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"Man's enemies are not demons, but human beings like himself."
~Lao Tzu
Chapter Seventy-four: Demons
"Ow." Yue Liang scowled a moment later, proffering her thumb. "Satisfied?"
"Yeah. Enough." Gallant pushed a box of band-aids across his desk. "Sorry. No such thing as too careful."
"You don't have to tell me twice." Yue spent a moment treating the proof of her humanity, leaving Bradford's knife on the table. "Now that we're clear that I'm no enemy of yours–"
"We are clear you're not a faceless." Gallant narrowed his eyes. "That's not the same thing."
"Commander, she's my sister." Da-Xia Liang made an uncomfortable noise. "I'll vouch for her."
"Good for you." Now it was Bradford's turn. "Jiaying was Shen's cousin, and she sold us out without a care. Do I need to mention Kipler?"
Liang's scowl was identical to Yue's. "She's not like that!"
"Easy, there. They have reason to worry." Yue examined Gallant, and the depth of her gaze was the next best thing to unsettling. "I'm sure you know I am in Geist's employ."
"Yeah. And I trust him..." There was no easy comparison, was there? He didn't not trust Geist–if nothing else, the telepathic bastard had pulled Avenger from the fire when he had the perfect chance to let everyone die–but he was both the newest and oddest member of the slipshod alliance. Volk was a wacko but he was a dependable wacko, and Betos was more loyal than a golden retriever.
If this alliance isn't born more from our ends and Geist's coinciding than from any genuine sense of partnership, I'll eat John's sweater. Even if we save the world, what's going to happen when the ashes settle? It was a thought that kept Gallant up some nights. What was Geist's endgame?
"I trust him as much as I can." That was nice and noncommittal. Gallant rolled the little container with his meds between his hands, trying to think. "According to the ninja glowering in the corner, you were taken by an Advent abduction team."
"Yes. There was a blacksite near Singapore, not so different from the facilities you uncovered in Switzerland and Mexico." Yue's eyes hardened. "Thank God I never made it there. The Templars struck the convoy I was being transported in, and they took me and many of us in. I was an engineering student before everything came apart, and they were glad to have my expertise. I've worked with them for several years now."
Bradford grunted. "That lines up with the bio Geist shot over."
"We already established she's not an impersonator. We're just trying to figure out whether she plans on overloading the power core mid-flight." Gallant worked his jaw. "Hell of a coincidence, you two being sisters."
"Not really, Commander. The resistance is a small world." Yue chuckled under her breath. "I've met a lot of family pairs in our circles. Haven't you?"
"I..." There was the image of Mariah again, nearly bouncing off the walls. Hardly less of a coincidence, her arrival–and she'd been one of the best soldiers Gallant had ever served with, no matter how the path had twisted until she got there. Maybe Yue was the same?
"Here's how we're going to do this." Gallant wasn't confident in his choices, but someone had to make them and his was the ass in the chair. "John, assign her to Shen's team. If she's an engineer, she should be able to make herself useful." He turned his attention back to Yue. "I deeply apologize, but I can't in good conscience give you full run of the ship until we've had a chance to make sure you are what you claim. You'll have a low-level security clearance, and I'll leave it up to you and Shen how you navigate that."
"Sir." Yue nodded amiably, as if unperturbed. "I can't fault your logic. I only hope you'll change your mind as time passes."
"Me too."
"What about Father Giovanni and Elias?" Yue cocked her head.
"Don't worry." Gallant leaned on his desk to stand, extending his hand. "Lieutenant Rogers should be getting them situated as we speak. I think they'll fit right in here." He turned to the other Liang, unhappily shifting her weight in the corner. "Lieutenant, could you help your sister find a bunk and get settled in? Once you've had a chance to reconnect, take her down and introduce her to the Chief and Julian. I'll send word you're coming."
"Yes, sir." Liang saluted. "Come on."
Everyone's fine.
As far as comforting thoughts went, that sucked. Anne caught in a brawl with a hundred Lost, Aileen nearly blown up by a Faceless, and Fatima alive by the skin of her teeth, confined to medbay? Jesus Christ, it had been a shitshow.
I should have been there. Jane Kelly sat in her room, the lights dim and low. It should be me in the medbay, not Fatima. If someone's going to get blasted, it should be me.
She glanced at her datapad. Stupid, really: it wasn't any different from last time. She wasn't going to learn anything new or accomplish jack shit by looking and looking and looking.
Which didn't keep her gaze from fixing on David's preserved face on the lock screen.
It should have been me. If someone had to die to get Avenger off the ground, it shouldn't have been David, who had so much to offer the Resistance, or Mariah in the prime of her youth! Jane should have been there, and she should have sent them packing back to the ship so she could hold the line.
Their bodies, desiccated and devoured in the Warlock's chryssalid pens, filled her mind's eye. Had they died first? Mariah had, as confirmed by the Avenger's sensor readings on the way out. But what about Zhang? Or David? Were his last moments a whirlwind of agony as the insects tore him limb from limb?
I hope he died cleanly. Was there such a thing? Even someone who was shot had to bleed out or suffocate as their punctured lungs flooded.
Mariah, David, Zhang, MacLeod, Sophie, Mendoza... The list went on and on. So many dead, and none had gone gently or kindly. Being crushed by the Berserker Queen was at least as horrific a death as being suffocated in a Faceless' gooey bulk.
James and Obsidian. Sure, Irina had lived, but she'd suffered worse because of it. Lost limbs, months in Advent captivity...it was a miracle she'd survived to be rescued.
It should have been me. But that wasn't the truth, was it? It should have been him.
It was his fault this had all happened. That was why the Chosen wanted him: why Angelis was obsessed with him. If he hadn't been pulling the strings, James and Obsidian would be alive, and Irina wouldn't be crippled. Whatever he'd gone through under their knives was nothing compared to that.
"Stop." She had to say it aloud. She clutched her knees tightly, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to twist away from the thoughts. "Stop, stop, stop. This isn't..." That wasn't true, since it was his fault. "You can't blame him for..." But why not, since he was responsible? People were dead because of him. "He's as much a victim as..." He was fucking alive, so no.
It was too big. Too confusing. Jane shivered. If only David was here to wrap his arms around her and condense her world.
Stop being a fucking baby. You're not some kind of damsel, for Christ's sake! Scowling, Jane kicked at the underside of her bunk. It wasn't out of anger: her hidden compartment popped open, the drawer sliding out until its contents were right within reach.
"Fuck it." Jane couldn't make sense of her life's miasma of shit, and she couldn't do anything about it either. So there was only one way forward: she had to simplify her world and numb herself.
She wrenched the cork out of the first bottle, forgoing her plastic cups to take a deep swig then and there.
Julie Richardson popped the door to her enlarged psi-cubicle. "Honey, I'm home."
"Hello, dear." Sylvie sat on the floor in pajama pants and a tank top, puzzle pieces scattered haphazardly in a wild mess between her and the little boy, where he energetically attempted to fit them together in ways that defied the laws of physics. "How was work?"
"Oh, the usual." Julie mimed hanging a fictional hat on an imaginary rack by the door. "Boss breathing down my neck, the works. It's Tuesday."
"Oui." Sylvie paused to nudge a corner piece over to their new charge. "We've been playing with blocks and puzzles. They are very exciting."
"Sure are." For a moment, Julie struggled with an overwhelming surge of...sadness? Perhaps grief was a better word: grief for a world that would never be. If the aliens hadn't come, she and Sylvie could have been in a house in France or the States rather than here in Avenger, and Julie's act could have been their reality. Broken dishwashers and car maintenance being their biggest concerns, and paying the mortgage and raising children on a psi-op's salary...
But if not for the war, we wouldn't have met. We lived literally on opposite ends of the world. Undoubtedly true. Would life have been better or worse?
God alone knew. All Julie could do was make the best of the hand she'd been dealt. Whatever led to it, she had a beautiful girlfriend with a lovely soul, and then there was this child to tie them together.
"Have you heard the rumor?" Sylvie glanced up, while the boy meticulously studied the corner piece. At his age, Julie never would have put that much thought into anything.
"Oh, yeah." Julie cleared her throat uncomfortably. "I think Mox is a great guy, and his origins don't change that in the slightest–"
"No." Sylvie arched an eyebrow. "About Firebrand?"
"...what?" Julie frowned. "Is she hotwiring Avenger's PA to play Danger Zone 24/7?"
"I spoke to Aileen, who spoke to Charlotte, who heard from Meysam that Nui suspects Firebrand is expecting."
"You spoke to..." Julie took a minute to physically track that explanation through the air with both hands. "Huh. Weird, but okay. Expecting what?"
Sylvie cocked her head, and bemusement glittered in her violet eyes. "A child, Julie. It is said that she is pregnant."
"Pregnant?" Julie's jaw clicked as it fell halfway to the floor. "A child, on Avenger?" She coughed, unable to avoid glancing at their own Very Bad Idea. "I mean, having one. Pregnancy." She whistled. "Do we even have maternal care facilities in the infirmary? Is anyone on this ship the least bit knowledgeable about delivering babies?"
"You are the nurse."
"My aunt was a nurse. I picked up a few tricks. Birth was not one of them." Julie sat on the edge of her and Sylvie's bed, running a hand through her scarlet hair. "Jesus. And you heard this from Nui?"
"Via Aileen, via Charlotte, via Meysam." Sylvie shrugged. "And it was only a suspicion."
"Does the Great Commandy One know?"
"I do not have this answer. And Nui's suspicion may prove unfounded." Sylvie didn't sound as if she believed it, and she and Julie spent a moment sharing a wry grin.
"When it rains, it pours. What can go wrong, will go wrong." Julie rolled her eyes. "Other truisms to that effect."
"I wonder if that is how Lilah feels about this. Perhaps she is excited." Sylvie's eyes darkened. "I would be terrified."
"Fuck yeah." Julie paused when Sylvie's expression sharpened. "Sorry." She glanced at the kid. "Doesn't look like he was paying attention to my salty mouth though."
"Children do not have to pay attention to hear things. Little ears are the sharpest in the world." Proclamation laid down with the authority of a Mother, capital M, Sylvie returned her attention to the puzzle. For a moment, she pointed out pieces and spots to their...son?
He's not ours. We're just raising him since his parents... Julie shivered, the refugee camp's bitter, ash-caked and blood-soaked remnants filling her mind's eye again. Since they aren't available to.
"Question." Sylvie glanced at Julie. "What is it you heard about Mox?"
Sparks flew as assembly-bots worked with molecular precision, connecting circuitry and motors and armor plate. They put the finishing touches on weapons prototypical and practical, spitting them out in job lots for GREMLINs to stack neatly on racks and in rows. The din of the Engineering floor didn't cut through the heavy glass plate of the observation window, amplified as it was by a sound-deadening energy barrier.
And Pratal Mox watched it all through vacant eyes.
"The new prototypes are looking good."
"How long have you been here?" Mox glanced over his shoulder at the red point in the darkest corner of the room: the single glowing coal that hadn't been there a moment before.
"As long as I wanted to." Elena took another drag on her cigarette, then held out the carton, cocking her head.
"No." Mox's eyes–his alien eyes, reflected so damningly by the thick glass–returned to the assembly floor.
"Can't get so wrapped up in the big things that you forget the little ones." Elena shrugged, blowing out a wild cloud of smoke. "The trivialities make us human."
"I am not human." The idea was too huge...but at the same time, it wasn't. Had he always known, somewhere deep down? Never born, never loved, never a son or husband or brother...
This was where he belonged: with all the other tools of war manufactured without a care. What was the difference between him and that plasma rifle?
"This is about the Forge." Elena watched him with that intent Reaper's gaze of hers. "Humanity is more than biology."
"Is it?" There went an elerium cell, twisted into position by a mechanical assembly arm. Had there been assembly arms pushing his DNA and genetic coding into position? What mix of berserker, muton, human, and sectoid was he?
"Pratal, you can't get wrapped up in this." Elena crossed her arms, all but chewing on the end of her smoke. "You already knew you were the product of genetic manipulation. So what?"
"So what?" Mox glared, and he couldn't help his voice tightening and rising. "I find out I'm an entirely artificial creation, and this isn't worth getting worked up over?"
Elena scowled. "What you are doesn't change who you are. You're not like the others."
"Not like them?" Mox ground his teeth together. "Am I your tame Advent, then? An attack dog more than a rifle–either way, I suppose you're right. It won't change what I am: a weapon, and not a thing more."
Elena's cigarette glowed cherry-red again. Tinted by the light, her eyes narrowed. "Don't lecture me, Pratal. Don't put words in my mouth. I'm not the enemy."
"Then I suppose I am." Mox ground his teeth together. Teeth designed by a sapient being to fulfill a purpose, rather than evolved by natural development! Perhaps evolution had guided human teeth to the same end as Mox's, for the most efficient consumption of food, but what a staggering theft it was to have been denied that process in its entirety!
To lose something he'd never had, something so innate that everyone else took it utterly for granted...what was the word for a crime like this? It wasn't stolen if it had never existed, and it wasn't rape if there was nothing to destroy. It was an empty void of forsaken promises with no meaning. The novel that should have chronicled his past, full of nothing but blank pages and chemical formulas.
Elena's scowl deepened, and her eyes darkened. "Pratal! Don't lash out at me–"
"I would like to be alone." He gripped the rail before the barrier tightly, unable to even look at the Reaper's reflection. "Your company will not benefit my mood."
Elena's jaw worked. Thunder and lightning rumbled and flashed in her eyes. Was she going to push the issue?
"Fine. Have it your way." With a single flick, she abandoned her cigarette. Its scarlet, steaming tip circled to the floor, landing in silence, and Elena drove her boot heel down on it hard. She ground it into the alloy plating, every motion awash with venom.
The footfalls of her retreat were all but silent, leaving Mox to watch the other weapons built and forged.
"It's not often that we turn long-lost family into recently-found family!" Cameron wasn't usually the type to stand on tables in the bar, but tonight was an exception. Tonight, he raised his glass high, fairly beaming across booths and tables and stools set with soldiers and technicians alike. "But tonight, we celebrate Yue Liang's arrival on the Avenger, and her family reunion!"
The assembly let out a whooping cheer. In their booth, Yue and Liang, both red-faced for more reasons than the half-empty glasses in their hands, stood and bowed as extravagantly as possible.
"There's only one way to do a family reunion." Cameron nodded, ironically soberly. "Gentlemen, ladies, and Doctor Tygan." He threw his arms out wide. "Let's get shitfaced!"
By rights, the roar of approval should have set off every Advent sensor on the nearest continent. Cameron took a deep drink, and glasses and mugs and bottles clinked together left and right. For once, it was laughter, not weeping–smiles and not scowls, and hugs and back-slaps of camaraderie rather than those of mourning and encouragement.
The darkness would return. It always did, no matter how many nights of feral joy cast it out. But it wasn't here yet, by God, and no one on the ship was going to miss the chance to kick it in the nuts while they could.
"Great speech, babe." Lilah beamed as Cameron sprang down from the tabletop. It didn't last: the worst, most fiery scowl he'd ever seen from her ripped her freckled features in two. "I want a motherfucking drink."
"Apple juice?" Cameron didn't feel comfortable downing the rest of his beer right in front of her, so he awkwardly tried to keep it out of her direct field of vision. "I think we picked up some of that sparkling grape juice shit on the last supply raid. Didn't Volk give us some kool-aid packets they found in Edmonton's ruins?"
"That's not going to get me buzzed." Firebrand crossed her arms, sulking. "Being pregnant on this ship sucks."
"Don't say it so loud." Cameron winced, glancing over his shoulder. But no, Central was manning the bridge like the cardboard cut-out he was, and Tygan was busy demonstrating something he called "the Jackal" on their makeshift dance floor. Shen was screwing with the music. "What are we going to do?"
"You're going to do nothing, because you had the fun part of this job." Lilah stuck her foot out to trip Barta in passing, beaming when she nearly lost her whiskey. The Skirmisher shot her a black look, but it didn't last long: no one took shit from Firebrand seriously. Lilah's mirth didn't linger either. "I get to shove a live human being out of my–"
"I meant about...you know. The boss man." Cameron coughed, not at all awkwardly. "What's Gallant going to do if he finds out about this?"
"Burn us alive." She said it so deadpan that Cameron had to wonder.
"We have to tell him. Or someone, at least."
"Gallant's going to be pissed." Lilah pressed her lips together.
"We could go to Central." Cameron didn't even pause for her to respond. "Or, if we want to live, we can talk to Doctor Tygan."
Lilah sighed. "They're going to be furious with us."
"We'll figure it out." Cameron threaded an arm around her. It was always even money whether she would accept the embrace or scream "Judo throw!" and pitch him on his head before giggling like a maniac, but tonight she melted into him. "I mean, Julie and Sylvie got to keep their kid."
"They weren't pitching delivering one in the infirmary." Lilah sighed.
Her hand moved like lightning, and Cameron yelped, barely pulling his beer out of her reach before she could snag it. "Lilah!"
"Gimme!" She jumped, grabbing for the glass with both hands.
"No! Bad!" Cameron caught her by the collar, holding her on the ground while he set the glass on the bar behind him, well out of reach.
"You're not the one who has to drink apple juice and kool-aid all evening." Lilah pouted again, even harder. "Meanie."
"Hey." Cameron sighed. "If it makes you happier...I'll go get us both some."
"Moose!" Lilah pounced, wrapping her arms and legs tight about him. Cameron staggered under her sudden weight, but he did manage to catch her about the waist before she dropped on her ass. "You're so nice. Thank you!"
"Anytime." Deftly, he twisted away from the bar. "I felt that."
"Damn it!" Lilah growled angrily in his ear, returning her hand to his shoulder. "Fine. Mix up the red kool-aid. Don't give me bullshit."
The whooping and cheering just wouldn't stop.
"Shut up." Jane took another swig of whiskey, glaring at the party displayed on her datapad, via the pirated feed she had access to now that she'd hacked the system with Aileen's burner chip. She could turn it off, but...
I'm happy for Liang. Both Liangs. She was drunk as fuck, which was why the thought made her giggle. It's good to see them all happy.
But was it? She had nothing to be happy about. David dead, Obsidian and James dead, Irina maimed for life...
I should talk to somebody. But what was there to talk about? The facts were plain as day. Was it the alcohol that made it all so much simpler than it had seemed earlier in the night? That had been the point of drinking it, after all. What had she been so conflicted about?
The facts were there, straightforward and honest. The exact opposite of the man himself.
"Lies. Nothing but lies and deception." Jane took another healthy swig from her bottle. She didn't get nearly as much whiskey as she'd hoped. "Secrets thinned with honey..."
How did they know he'd really been unplugged? Tygan had ripped that chip thing out of his brain, but what if there was another one? Some kind of psionic link in his synapses? He was a ticking time bomb, a walking harbinger of doom. Unchecked, he could be the end of them.
Could...or would?
Unbidden, they reappeared: Jane's list of the dead, faces contorted and voices breaking as they shrieked in the agonies of their deaths for the thousandth time. Lost swarmed in the edges of her vision, hiding in the corners of her room and under her bed and nightstand whenever she looked away. How many disasters had he led XCOM into? That they'd had a few minor triumphs was nothing to brag about. None of it was because of him.
I need to stop. A rare moment of lucidity in the haze. Jane raised her bottle–maybe another swig would put her to sleep.
There was nothing left. A few drops trickled down her throat, but the bottle stood up empty and forlorn. Glinting reflections tainted the glass, and Jane admired the kaleidoscoping shattering of her face into ten thousand still frames. Was that real, or was she so drunk her vision was crossed up?
There was only one cure. Jane patted her pillow, as if that might make it softer, and then reached for her datapad. She just needed to close out the pirate feed and she could get ready for bed–
He's there. She couldn't put any other thoughts in her head. She had to remind herself to breathe, and when she did it came in halting and slow, broken and raspy. He's there.
Jane watched as he limped into the bar, a rogue's half-smile on his cracked lips, leaning hard on his cane as he thumped backs in passing.
Her hand curled into a fist.
"God save Kelly Clarkson!" Gallant beamed and saluted in Lily's general direction. She grinned back, tapping ROV-R's ass buttons that apparently now controlled the bar speakers.
"Status?" John was in his ear, metaphorically speaking.
"Shit's lit." Gallant couldn't help laughing at Tygan in the far corner. "I didn't know the good doctor knew the Jackal."
"It was all the rage in the Havens for a while."
"You're a good man, missing the fun to watch the bridge." Gallant chuckled wryly. "You deserve a raise. I'll double your pay."
"Perfect. I've always wanted double of nothing." Bradford snorted. "To be honest, sir, after all our struggles, I finally feel like we're getting somewhere with this war. Helping to make progress happen is better than any dance or drinking contest." He paused to sigh, perhaps reminiscently. "Did I ever tell you about the days after you were taken? When we were putting the Resistance together, I mean: me and Shen."
"Do I get loot if I sit through your old-man stories?"
"Fuck you too, Edward."
"Anytime, John." Gallant paused, eye drawn by purposeful movement in the crowd. "I've got incoming. I'll check in on everyone, then bring a round up top. We can swap pre-Invasion war stories like the grandfathers we are."
"Sounds like a plan." There was sadness under Bradford's tone, and Gallant kicked himself mentally for his analogy. At least he hadn't said fathers.
"Commander, sir!" Cameron appeared through the crowd, fairly dragging an uncharacteristically subdued Firebrand in his wake. "A moment?"
"Sure thing, Moose." Gallant leaned on the bar, waving at Charlotte where she tended to the liquid courage. "I'll take anything. Make it strong."
"Sir." Charlotte set to, politely shifting out of earshot.
"We need to talk to you about something." Cameron cleared his throat. "You see–"
"It's a myth that ship captains have the power to officiate weddings." Gallant wagged a warning finger. "Propagated by colonists coming to the New World and Australia, I believe. Then again, I suppose the war's changed a lot. But if you're getting married in the Catholic tradition, you still should probably talk to Father Giovanni before me–"
"It's not a wedding." Cameron still paused. "He could marry us?"
"The Catholic way, sure. He's a real priest." Gallant shrugged. "Of course, if you want a Muslim wedding, Meysam would be the man to talk to. He might not be an expert or a holy man, but he'll at least know how it should be done. Only wedding I ever went to was Jewish."
"Really?" Cameron blinked. "Are you Jewish?"
"To be honest, I don't give a fuck about any of that anymore." Gallant accepted his drink with a nod. "Not that I ever really did, to be honest. I see aliens, I shoot aliens, and the rest can kind of sort itself out." He glanced at Firebrand. "Did he drag you over here to talk theology with me?"
"No, he did not." Lilah rolled her eyes. But that seemed to be the limit of her usual exuberance. "You see..."
"Well?" Gallant tapped his cane on the deck. "You acted like it was important."
"Yeah." Cameron reached up to rub the back of his neck. "Um. You see–"
"Commander!" The voice cut over the hubbub with furor and lightning. Heads turned, and Gallant's was only one of them.
"Major?" He frowned, pivoting to the main doorway. "Is something wrong?"
"You and I have unfinished business." Jane Kelly bared her teeth, whiskey-smell oozing on her breath. She dangled a bottle at her side, and Gallant really didn't like how firmly and readily she held it. "You fucking killed my friends."
Author's Note 74: Hi, Guys. I Missed You
I'm sorry it's taken this long. And I can't guarantee a regular schedule from here on out. The word went crazy, didn't it? And my life went crazy beyond the obvious. You wouldn't believe me if I told you the details, I promise you that.
The good news is that I own a house now. The wife and I are pretty settled in. Things are looking up in that respect, and we have a 1 year old kitten now that we absolutely spoil.
But the bad news is that my motivation to write is really struggling. This chapter was written over a year ago, along with the next few, and I don't know that I have it in me to really proofread them in-depth before posting. I still have all my materials for this story, though - I'm an author who never throws anything away.
My self-published book series is on hold, not because I don't love it or don't have ideas, but to put it succinctly, my editor and mentor cut ties with me in a way that was both sudden and painful a year ago. It's not the worst thing to happen to me since we last saw each other, but it's nearly destroyed my ability to focus on writing. It's been hard, and I've left this off far longer than I should have because I've been doing damage control.
But I've never before in my life quit whilst I was ahead, and I damn well don't intend to now. I have a writing project I am working on in a more professional sense, but I still have a few chapters of VC I might post over the next few weeks or months. I may write more. I can't make any promises right now about schedules or future content, but I can promise this: there will be a next time.
Until it comes, Vigilo Confido.