#surprise surprise: undergrads do not know better than i do how to craft an effective argument

[oldshrewsburyian]

This is a subset of "Step 1: read the assignment" advice, but I have recently had to grade a bunch of papers where students clearly spent time hunting down external references of variable quality (not required) instead of developing an original argument based on a single assigned text (required.) Pro tip: do not do this.

[trbl-will-find-me]

Every Exit, An Entrance (22/?)

There are two (and only two) possibilities: either she led XCOM to victory and they are now engaged in a clean up operation of alien forces, or XCOM was overrun, clearing the way for an alien-controlled puppet government to seize control of the planet.

She’d really like to figure out which it is, but asking hardly seems the prudent option.

New Year’s is quiet. They watch old Twilight Zone episodes on her laptop and pop a bottle of sparkling cider when the clock reads 00:00:01 1 1 2016. It is not grand, and it is not fancy, but as her lips meet his, Elizabeth Regan is happy.

“Any resolutions?” He asks.

She tips her head against his shoulder. “Hmm, all the usual ones seem sort of blasé now. Who gives a shit if my paperwork’s late? Aliens invaded the Earth. We fought them off. We won. I’d like to say it’s to develop a more regular sleep schedule again, but somehow, that seems about as likely as learning to understand football. I know,” she says, after a moment. “How about finding bigger sleeping arrangements? That sounds good.

“You’re saying you don’t think two adults are mean to fit on the same twin XL mattress? I’m shocked.”

“Much as I loved undergrad, I could do without reliving that particular aspect.”

She feels his chuckle deep in his chest. “Don’t know why.”

She shrugs. “I’m just funny like that. Traveling spoiled me.”

“Lizzie, I hate to break it to you, but the bunk’s a lot bigger than an airplane seat.”

She laughs. “That’s not what I meant! We stayed in some fairly nice places. They had real beds. Beds big enough to share.”

“We only tested that, what? Two? Three times?”

“Three,” she says, wiggling closer. “The spiders. Zurich. Berlin.”

“Ahh, the spiders.” He kisses the top of her head. “How could I forget?”

“How could you forget? I woke you up at two in the morning.”

“You woke me up in your bathrobe.”

She laughs. “I thought it would be quick! I didn’t think you’d be offended. I still had underwear on!”

“I would go with distracted over offended.”

She presses a kiss to his jaw. “Sorry.”

“It was nothing compared to the villa. You know, the one with the pool?”

“I’m not sorry about that.”

“Tease.”

“I was hot! It wasn’t air conditioned!”

“You were in a bra and panties. They were floral.”

“You do remember!”

“I don’t think I could forget if I tried. Not that I’d want to,” he adds.

“Would it really have been better if I’d been in a bathing suit?”

“You were standing there in your underwear. It wasn’t a far jump to other places you could be standing in your underwear.“

“But is it really worse than a bikini?”

“You own a bikini?”

“God, no.”

“Exactly.”

“You were so surprised that they matched. I don’t know what you were expecting, but it apparently wasn’t that.”

“I was so surprised you were standing there in them.”

“I was wearing a silk blouse and a linen skirt. I couldn’t jump in a pool in those. The dry cleaning bill would have been even worse than it already was for that trip. Though,” she says, trailing off. “If you’re really so baffled by the sight of matching lingerie, maybe I should just keep the uniform on after all.”

He sets the laptop aside and catches her in a kiss, pinning her to the bed.

“I think I’ll adapt.”

–

She lingers the in the archway, watching Central help Sally fit her armor. He steps back to look at the girl, then brushes a stray bit of hair behind her ear. He reaches into a pocket and presses something into her hand, but whatever he says is too quiet to carry. She slips it around her neck and under her shirt, then throws her arms around Central’s neck. The gesture seems less foreign to him, and he pulls her in closer for a moment before releasing her.

Sometime later, the whole of Menace One Five stands assembled in the armory, split into fireteams: Sally and Kelly on one, with Zaytsev and Wallace on the other.

“For better or worse,” she begins. “This isn’t a standard op. You’ll be escorting two hostile parties to a rendezvous point that you’ll receive once you’re on the ground. Kelly, Royston: you’ll be with the Reaper. Wallace, Zaytsev: you’ll escort the Skirmisher.“

“We’re operating in the dark, people. We know little to nothing about conditions on the ground, or what you’ll be facing. Both the Skirmishers and the Reapers have agreed to a ceasefire for the duration, but I don’t know to what extent either side intends to honor those terms.”

She draws in a deep breath, and her demeanor softens. “My point is: be careful. We could be facing anything out there, and the nature of negotiations is volatile. Stay alert, watch each other’s backs, and don’t take any risks you don’t have to. If this goes well, we stand to gain two very powerful allies. Good luck, team. You’re on the clock.”

Menace salutes her and piles onto the Skyranger, stowing their gear for transport. She heads back towards the bridge as the craft rises towards the open air. Central gives them the go for takeoff, and they are on their way.

Forty five minutes til drop and she stands on the balcony overlooking the ship’s heart, a bottle of water in her hand. Central is next to her, hands braced on the railing.

“Sal looked like her mom, all kitted out like that,” she offers. “It’s gonna be like having a ghost on the field.”

He nods. “Steph would kill me if she knew.”

“Didn’t want Sally following her into the family business?”

“Think she knew that was inevitable. Just wanted to put it off for as long as she could. I promised her eighteen.”

“But?”

“But Volk must’ve had a reason for asking. If he really thinks a friendly face might help defuse some tension…” He shrugs. “She’s a good shot. She’s got good instincts on the field. She ever gets a better hold on that Gift, and she’s gonna be something else. Besides,” he shakes his head. “I know her. She would’ve found a way to go no matter what I said. Least this way, I get to feel like I gave her my blessing, instead of having her sneakin’ around behind my back.”

“You trying to convince me or yourself?” She asks, softly.

“Little bit of both.”

“It’s just one op.”

“And then another, and another. She’s an XCOM operative now. Not much I can do about it.”

“You said it yourself: was probably inevitable.”

His shoulders droop. “Regan, I never should have been a parent. Half the time, I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, and the other half, I knew it was the wrong thing. But I tried to keep her safe. I didn’t always succeed, but I tried. Now, there’s not a hell of a lot I can do, but watch and hope. Just hits harder than I thought it would.“

–

What surprises her most is the normalcy. For all his concerns in the wake of Berlin, there is no discernible change in their professional relationship. Everything flows as it should. If the men suspect anything, they do not show it — a near guarantee that all appears as it was.

It occurs to her that it is because they have been together, in some way or another, for a long time already; always in one another’s orbit, always able to parse the other’s meaning with a minimum of explanation. It is what makes them such a good team, what has always made them such an effective team.

She could laugh.

Or kiss him, but she’ll have to wait til later for a shot at that.

“Commander,” her comm sounds. “When you have a moment, please stop by the labs.”

“Of course, Doctor. I’m on my way.” She catches Central’s eye across the room. “You’re in charge. I’ll be with Vahlen in the labs if anything comes up.”

“Understood.”

She breezes through the empty Common Room on her way and stops to pause a moment, trying to envision the space decorated for a wedding. She believes in Molchetti and Hershel, no doubt, but she still can’t wrap her head around it. Still, Steph had seemed grateful they’d taken such an interest in it; she and Edouard still seemed to have their hands full managing their families.

She realizes she will not have to wonder for much longer: the twentieth is rapidly approaching.

Vahlen pulls her into the labs’ small conference room almost immediately upon her arrival.  Shen sits in the dim light, apparently waiting.

“Should I call Central?” She asks, suddenly wary.

“No. Someone needs to monitor the energy spikes,” the Chief Engineer says, shifting uncomfortably.

“What’s going on, you two?”

“In the wake of the energy spike in the base,” Vahlen begins. “We noticed a change in the blood samples we had previously tested. The nanomachines, which we had previously observed in a dormant state, activated.”

“And?”

Vahlen reaches into her coat pocket and hands her a vial of dark green liquid.  “This was our sample with the highest concentration. While it still carries some DNA markers, it has been mutated beyond a state one could reasonably call human.”

“This was blood? Human blood?”

“Indeed.”

She passes the sample back to the scientist. “Goddamnit.”

“While correlation is by no means causation,” Shen offers. “I am reasonably confident that the Fog Pods serve as a kind of control mechanism for these nanomachines. The energy spikes we have previously observed must be instructions to remain dormant. The spike from within the base was likely an activation. If it was able to take out our monitoring tech, such a pulse would like be catastrophic to civilian communication devices.”

Her mouth runs dry. “So, it’s a time bomb. What do you suggest?”

Shen and Vahlen lock gazes for a moment. “A dual pronged approach,” Vahlen says. “My team will work to understand the machines’ effect on human physiology.”

“And mine will work to disable the Pods.”

The Commander nods. “Do what you can to start investigating countermeasures for those already … infected.” She rubs at her temples. “Brief Central, then get to work. Let’s not cause a panic, but we’re working against a clock we can’t track.”

She rises from the table. “Anything else?”

The question is met with shaking heads.

“Good. Dismissed.”

–

She does not think she is hallucinating, but she does not entirely believe what she sees is real, either.

Zombie movies were always something of a joke among her cohort. How could anyone be so bad at responding to a biothreat to let it escalate the way it always seemed to? What idiot allowed that to happen?

ADVENT, apparently.

The hoard, things that might have once been called human but might now only be called humanoid at her most charitable, advances down the alley, blocking Dragunova, Kelly, and Sally’s only exit path.

There is seemingly no end to their numbers, a whole city mutated beyond recognition. With each wave they shoot down, more appear. It feels like a video game with an unmerciful AI; she tries not to focus on the comparison. Her sense of reality is impaired as it is. There’s no reason to exacerbate the problem.

She tries to focus on the positives. Contact with the Reapers went well. Dragunova seems comfortable operating in the ruins. She’s a strong third member of the fireteam and already seems to have a decent rapport with Sally, who in turn, works in uncanny synchronicity with Kelly. For his part, Central has barely touched his flask, a fact she notes with no small amount of surprise.

The creatures continue their approach, unphased by the gunshots thinning their numbers.

“Out!” Kelly calls.

“I’m spent,” Dragunova echoes.

“I got this,” Sally chirps, scrambling on top of an automobile carcass, and onto a nearby fire escape.

“Sally, what are you —“

“Trust me, Commander.”

Gunshots ring out, and the Lost begin to fall in quick succession. Kelly and Dragunova reload and make quick work of the remainder.

She does not believe in ghosts — not really, at least. They are things of myth ad fairy tale, scary stories used to coerce little children in from the dark. The dead are the dead. Their memories roam the halls, yes, but the cause remains the grief of the living.

She believes in an afterlife, though. For her own sake, she has to. She has to believe that there is a chance, however small, that the lost are not gone forever, that reunions are not a pitiful dream.

She believes that, wherever Stephanie Royston is, she would be proud of her daughter.

Central’s grip on the railing is tight, but when she looks, there’s pride in his eyes. “That’s my girl.”