Time moves on.
The tests are run, and it checks out that Central is not some secret psion. The outbursts from Peter get more frequent, or maybe less - he doesn't care enough to let them bother him anymore (or if he does, he drinks enough to not remember). The years blur into each other, deaths and recruits, close calls and narrow escapes, and he isn't sure if this is a good thing or not.
Probably not.
In 2030 (or was it 2029? 2031?) they finally meet the elusive Templars. Their main base of operations is in one of the many abandoned castles of England, which the sweater thinks is thematic, and he thinks is kind of a genius move. Maybe he's just drunk enough to be easily impressed.
He turns to ask Ramirez to make a note of this, because surely there are other unoccupied castles and those would make really good haven location candidates, but the resident XCOM psi operative has been whisked away in the moments Central was entranced by the building. Oh well.
ill remind you, says the sweater.
"Always a sweetheart," he says, and then nearly stumbles face first into a man who, according to the sweater, has in fact been standing there the whole time, probably waiting.
Awesome. This is going great. He is definitely too under the table to be doing diplomatic work right now.
i could talk for you. somehow. maybe.
"You must be Central Officer Bradford," says the man, and now Central knows who this is, because they've talked before when he was much more sober over the radio, which makes this all vaguely more embarrassing.
It's not Geist's fault today is Unification Day.
He shakes the hand that's offered.
"I didn't know—" Geist pauses, frowns at him, tips his head just a bit as his brows furrow. "No," he says finally.
"No what?"
"You're not a natural psion."
"Yeah, don't have the hair for it," Central says, offering a weak smile.
Geist hums. "Then why do you— oh, I see."
Central pretends to look confused. "See what?"
"Your sweater," he says. "That's where the psionic signature is coming from."
"That's weird," Central says, carefully as he can when he knows he's liable to say shit he shouldn't. "Only other person to really ever touch it was the one who made it. And I mean the aliens but they don't count."
There, that answers any questions pretty well.
you're so silly, says the sweater, but it's affectionate.
"The Elders?"
"I mean, that's who we guess messed with it but we didn't stick around to find out when we found it," Central says.
"Walk with me," says Geist.
Central obliges.
They amble down the main hall, and Geist leads him into what he is pretty sure is some combination of a library and living quarters. He isn't entirely sure; there's shelves with books upon books, and a chair with a side table and a unlit candle (do they not have electricity here?), and a neatly made cot against the far wall.
"Someone sleep here?"
Geist nods. "Our archivist," he says.
"You have an archivist?"
"Preserving the culture of humanity and the way of life we Templars have developed is important to some of us," Geist explains. "This establishment already had this library, so I didn't see any reason to deny the request to keep and expand on it."
He gestures to the chair. "Please, sit."
Central drops into the chair. Geist remains standing, and something about this feels familiar. He isn't sure what, but it'll come to him eventually.
i know, says the sweater.
He nods to it in a questioning way, and Geist takes that as meant for him.
"So, this article of yours…you said the aliens 'messed with it'?"
this feels like something we did with the commander, the sweater says.
Central feels like he's been punched in the gut, but manages to keep his affect fairly flat. Geist's eyes downturn. "Oh, of course, perhaps it's something you'd rather not talk about," he says.
"No, no, you're fine, it's ok, I just— I just remembered something unimportant."
The sweater clings tighter to him then. He goes on: "Yeah, uh, about 15 years ago the original XCOM HQ got attacked. During the initial invasion."
Geist nods.
"They took…" A deep breath. "A lot. Which you probably guess means everything from lives to Earth to uh… this." Central pulls at the collar of the sweater. "I mean, they didn't just take it; they caught me first, but they kept it."
"Very particular," says Geist. "And what happened to it?"
"Well, best we understand is that it was in a stasis tank pumped full of psionic energy. We only recovered it 5 years ago."
"And yet it carries such a strong signature," Geist says.
"Yeah, I don't know," says Central, and he doesn't know, not really. "It…"
are you gonna tell him?
"Whatever they did, it can do things now." Wow, that sounds bad. Kiddy. He tries to elaborate: "Like, it saved my life. Twice. Once by emitting some kind of energy attack and once some kind of … shield? A bubble? Does that sound like something familiar to a psi user?"
Geist looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "It depends," he says. "One of the most universal and basic abilities of any psion, induced or not, is the ability to induce stasis. Time moves slower, you're loathe to move, the shield—"
"Impenetrable?" Central offers for him.
Geist nods. "Yes," he says. He reaches out toward Central, hesitates; he nods and the other man gingerly touches Central's arm. "Yes," he says again, "I'm certain now. Somehow, this object of yours is able to use abilities that should only be allowed to those of life and living."
"What about psi zombies though?" Central asks.
"They are conduits, mostly; they themselves do not do anything with the power," Geist says.
"Yeah, alright, that makes enough sense to me."
"What's even more curious is that according to you, it 'saved your life'. Multiple times even. Which implies it knows somehow when you are in danger."
im a artifact of power, of course i know!
"They called it a artifact of power," Central says. "I don't understand that, either. It's really just a sweater."
hey!
He gets the impression that it's frowning at him like a kid. He gently rubs the end of a sleeve between his thumb and forefinger. "Didn't mean it like that," he says.
"You talk to your objects?"
Shit.
"Ok, so I'm gonna say some stuff that's gonna sound pretty ridiculous, but it's just my belief system and—"
"They have energy, or spirits, or otherwise this conscious something sometimes, is what you mean. A consciousness that can speak… or at the very least be spoken to," Geist says. Central lets his jaw drop slightly.
"Are you an animist? Or have some of the beliefs? 'Cause usually folks don't just know that…usually I have to explain…"
"We have a few who commune with plants, you see," says Geist. "Which is not quite the same, but the idea can be applied to non living things as well I'd think."
"Yeah, it can." He's smiling now. "I mean, not everything talks - that would be overwhelming and that's also just not how it works; you don't usually hear actual words or anything and usually objects only answer if you reach out first."
"So you speak to the sweater." Geist sounds amused.
"About that," Central says. It feels like he's standing on a precipice, and he's way too drunk to be doing that.
ill tell him.
"Can you do that?" He doesn't mind speaking openly now that Geist has opened the proverbial can of worms. Maybe he should mind, some part of him worries. Maybe he's too out of it for this.
i don't know. but i can try.
"It, uh, wants to try talking to you," Central says.
Geist rests his palm half atop Central's hand and half on the cuff of the sweater's sleeve. "I am ready," he says, but his eyes are…
Laughing.
A stone drops in Central's stomach, and Peter's voice rings through his mind, calling out the others for coddling him. Is Geist doing the same?
if he's being mean ill slap him!
"You can't slap anything on your own," he mumbles. "Anyway, uh, go ahead, when you're ready."
He watches Geist's expression; the other man looks still slightly amused, and then he blinks. And blinks again. And a look of shock crosses his face.
And Central feels vindicated.
"It … talks back," Geist says, slowly, disbelieving. "They don't usually do that, if I understand right."
"I mean, some people hear internal words like this, but it's not usually that clear and that obviously Psionic," Central says. "What did it say?"
i said if you make central feel bad ill fight you!
"Oh, geez," he says, and looks apologetically at Geist. "It uh… it feels pretty strongly about me, I guess. Protecting or whatever."
He hopes he's not blushing. Just to be safe, he furtively pulls his flask from his pocket and takes a drink. There, that'll mask any obvious embarrassment on his face.
"Fascinating," says Geist. To the sweater, he asks: "Do you have a name?"
Ah, hell, why did I never ask that?
cause it's never been a thing we needed, says the sweater.
"It says it doesn't have one," Geist murmurs after a moment. He is staring at … well, Central knows it's at the sweater, but he still feels the other man's gaze boring into him.
"Do you, uh, have any other questions?"
"Do you know how you work?" Geist asks. He frowns as he receives the answer. "No? Disappointing."
"We've talked about it," Central says. "It guesses it got this way from being stuck in psionic energy for so long. If the aliens did anything else, it hasn't told me, or maybe it doesn't know? I remember?"
nope!
"Yeah, uh, neither of those things." He takes another drink. "Wow, we are really off track. We didn't come here to talk about my—"
"Absolutely not off track," says Geist. "Anything like this, we Templars will take very seriously. It opens an entirely new world of possibility. After all, until now, we thought only the living had these abilities."
"To be fair, this was a really weird circumstance," Central says.
"I am no stranger to those," Geist says.
Central waits for him to go on, but he doesn't, so the latter makes to get up as he says "I think we'd better get to talking about the stuff we came here for. Alliances, information trading… did you see where Rameriz went?"
"We should have your companions nearby to make the flow of information easier, yes; I should also have Jeriah nearby. Let's go find them," Geist says, and offers him a hand up.
aw, you like him?
"What?"
Geist quirks an eyebrow as he helps Central to his feet; Central mouths 'sweater'.
you keep making funny eyes at him.
"Oh," he says and laughs a little as he tails Geist out of the room, pausing in the doorway. "No, I don't. I'm just…"
He trails off, finishes the sentence internally: I'm very not straight. And very not sober right now.
The sweater emits confusion at that.
straight?
It thinks for a long moment.
i mean you do have bad posture...
"Not what I meant," he says, and finds he's grinning.
then what do you mean!
Less a question, more a demand, but the kind you'd get from an ornery child.
"Tell you later," he says, and hurries after Geist.