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"In the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures. For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed."

~Khalil Gibran

Chapter Twenty-seven: Avatar

"Four." Thump-thump-thump-thump.

"All right." John Bradford leaned back, rubbing his chin. "Hit us."

Silence. Eyes turned furtively around the table as some of the most consequential men and women in the world waited, breathless, for the forthcoming proclamation.

"Did you know..." Edward Gallant, Commander of the Extra-Terrestrial Combat Unit, formerly of the United States Army, leaned forward, steeping his fingers. "Did you know that soda cans are pressure sealed by the carbonated gases inside the drinks put inside them?"

"I'm sure we're very interested," Lily Shen replied, pausing to glance at the ceiling. "But-"

"This leads to a problem when the cans are made to contain liquids that are not carbonated. Take, for example, lemonade." Gallant nodded decisively. "The can can't very well be sealed with carbonated pressure that doesn't exist. Do you know how they do it?"

"No," grunted the brunette directly across the table. "But I bet you're about to tell us, aren't you?"

"I am, Captain Kelly." Gallant beamed. "See, they need to-"

"They put a drop of liquid nitrogen inside the can and seal it." Richard Tygan eyed his superior over his fanned cards. "Commander, make your suggestion and stop holding the game up."

Silence. Gallant made a rumbling noise in the back of his throat.

"Miss Scarlett," he finally posited, which made Jane Kelly stick her tongue out. "With the rope. In the ballroom."

"Joke's on you." Bradford flashed a card, and Gallant examined it for a moment, even if Shen, Tygan, and Kelly all had the grace to play the game right and look away.

"Thank you, John." Gallant marked the rope off on his datapad. "I mean, thank you, Colonel."

"Professor." Bradford glanced to Lily. "Your turn, Peacock."

The engineer swept up the die and cast it, and Gallant turned to examine his own cards as she moved. For a minute, there was relative silence as the turns went around the table.

"I'm not rolling." Jane slipped the red token across the board. "I'll take the passage to the conservatory."

"Oh, joy." Bradford glanced at his cards. "Well, Captain?"

"The Professor." Jane glared mightily at Gallant, who chuckled.

"Watch yourself, soldier. Thin ice, accusing your commanding officer of murder."

"With the revolver, because he's old-fashioned like that." Jane snorted. "What is this, 1800?"

"That's hardly fair," Bradford objected. "The debate of revolving chambers versus semi-automatic magazines actually continued well into the twenty-first century, especially in law enforcement circles. Revolvers were seen as more reliable to a lot of people-"

"Central..." Jane coughed. "I think you should-"

"Shut up, John," Gallant chimed in, and everyone snickered. "Just tell him, Kelly."

"Can't, sir. He's my commanding officer, too." Jane cleared her throat. "As I said: the Commander did it with the revolver, right here in the-"

The door chimed. Gallant paused.

"It's game night," he muttered. "The hell's gone wrong on game night?" He blew air through his teeth. "The one night we don't spend trying to blow up half a planet..."

"Come in." Bradford stood. "I'll handle it, sir. You all continue without me for a minute." He glanced at his cards. "I'm useless to the Captain this round anyway."

"Right." Gallant examined his own hand. He waited for Shen or Tygan to exonerate him, but neither of them moved either.

"Really?" Jane frowned. "Really?"

"What is it?" Bradford opened the door. "What's gone wrong?"

"Sir." That was Sylvie Richard's voice, and Gallant couldn't resist turning to watch her snap to attention. Her hair was still half-white between the bleaching of power and the work of midnight dye, giving the Commander the impression of a skunk. But he would never say as much, because Sylvie's eyes glowed with violet power just like Julie Richardson's now. If the Frenchwoman didn't find a way to get Gallant back, the redhead certainly would.

"At ease." Bradford waved her down. "Report."

"Firebrand just checked in at Waypoint Five. Lieutenant Quinn reports no casualties, and they've got both the wannabes in tow." Sylvie looked a bit relieved at being able to say all that. Gallant couldn't blame her - Julie didn't seem to have quite figured out that the ship's junior psi-op had a crush, but that made her the only person on or off the ship who hadn't.

That's not true, Gallant decided. I don't think Sylvie's one hundred percent sure either. He wanted to laugh. Young idiots, unable to open their mouths and talk about it!

He sobered a moment later as he remembered his own case of young idiocy and a closed mouth. Without thinking, he brought his hand up to his breast pocket and the picture he kept there.

"And that's all?" By Bradford's tone, it had better not be all. "Sounds like things are routine. We're in the middle of something."

"A team-building exercise," Jane Kelly agreed. "Building trust and friendship among murderers." If she recognized what a powerful statement it was that she was here with the command crew when no other enlisted soldier was, she didn't show it.

"Well, oui." Sylvie coughed. "I am sorry, but we have a transmission coming through."

"Do we?" Now it was Gallant's time. He reached for his cane, then stood with an irritated grunt. "What kind of transmission? Volk? Betos?"

"Commander..." Sylvie seemed torn about whether to salute him, too. In the end, she settled for straightening up again. "Commander, it's from the Shadow Man."

Gallant's face smoothed into nonexpression. His voice didn't, and he let out an angry set of mumbled curses.

"One night," he demanded. "Couldn't he have kept himself busy for one night?" He brushed on without waiting for anyone to reply. "Screw it. I've got to deal with this."

"I'll come with you, Commander-"

"No, John. You lot play a round or two among yourselves." Gallant clapped the XO on the shoulder. He glanced back at his people. "Watch out for Scarlett. She's a hellion."

"And proud of it." She looked a lot more concerned than she sounded. Shadow Man hadn't been supposed to contact them for another two weeks.

"Right." Gallant took a breath. "Have fun, and don't drink too much without me." He turned for the door. "Deal yourself in, Sylvie. Clue seats six." He stumped past her. "And you've got the hair for Mrs. White all set to go!"

Gallant made sure the door to his office was locked before he went to settle. The red light flashing on his terminal indicated someone was on hold, but with his impairment he wanted to be sure he had everything right before picking up.

"Picking up," he muttered, as he went to all the lights and turned them off. "Your age is showing, Edward. No one picks up phones anymore." He cleared his throat as he finally settled down before the terminal. "That was a dated reference in your own time."

He let out a quick breath, then straightened. Gently, he reached out to flick one more light switch, and then he was ready.

"All right," Gallant muttered. He hit the proper button, and waited as the security encryption screen popped up. "Let's talk."

The locks clicked: one for each type of encryption. Gallant waited as all ten worked their way through, then tried not to breathe in as the screen dissolved momentarily into static. Light filtered in, then darkness. Then...

"Hello, Commander." Shadow Man sat in his usual position, lights out save for the one behind his head, wreathed in so much darkness Gallant couldn't possibly recognize him if he saw the man every waking day. The spokesman for the Resistance paused for a moment, and Gallant imagined what was going on in his head.

"Hello," Gallant said, resisting the urge to wave. He steeped his fingers. "John's idea."

"They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery." Shadow Man might have been amused. Gallant, not a fan of sitting in the dark for the sake of looking mysterious, hoped so. "Your morale must have taken a serious boost after Switzerland. I don't recall the last time you made a joke."

"Like I said, John's idea." Gallant grinned. "We match."

"I fear I am the bearer of bad news, Commander."

"As usual."

That might have made Shadow Man chuckle, but it was hard to tell, as gravelly as his voice was. "It would seem your recent activities have gotten Advent's attention.

"Our unwelcome guests are on the move."

A map appeared. Gallant wasn't sure what he was looking at, watching little icons congregate in various global locations, but he didn't have to wait long. Shadow Man kept talking.

"Advent has been diverting considerable resources and personnel to hidden facilities across the globe. The exact details of these operations are classified at the highest level, but they all have one thing in common. A single word that appears in every file: Avatar."

Gallant breathed out slowly as an Advent sigil appeared on screen. But there was something slightly different about it - something that he couldn't define at a glance, but that gave this symbol Importance with a capital I.

"Why now?" Gallant asked. "What's changed all of a sudden that makes them put more effort behind this project now?"

"You, Commander." Shadow Man's voice was level as always, but that sent a tingle up Gallant's spine. "I believe the black site in Switzerland was merely one of many installations dedicated to work on this Avatar Project. With its destruction, the aliens have realized time is not on their side." He might have exhaled. "And based on what we have uncovered, the Project's scope is far greater than we had previously imagined possible."

"Why?" Gallant narrowed his eyes. "What's the purpose?"

"We do not know, Commander. This project's source is in the highest level of the Advent administration - all my attempts to identify whom have met with failure." He reappeared on screen, shrouded in blackness, and Gallant saw Purpose in his bearing. "It is time to take a more direct approach."

"Direct how?" Gallant swallowed. "Sir, I can't do a great deal with nothing. If we don't know what they're doing, we can't-"

"Though we may not know the exact nature of this Avatar Project, we can still disrupt it by striking its critical infrastructure," Shadow Man pointed out. Gallant chewed on that for a moment, then nodded. "With the help of local Resistance cells, we can find these Avatar Project facilities - these black sites - and destroy them. In the process, we can uncover the truth of the Project's purpose. Uncover the source...and then destroy it, too."

Gallant hesitated. "You're asking a lot. My men have been through hell already."

"You are up to the challenge, Commander, as are your forces." Shadow Man leaned forward. "And we have no choice. Were the enemy to succeed in their efforts, I have no doubt it would mean the end for all of mankind." That statement left a chill in its wake, like an angry winter gust. Gallant whistled.

"So it's like that?"

"I am confident you will take whatever measures are necessary to eliminate this threat, Commander." That was a yes, then. Gallant sighed.

"Sir-"

"Good luck."

"Wait-" Gallant swore as the screen went blank. He leaned back, glaring at the ceiling. "Man doesn't believe in 'good-bye, Commander', does he?" He did a terrible job of mimicking Shadow Man's voice, but it was the thought that counted.

Silence infested the darkened room for a long minute. Then...

"Tygan!" Gallant hit the intercom button, and he imagined everyone in the staff room jumping as his voice exploded around them. "You and Shen, my office, now. John, I want you on the bridge. Firebrand's on her way back in. You and Kelly flag her in and get everyone rested. Sylvie, get your ass to the psi-lab."

"Sir..." That was Bradford, hitting his own com. "Sir, what's kicked off?"

"War, John," Gallant replied, clutching the arms of his chair. "We're going to all-out war footing."

"Here they are." Jane waited at Bradford's side while the hangar lift hissed and whirred. "Little late."

"Must have gotten held up skirting around the air defenses in Nigeria." Bradford took things like that for granted. He knew things like that, no matter what question you asked. You asked Jane, she wasn't entirely sure she could tell you the difference between Nigeria and Niger - and they were both countries, right? Her world had been very insular before XCOM, and she'd been all of eleven years old when the invasion started, which hardly made for the best pre-war education possible even if she'd been born to a rich family.

Rich. Her parents would have laughed so hard at that thought, but Jane's memories of comfortable middle-class life in Ireland certainly felt only a step or two down from the lifestyle of the rich and famous. Never worrying about water or food...knowing you'd have a bed to sleep in...

"It was like being on the Avenger," she decided under her breath. "Just fewer chryssalids."

The Skyranger descended into view, bay doors already open, and Jane had to smile when she saw the team leader, waving her troops off.

"Lieutenant!" Jane waved, and after a moment, Aileen Quinn waved back.

"Captain!" She hurried over, rifle slung over her shoulder and Nessie the GREMLIN buzzing around in her wake. She paused to salute, and Jane coughed.

"That's really not necessary..."

"It's not for you, Irish, but your vanity is noted." While Jane coughed again in a different sort of way, Aileen's attention went right to Bradford. "Sir: zero casualties, a full Advent patrol down for the count, and both VIPs recovered."

"Good show, Lieutenant." Bradford returned the salute. "The team?"

"Disembarking." Aileen lowered her hand after the XO did, then glanced back to the other soldiers. "Richardson kicked ass, as usual, and Junior's always great to have around when mutons get irritated."

"I'll tell Shen you said that." Bradford crossed his arms. "When we're done here, get everyone a meal and some sleep. I don't think we're going to have a lot of rest for a while."

"Sir." Aileen nodded. "Firebrand had some concerns about fuel, and the number two engine's..."

Jane tuned her out. She started forward, adjusting her baseball cap, as the fourth member of the strike team finally disembarked.

"Well, you're not dead yet." The Irishwoman gave him a jaunty smile. "More's the pity."

"I know. You're still stuck with me." David White came to a halt at the base of the ramp, smirking down her way. Jane, hardly a tiny woman, liked having to crane her neck to meet his eyes. "You'll have to do a better job sabotaging my gear next time."

"No promises." Jane clapped him on the shoulder - she had a feeling Bradford would object to a hug or a kiss in the hangar bay while technically on duty. Bradford was funny about things like that. "Tell me all about it over a drink?"

"Two drinks, your tab."

"I'll buy you one," Jane insisted, and her next clap was more of a whack. "I don't like you that much."

"True love." Julie passed them with a smirk she did a very bad job of hiding. "You two are disgusting."

"Oh, yeah?" Jane glared. "Just you wait! I'll remember that when it's you!"

"Makes me glad there's no one hanging around pining for me, in that case." The redhead carried blithely on in her unaware haze. "I'm off to the psi-lab. I'll see you later."

"Psi-lab, she says." David eyed her speculatively. "I bet her other half's already there."

"Oh, hush." Jane shoved him. "It's kind of adorable the way they're the only two who don't have a clue in the world that they're chasing each other. Don't spoil it."

"All right." Bradford and Aileen came over, and Jane hurriedly took a half-step back from David's side. The XO gave her a look, but it wasn't warning...overtly, at least. "Where are the wannabes?"

"Hang on." Aileen hurried half-up the ramp. "Moineau! Mariah!"

"Oui, here." Out came a blonde. Jane had to stare for a long moment before she realized-

"You!" She put her hands on her hips. "From the black site!"

"Oui," the blonde repeated. She looked worse for wear, with fresh cuts on her cheeks and chin and skinned elbows, with tattered clothes and greasy hair - but even with all of that, she looked a hundred times better than she had the last time the pair had seen each other in Switzerland. "My name is Charlotte Moineau. I am from Paris. I was."

"Charlotte, huh?" Bradford offered his hand. "You're not technically a rookie yet, so I won't make you salute. If you were in the black site..." He shook his head slowly. "There's war, and then there's genocide."

"I only wish Evangeline had been able to escape with us." Charlotte's eyes darkened. "She was my friend."

"I'm sorry." Jane kicked at the deck. "I didn't...we tried..."

"It is not your fault. I do not blame you." Charlotte's eyes blazed. "I very well do blame others. I have never been a violent woman, nor an angry one - but I am angrier than I have ever been now, and violence seems to have much to recommend it."

"Now you're talking!" Out bounced another figure: a brunette a good bit shorter than Jane, with curly hair falling around her shoulders. She had to be young - had to be! She had so much energy to her peppy stride, and she skidded to a halt at the base of the ramp with the biggest grin. "So, this is the Avenger?"

"Yes." Jane eyed her contemplatively. "You must be Mariah."

"Oh, yes, that's me." She hesitantly saluted. "You look like an officer."

"Well, there's a reason for that." Jane left it there: Captain Kelly or not, she felt more like a jumped-up team leader than a member of the Command Staff. Instead, the Irishwoman turned. "Charlotte, Mariah, this is Central Officer Bradford. He's the number-two man in the entire organization, and if you want to get anywhere, you'll have to impress him. That's how I got on the ship."

"Oh." Mariah's tanned face paled remarkably quickly. "Oh."

"Relax: I'm not the devil, just his right-hand man." Bradford produced a datapad, humming a few bars of a song the phrase must have put in his head. "Let's knock out a few quick things, then I'll send you off for food and sleep. You first." He turned to Charlotte. "Full name?"

"Charlotte Moineau."

"French, yes?"

"Oui." She shrugged. "Unless vacationing in Italy and later South Africa counts as a nationality?"

Bradford chuckled. "Anything you want us to bear in mind? Medical history, known relatives and what they might be doing..."

Charlotte shook her head. "I do not know how good of a shot I am liable to be, but I imagine you have ways of teaching things like that."

"If we didn't, we'd be a terrible military." Bradford nodded. "All right, madame-"

"Mademoiselle, please."

Jane smirked. Bradford cleared his throat.

"Sorry. Did Spanish, not French." He actually looked embarrassed. "Mademoiselle, then."

"You speak Spanish?" Aileen asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Spanish, a bit of Chinese, a bit of Russian, and a lot more Farsi than I ever thought I'd learn before I went overseas." Bradford turned. "All right. Let's get you recorded, then you're off. Name?"

"M...Mariah." She left it at that.

"Full name," Jane reminded her. Mariah swallowed.

"Um..."

"What's the problem?" Jane frowned. "We need it for record purposes."

"I just...well..." She coughed, then reached up to curl her hair around her finger. "I...I don't..."

"Soldier!" Bradford's voice was sharp, sharp enough Mariah jumped, yelped, and snapped right to attention. "There are no secrets on this ship, rookie. Full name, now!"

"Sir!" She didn't quite seem to know what to do after that. "Well, sir..."

"Now," Bradford insisted, crossing his arms. "What the devil are you afraid of, girl?"

"...Bradford." It came out almost as a whisper. "Mariah Bradford...Dad."

Author's Note 27: Cans

My father is a mechanical engineer working in the beverage canning industry. Not only is Gallant correct, but that is a pretty good adaptation of sitting down and playing a game with my dad. He's the closest thing in real life to an Omnidisciplinary Scientist(seriously, he can talk you in circles in theoretical physics, electrical and mechanical engineering, chemistry, history, and almost any related disciplines, not to mention sci-fi literature and movies), and he loves dropping trivia at random points. I know more about the can-making world than most of you will ever care to learn, and that's just from proximity. He is the real-life Dr. Shen Sr. from XCOM: Enemy Unknown, part of why I like Shen so much.

So of course his son is a starving artist. Follows, doesn't it?

Anyone with an understanding of the English language should have a good idea of what the Avatar Project is on its name alone. I'm surprised Shadow Man and Bradford - to say nothing of Tygan - don't put it together early on in the game, and it takes 20 hours of gameplay to get to the point where people admit they know what it is. Then again, my perspective on "understanding the English language" is a bit different from most people's. I won't say I'm in love with big words, but it's rare that you hit a word or rule I don't know, at least on paper. I might elaborate more on that later.

Finally, the elephant in the room: Mariah exists. That's all I'm prepared to say right now. Enjoy the searing, world-breaking twist and I'll flesh things out next time.

Until then, Vigilo Confido.