Enemy One (Epic Book 5)

by Lee Stephen

  The forge was as good a starting point as any.

  As the pair walked deeper into the forge, the smoldering smell of smoke and cinders clung to their nostrils amid the almost melodic sound of metal striking metal. There was no joy to be found, no work songs sung in unison by the metal workers. There was only a robotic dedication appropriate for an employer nicknamed The Machine.

  “They gotta know what happened, right?” asked William quietly.

  David had been wondering the same thing. Novosibirsk was defeated, and the Nightmen were scattered. If anything, work should have been at a standstill, or at the very least diminished for the sake of uncertainty. It didn’t make sense.

  From across the room, the brawny shouts of authority emerged. David and William turned to see a large man pointing and barking orders in Russian. He was robust—a man of the earth, not of weight rooms and glamour workouts. He had a brown bowl cut that looked nothing short of Medieval and a full beard that covered the entire bottom half of his face. He lorded over the forge like a brutal tyrant; every time his voice boomed out, the workers around him leapt into some sort of action. There was no question in either of their minds: this was their guy. “That’s a forge master if I ever saw one,” said David. Stepping through the workers as they marched back and forth, the two men made their approach.

  Within seconds, the large man spied them. Shouting a last-second order to a plodding worker, he then set his sights on David and William, lumbering toward them with his bushy eyebrows narrowed in a grizzled glare. Stopping, arms crossed above his belly, he said, “Valentin told me you would be coming by.”

  At least they had that going for them. Extending his hand, David said, “David Jurgen, part of the Fourteenth. Right by my side here is William Harbinger.”

  “Artur Pashkov,” the man answered, enveloping David’s hand in his massive paw. “Welcome to the forge.”

  Freeing his hand from suffocation, David surveyed the nearby furnaces and workers. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen anything quite like this. It’s kind of…” Biting his tongue, David let the statement hang.

  “Kind of what?” asked Artur bluntly.

  The older operative sighed. “It’s kind of Old Era.”

  Artur grunted then pivoted to face the room in full. “If you want the pinnacle of technology, go somewhere else. If you want hard work and efficiency, come here.”

  “I guess I just never imagined it to be so hands-on.” That was the most polite way David could put it.

  “EDEN uses machines,” answered Artur. “My workers craft with their hands. A machine cannot replicate the touch of hammer against anvil.”

  Rubbing his forehead, William said, “Anvils, man. That’s crazy.”

  David observed the workers as they worked on, manning huge devices that looked like metal presses. The presses rose and fell against the Nightman armor being forged. In the midst of them were actual workers with actual hammers and anvils, pounding away. With every strike of their implements, the dark curves of slayer and fulcrum armor took shape. It was surreal. “I guess I just figured advanced armor took advanced technology.”

  “The technology is advanced,” Artur said. “The sweat is not.” He walked past the rows of furnaces, David and William in tow. “It is called high-pressure torsion. The presses,” he pointed, “apply force to the metal, which strengthens it. The presses give the armor strength, while the hammers give it shape.”

  “What kind of metal is that?”

  Stopping a nearby worker, Artur addressed the man in Russian, seeming to be offering instruction regarding whatever the worker was doing. The worker nodded and hurried away. Artur addressed David again. “Aluminum 7075. Lightweight, stronger than titanium. Perfect for Nightman armor.”

  William leaned over a bin filled with discarded helmets. “So that’s not what EDEN uses?”

  The large man laughed disdainfully. “No. What EDEN uses would not be pass muster here.” Motioning to a cart that a worker pushed past them, he said, “When we are finished with the armor in the forge, it is taken to Finishing, where the interior is fitted with para-aramid synthetic fiber, for both added protection and comfort.”

  “I don’t know what’s more surprising,” said David, “that you run a Medieval forge or that you can explain it so well in English.”

  At that, Artur laughed with sincerity. “We do not only supply armor to the Nightmen. We also deal with mercenary and pirate factions. As you know, English is the business language of the world. If you want customers, you must be able to communicate with them.”

  So that explained why the forge was so active even with Novosibirsk being captured. Northern Forge had a clientele list. “So are you a Nightman?”

  “No,” Artur answered. “None of the people that you see here are Nightmen. Lukin and his guards make up the only Nightman presence. The rest of these people are all civilian workers. Norilsk is a proud and hard-working city, despite what you may have seen when you flew in. These are ‘blue-collar’ people, as you call them.”

  “Do these people know that Novosibirsk got taken back by EDEN?”

  The massive man nodded. “They are aware, but work will continue. We have several batches of armor to finish, then they will move on to some of our other customers. Even if the Nightmen cease, this place will remain operational.” He harrumphed. “Lukin might even long for that—he has as big an eye for business and profit as he does for serving General Thoor. The late General Thoor,” he corrected.

  William rubbed his chin. “And none of you guys have a problem with working for the Nightmen? Y’all know they murder people, right?”

  “Say what you will about the Nightmen, but they have been good for our city. Times have been difficult in Norilsk since the energy shift. The Nightmen employ hundreds of people, and they supply our police with armor and weapons at no cost.” Wiping his nose on his sleeve, he said, “This city is better off with the Nightmen than without. It requires us to overlook certain things, but considering what they provide to us…” Artur allowed the statement to trail off, his sentiment understood. After a momentary pause, he faced the pair fully. “But you are not here to talk about Norilsk and its politics. What do you need from me?”

  David slid his hands into his pockets. “We could use some armor, Artur. Times have been a little tough.”

  “How much do you need?”

  “Not as much as you have here,” answered David, surveying the cache of armor being taken off the presses. “I would say about, what?” He looked at William. “Fifteen sets?”

  The demolitionist shrugged. “Got no idea, man.”

  Nodding his head, Artur said, “Get me some numbers, and I will get you your armor. It is of no consequence to the forge itself. We produce more in a few hours than what you probably need.”

  David believed it. He had always wondered how the Nightmen managed to pay for all the toys they owned, and this went a long way in explaining it. No one had considered that as much as they were a military cult, they were also a business. Turning Artur’s way again, he asked, “I don’t suppose you have a women’s line of apparel, eh? We got one or two of those who could use a little armor.”

  “Not as a part of our standard stock,” Artur answered. “All of the Nightman armor off our assembly is made for men, and we are contractually forbidden to provide you with any of the wares we sell to our other customers.” The massive man rubbed his chin. “Though I am sure there are some rules that can be bent. This is a unique situation, after all.”

  Indeed it was.

  Turning David’s way, Artur asked, “Is there anything else that you need?”

  “No, I think that pretty much wraps it up. Many thanks to you.”

  “It is my pleasure. Come and see me anytime.”

  A handshake was exchanged, and the parties went their separate ways.

  Halfway back to the elevator, William glanced at David and said, “That felt a little too easy.”

  David chuckled and slapped the So
utherner on his back. “Well, big guy…I think at this point, life owes us an ‘easy’ or two.”

  William agreed, as together, the two men ventured back up.

  15

  Sunday, March 18th, 0012 NE

  0917 hours

  In Flight, Russia

  “I UNDERSTAND THAT, but that’s a you issue, not an ours.” Comm held against his ear, Judge Jason Rath paced about the transport back to EDEN Command.

  Sitting across the cabin and listening in silence was Oleg. The two had nary spoken a word to each other during the flight from Novosibirsk—though plenty of words had been spoken by the judge to his counterparts. Oleg was not privy to the conversations Rath was having, but that didn’t stop him from trying to be. Head angled just enough for his ears to focus on Rath’s words, he listened on.

  “Again, that’s not our problem, Jaya. That’s something you needed to take care of before you even left. Benjamin would tell you the same thing.”

  As hard as he tried, there was no way for Oleg to hear what was coming out of the comm’s speaker with the device in privacy mode. Drawing a bored breath, he leaned his head back against the wall of the cabin. He stared squarely at Rath, who was oblivious to the eidolon’s spying.

  The Canadian ran a hand through his gray hair. “I’m bringing Strakhov in now.” There was a pause. “I did. I just got off the line with them. They’re moving the other one to a secure location. Axen.”

  His attention recaptured, Oleg’s eyes narrowed.

  “No, Benjamin did. Apparently he called them shortly after I left Novosibirsk and requested he be moved.” Another pause. “No, I wasn’t happy about it. He was my guy as much as Strakhov was. It should have been run through me first, but what can we do? This is Ben’s show.” The transport hit a spot of turbulence; Rath’s hand gripped one of the travel rails. He sighed exhaustedly into the comm. “They flew him out a couple hours ago. I don’t know where. The hospital doesn’t, either—Ben had some of his guys from Command pick him up, so who knows where he is.” The judge sat down. “You’re damn right I’m going to talk to Benjamin. He can’t be pulling these kinds of things out of nowhere. We need to be in the loop.”

  After another pause and presumed response from Jaya, the judge shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Look—this is just how he operates.” He pressed his lips together, then said, “Nah, don’t let it get to you. Just do what you’re going there to do. We’ll get back on track.” Several seconds passed, then he laughed. “Right. Yeah, that sounds about right.” The transport rocked again briefly, prompting Rath to glance up in irritation. “Let me go ahead and let you go, then.” Another second. “That sounds good.” Then a smile. “Bye-bye.”

  Deactivating the comm, Rath lowered it to the seat next to him and looked forward. Sensing Oleg’s eyes on him, the Canadian judge glanced Oleg’s way. Their gazes remained locked for almost five seconds before Rath asked, “Something you want to say to me?”

  The eidolon remained deadpanned. “You seem to be having a bit of a control problem.”

  Scoffing, the Canadian closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “I’m not sure that anyone affiliated with the Nightmen should be talking about control problems.”

  “I am not affiliated with the Nightmen. I am affiliated with you.”

  Rath smirked. “You changed your spots quickly.”

  Oleg’s tone remained unfazed. “I know Axen, you know.”

  “You were in the Fourteenth,” said Rath matter-of-factly. “I’m sure you know Axen.”

  “I know him well.”

  Opening an eye, Rath arched an eyebrow. He asked, amused, “And how well do you know Axen?”

  “I was the one who put him in the hospital.”

  Slowly, the dismissive expression on Rath’s face changed. He opened both eyes and looked at Oleg directly.

  The former eidolon went on. “Max—as the Fourteenth calls him—was with a woman at the time that I shot him. Svetlana Voronova. This is the woman that you need to find.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Scott Remington’s love interest.” At that, Rath looked interested. Oleg went on. “A woman he could kill for—and believe me, he would kill for the right woman. But more importantly to you,” he said plainly, “she is a woman he would turn himself in for. I was sent by Thoor to retrieve her for the very purpose of holding leverage against Remington.”

  Leaning forward, Rath asked, “If you were sent to retrieve her, where is she?”

  Oleg allowed a huff of bitter laughter to escape his scruffy lips. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but things on my end did not exactly go according to plan.” The Russian went on with his story. “I found Svetlana with Max. This was when I shot him. I had Svetlana in my custody until someone attacked me from behind.” He released a heavy sigh. “I didn’t see who it was, and there were so many Nightmen moving about, it would be futile to try and remember who had struck me. But it was a Nightman.” He leaned forward, propping his elbows against his knees. “You want to know why I am siding with you so quickly? Because I was betrayed. A Nightman would not have attacked me had they not been instructed to, and only a handful of men knew where I was and what I was doing.” He leaned back again. “Have you ever heard of a man named Iosif Antipov?”

  Rath shook his head.

  “Antipov is the leader of the eidola—the man responsible for the underside of Novosibirsk. In many ways, he is a more capable and dangerous man than Thoor ever was. He and I have not always seen eye to eye. There is no question in my mind that he sent someone to attack me because he did not trust me.”

  “Does he have reason not to trust you?”

  Very faintly, Oleg smirked. “Of course.” The smirk faded. “But that does not mean I will forgive him.” Leaning forward, he said, “We are yet to discuss the terms of my employment. I understand that you are not the primary decision-maker in this little…effort of yours. That title falls to Benjamin Archer.” Though Rath looked less than pleased with the statement, he remained silent while Oleg spoke. “But it would be a benefit to me if I had some sort of assurance from you that my well-being will not be a concern while I am with you. Archer knows you, and he obviously trusts you. I need you to be my advocate to him.”

  The judge opened his mouth to speak, but Oleg continued before he could.

  “I am going to offer something to you. A gift, if you wish. It is information that, if nothing else, will assure you that my loyalties to the Nightmen have been severed. I only ask for protection in return—and the assurance that, wherever you and your comrades are going, I will be invited to follow. It should…” he paused as if weighing his words, “…prove my value as a former member of Antipov’s eidola.”

  Clasping his hands together, Rath waited for Oleg to continue. His countenance revealed a man who was, while intrigued to a degree, mostly humoring Oleg’s request for an ear. “Go on.”

  Quietly and simply, Oleg said, “Chernobyl.”

  The Canadian judge looked at Rath oddly. “Chernobyl?”

  “It is where they are going. The Nightmen who fled Novosibirsk.” As Oleg said the words, Rath’s eyes slowly widened. “Even now, the surviving Nightmen, Antipov included, are fleeing to the forgotten city. It is their rallying point—a place that has already begun the transformation from ruined power plant to second headquarters.” Lifting his chin deliberately, he said, “Wait a few days, maybe a week. Give them time to arrive, to believe that they are safe from you there. Then destroy it and rid yourself of the Nightmen for good.”

  Stroking his chin with his hand, Rath asked, “How established is Chernobyl now?”

  “Grigori Saretok, Thoor’s second-in-command, was sent there to oversee the facility’s development. Whereas Antipov is the leader of the eidola, Saretok is the leader of the fulcrums. They are like two branches of government, and in a few days, you will be able to kill them both.” He leaned back. “But be warned: though still under development, Chernobyl is a dangerous facility.”
>
  “How so?”

  Oleg answered, “It is the home of a necrilid hive.”

  Blinking, Rath asked, “What?”

  “A necrilid hive was discovered there by the Fourteenth. I was present during that mission, which was led by Remington. Apparently necrilids had escaped a Ceratopian crash site and fled to the plant, where they flourished.” He paused. “Thoor saw the benefit, if you will, of possessing a necrilid hive. Necrilids are highly trainable, as I’m sure a man of your position is well aware.” Rath crossed his arms in thought as Oleg continued. “If you attempt a ground invasion, you will be met with a force of necrilids. But in the air,” he mimicked a bomb drop, “boom, with no casualties for you. You will easily be able to pick off the survivors on the ground.”

  “Unless you’re lying to me,” said Rath, prompting the former eidolon to look at him curiously.

  Faintly, Oleg’s eyes narrowed. “If I were set out to do you harm, I would have done so with you in this transport. I am alone with you in this cabin. There is literally nothing to prevent me from killing you at any point during this flight.”

  The remark was countered with a harrumph. “Except the knowledge that such an action would be a death sentence.” After a moment, the Canadian went on. “I will have Chernobyl observed for surface activity. After all, time is not exactly of the essence now, is it? We have at least a few days to determine whether or not you’re telling the truth.” He crossed his legs and leaned back. “But if you want my personal opinion? I believe you for no other reason than you want to survive, and you’re smart enough to know that won’t happen with the Nightmen. Sometimes integrity needs to be compromised for the sake of the greater good.”