The Glorious Becoming (72 page)

Everything went still. For almost sixty whole seconds, nobody moved. Sidearm still extended, the blond-haired German stared at the bodies before him. He shed not a tear.

Very carefully, one of the Vectors behind Faerber placed a hand on his shoulder. Whispering almost inaudibly, he gave Faerber’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. Then his hand fell away.

Lowering his pistol, Faerber holstered it then lifted his comm. His voice was gravelly and low. “Vector to Command. Thoor is dead.”

T
HOUSANDS OF KILOMETERS
away, in the War Room of EDEN Command, President Pauling lowered his head and inhaled. Arms outstretched on the railing that surrounded the holographic image of Earth, he released a tired breath. “Thank you, captain. Well done.”

Behind and unbeknownst to the president, Archer and Blake locked eyes. Subtly, Archer nodded.

Running wrinkled hands through his thinning gray hair, Pauling addressed the judges without looking. “Prepare a statement for the media. Tell them what happened, and why. My resignation takes effect midnight tonight.”

“Yes sir, Mr. President,” June said quietly.

Lifting his head, Pauling faced the Council. “Good night, everyone. May God be with you.” Without another word, he walked out of the room.

The twelve judges of the High Command stood around the War Room. Some of their eyes were transfixed on the globe. Some were transfixed searchingly on each other. Everyone’s face bore some outward reaction. Everyone’s but one.

Chin lifted, Benjamin Archer stared forward. Not at any one thing or person in particular. Just forward. Just ahead.

Finally.

32

FRIDAY, MARCH 16
^TH
, 0012 NE

2212 HOURS

S
COTT’S PLANNED DITCH
worked exactly as it had in Luxor. With their transport making a slow, arcing turn toward the southeast, they descended just low enough to perform their drop near the bank of the Suez Canal. Boris, making sure that all of the autopilot coordinates were in place, was the last to leap from the ship. Soaked and exhausted, the refugees from
Cairo
swam frantically for the shoreline.

As per Scott’s command, Natalie was forced from the ship first. He wanted her visible and in front, ordering Esther to leap immediately afterward after being vehemently assured by the scout that she could function through the pain of her shoulder injury. The two women hit the water within meters of each other.

The water where they’d ditched was close to five feet deep—deep enough to break a low fall, but shallow enough to ensure that Centurion wouldn’t sink like a brick and drown. To Scott’s shock and relief, the Ceratopian’s condition hadn’t worsened during the flight. He was in poor condition, but he was alive. Scott would take whatever he could get. The Nightman dubbed “Four” stayed with the alien to aid him, as “One” did with Auric.

The moment Natalie’s feet touched bottom, the Caracal captain sloshed for the shore as quickly as she could. Esther was hot on her heels. Whipping around, Natalie swung a fist at Esther’s face. The scout grabbed it, twisted it around, and slammed Natalie face-first into the surf. Flicking her wet bob out of her eyes, Esther screamed, “Don’t
bloody
even think about it!”

“Let her up!” Scott yelled from behind them as he too came ashore, pulling off his helmet to address his scout. “Esther, let her up!” The scout relented and Natalie lifted her head, gasping for air while Esther winced and clutched her own shoulder. Scott looked in every direction. “Is everyone here?” Esther and Natalie were accounted for. Boris was farther down the shore, visible in the bright moonlight. Centurion was trudging ahead with Four, as were Jayden, Auric, and One.

Where was Rashid?

“Veck,” said Scott. He scanned the water. There was no sign of the fulcrum. He cupped his hands over his mouth. “Faraj!” Several dozen meters away, the missing Turk finally appeared, stumbling awkwardly out of the water. Scott ran a hand through his hair and buckled forward.

“Scott,” said Esther, “we need a place to hide until the
Pariah
can find us.”

For a second time, Natalie burst to her feet, flat-tracking down the beach—and for a second time, Esther caught her and dragged her to the ground, perching on her back to hold her down. After a less-than-gentle shove of Natalie’s head, Esther yanked her up with her good arm.

Grabbing Esther himself, Scott jerked her away. “Rockwell’s not the enemy!”

Natalie, sand-covered and spitting, stumbled to her feet. Scott caught her from behind. “There’s nowhere for you to run to. Just stop.” The next thing Scott felt were fingernails to his face—she’d clawed him. Growling in pain, he wrestled her down.

“She’s not the enemy, huh?” asked Esther.

“Listen!” Scott said, pinning Natalie face-up on the ground. Blood seeped from the marks on his face. “Stop fighting! You’re not going to get anywhere!” Natalie’s teeth were bared. She glared murderously. “You’re not a hostage. We’re not taking you with us.”

At that, Esther’s eyes widened. “We’re not taking her with us? It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think? What are you going to do, leave her in the middle of nowhere?”

Scott wiped his face with a hand. His fingers were blood-soaked. She’d gotten him good. He looked at her again. “When our ship comes, I’m going to give you a comm. Contact Lieutenant Marshall, have him come and find you.”

Boris and Jayden approached behind them.

Esther knelt at Scott’s side. “Scott, listen. They’re going to be coming for us soon—the whole of EDEN.” She eyed the sand-covered captain. “Rockwell wasn’t supposed to come with us, but now that she’s here, whether you like this or not, she gives us leverage.”

“Leverage? Like Svetlana’s been leverage?”

Esther touched his shoulders from behind. “If you want Svetlana back, you need to survive. Having Rockwell in our possession helps that. She’s a captain, Scott. She has value. If she buys us
one
escape, then she’s been worth it.”

“You go to hell,” Natalie seethed from the ground.

As much as Scott hated it, Esther was right. It wasn’t ethical. It wasn’t good. But it was ruthlessly efficient. Ruthless efficiency had gotten them this far.

Scott could feel the blood on his face coagulating. More scars. He didn’t even care. Looking sternly at Natalie, he rose up from atop her. “Get up.”

Natalie added, “And you can go to hell with her.”

Pulling the captain up, he gave her to Jayden. “Go let her wash off.” He looked for their Ithini. “
Ju`bajai
! Connect!” Scott pointed at his head. The Ithini complied. “The moment she even thinks about escaping, you let us know.” A sense of affirmation came from the alien—it was in no position to argue. As Jayden took Natalie to the surf, Scott walked off on his own.

Their mission hadn’t been a failure. They had their Ceratopian. Not the one they’d originally gone there for, but a key piece of the puzzle nonetheless. Once the
Pariah
found them, then they could...

...then they could what?

Novosibirsk
had been invaded. Not by a small fleet of Bakma, but by EDEN. The military of an entire planet. If Thoor had sent someone after Svetlana—and he was positive he had—that meant Thoor had a backup plan. A place to escape to. There were a few possibilities. Krasnoyarsk was the most obvious choice. It was known as much for being a Nightman recruiting center as anything else. Chernobyl couldn’t be discounted; Thoor had shown interest in it. There were occasional rumors that the eidola had a presence at
Leningrad
, but that was unconfirmed. Could eidola even have remained back at
Novosibirsk
? He didn’t know where to begin.

“Yuri,” he murmured to himself. Dostoevsky had stayed behind for the sole purpose of finding Svetlana. Varvara had stayed with him. Of all the times for him to have needed a medic, he was now zero-for-two. Centurion was hurt—dying, according to Ju`bajai. Even if the Ceratopian’s condition hadn’t readily deteriorated, it certainly wasn’t getting better.

As Scott stood in contemplation, Rashid and One approached him. Only two of the Numbers had survived: One and Four. How fitting for the Fourteenth. “Captain Remington,” said Rashid, “what is our plan now?”

“We wait for the
Pariah
,” Scott answered. “I’ll tell you my plan when it gets here.”

Natalie rose from the waters of the Suez, her chestnut hair streaming behind her as the last granules of sand fell away from her clothes. Standing beside her like a pastor shepherding over one of his flock, Jayden paid strict attention to her every motion. But if this was a church service, there were no angels singing. And if it was a baptism, it was anything but in the name of grace. Wiping her hair back, her emerald glare searing through Scott as he stood on the shore, Natalie allowed her ire a moment to swell.

“Whenever you’re ready to head back, captain,” Jayden said, his voice wavering uncomfortably.

Running her hand down her face, Natalie shifted her enmity briefly to the Texan. But she didn’t say a word. Sloshing past him beneath the light of a full moon—and a particularly bright Venus—the Caracal captain made her way for the shore.

It would only be a matter of time until EDEN was onto him and his escapees—Scott knew that. Their stolen transport’s autopilot would give itself away eventually, and if whoever was chasing it was smart, they’d put the pieces together and come searching the beach. Their window of escape was still small; but the Fourteenth would come through. If Travis said he’d be there to pick them up, he’d be there. Of that, Scott was certain.

Scott surveyed his crew, from Centurion to Boris, from Rashid to Jayden. They were soaked, beaten, and on the run. But they still had life left. And that was a good thing.

Gathering the group on the beach, Scott instructed them to dig out seats in the sand. Eyes skyward, they waited for the
Pariah
.

* * *

EDEN COMMAND

ONE HOUR LATER

A
RCHER AND
B
LAKE
sat alone in the Conference Room. The
Liberation
. That was what the event—the capture of
Novosibirsk
and the fall of Ignatius van Thoor—was to be called. The global media was already assaulting EDEN Command’s phone lines, ensuring that Carol June’s night would be a long one. The word was spreading quickly. Something major had just happened in Siberia. It was the middle of the day in North America, the news capital of the world. The world was about to learn that General Thoor was dead. Archer and Blake’s night had been a tremendous one.

The door to the Conference Room opened; the two judges turned its way. Entering the room were Judge Torokin and his nephew, the young scout from Vector, Sasha. As soon as the new arrivals saw Archer and Blake, they stopped. “I am sorry,” Torokin said, “I did not know you were doing business.”

Smiling tiredly, Blake said, “No business. Just taking in an extraordinary night. Please, come in.” Torokin and Sasha approached the round table, claiming seats several chairs down. “What a night, ey, gentlemen?”

“Indeed,” answered Torokin. “How can one sleep tonight? I do not know. The world without General Thoor. It does not seem real.”

“Have you spoken to Klaus?” Archer asked him.

“No. Not yet. I will try to call him tomorrow. Tonight will be emotional for him.”

For several seconds, the room fell quiet. “Was he close to his son?” Blake asked.

Torokin shook his head slowly. “No.”

Silence.

That Thoor had fallen to the hand of Klaus Faerber was almost unbelievable. Faerber had made the request himself, to President Pauling, when word of the
Liberation
had first circulated among EDEN’s elites. The Vector Squad captain wanted Thoor personally. It was a request EDEN couldn’t deny. Faerber would have gotten his way whether they approved it or not—especially for a matter like this. He’d have made it happen somehow.

All of the stops had been pulled out for the assault. Eight major EDEN facilities had contributed, as had hundreds of smaller stations from the four corners of the Earth. Jon Mariner and the Flying Apparatus had contributed. And as for Vector—Sasha aside—they had brought the full load. Both of their Vultures. Every one of their operatives. There had even been talk of reinstating Todd Kenner, Vector’s outcast scout, which had been another one of Faerber’s requests. It was the only one EDEN had denied. Just the same, the
Liberation
would be an event the world would talk about for a very long time.

There was a knock at the Conference Room door. It cracked open as EDEN Command’s night-shift secretary eased her head in. From his chair, Blake raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” the woman said, “but a call just came in from
Cairo
. They said it’s urgent. Should I call President Pauling?”

“No,” Blake answered. “You can patch it through to me here.” The woman acknowledged and stepped back outside. Several seconds later, a call tone rang in the conference room. Blake put it on speaker. “Malcolm Bake.”

The African-accented voice sounded panicked. “Judge Blake, this is Vice-General Yousef. We have a problem in
Cairo
.” Archer and Torokin leaned forward with interest. Sasha’s ears perked between them. “Our base has been,” he paused, seeming to search for a word, “compromised.”

“Compromised?” Blake asked. “What do you mean?”

“Someone has infiltrated our Confinement facility. They stole two specimens, a Ceratopian and an Ithini. Then...” he audibly swallowed. “Then they escaped.”

Archer cleared his throat. “This is Benjamin Archer. How exactly did someone infiltrate
Cairo
Confinement?”

“They came under the guise of transfers from another base. They used everything—hacking, disguises, forged identities. They released all of our specimens, assaulted our base network, then escaped during the chaos.” He paused. “They were from
Novosibirsk
.”