by Lee Stephen
“That doesn’t make sense,” Ryvkin said. “Why would he do this?”
“You know what will happen, don’t you?” Romanov asked. “Remington will kill the slayer who killed his woman!”
Outside the door, Varvara whirled around to Jayden. “Quick,” she whispered emphatically. “Go find Scott. He is gonna kill someone. Hurry!”
Jayden nodded and turned away. A moment later he stopped. “Oh veck, I don’t know where his room is. I’ve never been there.”
Esther spoke up. “I know where it is,” she said confidently.
Varvara turned to her. “Go, then, Esther. Quick! We will go back to Room 14.”
Esther bolted down the hallway, and Varvara and Jayden resumed their eavesdropping.
“I don’t know who killed Remington’s fiancee, but we must warn him,” Romanov said. “Or he will be killed. We have both seen the anger that Remington harbors.”
“His name is Nijinsky,” answered Ryvkin. “I know of him.”
“We must find him, then.”
“No,” Ryvkin shook his head. “We cannot get involved. What Yuri does, he must answer for. That is the way it must be.”
“His name is Nijinsky,” said Varvara.
“Nijinsky?”
“Yes. The man who killed Nicole.”
Jayden stepped away from the door. “C’mon, I’ve heard enough. Let’s go tell the others.”
Varvara nodded and followed him off.
Esther made it to Scott’s room in under a minute. The lieutenant’s door was wide open, but he was nowhere to be seen. As she turned on the light to look around, she could feel the tension in the room. Despite the lack of anyone else there, it was still present. Scott’s anger pulsed from the walls.
Her gaze darted in every direction, but nothing caught her eye. Finally, she looked at her feet. On the floor, partially crumpled by the wrath of a clenched fist, was a single small slip of paper. She bent down to retrieve it. The moment she opened it, she knew what it was. It was the killer.
She took it and bolted into the hall.
When Jayden and Varvara burst through the doors of Room 14, the whole room swung around to face them.
“What the hell?” asked Max as he rose to his feet at their entrance. Becan, Travis, Boris, and Oleg were also spread out in the bunk room.
“Scott’s in trouble,” panted Jayden. “Right now.”
David emerged from the lounge, a cup of hot tea in his hand. He listened in silence.
“Wha’ kind o’ trouble?” a shirtless Becan asked.
“The bad kind.”
“Dostoevsky told him who killed Nicole,” Varvara explained. “Now we think Scott is gonna kill him!”
From the doorway of the lounge, David’s face sagged.
“Wha’? Tha’s bloody grand! I hope to hell Remmy does kill him! Wha’s his name?”
“Nijinsky,” answered Jayden. “That’s all we know.”
David lowered his cup. “Do you know where Scott is?”
“No, man. We sent Esther to go check his room. We came here to tell you guys.”
Oleg listened quietly as the dialogue took place.
“Just let him do it!” said Becan. “We need a few less Nightmen in the world!”
“It’s Scott, man!” pled Jayden.
“Look,” said Max, “we need to calm down and think about what we can do. Anyone here heard of this guy?” No one replied. “Do we even know what unit he’s in?”
“We can find a terminal,” said Travis. “We can look him up on there, if that’s his last name they got.”
“Yes,” Varvara affirmed, “that is a last name.”
“Good idea, then,” Max said. “Maybe we can get there in time to stop Scott.”
“It’s too late,” came a new voice from behind them. The operatives turned to the door, where the voice emerged from the hall. It was Esther. “He’s already gone.”
* * *
Alexander Nijinsky sat atop his bunk in Room 3, where he polished the barrel of his e-35. As his hand pushed the rag up and down the black metal, he looked at his reflection in the gloss. His face was distorted in the curvature of the gun, but he could make out some of his features. He could make out his eyes.
It was a quiet night for the Third. Almost all members of the unit were there. Nijinsky had always yearned for a mission, and tonight was no exception. But tonight, his motivation was different. Normally, he wanted missions so he could kill. Now, he wanted one to escape. There was something far more dangerous than extraterrestrials there in Novosibirsk. There was something that was solely after him. Nijinsky knew what it wanted to give him. And worse yet, he knew he deserved it. He couldn’t get that fear from his mind.
So he waited in anticipatory dread. He waited for that movement in the field. He waited for that predatory growl.
He waited.
When the door to Room 3 crashed inward, Nijinsky almost fell from his perch. His hands lost their grip on the e-35, and it flopped to the floor. When he spun his head to the doorway, the figure he saw made him go white. It was the rage. It was the lover.
It was the lion.
Nijinsky watched in disbelieving horror as Remington surveyed the room. He watched in panic as the lion read each name tag. And when Remington paused in Nijinsky’s direction, the Nightman’s body turned to stone.
He’d been found.
* * *
“We’ve gotta stop him!” cried Varvara.
Esther hurried inside. “We can look him up, as Travis said! We have his name. We can use a terminal.” She held up the slip of paper.
Becan grabbed his shirt from his bed. “All righ’, fine. I still say tha’ Nightman’s better off dead, but if we’re goin’ to go, let’s go then!”
Travis hurried for the door. “I’ll check the terminal and find out where he is!” He glanced back into the room from the hallway. “How do you spell Nijinsky?”
Varvara spelled it out loud while the rest of the operatives rallied. “Go, quick!”
Travis turned back around in the hall. He once again started to rush away. But two words caused him to skid to a sudden halt. They were words spoken from someone inside the room. Words that made everyone stop what they were doing. Words that stood alone in the fray.
“Who’s Nijinsky?” asked Esther.
* * *
Nijinsky froze as Remington marched toward him. Several operatives from the Third stepped out to intercept, but they were halted by other Nightmen in the unit. The Nightmen were actually allowing the fight to take place.
Nijinsky flinched back as the Golden Lion lurched out to grab him. His eyes squeezed shut as the attack came. But the attack never came it all. He wasn’t grabbed. He wasn’t coerced. He wasn’t even touched.
It wasn’t Nijinsky whom Remington was after. It was the man standing directly beside Nijinsky. It was a man named Sergei Steklov.
As Scott grabbed Steklov by the collar, the young Russian’s boyish eyes grew in terror. Scott’s eyes did the very opposite. They narrowed, as the volcano of anger finally erupted. With his hands clenched around Steklov’s collar, Scott wretched him backward and flung him across the room.
* * *
Max stared wide-eyed at Esther. “What do you mean, ‘Who’s Nijinsky?’”
“I mean, who is he?” she asked, blinking in confusion. “Why do you want him?”
“He’s the one who killed Nicole!”
Her face fell. “What? That can’t be!”
Travis stood still in the doorway. “What do you mean, ‘That can’t be?’ You have the paper!”
“But that’s not the name on the paper!”
* * *
Scott watched as Steklov fell against the floor at the opposite end of the room. It was the farthest Scott had ever thrown someone. It was the farthest he’d ever wanted to. Before Steklov could scramble to his feet, Scott was on him again, grabbing him by the hair and smashing a fist hard across his face. He felt Steklov’s jaw give way as his
knuckles shattered it.
Did you like that? Was that good? Did it feel that way when you killed her?
He repeated the attacks again and again. With every hammering blow, blood and teeth spewed from Steklov’s mouth. Lifting him up from the ground, Scott hurled the young Russian over his shoulder.
* * *
“Gimme that paper!” said Varvara. She tore it from Esther’s hand. Her eyes shot wide as she began to read. “This is Yuri’s handwriting! But the name is Sergei Steklov!”
“Wha’ the devil’s goin’ on?” asked Becan.
David listened from the lounge doorway.
“This is his handwriting!” Varvara repeated. “But that is not the right name!”
“Are you sayin’ Dostoevsky gave Remmy the wrong name? Why would he do tha’?”
Max crouched to his knees in silence, cupping his hands at his mouth.
“He’s goin’ after the wrong guy…” murmured Jayden.
“But why would he do tha’?” Becan hollered. “Why would he give Remmy the wrong name?”
At that moment, Max’s eyes shut. He leaned his head back, exhaled, and whispered a realization out loud. “Yuri, you dregg…” The rest of the room turned to face him, and he opened his eyes. For a moment, he didn’t say another word. When he finally did speak, everything behind his words became clear. “Of course he gave Scott the wrong name. If Scott kills Nijinsky, that’s justice. But if Scott kills an innocent man…that’s called murder.”
David lost his grip on his cup. It crashed to the floor, where it shattered.
From the doorway to Room 14, Travis turned his head to the hall. The sound of a rolling cart approached.
* * *
Scott grabbed Steklov’s head and stood him up. The boyish Russian threw a desperate fist in defense, but for Scott, it was like swatting off a fly—this child was no match for him. He was probably no match for Nicole. That made Scott hate him more.
Steklov cried out in Russian, but Scott didn’t hear him. Tears streamed down Steklov’s face, but Scott didn’t see. There was only one thought in Scott’s mind.
Burn in hell.
With a one-handed flick, he spun Steklov’s body around. He reached his hand across the young Russian’s jaw from behind.
Burn in hell.
Scott yanked Steklov’s head to the side. There was a crack as the Russian’s neck snapped. He whirled and collapsed to the floor.
It was done.
Scott could feel it well up inside him—the rush of the kill. He felt the blood pulse in his veins. He felt the heat surge down his spine. It felt like nothing he’d ever done. And it was just that.
His eyes darted up to the rest of the room, where the operatives of the Third stood in a mix of silence and awe. Why hadn’t anyone tried to stop him? It didn’t matter. What was done was done. Now, it was time for his warning.
“This is the first Nightman I’ve killed. But if anyone else dies for their Rule, I swear to God, this won’t be the last.”
Now they knew. They knew the ultimatum. The line had been drawn, and they knew not to cross it. It was done.
Then, someone spoke—someone in EDEN. What he said made Scott’s heart stop. “But Sergei was not a Nightman!”
Those six words were all that it took. Everything in Scott’s body went numb, as he stared in shocked disbelief. “What?”
“Sergei was not a Nightman! He just came to us from Philadelphia!”
Circled around the room, several of the Third’s operatives cracked smiles. They were the same ones who’d held back their comrades. They were the same ones who’d allowed Scott to fight.
They were all Nightmen.
He staggered back against the wall. His eyes trailed down to the body. The body he’d beaten. The one he’d destroyed.
No. What they were saying was impossible. Steklov was the Nightman. He was the Nightman that Dostoevsky had given him. He was the name on the paper. It was him—he was the one Scott was supposed to kill.
When it clicked, his whole stomach fell.
Dostoevsky had never said that Steklov was the murderer. He had only given Scott Steklov’s name. Scott had assumed.
Scott felt his head as it turned heavy. Why would Dostoevsky do that? Why would he give Scott an innocent name? He had known what Scott would do. He’d known that Scott would attack. Dostoevsky’s words repeated in his head.
Do what you feel that you must. Do what you know you can live with. You will take it with you for the rest of your life.
What would he take with him for the rest of his life? The death of an innocent man? That wasn’t vindication at all—that was just murder.
Scott froze.
That was just murder.
As it came to him, he felt everything turn cold. The chill down his spine stung again. The boy on the floor had been murdered, and it was Scott who had murdered him. Scott was…
No…
Dostoevsky had said it in Scott’s room. He gave Scott Steklov’s name because Scott wanted to know it. He wanted to know it. He wanted to know who he was supposed to kill. He wanted to know who he was supposed to murder.
No. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. That was too much, even for the Nightmen. Wasn’t it?
Scott was a man of God. There was only one thing that could push him enough to take another man’s life. Only one thing that even came close. It was the one girl they knew he would kill for. The one girl that they knew. But they knew. Scott had even given them her picture.
They knew what it was that he’d do.
He stumbled backward out of the room. He pushed his hands back through his hair. It was all to get him.
For the second time that week, Scott ran as fast as he could. He ran as hard as he could. He ran with the purpose of a man who was terrorized. And for the first time since her death, he prayed to God.
His legs only slowed when he reached the hall to Room 14. He could see its door in the distance. With every step forward, it seemed farther away. His heart fought the desire to rip itself out of his chest; his gut twisted in knots.
Then he saw them.
They walked out of Room 14 with a purposeful gait. They were two men that Scott had never seen before. But he knew who they were.
They were Nightmen.
In their hands, being pushed down the halls of the barracks on a cart, was a helmetless set of EDEN armor. As soon as they saw Scott, they slowed down. They didn’t stop. They simply allowed their gazes to rest upon him with looks of curiosity and smugness. Then they were past.
Scott’s final breath before entering Room 14 felt like the longest he’d ever taken in his life. Like the last breath of a man beneath a guillotine. His stomach sunk deep as he rounded the corner to enter.
Everyone else was already there. David. Becan. Jayden and Varvara. Max, Boris, and Oleg. Travis and Esther. The bunk room was virtually full. But their gazes were not fixed onto him. Their gazes were fixed on his closet. As soon as he saw what they saw, he fell to his knees.
Its horns proclaimed its sin with soulless malevolence. Stamped on its chest, beneath an upside-down crimson triangle, was a name. It was the name of a murderer. But this time, he knew the name well.
The name on the armor was his own. It was the armor of a fulcrum elite.
Behind Scott, the footsteps of a man approached in the hallway. They stopped in front of the door. Scott didn’t have to turn to know who it was. He recognized the voice as soon as it spoke.
“He saw you in Siberia,” Dostoevsky said. “He told me that he wanted you, for us. He told me to train you. Then he asked me what it would take.”
It was real. What Scott saw before him was real. The horns, the darkness, the damnation. His rite of passage had been fulfilled with bloodthirsty vehemence. Exactly the way they had planned it.
“You are now what you are,” said Dostoevsky. “What you have done, you must now live with. You are my brother.” The room fell silent as it was said. “You are one of us.”
Scott crumpled face first to the floor. Tears now streamed down his face. He reached out his hand, but no one took it. He cried out to God, but heard nothing but silence.
She hadn’t died for someone else. She had died for him. And he had become what had killed her.
The halls reverberated with the sobs of the lion. The devil had stolen its soul.
20
Friday, August 12, 0011 NE
EDEN Command
“All right, everyone,” said President Pauling. “Time to read the verdict. All in favor of Archer’s proposals, let’s hear it. We’ll start with Tamiko.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Yes,” said Iwayama beside her.
“Yes,” followed Judge Yu Jun Dao.
As the votes continued to be announced, Torokin gave the papers a final look. Everything written in them was perfect. Every situation was defined. Everything worked. He frowned as he scanned them further.
“Yes,” said Lena.
“Yes,” said Rath.
It had all been so well done. So thorough and neat. It read better than any of Kentwood’s old documents.
“Yes,” said Castellnou.
“Yes,” said Grinkov.
The voting stopped. After several seconds of silence, Torokin looked up. All eyes were solely on him.
“Leonid?” asked President Pauling.
Torokin looked at the documents once again. So intelligent. So perfect. It pained him to read.
“Judge Torokin?”
“…yes.”
Pauling smiled widely. “Excellent! Benjamin, we’ll begin immediately. You’ve done an outstanding job.”
