Steel-Winged Valkyrie (Lady Hellgate Book 5)

by Greg Dragon

She popped the lock, sliding the cover open to reveal a crumpled suit and other personal effects along with a stack of papers covered in grease stains. Reaching for these, she placed them to the side and continued searching the suitcase. The only other item of note was a data tablet, pre-hacked, but all it had was a number of starmaps.

  On the paper was a seal Fio recognized as the Anstractor Alliance, which made her go white with fear at the thought of having them in her possession should she end up caught. Basce City’s law enforcement offices had no patience for smugglers, who they saw as pariahs, transporting poison. She was already in their system for several offenses ranging from theft to smuggling spice. The last time she was before the mandate, she’d been made to promise to keep a clean slate.

  “Harridan: Alliance infiltrator class,” she read out loud. “Formal report: to undergo repairs in Louine space.” The line ended in a series of glyphs that Fio recognized but couldn’t understand. Picking up the tablet, she pulled up one of the starmaps and saw a similar glyph with a line pointing to a space outside Genese.

  Fio flipped through several diagrams, searching for the glyph that was printed on that line. She found it on a map for the Louine system which made her wonder why someone would print this instead of sending it through encrypted intelligence waves. Surely the Navy had better means of communication than singular printouts and an unlocked tablet. It all felt wrong and possibly dangerous.

  These are from someone working for the Alliance, she thought. Why does Vray have them? She kept on reading, pausing occasionally to scan the perimeter. It was all silence out there on the algae farm, though she found it unnerving, since she had lived all her life around trains and tenement homes.

  For over an hour Fio pored over the documents, her fascination with the contents overriding her worry and fear. Ship names, models, locations, and details were outlined with no real intention of concealing any of it. To find Alliance documents there was unheard of, especially within Basce City where the war was little more than a thought.

  Part of her obsession was the thought of a reward for bringing the information to the local recruitment offices for the Alliance. She had never been inside that building before but had known people with children drafted onto starships to begin their careers as Alliance cadets. Some had even returned on occasion, taking their shore leave to visit with family and friends.

  One of the ships she recognized immediately, Scythe, a name she had always liked, and so it stuck out in her memory from seeing it on one of the news feeds a younger Djesu would watch. This expose was to some sort of enemy, she reasoned, maybe even the terrible Geralos that invaded Vestalia and terrorized the system, making trips off-planet a privilege of only those who could afford Alliance bodyguards.

  Fio’s parents were Vestalian, and Djesu made it a point to make her never forget her heritage. Credits were the only goal for a street runner, but here she saw an opportunity to play the part of hero while taking down a parasite of the slums.

  She cut the lights and sat in the darkness, outlining a roadmap in her mind of how she would expose this without risking her life or freedom at the hands of the corrupt BasPol organization. Pops will have the answers, she reasoned but hesitated, knowing his patriotism would overtake his greed, and she could gain nothing from this incriminating haul. He, however, had the experience, and the Alliance connections necessary to help her get out.

  “Let’s just get to it then,” Fio groaned. “The longer I wait the more chances I have of flubbing this up.”

  Reaching up to her ear where the communicator still hung, she plucked it off and sat it on a clear area of the console. She twisted it once, resulting in a holographic logo above it, floating in a washed-out display of blue and white lights. It transitioned into a scene of a forest, with the wind blowing gently through the trees. “Call Pops,” she said, and collected the documents, stacking them neatly onto her lap.

  Djesu’s image appeared, full-bodied, his holographic presence still imposing despite his 53 years. “Fio Doro, where have you been?” he said wearily, looking off to his right and gesturing for someone to be quiet. “Frida and I have been sitting here waiting for you, thinking the worst may have happened.”

  “Reapers chased me for a while and the highway was borked due to the elections, but I managed to make it to the algae farms. Never mind all that though, Pops, I took your advice and looked inside the package,” she said, whispering loudly as if she wasn’t alone. “Take a look here.” She held up one of the papers. “See the seal? It’s Alliance, and if I’m not mistaken, this is information being sold by Vray and his cronies.”

  “That traitorous schtill,” Djesu cursed. “I will call my friend at the recruitment office. If we can get him a copy of those documents, he can alert the Alliances, and we’ll get a reward.”

  “But this is my leverage,” Fio argued, running a hand through her damp blue hair. “You show the Alliance and Vray gets arrested. No amount of reward could match the credits that he owes. Pops, you know the drill. We have him by the low ones, don’t you see? We can demand 10,000 credits and he would have no choice but to cough it up. This is our chance, Djesu.”

  “Fio Doro,” Djesu said, gripping the arm of his chair. “This isn’t spice or kidnapping, this is something dangerous that could affect the war, and us. Need I remind you where we come from, girl? What’s the use of 10,000 credits if the Geralos were to come and take over the port? No, we need to be smart about this and inform the Alliance. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

  “For Vestalia,” Fio Doro recited. “Go ahead then and call your friend. While you’re doing that I am going to squeeze him for another third of the credits since I managed to make the pickup. He won’t know that his arrest is imminent, so I will threaten to expose him if he doesn’t make a hefty deposit. We can be heroes to the Alliance, and I will be rich and on the next shuttle off to the pleasure coast.”

  5

  Nero deck was the title given to a section of the Rendron, near engineering, accessible only by a rarely used passageway. It was one of those decks where asking a random spacer for directions would elicit an, “uh, what deck?” unless it was someone who went out of their way to study the blueprints. For this reason, it became the Nighthawks headquarters, gifted to them by Captain Retzo Sho.

  Whenever they were on Rendron, this was where they berthed, and in their absence, it was where the Nighthawk hopefuls were housed. The thought that was while Cilas and team were deployed, the officers could nominate recruits for special operations. Qualified spacers would be sent off for BLAST training, only earning access to Nero if they graduated in the top five.

  Two cycles after visiting the newly fitted Ursula, Helga received a formal summons to Nero deck. She, like Cilas, had retained her officer’s berthing, so she decided to visit him early so they could both head down to see what the XO wanted. They took their time walking together, talking and laughing as if they had never been at odds.

  This didn’t go unnoticed by Helga, who only wished Cilas would have come to her thirty cycles prior. They could have had more time together until the inevitable call to get back out there for a mission. His career had taken off, and while she was happy for him, she knew it would eventually drive them apart.

  Helga had been through so much already, things that 99 out of 100 spacers couldn’t imagine, let alone say they had seen or done. This was something new to her, the juggling of duty with being a young woman in a relationship with her commander, and knowing their relationship was doomed. It frightened her, not because she was new to a broken heart, but because she wasn’t sure it would be the last thread to eventually pull her apart.

  Some of the worst situations in the field had shown her what she was capable of doing. She had seen the leader Helga, the compassionate Helga, and the relentless, “Lady Hellgate” that was not only effective but terrible. Becoming that when the bullets were flying was something she had forced herself to accept. Becoming that and
unable to return to herself, however, she worried that would be her fate if she gave up.

  They made it down to Nero and a short passage took them to a large set of double doors with the Nighthawks emblem engraved in the center of it. The doors split open on their approach, each door sliding into an adjacent bulkhead. A loud “whoosh” caused the two Nighthawks to react, Helga hopping back into the passageway to avoid whatever it was.

  Above them, several meters in the air, hovered Raileo Lei and Quentin Tutt. They all were wearing their Powered Armor Suits, which was the source of the noise that had startled them. Raileo Lei, who had performed a dive at the ill-timed moment when they had come in, was apologizing profusely to Cilas Mec, who stood frozen with his hands balled-up into fists.

  Helga was annoyed at being startled and felt somewhat offended that they hadn’t thought to invite her to whatever this was. Nero deck was large enough to house a cruiser, and with the berths being built into the bulkhead, it made the ideal arena for PAS training. Helga wondered why she, being the resident pilot, hadn’t thought of this.

  “How long have you all been training here, using your armor?” she inquired, looking directly at Raileo Lei.

  “We do every fifth cycle, in the first shift,” Raileo said, landing softly in front of them and saluting before removing his helmet.

  “This is what you do instead of taking personal time?” Cilas seemed dumbfounded. “You know, I can’t let this go on, men. Personal time is for personal time, not for squeezing in training, especially here. I’m impressed you all haven’t trashed the place.”

  Quentin landed next to his commander, still a little clumsy but leagues better than the last time Helga had seen him fly. “Commander, Ray did it as a favor to me and Sunny, see. We’re not the best at controlling the PAS, so we’ve been using our time to plan a bit of a … thype … Actually, you ruined our surprise, Lieutenant,” he said turning to face her. “We wanted to see how long you’d take to notice, the next time we had a chance.”

  Helga put a hand on her chest to still her heart and grinned from ear to ear. She wanted to melt, and to think she was annoyed with them for leaving her out. “Oh, Q,” she said, reaching up to grip both his and Raileo’s shoulders. “Here I thought you all saw me as a fussy nag, but you really were listening, weren’t you? Thank you.”

  “Oh, here it is,” said a cheerful voice, and Helga turned to see Ina Reysor leading a party of three strange spacers.

  “Ah, Ina, you made it,” Cilas said, thawing Helga from her momentary stasis.

  Ina rushed forward to give her a hug, and Helga returned it readily, happy to see a familiar face. The hug had so much behind it that she found herself emotional, and was forced to break it off quickly.

  “Ina Reysor.” Helga smiled, still holding her hands when they separated to take each other in. “The commander didn’t tell me that you agreed to come. This is exciting. I can’t wait for you to see the Ursula. Oh, you and I are going to need to catch up.”

  “Of course,” Ina said, practically bouncing with excitement before her face grew suddenly grave. She stood up straight and gestured towards the men who had come in with her. “Commander Mec, here are some of your crew members. As you were, men, introduce yourself to Ursula’s captain and his first mate.”

  The first man was Cilas’s height but stocky, with massive muscles and a warm, genuine smile. He was darker than Sundown and looked every part the Marine. Stepping towards them, he saluted crisply. “Commander, Lieutenant, Nighthawks, I’m Chief Faruq Mas-Umbra, Culinary Specialist, reporting from the Starship Missio-Tral. Thank you for having me serve with you on the Ursula.”

  “Welcome aboard, Sarge,” Cilas said casually. “It said in your records that you did a drop on Meluvia right out of cadet academy. Is that right?”

  “Yes sir,” Faruq said, proudly, his chest seeming to grow bigger when he confirmed. “Did a year with Orion Company, Marines of the 275th.”

  “Sambe,” Quentin said suddenly, recognizing a fellow planet-buster. “Doing it all. Cooking lizards by day and feeding the boys at night.” This earned him a look of curiosity from Mas-Umbra, who grinned in recognition of the joke.

  “Welcome, Marine.” Cilas smiled, entertained by the exchange, before shifting his focus to the gaunt figure behind Mas-Umbra. What made this man stick out, besides his height, was that he seemed more machine than human, the lower half of his face and arms being cybernetic constructs with exposed wiring and circuitry where his uniform didn’t cover.

  A 3B XO suit below his coveralls would cage those wires nicely, if he cares, Helga thought as she examined him, trying her best not to stare. Something to suggest to him later, perhaps.

  “Alon Weinstar.” The cyborg introduced himself in a voice just as mechanical as his cybernetic arm. “A pleasure, Commander. Ursula, well met, I am Chief Engineer Alon Weinstar. I have served on several ships throughout my career, the lengthiest station being on Scythe for approximately fifteen years.”

  “A pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Weinstar,” Cilas said. “You come highly recommended. I look forward to your calibrations.”

  Helga found nothing particularly interesting about the cyborg. He was older, Vestalian, with flat gray eyes. Outside of the cybernetics he was not particularly interesting, and she wondered if he would find it difficult fitting in with a crew half his age. The last man was the complete opposite. He was of average height with a youthful face, and blond hair cut low like that of a graduate fresh from the cadet academy. He waited patiently for Weinstar to finish his introduction, then stepped forward to salute Cilas Mec.

  “Commander,” he said in a voice which was about as average in tone as his appearance. “Chief Petty Officer, Anders Stratus.” He then turned to Helga and saluted crisply, who in turn nodded her acknowledgment before sizing him up.

  “You’re our Nighthawk?” she asked him, curious that out of all their potentials, this Vestalian was the one chosen for the post. She had expected another character like Raileo Lei or Quentin Tutt, but this man lacked the presence or swagger.

  “New Nighthawk?” Raileo’s interest was piqued, and he showed it by stepping forward to glare at Anders. “Says who?”

  Helga made to react and tear into him for being out of line, but Cilas placed a hand on her arm to tell her to let it play out. The young man stood his ground, but something changed in his demeanor; it reminded Helga of the cadet academy when a new child would show up and the bullies would start in with them only to learn that they could fight like cornered cats.

  Every child on an Alliance ship went through the cadet academy and all of the schoolyard antics that came along with it. Anders reacted in much the same way she’d seen others react who wound up fighting back against the bullies. She had been the same, though were it her being questioned by Ray, and not knowing who he was, she would have been tearing into him with insults and calling him to the floor for a one-on-one.

  “I am your new Nighthawk, Lieutenant Ate, ” he said to Helga, as if Raileo had been but an annoying gnat, swatted and flicked to the deck for landing on his skin mid-conversation.

  “Welcome to the team, Chief Stratus,” Commander Jit Nam said, surprising them all as he walked into the compartment. “Gather around now, I have a few things to say.”

  Together, the Nighthawks and the new crew members bunched up to face the XO, with Cilas and Helga in the forefront, holding fists to their chest in a salute. Raileo, somewhat embarrassed that the second most powerful man on the Rendron had witnessed him “seasoning” a recruit, went five shades paler as he faded to the back to stand next to an amused Ina Reysor.

  Jit Nam, a stickler for presentation, stopped to survey the space and nodded with satisfaction. He then faced the Nighthawks to continue.

  “By first shift, you will be underway to Genesian space, where you rendezvous with the 501st Guardian Task Force to assist them with the defense. This will give you a little under a full cycle to make your goodb
yes and collect your necessaries for your deployment. We cannot estimate how long you will be gone, Nighthawks and crew, but expect this op to be lengthy. Genese is under pressure from the lizards, and the council has asked us to bolster their defense. Now, many of you have never been to the planet before, so let me quickly educate you on what to expect. There are no less than 5,000 stations scattered about the space, most being colonies owned and operated by private organizations.

  “We have a small fleet there to deter lizard invasion, but most of the defense is handled by the Genesian Guard, the planet’s elite Special Forces. With the uptick in action above Meluvia, Arisani, and even Louine, our presence is thin on the planet. I don’t have to stress to you the importance of Genese, and industry being allowed to continue uninterrupted. This isn’t about force; we lack the numbers. What we need here is finesse, and a team like yours looking into why the lizards have become bold all of a sudden. It may mean visiting a few of the colonies to ask around, or communicating with the guard, whatever it takes. The Alliance council is looking for answers.”

  “The pirates we neutralized above Arisani wanted a newer ship from Genese as part of their ransom,” Raileo added from the back. “They were in cahoots with the lizards waiting somewhere near Genesian space to collect. Do we know if that was related, Commander?”

  “That is what we’d like to find out,” Jit Nam replied. “Jump out to their vector, swap a trace, and poke your nose around those colonies to see what you can find out. Any other questions? This could very well be the last time we see one another for quite some time.”

  “With us shoving off tomorrow, Commander, what will happen to Sunny?” Helga said. She wanted off the Rendron, but one of the things she was hoping with Ursula was to spend more time training with the man they called Sundown, or Sunny, to master the things he had shown her, and learn more about Seekers and Jumpers. Having him absent would be felt, and not only by her. Sundown was unmatched in combat, and with this new crew she worried that this could be a nightmare deployment.