by Lee Stephen
“No, lieutenant. You’ll do this alone.”
“With all due respect, sir, I think someone else would be more suited—”
“This isn’t a suggestion, lieutenant.” Every time Clarke called Scott by his rank, it was laced more intently with gibe. “In military, we call this an order.”
Scott hated Clarke’s sarcasm. He wanted to punch him in the face. “As you wish, sir.”
“Thank you, lieutenant. You’re dismissed.”
Scott turned to place his hand on the knob. Before turning it, he said, “Who am I looking for tomorrow?”
“Svetlana Voronova.”
With that revelation, Scott froze. His eyes opened wide. He turned back around. “What?”
“Her name is Svetlana Voronova.”
Scott’s fingers relinquished their grip. He took several steps back into the room. “You mean Svetlana Voronova, as in…?”
“Yes, lieutenant.”
“The same medic we used to have here?”
Clarke shot him a cold look. “Have you gone stupid? Is there another Svetlana you know?”
Scott’s heart rate increased. “I don’t understand—”
“Svetlana is returning to the Fourteenth,” Clarke said, cutting him off. “She is returning to active duty as chief medic, based on her past experience. Tomorrow, at 0700, you will pick her up and reintroduce her to Room 14. Being as the rest of us will be at morning session, I entrust her to you. Do you fail to understand these simple instructions?”
Of course he failed to understand. How could Svetlana be returning? Why was she returning? She’d left the unit; she’d left Novosibirsk. And now, she was suddenly back? Scott opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“As you wish, then,” Clarke said, grabbing his comm. “Axen will pick her up instead.”
“No!” Scott’s urgency shocked even himself. “I apologize. I’ll pick her up.”
Clarke set down the comm. “Very well. That’s 0700 tomorrow. Please don’t forget. You’re dismissed.”
This time, there was no further questioning. Scott turned and left the room.
The trek to his quarters felt surreal. With only one thought on his mind, he barely noticed the hallways around him. Clarke’s words resounded in his head.
Svetlana is returning to the Fourteenth.
He remembered the last time he’d seen her. He remembered the look on her face. She’d been standing in the civilian airbus, ready to depart from The Machine, ready to leave the men and women of the Fourteenth.
He stopped as he came to a door. His mind returned to the present, and he looked at its front panel. It wasn’t his door, however. It was a door he’d never seen before. Yet he was in the right hall, in the officers’ wing. When he stared at the walls of the corridor, the realization struck him. He’d walked too far. He’d walked right past his own room some time ago and never even noticed.
He quietly backtracked to his quarters. It was in the same place he’d left it. He ventured inside, deciding to leave the lights off. He didn’t want brightness, he wanted it dim. He shut the door.
Nicole’s picture was still facing the wall. Reaching for it, he turned it around. Her face shone beneath the glow of his lamp. That brown-haired, blue-eyed girl. The love of his life. Beneath her face, beneath her snowy white smile, were the same words he read every night.
I love you!
~Nicole
He felt the pain in his heart hold him tighter. It hadn’t hurt like this in some time. He took the picture and lay it face-up on his lap.
Why was he unsettled about Svetlana’s return? How could any other woman matter? Svetlana was a friend; she was a teammate. She wasn’t Nicole.
He could picture Nicole in his mind. He could smell her skin, taste her lips. He imagined her touch and it tingled over his arms. His eyes closed, but not from fatigue. They closed so her ghost could return.
Scott grinned and glanced at his outfit. Its color was darkened with sweat. She probably wouldn’t even touch it. “Do I get a kiss goodbye?”
Her lips curved. “Sure.” She leaned into him, propped her hands against his arms, and pressed her lips against his. Scott smiled as the gentleness lingered. He was surprised she touched him at all. When she pulled away, her eyes sparkled. “Do you love me?”
“I’ll always love you.”
She smiled. For a moment, she said nothing; she simply stared in his eyes. When she finally spoke again, her voice was sweeter than ever. “I’ll always love you, too.”
“I’ll see you in a bit.”
“I’ll be there.”
Then she was gone.
When Scott opened his eyes, he was crying. He felt droplets of tears falling on his hands.
“Why did you go?” His words were barely audible, but spoken as if she were right there. He abandoned the frame and covered his face. It was the first time he’d broken in weeks.
Tomorrow Svetlana would return. And it meant nothing. It meant she was following her own path. Her path was bringing her back there, to the coldness of the place that she’d left—to the bowels of sin. Whatever redemption she hoped she would find, she would have to find it alone.
It wasn’t evening, but it didn’t matter. Scott laid his head on his pillow, closing his eyes to the rest of the world. He fell quietly to sleep.
Nicole’s picture stayed on his chest.
3
Saturday, November 5, 0011 NE
2100 hours
EDEN Command
“And with that, our week comes to an outstanding end. You are now free men and women!” As President Pauling stepped from the podium, the audience rose with applause. The auditorium lights brightened.
It was the end of a roller-coaster week. Every year, during the opening days of November, the Global EDEN Conference—the gec—was held. It was always at EDEN Command. Dignitaries from around the globe were invited to attend, along with every top official within the organization. The chance to take a blind flight into the most important facility on the planet was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Even if it came every year.
This year’s gec was especially intriguing. Announcements deluged the conference, from the fast-approaching opening of Sydney to the promise of an arsenal upgrade. It was revealed that the Advanced Defensive Fighter—the Vindicator—would finally be replaced with something new: the adf-2 Superwolf. The craft would be the first to be reverse-engineered from alien technology, straight from the Bakmanese Courier fighter. It would revolutionize air superiority.
Not even Judge Torokin was bored at the event. The week had been enjoyable for the Russian judge. Such weeks were few and far between. Here, he got to meet diplomats from the world over—people who actually mattered. He shook hands with the president of Russia and shared drinks with the emperor of Japan. More importantly, he shook hands with men. Real men, as he perceived them. EDEN veterans whose bodies were scarred, and generals who’d actually fought.
General Bastiaan Platis was among them. Platis knew Torokin well. Though the two had never fought side by side, they had reason to call each other friends. Vector Squad, Torokin’s former unit, was garrisoned at Berlin, and Platis was their regional general.
Regional generals differed from base generals. The former monitored areas of the globe instead of the operation of an actual facility. Platis’s area was in eastern Europe. Though not directly connected with Berlin, he’d coordinated Vector Squad many times. For that, he’d earned Torokin’s trust.
General Platis was a purist. He was a Greek historian through and through. He was larger than Torokin, but by no means a brute. His hair neatly rounded his head, showing a slight trace of receding. His salt-and-pepper beard matched it well.
Platis was one of the few generals who had his own platoon: the Agema. Though not as renowned as Vector Squad, it was still a force to be reckoned with. They were an unusually designed group. Every soldier in its ranks was a Greek.
As the general approached him, Torokin said, “I supp
ose this is goodbye.”
Platis shook the Russian’s hand. “I suppose it is.” English was the only common language the two men shared. “Was today what you spoke of when you talked about politics?”
The ex-Vector laughed. “Yes, it was. Today was not so bad. But usually, this kind of talk puts me to sleep.” The last day had been all about Archer. Aside from formally introducing himself, he’d announced to the world his new proposal—his amendment to EDEN protocol regarding interceptions.
“I do not understand how you survive it,” Platis said. “There was so much bureaucracy today.”
“It can be frustrating, I assure you. Sometimes I want to kill everyone.”
“Where is Judge Grinkov?”
Torokin looked through the auditorium’s crowd. “I did not see him this evening.” He was sure Grinkov was there somewhere. He turned to Platis again. “If you find the vodka, you will probably find him.” He turned back to Platis. “What do you think of our new judge?”
The general hesitated. “He speaks very well. He is interesting, but his new policy concerns me.”
“How so?”
“It seems an unnecessary change. We are to ask him for permission before we intercept alien spacecraft? It does not make sense.”
Torokin looked at the crowd once again. He’d never spot Archer in that throng. But it didn’t matter. “The original plan was only for ground intercepts. But it grew to involve combat in the air. I can tell you the real reason for it.”
“What is that?”
Torokin wasn’t worried about revealing secrets to Platis. The Greek’s lifestyle revolved around honor. Nothing would be repeated. “You will not have to worry about this amendment. It was not designed for you. It was designed for Novosibirsk.”
“For Novosibirsk?” Platis was surprised.
“We have reason to believe General Thoor works against us. It is part of…the process of resolution. It is somewhat difficult to explain.”
“It took you this long to realize Thoor works against you? What is it you do here again?”
“It did not take them this long to realize it,” the judge said. “It took them this long to decide what to do about it.”
“Is that why General Thoor did not come?”
“I do not know. He has not made one conference yet. I honestly think he does not care.”
“So this new policy will not affect me at all?” asked Platis.
“It should not. Your requests should automatically pass. Unless Archer has reason to change them. I do not think he will.”
“So you listen to speeches and pass meaningless regulations. Is this all you do?”
“I told you already, sometimes this job makes me want to kill everyone. I was serious.” After a shared smile, Torokin went on. “You leave tonight, I assume?”
“Yes.” Platis glanced about the room. “This has been enough fun for one week. My flight leaves in four hours, so I must pack.”
“Do not forget to look out the window.”
The general laughed out loud. “Yes, I must remember that! I did ask for a window seat.”
It was a whimsical request. EDEN Command took security measures to the extreme. There were no windows on the transports at all, and rumor had it they randomly altered their courses during flights. Nobody knew where they were going or how long it really took to get there.
“How bad will it be for you, if you find out that you have been living on a beach all these years?” Platis asked.
“I believe that would be too much. That would be a most ironic day. No. We had better be in the middle of Antarctica, or I will be very upset.” Their location was a constant source of speculation. It was the most entertaining conspiracy theory they had. Only Kang—the director of Intelligence—and the pilots who flew the aircraft knew where they were. Not even President Pauling knew. Torokin’s hypothesis was that they were in the middle of an ocean. But there was no way anyone could be sure.
Platis sighed. “I must make my leave. I have things to pack. I must bring a souvenir for my wife.”
“Do you bring one every year?”
“No, but she fusses me every year to do it.”
“Ask the president for his pen. That will make good souvenir.”
Platis’s eyes brightened. “That is a good idea. That is a very good idea, thank you!”
“Tell her it is the most important pen in the world.”
“Yes, I will do so. It will be good to see my wife again. I have not spoken to her since I was here.”
That was another part of EDEN Command’s secrecy. No calls were allowed in or out—not without approval from Kang. With calls, judges could compare time zones with home, whether accidentally or by husband-wife code.
Platis hesitated before turning away. “Before I go, I meant to ask you…have you spoken to Kenner recently? How is he?”
Torokin’s face turned sour. “He is as he has always been. I do not miss him.”
“The hammer falls heavy on heroes. I, for one, did not blame him.”
Torokin bowed his head cordially, then extended his hand. “It is always a pleasure, general.”
Platis accepted it. “The pleasure is mine.”
With a final nod, the two men parted ways.
General Platis’s earlier words to Torokin were true. It was indeed no surprise that Thoor was against them. EDEN had been blind to it by choice. But now that was going to change, for better or worse.
The long-discussed plan had already been set into motion, as overseen by Judge Archer. Black ops personnel were already in place. They’d filtered into Novosibirsk through the guise of base transfers and Academy graduates. Torokin heard there were a dozen agents, but only Kang knew who they were.
That was the covert part of Command’s espionage efforts. The open part was about to begin. Soon Judges Malcolm Blake and Carol June would visit the renegade Russian facility. They would arrive unannounced; it was meant to catch Thoor unaware. That was for the census—the headcount of who in Novosibirsk was EDEN and who was Nightman.
The financial audit had begun long ago, courtesy of Judges Rath and Onwuka. In a matter of days, they’d know where Thoor got his goods. Everyone was getting involved.
Torokin had to hand it to Archer. He had indeed brought the judges together. It had taken recognizing the enemy among EDEN’s own to do it.
Little else happened that evening. Torokin found Grinkov chatting with Judge Richard Lena, and the three men retired shortly after. There was no vodka or card game of preferans for them that night—after a long week, rest was deserved. Annual conferences had a way of draining everyone, especially the most important men there. All three of the judges had shaken hands with presidents and prime ministers, and bowed their heads graciously each time. But they knew the truth: they were the celebrities to be met. No social camouflage could mask it. They were the judges—the figureheads of Earth. The heroes who defended the human species.
Heroes that desperately needed to sleep.
* * *
Later that night
Archer passed through the security checkpoint into Confinement, and the guards at post offered salutes. He returned the formalities. “Good evening, gentlemen. I trust you’re well?”
“Yes sir,” answered one of the English-speaking guards. “Are you here to see a prisoner?”
Archer winked amiably. “Interrogations never cease.” Stepping past them, he ventured into Confinement, where a scientist met him.
“Good evening, Judge Archer. Something I can help you with?”
“No, thank you. I’ll be conducting my own interrogation tonight.”
“Very well, sir. We’ve had moderate success with ic-17 lately, at least in getting him to finally warm up. ics 19 and 22 are still giving us problems. I assume you won’t talk to an ib?”
“Actually, I’ll be speaking to one of our Bakma guests.”
The scientist looked surprised. For a moment, he didn’t answer. “As you wish, but I must warn yo
u. They’ve been nothing but headaches. Outside of hearing things we already know, we haven’t progressed.”
Archer’s response was cordial. “Then there’s a first time for everything.”
“Very well, sir. I’ll wake up our translator.”
“There’s no need,” Archer said, resuming his walk. “I’ll handle translations myself, alone and off record.”
“Yourself, sir?”
“Gaas,” he said without looking back. “That’s Bakmanese for yes.”
As the door to the Bakma’s cell slid open, the alien flinched from its sleep. The interior lights abruptly cut on.
The prisoner was frail for a Bakma, but not for a captive. The moment prisoners were placed in their cells, the luxury of physical activity was removed, causing a dramatic loss of muscle. Few prisoners fought to object—it served little purpose without hope of escape.
“Hello, Nharassel,” Archer said in English, stepping inside. He read the documentation in his hand. “According to this, you are a ‘well-informed supervisor,’ captured seven months ago in South America.”
The scientist watched from outside the cell. Archer turned to him. “I’d like total privacy, please. Unguarded.”
“Unguarded, Judge Archer? Are you sure?”
“What’s he going to do, bump me to death? In seven months, he’s lost muscles he never even knew he had. I believe I can manage.”
The scientist stepped away from the entrance. Moments later, the cell door was closed.
Archer’s focus returned to the alien. “Seven months ago. That’s quite some time, isn’t it? You’ve probably forgotten what it’s like to breathe natural air.”
The Bakma stared in a lack of understanding.
“But what’s truly amazing is that in seven months, you’ve given us nothing. Nothing.” Archer was more fascinated than upset. “I find that absolutely astounding. Don’t you?”