An Offer of Help
The Citadel, Mission Control
"Our unofficial alliance is growing, slowly but surely," Bradford updated, clearly pleased as he and the Commander observed a holographic map of the world. All countries that had at least some kind of relationship with XCOM were highlighted faintly in green. Council nations were in yellow and areas in satellite coverage were marked with blue.
"Van Doorn came through on Turkey," the Commander noted appreciatively. "You did as well on South America. Excellent job."
Bradford inclined his head. "Thank you, Commander. They seemed eager to be taken seriously for once."
"Good," the Commander nodded. "We need to begin sending their allotment of alien tech."
"I agree." Bradford waved his hand over to another analyst who rushed over.
"Yes, Central?" he asked eagerly.
"Begin allotting the tech for our new allies," Bradford instructed, handing him a tablet. "Make it proportional, based on their input and size."
"On it," he nodded and rushed off to do his task.
"Are our systems secure?" The Commander asked, as he looked back at the holotable. "EXALT may retaliate in a less physical form after our victory."
"I've done everything to ensure our systems are ready for another attack," Ariel Jackson said as she walked up. "All we can really do at this point is sit and wait."
"Let's hope so," the Commander answered grimly. "I don't want to lose another batch of research."
"Hey, no worries," Ariel answered easily, flipping her hair with a smile. "I put some failsafes in the unlikely event they do get through. Trust me, our research is secure."
"Good," the Commander nodded. "I'll take your word for it."
"We should consider our next batch of allies," Bradford suggested, motioning at the holotable. "The additional funding is useful, but won't supplement the Council completely yet."
"Have you considered the Scandinavian countries?" Ariel asked, as she bit her lower lip. "They're a small power that many overlook."
The Commander glanced over in mind surprise. "You've thought about this?"
"Yeah, I did when Bradford asked me to look into contacting the first batch," Ariel answered with a shrug. "I thought it might be useful if I made some suggestions myself."
"I'll consider that," the Commander promised her.
"Central, call coming in now!" One of the techs called out. "You're going to want to come over."
Bradford sighed. "I'll be back," he said and then walked over to where the tech was sitting.
The Commander watched him go. "Is that normal? It occurs to me I don't spend much time here."
"More or less," Ariel answered lightly. "He gets called over for all sorts of stuff. Thing with us is that we have to take every possible hit in case it turns out to be aliens. Or EXALT, for that matter. Anyway, then Bradford has to come over to make the final decision and ultimately, send it to you to approve or deny."
"It sounds stressful," the Commander commented as he looked around the room with the analysts and techs tapping on their keyboards and looking at screens.
"Not as much as you might think," Ariel amended as she leaned against the holotable, tucking her hands into her packets. "It's a lot of staring at screens, which is mostly boring, frankly. But we have to because if we miss something, more people die. So I guess it is in that sense, but…well, we're rather detached from it all. We look for patterns and signals, but those really don't convey just how serious the whole event is."
"Have you made any progress with the alien code?" The Commander asked. "You or Zhang?"
"A bit," she answered, sighing in frustration. "I've never seen anything like that coding before. I'm almost convinced that there's a more abstract piece we're missing. Maybe it's tied to psionics, and that is a problem I haven't even begun to think about how to solve."
"We'll crack it," the Commander stated, trying to reassure her. "It's only a matter of time." He glanced over at some of the screens with various news world news stations on them. "Is something being monitored now?" He asked motioning to the screens. "I assume that's work related."
Ariel picked up her tablet and began tapping on it. "Yes and no, we mostly use it as background noise since we do most of our analysis from official statements. But it's related. I assume then that Central hasn't updated you about Germany?"
The Commander frowned and glanced over at Bradford, who was speaking urgently into his headset. "No. He hasn't."
"Not surprised," she nodded. "It's literally developed in the past few hours. Essentially, the dear acting Chancellor is heavily implying that 'dissidents' are soon going to cease to be a problem. Given that most of his 'detractors' are the press and political rivals, I think you can see some concerns with the wording."
"I suppose the question is if he could actually do it," the Commander muttered, walking over beside her to look at the headlines on the tablet. "You consider that to be a viable possibility?"
"He has control and the loyalty of the military and police," Ariel answered, narrowing her eyes at the tablet. "The acting Chancellor is clever. He's using the aliens as an excuse for every questionable measure he's enacted since the attacks. Creating the insinuation that if you question him, you're indirectly supporting the invasion. Not exactly the most conductive environment for a democracy."
The Commander pursed his lips. This was one of the largest problems with regime change. Sometimes it led to dilemmas like this. It wasn't inherently bad, in times like these; some freedoms might have to be curtailed, but such measures should only be taken against actual dissidents. Saboteurs, enemy propagandists and petty terrorists were dissidents that could, and should be removed by any means necessary.
But jailing political or press opponents simply because of their views was the wrong way to go about removing them. There were better ways that didn't make you look like a power-hungry dictator. The Commander didn't really think, at least what he knew of the man, that acting Chancellor Habicht was a power-hungry dictator. The more likely reason was that he was just sick of being questioned repeatedly by a large group of people.
Despite being in a high position militarily, Habicht had really only interacted with, and was questioned by a small circle of people at, or above him. The shock of having thousands of people openly dislike and question him might have pushed him to take the easiest solution possible, which also looked highly suspect.
"I hope he doesn't think we'll still support him if he keeps this up," the Commander muttered, not directly at Ariel. "I'll have to speak with him about his methods soon."
"Preferably before he actually acts on his insinuations," Ariel added. "But we're monitoring that situation. I might bring Zhang in on this as well."
The Commander nodded. "That might not be a bad-"
"Commander, may I speak to you?" Bradford interrupted, striding up, tense as he'd ever seen him. His face was a mask of surprise, but why the Commander couldn't guess at the moment.
"Yes," the Commander answered. "What is it?"
"Not here," Bradford shook his head. "Preferably somewhere private." The Commander and Ariel exchanged a look. She just shrugged, clearly as confused as him. The Commander followed Bradford until they reached a small enclosed room. It was almost empty and seemed to be mostly used for storing stuff no one knew what to do with. Boxes, damaged chairs and papers were scattered around the room.
"What's this about, Bradford?" The Commander asked as the flustered Central Officer locked the door. "Has the acting Chancellor already started arrest journalists?"
Bradford blinked. "What? Oh, Ariel told you about that?"
"Yeah, I might have to arrange a meeting soon," the Commander confirmed.
"Arrange it later," Bradford answered, shaking his head. "I just received a call from President Savvin."
Well then. That was not what he'd expected. "And just what did the Russian President want to discuss?" The Commander asked slowly, carefully.
"He wanted to meet with you," Bradford answered. "That was it. Preferably as soon as possible."
"And why does he want to meet with me?" The Commander demanded, leaning against the wall.
"I don't think it's related to our operations in Russia," Bradford quickly reassured him. "At least it didn't seem that way. But if I had to guess…he might want to work directly with XCOM. Russia is one of the more reliable Council members. It makes sense that the President would feel similar."
A Russian alliance. Combined with the other countries, that alone might help supplement any loss from China. Maybe. If that was actually what the President wanted to discuss. Regardless, he needed to speak to him if for no other reason than to satisfy his curiosity. Kirill Savvin did not meet without reason or with just anyone.
"Arrange the meeting," he ordered Bradford. "Today if possible. But I need to know what he wants."
"Today?" Bradford eyes widened at that. "Are you sure it's not too-"
"Today, Bradford," the Commander repeated emphatically. "EXALT should be quiet for the next few days and I want to take advantage of the lull. I don't want to put it off only to find out we can't because things are too busy here."
"Will do, Commander," Bradford nodded. "You'll be informed as soon as the meeting is arranged."
"Excellent," the Commander answered and unlocked and opened the door. Things had just gotten a lot more interesting. And potentially dangerous.
The Citadel, Barracks
The atmosphere following the routing of EXALT was jubilant. All the soldiers were in high spirits when the squad had returned and had spent most of the remaining night talking and laughing. Noticeably absent was Myra who had gone…somewhere. Patricia hadn't figured out when, though she resolved to find her later.
She had taken the opportunity to catch up with Abby during the unofficial celebration. She was…different than when they parted and she left for XCOM Intelligence. Much more…focused? Reserved? Something to that effect, probably her mentor rubbing off of her.
That other woman, Ruth, she was the epitome of what people wanted from an agent. Charismatic, manipulative and ruthless. She'd seemed to have mastered the art of expression, especially since during the brief time they'd chatted, she'd put on a very friendly persona which Patricia would have completely bought, had she not decided to try to get a sense of the woman's emotions.
What she'd sensed was nothing but stark coldness and apathy with some bits of curiosity. The emotions that one would have when observing a potential target or enemy. Completely at odds with the friendly woman she painted herself as. While Abby definitely seemed to respect and admire her, she'd let on that she was more or less aware that Ruth wasn't exactly a perfect person.
Humph. She'd not wanted to cause trouble that time, but she felt like she had say something. Abby was an intelligent woman, but she could be a bit naïve sometimes. She was a good person, which sharply contrasted with the kind of woman Ruth seemed to be. Still, that could come later. Right now she had other objectives in mind.
Creed was sitting on one of the couches, reading something on a tablet. Everyone else was either sleeping or in their own corners chatting with each other in soft voices. He looked up and immediately set down his tablet as she approached. "You want to do this?"
"If you're up to it?" She quickly amended. "If you need rest-"
"Nah, don't worry," he interrupted, raising a hand to cut her off. "I feel pretty good now, actually. There's something soothing about watching a building filled with your enemies burning to the ground."
"Myra certainly held nothing back," Patricia agreed. "I wonder how the aliens will respond when she comes along."
"Hopefully flee," Creed said ironically as he stood. "But I don't think retreat is in their vocabulary. But Myra will have to be a bit more careful when she does get deployed again. Plasma is slightly more dangerous than bullets."
"I'm sure both her and the Commander are aware of that," Patricia said, looking around the barracks. They stood together is silence for a few minutes.
"So…how's this going to work?" Creed finally asked. "We doing this here?"
Patricia shook her head and tried to think. It occurred to her that there weren't many good places to go if they wanted some privacy. However…"You think the training area is empty?" She asked, glancing up at him.
His eyebrows furrowed. "Probably, since most of the soldiers are either passed out or sleeping. Lead the way."
She did and they exited the room with no one seeming to notice or care. The hallways to the training area were mostly deserted as well, and the one or two people they passed didn't really acknowledge them. The only other constant was the low hum of the generators that permeated throughout the Citadel. Though all of them were so used to it now that it barely registered anymore.
Fortunately, the training area was empty when they walked inside. All the equipment was in its proper place and the room seemed impeccably clean. She didn't know it'd always been like this or if she was just hyper-noticing everything because she was nervous. She had almost no idea what this was going to be like, if it even worked in the first place. Well, it did work, but whether she could control it or not.
"You never answered my question," Creed said as he walked past the sparring floor. "How is this going to work? I think of something and you try to read my mind?"
"I don't think it's as simple as that," Patricia answered slowly. "But I guess that's as good a place to start as any."
Creed visibly swallowed. "Right, let's do this." They both walked over to one of the tables and sat down opposite each other. Patricia laced her fingers together and set them on the table as she tried to relax.
"If it makes you feel any better, I'm nervous about this too," she admitted, hoping that would make him a little less anxious. Even without focusing directly on him, she could sense it spiking. Maybe it was the reason for her discomfort?
"That's reassuring," he joked lightly, resting his forearms on the table. "Well, I'm ready whenever you are."
She took a breath and closed her eyes and directly focused on him; easy since he was the only one nearby. He seemed like the equivalent of a storm in a bottle, at least emotionally. Prodding just at the surface, he was much more nervous about this than he let on, but was very careful in keeping it contained and controlled.
She wondered…could she help with that? Moving a bit further into his walled maelstrom of emotion, she was immediately assaulted with images.
A hail of gunfire over his head. Pinned down, not much time; not enough people. They're going to get away. Screams as a man fell, his body riddled with bullets. Two coming his way. He raised his rifle and shot at them, feeling a brief surge of relief as both fell to the ground.
Patricia gasped as the scene abruptly changed. What was that?
He gasped as he struggled for air, knowing that it wasn't going to end anytime soon. A test, this was a test nothing more-nothing more. His head was slammed back into the water as he desperately held what little breath remained and tried not to thrash any more. Necessary, he couldn't break, couldn't-
The scene abruptly shifted once again.
He stood in front of a mirror, marveling at how different he looked without the uniform. His ravaged body hidden under the sleek black suit. This wasn't worth the anxiety. He'd faced firefights and more trials than any reasonable person would be expected to. This was just a date, yes, if he could kill several men, why should he be nervous asking a woman out?
Memories. Not just any memories, but those tied to the emotion he was feeling now. Anxiety, anticipation, some amount of fear. Were these playing in his mind now? Or were they just lurking under his subconscious, fueling it? Alright, she had some idea of what was going on and pulled out just beyond the swirling rush of images and feelings.
Now the big question: Could she do anything about it?
She mentally shrugged. Ok, the most obvious solution was to counteract them…somehow. So, what was the opposite of anxiety? Calm? Well, that would be a good starting point.
She went back into the swirl of Creed's emotions. It was interesting, since there wasn't as much visitation as she might have expected. It was just the sheer power of feeling that conjured up images of storms and walls. She felt a new memories appearing but instead she focused on one word.
Calm.
Calm.
She just imagined and visualized everything soothing she could think of. Oceans. Rain. She inadvertently began adding her own experiences. Rubbing the belly of her dog while his tongue was hanging out of his mouth. Reading a book on a hammock as a light breeze washed over her. Paige laughing at her while she overanalyzed some stupid joke and then laughing with her.
She was not expecting the wave of sadness that rushed over her at that. How much different things had been. How different she'd been from what she was now. But whatever she'd done seemed to be working. Creed was calming down within his fortress and things were smoothing out. Calming down…calming down.
Now there were a whole new host of Creed's memories that threatened to show themselves to her. Even if it wasn't her fault, she was pretty sure he wouldn't be comfortable with it and pulled out with as much speed as possible.
With a gasp she opened her eyes and leaned down on that table, feeling more drained that she had in…days. Her hands were clenched and she her body was tense throughout. Taking another breath she glanced up at Creed who looked just as drained as she did. His face was unnaturally pale, but at the same time seemed…fine.
"What did you do?" He asked, or more accurately, whispered by how quiet he was.
"Are you alright?" She asked, worried that she'd hurt him
He shook his head, seeming to break out of his tense trance. "Actually…I feel fine. Oddly fine…just…tired, if that makes sense."
"I…guess it does."
"It just…." He paused. "I just…started thinking of stuff I thought I'd buried a long time ago."
"Yeah," she admitted. "That…might have been me."
"I wondered," he answered neutrally. "You were tensing up several times."
"Well, you were clearly anxious about all of this," Patricia tried explaining. "I thought I might be able to help."
"Well, I think you succeeded, at least in making me calmer" Creed said, taking a breath. "That's…really odd. I didn't notice anything until…stuff started coming back to me."
"Sorry," she apologized trying to convey her sincerity. "I didn't mean-"
"No, it's fine," Creed interrupted. "I was just…surprised. It makes more sense when you explained it."
She appraised him, pursing her lips. "You're being really calm about this. I just altered how you feel."
"Well, that might partially be your fault," Creed answered with a small smile. "You did want me to be calmer, after all. Perhaps I'll feel differently about this later. It'll be an interesting thing to document later."
"Right," she answered in a small voice, not exactly sure how she felt about it.
"But I knew what I was getting into," Creed continued. "I'll be more prepared if you do it again. So, I guess you did figure something out today."
"Yeah, I guess so," Patricia muttered. "We'll see how useful it is."
"Look at it this way," Creed said, smirking. "After the war you'll be an excellent psychiatrist."
"Oh, God," she muttered. "Please no."
"Come on," Creed said, helping her to her feet. "I think we both could use some sleep. Unless of course you want to try again."
"Later," she answered with a sigh. "I don't think I have the energy at this time."
"Fair enough," Creed chuckled as they both walked out of the room.
Russia, Moscow
It had been such a long time since he'd actually been at the capital of Russia. The last time he'd come to kill a president, now he was coming to speak with one. He wondered if President Savvin harbored any hard feelings towards him, although considering that they'd requested a meeting and that he was directly responsible for the new president's position, he'd be surprised if the President felt that way.
That, and the previous president had been a lying, manipulative, traitorous piece of scum that fully deserved the death he'd administered. And while the Duma had officially declared outrage, he'd gotten the impression that no one was really mourning the loss since he'd been sure to distribute the evidence to the press. And left some on the body, for the investigators.
It had been one of the more satisfying and successful missions he'd carried out. Time to see how the Russians treated him now. As expected, there was a small group of Russian soldiers waiting for him with a black limo behind them. They didn't stand out too much since the airstrip was filled with soldiers at their posts. At least no civilians would notice the skyranger that'd brought him here. The President at least had the foresight to know that a public meeting would cause trouble.
With the soldiers was a woman he was pretty sure he'd never seen before. Dressed in the black uniform of a CT agent, she looked impeccably professional. Making a good first impression, anyone who was a CT agent automatically gained some respect in his eyes. She appeared roughly his age, with cropped brown hair and an overall stern demeanor. He wondered who she was.
"Commander," she greeted as the soldiers around her snapped to attention. She extended a hand which he took and gave a firm handshake. "A pleasure to finally meet you."
"The feeling is mutual," he answered. "I will admit I wasn't expecting this when I started the day."
"We've been considering reaching out more directly for a while," the woman explained. "Considering recent events, the President felt now was the best time."
The Commander raised an eyebrow. "And by 'recent events,' you mean…?"
She motioned to the limo door and one of the soldiers opened it for him. "That is a matter that the President would like to speak to you about personally."
He inclined his head. "Very well," he said, stepping into the limo and taking a seat. He'd actually never ridden in any of these before, and was somewhat surprised just how open it was. The woman also got in and took a seat beside him. He buckled up, then noticed the woman staring at him, amused as the limo started moving.
"You don't have to do that, you know," she told him, resting her gloved hands on her lap.
"Just a habit," the Commander answered. "I've never ridden in these before."
"Fair enough," she chuckled.
Her English was extremely good, very clear even with the distinct accent. "You're a CT agent I see. May I ask your name?"
"I was, a while ago," she answered, her lips curling up. "But the President felt my talents of diplomacy were best suited for this kind of work. I am Tamara Vasilisa."
Ah, now that name he knew. The names Ennor had provided all those months ago were actually becoming useful now. How interesting that she was the one meeting him and was apparently a CT agent. "I didn't realize I was speaking to the Russian Councilor," the Commander said. "Otherwise I would have greeted you properly."
She didn't appear overly surprised. "Your sources are knowledgeable, I see. I suppose I should not have expected otherwise."
"I prefer keeping tabs on people," the Commander leaned back. "Especially when they belong to an organization that seems divided on me at the moment. Very useful to know friends and enemies."
"I certainly hope you would include me on the former," Tamara said as she laced her fingers together. "I do my best to keep the more troublesome elements of the Council in check."
"I do not consider Russia my enemy," the Commander stated. "I don't know exactly what happens within the Council, but I do know Russia has more or less been supportive of my leadership, for which I am thankful."
"The President and I appreciate that," Tamara answered, inclining her head. "We both understand that the aliens are the true threat."
"A pity that's such a controversial stand," the Commander murmured. "I'm curious. How does Russia stand militarily in regards to the invasion?"
"On high alert," Tamara answered. "United Russia holds the majority in the Duma and thus the President was able to officially declare war and begin increased production of military equipment."
"Is he facing any opposition within the Duma?" The Commander asked, resting his chin on his hand.
"Very little, surprisingly," Tamara answered. "The Liberal Democratic Party has fully approved the increased military spending and improvements, though they seem not to realize that we're not planning on conquest, only defense for the moment. But their votes are useful. The Communist and Socialist parties are more or less split, not that we need them to pass, but their infighting will only weaken the parties and hopefully split them further. But for now, the votes cast our way are also useful. The public pressure is also a very useful leveraging tool in bringing those parties in line."
"Good to hear," the Commander nodded and they rode in silence for a few minutes, then turned his head forward as he felt the limo come to a stop. "I see we've arrived."
"That we have," Tamara agreed and opened the door and stepped out and the Commander followed suit. Well, well. They were at the Kremlin. The building was as impressive as the last time he'd been inside, and now that he was entering legally, he could admire the architecture and construction.
"Come with me," Tamara motioned him towards the entrance and they both entered the Kremlin.
It was busy with lots of uniformed men and woman combing the area, performing various tasks. They did go through some checkpoints, but Tamara was able to get them through in seconds. "No guards for me?" he asked as they walked.
She snorted. "You are many things, Commander, but an idiot is not one of them. I trust you to not do anything stupid or go someplace you aren't authorized."
"Trusting," he commented. "Especially considering the last time I was here."
"True," Tamara agreed. "But this time you're here to talk with our President, no? Not kill him."
"If all goes well," the Commander agreed and they continued walking a labyrinth of stairs, corridors, hallways and elevators until Tamara finally stopped in front of an ornate wooden door.
"And here we are," Tamara paused, then wrapped her hand around the brass handle and opened the door and they both walked inside.
The floor was a polished brown wood, with expensive red and blue rugs at various places. A stone fireplace was at the far end with a small controlled fire inside. At the far end was a wall of bookshelves and in front of the bookshelves, a desk that he assumed was the President's working area. Two flags flanked the chair, the Russian flag and the Russian military one as well.
Kirill Savvin, President of the Russian Federation, stood off in front of one the windows, holding a file in his hand. Dressed in a suit with a blue tie, and black pants, he looked surprisingly normal compared to Tamara and the Commander's military garb. The President was an older man, around sixty and it showed in stern face and utterly cold hazel eyes. The sunlight reflected off his bald head as he turned to see the new arrivals.
Very slowly and deliberately, he set the file down and walked over to them. "Commander," he greeted, extending a hand, his accent far more pronounced than Tamara's. "I'm pleased you could meet so soon."
"As am I, Mr. President," the Commander answered, inclining his head. "I felt it best not to delay. It isn't often this chance presents itself."
"You and I both see little point in wasting time," President Savvin commented. "Please sit down." He gestured to the twin couches in the middle of the room. "We have much to discuss."
The Commander complied and sat down on one of the brown leather seats. The President sat opposite him and Tamara took a seat beside the Commander. Clasping his hands together, the Commander got right to the point. "Councilor Vasilisa has told me that this meeting was inspired by recent events, but she wanted you to explain exactly what those were."
"You are aware of the organization known as EXALT, correct?" President Savvin asked, appraising the Commander. "We recently received intel that suggested they were using a Russian company as a front and as of this point, we're working on recovering the data that was wiped. But I feel you already know some of this, since you've been conducting operations within my country for some time now."
Hmm. Confirm or deny. The President wasn't an idiot and would likely respect honesty. "We've been working to disrupt EXALT, yes."
"As I suspected," he nodded. "And judging from the remains of an unmarked facility we investigated, I'd say you'd succeeded."
"You work fast," the Commander complimented.
"I take the national security of my country very seriously," President Savvin stated. "And whether EXALT is as widespread as the rumors would say, it doesn't matter. I want them purged from my country. So, I must ask: Did you leak the information to me?"
"No," the Commander answered. "We're still going through it. We don't know if they have people in place who might warn others and disrupt what was supposed to be a surprise operation. Simply put, we don't know who in your government is trustworthy."
"A reasonable precaution," he nodded. "An issue I wish to solve as well. I have people I absolutely trust working on this, and I feel it would go better if XCOM and Russia pool their resources. We both want EXALT destroyed, I see no reason to work apart."
"Don't take this the wrong way, Mr. President, but how can I trust you?" the Commander asked bluntly.
"Because I know your identity and could think of several ways to utilize this information, aside from that, the fact that you are still alive," he answered.
"Decent answers," the Commander agreed. "Though you could simply be working to gain my trust. Learn more about XCOM."
"Then I would suggest you use your best judgment then," President Savvin suggested. "Do you really think I'm an EXALT operative?"
Hmm. No, not really. If that were true, his position would be compromised no matter what happened and he couldn't imagine not using that information against him. Now, the President had his own agenda, but that he could deal with.
"No, I don't," he finally said. "And in the interest of ending EXALT, I can see what I can do to transfer some relevant information to the Kremlin."
"I'm pleased to hear it," President Savvin nodded. "Now, this leads into a more…permanent topic." The President laced his fingers together. "The United Nations is weak and will fall sooner or later, be it to the aliens or infighting. The Council will likely suffer the same fate and that might leave XCOM in a difficult position financially. So I have an offer for you, Commander: An official alliance with Russia. We can provide you with funding, resources and the very best from our special forces and military. In return you provide us with some of the alien technology you've acquired for our own scientists to begin analyzing."
He'd actually done it. The Commander had been wondering if the President was actually going to propose an alliance or simply talk about EXALT. While he was extremely pleased and flattered at the consideration, there was one major problem. He sighed. "I'm afraid I will have to decline, Mr. President," he answered slowly. "But hear me out here. My position with the Council is tenuous enough, as Councilor Vasilisa has no doubt told you, and as Russia is a Council nation, favoritism would not be received well."
He pursed his lips. "There is only one reason I've been able to keep much of the alien tech out of the hands of China, Australia and Mexico. Because I've refused to do so with any Council Nation, regardless of their support. Should I open an alliance with Russia, it will open the door to others demanding resources and further refusals will only look selfish and slowly remove whatever goodwill remains."
"I wondered if you might say that," President Savvin answered slowly, a grim smile spreading across his face. "And it reflects well on you that you have the political wariness to not accept my offer as-is. I'd have to question your intelligence if that were the case. Fortunately, I have an alternate solution. Tamara?"
Tamara handed him a tablet showing a map of Russia and some bordering countries. "While you wouldn't be able to open an alliance directly with us and keep technology out of the hands of the more troublesome council members, there is nothing saying that you couldn't form and alliance with say…Ukraine. Your alliance with Israel and Germany is proof of this."
The Commander felt a smile growing on his own lips as well as he saw where this was going. "Now that you mention it, Poland and Finland are also countries that might benefit from such as alliance."
"And should the equipment going to them unfortunately end up on Russian soil-" Tamara began.
"You can stop with the doublespeak," the Commander interrupted, amused. "You plan on using proxies. I know how this works. A rather clever tactic, I must say."
"And one you can perform legally," the President pointed out.
"Correct," the Commander agreed. "Though I do wonder, how exactly will you handle the funds and alien tech transfers?"
"Leave that to us," Tamara assured him. "Should you decided to open alliances with these countries, your funding will increase substantially."
"And I'll send a squad of CT agents to XCOM as well," President Savvin promised. "You've seen how useful one was for you, six would provide a substantial boost to your forces."
"More soldiers are always useful," the Commander agreed. "I will have to confer with my own Council, of course. But if I were you, I'd be keeping an eye on the bordering countries."
"We will be watching with great interest, Commander," President Savvin nodded. "Know that Russia will support you, whatever you decided."
The Commander stood. "I'll count on it, Mr. President. Good day."
The Citadel, Barracks
What immediately struck Soran more than anything else after the victory was how everyone appeared to just be focusing on the fact that they'd utterly, and ruthlessly executed that EXALT facility and apparently forgetting that it had been mostly due to a massive mechanical…suit? Exoskeleton?
He really wasn't sure what the right description was. The suit itself was called a MEC, so he figured he might as well use that, since robot was clearly incorrect. He would have liked to have taken some retribution on EXALT himself, but had understood why the Commander had chosen the most veteran soldiers for the op.
That being said, the footage from the armor cams was…enlightening. For a number of reasons. Instead of celebrating, he'd spent the last few hours just watching the MEC, which was actually piloted by Myra, utterly destroy the EXALT soldiers. He'd only seen displays of power like that a handful times in his life, and none of them quite like this.
This MEC had to have been in production for some time, and since there hadn't been any malfunctions and Myra seemed to be very much alive, albeit significantly altered, it seemed there's been some testing beforehand as well. Which begged the question: How long and by what means?
He could see why it would be kept under wraps, especially since the extensive prosthetics and amputations would be controversial for a number or reasons, but also because the only way to ensure the participants safety was to actually test it on human subjects. The Commander wouldn't risk his soldiers on an experimental program that would result in death, so he had to be finding other means.
He supposed it didn't matter in the long run. And there was a very high chance no one other than himself would really wonder how the MECs had been made in the first place. As long as they worked and killed aliens, that's really all most of the soldiers and personnel would care about.
Still, it did make him wonder.
He was very curious to speak with Myra herself, however. Even if she didn't know everything she would likely be able to at least tell him what it was like. He shut down his laptop and placed it under his bunk. If nothing else, he wanted to at least take a look at the MEC itself and last he knew, it was still in the hanger.
Myra herself had been absent from the main celebration, for what he assumed were obvious reasons. Though he did wonder if she'd be returning to the Barracks or finding a new place to sleep because of her prosthetics.
He got up and walked out of the Barracks into the deserted hallways. It was pretty late, or early, depending, so there were not many people up and about. Fine by him, he enjoyed the silence after the last few celebratory hours.
He did wonder just how public the Commander would make knowledge of the MECs. He could see it becoming public if he just never told anyone that they were piloted by actual humans. That would start attracting attention that the Commander would likely want kept hidden. Or maybe the population wouldn't care either, especially if they saw footage of the MEC in action.
However…should EXALT learn about what the MECs really were, he could see some rather damning propaganda videos that could be released, real or not. But for that to happen, they'd have to either have sources in the Council or XCOM itself. As far as he knew, there weren't any in XCOM, but the Council was another matter and he wasn't quite sure how the Council Representative here was going to tell this to the Council.
Well, that was for the Commander to worry about. He really should get around to speaking with that representative sometime, it might be interesting to hear what a civilian like him thought about XCOM.
The hanger door swished open and he stepped into the largely empty hanger. It really was amazing just how clean and organized everything was. True, there were only three skyrangers and…whatever that MEC transport was, but still, there wasn't any scrap, tools or waste spread out anywhere.
The limited aircraft also made the entire area feel much larger than it actually was. The slots built into the walls containing the Ravens probably helped with that, which was actually another clever design decision. He saw the deactivated MEC by the transport and began heading over too it.
His footsteps echoed throughout the empty hanger, or so he thought. Because he spotted another figure also by the MEC, either cleaning or repairing it. Hmm. Either an engineer or Myra, and he was betting on the latter at the moment. Well, he had wanted to speak with her, so this worked out perfectly.
She hadn't bothered covering up her prosthetics, and only had some kind of gray covering over her torso. He could swear it looked armored. The legs looked incredibly basic and modular, though he had to admit that functionality was really all that was needed. But he would have thought that Shen and his team would have come up with some kind of more…natural version.
At least the hands looked expertly made, at least judging by the way Myra was fiddling with a screwdriver on the MECs leg. It didn't seem impressive, but he knew that the hand had plagued prosthetics creators for decades. He supposed what made him somewhat uncomfortable was that pretty much every part of her had been replaced with something mechanical.
One, or two replacements, he could understand and move along. But all her limbs? Not only that, it also looked like her head and neck had also been extensively modified. Pieces of metal were embedded in her neck and he thought he saw something that looked suspiciously like a jack in the back of her head. Though he couldn't tell for sure since her shoulder-length hair covered it pretty well.
She must have heard him come up because she glanced over at him and stepped back from the MEC. "Coming to see for yourself?" She asked, a light electronic tint to her voice.
He glanced up at the towering MEC. It's chest plates were open, so he supposed that was where Myra actually got into the MEC. He had no clue how she retained such control over it since it was so much larger than her body. "I saw the footage," he answered. "Yes, I wanted to see for myself."
"Hmm." She glanced up at the MEC herself. "Yes, there's nothing even close to it. Soran, right? I've seen you around."
"Yes," he nodded. "I'm one of the newer ones. Though I've seen you before. I honestly didn't expect you to still be around after that mission."
"Neither did I," she answered, stepping back. "But it all worked out in the end."
There was silence for a minute or so.
"What was it like?" Soran asked, looking back at her. "Controlling it?"
"Hmm…" She looked down at her prosthetics and curled her metal fingers into a fist. "What's the strongest you've ever felt in your life? Multiply that tenfold. You look around, at the soldiers below you frantically shooting their weapons at you and understand that nothing can hurt you. I was unstoppable. Invincible. Alive…." She trailed off. "Out of the suit everything seems…muted, now. Slower. Weaker."
"That makes sense," Soran nodded. "I suppose you'd get used-"
"No," Myra grimaced and held up a hand. "You don't understand. The suit was-is part of me." She brushed her hair apart and he saw that his glimpse had been right. Some kind of jack or plug had been implanted into her skull. It wasn't large, but it seemed to lead directly into the brain. "These prosthetics aren't for show," Myra continued, letting her hands drop. "It's not the same now after being plugged into a machine."
"You volunteered for this?" Soran asked, cocking his head. "Why? Couldn't you have just received a regular prosthetic?"
"Perhaps," she gave a shrug, her face expressionless. "But the Commander offered this to me. He believed it would change the war in our favor and it seems he was right. At least that's how it feels."
"But still…" Soran shook his head. "You didn't consider what might happen if it went wrong?"
"If I did, I don't remember why," she answered neutrally. "I trust the Commander. And this was the logical thing to do. Besides, wouldn't you do whatever it took to protect those you care about?"
He thought about it. Quite honestly, he'd never seen himself as the sacrificial type. He'd never become invested in causes or ideologies. He preferred to act logically and rationally, and yet, Myra did have a point. "Yes," he finally said. "I suppose I would."
"All of us here probably would," Myra nodded. "After all we've seen what the aliens would do to us…" she trailed off, her hands slowly falling to her sides. He waited for her to continue and furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at her face, with nothing but a vacant expression and sightless eyes.
"Myra?" he asked, taking a step closer. "You alright?"
She was still breathing and keeping her balance, but seemed to be completely unaware. He snapped his fingers. "Myra!"
Still no response. He was seriously considering getting someone when Myra straightened. "Reboot," she muttered and slowly turned her head towards him, her expression just as vacant. "Sorry, did you say something?"
She sounded completely normal, but whatever that was clearly wasn't. "Are you feeling alright?" He asked carefully.
"I'm functional," she answered. "Why?"
"You…" he waved his hand. "Sort of spaced out."
"Ah, a glitch," she nodded. "It's happened from time to time. Nothing to worry about."
He blinked. "You're not worried about that."
"Not anymore," she answered nonchalantly. "I don't feel as you do anymore. I sometimes get shadows of the more disruptive emotions, but I no longer feel any need to focus on them."
Soran swallowed. "You don't feel anything anymore?"
"Not like I used to, no," she answered, walking in front of him. "I know what did elicit responses from me and what I used to feel, but I find that pointless now. Much more simple this way, not having to worry about anything. Not becoming outraged over trivial things."
"That doesn't bother you?" Soran demanded, surprised she was so calm. "Just…did you know this might happen?"
"It was a risk, yes," she answered with a shrug. "But one I accepted. I feel no anger and neither should you."
The way she said those words almost absentmindedly highlighted something he'd briefly noticed as soon as they started talking. Myra didn't seem completely…there. She still…functioned as she put it but her words, responses and tone were listless, dull and empty. It was like talking to a sleepwalker.
A more cognizant sleepwalker if that make any sense, but at least like talking with someone continually distracted.
"I see," he finally said. "I suppose, well, I didn't think that was a potential side effect. It surprised me. But…" he trailed off as Myra had gone back to working on the MEC, seeming to have blocked him out entirely.
He couldn't tell if it was intentional or as a side effect of her apparent wandering mind. But at the very least, it meant their conversation was done. Turning on his heel he began walking out of the hanger, considerably less enthused than before.
He wondered how the other soldiers would react when they learned more about Myra's condition. He didn't really know her that well, but she was one of the veterans from the very beginning. Knowing the soldiers here, they'd likely applaud her for her sacrifice, even if it cost or compromised her personality.
True, it was war and sacrifices had to be made. Still, he wondered if there were lines that shouldn't be crossed, even if it gave XCOM an edge. But he supposed as long as there were soldiers willing to volunteer, then these kind of projects would always continue. Those who volunteered had to be admired, and as he'd admitted to Myra, he himself might have done so as well.
He would just hope that someone would make sure he wasn't used. He could see how some might take advantage once they knew they could effectively create a bunch of soulless mechanical soldiers. He wasn't convinced the Commander wouldn't do something like that if the situation demanded it, but as it stood now, he'd probably keep the volunteers limited.
Well, he'd have to do his part to make sure these programs didn't run completely unchecked.
The Citadel, Situation Room
"I suppose the most important question to ask is if they can actually pull it off."
Zhang appraised the holotable displaying a map of Asia. "I see no reason for the Russians to lie about this."
"That's what I'm thinking," the Commander agreed. "And if they can follow through…"
"Then we can't really pass this up," Zhang finished.
"I would be careful about this," Van Doorn warned, frowning at them. "Russia isn't doing this out of the kindness of their hearts. They think they can get more out of this than us."
"Of course," the Commander nodded. "But whether they get more is debatable. Even half of what they promise would nearly guarantee financial independence from the Council within a few months. Furthermore, they need us more than we need them. They won't renege on our deal or try to extort us for more."
"Unless it will benefit them," Van Doorn added. "The Russians will take advantage if they spot weakness."
The Commander snorted. "The moment they try something like that they can say goodbye to any more of our tech. The President isn't stupid, he knows that if he holds up his end, I'll hold up mine."
"The hardest part will be setting up alliances with the three countries," Zhang said, pointing to the map. "That will take time."
"We should also consider the implications of a technologically advanced Russia," Van Doorn said, looking at the Commander intently. "Because of all the Council nations, they would be the most likely to use their newfound military strength to expand their borders."
"Not as long as things stay relatively calm," the Commander responded, shaking his head. "Even if the UN is toothless, there are other countries who are not and a conquest would not only bring about worldwide condemnation, but also possible reprisal. No one wants that right now."
"Are you sure about that?" Van Doorn pressed. "If we're wrong we could be enabling an international incident."
"President Savvin respects me," the Commander stated. "He knows that territorial wars are not in anyone's favor, least of all Russia. I could be wrong, of course, but I sincerely don't believe he'll begin a conquest."
"If nothing else, it'll keep China in check," Zhang added, crossing his arms. "Assuming Russia can make enough improvements to gain a technological edge."
"Agreed," the Commander glanced over at Zhang. "I'd much rather have an advanced Russia than China. At least Russia is completely focused on the alien threat."
"Let's hope you're right," Van Doorn sighed. "And what happens if the Council discovers our subterfuge?"
"The only way that would happen is if one of us talked," the Commander answered, resting his hands on the holotable. "We'll set up alliances as normal, deliver the tech and Russia will do the rest. As long as we don't know the details, we can claim plausible deniability."
Zhang gave a small grin. "Ah, the Council would love that."
"I suppose there are some benefits to political-speech," the Commander chuckled. "Though I'd prefer we didn't actually have to worry about that."
"In the meantime, there is something to actually worry about, or at least keep an eye on," Zhang straightened up and picked up his tablet. After tapping on it a few seconds, he handed it to the Commander. "We finally have some pictures of what Israel is actually doing."
The first picture was a few soldiers guarding a dusty street that was apparently abandoned. But unlike most of IDF, they were actually wearing some kind of body armor, colored in tans and browns. It wasn't nearly as refined or complete as XCOM armor, but they were clearly utilizing the alien alloys in an actual physical sense.
The Commander flipped to the second image and this one showed soldiers in regular armor test firing some kind of weapon. It wasn't laser, but neither did it appear a fully ballistic weapon. "You know what they're testing?" He asked, looking up.
"They seem to be trying to create some kind of magnetic based weapon, at least from what my source can learn," Zhang explained. "They're having trouble keeping the weapon from breaking after a few uses, though."
"Interesting," Van Doorn mused. "If they're actually looking in Gaussian weaponry, it actually might put them on a somewhat even playing field with the aliens."
"I should talk with Shen to see how possible it actually is," the Commander said. "Though I suppose the more important question is still what Israel is planning to do."
"That, we're still in the dark on," Zhang admitted. "However, war games have ramped up in abandoned areas and if I had to make a guess, I'd say that Israel is planning to attack another country."
"Unlikely," Van Doorn dismissed firmly, shaking his head. "Israel doesn't have the manpower to hold onto more than a few countries. Not to mention they'd turn most of the world against them."
"Not necessarily," Zhang disagreed, leaning back against the wall. "Even if the UN does condemn them, what exactly are they going to do about it? Especially if they do end up developing Gauss weaponry?"
"Good question," Van Doorn pursed his lips. "Honestly, I doubt they would involve NATO especially since they'd likely be outmatched. I'm more concerned about the ramifications for XCOM. Especially since we were the ones who enabled them to become a threat."
"You have a point," the Commander muttered. "They'd likely call for me to condemn Israel, or at the very least, end our alliance."
"Would there really be any doubt on that?" Van Doorn asked, eyeing him warily.
"That would depend on Israel's reasons," the Commander answered slowly. "But that decision should be made when we come to it. No point worrying about it now with the aliens and EXALT actively working against us."
"In this case I'm going to have to disagree with you," Van Doorn stated firmly. "Should this scenario, however unlikely, actually happen, XCOM cannot be thought to support it in any way. This shouldn't be a discussion."
"I don't make important decisions based on politics," the Commander responded coldly, fixing his gaze on Van Doorn. "Should this happen, I will hear Israel's reasons and should I conclude they are in the wrong, I will condemn them. But I will certainly not do it because the Council asks me too."
Van Doorn sighed. "I know you view them favorably, but that cannot influence how you treat them elsewhere. At best it will look like indifference, at worst favoritism. They are not always right or infallible."
"If I really trusted them fully I wouldn't be having Zhang watching them would I?" The Commander shot back, crossing his arms. "I prefer knowing all the facts before making rash decisions, not reacting based on what others think."
"Which is admirable," Van Doorn insisted. "But we're talking about an unprovoked conquest. Tell me, who actually threatens Israel right now? Honestly? This isn't during the war on terror when Israel was indeed in real danger. Every single power in the Middle East has been reduced to shadow, except Israel."
"Who no doubt despise them even more," the Commander answered. "But you have a good point. Which is one reason that I'm watching them. And if it makes you feel better, this is something I won't make without the majority of the Inner Council approving of. But it won't be done until we have all the facts."
"May I remind you that this is simply based off my opinion," Zhang reminded them, a sly smile on his lips. "When I offered it, I didn't exactly expect such a heated discussion on it."
"It's heated because it's plausible," Van Doorn muttered. "But yes, everything is hypothetical now."
"Agreed," the Commander nodded, taking a breath. "Let's focus on what's actually happening."
"A good idea," Zhang agreed. "Now, if we're going to take up Russia's offer, this is what we'll have to do."
The Citadel, Several hours later
The Commander groaned and rolled over onto his back. Despite a valiant effort, he couldn't sleep, as usual. After lying in bed several seconds, he sighed and sat up and swung his legs off the side. Well, no point staying here then. Best to be productive.
He dressed and walked out into his office and sat down in front of the computer and pressed the power button after it didn't turn on. Odd. He didn't recall turning it off.
Nothing happened.
He pressed it again and still nothing. He leaned down to check, and yes, the power was plugged in. Great. Just what he needed now. He pressed the intercom button. "Bradford, something's wrong with the computer. Can you send someone up to check?"
All that came through was static. Loud static as well. He frowned at the intercom. That wasn't right. He tried fiddling with the wire and it immediately stopped. He sat back. "You get that, Bradford?"
"Miss me?" The familiar mocking voice of Farida greeted over the intercom. He immediately slammed a finger on the end button. And leaned back in his chair.
Well, so he had been able to fall asleep, so that was something. Now he just had to find Farida, or more likely, she'd find him. He wasn't quite sure how long he was going to entertain her this time. He really wasn't in the mood to be yelled at again.
Standing up, he walked to the door and opened it.
And stepped out somewhere completely different.
The cold steel walls of the Citadel were completely gone and replaced by what seemed to be a perfect recreation of the Kremlin. He was just in the lobby, but it was eerily quiet and there wasn't a soul around.
At least it wasn't another desert. It was nice to have a change of scenery for once. Though he did wonder what his subconscious had in store for him this time.
"Ah, you made it!" An oddly familiar voice greeted behind him. The Commander turned around to see a familiar thin man giving him that doppelganger's smile and his hands clasped in front of him.
Well, this was new. Usually the only consistent members of his dreams were Farida, and sometimes members of his team from the War on Terror. Not creations of his mind like that thin man. Who he specifically remembered melting into mush the last time they'd "spoken" and it'd tried to debate him on the Hades Contingency, more or less.
Well, he was back and didn't appear any different. Still wearing those black clothes and spectacles. Even the hair was exactly as he remembered it. If his subconscious really wanted to change things up, it could have at least brought in an EXALT operative to debate him, because right now he wasn't quite sure what this was in response too.
"You again," he stated as the alien approached him. "I didn't think to see you again."
"Our last conversation ended…." The alien paused and glanced up knowingly, then back down at him. "…abruptly."
The Commander sighed. "And are you coming back for a repeat? Because I have Farida to deal with in addition to you, so it might be simpler to just end you now."
"No need to worry about your former wife interrupting us," the alien answered smoothly, an oily smile on his face. "I've ensured she'll leave us alone for the time being."
The Commander raised an eyebrow. "Really. How very impressive," he paused. "You realize that I could just remove you now?"
"I seem to recall that not working the last time," the alien pointed out. "You ended up having to resort to more violent methods. You surprised me last time. It will not work again."
He was not talking like any normal projection. By now he would have gotten to the point, but instead he was actually talking to him as if he was real. Which was…odd. More than odd, disturbing. Especially since he was getting the impression he was missing something pretty obvious.
"Leave," he ordered, not wanting to deal with this now.
The alien simply stood and shook his head. "Come now, Commander. Do you really think that would work?"
"Then would you prefer I return to the more 'violent methods'?" the Commander demanded icily.
"You really are an interesting human," the alien commented. "Had this been anyone else they would have figured it out already. But these dreams are normal for you. I suppose a demonstration is in order."
The Commander opened his mouth to question that and was suddenly hit with what felt like a concussive blast of wind and was thrown back into the concrete wall. Metal immediately burst from the walls and wrapped themselves around his waist, wrists and ankles, effectively securing them.
The alien slowly walked over to him. "You are not the only one with power over dreams, Commander. Your talent, while impressive, isn't a match for mine."
The Commander felt flesh creeping over his lips and imagined that had this been real, he would be terrified. But as it stood, he was almost indifferent. Cheeky little alien. He thought, no doubt inflicted upon him as some kind of revenge.
The alien cocked his head. "Not so much fun being on the other side, is it?" He asked, somehow managing not to sound smug. Just like stating a fact.
The Commander furrowed his brow and a few seconds of concentration later, was able to open his mouth. The metal suddenly became as weak as paper and he broke out with no problem. Eyeing the alien warily, he answered. "Perhaps, but this is still my dream. Not yours."
"True," the alien nodded. "Which is why you'll always be able to fight back, no matter how powerful I allow myself to be."
They stood in silence for several seconds.
"You're real," the Commander finally said.
"And it only took you several tries to figure it out," the alien agreed, with a slight grin. "I would have expected the revelation quicker, but your circumstances are a bit more unusual."
The Commander frowned. "So the last time…"
"Yes, that was me as well," the alien confirmed. "Not quite the way I wanted to end our talk."
The Commander crossed his arms, eyeing the alien skeptically. "Really. If that was really you, how was able to dispel you so easily?"
The alien glanced up. "Ah, that," he looked back down and continued without any change in tone. "Simply put, I underestimated you. I didn't think you to be completely cognizant of what was going on, let alone being able to dispose me in that manner."
"You seem more prepared now," the Commander noted.
"Because I am," the alien inclined his head. "Last time I only devoted a small amount of energy to projecting myself here and in my arrogance, didn't think to give myself protection as well. It has been decades since one of us has been defeated, mentally or otherwise. But now I am prepared for whatever you might do."
So, if the alien was in his head…Fuck. That was utterly compromising no matter how he put it. He wasn't sure if the alien could read his mind, per-se. But if it could... "So why are you here?" He asked, circling the alien. "Come to see what you can learn from me?"
The alien sniffed, as if offended he would even ask that question. "I cannot read your mind in this state, Commander. Perhaps if I devoted more of my power, but I see that as a feat that would cost too much for too little reward."
Well, that was good. Assuming of course the alien was telling the truth. "You didn't answer my question," he reminded him. "Why are you here?"
"To talk," the alien answered simply. "Along with a more personal curiosity."
The Commander crossed his arms. "And what if I don't want to?"
"You will have no choice until I leave."
The Commander reached down by his waist and un-holstered the laser pistol that had materialized and pressed the barrel to his head. "Try again. That's not how this works. There are only two ways I can leave: Farida dies, or I die."
The alien didn't look the least bit worried. "Normally, yes. But as long as I'm here, all you will accomplish by ending your 'life' is putting yourself into a coma or worse. And you wouldn't want to deprive XCOM of your leadership now, would you?"
"You're bluffing," the Commander stated.
"Perhaps," the alien mused, walking beside him and turning his head with a knowing smile. "But can you really take that chance?"
No, not yet at least. And he had no intention of leaving quite yet anyway, but he was curious to see how the alien would react. Perhaps he could learn something from him as well. Because he didn't think that the alien came here just to 'talk.'
"I'll concede that point," he said, putting the weapon down and turning to the alien. "But enlighten me, what could we possibly have to talk about?"
"A great many things," the alien responded. "Perhaps I wanted to see if you really think you can win this war."
"At our current pace, certainly," the Commander answered. "I would say we have more victories than defeats against your kind."
"Hmm," the alien pursed his lips. "You do understand this is not reflective of an actual war, correct? Several of our spacecraft landing and you sending in your soldiers is not a war."
The Commander gave a humorless smile. "Well, it seems to be the only one you're willing to wage."
"Do you honestly believe that you are the most important issue we have to deal with?" The alien demanded, pacing. "You are confined to one planet. We oversee dozens."
"We tend to take the survival of our species very seriously," the Commander pointed out. "I could not care less about what other issues you are supposedly dealing with."
The alien paused pacing. "I'm curious. You still seem to think our ultimate objective is the eradication or enslavement of your species. What exactly do you have to prove this?"
The Commander sighed. "Didn't we have a similar conversation last time? Do you honestly not see? You attacked us, then attacked our cities to slaughter the population, you kidnap humans for whatever experiments you run and have killed my soldiers throughout this entire campaign. And yet you wonder why I want your kind dead?"
"We did not start this war, Commander," the alien told him with a knowing grin. "Tell me, who initiated the first military strike? Because it wasn't us."
The Commander scowled. "You abducted an entire town filled with hundreds of humans. That's as good a declaration of war as any."
"A fair point, I can understand the reasoning," the alien nodded, surprising him. "But no human is used in vain. All serve a greater purpose, which in your case, will be the survival of your species."
The Commander chuckled. "You cannot be serious."
"You would not understand," the alien shrugged, answering calmly. "And I don't see why us using humans is worse than you using the corpses and bodies of our soldiers."
"Because our survival depends on it," the Commander answered. "Despite what you say, I find it hard to believe that you're gaining anything useful from the thousands of human corpses other than ways to kill us."
"Oh, I assure you, we're gaining much more," the alien answered. "But I believe I'm getting off topic here. Who is this war currently serving, Commander? Because I don't think you believe you can win against us anymore than I do."
"Better for us to die than live under you," the Commander answered coldly. "You might win, but I'll ensure many of you will die in the process."
"How violent," the alien actually sounded sad. "Your species has proven themselves resilient. We don't need to continue this conflict anymore. Surrender to us and I promise your species will be treated as if this war had never taken place. Imagine how much greater you could be working with us instead of trying to kill us."
It was odd, but the Commander got the impression that the alien was actually being genuine. It still changed nothing, but it was interesting. "While I appreciate the very generous offer, I'm going to have to decline," he answered, crossing his arms. "We don't need you to advance. We'll forge our own path without your help. We will not be dependent to you, nor will we be subservient. Humanity will not capitulate until there is no choice, and most of us not even then,"
He paused. "So I have a counter-offer for you, assuming you really want this war to end. Leave. Leave us and return in fifty years or so, and come peacefully. I believe humanity would be willing to work as equals, not as yet another species under your…collective."
The alien started ahead. "That is simply not possible," he said, something in his voice changing. "Fifty years may be long for your species, but it is but a moment for us. And we need to use every second we can."
"Then we are still at war," the Commander stated firmly. "Sorry if that wasn't what you wanted to hear."
"I am not surprised," the alien sighed. "But I cannot fault you for feeling that way, as misguided and egotistical as it is."
"Then are we done here?" The Commander asked wearily.
The alien looked at him, that eerie smile still on it's face. "Almost. I did come for another reason. A personal experiment of mine, simply to see if it would work. And by the sounds of things, I think it did."
The Commander frowned. "What are you talking about? And how do you know?"
"Because we're speaking," the alien chuckled, a broken and hollow imitation of the real thing. "Perhaps it worked a little too well."
"Why do you feel the need to be so cryptic?" The Commander demanded. "That doesn't help."
"Write out the first words that come to your mind," the alien suggested, pointing at him. The Commander looked down at the pad of paper and pen that had materialized in his hands. Let's see…first things that came to his mind. End the dream. Fine, that would do. Glaring at the alien, he wrote on the paper.
"Done," he said, lowering his hands to his side.
"Look at it," the alien suggested.
He sighed and looked down at the paper. His eyes widened when he saw what he'd written. It wasn't English, or anything close to a recognizable language. It was in the flowing, hieroglyphic language he'd seen from the alien tech they'd recovered. Glyphs and symbols that the scientists were still trying to figure out.
And he could understand it perfectly.
He took a deep breath and looked over at the alien calmly observing him. "[What did you do to me?]" He asked, aware they were now speaking in the alien language.
"[I wanted to see if I could transfer something,]" the alien answered nonchalantly. "[As I said, an experiment. Perhaps a test for you as well.]"
"Why this?" The Commander demanded, switching back to English. "You do understand what you've just given me?"
"I do, and I'm interested to see how you utilize it," the alien answered with a smile. "It will not affect the outcome of this war, so I see no reason to withhold this simply because of traditional wartime rules."
Oh, Vahlen was just going to love this. He imagined that all of them would be torn between concern and amazement that the alien would actually give something like this up. It made no sense. At all. "Thank you?" He asked, not really sure how else to respond. "And is there some catch I should be aware of?"
"If there was, would I tell you?" The alien asked, amused. "But no. Until next time, Commander." With that he vanished, leaving him alone.
What the hell had happened? For one, he was starting to get the suspicious that this was just a dream because there was just no way their enemy would just give them one of the keys to understanding their technology. And if they were still that confident of their victory, even after that…it didn't bode well, no matter how he looked at it. Especially if they controlled dozens of planets as the alien had claimed.
"About time," the voice of Farida called behind him. "Are you that weak that you couldn't get rid of something inside your own head?"
He gritted his teeth and concentrated on her voice. He was far beyond putting up with her insults now. He raised his wrist and twisted sharply and the sound of her neck snapping echoed throughout the abandoned Kremlin. He wished his subconscious would shut up, sometimes. But he only had to ponder that for a moment.
Then he woke up.