by Lee Stephen
“That’s only a third.”
“That third is in command,” Clarke answered. “That’s how this place is run, with key Nightmen in key positions. Just look at this unit. Ivan, Yuri, and Anatoly—the other three officers. They’re loyal to my command, but they’re dead loyal to Thoor’s. They’re great men though, especially Ivan. I couldn’t ask for a better executive officer. Nonetheless…they are Nightmen.”
As far as Scott knew, most Nightmen were Russian. But not Thoor. His voice had been something different. If Clarke was in the mood to dish out answers, Scott was going to ask questions. “Thoor’s not Russian, is he?”
“No, he’s not,” Clarke answered. “And if you’re thinking that most Nightmen are Russian, you’re correct. I would estimate that over ninety-five percent of them are. Thoor is Dutch. He was known as the ‘Terror of Amsterdam’ before he came to Novosibirsk. As far as how he became a leader in the Nightman sect…if you knew him well enough, you’d understand. He’s a formidable leader. He’s heartless, treacherous, merciless, but formidable. He’s got the mentality for it. All of the Nightmen are that way, that’s why they’re so effective. The Nightmen are trained like no one else I’ve seen, and it shows.”
Clarke smiled. “As much as I enjoy being interrogated, I did want to go over a few things with you. Morning call is at six o’clock, and we usually start in here. Tea and coffee are always here if you need them. By seven, we’re out of the door for our morning routine. We usually run several kilometers in the training center as a unit, though sometimes we swim laps…whatever I decide at the time, really. At 1700 on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, we meet in the gymnasium for a group workout, in the form of weight lifting, free sparring, or something of the sort. You’re free to use the gymnasium as often as you’d like on your own time, and though I don’t demand it, I highly encourage it. There’s a strict curfew at 2100, everyone is to be in his or her room by then, preferably sleeping, though the back room is always open for coffee or a late-night chinwag if sleep is evasive.
“And as I’m sure you’ve discovered,” he grinned and glanced to Becan, “we’ve got three showers in the main room.”
Becan folded his arms across his chest and looked down.
“You probably aren’t accustomed to showering right next to everyone as they sleep,” Clarke said, “but you’ll adjust. There’s no set time for showering.”
No one spoke, and Clarke pushed back his chair and stood.
“That’s all I wanted to talk about. You gentlemen are free to go about your business until 1700. I’m going to make my way to the cafeteria for some breakfast—you’re more than welcomed to come if you’d like. You should have privacy here for another half hour or so, when people start filing back in from breakfast.”
Scott rose after Clarke with the others, and he watched as the captain meandered to the door. This was the strangest military introduction he had ever been a part of. It was completely casual, and completely uncalled for. It was enough to commit him to one last question. “Sir?”
Clarke stopped and turned back to the table.
“Why did you tell us all of this?”
David, Becan, and Jayden all looked at Scott, then turned to Clarke. That very same question lingered on all their expressions.
Clarke scrutinized Scott for a moment, before he offered a half-hearted smile. “It’s because you’re new here. You haven’t been tainted yet. And I suppose…I want to influence you as much as possible before they do.”
Again silence pervaded the room. They? The Nightmen? Before Scott could think further, Clarke said, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to tuck into some breakfast. Cheerio.”
Scott watched him leave the room. No more explanations were offered. The lounge door eased shut behind Clarke, and they were alone for the first time since they had arrived on the transport from Richmond.
They remained in the lounge for another minute, though said little. They then filed out of the room, retrieved their duffle bags, and set up their bunks for permanent residence.
* * *
They finished their acclimation to Room 14 by 0730, at which point they ventured out together in search of the cafeteria. The sun had risen two hours earlier, though no sunlight shone on the ground. The sky was blanketed in funereal gray. The earth was saturated with wetness from the previous night’s storm. The air was frigid. There were few trees on the outskirts of the base, and it seemed to Scott that Novosibirsk was in the middle of an epic expanse of nothing—only snow-covered hills and fields.
The cafeteria was bustling when they arrived. Men and sporadic women lined up to receive their meals, colorless pale trays in their hands as they anticipated cold servings from uninspired attendants. Nobody looked familiar. During the time from when Scott took his tray to when he received his meal, he saw no one from the Fourteenth in the cafeteria. Smiles were sparse, though they were there. All of the conversation he took in was in Russian, or at least some language other than English.
As they weaved through the cafeteria in search of a place to sit, one table in particular caught Scott’s eye. It stood out for a reason he hadn’t expected. At it sat a black man. He was the only black man in the entire cafeteria. Directly across from him sat a giant of a soldier. There were no others with them. Their postures were casual, relaxed. As they talked, their gestures swayed in familiar patterns. From his distance, Scott couldn’t make out what they were saying. He didn’t need to.
“Americans.”
“Mm?”
Scott glanced to Becan. “Americans, over there. They’ve got to be.”
“How can yeh tell?”
Scott offered no explanation. He didn’t need to. He altered his direction for their table, and the other three followed. The black man and the giant turned to face them as soon as they neared.
“Mind if we sit down?” Scott asked.
The larger man looked surprised, and a broad smile painted itself across the black man’s face. “USA?”
Scott grinned. He knew it. “USA and looking for more.”
“Well, you got two more right here,” the black man said as he gestured for them to sit. “Joe Janson. My friend here’s William Harbinger.”
As Scott sat down, he sized up William. The guy was huge. His hands were like boxing gloves, and his frame was as wide as a door. Harbinger was an appropriate moniker. Scott introduced himself, and David, Becan, and Jayden followed suit.
William flashed a broad grin. “So y’all new here?”
David chuckled. “It’s that easy to tell?”
“Nobody else is that friendly. Where y’all from?”
“Richmond. Got here last night.”
William nodded. “We been here ‘bout a month. We were both stationed in Atlanta for about three days before they shipped us out here. Had one mission in Atlanta on our second day, they got rid of us the day after.”
Joe chuckled. “Had enough of us, I guess. What are you guys, soldiers?”
Scott nodded. “Soldiers and a sniper.” He motioned to Jayden, who waved. “What about you?”
“Soldier,” Joe answered.
“Scout,” said William.
A scout? Scott wondered skeptically. The pride of the Academy, known for their acrobatics and their ability to crawl through small spaces? William the harbinger? Scott’s eyes narrowed with scrutiny.
“Yeah, he’s a scout,” Joe said. “He’s a scout like I’m an Ithini.”
“Demolitionist,” William confessed with a smirk.
Scott smiled. “That’s more like it.” He liked them already. Easygoing, conversational, and not equipped with the cold shoulder that seemed standard on Russian personnel. “So what’s it like here? You’ve been here a month—any action?”
“We went out once,” William answered, “about two weeks ago, I guess. Bakma Cruiser got shot down about a hundred miles south of here, so they sent our team in after it. That’s what got us up to beta. Haven’t seen any Ceratopians…not here or in A
tlanta.”
“We haven’t either,” David said. “We did go on a little bug-hunt, though.”
Joe’s expression widened. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. One of the worst experiences of my life.”
William swallowed a bite of food. “That what got you all to beta?”
“No,” David answered. “That was Chicago. For most of us, anyway.”
William’s attention perked immediately. “Oh man, you were there for Chicago? That made the news everywhere!”
Before anyone else could comment, Joe’s eyes shot wide. He stared at Scott and perked upright. “Oh veck!” Scott sighed. William stared at Joe. Everyone else remained silent. “Oh veck!”
“What?” William asked, looking perplexedly around the group.
“I knew I knew you!” Joe said.
Scott knew what Joe was talking about immediately. Fame had followed him to Russia.
“Come on, Will, you know!”
William’s eyes widened. “Oh veck!”
“This is the Golden Lion guy!”
“Yeah,” William said, “the Golden Lion!”
Scott feigned a smile as he acknowledged with a nod. There it was again. The Golden Lion. Was that what he was now? No—he was a soldier, not some movie star or action hero. And certainly not a walking medal. He was a soldier who had done the right thing at the right time, around the right people in the right positions. Nicole didn’t think he was a hero. She thought he was an idiot. “God was watching over me. I had nothing to do with it.” He cringed inwardly. What an automatic answer. Did he mean it?
Joe smiled and shook his head. “Man, if you and God are that close, I want me and you to be good friends.” The others laughed.
“Seriously,” Scott said, “it was nothing special. Anyone could have done it.” Yes, God had been watching over him. But nobody else could have pulled that off like he did. Anyone could have done it? That was a lie. He had known what he was doing. He had known it would work.
Yet it didn’t save Henry and Zigler.
“What unit are you guys in?” Scott asked.
“The Eighth,” William answered. “One of the bigger units here. I mean in physical size, not…size…I mean we, in the unit, are bigger people than those in other units.”
Joe laughed. “Will’s a little slow.”
“Shut up.”
“He’s right, though. We’re a pretty big group. Got five demos…no mystery what we were made to do.”
William gleamed. “Blow junk up.”
“How many are in the Eighth?” David asked.
“Eighteen,” Joe answered. “Most of ‘em ate already. I’d introduce you to some if they were around.”
William pointed across the room. “There’s Cole right there.”
Scott followed William’s gesture across the room, where an average-sized man with jet-black hair strode toward their table. He looked scruffy. A patch of black hair under his chin formed an off-centered goatee. Barely off, but definitely off. To the left. God. That was going to drive Scott crazy.
Joe smiled as the man approached. “That’s Derrick Cole, another one of our soldiers. He’s American. As southern country as you can get.”
David grinned at William. “I don’t know—you sound pretty southern.”
William shook his head. “No, see…I’m southern. Cole is a hick.”
Cole smiled as he lowered himself into a chair next to Joe. “Hey y’all, how y’all doin’?”
Scott smiled. Will was right. Cole had the longest drawl he had ever heard. His voice was deep. Like a bass. But that goatee…God, how did that happen? Didn’t the Eighth have a mirror somewhere?”
“Cole-C-Cole-Cole-Cooole!” William sang.
Cole shot him a look. “Shut up, Harbringer.”
William’s expression dropped. “Hey man, come on, don’t do that.”
Joe laughed. “They misspelled Big Will’s name on his graduate paper from the Academy, put Harbringer instead of Harbinger. Even his name badge is misspelled.”
William stopped eating. “It’s not funny.”
Cole laughed, then lowered his head in silence. Again, Scott smiled. Prayer before eating. Good. Suddenly, Scott’s smile faded. He had forgotten to pray for his own meal.
Becan glanced at Cole’s tray. It was piled with what appeared to be the Novosibirsk equivalent of chili and beans. Or something of the gaseous persuasion. “Hell of a bloody breakfast, eh?”
“Derrick likes anything that makes him fart,” smirked William.
“Yer momma likes anything that makes her fart.”
Joe nodded at Scott and his comrades. “They just came in from Richmond.”
Cole swallowed a bite and smiled. “This is definitely a step down from there. What unit y’all in?”
“Fourteenth,” David answered.
“Oh, that’s what his face’s…”
Joe nodded. “Clarke.”
“Yeah, Clarke.”
William took a sip of water. “That’s one of the general’s favorite units. They get a lot of good calls, I dunno if that has anything to do with Clarke. Sometimes they get to go on missions that others don’t.”
“It’s because of the Nightmen in it,” Joe said.
Cole nodded. “Y’all got a good commander.”
William smiled. “Yeah. Ivan’s a tank, but he’s a good guy, too. Can’t say that about many Nightmen.”
“What makes the Nightmen so bad?” Scott asked. Brutal, he knew they were that. But every military organization had some level of brutality.
William began his explanation with a question. “Do you know what you have to do to become a Nightman?”
“No,” Scott answered as he looked around the table. The others too wore uninformed expressions.
William shot a quick look to Joe and Cole.
“You got to tell ‘em, now,” Joe said. His voice was different now. It was hushed.
William leaned in close to Scott. “You have to kill somebody.”
Kill somebody? “Soldiers kill all the time…”
William shook his head. “No, not aliens or anything like that. You have to kill someone here.”
“Yeh have to murder someone?” Becan asked.
“Shh!” William flagged his hand. “We’re not supposed to know that. Although everybody knows it, it’s just that nobody talks about it.”
“Yeh been here a month an’ yeh know it already?” asked Becan. “Tha’s not tha’ good of a secret…”
“We only know it ‘cause someone in our unit told us. Romanian guy.”
“Was he a Nightman?” David asked.
“Hell no. You ask a Nightman about that and you’re likely to get killed yourself.”
Scott shook his head slowly. Did he understand this right? “Let me get this straight…you have to murder someone to become a Nightman?”
William nodded. “It’s like one of their rights of passage, or something. They call it the Murder Rule. The last step.”
“But why?”
“To sell your soul, I guess. If you’ll kill someone in cold blood for them, you’ll probably do anything for them. That’s what they want.”
“What about the ones who won’t do it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think I want to know.”
David leaned forward. “Wait a second…how the hell can they do that? EDEN’s got to know about this.”
“That’s Novosibirsk, the exception to the rules. EDEN just looks the other way.”
“This place is Thoor’s little empire,” Joe said. “EDEN doesn’t care what he does, long as he does it good.”
Cole fidgeted in his chair. “Guys, let’s change the subject.”
Joe nodded. “Yeah. Best not to talk about it here. We don’t know much more anyhow.”
Scott didn’t want to change the subject, and by the looks of everyone else, neither did they. Even Jayden, silent on the far end, looked engrossed.
William slid his glass of wate
r to the side. “You guys are going to free-spar today.”
Whether he liked it or not, the subject was changing. Scott said nothing, though he had a dozen questions on his mind.
“Are we now?” Becan asked.
“Yeah,” William answered. “It’s Wednesday, and the Fourteenth always spars on Wednesday.”
“How d’yeh know this?”
“Because of Ivan. The guy is a tank. Everyone goes there to watch him.”
“Actually they go to watch whoever he ends up beatin’ to death,” said Cole sardonically.
“It’s rarely a good fight,” William said with a grin. “Except when that other Russian guy in your unit fights him. I don’t know his name. Then it’s good.”
He had to be talking about one of the lieutenants. Unless he was talking about Boris the technician. Somehow, Scott doubted that.
“Yeah,” Cole said, “that one guy gives him a hell of a fight.”
Joe laughed. “You guys are in for it if you have to fight Ivan. You ever fight a guy back in the Academy by the name of—”
“Captain Williams?” Scott asked with a knowing smile.
Both Joe and William laughed out loud. “Yeah! You fought Captain Williams, too?”
David grinned. “I think everyone fought Captain Williams.”
“Well,” Joe said, “if you couldn’t handle Williams, there’s no way you’re gonna handle Ivan.”
“Could you handle Williams?” David asked.
Joe shook his head. “None of us could handle Williams.”
Scott sized up William. He was almost twice Captain Williams’ size, and Captain Williams was no small man. “Not even you?”
William shook his head. “Nope. He got me just like he got everyone else.”
Joe smiled. “Just like Ivan gets everybody in the Fourteenth.”
William leaned back and grinned. “Speaking of that again…you got some babes in your unit, man.”
Scott laughed. That comment seemed appropriate from someone like William.
Jayden spoke for the first time. It was almost odd to hear his voice. “Man, you are right.” Scott cracked a surprise grin at the Texan. That was the last thing he expected to hear from him. “Every woman in EDEN is hot.”