Title: Not Just A Number
Author: Kristin (aka KiaraAlexisKlaymaker)
Disclaimer: Dark Angel is not mine, it belongs to Fox and Cameron and Eglee.
Rating: PG-13 (for now) due to some language and more mature themes.
Summary: Slightly – okay quite a bit – AU
A/N: This is my first fanfic of any type so don't blame me too much if it sucks. All original characters (Taz, Ashton, Anika, the Lost Ones, most of Unit 8, etc.) are mine but if you like them too I won't blame you, . Possible series?
Not Just A NumberMy name is Max. That's who I am. X5-332960073452 is what I am, the soldier, and the child that I was raised to become, but I am Max. My brothers and sisters, my pack, my family named me. I still remember it as if it were yesterday, and with the photogenic memory created into all of us X-5's; I suppose that's just what it's like.
We were getting back from our busy day of training, and it had been unusually harsh, even for Colonel Lydecker's twisted sense of acceptably fair training. I didn't realize it then, only later, that my unit had been special, even back then. We were the experimental group that Lydecker had personally taken charge of, which was one of the reasons we had been so isolated from the other units, so dependant on each other. I don't know why it came as a shock then to the trainers and watchers that we had developed the way we had.
They had us run the gamut of everything we had learned in my six years of life: first there was taps played at four in the morning, followed by breakfast, and then early morning drill that lasted for a good two hours. Then we went into the classes: Strategy and Logistics, Siege Tactics: Survival and Execution Of, Weapons Recognition, Military and American History, Naval, Aerial, and Landfall Techniques, and then the usual Manticore propaganda.
DUTY.
MISSION.
HONOR.
OBJECTIVE.
And the classes didn't even last until lunch, which meant the remaining four hours of the day was spent in various rigorous physical activity: three different martial arts classes teaching everything from tae kwan do to ninjitsu to aikido to gymnastics, boxing, and kickboxing.
Lunch was a brief thirty-minute affair, not really one for lingering, though it was Manticore and linger just wasn't in their vocabulary. My unit had come in towards the end of the usual rush hour, the same as always. We never realized that the other units never did in a week as we did in a day, never realized that what we took for granted as daily rigmarole was actually gruesome work to the other units. We just accepted whatever Lydecker dished out and we never complained like the good little soldiers we were.
We ate our meal quick enough, but lingered to the full thirty-minute allowance. We may have had special training, but we were smart enough to know how to conserve, and we eked out as much downtime as possible before re-grouping for the next round of torture our Colonel threw at us.
More classes followed. Stealth and Infiltration, Advanced Telecommunications and Satellite Uplink, Decryption of Advanced Militarial and Civilian Encryptions (basically how to hack a government level computer database, oh so fun), and my absolute favorite, Common Verbal Usage. There were also classes on 'real-world' behaviorisms that we would have to assume once we were cleared for solo missions. There were also the basic and intermediate Field Med and battle classes, stuff any soldier would learn at some point. We just learned it sooner.
Then came the really grueling stuff. That day we were learning about the various torture techniques as at some point we may be captured by the enemy and put under 'strenuous interrogation' a.k.a torture. There were five: hot, cold, blunt, invasive, and psychological. Some of these are very self-explanatory, as a matter of fact; all of them are if you think about it. Such as the hot and cold – sensory deprivation or overload, depending on the torturer's preference and the torturee's point of view.
Blunt is the usual means of torture, the forceful, I'm-going-to-beat-you-until-you-tell-me-what-I-want-to-know-or-you-die technique, usually accompanied by broken bones, ruptured organs, and the possibility of fatality by bleeding out or internal injuries. Invasive is, well, you know. A lot of knives and needles and pincers and other…. things are utilized in this torture, and goes hand in hand with the psychological aspect.
Psychological is one of the torture techniques in a class and terror all to itself. This one is the trickiest as it combines many of the previously mentioned counterparts and the added blow of your mind being messed with, a double whammy if there ever was one. What makes this one the worst is that so much of the mind and psyche are so unknown, and there is no limit the damage that could be wrought, long term damage that a scar or a bruise or a burn that fades with time could never compete with.
Colonel Lydecker taught us various ways of resisting torture, which of course, meant that to pass the tests we had to actually undergo torture ourselves. Believe you me; Lydecker's little trick of selectively forgetting certain bits of information and memory has come in handy on this one. Memories of my siblings being beat and poked and prodded and ripped open and screaming and helpless are not ones that I cherish or choose to cling on to.
We were a quieter bunch than usual that entered the mess hall that night, after the torture session, and the Tank, and some of the less debilitating exercises such as Escape and Evade or Seek and Destroy, and a few more hours of martial arts. I noticed that night that my siblings were more withdrawn and distrustful of the guards. We were the last unit to be served, and many of the previous units were already finishing up and leaving for their barracks before Lights Out.
The torture session seemed to have drained much of the spark out of us, it had for me I know for a fact, and I could see that for my siblings some of them felt the same. We never spoke or made any overtly noticeable signs to talk while we were marched to our barracks in Section 2, but we'd developed our primal and primitive abilities that we could communicate with a body language that put any of the hand signals Manticore taught us to shame.
I could sense with that primitive part that had been as much a part of me that the animal spliced into my DNA was that my family was hurting. We listened to the guards talk, as we had to wait while several platoons of X-5s went on night maneuvers. There were quite a few, and as we had been later getting in and out of the mess hall, we were forced to wait until they passed to get to the showers.
The guards were talking in quiet voices, ignorant or oblivious to the fact that with our souped up senses we could hear their whispers as clearly as if they'd been talking normal. My unit and me listened with avid attention as they called each other by unfamiliar titles such as "Mike" and "Mitchell". We knew them as Lieutenants Jacob and Abrams. Our confusion was soon put to ease as the guards themselves explained it to each other.
"This is just creepy, Mike," Lt. Abrams conferred with his partner, who kept one eye on us, and the other on the passing wave of Xs.
"I know, Mitchell, I know. I mean they have freaking barcodes on the back of their heads and 'designations' instead of names. Can you imagine, them in the real world? They walk up to some chick or dude in the bar and say 'My designation's X5-123, yours?'" Lt. Michael "Mike" Jacob imitated a small child's falsetto.
Mitchell Abrams gave a snort of amusement, eyeing their small charges of Unit 2. All of us had our eyes straight front as was proper, with that blank Manticore mask to hide our true feelings, that showed that we weren't paying any attention to what they were saying or that we even knew what they were talking about.
"Yeah. The poor sops, they don't even know the power of a name. Just one more thing that sets them apart from us. Keeps us from getting attached, after all, you don't get to know something that's a number right? It's not real, not personal, not alive or human if it don't have a name, ya get me?" Abrams went on, musing.
"Hush, Mike. They might here you, or Lydecker," and there was a healthy fear in Jacob's voice about their erstwhile commanding officer. He might call these freaks his 'kids' but like any so-called parent, he had very definite views on how his kids were raised and what they were subjected and exposed to.
"Relax, Mitch, it's not like they know what we're talking about. All they know is hut one two three, and all that other military crap. These are soldiers, and they aint even human, it's not like they're real."
"They look pretty real to me," Mitch commented as yet another unit of X5s came in formation down the halls. The line of different units seemed endless. Me and mine just waited patiently, it's not like we had much choice in the matter, anyway.
"Right. And real kids are supposed to sit like these are," he jerked a thumb to indicate my family, "without saying a word or moving or nary an indication that they are alive or normal. Ri-ght," he drawled the last word out, disbelief infecting his word and tone.
The proverbial hackles rose throughout my unit and I could feel myself bristling with the insult to my pack, my family, my unit. Not like the dumb-butts could tell of course. We'd learned early on to never show our true feelings to anyone, though in the privacy of the barracks or the High Place we allowed ourselves the luxury of what the Colonel would call 'phony sentimentality' and emotion. But the insult was there, and we knew it, knew what they were talking about as well.
As one we seemed to collectively draw closer, seeking the comfort and reassurance of the pack, even if it was only a few centimeters in actuality to our mind it was as if we were on top of each other. Very faintly I could hear my brother next to me growl low enough in his throat that the ordinaries couldn't hear him. I growled back softly in answer, a soothing type of growl. He fell silent, but as hyperaware of my pack as we were, I could almost feel the vibrations of his now silent growls come off him in waves. Softly we heard the growl of our alpha and commanding officer growl back and we fell silent under his command.
"Did you know Renee is gonna have a baby?" Mike continued, lightly tapping his M16 with his fingers as they continued to wait. It was an idle gesture, one that showed his familiarity and ease. Mitch shook his head.
"No, I didn't. I don't usually talk to the nurses on staff, especially the married ones. She know if it's a boy or girl?"
"They don't know yet, it's too soon and they had it the natural way 'stead of unnatural like the little freaks here. They will in a few weeks though. She's bought like five huge books of baby names, geeze. If I get a kid, a boy's going to be 'Bob' and a girl's gonna be Susan. Real plain and simple and all-American."
The units of X-5s going on night maneuvers finally passed us, and Mike and Mitchell prodded us forward with gruff commands. My brother was now back to silently vibrating his displeasure at the two guards, and I surreptitiously brushed up against him to help calm him down. We were marched back to our barracks and the two lieutenants dropped us off so we could hit the showers at the back of our squadbay, a large 2 emblazoned on the walls as we entered Section 2 where our Unit was housed.
On any other given day with so much free time between the showers and Lights Out there would be soft laughter and jokes and teasing between all of us, but the days events and the overheard conversation had made for a very somber group as we silently stripped and entered the showers. The first blast of the water was freezing cold, and I shivered as I ducked under the spray, watching my skin bump with the chill until the water warmed up. This was my favorite part of the day, when the water was warm and toasty and massaged away all the aches and pains of our training.
I felt a hand upon my shoulder and I saw one of my 'brothers', his hazel eyes sparking with the mirth and lightness that was missing from the group tonight. Just seeing X5-493s lips quirk upwards in a smile at a joke only he knew was enough to drag me out of my funk and unbidden, a giggle came through. I could feel the eyes of my pack on me, and soon, it caught on and we were all laughing and giggling softly as the tension of the day was released in a fit of mirth and the spray of warm water.
I relaxed into 493s chest and the familiar scent of him that underneath all the dirt and sweat and face paint that could only be described as uniquely him. He helped me soap up, giving me a scrubbing that I knew had to have erased every speck of dust off of me. He then turned me around to rinse off, taking the time to sniff just above my shoulder blade, and I gave him a playful slap. I returned the favor, giving him a just as thorough scrubbing. We giggled softly as we groomed each other, noticing that the others were helping clean each other as well. Must have been our animal DNA coming through again, for no one minded the help at all.
We all finished the showers before they automatically shut off and were already dried off and dressed by the time the last showerhead fell silent and dripping. Soft giggles were now interspersed in the silence as they dressed in the flimsy hospital gown style clothes that made up their sleepwear. Tonight was one of those rare nights we didn't have any night and evening maneuvers, which meant that tomorrow would be another long day like today, but that was alright. Tonight, if we were quiet enough, the guards wouldn't bother us and we could have almost an hour and a half to ourselves.
Our alpha and commanding officer, X5-599, stood up at the head of the squadbay and as one we answered the unspoken command and gathered around him. We never made much noise unless we were at the High Place; the only place in all of Manticore that we were sure wasn't bugged in some way. Alpha made hand signals to tell us what he wanted, and we all paid attention.
Don't pay attention to what the guards said he was motioning to us, and we were all touching the other in some way. X5-493 was on my left side, and my 'sister' X5-210 was on my right, the three of us sandwiched together. Behind me my genetic brother, X5-471 touched his knees to my back while X5-701 had plastered herself to his right side, her tiny blond body seeming to have molded itself to the contours of his body.
Our youngest sibling, X5-392, was only two years younger than I, but yet the pack didn't really treat him like the baby, they seemed to have reserved that spot for me. Perhaps it was because I was the youngest female. I don't get such a sexist attitude, but regardless, it was almost refreshing to see Three Nine Two show that he was the baby by snuggling into the eldest females, X5-656 and X5-734.
Both were beautiful Asian beauties, but where Seven Three Four was the traditional Oriental look, Six Five Six had a dark complexion that proved she had something a little more exotic in her cocktail, perhaps something more native to south and Central America. Six Five Six definitely was the 'mommy' of the group; some of the guards had jokingly called her the den mother. She was the quickest with a word of comfort when one of us was hurt, and she'd also hold us when we had nightmares.
They do not know that we know and understand everything they say. They are ignorant, and we know we are real to each other, and that is all that matter Five Nine Nine was continuing, but I found myself frowning and it was a look echoed on other faces. Yes, we knew that we were real to each other, many of us had been aware of each other since even before we had coherent thought, but it was also something to know that you were just a number.
Not just a number I growled as I signed irritably. X5-732 gave a snort of amusement; her dark Hispanic-Mediterranean features an intriguing blend that had the guards and other staff murmuring that she'd be a real heartbreaker when she grew up. She was the most sensual out of all of us, seemingly to come into her own as she had developed quicker than the rest of us females. She was eight years old and already she was as the nurse called it, 'budding'. Six Five Six and Seven Three Four had budded slightly already, but nowhere near as much as Seven Three Two.
Five Nine Nine frowned at me for interrupting his spiel, and I had to fight to not roll my eyes. Really, sometimes he could take things too seriously. I just gave him a perfectly innocently sincere face, repeating my hand signal to let him know I was serious and didn't mean to cut him off, but I wasn't going to apologize. X5-353 put a calming hand on his shoulder and Five Nine Nine nodded to show that he understood.
X5-417, another of my 'brothers', didn't have my inhibitions and rolled his eyes, giving me a smile. X5-205 gave him a nudge, but his mouth was twitching in suppressed amusement. When 353,417,205, and 493 brainstormed together, they were the scariest team Manticore ever created. Our pack lived in apprehension for the next of the foursome's practical jokes, and we had to endure many hours of punishment detail when the trainers discovered one of the plans. We sort of became resigned to whatever the quad came up with.
Luckily for them – and coincidently, us – they had become better at the concealment and execution of said plans. 205 had grinned and told me one time that they saw it as an extended lesson in strategy and implementation of extensively thought out planning. 493 was definitely the creative genius, his imagination had come up with some of the most memorable of the…plans. 205 was more laid back, but you wouldn't want to get on his bad side because his plans usually were very unpleasant for his chosen target.
417 was the enthusiastic one, he didn't really care if he was follower or leader, his versatility gave a certain stability that the others lacked, especially 353. 353 was the wild card, you never knew what he would come up with, he had perfected a blend of the other three's styles and the trainers lived in perpetual fear of his next trick. He had a twisted sense of humor, so a lot of his pranks were dark and malicious, especially for the staff. With all four of them putting their minds on a task, they were a force to be reckoned with.
She's right X5-798 signaled, and we all looked at her in surprise. The African American beauty had enough of something lighter that she was a beautiful coffee and cream color. Seven Nine Eight was one of the most by the book among us; she rarely did anything outside of the box. The fact that she just wasn't going to blindly accept being just a number was something of a breakthrough.
We are more than just numbers she continued, and one by one we found ourselves agreeing with each other.
We are real to each other. Why not make ourselves real in a way that the humans are? Seven Three Four asked us all.
Like what? 599 inquired, open to the ideas of his unit like any good commander.
NAMES!
What? 599 questioned me. Beside me, 493 stirred and answered for me, his thoughts as usual eerily paralleling mine.
Names he replied, his hazel eyes taking on the radiant glint that was so full of life, especially when he came up with a new idea.
Lieutenants Abrams and Jacob have names instead of numbers or their rank; even Colonel Lydecker has a name. You heard them; names are powerful and make them real. We need names
For once, no one could argue his logic, not even 599 or 798 who usually argued against 493s ideas. I could see that most of my pack liked the idea of having names instead of numbers, of finally being real instead of toy soldiers.
I have an idea 353 grinned as he got our attention, and slowly, we all smiled as the Quad Squad let us in on their latest mission.
