(Eleven)

Gambit blinked and then he was standing in a room at Clan Station Nine.

The switch was so swift and fast, he lost his breath and clutched at his chest. This really had to stop, he wasn't sure how much more he could take. Yes, he was trained to take a certain amount of surprises and cope with rapid changes in a given situation, but this was ridiculous.

The environment was unmistakable. Stone hewn walls, the dank odor of despair. Yes, this was Clan Station Nine, of that there was no doubt. Remy looked around him and saw he was in a dormitory with six beds, not unlike the one he and his teammates had shared before. The room was small and close as theirs had been, there was no privacy. He turned and observed a young man sleeping on the bed closest to him. He didn't recognize the skin but knew intuitively that this was still Young Kimble. The Siskan was dreaming, a small smile on his face.

"Well, here we are, huh?" the pilot Kimble grumbled, appearing like magic as always by Remy's side. "The beginnin' of the end. Don' worry, this won't take too long. This is it, the day Zander lost it."

"So it's true den. You was Zander?"

"Yeah. It's true."

Remy shivered at that but tried to stay focused on what he was seeing. He had to learn, had to remember this if and when they got out of here. Remy had hated his stay at Nine and could see that Young Kimble would hate it for all the same reasons he did. It was dark and dreary here, worse than he remembered, and not bright and sunny as the Siskan castle had been. The only color here was the stony grey of the rough carved walls. It was cold and lifeless. With Kimble's heightened senses effecting his own, Remy felt this more intensely than before. It brought back all of the terrible memories of the Morlock tunnels, but he did his best to shove them down. He had to keep his wits if he was going to survive this strange adventure. Kimble needed him and he wanted to be there for his friend.

Young Kimble woke abruptly to the sound of an internal alarm. There were no clocks here but that didn't mean the Siskan had no awareness of time. He was supposed to be somewhere and so had set an internal chime to wake himself, one of the perks of being a machine. He shut it off with a groan. "Sheyman..." he sobbed softly, his heart still aching from the loss.

He tried to hang on to the beauty of the dream but it was already fading. He much preferred to sleep late, but he had to go to work. He rose stiffly and put his feet on the frigid stony floor, shivering with misery as much as the cold. He rubbed at his eyes and stretched, looking around and seeing nothing he loved. He whimpered softly again, not even motivated to move.

Remy's time spent with both Kimbles wasn't wasted. The longer he was in direct contact with them like this, the stronger the empathic bond was growing. It wasn't as strong as when they were melded together in the pleasure room and shared the same body, but he was aware of Young Kimble's thoughts as if they were his own. He was feeling what Young Kimble felt.

It had only been a short time since the Dognan had come to Siska. At least that's how it felt to this Young Kimble. His internal clock told him all that had happened sixty years ago, but he had only been awake for just a few short weeks of it. The Dognan had come with their guns and their terrible ships and slaughtered all the living Siskans. The holograms they stole and used for themselves along with whatever other technology struck their fancy. Young Kimble was taken, but had only fragmented, shattered memories of this. He remembered almost none of it, only that it had happened.

It didn't matter, through an act of fate he was shut down for storage and shelved until the Clan came and spirited him and some other 'grams out of a Dognan warehouse. It might have been better for him if he had never been found.

Young Kimble and four other Courtesans had been activated and awakened by Clan programmers. They were put to work here and his old life of luxury and carefree living was officially over. He found himself now in this dormitory, as good as alone even with the other holograms here and not quite sure what to do with himself.

The living conditions here were vastly different than what he had grown accustomed to. The food here in the Station was nasty to him so he chose to go without. No warm soft beds with silken sheets awaited him. He now had a cot with rough, wooly blankets that scratched and hurt his sensitive skin. The only advantage of being a hologram was that he was immune to the head lice that infested everyone else. He almost never had the chance to shower and bathing was out of the question. That was a privilege denied. He wasn't real, they said. How would he know the difference between cold sprinkles or a long luxurious soak in hot scented water? the Clan thought.

The heathens, he sighed. At least he didn't sweat for real and so didn't stink like them.

Life had been easy with Sheyman and in the pleasure houses. Young Kimble could sleep as late as he wanted and was never run by a clock. Here he had a schedule and he would be punished severely if he was late. He had been unshelved and awake now for five weeks in this shithole and he still struggled with the concept of tardiness.

Young Kimble had a small box under his bed and he reached out to grab it. He looked around him warily as he did this, but the other holograms were still asleep. He couldn't relate to them because he knew now he was never going to be like them. They were the standard issue Courtesans, properly made, and could work here without the pain and they could sleep without the nightmares. They didn't 'feel' things as he did, they weren't empathic as he was. He was a mutant himself for lack of a better word. A bizarre mutant hologram. He was alive in a way they never would be and so he never mingled with them and kept himself isolated and alone.

He slid the box out and looked inside. He had some small glass animals stashed within and he picked one up, holding it carefully in his hands. They were so beautiful to him, like glistening memories of another time. They twinkled gently in the light of a small torch that burned from the wall nearby. He smiled, enchanted.

"What's dis?" Remy asked the pilot Kimble who stood nearby.

"Pretty, ain't they? Got 'em offa some Clan kids that wuzn't lookin'. I knew it wuz bad ta steals, but them kids didn' know from beauty, huh? All they ever did wuz break stuff. When I sawr them I just hadta have 'em. I had ta have the glass. It wuz like holdin' Sheyman in my hands. He always had glass things around. He liked the little rainbows inside of 'em jus' like I did."

Someone began to stir and Young Kimble quickly put the box away where he had hidden it. He rose and made his way into a bathroom. Remy was familiar enough with these rough uninviting rooms, there was no real plumbing and no toilet. The sink was old fashioned as were all the Clan fixtures, and he had to use a hand pump to draw water. It was ice cold and horrible. Young Kimble splashed the unfriendly water on his face and looked in the mirror.

His current appearance was very different than he was as a pilot. His hair was a golden blond and tied back in a long ponytail, Clan style. His eyes were dark brown and had a haunted, sorrowful look. His skin had the flesh tones of a normal human, not the sparkling whiteness Remy had become used to. His face was smooth, clean shaven. He was handsome in the same way Kane had been, even resembled him a little. He didn't appear to notice Gambit's ghostly reflection in the mirror beside him, he was looking at himself.

Young Kimble saw the lost look in his eyes and suddenly smiled, pretending to be happy. The teasing eyes and wry grin changed the whole look of his face. Now he was Kimble, there was no mistaking the vibrant personality Remy knew in spite of the changes. "I miss you," Young Kimble whispered softly to himself, his false happiness fading away. He turned away sadly and left.

He walked out into the crowded hallways of Clan Station Nine, dragging Remy's ghost with him. Young Kimble was bumped, jostled and battered as he made his way to the Clan training rooms. He passed a locker room and paused just outside. He smiled with a happy thought and entered.

Young Kimble really didn't have time for this, but he couldn't help himself. He had always had a problem with impulse control, especially when it came to having fun. The room was stony as were all the others but it instead of beds, it was filled with rows of wooden storage boxes used as lockers and benches. The back wall had a long mirror that ran the whole length of it and some sinks with pumps. He walked all the way to the back row, looking for someone, hoping his reflection wouldn't give him away. It didn't. He grinned as he found his unsuspecting prey.

Remy was surprised at first by who he saw sitting there, but then it all made sense. Of course, this was where it all started.

Bruce sat on a bench near the back wall, his back to Young Kimble. He was dressed for practice and had a tight support bandage around one knee, aid for a recent injury. He was tying his boot laces, his mind a million miles away. He looked very young and Remy realized that the last ten years of fighting with the Dognan and the loss of Justin had aged him considerably in the short time that he had known the young Clansman.

"Good morrow, Bruce," Young Kimble purred seductively at the young man. His voice was pitched lower and more gravelly than it was as a pilot, it was now the low growl that the pilot Kimble had come to know all too well.

Bruce looked up startled, but then smiled warmly. "Oh? Zander. Hey, what are you doing here?"

"Lookin' fer you," he said suggestively, licking his lips.

(break)

Back inside the Lucky Dragon, Bruce jerked against the cage, his eyes wide. "I told you it was him!" he wheezed, his body shaking with the shock of recognition. "I knew it!"

Logan turned his head towards him sharply. Bruce had been the first of the Clansmen to wake, although Valentin and Joseph were already beginning to stir and look up at the screen. They were all bound tightly, no one was going anywhere for a while, Beast had seen to that.

"What?" Logan asked Bruce in response to his statement.

"Zander! That's him! I recognize his face!" Bruce was trembling with his excitement. "My, God... Look at him...so beautiful..." he trailed off, suddenly conscious of the attention he had called to himself. He said nothing more but watched the screen with a child's wide eyed wonder.

Wolverine was confused. He had previously thought Bruce was afraid of this Zander fellow but it didn't look that way now. Just what was Bruce's connection with Zander, anyways? Wolverine felt a surge of frustration. What he was seeing on the screen was hard to decipher and he felt a twinge of jealousy for Remy, at least he was getting cliff notes from the pilot, their ghosts could be seen all along even if their conversation was private. It would be so much easier for everyone else if they could be heard. At least it was clear Gambit wasn't agitated, but was going along with what he was being told.

That's all right, Logan was thinking. Whatever. He would be patient. If he didn't find out what he needed to know from the files now, he would have a nice little chat with Bruce later. He was going to find out everything once and for all.

(break)

Zander wasn't his real name and Kimble hated it. There were only five working Siskan holograms here, all of them had been forced to remain male and were given new names. It was hoped this would help them forget who they had been. It may have worked for the others, but the unique and empathic Zander remembered enough that it was slowly killing him.

Remy leaned comfortably against the mirror now and watched the show. He had known Bruce was gay from being there when Justin had died and could see Zander knew it, too. He could tell by their body posture and the way they positioned themselves that these two knew each other quite well and were playing some kind of flirtatious mind game. Remy shook his head with a sigh and hoped this encounter wasn't going to be as graphic as the last. With Kimble, he never knew what to expect. At least he had less fear now, he was hoping that since he wasn't directly inside Young Kimble's head he would be spared the full onslaught of the Siskan's emotions and the duality of what Kimble's body was feeling. For the moment it seemed as though he was now limited to watching, not feeling, and he was quite happy with that.

Bruce's face flushed and he cleared his throat with playful nervousness as Zander approached. "I, uh, have to go to practice," he stammered lamely and stood awkwardly to go, hesitating on purpose.

"So do I," Zander said, deliberately blocking his way. He boldly backed Bruce up against the wall, laying his arms on either side of his head and boxing him in.

Bruce didn't resist, it was part of the game. Zander sniffed at him and grunted, amused. He could see that Bruce had become aroused, it was all there in his shine. Inspired to continue, Zander pressed his body against him and slowly licked his neck, tasting him. Bruce shivered from the caress and sweated with the heat of his own body.

"Wasayachay rah tan a say. Let's finish this game now, Brucie, please!" Zander breathed in a passionate whisper.

"I...I can't!" Bruce gasped, trapped between what he wanted and what he wouldn't do.

Zander kissed him passionately, forcefully. He needed this so badly, how could Bruce not see it?

Bruce returned his kiss with equal vigor, made weak by indecision. Zander thought he felt Bruce's acceptance and laughed, relieved. He needed to feel Bruce's love in the worst way. This was going to make up for all the shit he'd been through the past weeks, this was going to save him. Bruce's shine was so intoxicating this close up, he almost couldn't contain his anticipation of the coming rush.

"This won' takes long," Zander said, licking Bruce's neck once more and breathing him in. He loved the smell of this human, Bruce was one of the few here who made an effort to stay clean.

He began to unbuckle Bruce's belt, but Bruce put his hands over his, stopping him. "I want to but I can't. Not right now," he said, pleading with his eyes.

Zander was instantly furious, a bright spike of fury that even Remy could see. Zander's frustration was more than he could bear. Zander felt the acid anger rise up his throat and swallowed it. "You been lookin' at me, playin' with me fer a while now, Brucie. It's been fun but I ain't inclined to wait no more," he said, a hard edge coming into his voice. Anger was new to him, but was coming more and more easily the longer he was here. Without Sheyman's guidance, Zander was coming unraveled.

"Zander, please! We have to wait!"

Zander ignored him and kissed him again, insistent. He shivered, making his ersatz Clan clothes disappear. He pressed his naked body against his prisoner and grasped Bruce's hands, forcing the man to stroke his naked hips, knowing what effect it would have on this human who already teetered on the fence of desire. Zander burned with a lust so fierce, his promise to Sheyman about not forcing himself on anyone was being shoved aside. He wanted Bruce and wanted him now, the consequences be damned. He was like a vampire and once invited, wasn't going to leave without the prize.

Bruce moaned with passion and gave up as he succumbed to Zander's forceful persuasion. He freely slid his hands around Zander's waist and up the hard muscles of his back. As Zander had anticipated, Bruce was now aroused beyond his ability to control. The feel of Zander's naked skin was too much. Bruce didn't realize it, but some of Zander's fierce desire was backwashing into him from the full contact of the Siskan's body. It was coming off of Zander in unconscious lustful waves, affecting him like a drug and breaking down his resistance.

Zander had no control over this, he wasn't even aware it was happening. All he knew was that if he pressed the issue enough, Bruce was sure to relent and give him what he wanted. It was becoming harder and harder for this receptive human to say no and the Siskan could feel it.

"Ya know ya wants it, Brucie. Ya knows I kin give ya what ya wants, the way ya wants it. Ya knows what I am and what I kin do fer you. I don't see what yer problem is," Zander said, his voice husky in Bruce's ear.

"I'm the problem, asshole."

Zander turned his head to view the new arrival. Justin had walked in and was now standing in the isle, his hands on his hips in a display of barely controlled fury.

Zander was much too naive to be fearful. He looked back at Bruce with that sly grin. "Well, what do ya know 'bout that? Sos ya got a friend? Big fuckin' deal. I gots files fer three."