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fellowshippers2005-05-28 07:51 pm
pecos.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-05-28 07:51 pm
Beyond Design Limitations Chapter 7
Hello again friends, neighbors, and sisters in slash. I've got another chapter of the epic ready, for those who're interested.
TITLE: Beyond Design Limitations
CHAPTER: Seven – Longing Only
AUTHOR: Pecos – PecosPhil@sprintmail.com
WEBSITE: http://www.chimerafic.com
BETA: Gloria Mundi - viva_gloria@livejournal.com
RATING: Varies by chapter. This one is PG13
Possibly offensive language, lots of angst
DISCLAIMER: I don’t make the toys, I’m only
playing with them. No money made, nor
disrespect intended. This is FICTION
WHAT IS IT?: RPS / AU
Sequel to ‘Prophecy: Destiny & Design’
WHO’S IN IT?: Sean Bean, Orlando Bloom,
Johnny Depp, Viggo Mortensen and other
actors from ‘The Lord of the Rings’, ‘Pirates
of the Caribbean’, ‘Hidalgo’ and others
FEEDBACK: remember the golden rule, (please!)
ARCHIVE: I’d be honored, just tell me where
PAST CHAPTERS: ‘Prophecy: Destiny & Design’
can be found on my website, Chimerafic.com
and other stories can be found on my LJ at:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/pecos/
NOTE: Please forgive any intentional or
unintentional abuse of facts or history
NOTE 2: Phi (Φ) is pronounced fee, as in feeling
Beyond Design Limitations
Chapter Seven: Longing Only
Craig
So, this was the look they called ‘a deer in the headlamps’. Dominic’s mouth was partially open, and you could see that he was trying to decide what to say, but nothing glib was coming to his alcohol-muddled brain. He slowly pulled his wrist out of Craig’s grip and shook his arm to slide the leather band back over the incriminating marks. Craig winced a bit at the thought of the rough leather rubbing over those relatively fresh burns. Must hurt like hell. But maybe it was all about the pain in the first place.
It was time for Mister Parker to take control of the conversation. “Did Elijah do that?”
“No.”
So, Dom was at least capable of answering questions. Good sign. “Did someone do it to you against your will?”
“No.” The Mancunian was staring at the tablecloth, obviously wondering where his sense of self-preservation had gone off to. Probably on vacation along with his rapier wit. “You don’t need to worry about me,” Dom said at last. It was weak, and he probably knew it.
“Did you do that to yourself, Hobbit?” Craig asked, his voice gentle. He slid his hand over to cover Dom’s where it lay passively on the young man’s thigh. There was a wince there...probably a memory that he thought would be better left alone. Craig knew otherwise. He’d had friends in the past go down a similar road.
Finally Dom whispered the answer. “Yes. I did it.”
“Okay. I’m glad you told me. Now, let’s talk about this, can we? You know that I’m not only your friend, mate, but I’m family. I don’t have the tattoo...but I’m part of the Fellowship too. Elves know how to keep their mouths shut, when we have to. And as gay men, well, we’re there for each other...because sometimes no one else is.”
Dom reached for his drink, but he didn’t say no.
Mickey
Sinking onto his heels on the tatami mats, Mickey stared through the pale light at the young man wearing monk’s robes, seated in the corner and surrounded by small piles of fruit and trinkets, offerings and bits of money. Phi smiled at him, and the sparkling expression was an exact copy of Orlando Gamma’s appealing, dimpled grin. His head wasn’t shaved, but the hair was extremely short – similar to the way Orli Lambda had looked when he was doing ‘Black Hawk Down’ last year. Phi looked to be the same age, which made sense, but his face bore fewer lines, and there was a look of serenity in his bright brown eyes. Several monks could be heard making themselves comfortable outside, a couple chanting softly and at least two engaging in a friendly conversation.
“English is my first language, so don’t worry about translation,” Phi told him. “I can speak Thai now, but sometimes Kosiya still has to interpret for me. Abstract ideas can so easily lose meaning. There are so many glorious shades of intent and inflection.” His smile faded, and he seemed to watch something rising from above Mickey’s head, drifting toward the ceiling of the humble abode.
“How is it that you’ve been expecting me?” Mickey questioned. Even in this bizarre circumstance he still felt some need for self-preservation.
“Oh, I knew you would find me eventually,” Phi said wistfully, still watching phantoms in the air. He puffed out a breath, and seemed to blow it away, then turned his attention back to the seasoned agent, smiling again. “I’m aware of most of the others.”
“Other...clones?” Mickey whispered, leaning closer.
“My brothers. You may come closer if you wish. Most of the people here have a strong sense of personal space, but I rather like being close to living things.” He extended a hand, and Mickey scooted across the floor until he was close enough to touch a knee, should he reach out.
Phi had swept a pile of the offerings and junk aside, and paused to pick through them as he spoke. “I try to discourage the people from bringing me things, but it seems to make some of them feel better. Sometimes I can give it to the next person who comes in. Not all needs are spiritual. Occasionally herbs or money for medicine or a train ticket to visit the ill mother is enough to solve a problem.” He had picked out an assortment of bus tokens and dumped them into an almost empty bowl. The money seemed to interest him least of all, and he didn’t touch it. Phi’s fingers wrapped gently around a couple of ripe rambutans, and he passed the prickly fruit to Mickey. Kostmayer took them with a frown. “Squeeze gently on the seam. The flesh within is like a leeche nut. Sweet, with a taste like strawberries and a texture of pear.”
The rambutan looked like a reddened scrotum, but the leathery exterior popped open just like Phi had promised, and Mickey slid the fruit into his mouth. He’d almost forgotten how hungry he was. The flavor was divine, and he chewed appreciatively. Phi held out his hand, apparently for the almond-shaped pit, and then gave him a mangostino as well. The pits went into a different pile.
Mickey spoke around a mouthful of fruit. “How did you come to be here, Phi?”
A dreamy look crossed the serene face. “I was abandoned. My handler had been taking me to somewhere else – Australia maybe – but when our plane was delayed in Bangkok he just left me in the airport. I think that perhaps there was a change of heart about having me killed.”
“Killed?”
“Oh, not immediately, but eventually. They can use us for experiments, but most seem to die in the end. I don’t think it’s always a physical problem. Eta came to love one of his doctors and died of a broken heart when she left the program and just walked away from him.” Phi lifted his dark gaze and looked deeply into Mickey’s eyes. “I know about what you did for Gamma. That was very good of you. It gave him great peace to end his own life by his own hand. That was all he could ask for by that point. And, of course, most of his spirit lives on in Lambda. Someday it will transcend to a different plane. Some day all of the brothers will be together again, different facets of the same jewel.”
Mickey really was at a total loss here. He’d set out to see if he could find just one of the clones. He hadn’t actually expected to be sitting down and talking intelligently to him. All of the strange and dangerous experiences in Mickey’s life still left him rudderless in this situation. “So, you were cut loose in Bangkok?”
“Yes. And eventually I managed to make my way here. The monks took pity on me in Hua Hin, but they were unable to see what my purpose was. However, I could see a path for myself, and it led here. I slowly made my way up this hill to the Wat. When they saw my resolution they made a place for me, and began to teach me. After a time, they realized that my gift was not a thing to be feared, but a thing that could be used to help the people.”
“Your ‘gift’? What gift?”
“My special talent. All of the cloned zygotes were subjected to mutating influences. This was how they were seeking to find the variation that would lead to the healing properties that reached their zenith in Gamma. We are all alike, and we are all different. Some changes you could clearly see, and some were hidden. Some doomed the clone to fatal errors. A few lived only a short time, and died in horrible pain.” He paused for a moment, frowning deeply, a depth of sadness in his eyes that literally darkened Mickey’s heart. “Some survived to maturity, and then died from an unseen weakness. Of hundreds, only a few lived long enough to become the brothers who were finally given names. Some never even survived the womb.”
“Hundreds?” Mickey whispered. “How could this have been kept secret? Who were the women who carried these babies?”
“Some were the very scientists who worked on the program. Some were lost or homeless, gathered from all over. Many women from many countries. Their race or background didn’t matter, because they passed no genetic material to the fetuses they carried. Many of the mothers didn’t know that they were carrying an unnaturally conceived baby. There were no ethical controls of any kind, just the frenzied search for that perfect mutation.”
“The mutation that meant Gamma could make antibodies for the plague.”
“Right. He was the one who ultimately succeeded. The rest of us were just so many freaks once he’d completed his destiny.”
“I’d hardly use the word ‘freaks’, Phi.”
“Ah, but we are.” The monk smiled again beatifically. “We are strange and abnormal. We were meant to be. I can’t tell you how funny it is to me to know that the world is watching one of us in the movies. I think that the ‘Orlando Bloom’ construction will endure almost anything...as long as he can endure himself.”
Mickey made full note of this prediction, thinking that it would need future elaboration. He started to ask the next question on his mind when a bell was rung somewhere nearby.
“Ah...I’m so sorry to interrupt our interview,” Phi apologized as several of the monks from outside stepped over the high threshold and approached, palms pressed together and bowing toward Phi’s corner. “I have to attend to prayers and a few other duties, and then we will be eating. I would ask that you stay, if you will.”
“Of course,” Mickey promised, surprised when one of the monks indicated that he should move back, away from Phi. He scooted out of the way and Phi gathered his robes neatly while the monks stepped over and around the donations to reach his sides. The young monks gently took Phi’s lifted arms, and it was then that something clicked in Mickey’s mind. Even before they had lifted Phi to his feet, he knew what to expect. The withered limbs were thus not a surprise, but they were made no less hideous by comparison to Orlando’s strong, sure legs. The monks gently carried Phi from the cottage and Mickey stood on his own to follow.
He remembered the brutal climb he’d made that morning up the hill to the temple, and then remembered that Phi said he had made it to this Wat under his own power. He could all but see the young man dragging himself painfully up that precipitous hill.
No wonder the monks were willing to take him in and see what he had to teach them.
Viggo
He wasn’t the kind of man to lie around moaning about jetlag and waiting for someone to help him get oriented. A scant two hours after he’d arrived in Morocco, Viggo was on the set where they were getting ready to film the desert scenes for ‘Hidalgo’. They didn’t even have his costumes there yet, but the actor was up and ready. He was introducing himself to the locally hired crewmembers and walking the set looking for interesting vistas to photograph. He could tell that he was going to fly through film here at a rate nearly as high as he had in New Zealand. A familiar whinny reached his ears, and he headed for the corrals.
Sure enough, it was TJ shrieking, the stallion twisting at the end of his rope and stamping his hooves angrily at the handlers.
“Hey, Little Brother,” Viggo cooed, going in fearlessly close to the agitated horse. “Hey now...I’m here too. See, I’ve come as well. You’re not alone. You know these men, you know some of the other horses....”
“He just won’t settle,” the groom said unhappily. “He’s been like this since he got him out of the trailer.”
“One of the local mares in heat?” Viggo questioned.
“This ain’t horny TJ, this is scared TJ,” the cowboy said.
Viggo tried to sooth his horse with hands and voice, but the Paint was having none of it. His eyes were rolling and his feet danced over the sandy packed dirt frantically. He shrilled again, deafeningly, and some of the other horses called back, picking up his fear. Viggo winced, physically sickened by his horse’s panic.
“Maybe it’s the camels and all. None of the horses we brought over have ever seen a camel, and it seems to upset most of them.”
“Something in the air,” Viggo said. “Poor Teej, locked up in boxes for so long, and now he doesn’t know where he is or what the hell’s going to happen next.” The stallion snorted explosively, stamping and pawing. Viggo took the lead rope from the groom and passed it over TJ’s neck, tying the loose end to the ring on the halter. “Go get the gate, will ya, Jimmy?”
“You can’t be serious. Viggo...come on. Joe will have my ass.”
“Just get the gate. You know I won’t let you get into trouble.”
“There’s nothing out there but desert!”
“That’s the idea.”
TJ danced sideways, but Viggo had a handful of the Paint’s mane and swung up onto his back smoothly. Muttering about losing his job, the handler undid a connection on a section of the temporary fence and swung it open. TJ was off like a shot, Viggo clinging gamely to the stallion’s bare back.
“You’re insane!” Jimmy yelled after him, then coughed in the flinty cloud of dust that TJ’s flight raised.
Darting nimbly past all the equipment and people, around the trucks and into the open land, the stallion ran flat out. He was going low to the ground, head down, watching the unfamiliar surface, hooves pounding a ragged four-beat. Viggo was low too, clinging to the powerful horse’s withers with his thighs, hands tangled in the whipping mane, exhilarating in the rush of energy and speed. The stallion had plenty of stamina, and a lot of pent energy, and they rushed up hills and over dunes with little regard for direction or destination. But after many long minutes the horse slowed to a canter, and his head came up, looking around at the empty land. His ears flicked constantly forward and back, looking around himself and listening to Viggo’s chanted litany of reassurance.
TJ galloped on for a while longer, blowing hard through dilated nostrils, and Viggo did nothing to slow him down. Eventually the Paint dropped to a trot, and as they reached yet another small valley between dunes the horse eased to a walk.
“Look at it,” Viggo urged. “Look at the horizon, Little Brother. This land is empty and pure. This is the kind of land a man – or a horse – is meant to get lost in. No one controls this land. No one can really own it. This is how the world was before, how it was made. This is the kind of land that the Arabians were bred for; that the desert people know.”
TJ snorted heavily, and when Viggo finally pulled on the halter rope, the horse obediently stopped. Viggo slid off the sweaty back and took a couple of steps to ease the cramps in his legs from gripping the slick animal. He pulled on TJ’s lead until the horse came to him, head lowered and eyes calm for the first time.
“Now, do you feel better, Brother? Did you chase the demons? Look around, Teej. This place is completely alien to both of us...but we’re not alone. You are here, and I am here, and your posse is here. Men and women who love you and will care for you are here. And when we’ve done what we came to do, you’ll go back to the land of water and grass and familiar smells. Do you trust me, Brother? Do you trust me to take care of you here? Because I will. You will not be left alone in this place. I’m here with you too.”
The stallion raised his head again, testing the wind, snorting. Viggo reached out and stroked his proud neck. “I trust you, TJ. Do you trust me?” Then he untied and unclipped the halter rope, leaving the stallion under no physical restraint. TJ shook his head and danced away a few meters, sampling his freedom. “You have to trust me too, Brother, or this partnership doesn’t work.” Viggo turned a shoulder to the horse, affecting a posture that wise trainers all over the world had learned by studying animal body language. Viggo was saying ‘please accept me. Please let me join your herd and be your friend.’ It was only a few moments before he heard hooves in the sand, and then a velvety muzzle rubbed his back.
Viggo stepped away again, just to be sure. He spoke very softly. “You could run all the way to the mountains, Brother. You could be free forever. If you stay with me, it is your choice.” TJ hesitated for a moment, looking at something in the far distance, then he blew softly and stepped to Viggo again. Viggo grinned and turned to rub TJ’s ears. “Okay, then. Let’s start walking back, shall we? And then we’ll see what the hell is wrong with those camel things. I know how bad they stink, and not good, honest horse stink either.”
The Jeep ground up a rise to meet them quite a few minutes later, Joe Dante standing in the passenger side. “Jesus, Viggo...you crazy-ass fucker! You can’t just...don’t tell me that horse is off lead! Don’t you even tell me that the fucking horse is loose in goddamned Morocco! Viggo!”
TJ shook his head, gazing placidly at the furious director.
Viggo grinned at Joe, nodding to the producer behind the wheel.
“You didn’t fucking fall off that crazy horse, did you?” Joe almost screamed.
Viggo laughed, finally re-clipping the lead rope, and then jumping back up onto TJ’s sturdy back. “Hi there, Joe. Nice location you guys found. We were just looking around. Want to race back to the set?” He urged TJ forward with a gentle squeeze.
“Jesus...Viggo...you crazy-ass mother fucker!” Joe was still yelling after the departing rider. Then the producer got their Jeep stuck in the sand.
Orlando
The ship heaved gently to one side, and Orlando’s stomach heaved the other way. It was only a slight swell, but it felt like a rollercoaster to the young man. After he’d hidden his medication bottles a couple of days ago he’d forgotten about them. He had been warned not to suddenly stop taking the pills – warned again and again – but he’d screwed it up. Orlando Lambda thought that he screwed up just about everything he tried to do on his own.
His head was spinning. ‘Dizziness’, the bottle warned. Apparently that meant double if you missed a few doses. Orlando got to his feet and hurried toward the railings, dodging laughing crewmembers. He staggered against a hatch cover, whacking his shin, and tripped over a rope. Someone caught him before he fell, but he pulled away without speaking, intent on the rail. He got there just in time to vomit generously over the side of the ship. How could he have so much bile in his stomach? He hadn’t eaten that morning. He hadn’t eaten last night either, come to think about it. His thin frame shook as he wretched miserably.
“Oh, god, not again,” a woman sighed behind him. “We really need you this morning, Orli! I’ll go call the medic.”
“No!” he blurted, trying to fight the heaving inside himself. “No...I’ll be fine! Just give me...just a min....”
“What the P in Pirate is going on here?” demanded Johnny loudly, in full, marvelously camp character. “Mister Turner...are you feeding the fish?”
Orlando waved his hand weakly in his costar’s direction, desperately needing a moment before he ended up dislodging his toenails. The ship rocked unsympathetically, and he gagged.
“I should have known...blacksmith!” Johnny grumbled. “Go on, the lot of you. Nothing to see here. If there’s going to be any blood I’ll let you lot know. Back off now! Go on! Go do something useful!”
Suddenly strong hands had gripped his ribs, squeezing gently, and then Johnny was pressed up against Orlando’s back. Bits of his costume brushed Orli’s hot skin as Johnny wrapped his arms around the sweaty torso, taking him in a no-nonsense grip. “I’ve got you,” the actor whispered, leaning over to tip his be-jangled head against Orli’s cheek. “I’ve got you.”
Orlando’s world was still spinning, but it felt so reassuring to have someone anchoring him – even if it was just for a moment. He let his guard down just a fraction, a tiny little bit, and suddenly tears were swarming in his eyes and his throat seemed to clamp shut on rising sobs. He tried to pull away, leaning farther over the railing, but Johnny wouldn’t let him go and Orlando was far too weak to fight him. He gulped for air as tears and snot dripped off his nose, falling to the ocean below. Johnny was now gently stroking his back and sides, up and down, a pattern that was meant to be soothing. But it just made Orlando even more miserable. He shook with fatigue and shame, crying, nails digging into the wood of the ship’s railing.
“Go away,” Orlando choked out.
“Shh, shh now. It’ll pass. Try to relax. Can you look at the horizon?”
“Please!” he gasped, fighting another dry heave.
“I’ve got you,” Johnny insisted. “Quit fighting me.” He grabbed Orli’s near hand and squeezed it firmly. His other hand left Orlando’s back for a moment, there was a shuffling of feet, and then Johnny was bringing a small towel around to his face. Orlando grabbed it and buried his shamed face from view, scrubbing madly at traitorous eyes and nose and mouth. The towel smelled of fabric softener and clean, and it already made him feel better to breathe it in. Then Johnny was helping him straighten up, bringing a water bottle to his lips. Orlando gripped the towel with one hand, the railing with the other, and let Johnny pour the cool water into his burning mouth. It was a very intimate sensation, though intimacy was about the last thing on Orli’s mind just at that moment.
Johnny embraced him again, tightly, turning his back to the ocean to glare at encroaching crewmembers over Orlando’s shoulder. “Give us a minute, will ya?” He hissed. “Look at the horizon, poppet,” he whispered into Orli’s ear. “Take a deep breath. And another. It’s just seasickness. It’s not the end of the world.”
So why did it feel like the end of the world?
The ship rocked again, but this time it was just a distraction. Orlando’s breathing calmed. He managed to take the water bottle himself and get another long drink. The tightness in his throat eased. He was fighting the urge to keep crying. Johnny seemed to sense that, and he was stroking Orli’s back again, the way you would with a child. Orlando thought for a brief moment that it was the first time anyone had ever done that for him.
“Let me see the damage,” a woman asked gently, leaning out so she could see Orlando’s face. “Ugh.” She moved away. “You couldn’t find enough makeup in a New Orleans brothel to put some color back in those cheeks,” she told Gore loudly enough so everyone on deck could hear.
“Okay, then,” the director called with forced lightness. “We shoot Will Turner from the back today! Let’s get ready for some close-ups of Jack.”
“It’s the depth of compassion that always amazes me,” Johnny whispered in Orli’s ear. “If you fell on your sword they’d want a three-camera cover before they called an ambulance. They’d probably have the art director rearrange the blood stains for best light.” Orlando grunted in answer. He was feeling really proud of being able to do that much. “You do remember that we have a flight to LA tonight, right?” Johnny asked.
“Oh, god....” he moaned.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine by then. We’ll get you some nice soup and some crackers back on dry land, and maybe a couple of protein bars. These ribs are like a washboard. And then, when the plane takes off, we’ll get so crazy that they have to pour us out on the ground in LA. Sound like a plan?”
Orli pressed his cheek against Johnny’s. He would have kissed him if he didn’t have the most disgusting face and mouth in the West Indies. He pulled away at last, incredibly relieved to find that his head was no longer spinning, at least for the moment. Johnny fell to straightening his own costume fussily, letting the makeup artist dart in to start restoring Captain Jack to full splendor.
Scrubbing his face one last time, Orlando came out from behind the towel to see the disapproving looks on a couple of the crew’s faces. Viggo and Sean would be so disappointed in him. His heart sank even lower.
Mickey
Later that night Mickey had another chance to talk to Phi. The young monk had been settled on a grassy knoll overlooking the distant water, and he was chanting softly, hands moving over an obviously ancient string of prayer beads. Phi’s beautiful face was a picture of calm in the fading light. He finished his chant and closed his eyes for a moment, and then extended a hand, offering Mickey the smooth bit of ground closest to him.
“I’ve been trying to imagine what you’ve been through, what all it took for you to get here,” Mickey said, sharing the view and wishing he knew how to meditate
“I was meant to be here,” Phi said happily. “I will die here. The where means nothing, the here is inside me.”
“Uh, okay.” Mickey smacked a blood-bloated mosquito, then glanced sideways to see if he would get a reproachful look from the monk.
“I’m not that holy,” Phi said with a mild smirk. “Did you see the coils in my room?”
“You should see if your ‘people’ can’t make offering with some DEET, or some netting for your pallet.”
Phi snorted. “I think we could have been good friends, Mickey. I know that Gamma liked you, and of course you rescued Lambda. You were very gentle with him.”
“That’s me all right. A perfect gentleman.”
“More than even you know. Now, you had another question for me?”
Mickey waited for a moment, wondering how to put things now that he finally had a chance to ask someone who might know the answer. “My mission is to find one of your ‘brothers.’ I’m not searching for my own reasons, but because I’ve been asked to do so by someone who knew Gamma very well, and...well, he says he loved him.”
“Sean.”
“Yeah, I should have realized. Of course you know.”
“He did love Gamma. The feeling was mutual, at least as mutual as Gamma was capable of feeling love for anyone. He was so badly damaged in body and soul, that one.” Phi paused for a moment, whispering a prayer.
“Of course,” Mickey said, trying not to sound like he was interrupting. “Well, see, Sean thinks he’s been getting messages from another clone. Like ‘echoes’, he’s calling them. He thinks there’s one who’s trying to reach him somehow. Sean thinks he’s heard from this clone for a long time now.”
“Sean is right.”
Mickey reached out and touched the monk’s arm in a gesture of surprise. “He is?” Realizing the breech of etiquette, he retracted his hand and forced himself to lean back again, giving Phi his personal space.
“I think it might be Rho.”
“Row?”
Phi drew a figure in the air. It looked like a capital ‘P’, with a serif at the bottom. “Rho. Now you’re going to ask me what I know about him, so I’ll just tell you what I can. Rho was from our German facility, which was where he had contact with Gamma when they were very young. I don’t know where they sent him when he matured, but he was in the program for the very promising. This probably means that he didn’t develop poorly or suffer ill health, unlike some of us.” Phi smiled at his own deformity, rubbing a useless, bony knee. “I don’t hear from Rho directly anymore. Our link seems to have severed, but I know a couple of things about where they sent him when they decided to concentrate on Gamma. Rho was fostered out.”
“Like, adopted?”
“Sort of. I did not get technical information like you would about his well-being, but just a series of images passed to me though another brother. It think the place you should start looking is called Antigua. There are three volcanoes, very big ones. It is colorful there, and green and the people speak kindly to him. He may be a broadcast telepath, so I don’t know why I can no longer hear him. But I think he’s alive.”
“What makes you think this is the one I’m looking for?”
“There are so few of us left, and I think I can account for all of the others who’re still alive – except for Rho. None of them sent the messages to Sean. None of them would be able to. Which brings me to a task I am going to set for you, Mickey Kostmayer.”
“Me? You want something from me?” Mickey knew he’d say yes before he even thought it through. “I have to complete this mission for Sean. He’s the man who’s paying my expenses. I’m working for him.”
“I know that you must find Rho first. And, in truth, I’m worried about him since I cannot hear him anymore either. But after that, after Rho, you must do something for me. There is another – a little mouse.”
“Mouse?”
It’s the Thai translation of Nu. Nu is in a very, very bad place. He is not strong, and he is being murdered by ignorance. You must promise me you will find him.”
“I might already have a lead on Nu.” Mickey told Phi everything he knew about Dr. Taylor and the rumor of a clone in Belarus, as he’d learned while in transit to Thailand. Phi gave him what information he could, and the agent accepted the assignment. God help him, he had even more clone hunting ahead of him.
“I can’t even adequately thank you for going after Little Mouse,” the monk said softly, his face unreadable in the early night. “I would do it myself, if I were able. We were crèched together when we were very young. I’m afraid that my gift does not lend itself to rescue missions.”
“Yeah? Well, one of my gifts is getting people out of tight spots. If your brother Nu can be found, I’ll find him.”
“I know you will. Now I wish to give something to you, Mickey.” He reached out this time and took Mickey’s warm hand in his. “You live on an island, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Mahè. It’s in the Seychelles.”
“In two years, on the Christian Christmas, do not be on your island. Do not be on the water or near the shore. Do not be anywhere under the Asian sun. Do not let those you love or for whom you are responsible be there.”
Mickey was quiet for a very long time. Finally he snorted. “You have a weird sense of humor, Phi.”
“I am not kidding. My gift if that I can see into the future. On that day you must fear the water.”
“You’re serious. You’re...are you saying something is going to happen to me?”
“Not to you, but to the world. So many will die. So many.” Phi’s voice fell to a whisper, little more than a breath of sound. “So much loss and suffering.”
“But...but...you’re under the Asian sun! You’re near the water! What’da you think is going to happen? Can’t we stop it somehow?”
“You cannot stop what will happen. I am cheating death by telling you this, but there would be nothing you can do to save the world – but only a few. The sea is going to rise up and crush the land, and people will perish. It is what will be.”
He could hear the prayer beads clicking softly. “Are you going to die then, too?”
“No. I have a different fate waiting for me. But we will, for a while, cheat the afterlife of your soul, Mickey. Christmas. 2004. Remember.”
“Jesus Christ, like I could forget.” He realized what he’d said, and cringed. “Sorry. Wow. How do you call something like that a ‘gift’? Shit, it makes me cringe just to imagine it.”
“Why do you think I’m here?” The beads continued to click in the quiet of the fragrant Thai night air.
TITLE: Beyond Design Limitations
CHAPTER: Seven – Longing Only
AUTHOR: Pecos – PecosPhil@sprintmail.com
WEBSITE: http://www.chimerafic.com
BETA: Gloria Mundi - viva_gloria@livejournal.com
RATING: Varies by chapter. This one is PG13
Possibly offensive language, lots of angst
DISCLAIMER: I don’t make the toys, I’m only
playing with them. No money made, nor
disrespect intended. This is FICTION
WHAT IS IT?: RPS / AU
Sequel to ‘Prophecy: Destiny & Design’
WHO’S IN IT?: Sean Bean, Orlando Bloom,
Johnny Depp, Viggo Mortensen and other
actors from ‘The Lord of the Rings’, ‘Pirates
of the Caribbean’, ‘Hidalgo’ and others
FEEDBACK: remember the golden rule, (please!)
ARCHIVE: I’d be honored, just tell me where
PAST CHAPTERS: ‘Prophecy: Destiny & Design’
can be found on my website, Chimerafic.com
and other stories can be found on my LJ at:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/pecos/
NOTE: Please forgive any intentional or
unintentional abuse of facts or history
NOTE 2: Phi (Φ) is pronounced fee, as in feeling
Beyond Design Limitations
Chapter Seven: Longing Only
Craig
So, this was the look they called ‘a deer in the headlamps’. Dominic’s mouth was partially open, and you could see that he was trying to decide what to say, but nothing glib was coming to his alcohol-muddled brain. He slowly pulled his wrist out of Craig’s grip and shook his arm to slide the leather band back over the incriminating marks. Craig winced a bit at the thought of the rough leather rubbing over those relatively fresh burns. Must hurt like hell. But maybe it was all about the pain in the first place.
It was time for Mister Parker to take control of the conversation. “Did Elijah do that?”
“No.”
So, Dom was at least capable of answering questions. Good sign. “Did someone do it to you against your will?”
“No.” The Mancunian was staring at the tablecloth, obviously wondering where his sense of self-preservation had gone off to. Probably on vacation along with his rapier wit. “You don’t need to worry about me,” Dom said at last. It was weak, and he probably knew it.
“Did you do that to yourself, Hobbit?” Craig asked, his voice gentle. He slid his hand over to cover Dom’s where it lay passively on the young man’s thigh. There was a wince there...probably a memory that he thought would be better left alone. Craig knew otherwise. He’d had friends in the past go down a similar road.
Finally Dom whispered the answer. “Yes. I did it.”
“Okay. I’m glad you told me. Now, let’s talk about this, can we? You know that I’m not only your friend, mate, but I’m family. I don’t have the tattoo...but I’m part of the Fellowship too. Elves know how to keep their mouths shut, when we have to. And as gay men, well, we’re there for each other...because sometimes no one else is.”
Dom reached for his drink, but he didn’t say no.
Mickey
Sinking onto his heels on the tatami mats, Mickey stared through the pale light at the young man wearing monk’s robes, seated in the corner and surrounded by small piles of fruit and trinkets, offerings and bits of money. Phi smiled at him, and the sparkling expression was an exact copy of Orlando Gamma’s appealing, dimpled grin. His head wasn’t shaved, but the hair was extremely short – similar to the way Orli Lambda had looked when he was doing ‘Black Hawk Down’ last year. Phi looked to be the same age, which made sense, but his face bore fewer lines, and there was a look of serenity in his bright brown eyes. Several monks could be heard making themselves comfortable outside, a couple chanting softly and at least two engaging in a friendly conversation.
“English is my first language, so don’t worry about translation,” Phi told him. “I can speak Thai now, but sometimes Kosiya still has to interpret for me. Abstract ideas can so easily lose meaning. There are so many glorious shades of intent and inflection.” His smile faded, and he seemed to watch something rising from above Mickey’s head, drifting toward the ceiling of the humble abode.
“How is it that you’ve been expecting me?” Mickey questioned. Even in this bizarre circumstance he still felt some need for self-preservation.
“Oh, I knew you would find me eventually,” Phi said wistfully, still watching phantoms in the air. He puffed out a breath, and seemed to blow it away, then turned his attention back to the seasoned agent, smiling again. “I’m aware of most of the others.”
“Other...clones?” Mickey whispered, leaning closer.
“My brothers. You may come closer if you wish. Most of the people here have a strong sense of personal space, but I rather like being close to living things.” He extended a hand, and Mickey scooted across the floor until he was close enough to touch a knee, should he reach out.
Phi had swept a pile of the offerings and junk aside, and paused to pick through them as he spoke. “I try to discourage the people from bringing me things, but it seems to make some of them feel better. Sometimes I can give it to the next person who comes in. Not all needs are spiritual. Occasionally herbs or money for medicine or a train ticket to visit the ill mother is enough to solve a problem.” He had picked out an assortment of bus tokens and dumped them into an almost empty bowl. The money seemed to interest him least of all, and he didn’t touch it. Phi’s fingers wrapped gently around a couple of ripe rambutans, and he passed the prickly fruit to Mickey. Kostmayer took them with a frown. “Squeeze gently on the seam. The flesh within is like a leeche nut. Sweet, with a taste like strawberries and a texture of pear.”
The rambutan looked like a reddened scrotum, but the leathery exterior popped open just like Phi had promised, and Mickey slid the fruit into his mouth. He’d almost forgotten how hungry he was. The flavor was divine, and he chewed appreciatively. Phi held out his hand, apparently for the almond-shaped pit, and then gave him a mangostino as well. The pits went into a different pile.
Mickey spoke around a mouthful of fruit. “How did you come to be here, Phi?”
A dreamy look crossed the serene face. “I was abandoned. My handler had been taking me to somewhere else – Australia maybe – but when our plane was delayed in Bangkok he just left me in the airport. I think that perhaps there was a change of heart about having me killed.”
“Killed?”
“Oh, not immediately, but eventually. They can use us for experiments, but most seem to die in the end. I don’t think it’s always a physical problem. Eta came to love one of his doctors and died of a broken heart when she left the program and just walked away from him.” Phi lifted his dark gaze and looked deeply into Mickey’s eyes. “I know about what you did for Gamma. That was very good of you. It gave him great peace to end his own life by his own hand. That was all he could ask for by that point. And, of course, most of his spirit lives on in Lambda. Someday it will transcend to a different plane. Some day all of the brothers will be together again, different facets of the same jewel.”
Mickey really was at a total loss here. He’d set out to see if he could find just one of the clones. He hadn’t actually expected to be sitting down and talking intelligently to him. All of the strange and dangerous experiences in Mickey’s life still left him rudderless in this situation. “So, you were cut loose in Bangkok?”
“Yes. And eventually I managed to make my way here. The monks took pity on me in Hua Hin, but they were unable to see what my purpose was. However, I could see a path for myself, and it led here. I slowly made my way up this hill to the Wat. When they saw my resolution they made a place for me, and began to teach me. After a time, they realized that my gift was not a thing to be feared, but a thing that could be used to help the people.”
“Your ‘gift’? What gift?”
“My special talent. All of the cloned zygotes were subjected to mutating influences. This was how they were seeking to find the variation that would lead to the healing properties that reached their zenith in Gamma. We are all alike, and we are all different. Some changes you could clearly see, and some were hidden. Some doomed the clone to fatal errors. A few lived only a short time, and died in horrible pain.” He paused for a moment, frowning deeply, a depth of sadness in his eyes that literally darkened Mickey’s heart. “Some survived to maturity, and then died from an unseen weakness. Of hundreds, only a few lived long enough to become the brothers who were finally given names. Some never even survived the womb.”
“Hundreds?” Mickey whispered. “How could this have been kept secret? Who were the women who carried these babies?”
“Some were the very scientists who worked on the program. Some were lost or homeless, gathered from all over. Many women from many countries. Their race or background didn’t matter, because they passed no genetic material to the fetuses they carried. Many of the mothers didn’t know that they were carrying an unnaturally conceived baby. There were no ethical controls of any kind, just the frenzied search for that perfect mutation.”
“The mutation that meant Gamma could make antibodies for the plague.”
“Right. He was the one who ultimately succeeded. The rest of us were just so many freaks once he’d completed his destiny.”
“I’d hardly use the word ‘freaks’, Phi.”
“Ah, but we are.” The monk smiled again beatifically. “We are strange and abnormal. We were meant to be. I can’t tell you how funny it is to me to know that the world is watching one of us in the movies. I think that the ‘Orlando Bloom’ construction will endure almost anything...as long as he can endure himself.”
Mickey made full note of this prediction, thinking that it would need future elaboration. He started to ask the next question on his mind when a bell was rung somewhere nearby.
“Ah...I’m so sorry to interrupt our interview,” Phi apologized as several of the monks from outside stepped over the high threshold and approached, palms pressed together and bowing toward Phi’s corner. “I have to attend to prayers and a few other duties, and then we will be eating. I would ask that you stay, if you will.”
“Of course,” Mickey promised, surprised when one of the monks indicated that he should move back, away from Phi. He scooted out of the way and Phi gathered his robes neatly while the monks stepped over and around the donations to reach his sides. The young monks gently took Phi’s lifted arms, and it was then that something clicked in Mickey’s mind. Even before they had lifted Phi to his feet, he knew what to expect. The withered limbs were thus not a surprise, but they were made no less hideous by comparison to Orlando’s strong, sure legs. The monks gently carried Phi from the cottage and Mickey stood on his own to follow.
He remembered the brutal climb he’d made that morning up the hill to the temple, and then remembered that Phi said he had made it to this Wat under his own power. He could all but see the young man dragging himself painfully up that precipitous hill.
No wonder the monks were willing to take him in and see what he had to teach them.
Viggo
He wasn’t the kind of man to lie around moaning about jetlag and waiting for someone to help him get oriented. A scant two hours after he’d arrived in Morocco, Viggo was on the set where they were getting ready to film the desert scenes for ‘Hidalgo’. They didn’t even have his costumes there yet, but the actor was up and ready. He was introducing himself to the locally hired crewmembers and walking the set looking for interesting vistas to photograph. He could tell that he was going to fly through film here at a rate nearly as high as he had in New Zealand. A familiar whinny reached his ears, and he headed for the corrals.
Sure enough, it was TJ shrieking, the stallion twisting at the end of his rope and stamping his hooves angrily at the handlers.
“Hey, Little Brother,” Viggo cooed, going in fearlessly close to the agitated horse. “Hey now...I’m here too. See, I’ve come as well. You’re not alone. You know these men, you know some of the other horses....”
“He just won’t settle,” the groom said unhappily. “He’s been like this since he got him out of the trailer.”
“One of the local mares in heat?” Viggo questioned.
“This ain’t horny TJ, this is scared TJ,” the cowboy said.
Viggo tried to sooth his horse with hands and voice, but the Paint was having none of it. His eyes were rolling and his feet danced over the sandy packed dirt frantically. He shrilled again, deafeningly, and some of the other horses called back, picking up his fear. Viggo winced, physically sickened by his horse’s panic.
“Maybe it’s the camels and all. None of the horses we brought over have ever seen a camel, and it seems to upset most of them.”
“Something in the air,” Viggo said. “Poor Teej, locked up in boxes for so long, and now he doesn’t know where he is or what the hell’s going to happen next.” The stallion snorted explosively, stamping and pawing. Viggo took the lead rope from the groom and passed it over TJ’s neck, tying the loose end to the ring on the halter. “Go get the gate, will ya, Jimmy?”
“You can’t be serious. Viggo...come on. Joe will have my ass.”
“Just get the gate. You know I won’t let you get into trouble.”
“There’s nothing out there but desert!”
“That’s the idea.”
TJ danced sideways, but Viggo had a handful of the Paint’s mane and swung up onto his back smoothly. Muttering about losing his job, the handler undid a connection on a section of the temporary fence and swung it open. TJ was off like a shot, Viggo clinging gamely to the stallion’s bare back.
“You’re insane!” Jimmy yelled after him, then coughed in the flinty cloud of dust that TJ’s flight raised.
Darting nimbly past all the equipment and people, around the trucks and into the open land, the stallion ran flat out. He was going low to the ground, head down, watching the unfamiliar surface, hooves pounding a ragged four-beat. Viggo was low too, clinging to the powerful horse’s withers with his thighs, hands tangled in the whipping mane, exhilarating in the rush of energy and speed. The stallion had plenty of stamina, and a lot of pent energy, and they rushed up hills and over dunes with little regard for direction or destination. But after many long minutes the horse slowed to a canter, and his head came up, looking around at the empty land. His ears flicked constantly forward and back, looking around himself and listening to Viggo’s chanted litany of reassurance.
TJ galloped on for a while longer, blowing hard through dilated nostrils, and Viggo did nothing to slow him down. Eventually the Paint dropped to a trot, and as they reached yet another small valley between dunes the horse eased to a walk.
“Look at it,” Viggo urged. “Look at the horizon, Little Brother. This land is empty and pure. This is the kind of land a man – or a horse – is meant to get lost in. No one controls this land. No one can really own it. This is how the world was before, how it was made. This is the kind of land that the Arabians were bred for; that the desert people know.”
TJ snorted heavily, and when Viggo finally pulled on the halter rope, the horse obediently stopped. Viggo slid off the sweaty back and took a couple of steps to ease the cramps in his legs from gripping the slick animal. He pulled on TJ’s lead until the horse came to him, head lowered and eyes calm for the first time.
“Now, do you feel better, Brother? Did you chase the demons? Look around, Teej. This place is completely alien to both of us...but we’re not alone. You are here, and I am here, and your posse is here. Men and women who love you and will care for you are here. And when we’ve done what we came to do, you’ll go back to the land of water and grass and familiar smells. Do you trust me, Brother? Do you trust me to take care of you here? Because I will. You will not be left alone in this place. I’m here with you too.”
The stallion raised his head again, testing the wind, snorting. Viggo reached out and stroked his proud neck. “I trust you, TJ. Do you trust me?” Then he untied and unclipped the halter rope, leaving the stallion under no physical restraint. TJ shook his head and danced away a few meters, sampling his freedom. “You have to trust me too, Brother, or this partnership doesn’t work.” Viggo turned a shoulder to the horse, affecting a posture that wise trainers all over the world had learned by studying animal body language. Viggo was saying ‘please accept me. Please let me join your herd and be your friend.’ It was only a few moments before he heard hooves in the sand, and then a velvety muzzle rubbed his back.
Viggo stepped away again, just to be sure. He spoke very softly. “You could run all the way to the mountains, Brother. You could be free forever. If you stay with me, it is your choice.” TJ hesitated for a moment, looking at something in the far distance, then he blew softly and stepped to Viggo again. Viggo grinned and turned to rub TJ’s ears. “Okay, then. Let’s start walking back, shall we? And then we’ll see what the hell is wrong with those camel things. I know how bad they stink, and not good, honest horse stink either.”
The Jeep ground up a rise to meet them quite a few minutes later, Joe Dante standing in the passenger side. “Jesus, Viggo...you crazy-ass fucker! You can’t just...don’t tell me that horse is off lead! Don’t you even tell me that the fucking horse is loose in goddamned Morocco! Viggo!”
TJ shook his head, gazing placidly at the furious director.
Viggo grinned at Joe, nodding to the producer behind the wheel.
“You didn’t fucking fall off that crazy horse, did you?” Joe almost screamed.
Viggo laughed, finally re-clipping the lead rope, and then jumping back up onto TJ’s sturdy back. “Hi there, Joe. Nice location you guys found. We were just looking around. Want to race back to the set?” He urged TJ forward with a gentle squeeze.
“Jesus...Viggo...you crazy-ass mother fucker!” Joe was still yelling after the departing rider. Then the producer got their Jeep stuck in the sand.
Orlando
The ship heaved gently to one side, and Orlando’s stomach heaved the other way. It was only a slight swell, but it felt like a rollercoaster to the young man. After he’d hidden his medication bottles a couple of days ago he’d forgotten about them. He had been warned not to suddenly stop taking the pills – warned again and again – but he’d screwed it up. Orlando Lambda thought that he screwed up just about everything he tried to do on his own.
His head was spinning. ‘Dizziness’, the bottle warned. Apparently that meant double if you missed a few doses. Orlando got to his feet and hurried toward the railings, dodging laughing crewmembers. He staggered against a hatch cover, whacking his shin, and tripped over a rope. Someone caught him before he fell, but he pulled away without speaking, intent on the rail. He got there just in time to vomit generously over the side of the ship. How could he have so much bile in his stomach? He hadn’t eaten that morning. He hadn’t eaten last night either, come to think about it. His thin frame shook as he wretched miserably.
“Oh, god, not again,” a woman sighed behind him. “We really need you this morning, Orli! I’ll go call the medic.”
“No!” he blurted, trying to fight the heaving inside himself. “No...I’ll be fine! Just give me...just a min....”
“What the P in Pirate is going on here?” demanded Johnny loudly, in full, marvelously camp character. “Mister Turner...are you feeding the fish?”
Orlando waved his hand weakly in his costar’s direction, desperately needing a moment before he ended up dislodging his toenails. The ship rocked unsympathetically, and he gagged.
“I should have known...blacksmith!” Johnny grumbled. “Go on, the lot of you. Nothing to see here. If there’s going to be any blood I’ll let you lot know. Back off now! Go on! Go do something useful!”
Suddenly strong hands had gripped his ribs, squeezing gently, and then Johnny was pressed up against Orlando’s back. Bits of his costume brushed Orli’s hot skin as Johnny wrapped his arms around the sweaty torso, taking him in a no-nonsense grip. “I’ve got you,” the actor whispered, leaning over to tip his be-jangled head against Orli’s cheek. “I’ve got you.”
Orlando’s world was still spinning, but it felt so reassuring to have someone anchoring him – even if it was just for a moment. He let his guard down just a fraction, a tiny little bit, and suddenly tears were swarming in his eyes and his throat seemed to clamp shut on rising sobs. He tried to pull away, leaning farther over the railing, but Johnny wouldn’t let him go and Orlando was far too weak to fight him. He gulped for air as tears and snot dripped off his nose, falling to the ocean below. Johnny was now gently stroking his back and sides, up and down, a pattern that was meant to be soothing. But it just made Orlando even more miserable. He shook with fatigue and shame, crying, nails digging into the wood of the ship’s railing.
“Go away,” Orlando choked out.
“Shh, shh now. It’ll pass. Try to relax. Can you look at the horizon?”
“Please!” he gasped, fighting another dry heave.
“I’ve got you,” Johnny insisted. “Quit fighting me.” He grabbed Orli’s near hand and squeezed it firmly. His other hand left Orlando’s back for a moment, there was a shuffling of feet, and then Johnny was bringing a small towel around to his face. Orlando grabbed it and buried his shamed face from view, scrubbing madly at traitorous eyes and nose and mouth. The towel smelled of fabric softener and clean, and it already made him feel better to breathe it in. Then Johnny was helping him straighten up, bringing a water bottle to his lips. Orlando gripped the towel with one hand, the railing with the other, and let Johnny pour the cool water into his burning mouth. It was a very intimate sensation, though intimacy was about the last thing on Orli’s mind just at that moment.
Johnny embraced him again, tightly, turning his back to the ocean to glare at encroaching crewmembers over Orlando’s shoulder. “Give us a minute, will ya?” He hissed. “Look at the horizon, poppet,” he whispered into Orli’s ear. “Take a deep breath. And another. It’s just seasickness. It’s not the end of the world.”
So why did it feel like the end of the world?
The ship rocked again, but this time it was just a distraction. Orlando’s breathing calmed. He managed to take the water bottle himself and get another long drink. The tightness in his throat eased. He was fighting the urge to keep crying. Johnny seemed to sense that, and he was stroking Orli’s back again, the way you would with a child. Orlando thought for a brief moment that it was the first time anyone had ever done that for him.
“Let me see the damage,” a woman asked gently, leaning out so she could see Orlando’s face. “Ugh.” She moved away. “You couldn’t find enough makeup in a New Orleans brothel to put some color back in those cheeks,” she told Gore loudly enough so everyone on deck could hear.
“Okay, then,” the director called with forced lightness. “We shoot Will Turner from the back today! Let’s get ready for some close-ups of Jack.”
“It’s the depth of compassion that always amazes me,” Johnny whispered in Orli’s ear. “If you fell on your sword they’d want a three-camera cover before they called an ambulance. They’d probably have the art director rearrange the blood stains for best light.” Orlando grunted in answer. He was feeling really proud of being able to do that much. “You do remember that we have a flight to LA tonight, right?” Johnny asked.
“Oh, god....” he moaned.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine by then. We’ll get you some nice soup and some crackers back on dry land, and maybe a couple of protein bars. These ribs are like a washboard. And then, when the plane takes off, we’ll get so crazy that they have to pour us out on the ground in LA. Sound like a plan?”
Orli pressed his cheek against Johnny’s. He would have kissed him if he didn’t have the most disgusting face and mouth in the West Indies. He pulled away at last, incredibly relieved to find that his head was no longer spinning, at least for the moment. Johnny fell to straightening his own costume fussily, letting the makeup artist dart in to start restoring Captain Jack to full splendor.
Scrubbing his face one last time, Orlando came out from behind the towel to see the disapproving looks on a couple of the crew’s faces. Viggo and Sean would be so disappointed in him. His heart sank even lower.
Mickey
Later that night Mickey had another chance to talk to Phi. The young monk had been settled on a grassy knoll overlooking the distant water, and he was chanting softly, hands moving over an obviously ancient string of prayer beads. Phi’s beautiful face was a picture of calm in the fading light. He finished his chant and closed his eyes for a moment, and then extended a hand, offering Mickey the smooth bit of ground closest to him.
“I’ve been trying to imagine what you’ve been through, what all it took for you to get here,” Mickey said, sharing the view and wishing he knew how to meditate
“I was meant to be here,” Phi said happily. “I will die here. The where means nothing, the here is inside me.”
“Uh, okay.” Mickey smacked a blood-bloated mosquito, then glanced sideways to see if he would get a reproachful look from the monk.
“I’m not that holy,” Phi said with a mild smirk. “Did you see the coils in my room?”
“You should see if your ‘people’ can’t make offering with some DEET, or some netting for your pallet.”
Phi snorted. “I think we could have been good friends, Mickey. I know that Gamma liked you, and of course you rescued Lambda. You were very gentle with him.”
“That’s me all right. A perfect gentleman.”
“More than even you know. Now, you had another question for me?”
Mickey waited for a moment, wondering how to put things now that he finally had a chance to ask someone who might know the answer. “My mission is to find one of your ‘brothers.’ I’m not searching for my own reasons, but because I’ve been asked to do so by someone who knew Gamma very well, and...well, he says he loved him.”
“Sean.”
“Yeah, I should have realized. Of course you know.”
“He did love Gamma. The feeling was mutual, at least as mutual as Gamma was capable of feeling love for anyone. He was so badly damaged in body and soul, that one.” Phi paused for a moment, whispering a prayer.
“Of course,” Mickey said, trying not to sound like he was interrupting. “Well, see, Sean thinks he’s been getting messages from another clone. Like ‘echoes’, he’s calling them. He thinks there’s one who’s trying to reach him somehow. Sean thinks he’s heard from this clone for a long time now.”
“Sean is right.”
Mickey reached out and touched the monk’s arm in a gesture of surprise. “He is?” Realizing the breech of etiquette, he retracted his hand and forced himself to lean back again, giving Phi his personal space.
“I think it might be Rho.”
“Row?”
Phi drew a figure in the air. It looked like a capital ‘P’, with a serif at the bottom. “Rho. Now you’re going to ask me what I know about him, so I’ll just tell you what I can. Rho was from our German facility, which was where he had contact with Gamma when they were very young. I don’t know where they sent him when he matured, but he was in the program for the very promising. This probably means that he didn’t develop poorly or suffer ill health, unlike some of us.” Phi smiled at his own deformity, rubbing a useless, bony knee. “I don’t hear from Rho directly anymore. Our link seems to have severed, but I know a couple of things about where they sent him when they decided to concentrate on Gamma. Rho was fostered out.”
“Like, adopted?”
“Sort of. I did not get technical information like you would about his well-being, but just a series of images passed to me though another brother. It think the place you should start looking is called Antigua. There are three volcanoes, very big ones. It is colorful there, and green and the people speak kindly to him. He may be a broadcast telepath, so I don’t know why I can no longer hear him. But I think he’s alive.”
“What makes you think this is the one I’m looking for?”
“There are so few of us left, and I think I can account for all of the others who’re still alive – except for Rho. None of them sent the messages to Sean. None of them would be able to. Which brings me to a task I am going to set for you, Mickey Kostmayer.”
“Me? You want something from me?” Mickey knew he’d say yes before he even thought it through. “I have to complete this mission for Sean. He’s the man who’s paying my expenses. I’m working for him.”
“I know that you must find Rho first. And, in truth, I’m worried about him since I cannot hear him anymore either. But after that, after Rho, you must do something for me. There is another – a little mouse.”
“Mouse?”
It’s the Thai translation of Nu. Nu is in a very, very bad place. He is not strong, and he is being murdered by ignorance. You must promise me you will find him.”
“I might already have a lead on Nu.” Mickey told Phi everything he knew about Dr. Taylor and the rumor of a clone in Belarus, as he’d learned while in transit to Thailand. Phi gave him what information he could, and the agent accepted the assignment. God help him, he had even more clone hunting ahead of him.
“I can’t even adequately thank you for going after Little Mouse,” the monk said softly, his face unreadable in the early night. “I would do it myself, if I were able. We were crèched together when we were very young. I’m afraid that my gift does not lend itself to rescue missions.”
“Yeah? Well, one of my gifts is getting people out of tight spots. If your brother Nu can be found, I’ll find him.”
“I know you will. Now I wish to give something to you, Mickey.” He reached out this time and took Mickey’s warm hand in his. “You live on an island, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Mahè. It’s in the Seychelles.”
“In two years, on the Christian Christmas, do not be on your island. Do not be on the water or near the shore. Do not be anywhere under the Asian sun. Do not let those you love or for whom you are responsible be there.”
Mickey was quiet for a very long time. Finally he snorted. “You have a weird sense of humor, Phi.”
“I am not kidding. My gift if that I can see into the future. On that day you must fear the water.”
“You’re serious. You’re...are you saying something is going to happen to me?”
“Not to you, but to the world. So many will die. So many.” Phi’s voice fell to a whisper, little more than a breath of sound. “So much loss and suffering.”
“But...but...you’re under the Asian sun! You’re near the water! What’da you think is going to happen? Can’t we stop it somehow?”
“You cannot stop what will happen. I am cheating death by telling you this, but there would be nothing you can do to save the world – but only a few. The sea is going to rise up and crush the land, and people will perish. It is what will be.”
He could hear the prayer beads clicking softly. “Are you going to die then, too?”
“No. I have a different fate waiting for me. But we will, for a while, cheat the afterlife of your soul, Mickey. Christmas. 2004. Remember.”
“Jesus Christ, like I could forget.” He realized what he’d said, and cringed. “Sorry. Wow. How do you call something like that a ‘gift’? Shit, it makes me cringe just to imagine it.”
“Why do you think I’m here?” The beads continued to click in the quiet of the fragrant Thai night air.
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I like Phi very much, he is the centre of all of the clones. So sweet of him to want to help Nu. And Rho is the one contacting Sean. And warning Mickey for the tsunami as a thanks is really good of him.
Poor Orli Lambda is not feeling very well, is he? I'm glad Johnny is there to help him, he'll need it.
I'm looking forward to the next chapter of this!
Kayleigh
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so, there are 2 more clones to find, one in the monastery and one 'Orlando Bloom' ... Dom and Elijah and Craig, Sean, Viggo ... can't wait to see how the strands are going to tie together!
:)
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