Chapter Nine

Alec was finally sleeping relatively peacefully, though the odd shudder did still rack his frame. Shirley had checked his stitches earlier, the ones she could at least, and now she was in the kitchen cooking up a broth and soup dinner for herself and her patient. Joshua had gone home to Terminal City to be with Max and help her with whatever she needed help with, Morph was settled in his indoor stall happily munching his grain and hay.

Shirley knew that she'd have to have someone watch Alec tomorrow so that she could wander around town and assure her contacts that she wasn't dead. They got a little jumpy if she didn't visit them daily. Then again they might have to wait, she thought as the motion sensor went off again. Running up the stairs she reflected that she'd have to set up the camping kitchen when Joshua came back.

Reaching the infirmary she shushed quietly, taking Alec's hand and rubbing back and forth softly. "Lay still, Josh isn't here, just lay still; it's okay," she murmured, wishing she had the instant effect Joshua did on the injured Transgenic.

Half an hour later she was back in the kitchen cursing silently as she turned both the burners off and fanned a hot pad over the steaming pots. Well, the food was hot now.

Taking the elevator to get the now scalding liquid meals upstairs she rolled the cart down the hall and into the room, setting the pots in front of an open window. That aught to cool the food down faster. Wandering over to where Alec was yet again shivering she took his hand and rubbed the back of his palm.

Remembering a tip she'd learned from one of her friends she started compressing the joints in his hands; joint compression therapy, as it was called. A relaxant technique for those with sensory issues. Compressing each joint, gently but firmly. She could immediately tell a difference.

Smiling she rolled his bed over closer to the fire to keep him warm, then she scooched the recliner closer, snagged a random book off the shelf, and sat down. William Shakespeare's STAR WARS, by Ian Doescher; Verily, A New Hope. Shakespearian style Star Wars. Perfect for relaxing too, and not that bad to read.

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Max was, predictably, staring at the sky. But she wasn't in Terminal City.

After answering questions about what her plans were, how they were going to deal with White, was Alec really dead, how was she feeling, free psychiatric help . . .

She'd needed space. Lots of it.

So she went to the one place she knew she could find it. The space needle. True, there were memories here, but right now the memories didn't hurt. They just, left her alone. Like she'd swallowed a magical pill that let her let go of all of the pain. She still hurt.

She still missed him. And she probably always would.

His life had been short; to short, considering the crap he'd gone through in the first, what, eighteen? years of his life. But he'd had fun. She knew that.

Because underneath all the con man, slick talking, me, me, me, selfish, pig headed, jerkazoid, I'm always alright exterior he had stubbornly shoved in the face of any who cared to poke and pry, he'd had a heart. She'd seen part of that heart when Rachel's father Robert came after him. And when he'd asked about Ben. The way he'd wrapped his arms around her when she'd told him she'd killed Ben. When she told him Logan thought they were seeing each other.

That was another reason she was here, up in her space. Logan. He'd taken her orders to heart, almost seeing it as a challenge to find every single scrap and molecule of dirt on White that was in existence. But it was more than that. He hadn't even responded when she'd told him she hadn't really been seeing Alec.

Granted, she hadn't really given him a chance, but still. There had been hours after that that he could've pulled her aside and said hey, I get it, I love you. Can we go back to where we had been. There was still the virus, but they could get around that. She'd already firmly told herself to be more careful, to be vigilant and not let her guard down. Now she was wondering if there was even a point.

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Logan sat at his computer pinching the bridge of his nose. It had been a hard day. First Alec had died yesterday, then Max had nearly killed White, not to mention cracking the Lieutenants ribs, then she'd told him that she was desperately in love with him, ripped his head off and asked for his help. Oh, and she'd practically outed him to the entire population of Terminal City as being Eyes Only, not just working for Eyes Only, but being him. Which was true, but Logan wasn't sure if he felt comfortable with the whole world knowing that.

Did he love her back? Well, yeah. He'd felt like he'd died when she was missing for that one year. And then she'd magically shown up in his place, but then the virus had followed her. Or, traveled with her. Then she had let him believe that she was seeing Alec, which, now that he thought about it, it was stupid of him to have believed that. After all, he'd seen the terror in her eyes when he'd stood between her and the door that night. She would have said anything to keep him from touching her.

He'd wanted to pull her aside all day, but she'd looked so frazzled and hen pecked already he hadn't thought it would've helped. Blinking rapidly he stared at the computer screen, waiting for the files to load. It must be hard for her, losing her brother like that. And believing she was responsible for it. He hoped she had a friend with her tonight.

Tapping the desk impatiently he stretched his neck, hearing the vertebrae crack and pop from not being moved practically all day.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Tap. Tap.

Tap.

Okay, that was it. He put the pen down, stood up, and pulled his jacket off the back of the chair. "Hey Luke?"

"Yeah," the little guy was never far from the computers.

"You know where Max went?"

"Last I heard she was headed for her Space Needle. Want me to take over the computers?"

"Would you?"

"No problem," Luke happily sat down and glanced over the computers to see what train of thought Logan was working on. "Completely under control."

"Thanks."

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Joshua sat in his room, knowing he should probably go to Shirley's, but he didn't feel like walking just yet. He sat cross legged on the floor in front of his easel, touching up some final details of his latest work. He knew now that Alec was alive, but he thought it would be a good way to show just how much Alec was truly loved by the people in Terminal City. And Jam Pony.
Funny Asha hadn't been at Crash that night.

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"Hey Max," Logan's voice came from the darkness.

She smiled. She'd known it was him from the moment she'd first heard his foot steps on the stairs.

"Hey Logan," she answered.

"Mind if I join you?" his voice was right behind her.

"Not to close please," she whispered.

Logan nodded understandingly, sitting a couple feet away and much farther away from the edge than she was. He was human, after all.

Max slid upward till she was sitting beside him, the same distance from the edge.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?" he asked, not looking at the stars.

Max's lips curved into a bright smile as she looked back at him. "Yeah, it is."

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White was less than pleased.

His boss was less than less then pleased. She was furious.

Tapping her nails rapidly on the top of her desk she let him stand in discomfort for several minutes before speaking. "He escaped?"

"Yes, ma'am, he-"

"I asked a simple yes or no question; it does not require a paragraph to answer a yes or no question. It takes one word - either a yes, or a no."

"Yes ma'am." he tried to keep himself from gritting his teeth.

"Now," she stopped her tapping abruptly and picked up the file he had set on her desk. "He escaped?"

"Yes."

She was silent for several seconds before looking at him with a bored expression. "Manners are still in fashion, Agent."

"Yes, ma'am."

"He escaped?" she asked for the third time.

"Yes, ma'am," he was sure to keep his voice devoid of the anger he was feeling, schooling his face into an impassive mask.

"How?" she dropped the file onto her desk with a pop and folded her hands in her lap. "And that, Agent White, is not a yes or no question."

"'I'm not sure."

"Not sure what type of question it was, or not sure how he escaped? Because, I'm not to sure how you could not know how he escaped."

"I am not sure how he could've broken through his bonds, ma'am. Those straps were manufactured to hold those of the cult."

"Hmmm," she pursed her lips and tapped her fingers on the back of her hand. "Maybe, he's stronger than we originally expected?"

"I don't see how that could be possible, ma'am."

"And I don't see how you could be stupid enough to fire one of your agents, completely disrespect the Lieutenant you're supposed to be working on to turn for us, and declare on all out war on the Transgenics with the whole world watching your every move; all in the same day," she smiled coolly. It didn't go farther than her lips.

White just stood silently, knowing that to retort would be to die.

She let him stew for several minutes, counting the seconds in her head to three hundred and sixty before she finally raised one eyebrow at him. "Just, find him. Or it will be you we dissect to dig through your brain."

"I do not possess the genes we need, ma'am," he felt safe replying.

She gave him a cold, small smirk. "How do we know that? Unless we go digging?"

He fought the reflex to swallow under her piercing glare.

"Dismissed, Agent White."

He turned to go, pausing when he heard her take a breath as if to speak.

"And agent," she off-handedly began. "Remember we need him alive - his brain does us no
good if it is not functioning properly. Remember that."

"Yes ma'am."

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The room was bare except for a table and three chairs. The only people in the room were two boys who looked exactly alike, each with barcodes on the back of their necks, sitting in the two chairs opposite a man in a business suit with a cane in his right hand. The man appeared to be looking at a file, but in reality he was watching the two children in front of him.

Because they were children.

True, Manticore could call them the 'perfect soldier', and they did so, but in reality the two boys were just that. Two small, frightened young boys who were sitting rigidly in their chairs trying not to tremble from terror.

Finally Sandeman sighed and set the file down. He really couldn't believe this had happened. Manticore boasted of having the brightest minds doing their research, and yet somehow this mess had occurred. Really, it was embarrassing. And more than that, Sandeman wasn't sure what the long term results might be.

Standing he tapped his cane on the floor speculatively, then walked over to behind the boys. They sat perfectly still, but he could tell his actions frightened them. Their breathing sped up and their eyes immediately darted to the sides, trying to see him, to locate him. He pulled a small cloth wrapped package out of his inside pocket and, after walking to in front of the children again, he set it on the table and unwrapped it.

"Hold out your hands please," he said softly, not wanting to startle them.

They obligingly held out both of their hands, palms down, in front of themselves.

Picking up the obsidian knife, he thought for a moment before speaking again. "Palm's up."

They obeyed, but he could see their muscles starting to shake - their breath coming in fast and shallow. He quickly stepped to the first boy, laid the knife on his right palm and pulled ever so gently. The boy didn't even cry as the knife sliced through his skin without any resistance.

Sandemen then stepped over to the next boy and took his left palm, setting the knife against it and pulling. When the knife cut, the boy gasped in pain. Sandeman quickly stepped back, set the knife on the cloth and wrapped it up. He pulled out a roll of cloth bandages and wrapped each child's hand, regretting that he had to do this. "Report to me in the morning."

Both children nodded, the second boy biting his lip and fighting tears as he held his hand to his chest. The first boy didn't even blink as he evenly met Sandeman's gaze. "Yes sir," he said in his small, odd child's voice.

The next morning the boys were back in the bare room as ordered, their hands still bandaged. Sandeman slowly unwrapped the right hand of the first boy - where the knife had cut there was a pale, raised, white scar.

When he unwrapped the left hand of the second boy, there was no mark. Rubbing a finger over the flawless skin Sandeman's breath caught in his throat. But, this was impossible - sure, this was what he had hoped for, but . . . to actually have achieved it?

He silently turned the boy around and read the barcode there. "Four-nine-four?" he asked, just to confirm.

The boy nodded silently.

"Well," Sandeman turned him around and bent down to look in 494's bright green eyes. "I shall have to keep an eye on you, little ones." he smiled and kissed the boys forehead. Then he pulled the other boy, designation 493, into his arms and kissed his forehead to. "Both of you."

End of Part One