Epic: Dawn of Destiny

by Lee Stephen

  The last paper reached the judge to his right. “When the dispatchers investigated further, they discovered that the Noboat was not filled with soldiers. Rather, it was stocked with supplies…food, water, platforms, mountable sensors. We think…we think that they already have a base established.” The silence was broken with a wave of whispers. The room grew quiet again. “We believe they’re using Noboats for cargo ships. By doing that, they would be able to construct an outpost right under our noses, provided they built it underground where it wouldn’t be easily detected. We’re fortunate that this particular one crashed or we’d still be completely in the dark about this.”

  Judge Jason Rath, a smaller, darker man, shifted in his chair. “Siberia would be an ideal location for a colony as well.”

  “Exactly,” Kentwood said. “It’s remote, and EDEN has no reason to go there on its own accord. It’s not heavily populated, so there’s really no one there for us to protect.”

  “How sure is Intelligence that there is indeed a Bakma colony there?”

  “Fairly confident,” Kentwood answered. “It fits in place with the recent assaults on the North Pole. We thought they were trying to clear a way for a potential base, but it’s clear now that they were more likely trying to destroy the facility with the greatest chance of detecting them.”

  “What about Novosibirsk?”

  “Novosibirsk would have probably been their second target, or possibly Nagoya. Novosibirsk‘s closer, but Nagoya is huge, definitely a larger threat.”

  “That’s debatable,” another judge murmured.

  “How do we locate this facility?” Rath asked. “If it’s underground then it won’t exactly be a flashing beacon.”

  “We’re going to have to start scouting, and heavily,” Kentwood answered. “I would like to start an active reconnaissance campaign in that area, in all of Siberia. The primary work would come from units stationed at Novosibirsk and Nagoya, but we also have Leningrad and Berlin, they’re not much farther away. Obviously, this is something that we’re going to want to consider a priority. The last thing we need is a fully functional alien facility on Earth.”

  “Agreed,” Pauling said. “But let’s hypothesize for a moment…let’s say we do find a fully functional alien facility…who handles it? Do we make this a global coordination?”

  Kentwood turned to regard the president. “That all depends on the size of it, sir. It may be no bigger than one of the polar outposts. If that’s the case, then it may only take several units to isolate it. If it rivals one of our major facilities, which is highly unlikely since we think it’s relatively new, then it will take a much larger effort.”

  “We’re aware of this facility,” said Pauling quietly. “That’s been a stroke of good luck. But how do we know this is the only one? If it’s this easy for them to set up a base undetected, then who’s to say they don’t have facilities all across the planet?”

  Kentwood nodded. “That’s why coming up with a detection system for their chameleon technology is so important. We hope this is the only base they have, but there could very well be more. There could be a Bakma armada surrounding Earth right now that we just don’t see.”

  The president glanced down to his paper for several moments, then placed it face up in front of him. “Have R&D here allocate more resources to that very thing. Stress the importance of this. It’s an issue we can ignore no longer. Send a message to Thoor, let him know that Novosibirsk may very well be fronting this little campaign. Get in touch with Faerber, too, and inform him that Vector Squad may be needed in the near future.”

  “Yes sir,” Kentwood answered.

  “We have a planet to protect, gentlemen,” Pauling said, surveying the judges. “We can’t very well protect it if we’re fighting an invisible enemy.”

  Silence lingered in the conference room for several moments, before the president concluded. “Everyone is dismissed. Thank you, Darryl.”

  Kentwood nodded, then turned to leave the room, as the other judges rose to make their exits as well. Quiet murmurs accompanied them as they filed out. Within a minute the room was cleared, and Carl Pauling was alone. He absorbed the quiet for several seconds before he swiveled around in his chair and slowed to a stop only when the large display screen was in front of him. Earth continued its ethereal rotation, and Pauling’s eyes fell on the city of Novosibirsk. The city of The Machine.

  “Thoor…”

  Tuesday, April 12th, 0011 NE

  2323 hours

  Novosibirsk, Russia

  Scott’s eyes jolted open as the Vulture rocked to a landing. Thunder rumbled outside, though the pounding of rain drowned it out as it drummed against the transport’s hull. He sat up straight. What was going on? Were they there already? He didn’t remember waking up at all during the flight. Aside from the haunting glow of red ceiling lights, the troop bay was dark. He squinted as he returned from the lost depths of sleep.

  The pilot emerged from the cockpit. “We’re down.”

  Soft groans came from all around as Scott sat up to see David, Jayden, and Becan stir in their seats—their eyes squinted and glazed as silent yawns escaped their lips. Scott’s focus drifted to the rain. It was incessant, murderous. It was a far cry from the warm sunrise of Richmond.

  David stood first, as he pressed his hands against the wall of the Vulture and arched his back and neck with a series of heavy pops. The others followed suit, and the rear door of the craft lowered with a mechanical whine. They were hit with a blast of icy mist.

  “Everyone out!” the pilot said. “This bird’s gotta fly!” The clunk of nozzle against metal could be heard from outside as the transport was recharged.

  Becan dragged up his bag of clothes and hoisted it over his shoulder. “Wha’ time is it?”

  The pilot smiled. “Thirty minutes to tomorrow! Welcome to the other side of the world!”

  Vulture-15 was perched on an open stretch of airstrip, in the midst of a storm so deep that it shrouded the very blackness of night itself. The only lights were those of the gargantuan hangar that menaced before them, and even they were only barely visible through the downpour. With no cover between the men and the hangar, they had no choice but to dash from the sanctuary of the transport, through the rain and on to the structure.

  Two silhouettes were poised outside of the hangar, assault rifles aimed to the thunder as they stood motionless under the liquid bombardment. Scott, drenched to the skin, scrutinized them as he and his comrades neared. Their forms came into view moments later.

  Neither of them were dressed in standard EDEN armor. Their armor was solid black metal, and it covered them from head to toe. It made them look huge—like walking tanks. They were obviously guards of some kind, but nothing about them was familiar. Their faces were hidden behind black helmets, and opaque lenses covered their eyes. Their zombified gazes bore ahead with no indication as to where or what they observed. Uneasiness birthed in the pits of Scott’s stomach.

  The guards thrust out their palms, and the four transfers drew to a halt. Behind the guards, a larger form came into view. He was dressed in a flat-black uniform, and a black visor hat sat atop his head. His frame was enormous. No patches or insignia were distinguishable on his jersey, but there was no doubt in Scott’s mind that he was an officer. He walked like he was more than an officer. Behind him, a dark cloak flowed over the ground, as if it followed some wicked emperor on his inaugural march.

  The officer seemed unconcerned with the downpour, as the rain tattered hard against his garments. His gloved hands were clasped behind his back as he patiently strode forward, his eyes shrouded beneath the shadow of the visor.

  Jayden removed his cowboy hat from his head and shrank involuntarily as the coldness of the rain hit his face for the first time.

  As the officer drew near, Scott could make out the first indication of an insignia on his visor hat. It was a red, upside-down triangle divided by a vertical black line. He had never seen the symbol before.

&nb
sp; David tilted his head toward Scott and whispered, “These are Nightmen.”

  The two guards snapped to attention. Scott and his comrades did the same. The Nightman officer slammed to a halt in front of them.

  For the first time, Scott could discern the officer’s features. His face bore diminutive scars, none distinguishable enough to stand out on their own, though together they formed an invincible countenance. Traces of brown hair arched above his ears, though the rest remained concealed beneath the visor hat. His massive frame left no mystery as to the purpose of his role. Power.

  His eyes were cold. They bore a kind of hateful arrogance that Scott had never seen before, as they shifted from one operative to the other, and then to the next, and then to the next, as if each stare summed up the men’s worth with an unimpressed glance. The voice they heard next was not Russian, but it was unmistakably dominant. Each syllable was enunciated to perfect authority.

  “I am Thoor.”

  Scott’s body was captivated by a coldness that had nothing to do with the rain. Thoor. Ignatius van Thoor, former captain of the Nightmen. The general of Novosibirsk. It couldn’t be. No. It couldn’t be him. Before any of them could utter a syllable, the man’s autocratic drone resumed.

  “And you are David Jurgen, Becan McCrae, Scott Remington, and Jayden Timmons.”

  It was really him. It was General Thoor—the most feared man in all of EDEN. Standing right there in front of them.

  “Yes, I know you,” Thoor said. “I know you well. I know every man and every woman who sets foot on this concrete. I am the first voice you hear when you arrive, and I will be the last voice you hear when you leave, if I find you insufficient enough to bear the privilege of being stationed at my facility.”

  Scott dared not glance at his comrades. His eyes remained frozen ahead in perfect attention.

  “I know that Private Timmons scored in the upper eighth percentile as a graduating sniper, and that Private McCrae was heralded as one of the more competent fighters in his division. I know that Private Jurgen was a member of the New York Police Department, and after a mediocre run at law enforcement took his lack of talents to the Academy.”

  Scott blinked. Mediocre run? David’s eyes flicked downward.

  “I know that Private Remington is the youngest soldier to earn a Golden Lion…a young man who has a ‘natural talent for leadership,’ as his former colonel so eloquently put it.” Thoor’s glare narrowed. “I know everything that each of you has ever done, and I will know everything you ever do, so long as you reside inside the walls of this Machine known as Novosibirsk.

  “We are not nice here. You will not be catered to, and your opinions will not be tolerated. You are here for one reason—to pull the trigger without mercy. You are here to kill. You are soldiers, not thinkers. The moment you deceive yourself into believing that you have a free will, you will receive an awakening like none you have experienced.

  “Those of you who are destined to remain followers will follow without question. You will obey each and every order to maximum capacity, putting your lives as secondary to completing your objectives. Those of you who are destined to become leaders will learn to lead without sympathy. You will learn to sacrifice your own lives as well as the lives of those around you for the sake of the task at hand, without allowing the pitiful shadows of mercy to hinder your judgment. We are not here to protect humanity. We are here to destroy all those who oppose it.

  “Whatever leniency you were given before vanishes now. You are here because you are above average for your rank, and you will be expected to execute as if you are above average for your rank. Failure to do so, at any time, for any reason, will result in immediate termination.”

  Immediate termination. Scott’s stomach knotted as he wondered what that meant.

  “I will not ask you if there are any questions. If you are asking questions, then you are thinking. If you are thinking, then you are not focusing on the task at hand. If you are not focusing on the task at hand, then you are useless to me and will be extinguished. Your task at hand is and always will be subordination. There is nothing else you need to consider.”

  Thoor paused, and his haughty gaze narrowed for a final time. It swept from one operative to the next until it was satisfied, at which point he hammered a conclusive statement.

  “That is all.”

  He swung around, and his saturated cloak sloshed behind him. Without another word, he strode back to Novosibirsk.

  None of them spoke. The rain continued to pelt down, and the thunder continued to rumble. Not one of them uttered a word. For almost thirty entire seconds, the only disturbance of nature were the vapors of their breaths as they huffed in frozen silence. Becan finally broke with a wet sputter.

  “God—”

  One of the guards cut him off. “Report to the billeting office at once.” His tone—mechanized behind the veil of his zombified helmet—left no room for argument. They made their way past the hangar to the main building, with no more outside remarks.

  As they entered, they found themselves standing in the mouth of a dimly lit corridor. The floor was not furnished tile as it was at Richmond, but instead flat gray pavement. The walls were a pale green, and they were marred with cracks and chips. The air was bland and stale.

  Becan shivered as he closed the outer door. “So where’s the bloody billeting office?”

  Scott shook his head as water drops ran down his cheeks. “I have no idea.” They weren’t given anything to go by. They were just turned loose. So much for not thinking on their own. Next to him, Jayden shook his rain-soaked hat.

  Scott inspected the corridor. Several hallways were attached to it, along with various wooden doors. Surely the billeting office was somewhere nearby. He searched his comrades’ faces, where his gaze lingered on David, who hadn’t said a thing since Thoor’s speech. Since Thoor called his tenure with the NYPD a ‘mediocre run.’ Was it true? Scott frowned but said nothing. He turned back to Becan. “There’s got to be a directory here. Let’s find it.”

  It took them only a few minutes to locate a directory down one of the hallways, and only a minute more to locate the billeting office. It was locked, apparently for the night. Aside from themselves, Thoor, and the two guards, they had yet to come across any other signs of life. It was as if the hallways were completely abandoned.

  Scott scanned the hall near the billeting office, where he found a terminal embedded in the wall. The EDEN logo blinked in an algae-green display monitor. Scott stepped to the terminal and tapped a finger against it. The logo disappeared, and a list of languages replaced it. Scott selected English, and a screen of user options emerged.

  “Here’s hoping they’re up to date,” Scott mumbled as he accessed the personnel directory. An alphabetical list appeared, out of which he selected R. Once there, it took him only a moment to scroll down and find his last name. They were already in the system. He tapped on his roster entry, and a green screen appeared with his full name, rank, and position. Beneath it, the display indicated that he resided in structure B-1, Room 14.

  “Simple enough,” Scott said. He returned to the roster and found Jurgen on the alphabetical list. David was in Room 14 as well.

  Becan observed from Scott’s side. “Roommates again.”

  Scott nodded. “Wonder if you guys are next door again.” Scott navigated the roster until he came to M, where he found McCrae. As soon as Becan’s information arose, both Scott and Becan raised their eyebrows.

  “Mm…”

  Jayden stepped over to them. “Where are we?”

  “Room 14…” said Becan.

  Jayden’s expression widened as he craned to the monitor. “What?” David stared at the screen in silence.

  “I’m in Room 14,” Becan said.

  Jayden fidgeted. “What about me?”

  “Hang on,” Scott said as he backtracked out of Becan’s file found Jayden’s.

  Room 14.

  Jayden’s mouth hung open. “We’re a
ll in the same room?”

  “What are they, quads?” David asked as he squinted at the monitor.

  “Must be,” Scott said as he inspected the terminal for a moment, then backed out of the personnel files to access the base map. After a brief search, he found B-1. “It’s a few buildings behind this one.” After a few more taps, he found Room 14. It was on the ground level of a building that had a sublevel beneath it.

  “That looks like one hell of a big room,” said David with some surprise.

  Scott laughed under his breath. “Only one way to find out.” He took a step away from the terminal and faced his comrades. The four men exchanged looks.

  The trek to B-1 was cold and wet, and they were once again forced to dash through the downpour to reach the building. By the time they arrived, they were as wet as they had been on the airstrip. B-1 was a large building, like the one from which they had come, though its hallways were stark gray. As was the case with the main building, there were no signs of life anywhere. The men shivered as they traversed the ground level for Room 14.

  The building was a catacomb. Narrow corridors branched off of wider corridors both left and right, and the sheer size of the structure hit them. Novosibirsk was more massive than Richmond in every way.

  The numerical layout was simple, and they were able to find the door to Room 14 without a directory. It was in the exact center of the ground level. Only the number “14” graced its pale gray finish.

  Becan crossed his arms. “How are we supposed to be gettin’ in? We’ve no bloody key.”

  Scott gripped the knob, where it turned effortlessly in his hand. The door cracked open, and Scott gave Becan a smug smile. The Irishman said nothing.