by Lee Stephen
Who murdered Nicole? Thoor was giving Scott a chance to find out, straight from the tyrant’s mouth. That, or to inquire about Confinement—a matter that Scott knew ultimately mattered more. He was giving Scott the chance to choose between a question of the heart or a question of the mind.
Scott took door number three. “No.”
The Terror raised an eyebrow.
“If you want answers,” said Scott, “you’ll have to supply me with more than just one.”
“If I want answers?” Thoor asked. A palpable tension rose around the table. “What could I possibly want to know from you?”
“What I never told you about the incident in Verkhoyanskiy.” Scott’s pieces were in place. Time to check the king.
Saretok looked immediately taken aback. Oleg’s eyes narrowed, studying Scott’s face as if he were watching Scott take a lie detector test. Everyone in the room showed an outward reaction.
Except for Thoor. The Terror showed no reaction at all—except for the tone of his voice. He was no longer amused. “You have nothing to tell me about Verkhoyanskiy.” He was calling Scott’s bluff. But Scott wasn’t bluffing.
“Judge Archer might disagree,” Scott said. He’d laid down four aces, even if Archer’s involvement was pure speculation. Name-dropping an EDEN judge out of nowhere was going to spark immediate interest.
The wheels were turning in the general’s head. Scott could see them. Thoor was putting pieces together, in particular, the fact that EDEN Command had dispatched a general to keep Novosibirsk out of Verkhoyanskiy. Scott was sure that Thoor had tried to figure out that one already. Now he might have had an answer in Scott.
Marusich spoke. “One does not march into this room and start making demands. If you have information, you will tell us.”
“Quiet,” said Thoor, raising a hand toward Marusich. “What information do you have concerning Benjamin Archer?”
Scott countered. “What happened in Confinement today?”
“You play a dangerous game, Remington.”
“You played a dangerous game when you had Nicole murdered. I know something you don’t—something that could implicate EDEN Command at the highest level. It’s time you paid me back for all I’ve done for you.” Chernobyl. The functional Noboat. Ruthless efficiency. All were things that benefited Novosibirsk, directly from Scott.
Oleg raised his nose. “You sound more like a snake than a lion.”
“You would know,” said Scott, glaring back at him.
“Captain Strakhov,” said Thoor, his cold stare still on Scott. The fallen eidolon faced him. “Enlighten Captain Remington. Tell him every thing.”
Oleg couldn’t have looked more stunned. “General, do you hear what you ask?”
“I hear the crunch of your bones if you question me,” Thoor answered.
The Throne Room fell quiet as Oleg, Saretok, and the others stared between themselves. Finally, Oleg nodded in submission.
Tell me everything? Scott wasn’t surprised that his demands had been met—Thoor appreciated the arrogance of brute force. But he was surprised that “everything” had been used. What constituted everything? He was about to find out.
His glare steadfast, Oleg stepped away from the table. The others resumed their conversation from before Scott’s arrival. “Come and listen, Nightman,” Oleg said, motioning for Scott to approach.
That Oleg failed to recognize Scott as a fulcrum didn’t escape him. The feeling was mutual. Fulcrum armor or not, Oleg would always be an eidolon to Scott. Mutual hatred aside, Scott approached him.
“I am a professional,” Oleg said, “so I will speak to you as a professional. It would help if I knew what you already knew.”
“Why does it matter?” asked Scott. “You’re about to tell me everything.” You’re not pulling a fast one today, Oleg.
The fallen eidolon smirked viciously. “You have a clever streak. Clarke had one, too, before I killed him.”
Wait—what? Before he killed Clarke? Oleg murdered Clarke? A thousand questions hit Scott at once. How? Why? Who else knew? Clarke had a family—a wife and daughters. And he’d been killed by Oleg? In the midst of his racing thoughts, Scott made the realization. There’s a reason he just told me that. He wants to catch me off guard, to get me flustered. He wants me to do something emotional and stupid, like strike him. Defeat him with restraint.
“I’m still waiting to hear ‘everything,’” Scott said.
The gleam in Oleg’s eyes faded away. His expression grew cold. “Well, then.”
Battle won. War far from over. He’d reconcile with Clarke’s murder another time.
“Stop me if at any point you don’t understand,” said Oleg. “Both our lives depend on it.”
A rare moment of honesty, eh, Oleg?
“There is an alien species called the Khuladi,” Oleg said. “Only General Thoor has seen them, through the eyes of our captives.”
We are to bring you to Khuldaris. Those were the words of the Bakma negotiator. Khuladi. Khuldaris. The latter had to be a homeworld.
“The Khuladi have over a thousand different words to define war,” Oleg went on. “They have no word for peace. War is their god.”
I wonder what they look like.
“The Bakma, the Ithini, the Nerifinn...all are species conquered by the Khuladi. There may be more.”
The omission of the Golathoch did not go unnoticed. “What about the Ceratopians?”
“They are not a conquered species.”
“But the Ithini work with them and the Bakma.”
The fallen eidolon went on. “To the best of our understanding, the Ithini are widespread. Many of them could have escaped to Ceratopian space before their species was conquered. The same may be true for canrassis, hence their widespread use.”
Besides being struck by the numbing fact that he was hearing such revealing things, Scott was also struck by the collectedness of Oleg’s delivery. Oleg seemed completely unfazed—as if he’d known this story all his life. Did EDEN even know all of this? And if the answer was no, then why not?
Scott knew why not. Because EDEN didn’t have the Walls of Mourning.
“What do you admire about Esther Brooking?” Oleg asked.
Scott blinked. Esther Brooking? What did she have to do with this? “Stay the course, Oleg.”
“I am.” He paced around Scott. “So tell me. What do you admire about her? Humor me, Remington.”
Humor you...all right, Oleg. “Do you want me to spout out a list?”
“No. I just want one thing. One character trait. What one thing about Esther has impressed you the most?”
One thing—what one, single thing? Her skills as a scout were wellestablished. She was arguably the Fourteenth’s most talented operative, even including himself. But was that what he admired most? No. Scott knew exactly what he admired most about her. “Her toughness.”
“Explain.”
“She went through hell when she got here. Khatanga almost ruined her. Not just anyone could have bounced back from that. She’s special.”
Oleg’s chin rose slightly. “So, Khatanga helped forge her?”
Forge her? Scott thought on that. Had Khatanga not happened, had she not been utterly devastated, would she have become the tough young woman he so admired? Maybe she wouldn’t have. She had come to Novosibirsk on top of the world. She was pretty, confident, and highly praised as a graduating scout. Were it not for Khatanga, she might have grown complacent. A complacent Esther. Scott couldn’t imagine that. “Yeah, I guess maybe it did. Where is this going?”
“So, Khatanga made Esther what she is now: one of your most trusted operatives—a covert killer.”
“I don’t know if I’d describe her like that.”
Oleg’s voice lowered. “Oh, I would.” His normal tone returned. “What happened in Khatanga, Remington, that almost ruined her?”
A knot formed in Scott’s stomach. Talking about this with anyone made him uneasy. Talking about it with Ol
eg made it disgusting. “I happened.” Esther’s comm error hadn’t been the catalyst for her undoing that day. Her undoing began when Scott struck her in the face.
“I remember that day,” Oleg said. “I remember your viciousness. I admired it.”
“Where the hell is this going?”
Oleg stopped pacing. “Esther is what she is because of you. You hit her. You stripped her of her pride, utterly defeated her.” He gestured with a hand. “And in doing so, you revealed her greatest attributes. You showed yourself—and her—what her true strengths were, that she might be rebuilt for a greater purpose. Look at her now.”
Enough was enough. “Get to the point, now.”
“You believe everything happens for a purpose, don’t you? You believe in God—destiny?”
“Yes, yes, whatever.”
“So you were purposed—destined—to defeat her, so that she might achieve her highest potential, right where she is now, under your command?”
Wait a second. That was something to chew on. Could God script out an evil destiny? Could God ordain someone like Scott to commit evil in order to bring out the ultimate potential in others? That was a dangerous line of thinking. If Scott actually believed that, he might as well go down the Fourteenth’s roster, “defeating” everyone to bring out their potential. What a horrible purpose that would be: to batter his operatives, one at a time, for the sole purpose of making them effective subordinates in his unit. Slaves in his little empire.
Slaves in his empire.
...oh my God.
The Bakma. The Ithini. The Nerifinn. Scott’s memories raced to the conversation he’d had with Tauthin.
You know nothing of shame. Your world will fall as all worlds have fallen—as all worlds will fall. You will be judged as all have been judged. Surrender and be destroyed. Resist and be sustained. You will herald the Golathochian Subjugation.
Oleg hadn’t been talking about Scott and Esther—he’d been talking about the Khuladi. The Khuladi and the species they defeated. Their slaves. “They’re defeating us to rebuild us. For them.”
“It is a concept you should know well,” Oleg said.
Oleg’s smarminess was lost in the shock of the realization, as all at once, everything came together. The Khuladi were attacking humanity to ultimately use them, to bring out humanity’s potential, to learn how they could best be used for their purposes, just as Scott knew how to use Esther after “rebuilding” her. Everything was starting to make sense—even the style of Alien War. For a decade, the world wondered why the aliens never sent the full load. But the Khuladi couldn’t. It would go against their purpose of sizing up the human species. They needed to see how humanity would react to pokes and prods, to witness Earth’s mettle first-hand. Resist and be sustained. Put up a fight and prove your worth. And what had Earth done since the Alien War began? Founded a global defense network. Set up bases across the planet. Organized the most advanced, effective, and massive military in the history of their species. Reached their ultimate potential. There was only one thing left for the Khuladi to do.
Claim their prize.
“The Khuladi are driven by religion,” Oleg said. “War is not their choice. It is their divine duty. They believe themselves to be God’s sharpening rod. Only through them can other species become all that God purposed them to be.”
Something didn’t add up. “Tauthin told me that humanity will ‘herald the Golathochian Subjugation,’” Scott said. “It sounds like the Khuladi were already looking past humanity, like we weren’t even their ultimate target. Like their true goal was to conquer the Ceratopians.”
“That is correct.”
“Do the Ceratopians know this?”
“Yes.”
Scott’s mind raced. “So if the Khuladi and Ceratopians both know that we’re not the ultimate goal, why are both species even wasting their time with us instead of focusing on each other?”
“What were Japan and America racing to control in World War II?”
Racing to control? Scott thought on that. What was critical to both nations? What had to be controlled for either side to win? The answer struck him startlingly fast. “Midway.”
Oleg held out his arms. “Welcome to Midway.”
Oh my God. Earth wasn’t a prize at all. It was a staging point. Humanity was living on Interstellar Midway.
“When God made the universe,” said Oleg sarcastically, “He put us in a very bad place.”
The Khuladi didn’t necessarily even want Earth. They just needed it. And the only way for the Ceratopians to prevent that from happening was to take Earth first. Whoever owned it owned a strategic advantage. It was all about location. In the grand scope of the universe, Scott suddenly felt unfathomably small.
“You asked what happened in Confinement today,” said Oleg. “Today, the general saw how the Khuladi conquer worlds. It made him...” The fallen eidolon’s words trailed off.
“It made him what?”
“It made him afraid.”
Thoor, afraid? Scott could never believe that. Thoor was a machine. He was The Machine. That anything could scare him was unimaginable.
Motioning to the table, Oleg said, “That is what we are discussing now. Previously, the general’s plan was to take the war to the Khuladi. Send a Noboat into Khuladi space and show them that we will not wait around for them to arrive—send them a message.” He looked at the general and his counsel. “I do not know what the plan will be now.”
The true meaning of the “Race for Earth.” Interstellar Midway. EDEN Command had to know these things already. How could they not?
“You have not heard everything yet,” Oleg said quietly. “The general learned something else today. He learned that one species held off the Khuladi. Your Bakma friend called this species the Nemesis. After pushing back the Khuladi, they disappeared. Finding them and defeating them are the Khuladi’s true goals—even more so than conquering the Ceratopians. They call this future war the War of Retribution. It is the war to come.”
Scott nodded. “The Khuladi want revenge.”
“A concept you know well.” Scott’s eyes narrowed at the dig. Oleg continued as if there’d been no dig at all. “The Ceratopians are not the Nemesis. At least, we do not think so. They have run far too disorganized a campaign. The Nemesis must be someone else.”
“So that’s everything?”
“No.” The bearded Russian stared with disdain. “Alexander Nijinsky.”
Alexander Nijinsky? “What?”
“He fought with you in Verkhoyanskiy. At least, according to the final report.”
Scott tried to remember. What Russian had fought with him in Verkhoyanskiy? He remembered Tkachenok and someone named Papanov.
Nijinsky...Nijinsky...
Yes! He remembered Nijinsky. The slayer he’d tried to save. He and Esther had gone after him. “I remember.”
Oleg said nothing at first. He simply turned his head to the general’s table. Finally, he drew a cold breath. “It was him.”
Blinking, Scott looked at him strangely. “What was him?”
No response came from Oleg. He only turned back to Scott, looking his American counterpart straight in the eyes.
And right then, it registered. Scott’s face fell as his body went numb. Lightheadedness struck him, as if gravity had suddenly been turned off.
It was him.
“Now, Nightman, you know everything.” Stepping backward, Oleg motioned to Thoor’s counsel. “When you are ready to tell us everything, join us at the table.”
Nijinsky...Nicole...
His eyes started to shimmer.
...Nicole...
The slayer he’d tried to save. The one he’d almost rescued.
Had only I known. I’d tried to save him.
“One more thing,” said Oleg, pausing in his exit to turn briefly to Scott. “When they recovered Nijinsky’s body, there were no plasma burns. Just a clean bullet hole in the center of his head.” Very faintly, the fallen
eidolon smirked. “Now isn’t that interesting?”
A bullet hole? That was impossible. Nijinsky had been killed by the Bakma while Scott was moving alone through the ship. Esther told him herself.
Esther.
Scott’s numbness was replaced by a chill. Esther had lied to him. She had covered up a bullet hole. There was only one reason Scott could think of for her to have done that. Esther had known who Nijinsky was. And she’d taken his life herself.
In a single moment of vigilantism, Esther had avenged the death of Nicole. She’d taken that right away from Scott. Maybe in her mind, she’d spared him from it.
Scott closed his eyes. One strike in Khatanga. That was all it had taken to mold a promising young woman into his image. Just like the Khuladi intended to do with Earth. What kind of species would humanity become?
His thoughts were interrupted by Thoor. “Come and speak, Remington.”
“Come and speak,” mocked Scott under his breath. Speaking was the last thing he felt like doing now. But a deal was a deal. Eyes in check, Scott returned to Thoor’s table.
The gazes that met him were colder than before—unsympathetic to what Oleg had told him. Saretok, Antipov, Marusich, Krylov...a motley crew of monsters. Thoor said nothing, staring patiently at his American killer. And just like that, Scott had the floor. “Something happened in Verkhoyanskiy that I left off my report,” he said stoically. He didn’t care if that offended them or not. “While traversing the Battle Cruiser, I encountered a pair of Ceratopians. They were tattered, beaten up. One of them tried to speak to me.”
Saretok scowled. “Ceratopians do not—”
“They don’t try to speak, right?” said Scott, cutting the colonel off. “Well this one did, idiot.” Saretok’s face flushed; Scott went on. “For whatever reason, what he told me stuck with me. He said ‘Der Achaar verratet dich.’” The moment Scott said it, Thoor’s, Oleg’s, and Antipov’s eyes widened. They already knew what the German meant. “The Archer betrays you.”
Saretok turned to Thoor. “How long ago was Verkhoyanskiy? And he tells us this now?”
“Go on, Remington,” Thoor said.