The Glorious Becoming (17 page)

Nicole, Svetlana, Esther. When would this stop? It was like riding a roller coaster that never turned its nose up. At some point, it had to.

Where do we go from here?

Esther was one of his most trusted and effective operatives. Her evolution had revolutionized what the Fourteenth was as a squad. The fully-functional Noboat, one of Thoor’s most prized possessions, had been captured by Esther. Esther had come to Scott’s rescue on a snowmobile to help save Max, Tanneken, and the injured operatives in the Krasnoyarsk federal building. Her deeds were painted across everything the Fourteenth accomplished. She’d always had a chip on her shoulder; that made her special. But had she just been trying to prove something to Scott? Had
he
been her motivation? And now, was that motivation gone?

Give her more credit than that.

A mission. That’s what Scott wanted now, more than anything else. Something to distract him by force. Something normal. Turning off the lights and tucking himself in, Scott closed his eyes and waited for sleep to find him. Eventually, it did.

He dreamed of Khatanga.

10

MONDAY, MARCH 12
^TH
, 0012 NE

0645 HOURS

EDEN COMMAND

J
UDGE
L
EONID
Torokin watched eagerly as the blacked-out Vulture entered EDEN Command’s underground hangar, emerging from one of the many tunnels that spilled out into the massive chamber. As the transport touched concrete, a grin stretched across the ex-Vector’s face. Opening his arms widely, he approached the ship as soon as its doors opened. “Ahhh!”

The young man who met him—at least, young by Torokin’s standards—had a similar reaction. Tossing his duffle bag to the floor, he slammed against the judge in a fist-pounding embrace. The hug lasted a moment before they pulled back.

“What is all of this?” Torokin said in Russian, pointing to the overstocked duffle bag. “Are you moving in?”

The newcomer laughed, picking the bag up. “What do you
think
it is?”

“Tell me you did not bring your armor...”

“Absolutely, I brought it! Did you think I would leave it in Germany? This is all about first impressions.”

Torokin placed his hand against the man’s back as he led him from the hangar. “I have hyped you for two weeks—you do not need to impress them any further.”

The younger man smirked. “If you’ve been hyping for me for two weeks, I may already be in trouble.”

His name was Alexander Kireev, though to everyone who knew him, he was simply
Sasha
. Torokin knew him better than almost anyone. That was because Sasha was a member of Vector Squad.

And Torokin’s nephew.

Their family ties were a technicality. Ten years previously, Torokin’s oldest sister had married Sasha’s divorced father. The result was the addition of a nephew—Torokin’s only one—to the family. Despite their relation, they never referred to each other by family titles. They were simply two men with a common interest: tactical combat. It was only fitting that when the Alien War began, both men ended up in EDEN.

At twenty-seven years old, Sasha was one of the younger members of Vector Squad. He had been acquired to replace the only member of Vector squad to ever be kicked out: EDEN’s black sheep, a man by the name of Todd Kenner. Kenner had been Vector Squad’s scout, and the only scout to ever be distinguished as a Type-3, superior in tactical combat
and
observations. Kenner’s supremacy had demanded the unique classification. An accusation of rape had demanded his release. It was an unfortunate, if not unsurprising end to the one of the more unsettling careers in EDEN history. It had also opened the door for Sasha to replace him.

Sasha was a Type-1 scout: tactical combat. He looked anything but. Unassuming in build outside of being generally toned, Sasha bore an appearance more akin to an office worker than a lethal weapon. He was five feet and ten inches tall—relatively short for a military elite—and maintained a look that was the definition of clean cut. His brown hair was short and neatly trimmed down to his sideburns, and he had no facial hair. His face did have distinctly sharp features, including fairly sunken eyes and a pointed nose, but otherwise he looked as typical as any white-collar on the street.

Despite both their claims to Vector, Torokin had never fought alongside his nephew. The controversy of Todd Kenner had occurred after Torokin had retired from Vector to become a judge. In fact, it was due to Torokin’s adamant recommendation that Klaus Faerber accept Sasha into Vector—much to Faerber’s delight. On more than one occasion, the Vector Squad captain had called Torokin specifically to praise Sasha’s addition to the team.

As Sasha walked down the hall, his eyes constantly roamed. “I keep looking for someone famous,” he said, laughing.

“They are not as interesting as you might think,” Torokin replied. “So, update me. How are things in
Berlin
?”

“Things are things, I suppose. We are still recovering from Stockholm.” He chuckled. “I don’t want to talk about Vector. I am
here
—I want to know what goes on in this place! How are things in the world of bureaucracy?”

“Ugh.”

“They are that bad?”

Torokin wasn’t sure where to begin. The past few months had been a lesson in frustration, beginning with
Novosibirsk
. The EDEN withdrawal from the renegade Russian facility had been the catalyst for a four-month span of awkwardness amid the Council. It had been an executive decision by Pauling that hadn’t been supported by anyone else. Eighty percent of EDEN’s personnel had been removed from the Russian facility already, with ten percent scheduled to be transferred by the end of the month—Pauling’s retirement. The final ten percent would be entrusted to the next president of EDEN, Malcolm Blake.

“I hate bureaucracy,” Torokin finally answered.

“Don’t be so negative,” said Sasha. “I just got here. I don’t want my expectations dashed so quickly.”

Torokin smirked. “If that is your wish, then turn around and get back on the transport.”

There was good cause for Torokin’s pessimism. On top of the neverceasing drama about Thoor, the past months had seen a decrease in overall mission success rates from EDEN ground forces. The decrease was subtle enough to remain off the lead topic list, which Torokin considered a dangerous oversight. This trend began after the Council had taken dispatch permission privileges away from EDEN bases and into their own hands. What had originally been a new protocol to test
Novosibirsk
’s loyalty had quickly grown tentacles.

Casualties on the ground had increased four-and-a-half percent almost from the moment that the policy had gone into effect. With Vulture callouts dependent on permission from EDEN Command, response times had slowed, giving survivors of intercepted spacecraft time to organize their defenses. Occasionally, alien vessels were not intercepted at all. To make matters worse, the whole purpose of the policy—to trap
Novosibirsk
—had gone nowhere. The Machine had punched EDEN Command in the face, and President Pauling had done nothing about it. All of these things Torokin had brought up to the Council multiple times. No progress had come out of it.

“Do you have any advice for me when I address the Council?” Sasha asked, readjusting the strap of his duffle bag on his shoulder.

Torokin shook his head. “Just express Klaus’s concerns. Don’t let them intimidate you—not that any of them would try to do that. Be honest, and remember that you are not here to criticize.” He smirked. “Even though you are.”

“Ha! They are fortunate they are only getting
me
. The captain is not a happy person. He would never publicly criticize EDEN, but it is obvious to all of us how he feels.”

“Klaus is passionate,” said Torokin. “He has always been that way.”

Sasha nodded. “He knows we are losing this war. He said Stockholm was the greatest wake-up call he has ever received. He is even willing to work with
Philadelphia
.” The young Vector sighed. “I am too new to understand everything coming from Vector—it is unlike any unit I have been a part of. It is almost a political entity. But I know everyone is concerned. The captain. Vincent, Minh. Everyone.” He laughed sadly. “The other day, for example. We had to rescue a platoon from
Kabul Station
. It was just a single Noboat.
Kabul
had them outnumbered, in unfavorable position, everything to our advantage.” He frowned grimly. “Had we not been called in, every member of that platoon would have been killed. It was as if they had no training at all. It is a trend everywhere. I have never seen such poor execution.”

They stopped in front of Sasha’s assigned guest suite. “What are you doing for the rest of today?” Sasha asked.

“I have business, as I do every day,” Torokin answered. “But I thought this evening we might be able to meet for preferans.”

“
Preferans
? Other people play that here?”

Torokin nodded. “Two of the other judges, Dmitri Grinkov and Richard Lena. It will be good for you to meet them.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Good.”

They exchanged another fisted hug. “It is good—
good
—to see you, Sasha. I miss
Berlin
more than any of you know.”

“Thank you for recommending me for Vector,” Sasha said. “I have never served with better people.”

“I will call you when Dmitri and Richard are over.”

“I look forward to it.”

Turning, Torokin departed down the hall.

Torokin relived his years in Vector Squad every night, for there was no subject of his dreams that recurred more. His name was embedded in the unit’s lore. It didn’t matter that he’d been a judge for two years. When visitors to EDEN Command shook his hand, they never marveled at the politician before them. They marveled at
Commander
Leonid Torokin, former second-in-command of the most elite fighting force on the planet. Klaus Faerber’s right hand.

Torokin had been the ideal executive officer—a man with no desire to be leader but more than willing to channel the leader’s authority to the lower ranks. Torokin never could have led Vector by himself, despite the occasional instances when his rank required him to. Klaus Faerber wore shoes that were impossible to fill.

It was nice to have Sasha there. It reminded him of his purpose as a judge—to serve and represent young men like that. It was a good feeling.

But not as good as what was to come. Richard Lena had won their last game of preferans. It was a night of revenge. Three Russians and one American; Lena didn’t have a chance.

The evening couldn’t come fast enough.

* * *

T
HE CELL WAS QUIET
—only the hum of the air conditioner could be heard over the deliberate, steady breathing of its lone occupant. Bulbous eyes sealed shut, the crimson-purple alien sat in the center of the floor, knees crossed as it held a hand upright in front of its face, its other hand hovering just above its thigh, a spiritually conscious body position for a traditionally agnostic species.

The low-end holding cell was as stark as the white, featureless walls that adorned it, fitted only with a metal cot and open toilet. Unlike most low-end cells, however, this one had a complete set of blankets—also white—and a small set of dumbbells pushed in the far corner. Despite the simplicity of the additions, they were enough to render the room luxurious by Spartan standards. That was the benefit of cooperation, compliments of the only judge to consistently involve himself in alien affairs.

As the cell door slid open, the alien opened its eyes—dark blue orbs with barely discernable pupils. No Ithini was needed to form a connection. The visitor could speak perfect Bakmanese.

“We tested the prototype,” said Archer. “Made the necessary calibrations, just as you specified. We saw nothing.”

Nharassel stared ahead motionlessly. “They are not vessels designed to be detectable. Calibration without frequency is futile.”

For several seconds Archer stared at the Bakma, his expression shifting to quiet curiosity. Finally, his curiosity won. “I didn’t know you were religious.”

“I am not.”

Quiet fell over the two. Nharassel’s eyes once again sealed shut as Archer stared pensively before him. The alien’s slow, steady breathing resumed.

Archer stepped in further. “There must be a standardized set of frequencies. Even if we only knew
one
—”

“There is no ‘set,’” Nharassel interrupted. “Generation is random. Once the rift is established, the frequency is relayed.”

“Listen. The Golathoch
need
this technology. There must be something, some way to ping off an established rift to determine its frequency.”

“That is impossible.”

Stooping to Nharassel’s side, Archer looked him in the eyes. “You have been so helpful,” Archer said quietly. “A godsend. Blake and Mamoru were directionless before your willingness to cooperate. Please, Nharassel. You’ve got to give me something.”

Nharassel stared back emotionlessly, until his meditative posture finally broke. Pushing up with his hands, he rose and faced Archer fully. “Noboats are designed to be undetectable. They were constructed for that purpose. Predetermined frequencies would undermine that. Had I the knowledge you seek, I would provide it, as I have provided everything upon request. It is time for you to provide for
me
.”

The British judge scowled, but before he could say something in reply, his comm chirped. His glare lingered on Nharassel before he rose and turned around. “Archer here.”

Kang answered back. “An urgent matter requires your attention.”

Blowing out a breath, Archer ran his hand through his hair, his champagne strands sticking up through his fingers. “Is it truly urgent?”

“It is dire.”

Archer blinked at Kang’s response. “Very well. I’m on my way.” Turning back to Nharassel, Archer gave the alien a considerate look. Finally, he sighed. “Heavier weights?”