Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Twenty-nine

Tuesday, April 10th, 0012 NE

1330 hours


Norilsk, Russia



THERE WAS SOMETHING to be said for normalcy. There’d been so much action, so much turmoil in Natalie’s life, between Cairo, and being kidnapped, and turning outlaw, and fleeing Japan, that her head felt in a constant state of spinning. But in this moment—in this calm, meditative moment between reverse warrior and warrior one—she found herself feeling completely normal.

Yoga was not necessarily Natalie’s thing. She respected the hell out of people who did it religiously, and every time she’d gotten herself on a kick of it, she’d felt surprising results for the simplicity involved. When it came to working out, the Nebraska girl found herself somewhat old-fashioned. Jogging, lifting weights, running through tires, crawling through a muddy obstacle course. Those things felt real. Visceral. She couldn’t help but feel that yoga, though undoubtedly effective, was more Californian than red-state American. Best enjoyed by people who preferred their burgers made of soy. Until, of course, it was the only thing she could do.

With Northern Forge’s weight room in a constant state of bustling occupancy, and with jogging through the jam-packed base a non-option, Natalie found herself resorting to what she could do on her own time, in her own room, with no equipment involved: push-ups, sit-ups, and of course, yoga. She wasn’t the best at the various balancing acts the video she was following along with had her doing, but she was hanging in there. She was certainly feeling it, both in her shaking thigh muscles and in the damp, sweat-darkened strands of hair that fell over her forehead. She had to give yoga pros their props. This stuff wasn’t easy.

Nothing was.

Over the past several days, Natalie had found herself growing more and more anxious for whatever it was Antipov had in store to strike back at EDEN. The addition of Pelican Squad to the mix only heightened her sense that something crazy was on the horizon. There’d been absolutely no talk of Becker, or the Pelicans, or Sydney since their short visit and departure. It was as if the whole of the Nightman presence at Northern Forge decided to pretend it never happened.

Natalie had scarcely seen Antipov since that day. Sequestered in his quarters, wherever they were, she figured he must have been in full-fledged preparation mode for the fight ahead. The only word she’d personally heard from him was a text message on her comm a full day after she’d tried on her fulcrum armor, asking simply, “did it fit?”

“Like a glove,” she’d replied.

And that was it. No follow-up, no orders, no “good to hear it.” It felt a little bit cold, considering the warmth and honesty with which he’d welcomed her into the fold. But it was what it was. He had his prerogatives, and she had hers—namely, getting into the best combat shape she could possibly pull off. Yoga, for all of its calmness and grace, was serving that purpose quite well. She was feeling muscle strands tremble that she didn’t know she had.

“Can we talk for a minute?”

Shrieking, Natalie spun around, fell on her rear, and scampered back until she was standing. With her heart drumming, she heaved startled breaths as she eyed the voice’s source. That alien, that high-ponytailed version of Esther, was standing there in the bathroom doorway. Closing her eyes, Natalie lowered her head. “God, Ju`bajai, do you have to just appear? I mean,” she pointed behind her toward the room door, voice still breathless, “can’t you just pretend to knock?”

The construct’s expression remained serious. “It’s about Esther.”

“It’s about Esther,” Natalie said, nodding her head in exhausted defeat before holding her arms out. “All right. Tell me about Esther.”

“She’s being lied to.”

If the tease was meant to pique her interest, it worked. “What do you mean?”

Eyes narrowed, Ju`bajai answered, “All this time, she’s been told that her husband might be alive. That he might be one of the survivors.” The construct paused. “He isn’t.”

Half shaking her head, Natalie took a step closer. “Wait a minute.” Any frustration she’d had with the Ithini’s unexpected arrival was gone, now. “Ju`bajai, what are you saying?”

“The survivor,” she answered Natalie plainly. “It’s not Jayden. It’s Becan McCrae.”

Becan McCrae! Running her hand through her sweaty strands, Natalie found herself staring dumbfounded at the construct in front of her. The survivor was Becan? How did she know? Had Antipov not told them the survivor was unknown? “Antipov told us—”

“—what we needed to hear to be motivated,” Ju`bajai interrupted. “Or more specifically, what Esther needed to hear. Because he knew that if it might be Jay, she would show up at EDEN Command ready to fight tooth and nail. An angry Esther is an effective Esther. It’s also a dangerous one. And that’s what he wanted.”

“How do you…?”

For the first time, the construct moved, stepping away from the bathroom to walk into the room. “Ever since I arrived here, I’ve been trying to crack Antipov’s mind. He’s the most mysterious person on Earth. Call it a personal challenge.” She stopped strolling and faced Natalie. “It took days to get to the point where I could glean anything at all—and almost nothing of actual significance. But I continued to try, risking detection to try and hack the most secretive man in the world. After nearly around-the-clock effort, it finally worked.” The construct stared Natalie in the eyes. “He has known the survivor was Becan from the very beginning. His man in EDEN Command told him. He made the decision to keep it from Esther to string her along. To make sure she remained an effective tool, with her batteries running on hope.”

But Esther didn’t want Jayden to be the survivor. She said she was pulling for Becan.

Detecting Natalie’s thoughts, the construct gave her a disappointed look. “Do you really think that’s what she wanted?”

Turning away, Natalie pressed her hand to her forehead. Her mind raced. What did this change? On an operational level, nothing. But on a personal one? This would matter to Esther. This would affect her whole outlook, her mindset. This would tear her apart. She’d been an emotional wreck since Japan. She could have known the truth from the beginning. He let her suffer to get what he wanted: a motivated soldier. He knew she was being tormented. He didn’t care. She felt the anger rising within her. After all she’d done for him, how could he? She didn’t just deserve to know the truth. For her own sanity, she needed it.

Eyes still on Natalie, the construct seemed to be holding her breath. Keeping something within. Only when Natalie picked up on her silence and turned to regard her again did Ju`bajai speak on. “That’s not the only thing he hasn’t told you.”



* * *


Ten minutes later



Antipov was in the middle of a conference when a red-faced Natalie burst through the door. All of the men present—Antipov, Saretok, Valentin, and a small collection of fulcrums—flinched at the sudden and unexpected arrival. Before anyone at the table could speak, Natalie locked eyes with Antipov and pointed her finger. “You and me are gonna talk.”

“Fulcrum Rockwell,” said Antipov, tone steady despite the disruption. “Is there something I can—”

“You’re damn right there is.” Storming around the table as the wide-eyed fulcrums swiveled in their chairs, she stopped when she was standing directly across from him. “Why did you stop Lilan’s video from going public?”

Instantly, Antipov’s expression changed. His softer, placating expression narrowed. He locked eyes on her.

She wasn’t through yet. “And after you explain that to me in a way that makes sense, you’re going to tell me why you haven’t told Esther that her husband is dead.”

A low chuckle escaped Saretok’s lips. The mohawked fulcrum looked down and away.

“If you gentlemen will excuse me,” said Antipov lowly, “I must speak with our newest fulcrum.”

“Take all the time you need with your fulcrum,” Saretok said. “She is certainly not mine.”

Ignoring the colonel, Natalie stepped into the hallway. With fists hot as fire, she waited for Antipov to join her. When he closed the door to the conference room behind him and turned to face her, she jumped right back into it. “I hope you’ve got some good answers, because—”

Slap!

His palm smacked against the side of her face. Stepping back, she touched her cheek and stared at him with her jaw hanging.

Antipov’s face was twisted—enraged. “If you ever show me such disrespect again, I will have you thrown off this mountain,” he snarled. “Do you understand, fulcrum?”

“I—” She didn’t know what she understood. Her head was still spinning.

He continued. “I did not release Colonel Lilan’s message because I did not want to tip off EDEN that we had an advantage. It is for the same reason one does not show their hand when they play cards. You keep such valuable things close until it is time they be played.”

When she opened her mouth to speak, he went right on.

“And I have not informed Mrs. Timmons of her husband’s death because I do not want to lose her before the most important battle we have ever faced. There are many things I can determine. Her reaction to such a revelation is not one of them.”

“You owe her,” she said, barely able to get the words out.

Shaking his head, he said, “I owe nothing to anyone or anything except as it pertains to this planet’s future. That is where my priorities lie, not with you or anyone else here. Not even with my own daughter.”

“You do owe it to Esther. She’s given you everything.”

“If she gave me everything, she would be dead.”

“Some things are worse, like having your heart ripped to shreds every single day. Not knowing if someone you love is dead or not. That’s killing her, and it’s not right.”

His face was still flushed. “What is all this to you? How did you get this information?”

The last thing she wanted to do was implicate Ju`bajai. It was best if Antipov didn’t know where she’d gotten this from.

“The Ithini,” he snarled.

Busted.

“I will ring her skinny neck.”

“Esther and Ju`bajai have a kinship. I guess kind of like sisters.” That was as good a way of explaining it that could make sense. “You’re not going to hurt Ju`bajai because we need her. And you’re going to tell Esther the truth because you care about her.”

At that, he laughed. “How you overestimate.”

“You do. You can’t tell me you don’t. Esther has been there for you, time and time again. She’s busted her tail for you, she’s given you every ounce of courage and trust she could possibly give. That’s worth something.”

“And if she chooses not to partake? If she chooses to abandon this whole effort? What use would that be?”

Natalie threw her hands out. “If she leaves, she leaves. If she abandons us, so be it. But I don’t think she will.”

“Timmons is dead. How do you think she will react?”

“She’ll bawl her eyes out. She’ll react like any widow. But don’t count her out. You can’t not tell her out of fear that she’ll leave—her leaving is a chance you have to take.”

Once more, he shook his head. “No, it is not.”

This was more than about grief—it was about Esther’s character. And that, Natalie would defend. “You need to let her make the choice. You need to trust her like she trusts you.”

“She does not trust me.”

“Yeah, well, you know what? I don’t either. I guess that’s the downside of being the leader of a spy agency.” None of that mattered. “Esther has done everything you’ve ever asked of her. She busted a Ceratopian out of Cairo, for God’s sake.” She leaned closer. “Give her a chance to make the right decision. Give her a chance to make you proud for reasons you never expected.”

For what it was worth, he seemed to be calming down. Several seconds passed before he spoke again. “You need to understand that for what lies ahead, I need everyone at their absolute best.”

She did understand. “Esther will give you that.”

“Will she?”

“Yes.” In truth, there was no way to tell. “But even if she doesn’t, you have us. You have the Fourteenth of Novosibirsk. You have Falcon Platoon and the captain of the Caracals. We got this.” As she came down herself, she felt her own breathing slow. “Tell Esther. Tell her, and let her make her choice. She’s a better person than you think.”

“In my experience with people, Miss Rockwell, I’ve found they are rarely better than I think they are.”

She’d give him that one—so long as he gave Esther a chance. “You never know until you try.”

“That much, I will give you, is true.”

“So you’ll tell her?”

He hesitated. “I will consider the ramifications of telling her.”

“Come on, you can give me better than that.”

“It is best if you leave.”

Best if she left. It wasn’t the answer or the closing she was hoping for, but at least the conversation had gotten that far. That was a good thing considering how it’d begun. “Yes, sir.” Taking a step back, she turned to walk away from him, only to stop and turn back again. “Hey, look, about that video—”

“It is best…if you leave.”

All she was going to say was that she understood. That was it. “I’m sorry I questioned you.” She wasn’t, but it was a better note to end on than, “you’re a lying sack of scum.”

After a short pause, he dipped his head in acknowledgment. Turning from her, he reopened the conference room door and stepped inside.


Back in the conference room, Antipov lowered himself down into the chair. Of everyone in the room, only Saretok dared smirk in his direction. “Is there a problem with your experiment, Iosif?”

Staring ahead in what looked like deep thought, Antipov asked, “Which one?”

Saretok laughed boisterously. “I told you long ago, you make a mistake including women in your plans. They are good for nothing but trouble.”

“Some have served me well.”

“All the women who served me well were in bed!” When he laughed, several of the fulcrums did, too, a tad hesitantly. When it became apparent that Antipov wasn’t laughing with them, Saretok leaned forward against the table and looked the general’s way. “Women make men weak. Look at him,” he said, pointing at Valentin. “Look at how much stronger he became when his wife died.”

On the other end of the table, Valentin looked Saretok’s way. He didn’t say a word.

“When you remove such an emotional burden, you become so much stronger. That is what women are. They drag us to the ground. There should be no place for them in the Nightmen.”

All the while Saretok spoke, Antipov said nothing. He simply stared ahead at the table as if in deep, distant thought.

Angling his head, Saretok asked, “Are you all right, Iosif?”

“Tell me,” he said to Saretok without looking, “what do you feel you owe your most loyal fulcrums? What lengths would you go to be good to them?”

“There is no length I would not go,” he answered. “A fearsome warrior is a great asset. I owe them much.” His eyes narrowed. “But I know when you ask the question, you are thinking of the woman.”

Still, Antipov stared ahead. “The woman.”

“That helped you in Cairo.” He harrumphed. “Let her run away and cry. You will be better off for it.”

“Is that how you would handle this situation?”

He nodded. “It is.”

For several seconds, Antipov made no reaction, until finally, he nodded his head. “Thank you, Grigori. Knowing that makes my decision clearer.”

“Glad I could help,” he said loudly, slamming his massive fist on the table. “Now let us return to work! There is much to discuss.”

“There is,” Antipov said. Breaking his stare from the void, he looked at the gathering again. “Yes, there certainly is.”



* * *



It was the weakest Natalie had felt in a very long time. As she walked away from the briefing room and toward the elevator, the only thought that came to her was, he just totally owned me. The emerald-eyed captain was never one to back down from a fight, yet all it took was a slap in the face from Iosif Antipov to throw her entirely off balance, righteous anger and all. It’d shocked her. It’d frazzled her. Even though she’d managed to get her point across in the end, the confidence with which she’d done so left much to be desired.

She felt defeated.

I didn’t even fight back. I just took what he dished out like I deserved it. That’s not me.

It begged the question, who was she, exactly? “Fulcrum Rockwell” had a ring to it—one dark and dangerous. And what woman didn’t want to feel that to some extent? But what did it mean to be Fulcrum Rockwell? If it meant total subservience to her Nightman masters, well, she was fitting that bill just fine.

Stop overthinking. Muster up some confidence and get your head on straight. After clearing her throat as she tried to do just that, she sucked in a breath and stepped into the elevator.

For as many things as she could knock Antipov for, she couldn’t hit him for a lack of thinking things through. His rationale for not releasing Lilan’s video message and for keeping Jayden’s death from Esther made a measure of sense, even if she didn’t particularly care for them. She understood where he was coming from; she just happened to disagree.

Which left her…conflicted. About what he was doing. About what she would have done. About the way she’d approached it and how she’d approach those same topics moving forward, namely the one of Jayden’s death. She wanted to give Antipov a chance to tell the scout the truth, but what if he didn’t? Would she take it upon herself to tell her? How would that conversation go? She didn’t want to think about it.

The elevator door opened, and Natalie stepped onto Level-4, the living quarters. Sliding her hands into the pockets of her black, Nightman uniform, she lowered her head a bit and walked down the hall. About halfway down it, she looked up again. Far ahead, someone was being taken into the medical bay. By the look of it, it was just a worker—but it wasn’t the worker that’d caught her attention. It was who she’d seen farther inside the medical bay, oh so briefly, as the door had been opened.

Lisa Tiffin.

The captured Vector was still sitting in her cell, and though Natalie’s eyes had found her in the distance, it didn’t appear as if Lisa had seen Natalie. For a moment, Natalie stood there, watching the younger woman sitting with her back against the cell glass, much as Natalie herself had not so long ago.

What has she been doing all this time? Has anyone gone to see her? Surely, Antipov must have.

How the Vector must have felt. Natalie could certainly relate, having sat in that same glass cell, her hatred for Scott and his outlaws stewing until they’d finally begun to chip away at her and show her who they were and what they were doing, and then to extend that olive branch to her and say, “we don’t want to fight you, we want you to join us.” Natalie had tried that with Lisa in Japan. It hadn’t worked so well.

Was it worth trying again?

Her gut said yes, and she soon found herself walking toward the medical bay to give altruism another try. If Antipov visited her, surely he must’ve played for her that recording. It seemed such an obvious course of action, but then again, so did releasing Lilan’s video testimony to the world. There was always something ulterior with Antipov. There was always another angle being played. She couldn’t assume that he’d told Lisa anything.

Entering the room, she saw that Marina, Antipov’s daughter, was the nurse on duty. Marina seemed far too busy with the injured worker to pay Natalie any real mind, which was fine by her. As she approached the quarantine cell that Lisa was in, she saw that the soldier’s shoulder was bandaged where she’d been shot by Youko. It looked like a standard wound treatment, which told Natalie that the wound was nothing serious. As Lisa caught sight of her, the Vector’s eyes narrowed; she rose from the floor. Before Natalie could speak, the ponytailed brunette addressed her. “Nice outfit. I see your true colors are showing.”

Natalie wasn’t getting sucked into a tit-for-tat. “Did you hear the recording?” she asked, getting right to the point.

“The recording?” Lisa asked, expression unchanged.

“With Archer. And the Ceratopians. The evidence we went to Japan for.”

Feigning surprise, Lisa said, “Oh yes, that.”

“So you did hear it.”

“No. I’m afraid I actually have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Trying her hardest to maintain her composure, Natalie said, “We have the audio recording of Archer conspiring with Ceratopians. It’s him, as plain as day. I could get Antipov to play it for you.”

Lisa cocked her head. “Are you really still trying to make that sell?”

“Make what sell?”

“Your conspiracy rubbish.”

Placing her palm against the cell glass, Natalie leaned against it. “It’s not rubbish. When you hear it, you’ll know.”

“Nothing can justify what you’ve done—nothing,” the Vector sneered. “You’ve allied with a sadistic murder cult, you’ve killed innocent people everywhere you’ve gone, and oh yeah, you’re actively working with extraterrestrials of every bloody make and model. I don’t care what kind of fabricated recording you play for me. I won’t believe it.”

“I was like you, you know.”

“Remarkably talented?”

Natalie pressed her lips together. She felt them quiver with frustration. Inhaling a calming breath, she continued. “I was so angry at Scott Remington and his comrades that I couldn’t see the forest for the trees. I couldn’t see the truth, even when I was presented with the evidence. The fact that Lilan and the Falcons were alive should have been enough. The only fabrications going on here are the ones of EDEN’s creation.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Does anyone here strike you as delusional?”

Her lips curled. “You have to ask?”

Natalie’s eyes shifted to regard a photograph taped to the wall. It was one of the pictures from Jayden and Esther’s wedding. Marching to it, Natalie pulled it off the wall then pressed it against the glass. “Look at this. This was from Esther’s wedding, right here in this room. Does this look like a group of delusional people?”

Forced to look at the photo, Lisa’s initial reaction was to glare at it. Then slowly, she leaned in curiously. “That’s her wedding?”

“Yeah, that’s her wedding. It was as normal as normal could be. It was beautiful.”

Lisa’s lips formed the “wh” sound, the expression lingering on her face as she eyed the photo suspiciously. “What is she holding?”

“What?” Pulling back the photo, Natalie looked at it. Oh, come on, don’t focus on the must—

“Is that mustard?”

Of course she’d focus on it. “Yeah, it’s mustard. But the whole point of this is—”

“Was it like, an advertisement?” Angling her head, she looked at it again.

“It was supposed to be…” Pressing her lips together, she half-shook her head. “So the woman she wanted as her maid of honor wasn’t there…”

Lisa’s eyes widened. “So she used a jar of mustard?”

“…yeah.”

“You’re using this picture to show off your normalcy, and Esther’s maid of honor is a jar of bloody mustard?”

Natalie growled. “Okay, enough about the mustard!”

“Did mayonnaise have other obligations?”

So much for relatability. Natalie pulled the picture away. “The whole point I’m trying to make is that this isn’t a group of crazies. Mustard aside, forget the mustard, I’m talking about the way they carry themselves, the way they live. This isn’t a terrorist hate group, they’re real people who were sucked into a situation that wasn’t of their making, but once they got into it, they couldn’t turn a blind eye. They’re people just like me.” If Lisa would just listen for a minute. If she’d just hear what Natalie was actually telling her instead of spouting off. “What I’m showing you are pieces of a bigger picture. Are you even aware of why Remington got involved in this at all?”

“Would it make a difference?”

“He encountered a Ceratopian at the Interspecies Conflict. That Ceratopian talked to him in German.”

At that, Lisa raised an eyebrow.

“That Ceratopian was trying to relay a message to your boss, Captain Faerber. He knew Faerber was the most renown soldier on the planet, so he tried to send him a message. Do you know what that message was?”

Lisa narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“It was, ‘The Archer betrays you.’ As in Benjamin Archer. There are apparently factions within the Ceratopians—one is conspiring with Archer, one is trying to warn us. The Ceratopian that talked to Scott—his name was H`laar—was with the faction trying to warn us. He did the only thing he knew how to do: contact Earth’s greatest warrior. The leader of Vector Squad.”

For what it was worth, Lisa seemed to be listening.

“That’s why I want you to hear the recording. I want to get it from Antipov, I want you to hear it. I turned even before I heard it, because everything else was just starting to add up. Falcon Platoon’s survival, Lilan’s testimony. These things painted a bigger picture that I couldn’t ignore if I wanted to, and let me assure you, I wanted to. There was no love lost for anyone in the Fourteenth after plucking me out of Cairo the way they did. But I couldn’t ignore the truth, regardless of how inconvenient it happened to be for me.

“Then I heard the recording. And boy, is it a recording. You need to hear it. It will validate every single thing I’ve told you. It’ll make you see this from an entirely different angle. Just put yourself in their shoes. What if you knew a truth that no one else knew? What if it was a truth that changed everything? Your ideals, what you believed to be right, the fate of humankind, everything. If you can believe that, if you’re even willing to entertain the possibility, then you can start to understand the completely unenviable situation that the Fourteenth and Falcon Platoon were put in. Then, you can start to turn around.”

It was a mouthful, and it’d all come out in a blazing, stream-of-consciousness avalanche. She hoped it made sense. Allowing herself to take a breath, Natalie watched to see if she’d get any reaction from Lisa. Any at all.

Lisa’s eyes narrowed.

Fantastic.

“Do you want to know what I think?”

Natalie already knew.

Lisa leaned her head closer. “I think you’re all proper fools. I think you’ve been manipulated and you’re too idiotic to see it. How else could you justify what you did at Hami Station? In Japan?”

“See the bigger picture. I’m going to get you the recording.”

“To hell with the bloody recording. It’s 0012, do you think recordings can’t be fabricated?”

Stubborn. This girl was so stubborn. “It wasn’t.”

“And you know this how?”

“I just know it. You didn’t see how EDEN was on the train. I wish I had a recording of that. They used Scott’s little brother as leverage. They were going to kill him if Scott didn’t turn himself in.” God, she was so frustrated. “What would it take, Tiffin? What would it take for you to soften your heart for just one second and give me the benefit of the doubt? You don’t like this uniform I’m wearing, but do you know what? The Nightmen are the only ones who’ve been telling the truth.” Except for all the lies. “They’re terrible in their own right, yes. But not in this fight. In this fight, they’re—”

Interrupting, Lisa asked, “They’re what? The lesser of two evils? Does that make them good?” Making a scrunched face, she nodded at Natalie’s black outfit. “Does wearing that make you proud? The uniform of a military cult that made people commit murder to join their ranks? Do you not see the slippery slope you’re on?”

“They’re not murdering anymore. That part’s going away.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that after Japan? You killed innocent police officers.”

Infuriating. “They were going to kill us. It was life or death, we had to pull the triggers or die. For what it was worth, I tried my best not to shoot anyone.”

Lisa cocked her head, her ponytail dangling to the side. “I’m sure that’ll make their families feel so much better.”

Setting her hands on her hips, Natalie looked down, closed her eyes, and sighed. “You’re just not going to listen.”

“Finally,” said the Vector, her voice lowering. “Something we both agree on.”

There was nothing else to talk about. Nothing else to try. Lisa wouldn’t listen to personal testimonies. She wouldn’t consider the validity of the recording. The Vector was set in her ways and that was that. Turning from the quarantine cell, Natalie pinned the photograph back to the wall. Looking back at the cell, she said, “If you decide to reconsider, you know how to get in touch with me.” As Natalie walked toward the door to leave, Lisa addressed her from behind.

“Before you go. There is something I want to tell you, sincerely.”

Natalie turned around.

“I hope you die slowly.”

No expression came to Natalie when Lisa said the words. Only the thoughts, I understand now, Esther. I understand why you mocked her when she failed. Turning away, she walked out of the medical bay back into the hall.


What an incredibly frustrating afternoon. The revelation from Ju`bajai. The bomb of a confrontation with Antipov. The back and forth with Lisa. It was like she’d scheduled all her weekly disappointments for one day.

Esther…God, how is Esther going to react?

She couldn’t imagine it, had she been in the scout’s shoes. The last thing she wanted was to have to deliver the news herself—but if that was what she was called upon to do, so be it. She felt she and Esther had grown close enough to make such a conversation possible. Still, if Antipov was willing to alleviate that burden from her—if her pitifully prepared chat with him had borne any fruit whatsoever—all the better. It would be one less awful thing she’d have to do.

When Natalie opened the door to her room and stepped inside, any hope she had of resuming her yoga workout was abandoned when she saw Mark Remington standing along the far wall. With all of the survivors crammed into a single room, it was rare that someone else wasn’t present. The cadet, damp-haired from what must’ve been a shower, flinched as soon as she entered. Upon facing her, he snapped to an uncomfortable attention. “Ma’am.”

The softest of laughs escaped Natalie’s lips. This poor kid. Waving her hand nonchalantly, she said, “At ease. You don’t have to do all that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said nervously, only partially relaxing his posture.

“Seriously. Loosen up.”

Swallowing, Mark nodded his head. “Yes, ma’am—I mean, o-kay.”

There was nothing okay about the way he said okay. The boy was wound up like a clock. Not that she could blame him, what with all he’d been through.

Out of everyone who’d returned from Japan, Natalie had probably seen Mark the most while simultaneously talking to him the least. That’s because he was always there, standing awkwardly in the background while everyone else chattered away or discussed business. At times, it broke her heart to see someone so wanting to be involved and present in case someone needed him, yet not being needed at all. He wasn’t up to snuff on the battlefield. He wasn’t experienced enough to be a part of the planning process. So what exactly was he?

Terrified. In Japan. At Northern Forge. Everywhere. How could she not feel brokenhearted to see it? Lowering herself on the edge of a bottom bunk—one of three bunk beds crammed into the room—she sighed and let her eyes roam. “They got us packed in here like sardines, right?” Though the Fourteenth had been given decent accommodations next to the medical bay, Natalie, Mark, and the survivors of Falcon Platoon had been forced to crash together like everyone else at the base. Javon and Tom were bunked together, as were Natalie and Catalina—the wheelchair-bound Canadian forced to claim a bottom bunk. Mark was in a bunk alone. At least Logan hadn’t opted to sleep with them. The Australian was living like a hermit, sleeping in various corners of the base outside the flow of traffic. Appropriate for such a recluse as him.

Smiling timidly at her comment, Mark nodded his head. “Yeah, it’s not so bad, I guess.”

“Yes, it is.” There was no way to sugarcoat it. Offering him a smile as she leaned forward against her knees, she asked, “How you doing, Remington?” No need to beat around the bush. Someone needed to check on this kid.

“I’m doing good,” he answered. “Been…keeping busy.”

God, that hurt so much to hear. It hurt because none of it was true. “Thanks for answering—now let me ask you another question.” She dipped her head a bit to peer into him. Tone lowering, she asked again, “How are you doing, Remington?”

The look on Mark’s face changed. Slowly, the fake smile melted away. The flat-lined lips and blank stare of a scared cadet took its place.

Natalie found herself sadly smiling, herself. “That’s what I thought.” Nodding at the bunk in front of her, she said, “Come sit down. Talk to me.” She was a decade older than him. Surely, she could impart wisdom. Perhaps it was her maternal instincts finally getting a chance to be put to use. Maybe she just wanted something good to come out of today. After the smallest of hesitations, Mark walked over to the bunk in front of her and sat, propping his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward, just like her. “You must be so…” What was the right word? Tired? Lost? Sick to his stomach? She sought his eyes for the right answer. “You must be so dizzy.”

He looked at her oddly. “Dizzy, ma’am?”

“You’ve been spinning around so much. Philadelphia, then EDEN Command, then Japan. Now you’re here, and just…out of place.”

Looking down, Mark blew out a breath. It was acknowledgment. “I don’t know what to do here. Everywhere I go, I’m…” Like her, he seemed at a loss to put a word on it.

“In the way?”

“Ma’am, am I in the way?”

That, she could answer honestly. “Yeah.” Laughing softly, she nodded. “Yeah, you are. Just like I am. Just like everyone else in this room is. Just like I imagine everyone at Northern Forge is feeling right now. So if your question is if you’re in the way, then it may not be the answer you want. But if you’re asking if you’re alone…Remington, you’re anything but.”

It seemed to bring him little solace. “I’m trying, ma’am. I’m trying so hard. Before EDEN picked me up from Philadelphia, I was just learning how to use my analyzer. Now I’m…” He shook his head. “I’m just failing. I killed Colonel Lilan, and—”

“You did not kill Colonel Lilan.”

“He died because I couldn’t save him.”

What unfair guilt to live with. “You were put in a situation you should have never been put into. No one could have expected to save someone under those circumstances, with that little real-world experience.”

Mark’s face hardened, a tinge of determination setting in. “I want to get better. I want to be useful, an asset. I mean, I went into EDEN to be a medic. I still want to be one.”

“You’re not combat ready.”

“I know, I—” He made a fist, reaching out with it as if he was trying to clench the right word as it floated by. But he came up empty. “What do I have to do, ma’am? If you tell me what I have to do, if you show me…” He didn’t know where to go with it. “If you just tell me to do something, I will try my absolute hardest to do it.”

She believed him. “Well, you’ve got that Remington gusto, so that’s a plus.” Even saying the comment, she knew it wasn’t helpful. He was looking for something tangible from her. She just didn’t know what to give him. “Look, I’m not a medic. I don’t know the first thing about patching someone up, or using an analyzer, or anything like that. But I imagine that if you want to get better at those things, you could swing over to the medical bay and just volunteer. Or ask to shadow. They’ve been up to their necks in all kinds of problems since we showed up, an extra set of hands might be useful.”

“But it’s not just that, ma’am. When we were in those woods, and everything was happening…”

He was talking about Atami.

“…it felt like everything I knew, what little it was, just went out the window. I couldn’t think, I could barely move. Quinton was yelling at me to save Lilan, and I just—”

An ugh escaped from her. “Forget that. Wash it from your memory. I promise you, Javon doesn’t hold it against you.” She’d heard plenty about the situation from Javon—enough to know that the specific topic of Mark’s failure wasn’t a focal point. “You were flustered, he was flustered. Come to find out, when people are getting thrust into new and terrifying situations while simultaneously being shot at, they get a little bit flustered.”

His frown deepened. “I don’t see that happening to you, ma’am.”

“Ha!” She stretched her arms back and leaned against her palms. “Cadet, I’ve been in more flustering situations than you can even imagine. Cairo was one massive fluster. Your big brother flustered me a time or two.” In some ways she wouldn’t mention. “We’ve all had the rug swept out from under our feet, usually at the worst possible times. The question is whether or not you let those situations defeat you. You know the old adage: you get knocked off the horse, you get right back on.” Her grin widened a bit. “You just happen to be rolling with wild mustangs.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Surely the Fourteenth has reached out to you?”

“They have, yes, ma’am.”

She angled her head. “I saw Esther spending time with you back in Japan. Did that translate at all over here?”

“Yeah,” he answered quickly, “she’s been great. Every now and then she’s come and talked to me, but…it just…it just seems like she’s dealing with a lot.”

“She is.” And she was about to be dealing with even more. “But still, that should have made you feel a little bit good, right? Then there’s David, Max, William, Boris…I mean, some of them must have reached out to you, right?” They better have.

Thankfully, he answered quickly. “They did. The Fourteenth has been great. They always invite me places, they try to, you know…make me feel included.”

Arching an eyebrow, she asked, “That’s a good thing, right?”

“It just feels like they think I’m just a kid.”

You are just a kid. Despite the statement’s truth, she knew it wasn’t the right thing to say. “They’re probably just not used to having someone so young around.” Which was a polite way of saying…he was just a kid. “And by young, I mean—”

Mark sighed and looked down. “I know what you mean, ma’am.”

“Augh!” She couldn’t help it. The sad puppy eyes were starting to kill her. “Mark, listen to me.” Reaching out, she put her hand against his chin to force him to look at her. “I feel sorry for you. And that’s okay, okay? But you cannot feel sorry for yourself. Right now, you’ve got self-pity plastered all over you. That’s not going to get you anywhere. So stop it; that’s an order.”

His face paled; his pupils widened. He looked genuinely mortified.

“Okay, see,” she said, leaning away so she could point at him. “That’s not going to cut it. You look completely terrified. You look like you need a hug. Well I’m sorry, that’s your momma’s job, and I ain’t her.” Oh crap, his mother is dead. Roll with it anyway. “Whatever microscopic granules of confidence you can muster, it’s time to start doing it.”

Despite her words—despite her urging for confidence—Mark’s eyes started to shimmer. Struggling to speak, he finally managed the words, “I want to be good enough to get my brother.”

And it was that statement—those shakily uttered words—that crumbled her posturing. That caused her own eyes to suddenly feel tight.

“All my life, Scott’s been the one to take care of me. He looked out for me when my parents weren’t there. I was never as good as him. I was never as strong, or fast—I was never as heroic.” Faintly, his face twisted. The cadet fought to restrain it. “If he’s in trouble, I need to go save him. I need to be good enough to save him.” And right there, that was it. Mark could hold it no more. He lowered his head and closed his eyes as his body shook. “I can’t lose my brother.” The words were barely discernable—but he’d made them.

All pretense of fearlessness and composure from Natalie fell, as for the first time, she understood. This wasn’t about not fitting in. It wasn’t about not having friends, or even about not being a certified combat medic. This was so much simpler. This was about brothers. It was about love. Shoulders releasing the tension of manufactured bravado, she reached out to put her hand atop his head. “Oh, Mark,” she whispered. Lowering her own head, she fought—truly fought—for the right thing to say. Perhaps there was no such thing. Nodding as much for herself as for him, she settled for just, “Okay.”

He wasn’t good enough for the mission that awaited. He could never be. Not for something so great, not with so little time. So what was he to do?

The best that he could. That was all he wanted. Perhaps that’s all that was needed. Sighing softly, she slid her hand from atop his air-dried scalp. Every piece of officer training in her screamed not to entertain this. Not to humor emotions as they came into play. To keep her distance. But she wasn’t sitting across from an EDEN cadet in training to be a combat medic. She was sitting across from a boy who wanted to save his big brother. The big brother who’d always looked out for him. In a period of time where everything had become so rigid and process-driven, to consider the scene before her in this new and vulnerable way felt so…human. Reaching out, she slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him against her shoulder. Like she would have her own son. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s all right. I get it.”

“I can do this,” he said firmly, forcing the words through his tears. “I can do this.”

“I know you can.”

Pulling away from her, he looked her straight in the eyes. “I have to do this.” Drawing in a breath, he steadied himself. “So what do I have to do?”

It was no easy question. It was no simple answer. Staring into his hazel eyes—eyes that in that moment looked just as intense as Scott’s—she said, “You’re a combat medic.” Slowly, she shook her head. “But not for this. You don’t know enough, and you can’t learn what you need to know in what little time we have left. So what you need to do is get in fighting shape.” Even reaching that would be a stretch, but she’d give him that chance. “I can tell you’re not used to combat. What you need to do is acclimate yourself as much as you possibly can to everything you could potentially use. The forge level has a small shooting range on it—it’s a little sweltering, but that’s good for you, too. Get firing. Get reloading. Time yourself reloading, then try to beat that time—again, and again, and again. The forge master keeps some EDEN armor there—if you can’t find a set of Nightman armor that fits you, wear what you can find. He might even custom-fit you a set if you tell him I sent you down there. Then move, move, move. Drop, roll, spin, kneel. Know your full range of motion and what you can do. Program your muscles. The more muscle memory you have, the less you have to think. The less you have to think during combat, the more likely you are to survive it.” Lifting her eyebrows a bit, she asked, “You got it?” It was so much to get.

“Yeah,” he said, a tad uncertainly. “Yeah, I think so.”

Half-frowning, she asked, “What’d I tell you about thinking?” He looked instantly disappointed. “Okay,” she said, lowering her head briefly before looking at him again. “How about this? I can’t imagine we’ve rusted too much what with all we’ve been through, but what say we head to the forge now and shake off whatever rust we do have, together? I’ll show you some pointers, we’ll get a good training session in, we’ll sweat off about ten pounds apiece, it’ll be great. And if it goes well…I’ll keep working with you for what little time we have left before the mission.” The thought of training someone actually felt good. “And in return, you’re going to bust your tail. You’re going to give me everything you’ve got every time I ask for it. No excuses.” She extended her hand. “Does that sound like a deal?”

This time, there was no hesitation. He met her hand firmly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Mm.” She pressed her lips together and half-shook her head. “I am gonna ask you to do me one little favor, though.”

Mark nodded. “Whatever you want, ma’am.”

“Please call me Vee.”

Slowly, the cadet smiled. “Yes, ma’—” He cleared his throat. “Yes, Vee.”

How could she not laugh a bit? “My goodness, if I just had a little sister. You’re adorable.” When his cheeks tinged red, she smirked. “For an indestructible war machine, of course. In training.” As she rose from the cot, he did the same. “Okay, Mini-Rem. Let’s go break a sweat.” Turning, she made her way toward the door.

Stopping behind her after a single step, Mark said, “Hey, Vee?”

Okay, he’s getting better at it. Turning around, she lifted an eyebrow.

“EDEN’s going to get better, right?” Staring at her expectantly, he added, “After we do whatever it is we’re gonna do?”

As the question sunk in, Natalie found her mouth opening, but without sound coming out. She felt a pang within her. Like something deep inside was cutting her. For several seconds, she just stared—until at long last and blinking, she managed a response. “Yeah.” As if snapping out of something, she briefly nodded her head. “Of course.” Of course. Drawing a deep breath, she exhaled and said, “Let’s go.”


For the next several hours, Natalie trained Mark Remington with relentless repetition. They fired at targets. They did timed reloading. They practiced hand-to-hand combat, all the while with her serving as guide. By the end of it, they were dripping both with sweat and the bottles of water they’d poured over their heads to escape the heat. With skin glistening and body odor that could curdle cheese, the exhausted pair called it quits just before they would’ve lost the ability to walk.

For what it was worth—to her at least—she’d seen improvement in Mark during their time together. Though he was far from her level, or anyone’s at Northern Forge, really, he was at least nailing down some of the basic aspects of combat. These were the things that would have been drilled into him during his final year at the Academy, had things worked out differently. She should have felt pride in being able to show him those ropes herself. To tangibly make a difference in his battlefield ability. A difference that could possibly save his life.

But she didn’t.

Truth be told, Natalie didn’t know how she felt. From when she first set foot into the forge with him all the way until she’d sweated so much, she could slick back her hair, that pang in her stomach remained. That hurt that he’d caused, without even realizing.

EDEN’s going to get better, right?

That question—that assumption on his part—was eating her from the inside. One of the first things she’d done when arriving at the forge was seek out Artur to get Mark a set of EDEN armor. To get him fully acclimated to fighting while wearing it. But there was a set of armor waiting for her, too. One sleek, and black, and with dark, curved horns. One remolded just for her. She needed time in that armor, too. To try it out, to test its boundaries. It only made sense that she’d wear it while she trained him. But she didn’t. With all her talk of mustering granules of courage, she’d mustered none herself. For the courage it would have taken to wear that armor in front of that young cadet was just too much to bear. Was it even a lack of courage at all? No. No, it wasn’t. It was something much heavier. Much more oppressive.

It was shame.

Yet she had nothing to be ashamed of. The silver and blue of EDEN had begun to lose its luster after Krasnoyarsk. There was no reason to hide her misgivings about that. So why had she?

This is who I am now. This is the choice that I’ve made. Anyone else in my shoes would have made the same one. Those thoughts, like mantras, were repeated over and over until she started to believe them. Until those feelings she was starting to hate were forced aside. There was no room for such doubt. Not in a situation such as this. Not in a war that had to be won. Failure was not an option.

Natalie had no intention of training Mark again—one session in that fiery jungle was enough for one day. Rather, she went to the forge master’s office to inspect her new armor and to try it on again. To remind herself how good it felt. How much better it was than that set of EDEN armor in the corner. How wearing it did nothing to compromise her ideals. After all, it was just a set of armor. Just a set of armor. What could it possibly say about the woman inside it?

She couldn’t—she wouldn’t—think of a thing.


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