The Glorious Becoming (41 page)

For the first time, Logan didn’t pursue. “You’re a special leader. You’re uniquely talented. By the book, you seem perfect yourself.” He shook his head. “But this is your weakness. You only have one.”

Slowing to a stop, she looked down at the ground. Her back remained facing him.

“I know you’re frustrated, Nat. I know that clock in your head’s ticking. But you’re not fifty years old.” He frowned hesitatingly. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

She angled her head back to him. “I’ve already been hurt,” she said solemnly. Logan looked away. “I’m in this war because I believe in it, and I’ve given it everything. I’m going to keep giving it everything until we win, or I die. But I refuse to give away what makes me human. If that gets me hurt, so be it.”

Body language sinking, Logan sighed. Natalie resumed her forward march, walking away. He gave no pursuit.

Natalie eventually returned to her room, on her own terms, at a quarter past one. By that point, everyone else in the Caracals, transfers from
Novosibirsk
included, had fallen asleep. Their captain soon joined them.

It was the end of a day for Natalie that, even if indirectly, began five thousand kilometers away, in a spiritual wasteland known as The Machine. It was a day that lasted forever while still managing to pass in a blink. As Wednesday night surrendered to Thursday morning, the EDEN base of
Cairo
succumbed to the glow of the Egyptian moon. To all-too-trusting tranquility.

But not all things can be trusted.

Unbeknownst to occupants of
Cairo
, the true enemy was not confined in Xenobiology—it was walking freely in their mural-laden halls. Working its way inside them. Biding its time. Hidden deep behind the veils of the five deceivers, plans were already being set into motion. Plans not to bring good, but to harm. Plans known only to them.

Nestled beneath the covers of her captain’s suite, Natalie Rockwell breathed in silent slumber. She dreamed of Nebraska.

21

THURSDAY, MARCH 15
^TH
, 0012 NE

0205 HOURS

RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

TWO DAYS LATER

T
HE NIGHT WAS
still. Besides the gentle rustling of tree branches against Lilan’s bedroom window, barely a sound had been heard all through the nighttime. Though occasional mournful creaks emanated from the walls of the old house, they were far from enough to disturb the dark serenity by themselves.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

The old man squinted longingly beneath the covers of his bed—the cry of the comm on his nightstand slicing calculatedly through his slumber. Even as his body writhed from the interruption, his cognition was slow to resurface. Slower than usual.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

That scent. It was so familiar. The air hung with it—the comfort of old walls and wood floors, the reassuring fragrance of the only mattress he’d known for the past twenty years.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

Eyes cracking open, Lilan stared groggily through the fog of reemergence. He looked at the comm, the flashing red light on its side assisting its constant wail.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

Sitting upright, the mattress bending in the same overused way it always did, the old man stared at the comm through weathered eyes. This was as tired as he’d ever been.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep—

Grabbing the comm, he silenced its repetitive signal. He queued himself up. “Lilan.” His voice was deep and slow to assert.

“About damn time!” The voice was Hutchin’s. “Are you cognizant?”

Squinting hard, Lilan thought on the question. Was he cognizant? He wasn’t sure. That meant the answer was probably
no
. “Yeah.”

Hutchin paused deliberately. “I don’t buy it. Shake your senses and call me back—quickly. This is big.” Before an affirmation could be returned, the comm channel closed.

Lilan stared at the device in his hand, then surveyed his room. His eyes, fully adjusted to the darkness, settled on his oak dresser. How many times had he climbed out of bed and opened those drawers to dress for the day? He’d built that dresser fifty-some-odd years ago, with his father. It was made strong—made to last. Things weren’t made like that anymore. People weren’t made like that.

Pressing his hand against his forehead, Lilan gritted his teeth. Rolling out of bed and onto his feet, he shook his head and lifted his comm again. He called up General Hutchin.

“You awake now?” Hutchin asked.

“Yeah,” Lilan answered quickly. “What’s the op?”

Hutchin sounded eager. “Looks like you’re about to get your wish. Got a mission for you, and Strom’s been given the go-ahead to join. Get dressed and head to base. It’s time for your operatives to meet their new teammate.”

* * *

C
ATALINA SLAPPED A
magazine into her assault rifle and sighted down the barrel. Behind her, Mark Peters and the rest of Charlie Squad threw on their gear. The hangar was bustling as the whole of Falcon Platoon readied their equipment. Two Vultures—one for Charlie and one for Delta—whined in preparation for launch.

“Lock and load, Falcons!” hollered Tacker as he walked through the hangar. The major was already fully geared, his sniper rifle slung over his shoulder as he marched toward
Vulture-
7.

Catalina welcomed a mission. The past few days had been borderline unbearable. There’d been no resolution from their failed training session on Monday. Tom King and his crew had segregated themselves from the rest of the team. Catalina and Mark, despite having made up, had barely held a conversation in days. Everything was a mess. A mission would be good for everyone. It might give the group a chance to focus on something other than irritation at one another.

“Attention all passengers, this is your captain speaking,” said Tiffany through Charlie’s comm channel, despite the fact that they were still on the ground. “If you look approximately one hundred and thirty kilometers to your southeast, you’ll see the beautiful Great Dismal Swamp. Current weather conditions indicate heavy rainfall with only a
slight
chance of tornadic activity. Put on your raincoats, my fellow Charlies.”

“Says the girl who gets to stay in the cockpit,” said Mark, sliding on his helmet. He and Catalina made their way for the transport.

As soon as Lilan entered the hangar, Tacker made for him, taking off his helmet to talk as soon as they were close to one another. “Colonel,” Tacker said, “did I hear right from Command? Faerber’s coming on this one?”

Armed and armored, Lilan was ready for war. “You heard right, major.”

“How’d you pull that off with Hutchin?”

“I didn’t,” Lilan answered. “They gave him the go-ahead on their own. We’ll talk about it later. I want you riding with Delta for this one. I want to see Faerber firsthand in Charlie.”

The major nodded. “Yes, sir.” Tacker turned to leave, then stopped to look back. “Hey colonel?”

“Yes?”

Beneath his sky-blue visor, Tacker smiled. “We’re back together.”

It took a moment for Lilan to catch on, though when he did, a genuine grin emerged. Tacker was talking about Alicia. “Don’t let that girl go, major. That’s an order.”

“Consider that done, sir.”

Exchanging salutes, they marched toward their Vultures.

Claiming her usual seat behind the cockpit, Catalina strapped in and readied herself. Leslie Kelly smiled across from her.

“Muddy and wet. Sound familiar?” the female technician asked.

Catalina grabbed hold of a passenger handle. “If the similarities to Monday end there, I’ll be a happy girl.”

Lilan climbed aboard their transport and grabbed a comm. “Good morning, Falcons. I hope everyone’s awake.”

Looking semi-oddly at Lilan, Catalina peered behind the colonel to see if Major Tacker was anywhere to be seen. The moment she did so, she saw him. Not Tacker. Someone else—someone she’d never seen before. His shoulders were massive. He was framed like a tank. The other Charlie Squadders caught sight of him, too, as every head in the troop bay turned to regard him.

Lilan continued. “A trio of Noboats was shot down just west of Lake Drummond—that’s on the Virginian side of the Great Dismal Swamp. Terrain will be challenging, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. Let’s do what I know we can do. Get ready to fight.”

The newcomer made his way past the Charlie Squadders until he’d reached the front of the cabin, close enough for Catalina to read his name badge. The moment she did, her eyes shot wide. Heads whipped back and forth as realization spread across
Vulture-
7. Whispers erupted across the cabin.

“Holy veck, that’s Strom!”

“Oh my God!”

“Izzat cracka in
Charlie
?”

Strom’s face was shrouded behind his visor. Nodding to Leslie Kelly with a mix of cordiality and awkwardness, he lowered himself into the seat across from her.

Wide-eyed and leaning closer to Catalina, Leslie whispered emphatically, “Do you realize who that is?”

“Shut up!” she whispered back. Of course she knew who it was. It was like working with a celebrity. Strom Faerber mattered. His bloodline mattered. That he was working with them meant that
they
mattered. She tried desperately not to stare at him. She mostly failed.

A new voice emerged through Catalina’s comm. Mark. He was sitting at the very back of the troop bay. “Stay focused on the mission, Cat. He’s just a rookie. Less qualified than us.” She knew the wisdom in his words. It was just hard not to be excited. Catalina didn’t answer Mark—she couldn’t without Strom hearing—but she did give him an acknowledging look. Strom or no Strom, she and Mark were still the best one-two punch in Charlie Squad.

But still...

That particular launch was the fastest Catalina could ever remember. Before she knew it, the Vulture’s thrusters were kicking in. Then they were airborne. Then they were on their way.

Lilan stared out of the cockpit window over Tiffany’s shoulder. Far ahead, lightning flashed in the dark clouds hidden by the night—they were heading toward a whitewashing. “What are they saying, Feathers?”

“Pretty bad, sir,” she answered. “Severe thunderstorms, and the heaviest stuff’s still coming in. Half of Virginia’s under a tornado watch.”

He was surprised that
anyone
had been called out for this mission. EDEN typically liked to wait for dangerous weather to subside when no civilian lives were at stake, and there were most certainly none in the middle of the swamp. Returning to the troop bay, the colonel took a seat.

Tiffany adjusted the controls to compensate for sheer winds. “You okay, Cat?” she asked through her comm, glancing at her troop bay mirror. “I can see your skin flushing from up here.”

Catalina looked the pilot’s way. “I am not flushing,” she whispered through gritted teeth.

“Oh yeah, you’re totally flushing.” Tiffany paused for a moment before speaking again. This time, her voice was subdued. “I’m not getting anything from those Noboats on the ground.” She shook her head absently. “That’s weird.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can usually get some kind of reading from a crash site. Even if it’s a total wreck, there are still trace signatures—plasma, radiation, et cetera. I’m not getting anything at all.” She abandoned her comm to look back at Lilan. “Colonel, you might want to come see this.” Returning to her flight controls, she scanned the area map again. “Totally flushing.”

Lilan leaned into the cabin of the transport. “What do you have, Feathers?”

Tiffany’s tone indicated her concern. “Sir, I should be getting something from these crash sites. Residual energy from a power source,
something
. It’s like there’s not even anything there.” Her voice rose. “Look, sir, look!” The pilot pointed to a pair of new blips on her radar.

“Who the hell is that?” asked Lilan.

“Picking up two Vultures entering the area. Are we supposed to have backup?”

Tacker’s voice emerged over their comm channel. “Colonel, we’re picking up two inbound Vulture transports. Can you confirm?”

Lilan adjusted his comm to answer. “We’re reading it, major.”

“Are we expecting additional—”

Suddenly, the voice of Thompson, Delta Squad’s pilot, screamed through Tacker’s comm. “I’m missile locked! I’m missile locked!” Thompson’s voice grew louder as he patched through to Charlie directly. “Check six,
Seven
, I have a new contact, Vindicator, locked on!”

Lilan grabbed the back of Feather’s chair. The whole of Charlie sat erect.

“Vindy locked! Vindy locked!” Thompson screamed.

Tiffany gasped as her own radar screen lit up. “Two Vindicators! Three—four Vindicators! They’re engaging!”

“They’re engaging
Delta
?” asked Lilan.

Thompson shouted again. “Missile launch! Blue on blue!” Those were the last words Charlie Squad heard from the Delta transport. Far behind
Vulture-7
, the shadows of the storm were lit by a fiery orange plume.

Lilan white-knuckled the back of Tiffany’s chair. “Delta’s down!” Tiffany hollered. “Multiple bogeys, inbound!”

“Bogeys who?” Lilan asked frantically. “The
Vindicators
are bogeys?”

“Yes! Yes!”

Lilan spun to the troop bay. “Buckle up,
now
!”

Heart pounding, Catalina grabbed hold of the flight rails with all of her strength. The rest of the crew did the same.

“They’ve launched on us, they’ve launched on us!” Tiffany looked back.
“Everybody brace!”

Falling back into his seat, Lilan strapped on his harness and grabbed the guard rails.

The missile struck.

There was an ear-splitting metallic crunch as
Vulture-7
shimmied then flipped. A fleeting but intense heat washed over the colonel’s face. A half-second later, the fires were sucked out into the storm.