by Lee Stephen
It held Sergei Steklov.
Scott had begun to collect Steklov’s papers shortly after the murder, after reality had time to set in. At first he could only find the basics—official documentation from Novosibirsk, unit transfer requests. Nothing personal at all. So he did the next best thing: he researched Steklov’s time in the Academy, how he had performed, what his instructors said about him. Scott wanted it all.
That had become Scott’s secret quest. He had cut Steklov’s life short. He’d placed a period in the middle of an unfinished sentence. All of Steklov’s hopes, his dreams—they were gone because of him.
Scott collected the information with the hope of finding something—anything—that Steklov had wanted to achieve. Some dream, some aspiration. Something that Scott had made incomplete. Scott wanted to pursue it in Steklov’s stead. He owed the young man he’d killed at least that much. Through all his research, through all his poring over Steklov’s files, he’d found only one thing of interest. It may have been of no significance, but it was all Scott had.
Enjoys xenobiology.
From one of his instructors at the Academy, Scott learned that Steklov had enjoyed xenobiology. That was it. The summation of Steklov’s known ambitions was limited to those two words.
That was why Scott visited Confinement and attempted to communicate with captives. It was why he took Steklov with him every time he went, personified in a single manila folder. If Scott could learn anything about the extraterrestrials—anything at all that he wouldn’t have otherwise known—then he would have done something to honor the life he’d destroyed. It was the only way he could feel even remotely redeemed.
Her voice brought him back to the room. “You are a man who is torn. You are torn between your guilt and your heart. I know this. Scott…you do not have the heart of a Nightman. You are still the man who jumped from a Vulture to save a woman he did not even know. You are still the man who saved men in Chicago. You are still the man who lived a life good enough to touch a stupid Russian girl. You are still a Golden Lion.”
His closet doors were still partially open, just enough for him to see the armor within. It wasn’t golden and it wasn’t innocent. It was as black as the sin it was designed to embrace.
Svetlana followed his eyes as he gazed upon the fulcrum’s horns. Then she turned back to him. “That is not who you are.”
He sighed. “I know how simple it must seem. To forget what happened, to pretend I didn’t do what I did. But that would be a lie. That’s the part that’s so hard to explain. Svetlana, I don’t want this. I don’t want to be a fulcrum, and it makes me sick to know I’m a Nightman at all. I live with that self-hatred every day. But it’s what I am. I did what they wanted me to do, I became what they wanted me to be.” He pointed to the closet again. “I hate what’s in there. It’s a constant reminder of the worst decision of my life.”
“Then, Scott, throw it away!”
“I can’t.”
“But why? Why must you live with this guilt? It is just armor! You can get EDEN armor tomorrow if you wish.”
“It’s more difficult than that. I owe that to Steklov,” he said, gesturing to the closet. “For me to take his life, then wash my hands as if nothing had happened—how disrespectful would that be?” It was so difficult to explain. “I don’t wear it for myself. I wear it for him. I know this must sound like the stupidest thing in the world, but that armor keeps him alive to me. I can’t forget him, Svetlana. I can’t devalue his life.”
Svetlana wore a vacant expression. Her shoulders slumped.
“Please show me another way to do this, then,” he said. “Show me another way to dig myself out. I don’t know what to do.”
The ensuing silence was filled with mutual understanding of the most painful kind. It was the discomfort of reality, which was a feeling Scott knew all too well.
He knew their conversation was over, even before words made it official. He realized how hard it must have been for her to share her feelings, but he understood why she’d done it. She wanted him to know who she was. She cared about him enough to reveal her deepest wounds, even if they discredited her.
He didn’t want her to fail. He wanted her to have the satisfaction of doing something good, even if it meant saving him. She deserved that. He just didn’t know how it could be done.
“I do not like myself,” she said quietly. She folded her arms over her stomach and looked down. “I have never liked myself. When I look in the mirror, I hate the girl that I see. You made me feel worth it.”
Svetlana…don’t do this to yourself.
She rose from his bed and went to the door, then turned back. “I will never give up on you.”
He didn’t know how to respond. He only stared at her, one lost soul meeting another.
After she left, Scott took several minutes to register the conversation he’d just had. All of it—her relationship with Tolya, her negative self-perception, her desire to help him—formed a tangled knot in his stomach. He couldn’t stop thinking about her words. He made her feel worth it. She’d never give up on him. How different those were from ‘I don’t care.’
There was still so much to be done. Scott needed to talk to Esther, but that could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, he had no choice but to go to Confinement to talk to Petrov. Once again, he looked at Steklov’s folder. But his thoughts were meant for someone else.
Nicole always said You’d put me where I needed to be. Please, God…tell me where I’m supposed to be now.
It was a scrap of a prayer. More than anything, it was a first call for help. He’d stopped believing in destiny months ago, but he desperately wanted to believe he was wrong. At least that was a start.
20
Monday, November 14, 0011 NE
2021 hours
As soon as the Pariah‘s bay door came down, a foul odor hit Max hard enough to make him recoil in shock. “Oh my God!” He waved his hands in the night air, stepped back, and looked around. There, laying down in the middle of the ship, a patchy brown and gray dog lifted its head. Scattered in messy piles on the floor, was canine diarrhea. The dog wagged its tail.
“What the hell? Who put a freakin’ dog in the ship?”
The animal flinched at his voice.
“Trashin’ Travis!” He stormed into the ship and stomped at the dog. “Get outta here!” The dog leapt to its feet and shrunk back. Max stomped again and the dog sped past him and out onto the airstrip. He watched it disappear into the night, then looked back at the Pariah‘s floor. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me!” He breathed through his nose, coughed, and stepped out, closing the bay door to escape.
“Max!”
He turned at the sound of his name. It was Svetlana; she was approaching from the hangar’s side door.
“Hey,” he said back. He walked to her and pointed to the Pariah. “Who put a freakin’ dog in the ship?”
She glared in return. “That is not ‘freaking dog.’ That is Flopper.”
Max blinked stupidly and looked back. “Oh. I’m sorry. I had no idea. How dumb of me not to recognize ‘Flopper.’”
“Do not be a jerk. I saved him myself, in Chernobyl. He was the only rescued survivor.”
“You saved him?”
“Yes. I took him to the Pariah myself.” She looked past him to the ship. “Is he all right?”
“Uh…” Panic emerged briefly in Max’s voice. He quickly changed his tone to disguise it. “Yeah, he’s fine. He’s sleeping in a locker.”
Her face fell. “In a locker?”
“On the floor!” he corrected. “He’s sleeping on the floor.”
“I should check on him.”
Max grabbed her by her shoulders and turned her around. “No, no, he’s fine. He looked pretty tired. We should let him sleep.” He quickly escorted her away, at the same time looking out to the airstrip. The dog was nowhere to be seen. “So what dragged you out of bed?” He suddenly looked at her oddly. “Did you get pied in the face?”
He shrunk back in defense. “Don’t shoot the messenger, just tellin’ you what I heard!”
“No,” she answered matter-of-factly, “I did not get pied in the face. I am not clown.”
“Harbinger was talkin’ about it back in the room. I was just makin’ sure.”
“I did not get pied in the face, for your information.” She murmured and began to walk again. “It was porridge.”
“So it’s true!”
“There is difference between porridge and pie!”
“Why the hell’d you get pied in the face?”
“Max…”
“Porridged. Porridged in the face.”
“That is between me and Esther—this is not why I came out here!” she said, waving her arms. “I came out here to talk about something else. Something serious.”
Max watched in silence and slid his hands in his pockets. “This is about Scott.”
She sighed. “Please do not say it like that…”
“I’m not saying anything like anything, Sveta. Today we lost our friggin’ captain. He’s dead. I wasn’t there, because I went and got hurt. Now I gotta live the rest of my life wondering if I’d have made any difference. But fine. Let’s talk about Scott.”
“You know,” she said in disgust, “this is so much like you.”
“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t hate the guy. I’ve actually come to respect him, if you can believe it. Hell, I’m almost glad he’s a Nightman. I was tired of being the only resident dregg.”
“I should slap you in the face for that.”
He ignored her. “When Nicole died, I probably felt the worst outside of Scott himself. People actually blamed me for what happened. Scott didn’t, but a few people did.”
“Where are you going with this?”
“I want to know who cares about me!” He raised his voice for the first time. “It’s always Scott, Scott, Scott. I feel for the guy, Sveta, I really do. I want him on my team. But he’s not. He’s on some team between us and them.” He motioned to the sentries in the hangar. “Do you realize I’m the only EDEN officer left? It’s Dostoevsky, Scott, and then me. I’m taking a wild guess it’s a slayer who’ll get promoted.”
She waited for him to finish his tirade.
“So what am I supposed to do?” he continued. “How am I supposed to handle this situation? Hell. They’re probably gonna kill me to make room for someone else.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Do you want Scott to be on your team? On our team?”
“Yes! Yes, I do. I’m doggone desperate for it, if you want the truth.”
“Then do something for me.” Her glare melted away. “Do something for Scott. You are the only one who can do it.”
“You mean something something?”
“Yes, I mean something.”
He waved his hand and turned away. “I don’t even wanna know.”
“Max!”
“I already tried, Svetlana! Today I tried! I asked him if he wanted to fix all this, and you know what he said?”
“What did he say—”
“Nothin’! He said absolutely nothin’. He just walked away like I didn’t exist. I can’t help that. I can’t fix that. How can I reach out to someone who won’t even acknowledge I’m here?”
“Just give him a chance!”
“What is it gonna take?” he asked. “The girl is dead, Sveta. Nicole is dead. As far as I’m concerned, Scott died with her.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Max, please? Give him a chance to show that he can be good again. He wants to be. He does. He just does not know how to show it.”
“Then he’s gonna have to learn how to show it. When he gives me a reason to believe he’ll have my back when worse comes to worst, then you can talk to me about favors. But he’s gotta show me that first.” Turning away, he walked back to the ship.
She watched him for a few moments, then left the hangar without saying goodbye.
Max stood by the side of the Vulture, his arms crossed as he stared out at the strip. His eyes bore into the darkness—straight out into the night.
“Where’s that dumb dog?”
* * *
Svetlana was halfway through the halls when she ran into Varvara. The younger woman was walking quickly through the barracks in the direction of Room 14.
“Varya!”
When she heard her name, Varvara flinched. “Sveta! Hello!” she said in Russian. She looked flustered, her hair unkempt and her cheeks flushed. Her breathing was short and irregular.
“Where have you been?”
“Where have I been? I went to do some working out. It has been a long day, has it not?”
“Working out in the middle of the night?”
For a moment, Varvara said nothing. Then she brushed back her hair. “There has been so much on my mind—with Jayden, then with everything else. Then what happened with the captain today—it was just terrible when I heard about it. I needed to work out the stress.” She glanced over Svetlana’s shoulder down the hall.
Svetlana followed her gaze, but no one was there.
“So! How are things with the lieutenant?”
“Do you mean Scott or Max?”
“Scott.”
“Things are good…” She stared at Varvara, then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you sure you were working out?”
Several silent seconds passed before Varvara laughed with apparent fatigue. “Yes, yes. I know that must seem silly. But, it is what I do. You know how I am.”
“Yes. I do.”
“Will you walk with me back to the room?”
After a moment of hesitation, Svetlana followed.
“I think things will be good here now,” Varvara said. “It is so good that you decided to return. You are such a good person. You will help our situation.”
Svetlana eyed her from behind. “You were the one who wrote me the letter.”
Laughing breathily again, Varvara said, “Yes. Yes, I did. I am sorry…I am tired after working out, you must understand. I am not thinking clearly.”
“What are you hiding?”
Varvara stopped and stared wide-eyed at Svetlana. Her hesitation was impossible to miss. “I am not hiding anything. I do not know what you are suggesting. I went to work out, and now I am returning to the room. That is it.”
“Since when do you work out with no towel?”
Silence hit.
“Who is it?” Svetlana asked.
“Who is who?”
“You heard what I asked. Who is it?”
“Sveta, I do not know what you mean—”
“If I turn around and walk back, who will I find?”
Varvara shook her head. “I do not—”
“Is it someone from the unit?”
The younger woman looked distressed. All at once, her nostrils flared. “Wait! You are not suggesting…” Her words hung unfinished. When Svetlana said nothing, she gasped. “No. No! I am not doing what you think. How dare you accuse me of this!”
“Varya, I am only asking you a question.”
“I know exactly what you are asking!” Varvara’s cheeks exploded with red. “How could you suggest that? How dare you suggest that!”
As Varvara’s voice rose, so did Svetlana’s hands. She whispered, “Varya, it is night, please keep your voice down…”
“I went to work out. That is it! You always think you know what is going on.”
Some of the doors along the hallway began to open. Half-awake operatives stared at the two women.
“You are always in everyone’s business, thinking you know what is best! You never leave anyone alone.” She threw up her hands. “No wonder you got pied in the face!”
The observing operatives’ heads collectively turned. They followed Varvara as she marched all the way back to Room 14. Then they turned to Svetlana.
Svetlana’s cheeks were flushed red. She glared as Varvara disappeared. For several seconds, she didn’t
move at all. She didn’t turn. She almost didn’t breathe. Then, her lips pursed with rage.
She spun around and strode up the hall. She strode all the way out of the barracks.
Right through the cafeteria doors.
* * *
Ten minutes later
The door to Room 14 burst violently open as Svetlana stepped inside. Travis flinched atop his bed, where he had been in the midst of reading his comics. The lights were on in both the bunk room and the lounge. The unit was still awake. Svetlana marched, hands full, right across the bunk room floor. She marched right into the lounge.
Several operatives were already there—among which was Esther. Conversation ceased as Svetlana entered. When the scout saw Svetlana, she sat up erect.
Svetlana’s glare was calculated and cold. When she finally spoke, her voice boomed.
“Attention, all who can hear!”
Esther flinched; no one else moved.
Svetlana set a plate on the counter. In her other hand she held a filled-to-the-brim bowl. “This,” she said, “is porridge!” Turning the bowl upside down, she dumped its entire contents on Esther’s head. The young woman shrieked as oatmeal rained down.
Before anyone else could react, Svetlana reached for the dessert on the counter. “And this is a pie.” Without warning, she slammed it straight into the scout’s face, causing an eruption of white topping to splatter the cabinets behind them. The other operatives gaped.
Esther sat frozen in shock. Whipped cream and melted marshmallow slid from her face. When she finally looked down, the whole mess fell splattering to the floor. Only her ponytail had escaped the messy assault.
“Learn the difference,” Svetlana said. Wiping her hands on her sweat suit, she turned and marched out the room, stopping only to glance back at the scout. “Enjoy dessert.” Then she was gone.
The remaining operatives stared at Esther as she dragged a hand over her head to slick the porridge back, wiping the filling from her face a moment later. When she spoke, her voice was layered with disgust. “Well, wasn’t that cute?”
