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Cargo sat out on the sunset-soaked cliff, staring at her phone.
Her SIM card was still active, paid for automatically from her mum’s unmonitored secondary bank account shared between Cargo and her sister. Cell service was barely present all the way out here; not that it was a good idea to have the thing on at all. God forbid some ADVENT cellular radar catch her on it. But …
Bond’s voice startled her out of her thoughts. “May I ask what you’re pondering?”
“Oh,” Cargo replied, looking over in Bond’s direction, not able to bring herself to look any further up than the perfect knot on her tie. “Just … the last texts my ex sent to me.”
They weren’t exactly kind, sent the day that it was announced XCOM had been defeated. Rather than check that Cargo was okay, or fear that she wasn’t, he’d broken up with her over text and left things at that. Not surprising, honestly— their relationship had been rapidly spiraling down the toilet well before Cargo left for deployment to HQ, and he hadn’t called a single time during her service. She long ran out of reason to care.
Bond knelt down beside her. The smell of men’s cologne covered up the venom of her breath as she looked over, and Cargo let her read. The sun glinted off of Bond’s fang as she grimaced at the messages.
“What an arsehole,” Bond spat. “You aren’t planning to respond, are you?”
“No, not to him.” Cargo backed out of that particular message log and tapped her mum’s. “But it’s still early, in all this…” A sigh interrupted her. “In our being conquered. I wonder if it’s still soon enough I could at least tell my family I’m alive.”
“Ah.” Her tone was difficult to read, and Cargo wondered if that notion hit something in Bond’s mind. “Better sooner than later, if you want to minimize risk to the camp. I’m sure they miss you greatly.”
Cargo’s lip tugged, but she didn’t quite pull a smile. “Maybe. But, y’know… I don’t want to risk their lives, either. Maybe they’ll be safer if I don’t contact them.”
Bond’s gaze felt palpable against the side of Cargo’s face. “Would they be alright not knowing? Your family.”
“You have one too, don’t you?” Cargo had to change the subject, easing the squirming in her gut. “Or is that one of those things that the Elders deny to their subjects?”
“Not… strictly speaking. But we are typically separated quickly.” Bond adjusted the seat of her sunglasses on her nose. “I know I have sisters, but I don’t know who they are or if they’re alive. My mother is probably dead.”
Cargo raised an eyebrow. “So what part of that is the Elders not strictly denying you your family?”
“If we happen to reunite, that isn’t discouraged. And it’s not unheard of for our superiors to put family members on the same squadron.”
That was about the answer Cargo expected.
Much as Bond had only recently— as of escaping captivity and leaving the ruins of HQ with Cargo and the others— begun to have full and earnest conversations with her, there was a typical pattern of discussion when it came to the upbringing of aliens. Bond was still partial to defending the Elders in spite of her defection. Yet, she’d often find herself struggling to make a convincing argument that didn’t further reveal the Elders’ callousness.
Cargo didn’t blame her, it must have been hard to reject all that she’d been raised to believe. The only reason she was here now was because the one Ethereal that Cargo had captured had chosen to aid them— and that was only because Echidna, the one alien who had truly grown fond of Cargo, was threatening to kill any other alien that didn’t cooperate. Berserkers were not to be underestimated, much less angered.
Despite the coercion that went into the decision, Bond adjusted well to helping rather than fighting humans. Cargo doubted it was the infusion of human DNA that made her empathetic. More likely, in her mind, Bond simply had a standard of compassion that she was willing to act upon. No reason to think she wouldn’t, infiltrator or not.
“Unconvincing, I see.” Bond cleared her throat. “Regardless, I know family is a much more important aspect of human society than in ours. What are you fearing will happen?”
“Well, if ADVENT is tracking XCOM operatives, then even one contact from me might put my parents and sister on their radar,” Cargo explained. “Even if I say that I won’t contact them again, ADVENT might threaten them, or hurt them, just to snuff out any trace of opposition. But if I don’t, and they just think I’m dead, then there’s no reason to single them out any more than any other human.”
“A fair worry. And they’d be adverse to that risk, themselves?”
Cargo sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe at first they’d be appreciative, but …”
How would she put it into words? Mum had this habit of disapproving the specifics of Cargo’s choices. She was happy when Cargo started making steps towards deciding what to do with her life, but was disappointed when she ended up at boot camp. Getting licensed as an EMT was great only until Cargo had to start getting up in the middle of the night to attend to emergencies. That sort of thing. She’d be grateful to hear from Cargo only until ADVENT started banging on her door. Then she’d likely wish she never knew her daughter was still alive.
As for her sister, she and Polly were never that close, not the way sisters were on TV and such. Polly was normal, Cargo was… not, and she knew Polly was embarrassed by her. Polly did love her, and sometimes even defended her when Mum or Dad was less than patient with Cargo’s inconvenient behaviours, but they didn’t go out together or share hobbies. The most they did was watch X-Files together in high school.
Bond’s gaze dropped to Cargo’s phone, and Cargo could see what Mum had texted sometime before the attack on HQ: Diane, please be careful out in the field. I swear the aliens are getting uglier and scarier. Don’t capture anything you can’t carry by yourself.
“Does she know how many of us you caught?” Bond asked.
“Oh, yes. I used to call her every month or so… so I did tell her about that. She was amazed I caught one of the Elders.”
“As she should be. I know I was shocked.”
Oh, Cargo remembered. Practically every subject still alive and awake when she brought Hawking in, pressed up against the glass of their cells to watch her drag him in by the ankle, his fancy, stupid robes having slid out of place to expose his brittle body. The indignity with which Cargo had treated him was unusual for her, but frankly, he was the only capture of hers to deserve that.
Bond had wrung her hands, her stoic, cool exterior shattered to see one of her beloved masters treated like a mere prisoner. Cargo suspected that, for Echidna, that had been the moment she decided she liked the strange little human that brought her to Vahlen’s lab.
Speaking of which… “Has Hawking been taking well to the IV fluid?”
“Yes. It’s been serving its purpose.” Even to Cargo, it was clear Bond was more energetic to speak of him, much as she tried to keep it subtle. “Just as well. Otherwise I would have borrowed the Arc Thrower and started bringing in, mm, cattle, shall we say.” She raised her hand before Cargo could protest; “Sectoids, most likely. Or the ADVENT Priests. Not humans.”
“I don’t exactly like that much better,” Cargo argued. “Besides, I think the Arc Thrower’s busted. I found out the hard way during the last raid that it cannot maintain charge anymore.”
“Well, that’s a problem. I’ll take a look at it, then.”
“Does he have any new complaints about his conditions?”
“No, not for the moment. I think he’s been getting used to getting around in the wheelchair.”
“Did he finally figure out he had a second set of arms he could use to push the wheels?”
Cargo couldn’t tell if the scoff Bond let out was offense, begrudging amusement or both. “Indeed. He still asks me to help when they tire.”
Good. Less to worry about on that front, then.
Cargo was used to surrounding herself with people who weren’t necessarily kind, but her particular situation was an odd one (put mildly). As stated, Echidna was truly the instigator and the leader of their little insurgency, having enthusiastically and violently protected Cargo during the attack on HQ. It was because of her that Hawking and Bond had come along. Cargo trusted her unhesitatingly.
Bond was rather forthright about her loyalties to Hawking, but for all her bonafides as an acting spy, Cargo didn’t think her insincere in her friendliness. Sure, she’d been wrong about people who were far less professionally qualified to lie, but… in a roundabout way, that was sort of why she thought Bond would not bother to do so. Cargo knew what she was.
As for Hawking… he was almost certainly trying to devise a way to return to the fold of the Elders’ psionic hivemind. There was no way he wasn’t. But, the modified Mind Shield Shen had fitted for him stopped him using his oh-so special Gift, and he was— as Echidna liked to say of the Elders— stupid. It probably wouldn’t be that hard to rig a means of alerting ADVENT he was still alive and eager to shove his head back into the echo chamber, even for how little he was physically capable of.
Meanwhile, she was an ocean away from home, and unsure how much she even missed it. Sometimes, her ex-boyfriend aside, it seemed like her loved ones cared about her more when she wasn’t around to bother them.
Unexpectedly, her phone brought up the cycling three dots to inform her Mum was typing.
“It seems the decision’s being made for you,” Bond noted.
Cargo stared at the screen, her fingers stiffening around her cellphone. Her heart slowly crawled into her throat, and she found that— last minute— any solace to get from her family wasn’t worth the risk.
Before Mum could finish her message, Cargo shut off her phone, stood up, and pitched it as far as she could from the cliffside. It landed somewhere she couldn’t see.
Bond didn’t say anything, but Cargo still explained: “I don’t want them getting hurt.”
A short silence preceded the reply, though Cargo was already starting the walk back to their camp. “I understand,” Bond said, following her.
“Should I expect ADVENT to try to track my cell’s signal?”
“I’ll keep an eye on the radar. If nothing happens within the next week, we’re in the clear.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Your hands are shaking.”
Cargo stopped, her gaze dropped to the ground. Though it wasn’t what Bond had pointed out, her jaw was trembling, too. She tried to stop it with her hand before she could notice.
Bond simply put a hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eye, though Cargo could only tell through her periphery. “It’s alright, dear. You’re doing what’s best for them.”
“Yeah.” Cargo sniffed.
“With any luck, we may be able to reconnect with other factions of resistance. Perhaps, even what’s left of XCOM. Through them, you may get another chance— a safer chance— to speak to your family again.”
“…Yeah.”
Bond stood with her as she tried to compose herself. The last of the sun’s heat dimmed upon the world around them.
“If it helps,” Bond continued. “You once said your ex lived in the city, didn’t you? He’ll probably end up in an ADVENT burger.”
Cargo snorted. Horrible as the joke was, she appreciated that it was an attempt to cheer her up.
“Well, I hope he’s delicious,” she replied, as she started forward again.