Half-Alien Warfighter (Lady Hellgate Book 3)

by Greg Dragon

  “Helga?” Joy said lightly. “Are you going to be okay?”

  Helga’s voice had cracked to betray the pain that broke free from their sharing. “I’m okay,” she said quickly. “It just makes me emotional, and next thing you know—”

  “You don’t have to explain yourself, girl. I have my moments as well. Dumb schtill, always random. I couldn’t tell you what the next thing will be to set me off. People kissing, a mother with a baby, a certain shade of green on a screen. Random schtill evoking the memory of things I work hard to forget.”

  “Now I understand why our first meeting was inside a bar,” Helga said, as she reached forward to retake Joy’s hands. “We were there for the same medicine, weren’t we? Oh, that means we’re bad for each other according to the psych. It also explains why you’re dating Cilas.”

  “One more word of that psycho-babble and you and I are going to have it out,” Joy said.

  Helga shut her mouth quickly, but her playful eyes betrayed her amusement. Joy shrugged helplessly and released her hands. “Hey, sis, I’m really enjoying this but we’ve been asked by the XO to do some recon about the ship.”

  “Seriously, the Revenants on patrols? Don’t they have Alpha squadron for this sort of thing?”

  “Yes, we do, but Alpha somehow missed your dreadnought, so there isn’t much confidence, if you know what I mean. Commander Jit asked me personally to take over the job. Nothing against our homegrown pilots, Ate, but that’s pretty damn awful, don’t you agree?”

  “I do,” Helga said, standing up to start getting dressed. “To think that same squadron acted like they were doing me a favor when I went to them at thirteen, inquiring what it would take to become one of them. Now they’ve asked me twenty or so times to come speak to them about combat techniques. The same cruta is still their flight leader, and she pretends to have forgotten how she made me feel.”

  “You should go talk to them anyway. I’m as petty as you are, so I agree on telling her where to shove that invite; but these are young Helgas and Joys who could use your knowledge and expertise. Plus, you could recount the tale of how you asked a flight leader for guidance and she turned you away, which led you to become an ESO.”

  Helga watched her face to see if she was joking, but the lieutenant was being sincere, with a hint of scorn betrayed by the twisting of her lips.

  “I like that idea,” Helga said. “I bet that would jar the memory right out of her skull. Could bring up Aurora deck as well, if I really wanted to destroy her, but I’ll be cordial and speak to the pilots, and toss in my jabs without calling her out specifically.”

  The thought of embarrassing the Rendron’s squadron leader energized Helga more than she’d ever admit, so she quickly pulled on her flight suit and grabbed the old helmet she had saved from her time on the Inginus. Joy smiled when she saw the familiar sticker that she had given to Helga back when they were on that ship. It was a sentimental gesture, a show of loyalty, and together they left the compartment to meet the rest of the team.

  16

  Two major battles against overwhelming forces and the starship Rendron reigned supreme. It had been a mixture of luck and military discipline that helped them survive, and spacers who fought like devils in the apocalypse when the threat of invasion was near.

  How could Retzo Sho not feel proud of the men and women on his ship? They had been ambushed and betrayed yet they prevailed. The Rendron had embarrassed the Geralos battleship Nian, and turned two of their destroyers into debris fields. They would receive no gratitude or gifts for their heroics, but they didn’t seem to want it. Victory was enough.

  What they did receive was treachery, from an enemy who knew no honor. They had boarded his ship through their psionic abilities, and tried to destroy them from the inside. This had shaken him to the core, and even now he worried for his crew. Would they ever return to the juggernauts that they were? Could he ever regain their trust, now that they knew that they could be boarded?

  There was a time, not even two Vestalian years past, when all he could think about was war. He had his infiltrators out hunting while his Marines filed their fangs, and any lizard foolish enough to appear on the radar would be traced and scrapped in an instant.

  Back then it was easy because the enemy had a face, and it looked extremely alien from the men and women by your side. Now there was The Collective, who poisoned the Alliance with their xenophobic terrorism, and they too had invaded his ship and forced him into a defensive position.

  The Retzo Sho in the mirror before him looked tired and out of patience. He reached for a towel and wiped his face, then turned and stepped out of the head to stroll over to his desk. The seat cushions felt amazing as he collapsed into his chair and he closed his eyes to enjoy it, knowing that at any minute there would be an interruption.

  His anticipation bore fruit a minute later, when there was a chime on his comm-link from none other than Jit Nam. The commander was looking for an audience and was standing right outside his doors. Retzo let him in immediately after seeing his hunched frame on the terminal. When the doors opened the tall, gaunt commander drifted inside like an apparition, stopped in front of the shiny black desk, and hovered in front of the captain.

  He saluted sharply and held it at his chest until Retzo gestured for him to take a seat. It was evident that there was something on Jit’s mind and he placed weary hands on top of the large glass desk.

  “What’s on your mind, Jit?” Retzo said, having never seen his XO look as defeated as he did right now.

  “Captain, we caught a dreadnought that managed to cloak and get within our perimeter,” Jit said. “We’ve taken measures to address this, but we haven’t asked the important question of where this ship originated. We’re in the deeper regions of unknown space, and if I’m not mistaken, that dreadnought lacks the fuel capacity to jump here. One of my lieutenants reminded me of this at first shift. Apparently they have been looking into it themselves—the ranks I mean—and she’s suggesting that we move.”

  Retzo clicked his tongue when he realized that Jit was right, and he was suddenly alert and ready to take action. Sloppy didn’t quite describe them missing this critical detail, and if this lieutenant hadn’t spoken up, they would still be sitting here. “What’s this woman’s name, Jit?”

  “Joy Valance. She is the Revenant flight leader,” Jit Nam said, then stopped and cleared his throat, fidgeting nervously.

  “Revenants? The fighter squadron that came from—”

  “From Lang’s old crew on the Inginus, Captain. She’s a sharp one, fearless, a deep-thinker with a mind for combat strategy. I’m thinking of promoting her to become our CAG, but I will speak to you about that later. Have you considered that we may be close to a destroyer, or lizard hub of some sort?”

  “This is a mess, Jit, and no, I haven’t considered anything, not with the infighting on our decks, and the threat of one of our own being indoctrinated.” He stopped and regarded the man, noticing that he still seemed nervous and distracted. “What else is on your mind, XO? You don’t really seem yourself.”

  “I hope that I didn’t overstep, Captain, but I asked Lieutenant Valance and her squadron to start patrolling the area. If they run into opposition, who better to face them than the indomitable Revenants? And if they see signs of the Geralos, the lieutenant will report back.”

  “Joy Valance for CAG, eh? Sounds like you know her well. I haven’t had the pleasure, so tell me what you know about her.”

  “She was a cadet here, high third class, but transferred to the Inginus to volunteer for the Traxis Reclamation Project. Remember that fiasco?”

  “How could I forget? Is she a veteran of that war?”

  “Yes, sir, she performed admirably. Showed enough grit to take command of a squadron. Commander Lang didn’t speak to me much, but I remember him bragging about the leader of his Revenants. She’s reliable, Captain, and you have seen her, she’s Commander Mec’s girlfriend. You would have met her when we commemorate
d both he and Helga Ate, back when we were docked next to the Aqnaqak.”

  Retzo thought about Cilas Mec and the times he’d seen him about the Rendron, and he vaguely remembered a woman on his arm, a dusky hard case, with hints of a Meluvian background. “Thanks for taking the initiative. We’ll wait to hear what they report before making an announcement. In the meantime I want you to go back to the bridge and give a quiet order to Toro Hanes. Tell him to plot a course for Meluvian space, just in case our Revenants aren’t enough.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jit Nam said, rising to his feet, invigorated.

  “And Jit…” Retzo said, catching him before he could run out of the cabin.

  “Captain?”

  “None of this is your fault, nor mine. We’ve been lucky that it’s taken this long. You have my permission to refer the lieutenant, if you think that she qualifies and would be useful in that post. I remember her somewhat, and she seems young but I won’t reject it.” He paused. “And thank you. This news may be life-saving, and I am as embarrassed as you that we had to be told.”

  “We’re not Cel-tocs, are we, Captain?” he said, smiling, and then he saluted and was gone.

  17

  Though Helga had flown all sorts of spacecraft in her short life, she had grown accustomed to the older controls that came with the Vestalian Classic. After walking with Joy to meet up with Millicent, she made her way towards the old ship, only to feel a tugging on her flight suit. Spinning around to see who had grabbed her, she was placed in a headlock by Joy, who dragged her to a phantom with no name or serial number.

  “We’re patrolling, and we can’t have an oddball ship,” Joy said, but Helga knew it was just an excuse to force her into the newer fighter. She started to fuss, using logic to decree why she should be allowed to fly her Classic, but Joy was not going to budge, so she relented after fifteen minutes of this. She was angry to the point of fuming, but that soon went away minutes after they’d broken past the bay doors to fly out beyond the radar.

  Everything was automated inside the phantom, leaving the pilot to merely maneuver, and Helga found herself with a lot of time that would have typically been spent checking gauges, shifting power to thrust, and deploying hard-points. The phantom had an advanced HUD, which gave her a full orbital view of what was around the ship, and its radar was intuitive, with holo graphics that accurately rendered debris and other fighters.

  “Damn you, Joy, you knew this would happen,” she growled into the comms on a private channel with the Revenant. Joy didn’t immediately answer, but Helga could imagine the smile on her face, and to confirm that it was there, she switched interfaces on the HUD to one that showed her wingmens’ faces.

  “There she is, Milli. Our Nighthawk friend has found the interface controls,” Joy said, grinning.

  “I’ve flown a thyping phantom before, cruta, and you know it, so don’t pretend that you’re enlightening me. It’s nice, and I’ve told you that. It’s a top of the line fighter for the Alliance, but there are things I can do in a Classic that this machine will not allow.”

  “Helga, you do know the reason it doesn’t allow it is because those things are dangerous and suicidal. Pretty soon the Classics will all be scrap, and you will have no choice but to conform to the modern Alliance standard. What will you do then if you’re so committed to flying like someone who doesn’t give a schtill? You’ll feel handicapped, and by then, you may be too old to adjust to new things. It will shorten your career; trust me, I’ve seen it.”

  Helga thought about her words, and though she wanted to argue back, she knew that Joy was right. It was a fear she’d had ever since she’d been given the Classic. It was an old-style fighter, and only a few pilots still bothered to use them. She knew if it were up to the dock chief and the engineers in charge of innovations, they would take her ship, scrap it, and rebuild it into a sleek new phantom.

  “Even if you’re right, Joy, it’s still my choice, and forcing me to fly this ship will not change my mind.” She awaited the retort but none was coming; this she realized after three minutes of dead air. It made her feel self-conscious, which was probably what Joy intended, so she focused on space and the pleasure of being in the cockpit. This was enough to transport her to a pilot’s happy place, where all that separated her from icy nothingness was Genesian steel and technology.

  They patrolled in silence for a time, flying an expanding orbit around the Rendron. Joy had taken them out so far that the starship was barely visible when Helga tried to locate it with her eyes. The coordinated rotations were computer operated, so “flying” was a reach in terms of what they were doing.

  After a while Joy struck up a conversation with Millicent, and Helga listened silently as they joked about things she couldn’t understand. They brought up their old commander, Tyrell Lang, and the rumor that he had several families on different planets. Helga felt alone, which was a bonus to being out there. Nothing could beat the feeling of mortality that came with being this far from rescue.

  She closed her eyes at one point, relishing the gentle hum of the phantom, and she had to admit that she liked it. The ship was starting to grow on her. This was obviously another attempt by Joy Valance to indoctrinate her into the Revenants, and a part of her hated this game because she had already made her decision.

  What was Joy thinking, that all it would take was getting her inside of a cockpit and then everything else would fall in place? She would see the error of her ways of wanting to explore planets, moons, and the interior of strange ghost ships instead of flying wing with the Revenants, defending the space about the Rendron.

  Did the lieutenant not realize that her promotion showed that she was much more than a pilot? That instead of waiting around for her to retire or die, she could fly a myriad of vessels through and over alien cities, while reaping the benefits befitting a Nighthawk? She wasn’t just another pilot; she was an ESO on a leadership track. This meant position, a significant set of quarters, spacers at her beck and call, and—

  “Who am I fooling with this schtill,” she announced. Joy knew her better than most, and she would have smelled hesitation to even attempt a stunt like this. Plus, there were things about leadership that had to be taught, and if Cilas died who would be there to pass that knowledge on? The road she chose as an officer was to end in leadership, and that end wasn’t in the bushes of a planet; it was at the helm of a starship.

  That level of responsibility couldn’t just come from experience, like the buying and selling of goods to keep the Rendron afloat. Who was in charge of that? Did she even know? No … and what about ordnance? The Rendron was loaded with new technology and weapons that kept it competitive against the Geralos.

  Those speedy phantoms that she saw parked inside of the hangar had not been there when she was a cadet, when the Vestalian Classic—then known as the VC Mamba—was the standard Geralos killing machine of the Alliance Navy.

  There was no charity doling out the latest inventions, and the Genesian language only dealt with credits, assets, and valuable salvage. Helga, ever inquisitive, had noticed the excitement when they destroyed a Geralos ship, so she knew that the scrap they salvaged had something to do with it.

  For her to have a shot at the Rendron—if she wanted it—someone would have to teach her all these things, or they would eventually get caught with outdated technology against the advanced machines of the Geralos engine. This alone was enough to stunt any aspirations of the highest seat. She didn’t know how much knowledge was necessary, beyond the tech and Naval ceremonies, but there was the question of food, recruitment, and communication with the Alliance council.

  Did Joy know these things to teach her? What about Cilas? Did he know? She saw that he was spending more time with Retzo Sho, and she had a sneaking suspicion that his role was about to change. If she told Joy to shove it, she could eventually become the head of the Nighthawks, which was absolutely ridiculous when she thought about it. She had been deployed only twice, and was technically still in her
teens. Sure, Quentin and Raileo would entertain it, but none of the seasoned spacers serving as officers would ever take her seriously.

  Flying out here with these two women, who were chatting as if they were lazily lounging in the wardroom, had her questioning her decision to stay with the Nighthawks rather than pursue a career as a fighter pilot. With the Revenants she would compete with Millicent for the number two spot, and it wasn’t being egotistical or unrealistic to think that Joy would give it to her immediately.

  Helga was a gifted fighter, and she had been told this enough to stop denying it, not to mention the fact that she had the old Vestalian “seeker gift.” This latter truth was only known by the Louine doctor who first examined her, and the psychic Cel-toc, who would only share it with the captain if pressed.

  She would fight wing with Joy until the older pilot was promoted to something more important, and then the Revenants would be hers, and she would follow the path of her predecessor.

  Years of ship defense, running patrols such as this, training of newer Revenants, then a promotion to CAG, or the helm of an infiltrator, or smaller warship. By the time that happened, she would have the education necessary to look after a crew the size of the Rendron’s.

  “And I would be a tight-faced old lady,” she said out loud, as she probed her mind for the faces of all the older female officers that she knew. Her best guess was that she’d be like her mom, a youthful look with lines decorating the edges of her eyes and mouth. She would be an ex-ESO as well, so the spacers would view her as shrewd. It was a great position to be ambitious about, but was it really what she wanted when it was all said and done?

  Nighthawks had but one end—death, and a beautiful casket—but some cheated that outcome, and became Retzo Sho, which brought her back to running a starship, which seemed ridiculous for her, somehow.