Epic: Book 02 - Outlaw Trigger (5 page)

Pauling nodded.

“
Well,” said Torokin, turning back to Archer, “I look forward to working with you, then. If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask.”

“
I certainly won’t,” Archer said, bowing his head. “Many thanks to you for your willingness to guide a novice.”

“
You were a vice-general. You are not a novice.”

After a moment of polite closure, Pauling took a step to the side. “We’ve still got a few more judges to meet. Benjamin?”

He smiled. “Absolutely, Mr. President.”

Goodbyes were exchanged, and they walked away.

Torokin and Grinkov watched as Pauling led Archer and Rath to Judge Iwayama. After a moment, Grinkov spoke, again in Russian.

“
He is smart.”

“
He is capable,” added Torokin. “More so than I thought. I can see it in his eyes.”

Grinkov smiled. “So have you changed your mind about him?”

“
No. I still don’t like him.”

“
Rath speaks highly of him.”

“
I don’t like Rath.”

“
Why not?”

“
I don’t like Canadians.”

Grinkov laughed. “You don’t like Britons, you don’t like Canadians…you don’t like many things.”

“
I like vodka,” Torokin said. “And young, beautiful women.”

“
And I suppose since there are no young, beautiful women here, we will be drinking vodka tonight?”

Torokin watched as Archer was introduced to Iwayama. The older Japanese man bowed graciously. Judge Shintaku, standing submissively behind Iwayama, offered Archer the same courtesy. Tamiko. She was the closest thing to a young, beautiful woman that EDEN Command had, but even that wasn’t saying much. Her only competition was Carol June, the middle-aged American. Carol was actually an attractive older woman. She just also happened to be a witch. At least Tamiko had a decent personality.

Torokin just didn’t like Asians.

“
Shall we invite Richard, then?” Grinkov asked. “He’s the closest thing we have to an alcoholic.”

“
Yes,” Torokin said as he searched the room for Richard Lena. He spotted him assaulting the punch bowl. He liked Lena. Lena had an ‘attitude.’ He was a well-informed, American smart-aleck—at least in how he addressed people. He was quick to put foolishness in its place. “But I think he is getting a head start.”

“
Are we skipping out on the dinner?”

“
What will they do? Fire us?”

“
I think it is best if we stay. At least for dinner. Everyone else will be here, and we do not want Archer to get a negative impression.”

Torokin hated social events, but Grinkov had a point. Whether he liked it or not, Archer was their new co-worker. Skipping dinner would do more harm than good. It was, once again, all political. “You are right.”

“
I am always. Except when I am wrong.”

Torokin gave him a look.

Grinkov laughed. “Let’s go, then. Maybe they hired a new Russian server girl, young and beautiful. You
do
like Russians, right?”

“
Some of them.”

Grinkov slapped his back. “Let us go.”

The rest of the reception was predictable. There was a formal banquet, complete with speeches by both Pauling and Archer. Even Rath, the man credited with finding the newcomer, had several words to say to the crowd. Lame attempts at humor were met with plastic laughs, and unnecessary toasts were raised in the name of Earth’s protection.

Torokin just went through the motions. He smiled when everyone smiled, and he sipped champagne when everyone sipped champagne. But his mind was on Darryl Kentwood.

He’d known Kentwood relatively well, considering they’d rarely spoken. Kentwood’s work ethic had been strong. His death was a loss to them all. And Benjamin Archer was supposed to replace that?

That was hardly an easy assignment.

In a way, Archer’s selection made him angry. It was true that the president appointed judges. But usually it was discussed beforehand. This time, Pauling had just taken Rath’s word for it, and Archer got the nod right away. Torokin wondered if it was English-speaking bias. Pauling was an American, Rath was a Canadian, and Archer was British. Heaven forbid another Russian got the chair. Or a German, of which there were none in the High Command. In fact, Uta Volbrecht had recently retired from Vector Squad. She would have been ideal for the job. But instead, they got an English monopoly. It was political. All political. And he was tired of it.

As his eyes wandered around the room, he took note of all the banquet’s participants. Everyone was there, or at least that was how it appeared. The other eleven judges were there, the EDEN Command staff members were there, even the individual secretaries were there.

But there was one person who he was sure wasn’t there. Kang Gao Jing—the director of Intelligence. The most secretive man in EDEN, both literally and figuratively. The judges were the only men who knew him, and even their relationships with him were obscure. He was the eyes and ears of EDEN. He didn’t exist.

Kang was fortunate. He could skip any banquet he wanted, and it wouldn’t matter at all. He could probably skip his own if he had one. Hardly anyone would recognize him anyway.

Before Torokin realized it, the men and women around him were rising to their feet, as a wave of post-banquet chatter washed over them. He leaned over to Grinkov and spoke. “Is it over?”

Grinkov smiled. “Were you not just here?”

“
I wasn’t paying attention.”

“
Yes, it’s over. Everyone is free to go.” His smile broadened. “And we are free to drink.”

Torokin allowed his gaze to shift to Archer. He was in a conversation with Judges Malcolm Blake and Carol June. It looked pleasant—exactly how all Archer’s conversations looked. “Have you spoken with Richard?”

“
Yes, but he turned us down.”

Torokin shot him a look. “Are you serious?”

“
He said he must call his family tonight. He has not talked to them for some time.”

“
Family is so inconvenient.”

“
I know.”

Torokin sighed and rose from his chair. “Then it is only the two of us, I suppose.”

“
Yes. So it seems.”

“
Is there anyone here that you still want to talk to?”

Grinkov shook his head. “We can leave whenever you want.”

“
Let’s go, then. I’ve had enough for one night.”

“
Me too.”

No one bid farewell to Torokin and Grinkov as they trekked out of the banquet hall and into the corridors of EDEN Command. But that suited them just fine.

There was no one to whom they wanted to say goodbye, anyway.

4

Monday, August 1
^st
, 0011 NE

1720 hours

Novosibirsk, Russia

Scott growled as a left hook smacked against the tip of his chin. His mouthpiece shook loose from his teeth. He stepped back and resituated it. “Lucky shot,” he mumbled through the rubber.

“
Like hell, tha’ was lucky!” Becan said, removing his own mouthpiece and holding it. “Tha’s called a good stick!”

“
Then how come that’s the first one you’ve landed?”

”’
Cos I’m bein’ polite.”

“
Yeah, right.”

Sparring together had become Scott and Becan’s new custom. On sporadic days, they would find time to escape to the gymnasium together, where they would exercise in one-on-one bouts. They made sure never to stick to a set schedule. They already had their fair share of those.

Becan slipped his mouthpiece back into place. “All righ’ then, dope. Millie up!”

Scott adjusted his headgear and bounced.

Then Becan struck. The move was a stutter-stepped hook, similar to the one he’d just landed. But the Irishman never struck the same way twice in a row. There’d be something different. And there was. The moment Scott moved to block the attack, Becan skidded and twirled back around. He sent a spinning hook kick to Scott’s face.

But Scott was ready.

He leaned back and tap-blocked Becan’s foot. He knew better than to actually grab it—that was a lesson he’d learned the hard way more than once. The Irishman had the nasty ability to turn anything into pivot point for follow-up attack. But not this time. As soon as Becan’s momentum was jarred to a stop, Scott slid to the ground and swept the Irishman’s feet. Becan toppled flat on his back.

“
Veck!”

Scott waited for Becan to stand. “You all right? That was a pretty nasty fall you took there.” Scott grinned as the Irishman scowled.

There was only one rule that Scott and Becan abided by while they fought. Everything required some form of smack-talk. It was a mixture of lighthearted taunting and genuine competitiveness, but it was never taken to heart.

“
Nasty fall
this
,” Becan said. He dashed forward with a fierce leg thrust, and as soon as Scott parried it, he struck with an aggressive right hook.

One that was snagged in mid-air.

“
Veck, Remmy, no!”

But it was too late. Scott’s fingers were already coiled around Becan’s wrist, and with a instinctive application of pressure, electricity surged through the Irishman’s spine. Scott flicked the wrist, and Becan cut a flip onto the floor. For the second time, he landed flat on his back.

“
Tha’s bollocks!” Becan said with a groan. “Yeh can’t use the
Dostoevsky Special
!”

Scott laughed and took out his mouthpiece. “What’s that rule again?”

“
If I can’t stop it, yeh can’t bloody use it!”

“
Right, that was it. I’d forgotten.”

“
Bleedin’ righ’ yeh forgot,” Becan said, as Scott assisted him up. “
I
want some private Nightman sparrin’ lessons.”

Scott fought back a grin. He hated training with Dostoevsky. But it did have its rewards. Scott was now one of the few people who could go toe to toe with Becan. At least, go toe to toe with him sometimes. Becan was the better fighter, hands down. But every now and then, Scott had a good day. A day when everything worked. This was a very good day.

“
So wha’s tha’ make the score this month?” Becan asked with a glare. “Me, twenty, you, one?”

“
I’ve taken you down more than once.”

“
Bollocks! Name a second time!”

“
Last Thursday.”

“…
name a
third
time!”

Scott tried not to laugh. “I guess that means we’re through for today?”

“
Righ’. We’re bloody through.” Becan pulled off his headgear. His hair was a sweat-tangled mess.

But Scott’s hair was worse—practically dripping, and he ran a hand back to mat it down. A fight against Becan could turn a human being into a sweat factory, especially a fight that ended in victory. It took every grain of athleticism to keep pace with the Irishman’s prowess, and sometimes not even that was enough.

But this time it had been.

“
So wha’ abou’ these rookies?” Becan asked as he stepped to the edge of the ring to throw off his sparring gear.

Scott knew Becan was changing the subject. He always did that when he lost. But Scott didn’t mind. “What about them?”

“
Do we know anythin’?”

Scott shook his head. “I haven’t even seen their papers. You know as much as I do.”

“
Yeh know wha’ I think is bloody ridiculous? The fact tha’ it took
three bloody months
to get reinforcements. That’s flickin’ insane.”

“
Clarke
did
say we were getting more reinforcements, in addition to Esther and Maksim. We just don’t know who they are.”

“
Or when we’ll have them?”

“
Or when we’ll have them.”

Becan zipped his duffle bag closed and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m not surprised. Clarke never knows anythin’.”

The two men walked from the gymnasium and stepped out onto the grounds. Rain had already begun to fall outside, and they hurriedly made their way to the barracks. They managed to get there without becoming soaked.

“
How bloody fitting is this?” Becan asked, shaking the drops from his hair. “Even the rookies arrive in a storm.”

Scott chuckled. “Clarke and I were talking about that earlier. That’s got to be more than coincidence.”

“
They should put a sign on the airstrip: ‘Welcome to hell—it froze over.’ Or, it was frozen when
we
arrived, at least.”

Scott laughed a bit more. “I remember everything about our first night here, as if it were yesterday. What a miserable night.”

“
It was worth it, least for me it was.” The Irishman winked. “I got to see Sveta showerin’.”

“
Only you would consider that payoff.”

“
No…” Becan said with a smile. “Only you
wouldn’t
.”

Scott said nothing as he continued to walk. Svetlana. He thought about her quite often. How could he not? But there was pain with her memory, too. There was Siberia. There was Anatoly. There was goodbye. And the thought of that still made him hurt.