The Glorious Becoming (31 page)

Becan nodded assuredly. “He wouldn’t be doin’ this mission if he didn’t.”

As soon as the Irishman said it, Dostoevsky, Max, and David’s faces fell. Eyes widening, Becan covered his mouth.

“What?” Svetlana asked, looking at him strangely. “What do you mean?”

“Ahh! I meant, yeh know, by doin’ this mission, he’s given yeh the gift of...distance. Because distance...”

When Becan drew a blank, Max picked up for him. “Makes the heart grow fonder!”

“Yes!” the Irishman said. “It makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Wait,” Svetlana said, shaking her head disbelievingly, “he is going on his mission, to give us distance, to make us grow fonder? How does that make
any
sense?”

“’Cos...” Motioning with his hands but unable to find words, Becan stumbled into a question. “’Cos fondness...is bequeathed...upon...time?”

Dostoevsky, Max, and David collectively groaned.

The look in Svetlana’s eyes was pure vehemence. “Okay,
what
is going on?”

“Because fondness is bequeathed upon time,” David repeated, rubbing his hands down his face. “That was brilliant, Becan.”

“What do you all know that I do not?” Svetlana asked. “Someone tell me!”

Max sighed in defeat. “Veck. Might as well spill it now.”

“Spill what? What are you talking about?”

David answered, “Scott went on this mission because Thoor threatened him.”

“Threatened him?”

“He told Scott if he didn’t go, there’d be a punishment. You’d be killed.”

Shock struck her.
“What?”

“That’s why it was sudden. That’s why he couldn’t take you. That’s probably why it was weird telling you bye,” David said. “Thoor knows about you two—Oleg told him. He’s using you as leverage to get what he wants from Scott.”

Shaking his head sadly, Becan said, “It’s Novikov all over again.”

For a second straight time, the other men stared at him slack-jawed.
“Becan,”
Max shouted,
“shut the hell up!”

The Irishman blinked, exhaled, then closed his eyes in defeat. “Righ’. She didn’t know abou’ tha’, either, did she?”

“Know what?” Svetlana asked, looking panicked among them. “What does Tolya have to do with this?”

“You are the worst secret-keeper in the history of Earth,” David said, glaring at Becan.

Moaning in agony, Becan stared at the ceiling.

“What did he mean, ‘Novikov all over again?’” Her brow arched upward, Svetlana pled, “Someone tell me what that meant!”

Dostoevsky tried to ease her away. “It was nothing. Slip of his tongue. We need to talk about medical reports—”

“I don’t want to talk medical reports!”
As she shrieked, the men flinched.
“I want to know how this is like Tolya!”

By that time, the rest of the room had converged on the scene. Viktor, Varvara, Travis, William, Derrick, and Egor stretched their necks through the bunk room door and the corners of the lounge to listen. Even Flopper was watching, head tilted, by Max’s feet.

Svetlana was staring teary-eyed. Her breaths were fast and trembling. “How,” she asked forcibly, “is this like Tolya?”

Dostoevsky, David, and Becan went quiet. The men turned to Max. For several seconds, Max watched Svetlana dreadfully. Crouching down, and taking a moment to prepare for his words, the technician finally spoke. “Dave and I were with Tolya when the order came for him to stay behind with the explosives. He stayed...because if he didn’t, he knew Thoor would kill you.”

The sound that came from Svetlana’s lips was horrifying. It was part gasp and part sudden culpability. She covered her mouth with her hands.

“Sveta,” Max said. “Don’t—”

“I killed him,” she whispered, a craze coming over her. “I killed him.”

Shaking his head solemnly, Max said, “No, Sveta. You didn’t kill him. Thoor did.”

“And now I will kill Scott,” she whispered, her lips barely able to bring the words out. As the blueness in her eyes faded, her body began to sway.

“Sveta—”

As her hand covered her mouth, she sank dazedly to her knees. The breakdown began.

In the midst of Svetlana’s heaving, no one made a sound. Dostoevsky, David, Max, and Becan were all there, standing around her, their hands reaching out to touch her shoulders and back. As every fearful emotion she had in her poured out, the others who were present turned their heads away. But no one left. Squealing softly in Russian and with her eyes bloodshot, Svetlana sat on her rear then rolled over. She couldn’t speak—her face was locked in a silent, agonized wail. But none of the men around her moved. They simply laid their hands on her. Standing several meters away, Varvara’s own eyes began to slowly well.

But Becan cried worse. Teardrops trailing down his cheeks, the Irishman lowered his head and lost it. “I’m sorry.” That was all he could muster. “I’m sorry.” Gently, David’s hand found his back.

As Svetlana’s anguish endured, Dostoevsky knelt by her head. He lowered his own to speak. “I cannot tell you why these things happen. I cannot tell you why God allows them.” Brushing the hair from her forehead, he said, “But I know that all things work for the glory. We see but one page of a wonderful novel. Only God sees the end.” Looking down, he spoke softly. “You are a good woman. You are to be admired. Be courageous now, Sveta. He needs you to be.”

“How can I be courageous for him
now
?” Svetlana whimpered. “I have cost him so much. I have cost him his love, and now
this
.”

Exhaling softheartedly, Dostoevsky said, “Oh, Sveta.” He touched her cheek. “I was not talking about Scott.”

For the first time since she’d fallen to the floor, Svetlana’s eyes focused. She looked up at Dostoevsky’s compassionate gaze.

“God has you where you are for a purpose. He allowed today for a purpose. And one day, you will see it. I promise.”

As the fulcrum continued, Max, David, and Becan silently listened. Their eyes remained on Svetlana.

“Your job, since the first day you came to this unit, has been to care for us,” Dostoevsky said. “Now, Trooper Voronova, let us care for you.”

Padding innocently to Svetlana, dog tag jingling with every step, Flopper stuck his wet nose in her face. As his tongue came out, she laughed tearfully and pushed his head away. “Flopper, no. No.” His licks were undeterred.

Dostoevsky smiled. “See? He feels the same way.”

“Cold, wet nose,” she said, finally touching the dog’s cheek. He pawed at her head.
“Ow!”

“Okay, beast,” Max said, pulling the dog back, “that’s enough.”

Chuckling exhaustedly, Svetlana touched her face. “I think you scratched me, dog.”

“Yeah, he’s a
love hurts
kinda guy.” Max ruffled Flopper’s head.

The medic closed her eyes. Stretching her neck, she sighed in new focus. She pressed her palm to her forehead. “Ugh. I cried again. I am queen of meltdown.”

“Yeah, well, cryin’ happens,” said Max.

Lying on her back, she looked at the men huddled around her, settling on Becan. The teary-eyed Irishman was looking right at her. “Becan,” she whispered. Reaching out, she grabbed his hand. “It’s okay.”

David eyed him, too. “One week of cleaning duty for being the worst secret-keeper on the planet.”

That made her laugh.

“All right,” said Dostoevsky, “let’s get you off the floor. You have work to do. Right?”

As the fulcrum pulled Svetlana to her feet, she steadied herself against him, then pushed back her hair. Sighing deeply, she sniffled once, then forced a smile. “Yes, I do.”

“Medical reports,” David said, “psychological evaluations, prostate exams. Anything to keep our favorite medical chief busy.”

She scoffed. “The day I check your prostates is the day I commit myself.” Expression softening, she reached her arms out to draw the four men around her in. “Thank you.”

“We’re here for ya, sis,” said Max. “You’re gonna be okay.”

As the group hug dispersed, Dostoevsky eyed Svetlana sternly. “As I’m sure you understand, you must never be alone. One of us must always be with you wherever you go. It is what Scott would want, too, considering Thoor’s threats.”

After a brief look of resistance, she surrendered. “I understand.”

“Now go and rest. Captain’s orders.”

The medic nodded. “But just for a while. There is something I want to do.” When Dostoevsky raised an eyebrow, she continued. “I want to speak to Tauthin.”

“To
Tauthin
? The Bakma Scott visits?”

“Yes. It is what he would be doing if he was here. He just goes to talk, just to learn things.” She shook her head reflectively. “Maybe if I can just learn one thing new, at least I will have done something for him—a small thing. I know how important his meetings with Tauthin are to him.”

Max nodded. “I’ll go with you.
After
you take a nap.”

Laughing faintly, she said, “Okay, papa.”

The technician smirked.

As the scene began to dwindle down, some of the observers near the lounge door quietly crept out. The rest were forcefully excused by a sharp
go do something else
look from Dostoevsky. Save the five close operatives and Flopper, the lounge was abandoned.

Svetlana walked to the sink to wash her face. “That this has not been the worst day of my life is a testament to my many bad days.”

“Hey, I know this is changin’ the subject,” Max said innocuously, “but where’d you put that pie?”

The medic spun around wide-eyed.
“What?”

“Hey, hey, chill, I was just wonderin’. Big Will went to the cafeteria ahead of us and said you walked out with a pie. I was looking for it after breakfast.”

Throwing her hands up, Svetlana muttered in Russian.

“What’d she say?” David asked Dostoevsky.

“It was about William, and it was very bad.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Max said, “I just didn’t know where you put it. I didn’t see it in the fridge.”

Eyeing him frustratingly, Svetlana answered, “It wasn’t for the unit.”

“Oh. Okay.” An uneasy silence floated between the men, who looked at one another expectantly. Finally, Max prompted at the inevitable. “Sooo...”

She whipped around to face him. “It was for Scott, okay? The pie was for Scott.”

“Bleedin’ daisies,” Becan said, “Remmy ate a whole pie for
breakfast
?”

Svetlana stared pointedly at Becan for several moments before begrudgingly continuing. “Listen. If I tell the four of you something, it can never leave this room. Got it?” When they affirmed, she narrowed in on Becan. “Got it, Becan?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Cross m’heart.”

Svetlana’s gaze shifted between them for several seconds, deep contemplation etched on her face. Leering fleetingly, she spoke. “We sent it to the orphans.”

Blinking, David asked, “You sent the orphans a
pie
?”

“Who are the bleedin’ orphans?” Becan asked.

“The orphans in Novosibirsk,” Svetlana said. “It was a nice thing to do. So we did it.” She turned back to the sink.

Looking at her strangely, Max asked, “Why didn’t you want us to know?”

“Oh well, you know,” she mused, “we are not supposed to brag about the good things we do. Okay! So I need to get my rest so I can see Tauthin.” After drying her hands on a dish towel, she walked away and waved. “I will talk to you later, goodbye!” Seconds later, she was out the lounge door.

As the lounge fell into silence, stares of bewilderment were swapped between the four men, until Dostoevsky spoke. Shrugging obliviously, he said, “I suppose if I was an orphan, I would want a pie.”

“Well yeah,” David said. “Who wouldn’t? Pies for orphans. Sounds like a good cause.”

Nodding in agreement, the four of them dispersed.

* * *

CAIRO, EGYPT

A SHORT TIME LATER

“L
ANDING IN
two minutes!” the pilot said over the loudspeaker.

Looking out his window, Scott stared at the endless expanse of desert sand. It was like an ocean of gold. He’d watched the terrain gradually shift during the flight, though at times cloud cover had left the earth hidden. Without a cloud in sight now, the African landscape could be seen in its entirety, painted in vibrant hues. Warmth. He could barely even fathom it.

Scott had taken special care during the flight to reevaluate his motivation for the mission, if not out of sincerity, out of necessity. Svetlana
couldn’t
be his sole driving force—not for a mission this dangerous and important. His perspective needed to be planet-sized. With that mindset, he forced Svetlana out of his thoughts as much as was possible. He could only hope his cohorts had done the same with their potential distractions. He most certainly hoped Esther had.

“Play the part right now, everyone,” said Scott. Ready or not, the mission was about to be on. “We’re transfers from
Novosibirsk
. Keep your eyes and ears open. We’ll meet up again after we’ve met Rockwell.”

The ship’s inertia shifted as it slowed to a hover. Beneath them, the concrete surface of a simple runway stretched toward several mediumsized hangars. Sand and dust were being blown about by the transport’s thrusters. Looking across the aisle, Scott stared out the other side windows, where he saw the bottom of a comm tower.
Cairo
was one of the smaller major facilities, comparable to
Richmond
back home. But so far, Scott only saw a handful of structures. Where was the rest of the base?

Clunk.

The whine of the engines decreased as the rear door of the transport came down. Standing with the others, Scott approached the daylight outside. More notably, he
felt
it. The temperature wasn’t scorching—it felt somewhere in the eighties—but it wasn’t bitterly cold like
Novosibirsk
. For as long as Scott could remember, the only heat he’d felt was from heating units inside the base. To feel natural warmth was absolutely splendid.

Grabbing his duffle bag and slinging it over his shoulder, Scott stepped out from the transport. The others followed suit.