Epic: Book 03 - Hero (65 page)

“
Yuri, you there?”

Finally, Dostoevsky replied. “Yes. I knew him.”

Several seconds passed before Scott answered. “I’m sorry, Yuri. We did the best that we could.”

Dostoevsky lowered the comm to his side.

Max emerged on the channel, his voice low and subdued. “Don’t worry about it, Scott. I’m sure Nijinsky got what he deserved.”

Silence hit. No one else on the channel said a word.

He got what he deserved.
Max’s words replayed in Dostoevsky’s head. He knew exactly what they meant, and why Nijinsky deserved it. Someone else deserved it, too.

Dostoevsky looked up at his slayers. They were already looking at him.

As Esther led the escapees to the third floor, she heard all of it. Her eyes remained defiantly focused as she assisted the final operative onto deck three.

The third-floor access panel opened from the dead end of a hallway. The moment she emerged, she became aware of Ceratopians in the area. They were just as she’d predicted—gathered in the central corridors surrounding the bridge. She didn’t need to know how many there were; it was more important that they were avoided at all costs.

Stealthily the team crept through the halls of the ship. As Esther had promised, the exit to the roof wasn’t far, and they reached it without resistance.

The exit was strikingly ordinary—nothing more than a hatch in the ceiling. But it was as oversized as the gargantuan halls. Moving to the wall nearest the hatch, Esther accessed a display screen. Depressed ladder rungs, rectangular and oversized, slid out from the wall under the exit. Carefully, she grabbed the first rung.

Scott was passing through the heart of the first floor. He hadn’t run into a single extraterrestrial since initially making his break. It was as if that wing of the first floor had been entirely abandoned. That surprised him—but not enough to cause him to let down his guard. He trekked onward with caution and speed, creeping around corners and cutting through intersections with his rifle prepared.

With the action apparently subsiding, he turned on his ExTracker and immediately picked up a signal. The blips were just inside his custom-set detection range of twenty meters, just past an intersection ahead. The ExTracker identified them as Ceratopians. They were moving toward the intersection at intermittent speeds, stopping periodically along the way. Scott knelt and aimed his assault rifle ahead, waiting for them to walk in his sights. When they did, he arched an eyebrow.

It was indeed a pair of Ceratopians—one tan, and one black and green. But they weren’t geared up for a fight. On the contrary, both were completely stripped down, devoid of weapons, armor, or clothing. They were tattered from head to toe with various wounds—bruises, gashes, and burns. The tan one hobbled, evidently in pain. They turned and saw him.

Scott held his fire as the Ceratopians froze. He swore he could read apprehension, particularly in the black-skinned one—as if it didn’t know how to proceed. Neither creature moved.

Had they been armed, Scott wouldn’t have hesitated; he’d have gunned them down, armor or not. But to slaughter them defenseless felt wrong.

The tan-skinned Ceratopian—the one with the limp—held out its hands.
“Dar Achaar veraatat dech.”

Scott’s finger lifted from the trigger.
What in the world?

“
Dar Achaar veraatat dech.”

He lowered his assault rifle. Was he supposed to know what that meant? The only alien word he knew was the Bakmanese word for surrender.

The Ceratopians entered a brief, quiet exchange. Their body language couldn’t have been clearer: they were trying to figure out what to do. The tan one looked at Scott while pointing to itself.

“
H`laar.”

The alien was telling him its name—there was no doubt. Scott looked behind briefly to check his rear, then turned back to them. He motioned to himself. “Remington.”

The Ceratopian nodded its head, clearing its throat. Its words were slow and precise.
“Dar Achaar veraatat,”
it pointed to Scott,
“Rumigtaah.”

Scott couldn’t hold back his own words—they just blurted out. “What the
hell
?”

On the third level of the Battleship, Esther hung on the top rung of the exit ladder. Her hands worked the ceiling controls. “All right, get ready.” Drawing a breath, she inputted the final command. The door whooshed open with alarming speed, and the sky came into view.

Esther grinned and looked down at her team. “Grab hold of this,” she said, tossing down a small line. On her end was a suction device. “Attach the clip to your belts, and I’ll lift you up one by one. Commander Ozerov can go first.”

The operatives below smiled for the first time. They hurriedly set the clip on the injured commander’s belt.

Esther stared at the oversized exit. Holding her breath, she leapt toward it, grabbing hold of its edge. She pulled herself through to open air. As soon as she found her footing, she attached the suction device to the roof.

Looking across the open snowfields, Esther saw the Noboat perimeter. There were still Bakma about but their numbers had dwindled. Far in the distance, she saw Tanneken’s Vulture picking up Max’s crew. She lifted her comm. “Leaving so soon, David?”

After a moment David answered, “Not a
second
too soon. Let’s go back home.”

“
Novosibirsk
never seemed like such a nice place!”

“
You can say that again.”

“
Esther out.” Closing the conversation, the scout looked down at her team. Ozerov was prepped for his lift. Flipping a switch next to the suction, the device began to pull the line in. It tensed but didn’t break with his weight. Ozerov rose from the ground.

The wind felt good on Esther’s cheeks. It was a welcomed change to the stale air of the Battleship. Scanning the area one final time, she turned around to catch the view from behind.

Suddenly she stopped.

Something wasn’t right. There was a clear area where snow
wasn’t
falling, barely twenty meters in front of her. It was distinguishably different from the rest of the air—like an absence of space.

An absence of space.

Esther gasped, her eyes popping. Spinning around, she unclamped the suction. Ozerov yelled and fell to the floor. But she didn’t care.

She heard the Noboat materialize behind her. Its electric sizzle crackled through the air as its plasma cannons charged to life. It fired as she dove through the hole.

Scott felt the ship rumble. The two Ceratopians also felt it, and their bewildered looks said what he knew: they were under attack. Scott lifted his weapon, but not to fire. He motioned the Ceratopians to run.

Dostoevsky, Gabriel, and Tkachenok raced away from the Battleship. They turned their heads skyward to see.

“
That’s the Noboat we couldn’t find!” Seth said over his comm from the Vulture. “The one that disappeared!”

Still in shock, Gabriel turned to Dostoevsky and said, “Don’t you have a crew en route to the roof?”

Behind his helmet, Dostoevsky’s face lost its color.

Esther and her operatives were blown back across the floor of deck three. The blast from the Noboat’s plasma cannon had all but obliterated the ceiling above them. Grunting through the pain of a hard fall and a plasma shockwave, the scout forced herself to her feet.

No one from the team had been killed. They were shaken up but able to move. Far down the hall, between them and the maintenance shaft, Ceratopians rounded the bend.

“
Everyone, run!” Esther screamed. “Get up and move!”

Everyone—injured Ozerov included—surged to their feet. Behind them, the neutron attack began.

Dostoevsky listened as Esther screamed on the comm. “This is Brooking! We’re sealed off from the roof! We have nowhere to go!” The zap of neutron beams verified her words.

Gabriel thrust his comm to his lips. “Seth, can you assist?”

“
Captain, we’re loaded full of wounded! There’s no way we can take on a Noboat.”

Dostoevsky felt his heart rate increase. The Ceratopians inside the Battleship would mow Esther and her entire team down. She didn’t stand a chance without help.

“
We have nowhere to go!”
Esther shrieked.

“
General Platis,” Gabriel said desperately, “we have Noboats engaging from above! Can your fighters assist?”

Dostoevsky turned to the slayers. They were away from the Battleship, watching the sky as the Noboat circled for prey. Tkachenok’s crew looked defeated. They were barely able to breath as they recovered from their ordeal. As for Captain Gabriel, the Australian wasn’t even supposed to be there—his team had come on their own free will. Everyone had given so much.

Everyone but him.

Dostoevsky’s feet became light. His emotions overtook him.

I am living in a nightmare I have created. This shame, this confusion, it is my own.

The knot in his stomach slowly loosened.

God, Your vengeance is here—I can run from it no more.

He closed his eyes and lowered his head.

I give You what life I have left. I pray You are appeased. Have mercy on me, and protect me long enough to do one good thing…

…
let me save as many as I can.

He opened his eyes. The slayers were still watching the Noboat. Gabriel was still on his comm. It was as if no time had passed at all.

Dostoevsky loaded a new clip in his assault rifle. He turned to the Battleship’s door and launched himself forward.

Nobody noticed him leave.

39

Friday, November 25
^th
, 0011 NE

1303 hours

Chaos ruled the third floor of the Battleship. As Esther frantically led her team through turn after turn, time became as much their enemy as the extraterrestrials. They could not reach the second floor without going through the Ceratopians, and the route they’d taken to the third floor was completely blocked. Only so many hallways were open, and they were in no shape to defend themselves.

Every time they rounded a corner, a barrage of neutron was right behind them. If anyone would have stumbled, they would have been dead. The pain of injuries took a back seat to survival.

Esther deduced that the Ceratopians were making a sweep, moving as a unified wave, and not only behind her team. Several times, they’d almost been surrounded. Her knowledge of layouts was saving their lives, but even that would soon fail.

She darted into a storage room, one of three placed back to back that connected two sets of halls on different sides of the ship. Her operatives could pass through the rooms from one hall to the next. If nothing else, it could buy them some time.

Esther hurdled over containers on the floor as the men stumbled in her wake. Ahead, the next storage room came to view, then the next. She could see the hallway across them. Suddenly, she skidded to a stop. In that same hallway, Ceratopians materialized, cutting her path off.

There were no other halls and no other means of escape. When the operatives caught up to her, they dove to the floor to avoid neutron beams from ahead.

“
Close the door behind us!” Esther screamed. “Break the panel outside, then close the door!”

Black did as told, bashing the control panel in the hall before sealing the door from the inside. Esther did the same on her end. Both doors lowered, trapping them in.

“
How long will this hold?” Black asked her.

“
It won’t.”

Scott was moving as fast as he could. From the moment the first explosions rang out, he and the Ceratopians had made a beeline toward the exit. Hearing Esther’s pleas quickened his pace.

These Ceratopians are slowing me down.

It was clear the aliens weren’t in good shape. But what could he do? If he let them go, they could grab weapons. If he killed them…that just wouldn’t have been honorable.

He knew the only choice he had left, without leaving them free and without taking them along. They were already in front of him, armorless, hobbling, limping.

Render them unconscious. It’s the only way.

Scott attacked the larger one first—the black one with green markings. Leaping straight at the alien from behind, he cracked the butt of his assault rifle against the back of its head, beneath the protection of its bone frill. It was a perfect strike, solid and on the mark. There was only one problem.

The Ceratopian didn’t fall.

Scott’s eyes widened behind his helmet.
Oh, veck.

The black and green lizard spun to face him. The other one—H`laar—jumped back defensively.

For a second time, Scott tried to slam his rifle butt against the black and green titan. But the Ceratopian, now aware, swung to block. It was as if Scott’s rifle had hit a brick wall. Then the alien struck back. Scott was punched squarely in the chest; his feet left the ground. Landing on his back, he skidded down the hall, his assault rifle falling from his hands. He quickly looked up.