Epic: Book 02 - Outlaw Trigger

by Lee Stephen

  Torokin paused for a moment. “ic-22.”

  “Right this way.”

  The code was actually a designation. An Ithini captured with the Ceratopians was designated an ic. This was the twenty-second one they’d had. While he’d never spoken to it before, he’d watched others try. It was particularly unresponsive, but for whatever reason it remained there.

  Of course, there were ibs, too. Those were Ithini captured with the Bakma. But they tended to be considerably less intelligent. It was a detail that had not gone unnoticed.

  As soon as they reached ic-22’s cell, the scientist stepped to a side-door panel. The door itself was opaque—Command didn’t want the aliens staring about. After the scientist pressed a series of buttons, the door slid open. The cell was dimly lit, but it was obvious that moments ago, it had been completely dark. ic-22 was barely awake, and turned its head to the men. Then it sat up.

  The Ithini, or ‘grays,’ as they were commonly referred to, were stereotyped by most citizens as being cute. Torokin, on the other hand, found the Ithinis to be the eeriest of all the species. Their large, black, bulbous eyes sat slanted on their oversized heads. Their bodies, frail to the point where they looked anorexic, were covered in tight, off-white skin. It felt like rubber to the touch.

  While not overly dexterous, they walked with a gangly gait. They walked as if they were tall—odd, considering that the average Ithini measured barely five feet in height.

  They were telepathic, at least to an extent. They had the ability to ‘connect,’ as they called it. It allowed them to understand concepts and feelings, but only so far. There was no evidence that they had the ability to read minds thought for thought, transfer exact ideas, or manipulate will. They merely adjusted their frequencies to match others’, which gave them a puzzling inclination to comprehend. It made little sense.

  “B’nik ya`asua,” the scientist said as he entered the cell.

  The Ithini stared silently.

  Torokin could see his own reflection in the alien’s eyes. It was impossible to tell if an Ithini was tired. Their faces were almost always stoic. They did display occasional emotions—fear, excitement, curiosity. But their personalities in general were subtle, if not at times completely void.

  “Will you speak with us today?” the scientist asked.

  The alien did nothing.

  Torokin folded his arms as he watched the scientist sit down in a chair. The cell door behind them was opened, but it didn’t matter. There was no way the Ithini could escape.

  “He doesn’t want to connect,” the scientist said. “He would have done so by now.”

  Torokin rubbed his eyes, then leaned against the wall. “Have you spoken to this alien before?”

  “Yes, I have. Several times.”

  “Ask him what your name is.”

  The scientist turned to the Ithini. “Tsi-t`an, jie’a`ntik?”

  Several seconds of silence passed without response.

  “Tsi-t`an, jie’a`ntik?”

  “Does he know your name?”

  The scientist sighed. “Yes, he does. I don’t think he understands. He didn’t connect.”

  “You’re speaking in his language. How can he not understand?”

  The scientist tried again. “Tsi-t`an, jie’a`ntik?”

  There was nothing.

  “The Ithini are a stubborn lot, aren’t they?” The new voice came from outside the cell. It was a British one. When Torokin turned around, he was genuinely surprised at who he saw.

  It was Benjamin Archer, the newly-named judge.

  “When they connect, you can speak to them in gibberish,” Archer said, “and it seems like they know what you’re saying. But when they won’t…you might as well chat with a wall.” The champagne-blond judge smiled warmly. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Judge Torokin.”

  Torokin surveyed the new judge. “You are up late tonight. For what reason?”

  “Today I became a judge,” Archer answered, restraining a grin. “I’m a tiny bit excited.” As he stepped into the cell with the others, he motioned toward the alien. “While I was at London, I worked a great deal in Xenobiology. It’s a remarkable field.”

  “Is that why you’ve come here tonight?”

  “It is.”

  Torokin fell silent. Archer was the last person he’d expected to run into. But what the new judge claimed was correct. Torokin distinctly remembered hearing about Archer’s involvement with alien interrogations. He wasn’t sure where he’d heard it from, or from whom, but he remembered that it had been briefly brought up.

  “Mind if I?” Archer asked the scientist.

  The scientist quickly stood from his chair. “Not at all, Judge Archer, please do.” He allowed the new judge to sit down. “Welcome to Confinement Command.”

  “Thank you very much.” Archer turned his attention to the Ithini. It stared back with blank inattention. “B’nik ya`asua,” Archer said with a smile. “My name is Ben.”

  “I could not get him to connect,” the scientist said. “He does not want to speak.”

  “Oh, but he does,” Archer answered. “He just doesn’t realize it yet.”

  Torokin appeared skeptical as Archer began to speak to the alien prisoner.

  “The blue tit is nonmigratory, commonly found in the countries of Europe and western Asia. With a wingspan of approximately thirteen centimeters, it is one of Britain’s smallest and most popular garden-variety birds—”

  There was a noticeable change in the Ithini’s expression. Its eyes seemed to shift, appearing frantically more alert.

  Archer smiled. “And just like that, we’re connected.”

  The scientist’s jaw practically dropped.

  Torokin’s stare went from doubting to impressed.

  “How did you do that?” the scientist asked.

  “He made it curious,” Torokin answered.

  Archer grinned. “Absolutely correct. You see, before, this was all too typical. You came in, you greeted him, you asked him questions. He knew what to expect.” Archer turned back to the alien. “But what I just gave him was new. I threw him something he didn’t expect. I started talking, and he wanted to know what I was talking about. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Yu’toi yanta,” the Ithini hissed hoarsely.

  Torokin and the scientist stared.

  “Oh, and he’s not happy one bit,” chuckled Archer. “But it’s all right.” He spoke to the alien. “You’re still going to learn something new. A blue tit is a bird, it’s one of the animals on Earth. It flies in the air with wings, and on those wings there are feathers. Would you like a picture?”

  “Yu’toi yanta, nihash tzia-na.”

  Archer laughed as he spoke to the men. “That’s about as close as they come to sarcasm.” He rose from his chair. “You’d better get him a picture by tomorrow.”

  “You speak Ithini?” Torokin asked.

  “I’ve studied it. It’s not a difficult alien language to learn. Almost as easy as Bamkanese.”

  Torokin fell silent for a moment. “Then you know why they are here.”

  Archer moved to the Russian’s side and the scientist sat down again. “‘Jub’isha tau zeinilik Reshuah’,” he recited. “‘The Great Race for Earth’.”

  Torokin’s focus trained onto Archer. The new judge was exactly correct. That was what the ics called it. Or at least, that was the closest way for EDEN to remember it. The actual translation was somewhat more complex. More literally, it meant, ‘the necessary obligation to preemptively fulfill Earth.’ As to what that meant, no one knew. “You will not be learning as many new things as I thought you would,” said Torokin.

  “There’s much yet to know. What is this race that they’re running? What is the goal? And more pertinent to us…why Earth? There’s only one thing we truly do know.” He leaned into Torokin, as his voice fell somber. “Whatever it is they’re racing towards…apparently, we’re in the way.”

  “Yet they do not destroy us,”
Torokin said. He stared at the now unresponsive Ithini.

  “No they don’t,” Archer affirmed. “When we lose a city to the Bakma, the Bakma abandon it. The Ceratopians used to bomb us, but now they never do. Now they fly around as though they’re confused until we shoot them.” He smiled. “But that’s why we’re here. To learn what it is we don’t know. Then to win.” He walked out of the cell, casting a final glance to the scientist and the Ithini. “He won’t speak to you anymore today,” he said to the scientist. “He’s quite displeased.”

  Torokin followed him out. “Do you make a habit of angering aliens?”

  “Only when the need to anger them outweighs my desire to speak peaceably. Enemy or not, we must be able to communicate. The Ithini don’t respond well to torture.”

  “None of them do,” Torokin said. “The Ceratopians can handle the pain, and for whatever reason, the Bakma don’t like to speak at all, torture or not. It is as if they are afraid. But afraid of what, we do not know.”

  “And yet, the Bakma willingly surrender in battle. It’s quite bizarre.”

  “Indeed.”

  Archer smiled. “But there will be a time to discuss such things, and I’m afraid that time is not tonight.”

  Torokin nodded. “You are correct.” He glanced at the guards as they walked past. “Have you become acclimated in the base?”

  “As acclimated as one can become on their first day here,” Archer answered. “But yes. The layout’s not hard to learn. I’ve been about.”

  “Will you sleep tonight?”

  Archer laughed. “I suppose that I must. The excitement will die down, I am sure.”

  “It will,” Torokin said, “when you realize we are more politicians than soldiers.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a good politician,” said Archer, “as long as he or she gets things done. Am I not correct?”

  Torokin scrutinized Archer. Nothing about politics was good. Not one thing. “If you believe you are correct, then you must be.”

  “I believe that I am,” Archer answered, “because I believe in the power of a common goal. I believe that a common goal can overcome any obstacle. I believe that men can work together.”

  Torokin felt his disappointment sink in. Archer was just as he’d thought. He wasn’t a soldier. He was a talker. And this was a war. “You had better get sleep, then, Judge Archer. Training for this job does not last very long.”

  Archer smiled warmly. “I’m sure it doesn’t.” As he stood by the exit to Confinement, he extended his hand to the Russian. “It was good to see you again, Judge Torokin. I’m excited for work to begin.”

  “As am I,” Torokin said. “As am I.”

  The two men bid one another farewell, then went their separate ways down the halls.

  As for Torokin, the late night excursion failed to bring any alleviation of his restlessness. He entered his room nonetheless, locking the door behind him, and once again slipping beneath the covers of his king-sized bed—to once again attempt to enter the realm of dreams. To dream of the one thing he wanted to do more than anything. The one thing that brought him any sense of rest. To dream of war.

  He never fell asleep once.

  6

  Tuesday, August 2, 0011 NE

  1025 hours

  Novosibirsk, Russia

  Morning

  Varvara whipped up from underwater, her wet hair slapping her back with a splat. Her devilish grin slid to Jayden, as she slicked back the rest of her dusty blond locks. The nearby men gaped as she cavorted toward him.

  Jayden cheered as she pulled him below.

  Scott laughed from his perch at the edge of the pool. As promised, the Fourteenth was delivered from the chore of an outdoor session and taken to the gymnasium-sized swimming pool. The eight o’clock wakeup was an added bonus. He hated not sticking to schedule, but seeing his teammates having fun made it worth it. Even if they were a bit too impassioned for his taste.

  Galina was leaning against the poolside next to him. They’d been observing the other operatives for a while. “You made them happy. This is why they love your week.”

  Scott smiled. They did love his week. They loved it because it was the week they got a break, but still managed to work. It wasn’t always fun and games, nor had it been that morning. He ran them through various water exercises, then they swam laps for almost forty minutes. But there was always a wind down. That’s what they loved. “They needed some fun,” he said. “That’s why God made me.”

  “I would hope that He made you for more than that,” she laughed.

  Scott returned his gaze to the pool. God had made him for more than that. His relaxed flexibility was just an added bonus.

  He chuckled as Jayden and David thrashed around in the water, then his eyes settled briefly on Varvara. He averted them immediately. He could only look at a swimsuit-clad Varvara for so long before discipline turned him away. Becan had once described her as ‘drop-dead delicious’ to watch. Scott had another d word in mind: dangerous. Despite Varvara’s pleasing personality, she had a wild streak a dozen miles wide. She was a sin waiting to happen.

  “Nicole will be here soon,” Galina said in a measured tone.

  “Friday,” he said. “I still can’t believe it.” Jayden could keep Varvara. Scott had Nicole, and she was all he wanted. She was beautiful and pure. “You’re going to love her when you meet her.”

  “I am sure that all of us will. We have heard so much about her already.”

  That was because he loved to brag about her. About the little things she did that made him smile, and about the days when a visit from her was all it took to complete him. He hadn’t had one of those days in a while. That was about to change.

  “What will you do?” Galina asked. “While she is here? She will sleep in your room, yes?”

  He nodded. “I’ll stay in Room 14.” Galina always respected his convictions. That was another thing he liked about her. She accepted the fact that Scott would sleep in a separate bed. Unlike the others.

  “When will you marry her?”

  “I honestly don’t know.” It was the second time someone had asked him in as many days. It was something he needed to address while Nicole was visiting.

  “There will be many broken hearts when you do, I am sure.”

  Scott laughed. “Not in Russia.”

  She hit him with a smug look. “Maybe I will have broken heart.”

  “I’m sure you will,” he said as he swiveled to face her. Another reason he enjoyed Galina was because she was safe. She wasn’t a threat, nor did she try to be. They could pick, and it didn’t mean a thing. Not every woman was like that.

  She exaggerated a sigh and looked away. “If only I were younger. Then I could attract the good boys.” She stretched her arms in preparation for a swim.

  “Your man is coming,” Scott said. “Just give him time.”

  She tossed him a wry little smile. “I will not wait up for him. He must catch me first.” She shoved back into the water. “Goodbye for now, my secret American love.”

  “Don’t tell anyone.”

  She laughed and swam away.

  Scott watched her go for a moment, then his focus averted to the rest of the pool. He watched as his teammates splashed around and fought with one another. It was satisfying to see them having a good time.

  He scanned the water until his eyes caught Maksim. The rookie demolitionist was in the midst of a mellow conversation with Boris and Max—the two technicians. It seemed appropriate. But where was Esther? His eyes skimmed over the water’s surface, but she was nowhere to be found. Maybe she went to the restroom. He was sure she hadn’t just disappeared.

  He leaned his head against the poolside, stretched out his arms, and closed his eyes to relax.

  Esther gasped as she emerged from underwater. Her hair was plastered over her face, but a quick down-and-up dunk slicked it behind her head. She wiped the droplets from her eyes and grinned. “How was that?”

  Becan�
��s eyes widened as he clicked his stopwatch. “Tha’s bleedin’ amazin’! Tha’s almost six minutes!”

  She pursed her lips. “I’ve done better. The best I’ve held is six-and-a-half.”

  “How’d yeh learn to do tha’?”

  She smiled. “It’s a part of scout training in Philly.”

  “Righ’, but why?”

  “It’s all part of tactical observations. Sometimes you’ve got to stay hidden.”

  “Yeh mean all scouts can hold their breath for tha’ long?”

  “No way,” she winked. “I was choice, no competition.” As Becan laughed, her eyes fixated on the pool’s edge. They lingered on Scott for a moment, then they returned to Becan.

  Becan raised an eyebrow. “Wha’s tha’ abou’?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I saw yeh givin’ Remmy the once-over, don’t pretend tha’ yeh didn’t. Yeh fancy him or somethin’?”

  “My left foot!” she said, almost blushing.

  His eyes narrowed. “Then wha’s it abou’?”

  Esther’s gaze settled on Scott again. She fell quiet as she observed him. “Is he the Golden Lion?” she finally asked.

  Becan nodded his head and dog-paddled.

  “Have you fought alongside him much?”

  “I have. I was with him in Chicago—we assaulted the Carrier together.”

  “Get away! You were there in Chicago?”

  “I was.”

  Her lips remained pursed, as she dipped her head to her neckline. “He’s really that good, then?”

  “He is. As class as I’ve ever seen.”

  Esther watched Scott from the center of the pool. “The Golden Lion,” she whispered. “When we met in the hangar and he introduced himself, I knew his name was familiar. Is there a side to him?”

  “There’s not. He’s sound through an’ through.”

  “He seems it. Do you think I could talk to him?”

  Becan hesitated. “Wha’ do yeh mean?”