XCOM: The Advent Directive

by Xabiar

Australia has been annexed, the United Nations is in chaos, the world is under siege and the Ethereals have taken the field. Facing the full might of the Ethereal Collective, the Commander must rally XCOM, the newly formed ADVENT, and several other allies and rivals to unite the divided nations by any means necessary, for failure now will mean the fall of humanity once and for all.

46. Harbinger

Harbinger

---

Project DH0022 Holding Station, Zararch Oversight – Classified Location

2/6/2017 – Unknown Time

In an unknown corner of space orbiting a lifeless moon, which orbited a gas giant, which itself orbited a bright yellow star, was a space station.

From the outside it was little more than a cylinder. But that was all that was required. It existed for only one individual, and to have only one purpose. For at least four decades it has done nothing but store what the Dath'Haram had designated as Project DH0022. The lone success for their project before the collapse.

Perhaps there had been more, but only one had been found by the Collective and placed into the Zararch as an asset.

Five levels made up the orbiting black cylinder. The bottom was merely the power supply and gravity generator. It managed the station; ensured that the stasis chambers didn't run out of energy. It provided water and lighting. It provided life. It also housed the deadman explosives that could be detonated if necessary.

Above it was an armory packed to the brim with every single weapon that made up the Collective arsenal, and even some that were used by the elusive Ethereal Divisions. Grenades and nanoblades lined the walls. Raw components for the development of improvised weaponry were set aside for the ever-creative mind of DH0022 to manipulate and experiment with as it deemed fit.

Above that floor was nothing more than a massive holographic theatre. Powered by a dedicated supercomputer it was capable of creating and rendering nearly any location and individual provided. Useful for missions. Useful for creating profiles. Useful to visualizing the operational objective and additional scenarios which might arise.

A small hangar was above. Just large enough for a small ship it was rarely utilized and was typically kept depressurized. A Gateway was stationed inside as well, a dead portal that could only be turned on by an Ethereal. It was almost taunting, but there was little to fear. Reactivation would only happen in the gravest of circumstances.

The Zararch once more required their sharpest tool.

The final level was a light grey box. The walls were colorless, as was the floor. Every aspect was a uniform and drab sameness. Mirrors lined the far wall, giving those who entered near complete-vision of the place they were standing in. Small holographic displays were scattered throughout. Lockers containing scalpels, hammers, and saws could be raised from the ground or pulled from the walls.

Reconstruction machines could be lowered from the ceiling, medical equipment that was typically only used in cases of extreme emergency was a notably common sight. Drains lined the floors in pre-determined lengths with grooves and inclined planes, a hydrophobic surface to direct the blood and organic fluids which flowed.

In the center of this colorless box, sat a colorless figure.

It had no name. No sex. No discernable characteristics. The skin was a milky white and close to transparent in places. The hands were five slender fingers with three joints, which were attached to arms, similarly attached to a slender, flat torso. The head was an oval more closely resembling a Vitakarian, though that was where the similarities ended.

The face was featureless. It had no nose. It had no mouth. The eyes were a milky white; able to see, but yet to be configured appropriately. No hair grew along what passed for flesh, nor did the eyes blink for eyelids were not something that had been added yet.

But it was not idle.

It sat alone on a small chair, in the most base of forms, methodically reading the literature which it had been provided with. Reports and dossiers, maps and star charts, history and technological progress. Much had happened. Much needed to be learned. It did not require sleep and so worked methodically absorbing everything which had taken place.

It was unlike the last time, where only the most basic of details had been provided. But it had known then that mission had been a test. An unproven specimen had needed to prove it could act in the field effectively. Only mission-relevant data had been provided. It was all that was needed.

This was…different.

The activation may be more permanent.

This was pleasing.

Its handler would arrive shortly. An Ethereal it knew. An Ethereal it had, ironically, interacted with before. An Ethereal who it knew was unnerved by its existence. Unsurprising. Standard organic aliens required conformity and familiarity. The formless and faceless was an unsettling state of being, one many would deny could exist.

The pale individual decided it had acquired enough information for now. It was time to prepare for the assignment. One to Earth.

A Human form would need to be created.

A twinge of regret was felt. Humans. A colorful species in some ways which offered many possibilities, but ultimately, they were…dull. It was truly a shame that he would not be involved with operations involving the Sectoids or Andromedons. Such distinctive aliens would provide a much greater challenge instead of the same comforting anatomy.

But a Human would need to be chosen.

The form would not be final, of course, but one should become used to the bodies and voices such a species provided. A form would be needed for interacting with the allies of the Ethereals. Konstantine Volikov. A Human pragmatist and idealist no doubt clearly intending to use the Collective to his own ends.

It did not matter.

There is little need to inform the Ethereals of the actions of those they consider to be their pawns. It would not be the first time.

Arrogant.

But arrogance was unimportant in face of his task. The task was all that mattered.

Should the task be completed, the Vitakara would be secure.

Should failure occur, it would be over.

Too many unanswered questions still remained, but the Zar'Chon would not require aid if the need was not urgent. It was a new one as well. This one seemed more competent than the last, ironically aware of the dismissive and self-defeating personalities which plagued the Ethereals. Some things had not changed.

Distraction. A form needed to be chosen.

Two options presented themselves – male and female. Both genders would be utilized eventually, but one needed to serve as a base.

A professional approach was best for dealing with other professional Humans. Female would have been useful if Volk was susceptible to the opposite sex, but he was committed to another and strong-willed for a Human. A professional approach would be more beneficial. Male would serve as the initial form gender.

Skin color and ethnicity were of little concern to it, as either could be changed easily enough. The most non-threatening was Caucasian-American. Therefore that is what would make up the base form.

He.

Transitioning to the appropriate pronoun. Getting in character should begun immediately, if only in the smallest of details. That was enough to begin the transformation. He stood and set all of the literature to the far corner and walked over to stand over one of the drains. He carefully picked up the scalpel and cut a small patch of skin off the right of his neck to find the bodily control panel, expressing minor annoyance as the skin attempted to grow back.

The body had yet to be completely purged from the last mission. Something that needed to be rectified now. Disabling the nano-skin would allow bodily harm without immediate repair. The controls he'd memorized decades ago, but he needed to test them. He felt around for the general area of the jaw where the mouth would be.

Finding it, he penetrated the skin and dragged the scalpel across until a thin slit across his face existed, a mouth once more existing. Purple blood stained his fingers and the new opening, but that would wash away in time. He opened and closed the jaw experimentally several times to ensure everything was working. Biological similarities would thankfully mean that there would be little changes to the skull itself.

With the skin confirmed to not be regenerating, he found the vein which had been designed into his arm and slit it vertically on one wrist. As the purple blood flowed out, drenching his hands and wrists, he repeated the same procedure on the opposite wrist. Both arteries severed, it would only be a short time before the heart pumped all the blood out.

He cocked his head, thinking as the blood fell onto the floor and immediately began flowing into the drains. A name. He would need a name. Or perhaps not. Names were for assignments, names were important to play a role. But he was simply a Zararch asset here, and he needed no cover for Volk and the Ethereals.

Was a name necessary?

Perhaps if only to put his partner at ease. Humans, like most sentient beings, did not react well to that which did not conform to their expectations. Names…Humans had many names. Good names, bad names, curious names.

There had to be one which would fit who and what he was.

Minutes passed. Perhaps longer. The blood had stopped flowing and now was only leaking out of him in small droplets. The final stage of cleansing would need to be taken soon.

Nemo.

A word from the Latin language. Meaning nobody. Which that was what he was. Nobody. A figure with no true name or identity.

Yes. It would suffice.

I am Nemo. Nobody.

"I am Nemo," the thing said out loud with ragged skin for lips and milky eyes. A soulless voice neither male nor female. "Nemo."

Vocal cords needed to be adjusted. It was too monotone. Of course, reset had this effect. He looked down at the pool of blood he was standing in. The floor never worked properly, some help needed to guide it along. With a foot, he kicked the blood to make it flow closer to the drain. The hydrophobic layers either needed to be reapplied, or the room needed to be more inclined.

Time for the final purge of the veins.

He felt a twinge of annoyance as now he recalled that he would have to make minor skeletal adjustments and organ replacements. It would take time, but completing a Human form required such. He picked up a larger razor-sharp blade and began first cutting a thin line on the top of the torso just below the neck. Satisfied, he grasped at the edges of the milky-white skin and pulled down.

The nano-skin was well-designed and could tear easily when not in self-repair mode. Of course there was some residual blood, but nothing significant. He tossed the patch of skin aside and pulled out the disintegrator. Muscles were too much of a hassle to work around, and it was simply easier to replace them through the machines then have them self-heal.

He'd done this enough to where he knew how to do it quickly, and within several minutes he had unrestricted access to his chest cavity. The heart pumped empty air now, the cybernetic organ still working even when nothing was left. Picking up the tube linked to the station's water, he attached it to the organ and let it begin pumping.

The trickle of purple blood then changed to a watery pink, and soon after to clear. The veins and heart organ were cleansed. Satisfied, he shut off the pump and disconnected it from the organ. That done, he pulled up a hologram of Human anatomy, more out of habit and wish for routine than because he needed the information.

He was going to need to perform extensive internal reworking. Humans had several organs that others simply did not have. Not unexpected, nor was he disappointed, but it was simply going to take longer. But in truth, he was grateful for the opportunity.

He had never been a Human before.

It was exciting. Putting on the skin of another species was an experience one only received once. It was something to savor and treasure forever.

It was then he felt the touch of the mind.

Ah, yes. She was to arrive, and she was already here.

He heard no steps, but he knew when he turned around that the Ethereal would be before him. "Nebulan."

The voice was toneless and neutral, coming from the ragged mouth of a creature which should not exist with its chest torn open and wrists slit. He knew the effect he had on the Ethereal. Of course he was different from when he'd seen her last. A female he'd been that time, with different skin and blood. All for a trick that only lasted a few minutes but allowed the opportunity to kill several powerful enemies and gather some rather interesting information.

Information he would mull over later, as he had not had significant time to process the operation before he had been returned to stasis.

The Ethereal appraised him. "You are different."

"Yes, Ethereal. I am. A new form takes time to put together."

"A machine could do just as well." Dismissal and undertones of disgust in her voice. "You waste time and skin performing it yourself. You are not a machine. Mistakes can be made."

He didn't know whether to place her emotions as unsettlement, disdain, or jealousy. Nebulan was…well, he pitied her. She fancied herself an individual who changed identities and names as easily as breathing. A shadow that could adapt at will to any situation. But she was a mere child, unable or unwilling to become Faceless.

Her pitiful attempts to play games with the aliens were merely amusing. Her parlor tricks with psionics were that of a failed mind. She could only play at being an illusion. She could never live one. Because she was ultimately nothing but an insecure Ethereal who had never been good enough to be an Overmind, not strong enough to be a warrior, not charismatic enough to be a leader, and only barely powerful enough to be an illusionist for those who were by far her greater.

A fraud.

"Enough." The order was not one of command, but of pleading.

He gave her a smile of ragged flesh. It took surprisingly little to send the Ethereals fleeing from his mind. He could never see it the way they could, but he knew by this point that his mind was unlike others. They could never stay in it for very long, and he always knew when something was in it. Either by accident or a little psionic gift of his own, he didn't know or care.

"I don't use a machine, Nebulan, because I am not a machine," he didn't alter his voice. He didn't need to now. "To become someone, you must know them inside and out. I will become a Human, and I will understand how I work. I will become the Human I have decided to be. I embrace the forms and roles I play, Nebulan. They are not acts, they are not names I throw away and dismiss, they are individuals in their own right. And this time I will be Nemo."

"I do not have to accept your help-"

"I have been ordered by the Zar'Chon to assist you," he interrupted flatly. "I do not answer to you, but to him. You are merely a means to an end before I begin my assignment. You foolishly compromised the entire Argentinian operation. You failed. You have little room to demand my authority or respect. I saved you once, and it appears I will have to do so again."

"Tread carefully, Faceless One," Nebulan hissed. "An abomination like you cannot-"

Nemo turned away from her and returned to the hologram of the Human anatomy. "Your threats are as empty as your authority. If you are here to insult me, I will ignore you. I am, at this moment, more valuable than you are. Provide the reason for your visit or leave."

The Ethereal was silent for a few moments. "The Gateway activation codes have been provided, including the coordinates to travel. You have three days to arrive. The Battlemaster will hear of your insolence to an Elder. We command you. The Zar'Chon himself is subservient to us. By the chain of command so are you."

He turned back to her, not saying anything. He had no intention of meeting her empty words with either confirmation or denial of his own. He was above this petty infighting. Nebulan would either get over her issues and distaste for him, or she would make more mistakes which would result in her removal.

But he did take pleasure in feeling the air between them grow unnerving as he locked eyes with her as he began dragging the scalpel around his eyeball to prepare to pull it out and set it to a usable configuration. He'd memorized all the settings and options of the implant. Normally he would prefer to look upon his work, but he was more than satisfied to just watch Nebulan become more and more uncomfortable as he changed into a Human before her eyes.

But soon she left without a word, leaving him alone.

No more distractions.

Returning before the mirror, he continued the process of sculpting himself into a Human.

Not just any Human though.

Nemo.

I am Nemo.

I am nobody.

---

Commander's Quarters, the Praesidium – Classified Location

2/16/2017 – 10:11 P.M.

"So what did you make of him?" Vahlen pulled up a chair opposite him as he sat by the small table that inhabited their room. Both of them were ready for bed, although the Commander was eating a late dinner. Or mildly moving it around on his plate, too absorbed in thought to really pay attention to eating it.

Vahlen's hair was down like usual, though not straightened since just like him, she'd just come off of work. He hadn't even asked what she'd been doing all day, although he knew it could only be a select number of projects. None of which were as easily comparable to the whole situation with Miridian, the Nulorian, and the unexpected revelation of the Sar'Manda.

A lot to think about. Miridian in particular was something that made him think.

"He was…is right about some things," the Commander finally said, lacing his fingers together. "I'm not Vitakarian. I don't know what he or his species have gone through other than academic secondhand. Keeps things in perspective, especially if the roles were reversed and an alien was taking a significant role in deciding the future of my species."

Vahlen coughed. "Considering what he wanted to do…"

"Mmm," the Commander hummed. "I know. The ironic thing is that I can understand how he would have come to that conclusion. Anything can be made to sound justifiable, and after so long it becomes normalized."

Vahlen reached out and placed a hand over his own. "Don't compare yourself to him. You're not."

He gave a wan smile at her. "I know that. There is a distinct difference between us. During the War on Terror I knew what I did was wrong. Necessary, but still wrong on multiple levels. It's been repeated by what we've done here. Necessary, but it doesn't somehow make it right." He leaned back, sighing. "Miridian doesn't see what he does as wrong. No, I'm not Miridian, but I think at some point I could have very easily become like him."

"I don't know about that," Vahlen mused. "You don't really change yourself easily."

"Because I don't need to." That was something he had begun to realize. "Through most of my career I've ultimately been the one making the decisions. I was given an end goal. End the Caliphate. Protect the United States. Protect Earth from the alien threat. How I accomplished this was up to me. I did what I believed was necessary, and have so far succeeded. There wasn't a need to escalate, I never had reason to become disillusioned or grow bitter or angry. For better or worse, I was responsible for everything I did."

He shrugged. "Now, if I'd been given significant oversight from the beginning. If I was given lists of instructions to follow, and they were inefficient, I feel I would have changed. Perhaps significantly, perhaps not. I was fortunate I had people who understood I worked best on my own and through my own methods. Take that away," he made a dismissive motion. "Well, then it becomes a lot easier to blame someone other than me. Not necessarily for unjustified reasons."

"You know, I've wondered," Vahlen said. "I think a good number of psychologists would pay a fortune to try and analyze you. I don't think you'd fit into their profiles very easily."

"They can wait in line," he allowed a smirk. "Post-mission debriefs were sometimes conducted by psychologists. I feel they left more confused than anything. Never had issues with them, but I feel like many of them were itching to figure out what makes me tick."

"They wouldn't have to try hard," Vahlen said lightly. "You aren't extremely complicated."

"I do my best," he agreed. "Perhaps if I'd been more involved in deep cover it would be a different story. But letting myself be complicated and convoluted is just an annoyance. Of course, not everyone can fix themselves so easily. But in my case, nothing was broken."

"Which reminds me, I've not asked yet," Vahlen rested her arms on the table. "You've never spoken of family."

"Beyond you?" He cocked his head.

"Well," she coughed, blushing a little. "Yes. Your parents or siblings."

"Because they don't matter anymore," he shrugged, not sure how best to explain it. "I didn't have siblings, and my parents are still alive as far as I know. I cut all familial ties when I began doing black ops work for the CIA. They heard I died in a freak plane accident, no body. They've moved on and I don't keep tabs on them. In my line of work that was a risk and liability."

"But you're not with the CIA anymore," Vahlen said. "And at this point I don't think you'd have to fear any kind of retaliation."

"True," he admitted. "But it would raise more questions than answers, and I don't want to reopen the past unnecessarily. I've moved on, so have they most likely. And in this war, where I could very likely die again, I would not put them through it."

"That is a good point," Vahlen sighed. "What about after the war, assuming we are all alive? I would like you to meet my family at some point. I still keep in intermittent contact."

He rapped his fingers on the table, thinking. "I'd consider it. Possibly," he raised an eyebrow at her. "I don't pry into your own family communications, but have you mentioned me?"

"Not by name, I promise," she said, smiling. "But they do know that there is someone. My grandmother is demanding to know if we're married and if kids are on the way."

"Who the hell would have kids in the middle of a war," the Commander snorted. "I hope she's not one of the more uptight people regarding marriage?"

"A bit," Vahlen admitted. "Older, religious, you know. Still I think she'd not care as much nowadays. Old values don't matter as much when aliens are invading."

"Indeed." He met her eyes. "Although it does make me wonder why we shouldn't. Maybe not immediately, but I don't see a reason to not do so." He gestured to her. "We both know how we feel about each other and that isn't going to change. You know how I'm feeling now, you know me better than anyone ever has or could. You're an intelligent and beautiful woman who I do want to spend the rest of my life – regardless of how long it may be – with. And I suspect you feel the same way."

Vahlen blinked, her cheeks tinted a slight red. "Are you proposing?"

He frowned, thinking. He'd definitely not intended it to be that way, he was just stating something they both instinctively knew. But with that said, perhaps it worked as one? "If you want to take it that way," he said hesitantly. "I didn't plan it, if that's what you're wondering."

"Well," she reached over and took his hands in her own, and he felt the direct touch of her mind against his own. "I think it works wonderfully as one, and if you feel that way, I would love nothing more than to take you as my husband."

While it had certainly not been the way he was expecting the night to go, he was good at adapting, and right now, he felt there was little that would make him happier than he was now, with the only comparable moment being when he'd first proposed to Farida. But he was much less nervous now, and had a lot more experience.

He didn't quite remember when they'd both stood and moved around the table, but they kissed deeply as they moved to the bed.

And for a few hours, they didn't need to care about anything other than themselves.

---

ADVENT HQ – Switzerland

2/12/2017 – 12:32 P.M.

"It is having an…effect, to put it lightly," Kyong said while Saudia sat at her desk as both men updated her on the begun distribution of the footage XCOM had inexplicably been sent. To put it extremely lightly, it was among the most disturbing things she had seen in her life, even from the days of EXALT.

It was also extremely concerning in what it depicted. She was genuinely unsure how ADVENT would fare against something that was so…unsettling. Something which was enough to face the Battlemaster and survive.

"An effect as in?"

"As in the media is holding a significant portion back, blurring out most portions due to extreme violence and gore, and in general clearly upset on-camera," Kyong clarified. "I almost feel bad for them, but they certainly aren't holding back. The real interesting scene is the non-mainstream media covering it."

He pulled out his phone. "Twitter, Facebook, all of social media is posting clips from it with everyone expressing disgust and shock at it. Uploaders have posted the entire video to YouTube and Liveleak, and already have close to a million views."

"I'm not sure if that's comforting or not," Saudia commented dryly. "That's a lot of people wanting to see a descent into hell."

"Humans are curious, Chancellor," Kyong shrugged, pocketing his phone. "Sometimes too curious for our own good. We've released our own statement as planned, as the footage is available for download for independent parties. Not that I think most civilians are going to want to see it for themselves, but I think we've put a significant dent in the Collective's claim that they have our best interests in mind."

"Until the conspiracies start, I suppose," Saudia said. "I'd imagine they are in full swing."

"Indeed. We are working to discredit and suppress all major ones, but the majority will not believe them," Kyong confirmed. "Our media teams have been successful in stopping such conspiracies from spreading beyond the little corners of the internet they inhabit."

"And has this had a significant effect on the diplomatic front?" She asked Hassan.

"Several international media organizations have requested the raw footage," Hassan answered, handing her a file. "Including several other countries. Iceland and Norway reached out directly. I would not make any hasty assumptions, but I think this might be them coming around to the realization that ADVENT and the Collective are actually not the same and only one has the best interests of Humanity at heart."

"Excellent," Saudia smiled to herself, taking the file. "The citizens?"

"Outrage, as you would expect," Hassan inclined his head. "With several peaceful protests planned to force several neutral countries to become more involved in the war. Unlikely to work, but Kyong's teams are working to try and make them as large as possible. We shall see the effect this is having, but we know for sure that people are talking."

"Which is all we need for now," Saudia said. "It keeps the alien threat in mind and insists on holding those in power accountable. That will work out in time. People needed a reminder of what the aliens are capable of; what they do to us. This will stay in their minds for a while."

"I feel like the aliens are going to dislike what is coming," Kyong mused. "I suspect 4chan has plans for using this. Hopefully they will be primarily directed at the aliens and not used simply for trolling."

Saudia raised an eyebrow. "You're talking about 4chan."

"Well," Hassan scratched his chin. "Didn't they send a bunch of porn to some aliens in Australia that one time?

"Yes, it was very amusing."

"I personally don't care what the internet trolls do," Saudia clasped her hands together, resting them on her desk. "I'm more interested in the actual fallout from this. Specifically regarding the alien forces. I suspect the Collective will be doing everything in their power to block this, so we'll need to spread it other ways."

"We're flooding the Vitakara subreddit with it now," Kyong said. "Also we're working on penetrating their networks with short pre-determined clips since uploading the whole thing is impractical. The CODEX is giving us trouble, but we suspect we'll get it through eventually."

"Perhaps something more conventional would also work," Saudia suggested. "Physical drops of USB drives or still images distributed over alien territory. The officers won't be able to suppress them all."

"A usable idea, I'll bring it up with Commander Christiaens," Hassan said. "Speaking of which the AEGIS Division should also have the Vitakara also publicly respond."

"Yes, we need to continually be making a distinction between the Collective and aliens as a whole," Saudia nodded. "The anger must be directed at the appropriate body. Otherwise it will backfire."

"I'll get on that."

"Keep me informed as the situation develops," Saudia leaned back in her chair. "Dismissed."

---

Borelian Wastes – Vitakar

2/16/2017 – 9:00 P.M.

Nartha supposed Shun was taking some time to process everything that happened, since she'd been quiet since he finished recounting what had happened. It was still a little overwhelming even for him. In the space of a few hours they'd learned the Sar'Manda had been preparing for a war for decades, they'd met Miridian, and they now had an alliance with the Nulorian.

"The Zararch really suck at their job, don't they," she finally said, resting her chin on a propped-up hand. "You sure we should be worried about them?"

He had to laugh at that. "I think that's a bit unfair. Well, kind of. The Sar'Manda have always told everyone they knew to fuck off and leave them alone. It wasn't as if they were mean to the Collective specifically; that's how they treat everyone. And at some point you have to compare the cost of investigating the people who control an ocean with the benefits. Doesn't really add up to me, and it must not have to the Zar'Chon either."

"Isn't that the whole point of espionage though?" She still pressed. "Learning things without the other side knowing?"

He blinked at her, cocking his head. This was a moment when a Human would raise an eyebrow, but since he didn't have those, he needed some other way. "I'm listening…"

She sniffed. "Unfair. That isn't my job. That's what the Zar'Chon is supposed to figure out…"

"…And he doesn't because it's a lot harder to be sneaky underwater than above it," Nartha finished, deciding to take a sip of his water. "And trust me when I say the Sar'Manda know the Manda better than any Zar'Chon ever could."

"So they know the ocean," Shun said, shifting in her seat. "I guess the next question would be how good they are on land?"

"They'll be at a significant disadvantage on land," Nartha said, thinking. "I inquired about some of their training. They're conducting dry-ground training exercises within massive bunkers on the bottom of the ocean to simulate land. Smart. The Zararch would never find them. So I think they'll be useful, but also have significant vulnerabilities."

"Shoot the suit, water leaks out and they die," Shun nodded. "Almost like the Andromedons."

"But worse," Nartha corrected. "Andromedon suits are unwieldy, but extremely well-protected. Shooting the suit won't kill the Andromedon. Shooting the suit of a Sar'Manda soldier is much worse. It's like Humans in space – or anyone for that matter. A breach kills you if you can't fix it fast, and in war, you don't have as much time."

Shun nodded, straightening for a moment in silence. "Well, regardless of what happened, I'm glad you and the Commander made it back safely. As…reassuring…as Sorras is," she shot a glance to the Dath'Haram chatting amicably to several other soldiers. "I wouldn't have put it past the Nulorian to do something stupid."

"They're terrorists, not idiots," Nartha reminded her. "They wouldn't have wanted to make an enemy of XCOM."

"Eh," Shun shrugged. "I guess alien terrorists may be smarter than Human terrorists. At least from our history, none of them seemed too smart beyond their limited ambitions. Terrorists don't win on Earth. Never really have to my knowledge."

"Well, I have a feeling we'll be seeing what happens when a terrorist wins here," Nartha commented, also shooting a glance to Sorras. "We'll learn just how benevolent Miridian's plans really are."

"So are you surprised he's a Vitakarian?" Shun asked, changing the subject after a few moments.

"No," Nartha shook his head. "It was either going to be a Vitakarian or Borelian. Most Zararch psychologists doubted that he was a Dath'Haram considering that Sorras likely only came about as the result of extreme radicalization and tampering. Not impossible, but extremely unlikely. So I'm not surprised." He leaned back. "The situation with the Sar'Manda was of a lot more interest to me."

"Well, did they consider that Miridian may be a passed-down name?" Shun inquired. "Maybe there was more than one Miridian?"

"Unlikely," Nartha disputed. "That has been one constant throughout his entire career. The Miridian – at least the one who's been operating – has been the same individual. It's the one consistent piece of information from multiple sources. There is only one Miridian, or at least someone who goes by that name, and their methods and overall tactics haven't deviated in decades. If there was a sudden shift in objectives or methods, that theory might have more weight. Although I do wonder what contingency Miridian had if he died."

"Well, obviously his son would rise and assume his father's place," Shun said dramatically. "That's how it would go in a book."

Nartha snorted. "I highly doubt Miridian has a mate."

"Oh?" Shun said lightly. "The amount of single Vitakarian female terrorists is a bit low?"

"Honestly, not for lack of options," Nartha dismissed. "Considering how he's looked upon within the Nulorian, he could probably find a mate easily enough, regardless of race. But he probably doesn't care much about that…" he shrugged. "That said, he's also working with the Sar'Manda and I've barely met the man, so what do I know?"

"Right now?" Shun tilted her head with a twinkle in her eye. "More than the Zararch and Zar'Chon."

He inclined his head. "That's true."

"So what happens next?" Shun asked after a few moments.

"I'll be recalled to the Zararch soon," he said. "From there I suspect I'll be getting some help from all of you when my next mission is given."

She frowned. "Do you want my opinion?"

"Of course."

"You should get out now," she said. "You don't need to work undercover anymore. We have the Andromedons. We have the Nulorian. You'd just be put in danger for the sake of it, and they have to be wondering if you're reliable at this point. You can only work against them for so long before it falls apart. You're smart and skilled, but you aren't unique, Nartha. I don't think you'll be the one unique person who was a double agent for years and no one knew."

That…made some amount of sense.

A little too much for that matter.

"But if I leave…" he began slowly. "Then we have nothing on what the Zararch could be doing. I'm already inside among the top field agents. Putting another person in my position would have taken years, and we don't have that kind of time."

"And we won't have it if you're killed," Shun said. "Worse, what if you're captured? You know so much about what's going on. You can't resist telepathy, and that little object Fiona gave you will really just make them suspicious – and they can just take it away."

"I could always undergo the Manchurian Restraints," he said. "Isn't that-"

"That isn't how they work!" She interrupted. "The Manchurian Restraints can't stop a psion from reading your mind, it can only react to it. It can prevent you from giving details and being controlled, but all it will do for stopping a telepath is make you hurt."

Nartha considered that. "Alright, considering I just leave. Or otherwise fake my death. Where do I go now? Stay here and be a pseudo-Nulorian?"

"No," Shun shook her head. "You'd be like me. An XCOM operative. I at least still consider you one of us. You aren't Nulorian, and you definitely aren't Zararch. You're XCOM, and you should be recognized as one and not have to keep pretending for a job that's going to kill you." She looked into his eyes. "Or you could come back to Earth with me. Be a soldier there. There are aliens with us now beyond just you. And your sister is there too."

He tapped a finger absentmindedly on the table. "I'd have to talk to the Commander or Zhang about this. I said I would work for them like this. If they agree that it's too risky now, then I'll move to a different role. But only if they agree with you."

"Fair enough," Shun said. "I wouldn't expect you to just drop it because I said so. But please think about what you're really accomplishing if you stay."

"I will," he promised. "And…thanks."

She just nodded somberly, moved her arm forward, hesitated, and then just rested it on the table. "A lot of people have died in this war. I don't want you to be one of them."

---

ADVENT HQ – Switzerland

2/18/2017 – 14:12 P.M.

"Chancellor," Hassan looked…concerned as he entered her office, phone and file in hand. "We have a situation that requires your attention."

Saudia minimized several windows on her computer and directed her full attention towards Hassan. "What is it and how bad?"

"Foreign Minister Xuan has just spoken to me, and given us a heads up because this is going to hit the media soon," her Chief Diplomat answered. "There's been several smallpox outbreaks across China. Primarily in Beijing, and there are reportedly isolated cases in the more rural cities."

Saudia blinked then frowned. Processing what he'd said. "Smallpox? Wasn't that eradicated a long time ago?"

"So we thought, but Chinese officials have confirmed it's definitely smallpox," Hassan clarified. "Right now they're not sure where it came from, or how, or anything at all really. But since cases are only now starting to appear, it's likely that it's going to get a lot worse very quickly."

"How likely is it that there is alien involvement?" Saudia demanded. "A smallpox outbreak now is extremely suspicious."

"Yet to be determined," Hassan said grimly. "There are only two locations which have samples of smallpox, and both of them are still there and untampered with. So the possibilities are that this is natural and just extremely bad timing, or the aliens somehow managed to perfectly recreate smallpox without any previous samples."

"Or they synthesized it from one of the existing samples, and replaced it to lessen suspicion," Saudia added.

"What I'm saying is that right now, aside from timing, this can't be pinned on the aliens," Hassan cautioned. "Unless we get another leak from the Collective, I would not publicly blame them yet. And I want to add that if it was the Collective, wouldn't it make more sense to have it spread in our territory? China is important, yes, but this is not necessarily going to hurt us."

He raised a good point. China was an odd target, and in all likelihood might actually lead to ADVENT being able to wield more influence over China, which in turn helped ADVENT. If this was sabotage…it was certainly of questionable effectiveness. "Using a bioweapon of this nature seems unlike the Collective too," she mused. "At least under the Battlemaster. He doesn't use these kinds of weapons."

"I wouldn't believe their reasoning is moralistic," Hassan said, handing her the file. "The Battlemaster maybe wouldn't have a choice. But I tend to agree that this is, if the aliens are actually behind it, an odd move and one which will only drive China into our arms."

"Put like that, it makes more sense for us to be behind the release," Saudia snorted ironically. "Are there any cases that have developed in our territory?"

"Only a few isolated cases, all of whom had originally come from China," Hassan said. "I'm sure you're thinking the same thing, but right now we need to suspend all flights to and from China until this is quarantined."

Saudia sighed. "This couldn't happen in a worse place. China is huge, dense, and poor. An epidemic will spread like wildfire and kill a lot of people."

"Yes," Hassan agreed grimly. "It will. And we need to figure out what our own response is going to be. China is going to request our help, Minister Xuan has said as much. President Qin is waiting on the line to talk as well when you're ready."

"Give it to me," Saudia said, motioning to the phone. "We might as well treat this as an opportunity."

Hassan nodded, and passed the phone to her which she took and dialed the inputted number. A few seconds passed until President Qin spoke. "Chancellor, I appreciate you speaking to me."

"Chief Hassan informed me of the basics of the situation," Saudia said. "It's unfortunate to hear what has happened, and I'm sure you're working to identify the cause and contain the situation." Perhaps that was a dispassionate greeting, but she knew both of them were more interested in the practical response over emotion.

"Indeed, Chancellor. We have already taken the step of ceasing all civilian outgoing flights, and I suspect ADVENT will soon do the same," Qin said. "All government personnel are being tested and we're starting with the military as well. Military forces are quarantining areas of outbreak and we're in the process of starting production of vaccines immediately."

Good. He had a head start on things. "But it's going to get worse."

"Yes. Millions will most likely die before we have a full understanding of the range and damage this outbreak will cause. Perhaps more." Qin paused. "Regardless of what happens, my country will be pushed to the breaking point and in no shape to fend off the Collective. If the Collective was behind this or not is irrelevant. They will see this and take advantage."

Saudia let the silence hang temporarily. "Correct. Unfortunately this may be what breaks the lull of conflict, and it does Humanity little good to lose ground to the aliens. You will have ADVENT support to contain this epidemic and provide vaccines, supplies and military support. And of course developing a cure as best we can."

"Your assistance will be appreciated, Chancellor," Qin said, relief clear in his voice. "We will not forget this."

"No, you won't," Saudia said slowly. "We're devoting our resources, soldiers, and scientists to helping your country. Some will very likely give their lives because of it. In return China is going to formally pledge unconditional military support against the Collective and reconsider ADVENT membership. We are helping out because doing otherwise is not in the best interests of Humanity. But we are not going to continue giving you benefits of ADVENT membership while you remain independent."

"Your point is made, Chancellor," Qin sounded more resigned than offended. "And of course China is more than willing to provide military support against the Collective. But I make no promises on anything more."

"Understood, Mr. President," Saudia confirmed. "And I make no promises then beyond what I've already pledged. You'll begin receiving support later this day. Chief Diplomat Hassan will work to coordinate everything. I will be making a statement within a few hours publicly pledging help before it spreads far in the media."

"Again, it is appreciated, Chancellor," Qin said. "We will of course continue providing updates. Good day to you, Chancellor."

"You as well, Mr. President," Saudia said. "Good luck."

After the call ended, she handed the phone back to Hassan who looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "'Good luck'?"

She pursed her lips. "He's going to need it. This is going to be a mess that only gets worse before it gets better." Lacing her fingers together, she looked up at Hassan. "You heard the plan. Begin coordination and Kyong will set up a press conference so we can get ahead of this."

"Yes, Chancellor. It will be done."

---

Project Nolan Training Center, the Praesidium – Classified Location

2/13/2017 – 3:30 P.M.

The room was fairly small, especially for what was called a "Training Center", and largely empty. The only things which were in the room were stands holding glowing blue orbs. Nuan and five other soldiers had been invited earlier to participate in a new experimental kind of training. Sounded interesting, so here it was.

None of them were wearing armor, just fatigues which was another interesting request. Or lack thereof, anyway. They hadn't specified they needed to wear armor, only not to touch anything, and so Nuan had decided to abide by the lack of rules since she really didn't want to spend twenty minutes putting on her Titan armor only to never need it.

Since the others were wandering around, she decided to take a closer look at the orbs. Up close they almost reminded her of a snow globe in their perfect sphereness, although what was inside was obscured. A minute of watching was hypnotizing in a way, rippling and flowing as if there was an ocean contained within.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Iosif greeted, walking up.

"You're here too?" She'd been unaware of this, but she certainly wasn't complaining. "I mean, yes, it is. What is it?"

"This," Iosif tapped a gloved finger on the object. "Is a Sovereign Orb. And since I'm one of the ones who wants to help refine the Nolan Project, I'd say I should be involved here. Besides, I think you're one of the people who should know a bit more about what's going on."

Nuan cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"You'll see," he said, before turning his attention to the others in the room. "Form up!"

The soldiers immediately formed a line in between one of the rows of Sovereign Orbs as they were called. To her surprise the Commander also entered the room, followed closely by Fiona. After they all saluted and were subsequently relieved, he faced them directly, hands clasped behind his back.

"Your willingness to participate in this program is appreciated, despite not knowing details. Welcome to the Nolan Project, what we're hoping to turn into the standard for XCOM training and strategy." He rested his artificial hand on top of one of the orbs. "Training exercises are limited by resources, time, and safety. It is impossible to completely simulate a battlefield, even if you have the land, resources, and people."

He motioned to Fiona. "And in cases it requires holding back so as not to hurt another party in the training exercises. In addition, specific challenges or enemies are impossible to fully simulate, such as the Battlemaster, Isomnum, or the Imperator. Psionics in general can be difficult to simulate. This is what the Nolan Project is attempting to solve. Training simulations not constrained by time, resources, or safety. I'll take a guess for how you think this is going to be done."

"Psionics, Commander," Geist answered immediately. "Based on our current understanding of telepathic theory, it is possible to draw a mind into a space controlled and managed entirely by an individual. The problem is that it is extremely difficult, or near-impossible, for any Human to properly simulate something detailed and comprehensive enough to work for what you describe. I suspect even Ethereals would have issues."

He had a point. "A computer probably could though," Nuan added. "An AI."

Was that where this was going? She'd heard the rumors that XCOM was developing an AI with the Andromedons. Was she actually going to get to see it in actions?

"You are close," the Commander pointed to Geist. "It is psionically based. We're not quite to linking it with an AI, Engineer Kun, though you're also right that an AI would be able to perform the same feat. The general theory Geist described is correct, and what we're working with. But it is not an Ethereal or Human who is responsible for…powering the Nolan Project, so to speak."

Nuan was both confused and intrigued.

"You've all been selected because you're considered capable of keeping sensitive information to yourselves," the Commander continued. "You've heard about the alliance between us and the Andromedons. That has not been the only ally we've acquired. You've all likely been interested in the Chronicler and his operatives. They are agents of T'Leth, an alien from a species called the Sovereign Ones."

Carmelita snorted. "Arrogant name."

"But accurate," Fiona stepped forward. Nuan hadn't really interacted with the woman much, but she was one of the more famous, especially when she'd brought back Axis and fought in the attempted rescue operation for Abby. She wasn't wearing her stone armor now, but a sword was still strapped to her back and her silver-grey hair was pulled back, drawing even more attention to her striking green eyes.

"T'Leth is residing on Earth," Fiona said. "He's been…asleep for a long time, at least from what the Chronicler has shared with me. Naturally he sees the Collective as a threat, especially since there is at least one more Sovereign One working with the aliens. So in both the mutual interests of XCOM and him, he has decided to lend his own assistance where he can."

"On Earth?" Geist frowned. "Underwater?"

"Correct," she nodded. "In places no Human has ever looked. Or the Collective for that matter."

"How reassuring," Fakhr said, speaking for the first time. "So we've got another race of extremely powerful aliens in this war. That's just what we needed."

"Do you trust him?" Geist asked. "If this alien is as powerful as you imply, there is a good chance that it is simply utilizing XCOM to rid itself of an opponent or rival."

"I trust him to help us eliminate the Collective," the Commander said. "But for everything else I can only take him at his word. However, up to this point he has been useful to us, and until he breaks that, I will give him the benefit of the doubt." He nodded to the orbs. "A Sovereign One is powerful enough to simulate scenarios in a psionic dreamscape, and T'Leth has agreed to do this. If there are objections to that, you can leave now."

"If nothing else, I'm curious," Carmelita said with a shrug. "An enemy of the Collective is good enough for me." There were echoing agreements as the others – Nuan included – unanimously agreed to continuing going forward.

"Good, T'Leth wants to have a blank scenario where he works out some functions," the Commander said. "Put your hands on the orbs; skin contact is required, so take off any gloves you have."

"What's going to happen then?" Fakhr asked.

"You'll be taken to whatever T'Leth has established telepathically," the Commander explained. "It is not considered mind control, and the Manchurian Restraints won't be triggered if you have them. You will be able to leave either when T'Leth ends the session – or you die in the simulation."

"This'll be fun," she muttered, but placed her hand on the nearest orb, as did the others.

Nuan coughed awkwardly, gesturing to Iosif. "I might have a problem," she raised her grey prosthetic hand and wiggled the fingers.

Iosif winced. "Right, didn't quite think about that. Well…maybe try it anyway."

She did, and unsurprisingly nothing happened. "We'll have to cheat it," Nuan grumbled, fumbling with her shirt and pushing up her sleeve. "Hold onto my arm and you try it."

Iosif coughed. "I'm not sure that will work either, but I'll try it." At her nod he put a hand around the arm which still had half of the organic forearm and she similarly grasped his own forearm. Iosif then placed the other hand on the orb. Instantly the world vanished and was replaced by a bright watery dreamscape. Both of them were in their Titan armor, and it did feel like she was wearing her Titan armor interestingly enough.

"Took you long enough," Carmelita said, walking up. "This place has some interesting properties."

Nuan realized that Iosif hadn't let go of her arm, and both realized it at the same time and dropped now that they could move freely again. "Like what?" Nuan asked.

"Hold still," Carmelita said, and then unexpectedly punched Nuan in the chest, sending her flying into the air. Nuan let out a scream expecting to be killed in the first few minutes of her time here, but the impact was like landing on a deep cushion thankfully.

Carmelita found that very amusing.

She, however, did not.

Storming back over, she didn't even let Carmelita say her apology before performing a much harder punch with her metal wrist and sending the other woman flying much farther backwards. She heard Iosif snicker. "She did have that one coming."

"Amusing that is the first thing you did." They turned at the sound of the deep voice, which came from a figure wearing Titan armor, but the armor had the same stony texture as Fiona's armor – who was incidentally right beside him. The projection of T'Leth.

"I have much to test and experiment with here," the projection said as all the rest of the soldiers were suddenly teleported before him. "All of you will provide assistance in helping achieve this. Laws, physics, rules, and more I must become familiar with in simulating in this dreamscape. Once this is complete, I can simulate in earnest. Now, it is time to begin."

---

Office of the Commander, the Praesidium – Classified Location

2/20/2017 – 2:11 P.M.

The Commander appraised her seriously. "How bad is it already? The real numbers, not speculation."

Saudia handed him one of the files she'd brought. "Several thousand are already dead, mostly those who were already sick or malnourished. Lower class citizens mostly, and to the surprise of no one, they're the demographic that's the most infected. The Chinese are working to contain and quarantine the infected, but it seems like a new case appears every few hours."

"And smallpox has a one-in-three chance of mortality," the Commander said grimly, taking the file and beginning to read it. "And scars the remainder for life."

She pursed her lips. "Not completely. From what I've been told it's likely going to kill children and the elderly, as well as those already ill or malnourished. So statistically that rounds out to one third, roughly. Yes, there will be scarring for those who are infected."

"I really hope that vaccination programs are being instituted," the Commander said. "Unfortunate that we stopped doing that."

"The disease was virtually eradicated," Saudia shrugged. "Vaccines do have side effects. Why risk possible side effects for an eradicated disease?"

"That argument might have more weight if we didn't keep some of it around to study," the Commander noted dryly, placing the file on the desk. "But you have a point. And no indication that the aliens were behind this?"

"None so far," Saudia shook her head. "The biggest pieces of evidence that points to them are timing – possibly weakening China for a possible invasion, and that the virus itself is one that we aren't prepared for and is one of the easiest to spread. Almost every possible vector is transmittable by smallpox. If you wanted to use it as a bioweapon, it's one of the best."

"I don't believe in coincidences," the Commander said slowly. "The timing is too good, as is the cause of the outbreak. Considering we are dealing with extremely psionically powerful aliens and ones with extensive experience in scientific fields and genetic modification, it's not out of the question that they could acquire a sample of smallpox and replicate it before redistributing it to the general population."

"It's possible, but we don't have actual proof," Saudia pointed out. "And I'm not convinced that is the case to begin with. If this is the result of alien tampering, then why target China? If this was against one of our nations, that becomes a lot more solid. Or if they immediately attacked China before we could respond. But we're involved in China now. This may actually be enough to push them to join ADVENT. How does this benefit them in any way aside from killing a lot of Humans?"

The Commander frowned. "I'm not sure," he glanced down to the file. "Killing for the sake of killing doesn't fit their operations. But there may be a secondary goal. Perhaps infecting China first is less suspicious, and if cases appear in ADVENT territory, they'll be attributed to the first outbreak."

"Except now we're prepared for them," Saudia said. "It won't cause nearly as much damage."

"No, it won't," the Commander agreed with some reluctance. "The situation as a whole is…odd."

"Some things can just be chalked up to bad luck or coincidence," Saudia shrugged. "All we can do is respond to it. If things change, you'll be among the first to know. Right now we're not directly accusing the Collective of anything and we intend to keep it that way."

"I suspect that the implications are already flying on the internet," the Commander said dryly, standing up. "That may work in our favor for once." He shook his head. "Anyway, that wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Then what?" She cocked her head.

"Another ally has been acquired," he said. "I spoke with Miridian, and we've come to an agreement regarding a Nulorian alliance."

"Excellent." More allies were only a good thing. "I suppose at some point Miridian will want to speak to me. Likely to work something out with AEGIS and coordinate with the defectors."

"Not exactly," the Commander pursed his lips. "Miridian is…very radical in his intentions, and won't agree to the Vitakara client state you're building. He's going to want to establish an independent Vitakara power, and keep Vitakar."

"Unfortunate," Saudia thought for a moment. "We can still work with that though."

"Yes, and I do think all sides need to meet to sort this out," the Commander agreed. "Although that's only one of the issues Miridian brings. He is, let us say, prejudiced against certain races of Vitakara. I managed to talk him out of going through with his genocidal plans, but I wouldn't put a significant amount of trust that he won't try a loophole."

"I am not liking the sound of this ally," Saudia pointed. "He sounds like a liability."

"He is, but he is one more useful on our side than against us," the Commander stated. "The Nulorian aren't going to disappear, and the only way we can temper them is if they're on our side and Miridian has reason to hold back. They're not stupid, which is why I want them working with us."

"This is certainly going to be more difficult to coordinate in secret," Saudia said after a few minutes. "We have the Andromedons, and now the Sar'Manda and Nulorian. I'm unsure how long it will last before the Collective realizes what is happening."

"We'll have to make sure by that point at least Earth is secure," the Commander said. "It can be done, but we'll just have to be careful and quiet. Which brings me to the next topic – what comes afterwards in the event we win."

Saudia raised an eyebrow and sat down in one of the nearby chairs, not feeling an urge to stand for the sake of it. "I think we should focus on winning before deciding what happens next. What happens afterwards I hope is a long stretch of unbroken peace. A united Humanity could accomplish so much."

"I would like that as well," the Commander said, taking a seat opposite her. "But unfortunately, we're not going to get it."

She directed her full attention to him. He seemed completely serious, and it sounded like he'd been keeping something important from her. "Explain."

The Commander laced his fingers together and hesitated briefly before speaking, getting his thoughts in order. "Some time ago we made contact with another alien. One whose had agents on this planet for some time, passively observing and waiting."

Saudia straightened. "Who and what? And how extensively have these agents penetrated ADVENT?"

"I can't answer that, but I doubt all that many anymore. There isn't a need," the Commander said, his lips curling up. "You'll be interested to know that your Chronicler is the most senior agent, and I doubt you'd even realized he'd been gone."

That shocked her. She looked at the Commander in disbelief. "The Chronicler is an agent of an alien…how…?"

"The Chronicler is much older than you think," the Commander said. "As for why he stayed with EXALT for so long, I can't say. Maybe you should ask him. But the alien he works for is T'Leth, from a species of aliens called the Sovereign Ones. And he is currently on Earth – more precisely in the deep ocean."

Saudia pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to figure out how best to process this new information. The Commander wouldn't make up a story like this, especially not now. "And what does this T'Leth want with us. What has it told you?"

"He would have preferred to keep his involvement more of a secret," the Commander said. "But I said it was best if the leadership of our species was aware of the true situation. T'Leth is not interested in us, per-se. But for now we have a mutual agreement to assist each other. As for what he said…our time of peace will likely be short."

The Commander leaned back. "There are only a few Sovereign Ones in existence. T'Leth says there are under ten in this galaxy, but they are in constant conflict with each other for ultimate galactic supremacy. Many of them design, enhance, and utilize proxy species to wage these wars in the galaxy; a shadow conflict played between the Sovereigns."

"And we're T'Leth's," Saudia said slowly.

"Not currently," the Commander said. "T'Leth…does not approve of using proxies in place of direct action. However, I suspect he would request our assistance in hunting down his Sovereign brethren. If he wanted to, the hard truth is that we couldn't stop him. We're relying solely on his word here that he has no interest in such. So far he has held up his word."

"A comfort, knowing that there is yet another ancient powerful alien that could control us, and somehow is more dangerous than the Ethereals," Saudia sighed. "It never ends. We're in a galaxy with more of these things, miniature-deities that pit species like ours against each other, have I got that right?"

"With one caveat," the Commander clarified. "There is another faction in play. The Ethereals called them the Synthesized, T'Leth calls them Replicators. Whatever their name, they're a hybrid machine race that invades the galaxy after a certain period of time and destroy the proxy species and attempt to hunt down the remaining Sovereigns. It usually doesn't work, and they go into hiding until these machines leave. And the cycle starts again."

"And they don't consider working together against these Synthesized?" Saudia questioned. "It appears this has been going on for a while."

"Of course not, that would mean they have to trust each other," the Commander gave a humorless smile. "And from what I've learned of Sovereign Ones, they will betray any Sovereign foolish enough to consider them an ally or friend. Exceptions exist, but they are rare and appear to end up dead. The Synthesized they consider less of a threat than each other, since they don't die in these purges. Only their tools die, and tools can be replaced."

"Short-sighted egomaniacs," Saudia muttered. "Of course they would think themselves beyond making mistakes."

"Indeed," the Commander poured himself some water. He tilted the pitcher to her, and she waved him off. "I suspect that the Synthesized are perhaps more involved than any of the Sovereigns think. Assuming we're dealing with an artificial intelligence here, or any kind of extra-galactic entity, I don't think it would be out of the question to think about how to manipulate these cycles. Each one, they grow stronger. That is not an accident."

"And yet you would think at least one Sovereign would realize this," Saudia said. "But apparently not."

"Which means we're stuck in a repeating cycle, one where we don't have the whole picture," the Commander said. "But the interesting thing is that there can be exceptions. The Ethereals were one, and while the Collective is in fact backed by a Sovereign, both T'Leth and I wonder how far the Imperator trusts it. The objective truth, Saudia, is that in the event that we emerge victorious, we need to have a plan for what comes next. What Humanity will do in this cycle. Neither of us want to become a proxy or pawn in a pointless war between Sovereigns, but we may not have a choice. And unlike the Sovereigns, when the Synthesized come, I want to be strong enough to fight back and win."

"Easier said than done, I suspect," Saudia commented. "But from what you've said, I agree."

"And I think we have an opportunity to change things," the Commander said, drinking from his glass thoughtfully. "Perhaps this will change when we learn more about the galaxy, but we're a young species. One who will soon begin dedicated space travel. I suspect that galactic communities may already exist, but right now, no one knows about us. We're an unknown variable that no one has accounted for. We have one chance to claim this advantage – and whether that will change anything or not, I can't say, but we should try. But to do that, we need to have a clear vision for what ADVENT and Humanity will do when we enter this ongoing conflict."

"The more prudent question is what T'Leth will think," Saudia pointed out. "If he decides he doesn't like it…what can we do?"

"Nothing…for now," the Commander set his glass on the table, looking aimlessly into space as he considered. "We have to be careful how much we push and take from T'Leth. He has access and knowledge to technology and secrets we should claim and exploit. Done well, we could become a Sovereign-level power in our own right. But it needs to be slow; subtle. I genuinely believe that T'Leth is not interested in directly controlling us – but he expects an ally. He wants to kill the remainder of the Sovereigns who live in this galaxy. He will want to drag us into a conflict."

"But then we become sucked into this pointless war and probably die when the Synthesized arrive," Saudia finished. "A limited number of outcomes, none of which are promising."

"Unless we can convince T'Leth that the Sovereigns are not his largest concern," the Commander added. "Or that he's better off ignoring his enemies, instead of attempting to kill them. T'Leth is…brilliant in ways, that's clear from the technology he creates. But I think even a Sovereign could learn some things about how to emerge the winner of a galactic war without necessarily taking part in it."

"All of the Sovereigns are enemies of each other, yes?" She suspected they both had a similar line of thought here.

"So T'Leth says. Alliances are brief and tense at best."

"Which means they are likely to war among themselves eventually," Saudia continued. "If they weaken themselves, then that would leave a more neutral party in the stronger position."

"I see we have the same idea," the Commander said. "Now we just need to convince T'Leth that there may be more benefit to letting the Sovereigns fight it out instead of jumping right into the middle of it. Assuming, of course, that the Sovereigns like to engage in open warfare. They may prefer a more clandestine approach."

Saudia tapped a finger on the armrest, thinking. "T'Leth wants to talk to me, I think."

"Yes, eventually," the Commander answered. "But before that happens, you should know the full situation. Now you do. I would advise that you only keep this to the highest levels of ADVENT. T'Leth does not want his existence being public knowledge, nor do I think the majority of Humanity would react well to knowing the truth."

"On that we agree," she nodded. "I'll take your advice…it appears that there is a lot to discuss about the future of ADVENT and our species."

"Do what you need to," the Commander said, as they both stood. "And when you're ready, T'Leth will be ready to talk to you."

---

Patricia's Quarters – The Temple Ship of the Imperator of the Ethereal Collective

2/21/2017 – 2:09 A.M.

The world faded around Patricia as she telepathically reached out with her mind. The construction of the dreamscape wasn't important, not now. Something simple would work; something that would quickly make the Commander realize what was going on. Or at least make him aware of the situation.

She wasn't intending to trick him. She doubted that she could fool him even if she wanted too, not to mention it would be even more difficult that it already was.

If she hadn't known how to find the Commander's psionic signature, or even the general area of where Earth was, this would have been impossible. As it was, she fortunately had a few hints to help her. XCOM was all concentrated together, in a remote location, and the amount of psionic power contained made it easy to narrow down the few hundred or so individuals who lived there, and the psions.

Except there was a problem.

The area where XCOM should be was dark. That was wrong. There should be something there. They couldn't have just disappeared, and the Commander wouldn't have given up the Praesidium just because she'd been captured. Frowning in her mind's eye, she penetrated a little deeper and ran straight into a wall of psionic defenses.

Without warning, she was thrown into the prepared dreamscape.

She stood in a white expanse; there was nothing existing within or around it. Nothing and no one. An endless barren expanse where light came from everywhere and nowhere. She glanced upward and telepathically tugged on some of the variables. It was a bit brighter than she wanted, and the light consequently dimmed slightly as it bent to her will. So, she still had some control. Odd.

What was happening?

"What are you?"

The voice was deep and bellowing; echoing in her mind long after the words faded. It came from no source and everywhere, like a god speaking from above. The dreamscape suddenly shifted, and her mind strained as something else began to take control. Despite her attempts to retain the shape the presence easily dismantled her weak efforts to dissuade it.

The light dissipated and the world around her turned watery; a deep impenetrable blue. She was now in a watery prison, and her gut clenched in fear as she began piecing together the implications. The darkness became more complete, and a form began materializing before her eyes; a massive creature that towered over her; the full size hidden in the shadow with the only light being that which it cast from the six glowing blue eyes that opened.

"Where are they?" She demanded, steadying her own mental defenses in preparation for a direct attack. "What have you done with them?"

"With whom?" The air shifted. "You are a Human. You should not have found this place or attempted to breach it. What are you?"

"Someone who needs to talk to the Commander," Patricia said. "You know who he is."

"Ah…" Patricia only had a brief second before she was assaulted with a telepathic attack beyond any she had experienced before. It hit her mind in all places, striking all her known weaknesses. Her mental defenses faltered and weakened, but held firm even as she was driven to her knees. "You are the telepath…Patricia Trask."

"And you are T'Leth," Patricia gritted her teeth as she willed herself to stand. "And it seems like the Imperator was right."

The Sovereign One seemed amused at that. "The Imperator does not and will never know my mind. Tell me, Human, what he was right about?"

"You've taken control of XCOM," she said. "The Commander. All of them. Soon Humanity."

"The Commander and I have come to a mutual agreement," T'Leth said. "One which includes the elimination of the Imperator and his Collective. Our goals are aligned, and Humanity will assist me in removing their threat and bringing the final end of Mosrimor and the Bringer. You would do well to remove yourself from his influence, Human. There will be no mercy given to the compromised."

"And leave you to influence my species? I don't think so," Patricia said flatly.

"I have little interest in controlling your species," T'Leth sounded almost more irritated than defensive. "As we have said – our goals are aligned. I have needed none in my mission so far, and I do not need the Humans. Yet they are helpful, so I will assist them, and they me."

"Then prove it – leave." She said. "If you're different and don't need us, then go and prey upon a different species."

"I would tell your Imperator to do the same, Human. The Commander made an agreement with me," T'Leth growled, his voice shaking the watery tomb she inhabited. "I have no intentions of leaving."

She felt her lip curl up. "Then you lie. You have no intention of leaving us because we're more useful with you than against you. You don't want to give us up now."

"The Imperator has an interest in my death, as does his puppeteer," T'Leth said. "I have no intention of leaving based upon the insistence of an insignificant Human. You are nothing. You mean nothing. I have no need to use XCOM or ADVENT because they are already serving my goals. To do more would be pointless and self-destructive."

"I want to hear it from the Commander," she crossed her arms. "I'd be a fool to trust you."

"Then allow me to see your mind."

"No."

"Then I will not allow you to breach the defenses," the voice rumbled. "I know who you are; a hero who has seemingly been corrupted. I have an interest in preserving XCOM as they are, and you are compromised. I would be a fool to trust your intentions blindly."

"Maybe you should let the Commander decide for himself," she said.

"The Commander has more important concerns than dealing with a compromised soldier," T'Leth stated. "You are a distraction. You know the Commander. You know who he is, and he has an inflated sense of how much he matters – going so far as to dictate terms to me for our alliance. I will not entertain your presence any longer, Human. You must decide between my word or that of the Imperator."

"If you really wanted to convince me," she said slowly. "You should have let me talk to him."

"You invade from the presence of the one who seeks my death," was the answer. "If you wanted to convince me, perhaps you should have returned when you had the chance. Do not hide like a coward. Return to XCOM if you want your answers, for I will not risk giving you them here."

Patricia severed the connection and the world came back to her in a rush and she lurched forward, catching herself on the cold floor. Her heart beat wildly, sweat coated her body and the air felt warm.

This was really, really bad.

Even if T'Leth was, by some unlikely miracle, telling the truth, he'd openly said it was only because their interests aligned.

When that changed…

There was no changing the hard and uncompromising truth that now faced her.

XCOM was under the control, or at the mercy of, a Sovereign One. And by extension, ADVENT.

And through ADVENT, Humanity itself.

Drained, she leaned back against the cold wall, wondering at what she could possibly do, now that she knew the truth. None of them were good, and the number was dwindling. Yet she had no choice. Standing on the sidelines was no longer an option.

A choice had to be made. And it would be soon.

---

Quarters, the Prism – Classified Location

2/18/2017 – 8:09 P.M.

Yang set her swords against the wall and began taking off her armor. Training had been going on for most of the day, and she was sufficiently exhausted. Physically she felt she was ready for the Trial; her control of psionics was only getting more precise, and the genetic modification had elevated her beyond any normal Human or alien.

Mentally, she was still not sure what exactly to expect.

If the Bringer was somehow connected to the planet, she was going to be in for a harrowing time.

At least she was getting better at defending her mind. That had quickly become the most difficult part of preparation. The physical challenges she could deal with now, and those were nearly breaks to her compared to a telepath penetrating her mind over and over. But each time she was holding them off a little longer.

She'd get there. It would just take time and effort.

The Prism had become her home now, and it mostly consisted of just her and the Battlemaster most days, at least when he wasn't conducting operations on Earth. He'd kept her appraised of the developments as well when he returned each night. She definitely liked this place better than the Temple Ship, mostly because she didn't have to walk around knowing the Imperator was observing her every move.

The people there she didn't completely know what to make of, or really trust. Patricia was still being evasive over what she was actually doing there to the point Yang wondered if she was just getting as much information as possible before bailing. It would serve the Imperator right if that was the case, considering what a monumental risk it was keeping her around.

Not her problem though, not anymore. The Imperator didn't have her trust anymore. The only ones she trusted were the ones who'd fought with her through Paradise, who subsequently weren't in favor of keeping that place still operating. Much as she wished the Battlemaster had decided to just reject the Imperator's authority on the situation and kill the creatures on board, she knew why he hadn't.

Paradise would screw over the Imperator someday, and hopefully she'd be alive to see it.

That still made her furious.

Use it.

Not now, training was over.

But it was good to have plenty of sources of fury to draw from. It helped. It was cathartic.

She showered and dressed in more comfortable clothes, deciding to get a little more insight into her Ethereal commander. Particularly in a subject she felt was somewhat important for all of the Ethereals, but no one had openly asked.

"Anything new?" She greeted as the Battlemaster walked into the open room which consisted of an interesting mix of kitchen, living room, and armory, all overlooking the main Prism chamber. She grabbed some cereal which she assumed was imported directly from Earth – or made with a really good synthesizer - and sat down on the nearest couch.

"No substantial developments, offensives are being refined," he answered, setting his own weapon on the designated stand. "The outbreak has begun in earnest in China. Within weeks we will strike. ADVENT has already pledged support to contain the outbreak. I expect China will capitulate to them when the invasion commences."

A pause followed. "Considering Isomnum will be involved, the timeline of capitulation has been accelerated."

Yang shivered and the anger built up again at the thought of that thing being given this much authority. "I don't know why you let him take over so easily."

"Because I pick my battles, and Isomnum knows that if he becomes a problem to the overall strategy and my plans, I will remove him from his position," the Battlemaster said emotionlessly, turning to the window. "The Imperator insisted on this order. For now I will follow it. Should he prove a poor choice, I will remove him."

Yang snorted. "We both know he's a poor choice. What's your actual reason."

"Because Isomnum has made an impression on ADVENT and XCOM," he continued. "His personal involvement means he will want to show how superior he is to me. That he is more effective. So he will be directly involved, and thus, a target. Isomnum is a detriment to the war effort, and I expect him to be killed by the Humans. If he is so insistent on his superiority, he will operate with a limited garrison of mechanical forces and his own soldiers."

Yang blinked. "You're trying to get him killed?"

"No." The voice was still neutral. "But I expect it to happen, and he is not worth the effort to stop his walk to his death. He is one of the relics of my kind, one who underestimates aliens. I have little patience for tolerating this idiocy any longer, even if the Imperator insists upon it. Nebulan has already compromised the South American operations, and the Zararch have had to take direct action to salvage her mission. The success or failure of the Chinese invasion is irrelevant at this point. It will be claimed by Isomnum, or myself eventually."

She could understand why, even if she had wanted to lead the invasion against her former homeland. "So then what happens if he wins?"

"Then we take the land and adjust our strategy accordingly." The answer was immediate. "But ultimately, China is a distraction that will unfortunately claim the life of Isomnum in time. Our work elsewhere is what will complete this invasion once and for all."

"And the SAS?"

"They will play their part," the Battlemaster turned to walk to another stand and unclipped the cape. "The SAS will be suitable to distract ADVENT in Africa and tie up additional resources. If the SAS fall, they completed their part and cost ADVENT time, resources, and soldiers. If they succeed, they've caused significant damage and can advance forward. Macula has done well in his task."

Yang ate in silence for a short time while the Battlemaster made some food for himself, and sat on his own massive chair. The entire place had been built for someone his size, and aside from the furniture and equipment made specifically for a Human, she felt sometimes like she was living in the house of a giant.

The Battlemaster never took off his armor either it seemed. Even now he had only removed the helmet, which was another reminder that the Battlemaster was, ultimately, an alien. Sometimes it was easy to imagine him as just a really big Human with an extra set of arms. The armor and helmet hid all other features, but with the helmet removed it definitely showed that Ethereals were alien.

It was…unique. Dark purple skin, glowing orange eyes, a surprisingly small mouth that didn't seem to fit the elongated neck that also transitioned into a head. It was strange anatomically, not at all as humanoid as it implied. Ethereals weren't an especially intimidating species on their own; their physiology evoked more curiosity and intrigue than fear or strength.

Maybe that was why all of them went to lengths to obscure their faces.

That would have been ironic if the original reason they liked helmets so much was because they weren't scary enough on their own.

She cleared her throat, deciding to broach a different topic. "Mind if I ask a personal question, Battlemaster?"

He lowered his bowl of alien food she'd never bothered, or wanted, to ask what it actually was. "Speak."

"What do you want?"

"What do you mean?"

"What is the purpose of all of this?" Yang gestured idly. "You aren't a warlord or some kind of crusading warrior. You have to have some kind of goal other than just…" she paused, searching for the word. "Existing. Which appears to largely be what the Collective has been doing for a while. Existing. I think you want to do something with it, but what?"

The Battlemaster fixed his orange eyes on her. "The Ethereal Empire was destroyed by the Synthesized. They likely still exist in the galaxy or beyond it. I agreed to abandon the Empire with the understanding that when I awoke I would have a part in rebuilding our species and avenging them in a second war, this time armed with the knowledge of our previous conflict."

"And that hasn't turned out like you intended," she nodded. "Not yet, at least."

"The Imperator has become distracted with new goals and threats," the Battlemaster said idly. "I have not. The Imperator will focus on the phantom threats of the galaxy, while I will focus on the ones I have seen and fought. I have little interest in the Sovereign Ones or their plans; known or unknown. They can be ignored or dealt with if they interfere. I lost my species and many, many good soldiers and friends to the abominations of flesh and metal. Their deaths will not be in vain, nor will I abandon my mission simply because the Imperator forgot what he is fighting for."

"That sounds good…" Yang began slowly. "But the Imperator is still in charge, if I remember."

"And once Earth is taken, his role will need to be evaluated," the Battlemaster responded. "He has become too distracted over what is important, and what does not matter. He is young. A child by our standards; thrown into a war from the moment of his birth and raised to believe he was superior. Genetically, he is. Mentally, he does not, and never will, comprehend what we lost against the Synthesized."

The Battlemaster rested a hand on top of the scarred helmet, voice melancholy. "We were not perfect, we were flawed, but what existed was good. We existed in harmony with other aliens even if we mistakenly believed ourselves their better. Over time we would have changed; more like Mortis would have emerged. But our chance to become better was stolen in the slaughter the hybrids brought. The Imperator never experienced the Empire and those who lived in it. I saw us at our height, I trained Battlemasters of my own and hundreds of other soldiers. And each one of them died in a bloody and unprovoked war. I cannot forget, and that is why I will continue to prepare for their return and I will either finish the war and avenge those who fell, or I will die, and my species will end and serve as a lesson to others until the end of time."

The Battlemaster rarely spoke about his life or his past to her, or anyone most likely, and she realized that though it wasn't always apparent, the Battlemaster was old. It was difficult to imagine what could happen in the span of a hundred years, let alone the minimum of a thousand years he'd lived. What was a long time to her was likely extremely short for him.

That long view of time was something she didn't know if she'd be able to get used to.

But at times she also wondered if it was a disadvantage, especially in warfare. Humans especially planned short-term, and adapted quickly. ADVENT and XCOM especially were moving and adapting in the span of months, while the Collective was, normally, much slower. Originally she'd wondered if it was incompetence or inexperience, but maybe it was just because Ethereals were bad in planning in the short term.

But they were getting better, if the Battlemaster was any indication.

It maybe just took them a bit longer.

"Do you think the Imperator will change his mind?" She asked.

"No."

An abrupt answer. "Why?"

"Because he continues to allow the Creator free reign and intends to proceed with his plan for the Bringer," the Battlemaster said simply. "He has made up his mind. He sees a greater threat, and he will work to defeat it. He has the support of others who share his view; he will not be persuaded that he is incorrect."

Yang shifted until she was sitting cross-legged. "What do you think he wants?"

"To become one of them."

"Become what?" She questioned. "A Sovereign?"

"Yes." The tone was accepting, not judging. "He considers himself benevolent, and to aliens he is. He lacks the destructive prejudices my species had, but now knows there is a greater conflict in this galaxy. One he wants to become a player of. He is intelligent, immortal, and powerful. More relevant, he believes that he is right. He will see a galaxy that he can liberate from the tyranny of these Sovereign Ones – but one which ultimately owes their salvation to him. He will continue the cycles should he win, but it will not be Sovereign Ones who perpetuate them. Others will rise to challenge him, perhaps the Synthesized will return, but he will not succeed. He will just become the thing he wants to destroy; a god who uses whatever is in his power to ensure he wins."

It was…unsettling to her that he sounded almost defeated as he spoke. Resigned to what the Imperator would do, or could do. "Have you actually explained it like that to him?"

"Not in that way, no," he admitted. "Nor do I think he would accept that. He would argue that his reasons are justified, and perhaps they are. But he believes he can change the cycles from the inside, when I see the only possible way to do the same is to avoid them altogether."

"I think you should at least try," Yang said, feeling bold enough to advise the massive alien. "You respected him, at least you did. I'm pretty sure he respects you still. Sometimes it helps if they get yelled at by someone to make them actually think about what they're doing. You clearly don't like the direction he is going, and instead of accepting it passively-"

"Yang." He cut her off, raising a gauntleted hand. "I appreciate your suggestion. Your concern is…good; it is not something I hear normally. But at the same time, I don't think you understand how the Imperator thinks. I've considered doing what you said many times, but I…feel debate where both sides have already made up their minds is simply a waste of time. This is not a topic where one side is objectively wrong, and both of us can defend our points and feel we are correct."

Yang grimaced, but she could see that point. "Then you have reached an impasse. Differences like this will become irreconcilable over time."

"They will," he said bluntly. "I know that."

"And what will you do?"

"I don't know." It was uncomfortable how flatly he said that. "I suppose that will be decided when Earth is…resolved. Our raised differences can be settled after the immediate issue is resolved and Humanity properly integrated. But what happens after that, I cannot say."

There was some silence after that, both of them thinking on what the future beyond the war would entail. It was now a lot more vague and unknown than before, something Yang hadn't really expected. She knew she'd likely side with the Battlemaster no matter what happened, but where that would lead…

A mystery. Not a thrilling or exciting one either.

"I guess we should enjoy the time before then while it lasts," she said, brushing her hair back. "At least war is simple. We know who the opponents are."

"Yes," he agreed. "In this war, we do."

---

Throne Room of the Imperator – Temple Ship of the Imperator of the Ethereal Collective

2/22/2017 – 9:00 P.M.

Ethereal and Human once more stood in the darkened room, one sitting on an elevated throne, while the other stood below and waited. Patricia's time was coming up, and she had a feeling that this would be it. The Imperator had not said what he was going to speak to her about. Her attempt to contact the Commander had revealed the truth, and the only alternative was to return to the Praesidium itself.

A fool's errand. It was clear it was too late.

"You are ready, I believe," the Imperator finally said, not standing. "You understand that I am not your enemy. You know the true threat this galaxy faces, and our goals are similar. As such you should be informed of certain things that have been done in secret, and learn knowledge which very few possess."

"You're confident," she noted, crossing her arms. "You wouldn't share this if you didn't think I would join you."

"I have little reason to believe you will choose otherwise," he said evenly. "I have not lied to you. We've conversed and learned enough of each other to know where we stand. I now trust you enough, and yes, this comes with my own expectations. But as always, the decision of how to use this information is up to you."

"Well," Patricia motioned to him. "Don't leave me in suspense."

The Imperator stood, and descended down the steps of the throne, and even when he reached the bottom he towered over her as usual. At this point, she was used to it. "What role do you think I have planned for you, should you join me?"

Patricia considered, thinking to all their conversations and how they interacted. It didn't seem especially complicated. "A representative; an intermediary between yourself and the rest of the Collective. Perhaps to other Ethereals. You wouldn't invest this much in a non-Ethereal if you wanted them in just a command or analytical position."

He emanated approval, and visibly nodded. "Nearly, Patricia Trask. I indeed would want you to speak with my authority, but that – " he opened the palm of one of his hands. "That is simply not good enough for me. No one can act simply as a voice. It must be more than that. That which represents me must represent my will and power. Nothing less can suffice."

"And we both know that's impossible," Patricia answered, raising an eyebrow. Knowing the Imperator, this was something he had likely developed an answer to. "Your will is something I can only repeat, my power is limited by my species."

"Power, Patricia, does not equate to scale," the Imperator stated, beginning to pace, keeping the triangular helmet focused on her eyes. "I've never considered it such. Simply scale can be wasted. Abused. It often lacks focus; discipline. Power, Patricia, is the usage of such. Knowledge and skill over a discipline, be it psionics or something else, equal true power. That can be conveyed."

"How?"

"Our species is limited by our numbers," the Imperator said, stopping and reaching for his lower wrist which had several buttons on it. "We cannot be everywhere, we cannot do everything. The Sovereign Ones understand this and instead work through their own agents and proxies. I wanted to develop this technique for our own species. Each Ethereal having an individual which represented their skill and power. This was begun as the Avatar Project."

Ominous in a way, implied possession was not something Patricia was particularly endeared to. "I've heard something of this before. Only the name though. So it would involve possession of 'Avatars' for you to control without risk to yourselves?"

"No. I have told you before, I have little interest in unthinking puppets or proxies," he pressed a button on his wrist and a hologram appeared before her. It showed a humanoid, likely a male, standing still in a black skinsuit which covered almost all exposed flesh. The face was obscured by a mask which was clouded a dark purple, and reminded her of a scuba mask. It almost appeared that the mask was grafted on, or attached to implants in the bald head itself.

"The Avatar Project had far grander ambitions than remote control," the Imperator continued. "It would allow the two who were linked to become a singular power; each capable of drawing on the memories, experience, skills, and knowledge of each other, in addition to what they faced before them in the present. It would allow each to draw upon the raw power within them, elevating their own beyond their original limits. An Avatar would be the extension of an Ethereal; one who can truly embody and utilize the power we wield."

"So why haven't there been Avatars," Patricia asked. "We definitely haven't fought any before."

"Because the project ran into a distinct lack of viable candidates," the Imperator explained, his voice having a tinge of dryness. "The Sectoids initially showed progress, but they lack…emotion. They lack the proper mindset to properly merge with us. We are not soulless automatons, nor did any of us feel enthused at the idea of a Sectoid Avatar – one which could never fully understand us, regardless of upbringing or genetic engineering."

A hand waved dismissively. The tone reflected this. "The Vitakara and Andromedons lacked the gift. It could not be artificially induced, and the means by which the Bringer achieves this are…not able to be replicated. The project was halted and only considered intermittently by Revelean, who considered the theory sound. I had begun exploring other possible options, and then the solution appeared."

"Humanity has the capability," Patricia finished. "We were the missing link."

"Exactly," the emphasized word reverberated in her ears. "Humanity has just as much psionic potential as the Sectoids, but they are also capable of connection, emotion, ambition, and skill. Their capabilities for the Avatar Project could not be ignored, and I immediately restarted the project. And now the Avatar Project has succeeded. The theory has been proven and demonstrated by Revelean."

All the pieces clicked into place for Patricia at once. "You planned for all of this. All of the Humans chosen by Ethereals. All of them to be Avatars."

"Candidates, yes," the Imperator corrected. "I knew that it was not a matter of if the Project could be completed, but when. So I have prepared accordingly. But they will not be simple Avatars, as the name crudely implies. They will be more. They will be Harbingers of the Ethereal Collective, of our power and will. Our voice and sword; a being who can earn and wield the power an Ethereal holds."

It was leading up to a point. "You want me to be your…Harbinger."

The Imperator did not waste time with pretense. "Correct. We both understand the threat the Sovereign Ones pose. We both see the potential and place Humanity can achieve in the galaxy. You are a skilled psion capable of mastering the power I can command – that which can be yours. You can lead your species into an era that few others could even comprehend. Together, Patricia Trask, we will ensure that the hold the Sovereign Ones hold over this galaxy is shattered."

She was silent for a few moments. "I need to make this decision now?"

"Not yet, there is one more thing you must know," the Imperator stopped his pacing, and faced her directly. "When the Bringer has been utilized and remains under control, Mosrimor and T'Leth have been killed, Humanity has taken their rightful place within the Collective, and the traitors within our ranks exposed and purged, we will build and prepare for war against the inner galaxy. They have a head start, they are more powerful, they control more, and I do not want to use the Bringer more than necessary."

"I don't think anyone does," Patricia pursed her lips. "That said, do you think that all the Ethereals – Harbingers included – would be enough to defeat the remainder of the Sovereign Ones?"

"I do not," the Imperator said, making the hologram of the preliminary Avatar disappear. "So we will need to find more."

"I assume you're cloning them?" She wouldn't have been surprised.

"At this moment the Collective has access to one Imperial-grade cloning chamber, and the materials to create more are elusive," the Imperator said, the hologram of a barren star system appearing. "It is under tight control; none can stumble upon it accidentally. No Sovereign knows about it, and within twenty years a new Imperator-class Ethereal will be born."

"Why just one cloning chamber?" Patricia asked. "If these were as difficult to produce as you said, why didn't you just install more?"

"Because space was limited, as was power," the Imperator said. "We needed to rest for hundreds of thousands of years. Nothing could be a drain on life support, and if we were found and murdered, it was imperative that those who carried it out believe that the Ethereals were killed forever."

The implication was not lost on her. "But that isn't the only one."

"No," the room lit up and displayed the known galaxy, with various worlds lightened in purple. "I am not blind or lack the foresight to preserve my species. This was not the only group of Ethereals I intended to survive the war, though it was the primary one. In the latter days of the War I ordered the construction of Imperial cloning farms on worlds only capable of being accessed by FTL travel."

He walked through the bright starfield as he continued. "There were alien survivors, I utilized them to build these stations along with thousands of automated construction. No other Ethereal knew of my plans or actions. Even those I recruited to go into stasis believe they were the last of their species." He turned to her. "But the truth, Patricia Trask, is that even if I were to die – if all the Ethereals known were to die – my species is far from gone."

Patricia counted at least twelve highlighted systems. "The Cloning Farms are expansive and isolated," the Imperator continued. "Built in the shadows of black holes, dying stars and barren moons. They are intermixed with developing garden planets and water worlds. Each holds ten thousand Imperator-class Ethereals who were grown while we slept. When they reached maturity, their pods turned to stasis chambers. They sleep across the galaxy."

"Why wait?" Patricia demanded. "This is…it would have the power to dominate anyone; even a few Imperators would be enough to challenge a Sovereign One."

"I would agree, were they not established in enemy territory," the Imperator reminded her, looking to the highlighted system. "They rest within the grasp of Sovereigns and their proxies; with their locations scattered. And when they awaken, they will be noticed. They will need to be trained. Taught. They must learn the truth of this galaxy, and their role within it. Perhaps they would be enough to challenge a Sovereign on their own, but that is a chance that cannot be taken. Thus they will stay asleep for now."

"Until you come," she breathed.

"No, because if something happened to me, they wouldn't sleep forever," the Imperator clarified, raising a hand. "The first of the Ethereals would emerge one thousand years after we awoke. Then the next would awaken after another thousand. Redundancy in the event of catastrophe; a reason to believe the Ethereals will never truly be gone."

He paused. "I suspect not all of them will survive; this is a long period of time. But enough will; enough will endure to continue my species. And that was the original, secret, plan, Patricia Trask. When we established a power base and a suitable force, we would march towards the first of these strongholds and multiply the power of our army ten thousandfold. But the Sovereign Ones changed that. I will not willingly lead them to an army they would use to conquer the galaxy. So they must be removed before I continue."

"You cannot go to them now," Patricia realized. "Mosrimor would interfere."

"He cannot be allowed to know the truth, nor can the Bringer, even as restrained as he is," the Imperator confirmed. "We both know that he cannot fully control me. Perhaps he is more powerful; hidden, but he rests assured that in a singular duel I would lose. More Ethereals of my power…he would be threatened. This cannot be kept a secret from him; such is impossible. So he would act. I will not risk it until he has been dealt with. When all the Sovereigns who are aware of us are dealt with."

The light glittered off the towering form of the Imperator as he turned back to her. "That is what will happen afterwards. The resurgent Collective will liberate my sleeping brethren and with each stronghold we claim, the Sovereign Ones will grow more fearful. Combined with the leadership of Humanity, the genetic mastery of the Sectoids, the fleets of the Andromedons, the expertise and diverse skill of the Vitakara, and the legions of Mutons, we will break the cycle perpetuated by the Sovereign Ones."

A pause. A heartbeat. "That is what I intend to make into reality, Patricia Trask. That is what I will bring to this galaxy. That is why I need your help."

He lowered himself to one knee, and extended a hand to her. "You know the stakes. You know the truth. You know everything now. The time has come to choose, Patricia Trask. Join me, for the good of your species, the galaxy, and yourself."

He was right. There were no more excuses. She knew everything that mattered. What she still believed she did not know was simply her deluding herself.

She did a psionic check on the Imperator, and unsurprisingly he was not lying. He might not know everything¸ but he clearly believed everything he had said to her.

He still had not lied to her, even after all this time.

It was a choice between loyalty to her friends and species, or to a larger galaxy. A choice of what really mattered to her. She could not choose both, no matter how much she wished it were otherwise. She was going to regret what she would lose no matter what happened; the knowledge of what she lost forever tormenting her.

A hero or traitor; a savior or coward; a martyr or pariah.

A Harbinger.

A soldier.

A Human.

Something more.

Yet she knew herself; she'd learned important things; things she would never be able to ignore.

But she was still Human. She had friends, people she loved and cared for. That couldn't be forgotten.

Nothing would be forgotten.

No matter what, she would remember the cost.

But in the end, the choice was clear enough to her. She knew who she was, and what she had to do.

Staring into the helmeted eyes of the Imperator, Patricia Trask made her decision.

She took the gauntleted hand which dwarfed her own. "I'll do it," she said, her voice calm and collected. "I will join you."