by Lee Stephen
Scott slapped his forehead. “Boris! And what happens when they get in touch with said power company? What happens if they ask how the transfer went, or when the next one’s going to happen, or who they can speak to about more advanced notification?”
The smile on Boris’s face fell. “Oh. They will probably not do that. I think.”
“You think? We can’t risk ‘you think!’ I’ve already got scouts losing their ponytails, B, I don’t need someone screwing with the utilities!”
“Hmm.” Folding his arms, Boris stroked his beard. “We are not very good spies.”
Tap-tap-t-tap-tap. Tap! Tap!
Boris’s eyes widened wildly as he whipped to the door. “They are onto me!”
“No, you idiot,” Scott said. “That’s a Natalie knock.”
“Oh.” The technician went into primp mode.
Scott hit him. “You’re not staying. You and I were doing a one-on-one post-mission review.”
The Russian looked bewildered. “We were? But I came here to show you about hacking—”
“No! I mean—that’s our cover. It’s our cover, Boris.”
“Oh!” Boris nodded. “Right, I understand.”
Walking to the door, Scott rehearsed his words. A short, formal explanation would give Boris a proper reason for being there, and a prompt exit. He would greet Natalie with completely normal professionalism. Nothing would be conspicuous at all.
He opened the door.
Scott barely had time to register the wine glasses in Natalie’s hand, or the massive smile plastered across her face, before she literally pranced into his room. “We did—” The word it never had a chance to come out. Eyes locking onto Boris, Natalie snapped upright in an awkward, abrupt attention, nearly stumbling over in the process. Clearing her throat, her voice cracked. “Trooper Evteev.” She darted the wine glasses behind her back. Her cheeks turned bright red. “You guys see that power dip?”
Boris stared in an enamored stupor.
“Mister Evteev and I were just finishing a one-on-one mission review,” said Scott. “It’s our traditional way of closing out missions.”
“Oh.” Natalie said, trying her utmost to save her dignity. “That’s very good. Very effective.”
Scott eyed Boris. “But we were just wrapping up.”
“Yes.” Boris said, mesmerized. “We were just wrapping up.” The technician stood motionless.
Scott’s brow furrowed purposefully. “...and now you can go.”
Boris nodded. “Yes. Now you can go.”
“You can go, Evteev.”
Snapping from his fantasies, Boris nodded hastily. “Yes! Yes, captain, and commander. I will go. Thank you for reviewing with me.” Gathering up his things, the Russian made for the door. Only when Boris had completely left the room did Scott lower his guard.
No one needed to prompt Natalie to lower hers. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back and groaned. “That was the most embarrassing thing that has happened to me in my entire life.”
Laughing, Scott went into immediate friend mode. “If that’s true, you’ve had a good life.”
“It never even crossed my mind that someone else might be in here.” Tossing the wine glasses on his bed, she covered her face.
“Hey—it’s all right. No harm done.” Her face remained flushed as she offered him a sheepish smile. Laughing softly, Scott motioned her to him. “All right, come here. Get it out your system.”
She beamed and offered him a high-five that felt strikingly like it would have been a hug, had her entrance not been interrupted. “We did it. That’s all I wanted to tell you, that we did it. That’s harmless, right?” She made a loud ugh sound. “He saw me carrying wine glasses.” Leaning back, she tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m still red, huh?”
Scott smirked. “Yeah, you’re pretty red.”
“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, either.” She tucked her hair a second time. “I just have to celebrate! I couldn’t with Logan, that’d be too...weird. I thought, you know, me, you, a little champagne to set the mood. Of celebration!” she quickly corrected. “The mood of celebration.”
He angled his head just slightly.
Blowing up the hair on her forehead, she said, “I should probably...” She pointed briefly to the door. “I feel like maybe, this is giving off a signal. I don’t mean to you! I mean, in general, to...the unit.” She glanced at the door again. “I should go.”
Being honest with himself, Scott had to admit that seeing her flustered and lost for words was, well, cute. This was a side of her no one else in the Caracals was allowed to see, maybe not even Logan. She’s so much like Nicole. He had thought that about her since their date at Sabola. The way she talked, the way she carried herself, her personality. It was...
...attractive.
Wandering to his bed, she collected the wine glasses. “Okay. So, we’re clear, right?” She pointed back and forth from his eyes to hers. “We should celebrate with the rest of the unit. Take them out to...eat. Or work out. Eat, then work out. Except, the other way.” She looked away and blew out again. “I will exit now.” She saluted. “As you were.”
Laughing on the inside, he returned the salute.
A track star couldn’t have made it to the door as quickly as Natalie did. She was practically bolting. Backing out the open doorway, she waved. “I’ll see you later, Scott—Commander Scott. Remington.” She began to close the door quickly, disappearing from view.
“Do you want to go out tonight?” Scott asked. He hadn’t even thought about it—the question just blurted out.
She swung the door back open. “If you want to.”
“Eight o’clock. Outside, by the garage.” A stroll in the Egyptian moonlight. That’d be nice to see.
“Great.” Her smile stretched from ear-to-ear. “I’ll see you then!” She shut the door again.
Scott stood by his bedside for several seconds after she’d left, his mind awash with thoughts. I just asked Natalie out. It had been an impulse—something completely unrelated to their mission. Something he’d just wanted to do. Because she was so much like Nicole. Slowly facing his nightstand, he stared at Nicole’s photo. She was smiling at him. Like she always did.
I’m not here to be with the Caracals. I’m not here to help Natalie grow. I’m here to find the truth and to save Svetlana. But even here, so far away from everything I know...I can’t get away from you.
Her blue eyes sparkled within the boundaries of her frame, her forever epitaph—I love you!—staring him down.
I can’t get away from you.
A relationship with Natalie Rockwell was everything wrong. Impractical to their mission. Impossible in reality. Irresponsible as his cohorts’ tactical leader. Yet he was asking her out—asking her to walk with him under the Egyptian moonlight. Beneath the stars. And it had nothing to do with Natalie at all. He was chasing a ghost.
Faith had brought him to EDEN. EDEN had brought him to Novosibirsk. What was driving him in Cairo? Walking to his nightstand, he picked up the photograph and held it face-up. Emotions always swelled when he did that. It was the closest he’d ever come to holding her again. To ever hearing her voice. To never letting go. Longingly, he closed his eyes.
“Scott.”
It wasn’t a real voice. But he heard it just the same. He had heard that voice say that name countless times, and for years. It was forever ingrained. Chill bumps broke as he felt her touch against his back. Her arms wrapping around him. Her warmth.
She’d loved him. More than any woman ever had. Losing her had devastated him on every level. It had turned him into someone else.
Her head was against his shoulder from behind, her chin resting right beside his ear. She held him so closely. As if she was there.
As if she was really there.
Scott’s mouth opened, a shuddering exhale that cut through his core. Tears brimmed beneath his lids. There was no Nicole Dupree. There would never be a Nicole Remington. Those
things—those hopes—were in the past, just like the voice and touch he was imagining now weren’t really there.
Scott’s mind turned to Novosibirsk. To the smiling blonde who’d forsaken her future for him. Who’d returned there, for him. Who did everything for his betterment, with the promise of nothing in return. Who loved him now. Those ocean blue eyes. The bluest he’d ever seen. Svetlana knew Scott in a way that not even Nicole had. Nicole had never seen the dark side of him. There was no way to imagine how she would have reacted to it. But Svetlana knew. She knew his anger, his violence. His lack of faith. His total lack of a commitment to her. Yet she still loved him.
There’d been no opportunity for Scott to go to Nicole’s funeral. The closest chance he’d had to lay her at rest had been in the hangar of Novosibirsk, watching as a box with her body inside was loaded onto a plane. There’d been no sermon, no lowering of a casket. No closure.
Everything came out. The sobs, the heaves. The future he’d clung to for so long that could never be. The ghost he continued to chase, whether her name was Nicole or Natalie. The destiny that never happened. That was maybe never meant to.
Offering Nicole a final look—just long enough to allow his teardrops to find her—he carried her across the room to his closet. Kneeling down, he pulled out his duffle bag.
He laid her to rest.
The mission was important. Potentially game-changing. It had to be accomplished. But if Scott was honest with himself, he’d spent more time trying to figure out his own emotional state than he had focusing on the rescue of their target. Did that make him a bad leader? No. That made him human. But things were about to change.
No more leading Natalie on. No more “it’s for the good of mission” phony justification for chasing the image of a girl who’d passed away. No more clinging to the past. He would deal with the captain of the Caracals in the same way he’d felt led to on their night out at Sabola. He was going to tell her the truth. About H`laar. About Novosibirsk. About everything.
Tonight.
For the rest of that morning and afternoon, the five transplants from Novosibirsk, for the most part, kept to themselves. Esther did provide a briefing to Scott and the others about her discovery of Centurion. Though Scott was initially discouraged about the loss of H`laar, the fact that they had located H`laar’s bodyguard—and that said bodyguard had information to help their cause—was enough to lift the spirits of the group. It was counted as an alternate victory, but a victory nonetheless. The next step was formulating a plan to extract him to Novosibirsk.
Boris took his technician’s kit to the various consoles of Cairo, poking and prodding at their firewalls and network security, finalizing his efforts. Auric explored the halls of the Anthill alone—an attempt, albeit small, to be tactically useful.
As for Esther and Jayden together, they made their way through the labyrinths of Cairo until they found its crowded, near spa-caliber pool. Most of Esther’s time there consisted of laying her head poolside atop her folded arms, staring absently as Jayden stayed beside her, his arm draped over her shoulder as she fell away in thought. Her date with Giro Holmes, an unsettling yet necessary affair, was later that night. She had much to mentally prepare for.
Only Scott approached the evening with any sense of serenity. Enveloped in an aura of newly-defined purpose, the Golden Fulcrum prepared for his date with Natalie. His aggression had directed him since the day he’d murdered Sergei Steklov. It was about to direct him again—in a way that was good. He would be aggressive in telling Natalie the truth. Damn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead. In a matter of hours, everything would take place.
Their purpose would become clear.
Motion.
It is the bearer of humanity’s most fundamental scientific laws. From motion, the rules of existence are established.
An object at rest will remain at rest unless acted upon by an outside force. It takes but the slightest provocation, the slightest indication that its master might be in harm’s way, to prompt ferocious loyalty from even the most feral of companions. They will abandon their dens to rush to their master’s aid, to rescue the ones they love. Or to die trying.
An object’s force is equal to its mass times acceleration. To its skill times determination. Force can come quietly, masked behind the tapping of high heels and the pretense of a late-night date, or beneath good intentions and a full desert moon. It can build slowly behind glass partitions and dark purple eyes, biding its time until the right moment comes for its reckoning—its force—to be unleashed.
For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. For every push. For every defiance. For every bluster. For every arrogance. For every darkness. For every atrocity. For every murder.
For every terror.
For those whom destiny beckons, motion is inevitable—be it from provocation, purpose, or reaction. Be it for sacrifice, freedom, or infamy.
Motion will occur.
ESTHER WAS HALFWAY to the cafeteria to meet Giro Holmes for their date when the sound of her comm halted her in her tracks. Raising a carefully defined brow, she read the message on its display.
Exciting news, meet me in my office – G.H.
On Friday, August 5th, 0011, an event triggered a course of history. A woman was murdered. Six days later, a lion fell.
HANDS RUBBING TOGETHER apprehensively in the elevator, Scott exhaled a nervous breath. He was late. Natalie was probably already waiting for him on the surface. Closing his eyes, he whispered a prayer.
In that same month, a new face emerged at the center of the world. Champagne-blond hair, amber eyes, and a prince’s smile. Perfect sincerity.
STANDING IN THE War Room with the rest of the Council, Benjamin Archer watched and listened as the word was given—the final order of EDEN’s first president. Very subtly, he locked eyes across the room with Kang Gao Jing.
In war, humility must sometimes supersede dedication. Compromise must sometimes come before loyalty. Existence can be so complex.
CRICKING HIS NECK, Tauthin laid back on his metal cot. The lights in Confinement dimmed as the night shift came on. Farther inside Novosibirsk, in Room 14, those operatives who chose to retire for the night nestled into their bunks. Deep within the Citadel, Ignatius van Thoor joined the night’s call to slumber.
The Machine was falling asleep.
As night fell on Friday, March 16th, 0012, the gears of motion began to turn, their groans setting into play that which had become inevitable—bringing nonparallel lines to their point of intersection.
Motion. It is the bearer of humanity’s most fundamental laws. From it, the rules of existence are established.
And it sleeps for no one.
30
FRIDAY, MARCH 16TH, 0012 NE
THAT NIGHT
CAIRO
NATALIE WAS WAITING for Scott outside the garage. As soon as she saw him, her face lit up.
THE TRAMLINE screeched as it slowed, hissing to a halt at Hell’s hub. Esther had received no further messages from Giro since the scientist’s request for her to go to his office. Though she’d replied with an affirmation, she’d received nothing back.
SCOTT WAS WEARING his standard-issue uniform. Despite the date-like nature of his and Natalie’s meeting, this was a totally different situation than Sabola. Hair combed haphazardly and clean-shaven, he looked as disarming as he could. He needed disarming tonight.
Natalie’s hair was tied back in a damp ponytail, indicative of a recent shower. She too was dressed appropriately for an on-base meet-up, wearing simply a dark gray long-sleeved shirt and her EDEN fatigues.
ADJUSTING HER PEARL earrings and necklace, Esther stepped off the tramline. Fingers tracing the pleats of her black maxi dress, Esther continued down the hall. It was an alternative outfit, one she’d brought for a reason. Its plunging neckline revealed just enough to tantalize without crossing any lines. Her hair was perfectly done, her inverted bob styled so that a layer dipped over her left eye. She’d already pla
nned to make a trip to the city of Cairo tomorrow to buy a new ponytail. But that wasn’t a priority tonight.
“HEY!” NATALIE’S VOICE shivered. Her mouth remained open in a broad, hopeful smile. Thin vapors escaped her lips. “Can I say something?” she asked rhetorically, laughing. “I am freezing!”
He’d almost mistook the shiver in her voice for nerves, though the chill of the desert air was undeniable. “I’d offer you my coat if I had one.”
“It’s okay,” she blew out a breath, “just colder than I expected!”
APPROACHING THE security checkpoint, Esther waited for the two door guards to grant her entrance. Both guards were avoiding looking at her. Like it was a conscious effort. Offering them the best smile she could manage, she passed through the door into the administration wing.
The wing was dimly lit, as if the whole area had settled down for the night. Stopping in the lobby, she waited to see if anyone would come to escort her. No one did. Easing her head just slightly, she peered down the hallway to Giro’s office. Everything was vacant. Silent. Subtly, something began to tingle. That small shiver down her spine—that unsettling intuition she knew and trusted.
Something was off.
* * *
NOVOSIBIRSK
THE SMELL OF coffee wafted throughNovCom tower. Overlooking the grounds of The Machine, the night crew leaned back in their chairs, feet propped against various consoles in the window-surrounded room. All was still.
BENEATH THE PARIAH’S stripped-down control panel, with an assortment of tools spread out beside him, Travis was hard at work. In the co-pilot’s seat, Tiffany leaned her head back and lounged lethargically. Her left wrist swayed with every move Travis’s cuffed right hand made.
Laying in the middle of the troop bay, Flopper was sound asleep.
NOVCOM’S RADAR operator jolted upright. He looked wide-eyed at his screen.
