Epic: Book 03 - Hero

by Lee Stephen

  “Bite the back o’ me bollocks—you’re exposed. An’ we’re goin’ to tell every man, woman, an’ Nightman who you really are.”

  Dostoevsky interjected again. “There could not be a worse time to discuss this.” He looked at Max. “We are on our way to a fallen Vulture. There may be lives at stake.”

  “Yeah, ‘cos I’m sure yeh care abou’ tha’.”

  “The captain is right,” said Varvara. “This is terrible timing. There is a ship, maybe with injured!”

  Becan’s aim never wavered. “Drop your weapons, Strakhov, if tha’s even your real name.”

  Oleg let go of his assault rifle. He relinquished his pistol as well.

  “Now step away.”

  The eidolon complied.

  “Dave?”

  David crept forward to claim the abandoned guns.

  “Lose the helmet an’ armor,” Becan said.

  Oleg scowled. “You have already made your point.”

  Becan’s finger tightened against the trigger.

  The eidolon cursed and removed his helmet. After a minute of unfastening, his armor was discarded on the ground. His insulated clothing was all that remained.

  “Give me a reason not to waste yeh righ’ here.”

  “Becan…” David said.

  The Irishman’s glare remained fixed. “There’s nothin’ I’d love more than to watch your brain hit the snow. Yours, then his.” He motioned to Dostoevsky.

  “Becan, don’t.”

  “Yeh set all o’ this up, Oleg. Yeh came to screw everythin’ up, you bleedin’ hoor’s melt.”

  David’s voice grew more stern. “If you do this, you’ll be just like them.”

  “This isn’t murder, Dave. It’s capital punishment.”

  “I’ll take Oleg. I’ll watch him at gunpoint. There’s nothing he can do.”

  Becan hesitated as the others observed.

  “Don’t become one of them.”

  The Irishman lowered his gun. “If he sneezes, take off his head.”

  Oleg turned his glare on David.

  Dostoevsky spoke again. “Everyone please listen. This was terrible time for this to happen, but it has already been done. We must continue with the mission. We will take Oleg with us, without weapons.” He looked at the eidolon. “He will not cause a problem.”

  David’s aim remained true.

  “We have not seen Bakma so far,” continued Dostoevsky. “If we are lucky, there will be none. Let us get to the crash site and help as many as we can. Afterward, we will deal with this. All right?” No one answered. “All right?”

  It was Becan who broke the stalemate. “Righ’,” he said dryly. “Well, lead the way.”

  Back in the forest, Scott and his team pressed on. At the rate they were moving, they wouldn’t get to the transport for thirty more minutes, but he didn’t care if it took thirty hours. The Bakma were calculating, and the more he thought about Esther’s idea that this was a hostage situation, the more he realized she was likely right.

  The transport was within ninety meters, but still nothing could be seen. Only trees and snow covered the landscape.

  Casting a sidelong look at the slayers, Scott continued ahead. Eighty meters. Several clearings loomed in the distance, but not to their visual advantage. He scrutinized them just in case, not only looking for Bakma but for any sign of a Noboat. Spatial discrepancies, noteworthy voids of snowfall—anything that could have been a dematerialized ship.

  Alien technology was difficult to grasp. Bakma plasma weapons, though generally understood, were troublesome to dissect. Ceratopian neutron blasters were hardly neutron at all—the media simply took that one word and ran. They were more like ballistic reverse-gravity guns. Across the board, from weaponry to armor to mass-defying propulsion systems, alien tech was a mysterious realm.

  But nothing was more puzzling than the Bakma Noboat. Nothing about their chameleon ability was understood; in fact, most things appeared contradictory. When they disappeared, they literally disappeared. From visual clues to radar detection, it was as though they ceased to exist. Yet they were there. Even when invisible, they possessed a kind of energy that affected the physical world, enough to be noticed if one looked hard enough. They were there, but they weren’t.

  It all came down to one thing. In the engine room of every Noboat sat a massive pillar of pure, colorless quartz. No other alien vessel contained one. It was the crux of chameleon technology, but the science behind it was unknown. When a Noboat was shot down the crystal was always the first thing to go, and none had ever been recovered, nor had one been witnessed in use.

  But at the moment, none of it mattered.

  The crash site was within seventy meters. Instinctively slowing his forward progress, Scott went through a mental checklist. He had several grenades on his belt, his sidearm was ready, and he was prepared for close combat. No Bakma had ever been seen with suits of chameleon-based armor, but he was prepared for that just in case. He was ready for anything.

  Sixty meters. His fingers twitched. Though his body was warm from his heaters, he could sense the cold all around.

  Within fifty, Egor stopped. Scott caught the abrupt pause in his peripherals. “Commander,” the slayer whispered through the comm.

  Scott motioned the others to halt.

  “The crash site. It is through the trees.”

  Scott zoomed in again, but he couldn’t make out anything. Egor must have had the best angle. “I don’t see it yet. Anyone else?” No one replied. “Egor, tell me exactly what you see.”

  “I am too far to make out details, but I can see the Vulture on the surface.”

  “Did it dig into the ground?”

  “I do not think so, commander. I think it is mostly exposed. But I cannot see much.”

  They would have to move closer. Scott was silent as he took in the woods. Where are you? The Bakma were out there somewhere—he knew it. His hand slid to his comm. “We’ve made visual contact with the transport.” That is, one of them had. “Travis, has anything been detected above the site?”

  “Negative, sir. Air chatter’s been nonexistent. They’re just circling around.”

  “Esther, what do you see?”

  “I’m a hundred meters east-southeast from your location. I’ve seen nothing yet, sir. There’s too much tree cover, but I am pressing forwards.”

  “No signs of Noboat activity?”

  “None yet.”

  “Keep in touch.”

  “Scott,” said Svetlana behind him, “if there are wounded, we must reach them soon.”

  He resisted the urge to argue. She wasn’t telling him to hurry, she was just stating the facts. There was a fine line between speed and caution, and they were barely maintaining their balance. He adjusted his comm’s frequency. “Captain Gabriel, this is Commander Remington of the Fourteenth contacting Pelican Squad. We have attained a visual on your location. If you copy this transmission, please respond.” There was nothing.

  He repeated his request. “Captain Gabriel, this is Commander Remington of the Fourteenth. We are approaching from the—”

  He stopped. A chill ran down his spine. He let go of his comm. Don’t tell them what direction we’re approaching from. Don’t even comm them again. He gripped his assault rifle harder.

  “Scott, what is it, man?” whispered William.

  Something was wrong—it was like a pricking at the back of his brain. His instincts were warning him. Slowly he pressed on. When he reached the thirty-meter mark, he finally saw the Pelican Squad transport. It had crashed nose-down in the snow, but it wasn’t a wreck. On the contrary, it looked like a decent landing, considering the circumstances. “Has anyone detected anything else yet?”

  “No, commander.”

  “Nothing, man.”

  Scott scanned the area again. “Esther, do you see anything?”

  “I see the crash site as well, but nothing else.”

  Scott grimaced. “Exercise extreme caution. Watch every
thing.” He put emphasis on every word.

  Twenty-five meters. He could now see the craft well. They were approaching on a straight intercept course for the ship’s rear bay door. It was fully closed, and he wondered if it had power at all.

  Looking to his right, he scrutinized Egor. The slayer’s vicinity looked clear. Panning to the left, he gave the same look to Nicolai and Auric. They looked clear, too, if not faintly distorted from Scott’s angle. He turned back ahead.

  Then he froze.

  Nicolai and Auric were faintly distorted. Slowly, Scott looked back to the left. The slayers came to view, but their forms weren’t entirely clear. There was a contour line cutting straight through their abdomens. There was a faint shimmer by their heads. Lowering his eyes, Scott saw the indentation in the snow—right between him and his slayers. It stretched behind and ahead, barely visible, but there. “Everyone, freeze.”

  A Noboat. They’d wandered right past it from both sides—it had been between them the entire time. He saw Auric turn to face him. If it’s a trap, don’t let on that we know. “Auric, keep looking ahead. Everyone, look like you’re scanning the area.” Scott moved his own head in mock survey. “Nobody act on what I’m about to tell you. Act oblivious.” The last thing he wanted to do was trigger an attack. “There is a Noboat between Romanov, Broll, and myself. If you react to it, the Bakma inside may attack. They are aware of our position.” They had to be. By this point, there was no doubt.

  “Commander,” said Egor, “I see another one ten meters to the southwest.” He growled in frustration. “Now it is obvious.”

  That was the infuriating aspect of Noboats. They were notoriously hard to find until they popped up out of nowhere. It was as if the brain had to be convinced they were real.

  There are two Noboats. That’s at least fifty warriors. We could easily already be dead. He looked at the crashed transport. They want us to go to the ship. That’s what they’re waiting for. It’s unfolding just as Esther said. They’re probably wondering why we’ve stopped our progression.

  Scott adjusted his comm once again for Pelican Squad. He had a theory to test, and a strong suspicion that this time he’d get a reply.

  “This is Commander Remington of the Fourteenth, contacting Captain Gabriel. We are twenty-five meters from your position.” It didn’t matter now if he revealed where they were. The Bakma already knew. “We have come across no Bakma activity. We will not proceed farther until you confirm that you’re receiving our transmissions. We do not wish to be fired upon.” It was a bogus concern.

  It took almost ten seconds, but Gabriel answered. “This is Rex Gabriel of the Pelican. We have received your transmission. Please continue your approach.”

  Now Scott knew that Esther had been absolutely right. Pelican Squad was playing into the trap. Scott had been using the same comm frequency, so there was no reason why Gabriel wouldn’t have responded until then. It was all becoming clear.

  “I copy, Captain Gabriel,” Scott said. “Stand by, and we’ll resume our approach shortly.” He closed the channel before Gabriel could respond, readjusting his comm to include both the Fourteenth and the Vindicators above.

  “This is Commander Remington with an urgent transmission. We are walking into an untriggered ambush. We have identified two Noboats on the ground, one within meters of our position.”

  “Meters?” asked Travis, surprised.

  Scott continued. “I have reason to suspect that there are Bakma inside the Vulture. If we react outwardly to that suspicion, we may trigger an attack.” They could never fight off fifty Bakma, but the Bakma didn’t want them dead. If they did, they would have killed them already. “Vindicator flight, are you receiving this?”

  “Affirmative, Commander Remington.”

  It was obvious why the Noboats hadn’t been discovered from the air. They’d landed carefully, without damaging the trees. “I am sending you coordinates for the location of the two Noboats.” He relayed the positions. “On my mark, engage from above. Make no indication of your awareness until then. You may not hear from me for several minutes—or longer. Only if the exterior situation shows open volatility do I request you to fire without my consent.”

  The pilots affirmed.

  “Travis, get airborne. Tighten your orbit around our location, but do not intrude. Be prepared for swift evacuation.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “We’ll continue our approach until we reach the transport. We have made contact with Captain Gabriel. They’ve kept us alive for a reason, and I want to find out what it is.”

  Dostoevsky’s voice cut through the comm. “We have reached the other crashed Vulture, Remington. There are no Bakma here. We have one survivor.”

  “Commander,” Esther said through the comm, “I now count four Noboats in the area.”

  Scott’s stomach lurched.

  “Three are clustered closer to you,” she went on. “The fourth is by itself, directly in front of me—I’m coming towards you from the opposite direction.”

  Esther had circled all the way around. She’d traveled ten times farther than Scott and his crew.

  She sighed through the channel. “I’m sorry, sir. I should have spotted them sooner.”

  Though she couldn’t see it, Scott shook his head. “You were right on the money, Esther. This one’s on me.” He was sure there were smarter approaches he could have taken to the situation, but now they had to press on. “Continuing onward.”

  They were being lured in by the Bakma. But it was the Fourteenth, not the Bakma, who had the advantage. They had the advantage because they were walking to a trap completely aware, with a flight of Vindicators ready to pounce.

  Scott continued to speak to Esther. “Relay the coordinates of all four Noboats to the Vindicators.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Over the past several days, the question had been lingering in Scott’s mind: who was he really? He was irritated at Captain Gabriel and his crew—had Scott been threatened as a hostage, he’d have replied with resistance. But more than irritation toward Pelican Squad, he felt outright anger at the Bakma. He was angry at their invisible arrogance. Scott and anger didn’t mix well.

  He focused on the Vulture’s bay door. They were now within meters of the ship’s hull. Nicolai, Auric, and Egor closed in behind him; Svetlana and William hung back.

  “I don’t know who’s through this door,” Scott said, “but they have no idea who we are. Let them think they have us outdone. They think they’re in control, so let them be. When I give the word, take control back.”

  The Nightmen affirmed.

  “Commander,” said Esther through the comm, “I’m ready to move in.”

  Scott placed his rifle in the prone position. “Remington to Gabriel—you can open the door.”

  27

  Friday, November 18, 0011 NE

  1311 hours

  As soon as the Vulture’s bay door lowered, the reality of the situation became clear. Captain Gabriel was kneeling on the floor of the transport, moppy blond hair shrouding his eyes. A plasma rifle was pointed at the back of his neck. He was a hostage.

  But that had been expected.

  Four Bakma crowded the troop bay, their plasma rifles aimed at Scott and his teammates. Two Ithini were there, as well. The aliens were in control.

  But that had been expected.

  Blood was splattered on the walls. Several EDEN corpses were piled in the corner. They’d either died in the crash or been killed by the Bakma.

  That had been expected, as well.

  It was what Scott realized next that he hadn’t expected—that caught him completely off guard. Captain Gabriel was the only live human there. There were no other EDEN soldiers in the ship besides the captain and the handful of corpses. The six aliens outnumbered the Pelicans, both dead and alive.

  “I’m sorry, mate,” Gabriel said. “There was nothing I could do.”

  Assault rifle raised, Scott spoke through his mechanized helmet. “Captain
, where is your crew?”

  “They’re on one of the Noboats, I have no idea why or which one. They were taken as soon as we crashed.”

  Scott’s veins burned with anger. He’d just ordered an airborne assault on the grounded Bakma ships. On his mark, Vindicators would fire. He’d inadvertently given them the order to attack Pelican’s captives inside the Noboats.

  The Bakma behind Gabriel spat, “Ta-gash resh. Nakassa tu`shaeck.” It shoved the captain in the back of the head.

  Gabriel winced. “They want you to come in and close the door.”

  “You speak Bakmanese?” Scott asked.

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know that’s what they want?”

  Scott felt it right then—the moment he posed Gabriel the question. It almost felt physical, but it wasn’t. It was almost like a jolt of the mind. He looked at the Ithini to Gabriel’s right. Its eyes were slowly widening. That feeling, that mental prod—it was from the alien. “What did you just do?” Scott asked the Ithini. “Did you just do that?”

  “Jubeea iche’raal, potaeka.”

  What happened next defied all Scott’s logic. He knew what the Ithini was saying. He didn’t understand the alien language, but he knew what the words meant. The aliens wanted him to come inside. If he complied, no one would be killed.

  Ithini were the only species known to be telepathic. They could connect with others via the mind. Scott knew in that moment that he was connected. It was the first time it’d ever happened to him.

  “What’s he telling you, mate?” Gabriel asked.

  Scott’s mind went numb. It felt used in a way that made him feel nauseated.

  The Ithini spoke once again.

  “They want us all to come inside,” Scott said. “If we do that, nobody dies.” He was simply repeating what he felt in his mind. He began to feel lightheaded, but not to the point where he couldn’t negotiate. “No,” he said to the Ithini. “I will come inside, alone. My teammates will be allowed to leave.”

  “Scott!” Svetlana whispered behind him.