The Glorious Becoming (52 page)

Svetlana never mentioned her headache to anyone in Room 14. After receiving hugs from the various members of the Fourteenth, and assuring Tiffany of her friends’ well being, the blond medic made a beeline for the shower. She enjoyed every moment of it—the warmth of the water, the cleanliness of soap, and the comfort of a freshly-cleaned towel. Completely comforted. Completely at home.

Completely oblivious to the rebellion she’d just set in motion.

26

THURSDAY, MARCH 15
^TH
, 0012 NE

0900 HOURS

CAIRO, EGYPT

SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER

D
UST, SAND, AND GRIT
. It was a combination in Scott’s teeth he hadn’t felt in years, and it grew more visceral with every gust of desert wind that blew past him and Natalie. The Caracal captain was dressed appropriately for the weather, sporting a black tank top, fatigues, and mirrored sunglasses that looked more akin to Texas law enforcement than EDEN. Her chestnut hair tied into a ponytail, she scrutinized the Caracals with stoicism as she and Scott approached.

Scott’s appearance was the total opposite. He was in full uniform, filling the role of “good cop” to Natalie’s bad variety. It wasn’t intentional. He simply didn’t have anything else to wear. Tank tops weren’t exactly all the rage in blustery
Novosibirsk
.

Natalie had said little to him that morning thus far—nothing beyond what was necessary. A slight discomfort existed between them; the vibe Scott felt was that their night out at Sabola had gone a little more intimately than she’d anticipated. He sensed that her defenses were up. His were, too. That was fine with him. The more she left him alone, the more he could focus on his true mission.

Though Thoor had never given Scott a specified time limit to find H`laar and return to
Novosibirsk
, Scott knew the timer was running. Every day without progress was one day less for Svetlana.

Despite the fact that this was officially Scott’s operation, there was no question that Esther was the mission’s determining factor. Their success or failure was contingent on the scout’s ability to infiltrate Confinement and make contact with H`laar. Thankfully, Natalie had been true to her word, and Esther had been given the go-ahead by the captain to pursue her own “training” endeavors. The scout was absent from the session and on her own.

Boris’s job, while less glamorous, was equally critical. He needed to use his special kit to gain access to
Cairo
’s network. It wasn’t the equipment or Boris’s technical savvy that Scott doubted—it was the Russian’s mettle. For Esther, deception was as natural as breathing. It wasn’t quite the same for Boris. Scott tried to imagine what Boris’s response would be if a security guard questioned him, and the only thing he could picture was the technician stammering or wetting himself. Neither would serve their mission well. Just the same, Boris had been working hard in his free time to figure out
Cairo
’s systems. He’d been dutiful as always.

Scott scrutinized Natalie discreetly while she spoke to the Caracals. She was giving them a between-exercise motivational speech about responsibility, dedication, and the importance of hard work. Her words were passionate and genuine. And they needed to be. Because if Scott’s mission was difficult, Natalie’s was nigh impossible. She was supposed to turn the Caracals into an effective fighting force. In the span of one morning session, a realization struck Scott that made him pity Natalie to a degree he’d never pitied anyone.

The Caracals were horrible.

Operatives got winded. They keeled over. They huffed and puffed as if they’d just run from Marathon to Athens. The work Natalie was making them do was intense, to be fair, but it paled next to a standard training session at
Novosibirsk
. Their level of ineptitude was actually a marvel. They were out of shape. They were devoid of desire. They were going through the motions like tired paper delivery boys on cold winter mornings. Even Jayden, barely up to mission shape from his extended infirmary stay, was leaps and bounds ahead of these operatives.

Sensing his anxiety, Natalie approached him after assigning the group low-crawl drills. Hands on her hips, she exhaled in disgust as she watched the operatives begin their work. “Okay, you’ve seen what they can do. Give me the truth.”

“This is gonna be a lot of work.” Saying it just once didn’t seem to be enough. He shook his head. “I’ve never seen operatives like this.”

“Believe it or not, this is progress. You should have seen my first day with them.”

“The stuff we were able to do in
Novosibirsk
, I couldn’t even dream of pulling off with these guys. Have they been doing anything here at all?”

She frowned. “Getting lazy and out of shape. Once you get used to doing nothing, it’s hard to break the habit.”

“How can an EDEN base accept this?”

“This is a research base, commander,” she answered. “The emphasis hasn’t been on response until recently.” The operatives who finished the low-crawl drill—far behind Auric, Jayden, Boris, and Logan—breathed exhaustively with their hands on their knees. “You played football, right?”

Scott nodded.

“You remember two-a-days?”

Laughing painfully, he nodded. “Oh, yeah. I remember two-a-days.” They were a stretch of training camp when teams practiced once in the morning and once in the afternoon.

“What position did you play?”

“Quarterback.”

Her gears were turning. “Well I don’t know too many quarterbacks, but if I had to take a guess, I’d say you probably have an aggressive mentality. Move down the field and score, again and again. Am I right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well congratulations, commander,” she said. “You just became my offensive coordinator. I want to start working some ‘two-a-days,’ with morning focusing on fortification and afternoon on assault. I’ll take the former, you’ll take the latter. Can you write up a training plan for your sessions?”

She was playing to his strengths—trying to put him in charge of something he’d be motivated to put his all into. It was a good tactic. “It might kill them.”

“Then maybe they’ll send us capable replacements,” she said, eyeing him with a sidelong grin. Though he couldn’t see it behind her mirrored sunglasses, he had a feeling she winked. Turning ahead, Natalie rallied the Caracals for a post-exercise word.

Natalie explained the concept of two-a-days to them, and for the most part, they seemed to comprehend it. For a culture that thought footballs were supposed to be round, Scott considered their understanding alone a victory.

All-in-all, their session lasted just over three hours. Natalie ran them through several more drills, allowing Scott to lead a few just to get used to command—or so she thought, at least. The operatives panted their way through the exercises, but managed to survive. Whether they’d ever reach the point where they could actually accomplish anything on the battlefield was yet to be seen.

Shortly after the Caracals were dismissed by Natalie, Scott retreated to his room to plan out his “two-a-days.” It wasn’t a direct part of the H`laar mission, but it was nonetheless part of his cover, and he had to maintain it. With little else to do until he heard from Esther, Scott sat down with pen and paper and went to work.

* * *

ONE HOUR LATER

Unified Motion.

Scott stared at the two words atop his journal page. He’d written several pages already in preparation for his new training regimen, covering everything from assault terminology to species-specific tactics. Now he was reaching advanced material—Nightman material.

Advantages: fastest travel time, intimidation.

The Caracals were a far cry from “Machine” efficiency, but that didn’t mean Scott couldn’t aim high. He might be gone with H`laar long before reaching the second page of this regimen. But what did he have better to do? Until Esther got in touch with him about her Confinement infiltration plan, nothing. He was in hurry-up-and-wait mode.

Requires muscle memory and total combat awareness. Also courage and trust.

Scott’s words were simple, and at times scattered. But
he
knew what he was talking about. That was all that mattered right then.

He was in the middle of writing the next line when he heard the first footsteps outside his door. Wrinkling his brow, he looked up. It was hurried walking—trotting. It sounded like several operatives. They’d passed right by his door. Glancing down again, he returned his pen to paper.

More footsteps. Back-to-back-to-back, from even more operatives now. People were running in the halls. Watching the door strangely, Scott placed his pen down, stood up, and walked to his door. Pulling it open, he looked into the hall.

“What in the?” His words were drowned out by the stampede of boots. Operatives were sprinting down the hallway. Voices reverberated off the walls. Everyone looked alarmed. Darting back into his room, Scott grabbed his comm off his nightstand. Emerging into the hall again, he followed the throng.

The legion of operatives were gathering in one of the nearby hubs—spacious intersections complete with public facilities, benches, and information consoles. Everyone was gaping at the mounted corner monitors. Craning his neck to see over the crowd, Scott listened in to what was apparently a newscast. It was some sort of breaking event.

“While
Richmond
will not elaborate on whether or not Strom Faerber was aboard one of these transports, we have confirmed that the unit, Falcon Platoon,
is
where he was assigned.”

“
Falcon
Platoon?” Scott blurted aloud.

The anchorman looked at the camera gravely. “We want to repeat, for any viewers tuning in right now, that an unspecified incident has just occurred between a unit from the EDEN base of
Richmond
, Virginia—the unit containing Strom Faerber, son of Vector Squad Captain Klaus Faerber—and several aircraft allegedly from the Russian base of
Novosibirsk
.”

“What the hell’s goin’ on?” asked Jayden, hurrying to Scott from behind. Auric and Boris flanked him.

“Katie,” said the anchor, “give us a rundown of the facts so far. What exactly do we know?”

The reporter spoke concernedly. “At just past 0200 hours,
Richmond
time, a callout was given to a unit called Falcon Platoon, dispatching them to an area near Lake Drummond in southeast Virginia. Several minutes prior to arriving at their dispatch location, they were met by several aircraft believed to be from
Novosibirsk
. An unspecified incident took place resulting in at least one aircraft down.” She frowned. “While none of this information has been confirmed officially by EDEN, we can confirm that at this time, all EDEN facilities are at orange alert.”

Jayden’s mouth fell. “Dude, Falcon Platoon?
Novosibirsk
?”

“What is Falcon Platoon?” asked Auric.

“That was our unit back at
Richmond
,” Scott answered. “That’s where we came from.”

The display transitioned from the news station to a press room—some sort of conference. The EDEN logo was clear along the back wall. Scott, his comrades, and everyone else in the room watched as an older woman with auburn hair stepped behind the podium.

“Who is that?” Boris asked.

Scott shook his head. “I don’t know. She looks familiar, but...” His words trailed off as the woman’s name appeared beneath her on the screen.

Judge Carol June.

“Okay. Okay!” The woman held up her hand, talking to someone just off-screen. Her focus turned to the conference room as she adjusted the podium mic. No time was wasted on an introduction—the people at the conference were apparently well acquainted with her. “I just want to lay a few ground facts here before we get to questions.” She seemed irritated. “At 0205 hours Eastern U.S. Time,
Richmond
received a callout, to which Falcon Platoon was dispatched, under the command of Colonel Brent Lilan. At 0238, Falcon Platoon made contact with several unidentified aircraft. Shortly after, all contact with the platoon was lost. Those are the facts. Now, your questions.”

Though the camera remained on June, hands could be heard reaching for the ceiling. She nodded at someone in the audience. “Pete.”

“Carol, rumors are flying in from the NSU about a call put in to President Belikov directly from EDEN Command. No other nation reported receiving this kind of call. Are the Soviets involved in this situation?”

June shook her head. “We have no reason to believe the NSU is involved.”

“Then why was a call made to NSU headquarters?”

“You’re talking about rumors, Pete. I don’t talk about rumors.”

“I’m just trying to clarify whether or not a call was made to President Belikov.”

The judge’s glare deepened. “You’re asking me to speculate on the nature of this incident, and I’m not in a position to do that.”

“No speculation, Carol, I’m just trying to verify whether or not a call was made.”

“Yes, President Belikov was contacted by EDEN Command.”

“What was the nature of the call?”

She waved him off. “You’re asking for classified information. I can’t provide that.”

“Is
Novosibirsk
involved in this?”

He was ignored as June focused elsewhere. “Samantha.”

An Australian woman spoke. “What were the specifics of the initial callout, ma’am?”

“That’s still under investigation.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“Not at this time.”

The woman persisted. “Did the callout come from EDEN Command?”

“Like I said, it’s still under investigation.”

“I’m not asking for results, ma’am, I just want to verify the origin of the callout.”

June’s eyes narrowed. “Sam, listen—”

“—I’m not asking for classified information—”

“What you’re asking for isn’t something I can discuss.”