Enemy One (Epic Book 5) (84 page)

Yigôzien, invoker of custom, fel'dinstra Viil-Astrul.

Svetlana blinked. The words were as clear as daylight in her mind, as if they’d just been spoken to her like in any other connection. The being’s voice was…beautiful. Almost melodious. But what did her words mean? She didn’t need to ask it out loud; Ei`dorinthal answered it for her.

I believe that is her name.

Her name? Invoker of custom? Was that one of those inaccuracies Ed warned her about? It sure hadn’t sounded like one—and frankly, it didn’t matter. Inaccuracy or not, Svetlana had just been given a greeting.
That
was something to be happy about.

Kalar. Kalarael.

Yigôzien’s words drifted through her mind like a wind, delicately touching the medic’s sense of understanding. It was her homeworld, her species. The Kalarael. Their introduction was complete.
Thank you, Yigôzien.
The sense of acceptance returned—the Kalarael acknowledged.

More than ever now, the sense that an escape was inevitable was strong in Svetlana’s mind. This was not chance. These beings were here for a purpose—they’d been placed there, for Svetlana to find, for a purpose. Even on the other side of the galaxy, even with every odd stacked against her on a ship whose crew reviled her belief in the “Earthae God,” God was there.

Yigôzien could sense Svetlana’s thoughts. Though the intricacies of religion were surely too advanced for this still-developing connection, the Kalarael could no doubt sense that the anticipation in Svetlana was swelling. Yigôzien returned that feeling with her own.

It is difficult to maintain this connection
, said Ed, the Ithini’s exhaustion palpable.
My mind tires.

Inadvertently, on the bridge, Svetlana nodded.
Thank you, Ei`dorinthal, for what you have done. Rest your mind—I will tell Yigôzien that this connection must close.

As you wish.

Returning the focus of her mind on the imprisoned Kalarael, Svetlana said,
I will connect with you again, Yigôzien. We will be free.

The Kalarael’s voice returned.
For my people, revenge.

Ever so faintly, Svetlana’s eyes narrowed.
Revenge.
It was perhaps the most basic of concepts—the desire to strike back at one who wronged. She could scarcely think of a more befitting situation than the one she and the two Kalarael prisoners were in now. Closing her eyes as she lowered her forehead to the Noboat’s metal floor, Svetlana waited for Ed to close the connection. Moments later, it was done.

Svetlana’s own head felt fatigued—she could only imagine how taxing this connection must have been for Ei`dorinthal. In the midst of everything happening around her, the Ithini’s faithfulness to their escape plan—or at least, the process that was working its way toward one—stood out as a rare bright spot in the darkness of uncharted space. More so than Tauthin, more so than Kraash-nagun, Ed had earned Svetlana’s admiration. The Ithini was doing his part when few others seemed inclined to take action. She would always remember him for that.

Though Ed was “recharging” and out of range, she knew the time would come again for them to communicate and coordinate. He had requested time in the kitchen to replenish his strength, and Nagogg would expect him to take it. Svetlana was already eager for his return.

An uprising was coming. What Nagogg had done—what he and his crew of zealots were doing now—would be repaid in full. If there was any justice in the mind of God, that vengeance would come by her hand. She was ready to deliver it.

Resting her own mind, Svetlana succumbed to the background noises of the Noboat bridge and fell asleep. There were no visions of Khuldaris in her head, no meetings with Nagogg or encounters with the essence of him that had once been in her. Svetlana was wholly her own.

That was all she would ever need to be.

Monday, March 26
^th
, 0012 NE

0734 hours

EDEN Command

“COMING!”

Benjamin Archer marched across his suite, where the knock of his anticipated guest had emerged moments earlier. Opening the door, he came face-to-face with Hector Mendoza. Standing just off to the side of the Hispanic security chief was Oleg. Though Archer’s eyes met Hector’s briefly, they soon shifted past him to the captured Nightman informant.

“I bring you Mister Strakhov, judge,” said Hector, bowing his head indicatively.

Archer gave Hector a sneer. “I know who he is, you buffoon. We’ve met.” Smiling at Oleg, he motioned for the bearded Nightman to join him. “Please, come in. You too, Hector.” As soon as the two men were inside, Archer quietly closed the door and faced them. “Can I offer you something to drink?” he asked Oleg. “Tea, perhaps?”

Waving his hand cordially, Oleg said, “No, judge. I am fine.”

“Well then, please, have a seat.”

As Oleg walked into the living area, his scrutinizing eyes surveyed the various conch shells along the wall in Archer’s nautically-themed room. Archer followed behind him, lowering himself onto his couch even as Oleg semi-wandered about. “You have a nice room,” Oleg said.

Archer smiled, pleased. “Thank you. I try to maintain a certain air of dignity in the décor.”

“It is quite dignified.”

Casting Hector a brief look, Archer motioned with a subtle head nod for the security chief to sit down. Hector complied. “I thank you for your patience with us, Mister Strakhov—”

“Oleg. Please, call me Oleg.” The former eidolon sank into a chair across from the other two men.

“Very well. Oleg, then. I thank you for your patience with us—quite frankly, there were several things we needed to verify, both about you personally and about the information you provided.”

Oleg nodded, but said nothing.

“You’ll be pleased to know that everything has checked out.”

“I knew it would.” Stiffening his posture, Oleg leaned back into the chair, sinking into its cushions. “But I am pleased that you discovered my words truthful.”

Entwining his fingers, Archer said, “We are fair here, Oleg—and so because you were willing to help us, we feel it only right to offer you something in return. Consider it a gesture of gratitude.”

“Or a bribe for my silence.”

Though initially there was no reaction on Archer’s face, very subtly, his amber eyes narrowed. “You are quite brazen for a man in your position.”

“Am I wrong?”

Archer twisted his lower jaw as if chewing on the answer, before finally he said, “No.”

“Then if you are vying for my silence, you must give me more than whatever it is you are offering.”

“But I haven’t told you what I’m offering.”

Oleg’s eyes locked onto him. “Was it to reveal to me the truth?” When Archer looked as if he didn’t understand, Oleg elaborated. “I know what you are doing. I understand that you are working to undermine something—possibly EDEN itself. What I fail to understand is why.”

“Does
why
matter?” snapped Archer.

“Yes,” Oleg answered with a firm nod, “it most certainly does.”

Archer’s chin lifted. “Might I remind you that you are in no position to request anything from me. That I’m willing to offer you something out of gratitude is more a prize than you deserve.”

“There is a record of my transfer here,” Oleg said, “which means you cannot be rid of me—especially after you lost the only other member of the Fourteenth left behind, Matthew Axen. Were I to go missing, the media would not take kindly to you.” He leaned forward in the chair. “But let us not exchange idle hostilities. I wish to know why you are doing what you are doing. This means more to me than whatever it is you were going to offer.”

“Revenge, Oleg. I was going to offer you revenge.”

A soft chuckle escaped Oleg’s lips. “Revenge is a desirable offer, but shortsighted. I accept any offer at revenge, though not at the expense of information.”

Silence prevailed in the room as the two-man stare-down carried on, with Hector playing awkward third wheel to the entire conversation. At long last, drawing in a deep breath through his nostrils as if to finalize his position, Archer answered, “I will tell you this: we are humanity’s best hope for survival.
That
is our motivation.”

“That does not answer my request.”

“I cannot answer your request.”

Oleg ran his finger along the side of the chair. “Then I am afraid I cannot guarantee the silence from me you seek.”

“
Damn
it, man, are you daft?”

“Something is happening very soon,” Oleg said. “I sense the urgency in you. You need me to cooperate, this much is clear—and I will be glad to, provided I know what I am cooperating in.”

Pushing up from the couch, Archer stalked across the living area toward the wall. Bracing his palm against the wall and leaning into it, the British judge’s narrowed gaze bore straight ahead. He spoke without turning around. “Have you heard of a species called the Khuladi?”

Oleg nodded. “Yes.”

His tone unfazed, Archer then asked, “Do you know what they’re doing?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know that they cannot be stopped. That their capture of Earth is inevitable.”

Raising an eyebrow and
harrumphing
, Oleg said, “Every opponent has his weakness.”

“We’re going to take it away.”

For a few short moments, Oleg stared at Archer quizzically as if trying to figure out how the judge’s statement related to what he’d just said. It was then, however, that he realized the judge
wasn’t
responding to him. Oleg’s statement had been wholly ignored. “Wait,” the fallen eidolon said, leaning forward with renewed interest. Beside him, Hector looked down in silence. “‘It.’ What exactly do you mean by ‘it?’”

Archer’s amber eyes stayed fixed on the wall, seeming unsure as to whether or not to proceed further. At long last, he made his decision. Inhaling slowly through his nostrils, he lifted his head just enough to stare into the soft glow of the nearest conch lamp. With a low, deliberate voice, the Briton said, “Hector, please leave us.”

The security chief looked at him oddly. “You do know, my judge, that I am aware of—”

“
Leave
us!”

Rising promptly, Hector bowed his head in Archer’s direction. Casting Oleg a brief look, the Hispanic man stepped past the sofa and toward the suite’s door. Moments later, he was back in the hall, the door clicking shut in his wake.

Several seconds after their privacy was ensured, Archer addressed Oleg without looking. “I want to make myself clear. I don’t care who you are, what you’ve done, or what you think you’re capable of. If you cross me, you will lose.”

Oleg glanced around, almost as if unsure whether or not the two of them were truly alone. When he saw no one else in hiding, he looked back at the judge.

“If I tell you what you feel you need to know,” Archer said, “it will forever change our relationship. You will no longer be working with me. You will be working
for
me.”

Eyes narrowing with trepidation, Oleg listened on.

Archer faced him. “Be forewarned: there is no turning back from this. I am giving to you, right now, something few others have had. A way out.” Taking a step forward, he gestured to the door. “The door is right there. If you wish to continue living your life having a semblance of personal freedom, then I implore, no,
insist
, that you rise from your seat and leave through that door.” Lifting his chin, he said, “But if you don’t…if you wish to become a part of what we’re doing, understand that it is a commitment that cannot be rescinded. It will become your life, or it will cost it. That is the one choice you will be free to make.”

“You threaten me as if—”

“I threaten you as a man who knows the truth and is offering it to someone who’s barely scratched the surface of earning it.” Stepping closer, Archer came between the conch lamp and Oleg, the lamp’s warm hues silhouetting him with orange light. “I threaten you as the one man on this Earth capable of revealing to you the reality in which we all live.
That
, my friend, is the truth.” The Briton’s voice fell low. “And so once more, I offer you the choice. Stay seated, or walk through that door. I
suggest
…that you do the latter.”

For almost a full minute, Oleg sat there, staring up at the judge who seemed to be towering over him—whose mere presence was keeping him in check. At no point did Archer move, nor did he make any indication that he was giving Oleg a time limit for his answer. The judge seemed content to let the Russian contemplate his choice. At long last, after staring ahead with a look that seemed lost for self-direction, Oleg shifted his wary gaze back to Archer. Ever so faintly, the Russian’s lower eyelid twitched.

The choice had been made.

*
      
*
      
*

Stepping out of Benjamin Archer’s suite and into the hall, Oleg blew out a shaking breath and ran his hand over his head. He then looked around to see if anyone else was present to see him. No one was. Running his hands down his face, the Russian swallowed and bent down. Closing his eyes, he whispered something under his breath. He made no other sound.

When Oleg opened his eyes again, a new look was found in them. Forced away was the trepidation, the uncertainty. They were replaced by renewed focus.

Turning down the hall, the fallen eidolon set off for his room.

Monday, March 26
^th
, 0012 NE

1025 hours

Norilsk, Russia

IT ALL CAME down to this.

Scott was standing at the front of the auditorium on Level-3 of
Northern Forge
. The projector screen behind him was illuminated with a blown-up image of the bullet train car they would soon be infiltrating. All that was left was for the other members of the review team to join him.

This was not to be a unit-wide meeting. The more opinions that became involved, the less cohesive the operation would become. For something as important as this, the planning was best left to a few.