The Glorious Becoming (48 page)

Svetlana came to the alien’s defense, all acrimony from their conversation in Confinement cast aside. “Leave him alone.” The words were more order than request. “He was calling for
me
, idiot.” Her gaze returned to Tauthin. “Are you okay?”

“He cannot understand you,” the slayer said. Svetlana ignored him.

Tauthin spoke to Svetlana simply. “Remata haar?”

She frowned and answered, “No, he is not here.” She pointed to herself, then to him. “Only me and you.”

“Noh,” said the alien. “Meah, yuu, Wuteel.”

“Who?” she asked.

The slayer interrupted again. “Stop speaking to him, woman.”

Glaring at the Nightman, Tauthin enunciated in near-perfect Russian, “Zaat-knis.” A smirk stretched across Svetlana’s face. Tauthin went on. “En-gin room. Wuteel is. Con-traala.”

“Someone else is in the engine room,” she said, nodding. “I understand.”

Oleg’s voice captured the bridge. “Everyone, pay attention! We go, we rescue the survivors, then we return! This operation is quick and direct.” He sat in the captain’s chair. “It is time,” he said to the slayer by Tauthin.

Nodding, the slayer set his comm to speaker mode. “It is time, Petrov,” he spoke into it. The scientist’s voice emerged from the other end.

“Understood.”

On the other end of the ship, Wuteel stood behind the guard rail that surrounded the quartz crystal—the heart of the Noboat’s chameleon technology. The scrawny alien engineer was surrounded by slayers, their assault rifles pointing at him from every direction. Petrov, present as well, looked at Wuteel. “Now,” he said in Bakmanese. Without a word, Wuteel placed his gnarled hands on a control panel by the railing.

In the bridge, Petrov’s voice came over the slayer’s comm. “Wuteel is ready, captain.”

Oleg acknowledged the update from his chair. “Thank you, Petrov.”

Without warning, Tauthin rose from the pilot’s seat. A flurry of weapons were aimed at him. The alien froze.

“You fools,” said Svetlana, standing between the alien and the Nightmen. “Do you really think he is trying to escape? Where would he go? Find out what he is trying to do before you point your guns at him!”

“What is going on?” asked Petrov over the comm.

A flurry of words flew from Tauthin’s mouth as his irritated eyes darted from Oleg, to the slayer, to the comm. Petrov’s voice was heard, as a lengthy exchange in Bakmanese ensued. Finally, the scientist spoke in Russian. “He says he must go to another station, that it takes more than one person to operate the bridge. He is not a pilot by nature—he is a captain. He says he must now play multiple roles.”

Svetlana leaned toward the alien, speaking softly. “Where do you need to go?” Extending his arm, the alien pointed to a console on the port side of the bridge. Svetlana turned to Oleg. “See? That is all you need to do. He is not a fool, he will not try to fight you all.”

After giving Svetlana a hard stare, Oleg motioned toward the indicated console.

Tauthin didn’t move. Instead, he spoke sidelong into the comm. His words were passionate—guttural. He seemed angry. Once again, Petrov emerged to translate. “He says he cannot be questioned every time he moves. If you want to fly this ship with only two crew members, you must let them work together without interference.” The scientist paused. “You should let them work, captain. I will be here to monitor their discussions.”

Across the bridge, Marusich folded his arms disapprovingly.

“As you say,” said Oleg to Petrov. The fulcrum stared at Tauthin, slowly leaning forward. “I challenge you to try and deceive my crew, alien. Go to your controls.”

Wrinkling his knobby brow, Tauthin’s cheekbones lifted as his wirethin lips pulled back. His jagged teeth were revealed.

“It is okay,” said Svetlana, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Just do what you need to do.”

Rising from the pilot’s chair, Tauthin walked to the port console. The slayer with the comm followed him.

“Lekasha`tasshki. Kuris ta-vech,” said Tauthin loudly.

Petrov translated, “Preparing for zone generation.”

“Zone generation?” Oleg asked.

Tauthin’s fingers moved over the control panel. The bridge’s white contour lights faded, a dark red hue taking their place. Everyone in the bridge tensed. Tauthin spoke on.

“Energy level, clear,” translated Petrov. “Hull integrity, clear. Atmospheric analysis, complete.”

In the engine room, Wuteel’s focus remained on the control panel by the quartz crystal. “Ni-digash, tuun-si, daga.”

Petrov shook his head disapprovingly. “I do not know all of his words,” he confessed into the comm. “He said something is beginning.”

Wuteel’s hands worked the engine room controls furiously, shifting his focus between the panel and the crystal. “Tukissa-jun di, valasha tenkaa.”

All of a sudden, a pair of massive metallic arms unfolded up from the floor. Every Nightman in the engine room flinched as the arms extended upward and outward to surround the crystal on two sides.

“Nish-ta,” Wuteel said.

“Engaging!” said Petrov in translation. The scientist’s voice was quivering.

“
What
is engaging?” asked Oleg from the bridge.

Petrov shouted back, “I do not know. I cannot understand!”

“You are here because you know their language!”

“They are not using simple words,” said Petrov exasperatingly. “This is technical speak, scientific terminology. I do not know this.”

The Nightmen on the bridge flinched as the lights changed again, this time from red to dark blue.

The metallic arms began to orbit the crystal as a loud hum emerged from every direction. Wuteel’s arm muscles tensed. “Vish kin-dar, Uman.”

A sensation like electricity filled the air in the bridge. The humans’ hairs stiffened.

“He says to prepare ourselves!” said Petrov.

Tauthin continued on the controls. “Dunishni Nish-ta gen.”

“Grounding discharge!”

The humans’ hairs fell limp again.

Svetlana’s heart pounded. She clutched a guard rail next to Tauthin’s console, darting her eyes in every direction as the bridge—and the rest of the ship—came alive. Her breathing intensified.

In the engine room, the metal arms had spun to the point of blurring. Inside them, the crystal was glowing blindingly white. The humans in the room shielded their eyes; Wuteel scrutinized the display. “Valasha zaan.”

“Established!” shouted Petrov over the hum. “Something is established!”

“Raag-nech ta-vech!” said Tauthin.

“Generating rift!”

“Raag-nech ta-vasch!”

“Rift Generated!”

Oleg rose from his chair. “Rift? What rift?”

Tauthin’s whole body tensed. “Kor-eeshna mag`ahn!”

“Beginning dimensional shift!”

“Dimensional?”
asked Oleg, his eyes widening.

There was a deafening crackle, as if ten thousand lightning bolts had suddenly struck the bridge. For a fraction of a second, everything flashed white. Svetlana clutched the rail with both arms.

There was a second flash, as vibrant as the first, as the crackling sound of voltage subsided with a sizzle. The acidic smell of the ship grew sharper. Then, stillness.

In the engine room, the brightness of the crystal subsided. The mechanical arms continued to spin, their pace slower. The Nightmen and Petrov, all gripping whatever sturdy object was nearest them, slowly unshielded their eyes. Unaffected, Wuteel stood by the console.

As collective breathing resumed in the bridge, Tauthin glanced at Svetlana. “O-ver.”

Her heart was pounding, her skin paled. She looked at Tauthin with terrified eyes. So did half of the Nightmen. Looking back slowly at Oleg, Tauthin spoke loudly.

Petrov translated again. “He says we are in the Zone.”

Even Oleg had been affected by the happenings. Chest moving up and down, the fulcrum stared wide-eyed at the alien. Surveying his stillrecovering crew, he took a centering breath and adjusted his uniform. “Are we invisible?” Several moments later, he answered his own question. Looking at the view screen at the front of the bridge, he could clearly see the Nightmen in the hangar pointing and searching. They were trying to find the ship. “What happened?” he asked, looking at Tauthin.

Several harsh words escaped Tauthin’s mouth. Petrov translated moments later.

“He says your simplistic mind would not comprehend.”

Snarling, Oleg pointed at the pilot’s seat. “Go back to your station.”

Tauthin didn’t obey at first. Turning to Svetlana gently, he placed his gnarled purple hand over hers. It took a moment for her to recognize the simple reassurance. But when she did, she found a moment of relief. Rising, Tauthin walked back to the pilot’s seat.

Oleg shifted in the Bakma-designed chair. “Take us in the air. We have a mission to complete.”

Despite the significance of mankind’s first human-controlled liftoff in a Bakma vessel, it was impossible for the Noboat’s launch and subsequent flight to rival the exhilaration and terror of the “dimensional shift,” as Tauthin had called it. Shortly after the Noboat rose from the hangar floor, the crew found themselves soaring through an underground tunnel which ended on an angled ascent to the surface of
Novosibirsk
. The hole was so gaping and obvious that it must have been plainly visible from the surface, lending those inside to conclude that the hole must have been covered until just before liftoff in order to keep it hidden. As to how the hangar came to be in the first place, that topic was never discussed. There were more important matters at hand.

Gliding through the overcast sky, the Noboat moved slightly more sluggishly than the typical EDEN Vulture, a result of the Noboat’s superior mass. Just the same, it took virtually no time at all for the occupants to get accustomed to the ship’s movements.

Though they spoke little, Svetlana remained glued to Tauthin’s side. It was a telling irony that in a ship full of human beings, it was the alien that made her feel safest. Tauthin was at least willing to ease her nerves whenever possible—nerves that showed despite her obvious attempts to hide them.

Within only ten minutes of flight, the Noboat was nearing the east coast of North America. Despite the fact that they were in an alien ship reading alien gauges and looking at alien displays, Earth was Earth, and the shape of North America was easily recognizable on the Bakmanese version of a digital map. From the pilot’s seat, Tauthin once again began speaking. Petrov translated through the comm. “He says he is detecting numerous human assault craft. Vultures and Vindicators.”

“I think I see them on this display,” said the slayer at navigations. “There appear to be many ships, captain.”

“Any sign that they detect us?” asked Oleg.

“I don’t even know how to tell.”

Tauthin spoke again. “He said he needs to be directed on where to go,” said Petrov. “He does not know our terrain.”

Rising from his chair, Oleg folded his arms and stared out the view screen. He grinded his jaw in contemplation.

“The American pilot told me that they were heading to the east side of the lake there,” Svetlana said, looking back at Oleg. “She thinks they will continue east. One of them has a leg injury, so their movement will be slowed.”

The slayer at navigation pointed at the view screen. The bridge followed his indication, where a wall of dark gray appeared on the horizon. “It must be a storm, captain.”

“What does the radar say?”

Looking at the display, the slayer rubbed the back of his neck. “I have no idea.”

“Bakma,” said Oleg, “what can you see about this storm?”

“His name is Tauthin,” snapped Svetlana. She turned to the alien and spoke in English. “Tauthin, the weather ahead of the ship. Can you tell me about it?”

Pressing several buttons on a console next to the pilot’s seat, Tauthin caused a layer to overlay on the map screen by the controls. Bakmanese flowed as Petrov once again translated.

“He does not recommend entering the storm, captain. The conditions are too severe.”

Marusich, standing beside Oleg, leaned toward the fulcrum captain. “It is not too severe for
us
, captain.” Krylov, standing in the back, said nothing.

“Take us to the lake,” said Oleg. “Low altitude. Keep us away from all EDEN vessels.” As Petrov translated for Tauthin, Oleg sat back down in his chair. The Noboat descended, entering the wall of the storm.

The ship was still almost fifty kilometers from the coast, though their speed was closing the gap quickly. The bridge grew eerily quiet as its human occupants scanned the ceiling and walls, almost as if they expected to hear a crash of thunder or feel rain pounding against the hull. But almost nothing could be felt.

It was as black a sky as Svetlana had ever seen. The downpour completely blanketed the view screen. Visibility was zero.

“Tish`naa volo-aash gad, Uman deklan vish. Nokuun`a.”

“He is detecting the remains of several human vessels, one of which is in the lake.”

The slayer at navigations turned to Oleg. “That is where the highest concentration of EDEN vessels is, captain.”

Elbows propped on the chair’s armrest and fingers interlaced, Oleg hesitated before speaking. “Take us east of the lake. Keep us low.”

“As you wish, captain,” said the slayer. “We are approaching the EDEN patrols.” He wiped sweat from his brow.

The atmosphere in the bridge grew noticeably tense. Though no one said it aloud, it was more than clear by the crew’s fixation on the view screen that everyone was thinking the same thing. They were approaching EDEN vessels in a dematerialized Noboat. They were doing exactly what the Bakma had been doing to them for years.

“Do you know how many ships we have lost like this?” asked Marusich quietly.

Almost synchronized with Marusich’s words, the first pair of Vultures appeared before the Noboat. Their outlines were barely visible through the deluge, but they were there. And they were completely oblivious to the alien craft coming at their rear.

Tauthin remained perfectly quiet, despite the constant eyes upon him. Even Svetlana, standing next to him, kept constant vigil over him. It was as if everyone expected the alien to open fire at any moment. That was what his species did.