The Glorious Becoming (Epic)

by Lee Stephen

  The look on Jayden’s face was pure elation. Snatching his duffle bag, the Texan ran full speed toward the ship. “Thank you so much, man!” Jayden said as he hurried up the ramp. “Thank you so much.”

  “If you die, I’m gonna kill you,” Scott said. Jayden’s rifle and armor were clunking around in the duffle bag. What about everything else the Texan owned? Scott didn’t even want to know. Slapping the side of the ship, Scott yelled at the pilot. “Let’s go!” He walked to his seat, the ramp whining as it lifted behind him.

  Esther, Auric, Boris, and now Jayden.

  This was going to be fun didn’t begin to describe it.

  17

  WEDNESDAY, MARCH 14TH, 0012 NE

  0724 HOURS

  “ALL RIGHT, everyone,” said the pilot over the cabin speakers, “you’re free to move about.”

  Unfastening his seat belt, Scott stretched out his legs. None of the other four operatives had said a word during liftoff, the uneasiness thick between them. It was ironic that of all the people on the mission, the only one who was looking forward to it was the one who wasn’t supposed to be going. For everyone other than Jayden, this was out of their control.

  “Hey man,” the Texan said as he walked to Scott’s row. Everyone had taken seats rows apart from each other, lost in their own personal solitudes during takeoff. “Mind if I sit down?”

  The honest answer was yes. But cordiality prevailed. “Nah, man, go ahead.”

  “Thanks.” Jayden sat down next to him. “So what can you tell me about the mission?”

  “It is what it is,” answered Scott. “An extraction of a Ceratopian target.”

  “But what is everybody gonna be doin’?”

  The last thing Scott wanted to do was recap the entire mission brief. Jayden would have to settle for a summary. “Esther’s doubling as a civilian contractor. That ponytail she’s wearing, it’s not real. When she takes it off and changes her hair, she looks like someone else.” It was a tad more complex than that. “She’s going in as Calliope Lee.”

  “Calliope Lee?”

  “Yep. She’s going to sneak in and try to find H`laar. After she finds him, we’re going to call an extraction team to help us get him out.”

  Adjusting his eye patch, the Texan looked at the others. “What about Auric and Boris?”

  “Boris is a hacker. Auric’s just assistance. That’s what you’ll be doing, too. Just treat this like a real transfer. I’ll be right there with you.”

  “I can’t wait to see Venus.”

  Scott blinked. “What?”

  “Venus, man. I heard she’s hot.”

  “Okay, first off, the woman’s name isn’t Venus. Second of all,” he said with intentional loudness, “why was someone giving you details about the covert operation?”

  Boris shifted in his seat from several rows up. The tech looked down and whistled.

  Setting Jayden straight, Scott reviewed with him the three individuals they’d been told about: Captain Natalie Rockwell—not Venus Rockwell—Lieutenant Logan Marshall, and the chief of Xenobiology, Giro Holmes. He relayed to Jayden everything he remembered from his discussion with Antipov. That part of Antipov’s “tell them everything” request was easy. Telling Jayden about Esther was the hard part.

  Auric and Boris knew about Esther, and the Texan deserved to know, too. Scott retold the story as best he could—with honesty. Esther confessed her feelings to him, he reacted poorly, and they’d had a fallout. After the mission, she’d be transferred to London.

  As Scott delved further and further into the story, Jayden’s expression grew more solemn. These weren’t things the Texan had expected to hear. Scott hadn’t realized it until he was halfway through his explanation, but Esther’s departure would directly affect the sniper. She was his eyes on the battlefield even before he’d lost one of them. Scott was sure that played a part in Jayden’s downbeat reaction.

  Scott was trying to think of Esther in as practical a way as possible. The less emotion he dedicated to her, the better for him and the mission. He was torn about Esther. He didn’t want her to leave the Fourteenth, but at this point, he firmly felt it was for the best. Even with his efforts at reconciliation, tempers had flared. He blamed himself for the total mismanagement of their situation. Esther didn’t realize it, but he was blaming her less by the minute. His coldness toward Svetlana during their goodbye only quantified Scott’s jerk status.

  I need to talk to the rest of the crew, let them know what’s going on. Scott tapped Jayden on the knee. “Come with me.” As the two men stood up, they approached the others. “Gather around, guys. We’ve got some stuff to talk about.”

  Auric and Boris joined immediately. After a brief stare-down, Esther did, too.

  They listened intently as Scott explained the big picture—who the Khuladi were, how they “judged” other species, and what happened when those other species lost. He explained how the Bakma were being used as instruments of the Khuladi, attacking Earth on behalf of their masters. He talked about the Ceratopians and their suspected motives to beat the Khuladi in capturing Earth—Interstellar Midway. Everything, from the War of Retribution to the Golathochian Subjugation, was thoroughly covered. As for the connection between the Ceratopians and Archer... that was what they were going to Cairo to find out.

  The rest of the flight was one of the most unsettling rides Scott could remember. It rivaled the ride home from the Bakma outpost, in the aftermath of Lieutenant Novikov’s needless death. This mission required confidence and cohesiveness; right now, he wasn’t sure they had either. No speech or inspirational message could change that—not during the flight. This had to run its course. And if the past twenty-four hours were any indication, it would only get more complicated by the minute.

  Unfortunately, they had a lot of minutes to go.

  * * *

  AT THE SAME TIME

  IT WAS AS ODD a feeling as anyone in the lounge could remember. Scott, Esther, Jayden, Auric, and Boris were gone. There were five holes that couldn’t be filled. Where did the unit go from there? There were so many questions—and they all fell on Yuri Dostoevsky.

  Though time had brought forgiveness to the man who’d arranged Nicole’s murder, the memory of his failed stint as captain remained. He’d changed since then, become a different person. But would that add up to a better leader? Ready or not, and with the remaining crew gathered in the lounge, it was time to find out. All eyes were on him as he began his first address.

  “I won’t pretend like this is easy for me,” Dostoevsky said to them. “This situation is not easy for any of us. Just the same, we are the Fourteenth. We have been tested many times. We need only continue what we know how to do.” He looked at his new acting commander. “Max, does the status of the V2 change without Boris?”

  Max glanced at Travis. “I think it’ll be fine.” Travis nodded quietly. “Thing’s kinda maintenance-free, really.”

  Nodding, Dostoevsky moved on. “Without Esther and Jayden, our dynamic on the battlefield changes. We must rely more on frontal assault. Our style must become, as Scott would have said it, ‘smash mouth.’” He looked at William and Egor. “I want you two training together. You will both have increased roles. For the rest of you,” he said, “continue to train hard and focus on your jobs. We will begin practice runs tomorrow using new formations. That is all for now. Dismissed.”

  While the rest of the room dispersed, Max, David, and Becan approached Dostoevsky. The fulcrum canted his head.

  “Something you need to know,” said Max discreetly. “Thoor forced Scott on this mission by threatening Sveta. Thoor said if he failed, she’d be killed.”

  Dostoevsky scowled. “This is exactly what happened with Tolya Novikov.”

  “We can’t leave her alone,” said Becan. “Not at all.”

  Dostoevsky opened his mouth to say something, but Svetlana’s arrival to the small gathering stopped him. All discussion abruptly ended. Running fingers through her frizzled hair, the
disheveled medic was visibly distressed.

  “Sveta?” Dostoevsky asked. “Are you okay?

  For several seconds, she gave no response. Then slowly, her face twisted. “No...”

  The men went into protective-brother mode immediately. Hands reaching to her, their faces exuded concern. “What’s wrong, girl?” Max asked.

  She waved her hands frenetically. “Nothing, it is nothing. I should not be this upset. I just...”

  “You just what?”

  “Scott, he,” she cut herself off. “Nothing happened that doesn’t normally happen, but that’s the problem. I thought this morning—I thought...” Her words were stumbling almost incoherently. “This is stupid. I am just a stupid girl hoping someone she loves loves her.”

  “Hey, hey,” said David, patting her on the shoulder. “Whatever happened this morning, you know that man loves you.”

  Becan nodded assuredly. “He wouldn’t be doin’ this mission if he didn’t.”

  As soon as the Irishman said it, Dostoevsky, Max, and David’s faces fell. Eyes widening, Becan covered his mouth.

  “What?” Svetlana asked, looking at him strangely. “What do you mean?”

  “Ahh! I meant, yeh know, by doin’ this mission, he’s given yeh the gift of...distance. Because distance...”

  When Becan drew a blank, Max picked up for him. “Makes the heart grow fonder!”

  “Yes!” the Irishman said. “It makes the heart grow fonder.”

  “Wait,” Svetlana said, shaking her head disbelievingly, “he is going on his mission, to give us distance, to make us grow fonder? How does that make any sense?”

  “’Cos...” Motioning with his hands but unable to find words, Becan stumbled into a question. “’Cos fondness...is bequeathed...upon...time?”

  Dostoevsky, Max, and David collectively groaned.

  The look in Svetlana’s eyes was pure vehemence. “Okay, what is going on?”

  “Because fondness is bequeathed upon time,” David repeated, rubbing his hands down his face. “That was brilliant, Becan.”

  “What do you all know that I do not?” Svetlana asked. “Someone tell me!”

  Max sighed in defeat. “Veck. Might as well spill it now.”

  “Spill what? What are you talking about?”

  David answered, “Scott went on this mission because Thoor threatened him.”

  “Threatened him?”

  “He told Scott if he didn’t go, there’d be a punishment. You’d be killed.”

  Shock struck her. “What?”

  “That’s why it was sudden. That’s why he couldn’t take you. That’s probably why it was weird telling you bye,” David said. “Thoor knows about you two—Oleg told him. He’s using you as leverage to get what he wants from Scott.”

  Shaking his head sadly, Becan said, “It’s Novikov all over again.”

  For a second straight time, the other men stared at him slack-jawed. “Becan,” Max shouted, “shut the hell up!”

  The Irishman blinked, exhaled, then closed his eyes in defeat. “Righ’. She didn’t know abou’ tha’, either, did she?”

  “Know what?” Svetlana asked, looking panicked among them. “What does Tolya have to do with this?”

  “You are the worst secret-keeper in the history of Earth,” David said, glaring at Becan.

  Moaning in agony, Becan stared at the ceiling.

  “What did he mean, ‘Novikov all over again?’” Her brow arched upward, Svetlana pled, “Someone tell me what that meant!”

  Dostoevsky tried to ease her away. “It was nothing. Slip of his tongue. We need to talk about medical reports—”

  “I don’t want to talk medical reports!” As she shrieked, the men flinched. “I want to know how this is like Tolya!”

  By that time, the rest of the room had converged on the scene. Viktor, Varvara, Travis, William, Derrick, and Egor stretched their necks through the bunk room door and the corners of the lounge to listen. Even Flopper was watching, head tilted, by Max’s feet.

  Svetlana was staring teary-eyed. Her breaths were fast and trembling. “How,” she asked forcibly, “is this like Tolya?”

  Dostoevsky, David, and Becan went quiet. The men turned to Max. For several seconds, Max watched Svetlana dreadfully. Crouching down, and taking a moment to prepare for his words, the technician finally spoke. “Dave and I were with Tolya when the order came for him to stay behind with the explosives. He stayed...because if he didn’t, he knew Thoor would kill you.”

  The sound that came from Svetlana’s lips was horrifying. It was part gasp and part sudden culpability. She covered her mouth with her hands.

  “Sveta,” Max said. “Don’t—”

  “I killed him,” she whispered, a craze coming over her. “I killed him.”

  Shaking his head solemnly, Max said, “No, Sveta. You didn’t kill him. Thoor did.”

  “And now I will kill Scott,” she whispered, her lips barely able to bring the words out. As the blueness in her eyes faded, her body began to sway.

  “Sveta—”

  As her hand covered her mouth, she sank dazedly to her knees. The breakdown began.

  In the midst of Svetlana’s heaving, no one made a sound. Dostoevsky, David, Max, and Becan were all there, standing around her, their hands reaching out to touch her shoulders and back. As every fearful emotion she had in her poured out, the others who were present turned their heads away. But no one left. Squealing softly in Russian and with her eyes bloodshot, Svetlana sat on her rear then rolled over. She couldn’t speak—her face was locked in a silent, agonized wail. But none of the men around her moved. They simply laid their hands on her. Standing several meters away, Varvara’s own eyes began to slowly well.

  But Becan cried worse. Teardrops trailing down his cheeks, the Irishman lowered his head and lost it. “I’m sorry.” That was all he could muster. “I’m sorry.” Gently, David’s hand found his back.

  As Svetlana’s anguish endured, Dostoevsky knelt by her head. He lowered his own to speak. “I cannot tell you why these things happen. I cannot tell you why God allows them.” Brushing the hair from her forehead, he said, “But I know that all things work for the glory. We see but one page of a wonderful novel. Only God sees the end.” Looking down, he spoke softly. “You are a good woman. You are to be admired. Be courageous now, Sveta. He needs you to be.”

  “How can I be courageous for him now?” Svetlana whimpered. “I have cost him so much. I have cost him his love, and now this.”

  Exhaling softheartedly, Dostoevsky said, “Oh, Sveta.” He touched her cheek. “I was not talking about Scott.”

  For the first time since she’d fallen to the floor, Svetlana’s eyes focused. She looked up at Dostoevsky’s compassionate gaze.

  “God has you where you are for a purpose. He allowed today for a purpose. And one day, you will see it. I promise.”

  As the fulcrum continued, Max, David, and Becan silently listened. Their eyes remained on Svetlana.

  “Your job, since the first day you came to this unit, has been to care for us,” Dostoevsky said. “Now, Trooper Voronova, let us care for you.”

  Padding innocently to Svetlana, dog tag jingling with every step, Flopper stuck his wet nose in her face. As his tongue came out, she laughed tearfully and pushed his head away. “Flopper, no. No.” His licks were undeterred.

  Dostoevsky smiled. “See? He feels the same way.”

  “Cold, wet nose,” she said, finally touching the dog’s cheek. He pawed at her head. “Ow!”

  “Okay, beast,” Max said, pulling the dog back, “that’s enough.”

  Chuckling exhaustedly, Svetlana touched her face. “I think you scratched me, dog.”

  “Yeah, he’s a love hurts kinda guy.” Max ruffled Flopper’s head.

  The medic closed her eyes. Stretching her neck, she sighed in new focus. She pressed her palm to her forehead. “Ugh. I cried again. I am queen of meltdown.”

  “Yeah, well, cryin’ happens,” said Max.<
br />
  Lying on her back, she looked at the men huddled around her, settling on Becan. The teary-eyed Irishman was looking right at her. “Becan,” she whispered. Reaching out, she grabbed his hand. “It’s okay.”

  David eyed him, too. “One week of cleaning duty for being the worst secret-keeper on the planet.”

  That made her laugh.

  “All right,” said Dostoevsky, “let’s get you off the floor. You have work to do. Right?”

  As the fulcrum pulled Svetlana to her feet, she steadied herself against him, then pushed back her hair. Sighing deeply, she sniffled once, then forced a smile. “Yes, I do.”

  “Medical reports,” David said, “psychological evaluations, prostate exams. Anything to keep our favorite medical chief busy.”

  She scoffed. “The day I check your prostates is the day I commit myself.” Expression softening, she reached her arms out to draw the four men around her in. “Thank you.”

  “We’re here for ya, sis,” said Max. “You’re gonna be okay.”

  As the group hug dispersed, Dostoevsky eyed Svetlana sternly. “As I’m sure you understand, you must never be alone. One of us must always be with you wherever you go. It is what Scott would want, too, considering Thoor’s threats.”

  After a brief look of resistance, she surrendered. “I understand.”

  “Now go and rest. Captain’s orders.”

  The medic nodded. “But just for a while. There is something I want to do.” When Dostoevsky raised an eyebrow, she continued. “I want to speak to Tauthin.”

  “To Tauthin? The Bakma Scott visits?”

  “Yes. It is what he would be doing if he was here. He just goes to talk, just to learn things.” She shook her head reflectively. “Maybe if I can just learn one thing new, at least I will have done something for him—a small thing. I know how important his meetings with Tauthin are to him.”

  Max nodded. “I’ll go with you. After you take a nap.”

  Laughing faintly, she said, “Okay, papa.”

  The technician smirked.

  As the scene began to dwindle down, some of the observers near the lounge door quietly crept out. The rest were forcefully excused by a sharp go do something else look from Dostoevsky. Save the five close operatives and Flopper, the lounge was abandoned.