Nighthawk Lieutenant: Lady Hellgate Books 4-6

From the bridge of the Helysian infiltrator, Harridan, the warnings of an “Incoming Extra-Dimensional Shift,” had sent the crew scrambling to take emergency measures. But the system had lagged, or had been blocked, and a mass of black nothingness replaced a segment of space. Hands beat to quarters, cycles of drills and muscle memory, sending her spacers scrambling to mount some sort of defense.

Her captain, Jawal Kur, had not been warned of another Alliance vessel approaching their vector, and no Geralos ship had been reported on radar. He stood frozen, hands behind his back, his bald, gaunt, 183cm frame staring up at the holo-screen rendering the activity outside his ship. From the time the first alarm had sounded he hadn’t moved from his position, but the crew knew better than to interrupt him.

What he was witnessing was something unheard of: a potential ambush from a capital vessel on an ally of significantly less mass. There had been infighting before—in over 600 years of war it was inevitable—but those handful of occurrences had been starships firing on starships, performative combat, nothing significant beyond the crippling of shields, and nothing as drastic as this.

Whether it was fright or deep consideration of what to do next, Captain Kur was frozen. His frustrated XO, Leon Anu, a handsomely bearded Meluvian, recognizing the crew’s need for guidance, took the initiative to order navigation to stand down from plotting an exit jump. He too had recognized what ship it was, but what confounded him was why it was here, and why they hadn’t been warned cycles in advance.

He had questioned his captain on their decision to remain in this system despite their orders to jump out, but after numerous arguments and threats to his position, had given up. Now, the bridge was in a state of wonderment, and from the feeds, he could see that the hangar deck was abuzz with activity. This was an Alliance starship, but its proximity was a threat, and they needed to be ready to move to avoid a collision.

On Missio-Tral, the mood was very different from the panicked decks of the Harridan. Uniformed officers seated in stations about the bridge chatted away on private channels, prepping suggestions for their captain, Felan Lede. Above them, on a raised platform, where a more active set of officers darted about scrutinizing holo-maps, a young Vestalian woman cleared her throat to address the Harridan using the captain’s private channel.

“Harridan, this is Missio-Tral. Captain Lede would like a word with Commander Kur,” she said, then waited patiently for a minute to pass before looking over at her Virulian commander, who acknowledged her with a nod of his head. He in turn looked down at the XO, who raised his hand with two fingers held high, a sign that the Harridan was to receive a final warning. The message was relayed, and the communications officer spoke again. “Harridan, this is Missio-Tral. We must ask you to respond to our summons, or we will assume this as a sign of non-compliance with a capital ship.”