Epic: Book 02 - Outlaw Trigger (8 page)

Drowning would certainly put an end to the swimming requests
, thought Scott. “Night, Galya.”

“
Good night, lieutenant.”

“
Night everyone.”

“
See you tomorrow, Scott!”

Tomorrow. Captain’s permission or not, they weren’t sleeping in. Not on his watch. At least not too much, anyway. Scott waved to those nearby, and slipped out of Room 14.

It was funny how fast he’d adjusted to officer life. It was funny how fast his teammates had adjusted to him as an officer. It had slid into place like a glove.

He was excited about tomorrow. He wasn’t crazy about admitting it, but he liked the pool, too. It was a nice change of pace from outdoor training.

When he crawled into bed, sleep found him right away. He offered it no resistance.

5

Tuesday, August 2
^nd
, 0011 NE

EDEN Command

The night met Judge Torokin with restlessness. As Monday rolled over to Tuesday, he laid still in the bed of his judge’s suite. Despite he and Grinkov’s earlier enthusiasm for vodka, neither man had left Torokin’s room drunk. They only talked of past battles and future issues, then solemnly retired to their rooms.

It was politics that kept him awake. The banquet had rendered him bitter. This was a war. It was a war in which they had few answers to show for their roles. And they were bringing in more politicians. It made him sick.

Torokin slid out of bed. Throwing on his official judge attire, he gave himself a brief look in the mirror. This was a war—a war in which he felt unproductive. There was only one thing he could think of to do. The one thing he could do anytime.

He could try to get answers.

Torokin rarely visited Alien Confinement, despite the luxury of rank that enabled him to do so. He was more interested in other things such as tactics and movements and guns. But on occasion, he ventured inside—usually in the hours of night.

There was too much that EDEN didn’t know. That upset him. He was a man who lived for the offensive, and an offensive was the one thing they couldn’t mount. They had no way to invade the aliens’ worlds. They had no way to challenge their space-faring fleets. They had almost no way of doing anything—except waiting, reacting, and readjusting in the aftermaths of the incursions. That thought made Torokin feel vulnerable. He hated it.

As he stepped to the first security door, he eyed the camera above. The tired voice of a guard addressed him.

“
Please look into the retinal scanner.”

Torokin did so, then waited patiently as the first set of doors opened. Ahead, two sets of similar doors remained closed. A retinal scanner, a hand sensor, and a voice detector: the three requirements to obtain entry. And if those were compromised, there were six armed guards at the inner doorway. When added to the fact that no one knew exactly where EDEN Command was, it was safe to call Confinement secure.

As soon as Torokin had passed through the final two doors, he found himself inside the corridor. The familiar smell of sterility hit his nose.

“
Good evening, Judge Torokin,” one of the armed guards said in Russian. There was always at least one guard who could greet the judges in their native language. That was designed. “Can I assist you?”

“
No,” Torokin answered. “I know my way.”

The guard resumed his place as Torokin stepped past.

He knew he wouldn’t get answers from any of the aliens. At least, he’d get nothing new. They’d spoken to this same set of prisoners for months. There were only so many ways to ask the same questions. But that didn’t mean that Torokin wouldn’t try. At least he felt useful, even if it was only the false impression of true progress.

A scientist hurried to meet him. “Good evening, Judge Torokin. Will you be speaking to a prisoner today?” The scientist was Puerto Rican, but spoke English.

Torokin paused for a moment. “ic-22.”

“
Right this way.”

The code was actually a designation. An Ithini captured with the Ceratopians was designated an ic. This was the twenty-second one they’d had. While he’d never spoken to it before, he’d watched others try. It was particularly unresponsive, but for whatever reason it remained there.

Of course, there were ibs, too. Those were Ithini captured with the Bakma. But they tended to be considerably less intelligent. It was a detail that had not gone unnoticed.

As soon as they reached ic-22’s cell, the scientist stepped to a side-door panel. The door itself was opaque—Command didn’t want the aliens staring about. After the scientist pressed a series of buttons, the door slid open. The cell was dimly lit, but it was obvious that moments ago, it had been completely dark. ic-22 was barely awake, and turned its head to the men. Then it sat up.

The Ithini, or ‘grays,’ as they were commonly referred to, were stereotyped by most citizens as being cute. Torokin, on the other hand, found the Ithinis to be the eeriest of all the species. Their large, black, bulbous eyes sat slanted on their oversized heads. Their bodies, frail to the point where they looked anorexic, were covered in tight, off-white skin. It felt like rubber to the touch.

While not overly dexterous, they walked with a gangly gait. They walked as if they were tall—odd, considering that the average Ithini measured barely five feet in height.

They were telepathic, at least to an extent. They had the ability to ‘connect,’ as they called it. It allowed them to understand concepts and feelings, but only so far. There was no evidence that they had the ability to read minds thought for thought, transfer exact ideas, or manipulate will. They merely adjusted their frequencies to match others’, which gave them a puzzling inclination to comprehend. It made little sense.

“
B’nik ya`asua,” the scientist said as he entered the cell.

The Ithini stared silently.

Torokin could see his own reflection in the alien’s eyes. It was impossible to tell if an Ithini was tired. Their faces were almost always stoic. They did display occasional emotions—fear, excitement, curiosity. But their personalities in general were subtle, if not at times completely void.

“
Will you speak with us today?” the scientist asked.

The alien did nothing.

Torokin folded his arms as he watched the scientist sit down in a chair. The cell door behind them was opened, but it didn’t matter. There was no way the Ithini could escape.

“
He doesn’t want to connect,” the scientist said. “He would have done so by now.”

Torokin rubbed his eyes, then leaned against the wall. “Have you spoken to this alien before?”

“
Yes, I have. Several times.”

“
Ask him what your name is.”

The scientist turned to the Ithini. “Tsi-t`an, jie’a`ntik?”

Several seconds of silence passed without response.

“
Tsi-t`an, jie’a`ntik?”

“
Does
he know your name?”

The scientist sighed. “Yes, he does. I don’t think he understands. He didn’t connect.”

“
You’re speaking in his language. How can he not understand?”

The scientist tried again. “Tsi-t`an, jie’a`ntik?”

There was nothing.

“
The Ithini are a stubborn lot, aren’t they?” The new voice came from outside the cell. It was a British one. When Torokin turned around, he was genuinely surprised at who he saw.

It was Benjamin Archer, the newly-named judge.

“
When they connect, you can speak to them in gibberish,” Archer said, “and it seems like they know what you’re saying. But when they won’t…you might as well chat with a wall.” The champagne-blond judge smiled warmly. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Judge Torokin.”

Torokin surveyed the new judge. “You are up late tonight. For what reason?”

“
Today I became a judge,” Archer answered, restraining a grin. “I’m a tiny bit excited.” As he stepped into the cell with the others, he motioned toward the alien. “While I was at
London
, I worked a great deal in Xenobiology. It’s a remarkable field.”

“
Is that why you’ve come here tonight?”

“
It is.”

Torokin fell silent. Archer was the last person he’d expected to run into. But what the new judge claimed was correct. Torokin distinctly remembered hearing about Archer’s involvement with alien interrogations. He wasn’t sure where he’d heard it from, or from whom, but he remembered that it had been briefly brought up.

“
Mind if I?” Archer asked the scientist.

The scientist quickly stood from his chair. “Not at all, Judge Archer, please do.” He allowed the new judge to sit down. “Welcome to Confinement Command.”

“
Thank you very much.” Archer turned his attention to the Ithini. It stared back with blank inattention. “B’nik ya`asua,” Archer said with a smile. “My name is Ben.”

“
I could not get him to connect,” the scientist said. “He does not want to speak.”

“
Oh, but he does,” Archer answered. “He just doesn’t realize it yet.”

Torokin appeared skeptical as Archer began to speak to the alien prisoner.

“
The blue tit is nonmigratory, commonly found in the countries of Europe and western Asia. With a wingspan of approximately thirteen centimeters, it is one of Britain’s smallest and most popular garden-variety birds—”

There was a noticeable change in the Ithini’s expression. Its eyes seemed to shift, appearing frantically more alert.

Archer smiled. “And just like that, we’re connected.”

The scientist’s jaw practically dropped.

Torokin’s stare went from doubting to impressed.

“
How did you do that?” the scientist asked.

“
He made it curious,” Torokin answered.

Archer grinned. “Absolutely correct. You see, before, this was all too typical. You came in, you greeted him, you asked him questions. He knew what to expect.” Archer turned back to the alien. “But what I just gave him was new. I threw him something he
didn’t
expect. I started talking, and he wanted to know what I was talking about. It’s as simple as that.”

“
Yu’toi
yanta
,” the Ithini hissed hoarsely.

Torokin and the scientist stared.

“
Oh, and he’s not happy one bit,” chuckled Archer. “But it’s all right.” He spoke to the alien. “You’re still going to learn something new. A blue tit is a bird, it’s one of the animals on Earth. It flies in the air with wings, and on those wings there are feathers. Would you like a picture?”

“
Yu’toi yanta, nihash
tzia
-na.”

Archer laughed as he spoke to the men. “That’s about as close as they come to sarcasm.” He rose from his chair. “You’d better get him a picture by tomorrow.”

“
You speak Ithini?” Torokin asked.

“
I’ve studied it. It’s not a difficult alien language to learn. Almost as easy as Bamkanese.”

Torokin fell silent for a moment. “Then you know why they are here.”

Archer moved to the Russian’s side and the scientist sat down again. “‘Jub’isha tau zeinilik Reshuah’,” he recited. “‘The Great Race for Earth’.”

Torokin’s focus trained onto Archer. The new judge was exactly correct. That was what the ics called it. Or at least, that was the closest way for EDEN to remember it. The actual translation was somewhat more complex. More literally, it meant, ‘the necessary obligation to preemptively fulfill Earth.’ As to what
that
meant, no one knew. “You will not be learning as many new things as I thought you would,” said Torokin.

“
There’s much yet to know. What is this race that they’re running? What is the goal? And more pertinent to us…why Earth? There’s only one thing we truly
do
know.” He leaned into Torokin, as his voice fell somber. “Whatever it is they’re racing towards…apparently, we’re in the way.”

“
Yet they do not destroy us,” Torokin said. He stared at the now unresponsive Ithini.

“
No they don’t,” Archer affirmed. “When we lose a city to the Bakma, the Bakma abandon it. The Ceratopians used to bomb us, but now they never do. Now they fly around as though they’re confused until we shoot them.” He smiled. “But that’s why we’re here. To learn what it is we don’t know. Then to win.” He walked out of the cell, casting a final glance to the scientist and the Ithini. “He won’t speak to you anymore today,” he said to the scientist. “He’s quite displeased.”

Torokin followed him out. “Do you make a habit of angering aliens?”

“
Only when the need to anger them outweighs my desire to speak peaceably. Enemy or not, we must be able to communicate. The Ithini don’t respond well to torture.”

“
None of them do,” Torokin said. “The Ceratopians can handle the pain, and for whatever reason, the Bakma don’t like to speak at all, torture or not. It is as if they are afraid. But afraid of what, we do not know.”

“
And yet, the Bakma willingly surrender in battle. It’s quite bizarre.”

“
Indeed.”

Archer smiled. “But there will be a time to discuss such things, and I’m afraid that time is not tonight.”