Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-three


Thursday, April 5th, 0012 NE

1120 hours



Norilsk, Russia




THIS GUY NEEDS a haircut. The thought came to Natalie’s mind the moment Dostoevsky indicated that the scraggly, salt-and-pepper-haired man with the tiny ponytail was Iosif Antipov. Were it not for the Nightman uniform he donned, he could have passed for a homeless person. As Northern Forge’s rusty hangar doors slid shut, Natalie and the rest of the troop bay occupants made their way down the ramp.

To say that the hangar was bustling with Nightmen was an understatement. Massive guards, whom she’d heard described as “sentries,” were standing post at not only the base’s inner entrance, but at various points from one side of the hangar to the next. Men in oil-stained technician outfits hustled about, chatting fervently as they worked with their tools and equipment. Everywhere she looked, there was rampant activity. This certainly didn’t seem like a military sect on the verge of extermination. Quite the contrary, it looked like the Nightmen had never been busier.

Before Natalie could even reach the hangar floor, Antipov and a pair of sentries were on their way to meet them. Natalie didn’t wait for him to introduce himself. Extending her hand, she said simply, “You must be Antipov.”

He smiled with genuineness. “And you must be Captain Rockwell.” Shaking her hand with surprising firmness for a man who looked so rail-thin and unkempt, he said, “I am glad you and your friends made it here safely. We have much to discuss, and I am sure you are ready to discuss it.”

She liked him already.

Behind them, the pack of necrilids padded out of the Vultures, their massive claws silent as they tracked across the hangar. Indicating to them with a head nod, Antipov said, “I hope our patrol units did not frighten you too much.”

Patrol units. Never in her life had she imagined she’d hear necrilids described quite like that. Stomping down the ramp of the other Vulture and shaking the ground with every step was Centurion. The massive Ceratopian was decked out from head to toe in what looked like Nightman armor, black and shielding every part of his body, horns, frill, and all. Her gaze went to the top of his head and the bright red, horsehair-looking plume that stuck out. No restraint could stop the words, “Holy veck,” from escaping her lips.

Glancing Centurion’s way, Antipov smiled a bit. “Yes, that is the Ceratopian you remember. As you can see, he has recovered quite remarkably. We knew his was a caste bred for combat, but we did not anticipate his body would heal at such an accelerated rate.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “It is possible that he has been genetically modified by his species to have this advantage. We are still striving to understand him.”

As Centurion lumbered past a sentry, the Nightman extended a fist in the alien’s direction. The Ceratopian met it with a gigantic, interspecies fist bump that almost knocked the sentry over. “How in the hell did you get him to wear that?” Natalie asked.

Behind her, Esther gasped. “Centurion!” The scout flat-tracked across the hangar toward the beast, who turned in her direction. She slammed solidly into him with an embrace that barely reached halfway around his waist. In a rather touching scene, Centurion wrapped an arm around her, too.

“We realized quickly that such a warrior could be a tremendous asset on the battlefield,” said Antipov, unaffected by the display between Esther and the beast, “and so we put in a priority order for armor to be made specifically for him. Our forge master, Artur Pashkov, was quite proud of it.”

Natalie remembered Artur, the large, bearded man in charge of the forge itself.

“The armor is four times thicker than standard Nightman armor. A regular soldier could not shoulder such a burden, but for Centurion, he scarcely notices it. It is the first armor we have created that is capable of withstanding chaos rounds—the kind of weaponry used by elite squads such as Vector. As for the plume,” he gestured toward the bright red headpiece, “that was a personal touch of Artur’s. He goes by Centurion, why not play the part?”

Surely such a headpiece would draw attention to Centurion on the battlefield, Natalie thought, but perhaps that was a good thing. He certainly looked able to take it.

Antipov spoke on. “I imagine that chief among your questions is how we all survived the attack at Chernobyl.” He gestured for her to follow him out of the hangar and into the halls of the base. “Are you familiar with the game of chess, Captain Rockwell?” When he looked back, he saw she was watching her comrades. “Do not worry, your friends will be taken care of.”

Accepting the man at face value, she answered his question. “I’m more of a checkers girl, to be honest,” she said, having to sidestep a pair of Nightmen marching past them in the hall. There were Nightmen everywhere. The mess hall, located farther down that same hall, was packed with men standing shoulder to shoulder. The line for food wrapped around the whole room; there was nary an open seat to be seen. There were even soldiers eating with their backs to the wall on the floor of the hallway. “Good grief,” she said when she beheld it, “what’d you do, call up every Nightman on the planet?”

A slayer walking backward with a tray slammed into Antipov’s side. Natalie jumped as the young man’s tray of food went crashing to the floor. “Idiot!” Antipov shouted. “Smotret' kuda ty idesh'!”

The young man went pale. “Da, general!” He hurriedly knelt to scoop up the spilled food as Antipov walked on, glancing behind to ensure that Natalie was following. After allowing herself to pity the boy, she followed behind him again. They’re calling him general, now. This guy really has replaced Thoor.

“To answer your question,” Antipov said, “yes, I did. There are other forges tucked away in Siberia, of course, but there was no need to divert anyone to them. Northern Forge is fully capable of housing everyone—for now.”

She wasn’t sure what stood out more about that statement, the idea that the scene around her was actually considered “capable housing” or that he’d tacked on a “for now” to the end of it. “No better time to hold open recruitment, what with how much the world loves you and all.”

Chuckling a bit, he lowered his head. “I love American sarcasm. It comes so natural to you.” Looking up again as he walked on, he said, “Much like you, the rest of the world plays checkers, too. You see a threat, you attack it. You see a weakness, you exploit it. You see a weakness in yourself, you try to fix it.”

Was he suggesting there was any other way?

“I wonder, have you ever attacked your enemy’s strength knowing full well they would defeat you? Have you ever revealed your weakness to them and then allowed them to take advantage of it?”

Shaking her head, she said, “Sounds pretty counter-intuitive, to be honest.”

“As I’m sure it would, to someone who plays checkers.” Turning down the short hallway that led to the briefing room, he said, “In chess, there are many pieces. You have the pawns, very limited in both direction and range but great in number. You have knights, who move and attack with misdirection. You have bishops and rooks, both able to cross the entire board to kill opposing pieces, though each in their own way. Then of course, you have the queen, who can attack in any direction she wants, unlimited in range and unrivaled in power. And the sole purpose of all of these pieces is to protect the vulnerable king, who can scarcely do a thing on his own.”

She smirked. “Sounds like a typical man.”

“So when you think of chess,” he said, unfazed by her commentary, “you must take all of these pieces into account. You must be aware of all of the pieces and what they can do. Of how many of each your opponent has left and whether or not he knows how to properly use them. You must make him believe that he is in control.” He paused at the briefing room door. “So tell me, from the perspective of a ‘checkers girl,’ what piece do you think plays the biggest role on the chess board?”

What she was supposed to say was obvious: the queen, with what sounded like the power to do whatever she wanted. But she knew a trick question when she heard one. “The misdirection one.”

“The knight.”

“Yeah, that one.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“The pawn,” she answered quickly. “The ones you can just throw at the enemy without concern.” That certainly sounded like something the Nightmen would do. When his expression remained unchanged, though, she doubted herself. “The queen.”

Holding up his hand, he wiggled his fingers in front of her. “The piece that plays the biggest role is the hand that moves them.”

As she looked into his eyes—dark eyes that bored right through her as if looking at her soul—she felt the faintest bit of a chill drip down her spine. Her eyebrows lowered in uncertainty. He had her attention.

“The hand does not take a piece on its own, yet its presence is felt in everything that takes place on the board. Unlike the pieces themselves, who see only what is around them, the hand sees all. It knows what the pieces are capable of—what pieces of its opponent it can take and what pieces of its own must be sacrificed. Sometimes, it must sacrifice its greatest pieces in order to reach the endgame. Sometimes this must be done heartlessly, ruthlessly, but it is always done with purpose. Always done while striving for the ultimate goal: to checkmate the king.” He paused. “To defeat the hand across from him.”

A very bad feeling was brewing inside her.

“If I were to show you, with undeniable proof, that EDEN was conspiring with extraterrestrials to the detriment of humanity, would you stop at nothing to defeat them?”

Natalie’s heart beat faster. That very bad feeling was getting worse. “I would.”

“Would you sacrifice your greatest pieces?” All the while he spoke, his expression never changed. Those dark eyes bored deeper. “Would you be the hand that seeks, at all costs, to checkmate the king?”

When Natalie swallowed, it felt like her throat had closed up. “If it was…” If it was all that could be done. If victory was the only thing that mattered. If the fate of the human species was at stake. “Yes. If I had to, then yes. I would.”

She hoped.

His gaze held fast to hers—as if determining whether or not she was telling the truth. When he appeared satisfied, his eyes almost seemed to gleam. “You were ambushed in Japan because I told EDEN you would be there.”

The air went out from her. That chill on her spine rendered her all but stiff. She stared wide-eyed.

“Please, Miss Rockwell, come with me.” Gesturing to the briefing room, he turned to step inside.

Ambushed in Japan because of him. Even as he stepped through the door, Natalie continued to stare at the place he’d just been, as if the world around her had just ground to a halt. We were ambushed in Japan because of him. Lilan was dead because of him. Scott and Tiffany were captured because of him. Esther might well be a widow…because of him. The hand that moves the pieces. That thought, that mental image of some five-fingered controller hovering over every piece on a chess board, stood forefront in her mind. Sacrificing the pieces he cherished the most, if he cherished anything at all.

She felt as if she might buckle over in a mixture of disbelief and astonishment. Why would he do that? Why would this man betray us like that? And why would he admit to it? It was that last part—the fact that he’d just looked her in the eye and told her what he’d done with not a shred of remorse or hesitation—that she found so disgusting. So abhorrent.

So incredibly, incredibly fascinating. Fascinating enough that her reactionary anger found itself quickly reducing from a rolling boil to a simmer, simply for the desire to understand why. It wasn’t even the how that mattered. The motivation of the “hand” completely enthralled her. She found herself willing to follow him into the room without so much as a word. She’d punch him in the nose later. Right now, she just wanted to see what he intended to show her.


The room was the same one that she, Scott, and the others had used for the pre-train-op-briefing—a mini auditorium with a projector screen. Though the projector was already on, there was no image displayed from it. Antipov was walking toward the projector stand, where he paused to look back at her. “Have a seat if you wish.”

She preferred to stand, though she found herself listening to him and sitting, anyway. Slipping into the center chair in the first row, she stared up at the screen. She wanted to ask, “What is it I’m about to see?” but was still quite unable to speak, that cocktail of anger, captivation, and numbness still swirling inside her.

Antipov pressed a button atop the projector, causing the screen to come to life. The image appeared to be nothing more than a gray graphic of random lines running horizontally and vertically. A standard techy background wallpaper. Picking up a remote control, Antipov stepped back from the projector, pointed the control at it, and pressed play.

Background static emerged—the only indication that audio was playing. There was shuffling, but it was muffled and up close. As Natalie narrowed her eyes and attuned her ears harder, the guttural voice of a Ceratopian broke the silence. Its words were deep and harsh, though that was typical of all Ceratopian speech. Though the alien tongue was indecipherable to her ears, text appeared on the screen in sync with the voices, like closed captioning. “You have a proposal for us,” it read.

There was a pause and more shuffling. The next voice that emerged, though, was unmistakable—even though Natalie had never heard it in person before. “Yes, we do,” a British-accented man replied. “One we believe may pique your interest.”

Archer. Benjamin Archer. Her conflicted anger toward Antipov subsided, and she sat erect.

The Ceratopian replied, the translation appearing at the bottom of the screen, “We will hear it.”

“Is the human he’s talking to…” Natalie asked, eyes flickering in Antipov’s direction as he looked at her, even as the name Archer caught in her throat. He nodded a single time. The recording played on.

“We spoke to you before about the Khuladi threat,” Archer said. “That we understand the dilemma your species is faced with. We know that your intent to destroy this world is for the benefit of not only your species, but for all species in your quadrant of the galaxy. We realize that our extinction is but a small price to pay for the salvation of many others.”

I can’t believe I’m hearing this.

“We would like to offer a solution that would satisfy both our species: your right to protect your worlds and our right to exist at all.” Archer paused. “Let us weaken the human force that has held you at bay for so long. This would allow you to set up the devices necessary to ensure this planet’s destruction. In return, we request that you take a portion of us with you, to serve if we must, but to ensure that our species has a chance to survive.”

To serve if we must? With every word Archer spoke, Natalie’s heart beat faster.

The Ceratopian spoke. “How would you accomplish this?”

“It would be a slow but steady process. We could not outright sabotage our defense force. That would only provide you with a single surface wound to exploit, and it would quickly be repaired.” As he paused again, the muffled shuffling reemerged. Whoever was listening in on this was moving around. Whatever the cause, it caused the first few words of what Archer said next to be lost. “—in bureaucracy, then we will have hindered the very core of Earth’s defenses. This is but one of many possible ways we can weaken the front line for you.”

There was a delay before the Ceratopian spoke again. Natalie could imagine the beast weighing Archer’s words—determining whether or not they were trustworthy. “What portion from your planet would you have us take?”

“Those of us lending our assistance, obviously.”

Natalie’s face flushed. She didn’t need to know the full context to understand that part. Archer was selling out the planet to take care of himself.

“Though there are certain subgroups within our species that are more apt to comply willingly.”

The shuffling appeared again—this time fast, more intense. Like something was suddenly wrong. Seconds later, the audio ended. The static disappeared, and the briefing room was left in silence.

Eyes widening, Natalie stared at the projector screen as the wallpaper vanished, replaced by blackness. Her mind was swirling. This is everything we need—everything we were looking for. This is the evidence Scott went to Japan to find. It was true. It was all true. What Scott said, what he’d claimed. What he’d gone to Cairo to locate and extract. What he’d been willing to sacrifice Natalie’s career and the lives of Cairo’s security forces to secure.

There was a conspiracy.

In that instant, everything that’d happened to her since Scott’s betrayal became justified. He couldn’t have taken any chances—especially not in telling her the truth while serving as her commander. No matter how much it killed him inside, no matter how much it must have conflicted him every night he lay down in bed. How many men would have—could have—been willing to undertake such a burden? She couldn’t think of one.

“We retrieved this recording shortly before you were assigned the operation,” said Antipov, his voice snapping her back to the present.

She blinked. Shortly before?

He elaborated without prompt. “We could not risk such a dangerous retrieval with such a critical device at stake. I have eidola—my spies, to use a more familiar term—inside every major EDEN facility on Earth. My agent in Nagoya, once he knew what to look for, was able to find it quickly.”

“There are Nightmen in every EDEN base?”

Chuckling a bit, Antipov looked down briefly. Looking up again, he held up a finger. “Every base but one.”

Every base but one. Eyes squinting in thought, she began running through a list of all the major EDEN bases on Earth…though it didn’t take long for the answer to surface. It was the only base that was totally different from all the rest. The only one whose location was a mystery. “EDEN Command.”

“EDEN Command,” he said, nodding slowly. “For years—almost a decade—its location eluded me. But thanks to you, and thanks to the sacrifices of those who lost their lives in Japan, it eludes me no further. I know where it is.”

EDEN Command was the most secretive place on the planet—a place where even those who worked in its halls didn’t know where they were. Rumors of blind flights, purposely vague and sporadic flight patterns, even the manipulation of circadian rhythm for those on base by use of artificial day and night cycles, rose to the forefront of her mind. Was it under the ocean? In the South Pole? No one knew. No one but a handful of top-level officials and the pilots who had to fly there.

And Iosif Antipov.

She didn’t even have to ask where. He offered the answer willfully. “It is called the Likouala Swamp. It is a region of the Congo.”

The Congo. Eyes growing distant, Natalie leaned back in her chair and stared ahead. Her mind was filled with thoughts of wild animals, dense foliage, and mud. Of winding rivers and savage tribes. Of all the stereotypes, be they real or imagined, of travel into the darkest regions of unexplored Africa. Her gaze refocused on Antipov, and she asked, “How did you do this?”

“It was not simple,” he answered, “but once the foundation was laid, it was only a matter of time. Are you familiar with the name Todd Kenner?”

Of course, she was. “He was a former member of Vector. Kicked out for allegedly raping a woman during a mission.”

“There was nothing ‘alleged’ about it,” Antipov said, nodding a single time. “But his sins were of no concern to me when I reached out to him. What I was after was pure skill and the mindset of a predator. One cannot argue he does not possess both.”

Staving off moral judgment, she only listened.

“I told him if he wanted to be of use, we would find a way to use him. He was never going back to EDEN, that much was certain. He was eager to find an organization willing to work with a man such as himself.” He briefly shook his head. “There were no papers signed, no formal handshake. Just one villain’s word to another’s.” There was no emphasis on the word villain as he spoke it. He seemed willing to accept his perceived role. “When everything began to unfold with Archer and the revelation that there was a recording of him and Ceratopians conspiring, I saw an opportunity to involve him. Of course, I did not expect that opportunity to come in the form of EDEN attacking Novosibirsk and killing General Thoor, but one must work with what one is given. As soon as I found out that the device was located in Nagoya, I told Kenner to make arrangements to fly to Japan—that I would have everything sorted out soon.

“I contacted my eidolon in Nagoya to have him secure the device once I was given a description of it. Once it was secured and was on its way here, I set the trap.” Lifting his chin a bit, Antipov said, “I instructed Keeper Lukin to accompany Remington and his comrades to Hami Station and to ensure that a helmet was left behind. I knew it would be found and that EDEN would attempt to use it to intercept our transmissions. After giving them some time to do this, I contacted Remington to relay to him the details of the train operation, making sure I specified the exact time and location of the attempt. I also used this transmission to affirm the Nightman exodus to Chernobyl. I wanted to give them every opportunity to truly believe that we were on the verge of eradication.”

The number of simultaneously moving parts to this scheme was incredible.

Antipov continued. “Now, the purpose of our attack on Hami Station was not solely to leave behind a helmet. Like many organizations, EDEN has a dedicated backup communications system in the event that parts of its satellite system go down—as Hami Station went down that day. In this backup system, I hid an executable file that would upload itself into EDEN Command’s main systems in the event of a network-wide transfer. EDEN thought we aimed to damage their ability to detect us. But Hami Station was simply a means to an end. Once the file had been uploaded to EDEN Command, all I needed to do was get someone there to access it.”

She didn’t even need him to finish. Natalie knew exactly who he was talking about. “Kenner.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

All of this was starting to come together, like the workings of a maestro in front of an orchestra. Antipov was conducting every instrument.

“On his own, Todd Kenner was never going to be invited into EDEN Command. It would take only an amazing feat—an impossible feat—to grant him such access to the organization that had thrown him out. Apprehending Scott Remington was such a feat.” Holding up a finger as to indicate a point, he said, “Now despite the animosity between Kenner and EDEN at large, he has remained close friends with Klaus Faerber throughout all these years. I knew that, for an operation as personal as this was to Captain Faerber, he would reach out to his friend for assistance. I gambled that Faerber would do this. It was one of the few uncertainties of this operation.”

One of the few? That statement alone said volumes. To Natalie, no part of this sounded certain.

“As I had hoped, he did reach out to Kenner, unbeknownst to Vector or anyone else, to help capture Remington in Japan. While this was not a necessary step for this plan to succeed, it gave Kenner a justification for being in Japan in the first place. He could therefore say, ‘Faerber asked me to come,’ and it would be true. Kenner then knew his mission: capture Remington before Archer and his conspirators had a chance to kill him. Ensure Remington’s safe transfer to EDEN Command, with Kenner as his custodian. That is precisely what happened. Due to the fact that it was he who personally took Remington into custody, Kenner was asked to deliver him to EDEN Command with his former Vector comrades.”

“And you had your man in EDEN Command,” she said. “All he had to do was activate the Trojan.”

The corner of Antipov’s lip curved upward. “A ping was sent out, and the location of EDEN Command—the head of the snake that had begun to eat its own tail—was revealed.”

As Natalie heard word after word of this, it struck her that she wasn’t feeling nearly as much anger as she thought she should have felt. She was talking to a man—practically a snake himself—who had purposefully led them into the clutches of their enemies. Friends had been captured and killed because of him. Yet she clung to every word he said, like he was the pied piper and she was a child, skipping merrily behind him into the woods. “What’s your plan?” she asked. She knew he must have one.

“I am glad that you asked,” he said, his one-sided smile stretching wider. “It means you wish to be a part of it.”

She did. More than anything else in the world, she did.

Turning off the projector, Antipov leaned his elbow against the side of the stand. Once more, his gaze peered into her. “In the week that you were gone, I left here briefly to pay a visit to President Belikov.”

The president of the NSU.

“I played for him the very recording I played for you. Needless to say, he was quite displeased. The two of us stuck a deal. The Nightmen have always been a…quandary, if you may, to Russian law enforcement. We have not always operated within the confines of the law.”

That was putting it mildly.

“I informed him of our stance in all of this—of our position against EDEN and our desire to see this conspiracy brought to an end. In swearing to him that with General Thoor dead, the Nightmen would change their ways, he swore to me that we would receive assistance from the NSU itself.”

At that, Natalie arched an eyebrow. “What kind of assistance?”

“Think of it as a…merger of resources. Our resource is our weaponry and our armor. The intelligence and ferocity that makes the Nightmen a feared adversary. Theirs, quite simply, is manpower. We will give them access to our goods, knowledge, and training, and in return, they will provide us with troops.”

Eyes narrowing, she said, “You’re mustering an army.”

“Yes. Empowered and endorsed by the NSU, we will replenish quickly the forces we lost in the attack. With soldiers coming to us directly from the National Soviet Military, we will soon grow to a size larger than Thoor ever imagined possible.”

“Won’t you be breaking tradition? I thought it was customary for Nightman recruits to murder someone before joining the ranks.”

Antipov nodded. “It was a rite of passage. Was is the operative word. The Murder Rule was an antiquated rule with no place in a civilized society. It was put into place to produce loyalty. We can achieve the same result without such needless death. A positive change, don’t you think?”

“Would you like to know what I think, general?”

“Of course.”

“I think you were desperate to bolster the ranks and you had to make concessions.”

His grin slowly stretched wider. Looking down slightly, Antipov chuckled before regarding her again. “Thoor and I disagreed on many things. The Murder Rule was chief among them. He believed that it was a filtering process. That there needed to be a certain level of savagery inherent in every Nightman. What he got, while indeed savage, was an army of broken souls.” Gesturing toward the door, he said, “Take Yuri Dostoevsky. He preaches now, to his very own kinsmen, and more and more are beginning to listen to him. While I do not share his beliefs, I recognize that his message of redemption resonates. Men who believe in a cause for the right reason are just as dangerous as those who lust for blood—and much, much more manageable.”

Natalie was following. “So you’re getting rid of the controversial rules and getting help from the NSU. And you’re going to use that to…?”

He stepped in her direction. “EDEN Command must be purged of conspirators. With a large enough force, we can fight our way in and bring those involved to justice.”

“Justice.” Natalie repeated the word almost as soon as he said it. Pressing her lips together, she shook her head. “When you say ‘justice,’ boy, I worry about what that means.”

Once more, he chuckled. “Some people cannot be reasoned with or brought to the light. The only way to protect the innocent from them is to remove them.”

“You mean kill them.”

There was no hesitation. “I do.”

From the beginning of her work with the outlaws, Natalie had been staunchly opposed to the taking of human life. This was about getting the truth out, not killing the conspirators. But now? Now, with so much at stake, was murder on the table? There was no argument in Natalie’s mind that innocents would die if EDEN Command was assaulted by the Nightmen. Sure, the conspirators might fall, but so would an innocent security guard, just there to do his or her job. So would a scientist, caught by a stray bullet while running for cover. So would a chef. So would a civilian contractor. Bullets knew nothing of guilt or innocence. They would tear through one’s flesh like they would another’s. In going along with Antipov’s proposal, Natalie was essentially saying that this was okay. That these losses were acceptable. The forest at large was more important than the individual trees. Was she ready to say that? Was she, really?

Closing her eyes, Natalie lowered her head. All the while she sat—all the while she considered—Antipov remained silent, as if he knew what she was going through. Natalie’s stomach turned when clarity finally came. When she knew the answer she would select. The answer she must select. The entire species was at risk.

What else could she do?

“Okay,” she said, opening her eyes and lifting them to meet his. “I’m in.” The pain. It ached in her so badly. It almost made her double over.

Matching her nod with a slow one of his own, he said plainly, “We do what must be done.”

She hated that she agreed. “We do what must be done.”

Silence came between them as Antipov stood before her, until at long last he lowered himself into the seat by her side. She glanced at him briefly—only until it became apparent that his purpose was merely to sit by her. To join her, as she was joining him. Sucking in a deep breath, he said placidly, “When I was young, I used to work construction jobs with my father. I must have been nine, ten years old. Simple jobs, you know, pick up the nails, carry some bricks. What a child can do.”

Ears perked, Natalie turned to him as she listened.

“For three summers, I did this work. Sweating, a mess by the end of the day, and not particularly cut out for that kind of work at that age. But I would always remember, at the end of every day, when all of the other workers had gone home, my father and I would sit on the tailgate of his truck, watch the sun set, and drink ice cold bottles of Popov soda.” The slightest of smiles, uncharacteristically warm, emerged on his lips. “It was miserable work. I hated it. But those memories at the end of each day, drinking that soda next to my father, not even saying a word…” He reached out with his hand, as if to grab at something—a thought, or some tangible image floating just out of his grasp. After holding his hand out for a moment, he lowered it again. “Those were good days. Those were the best days of my life. Before Hong Kong or Ignatius van Thoor. Days of innocence that every boy should have.” Propping one leg across the other, he wrapped his hands around them. “That is what we are fighting to preserve. Those experiences, those human moments. Those stories of our species.” Gesturing with his hands, he said, “If we lose that, if we lose…us…then it will be a sad day for the universe. We will not be so easily replaced.”

What poignant words. They were unexpected. But she understood them.

“Natalie,” he said, “if I may call you that.” She didn’t stop him. “I need you to understand that we are fighting a great evil. I admire your purity, I admire your ideals—I know them. But what you must understand, what is unique to this situation, is that in this war—in this particular war—ideals can not only kill you, they can destroy our species.” Leaning back a bit, he said, “I know that you requested rubber bullets on the operation in Japan. Your intentions were good. They represented everything that EDEN purports to be about.”

Already knowing where this was heading, she lowered her head.

“If you fight with us, you will need to be prepared to take innocent life. Not on purpose, never on purpose. But you must understand that in those split-second decisions, in those fights to the death, you will face people in EDEN uniforms who are just like you. They will try to kill you, because they believe you are evil. You will not have time to explain the truth to them.”

She knew this. She knew all of this. It didn’t mean she had to like it.

“If there is one thing I learned from General Thoor,” Antipov said, “it is that everyone has a primal function. Something that, once unlocked, once unleashed, makes them superior. Remington had aggression. Thoor saw that in him. He does not want to slide stealthily about the battlefield or sneak around undetected—despite how he came to you in Cairo. If the choice is his, he will come straight at you.” He made a fist. “Like a punch in the face.” Silence briefly came over them as he turned Natalie’s way. “What you have that makes you superior is meticulousness. You will do things the right way. You are technical in your execution. You believe that preparation and repetition are the keys to victory.” Nodding, he said, “That makes you extremely appealing as a commanding officer.”

He was going somewhere with this.

“I have a vision for you here, among the Nightmen. A role that I feel is perfect for you.” Drawing another breath, he said, “I call this position a valkyrie.”

Natalie raised an eyebrow.

“Full disclosure, you would not be the first person to receive that title,” Antipov said. “That honor goes to Mrs. Timmons.”

Now that garnered a reaction. “Esther?” she asked incredulously. “Are you telling me Esther is a Nightman?”

“The first woman to call herself that, yes.”

“I knew it.” All those times when it felt like Esther had privileged information. Come to find out, she did. “I mean, I didn’t know it, but…I knew it.”

Antipov said, “She has proven herself to be quite valuable in the short time she’s been with us.”

“So what is a valkyrie? Is it just a woman in a Nightman uniform?”

A look of slight disappointment crossed his face. “A valkyrie is the hand that hovers over the pieces. Choosing who to put where. Choosing what they are to do. Making the difficult decisions that no one else can make. That valkyrie also happens to be a feminine name, well…what can I say? We have our style. I have always felt that women are underutilized in command roles. I consider myself an extender of opportunity.”

Shaking her head and smirking, she said, “Boy, you could sell water to a whale.”

“It is only the truth.”

She was sure that it wasn’t. “And so you want to make people like me and Esther the hand. To teach us how to be like you.”

At that, he hummed uncomfortably. “I would never wish you to be like me. That is a fate no good person deserves. But I do believe your meticulousness makes you valuable. Dangerous, even. You want to be both of those things, correct?”

Who didn’t? Just the same, the thought of becoming some dark puppet master just didn’t sound appealing. “With all due respect?” she asked before he could continue.

Already, his look of disappointment was evident. “Of course.”

“I’m not interested in being a valkyrie. That’s just…not my style. Being that ‘hand’ you keep talking about.” Sighing in disappointment, Antipov opened his mouth to speak, but her words cut him off. “I’d rather be a fulcrum.”

His eyes squinted, and he angled his head. The master of the eidola looked genuinely surprised. After a hesitation, he asked, “You wish to be a fulcrum?”

“Yeah, if…that’s what you call it, right?”

Leaning back in his chair, Antipov’s gaze swept over her, as if considering a thought he’d never explored before. As if, perhaps a little bit, he was even intrigued by it. “Are you sure that is what you want?”

“Let Esther play valkyrie. I’m a bit of a different breed.” Only weeks ago, the thought of being one with the Nightmen—being an actual fulcrum—would have been offensive. But now, in light of all of this? She’d have been lying to herself if she said she didn’t outright want it.

“You would be the first female fulcrum. And the first Nightman to have not committed murder.”

I can live with that. Whoa, wait a minute! Does that mean Esther murdered someone?

A thin smile stretched on his lips. “Fulcrum Rockwell,” he said, as if sounding it out and being satisfied with what he heard. “Welcome to the Nightmen. I will speak with Artur at once. I am sure that soon afterward, he will contact you for measurements.”

What Esther did is Esther’s business—and whatever’s done is done. Scott “murdered” someone, too, and we all know how that actually went down. “Nothing like a custom suit—especially if it’s a suit of armor.”

“Would you like to accompany me there now?”

At that, she paused. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to check on my comrades first. Make sure everyone is okay.”

“As you wish, then. I will relay my request to Artur, then get back to my own business. Here is my private comm frequency,” he said, extending his comm toward Natalie’s and linking the two. “If there is anything you require—anything at all—you will know where to reach me.”

“Thank you, general.”

At the mention of his title, he smiled and dipped his head. “Thank you, captain. Let us do good work.”

That was always the plan.

Without a parting word, Antipov walked out of the briefing room and disappeared into the halls.


There were so many thoughts spinning through Natalie’s head as she stepped into the hall. Forced to step aside as a pair of leash-led necrilids click-clacked past her, she gazed upon the world in which she now lived. Nightmen, necrilids, conspiracies. What in the world would be next?

“Captain Rockwell.”

Turning her head toward the new voice, Natalie saw Valentin Lukin standing in the hall. The pit-faced keeper beckoned her to approach. “I wish to speak with you,” he said, his dark brown eyes surveying her. “If you will follow me.” Immediately, he turned to lead her away.

“Hang on a minute,” she said. “I need to go back and check on my comrades first.”

There wasn’t even an attempt by Valentin to sound placating. “A task for a different time. Please, come with me now.”

A real winner, this one. “Look, pal, I have a crew that’s banged up and exhausted. I am going back to the medical bay to make sure they’ve been tended to, and if you don’t like that, we can take it up together with Antipov.” Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Behind her, Valentin snarled. “What is it with you Americans?”

“Yeah, we’re getting quite the reputation lately.”

“If you must see your crew, then please, take the elevator and see your godforsaken crew. I will follow right behind you. Then, we will have a word.”

Throwing up a hand, she said, “I will gladly submit to your queries once I’m done in the med bay.” Not attempting to hide her disgust, she marched toward the elevator.


The medical bay was packed; there were injured Nightmen everywhere, each being frantically triaged and attended to by what looked like every nurse Northern Forge had on staff. Gavriil Shubin was there, looking at a collage of X-ray images pulled straight from battlefield medical analyzers. Six other nurses were present, all of whom she recognized, though she only knew the names of Inna, the oldest nurse in the rotation, and Marina Antipova, who was Antipov’s daughter. It was the first time Natalie could remember the pixie-haired nurse without a scowl on her face, though considering the situation, it was understandable. The scene seemed too chaotic for anyone to have time to stop and smell the misery.

Almost as soon as she set foot into the room, Natalie found herself pushed against the back wall with Valentin, having to quickly step out of the way to allow some of the other nurses to pass. There were far too few beds to accommodate everyone who needed one, so many of the injured were sitting or leaning against the walls.

Next to her, Valentin lowered his chin. “It is as I told you. Everyone is being tended to.”

While the state of everyone “being tended to” was up for debate, what wasn’t was that Northern Forge, and particularly Gavriil Shubin, seemed to be doing the absolute best that they could in a situation they were ill-equipped to handle. Natalie looked for anyone she might find familiar. As it turned out, the only person who fit that bill was Lisa Tiffin. The Vector was lying on a table at the back of the room, her dark brown ponytail hanging as a pair of nurses worked over her.

Valentin must have noticed her, too. “Never in my darkest of dreams would I have expected to find a Vector in this place.”

I’m sure she never expected to find herself here, either, Natalie thought. “Where is everyone else? From my team?”

The keeper seemed to be looking for them, too. He shook his head. “I do not know. They must have been moved out. Were any of them seriously injured?”

“No. We lost a Nightman—Paul Kaverin—but that was it. The only other one who got injured was the Vector.” Inside, she chastised herself for relegating Lisa to just a title. I got into it with Logan for that very same thing with Ju`bajai. Speaking of Logan... Where was he in all this confusion? She found it unlikely that he’d have just slipped into the fold with everyone else. The survivors of the train hijack team all had friends and comrades here. The only person that Logan had was Natalie.

Seeming to mull over Natalie’s prior words, Valentin said, “I knew Kaverin.”

I know you did. He was one of the slayers you gave to us. With a base so small, it seemed that everyone would know everyone to some extent. How did it feel for Bedrich to be the sole survivor? Probably the same way that Feliks felt after Cairo, or Pyotr felt after Krasnoyarsk, or me after…everything. The Fourteenth seemed to have a way of picking up lost souls. Maybe Bedrich would end up becoming one of them, as Feliks and Pyotr practically had.

It was then that Natalie noticed a striking absence from the medical bay. Squinting her eyes with curiosity, she looked over at the bed where Max Axen had once been restrained. “Where is Max?”

Based on the dour expression that crossed Valentin’s face, the topic of Max was one of irritation. “He was not…conducive to the atmosphere here. He has been moved to his own room and is staying in a regular bed.”

Though she didn’t know Max terribly well, she could definitely see how the phrase “not conducive” might accurately describe him.

Raising a finger, Valentin left Natalie’s side to weave through the crowd toward Doctor Shubin. After a short exchange with the man, he returned to Natalie. “Your friends have been placed in rooms in the living quarters where they may shower and rest.”

Shower and rest. That sounded nice.

The keeper continued. “A debriefing has been set for 1600 hours in the conference room. You may, of course, get cleaned up and rested yourself.”

Nice-sounding or not, she scarcely felt she had time. She’d tough things out for the rest of the day and then collapse that night. “Is she going to be okay?” she asked, nodding her head in Lisa’s direction.

“I am sure,” answered the keeper. “Her situation does not seem to be dire. They will take care of her.”

Angling her head with a touch of suspicion, she asked, “And then what?”

“She will be placed in the containment cell until we…until the general figures out what to do with her.” He paused. “Have you seen enough to be content?”

Yes. No. She didn’t know. “Yeah,” she answered with a sigh. “If you want to talk, let’s go talk.” She’d track down everyone else afterward—if they weren’t all sacked out. “Thanks for taking me here.” Though it hadn’t done much good in the tangible sense outside of showing her the chaos of it all, it’d at least shown her that Valentine could be bargained with.

“Thank you,” he said with a sigh of his own. “Please, come with me.”


The trek to the keeper’s suite was as quiet and awkward as she imagined it’d be. It was Natalie’s first time visiting the place, though she’d known that it existed. After Nobu’s suite, it was hard to fathom being impressed with whatever the keeper had to offer. When Valentin opened the door, she realized she was wrong. Emerald eyes widening, she stared at the suite he called his own. It wasn’t that it was fancy—it wasn’t—it was just that it was…cozy. Warm. It looked like she’d stepped into an actual home that she could have found anywhere in rural America. The only thing missing was a crackling fireplace. “Nice pad,” she said, the understatement intentional.

“Have a seat.” He motioned to the loveseat as he walked to the sofa.

After padding her way to the loveseat, she turned to the wall nearest them. When she laid eyes on said wall, all warmth and comfort was sucked from her. Camera feeds. From one end of a massive, wall-mounted monitor to the next, there were camera feeds. The hangar. The mess hall. The infirmary. Holy smokes, he has cameras in our rooms! General surveillance was one thing, but this was outright voyeurism. “Oh, you’re kidding me.”

Immediately, he scoffed. “Why do you all act so surprised to see this? I am in charge of this facility. I need to know what takes place in it. I cannot physically be everywhere at once, so this is what must be done. Why is that so strange?”

“That you even have to ask why cameras in our rooms is strange is…” She didn’t have the words.

“Please, let us talk.”

Though the fully attuned way he was staring at her reminded her of Antipov, the impression it gave off couldn’t have been more contrasting. Antipov was completely relaxed and confident, with an expression that at times looked more bored than anything else. Valentin, on the other hand, looked like he might leap off the couch if so much as a cricket chirped. He looked totally strung out.

“Firstly,” he said, eyes averting from her briefly, “I need you to understand that despite whatever privilege Antipov may have insinuated you have at this facility, it is my word that is law here. While you are here, you will do as I say.”

Oh, you sad, sad man.

When she didn’t answer right away, his breathing intensified a bit. She could see it in the subtly increasing way that his chest moved up and down. After the most awkward eight-second pause she’d ever experienced, he raised his eyebrows. “Do you understand?”

She, too, drew in a breath—though it was far more relaxed and drawn out than the keeper’s. At long last and with a sigh, she answered, “Sure.”

He nodded right away. “Good. Because I don’t want you to think you can test me here.”

“You’re the man,” she said, a tad flippantly. “Message received.”

“Good.” Another nod, then he leaned back a bit. In the tiniest measure, he seemed to relax. “I am glad we are clear.”

If that was all this chat was about, she was going to be sorely disappointed.

“I have been instructed to give you the full report of what has taken place at the forge in the time you have been gone.”

Natalie narrowed her eyes peculiarly.

“We have brought in more workers from Norilsk. The forge is to be in full operation twenty-four hours a day.” He paused. “If any of you feel the need to resupply, please speak with Artur. I will ensure that he gives you and your new squad whatever is needed.”

“That’s very generous.”

“You have an extraterrestrial with you. The Ithini. She will be allowed the same freedom as the Ceratopian and necrilids, as she was given prior to the mission in Atami. I am sure she will be no trouble.”

Natalie shook her head. “She won’t be.”

“Good.” After a pause that looked like hesitation, he said, “I am concerned with the Vector and Logan Marshall. I do not wish either of them to be here, I will be honest.”

“Lisa won’t bother you. Kind of hard for her to when she’s locked up in a cell.”

Mouth twisting downward a bit, Valentin said, “Marshall troubles me more than she does.”

Figured. “Look, I get that in Japan, he’s kind of a big deal. But I assure you, the only thing he’ll want to do here is sulk off in some corner. He won’t create trouble.”

Valentin narrowed his eyes warily. When her expression remained clueless, he asked, “Are you aware of who Logan Marshall is to us?”

To them? Now that prompted an arched eyebrow and an odd look. “I am not aware. But I’m starting to get a feeling now that I should be.”

“Mm.”

What in the world is mm?

Stoic expression unchanged, Valentin sat a little more upright. Perhaps a bit of pride, knowing more about the man she’d spent time in Atlanta with than she did. “Then that will be something you will have to take up with Antipov, I’m afraid.” He paused. “Or Marshall himself.”

“Okay, time out.” She made the gesture with her hands. “If there’s something I don’t know about Logan that I need to, please tell me.”

“It is not my place to—”

“I’m making it your place,” she interrupted. “I demand to know what his relationship is with the Nightmen.”

A small curl emerged at the corner of his lips, and he chuckled. “Cute.”

She held up a fist. “I’ll cute these five knuckles square across your lower jaw.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“You’d better believe it is.”

He shook his head. “If I believed that you were serious—or that you could actually pose any threat to me whatsoever—I would probably be less inclined to answer you than I am. But because I believe neither of those things…”

Oh, you’re asking for it, mister.

“…when you speak to your friend, Marshall, ask him what the Ikeda-kai received in exchange for your delivery to us.”

So there was something to all that.

“More surprising than what it was is that Antipov was willing to barter with it at all.”

“I will most certainly ask him.”

His face remained deadpanned. “I hope that you do.”

“Okay, so. Yeah. I got a lot on my plate. Is there anything else you need from me? To ask of me? To yell at me about?” She pointed to the monitors. “You better not be watching me shower.”

Frankly, he stated, “If you knew me, you would know that I would never do that.”

“Why, are you gay?”

The expressionless look on his face hardened. He looked utterly unamused. “No.”

“Yeah, well.” She sighed. “You live in a sausage factory, so I wouldn’t have blamed you if you were.”

“May I speak candidly?”

She threw up her hands haphazardly. “Absolutely.”

“You are a very irritating woman.”

Had she not been in an increasingly foul mood, she might have appreciated the dryness with which he hurled the remark. Unfortunately, though, she had better things to do than marvel at Valentin’s wit. Rising to a stand, she said, “On that note, I’m going to leave.”

After nodding his head slowly, he gestured to the door. “Please do.”

It came to her as she was headed for the door that she’d watched Valentin officiate Jayden and Esther’s wedding, which meant he must’ve been part of a priesthood. Perhaps that’s what he’d meant by “had she known him at all.” Nonetheless, it was neither here nor there. She was ready to leave this room—as well as his most holy presence.

“Miss Rockwell.”

Stopping to face him, she said, “It’s captain, actually.”

“I sincerely hope we do not speak again.”

At that remark, she smirked. “Well, look at that, Lukin. I knew we could find common ground.” Taking a step backward, she pivoted and made her way out.


The elevator chimed as it reached Level-3, Natalie having bypassed the living quarters entirely in her quest to find Logan. There was zero chance he’d be spending time in tight quarters with the survivors of Falcon Platoon. It was more likely he was at a table by himself in the mess hall, filling his bottomless pit of a stomach. She’d begin her quest for him there. And even if she didn’t find him there, well…her stomach was rumbling a tad, anyway. Maybe she’d grab a snack. After ingesting the saltiness that was Valentin, she could go for something a little sweet. She felt like she’d earned it.

As it turned out, Logan was nowhere to be found in the cafeteria, which was as cramped as she’d ever seen it. It indeed seemed like this place was pulsing around the clock. As inconvenient as it was to dodge Russians with every step, there was something about the frenetic pace of it all that she kind of liked. It gave the whole environment a sense of urgency. Some might have shied away from that kind of nervous energy in a place, but she didn’t mind it. It made her feel like things needed to get done quickly.

Natalie found some processed cereal bars off to the side of the cafeteria atop a snack table, just as she’d hoped. But as she took one in hand, the alluring aroma of freshly grilled chicken wafted from the cafeteria and up her nostrils. It reminded her that despite the speed she felt she needed to maintain, eating real food was important. And so, despite the list of things she had to do, Natalie afforded herself the luxury of standing in line, receiving an actual meal, and sitting down to eat it. She didn’t even mind sitting on the floor. After all she’d been through, she was learning to appreciate minor inconveniences in ways she never had. That was a good thing, she thought. But not quite so good as a grilled chicken breast. If she could smuggle in a bottle of barbeque sauce, she’d be set. As soon as she finished eating, the hunt for Logan Marshall would resume.

She would see to it that proper answers would follow.


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