Epic: Book 03 - Hero (51 page)

Rising from his chair, he smiled at Jayden. “Thanks, man.”

“
Wait, before you leave,” Jayden said. “I want to ask you somethin’.”

“
Sure.”

The Texan hesitated. “The doctors said they were sending me home. Do you think maybe you could talk to ‘em?”

Scott furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“
You know, tellin’ ‘em I can stay. That I can still be a sniper.”

The words hurt to hear.
Jay…you only have one eye.
There was no way EDEN would let him remain. “Jayden, man…don’t even think that far ahead yet. Worry about those broken bones first.” He didn’t have the heart to be honest. “Heal with your family.”

The Texan shook his head. “I don’t wanna go home, man. I can stay here. I’ll rehab, I’ll do everything. I’ll get better.”

“
Jay…”

“
I don’t need two eyes to shoot.”

Scott frowned.
But you need two eyes to avoid getting shot.

“
Please, do it for me, man.”

Scott placed his hands on his hips. Jayden had no idea what he was asking.

“
This is all I wanna do,” Jayden said. “That’s why I signed up. I’m no good at anything else. I can’t play sports, I can’t run a business. But I know I can shoot. If they sent me home…man, I’d wanna die.”

Scott wanted to be optimistic. He wanted to believe that this would turn out to be a feel-good story—that somehow, Jayden could stay.
I need to at least try. He deserves that much.
Against his better judgment, he agreed. “I’ll send a request to Command. I’ll give it a shot.”

Jayden smiled.

Once I figure out how to do it.

Nothing more was said between them. Scott rose, patted the Texan’s leg cast, and turned for the door.

Scott’s thoughts were split between Jayden’s request and his own imminent conversation with the Fourteenth—what words he would choose, and what he would try to convey. In both efforts, he was preparing to lead as if Dostoevsky were gone. For all he knew, Dostoevsky was.

Scott was halfway out of the infirmary when Captain Gabriel caught his eye. The blond Australian was leaning against the wall, hands casually in his pockets as he turned and caught sight of Scott. Gabriel popped up from the wall and approached.

“
Commander Remington,” he said, extending his hand. “How do you feel?”

“
Not as bad as I look.”

“
You collapsed not long after everything ended,” said Gabriel solemnly. “I’ve connected with an Ithini before, and I remember how it felt the first time. It was like I had helium in my veins.”

Scott couldn’t think of a better way to describe it. It also explained why Gabriel hadn’t seemed affected at the crash site—he’d gone through the experience before.

“
I never had an opportunity to thank you. You saved our lives, mate. I don’t think anyone could have done what you did.”

“
How’s your injured girl?”

Gabriel frowned. “She’ll recover, but it won’t be with us. She’ll be going back home.” He brushed his moppy hair to the side. “I’m actually here now because of her. I barely took time to know the girl—she just came from
Philadelphia
. Call it captain’s guilt.”

Scott knew the feeling. He’d felt the same way about Maksim Frolov. “What’s her name?”

“
Becca Weston. Fellow Australian. She was quiet.”

“
Give her my regards.”

“
I will.”

“
Is your unit still here?”

Gabriel nodded. “What’s left of it. We lost our colonel, our major, and our other captain. Half the platoon.” He sighed. “We’ll be able to leave in a day or two, but I’m staying here until Weston can be moved. There’s a handful of others staying with me. If it takes a month, we’ll stay. Don’t take it personally, but I don’t like this place. I don’t want her here alone.”

“
Can’t say that I blame you.”

Gabriel eyed him for several moments. “So you’re a Nightman?”

“
Yeah.”

“
You don’t act like one.”

The compliment was well-received. Gabriel’s gaze held firm.

“
If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know. We’re all in your debt.”

“
I will,” Scott said. It was a nice gesture by the Australian. Scott felt guilty for having been irritated with him and his crew in the forest. The man seemed to genuinely care. “Thank you.”

Gabriel smiled. “I don’t want to keep you. I’m sure you’re busy.”

He was, but he didn’t want it to show. Scott extended his hand one last time. “Take care.”

“
You too, mate.” The men parted ways.

Scott was still walking out of the infirmary when he reached for his comm. He sent an initial page to Max, and the lieutenant answered promptly.

“
Y’hello.”

“
Max, is everyone in Room 14?”

“
I don’t know. I’m in the hangar, washin’ the dog.”

Washing the dog. Scott should have known. “In an hour, I want to talk to the unit. Make sure everyone’s there.”

There was a delay in Max’s response. “Sure thing, Scott.” He sounded as if he was trying not to be surprised.

“
I’ll see you there.” The comm channel closed, and Scott slid the device back into his belt.

He had one hour to figure out what to say and how to say it. One hour to fix three months of hurt. It was better late than never.

31

Saturday, November 19
^th
, 0011 NE

1000 hours

The walk to Room 14 felt like an epic journey. With every step, Scott’s feet became heavier. It was as though some kind of unseen force was fighting to hold him at bay—to prevent him from moving ahead.

The hour before his meeting had been both a blessing and a curse. It had given him time to collect his thoughts and prepare himself for what he was about to say. At the same time, it served as a doorway for doubt and reservation. Despite his apprehension, he kept moving.

When he finally arrived in front of the door, he stopped.
This is what I have to do
, he thought.
But it has to go beyond that. Is this what I want to do?

For any other occasion, necessity would outrank desire. But for him—for this—it was different. The very nature of who he was demanded desire. He would be perfectly safe with The Machine. He’d hate himself, but he’d be safe. To do this right—to heal while humbling himself—would require going in with both feet. Was that really what he wanted to do?

Yes it is.

Reaching out, he opened the door.

The immediate absence of operatives surprised him, but he soon saw that everyone was in the lounge. He could hear their rustling and quiet conversing around the tables, and he could see the shadows move beyond the open door.

There was something about the simple satisfaction of knowing his teammates were there that brought him a measure of joy. He fought to restrain it and for the most part succeeded, but it refused to dissipate entirely.

As he walked through the bunk room to the lounge, he glanced at the beds. He could recognize everyone’s bed—the neat ones of the women, Travis’s strewn with comic books, Jayden and Varvara’s matching cowboy hats. David’s photos. He stopped there, thinking about the older American who had once been like a father to him. How much things had changed.

He noticed a silence emanating from the lounge. The chattering had stopped and movement had ceased. They knew he was there.

Closing his eyes, Scott lowered his head. It might have been a prayer. Whatever it was, it prepared him. It encouraged him enough to walk forward.

The moment he stepped through the door, all eyes were upon him. For the first time since visiting Jayden, he remembered how terrible he looked with his swollen cheek, black eye, and horrible burns. He must have appeared almost grotesque, but he didn’t care. He had a feeling neither did they.

He scanned the room, taking them all in. Max was there, sitting at a table with Travis and Boris. Becan was sitting with Esther, William, and Derrick. Everyone was there—even David and the slayers. But the new captain was nowhere to be seen.

Dostoevsky is gone.
For a moment Scott felt disappointed, which almost surprised him. But it didn’t matter where Dostoevsky was, or if he was merely absent or abandoned for the long haul. He resumed his scan of the room until he found Svetlana. She smiled at him warmly, her blue eyes sparkling.

Scott smiled back. Her whole purpose in returning to
Novosibirsk
had been for this—to see him redeemed. This was as much for her as himself. She deserved it. Clearing his throat, he began. “Thank you guys for coming…I know this isn’t something we’re used to lately. I don’t really know how to begin, so I’ll just start without beating around the bush…”

Back in the bunk room, the door to Room 14 silently opened. Dostoevsky crept inside. He looked at the lounge hesitantly, then quietly eased the door shut behind him.

“
I want to ask for forgiveness,” Scott said bluntly. At those words, the slayers exchanged perplexed glances. It was impossible for Scott not to notice. All four of them were unmistakably intrigued.

“
There is no justification for how I’ve behaved over the past several months. Not anger, not unfairness. Not personal loss.” He could feel the heaviness of the anger and guilt, feelings he’d rehashed repeatedly in his mind. But he’d never addressed them to the unit.

“
I went wrong when I stopped listening to you,” he said. “The compassion you’ve shown me when I needed it the most…” He shook his head in wonder. “The way I repaid you was awful.” He had to convey his next words straight from his heart, despite their simplicity. “I am so sorry.”

They stared at him with a mix of emotions. Some of them looked upon him with hope—Svetlana, Varvara, and Esther chief among them. Some of them watched with respect, while others looked suspicious.

“
You deserved a better leader than you’ve gotten from me.”

Dostoevsky was still in the bunk room; he hadn’t stepped any farther inside. He stood by the door—hidden by a half row of bunks—as he listened to Scott.

“
I realize what I lost,” Scott went on, “and that was all of you. I let anger and guilt take over my life, and I ran from the very people I needed the most. I’ve also been incredibly selfish.” No elegant words weaved through his address. He tried to speak plainly. “So far as I’m concerned, I have two options now. I can keep doing what I’ve been doing, which isn’t working. Or I can try to change—work to make myself right. With you, with myself. With this team.”

Across the room, every eye was fixed on him. The women’s smiles had faded, but so had the looks of suspicion and uncertainty from some of the others. They no longer stared at him like a man awkwardly attempting to redeem himself; instead, they watched him to see where he was going with his words.

“
Becan,” Scott said, looking at the Irishman. “Esther…” He then went around the room, saying the names of each of his EDEN comrades in turn. When he settled on David, his former roommate and friend, he tried to smile. David’s face was blank. “I can stand up here and make a million promises about my behavior, but it doesn’t matter what I say. It matters what I actually do.” He paused while he formed his request. “Please give me the chance to right what I’ve let get out of hand. I hope you can forgive me that much.”

Outside of the lounge, Dostoevsky’s eyes trailed to the floor.

Scott switched his attention from his EDEN counterparts to the slayers. “I have some words especially for you.” The room tensed as the Nightmen looked at him. “We’ve each failed humanity in our own way. We all know the guilt that comes with that.”

The slayers’ reactions were mixed. Viktor looked wary. Nicolai looked worried. But Auric and Egor seemed to be listening intently.

“
Every one of us lives with a vice. I live with anger. You each know what your own vices are. But we need to be different. The way we are now…it doesn’t work. Look at Dostoevsky and Oleg—role models for our sect. Neither of them are here.

“
We can’t segregate ourselves and expect to survive. The things we should be doing together, we
must
do together. Training together, fighting together. Even relaxing together. Believing in each other, together.” He no longer spoke to only the slayers.

“
We can’t afford to be a torn-apart unit.
We
are the Fourteenth of
Novosibirsk
. If any part of this unit fails, we all fail together. We all have a lot of work to do.”

At those words, his tone noticeably changed—it became bolder and more forceful.

“
Svetlana and Esther.” He looked squarely at the two women. They looked back with surprise. “The two of you need to settle your differences. Find the problem, then sort it out. Let it go.”

They glanced at each other, then back at him.

Scott turned to the pilot. “Travis, you need to improve.” Travis blinked as he was isolated. “Being competent once in a while is not good enough. You need to raise your own bar.” The pilot looked genuinely hurt.

“
Varya, the same goes for you. Ask yourself if you really want to be here. If you do, crack open the books, get lessons from Sveta, and get Esther to teach you about composure—she’s learned that very well.”