Page 170 of Golden Eagle

Seven nodded.

“Yes, well, that’s when we became aware that Nikita Baskin and Sasha Kashnikov weren’t the only immortals of interest living in the city. Alexei Romanov was with them–”

Soft lips, wet press of a tongue…

“–and this was a boon the Institute hadn’t even conceived of. A tsarevich, a member of the Russian royal family, and an offspring of Rasputin, no less. The same blood that powered Baskin powered Alexei. To study him, would have been…” His voice grew faraway again, a moment, and then he gave himself a shake. “But. If nothing else, it was thought he might make a valuable ally. Only…there was the truce. And how could we approach a member of Baskin’s pack when we’d promised to leave them be?

“Shortly after that, Gustav approached us. He offered up his services in any way they might be helpful, and he said that he believed, given time, he could bring Alexei around to our way of thinking.”

“Our way of thinking,” Seven echoed.

“The War, of course.” He said it with a capital W.The War. As if it was theonlywar.

But Seven had seen many wars in the films they showed him: flickering black-and-white images, and full-color what they called “reenactments,” with actors playing the parts of generals and soldiers long dead. Wars with swords, and shields, and arrows blotting out the sun. Wars with guns, and tanks, men screaming, dying in the mud.

There had been wars. Innumerable wars.

But this war. The War. It hadn’t even started. But it was the specter that loomed over every day here at the Institute. The thing he was training for – the thing he’d been bred for. The product of a father and mother he would never meet.

Maybe the reason his sister, the one who now called herself Red, had run away.

They don’t own you.

He found that his throat was dry, and swallowed. “Why would you want – Alexei?” He nearly stumbled on the name.

Dr. Severin planted his hands on the desk and leaned forward, incredibly serious. “Because we need every powerful immortal we can get.” He held eye contact a moment, then sat back with a sigh, scrubbed a hand through his wispy hair. “Gustav thought…well, he thought he could convince the tsarevich. There was bad blood between him and Baskin, he said. He agreed to work for us until he could accomplish what we wanted. But now…Alexei herewithBaskin…”

“Work for you how?”

Dr. Severin paused in the act of swiping through his hair, and sat up straighter. His gaze sharpened. “Nothing, really.” His voice sounded strange. “Just tying up some loose ends.”

Seven tried to puzzle out the meaning of that, but failed. He didn’t know enough; he had no frame of reference for things like this. Probably because he’d lived his entire life here, in this facility, dressed in loose, white clothes, every bit of food and research material he’d consumed having been carefully selected for him.

They don’t own you.

What had his sister – what hadRedfound on the outside? In his letter, Robin of Locksley had spoken of her having friends, having people who loved her. This Rooster person. Someone who, doubtless, didn’t wear a white coat and draw her blood and ask her probing questions about her health. Would Red have understood this conversation he was having now? Would she have known who was good, and who was bad? Who should be believed?

Could he believe the people here, who fed him, clothed him, educated him – but who were frightened of him? Or did he believe the boy who’d kissed him? His friends?

“What does Gustav do for you?” he asked.

Dr. Severin blinked. “For us,” he said. “What he does forus.”

“Yes. For us.”

Dr. Severin knuckled his glasses again. “Like I said: he ties up loose ends.”

And what did that mean?

---