Enemy One (Epic Book 5) (32 page)

“It is still possible to find some of their transmissions without the key. I could examine the frequency bands for subsequent micro increases in background noise, though that would still not allow us to intercept
future
transmissions.”

Chiming in constructively for the first time, Marty said, “We gotta send a message out to
Novosibirsk
—get those guys checkin’ things out while we on our way, seein’ if ’dey can’t find whatever cryptographic device the Nightmen are usin’ to chat. But we also gotta find ’dat key. I’m thinkin’ the best way to do
’dat
is to find…” Snapping his fingers, he pointed expectantly at Logan. “C’mon, chief, you got ’dis.”

The Australian was less than amused. “Just tell me the bloody answer.”

“We gotta find a comm.”

Picking up where his Cajun counterpart left off, Pablo sat upright. “A comm that was used by someone in Remington’s unit—or someone with the ability to communicate with them—would lead us to the key. Not only would we be able to use that comm for future eavesdropping, we would be able to look at the comm’s usage to determine what frequencies it broadcasted over.” The technician smiled. “Then we compare that to the historical backlog from
Jīngshén-2—
”

“And we have their entire conversation history,” said Logan, his elevated tone conveying his sudden understanding. “Provided we can decipher it.”

Pablo nodded. “The comm would contain the checksum, but not necessarily the entire cryptographic system. In other words, its programming would inherently allow any transmissions that come
after
we locate it to be deciphered, but we would still need the cryptographic device they used in order to decipher audio from past transmissions.”

“I like it,” Logan said. “It’s a start, and that’s what we need.”

“Then let us prepare ourselves.” Torokin stood between the group as a whole. “We are three hours out of
Novosibirsk
. Let us not waste a minute of that.” His focus shifted deliberately to Logan. “Every minute matters.”

Though he said nothing, the subtle nod by Logan was affirmation that the message—specifically to him—had been received. They were all on the same course. This unlikely alliance of mercenary and military had a chance.

And so, the Vector hunters flew out, their sights set for the fallen base once known as The Machine. In the minutes, then the hours, that passed, Logan took time—as per Torokin’s request—to enlighten Chiumbo, Marty, Pablo, and Lisa on the man they were chasing: Scott Remington. The outlaw leader and his crew were discussed just as thoroughly as they’d been discussed by Logan and Torokin prior to their arrival at
Berlin
to pick up the rest of the accompanying Vectors. No detail was left untouched. Lisa elaborated on Esther, too, at least as much as she’d known her in the little time that their paths had overlapped. For the first time, this
felt
like a manhunt.

There was no question in Torokin’s mind that Remington would be brought to justice. It was just a matter of waiting for the right moment—finding the right clue that would lead them to the right place. The outlaws might have found
Cairo
’s security forces an easy obstacle, but that wouldn’t be the case for Vector. A rude awakening was on the way, clad in purple and white.

Novosibirsk
couldn’t come fast enough. That first clue couldn’t come fast enough. When it came, there’d be no place for Remington to hide. The best of the best were in active pursuit.

The world’s most wanted were about to be snared.

Location: Unknown

Time: Unknown

SVETLANA WAS surrounded by darkness. Her blue eyes peering forward, she saw only the faint outlines of curvature around her, indicative of standing inside some sort of metal tube and staring forward into an unknown that reached far ahead, beyond her field of vision. But she didn’t need to see to know what was before her. This was the path Order and Chaos had chosen.

Her hands clenched, their grip tightening around the metal spear that was clutched between her fingers. Her armor, a sparse interlace of metal and leather, provided only as much protection as was required. Any other protection she needed would be gifted by Uladek. She could smell the war paint on her face, beneath her eyes and on her forehead. The plume of dark feathers at the end of her spear gave notice that she was not to be trifled with. She was one of the priesthood.

Inhaling through her nostrils, Svetlana took in a familiar musk. At the end of the tube, a light emerged that was just faint enough to outline the form of a lumbering beast stalking toward her. The blonde narrowed her eyes as its features came into view.

It towered—it was befitting for someone of her stature. Its massive hind legs clomped one after the other as it neared, its gaping jaws hanging as saliva fell from between its teeth. Its body lowered as it readied to be mounted.

All of a sudden, hands reached out from the darkness and grabbed her. They wrenched the spear from her grasp. They were taking her.

Svetlana screamed out in Russian as they pulled her back, away from the canrassi and into the darkness behind her. A blur of dark colors flew past her vision as the hands pinned her back to a wall, which quickly turned into a floor. Her nose began to burn—a fervent fire that felt like nothing she’d ever felt, like hot coals in her nostrils. Releasing a blood-curdling scream, she felt the heat dig into her face.

“Setana?”

The voice was Tauthin’s. The moment the Bakma spoke, all of the colors faded. The hurricane of motion subsided. The dream melted away. Her chest heaving, Svetlana looked around the room. She was in the brig of the Noboat. There were no hands holding her wrists and ankles at bay—there were only the same metallic clamps that’d been there all along. Staring through the strands of her hair that floated in microgravity, the blonde’s gaze focused on Tauthin. The alien was looking at her in wonderment. It was a look of surprise the likes of which she’d never seen from him before. “What?” she asked him.

Tauthin’s mouth hung open for several seconds before he managed a reply. “Yuu waar ska-reem-angh words.”

She was screaming words. It was a reference to her dream. She must have been acting it out. “It was only a dream,” she said.

The Bakma hesitated. “Yuu waar ska-reem-angh words…een Bakmanese.”

The blonde’s brow furrowed.
“What?”

Right then, it hit her: a sharp pain in the center of her face. It came on slowly, then rapidly intensified until its sheer rawness caused her whole face to contort. Svetlana winced, her mouth opening in torment as teardrops formed over her pupils. It was as if knives were stabbing her in the nose. She cried aloud. “My face hurts so bad!” Her mouth open, she panted, “I cannot breathe!”

His head lowering, Tauthin said, “The paeen will saab-side. It ees to be eck-spacht-ed.”

“What?” she asked again, crying out in agony and leaning her head back. “What are you talking about?”

Tauthin looked at her, his dark purple eyes narrowing. “Waat do yuu mean?”

“What are you talking about?” she asked again, forced to draw in another breath through her open mouth. “Why can’t I breathe? I am so cold…” Suddenly blinking in realization, she tilted her head down to look at her body. She was in her undergarments. Gasping, her hands jolted to instinctively cover herself, but the clasps kept her in place.
“My God! Where are my clothes?”

The Bakma’s head tilted. For several seconds, he simply observed her. At long last, in the midst of her panic, he addressed her. “Yuu maast remaambar.”

“What?”
she asked in horror as she desperately squirmed. “What must I remember?”

“Waat hapeened to yuu.”

Her eyes tear-filled, she whipped her head to face him. “What happened to me, Tauthin?”

For almost ten full seconds, Tauthin said nothing—he only stared at her in uncertain silence. All the while, her stare remained locked. “Nagogg took yuur claths. He took yuu awaee.”

“Took me away for what?”

Tauthin’s eyes drifted away from her, drawn inherently to the far side of the room. Where he’d last seen it floating. It was still there.

Her expression narrowing, Svetlana followed the Bakma’s opaque stare until she too caught sight of the tiny object hovering in microgravity. Squinting to make it out, she asked, “What is that?”

“It is…” he said, his voice trailing off as he watched the object float, “yuur nose.”

Svetlana blinked in confusion. She craned her neck forward to see it more clearly. Then reality hit. The blonde’s eyes widened. She looked down as much as she was able. No blur of a nose could be seen. Within seconds, she was hyperventilating.

Tauthin’s gaze returned to her. “Setana, leesin! Do not paahnic!”

“Do not
panic
?” she asked in open-mouthed horror. Her whole face contorted. “My God, no!
No
!”

“Yuu maast remaambar.”

She didn’t remember. She didn’t remember anything. The last thing she remembered was hanging on the wall, then…then the door. The door to the brig had opened. Then everything was a blank.

Her nose. Her
nose
! Part of what she was, one of the few things about her that she’d always felt was beautiful. It was gone! That explained the pain, that explained the difficulty in breathing. She had nothing there to filter and direct the air. Her throat convulsed. Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, she released a mournful wail.

The Noboat shimmied, its walls vibrating with an almost urgent violence. The discomfort of breathing was set aside as Svetlana drew a sharp breath. Tauthin was quick to calm her. “Nuu feear. Graahvity.”

Gravity? What did he mean? The shaking lasted for several seconds before there was a sudden smoothening, and the familiar sensation of weight swept over her. Her body dropped in the chains as her hair fell in front of her face, the most basic of nature’s forces bearing down on her. It wasn’t quite Earth-like, but it was something that resembled normal. Briefly, her eyes returned to the corner where her nose had been hovering. The amputated protuberance rolled lifelessly on the floor.

“What is happening?” she asked Tauthin. Truly noticing it for the first time, she cringed at the sound of her voice. It was high-pitched and nasal, almost alien to her. It was like someone else speaking.

Tauthin answered, “We haaf creaated graahvity whael. Paart of the riift.”

Gravity wheel? Part of the rift? She didn’t know what any of that meant.

Like every other spacecraft EDEN had encountered, the Noboat was an aerospace vessel—it needed to function just as well in an atmosphere as in deep space, where microgravity reigned supreme. It was a spaceship restricted to an aerodynamic design, with no leniency given to counteract the lack of weight in space. Svetlana knew about the effects of weightlessness on the human body; it had to be the same for the Bakma. Eventually, microgravity caused bone decalcification and muscle atrophy. Every cosmonaut who returned to the NSU from a space operation returned weaker. While that might be okay for a cosmonaut, that could never work for an interstellar warrior.

But gravity was virtually impossible to simulate in space without some sort of centrifuge, and even that was a flawed impersonation at best. The only place Svetlana knew to find gravity was on a planet. Yet there they were, existing in it without one. Gravity wheels, rifts…she didn’t know what any of that was supposed to mean. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter, anyway.

The chains that bound her to the wall were vastly more uncomfortable now. They caused her to dangle helplessly against unforgiving shackles. The more she tried to squirm into a more suitable position, the more they dug into her wrists.

Svetlana’s mind returned to her nose and her near-nakedness. How could she remember nothing? How could there be such an absence of time? The only answer she could come up with was that she must’ve completely disassociated. The experience must have been too traumatic to recall.

Her nose…

Her thoughts were interrupted as the brig door opened. Nagogg. The self-proclaimed chieftain of the Noboat was standing in the doorway, holding his spear at his side like some kind of tribal leader. Behind him stood Gabralthaar and Ka`vesh.

Svetlana felt an initial surge of fear, though it quickly morphed into a sensation she was not used to feeling. It was focused and decidedly more sinister. When her ocean blue eyes settled on the spear, her fingers curled as if wrapping themselves around it. She visualized it piercing Nagogg through the throat. Her blood simmered as she imagined pushing it forward.

The click of an Ithini connection surfaced in her mind. Nagogg’s raspy Bakmanese formed meaning. Angling his head, he asked, “Do you submit?”

“Setana…” said Tauthin from her side, he too linked in the connection. She looked at him. He was afraid for her. Tauthin’s bony brows were arched outwardly, adding even deeper crevices to the wrinkles already in his forehead. His eyes searched hers as if seeking to understand her as much as plead with her. But the plea still came. “Please submit.”

Her eyes turned back to Nagogg. In the midst of her panic—of the horror of discovering that she no longer had a nose—a series of rational thoughts came to her mind. If she submitted, it would be over. The fear, the danger, the pain. The freedom. Submit, and share Tauthin’s fate: to be subservient to a god she could never accept, could never believe in. But even that would not be the end. This religion was radical. It demanded adherence and threatened apostasy with torture, chains, and death. It allowed for nothing else.

Disfigurement or not, she could never submit to that.

Svetlana didn’t even have to say a word. The moment Tauthin saw the defiance on her face, his hopeful body language sank into resolution. There was nothing in her that he could change.

Turning her head to Nagogg, she uttered a single, unyielding statement: “I will never submit to you.”

The angle of Nagogg’s head evened out. Beneath his skeleton’s grin, the Bakma’s jaw set. For the faintest of moments, she thought she saw his face flush. Inhaling through his slotted nostrils, Nagogg tilted his head upward, looking down at the woman whose nose he’d removed—the human who’d matched his battle of wills move for move. The next move, once again, was his.