Epic: Book 03 - Hero (19 page)

With no further words to deter him, Torokin left the room.

As he walked through the halls of EDEN Command, Torokin felt his soreness strike again. He couldn’t get enough of it. He almost wished it hurt more. The ache of battle. The burn of striving to make a difference—that was what he needed. The politics, he could do without.

He was halfway down the hall when he suddenly stopped, his mind struck by an unexpected thought.
Since when does Archer give me permission to leave?

After a short pause he resumed his walk. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter. Archer loved politics. So did Pauling, despite the fact that he’d once been a soldier. It was only natural that their kind shared the spotlight.

Maybe Archer thinks he will be president
.

That thought brought Torokin a smile. Archer as president. That was almost cute.

When Torokin arrived in his quarters, he resumed his workout. Pushups. Sit-ups. Leg raises. Lunges. He did everything—the more ways he found to hurt, the better he felt. That was how he wanted it to be.

The other judges did not call him back.

10

Monday, November 7
^th
, 0011 NE

0800 hours

Novosibirsk, Russia

Scott squinted as his alarm clock went off. With an almost instinctive slamming of his palm, he shut off the device. His room was silent again.

Closing his eyes, he brought a hand to his face. The motion was painful, and the burn marks on his shoulder caused him to groan. Rubbing his hand across his forehead, he exhaled slowly.

Was yesterday real?

The moment he tried to sit up, he winced. His stomach felt as if it were being ripped apart. Lifting his shirt, he looked at his bruise. It stretched almost clear across his torso. It looked like he’d been hit by a log.

I guess yesterday was real.

Gathering the mettle to sit, he carefully leaned his neck to each side. After a series of satisfying pops, he leaned his head back. It didn’t feel like morning. It didn’t feel like anything familiar. It felt as though he was existing in a personified premonition of horrible news.

Jayden and Becan are hurt. Maksim is dead. What other tragedies await?

He’d heard no updates from anyone upon returning to the base—not that he’d sought any out. He couldn’t help but recall the last time one of his comrades was in the infirmary. Galina. He’d learned of her death when David knocked on his door. When David told him he no longer cared. There was a part of Scott that was convinced another knock would come at any moment. But none did.

Pushing up from his bed, he stumbled to his closet. Removing his Nightman uniform from its hanger, he dressed methodically. He gave little attention to his grooming, sparing nothing more than a quick look in the mirror to ensure that he didn’t appear completely unpresentable. Partially unpresentable was okay. For a moment, he actually considered shaving. But the moment came and went without action.

As he crossed the room, he looked briefly at his desk. The manila folder still sat there, untouched since he’d last taken it to Confinement, but not out of his mind. It never was. Scott opened the door and stepped into the hall.

Krasnoyarsk hadn’t been the largest battle he’d ever fought, nor the most important. His entire contribution had involved only two buildings, and not full buildings at that. Next to the
Battle of Chicago
or the
Assault on Novosibirsk
, it paled. It would probably not even be named for historical purposes. Nonetheless, it had been one of the hardest to endure—a war unto itself.

No one else was in the infirmary when Scott entered—at least, no one else from the Fourteenth. He wondered for a moment if he was the first to arrive, but he knew better: he was probably the last.

He made his way to the nurses’ desk, where he learned of his teammates’ conditions. Becan was expected to recover, though he would remain in the infirmary for at least two weeks, which was longer than Scott had initially thought. Plasma had burned much of his chest, and his body would forever be scarred. There’d be skin grafting involved. That was as much as Scott wanted to know.

It was the news Scott heard next that hit him in the gut. Jayden would be at least partially sightless. His left eye had been removed, and his right eye was still on the verge. The question was not whether the Texan could return to active duty; it was whether he’d be able to see at all. His family had already been contacted, and preparations were being made to send him home after his recovery. After that, none of the nurse’s words registered as real. Scott felt as though he were dreaming again.

Jayden was not allowed visitors. Not even Scott’s fulcrum status could garner him rights. According to the nurse, Jayden was being kept sedated while under their care. Scott was instructed to return in two days.

It wasn’t until several minutes later, as Scott was returning to the officers’ building, that the information he’d received actually processed. Jayden might be totally blind. Jayden—his friend from
Richmond
. Their first encounter replayed in Scott’s head.

He was slender, though height compensated for a lack of size. His arms were folded across his chest as he leaned against the doorway arch, and his shadowed gaze scrutinized them beneath a tuft of dusty brown hair.

“
Who’s that?”

“
No idea.” Scott shook his head.

“
Hey there!”

Startled, the stranger shifted bodily to face them. Everything about the motion was uncomfortable, and his body language immediately withdrew. His gaze darted down to the floor, and he mumbled a response. “Howdy.”

He had to be from Texas.

Scott stopped when he came to his door. That memory seemed like so long ago. Like a forgotten time. When life still felt warm and with a point.

He knew there’d be business that day. On these kinds of days, it was inevitable. There were things to discuss and decisions to make, on more than a few topics. He knew it wouldn’t be pleasant.

Scott ate a light breakfast that morning—only what was there in his room. His appetite was simply nonexistent.

* * *

Svetlana cringed as her body touched the ice water for the first time. She gripped the sides of the metal tub, easing her descent just above the surface. She muttered in Russian.

Her morning had been laden with pain. From the muscles in her calves to the small of her neck—everything hurt. It was a soreness she hadn’t felt since she was a cadet. Having grabbed her turquoise swimsuit from her Room 14 closet, she’d made her way to the gymnasium-sized pool. After changing in the locker room, she filled one of the soaker tubs with ice water. It was her best option to provide immediate relief.

Finally she mustered the courage to submerge her body, shivering as she did so. It took several seconds for the initial shock to subside, then she leaned her head outside the tub.

No one had accompanied her to the pool. That suited her just fine. She wasn’t in the mood for socialization. She lifted her head, passing a wet hand through her hair. The alone time felt good. It felt needed and long overdue.

“
Svetlana?”

The British voice caught her unaware. She turned her head to the side of the tub. The voice had come from her comm; it was unmistakably Clarke’s.

“
Svetlana, are you there?”

Closing her eyes for a moment, she bit her lower lip. She fought back the temptation to curse. Gingerly reaching down for the device, she brought it to her lips. “Yes, captain?”

“
I’m about to have a meeting with the officers. I’d like you to attend.”

As soon as she heard it, she rolled her eyes. Her arm drooped outside of the tub, carrying the comm with it. It took her several moments to reply. “As you wish, captain.”

“
Lounge. Five minutes.” The comm channel closed.

For several seconds, Svetlana didn’t move. She only stared dull-eyed at the wall, still holding the comm to her lips. Finally dropping it back on the floor, she closed her eyes. “Lounge. Five minutes,” she muttered mockingly. Sliding forward, she sunk her head beneath the water’s surface.

It was the only place she could be left alone.

* * *

Scott wasn’t surprised that he’d been called to Room 14. What surprised him was that it was so early in the day. At least, it was early for Clarke. The captain had been a procrastinator as of late. It was unlike him to address anything immediately.

In the short time that Scott had been alone in his private quarters, he’d taken a few minutes to adjust his appearance. He’d fixed his hair enough to look passably respectable, and he’d actually taken a few moments to shave after breakfast. The smooth skin felt good.

It felt odd having an officers’ meeting. Over the past several months, they’d had few. They usually happened when something significant was afoot. This definitely qualified as one of those times.

Scott scanned Room 14 as he stepped inside. The only operative present was Esther. The scout lifted her head from a book as he entered. “Good morning, lieutenant,” she said, placing her book down.

Scott offered a cordial nod. “Good morning, Brooking. What are you reading?”

She hesitated. “
In the Custody of Angels
.”

“
What is that? Religious?”

“…
gothic romance.”

“
Oh.” He had no idea how to respond. If nothing else, he found it unique—and a little dark.

Esther’s face tinged a deep shade of red. She awkwardly raised the book from her lap.

A legitimate question came to Scott’s mind. “Yesterday, did anyone tell you to do that?”

She looked at him oddly.

“
The snowmobile.”

Her countenance changed. She stopped short of a frown. “No, sir. I apologize.”

She was apologizing? For what? “You made an excellent decision. You don’t need to apologize for that.”

She looked at him strangely, then smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

Nodding, Scott reached for the door. To give someone praise felt refreshing. He hadn’t done that in months. He twisted the knob, but stopped short, turning back to her. He had to ask. “Is your name really Molly?”

She immediately looked embarrassed. “Yes, sir. Molly Esther ‘Polyester’ Brooking.”

Scott couldn’t hold back his amusement. “That’s cute.”

Her deep shade of red surfaced again. So did her grin. She watched as Scott left for the lounge. As soon as he was gone, she plopped her head on her pillow, closed her eyes, and let loose with an
ugh
.

Moments later, Svetlana entered from the hall. She was in her uniform, a bathing suit folded in her hand. Her blond hair was still damp. As she made her way through the room, Esther’s eyes tracked her every step.

“
Hello Esther,” Svetlana said, forcing a smile.

“
Hello, Svetlana.” Esther’s smile was unabashedly fake.

Svetlana stepped through to the lounge.

Esther continued to stare for several seconds, even after Svetlana was gone. Finally, she returned to her book. “Yellow-headed tart.”

The officers were already seated when Svetlana entered. The moment Scott saw her, his surprise was evident. Dostoevsky and Max were also taken aback.

Clarke cleared his throat immediately. “I’ve asked Ms. Voronova to join us. As chief medical officer, I value her opinion.”

She nodded apologetically. “I am sorry to be late,” she said, taking a seat across the table from Scott.

The captain wasted no time. “To say we have much to discuss is an understatement.”

Scott turned his attention to Svetlana. He wasn’t sure if Clarke legitimately valued her input or if he was still trying to force her upon him. Either way, Scott realized he didn’t mind. She had done enough in Krasnoyarsk to earn her the privilege of contribution to the meeting, even if she was out of mission shape.

Suddenly Scott realized he was staring. He quickly looked back at Clarke.

“
I received an update this morning from infirmary,” the captain said. “There is some good news—we can expect McCrae to return in about two weeks. His injuries are quite recoverable.” He was quiet for a moment. “With that, our good news comes to an end.”

Max shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the metal casing of an unlit sprig held between his fingers.

“
As you know,” Clarke continued, “Frolov is dead. His body is being flown home today. I don’t know the exact time, but if you wish to know, just contact NovCom.”

Scott lowered his eyes. He wondered if anyone would be there to see Maksim off. Few people had really known him.

“
The additional awful news is about Timmons. Is anyone else already aware?”

No one made any indication. Scott looked around the table, slowly acknowledging with a raised hand. He was certain he wasn’t the only one who knew something.

The captain’s frown was genuine. “Timmons is fortunate to be alive. He will walk, and he will talk. Let’s take that good news just as that. Some of you may already know that his left eye has been lost. Barring a miracle, his right eye will be, as well. For a sniper, that can’t quite do.”