Chapter Twenty-seven
Saturday, April 7th, 0012 NE
1712 hours
Norilsk, Russia
Two days later
NATALIE WAS ON her way to the cafeteria when the alarms sounded—a pulsating wail that reverberated through Northern Forge’s halls. Stopping dead in her tracks, the captain blinked as every Nightman in the area looked up in confusion.
Suddenly, fully armored Nightmen were sprinting down the hall toward the hangar. After jumping against the wall so she wouldn’t get trampled, Natalie watched them charge through the hangar’s interior door. Looking in the direction from which they’d come, she saw Antipov running toward the hangar, frantically barking orders in Russian at the Nightmen that surrounded him. A second later, Saretok rounded the corner behind them.
What in the world?
The moment they passed, the whole cafeteria’s worth of Nightmen rose from their seats, abandoning their trays to follow the commotion.
“Nattie?”
The voice came from behind her, and she turned to see Logan trotting up the hallway, his pace not nearly so urgent as his predecessors.
“What the hell’s going on?” he asked her.
She was hoping he could tell her. With their spat momentarily set aside, she answered, “I don’t know, they just…”
A second throng of Nightmen, this time sentries, appeared with Valentin. Much like Antipov and Saretok before them, they ran toward the hangar. The keeper shouted fervently in Russian, waving his hands to part the crowd in front of them. Ignoring the keeper’s prompt to get out of the way, Natalie instead trotted alongside him.
“Hey, what’s happening?”
Sounding almost out of breath, Valentin answered, “We are found!”
Found? Staring slack-jawed, she replied simply with, “What?” When she took a step to follow him, Logan grabbed her arm from behind.
“If this place has been found, we need to get out of here—like, right now. There’s a tram tunnel, we can use it to escape.”
Tugging her arm free, she shot him a bewildered look. “Found by who?”
“Does it matter?”
Turning away from him, Natalie followed the growing crowd into the hangar. Snarling in frustration, Logan followed behind her.
Natalie had seen the hangar bustling before, but never like this. The hangar technicians were standing against the far walls, and the armored sentries had formed a rough perimeter around the massive hangar doors, as if they might explode and the whole place might be invaded. At the sound of her name, she glanced back into the hallways to see David, Dostoevsky, Javon, and Tom running toward her. She waited for them to catch up before she looked ahead again, slipping through the crowd to get a better look at whatever was happening. When she caught sight of Antipov, Saretok, and Valentin clustered around a control panel, she weaved her way toward them.
Behind her, Logan continued to protest. “I don’t like this at all.”
She held her hand up and kept on her way. As soon as she was within earshot of the three Nightman leaders, she asked, “What’s going on?”
All three men turned to her, casting looks of instant disapproval, though Antipov’s cooled quickly. He beckoned her to the panel. “Come and see for yourself.”
Following his indication, Natalie looked at the panel in question. There, displayed on a camera feed that was facing the mountain base’s entrance, was a hovering V2 transport. “Holy…”
“Not holy,” spat Valentin. “This is the opposite of holy.” Returning his focus to Antipov and Saretok, he said to them, “We must escape through the tunnel that leads to Norilsk. We must do it now.”
“Wait,” said Antipov calmly, eyes on the camera feed even as he held his hand up to silence them.
Exasperated, Valentin shook his head. “We cannot wait, general. If EDEN knows we are here—”
The general cut him off. “If EDEN knew we were here, a V2 would not be hovering in front of our hangar door. They would have sent a squadron to reduce this mountain to ash.” His eyes narrowed. “This is something else.” Lips curling, he shouted, “Can someone shut off that damned alarm?” Seconds later, the wailing fell silent.
“Can you identify it?” Natalie asked. “Can you tell where it’s from?”
Antipov shook his head. “Its transponder has been switched off. Another fact impossible to ignore.”
The spotlight at the front of the V2 flashed. Her own eyes narrowing, Natalie angled her head as she watched it flash on, then flash off, then flash on, then flash off. There were short bursts. Long pulses. There was definitely a rhythm to it. Natalie put it together immediately.
So did Antipov. “International Morse code,” he said simply.
Morse code. God, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard of anyone using Morse code. Apparently, it still had its uses.
“Morse code?” Saretok asked, arms folded across his chest as he leaned in closer. “What is it saying?”
For several seconds, Antipov remained silent, staring at the display as the flashing lights repeated their message. At long last, just at the point where it seemed Saretok or Valentin might step in to suggest something, Antipov drew in a long breath, turned to the hangar operator, and said, “Open the door.”
Open the door? Blinking, Natalie asked, “That’s what they said? Open the door?”
“That is what I said.” Looking at the controller again, he spoke Russian in a raised tone, presumably repeating his last command.
When the controller protested, Saretok shouted at him. Whatever the colonel said, it shut the controller right up. His hands flew over the control panel, and the rusty gears of Northern Forge’s hangar slowly began to whine. Stepping away from the group, Saretok bellowed something in Russian loudly, prompting every armored Nightman in the hangar to take up their weapons.
“Knock, knock,” said Antipov to Natalie, prompting her to look at him again.
She squinted uncertainly. “What?”
As he stepped past her, the general paused briefly to meet her bewildered gaze. “It said, ‘knock, knock.’” With no further words, he passed by her to prepare for the transport to land.
There were no distinguishing characteristics on the transport—no decorative markings on its hull that gave any indication as to who was on board. As it slowly hovered in, the roar of its engines overtaking the whipping sounds of the wind from the mountains, the Nightmen raised their weapons.
Slowly turning, the V2 rotated so that its troop bay faced the inside of the hangar. It was only as the aircraft was making its 180-degree pivot that a marking on its tail fin came into view. There were no words, no unit numbers. Just an image. Angling her head curiously, Natalie found herself leaning to see it more closely.
It looked like a pelican.
“No way,” said David under his breath.
Natalie glanced back to see him swap a look with Dostoevsky. Neither said another word.
Cl-clunk. The V2’s engines whined down as it landed. As the ship’s bay door lowered, the Nightmen forming the perimeter tensed. Giving them a sweeping glance, Saretok raised his hand to calm them down. Turning her focus back to the transport, Natalie watched as its foremost occupant came into view.
It was a woman. By the look of it, an older one. Her white hair fell to her chin line, and she was notably smaller than the larger men—all of whom looked like soldiers—who flanked her. As the ramp hit the ground and she began walking forward, Natalie took note of her wardrobe: a blue and silver, single-breasted military jacket. The kind worn by generals.
Eyebrows lifting, Natalie watched as the tiny woman marched forward until she came to the hangar floor. Only then did Natalie shift her focus to the men behind her. When she saw one of them, she almost did a double take.
Holy smokes, that’s Reginald Custer!
The blond-haired, ponytailed soldier didn’t see her, and he kept onward, walking step-for-step with another, more clean-cut blond man across from him. Though there were more people behind them, they remained on the ship.
Focus returning to Reginald, Natalie stared in wonderment. What the hell is he doing here? She was floored. If that’s Custer, then…then this transport must be from Sydney…
The short-haired woman stopped several meters in front of the transport. All around the hangar, a deathly silence loomed. She simply stood there, flanked by her EDEN bodyguards as her almost mirthful-looking eyes surveyed the room. At long last, after setting her hands on her hips and cocking them out a bit, she spoke. “Well.” Even in that single word, her thick Australian accent shone through. She extended her hands outward, an action that caused some of the Nightmen to flinch. “Take me to your leader!”
Slipping out from the edge of the crowd, Antipov stepped forward to meet her, stopping with a good five meters between them. He raised his chin. “General Madeline Becker,” he said, voice low and matter of fact. “I must say, this is a surprise.”
The woman identified as Becker narrowed her eyes as she focused on Antipov. For several seconds, the two stayed locked in a stalemate. It was Becker who broke it. “Now, you see that, there,” she said, pointing at Antipov and then angling back to look at Reginald. “Look at that guy’s hair. That’s what you’re going to look like in about thirty years if you don’t cut that thing off. Does that look good to you?”
Reginald sighed.
Despite the commentary, Antipov’s stare held firm. “Is there something we can help you with?” The question was laced with so much forced cordiality, he could have served it on a plate.
“Well, that depends,” she answered. “You see, you apparently know who I am, but I don’t have the foggiest idea who you are. Are you the one in charge, here?”
“I am.”
She dipped her head forward, a bit expectantly. When Antipov said nothing else, she asked, “And your name is…?”
“My name is not your concern.”
Becker chuckled. “Oh, sweetie, I can tell you’re stressed out. You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here and if I’m here to pick a fight, aren’t you? To that I’ll just say, if I was here to pick a fight, we wouldn’t be having this charming little talk. I’d have just had EDEN drop a nuke on your pale little dinger.”
Natalie’s eyebrows lifted. The Nightmen in the crowd looked at one another.
“So being as I’ve given you the courtesy of continued existence,” the woman said, “you can at least give me the courtesy of telling me your name.”
Again, silence fell throughout the hangar. Natalie’s gaze shifted to Antipov, who seemed genuinely unsure how to take this woman.
Clapping her hands together, Becker said, “Well, this was fun. I’m glad we got a chance to catch up.” Turning, she gestured for the men to return up the ramp. “Up we go, boys. I can still catch my soapies.”
“Wait,” Antipov said.
“Oh, goodie!” said Becker, turning immediately around to face him. “I got ’em set to record, anyway.”
Allowing himself a final moment to scrutinize her, he said, “I am Iosif Antipov, general of the Nightmen.”
She threw her hands up. “Ah! A general, that’s wonderful. You’re just the man I was hoping to find.” Gesturing to the men behind her, she said, “The eye candy behind me are Captain Rex Gabriel and Lieutenant Reginald Custer, both proud patriots of Pelican Squad, the finest unit this side of the Pacific. You already know who I am, so that’ll save us some time.” Stepping toward Antipov, she continued. “Now, would you like me to explain why the general of a major EDEN facility snuck off in a transport to pay a visit to the world’s most wanted military cult?”
If this woman wanted to catch him off guard, she was succeeding. Antipov looked like he was on his conversational heels. “Indeed,” he answered hesitantly. “I would.”
Her voice became stern. “You see, the two men behind me are among the best I’ve ever known. They have come through for me time and time again, and I’ve come to consider their squad a flagship of sorts for our little Aussie startup.” She stopped mere feet from him. “So when they and my chief of security step into my office and tell me that something strange is going on, and that representatives sent from EDEN Command are lying to their faces, and that the only way to find the truth might be to take a secret trip to a mountain range in Russia, I’m not going to do what I’d do for anyone else and write it off as nonsense.” Hands returning to her hips, she said, “My boys are convinced that EDEN Command is up to something, and it’s not good. Call it women’s intuition or the Aussie spirit of rebellion, but something’s gnawing at my brain telling me they’re right. So here I am, general.” She leaned forward. “Convince me that they are.”
Antipov glanced in each direction, as if to take in the room—to gauge it—before responding. Looking at her again, he asked, “How did you find this place?”
“Captain Gabriel,” Becker said, half-stepping aside as she looked back at him, “would you care to elaborate on that one?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his eyes fixing on Antipov. “We have a history with the Fourteenth—let’s just say there’s much mutual respect. And my lieutenant here has a bit of a history, too, with Captain Rockwell.”
Nothing like the public mention of a past relationship to make Natalie want to sink through the floor. Reginald hadn’t noticed her in the crowd yet, and that was fine by her.
“We knew when everything initially took place that none of it sounded like the people we knew, on either front. When the pilot, Miss Feathers, got placed in our custody at Sydney, we realized we had an opportunity to speak to someone who might be able to give us some answers.”
Tiffany! There was a notable excitement among her friends at the mention of her name.
“Call it a leap of faith,” Rex said, “but when she told me her story, we believed her. She must’ve trusted us, too, because she told us where to find you. She basically told us…everything.”
What a risk Tiffany had taken. Had she been wrong about these guys, the mountain base would already be a smoldering heap. Briefly, she looked at Antipov, who looked less than pleased that someone had been so cavalier with Northern Forge’s location. Nonetheless, what was done was done. While reckless, Tiffany’s revelation to Pelican Squad might have just opened a door.
“So what’s this I hear about a recording?” asked Becker, picking up where Rex had left off. Arching an eyebrow, she angled her head expectantly toward Antipov.
“Do you understand the risk you have taken coming here?” asked Antipov, ignoring the EDEN general’s question.
Eyes still locked on, Becker shook her head. “Oh, not much of one. You see, my vice-general knows where I am, and if I don’t come home, well…party at your place. Now, I’ll go ahead and repeat my question. What’s this I hear about a recording?”
There was nothing that Antipov could do—nothing he could say. As the crowd in the hangar watched with bated breath, the self-anointed general of the Nightmen bore the look of a man without options. Checkmate, Natalie thought as she observed him. She’s a hand you never saw coming.
After what felt like an eternity, Antipov lowered his chin and said, “Well, General Becker. Welcome to Northern Forge. Please, come with me.” When all three of the visitors began to walk forward, he stopped them. “Only the general. The rest of you may wait in the cafeteria—or one of the lounges, if you wish.”
Becker’s eyes narrowed, just a bit, as if trying to determine in her own mind if this was a battle worth fighting. Ultimately, she must have decided it wasn’t. “You boys don’t get into too much trouble,” she said to Rex and Reginald without looking.
“Yes, ma’am,” they replied.
“Captain Rockwell,” Antipov said, cold eyes turning to Natalie.
Caught off guard, she cleared her throat and looked at him.
“Since you have history with Lieutenant Custer, perhaps you can entertain him and his friends while we are away. I do not believe we will need very long.” Not waiting for her response, he said, “Grigori, Valentin, please join me. And please, someone close that hangar door!” Saretok and the keeper complied, turning to follow Antipov into the base, a quasi-hesitant Becker following behind them. Seconds later, the base’s massive hangar door began to slide shut.
“Reginald bloody Custer,” murmured Logan in disgust. “Now that’s bloody typical.”
“Shut up, Marshall,” said Natalie. Stepping away from him as the hangar occupants at-eased, she weaved through the crowd toward Reginald and Rex. “Well, well, well,” she said as she approached her old ex-boyfriend, “look what the cat dragged in.” She wasn’t sure if she should allow herself to smile or not. The two hadn’t broken up on good terms. When Reginald had left Atlanta for Sydney, it’d been a relief to her. Now her past was staring her in the face.
He looked as uninspired as she did. “Can we just keep this professional?”
“That was never an issue for me.”
“Says the officer who slept with two subordinates.”
And right there. There it was.
Taking a step forward, Logan said, “You watch your mouth—”
Natalie slammed her hand against Logan’s chest to block his approach. Her eyes stayed on Reginald. “I have been tasked with entertaining you while your general talks to mine,” she said. “If you and Captain Gabriel will please follow me.” Without another word, she turned to lead them out of the hangar.
* * *
EDEN Command
At the same time
SLAPPING HIS HAND against the top of his desk, Pablo said, “It is gone.”
“What do you mean, it’s gone?” asked Marty, who was hovering over the Spaniard, staring down at the screen that displayed a geographical map of the Earth. “Bring it back!”
“It is not that easy.”
“It sure seems easy to freakin’ lose it. This is the second time!”
Pablo grinded his teeth together then said, “I did not lose it the first time. It went out of range of my helmet. Now that the satellites are looking for it, it does not depend on my helmet tracker to find it.”
“Too bad you couldn’t have thought of that in Atami when we coulda tracked ’em.”
“This was your plan, not mine!”
The door to Pablo’s temporary quarters in EDEN Command opened as Chiumbo Okayo, acting executive officer of Vector Squad, stepped inside. The Mwera tribesman’s comm was still in his hand. “I am sorry, I came as fast as I could. Have you picked up the drone signal?”
“We had picked up the drone signal,” said Marty with a frown.
Chiumbo frowned as he took his place beside Marty, leaning over Pablo to look at the computer screen. “What happened?”
“The signal appeared briefly, right here,” answered Pablo, pointing to where a large, shaded circle was hovering over Russia. “It narrowed down the general region, but it was nowhere near strong enough to pinpoint an exact location.”
“But more likely from the center, correct?”
The Spaniard shook his head. “Not necessarily. It could have originated from anywhere in here. Krasnoyarsk, Novosibirsk. Yakutsk, Norilsk, as far west as Perm. It confirmed what we already knew: that they are operating out of Russia.”
Clapping his hand down atop Pablo’s shoulder, he said, “But it confirmed something. That means it worked.”
Raising an eyebrow, Pablo looked back at the other two men. “Should we tell the captain?”
A short span of silence passed before Chiumbo answered. “I would rather wait until we have something definitive.”
“Yeah,” said Marty, “no use givin’ him false hope if we ain’t got nothing to show him. Yet.”
“Yet,” Chiumbo repeated, smiling as he stood up straight again. “It is important we remember that word. Have faith, my friends. We will find them.”
Marty nodded, his smile somewhat subdued, but still there.
“Let me know as soon as it shows up again.”
“At least I know where to focus, now,” said Pablo. “If we can get it to appear another time or two, then I think we will have them. Every time the signal appears, the circle will get smaller.”
With no further words and a pat on Pablo’s shoulder, Chiumbo turned and left the room.
* * *
Northern Forge
A short while later.
THERE WAS AN almost deafening level of chatter in the cafeteria. From every table, Nightmen were talking, shouting, and laughing amongst themselves. Though Natalie couldn’t understand what they were saying, with what had just transpired between Antipov and Becker, she imagined—perhaps even hoped—that what she was hearing were jokes being told at the Nightman leader’s expense. It would have added a granule of levity to her situation, even if vicariously at the expense of someone else. Yet as she stared across the table at Reginald Custer, there was no such sense of levity or comfort within her. For certain, having comrades from the Fourteenth and Falcon Platoon around her made the situation a little less awful. And of course, Pelican Squad’s arrival at Northern Forge—at least, in the ambassadorial sense—was a blessing in and of itself. But the truth of the matter was, she and Reginald didn’t exactly have the kind of history she wanted to think about.
In the minutes that followed Natalie and company’s arrival to the cafeteria, members of the Fourteenth trickled in to greet their long-lost Pelican cousins. It still boggled Natalie’s mind that any of these people were connected at all. Of particular fascination to her was seeing how the different members of the Fourteenth reacted differently to the two Pelican representatives. She got a slight tickle when she saw Esther’s reaction to Reginald, which was more of a sigh and an eye roll than a how have you been? She wished she could have been there when the two units first met to put it all into context.
The conversation with the Pelicans was a barebones one, consisting of recaps to explain how they’d all gotten to this serendipitous point. As it turned out, the event at which the Fourteenth had worked closest with Pelican Squad was the Interspecies Conflict, the incident where H`laar’s message to Captain Faerber had originated. Though Pelican Squad hadn’t been privy to the message itself—a terrible misfortune, as it would have added so much credibility to Scott’s testimony—it was that event and the questioning of a woman named Jaya that first raised red flags for Rex. Of particular note was when she tried to convince the members of Pelican Squad that there’d been no alien survivors at all, when they clearly knew that wasn’t the case. But that was but one of numerous inconsistencies she tried to sell them. Her liberal concept of “truth” was what prompted them to visit Tiffany in the first place.
But that was all in the past. What mattered now was that the Nightmen might have stumbled upon an unlikely ally in the general of an EDEN base—one willing to take an extreme chance based solely on the word of her soldiers. Natalie would have preferred that ally had been, say, Vector Squad, the intended recipient of H`laar’s original message, but Sydney would have to do—even if Reginald Custer was part of the deal.
Halfway through the meal, Natalie received a call from Artur Pashkov. The forge master wished to see her about her armor. Upon informing him that it wasn’t the best time, he insisted, explaining to her that a few minutes now could save him a full day’s work later. Coaxed into it, Natalie politely excused herself and exited the cafeteria. Only a few steps removed from it, Reginald caught up with her.
“Hey,” he said, approaching her from behind.
Natalie sighed—she couldn’t help it. “Yeah?”
“I want to go with you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Nodding, he said, “Yeah, I do.”
“I don’t want you to come with me.” The comment prompted Reginald to release a sigh of his own before looking down at the floor. Rolling her eyes and always a sucker for the pitiful, Natalie turned and resumed her walk. “Whatever, come on.”
Trotting to catch up, he did so before she reached the elevator. “So what, you’re getting fitted for armor?”
“Yeah, that’s literally word for word what I said the call was about.”
“Natalie, come on…”
She stopped and about-faced. “Come on what?”
Extending his hands out sideways, he said, “We’re here, aren’t we? By the look of it, you guys could use a miracle. Be happy with the one you got.”
“Dark is the day when you constitute a miracle.” The sarcastic remarks were so easy when it came to him. It was like he drew them out of her. But she knew he was right. Had it been anyone else who’d walked out of that transport—anyone else—she would have been ecstatic. She needed to be happy with what she had, even if it was him. “I’m sorry,” she said, closing her eyes briefly. “Let’s just get on the elevator.”
Natalie’s relationship with Reginald back at Atlanta had been problematic from the start. It’d occurred during the short time that she’d been an epsilon—the EDEN rank for officers-in-training, and Reginald was at delta trooper. As was the case with most of the romantic relationships in her life, it was one based more on the heat of certain moments than anything of actual substance—and like most of them, it’d turned out to be a colossal mistake.
It wasn’t that Reginald was a bad person in the sense that he’d rob a bank or trip old ladies trying to cross the street. It was just that when it came to matters of personal interaction, he was a narcissistic jerk. Everything was about him. Always. And opinionated! There was nothing wrong about having a strong set of core values, but Heaven help the person who talked to Reginald Custer and had a different way of looking at things. They were stupid, or short-sighted, or ridiculous. His tongue was a sharp knife, and anyone who got too close was going to get cut. Worse yet, he seemed to relish the confrontation. It was just like the completely unnecessary comment he’d made earlier to her about sleeping with subordinates. What an awful and unfair way to word a very personal attack. She hated that about him. It was a wonder why she’d dated him at all.
Though he and Logan had never seen eye to eye, there was one incident where their dual stubbornness boiled over into physical conflict. It was yet another instance where Reginald’s mouth initiated the confrontation, this time with the insinuation that there were certain “aspects” to Natalie that were more involved in her rise to epsilon than her passion and ability. It was a mean-spirited, chauvinistic remark made worse only by the fact that he was her boyfriend. It also resulted in Logan—never one to take any slight toward Natalie lightly—beating the daylights out of Reginald and putting him in the infirmary. Natalie broke things off with him, and he was transferred shortly after to Sydney. It was a move that their CO insisted was logistics based, though his soldiers knew better.
But with every ending came a new beginning, and she found hers in a relationship with Logan that was one hundred percent rebound. That it lasted longer than her relationship with Reginald said little. Both men were the wrong men. It was like Logan always told her: she was awful when it came to men. He called it her only flaw. It was a kind assessment, slanted in her favor. But truth was still truth, even if it sugarcoated other sins. She simply went after the wrong guys. It was only natural she’d go after the man who’d become Earth’s most wanted next. All she could do was thank God that EDEN didn’t have strict regulations when it came to relationships among the ranks. As long as it didn’t show on the battlefield, they really didn’t care. Thankfully, she still had a gold star in that department.
Or, had one.
The elevator dinged as they reached Level-1. When the door opened, the warmth of the forge hit them. Natalie was used to it by this point, but Reginald noticeably grimaced. Eyeing him sidelong, she said, “If it’s a little too hot for you, you can always go back up.”
“Pfft.”
Of course he’d pfft.
“This ain’t nothing.”
It was something, all right. It was as sweltering as a place could get—a throwback to times when armor was made in fiery furnaces with anvils and glowing steel. She had to admit, the Medieval-ness of it all was growing on her. “Every piece of Nightman armor is made with human hands.”
Following her out of the elevator, he pulled briefly on his ponytail.
She hated that ponytail with a passion. She wanted to just yank it. “Doesn’t exactly sound efficient,” he said.
“It might not be efficient, but it’s built to last.” Stopping in her tracks, she turned around to face him—the sudden about-face almost causing him to smack right into her. “Why are you such a prick?”
He blinked. “What?”
“You heard me. Why are you such a prick? Every word out of your mouth is a dig on something. You can’t let things be, it’s like a sick addiction.” And why in the hell did it have to be you who showed up here, of all the people on the godforsaken planet? She’d leave that part unspoken. For now.
“Do you realize,” he asked, “that one of the reasons we’re here is because of me? Because I counted the time I served with you as a good character reference on your behalf? Do you want to know why I did that? Because I’m not petty like you.”
I want to hit him, I want to hit him, I want to hit him.
He looked at her with genuine curiosity. “How’d you get wrapped up in all of this?”
“Yeah, so we literally just had an hour-long conversation in the cafeteria about that.”
“I’m not talking about a stupid play-by-play. I mean, like, how did you get wrapped up in this? In your head?”
What the heck was he talking about? Shaking her head and blinking, she could only manage, “What?”
“Never mind.” Sighing, he said, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
He waved his hand nonchalantly. “All of it.”
“That’s a pretty broad apology.”
“Well, I mean it.”
She leaned closer and narrowed her eyes. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m not sorry for anything you did.”
“You’re not?”
“No…because in the end, I got to watch Logan knock your lights out. And that,” she said with a dangerous chuckle, “made everything worth it.” Game, set, match. Or at least, it sure felt that way. Turning around with a smirk on her face, she resumed her trek into the forge.
From far behind, he said, “Was that fun?”
“Was what fun?” she asked, still walking.
“Getting your little zinger in.”
It was, she had to admit it. “Oh, absolutely.”
“Can I offer you a suggestion?” he asked, still standing far behind her.
“I can’t wait to hear it.”
He paused. “Don’t get used to mouthing off.”
“My goodness, that’s rich coming from you.” Turning back around, she stared at him from a good seven meters away. “And why, pray tell, shouldn’t I?”
Eyes staying on her, it wasn’t until he’d reached her and begun to pass her by that he answered. “Look where it got me.”
She blinked. As he walked past her toward the forge, she turned her head to watch him walk away. Look where it got him? He was a lieutenant. He lived in Australia, of all places. By all practical accounts, things were going great. But the way he said it…it almost sounded sincere. Almost like he was passing on wisdom learned through an abundance of mistakes. Almost like he meant it for good. As he entered the forge, then promptly stared at it like he had no idea where he was supposed to go next, it came to her. Oh man…he’s absolutely miserable.
He was. He was miserable. With life. With himself. His words reeked of it. And in the best way that Reginald Custer likely knew how, he was trying to pass something onto her that he’d had to learn himself. That actions, and sometimes, words, had consequences. For the faintest of moments, she felt a tinge of genuine sympathy.
Turning around, he held his hands out expectantly. “What, you want me to take point? Get in front!”
And just like that, all sympathy was gone. With a sigh that said typical, she entered the forge to take the lead.
Despite having made several trips into the forge since her return, Natalie still found herself in a state of awe at the sight of the soot-faced blacksmiths and the orange glow of pouring metal. The heat was incredible—so much more intense than it was by the elevator. It was a wonder these workers didn’t routinely suffer from heat strokes. A glance in Reginald’s direction showed the soldier deliberately stone-faced—the kind of hardened, ice-cold look one gave when they were at a loss for words but didn’t want to show it. Forced bravado. It was the Custer way. Gesturing toward Artur’s office in the far corner, Natalie said, “Let’s get crackin’.”
Even in the small walk across the forge, Natalie found the back of her shirt sticking to her skin. Not too far from her, a worker was pouring an entire bottle of water over his head. She imagined she’d be doing the same thing after an hour or two in his shoes.
Artur was waiting for her at the precipice of his office, his eyes shifting to Reginald as soon as the pair approached. Offering the forge master a smile, she stepped aside to offer introductions. “Reginald Custer, Artur Pashkov—Artur Pashkov, Reginald Custer. The third.” That part was important, even if Reginald wasn’t going to mention it. “Reginald came here with Pelican Squad. He’ll be staying for…probably not that long.” Measured in hours, surely.
“Pelican Squad?” asked Artur, raising a bushy eyebrow.
“Yeah, you know, all the sirens and alarms and whatnot. We had, uhh, unexpected guests. Good guests,” she said quickly. “Good guests.” The look of total disinterest in Artur’s face prompted her to continue. “All right, suit me up!”
Pivoting around, the lumbering forge master walked into his office. “Right this way.”
Casting Natalie a suspiciously raised eyebrow, Reginald followed her and Artur inside.
The first thing Natalie noticed upon entering the office was the temperature. My goodness, it felt good in there! Whereas the floor of the forge itself was scorching, Artur’s office felt like it was built into an ice box. It felt great. It was far neater than she ever would have expected from the gruff forge master, with neatly aligned drawing tables along the far wall of the room, several full-sized mannequins that were clad in various armors, and organizational trays, each with a variety of drawing and sculpting tools. “Wow.” It was all she could say as she beheld it all for the first time. This guy had his ducks in a row.
“Right behind you,” Artur said without looking, gesturing blindly to the other wall with a hand.
Turning, Natalie’s emerald gaze fell upon the mannequin that was set apart from the others—and the amazing suit of armor that was attached to it. It was fulcrum armor, no doubt—that much was evident by the spiked half collar mounted atop the breastplate. But it was so streamlined, so sleek. It was so thoughtfully crafted to…well, look good.
Behind her, Reginald said, “Holy smokes.”
Holy smokes was right. Leaning closer, she inspected the bright red, upside down triangle attached to the left side of the breastplate. Such a simple design. How did they make it look so beautiful? Beneath the Nightman crest was a metal nameplate, the name Rockwell stamped on cleanly. The hair on her arms stood on end.
“Would you like to try it on?” Artur asked.
Leaning back, she stared into where the eyes would be on the otherwise faceless helmet. “Most definitely.” Stepping back to get a good look at it, she asked simply, “How?”
The forge master trundled past her, grabbing the sides of the torso with his plump hands and sliding the forward half upward, where it unlatched. Turning, he handed it to her. “The same principle as EDEN armor. Magnetic latches hold it together, clamps tighten the seals. One thing EDEN did well was create a suit of armor that is quick to get on. There was no need to reinvent that particular wheel.”
The fewer new things she had to learn, the better. “All right, then, don’t mind if I do. It’ll fit over this uniform, right?” There were no female Nightman uniforms—at least, not yet. She didn’t want friction to be an issue.
“It will work well enough, but you will have several uniforms tailored to your specifications. It will fit ideally then, but it should still feel good now.”
That all worked for her. Casting a sidelong smirk Reginald’s way, she said, “Step aside, Custard. This girl’s gotta suit up.”
Waving her off much like he was swatting at an invisible insect, Reginald turned around to meander about the office. After a quick pass with his eyes, he wandered over to a mannequin wearing EDEN armor.
Taking the front half of the breastplate in hand, Natalie began armoring up.
As piece after piece of the armor went on—the breastplate, the leg and shin guards, the torso strap, and more—Natalie couldn’t help but notice how much lighter this was than standard EDEN armor. With the added protection that Nightman armor provided, it was a little mystifying as to how this was possible. Costs had to play a factor in it, else she could think of no good reason why all EDEN armor wasn’t crafted like this. The fact that it was all handmade surely made Nightman armor much more expensive, but she had to admit, it was a difference that could be felt. Whereas she slipped into EDEN armor, this armor felt like it hugged her. It felt secure. Yet unrestricted. As the last piece of her torso and lower body came on, she held her hands out widely, then pulled them back in. She had full range of motion.
I could move so fast in this. No wonder they excel on the battlefield. This armor alone gives them a humungous edge.
The last part to go on was her helmet. As she held it in her hands, staring into the spot on its faceless front where eyes would be, she tried hard to see her reflection in the black, lustrous metal. But it wasn’t there at all. Drawing in a deep breath of preparation, she lifted it above her head and then eased it down.
It had always been a wonder to Natalie what it must have looked like behind that faceless gaze—that helmet with no eye holes or visor. She knew it was a camera system of some sort. As the helmet came down over her head and she saw only darkness, Natalie wondered if there was something she had missed. Then, in an instant, when the magnetic clamps locked in place above her collar and the internal systems of the armor came online, the room became crystal clear.
Every detail of the room came into focus as the lenses in front of her eyes turned on. It was bright, vibrant. As if she was looking at it all with her real eyes. Maybe even better. Turning her head and once again discovering she had full range of motion, she stared in awe at the room in front of her. EDEN visors had limited HUD displays. They could highlight nav coordinates, locate and identify extraterrestrials with their Ex-Trackers. But this was like sitting in her own body’s cockpit. Everywhere she focused her eyes, distance indicators appeared. A heartrate monitor was clearly visible in the upper right, with several spaces beneath it that must have been reserved to monitor the heartrates of others. When she squinted, the camera zoomed. This was incredible.
“Is it working for you?” Artur asked.
Turning her gaze to Reginald, she watched as he faced her from where he’d been looking at the other mannequins. Squinting harder, she zoomed in on his facial expression. He looked like he wasn’t sure what to think. That wasn’t a problem for her. “I love this.”
The bearded forge master nodded. “It is an enhanced helmet design. There is some superior technology to what most Nightmen have. In the future, we hope to phase much of the new HUD into all our designs, but for now…” he gestured with his massive hand, “you can enjoy our newest technology.”
Enjoy was the right word. This was absolutely fantastic.
“We hope to tie in an ammunition counter into the system—we are working to implement some modifications in the E-35 to wirelessly transmit data to its user. There are some obstacles to overcome yet, but it is a taste of what’s to come.”
“Do you have any idea how effective EDEN would be with this?” she asked, looking at both men in awe, though they couldn’t see it on her face.
“Yes,” the forge master answered, smiling a bit, “that is why General Thoor did not like to share it.”
What an edge. What an incredible, game-changing edge. EDEN was just…so inferior to this. In every single way. Taking the armor for the equivalent of a test drive, she walked forward in the room toward a mirror in the far corner. It felt as effortless to walk as it did to move her arms. As she neared the mirror and her reflection came into view, she stared at it. This is so awesome. Stepping forward quickly, she reached down to where a holster would be and mimicked raising a pistol to aim at herself. Bad to the vecking bone.
Hands in his pockets, Reginald asked rather blithely, “Having fun?”
Yes, she was. Not feeling the least bit silly at all, she lowered her invisible pistol. As she stared at her black, armored reflection, she just shook her head. She didn’t have words.
Reginald, of course, did. Clearing his throat, he tilted his head in Artur’s direction. “So why do you guys have a set of EDEN armor here? What’s the purpose, since you guys do all your own stuff?”
“As I said earlier,” Artur answered, “there are some aspects of body armor that EDEN does well. Sometimes I like to take a look at what they do on a closer level.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I also just like to collect.”
Nodding, Reginald looked at the EDEN armor again, then back at Natalie. He smirked. “This set looks about your size if you ever have a change of heart.”
“Ha.” Not a chance. “This is the kind of armor that keeps you alive, right here.” She nodded at herself in the mirror.
Hands still in his pockets, Reginald’s gaze returned to the armor from EDEN. “Your body or your soul?”
Behind her helmet, Natalie rolled her eyes.
“So,” Artur asked her, “everything fits?”
“Like a glove,” she answered.
The forge master nodded. “Good. You can go ahead and take it off. I have a few components left to install and a few screws to tighten. Figuratively speaking, of course.”
The last thing she felt like doing was taking off the armor. She felt more like leading a military parade. “If I must.”
“I am afraid that you must.”
Shoulders sagging like a kid having a shiny new toy taken away, Natalie returned to the mannequin on the other side of the room to remove her armor.
The process of removing the fulcrum armor was not an enjoyable one, and Natalie found herself holding onto its individual parts and pieces for moments longer than she needed to just to imprint the feel of them to her memory. She knew the time would come when she would get to don the armor again, for real that time. It was a moment she greatly looked forward to.
After a small bit of closing chit-chat with Artur, Natalie and Reginald left his office to make their way back to the elevator. As much as she would have loved to stay down there just gawking, she knew that Becker’s meeting with Antipov wouldn’t last forever. Soon enough, everyone would want to know where Reginald was. As she entered the elevator with him to go back to Level-3, she cast a sidelong glance his way. Much as he had been in Artur’s office, the lieutenant was staring ahead somewhat blankly. He looked curiously detached, for someone as incessant as he tended to be. Narrowing her eyes a tad suspiciously, she asked him simply, “What?”
“I mean, do you really think that’s you?” he asked her instantly.
So obviously, you were waiting for me to catch your dumb, lost expression. Looking forward again, she said, “You know what it is? It’s effective.”
“Yeah, but that’s not what I asked.”
Arching an eyebrow, she asked him, “Would you take armor like that into combat if you had the chance?”
“Of course I would.”
“Well, there you go.”
He shook his head. “But I’m a jackass. You’re Natalie Rockwell.”
They call me Venus here, actually. That thought, probably for the better, remained inside her head. “What does who I am have to do with it? I’m a soldier just like you.”
“You’re more than a soldier. You’re an ideal. You work hard, you do what’s right, you go by the book. That’s just you.”
He had no right to tell her who she was or wasn’t. “Listen, whatever lines were drawn in the sand, EDEN drew them. They wanted a fight, they’re getting a fight.”
For several seconds, Reginald remained quiet. “I guess that’s the thing.”
“What’s the thing?”
He seemed to search for his words. “You’re so eager to fight EDEN right now, and I get it. They did you wrong, they hurt a lot of people.”
“They’re dangerous.”
Nodding, he said, “And they’re dangerous, sure. Like I said, I get why you’d want to fight them. I would, too.”
She stared at him dumbfounded. “Okay, so…?”
“I just wish you’d be as passionate about fighting to save EDEN as you seem driven to destroy it.”
Natalie blinked. The elevator dinged. As the doors opened and before she could manage a response, the ponytailed lieutenant stepped out.
But…I do want to save it.
But did she?
As the elevator door moved to close again, she quickly slipped out into the hall.
Upon returning to the cafeteria, Natalie found her comrades and those from Becker’s transport engaged in conversation that was far more jovial than the data dumps she’d left them with. There was talk of Russian winters, of the surf scene on Bondi Beach in Sydney, and whether the comforting warmth of borsch on a cold day or the sweet simplicity of yeast spread on toast in the morning made for a better meal. There was laughter—something that was much needed for everyone.
But even that long overdue laughter couldn’t quell the uneasiness Reginald had put in her. It couldn’t quell the frustration. What right did he have to judge her based on the type of armor she wore? Did it say anything about who she was as a person? Was anyone’s personal dress code going to send them to hell? Natalie wanted the best tool for the job, and fulcrum armor was it. It said nothing about her character, her convictions, or her allegiance. And even if it did, so what? Who was she supposed to side with on this one? There wasn’t an EDEN soldier on the planet that wouldn’t gun her down on sight—she’d seen that much in Atami.
I’m a fulcrum. And I did it without murdering someone. The Nightmen have changed. What did Reginald Custer know about change? Not a thing. In his own words, he was a jackass. She’d known enough of them in her lifetime to know their opinions weren’t worth much.
When Becker finally returned some three hours after she’d disappeared with Antipov, the expression she wore was far removed from the confidence and bravado she’d shown upon her arrival. Her face was stone, her eyes conflicted. She bore the look of a woman whose unwavering sense of truth had just been challenged. Natalie knew that feeling well. It was the same mix of emotions she’d felt when she’d heard the recording between Archer and the Ceratopians. She was sure that Becker had heard it now, too. The general said nothing about anything she’d seen or heard—a deliberate effort, it seemed. She was only overheard telling Antipov, “I’ll be in touch,” to which he said something low and indiscernible. With no other discussion taking place, she collected her fellow visitors from Sydney and boarded the transport. There was far less fanfare in their departure than in their arrival. There were handshakes, a few man-hugs, and a couple obligatory “I’ll see you soon’s” with little to no evidence to back up the prospects. Reginald made no effort to tell Natalie goodbye; he seemed content to let her dwell on what he’d said in the elevator. Then, almost as suddenly as Pelican Squad had arrived outside the mountain base’s hangar…
…they were gone.
Natalie didn’t ask Antipov about what he’d shown Becker or what would ultimately become of her visit. She didn’t feel that she needed to. He had extended to Natalie the trust of the Nightmen, and she would give him that same courtesy. She knew that, when the time came, she’d be told all she needed to know. Even if it wasn’t everything. Even if it was just enough to get her killed for the greater good. She swore to herself that it’d be a sacrifice she’d be willing to make. But just in case it wasn’t, at least she’d have a good set of armor to help.
She refused to feel guilty about that.