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"Denial, panic, threats, anger...those are very human responses to feeling guilt."
~Joshua Oppenheimer
Chapter Fifteen: Chains
Jane Kelly stumped out of the Skyranger's aft bay, clutching her shoulder left-handed. Behind her, Aileen supported Julie, the psi-op struggling to stand as her anesthetics and stimulants wore off, even if her side was no longer bleeding.
Other than them, the drop bay was empty. Mendoza and Nunez were in the cargo compartment, and it made Jane sick to transport them like baggage...but that was all they were.
"You're back!" That was Elena Dragunova, pale and sick in the face. Jane paused, finally noticing the hangar wasn't empty. Far from it: beside Dragunova was Shen, Rov-R hovering over her shoulder, with Doctor Tygan not far behind her. There was Da-Xia Liang, eyes glistening while Cameron Rogers held an arm around her shoulders, and there was a very worried-looking Sylvie Richard...Aidan MacLeod and his loud facial hair, Sophie Weber with her permanent scowl a bit heavier than usual...every single one of the Avenger's available personnel was turned out with eyes on the Skyranger.
And in the back...
Jane stormed down the ramp. She grabbed the waiting stretcher from the infirmary team, and without waiting for either of the orderlies, she hauled it over to Julie. That done, she turned, working out her shoulder as best she could, nearly shoving crowd members aside. Her fists clenched and unclenched mechanically, even as her footsteps wavered.
"Sergeant-"
Jane shoved her free hand in Central Officer Bradford's face, only bothering to stop when she came face-to-face with Commander Edward Gallant.
"Don't do something stupid," Aileen might have urged, just low enough that she could pretend it wasn't her. Jane took the advice, considered it, and reflected that it was probably wise. Acknowledgment made, she dismissed it.
She let out a long, hissing breath.
"Carlos Mendoza was a friend of mine," she finally growled. "And I knew Pablo Nunez. They're dead."
"I'm aware." That raspy voice...the way he leaned on his cane... "We weren't prepared."
"And whose bloody fault is that, huh?"
"Sergeant!" Central snapped. Her hand went up again.
"Shut up, Bradford." She hoped the seething anger in her voice would stymie the XO long enough for her to finish her thought.
"What did you do?" Jane demanded of her commanding officer. "What did you do to save either of them, hiding back here on the ship?"
Silence. Gallant's gaze hardened and she saw his eye twitch...but he didn't say anything. Jane nodded.
"That's what I bloody well thought." She took a step closer. "That's two more dead on my list, sir...and I blame you."
"You can't win a war without casualties." He looked uneasy. He couldn't like this...being put on the spot in front of his entire crew? Shen didn't look any happier than Jane. "Their deaths are regrettable, but people die in war."
"But they didn't have to," Jane growled. "Mendoza never had a fucking chance. If you hadn't split us up-"
Sparks popped up in his eyes. "If you hadn't advanced so recklessly-"
"Mistakes were made," Bradford snapped. His hand went to Jane's good shoulder, and she let him push her back.
"Get off me," Gallant hissed, when the XO tried the same treatment with him. Bradford hesitated.
"Well...like I said, mistakes were made. Everyone has their fair share of guilt for what happened. Everyone stumbles, like the Commander says. What matters is what we do going forward to honor them...not picking fights over their dead bodies. They wouldn't want this."
Jane glared, but not at Bradford. She reserved her anger for the man who deserved it most.
In silence, she turned away, storming for the lockers...and hoping that Mendoza's blood could be washed off her armor before her next op.
"Just...just dead, like that..."
"Easy." David White reached out and put a hand on Jane's shoulder. "Just take it easy, Irish. You've been through a lot."
"Have I?" she demanded. The Ranger shivered, thinking of carrying Mendoza back to Firebrand...not to mention the battle against the stun lancer. "This whole thing is a mess."
"Yeah." David patted her gently. "Hell of a way to go. At least they went out like heroes. Fighting a fight that mattered."
"A pissant little skirmish in the woods?" Jane rubbed at her eyes, trying to avoid taking out her anger on the Australian. "Mendoza deserved better. Some kind of...a heroic last stand against a bunch of mutons, maybe. Not this."
"He was all right." White eyed her. "How are you? Physically."
"Scratches. Scrapes. That lancer didn't get too many good hits in, surprisingly." Jane rubbed her shoulder. "This and the banging up on my hip are about as bad as it gets for me - and my hip will be fine with a little rest. The shoulder too, I imagine. I just pulled it." Her lips thinned. "Makes me the lucky one."
"I guess." David was quiet. "Shapeshifters."
"Shapeshifters," Jane moaned. "I guess now we know how Advent found the haven. How they keep finding havens."
"They send those alien things in, get 'em to look like people. Agent on the inside..." David sighed. "They wouldn't have stood a chance without you. They were sitting ducks."
"Aren't we all?" Jane closed her eyes. "And Gallant."
"The Commander." White shifted in his spot. "He wasn't on the ground. Maybe it wasn't all his fault."
"He had the whole picture. He didn't keep us informed...he could have watched the scanners, notified us..." Jane blew air through her teeth. "This operation is a shit show. And he's not...he's hardly-"
"A legend?" David finished. "Most people aren't, Irish. He's a man, not a myth, and there's a reason they say never to meet your heroes."
"He was hardly my hero," Jane riposted, though she did see the point. The Ranger resumed rubbing her shoulder. "Bradford did well in Paris. He should be Commander, not Gallant."
Quiet. David eyed her, and Jane eyed the floor.
"This war's just getting started," the Grenadier finally said. "We'd better all get our heads straight and our feet under us soon...or I think I know who's going to win it."
Julie Richardson eyed Jane and David, from further down in the infirmary, waiting as their silence turned to a more friendly conversation about the Australian's own healing. Her now-purple eyes lingered, watching them start doing their best to pull each other from misery.
She shivered. Watching the clay monster - faceless, Tygan had called it - pulling Nunez in and just...absorbing him...couldn't she have done something? She was a psi-op! But there hadn't been time. Hadn't there?
Julie lay back on her white pillow, eyeing the ceiling darkly. These were the spinning thoughts of her day and time, seeking endlessly and picking at the edges of her consciousness. If she'd just realized that woman wasn't running with the Denmother, she could have...if she'd been faster on the draw with her psi-amp when it started changing, or if she hadn't been in the middle of reloading...but it shrugged off her fire as it was...surely that was a question of volume? They couldn't be immune to bullets.
Footsteps. Julie frowned, looking up as someone new made her way into the infirmary, picking her path carefully between empty beds and the occupied ones, maintaining a healthy distance from Jane and David as she came toward...
"Hello," Julie muttered, frowning. "Sylvie?"
"Bonjour." The raven-haired Frenchwoman hesitated, about six feet from Julie's bed. "I...wanted to check up on you."
"Did you?" That was odd. Julie didn't recall being good friends with her - no more than with Sophie Weber or Aidan MacLeod, or any of the other rookies. She hit the button on the side of her bed, and slowly it lifted her to a sitting position-
"Oh, no, don't-" Sylvie cut off, sighing. "You should keep yourself comfortable."
"I am," Julie assured her. "Sitting up is good for me." She eyed the rookie for a long moment. "You can see my condition."
"You...you don't look too bad."
"Not too bad," Julie agreed. "A graze hit, more than anything. I hurt, but I'm sure I'll be back on my feet in a few days."
"That's good." Sylvie still stood, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, and Julie frowned again.
"Spill it," she finally ordered. "You're not just here to check up on a wounded comrade."
"I am!" Sylvie looked down. "Mostly."
"Mostly." Julie put her hands behind her head. "What's your ulterior motive?"
"I don't..." She sighed. "I really do wonder if you're all right."
"Sweet." Julie shrugged. "I'll be fine."
"They wheeled you away from the Skyranger on a gurney-"
"A precaution." Julie winced, sure her cheeks were heating. Everyone had been watching... "Seriously, Sylvie, I'm fine. What's really got you down here? I don't mean to be rude, but I didn't think we were good enough friends for you to just come visit me."
"Well..." Her turn to shrug. "You're the only psi-op we've got. You're special to the crew."
Julie's face flattened. "Am I?"
"You are!" Sylvie eyed her hair for a moment, and that sent another self-conscious pang through the natural redhead's veins. "All the rookies look up to-"
"No, you don't." Julie knew her gaze was hardening, but she couldn't help it. "I'm positive Cameron thinks I'm a freak. He can't be the only one."
"Julie-"
"Why are you really here, rookie? Want to see a psi-op up close? Or is this a dare, and you're the rookie who drew the short shrift to ask the hard questions?" She patted her hair. "Yeah, it's bleached white. Yeah, it's dyed because I don't want to look like an alien fashion reject."
"No, Julie, I didn't mean-"
"Yeah, my eyes are purple now. Those aren't contacts, that's not just power leeching up through my gaze." She crossed her arms. "Discovering my power actually changed me. Want to take some pictures-"
"I wanted to ask about Volunteering!"
Julie broke off. Sylvie shook on her feet as the redhead examined her in an entirely different way.
"I'm sorry," the Frenchwoman muttered. "I should just go." She turned-
"Wait!" Julie sighed when Sylvie actually did. "Sorry. I got touchy, and I shouldn't have."
"You're hurt. Touchy is understandable." The rookie hesitated. "I don't...I should-"
"Sit down." Julie gestured to the chair set beside her bed. "Come on. Have a seat, and let's talk."
Sylvie struggled for a moment, but it was a bit of a relief when she eventually obeyed. At least Julie hadn't outright driven her away.
For a moment, neither spoke.
"So...Volunteering?" Julie finally pressed. Sylvie looked down.
"I'm not sure," she confessed. "I want to make a difference, and I feel like...maybe with that kind of power..."
"It changes things," Julie agreed. "It's worth it."
"Is it?" Sylvie rubbed the back of her neck. "I keep thinking...maybe I should go and do it...but I just keep warning myself off at the last possible second. Those black sites we hear rumors about..."
"Danger's part of being a soldier," Julie said. "The more good you can do, the more dangerous it is. At least, that's how I like to look at it." She smiled at the Frenchwoman. "You should Volunteer. Just do it. Hiroshi would be over the moon to have two psi-ops to work with."
"Maybe." She still eyed the floor. "What would it be like?"
"Well, you'd want to stock up on hair dye," Julie advised, patting her own locks and their bleached tips. "And maybe colored contact lenses."
"I do not think the eyes would bother me much," Sylvie confessed. "I think violet eyes are quite fetching."
"...oh." Julie blinked. "Really?"
"Exotic is good," Sylvie insisted. "Violet is a very nice color for eyes. I wouldn't be concerned at all about that part."
"Huh." Julie turned the thought over. "I guess I never thought of it that way. I just thought it made me look alien. Bizarre, uncanny...like a zombie, or Advent." Sylvie shook her head emphatically, and Julie had to chuckle. "All right! Have it your way." She rubbed her hands together. "Well, if you wanted to Volunteer..."
"Commander." Konstantine Volikov offered his hand, and Gallant reluctantly swapped cane-hands to take it. "It's good to finally meet in the flesh."
"Yes. It is." Gallant couldn't be bothered to sound like he meant it. He accepted the Reaper leader's iron hand-crushing grip with only a twitch of his eye for protest. "Welcome to the Avenger. I'm sure Central's already given you a grand tour." He glanced to Volk's flank. "Outrider."
"Commander." Elena Dragunova saluted a bit lazily for Gallant's West Point tastes, but it wasn't worth a scene.
"Yes, John is quite hospitable." Volk finally backed off, and Gallant did his best not to show how much his hand stung. From the Reaper's barely-hidden smirk, he'd failed.
"Commander." A female voice, now. Gallant turned to the second envoy on his ship, taking her in with an existential mix of confusion, unease, and simple wonder.
"You must be Betos." Who else would have Advent eyes, a bald, scarred head, and those...implant things on her chin? Who else would dress in what was clearly old Advent armor, marked with runes and symbols like Advent's but not, standing at attention as if she had been bred for war and service?
"I am, Commander." She offered her hand, and her grip was much gentler than Volk's. Not from lack of strength, Gallant was sure - but something told him this woman had nothing to prove about her own warrior capabilities.
"Edward Gallant," he informed her. Again he glanced to her head scars, and the tattoos stretching over her neck. "It's an honor to meet you."
"The honor is mine, Commander Gallant." Betos examined him critically for a minute, and Gallant coughed self-consciously.
"I know the cane sends an impression-"
"Many of the Elders' strongest servants do not appear so threatening from the outside. I believe this is true of humanity as well." Betos' eyes weren't full of scorn, but something altogether different. "A soldier's greatest strength is not his body, but his mind, and nothing on the outside could tell me the quality of yours. I reserve my judgment of a soldier until I have seen him in action, and this goes double for a leader."
Gallant had to cough again. "Well...thank you." He glanced to Bradford, skulking at the room's entrance, and the XO shrugged.
Well, if she hasn't heard about the clusterfuck in Sweden, let's not bring it up. Pangs of guilt and shame...
Thoughts of Jane Kelly's fury-tinted face...
"In any event: good to have you aboard." Gallant beamed as best he could, trying to act like he had whenever Van Doorn had come calling, or Shadow Man had sent him into the DC social circuit to schmooze the Armed Services Committee for funding. "This is the Ring." He gestured around the circular chamber and its matching holotable. "The nerve center of our new covert operations division. Once you leave, your representatives will remain here to help us organize and plan."
"I see the table is round," Betos observed. "I detect a hint of classical influence."
"I..." Gallant blinked. "I..."
"Just a moment." Bradford cocked his head, looking just as stunned as his CO. "May I be frank, Betos?"
Those large eyes were cool and contemplative. "I expect nothing less from a commander."
"I did not think you would be the first one to catch the reference," Bradford admitted, quite freely. "Of all people..."
Betos smiled, showing off white teeth. "I have done much studying of your culture."
"Yeah. That's clear." Volk cut his eyes at her, and Gallant reminded himself that though there was an alliance of sorts on the ground, neither of these leaders trusted each other.
No weapons in the Ring, he decided. I'll have John put that on the door in bold red. And maybe station one of the big wrestler-type soldiers in here just in case.
"In any event." Gallant cleared his throat. "We have business to discuss."
"Aye. We do." Volk loosened up, just a little. "My people have found Pratal Mox."
"The facility is located in India," Elena explained, turning the hologlobe over the table so all four assembled leaders could see. Bradford and Volk were stoic, but Gallant looked contemplative. Elena had no skill in reading Advent faces, so Betos remained a mystery to her.
"Guards?" Bradford asked.
"A small detail," Elena explained. She pulled up the requisite information, and it floated next to the globe. "Just a few soldiers and some automated turrets, but there is a full army base not far away. If the alarm goes off, they can move close to an entire division in short order."
"A division." Gallant's eye twitched. "We'd need more than a few dozen rebels and off-the-shelf ballistics weapons to make a dent in a force that size."
"Then we don't try to dent it," Volk chimed in. "We go in quietly."
"A small team," Bradford agreed, nodding. "Two or three operatives, slipping past the defenses without being detected. They find Mox, they get him to the edge of the compound...call Firebrand and get out."
"That could work," Betos agreed. "We would need a team."
"I will go." Elena stood a bit straighter. "I should go."
"Reapers live in the shadows," Volk agreed. Gallant hesitated.
"I might need you here."
"Commander, Mox sacrificed himself for me. This is a matter of honor." Elena did her best not to show her disdain for the Commander who was supposed to save the planet. She needed his agreement. "Besides, I am a Reaper. If I do not wish to be seen, I will not be seen."
"She's right," Volk said. "My people are the best suited for this operation. Elena's spent most of her life learning to move unseen."
"She did infiltrate Paris," Bradford added. "Your call, Commander."
Gallant pursed his lips. Elena waited until she finally saw his fear yield to logic.
"All right." He nodded. "Outrider takes point. But you'll need shadows: if nothing else, pulling Mox from a security cell should trigger alarms."
"Most likely," Betos agreed. "My people will supply what codes we can, but that is no guarantee Advent has not updated security since the last defections from this area."
"Liang." Elena chose the black-clad Grenadier in a heartbeat. "She has the air of one who knows how to walk silently, and she has considerable firepower if we needs must escape under duress. Not to mention I have worked with this woman before, and I know her mettle."
"Take her," Gallant agreed. "And a stringer. Three is considerably better than two, but not as noticeable as four."
Elena let out a breath. "I want Richardson."
"She's in medbay," Bradford objected. "She won't be fit for deployment for a few days yet."
"And we may need her in action," Gallant pressed.
"Not as much as I might," Elena argued. "We are outnumbered and outmanned, and our only hope is in misdirection and stealth. I can avoid detection and Liang can follow in my wake as I chart a path, but Richardson can twist Advent's perception to make them forget what they have seen, or move them away."
Gallant chewed his lip. "We only have one psi-op. I don't like it."
"You can have Aileen Quinn now," Bradford chimed in. "Barring the Commander's objection, that is. If you want Julie, you have to wait at least forty-eight hours until she's on her feet."
"I will wait," Elena decided. "With your approval, Commander Gallant?"
The man leaned on his cane for a moment. He contemplated the holodisplay...before sighing.
"Bring her back in one piece," he finally ordered. "We need her, Dragunova. No matter what happens, I want Richardson back alive."
Elena nodded. "It will be done."
"We can't send Firebrand in that close to the facility, not without triggering alarms." Bradford turned to Volk. "Can your people get them into the area?"
"Just you wait and see." Volk nodded. "I'll start laying groundwork now. As soon as Richardson's on her feet, contact me and I'll arrange the rest."
"And I will find what security information I can," Betos promised, nodding to Elena. "My people will remember what you are doing for one of our own."
"I remember what one of yours did for me." Elena crossed her arms. "Reapers have long memories."
"They do." Volk sounded a little humbled by this exchange. "We'll get the job done."
"Who the hell," Edward Gallant rumbled, "does Kelly think she is?"
No one responded. There was no one to respond, in his empty office, and Gallant both approved of and resented that fact. Volk and Betos were off to their groups, Bradford was manning the bridge, and Outrider was briefing her team in the medbay while Richardson did her best to heal.
Which left one Commander cycling aimlessly.
"Arrogant little..." His eye twitched as he relived their confrontation, seeing Kelly inches from his face, fury alight in her eyes.
"That's two more dead on my list, sir...and I blame you."
"My list's longer than yours!" Gallant exploded, throwing himself to his feet. He wished she was here, he wished he had thought of those words then in the hangar... "Do you know how many I've lost? Rangers in Iraq, operatives in the Old War, Shen, Penny, Moira..." Dropping that name stopped him up short, choking on his own anger. "M...Moira...Vahlen..."
Beep!
Gallant leaned on the edge of his desk, cane forgotten, heart pounding, clutching his chest. He gasped for breath, trying to pull himself back from the ledge of rage.
Beep!
Slowly, he sank back into his chair. The Commander swallowed, resting his shaking hands on the desk's edge, breathing as calmly as he could manage. In through the nose...out through the mouth...
Beep!
"Come in, then," he growled. "Who is it?"
"Commander." Richard Tygan opened the door, and Gallant waited as the scientist saluted. If he'd heard any of Gallant's raging through the door, he gave no outward sign of it. "I have a progress report for you."
"Is it good?" Gallant inquired. Tygan nodded.
"Based on preliminary studies of the recovered stun baton from Sweden, I believe I can add a similar electrical element into a future model of sword for our Rangers. This will increase their lethality in close quarters immensely."
"Good." Gallant nodded. "How far are we from deployment?"
"I believe I will have working prototypes of magnetic rifles and pistols within the week."
"That's a speed increase!" Gallant's eyes widened. "I thought it was weeks, plural!"
"Recovering the weapons from Sweden has changed things. Now that we have access to more magnetic devices to disassemble and examine, the team is confident we understand more of the principles behind their function." Tygan raised a hand. "These weapons will not be available for the raid in India, I'm afraid. Nor have we invested much work in designing long-range or high-caliber variants. Our sharpshooters and grenadiers will be out of luck for the time being."
"Still." Gallant turned the information over in his head, even as thoughts of Sweden kept circling back around to the forefront of his mind. "Good work, Doctor. What about those weapons we recovered?"
"Still no progress on replicating the methods of their construction," Tygan warned. "But they are keenly effective devices. I recommend we begin putting them to good use. Some of their capabilities could be the difference between life and death in the field."
"Yeah. Life and death." Gallant's mood soured quickly. He glared at his desk. "Ask you something, Doctor?"
"Commander-"
"What would you have done?" Gallant looked up at him, clutching his cane in both hands. "Sweden. What did I do wrong?"
"Sir..." Tygan looked a bit taken-aback. "Sir, I am not a military man."
"You watched. You were there." Gallant sighed. "They blame me. Kelly. And the others. What did I do wrong?"
"Commander-"
"Mendoza and Nunez..." Gallant's eye twitched. "If I hadn't...if I hadn't made mistakes..."
"Commander, I am a scientist." Tygan's gaze was serious. "I do not pretend to be an expert on tactical decisions and military strategy. I am a biochemist familiar with alien technology. All I can offer is equipment - and if I had been faster about providing it, maybe it would have provided the edge Pablo Nunez and Carlos Mendoza required." He shook his head. "If any blood rests on your shoulders and not the aliens', Commander, it surely must rest on mine just as evenly. I feel certain Chief Shen would say much the same if you asked her."
Gallant leaned back. He studied the ceiling, very quiet.
"Tygan...what do I do?" he whispered.
"Commander, all we can do is-"
"No, not..." Gallant rubbed his face. "Do I write condolence letters?" He swallowed. "Is there even a mail system? Will they even be delivered? Who do I write them to? Do they have possessions that go to next of kin...what do we do with the bodies? Cremate them in the engines? Do we stop to bury them? Do we know their faiths so we can hold a proper funeral?"
"I don't know the answers to these questions," Tygan replied, voice just as low as he seemed to consider them as intently as his CO. "I will convey them to Central. Hopefully he will know, and he can explain to you what to do."
"Hopefully." Gallant rubbed his chest. "Thank you, Doctor. Be in touch if you have any more strokes of brilliance that could make a difference."
"Of course, Commander." Tygan saluted again.
Gallant listened to him leave. He watched the ceiling for long minutes, feeling the vibration as Avenger flew...drinking in the pitch and shake from Bradford's flying.
His eyes fell to Vahlen's picture.
"Two dead...the haven half-burned..." Gallant closed his eyes, dropping his head into his hands as he thought of Kelly, and of plummeting morale. "God."
He looked back to the tattered XCOM flag framing him, hanging like a challenge from the ceiling. The stars, the shield...the latin inscription...
Gallant sighed. "What the hell are we even fighting for?"
"I'll be back late," Evangeline Moreau assured her son. She hugged him tightly. "And when I come back, I'll be all better."
"Okay." Nathan didn't seem too concerned, which suited his mother just fine. "Will you bring burgers?"
"Not this time, I don't think." Evangeline rose. "Make something nice for dinner, Henri."
"Oui, madame." He smiled. "I'll surprise you."
"I like surprises." Evangeline paused to blow him a kiss, then she patted Nathan on the head and turned back down the driveway. "All right, Charlotte. I'm ready."
"Then hop in." Her designated driver patted the passenger seat, and in a moment Evangeline had indeed taken her place of pride. She fastened her safety harness, then waited as the vehicle ran retinal verification on her blonde friend.
"Let's get you twenty-twenty vision," Charlotte encouraged, and Evangeline had to smile at the thought.
The drive didn't take long. Both women frittered it away in casual conversation: discussing work, discussing the Elders' visions, discussing their favorite places to eat. Every block made Evangeline more giddy, even as it seemed to darken Charlotte's worried eyes.
"Still think I'll be blown up by terrorists?" Evangeline had to ask, as they reached the parking lot. Charlotte shrugged.
"I just don't want you hurt," she said. "And they attacked this place once. Who knows what might happen?"
"It's only so notable that they attacked it once because it only happened once." Evangeline unfastened herself, then clambered into open air. Charlotte disabled the engine and followed, and the two started for the Gene Therapy Clinic, making sure they had the requisite security information on their datapads. "And just think! No more glasses?"
"You have a whole look with them, though," Charlotte objected. Evangeline rolled her eyes.
"Spoken like someone who doesn't know the pain of living with them when everyone else has gotten their eyes treated."
They entered. They presented their information. The clerk checked everything, pausing as he looked over their files.
"Is something wrong?" Evangeline asked. He chewed his lip, then shook his head.
"Oh, no. The system's just being slow, that's all. It looks like they've put you in Room Thirteen this time, for the surgery."
"Wonderful!" Evangeline almost wanted to skip down the hall. "May we?"
"You may." And then he waved them on. "Only together can we build a better tomorrow."
"Come on!" Evangeline pulled Charlotte down the corridor. "You'll get to see how it works...imagine what you could get done!"
"Maybe." Charlotte didn't seem all that at ease, and Evangeline wondered why. "I'm getting a strange feeling about all this."
"You're just paranoid." Evangeline dismissed her worries. "No terrorists are coming, Charley. I'm positive of that."
Room Thirteen, at the end of the hall. Evangeline paused before the door, taking a deep breath.
"This is it," she whispered. She bounced on her toes now. "Finally!"
"Let's get it over with." Charlotte paused when Evangeline shot her a look. "Sorry. I am happy for you, promise. This place just feels odd to me."
"You're so paranoid." Evangeline opened the door, and she started in. "What could possibly happen here, of all places-"
"Madame Moreau?"
"That's me-" she broke off as the person waiting for her wasn't a lab tech, but-
Hiss!
"What the-" Evangeline staggered as the Advent soldier shoved a strange device in her face, one that burst with green hissing smoke. Evangeline got a good mouthful of it, and she staggered half a dozen paces to the operating table, leaning on it as her legs turned to jelly.
"Evangeline!" Charlotte started for her, but the soldier turned and sprayed her, too. The blonde ground to a halt, collapsing to her hands and knees. She coughed, trembling.
"Close the door," the soldier ordered someone. There had to be more than one of them...Evangeline heard several sets of moving feet, and she struggled to look up. The world spun, and swayed and hissed all at once...she could barely stand.
"What are you..." Evangeline fell to her knees, still holding the edge of the table. She coughed, the world turning green and hazy. "Char...Charlotte..."
"Evange..." The blonde collapsed on her face, and the way she lay still...Evangeline's eyes widened.
"Wait...this has to a mistake..."
"Pack them up," the soldier ordered. He looked down as Evangeline tried to rise, pulling and pulling on the operating table, struggling to get numb legs under her.
"No-" she pleaded, as he put the device in her face again.
Hiss!
Author's Note 15: Structuring
My initial idea for this fic was that the chapter structure would alternate. One chapter would be an action chapter, featuring a mission in progress - and the next would be set back on the Avenger, dealing with the consequences of what had happened and laying the groundwork for the next mission. I have bent this philosophy a bit - Lost and Abandoned was 2 chapters, and Lost Towers as well - but the concept of "1/2 chapters in the field, followed by 1/2 at base" remains in force. You'll only see me run 3 in a row on the same op or without any op at all if there's a really, really good reason. I even trimmed Lost Towers down to 2 chapters even though I could have spun it into 3 if I'd kept more of the gas/MECs/turrets after recovering the SPARK.
Most of what I write is high fantasy, though the series nearest and dearest to my heart is a low-fantasy steampunk nautical adventure story. Think ATLA meets Pirates of the Caribbean with steampunk elements thrown in for flavor. I only say this because writing VC is something altogether different for me - I very rarely write contemporary/future tech settings. You might have caught a glimpse of my comfort level with the more "fantasy" style action choreography last chapter with Jane v Stun Lancer...sword duels are something I know my way around, due to all the times I've written them, and my experience as a martial arts instructor.
Until next time, Vigilo Confido.