Epic: Book 03 - Hero (22 page)

* * *

“
And these are
all
of your specimens?” Blake asked. He turned to Petrov, the chief scientist in Confinement.

Petrov hesitated. “Yes, Judge Blake.”

Blake turned to the cells. Several aliens peered from their glass prisons. “So
Novosibirsk
possesses no Ceratopians?”

“
That is correct, sir.”

“
Mm-hmm.” Blake pulled a notepad out of his pocket and scribbled a few words. “And if you were to recover a Ceratopian, what would you do with it?”

The scientist hesitated a second time. “We transport all Ceratopians to
Cairo
within one week of capture. That is what EDEN has instructed us to do.”

“
Do you always do what EDEN tells you?”

Several other scientists standing along the walls and watching the episode swapped leery looks. Mikhajlov, the sentry who’d escorted Blake, listened intently.

“
Of course, judge,” answered Petrov. “We are a part of EDEN, are we not?”

“
Of course.” Placing the notepad back in his pocket, Blake turned to one of the Bakma prisoners. He stared at the captive’s face. “Mr. Petrov, why are you lying to me?”

“
I do not know what you mean, my judge.”

Blake broke away from the Bakma. “You are just aware as I am that this is not the only Confinement in
Novosibirsk
. This is not the Confinement I wish to see.”

“
But Judge…”

“
I wish to see the one in the Citadel of The Machine.”

At the door to Confinement, Mikhajlov gasped.

“
That is what you call it, correct? Or is that something I’m not supposed to know?”

Petrov fumbled for words. “The Citadel of The Machine, yes, I forgot about that, but…”

“
But what?”

“
But that is not so much a Confinement, it is more like…” His words trailed off again. They never returned.

Blake walked to him. “More like a
what
, Mr. Petrov?”

Petrov looked back at the sentry helplessly, wiping newly formed sweat from his brow. “It is a different kind of Confinement.”

“
Then I would like to see your ‘different kind of Confinement,’ if you would be so kind as to take me there.”

“
I—”

“
Take me there
now
.”

Petrov glanced at Mikhajlov once again. After a moment of silent deliberation, the sentry nodded his head. Petrov said to Judge Blake, his voice quaking imperceptibly, “As you wish, judge. Please, follow me.”

The two men led Blake from the room.

* * *

Carol June scribbled in her notebook as another Nightman entered the chamber. It was a room she’d requested, a small one that wasn’t in use. The lights were low. She was there by herself, except for the Nightmen. They came in, one at a time, as she asked for them. This was the fifth one she’d addressed.

As the latest Nightman to arrive stood before her, she sipped her now tepid tea. “Tell me your name.”

The Nightman hesitated before answering. “My name is Petr Radin.”

“
And do you have a rank?”

He turned his eyes from her. “I do not, judge.”

“
So you’re unregistered?”

“…
that is correct.”

She scribbled in her notebook. “So tell me, Mr. Radin, where were you during the
Assault on Novosibirsk
?”

“
Where was I?”

“
That’s right. This battle came suddenly. Surely you must have been somewhere other than the airstrip.”

After several moments of silence, he answered. “I was asleep in my room, judge.”

Taking another sip of tea, June leaned back. “So when the attack took place, you were asleep in your room. I assume that when the alarms went off, you and your comrades immediately rallied to the airstrip, correct?”

The Nightman said nothing.

“
Please answer my question, Mr. Radin.”

“
Yes, judge. What you say is correct.”

“
Really? You immediately rallied to the airstrip?”

“
Yes, judge.”

“
That’s what I thought you’d say,” she said, eyeing her notebook, “because so far, that’s what every Nightman has said.” She unfolded a paper from her lap. “Until of course, I mention our official log of the event. That’s when everyone’s story seems to change.”

Eying him suspiciously, she revealed the paper’s contents aloud. “The assault came at 0136 hours. Your Nightman comrades charged the airstrip at 0225. That’s forty minutes—hardly what I’d call an immediate response.” She paused to let the information sink in.

“
So
you
say you immediately rallied to the airstrip, but evidence says that’s not quite the case. Tell me, Mr. Radin. How’s
your
story going to change?”

* * *

With every passing step through The Machine, Petrov and Mikhajlov grew more perturbed. Judge Blake, on the other hand, was fearless. The bald judge walked behind them, hands clasped confidently behind his back. Their path first took them across the outer grounds of the frozen base, then into the halls of the officers’ building.

Finally, the men stopped walking. Blake stepped several paces in front of them, then stopped to look around. They stood in a hallway no different than the ones they’d been traversing. Doors lined both sides of the hall.

“
I’m tired of walking in circles,” said Blake with irritation. “Take me to the Citadel now.”

“
Judge,” Petrov said, “we have.”

Blake gave both men an uncertain look.

“
The three doors on your left, judge. Open one of them.”

The judge suspiciously eyed the doors. There was nothing remarkable about them—they even were numbered in sync with the rest. Reaching the first door, Blake cautiously took the knob and twisted it. As the door swung open, his eyes widened in awe.

It wasn’t a room. It was a dimly lit staircase descending straight down. Blake turned to the men. “Does this lead to the Citadel?”

“
That is correct, judge.”

Blake no longer hesitated. He strode purposefully down the stairs, with Petrov and Mikhajlov behind him.

The stairs continued down until moldy discoloration replaced the painted walls. Finally, they reached a landing, where it gave way to a narrow stone passage, devoid of all but yellowish institutional lighting. At the end of the passage was a wooden door.

Blake pointed. “Where does that door lead?”

“
To the Hall of the Fulcrums. It is the main corridor of the Citadel. From there, you can go anywhere.”

“
And what do you people call ‘Confinement’ here?”

The scientist hesitated. “The Walls of Mourning.”

For several seconds, nobody spoke. Blake turned to the scientist with an expression that walked a line between suspicion and willful ignorance. Then he whipped around, swung the wooden door open, and strode through.

They entered an enormous corridor. Torches lined every wall, accompanied by ancient chandeliers on the ceiling. Except for the lighting, the room was Spartan. Nightmen milled about everywhere—slayers, sentries, and fulcrums. As soon as Blake appeared, they all froze.

The stalemate didn’t have time to turn awkward. The EDEN judge spoke at once. “Take me to the Walls of Mourning. No delays.”

“
Yes, judge,” Petrov said. “Follow me.”

The trek to The Machine’s version of Confinement took a mere minute. Ignoring the Nightmen who watched warily from ever corner, the three men crossed the Hall of the Fulcrums until they came to a single iron door. Nothing on it revealed its identity. Blake pulled the door open.

The room had depth. There were no separated chambers, no other doorways or hallways. Instead, iron-barred cages stretched far ahead along every wall, placed one right after the other.

The first thing that hit Blake was the stench, but what he saw made him cover his mouth. Blood. Everywhere. On the walls, on the floor, even on the ceiling. The headless corpse of an Ithini was nailed to the wall with iron spikes. It had apparently been there for some time. Miscellaneous weapons lay strewn about—swords, axes, and maces, among other things. Chains hung from the ceiling. The whole room reeked of decay and death.

Bakma prisoners lolled in the cages, many with missing limbs and missing eyes, some twitching in near-lifelessness. Ithini in separate cages appeared in much the same state. Some were bleeding as they writhed in mute agony. Not an alien in the room was unscarred.

Blake was speechless. His formerly defiant expression had faded into pale shock. His mouth hung open; his arms hung limply at his sides. He didn’t breathe.

Several other Nightmen moved around the room; all were bloodstained and occupied. One by one, they looked at the door. When they recognized Judge Blake, they stopped.

“
He knew,” Petrov explained to the Nightmen in Russian. To Blake, he said, “Do you not torture at EDEN Command?”

For the first time since entering, the British judge spoke. “This isn’t torture. This is sadism.”

Petrov walked forward as Blake followed. They came to the first cage, which held a Bakma. Both of its arms had been removed, and the trauma appeared to have gone almost untreated. The creature writhed in pain on the floor, surrounded by blood.

“
This is Lu’tikmanassa. He is a soldier. We thought he knew more than he did. He will not live much longer.”

The Bakma evidenced no indication that it was aware of their presence.

Petrov stopped at the next cage. Another Bakma sat on the floor inside, but this one’s limbs were intact. Its body was grotesquely malnourished. “This one is Tauthinilaas. He is an officer. He was captured during the
Assault on Novosibirsk
.”

As Blake leaned closer to the bars, the Bakma looked up at him. The alien’s skin dangled loosely as if a once muscular body had atrophied beyond repair.

“
We are sustaining him for questioning, though he has not given us much. If he does not cooperate soon, he will be killed.”

Blake interrupted him. “Do you have any Ceratopians?” His voice broke. His eyes stayed locked on the Bakma’s.

“…
yes, judge,” Petrov confessed. “Come with me.”

The Bakma was left to its emaciated state.

Blake was directed to the opposite side of the room, in the far corner. There were two Ceratopians present, but only one seemed conscious. The other lay crumpled on the floor.

“
This is Gag`hraffthra,” Petrov said, pointing to the better-kept brute. “It is a hard name to pronounce, but they all are. We received him very recently, and we’re considering our options.”

Blake turned to the other, worse-off alien. One of its horns had been removed, and the wound had festered. But the alien was alive. “What is this one’s name?”

“
H`gath. He was wounded when we recovered him from a crash.”

“
Is that how he lost one of his horns?”

“
No…”

Blake stifled a gag. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

“
Are you all right, judge?”

Blake waved Petrov off and hurried back to the iron door. The Nightmen in the room exchanged dark looks.

As soon as Blake was in the hallway, he placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. “This is evil,” he whispered under his breath. “This place is pure evil.”

Petrov and Mikhajlov were right behind him.

“
Take me out of this place,” Blake said. “I’ve seen enough.”

The men affirmed and escorted him out.

* * *

EDEN Command

Thirty minutes later

The view screen on Archer’s desk flickered on as Blake’s face appeared. His typically amiable expression was absent behind a veneer of disgust.

Archer sat alone in his suite. “Don’t you look lovely?”

“
If you’d seen what I’ve seen…” The statement was left unfinished. “Forget every preconceived notion of civility you thought this place might have had. These are barbarians.”

“
Is he there?”

Blake frowned apologetically. “No.”

Archer’s face noticeably altered. He fought hard not to scowl. “This does not bode well, Malcolm. We do not have as much time as we thought. He must be found.”

“
I understand.”

“
What of Thoor?”

“
We haven’t seen him. We’ve succeeded in catching him off guard, that much is for certain. You should see the looks we’ve been getting. They’re definitely unprepared.”

“
Good. Has Carol made progress?”

Blake attempted a smile. “You know Carol.”

“
Have you spoken with her?”

“
Not yet. I want to make sure it’s the right time. I want everything to go smoothly. If I don’t find the opportunity to speak with her here, I’ll talk with her during the flight home.”

Blake paused and continued. “As ironic as it may be considering where we are, they’ve made our accommodations quite comfortable. We’ve been given neighboring suites in their officers’ wing. One of the entrances to Fort Zhukov is just down the hall. I’m not sure how long we’ll stay. Possibly several days, possibly a week. Much of that will hinge on Thoor’s responsiveness. But we won’t leave until we get the job done.”