by Lee Stephen
“No,” she answered. “What more must I do to make you feel better?”
She was a woman admitting fault. That rarely happened. He thought about taking advantage of it. He didn’t have to think for long. “Do I get to name anything?”
She hesitated. “Maybe. We will see.”
“That’s not much of a promise.”
“I said we will see.”
“Obviously, you aren’t too worried about Hell. Can you cook?”
Her eyes shot open. “Can I cook?”
“Yeah. Can you cook?”
She laughed heartily. “What do you call cooking?”
“What can you do?”
“I can put sugar in tea.” She giggled. “I can put butter on toast.”
Well. That answered that. “So, since neither of those are actually cooking, I’ll take that as a ‘not at all.’”
She leaned against the table and smirked. “Very well. I will cook for you. Is it breakfast that you want?”
He matched her smirk with one of his own. “As wonderful as tea and toast sounds, I don’t think that qualifies as a cooked meal.”
“I will cook for you,” she answered. “It will be a surprise one day. But you must not tell Tolya.”
“Tolya?”
“Yes, Lieutenant Novikov. Tolya is short for his first name. Anatoly.”
That’s right. She had kissed him after his fight with Becan. If it could even be called a fight. “Fair enough,” he said.
Svetlana smiled, and her eyes lingered on him. After a moment, she breathed deeply and looked away. “I think I like you now. Maybe not before, but…I think at first I saw someone else when I saw you. Someone dangerous to the unit.” She locked her stare with his. For the first time, Scott noticed she had blue eyes. Blue like the ocean. She smiled. “You are not dangerous.”
He wasn’t. He had never wanted to be.
She sighed. “You act like…how Golden Lion should be.”
Scott realized a different woman than he’d imagined was seated across the table from him. She wasn’t sour. She wasn’t laced with venom. He had misread her, just as she had misread him. Now, she was just beautiful. “Svetlana…”
“You may call me Sveta.”
He smiled. “Sveta…thank you for tonight. Thank you for taking the time to hear me out, and to laugh with me. You’re one of the few people who’s actually done that.” David, Becan, and Jayden had. And now her. For a moment, he didn’t miss Nicole.
Her smile was broad and warm. “Thank you for coming in. It would have been sad if you turned away.”
Scott glanced down at the table. “I think so too.”
“Other people do not think like I do now,” she said, “but if they speak to me of you…I will tell them how I feel. I will tell them that you are good.” Her eyes lifted to meet him. “If you will be there for me, I will be there for you. I promise.”
Friendship. That was all he had ever wanted. He wanted someone to look out for who would also look out for him. Of all the friends he’d made in EDEN, she felt the best. And that was because he won her over. He had earned her respect. “I’ll be there for you,” he answered. “I promise.”
As a smile broke from Scott’s lips, Svetlana matched it. “You are cute when you smile. It is good to see you do it.” She paused thoughtfully. “You should watch yourself around us Russian women. One of us may steal you away.”
Scott chuckled. “Nicole would love to hear you say that, I’m sure.”
“Is that your love’s name?”
He nodded.
She grinned. “That is a nice name. I would like to know how you met her.”
“Next time we get together, I’ll tell you,” he answered.
“Yes,” she said. “You must. And I will tell you how I swept Tolya off of his feet.”
Scott winked at her playfully. “Was it your beauty or your charm?”
Svetlana burst out with a laugh, then caught herself. “I am sure it must have been my charm. But I will tell you about that another day.” She winked back. “What you need to do now is sleep. This is order from your new doctor. Sleep would be good for you, and you will feel better about things in the morning.”
She was right. It always worked that way. He had been through every negative emotion that night…fear, depression, anger, doubt…he needed to end while he was still on a good note. “That’s probably a good idea.”
Her blond locks once again fell across the side of her face. “Have you heard Ivan snore yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Now that will cause many sleepless nights. But you will adjust.”
Scott glanced at her for a moment more, and once again their gazes held together. Ocean blue eyes. The bluest he had ever seen.
As Scott pushed back from his chair, she said, “Sleep good.”
“I’ll try,” he answered.
“Do not forget your book.”
His black, leather-bound Scripture lay on the tabletop, almost forgotten.Her words repeated in his head, but differently. Do not forget your God. He could never forget his God. His God had gotten him through the night. His God had given him her—a new friend. In spite of himself.
Scott took the Scripture in hand and made his way to the lounge door. As he turned the knob to pull it open, he looked back to Svetlana and mouthed a good night. She whispered it in return, as a final smile was cast his way.
He stepped out.
Room 14 was still silent, aside from the breathing of those who slept. As Scott gently closed the door, his eyes began to readjust to the darkness. When the door padded shut, he once again weaved his way through the bunks, back to his own. He was quiet as he slid under the covers and placed his Scripture under the bed. He laid still for a moment, before exhaling and closing his eyes.
Thank you for tonight, God. Thank you for Svetlana. I’m sorry that I doubted.
He was supposed to be there. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t know for how long, but he knew he was supposed to be there. In the morning, everything would feel better. In the morning, he would be all right.
He never heard Svetlana leave the lounge that night. He was asleep before the lamp in the lounge went off.
14
Thursday, April 14th, 0011 NE
0607 hours
The next day
The operatives of the Fourteenth awoke to the presence of Captain Clarke. It was the presence of a man who had himself been awake for some time. Without a spoken word, his aura of controlled urgency enveloped the room. This morning was different. This morning, something would happen.
For Scott, it was a morning of clarity. The conversation with Svetlana was still fresh in his mind, and things were indeed as she claimed. He felt refreshed. He felt energized. He felt ready for whatever Clarke had to convey to them.
Within minutes, the operatives donned their uniforms and collected in the lounge. Each table was filled to maximum capacity, as the captain presided over them at the front of the room. There was no coffee or tea in brew. There was no casual conversation. There was only the stern countenance of a man whose quiet authority ended with a single sentence.
“Today we face a formidable challenge.”
That was it. No small talk. No morning ice breaker. Only, today we face a formidable challenge. Every operative stared undividedly.
“Approximately three hours ago,” Clarke said, “a squadron from Nagoya intercepted a Bakma vessel, Cargo class. A scouting unit detected it shortly after it entered Earth’s airspace. It was far enough along to allow a calculation of its trajectory. An investigation of that trajectory followed. What it revealed…was a fully functional Bakma facility on the planet Earth.” An audible silence overtook the lounge. “It will be our responsibility, with the aid of two supplementary units, to isolate and incapacitate this facility.”
A base assault. On Earth. That was unprecedented.
“It gets worse,” Clarke said. “The Bakma constructed this facility between Cherskogo and Verkhoyanskiy, in North
ern Siberia.” The Russian officers closed their eyes and inhaled. Clarke measured his words. “The coldest place on Earth.”
Scott unconsciously rubbed the back of his neck. The coldest place on Earth? How had they gotten there? How had they built it without being noticed?
Clarke continued. “This place holds the record for the all-time lowest temperature in the northern hemisphere. Expect temperatures anywhere from thirty below freezing on down—it will be harsh.
“We’ve got daylight, so visibility should be good. Though the facility itself lies underground, what Intelligence hopes to be an above-ground entrance has been sighted on the surface. EDEN Command estimate that the facility is still relatively new and probably small in size, though as always, we won’t know until we arrive.” He hesitated. “General Thoor will be overseeing this operation personally.”
All eyes shot open. Thoor? Personally overseeing the mission? What did that mean? Still, no one spoke. Finally, Dostoevsky broke the silence and whispered something to Baranov.
“As always,” Clarke continued, “I shall settle for nothing less than your maximum potential.”
“Gear up, please. Then we move to the hangar.”
Scott exchanged a look with his Richmond comrades. Their expressions echoed the same sentiment. Was Clarke to be taken literally? Was the general of Novosibirsk actually going with them?
There was no time to speculate. The operatives returned to the bunk room to gather their armor and weapons, geared themselves, and left.
During this trek, Scott saw the Russian officers in their Nightman armor for the first time. The armor was black, much like the armor of the guards who had met them when they first arrived. But it was different. It was leaner. It was more purposeful. Dark curves outlined their frames; only the crimson symbols of the Nightmen struck out in bold proclamation. On two of the Nightmen—Commander Baranov and Lieutenant Dostoevsky—the armor came with spiked back half-collars, like horns on hell-spawned knights. The contrast between them and EDEN was astounding.
No comments were made about Scott’s golden collar. The prestige of the Golden Lion paled next to the dark intimidation of the Nightmen.
The walk itself was silent. General Thoor will be overseeing this operation personally. What did that mean? Surely the general of Novosibirsk would know better than to risk his life on a ground mission. Or would he? As soon as Scott stepped into the hangar, he knew the answer. Thoor stood along the far wall. His stature was unmistakable.
“Yeh got to be pullin’ me wire…” Becan said.
In a matter of minutes, all three units—the Fourteenth, the Twelfth, and the Third—were lined up in front of the general. The silence was unholy. It was as if the whole of the hangar stood before an evil deity that would strike them down if they dared to open their mouths on their own accord. From across the hangar, he began his approach. The same visor hat shrouded his eyes, and the same black cloak swirled behind him. The only difference was that now, beneath it all, he wore a full suit of Nightman battle armor.
Thoor stopped in front of the operatives, where his nightmarish glare assaulted them. It was a glare of uncontrollable animosity. It was the glare of a killer. Almost thirty seconds passed before he uttered a single statement.
“You know my expectations.”
The room snapped into a salute, as a unified Yes, general! erupted throughout the hangar. Thoor spun around, nodded to his guards, and strode toward the pack of Vultures that waited on the runway.
Scott and Becan exchanged looks of uncertainty. Clarke cleared his throat.
“There shall be one team from each of the three units going out on first strike at the facility. Their orders will be more clearly defined once we arrive at the target area.
“Those representing our unit on the primary assault are as follows: Commander Baranov, Lieutenant Novikov, Max, Powers, Galina, Private Remington, Private Jurgen, Kevin, and Kostya.
“As ordained by Thoor beforehand, I shall remain behind in the transport with the rest of the unit until our presence is deemed necessary. Those not named will remain with me. Are there any questions?”
There were none.
“Very well, then. Please board, and prepare for ascent.”
The operatives of the Fourteenth boarded their Vulture. It was the first time that Scott had laid eyes on it. It was an older craft with a vast array of scars and dents along its hull. Painted across its dorsal fin in black letters were two words: The Pariah. Scrawled in paint above the name was head of a feral dog, its gray fur blotted with disease.
The ships were boarded, and they soon ascended. Only when the ride smoothed out did conversation filter among the crew. “Wha’ do yeh think abou’ this whole business with Thoor?” Becan asked.
Scott looked steadily at the Irishman. David and Jayden were at his side. “I don’t know,” Scott answered. “I don’t understand why he’s coming.”
“Think we’re onto somethin’ big here?”
“I don’t know.”
Jayden indicated the Russian officers; all three of whom huddled in whispered discussion. “There’s something going on with those guys. I wonder what Clarke thinks.”
“He doesn’t,” David said. “It’s not his job to.”
The four fell silent. Scott turned his attention to Svetlana. She, Galina, and Varvara were in quiet conversation across the troop bay. She’d know what was going on. Better than any of them could speculate, anyway. His eyes lingered on her for a moment until she made contact. She nodded at him, then returned to her conversation.
“Wha’s all tha’ abou’?” asked Becan suspiciously.
“Just getting her attention,” Scott answered.
“Righ’…didn’t know yis was all buddy-buddy.”
“I talked to her for a bit last night. She’s not as bad as you think.”
Svetlana left the two medics and knelt beside them. “What is it?”
“Sveta, what’s the deal with Thoor?” Scott asked.
She canted her head. “How do you mean, ‘what’s the deal with Thoor?’”
“Is he actually fighting with us?”
Her eyes flitted between Scott and the other three, all of whom were listening intently. “Maybe. I don’t know. It is how he is. He does this every now and then—goes on a mission with his soldiers. He is the only general I know of who does such a thing.”
“What if he gets killed?” David asked.
She stared at him in silence. “He will never get killed.”
Scott blinked. Never? How could she say never? Who was Ignatius van Thoor?
Becan cleared his throat. “I have a question.”
Svetlana turned to Becan. Her eyes narrowed. “Yes?”
“If you were my pilot, would yeh take me for a ride?”
Scott closed his eyes and slammed the back of his head against the wall. David stifled a chortle.
Svetlana’s face sunk into a full-fledged glare. “Not in your best of dreams.”
“Then how would I go on anny missions?”
She rose to her feet, turned away, and stalked back to the other medics.
“Nice work,” Scott said. “That was brilliant, thank you.”
Becan smirked. “She’s charmin’, really.”
David continued to chuckle.
As the Vultures neared Verkhoyanskiy, the operatives prepared their gear. They replaced the standard blue and silver armor plates with shades of white and light gray, a more appropriate combination for the terrain of Northern Siberia.
“eta fifteen!” Travis’s voice cracked over the speaker system.
Clarke rose to his feet. “We should be receiving more specific orders at any moment! Make sure your internal heaters are on!”
“Hey Fox,” Becan said, “why do they call this one the Pariah?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Becan nodded.
“Are you sure?”
The Richmond transfers exchanged glances. Why was Fox so unwilling to
share the information? “Is there a reason you’re askin’?” Becan asked.
Fox chuckled and leaned back in his seat. “When it got called out on its first mission, it wouldn’t start. It was with the Sixth then. They sent it back to Atlanta to get repaired. When Atlanta turned it on, it fired up with no problem. They sent it back. Second mission, wouldn’t start again. Sent it to Atlanta again, it worked, and again they sent it back. Couldn’t find a problem with it.
“Third mission, starts up fine. Ceratopian mission. The Sixth cleans out a small Cruiser, packs up some salvage and a couple corpses to bring back to base. About halfway home, Novosibirsk loses contact with it. It’s still on radar, it’s still coming home…there’s just no communication. Comes in for a landing, touches down right on the strip where it’s supposed to. Still no contact with the crew.
“They opened her up, and it was a mess. Blood everywhere, mangled bodies everywhere. Not a person alive, not even the pilot. In the middle of the bay, in the middle of the bodies, was the corpse of a necrilid. It killed them mid-flight before it died. They had thought it was dead before they loaded it.”
The operatives stared, momentarily speechless. The cabin suddenly felt colder to Scott.
“But…how did it…?” Becan stuttered.
“Autopilot,” Fox answered. “Thing flew itself home with a dead crew.”
The hair on Scott’s arms tingled. All four of the Richmond transfers shivered with unanticipated dread.
“So they started calling it that,” Fox said. “The Pariah. The ship nobody wanted. Thing went through two more units. Both swore it was cursed, and it just got passed right on down the line. Now it’s with us.”
Nobody said a word. Their gazes drifted off Fox and around the inner hull of the craft.
Fox smiled humorlessly and resumed his gear-up. “Welcome aboard.”
Clarke called out from the front of the troop bay. “We’ve got our orders.” He stepped over to a display on the wall, where a digital map of Verkhoyanskiy appeared. “The hypothesized entrance to the facility rests directly between two small ridges. It’s in a valley of sorts. We will land approximately five hundred meters west of the structure. The Twelfth will land five hundred meters east, and the Third will land north…essentially a triangle formation. The Twelfth and ourselves will be positioned behind the ridges, as the Third move down the valley.” Several arrows appeared on the map.