by Lee Stephen
“I hate bureaucracy,” Torokin finally answered.
“Don’t be so negative,” said Sasha. “I just got here. I don’t want my expectations dashed so quickly.”
Torokin smirked. “If that is your wish, then turn around and get back on the transport.”
There was good cause for Torokin’s pessimism. On top of the neverceasing drama about Thoor, the past months had seen a decrease in overall mission success rates from EDEN ground forces. The decrease was subtle enough to remain off the lead topic list, which Torokin considered a dangerous oversight. This trend began after the Council had taken dispatch permission privileges away from EDEN bases and into their own hands. What had originally been a new protocol to test Novosibirsk’s loyalty had quickly grown tentacles.
Casualties on the ground had increased four-and-a-half percent almost from the moment that the policy had gone into effect. With Vulture callouts dependent on permission from EDEN Command, response times had slowed, giving survivors of intercepted spacecraft time to organize their defenses. Occasionally, alien vessels were not intercepted at all. To make matters worse, the whole purpose of the policy—to trap Novosibirsk—had gone nowhere. The Machine had punched EDEN Command in the face, and President Pauling had done nothing about it. All of these things Torokin had brought up to the Council multiple times. No progress had come out of it.
“Do you have any advice for me when I address the Council?” Sasha asked, readjusting the strap of his duffle bag on his shoulder.
Torokin shook his head. “Just express Klaus’s concerns. Don’t let them intimidate you—not that any of them would try to do that. Be honest, and remember that you are not here to criticize.” He smirked. “Even though you are.”
“Ha! They are fortunate they are only getting me. The captain is not a happy person. He would never publicly criticize EDEN, but it is obvious to all of us how he feels.”
“Klaus is passionate,” said Torokin. “He has always been that way.”
Sasha nodded. “He knows we are losing this war. He said Stockholm was the greatest wake-up call he has ever received. He is even willing to work with Philadelphia.” The young Vector sighed. “I am too new to understand everything coming from Vector—it is unlike any unit I have been a part of. It is almost a political entity. But I know everyone is concerned. The captain. Vincent, Minh. Everyone.” He laughed sadly. “The other day, for example. We had to rescue a platoon from Kabul Station. It was just a single Noboat. Kabul had them outnumbered, in unfavorable position, everything to our advantage.” He frowned grimly. “Had we not been called in, every member of that platoon would have been killed. It was as if they had no training at all. It is a trend everywhere. I have never seen such poor execution.”
They stopped in front of Sasha’s assigned guest suite. “What are you doing for the rest of today?” Sasha asked.
“I have business, as I do every day,” Torokin answered. “But I thought this evening we might be able to meet for preferans.”
“Preferans? Other people play that here?”
Torokin nodded. “Two of the other judges, Dmitri Grinkov and Richard Lena. It will be good for you to meet them.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Good.”
They exchanged another fisted hug. “It is good—good—to see you, Sasha. I miss Berlin more than any of you know.”
“Thank you for recommending me for Vector,” Sasha said. “I have never served with better people.”
“I will call you when Dmitri and Richard are over.”
“I look forward to it.”
Turning, Torokin departed down the hall.
Torokin relived his years in Vector Squad every night, for there was no subject of his dreams that recurred more. His name was embedded in the unit’s lore. It didn’t matter that he’d been a judge for two years. When visitors to EDEN Command shook his hand, they never marveled at the politician before them. They marveled at Commander Leonid Torokin, former second-in-command of the most elite fighting force on the planet. Klaus Faerber’s right hand.
Torokin had been the ideal executive officer—a man with no desire to be leader but more than willing to channel the leader’s authority to the lower ranks. Torokin never could have led Vector by himself, despite the occasional instances when his rank required him to. Klaus Faerber wore shoes that were impossible to fill.
It was nice to have Sasha there. It reminded him of his purpose as a judge—to serve and represent young men like that. It was a good feeling.
But not as good as what was to come. Richard Lena had won their last game of preferans. It was a night of revenge. Three Russians and one American; Lena didn’t have a chance.
The evening couldn’t come fast enough.
* * *
THE CELL WAS QUIET—only the hum of the air conditioner could be heard over the deliberate, steady breathing of its lone occupant. Bulbous eyes sealed shut, the crimson-purple alien sat in the center of the floor, knees crossed as it held a hand upright in front of its face, its other hand hovering just above its thigh, a spiritually conscious body position for a traditionally agnostic species.
The low-end holding cell was as stark as the white, featureless walls that adorned it, fitted only with a metal cot and open toilet. Unlike most low-end cells, however, this one had a complete set of blankets—also white—and a small set of dumbbells pushed in the far corner. Despite the simplicity of the additions, they were enough to render the room luxurious by Spartan standards. That was the benefit of cooperation, compliments of the only judge to consistently involve himself in alien affairs.
As the cell door slid open, the alien opened its eyes—dark blue orbs with barely discernable pupils. No Ithini was needed to form a connection. The visitor could speak perfect Bakmanese.
“We tested the prototype,” said Archer. “Made the necessary calibrations, just as you specified. We saw nothing.”
Nharassel stared ahead motionlessly. “They are not vessels designed to be detectable. Calibration without frequency is futile.”
For several seconds Archer stared at the Bakma, his expression shifting to quiet curiosity. Finally, his curiosity won. “I didn’t know you were religious.”
“I am not.”
Quiet fell over the two. Nharassel’s eyes once again sealed shut as Archer stared pensively before him. The alien’s slow, steady breathing resumed.
Archer stepped in further. “There must be a standardized set of frequencies. Even if we only knew one—”
“There is no ‘set,’” Nharassel interrupted. “Generation is random. Once the rift is established, the frequency is relayed.”
“Listen. The Golathoch need this technology. There must be something, some way to ping off an established rift to determine its frequency.”
“That is impossible.”
Stooping to Nharassel’s side, Archer looked him in the eyes. “You have been so helpful,” Archer said quietly. “A godsend. Blake and Mamoru were directionless before your willingness to cooperate. Please, Nharassel. You’ve got to give me something.”
Nharassel stared back emotionlessly, until his meditative posture finally broke. Pushing up with his hands, he rose and faced Archer fully. “Noboats are designed to be undetectable. They were constructed for that purpose. Predetermined frequencies would undermine that. Had I the knowledge you seek, I would provide it, as I have provided everything upon request. It is time for you to provide for me.”
The British judge scowled, but before he could say something in reply, his comm chirped. His glare lingered on Nharassel before he rose and turned around. “Archer here.”
Kang answered back. “An urgent matter requires your attention.”
Blowing out a breath, Archer ran his hand through his hair, his champagne strands sticking up through his fingers. “Is it truly urgent?”
“It is dire.”
Archer blinked at Kang’s response. “Very well. I’m on my way.” Turning back to Nharassel, Archer gave
the alien a considerate look. Finally, he sighed. “Heavier weights?”
“Canrassi meat. It has been too long since I have tasted. That will suffice for the time being.”
“Fine. I’ll have some for you tomorrow. It’s deserved.” Turning away from the Bakma prisoner, Archer paused by the door. “If you think of anything, if you remember anything, please let me know. No time is too early or late.”
“There will be nothing,” Nharassel said without looking. “But I hear what you say.”
The discouragement in Archer’s face was evident, but he made no further remark. Turning quietly, the British judge exited the cell.
* * *
TWENTY MINUTES LATER
BLAKE AND JUNE arrived at Archer’s door simultaneously, hurrying inside while Mendoza stood post in the hallway. Rath was already there, standing awkwardly along the wall while Archer bustled about frenetically. The moment he saw the new arrivals, he threw a stack of papers on his table and looked at Mendoza. “I want you in here, too, Hector. Come in and close the door.”
“What in the world’s going on?” asked June.
Walking to Archer’s table, Rath picked up the topmost paper. Scanning it, he looked at Archer quizzically. “Colonel Brent Lilan? Falcon Platoon? What’s this all about?” He looked at the next paper. “Major John Tacker. These are all dossiers.”
“My fellow conspirators,” said Archer, his voice trembling faintly. “We have...an opportunity.”
Blake and June swapped wary looks.
“Kang intercepted a message this morning from General Hutchin of Richmond, intended for Pauling. The Ceratopian vessel—the one with H`laar’s loyalists—was isolated by that unit, Falcon Platoon. After the mission, their colonel met with Hutchin to discuss his belief that the vessel’s crash was not accidental, as reported, but due to neutron fire from a separate Ceratopian ship.” Panicked looks struck the others’ faces. “Colonel Lilan went so far as to suggest the possibility of multiple factions amongst the Ceratopian species. Hutchin wants Pauling to investigate.”
“Oh my God, that was last week,” said Rath quickly. “Did this message make it to Pauling?”
“No. Apparently, Hutchin didn’t consider it credible enough to reach the top of his priority list. He only sent it Sunday night. It never got past Kang’s filter.”
“Pauling can’t be allowed to know about this,” Rath said. “If he looks into this and finds something worth poking around for...”
“We need Colonel Lilan and his whole platoon to disappear,” said Archer. “Falcon Platoon is comprised mostly of young soldiers, many of whom are alphas. That means they’re inexperienced and eager, which means if word of this trickles down to the lower ranks, which it may already have, they’re going to talk. To friends, to family, to anyone who’ll lend an ear. Before we know it, Lilan will be discussing this in press conferences.”
June crossed her arms contemplatively. “We could use an interception. A false callout. Dispatch them somewhere isolated—a swamp. Blame it on purported Noboat signatures, report of a possible landing, or something, then have a squadron of Superwolves meet them halfway.”
Rath nodded absently. “You could have a Vulture happen to be passing through there at the time. Land it at the scene to take care of survivors.”
Before anything else could be said, Blake lifted his hand. “Hold on please, for one moment. Are we actually talking about assassinating a platoon? Lying to a major facility, sending a unit on a false callout, then shooting them down?”
“If it must be done,” said June.
“Listen. This goes beyond strategic organization. This is becoming actively involved in tangible operations. This is the hand of God reaching through the clouds and smiting the poor soul beneath.”
Archer eyed Blake for a moment, then looked to everyone else. “Are any of us not prepared for that step?” After no one replied, he looked at Blake again.
The black Briton held out his hands peaceably. “I’m only making sure we’re actually talking about what we’re talking about. This is drastic. This should not be taken lightly.”
“This is drastic on infinite levels,” said Archer. “There’s the public, the media, Pauling pushing back his retirement to cement his legacy by investigating a breakthrough. Right now, the population lives in a world of black and white, where the Ceratopians are evil, and that’s the end of it. Things need to stay that way at all costs.”
Blake interrupted gently, cleared his throat. “You said when we walked in that we had an opportunity. What did you mean by that, exactly?”
“I’m about to tell you,” Archer answered, eyeing Blake specifically. “As well as answer your question from yesterday. As you all know, for the past several months, we have been ‘collecting’ aircraft from Novosibirsk. It is time to tell you why.”
Mendoza raised a hand. “We have? I did not know this.”
“You weren’t in that conversation,” said June scrupulously. “If you could even call it a conversation.”
“The ships are here?”
Shaking his head, Archer answered, “No, Hector. They’re being kept off-site. This isn’t something the rest of Command know.”
“Oh.”
Archer’s gaze returned to the others. “On numerous occasions, we have attempted to draw attention to General Thoor and Novosibirsk, and on numerous occasions, the Council have failed to take action. Thoor ignored our new regulations, without reprimand. He even massacred our agents in front of Malcolm and Carol’s very eyes. His punishment? President Pauling began a transfer procedure to remove all EDEN personnel from Novosibirsk, essentially handing Thoor the base on a silver platter. It has been made abundantly clear that treasonous acts alone are insufficient to make the Council take action. So we’re going to up the ante.”
The others listened intently.
“Over the past several months, we have collected four Vindicators and two Vultures from Novosibirsk, essentially waiting for ships to be damaged enough to be discarded or sent in for repair. We then routed the ships to a private hangar instead of Atlanta. My plan was to use these vessels, all registered to Novosibirsk, to assault a civilian target.” The others sat erect. “If treasonous acts won’t affect the Council, perhaps terrorist ones will.”
“Now wait a second,” said June, “you said that this was an opportunity. Are you suggesting that we assault Falcon Platoon with these ships?”
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”
June held back a smirk. “I love this plan.”
“The glory of this is that the blame goes directly to Thoor,” Archer said.
June raised a hand. “But wait. Why would Thoor attack this platoon? He’d have to have a reason to single them out.”
“Oh, believe me,” answered Archer. “He will.” Moving some of the papers aside, he selected the dossier at the bottom, holding it out for June to see.
Her eyes widened. “You must be joking.”
“Joking, I am not,” said Archer, walking back to the room’s forefront. “Strom Faerber is being assigned to Falcon Platoon.” When Strom’s name was mentioned, the whole room tensed. “I helped organize this some time ago. Klaus wanted him somewhere low profile, out of danger. He arrives on base today.”
His displeasure apparent, Blake paced. “You want to talk about problems on infinite levels? Kill Strom Faerber and that qualifies tenfold. How is Klaus going to react?”
“Exactly like we need him to,” answered Archer. “Anger, rage, hostility—everything we need directed at Novosibirsk. If we get the face of EDEN to turn on The Machine, public opinion will support a military operation.” He folded his arms. “Our job is to control the dissemination of information as it suits our needs. We deny any mission orders were sent to Falcon Platoon. We claim the dispatch originated from Novosibirsk on a hijacked EDEN Command frequency, and we back it up by saying, ‘here are the serial numbers of all hostile vessels, all registered at Novosibirsk.’ Lilan and Falcon are silenced,
with the added bonus of having Vector on our side. The world turns on Thoor, and we launch a justified full-scale military assault on The Machine.”
Pressing his palms against his forehead, Blake said, “I can’t believe we’re talking about this.”
“These are the kinds of steps we’ve discussed before. It’s natural to be apprehensive before taking them.”
“This is diving headfirst,” answered Blake. “But if it’s truly an opportunity to pin blame on Thoor, we must take advantage. Even I won’t deny that.”
“We absolutely must.”
“Then I support it.”
A relieved smile appeared on Archer’s face. He stood erect. “Everyone be prepared. When news breaks out, it’s going to be big. Be ready to handle the media, Carol.”
“I always am.”
“My friends,” said Archer, “this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The culmination of our time and effort. It measures beyond us, into the scope of our entire species and existence. This is our coronation, our becoming...and it shall be glorious.” He smiled disarmingly. “There’s no need to meet about this again. We implement the plan, and we react accordingly. Kang and I will oversee the investigation.”
Nothing was said by the other judges as they made their way into the halls, still secured by the posted deputies. The lone exception was Carol June. The auburn-haired judge lingered behind until she and Archer were alone.
“It’s hard to fluster Malcolm Blake,” she said mirthfully. “Nice job.”
“He’s a professional.” Glancing out of his doorway, Archer ensured that Blake was nowhere near. “He’s not accustomed to improvisation like this.”
She smirked. “Then he’d better get accustomed, shouldn’t he?” Without another word, June made her departure.
Stepping into the hallway, Archer closed the door to his suite behind him, the security latch engaging as soon as the door was shut. Walking straight away from the wing of judges’ suites, he marched toward Intelligence. As promised, no more meetings were called.
