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fellowshippers2007-03-07 11:22 pm
pecos.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2007-03-07 11:22 pm
Beyond Design Limitations, Chapter 18: Forgotten Friend
Thank you to the most patient, optimistic readers in the world. Yes...it's been MONTHS since I updated Beyond Design Limitations (the sequel to Prophecy). Very, very rediculously briefly: Lambda is finishing the first Pirates movie with Johnny Depp in St. Vincent, Viggo has returned to Morocco to complete Hidalgo, Sean and Rho are heading to Europe and Mickey is going after Nu in Minsk. Omega has turned up and may be out killing people. Whew. Anyhow, here it is...
TITLE: Beyond Design Limitations
CHAPTER: Eighteen – Forgotten Friend
AUTHOR: Pecos – PecosPhil@sprintmail.com
WEBSITE: http://www.chimerafic.com
BETA: Gloria Mundi and Kim Hatton
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 Eighteen: Forgotten Friend
Mickey
Life was cheap – this life in particular. Patient 8171G, once called Nu. It was like the kid had been marked down for ready sale. All you had to do was know the way it was done. Mickey hadn’t bothered to bring any Belarusian Rubles, as Euros seemed to be the favored currency anyway. It only took about €200 to get a good look at his medical files, and a bottle of high-end Vodka for those files to be copied on the world’s oldest Xerox machine. Mickey studied what he could, cursing the universal constant of doctors handwriting. At least the files were in Russian – Belarusian would have been impossible.
It took a while to find just the right guy at the ‘hospital’ to open negotiations, and that man turned out to have excellent Polish, which suited Kostmayer even better than Russian. They refused to let him have a look at the ‘goods’, bemoaning the fact that there had been an ‘incident’ recently, and many of the patients had been injured in what sounded more accurately like a brawl. But there was a grainy photo in the file which was sufficient proof that 8171G was the right target. The young man looked quite familiar, and had been glaring at the camera with a ferocity that belied his soft, comely appearance.
Yep, he’d definitely found Νu.
After that it got easier. The brawl had apparently produced at least one fatality, and it wasn’t too much of a stretch to change some information on the paperwork. 8171G died that day, conveniently backdated to an earlier date. He just ceased to exist. Mickey bought a human being for a bit under €19,000.
His goods were delivered at the front gate. He passed over the money, took the young man’s arm, and turned away.
Johnny
He was using a pencil to scratch beneath his wig, one eye scrunched shut in concentration. That was one determined itch up under the matted hair, cloth and bangles. They were filming on the barge again, but this time it was docked right near shore, with only the horizon needed for background. The roll of the ungainly ship was quite mild today, and the slap of water on the hull a constant background noise that soothed him on a very primal level. Itch finally defeated, Johnny leaned back to stretch his legs and study the hustle and flow of the crew.
Geoffrey was fussing with the monkey’s trainer, complaining about how hard it was to remember your lines when someone was shooting at you with a squirt bottle. The monkey, for her part, was busy grooming her trainer’s hair and chirping.
“I’m just saying, perhaps if you could just hold it up and not squirt it? She’ll see what you’ve got and react just the same without you needing to pelt me. I’ve got a cat at home. All I have to do is threaten to squirt him when he’s thinking about scratching the furniture, and good behavior is ensured!”
“This is not a cat, Mister Rush,” the trainer sighed. “The water is to get her attention. The film set is very scary for a monkey, and she’s always scanning for danger. She’s also too smart to fall for a threatened squirting more than once.” The Capuchin in question suddenly looked up and squawked in recognition, bouncing up and down excitedly. Of course, Orlando had arrived. That damn monkey adored him.
“Oy, my pretty girl!” Will Turner cooed, reaching out to scratch the back of the creature’s head as he passed. He kept moving, despite the simian’s disappointment, and only nodded at Geoffrey before coming over to take a seat a Johnny’s side. “You’re extra smelly today, Captain,” Orlando said in greeting.
“It’s my manly odeur, smithy,” Johnny said haughtily. “Male hormones ooze off’a me, like a lion marking his turf.”
“Lions just piss all over the place,” Orlando remarked.
“I’ll try that as well then. Maybe while everyone’s at tea. Save me a cookie, will ya?”
“The writers steal all the biscuits long before I can get to them,” Orli sighed. “Have you not noticed that Terry’s putting on weight?”
“You’d think that stars, nay, superstars, of our caliber could at least be guaranteed a few cookies, wouldn’t you?” Johnny shook his head. “No respect. It’s just like when I’m on a Burton movie. He leaves me watching his bratty kids and expects me to pick up his dry cleaning.”
“I greatly doubt that.”
Keira had arrived, and was making her way towards them. Johnny waved at her limp-wristedly while asking, “You doubt that Tim treats me like utter dirt?”
“I doubt that he owns anything that needs dry cleaning.” Orlando stood up and smiled as the young lady arrived. “You look ravishing as a redcoat, darling.”
“Right!” She giggled, twirling to show off her costume for the afternoon’s shooting. “I never thought that I’d be the only one in uniform! Where’s your boyfriend, Orli?”
Johnny’s laugh cut off Orlando’s indignant squawk. “She’s got your domestic situation sorted out!”
“You mean Viggo?” The young man was doing a fair impersonation of one of the fish the crewmembers were feeding in the ship’s shade. “He’s not my boyfriend!”
“Please!” Keira said, rolling her eyes. “You’re totally gay on him! I was just hoping he’s still here. He doesn’t seem nearly as nelly as you, Orli, and there’s a dearth of good-looking men around here, in case you hadn’t noticed. Not that you haven’t noticed!”
Orlando was still trying to come up with something to say when the monkey pounced on his head.
Mickey
He double-locked the door of his room at the Yubileyny Hotel in the old town section of Minsk, and breathed a deep sigh before turning around. There had been utter silence from his companion on the trip from the Mental Hospital. Nothing but big, frightened eyes in an implacable mask. They would leave the country in a couple of hours. Mickey had no reason to suspect that anyone would be looking for them already yet, or he would not have returned to his room. He would have already made a break for the border if he were only planning on making a rescue run. Chances were that nobody knew about this abandoned clone. No one knew, or cared.
Mickey put down his key and emptied his pockets, showing everything he had to the young man who stood so stiffly near the foot of the bed. See? Nothing here to alarm anybody. Mickey was always at his most dangerous when he was looking harmless, but the clone had no way of knowing that.
“So, Nu, do you speak English? I assumed that you did, since you came out of one of the labs. But maybe not.”
Nothing. No response. Just that frozen expression of fear and suspicion.
Mickey tried again in Russian, and then German. Still nothing. Oh well. Lambda had been silent at first when he’d been rescued from the lab in Alaska. Maybe they just didn’t like to talk until they knew what the score was. That certainly seemed possible. The kid’s file hadn’t mentioned anything about him being a mute.
Mickey had a lot to do, so he decided that they’d better just get on with it. He turned on the TV for distraction and gestured to the bed. “Why don’t you relax for a few? I’ve got to run up some maps for our route.” He indicated the food items he’d left out on the night table. “Feel free to eat, if you’re hungry.”
Nu moved only when he wasn’t being watched, finally settling stiffly on the end of the bed, hands clenched in the loose fabric on the thighs of his rough cotton pants. Mickey had some new clothes for him, and would hopefully be able to get him to change before they took off. He had noticed that the kid smelled pretty bad, but that wasn’t going to be a problem for a while yet. The local population didn’t have the same fixation on grooming that Americans typically did. They’d clean him up when he got to Bialystok. That was where Mickey planned to turn Nu into Nicky. It was the same name as his brother, the Catholic Priest.
Nick would approve. He was always real big on lost causes.
Dominic
Screaming as if he were in pain, Dom threw the videogame controller at the television set. “Fucker!” he shouted. “Back to the start of the whole level? That’s bollocks! Why can’t I save it before you kill me EVERY FUCKING TIME?” The game was anything but chagrined, with a cheerful little bit of music coming on to celebrate the fact that he’d just lost two and half hours of work.
“Bollocks,” Dominic growled, stretching his aching back and rummaging through the junk on the coffee table for a joint. The place had gone downhill in hurry once Billy’d left. Dominic found a roach that he’d put out just after lighting because Elijah had called. He wasn’t too proud to light it again. He just got it fired up when the phone rang.
“No one’s ‘ere!” he yelled. Good thing the neighbors all had day jobs.
The phone continued to ring. It was probably Astin, offering to do his taxes or set him up on a blind date with somebody’s auntie. Maybe it was Billy, calling to brag about the surf in Mexico. Or even Elijah, wanting to tell him about how Jim Carrey was being a twat again. “I’m not moving,” he told the ringing instrument. He sprawled grandly and sucked hard on the badly-rolled joint. Had Billy nicked some of his weed? There hardly seemed to be anything inside the paper.
The phone cut off half a ring before the answering machine would have picked up. Dominic frowned at it. Only a good friend would know how many rings he gave before the machine. Maybe Hannah was calling to tell him about some new club. Or that pesky bastard Craig had decided to stay in town another couple of days. Could be it was Fran calling from New Zealand to see if he could come down for more voice work.
God…why did all of those options suddenly sound so much better than just sitting on his ass getting mad at the telly? Dominic snuffed out his burning paper (had he actually rolled a joint with nothing in it? How stoned would he have to be to do that?) and lumbered to his feet. He kicked most of the junk off the coffee table in a total hissy fit and headed for the kitchen. God, he was hungry. Had he eaten anything at all lately?
The phone rang again as he passed it, and Dominic snatched the thing up. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Nice to hear from you too, Dominic,” said his agent.
“Oh, uh, sorry, luv. I was thinking you were someone else.” He frowned fiercely at his reflection in the microwave glass. He looked like a homeless person.
“I’m no one else but me, Dom. Hey, I got a script here that I think you should go in and read for.”
“Another shitty movie made on a five quid and lunch budget?”
“No, I’m afraid not. It’s television. Pilot for a possible new series.”
“You have got to be kidding me, mate! Television?” He said it like one would say ‘Cancer?’ in the doctor’s office.
“Don’t go freaking out on me, Dom. It’s a good part. There’re several good parts.”
“Yeah? Is it an after-school special where I get to explain how my uncle touched me in a bad way, and now I’m on smack and selling babies in Singapore? I did TV back in the UK, y’know.”
“Yes, I actually do know that. I think I read your CV at one time, in the far, far distant past. Quit being such a drama queen, Dominic. No one is paying you to do it right now.”
“Fucker.”
“Whiner. Look, it’s being fronted by J.J. Abrams, he of ‘Buffy’ fame. The premise is sorta dumb, but the writing looks top notch. I wanted you to read for the washed-up rock star.”
“Which is it?” Dom asked, intrigued despite himself. “Washed-up, or rock star?”
“Has-been rock star on smack.”
That made him laugh at last. “I can do that, yeah!”
“And if you make the cast, they’re going to film in Hawaii.”
“No shit? Hawaii?”
“On a real beach and everything. It’ll be just like being in L.A….but without the L.A. You wouldn’t mind that too much, would you?”
“Plus five quid and lunch, right?”
“There’s room to negotiate. Write down this info…I told them you’d be over first thing in the morning….”
Nu
First they had driven to the airport. Nu had been terrified at the thought of getting on an airplane again. After all, that was what had brought him to this place. But Mickey had not even entered the building. Instead, he’d bundled them both into a car, as if they’d just arrived, and off they went to a train station. The crowd there was horrible, but Nu clung determinedly to the little bag Mickey had given him to carry, and followed his guide through the press of foreign bodies. Then they were at the train, and Nu stepped aboard cautiously. He’d only seen trains in movies. Mickey was muttering reassurances the whole time, and Nu took what courage he could from the unproven source. Anything to get through this experience – anything to put some distance between himself and the Mental Hospital. He would gladly die before going back there.
Sitting in the seat Mickey had directed him to, Nu felt his head spinning lazily. It was probably because he hadn’t been given any drugs for many hours now. Mickey had said something about nothing in his chart being important, and had spent time looking at a computer screen and mumbling complicated chemical names and dosages. Nu shook himself awake as the train started to move. No one else seemed alarmed as they picked up speed, moving over rough tracks out of the city of Minsk, so Nu sat back and studied the view.
The train sped through the countryside, past buildings and farms and open spaces. Nu stared, rapt, eyes widening whenever he saw people just moving around on their own, walking or driving or stopping to talk to someone else. It all looked so fake to him. The land rolled and dipped and they crossed over water and roads and through the centers of many little towns.
Mickey left him there for a while and returned with some food. Nu ate the strange things cautiously, careful not to spill on his new clothes. His clothes smelled of soap and shops instead of industrial misery and sick people. Nu loved his new clothes, even though they didn’t fit him very well. The shoes were too big and his toes wandered around inside them as if trying to find a way to escape. The shirt was bright and loud, and was the best thing he could ever remember anyone giving him. He didn’t dare to hope that this was all going to turn out well in the end, because he knew better. But he was willing to enjoy what he could of his new circumstances.
They stopped for a while at some place that looked a little like a box, and people came by looking at Mickey’s papers. And then the train was moving again. The buildings were becoming prettier, with lots of trees and gardens and stone walls. The cars seemed nicer too, and there were less people on foot beside the tracks. The day was getting very late when the train slowed down and Mickey started gathering their few belongings. “Come on, Nu. This is where we jump off.”
So they had to get off of the train. Nu picked up the bag that had been assigned to him and followed closely, worried about how this was to be done. But the train stopped completely and Mickey just stepped down to the hard ground. Once they were outside, Nu followed Mickey to where there were some cars. Mickey picked one from the line and the driver snubbed out his cigarette and climbed in, yelling words to his friends. There was a quick conversation in a language that Nu didn’t know at all, and then the car was moving.
“We’re in Bialystok,” Mickey told him, speaking softly, like he didn’t want the driver to hear. “This is Poland. Tomorrow we’ll go to Warsaw, and from there we’re going to fly very far away from here.”
A hard lump formed in Nu’s gut, but he tried to suppress his reaction. Never let them know that you’re afraid. That was a big mistake. He knew that he wasn’t good at hiding his fear. The only thing he had going for him was that he wasn’t nearly as defenseless as most people assumed.
Mickey was looking at him too closely. “You don’t need to worry, Nu. I’m taking you someplace safe. Someplace where you can be free.” He held the clone’s eyes for a long time, trying to impart his sincerity. Nu forced a smile to cross his features. Mickey smiled back. Perhaps he’d been fooled. Perhaps it wasn’t all over already.
“I’m starving, and we need to get a few supplies,” Mickey told him as they arrived at a large building in the middle of the town. “Can you come with me to a restaurant, or would you rather just go to our room?”
Nu looked around uncertainly. He could smell food cooking. He’d never been to a restaurant. It sounded great. But he was worried too, and he didn’t know what to do. He clutched his bag while Mickey paid the driver. They went into the building and there was a lot of talking with a person there. Then Mickey took him up two flights of stairs to a new bedroom. They left their things there and Nu cautiously followed Mickey back out into the city. He was trembling with fear, but he walked just behind Mickey, ready to bolt but not knowing where he could run to. Mickey found them a place to sit at a table in a courtyard filled with trees, and Nu was so enchanted at being outside that he forgot most of his nervousness and enjoyed the meal very much. They had sausages, stuffed cabbage, bitter pickles, and something called a strawberry pierogi that nearly made Nu moan in pleasure.
After the meal, Mickey led him around town for a while, and he was able to look at many things in the nearly-deserted streets. Most of the people were in bed or doing things in other places, and the city of Bialystok was very quiet. They ended up back at the hotel, and this time when Mickey stopped at the front desk the young woman there gave him several things in a bag. Mickey paid her money and said something that made her laugh. She looked over at Nu with a strange expression, and then smiled. That seemed odd.
Back in their room, Nu watched as Mickey took the new purchases out of the bag. There were clothes there, again, and something that looked like medicine. There was also a little machine with a cord that Nu took an instant disliking to. Mickey sat him down on the end of one of the beds and started speaking to him very slowly.
“We need to clean you up, Nu. You have to shower, and get really washed. And your hair…I’m sorry. But it’s got to go. You’ve got lice in there, and the drugs won’t work very well with that mop of curls.”
Nu was already trembling. He plotted an escape route. He thought of a place they’d passed on the street where he’d thought that he could hide. He could easily knock Mickey down, or hit him. He could hurt him if he had to. He suddenly remembered Viktor’s lifeless face, the way his body had slumped to the floor. Yes, Nu could get away. He could do it.
Mickey was frowning at him, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’re thinking unless you talk to me, kid.” He took out the drug and showed Nu the packaging. “See? These nasty little things are lice. Like you have in your hair. This gets rid of them. Your scalp won’t itch anymore.” He plugged the machine into the wall socket, and it made an awful noise. Nu jumped back, but Mickey waited for a moment, and then ran the thing up and down his forearm. “See? It’s just cuts the hair, not the skin. Look. Feel this? The hair is shorter, but it’s not gone completely.”
Nu was starting to understand, but he really didn’t see how it all fit together. Was Mickey going to take his hair off because he wanted him to look different? Was it because Mickey thought he would be prettier if he was a different way? Nu had been forced to be ‘pretty’ for men before. He understood what would happen after that, he knew all too well what men did to pretty boys. His breath was coming in shallow gasps now. He could hear his heartbeat in his own ears.
“Tell you what, let’s just start with the shower, okay? You don’t mind taking a shower, do you? Look, I have some special soap here. Smell it – it’s nice! Really. Let’s go into the bathroom together.” Nu made sure that he was the one in the doorway, ready and able to bolt. Mickey took his own clothes off, and Nu was very surprised to see that Mickey had a gun inside his clothing. Had that gun been there all along? Mickey put the gun on the floor and stood before him naked, with a small smile. “Now, watch closely, because this is what I want to do to you too, Nu.” And then Mickey used the machine to cut his hair very, very short. It stood up like little bristles.
“I can’t believe I just did that!” Mickey laughed, looking at his own reflection over the pile of hair that now filled the sink. “But after a day with you on the train I’ve probably got lice too! Nothing like a Soviet-era prison to give a guy some personal pets.” He took the medicine then and started putting it on his head, turning on the shower.
“Well? Do I earn your trust yet?” Mickey asked Nu, turning around.
Nowhere near…nowhere near.
Orlando
He kicked off his shoes as soon as he was through the door, and sank down on the bed with a groan. Filming had run long, and now they said that bad weather was heading their way, so things might be dicey for the morning. He’d gotten out of his costume in record time, because now every time he started taking Will Turner’s elaborate clothes off he could only remember Viggo’s hands on his heated body.
Viggo…who was back in Morocco by now. A wave of sadness swept over Orlando quite suddenly, and he rolled over to bury his face in his arms. He needed to go get something to eat. He should take a look at the script again, especially since the writers had given out new pages earlier. He could do with going through his clothes as well, since some of them were starting to smell a bit on the floor of the closet.
Orlando Lambda rocked onto his side and rummaged under his pillow for a moment, finally coming up with his red teddy bear. The Orli-Bear was tucked against his ribs and he clicked off the light without physically moving. Blessed darkness washed over the room, hiding everything. The sound of the ceiling fan almost drowned out any interruption from outside.
Several minutes passed, then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Someone paused outside his door. They seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then rapped on the wood. “Orli? It’s Rollie. Come on out and have a beer, mate. Can’t promise that we’ll blow anything up, but I’ve got some new jokes to tell ya. Got them from a bloke in Oz, so you know they’re dirty.”
Orlando smiled, despite himself, and let the overhead light turn itself back on. He sat up. “I’ll just be a mo, Rollie.”
“Too right! I’ll wait down at the courtyard.”
Orlando stirred himself, going to check if he looked as mopey as he felt. Nope. He looked good. Okay, now to pretend that he felt that way too.
TITLE: Beyond Design Limitations
CHAPTER: Eighteen – Forgotten Friend
AUTHOR: Pecos – PecosPhil@sprintmail.com
WEBSITE: http://www.chimerafic.com
BETA: Gloria Mundi and Kim Hatton
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 Eighteen: Forgotten Friend
Mickey
Life was cheap – this life in particular. Patient 8171G, once called Nu. It was like the kid had been marked down for ready sale. All you had to do was know the way it was done. Mickey hadn’t bothered to bring any Belarusian Rubles, as Euros seemed to be the favored currency anyway. It only took about €200 to get a good look at his medical files, and a bottle of high-end Vodka for those files to be copied on the world’s oldest Xerox machine. Mickey studied what he could, cursing the universal constant of doctors handwriting. At least the files were in Russian – Belarusian would have been impossible.
It took a while to find just the right guy at the ‘hospital’ to open negotiations, and that man turned out to have excellent Polish, which suited Kostmayer even better than Russian. They refused to let him have a look at the ‘goods’, bemoaning the fact that there had been an ‘incident’ recently, and many of the patients had been injured in what sounded more accurately like a brawl. But there was a grainy photo in the file which was sufficient proof that 8171G was the right target. The young man looked quite familiar, and had been glaring at the camera with a ferocity that belied his soft, comely appearance.
Yep, he’d definitely found Νu.
After that it got easier. The brawl had apparently produced at least one fatality, and it wasn’t too much of a stretch to change some information on the paperwork. 8171G died that day, conveniently backdated to an earlier date. He just ceased to exist. Mickey bought a human being for a bit under €19,000.
His goods were delivered at the front gate. He passed over the money, took the young man’s arm, and turned away.
Johnny
He was using a pencil to scratch beneath his wig, one eye scrunched shut in concentration. That was one determined itch up under the matted hair, cloth and bangles. They were filming on the barge again, but this time it was docked right near shore, with only the horizon needed for background. The roll of the ungainly ship was quite mild today, and the slap of water on the hull a constant background noise that soothed him on a very primal level. Itch finally defeated, Johnny leaned back to stretch his legs and study the hustle and flow of the crew.
Geoffrey was fussing with the monkey’s trainer, complaining about how hard it was to remember your lines when someone was shooting at you with a squirt bottle. The monkey, for her part, was busy grooming her trainer’s hair and chirping.
“I’m just saying, perhaps if you could just hold it up and not squirt it? She’ll see what you’ve got and react just the same without you needing to pelt me. I’ve got a cat at home. All I have to do is threaten to squirt him when he’s thinking about scratching the furniture, and good behavior is ensured!”
“This is not a cat, Mister Rush,” the trainer sighed. “The water is to get her attention. The film set is very scary for a monkey, and she’s always scanning for danger. She’s also too smart to fall for a threatened squirting more than once.” The Capuchin in question suddenly looked up and squawked in recognition, bouncing up and down excitedly. Of course, Orlando had arrived. That damn monkey adored him.
“Oy, my pretty girl!” Will Turner cooed, reaching out to scratch the back of the creature’s head as he passed. He kept moving, despite the simian’s disappointment, and only nodded at Geoffrey before coming over to take a seat a Johnny’s side. “You’re extra smelly today, Captain,” Orlando said in greeting.
“It’s my manly odeur, smithy,” Johnny said haughtily. “Male hormones ooze off’a me, like a lion marking his turf.”
“Lions just piss all over the place,” Orlando remarked.
“I’ll try that as well then. Maybe while everyone’s at tea. Save me a cookie, will ya?”
“The writers steal all the biscuits long before I can get to them,” Orli sighed. “Have you not noticed that Terry’s putting on weight?”
“You’d think that stars, nay, superstars, of our caliber could at least be guaranteed a few cookies, wouldn’t you?” Johnny shook his head. “No respect. It’s just like when I’m on a Burton movie. He leaves me watching his bratty kids and expects me to pick up his dry cleaning.”
“I greatly doubt that.”
Keira had arrived, and was making her way towards them. Johnny waved at her limp-wristedly while asking, “You doubt that Tim treats me like utter dirt?”
“I doubt that he owns anything that needs dry cleaning.” Orlando stood up and smiled as the young lady arrived. “You look ravishing as a redcoat, darling.”
“Right!” She giggled, twirling to show off her costume for the afternoon’s shooting. “I never thought that I’d be the only one in uniform! Where’s your boyfriend, Orli?”
Johnny’s laugh cut off Orlando’s indignant squawk. “She’s got your domestic situation sorted out!”
“You mean Viggo?” The young man was doing a fair impersonation of one of the fish the crewmembers were feeding in the ship’s shade. “He’s not my boyfriend!”
“Please!” Keira said, rolling her eyes. “You’re totally gay on him! I was just hoping he’s still here. He doesn’t seem nearly as nelly as you, Orli, and there’s a dearth of good-looking men around here, in case you hadn’t noticed. Not that you haven’t noticed!”
Orlando was still trying to come up with something to say when the monkey pounced on his head.
Mickey
He double-locked the door of his room at the Yubileyny Hotel in the old town section of Minsk, and breathed a deep sigh before turning around. There had been utter silence from his companion on the trip from the Mental Hospital. Nothing but big, frightened eyes in an implacable mask. They would leave the country in a couple of hours. Mickey had no reason to suspect that anyone would be looking for them already yet, or he would not have returned to his room. He would have already made a break for the border if he were only planning on making a rescue run. Chances were that nobody knew about this abandoned clone. No one knew, or cared.
Mickey put down his key and emptied his pockets, showing everything he had to the young man who stood so stiffly near the foot of the bed. See? Nothing here to alarm anybody. Mickey was always at his most dangerous when he was looking harmless, but the clone had no way of knowing that.
“So, Nu, do you speak English? I assumed that you did, since you came out of one of the labs. But maybe not.”
Nothing. No response. Just that frozen expression of fear and suspicion.
Mickey tried again in Russian, and then German. Still nothing. Oh well. Lambda had been silent at first when he’d been rescued from the lab in Alaska. Maybe they just didn’t like to talk until they knew what the score was. That certainly seemed possible. The kid’s file hadn’t mentioned anything about him being a mute.
Mickey had a lot to do, so he decided that they’d better just get on with it. He turned on the TV for distraction and gestured to the bed. “Why don’t you relax for a few? I’ve got to run up some maps for our route.” He indicated the food items he’d left out on the night table. “Feel free to eat, if you’re hungry.”
Nu moved only when he wasn’t being watched, finally settling stiffly on the end of the bed, hands clenched in the loose fabric on the thighs of his rough cotton pants. Mickey had some new clothes for him, and would hopefully be able to get him to change before they took off. He had noticed that the kid smelled pretty bad, but that wasn’t going to be a problem for a while yet. The local population didn’t have the same fixation on grooming that Americans typically did. They’d clean him up when he got to Bialystok. That was where Mickey planned to turn Nu into Nicky. It was the same name as his brother, the Catholic Priest.
Nick would approve. He was always real big on lost causes.
Dominic
Screaming as if he were in pain, Dom threw the videogame controller at the television set. “Fucker!” he shouted. “Back to the start of the whole level? That’s bollocks! Why can’t I save it before you kill me EVERY FUCKING TIME?” The game was anything but chagrined, with a cheerful little bit of music coming on to celebrate the fact that he’d just lost two and half hours of work.
“Bollocks,” Dominic growled, stretching his aching back and rummaging through the junk on the coffee table for a joint. The place had gone downhill in hurry once Billy’d left. Dominic found a roach that he’d put out just after lighting because Elijah had called. He wasn’t too proud to light it again. He just got it fired up when the phone rang.
“No one’s ‘ere!” he yelled. Good thing the neighbors all had day jobs.
The phone continued to ring. It was probably Astin, offering to do his taxes or set him up on a blind date with somebody’s auntie. Maybe it was Billy, calling to brag about the surf in Mexico. Or even Elijah, wanting to tell him about how Jim Carrey was being a twat again. “I’m not moving,” he told the ringing instrument. He sprawled grandly and sucked hard on the badly-rolled joint. Had Billy nicked some of his weed? There hardly seemed to be anything inside the paper.
The phone cut off half a ring before the answering machine would have picked up. Dominic frowned at it. Only a good friend would know how many rings he gave before the machine. Maybe Hannah was calling to tell him about some new club. Or that pesky bastard Craig had decided to stay in town another couple of days. Could be it was Fran calling from New Zealand to see if he could come down for more voice work.
God…why did all of those options suddenly sound so much better than just sitting on his ass getting mad at the telly? Dominic snuffed out his burning paper (had he actually rolled a joint with nothing in it? How stoned would he have to be to do that?) and lumbered to his feet. He kicked most of the junk off the coffee table in a total hissy fit and headed for the kitchen. God, he was hungry. Had he eaten anything at all lately?
The phone rang again as he passed it, and Dominic snatched the thing up. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Nice to hear from you too, Dominic,” said his agent.
“Oh, uh, sorry, luv. I was thinking you were someone else.” He frowned fiercely at his reflection in the microwave glass. He looked like a homeless person.
“I’m no one else but me, Dom. Hey, I got a script here that I think you should go in and read for.”
“Another shitty movie made on a five quid and lunch budget?”
“No, I’m afraid not. It’s television. Pilot for a possible new series.”
“You have got to be kidding me, mate! Television?” He said it like one would say ‘Cancer?’ in the doctor’s office.
“Don’t go freaking out on me, Dom. It’s a good part. There’re several good parts.”
“Yeah? Is it an after-school special where I get to explain how my uncle touched me in a bad way, and now I’m on smack and selling babies in Singapore? I did TV back in the UK, y’know.”
“Yes, I actually do know that. I think I read your CV at one time, in the far, far distant past. Quit being such a drama queen, Dominic. No one is paying you to do it right now.”
“Fucker.”
“Whiner. Look, it’s being fronted by J.J. Abrams, he of ‘Buffy’ fame. The premise is sorta dumb, but the writing looks top notch. I wanted you to read for the washed-up rock star.”
“Which is it?” Dom asked, intrigued despite himself. “Washed-up, or rock star?”
“Has-been rock star on smack.”
That made him laugh at last. “I can do that, yeah!”
“And if you make the cast, they’re going to film in Hawaii.”
“No shit? Hawaii?”
“On a real beach and everything. It’ll be just like being in L.A….but without the L.A. You wouldn’t mind that too much, would you?”
“Plus five quid and lunch, right?”
“There’s room to negotiate. Write down this info…I told them you’d be over first thing in the morning….”
Nu
First they had driven to the airport. Nu had been terrified at the thought of getting on an airplane again. After all, that was what had brought him to this place. But Mickey had not even entered the building. Instead, he’d bundled them both into a car, as if they’d just arrived, and off they went to a train station. The crowd there was horrible, but Nu clung determinedly to the little bag Mickey had given him to carry, and followed his guide through the press of foreign bodies. Then they were at the train, and Nu stepped aboard cautiously. He’d only seen trains in movies. Mickey was muttering reassurances the whole time, and Nu took what courage he could from the unproven source. Anything to get through this experience – anything to put some distance between himself and the Mental Hospital. He would gladly die before going back there.
Sitting in the seat Mickey had directed him to, Nu felt his head spinning lazily. It was probably because he hadn’t been given any drugs for many hours now. Mickey had said something about nothing in his chart being important, and had spent time looking at a computer screen and mumbling complicated chemical names and dosages. Nu shook himself awake as the train started to move. No one else seemed alarmed as they picked up speed, moving over rough tracks out of the city of Minsk, so Nu sat back and studied the view.
The train sped through the countryside, past buildings and farms and open spaces. Nu stared, rapt, eyes widening whenever he saw people just moving around on their own, walking or driving or stopping to talk to someone else. It all looked so fake to him. The land rolled and dipped and they crossed over water and roads and through the centers of many little towns.
Mickey left him there for a while and returned with some food. Nu ate the strange things cautiously, careful not to spill on his new clothes. His clothes smelled of soap and shops instead of industrial misery and sick people. Nu loved his new clothes, even though they didn’t fit him very well. The shoes were too big and his toes wandered around inside them as if trying to find a way to escape. The shirt was bright and loud, and was the best thing he could ever remember anyone giving him. He didn’t dare to hope that this was all going to turn out well in the end, because he knew better. But he was willing to enjoy what he could of his new circumstances.
They stopped for a while at some place that looked a little like a box, and people came by looking at Mickey’s papers. And then the train was moving again. The buildings were becoming prettier, with lots of trees and gardens and stone walls. The cars seemed nicer too, and there were less people on foot beside the tracks. The day was getting very late when the train slowed down and Mickey started gathering their few belongings. “Come on, Nu. This is where we jump off.”
So they had to get off of the train. Nu picked up the bag that had been assigned to him and followed closely, worried about how this was to be done. But the train stopped completely and Mickey just stepped down to the hard ground. Once they were outside, Nu followed Mickey to where there were some cars. Mickey picked one from the line and the driver snubbed out his cigarette and climbed in, yelling words to his friends. There was a quick conversation in a language that Nu didn’t know at all, and then the car was moving.
“We’re in Bialystok,” Mickey told him, speaking softly, like he didn’t want the driver to hear. “This is Poland. Tomorrow we’ll go to Warsaw, and from there we’re going to fly very far away from here.”
A hard lump formed in Nu’s gut, but he tried to suppress his reaction. Never let them know that you’re afraid. That was a big mistake. He knew that he wasn’t good at hiding his fear. The only thing he had going for him was that he wasn’t nearly as defenseless as most people assumed.
Mickey was looking at him too closely. “You don’t need to worry, Nu. I’m taking you someplace safe. Someplace where you can be free.” He held the clone’s eyes for a long time, trying to impart his sincerity. Nu forced a smile to cross his features. Mickey smiled back. Perhaps he’d been fooled. Perhaps it wasn’t all over already.
“I’m starving, and we need to get a few supplies,” Mickey told him as they arrived at a large building in the middle of the town. “Can you come with me to a restaurant, or would you rather just go to our room?”
Nu looked around uncertainly. He could smell food cooking. He’d never been to a restaurant. It sounded great. But he was worried too, and he didn’t know what to do. He clutched his bag while Mickey paid the driver. They went into the building and there was a lot of talking with a person there. Then Mickey took him up two flights of stairs to a new bedroom. They left their things there and Nu cautiously followed Mickey back out into the city. He was trembling with fear, but he walked just behind Mickey, ready to bolt but not knowing where he could run to. Mickey found them a place to sit at a table in a courtyard filled with trees, and Nu was so enchanted at being outside that he forgot most of his nervousness and enjoyed the meal very much. They had sausages, stuffed cabbage, bitter pickles, and something called a strawberry pierogi that nearly made Nu moan in pleasure.
After the meal, Mickey led him around town for a while, and he was able to look at many things in the nearly-deserted streets. Most of the people were in bed or doing things in other places, and the city of Bialystok was very quiet. They ended up back at the hotel, and this time when Mickey stopped at the front desk the young woman there gave him several things in a bag. Mickey paid her money and said something that made her laugh. She looked over at Nu with a strange expression, and then smiled. That seemed odd.
Back in their room, Nu watched as Mickey took the new purchases out of the bag. There were clothes there, again, and something that looked like medicine. There was also a little machine with a cord that Nu took an instant disliking to. Mickey sat him down on the end of one of the beds and started speaking to him very slowly.
“We need to clean you up, Nu. You have to shower, and get really washed. And your hair…I’m sorry. But it’s got to go. You’ve got lice in there, and the drugs won’t work very well with that mop of curls.”
Nu was already trembling. He plotted an escape route. He thought of a place they’d passed on the street where he’d thought that he could hide. He could easily knock Mickey down, or hit him. He could hurt him if he had to. He suddenly remembered Viktor’s lifeless face, the way his body had slumped to the floor. Yes, Nu could get away. He could do it.
Mickey was frowning at him, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’re thinking unless you talk to me, kid.” He took out the drug and showed Nu the packaging. “See? These nasty little things are lice. Like you have in your hair. This gets rid of them. Your scalp won’t itch anymore.” He plugged the machine into the wall socket, and it made an awful noise. Nu jumped back, but Mickey waited for a moment, and then ran the thing up and down his forearm. “See? It’s just cuts the hair, not the skin. Look. Feel this? The hair is shorter, but it’s not gone completely.”
Nu was starting to understand, but he really didn’t see how it all fit together. Was Mickey going to take his hair off because he wanted him to look different? Was it because Mickey thought he would be prettier if he was a different way? Nu had been forced to be ‘pretty’ for men before. He understood what would happen after that, he knew all too well what men did to pretty boys. His breath was coming in shallow gasps now. He could hear his heartbeat in his own ears.
“Tell you what, let’s just start with the shower, okay? You don’t mind taking a shower, do you? Look, I have some special soap here. Smell it – it’s nice! Really. Let’s go into the bathroom together.” Nu made sure that he was the one in the doorway, ready and able to bolt. Mickey took his own clothes off, and Nu was very surprised to see that Mickey had a gun inside his clothing. Had that gun been there all along? Mickey put the gun on the floor and stood before him naked, with a small smile. “Now, watch closely, because this is what I want to do to you too, Nu.” And then Mickey used the machine to cut his hair very, very short. It stood up like little bristles.
“I can’t believe I just did that!” Mickey laughed, looking at his own reflection over the pile of hair that now filled the sink. “But after a day with you on the train I’ve probably got lice too! Nothing like a Soviet-era prison to give a guy some personal pets.” He took the medicine then and started putting it on his head, turning on the shower.
“Well? Do I earn your trust yet?” Mickey asked Nu, turning around.
Nowhere near…nowhere near.
Orlando
He kicked off his shoes as soon as he was through the door, and sank down on the bed with a groan. Filming had run long, and now they said that bad weather was heading their way, so things might be dicey for the morning. He’d gotten out of his costume in record time, because now every time he started taking Will Turner’s elaborate clothes off he could only remember Viggo’s hands on his heated body.
Viggo…who was back in Morocco by now. A wave of sadness swept over Orlando quite suddenly, and he rolled over to bury his face in his arms. He needed to go get something to eat. He should take a look at the script again, especially since the writers had given out new pages earlier. He could do with going through his clothes as well, since some of them were starting to smell a bit on the floor of the closet.
Orlando Lambda rocked onto his side and rummaged under his pillow for a moment, finally coming up with his red teddy bear. The Orli-Bear was tucked against his ribs and he clicked off the light without physically moving. Blessed darkness washed over the room, hiding everything. The sound of the ceiling fan almost drowned out any interruption from outside.
Several minutes passed, then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Someone paused outside his door. They seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then rapped on the wood. “Orli? It’s Rollie. Come on out and have a beer, mate. Can’t promise that we’ll blow anything up, but I’ve got some new jokes to tell ya. Got them from a bloke in Oz, so you know they’re dirty.”
Orlando smiled, despite himself, and let the overhead light turn itself back on. He sat up. “I’ll just be a mo, Rollie.”
“Too right! I’ll wait down at the courtyard.”
Orlando stirred himself, going to check if he looked as mopey as he felt. Nope. He looked good. Okay, now to pretend that he felt that way too.