by Lee Stephen
The Briton groggily pushed up. “I think so...”
“Hang on.” Walking to the cot, Scott scooped Esther up in his arms. She clung to his neck.
“Thech tiim weel comach,” said Tauthin behind them. “I cahn spaech no moch.”
The time would come. He could speak no more. Scott had become accustomed to the alien’s butchered English. “You told me a lot, Tauthin. And all of it was by accident.” Snapping his fingers at one of the scientists, he ordered the alien’s cell closed. He’d had enough.
The whole while Scott walked through the halls, Esther remained firmly clung to his neck. The scout’s brown eyes fluttered between focused and half-dazed.
To say Scott had a lot to digest was a ridiculous understatement. The Nerifinn. Subservience. Something called the War of Retribution. Surrender and be destroyed? Resist and be sustained? It was too much at once—yet ironically not as much as he’d hoped to hear.
Whatever veil of secrecy Tauthin was operating beneath, it was clear that the only answers Scott was going to receive would be those conveyed by accident. That frustrated Scott to no end. He wanted Tauthin to trust him. Just once, he wanted to hear, “As you wish, Remata. Here is the truth.” Then again, if it were that easy, humanity would have had their answers long ago.
Esther tugged herself closer. “We should talk about this. About what he said.”
Scott absolutely agreed. “Let’s just get you some rest.” Up until that point, Scott had kept his extraterrestrial musings to himself. His discoveries about the Bakmanese psyche and personality. The small bits of information he’d gleaned. And the phrase not spoken by a Bakma that had haunted him for months.
Dar Achaar veraatat dech. Dar Achaar veraatat Rumigtaah.
They were the words spoken by H`laar, the Ceratopian he’d captured during the battle on the tundra. Though the message was probably never intended for Scott, it was clear that H`laar had tried to make it personal. Since then, Scott had asked Bakmas, Ceratopians, Ithinis, and scientists. None of them had heard the phrase H`laar had uttered before.
“I want to help you,” said Esther, her eyelids flickering drowsily.
“You can help me.” The itch was there again. It always came when he learned new information. More than ever, Scott wanted to know what this war was about. In honoring the interests of Sergei Steklov—the young man Scott had murdered—he’d inadvertently discovered a passion of his own. Xenorelations. Untangling the web of the Alien War. And it was time to involve the Fourteenth.
Shortly after dropping off Esther, Scott informed the Fourteenth that there was to be a unit-wide meeting that evening about the events of Confinement—one that was voluntary. One for those who wanted to be involved.
But first, Scott had something else to take care of—something of critical importance. Something that could wait no more.
7
MONDAY, MARCH 12TH, 0012 NE
1300 HOURS
“DOOR’S OPEN,” Scott said, looking up from his notebook—preparatory scribbling for the meeting later that night. “Come on in.”
His door creaked open as Jayden stepped inside. The Texan removed his cowboy hat and closed the door behind him.
In the moments that Jayden’s back was turned, Scott scrutinized his body. Jayden still looked so frail, like he was sickly or anorexic. Even when he faced Scott again, the shallowness of his facial structure was striking. His good eye was sunken in. He was a different human being.
“Come sit down, Jay.”
Slowly, perhaps hesitantly, Jayden stepped farther in. He sat across from Scott, setting his hat on the table.
“How you holdin’ up?” It was a general question. Scott would let Jayden take it any way that he wanted.
For several moments Jayden said nothing, his good eye remaining fixed on his hat. Then he spoke. “Aw’right.”
“Good,” Scott said, nodding casually. “Now tell me how you’re really holding up.” Jayden sighed and leaned back. Scott, in contrast, leaned forward. “Talk to me, man. You haven’t been yourself. You’ve got us all worried.”
There was a look of defiance in Jayden’s eye, even as it stared at the side wall. He said nothing.
“Help me help you. No one wants to see you like this.”
“Then tell ’em not to look.”
It wasn’t an answer typical of Jayden. At least not of who he used to be. It was snappy. Not like the soft-spoken sniper at all. “See, this is what I’m talking about. This isn’t who you are.”
The Texan looked away disgustedly.
“Hey—look at me,” Scott said, his voice firming. “Don’t look away while I’m talking.” If there was a weakness to Scott’s leadership style, it was his tolerance with his friends. Rarely did he enforce the rules of formality. He was just as happy to be called “Scott” as he was “sir.” But there were still occasional times when rank had to be pulled. This was verging on one of them. “I know she hurt you. I know Viktor hurt you.”
“You don’t even understand,” Jayden said.
“You really don’t think I understand?”
“No, you don’t.”
“Jay, my fiancée was murdered.”
The Texan grew firm. “And look where you are now.”
Scott cocked his head. Look where he was now? Of all the things Scott had anticipated hearing, that wasn’t one of them.
“You had ’er taken from you,” Jayden said, “and that was really bad. But she got taken. She didn’t leave.”
Scott’s heart sunk a bit. He now knew what Jayden meant.
“I woulda done anything for Varvara. I’d’a killed for ’er. But instead, I got dumped while I was in the hospital. And I know it’s different, and I know what you went through was different, but at least now you have Sveta.
“I wish I’d’a died. Viktor saved me, then he killed me when he took ‘er. I hate him. You don’t even know.” He slouched back in his chair. “I had him in my crosshairs that last mission, and I almost pulled the trigger. But I can’t kill a man who saved my life. I hate that about myself.”
“No,” Scott said firmly, “don’t hate that about yourself. Admire that about yourself. That means you’re a good person.”
“If I’m a good person, why’d she leave?”
Because she’s an idiot. “If Varvara thinks she’s better with Viktor than you, then she doesn’t deserve you. Jay, you’ve got to let this go.”
“I don’t wanna let it go!”
“You have to.” Scott was pleading now. “I need you here. I can’t run this ship without you. I need you to be the rock you’ve always been.” It wasn’t true in the literal sense. Scott had run the Fourteenth fine while Jayden was out of commission. It still felt like the right thing to say.
There was a knock at Scott’s door. A soft knock, a Svetlana knock. Doggone it, Sveta, why show up now of all times? Scott’s tone indicated his displeasure. “Come in.”
Svetlana slipped inside. “I looked over Esther—” She covered her mouth upon seeing Jayden. “Oh! I am so sorry!” She eased back through the doorway. “Would you like me to...?”
“Naw,” Jayden said, standing up. “I was just about to go.”
Scott eyed Jayden warily. The Texan was taking advantage of his first chance to leave, and both men knew it. But only one of them cared.
Svetlana’s face fell. Frowning in apology, she stepped out of Jayden’s way.
“Jay,” said Scott. The sniper stopped by the door. “Don’t forget what I said.”
Without a word, Jayden walked out the room, leaving the door open for Svetlana to close herself. As soon as she had, she closed her eyes, pressed her forehead, and fell back against its frame. “Scott, I am so sorry.”
Scott was frustrated, even though he knew it was wrong to be. Svetlana had no idea that Jayden was there. She wasn’t to blame for bad timing.
“Did I ruin it?” she asked, barely opening her eyes to peek at him.
He exhaled slowly. “No.”
“I ruined it...”
“You couldn’t have known.” Approaching her, he drew her into a hug. She surrendered into his arms. “You didn’t make him this way.” Varvara and Viktor were to blame for that one. Dostoevsky had made a good case for sympathizing with Varvara, but it was hard not to hate her after seeing Jayden like this. Her imprint was clear. “What’d you come to tell me?”
Leaning back, she blew her hair from her face. “I looked over Esther again. I moved her to Yuri’s room—he agreed to let her rest there. Room 14 is not a good place to sleep during the day.”
“She gonna be okay?”
“Yes. She just needs to rest. Did she do okay with the connection?”
Laughing sadly, Scott shook his head. “She didn’t last long at all. I think she was the most susceptible person out of everyone—she threw up thirty seconds in.”
Svetlana smiled. “I threw up, too, you know.”
“You did better than her, I can tell you that.” Svetlana had held a decent conversation with Tauthin before upchucking—she’d left the alien impressed.
“Mmm,” she purred.
“What?”
She crinkled her nose. “It is nice to be better than her at something.”
“You’re better than Esther at a lot of things.”
She couldn’t hide her wry smile. “If you say so.”
The two women were prone to these competitive games. Scott didn’t mind, as long as it didn’t interfere with their work.
“So, how did it go with Jayden?” Her tone shifted to concern. “Did he talk to you?”
“Not a whole lot. He’d just gotten here a minute before you did.”
Her frown deepened. “Scott, I am so sorry. I didn’t know.”
Scott smiled, moving her hair from her face. “We’ll figure Jayden out. We’ll get him back.”
“What if we don’t?” Svetlana asked as she sat on his bedside.
It was a familiar place for her to perch, and Scott instinctively sat down beside her. Leaning back against his pillow, he left his uniformed chest in open invitation. “We will.”
Svetlana leaned against him, her head resting sideways as she nestled against his chest. It was a blurry place between friendship and something else. Neither of them ever spoke of the closeness’s significance. It was just comfortable.
“There is always something,” she said softly. “First it was the arrival of four arrogant Americans.” Her words were lighthearted, though her tone fell serious again. “Then it was Tolya. Then Nicole. Then everything else...”
Scott looked at his nightstand. She was still there—that beautiful brunette—smiling at him even as Svetlana lay intimately close. Nicole never judged him. That task was left to Scott himself.
“And now it is this,” Svetlana whispered.
I’m sorry, Nikki. This should have been you. Guilt was a fickle thing. It came at the most inconvenient times. Perhaps that was how it was meant to work.
“When will there be peace? When will we wake up and everything will be well?”
Lying close to Svetlana wasn’t cheating. It wasn’t wrong. She was hurting, just like he was. This was life. “I don’t know,” he answered. “When the war’s over. Or when we die.”
She smiled. “Such an optimist.” Then she looked at him, and her ocean-blue eyes followed his gaze. All the way to Nicole. The smile faded from her face.
Scott didn’t try to look away, to avert his focus from Nicole back to Svetlana. It would have been pointless. Instead, he allowed his gaze to linger before closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around the woman who was there, offering a gentle squeeze that both apologized and expressed hope that she’d understand.
Svetlana laid her head down in silence.
These were the moments that hurt, even more than any drama in the Fourteenth. Emotions, feelings. Nothing stabbed worse.
“I am here to support you, Scott,” she said softly. “If life had been different...maybe I would be here for something else. But if life had been different, maybe we would never have met.” She nestled in close. “She will always be your love.”
For the next fifteen minutes, neither of them spoke. Svetlana’s head remained on Scott’s chest, his hands on her back—but that was as far as they went. It was as far as they ever went.
Eventually, Svetlana rose from his bed and made her departure for Room 14. Scott was left to prepare for his meeting.
* * *
TAUTHIN WAS KNEELING on the floor next to his cot, his talonless claws cupped together as he stared at the wall. He had been alone since his meeting with Scott. Though the alien’s emotions had died down, his posture was anything but relaxed. If anything, the Bakma looked tense.
His reverie was ended by the sound of his cell opening again. Instinctively rising, Tauthin turned to face the visitor. As soon as he saw who it was, he froze.
Beneath the shadowed rim of his visor cap, Ignatius van Thoor’s beady eyes stared the alien down. Ed the Ithini stood submissively at the general’s side, as the whole of the science staff watched timidly behind them. After several seconds of silence, Thoor spoke. “Do you know who I am?”
Ed’s connection relayed the words to Tauthin. The Bakma hesitated. “You are the lord of this fortress.”
“I am.” Clasping his hands behind his back, Thoor walked inside. “You are called Tauthinilaas. Is that correct?”
Tauthin remained rigid, his opaque eyes following the general’s march. “Yes.”
“You previously resided in our torture chamber. Do you remember that?”
Once again, a pause of reservation. “Yes.”
“Good.” Raising his chin, the Terror immediately began. “What is the War of Retribution?”
Tauthin’s muscles, already tense, went even more rigid. He stared at Thoor uneasily.
Thoor simply waited, staring patiently at the captive with his hands clasped together and his chin upright. No effort was made to ask the question again. The general’s bargaining chip had already been played. There was no option but to answer.
“It is the war to come,” answered Tauthin at last.
“Against the Golathoch?” The question was posed as if the answer was known.
Tauthin hesitated. “Against the Nemesis.”
Thoor eyed Tauthin perplexedly, a rare caught-off-guard moment for the general. “The Nemesis?”
“Yes.”
“What is the Nemesis?” Thoor’s question was first posed to Tauthin, then to the scientists behind him. None of them had an answer. Thoor’s attention returned to the alien, whose cooperation continued.
“The Khuladi attempted to judge the Nemesis, but were resisted. The Nemesis are the only species to have done this. This is called the Great Denial.”
“Resisted...?”
“Defeated.”
Captivated, Thoor approached closer. “The Khuladi have been defeated?”
“Only once—only by the Nemesis. All other judged species have fallen subservient.”
“Tell me about them. Tell me everything—who they are, how this defeat came to be.”
Silence filled the room. Tauthin’s eyes deviated from Thoor’s just briefly, just long enough to look at the scientists before returning to the general again. The alien shook its head. “We know of the Nemesis only in namesake. The Great Denial occurred ages ago—before our species was judged.”
“Do not lie to me, captive.”
“Honesty has served me better than deceit. Were there an answer to provide, I would provide it. The Khuladi have hidden all knowledge of the Nemesis.”
“Do the Golathoch know the Nemesis?”
“It has been speculated,” answered Tauthin. “The Khuladi no longer know the Nemesis’ location. If the Golathoch possess this knowledge, perhaps you are the Khuladi’s means to reach them. Your homeworld would make an advantageous staging point. Even now, the Creations muster for a foe vastly superior to your species.”
“The Creations?”
“The Khuladi call them the Annihl. We call them the Creations. They are machines of war—destructors. They precede the Khuladi on the battlefield of judgment. Your forces cannot match them. This world will fall quickly.”
Thoor’s eyes narrowed. “Show me the Annihl.”
A bewildered expression came over Tauthin.
“Through the connection,” Thoor said, pointing to Ed. “I have seen the Khuladi and Nerifinn. I know this can be done.”
The Bakma’s face tightened, deepening the lines on his brow. A sign of reluctance. “That would be unwise.”
“Disobedience would be unwise.” Thoor bared his teeth. “You will show me the Annihl or you will suffer.”
For several moments, Tauthin’s dark purple gaze remained on Thoor. Then, very slowly, the alien looked at Ed. Tauthin’s reflection was clear in the Ithini’s oval lenses.
The transfer began.
The first reaction to hit Thoor’s face was a distinct refocusing, as if he was suddenly staring at an illusion that only he was privy to. Then came the shift. Thoor’s eyes opened widely, and for the faintest of moments, his entire body tensed. The next look that struck him was one of total mesmerization. The scientists in Confinement observed through the cell glass as Thoor’s head slowly tilted upward, following the form of something much larger than himself. Much larger than the room. The general’s upward gaze continued until Ed’s visual transfer released. The base connection was all that remained.
Thoor’s eyes refocused as he looked at Tauthin. The general’s expression was a mixed one—part allurement and part trepidation. Uncharacteristic of the god of The Machine.
“It is as I told you,” said Tauthin as Thoor stared at him in silence. “This world will fall quickly.”
8
MONDAY, MARCH 12TH, 0012 NE
1700 HOURS
THE ATMOSPHERE in the lounge was as spirited as Scott could remember it. Word of his fiery encounter with Tauthin had escaped from Esther to the rest of the unit. Scott might have answers about the war! That was the buzz. It was an exaggerated claim—Scott hardly had answers about the war—but, nonetheless, it sparked excitement throughout the lounge. It was exactly what the Fourteenth needed to divert their attention away from Max and Viktor’s fight.