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fellowshippers2006-07-01 09:53 pm
pecos.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-07-01 09:53 pm
Beyond Design Limitations, chapter 17
Here’s another chapter of the slowest story in history: one chapter ever twenty-eight years or so. Sorry. Please be sure to heed the chapter warning - there is some very nasty violence in this one. Please send a moment of thanks to my brilliant, ever-patient and encouraging beta, the heavenly Gloria Mundi.
For anyone who has not read all chapters so far, may I kindly recommend going to my journal and using the tag to go back to the start - otherwise you'll be pretty Lost...and I don't mean Charlie lost....
TITLE: Beyond Design Limitations
CHAPTER: Seventeen – Well-Known Stranger
AUTHOR: Pecos – PecosPhil@sprintmail.com
WEBSITE: http://www.chimerafic.com
BETA: Gloria Mundi - viva_gloria@livejournal.com
RATING: Varies by chapter. This one is NC-17
WARNING! Violence! Death of a minor character
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’
which can be found on my website
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!)
NOTE: Please forgive any intentional or
unintentional abuse of facts or history.
Story takes place in early 2002
Beyond Design Limitations
Chapter Seventeen: Well-Known Stranger
Rho
They’d gone on to the hotel where Sean’s meeting would be held. It turned out to be a mind-numbingly posh affair filled with the most glamorous people Rho had ever seen. He’d been trying not to gape at the perfectly painted women in spike-heeled shoes, tailored jackets and tiny black dresses and the smartly suited men, all of whom just oozed a sense of wealth and privilege. Sean leaned over and whispered, “Those are the staff, Pepper. You’re not supposed to actually look at them, and they try not to really look at you.” This was just too bizarre.
A man wearing baggy worn jeans and a dirty shirt brushed past them, heading into the bar, tapping a beat-up pack of cigarettes on the palm of his hand. “Oi, Colin!” Sean called cheerfully to him.
“Bean!” The man had a thick accent. “Join us for a few?”
“Maybe later, mate” Sean said ambiguously, gesturing toward the elevators. That was the end of their conversation. Rho watched the departing stranger, and thought that he looked more like a gardener or dirty Euro backpacker than some sort of celebrity. Sean was waiting for him at the elevator. There was a man there who pushed the button for them and nodded graciously as they stepped into the car, wishing them a pleasant evening. That was even more bizarre.
The suite of rooms was bigger than Tia’s entire house, including the courtyard…and most of the house next door. It felt almost as big as the estancia in Guatemala. Everything inside was tastefully color-coordinated and delicate. There was food in the kitchen and flowers on the tables. Their battered little luggage was already laid out on stands in two separate bedrooms, Sean’s tasteful leather carry-on and Rho’s cheap canvas knapsack.
“Is this your house?” Rho finally asked as Sean finished a phone call he’d made upon entering.
“Just a hotel, Rho.” Sean looked around like he was only noticing the place for the first time. “A bit Hollywood, I suppose. But that’s where we are, aye? My agent set this up for a meeting.”
“What does this cost?” Rho asked softly, just unable to grasp that no one lived here full-time, let alone whole families.
“You don’t even wanna know,” Sean said with a grin. “Probably more than yer Uncle’s shop made in a month, to be honest. But remember, this is supposed to be normal for you while you’re being Orlando.”
“This is not normal,” Rho complained. He’d found a remote control, but had no idea what it worked. There were a lot of buttons on it.
“I’m going to take a shower and change,” Sean told him, stripping off his shirt as he headed into one of the bedrooms. “Dom will be coming back with Billy around eleven. Why don’t you snoop around? I’m sure you can find a snack too, if you’re hungry. Just don’t open any bottles with corks. You won’t even want to know what some of those can cost. My accountant already thinks I’m an alcoholic.” Chuckling to himself, Sean booted the door partially shut behind him.
A few minutes later Rho was sprawled on the leather couch drinking a bottle of water, eating candy bars, and pushing buttons on the remote when he heard a dinging sound. Hmm…he’d thought that one made the lights get brighter. He pushed it again. The sound dinged once more. Strange. He wondered what that meant. Then there was a persistent knocking sound at the hall door and Rho scrambled to his feet. He thought he could hear Sean still singing in the shower, water rushing faintly. Well, he was supposed to be comfortable here. Rho schooled his face into cheerful boredom and went to answer the door.
“Hello!” called a genial man with a strong German accent. “I’m Wolfgang. Sean’s agent told me he had arrived, and I hope to move our meeting up a bit. I’ve got another, er, obligation, which came up suddenly.”
Rho was too stunned to react for a moment. The last time he had heard a German had been at the lab, and while that had been some time ago and he had been treated pretty well, it still sent a quick jolt of fear through him.
“I’m sorry!” Wolfgang said abruptly. “Is something wrong?”
Rho realized that he’d let his feelings through to his face. He immediately changed his expression. “No, no, it’s fine! I just remembered something…bad. Nothing to do with…please come in!” He stepped back to let the big man enter. He could read Wolfgang’s surprise at his reaction, and quickly altered his manner to suit what the strange man expected. “Sean’s taking a shower. If you don’t mind making yourself comfortable,” he gestured toward the seating arrangements. “Can I get you anything to drink? Nothing with a cork, but there’s water and soft drinks and fruit juice, beers…snacks….”
Wolfgang had turned, and was now smiling at him. “Beer, please. Anything but American, if you have it, ja? You seem very familiar, young man. Are you Sean’s assistant?”
“I’m Orlando, Orlando Bloom,” Rho said, getting into the fridge and trying to guess where the various drinks were from. The names and labels were no help whatsoever. He picked a couple of different cans at random and carried them to where Wolfgang had taken a seat. With luck, one of them would be what the man had asked for, and Rho could drink the other, like he’d planned it that way. He took a seat across from the stranger and arranged himself carefully. “I’m Sean’s friend, an actor,” he said, responding to the curious looks he was getting. “Sean and I were in The Lord of the Rings together.”
“Ah! Of course! I should have know, such a good-looking young man! You were the Elf, ja?”
“That’s right, Legolas! I know…I look different without the blond hair. I hear that a lot.”
“Such a cast, that one. So many fine actors, and the scenery, whew! It must have been a lot of fun. What else is in your CV?” Wolfgang asked, peering at him seriously.
“Uh, well…” Rho quickly sorted through Orlando’s history, as he remembered what Sean had told him and the few things he knew for himself. “A little bit of theatre while in Guildhall, some television. All three Rings movies, Black Hawk Down…”
“Ridley Scott! A great man!”
“Oh, yeah! He’s just amazing! Fabulous movie. Also Ned Kelly, some boxing movie,” his memory was getting sketchy, “and right now I’m, uh, filming Pirates of the Caribbean with Gore Verbinski.”
“A lead?” Wolfgang questioned.
“Co-star, with Johnny Depp,” Rho said, thinking that it was wrong to take credit for Gamma’s hard work. But he was just doing what was expected. He shrugged off the thought and gratefully snatched the remaining beer after Wolfgang finally took one.
“You are very modest, with such credentials,” the German offered. “This is rare in our business.”
“I don’t deserve to be anything but modest,” Rho said, smiling around his drink. “I’m still new to acting. Have you known Sean long?”
Wolfgang laughed. “I mostly know his manager and agent and what I’ve seen in the theatre. Richard Sharpe! But I think he will be perfect for this part, the Kingly wanderer, brave Odysseus. I hope he is feeling the same way.”
Rho laughed, because he didn’t know what else he should do. “Sean would be brilliant doing any role you have for him!”
“We have secured Eric Bana for Hector, although this is not in the trades yet,” Wolfgang confessed softly. “He will anchor the whole cast.”
“That’s fabulous!” Rho suddenly remembered something from Orlando’s bio. “Eric was in Black Hawk Down too, uh, with me! He’s a great guy – just like my big brother. He taught me so much! He took care of me on the set; I was so green and it was really hard work, being in Morocco to film and being soldiers and all.”
Wolfgang was looking at Rho with a whole new gleam in his eye. “You don’t like hot climates then? Was filming a war movie too much?”
“What? No! Look at this tan! I’ve been in Mexico, uh, and the Caribbean. I love it hot – I’m solar powered. I love to travel – new places, new food, new people. And the Rings films were war movies, if you think about it. It was just really different in Africa than the other places I’ve been, right? New Zealand and all.” He schooled his face to reflect total sincerity. “Every new opportunity should be appreciated and cherished.”
“He’s too young to play Odysseus!” Sean suddenly said, coming in from the other room, still buttoning his shirt. “Don’t try to steal my part, Elf Prince!”
Sean quickly shook hands with Wolfgang, and Rho breathed a sigh of relief. Sean accepted the offer of a drink as well, and Rho fetched it then made himself scarce while the two men talked about the movie, script, compensation and concepts.
Rho took a shower in his own room, luxuriating in everything from the temperature of the water to the thickness of the towels. He was thinking ahead to when Dom and Billy would arrive, wondering what the evening would be like and only mildly concerned about the day that would follow. Whatever happened next would sort itself out, it always did. He wasn’t much one for long-term plans.
Preoccupied, Rho wandered back into the central room of the suite with just his new jeans on. He’d assumed that Wolfgang would have left, but Sean still wasn’t alone. There were papers spread all over the glass table, sketches of locations and costume designs. Sean was laughing about showing off his legs, saying that a nasty scar he bore should add authenticity. Rho hesitated in the doorway, ready to retreat.
“My,” Wolfgang said, staring at him more intently than Rho thought appropriate. “My…yes. You are even more attractive than I realized, Mister Orlando Bloom.”
“Wrong casting couch, Wolfie,” Sean teased, at ease despite Rho’s misgivings.
Wolfgang grinned at Bean, then turned back to Rho again, letting his eyes scour the young man’s frame. “Turn around, please? You are working out for your role in the pirate movie?”
“Uh, I pretty much just look like this,” Rho told him, turning slowly, surprised that Sean hadn’t intervened. But he was getting mixed signals from his mentor. He fussed with his messy damp hair for a moment, then pulled himself up and looked as imperious and impervious as he could. He could play it cool. He was supposed to be an actor. Rho strutted across the room to the kitchen, deciding that he should inventory what was still in the cabinets before their other, hopefully more companionable, guests arrived.
“What’re you thinking, Wolfgang?” Sean asked under his breath, just loud enough that Rho could hear him.
“Our first choice for Paris didn’t work out. He is demanding points, and his take on the character is too aloof, more conceited than I want. There has to be some degree of sympathy for Paris, despite his vanity and motivations.”
Rho busied himself in the kitchen while the two men finished their meeting. Sean stood at last, shaking Wolfgang’s hand. Rho met them at the door, smiling shyly as the German looked him over one more time. “Such a complexion! You were made for close-ups, young man.”
“Not exactly,” Rho laughed. “I was actually made for something else, but I’ve come to understand that I’m relatively good-looking anyhow.”
“May I ask your agent for quotes?”
Rho didn’t know quite what that meant, but Sean quickly inserted, “Orlando guarantees a lot of box office appeal with a unique demographic. He won’t be underrated for long. Pretty soon this is going to be the hottest young actor of his generation. I’m sure you can imagine that he gets his pick of roles, but make a good offer, Wolfgang. Tell him who your manager is, Orlando.”
Rho had practiced that one. “Aleen Keshishian at The Firm.”
Wolfgang shook Rho’s hand too, and after several more comments and compliments he was gone. Bean turned slowly to meet the clone’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Sean,” Rho quickly said. “I didn’t know who he was. I just thought you would want me to let him in and talk to him.”
Sean laughed suddenly. “Pepper…you likely just got Orlando a lead in Troy!”
“Uh, is that a good thing?”
Sean scooped him into a big hug. “Yeah, it’s a good thing!” He mussed the curly hair roughly. “Getting offers from a director like Petersen is always a good thing for an actor.”
“I’m not really an actor, though,” Rho mused aloud.
“You just were. You just did it.”
Nu
He’d spat out the pills at lunchtime. The drugs only made it into his system every few days, when the nurse would watch him too closely or for too long. It wasn’t that Nu didn’t like being relaxed and sleeping so much, but it made him too vulnerable when he was fuzzy headed. If you didn’t take care of yourself no one else was going to do it.
Nu had perfected the appearance of swallowing while actually keeping the bitter little white and yellow pills at the very back of his tongue, where they would burn until he had a chance to move them into a cheek or spit them into his hand. After that, whatever was left of the pills usually got mashed into the big crack underneath the windowsill in the day room. He made sure he was always near that window when the orderlies came around with meds. If someone ever got down on their knees and peered into the once-wide crack they would have thought it had been re-plastered with colorful spackle.
Today he’d had the chance to get rid of the pills at breakfast and lunch, so he was feeling pretty lucid. On days like that, Nu liked to watch any activity outside the dirty windows and speculate about what the rest of the world looked like. He’d known laboratories, and he’d known dormitories. There had been a trip to this current facility, which was by far the worst place he’d ever been, but beyond that Nu only knew what he’d seen on the television and in the movies the facility let them watch. Oh, and he knew what he overheard the attendants and guards say, when he could understand them, but he’d learned not to trust any of those sources. Things happened in movies that could never happen in real life.
In real life, there was no such thing as a happy ending.
He glared at a fellow ‘patient’, Viktor, as the big man stomped by, patrolling the room. It usually only took Viktor a moment to fly into a rage that would involve patients, attendants and furniture – likely ending with several of these things broken. Viktor had learned to leave Nu out of his destructive rages, but sometimes he forgot. Sometimes Nu got dragged in anyhow. Viktor looked agitated that afternoon. He’d probably managed not to swallow his own medications. Nu kept a close eye on him, listening with half an ear to the muttered oaths and threats in a language that Nu didn’t understand. He thought about prisoners and wars and people that had been forgotten. Nu wondered if Rambo was real, and if he would ever come to rescue crazy people.
A storm was building up outside. The scrawny trees beyond the fence whipped in a wind from the east. It was nearly an hour later that the storm inside the facility broke. For once Nu didn’t see or hear it coming, and he was the first one hit as a chair sailed across the room into the back of his legs, bringing him down hard with a bang as his head struck the cement floor. He could only hear the fight that had erupted as suddenly as the lightening outside, as his eyes were squeezed shut in pain, stars flashing behind closed lids. Nu’s ankles were grabbed abruptly and he was jerked sideways.
He only had seconds to react. Nu joined the fight, one that he couldn’t afford to lose, but the odds were against him.
Viggo
It took a few minutes to sort out the Puerto Rican with the bloody hand. The bottle had exploded harmlessly enough, but he’d grabbed tighter on the broken pieces of glass and done most of the damage himself. Viggo joked that the alcohol in the beer had probably sterilized the cuts. The injury was limited to a few lacerations, and the man was more surprised and baffled than hurt. Viggo had been arguing with him about the US military testing range off the shores of Puerto Rico more out of pleasure at the chance to argue in Spanish than out of any profound political conviction on the topic. Of course, it pretty much always seemed like a good idea to Viggo to discourage anyone from bombing anything.
By the time he got free and looked for Orli the young man had already left the gathering. There were cars outside waiting to take people back to their hotels, but a quick word with the lounging drivers told him that Orlando had chosen to walk back, likely in the direction of the beach. Viggo struck off smartly along the sand, and it didn’t take too long to see a small cluster of people ahead.
Orlando had stopped to talk to a couple of people from the crew, most of them extras. The young man glanced up as Viggo arrived, but in the dim light it was hard to read his face. Viggo passed the expected pleasantries and Orlando quickly made his apologies and moved on. The two of them walked in silence for a few minutes. Viggo toed off his shoes and veered closer to the firm sand at the water’s edge, enjoying the dampness on his soles and the occasional refreshing wash of the tide. “I’m sorry that you’re upset,” Viggo finally said.
Several beats passed before Orlando responded, and his voice was very soft and calm – a bit too much so to be honest. “I knew that you were going to have to go back.” He seemed to want to leave it there.
Viggo bent to tug a bit of seaweed from between his toes. When he stood up again he started quoting a favorite poem. “Hay países, hay ríos en tus ojos, ani patria está en tus ojos, yo maino por ellos, ellos dan luz al mundo por donde yo camino, bella.”* Their feet made no sound over the hiss of the tide and the jovial night sounds of the city at their side. “That was from Lovely One, by Pablo Neruda.”
“I got the gist of it,” Orlando whispered. “You don’t need to woo me, Viggo.”
“But I think I do. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Silence, but for the sound of the water. “I’m not upset any more.” This was probably a lie, and they both knew it.
“It’s just too convenient for me to go on the plane with them, Orli-bear. If I made my own arrangements in another day or two it’d take me three times as long to get there, probably more, and my company really need me back on my own set. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you before the party.”
“Like I said, I knew you would leave.”
Viggo turned suddenly and wrapped Orlando’s stiff form in his arms. “I’ve got about two more weeks of principal photography. When I’m done I’m coming back here, or to LA if that’s where you’ll be, and then I’m going to take you away for a little while. You need to get your feet under yourself. You need to sort out who Lambda is. You need to let Gamma rest, and Alpha too. You need time to become yourself. I think it’s all sliding around inside you, and it’s too much.”
There was a moment when he was angry again, and then every bit as suddenly Orlando looked just incredibly sad and lonely and tired. He nearly collapsed into Viggo’s reassuring embrace. “I’m going to…I’ll miss you.”
“And I’ll miss you too. But I’m coming back. You realize that, right? You believe it?”
“I believe…you’ll come back.” Unspoken was their realization that if Viggo didn’t it was going to be too much for Lambda to handle. He couldn’t keep going the way he had been. Something was going to break that would be impossible to put together again.
* ‘Lovely One’, roughly translated:
There are countries
there are rivers in your eyes
my country is in your eyes
I walk through them
they light the world through which I walk
lovely one.
Sean
Laughing, he leaned back against the cool leather of the sofa and watched his friends. Billy was extolling, at great length, the dubious pleasures to be had living in a coastal town in Mexico while working on a movie as massive and expensive as Master and Commander. Rocoto was doing a great job of laughing at the foibles of the cast and crew, the hazards of the local food, and the hilarity to be gained from watching Mexican television. His eyes sparkled with mirth – not a single bit of anger or resentment. He was enjoying Billy’s observations exactly as another citizen of the United Kingdom would – laughing at themselves as much as the locals, seeing humor in everything and taking the piss out of everyone and every situation, no matter how serious. Only occasionally would Rho mutter a correction of pronunciation or fill-in a forgotten place name, and Billy failed to notice this as a pattern.
Dominic was watching them as well, inserting caustic comments wherever possible, sipping his whiskey and soda with unusual reserve. He’d warmed a bit to Rho despite his initial reservations. He’d agreed not to ‘out’ the clone to Billy unless the Scot brought up the topic on his own, and it seemed unlikely that this was going to happen now. Billy apparently figured that time and experience had seasoned the Orlando he’d known so well in New Zealand.
Sean mused for a moment on the irony of Rho winning over Wolfgang Peterson so effortlessly. Since all of the clones had reportedly been mutated in various ways, some more egregiously than others, Sean wondered if this was one of Rho’s special ‘talents’. If so, it was a very handy one – especially for an actor. He shook his head quickly, correcting his thoughts. Rho wasn’t an actor. That was Lambda. Rho was a young man who painted sugar skulls and made party decorations. Rho was a man who still had time to find his place in the big wide world.
Tomorrow they would take Orlando Bloom back out of the country, and return his identity to the clone in Saint Vincent. Rho would become someone else; someone new, and he would start crafting his own life. He’d proven that he could pass for his ‘brother’, even under the closest of observation. Now, could he pass for himself?
Canton
The Laurentian mountains of eastern Quebec offered many pleasures to the discriminating traveler. Steep hills of ancient stone fell literally to the sea, and the scenery was matched only by the sophistication of the hospitality and the richness of the food. Local wines and cheeses had been raised to a fine and subtle art, and the duck foie gras had reached such perfection that even die-hard Francophiles considered it as good as, if not better than, anything to be found in France. Outside the town of La Malbaie was a spectacular little restaurant called La Pinsonnière, which proudly hosted some of the finest food in the world. Its wide windows framed fabulous views of the surrounding countryside, including the still, cold waters of the St. Lawrence Seaway.
Stuffed with rabbit, cassoulet, Brie de Meaux, foie gras mousse and apple ice cider, Canton D’Bruellier paused to dab at a drop of Madeira sauce that had despoiled his silk tie. The fresh breeze brought scents of pine and the ocean, a curl of smoke from the restaurant’s busy grills, a whiff of cooking lamb, and the smell of damp earth. D’Bruellier was oblivious to these final gifts, muttering as he gave up on the stain. He’d throw the tie away when he got back to his hotel in Bais-St-Paul. He patted his jacket pocket and was disappointed to find that he’d already smoked his last cigar. The nearest shop that would carry decent cigars was in Quebec City. Maybe the concierge at his hotel would have something. That was the sort of thing the man was paid for.
Pausing at the fender of his rented Jaguar, Canton frowned at the bit of paper tucked beneath the wiper blade. Who would be so bold as to leave him a note in such a tacky manner? He yanked the paper free and glared down at the symbol printed so carefully there – a drawing of a bush with an open eye at the roots, speared on the tip of a dagger. Rays fanned out below the bush and a single star above. This was the mark of the Brotherhood of Hiram, a now-discredited and disbanded organization that had known the loyalty of generations of the D’Bruelliers. Loyalty that had been repaid with treachery and abandonment. He crumpled the parchment paper angrily and threw it over the car. A gust of wind caught the scrap and it skittered away towards the water below.
It was the third time in as many weeks that he’d received this cryptic message, and he was sick of this crap. The Brotherhood was broken, at least on every level that he was privy to. If it was still active he was obviously considered personae non-grata, particularly since he’d been exposed in New Zealand. The Prophecy meant nothing to Canton any more. Elijah Wood could just crawl under a rock and die – Canton would gladly help him do it…if he could be bothered.
Muttering curses, Canton stepped to the door of his car and fumbled for the keys.
There was a snapping noise, and the driver’s side window suddenly patterned with a spider web of cracks. Canton stared in amazement, and was actually raising his finger to touch the small round hole in center of the glass when he finally registered the hard, hot stab of pain in his chest. His next breath came shallowly, the taste of blood already rising into his mouth, and his ears registered too late the sound of the distant rifle crack.
That was the last thing that Canton D’Bruellier knew, as the second shot blew his skull open. Brains and bone, flesh and hair and blood sprayed the Jaguar’s roof in a spectacular mess. Canton dropped, dead, into the rich Canadian dirt.
Omega
He ejected the spent casing smoothly, a thin smile tugging at his lips. The heavy brass cylinder lay in the dirt with its twin, bearing letters along its length – ‘Canton DB’. He would leave them there, to tell what story they would, should anyone chance to find them.
Omega stood slowly, taking his time, making certain that he’d left nothing but the marks of his supine body where he’d rested during D’Bruellier’s extensive dinner. He’d watched patiently through the glass of the restaurant as the Frenchman ate course after course, oblivious to his coming fate. It had been a lovely evening, and promised an even more pleasant night.
Shouldering the Israeli Malil, Omega casually turned uphill. His car was parked some distance away. He had a flight to catch in Quebec City. He whistled as he made his way through the brush, picking his steps carefully, gloved hands occasionally gripping a root or branch to assist his climb. Killer whales rose in the water below, coming up from the ocean to feed, a small pod of sleek black and white bodies in the dark, cold current.
Yes, it was a beautiful evening.
For anyone who has not read all chapters so far, may I kindly recommend going to my journal and using the tag to go back to the start - otherwise you'll be pretty Lost...and I don't mean Charlie lost....
TITLE: Beyond Design Limitations
CHAPTER: Seventeen – Well-Known Stranger
AUTHOR: Pecos – PecosPhil@sprintmail.com
WEBSITE: http://www.chimerafic.com
BETA: Gloria Mundi - viva_gloria@livejournal.com
RATING: Varies by chapter. This one is NC-17
WARNING! Violence! Death of a minor character
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’
which can be found on my website
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!)
NOTE: Please forgive any intentional or
unintentional abuse of facts or history.
Story takes place in early 2002
Beyond Design Limitations
Chapter Seventeen: Well-Known Stranger
Rho
They’d gone on to the hotel where Sean’s meeting would be held. It turned out to be a mind-numbingly posh affair filled with the most glamorous people Rho had ever seen. He’d been trying not to gape at the perfectly painted women in spike-heeled shoes, tailored jackets and tiny black dresses and the smartly suited men, all of whom just oozed a sense of wealth and privilege. Sean leaned over and whispered, “Those are the staff, Pepper. You’re not supposed to actually look at them, and they try not to really look at you.” This was just too bizarre.
A man wearing baggy worn jeans and a dirty shirt brushed past them, heading into the bar, tapping a beat-up pack of cigarettes on the palm of his hand. “Oi, Colin!” Sean called cheerfully to him.
“Bean!” The man had a thick accent. “Join us for a few?”
“Maybe later, mate” Sean said ambiguously, gesturing toward the elevators. That was the end of their conversation. Rho watched the departing stranger, and thought that he looked more like a gardener or dirty Euro backpacker than some sort of celebrity. Sean was waiting for him at the elevator. There was a man there who pushed the button for them and nodded graciously as they stepped into the car, wishing them a pleasant evening. That was even more bizarre.
The suite of rooms was bigger than Tia’s entire house, including the courtyard…and most of the house next door. It felt almost as big as the estancia in Guatemala. Everything inside was tastefully color-coordinated and delicate. There was food in the kitchen and flowers on the tables. Their battered little luggage was already laid out on stands in two separate bedrooms, Sean’s tasteful leather carry-on and Rho’s cheap canvas knapsack.
“Is this your house?” Rho finally asked as Sean finished a phone call he’d made upon entering.
“Just a hotel, Rho.” Sean looked around like he was only noticing the place for the first time. “A bit Hollywood, I suppose. But that’s where we are, aye? My agent set this up for a meeting.”
“What does this cost?” Rho asked softly, just unable to grasp that no one lived here full-time, let alone whole families.
“You don’t even wanna know,” Sean said with a grin. “Probably more than yer Uncle’s shop made in a month, to be honest. But remember, this is supposed to be normal for you while you’re being Orlando.”
“This is not normal,” Rho complained. He’d found a remote control, but had no idea what it worked. There were a lot of buttons on it.
“I’m going to take a shower and change,” Sean told him, stripping off his shirt as he headed into one of the bedrooms. “Dom will be coming back with Billy around eleven. Why don’t you snoop around? I’m sure you can find a snack too, if you’re hungry. Just don’t open any bottles with corks. You won’t even want to know what some of those can cost. My accountant already thinks I’m an alcoholic.” Chuckling to himself, Sean booted the door partially shut behind him.
A few minutes later Rho was sprawled on the leather couch drinking a bottle of water, eating candy bars, and pushing buttons on the remote when he heard a dinging sound. Hmm…he’d thought that one made the lights get brighter. He pushed it again. The sound dinged once more. Strange. He wondered what that meant. Then there was a persistent knocking sound at the hall door and Rho scrambled to his feet. He thought he could hear Sean still singing in the shower, water rushing faintly. Well, he was supposed to be comfortable here. Rho schooled his face into cheerful boredom and went to answer the door.
“Hello!” called a genial man with a strong German accent. “I’m Wolfgang. Sean’s agent told me he had arrived, and I hope to move our meeting up a bit. I’ve got another, er, obligation, which came up suddenly.”
Rho was too stunned to react for a moment. The last time he had heard a German had been at the lab, and while that had been some time ago and he had been treated pretty well, it still sent a quick jolt of fear through him.
“I’m sorry!” Wolfgang said abruptly. “Is something wrong?”
Rho realized that he’d let his feelings through to his face. He immediately changed his expression. “No, no, it’s fine! I just remembered something…bad. Nothing to do with…please come in!” He stepped back to let the big man enter. He could read Wolfgang’s surprise at his reaction, and quickly altered his manner to suit what the strange man expected. “Sean’s taking a shower. If you don’t mind making yourself comfortable,” he gestured toward the seating arrangements. “Can I get you anything to drink? Nothing with a cork, but there’s water and soft drinks and fruit juice, beers…snacks….”
Wolfgang had turned, and was now smiling at him. “Beer, please. Anything but American, if you have it, ja? You seem very familiar, young man. Are you Sean’s assistant?”
“I’m Orlando, Orlando Bloom,” Rho said, getting into the fridge and trying to guess where the various drinks were from. The names and labels were no help whatsoever. He picked a couple of different cans at random and carried them to where Wolfgang had taken a seat. With luck, one of them would be what the man had asked for, and Rho could drink the other, like he’d planned it that way. He took a seat across from the stranger and arranged himself carefully. “I’m Sean’s friend, an actor,” he said, responding to the curious looks he was getting. “Sean and I were in The Lord of the Rings together.”
“Ah! Of course! I should have know, such a good-looking young man! You were the Elf, ja?”
“That’s right, Legolas! I know…I look different without the blond hair. I hear that a lot.”
“Such a cast, that one. So many fine actors, and the scenery, whew! It must have been a lot of fun. What else is in your CV?” Wolfgang asked, peering at him seriously.
“Uh, well…” Rho quickly sorted through Orlando’s history, as he remembered what Sean had told him and the few things he knew for himself. “A little bit of theatre while in Guildhall, some television. All three Rings movies, Black Hawk Down…”
“Ridley Scott! A great man!”
“Oh, yeah! He’s just amazing! Fabulous movie. Also Ned Kelly, some boxing movie,” his memory was getting sketchy, “and right now I’m, uh, filming Pirates of the Caribbean with Gore Verbinski.”
“A lead?” Wolfgang questioned.
“Co-star, with Johnny Depp,” Rho said, thinking that it was wrong to take credit for Gamma’s hard work. But he was just doing what was expected. He shrugged off the thought and gratefully snatched the remaining beer after Wolfgang finally took one.
“You are very modest, with such credentials,” the German offered. “This is rare in our business.”
“I don’t deserve to be anything but modest,” Rho said, smiling around his drink. “I’m still new to acting. Have you known Sean long?”
Wolfgang laughed. “I mostly know his manager and agent and what I’ve seen in the theatre. Richard Sharpe! But I think he will be perfect for this part, the Kingly wanderer, brave Odysseus. I hope he is feeling the same way.”
Rho laughed, because he didn’t know what else he should do. “Sean would be brilliant doing any role you have for him!”
“We have secured Eric Bana for Hector, although this is not in the trades yet,” Wolfgang confessed softly. “He will anchor the whole cast.”
“That’s fabulous!” Rho suddenly remembered something from Orlando’s bio. “Eric was in Black Hawk Down too, uh, with me! He’s a great guy – just like my big brother. He taught me so much! He took care of me on the set; I was so green and it was really hard work, being in Morocco to film and being soldiers and all.”
Wolfgang was looking at Rho with a whole new gleam in his eye. “You don’t like hot climates then? Was filming a war movie too much?”
“What? No! Look at this tan! I’ve been in Mexico, uh, and the Caribbean. I love it hot – I’m solar powered. I love to travel – new places, new food, new people. And the Rings films were war movies, if you think about it. It was just really different in Africa than the other places I’ve been, right? New Zealand and all.” He schooled his face to reflect total sincerity. “Every new opportunity should be appreciated and cherished.”
“He’s too young to play Odysseus!” Sean suddenly said, coming in from the other room, still buttoning his shirt. “Don’t try to steal my part, Elf Prince!”
Sean quickly shook hands with Wolfgang, and Rho breathed a sigh of relief. Sean accepted the offer of a drink as well, and Rho fetched it then made himself scarce while the two men talked about the movie, script, compensation and concepts.
Rho took a shower in his own room, luxuriating in everything from the temperature of the water to the thickness of the towels. He was thinking ahead to when Dom and Billy would arrive, wondering what the evening would be like and only mildly concerned about the day that would follow. Whatever happened next would sort itself out, it always did. He wasn’t much one for long-term plans.
Preoccupied, Rho wandered back into the central room of the suite with just his new jeans on. He’d assumed that Wolfgang would have left, but Sean still wasn’t alone. There were papers spread all over the glass table, sketches of locations and costume designs. Sean was laughing about showing off his legs, saying that a nasty scar he bore should add authenticity. Rho hesitated in the doorway, ready to retreat.
“My,” Wolfgang said, staring at him more intently than Rho thought appropriate. “My…yes. You are even more attractive than I realized, Mister Orlando Bloom.”
“Wrong casting couch, Wolfie,” Sean teased, at ease despite Rho’s misgivings.
Wolfgang grinned at Bean, then turned back to Rho again, letting his eyes scour the young man’s frame. “Turn around, please? You are working out for your role in the pirate movie?”
“Uh, I pretty much just look like this,” Rho told him, turning slowly, surprised that Sean hadn’t intervened. But he was getting mixed signals from his mentor. He fussed with his messy damp hair for a moment, then pulled himself up and looked as imperious and impervious as he could. He could play it cool. He was supposed to be an actor. Rho strutted across the room to the kitchen, deciding that he should inventory what was still in the cabinets before their other, hopefully more companionable, guests arrived.
“What’re you thinking, Wolfgang?” Sean asked under his breath, just loud enough that Rho could hear him.
“Our first choice for Paris didn’t work out. He is demanding points, and his take on the character is too aloof, more conceited than I want. There has to be some degree of sympathy for Paris, despite his vanity and motivations.”
Rho busied himself in the kitchen while the two men finished their meeting. Sean stood at last, shaking Wolfgang’s hand. Rho met them at the door, smiling shyly as the German looked him over one more time. “Such a complexion! You were made for close-ups, young man.”
“Not exactly,” Rho laughed. “I was actually made for something else, but I’ve come to understand that I’m relatively good-looking anyhow.”
“May I ask your agent for quotes?”
Rho didn’t know quite what that meant, but Sean quickly inserted, “Orlando guarantees a lot of box office appeal with a unique demographic. He won’t be underrated for long. Pretty soon this is going to be the hottest young actor of his generation. I’m sure you can imagine that he gets his pick of roles, but make a good offer, Wolfgang. Tell him who your manager is, Orlando.”
Rho had practiced that one. “Aleen Keshishian at The Firm.”
Wolfgang shook Rho’s hand too, and after several more comments and compliments he was gone. Bean turned slowly to meet the clone’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Sean,” Rho quickly said. “I didn’t know who he was. I just thought you would want me to let him in and talk to him.”
Sean laughed suddenly. “Pepper…you likely just got Orlando a lead in Troy!”
“Uh, is that a good thing?”
Sean scooped him into a big hug. “Yeah, it’s a good thing!” He mussed the curly hair roughly. “Getting offers from a director like Petersen is always a good thing for an actor.”
“I’m not really an actor, though,” Rho mused aloud.
“You just were. You just did it.”
Nu
He’d spat out the pills at lunchtime. The drugs only made it into his system every few days, when the nurse would watch him too closely or for too long. It wasn’t that Nu didn’t like being relaxed and sleeping so much, but it made him too vulnerable when he was fuzzy headed. If you didn’t take care of yourself no one else was going to do it.
Nu had perfected the appearance of swallowing while actually keeping the bitter little white and yellow pills at the very back of his tongue, where they would burn until he had a chance to move them into a cheek or spit them into his hand. After that, whatever was left of the pills usually got mashed into the big crack underneath the windowsill in the day room. He made sure he was always near that window when the orderlies came around with meds. If someone ever got down on their knees and peered into the once-wide crack they would have thought it had been re-plastered with colorful spackle.
Today he’d had the chance to get rid of the pills at breakfast and lunch, so he was feeling pretty lucid. On days like that, Nu liked to watch any activity outside the dirty windows and speculate about what the rest of the world looked like. He’d known laboratories, and he’d known dormitories. There had been a trip to this current facility, which was by far the worst place he’d ever been, but beyond that Nu only knew what he’d seen on the television and in the movies the facility let them watch. Oh, and he knew what he overheard the attendants and guards say, when he could understand them, but he’d learned not to trust any of those sources. Things happened in movies that could never happen in real life.
In real life, there was no such thing as a happy ending.
He glared at a fellow ‘patient’, Viktor, as the big man stomped by, patrolling the room. It usually only took Viktor a moment to fly into a rage that would involve patients, attendants and furniture – likely ending with several of these things broken. Viktor had learned to leave Nu out of his destructive rages, but sometimes he forgot. Sometimes Nu got dragged in anyhow. Viktor looked agitated that afternoon. He’d probably managed not to swallow his own medications. Nu kept a close eye on him, listening with half an ear to the muttered oaths and threats in a language that Nu didn’t understand. He thought about prisoners and wars and people that had been forgotten. Nu wondered if Rambo was real, and if he would ever come to rescue crazy people.
A storm was building up outside. The scrawny trees beyond the fence whipped in a wind from the east. It was nearly an hour later that the storm inside the facility broke. For once Nu didn’t see or hear it coming, and he was the first one hit as a chair sailed across the room into the back of his legs, bringing him down hard with a bang as his head struck the cement floor. He could only hear the fight that had erupted as suddenly as the lightening outside, as his eyes were squeezed shut in pain, stars flashing behind closed lids. Nu’s ankles were grabbed abruptly and he was jerked sideways.
He only had seconds to react. Nu joined the fight, one that he couldn’t afford to lose, but the odds were against him.
Viggo
It took a few minutes to sort out the Puerto Rican with the bloody hand. The bottle had exploded harmlessly enough, but he’d grabbed tighter on the broken pieces of glass and done most of the damage himself. Viggo joked that the alcohol in the beer had probably sterilized the cuts. The injury was limited to a few lacerations, and the man was more surprised and baffled than hurt. Viggo had been arguing with him about the US military testing range off the shores of Puerto Rico more out of pleasure at the chance to argue in Spanish than out of any profound political conviction on the topic. Of course, it pretty much always seemed like a good idea to Viggo to discourage anyone from bombing anything.
By the time he got free and looked for Orli the young man had already left the gathering. There were cars outside waiting to take people back to their hotels, but a quick word with the lounging drivers told him that Orlando had chosen to walk back, likely in the direction of the beach. Viggo struck off smartly along the sand, and it didn’t take too long to see a small cluster of people ahead.
Orlando had stopped to talk to a couple of people from the crew, most of them extras. The young man glanced up as Viggo arrived, but in the dim light it was hard to read his face. Viggo passed the expected pleasantries and Orlando quickly made his apologies and moved on. The two of them walked in silence for a few minutes. Viggo toed off his shoes and veered closer to the firm sand at the water’s edge, enjoying the dampness on his soles and the occasional refreshing wash of the tide. “I’m sorry that you’re upset,” Viggo finally said.
Several beats passed before Orlando responded, and his voice was very soft and calm – a bit too much so to be honest. “I knew that you were going to have to go back.” He seemed to want to leave it there.
Viggo bent to tug a bit of seaweed from between his toes. When he stood up again he started quoting a favorite poem. “Hay países, hay ríos en tus ojos, ani patria está en tus ojos, yo maino por ellos, ellos dan luz al mundo por donde yo camino, bella.”* Their feet made no sound over the hiss of the tide and the jovial night sounds of the city at their side. “That was from Lovely One, by Pablo Neruda.”
“I got the gist of it,” Orlando whispered. “You don’t need to woo me, Viggo.”
“But I think I do. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Silence, but for the sound of the water. “I’m not upset any more.” This was probably a lie, and they both knew it.
“It’s just too convenient for me to go on the plane with them, Orli-bear. If I made my own arrangements in another day or two it’d take me three times as long to get there, probably more, and my company really need me back on my own set. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you before the party.”
“Like I said, I knew you would leave.”
Viggo turned suddenly and wrapped Orlando’s stiff form in his arms. “I’ve got about two more weeks of principal photography. When I’m done I’m coming back here, or to LA if that’s where you’ll be, and then I’m going to take you away for a little while. You need to get your feet under yourself. You need to sort out who Lambda is. You need to let Gamma rest, and Alpha too. You need time to become yourself. I think it’s all sliding around inside you, and it’s too much.”
There was a moment when he was angry again, and then every bit as suddenly Orlando looked just incredibly sad and lonely and tired. He nearly collapsed into Viggo’s reassuring embrace. “I’m going to…I’ll miss you.”
“And I’ll miss you too. But I’m coming back. You realize that, right? You believe it?”
“I believe…you’ll come back.” Unspoken was their realization that if Viggo didn’t it was going to be too much for Lambda to handle. He couldn’t keep going the way he had been. Something was going to break that would be impossible to put together again.
* ‘Lovely One’, roughly translated:
There are countries
there are rivers in your eyes
my country is in your eyes
I walk through them
they light the world through which I walk
lovely one.
Sean
Laughing, he leaned back against the cool leather of the sofa and watched his friends. Billy was extolling, at great length, the dubious pleasures to be had living in a coastal town in Mexico while working on a movie as massive and expensive as Master and Commander. Rocoto was doing a great job of laughing at the foibles of the cast and crew, the hazards of the local food, and the hilarity to be gained from watching Mexican television. His eyes sparkled with mirth – not a single bit of anger or resentment. He was enjoying Billy’s observations exactly as another citizen of the United Kingdom would – laughing at themselves as much as the locals, seeing humor in everything and taking the piss out of everyone and every situation, no matter how serious. Only occasionally would Rho mutter a correction of pronunciation or fill-in a forgotten place name, and Billy failed to notice this as a pattern.
Dominic was watching them as well, inserting caustic comments wherever possible, sipping his whiskey and soda with unusual reserve. He’d warmed a bit to Rho despite his initial reservations. He’d agreed not to ‘out’ the clone to Billy unless the Scot brought up the topic on his own, and it seemed unlikely that this was going to happen now. Billy apparently figured that time and experience had seasoned the Orlando he’d known so well in New Zealand.
Sean mused for a moment on the irony of Rho winning over Wolfgang Peterson so effortlessly. Since all of the clones had reportedly been mutated in various ways, some more egregiously than others, Sean wondered if this was one of Rho’s special ‘talents’. If so, it was a very handy one – especially for an actor. He shook his head quickly, correcting his thoughts. Rho wasn’t an actor. That was Lambda. Rho was a young man who painted sugar skulls and made party decorations. Rho was a man who still had time to find his place in the big wide world.
Tomorrow they would take Orlando Bloom back out of the country, and return his identity to the clone in Saint Vincent. Rho would become someone else; someone new, and he would start crafting his own life. He’d proven that he could pass for his ‘brother’, even under the closest of observation. Now, could he pass for himself?
Canton
The Laurentian mountains of eastern Quebec offered many pleasures to the discriminating traveler. Steep hills of ancient stone fell literally to the sea, and the scenery was matched only by the sophistication of the hospitality and the richness of the food. Local wines and cheeses had been raised to a fine and subtle art, and the duck foie gras had reached such perfection that even die-hard Francophiles considered it as good as, if not better than, anything to be found in France. Outside the town of La Malbaie was a spectacular little restaurant called La Pinsonnière, which proudly hosted some of the finest food in the world. Its wide windows framed fabulous views of the surrounding countryside, including the still, cold waters of the St. Lawrence Seaway.
Stuffed with rabbit, cassoulet, Brie de Meaux, foie gras mousse and apple ice cider, Canton D’Bruellier paused to dab at a drop of Madeira sauce that had despoiled his silk tie. The fresh breeze brought scents of pine and the ocean, a curl of smoke from the restaurant’s busy grills, a whiff of cooking lamb, and the smell of damp earth. D’Bruellier was oblivious to these final gifts, muttering as he gave up on the stain. He’d throw the tie away when he got back to his hotel in Bais-St-Paul. He patted his jacket pocket and was disappointed to find that he’d already smoked his last cigar. The nearest shop that would carry decent cigars was in Quebec City. Maybe the concierge at his hotel would have something. That was the sort of thing the man was paid for.
Pausing at the fender of his rented Jaguar, Canton frowned at the bit of paper tucked beneath the wiper blade. Who would be so bold as to leave him a note in such a tacky manner? He yanked the paper free and glared down at the symbol printed so carefully there – a drawing of a bush with an open eye at the roots, speared on the tip of a dagger. Rays fanned out below the bush and a single star above. This was the mark of the Brotherhood of Hiram, a now-discredited and disbanded organization that had known the loyalty of generations of the D’Bruelliers. Loyalty that had been repaid with treachery and abandonment. He crumpled the parchment paper angrily and threw it over the car. A gust of wind caught the scrap and it skittered away towards the water below.
It was the third time in as many weeks that he’d received this cryptic message, and he was sick of this crap. The Brotherhood was broken, at least on every level that he was privy to. If it was still active he was obviously considered personae non-grata, particularly since he’d been exposed in New Zealand. The Prophecy meant nothing to Canton any more. Elijah Wood could just crawl under a rock and die – Canton would gladly help him do it…if he could be bothered.
Muttering curses, Canton stepped to the door of his car and fumbled for the keys.
There was a snapping noise, and the driver’s side window suddenly patterned with a spider web of cracks. Canton stared in amazement, and was actually raising his finger to touch the small round hole in center of the glass when he finally registered the hard, hot stab of pain in his chest. His next breath came shallowly, the taste of blood already rising into his mouth, and his ears registered too late the sound of the distant rifle crack.
That was the last thing that Canton D’Bruellier knew, as the second shot blew his skull open. Brains and bone, flesh and hair and blood sprayed the Jaguar’s roof in a spectacular mess. Canton dropped, dead, into the rich Canadian dirt.
Omega
He ejected the spent casing smoothly, a thin smile tugging at his lips. The heavy brass cylinder lay in the dirt with its twin, bearing letters along its length – ‘Canton DB’. He would leave them there, to tell what story they would, should anyone chance to find them.
Omega stood slowly, taking his time, making certain that he’d left nothing but the marks of his supine body where he’d rested during D’Bruellier’s extensive dinner. He’d watched patiently through the glass of the restaurant as the Frenchman ate course after course, oblivious to his coming fate. It had been a lovely evening, and promised an even more pleasant night.
Shouldering the Israeli Malil, Omega casually turned uphill. His car was parked some distance away. He had a flight to catch in Quebec City. He whistled as he made his way through the brush, picking his steps carefully, gloved hands occasionally gripping a root or branch to assist his climb. Killer whales rose in the water below, coming up from the ocean to feed, a small pod of sleek black and white bodies in the dark, cold current.
Yes, it was a beautiful evening.