The Glorious Becoming (73 page)

At that one word, the eyes of the three judges widened. “Names, vicegeneral,” Archer said.

“Their leader’s name is Scott James Remington. He was from a unit called the Fourteenth.”

Torokin’s expression shifted. “Remington. The Fourteenth. I know those names...”

Getting on the speaker, Blake addressed their secretary. “Brittney, send us a full report on the soldier Scott James Remington.”

Archer addressed Yousef. “You said they escaped with a Ceratopian and an Ithini. Were they of any significance?”

“The Ithini was a female—the only one ever captured. The Ceratopian was unexceptional. He was one of the captures from the Bakma-Ceratopian conflict.”

Archer and Blake shared a bewildered glance. A second later, Brittany’s voice came over the speaker. “Remington’s file sent, sir.” The wall monitors lit up with Scott’s photograph and record.

“He is a Golden Lion!” said Torokin, gasping. “Why would he undermine
Cairo
?”

At the bottom of Scott’s record—the last entry of any significance—was the interspecies conflict. “Bastiaan Platis was on that mission,” said Archer, rising to his feet. “He was part of the
Liberation
, correct?”

“I am already calling him,” said Torokin, leaping onto his comm.

Blake leaned in close to Archer, whispering discreetly. “That was the operation with H`laar. Jason was supposed to have...do you think H`laar is still...?”

Archer held his palm out for silence as he focused on Torokin, who was already speaking to Platis. “I am transferring you to our conference system,” Torokin said, snapping his fingers at Archer and Blake for attention. Moments later, Platis came over the speaker. “Bastiaan, during the Bakma-Ceratopian conflict, do you remember a soldier named Scott Remington?”

“Scott Remington?” asked Platis, intrigued. He repeated the name to himself. “I know this name. How do I know it?”

“He was a Golden Lion stationed at
Novosibirsk
,” said Archer. “According to
Cairo
, he just infiltrated their facility and escaped with a Ceratopian specimen.”

General Platis was mulling intensely. “Who was Remington?” he asked himself repeatedly. “Which one was Remington?”

“
Please
, general, we need you to think,” Archer pled. “We need to know why an EDEN operative would want to steal alien captives from one of our bases.”

Suddenly, Platis went quiet—as if he’d held his breath. It was noticeable enough to make everyone in the conference room lean inward. “I remember Remington,” the general said gravely. “I remember speaking to him—seeing his golden collar in the aftermath. He was one of the leaders for that mission from
Novosibirsk
. But you are mistaken about one thing.” Archer and Blake leaned forward against the table. No one in the conference room so much as breathed. “Remington was not wearing EDEN armor,” said Platis. “He was a Nightman.”

Archer collapsed back in his chair, his entire countenance shifting. Gone was the look of exhausted jubilation in the aftermath of Thoor’s demise. A look of ill disbelief took its place.

Slowly, he locked eyes with Blake.

* * *

S
COTT AND HIS
team were on the ground for almost an hour before the
Pariah
made its arrival. As the stripped Vulture’s green and red running lights cut through the night, the transport’s thrusters kicked up desert sand. Dried but still tattered, the escapees from
Cairo
stood together and waited. As soon as the
Pariah
touched down, its rear bay door whined to the sand.

Scott’s comrades from the Fourteenth were standing by the exit, wearing what little gear they’d had on them from Room 14. “Captain,” they acknowledged quietly. Only Flopper showed any signs of exuberance, barreling to Scott and leaping against his armor, his tail wagging incessantly before he moved on to the others.

Beside those by the bay door, William sat alone. The demolitionist’s head was in his hands as he stared at the ship’s cabin floor. Scott approached him, gently squeezing William’s shoulder. Neither man spoke.

“Guys,” said Travis over the
Pariah
speaker, “you might want to hear this.” Turning up the volume of EDEN’s global frequency, he and Tiffany glanced back to ensure the others’ compliance.

“Attention all EDEN aircraft and facilities,” said the voice over the speaker. “This is President Malcolm Blake. This is my first formal address.”

Drawing together by the back of the ship, the Fourteenth listened intently.

“I am delivering this message to confirm rumors you may have already heard, of which more details are certain to come. Tonight, in a coordinated global effort, the Earth Defense Network retook the facility of
Novosibirsk
from General Ignatius van Thoor.”

T
HOUSANDS OF KILOMETERS
away, in a cell in the city of Krasnoyarsk, the three slayers outside of Lilan’s cell turned up the volume on their radios. Blake’s voice crackled through.

“We can confirm that General Thoor was killed in this operation, along with at least one other member of his counsel.”

The slayers took off their helmets. Unmasked and afraid, they swapped looks of dread. Behind the bars of their cell, Lilan and the Falcon survivors leaned closer to listen.

“News of this significant event will soon spread to all global media outlets. The reign of the Nightmen has come to a close. Even now, our officials are collaborating with Russian law enforcement to see to the arrest and incarceration of
all
Nightmen. The final word has been written in a dark chapter of human history.”

S
ITTING IN A CHAIR
outside of Novosibirsk General Hospital’s ICU, Tanneken Brunner played with her already chewed fingernails. Her hopeful eyes looked up at every doctor and nurse that passed. But none of them spoke to her.

“But with every purge of evil come those who resist. Even as the liberation of
Novosibirsk
was at hand, agents of
Novosibirsk
were diligently working against humanity. These agents, led by an American Nightman named Scott Remington, infiltrated the EDEN base of
Cairo
in order to obtain what General Thoor considered high-profile extraterrestrial targets. It is not beyond the realm of possibility that General Thoor was attempting to ally himself with alien forces.”

T
HE EYES OF THE
Fourteenth widened as they listened. Some of them looked back at Scott.

“We are asking all facilities, stations, and aircraft to assist EDEN Command in bringing Scott Remington and his cohorts to justice. We cannot allow even the possibility of traitorous collaboration between humanity and other-world species. The last known whereabouts of Remington are near Cairo, Egypt. In the event that he flees Egypt, we are prepared to lead a planet-wide search for him. Remington’s profile is being distributed to all of the major EDEN facilities as we speak. We can also confirm that an EDEN captain, Miss Natalie Rockwell, has been taken as a hostage. Her description is being circulated as well, to ensure that she is not harmed should confrontation arise.”

There was a pause.

“Remington and his men are highly skilled in both combat and misinformation. If approached, they may attempt to justify their actions in exchange for sanctuary or assistance. They are not to be believed. Though some of Remington’s operatives may wear EDEN uniforms, make no mistake: these are outlaws.”

Scott walked back down the
Pariah
’s ramp, the metal of his boots clanking against the cabin floor, his operatives turned to regard him. Natalie stared at the floor, her reddened eyes lost in despondency.

“This is an important time in the history of our species,” Blake said. “It is a time for unification, and for clarity of purpose. It is a time for hope. Together, we will purge from our planet those who wish our species harm, whether they be from our shores or the stars.

“This is President Malcolm Blake, wishing all of you in our defense effort good night and good luck. May God be with us.” There was a crackle of static. The transmission ended. The desert was quiet.

For several long moments, no one in the Fourteenth said a word. It was Scott’s mechanized voice that broke the silence. “If they’re asking for help, they know we weren’t in that transport from
Cairo
. That means they’ll be coming here.”

Becan took a step forward. “Wha’ are we goin’ to do, Remmy? Yeh heard wha’ the radio said. They’re callin’ us outlaws.”

Turning his head slowly, Scott looked at Travis in the cockpit. “Are we ready to fly?”

“Just tell me where to go, sir,” Travis answered confidently.

A moment of thought passed before Scott spoke again. “Krasnoyarsk. Take us to Krasnoyarsk.” Not only was he most likely to find Nightmansanctioned assistance for Centurion there, he was also most likely to find Svetlana. There was no better place for them to start.

With purpose, Travis looked at Tiffany. The blond pilot was already smiling. “Krasnoyarsk it is, sir.” Travis’s voice quieted. “All right, Tiff. Let’s go get your friends.”

Nothing was left behind when the cursed transport lifted off—only footprints in the sand and craters from the ship’s thrusters. Turning its nose to the north, the
Pariah
’s green and red lights disappeared into the night.

TWO HOURS LATER

T
OROKIN AND
S
ASHA
were waiting in EDEN Command’s hangar when the blacked out transport touched down. As the whine of thrusters dissipated and the rear door of the vessel lowered to the floor, they approached without reservation. They were two of few men who could.

Stepping from the transport, helmetless but still in his purple and white armor, Klaus Faerber focused on them immediately. Flanked by Vincent Hill and Minh Dang—stalwarts of the most renown unit on Earth—he met Torokin and Sasha halfway. Despite their close friendship, no hug was exchanged between Faerber and Torokin. The air around them was somber. Quietly, Sasha nodded in greeting to Vincent and Minh.

“Klaus,” said Torokin, “you did not need to come.”

Walking past Torokin, Faerber continued his stride for the hangar exit. The others followed in step. “I want to know everything about Remington,” the Vector captain said through his thick German accent. “I want to help track him down.”

“That is not necessary,” said Torokin quickly. “We have a network of units organizing for the hunt. We will catch Remington. You have done more than enough.”

“If there is a network after this man, then he must be a threat. And if he is that great a threat, Vector will assist.”

“Klaus, please.” Torokin’s voice pled. “Do not press this.”

Stopping, Faerber eased his head back around. Facing Torokin fully, the battle-scarred captain’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

Silence. Torokin visibly bit his lip.

Brow wrinkling suspiciously, Faerber took a step closer. “What is it? What are you not telling me?”

“Klaus, please.”

“Leonid.”

Their eyes locked for several tellingly long seconds. Behind Torokin, the other three Vectors listened with intent. Torokin exhaled and shook his head. “I did not want you to hear this. But I suppose it is better that you hear it from me instead of a press conference.”

Klaus angled his head and listened.

“This fulcrum. This Remington,” Torokin said gravely. “One of the transports that killed your son belonged to his unit. It was the transport that survived.”

At first, Faerber indicated no reaction. Then slowly, but markedly, the shift came. His jaw clenched. His upper lip rose; the muscles around his eyelids grew tight. Then faintly—ever so faintly—the Vector’s breathing increased.

“Klaus...”

Faerber took a step back.

“Do not overreact to this. We are handling the situation.”

Turning away, his gait fervid, Faerber marched into EDEN Command.

Torokin, Vincent, Minh, and Sasha were left in Faerber’s wake. Their countenances grim, they watched their captain disappear down the hall. For almost ten seconds, none of them spoke. Then setting his hands on his hips, Vincent Hill released a drawn-out sigh. “Get ready for a manhunt, gentlemen.” The three other men looked at him, but none offered a rebuttal. Together, they followed Faerber inside.

EPIC • BOOK 5

ENEMY ONE

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