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A/N: whoa, okay been way too long. Bumped all the way to page three? I'm horrible. Bleh.
But anyway, hopefully now that I got this chapter out (finally) my muse Jareth (finicky little bastard, but he's a dragon and male, what can I say?) will keep 'em coming. He already did a 180 on my other story in the UC section, and this one just took off as well.
Well, at least we settled on which direction we're taking and I'm sticking to it!
Please enjoy and thank you for all the reviews and sticking with me!
~~~
Chapter Nine
~~~
The comforting weight of darkness was shattered as a bright ray of light pierced through, interrupting the wonderfully quiet sleep of the dead. It was accompanied by the inevitable press of pain and sharp understanding, and the realization that no, one wasn’t dead if you could still feel the pain.
Sterilized equipment and the tang of blood, resignation, and home were the first scents that hit her nose and Liz came to full awareness dreading what she knew she would find.
Impersonal gray walls swam in annoying blurs before her pained eyes could focus, not that the image was any better. The sight made it difficult for her to keep the nauseous bile from rising in her throat.
Hell, she was in Hell. Some would call it home, but she knew it to be Hell.
The government called it Manticore, and Liz groaned as she shut her eyes, wondering how in the sphincter Hell did she end up here? Her last memory was of curling up in high in a tree. Gradually, that perfect recall she’d been cursedly ‘blessed’ with helped her out.
Liz clashed with 494, too weary to keep up a prolonged fight but not willing to go down easily, either. She’d been torn out of her much needed healing slumber by the most delicious scent ever created by man, God, or beast…the scent of a male.
Her male, and her mate.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t in the mood for intimate reaquaintence, but neither was she in the mood for another round of let’s capture and torture the escaped X5. So they fought, and fought some more and it didn’t help that his spicy male scent was driving her wild with pent up desire. The drugs had burned away and she’d healed just enough that her bodies’ natural urges were demanding not to be denied any longer.
Three years since that first liberating Heat, three years since this very man before her had helped relieve that itch, who’d claimed and staked her for his own, who had filled her up so much and satisfied her in ways she’d never known possible. She’d tried to find relief from others, but she couldn’t, he had marked her for his and she couldn’t betray him in that way so she went unsatisfied. Each Heat without Him pure agony and getting worse every time, unable to enjoy Another’s touch, alien or otherwise.
“C’mon,” 494 had jeered, more to remind himself of why he was here and not be distracted from the pleasant scent of her arousal. It was difficult and he was trying but damn! This she-devil had ruined him for any other female, a fact that he hadn’t counted on or appreciated, and now after three years of training and agony and torture all he could think about was not completing his mission from Lydecker, but completing a mission that had its roots in nature for thousands of thousands of years.
Liz stared up at him through the drizzle soaking them both and met his eyes, a feeling of lust and desire rising through her and finally she dropped her hands out of the defensive block she’d held and eased out of her fighting stance.
“I surrender,” she’d replied. Then things went fuzzy and finally sweet darkness.
“I fainted?” Jondy’s eyes widened, blinking and frowning, and finally attempting to shake her head but the sharp pain that lanced through her skull halted that action very quickly.
“Your body shut itself down, too much stress and too many drug cocktails in your system,” a matter of fact voice originating from behind her stated, sounding disapproving toward the end and she couldn’t agree any more.
Drugs were bad, say no to drugs!
Liz couldn’t move her head, but she could follow the speaker’s progress with her ears, funky ringing echo and all, and finally caught a splash of white out of the corner of her eye.
A bland looking man came to stand before her, and she struggled to make out any defining features but the blindingly harsh white of his doctor’s lab coat clashed with the dull gray of the walls and shiny metallic glow of the chrome equipment, making it difficult to discern anything.
“Is she going to be ready in time?” a familiar voice sent chills down her spine, all the more fearsome in person than through the radio, even after all these years.
“210’s body has gone through some tremendous stress and wear these few weeks, if the reports of what’s been done to her are accurate,” The Doctor continued in that same matter of fact, almost monotone voice. It was a voice that could have been soothing had he put a little more effort or emotion to it, but he didn’t so it was just flat.
“Present in the room,” Liz slurred out, frowning at how fragile sounding and difficult it was to speak.
Colonel Lydecker and the Doctor both ignored her, though now Lydecker was in her line of vision as well, and Liz stared at the man who had been such an important part of her life, even when he was physically absent these recent years.
Time had added some wrinkles and extra lines to the wind carved face, and his hair was darker in color though the tips were frosted and actually grown long enough to curl over slightly, though the salt and pepper was there. His jaw was almost permanently clenched and set in a stern line, and his eyes…well, his eyes were the only thing that truly stayed the same. A piercing, cold blue, that intelligent and calculating gaze held so many different ways of expressing anything and nothing at all yet still managing to inform you of disapproval or vague acknowledgement.
Liz swallowed as that cold pair of baby blues turned her way and suddenly she was six years old again, trembling at attention in line next to Syl and Maxie, terrified that she wasn’t up to the Colonel’s exacting standards of perfection and being punished or sent to the Nomilies.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Lydecker said after a moment, turning his attention to the Doctor, but never releasing Liz from his sight.
The Doctor made some sort of grudging noise, but he answered anyway, speaking slowly as if explaining something deep to a child who wouldn’t get it otherwise.
“If ‘ready in time’ means is she ready to be put through her paces with the others of her own kind since she regained consciousness a few minutes ago, than the answer is no.”
The Doctor approached her and she was hissing against the forced focus of a powerful penlight, Liz’s muscles refusing to respond properly.
One reason was the obvious restraints. Two, Liz could feel he flow of drugs running through her system, spreading it’s insidious lethargy and going on it’s merry way.
a/n: Sorry for the long lack of updates, but I’m here now! I’m really pleased at how this chapter turned out and I hope you are
~~~
Chapter 10
~~~
Liz was bored.
Really, how could she not be? After who knows how long of being Pierce’s favorite pincushion and living bullseye, being in a small cell stuck in solitary recovering from her injuries enough so that she could actually survive whatever torture and degradation of individuality Manticore had planned was actually very boring.
There were no dumb FBI wannabes to piss off or techies to scare. Hell, at this point, Jondy would even love to see Pierce and just generally egg him on until he pulled his weapon on her. That would be preferable to this incessant waiting.
It gave her plenty of time to think, and to plan, and go over all the events that lead up to this point and how she could have done things differently.
Everybody knew this was a dangerous pastime.
Liz was quite certain this was all part of a cleverly disguised plot hatched by the Manticore pencil pushers to wear down her mental resistance so she’d be lulled into a) a false sense of security, which face it, wasn’t happening, or b) they were hoping she’d be driven so insane trying to find the hidden meaning and innuendo behind their supposed inaction that when they did act she would already be so far down the loony bin that they’d just put her down to save the tax payers billions of precious capitol from having to ‘re-indoctrinate’ her.
Jondy was certain to make sure that that was also not happening.
Liz was also fairly certain that it wasn’t the Colonel’s idea to let her recuperate, and certainly not for this long. By her reckoning, she’d been here almost a week, and experience had taught her that there was no way the Colonel would have wasted such an ample opportunity to break her will when she was in such a vulnerable state. Exploit the weakness or whatever strategic soldier crap she’d been repressing for the past seven years of her existence.
She figured that it was only because the FBI had fu- uh, screwed her over so bad that the torturers – doctors – at Manticore couldn’t do any of their usual pain and debilitation until whatever cocktail of recreational and medicinal narcotics they pumped into her had faded enough that they could start in on their own version of let’s dissect the specimen.
“X5-210!”
“Yo?” Liz didn’t look up from her spot reclining on the flimsy mattress that did nothing to protect her back from the cold, hard steel slab it rested upon. Even doped up on Special Unit shit she had heard them coming down the hall. Since there didn’t seem to be anyone else on this cell block, it didn’t take much deduction to figure they were coming for her.
“X5-210, get up and stand against the wall to await extraction!” the guard ordered from the relative safety of the sliding peephole and six inches of solid titanium steel door.
“Oh…big word, ‘extraction’. They pay you an extra buck fifty to use words over four letters?” she taunted, to all appearances relaxed and indolent upon her bunk.
“Up against the wall!” he snarled, furious.
“Ya didn’t say ‘please’,” she sniggered as four burly guards came rushing through the now opened portal, armed with tasers and those electric nightstick thingies – asps, she thought they were called.
The guard at the door watched with some satisfaction as his four buddies took care of the damned rogue soldier from his position of safety: he’d dealt with too many angry transgenics to get close to one who so obviously despised his guts.
Liz put up only a token resistance, enough to make her escorts feel all manly at having to result to using force, but not really enough to make her break a sweat. Cause hey, she really loved being electrocuted by those collapsible shock stick thingies they used to beat her with. Call her clairvoyant or maybe Manticore was so predictable, but she figured the real fight was just ahead.
~~~
Jondy felt a cold feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach as she was marched in between two of her honor guard down one of the many gray corridors that made up the maze that was her childhood home.
The fine hairs on the nape of her neck prickled and rose as she barely stopped her lips from curling. Animal instinct or empathy, she could sense the pain, death, despair, and resignation permeating the very air and walls of this particular section. She knew then even without looking at the sign posted on the bulkhead where she was headed: Neuro Psychological Operations.
Not so affectionately shortened as PsyOps, commonly referred to as the torture chamber.
The Bad Place.
Jondy shivered as she heard her brother Ben’s voice whisper in her mind, his name for nasty place bringing up hundreds of memories best left repressed.
“Blue Lady, no,” she mouthed, not daring to whisper. Images of Max, Michael, Isabel and the others flashed through her mind, her parents looking at her with love and concern.
Approaching the forbidding looking double doors Jondy fought despair even as she knew what she had to do even if she might lose herself in the process.
She had to forget everyone in Roswell: aliens, friends, parents, everyone and everything.
If Manticore found out about the aliens, than she would have signed away their lives to something far worse than the White Room and the death warrants for the humans who would give their lives to protect them.
About to enter the Double Doors of Doom, she raised her chin as she caught the gaze of an portly looking official and sent him a defiant gaze. The teaching words of Colonel Lydecker from so long ago helped her begin the process of filing and compartmentalizing everything about her tenure in Roswell. The final bit was to conveniently ‘forget’ the imperative information.
She only hoped she wouldn’t lose too much of herself before Manticore was finished with her.
~~~
“Subject X5-210 unusually resistant to memory retrieval efforts,” the Doctor made a notation on his clipboard even as he spoke out loud.
He was in an observation room overseeing the X4 psionic operative attempting to bring forth the information that the human operatives had been unable to do so for the past six hours. That in itself was not unusual…many of their deep cover soldiers were trained to this ability to help protect them from what was currently being done to the soldier strapped down in the room below them.
What made this case fascinating was that the subject had been out of the Manticore environment and so had not been here when the X5s underwent the intensive training and selection process for this particular skill. The fact that Subject X5-210 had not only learned from the minimal training she had had before The Escape, but had also developed strong barriers against mental suggestion, was cause for further study.
Possibly Subject X5-210 had inherent psionic abilities previously undetected? He didn’t dare say that aloud.
“I don’t claim to be an expert on any of your little pets here, but shouldn’t what’s her number have already given us the information we need?” Special Agent Peter Sandoval sneered from his little corner of the room.
The Doctor merely looked over at him in disdain but refrained from speaking the sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t know of a good reason that the Madame Director’s little lapdog was here other than to piss the Colonel off, but that other man had the coolness of a reptile, and had ignored the little ferret.
“The mental coercion required to access the information without damaging the subject’s brain beyond repair is a highly specialized skill. Especially when the subject to be compelled is a very strong willed transgenic, such as X5-210. We created them to be resistant to such actions and therefore, it will take a more delicate touch to regain the data. X4-303 is our expert operative in both memory retrieval and manipulation, and have been successful in the past with other X5 units.”
“So why is some rogue operative able to withstand your best psi specialist when other, more highly trained and useful soldiers haven’t? She should be singing like a canary what with all the truth serums and neural relaxers we injected her with but yet she resists. Quite remarkably as we’ve been here a few hours.”
“X5-210 is not your usual soldier,” Colonel Lydecker spoke for the first time. “She is one of my kids, the best of the best. I trained her and her unit against such outside force techniques. I’m not surprised she’s kept everyone out for so long.”
“X4-303 will get the information from your ‘kid’,” The Doctor sent the Colonel a thin, tight lipped glare.
“I am sure she’ll make a good attempt,” Colonel Lydecker nodded, no mockery or pride in his voice, just cold fact.
“I assure you, Colonel Lydecker, that X4-303 can and will gain the information required. I have been working with her and the other psionic transgenics since the unit was formed…”
“I am well aware of your involvement in the Neuropsychological Unit, Dr. Soroyan,” Lydecker cut in, waving a hand in the air dismissively, “As I am of their track record. But it is like you said, X5-210 is unusually resistant to the mental suggestions. It will be quite interesting to see how long she’ll stand against your girl.”
Doctor Soroyan raised his chin in challenge, glaring at the Colonel. “Having went AWOL with the rest of her unit back in 2009, X5-210 is obviously a defective soldier, haven’t receiving the necessary training to resist one of the Psy Ops for an extended period. It won’t be long now.”
Sandoval watched the interaction between the two, mostly unamused at the posturing, sniggering inwardly at this twisted version of ‘mine is better than yours’.
Despite having been ordered to watch the procedure by Madame Director Renfro, he was genuinely curious about finally seeing one of Deck’s so called ‘kids’ alive. Lydecker’s kids had proven very resilient, and out of twelve original escapees, only three had been captured. One was supposedly fatally shot in Amargosa Valley, Nevada and the other was found on a fluke in Wolf Point, Montana at a baseball game of all places.
Deciding to ignore the posturing of the other two for now, Peter Sandoval looked out at the operating room, taking a long glance at the third escapee to have been recaptured.
This one in particular didn’t look all that special, more like any girl next door you’d find in any small town in the USA. Petite almost to the point of pre-pubescent, she had all the development of a twelve year old girl. Oh, there was a slight swell of breast under the standard issue sports bra and plain gray tee, with a widening curve of the hips to save her figure from being completely boyish. But all in all, she was pretty unremarkable out of a series of transgenics designed to be visually appealing.
Even her hair was unassuming, straight as a pin and a dull brown that clashed with the sallow pallor of her skin and the dark circles under her eyes. Sandoval supposed it was to be expected, what with this soldier having been held in an underground facility for upwards to two and half months if the reports gathered had been accurate, and her own forced imprisonment in Solitary.
It wasn’t until looking past the deceptive packaging when you met her eyes that you finally understood what made her more than what she appeared. Sandoval had had the opportunity to catch the young X5s gaze before entering PsyOps and he’d never forget that glimpse.
If it was true about the eyes being windows to your soul, than 210s soul was an interesting one to be sure.
Dark chocolate orbs with a dark iris bleeding into each other with a surprising ring of light grayish blue, a holdout from her younger days, had stared right back at him. What had shocked him the most was the passion, the life, in that one glance. Mixed among all that passion was pride, anger, strength, fear, resigned acceptance and overall determination and an intelligence that gave him chills even now.
“So what was this one’s name?” Sandoval asked, even though as Lydecker’s former right hand man, he was aware of everything about the deserting Unit 2. Including the little names they had christened each other with.
But it had been a while so he wasn’t exactly sure which of the females names this one was, and they all had weird sounding names anyway, so who could blame him?
Soroyan gave him a disapproving look, but he ignored it. He just wanted to see if he could get a rise out of Lydecker, break that oh so cool exterior.
“Jondy.”
“What?” both Sandoval and Soroyan chorused, the latter having been about to say something to the Agent. They looked to Lydecker, but he was staring down the window at the rogue, at one of his missing kids.
“They named her Jondy.”
Colonel Donald Lydecker looked down upon his lost child with calm detachment as she underwent the intensive debriefing. Despite his confidence in his kids’ ability to protect themselves, he knew it was only a matter of time. X4-303, once called Mia, was one of the best and would find out eventually.
X5-210.
Jondy.
The little spitfire had been nearly inseparable from her ‘sister’ Max, X5-452, and it didn’t seem as if the years had dampened her stubborn streak any. He was reminded of unwanted memories from an event that occurred just a few weeks before the Escape.
~~~
“What is the meaning of this, Senior Trainer?” the Colonel demanded of the man responsible for the day to day activities of his preferred group of soldiers.
“Sir, X5-210 is being insubordinate.”
“Are you telling me that you cannot handle one insubordinate X5, soldier?” Lydecker cocked a cold eyebrow at the man, unamused.
“No sir. X5-210 is refusing even the commands of X5-599, sir.”
“Really? Explain.”
Now Lydecker’s interest was peaked. His kids were generally extremely obedient, but more so with 599 than even he. The kids would follow that boy into Hell itself if he asked them too, and with no questions or hesitation. He also knew that 210 would have to have a good reason for defying the orders of her commanding officer and senior trainer.
“Sir, today was the inner unit Search and Destroy exercise with the soldiers paired up.”
“Having come up with their training schedule, Sergeant, I do know what was going down today,” Lydecker stated pointedly.
“Of course, sir,” Staff Sergeant Trevor Ingram tried not to snap. Embarrassing enough he had one little X5 defy him; having the Colonel get snappish when he was debriefing him was humbling.
“X5-210 was paired with X5-452.” Ingram swore the Colonel’s stare intensified by three hundred percent at the mention of his pet transgenic, 452, and he fought back at shudder at being the recipient of the Colonel’s complete attention.
“During the course of the exercise, X5-452 failed to meet the mission objective and both were captured, despite knowing the punishment of failure. At the end when it was time for 452 to be punished, being the responsible party for their capture, X5-210 refused to leave 452s side, even under direct order from myself and her c.o. X5-599 when the rest of the unit was ordered to return to the squad bay.”
“I see,” the Colonel nodded, eyes shuttered and unblinking. “Where are they now?”
“Follow me sir,” and Ingram led his Colonel to where two shaved, dark haired soldiers stood stiffly at attention. Imperceptibly, both soldiers stiffened even further and brought themselves straighter as they recognized their Colonel.
Ingram halted a few paces back, allowing the Colonel to continue and take charge.
Not even sparing 452 a glance the Colonel stood in front of 210 and addressed her directly.
“X5-210, what are you doing?” his voice seemed to boom and fill the courtyard even to the nooks and crannies, despite having never been raised. Ingram felt his own spine wanting to stiffen automatically to the position of attention in response.
“Sir, standing at the position of attention, SIR!”
Ingram scowled at the small soldier in front of him, having refused to leave her fellow soldier X5-452 to her punishment alone.
“X5-210, you were ordered by the Senior Trainer and your commanding officer both to the squad bay with the rest of your unit.” Lydecker delivered the facts in his normal cool tone as if he didn’t care at the breach in protocol.
“Yes, sir!”
“Yet you refuse to follow a direct order from not one, but two superior officers.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Explain.” The curt command clipped out and if possible, both female soldiers stiffened further at attention, though 210 was the one who spoke.
“Sir, with all due respect, the failure of the exercise was as much this soldier’s fault as it was X5-452s. Any punishment X5-452 undergoes should also be divvied out to this soldier as well, sir!”
Trevor was surprised to see the Colonel nodding as if he agreed with the seven year old’s explanation. He gave a tight lipped scowl at the slate eyed transgenic, whose eyes were starting to lose the blue tint and becoming a darker brown.
“Very well. You shall join X5-452 in the punishment he has chosen. Afterward, you will report to my office and await additional punishment for insubordination against two senior officers. Is that understood?”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“Very well then, soldiers. Senior Trainer Staff Sergeant Ingram!”
“Yes, sir,” Ingram stood on alert.
“X5-452 and X5-210 are under your punishment detail. As you were, gentlemen.”
Both little soldiers snapped off smart salutes and held them as the Colonel marched away without a backward glance.
“All right you worthless mass of genetically altered scum! To the Obstacle Course, both of you, move, move, MOVE!”
~~~
X4-303 was getting frustrated, though she was careful not to show anything but her usual overly chipper façade. Some soldiers masks were humor, others a tough ass don’t mess with me loner kind of deal, and still others had an unemotional veneer. X4-303, once known as Mia to those she secretly cared for, wore a mask of false cheeriness.
When she learned that she was to work on one of the infamous 09ers, she couldn’t say she leapt for joy. But unlike most of the transgenics, neither did she completely blame the traitors for everything that had happened afterward. She could understand the need to protect your unit, the pack mentality that was inbred in all of them, that was a large factor in the Escape. In her mind, it was entirely logical and the only thing that surprised her was that no other unit had done anything similar before then.
However, that did not mean she was thrilled to be in the mind of one of the aforementioned deserters. She’d been in the mind of their C.O. as many times as he’d been captured, and recaptured, and captured and escaped again as much as she could take, thank you very much. X5-599 was a very difficult and unnerving target, and the last time they’d tangled on Colonel Lydecker’s insistence when she masqueraded as one of his unit mates, she’d had a bruised trachea for almost two weeks after that encounter.
It seemed that trait of X5-599s was shared by those under his one-time command, as the tiny rogue X5 was blocking her at every turn. Usually after having endured the laser, and the drugs, and the beatings, most transgenics were at least partially susceptible to her ‘charms’ but X5-210 was fast proving to be as challenging as her commander.
How like a soldier directly trained under the Colonel, Mia sighed. It was really all Colonel Lydecker’s fault that he had taught Unit 2 the memory erasing techniques far earlier than the majority of the X5 series. But then again, the Colonel demanded perfection out of all of them, especially those under his direct command.
I’m just going to have to change my strategy is all…again, and with that little internal pep talk she perked up again and gave the younger brunette another dazzling, smile.
The rogue had already undergone so much, and through the grapevine from the soldiers of Alpha Team stated that she’d been tortured for a goodly length of time but still held on enough to fight off both her captors and those sent to retrieve her. All the while being drugged, injured, and in the throes of a delayed heat. There was grudging respect and the teensiest bit of pride that the rogue had not given up her secrets, or Manticore’s, despite it. Not that any would admit to it, oh no.
It was just a matter of perspective.
Perspective….hmmm, wait a moment, that’s an idea.
“Hi, I’m Mia!”
~~~
“What the hell is she doing?” Sandoval scowled and Dr. Soroyan frowned as well, both looking bewildered as they struggled to comprehend this sudden switch in protocol.
“I don’t know…” the doctor stammered, but a low chuckle halted any further outbursts.
“Very clever,” Colonel Lydecker intoned.
The scary part was that he was smiling.
~~~
“Hi, I’m Mia!”
“Really?” Jondy cocked a brow somewhat painfully, but she managed. No part of her body had been spared a beating and it was a miracle she was even conscious. Or breathing.
Being dropped into a room full of transgenics who viewed you as an enemy and traitor, with more than ten years additional training, and being told to ‘have fun but don’t kill her yet’ while still recovering from two months of torture would do that to a person.
They had had entirely too much fun with that assignment, Jondy huffed indignantly.
To make matters worse, the female soldier she’d bushwhacked was a part of that group, and let’s just say that she had given her a first hand demonstration of how it must have felt.
“Really,” the overly cheerful transgenic agreed with a high, nasally saccharine voice that brought to mind visions of blond valley girls and little homemaker wives from Wisconsin. For some reason, some of Isabel’s cronies merged to combine with Fran Drescher popped into mind, but that disturbing thought was quickly skittered in the “don’t think about” file in her brain and locked away. Hopefully to be forgotten forever.
“Huh,” she grunted, warily eyeing the psionic.
“What’s your name?” Mia queried, taking a seat next to Jondy’s body, strapped in a contraption that made the butt freeze chair seem like a plush Lay-Z-Boy recliner in comparison.
“What does it matter in this place?”
That sounded bitter, both girls simultaneously thought, and Jondy tried to shift but the restraints offered no leniency, biting into her flesh and numbing her limbs.
“Well, my designation is X4-303 and yours is X5-210, but that’s such a mouthful to say, don’t you agree?” The taller girl cocked her head, sending her long brunette curls swishing about her face.
“If you say so.”
“I know that you are one of the escaped soldiers from Unit 2, and that you all had named yourselves. I’m just curious,” Mia shrugged her shoulders, leaning back in her seat.
“You know what they say about curiosity.”
“We psionic X4s don’t have as much feline as you X5s,” Mia stated primly.
“Sucks to be you.”
There was silence as the rogue soldier wrestled with something, then she sighed, and ducked her head after reaching a decision.
“Jondy.”
“Bless you.”
“My name. It’s Jondy.” If it didn’t hurt so bad Jondy would have rolled her eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Jondy!”
“Would say the same but…” she trailed off meaningfully, almost looking bored, despite the definite hitch in her breathing. Four bruised and three snapped ribs would do that to a person.
“But it would be lying,” Mia finished, having to hold back a genuine smile at the girl’s spunk, reminding herself that good soldiers do not start to feel friendly toward those whose brains they were supposed to be dissecting.
“Duh,” another brow arched in a somewhat condescending manner to accompany a smirking twist of the lips. “So….”
“So?” Mia quirked her own brow, eyes dancing with suppressed laughter.
“So.” Jondy’s attitude gave the impression of a shrug.
“Right,” Mia nodded, as if Jondy had said something substantial.
Jondy braved the pain and rolled her eyes, hissing only slightly and thankful she hadn’t had any breakfast or lunch today.
“So, I’m here under orders to pick your brain,” Mia stated and Jondy couldn’t nod for the vice keeping her head in place, though it was implied.
“Figured.”
“You’re quite good at blocking me.”
“Of course.”
“Must have come from experience,” Mia hedged, focusing intently on Jondy without giving the appearance of.
“Story of my childhood. Went to PsyOps a few times before y’all knew what you were capable of doing. Kind of taught one to keep her thoughts private if ya know what I mean.”
This was the truth, just not the complete truth. It wasn’t like Jondy could say, ‘Oh, since stumbled upon the secret of four genetically engineered alien-human hybrids with mind powers, and the sister of the reincarnated alien king I used to date had the annoying habit of delving into my dreams to so-call ‘check up’ on me while his wife of the past life could manipulate people’s braisn into doing whatever she wanted, I had to rebuild my mental shields so the Royal Bitches couldn’t gain the upper hand.’
Mia’s brow furrowed slightly, sensing that though her questioning had produced a truthful answer, there might be more than what Jondy – X5-210 - was letting on.
“Well, we’re much better with our skills now.”
“How reassuring.”
Mia couldn’t stop the grin that crossed her lips at the droll remark, sniggering her reply of, “It should be.”
“So tell me about yourself, Jondy.”
“Why? You already know the majority of stuff about me. Transgenic, deserter, captured, and all around punching bag for pissed off FBI agents and homicidal transgenics everywhere.”
“Why did your group chose to escape? Why then, why that night and not later when you were older, more skilled, more dangerous?” It was a question that had always bugged Mia and Jondy’s face grew serious as she locked gazes with the unrestrained transgenic before her.
“We left to protect what was left of our unit,” Jondy kept her eyes on those of the elder girl. “Senior Trainer Ingram was going to take one of our away because she was suffering from seizures, and we were tired of never seeing them again. As to why we escaped on that night instead of fortifying ourselves someplace until her seizures had passed, you’d have to ask Zack. I was just following my commander’s orders.”
“Zack?”
“Zack is the name my C.O. X5-599 chose.”
“Perhaps your unit mate was special to him,” Mia suggested.
“Perhaps,” Jondy agreed vaguely.
She wasn’t fooled into believing she’d deceived anybody. Mia had sounded too certain of that little factoid, and -if anyone had a brain and looked over her unit’s brief time at Manticore, Zack’s favoritism of Max X5-452 was glaringly obvious. And she wasn’t stupid to think Manticore, or the Colonel, would overlook that fact.
“So after the escape what happened?” Mia pressed, curious to hear more and not just because it was her job to.
“Zack paired us off and gave us strict instructions that we were to split up as soon as we reached cover,” Jondy figured they already knew all this so it wasn’t hurting anything. “I was the last to reach our rendezvous, and Zack paired me with Max.”
“Max?”
“X5-452. We were often paired together during exercises anyway, he trusted me to get her to safety,” Jondy continued softly, remembering despite herself that horrible, cold night. “Max had been the one with the shakes and I had to make sure she got away safely. Zack took care of some Tic-Tacs that were going to snipe us and looked like he got captured.”
“Tic-Tacs?” Mia arched and eyebrow and Jondy forced her swollen jaws to give a grin’s approximation.
“A nickname my brother gave the TAC officers,” and Mia couldn’t stop the small bark of appreciative laughter that escaped her lips at that.
I’ll have to remember that one, Mia chuckled inwardly, composing herself.
“Continue, please,” Mia motioned, easily following along in Jondy’s memories.
“Max and I breached the perimeter and we were rushing over a field. I was ahead and then I heard a crackling noise. The field was actually a pond that the snow had covered and Max went plunging under the ice.”
“Max!” a breathless seven-year old Jondy gasped in horror as her big sister and best friend plunged through the ice covered pond.
Racing over and sliding the last few feet Jondy frantically clawed snow away from the opening and was met with her sister’s wide eyed stare beneath the ice. The sound of snowmobiles and SUVs got louder in time to the baying of the guard dogs who were getting closer by the second.
Zack’s orders were still running through her mind but she couldn’t abandon Max.
Max signaled under the ice for her to run. Jondy opened her mouth to protest but Max pushed against the ice and sank lower. Realizing her sister’s intentions, Jondy scrambled away, just barely clearing the edge of the clearing and into the woods as a black SUV pulled to a stop awfully close to the pond where her sister hid in below zero water.
The Colonel and a few of his men poured out of the vehicle’s confines and Jondy skittered up a tree and settled in to watch. Her eyes flicked anxiously between the men pursuing her and her siblings, and the drift that hid the crack in the ice where her sister stayed still.
‘C’mon, Maxie, just a little longer,’ she begged inwardly.
Jondy didn’t try to decipher what the Colonel and his men were saying, the blood was rushing too loudly in her head, and her heart beat so rapidly she was uncertain how the seeking soldiers couldn’t hear it.
After what seemed like an eternity, the adults piled back into their vehicles and off they sped. Jondy waited a few beats more and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding when a sudden, wet figure popped out of the ice like a frosted demented daisy, and her sister trembled out.
Max took a few minutes to catch her breath and by the time Jondy shimmied down her perch, her sister was already making tracks toward the highway. Before she could take off after her, the baying of the hounds sounded too close and with one last, regretful look at her sister’s retreating back, she took off in the opposite direction. The least she could do would make sure the dogs followed after her so that maybe, just maybe, Max might make it to live free.
“Did you ever see her again?”
“What?” Jondy blinked and was surprised to find herself back in the chair, and not freezing out the late winter night escaping the Hounds of Hell.
“Did you ever see your sister again? Or Zack and any of the others?”
“No.”
There was such loss and sadness and loneliness and pain and grief in that one word that Mia knew without a doubt that it was the truth. She herself couldn’t imagine being cut off from her unit, stoic though they were, separated from her own kind for so long.
All transgenics were pack oriented, even those with reptilian DNA, obviously a holdback for the mammalian of their human essence. Soldiers needed units, and animals needed packs, even humans sought the company of others or suffered greatly. And transgenics were all three and more.
“I spent the last several years moving from place to place, never really found anywhere worth settling.”
True. Roswell hadn’t and still wasn’t her idea of a safe haven. She’d only stayed because her parents had seemed so happy, and it was the least she could do for them rescuing her from the bad situation they’d found her in. Then there had been Maria and Alex, Kyle, the Sheriff, and later on Max, Michael, and Isabel. Hell, even Tess now that she thought about it.
Mia frowned. There were thoughts going on in the rogue’s head, thousands of different things going on all at once in a stream all around her consciousness, but underneath that current was a solid wall, though she could sense there were things under that wall that she wasn’t allowed into.
Having already slid her way through the perimeter defenses by hitchhiking on memories, Mia tried to delve a little deeper, pressing gently against that barrier. Something like a zap shocked her out, but not before she got an impression of a steel chest, locked in another bigger still chest, wrapped in chains, buried in a concrete bunker, barred by an electrical wired titanium steel vault door with the Manticore and Chimera forms stylized upon it.
Whatever it was that Jondy was hiding, Mia knew with ringing clarity that she would not be able to find out. Not even if she tried forcing her way in. Jondy’s special place in her brain was protected by defenses that she would never be able to get around, as evidenced by how Jondy imagined it to be protected: impenetrable.
“That wasn’t nice,” Jondy rasped, obviously in pain from her still untreated injuries upon old, barely healed ones, and managing to glare at Mia.
For the first time in her life, Mia, X4-303, felt ashamed of what she had tried to do.
“If you didn’t settle anywhere in particular, how did the FBI manage to capture you and why?” Mia took a page from Jondy’s book and asked her brusquely.
“You could say I fell in with the wrong crowd,” Jondy’s eyes would have started drooping had the little prongs not kept her eyelids open.
Mia knew that Jondy was fading rapidly, and that not even drugs or electrolysis would keep her exhausted body from seeking a healing sleep, so she had to be quick.
“Why did the FBI torture you?”
“I pissed their boss off.”
“What did you do?”
“I took down some of his men trying to get away.”
“Why were you so important to them? What did you do?”
Softly, so softly that Mia didn’t think even her hearing could hear, she spoke barely moving her lips.
“Loved a boy.”
A pain wracked gasp of air and then Jondy’s whole, bruised body went completely limp.
Okay, just wanted to let you all know. I have been busting my ass since my computer crashed and took the last three updates for this story in order to get you more updates. I have enough to make up for the loss of the original three, but I'm only going to post this one, unbetaed chapter.
So without further ado, here's the next chapter!
~~~Chapter 11~~~
What did you do?
Loved a boy......lovedaboy,lovedaboy,loved....
~~~
An oppressive darkness, thick and heavy, was broken at sporadic intervals. Each one varying in intensity and duration, there was one constant throughout the entire process.e was an all consuming sense of loss, dread, and a soul weary resignation. The kind of resignation that comes from the complete and utter lack of hope: not the absence of hope, but of knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no reason to hope. So why bother wasting energy on what never will be and focus on the here and now?
As to the feeling of loss, well, what exactly did she have or had to lose? It hurt whenever she tried to think about it, so logically, it must have been important enough to forget, or she was so injured and drugged up she just plain couldn't remember. The sharp, naseous and almost vertigo-like sensation that happened every time she tried to track down the reason for the elusive Sense of Loss was a very effective method of dissuasion, not torture or brainwashing manipulations required.
There were however, a few things that sparked some kind of recognition.
Soldier. Duty. Honor. Mission.
MANTICORE.
These words, they were words she knew, was somehow familiar with, and dually reassuring and dreadful.
Designation X5-210.
That was familiar as well, the designation - X5-210 - that was her, it set her apart from everyone else. How she knew that she didn't know, she remembered other designations, but they didn't feel like hers.
The designation didn't sit well, not as if it were wrong - she knew that X5-210 was her - but as if there was more to it, somesthing she was missing or forgetting. Like she was not just a number, but something, someone else.
So while she may not remember - or, as was most likely, she chose to forget- the rest, X5-210 tasted right, and so she would not worry about half-rights and should be more's.
These questions and thoughts and theories rolled around in her head all day long, and made for long nights on the evenings when she actually rested. Having shark dna was extremely inconvienant at the most inappropriate times, she mused when she was finally alone in her cell for the resting hours.
That's why it's called 'inconvienant', an inner voice snarked, and irritably 210 tried to ignore it.
The sarcastic voice popped up in her head at the oddest moments, sometimes with a retort or harsh rejoinder toward a superior officer or situation that could have landed her in punishment detail if she hadn't caught herself just in time. Such obvious slips in protocol would not be tolerated.
But, if 210 were honest with herself, she'd admit that shark dna wasn't the only reason she avoided sleeping. If the sarcastic voice was odd, than the dreams when she actually slept were downright disconcerting.
What worried 210 the most was her suspicion that these dreams were actually snippets of carefully buried memories, memories she went to great lengths so that no one -specifically her superiors or the psy operatives- could access. 210 may not remember much, but she knew herself to know that she would have had a damn good reason for doing what she did, and that she wouldn't want anyone in the facility to know that she was remembering, so she kept quiet.
Still, even shark dna with it's ability to keep her awake and alert for weeks on end couldn't keep her awake forever. Especially not when her healing body needed, no craved, the quiet of sleep. Plus, her superiors were getting concerned at her lack of sleep. And if she didn't want another shot of tranquilizer or another trip to PsyOps for enforced rest, than she had better make an effort to actually rest.
So it was with great reluctance that 210 sighed, forcing her body to relax on the thin mattress, and seek her sleep. Rest came surprisingly easy after avoiding it for so long, and against her will, she remembered.
~*~*~*~
Jondy struggled as the white hot laser pierced her eye, the restraints making her unable to blink or turn away to avoid what she knew was to come. She was trembling and mourned, as everything she was and who she'd created herself to become was undone.
DUTY.
To my unit and to Manticore.
'What's so great about being normal?'
HONOR
Doing the right thing even at or in spite of personal cost.
'There is nothing of greater importance. Your duty and honor is to uphold the mission.'
MISSION.
Everything you are, who you were trained to be, comes down to this moment.
X5's line in proper formation, falling into the correct stance in time to the cadence of the supervising trainer.
Flashlights piercing the dark, a gunshot echoing as a sister lay dead on unforgiving tile.
MANTICORE.
There is nothing outside of it. If you are outside Manticore, you are nothing.
'Chica, Max Evans is staring at you again!'
OBEDIENCE
Good soldiers obey. You obey and you live.
'Liz....I need you to look at me.' 'Good soldiers go to the Good Place. Where no one ever dies, and no one yells, and you can stay in bed as long as you like...'
WAR IS ART
Art is the base need of expression. War is the ultimate expression.
A man screams as hands, teeth, tongue, and fingers hack and snarl and tear into soft, weak flesh.
EMOTION IS WEAKNESS
Emotion clousds reasoning and delays reaction.
'Emotion is for the weak and the weak DIE! Are you weak? I can't heart you soldier!
TRAITOR.
Scum. Rat. Poison. ANOMALY.
'We aren't traitors! We're trying to save our family!'
DUTY.
HONOR.
MISSION.
MANTICORE.
Sweat dripped down her face, eyes lolling upward to show the whites, foam and spittle gathering at the corners of her mouth around the bit, while her body bucked in protest against the restraints. The nemtal and physical attatcks taking their toll, she knew she had lost, even as she knew she should have known better than to hope.
~*~*~*~
X5-210 shot straight up in bed, staring at the gray bulkhead in front of her.
'My name was Liz Parker, the soldier christened Jondy by the unit who loved her. Now, there is noo Liz. There is no unit to love and protect and escape for.
~~~
Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters are not mine, they belong to someone else. The words are mine, but the worlds are not.
A/N: Sorry about the delay. I now work two jobs, one in the morning, one at the afternoons/evenings so I’m pretty tired when I get home. I had typed this out before, but my computer – which I thought was fixed- crashed again and I didn’t have any of it saved. So now I retyped it –again- and here’s hoping that this will make up for the long absence.
~~~
Jeff and Nancy Parker were silent as they ate their breakfast, such an occurrence normal for the pair, ever since That Night. The only noise to be heard were the muffled clinks of the silverware scraping against the side or edges of the bowl and plates, the softened thud of the cups being set back down on the surface of the wooden table.
Jeff spared his wife a sidelong glance, but he needn’t have bothered with subtlety. Even though she was by his side, she couldn’t have been farther away if she’d hopped in a spaceship bound for a galaxy far, far away. Face blank and eyes distantly staring through the countertop, unseeing of anything but the ghost of the one who’d brought such joy and purpose in their lives.
It was more than obvious that Nancy Parker was not taking Liz’s absence well at all. Not being a woman to carry much fat or muscle, she’d lost weight and dark circles under her eyes were almost permanent companions the more pronounced streaks of silvery gray in her dirty blond hair.
The lack of sleep was noticeable to anyone and everyone, though when Nancy did succumb to her exhaustion, she was found to be curled up on their daughter’s bed with a tear stained face.
Liz’s vanishing was keenly felt in the Parker household.
Nancy hadn’t been the most demonstrative parent, but there had been a true bond and affection between mother and daughter. Nowhere near as close as the bond Jeff and Liz had been, but the fact that it was there, living and pulsing, was a big contributor to Nancy’s listlessness now.
Worry and fear of what might be happening to their child affect them both, aging them as time could not by it’s lonesome.
Jeff was the more fortunate one in that the demands of being actively involved in owning and managing the diner gave him something else to focus his mind and attentions on. Nancy had a more difficult time, especially when the sight of Liz’s solemn-faced friends and that vaporous waste of air Pam Troy, only served to remind her of Liz not being there.
Liz’s friends, Jeff mused, spooning a bite of food into his mouth absently. He couldn’t have told you what it was – food had become something to keep them going, not to enjoy.
Liz’s friends knew something, or at least had a good idea about the circumstances surrounding her disappearance Jeff was positive. Weeks of observing their haunted and guilty expressions, in Alex’s fury with certain members of the group that had simmered down some, in their drawn faces had given that away.
The remaining members of the group seemed to draw together, bonded through a loss and adversity that would have broken them had they been left to grieve by themselves. Even that Tess girl was part of the group, as cared for and loved as the rest, not just the satellite vying for Max’s attention she had been. Whatever loose bind that had roped these very different individuals into a group had solidified into deep friendships and loyalty to each other, becoming a team in truth.
Sneaking another glance at his wife, her breakfast untouched except to mash it up and move it about, Jeff came to a decision. He was going to do everything he could not to lose his wife, he’d lost a daughter, he’d never survive losing his Nancy girl, he wouldn’t let her fade in her grief.
More determined than ever, Jeff nearly bit his tongue as he munched hard on his remaining breakfast. He was going to confront Liz’s friends, once and for all, for if they knew something, anything, than he had the right to know. Nancy deserved to know, this limbo of not knowing was slowly killing her.
And Jeff would be damned if he’d let that happen.
~~~
“It’s been over four months. I can’t believe she’s still gone.”
Michael restrained the growl rising in his throat at his ‘brother’s’ broken, brooding tone. That growl was short-lived as it segued into as sigh, giving Max his Guerin-style death glare as his girlfriend – sitting at the same table – burst into tears.
“Good job, Maxwell,” he bit out gruffly. Brother or not, Michael would have cheerfully strangled Maxwell to death using his own two ears at King Nothing’s thoughtless – not to mention pointless- comment.
Everyone knew that it had been four months since Liz went missing in action. And everyone got that Liz not making it equaled up to a depressed Max. That didn’t mean the asshole had to keep bringing it up, especially knowing how certain people – mainly Maria- got if someone mentioned Liz.
The fight that had erupted between Maria and Pam Troy over this very subject would become legend, and future students of West Roswell High would remember and speak of it with awe and reverence. Michael had celebrated Maria’s suspension-that-nearly-was-an-expulsion by taking her out to Senior Chows, dressed in a damned suit, and allowing her to drag him onto the dance floor. More than once and no one was ever to know about it, him dancing that was. But it was worth it, his little Pixie had actually smiled, and for that night for a few hours only, she was happy.
As it was, Michael was ready to burst into tears himself, if only to get everybody to stop talking about the well-worn, overused topic of Liz-is-not-Here.
While he held his crying girlfriend, growling and glaring half heartedly at Maxwell in an old familiar scene, he found it amazing how one person’s life could affect so many others, even those who tried not to get too close.
“Oh, Maria, honey,” Nancy Parker spied her daughter’s best gal friend in tears, and came forward to gather her out of Michael’s arms and out of the booth they were sitting in, to hug her. Michael allowed the older woman to do so, not even surprised or a little irritated, as Nancy finally couldn’t stand the sight of Maria’s tears or her watery “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,”, and her stonewall cracked. Both women held each other, crying, and Michael could feel was relief.
Not that he’d admit it, but he’d been worried about Mrs. P., and he’d known that Mr. Parker was as well. So this was good. The women were still crying but he assumed it was one of those good, healing cries that Maria was always blubbering about back before all this craziness had occurred. At least he hoped.
If anything else, the fact that the two women closest to his precious Liz crying in front of the table, one from a thoughtless comment, made Max uncomfortable, and Michael took perverse pleasure in it. Max made Maria cry and Michael’s shirt soaked in liquid saline; it was only fair Max be uncomfortable with the consequences of his unfiltered mouth. Those being two women hugging and crying in front of his booth while everyone left in the diner stared at them.
Sweet, ironic justice.
Jeff couldn’t have planned it better if he’d tried. That night, the entire group plus assorted human relations were at the Crashdown. Jose had called in – supposedly he was sick – so Michael had been manning the grill until he’d taken his break with Maria. They had been unusually busy, so Maria had been taking charge of the front with help from Isabel and Tess – who’d felt it only right they come and help, and the tips were appreciated – and Nancy, who’d roused herself out of her grief enough to take up her former mantle of waitressing. Agnes was who knows where, claiming a smoke break or some other excuse, and no one really expected her to come back.
Since there was a lull in the crowd, Jeff left his post behind the counter, heading toward his teary wife and favorite waitress, sidling up to Max’s booth, where the big eared teen paled at his approach. Philip and Diane Evans, in the table closest to Max’s booth, and Jim Valenti, watched slightly tense.
Max gulped and Michael smirked.
“Maxwell, I need to speak to you and all your friends after we close, alright? Great, thanks. Phil, Diane. Jim.”
Jeff didn’t give the boys time to react, he just left, smiling at his wife and winking at his waitress, eliciting watery giggles and sniffles, and shambled back to his counter, amicably slapping both Kyle and Alex on their shoulders as he passed them, then engaged them in conversation, refilling their drinks. Nancy gave Maria one last hug, smiled at the gathered company, and then followed her husband.
“What was that all about?” Diane Evans asked, perplexed.
She felt for the Parkers, truly she did. She couldn’t imagine the hurt and pain if Max or Isabel, or even Michael and Tess suddenly left with no word or lead for months. But there had been something in Jeffrey Parker’s eyes…the t one of his voice when speaking to her son that set both the mom and the attorney alarm bells ringing. A glance toward her husband confirmed she wasn’t the only one to catch it. Jim didn’t look any better, in fact, he looked downright worried for a moment before he caught her staring at him and then it was gone. It was as one that the parental units decided to stick around.
Diane’s interest was only peaked when, as soon as his break was over, she watched the looks on Izzy and Tess’ faces when Michael informed them of Jeff’s ‘request’ on his way back to the grill. Those alarm bells became a full fledged percussion symphony as guilt, fear, and panic flitted about their faces, only to be covered quickly. Without fail, the three teens turned their gaze to Max, who had mumbled some excuse and taken off after Michael.
Whether for confirmation or permission, Diane had never been certain. It was always like this she realized with some shock. Izzy and Michael had always conferred with but heeded Max’s decisions on the whole. Later, Liz, Alex, Maria, Tess, and even Kyle seemed to do so as well, though Diane always had the suspicion that Liz’s opinions had held more weight in the decision making process.
It was all Max could do not to explode, what with Isabel’s panic, Tess’ worry, and Michael’s aggressive suspicion all crowding his head and adding chaos to his already turbulent emotions. Kyle and Alex must have overheard, because they joined their respective others, Maria as always hovering over her ‘Spaceboy’, Alex giving Isabel a squeeze, and Kyle giving Tess a brotherly one-armed hug.
Closing could not come soon enough, and yet when it came, max had the sudden desire to wish it wasn’t time yet. How much was due to the other’s emotions, his own, or the fact that Jim and his parents were still here was up for debate. He just wanted this whole mess over with.
For his part, Jeff went about his normal closing routine, no rushing about, lightly teasing Nancy. He wasn’t ashamed to admit part of him was enjoying paying the youngsters back some of the worry and panic at knowing but not really knowing what this was all about. It was juvenile, but Jeff figured he’d better enjoy it now, because when Nancy figured out what he was doing and decided to care, he was going to get it.
“Ahem. Uh, you wanted to speak with us, Mr. Parker?” Max began, suddenly nervous and having the urge to bite his lip.
Isabel, you’re broadcasting into me.
Sometimes being the King and de facto spokesperson sucked, especially as he was empathically linked to at least three very powerful teenaged alien royalty, and to a lesser degree, the three humans of their group.
Sorry. Isabel didn’t sound too sorry, she was too nervous and scared to mean her apology.
Its okay, Max, Tess, and Michael soothed her at the same time.
None of the adults failed to notice how the teens arranged themselves in relation to the adults: Michael, Tess and Isabel flanked Max in a loose semi-circle, Maria plastered against Michael’s side, while Kyle and Alex sat on tables with Tess and Isabel in front of them, leaning back into their quiet strength.
That left Diane and Philip to occupy a booth, Sheriff Valenti in a chair by himself but close enough to the kids for support, and Jeff and Nancy on the other side, mimicking Kyle and Alex by sitting on a table, feet propped up by the chairs they hadn’t set on the table yet.
Everyone had waited on pins and needles while Michael, Maria, Jeff and Nancy had closed down, Izzy too nervous to finish helping, and Tess sitting next to Max holding hand in support. While they had never come out to make it official, everyone knew that Max and Tess were quietly seeing each other. Isabel clutched Max’s other hand that wasn’t occupied with Tess, Alex’s hands rubbing soothing circles on her shoulders in an attempt to get her to relax.
Nancy looked just as curious as his parents, which did nothing to allay Max’s nerves. If anything it intensified, because that meant that Jeff was operating on his own, and Nancy wouldn’t be there to check him. And that was when Max became terrified.
Showing more life in the past few hours than she had in four months, Nancy offered the adults coffee while waiting for her husband. The man in question came through the double doors to find twelve sets of eyes staring at him.
“So, what’s this about Jeff?” Philip got right down to the point. His voice brisk in what his wife and children recognized as his ‘court’ voice. The same one that soothed customers as it encouraged them to spill their story.
Jeff relaxed next to his wife, facing the people in front of him. He knew what he was about to do was breaking a confidence, but his concern and worry for his wife and Liz’s whereabouts forced him to press the issue.
“Eleven years ago, Nancy and I were in Los Angeles meeting with a fertility specialist. The doctor wasn’t in, and turns out, was going to be in San Francisco for the next couple of months, so we packed up and headed out. When we got there and met with the doc, we found that he couldn’t help us, so it was with desperation we went to Plan B and met with a local social worker.”
Nancy gasped and gripped Jeff’s hand. It was the first time in four months that she’d voluntarily touched him. She knew, eyes tearing up, but she knew.
“We wanted a child and couldn’t by ourselves. You see, I’m sterile,” Jeff admitted, gasps sounding throughout the room. “I, I couldn’t give my Nancy what she wanted more than anything.
“Aww,” Maria buried her head in the crook of Michael’s shoulder, hiding her fresh set of tears. No matter how many times she heard this story, it never failed to bring on the tears.
Clearing his throat, smiling at the sight of his and Nancy’s clasped hands, he continued onward now that his dark secret was past. Besides, those shocked and bewildered expressions deserved and explanation and so did he.
“The doctor was too expensive, the procedure too risky for Nancy, even if you could find a good doctor after the Pulse. And there was no way I trusted any black market sawbones and anesthesia with Nancy. The social worker who had been at the office, well, she was our goose that laid the golden egg. So many children were suddenly orphaned or kicked out and abandoned after the Pulse, and the streets and orphanages were overflowing with the unwanted and the desperate. I was one of those desperate, though to take in that one extra mouth to feed, not to get rid of it.”
Jeff closed his eyes, not ashamed of the tears tracking freely down his craggy face.
“There were so many. I wanted to take them all, and love them, but I had barely enough to cover the adoption for one much less any more. How was I, how were we, supposed to pick one among so many desperate and lonely children?”
Michael felt his throat and eyes burn in spite of himself, old feelings resurfacing, and he knew he wasn’t the only one affected. Maria was sniffling and crushing his ribs, Max and Isabel were huddled together and the Evans were holding hands tightly in sympathy. Valiantly, he fought the tears, as Jeff continued.
“I looked and I laughed and I played and I cried with all these dear children. I was almost ready to give up, I was so overwhelmed, when Nancy gasped, pointed, and I looked up to see what she did. And I saw her.”
“There was the most beautiful little girl on the face of this earth, her dark hair short and she had these too large eyes that were this dark blue that was fading into brown. I knew with that one glance that she was special, her eyes were so sad and strong and intelligent, she was alone in her corner, surrounded by other kids but still seemed aloof. I could also see pain and sorrow and she’d suffered something worse than poverty. Nan and I, well, we fell in love with her and knew that she was ours.”
“We brought her home and named her Elizabeth after my mother,” Nancy added quietly, wiping away a few stray tears.
“Elizabeth Claudia Parker after both our mothers,” Jeff gently teased his wife, heart soaring at her soft smile.
“We brought our Liz back home to Roswell, where Jeff took over the Crash from his grandfather. She was – is- our little miracle, our special one, though we didn’t find out how ‘special’ she was until about three years ago.”
The teens all perked up and Maria, Kyle, and Alex suddenly had an idea where this was going. The three exchanged discreet looks, Alex’s grim to match Kyle’s, and Maria’s wide with uncertainty. Jeff was watching the teens carefully, gauging their reactions. He had suspected Maria and Alex were already in the know, Kyle most likely, but the others he didn’t think she had.
Interesting.
“About sixty years ago, our government decided to take science to the next level.”
The four aliens stared at Jeff Parker’s opening sentence in horrified disbelief. Diane and Philip could only gawk, and Jim seemed to be the only one who was willing to truly listen with an open mind.
“You see, they had this idea that the next evolution in biotechnology would be an artificially created intelligence that no one would suspect. That, and paranoid members in certain key places were worried about a possible threat to Earth as a whole. So the top geneticists and scientists worldwide managed to create a group of prototype biologically empowered weaponry. Their success culminated into Liz.”
The stunned silence lasted only a moment before Philip angrily broke it.
“Parker, what the hell are you on?”
The kids all started, and as one glanced at Michael with nervous laughter. The long-haired teen merely shrugged and scowled at all the attention, not amused that everyone thought it was funny that Mr. Evans used a line he had utilized fairly often to the little brunette.
However they quieted at Nancy’s next words in her husband’s defense.
“Liz is a genetically engineered super soldier, designed to be the foremost in artificially intelligent biological weapons design. And no, we are not crazy with grief or taking anything.”
Nancy was too serious and the Evans gaped. Maria, Alex, and Kyle definitely knew Jeff was certain. They knew and better yet they believed. That made this a little easier.
“When Jeff and I found Liz she had been on the run from the government agency that was responsible for her creation and the military and tactical training for her and her unit. What was left of her unit had escaped some months prior to the Pulse, and she’d been by herself since.”
Here eyes held a pain and sorrow, but more importantly, they held truth. The Pod Squad were starting to feel uneasy, but as one kept their mouths shut. Michael because it suddenly made sense, everything just clicked into place. Liz Parker’s little idiosyncrasies and conflicting reactions to certain situations were suddenly put in perspective of a soldier playing a role, with glimpses of the soldier beneath peeking out underneath the facade.
“Huh,” he grunted.
“Wait, wait a moment. Let’s say for a moment that the latter half of your story is true,” Diane interrupted, a hand in the air for emphasis. “Why would a child soldier escape? Being children, wouldn’t they want to stay somewhere familiar?”
“Only if they wanted to die, that place and those so called people were killing them!” Maria suddenly erupted, her chin raising defiantly and meeting everyone’s surprised stares.
“What? My best friend takes down two hulking men twice her size intent on raping and beating us up in Santa Fe and I’m not supposed to wonder or get the lowdown on how she was able to do that?”
“What?”
“When?”
“Who tried what?”
Maria held her ground, though it was to breathe through Michael’s painful grip on her waist, and met the angry and concerned accusations flung her way.
“No, I am not exaggerating for once, you can ask Alex, a buddy of theirs was beating him up. He’s a witness.”
“It’s true,” Alex nodded, rubbing his shoulder at a phantom pain of bruises long past. “She was amazing. I’ve never seen anyone move or fight like she did. One minute I’m being tossed and punched around, with the two going after Liz and Maria, threatening to hurt and do worse to them. Then it’s like a switch was thrown and Liz wasn’t Liz anymore, no cowering, no pleading. Just, cool as you please, she sent one of them sailing into a dumpster…twenty feet away.”
“Are you serious?” Philip’s jaw dropped. Michael couldn’t help his whistle of appreciation.
“Completely, Mr. Evans. She took out the next guy, moving so fast I couldn’t see how she did it, but she had managed to use his arm to flip over and behind him, twisting his arm, and then kicking him, dislocating that shoulder and knocking him out with a karate chop to the temple. The guy beating Alex ran at her with a knife and she grabbed the wrist holding the knife, twisted, and slammed the guy into the wall with one hand.”
“I mean, she totally went Buffy the Vampire Slayer on his ass, only she was more like Faith than Buffy, and then she picked up the knife, flipping it in the air and sent it spinning toward where Dumpster Dude was trying to climb out and pinned his shirt to the dumpster. He fell out and was hanging from his hoodie where it was stuck in place by the knife,” Maria giggled at the memory.
Alex chuckled, Dumpster Dude’s face had been funny, Liz had sent the knife sailing through the air to pin the guy’s sleeve to the dumpster, and loosing his balance, the dude hung there by a knife and one sleeve.
That was it. Nancy, Jeff, Alex, and Maria needed to see a doctor, there was a mass hysteric grief going on. His son and daughter’s faces held blank looks, Tess looked uncertain, and Michael was…thoughtful. As if he were replaying every conversation and interaction with the missing girl in his mind.
“We’re serious,” Jeff nodded, as if he knew what Philip were thinking. “We also know that before she disappeared, she was afraid the FBI or Manticore, her government creators, were going to use her friends and family against her so she went on a pre-emptive strike. But before she could, something came up, something that had her worried for Max and the other’s safety.”
Jeff pinned Max with a forthright stare.
“Liz said you were in trouble, Max, and that ‘they’ had you hostage. The night she left to rescue you, she didn’t come back. But you did. All of you did, so tell me,” Jeff leaned forward. “What happened the night my baby girl left?”
Philip leaped to his feet, Diane was aghast, Jim looked stricken even as he jumped up and grabbed Philip forcing him back down, and the teens looked to Max. But it was Tess who surprised them all.
“Max was captured by a rogue section of the FBI and Liz went to rescue him like you said, Mr. Parker,” the blond queen replied. “Against very specific instructions to the contrary, I might add. When Max finally made it to our safe spot, Liz wasn’t there.”
Very skillfully Tess kept any mention of aliens, Nasedo’s part in the drama, and otherworldly out while still telling the truth. Michael nodded, pleased, and Isabel echoed him, a death grip on Max’s hand.
Max, on the other hand, looked broken. Four months of worry and guilt had taken it’s toll.
“She was behind me. She told me to run, and not to look back,” he spoke woodenly, staring at the floor. Tess smiled sadly and laid her head against his shoulder in support.
The adults quieted and the Evans stared at their boy in shock. This night was really not going the way they had expected, and Diane idly wondered if she could take anymore revelations this night.
“I thought she’d come back. She always came back, no matter what happened or who had pissed her off or hurt her. But this time she didn’t. We all went looking for her, but the base they’d held me was abandoned, destroyed. Liz had said something earlier about setting some charges, but I wasn’t really thinking too much. She blew up the damn facility and told me to run and I did. I think we were being followed…yes, we were being followed. She told me to run, not to look back, and then she stopped to distract them while I got away. That was the last I saw her.”
Max finally broke down, great sobs heaving from his very being, as the pain of losing his best friend and first love ripped through him anew, this time with the knowledge that Liz was more than what she had seemed.
“She told me to run. She’d take care of everything, don’t look back, keep going, find Michael, Michael will look after me when she wasn’t there. She wasn’t there, she’d promised she’d be there, but she never made it!” Max cried, repeating Liz’s last instructions over and over.
“Oh, baby,” Diane’s hands covered her mouth. It was real. Everything, it had to be true. Her son’s heartbreak and confession were to real and too raw, and mother’s instinct said that it was true.
“Max,” Jeffrey prompted, once he’d given the boy a moment. “Max, did you know who was following you?”
“Jeffrey, my son was abducted because of your freak daughter, leave him alone!” Diane snapped, partly irritated that she couldn’t hold her son and comfort him, that he was finding comfort in his group of friends, and partly because she felt Jeff was pushing her boy too hard too fast while he was grieving so.
Isabel gasped, Tess paled, and Michael stiffened even as Max’s eyes blanked and froze, his cries abating and they all stared at Diane in disbelief.
“How DARE you!” Nancy’s roar of fury sounded through the room, jolting them out of their grief.
“My daughter may have come from some mad military scientist’s test tube but she’s still a person, and she’s my daughter, a person. She’s not a freak!” Nancy spat, coming off her table like an enraged warrior, the chair her feet had been resting on screeching across the floor, glaring at the well-meaning mother but too pissed to care as she defended her own offspring. Jeff’s arms around her were the only things preventing her from physically attacking the other woman.
Diane had pushed herself to her feet during the middle of Nancy’s rant, facing off with the other woman, her own maternal instincts primed and read for war.
“What kind of creature gets my boy abducted by our government, possibly tortured, and is even deserving of a status as a person? I knew that girl was trouble for my Max…”
“Mom!” Max pleaded in a strangled voice.
Jim was between both sets of parents, the husbands flanking and holding their wives, glaring at each other.
“Trouble? Trouble for your Max?” Nancy seethed, eyes blazing. It was a scary sight for the teens, which had never seen Mrs. Parker get angry before.
“My baby is most likely being cut, beat, raped, experimented, and punished in the hell she and her unit ran away from, trying to protect your son, and she’s trouble?”
“Who knows what went into her test tube, she might not even be human!”
Both women had went past yelling and into that screeching only the female species seemed capable of, and things were rapidly degrading out of control.
“Diane!”
Philip was more horrified at the scene his wife was creating than the words he privately agreed to. Valenti was the only adult to catch sight of the alien’s stricken looks. Isabel was a deathly white, gripping an increasingly pissed off Alex’s hand, who was sending glares at his girlfriend’s parents way. Maria held Michael’s waist as tightly as she could, pale but muttering, “Shut up, shut up,” under her breath.
As Michael’s girlfriend, a member and friend of the Pod Squad, and Liz’s best friend, was severely offended in a way that heralded a Hurricane DeLuca of unprecedented proportions.
Kyle had a hand on Tess’ shoulder, and Michael wore his ‘stonewall’ mask that had become a rarity when he was among the group. Max’s face was nothing but a mask of pain.
“Nancy, Diane, you need to calm down, now!” Valenti tried to intervene before it was too late. Both women turned their heated glares upon him and he took and involuntary step back.
Recovering, he tried again.
“Diane, what if Max and Isabel were different and you knew their secret? Wouldn’t you defend them in the same way?”
“My children are perfectly normal unlike some,” Diane scoffed, not even giving Valenti her gaze. Isabel sobbed and seven young adults huddled closer together.
Philip took note, brow furrowing as his analytical mind nagged him he was missing something and that something else was going on.
“Izzy?” he asked and Diane broke her glaring match to see what had caught her husband’s sharp eye.
“Philip? What-?”
“Save it, Mom!” Isabel snarled, jumping away from the group and placing distance between herself and her parents.
“Isabel…” Max warned, but Isabel was too hurt and betrayed to heed her brother’s command.
“No…no. NO!” Isabel shook her he ad. “I can’t take it anymore, tell them! At least now we know how they really feel!”
“What? What are you talking about? Isabel Amanda Evans, please, tell me,” Diane begged. “Tell us what?”
Diane took a step forward, arms reaching for her little girl, and stopped as Alex rose with a growl and placed all six foot plus of his lanky frame in front of the older Evans.
“Back. OFF. Now.” Alex’s eyes did nothing to conceal his fury or disgust. Fury on so many levels, this latest outrage was the last straw. His Liz was being attacked, and now his Princess was hurting because of the two bigots she called family.
“Alex,” Philip warned his daughter’s boyfriend, a little surprised but not really, considering he was friends with that…thing.
“No, don’t ‘Alex’ me. Your wife is out of line and hurting Isabel, and she’s not getting anywhere near her! That’s final.”
The clipped words and clenched jaw proclaimed that Alexander Charles Whitman was not going to back down. At all. If Philip wasn’t so mad at him he’d be impressed with the geek’s transformation to formidable knight in cybernetic armor.
Maria didn’t release Michael all the way, but she did ease away, turning to face the drama, her face a thundercloud of emotion. Slowly, she moved herself in front of her boyfriend, and Kyle slipped between Tess and Max to stand in front next to Maria. The so-called powerful aliens were being defended by their human companions, three extremely pissed off humans, and Valenti felt his throat clog with pride.
“Young man,” Philip spluttered, furious as he saw too what Valenti saw, only he didn’t know the why as to it.
“He’s right Philip. Now we all need to settle down. Now.”
“What did he mean, Philip? What does Izzy want us to know?”
Max, Michael and Tess eyes Isabel warily, but she merely cocked an eyebrow at them in challenge. Eyeing the other two, Max sighed.
He hadn’t wanted to tell his parents this way – hadn’t wanted to tell his parents at all. And he certainly never expected to tell the Parkers. But the whole revelation about Liz’s origin – she was just like they were almost! – Max knew that he couldn’t put it off any longer. Taking a deep breath and releasing it, he glanced at Tess and Michael. Michael was obvious – don’t tell – but there was a wary acceptance of the inevitable.
Max looked at Tess, at his newest not like that girlfriend, and perhaps his oldest love. It was as a friend, a boyfriend, and king who asked his queen, his mate, his equal her opinion. Letting her know that she and her opinion meant a great deal.
What do you think? His eyes seemed to ask and Tess smiled bravely, warmed at the silent trust and communication.
Wordlessly, their hands found each other and linked together, their hands clasping and curling about one another, Tess giving his hand a squeeze, and he could feel the weight of her decision as she balanced the options against one another.
Tell them.
Her mindvoice was serene and the strength behind her decision and her love and trust in him shined through their connection and Max was humbled.
Nodding, Max smiled and raised their joined hands together so he could place a gentle kiss on her knuckles, then turned to face the adults in the room. Diane gasped and even Philip startled at the change, as Max went from shy, uncertain teenager into a calm, almost regal adult as he regarded those in front of him. His eyes held pain, yet there was determination, and a look that said he’d brook no protests or interruptions.
“Mom, Dad. Michael, Tess, Izzy and I have to tell you something. We’re not from around here.”
A/N: Yes people, I'm alive! I've had some things in Real Life that I've had to adjust to, which reduced me back to lurker/occassional feedbacker, but now that I have a little bit of time on my hands, I've kicked it in the butt. I found my notebook with at least three more chapters written and outlined for this story, woohoo! In the great Laptop That Went Kablooey Incident, I lost all of my updates for a bunch of my stories, including this one and Da Man N' His Woman, and I was jumping for joy when I saw that notebook.
I would just like to say thank you for all the reviews, and I hope that this chapter is well worth the wait. Hopefully, it'll answer some questions and this is where the real X-tremer goody-ness gets going.
Enjoy!
-Kristin
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Chimera’s Kismet – Chapter 13
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Disclaimer: The words are mine yet the worlds are not. Any recognizable character or phrase does not belong to me.
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Don't take life too seriously after all noone's even gotten out of it alive.
~~~
Life was good.
It wasn’t the best, but she wasn’t dead, and hey that’s all that mattered, right? Two, sometimes three square meals a day, a buttload of vitamins and supplements and what seemed to be birth control pills, and free doctor’s visits and prescriptions that only cost her a lifetime of freewill and subservience to the Regime, and it wasn’t that bad.
Who was she kidding? It sucked worse than having to deal with Max on one of his ‘let’s take a step back but I still love you and how dare you seem like you’re moving on?’ emo trips, but at least there were a few highlights to a rather gray existence.
Her days had fallen into a predictable pattern, but X5-210 couldn’t say she was exactly bored. Part of her – the body that was still recuperating, albeit slowly – knew to enjoy this while she could.
But between shark DNA, trying to avoid dreaming her memories, and re-indoctrination, the days and nights seemed to blend together in one indeterminable blur. It was getting to the point where she was looking for something to do, utilizing her resting time to stretch and perform exercises to aid her recovery. She had probably done more sit-ups and crunches and lunges in the past two months than in the past eleven years, anything to give her an advantage, especially if she were to rejoin an active training platoon. Being an escapee was bad enough, but not being able to keep up in training would be so much worse. Not to mention embarrassing.
X5-210 settled into her routine as if she’d done it her entire life – she probably had at one point – but those were thoughts best left unexplored. Every day at 0400 she would wake and await her turn in the head aka the bathroom facilities. Once she was showered, groomed, and dressed, she was returned to her cell for breakfast promptly at 0430. She was allowed to eat in her cell because she had not yet been cleared to mingle with the other X series, not that she was looking forward to it. She may have forgotten key information, but she still retained her observation skills.
At precisely 0500 she was escorted to PsyOps, a place she still dreaded and knew both staff and the labs almost intimately so by now. Here, the routine varied in activity: sometimes she underwent the laser manipulation, a painful process designed to focus the target strapped in on the pain, which would be distraction enough to extract information.
Other times, which was more often than not, she was put in with one of the psionc X3 operatives to be ‘examined’. Never a big fan of anyone getting inside her head, the general loathing and mistrust and irritability felt toward one another was quite mutual. It was rather pointless, as 210 had already given all the information they required, she just didn’t go into exact detail on her journey years back to Manticore.
Finally, the last variation of the sessions was when she did ‘classwork’: sessions where she was strapped to a chair and desk in a darkened room and forced to watch and listen to Manticore propaganda for hours on end, with enough subjects that she actually needed in order to catch up to her domesticated brethren that it was impossible not to take in at least some of the doctrine. This variation she especially despised, for she always felt less herself, just less a person in general, afterwards.
At 1300 (or one p.m.) she was fed the afternoon meal when it didn’t interrupt whatever session she was currently subjected to. Depending upon what had come beforehand, by 1430 she went to ‘therapy’ to begin getting her body and muscles into shape. Some of her injuries required extensive care, even for a transgenic. This was especially true as her increased healing factor could have and did heal parts of her in the wrong anatomical position before medical help could be administered.
The doctors – medical doctors, not the geneticists or scientists – had already had to re-break her left scapula and clavicle in order to correctly set it, a holdover from her stint with Agent Pierce and his Medical School Rejects. Neither the receipt of the injury, nor the correcting of the injury was one of 210s fonder memories.
210 actually looked forward to these therapeutic sessions, and not just because it made her feel like she was accomplishing something meaningful. They meant that she was getting stronger, it was a little less difficult each time she went, and soon she might be ready to begin some of the more grueling physical training. The soldier within longed to hold a weapon or sneak stealthily alongside her mate-
Whoa!
What was that soldier? 210 chided herself, pausing mid push-up at the traitorous thought. Soldiers don’t have mates.
Unit mates, that annoying voice persisted. And bedmates.
210 could picture a wicked grin at the naughty images that suddenly assailed her mind.
Sweat slickened bodies rubbing together, marking each other with their combined scent as much as for the friction or pleasure. Nips and groans, growls and suckles, and a pair of hazel orbs glinting golden in the dark…
Cease and desist!
210 restlessly roused herself from the erotic images, shocked to find herself panting and wet, and not slick from just from sweat either.
What the hell? 210 was bewildered at her bodies’ reaction to the thought of her…mate.
Masculine hands teasingly rubbing her ribs, a searing tongue languidly soothing skin flushed and marked by the blunt edges of his teeth. And those eyes peering down at her with lust and possession.
“Oh, god,” 210 moaned breathlessly, collapsing out of her push-up position, welcoming the brisk chill of the concrete slab beneath her.
Her mind and body had apparently claimed a mate and his image. And his scent, touch, taste, and feel. What scared her the most was that these weren’t just dreams or fantasies. They were too explicit and had too much of a personal feel to have been simple fantasies, they had to be memories.
She had a mate out there, somewhere, perhaps in this facility even. Did he even think of her? Was he having the same problems concentrating she was?
He better, her inner bitch snarled.
~~~
“X5R-494! What the hell was that? What were you thinking, or was your brain absent without leave? Get back in line and repeat the exercise!”
Head in the game soldier, he chastised himself. You don’t want to be sent to PsyOps again.
Although, if a certain brunette with silken sable hair and molten earth toned eyes were there to keep him company…no, don’t go there.
“Stop it,” 494 growled under his breath, but even then, the transgenic in front of him heard and wondered.
When it was his turn again, 494 easily placed a bullet dead center on every vital point on the target, and outdid all his companions on the exercise with his usual style and ease.
“That’s what I’m talking about, soldier!” the trainer barked, dismissing the matter and 494 out of his mind as he went to chastise another soldier.
Over the tang of oil and gunpowder, as he wiped down his service piece and unloaded it before returning it to the armory quartermaster, 494 swore he caught faint traces of vanilla and something spicy. Dissatisfied with both the direction of his thoughts and his performance, 494 was in a dark mood for the duration of the field op qualification. Not that the Madame Bitch would let him leave so soon after getting her talons back in him, he thought morosely.
His assigned companions, his former unit, kept a respectful silence and distance, making sure the others knew it as well. His friend and second, X5-511, caught his eye, silently asking what was wrong. 494 shrugged it off and made it clear it wasn’t up for discussion. The usual charming and affable commander kept himself aloof and went about the exercises with more mechanical response than attentive participation.
He gave 511 and the rest of his former unit a nod as he followed a trainer away to another section of the facility, his mind as it had been repeatedly going back to the bane of his existence, the 09er. Why did she have to have such a kissable pout, and her small mouth opening under his, those delicious depths that just begged him to drink and taste deep of hidden velvet?
Or how was it fair that her tiny, tight body only seemed to have become more beautiful in the last three years since their last meeting? His mind’s eye easily recalled how she looked, beaten and bloody, but strangely triumphant and free as she wielded her purloined M-16. The sense of rightness that he felt, fighting by her side, wondering if her body would be as willing and ready for him as before…
494 jerked his thoughts away just in time to avoid X5R-600s meaty fist on a direct course for his face.
“Damn,” the taller blond muttered and 494s eyes darkened, a brief smirk lighting his face in mischief.
“Still can’t throw a punch properly, eh, Lane?” 494 jeered, using 600s preferred alias just loud enough any of the surrounding X5s could hear but not the trainers.
“Oh, gawd,” X5R-735 –aka Keema- groaned in her soft drawl. She rolled her almond shaped eyes upward in exasperation.
“Here they go again,” X5R-453 snarked, full pouting lips pursed in either anger or irritation. That wasn’t unusual, angry or irritated was normal for 453.
If 453 wasn’t such a bitch, 494 could have easily seen himself dallying about with her during off hours. But as gorgeous as she was, the lithe transgenic couldn’t compare to a smaller brunette who tasted of vanilla and the arid, crisp tang of the desert wilderness.
The small group of transgenics in Yard C under heavy guard consisted of the elite, and the most ‘special’ of the X5 crop. They were special in the sense that every single one of them was either a clone or twinned of one of the escaped 09ers with the exception of one. Their lives – rough to begin with – took a turn for the worse that night of the Escape.
Tortured for weeks just because they had the misfortune to share genetic similarities and encoding with the insubordinate unit, none of those who survived to go into re-indoctrination were fond of their ‘twins’.
Every X5 had been put through the paces, but none so harshly or as specifically targeted as the twins, due to the December of 2009 Procedure Concerning X5 Units, barely 3 months after the Escape. The memo read as followed:
1) “Simplification” of all X5 units – their behavior alter (revised) in an attempt to eradicate their independent natures.
2) X5 officer training for X-series discontinued.
3) All X5 disciplinary problems report to neuropsychology division (PsyOps).
4) Unauthorized assembly of X-series units in groups of 3 or more prohibited except in presence of platoon leader, or spec ops forces. Partitions to be erected in barracks so units can’t secretly communicate with each other at night.
5) The ‘risk’ X5 series units to be transferred to PsyOps.
6) The use of ‘names’ by units other than designation numbers strongly prohibited.
That year was hell for the twinned, as their group was called by the other transgenic units amongst themselves. By the end of 2010, all of the so-called ‘risk’ twins were finished with re-indoctrination and ready to resume training, although they were not placed back in their original units.
The twinned units who had successfully completed the re-indoctrination process had an additional ‘R’ on their designations to make known their status, and the group as a whole became known as the X5R-series. Outsiders among their own kind and not even allowed to bond properly with their fellow outcasts, the X5Rs were a unit in name and performance only, though no other unit could soon keep up. How could this unit bond when they were watched and bugged and tortured every second of everyday until after five years, in 2015, the Phoenix Project was established and gave the outcast X5Rs a new purpose.
The Phoenix Project was Manticore's solution to regaining what was left of the shattered United States back into a semblance of the super power contender it had been with using their 'advanced biotechnological weapons'....big words for transgenic soldiers. By the time the Project had been established, the number of X5Rs had been reduced to thirteen out of the original thirty-two (32) transgenic units. Some died in part due to the rigorous training and some because they had never survived that first year's culling. Still others had found themselves targets of some of the more aggressive transgenics who felt beating and killing the twins would somehow atone for the hell the 09ers had put every X5 through.
An outsider amongst their own was a true statement than any could have ever imagined.
So it wasn't surprising that the remaining thirteen were so eager to prove themselves with what could be their last chance at redemption. Two years of extreme training - a mixture of both special and black ops scenarios in addition to all the 'average' X5 training- and those who graduated in May of 2017 numbered seven : X5R-453 (Sam), X5R-472 (Devon), X5R-600 (Lane), X5R-657 (Jewel), X5R-735 (Keema), the surviving 09er X5R-798 once named Jace, and finally X5R-494. 494 was the only soldier who refused to keep his 'name'. He had decided to become Manticore's finest and discarded the 'defilement of his youth' as he'd called his name.
494 himself had made himself forget, and his original unit would not speak it, following their former commanding officer's lead and erasing it from their memories as well. So no one knew exactly who he had considered himself to be outside of what Manticore told him he was: a soldier.
The training had been brutal.......two had died during a live fire exercise with mines, X5R-206 and X5R-211, whose respective twins had been Zane (X5-205) and Jondy X5-210. Four of their number had 'failed' and were sent back to Unit status: X5R-102, X5R-345, X5R-387, and X5R-418. None of the seven who made it into the Project had cared about what happened to those of their number who had failed, except 494. He still visited the graves of those who'd died before the Project had extended its conditional olive branch: X5-001, X5-394, X5-702, X5-733, X5-799 (Jace's twin), X5-354, and X5-767.
Lane and 494 were currently dancing about, experienced enough soldiers to know when a punch or kick was a feint or an actual attempt with intent. Both sizing each other up as they'd done for so many years.
"Testosterone overload, yard 'C'," Jace griped, bored at this display of alpha male posturing.
To the uninitiated, it wasn't a fair fight. Lane, X5R-600, was taller by three to four inches and outweighed and out-bulked the leaner, lithe X5R-494 by a good twenty-five to thirty pounds of pure muscle. Lane and his twin Zach X5-599 were specially created for hand to hand combat, the heavy hitters of the Manticore stevedore, and it showed. Solid and graceful, powerful and chiseled from stone, one would have to be crazy to go against such an obvious powerhouse who could lay flat anyone with one well placed punch.
494 and his twin 493 on the other hand, were almost pre-psionic with their social skills in persuasion/manipulation with low level coercion only partly in part to their status as 'heart-throbs' and pleasing features.
To the initiated, it wasn't a fair fight. Standing six feet even and one hundred seventy eight pounds, X5R-494 proved he was more than just a distractingly pretty face. Like the sleek leopard and tiger in his d.n.a., every muscle was toned and developed for optimal efficiency without the waste of all the bulk and flash that the more bear-like combat models were. Better yet, 494 knew how to use his size and supposed limitations to his advantage. Lane may have outweighed and outclassed him on paper, but X5R-494 proved the theory.
Lane never had a chance when 494 decided he was finished playing.
"And 494 wins again," Sam, X5R-453 mocked with a roll of her eyes, arms folding across her chest.
"You doubted?" Devon, X5R-472, questioned his unit mate. Both Devon and Sam shared enough genetics to be considered full blooded siblings in the Ordinaries world, but that and a few shared features were all the pair shared. Familial sentiment, never encouraged, was downright a death sentence now and those Twinned avoided anything their other halves did at all costs.
Today was the first time in six months that the unit was back together. Upon completing phase 1 of the Phoenix Project, all were re-assigned to Quantico's Special Operations team and designated Arizona Platoon under the command of Major Davis Stendhal. X5R-453 had been requested by Manticore's Division 12 because her physical attributes made her the perfect operative for a deep cover mission they were undergoing.
X5R-494 and X5R-798 (Jace) were held back under the auspices that they needed "further disciplinary training" and sent back to a Manticore unit where they were able to mingle with the other Manticore platoons, but everyone knew that was a lie. The Madame Director didn't want her two favorite toys to be out of her direct command or reach, though she did 'loan' the pair out for a few solo missions - assassinations mostly.
That and Madame Director Renfro as a behavioral specialist herself, how much smoother things at the base ran when the transgenics knew that their chosen 'alpha' X5R-494 was among them. Almost but not quite the same reaction they had when they knew that Colonel Lydecker was on base. Such pack oriented behavior was fascinating and provided Renfro no end to her own entertainment.
Jace - X5R-798 - she held back not because she wasn't a good enough soldier - far from it. Renfro held her back because she was once one of Lydecker's 'kids' and she'd be damned before she'd let one of the colonel's soldiers advance to such a prestigious platoon out of her reach. Already, in the six months Arizona Platoon had first been activated, their overall mission success far more than tripled estimated expectations.
“Arizona Pla-TOON! Ah-ten-shun!”
Seven figures snapped into instant readiness, quickly falling into formation and taking the position of attention as their commanding officer, director, and the director’s lackey came to preen and examine their pets.
“Six months absence and still X5R-00 is defeated by X5R-494,” Renfro mused aloud as she came to stand in front of the line of soldiers. She said this as if it were nothing of importance.
Lane stiffened but only those knowing him could see the fury barely restrained under that cool ‘obedient’ veneer.
Major Stendhal arched an eyebrow, but ever the consummate professional, knew when to hold his tongue and said nothing. He wasn’t offended and there was no need to be. Renfro was an overdramatic bitch high on a power trip, and overall her opinion really didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. She might make things difficult for a while, but if she stepped out of line too often, her chain would be jerked and she’d be put to heel again.
Renfro was eyeing his soldiers like a sheik examines his prized mares and stallions.
“Overall they have improved…not by much, but it is improvement.”
Now it was Keema who bristled at the slight. She held the most pride and devotion to her little band of misfits out of them all, and if her eyes were any indication, would have cheerfully snapped the Madame Director into itty bitty pieces.
“Of course,” the Major agreed, yet his tone was dry and clearly unimpressed.
Devon had to halt a chuckle wanting to rise.
Renfro’s head snapped to the Major, sensing something in his comment, but that man’s face was pleasantly neutral, almost peaceful. No hint of malice or amused spite in evidence.
“Yes, of course,” Renfro finally repeated, still staring at the Major. “But what can one expect from a bunch of clones? X5-599 would never have allowed X5-493 to get the better of him. Perhaps he was the better leader, yes?”
Any mirth the listening seven may have had vanished at the cruel jibe. The sting of the 09ers was felt to this day and it was a bitter lash indeed. Lane’s throat started vibrating softly with the beginnings of growl, unhappy as ever of the reminder and the fact that his so called ‘original’ was leader while he was only second. Jewel hissed slightly and Keema twitched ever so, a small tension in her jaw and shoulders. Devon and Sam both sported the same sour expressions, the familial resemblence uncanny, as if they’d tasted something foul and disagreeable.
Only Jace and 494 kept themselves completely impassive. If it bothered Jace about her original unit and her current unit’s comparison, it didn’t show. 494 was just resigning himself to another of Lane’s blow ups and was already making plans on who to inform so word would spread fast without either the guards or Lane knowing about it. Lane’s temper was as legendary as his prowess in the field or with the female he’d bedded.
“X5-599 was the commander of his unit, yes,” the Major nodded, quite unruffled. “Whether or not X5-494 would have remained so subservient to X5-599 as they matured we’ll never know. Not since 599 lead his unit in insubordination.”
“So he did.” Renfro frowned at the man who deflected all her attempts at insulting him or his little band of loners.
Suddenly she smiled.
“Oh, well. We’ll get to see firsthand how your unit handles adversity. 494 helped to subdue and recapture of the 09ers, X5-210. She’s come along very well on her re-indoctrination, so much more better than the attempts on 599 or the other 09er we’d captured. She’ll be finishing with her re-indoctrination today, so I’m going to place her under 494’s command before I let her join Arizona Platoon. She’s not quite ready for them, and both she and 494 will be with Alpha Unit for that transition. So I’m afraid your request for X5R-494s reassignment to Arizona Platoon will have to wait until then.”
With a triumphant smirk, Renfro sauntered off, the click-clack of her heels like the tick-tock of a bombs countdown to the imminent explosion. Sandoval, after one last sneer at the Major and a smug expression, followed after his mistress like a faithful puppy.
“Well, shit,” Stendhal cursed, not bothering to hide his contempt or displeasure.
The seven comprising Arizona Platoon couldn’t agree with him more.
A/N: I apologize for not posting this chapter earlier...but it's out now!
Chimera’s Kismet
Chapter 14 - You Reap What you Sow
Daniel Pierce awoke with a start, every muscle in his body seeming to scream at him in protest, or was someone screaming? It was hard to determine, as his sluggish mind was refusing to cooperate with him, on whether there was screaming or just a ringing echo in his ears. When he reached to rub his head, he found that he was shackled, so he groggily reassessed his earlier opinion and decided there was just an echo in his head from whatever it was they kept him out with. The haziness and lethargy he felt was further evidence of drugs in his system, his mind analyzed it, worried over it, and in the end, he strangely didn’t care.
His not caring was another indication that he was drugged, but since there was nothing he could do about it, he just let it slide and worked to try and get his bearings.
He winced and sucked in a deep breath at the sudden pain his slight movements had rendered. Tingles of fiery needlelike pain from both arms and legs hit him full force as the blood tried to circulate and bring some feeling back, further evidence that he’d been in this position for a very long time. Wiggling around as much as he was able, Pierce found he was upright in a chair, shackled down at the wrists, elbows, ankles, knees, and waist. Similar to how he’d bound both his prisoners…who had managed to escape…Pierce frowned at the direction his thoughts had turned toward and let his head loll backwards, which is how he discovered there was a headrest behind him. Two, short, thin straps dangled on either side and Pierce knew from experience – on his prisoners of course- that they could be used to clamp down on your neck.
Almost complete immobility.
Deciding this was yet another thing he did not need to linger upon Pierce’s gradually clearing mind took in the rest of his accommodations. Spartan quarters looked like Pharaoh’s court compared to this room. He was in a cold, concrete room, a single industrial-type halogen bulb in the ceiling, and a metal table in front of him bolted to the floor. As a matter of fact, the chair itself looked to be bolted in as well. He was facing a wall, the same cinder-block style used in schools and warehouses, making Pierce wonder if he were in one of the two.
Since he was facing the wall, and neither of the walls on either side of him sported a door, Pierce assumed the exit was behind him. It was a fact which started the first tendrils of unease to trickle down his spine, and invade his thinking. Stiffening his resolve, Pierce decided he wasn’t going to be as easily intimidated as the Evans boy. He did note that the room was painted in various shades of gray, the blocks a drab gray, the table a muted matte gray that gave no reflection, and the concrete floor only slightly darker and smoother than the textured walls. Even the chair was gray, though it was more of an industrial stainless steel variety than actual gray.
“Must be their version of the White Room,” Pierce mused.
He swallowed, noting that whatever drug or anesthetic used on him turned his mouth into the Sahara. He tried to swallow again, but there wasn’t enough moisture in his mouth to spit, much less swallow. Despite him still feeling hazy and thirsty, Pierce determined that ten minutes had already passed. If they knew that he was awake and were making him wait, they were waiting an awfully long time.
Although…on the other hand, they might not even be aware of his regaining consciousness.
A sudden puff of air resounded and Pierce didn’t even have time to recognize the sound or register the prick of the dart before he slumped into the same darkness he’d awakened from.
~~~
Groaning, Pierce came to for another time, but this time when he awoke there was a large pitcher of water sitting on the table in front of him.
“What?” he wheezed, blinking and shaking his head to try and clear it. But no, the water pitcher remained, and he knew then that it was real.
Once, twice…three times he blinked again and the pitcher never wavered. Blinking once more, he tried to roll his neck to ease some of the ache, but found to his surprise the neck strap was in place, pinning him far more inelegantly and completely to the chair. He hadn’t noticed it before then, what with the waking up and water in front of him.
Water…
His mouth was so dry. Double dose of whatever, he was so thirsty, and the water was so close…if he only he wasn’t strapped down!
Water wasn’t going to be the only problem, he suddenly realized with a sinking feeling of dread, his stomach clenching and the action bring a sudden ache that he recognized as his bladder being full. Eventually, a pressure in his bowels as well, if his situation didn’t change and give him some relief.
When another ten minutes had again passed by, Pierce tensed, trying to look behind him but he was effectively trapped, the only thing he could see in the damned room was the twice damned pitcher –full- of water before him, mocking him, daring him to reach out and take his fill. Fill him up just as his bladder was warning him he was fill, and his hips jerked slightly to help contain the inevitable.
Heart thumping wildly, he tried to hear, strained to listen if anyone was in the room, but all he could hear was the sound of his own heart and breathing. For five minutes he listened and tried to see but there was nothing.
Frustrated, he growled and looked longingly at the water in front of him. Some joker had placed it very near the edge, close enough that with a little slack in his restraints, he could have grabbed it at least. He was shamed to see that he was starting to sweat, and that he was seriously starting to consider cracking. And all because he wanted some water and place to pee!
As if on cue, his abdominal muscles clenched again as his stomach growled, and a sharp pang not all hunger lanced through his intestines. Clenching his stomach muscles, he cursed whomever held him captive as there was a very urgent desire to relieve the ever growing pressure.
The sharp clank of door hinges straining had him perking up, but he still couldn’t see or was able to form any words.
“Report,” a sharp voice barked the command, startling Pierce who’d grown used to the quiet. Before he could even think to reply, someone else did.
“Sir, the captive has regained consciousness twenty minutes ago, sir!”
Pierce’s eyes grew wide with shock and the very real beginnings of fear and horror. Someone had been in the room with him the entire time! Surely he wasn’t so far drugged that he couldn’t just know by instinct alone that he was in occupied territory.
“Very well. As you were, soldier.”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
There was a definite click of boots and the rustling of fabric, Pierce sensed a salute, and the soldier’s voice devoid of any tell tale accent except that of All-American Anywhere, USA.
“Who are you?” Pierce finally managed.
He was met with silence.
A silence that was both considering and watchful.
Like a predator studying his prey.
“Who are you?” Pierce asked again, anger and fear and panic lending strength and will to a mouth that refused to speak any louder without moisture.
The harsh slam of the door shutting was his only answer.
‘This is crazy!’ Pierce thought wildly.
~~~
“How is he doing, soldier?”
“Breaking down, sir,” X4-938 informed Colonel Lydecker as the Colonel entered the little room off the one housing one Special Agent Daniel Pierce. That room was so wired and bugged there was no need for a two way mirror. All vital information was relayed from the monitors in both the chair bindings and the X4 psionic stationed in the room by the door out of sight.
X4-938 and her twin sibling X4-937 were the best at this kind of tag-team venture where traditional espionage equipment would be at risk of detecting. Their fraternal twin and psionic status enable a familial and professional edge rarely exceeded anywhere else in the program.
“Captive is in the beginning stages of mild dehydration, supplemented by the tranquilizer administered by X4-937. So far, only a slight increase in heart beat and rhythm, target’s training in fighting to override his panic keeping it fairly steady, sir.”
“It won’t be long now,” Lydecker nodded absently, the weight of experience in his voice. Lydecker knew how to read people, and his experience was saying that soon, Special Agent Pierce would be his to command.
The X4 knew better than to comment. She didn’t need to be psionic to know that the Colonel was not expecting an answer. She merely observed her target and relayed and analyzed data her brother was sending her across the bond they shared. X4-937 had an uncanny ability to tell what exactly will aide in a faster breakdown of wills while X4-938 was better at decrypting and analyzing the data her brother sent.
Together, they were one of Manticore’s finest incursion teams, and she was proud of all she and her sibling had achieved.
“Have Theater One prepped and inform Dr. Soroyan of his incoming patient. Tell him it’s special delivery, courtesy of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
The Colonel left it at that, exiting the room and flanked by an escort of X5 and Ordinary guard.
X4-938 allowed herself a cocked eyebrow at the Colonel’s unusual pettiness. Everyone knew that the FBI had fired and blacklisted Dr. Soroyan for ‘unethical procedures’ when their own special interrogation division had been discovered and made public. There was no small hatred in the good doctor’s heart for the FBI.
In the room with the unsuspecting Agent Pierce, X4-937 shook his head and stared straight through the wall where he knew his crèche mate was.
[The Colonel is making this personal] he sent via their link, and 938 couldn’t agree more.
A/N: Thank you all so much for sticking with me! A bout of writer's block, personal drama at home, and a job that tows the line of my sanity have all conspired to put many of my stories on hold while newer ones have seemed to pop up to combat this. Hopefully, while short, this chapter will help appease my lengthy absence. ~k
Chimera’s Kismet
Chapter 15A – Becoming
Today was going to be different. An almost electrical surge of anticipation sang through the air, and 210 didn’t need to guess that something was going on. Her life was about to change yet again, and she could do nothing as Kismet wrapped her fingers about her, and yanked.
Alerted by the sense of excitement, Jondy was awake and quietly watchful by the time she was usually awakened for breakfast. She had quickly gone through all of her early morning calisthenics, and was ready for the moment her entourage came to collect. Fairly brimming with nerves, excitement, and disdain, Jondy was the good soldier, obediently following her master’s minions through the dungeon corridors to meet the Wicked Witch. On this day she knew better, for something was to happen – was happening – and she would give no cause for punishment on the cusp of such an event.
“Change of plans, ‘210!” one of the guards snapped, and shoved Jondy out of her cell and into corridor.
Jondy noted at once she was not headed for the mess; quite the opposite in fact. It wouldn’t be the first time they had made her skip a meal, but it had been a while since the last time. The thought that perhaps she was on her way to PsyOps again flashed briefly through her synapses before she dismissed the notion just as quickly. PsyOps had their own brand of goons who retrieved her when they wanted her; these were the run of the mill, pull from spec ops trained tactical officers – the common thugs of Manticore.
Bypassing the hallway leading to PsyOps, Jondy’s suspicions and curiosity were proven, and she was almost hyperaware as she was led down a hallway she’d never been to before, internally mapping the twists and turns by reflex, an odd sense of excitement and dread warring within the battlefield of her chest and stomach. Her heart tripped in accompaniment, and her stomach clenched almost painfully so despite her neutral exterior.
A classroom door was opened by the thug at point, and Jondy was ushered into the room. She was already aware of exits, obstacles, and other people and the positions in the room before she’d even taken a full stride across the threshold. Seven soldiers lined up in formation at the position of attention at the center of the room, and though she was aware of the three males and single female civilian in the room, her eyes were zeroed in on one soldier like a homing beacon.
Jondy only allowed herself the briefest of nanoseconds in which her eyes connected with hazel orbs before sliding away to take in the four she’d dismissed in favor of her soldier.
The three men and the woman stood apart – one man in front of what was obviously his platoon, facing the other three. The woman and her lackey looking out of place amongst the bodies clothed in uniform stood at the head of the formation while the final man leaned against the wall with forced casualness.
Eleven, not including herself, and her escort of four.
Sixteen altogether.
“X5-210, halt!”
Having already anticipated the order as she’d heard his inhalation of breath preparing to speak, Jondy was already snapping her heels smartly together before the lead thug had finished, stiffening into the position of attention and snapping off a crisp salute before she was even ordered to do so.
Lead Thug scowled a second at her initiative, but went about his job, hoping that his lack of control over the rogue was not obvious.
“Ma’am; sirs! Rogue unit, X5-210!”
Thugs Two, Three, and Four took up positions in a modified semi-circle surrounding her, 210 noting the fact that they would not hit each other in crossfire the way they were arranged.
“Thank you gentleman,” the woman nodded imperiously, already dismissing the guard’s existence as she focused on the girl before her.
No more than sixteen at the most and therefore one of the youngest to have Escaped, Renfro eyed her newest acquisition for the first time since the initial retrieval. The gaunt, pale, and shrunken in creature so doped up on a cocktail of drugs, pain, and exhaustion was nowhere to be seen in the soldier’s face before her.
And a soldier, badly in need of reconditioning, but a soldier nonetheless, was what she was.
A daily diet of carefully constructed meals and constant physical therapeutic conditioning had filled in the gaps, and her hair and eyes sparkled with good health. Whatever bruises her latest stint with the interrogator or PsyOps were gone, if there had been any to be seen. Not that they would be any place visible, at least not at this stage of her conditioning.
All in all, she looked more like the soldier she should be and less the charity case she’d resembled. Renfro was pleased at the transformation; she anticipated the mental one was as complete.
“So…you’re one of the pains in my ass,” Renfro smirked, still eyeballing 210 as a rancher does prize livestock. She noted that 210 still held her salute, hand not even wavering, and was impressed despite herself.
Deck trained her obviously, she sneered inwardly. I'm going to enjoy breaking her.
“Not much to look at, are you? Must have been one of the ‘normal’ looking units for infiltration…I don’t think you’re quite up to the attractiveness of your brethren,” she continued, purposely ignoring the salute, knowing until she acknowledged it, the girl would have to hold.
Liz would have flushed with embarrassment, Jondy would have bristled at the insult, but 210 kept a tight lock on any emotion and kept her face neutrally serene and her salute strong. Renfro was grandstanding, her response was to keep silent, and hold position.
“It’s difficult to imagine that such a snippet of a wastrel like you could cost Manticore so much time, money, and manpower to capture. It almost makes you…not, worth it.”
If that was supposed to bite, it failed spectacularly. Jondy or Liz could hardly give a crap, and 210 didn’t see the words as a serious threat.
Peter Sandoval eyed the young rogue warily, searching for any signs of the previous defiance and life, but that Manticore Mask was firmly in place and he couldn’t read a thing. Not because he sucked at reading facial expression or body language, but because there was nothing to read. No emotion, almost nothing at all, and save for her chest rising and falling, Sandoval could have easily mistaken her for an incredibly lifelike statue.
Shaking his head slightly, he fingered his tie almost nervously, nearly jumping when he turned his head and found himself under the considering stare of one Colonel Lydecker. That look was enough to make experienced soldiers cringe, transgenics to walk carefully and silently, and enemies to think twice about warring against him.
Lydecker gave a smirk as if he knew what Sandoval was thinking, and Peter seethed cursing the Colonel inwardly.
For the most part, Major Stendhal couldn’t see anything wrong with the soldier at precise attention before Renfro. She was tinier than he’d thought she’d be, only a few inches taller and a little more filled out in the bust than her twin 211 had been before she’d died during a live mine field drill.
The hair added character, Stendhal finally decided, after moments studying the rogue and identifying what about her person struck him as odd. 210s hair reached almost to the top of her ass, while 211 had always kept hers cropped to just past the bottoms of her ears. 210’s flowing locks brought about a sense of strength without sacrificing femininity or coming across as too severe, approachable, yet functionally professional.
“At ease, 210,” Lydecker’s command shot across the room and 210 quickly obeyed, her frame seeming to tense even further, if possible, as if she’d recognized the sound of her commander’s voice even through her self-imposed amnesia. Whether or not she consciously remembered her former Colonel, or if she just recognized danger, he couldn’t tell but it was something to make him think.
Had he not been studying her so closely, Stendhal would have missed it. Just so slightly, ever so, 210s muscles clenched and tensed.
Interesting, Stendhal noted, continuing to watch his newest recruit –and she would be, Renfro’s personal agenda be damned.
Even with X5-210 taking his attention, the Major couldn’t miss the dirty look Renfro and Sandoval sent the Colonel’s way. Stendhal just barely refrained from rolling his eyes, though such an act would have fit in with the childish behavior being shown by the facilities Director.
“Colonel Lydecker is correct, ma’am. I, for one, am also wanting to know what the rogue X5-210 is doing here after you so graciously informed me that her status would not involve my platoon for a time determined not yet.”
He was prepared for the withering stare and he merely cocked an eyebrow, he wasn’t impressed and he’d had his fill. His superiors were Renfro’s, and he wasn’t going to take much it much longer. Renfro apparently sensed this as she straightened up, the tips of her bottle blonde spikes swaying with her movement.
“I just wanted to give your team the heads up on what they can expect to come their way. Give them a preview, as it were. Arizona Platoon!”
“Ma’am!” seven voices chorused together on cue, and Renfro felt a sliver of pleasure.
“Meet one of the persons responsible for every bad or unfair regulation in your life. For every punch, kick, or other attack or ostracism by your peers…this, ladies and gentlemen, is the original Alpha Unit’s X5-210…or as her family used to call her…Jondy.”
The last was said with a sneer and Jondy felt herself become annoyed ever so slightly.
“Arizona Platoon, why don’t you make Jondy here feel welcome; after all, once the real Alpha Unit gets done with her, she’ll be all yours. Platoon, roll call!”
“X5R-600!” Lane boomed in a fast clip, beginning the roll.
“X5R-453!” Sam sneered, a wave of hostility so intense coming off her 210 was surprised she didn't light up with the heat of her rage.
“X5R-472!” Devon chimed, his face mask of fake platitude and goodwill.
“X5R-657!” Jewel snapped off. Brisque, the epitome of the perfect soldier.
“X5R-735!” Keema clipped out. Professional, don't mess with me, do the job, do the job right the first time.
“X5R-798!” Jace thundered the last digits of her designation almost in defiance.
“X5R-494,” her mate rumbled, calm and collected and Jondy perked up at the familiar cadence of his voice.
494, Jondy thought, rolling his digits in her head and she found she liked the flow of them swirling around her mind like fine wine in a flute…what would they taste like on her tongue? At least now I have his number, and he has mine, she mused rather mirthlessly.
But judging from the hostile vibes she was receiving from the rest of her mate’s unit, she was in for some pain before she would receive the pleasure.
Let the games begin, 210 steeled herself for what was to come.
