The Glorious Becoming (Epic)

by Lee Stephen

  * * *

  THAT NIGHT

  SPRIG SMOKE FILLED Judge Torokin’s suite as the mixed scents of mint, tobacco, and hazelnut filtered through the air. The four men—Judges Torokin, Grinkov, Lena, and the newly arrived Sasha Kireev—were seated around a small circular table, cards in all but Lena’s hand for a night of preferans.

  Preferans was a Russian card game—one forced upon Lena, the sole American of the crew, by his two Russian counterparts from the Council. It was one of the few games that was meant to be played with only three people, making it a perfect fit for the trio of judges. With Sasha as a guest, Lena had been relegated to the role of dealer—at least for this round.

  “Six in seconds,” proclaimed Torokin from Lena’s left. It was a bid, with seconds a reference to the suit of clubs—the second lowest suit in the game. The hierarchy went spades, clubs, diamonds, then hearts. Torokin was betting that he could win six sets, or tricks. Six was the minimum allowable wager.

  “Pass,” said Grinkov.

  Sasha eyed his hand in silence. Only after several faint facial twitches did he announce his bid. “Seven in fourths.”

  Both Russian judges raised their eyebrows. “Seven in fourths?” asked Torokin. It was an extremely high bid—one that wagered Sasha would win seven tricks with the heart suit and whatever else was in his hand. On the flip side, Torokin and Grinkov only had to win two. “I defend,” said Torokin. “I want to see seven in fourths.”

  “I defend,” said Grinkov.

  Lena nodded. “Then seven in fourths it is.”

  “Diamond’s the trump,” said Sasha.

  “Makes a lot of sense,” the American said sarcastically.

  “If you are bluffing,” Torokin said, looking at Sasha, “you are not a good bluffer.”

  The Vector scout smiled. “Who says I am bluffing? Put down your first card.”

  Torokin laid down an eight of hearts. Grinkov placed a six. After a short pause, Sasha placed down a nine. Smiling, the scout pointed at his temple and claimed the cards. “Trick number one.”

  Torokin exhaled a plume of hazelnut. “I still do not believe it. I have too many hearts for you to have enough, and I know Dmitri must have some.”

  “And how many hearts do you have?” Sasha asked.

  “I have three more. I had four hearts total out of a possible nine, and Dmitri had at least one. That is five out of nine, at least, and diamond is the trump. You had better have a lot of diamonds.”

  Sasha chuckled. “Just make your play.”

  Preferans had always been popular in Russia, dating back from the pre-Soviet years of the Old Era all the way to the Soviet Recapture. Outside of Eastern Europe, few others knew of the game—or knew it well enough to compete. It was a simple concept with notoriously complicated scoring.

  As play continued on, the conversation shifted. “So, I have a question for the three of you,” Sasha said. “You all know why Captain Faerber wanted someone to address the Council. It is because of these new regulations. And I know from the captain that these new regulations were put in place to test the loyalty of General Thoor. He heard this from you, correct?” he asked Torokin.

  Grinkov and Lena eyed Torokin, who sighed red-handedly.

  Sasha went on. “What exactly is the Council’s plan for Novosibirsk? Has the test worked?”

  There was a span of silence before Judge Lena answered. “If by worked you mean shown us that Thoor couldn’t care less what we do, and that he’ll stab us in the back—”

  “Or the front,” interjected Grinkov.

  “—at the drop of a hat, then yes, the regulations worked.”

  The scout nodded. “So is there still a need for the regulations? It is the captain’s belief that, had these regulations not been in place, Stockholm and Copenhagen could have been...well, not avoided, but lessened.”

  Torokin claimed a trick from the table. “Bluffer.”

  Lena laughed under his breath, then answered Sasha’s question. “To understand the situation, you’ve got to understand the original idea. We weren’t even supposed to be holding anyone else to the new regulations. It was just an excuse to get something on paper against Thoor, something we could officially react to. As to why we haven’t reacted, that’s a different situation altogether.”

  “It is a stupid situation,” said Torokin. “We sent two judges to Novosibirsk to confront Thoor. He physically restrained them and forced them to watch him execute EDEN operatives.”

  Sasha’s eyes widened.

  “He rejected our regulations, then slapped us in the face. And we did nothing.”

  “He executed EDEN operatives?”

  “Spies, actually,” said Lena. “We’d placed them there to take a look around, give us a feel for everything Thoor’s got going on under the covers. But operatives just the same.”

  Sasha’s mouth hung open. “Why has no one heard about this?”

  “It’s complicated,” Lena answered.

  Torokin scoffed. “No, it is not. Thoor punched President Pauling, and Pauling was too scared to punch back. So we are fleeing—pulling EDEN personnel from The Machine, putting them wherever else in the world they are needed. We are giving Novosibirsk to Thoor.”

  After several rounds of success on Sasha’s part, Grinkov began grumbling. “My hand is terrible.”

  “But what will happen, then?” Sasha asked. “Will Novosibirsk even be associated with EDEN?”

  “I do not know. Some judges want to start a war. Castellnou, Archer, perhaps one or two others.”

  The scout raised an eyebrow. “Are you one of them?”

  “The three of us here feel we should have resolved this long ago, by whatever means would have been best at the time. It is past the point where anything we say will make a difference.”

  Grinkov frowned as Sasha claimed his fifth trick. “No one likes us. It is all Leonid’s fault.”

  Torokin chuckled lowly. “Do not misunderstand me, Sasha. We vote, and we speak our minds when we can. But we do not have the most valued opinions in the Council, as ridiculous as that sounds. Nor do we have the opinion that matters, which is President Pauling’s. No one is in support of his decision with Novosibirsk. Were he not so close to retirement, he might have already been voted out.”

  “So then, if the regulation served its purpose, why is it still in effect?” Sasha asked. “It is hindering our ability to respond.”

  Lena slid his tobacco-scented sprig from his lips. “It’s difficult to understand how hard it is to let something go until you have it. The Council has this new power now. It’s like a shiny new toy. They like it. It doesn’t matter if it’s right or wrong, it matters that it’s been written in the rulebook. All three of us would like to see it rescinded. But there’s no chance of that happening now. Power’s like a drug, even if there’s no devious intent behind it. You don’t realize you’re addicted until you’re addicted.”

  “And we are addicted,” Torokin said, eyeing Grinkov as he won his first trick. “I thought you had a terrible hand?”

  The overweight Grinkov chuckled. “Cards like tears.”

  Sasha continued the discussion. “The whole point of my being here is to convince the Council that we are available if needed. The captain has felt disregarded in this matter. If I can convince the other judges to consider rescinding the amendment—”

  Lena’s laughter cut Sasha off. “Don’t waste your breath, kid. Ain’t gonna happen.”

  “But I am speaking on behalf of Captain Faerber, not myself. Surely they would consider his words.”

  “You’d be surprised at how quickly reverence disappears when the revered start offering different opinions. They’ll chase you outta there like a rat from a kitchen.” The American shrugged. “But try, and I’m not saying that sarcastically. If you don’t give it a chance, you’ll regret it. Just don’t get your hopes up.”

  Torokin led off the next round with a throwaway spade. “The three of us will be there for you, Sasha. We are like
-minded. That is why we are here together and so often. We will all support you and do our part to further the debate. As to whether or not anyone else does, that, we will see.”

  “Aha!” said Grinkov, grinning as he claimed his second trick—the game winner.

  Torokin cursed and leaned back in his chair. He looked at Sasha. “I knew you were bluffing.”

  The scout laughed. “I would have had it had you not started with spades.”

  “One more game, yes?” asked Grinkov.

  Lena stood up. “Not for me, gang.”

  “He wants to play one more because he finally won,” Torokin said. “And for that, he can get the hell out of my room.”

  Grinkov closed his sprig and slipped it into his coat pocket. “Just do not forget, for next time we play. I do not want to be cheated.”

  “Then don’t date a pretty girl.”

  “That is not a problem.”

  Sasha bowed after walking to the door. “It has been a pleasure, gentlemen. I look forward to seeing you at the Council meeting tomorrow.”

  “I look forward to calling in sick,” said Torokin. The others laughed. “Good night, good people.”

  “Good night, Leo.”

  Sasha, Grinkov, and Lena filed out into the hallway. In his room, Torokin slipped off his shirt and threw it on the floor. Comfort after company was priority one.

  It was good to see Sasha again, but strange to have him in the midst of an event as familiar as preferans. He usually only saw Sasha at family events, as rare as they were. Having him in the same room with Grinkov and Lena was a merger of two very different worlds: politics and practicality.

  He was looking forward to Sasha’s presentation, if for no other reason, for the High Command to finally meet the man who’d replaced Todd Kenner as Vector Squad’s scout. If not a better scout, Sasha was undeniably a better man. He deserved the Council’s praise. Torokin hoped that was what waited for him. He’d find out tomorrow. As for tonight? It was time to shower and go to bed. All good nights came to an end.

  Good mornings were much harder to find.

  11

  MONDAY, MARCH 12TH, 0012 NE

  0824 HOURS

  RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

  CATALINA’S BOOTS SLID in the mud, her momentum stopping only when her body slammed against the concrete pillar before her. It wasn’t the most graceful tactical halt she’d ever made, but it got her where she needed to be—behind cover within ten meters of the crashed alien ship. Or at least, the wooden building pretending to be a crashed alien ship. In a training exercise, imagination was as important as the objective.

  She and the rest of Charlie Squad were converging on the structure from the east and west, in the middle of a steady rainfall that teetered on torrential. The structure was located in the valley of two small hills, with terrain that could best be described as a giant mud hole, only worsened by the weather. It was surrounded by concrete pillars and partitions on all sides, creating the closest thing to a training course that Richmond had. It was dwarfed by the elaborate courses at Philadelphia, but worked enough to suit their needs.

  Catalina and her team—Mark Peters, Javon Quinton, and Leslie Kelly—were approaching the building from the east, while Donald Bell, Tom King, Demorian Mott, and Leonard Knight moved in from the west. Frank Smith, their medic, was holding back.

  The way the rules worked, if a player was shot in a non-lethal area, Frank could revive them if he reached them in under two minutes. Shouldering her paintball equivalent of an E-35, Catalina waited for Mark and Javon to secure their positions. Combat technician Leslie was following them from the rear.

  “Come on, Bell, give us something, already,” said Mark off-comm.

  Catalina understood Mark’s frustration. Donald Bell was a delta trooper and the highest ranking member of Falcon Platoon outside of Lilan and Tacker. But he was no leader. Leadership was where Mark excelled—even Catalina would confess to that. This needed to be his mission.

  “In position,” Donald said over the comm. “Comin’ up the flank.”

  “That’s our cue,” Mark said, leaving the safety of his pillar and tracking for the building, his hastened steps splashing in the wet mud beneath. Behind him, Catalina and Javon covered, then moved in. Within moments, all three were alongside the outside eastern wall. Leslie took up their previous post by the pillars.

  The building was decent in size, fairly larger than a Noboat. While the layout wasn’t the same, the rooms inside served their purpose well enough as avenues for the enemy. As for the enemy? They weren’t exactly aliens—but they certainly had experience killing them. The “Bakma Leader” was none other than Major Tacker. As for how many comrades he had with him, and who they were, no one in Charlie knew. This wasn’t a typical training exercise; Tacker had recruited his own help.

  Water streamed down Catalina’s visor. Wiping it briefly, she regripped her paintball assault rifle. Rain was on the forecast for the remainder of the week, adding a new level of gloominess to the already frigid weather. There had been courses in Philadelphia specifically designed for combat in the elements, but that didn’t make her current predicament any less miserable. Thankfully, her helmet and armor were keeping her dry, outside of her neck and a few strands of wet hair.

  She rarely worked directly with Javon, but he was a welcomed addition to her party. Besides being more physically gifted than most, he had a solid sense of awareness. He could be counted upon.

  “Breachin’ the back,” said Donald through the comm.

  Mark positioned himself in front of the wooden door. “In on three. One. Two. Three.” Rearing back, he bashed in the door with a solid kick. Together, guns ready, the three soldiers swept into the room. The building smelled wet and musty, like rotting wood. There were no visible hostiles.

  Donald spoke again. “Clear in the back.”

  “Clear up front,” answered Mark. They were in a small room with three more doors, one on each wall. Javon moved ahead to prepare for entry through the left one.

  Catalina listened as rain pounded the roof. Had they not been in the middle of a mission, she might have been allured by the sound. But this wasn’t the right time.

  Mark motioned to the left-hand door. “Clear it.”

  She and Javon did as told, Catalina moving to the side of the door while Javon got in a position to kick it open. Thrusting forward, Javon bashed the door inward. The two soldiers moved inside. Nothing in the next room—no enemies, no doors.

  “Veck,” whispered Catalina as she and Javon fell back to Mark’s room.

  Mark moved next to the door along the right wall. “Quinton, help me clear this one. Cat, watch that middle door.”

  Javon once again complied, tracking across the room to assist Mark. Catalina wondered if the black soldier was bothered at all by Mark’s assumption of command on their end. If he was, he made no outward sign. Dropping to a knee, she aimed her assault rifle at the middle door while the other two men cleared the right. Poor Leslie, she thought. The only other girl on the team, Leslie was stuck waiting outside in the rain. She supposed that in a real situation, Leslie would have been the lucky one—away from the danger of an alien ship. Nonetheless, it was much more comforting to be inside, away from the water and mud.

  Mark kicked in the designated door. He and Javon stormed into the room, assault rifles searching for targets. No shots were fired. “Stand by, Cat,” he said through the comm. “One more door over here.”

  She affirmed just as Donald’s voice emerged from the other team. “Got three rooms in the back cleared. Nothin’ so far.”

  Catalina remained focused on the middle door. Part of her expected it to crash in at any moment, a flurry of paintballs along with it. Her finger hovered over the trigger as she heard Mark and Javon clear the other room.

  “...it’s clear,” Mark said.

  She heard the frustration in his voice. She was feeling it as well. Tacker was supposed to be here. Where was he? Her trigger finger was itching.
>
  Mark moved back into the main room and into position by the middle door. “Has anybody heard anything yet?” he asked through the open comm.

  “Nothin’,” answered Donald.

  “Well, veck.”

  Javon shook his head. “They gotta be through that door. Ain’t no others.”

  Catalina kept steady. “I’ll cover you.”

  Mark and Javon prepared to breach.

  All right, Catalina thought. Here it comes, for better or worse. That no one on either side had come in contact with enemy meant the enemy had to be at the center of the structure. Sooner or later, the converging parties were going to meet. At least they’d have Tacker surrounded.

  Bashing in the door, Mark and Javon swept inside. Catalina watched them aim in every direction, but once again no shots were fired.

  “One more door,” Mark said. Catalina rose to follow, but Mark stopped her short. “Stay back. If we go down, you’re the only thing between them and the outside.”

  She hated it, but he was right. Lingering back was never her preferred choice. “Don’t go down then, eh?” the Canadian remarked.

  “We movin’ in, too,” said Donald through the comm. “Ain’t seen nothin’.”

  Catalina knew that Donald’s team had to be close to meeting Mark’s. She wondered if his party members—Tom, Demorian, and Leonard—were as antsy as her team.

  “Breaching the door,” said Mark.

  She was already preparing for the worst-case scenario: that Mark and Javon would both fall. Despite her competitive nature, she didn’t want it to happen. There was no room for competition in real missions, and this needed to be treated like one. Sloppy execution was the reason they’d arranged this in the first place.

  There was a loud crash as Mark kicked the door in, followed immediately by a second crash in the same room.

  “We got a door with a lock in here,” said Mark.

  “What was that second crash?” she asked.

  “It was Bell. We breached the same room from both ends.”