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"The general who wins the battle makes many calculations in his temple before the battle is fought. The general who loses makes but few calculations beforehand."

~Sun Tzu

Chapter Twenty-eight: Family

"Mariah. Bradford." Commander Edward Gallant gave the other Bradford one hell of a glare. "Is there a particular reason this twist comes dropping in from the sky now?"

"Sir." Bradford hung on the edge of his seat, twiddling his fingers in a most un-Bradfordlike way. "I didn't have a clue, sir."

"You didn't?" Gallant let out a long breath. "You'd better explain a few things."

"Sir, it's been twenty years since XCOM fell." Bradford shrugged. "Twenty years, sir. I went on a date once or twice."

"Fair." Gallant had to yield that. "What do you know?"

"She's got to take more after her mother than me. If she hadn't said anything, I never would have thought we were related." A haunted light flew into Bradford's eyes. No, haunted was the wrong word. It was more like...reverent. "Sir, this is as much of a shocker for me as it is for you. I...I have a daughter."

"Hang on." Gallant leaned down, fished in his drawer, and a moment later pulled out the necessary tools for the problem at hand. A moment later, he handed the assembled assistance to his XO.

"That's hardly necessary, sir." But Bradford took the shot anyway. "She's waiting outside. Seems afraid of me."

"Hardly a shocker, John." Gallant poured a drink for himself. "Maybe my experience with fathers is atypical, but I always ducked for cover when the old man stomped through the house."

"You never told me you didn't get along with the Senator."

"Because I got along with him just fine. But there's something about a father who's Someone - with a capital S - that kind of intimidates kids. And that's coming from a son who knew his father from Day One." Gallant shook his head. "She's going to be afraid of you, John, for at least a little while. You're a legend she's heard about in taprooms and havens across the world - she hasn't got the faintest idea of what kind of man the legend really is."

"Legend." Bradford actually looked embarrassed. "I just tried to hold everything together and find you."

"You did a damn fine job," Gallant observed. He cleared his throat a moment later. "All right. You really know nothing?"

"Not really, sir," Bradford agreed. "And I don't...I'm not sure what questions I should ask her. Or if she'd answer them. Or if she really should - it's not pertinent to the war at hand, and I'd never ask any other rookie half the things I want to-"

"That's precisely why I'll take over where you left off," Gallant said. "I want you to check in with the Ring. Dragunova and Mox are late firing off their recovery beacon and I want to know why."

"Yes, sir." Orders gave Bradford purpose. He rose. "And?"

"And I'll deal with Junior out there." Gallant chuckled. "Let me get a feel for her. Once you're off-duty for the day, take her to the bar and try to catch up. Be her father, not her CO."

"I...don't really know how." Bradford knocked the shot back. "But I've never run away from any other challenge in my life. This can't be harder than that time I boxed a muton."

"Damn, John." Gallant did a double-take. "You're made of iron."

"I never said I won." Bradford left the glass behind, saluting before he turned for the door. "I'll get back to you with an update on Jiaying as soon as I can."

"Do that." Gallant waved him away. "Send her in."

The door hissed open. Gallant had about fifteen seconds to himself, and he spent them downing his shot, pouring again, and seriously contemplating that one, too.

"Two of them," he muttered. "Not just two Shens, but two Bradfords. What's next? Did Dad survive the purge of Congress and set up in Papua New Guinea these last twenty years?"

He snorted. Two Gallants aboard the Avenger would probably be more than the Resistance could handle. They'd barely acclimatized to one.

"Hello?" There came two nervous eyes, lit up with something akin to fear, in a face that showed more than a little Hispanic heritage, framed by curly brown hair that faintly glinted in the overhead lights.

"You must be Miss Bradford." Gallant took his cane in one hand and the desk in the other, and with more than a little effort he stood, trying not to grunt too loudly.

"That's right. I am." And she didn't seem entirely comfortable with that, the way she lingered across the threshold.

"Come in." Gallant waved. She jumped, as if she hadn't realized she'd never actually entered his office.

"Oh...okay..." She scurried over the line, jumping again when the door hissed shut behind her.

"For the record, Rookie," Gallant observed dryly, "when the Commander issues an order, the proper response is 'yes, sir'."

"Oh, shit!" She turned the most vivid shade of red Gallant had ever seen. "Wait, shit...I mean, I didn't mean to curse...I'm...oh, sh-" She cut that one off, visibly gulping. Fear transfixed her and pinned her in place like she expected to be obliterated by Gallant's lightning vision at any moment.

The Commander burst out laughing. He tried very hard to turn it into a coughing fit, but he failed dramatically, and the color in Mariah's cheeks only darkened.

"I'm sorry," she moaned. "I'm so sorry, Commander."

"It's not..." Gallant chortled a moment more, before waving her down. "Don't worry about it, Miss Bradford. I'm not...I'm not laughing at you, I'm just..." He shrugged, still grinning. "Well, I've been dealing with very serious matters for quite a while, and it was nice to let some of the tension out."

"...oh." Mariah blinked very seriously, and for a moment Gallant swore he saw her father in her analytical gaze - in the way she took him apart with her eyes to figure out how he worked.

"Edward Gallant," he finally said, offering his hand. He smiled when she took it. "Commander of XCOM, by appointment of the Council."

"Mariah," said she, before wincing. "But you knew that. Sir!"

The pause didn't seem deliberate. Gallant carried right on without acknowledging it. "I know you've got to be nervous."

"No, sir!" That was emphatic enough she had to be trying to save face. "I'm just...I'm very lucky to be here, sir."

"Well, Mariah, if you're your father's daughter by half, I'd say I'm the one who's lucky you're here." Gallant watched her go red again. "How old?"

"Over eighteen, sir." She looked quite serious. "I'm more than old enough."

Gallant frowned, withdrawing his hand. "Lieutenant Quinn's report says you're seventeen."

"I..."

Gallant made a noise not even he could quite identify. "Your shoes, kid."

"Sir-"

"Am I going to see a little piece of paper with an eighteen written on it if I order you to take them off?" Gallant asked. "That's what they did in the Civil War."

Mariah hemmed and hawed for a moment. Finally, she cleared her throat. "I read about it in a book, when I was a kid. I thought since you were...you know..."

"Artificially preserved from an older time like a pickle?" Gallant asked. "Figured I'd be a prude about a child soldier?"

"I'm not a child!" Her glare started out brave, but came apart quickly. "Really, I'm not!"

"I heard you fought Advent well in South Africa." Gallant raised a hand soothingly. "And, to be frank, Miss Bradford, I don't really have the luxury of being picky about volunteers. I just want a few things clear first."

"Okay?" She coughed a second later, when Gallant's eyebrow went up a hair. "I mean...yes, sir?"

"Your mother." Gallant eyed her intently. "I assume you have her consent for this?"

"I..." Mariah let out a deep breath. "She's dead. Sir."

"Oh." Gallant tilted his head. "How?"

"Faceless." Mariah swallowed.

"Was she in a Haven or-"

"Sir, if it's all the same..." Mariah coughed. "I'd like to talk about...about something else." She inhaled. "I imagine my father will be asking me all these questions before long, and I don't...I don't like to remember it."

Gallant made a noncommittal noise. "Fair enough, Miss Bradford." He did move along, but not very far. "I can't let you fight without knowing your guardian consented to your enlistment."

"I don't have a guardian." She sounded very certain about that. "I don't need one. I take care of myself."

"Call me old-fashioned," Gallant insisted, "but I wouldn't feel right. If you want to be a soldier, I need you to - at a minimum - get your father's approval." And he was sure Bradford would give it.

"Oh." Mariah swallowed. "I...I guess I'll try to talk to him."

"That's the other thing." Gallant examined her critically. "Why did you seek us out?"

"Huh?"

"Not many people want to join XCOM, not unless they're already Resistance fighters. Most people wind up blown into our ranks." Gallant crossed his arms. "You came looking for your father, didn't you?"

"I want to fight," Mariah protested. "Really, I do! I want to take Advent down and liberate humanity!"

"Maybe." Gallant hummed as he thought about his options. "You're not going to get treated any different from any other rookie on account of who your father is, understood? Don't even try to pull a Malfoy."

"Absolutely." She grinned, perhaps sensing that Gallant was running out of objections. "That's just the way I like it. I don't want to be pampered."

"Good." Gallant spent another moment thinking, then exhaled. "Report to Captain Kelly as soon as you're done here. I'll send her a note that you're on the way. She'll pair you up with a range partner and work you over on Basics."

"Sir!" Mariah's eyes lit up. "Thank you, sir!"

"Get your father's approval. In writing." Gallant sighed, trying resolutely to think of Mariah in literally any other sense than child soldier. "Otherwise, I'm..." He hesitated. Was sending her off the ship really any less dangerous than keeping her on the combat roster? The world wasn't the same as it had been in his time, and in dangerous times in bygone days, seventeen was considered perfectly well old enough to fight. Military Trivia Nut John Bradford would have reminded him that plenty of fifteen and sixteen-year-olds had been in action as recently as the World Wars, had he been in the office. Gallant sighed. "Otherwise, I'm transferring you to Doctor Tygan's crew as a lab assistant and bridge tech."

"I'll talk to him, just you wait!" Mariah bounced on her toes now, her smile giddy. "Thank you! Thank you so much...sir!"

"Work on that," Gallant ordered. He cleared his throat. "And now, here's something a bit more personal." He waited until she'd settled down onto her heels before continuing. "Central - that's John, your father - should be coming by shortly to talk to you, probably at dinner or later tonight. I don't know what you know or don't know about him, or how you feel about him-"

"I don't hate him for running off and leaving Mom, if that's what you're asking."

Gallant nearly had a heart attack, he coughed so hard. "Right. Well. Just...you two have a chance to have a relationship. I think you should take it, and remember he doesn't know much at all about you. He'll make mistakes trying to talk to you, and you just need to be patient about it."

"Don't worry, sir." Mariah managed not to pause this time. She even saluted. "I can be very patient when the mood takes me."

She might really be John's daughter, Gallant thought.

Somehow, that idea scared him more than mutons.

"It feels like...like an itch." Sylvie Richard scowled. "A very annoying itch I cannot scratch."

"I know." Julie Richardson made a face at her through two clear walls. "Like some asshole with a feather is tickling the inside of your skull."

"Exactly!" Sylvie made a very frustrated noise. "What is it?"

"Usually it means your purple power noticed something you didn't." Julie leaned back on her cot, putting her back to the far wall of her psi-cell. Sylvie stood, clearly more intent on pacing - perhaps to forget about cranial itches. Her cell was as sparse as Julie's own: no decorations, no nonessential items. Just a cot, just a table with a computer, just a little adjoining sub-cell that did not deserve the term bathroom, and just a little end table that doubled as a dresser, holding what few clothes XCOM soldiers had.

Julie had more than most. Her family had always believed in appearances, and she'd struggled to ditch that mentality, living in the wastes until she found her way to XCOM.

"But what?" Sylvie wasn't as sanguine about odd itches and strange feelings as the redhead. Julie tried not to smirk, remembering the days where she'd paced irritably through her cell, wishing for something more concrete than an itch and a slightly constipated sensation to give her warnings. Warnings of what, too: the same symptoms could mean she'd forgotten to shower or that a berserker was waiting in line with conditioner and a hairnet for her own turn.

"Typically, it would be something you ought to know but you've forgotten," Julie finally offered, trying to be at least a little helpful. "Something that anyone else would know, but you just can't figure out."

"Then what is it?" Sylvie's eyes bored into Julie, and the American once again got the powerful sensation that a soft-spoken mirror was taking her in. Something about having the same entirely unnatural eye color, she supposed.

"Pardon?" Julie blinked.

"If anyone else would know...you are someone else." Sylvie was logical like that. "Did I forget to brush my hair? Am I wearing clashing colors?" Two options that would have been common enough before the invasion. "Did I not hand my sidearm back in to the Armory? Am I accidentally levitating something I shouldn't be?" So much for that.

"I...don't see anything." Julie waved, and her friend turned in a full circle. "No, everything looks fine."

"Then why am I suffering?" Sylvie sat down hard on her own cot, playing with her white-and-black checkered hair. Either she couldn't use hair dye to save her life or she was being very avant-garde, because Julie would rather have been eaten by a faceless than seen her own hair looking like that. Then again, it was eye-catching...it wasn't bad, she supposed, once she got used to it...

"We'll figure it out. Sooner or later." Julie's smile wavered after a minute. "And it comes in handy in the field. If I hadn't had that itch, I wouldn't have figured out what Jane was doing at the blacksite in time to hit the deck."

"Do not remind me of that." Sylvie's face did a curious blanch-redden number. "I thought I was watching you die."

"Ah." Julie kicked at the deck. "You should be so lucky, right?"

"This is not something to make jokes about." Sylvie's eyes were very dark. "I knew Sophie Weber. I would not say I was close to Mendoza, but I considered Pablo Nunez a friend."

"Sorry." Julie coughed. "I didn't mean...yeah." She inhaled. "But things are better now."

"Of course they are." Icy determination rang in the Frenchwoman's voice. "Now, if you are dying, I can do something about it."

"Better." Jane Kelly nodded. "Four of five, Moineau. I've seen worse from our sharpshooters."

"Merci, Captain." The blonde checked her mag-rifle again, as if to assure herself the weapon was real. "This could kill a viper."

"I've seen it go down that way," Jane agreed. "Better than a rock in hand, that's for sure."

"I did not have much family of my own." For a moment, the Irishwoman didn't know where her charge was coming from, until she saw that cold light that occasionally sparkled and flared in her eyes. "No siblings, and parents unfortunate enough to have been casualties of the unprovoked aggression from the Old World's governments in the Invasion. But Evangeline was my friend since childhood, and she doted on her son. He has grown up in this new world. He thinks highly of vipers. They have attracted his childhood admiration, as dinosaurs did to the boys of my generation."

Jane made a noncommittal noise. "I lived in Dublin for a while, before I finally cut ties and went underground. I know what you're talking about."

"I cannot decide," Charlotte admitted. She sighted down the range, and Jane clutched her earmuffs for a moment as the rifle roared. Golden light seared the old storage bay, and orange railgun projectiles ripped into the plywood targets marked at intervals. The painted images of First War sectoids and thin men came apart under the pressure, shattering into thousands of splinters almost as deadly as the flying shots.

"I cannot decide," Charlotte repeated a moment later, having obliterated three of the five targets in as many bursts, "whether I wish for Nathan to see what the creatures he holds up so highly really are...or I hope he never learns."

"Someday, everyone will know." Jane breathed out slowly. "It's going to be ugly. But things will be better for it."

"I wish I had awoken sooner. I always wondered. I always questioned. I was never as satisfied and comfortable with New Paris as Evangeline was." Charlotte lowered the gun, pursing her lips. A note very familiar to an XCOM pair of ears crept into her voice. "Perhaps, had I just-"

"What happened to your friend wasn't your fault." Jane's tone brooked no argument. "Sometimes people die, Charlotte. Sometimes things are bigger than you."

The blonde looked away. "You have lost someone, then?"

"I've got a list, ma amie." And Jane mentally ran through it without meaning to, seeing the procession of faces, each one with haunted eyes and an accusing stare.

You could have saved me, they crooned: James, Obsidian, Irina, Mendoza, Nunez, Sophie, and more in unison. If you'd just...

"If you'd just what, Charlotte?" Jane tackled her trauma in humanity's oldest way: by lending aid to someone else. "What were you supposed to do? Even if you'd been a firebrand rebel and abandoned the city center, I somehow doubt a friend happy enough with her place to marry and have a child would have followed you. She'd only have died alone."

Charlotte sighed. "It is hard to bear this in mind."

"I know it is." Jane hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder. "We all have to figure out how to carry this, that's-"

Blam! Blam!

"Fuck!"

Jane sighed. "Is that another one of five I hear, Bradford?"

"Sorry!" Mariah struggled with whether to focus her attention on her instructor or her gun. She settled for kicking the deck. "Something's up with my gun. I just can't..."

"Let me see it." Jane found exactly what she thought she would. "There's nothing wrong with your gun."

Mariah did at least know better than to argue with her superior officer. She didn't look convinced, but she took the returned mag-rifle with close to the same enthusiasm XCOM had shown to the surrender, and pivoted back to the range. Without a word, she nestled the butt of the rifle into her shoulder and sighted.

"I've told you twice that your feet shouldn't be like that." Jane allowed her voice to harden. "If I have to tell you a third time, you're on swabbing duty for a week."

"Ma'am!" Mariah went red. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't be sorry, Bradford, just do it." Jane crossed her arms and glared until the rookie - and she hadn't been like that for James and Obsidian, had she? - scurried back into a proper shooting stance. "Try again."

"Yes, ma'am." Mariah took aim, and Jane covered her ears. Charlotte did the same a space over.

Blam! Blam-blam!

"Better." Jane's voice sounded weak in the stillness that followed the harsh roar of the mag-rifle - or maybe it was just her ear protection. "Three of five."

"I just can't..." Mariah's eye twitched. "There's something wrong with my gun. There has to be. I can't hit them."

"Not every soldier is a Sharpshooter." Jane shrugged. "I'm a Ranger, kid. Give me my shotgun on my first days, I was lucky to get three."

"But now?"

"Now..." Jane shrugged. "I've gotten four. Don't get discouraged!" She saw the look in her charge's eye, flitting in from the circle of Hell from which sprung self-doubt. "Practice, that's all it is. Hours and hours of practice. Us active-duty personnel spend more time here in the range than anywhere else on the ship. Well..." She chuckled. "Except the bar."

Mariah looked unhappy. "But-"

"But what?" Jane cocked her head. The girl blew air through her teeth.

"I kind of thought...well, with Dad being the legend he is, that I might have some of the same..."

"He wasn't born with it any more than anyone else." Jane really, really hoped Mariah's father didn't happen to be watching the range from the stairway. He'd done that once or twice, almost as if he was afraid to approach her. Jane had noticed - and felt uncomfortably like her own parent was leaning over her shoulder to make sure she did her job right - but she didn't think Mariah had, because the younger brunette had carried right on just as if Central wasn't there. And that was what Jane wanted - so she didn't dare spare a glance for the stairway now. If Bradford was there, and Mariah looked because Jane did...

"I suppose the question is how I get from here to there."

"Practice," Charlotte echoed, beating Jane by one second. "Hours and hours of practice."

"I'm sure he'd tell you the same thing," Jane agreed. "If he hasn't already."

Mariah considered. "I suppose that makes sense. I just-"

"Mission Alert! Mission Alert! All hands report to General Quarters!"

"Oh, boy." Jane didn't jump like her charges, but she did immediately turn for the stairs with the reflexes of the veteran she'd become. "Basic dismissed! Check your weapons and stand by in the barracks for the call!"

"Oui!" Charlotte took her gun and rushed over to the counter where one of Shen's assistants waited with datapad at the ready. Mariah hesitated.

"Does this mean we're going into battle?"

"Just check your gun and get upstairs to find out," Jane repeated, neither pausing nor looking. At least there was no Bradford Senior lurking. "We'll know soon enough."

"We'll have to blood the new meat sooner or later." Gallant thumped along on his cane, resolutely setting a blistering pace that made his heart pound and put a worried look on Tygan's face. "I'm sending Mariah and Charlotte. Put Kelly in command and attach White for fire support."

"What kind of data are we talking about?" That was Bradford, sliding in to join the pair like he'd been there all along.

"The aliens are using some form of encryption beyond anything we've ever theorized - much less seen." Tygan didn't look happy. "I believe I can crack the code, but it will take the science team quite some time. Until then, I can't be sure exactly what the aliens are sending, but whatever it is, I believe it is related to the Avatar Project. They would hardly deploy as much security on the transmission as they appear to have if it were not important."

"Fair." Gallant made a snap decision. "Attach Quinn and her drone." He thought long and hard about his final call. "Sylvie."

"We have to blood the new meat sooner or later," Tygan echoed, much more sadly. "Julie will not be happy."

"Julie will learn to live with the facts that she's no longer the only psi-op - so I can afford to not burn her at all ends, which ought to make her happy in a fair world - and that I'm the Commander, so I make these decisions. Besides, Sylvie's not quite new meat, even if she's never smelled blood in our service." Gallant missed doors with hinges. Sure, the bridge portal opening for him as soon as he approached was convenient in a supermarket sort of way, but he pined for the days where he could dramatically smash a door open to announce his presence.

"Commander on deck!" Bradford called, which was less dramatic but likely more functional. Gallant nodded at the quick barrage of salutes people shot his way.

"At ease, bridge." Gallant returned a general, hi-everyone sort of salute. "Is Firebrand awake?"

"Cursing a bit, sir, but she's getting her bird warm." Shen chuckled in the back of her throat. "I think she had a late night."

"Well, she'd better not crash that bird. It's the only one we've got." Gallant made his way up the stairs he still hated, claiming his eagle-eye commander's perch above the holodisplay with nary a grunt of complaint. "Doctor, could you-"

"Of course, Commander." The scientist vanished. It only took him a minute to reappear with a glass.

"Well." Gallant took it, examining the water level. "Am I am optimist or a pessimist today?"

"You're usually a pessimist," Bradford reminded him, a little smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. "I say it's half-empty."

"I say half-full." Tygan proffered Gallant's medication. "Though not for long."

"Not at all." Gallant took the pills without another word, and it was quiet for a moment as he worked through them with a series of quick sips. When done, he returned the glass to his science officer. "Thank you, Doctor."

"The squad's been picked out and are on their way through the Armory," Bradford notified Gallant after a moment. There was an odd note in his voice...

"She'll be fine, John," Gallant assured him, voice low. The XO huffed.

"I'm not worried," he lied, blatantly. "She's got Kelly and Quinn looking after her. Kelly's as good as they come."

"I didn't know you thought so highly of Fighting Irish."

"You're the one who invited her to the officer's club board game meetings-"

"Semantics." Gallant huffed, ignoring Tygan and Shen's grins. "Let's get serious."

He heard their voices.

They called from the darkness, called from On High, whispering and murmuring. They spoke into and from the void, bringing word of all things.

Things that are, they told him. Things that were.

"And some things," he murmured, completing the mantra, "that have not yet come to pass."

They spoke. He listened, as always. They spoke of his sister and her defeat, they spoke of his brother and his idle pastimes, his waste of the Gifts delivered by the gods.

And they spoke of XCOM.

Facility Nine, they seemed to whisper, and images flitted through his head - a ship in flight, a team of nervous fresh warriors, wheat for the scythe. California.

He rose, relishing the blue lights of his sanctum. His praetorian guard knelt at his movement, and so he ignored them.

"Heretics!" the Warlock decried, as his power built around him. "Come forth, and be judged!"

Author's Note 28: Eldest

One thing I'm not clear on - exactly - is whether the Chosen are alien in origin, or were once human. I think it's the latter, even if they look far beyond anything I could say originated with a human form, but their dialogue certainly supports this idea. I would prefer the former explanation though - I like the idea of the Elders having a set of interplanetary troubleshooters who are used to fighting resistance movements across various worlds. But I won't argue with canon...this time.

I know the Warlock has a reputation as the most dangerous of the Chosen. I don't really feel that way myself - god damn the Assassin is a pain in the ass - but he's certainly no joke. Maybe that's because there have been exactly two games so far where I encountered him before I had high-level troops and gear, and in both of those I started with a Templar ally, so I had the tools to work with my situation. EDIT: Since I wrote this, I started a game where I ran into the most obscenely OP Warlock in history - Kinetic Plating, Regeneration, AND Shogun all at once, combined with Groundling which is the weakest of the weaknesses. It was intense but I got him.

I like Templars. Not as much as Skirmishers, but I like Templars. I only play a great deal with them if I start allied to them - by the time I get them in other playthroughs, my other soldiers tend to be very high-level, so it's almost more work than it's worth to get the Templar up to speed with the rest of them. But some of their abilities are amazing.

Until next time, Vigilo Confido.