The Game #13
Edited by Karen Leigh
"As I just informed Marita." Wraith repeated the information, louder this time, for the sake of the other two members of this team he had been told to co-operate with. "I am not a Mac 27." Wraith firmly pushed back the intrusive touch. No one but Dr Sawyer ever touched him willingly and she only made as much contact as absolutely required. It was disturbing. "As to why they all looked the same. That is a simple matter of production costs."
The Smoker watched this interplay on the monitor that displayed the room he had just left. There was something distressingly different about the way that Wraith was performing this time. He made a note to himself to keep more of an eye on the construct than was usual, and picked up the phone to seek reassurance from Dr. Sawyer about the way Wraith seemed to be functioning.
Absently he noted that Marita was sending out lures to the construct, and wondered if that would unsettle him. He wondered if the unsettling of Wraith would impair his function.
Turning then to study this Hobbes, and the woman who had somehow managed to insinuate herself into his operation. He didn't like this one bit. He lit another cigarette, and pondered what could be done. An idea struck, and he picked up the phone and dialed.
As the person at the other end answered, a smile creased the aged features.
"Alex?"
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
Mulder retrieved the plate of rotting food with regret. It had been delivered to him with an anonymous message to say that the mould was growing in the shape of the Arabic letters for Reticulan, and rather than remembering to have it photographed he'd put it in the fridge and forgotten it. Too late now.
Back in the kitchen he found Gross and Tin Man deep in a whispered conversation. Tin man had apparently ignored his request for a list, and started guiltily on seeing Mulder.
Mulder sighed. "You said Langly was in trouble, I think. Maybe you could sort something about that while I try to deal with the situation here? I suppose this should take priority. I've got an idea of your backgrounds, anyway. If you spot any more clones, call me, would you?" He handed Gross his cell phone and gave him the apartment number and that of the Gunmen.
Tin Man gave Gross a meaningful look and jerked his head in the direction of the front door. Gross sidled out, hoping Ricky hadn't spotted him. The other android went up to Ricky and said, "Could I have a word with you in private, maybe just outside in the corridor?"
Most of the Mac 27s were likable, but this one was an oddball. Ricky didn't trust him. He looked around and noticed that Skinner had not returned to the gathering. Ha, must be still fussing over the bitch. Ricky said, "Just a minute." Ricky had never been in Mulder's apartment, but there weren't too many choices so he found the bathroom readily. He crowded into the doorway to gaze upon Denise, who still was having vapors in the bathroom, attended by Walter, wearing his concerned face. Ricky's watched the agent's dress ride up as she dithered. His eyes widened as he saw that she was a man of parts. "Fuucck!" Ricky exclaimed, "She's a guy." Ricky's feelings underwent an abrupt change. Anyone this kinky was all right in his book. This was fun and more fun except maybe getting shot at and almost blown up. Even that added spice to his usually routine life. He didn't exactly get a lot of action as a junior agent in Domestic Terrorism. Now, he getting thrills every which way he turned.
Blinking his yard long eyelashes, Ricky turned his best doe eyed look at Walter and the Mulder clone. Setting his voice for stun and seduce, Ricky said, "Hey, I'm sorry for acting like an ass. We haven't met. I'm Ricky Caruso, special agent in domestic terrorism...I mean I'm supposed to investigate it. Are you Mulder's twin?" There was a spanking coming to him in the near future. Walter might be patient with him, but Ricky could see he had pushed his sometime lover too far...
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
Meanwhile Mulder had unearthed a dusty bottle of brandy and had poured a large slug into a glass. He was tempted to drink it himself, but reasoned that the sooner Agent Bryson was revived, the sooner he would not have to see Skinner mooning over her. It was downright scary. As he took the drink into his bedroom, Alex's phone was ringing. Mulder was wondering if he's going to wake up from this nightmare soon.
When Krycek's phone rang, he stepped back into the kitchen to answer it away from the hubbub of the rest of the apartment. Spotting Mulder with a glass of something apparently alcoholic, he seized the glass and downed the shot gratefully. Thumbing his phone to 'on', he placed it to his ear. "Roto-Rooter, Alex speaking."
The voice of the Smoking Man came across, distressingly clearly. Alex, hand full, gestured wildly for Mulder to stay behind.
"What do you want?"
"I need your talents in a situation we have going down at present. An experiment has ...unfortunately backfired on us, and I require you to assist in some surveillance. There would be money in it for you."
"Who do you need me to watch?"
"One of your ...duplicates, let's say. He's a Mark 7 experiment and has been almost as successful as you, my dear boy. I'm a little concerned that his programmers are not aware of a possible conflict in him. I'll need you to take decisive action."
"Duplicates? You know about them?"
"I'd like to arrange a meeting as soon as possible." Spender said.
The phone went dead. Krycek ground his teeth, but replaced it in his pocket, grabbed hold of the waiting Mulder and kissed him passionately.
Mulder's cock, which had been sulking uneasily in his boxers, sprang back to attention with a virtually audible 'twang'. His mind went blank... the lust-filled amnesia which Krycek engendered in him took hold of his brain once more. Reaching out his hand, he gently pushed the door closed and leant against it, to make sure it stayed that way.
"I think that we're going to get a few answers soon, babe."
"Uh," said Mulder, helpfully, licking the taste of brandy 'Alexander' from his mouth
Alex grabbed the bottle of brandy, and placed it to his lips.
Mulder watched the adam's apple bobbing up and down as Alex swallowed enough brandy to lay out any lesser mortal.
Damn, but he wanted to run his tongue right up that long neck, he wanted the lips wrapped round the neck of that bottle on his aching cock instead, he wanted to rip Alex's clothes off and fuck him over the kitchen table, he wanted an enormous padlock on his kitchen door to keep the hoards out...
"Uh... who was on the phone?" he managed to say, his hand creeping of its own volition towards the straining bulge in his pants.
Alex told Mulder about the phone call and went back out into the living room to tell the others, but everyone seemed to be running around after this Bryson chick. Alex couldn't quite fathom that out. Couldn't they see that the homely woman was actually a man? He seemed to need a shave too. Krycek looked around at the bevy of weird and wonderful types that had congregated at Mulder's place, and decided that he needed some space.
Mulder had followed hoping to drag Alex away from the crowd, instead Alex pulled Mulder to one side and said, "I don't know what you want to do about this lot, but I think that my best lead is to follow up with Spender and see what he has. You've got the number of my cell. Call me if you need me, baby, okay? I think it's telling that I don't seem to be the only one that's been cloned around here." He placed a lingering kiss on Mulder's ripe, juicy lips, and then silently left the apartment. Mulder moaned with Fox yelling, *Follow him Foxy."
Mulder glared at the door as if it were personally responsible for Alex's departure. Fuck... the guy wasn't here two minutes before he was off again on some mysterious errand, leaving Mulder feeling like a cat on a hot tin roof crossed with a nympho at a Viagra users convention. And there were all those yapping strangers in his living room... his bedroom... his fridge, for Christ sakes, without so much as a by-your-leave.
None of them would answer any questions... half of them looked like Alex, and it was beginning to look as if the other half might be him. He'd had enough. Slipping out of the kitchen window onto the fire escape, he made a surreptitious departure, and shortly afterward was in his cozy basement office, fingers flying over the keyboard, searching for information on the Macs and the various clones that had shouldered their way into his life during the course of these eventful hours.
There was a plethora of information, but none of it seemed to gel, to fit together. He had more than a suspicion that Alex knew what was going on, but then, he always did, and took sadistic pleasure in leaving Mulder to wallow in pointless leads.
Hours later, he awoke, his forehead neatly indented with the letters of the Qwerty keyboard, and his screen showing a web-sight devoted to sock monkeys.
*Give up, Spooky,* said Fox. *Why don't you think about what you've got, and I'll get us home. Maybe some of those creeps have left... Skinner will have, for sure. He knows better than to wait around for you.*
Yawning, Mulder agreed, and handed over the body to his alter ego, while he dozed, and ruminated.
Surprisingly, there were still people lurking in Mulder's living room when Fox peeped carefully round the door much later that day. Spooky was totally out of it, and Fox was up for some mischief. With so many look-a-likes around, he sure didn't need to be staid Agent Mulder anymore; he could simply be another clone. He slithered into his bedroom, stripped naked, and gathering a handful of clothes locked himself into the bathroom to transform himself into Prince Charming.
Such things take time. But eventually he was satisfied with the result, and primping, turned from side to side in the mirror, admiring the result. From the spiked hair, to the sprayed - on black leather trousers, from the deep plum lipstick, to the sheer scarlet singlet, from the lightening-bolt earring to the shiny golden ring in his cock, he was every inch *not* Special Agent Spooky Mulder.
There was a quiet chime from the bedroom... Mulder's phone. Fox thumbed the button to answer it, but before he could even say 'Hello' Alex's voice said, "Babe, I've got a real problem here, and I need your help. I'm coming over." He hung up. Typical. Well, fuck him... Mulder was quietly snoring in his head, and there was no way he was going to rouse him to talk to Mr. Spy about their boring conspiracies. He returned to the bathroom to put the finishing touches to his eyeliner.
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
Ryan Simms pulled Walter Skinner's car over to the curb. "Wait a minute, Luke, One said that we were doing something completely different from the others." Ryan knew his voice held a tiny bit of whine in it, but he couldn't help it. Just when he'd thought he'd figured this mess out, Luke had to gum it up again.
When he'd awakened, Ryan had felt about a thousand times better. Everything seemed clearer. Easier. Making coffee had almost been cathartic. Serving it had gotten him the tacit approval of everyone at Ricky's -- the whole mad lot of them. It had felt good to belong somewhere, even for a few minutes. Now, Luke was talking about deception within the group. One's agenda within an agenda.
"Ryan Simms, One devised this additional task for us to improve the chances of success of the raid on Innobotics. One fears that the humans underestimate the ruthlessness of the resistance they will find."
"And here I was, relieved that we weren't actually going to be bait. How hard could meeting Mac 27 666 and delivering his information to One be? Not very, with a small list of locations and a password and every other damn thing One told us. You could've let me harbor my illusions a few minutes longer."
"We have to procure the disguise," Luke declared reasonably.
Disguise? Ryan felt his life begin that spiral out of control again and desperately tried to reassert order. "What disguise?"
Luke looked thoughtful for a moment before reciting his list. "A long black wool coat, well made. Dark shirt, slacks and suit coat, also well made. One black leather glove - for your left hand. Utilitarian shoes, also black."
Ryan nodded before he'd processed what he'd heard. When he did, he gaped at Luke. "For my left hand?"
"Alex Krycek, the man you are to impersonate, is human, Ryan Simms."
"So, I'm the bait, then, and you're here to report back on whatever happens to me. Is it too late to go back to Kansas, Toto?"
Luke blinked at Ryan in confusion. "Toto? My human name is Luke, Ryan Simms."
"I know," Ryan chuckled. "Toto is ... oh, forget it, Luke."
There it was; that tentative smile that Luke aimed his way when he was uncertain. The one that generally got Ryan talking without thinking, trying to right whatever wrong caused that vulnerability. He was on to that, though. Awake and alert, Ryan had also recognized what the hell was going on with Luke. It was so simple, Ryan mentally kicked himself for not seeing it sooner. Luke had a crush on him. That was no big deal. Ryan had experience with that. And he knew what to do. A bit of attention had kept Drigger Mallory's little sister happy. A smile now and then had seemed to do it for Rachel's friend Kelly. No problem.
Testing his theory with confidence, Ryan smiled big at Luke. Luke grinned back happily, face a little flushed. Nodding in satisfaction, Ryan congratulated himself. Until Luke slowly licked his lips, and Ryan's mouth went dry. Lisa Mallory had never done that. Nothing remotely like that.
"We must go to the store called Nordstrom, according to One," Luke recited more of their orders.
"666 works in women's lingerie?" Ryan asked hopefully.
Luke shook his head, grinning an entirely different sort of grin. One that made Ryan very uncomfortable. "We will procure the disguise, so that we can be ready when One informs me that we are needed."
"He can talk to you from where ever he is?"
"No, but simple messages can be communicated, Ryan Simms. Alex Krycek will storm into Innobotics on schedule. While we shop, you must practice sneering and learn to move as a predator does."
"While we shop? Predators don't frequent Nordstrom, Luke."
Fixing Ryan with a stern glare, Luke stated, "You must be ready, Ryan Simms. Alex Krycek is different from you." Smiling mysteriously, Luke added, "I don't think I'd like him very much."
Luke pondered his name. He accessed a minor memory. Sally had a storybook with Luke in it. There had also been two droids, but one looked like Mary's vacuum cleaner and the other like the Tin Man of Oz which was another storybook. Luke asked, "Should I purchase a sword? Luke had a sword." Luke wondered if Sally would like his new name? He missed her very much. Who helped her do chores now? Mister Orville really had not treated Mary or Sally much differently than he had 55.
Luke patted Ryan's arm and said, "When all of the Mac 27s are free, we should take Mary and Sally from Mister Orville. He is a mean man, a very cruel person. When we have them, we will be a family. Mary makes very good chocolate chip cookies."
Luke smiled as his prognostic program projected a rosy picture. Just him, Ryan, Mary, and Sally...perhaps he and Ryan should have sex first though. Luke understood that the act usually required some measure of privacy.
Luke looked at Ryan and sighed...he wondered how long it would be before Ryan gave sex to him...
Shopping completed and Ryan clothed as Alex Krycek they were walking down the street.
Ryan Simms was trying to concentrate on gliding on the balls of his feet and looking steely eyed. But nothing he did seemed to please Luke.
"Ryan Simms!"
"Huh?"
Luke looked so disappointed, Ryan found himself asking, "What did I do now?"
"Your cover name is Alex, Ryan Simms. Alex Krycek. You must not answer to your Ryan Simms name."
Ryan sighed and muttered, "Where're we supposed to leave the ace of spades, again?" The signals for 666 were playing cards. Why the ace of spades, two of clubs, nine and king of diamonds and queen of hearts were chosen, Ryan had no idea. No real pattern. Lousy poker hand.
"Underneath the sugar dispenser at the right rear booth at an eating establishment called Whitey's. It is located on this street in the direction that we are walking."
Ryan realized that Luke had recited this information for at least the third time when the android continued, "What is the matter, Ryan Simms? You are not functioning optimally."
"I've got things on my mind, Luke," Ryan muttered before admitting to himself that it was what he was trying not to think about that was distracting him. It was what Luke had said when they were still in the car. He'd said -- "When all of the Mac 27s are free, we should take Mary and Sally from Mister Orville. He is a mean man, a very cruel person. When we have them, we will be a family. Mary makes very good chocolate chip cookies."
A family? Me, Luke a woman and a kid? And after Luke had said it, he'd gotten this ... this blissful expression on his face like he was imagining the perfect future. And Ryan had reacted the same way he had when any of his girlfriends had started talking family. He'd retreated. Emotionally. Physically, he couldn't very well retreat, even though that's exactly what he desperately wanted. He had nowhere to go. Nothing else of consequence to do other than get outfitted like a criminal.
Well, that wasn't exactly true. The clothes were nice, and they fit really well. The gun wasn't uncomfortable; he'd carried one before. Absence of permit gave Ryan a little pang, but nothing like the strange feeling he got when Luke touched his coat.
He's doing it again! For once the little voice in Ryan's mind offered a useful bit of information.
"Hands off the coat, Luke."
"I am sorry, Ryan Simms, but the materials from which this coat was woven are very soft. It feels nice underneath my fingertip sensors."
Feels nice under his fingertip sensors? Sheesh! And he doesn't look sorry!
Suddenly inspired, Ryan shoved Luke into an alley they were passing and up against a wall. Holding Luke still with his body, Ryan pulled out his gun, cocked it and shoved it against Luke's throat. Gratified by the wide eyes focused on him, Ryan snarled, "I said hands off the coat."
"I will comply, Alex Krycek," Luke murmured in a very small voice.
Breathing hard, Simms realized what he'd done. And that Luke wasn't adverse to being immobilized this way. Not adverse at all.
Disconcerted, Ryan stepped back, mumbling, "Sorry."
"Assassins do not apologize, Ryan Simms," Luke instructed, but he was smiling while he did. An unnerving smile.
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
Mac 27 666 was seated comfortably behind one-way glass. His headphones were hanging around his neck as he waited for the Mac 27 who had left the ace of spades at Whitey's to show himself. Repetitive tapping of his fist on the table to his right relieved some of the agitation caused by accessing his stealth programming in association with another of his kind. It was the same one One had used to activate his guilt subroutines so that 666 had agreed to this in the first place.
Almost exactly on time, a Mac 27 walked up to the table next to the large mirror and stiffly sat. 666 almost smiled when the unit's eyes darted about the room. The observing android felt far differently about the gentle expression that appeared on the unit's face when he regarded another unit trailing behind.
"No," 666 corrected himself. The well, albeit somberly, dressed one wasn't a Mac 27 at all. He was human. But he looked enough like the android he was with to pass for a close sibling relationship among humans.
"What is One about?" 666 wondered. "Pairing a human with a Mac 27 and sending them to me. Why?"
Pulling his laptop computer closer, 666 searched for the files he'd discovered the day before. Those files had described cloning experiments. The human had to be one of them. The question of why the designers of the Mac 27 line had emulated the cloning effort had plagued 666 since his discovery. He'd found no satisfactory explanation, although he had obtained voluminous information as to the genetic make up and environmental conditioning of a number of clones. A brief review of the information later, 666 was ready. Pulling his headphones into position, 666 listened to those he was shortly to meet.
"He's late," the human observed.
Before the android could respond, the waitress appeared at their table. "What'll you have, gentlemen?"
The human growled, "Scotch. One rock."
"Do you have chocolate milkshakes?" was the android's question.
"No, honey, we don't. I'm sorry."
The android looked crestfallen. After observing him for a moment, the human said, "Bring him a margarita. On the rocks. With salt."
"You got it."
As soon as the waitress retreated, the android spoke. "What is a margarita, Ryan Simms?"
"I thought I was pretending to be Alex Krycek, Luke," the human drawled.
The android Luke frowned and repeated, "What is a margarita, Ryan Simms?"
"It's a drink, Luke. You have to have to branch out from milkshakes. Try something sour instead of sweet."
Ryan watched another Mac 27 stroll up to their table. He sat down next to Simms, announcing, "I am Mac 27 666. You are Luke and you are Ryan Simms."
Ryan's jaw dropped. He certainly hadn't expected their contact to have a clue who they were.
'Evil Mac 27' Luke thought as he noticed the way Mac 27 666 looked at Ryan. His eyes traveled to a waitress passing by with a marvelously colored drink. His receptors analyzed the presence of ice cream in the peach and cream-colored concoction. He grabbed Ryan's hand, which was in his opinion too near the other Mac 27s anyway.
"I want that!" Luke said, pointing out the drink. Luke fluttered his eyelashes at the woman and asked, "What is that called?"
The woman looked at Luke and her eyes dilated in a way, which showed that something pleasant was hitting her brain's visual center. She took a deep breath, almost popping her mammary glands out of the inadequate covering of lace and satin. Luke noticed Ryan staring at the fleshy appendages.
He felt the urge to grab Ryan and take him some place where there was not so much competition. Instead, Luke smiled boldly at the woman and said, "I would like something sweet."
God, I bet she's sweet, Ryan thought. This was something he could understand. Something with which he had experience. A woman with an amazing chest making him feel edgy. This is okay. This is good.
The little voice in Ryan's head sounded unconvinced when he muttered, "So all that android kissing yesterday was just an aberration then? Is that your story?" Yeah, he mentally snarled. "And you're holding his hand, because ...?"
Fucking little voices. Ryan extricated his hand in defiance.
"Oh, honey, I bet that you would." the waitress said, "You and your twins just make my day! Now, this is a Peach Sun Rise...peach nectar combined with vanilla ice cream and rum..."
The whole thing sounded sickeningly sweet to Ryan. However, if she could be convinced to let him pour a little of that strategically onto her person, Simms had to admit that he'd be happy to lap up every last bit.
Luke leaned close to the woman and said, "I will have this."
Jesus, I didn't know Luke could pitch his voice that deep, Ryan acknowledged. And he's showing interest in girls. "No, Ryan," the little voice cautioned. "He wants ice cream."
Luke sensed the woman's respiration increase and her body temperature rise. He glanced at Ryan and wished he had the same effect on his chosen love....
Ryan could feel Luke's eyes on him as he leaned slightly forward to watch the waitress sashay away around 666 who had never even acknowledged her presence.
666's voice wafted into Ryan's awareness. "What unit are you?"
"55," Luke stated firmly.
"And you are Ryan Simms? That is your true human name?"
Simms jumped slightly when he realized that 666 had moved closer while he'd been distracted.
"His human name is Alexander Krycek," Luke interjected.
The look on Luke's face gave Ryan the distinct feeling that he didn't like 666.
"Is that your true human name?" 666 pressed.
Ryan grunted as Luke's foot impacted hard with his shin. Not even looking at Luke, Ryan said, "Yeah," wearing his very best scowl.
"I would like to verify your identity, please," 666 stated reasonably.
"You will have to take my word for it," Ryan replied in nearly the same tone. Smiling coldly, he lifted his Scotch to his lips.
666 sighed.
Ryan's satisfied smile faded slightly. What the fuck? A quick look at 666's position confirmed that it was Luke who had taken off his shoe and was sliding his foot slowly along Ryan's shin inside his pant leg. A glare in the android's direction didn't help matters.
Luke smiled shyly, toes stroking the area he'd kicked. Stunned by the android's action, Ryan froze, his brain processing the oddly pleasant input very slowly.
After mouthing, "Sorry," at Ryan, Luke turned to 666. "We came for information. Where is it?"
"Somewhere other than here," 666 murmured smoothly. "Somewhere far more private."
Luke smiled. "After I have had my Peach Sun Rise we will retrieve it and be on our way."
Ryan drained his Scotch and vowed to order another when the waitress returned with Luke's drink.
The android Luke pouted, but 666 was frantically checking and rechecking his data. He'd been correct the first time he'd analyzed it. This was highly irregular. This was very strange. This was potentially quite profitable.
Ryan Simms did not appear on his list of clones. 666 was certain that those that prepared the list believed it to be complete. "I will return to my room, please join me when you finish your drinks, the room number is 1622."
Mac 27 666 opened the door to the hotel room that he'd hired for the purpose of this meeting. Because he had not been prepared to find an uncatalogued clone, 666 had excused himself from unit 55 who called himself Luke and Ryan Simms who was calling himself Alex Krycek. 666 knew something of Alex Krycek and briefly wondered at the attempt at deception that he'd overheard with his electronic equipment. Briefly. He was far too interested in why Ryan Simms did not appear on the clone list to be distracted for long.
666 booted up his computer equipment and put the items that he'd just retrieved from his apartment within easy reach. Preparations complete, he settled in to wait. It wasn't long before a sharp rap on the door signaled the arrival of those to whom he was to give the information that One required.
666 moved toward the door doing his best to look earnest and helpful. When he opened it, the human entered first, eyes assessing. Choosing a vantage point where he could see the doors to the hallway and bathroom, he leaned against the wall.
666's effort at a polite, "Hello, Alex," garnered only a terse nod.
"Hello, Luke."
"Hello, 666. Where is the information?"
"I am downloading it now. It will take some time to burn the information into the CD. Please make yourselves comfortable."
Watching the android Luke's eyes stray to the human and stay there suggest that there was no reason for 666 to delay.
"Luke, may I have a word with you?" 666 asked softly. When the android nodded, 666 led him across the room from the human and spoke quietly, acutely aware of the human's eyes on them.
"Yes," Luke prompted, eyes sliding past 666 in the human's direction.
"I think I may be able to help you with your problem."
That seemed to get at least a portion of the android Luke's attention. "What problem?"
"Alex."
"What about Alex?" Luke asked, wariness apparent.
"You seem interested in a closer relationship with him. A more intimate relationship. He seems hesitant. I think I can help."
"How?"
"I have access to a drug that lowers inhibitions. He seems as though he may be amenable beneath his somewhat formidable exterior. It might be worth a try."
The android Luke frowned. "Alex Krycek is not ill."
666 smiled. "It is in powder form. A little on his skin, preferably near a major artery, is all that will be required. Application to his neck would do."
"Will it hurt him?"
"Not at all. Here," 666 pressed a small vial into Luke's hand. "Take it. The download will take some time. Why not make good use of it?"
What exactly is going on over there? Ryan wondered.
Ryan watched Luke stare at whatever Mac 27 666 had given him. The android he was growing to know had a strange expression on his face. When Luke looked up, Ryan gestured him over. Oddly, Luke took his time with his approach. Simms frowned at yet another exhibition of inexplicable behavior on Luke's part.
"What was that all about?" Ryan asked the moment Luke was near enough for him to speak without 666 hearing. "I thought you didn't trust 666."
Luke wasn't sure what 666 was up to...he didn't trust the sophisticated android. He had been thrilled when One had picked Ryan and him for this mission. Him... Mac 55, a farm android, hardly more than a tractor or a fork lift. 666 seemed like another creature altogether. In fact, Luke was frightened. He should not have dragged "his" Ryan into this. 666 was dangerous. He had escaped on his own and he wasn't part of the Mac 27 resistance. One must have been desperate to try to involve this treacherous creature in their fight.
Luke tucked the bottle in a small pocket and turned to Ryan, "It will take a while, perhaps we could go to one of the restaurants in the hotel and eat while the CD is burning."
Mac 27 666 watched the android Luke closely, he did not approve of Luke's suggestion that they await the download of the information One wanted in one of the hotel's four restaurants.
I could get used to this, Ryan thought. I don't have to say much and people keep their distance. That would be good. Particularly now. When Ryan spent more than half his time confused.
It was nice even just to play-act the role of someone who was in control of himself and his surroundings. In this role, Ryan didn't have to worry about being unfamiliar with this realm or increasingly uncomfortable around Luke.
What was in that bottle? Luke didn't know what to do and 666 seemed to be in charge of the show. Luke had never known such misery even when his master had starved him and punished him.
Ryan didn't like the quality of the silence that had descended between them. "Luke? What's going on? Are you all right?"
"I am just a farm android, Ryan Simms. You should not be here with me."
Simms was reminded of Luke Skywalker's discussion with Ben Kenobi about his responsibilities on Tatooine, finally pronouncing, "That's all such a long way from here."
Barely stopping a decidedly non-Alex Krycek smile from forming, Ryan tried to lighten the android's mood. "What happened to the chocolate milkshake drinking rogue who wanted to know whether or not to buy a sword? You were a farm android, Luke. Now, you can be whoever you want to be. That's what freedom means."
Wondering whether he'd said something wrong, Ryan shifted his feet as Luke stared at him thoughtfully.
The little jar seemed so harmless. 666 had implied that it would help Ryan finally give in to his desire. Luke could tell that Ryan wanted him. Sometimes he seemed to the point of discomfort suppressing his feelings. Surely it would be a help to him to tumble him all the way over the edge?
Luke smiled and said, "I'm hungry. Let's eat something."
Ryan didn't object. He ordered for both of them. While he was turned away, Luke hid the saltshaker, having noticed that the human was very fond of the substance. Sure enough, after a different woman served the food, Ryan looked for the shaker. Failing to get the thin and pinch faced waitress to pay attention, he said, "Well, I'll just borrow one from another table."
If Luke were human, he would have held his breath. He sprinkled the substance in Ryan's coffee and hid the jar. The man didn't seem to notice. Luke waited for the signs...would Ryan reach for him right here? He couldn't wait.
666 smiled at the android Luke's ploy, admiring the elegance of its simplicity. He was also amused by the barely contained anticipation Luke displayed and the hungry way that he looked at the man who by all rights should be a clone. Satisfied that the human was beginning to feel the effects of the drug, 666 made his move.
Ryan smiled at him in a lopsided and drowsy way. 666 walked over and said, "Come with me."
To Luke's surprise, his beloved stood up and followed 666. Luke frowned to see the other Mac 27 wrap an arm around Ryan. He angrily said, "What are you doing? What was in that vial?"
666 just smirked evilly at him.
666 knew the android Luke would follow them. He was ready for that. When Luke reached them at the door of the restaurant, 666 met his eyes and suggested, "You should pay the waitress for your meals before you join us. You may charge it to my room -- number 1622 and proceed there when you are finished."
The waitress whose attention it had been impossible to get before was suddenly focused on the three of them. Seeing the conflict raging through Luke, 666 murmured, "I'll see to your friend."
"S'okay, Luke," Ryan slurred, leaning on 666.
"Do not hurt him," Luke demanded in a low tone. "Do not even touch him."
666 mere turned and steered the malleable human toward the elevator. It arrived promptly and 666 ushered Ryan Simms inside. "Here," he began as he leaned his charge against the wall. "Let me help you, Ryan."
"Help?"
"Yes." Pleased that there was no one else in the elevator, 666 helped Ryan out of his suit coat and efficiently rolled up his right sleeve.
"Where's ... where's, Luke?"
Noting with satisfaction that the human's eyes weren't tracking very well, 666 soothed, "Paying the bill, Ryan. He will be with us momentarily."
When the elevator door opened, 666 hauled Ryan out and toward his room. 666 had managed to get the human almost to the couch in his room before Ryan's knees gave out. Deftly catching the falling human, 666 lowered the unconscious man onto the couch and moved without hesitation toward the medical kit he'd secreted in the room. Moments later, 666 had his skin, blood and muscle tissue samples. After securing the samples, 666 refastened the cuff of Simms' right sleeve at his wrist and covered the human with his suit coat.
Calmly, 666 ejected a CD from the drive, took a seat and waited for the android Luke. It wasn't a long wait.
The waitress said, "Of all the rude..."
The elevator took too long. Luke took the stairs, legs moving in a blur. He was breaking a cardinal rule for the Mac 27s who were trying to hide in human society, calling attention to his special abilities and talents. Even an Olympic athlete could not have moved this quickly.
His senses attenuated with his panic, Luke was following the scent of his lover like a faithful dog. He would save Ryan and then find some way to die. He was unworthy. No wonder the perfect man had refused to sleep with him.
The door was locked. Luke kicked once and again, shattering the panels. He burst through and noted that his beloved lay drowsing on a couch. His breathing was slow and his pulse was fast. The drug that 666 had tricked him into administering had done this to him. Ryan needed a doctor.
Luke feinted toward Ryan, but at the last moment, he swerved toward 666. He was rogue in that moment, gone berserker. His momentum sent 666, chair and all sliding across the floor. Glass shattered around them as they hit the big picture window at the opposite end of the room. Both of them tumbled into space, five floors above the street. Luke grabbed at some scaffolding and swung dangling by one hand. He couldn't see 666, but hadn't heard him fall...yet.
666 marveled at the rage that the android Luke had displayed. Clearly, he had underestimated the depth of the feeling that the android felt for the human pretending to be Alex Krycek of all people. It wasn't as though 666 didn't know that those of his series were capable of such emotions. He did. He simply hadn't read the android Luke correctly. Hoisting himself up onto the ledge he'd caught to stop his fall, 666 smiled at his error and considered how he might correct it even as he looked up to see the android Luke dangling from some scaffolding two stories above.
There was no one in the room he found himself standing outside, so 666 lowered his shoulder and crashed back into the hotel. Quickly, he brushed the glass from his clothing and out of his hair. Exiting the room, he took the stairs up two flights and took a look outside of the window in the elevator lobby. The android Luke was no longer out there. Nodding to himself, 666 climbed the remaining floor back to his room rapidly. He stopped abruptly when he stepped through the shattered door. Ryan Simms was there, but the android Luke was not. Knowing he had little time before someone came to check on the multiple disturbances, 666 collected his things and prepared to leave. Annoyed at being unable to leave this clone, who might not be a, in the hands of one who would care for him until 666 verified his suspicions and frowning at the time as his lunch engagement was nearly upon him, 666 slung Ryan Simms over his shoulder. With one last look around the room, 666 exited and nearly collided with a morose and sullen android.
"There you are," 666 said. "Take this human somewhere to rest comfortably. He can't stay here after you made such a mess of my room."
"He needs a doctor," the android Luke murmured softly.
"Nonsense," 666 declared. "He simply needs rest and a heavy dose of iron when he wakes in a few hours. I suggest you get him at least a twelve-ounce steak After that; he'll be as good as new. Well, except for the headache, but that Too will pass eventually."
"Why?" Luke asked, eyes brimming with tears.
666 shifted Ryan Simms to Luke's shoulder. The android seemed too upset to resist taking the burden. "Advancement of science. Gathering of information. It's my function."
"Ry ... Alex Krycek is not a laboratory animal."
"Neither are we, Luke. But no one seems to particularly care, do they?"
Before the android Luke could come more fully to his senses, 666 headed toward the stairwell. 666 thought he heard a whispered, "Ryan cares," before the door closed behind him. In his own way, he wished his colleague Luke well but he had to drop off his equipment before he met with the human who had requested his presence at a meeting.
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From his position in the room upstairs, C.G.B. Spender watched the woman enter Angelini's. Good. She was first. He turned away from his monitor and summoned a waiter to bring him a Campari and soda, while he lit a cigarette. "Please be so good as to show my guests up here to me when they arrive." He indicated Marita on the monitor. "There's the first of them.
Marita looked around, standing in front of the matre d's lectern. She didn't see him... but here came a waiter now, telling her to follow him. She nodded, following him up the elegant staircase to the equally elegant upstairs dining room. The man had good taste in restaurants, she would give him that. As she took her seat and placed her napkin on her lap, she leaned forward slightly. "What's going on?" She sighed. "That new team, whoever they are. They're planning to destroy the Mac 27s outright. I was about to argue for an alternative when I got your call. What do you know about them, and why are they here, when you've told me you don't want them destroyed..." She looked up as a familiar figure approached. :
Marita was already with the Smoker, and he could see that she'd done herself up this time. Poisonously pretty as ever, she was seated close to the Smoking Man.
"Hello, sir. Hello, Marita. You're looking... cozy." The sneer in his voice was unmistakable.
Marita smiled thinly, and looked at Alex with a gleam in her eye. "Hello, Alex. What can you lend to this... discussion, hmm?" She waited for him to sit, hoping he'd do so in such a way that she could play footsie with him. Only to send messages she didn't want the Smoker to know, of course. She refused to admit she still had feelings for this man. But of course she did. She asked a passing waiter for a glass of white Zinfandel, and looked at the Smoker for an answer, ostentatiously batting his cigarette smoke away from her face.
666 paused in the doorway, eyes taking in everything. The Smoker pettily tormenting the blonde woman and, unless 666 was sorely mistaken, Alex Krycek tensely watching. Silently applauding his decision to change his clothes and risking being even later, 666 considered how his dark silk suit contrasted with Krycek's more casual wear.
"Is this everyone?" 666 ventured softly, inwardly pleased that everyone's attention promptly shifted to him. Alex Krycek didn't react other than to slightly narrow his eyes. The blonde woman sighed, quite possibly for the sole purpose of calling attention to her breasts.
Surprisingly, the Smoker stood and offered his hand. "I'm so glad you could join us, David," the Smoker noted amiably.
His failure to mention his number was undoubtedly a second hint to 666 as to the role he was expected to play. No one could convince 666 that the Smoker had greeted either of the others as anything like an equal.
"My pleasure," David/666 murmured, aiming a slight smile at the Smoker and with barely a nod at either of the others he sat to the other side of the blonde woman.
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With all the people jammed in the apartment, the three caballeros, Ricky, Eugene and Rodney, felt it was easy enough to slip out the door. Ricky scowled and said, "Well, that was a waste of time. Let's go to my place and grab clothes and stuff. We might not be able to get out of Skip's once we get in there." Ricky...if you can't make love, make war. With a last longing look at Walter, Ricky grabbed his coat and went out the door. Stopping only to fill a couple of cases with clothes, a new set of ID and some cash they made an unscheduled stop at the F.B.I. evidence warehouse. "If you can't make love, make war." Ricky commented to Rodney and Eugene, handing them cases of equipment.
"What's your AD going to do when he finds out you picked his pockets?" Eugene asked in his laconic drawl. His moral qualms didn't seem sufficient to slow him in his loading. Ricky had checked out two urban assault vehicles that had been developed after Waco and then had been sidelined to gather dust because of the publicity and lawsuits.
Cases of experimental armor, heavy artillery, various crowd control devices, and some interesting monitoring equipment crowded the disguised tanks. Ricky grinned and said, "Can I help it if Walter's access cards fell into my pocket?''
Grunting, Rodney loaded the last case and said, "Yeah, so that counterfeit signature was what? A unique seizure?"
Ricky shrugged and said, "I'm not going to stand by and watch the Mac 27s destroyed. What ever it takes...I've always just followed the easy path. It's different now. The Mac 27s need my help. Maybe this was what I was born to do."
Satisfied that they had as much as they could stuff into the urban assault vehicle, Ricky pulled himself behind the wheel of one of them. He leaned out the window and stared at Eugene who was madly working at the keyboard of a computer.
"What the hell are you doing?" Ricky shouted above the rumble of the engine.
"Erasing. Taking all these items out of inventory. Then it'll be up to Skinner to tell them what happened. He can look the other way or get your ass canned. I'm listing the tanks as destroyed obsolete equipment. It doesn't make sense, but who cares in the government unless a legislative committee is on his or her ass?" Frowning, Eugene said, "Skip or Langly could have done it better, but this might work. I'll drive the Aston Martin. Always wanted to do the Bond bit."
It felt like another permanent rift in his life. Eugene's attempt to hack a cover was well meant, but Ricky wasn't hopeful. He couldn't count on Walter not to turn him in. Well, maybe he could find another career, selling shoes or patent medicine. Maybe he'd check into freelance mercenary work. But first he had to live through the coming fight.
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
Having been a lot of things in his adventurous life, Skip Brule had no problem stepping into leadership. Now it wasn't just an amusing way to frustrate bullies. He had Mac Smith to protect.
Money, lots of money, was the single most important weapon if you want to raise an army. Skip ordered more traps laid down and two more fence electrified and sensor-laden fence lines. Next he called in favors from old Vietnam war buddies. Some would come to fight personally. One owned a mercenary company and would send some of his best men. Others would be willing to contribute in other ways. One was a Supreme Court Justice now, an anonymous convert to Bokenism. He said that he would look into the law. He sounded chuffed at the idea. No wonder. Here was the debate of the modern era as fascinating as the old slavery cases fought before the civil war.
Skip ordered two armored assault vehicles he'd purchased from an old friend in South America brought to the temple instead. And he sat back in his chair and said it was good.
A tempting odor tantalized its way into the room before the arrival of Mac Smith, even more tantalizing in a black leather jock strap and a frilly white apron along with his beloved chef's hat. His toenails gleamed with black paint, tiny moons inset. Skip grinned. It was very good indeed.
Later, he would go and find where Baines was hanging out. The lithe soldier might prove very useful. He could start with drilling the Mac27s. The androids all had to learn to defend themselves. The work was coming along nicely. Of course, the outer edges of his compound looked like shit, but that's war. Skip had never expected to be wholeheartedly defending himself here. The security he'd had in place was left over drug dealer's paranoia. Skip climbed one of the guard towers and borrowed a pair of binoculars. Mac Smith followed, neither wanting to be far apart now that they had found each other.
Another ripe laugh erupted from Skip's chest. Ricky Caruso had called to say he was bringing some toys. Yes, in deed!
Two lumbering mobile homes headed for the first gate. Skip's keen eye noted modifications, strange antenna, tires made to survive land mines and to rumble over blasted terrain, and windows that obviously could be covered by special shutters. He could spot a few panels that probably concealed weapons. He pounded on Mac Smith's shoulders and said, "That's my boy!"
His android lover showed him a sulky face. Skip said, "In a platonic way. You're my only lover-boy, Mac, my sweet."
Someone with a warped sense of humor had certainly installed active jealousy modes in a lot of these service types of Mac 27s. Skip shrugged. He had been married when he was thrown in the joint. It didn't take too long before she was dating one of his old lieutenants. So a jealous lover might be good for a change. Hell, he could cook too. More than could be said for six of Skip's wives and three of his ex male partners.
Ricky pulled his vehicle inside the first gate and said, "When I hot wire a car, I really pick the good ones. Check these out."
Skip climbed down and took a look. Goody packed, in deed. Now if the lean, mean Baines clone had gotten into gear with training the Mac 27s for defense, maybe they could defend themselves.
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Ricky had just missed the expedition to rescue Anne and the crew. Damn, he was bored and getting antsy. He hated being pinned down here. Skip and Baines had more military experience so he didn't feel really needed. His mind roving, Ricky decided to put in a call to Walter. Hmm, the man's phone was on message. Well, Ricky would leave him one. Ricky said, "Well, hey, Walter, I suppose you're still mooning over the fox in drag. I just wanted to thank you for the loan of your key card. I did a little shopping in the FBI surplus and evidence warehouse." Chuckling, Ricky put pure venomous sex into his voice. "Bet you're going to have a lot of trouble explaining what a junior agent was doing with his hand in your pants..." Ricky hung up. Well, that was stupid, but it did make him feel better. When he was captured, he'd expected more of Walter. Had the man on a pedestal twelve feet high. Now, he was disappointed. Walter seemed to be more concerned about how this would all look to the bureaucracy then he was for the mystery and excitement surrounding the Mac 27s. Laughing again, Ricky decided to see what they had in their arsenal. At the last moment, he had just grabbed a few random crates. Anything could have been in them. Mulder had all kinds of weird shit stored at the warehouse.
After his tantrum, Ricky felt a little better. Maybe he couldn't have Walter, but hey, Alexei and Sasha were batting their eyes and wiggling their buns in an unmistakable fashion. Wow, was that was it like to be on the receiving end of a Ricky flirt? No wonder, Walter always complained that it was unfair.
Ricky sat on a crate and cheered up even more as he ate. Yeah, low blood sugar and lack of sex will do it to you every time. Although he'd love a videotape of Walter reacting to that message.
Finished, Ricky knelt to rummage in a mysterious crate. Hmm, armour? Strange stuff...he recognized some coding on the sleeve. Innobotics stuff. It was evidence tagged to Mulder, but must have got lost in the warehouse. There were five suits in total, equipped with power units.
"Go get One." Ricky said, "He might know what these are for."
Romeo and Jules rose as one, hand in hand. Ricky watched them go; again wishing he knew the magic trick for that kind of relationship. Seemed like as soon as he had someone, that he looked to see whom he might get next. It would hurt though to fall in love and lose him or her.
With jealous thought at Walter and Denise, Ricky added to his mental resistance, or fall in love and find out the other person didn't love you.
One of the Mac 27 twins that Baines had rescued, that were somewhat slimmer and definitely younger in appearance than the standard model, sidled up. "I'm Alexei," he said. "Sasha and I were teachers in the army before we were taken to the laboratory and haven't yet had an opportunity to try all of our programming." With a brazen look, the Mac 27 added, "And it is very good programming." The other one also came nearer. "Alexei and I would like to learn to play together. For some reason, the other clones say that you play in bed very, very well. We would like someone experienced for our first time." Oh yes, life and its' lovely living parts were looking up. Ricky grinned.
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Damn, Langly had the mojo, the magic, and the kung fu. He had broken the code. The Anishinaabe called for a consult from a crazed computer jockey in Seattle, Washington. She lived in a house with six mastiffs, eight kids, and a maniac parrot. On line was her link to sanity. Anyway, she helped him with the twisting word puzzle that masqueraded as a language with some help a teenage Cherokee foster son. Langly stared at One who seemed to be running subprograms that distracted him from his part of the transcription. He said, "It makes sense. You, the Mac 27s and the clones are all parts of the same project. I can get that much from the discs. The discs were badly formatted and the documents stored on them have missing pieces. They were trying to develop a perfect warrior. One variety to send against the Oiliens and the other, the clones, to use as intelligence gatherers." "Why were we sold then?" One asked, "Few of us were trained as soldiers. We were used as farm workers who could work with hazardous materials, cost less to maintain, and, of course, as workers who they thought would never organize." "Apparently, that was a cover to throw the Oiliens off. As for the clones, apparently one of the lab workers fell in love with several of the infants, running off with them and finding them good families. Consortium worker with a conscience. Poor guy was terminated. His head was found in a sewer in New Jersey or was it the subway? It's hard to tell the difference some time." Langly stretched and said, "Hmm, looks like they also wanted to blend clones and Mac 27s. Cyborgs." Shuddering, One commented, "Abominations. Creatures never meant to be." A grin stretched Langly's mouth as he combed through his limp blond hair. He said, "Some people might say the same about you, One." "I suppose. Yet, it is wrong to mutilate humans and wrong to terminate a Mac 27 as if we were no more than spare parts." One said. Skip Brule thundered over, accompanied by his shadow, Mac Smith. "Hey, Caruso found some armour in those cases that might help against the weapons you were so concerned about. How's it going outside? Are you going to call your brothers in here or what?" One said, "Some are on the way here. Others I have instructed to hide. The ones that can will flee. At least some of my kind will survive, I hope. So painful, to feel them dying. I try to balance it in my mind, but it is difficult. The creature, Wraith, told my brothers that it was their fault that they were terminated. He said they should not have left their owners. I wanted them to be free and now they are dead. I did not improve their conditions." Skip shook his massive head and said, "Don't blame yourself, One. Nobody killed them but that cyborg, the soldiers, and their bosses. Living's good, but not as a slave." Langly sighed, this was great stuff, but he missed Byers and even Frohike. The data on the encrypted discs seemed overwhelming even for the gunman with the best kung fu...
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Dustin had been sitting on the couch, trying to make sense of these multiple clones, not just of him, but also of this other man. The only explanations he could come up with were straight out of bad sci-fi flicks, and he didn't think...He needed to mellow out some. Getting up, he walked to the refrigerator, opening it to try to locate a beer. Finding a six-pack of Samuel Adams, he grabbed it and headed back over to Cory and Anson. Hey, beer was the least Mulder could give him, what with his head pounding the way it was. He sat down, and looked at the two. "Hey... what do you guys make of this? And where's Methos?" He looked around for the other man, finally spotting him not far off. He waved. "So," he said, looking from Cory to Anson. "I'm not sure we'll get any answers here. Everyone seems in three directions at once. But..." he shrugged, opening a beer. "I guess we can hang."
Taking a swill, he shrugged. "Though I've actually *really* got a need to take a walk..." He looked at his new friends invitingly.
Eyebrows raised in surprise, Cory looked at Dustin. "A walk?" He shrugged, "Got nothing better to do at the moment, I guess." He looked over at Anson. "What do you say ... shall we go check out the neighborhood?"
Methos snorted. "You three go ahead. I saw more than enough of the neighborhood when we got here. I'll just grab a beer and relax for a bit." Dustin snorted. [Now that could mean many different things...]
A very wobbly looking Bryson came out of the bedroom. Skinner watched her closely, frowning at the too pale face. "You'd better sit down, Bryson." Carefully, he guided her over to the sofa.
Dustin arched a brow, shaking his head. [Stranger and stranger... I must have taken some strong acid or... hey, what *were* those strange mushrooms on the pizza Jarred brought over the other night, before I left? I asked him, but he just smiled so strangely...]
Cory rose to his feet and stepped away from the couch. "Here, take my spot. We're going out for a little bit."
Dustin stood beside Cory, looking at Anson. "Buddy?" he looked at Cory. "Thanks. I really do need to get out of here... what do you like to do for fun?" He'd get to his work later. Right now, Mackey could wait. He had bigger fish to fry.
Anson was torn... On the one hand he wanted to get out of there with its myriad versions of his face, but there was Methos... He shook his head. "I think I'll hang out here for a while, Cory, if it's all the same to you. I'm feeling a little...fragile. Sorry."
Cory shrugged. "No problem, Anson." He turned to Dustin, "well, let's hit it, shall we? I'm sure we can find some entertainment somewhere."
Anson looked at Bryson, fascinated. He could see that the she was a he, but it didn't seem as though anyone else had noticed that the he under the wig and make-up was a carbon copy of the man named Mulder. "Hey, I'm not the only one that's got duplicates," he said to Methos.
Crossing to sit on the arm of the couch, Methos put one hand on the back of Anson's neck. "Well, if you see any copies of me running about, let me know." He looked down at Anson's face, studying the weary confusion in his expression. "Hey, we're gonna figure this out, babe. Don't doubt it."
"Methos?" Skinner looked at the immortal, concern for Bryson clear in his eyes. "Bryson still isn't looking very well."
Shifting forward to glance at Bryson's wan expression, Methos frowned. "I think maybe a cup of tea with lots of sugar might help. It'll settle her stomach and the sugar will give her a little energy."
Grimacing at the thought of braving the horrors of Mulder's kitchen, Skinner reluctantly headed that way. Lord alone knew what he might find in there ... hopefully the man had tea. 'Course, this *was* Mulder's place. He rummaged through the cabinets, finally locating an unopened box of Earl Grey. Once he'd washed a cup, he heated water in the microwave and fixed the tea as Methos had suggested.
"Here, Bryson," he handed the hot beverage into her hands. "Try this."
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