Chapter 1
Return to base
Moscow, early 2021
Jekaterina Mikhailov folded the last of her laundry and placed it in her dresser, then leaned back on her heels, satisfied.
Another chore finished. It was puzzling how messy her living space became despite her almost never actually living in it. Briefly, she looked at her deployment duffel bag. The uniform within it could still use a clean.
Ultimately, she decided to procrastinate, figuring a break had been earned. Katja wandered to her living room and sat on her small sofa. She switched on the television and threw a blanket over herself, ready to settle in.
Mishka, her giant, fluffy grey striped Maine Coon, jumped up and began turning circles on Katja's lap, looking for just the right spot.
"Hello Mishka, my love, my big bear, baby boy of mine," Katja crooned, pushing her face into his back. In response, Mishka erupted into purrs and mashed his paws against the blanket, kneading her leg.
Katja murmured some more nonsense at him, and eventually he laid down, curled in a ball that was far too big for her lap.
Absently, Katja stroked him while she stared at the tv screen. She tried to concentrate on the program – more news coverage of the meteor slated to hit the Siberian wilderness – but soon found her attention wandering.
This made her long for her book, and she briefly considered getting up to retrieve it, but didn't want to disturb Mishka.
Sighing, she sank into the cushions. She was just dozing off, with the tv news anchors as a static background noise, when her cell phone chimed.
Mishka's ears twitched in annoyance, and Katja had to wriggle around to dig the device out from her pocket.
The text was from her acquaintance, Ulyana.
Hey Katja! It's Sofia's 30th birthday in three days. I'd like to surprise her with a trip to the dance club, will you come?
"Do I have to?" Katja muttered. A dark, loud, sweaty dance floor was not her idea of a good time.
Nor was Ulyana her favorite person.
I have some guys I can introduce you to, a follow up text tried to entice her.
Her breakup wasn't recent, but it was still an open wound. If anything, this made her want to decline even more.
The phone began to ring, sparing her from answering the text.
She looked at the number, and recognized it immediately. "I have to take this one, Mishka."
Lifting the phone to her ear, Katja greeted, "Hello?"
"Captain Mikhailov. Leave has been revoked. All personnel are being recalled for an emergency in the Ural Mountain range area. Collect your things and report to base by 1700 hours tomorrow."
Katja knew better than to ask questions, even though her mind was already working through them. "Yes, sir."
Ending the call, Katja rubbed her forehead. Well, there went the rest of her leave. Two weeks and she had enjoyed only a few days of it. This had better not be a drill.
"I guess I wasn't doing anything, anyway," she said to Mishka. Still, she was going to be sad to leave him. "You'll have to stay with the neighbors for a while, okay?" The cat just looked back at her with slit eyes of content.
Making a mental list of what she'd have to do, Katja regretfully displaced Mishka.
He meowed unhappily, lashing his huge tail for effect, and butted his head against her leg.
"I know, I know." She pushed off the couch and turned off the television. "But if it makes you feel better, you are the first priority."
After navigating the tricky art of escaping her apartment while keeping Mishka from darting out with her, Katja crossed the hall of her complex and knocked on her neighbor's door.
There was the sound of pattering feet, and then little Roza Popov swung open the door.
"Katja!" the child squealed delightedly and jumped forward, throwing her arms around Katja's waist.
"Hello, Roza," Katja replied with a smile, returning the hug. As odd as it may have been, Roza was one of the few people Katja actually liked, even if she was only a child. No hidden agenda, no facades; Roza was just purely, straightforwardly herself.
"Can I show you my new doll? Her name is Evgenia like the skater!"
"Sure, in just a minute. Can I speak to your mother first?"
"Yes," said Roza, and scampered away, calling, "Mama, mama!"
Katja didn't have to wait long before Inessa rounded the corner into the entryway. A pleased expression came over Inessa's face. "Jekaterina! How nice to see you! How is your leave? Are you getting some relaxation?"
"Well, that's kind of why I am here. I was wondering if you could do me a favor-" Katja began to explain, when Inessa waved her inside.
"Wait, wait," the neighbor interrupted. "I will be happy to help you with a favor. But not unless you ask over some tea."
Left with little choice, Katja followed Inessa to the apartment's kitchen. Inessa quickly brewed tea and brought out some cookies.
"I am sorry this is so simple," she apologized as Katja set out the teacups. "I don't even have jam."
"No, it's wonderful," Katja assured her as they took their seats. "Here, let me pass the sugar."
They chatted of mundane things for a few minutes, and little Roza even took the opportunity to show Katja her doll.
Eventually, the perfect opportunity to segue back to Katja's original reason for coming here presented itself. Inessa asked, "Would you like to go shopping with me next week? I need a new dress. We are going to visit my husband's parents soon."
"Actually, I'm afraid I can't. I have been recalled to active duty, and I have to leave tomorrow. What I came here to ask was if you could take Mishka for a few weeks. I can give you all the food and litter you will need. And I'll pay you, of course."
"Mishka!" Roza cried happily. "Yay! Can we, mama?"
"Certainly," Inessa said, but she was looking at Katja, and she seemed disproportionally sad. "But Katja, this is so unfair to you!"
"How?" asked Katja, puzzled. "Well, I mean, I am disappointed. But it's part of the job."
"Always rushing around like this, it's not good! You need time to be with your family! With your friends! Did you even get to see your parents since you came home?"
Uncomfortably, Katja looked away. "It's an emergency. There isn't a choice. I'll get to tell them goodbye."
Sighing, Inessa rose, came to Katja's chair, and hugged her shoulders. "I will take good care of Mishka, dear. I promise. But you promise me to make sure you take care of yourself just as well."
Katja nodded, but Inessa gave her a little shake. "Promise!"
"I promise," Katja said, squeezing her arm. "Thank you for being such a good neighbor."
After helping Inessa clean up the dishes, Katja headed back to her apartment, ready to get her and Mishka's belongings packed up.
When she checked her phone, she saw Ulyana had texted her again.
"Come on, Katja! Come with us to the club! You need more friends than just that cat!"
After composing a quick text sending her apologies and excuses, Katja frowned. Why, she wondered, did everyone worry so much about her personal life?
Deep down, she knew. It was the breakup and the social isolation that followed it.
Not that she had much of a social life to begin with.
Instead of dwelling on it, Katja did what she did best and went to work.
The next morning, Katja put on her best clothes and finally accomplished what she'd been dreading – a visit to her parents.
Giving a light rap on the door, she immediately heard the 'barking' – if it could be called that – of three dogs… if they could be called that.
Her mother owned three dachshunds: Cinnamon, an all brown one; Pepper, a speckled grey and black one; and finally Sasha, a black and brown spotted one.
The dogs were more loved by Olga than she ever had been.
Even though she knew it was petty, Katja hated those dogs. They defecated and urinated all over the house, refusing to go outside in cold weather. Even if they could be cajoled into the yard, they would often hold it in and go on the carpet later.
Unfortunately, she knew this all from personal experience. Katja was the default dog sitter when her parents were away.
The animals continued their barking as Fedor, stoic as ever, answered the door and invited her into her childhood home with a cool cheek kiss – somewhat out of character for him.
He brought her to the living room where Olga was waiting. The dachshunds kept yapping, until finally Fedor picked all three up under his arms and brought them outside before returning.
Olga was ready, as always, with her criticisms. "Your hair needs a trim, Jekaterina," she said, picking at the ends of Katja's auburn tresses. "And your dress should have been ironed. It's wrinkled. And full of cat hair."
"Sorry, mother," Katja said, as tonelessly as possible.
"Why did it take you so many days to come here?" Olga continued crossly. "Your leave started days ago. You know your father wanted to see you."
"Well, I have no idea, mother," thought Katja irritably. "I was just getting settled in."
"If it takes you that long to get 'settled in' you have too many things."
"Sorry, mother," she repeated.
"Are you well, Katja?" asked Fedor quietly.
"I'm fine."
Awkward silence filled the room, though Olga didn't seem to notice. She almost immediately filled the quiet by saying, "I will be baking a cake for your 29th birthday next weekend. Bird's milk cake. Your older brothers and their families will be here, of course."
Katja didn't even like Bird's milk cake. She preferred Medovik. Olga, of course, preferred the former. "I appreciate it, mother, but I am afraid I won't be here."
"What do you mean?" asked Fedor.
"I've been recalled to active duty. They cancelled my leave."
Fedor's heavy eyebrows rose. "Why is that?"
"There's some emergency. Out east in the Ural Mountains. I'm sure they'll brief me more when I get to base."
This time, her father's silence was dead and heavy. Katja wasn't sure what had alarmed Fedor, but he had gone pale and still. Really, she shouldn't be revealing military information like that, but he was ex-KGB and still worked as an on/off advisor in the current government.
Olga was oblivious again, of course. "Then we'll have to give you your birthday present early, I suppose. I hope you don't expect us to take that cat."
Not an 'Oh, we'll miss you' or even a 'Goodbye'. How she loved visiting her parents. "Mishka has a place to stay. My neighbor is helping me out. You can give me the present when I finish the mission, if you'd like. Bad luck to get it early, after all." She was joking, but it was a Russian belief that any person who celebrated birthday events early risked death before their birthdate.
"Don't tell me you believe that nonsense," Olga sniffed. "My knees hurt, so you can get up and get it yourself. It's in the closet."
"Father?" Katja asked, wanting to get his agreement first. He waved her toward the closet, mind clearly on something else.
Katja left the room, went to the entryway closet, and found a large box. She returned to the living room with it and sat on the sofa, feeling a bit childish.
"Your father spent far too much money on it," said Olga critically. "So you had better appreciate it."
"Of course I will." Katja said, and opened the box carefully. Inside was an enormous, fluffy coat. "It's lovely. I'll get a lot of use from it. Thank you!" Setting the box aside, she humored them by trying it on. It may not have been exactly her style, but it was warmer than anything else she owned, save her military jacket. But that wasn't appropriate everyday wear. "This will be perfect for winter."
She placed it carefully back in the box, set the box beside her, then folded her hands on her lap. "How are things here?"
Her mother launched into complaints about the neighbors and church group, and Katja tuned in and out, while once in a while offering a sympathetic nod.
After enduring several minutes of this, Katja turned to Fedor. "Father, is everything all right?"
"Hmm?" He looked up at her, as if shaking himself from a daze. "Of course, of course. I'm sorry, child; but I need to make a call. I will be back in a few minutes."
Confused, Katja watched her father leave the room.
Much later, after bidding her parents farewell, Katja drove to the last place she needed to visit before leaving the city.
Behind her parent's church was a large burial plot – gated, but unlocked, Katja was relieved to find.
Though the graveyard was kept in great condition and was filled with enough plants and trees to keep it from being gloomy, she still hated the place. It unnerved her knowing she would be buried here one day.
Picking her way carefully around the graves, she finally found the spot she was looking for, and stared for what felt like the thousandth time at the headstone.
No matter how many times she read it, it still didn't feel real.
Karik Fedor Mikhailov
February 1, 1977 – March 3, 2019
Beloved Son and Brother
Defended and sacrificed his life for his motherland
"Hi, Karik," she said, kneeling on the dead grass. "It's Katja again. I know I just visited a few days ago. But I have to leave again." She tucked her hair behind her ear and sighed.
"I don't know what it's for. 'An emergency', they said. Out in the Ural Mountains. You know how our job goes. Could mean just about anything."
The wind picked up, and Katja shivered. "It's going to be freezing there. You'd be laughing at me, I just know it. Oh, maybe I can bring the jacket mother and father got me for my birthday. You should've seen it. It's so ugly. But I always get cold." She almost chuckled, then remembered where she was and sobered.
"Remember the winter when I was five, and you made me six cups of hot chocolate in a row because I was so cold? I think we'd just seen it being made on an American tv show, and you copied that. And then I spent the rest of the night throwing it all up because it was so rich? Mother was so angry."
Now a tear was forming in the corner of her eye. That wouldn't do. Not now, when she had her mission before her.
"I have a bad feeling about this one, Karik. I don't know why. But I'll be thinking of you, dear brother. Always. I love you so much."
Kissing her fingers, she leaned forward and brushed them over the chilled stone.
Time to go.
United States – Langley. Virginia
Adrien Pierce drove along the empty roads of Virginia, tapping his left foot to the beat of the song 'Superstition'. He hadn't been able to sleep last night, and when four AM rolled around, he finally decided to just come into work early. His back pain was flaring up again, and it had kept him awake. An unfortunate injury from his days as a marine.
Adrien had joined the marine corp as soon as he hit eighteen. After several tours, he was able to qualify for MARSOC, and he hadn't hesitated to join up. Now thirty-six years of age, Adrien was under the employment of the CIA because of his last op, of which he was the only survivor.
He had been well aware of the CIA's Special Activities Division (or SAD) long before joining them. What he had not been aware of was its sister unit, SAAD – Special Alien Activities Division – and before his last op, he would've laughed at anyone who told him it existed, and told them it was a waste of taxpayer money. Now, he was in that exact division. The alien one.
Someone really phoned it in on that acronym too.
Pulling into a parking spot close to the building – for once – Adrien got out of his Ford Raptor and gave it a loving look. The vehicle was company provided – and heavily modified – for operations, but all it had been used for so far was getting him to and from work. And the occasional impromptu race at zipper lanes and such. The Shelby 5.2L Predator engine made it an unexpected ten second truck in drag races. Not that he'd admit that to the brass.
Once inside, Adrien stashed his cooler in the fridge with an explicit note that if his lunch was stolen again, he would hunt the culprit down without mercy. Next, he filled up a mug of coffee for himself. It wasn't a favorite drink of his, but it became a go-to beverage in the marines when he was pulling all-nighters. Finally, a quick bathroom trip before settling into his desk, though he decided to do some back stretches before anyone else came in.
Adrien wasn't an analyst, but he was doing their work because SAAD wasn't taken seriously or allocated sufficient resources. They were all too busy tracking down human threats, not little green men, so the job fell to him. Another case of twenty percent of the people doing eighty percent of the work. He tracked unsolved deaths and missing person's cases – under certain conditions – across the globe. Most were dead ends, and those that weren't led him to find out he had been too far behind tracking his quarry.
As he sorted the day's work, he came to a manila folder on his desk. It had been there since he started working for the CIA.
It was a missing in action case, but unrelated to the field of extraterrestrials. A personal project and a favor to his former commander, Admiral Bradshaw, in between work.
"Twinkies gonna be any good this year?" one of his co-workers, Darin, asked, breaking him from his thoughts. It was ten in the morning now, and Darin was just coming in. Lazy. Adrien regretted ever revealing that the nickname for the Minnesota Twins in his state was the Twinkies.
"Not if Rosario goes," Adrien answered. He was born and lived in Minnesota – at least, when he wasn't working in Virginia. And he loved his state's teams, even if they never won. Actually, he loved Minnesota in general, so much so he had a house in Wyoming… or he used to, anyway.
"When are you going to follow teams that actually win, Pierce?"
"When you do. Remind me, what was the Orioles' record last year?"
"That's cold."
Adrien didn't answer, and went back to the computer screen.
"Still looking for E.T?" his co-worker continued, slurping a coffee loudly. Did government employees ever work? Or was it just him? And why did they insist on seeking him out for conversation?
"I thought we had something a few days ago. But I checked the coordinates, and it was outside your house," Adrien joked.
"That's strike two, Adrien. I'll see you at lunch," Darin said. Unlikely, since Adrien ate at his desk and worked while the rest of Langley milled about the cafeteria like the lazy government workers they were. At least it gave him the privacy to do his back stretches in peace. He never liked being asked what he was doing and why, then explaining the injury and getting the mock sympathy.
"Adrien, my office," Adrien's boss, Bob Lang, called.
He never liked Bob, and Bob never liked him. Bob reminded him too much of a politician, and it was clear he was a ladder climber. Not to mention Bob had a pension to protect. He was almost certain the man had taken this post because it was an easy gig, and Bob was about to retire.
Giving an exhale, Adrien got up and walked into the office, and Bob closed the door behind them. Never a good sign.
"What's wrong, Bob?" Adrien asked, anticipating the coming scolding over something that was likely bullshit. Wouldn't be the first time they had butted heads like this.
"How's the wife?" Bob asked instead.
"Still separated."
"Hm. Your daughter?"
"Excited for summer in a few months. Did you really call me in here to talk casually?"
"No, we got a tip. It's good."
"How good?"
"Someone who was high up in the former Soviet government. Can't tell you who, but he used to be the real deal."
"Is it about the hunters?"
"Didn't say, but we're guessing not."
"And why is that?"
"You are aware of the meteor incoming over Siberia?"
"Tunguska – II, yeah it's all over the news."
"He claims there will be specimens on it, and he will give us a way into Russia without detection. And if the meteor is empty, he will still get us a specimen," Bob explained.
Ok, the hunters were pretty advanced; at least from Adrien's experience. Very doubtful they rode in on meteors. So this was something new. Or, maybe not.
"Specimens?" Adrien prompted.
"The other species, described by the survivors in the 2004 debriefs," Bob elaborated.
Ah yes, the parasites. He had read the debriefs of both events. As a matter of fact, it was a required read when you were onboarded.
In 2004, Weyland-Yutani's CEO funded an expedition to Bouvetøyen island for a historical discovery that ended in his death, as well as almost everyone else involved. The sole survivor described two extraterrestrial species in great detail.
Not but a few days later, Gunnison, Colorado had an outbreak of aliens in it, ending with the US government nuking the town, citing ordnance disposal gone wrong as a coverup story. The several survivors of that event also were detailed in their description of the two races.
It was thought that the two incidents were linked, but no connection was ever found. "And what do we pay for this information?" Adrien knew nothing came for free. At least not in their world.
"We are to extract a high value asset and relocate her to the United States."
"Excuse me. Her? You said her?" Adrien interrupted. He'd thought Bob had earlier referred to the Russian contact as male.
"You'll be briefed before extraction," Bob answered simply.
"So, I'll be taking a tour of Russia to taxi some woman around before attempting to capture hostile alien specimens."
"My contact assured me she will be very near to the specimens. No galavanting should be necessary."
"I remain skeptical. You know I don't speak Russian," Adrien protested. It sounded more like a Russian wanted an easy green card for his wife or girlfriend and was just making empty promises to get it.
Bob was losing patience. "I've also been assured her English is quite good. Now, get your gear together. You have to be in Alaska to take a submarine trip to a Russian oil rig near the Kamchatka Peninsula. Welcome back to the army, Adrien."
Adrien wasn't sure if Bob was trying to be insulting by calling him army, or if he really was that ignorant of the difference. Either way, he was not looking forward to the coming goose chase. Especially after a night of no sleep, and now it seemed he didn't even get to have his lunch.
He'd been looking forward to that lunch.
"Great…"