The Glorious Becoming (9 page)

Catalina cleared her throat sharply.

“I’m sorry I
called
you a dingbat,” he corrected.

Leslie shrugged. “Semi-accepted.”

“Please express to Ms. Shivers my extreme disappointment in the events yesterday that led to her trepidation,” Mark said.

“
Trepidation
,” Leslie said. “Nice word choice!”

Catalina leered at Leslie as she took another bite of her breakfast.

“However,” Mark went on, “I cannot apologize for shortcomings I do not have.”

“And here’s where he blows it,” Leslie said, shaking her head.

“Perhaps if Ms. Shivers wasn’t so secretly infatuated with Major Tacker, she wouldn’t unconsciously place herself in situations where he needs to rescue her.”

Catalina glared at him. “Oh, grow up!”

“The vow of silence is broken,” Leslie said solemnly.

“Do you seriously think I would do that to myself so
Tacker
could rescue me?”

Mark shrugged. “If it looks like a rat, and it smells like a rat...”

“Then it’s probably
you
,” the Canadian said.

The conversation was interrupted when Donald, Javon, and Leonard approached them. Prior to then, they’d all been sitting together further down the table. “Hey,” Javon said, “y’all interested in goin’ over some close-quarters tactics?”

Mark nodded immediately. “After last night, hell yeah.”

“Big Don’s gonna bring it up wit’ T. See if we can’t get somethin’ set up for next week.”

Donald nodded at the slang reference to Tacker. “T’ll be cool. I’mma talk to him after here.”

Catalina stared quietly at the tabletop as the conversation continued.

“Just let us know when and where,” Mark said.

“A’ight, a’ight.” Javon looked at Catalina for several seconds, her discomfort impossible to miss. “Don’t let King get to ya, Shivs. He wish he could have what you got.”

Mark raised an eyebrow.

“Man don’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

“What you guys talking about?” Mark asked.

Javon nodded casually. “Jus’ Tom bein’ Tom. Girl walk by, you know he gotta say somethin’.”

“I was walking to the shower,” Catalina finally said, offering Mark a flat stare. “Tom made a remark. It’s not a big deal.”

“Anyway,” said Javon, “I’ll let y’all know what’s what. We go’ head out.”

Mark nodded. “Sounds good, man.”

The three black men left. Silence prevailed after they were gone as Mark eyed Catalina suspiciously. Finally, it got to her. “What?”

“You didn’t tell me anything happened last night.”

She rolled her eyes, then stood up. “I was mad at you.”

“Hey, don’t leave!”

“I’m making a waffle, Mark.” Turning away, the Canadian disappeared through the crowded cafeteria. After tapping his fingers and bouncing his legs for several seconds, Mark pushed his chair back, stood up, and went after her.

Leslie observed his departure as she munched on her omelet. “Yeah,” she said with half a mouthful, “they’re getting married one day.”

“So anyway,” said Frank, “about that thing in
Tech Weekly
...”

Leslie rolled her eyes.

Catalina’s focus was solely on her waffle, its scent filling the air around her. Hands resting on the counter, she intentionally tried to ignore everything else. Unfortunately,
everything else
wasn’t ignoring her. She sensed Mark behind her before he even touched her. The hairs on her neck bristled as his lips hovered just above them. It was impossible for her to keep her eyes open.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, placing a kiss on her skin. She quietly exhaled. “I was wrong last night.”

It wasn’t the first time Mark had kissed her—or gone considerably farther with her, for that matter. Their relationship was both dynamic and conflicting, a constant flux between heated rivalry and recreational... something. Or maybe more than something. She didn’t know. Mark was hard to figure out, and if she was being honest, she wasn’t quite sure she knew how she felt about him, either. At times, she felt close to him. At other times, the mere sight of him raised her blood pressure. They had a certain chemistry. It just tended to be flammable.

“This isn’t even about last night, is it?” She spoke softly despite the seriousness of her words. “This is about Tom.”

“I don’t want Tom messing with you. I want you to tell me when he does.”

“So you’ll what? Get in a fight?”

He was silent for a moment. “If I have to.”

“He made a remark. That’s just what he does.”

“Not to you.”

Catalina turned around. “You really upset me last night. You left me behind. You assumed I’d be okay—you
assumed
. Is that all I’m worth? An assumption?”

“Cat...”

“No, Mark, I need you to listen.” When he fell quiet, she continued. “I want you to be there. That’s it. I don’t want you to leave me behind while you go off saving the day.” It was a dual-purpose statement. She wanted to feel worth something to him. She also didn’t want him stealing any potential thunder. As to which part bore more weight, she wasn’t quite sure.

“Cat, we’re soldiers.”

“I know we’re soldiers. We’re the best damn soldiers on this team. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with you leaving me behind. What’s that translate to
off
the battlefield?”

His expression became annoyed.

“That’s why I’m upset. If you left me behind there, will you leave me behind here?”

“Not two weeks ago, I asked you straight up if you loved me, and you told me no,” he said. “Now what the hell is this?”

“Forget love, I’m not even
talking
about love. I’m talking about trust.”

“It’s burning.”

She looked at him strangely. “What?”

“Your waffle. It’s burning.”

Turning around, Catalina looked at the waffle. Gray smoke was rising from the machine as a burnt odor hit her nostrils.
“Veck!”
She lifted the lid, exposing the char beneath. Grabbing a spatula, she pried the burnt waffle from the maker. She switched the device off. “Nice job, Cat,” she mumbled to herself. Discarding her would-be breakfast in the garbage, she turned around.

Mark was gone.

Placing her hands on her hips in frustration, Catalina scanned the cafeteria. He was nowhere to be seen—not even at the table. He’d made his exit. “This is why I don’t love you,” she said disgustedly. “If you wanted to know.”

Catalina eventually did get her waffle, at which point she collected herself and walked back to the table. Leslie and Frank were still there, engaged in what sounded like a fairly technical discussion about medical scanners. Before too long, Tiffany joined them, and the conversation became much more frivolous. They discussed everything from the previous night’s mission, to the training Javon was attempting to organize, to how Tiffany could stomach eating an omelet with ketchup. They discussed everything a unit full of young people should.

Mark’s name never came up.

6

MONDAY, MARCH 12
^TH
, 0012 NE

0707 HOURS

NOVOSIBIRSK, RUSSIA

FOUR DAYS LATER

I
TS TEN FINGERS
—talonless, crimson-purple claws—curled purposefully around the bar over its head. Tightening firmly, its wrists and forearms hardened. Amid the quivering of focused breathing, the alien pulled itself off the ground.

“Kaat.”

Exposed abdominal muscles tensed as the motion was repeated.

“Kaat-ya.”

And again.

“Kaanis.”

So far as captives were concerned, the Bakma was a marvel. The heaping muscles of its upper and lower back constricted then released as the upward and downward motions continued.

“Kyotaana. Kyonassa. Nek`raa.”

Behind the Bakma, the cell door slid open. Releasing the bar, the alien landed in a solid crouching position, one hand touching the floor as it slowly turned around.

Scott had been watching Tauthin since the workout began, unbeknownst to the alien until then. He admired Tauthin. To see the once frail and lifeless alien returning to its former condition was both satisfying and motivational. Tauthin was the only specimen in Confinement whose cell had a custom-built pull-up bar, installed by Petrov and his scientists at Scott’s request. It was the only piece of equipment Tauthin had, and apparently the only one that he needed.

“Good morning, Tauthin,” said Scott as he stepped into the cell.

“Gaad muhnig, Remata.”

“This is Esther.”

Behind Scott, the British scout stepped into the cell. Her hesitant brown eyes met Tauthin’s.

Prior to Scott’s more intimate study of the Bakma species, he—like many—had assumed all Bakma eyes were black. It wasn’t until he’d sat across from Tauthin face-to-face that he discovered the alien’s eyes were a dark shade of violet. According to Tauthin, Bakma eyes came in several shades of purple, blue, green, brown, and of course, black itself. The shades were so faint, at least to humans, that they all appeared black without careful scrutiny. Through the eyes of the Bakma, the shades were much more discernible.

Scott had also grown accustomed to the Bakma’s unique smell. The species had a musky odor, not unlike the smell of wild game, though undeniably more potent. Initially, it had been stomach-turning, though now the odor was almost pleasantly familiar to Scott. He wasn’t nearly as affected by it as his comrades.

Tauthin cocked his head curiously as Esther approached him. He then looked at Scott.

Scott understood the root of Tauthin’s confusion. The alien had never seen a human of darker skin. Despite Esther’s fairly light complexion for an African-Briton, she would still look quite different from what the alien was used to, especially in a pale environment like The Machine.

As soon as Esther was within sniffing distance, she crinkled her nose, deepening the lines on her face. “He smells utterly disgusting.”

“Yeah, well you probably smell bad to him, too.”

“Why is he staring at me like that?”

Scott sighed heavily. “He’s never seen a black person. He hasn’t seen many women, either. Now calm down.”

“If he starts feeling me up, Scott, I swear to God—”

“Good grief, Ess, he’s an alien, not a sex offender.” Taking hold of her arm, Scott tried to push her closer; she dug in her heels. “Tell him your name.”

“You already told him my name.”

“I want
you
to tell him your name.”

“But I don’t
want
to tell him my name.”

Scott eyed her warningly.

“Fine!” Shoving Scott away, Esther looked flatly at Tauthin. “Esther. My name is bloody Esther.”

Tauthin looked her over. “Blaady Estaar.”

Her face deadpanned. “Not
bloody
Esther. Just Esther!”

“Well, you told him bloody Esther, so now you’re bloody Esther,” said Scott, shaking his head. “That’s just terrific.”

“No!” she glared in retort. “It’s creepy enough having a Bakma saying my name, let alone attaching a
bloody
to it.”

“Then act like an adult and tell him again.”

Grumbling under her breath, the scout eyed Tauthin again. “My name is Esther.”

The Bakma slowly nodded. “Estaar.”

“No. My name is
Esther
.”

“Estaar.”

“Es-ther. Esther. Not
Estaar
, with this big
aar
in it. Esther.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “He didn’t come from Cambridge, Ess, he’s an alien.
Estaar
is fine. It’s closer to your name than
Remata
is to mine.”

“Vilaash Tauthinilaas,” said Tauthin.

“Tauthinilaas,” Esther repeated. “I can say
that
just fine, and he can’t say
Esther
without sounding like a sodding pirate?”

“Not even Sveta complained this much.”

Esther made a face. “Oh, I’m sure she loved it. I saw her patching up that purple chimp on the battlefield—she’s a proper sympathizer. By the way, I
killed
more than a few on that mission. Did you care to notice that?”

“Ess...”

“Just pointing out the obvious. Where’s the bloody gray? I want to get this over with.”

The gray Esther was referring to was Ei`dorinthal, or
Ed
as those in Confinement called him. He was an Ithini of fairly cooperative nature, so far as the typically bull-headed Ithini were concerned. Ed was the whole reason Esther was there.

Ever since the incident in the forests—Scott’s negotiation with a Bakma via Ithini connection and the subsequent rescue of Captain Gabriel and Pelican Squad—he’d been determined to have each member of the Fourteenth connect with an Ithini in the safety of
Novosibirsk
Confinement. Scott’s first connection had made him violently ill, resulting in his passing out on the battlefield. The thought of any of his operatives losing their awareness, and their stomachs, due to an unexpected Ithini connection was too big a risk. One by one, he’d been bringing members of the Fourteenth into Confinement to experience a connection for the first time. It had taken Scott only two connections with Tauthin to completely rid himself of all ill effects. Now, his connections were seamless.

Despite the fascination Scott felt in sharing a mental bridge with an alien, not all of his comrades had been thrilled about the prospect. Esther had been one of his staunchest holdouts. On a day when Scott wanted nothing more than to distract himself from the drama of Viktor and Varvara, the prospect of breaking Esther in had all the fun potential of a grade school field trip.

Behind them, Ed the Ithini marched obediently into the cell. He was what the chief scientist, Petrov, called an IB—an Ithini captured with the Bakma. According to Petrov, they differed greatly in intelligence and personality from ICs—those captured with Ceratopians.

Ed
may have been a cute moniker, but there was nothing cute about Ei`dorinthal. IB or IC, he was an Ithini nonetheless. Vast intelligence. Prone to vagueness. More prone to near-comatose despondency. The Ithini brain was an evolving, booby-trapped riddle. Even for a particularly cooperative specimen, such as Ed, deciphering the motivations and thought processes of any Ithini was a lesson in frustration. IBs were just the watered-down variety.