by Lee Stephen
Carol June—the auburn-haired American—leaned close to Judge Blake. “This guy’s sneaky,” she whispered. “I like him.”
Blake held back a smile.
Grinkov addressed Archer again. “And what if you are correct? What do we do then?”
Archer stared at the Russian judge for several seconds, then looked down at the tabletop. “There comes a time, Judge Grinkov, when serious steps must be taken to ensure the uncompromised safety of Earth. That always includes the use of force.”
For the first time, murmurs swelled around the table. Judge Castellnou laughed sardonically and leaned back. “This is what we should have been doing for months now.”
“I’m not quite finished, if you please,” said Archer. The chatter around the table settled down. “This revision would merely confirm our apprehension. We will need to take it several steps further. I’d like to propose a formal investigation of Novosibirsk, with the intent of proving General Thoor’s recalcitrance.”
Grinkov made a confused face and whispered, “His what?”
Torokin listened on.
“By gaining concrete evidence against the general, we will further strengthen our position against him.”
“But if we will strike him anyway,” asked Torokin, “what does it matter?”
Archer didn’t hesitate. “It matters because it justifies our retaliation. When the people of Earth see us combating our own facilities, they’ll want to know a good reason why. It’s my intention to give them one.”
He once again began to pass out papers.
“I would like to hit Thoor with a financial audit.”
June’s eyes widened to Blake. “He’s cruel, too.”
“If General Thoor is recruiting Nightmen, he must be recruiting them from somewhere. How does he do this? Where does he advertise? How does he transport them? If he’s embellishing them with Nightman armor, from whom does he purchase it? Who are his suppliers? All of these things require money, and money always blazes a trail. If he’s using our funding to accomplish these things, that’s a crime. And that, my fellow judges, is called evidence.”
As Torokin listened to Archer’s explanations, he could feel his stomach churning. It wasn’t outrage, and it wasn’t doubt. He was impressed. When the papers came around to him, he began to study his copy immediately.
“Now,” Archer went on, “if the revision and the audit go as anticipated, we’ll have both evidence and limited control. But what we won’t have is information. Inside information. As much as we know about Novosibirsk, we truly know nothing at all. How many Nightmen does he have? How many of them are registered in our database as members of EDEN? Does he have covert Nightmen? If this investigation does take us on a path towards military conflict, these are all things we need to know.”
President Pauling spoke for the first time. “You want to spy on them?”
“Yes.”
Everyone in the room fell silent.
“I would like to begin an infiltration of Novosibirsk—a black ops operation, if you will, both openly and covertly.”
“Openly and covertly?” Pauling asked.
“Yes, Mr. President. I would like to conduct a census of the base, to be overseen personally by some of us. That’s a physical headcount of everyone garrisoned there. Every soldier, every Nightman, every resident. Everyone.”
Richard Lena spoke for the first time. “On the basis of what?”
“On the basis that we don’t trust our computer numbers. Novosibirsk was the victim of a major assault. We’re not sure how many operatives are truly there. And we aren’t.” He smiled at Lena. “By performing a physical headcount, we will have detailed information on not only the number of operatives at Novosibirsk, but the identity of them as well. The census is merely a facade. Our true intent is reconnaissance.”
“You said openly and covertly,” said Pauling again. “What do you mean by ‘covertly?’”
“I would like to assign soldiers to Novosibirsk,” answered Archer. “Soldiers whom we’ve selected. Their purpose would be infiltration, to learn its dirty little secrets. They would report their findings to us.”
“That’s a lot of power you want to wield,” said Lena.
Once again, Archer smiled. “Not me at all, Judge Lena. This must be a collaborative effort.”
“So whom did you have in mind?”
“For starters, I can think of no one more fitting to run our census than Judge June.”
Carol June raised an eyebrow.
Archer turned to her. “Prior to your position in the Council, you were heavily involved in personnel matters, were you not?”
“Yes, I was.”
“How appropriate, then, would it be for you to be in charge of our census? Is this something you’d be willing to consider?”
“Yes, it is.”
He smiled. “Excellent. I do believe each phase of this operation should be monitored by more than one judge, as accountability is of the utmost importance. Would anyone else be willing to consider assisting Judge June?”
“I would like to assist,” answered Judge Blake. “I was assisting Mamoru with Research and Development, but since Judge Shintaku has joined the effort, there’s really little need for my involvement. She’s done superbly.”
Across the room, Tamiko Shintaku nodded modestly.
“Brilliant,” Archer said to Blake, as he returned to his papers again. “As for the audit, I believe Judge Onwuka has dealt with financial matters before—am I correct?”
Uzoma Onwuka, the lone Nigerian judge, nodded his head.
“Would you be opposed to leading the financial aspect of this investigation?”
“I would not be opposed,” said the Igbo tribesman.
“Are there any volunteers to assist?”
Rath raised his hand. “I’ll help out.”
Torokin pored over his copy of the papers. His gaze grew more intent with every paragraph.
“Is something wrong?” Grinkov asked.
“No…and that’s what’s wrong.”
“As for the implementation of Article 115A-2, I’d like to oversee that myself. Simply put…I was the one who revised it. I know it inside and out.” Before anyone could respond, Archer spoke again. “I do feel I must say this as well…these are my proposals, but by no means do I feel they should be adhered to without full deliberation. I’m presenting quite a lot at the moment, but should any of you find reason to dispute this investigation’s effectiveness, please proclaim it. In fact, I’d rather not vote on this at all today. I’ll feel more secure if everyone has several days to look over the papers themselves, so we can agree on a proposal together. That’s only right.”
“I think that sounds reasonable,” Pauling agreed. “Was there anyone you had in mind to assist you with your revision?”
“The floor is open for a volunteer, Mr. President. I had no one specifically in mind.”
After several seconds of silence, Castellnou raised his hand. “I want to assist you.”
Archer smiled warmly. “That would be wonderful.”
“What about the black ops operation?” asked the president. “Who oversees that?”
Archer looked down for a moment, then placed his hands behind his back and turned to Pauling. “I felt it only fitting that Director Kang should oversee that part of the investigation. But I don’t feel it’s my place to request it of him myself.”
Pauling nodded. “I’ll talk to Kang.”
Archer turned his attention to Torokin and Grinkov. “I’m particularly interested in your opinions concerning these proposals.” The two Russian judges looked at him. “The two of you do know more about Thoor than most of us. I’d consider your insight invaluable.”
Torokin stared at Archer for a moment, then absently nodded his head. “I will look at the papers.”
“Wonderful!” He turned to Pauling. “That was all I had prepared for today, Mr. President. I do apologize for taking up so much of your time.”
&nbs
p; Pauling said with lighthearted sarcasm. “You mean that’s all?” Several of the judges chuckled as Archer sat down. “This is all a lot to digest. Before we decide, let’s take a few days to look it over, each and every one of you. We’ll meet Friday to vote.” The judges acknowledged, and Pauling rose from his seat. “That’s all for today. I think everything else is running smoothly. You’re dismissed.”
As the judges rose from their chairs and filed out, Judge Lena made for Grinkov and Torokin. “What can I say? The kid’s good.”
“I still don’t like him,” said Torokin.
“I must admit,” Grinkov said, “I am impressed. Even if he does look more like a prince than a soldier.”
“He is not a soldier,” Torokin said. “That is why I don’t like him.”
Lena grinned. “Come on, Leonid. Even you’ve got to be impressed with this proposal. Right?”
Torokin didn’t answer.
“Right?”
Torokin glanced down for a moment, then looked away. “Maybe.”
Lena laughed. “Yeah, maybe. I think you don’t want to admit that you might have been wrong.”
“Are you playing preferans with us tonight?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Is that a no?”
“Yeah, I’m playing. Someone’s got to keep you Soviets in line.”
Grinkov smiled.
“Then let us go,” said Torokin. “I do not wish to speak of these papers again. Not until I have read them all the way through.”
“That sounds good enough,” said Grinkov. “Then you can admit you were wrong.”
“Zatknis.”
The other men laughed.
Eventually, all of the judges had filed from the conference room, leaving it in total abandonment. There were no more meetings that day, and none were planned for the next. Everyone would have two days to study. Two days to figure out how they’d vote. Two days to decide whether they’d stare the Terror in the face. Whether they’d take a stand against The Machine.
Whether they’d throw a wrench in its gears.
18
Thursday, August 11, 0011 NE
0333 hours
Novosibirsk, Russia
For the rest of the day after his return from Lake Baikal, Scott remained restless in his room. He hadn’t visited anyone as the hours passed by, and nobody had visited him either—with the exception of a single technician. Apparently, Clarke had ordered Scott’s armor to be confiscated, and had it hauled back to Room 14. Scott knew it was to prevent him from going on another mission without clearance. He honestly didn’t care either way.
As he lay in his bed, wide-eyed and alert in the middle of the night, one person danced through his mind. It was a person without a name. It was the person who was to blame for everything wrong.
Everything in Scripture talked about mercy. Entire chapters were dedicated to it. Revenge was to be left to God; that was God’s will. But it wasn’t Scott’s will—not any longer. Scripture also said no man would be tested beyond his ability to resist temptation. He wasn’t sure about that one either.
He’d never felt that way before. He’d never thought about those kinds of things. But that was before everything changed, the moment the murderer had ripped her away. The moment she’d been dead in his arms. Scott wasn’t to blame for that. The man without a name was. It was all him.
Out of the silence, a knock sounded at Scott’s door. He turned his head toward it, then glanced at his clock. It was barely past three-thirty in the morning. Nobody should have been up at all. Not even himself.
Scott listened to the silence for a moment, then he pulled off the covers from his chest. Reaching out, he flicked on the lamp by his bed. His bedsprings creaked as he sat up, then stood.
The knocker waited patiently as Scott grabbed his jersey from the floor and fitted it on. He could sense that the visitor was still there, despite the fact that he couldn’t see him. It was a ‘him,’ that he knew. The visitor knocked like a man.
As Scott turned to walk to the door, he cast a sidelong glance in the mirror—then he stopped. His face, once clean shaven as always, was now cloaked in unattended stubble. His eyes were locked in a glare. His face was dark, and the slice on his cheek was now scabbed. It was as if he’d become someone else.
He walked to the door, reaching out to unlock it and pull it open. He froze as soon as he saw his visitor.
It was David. He stood alone in the otherwise abandoned halls. His eyes were hardened in red, and fatigue lines dripped down his face. The invectiveness of his stare was loud amid the silence of curfew. Before he even opened his mouth, Scott knew something was wrong. He knew what David was about to tell him. David’s words only served to confirm it.
“Galina just died.”
Scott heard it. He heard it, but he didn’t accept it. He only stared in the absence of belief.
“I just thought you’d want to know.”
Scott realized right then that he was dreaming. He could feel it. His feet transformed into lead, and he was suddenly awash with lightheadedness. His stomach flipped upside down.
David turned to leave down the hall.
He knew he was dreaming. In a dream, he could hear peoples’ voices. And Galina’s voice was clear in his mind.
I do not think I can do this.
He remembered her voice when she’d said it. He remembered how he’d reassured her.
It’s all right, Galina. You’re safe right here with me. Take cover, and I’ll move in when the others are ready. I’ll see you when I get back—you stay here.
He remembered those words when he’d said them. He could hear himself saying them still. There was no way she was dead.
He felt his eyes as they throbbed. He felt the first tear as it fell. Those words—those words he remembered himself saying—those were the dream. Galina had just died.
That was what was real.
Right then, it all crashed upon him. Consequence. Reality. Coldness. Galina had just died. Galina—his valued friend—had just died.
She was dead.
“I didn’t mean it,” Scott blurted out. He said it without giving a thought. He’d shouted without meaning to shout. The cry was choked in the restraining of tears. For the first time since Nicole had died, his thoughts weren’t focused on her. They were focused on another girl he knew. They were focused on the one he had killed.
The one he had killed. He himself.
David stopped in the hallway. He turned his head to the side, just slightly—just enough to be seen. Then he said something Scott had never heard him say to him before.
“I don’t care.”
Scott watched through blurred eyes as David walked away. He listened as the footsteps grew distant. He listened until they were gone.
For the second time in his life, the death of a girl was upon him. The first one had led to the second. Who was next?
He couldn’t feel his feet as they drifted. He only knew he ended up back in bed. He didn’t remember shutting the door; he didn’t remember turning off the light. He didn’t remember anything but her.
Her and her both.
* * *
Room 14 was a tomb. Of all the operatives who resided there, precious few slept in their bunks. The rest of them—Becan, Jayden, Max, Travis, and Varvara—remained restless and enervated in the lounge.
Only one of them cried. It was Varvara, as her face was nestled tight against Jayden’s cradled arms. Her tears were not loud, but they streamed in a constant flow. Her sniffles were the loudest sounds in the room. All of the others were still, their eyes dry with exhaustion, their emotions too drained to be apparent.
“It’s all right,” Jayden whispered, his arms caressing Varvara’s back as she trembled against him. “It’s all gonna be all right.”
The news of Galina’s passing had been delivered by Captain Clarke, who promptly left after he announced it. David had walked out not long after. The rest of them stayed there in silence.
Finally, one of them spoke.
“I think we have a serious problem,” said Becan. Even his voice was subdued.
No one answered at first. It was as if no one had heard him at all.
“It’s called war,” Max eventually responded.
Becan turned to him and frowned. He hesitated for a moment, then replied, “Yeh know I’m not talkin’ abou’ tha’.”
“Yeah. I know.” Max rubbed his hands over his face. Then he leaned back in his chair. “You’re talking about Scott.”
“We need to figure ou’ wha’ to do. Do you realize all this has happened in one bleedin’ week? Tha’s it, just a week. Wha are we goin’ to look like a whole month from now? We need to figure ou’ somethin’.”
Max pressed his fingertips to his forehead, closing his eyes. “What is there to figure out?”
“Oh, nothin’ much, only how to stop our friend an’ commandin’ officer from goin’ psycho.”
“I don’t blame Scott for this,” Max said. “Scott took action—that’s what he does. He took action in the middle of a war. Maybe it is his fault. But maybe it’s Clarke’s fault for not charging first. Maybe it’s my fault.”
“Were you just ou’ there with us?” Becan asked sarcastically. “Did you not see wha’ we saw?”
Max glowered at the Irishman. “I saw one of us die in a war.” He glanced briefly to Varvara in apology. “Galina was everyone’s friend, and every one of us loved her. But she died in a war. Scott may have had nothing to do with it. But because of what’s going on now…it’s spiraling out of control.”
“Are you saying we’re blowing Galina’s death out of proportion?” Travis asked. The others turned to regard him.
