Half-Alien Warfighter (Lady Hellgate Book 3)

by Greg Dragon

  A shot zipped past her ear and struck a figure that had emerged from the stairs. Raileo was on and using cryogenic rounds, which was confirmed by the sound of the body shattering when it hit the ground.

  The invaders rushed the stairs violent and loud, as if to avenge their frozen comrade. Leading the charge was an armored juggernaut, black and bulky, with a mounted deflection shield. With every shot the Nighthawks sent towards him, this twisted knight would absorb the bullets. Helga made to step out from her column to distract him from her men, but several shots forced her back and she had to find cover.

  Helga could hear the tapping of Raileo’s Widow Maker and the boom of Quentin’s pulse rifle, trying in vain to stop this invincible guardian. She surveyed the floor, which was now a battlefield, illuminated by gunfire, trying to see their options for escape.

  The only way out was down the same stairs that were now completely locked down by the enemy. She recalled the window that Domina had suggested they used to get out. The mission was the pod, to retrieve it and get it into the hands of Archon Mor. Quentin had gotten it onto the shuttle, and both he and Sundown were close enough to make an escape. Helga touched her wrist-comms. “Quentin, are you there?” she said, flinching from the numerous shots zipping past her head.

  “I’m here,” he said, sounding out of breath. “What’s your order, Lieutenant?”

  “Pop that window and prepare to move on my command,” she said, but before she could finish she was thrown to the floor from the impact of a bomblet going off.

  At the back of the room, Quentin ducked behind the shuttle and ran to a column near the wall. There, installed into its face were the controls for the exterior windows. The shields were down—a feature initially installed to regulate the atmosphere in case that area of the station was ever breached—but with the reinforced glass being shattered, someone had rigged it to remain shut.

  He pulled open the hatch and saw what they had done; a soldering spike had been jammed into the key-slot for the control panel. With the butt of his rifle, he knocked it away, and the shields retracted, letting in the light.

  Bullets from an auto-rifle found his location, striking the shuttle, pod, and the column where he knelt. Another armored juggernaut had joined the first one, and Raileo was down on the floor and not moving. Sundown was on the other side of the shuttle, fully exposed as if he wanted to die, but it was his stance that grabbed Quentin’s attention despite the apparent danger to his life.

  The Jumper was coolly facing the enemy with one hand resting on his gun belt. The other held the pistol while bullets zipped past him, shredding his duster to threads.

  There was a gap in the shield of one of the armored security officers, and Sundown’s bullet slipped in somehow, sending him sprawling down the stairs. The rest spread out, giving Helga the break she needed to join the firefight, and when she saw Raileo’s body her senses flared to life.

  Her hands were a blur, alternating shots, lessons taught by the downed pistoleer. One after the other, she fired into the men, and they started to fall back, leaving the wounded in their wake. As if on cue, the supposedly dead Raileo Lei rolled over to his stomach to put a round into the last armored man. He had made the crucial mistake of raising his shield, revealing a gap below his chest plate.

  Raileo’s bullet struck light armor weaving, where it bore a hole through the fabric and into his abdomen. He froze from the inside out, his lifeless fingers dropping the shield, and then another shot from Sundown’s guns slipped through his mask and shattered him.

  “Ray,” Quentin screamed with joyful delight, as their attackers beat a hasty retreat.

  “Damn it, Ray,” Helga whispered into the comms, no longer able to hold back her tears.

  “They had me stuck, so I had to feign death,” he said. “Another Dark Strider trick, Nighthawks. I apologize, but it’s the only way I could have bought enough time.”

  “Cargo’s secure, Nighthawks move,” Quentin yelled, as he ran to the controls for the window and finished disabling the lock. “Lieutenant, you should take the helm. There’s more coming in and they’ve got us surrounded. We may be thyped; I don’t see anyone getting through that.”

  “I’ll get us out,” Helga said confidently, as she ran to the front of the shuttle and strapped herself in. It was a sleek city model, a gangster’s sled, with a bulletproof exterior and dark-tinted glass. It was twice the size of the transport Sundown had flown them in, and twice as fast from what she saw from the panel. Domina was in the seat next to her, unconscious, and Quentin was on the other side of her, examining her leg.

  Sundown sat in the back, aiming out of a window, his scarf covering his nose and mouth. Helga tested the thrusters, lifting the shuttle off the floor, then spun it around to catch Raileo as he dived into the back, pulling the door shut behind him.

  They were met with opposition as soon as they cleared the window, as two of the Sanctuary Security transports took off from the ground to intercept them. Sundown fired on them as she brought them around and took them between two other buildings flying low. It was easier than she’d imagined. The controls reminded her of those on a Britz-SPZ, and she took their pursuers through a series of obstacles, chancing dips below fallen structures and squeezing them into alleyways that gave no margin for error.

  Two times the mercenaries tried to come close; on the first time, Helga lost them in a junkyard, and on the second, Sundown shot and killed one of the pilots. Once that transport went down, the other officers gave up, seeing that they were outclassed and couldn’t keep up with Helga’s flying. She kept them hidden for a while, flying near the ceiling just below the sparks.

  “You alright back there, Ray? You’ve been quiet since we cleared the top.”

  “I’m good, ma’am, just don’t like that we’re fighting our own. We did a lot of killing back there, and none of those men were Geralos. Just trying to process all of this schtill. I never thought that we were like this.”

  “People are people, Ray, and they make choices,” Quentin said. “Even though we’re all in this together, you’re going to have the greedy and the corrupt. I was taught the same things you were, but on the ground I found out that much of what we learned was schtill. Reality isn’t fair, brother. Reality is Alliance leaders sabotaging missions. Reality is the leaders we elect sending an assassin to kill an ESO. Don’t feel bad, get angry. We should want to kill the enemy, whether they look like us or not.”

  “Listen to that one, he’s a man,” Domina murmured, seemingly impressed in her semi-conscious state. Just imagining Raileo’s reaction to that put a big smile on Helga’s face. She found the tunnel leading back to the upper districts and took them into traffic just in case they were followed.

  Helga felt as if she could exhale having navigated the blackness of the pit, and she took a second to look around and really soak in the experience. She was in traffic on a highway inside a station unknown to most people in the galaxy. If she made it out, this was how she’d remember it; just her and the Nighthawks within a place that didn’t exist.

  She put them down on the rooftop of the Empyrean, where there was a private transport-hub for VIP guests. Raileo removed the pod and pushed it below an overhang so it wouldn’t be visible from the air. Sundown grabbed Domina, and the way she embraced him made Helga wonder at their past. He had told her he took jobs inside the pit, but to what extent had never been divulged.

  Quentin Tutt slid out of the back, hoisting the bag with their weapons over his shoulder. He looked around before dropping it near the pod, then reached inside it and came out with his prized las-sword. Examining it closely with pride, he hefted it and then turned to Sundown and tossed it to him.

  The dark man snatched it from the air and held it to his chest. The mixture of emotions on his face let Helga know she had been right to trust him. Here in front of her was a real Jumper agent, exiled to become an outlaw, now vindicated. His eyes were happiness, torture, and need, as he stared at the sergeant with his mouth a
gape.

  “Are you sure?” he said with a dry, raspy voice, and she could see the desperation in his face. He was like a starving man on the brink of collapse who had just been thrown a loaf of bread. He needed that las-sword, but knew it was worth a fortune, so to get it from his harshest critic had rightfully given him pause.

  “It belongs with a master,” Quentin said, fanning him off, and Helga felt proud of him for doing it.

  Sundown powered on the blade, and the edge came alive, vibrating with white-hot laser light. He swung it around in a figure-eight pattern, and then showed off some skills that could have only come from the Jumpers.

  When he was finished, Helga saw a different man than before. Where he was once a melancholy shadow, he was now smiles and confidence. Powering down the las-sword, he swung it up and over his back, sliding it into a sheath that had remained hidden beneath his duster.

  All this time, and that was what he required to be free, she thought. He must’ve gambled away his own, and that was what ended up getting him exiled. “How do you feel, Sundown?” she said.

  “For the first time in years, I feel like myself. Call me Sunny, my lady. I am ready to serve. Just point the way.”

  35

  Helga stared down at the Victory District as Sundown took them out of traffic and down towards the nightclub, Aria. The vehicles parked around the dome-shaped building were top-of-the-line luxury models, many still occupied by powered down Cel-tocs waiting to chauffeur their drunken owners.

  She was dressed like a partygoer, leaving her black attire on the floor of her hotel room. Now she wore a short, red blouse with a meshed front, exposing her tight black undershirt. Though the set came with a miniskirt, Helga couldn’t bring herself to wear it, so she wore small black shorts to go with her thigh-high boots that concealed the holsters holding her guns.

  Sundown, still in his Jumper-assigned 3B suit, had taken the time to pick out a clean shirt. It was black, like everything else he favored, with leather straps and zippers. He wore tight pants with polished boots, and a red cape above which he had a single, black leather pauldron. To Helga he still looked every bit the pirate, but luckily that was the fashion of the younger male elite.

  As a couple they appeared as a lord and his courtesan, which was reinforced by Domina’s sleek, expensive shuttle. The two of them stepped out into the fluorescent spotlights and crossed the lot together. This was the plan. They would enter together and purchase a table in VIP, and while there they would make friends with Verity Mare before forcing her to leave with them.

  Earlier on the rooftop, Helga had contacted Cilas to give a report on their situation, and he had told her that he was with the admiral. Upon hearing that they had both the cadet, Bira, and their weapons, the admiral sent in a group of Marines to collect the pod and hold it.

  On the comms, Cilas informed Helga of what they were up against. A Meluvian councilman by the name of Vulwin Arl was feuding with the Vestalian councilor, Kroam Dove. According to the admiral, Councilman Dove may have caused Arl to lose face during one of their parlays. He didn’t know the details, especially why it had devolved into violence, but their feud had been long, and it had been only a matter of time before one of them crossed the line.

  Vulwin Arl had the pod stolen with the hopes of spinning it as a public health crisis. He would have hidden the stasis-pod and killed Bira Sun, then leaked to the media that a corrupted child hosting a Geralos was running loose on the station. Panic would ensue, and the districts would be on lockdown for several days, after which he would have someone “find” the dead cadet. Since the mission to bring the pod to Sanctuary was sponsored by Councilman Dove, he would be blamed for the crisis, and lose his chair on the Alliance Council.

  Hearing this story made Helga feel minute and irrelevant. It wasn’t every day that you learned you were a chip on a politician’s game board. Innocents had died in that starport, and they had gone to war in the pit. And for what? A councilman’s ego? A councilman who wouldn’t see an airlock, but would just be thrown out of his chair and made to retire for a life of luxury. To this end, she needed him to suffer; not only for the attempt on her life, but for being a traitor.

  Bira represented progress, and a chance at them getting a step up on the Geralos, and this man had come in the way of that. Many had died because of it. Not to mention the Rendron, and everything that had come to pass for them to be here. The explosion on Aurora deck, the infiltration of the Geralos, then the loss of this child’s mind, had created this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

  She didn’t want him arrested; she wanted him publicly exposed as a traitor. Since she couldn’t get this—knowing that the Alliance would want to suppress the scandal—she was content with finding his co-conspirators and letting them feel her wrath. It was for that reason why she was here now with Sundown. They would nab Verity Mare, while Quentin and Raileo joined Cilas in rooting out the rats at the top.

  “You and Domina were mighty cozy,” Helga said, smiling wickedly. “When you said you worked in the pit, I didn’t really take it for a double entendre.”

  Sundown sighed, but didn’t come back in the way that she was hoping. Instead he quickened his pace, and pulled up a cowl that she hadn’t seen as a part of his cloak. “Sore subject, eh, Jumper? Odd that you monks are allowed girlfriends. Thought you only loved on your crystals, las-swords, and whatnot. Domina must be something special—”

  “Lady, please. Why choose now to torture me with your mouth?” he said.

  “You’re with us now, aren’t you? Right? So, guess what? This mouth, it comes with the Nighthawk who you now answer to.” She watched him intently to see how he responded to this, and when he stopped and bowed respectfully, she threw up her hands in defeat. “Thype Sundown, I’m just giving you schtill. It’s kind of what we do in the Navy. When you’re with your mates, you have a laugh, toss insults, and learn one another. That sort of thing. You mean to tell me Jumpers don’t joke? I remember Lamia carrying on with the rest. What’s your problem?”

  “No problem, Helga, I’m not upset. You are pleasant and funny, and I respect you, but right now I need my focus for what has to be done in there. Domina and I were lovers, yes, and I still have feelings for her somewhere. But she hurt you and your team members, the very people that I’m to protect. I felt obligated to reveal her, even if it meant her losing her life. Back there, when she looked at me, I felt lower than I’ve felt in over fifteen years.”

  “So that’s what did it? I knew something was wrong because your entire demeanor changed when we climbed up those steps. You’re wrong though. She loves you; I could tell by the way she watched you when we made our escape. I think she was surprised that you sold her out, but when she found out why, she was happy to be escaping with you.”

  “You believe that?”

  “Wouldn’t say it otherwise, so perk up, man. The worst is over. All that’s left is shaking this cruta until she talks. Cilas will get the go-ahead, and the admiral will see to our friend Vulwin, making this mission complete. Then you can go see your girlfriend in whatever cell they’ve thrown her in.”

  They stopped before the doorway, which was an open portal with loud music pouring out. Along its edges was a scanner for weapons, so Sundown stepped up to the panel and placed a square object near it. The white lights of the doorway turned a dark purple and then flashed. “Now,” Sundown said, urging her inside, and before she knew it they were in the middle of a dance floor.

  It was a circular room, dark but for the strobe light and terminals, with people scattered about, most seated at tables having a laugh and a drink. There was a raised platform in a corner where a crowd of people watched acrobats perform on an assortment of poles.

  “How will we know our girl?” Helga shouted above the loud, thunderous beat.

  Sundown gestured behind him to a terminal above the doorway. It was a carousel of headshots, all beautiful people, with a name and number below each of them. Verity Mare was a young Meluvian with emeral
d highlights in her dark green hair. Helga waded between the dancers, scanning faces, no longer bothering to try and blend in.

  When her eyes found the stage, she saw several performers looking her way. She heard the buzzing before she could dodge the knife, and Sundown’s las-sword flashed and removed an arm.

  It was one of the bouncers, now on the floor, flopping around and screaming above the bass. Time slowed for Helga, now in war mode, as she brought out her pistols and scanned the room. There was a short-haired dancer pushing her way to gain the door as the crowd began to panic after seeing what Sundown had done. “She’s trying to run,” Helga yelled, as she dug in her heels and bolted towards the open door.

  Verity Mare was fast, but Helga was faster and gained on her before she could reach her transport. She caught the dancer by an arm, spun her about, slapped her, and then slapped her hard again, causing her to fall to her knees. “Cruta,” Helga screamed at her and placed a kick into her side. “Try anything else and I swear to the maker, I’ll snatch out one of those pretty violet eyes.”

  “Who are you? What do you want?” Verity said, with an accent too thick to be a Meluvian born off-planet.

  “Why are you speaking that way? Quit the impression,” Helga said. “If you didn’t know who I was, you wouldn’t have sicced your dog on my partner and me. Get up. We’re taking a ride, and you’ll be a good girl now won’t you, Verity?”

  The woman ignored her and surveyed the lot where a number of people were gathering, some shouting their disapproval. Sundown stood up from the driver’s seat and peered over the shuttle’s roof at the dancer. “Girl, I took your man’s arm. What would stop me from taking your legs? Your time is up; obey the lady or I’m going to have to hurt you. Understand?” he said.

  Verity Mare looked up at him. Her eyes lacked fear—more like something vaguely seductive—and she gave him a wan smile. “I remember you,” she cooed, “though that sword is new. You like to play; how about you be nice?”