XCOM 2- Resurrection

by Greg Keyes

  Amar saw the shadow overhead and realized the transport had already arrived and was landing between Dux and him and the base. He motioned to Dux to move off to the west. The vegetation was thicker there and the terrain rougher, which would slow them down considerably, but at least they would be in cover. Behind him, he heard the jabbers debarking. He slowed and got behind a big tree, determined that he wasn’t going to die from being shot in the back. Maybe the troopers still didn’t know about the Skyranger—after all, it had been in the hangar until a few hours ago. He and Dux might be able to divert them here long enough for the others to escape with the ship.

  Then he saw the other transport. It had settled beyond the river, which seemed like sort of an odd move. But he didn’t have much time to think about it—the patrol was only a few meters from them.

  He turned back to look toward the trail, searching for a target but knowing he wouldn’t find one until they came in after him. He could see movement through the autumn leaves, but nothing substantial.

  He heard a sort of low whooshing sound, and suddenly a dragon’s breath billowed into the trees, setting them instantly ablaze. With sudden horror, Amar realized that they didn’t intend to fight him at all; they were going to burn him out.

  He backed away from the flames as more of the liquid fire sprayed through the undergrowth. It was completely unreal, and he felt like he was missing something. He had never seen jabbers carry flamethrowers before. Only that once, back in the Delta …

  Oh, he thought. Of course.

  He broke radio silence.

  “No one shoot,” he said. “They’re not here for us. Stay hidden.”

  The troopers weren’t out to get him, but the fire seemed to harbor a real grudge of some kind. The wind gusted up, pushing the flame downwind, toward them, and actually encircling them in the north, which was exactly where they needed to go in order to return to the Skyranger. If they weren’t fast enough to get around it, the fire would push them into the river, which would mean they couldn’t help but be seen by the troopers.

  Why couldn’t it be raining today? Amar wondered. But, of course, ADVENT wouldn’t be here with flamethrowers if it were raining. Panting, he forced himself to reach a greater speed, willow branches whipping him in the face and the muddy ground sucking at his boots. The red wall in the north continued to lengthen, and flames behind them were catching up.

  “We’ve got no choice,” Dux said. “It’s outstripped us. We have to go to the river.”

  Grimly, Amar agreed.

  By the time they got to the water, Amar was so dizzy from all the smoke that he blacked out momentarily, coming to a minute later with Dux dragging him along the river’s edge. The water was colder than seemed possible, and in moments his feet and legs were numb. He looked back upstream but all he saw was fire and smoke, so the worry that the jabbers would see them lessened.

  How had they known that the contagion was here? Did they have some way of detecting it remotely? Or was there just a lot of it in this area, and they were following the leading edge to keep it in check?

  They came to a tributary creek that was for the moment acting as a firebreak. It allowed them to get out of the water and start pushing back northward, where they would hopefully find the road and make their way back to the base. He was fairly sure they would be able to see the base from the next high hill.

  He was right. The hilltop had an old, industrial-looking structure on it, made of brick with a flat tile roof that was dangerously dilapidated. With the aid of the sapling at the base of it, they were able to climb atop the aging structure and get a commanding view of the landscape.

  The fire had consumed a huge swath of forest on the other side of the river, and he could see smoke boiling up from much farther to the southeast. He didn’t see any ADVENT transports, which seemed like good news until he spotted the control tower of the airfield, burning like a torch.

  The whole place had been overrun.

  “Chitto?” he sent over the radio. “Nishimura? Anybody?”

  His only reply was static. His heart sank.

  “Let’s go see,” he told Dux wearily.

  They hiked down to the road and were starting up it when his earphone crackled. He wasn’t sure whether it was words or just a burst of static.

  “Come again?” he said.

  “Chief …” someone said, but then static swallowed the rest.

  “You hear that?” Dux said.

  Amar did, and he knew the big man wasn’t talking about the radio. Over the low grumble of the flames rose a profound roar. He saw the transport dropping toward them and crouched, feeling like a mouse under a sky full of hawks.

  But then he saw it wasn’t a transport. It was the Skyranger, her jets blazing.

  Nishimura was leaning out of the open hatch.

  “Come on, Chief,” she shouted. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “WELCOME TO NEW Singapore,” the young man said. He was pleasant-faced, with a wide smile and dark brown eyes. “My name is Jonathan,” he went on as his fingers flickered over the glowing icons on the board in front of him. “I think you’ll like it a lot here. New Singapore is the very best of the New Cities, lah? You’re from which settlement?”

  “Kuantan,” Amar said. It felt funny to say because it was the truth—a single lonely truth in this place built of lies—and in contrast to everything else he was telling Jonathan. About why they had come here, how they wanted to finally feel safe and be part of something bigger than themselves, and on and on.

  “Okay,” Jonathan said, tapping his screen. “Great. You have some excellent choices when it comes to housing.” He looked them over. “Not to be presumptuous,” he said, “but may I assume you two are a couple?”

  Amar glanced at Lena. “Yes,” he said, taking her hand. Another lie.

  “Wonderful,” Jonathan gushed. “Do you have a preference of which district you live in?”

  Lena studied the prospects. “What about this one?” she asked, pointing to one.

  “Well, that’s fine,” Jonathan said. “Not as nice as some others, though. You can’t just take the apartment itself into account; you have to consider what’s in the neighborhood. And see, this one has a terrace.” His voice grew more confidential. “If you’re planning to start a family, I can get you something even nicer. Here in New Singapore, we encourage family life—the bigger the better. There are lots of perks for young parents.”

  “That’s kind of private—” Amar began, but Lena cut him off.

  “This other one has a balcony,” Lena said. “That’s the one I want. Don’t you agree, dear?”

  “Whatever you say, sun bear,” he said.

  “As you wish,” Jonathan said, his tone making it clear that he thought they were making a mistake. “Now, will either of you be signing up for gene therapy today?”

  “Not today, no,” Amar replied. “This is all really new to me. I need a little time to adjust.”

  “I know it must be overwhelming, coming from a settlement,” Jonathan said. “You can change your mind at any time, however—just visit your nearest therapy center. You may think you’re perfectly healthy, but you might be surprised. The settlements are just repositories of filth, and—well, I guess you know, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Amar said. “Farewell, filth. Good riddance.”

  “Now, let’s see about setting you up with a meal plan,” Jonathan continued. “Nobody goes hungry in New Singapore!”

  He ticked off a few things and then handed them each a small slip of plastic.

  “Are either of you planning to work right away?”

  “Actually,” Lena said, “I was told there might be a job in Cybernetics Eight. An old friend of mine works there and has recommended me. I have an interview tomorrow.”

  “Well,” Jonathan said, taking back her plastic. “Let me put a work visa on that, then. Sir, what about you?”

  “I’ve got nothing lined up,” Amar sai
d. “But I would like a visa, if possible.”

  “Of course,” Jonathan said. He finished up Lena’s card. “Cybernetics, eh? But with a face like that, you really ought to be in hospitality. It’s where all the real fun is.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” Lena said. “If the other thing doesn’t work out.”

  * * *

  “Why the high-rise and not the terrace?” Amar asked, as he examined their apartment on the eighty-fifth floor. Jonathan had called it small, but it was the biggest—and certainly the cleanest—place Amar had ever lived.

  And it gave him the absolute willies. It was like being in the belly of a monster.

  “Well, we want our privacy, don’t we, dear?” Lena said. “If you live down in the community developments, everyone wants to be friends, and have you over for drinks, and hang out at the community pools and tennis courts and so on. The people in high-rises, not so much. They keep to themselves. A lot of them are shut-ins.”

  Amar, nodding, acknowledging that was something he wouldn’t have known. He didn’t like Lena being involved in this, but she was the only one who knew much of anything about living in a New City.

  “Did you grow up in a high-rise?” he asked.

  “Nope,” she said. “I was a terrace girl, all the way. That’s why I know we shouldn’t be down there. It will be distracting, and well … you know.”

  The apartment had quiet pastel blue walls with recessed lighting that somehow did not cast shadows. It had three rooms—a general purpose area that contained a media screen, a couch, a small kitchen with a fridge, one burner, a microwave, and a few drawers that functioned as a pantry. The utensils and dinnerware were made of some lightweight filament that was disposable and recyclable. A balcony opened on one side, with room enough for two people to sit comfortably, and it looked out over the tidy city of New Singapore. The view was mostly of other high-rises, but a few slivers of ocean were visible in the distance.

  The balance of the apartment included a bathroom with a shower, and a bedroom.

  “One bed,” Amar said.

  “Well, honey,” Lena said, “we are a couple. Otherwise we would be living in different places, right?”

  He smiled and nodded, a little irritated at himself. This had all been talked about in the planning stages. No one knew to what extent New City residents were surveilled—whether or not the walls had eyes, so to speak. Sam hypothesized that apartments were probably wired, but that not every apartment was watched—with so many millions of people, that would be a staggering task. Instead, there were probably algorithms running, searching for particular turns of phrase and behaviors that would attract heavier scrutiny. So they had to be careful what they said, and to some extent what they did, but how careful? If he built an explosive device, it would likely be noticed. But would it attract attention if he slept on the couch? It was going to be hard, always imagining an audience that could be watching but never being sure what those watchers would consider suspicious. Since they were new arrivals, would surveillance be more heavily weighted toward them?

  Or maybe no one was watching them at all. Most New City citizens had implants, which certainly monitored their behavior. Wiring apartments would be costly and redundant.

  But why take the chance? They knew what they were supposed to do. They didn’t have to talk about it, at least not much.

  Lena cooked dinner for them, which consisted of a lump of CORE in a reddish sauce, green beans that were almost a meter long before she cut them down to size, and brown rice.

  “The beans are really good,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she replied.

  “Really big.”

  She nodded. “I hear they’re using this new fertilizer that makes vegetables grow to a humongous size. It’s also supposed to make them more nutritious.” She smiled in a slightly devilish fashion. “You should try the CORE. It’s good with this sauce.”

  He stared at the vaguely ivory-colored stuff. Maybe he could pretend it was tofu. But just the thought of it almost made him gag.

  “I’m really stuffed,” he told her.

  “I thought so,” she said. “It’s a good thing I’m not the sort to make fun of somebody for what they will and won’t eat.”

  He took the jab. He deserved it.

  He decided to risk sleeping on the couch. He was already too distracted by Lena’s presence. Lying next to her would only worsen matters.

  She watched him arrange his pillow. “We can switch tomorrow night, if you want,” she told him.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Have a good night.”

  “You too,” she said, closing the door.

  He lay awake in the too-clean apartment, staring at the ceiling, feeling very alone and stupid.

  We’re going to adapt, she’d said.

  And she had.

  * * *

  The next morning, they had coffee and sweet pastries, both rare luxuries outside of the cities. Lena smiled at his reaction.

  “I wondered why you were all making such a big deal about that coffee Captain Simmons gave you,” she said. “Now I get it. Coffee, tea, chocolate, all the stuff I took for granted growing up …” Her face lit up with excitement. “We should get drinks tonight. That horrible stuff you guys drink, and the way you feel the next day—ugh. They have the good stuff here. You’re not going to believe how good it is. And ice cream. Have you ever even had ice cream?”

  Amar didn’t know if the room was wired, but his own algorithm gave him a sort of mental twitch when she said “you guys.” He’d thought she had moved firmly into the XCOM camp, but maybe being back in a city—surrounded by the stuff of her old life, a life that comprised all but a few months of her existence—was making her think twice. She was certainly excited about being here. She wasn’t acting.

  “Drinks,” he said. “That sounds good.”

  “Okay. So. I have my ‘interview’ this morning, and hopefully by the end of the day, we’ll have something to celebrate.” She finished up her coffee and roll. “Probably best if you stay here,” she said. “It would seem strange to have a tagalong at the interview.”

  “That suits me,” he said.

  When she left, he dithered for just a moment, knowing that there was really no right way to deal with the situation. He was ashamed of his suspicions, but at the same time, at this point in the game, could he really allow himself to be blinded by his feelings?

  He left the apartment and followed her.

  * * *

  He knew almost instantly something was wrong. They had both memorized the city plan. They had chosen New Singapore because it was one of the few places that manufactured the component they needed. The plant was located at the edge of town. Lena was headed toward the City Center.

  Maybe she was just trying to kill a little time sightseeing. The interview was at no particular hour—the objective was just to get her name in, to announce “I’m here” to their contact on the inside. The contact would then arrange for her to get clearance to enter the factory. When she’d said they would have cause to celebrate, she didn’t mean because she would have a job, but because the next hurdle of their mission was cleared.

  It didn’t have to happen right away. But the quicker, the better, right? So it made sense for her to go in the morning. But she wasn’t going there, and she wasn’t wandering either. She knew where she was headed, and a few minutes later so did he, when she allowed herself to be scanned by an ADVENT trooper before entering a gene therapy clinic.

  * * *

  Amar returned to the apartment, trying to sort things out, but he was never able to come to a good conclusion.

  He watched propaganda and a supposedly unscripted show about living in the settlements. It was meant to be funny, and if you had never lived in one, it probably was. He turned the media screen off. He took a shower. He waited.

  Lena walked in toward the end of the day. She gave him a smile that seemed obviously false.

  “I got the job!” she said. “I
start tomorrow. Now, how about those drinks?”

  His own smile probably seemed no more sincere than hers, but he tried anyway.

  * * *

  Like everything else in the city, the bar was clean and orderly, a far cry from some of the filthy ratholes he had frequented in his time. And Lena was right—the drinks were very, very good. Amar had drunk things called “whiskey,” “vodka,” and “tequila,” but they had all pretty much tasted the same, like jet fuel. Here they were subtle, distinct, and didn’t hurt his throat and sinuses on the way down.

  “Well?” Lena asked. She had changed into a crinkled yellow sleeveless dress and looked like a flower planted in the place it was supposed to grow. He realized he enjoyed seeing her like this, which made him feel a little sick. He nursed his drinks carefully, trying not to get drunk. Because if he got drunk and started talking …

  “You like it here, don’t you?” he said.

  Crap, he realized. Too late. The drinks were a lot stronger than they tasted.

  “You mean this bar?” Lena asked. She wasn’t exactly sober either and had in fact been drinking with more abandon than he had ever seen her do. Now that he understood how bad the outland hooch was, he sort of understood. Or maybe it was just because she felt comfortable here.

  “The bar is nice,” he said. “But that’s not what I meant.”

  She pointed the index finger of the hand she was holding her martini with. “You mean New Singapore,” she said. It sounded like an accusation, albeit a lighthearted one.

  “Right,” he replied.

  She leaned back and crossed her legs. The dress was short, and he realized he was seeing her knees for the first time. She gazed at him with an unreadable expression.

  “Sure,” she admitted. “It’s familiar. It’s not infested by bugs, snakes, or lizards. And this tastes good.” She finished her drink and set it down for the bartender to replace. “I like air conditioning. Hot showers are wonderful—for that matter, so is not having to boil water before you drink it. And the not being shot at all the time. Huge bonus.”

  She leaned back toward him, uncomfortably close. “What about you?” she asked. “What do you think?”