Black Widow: The Doppelganger Effect

By Triptych

Who controls the past controls the future:

Who controls the present controls the past.

-George Orwell

Teach them politics and war
So that theirs sons
May study mathematics and philosophy
In order for their sons the right
To study painting, poetry, music and architecture
-John Adams

If after the manner of men I have fought with beasts at Ephesus,

what advantageth it me, if the dead rise not?

-1 Corinthians

Terra, Fall Present, 3067.

As the afternoon wore on, it gave the old man some time for himself. Ever since he was transferred to a minimum-security camp just ten years ago and due to his declining physical abilities, the powers that be had decided to let him live out the rest of his twilight years with minimal supervision. Not that it bothered him at all for he preferred to be away from fellow humans as much as possible. During meal times he would sit in his own little corner at the far side of the mess hall, preferring to be only with himself as he gorged on the little scraps that they gave him; it was one of the few pleasures left that he so often looked forward to every day.

His only other passion was roses. It gave him so much joy when he realized that the camp had an abandoned greenhouse. After months of cajoling and begging his captors to allow him to rebuild the greenhouse, he had leapt for joy when they had finally relented seven years ago. It was the only time they had ever seen him display emotion after he was sentenced to life imprisonment. He had spent months doing backbreaking work, allowing no one to assist him in his endeavor; some of the other prisoners and even some guards offered to help but the old man spurned them all, preferring to do the labor of love all by himself.

Gathering scraps of metal from the refuse bins, his scarred and deeply callused hands required no tools other than sheer will in order to shape and mold the broken glass panes and the rusted metal into a functioning greenhouse once again. When he had finally completed the arduous task, he once again pleaded with his captors for seeds with which to grow some plants and was completely overjoyed that he was given some tiny roses for which he could have only dreamt about. Perhaps it was decreed that if they gave him some measure of happiness, he would just waste away his remaining time and would bother them no more. He did not disappoint them.

In the following years he had trimmed, cut and spliced the roses until he had a virtual rainbow of colors in his own little greenhouse. How he wished to be with them every minute of his life but of course since he was still in a prison, he had to undergo routine checks as well as returning to his cell in the bunkhouse every evening. If only they would have let him sleep in the greenhouse, he would be that much more content with what he had but as they say, one can't have everything and so he became just merely content by spending every waking day with his beloved roses.

And so it happened on that fateful afternoon, as the old man was busy trimming and arraigning his latest spliced masterpiece that a hooded visitor came to see him. The prisoner was so busy placing the large black rose into a ceramic pot that he himself made that he did not notice the hooded man until he spoke.

"Greetings and salutations." The hooded man had a very raspy voice, thickly accented yet had carried power- honeysuckle and brimstone, sweet yet deadly.

The old man quickly turned around, the flowerpot in his hands. "Who?"

"I am quite disappointed, Vesar. You were a lot sharper than this in our last meeting." The man removed the hood covering his head to reveal a face hidden in a grotesque leather mask. "Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste."

Vesar Kristofor could not believe his own tired eyes. "My lord, you have returned to me."

"Indeed I have." The hooded man could not help but admire the beauty of the black rose. "These are quite exquisite."

"Why did it take so long?" Vesar's hands shook as he placed the pot on a nearby wooden pallet. "Have you come at last to free your devoted servant, Milord?"

"Yes. I have come to free my most loyal servant."

"Oh God." Vesar's eyes welled with tears of redemption. "How many decades have I endured punishment, yet I have never given them the secret. It was according to my oath that it would never be revealed to the likes of them."

"You have indeed kept your secrets safe, Vesar. That is why I have come at last to give you your freedom." The masked man said. "I'm sure you were well aware of the schism?"

"Yes. The schism. Is this why you have at last been able to communicate with me, Lord? Since the order of Blake now has control of this planet?"

"Absolutely. Our alliance with the Blakists has allowed me to venture freely among them. Of course, they do not know who I really am." The masked man laughed.

"You have been a master of deception as always, Milord." Vesar smiled through his tears. "I obeyed your orders to convince Anton Marik to rebel against his brother Janos in order to sow chaos across the Free Worlds League."

"Before I give you your freedom I would like to tell you something: your suspicions were correct, Wolf's Dragoons were indeed a scout unit from the old SLDF; they were exiled and returned as the Clans."

"I knew it!" Vesar exclaimed. "I had personally made the report to Comstar High Command yet they dismissed it as utter folly, the ravings of a lunatic they said; how they were so wrong."

"Yes, they were quite wrong." The masked man produced a hyposyringe in his gloved hand. "I can free you now and your other secret will be safe forever."

Vesar finally knew that he would be free at last; his master had shown him the way. "Could I ask for one last favor, Milord?"

"Name it."

Tears dripped down Vesar's withered cheeks. "If I could just see your face once more."

"Very well." The man lifted his mask so that his face was revealed to the former ROM agent.

Vesar spoke his final words. "It's so beautiful."

As the man replaced his hood and left the dead body beside the clumps of roses he then took to the back exit of the greenhouse. It was as if the cloak had given him a measure of invisibility over the guards at the perimeter for none of them saw him enter or leave. As he passed through the ancient stone gates that served as the entrance to the converted castle, he noticed a slight chill in the air. Winter was coming sooner than expected. As he pondered that thought, his hand communicator beeped.

The masked man flipped it on. "Yes. What is it?"

"Milord, this is Meridian." A sleek voice belonging to a killer answered.

"Ah, Meridian. How is the situation today?"

"Very good, Milord." Meridian said. "Erinyes is now proceeding as scheduled. It should be ready by the time of the Star League conference on Tharkad."

"Well done, Meridian. This should make up for your former disloyalty to me."

"I hope that I had at last redeemed my earlier mistakes, Milord. The Effect held sway over me for longer than I expected." Meridian replied somewhat timidly but went back into his usual jolly self. "One other significant thing to report my Lord- The raid against the Falcons went extremely well, Colonel Von Strang reports minimal casualties on our side."

"What were the casualties on the opposition?" The masked man asked.

"The 8th Talon was destroyed, my Lord. Von Strang's unit went in disguised as Clan Hell's Horses raiders and so the Falcons formed up to meet them. They did not realize that we had Clan tech equipped Land-Air mechs in addition to omnis and therefore we savaged them before they knew what had happened. We caught the bulk of their forces in their barracks and nuked them." Meridian explained.

"Offer my heartiest congratulations to Colonel Von Strang; it seems that the Death Head's Regiment has now been bloodied and ready for further deployment."

"I will do that, Milord." Meridian chuckled. "One more thing, Colonel Von Strang reports that his unit has also successfully retrieved Colonel Winfield and the survivors of his regiment. Those disgusting Clanners reduced Winfield and his men to nothing more than simple laborers. We have debriefed him on his heritage and he is eager to rebuild the Stealths once again."

"An unexpected surprise." The masked man laughed. "All we need now is to return Iverson back to our fold so that he may reconstitute the Tartan Brigade and our bloodlines will be complete. I want Winfield and his men to be monitored heavily, we need to purge his remaining loyalties to the Steiners."

"It shall be done, Milord. Do you want your dropship prepared for immediate takeoff?"

"Not yet. I think I shall spend a few more days here. Brings back old memories." The masked man replied before switching his comm. unit off and stowing it within the folds of his dark clothing.

After sniffing the large black rose that he had placed on the collar of his cloak, he began to once again experience the temporary phenomenon. For a brief moment he allowed himself to be overwhelmed by a cascade of sensations and reminiscences as his previous life drowned out his orderly prescience for a few tantalizing minutes.