Enemy One (Epic Book 5) (88 page)

Crash!

The cascade of falling objects came from across the bridge, as every member of the Bakma crew and Svetlana turned their heads to locate it. Fumbling over a pile of fallen assault rifles and pieces of sentry armor, Ei`dorinthal looked wide-eyed and frozen at the collection of onlookers. The equipment was scattered across the floor by the Ithini’s feet. Before Nagogg could speak, Ed said aloud in Bakmanese, “It was an accident.”

Simultaneous with the statement, the thought was conveyed to her.
Throw the key by Nagogg’s chair.

It was a diversion. Just as Svetlana had used a guise of clumsiness, so had the Ithini. He must have known by her thoughts what she was doing.

“Clean them up!” rasped Nagogg irritably. As he and the other Bakma turned back to Svetlana, Ei`dorinthal grabbed a handful of the weapons, their barrels and frames clanging together in a manner that was so loud and obnoxious that it once again drew the crew’s momentary attention.

With their focus in mid-shift, Svetlana flicked the key toward the chair, its clanging along the floor lost in the ruckus created by her servant. It landed squarely against the side of the chair, in plain view for anyone who was looking—but no one was.

Turning to Svetlana as Ed cleaned up the mess, Nagogg stepped up to her from behind and shoved her toward Gabralthaar. “The Ithini does not require your focus! Tend to Gabralthaar.”

Nagogg hadn’t noticed the toss. None of them had. Ei`dorinthal’s diversion had allowed her to get away with it, scot-free. She couldn’t believe it.

Scowling down at her, Gabralthaar waited to be treated.

The actual act of tending to the titan’s wound was not difficult. Much as would have been the case with a human, removing the bullet was a matter of digging into the hole and pulling it out. Though she lacked medical supplies, her fingers were slender enough to reach in, grip the object, and extract it. Though Gabralthaar groaned in agony throughout the process, Svetlana was careful to avoid needless pain. It had served its purpose the first time—there was no need to have the titan shove her again. Within two minutes, the bullet was removed.

It was a strange piece of ammunition. Though similar in overall shape to standard projectile ammunition on Earth, it was streamlined with light blue indentations and curves along its surface. Whether the designs were decorative or served a purpose, she didn’t know, but judging by the design of the Kalarael spaceship and the wardrobe of the Kalarael themselves, the latter was most certainly a possibility. Any chance to examine the bullet in-depth were cut short, however, as Nagogg snatched the bullet from her fingers to stare at it himself. Pointing at Svetlana absently, he said to Ka`vesh, “Return her to her chair. Servant, sever the connection.” As Ka`vesh yanked her away from Gabralthaar, the Ithini connection was closed.

This was the moment that would determine whether or not her efforts would succeed. The magnetic key wasn’t required for Ka`vesh to attach the shackling clasps to the floor—there was no
need
for him to go digging into his pocket to find it. The better question was, would he notice the key lying on the floor?

He didn’t. Shoving Svetlana’s head down, Ka`vesh positioned her body in the same bowing-down posture she’d assumed throughout her time on the bridge, slamming the clasps to her ankles and wrists without a second’s observation or care. He never even looked at the floor by Nagogg’s chair. Now that Svetlana was back on the floor, she could slide her body into a better position—even if just slightly—to block the key from view.

It was done.

She couldn’t believe it. This had
actually
worked. The key was in her possession—or at the very least, out of Ka`vesh’s. She still needed to figure out a way to
reach
the key, now that her hands and feet were once again bound. Just the same, though, she had some time to figure that out.

Eyes returning to Ed, who had finished putting the weapons and equipment back into place, she waited for his connection to return. As soon as it did, she allowed herself to smile.
Thank you for what you have done for me.

Though the gesture was subtle, Ed dipped his head.
You are my master—it is my role to serve.

I am not your master. You are my friend.

The Ithini looked at her oddly, prompting her to go on.

I will continue to offer you direction—I know how important that is for you. But no being deserves to be slave to another. You are free from obligation to me.
He deserved it.
I would rather be your friend than your master—for a master
must
be followed, but a friend follows a friend because he or she chooses to.

Friendship is a human condition
, said Ed.
I will not offer the same level of companionship you have grown accustomed to on Earth.

Very faintly, she smirked.
You would be surprised at what I can grow accustomed to.
The loss of her nose. Shackles and vulnerability. Drool in her hair. The toughness of Svetlana Voronova was growing by the hour.

Though a tremor of uncertainty was felt from Ed, a measure of appreciation did find its way through.
Your intention has worth.

On Earth, we say, “thank you.”

His oval head tilted subtly.
Thank you.

It wasn’t the most comfortable-sounding of acknowledgments, but at least it was a start.
Open yourself up to new possibilities. You might be surprised at what you can grow accustomed to, too.

As the Ithini took the words in, Svetlana’s mind ventured somewhere else. Turning her blue eyes to the far side of the bridge, she focused on Kraash-nagun.

The blinded elite had made no attempts to connect with her since remarking that her behavior seemed different in the canrassi pen. Her dismissiveness had caught him off guard. It was a moment she’d somewhat enjoyed.

What would you think of me now, if you knew what I was doing?
she imagined herself asking him.
Would you think me weak and helpless? Would I still be “inconsequential?”
There was spite in her words, even in her mind.
Or will you, at long last, give me a chance?

There was no question in Svetlana’s mind that Kraash-nagun’s involvement would be a plus. Blinded or not, he was an elite Bakma warrior. If nothing else, he would be another distraction. She would take all of those she could get.

It was time to try and lure him again.
Connect me with Kraash-nagun
, she said to Ei`dorinthal.
A sense of acknowledgment came, and the Ithini initiated the three-way link. Almost seeming startled, Kraash-nagun looked in Svetlana’s general direction.

In that moment, a feeling came over Svetlana—one she hadn’t expected upon asking Ed to link her. It wasn’t
from
Kraash-nagun, nor was it from the Ithini himself. This was something stirring that was all her own.

She knew the Bakma language. She’d befriended Nagogg’s interpreter. She’d secretly earned the trust of his canrassi. And now, she was within a hand’s grasp of the key to her freedom. Svetlana had done it all with the initiative of no one. There was no need for Kraash-nagun’s vote of confidence. The gears of motion that were turning had all been set in motion by her. Kraash-nagun’s role in all of this was…

… inconsequential.

Like an open-air microphone, the connection stayed silent. Kraash-nagun was still looking at her. He was still waiting. It was time for him to hear. Furious in their resolve, her ocean-blue eyes sharpened their focus.
You were wrong about me.

Ever so faintly, Kraash-nagun angled his head. The elite still said nothing.

I have been tortured. I have been humiliated. I have been relegated to the role of an animal and told that I was of no consequence. That I was no threat.

She knew now what Scott had felt when he charged into the necrilid hive at Chernobyl. What Esther must’ve felt when she climbed aboard that snowmobile in Krasnoyarsk to deliver it to her and Scott, so that they could save Max. She understood the anger. She understood knowing when enough was enough. Long ago, she herself had charged across a battlefield to die with the man she thought she was meant for. But anger hadn’t been the emotion driving her boots forward that day. It had been fear. Fear of being alone. Of being forgotten. Of not having someone there to save her when things got difficult.

That was a fear she would never feel again.

Very soon
, she said to Kraash-nagun,
I will take this vessel. This is not bluster. This is a promise—and my promises, I keep.

There was no room for Kraash-nagun to interrupt. The medic’s words were not open to debate. The elite listened on.

There is nothing that I need from you. There is nothing that you can do for me. But if you wish to be free—if you wish to break the yolk of your zealous masters—you will soon have your chance.
Drawing in a slow breath, her eyes stayed on him.
It is the only chance you will be offered.

Boldness. Total belief in what she could do—what she was
going
to do. Destiny.

When the time comes, you will know, and you may join me. The decision will be yours.

There was nothing further for Svetlana to say. Shifting her eyes from Kraash-nagun to Ed, she offered the Ithini the faintest of nods. A second later, the connection was closed. She was alone in her mind again.

It was coming. She could sense it. Right now, when Nagogg and his crew looked upon her, they saw a helpless human female with a cut-off nose. They saw a creature that should have been ashamed. That was fine with her. For soon—very soon—they would see Svetlana Voronova.

She would be the last thing their eyes would ever behold.

Tuesday, March 27
^th
, 0012 NE

1823 hours

Norilsk, Russia

THERE WAS SOMETHING about the cold. As Scott stood in the open hangar of
Northern Forge
, the gales of icy wind pelting his face and uniform, the word “home” kept coming to him, again and again. It had nothing to do with the mountain base itself, nor the city of Norilsk, to which Scott held no allegiance. But there was just something about those frozen whips of wind that felt warm. Perhaps it was because he’d spent so much time at
Novosibirsk
. Perhaps it was because he’d operated in such a climate for so long. Or perhaps he’d simply gotten used to the hostility of life itself—that relentless, uncompromising brutality that had tracked his every move since being transferred from
Richmond
to
Novosibirsk
. He didn’t enjoy it, not in the least of ways. But he thrived in it. It was where he lived.

With sixty minutes until zero hour, Scott had gone into the hangar and requested the hangar door be opened to allow the mountain’s incessant flurries to drop the hangar’s temperature. Though the request was received strangely by the hangar guards, who complied nonetheless, it made sense to Scott. He wanted everyone on this mission to feel that coldness the moment they stepped into the hangar. He wanted them to know that this was real—to leave no sense of comfort behind. That walk from the hallway entrance of Level-3 to the troop bay of the V2 they were taking into Japan needed to be hell. No one needed to feel it more than he did.

If we fail tonight, we die.

It wasn’t being overdramatic. If this mission went awry—if they somehow didn’t return with the device containing evidence of collaboration between Benjamin Archer and the Ceratopian government—then the clock to their inevitable doom would begin ticking. With no next step to take, with no new
Hami Station
or bullet train to go to to advance what they were doing, the Fourteenth and Falcons would be forced to simply hide until they were found, at which point EDEN would either kill or imprison them for the rest of their lives. Not bringing back that device meant the end of life as they knew it. And if this entire conspiracy proved to be true, it could very well be the end of everyone on Earth, in some nebulous way, shape, or form that they were yet to fully understand. And so Scott needed that coldness—that instant understanding that this final mission would not be easy, or kind, or forgiving to the remotest degree. As far as he was concerned, this was the only mission that had ever mattered. If it cost half of their lives, but they returned with that device, then it would be a success.

At forty-five till, Jakob Reinhardt made his way into the hangar. Scott had spoken with the V2 pilot earlier that day, rehashing the various aspects of the operation that needed to work and making sure that he was aware of its many moving parts. For as much as Scott could determine, Jakob understood. As he strolled past Scott to warm up the V2, he offered a salute, which Scott returned in kind.

There was something about all of this that, in a strange way, reminded Scott of his football days. Scott would always arrive at the field early on game day, alone if possible, to take in the atmosphere. The breeze, the sounds, the silence. Seeing the field wake up was almost a religious experience. Maybe getting there before the noise was a quarterback thing. Maybe it was a leader thing. Regardless, it was the very thing he needed to feel right then. Throughout his entire career with EDEN, this was the very first time that a ground op had been planned this way. In a career where the job description was to respond, there was rarely time to take things in before they began. He wanted to take advantage of every minute.

“Hiya, captain.”

The greeting came from behind him, quietly escorting him out of his reverie and back into the living world. Sliding his hands from his pockets, Scott turned to see Tiffany Feathers approaching. The blond-haired pilot must have been there early to begin prepping her Superwolf. Smiling slightly at her, Scott dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Feathers.”

Within seconds, Tiffany was crossing her arms tightly across her chest, wincing as the wind from the open hangar tossed about her hair. “Kinda chilly, don’cha think?”