Skin (Chapter Five)

[thehonorablebat]

 

2020

Weir drew back from the network, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It felt like jumping into a sea. So many perspectives. The noise alone could drive him to madness some days.

Other days he couldn’t draw away from it. He needed to see. Needed to know everything happening. It seemed like the only way he could win.

“All is well, I trust?”

He jumped out of his chair to stand at attention, his heart racing. He hadn’t realized she-

“Calm,” Angelus said. “I apologize. I did not mean to startle you.”

“I wasn’t expecting you, Elder.” When did he ever? It wasn’t like they broadcasted their movements. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“The rebels in East Africa broke into a warehouse last night,” she said.

“Supply's on it. They'll have the warehouse restocked by this evening. Until then, West Africa is keeping things stable with their surplus.” Weir sat back down.

This was his problem because…

“And the rebels?”

Ah.

“Suffered casualties, but they were well informed and organized. They must have been planning this heist for some time,” he said.

“You let them get away?” Angelus asked, no accusatory note in her voice. Just gentle disappointment. He resisted the urge to squirm.

“They made it back to their Haven before I could organize a proper response. Most of the dropships were deployed to the quarantine zone to the north.” He glanced at the messages piling up in his inbox.

“It’s been five years. We had hoped the rebel presence would be gone by now,” she said. He could hear the undertone there. Why were humans so difficult? All the other races had gotten 100% on board by now.

“What do you want me to do? Nuke the countryside?” he asked.

“Nothing so crass, child.”

“Then I don’t see what you want me to do,” he said.

She didn’t reply.

Weir brought up his e-mail while he waited for her to gather her thoughts. The Elders could take their sweet time coming up with what they wanted to say. It had once taken Shamash three hours to tell him they wanted more defense on the supply trains.

Little else than a threat to their immediate existence could speed them up.

“You’re too soft on them,” Angelus said at last.

“I don’t enjoy cruelty,” he said.

“You think we do? Every life snuffed out grieves us as it does you, but you know we have no other choice.”

–

2035

Weir spent most of the drive to Freedom Point either asleep or receiving medication from Montoya. He recalled throwing up once. Other than that he remembered the trip as one big blur.

The truck door opening jerked him awake. Weir blinked at Montoya’s grinning face. Not quite what he wanted to see first thing in the morning–er, evening. Weir gazed out the windshield at the sun hanging low in the sky. They still had about an hour of light left by the looks of it.

Montoya grasped him by the upper arm and pulled him out of his seat. He caught Weir before his knees could buckle under his weight.

“Come on, friend. Central wants to see you,” Montoya said.

“Oh, good.” Weir found his feet and rolled his shoulders.

“Don’t worry, he probably won’t kill you.” Montoya kept his hand on Weir’s upper arm to guide him. “Let’s go do some, uh, aggressive physical therapy, yeah?”

“Do I get a gold star if I do well?” Weir took in a deep breath. By some miracle, he felt alright. He’d kill for some coffee, though.

“Sure! I’ll break into a city teacher’s supply store just for you.”

Weir rolled his eyes.

They rounded their truck and Weir got his first good look at the remains of Freedom Point. By the looks of things, XCOM had already spent some time digging through the ashes. In the distance, he spotted a group of three people wrapped in bandages and blankets sitting in the bed of a truck. The Haven’s survivors. Perhaps the only survivors.

Only one building remained standing, but that wasn’t for ADVENT’s lack of trying to bring it down. The wood still smoldered. The bricks on the eastern side had crumbled leaving a gaping hole.

Central stood by himself just to the right of the blown open front doors watching his people shift through the debris. A broken MEC lay at his feet. The chest exploded outward.

Montoya brought him to a stop a good two meters away. A rebel in a baseball cap standing nearby patted her rifle when she caught sight of Weir.

Central kicked the MEC. Weir now had a clear view of the exposed chest cavity. He could see the manufacturing information engraved inside. One of thousands. Weir pushed for more to enter production each year. They’d hit a set back with that damned AI going rogue, but they recovered within two years. All and all their progress in robotics pleased him.

“Can you read that?” Bradford asked, pointing to the alien script inside the MEC.

“Yes,” Weir said. “Did you bring me all the way out here just to ask me that?”

Bradford kicked the MEC out of the way and closed the distance. Weir wanted to back up to maintain his personal space, but stood his ground.

“How did it all go down?” Bradford gestured to indicate the Haven.

Weir tilted his head. Now that was an interesting question. Here he feared he’d been taken here for an attempt at public shaming.

“Because for some unfathomable reason you people chose to build on the low ground, they would have landed the Troopers and MECs on those cliffs.” They’re programmed to favor high ground when running on auto, but Bradford didn’t need to know that. “Grenades barrages from the MECs would be used to break up groups and minimize cover.”

He caught sight of a stun baton laying on the ground inside the building. Weir nodded to himself.

“Lancers would have quietly entered the camp, coordinating with the MEC‘s to avoid friendly fire. They’d try to capture people on wanted lists. Failing that, herd them towards the MECs and Troopers getting ready to make a push.”

“Please, contain your grief,” the rebel off to the side interrupted.

“He asked,” Weir said.

“Oh, don’t mind her.” Bradford crossed his arms over his chest. “She just forgot she was listening to a monster for half a second,

Weir tensed.

“You think I wanted this? I’ve spent twenty years giving you dumb fuckers as much rope as I could give you, and here you are fucking hanging us all with it. If you had just left me where I was, this never would have happened! So don’t blame me when this is all your fucking fault!”

Bradford punched him.

Sprawled out in the dirt, the indignation of seconds before evaporated, he figured he might have deserved that.

–

Weir’s jaw now sported a growing bruise, but nothing worse than that. Montoya hauled him back up.

“You said they’d aim to capture people,” Bradford said, what little patience he had gone. “Where would they take them?”

“From here? A processing center in the Eastern Precinct.” Weir spat out some blood. Montoya grabbed him by the chin to examine the damage. He clicked his tongue and let go.

“Well that narrows it down,” Bradford said.

“Find Highway-7 and take it north towards Patrol Zone-13. From there find the tracks. The only way to the processing center is by air or train,” Weir said.

“You’re being helpful,” Montoya commented.

“It’s not like you have the resources to break in.” Weir shrugged.

And none of what he said couldn’t be found out by asking around.

“You’re not actually thinking about a breaking in are you?” Weir asked.

Bradford ignored the question. He nodded to Montoya. The medic dragged Weir off where they piled the few pieces of ADVENT tech they dug up. Bradford would give it an 80% chance Weir knew how to disable the security features on the weapons. A task too dangerous for their own people, given how volatile the weapons became if anyone other than ADVENT attempted to operate them.

He surveyed the site, not really wanting to think about the amount of dead they uncovered. He didn’t need to. Templar would have a rough estimate soon enough.

Bradford tried one of those breathing exercises Tygan kept reminding him about. He needed to stay calm.   

‘…you’re fucking fault!’

“Sir?”

“What, Kelly?” He released the breath he held, keeping his back to her.

“He’s going to make a break for it,” she said.

“Montoya said he has it under control.” He reached into his pocket for his tablet. He flipped through maps until he got to the right one, trying to find the highway Weir spoke of.

“Oh,” Kelly said. “Montoya probably strapped a bomb to him while he slept.”

Bradford couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sounds like him.” He traced a line with his finger along the railroad tracks in Patrol Zone-13. ADVENT claimed that particular train went to a recycling plant and a car manufacturer. Between the two, the former had the more remote location. “Kelly?”

“Sir?”

“Find Rabbit, Crusader, and Wasp. Bring them here,” he said.

“Yes sir!” Kelly smiled and rushed off.

He activated his radio.

“Montoya, progress?”

“Weir is showing us the secret to making the ADVENT rifles safe to handle. Downside is it also makes them completely unusable. I figure the weaponsmiths can bang their heads together to come up with some kind of solution now that the weapons won’t explode on them.”

Bradford made a note on his tablet.

“I have another job for you,” he said.

“Sir?”

“Weir knows how to get into that processing center without drawing too much attention-”

“Say no more. I’m on it.”

“Good. Keep me posted.”