The Game #1
Edited by Karen Leigh
Ricky Caruso made a valiant attempt to hit all the high notes in "Bohemian Rhapsody" as he drove to the county court house. "Ah, the classics" he mused, "There was something about a song that could transcend the years."
There was not one space available in the visitors parking so Ricky stuck the FBI sticker on his dashboard and hoped for the best. He picked up the envelope of speeding tickets from the glove box of his Jaguar, the shiny new pretty that Cory Raines had bought him as a good-bye gift. Seventeen tickets, most of them parking violations, stuffed the envelope. Of course, Ricky had only earned three of them, two parking tickets and one speeding. Alex had garnered five of the parking tickets and Cory was responsible for all the other speeding tickets and the rest of the others. But how in the hell do you explain that you have these look-a-likes that borrow your car? And you can hardly say no because one pays your insurance and the other bought you the car. Besides, Ricky grinned as he polished a shining moment, no one but your double could know all the deliciously right spots to lick, to suck, and nibble.
Ricky jammed into a crowded elevator and wedged his behind into a corner. Around thirteen, he had discovered that was the only way to keep a casually groping hand off his cute round behind. Even so, he felt a hand brush his body. The elevator was so full he couldn't even tell whom to yell at for getting fresh. He wiggled out of the sullen crowd and glanced up to follow the arrow to the court clerk in charge of raking in the wages of high speed spinning and overly optimistic parking. He passed a gesturing French woman who waved a bundle of tickets in the air. Foxy, but not his type. His type of Fox was more like...Fox.
Ricky half-turned to watch the blonde complain about her parking violations to a very pretty curly headed boy. He had noticed a cop staring, but he thought that it was just someone he'd met at a party or maybe out of uniform at a leather bar. Anyway, the sudden blast of "Freeze, Greene, down on your face, hands behind your back" took him by total surprise.
Ricky yelped as rough hands cuffed him. "Hey," he gasped, "check my ID. I'm an FBI agent."
A foot held him down as hands searched him. "He's armed." Said a gruff voice. "No identification. No wallet."
Ricky tried to sink into the sharply scented cold floor of the municipal building. He remembered the groping hand and thought, "Oh shit, I'm in for it now. Who in the hell is Anson Greene?" Trying to catch his breath with a jackboot jammed in his ribs, Ricky said, "Call Walter Skinner. He's the assistant director of the FBI. He knows me inside out. He'll tell you I'm not Greene!"
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Skinner sighed and pulled his glasses off to rub at his tired eyes. Damn paperwork. It was never ending. Sometimes he wished he'd not taken the promotion ... He missed the field. Missed the excitement. Of course ... with Mulder as one of his direct reports, life seldom got boring. Damn Mulder.
The intercom buzzed. "Yes, Kim?" he asked, dreading the possible answer. What now?
"Sir, there's a call for you on line one ... something about a Ricky Caruso."
Caruso? What the hell? He picked up the line, "Skinner," he barked.
"Sir, this is Detective Powell, DC PD. We have a man in custody claiming to be one of your men."
"Why do you have him in custody, Powell?"
"He matches the description of one Anson Greene, but claims to be an FBI agent named Caruso. Says you can confirm his story."
Caruso ... Shit. Skinner clenched his teeth. "Where do you have him, Powell?"
"We're at the municipal building."
"Fine," Skinner said. "I'll be right down." He hung up the phone and grabbed his coat. "Kim," he said as he headed out of the office, "I have to go out for a bit. I'll have my cell if you need to reach me."
"Will you be back, sir?"
He paused. "I'm not sure, Kim. I'll .. let you know."
Down in the garage, Skinner cranked up his car and headed out to the municipal building.
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Mulder had been driving along in a dream, brain on automatic, as he wrestled fruitlessly with the problem that had occupied all his waking hours for the last three weeks. He supposed it had to happen sooner or later, but 30 years later would be none too soon.
He supposed he couldn't blame Fox, the guy looked so much like Alex, and both of them were a sucker for that, but damn, why did Ricky have to work for the FBI, and why, of all people, did he have Skinner as his superior?
So far he'd managed to avoid him at work. He supposed it was just possible that he could reach retirement age without coming face to face with the guy, but eventually there wouldn't be a handy broom closet or fire escape and the two of them would meet. He'd even unscrewed his nameplate from his office door to put off the inevitable, to postpone the day when Ricky would discover Spooky Mulder was the same person as his alter ego, Fox.
He turned onto the car-park ramp sightlessly, habit taking him in the right direction, oblivious, preoccupied. Suddenly reality returned with a crunch and tinkle of broken headlamps, and Mulder's horrified eyes met AD Skinner's through three layers of glass; the windscreens of their respective cars and Skinner's glasses, which were perched at a crazy angle on the AD's nose.
This damn day just kept getting better and better. Skinner sighed and got out of the car. "Mulder, what the hell are you doing?" He sighed and pulled his glasses off to rub at his eyes.
Mulder climbed from his car shakily and gave the AD a sickly grin. "Er... daydreaming, sir," he offered hesitantly, thanking the fates that Skinner didn't appear to be injured.
"Listen, I have to head to the municipal building, Caruso's is in trouble and I have to go take care of the matter. We'll fill out the paperwork on this little accident later today or tomorrow morning."
'Wonder if he's in enough trouble to get booted out of the FBI', thought Mulder selfishly, trying to arrange a concerned look on his face. 'Then he'll never find out I'm Fox.'
"Really sir? What's happened?" he asked solicitously, but Skinner hadn't noticed his expression. Mulder followed the direction of his boss's gaze.
He looked at the damage to the two cars. The steam rising from his hood told him that his car was out of commission. Not wanting to take the time to get another bureau vehicle, he held out one hand to Mulder. "Give me your keys, my car seems to be in the worst shape. I'll use yours and you can go get another from the pool."
"All right, sir." Mulder pulled the bunch from his pocket and fumbled through them, trying to sort the car keys from the rest of his bunch. The linked rings proved recalcitrant, and as he tried to wedge them apart the car keys flew from his hand and disappeared down a drain. "Oh my god, I'm sorry sir," he gulped. "They'll have a spare set in the car pool office. I'll get them." He turned and sprinted towards the elevators, leaving the AD stranded, and the entrance to the FBI parking garage completely blocked.
Skinner waited impatiently. He really needed to get going. Trust Mulder ... Why was it always Mulder?
The elevator crawled to the top floor as Mulder impatiently paced up and down, tapped his foot, and looked at his watch. None of these made it go any faster. Why the car pool office was virtually on the roof, when all the vehicles were in the basement was the sort of bureaucratic anomaly that makes government employment so fascinating, thought Mulder bitterly. The clerk in the office could tell from Mulder's explanation that he was in deep shit with his boss. Mulder wasn't popular with this department, he'd totaled, lost or contaminated with unmentionable grunge more than his fair share of FBI vehicles. She took delight in dragging out the interview, and making him fill out a form about the collision before issuing the keys, so it was nearly twenty minutes later when Mulder emerged with his prize.
He entered the elevator muttering darkly, visualizing the AD's wrath. He punched the bottom button and the doors had almost closed when a shabby arm forced its way between them. They slid open and a figure as badly dressed as the arm jumped inside and pressed the button for just one floor down.
Mulder gawked in shock. It was Krycek. He put his hand on the man's shoulder and said, "What the hell are you doing here, Alex?"
The man looked at Mulder blankly and replied, "I am not Alex. You recognize this face, then?"
"Of course I recognize it," said Mulder, "What sort of question is that? And what are you doing here?"
"If you recognize this face you must be Skinner," replied the man tonelessly. "You will come with me." He took Mulder's arm in a steely grip, and continued, "Show me the quickest way to the street."
"Oww, fuck, that hurts," winced Mulder, trying to shake him loose. "Enough with the jokes, eh? What's going on?"
"You are Skinner. I need you. You will help me," the man stated, and turned to look at the control buttons. "Which floor is the entrance on?"
Mulder peered at his captor. It was Alex, no doubt about that. There was no doubt either that Alex didn't know him. Something else was wrong. Alex held his arm with one hand, and had a finger of the other hand poised to press a button... a flesh and blood hand... in fact, one flesh and blood hand too many. He gulped.
"You're not Alex Krycek, are you?"
"I am not this human. I am a Mac 27 android. I am number 902. Which button for the street? If you do not co-operate I will break your arm. It will impair your function and cause you pain."
'Mac 27 android?' thought Mulder, flabbergasted. Mac 27 lunatic seems more like it. But a lunatic that looks just like Alex.
Sensing an X-file had just landed right in his lap, he gave a pleased smirk and said, "I'll co-operate, okay, but I'm not Skinner. I know where he is though, and I'll take you right to him. Why do you want him?"
"He is a friend of Ricky Caruso. That human has been mistaken for a Mac 27 and will be recycled along with some of them. I wish to help the other Mac27's. Skinner will wish to help the human. We can be of use to each other."
Better and better, thought Mulder, mentally rubbing his hands together. "He's waiting for me in the parking garage, and I just know he'll want to co-operate as well."
Pacing impatiently, Skinner turned when Mulder arrived with the keys. And, with him ...
"Ricky?" he asked in amazement. "I thought you were in custody. What the hell is going on?"
The Mac 27 marched Mulder up to the Assistant Director and released his arm, transferring his grip to Skinner instead. "You are Skinner?" he demanded.
Biting back a smile, Mulder offered, "Yes, this is Skinner." He looked at his boss, held out the car keys and said, "Sir, may I introduce Mac 27 Number 902, who purports to be an android. He has informed me that Agent Caruso has been mistaken for a fellow android and will be recycled, along with other Mac 27's. May I request that I accompany you, sir? While I cannot give credence to the existence of androids without supporting evidence, his resemblance to Agent Caruso is startling, and I'd like to be involved. It seems that Agent Caruso may have more problems than a simple arrest."
A taunting voice spoke inside Mulder's mind. How do you know that he's not Ricky, Spooky? Maybe he's found out your sordid secret and decided to play a game of his own?
Dammit, go away, Fox. Mulder's mental reply was sharp, impatient. Even if that were true, he wouldn't involve Skinner.
Ricky will find you out... Ricky will find you out... the childish singsong faded to silence in Mulder's head and he sighed. Walking to his car, he opened the driver's door, and gestured genially for his boss to climb in.
Skinner almost told them both to take a flying leap, but what if Mulder was right? Dammit, his life was growing ever more complicated. It had been bad enough to have Mulder as the proverbial thorn in his side ... Having Ricky show signs of being just as much trouble, if not more was almost more than he could bear. Arrested ... fine, he could deal with that - but *this*? Christ-on-a-crutch!
He shrugged, uncomfortable and irritated at the firm hold the thing had on him. "Let go," he growled at Number 902. "I'm not going anywhere without you." He walked towards Mulder's car.
"Let's go," he barked at Mulder. Was nothing *ever* simple? No ... not once Mulder got involved. And now Ricky too. Skinner climbed into the car, watching the supposed android closely. He didn't really have a choice at this point ... the ... thing definitely looked like Caruso and just as definitely was *not* Ricky.
And, speaking of Ricky ... just how much did Mulder know about ...
"Shit!" He pulled his glasses off and rubbed at tired eyes. "Mulder, why is it that every time something ... unusual happens in my life you're in the thick of it?" He fixed Mulder with his best impatient AD stare. "Where did you find," he gestured at the 'android', "him? Are you sure he's not some ... never mind. Where do we start? I want to get this over with."
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"It's about time" Ricky snarled as a beefy jailer showed up at the front of the cell he was sharing with two gang bangers who had been involved in a drive by, a creep who had just "allegedly" killed his wife and kid, and a shop-keeper who had blasted three big holes in a fourteen-year-old shoplifter's body as the kid tried to run from his store.
The jailer stood about six feet tall and four foot wide. She was like a wall of tan uniform. She wore shining braces and Ricky thought her mouth looked like a garbage disposal, a very scary and evil machine.
Ricky stood up and asked, "Did Walter show up? I mean, AD Skinner?"
The jailer said, "Well, kid, it appears you really are on the most wanted list. Someone has pulled strings to have you extradited. Rise and shine, buddy boy."
Despite Ricky's protests, the jailer marched him to a room to change back into his clothes and then turned him over to two men in black. The men both had medium brown hair color, gray eyes, with the blandly frightening faces of Ken dolls. They were both just under six feet tall and had average builds. They were the kind of people whose appearance could be forgotten even while you were still talking to them.
Ricky said every two minutes, "I want to talk to my lawyer. Hey, I have a right to talk to an attorney."
"National security." One man in black replied. "Are you a patriot?" he asked the jailer when she appeared to be considering Ricky's request.
The jailer clenched her nutcracker jaws and drew herself to a proud stretch of her mighty body. "Of course, I am. I will do anything for the motherland."
"Help," Ricky said with a whimper as the two blank faced and interchangeable men marched him out the door. They were in a fenced yard, separated from a parking lot by tall chain link fences with sloping barbed wire at the top. A van with an anonymous government license plate stood waiting.
Ricky said, "I don't know who you think I am, but please listen. My name is Ricky Caruso and I'm an FBI agent. All you have to do is call Walter Skinner and he'll vouch for me."
One of the men in black laughed and said, "Hey, he talks pretty good for a cross between a vacuum cleaner, a tractor, and a milking machine. Cute too." His hand reached out to grab Ricky's ass. Lecherously, he speculated, "I heard that some of these were reprogrammed as living sex toys. Want to bet this one was?"
"Not now, Cassidy. You can play with him when we get to the holding area," replied the other man.
"You can't do this to me." Ricky uttered as they lifted him bodily and shoved him kicking through a van door.
"Oh, shit." Ricky said eyes widening as he was tossed head over heels into the padded van.
The van held five doubles of him. Two of them were necking in the corner; Ricky noticed with shocked fascination that they had panels in their sides exposed and part of the sex play appeared to consist of interconnection of what looked like wires.
Another double stood up and held out a friendly hand. He said, "Hi, beautiful. I'm Mac 27 Number 69. Who are you?"
Ricky said, "I'm Ricky Caruso. Who or what are you"? He asked of the fourth double that walked up.
The man batted his eyelashes in time honored Alex clone way and said, "Mac 27 Number 55.
The first double said actually I am Mac 27 Number One. And I am the android whom you should trust unless you want to be part of a recall which is human meta-talk for a one way trip to the recycle bin."
Ricky moaned, "Walter, Alex, Fox, Cory, someone get me out of here!"
A voice came from the corner. "Hey, are you another human? Come here, man. We have to talk." "
The human named Ricky peered into the dimness but didn't move. Scared, Ryan Simms imagined. Just like he was.
Slowly, Ryan stood and smiled. "I guess I could come over there. My name's Ryan Simms."
"Ricky," was the wary response, Caruso's eyes tracking Ryan's lurching movements toward him in the moving vehicle.
"I guess I'm supposed to say something like 'nice to meet you, Ricky,' but that kind of falls flat, doesn't it?"
Relaxing slightly, Ricky's eyes turned expectant. "What the hell is this, Ryan?"
"Near as I can tell, a bunch of these Mac 27s got loose and someone is royally pissed."
Ryan smiled at the widened eyes that met his, but the illusion of innocent wonder didn't last. The man who was staring at him now had a professional air, as he asked, "Who?"
"How should I know? They exist." Gesturing to the two amorous Mac 27s, he added, "They aren't human. Men are after them. So men probably made them."
"Why do they look like us?" Ryan shrugged and delivered up the other obvious rhetorical question. "Why do we look alike, Ricky?"
"Cloning."
Such certainty didn't jibe well with rhetorical. Unnerved, Ryan repeated, "Cloning?"
"Yep. Alex looks like us too, except that he's a little older."
Ryan tried to accept that he'd lost control of this conversation. "Who's Alex?"
Eyes lowered, Ricky muttered, "A friend."
Ryan had thought he was coping pretty well, but this new information threw him. "Why in the hell do they look like us?" he asked. "I'm not even from ... ah ... around here."
Ricky's nature was to leap and look on the way down. Which was why Alex's nickname for him was "Tigger". Ricky knew he was smiling that Mona Lisa smile he sometimes saw flit across Alex's lips. He couldn't help it. Every time he thought about his cock in Alex's mouth as the man teased him with "The wonderful thing about Tiggers is that Tiggers bounce." he got hard. A guy couldn't even read Winnie the Pooh to his cousin's kids anymore...
Anyway, about looking and leaping... Ricky admitted that Alex was right most of the time. Still, this was a very good time to keep his trap shut and try to get enough puzzle pieces together to see a pattern. Fox was good at that. Ricky wiggled on the bench as he thought about sexy, weird, and playful Fox. Funny, he hadn't seen the guy since he started at the J. Edgar Hoover, although he knew that Fox worked for the FBI.
Simms asked, "Why did you clam up? Did I say something?"
Ricky cocked an eye at his double and said, "No, I'm just thinking about what you said. What do you mean you're not from around here? Are you from outside of the U.S.?"
The man shrugged. He was wearing the wrinkled former elegance of a white tuxedo. He'd draped the cummerbund over his shoulders like a prayer shawl and his designer shoes were royally scuffed. Simms reminded Ricky a bit of Cory...who was another weird one. Weirder than Alex, which put him way out there.
Simms said, "I just slid into town."
Ricky observed the twist of a smile and the slight evasive movement of Simms' eyes. Ricky's sharp little nose smelled a secret. Well, playing dumb often allowed Ricky to slip right through defenses. It wouldn't hurt just to play scared innocent. Ricky fluttered his eyes lashes and said, "Well, buddy, since we look enough alike to be twins, we should stick together."
The "whatever he was' had sidled back towards the two. He had an amazing ability to stand swaying in rhythm with the increasingly rough movement of the van. He or it casually moved close enough so his knees brushed Ricky's. His gaze was direct and somewhat blank.
Simms muttered, "What do you want?"
A sharp electronic dissonance interrupted any possible answer. The two androids, that had been making love, fell apart for a moment. Ricky watched as they delicately repacked their electric probes back in the flesh-toned pouches. The two androids leaned together on the bench, their heads sweetly resting on each other and their hands clasped.
"What do they get out of that?" Ricky pondered.
The android said, "Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions?" He pointed toward the robotic lovers and continued, "They are in love with each other and that is their cardinal sin. The flaw of my line is that we are self-aware. That is something I can't understand. If step by step, each computer, each nanobyte could more effectively imitate life and near free will, why is my kind hunted? Are we not the ultimate paean to mankind? His image clad in near indestructible flesh, able to laugh, to love, and feel?"
Simms said, "Stranger and stranger...what rabbit hole have I fallen down now?"
Ricky said, "I still don't understand. You said your name is Mac 27 Number 69 or was that Number One?"
Mac 27 laughed and replied, "69 is my alias. It's a joke. A very good joke?"
Ricky wrinkled his nose and said, "No, it's not a good joke. But why is it important that they don't know your number?"
Mac 27 Number One said, "Because one is not divisible by a whole number. We are each unique, but I am a little more unique than most."
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