Chapter Twenty-two
Thursday, April 5th, 0012 NE
0617 hours
Norilsk, Russia
BREATHE. FOR THE first time in as long as Natalie could remember, she could just close her eyes, lean her head back, and breathe. There were no Ikeda-kai lording over her, no oyabun to oversee every little thing the survivors wanted to do. There was no EDEN or Vector presence sweeping the area for them—at least, not at that moment, while the Nightman fleet was over Russia on the way to Northern Forge. Sighing in the first true relief she’d felt in over a week, she ran her hand through her chestnut hair.
Opening her eyes, she surveyed the troop bay. Esther was sitting on the far side of the bay next to Dostoevsky, whose arm was around her as the scout leaned her head into him with eyes closed. Dostoevsky’s hand was stroking her shoulder, and he was saying something to her quietly, though it was far too low and distant to hear. Several seats away was Lisa, her wound being tended to by the woman Esther called Varya. While most of the crew remained strapped in, the blond-haired medic was up and about, stopping at one dinged-up soldier to the next to treat whatever injuries they had. As for Lisa herself, she looked more dejected than at any point Natalie had seen her. Whatever fight she had in her was long gone. After the poor girl had been mind-zapped by an Ithini and then hauled off in a Vulture, Natalie couldn’t say she blamed her.
Ju`bajai looked as wiped out as anyone and was asleep in her chair. It was the first time that Natalie had ever seen a live Ithini with its eyes closed. It almost made the alien look sweet and innocent, though after Natalie’s run-in with her Esther construct, she knew better. But whatever rest Ju`bajai was getting now, she deserved.
Logan, who was sitting nearby, hadn’t said a word to her all flight long. Natalie knew him well enough to know that he was worried she was mad at him. He had reason to be. This always happened with him—he flared his my-way-or-the-highway attitude, but after the dust settled, he went into this introverted little shell like a wounded kid. At some point, he would approach her and ask if they could talk things out. She’d say yes. They’d argue, walk away from each other, only to have him walk right back to her minutes later to try and barter for peace. It was what he always did. All she could do was wait for that knock on her door at Northern Forge once she was back in standard quarters. That was, assuming Logan would be given free rein in the place. She had to admit, there’d be something devilishly satisfying about seeing him locked in a cell like she’d originally been.
Gaze leaving Logan, she surveyed the troop bay at large. Nightmen and necrilids were everywhere. How in the world had the Nightmen tamed these monsters? Even knowing they were under Nightman control, it was impossible to feel at ease with the long-fanged creatures sitting mere feet away. Turning her head to the nearest one, she observed it for several moments as it sat statuesque like some taxidermy nightmare. But this thing was very much alive. She found herself entranced by the creature. By its muscles, its curves. By its design of pure lethality. They fit the Nightmen perfectly.
“Captain Rockwell?” The Russian voice, coming from the other side of her, made her jump a bit. When she turned her head, she saw Yuri Dostoevsky standing before her. Gesturing to the space next to her, he asked, “May I?”
She nodded. “Yes, please.” For the first time, she could really scrutinize him in detail. He had just about the thickest jet-black hair she’d ever seen, all of which was strewn about wildly post-combat. His eyes were so cold, so blue. Like ice or steel. But focused. Intense. As she looked at him, it felt a little bit like he was looking into her soul. This was no young man in battle. This was a man who’d seen things.
Lowering himself into the chair, Dostoevsky offered what seemed a sincere, if not slightly uncertain smile. “A better introduction, perhaps, than on a battlefield. I am Commander Yuri Dostoevsky of the Fourteenth.”
Narrowing her eyes a tad suspiciously, she asked, “Commander of the Fourteenth?”
“That is correct. I was placed in charge of the Fourteenth while Remington…” Pressing his lips together, he seemed to consider his words. “While Remington visited Cairo.”
Despite his likely good motives, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Visited. I suppose that sounds better than infiltrated, or busted out a Ceratopian, or ruined your career.”
His sad smile matched her own. “It does, yes.”
“Well, I appreciate the thought.”
Dostoevsky’s smile slowly deteriorated. “Our comrades who were on the mission…did you see any of them…?”
Natalie realized when the question hung what Dostoevsky was asking. He wanted to know if she’d seen any of them get killed. Closing her eyes, she sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I didn’t see what happened to Scott, but I was there when Jayden and Becan were shot.”
The fulcrum seemed to hesitate. “Do you have any idea which one might have survived? I don’t know if you’ve been watching the news.”
“Yeah, we have. I have to be honest, I don’t know how either of them could’ve survived. When I say they were gunned down, it was rough.” Dostoevsky obviously had heard the same thing as the survivors—that one of the pair, either Becan or Jayden, was still alive and in EDEN custody. “I don’t want to sound not optimistic, but…”
He placed his hand on her knee. “It is all right. We are thankful that, for the moment, it seems we have only lost one of our comrades. Scott, Tiffany, and either Becan or Jayden are alive, and if they are alive, then we can be reunited. Plans are already being discussed for such a thing. If the opportunity presents itself to rescue them, we will take it.”
She hated to say it, but that sounded like wishful thinking. Atami might have been a cakewalk for the Nightmen, but this was EDEN Command they were talking about. Nobody even knew where it was. Still, she appreciated his sentiment, even if hearing it made her a little bit sad. “I know how close you guys are as a team. Even in the little bit that I got to know everyone, I could see it. I mean, I was there when Esther and Jayden got married.” That was really the first time she felt like she’d gotten the full scope of the Fourteenth. “I was part of the leadership of this operation in Japan. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“It is not your fault.”
A sad laugh escaped her. “I’m glad you feel that way.”
“No,” he said, his piercing eyes stern as they met hers. “I mean what I said. What happened in Japan was not your fault.” As he spoke, Natalie’s eyes narrowed a bit. “There is much you need to hear, and you will, once we are all safely back at Northern Forge and you have had a chance to recover.”
She was getting that sinking feeling. “No, wait a minute. Is there something going on that I don’t know about?” She’d gotten that same vibe from Esther—that there were more things going on than met the eye. Or at least, her eyes.
After seeming to deliberate on the question, Dostoevsky finally answered, “I don’t want to say yes, but it would be a lie to say no.”
She sat a little more upright.
“Please, everything will be explained to you when we are safely back at the base—at least, as it pertains to the train mission. I am sure there are other things you would like to know about.” Leaning forward and clasping his hands together, he said, “I am sure you must have many questions.”
She didn’t like this. Not one bit. In fact, she could even hear her heart beating a little louder in her chest at the mere thought that something nefarious was afoot. But out of respect for the man who claimed to be Scott’s XO, she would do as requested and wait until they were back on base. In her periphery, the sight of a necrilid scratching behind its earholes caught her attention. She found herself turning away from Dostoevsky to watch it.
Upon following her gaze, Dostoevsky drew a deep breath and then propped his leg over his knee. He nodded toward the creatures. “They are from Chernobyl. Some time ago, the Fourteenth was called to a report of necrilid activity by the old power plant. We expected to find a loose necrilid or two, but when we arrived on scene, we found a thriving hive.”
Well, at least he was proactive in offering that information. Or he just wanted to change the subject. For the time being, she’d bite. “You assaulted a whole hive?” Were she not looking at the necrilids all around her, she’d have never believed that from anyone.
“The eggs survived, and so General Thoor thought it…advantageous…”
Another careful selection of words. The poor guy was going to have to do that a lot.
“…to attempt to raise them as our own. Very few people knew that this was taking place. But as you can see, it had its advantages.” Looking at the necrilids again, even he, too, seemed lost in a small bit of wonderment. “Necrilids breed quickly, so multiple generations can develop in a short period of time. As you can see, they have become quite used to humans.”
“Quite used to eating them, too.” She’d seen what those beasts did to the poor Japanese police officers. She wouldn’t have wished a fate like that on her worst enemy.
He frowned. “They are still what they are. But that is being worked on.” He motioned to the large, one-eyed necrilid with the long, slivery fangs. “That is Psoglav. He is the alpha. When he does something, the others follow suit. We are trying to teach the concept of ‘selective aggression.’”
“Selective aggression, huh?”
“It is better than when they are in their natural state.”
With that, she couldn’t disagree.
He nodded to their collars. “The collars they wear are for communication purposes. There are small speakers that emit sounds far too low for human ears to perceive, but that the necrilids hear clearly. We can issue them orders that only they can hear.”
“And those flashing red lights?”
He laughed a bit to himself. “That is just so we can see them.” After a pause, he said, “The collars can also deliver a debilitating shock, should any of them…”
“…disagree?” she asked, beating him to it.
Chuckling again, he said, “A nice way to put it.”
“So all of that’s fascinating,” she said, sitting more erectly as she stared at him, “but it doesn’t answer the question I really want to know, which is, where in the world did all of you come from? All the world hears is that the Nightmen are destroyed, yet you show up in Japan like you’re ready for a war. Necrilids, soldiers, a squadron of…were those Omegas we saw?”
By the solemn expression on his face, these were questions he expected. “Halfway to Chernobyl, the decision was made to reroute to Northern Forge. There was speculation that EDEN might make an attack, but the thought process was that it was best to salvage whatever forces we still had…Nightman and necrilid alike. We were rerouted and Chernobyl was evacuated.” Sighing, he looked at one of the porthole windows. “As for the Omega Fighters, the NSU has had them stockpiled for some time.”
“Who the hell was flying them?”
“Gagarin Wing. They were Novosibirsk’s elite squadron—all Nightman pilots. Like many of the other Nightmen, they were en route to Chernobyl initially after Novosibirsk was destroyed, but they were rerouted to an airfield with Omega Fighters shortly after we were.”
Arching an eyebrow, she asked, “And all of these people are staying at Northern Forge? Must be some pretty tight living arrangements.”
Dostoevsky rolled his eyes. “You do not know the half of it.”
“So what’s the plan from here? We made it out of Japan, and that’s great, but what’s next? Our mission was a total failure.”
“Maybe not so much as you think—though that is not my conversation to have with you. That is better reserved for Antipov. He will meet with you when we arrive back on base.”
Antipov, again. She wasn’t sure whether she was looking forward to meeting this man or not. Briefly, her eyes drifted in Logan’s direction. She leaned closer to Dostoevsky, lowered her voice, and nodded subtly toward the Australian. “When Logan was getting us ready for the pickup, he mentioned a ‘trade’ taking place between the Ikeda-kai and the Nightmen. I think his saying that might have been a slip-up, but do you know of any kind of deal going down between them to get us back?”
“I am not aware of any,” he answered, “but it would not surprise me if there was. I am afraid that is a question only Antipov can answer.”
She wasn’t surprised. “Well, thanks anyway.” She offered him a smile. “For everything. Getting us out of there, making sure our people were taken care of. By the sound of it, we only lost one in the extraction. Which is certainly not a good thing, but it could’ve been much, much worse.”
“Of that, I am certain. But I thank you.”
Leaning back, an indication that she was starting to feel more comfortable around the man, she exhaled a long breath and said, “So, commander, how’d you end up being Scott Remington’s XO?”
Offering the faintest of smiles, he answered, “It was not always that way. There was a brief time when he called me ‘captain.’”
“Oh really?” she asked, eyebrow raising. “What’s the story?”
Glancing at the porthole, as if the act would provide a reference for how much time they had to talk, he smiled and relaxed his posture. “Well, if you must hear it.”
“Oh, I must,” she said. “I certainly must.”
For the next hour, Natalie listened as Dostoevsky retold the tale of the fall of Scott Remington. About how a promising young soldier from Richmond ended up on General Thoor’s doorstep, and how an act of heroism in the harsh winds of Siberia caught the late general’s eye. Where EDEN saw courage in a soldier deserving of a Golden Lion, Thoor saw brazenness and aggression—both attributes highly valued by The Machine. Scott was thoroughly scouted by Ignatius van Thoor, and a scheme was devised to draw the righteous warrior into the shadows of the Nightman sect.
Hearing that part of Scott’s story surprised Natalie the most—not because the story was true, but because Dostoevsky seemed eager to tell it. It was a story that did not paint the Russian fulcrum in a good light. Yet on he went, delving not only into the events as they unfolded, but into the psychology of The Machine from the eyes of someone who’d once been one of its most valued fulcrums. Natalie heard about Scott’s fiancée, Nicole, and the Silent Fever. She heard about the man named Alexander Nijinsky who’d been instructed to inject Nicole with the virus via a small pinprick from a ring with a hidden needle. She heard about Scott’s rage, and the battle of Khatanga, and the arrival of other Nightmen into the Fourteenth to usher in a new order. She heard about Sergei Steklov, the “mark” that Scott had been given—and whom he’d murdered. Names like Captain Clarke and Galina Lebesheva surfaced—names he discussed with wistful fondness. Almost longing.
Most interestingly, Dostoevsky discussed the events from the perspective of the villain, which is exactly what he’d become as Scott was in his downward spiral. He recanted a distinct moment when he hit rock bottom after visiting Clarke’s funeral, and how it and the events after it forever changed him. As much as Scott was presumably fallen, everything he’d experienced could be justified by human emotions. As for Dostoevsky? His was truly a redemption story. Though Natalie considered herself religious to the extent that she believed in God and believed that He was good, Dostoevsky discussed the topic with the fervor of an evangelist. By the time he got to his actual moment of redemption, she was almost more fascinated with his journey than with Scott’s.
But this wasn’t Dostoevsky’s story, and the fulcrum eventually came full circle to explain how he’d made it a mission to be a brother to the man whose fiancée he’d arranged to be murdered. At that point in the story they were joined by the blond-haired medic, whose full name she learned was Varvara Yudina. Though Varvara remained silent for the most part, she occasionally chimed in with a tidbit of information when relevant, namely about the other blonde in the unit.
The one, the only, Svetlana Voronova.
Natalie had heard Svetlana’s name pop up time and time again when it pertained to Scott, and if she was being honest with herself, it was getting just a little bit tiring. Every time Svetlana was mentioned, it was always in the context of what she meant to Scott and how she’d helped lift him from the ashes of his own self-destruction, et cetera, et cetera. Considering Natalie’s own little ride of emotional embarrassment as it pertained to Scott, hearing how special Svetlana was to him was…
…kind of deflating.
Not so much deflating because of how Natalie had felt—or perhaps was still feeling—but how she’d allowed those emotions to affect her so much. She’d suffered from white knight syndrome. She still was suffering from it, just a little bit. But regardless, she listened to the story of how Svetlana had returned to Novosibirsk for the specific purpose of helping Scott find his redemption, and for that, she could appreciate the woman—even if hearing her name was getting a little redundant.
But there was more to hear. She heard about Esther, and the failure in Khatanga that led to her downward spiral, which seemed a common theme in this luck-be-damned unit. She also learned, somewhat interestingly, that Varvara and Jayden had actually dated for a time. This was a part of the story that seemed to make the medic uncomfortable, though she soldiered on during its retelling.
It was while Varvara was talking about her own experiences that Natalie began to notice a certain chemistry between the considerably younger woman and her Russian, fulcrum counterpart. Though she didn’t know either of them well enough to pick apart subtleties, there definitely seemed a fondness between them that may have been more than just a friendship. When Varvara was sitting next to him, she almost seemed to cling to him. Natalie made no judgments—she’d certainly had her own share of drama in EDEN both with Logan and her infatuation with Scott. Still, she found the chemistry between Dostoevsky and Varvara noteworthy enough to file away in her mind as something to be aware of.
All in all, Natalie probably talked to Dostoevsky and Varvara longer in a single sitting than she’d talked to anyone in Nobu’s guest suite. Before she knew it, the Vultures and their Omega Fighter escorts were nearing the secluded city of Norilsk, where Northern Forge awaited, tucked into its mountain home. It was at this time when the Omegas broke off, soaring off to the northwest to who knew where. Thinking a little, “thank you, guys,” to them, she watched them disappear into the horizon. The next thing she knew, the Vulture pilots were requesting permission to dock, and the massive, rusty doors of Northern Forge ground open.
They were back. They were home. How funny it felt to think of a hidden Nightman base as that, now, but she couldn’t consider anyplace associated with EDEN her home any longer. These might not have been her people, but they’d shown her more patience and consideration than anyone wearing blue and silver lately. That was enough to make her feel okay about riding with them.
Whether that changed after she met Antipov remained to be seen.