Babushka: Shadows of Betrayal (Book 2) - Chapter 2 - Yelena

Yelena consolidates her rule over Gred, navigating alliances and rivalries while uncovering secrets tied to power, transformation, and survival in a city teetering on the edge of renewal and conflict.

Yelena gazed over the vast sprawl of Gred, her city at last. The lights below shimmered like embers, igniting a fire deep in her chest. The city wasn’t just beneath her; its pulse thrummed in her veins, binding her to it in a shared, unyielding rhythm. Her fingers curled tightly at her sides as she let the enormity of it wash over her, the triumph tinged with the faint ache of all it had cost.

All this, now mine, she mused, the thought electric in her mind. Yet the city demanded more than marveling; it called her to shape its future without delay.

Drawn by that impulse, Yelena turned from the sprawling cityscape and entered the sanctum of her new boardroom.

The doors parted smoothly, their carbon fiber panels shimmering with crystalline patterns. Yelena’s gaze fixed on the monolithic black marble table at the room’s center. White veins streaked its polished surface, catching the overhead light as she adjusted her angle. Her fingers itched to interact with its embedded interfaces, knowing full well the holographic streams of data that would surge upward, transforming the stone into the nerve center of her rule.

Echoes of Zakharovna’s voice whispered in her mind, “You’re but the hen in this story.” Her smirk deepened as she watched the city’s million simulated moments, her thoughts tracing how far she had risen from the insignificance Zakharovna once cast upon her. No longer. She was the resounding force announcing a new day, the dominant call that stirred the city awake.

Yelena’s fingers glided over hardlight, pulling up the feed from Ms. Volkova’s holding cell. As the dim, shadowy confines of the chamber materialized on the screen, a rush of authority coursed through her. Every inch of Gred was under her watch, but it was this cell, this isolated prey, that consumed her attention most.

She recalled the final moments of their mortal struggle, the images sharp in her memory. Vesna’s burst of strength had been terrifying—the blinding speed, the precise movements. The Vesna she faced that day was different, transformed, and it left her grappling with an uncertainty she thought she had buried long ago—one she could not afford, not now, not as Director.

Yelena’s fingers lightly grazed the faint scar on her wrist, a biting testament to Vesna’s raw power, and a nagging question lingered: Why didn’t Vesna finish it when she had the upper hand?

The thought wouldn’t let go. Was there another force behind Vesna’s transformation, something she hadn’t accounted for? That question gnawed at her. But more pressing still was Zakharovna’s long and conspicuous absence. The doctor had a way of pulling strings from the shadows, leaving traces of her influence in the smallest shifts of power. But this time, Yelena had detected nothing. No whispers, no maneuvering. Just silence. And that unsettled her more than any scheme ever could. What was she planning?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft whoosh of the boardroom door. The room’s ambient noise faded as it eased open, revealing a towering figure. His long white beard almost melded with the ivory fabric of his lab coat, giving him the appearance of something spectral, unbound. But there was an ease in his movements, the measured gait of a man who had only recently shaken off his chains. Yelena’s jaw tightened. She’d put a stop to that soon enough.

“Dr. Rozhkov,” Yelena greeted with a nod, her voice steady, measured—performative. A calculated show of respect, just enough to keep him at ease. He returned her acknowledgment with a slight bow of his head. Taking a deep breath, she added, “There’s something that’s been bothering me. Why was I kept in the dark about Project Aisyt?”

Rozhkov sighed, the weight of endless decades evident. “In Praxis, where my work began, I learned the value of patience and secrecy. When Zakharovna was in power, she forbade Aisyt’s progression. My students, however, saw its potential and pursued it clandestinely.”

Yelena’s gaze sharpened. “You allowed it to continue under her nose?”

Rozhkov’s eyes held a trace of defiance. “It was a gamble. But the stakes? Monumental. They believed, and so did I.”

Absorbing this, Yelena paused, contemplating the scale of Aisyt and the potential it held. “Your expertise, Dr. Rozhkov, is invaluable. How about a seat on the new Board? Representing the University? Or what’s left of it.”

Rozhkov studied her, seeming to gauge the sincerity of the offer.

“In return,” Yelena added, “I’ll reinstate Project Aisyt, on one condition: it aligns with my vision for Gred.”

Rozhkov nodded slowly. “A mutually beneficial partnership, then. Let’s chart this new course, together,” he said.

The doors opened once more, and Klara and Marzanna stepped into the boardroom. Yelena had been anticipating their arrival. Her gaze flicked between the two newcomers and Dr. Rozhkov. The slightest shift in Klara’s expression—a twitch at the corner of her mouth, a narrowing of her eyes—didn’t escape Yelena’s notice. She’d expected Lev to be a complication. Klara had clearly hoped to get to him first.

Marzanna cleared her throat, her silver hair shimmering like a halo around her petite frame. “Dr. Rozhkov, it’s been too long,” she said. Her deep blue eyes locked intently on his.

“Indeed, Ms. Poplawski. Alaska seems lifetimes ago.”

Yelena felt her brow lift before she could stop it. “Alaska?”

Marzanna sighed softly. “I did mention this once, during the siege, but it’s understandable if it slipped your mind. We worked together by correspondence, through the Westwater Institute’s partnership with Praxis. Before the war, Dr. Rozhkov and I had a close working relationship.”

Klara’s voice cut in. “I found Marzanna in the Derge, left to die. But even there, she held onto a secret, something she’d managed to fix up all on her own.”

Yelena leaned in, her attention sharpening. “What secret?”

Marzanna’s fingers brushed a small vial she’d placed on the boardroom table, the glass catching the dim light.

“Enhanced exovegeta,” Marzanna said. “Produced with the aid of a remarkable compound found only in Alaska.” Her eyes locked onto Yelena’s, sharp with intent. “Extracted from ancient permafrost—preserved microorganisms that have survived thousands of years, locked in ice. Infected with a rare virus that, when activated, significantly promotes cellular regeneration. Even reverses the aging process.”

Yelena’s stomach tightened.

“Zakharovna recovered one of our samples,” Marzanna continued, her voice lowering. “And she used it on Vesna.”

Yelena’s breath hitched. “That’s how—”

“—Do you recall the pouch I handed you during our final confrontation with Vesna?” Marzanna cut in, her voice measured but insistent. “The powder you consumed before the fight. That was the last of the stable sample, Yelena. It’s why we managed to turn the tide of that battle.” She tapped the vial lightly against the table. “The same power that Vesna harnessed, you had a taste of. And the same power that now runs through my veins.”

Yelena’s mind flashed back to that moment, the sudden surge of energy she had felt but hadn’t truly understood, the memories having come and gone in fits since that fateful day. “That was...from the powder? I had no idea of its potency. And now?” she asked, taken aback by the realization. “What’s the plan?”

“To stabilize our supply. That is, if we recover our research data. Think of the potential benefits for Gred’s citizens.”

Rozhkov added, “A game-changer, Yelena. For all Gred.”

Yelena leaned back. “Ksenija Fedorova. I’ve heard whispers about her clandestine operations in the underground labs. So, she’s been working with you on this?”

Marzanna pursed her lips, looking somewhat reluctant. “She’s been...let’s say, experimenting. Trying to refine and stabilize the process. Her results, though...well, they’ve been mixed. She experimented on children...”

Rozhkov shook his head. “The psychological toll...”

Yelena’s thoughts raced. “Ksenija was always ambitious...”

Rozhkov sighed. “We hoped for a controlled reversal, a chance to give Gred’s citizens more youthful years.”

Marzanna added, “But with your resources and direction, Yelena, I believe we can correct the process. We can refine the exovegeta and ensure its controlled application.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Yelena said. “Together. We’ll harness this discovery for the benefit of Gred, not play gods with it.” She paused, her gaze sweeping over the faces of those in the room—Marzanna Poplawski, Klara Chaban, Dr. Lev Rozhkov. These were no longer just scattered allies or potential rivals. They were the beginnings of her new Board, the foundation of something far more resilient than the fractured order that had come before.

But as the group began discussing their next steps, Klara shifted uneasily in her seat. “There’s another complication. The Sorokin girl...erm, Nina’s estranged daughter...has become involved.”

At the mention of the young woman, Lev’s expression tightened. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. “You mean Alexei’s...?”

“The very same,” Klara confirmed. “After her mother’s...unfortunate demise, she had grown...unpredictable.”

Yelena frowned. “What does she have to do with all this?”

“Serafim managed to infiltrate Fedorova’s labs. She stole critical data. Without it, our progress is stymied,” Marzanna put in.

Yelena felt a surge of annoyance. “Why would she do that?”

Klara exhaled. “There are rumors...whispers that she blamed the Syndicate and its allies for her mother’s death. All true, of course.” Klara’s eyes flicked toward Yelena as she said it, the briefest of glances, but enough for Yelena to catch the unspoken accusation. Almost as if Klara was laying the blame squarely at her feet.

Yelena felt the weight of that look but remained impassive. She had expected this. Yes, she had been harsh with Baroness Nina Grigoreva, but the situation had demanded it. The old fox had meddled too often, steering events toward disaster. The Syndicate’s fragile order had crumbled, leaving Yelena with no choice but to make the harsh decision she had. Even now, she clung to its necessity amid the chaos.

“Regardless of her reasons, she’s dead now, and we need that data back,” Klara said. “It contains vital information, decades of research. It’s irreplaceable. If we could recover Serafim’s body, and assuming Zakharovna indeed took it, which seems likely, then we might be able to extract the data with a mindgraft, provided the neural tissue hasn’t decayed. The problem is that nobody knows where the old bag is hiding the body. We’ve scoured all her known hideouts and come up empty.”

Dr. Rozhkov nodded solemnly. “If Zakharovna has taken Serafim’s body, she’s likely to have kept it preserved for her own purposes. We must intercept her before, or if, she disposes of it.”

Yelena’s gaze drifted to the cityscape behind her, pondering their next move. “Then we tighten the net. We monitor every known associate, tap into the black market, offer a bounty for information—whatever it takes. We must prepare for every contingency. Notify all teams to be on high alert and initiate the extended surveillance protocols. Serafim’s knowledge is too valuable to fall into the wrong hands.”

The murmurs of their strategy session faded as Yelena’s attention snapped to the hardlight projector. A flare of sharp light, then a figure materialized—a woman in black and yellow military garb, her uniform pulsing against the dark marble like a hornet nesting in shadow. Crimson epaulets flared outward, a warning in four dimensions.

The rhythmic thud of virtual boots echoed faintly. Yelena tracked the approach, eyes locking onto the hardlight projection of an old woman standing at attention. Aviator shades masked her gaze, but the sharp green glow beneath them cut through. Her red hair was bound tight beneath a black cap, every inch of her a soldier.

“Ma’am, I have an on-site report from the clashes at Konstantin Bay.”

“Proceed, General,” Yelena instructed, gauging the subtle tension in Zhukova’s posture even through the projection.

“Our forces have held firm on the front, but there’s been a development with the Admiralty’s fleet,” Zhukova’s said. “During a calculated feint, the traitor Lagunov exploited a gap, breaking through with a flotilla to the north. We believe they’re seeking refuge near Karaginskiy Island.”

The tapping returned, unbidden, her fingers drumming a staccato against the table before she consciously noticed the rhythm. “An unexpected maneuver,” Yelena said. “But not insurmountable. Lagunov’s tenacity will ultimately be their downfall.”

Zhukova’s nod was a brief dip on the display. “Our sleeper agents in the area are vigilant. We’ll intercept any attempt to consolidate their position.”

Yelena considered the grid map hovering in front of her, her finger tracing potential counter-moves along the digital coastline. “Fortify Kosatka Harbor. The eastern front must be impenetrable. As for Lagunov, isolate and neutralize—discreetly.”

“We’re already mobilizing the necessary assets,” Zhukova affirmed, her confidence voxelated but potent. “The Hive will suffer no rivals.”

As the two women exchanged understanding glances, Yelena felt the weight of unfolding events press down on her again. The city she had fought for, bled for, ruled now in name and force, was still restless beneath her grip. The chessboard of power was shifting, the pieces moving whether she willed it or not—but she would be the one to dictate the final arrangement. She had not come this far to let Gred slip through her fingers.

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