Epic: Book 03 - Hero (37 page)

“
Where’s that dumb dog?”

* * *

Svetlana was halfway through the halls when she ran into Varvara. The younger woman was walking quickly through the barracks in the direction of Room 14.

“
Varya!”

When she heard her name, Varvara flinched. “Sveta! Hello!” she said in Russian. She looked flustered, her hair unkempt and her cheeks flushed. Her breathing was short and irregular.

“
Where have you been?”

“
Where have I
been
? I went to do some working out. It has been a long day, has it not?”

“
Working out in the middle of the night?”

For a moment, Varvara said nothing. Then she brushed back her hair. “There has been so much on my mind—with Jayden, then with everything else. Then what happened with the captain today—it was just terrible when I heard about it. I needed to work out the stress.” She glanced over Svetlana’s shoulder down the hall.

Svetlana followed her gaze, but no one was there.

“
So! How are things with the lieutenant?”

“
Do you mean Scott or Max?”

“
Scott.”

“
Things are good…” She stared at Varvara, then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you sure you were working out?”

Several silent seconds passed before Varvara laughed with apparent fatigue. “Yes, yes. I know that must seem silly. But, it is what I do. You know how I am.”

“
Yes. I do.”

“
Will you walk with me back to the room?”

After a moment of hesitation, Svetlana followed.

“
I think things will be good here now,” Varvara said. “It is so good that you decided to return. You are such a good person. You will help our situation.”

Svetlana eyed her from behind. “You were the one who wrote me the letter.”

Laughing breathily again, Varvara said, “Yes. Yes, I did. I am sorry…I am tired after working out, you must understand. I am not thinking clearly.”

“
What are you hiding?”

Varvara stopped and stared wide-eyed at Svetlana. Her hesitation was impossible to miss. “I am not hiding anything. I do not know what you are suggesting. I went to work out, and now I am returning to the room. That is it.”

“
Since when do you work out with no towel?”

Silence hit.

“
Who is it?” Svetlana asked.

“
Who is who?”

“
You heard what I asked. Who is it?”

“
Sveta, I do not know what you mean—”

“
If I turn around and walk back, who will I find?”

Varvara shook her head. “I do not—”

“
Is it someone from the unit?”

The younger woman looked distressed. All at once, her nostrils flared. “Wait! You are not suggesting…” Her words hung unfinished. When Svetlana said nothing, she gasped. “No. No! I am
not
doing what you think. How dare you accuse me of this!”

“
Varya, I am only asking you a question.”

“
I know
exactly
what you are asking!” Varvara’s cheeks exploded with red. “How could you suggest that? How
dare
you suggest that!”

As Varvara’s voice rose, so did Svetlana’s hands. She whispered, “Varya, it is night, please keep your voice down…”

“
I went to work out. That is it! You always think you know what is going on.”

Some of the doors along the hallway began to open. Half-awake operatives stared at the two women.

“
You are always in everyone’s business, thinking you know what is best! You never leave anyone alone.” She threw up her hands. “No
wonder
you got pied in the face!”

The observing operatives’ heads collectively turned. They followed Varvara as she marched all the way back to Room 14. Then they turned to Svetlana.

Svetlana’s cheeks were flushed red. She glared as Varvara disappeared. For several seconds, she didn’t move at all. She didn’t turn. She almost didn’t breathe. Then, her lips pursed with rage.

She spun around and strode up the hall. She strode all the way out of the barracks.

Right through the cafeteria doors.

* * *

Ten minutes later

The door to Room 14 burst violently open as Svetlana stepped inside. Travis flinched atop his bed, where he had been in the midst of reading his comics. The lights were on in both the bunk room and the lounge. The unit was still awake. Svetlana marched, hands full, right across the bunk room floor. She marched right into the lounge.

Several operatives were already there—among which was Esther. Conversation ceased as Svetlana entered. When the scout saw Svetlana, she sat up erect.

Svetlana’s glare was calculated and cold. When she finally spoke, her voice boomed.

“
Attention, all who can hear!”

Esther flinched; no one else moved.

Svetlana set a plate on the counter. In her other hand she held a filled-to-the-brim bowl.
“This,”
she said, “is porridge!” Turning the bowl upside down, she dumped its entire contents on Esther’s head. The young woman shrieked as oatmeal rained down.

Before anyone else could react, Svetlana reached for the dessert on the counter. “And
this
is a pie.” Without warning, she slammed it straight into the scout’s face, causing an eruption of white topping to splatter the cabinets behind them. The other operatives gaped.

Esther sat frozen in shock. Whipped cream and melted marshmallow slid from her face. When she finally looked down, the whole mess fell splattering to the floor. Only her ponytail had escaped the messy assault.

“
Learn the difference,” Svetlana said. Wiping her hands on her sweat suit, she turned and marched out the room, stopping only to glance back at the scout. “Enjoy dessert.” Then she was gone.

The remaining operatives stared at Esther as she dragged a hand over her head to slick the porridge back, wiping the filling from her face a moment later. When she spoke, her voice was layered with disgust. “Well, wasn’t
that
cute?”

No one answered her rhetorical question. Almost no one answered at all.

Except for one person.

His grin—the sole grin in the room—stretched clear from one ear to the next. His eyes twinkled like a twelve-year-old boy’s. When he spoke, his drawl filled the lounge.

“
Dude,” William said, looking across at Travis. “This unit
rocks
!”

21

Monday, November 14
^th
, 0011 NE

2121 hours

The doors to Confinement slid open as Scott stepped inside. He knew Petrov would still be there, despite the late hour. The scientist had asked to see Scott; he wouldn’t leave until Scott came.

It was impossible not to think of the conversation he’d just had with Svetlana, not to feel lost and confused. The manila folder—Sergei Steklov’s folder—was tucked underneath Scott’s arm. He still felt compelled to bring it along.

Petrov smiled as the lieutenant stepped through the doors. “Good evening, Commander Remington.”

Scott shook his head. “Not ‘commander’ yet.”

“
Soon enough, my good friend. Soon enough.”

The Machine’s lack of compassion was disgusting.
Captain Clarke has been dead for less than a day. Is that all he meant to this place?
He knew the answer and hated it. As long as there were Nightmen in the Fourteenth, Clarke would have always been an uninvited guest. Scott remembered his first conversation with William Harbinger a long time ago. William had told him that the Fourteenth was one of Thoor’s favorite units—because of Clarke. Now Scott knew it was a lie. Captain Dostoevsky and Commander Remington. That was probably how Thoor had viewed it for months.

“
Please, lieutenant, sit down. You have much to tell me!”

Scott sat in the indicated chair, taking a moment to survey the cells. They held many of the same inhabitants; not one of them was new. He looked at his folder.
All my time here, and I’ve learned nothing.
He fought and failed to quell his overwhelming sense of pessimism.

“
Tonight will be wonderful night,” said Petrov. “Tonight, we will have an execution. I am very excited.”

Execution? Before Scott could ask about it, Petrov went on.

“
Tell me what happened when you attacked the first necrilid.”

Everything was like that in The Machine. Reveal nothing. Demand everything. He forced out thoughts of executions as he was asked to describe his encounter. “It was like any other necrilid. It appeared quickly, then it leapt to attack.” It was strange, but necrilids in general seemed to have slowed down over time. He knew they weren’t literally slower. He was just getting used to their speed. “I took a gamble. I attacked at the same time he did. I won.”

Petrov eyed him a suspiciously. “Did you believe it was a gamble at the time?”

Scott was silent as he remembered his feelings. Pure vengeance. Pure adrenaline. He had poured out his anger on the necrilid, just as he had with Steklov months before. Unbridled rage he’d never known he possessed. “No.”

He watched as Petrov took notes. Rage. In all his life, he’d never felt it before. Not like he felt it now. Not growing up. Not in college. Not in
Philadelphia
. He had needed something to unleash it. The Machine had been eager and ready.

“
Then what happened?”

Scott shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I attacked it. I was tired of losing and being afraid, so I tried something different. I wanted them to fear for a change.” He found it hard to believe he’d actually done what he was discussing, and he wondered if he’d have the courage—or the insanity—to do it again. “I attacked it, then I threw it over my shoulder into the room in front of me. I tried to attack it again before it could get up, but it moved away.”

“
And according to the report, it made a sound?”

“
I’d never heard it before. It wasn’t normal—it was almost sad.” He couldn’t think of another way to describe it. “That’s when everything changed. They stopped jumping out and attacking and got defensive.”

“
Describe this in more detail. Tell me how their mannerisms changed.”

“
Who are you executing?”

Petrov suddenly stopped scribbling and looked up at Scott. “Changing the subject so quickly?”

“
You want information. I do, too. I want to know who’s being executed.” He was on amicable enough terms with Petrov to be able to make such demands.

The scientist watched Scott for a moment, then laughed under his breath. “Tonight, we will set an example in the Walls of Mourning. We will show the other captives the price of uncooperative—”

“
The walls of
what
?”

“
You do not know of the Walls of Mourning?”

Scott had never heard of it in his life, nor was he sure he wanted to. But now he had to know. “No, I’ve never heard of it before.”

Petrov appeared skeptical of Scott’s lack of knowledge. “The Walls of Mourning are within the Hall of the Fulcrums—in the Citadel of The Machine.”

That explained it. The Citadel of The Machine. The lair of the Nightman sect. Scott had never set foot there. He’d never had the desire.

“
It is…’our’ Confinement.”

That caught Scott’s ears. “You have another
Confinement
? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“
I am sorry,” Petrov said defensively, “I did not imagine you were unaware. You are a Nightman. Do you not walk the Hall of the Fulcrums?”

“
No, I don’t. What’s in this Confinement?”

“
Everything we want for ourselves—what we deem important.”

“
Is it an interrogation room?”

“
It is a torture room.”

The casualness of the word sent chills down Scott’s spine. A torture room. The Walls of Mourning. He should have known. “I want to see it.” He had no fetish for torture, but he felt an urge to see this place.

Once again, Petrov sounded confused. “You do not need my permission. You are a fulcrum. You can see it any time you wish.”

“
I want you to take me there, tonight.”

“
That is fine.”

“
Now. You can ask me about necrilids later.”

Petrov rose from his seat. “Very well, commander. Let me collect my things, and we will go together.”

Scott couldn’t believe it. All this time, coming to Confinement over and over again, and not once had he heard of a secondary brig. He realized that must have been intentional. There was probably no mention of a torture room anywhere outside of the Citadel itself.

“
Are you ready?” asked Petrov. “Follow me.”

For the first time, Scott felt as if he were a legitimate part of the Nightman sect, not just someone who had happened to get caught in their snare. He was entering the Citadel of The Machine. The home of his kind.

To his surprise, the passageway that led to it was one marked as a custodial closet. Scott had passed it many times and never suspected otherwise. When he saw the limestone stairwell and dimly lit walls, the reality of
Novosibirsk
struck him hard. This place went well beyond Old Era—it was almost medieval. He felt strange breezes as he walked, from crevices that couldn’t be seen. It was like stepping back through time.