by Lee Stephen
* * *
Torokin’s palms pressed together in front of his mouth as he stood at the entrance to the underground hangar. From a distance, it almost looked as if the Russian judge was praying, though his eyes were indeed open. The officer who led Torokin to the hangar had hinted that what Torokin would find there would be a surprise. The mere suggestion had prompted a flurry of possibilities to pass through the judge’s mind. Suffice it to say, none of them had come close. And now, he stood before it—the object of the officer’s hinting—at a loss for words.
The final resting place of Ignatius van Thoor.
He and the other judges knew the moment that Thoor met his end. Klaus Faerber had commed them himself after the deed had been done. But the where, up until that point, had been an unknown. Though the knowledge that Thoor had died in a secret, underground hangar added nothing to their quest to track down Scott Remington and the Fourteenth, it nonetheless added a level of intrigue to the event as a whole. Where was Thoor going? If this was a hangar, where was the aircraft? Had he been left behind by his own troops? The answers to all of those questions had gone to the grave with the late general.
For Torokin, standing there meant even a little more. He was now in the very spot where Klaus—his best friend—had exacted revenge for the murder of his son. Though the bodies of Thoor and whoever had been with him were now gone, the outlines remained in chalk on the floor, much like a crime scene. It was an eerie sight to behold. The outline of Thoor was so unintimidating. Like he was a normal human being. The truth, of course, was that he’d always been one of those. But the aura of the general had been undeniable. Torokin wondered if, to any degree, Klaus had taken a moment to realize the magnitude of what he’d done in striking Thoor down, right there in that room. He was fairly sure his friend hadn’t.
“So…” Torokin said, half-shaking his head in bewilderment as he scanned the rest of the carved-out hangar, “what was he doing here?”
Walking to a spot on the floor several meters away, the officer knelt down and pointed to an area with dark blood stains. “Everything about this is very odd, judge. There were other bodies here, as well, that apparently had not been killed by EDEN operatives in the attack. They looked like they’d been devoured by a canrassi.”
“A canrassi?” Torokin asked with genuine surprise.
The officer nodded. “Unfortunately, there are no cameras in this room—at least that we have found—so there is no footage to show what actually took place before Thoor was killed.”
“Why would a canrassi be down here? Could it have been Thoor’s?”
Rising to his feet, the officer walked back to Torokin. “If one had been here with Thoor, the Vectors on scene would have killed it. There was no canrassi body here. It is also worth noting,” he went on, “that neither was a ship.”
That made no sense at all. “If an aircraft would have escaped through this hangar, would we have detected it?”
“Not necessarily. The tunnel leads to an area that is on the outskirts of the base. If the aircraft was flying dark and had its transponder turned off, it is possible it would have slipped away in the midst of the attack.” He frowned. “But what Nightman would have done this? To leave General Thoor behind…”
Torokin finished the thought for him. “It would have been a death sentence.” Thoor was practically a god to these people. To abandon him to his death would have put a mark on everyone in that aircraft. But the fact remained that Thoor had been left behind. Could his own Nightmen have actually done that to him?
His thoughts were interrupted as his comm crackled. Logan Marshall’s voice emerged. “Judge, we need to see you as quickly as possible.”
It was the Australian’s tone, not necessarily the words themselves, that indicated to Torokin that something serious was up. Smiling cordially to the officer, the judge stepped away and answered, “Where are you?”
“Room 14. Everyone is here except you and Quintana.”
“Very well. I will get in touch with Pablo. I assume he is needed, as well?”
There was a pause. “I think everyone’s going to be needed for this one.”
The judge’s eyes narrowed. All right, Marshall, you have me curious. Clearing his throat, he said simply, “On my way.” Torokin closed the channel and looked back to the officer. “Thank you for showing me this. This was…interesting.” And it left more questions than answers. The officer bowed in acknowledgment, and the judge left the hangar.
Eventually, Torokin and Pablo found their way into the barracks, where they trudged onward to Room 14. As soon as the two new arrivals entered, the group looked their way. Chiumbo, expectedly, was the first to address them. “Discoveries, my friend,” he said to Torokin. The Mwera’s trademark smile was missing. Very subtly, the Russian thought, “uh oh.”
Then, there was Logan. The ex-mercenary looked downright irritable. Hands on his hips, he stood behind the rest of the group, his stony stare angled toward the floor despite Torokin and Pablo’s approach. Only when the two men reached the veritable circle did his eyes rise to meet them.
“What have you found?” Torokin asked.
“A motive,” answered Chiumbo. Reaching out with his hand, he passed a journal on to Torokin. “Second entry from the last.”
The lack of an immediate explanation was disconcerting. Flipping through the journal, Torokin stopped at the second-to-last written page. Quietly, the Russian judge read.
Today, I learned two things, began the entry, written by a woman of elegant penmanship, both of which involve men that I love. I learned that I was the cause of death for Tolya, the man whom I considered my greatest mistake the day before he died. I also learned that my life may cause a second death, this one so much more painful.
In the midst of the reading, Torokin caught his mind thinking, “et cetera, et cetera.” This was not the kind of reading that interested him. This was the kind of thing that could only be appreciated by another woman. He was ready to just get to the point. It didn’t take much longer.
Thoor threatened Scott with my life. This is why he is going to Egypt. He knows that if he refuses to go or fails, I will be murdered by the Nightmen.
His face hardening, Torokin slowly looked up from the page. Motive, indeed.
“I see you have read what we are talking about,” said Chiumbo.
Before Torokin could reply, Logan pointed at the journal. “I feel obligated to point out that none of that justifies what Remington did.”
Obviously, it didn’t. But it provided context as to why Remington had done it. If this was true—and they had no reason to believe that it wasn’t—then his intention in Cairo was never to be the harbinger of a bloodbath. It was to save the life of a woman he loved. “This complicates things.”
“What the bloody hell does it complicate?” asked Logan, snarling for the first time. “The man did what he did. It doesn’t matter why.”
Looking at Logan exhaustedly, Torokin said, “It does not complicate things for the reason you think. If Remington’s motivation to infiltrate Cairo was to save a woman he loved, then he may or may not know why he was sent there. If this was Thoor’s doing, the true motive behind the act, not necessarily Remington’s part in it, may never be known.” In the seconds that followed the statement, the others in the room eyed one another quietly. Once again, it became apparent to Torokin that they knew something he and Pablo didn’t. “Or am I mistaken?”
Chiumbo handed Torokin a tablet. “Remington’s scrawlings, found in his private quarters.”
Torokin surveyed the tablet. Arrows, circles, terms, and phrases were linked together with lines. It was chaos. Then, something else. As the judge’s eyes came to rest on the words Unknown Species, he held his breath.
Across from him, the others were surveying his expression as if trying to determine whether anything on the tablet was something Torokin recognized. But the Russian’s face was deadpanned. At long last, he offered them words. “What does Remington believe he kn
ows that we do not?”
Chiumbo, eyeing Torokin warily for a moment, pointedly asked, “So these are not things you are familiar with?”
“No, but…” His gaze fixed on the phrase at the top. The Archer betrays you. Benjamin Archer? Their fellow judge in the High Command? What was the basis of this? “And you found this in Remington’s quarters?” The question was rhetorical, though Chiumbo nodded just the same. “Did Remington believe this on his own, or was this something Thoor was feeding him?” He sighed. “And who is this message intended for? The Archer betrays who? And who is relaying the message?”
Crossing his arms, Logan paced behind them. “The ‘you’ is us, and the message is from him. It’s a page out of a vecking manifesto.”
“There are question marks all over the place, chief,” Marty said to him. “I mean literal question marks, on the page, right next to the thing about Archer. All ’dem lines and arrows is him tryin’ to figure things out.”
“And yet none of it changes the fact that he murdered people and kidnapped Natalie Rockwell,” Logan said, eyeing Torokin harshly. “Look, I get that you need to collect as much of this crap as you can. But please be bloody clear. This is a benefit to us not because it sheds light on Remington’s motive, but because it gives us insight into what will catch him.” His face hardened. “He responds to threats against loved ones. We can trap him with that.”
Who doesn’t respond to threats against loved ones? Just the same, Remington wasn’t the one at the forefront of Torokin’s mind in light of all this. Benjamin Archer, a traitor? Where would that thought have even come from? The business of the judges was so distant from the everyday grind of the operatives in EDEN that most of them couldn’t name half of the judges. On top of that, Archer was the newest judge in the High Command—practically a rookie on the Council. How could there even have been time for that thought to develop from Remington?
“Do you think you should bring this up to Judge Archer?” Chiumbo asked. The lieutenant’s eyes were penetrating, curious. He was thinking on the same wavelength as Torokin.
The obvious answer to the question was yes. But Torokin’s answer was not. “No. Not now, anyway. It does not matter.” He looked at Logan. “As Lieutenant Marshall has stated, this does not affect our hunt for Scott Remington. We will deal with this after we have Remington in custody.”
Logan’s jaw set. “Then let’s start figuring out how to use what we know.”
Sasha, seizing the opportunity to contribute, said, “I will continue to examine Svetlana’s journal. Perhaps there are more things of value that could be taken from it.”
“Yeah, I bet ’dere’s more you’d like to take from it,” Marty joked.
Not in the mood to swap casual banter, Torokin said simply, “Read the journal. The rest of you can do whatever you want until we get new info.” Before anyone else could respond, Torokin said, “Dismissed for now.”
It was as abrupt a dismissal as the judge had issued, and its suddenness left the rest of the group raising eyebrows. As they moved on to begin chatting with one another, Torokin made his exit. Within seconds, he was marching down the hall, away from Room 14 through the halls of the barracks.
Something was gnawing deep in his stomach. The Archer betrays you. That was a phrase that shouldn’t have been on Remington’s scratchpad. Benjamin Archer—and it could have referenced no one else—had barely been a judge. He hadn’t been at EDEN Command nearly long enough to warrant a conspiracy theory.
Slinking off into a darkened corridor, Torokin found the furthest corner. Pulling out his own comm, he queued up his fellow judge for a face-to-face call. Within seconds, Archer’s face appeared on the screen.
The British judge looked puzzled. It wasn’t until Torokin placed the call that he realized he was standing in darkness. From Archer’s end, he was looking at a black screen. “Judge Torokin?” Archer asked.
“Yes, sorry,” said Torokin, searching for a light switch near the corner and finding none. “I am in a hallway. I did not think about the darkness.” Getting right to the point, he said, “You used to work in Xenobiology before you came to us.”
Though the statement wasn’t a question, Archer nodded anyway. “That’s correct.”
“Have you ever heard of the Khuladi or the Nerifinn?”
And there it was. The movement was subtle, almost involuntary…but it was there. The lower eyelid of Archer’s left eye twitched. Yes, he had heard of them. The question now was whether or not he’d be forthcoming about it.
“Those were names brought up briefly in some interrogations,” answered Archer, “but not enough to be lent serious credibility. Where did you hear those names?”
“On a scratchpad in Scott Remington’s quarters.” Once again, Torokin scrutinized Archer’s face for some kind of reaction. There was absolutely none. It was like Archer’s face was made of stone. “Are these the names of supposed alien species?”
Inhaling a hesitant breath, Archer answered, “Supposedly, yes.”
“Why have we never heard about this on the Council?” All scrutinizing aside, this was a question that needed to be answered. This was a big deal.
Archer offered a smile that bordered on sympathy. “As I’ve stated, these were merely names mentioned, but not to a point that we in Xenobiology would deem credible. Though we assume those names reference alien species, they may reference gods, or myths, or some other abstract possibility. There’s even the chance that they’re keywords designed to intentionally throw off interrogators.” He angled his head slightly. “That does happen on occasion. We like to know that things are concrete before passing them onto EDEN Command—or,” he made a face indicative of one correcting himself, “that is typically the mindset of those in Xenobiology. As someone who now wears the shoes of both a xenobiologist and a judge, I can attest to the logic in that approach. If every newly discovered word or phrase was passed on to the Council, we’d never talk about anything else.”
Torokin opened his mouth to speak, but Archer interjected before he could.
“Trust me, Judge Torokin. If something from Xenobiology was deemed credible, the judges would be the first to know.”
It was credible enough for Scott Remington to believe. That fact alone suggested to Torokin that this was something the other judges needed to know.
“What else was on Remington’s scratchpad?” asked Archer.
The moment Torokin heard the question, it struck him as oddly toned. Carefully toned. As if asked by someone playing it off as casual curiosity. “Nothing of significance,” said Torokin, aware that his facial expressions were hidden. “Looks like gibberish.”
“Hmm.”
Hmm, indeed.
“Well, I wouldn’t get too bent out of shape over those names. They may not pertain to anything actually real. But, we will discuss this at the next Council meeting, if for no other reason, to explain how the credibility system works in Xenobiology.” Again, the Briton smiled. “That may shed some light on why some things aren’t relayed.”
Torokin had what he’d called for: verification that something was off. Bowing his head cordially, even though his counterpart couldn’t see it, he said, “That would be good, Benjamin. Educational, I think.”
“We’re never too old to learn something, are we?”
Though he chuckled outwardly, Torokin was not amused. “A true statement.”
“I’ll speak to you again when you return to Command. Goodbye for now.”
“Farewell, judge.” Seconds later, the comm channel was closed.
Lowering the comm to his side, Torokin stared off into the darkness of the corridor. The Archer betrays you. Those words resonated in his mind. Scott Remington seemed to believe them, and at the very least, he knew more about the Khuladi and Nerifinn than did the other judges at EDEN Command. And that was credible.
Sliding his hands into his pockets, Judge Torokin once again made his way down the halls.
* * *
EDEN Command
THOUGH LARGE IN capacity, EDEN Command could not be defined by the word sprawling. On the contrary, most of its rooms and wings were tightly-packed together, favoring functionality over style to take advantage of every nook and cranny. The base itself could be traversed from one end to the next by foot in a matter of fifteen minutes, no time at all when compared to behemoth bases like Atlanta and Nagoya. The judges’ suites were centrally-located on the top floor, allowing the judges relatively quick access to any part of the complex they desired. Typically, a judge could walk to the hangars in seven to eight minutes.
Archer made it in four.
Standing at the hangar entrance and waiting for him was Jason Rath. Several feet behind him, Oleg stared in awe at the building around him. Only when Rath called out, “Benjamin,” did the former eidolon avert his focus ahead. As soon as Archer approached Rath, the Canadian stepped aside and motioned to Oleg. “Benjamin, this is Oleg Strakhov, former comrade of Scott Remington and the Fourteenth.” His voice lowered, though not enough for Oleg to not hear. “I think you’ll probably want to talk to him in private.” Looking indicatively at Archer for a moment, Rath shifted his attention to Oleg. “Oleg, this is Judge Benjamin Archer.”
Extending his hand, Oleg shook Archer’s firmly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, judge.”
“I’m sure it is,” said Archer flatly. He looked at Rath. “We need to talk as soon as you’re able. All of us.” Eyeing Oleg, he corrected, “Almost all. No offense.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, Rath followed as Archer led them down the hall. “A development, I assume?”
“You could say that. How was Novosibirsk?”