by Lee Stephen
6
Saturday, March 17th, 0012 NE
1214 hours
Norilsk, Russia
LAND. JUST LAND. Just get there, get that door open, and land. Then, exhale.
For the past hour, Scott had watched snow-covered trees zip past the Pariah as the Vulture transport skimmed over them, its nose pointed to Norilsk as it followed Tiffany’s Superwolf across frozen Siberia. It was a miracle that they were alive. It was unfathomable that they possessed a Superwolf and a pilot capable of flying one. It was all the more reason to want the Pariah to land as quickly as possible. They were skating on such thin ice, the slightest bit of misfortune might be all it took to plunge them beneath the depths of all hope.
According to Travis, the city of Norilsk was not far ahead. For that, Scott was grateful. Every minute they stayed airborne was another minute EDEN had to discover their location. They needed a place to hide, desperately.
As had been the case during the initial flight, the small stretch of downtime offered the operatives in the troop bay a chance to close their eyes and attempt something akin to sleep. The only sound that came from the troop bay was quiet breathing, and even that was mostly muffled by the humming of the Pariah’s engines and the rattling of its frame, both of which almost served as lulling sounds themselves. Just the same, any rest gleaned from this part of the flight would be deceptively temporary, as it had been for Scott, whose own dozing off had been little more than a glorified catnap. The whole crew would be dead on their feet upon awakening.
The only member of the troop bay that Scott knew for sure wasn’t attempting to sleep was Ju`bajai. The Ithini was strapped into the seat nearest to the cockpit—a seat that was grossly oversized for her small frame—staring at Scott in the unsettling way she tended to stare at people. Ju`bajai was almost quiet enough to forget completely, until moments like these came when one found her opaque eyes glued steadily to theirs, with no outward indication as to what the alien was thinking or feeling. And so with no indicators to guide him, Scott simply asked in his mind, What? There was no doubt that Ju`bajai was in his mind and able to read him. The way she was staring him down, she was either dropping a hint or socially inept. The Ithini made no reaction—she simply stared on. Shaking his head and looking away, Scott thought, You are so freaking creepy.
The troop bay had been mostly quiet after the excitement of the dogfight had died down and the reality of the Fourteenth’s and Falcon’s exhausted states resurfaced. Though several of the operatives appeared drowsy, a few were still fully alert. Chief among them was Natalie Rockwell.
Though she’d said virtually nothing during the entirety of their flight, she had had a constant companion in Flopper. The East Siberian Laika remained faithfully at her side, the pup’s only motion being an occasional roll-over for a tummy rub, which Natalie provided, the movements of her hand over Flopper’s stomach seeming almost involuntary.
Natalie surveyed the operatives around her, almost all of whom were sacked out, save Colonel Lilan and Auric, the latter of whom was still keeping vigilant watch over her. At several points during the flight, her leg muscles had tensed as if she was on the verge of moving, though the German’s steadfastness kept her grounded. Unable to sit still any longer, Natalie pushed up as much as her chained hand allowed. The motion prompted Auric to tense up on his handgun until opened palms by Natalie assured him she wasn’t up to anything devious. She nodded in the direction of Lilan—an unspoken request to be allowed to speak to the colonel, which the German permitted. Lilan observed as Natalie motioned for him, then rose from his seat to walk her way.
Leaning against the wall beside her, Lilan waited for the Caracal captain to address him. She cast a quick glance to the other Falcons to ensure their continued slumber. After seeing they were undisturbed, her focus returned to the colonel. “I saw the reports from EDEN Command saying that you were dead.”
Very faintly, the colonel smirked. “The reports of my death were greatly exaggerated.”
“How is that possible?”
Lilan looked at her keenly. “You’re not a part of their crew, are you?” She shook her head. “What are you doing with them?”
“I’m…” Natalie’s words trailed off as she sought a way to answer. She finally settled on the truth. “I’m their hostage.”
Lilan’s eyebrow raised. “Hostage? I wasn’t aware they were into that.”
“I don’t think they meant for me to be one. I think I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I got swept up.”
Harrumphing, Lilan said, “Hell of an operation to get swept up in.”
Looking away, Natalie eyed the cockpit entrance, where Scott and Travis were sitting. Sighing, she addressed Lilan without looking at him. “For the past week, I was under the impression that Scott Remington had been transferred to Cairo—where I was stationed—to be my executive officer. And I just recently learned that he’d been using me as a cover.” Lilan listened intently. “He went to Cairo to break a Ceratopian out of Confinement. He and that one,” she motioned to Esther, “Esther Brooking.”
Lilan nodded. “Mm.”
“This all went down not ten hours ago. During those ten hours, I’ve spent every fiber of my being hating every single person on this ship.” Natalie’s head tilted downward. “Then you showed up.”
“And now your head’s spinning. You’re not sure what or who to believe.
“Pretty much, yes.”
The colonel’s voice lowered. “Well, let me tell you what I believe, Miss…” He paused as he waited for her name.
“Rockwell. Captain, actually,” she said, as if the title bore little to no weight, though a faint smile from Lilan indicated it did.
“Let me tell you what I believe, Captain Rockwell. I believe that a couple of days ago, my entire platoon was intercepted and shot down over a Carolina swamp. And I believe I saw Vultures touch down, and that I saw EDEN operatives step out and try to kill any survivors on the ground.” Natalie canted her head as he went on. “I believe that every member of my crew would be dead right now had we not been rescued by a young woman named Svetlana, who is from this unit, and a band of Nightmen flying a Bakma Noboat.”
At mention of the word Noboat, Natalie’s eyes narrowed with confusion.
Glancing around the troop bay, Lilan’s voice fell to a whisper. “Things aren’t what they seem right now, and I’d be lying if I told you I knew the whole truth. But whatever Remington and his crew did to you, I’d give them the benefit of the doubt and a chance to explain themselves.”
Her eyes flickering downward, Natalie stared at the floor, before lifting her head just enough to catch a sidelong view of the operatives within the troop bay—her abductors.
“One more thing,” Lilan said, capturing Natalie’s attention again. “Whatever you think you know about Remington, I can assure you that you don’t know the whole story. Give him, above anyone else here, a chance to talk to you. You might be surprised at what you hear.”
“How do you know what he’s been through? We just picked you up.”
Smiling, Lilan answered, “I heard about it from that young woman who rescued us, Svetlana. My guess is she knows him better than anyone.”
“Who is this person?” Natalie asked. “Svetlana.”
“That would be Remington’s woman,” Lilan answered, dipping his head toward the cockpit. After receiving a stunned look from the Caracal captain, the colonel smirked. “Sorry if that disappoints.”
She shook her head. “Disappointment about that is the last thing I’m feeling right now.” Natalie offered Lilan a look of apologetic appreciation. “Thank you for talking to me.”
“Talk to him,” Lilan said, pointing at the cockpit. “And be open to the possibility that what you’ve been led to believe may not necessarily be the truth, no matter how bad things may appear.”
Before Natalie could respond, the Pariah’s troop bay speakers crackled, and Travis’s voice emerged. “We’re approaching Norilsk, crew. Strap yourselve
s in.”
Nodding to Natalie’s chair, Lilan said, “Better listen, captain.” A brief smile was exchanged, and Lilan returned to his seat.
In the aftermath of the dogfight, Catalina had explained to everyone how Tiffany was able to outwit a pair of Superwolves. She recanted, with heartbreaking recollection, the story of how she’d vaulted up to the pole position in EDEN’s class of fighter pilots, only to have her world come crashing down in the wake of her father’s death. It was a vivid retelling, and it put into context for everyone the girl who was Tiffany Feathers—the pilot who was a pilot because of her father. That she lost him before earning her wings with EDEN was a tragedy.
On that same note, they were alive because she lost him. Had she not been flying the Vulture that EDEN intercepted over the Great Dismal Swamp, none of her comrades would likely have survived the crash landing. Her father’s death might have been the ultimate blessing in disguise. But it didn’t make the story any easier to hear. It was yet another reminder that not all books could be judged by their covers.
With a fighter ace leading the way, the Fourteenth now had a fighting chance, even if they were intercepted in the air. There was much for Tiffany to learn, to be sure, about the handling of a Superwolf. But if there was anyone who could pass the test, it was her. Her trial by fire had already come. Everything now was just part of the job.
The cityscape of Norilsk was like a scene straight out of a post-apocalyptic movie. Scott had never seen anything like it. It was an expanse of snow-covered geometry. L-shaped apartments and flats were sprawled out from one side of Norilsk to the next, giving the entire city the look of a dark gray labyrinth. Outside of the constant snow flurries that scraped across the rooftops—none of which looked higher than a few stories—there was no movement anywhere. No traffic, no people. The city didn’t even have roads leading into it at all, as if the city itself was some sort of island.
The coordinates to Northern Forge pointed the Fourteenth in the direction of snow-covered mountain valleys off to the northeast, just as Antipov had indicated. The skies were as empty as the ground. There wasn’t an aircraft in sight. Scott took a moment during their descent into the valleys to look at the outside temperature. Minus twenty-six degrees Celsius, with a windchill Scott didn’t even want to acknowledge was possible.
It was cold.
Rising from the copilot’s chair and turning to the troop bay, Scott winced, gripped the ceiling handrail, and addressed his operatives. “We’re coming up to Northern Forge. I want everyone ready for anything. If you have armor, if you can fit into some of the armor lying around, you might want to do so. It’s chilly out there.” The crew acknowledged and began to gear up.
Both the Pariah and Tiffany’s Superwolf lowered their velocities as they weaved through the mountain valleys. Scott’s focus was a constant swivel between the radar screen and the cockpit window, watching to see when the mountainside entrance of Northern Forge would make itself visible.
He didn’t have to wait long.
There was no mistaking the Old Era emergency facility when the two aircraft arrived at the blip on the Pariah’s coordinate map. The door was built directly into the mountain in a way that, though not visible by onlookers from the direction of Norilsk, was anything but hidden. Slightly smaller than Novosibirsk’s hangar doors, this door looked easily capable of fitting several different types of aircraft into whatever space was on the other side. The door’s metal surface would have blended in perfectly with the dark gray rock of the mountainside had it not been for the rust that covered it from top to bottom, providing the only red-orange hues on the mountain’s backside. On both sides of the hangar door stood two turret towers, each looking out over the mountain valley. They, too, were akin to the turret towers of Novosibirsk, each with a set of twin-barreled cannons that seemed capable of rotation. The towers themselves were built into the rock. There was something menacing about the way the structures appeared.
Behind Scott, everyone in the troop bay had clustered behind the cockpit door to get a look at the facility. It was a sight to behold.
“All right,” Scott said, placing his hand on the back of Travis’s seat. “Ring the doorbell.”
The pilot didn’t have to. Before he had a chance to get on a comm frequency, motion on the mountain face captured everyone’s attention. Tiny pebbles and stones slid down the hangar door as its rusty gears came to life and the door started to rise. The forms of several uniformed Nightmen came into view, the most forward Nightman making signals for the aircraft to approach. “All right, we’re looking good,” Scott said to Travis. “Bring us in.”
The hangar was downright dingy. An array of cables hung from the relatively low ceiling, and the lone vehicle that was there—a forklift sitting in a far corner—looked abandoned. There was one set of closed metal double doors in the center of the back wall.
Travis brought the Pariah to a hover and moved it into landing position.
“What’s the status of the landing gear?” Scott asked. “Is that going to stop us from landing?”
Reaching across the cockpit control board, Travis pulled a short lever. Beneath the Pariah’s nose, something released, its weight felt beneath the floorboard. “What was that?” Scott asked.
“That was the front wheel.”
“I thought you said it didn’t work.”
The pilot looked at Scott flatly. “I just deactivated the gear locks. Wheels are heavy—when there’s nothing holding them up, they’ll fall down on their own weight. Now getting them back up? That’s gonna be a bit of a problem.”
As long as they could land safely, Scott was happy. “Just put us down.”
“Aye-aye.” Engaging the cabin speaker, Travis said, “Hold on, folks. We’ve got no vertical thrusters, so things are gonna get a little bumpy.”
“Slow and steady,” Scott said. “You got this.”
Easing down the power on the Pariah’s main thrusters, Travis slowly dipped the nose of the aircraft—the opposite of how the transport typically landed. Grabbing hold of the cockpit doorframe tighter, Scott held himself in place as he watched the Pariah lower.
Come on, Travis. Bring her down gently.
Scott’s thoughts were cut off as the Pariah dropped. The whole of the troop bay was rocked in the impact, as the ship’s main thrusters abruptly cut off. As the whine of the engines began to fade away, Scott closed his eyes and exhaled.
“Before you say anything,” Travis said, “that was pretty darn good!”
“I wasn’t going to say anything. Sixty seconds ago, I thought we’d be landing on the nose.”
Travis smirked. “Well, you know…”
Patting his pilot on the shoulder, Scott said, “Nice work,” as he watched Tiffany land the Superwolf.
The hangar wasn’t nearly as large as an EDEN hangar, looking only capable of housing three, maybe four aircraft at maximum. The best Scott could guess was that its original intent was to house a few helicopters, likely for Russian officials or perhaps even the president. For Scott and the Fourteenth, it was ideal—large enough to house them comfortably, but small enough to be hidden. He’d take it.
Ducking away from the cockpit and weaving through the troop bay, Scott made his way to the rear bay door, a visible limp in his step now that his adrenaline was gone. During the short trek, he allowed himself a moment to place a hand on Centurion, as if the physical gesture would in some way say, hang on, big guy, you’re almost good to go. The same could have been said concerning Auric and Catalina, whose legs were badly injured. As much as this was a regrouping, it was also a chance at recovery.
The outside air whipped through the open hangar door and inside the Pariah, causing Scott and the rest of the troop bay to shrink back from the bitter cold. Snow flurries flew past in what felt like gale-force bursts. This was the kind of cold that hurt—that could kill. Thankfully, it didn’t take long before the rusty gears of Northern Forge’s hangar doors turned again, lowering the massive metal jaws
that protected the forge from the outside.
Scott wasted no time once the icy cold was staved off. He stepped out of the Pariah and searched for Northern Forge’s dedicated greeter. Approaching Scott from the small collection of gathered Nightmen was a man in a Nightman uniform and of comparative build to Scott. Shaved dark brown hair and a five o’clock shadow framed a face that scrutinized Scott with all the compassion of a crocodile. Against his better judgment, Scott extended a hand. It wasn’t met.
“I am Valentin Lukin,” the man said, “keeper of Northern Forge.” Valentin looked to be in his thirties, perhaps mid to upper. His face was scarred with pits that made him seem either a mild burn victim or someone whose teenage years had been plagued with terrible acne. For the sake of feeling at ease, Scott chose to believe the latter.
“Hi,” Scott said, retracting his hand awkwardly. “I’m Scott—” Valentin stepped past Scott mid-introduction. The abruptness was jarring.
Barking out orders in Russian, Valentin inspected the Pariah’s troop bay and the soldiers inside it. Valentin must not have known that Scott could understand it all. “Get the Ceratopian to Shubin,” he had said, “then refuel this ship—it will not be staying.”
“Whoa, hold on a second,” Scott said, limping Valentin’s way as the keeper’s Nightmen took to their assigned tasks. “What do you mean this ship won’t be staying?”
Valentin turned Scott’s way, but only to look him eye-to-eye for a moment. Once again, he walked past him without another word, and once again, he addressed his Nightmen in Russian. “Find out who in there is from Falcon Platoon. Isolate them at once.”
“Hey, you’re not isolating anyone!” said Scott. Valentin continued walking away, as if Scott wasn’t even there. Now Scott was mad. Trotting painfully to catch up with the keeper, Scott reached out and grabbed Valentin’s shoulder to stop him.
The keeper whipped around, sticking his face directly in Scott’s. “I will do what I will do, and you will obey,” Valentin said. “There will be a time for you to talk. That time is not now—it will be at my request. Your operatives in the Fourteenth have rooms reserved in the living quarters. I suggest you go to them.” Taking a single step backward, Valentin then turned to walk away.