by Greg Dragon
Sundown recovered one of the heavy pistols, then told Helga to keep the one he had loaned her earlier. Now they were outfitted for a small-scale war, and Helga thought back on Quentin’s cry of “The Maker provides.” He wasn’t an extremely religious man, but he had his phrases, probably learned from his devout Genesian parents.
“Now that’s CQC,” she joked.
“Masterclass,” Raileo agreed.
“We should hide these bodies and keep on moving,” Quentin said, not finding the humor in their compliments.
They looked around to see who was watching, but the scavengers in the distance didn’t seem to have noticed the scuffle. They stripped their attackers of all usable items, including their masks and credits, and then shoved their bodies below the pile, doing their best to cover them entirely. The darkness was dense, so Helga worried not for discovery, though the entire time they shifted the pile she kept looking over her shoulder.
Inside the center was the exact same layout as the one she and Sundown had escaped to after the explosion. This one, however, was a dark, twisted version of the one aboveground. There was spray paint on the walls, some artistic, others just names, many of which were crossed out. The roof stood collapsed in places with no effort to repair it, and like outside there were mountains of rubble piled against the walls.
The light was so low that they could barely see at times, but someone had gone through the trouble of reactivating power in certain sections. Sundown took point with Quentin Tutt close on his hip, while Helga and Raileo brought up the rear. For all of Helga’s training, she felt out of place in the dark, so she followed Quentin closely, hoping to limit her mistakes.
“Hold here,” Sundown said, once they had walked for several minutes with no contacts or signs of the Hopeless. They were stopped in front of a set of double doors with a makeshift lock installed.
From inside they could make out voices, casually talking and joking around. This confirmed Helga’s guess that they hadn’t been detected, and could take Domina alone with minimal casualties. She didn’t know anything about this gang outside of the theft of the pod. That had been a job to them, supposedly paid for by a wealthy elite, and she had nothing personal against them, outside of the thought that they were scum.
“Quentin, wanna take point?” Sundown said, and the big man moved forward to assess the doors. Helga expected him to yell, “Breach,” then perform his patented spinning kick, but he looked back at them and made the sign to stay quiet before slowly nudging it open.
The place looked to have once been a cafeteria of sorts, with tables and chairs stretching off deep into the distance. The light was as terrible as everywhere else, but they could make out a group of six or seven men. They were having drinks at one of the tables, while one stood guard with his back turned, near the door where they entered.
Quentin wrapped an arm around his neck, bringing him down into a crouch, then holding him there for the seconds it took for him to lose consciousness.
When he was down, both Helga and Raileo approached while Sundown pulled the doors shut behind them. On Quentin’s command, Raileo slipped forward, ducking below the tables, where he disappeared from view. Helga and the other two men took advantage of the darkness, using it to hug the walls as they worked their way closer to the enemy.
The smell of rich cheeses and meat made her mouth start to water as they crept ever closer to the men. These were rare foods for a space station that the gangsters were tossing around. Once or twice a head would pop up and glance at the door expectedly, and Helga reasoned that they were looking for their friend, who now was tied up and gagged on the floor.
Helga and Quentin each marked a man, exchanging hand signals so that they wouldn’t go after the same one. Sundown picked up on this, and signaled to a third that he would dispatch. Meanwhile, Raileo Lei was in the shadows, ready to pick up the rest.
When Quentin gave her the signal, Helga dropped to a crawl, and then inched forward behind her mark, who stunk of something sour. Her training kicked in from the sessions back on the Rendron, and she moved on the man like a spider trapping its prey.
One arm went over his shoulder and the other below the other arm. Interlocking her fingers, she pulled him into her as he cried out in protest. Helga snapped her body backward, knelt, then brought him to the floor. There she choked him until he stopped moving, slouched in a seated position.
While she was holding him down, Sundown was on his man. He dashed forward on feet so light they could have been cat’s paws. Sliding between the gangster’s legs, he took him to the floor, snapping his neck in a complicated twist before jumping on another. From below, lying prone with his pistol, Raileo killed two more while Quentin Tutt finished off the last. Their ambush had taken less than fifteen seconds to execute, and they all regarded each other, breathing hard, surprised at how efficiently it had gone.
They tied up the unconscious and placed them in shadowy areas away from one another. Once that was done, they put the corpses below the tables, confiscated more weapons, and then rallied by the far door. “On you, Tutt,” Helga said after she noticed them waiting for her command, and the big man wrapped a scarf about his face and slipped through silently with his knife.
After a few seconds had passed, Helga motioned for Raileo and Sundown to follow her in. They stepped out into a hallway that was badly caved-in, forcing them to take it in a single file. Eventually they made it to a stairwell, which led up to the second floor.
Sundown pulled them up short. “Upstairs here is where important executives once had their offices,” he said. “Now it serves as Domina’s realm, the formal headquarters for the Hopeless.”
“Quentin’s ahead, so let’s wait,” Helga said, hunkering down behind a section of collapsed wall. What I would do for night-vision and the armor of my PAS, she thought, but then she almost jumped when Quentin Tutt popped up beside her.
“They have our stasis pod,” he said, gasping, trying to catch his breath. “Their boss is up there with a buyer, looking over our stolen weapons. Ma’am, you have to cut us loose. They have one hell of an arsenal up there. We have the advantage but only if we strike now. Put Ray on the mark while we hit her bodyguards loudly. What say you, Lieutenant?”
“Did you happen to get a headcount?”
“Eight soon-to-be-dead men and two civilians buying guns. Their boss is on the couch, lounging, barking out orders and being a real schtill. I assume that’s our mark?” he said, looking at Sundown for confirmation.
“Vestalian woman, dressed in gems and precious metals?” he said, and when Quentin nodded, he made a sign with his fingers to confirm it was her. “That’s our mark, Domina Ryse, boss of all bosses, the pit’s head viper.” He paused and crouched close, his face showing sudden concern. “Listen, Nighthawks, I know you’re Special Forces, but let me remind you that this woman is connected. Anything short of killing her, or wounding her so badly that she wants to be dead, and she will have us skinned. Do you hear me?”
“Got it,” Helga said. “Tutt, you’re cleared to do what’s necessary. Leave Domina alive, but anything else go loud and scary. Sundown, do your Jumper thing, whatever, but the same thing goes for you. I need answers from that cruta, so let Raileo handle her when you go in.”
They dashed up the stairs and through the first set of doors, and Raileo quickly put a bullet into the upper thigh of Domina Ryse. It was a big open space, meant for multiple desks or cubicles, but Domina had made it all her office, with an enormous white couch that was now ruined from her blood.
Two of her men retaliated by firing in their direction, causing them to scatter to seek cover. Helga, who had come in behind Quentin and Raileo Lei, had both pistols raised, squeezing off rounds as she dove to one side. The element of surprise would only work if the enemy died, and their accuracy would be affected by the chaos, and they were bound to make mistakes.
That was the plan, breach fast and hard, aim down your sights and drop them, one after the other. What they
ran into instead were professionals, men who knew how to respond effectively. Helga knew they were in trouble, but they were already committed, and Raileo had shot their boss in the leg.
Three of their number went down instantly, the two men buying weapons and the thug selling it to them. It would have been four had the man Helga fired on not made all the right steps to escape her pistols. Now they were in a shootout, with even odds, though the gangsters had the better arsenal.
“Kill them all!” Domina screamed, making Helga want to put a round in her throat. She had a moment of euphoria from that anger, and she had to admit it felt good. Keyed into the battle frenzy where all that mattered was the enemy and protecting your boys, there was no other feeling like it, and her senses heightened and the world slowed down.
Glancing above the stone wall they crouched behind, she saw one of Domina’s men slowly inching towards them from the side. She shot him with her left gun, then followed it up with the right, then ducked down quickly to avoid the volley, knowing he had died. Four times she had fired, and three had connected, throwing the man into the wall, where he fell limply to the obsidian-like tile.
“You stole from the wrong spacers, cruta!” Helga yelled, abandoning protocol. “Every one of you will die unless you throw down your weapons and surrender.”
There was a break in the firing, but Helga didn’t hear the sound of weapons going down. Domina screamed again, and the three remaining shooters doubled their efforts, punching holes through the concrete wall they hid behind. Helga took inventory of her Nighthawks. Raileo Lei was crouched next to a column and Sundown was crawling on the floor, making his way around to the opposite side.
Helga chanced another glance over the partition, and saw Quentin rise up from behind Domina’s couch. She didn’t know how he’d gotten there without alerting the three armed guards, but in the blink of an eye he was stabbing one of them before moving on the other, firing into him at point-blank range.
Taking the cue, Helga resumed her firing, dropping the final man, who foolishly tried to run towards the door. Domina’s screams had ceased, which made Helga worry at first that someone had accidentally shot and killed her.
But the boss had composed herself, despite the bullet in her leg. “What’s this all about?” she said, wincing. “You murdered all my men.”
“These weapons and that stasis pod are property of the Alliance,” Helga said. “You signed your life away when you climbed aboard that ship.”
34
At first Domina did not want to talk, but a bullet in the other leg managed to loosen her tongue. The contract for the heist had come from a woman named Verity Mare, who showed up at Domina’s hideout to offer her 5,000 credits for the job.
It was a significant amount—roughly the cost of a mid-sized apartment home in the Victory District—but after hearing who they were meant to rob, the fashionista had demanded more. They came to an agreement with Domina receiving the 5,000 credits, with 10,000 to come upon delivery of the pod. As a bonus she was told that anything else of value was hers to sell, so she had taken their weapons and the las-sword.
Verity had given her an address for where she could store the pod, along with instructions to give her a call as soon as the job was done. Once Domina divulged the address and the woman’s description, Helga sent a message to Cilas with the details.
Helga looked about the room, impressed. It was a cave but it had its charm. It was a sprawling space with five thick columns supporting the ceiling. The one in the center, against which Domina’s chaise was installed, had several powered down terminals at its apex. Chairs were scattered haphazardly, though at one time they would have been arranged in rows, and in one of the corners, in front of a barricaded window, was a sleek blue shuttle. Opposite the window were the stairs from where they had emerged, and though they continued up to the next level, that path was blocked by rubble.
A defunct elevator stood near the staircase, now being used as a makeshift cell, and that was where she saw the stasis pod, and the cadet Bira, frozen in suspended animation. The floor was damaged, but at one time it had been a flawless plateau of shiny black glass, broken only by the columns. The lights were sparse, so there were areas too dark for her to make out what was there, but Helga could see that in its prime, this floor had been a palace for Sanctuary’s business class.
“Are you going to just leave me here to bleed out?” Domina screamed. “You killed my men and shot me, you wicked little Parshy whore.”
Helga’s eyes went wide, but Quentin Tutt reached out and took hold of her hand, stopping her from making Domina eat her words. She exhaled to calm her nerves, then snatched back her hand. “One more snippy word out of you, cruta, and I’ll send you to join your lackeys in hell.” She waited to see if the woman would test her, but the Hopeless boss was quietly reclined, with one hand over the new bullet wound. She was bleeding badly and her face was pale, but her eyes still favored fiery coals, refusing to bow in defeat.
“Sundown,” Helga said. “When we’re back topside, do you think you could find this woman, Verity Mare?”
“That shouldn’t be hard,” he said, “I know her. She’s a popular dancer at a nightclub in the commons area of Victory. A real go-getter, that one; she’s a socialite, wears expensive clothes, fully paid for by Sanctuary’s elites.”
“If we can grab her, we can force her to talk. Then we can learn who set this up, but more importantly, who had the nerve to risk innocent lives by approving the bomb. I’m sore they tried to kill me, but there are bigger implications that could go pretty high up the chain. All that to say, we need to be careful. We’re going to need witnesses, proof, but only after we deliver the cargo to the admiral.”
“What are you going to do to me?” Domina said, her icy gray eyes now wide and frightful.
Helga opened her mouth to answer when the sound of an engine drowned her out. “What was that?” she said, looking at Sundown whose face grew grim.
“That’s an E11 transport; Sanctuary Security. They use those wagons to bring in a hit squad when they don’t plan to make any arrests.”
Helga turned on Domina ready to rip into her for calling them, but the boss seemed alarmed, her eyes now showing fear.
“We don’t want to be found here,” Sundown said. “Those thypes are butchers, and they don’t take nicely to vigilantes.”
“Ray,” Helga said, springing into action. “Check the pod to see if the hover is functional. Quentin, bag the weapons and give me an idea of how we’re going to escape. Sundown, see to her majesty. Double time, we have incoming, and when they see what we left out there, they are not going to come in friendly.”
“My shuttle, we can use my shuttle,” Domina said, suddenly out of breath. “It’s parked back there. We can fly right out. There’s a big window where the glass retracts. We can take my shuttle and escape.”
“Alright, that’s the plan. Let’s move!” Helga shouted. “Sundown, see to her wounds. She isn’t looking good, and we need her alive.”
“Hover is set, Lieutenant, ready to move when you are.”
“Incoming,” shouted Quentin, and threw two auto-rifles at Helga and Sundown. He jogged to the pod and hooked the weapons bag on its door, then turned to Raileo Lei and handed him his OKAGI “Widow Maker” rifle. “That’s the target, Ray-boy. I doubt they’re here for the lady or us. Protect it with your life, Nighthawk. Our mission is to deliver her to the admiral. Now, I’m going to push it to where the shuttle is parked back there, and you’re going to cover me, while the Lieutenant works on the negotiations.”
He went behind the stasis-pod, which stood 2.5 meters tall, and activated the hovers, which allowed it to float off the floor. He started pushing it with one hand while the other gripped a pulse rifle. Raileo Lei went to a knee and placed the barrel of the Widow Maker on the seat of a chair. He was blackness against blackness in the shadows of that room, as Sundown hurriedly wrapped up Domina’s leg, while Helga inched up closer to the stairs.
“Bomblet,” she yelled as a tiny orb flew up the stairs, but on instinct she caught it, and hurled it back down at them. Light exploded everywhere, sending her reeling as the men from below bellowed in pain. It was an XLB-1 flashbang, meant to stun enemies to give the raiders advantage. They didn’t account for it coming back at them, so the security officers were now blind and disoriented.
Sundown stood up with Domina in his arms and made his way past Quentin to the shuttle. Helga, taking his cue, backed up to the couch with her guns raised high. “We are Alliance, identify yourselves,” she shouted, but the reply that she received were several shots that punched through the floor. “Oh, thype this,” she said, too angry to think, and switched her location to stand behind one of the columns.
Another bomblet came flying up, but this one was different. When it fell, it emitted a series of rainbow-colored lights. Helga made to move from her hiding place but a bullet struck the bomblet, sending it back down the stairs. Like before, it exploded, killing several of the men down below. The force of the impact threw several chairs and took a chunk out of the column that Helga hid behind.
“Hell of a shot, Ray,” she managed, swallowing to clear the lump in her throat. She had thought it was the end, considering the proximity of that bomblet, but Raileo’s gamble had paid off. Sometimes she wondered if he had the Seeker blood, considering his immaculate aim.
There was more activity from below, and she hoped that they were finally coming up. She had a thought that they had come for the pod and to extinguish Domina’s life. These were assassins, sent by an elite who didn’t want to be known. They had shown their hand when she identified herself as Alliance, and they hadn’t extended the courtesy of a parlay. Those were the rules, Alliance was not to fire on Alliance, but they had answered with a bomblet, which was a declaration of war.