The water was a deep blue, sunlight glinting off the swells that grew in height before crashing into the base of the cliff and sending a flash of white spray upwards in an impressive display. The room was right at the edge of the cliff, the window angled outward and making it appear that they hung out over empty space, with nothing but air and water to be seen. Lethe found the view disconcerting, actually surprised to find that he missed the forested valley where he'd spent most of his short existence. He'd been a full adult when he'd awoken just eight years ago, his only memories those of the previous version, minus the last few months due to that one's sudden and unexpected demise.
Only those memories since that date were his, though he could remember being a child growing up in Germany just after the war. The careful training he and the others had been given, finding Delphi and knowing she was his - their kind bonding early and for life, yet another anomalous quirk in their genetics. That he also knew he was the third to be called Lethe, that the previous ones had implanted their memories into copies in order to preserve the line, that he too one day would be replaced by another with his face and memories, was just one of the many realities he had to deal with.
He sometimes wondered if it was easier for Delphi; being the original of her line. The value of her gift granting her a level of protection that many others, especially those with more martial gifts, did not receive. It was rare they were permitted to leave their Der Harz compound, never mind travel so freely. Being out in the field with only two bodyguards was unheard of before Sharon. Of course, that might also be due to Delphi's efforts; she could be very persuasive when she wished.
Perhaps the difference was no more than her memories were hers. She had experienced every event, every trauma, every success personally, whereas he had not. He knew the memories originated with another. It was a very odd dichotomy being a clone. You were exactly the same person, right down to the DNA, yet different. Even with the near perfect memory transfer, differences accumulated, making each succeeding copy an individual and different from those that came before.
If Delphi made note of the variation she had never mentioned it to him - any of him.
"Lethe?"
He turned about to find Delphi standing just behind him. He'd been so lost in thought he'd not heard her approach or noticed her reflection in the glass. "Are you ready to continue?"
Eleanor Stark had been a most unwilling participant and difficult for Delphi to read. It had left her with a headache and the need to clear her mind, and all for naught. Eleanor's future had been as muddied as all others in Chrysalis recently. Not very surprising given her husband was the cause of the tangled threads.
"Nicht schon." She closed the distance between them, only inches separating them as she gazed into his eyes. "You miss Schmetterlinghorst," she stated, not needing to read him to know the truth.
"Ja. I understand the need and your wish to gain us more freedom, but it is my home."
She smiled sadly. "I know, but it is also our prison." She shook her head. "I have spent far too much of my life there already."
And that was the real difference. He may remember spending decades unable to leave the compound, but he had spent a fair portion of his existence free to come and go as whims or needs dictated. He had known nothing but the open-mindedness of Sharon. Delphi had lived through far darker days, no few of which when she wondered if she would see another dawn.
Lethe tipped his head down and spoke softly. "They still fear us. We must bide our time."
She sighed heavily. "Why is it you who sees clear on this matter and not I?" she asked facetiously as she backed away from him.
She had waited many years for a time when she... when they might make their move and was often frustrated at the pace at which things progressed, but she knew patience was required if they were ever to hope to achieve success.
"Because I have you to guide me," he finally said. Her own future she could not see, but his... They most certainly used her talents to their advantage.
She laughed; the turmoil within her easing at last. "Now, I am ready." Then to Cooper, who never strayed far from her side, she said, "Bring the boy."
Cooper opened the door and Eleanor entered carrying her son. 'Brandon,' Lethe recalled, looking the child over. He was young, 18 months, or so in age, walking, speaking in simple sentences, but otherwise unremarkable. The boy had light brown hair and blue eyes, which were fairly typical for members of Chrysalis. Thanks to the breeding program and limited gene pool, homogenesis was inevitable and already beginning to show.
Delphi sat in one of the chairs. "Set him down."
Eleanor held the boy tighter, her fear on display for all to see. "Why?"
"Do it." Lethe ordered, his voice flat and cold.
She kissed the top of the child's head "Mama's right here," then set him on the floor.
He wobbled for an instant then steadied. "Mama, pway?" He gazed up and her expectantly, clearly unsure what was going on.
"Brandon." Delphi's voice caressed his name, curling about it and embracing it with warmth.
Brandon's eyes went wide as his attention shifted to Delphi. He looked at her quizzically. "Pway?"
She smiled broadly. "If you like." She held out a hand and he toddled over to her, completely unafraid. He grasped her hand in his tiny fist and proceeded to climb up onto her lap.
"Delphi where is he at age five?" Lethe promoted, knowing the child's attention span would be short.
She stiffened, her gift grabbing her and squeezing tightly. "I... I... I see." The relief in her voice was evident, especially after all the walls she had come up against prior to this.
"What do you see?" Not that it was necessary for her to speak of it aloud, but he was curious and wanted to hear of it while it was being experienced.
"Only two paths are clear. One leads to despair, the other to hope." Delphi blinked, shaking her head slightly to clear it. "Eleanor, come here."
Eleanor hesitated for an instant, then strode boldly over to stand before Delphi, who released Brandon to her.
"Sit, please, I must read you together." Delphi vacated the chair and gestured for the pair to take her place. "Lethe, target near for this. Weeks, months at most."
"Yes, Del." Sometimes, not often, but sometimes she could sense the when that was needed.
Reaching out, Delphi rested her a hand lightly on each of their heads, the contact mandatory for this exercise. Lethe only hoped it wouldn't be one of futility.
"What of the boy in two months?" Lethe queried, hoping even that was not too distant to be unseeable.
Delphi shuddered. "Hunted. These two."
"By who?" Eleanor asked, affronted.
"By one who loves as a mother does," Delphi responded, seeing nothing of the room about her, the vision in her mind absorbing her full attention.
"Monroe," Eleanor muttered.
"The incubator." Lethe was careful not to phrase it as a question and send Delphi down other paths.
"Yes," Eleanor confirmed. "She has proven to be far more tenacious then we expected."
"So it would seem." Lethe felt disgusted. All this, the possible exposure and downfall of Chrysalis, over a child? He was suddenly tempted to eliminate the problem by the simplest method available: kill the boy. With him gone, there would be no conflict. "Delphi, what if the child were to be removed from the picture?"
She stiffened, catching onto his true meaning with ease. "Vengeance. Bloody and long. The price paid by all who call themselves Chrysalis."
Eleanor gasped and shot Lethe a murderous look, making it clear it would be over her dead body that he touched her child. What she failed to understand is that should it become necessary he would kill her without a second thought, with his bare hands if that was the only means available to him.
"We'll go back into hiding. They won't find us." She hugged her son; foolishly believing it could be that simple a solution.
"Who are 'they'?" Lethe questioned, finding the word choice intriguing.
It was Delphi who responded. "Others. Men, a woman. They are... family to the... to Monroe. They will carry on where she cannot." She tipped her head, appearing confused. "One... he is not always there..." She yanked her hands from the pair and stumbled backwards. "Have you no idea what you've done?" she cried out softly, anger and shock warring for dominance on her features.
"Take them out of here," Lethe ordered, concern for Delphi foremost on his mind.
Eleanor didn't wait for Cooper's assistance and rushed from the room, the child held fast in her arms. Once alone, Lethe went to Delphi, who stood there with hands balled into fists and visibly fuming.
"Del, calm down," he said in his most soothing voice. It was rare that she lost her temper, but it was clear she was close to doing so.
"Calm? Why should I be calm?" She stalked away from him, pacing about like a caged animal.
"Del..."
"No. Not when it is... them who are supposed to inherit the earth. Them who are supposed to be perfection incarnate. Once again in the grace of god and immortal; awaiting entry back into the garden." She spun around, a hand flinging out at the door Eleanor had left by. "They are far from worthy."
"And we are?" Lethe questioned, wanting to know where she was going with this sudden insight she seemed to have gained.
She froze. "What?"
He placed his hands behind his back, leaving himself exposed and vulnerable, and gazed past Delphi at the vastness of the ocean outside. "Do you think it we who should rule when that day arrives?"
She stood there silent for several minutes and he wondered if he had unintentionally triggered her gift.
"Now that is a very interesting question." She rubbed her face with a hand, appearing tired. "Another day for this, I think. The current situation is far too precarious for such diversions."
"You need to read this Alex Monroe." Lethe could see this for himself. The cusp revolved around her and the child. The solution had not been found with the boy or his parents, so it must, therefore, lie with her. If there was a viable resolution. Every moment wasted risked the timeline becoming permanent.
"Yes, there is no choice now." Delphi walked over to the window, placing her hands on the glass and leaning out over the void. "We must find her."
"We will."
-----
A guy by the name of Sam Crothers said, "Try as hard as we may for perfection, the net result of our labors is an amazing variety of imperfectness. We are surprised at our own versatility in being able to fail in so many different ways."
Of course, there is a very fine line between success and failure. One person's mistake could be another's ultimate success. Almost every discovery made by man going back to fire can be viewed this way. In other words: perfection is in the eye of the beholder.
-----
"Robert, you're bleeding on the floor," Eberts observed queasily.
It was true, too; the handkerchief that had been hastily wrapped about the cut on Bobby's forearm was soaked through. The jack had slipped when they'd been changing the tire and the van had damn near come down on his head. And it would have if Darien hadn't jerked Bobby out of the way. He'd ended up getting nailed by the edge of the wheel well and sliced a good one.
"Sorry, Eberts," he sneered, "just figured getting these pics developed was a higher priority than a patch job."
"They're digital, Robert, you don't 'develop' them. I'll upload them and have them available in a few minutes. Until then..." Eberts looked pointedly at the door.
"Yeah. I'll drag him down to the Keep. Let Claire kiss it and make it all better," Darien teased, grabbing his partner by the elbow and ushering him out of the room. Eberts might not have his own office, but he presided over the main computer room like a king on his throne. It was oddly reminiscent of the 'Fish in his office.
"Fawkes, it ain't that bad," Bobby insisted, trying to wiggle out of the taller man's grip.
"Hobbes, it is that bad. 'Sides it's Claire's job to put us back together when we fall apart. You don't want her out of a job, now do you?" Darien got him in the stairwell and moving downward.
"It's not that. I wouldn't mind spending some time playing doctor with the Keep," Bobby grinned, but it faded quickly. "We got to get back out there."
"Ten minutes ain't gonna make no difference." When Bobby opened his mouth, Darien ran over his incipient protest. "'Specially when we don't know where to start."
"Shit," Bobby muttered. "I blew this one, big time."
"How do you figure?" Darien asked, as he shoved open the doors and made his way down the maze of halls towards the Keep.
"He made me, pal. Which means I screwed up. He's gonna kill her and..."
"Throwing in the towel a bit early there, ain't you?" They turned the final corner, Darien pulling out his mag key just as the lab door slid open. "Wow. Looks like Ebes upgraded the system."
"More like he called down and informed me that you'd be arriving," Claire said as she stepped into view.
"Stool pigeon," Bobby groused, which made Darien chuckle.
"Try concerned friend," Claire corrected as she ushered Bobby inside and to the exam chair.
Bobby grunted, though in response to Claire's comment or her probing of the injury, Darien couldn't be certain.
"How did this happen?" She left Bobby's side to get antiseptic, gauze, and other items from their proper places in the lab and set them on a mayo tray.
"Zigged when I shoulda zagged while changing a tire," Bobby answered.
Darien snorted. That was definitely the short version of the story, but who was he to worry Claire with the whole harrowing tale? "Golda fell on him."
"What?" Claire held Bobby's arm and flushed the cut with sterile water.
"Did not. I'd only have five fingers then." He raised both hands and wiggled the appendages vigorously. "See? All 10 right where they belong."
Claire tugged his injured arm back down and traded the water for something less innocuous.
Bobby yelped and tired to pull away. "Claire."
"Oh, stop being a baby," Claire admonished, continuing her ministrations unabated and ignoring Bobby's continued winces and whines. "How did you manage to get a flat?"
"Oh, we had help." Darien parked himself on one of the chairs and began rolling back and forth across the floor. "One'a Stark's goons shot it out."
"How very considerate of him." Claire eyed her cleaning job carefully. The cut was about three inches long and ran at an oblique angle from wrist to mid-forearm. It was deep enough that Darien had wanted to call 911 to get it taken care of pronto, but Bobby had to be his stubborn self and insisted that it could wait till they got back to the Agency and Claire's tender, loving care. "Any luck finding Alex?"
Bobby shook his head. "Not really. We think Stark has her."
"Which is why we were tailing him," Darien stated, tipping the chair back on two wheels.
"And why he shot out your tire." She nodded slowly, as if not quite satisfied with the answer. "Bobby, it doesn't quite need to be sewn up, so I'll leave it to you: butterfly bandages or stitches. I fancy I have quite a neat cross stitch."
"Just the butterflies, Keep. Don't need my hand numb for the next coupla hours." Bobby glanced over at Darien who was now swinging from side to side while having overtaken the chair in an undignified cat-like sprawl. "Speaking of which... Fawkes, tell the Keep about our new friends."
"New friends?" Claire asked as she gathered the necessary bits to finish patching up Bobby.
"Yeah, new faces. Some Chrysalis X-factor, or something. They and Stark did not get along at all." Darien sat up a bit straighter and swung about to one of the computers. "Ebes was gonna upload the pics to the system. I can access the main computer from here, right?"
"From that computer, yes." The sound of latex gloves being snapped off and tossed on the tray was heard. "All done, Bobby. Be careful or I will have to put stitches in, understand?"
"Yes, mom," Bobby said cheerfully. "Do I get a lollipop too?"
"Did you just transform into Darien?" she questioned with a laugh.
"Only if it works," Bobby answered with a grin.
Darien glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Claire buss Bobby a good one. 'Kiss him and make him all better, that's for sure.' Darien muddled his way through the files on the main server and stumbled across the pics. He chose an image at random, as they still had the camera-generated names attached, and opened it. It turned out to be the close-up of one of the bodyguards' pins. It did have wings, and the double-helix itself was a different color; more red than gold.
"Butterfly wings?" Claire asked as she appeared over his shoulder.
He managed not to jump in surprise... just... damn. The woman could move quietly when she wanted. "Yeah. A couple of 'em had butterfly tattoos." He went back to the main file list and chose one he was pretty certain was of the chick. He was right on the money and got the headshot, which clearly showed the tattoo high on her cheekbone.
"These are amazingly sharp, Darien. I didn't realize you were a photographer." Claire leaned in closer and Darien slid the chair to the side, allowing her control of the computer. He only minded a little, as she was obviously on a mission.
"I just aim and push the button. The camera makes 'em pretty," Darien explained.
"Do you have any full body shots of her?" Claire queried, clicking on the finder window for the images.
"Yep. Took those first, along with Stark and his mook," Darien told her as he wondered what she was on about this time.
"What's up, Keepy?" Bobby joined the party, swiping the other chair and sitting down on the opposite side of her.
"I'm not sure, really," she muttered, her focus still on the pictures. She kept opening new ones, sorting them into different piles.
"Stark didn't like 'em much, that's for sure. Said their kind should have been killed." Darien shifted to watch her, brow knit in concentration.
"Exterminated," Bobby corrected. "Also said something about them going back to their camp and staying there. Why does it matter?"
"I don't... It's odd though, the ones with the tattoos are both blond and blue-eyed, and they look markedly different from the others," she pointed out, as she started a separate program.
"Blond, blue-eyed, maybe they're supermen?" Darien snickered.
"That's it," Claire crowed.
"Keep, I was joking." Darien got up from the chair and rolled it behind her. "Sit."
Claire did so, trusting that the chair would be there, since she was completely absorbed in whatever it was she was doing. The new program had one of the pics - the guy this time - on the right hand side, what appeared to be some kind of scaling system about the box and a variety of 'tools' on the left hand side. Claire began marking points on the image and in keying data that meant less than nothing to Darien.
"Fawkes, Stark did say something about a war and experiments," Bobby reminded, hovering over the Keep's shoulder while she worked.
"Hobbes, Hitler was a whack job with delusions of grandeur." Darien leaned back against the table, picked up a faceted crystal paperweight, and fiddled with it.
"Darien, a lot of experimentation on humans was done during World War II. Mengele and his study of the connection between twins is perhaps the best known." Claire tipped her head up to meet his eyes. "Why couldn't Chrysalis have been doing something similar?"
The idea was not as farfetched as it might seem. Experimentation on humans for the sake of the so-called greater good was something Darien was intimately familiar with. And he knew of several others - Charlie Fogarty, the Catevari; Allianora, the mermaid; Simon Cole, the first invisible man. He also knew the Chinese Government had been trying to create their own invisible man. The chances that these were the only experiments of their kind going on were slim to none.
That much he could buy. But those two being WWII experiments just didn't jibe. "Keep," Darien waved at the picture on the screen, "they're too young. They'd be in their sixties if they were born anywhere near World War II."
"We can't be sure of that. Look at Stark." Bobby straightened, a frown creasing his features.
"What about him?" Darien asked, wondering what strange path Bobby's mind was wandering down this time.
"He's looking pretty good for a man his age," Bobby said, which really didn't explain a damn thing.
"And? You gonna date him or something?" Darien snarked. "My partner carrying a torch for ol' Starky. That's just plain wrong."
Claire snickered softly, but continued with her work.
"Cute, smartass, real cute. My point, and I do have one, is that Stark could be 100 years old for all we know. Our couple there might look young, but they could be lots older." Bobby smiled in grim triumph, making the crazy idea suddenly plausible. "They're Chrysalis, partner."
"He's right, Darien. We have no way of knowing when they discovered their fountain of youth," Claire said, distractedly.
"He did say the experiments only confirmed what they knew." Darien set the paperweight down, beginning to feel the stirrings of concern about these new members of Chrysalis. "But that doesn't explain the butterflies."
"Well, if they are 'supermen,' and, by the way, they fit the profile based on this," she gestured towards the data the program had compiled. "Both have a near perfect height to weight ratio - approximated, of course - and a decidedly European facial structure."
"Plus the whole blond, blue-eyed thing." Bobby scratched absently at the medical tape holding the gauze in place.
"Exactly. The butterflies could just be their way of marking their success," Claire suggested. "It is what comes out of a chrysalis, after all."
"So, they're perfect. The ultimate goal with all the breeding programs, the camps and everything?" Bobby questioned, sounding uncertain about the conclusion. "That don't make no sense with what Stark was saying."
Claire pondered for a moment. "Perhaps... perhaps they were the goal at the time. Going with the 'supermen' theme that is. Hitler was the one who decreed the master race was blond, blue-eyed, and Caucasian. Chrysalis, at the time, may have just been trying to fit in, working directly under the Nazi regime, perhaps even controlling it to a degree. By today's standards they might have a success, but not quite what they expected." She rotated the chair about to face them. "It is even possible that the knowledge that created them was lost in the post-war reconstruction. We have no way of knowing."
Darien nodded in agreement. It made a scary kind of sense, but sense. He wouldn't put anything past Chrysalis. "Okay, I get that, but blond hair and blue eyes are not perfection. Present company excluded." He nodded at Claire, who gave him a broad smile. "So what makes them so special?"
Claire had no answer for that.