by Lee Stephen
Scott resumed. “The Ceratopian made it personal. He gave me his name, then asked for mine. Then he rephrased it to say, ‘The Archer betrays Remington.’”
Immediately and not rudely, Antipov took over. “There are only so many explanations for this, general. If we assume that the alien indeed tried to say Archer, then we must attribute that to interspecies diplomacy. Archer is not president, nor anyone prominent. He is a new judge. How would an alien know his name without pretense?”
Leave it to the leader of the eidola to put something together that quickly. “We think,” Scott said, “the Ceratopian was trying to get in touch with Klaus Faerber. Why else would he choose German?”
“We?” asked Thoor, raising an eyebrow.
Scott nodded. “I told my unit this same information today.”
For the first time, the Terror glared directly at Scott.
Antipov spoke again. “The Ceratopian would only know this if he knew Archer was in contact with other Ceratopians. He would not know anything about the Bakma. That begs the question, why? Why would a Ceratopian reveal a conspiracy involving his own species?” He looked at Scott. “What condition was the alien in?”
“Very poor. Little to no clothes, body badly beaten. He didn’t look good at all.”
“What was the alien’s name?” Thoor asked.
“H`laar.”
Silence came over the table. This had obviously been more substantial information than they’d expected to hear. For all Thoor had known, Scott could have been bluffing his way into the Throne Room. He wondered what was going through Thoor’s head now.
Saretok cleared his throat. “That battle site, it was intercepted by General Platis.”
Platis! That’s who that general was.
“He was sent by EDEN Command. It is likely he knew H`laar was on board.”
Antipov shook his head thoughtfully. “But how would he know? Someone would have had to tell him, and being that it was a Ceratopian ship, his source would have had to be Ceratopians themselves. That H`laar would willingly reveal Archer’s intentions makes it doubtful that he would also reveal his location to someone who works under Archer.” He paused. “What if H`laar was a prisoner?”
“Of other Ceratopians?” asked Saretok.
“Yes.”
Leaning back in his chair, Saretok folded his arms in thought.
Scott had never considered that before—but it made a degree of sense. What if H`laar and his bodyguard were prisoners of war? What if they’d come to Earth to reach Faerber but got intercepted by other Ceratopians first?
“We need more information,” said Thoor. “Where was H`laar taken? We must learn this.”
Scott already knew that answer—Cairo. But he wasn’t quite ready to disclose it yet. Anything he knew that Thoor didn’t was an advantage in Scott’s eyes. An advantage to what, exactly? He didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. The principle just seemed sound. “My crew is already working on it. We’ve been looking up other things, too, like Archer. If he’s betraying us, we need to know how. What constitutes betrayal in a Ceratopian’s eyes?”
Thoor’s displeasure was apparent. “You have taken many liberties upon yourself.”
“Yes, I have.” And there wasn’t a chance he’d apologize for it—not to this tyrant.
“Your unit has until the end of the day to find H`laar’s location,” Thoor said, “or Voronova dies.”
It took the words a moment to register. “Wait, hang on...”
“With liberties come consequences. Pray your team works with diligence.”
Scott’s heart was racing. Why would Svetlana be killed? How did Thoor even know to associate the two of them. Oleg. That devil wolf had lived with them for months. He’d been taking notes the whole time.
Thankfully, Scott knew about Cairo already. But if he hadn’t mentioned it before, he couldn’t mention it now and make it obvious that he’d been hiding something. He’d have to comm Thoor with the answer after he left and before the deadline.
“It nears 1900, Remington,” said Thoor. “You should get to work.”
As Scott walked out of the Citadel, Thoor’s threat against Svetlana burned in his mind. He had the solution for it this time, but her life would surely be used against him again. And again. And again. If the Terror knew that Svetlana was leverage, he’d hold her against him repeatedly. And there was nothing Scott could do about it. Nothing except comply. Just like Svetlana’s first boyfriend, Anatoly Novikov. Novikov had been asked to stay behind with explosives to ensure their detonation. What would Scott be asked to do?
Just like he’d planned, Scott commed Thoor before the deadline to relay the desired answer, that H`laar and the Ceratopians from that mission had been shipped to Cairo. What Thoor intended to do with that information, Scott didn’t know.
As for the other information, such as information on Archer and the possible conspiracy, the Fourteenth had indeed been hard at work searching for answers. Regarding Archer, the judge’s official biography did little to label him as anything but an ideal High Council candidate. Ironically enough, though, Archer’s most decorated field was in Xenobiology. It might have been nothing, but there was always a chance it was some sort of connection. And all of it was contingent on finding out if Achaar was truly H`laar’s word for Archer. Until verified, this was all still just theory.
Unfortunately, no one in the Fourteenth was savvy enough in lawyer speak to determine if any of EDEN’s policies stood out as “traitorous.” That particular group study had been a lesson in frustration. Just the same, the night felt productive.
And almost complete.
There was one other thing that Scott needed to do before the sun set: talk to Esther about Nijinsky. He’d already called her to his room, though the scout didn’t know why. The fact that the meeting would be held at ten o’clock at night would undoubtedly tip Esther off that something was amiss. And something was. Esther had no idea what was awaiting her in Scott’s room, that he planned to talk to her about her murder of Nijinsky. Truth be told, Scott wasn’t sure what awaited either. He scarcely had a plan on how to proceed. He just knew it had to be done. He wanted to look her in the eyes and ask her for the truth. It might not have mattered in the grand scheme of the Fourteenth, but it mattered to him. It mattered for his sanity.
It mattered for Nicole.
At exactly ten o’clock, the knock came to his door. Esther. Opening the door and stepping aside, Scott allowed Esther in. The Briton smiled nervously, tucking her hair behind her ears as she eased into the room, her dark lashes flickering to Scott, then away.
“Captain.”
Up until that moment, Scott had been able to temper his emotions. But this would be hard. Esther had looked into the eyes of Nicole’s killer. If what Oleg hinted at was true, then Esther had pulled the trigger—seen Nijinsky’s life taken away.
Anger. Confusion. Sympathy. Scott felt all of those sensations at the same time. He didn’t even know where to begin. But he didn’t have to. His eyes welled the moment he eased the door shut. He didn’t want her to see him cry—but she would notice his failure to turn around and look at her. She’d notice that he was just staring at the door.
She noticed.
“Captain...?” Surprise was in her voice.
He kept looking away. All he could see was Nijinsky and Nicole. All of this rage, all of this torture, for over six months. Half a year of turning Nicole’s picture away when he put on his Nightman uniform. Half a year of not knowing anything. But Esther...she had known. She’d avenged Nicole’s murderer. Taken Scott’s place.
Scott could barely see through the saline. He knew he’d barely be able to talk. But the question had to come out—even if forced.
“C-Captain?” Now Esther’s voice trembled. Moistened eyes or not, Scott turned around. When Esther saw the look on his face, she covered her mouth. The Briton’s own eyes started to well. As if she already knew.
“Why’d you do it?” The question strained to
escape.
“Captain, what...?”
“Nijinsky,” Scott spat. “Why did you do it?”
Esther’s face twisted horribly. Her emotions broke down. She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t even speak. Staring at the floor, she shook her head and cupped her hand over her eyes. Right then, Scott knew it was true.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His words came out angry. Scolding.
Her voice stuttered and shook. “I don’t know, I don’t know!”
Scott stormed toward her. “She was my wife! My wife, the love of my life!”
“I am so sorry, Scott!” Eyeliner trailed down her cheeks. Her voice pled with him. “Please, I am so sorry!”
“What were you thinking?”
“I...” Her words stammered away.
“Tell me!” He was losing it. “Tell me, Esther, because I’m dying to know what made you think you had the right to avenge her on my behalf!”
“I...” She was desperate for an answer. Searching, panicking. Then it came out. “Scott, I love you!”
Scott just blurted it out: “Whoa.” The first thought that struck him was that he hadn’t heard her correctly. But the Briton’s reaction confirmed it.
“I am so stupid,” she cried, looking away and shaking her head. “God, what am I thinking?”
Scott’s mind went blank. Devoid of anything but awareness of the three words she’d spoken. He felt totally numb.
“I love you, Scott!” She said again, staring straight at him. “I have wanted to say that for so long.”
No...Esther, God, no...
“I would fight for you, I would die for you! I would go to hell for you.” Whatever was inside her was all pouring out. “The way you make me feel, when I think of how right we are, how good we could be...”
He looked away. This isn’t real. He ran his hand through his hair.
“That’s why I killed him,” she said. “That’s why I didn’t even think about it. I wanted him to pay for what he did to you. He needed to pay!”
“I never asked you for this!” Scott said, voice booming as he spun around. “I never asked you to make him pay!” He pointed hard at himself. “That was for me—me—to choose. And I chose to let it go!”
The sting of those words was apparent. But she was about to be stung again. He had to say it. It would hurt, but he had to say it. She needed to know this. “I don’t love you.”
She sputtered through tears. “Scott, please, I know you’re saying that now, but if you just give me a chance to—”
“Esther, no,” he said with finality. “There is nothing you can do.”
And that was it. Her tears slowed. Her expression changed. Numbness.
The look of despondency that came over her affected him instantly. I shouldn’t have said it like that. It was too late to take the words back. It was what he’d felt. He needed to calm down for both their sakes. “Look—I’m sorry.”
She wiped her eyes. For several seconds, she made no response. Then slowly, she nodded her head. “I’ll have my things packed tonight.” The life in her voice was gone. “If you want to move me.”
“Esther...”
“I’m so sorry I did this to you, Scott. I am a fool.”
This wasn’t what he wanted at all. This wasn’t how it was supposed to have gone.
She made her way to the door. Scott reached out to stop her; she lifted her hand. “No. Please. It’s okay.”
“I’m not ready for a relationship yet,” Scott said. “Esther, I’m just not ready.”
His words went unheard. The British scout opened the door and stepped into the hall. Only when she was completely out of his room did she turn around. “Svetlana is the luckiest woman in the world.”
And that was it. That was the last thing she said. Scott couldn’t even respond.
Then she was gone.
The rest of that night was like a dream. With every motion Scott made, with every task he fulfilled before bed, his stomach felt more and more upset. His intention with Esther had been to learn the truth about Nijinsky’s death and to close the case on a perpetual distraction in the form of Nicole’s killer. Now he’d created a new distraction for he and Esther both.
How could this have happened?
Esther said Svetlana was the luckiest woman in the world. That was the first time he’d realized what their rivalry was all about. It hadn’t just been about territorial women. It’d been about him. Customarily, a soldier wasn’t supposed to be in love with their commanding officer. But what made Esther different from Svetlana? Only that Scott felt attracted to the latter.
Nicole, Svetlana, Esther. When would this stop? It was like riding a roller coaster that never turned its nose up. At some point, it had to.
Where do we go from here?
Esther was one of his most trusted and effective operatives. Her evolution had revolutionized what the Fourteenth was as a squad. The fully-functional Noboat, one of Thoor’s most prized possessions, had been captured by Esther. Esther had come to Scott’s rescue on a snowmobile to help save Max, Tanneken, and the injured operatives in the Krasnoyarsk federal building. Her deeds were painted across everything the Fourteenth accomplished. She’d always had a chip on her shoulder; that made her special. But had she just been trying to prove something to Scott? Had he been her motivation? And now, was that motivation gone?
Give her more credit than that.
A mission. That’s what Scott wanted now, more than anything else. Something to distract him by force. Something normal. Turning off the lights and tucking himself in, Scott closed his eyes and waited for sleep to find him. Eventually, it did.
He dreamed of Khatanga.
10
MONDAY, MARCH 12TH, 0012 NE
0645 HOURS
EDEN COMMAND
JUDGE LEONID Torokin watched eagerly as the blacked-out Vulture entered EDEN Command’s underground hangar, emerging from one of the many tunnels that spilled out into the massive chamber. As the transport touched concrete, a grin stretched across the ex-Vector’s face. Opening his arms widely, he approached the ship as soon as its doors opened. “Ahhh!”
The young man who met him—at least, young by Torokin’s standards—had a similar reaction. Tossing his duffle bag to the floor, he slammed against the judge in a fist-pounding embrace. The hug lasted a moment before they pulled back.
“What is all of this?” Torokin said in Russian, pointing to the overstocked duffle bag. “Are you moving in?”
The newcomer laughed, picking the bag up. “What do you think it is?”
“Tell me you did not bring your armor...”
“Absolutely, I brought it! Did you think I would leave it in Germany? This is all about first impressions.”
Torokin placed his hand against the man’s back as he led him from the hangar. “I have hyped you for two weeks—you do not need to impress them any further.”
The younger man smirked. “If you’ve been hyping for me for two weeks, I may already be in trouble.”
His name was Alexander Kireev, though to everyone who knew him, he was simply Sasha. Torokin knew him better than almost anyone. That was because Sasha was a member of Vector Squad.
And Torokin’s nephew.
Their family ties were a technicality. Ten years previously, Torokin’s oldest sister had married Sasha’s divorced father. The result was the addition of a nephew—Torokin’s only one—to the family. Despite their relation, they never referred to each other by family titles. They were simply two men with a common interest: tactical combat. It was only fitting that when the Alien War began, both men ended up in EDEN.
At twenty-seven years old, Sasha was one of the younger members of Vector Squad. He had been acquired to replace the only member of Vector squad to ever be kicked out: EDEN’s black sheep, a man by the name of Todd Kenner. Kenner had been Vector Squad’s scout, and the only scout to ever be distinguished as a Type-3, superior in tactical combat and observations. Kenner’s supremacy had demanded th
e unique classification. An accusation of rape had demanded his release. It was an unfortunate, if not unsurprising end to the one of the more unsettling careers in EDEN history. It had also opened the door for Sasha to replace him.
Sasha was a Type-1 scout: tactical combat. He looked anything but. Unassuming in build outside of being generally toned, Sasha bore an appearance more akin to an office worker than a lethal weapon. He was five feet and ten inches tall—relatively short for a military elite—and maintained a look that was the definition of clean cut. His brown hair was short and neatly trimmed down to his sideburns, and he had no facial hair. His face did have distinctly sharp features, including fairly sunken eyes and a pointed nose, but otherwise he looked as typical as any white-collar on the street.
Despite both their claims to Vector, Torokin had never fought alongside his nephew. The controversy of Todd Kenner had occurred after Torokin had retired from Vector to become a judge. In fact, it was due to Torokin’s adamant recommendation that Klaus Faerber accept Sasha into Vector—much to Faerber’s delight. On more than one occasion, the Vector Squad captain had called Torokin specifically to praise Sasha’s addition to the team.
As Sasha walked down the hall, his eyes constantly roamed. “I keep looking for someone famous,” he said, laughing.
“They are not as interesting as you might think,” Torokin replied. “So, update me. How are things in Berlin?”
“Things are things, I suppose. We are still recovering from Stockholm.” He chuckled. “I don’t want to talk about Vector. I am here—I want to know what goes on in this place! How are things in the world of bureaucracy?”
“Ugh.”
“They are that bad?”
Torokin wasn’t sure where to begin. The past few months had been a lesson in frustration, beginning with Novosibirsk. The EDEN withdrawal from the renegade Russian facility had been the catalyst for a four-month span of awkwardness amid the Council. It had been an executive decision by Pauling that hadn’t been supported by anyone else. Eighty percent of EDEN’s personnel had been removed from the Russian facility already, with ten percent scheduled to be transferred by the end of the month—Pauling’s retirement. The final ten percent would be entrusted to the next president of EDEN, Malcolm Blake.