Chapter Thirty-five
Friday, April 13th, 0012 NE
1421 hours
Norilsk, Russia
NATALIE HAD SEEN many breathtaking sights in her lifetime. The aquamarine waters of St. John’s Trunk Bay in the U.S. Virgin Islands. The jewel-like lights that adorned the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Even the sun breaking over Pyramids of Egypt, just outside of Cairo. Fortunate to be born into a family of relative affluence, she’d taken advantage of every opportunity to see the beauty that Earth had to offer—a blessing that manifested onward in her adult life, be it by conscious decision or circumstance. She had seen so many beautiful things.
None of them were prettier than Nebraska.
As the chestnut-haired captain stood with her eyes closed in her room—her roommates long having departed for the hangar—all she saw in her mind were those endless, amber waves of grain in that place she called home. People joked about the flatness of the Cornhusker State, but she wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. It reminded her to stay grounded. It reminded her of the importance of a solid foundation. Of a core set of ideals, a moral compass. It reminded her not so much of who she was, but of who she strove to be. She had a chance to be that person now.
In less than a half hour, Northern Forge’s hangar doors would open and its transports would set their sights on EDEN Command. The Nightmen were taking back the world today—freeing it from a tyrannical rule it didn’t know it was under. That was their message to the world. She was supposed to be among them, adorned in their armor, ushering in a new future where the Nightmen would be seen as liberators. Antipov had given her everything but a red carpet on which to walk. He gave her everything she could have asked for.
She was about to turn it all down. She was about to show up to the main event horribly underdressed, but also as herself—a woman fighting not to destroy the organization that’d cast her aside, but to restore its honor. She was probably the only person on this mission that felt that way. That was fine with her. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been there before.
Knock, knock, knock.
Natalie opened her eyes, and she took in her reflection in the mirror. She took in that blue and silver armor as it gleamed in the light. It had a luster all its own. She was sure Artur would miss it. She always had a thing for lost causes, be it Logan, the Caracals, or EDEN itself. There was no better story than one of redemption. She was ready to play her part.
“Hey Vee, you comin’?” Easing the door open, Javon leaned his head through. The soldier was dressed out in slayer armor, only his helmet missing. She didn’t blame him for that choice. As much as anyone else, he’d earned the right to be bitter. Nodding her head and drawing in a deep breath, she said, “Yeah. I’ll be right on my way.”
She saw him nod in the mirror. Taking a step backward into the hall, he paused just past the door’s precipice. His eyes stayed on her for a moment before he said, “You look good in that, captain.”
She smiled, her eyes drifting to meet his in the mirror. A second later, he was gone, the soldier quietly closing the door behind him.
Looking at the floor, Natalie set her eyes upon the EDEN helmet that was lying there. Bending down, she carefully picked it up and held it in her hands. Once more, she stared at her reflection, this time in the sky blue visor on its front. The captain closed her eyes again.
This was it. This was the culmination of her journey—her rise to captaincy, her being swept away from Cairo by the outlaws, her being disavowed by EDEN and the world. This was her chance to make it all worth it.
This was her chance.
Turning the helmet around, she slid it down over her head. It fit like it was made for her. After setting it firmly in place until its latches clicked, she stared at her reflection again. How different it looked behind that beautiful sky blue. How right.
Walking to the door, Natalie stopped only to grab her E-35 from where she’d propped it against the wall. Upon slinging it over her shoulder, she marched out of her room.
Northern Forge’s hangars were bursting with activity, all pertaining to the mission that Antipov had dubbed Dark Thunder. Every member of the Fourteenth was there—even those not participating in the mission. As Dostoevsky gave a final inspection to the V2 he would be commanding, those under him assisted in loading weapons and equipment. Everyone was lending a helping hand—until the sight of a new arrival made them all stop.
She walked into the hangar like an angel of light. Bright reflections danced on the surface of her EDEN armor like sunbeams, radiating with splendor. It was even enough to pull Dostoevsky from his inspection, as he joined every other eye in gazing upon her.
As for the object of everyone’s awe, Natalie had determined to keep her own gaze steadfastly ahead. She wanted to block out the noise—to focus on her destination. To be wholly unaffected. That was, until someone of prominence stepped in her path.
The expression on Antipov’s face was one of grim acceptance, almost as if he’d known this was going to happen. Crossing his arms, the scruffy general waited for Natalie to stop before him. For almost ten seconds, the two stared at each other, like colliding, immovable wills. It was Antipov who finally blinked. “Captain Rockwell, you have disappointed me in every conceivable way.” Her eyes remained steady, as did his. At long last, he dipped his head. “I respect you more than you know for that.” Lifting his hand, Antipov offered her an EDEN salute. “Godspeed to you, captain.”
For Natalie, the gesture was unexpected, but appreciated. She offered an EDEN salute in return. “Thank you, general.”
Turning away from her, Antipov returned to his other tasks in the hangar. As soon as Natalie approached the V2, Dostoevsky met her at its base. “I had a feeling you might do that.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, glancing away nonchalantly, “someone got to talking about purposes and ministries. You know how it goes.”
“Oh, yes. I do.”
“Permission to come aboard?”
He nodded. “We wouldn’t leave without you.” Stepping aside, he allowed her to walk past him into the aircraft.
Esther was in the middle of securing equipment when Natalie walked aboard. The scout was dressed in the same kind of black tactical gear she’d worn on the train hijack mission. As she watched Natalie enter, she smirked and rose to her feet. “Well, look who decided to join the peasants. Welcome, your majesty. You honor us with your presence.”
Returning the smirk with one in kind, Natalie said, “At least you’ve finally learned your place.”
The scout approached Natalie, holding out her open hand for Natalie to slap. The captain did, and their hands locked tightly in place. “Are you ready for this?” Esther asked.
“You know it.”
“Let’s bring our friends home.” Releasing Natalie’s hand, Esther resumed her securing of equipment. Natalie stared at her suspiciously. When the scout finally noticed, she paused and raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Angling her head, Natalie asked, “Are you okay?”
“Of course.”
“You just…” What was the right way to word it? “You seem confident.”
Esther raised an eyebrow. “Should I not be?”
“No, it’s just…”
A silence fell between them that teetered on awkward, until Esther finally broke it. Her expression softening, she stood to meet Natalie again. “I’m all right. I mean that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, thank you for asking,” the scout answered. Upon opening her mouth, she seemed to second guess herself before continuing. “I’m not proud of myself for how I reacted to…you know. The news.”
She’d heard all about it.
“I betrayed Jay’s faith in me in that moment. It’s something I regret. Today is my chance to get things right.” Her expression hardened. “EDEN have no idea what’s coming to their doorstep. There’s a baby boy in America who needs his daddy back. I intend to be the one to rescue him.”
It was good to hear those things. It was good to know that Esther’s head was in the right place.
“Just do me one favor,” Esther said, kneeling next to the equipment, though her eyes stayed on Natalie. “You make sure Scott and Tiffany get back safely. I’m entrusting them to you.”
For several seconds, Natalie’s emerald gaze lingered on Esther’s, before she allowed—at last—a smirk to creep out. “I didn’t get all dressed up for nothing.”
“Dashing,” Esther said. “Now stop watching me like a proper supervisor and give me a hand with this gear.”
Kneeling, Natalie joined Esther’s work.
Throughout the hangar, the armored warriors of the Nightmen marched toward their respective transports. There were three V2s in total in the hangar, not counting the Pariah, which had been repaired to baseline operability but would not be participating in the assault. Over the speakers of the transports, Antipov’s voice crackled through. “All teams, prepare to depart.”
Colonel Saretok—towering over the Nightmen around him—slid his custom fulcrum’s helmet over his mohawked head, its faceplate’s painted, crimson streaks identifying him in the crowd. If there was any question as to the significance of this operation, the sight of the fully-armored and weapons-laden colonel laid to rest any doubt. With an assault rifle slung over his back, a hand cannon strapped to one side of his hip, and a pair of handguns holstered on the other, the Nightman second-in-command looked like a human war machine. Iosif Antipov might have been the leader of the Nightmen, but the muscle belonged to king of the fulcrums.
Claws clanking in near-rhythmic unison, three packs of necrilids stalked into the transports behind their human masters. Psoglav, the one-eyed alpha that had fought under Dostoevsky in Atami, once again padded toward him. When he reached Dostoevsky’s side, he crouched onto his haunches.
From the back of the troop bay, the members of the Fourteenth and Falcon Platoon watched as Centurion, geared from head to toe in all his black-armored, red-plumed glory, ducked to make entry. All of the stops were being pulled, from human warriors to alien assets. So far as Natalie could see, there was only one thing missing.
Where was Logan?
She hadn’t heard a single word from him since the mission was announced. He knew she was going. Surely, he would show up for it. Briefly, she glanced to the empty seat. It had been left vacant in case he decided to go. In case he decided to be a difference maker. But with every second that passed, it was looking less and less likely that’d be the case.
An empty seat. A space for another warrior. One who wanted to be a part of this. Who believed in it. Her gaze shifted to the rest of the Fourteenth—those who weren’t slated to be a part of things. David, Max, William, Boris. They were all there watching. All wishing they could take part, but all too injured to go.
Who was the right one to take?
It was in that moment that she saw him. Not Logan—she knew by that point he wasn’t coming. But there was someone else who wanted to be a part of this. Someone else who had a dog in this fight. Who just wanted—just needed—a chance to prove himself.
“Mark!” she called out. When the cadet, overshadowed by the older men he stood behind, heard his name called, his eyes widened. “Let’s get your brother!”
There was no hesitation. Mark Remington bolted past the other men toward the ramp with as much gusto as she’d seen from anyone. As he jostled past Centurion and the crowd of Nightmen in the troop bay, Esther called out to him, “There’s a set of slayer armor up here, Mark! I’m sure we can cram you into it.” The cadet did as instructed, and Esther began helping him into his gear.
Sliding through the crowd toward the rear bay door, Natalie gripped a handrail to stare out just as the ramp began to rise. It was right then that she finally saw Logan, standing at the precipice of the hangar entrance. Unarmored and without a weapon, he was just standing there, eyes on hers as she stared back at him. Like an act of personal defiance. Natalie’s eyes narrowed. The last glimpse she had of her Australian ex-lover was him turning to walk back into the base. The troop bay door sealed. Those that were in, were in. It was time for Dark Thunder to roll.
Over the speakers, Antipov’s voice emerged again. “Good luck to you all. Those who fall today will be remembered forever.”
“Everybody, strap in!” yelled Dostoevsky, prompting Natalie to scoot past Centurion to find a seat. Plopping down next to Javon, she strapped in tightly. Beyond those soldiers she knew, there were a slew that she didn’t—all Nightmen under Dostoevsky’s command. Ahead, through the open door that led to the cockpit, she watched the mountain base’s massive hangar doors open. The V2’s engines roared to life. She felt the uneasiness of it lifting off.
They were on their way.
“Hey, Vee,” Javon said from beside her. She looked his way. “You know we ’bout to fly into a hornet’s nest, right?”
“I don’t know, Quinton,” she answered, looking at him. “I rather think a hornet’s nest is about to fly into them.”
Slowly, the corners of the soldier’s lips crept upward. He nodded his head. “Yeah, that’s right. That’s right, baby!” On the other side of him, Tom whoo-ed.
Nightmen. Necrilids. A decked-out Ceratopian warrior. EDEN Command had no idea what was coming. It was time to set things right.
Drifting forward one at a time, the trio of transports hovered over the mountain valley then turned their noses south. One behind the other, they set off on their way.
What they didn’t know was that something was on its way to them, too. Something that had been watching them—stalking them. Narrowing its scope of focus bit by bit every time their hangar doors opened to allow their hidden beacon to communicate. Tracking a signal nobody at Northern Forge knew was there.
As the V2s set off on their way to EDEN Command, so did Vector’s purple-and-white-clad warriors set their sights on the mountain, and the long tunnel that led into it from the city of Norilsk. Their chaos rifles were at the ready; their passion rivaled that of their dark adversaries. They needed but a final direction in which to go.
Now they had one.
* * *
EDEN Command
At the same time
TICKING. TICKING. TICKING.
In the time since Tiffany had heard the unnamed voice address her through the cell speaker, her mind had been in a constant state of exhausted, adrenaline-fueled motion. Hours had passed. So many hours. Perhaps a full day. Enough to make her feel as if whatever it was that was supposed to be coming was right around the corner. And in all of that time—in all of that mental dissecting of her situation—she’d come up with no feasible plan to break free from her chains.
She couldn’t pick her locks. She didn’t have a bobby pin. Even if she did, and even if she could somehow manage to get it into her hands, which were cuffed behind the back of the chair, she wouldn’t have known what to do with it.
It wasn’t like she could charge whatever guard entered next and steal their keys. Both of her ankles were clasped to a leg of the chair. If she somehow managed to stand, she’d topple forward in the very next second. What she needed at this stage was a miracle—and those had been in short supply for a long time. But she wouldn’t give up. She couldn’t give up. For all she knew, Scott’s survival depended on her freeing herself and getting to him before EDEN did.
So think on, she did.
The cell door slid open. As Tiffany lifted her head, she watched a guard walk in with a tray of food. It must have been lunch time. After placing her plate atop a tray, the guard wheeled it in her direction until it was extended over her lap, once again for her to unceremoniously digest via face insertion. Looking down at the tray, she saw that it was one of the same meal combos she always received. Chicken on the bone, mashed potatoes, and a spoonful of dirty rice. And…something else.
It was a drab green color—smooth and creamy, in the spot on the divider plate typically reserved for dessert. As the guard made his way to the far wall to lean as he watched her, she looked up at him. “What’s this green stuff?”
“Avocado custard,” the guard said.
She blinked. “What?”
“Avocado custard. One of the guards from C-Wing wanted you to have it. I think she made it.”
Oh my God. He was talking about Ching. “One of the guards made me this?”
“That’s right.”
“And you just let me have it?”
He stared at her blankly. “It’s custard. What’s it do, give you superhuman strength?”
“No.”
“Eat the stupid stuff.”
She was too stunned to. Lowering her head, she stared at the custard as it sat plopped in all its green glory. Deep within her, something stirred. Ching made me custard. Avocado freaking custard. And of all the times, she made it for me right now. This had deeper meaning written all over it, but what possible deeper meaning could it have? It wasn’t even the most palatable looking thing. It looked…slimy. Oily. Just so…
So…
…
…slippery.
The tiny hairs on Tiffany’s arms stood on end. Slimy. Oily. Slippery. The tingle ran all the way up her spine. This is lubricant.
All the while she’d struggled against her handcuffs, she’d been rubbing skin against metal. But with something slick, with some kind of lubricant, could she actually slip one of her hands free? Could she actually…escape?
“You gonna eat that or just stare at it?” the guard asked, snapping Tiffany momentarily out of her thoughts.
Still looking at the tray, she answered simply, “Yeah. I’m gonna eat it.”
Like hell she was going to eat it. She was going to use it. She was going to save it for last, then cram as much of the stuff in her mouth as she could without it looking obvious. Then the moment that guard stepped out, she was going to somehow get it from her mouth to her hands. Somehow. Some way. Failure was not an option.
Bite. Chew. Struggle. She played the role of hapless eater just as she had ever since they’d begun feeding her this way. She let herself look like a fool, with food on her face and drink dribbling down her outfit. That was fine. That was all well and good. It was all part of the façade. When the time came for the custard, she did exactly what she set out in her mind to do. Lowering her face to the tray, she opened her mouth and began inhaling as much of it as she possibly could. Gobs were going everywhere. Smearing on her face, sticking to the tip of her nose. She didn’t care. What mattered was how much she could fit in her cheeks without giving it away. And boy, was she fitting. It actually tasted good, though she dared not swallow and waste a lick of it.
By the time Tiffany finished, she looked like she had a green goatee—though a quick rub against her shoulders removed most of it. Flicking a few food-covered tips of hair out of her face, she looked up at the guard. “Done,” she murmured.
The guard made his way to her without a word. She wanted it that way. The last thing she needed was for him to start asking questions and making her talk with cheeks full. Seconds later, he was walking out of the cell, the door closing behind him.
Time to move.
Scooting her rear end as far to the left as she could—enough to expose a good few inches of the chair seat on her right—she leaned her head over her shoulder and made like she was wiping her chin. She knew what she had to do.
Drop this stuff. Drop it right on that chair in a green, glorious mess. Hit the mark.
Opening her mouth, Tiffany allowed the custard she’d stuffed in her cheeks to fall out. Her aim was true, and it landed with a plop on the chairside.
She had to move quickly now. Stretching her handcuffed hands as far to the right as she could, she managed to reach the custard, scooping it awkwardly into her right hand then scooting her butt to the right to cover up the mess. Mission accomplished—so far.
Rubbing her hands together, Tiffany slathered the oily substance as best she could all over them. It felt revolting, but it was a means to an end. To an escape. Now, if she could only escape…
Twisting her hands, she strained with every fiber of strength she had in her. She pulled like her life depended on it. The slipperiness was granting her far more leeway. But it hurt.
All you have left!
Clamping her teeth together, Tiffany strained to force her right hand through the cuff. Her eyes were watering. She just about wanted to scream. But it was working. She could feel it, millimeter by millimeter, working. There came a point where she wasn’t sure what was custard and what was blood. But if she had to break her own hand, so be it.
So be it.
All…
The pain was becoming almost unbearable.
…you…
God, she was close. She was so very, very close.
…have…
She could feel it. She could feel it giving way. She was going to do it. If she could just…pull…a little…
…left!
Tighter! Something in her hand popped. The pain jolted up her arm like electricity. She’d just dislocated something. Her mouth opened; she wanted to scream. Lowering her head and biting down on her lips, she held it in as she slammed her feet up and down in pain. She wasn’t there yet. But she was so, so close. Whatever damage she’d done to her hand, she would deal with later. Right now, she just had to pull. And pull. And pull.
Until…
Tiffany’s right hand popped through the cuff with such velocity, it nearly startled her. She quickly drew it back, tucking it into the cuff just enough to shroud its freedom from view.
The reality of what’d just taken place struck her. Tiffany found herself staring blankly ahead. I did it. The bottom of her thumb, right next to her palm, throbbed. But in that moment of victory, the pain was scarcely even noticed. I just vecking did it. She was free. Had she chosen to, she could have moved both of her hands from their position behind the chair to her lap. She could do with them whatever she wanted.
Instead, she stayed still. My ankles are still clasped to this chair. There’s nothing I can do about them—not without a key. I know the guards have magnetic handcuff locks. I’ve seen them use them. When the time came, she would have to somehow incapacitate a guard with only her hands. Angling her head down in thought, she massaged her right thumb. It didn’t feel broken. She’d broken bones before. As bad as this felt, broken bones felt worse. I dislocated my thumb. She had to fix it. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed hold of the base of her right thumb with her left hand where it was deformed. With a holding of her breath and a hard yank, she pulled the base of her thumb back into place with an absolutely excruciating pop. Once more, it took everything in her to not scream out loud. But the blonde held it in. Through watering eyes, she stared down at the floor.
That loose handcuff is a weapon. When the guard comes for me, I can sling my left hand at him and whack him in the face. Then I’ll…
Then she would have to take advantage of whatever opportunity the universe presented her. Grab his weapon. Put him in a headlock. Do an acrobatic handstand and break the chair over his skull. At this stage, she believed anything was possible. It was a far cry from how she’d felt before that godsend of a voice had come to her.
I can do this. I know I can do this. Get ready to fight, Feathers.
Eyes determined and hands tense like a coiled snake, she waited for the moment to come. That moment when the walls would shake. When the Nightmen would arrive to take her and Scott back. These guards had no idea what was coming. After all she’d been through at their hands, she wouldn’t want it any other way.
That shock on their faces would almost make it worth it.
* * *
Northern Forge
ANTIPOV WAS SITTING in the front row of the briefing room, his eyes set on the projector screen that displayed a live map of the transports’ positions. A quiet murmur emanated all around him from both the Nightmen in the crowd and the stragglers from the Fourteenth and Falcon Platoon who’d meandered in to observe. For anyone who wanted to be in the know, that room was the place to be. For what it was worth, Antipov was far too focused on the screen to pay any mind to casual observers.
The general’s fingers rapped on his comm, and he looked down at it. With the push of a button and the issuance of a single command, the air traffic control towers of EDEN’s global interception network would be felled. His eidola, embedded into EDEN bases all around the world, were ready and waiting. The bombs were set, the operatives were in position. All they needed was the call.
From one end of Northern Forge to the next, people were waiting with bated breath. There was so much tension in the atmosphere. Everyone from base groundskeepers to Antipov himself seemed wound up like tops, as if all it would take was the slightest thing to go wrong to make their whole plan come unhinged. One single hiccup. One thing no one saw coming.
The two sentries on patrol in the tram tunnel never knew what hit them. As chaos rounds crashed through their helmets, they collapsed to the floor without anyone the wiser. No one saw the force of Vector-led EDEN soldiers stalking through the tunnel in the cameras. Every eye on base was glued to the mission timetable. Glued to that quickly ticking clock.
It was ticking faster than any of them knew.
* * *
Likouala Swamp, Congo
NATALIE STARED THROUGH the V2’s open cockpit door at its front window. They’d been in the air for some time now—long enough for their destination to be close. Shifting her view to look out the side portholes, she watched some of the Omegas from Gagarin Wing that’d been escorting them. The route the fleet was taking was calculated, meant to avoid detection until the last possible moment—until being seen was no longer of consequence.
Any time now, that moment would come.
* * *
Northern Forge
MORE SHOTS FIRED. Another pair of sentries fell. As Chiumbo Okayo led his squad of Vectors and EDEN soldiers through the tunnel, he patched through to EDEN Command, where Klaus Faerber was listening in. “We are approaching the end of the tunnel. We will be inside their base soon.” Over a hundred strong behind him, the collection of EDEN’s elite drew nearer.
“Mariner is en route,” Klaus answered. “Find and extract Lisa as quickly as you can.”
“Yes, captain.” Focus shifting to Marty Breaux and Pablo Quintana behind him, Chiumbo said, “Get ready to deliver.”
Pablo acknowledged, kneeling to press a command into the wrist pad on his gauntlet. The drone hovering over him revved to life, streaking down the tunnel ahead of the group.
* * *
Likouala Swamp, Congo
ANTIPOV’S VOICE emerged over the fleet’s speakers. “All eidola, prepare to disrupt the interception network. All Omega Fighters, prepare to fire on EDEN Command.”
Closing her eyes, Natalie exhaled a slow, purposeful breath. Get ready. This is it. Today, it all comes to light. In every part of the troop bay, soldiers silently fell into their zones.
“All forces, on my mark,” Antipov said. “Ten…”
* * *
Northern Forge
WITH HANDS TOGETHER as if in silent prayer, David pressed his fingers to his mouth as he stared at the countdown on the projector screen. Around him, his comrades held their breath.
“…nine…” Antipov said from the front of the room.
“I’M TAPPED INTO THEIR systems,” said Pablo breathily as he trotted behind Chiumbo and Marty. “The drone is ready!”
“Overload on my mark,” said Chiumbo through EDEN’s channel. “Five…”
“…EIGHT…” said Antipov.
Closing her eyes and clenching her teeth, Catalina lowered her head.
“…seven…”
“…THREE…” said Chiumbo. Around him, his soldiers readied their weapons.
* * *
Likouala Swamp, Congo
“HAIL THOOR!” SCREAMED one of the fulcrums in Natalie’s transport. “Hail The Machine!”
“Hail Thoor!” the others yelled. “Hail The Machine!” Around them, necrilids tensed and hissed.
Antipov’s voice crackled through. “…six…five…”
Natalie stared ahead at Esther—Esther stared right back at her.
* * *
Northern Forge
RISING TO HIS FEET, Antipov opened his mouth to say four. The word never came out. From every direction, inside the walls themselves, there came a loud, buzzing hum. Blinking, Antipov turned to look around.
The briefing room went dark. The countdown timer, the projector—all turned pitch black.
“The hell?” said Max from the floor, where he and his able cohorts had been seated.
From deep within the walls, there came a clunk. Northern Forge’s red, pulsating emergency lights kicked on.
Raising his comm to his lips, Antipov shakily said, “Northern Forge to fleet.” There came no response. “Northern Forge to fleet! Antipov to Saretok, to eidola. Anyone?”
Beneath the dim, red-light glow, David and Max swapped weary looks.
From her quarantine cell in the medical bay, Lisa blinked as the emergency lights kicked on. Standing up slowly, she looked around at the nurses, who were looking at each other.
Click.
Angling her head as she turned to the quarantine cell’s door—and the magnetic lock that had been holding it closed—the Vector slowly narrowed her eyes.
* * *
Likouala Swamp, Congo
NATALIE LOOKED at Javon, then Dostoevsky. Everyone in the transport looked at each other.
After clearing his throat beside them, Tom raised his hand and said, “Next’s supposed to be four, right?”
Moments later, Saretok’s voice emerged through the channel. “Fleet to Northern Forge.” Several seconds later, he repeated it. Then again. There came no response. “Does any aircraft have communication with General Antipov?”
“Negative,” answered one of the transports, then one of the Omega pilots. More responses came, all the same.
* * *
Northern Forge
“WHAT HAPPENED?” asked Antipov from the front of the room. Valentin shook his head bewilderedly. “Have we no power?” the general demanded. “What has happened, here?”
The base was so quiet. Deathly quiet. As Max took a step and attuned his ears to the base’s tomb-like state, he asked his comrades, “You ever get that unlucky feeling?”
IN THE MEDICAL BAY, Lisa reached out toward the quarantine cell door. Pressing her palm against it, her eyes briefly drifted to Gavriil Shubin and the nurses as they frantically attempted to reactivate their equipment. Stealthily, she slid the door to the side. It opened without friction. Eyes widening, the Vector froze.
SEVERAL FLOORS BELOW, Logan Marshall stepped out of the weight room with a few Nightmen in tow. Red, pulsing lights illuminated everything. Walking slowly toward the only truly open area on Level-2—the tram concourse—he watched as a small crowd of Nightmen congregated.
* * *
Likouala Swamp, Congo
“WHAT THE HELL’S goin’ on, man?” Tom asked, rising to his feet. After removing his helmet, he looked at Dostoevsky. “Did the countdown stop? What’s happenin’?”
Standing up beside him, Javon shook his head. “All I know is that four seconds just passed and ain’t no Omega Fighter fired any rockets. Does that mean the eidola ain’t attacked EDEN, too?”
Dostoevsky was already on the comm. “Colonel Saretok, please advise—has something happened to Northern Forge?”
FROM THE V2 AT point, Colonel Saretok slid his helmet from his head, holding it under his arm as he dipped his head to look into the cockpit. Grabbing the comm that was hanging from the ceiling, he adjusted the frequency and said, “This is Colonel Saretok reaching out to any eidola receiving this message. Does anybody copy?”
No response came.
“What do we do?” asked the pilot, looking at Saretok desperately. “We are coming within EDEN’s detection radius!”
* * *
EDEN Command
SODA SPEWED FROM the flight controller’s lips. Lurching upright in his chair, he adjusted his glasses and stared at the radar screen before him. “Whoa!”
Next to him, the secondary flight controller peeked his head over. “Whoa?” When he too looked at the screen, his eyes widened in horror. “Whoa! Are those phantoms? Those have gotta be phantoms!”
“Those aren’t phantoms!” Reaching for the comm as his soda spilled to the floor, he said, “Prime Control to Council HQ! I have approximately…” His eyes scanned the collection of blips. “I got a hell of a lot of bogeys inbound, right now!”
The channel crackled with static. “This is Council HQ, come again?”
“I’ve got an unidentified fleet heading—” He leaned closer to the screen. “Oh veck, these are Omegas!” Nearly dropping the comm, he screamed into it, “Omega Fighters inbound! I repeat, Omega Fighters inbound!”
FROM THE WAR Room, where he, the other judges, and Klaus Faerber were watching the holographic globe spin, Archer leaned in over one of the communications operators. “What did he say?”
“He said Omega Fighters, sir!”
“Omega Fighters?”
The operator nodded frantically. “Yes, sir!”
“That’s impossible.”
* * *
Likouala Swamp, Congo
“COLONEL, WE MUST make a decision!” said the pilot.
Saretok remained stoic. “We have heard nothing—not from Northern Forge, not from the eidola. How can they have all disappeared?”
The pilot gasped before holding his breath. “…we are detected.”
Decision time. The countdown had long since expired. All guarantees were now out the window, every part of the new general’s intricate plan evaporated into thin air. There were only two options to choose from.
Surge forward or fall back.
Saretok’s gaze locked onto the dark expanse of swamp ahead. Onto the target area that was rapidly approaching. Scowl twisting on his face, he slammed his helmet down over his head with a heavy clack. He spoke through its comm. “Today, the eidola have failed us. It is time for the fulcrums to lead. All Omega Fighters, fire, I repeat, fire!”
IN DOSTOEVSKY’S transport, Natalie whipped her head to the porthole windows. The Omega Fighters outside surged ahead. Their guided missiles burst forth.
The attack had just begun.