Please remember to favorite and follow!
"If you are going through Hell...keep going."
~Winston Churchill
Chapter Nine: Friends
"Gone?"
"Gone," Elena Dragunova repeated. She paced in Commander Gallant's quarters, curling and uncurling her fists, hissing breath through her teeth. The drumbeat of her heart was no solace, and even the relative comfort of the Avenger's confines only served to raise the level of her frustration. "We have to find him."
"We will, Elena." On the comm screen to Gallant's left, Volk raised his hands. "I am not fond of Skirmishers, but if what you say is true, Pratal Mox' sacrifice ensured the safety of one of my own." He looked very serious. "Reapers have long memories."
"And so does XCOM. This..." Gallant seemed to hunt for words for a moment, before settling. "This man saved Corporal Kelly, just the same. We all owe him a debt of gratitude. There is no leaving him."
"My people will begin hunting for information about this Assassin." Volk steeped his fingers. "You say she is like the Hunter, Elena?"
"Yes. Easily as dangerous." The Reaper again thought of how quickly she'd moved, and of the moments where she'd been in position to kill or take Kelly or White, while Elena could do nothing to intervene.
"These...things." Gallant paused to rub his chest. Elena didn't bother to hide her searching examination now any more than the first time she'd seen him.
A cripple. A cripple who leaned on a cane and took care to mind a heart that struggled to beat. This was the legend Bradford had spoken of with such abandon for so many years: this was humanity's savior, the one man who could overthrow Advent.
Elena was not impressed.
"What are they?" Gallant continued, in his low, raspy voice. "They're aliens, but not...they're not anything I've ever seen before."
"No one knows for sure," Elena allowed. "We always called the one we know the Chosen, or the Hunter. If there are really two, or three, or more..."
"Three."
Elena's eyes snapped to the screen. "Volk?"
"I...have made preliminary contact with the Templars. I have heard rumors from their lands." Volk looked uncomfortable. "They know of one, as do we and the Skirmishers."
"You knew this?" Elena demanded. "I thought there was only the one-"
"The Hunter was and is the only one whose actions threaten Reaper interests. If I'd told our people he was hardly the sole threat, morale would plummet. I couldn't let that happen."
Elena turned that over. "I suppose it is logical," she admitted, grudgingly.
"Three." Gallant did not look happy. Rather, he looked overwhelmed. "Three of them...she moved so fast, and cloaked against our sensors...and she can teleport..."
"They are not invincible, Commander." Volk tilted his head, and Elena knew what he saw. She saw it too, in the way Gallant clutched his chest, and the flare of his nostrils.
The man was afraid.
So much for the legendary Commander.
"Right. Right, I guess we'll figure something out." The Commander took a deep breath. "Right." He seemed to draw himself up. "Volk, let me know where we can drop Outrider here to return her to you-"
"Actually..." Volk eyed Elena, and she pondered. On the one hand, returning to her friends and companions and people...
But on the other hand, Mox. If XCOM was going after him, she was duty-bound to assist, since she owed her life to the Skirmisher's bravery.
Besides, if their Commander was this man...they would need every Reaper who could provide help.
"I would like to stay, Commander Gallant." Elena saluted. "If Volk would allow it, I think it would serve as a sign of the Reapers' alliance with XCOM. I have many skills that could be beneficial to your operations."
"You..." Gallant took her in for a moment. "Well, if Mendoza and Kelly's after-action reports are to be believed, that's no lie. And we need every soldier we can press into action lately." He turned to Volk. "Pending your approval, then?"
"Consider it given." Volk's lips twitched, but his smile was worn and wan. "May you together strike fear in the aliens' hearts. Volk out."
Lost.
Screaming Lost, shrieking Lost, tumbling over each other, spittle flying and pus leaking, reaching out with decaying hands-
Click! Click! Gun empty. Back pressed against a wall. No weapons. No defenses.
No recourse but to scream. She screamed when undead hand seized her, pulling at her and hauling her into the throng, where waiting morbid fingernails would scratch for her eyes and her throat and-
Jane Kelly woke with a start, curled into a ball and shivering in the Arctic chill. Her throat felt raw, and she wondered if she'd been screaming in her sleep.
But no. No worried Aileen loomed at her bedside like last night, nor a crowd of rookies at the door like the one before that. Jane was alone, and that soothed her in some ways and stoked her in others.
"Stupid...evil monsters..." She shuddered. "Sleep, Jane. Could be a mission alert any time."
She tried. She turned sideways and lay on her back, but all she accomplished was to change the scenery she glared at. In a fit of desperation, Jane threw herself face-down, risking smothering herself in her pillow just for the slimmest chance of rest.
No luck. The Lost loomed when she closed her eyes, and always behind them was that blue-skinned demon, laughing with her twisted voice...
Jane rose. XCOM Operatives slept in their day clothes, always alert for the potential of a mission, and the only concession she'd made to the onrushing night was to remove her shoes. Her bare feet nearly froze on contact with the Avenger's metal planking, but Jane didn't care.
She left her room, and strode through the general living quarters without thinking. Julie Richardson lay passed out on a chair, snoring gently, and Jane wondered why she'd been up late enough to fall asleep out of bed. The redhead was the only one in the common room, though Jane saw Cameron Rogers' door slightly ajar, and heard movement from inside Carlos Mendoza's quarters.
Cold. Cold metal under her soles, and cold air rushing over her face and neck, and cold comfort from the Avenger's secure presence around her. Jane rubbed her hands together, resenting the chill...and realizing that there was nothing she could do about the deeper, harsher cold that infested her.
It wasn't just the Lost. She saw Obsidian now, and James and Irina and Ana Ramirez and Peter Osei. A whole squad's worth of friends, not to mention those she'd lost before even joining James' little Resistance cell.
"Lucky," she muttered. "Damn lucky and nothing less. That's all you are, Jane."
She walked for a long time. Jane didn't know where she was going, or why she was going there...but she knew she had to move. Rest wasn't restful, not anymore. Maybe action would work out some of her tension and her demons.
Or, she supposed, as she found herself before the bar doors, alcohol might.
No one was tending, not at 2:36 in the morning. Jane was alone as she made the transition from the relatively clean corridor walls to the graffiti-stained ones flanking the memorial, as bright overhead light became something dimmer, as the scents of metal and cold richened and became more sultry and alluring.
Jane gave the security camera a wave to acknowledge on whose tab this theft belonged, and then performed it with gusto, plucking a cold bottle of American beer from the cooling unit behind the bar. Fortified water it was, and barely fortified at that, but it was easy and it was convenient. She popped the cap, taking a deep drink to soothe her nerves.
"Figured you'd be by, sooner or later."
"Oh." So Jane wasn't alone. She turned for the far end of the bar, and a figure wreathed in darkness raised his own drink. Jane examined him thoughtfully for a moment. "David?"
"Got it in one." The Australian spent a moment with his bottle, and Jane drifted his way.
"You made it to Corporal," she said, nodding to his new rank insignia. "Congratulations."
"Big whoop. If you managed it, how could I not?" David leaned back. "Nightmare, Kelly?"
"How...how'd you guess?" She twitched, and David laughed.
"I heard you, the other night. Rookies are all nervous."
"I thought...I thought that thing was taking me..." Jane huffed. "It's nothing. I'm fine-"
"Don't act all tough. I've had the same nightmare, Jane." David's eyes were honest, and haunted. "If it hadn't been for you, she would have taken me. So I guess we're even now."
"Well, I can say the same. So I don't think so, no." Jane slowly took a seat, rubbing her eyes with her free hand. "Lost. Lost and these Chosen and..." She drank again. "I'm just a Resistance fighter. This is different from Advent."
"Don't I know it?" David sighed. "Almost a week after Novosibirsk, and here we are. Still torn up about it."
"Central would say..." Jane glanced over her shoulder. "Central would say that as long as we have the Commander..."
David's eyes were cold. "What do you think?"
"I..." Jane's eye twitched. "I'm not so sure."
David slammed his drink down on the bar. Darkness hooded his gaze as he glared down at the wood finish.
"I damn straight wish I could argue up a storm," he finally growled. "I'm not so sure he's the right man for this job either."
Silence. Jane didn't know what to add to that, so she took another sip. Doubt and fear tugged from many sides at once, but at least she knew she wasn't suffering alone.
Maybe that was enough.
"I take it this was easier than your last procedure, Doctor?"
"Central." Doctor Tygan turned from his computers, nodding first to Bradford, and then to Edward Gallant, stumping along in his XO's wake, trying very hard not to gawk. "Commander."
"So that's it, then?" Gallant couldn't help it, and as he approached the autopsy table and the ruined, ripped-open body of the thing Jane Kelly had impaled with her giant machete, he risked leaning on the adjacent wall and reaching out with his cane. He poked the cadaver two or three times, just on general principles. "It's dead?"
"Very much so," Tygan agreed, which made Gallant frown. "However, the results..." He sighed. "It's best you see for yourself."
"That's promising." Gallant returned his cane to its rightful position, though he kept both hands on it, eyeing the Advent corpse. "That can't be anything but good."
"Have a little faith, sir." Bradford crossed his arms, and Gallant was grateful for his knife and sidearm, in clear view. "Doctor?"
"My autopsy has confirmed the existence of a cranial implant similar in design to that we recovered from Commander Gallant." And Tygan hit a button to prove it, whipping up side-by-side breakdowns of two chips that were similar enough to be related. But Gallant's keen, almost superhuman powers of observation detected the extremely minuscule differences between them, like the fact that the officer's chip had two giant-ass prongs on one side, whereas his chip's two giant-ass prongs had been one on each side. The other part he could only presume was the primary interface. "But there are differences."
"Differences?" Gallant blinked. "What kind of differences?"
"Well..." Tygan worked with his machine for a moment, and complex strings of code appeared behind him. Gallant's eyes watered trying to track anything in the mess. "The data you see here is being pulled directly from the Advent officer's implant. This sequence here-" he highlighted one segment of what Gallant supposed was a new form of Wingdings "-is essentially you, Commander."
"Say what?" he mumbled.
"Well, at least, the tactical information they were processing through your mind. The war games I discussed last time." Tygan brought up that data in a flash, and he showed off the side-by-side strings as if quite personally proud of them. "As you can see, the data is nearly identical."
"And...that means?" Gallant was afraid he could guess, but he hoped he was just a layman who'd misunderstood something.
"They were using you against us," Bradford muttered, which fairly well doused that theory, dealing a boost to his ego and a blow to his general mental state at the same time.
"Fuck," Gallant whispered, which was about the only thing he could think of. "So...all those hallucinations...dreams I had where I thought we were fighting the war..."
"You must have been leading Advent units in the field," Bradford surmised. "God damn, sir. That's why Advent's been so fiendishly, damnably difficult to get the drop on!"
"Fuck. Fuck!" Gallant's rage spiked, and he threw his cane. It flew across the lab, clattering down with a wild bang on the alloy floor. "How many people have I killed? This alien occupation is all my...all my..." He clutched his heart. "I need...Doctor..."
"Here." Tygan took his arm and gently eased him into a chair. "Have you taken your medication, Commander?"
"You sound like..." Gallant glanced to Bradford for help, and saw the same flash of recognition in his XO's eyes.
"Well, Commander?" he asked, instead of being a loyal underling and backing him up to the hilt. Gallant looked away.
"No."
"Well, then. It's best you take a moment before we proceed." Tygan found another glass of water. "I won't continue until you take care of yourself, sir."
"I could order you," Gallant snapped, though he accepted the drink.
"I wouldn't prefer that," Tygan admitted. "It would pain me to disobey a direct order from my commander."
"Son of a bitch." But Gallant meant it more for whatever foul bastard had built the IED that ruined him, and he did fish out his pills. "We'll have to find more of this stuff sooner or later..."
"Commander." Bradford tapped his shoulder after he'd downed his medicine, and Gallant looked. He grunted appreciatively, then accepted his cane.
"How many did I kill?" he asked, when he was finished. "How many?"
"You weren't and aren't responsible," Bradford snapped. "Don't do this to yourself, Edward."
"There is some good news," Tygan chimed in, before Gallant could tear into the XO. That phrase drew his attention immediately, and the scientist returned to his dissertation. "The Advent Network shows signs of decay. It's likely that removing you, sir, has caused significant damage."
"...network?" Bradford and Gallant asked, in the same breath.
"Ah, yes." Tygan coughed. "What we're seeing here is a Psionic Network - these implants here are capable of transmitting and receiving an immense amount of data, somehow encoded in a stream of psionic energy."
"Why the hell?" Gallant muttered. "Why?"
"My working theory?" Tygan switched the display to a breakdown of Advent units, all connected to an officer. "Advent uses the network to augment the tactical readiness of its troops, as well as disseminate orders from High Command. Observe." He tapped one icon in particular.
"Fuck!" Gallant whacked the Advent officer with his cane when it twitched, spasming across the table for a moment. Bradford caught his shoulder, and the commander gently eased up. "Don't surprise me like that, Tygan! I have a heart condition!"
"My apologies, sir." At least he seemed like he meant it, despite his little smirk. Gallant swore he'd prank the uptight science officer right back sooner or later. "Even in the subject's...diminished condition, the implant continues to affect it. Remarkable."
"And maybe a weakness," Bradford muttered. Gallant's eyes narrowed.
"Doctor?"
"Potentially," Tygan admitted. "I'd need direct access to their network to know for sure."
"Sounds...easy..." Gallant's eye twitched. "Why does it all have to be so easy? Like Alexander, I weep for a challenge."
"Be careful what you wish for," Bradford advised, with a little chuckle.
"We'd need an active link." Tygan hesitated. "That would mean hacking a live Advent officer."
"Well..." Gallant sighed. "My yearning has paid off, I suppose."
"It's the best lead we've got," Bradford agreed. "How do we do it, Doctor?"
"I'll consult with Chief Shen," Tygan promised. "I'm sure we can come up with some kind of device that can interface with the officers' implants, given time."
"You do that." Bradford offered his hand. Gallant inhaled deeply, then took it, letting his friend haul him to his feet. "Good work, Doctor."
"Yes. Good work." Gallant made himself nod. "How are the magnetic weapons prototypes coming along?"
"Efficiently," Tygan said. "I'll have something available within the next few weeks."
"Very good." Gallant turned for the door. "Contact me the minute you know anything more."
Thump. Thump.
"Where are you going?" the raven-haired rookie by the door asked. Julie Richardson hesitated.
"The bar," she lied, glancing the Frenchwoman over from head to toe. Dark clothes, dark hair, dark brown eyes, feet tucked up under her on a sofa that had once belonged to an Advent engineer...
"Oh." The rookie blinked. "It's a little early for that, isn't it?"
"That...just depends on how you look at it." Julie tugged at her collar. "Excuse me."
"Oh. Au revoir." The rookie watched Julie with a little frown, every step it took her to reach the door.
"Right," the redhead mumbled, hurrying down the passageways. "Right, just...just...walk in, and maybe..."
Hallway. Door. Elevator. Before she knew it, Julie was in, and she hit the button for Level Three before she could argue herself out of it. She took a preparatory breath as the doors slid closed-
"Hold the lift!"
"Lift?" she wondered. But she did reach out and block the doors with her arm, and an instant later Corporal Jane Kelly bounded in, nearly bouncing off the far wall.
"Thanks, mate." The Ranger inclined her head, then tapped the button for Level Six. "Three, huh?"
"That's...that's..." Julie coughed. "Yeah. Three."
"What's on Three?" Jane rubbed her chin. "Isn't that the additional lab space? The infirmary?"
"Y...yes..." Julie waited as the elevator finally closed, for keeps. "Yes, those are on Three."
"Wounded friend?" Jane asked. Julie coughed.
"Well, Nunez was a friend to everyone," Julie demurred. Jane frowned.
"I barely knew him." She shrugged, before Julie could panic. "Well, I hope he recovers. Shouldn't he be out of the bay soon?"
"Yes." Julie nearly sagged with relief when the elevator stopped on Three. "That's my stop. You're going to the shooting range, I take it?"
"That's right." Jane nodded as the door slid open. "Meeting a friend."
"You...do well!" Julie backed out of the elevator with her best no-I'm-not-doing-anything-stupid grin. "Shoot well. Get good scores."
"Thanks. I will." Jane looked quite perplexed, and Julie couldn't blame her. But she could be grateful at the turn of fate that led the door to close right then, and the Irishwoman to vanish off on her journey to the range.
Julie let out a long, relieved breath.
"All right," she muttered, hurrying past the door marked Infirmary. She made herself walk, made herself keep her eyes down, trying not to look at the two words scribbled on her target door in small print, like a lawyer trying to hide something in a contract.
She reached out, taking the doorknob in hand.
She stood there for a very long time, biting her lip.
Don't, urged a voice in the back of her head. Come on, Julie. It's not worth it.
I can make a difference.
How many people have thought that, and then not? Derisive, taunting. You're only going to bring suffering down on your own head.
Julie grit her teeth. Then so be it.
Against every instinct in her body, Julie opened the door.
"Good morning," said the bright-faced man inside, datapad tucked under his arm. "Something happening outside?'
"What?" Julie blinked. "Why would..." She coughed, trailing off as she realized she'd turned the knob before she'd paused. He must have seen it move and then waited patiently for the whole time she was debating her inner demons. "I...um..."
"Do you have a message from the Commander?" the man asked. "Central? Tygan?"
"I...actually..." Julie coughed again, into her elbow. She mumbled.
"What?" He blinked. "I can't hear you."
"I...I wanted to Volunteer," Julie finally murmured. "I know you probably have a waiting list like...ten miles long, but if an opening comes up-"
"Holy shit!" The man literally jumped two feet in the air, and Julie nearly skittered right back the way she'd come. "Sir, we've got one!"
"What?" A bald head popped out from the back of the dark, purple-lit room with its glass containment cell, and he raced to the door. "Did you say someone actually Volunteered?"
"You mean...I'm not late?" Julie stared. "I would have thought everyone would-"
"My dear girl, you're the only non-staff member to walk in here since we came online!" The man fairly seized her hand. "My name is Hiroshi, and I'm the Psi-lab's coordinator. Welcome to the psi-op program!"
"She's begun training, sir," Hiroshi said over the intercom. "Nervous, but that's to be expected. If my equipment is up to snuff, I should have her Gift unlocked within a week."
"Understood." For a moment, Commander Gallant stared at the ceiling, contemplating what alternate universe he had fallen into. This was just like his moment of existential confusion after being trucked to Area Fucking Fifty-one in the middle of the night for a meeting about an alien invasion.
Human beings with mind powers. Unbelievable. Gallant fought a sudden wave of sadness. If only Moira was here to see it...she always suspected humanity had the capability to embrace the Elders' Gifts...
"Keep me informed of her training," Gallant finally continued, trying not to look at the picture of Vahlen that he kept on his desk. He failed, and for a moment he contemplated her and her lab coat, and that little glint of excitement and adventure in her eyes. "I want to know everything she can do."
"Understood, Commander." Hiroshi chuckled giddily. "I never actually thought-"
"Gallant out." He cut the transmission then and there, pulling his communicator out and throwing it aside without a further thought for the psi-coordinator.
He reached out and plucked up that picture, and Gallant traced Vahlen's cheek with his thumb, that curling drumbeat of loss pounding shivers up and down his bones again.
There just wasn't enough time, he cursed. There wasn't enough of anything. And now Penny...Shen...Moira...
There was no one left. No one but Bradford, older and harsher for his experiences, and Gallant himself. The weight of the world hung on his shoulders, and he quivered under the load.
Beep! Beep!
"Oh. Damn." Gallant hunted down his insistent communicator, sticking the thing in his ear with a moment's hesitation. He winced as it morphed, adjusting itself to his shape in a heartbeat. "Gallant."
"Sir, it's Central." He hesitated. "You've got a secure transmission coming in from the Resistance."
"Volk? This Betos character you mentioned?"
"No, sir. An old friend has finally found out about what happened in Paris. He wants to talk."
"An old..." Gallant frowned. "Who?"
"With respect, sir...it might be best if I just put him through."
Gallant growled in the back of his throat, trying very hard not to snap at his XO. "And you're sure that's better than just telling me?"
"Sir, I don't know that you'll believe me unless you see him."
Gallant picked up a paperweight and flung it across his office. It hit the far wall with a satisfying bang that might have reverberated a floor down and over into the bridge. "Then you do what you please, Bradford. Not like I can stop you anyway."
"Trust me, sir. You'll agree when the dust settles." He didn't sound too apologetic, and Gallant decided next time he needed to throw something heavier. "I'm forwarding him to your screen."
"Fine." Gallant shut the channel, glaring at said screen. "Whoever the hell you turn out to be..."
Beep. It flickered, and then ten security icons appeared, one for every type of encryption the Resistance used. Gallant waited as all ten flashed from unlocked to locked. He waited, clutching his chair arms and taking deep, slow breaths, as the screen flickered out again.
Then...
"No," he gasped, as orange and blue light appeared...and a single figure cast in shadow.
"Hello, Commander Gallant," said the Shadow Man, wreathed in darkness with his hands before him as always.
"I don't believe it," Gallant muttered. "I don't believe it!"
"It is good to see you again, Edward." He wondered if Shadow Man was smiling. "I have done all I can in the days since your disappearance to aid the Resistance from inside the Advent Coalition. As of now, this Resistance is somewhat...disorganized."
"No shit." Gallant ran a hand through his loose hair. "Sir..."
"There is no need to call me sir, Commander. The chain of command is as much a memory as the Council nations. They have all sworn fealty to the aliens. If we intend to defeat them, we must work quickly and decisively, before it is too late."
"Sir?" Gallant jumped as Shadow Man vanished, and data files popped up on his screen. Text ran in a massive stream, and after a slack-jawed moment, the Commander scrambled to accept the download offer popping up on his console.
"What you are seeing are classified reports of missing civilians around the globe," Shadow Man's voice explained. "Their numbers are growing."
"Damn." Gallant shook his head. "What do we do about it?"
"We suspect they have been taken to a nearby Advent black site, though its exact location is still unknown."
"You want me to shut it down," Gallant surmised. "Don't you?"
"In as many words: yes." Shadow Man reappeared, insofar as he ever appeared from the darkened smog. "Shut down this black site, Commander, and find out what is happening there. Find the missing civilians, and prepare your forces to strike Advent wherever you can. You must build a Resistance and defeat the aliens."
"Sir..." Gallant coughed. "I told you back in 2015 that I wasn't the right man for the job. I'm an even worse pick today."
"That is not my belief. If any man can turn this war around, it is you, Edward." Shadow Man steeped his fingers. "Even if you do not believe, you are the only man we have. You must, therefore you will."
Gallant breathed out. "All right."
Beep! Beep!
"That's Bradford." Gallant touched his comm. "One minute, John-"
"There is no need." Shadow Man nodded. "I will be in touch. Good Luck, Commander."
He vanished, before Gallant had a chance to respond to Shadow Man's beloved catchphrase. The Commander growled.
"Never mind." He switched back to Bradford. "John?"
"Sir, we've picked up a distress beacon. But..."
"John?" Gallant rapped his fingers on his desk. "John?"
"Sir...it's Big Sky." Bradford sounded like the shocked rush that paralyzed Gallant had just finished having its way with him. "Big Sky, sir. From the original invasion."
Author's Note 9: Psionics
Aloha!
Some of you will notice how fearful humanity is of psionic powers in this universe. This just seems logical to me - who in their right mind would volunteer? It's not like XCOM: EW, where anyone can unlock their Gift...it's a full class specialization. I would think only the loners, or those who were just...curious about alien abilities, would even consider it. Especially in light of what the Elders do to the human race on general principles, much less with motivation added to the mix.
Add to this: I don't usually use psi-ops all that much. They're one of those classes that I run though a basic cycle with: I don't deploy them until late in the game, after grudgingly getting one because I have no reason not to. Next, I'm wowed and amazed by their capabilities and start using them an awful lot. Next, I swear I'll chain for one next time, not be such a dunderhead dilly-dally...then, I start my next game, and it just seems more important in the early game to get Rangers and Sharpshooters, and that money could be better spent on Resistance Comms or a Proving Ground...and so on and so forth. The cycle starts anew.
Shadow Man has always been what I called the Spokesman/Informant. He was going to have a whole subplot in the original fanfic, and I may well pull from my old notes and transpose some of it into this one. Not to mention, I'm a huge fan of Jon Bailey, his VA. Maybe someday I'll get the pleasure of listening to him voice-act a character of mine, in a game or animated adaptation? Or at least an Honest Trailer...
Until then, Vigilo Confido.