Here you'll find

 

Traces of Doubt

 

 

 

 

14. Unbelievable

"Osip, I'd like a word with you."

Arria had resolutely kept his gaze on the food in front of him as soon as he'd spotted the first flash of orange-red in the corner of his eye, but now he raised his eyes to see Osip's face tighten at the voice. Dean Blaine flinched almost imperceptibly and shot a warning glance at Orwel when Osip, sitting next to him with his back to the door of the canteen, turned with deliberate slowness and looked up at Wilson.

"Couldn't it wait?" he asked in a deceptively steady voice. "I'm having lunch as you can see."

"Barely," Wilson said, hands on hips. "I think there's something we need to talk about, something that's badly overdue as it is."

Arria noticed that a hush had fallen over the tables around them, and cleared his throat.

"How about meeting in the small conference room in twenty minutes?" he said calmly. "Or, if you haven't had lunch yet, Wilson, in half an hour?"

"All right," Wilson nodded. "Half an hour then."

"How about not?" Osip rumbled and stood up banging his fork and knife on the table. "I was almost finished anyway."

"Sit down, Osip!" Arria ordered sternly but for once the dark man ignored him.

"If you're going to start yelling, we'd better go outside," Wilson remarked icily and got a poisonous glance in return.

"I'm not going to yell, Wilson," Osip seethed through clenched teeth. "But I'd hate to spoil everybody else's break with this."

All eyes were on them as they stomped out of the canteen and disappeared. Blaine closed his eyes and sighed deep, Orwel merely shook his head. Arria stood up but Orwel's hand on his forearm stopped him.

"What're you doing?"

"Going after them, what else?" Arria jerked himself free. "I'm not going to leave those two alone, after witnessing the previous few talks they've had."

"Wilson can stand her ground," Orwel argued but Arria looked at him with a tired, wry grin of sorts.

"What makes you think it's Wilson I'm worried about?" he said.

Blaine rolled his eyes when Arria's slim figure vanished through the door as well.

"I just hope they'll be able to settle it by the time that blasted mothership arrives," he grunted.

Orwel nodded silently, contemplating the chunk of food on his fork. "Everyone's so much on edge," he said. "The worst of it is that I can understand both of their arguments. They're both right. Wilson's a damn good fighter pilot, and there are so many less experienced ones to go that she'd definitely be needed there."

"Yeah, and on the other hand we can't be sure that the Union might not try something when most of our forces are out," Blaine completed the thought. "If something happens here, we need someone capable to lead the action."

The looked at each other for a moment before returning to their meals with a resigned sigh.

Arria stopped outside the door and looked around, somewhat surprised when he couldn't immediately hear where the incongruous twosome had gone. He spotted them soon enough, standing by the corner and talking in evident agitation, but there were no raised voices yet. So he opted for a slow approach and sauntered cautiously closer, not really needing to hear a single word to know exactly what it was all about.

The accursed message from Zodiac system had derailed everything. Arria was as committed to the rebellion as the next man, but somehow he'd always thought first and foremost of Jainah, his home planet. After Jainah had declared independence of the Union and actually got away with it with only relatively minor skirmishes, he'd allowed the duties of Supreme Commander swallow himself whole.

Running the base was a lot of work, even with Osip and Orwel to share the burden, and then there were the clones. All those genetically engineered humans, created to be mere pawns in the war. First batches to experiment and run tests with, in preparation for a larger project once the procedure were polished to perfection. Arria felt dark satisfaction in knowing that they'd prevented the plans from ever proceeding to their intended scale, but that still left them with the Plains Base and its cloned occupants.

Child army, he thought miserably. And now they were honor-bound to deploy them, to send them out to fight...

"Would you listen to yourself, Osip?" Wilson's voice rose for the first time since the heated conversation had begun, and Arria tuned in. "You've just listed half a dozen excellent arguments why I must be included in the assault forces! And, as your second in command, I am entitled to nominate a deputy for myself."

"Which one of the guys are you suggesting I leave here?" Osip folded his arms over a broad chest. Wilson glared at her triumphantly.

"No one," she shot back. "I have the ideal solution, and I'm only ashamed because it took me so damn long to see it even though it was right under my nose. Sabina will be Head Pilot during our absence."

Arria's eyes widened and even Osip closed his mouth for a moment — of reflection, it seemed. Arria felt his lips twitching into a smile.

"Sabina?" Osip repeated, apparently stunned into silence.

"Yes, Sabina. Sabina the S-clone. Sabina, who is Scott's age and every bit as skilled and experienced as he is. Sabina whom Scott himself has been drilling mercilessly into brilliance these past weeks and months, because he recognizes her abilities."

Wilson looked challengingly up at Osip's angular face. "Be logical, Osip. If you deem Scott fit to even consider putting him second in command while on a mission in completely unfamiliar territory, how would Sabina be any less qualified to be the Head Pilot here, on her home planet, where she's been flying all her life?"

"Now you're talking sense," Osip said after a lengthy pause.

"Told you," Wilson nodded decisively. "So, let me put it this way. You've trusted my judgment enough to nominate me your second in command. That is a vote of confidence I am very grateful for. Don't tell me that you now dare doubt it when I tell you that I wish to nominate Sabina as my deputy here on Jainah for the duration of this mission."

Osip didn't say a word, merely frowned deeply at her, and Wilson moved in for the kill.

"You might just as well give in now, Commander. Because we both know that when the fleet leaves, I'll be leaving with it. With your permission or without it, but I'm coming along."

"Do you know what I call that kind of speech?" Osip asked in a low voice. "Insubordination."

"That's what you might call it," Wilson retorted. "I call it 'forcing your commanding officer to see reason if he's pigheaded enough not to see it otherwise'. And as I recall, that kind of thing has saved lives before."

Osip glared down at her with dangerously narrowed eyes, but the diminutive Wilson didn't as much as flinch. She stared right back, chin raised. Osip opened his mouth so say something, then closed it and a broad smile broke irresistibly through his stern facade.

"You win," he said. "And I owe you an apology. What reason indeed do I have to question your judgement in this matter, when it is so obvious that you have thought this out and made a good decision?"

Wilson smiled to him smugly and mock-punched him on the arm.

"You're making history, Commander," she said. "Arria sure has been a good influence on you, if you're able to admit that you might be wrong occasionally."

"Hmm... and he claims I'm a bad influence on him," Osip mused. "I wonder which way it actually goes?"

"You both rub off on each other, probably," Wilson shrugged. "Well, I'll go to have lunch and right after that I'll tell Sabina."

"Yeah, you had better tell her before we announce it officially," Osip said. "All right, Wilson. You're dismissed."

"Hah, you just wanted to say that to me!" Wilson grinned to him over her shoulder and strutted away.

Osip raked a broad hand through his hair and looked a little desperately at Arria.

"Don't say it," the dark man pleaded. "Please don't say it now."

"Say what?" Arria inquired innocently. "I wasn't going to say anything, except that you did the right thing. And that we might go and see what the MCs have made for dessert."

As they returned to the canteen, Arria let Osip walk ahead for the sheer pleasure of watching the man move. His whole body ached at the thought of letting Osip go, perhaps for good, but he knew there was nothing to do about it. None of them could ever look themselves in the eye if they'd refused to assist their fellow rebels; not Arria, definitely not Osip, not Orwel. And all pilots, without a single exception, were grim but determined. Arria caught a glimpse of Lancer, sitting next to Scott a few tables away, and swallowed when he saw the expression on the narrow face. Lancer was smiling bravely, but his smile was brittle.

"What the hell..." Orwel said incredulously, and Blaine's eyebrows jumped up when Osip settled his considerable weight back to the seat next to him. "You — I mean —"

"Your eloquence today is astounding, brother!" Osip grinned mildly and picked up his utensils to finish off the rest of his meal. "Dean got your tongue?"

"Idiot," Orwel and Blaine groaned at the same time.

"No, no, that's not right," Arria said in a disapproving tone. "In fact he's just proved to himself and everybody else that he's not an idiot after all."

"Thanks for declaring it to the entire world, Supreme Commander," Osip sighed but winked to Arria.

"I said —" Arria started but Osip finished the sentence for him.

"You said that I'm not an idiot 'after all', lover..."

"I can still hardly believe my eyes," Orwel said shaking his head. "You and Wilson go out to have a little talk, and after a while both of you return without visible bodily harm, and what's even more, looking satisfied with yourselves! Where is this world going to?"

"Becoming a better place for a lot of people, I hope," Osip said, voice ringing with a dark undertone. Arria averted his eyes and Osip's big hand closed quickly around his on the table. "Yeah, me and Wilson had a talk and she came up with an excellent plan. You'll be all hearing about it soon."

"Right!" Blaine mouthed 'so she's going too' to Orwel across the table and received a tiny nod. "Well, I'm glad that you've now got things settled."

"So am I," Osip admitted with a smile, still holding Arria's hand. "And no, I'm not at the liberty to discuss our solution with you yet."

"Talking about solutions," Orwel said with interest, "I think I spot a possible solution to the problem that's been plaguing our T-clones recently."

Everybody turned to look at the door. Terry had just sauntered in, followed by a dark-haired young man who was looking around in shy astonishment. Arria smiled and beckoned to them, and Terry started towards the four men, face brightening.

"Welcome back, Terry!" Osip said. "We heard you'd returned from Tabaimo, and none the worse for wear. So this is Troyen?"

"Yes," Terry nodded and introduced the commanders and Blaine to Troy who shook hands with them, obviously intimidated by their titles. "We took a moment to settle down, but I think we're both fresh and bouncy once more."

"Ouch... don't use that word!" Blaine grimaced. "Saying TC and bouncy in the same sentence invariably makes me think of the quintet."

"What, have they been harassing you as well?" Terry blinked, and Blaine nodded miserably.

"Yeah... I spent an afternoon with them a few days back. They are — eh — a handful, I'd say."

"Oh my god," Terry wheezed. "Poor Dean! But now, Troy, let's go and get some lunch. I think we might go over to sit with Corinn and Vanya, they're sort of looking like they expect it. And you'll meet some more people, too."

"He does look bouncy, though," Blaine commented as the T-clone and Troy headed to the serving area. "Happy to be back, I think."

"I'm really glad to see him back," Arria said earnestly. "I've been worried for him."

"That's the way you are, lover," Osip said warmly. "But weren't you talking about dessert earlier?"

Moments later, Troy was indeed introduced to some other people: as usual, Corinn and Vanya were accompanied by Fonzo, Lancer, Shaun and Scott. Soon everyone around the round table was engaged in light conversation, giving him time to study the new acquaintances. Especially the differences between Scott and Shaun fascinated him. The two S-clones were of clearly different ages, and Shaun was also much shorter and looked generally far more boyish than the smoothly masculine Scott.

Troy tried to dredge his memory for each and every image of Ben and fit them to the three other T-clones he had met. The result satisfied him, and at the same time he feared he was being overly optimistic. The facial features were so similar... perhaps he was only deluding himself into thinking that Ben had been so unique? I'll meet him soon, he thought and then squashed the whispering voice away before his hands began to tremble too visibly.

He noticed that Vanya and Corinn were carefully steering the talk away from the forthcoming mission, and glanced surreptitiously at Terry. Yes, he too was obviously picking his words with care, eyes skimming repeatedly over Lancer who mostly remained silent. Troy couldn't help thinking that Lancer was really too beautiful for a male, and felt a pang of shame and guilt as he once again remembered his cousin Haldor, the man's suspicious tone. Sissy.

But no, in Troy's eyes Lancer wasn't exactly effeminate. He just was a willowy young male, his body language graceful but not feminine, his pretty face hiding a touch of toughness, hands slim but strong, voice soft but with an edge. Troy realized that he was oddly fascinated by that strange silvery blond hair and hooded greenish eyes that didn't smile even when the lips did. He kept watching Lancer who sat there next to Scott, kept noticing Scott's frequent little touches and glances, and suddenly his ear picked one particular word from the blur of talk: 'Gorgeous', teasingly purred by a deep voice.

Troy swallowed thickly, fighting the blush that threatened to creep to his face. Lovers. They are lovers. Scott and Lancer. Corinn and Vanya. They are men, and they are lovers. They sleep together. They kiss and hold and touch each other. They —

He swallowed again, unable or maybe unwilling to let his thoughts wander to any more frightening realms. He could practically feel the warmth of Ben's body as they lounged side by side on his bed, studying busily. Ben would always sidle gradually closer, so that finally their bodies were practically touching each other from leg to hip to arm, and those bright blue eyes would peer at him over a shoulder, underneath shining blond bangs...

Troy was extremely grateful when nobody commented on his silence; they probably took it for initial shyness, and weren't in fact very much mistaken there either. The others' easy chattering gave him precious time to compose himself again, at least enough to finish his meal — a tasty proof of the M-clones' abilities — and feel slightly more at ease by the end of it.

"I think I'd better go and have a word with the..." Fonzo checked himself and made to get up but Lancer shot him a dark glance.

"With the MCs about the mission, yes I know, and would you all now please stop behaving like I was something too fragile to even hear the word?" He gritted his teeth. "It's not like I was going to fucking die if I hear it!"

"None of us particularly likes to think about it, you know," Vanya said smoothly and picked up the last piece of food from his plate. "Especially us who are going to be left behind."

He received a sincerely grateful look from Scott who'd wrapped an arm around Lancer's waist. Troy felt faint, but Terry touched his arm.

"Do you think you'd be... uh, ready to go now?"

"Yeah," Troy said, a little too hoarsely to his own liking. "I'd like to see him now, please."

He followed Terry out of the canteen. Terry pushed his hands into the big pockets of his loose, belted tunic and shrugged a little uncomfortably.

"I hope we're not making you feel altogether too strange. Everyone really is upset about the mission, they're not behaving like usual —"

"I understand," Troy interrupted. "Besides, I don't think anything could make me less nervous right now."

Terry chuckled a little. "Well, I hope you're not too much more nervous after that."

"I don't think I am," Troy said. "Tell me, is everybody really so worried about how Lancer is going to cope? Is there something wrong with him?"

"Not really," Terry said. "He's a lot tougher than he looks. But I understand that his first lover was killed in action, long before Scott, and he was pretty low after that. The big guys helped him over it back then, and they've been rather protective ever since."

"I see," Troy nodded, then his breath caught and he looked apprehensive. "So... this is the building..."

Terry took him to the big conference/monitoring room that Rori and André had effectively taken over as their regular base for work, study, discussions, or plain lounging. Troy looked around and then his heart skipped a few beats when his gaze fell on a screen on the wall. He walked towards it, not seeing anything or anybody else, just the unmoving figure on the bed.

"Ben..."

"Salvador," Rori corrected with emphasis, and Troy started guiltily. "Please, Troy, you must remember that. He is Salvador Marquina now. We don't want to confuse him any more."

"Sorry," Troy whispered and lowered his eyes from the screen. His cheeks were burning.

"We understand that this must be terribly difficult for you," André said gently. "And quite frankly we've no idea what is to come. Just, please, don't push him. Don't demand anything from him. Let him process whatever happens, help him any way you can, but..."

"I understand," Troy said, more certainly this time. "May I go in now?"

"I'll come with you," Terry said and stepped to the door. "And the others will be right here, in the next room. We hope you don't mind terribly if the screen remains on, but we simply have to be able to monitor him."

Troy nodded, hardly breathing.

The clone didn't react to the sound of the door opening and closing, and Terry glanced quickly at Troy by his side.

"Salvador, hello," he said tentatively. "It's Terry, remember? I haven't been around for a while..."

"Terry?" Salvador stirred, squinted up towards the door, pushed himself up on an elbow. "Terry! You went to Tabaimo, didn't you? You went to — oh!"

Troy swallowed at the loud gasp. Salvador, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. Salvador.

Salvador sat up on the bed, eyes growing huge and round. He tried to say something, failed a few times, raised a hand. Troy went cautiously closer and forced a smile. He knew that face. Yes, he would have recognized it, somehow, even if the whole expression was different. This was —

"Hello, Salvador," he croaked.

"Troy!"

The eyes were searching his face, disbelieving, confused, delighted, frightened. Salvador's hand crept into Troy's, the other rose to touch his chest through the jacket, skimmed to his shoulder, squeezed it a little. "Troy... it really is... you really are here, Troy?"

"I am real," Troy assured and sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling those questioning hands now on his arms. Salvador frowned in consternation and his breathing grew uneven, eyes closing momentarily. Troy saw Terry tense beside him and slid his hands to grab Salvador by the elbows. The clone stared into his eyes in growing desperation, struggling for words.

"Everything's all right," Troy said quickly before the despair on that face flared into panic. "It's all right."

At least the clone stopped to listen to him. Troy inhaled deep and forced the correct name from his lips. "Salvador... just relax. I'm not angry with you. I don't hate you. I know it wasn't your fault, what happened. I — I know you've been feeling bad, and I want to help you. I want to be your friend. I don't hate you, Salvador."

Salvador's fingers curled tighter into Troy's shoulders, beseeching eyes still locked with Troy's unwavering gaze. Very slowly he pressed himself against Troy with a deep, satisfied sigh and huddled there, eyelashes fluttering down. For a moment Troy looked pleadingly at Terry, then put his arms uncertainly around the slim body. Terry was about to steal towards the door but froze in place when he heard Salvador's soft voice.

"Troy... what happened? I know it was... I did something bad. You were angry with me. You said you hated me."

"I don't," Troy said into the soft golden hair and felt Salvador shake his head a little.

"You said so then. What did I do to make you so angry? I can't remember. There are so many things I can't remember, although I should."

"Hush," Troy said instinctively and squeezed him a little closer. "There's nothing you should do, right now."

"Please. I want to. I have tried, but my head begins to hurt so bad." Salvador shuddered a little. "Please."

Terry shrugged to Troy who frowned.

"We quarreled because I told you a secret and I thought you'd told it to someone else."

"What was it about?"

Again Troy hesitated for a while. "It was... about my cousin."

"Hal?"

Terry clapped a hand over his mouth not to yelp in surprise, and beat a hasty retreat to the adjoining room. Troy rolled his eyes but he was helpless, stuck there with a disturbingly warm and familiar figure ensconced in his arms. He tightened his hold once more.

"Yes, Hal. I told you a secret about him, a dangerous secret, and something bad happened to him. I thought it was your fault. But I know now it wasn't."

"Oh..." Salvador buried his head a little closer on Troy's collarbone. "Is he dead?"

"I don't know." Troy swallowed, at the surfacing guilt or at the feeling of Salvador so close, he wasn't sure. "I hope not."

"He never liked me, but he wasn't really too bad," Salvador murmured. "I'm so sorry, Troy. I hope he's all right."

He sighed a little, arm snaking more firmly around Troy's upper body. "Mmm, this feels good. Like... like... that park? Under a big tree?"

"Yes," Troy whispered dazedly. "We were sitting under the tree, and it was getting dark."

"You told me that I shouldn't snuggle like that." Salvador giggled sleepily. "But — you called me by another name. What was it? Why did you call me that?"

Troy sent a silent prayer to any higher power that might be listening, hoping fervently that he wasn't making a terrible mistake.

"Ben," he mouthed into the blond hair. "Your name was Ben."

"Feels so good, Troy!" The clone's voice was nothing more than a satisfied purr. "Ben... yes. But that's strange. My name is Salvador, not Ben. Or — is it?"

Troy didn't know what to say, so he chose to just rock gently the huddled form in his arms. The clone slumped slightly, head lolling lower.

"Sal? Salvador?"

The clone was asleep. Troy lowered him gently on the bed, and when the long fingers refused to let go of his lapels, he eased himself next to Salvador on the bed and lay awkwardly down, one hand still protectively around slim shoulders.

In the next room, André sank into a chair, still shaking his head and mumbling 'I can't believe this' under his breath.

Main Jainah Revnash Dorelion Others Gallery