Angel of the Alliance (Lady Hellgate Book 4)

by Greg Dragon

  “Are the remaining torpedoes primed Zan?” she said.

  “All four are online, Lieutenant,” the android said.

  “What’s the status on that dropship? Is anyone still alive?” Helga said.

  “I’m on comms with their commander,” Cilas said. “He says the ship’s in really bad shape, but nothing that can’t be repaired if the shields are allowed to replenish.”

  “Sixteen Geralos zip-ships incoming,” Zan announced suddenly. “Twenty-two missiles have been launched. Taking defensive maneuvers now. Brace for impact.”

  “We’re not bracing for schtill. Bring them down,” Helga demanded, and the Cel-toc directed all weapons towards the ordnance.

  “Tracers have successfully eliminated seventeen targets,” Zan said. “Contact is imminent. Brace for impact. Estimated damage, less than a 20% drop in our shielding.”

  As predicted, the missiles struck with minimal effect, and the Ursula’s tracers went back on the offensive, mangling the assault ship they originally pursued. Now it too was disabled, with the engine showing signs that it would explode. Helga put everything into thrust and took their pursuer back towards the dreadnought. It tried to keep up, but the Ursula was too fast, and Helga again used the disabled ship as an obstacle to hide from her opponent. It gave her the crucial seconds needed to cloak and come around, stealthily winning the assault ship’s flank.

  “Launch all torpedoes,” she commanded, and Zan complied, knocking out the shields and a section of the hull.

  The zip-ships arrived just then, however, like a swarm of mosquitos, stinging at the Ursula’s shields. Helga again had to do some fancy flying to protect the Ursula from the relentless barrage. She was growing tired and distracted, sweating now as she sought for an answer to this new threat.

  “Blackbird, this is Weasel, how are you faring?” said the Shrike commander over comms.

  “Not good, what’s your situation, Weasel?” Helga said.

  “Home free with the package. Thanks to you and your team, this junker’s finally ours,” he said.

  “Ursula command,” came another voice over the comms. “This is Commander Aven Horne, Blood Wraith flight leader, Missio-Tral Squadron. Looks like you could use a hand with a few bugs.”

  Took you long enough, cruta, Helga thought, then cleared her throat and replied, “Some assistance would be phenomenal right now, Commander. Looking forward to seeing you and your squadron in action.”

  They came through like a rain of arrows, cutting through the zip-ships effortlessly, leaving destruction in their wake. In a blink of an eye it was over, and the only thing remaining of the Geralos was a memory. The Missio-Tral squadron reverted to patrolling as the Shrikes worked at transporting the hostages onto the Vixen. As for the Nighthawks, they were now long gone, making the trip back to the Rendron. It had been a successful mission, but not without its lows, and when Helga looked over at Zan, the Cel-toc gave her the widest of smiles.

  “The cockpit is yours, Zan,” she said. “We did it. Good job. Commander, if I have your leave, I’ll be below deck, clearing my head.”

  26

  While Helga and the Nighthawks were engaged with the Geralos, there was an assembly being held on A’wfa Terracydes by the top delegates of the planet. In a grand open space they sat in high-backed chairs, tiered and wrapped about a floating disc-shaped stage. The man of the hour was the chairman of industry, Sebi Lata’anda, an Arisani noble draped in black robes and wearing a thin metal necklace that denoted his name and rank.

  It was an odd gathering for that time of year, borne of desperation, due to dire circumstances. Delegates that couldn’t attend had Cel-toc representatives in attendance, some going so far as to have the androids made in their likeness. Attendees stuck in space and unable to be their physically listened in and commented via holographic projections. The room was packed, the best turnout they ever had, at a meeting that would only occur when there were decisions to be made that affected the entire planet.

  The chairman stepped forward, his soft-soled, curly-toed boots making no noise on the smooth alabaster stage. He regarded the room, turning a full 360 degrees, with a practiced sequence of waves.

  “Delegates of the empires, and representatives of the eight continents. First of all, thank you for allowing this most unfortunate interruption to your lives. Thanks for being here at this hour, in this space, physical and holo, at this, our most difficult time. As you might have heard, Prince Jorus Kane of the nation of Moss-Ekanoe was attacked and taken hostage. Prince Joras Kane is a close friend, business partner, and family man. Certainly not someone I could ever imagine who would have his life threatened by parasites.”

  “I am both angry and ashamed, as I am certain most of you are. A’wfa Terracydes was built for … was built to be a bridge, for industry and outreach, as a means to establish trades with our sister planets. We had the greatest intentions, but to be frank, we were naïve in thinking that we would be left alone to compete. That oversight has brought us to this awful place, my fellow delegates, and for that you have my sincerest apologies. If there is anyone to blame for this, it is I. Now, I see a number of hands, so maybe this is a good time to stop my blabbering,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I’ll answer your questions now. Lady Jerula, please, what are your thoughts?”

  “Master Chairman, thank you,” the hat-wearing Arisani noblewoman said. “My question is on security. There have been rumors of a connection between a citizen of A’wfa Terracydes and the attack on the Lucia, which led to the capture of our prince. Is there any truth to this, and what is being done about it?”

  “Yes,” Sebi Lata’anda said. “There was internal involvement—”

  Before he could say anything more the room exploded into a raucous tornado of disapproval, as members of the board let him know how they felt. A sharp noise drowned them out, as Sebi depressed a tiny panic button hidden beneath his robes. The noise continued until they quieted, and then he spread his arms in a gesture meant to express unity and understanding.

  “I would love to give you reassurances that punishing the accused will be the end of piracy and the attacks on our fleet,” he said. “Unfortunately, to do so would be dishonest. Piracy is a galaxy-wide plague, and the only thing that can be done is for us to come together and agree on measures that will make it hard for them to try. On that topic, it may be best for you to hear from the man in charge of our Crime and Loss Prevention services. The good sergeant, Trisk A’lance.”

  The sergeant stood up from his seat near the edge of the stage, and ascended the stairs. He walked up to Sebi Lata’anda, who reached out and took his hand and shook it. The chairman then retreated to the floor, leaving the somber-looking sergeant alone on the stage. He raised one hand, and a holo-display appeared above him, showing a prison cell with two inhabitants.

  “Thank you, Mr. Chairman,” he said, clearing his throat. He forced a smile on his long, chalky-white face. “Good people of Arisani and beyond, it is my pleasure and privilege to be with you today. My hope is to restore some of your confidence in ACLOP, your security force. Now, above me on the display are the two men who coordinated the attack on Prince Joras Kane. The man on the left is one, Reiro Askier, a Vestalian smuggler who got hired on by the Lartrillo Company to help maintain our docks.”

  Several gasps went up from the crowd, mainly from Vestalian aristocrats who were embarrassed to see one of their own be involved with the crime. Others were shocked at the Lartrillo Company’s lapse in judgment, and the thought that the same docks where their ships were now parked had been open to a co-conspirator of the pirates. Trisk A’lance seemed to have expected this reaction, since he stopped and waited patiently for the noise to die down.

  “The other individual is a mystery. No credentials, and no ties to this station or our planet, yet he lived here in our social development housing with a family he was holding hostage. I am not telling you these things to frighten you, good people of Arisani, but to paint a backdrop to the reality
of why pirates thrive in our system. There’s a lot to cover, but I will try my best to be brief. We have been at a disadvantage against these raiders because of our isolation as a planet. What I am about to say is a difficult thing to accept, but piracy starts when desperate people make this choice as a means to survive. We see them as villains, rich, and plotting these schemes from the comforts of plush, stolen ships. But this assumption aids their cause because it blinds you to the reality that anyone can and will do it.

  “Reiro Askier, our resident smuggler, has lived in squalor his whole life. Being poor around all this wealth, he had a choice: continue to push 50 kilo crates around for meager credits, or assist a group of robbers with some intelligence for intercepting the prince’s ship. In his head it was a no-brainer. The prince is wealthy beyond measure, and they likely promised he wouldn’t be hurt, just a bit of delay. We all know now that he got in with a pack of murderers, willing to take the lives of numerous innocents for a ship.

  “What am I saying? We need to think bigger than arresting the Reiro Askiers when we find them. What we have here is a war, good people of Arisani, a war against a collective of desperate and ruthless people. They may be small, but they are organized, and have established a wide-reaching network, which unfortunately includes our station. And how do we root out the enemy when he looks like us? He’s our neighbor, our employee, an officer in charge of our ships.

  “The first step is acceptance. Eh? Not pretending we’re above these attacks until it happens to someone as lofty as the prince. Arisani must recognize that these gangsters are a legitimate threat. We must be stalwart. We must become intentional. First, with the security of A’wfa Terracydes and the space about her, and second, with empowering our people to report things when they see them. Piracy is alive and thriving because most attacks go unreported. Ransoms get paid because merchant ship owners treat it as a hiccup that slows their business.

  “With that being the pattern, why wouldn’t they attack the Lucia? It’s obvious that their system works. Right? We’ve allowed it. Being intentional means that we must alert one another, report all incidents, and accept assistance.” He waited as if he expected applause, and when there wasn’t any he put a hand over his heart and nodded at Sebi Lata’anda. “Mr. Chairman,” he said, graciously, smiling despite the hostile air, and the older man took his hand once more and shook it, trading places with him on the stage.

  “Ah, any more questions, please?” he said, dabbing a bit of sweat from his abnormally long forehead. “Yes, the gentleman in the back. Oh, Premier Codan, greetings, my fellow Knaak.”

  “We have been ask to communicate better, and that’s fair, but aside from tips on reporting incidences, what is being done to assure us of our safety?” the portly man said, his hands becoming animated as he spoke. “For years we’ve heard from your office that these pirates are a minor threat. Now your head of security is telling us that it’s on the level of a war. What, Mr. Chairman, are we paying you for? To sit on your hands and lie while a crisis reaches critical mass?”

  The crowd erupted with loud agreement and Sebi Lata’anda looked ill as he stared at his countryman, who had hung him out to dry. He fumbled with the button, hesitating to press it. Why would they obey his noise now to give him the floor, when what he would be silencing was them questioning his job and position?

  “Perhaps I can best explain,” someone said, and the room quickly quieted as a Cel-toc, built to favor a thin, well-dressed Arisani, got to his feet and approached the stage. While his form was forgettable, the people inside the room recognized the voice. It was Joras Kane, the prince, who had secretly attended the assembly, utilizing the mechanical avatar of the representative from his district. The Cel-toc took the stage, and the holo-screens above him changed to show the face of the real prince.

  “You all have a right to be angry, but no one here is as disappointed as me. To see my friends massacred, and all for what? Credits and a warship. That’s what they wanted, a vessel, and to those with the means, it’s nothing in exchange for someone of my station. Right? No, wrong. Which is what the sergeant was saying. In a manner of hours, they segregated my friends and the crew of the Lucia, then took the poor Vestalians to a prison camp on a remote station. The rest of us, the Arisani and the Genese, we were locked inside a cargo hold without food and water.

  “We sang songs and clung to one another for hope while our kidnappers issued threats to the galactic Alliance. Their demands? A warship in exchange for my life, and the longer it took for them to agree to this deal, the more of my friends they would shoot. This continued until my family reached out to the Alliance for assistance. I would be dead now, or worse, tortured within a centimeter of my life, if the Alliance had chosen to refuse them, and left me there to die. They could have done that, but they didn’t. They showed me how committed they were to our trade, by rescuing me.

  “So, what are we doing? We’re joining the Alliance, not militarily but with resources, food, and supplies. This decision did not come lightly, since my initial intention was to establish a trade. But things tend to become clear when your life is threatened, and you see those you love taken away. Some of you will disagree, and I don’t blame you. None of us want to be dragged into a war. I am not asking any of you here to do anything, but you’re all here because something has to be done.”

  “Are you saying that you are seceding from the External Conflict Writ?” shouted Premier Codan, bypassing all protocol to object.

  “That is what I’m saying. My trade with the Alliance will no longer be business. We have a formal agreement that until the end of the galactic war, Moss-Ekanoe will supply the Alliance with the resources needed for building their ships. In exchange, we will have presence above Arisani, a dedicated destroyer with drones, fighters, and well-armed Marines, keeping our merchant vessels safe.”

  “This will bring in the Geralos, who will be angry with us,” Premier Codan said. “How could you be this selfish, Prince Kane? You’ve endangered all of our lives, and for what? To stop a handful of pirates? What you’ve done is take a blowtorch to a house in an attempt to stop a fly.”

  “You go forward with this, and there will be war,” someone shouted, and more opinions followed along the same vein.

  “I forgot to mention, members of the assembly, that before making my decision, I spoke with the leaders of the nations that border my lands. As of this moment, we have the signatures of Pacho Moran, Mantup Rial-Mar, Junlop Moon, and Lady Talulah Harre. Five nations, including my own, which gives me quorum to move forward with my aid. There are high emotions in here, and rightfully so, because the Geralos are vicious, frightening creatures. But I spoke to a man named Retzo Sho, a war captain in the Alliance, who they tell me sent in his Marines to handle part of my rescue.

  “He informed me that our pirates were dealing with Geralos. In fact, they are selling our Vestalian citizens off to them, which is why they segregated us. Now, do you mean to tell me that you are okay with this crime? That the Vestalian citizens that live in Fortnar and Knaak are not considered worthy to defend? Are we cowards? Is neutrality so wonderful that a handful of hoodlums can lock a station down? If so, then speak up and convince me. Tell me why I should allow the Geralos to commit crimes in our space, unchecked?”

  The room grew eerily quiet but for a few nervous people clearing their throats. No one had expected the Geralos to have a part in the prince’s kidnapping, and even if they disagreed with assisting the Alliance, they didn’t want to get singled out. The Cel-toc began to pace the stage, his hands on his hips as he stared down the audience.

  “People of Arisani, representatives of the three remaining nations, know that you’re well within your rights to prevent our actions through war. You remain silent, but there are a few of you who will try that, and I must warn you of what that means. Aside from the five nations allied to assist us, we now have the naval support of the Alliance. So, think before you act. I would rather talk amicably than entertain any more threats.
/>
  “The downside is yes, we may have Geralos interference, but they will be met by our Alliance friends, while life as we know it will continue … just not as quietly. The upside, however, is that business will increase. Supplies will be safer. The Alliance will be providing escorts to any merchant vessel that requires it, and so we’ll have less losses to theft. Here on A’wfa Terracydes we’ve always loved our Alliance visitors. They spend their credits and make us feel safe, and aside from their boisterous ways and some cultural quirks, they’ve always been a boon to our merchants. As allies now, their number will increase, considering that the ships providing us protection will need to resupply.”

  “Ships need fuel, Jenna Harken,” he said, waving to a small Genesian woman, who seemed to relish his attention. “Vandon, your algae supply will triple from you having to process soft and hard rations for your stores, and the planet as a whole will benefit, all for turning against the Geralos, who turned on us. Where is the bad in this? Where am I out of line?”

  A low murmur in the crowd rose to a crescendo of discussion as representatives turned to their neighbors and excitedly began sharing their thoughts.

  From a hospital bed within the medbay on the starship Missio-Tral, Prince Joras Kane made a sigh of relief, and reached out to a Meluvian doctor, who took it and shook his hand. Behind the doctor was a large vid-screen with live feed of Captain Retzo Sho. Standing next to him was his executive officer, a man by the name of Jit Nam, and the two of them were smiling as if they had just heard the most amazing thing.

  “They said you were good, but that was just masterful,” Retzo Sho said, laughing. “What do you think of his speech, Jit? Are you not impressed?”

  “Impressed? We should be giving you your own starship, Prince Kane. Give a speech like that to the Geralos, and they might give us back Vestalia and quit.”

  “All jokes aside, Prince Kane,” Retzo said, “it has been an unfortunate series of events that led us to this decision, and I don’t want to make light of your tremendous sacrifice. The Alliance council has asked me to inform you that in one Vestalian year, you will have two dedicated destroyers outfitted with infiltrators, cruisers, and a fleet dedicated to the defense of Arisani. Meluvia, Casan, and Genese will be sending gifts to formally welcome you in to our fight. Your speech wowed me, and I am happy to have you as a friend. Welcome to the Alliance.”