleia leaned forward and touched an area of the console. A holographic image appeared. It was a man, possibly Vestalian, and he rotated slowly in front of them.
“Good morning, Helga,” Cleia said with a bow. “I had a hard time sleeping after our chat, so I’ve been going through my records looking for an answer to the creature you discovered.”
“You’ve become obsessed with the mutant,” Helga said.
“It’s not a mutant; please don’t use that word. It’s misleading when you call it that. For now, it’s unknown—by the way, do you always sleep up here? It’s not good for your back, you know? Though I must admit, these chairs are nice! I guess it makes sense for them to be comfortable considering the amount of time you spend in them.”
Helga’s tired glare caused the doctor to quickly shut her mouth, then she gestured at her tablet and the holo-image shimmered before splitting into two. Now it was a human standing next to a Geralos.
“What is this?” Helga said, her interest piqued.
“My theory on the Geralos you found,” Cleia said. “There’s too much to explain, so I’ll get to the point. I believe that the corpse belonged to a mind invader.”
“Really?” someone said from behind them, and the women both looked back to see the commander, toting a coffee mug. “I’m intrigued. Do tell, Dr. Rai’to. I don’t think any of us have seen a mind invader in the flesh. Is that what they look like? Near-human and disgusting, with worms crawling beneath their flesh?”
“Commander,” the Traxian said, getting to her feet and bowing, touching the knuckles of her right hand to her chin.
“Good morning, Dr. Rai’to,” he said, cheerfully. “I forget my manners. Please do continue your explanation.”
“Gladly, Commander,” she said. “As to your question, no, this isn’t normal by any means. His appearance is indeed unique, but I believe that this is due to…” She shut her mouth abruptly. “This may sound foolish for someone of my background to assert, Commander, but I want to remind you that this is a theory based on nothing scientific, just a … how you say? A hunch?”
Helga reached out and touched her hand in support, since it was obvious that she was petrified of Cilas and his position. It was one thing for her to openly speculate during a friendly chat within her office, but with the commander she was worried that it could reflect on her status as a professional.
Cilas seemed to understand what was going on, and he gave Helga a wink before taking a sip.
“This is completely off the record, Dr. Rai’to,” he said. “I know what you’re presenting is merely a theory, and how can it not be helpful? All we have are guesses at this point, and the Alliance is still trying to figure it out themselves. Do continue, won’t you? I am still unsettled by that thing. It will be a great help to hear your thoughts.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Cleia said, flushing a multitude of colors ranging from blue to green. “The Geralos mind invaders, as you know, give up their lives in order to usurp the brain of their victim. They remove the person, effectively killing them, but they too die when their original body is abandoned. This makes it a tremendous sacrifice for the Geralos whenever they choose to invade a mind. Now, what if they could find a way instead to alter their physiology to mimic the host without losing their lives?”
“Are you saying they’ve found a way to look and talk like us?” Helga said.
“Yes, I believe so, Helga. The Geralos that you killed was in mid-transition, turning itself into a Vestalian. From the footage, which I’ve watched more times than I’d like to admit, those parasites in its abdomen weren’t really parasites. That was the transformation working, though I’m not sure they have it mastered just yet,” Cleia said.
“What are the chances that they do have it mastered and are posing as pirates, attacking civilians?” Helga said.
“It would explain a lot, that’s for sure,” Cilas said. “Though the implications are downright frightening.”
“That is my theory, Commander,” Cleia said. “They’re using the Vestalians as avatars to alter their appearance. The facility you found is where they’re mastering this, though there’s likely to be many others, galaxy-wide.”
“Thanks for sharing, Doc,” Cilas said. “But I must ask you to never repeat what you told us here. News like this gets out and the morale will suffer within our ranks.”
“I will not repeat it, Commander. This was just a theory that I wanted to share with a friend.” She grinned at Helga, who returned the smile. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to medbay. Please alert me to anything if I am needed.”
Helga watched her go and then turned on Cilas, ready to rip him to shreds.
“I was on with the council,” he explained before she could get the words out of her mouth, and he showed her the coffee for emphasis. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, that’s an excuse I can’t argue against.” She got up from the chair to stretch. “Heavy schtill, huh? Lizards impersonating us through transformation. Here we thought all we had to worry about was them jumping into one of our minds. Now we’ll have to wonder if a random Marine or officer is really one of them in disguise.”
“I don’t see how that’s different, hence my lack of care,” Cilas said. “Robbing a mind, taking the place of a spacer; it’s the same thing for the rest of us that are ambushed by that thing. All this does now is give the lizard a chance to return to its hole once it’s finished with its treachery. I told the doc to stay silent but I’m going to tell the Nighthawks in my own time.”
Helga caught a glimpse of her reflection on one of the terminals, and her heart skipped when she saw how disheveled she looked. If any of the Nighthawks were to pop up on the bridge, they would see her speaking casually to the commander. It was one thing for them to speculate, but this could easily become a joke that would undermine her position. Despite Cilas’s belief that it was already known, Helga wanted to maintain plausible deniability of their affair.
“I need to go, Cilas. It’s half past the turn to first shift, and we both look as if we didn’t get any sleep,” she said.
Cilas laughed, though she didn’t see the humor in it. She saluted, which he returned, before racing to the lift to make her way down to her berth. Raileo would have already been in the mess, sharing coffee with Cleia as they chatted, and Quentin would be inside the gym, work
ing on his knife techniques. Sundown would be below the Thundercat, meditating in the way he always did.
Helga thought about joining him once she’d showered and dressed. Just imagining closing her eyes to rest lifted her spirits out of the grog that had her dragging her feet while hanging her head.
“Rough night, Ate?” someone said, and she looked up to see Quentin approaching the lift. It had just touched down to the dock, and she hadn’t expected anyone to be there, so the surprise jolted her awake, and she stood staring at him in shock. “Are you alright?” he said, stepping forward, but she couldn’t tell if the inflection in his tone was one of sarcasm.
“I’m alright,” she said dismissively.
“Fell asleep on the bridge again?” he said, grinning, and it was hard not to read into it but Helga forced herself to play along.
“Yeah, and then Dr. Rai’to woke me twenty minutes before first shift to chat,” she said, rolling her eyes for emphasis.
“Ah, now that explains the smoke coming from your ears,” Quentin said, laughing. “Don’t let me hold you up any longer. Sounds like you’ve already had quite the start. I’ll be in the mess with a stiff cup of coffee waiting for when you come back up. How’s that sound?”
“It sounds like you’re my favorite Nighthawk right now,” Helga said, smiling, as she walked past him to turn into the passageway, which held the three compartments they used for their personal berths.
Thirty minutes later, Helga was dressed in uniform and heading to the cockpit with coffee in hand. She hadn’t bothered to stay and chat inside the mess, but Quentin didn’t seem to mind, since he and Sundown were in the middle of a game.
Someone had left a ration bar on the arm of her chair, and Helga assumed it was Cleia, since the doctor had expressed some concern with her weight. Genetics and sporadic eating had kept her on the smaller side since becoming an ESO. Now stress, and the cycles where she would go the full rotation without eating, had contributed once again to her weight loss.
Cilas had even said something, and Raileo snuck in jokes, but Cleia had her popping meal tablets and meeting her daily in medbay for vitamin shots. At first, Helga resisted but then she started feeling the results—which were amazing— so now she ate and popped her tablets without having to be told.
“Hello, Zan,” she said without turning around. She could always tell it was the Cel-toc by the pattern of her footsteps on the deck.
“Good morning, Lieutenant, how may I assist?” the android said, as she came up and took a seat next to Helga.
She was wearing one of the Rendron’s flight suits with an Alliance insignia over the heart. It had belonged to Helga—a gift from Joy in a failed attempt to entice her to join the Revenant squadron. Now it was the Cel-toc’s to wear, along with several other items Helga had gifted before Argan-10.
“Give me a status update on the Ursula, and are there any new ships showing in the system?” Helga said.
“Hold on that command, Zan,” Cilas said, stepping onto the deck, causing Helga to shoot up to her feet and saluting as she had been conditioned to do as a cadet. “At ease, Ate. What are you doing?” he scolded.
“Force of habit, Commander. Don’t you stand whenever a captain takes the deck?” she said.
“Yeah, but it’s still strange for me, you know that. Anyway, could you summon the Nighthawks here for a quick update?”
Helga nodded and got on the Ursula’s PA system, commanding the Nighthawks to get to the bridge. She noticed that Cilas was tenser than when they had spoken not two hours earlier. He was in a new uniform, which made him look important. He wore a grey and white coat over black pants with several medals denoting rank. His knee-high boots were polished to the point of perfection, and his face was clean-shaven where before he had started to grow a beard.
He waited for them to gather, Helga, Raileo, Quentin, and Sundown, who wore nothing but a 3B XO suit and tactical soft-soles. Cleia Rai’to brought up the rear, walking gingerly past the commander to slip in next to where Helga was standing. Even Zan stood up to lean against her chair, giving Cilas her full attention.
“Just heard from the captain,” Cilas said, “We’ve got the location of those schtill traitors holding the Arisanis hostage. They are not over Genese as we were led to believe. Want to guess where they are?”
“Above Arisani?” Quentin said.
“Extra rations for the big man. Yes, they have remained here, cloaked and sending orders to their decoy ship in Genesian space. Thanks to our friends at the Jumper agency,” Cilas said, giving Sundown a nod of respect. “We have taken control of said decoy, and are in communication with the pirates, who still believe that we’re blind.”
“How did they manage to do that?” Raileo said.
“Oh, I’m sure the original crew on that ship are happily in compliance,” Helga said, smiling. “Hard to be loyal when you have a las-sword at your throat and several shadows threatening your family.”
“We aren’t that ruthless,” Sundown corrected her, but she twisted her lips and gave him a side-eye.
“Missio-Tral Shrikes have been given the mission to board that vessel and rescue the prince,” Cilas said. “Before you ask why them, I will remind you that we were on Argan-10 when the Jumpers were tracking that signal above Genese. Shrikes have been waiting to do their part, so naturally they got it, but that isn’t to say we get to sit on our hands. Captain Sho has asked us to provide a distraction, forcing the pirates to fight while the Shrikes are on-site.”
“Wait, you mean the Ursula?” Helga said, trying to imagine a fight where she wasn’t allowed to destroy the enemy’s ship. “They want us to waltz around sparring with that thing, while the rescue operation is left to the Shrikes?”
“They are ESO just like you and me, Helga. You sound as if I just told you it was the planetary defense force,” Cilas said.
“It’s just … I don’t know these men and their abilities, Commander,” Helga said.
“That’s the mission, Nighthawk. You don’t have to like it,” Cilas said. “A squadron from Missio-Tral is on their way to back us up, just in case the pirates get wise and call for help from their lizard benefactors. This is all for naught if we cannot get that Arisani prince out.”
“How are we going to manage that?” Quentin said. “As soon as they see a ship, they’ll cut and run.”
“Not to mention, murder the prince and the other hostages out of spite,” Raileo said.
“Finished?” Cilas said, and looked about the space, studying each of their faces. When he was convinced there would be no more interruptions, he walked over to the bulkhead and touched it, and it transformed into a screen. Appearing on its surface was Arisani space, where he manipulated several vessels to outline the plan.
“They won’t see the Shrikes,” he said, jabbing a finger at a tiny ship he’d drawn next to the pirate’s vessel. “They’ll come in quietly cloaked, and once they’re onboard they’ll move to secure him, and I will know their status the whole time,” Cilas said. “Ate, the pirates are in an old dreadnought. Second-generation Arisani build. We need to cripple it immediately, and then provide cover for the Shrikes. Once they have the ship that’s the mission. Shrikes will take the prince, and we’ll return to the Rendron.”
“Rendron? So we’re going back already?” Helga said, dreading the thought of losing the freedom that came with being on Ursula.
“Just for a time. We need to recruit more Nighthawks, pick up some supplies, and the captain wants a meeting, face-to-face. Plus, Sundown and Dr. Rai’to need to be formally welcomed into our crew. Captain Sho would like to do that personally, and there may be commendations for our actions on Sanctuary. Genevieve will have uploaded the Rendron’s location for you to plot that jump when we’re done with this op. Any questions?”
“Yes,” Raileo said. “It’s about Argan-10. Did you hear anything about the effort to go down to the surface and rescue the civilians?”
Cilas winced as if he was in pain.
“One and the same,” he said. “Our leaders decided that an assault on the moon would risk the lives of the Arisanis still held in space. They still intend to liberate them, but it will likely be sometime in the future when the Geralos aren’t expecting us.”
“Makes me wonder why they hadn’t just done this in the first place,” Raileo said, disgusted.
“Done what?” Helga said. She too was feeling irritable and angry at the Alliance council’s choices.
“Send in the Jumpers, that’s what. Get the prince out of their hands before sending in the Marines to wreck the traitors. They let us go through all we did, and now this with the Shrikes. All for what? To rescue some diplomat? Where’s the concern for the Vestalians, and the things we found on that moon?”
“I know it stinks,” Helga said softly. “But it’s not for us to question, Ray. We’re merely operators. We go where we’re sent.”
“What if we were still stuck on the surface?” he said. “Would they have helped, or would they have still sent those assault ships to assist the Shrikes?”
Helga studied Raileo’s face and saw the rage reflected there. He was a boomer, born and raised on a hub, then rescued by his parents who sent him to Rendron to become a spacer. For someone from such humble beginnings, he had always seen the Alliance as the ultimate force of good.
Since becoming a Nighthawk, however, he had quickly learned that most of their enemies were not the Geralos but their own. With each discovery of treachery, a bit of the light would die in his eyes. Now she worried that he would give up hope and become an ice-cold executioner, going through the motions of his service.
Imagining “Laser Ray” not being a fun-loving teammate was a frightening thought, considering how good he was at his job. There were enough hollowed-out killers on the Rendron for her to know just how that looked.
She observed Cleia Rai’to standing next to him, smiling as she pretended to be in the present. Her eyes revealed the truth, however, as they stared off into the distance, piercing bulkhead, space, and everything beyond. Those same eyes that kept the light within Raileo, and were probably the only reason he held on.