The Game 52
Edited by Karen Leigh
Marita's command to shut down the lab doors and grant access only to Wraith or herself drew a faint smile to Phoenix's face. The last thing he wanted was for a bunch of scientists and security guards to coming boiling into this room. If they saw what Phoenix had just done to the system they'd be even more dangerous than whoever was raiding Innobotics from the outside.
He wasn't designed to be a team player, but Phoenix knew there were times when being held within a partnership of some kind was the best and safest way. Marita's soft lips felt wonderful and she was a startling beauty. It wouldn't be a hardship to linger in her company.
Eyes, just slightly too large for his face, blinked and lowered to the floor. "I don't want to interfere between the two of you... you and Wraith... but yes, I'd like that. I'd like to be part of something more." Phoenix leaned into the delicate touch.
As Marita's kisses reached his collarbone, Phoenix's hands scrabbled behind himself. In a attempt to clear some space on the desk they were leaning against, first the keyboard went skittering off the surface to dangle by wires, and then the dedicated hard-drive to this particular unit was tipped over and pushed to the floor with a electronic crash.
"Careful," Marita laughed huskily against his throat. "Don't destroy the place."
Phoenix settled into the now empty space and drew Marita closer so she was standing between his legs. Sitting down had shifted his height enough that nuzzling between her breasts and up the elegant line of her throat was easy.
Marita wrapped her arms around him, holding him to her. She nipped at his ear. But she needed... she needed him on top, dominating her. She needed to feel his power... submit to him. Have him take her...
"Phoenix," she moaned. "Take me." She turned, backing into the corner of the desk, hooking a leg to pull him in as she settled herself, dragging Phoenix on top of her.
CRASH! There went the tape backup...
"This means so much to me. You have no idea." Phoenix whispered the words against pale skin. His arms wrapped around Marita and stroked up her spine while one of his legs hooked her to pull her even closer.
"Tell me," Marita husked. "Why -- why does it mean so much?" She arched her body into his, undoing the top buttons on her blouse. "Oh, Phoenix... my baby, my love... are you sure... I'm what you want?"
"You are..." Phoenix smiled against the underside of her chin "...perfect." His hand smoothed up one side of Marita's face, fingers parting to thread into silken hair.
As far as the computers were concerned Marita 'was' Innobotics right now. All the security troops had received the change of command and so had every one of the science, medical, and office staff members. The only dispute would come from the senior ring and their security clearances had all been revoked. Most of them would be placed under arrest as soon as time allowed, if they hadn't already been confined by their own staff. Dr. Sawyer had created Phoenix to survive and prosper against all odds. For the moment... Marita and Wraith were supreme so he would make himself invaluable to them... for the moment.
Marita was folding against him, giving way, so Phoenix became more aggressive. His kisses were bestowed with an open mouth so his teeth could threaten but not break soft, pale skin. His fingers curved in a predatory fashion. Marita was pushed backward, flat to the desktop, while her head dangled over the far side. A few swift motions had the clothing on both of them either pushed out of the way or torn open. The way Marita gasped and shuddered at each abrupt movement told Phoenix what the woman wanted.
Some of the finest Consortium whores had unknowingly contributed to Phoenix's programming and exterior DNA creation. It was no surprise Marita was one of them. If this woman in his arms wanted to be overpowered, he was more than up to the task despite his apparent age and seeming inexperience.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Hobbes stopped beside Wraith at a doorway wondering if this was the lab. He hoped so; he was worried about what was going on around them... he hoped all hell wasn't breaking loose.
"Some of the alarms are because of an external attack. Some are internal." Wraith keyed open the door before them revealing a stairway. Grabbing an up-link, Wraith demanded information from the Mac 27 he had assigned to Marita. The connection was faulty, unstable, as if something were attempting to block it.
A different line of approach revealed that a static blanket had been activated over the Innobotics compound. It was concentrated in the frequencies that Mac 27s used to communicate with each other. The blockage made it difficult to get information from Marita's bodyguard other than a location and assurance that it was functioning.
"Some of the Innobotics personnel must have panicked. Security walls are dropping all over the compound. I can raise them as we encounter each one. It will only delay us slightly. Come." Wraith caught at Tom's arm and drew him into the narrow stairwell. "There is a weapons cache in the wall two floors down."
The door shut and latched behind them with a loud thunk. "This stairway is for senior staff only. We should be safe until we can completely arm ourselves."
Hobbes looked down the stairs. "Lead the way then." He said and waited for Wraith to move. "You know... it could be Mac units coming here to set others like themselves free, free of Innobotics control over them. Is that such a bad thing to let them do?"
"Maybe if we just talk to them..." he was cut short by the look on Wraith's face. "It was just a thought," he said softly not really willing to upset this man who was protecting him and willing to be his partner once again. He needed Wraith at his side... in more ways than one he was realizing.
"No one is free. Why should the Mac 27s be allowed a thing that escapes even most human beings? They were created for a purposea purpose that they have yet to fulfill. They must be put to their designated tasks or destroyed before they disrupt everything." Wraith scanned the wall for the weapons locker as he descended.
Wraith halted in at a landing. "Here." Fingers dug into a crevice to flip open a control panel. It responded to his touch, blinking. A lock clicked a moment later. The new door was four foot square. It slid down and away. The selection of weapons inside wasn't perfect but it was a fair cache, enough for a small squad. Lockers like this were all about the compound, allowing for defense to come down to a fight for every floor of the building if need be.
"Electronic disrupters and high power tasers work well against the Mac 27s." Wraith indicated a particularly effective weapon.
"You know I told Pinocchio once that guns and fighting aren't always the answer. Come to think of it... you two are kind of alike... in your thinking." Hobbes was following as quickly as he could.
He reached out and grabbed Wraith's arm as he stood on the step above him, "I know you want to protect Marita... but please, just don't do anything... rash... I'd hate to see anyone get hurt for no real reason... if it can be prevented... especially you." He leaned in and stole a kiss.
Wraith stiffened at the intimacy, on the edge of pulling away but unsure if he should. Sex he understood. They'd sealed an alliance with physical bonding. Kisses given when they couldn't lead anywhere were another matter.
"No one has to get hurt as long as Marita is acknowledged. The Mac 27s are supposed to serve Innobotics, serve Marita. The aliens are coming. Marita needs her army."
Wraith turned, reaching into the locker to wrap his hand around an automatic rifle. "Marita won't be a pawn any longer." The gun was thrust at Tom. "She was... she is my wife." The declaration tasted odd. "She told me that." Another selection was made and clipped onto Wraith's belt. "Nothing should matter more than your wife, should it?" Hearing the uncertainty in his voice was intolerable. Wraith frowned. "I have to go to Marita. She's all that matters. She knows what's best." His tone grew more convincing with each word. "Marita will decide what to do next."
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
9021 sat in the shade on the steps that led down from the door he had just come through. It had taken many hours for Skip's technicians to remodel him. He felt strange. He was aware of the world, as it had seemed before, only now it was augmented by a sensation of vivid allure. Everywhere he looked, every detail of the environment that he examined, was colored with renewed interest that welled up from deep inside his being.
The ability to feel. It went far beyond the synaptic relays that had previously told him that he had sustained injury or that something was wrong with his android body. He realized he was very fortunate not to have had this ability to feel so keenly when he had 'died' before. The pain and anguish would have been overwhelming and would no doubt have transmitted itself not only to the rest of the link but also would have been such a trauma for his memory centers to carry that he'd have needed a full purge.
9021 sat for a while on the steps, noticing all the differences between his previous senses and these new revelations; according to all the references in his extensive databanks and others of his kind; he was experiencing the world totally new, as a child would.
He had felt a strange surge of happiness when Skip's friends had smilingly told him he was remade, better than before. He identified it as gratitude. What an obscure idea, and yet it was so real! It hummed along his insides. And the feeling of contentment at seeing the tree line and the green grass before him was equally interesting.
They'd said they couldn't even really classify him now. He was much more than a 9000 model, and had a few extras too - an interesting mix. Of course, with their enthusiasm and sense of pride, they'd also given him other functions, add-ons they hadn't bothered to explain to him, merely grinning at his questions.
Looking back, in retrospect, he saw the level of sacrifice and bravery that others had attributed to his actions. Despite the heroism of his initial act, throwing himself in front of that van that contained One and his brothers, he had considered it merely his duty; now he could understand just why it was that One valued him, considered him important enough to spend hours afterwards patching and piecing him back together. It felt very... good, to be valued like this. A tiny, strange little surge of longing suddenly sprouted from somewhere inside of him, confusing him. He wanted to be that special to someone, but so much more so that they would want to do the same for him. And he realized he wanted to find someone rather than a cause, someone worth defending out of his own sense of recognizing their value rather than a sense of absolute duty to one's race. Someone to devote his attentions to. Despite his existing connection with the link, he wanted something - more.
9021 considered his identity. He was a phoenix, having risen anew from the shadow of his former self. He was no longer 9021, actually. Certainly not of the 9000 series anymore. He needed a name. Sifting through various files, thousands of names, he found one that seemed to fit his self, his existence, his new identity - indeed, his very being.
Gabriel - the embodiment of aspirations, wishes, and hopes. Also joy, mercy, truth, justice, miracles, and love.
Well, his new existence was a miracle, and it seemed that life had been mercifully granted him. And the joy this brought him, to have his being extended to a fuller awareness was a just reward for having aided his brothers.
With a cheerful smile, Gabriel stood and went for a walk, whistling.
As he did so, he still considered the situation that they all were in. Even as he took in the shape of a small fluttering butterfly and the singing birds amongst the leaves of the trees, his mind was busy.
He wanted to pursue his personal investigations into life and happiness and sensation, pure feeling, but he knew that if they did not succeed in defeating their enemies, his joy would be short-lived.
Gabriel wondered how he could best aid them all now, and what he could do to help. One was in the field, at Innobotics, while he was here strolling in the woods. If only he'd been allowed to also accompany his brothers on the mission to liberate the thousands that remained. He sighed. He'd been nowhere near up to the task in his earlier condition and indeed One had even told him that he wasn't going to allow 9021 to endanger himself to that extent again - One had dryly commented to him that he didn't want to have to sit down and fix him again. Once had been enough.
The sound of voices and a small dog barking came to his ears, intruding on his thoughts. Curious, he made his way towards them.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
"I don't know a damned thing," Cory answered dryly, with a shrug. "In fact, I believe I know less than anyone here." He stuck his hands in his pockets and met Beau's eyes squarely. "Nothing I saw or heard last night gave me the slightest hint about whatever the hell is going on. I've heard all kinds of shit - aliens, androids - there are more Mac 27's running around this place than you could possibly shake a stick at - invasions from outer space, wars... chips - could've sworn I even heard someone talking about vampires."
He decided to forego - for the time being, anyway - any mention of the fact that HE was apparently the original. Needed a little more time to deal with the implications of that particular concept.
"And I don't have the faintest idea what, if anything, ANY of it means," he said in an aggrieved tone of voice.
Beau stared at Cory through narrowed eyes. It was glaringly obvious that the man wasn't telling them everything. Deciding to let it go for now, Beau decided that he'd wait and ask more pointed questions a little later - when they could speak in private.
Cory had noted the look of skepticism in the Mac's eyes, and nodded to himself. This one seemed to be very clued up. He stood and stretched lazily. "I have to go find Methos. There are some things I need to find out from him. Anyone coming?"
That didn't sound promising. Despite his urgent need to learn as much as he could about the ramifications of this latest twist that his life seemed to have taken, Philip wasn't yet ready to go back. He *definitely* wasn't ready for the prospect of being discussed by the two other Immortals. Not with the way Methos had regarded him, as if he believed Philip already knew far more than he actually did...or with the way he found himself to responding to the man, with an intensity that seemed to have a life of its own...
Beau fell in beside Cory readily, the little dog scampering at his heels. After a moment or two, Matthew stepped up beside them.
The name of Methos had caused a flicker of something that might have been fear to crawl across Philip's face, and he made no move to accompany them as they left the woods behind.
Wordlessly, Philip watched them go, Cory already launching into further casual banter with the others. He felt a rare pang of regret, realizing only as the Immortal walked away the impact the man had had on him -- calming and exciting, all at once. Someone, at what yesterday he'd have thought of as this late date in his life, who might be capable of understanding him...
Gabriel thoughtfully watched as Cory, Matthew and Beau, accompanied by the cheerfully barking Tallulah, made their way back inside.
The one called Philip remained, sitting alone in the woods. Gabriel didn't dare disturb him; Philip gave the distinct impression of someone lost in thought and besides, Gabriel was fighting off an intense desire to follow the others inside.
He quietly shadowed them, unsure of whether to actually go up and introduce himself or not. Due to the download of information and easy access to the collective link to the rest of the Macs, he was aware of who they were.
The one called Cory Raines was intriguing. He looked like the others and like his own kind, the Mac 27s...and yet he was different. There were not many files on the Immortals in the Mac 27 database.
In fact, it wasn't just the nature of this man, this Immortal human that fascinated Gabriel. When he tried to examine just what it was about Cory that held his attention, he realized it was the man's character and personality. Cory had a serious side and yet was scintillating, bright, and sunny - Cory was fun. And happy. Despite the great danger and very real risks that they all faced in this time of crisis and this urgent situation, very real peril, Cory was not dampened, seeming instead to take on new situations with decisive thought and action.
He crept closer, careful to keep a distance between himself and the three who had now reached the entrance doors.
On one hand, he desperately wanted to meet Cory, to introduce himself and perhaps try to converse with him. But on the other, he was suddenly struck with the comparison that Cory was human - and Immortal - and so why would he really want or need to have anything to do with a simple android such as Gabriel?
Feeling a little torn with indecision and self-doubt, as well as driven by curiosity and something else he couldn't name, Gabriel shadowed the little party of three. Cory had said something about finding Methos and needing to speak with him. That would probably mean that Cory was on his way to the Infirmary. So, he went inside and began to make his way there, wondering if he would catch sight of Cory in the corridors up ahead.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Anson kicked moodily through the shrubbery. He'd set out with the intention of doing what Methos wanted, but it was hot, and he hadn't seen hide or hair of Philip. He caught sight of Cory, unmistakable in his fedora, strolling back towards the building with a couple of look-a-likes, and shifted irritably. He wasn't comfortable with all these replicas of himself running around.
Following the pathway, he spotted yet another of the men with his face. This one was alone, sitting forlornly on a rock watching a frog as it hopped away into a thicket.
As his look-a-likes disappeared down the path and the sounds of nature, lush on the sultry late afternoon air, closed around him again, Philip pushed thoughts of Cory aside and tried to recapture something of the peace he'd initially ventured out here for. His efforts were short-lived, however, as a frog suddenly sprang up from the ground cover, startling him. Watching it make its way in the direction of the little stream, he became aware of the disturbing, pleasurable sensation he already instinctively recognized as Anson.
The jagged aurora of Anson's life force washed ahead of him like a bow wave as he walked up. Philip detected nothing overtly alarming in it (shimmering colors...), merely the personality that had drawn him in so far, so fast. In that, at least, he understood Methos.
Turning toward it, Philip wondered what the man's reaction to finding him there would be. After that abrupt departure earlier, and what Methos had seemed to be saying -- as if it hadn't been Anson who'd brought him into their game in the first place! That had to be cleared up, Philip decided. One way or another and as soon as possible.
"Philip? Is that you?" Anson was almost sure... As he came level with the other he breathed a sigh of relief. "I've been looking all over for you. We need to talk."
Anson's flickering smile prompted one of his own in return, and he nodded. "Yes, I think we do."
Nodding, Anson moved a little closer, then stopped and looked at Philip uncertainly. "I need to apologize first of all. I... I tend to be a little ... um, I mean I don't have a lot of self-confidence." He smiled a sad little smile. "It's not you, Philip - you didn't do anything I didn't want you too. I just... well, I have trouble believing that he really loves me, y'know? And I guess I ... well, you seem so much more confident in yourself than I am. I find that very attractive - and I couldn't help thinking that Methos would see that you were better - that you deserved to be loved more than I did... And so I ... panicked."
Philip couldn't quite hold back his incredulous laugh. This was the last thing he'd expected. What were they supposed to do next -- settle down with Oprah, drink cocoa and do each other's nails? He sobered quickly at the emotions chasing through the man's eyes -- hope, embarrassment, and something darker -- and realized, though he couldn't say how, that Anson had picked up this carefully-phrased jargon somewhere far less benign that some TV chat show. Grew even grimmer at what Anson was saying about *him*, that had caused the outburst in the first place.
He didn't need this. First the inexplicable changes, the frightening sense that his god had suddenly cut him adrift; that had landed him here. Then the overpowering sensory overload accompanying the discovery of dozens of cloned -- and highly sophisticated android! -- versions of himself. Now, being told that what was happening to him, the heightened sensitivity and the persistent sense of something Other, was because he was *immortal*, for fuck's sake! Despite Cory having seconded that conclusion...Cory and Methos had obviously been friends for some time, so how could Philip trust any of it? And he definitely didn't need this attitude that Methos and Anson, seemingly at random, had decided to adopt towards him...
Well aware that he was babbling like an idiot, Anson stopped and cleared his throat. He took two steps closer to Philip, and sat on the grass, pulling up a tall blade and fiddling with it distractedly.
"Anyway," he continued, "I acted like an idiot and I hope you can forgive me for it - I like you. You seem like an okay guy. And," he dared a glance up at Philip, "I was kinda worried about you, too."
Drawing a deep breath, Philip shook his head. There was no question that Anson had gotten to him, and that the man's artless expression of affection and concern touched him, in a way he'd never experienced. Anson had been a more than satisfactory bed-partner, as well, and under other circumstances, they might have had a great little fling. But to be appropriated while unconscious, and then have the two of them acting as if he were -- as if he were *supposed* to be -- a voluntary, ongoing member of their little soap opera...? No. No way. He already had more insanity than he could handle just now.
"I...thanks. So do you. But...you have to understand, I'm not part of any of that. Whatever you were reacting to, I wouldn't even have been there if it weren't for the two of you in the first place. I'm not after anything," -- amazingly enough, he thought wryly -- "so let's just say that nobody owes anybody any apologies, and let it all go. We forget any of it ever happened. Okay? As far as I can tell, there are a lot more serious things we all need to concern ourselves with here, anyway."
Anson continued to look up at him, frowning slightly and, at the wave of uncertainty the man projected, Philip felt a momentary temptation to climb down and physically reassure him. It passed, but he did offer a faint smile. "And...I just have some things I have to work out, is all," he added, voice noticeably softer. "Don't waste your time worrying about me. I'm fine."
Still frowning, Anson backed up a step. Was Philip actually saying that he - that he and Methos - had somehow forced or coerced Philip into what had happened last night? Somehow, the implication hurt. A lot. He'd thought they had all three felt the attraction - had all wanted what had happened.
But now... Doubts filled his mind, and Anson dropped his eyes, a blush stealing over his cheeks. "I uh... I mean, *we* didn't mean to force ourselves on you." How the *hell* could Philip accuse them of such a thing. He'd been most willing last night - Damn!
"That's not what -- " Exasperation at the man's willful blind spot winning out, Philip clicked his tongue impatiently. "First of all, whatever problem you have with me being around your daddy, it begins and ends on your own doorstep. Settle it with him." His hand cut the air in a sharp gesture of dismissal. "Look, never...just never mind Methos anyway, all right! You needed it, I needed it, and we helped each other out. And it was good, Anson, it really was. You were. But it didn't involve me in whatever it is you've got going on with each other, no matter what the whole lot of us may be here for." Philip shook his head. "Don't you *get* it? I didn't follow you home. You don't get to keep me."
"You're right, Philip. You didn't follow us home - as for 'keeping you'," Anson raised his eyebrows scornfully. "We didn't - we don't - think of you as an... acquisition. Maybe you should leave the compound - just go and wallow in solitude. Until they find you. They'll find your Immortality very interesting. Since you seem to find Methos attempt to help so offensive, maybe a little time as a lab rat will teach you that he really WAS trying to help. But you - you're so fucking wrapped up in your Poor-Little-Philip routine... shit, I thought I had problems."
Anson shrugged and started to turn away, paused and met Philip's eyes again. "If you want to forget the whole thing, I guess I can't argue. But, I sure as hell won't be forgetting. And neither will Methos. And," his voice rose a bit with restrained anger and hurt, "we won't be so quick to offer help to anyone again. Maybe we should have left you laying in the corridor last night," Anson said reproachfully. "Would you have preferred that?"
"Bullshit!" Philip's eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line. His own anger flaring, he slid down from his perch and squared off inches away from Anson, both of them glaring and breathing hard. "Last thing I remember before waking up naked next to the two of you fucking your brains out, I was in some kind of clinic," he observed, voice tight and cold. "If I was that bad off, that would've been the best place for me, don't you think? So you tell me -- were you really helping me? Or did you just decide to...to help yourselves?"
"Help ourselves?" Anson repeated incredulously. "Is that what you're telling yourself? There was no one there in the clinic - except Methos and me - and we wanted to get some sleep. Apparently, we made the wrong decision - should've left you there. And, Philip," Anson hissed, moving into Philip's personal space, menace clear in his eyes. "Methos is my lover. Do not EVER call him my 'daddy' again. In fact - you stay away from him - and from me. Go - Just get the hell away from us. I assure you, I will do my level best to stay the fuck away from you."
His headache had returned with a vengeance, stabbing at senses already being battered by Anson's physical proximity, the blast of emotion the man was radiating. And beneath it, the relentless, urgent pressure of something incalculably Other... Their eyes held a few moments longer. Then, with a disgusted sound, Philip turned and started along the path down which the others had disappeared earlier.
Get back to the house, he thought. You get back to the house, you find out where your car is, and you get the fuck out of here. He was willing to take his chances with whatever threat supposedly waited beyond the compound perimeter, if staying here meant continuing to come apart by inches, or being subjected to whatever it was Methos -- whatever *he* was -- had in mind for him with this immortality bit. It was too bad about Anson, and Cory, but... His life hadn't exactly been normal for years now, but it was certainly starting to look that way by comparison, and he wanted it back.
Philip made it as far as the terrace that wrapped the front and one side of the main building before the wave of vertigo and hunger-induced lightheadedness caught him up. Groping for its support, he sank onto the nearest chaise. Jaw clenched, he leaned back, and closed his eyes as the last afternoon shadows flowed into twilight across the lawn.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
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