Epic: Book 03 - Hero

by Lee Stephen

  She motioned them through. “Wait for me at the level-three access door. I’ll stay here until Remington and Nijinsky arrive.” As Custer moved to step through, she grabbed his good shoulder. “Custer, wait. Give me your helmet.”

  Custer did as requested. “What is it—?”

  She slapped him dead in the face. The American flinched back. She jammed his helmet back in his hands. “Never tell me to shut up again.”

  He muttered under his breath as he and the others made their way through.

  On the other end of the Battleship, Dostoevsky and Tkachenok’s teams warded off the Ceratopians. The humans had one thing in their favor: Egor Goronok. The hulking slayer fired his hand cannon relentlessly, staving off any attempt for the aliens to press forward. But as surely as time ticked away, Egor’s ammo count fell.

  The door to the second-floor lift opened and Dostoevsky and Tkachenok’s men spun around.

  Gabriel raised his hands in the air. “Don’t shoot!” He was flanked by two women, one slender and the other the heavyset one from the Vulture. “We got here as fast as we could.”

  Viktor glared at Dostoevsky. “We waited here all this time to be rescued by women?” he asked in Russian.

  Before Dostoevsky could respond, neutron fire soared down the hall. The team fired back in swift defense.

  “Get everyone in the lift,” Gabriel commanded. “We’ll hold off them off while you escape.”

  Almost everyone in Esther’s team had climbed into the maintenance shaft. Only she and Black remained. Just as Black disappeared through the hole, a new set of footsteps appeared. Esther looked up to find the new arrival.

  It was Nijinsky. The slayer saw her as soon as he reached her corridor.

  Esther went rigid. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Her fingers tensed on the triggers of her pistols.

  All of a sudden, footsteps emerged behind her. She spun around in the hall, where several Bakma rounded the corner recklessly—as if they didn’t expect anyone to be there.

  Esther and Nijinsky dove and fired their guns, and the first pair of Bakma was cut to the ground. As the Bakma became aware of them, they positioned themselves for a counter-attack.

  A plasma bolt slammed against Nijinsky’s shoulder and neck, knocking the slayer off his feet. He screamed and threw off his burning helmet.

  The scout’s dual handguns were true. She dodged from one wall to the next, firing into the alien force. Two Bakma fell before she was struck. A bolt glanced by the side of her chest plate; though not a direct hit, it was enough to knock her off her feet.

  Nijinsky took over. The helmetless slayer rolled forward, slinging up his rifle to fire.

  Esther unhitched a grenade from her belt. Activating it, she flung it hard down the hall. It bounced around the corner amid the aliens and when it exploded, blood and screams filled the air.

  “Finish them off,” Esther said, pointing ahead. Her chest plate was melted, but not breached. She watched as Nijinsky charged through the smoke to the corner, his assault rifle flashing orange, prompting several more Bakmanese screams. Then all was still.

  The slayer stood in a mess of mangled flesh, searching with his assault rifle for more life. But there was only the distant sound of Bakma voices not yet near their position. Satisfied, he propped his gun up and turned to find Esther. What he saw made his body lock up.

  Esther’s eyes were narrowed to slits. Her nose was wrinkled. Her lips were compressed. But that was not what Nijinsky saw. He saw a small symmetrical shape. A perfect circle.

  Then he saw nothing else.

  The bullet struck him in the center of the forehead, passing right through his skull and splattering the wall behind him with blood. He collapsed to the floor.

  Esther stood statuesque, her pistol extended, her breaths controlled. Her glare burned holes through her visor as she took in his final resting place. Alexander Nijinsky—the man who had tainted the lion. Her lion.

  He would taint no one else.

  38

  Friday, November 25, 0011 NE

  1233 hours

  Back in the Cruiser, Max worked furiously on the control panel, with a firefight taking place all around him. Tanneken, Shavrin, Sokolov, and David were holding down the silo. Gavrilyuk had gone to meet Torban, who was once again pinned down by aliens. The Ceratopians had advanced against both teams. In another minute, they’d be in the silo itself.

  Suddenly, Max gasped and let go of the kit. “Holy hell.”

  Tanneken looked his way. “What is it?”

  “Holy hell!” Max leapt on the controls. “I’m in! I control the whole system! Holy hell!”

  “Stop saying ‘holy hell’ and close the doors!”

  Max screamed in the comm. “Everyone on all teams, get away from the doors! I’m about to seal everything off.” He initiated the lockout sequence. Simultaneously, the doors throughout the Cruiser slid down. The firefight was cut off.

  The technician didn’t slow down. With all doors down by default, he specifically opened the doors between Torban’s team and the silo, allowing them a path straight to him. “All right, Torban, follow the open doors!”

  David raced to Max’s side. “How’d you do that?”

  “I made a bunch of mistakes, then one of them worked!”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t know how I did it, it just happened.” He turned to Tanneken. “Ann, I don’t know how long I can keep control. If you want to strike, do it now!”

  Tanneken stood beside them. “We will attack the central corridor first. When Max opens this blast door, I will throw a grenade. We attack right behind it. What the grenade doesn’t kill, we will.” She turned to Max. “Are you ready?”

  His hands were shaking. “Ready when you are! I can’t believe I did this. How did I do this? What did I do?”

  “Open it!”

  The central blast door rose into the ceiling. Tanneken threw in a grenade. Alien screams filled the corridor as it exploded, and the strike team rushed in behind. Projectile fire littered the halls.

  “I gotta figure out how I did this,” Max enthused, his hands fast on the controls. “They’re gonna name this after me. They’ll teach it in books!” He opened the comm to his whole team. “It’ll be the ‘Axen Technique!’”

  He was completely ignored.

  With Svetlana and her wounded safely aboard, Travis steered the Pariah over Varvara’s site. He lowered the transport to pick her up while Seth covered him in Tanneken’s Vulture.

  The comm system was interrupted by a new source that overrode everything else. “Attention, Novosibirsk Vultures. This is General Bastiaan Platis. We are en route to your position under direct orders from EDEN High Command.”

  Switching his radar to ultra-wide range, Travis picked up the approaching squadrons: two Vultures and eight Vindicators. The pilot’s eyes widened.

  “You will cease any and all combat initiatives,” Platis said. “Any failure to comply will be seen as an act of defiance against EDEN. Your operatives will begin an immediate withdrawal from the combat zone. Please acknowledge.”

  Travis stared blankly at the radio. He tuned in Scott on the comm. “Umm…”

  “We heard,” Scott said. “Tell him we’re on our way out. Pick up whatever wounded you can and go back to base.”

  Tanneken cut in angrily. “We are calling off our strike. Brunner out.”

  In the Cruiser, Max hurled his technician’s kit across the room. Flopper scampered to fetch it. “You gotta be kidding me! I pull off the technical feat of the century and we freakin’ pull out? I don’t even know how I did it yet!”

  David cleared his throat over the comm. “The ‘Axen Technique,’ right? Is it a tactical retreat?”

  Max cursed under his breath.

  Dostoevsky’s and Tkachenok’s teams had fought their way back to the front of the Battleship, escorted by Gabriel and his two female soldiers. The Bakma had all but been cleared from the first floor, leavi
ng almost no resistance in their area.

  Dostoevsky had said nothing since they’d left the second floor. Not once during their exit had he faced his slayers.

  The entire mission had been a dizzying blur for him. Everything—from Saretok’s condemnation, to Viktor’s mocking, to the fact that he was almost abandoned before the mission began—tightened the already-tense knot in his stomach.

  Viktor had more than held his own. In addition to treating the wounded, he’d fought with intensity. His shots had been true, his instincts sure. Egor had been a one-man force. He had wreaked havoc on the enemy, halting their advances several times.

  What had Dostoevsky done?

  Ahead, the exit to the outside world appeared. Travis’s voice came over the comm. “I’m heading back to base with the wounded. Seth is gonna stick around for Max’s team, then he’ll pick up you guys.”

  Gabriel answered him. “Understood. We’re almost outside the Battleship. We’ll wait for Seth there.”

  Dostoevsky remained silent.

  Scott had been in a shootout with a pair of Ceratopians when he’d heard General Platis’s orders. As much as he would have loved to think about the significance of EDEN Command’s involvement, the red flashes of neutron rays were a constant reminder that time was critical.

  “Esther, how’s it looking?”

  “We were attacked several times while en route, but at the moment I’m clear waiting for you. Everyone else is climbing the shaft.”

  “Are there Bakma nearby?”

  “I can hear them, sir.”

  Scott leaned around a corner to fire. His Ceratopian targets ducked away. “Did Nijinsky make it to you?”

  Her answer was delayed. “Nijinsky is dead.”

  Scott couldn’t help but think it. We could have left him here and been out already. He’d have died either way. He forced the thoughts out. “Go up the shaft without me. Get your team out of here.”

  “Sir?”

  “If you wait for me, the Bakma will catch you. There’s about five Ceratopians on my end, but I can outrun them alone. I’ll go to the front of the ship.” He could meet up with Dostoevsky and Gabriel there.

  “…yes sir.”

  There was no more reason to stick around and fight the Ceratopians. Turning from the intersection, Scott took a path that led straight through the ship.

  Esther was alone by the cutout she’d made in the wall. She could hear the alien voices grow nearer. She holstered her guns and slid through the hole.

  It didn’t take her long to scale the shaft. “Listen up, team,” she said through the comm. “Remington is leaving out the front of the ship. We’re going to the roof by ourselves.”

  “He’s not coming?” Custer asked.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “What if we hit a Ceratopian stronghold?”

  Esther climbed beside him. “Then I guess this really is your last stand.”

  Dostoevsky was alone outside the ship. Behind him, Viktor tended to Tkachenok’s injured men. Each of the others was doing their part.

  The fulcrum captain listened to the updates from the other teams. Operatives were checking on one another. Max commed Svetlana and Varvara. Derrick commed William to see how he was doing. Even Egor got a comment from Becan. Dostoevsky heard every transmission.

  But no one commed him.

  “Captain Gabriel?” The voice was Scott’s, through the wide channel frequency. As Dostoevsky heard it, he looked Gabriel’s way.

  “Gabriel here. Go ahead, mate.”

  “My scout’s on her way to the roof. Can your pilot pick them up?”

  “Sure as day.”

  “Good. I’m heading your way. The first floor looks relatively clear.”

  The Australian spoke warily. “The aliens are probably all on the third floor. Are you sure your scout know what she’s doing?”

  “There are Bakma blocking the rear exit and Ceratopians between me and her. The roof route was her team’s only option.” Scott paused. “Tell Tkachenok we lost the guy we went after. The Nightman—Nijinsky.”

  Dostoevsky’s eyes suddenly grew with interest.

  “I’ll tell him, mate. Rex out.”

  Dostoevsky jumped on the comm. “Scott, what did you say?”

  “We lost the Nightman we were going after.”

  “His name! What was his name?”

  “Nijinsky.”

  “Alexander Nijinsky?”

  “I guess. I don’t know. He was a slayer.” There was another pause. “Did you know him?”

  Dostoevsky was speechless. He stared blankly at the device.

  “Yuri, you there?”

  Finally, Dostoevsky replied. “Yes. I knew him.”

  Several seconds passed before Scott answered. “I’m sorry, Yuri. We did the best that we could.”

  Dostoevsky lowered the comm to his side.

  Max emerged on the channel, his voice low and subdued. “Don’t worry about it, Scott. I’m sure Nijinsky got what he deserved.”

  Silence hit. No one else on the channel said a word.

  He got what he deserved. Max’s words replayed in Dostoevsky’s head. He knew exactly what they meant, and why Nijinsky deserved it. Someone else deserved it, too.

  Dostoevsky looked up at his slayers. They were already looking at him.

  As Esther led the escapees to the third floor, she heard all of it. Her eyes remained defiantly focused as she assisted the final operative onto deck three.

  The third-floor access panel opened from the dead end of a hallway. The moment she emerged, she became aware of Ceratopians in the area. They were just as she’d predicted—gathered in the central corridors surrounding the bridge. She didn’t need to know how many there were; it was more important that they were avoided at all costs.

  Stealthily the team crept through the halls of the ship. As Esther had promised, the exit to the roof wasn’t far, and they reached it without resistance.

  The exit was strikingly ordinary—nothing more than a hatch in the ceiling. But it was as oversized as the gargantuan halls. Moving to the wall nearest the hatch, Esther accessed a display screen. Depressed ladder rungs, rectangular and oversized, slid out from the wall under the exit. Carefully, she grabbed the first rung.

  Scott was passing through the heart of the first floor. He hadn’t run into a single extraterrestrial since initially making his break. It was as if that wing of the first floor had been entirely abandoned. That surprised him—but not enough to cause him to let down his guard. He trekked onward with caution and speed, creeping around corners and cutting through intersections with his rifle prepared.

  With the action apparently subsiding, he turned on his ExTracker and immediately picked up a signal. The blips were just inside his custom-set detection range of twenty meters, just past an intersection ahead. The ExTracker identified them as Ceratopians. They were moving toward the intersection at intermittent speeds, stopping periodically along the way. Scott knelt and aimed his assault rifle ahead, waiting for them to walk in his sights. When they did, he arched an eyebrow.

  It was indeed a pair of Ceratopians—one tan, and one black and green. But they weren’t geared up for a fight. On the contrary, both were completely stripped down, devoid of weapons, armor, or clothing. They were tattered from head to toe with various wounds—bruises, gashes, and burns. The tan one hobbled, evidently in pain. They turned and saw him.

  Scott held his fire as the Ceratopians froze. He swore he could read apprehension, particularly in the black-skinned one—as if it didn’t know how to proceed. Neither creature moved.

  Had they been armed, Scott wouldn’t have hesitated; he’d have gunned them down, armor or not. But to slaughter them defenseless felt wrong.

  The tan-skinned Ceratopian—the one with the limp—held out its hands. “Dar Achaar veraatat dech.”

  Scott’s finger lifted from the trigger. What in the world?

  “Dar Achaar veraatat dech.”

  He lowered his assault
rifle. Was he supposed to know what that meant? The only alien word he knew was the Bakmanese word for surrender.

  The Ceratopians entered a brief, quiet exchange. Their body language couldn’t have been clearer: they were trying to figure out what to do. The tan one looked at Scott while pointing to itself.

  “H`laar.”

  The alien was telling him its name—there was no doubt. Scott looked behind briefly to check his rear, then turned back to them. He motioned to himself. “Remington.”

  The Ceratopian nodded its head, clearing its throat. Its words were slow and precise. “Dar Achaar veraatat,” it pointed to Scott, “Rumigtaah.”

  Scott couldn’t hold back his own words—they just blurted out. “What the hell?”

  On the third level of the Battleship, Esther hung on the top rung of the exit ladder. Her hands worked the ceiling controls. “All right, get ready.” Drawing a breath, she inputted the final command. The door whooshed open with alarming speed, and the sky came into view.

  Esther grinned and looked down at her team. “Grab hold of this,” she said, tossing down a small line. On her end was a suction device. “Attach the clip to your belts, and I’ll lift you up one by one. Commander Ozerov can go first.”

  The operatives below smiled for the first time. They hurriedly set the clip on the injured commander’s belt.

  Esther stared at the oversized exit. Holding her breath, she leapt toward it, grabbing hold of its edge. She pulled herself through to open air. As soon as she found her footing, she attached the suction device to the roof.

  Looking across the open snowfields, Esther saw the Noboat perimeter. There were still Bakma about but their numbers had dwindled. Far in the distance, she saw Tanneken’s Vulture picking up Max’s crew. She lifted her comm. “Leaving so soon, David?”

  After a moment David answered, “Not a second too soon. Let’s go back home.”

  “Novosibirsk never seemed like such a nice place!”

  “You can say that again.”