The Glorious Becoming (Epic)

by Lee Stephen

  “What will you do?”

  The eidolon held up his rifle. “I will join the ranks of EDEN here. When the time comes, we will take back what we have lost. Novosibirsk will always be our Machine.” He pointed behind him down the hall. “Go. There is time to leave this place, but do not move slowly. You will be killed on sight here.” He looked at Varvara. “Who is this?”

  “Varvara Yudina,” Dostoevsky said, looking at the blond medic. Varvara looked terrified. “She is coming with me.”

  Staring at Varvara warily, Antipov exhaled. “As you wish. Now go. You will find Voronova at Chernobyl. Speed be with you.” Nightman salutes were exchanged, and Antipov left them.

  “Do you trust him?” Varvara asked.

  “Iosif? He is the leader of the eidola. He speaks honey but has the bite of a snake. But he has no reason to lie to me now.” He looked down the hall. “If Sveta is being taken to Chernobyl, then we too must go there.”

  Swallowing hard, Varvara said, “Perhaps you should comm Oleg. To make sure he has her.”

  “You heard about Max. That means Oleg has her. It is better for us to surprise him at Chernobyl. If he knows we are after her, he will harm her to spite us.”

  “I will tell the others.” She reached for her comm.

  “No,” Dostoevsky warned. “Leave the comm channel clear. I do not even want the possibility of anything being intercepted.” Varvara did as told.

  Gripping his assault rifle tighter, Dostoevsky listened to the approaching sounds of EDEN—gunfire, shouting, and death. They were breaching the Citadel. Soon they’d control all of Novosibirsk.

  It was time for them to leave.

  FLANKED BY AN escort of four sentries, Ignatius van Thoor weaved through the dank stone corridors that led to The Machine’s secret underground hangar. Marusich was at his side, receiving updates from the various sections of Nightmen that were still standing. Not terribly far behind them, the sound of chaos rifles reverberated. Vector Squad was on their heels.

  “Is Saretok prepared to receive us?” Thoor asked through quickened breaths. Just ahead of them, the opening to the spacious hangar cavern appeared.

  “Yes, general,” answered Marusich, “Chernobyl is ready.”

  Their pace quickened; the hangar was before them. As they emerged from the stone corridor into the underground room, all six of them picked up their pace. The Noboat sat perched before them, powered up and ready for flight. Escape was imminent.

  Suddenly, Marusich skidded to a halt. The fulcrum pointed toward one of the hangar’s control booths. “General!” Thoor’s eyes followed, where they found a cluster of bodies sprawled on the ground. Technicians. One of them was ripped completely in half.

  “What is this?” Thoor asked, mouth hanging in a stupor. His attention averted as a sentry stepped out of the Noboat’s side door. “You! What has happened here?”

  The sentry flinched as Thoor shouted. In the next second, the unknown Nightman raised his assault rifle and opened fire. Bullets zinged past Thoor as he ducked down; his own sentries moved in to shield him. Marusich returned fire. In the seconds that followed, the sentry by the Noboat was joined by a pair of reinforcements.

  They were Bakma.

  Motioning into the Noboat, Tauthin shouted through his mechanized sentry helmet. “Into the Zone Runner! Prepare for dimensional shift!” The two Bakma at his side, Ka’vesh and Uguul, withdrew back into the vessel. As bullets ricocheted around the Noboat’s antechamber entrance, Tauthin ducked inside. The door closed behind him.

  Marching into the bridge, Tauthin barked orders to his makeshift crew. Squatting by the bridge entrance, their canrassi breathed through its wide, bloody jaws. Tauthin sat in the captain’s chair. “Shift now!” From the engineer’s station, Gabralthaar engaged the phase shifter. The bluewhite flashes began. Tauthin turned his head to the floor by his chair, where the battered blond medic was propped unconsciously. Facing the view screen, Tauthin narrowed his eyes.

  Blue lightning bolts flashed through the hangar. There was a crack of something like thunder. The Noboat disappeared.

  Holding his visor hat in place amid the rush of the Noboat’s thrusters, Thoor stared slack-jawed at the shimmering vessel before them. Even without seeing it in full form, it was obvious what the Noboat was doing. It was turning its nose toward the exit.

  “How could this be?” Thoor asked in horror.

  There was an eruption of gunfire behind them. Thoor ducked for cover once again as his escort of sentries opened fire. Within seconds, a tidal wave of chaos rounds shredded through the sentries’ armor. They fell to the ground. Thoor and Marusich were the only two left. Rushing toward them, their X-111s poised and ready, were a dozen men clad in purple and white.

  Marusich made no attempt to open fire. Throwing down his weapon, he raised his hands in the air.

  At the forefront of the Vectors, a man decidedly larger than the rest stalked forward. Behind the tint of his EDEN visor, he glared at General Thoor. There was no need for the man to declare who he was. Thoor already knew.

  “I did not kill your son,” Thoor said.

  The Vector reached to his helmet. Detaching its clamps, he slid it off his battle-scarred head. His blue eyes never wavered.

  “Had I killed him, I would not have denied it. I would have announced it to the world. You know this. This has been a conspiracy!”

  Reaching for his holster, the Vector withdrew his sidearm.

  Thoor’s eyes widened as he held out his hand. “Wait, Klaus, listen!”

  Those were the last words spoken by Ignatius van Thoor. As Klaus Faerber raised his pistol and fired, Thoor’s head rocked back violently. His visor hat flew to the wayside. The Terror of Amsterdam fell to the ground.

  Marusich went rigid, staring through his faceless helmet at the body of the general.

  Without a word, Faerber turned his sidearm on Marusich, releasing three shots into the fulcrum’s chest. The bullets tore through Marusich’s armor. He toppled next to Thoor.

  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.”

  THOUSANDS 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 16TH, 0012 NE

  2212 HOURS

  SCOTT’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

  ARCHER AND BLAKE sat alone in the Conference Room. The Liberation. That was what the event—the capture of Novosibirsk and the fall of Ignatius van Thoor—w
as 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.