"The bad news first."
Dr. Mossman chewed her lip on the other end of the line. From the look on her face on the flickering blue screen, Wallace could tell his own anxieties weighed heavily on his.
"I apologize about using that cliché, Wallace, but I do not know how to divide all of … this … into categories. It frankly defies categorization!"
"The bad news," Wallace insisted, trying to hide his impatience. It had been a long day, and it was only half over.
Judith sighed, ran her pale fingers down her cheek, and then looked him right in the eye.
"Gordon Freeman has returned. He is here, at Black Mesa."
Wallace nodded. Something began to thud dully inside his head. The pills, later. He didn't like taking them, but this was the kind of day he saved them for. He gritted his teeth. The wine, as well. Separately, of course. Together was for the day the Universal Union decided to call it quits.
"Tell me – is he well?" Wallace feigned a smile. "Where has he been?"
"Well enough – and unclear." Judith frowned. "He's not … very talkative. He mostly only speaks to Eli Vance, his alien friend, and Barney Calhoun, of all people."
"Alien friend?" asked Wallace, but Judith held up a finger.
"More bad news. The Science Team has acquired an alien hostage. A very willing and talkative one. We are receiving a sizable amount of intel on the invaders."
"Anything actionable?" Something to stem the flow of ill tidings…
Judith shook her head. "Nothing the Combine would-"
"Universal Union," said Wallace firmly. Dr. Mossman paused.
"Nothing the Universal Union would be interested in. The alien has limited knowledge of, say, UFO engines or the materials that comprise them, but has a great deal to say on his – or her rather – species' history, motivations, and the motivations of the invaders."
"And?" asked Wallace, genuinely curious. Judith shook her head.
"Same as what they spewed over that television announcement. They wish to liberate us from the Com – Universal Union, and uplift us in some capacity. I suppose psionic powers would be a given, for certain segments of the populace."
"But at what cost?" Wallace stroked his chin, feeling the bristles of his beard against his fingers. "There is more to this. Things they are not telling us." He sighed before running both hands through his hair. "Is there anything actionable? Anything at all?"
"He – uh, she was not given any relevant data that would assist the Universal Union's combat forces. You have already witnessed the snake men in battle, I imagine. They spit poison."
"Every member of the Transhuman Arm of the Overwatch wears a respirator," said Wallace. "Their spit is as well-known to us as it is harmless."
"Their venom has known anti-coagulant properties."
"That … is useful. Hmm." Wallace made a note of it mentally. "The faster we can extract some value out of these invaders, the better. Our Benefactors are…" He paused. The look on Judith's face had turned from one of worry to … distracting curiosity. She could turn on you as easily as she did them. The less she knows, the better. "Well. They are not pleased."
"As I can imagine," said Judith, her tone delicate. "And the final bit of bad news?"
"There's more? Of course there's more." Wallace rolled his eyes. "Well? I am nothing if not pragmatic."
"You may have noted a small explosion inside a warehouse in downtown City 17-"
"Small explosions no longer reach this desk, Judith," said Wallace, tone weary. "Such an event would fall under the domain of the Sector 17 Overwatch. Or their local CP, if they have not yet been converted."
"So that's where the CP are going?" asked Judith. Too much. I may have said too much.
"It is hardly a secret," said Wallace, trying not to sound like he was frantically backtracking. "Principally organic units are too vulnerable to the invaders' vector of attack. Whether it is mental psionics or those loathsome bugs, too much flesh is a hazard."
"Of course. It is only logical." Wallace desperately hoped he had fed his double agent an interesting factoid rather than a triple agent a piece of valuable intel. Such is the price of working with her. He suspected whether that bit of info was leaked or not would hinge on how much it mattered to Eli Vance. "At any rate … the final piece of bad news." Wallace waved her on.
"That explosion was the other side of the Resistance's resurrected teleport. My work. Our work."
"I take it the machine failed catastrophically, then?" asked Wallace, disappointed. "Is Isaac Kleiner all right?"
"No – I mean, yes, he is fine. But it did not fail. It was a planned detonation." Judith sucked in a deep breath. "They teleported everything and everyone of value out of Kleiner's lab, then blew what was left. There is only one side to the teleport now, and it is in Black Mesa East."
"Alongside Gordon Freeman. And the largest chunk of the Resistance's Science Team." It was one thing to wave a sandwich in front of a starving man. It was another to thrust him to the front of the line at a buffet. Judith's eyes widened.
"The good news, Wallace. The good news before you make any hasty decisions!"
"The frantic tone, the waving hands, the sweat on your brow, Judith – one might think you were worried about the Universal Union coming to visit." Wallace smirked. "Is there something you have to hide, perhaps?"
"Of course not," snapped Judith, wiping the sweat from her brow hurriedly. "My loyalties are clear, as well as my view of the reality of this situation. Squashed between two alien powers, I will take the one who conquered us in seven hours over the one who arrived twenty years late and struggles to overpower a token garrison of Overwatch."
"I see we share a common view of the situation." Wallace opened his palms to Judith. "Please. Shower me with your good news."
"The invaders, the ADVENT, they launched an attack on White Forest. Some kind of infiltration, trying to capture key personnel. It failed."
"I take it Dr. Magnusson did not take that in good humor?"
"Forget Magnusson for a moment – it's their security chief, Bradford. The old marine."
"Ah yes," replied Wallace. "The last of the Hazardous Environment Combat Unit, if I remember correctly. I have some rather sharp words saved for the man." And a few other sharp things, besides. "Does he take issue with hostile forces storming his facility while under the flimsy pretext of friendship or rescue?"
"As it turns out, yes. Extremely." Judith pursed her lips. "He's having his people put their old helicopter together, establishing some kind of strike team. He intends to start paying the invaders back in kind, as well as salvaging their tech."
His own X-COM? Wallace tried to suppress a laugh. Squatting in a leaking Soviet silo, praying a handful of scientists can somehow undo the damage that has done? While it was amusing news, he hardly saw how it was good news. Mentally, his finger started hovering the big red button that said "Striders."
"Have Bradford and his people been developing teleportation tech?" asked Wallace, tone growing bored. It seemed clear what he must do. Soon he and Judith would be speaking in person. And Eli … it will be good to speak to him again, I must say, regardless of any personal animosity he might feel.
"The new secondary teleporter will be built on site at White Forest," continued Judith, breathless. "The helicopter will be ferrying over the relevant parts and personnel. This is going to be a joint military, for lack of a better term, and scientific venture. With the Universal Union gone from the Outlands, their only target will be ADVENT. Most likely starting on the coast, or near it."
"If you think I or our Benefactors were worried about the Resistance somehow inflicting meaningful damage on us, I am afraid you would be mistaken, Dr. Mossman."
"I am fully aware of their scale!" said Judith. Her face now glowed faintly pink. "But the ADVENT do not share their invulnerability, nor their existing infrastructure, and I do think we have the facilities and personnel to make life difficult for them in this region. Remove the Resistance, and you only strengthen ADVENT's grip outside the city walls."
Now that … that did make sense. For all of the invader's air power, their grip on the ground remained quite weak. City 14 might still smolder, but the invaders had left quickly once the local Citadel had established an appropriate defense and larger numbers of troops were ferried in. Smaller targets, targets that could not be picked out by their UFOs and had good working knowledge of the area … well. He was not so illiterate in his military history to dismiss the benefits of his enemy having to contend with guerilla warfare within their borders on top of everything else. He would, however, stop short of sending Eli Vance any Stingers.
"If I didn't know better, Judith, I'd say you were pulling out all of the stops to protect Dr. Vance from a visitation from the Overwatch." Wallace smiled as Judith froze. "But that would be ridiculous, wouldn't it? You would surely know when would be the best time to pull the plug on Black Mesa East…"
"This is not the time," said Judith. "We have no working teleporter, the whole base is on alert, and the only plans we have right now are to hunker down and start fighting ADVENT. It would be a mistake. Now is not the time."
"Of course not," said Wallace. "And last month was not the time … nor the month before … and you did not see fit to tell me the teleporter was working until they had already destroyed it…"
"I barely had a window to fit this call in!" Judith seemed to struggle for words. "Like I said – everything has been locked down. Barely any transmissions in or out. And I only became aware the teleporter worked yesterday evening. It was destroyed this morning. And on top of everything else, the swift destruction of the Railroad has led them to believe there is a mole among them."
"Imagine that." Wallace sighed. The mental finger hovering over the big red button drifted away. "Very well, Judith, you have made your case. I am thoroughly convinced. In the absence of a functioning teleporter, I do not see sufficient reason to send in the Overwatch."
Judith breathed a sigh of relief. Part of Wallace could not help but suspect he was making a mistake. But then … even I would not welcome Overwatch barging in my door and hauling me off somewhere. Indeed, if that were to happen, there could be only one possible destination. Wallace shivered. The wine. The pills.
"I'm glad you've seen reason, Wallace." Judith smiled. "Have … are you all right?"
"My wellbeing is not the subject being discussed," said Wallace. "If you have nothing else to report, we will terminate this conversation here. Well?"
"Nothing relevant, Doctor Breen," said Judith, a hint of bitterness in her tone. "If you could find some way to let Dr. Shen we still remember and think fondly of him…"
"That would rather give the game away, don't you think?" Wallace gave a smile he knew was condescending, but damn it, he needed to feel superior to someone at least one more time today. "As far as I can tell, there is only room for hate in Dr. Shen's heart now. He rather resents being my guest."
"How rude of him," said Judith stiffly. "Are we done?"
"We are done." Wallace tapped a single key on the keyboard and Judith's face vanished, replaced by the standard array of Combine figures on the terminal. Wallace turned to the window, looking down on the city. Far below, great foundries turned and sparked. Power cables were redirected from the city and Citadel both, to his newest project. And farther below … in the train tunnels and subway systems … the real work.
But it would not do to think of that, his masterstroke. He did not know who could be listening, these days. Even in the sanctity of my own skull I do not feel safe. Even the muffled footsteps on carpet behind him set him on edge, even as he remembered Dr. Tygan had been asked for.
"I heard voices and waited outside the door, as you asked," said Tygan, inclining his head. Wallace never knew how genuine his displays of respect were. But everything the man said was so stiff and odd … no wonder Aperture Science hired the man. They were a hotbed of oddballs and rejects.
But Tygan was no reject. While Wallace doubted the man could cut much of a rug on a dance floor, he never struck Wallace as being somehow socially deficient – just distant. Something ran inside that man's head like clockwork, cold and calculating. Outside of Scythe 2, Wallace had never seen Tygan passionate about anything.
"How fares our little Lazarus?" asked Wallace, trying to keep his tone neutral.
"Scythe 2 lives." A smile. A rare thing indeed, from Dr. Tygan, although it was all too fleeting. "Sh – they will be combat ready within forty-eight hours. We are applying additional MELD and modifying the combat chassis. Scythe 2 will always be one of a kind – a vanguard for our MEC units."
"And the other new Scythe units?" Tygan clicked his tongue.
"Three new MEC units ready. Their wetware is not as well-tested as Scythe 2's, but they will prove more capable fellow combatants than the Elites she was previously working with. The ADVENT will have to bring exceptionally heavy equipment to deal with them when they are together."
"They will be a sight to behold, I am sure." Something in Wallace suddenly felt wistful, lonely even. He gestured to his own side. Dr. Tygan stepped forward, hesitantly. He remained as stiff as a board as he stood next Wallace, just an inch or two taller than him. Wallace pointed to the work below.
"There, Dr. Tygan. Tell me what you see."
"It appears to be the beginnings of a large gun, possibly for atmospheric defense," replied Tygan smoothly. "If I were to hazard a guess, it will be utilized for shooting down UFOs or otherwise pressuring ADVENT orbital presence in this part of the hemisphere."
"Good, good." Wallace motioned forward with his fingers, urging Tygan on. "And in a strategic sense? What do you see?"
"I … am not following." Tygan glanced to Wallace and then back to the city below, brow furrowed. "I thought I had outlined the strategic value of such a large weapon, given our present circumstances."
"It presents a very valuable target, wouldn't you say?" asked Wallace. Tygan paused.
"Yes. I suppose it would."
"What kind of force would be needed to assault such an installation?" asked Wallace, wanting Tygan to see what he saw. I miss it. The peer review. Working together, frenetically, on a project with other brilliant minds … it was not for merely strategic purposes he wanted Black Mesa East. I want my people back.
"A large one. Orbital bombardment would lead to an exchange, possibly unfavorable given the presence of the Citadel in artillery configuration … many courses of action would leave the populace of City 17 at risk." Tygan frowned even more deeply. "It would need to be something very large and powerful, something that could get close enough that the artillery configuration is moot. I believe some of the invaders' ships would match that definition."
"Indeed they would!" Wallace clapped his hands, smiling. Then, the hell with it, he went back to his desk and opened a drawer. The wine sloshed inside the bottle. Tygan's eyes widened as the glasses clinked and then thumped on the desk. Wallace gestured.
"Would you?"
"It … it has been some time." Tygan looked positively flabbergasted, even briefly tugging at his collar. "Dr. Breen … what is the occasion?"
"The occasion is I feel like it, and I feel that at least one thing is going right today." Wallace poured one glass, then the other, the red swirling. The two of them lifted a glass. "What should we toast to?"
"To Scythe 2," said Tygan without a hitch. Wallace twitched, but could not say anything lest he sound insane, or worse, callous. And, well. I remember who she was, even if Tygan never did. You didn't see her in her prime, Richard. You don't know what a waste this is, what a shame…
"Yes," agreed Wallace, trying to maintain some sense of enthusiasm. "A regular Lazarus. To Scythe 2!"
"May she cheat death many times more," said Dr. Tygan, lifting the glass and taking a sip. His eyes shut as he took in the taste. "Hmph. Too long. Had that bottle for a while?"
"Twenty years, odd." Wallace took his own sip. It tasted woody and acidic. But he welcomed the warmth. He welcomed the notion of his brain being able to take a breather. That notion died as the red light began to glow behind him. As it began to flash. He turned to his computer.
"Administrator – advisory oversight required. Proceed to advisory chambers, immediately."
Wallace shut his eyes and clenched his jaw. Without opening them, he downed the remainder of his glass in a few gulps before slamming it back on the table. He glanced to Dr. Tygan, who to his credit, actually did look rather worried.
"If I don't come back-"
"I'll be long gone," finished Dr. Tygan, lifting his glass. "Good luck, Wallace."
The elevator ride felt faster than usual, much to Wallace's dismay. His hand whitened as he pressed it hard against the wall, trying to take deep breaths. This is not the end. It is not. Nevertheless, his breathing quickened as the descent quickened, down, down … further than where he knew they normally met. No. Please…
Wallace's mind flitted back to the painkillers in his desk. The wine. He had missed his opportunity. City 14 had clearly burned for too long. The invaders had made too much ground … would the news at Black Mesa East change anything? Or would it be dismissed as the desperation it truly was?
The elevator stopped and the doors opened into inky blackness. Wallace shuffled forward, squinting into the dark. As he crossed the threshold, the elevator doors slid shut behind him, making the darkness total. He ran his hand across his face, and saw nothing. All he could hear was the sound of his own labored breathing. Lacking any further direction, he merely continued forward, one small step after the other, his right hand groping into the black with its fingers splayed.
From above, the lights came on one by one. Wallace froze in place, staring. From the ceiling, a dozen or so metal pods, their blue metal glistening in the harsh light, hung silently. To his mind, it immediately reminded him of … pupae, hanging beneath the eaves of his roof, waiting to burst into a new and garish form of life. He could feel it … the energy rippling from them, familiar from previous visitations and yet somehow more vivid now. Active. Alive. Wallace very much doubted butterflies would be emerging from this metal chrysalises.
The closest pod twitched. A metal arm shot from the wall and grabbed it by the top before bringing it down, smoothly, without fear of dropping or shaking the object. The pod now hung before Wallace, swinging slightly, black tendrils of anomalous energy snaking from it in the corners of Wallace's vision. The thudding in his head intensified, only slightly dulled by the wine. A flash of intention broke the spell of stillness.
"I – what?"
The flash repeated itself, partially irritated, partially amused.
"Now, of all times?" Wallace gaped, his sweater suddenly feeling tight. "Under what grounds?"
The Benefactor did not feel the need to explain itself, but knew Wallace would need some way to sell it to the public. A bored tendril of meaning screwed its way into Wallace's temple, making him grimace with pain.
"Our genetic potential." Wallace winced. "Of course. With recent events – these psionics cannot go to waste." We did it. Or rather, the invaders did. Finally convinced them we have a right to reproduce.
It felt such a hollow victory. It took another alien invasion to make their Benefactors realize their species was worth preserving. Somehow, given the context, Wallace did not find the prospect cheering.
The Benefactor stirred inside the pod. A question.
"The plans continue apace," Wallace said, still inwardly proud of his own contribution. Hopefully it will work. "The work underground is almost done, and the gun … well, it has some semblance of functionality, but it looks intimidating, and doubtless it has caught ADVENT's attention."
The Benefactor almost felt pleased, but quickly retracted the emotion. Another question.
"The Black Mesa East teleporter is functional but currently lacks a pair," said Wallace, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry indeed. "Our embedded agent suggests waiting until another is constructed, most likely at White Forest. In addition, apparently the Resistance intends to go on the offensive against ADVENT, especially on the coastline. It may free up some of our own resources."
This was acceptable, but mostly by dint of indifference. The teleporter was more of an afterthought these days than anything else. Its development would mean little if the Overworld were brought into the equation. It was highly unlikely any of that work would remain before the Resistance either destroyed it, or the Universal Union's military overdid the work necessary to bring what was left of the planet to its knees. They had a tendency to do that. Wallace, licking his lips, brought his own question to the fore.
"Are you … all right?" he asked, trying to frame it more as curiosity born of concern rather than sickening dread. "These pods … they are not for medical reasons or…?"
The Benefactor send forth another burst of amusement. Then a cautionary note. The pods were none of his concern. He would know soon enough what they were meant for. Above, the other occupants inside their respective pupae quivered as a chorus. This was business for them, whatever they were. Put it from his mind.
But Wallace doubted that last part. They wanted him to see this. To remember so many of them hanging from the ceiling like insects about to burst from their cocoons. It is a transformation. An ascension. But those were Wallace's words, not theirs. They remained unforthcoming.
"Scythe 2 lives," continued Wallace, stomach roiling. "Additional MEC units have been produced, with more on the way. Every day we acquire a bit more MELD, more bodies for the research efforts. We are working on plasma resistant materials at present, as well as introduction of Overwatch variants that may serve us better against the invaders."
This was good, but again, an afterthought. His main role, as far as they were concerned right now, was to spread the news. The first bit of news: the gun, the gun, the gun. The second: the Suppression Field. Lowered. Tomorrow. Humanity would once more have command over their genitals – at their Benefactor's discretion, of course. All to produce more psychic warriors…
At the very least, that would be easy enough to spin as encouragement to contribute to the war effort, to cooperate with the Overwatch. Do we truly want to bring children back into a world like this?
Wallace put the thought from his mind. The pod still hung before him, as if waiting for something. Wallace cleared his throat.
"Gordon Freeman has returned." But it soon became clear that Freeman was irrelevant. They did not care. Let the fools have their idol, their icon. Let the ADVENT believe their offensive could be maintained. The gears within the machine ground on. Soon, the Universal Union forces would no longer be viewed as weak and overly inactive. The Combine is waking up…
The pod retracted with a motion as smooth and sudden as its arrival. The Benefactor let forth one last ripple of a bemused notion.
See you soon … and somehow, Wallace knew that this was not a figurative term of expression. His palms began to sweat.
The lights shut off one by one, leaving him in the dark. From behind, the elevator doors slid open, casting him in blue light from behind. Wallace turned and walked, slowly at first, then faster, than half-jogging, running for the safety of the elevator. He collided against the wall with a gasp, the door closing quietly behind him.
Then, with no one watching, Wallace slid down the wall, face against his knees, and hid from the world for a while.