(A/N): Okay, so I know I said last time that I'd be doing Signal From Beyond next, and I do still intend to do that. But I realized as I started writing and planning the chapters for that mission that there were some things and ideas I needed to set up first, so we're doing another "bottle episode" type chapter focused mostly on characters and developments. Thanks for being patient thus far, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!
It was an ordinary, quiet morning at the Bureau - for what qualified as normal and quiet anyways.
Summer Rose had her tongue sticking out of her lips as she balanced on one foot, her other leg pushing against the side of an alien weapons locker as she pulled on a crowbar straining against the hatch. The amount of salvage recovered from the most recent operations had been staggering, ranging from weapons and energy cells to computer systems and drop pods. Normally Doctor Dresner would open these lockers with less delicate (and labor-intensive) methods, but for this particular unit, he had detected something very valuable inside, one he didn't dare damage with acid or laser cutters. So it fell to her and her "unusual strength" to open the box while he and Carter stood off to the side, the German doctor's eyes glistening with glee as if he was a child receiving a Winter Festival present.
"Try to push with your legs more," said Carter as he adjusted his hat. "Give more leverage."
Summer scoffed. "Could you at least pretend to be helping?"
Carter shrugged. "I guess, if you want. You're doing good. You've almost got it. You're amazing."
The dry, unenthusiastic tone just made Summer roll her silver eyes. "Nevermind. Forget I said anything." Not that she needed his encouragement - she could feel the lid of the weapons locker start to give under her efforts. Just a little more force, and…
CLANG.
SCREEEE!
"Aieee!"
The weapons locker and the crowbar were sent tumbling to the ground as Summer fell backwards, eyes locked on the shifting mass of black and silver goop within. The Silacoid, rather annoyed that its hiding spot had just been exposed, coiled itself up and lunged at the woman that had disturbed its nap. Summer took a deep breath in anticipation of another suffocating experience…
...only to let it out in a sigh of relief as she saw it hang suspended in mid-air.
She looked over at Carter, whose left hand was raised and glowing with that familiar azure light, and gave a nod of thanks. The hatted man returned it, then used his telekinesis to float the Silacoid over to himself and Dresner. The small shapeless creature spiraled and flowed in the ever-shifting field of gravity, preferring to swim in the air than try to lash out. Summer had to admit, it was almost an impressive display...if that same creature hadn't just tried to eat her face.
"Fascinating," hummed Dresner as he swiveled additional lenses into place on his glasses, leaning in for a closer look. "What we first assumed to be a genetically-engineered bioplasm seems instead to be a silicon-based amorphous life form, one with a rudimentary intelligence and modified with a species-compatible variant of the Mosaic Implants. Truly fascinating."
"Wait," said Summer, "you knew that thing was inside there?! And you had me open it up anyways?"
"I had suspicions, based on the spectral analysis results of the container," said the doctor, seemingly ignoring the exasperation in the questions. "But I couldn't know for sure, and I didn't want to risk damaging such a delicate specimen. The opportunity to study a live Silacoid is a rare one indeed - most of these creatures encountered by agents are thoroughly destroyed to the point of being useless to study."
"Gee, I can't possibly imagine why," groaned Summer as she pulled herself to her feet.
Carter chose to ignore her sarcasm. "And you're sure I can just...take control of this thing?"
"The alien artifact that's bonded to you is constantly emitting the same kind of signals that the Mosaic Implants are configured to receive," explained Dresner with a nod. "In time, you may even be able to impose your own will in the Zudjari over that of Mosaic's. For now, though, try to channel your 'will' into the Silacoid."
"Right. And how do I do that?"
"You are the one with the artifact. Do what you feel works best."
Summer watched as Carter grimaced, stared hard at the swirling Silacoid for a moment, then reached into the mass of black and gray with his other hand. The lack of response on his face made it clear he wasn't in pain - the Silacoid gave no reaction either, merely flowing around the hand that dipped into its body and treating it as a natural obstacle. It was only when Carter's finger made contact with a small silver sphere deep within that prompted a change in behavior, as the alien entity rippled like the surface of a disturbed lake.
Carter's telekinesis faded a second later, and the Silacoid fell back to the floor in an unceremonious plop and a sickening squelch. Everyone stared at the mass of flesh-eating ooze, afraid to move in fear of triggering an attack. But rather than act aggressively, the Silacoid reformed itself a few seconds later, taking the shape of a mound with a peaked protrusion that Summer could only call a "face".
It "stared" up at Dresner, and he hummed in fascination.
Then it "turned" to Carter, who simply stared right back.
Finally, it "looked" at Summer, and she bit her lower lip.
Is it...waiting for one of us to do something? she thought.
Puzzled, she tilted her head to the left. Perplexingly, the Silacoid mirrored her action, tilting its protrusion. She tilted her head to the right, and it copied that as well. She got down on one knee and stared hard at the creature, and it slithered forward and extended itself to close the distance.
"...you're not going to attack me, are you?" Summer asked as she cautiously reached out with one hand.
The answer seemed to be a solid "no," because as soon as her hand came close enough, it nuzzled its "face" against her palm and trilled softly. To her surprise (and relief), the surface of the Silacoid didn't burn or try to absorb her - instead, it felt soft and warm, like velvet sheets that had just been pulled out of a washing machine.
"...very fascinating," observed Dresner. "It appears that Herr Carter's ability 'reset' its allegiances, and is now imprinting on a new owner. Perhaps these creatures were once regarded as pets by the Zudjari? Very interesting questions...very interesting indeed…"
"Yeah, well, it better not start cuddling up to me like that," grumbled Carter. He looked at the doctor. "Now let's see how it reacts to its old masters."
"Excellent suggestion. Fraulein Rose, you may wish to stand back...go ahead and hit the button, Herr Roberts."
The attendant in the observation area nodded and did just that, opening a steel cage not far from where the trio stood. A nervous-looking Sectoid was pushed out of its holding cell by a sliding wall, chittering and cursing at its prison as the door bars dropped back into place. The almond-eyed, blue-gray little alien turned and surveyed the room, as if it was looking for possible escape routes when it suddenly went ramrod stiff.
As if a switch had flipped, the Silacoid lunged away from Summer and surged towards the alien captive. The Sectoid's eyes somehow managed to go even wider as it turned tail and ran back to its now-sealed enclosure, pulling on the bars and squeakily demanding to return to its prison. It turned just in time to see the mass of gray-black goo wash over it like a small tidal wave, engulfing the Sectoid and dragging it away. Even though Summer couldn't see what was happening to the alien captive, she could hear just how unpleasant it was based on the shrill screams, and though she loathed Sectoids she couldn't help but feel just a little bit sorry for this one.
"Remarkable…" mused Dresner once more, making notes into his clipboard. "It must have some way of identifying friends or foes based on who it imprints upon. Maybe it's some form of latent psychic link? Or it treats all species other than that of its host as hostile? Hmm...need to run further tests..."
"There'd better be some way to make it stop," said Carter, "In case it decides to start snacking on our side again."
"Maybe you can call it back?" asked Summer. "You're the one who 'turned' it, after all."
Carter furrowed his brow, then pulled a fist back towards his chest. Immediately the Silacoid stopped its assault and slithered back over to the group, leaving a still-breathing (but heavily traumatized) Sectoid behind. Instead of going to Carter's side, however, it swirled up and around Summer's body until it eventually rested most of its mass on her shoulder, nuzzling its face-like protrusion against her cheek while chittering softly.
"Thought you said I controlled it," growled Carter.
"You may control its actions, but not its behavior, Herr Carter," said Dresner pointedly. "Though this is fascinating…maybe it's because it responded to her first, or it's coded to respond to your subconscious desires, or maybe…"
The Silacoid gave a small, continuous little sound that could only be described as purring.
"Or maybe he just likes me better," said Summer with a smirk as she scratched the Silacoid's head. "I think we should name him 'Silas', don't you think Carter?"
The gray-hatted man scowled. "I'm not giving that thing a name."
"Aww, why not? Look at him, he's so cuddly!"
"Yeah, and I saw what its 'cuddles' did ten seconds ago. I'm not naming the damn Silacoid."
Silas gave a sad-sounding warble, hiding protectively behind Summer's head. Her motherly instincts took over, raising her hands to shield her baby from the mean man glaring daggers at the upset little creature.
"Now look what you've done," whined Summer with a small pout. "You hurt his feelings."
"It doesn't have feelings." Carter's brow softened a bit, then he looked to Dresner. "Does it?"
The German doctor could only shrug with an amused smile. "Who's to say? It will warrant further observation...as will the two of you..."
Summer froze. "...and why is that?" she asked cautiously.
"Forgive me if I overstep my position," said Dresner with a wicked grin, "But the way you two bicker and banter with each other...it reminds me very much of an old married couple."
On the one hand, she was glad Dresner's speculation wasn't about her origin.
On the other hand, this was infinitely worse.
"We're not a couple," said Summer and Carter, almost at the same time. They blinked and stared at each other, horrified, as Dresner's grin grew wider.
"If you insist," he said. "For now, simply drop the specimen -"
"His name is Silas," interjected Summer.
"- into the beaker, and I will work with Weir to develop a holding tank on your field pack for Silas to occupy when not deployed."
Carter furrowed his brow again, glaring at Summer before turning on his heel. She simply stuck her tongue out at him behind his back, which Silas mimicked. She gave her new friend one more nuzzle before she plopped him into a glass jar, specifically going out of her way to avoid eye contact with her squad leader on the way out.
Her and Carter? An item? Absolutely ridiculous.
Then again...ending up on an alien world was pretty ridiculous too, and yet here she was.
"You can't be serious!"
Faulke watched impassively as his guest slammed the top of his office desk with both of her fists. Most men, when confronted with the sight of an angry Weaver, would immediately run for their lives - and if that anger was directed at them, the retreat was usually complicated by soiled pants. But Faulke was not like most men; he hardly flinched at the outburst, he stayed sitting in the chair across from her, and his pants were exceptionally clean today.
"Officer Weaver," said Faulke calmly as he folded his hands and rested his elbows on his desk. "If I wasn't being serious, I would be smiling as I made the proposal. As you can see, I am not smiling."
Weaver narrowed her glare. "So you're seriously suggesting that we send all our girls out there to fight and die instead of the men?"
"Not all of them," clarified Faulke, pushing his glasses back into place. "Only those that volunteer for Agent training. I won't force this battle onto anyone, man or woman."
"No, you'll just guilt them into helping you like you always do," growled Weaver. "Like you did with Carter."
"They approached me regarding the matter, Angela," said Faulke, pointedly ignoring the attempt at misdirection at the end. "Much like a certain someone I once knew, in fact. We have women on this base who want to fight just as badly as the men, to the point where one of our Commandos pretended to be a man in order to do so. I believe they deserve the same chance to do just that, to fight for what's important to them."
Weaver scowled, then turned her attention to the list on the desk. "Some of these, I'll admit, make sense. Like Walters. Her father was Navy and she went to college to study field medicine, and her friends went into the Army, so she's at least had exposure to military life. But...Bailey? Crawford? Cohen?! These are civilians, Faulke - comms operators and laundry girls who've never fired a gun in their life. If you send them to fight aliens, they will die. How can you possibly justify that?"
Faulke raised an eyebrow. "I seem to recall a time where a young deli clerk practically begged me for a chance to prove herself and join the fight. If you don't mind me saying, that woman's doing quite well for herself, even becoming one of my top agents. I would have thought she'd personally know that with enough training and experience, anyone can learn to fight."
Said former deli clerk rolled her eyes. "That was recon, Myron. This is war."
"You say that like there's a difference."
Weaver glowered at him, trying to stare him down until he reconsidered. It would have worked, had he not been the one to teach her that.
Finally, she sighed, pacing across the room and leaning against the back wall. "...this was her idea, wasn't it?"
And there it was. The root issue that Weaver really had with the new policy. Faulke took a slow, patient draft of his cigarette to compose his thoughts before speaking in a calm, rational tone.
"While I'll admit that Agent Rose was rather...persuasive in pushing for expanding our recruitment standards, the fact remains that we've taken heavy losses as of late. We've lost too many agents, and not enough men want to take their place. In this case, Rose has a point - we can't afford to turn away people who want to fight simply because of something they can't change. Surely you can admit that, at least."
Weaver growled. "Maybe. It's just...what if she has some kind of ulterior motive with this? Or what if she's a Soviet plant? I've searched the census records myself, and I haven't seen the name 'Summer Rose' come up anywhere. And there's no way she really has amnesia. She's deliberately hiding her past."
In all the years Faulke had known Weaver, he'd seen a lot of emotions she had tried and failed to clamp down on. Anger, rage, disgust, even happiness once upon a time. But never in a million years would he have imagined he'd see what jealousy looked like on his second-in-command.
And it was not a good look.
Not that he was gonna bring it up in front of her. He wasn't suicidal.
"I agree," said Faulke diplomatically. "Agent Rose certainly seems to have her share of skeletons in the closet, as it were. But I trust her for the same reason I trust you, Carter, DaSilva, Cole, Loveday, and every other man and woman in this base - actions speak louder than words. As long as she continues to fight for humanity, I will show her the respect she is due."
Weaver walked back across the room and stared hard into Faulke's eyes, which he returned. "And what if it turns out she's not who she says she is?"
"Then she will be dealt with accordingly."
That seemed a satisfactory enough answer, as the leader of Strike One finally softened her gaze. She looked back down at the list of prospective new female agents, and sighed.
"I still don't like this," she grumbled. "The stuff I've seen as an Agent...I wouldn't wish that on anyone. But if you're convinced that this'll work, that it's necessary...then I guess I'll have to trust your judgment. It's gotten us this far, at least."
Not an endorsement, but not an opposition either. Probably the best outcome Faulke could have hoped for.
"Then I'll begin arrangements for some of our senior staff to oversee their basic training," confirmed Faulke. He looked down and began filling out the paperwork. "I don't suppose you'd have any interest in being an instructor, would you?"
When he got no response, he looked up to realize that Weaver had already left.
"Guess that's a 'no,'" he mumbled to himself as he shook his head.
"...and that's the general diagnosis, sir. Any questions?"
Nils had a lot of questions. Like "why aren't Kinney and Redmond and DaSilva back yet?" Or "how am I supposed to fight without my legs?" And even "we can build shield generators and laser Rifles, but we can't even remove a tiny little bullet from the human spine yet?" But asking such questions wouldn't help, and would only serve to worsen his already-foul mood.
So instead, he just lay there like a useless paralyzed pile of shit, hands gripping the sheets as he glared at the orderly reading the medical chart.
Elizabeth Walters at least seemed to have a better grasp on the concept of politeness. "Can you give us a few moments to talk things over in private?"
The orderly nodded, stepping back out the door and closing it behind him. Nils shifted his glare to the wall, feeling a pair of hands rub across his shoulders but refusing to look at the source.
"Tell me what you're thinking, please," said Elizabeth, letting the professionalism in her voice drop. "What's on your mind, Tom?"
Nils sighed, lowering the intensity of his glare as he turned to his wife-to-be. "I don't know, Liz. I don't know what to think. This...shouldn't have happened. There has to be a way to fix it...to get me out there again…"
"You heard the diagnosis," said Walters, firmly but kindly. "It did happen, and we can't fix it. Not yet at least. Physical therapy and investigations into Outsider medical technology might restore some functionality, but...that could take years."
"And we don't have that kind of time," grunted Nils. "Earth doesn't have that kind of time. The Bureau needed me because I was a damn good shot and could plug a target from a hundred yards, human or alien. What the hell am I supposed to do now that I can't even walk?"
"There's lots of things you could help out with," offered Walters. "Other tasks that don't require you to use your legs. Like the Editing Room. You have steady hands, you could help with the work there - "
"And become an alcoholic recluse like Cole?" Nils cut in with a scoff. "No thanks."
Elizabeth frowned. "What about engineering? Weir could always use an extra pair of hands to disassemble those alien weapons, or even build new ones - "
"That's Kinney's wheelhouse, not mine," he grumbled. "I couldn't put together a carburetor if you gave me the instruction manual."
"Comms, then." Her brow furrowed. "You've got a sharp mind, I'm sure Chulski would appreciate someone as smart as you working the - "
"Would you just stop already?!" snapped Nils, brushing her hand off his shoulder angrily. "I don't need this right now!"
Now Liz was angry too. Never a pretty sight. "Oh, well excuse me for trying to help!"
"You can help by finding a way to fix my legs!"
"Were you even listening to the diagnosis? Your legs can't be fixed right now. The Infiltrator hurt you in a way that you can't just recover from - "
"Then maybe he should have stuck around and finished the job!"
The room went quiet enough for the sound of a dropping pin to be deafening. Liz covered her mouth, eyes widening. Nils himself blinked, as if he didn't realize the meaning of what he'd just said, then sighed and sunk deeper into the bed, one hand clenching his temples.
"...fuck."
Liz gave no reply, didn't admonish him for swearing like she usually did. She simply reached out to take his free hand in both of hers, squeezing and stroking warmly and lovingly. He did his best to entangle his fingers with hers, but the outburst had taken the anger with it, and replaced it only with an all-encompassing sadness. He couldn't speak even if he wanted to; she didn't press further or scold him, instead letting her hands talk on her behalf.
Moments into the silence, Liz finally spoke in a tiny voice.
"...do you...really feel that way?" she asked quietly. "Like...you'd rather be dead than live like this?"
Nils searched within himself, and sighed.
"...no," he finally admitted. "No, I'm not feeling suicidal or anything like that. It's just...all my friends, and the people I love - Kinney, Redmond, Steel, DaSilva, Rose, and even you, now - are all fighting to save the world from the alien bastards, but all I ever seem to do is get shot to shit and cause problems when I should be the ones protecting them. Everyone else is out there in the fight of their lives, and all I can do is lay here like dead meat. What if something happens to them out there that I could have stopped? What if something happens to you out there, and I…"
Tears pooled in his eyes, cutting him off from what he was about to say. The words weren't needed, as the newest Support agent-in-training wrapped both arms around his waist, pulling him close and pressing his face against her shoulder. He returned the hug as best he could, squeezing her as tight as he could and not wanting to let go.
"I know you're worried," she choked out, tears of her own evident in her voice. "And I can't promise that something like that won't ever happen. I know it feels like you're not doing anything meaningful...but you're the reason I signed on to be an Agent just a few days ago. You're a good person, Tom, and every day where the world is able to see your smile and beautiful mind is a good day. A day worth fighting for...a day worth protecting."
She ran her fingers through his messy hair. "You've fought to protect me all your life, dear. Now it's my turn to do the same. I can't give you back your legs...but I can sure as fuck give the aliens hell for taking yours."
Nils choked out a chuckle, doing his best to rock her in his arms playfully. "Elizabeth Walters...is that a filthy word out of your mouth? Should we have one of the orderlies get some soap?"
Liz giggled tearfully. "I'll pass, thanks. Although…" She inhaled deeply, then laughed again. "...you really could use a bar of it right about now. You smell terrible."
Despite his sorrow, he let out another laugh. "Yeah, well...can't exactly hop into the shower now, can I? Though if you're offering to join me…"
He could feel her cheeks heating up against his in response to his teasing. "One, not till we're actually married. Two, you'd still have to stand up. And three, we don't know if that part even works anymore…"
"I can think of a way to find out."
Liz was just about to ask how, before he pressed her lips over hers, kissing her deeply and running his hands down her waist. He could feel her smile as she leaned into him, heard her try and fail to stifle a giggle as his fingertips brushed gently against her ticklish sides. Her tongue plunged past his lips and her own hands caressed his neck and cheek, sending shivers down his spine that could only be caused by the touch of the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world.
Whatever was eating away inside of Nils, it seemed to lessen at the sound of her voice. At the sight of her smile. At the taste of her lips.
Maybe that was all the reason he needed to live.
"Good morning, Mister Alien! Time for breakfast!"
The world came back into focus in a hazy blur, and he awoke yet again to the shrill voice of his "caretaker" piercing his ears. With a groan and a shake of his head, he glared down at a container of what might generously be called "sustenance".
"Chef's surprise again, as usual," said the human female sitting across from him with a hideously cheerful smile. "Don't worry, though - I told Van Doorn to leave out the eggs this time. I know your metabolism did not like that the other day. Okay then...open wide!"
The feeding process was a messy affair, but he learned early on that struggling would only make things worse. So he sat still and endured the horrific experience, and when it was done, the woman pulled out what looked like a sharpened metal pin and a spool of thread.
Ah. So torture was on the agenda today.
"You don't mind if I do a bit of sewing while we sit and chat, do you? The boys go through so many outfits when they're off fighting aliens, and there's only so much time in the day."
At the lack of response aside from a venomous glare, the human female (or "woman", rather) merely shrugged and pulled an article of clothing from a box on the floor and set it on the table. A moment of blissful silence passed as she focused intently on using the thread to mend a large hole, sticking the needle through the cloth and pulling in complex motions.
The peace didn't last long.
"I'll bet you Outsiders don't have this problem," she said as she scrubbed a dark stain out of a white patch. "Do you wear clothes? Do you wear your armor and stuff even when you're not fighting? Or is it not even armor and you're just naked all the time?"
He raised an eyebrow, mouth flaps pressing inwards. This woman had an alien life form right in front of her, and she was asking such inane questions? Why wasn't she lobbing accusations at him and threatening to dismember him like the other humans who came to monitor him?
Perhaps she thought her voice was torture enough.
"You probably think I'm weird, huh?" She looked up from her work, resting her hands on the table. "A lot of people do. When you came in, a lot of people died. Including my boyfriend."
Ah. There it was. A motive for her to attempt to kill him where he sat. He'd received many threats of a similar nature since capture. A dead brother, a fallen friend, a traumatized comrade. Surely this woman was no different.
"I should be mad at you," she said, "That's what everyone says, anyways. But...he was kind of an abusive, manipulative creep anyways, who always called me stupid and worthless. I was gonna go and tell the Director about his behavior...but I guess because of you, I don't have to now. So I guess I should thank you."
...okay, what the seventeen hells was wrong with this woman?
"I think I'll hold off on dating for a little bit," said the woman as she resumed her sewing. "Men are weird anyways. Always think they're better than us...maybe I'll try dating a woman next. Or an Outsider." She looked up at him. "Do you have female Outsiders?"
He scowled. Of course there were female Outsiders! They were the ones who helmed the colony ships and tended to Mosaic and bred with only the strongest Outsider warriors and -
Wait.
Was this woman actually...trying to learn about the Zudjari? Not to get some kind of upper hand...but just out of natural curiosity?
"What's your homeworld like?" Her mind had switched tracks. "Is it hot? Cold? Dry? Wet? Where is your home?"
If this woman was going to pester him with questions, then maybe at the very least he could answer a few.
"...nowhere."
"Hmm?" The woman looked at him with surprise, like she wasn't actually expecting an answer.
"The Zudjari homeworld is...gone. We destroyed it ourselves."
She looked down at her sewing, and hummed thoughtfully. "Well...that didn't sound like a very smart thing to do."
"It wasn't done by choice," he snarled. Then his tone softened. "...not by conscious choice, at least. It was the result of our hubris and desire to conquer and expand...when we ran out of land to take over, we traveled inwards, deeper and deeper into the ground until we exposed the very core of our world. We were forced to flee to the stars as our home collapsed around us. Many did not escape.."
"Oh…" said the woman, pursing her weird horizontal lips. She looked down, then up. "So...where do you live now?"
"On colony ships that travel the galaxies," he answered, "scouting out new worlds suitable for habitation. When we find one, we bring our main vessel, our…'Temple' ship into orbit to conquer it, and leave behind half of our crew when the conquest is complete. Then our Temple ship departs with the rest of our population, and the cycle begins anew."
"I see…" hummed the woman thoughtfully. "And this 'Temple' ship...does it have something to do with Mosaic?"
He clamped his mouth shut. He may not have heard Mosaic's voice in his mind anymore, but he wasn't about to sell out his own kind.
The woman, as if sensing she wouldn't get any more answers about Mosaic, merely shrugged again and went back to sewing. His eyes tracked the needle once more, trying to discern if there was a pattern. She worked her way through about ten different outfits before she finally put her needles away and put the clothes back in the basket.
"Well, my shift is almost over, so I guess I gotta say goodbye for now, Mister Alien. Let's talk again sometime! Maybe next time you'll even tell me your name."
There was a part of him that wasn't looking forward to that. Names and individuality were something that common Outsiders had given up a long time ago. With Mosaic there to guide them, there was no need for identification. Everyone knew everyone, everyone felt everyone, and everyone was everyone.
But...he wasn't part of Mosaic anymore. That connection, that voice in his mind was gone.
"...Vaxil."
"Hmm?" The woman tilted her head in curiosity.
"My name," he repeated. "Vaxil."
The corners of the woman's lips lifted in a strange display. "Well, thank you for sharing Mister Vaxil! I'm Catherine Crawford. It's a pleasure to meet you!"
She extended a hand, presumably to shake his. Unfortunately, his wrists were still bound behind his seat, so all he could do was stare at the offered hand.
"Oh...right. Um...see you later, Mister Vaxil!"
And after patting his head twice, she picked up her box and walked away, humming to herself.
The Infiltrator was left with many things to ponder as he bowed his head and closed his eyes, returning to slumber.
"All Agents Second Rank and above, please report to Sub-Level Three, Sector Zulu."
Summer looked up from her cards at the sound of Chulski's voice blaring over the intercoms, already setting them down and rising to her feet. Carter, Adam, Knox, and Dawson followed suit, and soon they were all hurrying down the hallways and the stairs.
"Didn't know we even had a Sector Zulu," remarked Adam as the squad took the stairs two at a time.
"Not officially, we don't," said Dennis Cole from not too far behind. "Unofficially, it's where XCOM's most secret of secret projects are being worked on. Only a handful of people are even allowed to know about those projects, much less work on them."
Carter nodded in greeting to his fellow Strike Team leader. "Well, it sounds like Faulke is letting more people in on the secret. So whatever they're working on, it must be huge, and it must be ready enough to spill the beans."
"Maybe we'll finally get to see what Shen's always ditching us for," said Dawson with a smirk. "Can't possibly imagine why he wouldn't want to hang out with us otherwise."
I can think of a few, thought Summer, but she said nothing. She merely let the men chatter and speculate, noting that Knox stayed mostly quiet as well. When they arrived at the door to Sector Zulu (or Z-Sec, as some called it), a pair of agents she didn't recognize performed a screening test on each person, either waving them through to decontamination or turning them away.
"I told you, I'm Second Rank, I swear!" The agent in front of Summer protested. "I just received my promotion this morning!"
"Nice try, Specialist Patton," said the unamused guard, "but you're not fooling anybody. Second Rank and above only. Can't risk any security leaks."
"You can't hide the truth from me!" Patton declared before he was unceremoniously dragged away by a pair of burly-looking agents. "I'll find out what's back there eventually!"
"Uh huh," replied the guard. "What's behind this door is on a need-to-know basis, and right now you don't need to know. Alright then. Agent Rose, spread out your arms and hold still please."
One quick pat down and a cold misty shower later, Summer Rose was on the other side of the door and taking in the sight of the Bureau's most well-kept secrets.
And what a sight it was!
She was standing in what seemed to be a small soundproof observatory with windows that seemed to encompass the entire back wall, giving a view of every inch of the facility. The entirety of Sector Z resembled an underground hangar, bigger and more spacious than anywhere else in the base. A digging crew was excavating and moving solid rock from one corner, threatening to expand the place even more. Piles upon piles of both wooden and alien crates lined the walls and floors, with people in full hazmat suits carefully monitoring and opening them with steady hands and bated breaths. Jackhammers and drills and welding torches and other mechanical tools created a chorus of sound that not even the windows of the observatory could hold back, the walls only managing to turn the chaotic roar into a quiet whisper.
And right in the middle of the floor, in full view of the observation area, was the unmistakable frame of an Outsider Command Ship.
"Whoa…" she breathed. "When did we salvage a whole ship?"
"We didn't. Well, not completely at least."
Summer turned on the spot to see Shen already standing there, wiping his grease-stained hands on a nearby towel and removing his safety glasses. He smiled at her, which she was more than eager to return.
"Congrats on your promotion to Second Rank, Summer," said the young Engineer as he extended a hand towards her. "You'll be an Officer by next month at the rate you're going."
Despite said hand still stained with unknown fluids, Summer shook the hand gratefully. "Thanks, though I'd rather not climb the ranks that quickly. Last thing I need is to give Weaver another reason to hate me."
Shen chuckled. "Ah, I doubt she hates you. Strongly dislike you? Maybe. Distrust you? Sure. But I couldn't see her outright hating you just for being yourself. You two have more in common than you might think."
"Yeah, and that's precisely the problem," said Summer with a roll of her eyes. "But that's not important right now. What is this place?"
"Faulke will explain in more detail once everyone gets here," said Shen. "For now, just feel free to look around. Just don't touch any buttons or leave this room. Not unless you wanna be shot on sight."
Summer froze.
"I'm kidding," laughed Shen, then with a straight face, he added, "Well...mostly."
With a nod, the homeless huntress chose to watch as more agents filed into the room, observing their reactions and taking note of who arrived. The rest of her squad soon joined her and Shen one by one, wandering over to their corner and looking out the window to the marvels beyond. Knox squinted and rubbed his eyes, Adam's jaw dropped, and even Carter's eyes widened slightly. Shen beamed at their reactions, his smile growing and glowing brighter with every person that came in. His pride and satisfaction rose with the number of onlookers, and Summer noticed it wasn't an arrogant sort of pride, but the kind of pride that came with knowing that he'd done a good job, taking joy in the fact that others were enjoying it as well.
More agents filed in. Dennis Cole and Howard Vahlen from Strike Four stood off to the side, watching vigilantly. Briggs and Loveday rolled in to represent Strike Five, followed by the Mucallins. Summer noted with a smile how Jack no longer had her long red hair or chest concealed, instead sporting an olive-green tank top that showed off her more womanly features. She looked over at Summer, and the two women shared a smile.
Most of Strike One came in too, with Faulke in tow. Summer's heart sank. It was disheartening (but not surprising) to not see Nils among those that had gathered.
Dawson let out a low whistle as he joined the rest of Strike Three. "So this is what you've been doing in your spare time."
"More efficient than playing cards, I'd say," said Shen with a smile. "And just as much fun too!"
"Well, if you ever decide to join us for a drink upstairs, it's on me," said Carter with a nod as he looked out the window at the centerpiece on display. "You've more than earned it."
"Damn right. It's pretty impressive," agreed Knox. Then he raised an eyebrow. "What is it, exactly?"
"Patience, old man." Shen smirked. "Faulke will explain everything. Try not to have a heart attack in the next five minutes from all the shock."
Knox gave a shit-eating grin. "Calling me old, huh? Well you better watch out, cause someday you're gonna wake up old and gray and wrinkly and your back's gonna hurt every time you move."
"I'll personally come and visit you in the retirement home if that day comes."
"You do that and I'll personally haunt your ass for the rest of your life. The whole three weeks of it at that point."
The sound of Faulke clearing his throat interrupted the banter, and every Agent in the room (Summer included) turned to look at him. Somehow, Weir and Dresner had suddenly appeared next to him, as if teleported or moved there like chess pieces. Summer figured they'd probably just come in from the floor like Shen had done.
"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," said the Director, his voice carrying to every corner of the room. "Our Research and Development teams have worked extremely hard to keep us equipped and outfitted enough to start putting up a fight against the Outsiders. When I said a few months ago that we'd need to make their weapons our own to win, I was not being figurative, and you've all done a stellar job at taking that command to heart."
He spared a moment to nod to Carter, who nodded back tersely.
"However...there's only so much we can do by scavenging and salvaging. Laser weapons and power packs may win us battles, but it won't win the war. In order to truly turn the tide of this conflict, we need to think bigger. Think outside the box. Take the technology of our enemy...and turn it into something new."
A rare smile graced Faulke's face as he gestured outside the window.
"Which is why today...I humbly present to you our most well-kept secret. A hybrid of alien flight technology and our very own Skyranger designs. An 'unidentified flying object' of our very own. The weapon that will win the war."
He paused for a moment, letting the gravitas grow before speaking.
"The Avenger Project."
Murmurs and whispers rippled through the assembled Agents. Summer looked back at Shen, who was beaming proudly. Not that she could blame him - this was a huge leap forward for the technology of this world, much like how the invention of the Bullhead had practically revolutionized Remnant overnight. The people of this world had thought human flight impossible until a mere fifty-nine years ago, when the Wright Brothers flew their first airplane for twelve seconds. Now, they were creating a vessel that could traverse the very stars themselves.
It was clear to her just how resourceful and ingenious humans could be, no matter if they were from Earth or Remnant.
Briggs, predictably, was the first to raise his hand. "Sir, this is impressive, it really is, but...unless you've got people putting together a fleet of these things, that's just one ship. And we might not know how many UFOs the Outsiders have, but I'd wager on 'a whole bloody lot.' How's just one ship supposed to win the war?"
"One ship is all we'll need," said Faulke, seemingly prepared for this exact question, "because the Avenger's not going after errant Command Ships. It's going after the command ship - the Temple Ship."
Some agent towards the back groaned. "You're seriously listening to that glorified laundry girl? She's crazy! She believes in moon wolves, for God's sake!"
"Crawford is a Recon agent in training," said Faulke sternly. "And while it's true that her imagination can often run unchecked, I'm more inclined to believe what she says when there's hard evidence to back it up. Specifically, a recording from the Alien Interrogation Room, where the Infiltrator itself makes reference to a 'Temple Ship' that holds great significance to the Outsiders. Given the reaction after she inquired about the ship and Mosaic being connected, as well as the reverence in its voice, that's more than enough for me to believe its existence and its importance. Which is why the Avenger, once completed, will board the Temple Ship and dispatch a team with one goal: capture Mosaic, whatever it is."
Jack's eyes widened. "When me and Rose snuffed out that Field Commander on Operation Grifter, it mucked up the heads of every single X-ray still connected. If we do the same thing to this Mosaic thing…"
"Then a similar phenomenon may happen on a larger scale," finished Weir with a twinkling smile. "Possibly even affecting every Outsider still on Earth...or even beyond it. What's more, if we can understand how Mosaic works enough to control it, we can guide the Outsiders to repair the damage they've cause - "
" - or destroy them all at once," growled Weaver, earning a chorus of "ooh-rah!"s from the crowd.
Faulke cleared his throat once more. "That can be decided later. For now? Our top priority is to get the Avenger up and running as soon as possible. This, unfortunately, ties into a more pressing matter...and the other reason I asked you all to come here today."
The room instantly went quiet at the prospect of bad news. Summer devoted her full attention to the Director as he put his hands behind his back.
"As some of you are already aware, about a month ago I sent Agents DaSilva, Kinney, and Redmond off on a covert operation to investigate reports of UFO activity on the outskirts of Roswell, New Mexico. While the area's been the subject of many hoaxes and false alien sightings, intel suggested that the activity went beyond just crop circles and cattle abductions. As they dug deeper, DaSilva and his team found that the Outsiders were in the process of constructing a shipyard for their vessels, a place for them to refuel and restock their weapons and troops. They've been sending general reports of their findings once a week, and DaSilva himself has been sending daily messages through the jamming to report his team's status."
Faulke took a deep breath, and pushed his glasses into place.
"His last known transmission was two days ago."
Oh no.
Summer felt her chest tighten, as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. She didn't need to look around to know that everyone else had a similar reaction. And why wouldn't they? Faulke may have been the brains of the Bureau, and Weaver the gun-wielding hand, but DaSilva was the heart. If he ever stopped joking or smiling or greeting his friends in XCOM, it got people's attention like a sick canary in a Dust mine.
"There's more," continued Faulke, after giving everyone a moment to process the news. "We've been working on improving our ability to track UFOs, to the point where we're able to identify specific vessels and keep tabs on their movements. One such vessel, an Outsider Command Ship, was spotted arriving at Roswell, but it never left. This lack of activity coincides with the lack of communication from DaSilva's team - it dropped off our radar two days ago, and hasn't reappeared ever since."
The implications were clear to Summer. If the UFO hadn't been seen leaving, then it stood to reason that it was still there in the shipyard. Which meant that XCOM had a unique chance to raid it for materials and supplies - which could be used to further develop the Avenger.
More worryingly, it also meant that DaSilva's team was in trouble.
She spared a glance at Carter, who was balling his hand into a trembling fist. Other longtime Agents were reacting in similar ways - Van Doorn grit his teeth, Cole shook his head, and Bradford grimaced. Even Weaver bit her lower lip and tilted her head forward, evidence of an emotion so powerful even she couldn't suppress it.
"That's why we're putting together and deploying two Strike Teams to Roswell at 1700 hours. One team is going to investigate DaSilva's last known location, and find either him or the intel he's collected since he went radio silent. The other team will escort Doctor Weir on a salvage operation into the shipyard proper - once the first team locates DaSilva, they will regroup with the second team to reinforce them. Take note, however, that the presence of a Command Ship, even a grounded one, suggests heavy alien activity, and from the field reports received so far, there may be enemies that are unfamiliar. Whatever Strike Team you sign up for, be prepared for anything...and expect the worst we've seen so far. Now. Do we have any volunteers?"
To everyone's surprise (including Summer's), Carter stepped forward. "I'll bring DaSilva home, sir."
Weaver nodded in approval as she also stepped forward. "And I'll escort Doctor Weir."
"As will I." Shen stepped forward with a grim expression. "I've protected the doctor before, and I'll gladly do it again."
Weir seemed positively delighted that his protégé was going into the field with him.
"Same here," said Vahlen as he stepped forward. "We work pretty well together, wouldn't you say Shen?"
Shen nodded with a smile towards his fellow worker. Van Doorn and Bradford stepped forward next to support their Strike Leader.
"With Weir fighting as well, that makes six for the second team," said Faulke with a nod. "Who's gonna help Carter with his investigation?"
Summer was about to step forward, but someone else beat her to the punch first. A young man with golden-blonde hair and a stoic face stepped forward next, saluting Faulke.
"With all due respect, sir, I'd like to join Carter's squad in locating DaSilva. Him, Kinney, and Redmond are my Strike Team - I can't just sit by while they're in danger."
"Count me in for that assignment as well," Summer finally said as she stepped to Carter's side. "Wherever Carter goes, I'll go too."
"Damn straight, lady," growled Knox. "I'm in."
"Me too." Adam stepped forward.
"And don't forget me," called Dawson with a smirk. "You'll need someone to patch these maniacs up when they get shot. Someone that doesn't have magic hands."
Carter grimaced a bit, but nodded to his team, glad they had his back.
"Very well then," said Faulke with eyes hidden by light in his glasses, "Report to the Armory to get geared up, then head to the Hangar. Barnes and Dolly will be your pilots, they'll get you there and back. Everyone else, remain on standby as usual. For those heading out, your objectives are clear - get in there, raid the UFOs for supplies, and bring the salvage and the rest of Strike Two home...one way or another."
Summer felt the pre-operation jitters travel down her spine as she and every agent in the room saluted.
"Vigilo Confido, everyone. Dismissed."
(A/N): And that's a wrap on another chapter! Next time will be Signal From Beyond (for real this time I swear). Gonna be another two-parter, so it might take a while to write. Unless I end up getting bit by the writing bug. Then it might come sooner.
Thanks for reading, keep being awesome, and I'll see you all next time!
