The Game 2
Edited by Karen Leigh
He'd seen the van coming, and he knew what had to be done. He knew that the impact would probably destroy him, but...he wasn't human, was he? He knew that there were 9,9999 more of him, and that he would live on, no matter what. He waited until the van was almost level, and then stepped out into the middle of the road. The blow, when it came, was more, and less than he had imagined. The van ploughed into him, and as it made contact with his titanium skeleton, it began to crumple. With his last strength, he lifted, twisting his mangled body to throw the vehicle sideways. With satisfied eyes, he saw that it was going nowhere from now on. The driver was very obviously dead, and his companion lay in a steadily increasing pool of blood. If he could just make it to the back of the van...
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That was not much of an answer from Mac 27 Number One, but at that point, the rocking of the van became a hurricane of motion. The van wobbled, lurched, and with a heart-wrenching screech, flipped on its side. Ricky ended up at the bottom of a pile of androids with the startled eyes of Ryan Simms looking into his own with terror. The van continued to make a horrible noise as it tumbled all the look-a-likes from side to side like rough gems tumbled in a polisher. Ricky was falling toward a sudden aperture in the side when an inhumanely strong arm caught him. He gratefully clung to Mac 27 Number One, as the van slowly rolled to a fractured stop.
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He was numb, but he crawled, dragging the twisted ruin of his legs. He could hear servos whine within his chest, and hoped that there was enough time left for him. As he reached the locked back door of the van, it seemed as though it was all he could do, but after a moment slumped on the ground, he found a small sparkle of power rapidly discharging. He extruded his repair tool from the sheath in his finger, inserted it onto the lock, and willed the thing to open. At last, he felt the tumblers fall into place; the door was open. He knew when the others emerged from the vehicle that they would be safe and, as a brown clad other self, bent over him, he whispered, "Free." After that, the huge whiteness of electrical short-circuitry burst from behind his forehead, and fizzed to the ends of his bones. He knew nothing more.
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Oddly grateful for the opportunity to do something, Ryan Simms leapt to the ground and took a look around. They were outside of the city, outside of the beltway from the look of things. The urban sprawl didn't reach this far. His constantly moving eyes finally fell on another Mac 27 unmoving on the ground. The Mac 27s from the van were huddled around him, looking helpless and lost. Ricky wasn't in sight.
"Caruso, where are you?"
"Over here," the voice so like Ryan's own, yet different in a way Simms couldn't quite describe. "The driver and his buddy aren't going to take any more of these guys to the recycle bin. That's for sure."
Ryan walked around to the front of the vehicle, put a hand on Ricky's shoulder and pitched his voice low enough, he hoped, to be heard only by Caruso. "We can't wait for someone to stop. No one would question us. We could be twins or brothers very close in age. But sextuplets are a stretch. Especially with how those guys talk and announce themselves as Mac 27, number whatever."
Ricky muttered, "Yeah. We'll have to walk."
This guy was hard again, just as Ryan had noted earlier in the van. What was it about this situation that punched Ricky's buttons? For himself, Ryan was trapped somewhere between exasperated and jealous. She must be really something to have that effect on him in a van full of guys who looked like him. Very advanced escapism. Must be nice.
Shaking his head, Ryan forced his thoughts back to their predicament. "All of us. In pairs? Do you think we'll have to split up the two ... um ... lovers? We should try not to lose them."
"Assuming they want to come with us."
"Where else can they go? If you think they're devising a plan to set out cross-country, think again. Go back and have a look. They look like they've lost ... well, I guess they did lose a brother of a sort." 'Caruso was smiling at him. Why?'
"You a tour guide or something? You've got the planning gene."
A little indignant at the amusement in Ricky's voice, Ryan informed him, "I've been on expeditions. Climbed Everest. I know what I'm doing."
Ricky's smile only got broader. 'What the hell?'
"What are you smiling at?"
Ricky cocked his head slightly to one side, stared at Ryan and the smile just got bigger. 'This is too damn weird!'
"You're right, Ryan. We need to go. They'll come looking for this van."
Ricky's voice seemed to crawl inside Ryan's ear and vibrate its way down his spine. They, huh? Paranoid much, Caruso. "Mac 27s' designers, you mean?"
"I mean, 'They.' C'mon, Ryan. This isn't the time to argue over semantics."
It didn't take much to get the Mac 27s organized and moving. They were still shaken by the destruction of their comrade and, as a result, were malleable. Ryan took point with one of the Mac 27 lovers. Ricky took the rear with Mac 27, Number One who had the damaged android on his shoulder. As they walked just out of sight of the highway towards what looked to be a reasonably fancy suburb, Ryan ventured, "What's your name? I mean, number."
Guileless eyes turned to Ryan. "I don't share my number."
This was going to be a long day. "Okay, then. What do I call you? Mac?"
Jules caught up with Romeo and shoved between the human and his lover. They joined hands. Brilliant Romeo said, "Back to plan A. We are better off on our own. Let's leave." Jules nodded and the two of them hopped across a fence, hit a sparsely wooded field and started a tireless run. Hand in hand.
Oh oh," Ryan muttered dubiously, glancing after the two Mac 27s. When his eyes shifted to Caruso, he asked, "What's the matter, Ricky."
"My wallet. It's gone." Ricky groaned and said, "I forgot. I don't have any money. Some jerk lifted my wallet in the municipal building's elevator. Shit, how about you? Do you have any money?"
Simms dug in his pocket and produced a number of different types of currency.
Ricky dug through and found a twenty-dollar bill with the head of Aaron Burr. He looked at Ryan curiously. Not from around here, huh? No joke. Curiouser and curiouser, Ricky mused. Aloud, he said, "Well, I guess we hang together and walk."
They had not even reached the next milepost when a mini-van loaded with one woman and two huge malamutes cruised them. The van stopped in front of them and a plain-faced dark-haired woman rushed out. She hurried over to Mac 27 Number One and Number 55, embraced them and wept. "Thank God, you're safe!"
A moment later, she wrinkled her large bulbous nose and said, "Hey, something's different. You're not Romeo and you're not Jules." She moved around Number One to look at the damaged android. She shot an eagle eye at Ricky and Ryan next. She said, "And you two are not even Mac 27s. What is going on? Where are my friends?"
Ryan said, "Your guys took off cross country about fifteen minutes ago. I guess they felt that we were attracting too much attention."
The woman grinned, somewhat improving her deeply tanned features. She said, "That's my boys. Sure proof that Mac 27s deserve liberation. Well, as long as I'm here, hop in. Are you headed back to the city?"
Ricky said, "Yes, do those dogs bite?"
She laughed and said, "No, they howl, drool, and occasionally eat shoes, but they are just big friendly overgrown puppies. Hi, I'm Anne North."
"Ricky Caruso." Ricky said.
"Ryan Simms," said his companion.
Mac 27 Number One said, "I am One. And I honor you. You are the helper. You respect us as thinking creatures."
Mac 27 Number 55 grabbed her hand and pressed his cheek to it. He said, "Will you make sure that Sally, Mary and dog Luna are all right? I am very worried. Mister Orville is very angry sometimes. When he was mad, he would beat me. Now that I'm gone, I'm afraid that he will hurt the others."
Anne gathered Mac 27 Number 55 to her ample bosom and said, "I promise. I'll check into it. Would you like to sit with my dogs? You can tell them about Luna."
Number 55 scrambled up and buried his face in the fur of the ambulatory haystacks. Ricky felt sorry for the poor innocent creature. At first he only wanted to get out of a bad situation, but now he was in a fighting mood. Whoever wanted to exterminate the androids was going to have to fight him to do it!
Ricky sank into the doggy smelling back seat, allowing Simms to ride shotgun. Mac 27 Number One sat next to him. Ricky said, "Fill me in on your situation. I want to help."
Number One gravely nodded.
Ryan half listened to Mac 27 Number One's explanation to Ricky of the basics of their situation. It was the same story that the androids had told him before Caruso joined them. One of their number, the prototype, had challenged his human creators and, to hear this guy tell it, beat them at their own game. Deception for deception. Lie for lie. Nice design there. A little too close to home. Home. That was a concept Ryan tried to avoid. He'd been going to die, sure, but at least he'd understood. And belonged. Hell, he'd patterned his entire life to go as it did. Then he met her. The girl he'd followed into this reality; who had waited until he had jumped with her to proclaim that she really had a thing for this other guy she was sliding with. Ryan hadn't really expected that revelation to hurt. And it hadn't. What did bother him was the discontinuity. He didn't know anything about this reality except that it was much, much bigger and more highly populated than his own. That's why he'd come to Washington D.C. in the first place, to soak up a little history of this part of the world, anyway. To try and understand.
What had he found out? That most of the people in this time were amazingly self-absorbed. They barely paid attention to anything or anybody. That had its advantages though. It allowed him to pay for lunch for everyone in the van with a bill that shouldn't have been honored in this reality. And he'd gotten change, currency of this world, into the bargain.
Ryan was feeling out of sorts and out of place as he concentrated on his french fries. When they stopped for food, Annie North hadn't wanted to drive and eat at the same time, so they were all sitting in the van eating their sandwiches. All except for Number 55, as Ryan had started to think of the farming android. He'd seen chocolate milkshakes on the menu and demanded three of them. Annie had tried to be stern with him, but Number 55 had looked so forlorn that Ryan hadn't been able to stand it. "Let him have his milkshakes," he'd muttered. The look of adoration that that pronouncement had garnered made Ryan a little nervous.
They were about to get back on the road when Ryan heard it. A horribly sad sniffling sound. A glance back decided him. Ricky and Mac One were talking philosophy now. Well, debating really. And Ricky seemed to be losing.
"I'm moving back," Ryan murmured to Annie, already opening the door to exit the mini-van. Moving with a purpose, he pushed in amongst the dogs to check on Number 55.
"Where do you boys want out?" Annie asked.
Ryan could feel Ricky's eyes on him, but didn't meet them. After a moment, Caruso said, "My place, I guess," and mumbled an address.
"Okay. And then I'll cruise the district for Jules and Romeo. Dupont Circle first. Then Georgetown. Then ...."
Ryan ceased listening and focused on the upset android. "55, are you okay?"
"I miss the farm."
"I know. I miss home, too."
"You do?"
"Yeah." Uh Oh. Number 55 was looking at him ... that way ... again. "It's normal to miss where you're from."
A very subdued android said, "I don't miss Mr. Orville. Is that wrong, Ryan?"
"Not if he treated you badly. Or people you cared about."
"Thank you."
Ryan suddenly found himself engulfed in an android hug. Number 55 was strong; Ryan could barely wiggle. With a sigh, Simms muttered, "You're welcome," tentatively putting his hands on the android's back. "You can ease up now, 55."
The android shook his head and hung on. Ryan glared at Ricky who was grinning at him like a maniac, obviously enjoying his situation. This was just perfect.
Mac 27, Number 55 burrowed his nose into Ryan Simms' hair. This human smelled good and he was kind. It felt good to touch him and Number 55 decided not to let go when he was told. After all, One said they were individuals and should have rights like everyone else. Number 55 ran his programming through his head. He knew all kinds of things such as the mating habits of preying mantis (not nice) or that whales only connected to a mate for a few moments, but that male dogs could lock to females for an hour, unable to withdraw their penis. Number 55 even had residual sex play knowledge in his data bank, but next to Jules and Romeo, he felt clumsy and out of place. He had watched avidly when they made love like humans and then added the special way that they had found and told the others about. It had stirred curiosity in him and a sense of unease. Number 55 was innocent, but not stupid. Sure he had spent most of his life down on the farm, but he also had all the capacity to extrapolate, to learn, and to act independently. Number 55 also found that when the programmers had copied certain aspects of the human base model; they had been very exact. Number 55 ran a hidden subprogram and found a new drive, which he promptly activated. Guile was interesting and tasted like cinnamon candy. He thought he might like it very much.
Number 55 decided to test run his program. He let his eye follicles rise and fall and exuded a drop of clear lubricant from each. He also ran the sad associated sound file that he had been playing when the attractive human model in the white suit came back to comfort him. Number 55 looked at the Ryan Simms human and said, "But I'm so frightened. When you hold me, I feel better. If you just pet me a little like I used to pet Luna, the dog, I know I would be less apprehensive." Number 55 made minute changes to the light refraction on his ocular orbs to match the pleading expression in Luna's eyes when she wanted a treat or to play. He saw the Ryan Simms face soften and found another new program option. Smug was also a richly textured emotional wave.
'Oh shit. Pet him like a dog? Was he kidding?' Despite Ricky Caruso's unsuccessfully stifled giggles, Ryan knew Number 55 wasn't kidding. 'Hell, did he copy the dog's eyes, too? Well, okay, Ryan's best friend growing up had had a dog. Ryan's parents had been the "no pets" type, but Davey's dog Malko had been a gentle, fun-loving canine. He had experience with dog petting. He could do this.' 'Or maybe not.' When Ryan drew his fingers through Number 55's hair, his thoughts weren't on Malko. Rachel's face appeared in his mind. Her hair had been longer, but it hadn't been any softer than Number 55's when they'd made love the night before his Everest expedition. She'd hooked up with another guy, while he'd been gone and that had been that. But, that night had served as the inspiration for erotic dreams for years afterward.
'Why the hell am I thinking of Rachel? I've got an android that looks exactly like me clutching me like I'm the only teddy bear standing between him and every childhood monster there was. Wait a minute? He didn't have a childhood. He's an android.'
'Ryan, calm down. He is. See. Mac 27 Number 55 is relaxing. Feeling better, just like he said he would. No problem. This is okay. Everything's going to be fine. No need to panic or project. And certainly not fantasize about the only woman who ever made you beg for it. No need for that at all.'
Tentative, Ryan glanced at Number 55. The android was looking at him. He didn't look sad anymore. Good. Without thinking, Ryan smiled at Number 55.
Number 55 smiled back. There was something else in the android's eyes now. Something disturbing. Wanting to classify what he was seeing, Ryan stared back.
"Boy, I hope my guest room is clean," Caruso observed apropos of nothing.
"You okay now?" Ryan asked Number 55 softly.
"Better, Ryan. Yes."
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Lt. Leigh Baines was on leave from his Special Forces military unit. His last mission had left him with multiple injuries and he had spent considerable time in hospital healing and then another grueling six months getting back into shape. His CO had sent him to Washington D.C. with a message for another black ops group. Once he had made the delivery, he was on his own for three weeks leave.
His first stop was acquiring accommodations at a good hotel. His next foray was for civilian clothes. The kind of clothes that would camouflage the numerous weapons that never left his body. It had been a long time since he had been on leave alone in a strange town and there was no way he was going anywhere unarmed. He felt naked enough without his uniform. After changing into a pair of tight black jeans, black tee shirt, an over-shirt that hid his guns and keeping his military issue boots, Leigh looked at himself in the mirror. He needed a haircut but that could wait until the day before he had to return to duty. He grinned at himself. Time to plan his sortie into the big city. He wasn't sure whether he was in the mood for a male or a female but he did know he wanted to check out a few of the more notorious bars and exotic restaurants that D.C. was famous for. He figured he would get lucky along the way. Strapping a knife to his arm under the black shirt, he shrugged on a brand new black leather jacket. Concealing his favourite knife in his boot and taking one last look in the mirror Lt. Leigh Baines headed out for some fun.
The concierge was a fount of information once Leigh made it clear what type of establishments he was interested in and he left the hotel armed with a list of addresses and a street map of the city. He decided to wander a bit on foot, as it was a little early in the day for bar hopping and he wasn't hungry yet. After wandering for several hours Leigh was thinking about hailing a cab and heading to one of the restaurants on his list. He was standing on the curb looking up and down the street when a non-descript car passing on the opposite side of the street slowed and the three men in it all turned to stare in his direction.
Skinner was driving through the downtown section of the city arguing with Mulder about following directions given by an android named Mac 27 Number 902. Only Mulder would instantly believe the word of a soft machine that Ricky was in trouble and the unbelievable machine was the one to lead the rescue. All of a sudden Mulder shouted at him to stop with the cry 'hey, there's Alex' and an arm under Skinner's nose pointed across the street. Skinner automatically stepped on the brake and looked in that direction. Sure enough it was Alex, dressed in his usual black uniform. His eyes caught Alex's but there was no recognition of Skinner in them.
A car honked behind forcing Skinner to step on the gas. Mulder craned his neck keeping an eye on Alex as Skinner tried to find a way to turn around and go back. Achieving a U-turn at considerable risk to other motorists and his own dignity, Skinner reversed their direction and raced back along the street, with Mulder hanging out of the window eagerly looking for their quarry. "He's there!" he yelled. "Stop, sir!"
A heavy hand descended on Skinner's shoulder and the Mac 27 said ponderously, "I cannot permit this. We must continue on our previous bearing. Turn around, or I will be forced to take charge of the vehicle."
Mulder turned to the android, "But it's another who looks like you," he said brightly. "He could be in danger of recycling, too."
*And you can never have too many of Alex.* purred Fox, inside Mulder's head. Scoop him up and jump in the back between them. I want to be a Fox sandwich.
Leigh's eyes followed the car as it moved forward into traffic. One of the men turned in his seat to watch him through the rear window. Leigh shrugged, as the car appeared to turn into a side street, and went back to looking for a cab. He was trying to catch the eye of a cabdriver coming up on the other side when that same non-descript car with the same three men in it pulled up along side. A handsome hazel-eyed man called out "Alex, what are you doing in town? Why didn't you call me?"
Skinner couldn't believe his eyes ... "Um, Mulder," he warned, "a little caution might not be a bad ..."
Leigh's eyebrow rose in question but his eyes were drawn to the man in the back seat. The man was a dead ringer for himself. While he was staring, Mulder got out of the car and reached out to grab his arm, reflex took over. Soon Mulder lay on the sidewalk looking up at Baines in shock. "What the fuck was that all about?"
Leigh looked down into the shocked eyes of the man on the ground. "You called me Alex. I am not Alex. Sorry, let me help you up." He reached down and hauled Mulder to his feet.
"Another clone. Damn. What is your name?" Mulder growled.
"Leigh. Lt. Leigh Baines. Who are you? What do you mean clone?" Leigh kept his tone light as his eyes wandered back to the man with his face sitting in the car.
"I'm Fox Mulder, Special Agent Fox Mulder, FBI, that is Assistant Director Skinner in the driver's seat and that is Mac 27 Number 902 in the back. Please, get in the car, we've got things to talk about and the street is not the place. We are on the way to rescue another of Alex's clones." Mulder's voice had an undertone of frustration.
Skinner rolled his eyes. Pretty soon he was going to have a gaggle of Ricky's. Hmmm ... Not a bad thing, he thought. "Come on in, Baines, and join the party. Mulder will behave," He shot a look at the bane of his life. "Won't you, Mulder?"
"Of course, sir," replied Mulder, trying to look efficient.
Noticing Baines' reluctance, and not wanting a brawl in the street, Mulder pulled out his gun and pointed it at Baines.
"My apologies, sir, but I'm going to insist that you accompany us. I can't take the time to explain now. Get in the car please, and we'll fill you in on the way." He looked at the android. "Could you get in the front and give directions, 902? I'll keep an eye on Lt. Baines."
Skinner couldn't believe his eyes ... Had Mulder completely lost his mind? Hell, yes ... the man was absolutely nuts. Always had been. But this ... Skinner started to open his door, reluctantly headed towards Mulder and the new clone. He had no clue just exactly what he was going to do, but obviously Mulder was in need of some kind of control.
Mulder hustled Baines into the back of the car and climbed in after him, slamming the door. "Drive on, sir, we're in."
As you wish, Mr. Mulder sir," Skinner mumbled. Sighing, Skinner settled back in ... Jesus Christ, what had he ever done to deserve Mulder? If it weren't for Ricky, he'd have dumped Mulder on the roadside without a second thought.
Mulder reached for his seatbelt and discovered, to his horror, that Fox had taken advantage of his distraction to snuggle him right up against the other man. He scooted back across the seat, shrinking back into the upholstery and belting himself in with shaking hands, praying that the webbing was really short. His disobedient body obviously needed restraint when surrounded by Alexes.
Spoilsport, said Fox. *He's cute. Get back over there, or I'm taking over.*
*Get lost, Fox. I'm working. Just go back to sleep; this isn't your business.*
*This is a special circumstance. If you think I'm going to leave all these cute guys to you, you are *totally* mistaken. And we're on our way to rescue Ricky. He is my business; you can't deny that. You'll just waste all this lovely Alex-flesh.*
Mulder felt the woozy dislocation that was the all too familiar sign that Fox was about to take control. He concentrated furiously to keep command of his body, but Fox was more than determined. Suddenly he was a helpless observer, trapped in a body controlled by his demon, his outrageous, lewd other self. He mentally curled into a tiny ball and tried to hide as Fox undid the seatbelt once more, leaned over to Baines, put a hand on his leg and said intimately, "Why don't you relax and I'll tell you what's going on?"
Dammit ... Skinner watched his agent with horrified disbelief. Crazy didn't even *begin* to describe Mulder's actions.
"Mulder," Skinner barked, "what the fuck is wrong with you? Get your hands off of that man."
STOP!" yelled the Mac 27 Number 902, who had been buzzing quietly to himself for the last few moments. He seized the steering wheel and wrenched it towards the curb. "I have a message from another Mac 27. He has destroyed himself halting the van in which your friend and the other Mac 27's were being transported to the recycling facility. They have escaped. We must change direction."
Fox reluctantly disentangled himself from Baines' lap, where he had been thrown, face down, by the jolting of the car. Sitting up, he poked his head between Skinner and Number 902 and said brightly, "Okay, which way now, Tin Man?"
"I have very little tin in my construction," said Number 902 pedantically. "My primary material is a new silicone plastic; my support structure a titanium and vanadium alloy."
"Well, I'm not calling you 'Titanium Man'. It's too damn long and it makes you sound like a superhero," retorted Fox, blowing softly in Number 902's ear, to see if there was any reaction to such stimuli.
The newly christened Tin Man gave Skinner his directions, then turned to Fox and said, "This signal is not appropriate. If you want to copulate, you should choose a Mac 27 from outside the 900 series. We are equipped for domestic duties only, and not as pleasure androids. I am an economy model, and, as such; do not have the full range of orifices. Maybe this is the time to inform you that I require fuel. I require a low residue diet."
Grinning, Skinner listened attentively to "Tin Man's" explanation. Take *that* Mulder He pulled away from the roadside and headed off, hoping against hope he ... *they* would actually find Ricky.
*Shut him up... shut him up, * yelled Mulder inside Fox's head, wishing he could die, Skinner could be struck deaf... anything but listen to Tin Man's embarrassing expose of his functions. Fox didn't even blush. With a smirk, he guessed, fascinated, "Low residue because you don't have an ass-hole, correct?"
"Correct. I believe that is the colloquial term for the missing orifice."
"And the fuel you require?"
"I am designed to run on beer. It is commonly available, not too expensive and socially acceptable to consume in public. For short periods, I can employ Coca Cola or some brands of aftershave."
For a while they drove around, seemingly at random, following Tin Man's instructions. Fox continued to question him, amazed that someone could be so thoroughly swept up by a delusion that they could talk so convincingly of being an android.
He successfully ignored Mulder's internal promptings to ask the Mac 27 to unscrew something... his head, for instance, to prove he was mechanical, and was about to suggest the fuel stop that Tin Man had requested, when Skinner's cell phone warbled.
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