Steel-Winged Valkyrie (Lady Hellgate Book 5)

by Greg Dragon

  “Would it be alright to stretch my legs, Lieutenant?” Anders asked once Justice had dropped below 18,000 meters in altitude.

  “Oh yeah, sorry everyone, you can move about now. We’re cruising on autopilot, so it should be alright. Just be careful, some of that cargo back there may have gotten dislodged upon entry. Bio-extractor’s off to the right there, Ray. You’re just going to have to deal with the smell,” she teased. “Strap back in when you’re finished whatever, though. We’re still up pretty high, and there’s no telling what will happen once we get closer to the port.”

  Before she could finish talking, she could hear the straps loosening on the restraints, and Raileo moaning loudly from stretching his limbs. “Oh, before I forget.” Helga held up a hand. “Welcome home, Tutt. This may be our only time getting to say it to a Nighthawk. Welcome to your home planet, big man. Being the most traveled of us all, the commander aside.” She flashed Cilas a smile. “I can’t think of a more appropriate candidate.”

  “Thank you,” Quentin said, visibly uncomfortable from being called out. “Um, don’t tell my family I’m here,” he added, which elicited a laugh from Cilas.

  “So, this Genesian woman we’re protecting,” Anders began.

  “Fio Doro,” Helga asserted, not willing to believe that after all they’d been through, he wouldn’t know her name.

  “Fio Doro,” he corrected himself. “She was asking a lot of questions about our team, and how we decide who can and cannot become members. Seemed particularly interested in you, Lieutenant. I think you’ve got yourself a fan.”

  Helga smiled. “You’re also an extremely optimistic person, I’ve noticed, Anders. Remember we still need to give you a call-sign. I’m leaning towards Saint, but I’m going to wait to see how you perform on the ground. As to Fio, poor girl’s likely fishing for ideas as to where she can dock her lonely escape pod. She’s had the treatment dealt pretty heavily these last few cycles, and judging from what little I know of her past, I know if anything, she’s a survivor.”

  “Do we ever take in cadets that old?” asked Raileo Lei, as he stumbled out of the bio-extraction unit.

  “I hope you cleaned those paws,” Quentin groaned.

  “Why bother when they’re just going to get bloody?” Raileo clawed at the air. Helga made to laugh, but with Anders present, she thought better of it, though Raileo mimicking a cat tickled her immensely.

  “It’s never too late to serve the Alliance. We start off young, so we have tools in place and ready when we’re old enough to don a uniform,” Cilas informed them. “Depending on her condition and skill level, a woman like Fio could be right here with us if she’s a one-percenter. Haven’t seen many of those though, and from what I know of Fio, she isn’t interested in our life. If I was to wager a guess at that line of questioning, she wanted to know more about you, Chief, or our Lady Hellgate.”

  “That’s enough of that, Commander.” Helga felt herself starting to sweat. She couldn’t understand the reaction but couldn’t qualify if it was embarrassment or the thought of someone that wasn’t Cilas wanting her romantically. She knew what she had. Accepting that she was attractive to others had come early so it wasn’t that. It was that Cilas, who was her chosen partner, was joking about it casually.

  “That’s odd,” he said suddenly, causing her to stop and look at him incredulously, surprised that he wanted to press the issue. “I just got a message on my HUD telling me that a Helysian channel is open. Outside of this op, we shouldn’t have any presence here. What in the worlds is going on? Hey, Nighthawks, cut the chatter, I need to bounce a message to Ursula for Rendron. Hel, get me any information you can on the vessels in the area, especially spacecraft or multipurpose.”

  “Aye-aye, Commander.” Helga spun around to face the console. The ship was silent but for Cilas’s hushed voice below the squeaks and groans of the engine. It remained this way for a long time until the ocean gave way to the coast. Now, the expanse of blue and green that had once unsettled Helga was identifiable as lakes and forests, with the occasional break where swampland added variety to the canvas.

  An hour later and Cilas was off comms, his relaxed demeanor replaced by a sudden urgency. “Nighthawks, we have a traitor,” he announced. “And to most of you here, that is no surprise considering the sort of missions we’ve been given in the past. Traitors are a part of every war, and there’s always more than we like to admit to, but what we’re dealing with here is a possible mutiny, and an attempt to cover-up the things we’ve discovered. The signal I received is Alliance, Helysian to be exact, having been deployed by a rogue infiltrator to find anyone involved with Fio Doro. Basce City is in chaos right now, and the locals believe it’s mercenaries warring with the gangs. This isn’t accurate. BasPol, what the local security force calls themselves, have deployed a task force bolstered by our own Helysian Marines.”

  “No.” Quentin exhaled suddenly. “I refuse to believe it. Marines?”

  “Last time it was an ESO,” Helga reminded him.

  “Exactly,” Cilas agreed. “Those aren’t our Marines any longer, Q, they’re our enemy. Mission’s still on, but this complicates things. Threat level has been raised. They will likely have ordnance that will match anything we brought for covert operations. Now, as much as this should be considered a warzone, there will be civilians present so no shooting unless we’re certain.”

  “Call your targets and wait for clearance,” Quentin quickly added, unable to stop himself from assuming a sergeant’s role.

  “You said a channel just came open from Helysian, Commander?” Raileo queried. “Wouldn’t that mean they could track us as well?”

  “Outside of a certain class of officers, channels are regulated through our consoles,” Cilas explained. “It’s how the ship’s system knows not to set off alarms when an unfamiliar but friendly vessel shows up locally. For captains, our personal devices are given the same update as our ships. We can communicate beyond the computer to identify threats that may be exploiting a breech in our defense. It’s also a good way for us to know if there’s support available at our immediate vector.”

  “While you were on your call, Rend, I studied the radar, ranging back to about the time you picked up that channel,” Helga updated him. To show what it was she meant, she activated a prompt on the console that she had saved to show him once he was off his call. The screens above her changed from the feed of the interior compartments of the ship to a series of rings, each becoming wider as they spread.

  Helga, through a sequence of gestures, focused the view on a cluster of blips, expanding them as much as it would allow, until one morphed into a rectangular blob which she knew would still be unclear to everyone. “If you don’t recognize the shape from this poor illustration, I will let you know it’s one of our cruisers, an SOS Phoenix to be exact. One of those vessels could transport an entire platoon to the surface. It looks like we’re about to have our hands full.”

  “Thype,” Quentin groaned. “Where do they get the balls to break atmosphere in a Phoenix dropper? Wouldn’t Genesian air control be all over this?”

  “Not if they’ve been given clearance,” Anders chimed in, though somewhat meekly. “We got clearance through the Alliance, and local government wouldn’t know the difference between them and us.” This assertion was met with a long silence as every Nighthawk considered the implications of what they’d just heard.

  “Well done, Anders.” Cilas’s voice cut the thick, troubled air. “We now know why they’re here, and we cannot allow it, because as you said, to the people in charge down there, all this schtill will be seen as the Alliance. Our advantage is in our position. Based on that radar, they’re ahead of us, possibly have been here raising hell for days. They don’t know that we’re here or that we have a resident on comms ready to act as our guide.”

  “Better get strapped in. We’re coming up on Basce City in approximately 45 minutes,” Helga announced, unsure now as to what awaited th
em.

  16

  The iron legs of Justice, the Nighthawk’s converted merchant ship, came in contact with the tarmac outside of the half-moon shaped starport of Basce City. The sky above was packed with all manner of craft drifting along on virtual lines in the night sky. When they made their descent, it had been to a cityscape resplendent in twinkling lights and spotlights lasing the dense fog in the sky.

  Despite the tension in the air, Basce City’s splendor was not lost on the younger spacers, who only knew cities from simulations and vids. Helga had done her part in playing the clueless pilot. When prompted by the starport’s system to give some identification, she had sent over their false credentials and cleared landing with the air traffic controller, who had informed her that they would need to be searched before being allowed into the city.

  Fio Doro, who had briefed them on what she as a smuggler would do to avoid detection, had given them the words to say to the controller to initiate a bribe to bypass this. To Helga’s surprise, the controller accepted the offer of one canister of fuel, which according to Fio was worth a small fortune on the black market. The controller rerouted them to a separate hangar once the deal had been made, and Justice was given a station out of sight of the regular travelers.

  On the side of the runway where they settled down, the only other vessels parked were a luxury jet and a space yacht whose shape reminded her of the R60 Thundercat. When the landing gear settled and the thrusters made to cool themselves, Cilas reached into a pack and started passing out matching coveralls for the Nighthawks to wear.

  “Listen up,” he announced. “Now I have to remind you that here we are on a first-name basis when we’re out in public. Nicknames are allowed, but stow the titles, salutes, and Navy protocol. We’re supposed to be haulers, civilians having stopped for a few nights of rest, so let us act like it.”

  They threw on tattered hooded cloaks over their clothes, made of a thick, water-resistant material to guard them against the freezing rain and wind. To conceal their Alliance-issued boots, Cilas had suggested they cover them in plastic. The weather, despite being absolutely miserable, especially to the space-born boomers who knew little of the cold, had turned out to be a benefit to the mission. It would allow them to cross the slick, wet airstrip on foot without having to worry about onlookers seeing what it was they were carrying.

  Cilas lined them all up inside the cargo hold, scrutinizing their appearance and running checks on what each of them wore. When he was satisfied with their readiness, he released the airlock and gripped the handle, waiting for the system to give him an “all clear.” With a twist and a push, he swung the hatch open, drowning out their thoughts with the sounds of aircraft, spacecraft, and wailing from the wind.

  To his surprise, at the bottom of the loading ramp stood a pair of uniformed Cel-tocs waiting with a hovering luggage cart. To keep up appearances, they loaded the fuel onto the cart, covered it with a cloak, and fell in with the androids, who took them to a covered walkway leading up to the starport’s entry. Upon arrival, Anders, being the rookie, was made to carry Quentin’s gear so that the Genesian strongman could hoist the heavy fuel canister up onto his shoulder.

  Inside the starport was a hub of activity with all manner of people, their identities evident by their dress. The Genesian residents almost all wore robes or cloaks, adorned with colorful fabric and gems. The few Vestalians they saw were in uniform, but nothing that clearly signaled Alliance. Green-haired Meluvians were in attendance as well, all too busy to notice the five cloaked newcomers hugging the walls to make their way around to a waiting attendant.

  The woman, who Helga recognized from Fio Doro’s description, held up a hand to greet her when their eyes met. She was a dark-skinned, bald-headed beauty, with silver chains linking a large ring in her nose to the pair on her ears. Gray eyes widened happily when she saw Quentin toting the canister.

  “Is that my juice, Captain?” she asked Helga, her Genesian accent throwing the Nighthawk for a bit.

  “Yes, your juice, and your guarantee that my ship will not be tampered with, or our identities shared.” Helga reminded her of the deal that had been made. “Do we have your guarantee?” She leaned forward so only the pretty attendant could hear. She pulled her hood close to conceal her spots, which she feared would make her stick out more than she already did.

  The woman busied herself with a handheld tablet, touching and swiping, her dark fingers dancing deftly across its surface. While she worked, a large, uniformed man came over to take the canister from Quentin, who the woman acknowledged with a nod, after giving the Genesian Nighthawk a suggestive wink. Helga saw her do it, though it may have been missed by the other men. Five minutes later she exhaled heavily, put the tablet down, and looked at them expectantly.

  “Anything else?” Helga asked, wondering what else was needed. It hadn’t taken long for them to make the exchange, but the longer they remained inside with such a heavy crowd, the more she worried that someone would notice something that could make them.

  “All set,” the Genesian attendant sung, her face all smiles after confirming the contents of the canister. “You’re free to enter the city now; you’ve all been checked and cleared. We have cars for rent, sale, or you can take the mono into the city. Lots of options there. Thank you for choosing our starport.” This time it was Helga’s turn to receive her wink. The woman leaned in close. “You tell that little blue-haired hellion that this doesn’t count for even half of what she owes me,” she informed Helga before sitting up straight and announcing loudly to the others, “Enjoy your time in Basce City, friends, and when you’re ready to depart just ask for Nyora Ohn. Everyone knows who I am.”

  She waved them along mechanically, her eyes still locked with Quentin’s, who seemed more than interested, Helga noted.

  “If there is ever a next time, thype the fuel, we should hand her Q,” Raileo commented, as he followed Helga out into the even busier ticketing area then out onto a lot where a variety of transports sat parked, ready for rent.

  Outside of a set of glass sliding doors was another lot, this one lined with cars, each tethered to a kiosk where travelers could deposit credits to take one, or a bank ID if they had credit with the city. The rain was really coming down now, a blessing in disguise for the Nighthawks, for the lot was now for the most part empty.

  Cilas, cloaked in all black, determination overtaking his façade, took the lead and made his way out towards a large utility vehicle. It favored a cruiser on wheels, with six seats in the front and an open cab, large enough to hold all their equipment. The reinforced sides, hard angles, and gated bumpers gave it the look of a military transport that had been retired and repurposed as a civilian vehicle.

  Helga thought it posed a risk, them being who they were driving around in a transport that screamed, “Killers on board, violence impending.” Typically, she would make a lighthearted joke to nudge her CO in the right direction, but Cilas had not been himself since learning about the Helysian’s involvement. Second-guess him now and who knew what could from it; nothing short of taking her head, she assumed. Now was the time for her to be a loyal Nighthawk, which meant falling in line, and taking the wheel when he beckoned.

  When the credits had been deposited and everyone seated inside the rental, cloaks were removed and thrown in the back with the rest of the gear. Helga turned on the heating system to help fight back the chill. A few prods and pokes at the console and a quick perusal of the manual, and they were rolling off the property and onto a side road leading out to the city.

  “What’s our destination, Cilas?” she inquired, looking over at her commander. He was seated on the far side of Anders, who sat shivering between them.

  “Just take us up there for now.” He pointed to where several elevated highways crisscrossed one another, only breaking for the occasional exit, linking to another. “Take your time. I’m going to contact Fio to see if there’s a place we can use, or if she has any suggestions.”


  “See if she knows any good eateries as well, Rend,” Raileo added from the back.

  “Ursula, this is Rend, do you copy?” Cilas spoke, prompting them all to become silent once again. “Zan, is that you? Could you patch me through to our guest?” He waved his hand before his face, probing the air with his fingers and opening the comms so they all could hear. Helga drove them away from the starport, onto a road lined with tall trees, floodlights, and signs giving directions out from the starport to popular destinations in the city.

  “I’m here,” Fio said after a minute had passed, her low husky tenor coming through clearly over comms. “Are you in Basce City?”

  “Leaving the port for the city now,” Cilas replied. “Know any good places where we can lay low?”

  “Yeah, my old apartment in the stocks, but it’s likely to have some of Sunveil’s thugs watching it to see if I will come back for my things. You all can take them though, I’m sure of it,” she encouraged.

  “What about your neighbors though, Fio?” Helga said, “Do you trust them that much to think that they wouldn’t be watching as well? Since you have a bounty, what’s to stop them from trying to collect?”

  “The fact that they’re like family, and even if they do, you all are Alliance with armor and guns.” Fio laughed. “We’re talking rat poppers, shivs, and maybe the occasional semi-auto against your elemental rounds and bomblets. Hell, you could walk into anywhere down there, show your strength, and what choice will they have? The stocks respect strength.”

  “Fio. Not to be in your business, but have you been in the wine, by any chance?” Helga asked, exchanging looks with Cilas.

  “Why, because of my joke? Get off it, you think Miss Blue Pins and Needles would let me get close to anything that isn’t one of her teas?”