PmWiki | XcomAcademy / EpilogueW

I grimace. "Okay. She'd rather be dead."

"... What?" Not what she expected. Good. That gives me a few seconds. I pick her up. She shoots me - once - and then the plasma pistol ends up between our chests; she can't shoot me without killing herself. I hold her off the ground. She stares at me. "...what are you doing?"

"You're right. People like me win, and people like you have walked off with the prize already. It's like Charlie Brown and Lucy and the football." I take my helmet off; the sheer number of times I've been hit over the head had made it good sense to shave it, so we both look the part. "Not today. You can't have your cake and eat it. Not today. If it takes no more cake for a thousand years. Not. Today."

I break her finger around the trigger. My armor takes the plasma shot with little more than a scorch mark. Her dress doesn't. She falls. I stomp on her chest until she stops moving. I've killed a noncombatant, a woman, in cold blood. That's as far down as I can fall.

There are steps outside - more security in case I did this, I guess. Bring it.

I page the XCOM satellite network with the message codes that will unlock both the Soul Sphere and the enormous psionic creature that was gestating under the alien base. The aliens' xenoforming system, we don't even know if it's intended for actual settlement, or just for retaliation. I write a text message.

"Riley. Dr. Shen. Everybody. A disaster comes. Run for the hills. Survive."

I don't know what will happen to Kite. Maybe she's dead. Maybe she's defaulting to whatever afterlife there is inside the Soul Sphere. Maybe she'll get out some day.

I put a bathrobe over my armor, get my gun, and leave. The first of many biological EMP blasts rocks the world and flickers the lights. There are still aliens around, the X-ALT hard drive said, probably in caches set up to serve the Traders. No longer my problem.

I don't know what's going to be left of them, or of humanity, but I do know that there won't be room for any Illuminati wannabes to rule the world with a checkbook.

I get ready to fight my way out. Outside, the black wind has begun to blow.

"Easy, boy."

Annoyed chittering.

"Easy, girl."

Somewhat less annoyed chirping.

Nathan wasn't racist, they just all looked alike to him. He needed a way to tell, so he made a red rubber band into a ribbon, gingerly presented it, and watched as it -- she -- superglued it on her head. If it was good enough for Mrs. Pacman...

"Okay, we can be friends. Listen, I'm too big to get through the air intake. All you have to do is unjam it, understand?" Fragile, looks malnourished -- although they all do -- and averse to do anything that even looks like the use of force. Nathan couldn't blame her. He watched as she selected a flat head screwdriver, jumpy in case she reverted to default and attacked her with it. He nods. She holds onto the tool like a knife and crawls up the air intake on her knuckles.

He gets back to work. This thing is never going to fly again, but there's a lot of fuel in the tank, and by idling the engine they can at least have power and clean air until the rescue team shows up. Nathan tries to not consider the possibility of there being no rescue teams anymore.

CLUNK! Nathan can feel the breeze. Outside, it's a storm. In here, it's enough to start the turbine. There is alarmed chittering, maybe just in Nathan's head -- he looks.

She's got her arm stuck between two flaps! Shit. The chittering quickly goes from angry to plaintive. She's resigned to her fate, Nathan can feel that very clearly. "Fuck no".

Rope, big round knot at the end. Nathan throws. Hits her stomach, protruding a bit like a starving kid's. The chittering is desperate now. "No, I'm not putting you out of your misery, you're supposed to hang on to it!"

Only one arm to do it with, the other's stuck. Hopefully she won't just fall apart. Nathan calls out. "Wrap yourself in it!" He has to mimic it, do it twice around his waist. She gets it, and struggling with the elbow stuck in the flap, manages wrap herself.

Nathan has to yank, and does not have the courage to look. She gurgles. That didn't sound good. Can she even feel pain? She's still trying to wrap herself in the rope.

It's a long two minutes and a long four-meter crawl. Nathan finishes pulling to see that she took refuge from pain in repetition -- that's not uncommon. She's wrapped the rope around her little body a dozen times, made a little corset, if you want. Looks more human without the wasp-thin chest. Her arm has a nasty gash, but it's still there. Nathan connects the air duct to the turbine, and tries to crank-start it. One, two, no go. Three.

She puts her wounded hand on his shoulder. Four. Bingo. The starter turbine comes to life sounding like a Vespa from hell. That's enough for the generator; the lights stop flickering and come up strong.

Nathan gives her a bandage, then finishes restarting the air scrubbers -- they won't turn on on the ground, so he had to make the OS think they were at altitude; just give a quick b1owjob to the Pitot tube. The air conditioning turns on, drip, drip, condensation water into a plastic bottle.

She's finished patching herself up, and has used what was left of the rope to make shoulder straps. First time he's seen one wear anything -- is she just copying his overalls? Maybe..

"Thank you. I think we're safe in here for a few days."

Happy chirps, head rub against his hand. Gurgling, purple phosphenes in Nathan's eyes -- he tenses for a moment, then they flicker off just as he realizes what she's trying to do. "Sorry, I can't do the mind merge thing, but thanks anyway." He settles for caressing her head instead; the happy chittering continues. "We're good on water, have some MREs in the pilot's kit. So uhm... what do sectoids eat anyway?"

She'll have to pick some sort of name, but give her time. They're both safe. For someone who hasn't got a chance to think for herself until today, she's doing pretty good, Nathan thinks.

I see a robotic Anubis, jackal-headed guardian of the Egyptian underworld, seated on a throne of gold-etched silicon in a hall of dark glass. He holds scales on which he weighs a clockwork heart against a silicon brain.

"Tell me your sins, robot maker," Anubis says.

I destroyed two dying civilizations, so that a new one could have a chance. There was no more room for heroes. And now there is.

"Billions died."

So that the human spirit could live. Life is the light that shines in the darkness. You need both.

Anubis throws his head back and laughs like a hyena.

I throw my head back too and laugh with the old god. Maniacal laughter is quite enjoyable. I'll have to do it more often.