Steel-Winged Valkyrie (Lady Hellgate Book 5)

by Greg Dragon

  Cheers erupted throughout the ship from the spacers watching the dreadnought implode throughout, her once frightening cannons now unmanned, never to fire again. Helga would have loved to see it, the first duel of the Nighthawk’s warship, and how they had managed to be victorious despite a new Geralos weapon that could have done them in.

  She missed hearing her name, spoken by no less than ten crew members, praising her for her bravery and sacrifice. She missed seeing the crew become closer, conquerors and survivors both, living out the adventures they had been told to expect when serving with the Nighthawks. And she missed Cilas visiting her daily, cycle after cycle as they sped back to the Nusalein Cluster to meet their contact and get the Ursula repaired.

  “You were out for a while. How was the afterlife?” she heard a voice she recognized as Cilas’s. He had known she was conscious even before she did, it seemed, and she was still trying to get her bearings.

  “Dark,” she replied, pulling herself up to a sitting position and opening her eyes. The lights were low, and they were in the medbay, where she saw that every rack had a body in recovery. “Where’s pretty blue and cranky?”

  “I asked her to take the shift off,” Cilas explained. “She was going on 48 hours and on the verge of passing out. After looking over the credentials of several crew members, I was able to find her some help. So, that being said, Helga, I would like you to meet Chief Irena Falco. She’s been giving you great care in Dr. Rai’to’s absence.”

  He stepped to the side to reveal a young female officer who cradled a tablet on her forearm, similar to the one Dr. Cleia Rai’to always held.

  “Welcome back, Lieutenant Ate,” she effused, touching her heart in a casual salute. She was petite with the voice to match, and a shock of white hair cut low like a Marine recruit. Enormous brown eyes, bright and curious, seemed to twinkle in the medbay’s bright lights. The way she regarded the Nighthawk should have been off-putting, those large, piercing eyes peering into her own, unblinking.

  “Thank you, Chief,” Helga commented, breaking away from Medusa’s glare. It was likely she too had stared; her mind was still trying to process another officer in charge of Cleia’s medbay. It was a temporary post, but yet another reminder that the Ursula she knew was now a long past reality that could never return. Seeing the three other blue uniforms tending to the injured made her think how overwhelmed Cleia would have been in the aftermath of the fight.

  “I will leave you now, Commander, Lieutenant,” Irena Falco said, making a slight bow before turning away.

  Helga watched her go to another bed, survey her tablet and then lean in to start a conversation with its occupant.

  “Is Cleia in her compartment, do you know?” she asked Cilas, thinking now that she was awake, she would take the lift down to the lower deck and look in on the doctor before returning to her own comfortable rack.

  He let out a deep sigh then snapped his head around to face her, as if he’d just realized she had come awake. “She’s in the galley now, eating with Ray and Mas-Umbra. Hey, I bet you can’t guess where we are?”

  Helga smiled at how easy it would be to win this game. “Let’s see,” she said. “The generator’s powered down, and it’s all quiet, so I am going to go with us being back at Neroka, and if not Neroka then a neighboring station. We got hit, so we came back to get repairs.” When he raised both eyebrows, she knew that she had guessed correctly, and she bobbled her head smugly at him. “Wait,” she said, becoming serious. “That means I’ve been out of it for how many cycles? Five at least, I’m guessing. Thype, what happened?”

  “You really don’t remember?” Cilas was surprised. “Helga, you did something to disable the dreadnought’s cannons, but you took damage on exit when you attempted to pull off. You ejected and we found you already unconscious from hypoxia. Something happened to your helmet, it was leaking oxygen, but luckily we got you in time.” He reached down to take her hand into his. She reached up and cupped his strong jaw, running her fingertips over the stubble on his chin.

  “I was out that long from passing out?” she said, suddenly remembering where they were and pulled back her hand.

  “No,” Cilas said quickly. “Dr. Rai’to ran some tests and found that you were underweight and some other medical term for starving. I gave her permission to keep you under while you were treated, to give your body some well-needed rest and force-feed you some food. What’s going on Hel, why are you skipping meals?”

  “I’m not. It’s just that I’m never hungry, and I’m just not going to force it. Plus, Cleia complains about my weight all the time. It’s just her excuse to mother me and get me to take my meds or whatever. You fell right in with her plans,” she complained.

  “Yeah, but I bet you feel amazing and healthy now, don’t you?” he challenged, stepping up closer with his hands behind him, puffing up his chest.

  “How many did we lose?” she said, no longer able to ignore the groaning spacers in the racks next to hers. Cilas shook his head in the negative, looking to the side to indicate that he didn’t want to discuss that in the company of injured men, worried that they too would join the dead. “Sorry, Cilas. That wasn’t wise, and I know it. What about Ursula, how bad is she?”

  “She’s like us, Hel. Takes more than cheap tricks to break her, but it was close. She gave all of us a scare. Weinstar lost some people, and he himself was injured pretty badly. He and all of our seriously injured people have been transported to a hospital. You and everyone else here remain because of several factors, the main one being that Dr. Rai’to wants to treat you personally.”

  “I really don’t need her to any longer though. I feel fine,” Helga said.

  “Ah, see, you admitted it right there,” he teased. “You feel great, and it’s all because I made the right order.”

  “Any word from Q and Anders?” Helga grew serious, still watching the door, expecting at any time Cleia would waltz in to scold her about her health.

  “Spoke with Q. He and Anders are set to come back, though he still hasn’t fully recovered from everything they did to him. The Genesian Guard offered to shuttle them here with one of their units, so they don’t have to fly that junky merchant ship all the way out to here. We’ll be seeing them soon. Under a week’s time I’d wager, maybe less.” He stood up straight, still holding her hand.

  “Cilas, Commander, wait,” Helga said suddenly, remembering her dream about the stranger and the unfamiliar starport. “Our second target, Vray, do we know whether or not he owns property on one of these stations? Perhaps even a station itself? I know he’s rich and connected, but owning a space station, well I wouldn’t know what he’s capable of … uh. Do we know whether or not he has property in this space?”

  Cilas studied her face for a long time, his mouth slightly open as if she’d guessed a mystery that had gone unsolved for a lifetime. What she read in his paralysis, however, was him being surprised that he hadn’t thought of it before. If Vray had property he could pay his neighbors to remain silent while he waited out the Alliance to eventually give up on the search. “I … what makes you ask, Helga?” he managed to spit out after a painfully long pause while their eyes jousted.

  “It just makes sense to me that a man with that much power would only run if he knew there was a way back. If all he had was his position in the Genesian government then he would fight back through the system, sanctioning assassinations and paying whomever to discredit Fio Doro and clear his name. This one ran, so I am thinking he left temporarily to let Basce City cool off.”

  “You can be a thrust-head at times, Hel, but when you try at being an officer, you’re downright brilliant, do you know that?” Cilas said, grinning out of range of her punching or kicking him for the backhanded compliment. “I do have to go now, but I’ll be back to check on you when I’m finished. We’ll discuss your theory later. Happy to have you back.” He took two steps backwards to hide the wink he sent her, then turned to acknowledge one of the inju
red, who had sat up to salute him as he went past.

  Helga, seeing him in this moment, felt guilty for the doubts she’d had before when the dreadnought was damaging them. He was meant to be a captain, and it was so clear to her now in this moment. When he left, she felt alone again, despite the other patients trading conversation back and forth across their racks. All of their voices became like so much white noise against the peeping and tick-tacking of the attendant’s fingers on the screens of their tablets, giving updates and receiving them.

  Thirty minutes into this, Helga had had enough, but when she made to leave, Fio Doro entered, dragging a stool over to sit next to the Nighthawk. “What are you still doing here?” she asked the ex-smuggler turned fugitive. “I thought you would be out with everyone else, stretching your legs and exploring the port.”

  “Ask him.” Fio gestured toward the doorway, which Helga knew meant Cilas, since she would have likely had seen him on her way in. The casual manner in the way she addressed him, however, was still somewhat jarring to the Nighthawk, who was used to a certain level of respect observed by spacers serving in the Alliance. Fio’s casual familiarity was a constant reminder that she was a civilian guest temporarily assigned to them.

  “I’m not exactly free of the schtill just yet.” She shrugged helplessly. “I still have to wait for an interview with your council, whenever that’ll be. Last time I asked, Commander Cilas told me they’ll only tell him when they’re ready, and until that time, I’m under his protection. All that to say, ‘If she goes out, she must have a Marine escort, with no less than two sentries.,” Fio recited. ““No further than the port. So, here I am, protected but bored out of my mind, Hellcat.”

  “Helga,” the Nighthawk corrected her, wondering if it was the Genesian’s Basce City dialect that had her butcher her name into Hellcat.

  “Hellcat.” Fio Doro doubled down on the moniker.

  “Hellcat?” Helga arched an eyebrow, curious at the source of what was bound to be another nickname she did not want.

  “Hellcat is what we call the craziest thypes in the speed circuits back home. The way you fly, you remind me of one of them in the stocks. I mean, Basce City,” she said, her voice trailing off as if she just remembered the city of her birth.

  “Oh,” Helga commented quietly. “Guess I must’ve earned that.” She still wasn’t fully clear in her recollection on what she had done to the dreadnought, and wasn’t ready to relive it through words, vids, or memory. A part of her knew she wouldn’t have been proud of it. She was a lieutenant and first officer on a ship with a newly minted crew, responsible for saving this woman’s life, and she had violated the commander’s order to return when her shields had been decimated.

  He hadn’t seemed upset with her, but Cilas was the master of masks, hats, and any other metaphor for role switching. In this instance he was the doting boyfriend, but she wondered at the discipline that awaited her once she was back in uniform, formally taking the helm.

  “You don’t like the name? It’s literally a compliment,” Fio assured her, scooting her stool closer to the rack.

  “Hellcat is fine for you, but only you,” Helga told her. “I don’t need another title thrown around by the rates.

  “How is it that you’re a Nighthawk?” Fio asked, pointedly, causing Helga to stop and work at an answer. She was still on the Hellcat name, coming around to liking it more than she would ever admit to, but here was a serious question coming from an outsider to not only Alliance Navy life, but to the war. “The Commander has the look, as well as Quentin, and I guess the rest of them, but you’re so—”

  “Female? Small? If I had a year of survival tacked on to my lifeline for every time this question comes up, I would live long enough to see a world without the Geralos and the need for an Alliance,” Helga muttered half to herself, but Fio Doro overheard what she said. “Take a look around, “Helga spread her arms for effect, to indicate the entirety of Ursula. “Every one of us is different, but there are similarities, right? Figure those out and you know what makes a Nighthawk.”

  “That isn’t so clear,” Fio said. “Plus, you are nothing like the rest of them.”

  Helga wondered where this was going. Did she somehow inspire Fio Doro to take an interest in the Alliance, and would she have to be the one to tell her that becoming a Nighthawk was near impossible for someone her age?

  “You thinking of signing on?” she tried.

  “Oh no,” Fio replied on time, as if she’d anticipated the question. “Wake up at the wee hours just to make my bed, eat protein bars, and run until I want to puke it back up every day? No thanks, sister. What I want to be is rich, and away from all this drama … the war, BasPol, Vayle, all of this schtill. Give me a seaside home in Lowarn or Ficant Harbor, and you will have one happy girl, fishing and whipping about on a hover, good and retired.”

  “You know, I saw the photographs inside your room, and they told me a lot,” Helga said. “The commander does the recruiting, but as far as statistics go, had you been born elsewhere, as a boomer, or to parents who were Vestalian patriots, you could have very well ended up here. Many of us hail from hubs, er—satellites, refugee satellites, high crime, never enough food. You know what I mean?”

  “You’re saying that me coming from the stocks makes me something of a candidate?” Fio tried, but Helga shook her head in the negative.

  “Just give it a try, Fio. Think of every Nighthawk that you’ve met. If I just gave you the answer, what will you learn from this discussion? Nothing but a rigid list of traits that hardly represents this team.”

  “Alright, here goes,” Fio said, sitting back suddenly. “You’re all capable in a fight or you wouldn’t have made it back here to Hellcat that alien ship into oblivion like you did. I already see that you’re the pilot, that’s how you can be small, and I bet you have a killer aim, so you qualify. That does beg to question what you said earlier about me being born a spacer and making it. You haven’t seen me fight, so how would you know?”

  “Call it a gut feeling,” Helga offered. “I have to admit you said some things that I haven’t really considered before concerning my role. The commander told me the stocks are similar to the hubs he and Raileo came from, and they both felt a level of kinship with your people. There is a reason they’re Nighthawks, just like me, Quentin, Anders now, and whoever comes along in the future. Anyone who lived through hell will view BLAST as a walk in the park.”

  “BLAST?” Fio asked quizzically.

  “Basic Land and Space Training,” Helga said. “It’s the first level or test for becoming a member of Special Forces. Think of it like a dangerous obstacle course on an alien planet where you can die if you fail or get lost during a week’s worth of hunger and humiliation. When the commander looks for recruits, he studies their backgrounds, taking into account their history. What he aims to find is moments when the candidate had every right to give up, but pressed on regardless. A Nighthawk has no quit inside their heart, Fio. We take this post knowing that on any hiccup in an operation, we can die. When you pass BLAST, you get invited to a team like ours, and we take you on a mission to see how you work, how you hold up under pressure, all those things. We evaluate your performance, reliance, whether or not you’re a fighter or a just a poseur with bad nerves. Filling our ranks is important, but your quality must be measured before you join us.”

  Fio shrugged. “It doesn’t sound much different from a street gang. Everyone wants the toughest soldiers with the addition of them being loyal, so they set up crazy missions where you prove to them how badly you want in. Never liked gangs, though. The thought of one loser telling me how to live my life … no thank you. I would rather rough it alone than live like that.”

  “You wouldn’t like the service then,” Helga responded, disappointed.

  “Did your parents give you up to the Alliance?” Fio asked, and Helga shrugged, a practiced reaction to that line of questioning, but she couldn’t bring herself to be
offended at someone who was new to everything Alliance Navy. The young woman was obviously trying to make friends with her, and why not? She was the lone civilian on a vessel full of spacers. Helga had seen something in

  the way Fio looked at her, and chalked it up to admiration for her rank, position, and moxie.

  She decided to try sharing her story, but keeping it short and sweet without details. “Lost both my parents when I was eight,” she started in a low, measured tone. “My father was an Alliance Marine, so they sent me to his mothership, Rendron, where I was taken into the academy, and trained to become what I am today.”

  “Pops, I mean, Djesu, is the reason I’m even alive after taking that schtill job,” Fio recounted to Helga. “He died trying to do something good for the Alliance, even after I practically begged him to take the credits instead. He would have liked you … all of you, for all his talk of Alliance heroes and whatnot. I bet he’s smiling right now seeing me here on an Alliance ship, talking to a Nighthawk. He’s likely hoping some of your rhetoric will rub off.”

  “Was Djesu former Navy?” Helga asked, trying to recall if the name had come up in their original brief before landing in Basce City to start searching for Sunveil.

  “I never asked. Never really cared, to be honest. He did have a lot of Alliance stuff about the house though. Posters for recruitment, digital archives of stories, the allied planets; he really was obsessed with that schtill. When I wanted to gift him something, it was easy. All I had to do was look for something Alliance-related.” Fio grinned at the memory. “You would have thought he’d won enough credits to retire on, he was so happy to receive any of it. Could you find out somehow if he was Alliance at one time? His full name is Djesu Mar, but if he was forced out it’s likely to be an alias.”