Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen


Thursday, March 29th, 0012 NE

1551 hours


EDEN Command




BORING. BORING, BORING, boring. Golly, Molly, this is boring. I wish I had some gum.

Every minute that ticked by in the silence of Tiffany and Scott’s confinement cell felt like an eternity. Tiffany wasn’t sure how long she and Scott had been there together, strapped to their respective seats, but judging by the toll the inactivity had taken on her mind, she was fairly certain it was at least six thousand years.

I wonder how long a cosmopolitan decade is. I know it’s like, a lot of decades, I bet we’ve been in this room for like, at least that long. Yeah, I really need some gum. Like, right now. Spearmint or something, or maybe cinnamon—yeah, cinnamon! Geez, I haven’t had cinnamon gum in a decade, and by decade, I mean a real decade, not that cosmopolitan stuff.

Scott hadn’t said a word to her—or made a sound, for that matter—since their last conversation; the one in which she’d let him know, in many uncertain terms, that she was still on his side and working on a plan. Were she able, she’d be pleased to report that in the time that’d passed, she’d effectively eliminated pick the locks and squirm free from the list of potential escape methods.

The cell door opened. Tiffany’s heart pounded. Presumably, Archer and his cronies had sent a squad to investigate the warehouse district in Norilsk—if there even was such a district at all. She knew a visit from him was inevitable upon his learning that she’d lied to him—at which point she planned to insist that she wasn’t lying and that the Nightmen must have moved somewhere else. Admittedly, it was a tough sell, but what other options did she have?

Much to her relief, it was not Archer, Oleg, or anyone else she recognized who walked through the door, but a young, olive-skinned woman with a tightly pulled ponytail. In her hands was a tray full of food. As the woman stepped inside, Scott weakly turned his head in her direction. Eyes lighting up, Tiffany asked, “Are you room service?”

The woman’s almond eyes narrowed. In a voice that sounded as annoyed as her Asian accent sounded melodic and twangy, she answered, “Base security. We will be bringing your food.”

“Oh, okay. Hey, what’s a cosmopolitan decade? And do you have any gum? I’m Tiffany.”

“Uhh.” The woman stopped at the verbal barrage, a faint look of confusion on her face. “Ching.”

Tiffany’s eyes brightened. “You have gum! Sweet! Is it cinnamon?”

“I do not have gum.”

“Oh.” The Valley Girl frowned a bit. “I thought when you said ching, that was like, you know, ding-ding-ding, you had some.”

The woman angled her head, eyes squinting at Tiffany in what seemed genuine bewilderment and borderline offense. “I am Ching.”

Tiffany hesitated before saying quietly, “Oooh.” She looked at the woman’s name badge. Ching, indeed. The blonde’s mind raced. Is she part of the conspiracy? What if she’s not? Maybe we could friend up. What if I win her over, the way Scott won over Natalie? But Scott was all heroic and stuff. I’d need to, like, save Ching’s life, first. That’s gonna be hard strapped to this chair. Maybe I can give her relationship advice. “I like your ponytail.”

Ching set down a folding tray stand next to Tiffany’s chair. “I am going to take off your handcuffs. Please do not do anything stupid.”

Stupid? Tiffany wouldn’t even consider it. Right now, the only goal in her life was to become the best friend Ching had ever had. “No problem, Ching.” Tiffany stayed still as the soldier took out a set of keys and then quickly worked to remove her hand restraints. “That’s a cute name. Is it Chinese?” She looked Chinese. But not really. Maybe, kinda?

“It is Chinese. I am Filipino.”

“Neat-o!” What would really be neat-o is if she could somehow—very quickly—come up with a way to ask Ching about her loyalties without technically asking about her loyalties. But there was no subtle way to ask, are you part of the conspiracy? And even if she came up with a code through which to ask it, how in the world was Ching supposed to pick up on said code? This was the same obstacle she was facing with Scott. There was so much she wanted to tell him to give him hope. She’d had that whole encounter with Willoughby, Rex Gabriel, and Reginald Custer at Sydney. Aussie help was on the way! If there was only some way she could have relayed that to him.

As soon as Tiffany was free, Ching stepped back and set her hands on her hips. Nodding to the tray, she said, “Grilled chicken breast, steamed broccoli, yellow rice. Dessert is vanilla custard.”

“Ohmygod, custard!”

Ching recoiled.

Slapping her hands over her mouth—a motion so quick it prompted Ching to put her hand on her weapon—Tiffany opened her eyes widely in panic. I did not mean to say that out loud, but holy smokes! Custard. Custer! If I can use custard as a code word for Reginald Custer, I might be onto something that Scott can pick up on. Ching was still staring, her eyes wide and alert as if at any moment, the crazy woman in front of her might attack. Even Scott was now fully attuned to the strange, brewing situation. Good. Lowering her hands from her mouth and knowing that she needed to play this off hard, she said emphatically, “I…love…custard.”

Still staring bug-eyed, Ching warily nodded her head.

“Ching…you don’t understand. Custard is like…oh my God. Have you ever had it?”

“…yes.”

Keep it up, girlie! “Is it not the best thing ever?”

Mouth hanging, Ching finally settled on a completely uncertain, “Yes?”

Scott’s totally watching me, and everyone’s thinking about custard! Perfect. It was time to make her play. “When I was a teenager in the Valley, me and my best friend, Sydney, would skate to this local creamery called Reggie’s Custard, and like, oh my God, if you love custard, Reggie’s Custard is the best…custard…ever.”

Crickets. Ching was staring at Tiffany like she was a new species of alien.

“Do you think you guys can get some here? You guys can get anything, right? Heck, for all we know, this base is in the Valley, right?” She was pretty sure it wasn’t. “Look it up. Reggie’s Custard. R-E-G-G-I-E-apostrophe-S, custard.” She looked away in feigned thought. “Or was it Reginald’s? No, no, it was Reggie’s. Reggie’s Custard. Can you find it?”

“Will you eat, please?”

Had she dropped enough hints? Was Scott picking it up? She didn’t want to keep carrying on at the risk of sounding too obvious. She hoped she hadn’t crossed that line already. All she could do now was pray that Scott had—

“I know that place,” Scott said from his bench, the words prompting Ching to turn her focus to him.

Goose bumps broke out on Tiffany’s arms. Had he just…? “You know Reggie’s Custard?”

“Oh yeah,” he answered. “We had one, too. Two, in fact. On each side of Lincoln.”

In. Like. Flynn!

“They had that green one, G-Rex, that was amazing. It was something strange, like avocado.”

Backflips! Scott was name-dropping Rex Gabriel. She had done it! The blonde from San Fernando had actually done it. “I loved G-Rex! It was totally sweet, not like you’d think an avocado would be at all.”

Hands still on her hips, Ching looked between the two of them. “Avocado custard?”

Holy smokes, we’re sucking in Ching! “Yeah, I know, right? Avocado custard does not sound good at all, but I’m telling you, it doesn’t even taste like avocado. Maybe just like, a little bit.” Ching, I know you don’t know me, but you’re going to be one of my best friends. We’re going to have slumber parties, paint each other’s nails, doo up our hair like, totally wild.

“I have never heard of anything like that,” Ching said.

“It was sooo good.” Time for secret message number two. “And one of the great things about Reggie’s Custard was that they actually delivered. They would deliver custard right to your door!” Just like Reginald Custer is coming to Northern Forge. Or at least, she assumed by her brief conversation with them that someone from Pelican Squad was. Or…she hoped they would. Or…

From the bench, Scott asked, “Really?”

Believe in it! “Yeah, really. Even if you lived like, really far away! They’d make the trip all the way out.” Giddy. Tingly. Tiffany was waving mental pompoms in the air.

“Man,” Scott said, his voice sounding genuinely surprised, as weak as it may have been. “I had no idea.”

“Well,” said Ching, gesturing with a head bob to the tray, “I must stay until you finish, so please, eat.”

Nodding her head enthusiastically, Tiffany reached for the tray, setting it on her lap. Without hesitation, she cut a piece of chicken breast with her plastic knife and shoved it into her mouth. With her mouth still full and chewing, she asked, “What about him?” She pointed at Scott. “Where’s his?”

Lowering her head somewhat, Ching answered, “He is on a special diet.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“Nothing.”

For a split second, Tiffany thought her Filipino counterpart was being elusive, up until she realized that nothing meant just that. Eyebrows arching painfully, she said, “…oh, man. That is…” Awful, was what it was. “That’s a bummer.” They were starving him.

“Even if I could offer him food, which I cannot, he is on a liquid-only diet. He could not eat any of this.”

“What about the custard?” At least that’d be something. “Could he have it if I gave it to him?”

The soldier shook her head. “I am sorry. No.”

“It’s okay, Tiff,” said Scott from the bench. “It’s okay.”

It’s not okay. You don’t deserve this. This wasn’t the way any of this was supposed to have gone. Not for any of them, but least of all for Scott. He’d already given so much in this fight. It’d all been on his shoulders, and she hadn’t heard him once complain about it. I’m gonna bust you out of here, captain. I’m gonna bust out both of us. And when we land back at Northern Forge, you’re not going to be on any liquid diet. I’m gonna order you a steak, with French fries and sautéed onions. And I’m gonna get you a real dessert, like warm apple pie with whipped cream on top and a side of vanilla bean ice cream. And I’m gonna help you get your woman back, and I’m gonna fix her hair up so nice and make her look like a princess, and then you’re gonna marry her and live happily ever after, because you deserve that.

“Eat, please.”

Ching’s words interrupted Tiffany’s thoughts. The Valley Girl considered glaring at her. But what would that do? Maybe Ching wasn’t a part of any of this. Maybe she didn’t know anything about Archer or the conspiracy. Maybe she thought she was doing good. Maybe she’d worked hard to get where she was. Maybe her family was so proud. No, Ching didn’t need a glare or a snippy remark for being so hard. On the inside, she was probably scared like everyone else. Scared of the future but trying her best. Looking down at the plate of food and the one piece of chicken she’d cut out, Tiffany thought about the man strapped to the bench across from her. And how hungry he must have been. How could she eat right there in front of him? She slowly picked up the tray and extended it back to Ching. “Ching, thank you for this meal. I appreciate that you brought it. But if he can’t eat, neither will I.”

“Tiff,” Scott said, “don’t do that. Eat.”

“I will not eat. Not if you can’t.”

The Filipino woman stared at her, standing motionless as if unsure how to respond, until at long last she stepped forward to retrieve the tray. For a fleeting moment, her eyes met Tiffany’s as she took a step back.

Tiffany took full advantage of it. “Ching, don’t ever stop being you. Don’t ever stop loving the people you love, and don’t ever stop believing in the things you believe in, even if it lands you in a place just like it did us.” The almond-eyed woman stared as Tiffany spoke. “You have a legacy to uphold. You have people to make proud. Your family. Yourself. The people who trust you to do your job well. Don’t ever forget how important and beautiful you are. You can still shine, even if you’re stuck in a place like this. I think you’re cool as hell, even if we just swapped stories about custard for like, two minutes. Those were awesome minutes, and I’m glad I got to share them with you, and I hope you try avocado custard one day and it’s the best custard you’ve ever had.”

The words just poured out in the way they always did with Tiffany, one after the other in rapid-fire succession. Pure, unbridled authenticity. Unrestrained optimism. Try as she might—and she had been trying—secret codes and spy games were not what Tiffany did. Those things seemed more up Esther’s alley. Tiffany preferred being a ray of yellow sunshine. One that, every now and then, found a way to break through the dark clouds in a person’s heart. She was proud of the food code she’d conjured up—but she knew it was more a stroke of luck than skill on her part. She would much rather win someone over than fool them. Whether or not that worked with Ching, or with anyone, she didn’t know. But not knowing was never a reason to not try. Tiffany had played the popularity game long enough to know that people could spot a fake a thousand miles away. She’d always gotten furthest when she’d just been herself. Sunny and bright.

Ching made no initial response to the words Tiffany had fired at her. She only stared blankly for a few moments, before setting the tray down and clamping Tiffany’s wrists back into their restraints. Without another word, she turned, carried the tray of uneaten food back out of the cell, and closed the door behind her.

For almost a full minute, the cell remained draped in silence. It was Scott who finally broke it. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

Tiffany took in the words before offering her own. “I’m sorry I told them about the warehouse.” It was still important to hold up the guise, no matter how ineffective it might ultimately prove to be.

“You might be the most innocent person I’ve ever known,” Scott said.

She pursed one side of her lips. “I’m not innocent.”

“Your heart is,” he said in response. “That’s the part that counts. Take your own advice and don’t ever change that. No matter what.”

“Roger, captain.” I hope you’re watching in that camera, Archer. I hope you see that we’re starting to not care anymore. When you come back from Norilsk empty-handed, there won’t be any more tricks. You’ll know exactly who the two of us are.

Two friends with a mutual love of imaginary custard.

Even in the direness of their situation, she had to smile a little bit at that.


Soon, Archer’s goons would discover that Northern Forge wasn’t in a warehouse in Norilsk. She’d try to make something up, of course, to buy herself and Scott time…but she was already readying herself for when that plan failed. Then boredom would give way to terror. She knew it. She felt it. This was Archer giving her a moment of leniency because he thought she might be trustworthy. That veil would fall hard.

She’d hold onto this moment of peace for as long as she could.



* * *



Ligaya Ching was halfway up the hallway to Confinement when she crossed paths with Jaya. When the young Indian woman—devoid of spectacles this time—saw the full tray of food, she paused and raised an eyebrow. “Was there a problem?”

Dipping her head just slightly, Ligaya answered, “She did not want to eat.”

“Why not?”

“Because he could not.”

After humming to herself, Jaya asked, “Did she say anything to you?”

The guard shook her head. “She mostly talked about food.”

“The food she didn’t want to eat?”

“That’s right.”

Jaya’s eyes rolled. “Be guarded when she speaks to you. She will try to fill your head with lies.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ligaya said, bowing her head in subservience.

With no further words, Jaya turned to make her way down the hall. Ligaya left Confinement alone.


OceanofPDF.com