The Glorious Becoming (Epic)

by Lee Stephen

  Scott didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but for the life of him, this was adding up beyond his comfort level. He hated the word conspiracy. It was a word overused to the point of ineffectiveness. But there was undeniably something going on here.

  Svetlana held out her hands. “But what does that mean? Archer betrays us? Betrays us how?” She sighed in frustration. “I am skeptical of all this.”

  “How can you sodding be skeptical?” asked Esther.

  “Because someone must be, Esther,” answered Svetlana, glaring. She turned back to Scott. “We cannot make these leaps in logic without evidence. This could mean something completely different. Maybe the word was not Archer. Maybe he mispronounced other words. We cannot just guess our way to a conclusion—that is what crazy people do!”

  Svetlana was right. Just because dots were connecting didn’t mean they weren’t being forced to. Something substantial was required, something more than a collection of hunches. If this was something significant—and that was a long-shot—it had to be approached the correct way. Scott needed to talk to the Ceratopian, H`laar, again. Wherever H`laar had gone. All Scott knew was that it wasn’t Novosibirsk. The EDEN-sent general had taken over the operation. Scott hadn’t gone home with a single captive beyond a handful of Bakma, and they weren’t even from that same battlefield.

  He had to find out where H`laar had been taken. The obvious answer was EDEN Command, since it was EDEN Command who’d dispatched a general to claim the alien, but it was by no means a certainty. He had to talk to Petrov in Confinement. If anyone could find out where H`laar had gone, it would be him. But Scott would have to be careful. The last thing he wanted to do was tip off the scientist to some conspiracy theory that might have been totally wrong. If this was all legitimate, the implications were horizon-shattering. It meant the Ceratopians were privy to human politics. That meant there was communication between the two species, somehow. It meant that whatever it was that Archer was doing, it was to the detriment of soldiers like Scott and Faerber. It meant the possibility of corruption at the highest level. Get it all out of your head, Scott. It meant nothing. Not without evidence—just like Svetlana had said.

  It was time for a new kind of mission. “All right, everyone. Here’s what I need.” No more poking around by himself. He had one heck of a team—he’d be a fool if he didn’t use them. “Benjamin Archer. I need to know everything about him.”

  The first volunteer surprised him. It was Svetlana. “His medical records will be classified, but if nothing else, I can find his biography.”

  Esther fidgeted in silence.

  Nodding, Scott moved on. “The general who got dispatched by EDEN. I want to know who he was.”

  “If I had the Pariah I could dig through its old transmission files,” said Travis solemnly. “I’ll have to just dig back through our personal ones. No promises they’ll have anything saved that far back, but you never know. If nothing else, maybe I can just find his name.”

  “That’ll work, Trav.” Scott looked at Max. “I want you to talk to Tanneken. Tkachenok was a captain at that event. He ended up being demoted and sent to Tanneken’s unit. Find out if anything suspicious happened prior to our arrival on that mission.”

  “Aye aye, cap’n.”

  There was one final need to be filled. “This whole thing centers on betrayal. I want the rest of you to pore through some records. Find out everything EDEN Command has done in the past year. See if anything, even to some remote degree, could be seen as detrimental to the rest of us. Dave, I want you heading that up.”

  Esther cleared her throat. “Shall I try to get in touch with Captain Faerber, sir?”

  “No, not yet. We don’t have anything yet. Right now I want you helping the others.”

  She sighed. “Yes, sir.”

  The mission pieces were falling into place. Now it was just a matter of completing the objective—finding out what H`laar’s message meant, where H`laar went, and whether or not they were chasing rabbit trails or something significant. Dismissing the others, Scott headed straight for Confinement.

  9

  MONDAY, MARCH 12TH, 0012 NE

  1754 HOURS

  THE MOMENT SCOTT entered Confinement, he knew something was amiss. Not only was the room packed, but it pulsed with activity. Scientists were clustered across the room, flipping through pages of documentation and examining consoles and devices. The whole room was frenzied.

  “Petrov!” Spotting the chief scientist across the room, Scott pushed through the crowd to reach him. “What’s going on?” Sparing a quick glance to Tauthin’s cell, Scott saw that the alien was in the midst of an interrogation. In fact, every alien in Confinement was being drilled.

  When Petrov saw Scott, he shook his head. “No time for this today, Remington. Today is not a good day.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Your friend,” Petrov said, motioning to Tauthin’s cell. “He just changed the war.”

  “Changed the war?”

  Petrov exchanged a fiery word with a fellow scientist. He looked back to Scott. “I cannot talk to you today. And yes, I know what you are capable of, so do not try threatening me. The general is capable of worse.”

  “The general? What’s he have to do with this?”

  “Go to him and find out.”

  Not a chance. “I just need to find out one thing,” Scott said. “It’ll take sixty seconds.”

  “That is sixty seconds too many.” Marching to another cluster of scientists, Petrov spat out a barrage of orders.

  Scott chased him. “I need this, Petrov!”

  “And I need you to leave.”

  “I can’t leave without this.” Two scientists bumped into Scott as they ferried past. “What in the world happened in here?”

  The chief scientist eyed him harshly. “I am in charge of every man in this room—I do not have time to answer questions. If you want to know something, go to Thoor.”

  “I’m not going to Thoor.”

  “Then get out of my Confinement.”

  One thing—Scott just needed one thing! “Two Ceratopians were taken captive during the inter-species conflict in Verkhoyanskiy. I need to know where they went.”

  Petrov ignored him.

  “I need to know this, Petrov.”

  “Want and need are different things.”

  “Petrov...”

  The scientist faced him. “Remington! Can you not see that I have a job to do now?”

  “I’m looking for two Ceratopians. I need to know where they went. It’s very important.”

  Once again, the scientist engaged in another conversation.

  “This could change the war, too!” Scott said.

  Stopping his conversation, Petrov glared at Scott. “How could it change the war?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

  Scott had no idea how to answer. “I don’t know.” Petrov rolled his eyes. “I don’t know yet, but it might. I need you to trust me.”

  “Trust you. Right.”

  “Sixty seconds. I just need sixty seconds!”

  Cursing loudly, Petrov slammed down his clipboard. The room flinched, then quickly got back to work. Eyeing Scott coldly, the chief scientist picked his clipboard from the floor and walked to a terminal. “Date?” Petrov asked.

  Date? Oh, crap.

  “Date?” the scientist repeated, voice rising.

  “I’m thinking! I’m thinking!”

  Petrov roared.

  “It was November, late November,” Scott said. He grabbed his comm. “This’ll just take a second.” Petrov walked away just as Scott queued up Max. “Wait, don’t walk off—”

  Max’s voice emerged. “Yep.”

  “Max,” Scott said, trying to block out the loudness of the room. “Are you in the hangar yet?”

  “Yeah, we just got here.”

  “I need to know the date of that battle.”

  “All right, just give me a minute.”

  Scott shook his he
ad. “I don’t have a minute.”

  “Well, veck!”

  The seconds that passed felt like minutes themselves. Maybe a full minute actually did pass. Maybe two. All Scott knew was that Petrov was storming about the room like a man on a mission, and fulfilling Scott’s wishes was the last thing on his agenda.

  “November 25th.”

  Scott snapped back to the comm amid the chaos. “What?”

  “I said November 25th,” Max repeated. “Where the hell are you, at a rave?”

  “No. Thanks!”

  “No problem—”

  Scott closed the channel. “November 25th!” he shouted at Petrov, giving chase. “It was November 25th.”

  Petrov didn’t say a word; he just tromped back to the terminal, his fingers pecking away furiously at the touch-screen buttons. After a halfminute, he walked away again. “Cairo.”

  “Cairo?”

  “Yes, Cairo!”

  “So it specifically said that Ceratopians went to Cairo—” Scott cut himself off when he saw the murderous glare in Petrov’s eyes. “No, no, it’s fine. You told me all I needed to know, thank you so much.” Not wanting to be any more of a disturbance, Scott turned to leave.

  Petrov shouted after him. “Remington, wait!” The scientist’s voice was different, more purposeful than annoyed. When Scott turned around, Petrov went on. “I gave you what you wanted. Now I want you to do something for me.”

  Scott didn’t hesitate. He was happy to repay the favor. “Absolutely. Just name it.”

  “Go talk to Thoor.”

  His face falling, Scott stared from the doorway. That favor, he hadn’t expected.

  “Go from here to his chamber. Before you can find all of the answers, you first must receive some of them. You want to know what this war is about? What has changed today? Find the general. But be warned, you will never feel the same.”

  Thoor had answers. Scott had always known that, always believed it. Now he was confronted with it. He had sworn long ago never to speak to the general, never to become a part of the Hall of the Fulcrums. Nicole deserved better. Scott did, too.

  I would rather never know the truth.

  The Alien War had been a mystery since day one. Why Earth? Why humanity? What was it about their small blue dot that attracted the wrath of two entirely different species? That had taken so many lives? That had tormented their world?

  Thoor. Scott’s blood chilled at the mere thought of his name. Talk to Thoor. Were answers worth that much? As Scott stood in the still-open doorway of Confinement, his glazed expression found Tauthin. The Bakma was still being interrogated, but his opaque eyes weren’t on his interrogator. They were staring back at Scott.

  Why are you here, Tauthin? The two remained locked. Why are you on our planet?

  He knew in that moment what he needed to do. He needed to break a promise—to himself, to Nicole. He needed to know. Numbness set into Scott’s body as he slowly backed out of Confinement, his stare-down with Tauthin never breaking until Confinement’s metal door slid shut in front of him. Closing his eyes, he inhaled a breath.

  This is it.

  Thoor would accept him. He’d been the Terror’s favorite toy since the day he became a Nightman, an exception to some of the very rules that made The Machine what it was. He could defy a direct order to save trapped EDEN operatives. He could kick one of Thoor’s highest fulcrums out of his transport. What other man could get away with any of that? And even with those luxuries, the Terror owed him one. More than that. He owed him a life. Was hearing the truth an acceptable compromise?

  Today, yes it was.

  As Scott marched toward the Citadel of The Machine, his blood slowly boiled. It was part adrenaline and part anger, with enough uncertainty mixed in to make the feeling memorable in every horrible way. He wanted to walk fast, to move quickly. He didn’t want to give himself time to change his mind.

  Nicole. Lieutenant Novikov. Galina. Joe Janson. Sergei Steklov. Whether directly or indirectly, Thoor had cost each of them their lives. And now Scott was seeking him out.

  Don’t think. Just do it.

  The Hall of the Fulcrums passed quickly. Soon Scott stood before the massive wooden doors of the Throne Room and the pair of sentries who guarded them. He knew of the room, but he’d never been to it before. There was a first time for everything.

  The body language of the sentries revealed their surprise. “Remington,” one of them said, a bit apprehensively. “Does the general expect you?”

  “No.” The firmness in Scott’s voice was enough to let them know he meant business. And that frankly, he didn’t care whether Thoor expected him or not.

  Exchanging an indicatively long look, the sentries stepped aside to clear the path. Only the doors stood between Scott and the instigator of Nicole’s death.

  You can still turn around.

  You can still never know the truth.

  Scott shoved the doors open with all the purpose of a murderer on a mission. They swung widely as the Throne Room became visible. It was done. There was no turning back now.

  Clustered in the middle of the room around a table that looked strikingly out of place, a group of about a half dozen men suddenly went silent, turning their attention to the door. General Thoor’s frame was distinguishable among them. Behind him and the table, a massive stairway led to a throne.

  There’s really a throne in here. I thought it was figurative. This man is insane.

  The room was as antiquated as any Scott had been in. He could smell the mustiness of the limestone walls. He could feel the cold dampness of the air. It was like walking into someone’s sick fantasy. Nonetheless, Scott’s feet took him forward, and the men around the table came into view. Three of them, he’d never seen before. But two of them—in addition to Thoor—he couldn’t forget.

  The first was Oleg Strakhov. The dark-haired fulcrum, his black beard trimmed precisely, glared as he recognized the intruder.

  The second, whose reaction was worse, was Colonel Saretok—the very man Scott had kicked out of the Pariah on their mission in Verkhoyanskiy. The mohawked fulcrum bared his teeth, his lips curling over his canines. But none of the men said a word, their invisible chains restrained by their master.

  “Captain Remington,” General Thoor said. His voice, though still autocratic as always, droned less than normal. It took Scott a second to realize why. Thoor didn’t need to be theatrical now. He was talking with his counsel.

  Behind Scott, the wooden doors slammed shut. He was alone with them. There was no way to escape. He was standing before the Terror. It was a moment he never thought he’d experience—one he’d both feared and vowed never to put himself in. He was face-to-face with the root of his fiancée’s murder, the man who’d turned her beautiful face the pale shade of death. The man who’d put her in a coffin. This was the moment. The confrontation. The climax of every emotional impulse in his heart.

  “General,” he said, nodding subserviently.

  Oh my God. Scott’s stomach turned as he heard himself say the word. Was that it? The moment he’d been dreading? His reaction to the man who’d murdered who would have been his wife? Just general?

  Thoor motioned to the table. “Come. Join us.”

  More than Scott hated Thoor, more than Scott hated whoever it’d been who’d actually poisoned Nicole...he hated himself. It didn’t take Scott long to analyze his reaction—his lone word in the face of the Terror. It hadn’t been said out of fear or subservience. It had been said out of acceptance. These men, these murderers around the table, they were his kinsmen. In the battle for his soul, Scott hadn’t been defeated by Thoor. He’d been defeated by himself.

  Thoor made no attempt to question Scott on his arrival. He simply began his introductions. “To my right is Captain Antipov, chief of all eidola.”

  Antipov, whose scruffy salt-and-pepper beard was matched by an equally scruffy ponytail, nodded quietly. Were it not for his EDEN uniform, he would have looked like a homeless man.
<
br />   “Lieutenant Krylov, sniper with the First.”

  Despite the oddity of having a lieutenant among Thoor’s counsel, that wasn’t what immediately struck Scott about Krylov. What struck him was that Krylov looked like an alien hybrid. His gray eyes were slanted at abnormally high angles. His skin was pale, almost white, and his body was frail to a sickly degree. His hair, an almost colorless shade of blond, was pulled back into a ponytail. No...Krylov wasn’t some sort of hybrid. He was just a frightening looking human being.

  Thoor motioned to the next man. “Commander Marusich, also of the First.”

  Marusich was younger than the rest, and by leaps and bounds was the easiest on the eyes. He was the only man besides Oleg who didn’t look like a freak.

  “And I believe you already know Colonel Saretok and Captain Strakhov.”

  He knew them all too well. It suddenly made sense why a lieutenant and commander were in Thoor’s counsel. Both men were members of the First, which was now Oleg’s unit—for a lack of any other place to put the fallen eidolon. Much like the men of Vector Squad were regarded above their rank, so were the men of the First. There was no doubt in Scott’s mind: these were Novosibirsk’s overseers. And he was at their table.

  “Is there something we can do for you?” Thoor asked.

  Don’t just fall in line, Scott. Man up to this murderer. This is the man who had Nicole killed. “Confinement is in chaos. They said it had something to do with you.”

  Oleg eyed several of his counterparts, then looked at Thoor. The Terror’s gaze never wavered from Scott’s.

  “Have you come here looking for answers?” the general asked.

  Scott was in the middle of a chess match. Thoor was choosing his words carefully—speaking with intent. Scott would have to do the same. “Yes.” Brazen. Pawn forward.

  Thoor tilted his head subtly. A small grin crept up from the corner of his mouth, then disappeared. “I will give you one answer.”

  It took all of one second for Scott to recognize Thoor’s game. He would give Scott one answer, of his choosing. What else, other than why Confinement was in chaos, would Scott want to know? It was as obvious as the sun.