"So why does the Witchblade seem so fond of you?" Sara asked.
Ian leaned his head on the sofa back and shrugged sleepily. "No reset button?" he suggested.
They had moved from the kitchen into what passed for Sara's living room several hours ago. A few more complicated matters had been hammered out, but recent conversation had drifted into lighter subjects. It had felt almost... normal. She was beginning to think that this must be what contentment felt like when the Witchblade started nudging her. It had prompted her to ask the question before she could wonder why.
"What do you mean, no reset button?"
"The fact that I can always remember things from one life to the next. I don't get a fresh start like everyone else. Memories, obligations, unfinished business, love... They all carry over. That's how I explained it to Mr. Irons when I was a child and I've never found an easier explanation since. No reset button."
"That's part of you?" she said in surprise. "I thought it was something that the Witchblade allowed; I didn't realize it was innate." A bit of memory hummed in the corner of her mind as another piece settled into place. "It lets you see the future sometimes too."
"Not very clearly, but yes," he agreed. "Sometimes."
"Handy guy to have around." She grinned at him and was pleased to see that his answering smiles were becoming quicker as the night progressed.
"The Witchblade seems to think so. It knows you need an ally. Even it admits that you can't do everything on your own."
"And it's been trying to make sure that I let you in."
"The choice is always yours, Sara."
"Like I could really resist something that both you and the Witchblade want?" she laughed. They subsided into comfortable silence once again, but a stray thought still nagged at her and the Witchblade wouldn't let it go. "When you explained it to Irons?" she repeated his earlier words. "He didn't know you could do that when he...? When did he..." her voice trailed away.
"My bloodline is as easy to track as yours if you know where to look," he said, anticipating her unfinished question. "Find one, find the other. I was taken as an infant, the same as you were."
She didn't ask how. From the bleakness in his eyes and her own knowledge of Irons' ruthless efficiency she could easily guess that Ian had no blood relations left.
"So if he didn't know about your 'missing' reset button when he took you then how did he find out?" She suspected that she was treading near the information that the Witchblade was urging her toward. Ian's relaxed posture had snapped rigid again and he leaned forward to brace his forearms against his knees. She could tell that he was measuring his words more carefully now too.
"He began my training at an early age. At first it irritated him that I knew minor random details about the Witchblade without being told. He thought that I was sneaking into his study at night to read. Then..." He broke off, clearly troubled. His head was bent as low as she'd seen it all evening. She moved closer and slid an arm across his back reassuringly.
"No more secrets," she reminded him. "Whatever it is, I'll deal. Okay?"
"You're not going to like this one," he predicted grimly. He tried to give her a wry smile though, and she loved him for the effort.
"Try me."
He drew a deep breath and she almost didn't catch the words that came out in a soft rush.
"What?"
"I'm not the first Ian Nottingham," he repeated only slightly more slowly. She was glad he wasn't looking at her face as the statement sank in, but she was certain that he felt her shock just the same. She rested her chin on the back of his shoulder as he continued. "The first Ian, the one he actually stole, died at the age of seven. Perhaps training had begun a bit too early. But Mr. Irons had a back-up plan. He always has a back-up plan. He'd funded Dr. DeAngelo's research for just this purpose."
"Clones," she whispered. "Like the Isaacs."
Ian nodded. "More or less. Mr. Irons incorporated some of Elizabeth Bronte's stem cells into the next child," he said. Sara listened in morbid fascination to his flat voice as he recounted the events. "This one remembered everything that the first had been taught and more. I believe that's when he began to realize that he was getting more than he had bargained for. He was understandably frustrated when this one didn't survive past the age of ten. A decade lost," he snorted in unmistakable mimicry of Irons' dismissive words.
"I was the next one," he went on in an astonishingly mechanical tone. Sara pressed her closed eyes against his shirt and let him continue uninterrupted. "By the time I was twelve he realized that I remembered more than simply what my predecessors had learned, more than a few random facts that I hadn't been taught. That's when I tried to explain the reset failure to him. I think that's the first time it ever occurred to him that I could be dangerous... to him. It frightened him that I had a source of information beyond his control. He tried finding a way to exploit it for a time, but eventually he opted for trying to break the link instead. Drugs, radical therapy..."
"Black Dragons," she murmured.
"Among other things."
He fell silent and she knew that she probably wouldn't get anything more out of him on the subject. Though she knew that he thought he was protecting her from his pain, it didn't make it any easier to accept him shutting her out. One more thing to work on, she thought.
"None of it succeeded?"
"What do you think?" he asked, the faintest hint of humor back in his voice.
"I think I'm glad that you told me. No more secrets, we agreed. Don't you feel better now?"
"No," he sighed.
"There's more?"
"Two more. That I know of." His answer was not quite what she'd expected and it took a moment to process. "But I intend to take care of them soon."
"Two more clones?" she said. "Irons has two more embryonic 'you's somewhere?"
"Not exactly." His tone had gone flat again. "I think that he must have been anticipating another accident and even his patience has limits. When he realized that he wouldn't have to train my successor from infancy, that my memories would pass on to the next one..." His voice trailed off, but Sara could finish the horrible line of twisted logic.
"They're already grown," she whispered in shock.
"And waiting, comatose. Sometimes I think he almost wants something to happen to me," Ian mused with an odd detachment. "I think he wants to know what the next one will be like. I don't seem to have turned out precisely as he intended."
"Would he wake one of them if you 'defect'?" She felt macabre for asking, but couldn't help it. "Would he try again to create a version he could control?"
"No. He can't. Not if he wants him to have the memories. Those only pass on if I die."
"Then don't do that anytime soon, please."
"I'll try my best."
They sat huddled together on the sofa, neither wanting to move away from the other just yet. It was all so much to absorb in such a relatively short amount of time, Sara thought. She knew that much of it would be integrated with her slowly returning 'other' memories by morning though. Even now all of the things they'd talked about tonight had the feel of old conversations already. Deciding that there was only so much she could take in one sitting, she rose and stretched.
"Coming?" she asked, holding out a hand. He looked at it apprehensively and she rolled her eyes. Back to this, she thought. "You've slept here every night for the past month, Ian. Why would you leave now that you have an actual invitation? Get up. Come to bed. Try not to kick so much tonight, huh?"
A slow smile appeared on his weary face. "Yes, ma'am."
Ian leaned his head on the sofa back and shrugged sleepily. "No reset button?" he suggested.
They had moved from the kitchen into what passed for Sara's living room several hours ago. A few more complicated matters had been hammered out, but recent conversation had drifted into lighter subjects. It had felt almost... normal. She was beginning to think that this must be what contentment felt like when the Witchblade started nudging her. It had prompted her to ask the question before she could wonder why.
"What do you mean, no reset button?"
"The fact that I can always remember things from one life to the next. I don't get a fresh start like everyone else. Memories, obligations, unfinished business, love... They all carry over. That's how I explained it to Mr. Irons when I was a child and I've never found an easier explanation since. No reset button."
"That's part of you?" she said in surprise. "I thought it was something that the Witchblade allowed; I didn't realize it was innate." A bit of memory hummed in the corner of her mind as another piece settled into place. "It lets you see the future sometimes too."
"Not very clearly, but yes," he agreed. "Sometimes."
"Handy guy to have around." She grinned at him and was pleased to see that his answering smiles were becoming quicker as the night progressed.
"The Witchblade seems to think so. It knows you need an ally. Even it admits that you can't do everything on your own."
"And it's been trying to make sure that I let you in."
"The choice is always yours, Sara."
"Like I could really resist something that both you and the Witchblade want?" she laughed. They subsided into comfortable silence once again, but a stray thought still nagged at her and the Witchblade wouldn't let it go. "When you explained it to Irons?" she repeated his earlier words. "He didn't know you could do that when he...? When did he..." her voice trailed away.
"My bloodline is as easy to track as yours if you know where to look," he said, anticipating her unfinished question. "Find one, find the other. I was taken as an infant, the same as you were."
She didn't ask how. From the bleakness in his eyes and her own knowledge of Irons' ruthless efficiency she could easily guess that Ian had no blood relations left.
"So if he didn't know about your 'missing' reset button when he took you then how did he find out?" She suspected that she was treading near the information that the Witchblade was urging her toward. Ian's relaxed posture had snapped rigid again and he leaned forward to brace his forearms against his knees. She could tell that he was measuring his words more carefully now too.
"He began my training at an early age. At first it irritated him that I knew minor random details about the Witchblade without being told. He thought that I was sneaking into his study at night to read. Then..." He broke off, clearly troubled. His head was bent as low as she'd seen it all evening. She moved closer and slid an arm across his back reassuringly.
"No more secrets," she reminded him. "Whatever it is, I'll deal. Okay?"
"You're not going to like this one," he predicted grimly. He tried to give her a wry smile though, and she loved him for the effort.
"Try me."
He drew a deep breath and she almost didn't catch the words that came out in a soft rush.
"What?"
"I'm not the first Ian Nottingham," he repeated only slightly more slowly. She was glad he wasn't looking at her face as the statement sank in, but she was certain that he felt her shock just the same. She rested her chin on the back of his shoulder as he continued. "The first Ian, the one he actually stole, died at the age of seven. Perhaps training had begun a bit too early. But Mr. Irons had a back-up plan. He always has a back-up plan. He'd funded Dr. DeAngelo's research for just this purpose."
"Clones," she whispered. "Like the Isaacs."
Ian nodded. "More or less. Mr. Irons incorporated some of Elizabeth Bronte's stem cells into the next child," he said. Sara listened in morbid fascination to his flat voice as he recounted the events. "This one remembered everything that the first had been taught and more. I believe that's when he began to realize that he was getting more than he had bargained for. He was understandably frustrated when this one didn't survive past the age of ten. A decade lost," he snorted in unmistakable mimicry of Irons' dismissive words.
"I was the next one," he went on in an astonishingly mechanical tone. Sara pressed her closed eyes against his shirt and let him continue uninterrupted. "By the time I was twelve he realized that I remembered more than simply what my predecessors had learned, more than a few random facts that I hadn't been taught. That's when I tried to explain the reset failure to him. I think that's the first time it ever occurred to him that I could be dangerous... to him. It frightened him that I had a source of information beyond his control. He tried finding a way to exploit it for a time, but eventually he opted for trying to break the link instead. Drugs, radical therapy..."
"Black Dragons," she murmured.
"Among other things."
He fell silent and she knew that she probably wouldn't get anything more out of him on the subject. Though she knew that he thought he was protecting her from his pain, it didn't make it any easier to accept him shutting her out. One more thing to work on, she thought.
"None of it succeeded?"
"What do you think?" he asked, the faintest hint of humor back in his voice.
"I think I'm glad that you told me. No more secrets, we agreed. Don't you feel better now?"
"No," he sighed.
"There's more?"
"Two more. That I know of." His answer was not quite what she'd expected and it took a moment to process. "But I intend to take care of them soon."
"Two more clones?" she said. "Irons has two more embryonic 'you's somewhere?"
"Not exactly." His tone had gone flat again. "I think that he must have been anticipating another accident and even his patience has limits. When he realized that he wouldn't have to train my successor from infancy, that my memories would pass on to the next one..." His voice trailed off, but Sara could finish the horrible line of twisted logic.
"They're already grown," she whispered in shock.
"And waiting, comatose. Sometimes I think he almost wants something to happen to me," Ian mused with an odd detachment. "I think he wants to know what the next one will be like. I don't seem to have turned out precisely as he intended."
"Would he wake one of them if you 'defect'?" She felt macabre for asking, but couldn't help it. "Would he try again to create a version he could control?"
"No. He can't. Not if he wants him to have the memories. Those only pass on if I die."
"Then don't do that anytime soon, please."
"I'll try my best."
They sat huddled together on the sofa, neither wanting to move away from the other just yet. It was all so much to absorb in such a relatively short amount of time, Sara thought. She knew that much of it would be integrated with her slowly returning 'other' memories by morning though. Even now all of the things they'd talked about tonight had the feel of old conversations already. Deciding that there was only so much she could take in one sitting, she rose and stretched.
"Coming?" she asked, holding out a hand. He looked at it apprehensively and she rolled her eyes. Back to this, she thought. "You've slept here every night for the past month, Ian. Why would you leave now that you have an actual invitation? Get up. Come to bed. Try not to kick so much tonight, huh?"
A slow smile appeared on his weary face. "Yes, ma'am."