Deep under the dusty earth, filters strained pollen from the air and sent it down to the dark depths of dank caverns in which Mikkaill had made his "home." A home which lacked the one most important thing in hi life, his brother Ricohh. He sat, tapping his fingers on the edge of the keyboard. He didn't speak to Elliot because he didn't quite know what else to say at the moment and his brows were twisted in thought over the problem of how to get the tech team to understand what they had to do with the Hope facility without his *being* there.
Like an electric current, Ricohh's excitement preceded his arrival. He was riding high on the success of the Special Ops team, of what could be accomplished. The only shadow was word of Lowinn's ailment. He had hoped to bring the team with him into Perdoxx.
Mik lifted his head and his incessant tapping ceased. A smile lit up his face and he left the chair so fast it skittered back across the cold cement floor behind him.
Ric was being careful on the approach, but he had trouble keeping the skip out of step. The plans, never too far in advance, swirled through his head and mingled with the buzz he always got when he neared his brother. What a treat it was to see him again so soon!
After years of not being physically in one another's presence, one would think the brief stretch they'd spent apart since the last visit would seem like no time. It felt like forever. But the excitement Ricohh was feeling invigorated Mik as well, and he went farther down the tunnels than he'd been in ages in order to meet his arriving brother. Part of what motivated Mik on to meet his brother was knowing how hard even entering the maze of small tunnels was for Ricohh.
The excitement, the possibilities were almost enough to carry him without pause into the darkness of the ruins. Almost. "You'd think I would be used to this," he muttered softly to the dark and plunged into an opening. Immediately he was hit by the shadows surrounding him. The only thing that kept him from bolting back out was that Mik was on his way. That he could feel.
Mik moved as silently as he could -- and one would think that having seen Ric so recently would have kept him satisfied, willing to be stealthy; but, no ... His steps quickened to an all out run and echoed off the curved walls and the flatter tunnel floor.
Ricohh could hear the echoes and knew who made the clattering approach. He remembered to bring a flashlight this time and clicked it on. He moved more slowly than his brother, too busy panning the area
with light to pay close attention to Mik's sound; just to be sure the walls weren't really closing in. The tunnels here were oddly free of vermin ... perhaps his "cave-dwelling" twin had an overwhelming presence of huumunness which kept them away or perhaps there were other reasons. He'd eaten rodent before. He had no doubt Mik had. Gods ... where are you?
His voice hissed in reply along the tunnel ceiling as they drew closer together. "Coming ... "
Ricohh crept, cat-footed, down the tunnel, towards his brother's presence. Mik's his footfalls increased in volume and decreased in speed, so that now his breath could be heard. The quick ins and outs bellowed with involuntary precision by his lungs. Ricohh's own pace increased because as he neared his twin, the darkness wasn't so bad. Huffing and puffing? Need more exercise. Ric chided gently.
The effort made his voice slightly raspy, and the flicker of thought: Maybe I'm not in such good shape ... was perfectly timed with Ric's admonition. "Yeah ... well ... here we are." And indeed, there he was, hand against the wall of the tunnel, *there* in the midst of the dark.
Ricohh couldn't help it, he grinned -- a superior one, one of the few he ever gave. The torch flashed on his hand, followed by Ricohh's gloved grip. Quietly he said, "We'll work on it."
"Pays to be younger, eh?" Mik's breathing was still far faster than he liked. "Been sitting around too much, but yeah ... we'll work on it." The strong grip was returned with warm affection etched in every millimeter of it.
The light illumined their feet now - Mik's in boots shined to perfection; Ric's in scuffed combat boots that had seen better days. He was once again garbed as a street punk -- a little older than the norm, but he wore the outfit well. He refused to let go of Mik's hand. Mik wore his uniform, pressed, as clean as it was possible to keep it -- he almost never went out as it was but for him the uniform was all he'd needed till now. The prospect of maybe needing to dress as a street rat intrigued Mik ... it had been a while since he'd needed to do so. He didn't have to say as much. Ric knew.
He gave his brother another grin. "You want to switch?"
Mik slapped his free hand onto Ricohh's shoulder. "I'm guessing I'll be doing that soon enough. I'm starting to chafe at being down here," he said with some mild surprise.
Ricohh gave the tunnel a wary look. The torch's beam wavered as it panned along the roughhewn walls. "I know."
Mik smirked. He knew. Of course he knew. He changed the subject. "I heard Lowinn was ill?" He'd literally heard the news from Elliot in fact. In his own way, Mik found Elliot to be a friend, a familiar voice in the dark.
"You probably know more about it than I do. I suspect it has to do with his origins." The word "origins" almost spat it's way from Ric's mouth.
"I know that Terra Skye has been performing a lot of tests on Lowinn - part of her research, Elliot says. But Elliot doesn't seem to know much about Garth." At that, he gestured down the tunnel as if to say "after you," and smiled.
Ricohh shined the light down the tunnel and steeled himself. Finally he let go of his brother's hand and began to make his way down the tunnel. Pleased and frightened at the same time.
"It's probably just as well that Elliot can't give Skye and Lowinn much help." Mik followed behind at just the right distance -- close, but not too close.
An instinctive knowledge of the place had him making the proper turns as they moved deeper into the warren. "Just want to see him well. We need him." The torch light ranged about the tunnel as they moved along.
There was a hitch in Mik's step because the thought of needing Lowinn brought about the thought of Ricohh's going into Sidd's reach.
Ricohh glanced sharply over his shoulder. "We'll be tripping over each other, otherwise, Mik."
"I know," came the soft response. "Just have a ... bad feeling about it."
Unerringly, Ricohh, lead them to the "big room." It was with a sigh of relief that he entered that room. The ceiling was higher there and much less threatening. "Do you have any other ideas?"
Mik's brows were drawn in consternation. "I prefer fighting on our own ground -- but I know the disadvantages to that. We're not nearly as equipped and there always seem to be more 'innocents' to protect on 'our' ground."
Ric clicked the torch off and hooked it to his belt. The tattered coat he wore hid the tool completely once it was put away. Continuing to cast wary glances up at the ceiling, he shook his head. "I can't stay here. Besides ... We know there's a satellite link station in Perdoxx. If we're to have any success there, we need to secure it." He took a seat on the footlocker, still remembering the headache he had when he woke up here weeks ago.
Mik smiled slightly, trying to let himself be mollified. "It was good champagne, wasn't it?" It was an attempt to distract himself, but it really didn't work very well.
Ric looked up at his brother. There was a knowing look in his gaze. "The best." He blew out a long breath. "Look, Mik, I won't go, okay? We'll figure something out."
The older twin turned his head and moved toward the desk-chair to sit there. He frowned. "It's not that I don't think it's a good plan, Ric. And every one of us has to send someone we love into harms way. That's just how our life has always been."
The other leaned forward, forearms on his knees and said, "We're not like everyone else, Mik." His brow wrinkled as he watched his brother at the chair.
Nodding and avoiding Ric's eyes, Mik asked, "How do you know that the intelligence is right about the station in Perdoxx?"
A reckless grin was the answer. "I don't. Everything we get from Perdoxx is days, weeks old."
"Gods ..." He knew then why he was in the underground and Ric was with the Freemen. He'd always been a shade less of a leader than his slightly younger brother. Ricohh's quiet laughter didn't help. "Just tell me it's worth it ... tell me you have to go," ... and make me believe it ...
It always amused the younger when his brother realized just how different they were and it always amazed him, just how much the same they were. "I have to go eventually, Mik."
Mik swallowed once, shallowly and nodded. "Okay then."
More laughter came, though there was no derision in the tone. He simply found the whole thing amusing. "I think you are afraid to come above ground." He was only teasing. He would know if Mik were frightened. Mik turned away to the computer terminal and tapped in some commands. Sympathetic, Ric kept the bravado up though. He knew Mik's real worries mirrored his own. What if one of them ... died?
That's ridiculous. Though, there were many sorts of fear and ... the only thing that terrified Mikkaill was existing without his brother. His brother's existence gave him a measure of control in his life. Control over failure. Sure, they joked of women and remembered Macy with sadness; but, nothing compared to what life would be like without half one's soul. "Of course, there is all that radiated ground up there." Chemical factories and Nuclear Power Plants that hadn't been blown to bits in the Great War had seeped their hazards into the earth. Even if most of the initial radiation from the bombs had burned off in the fifty years since the war, Mik knew that the world had been scorched, torched, laid waste and remained for the most part barren. Nuclear waste and toxic fallout contaminated what ground water remained. For the twenty-four years they'd lived the Gideonn brothers had known a world of red, hazy skies and skeletal cities where all life came at a price. The price of family, happiness, love. What life there was and what could be eked out was what the Freemen were fighting to preserve. Would it ever be enough?
As he watched his brother, the amusement Ric felt died to be replaced by maudlin. The shadows were suddenly closer than before. Stop thinking like that! He stood up, shoulders shaking slightly as he closed the gap between them. He spun his brother around in the chair to face him, hands on the strong shoulders that matched his own. "Nothin's gonna happen, okay?"
Mik raised his head, and there was a look of horror hidden in his eyes. His hands raised to grip at Ricohh's forearms. He forced himself to be steady, calm, withdrawn about his emotions -- technical, logical, the way he was most comfortable being. The way he'd always been. He made himself say, "Okay," when what he wanted to say was "What if it does?"
Ricohh already knew what would happen if it did. It was something he kept close, to himself. But then he was never good at hiding his emotions, especially from his twin. So it all boiled up to the surface as rage. Unexpected, it washed over his brother. "Gods-damned Church," Ricohh said and cursed again, virulently. "We'll crush them, Mik. I'll make sure of it." He couldn't keep his grip from tightening on Mik's shoulders. As Mik watched him, Ric was fairly shaking with sudden anger -- at the church, at their situation, at the damned tunnels and his impotence in the face of their dark depths.
Mik's lips parted and then pursed, hard, into a thin white line. He held onto his brother's arms and his hands gripped in a supportive, understanding way. Mik's own anger was more subdued, but just as real. "If we get the Hope Facility running, then we'll have a way to connect all our troops on the Sabattann side."
His nostrils flared as he took in deep breaths. The physical connection invigorated him and it gave him the necessary grounding needed to regain control.
"I've decided that I'm going to leave here, like you wanted Ric. I'm going to go to the Hope site and supervise the Tech team. I can't do what I need to do or learn what I need to learn from down here."
Was that relief? Ric pulled away so suddenly it was hard to read. He spun to pace back to the foot locker, his voice rough as he spoke, "Give me a few days to move out."
"Of course." His lips flickered with the ghost of a smile. The abrupt lapse of contact between them was an almost a tangible break in the connection of their souls ... not -- quite -- painful; but startling whenever it happened, nonetheless.
With a bow of his head, Ric was searching for words. "You'll have to cut your hair," was about all he could come up with.
Mik knew they'd coordinate ... everything ... the way they always did, but, "Cut my hair?" There was some genuine dismay in his tone. Mik liked it long, but he knew Ric was right. Of course they'd have to cut his hair. He was going to be up top, in the light, around people. It settled on him with an odd shiver.
"We can do it now, give it time to grow out a little." His voice thick with latent emotion, Ric turned to face his brother once more. He was a little more composed, a little calmer. But just below the surface, he still seethed. The only thing keeping him from curling up into a ball was his anger at Sidd and the Church for all the torment they'd wrought.
Mik smiled and immediately reached into a desk drawer for a pair of scissors. Holding them handle first to his brother, he asked, "You sure you remember how to do this?"
Ricohh took the scissors and performed a couple of practice snips to the air. "What? Work scissors? Or cut hair?" He moved behind Mik, taking a barber's stance and pulled his gloves off with his teeth. Mik pushed back the desk chair and as he did, Ricohh unconsciously took a step back to prevent his feet from being rolled over by the casters.
Mik let out a laugh that lilted in the cavernous underground room and hinted of the musical qualities of the voice box that issued it. "Work the scissors, of course. Any Freemen can cut hair."
The Barber Gideonn snipped the scissors near to his brother's ear. "Welcome to the Freemen, son," he said in his best Commander's voice. He combed Mik's hair with his fingers and swore softly. "Just like a girl," Ricohh said with a quiet tone of regret. That tone and the gentle touch of his brother's fingers in his hair made Mik feel comfortable, almost sleepy for a moment, and very wistful. The moment ended as Ricohh took most of the length off with just a few snips of the scissors.
With a teasing prod, Mik said, "Yeah, yeah. It's a shame there aren't any girls as pretty as you, Ric." He figured the worst his brother could do with his scissors was take off all his hair.
Ric gave his brother a hard shove in the shoulder. His voice was gruff because he was embarrassed about being pretty. Truth be told, they both were because they were far prettier than men ought to have been. Rarely seen with a growth of beard, hardly looking like any of the burlier Freemen, RMG retained the one thing that allowed them to be the Freemen Commander. Presence and a loyalty to the men they commanded that made it seem to the soldiers under them that they were the ones served. It generated strong loyalty back. Any Freemen soldier would have given his life for Ric or Mik, thinking them the one and only.
That look, that charisma was all part of the mystery of their leadership and their plan, so far effectual, to thwart the other side. The Church didn't know much about RMG. Only that his face was rarely seen without a hood or scarf to hide it when he was seen at all. Sidd and his surely suspected there was more to the tale of RMG, as did many of the Freemen soldiers. Still, neither Sidd, nor the Church members at large, nor the Legion of Freemen faithful who worked for Ricohh Mikkaill Gideonn, knew that Ric and Mik were twins. The soldiers who knew, who'd served with them in their first and only battle fought together, were long dead.
"Yeah, well," Ric said, his embarrassment making him grasp for an insult. "You're softer."
"Hey!" Mik laughed despite the shout protest. Then, in a tone a shade more sober, he said, "That's gonna change." Mik couldn't see Ricohh keep a lock of his hair as he cut it away, stashing it into his watch pocket. Mik was too caught up in their banter and the good feel of being so close to his twin that he didn't even notice what Ric had done.
"Sit still, girlie man," Ric said, managing to sound distracted by the task at hand as he continued to cut away at Mik's hair.
"I can't be an underground computer geek forever, after all. Good thing it's hot up top. Brrrr. It's too bitingly chilly down here for short hair." He tilted his head at his brother's behest of a finger to the temple, so that Ric could get at the hair around his ears. It was easy to let himself be manipulated. He had total trust in the user of the scissors. It was as though he were cutting his own hair.
Ricohh worked diligently to turn Mik's long hair into a Freemen buzz cut without the benefit of electric shears. He was pretty good at it, actually, although the cut was just a bit shorter than Ricohh's own buzz. He was actually humming as he clipped closer and closer to the scalp:: "Very hot on top, Mik" He said, brushing away the small bits of hair at his collar.
Mik shivered as he felt the tickle of the snipped hairs that inevitably drifted down into his shirt. "It's been a long time since I've been up for very long at all. I hope the troops won't think me odd for staying indoors too much. I'll have to watch that, won't I?"
"You'll have to work on your tan." Ric moved around to the front and began removing bangs with the scissors until it matched the rest of the "do."
Watching more closely as the hair fell, Mik’s eyes narrowed. "Hey ..." He shifted his glance down to try to see what Ric had already clipped off. "Hey, your taking off a lot."
Ricohh’s grin was evil. "You have a lot of hair." Quite a bit fell into Mik’s lap at that moment, as if Ric had reserved it to drop there just to scare him. Mik was unable to do anything more than let him finish the job and gasp at the horror left behind as Ric brushed off the last clipped bits from the buzz.
When he was able to move his head more freely and look down, Mik saw the pile of hair scattered around the castors. "Oh," he said, as much eep as it was quiet threat. "You're gonna pay for this."
"Oh yeah?" Ric turned the brush of his fingers over his brothers fuzzy head into a rather nasty noogie. "Wha’cha gonna do?"
"Ow!" Shooting to his feet, which of course let more of the tickling, irritating snips of hair drop into his uniform shirt, Mik glared at his brother. Ric hopped back, snickering and grinning, and took a moment to set the scissors aside. "What am I gonna do? This!" Mik attempted a flying tackle. Of course, he'd been exercising weekly but it wasn't the same as the rigors of daily patrols or of combat. He saw Ric’s eyes widen as he arced through the air at him and saw Ric take a quick step to the side. Mik’s eyes widened in a mirror expression as his body sailed past that of the other which doubled Ric over in howling laughter. It bounced of the chamber's high walls and filled the room with sound.
Mik tucked his legs under and covered his head just before he landed hard on the cement floor. He managed to roll over and flop on his back with the momentum of the leap. Though the landing didn’t tickle and it made him grunt deeply, it was pure joy to hear the sweet sound of laughter from his brother. Mik’s own voice, a singing third below Ric’s, joined in and they laughed in harmony.
Ricohh wheezed, ignoring the sympathy pain he felt. Still sputtering, he moved over to his brother's landing spot and offered him a hand up. "Shoulda," he giggled, "seen," he spluttered, "yourself …" he wheezed.
Taking the offered hand, Mik pulled sharply, laughing the whole time. He had not seen himself through his brother's eyes, he’d been too concerned with landing properly; but, he was able to see the "instant replay" in Ric’s memory.
Ric fell for the ol’ "I need help so gimme yer hand" trick and stumbled forward. He twisted expertly with the fall so he didn’t exactly fall on Mik. Although, Mik deserved whatever pain he got for pulling that old number. There was the sound of breath lost in a whoosh as he landed on his side and momentarily saw stars.
Mik took advantage and tried to get a wrestler's head lock on him in the daze of that moment. Dumbfounded as his brother's arms locked around him, Ric mumbled a curse and kicked out his legs, trying to find leverage. The laughter died into the breath that came with struggling, but for Mik there was an occasional chuckle tossed in as he grappled with his brother for the advantage. It was good to test himself again on a battle ready Freemen. The reality of going topside had settled in on Mik and the wrestling suddenly held some weight for him – the need to prove himself surged up inside.
Ric’s own chuckling was effectively cut off by the headlock. He managed to get himself turned over and squeezed in a hard elbow to Mik’s exposed ribs. He heard the "ooof" of breathlessness he caused and felt that was a reaction that deserved a second chance, so he hit again with his elbow, harder. His other hand gripped Mik's forearm so hard that his knuckles went white.
Mik tried to hold on, but the none-too-gentle elbow proved timely as well as effective. He had to let go, but quickly shifted his grip to a pressure point on Ric's arm: a small spot between the elbow and mid forearm. He had decided it was wise to go from the brute strength approach to the "use your wits" approach and was rewarded with a hiss and gasp of pain from Ric. The grip Ric had on Mik’s forearm loosened. An echo of that pain reverberated just a tad through Mik’s head and he grunted. "That was a good one." As he tried to pin Ric to the floor, laughter bubbled up again in Mik. The arm of his victim flailed to the side as he renewed his struggle.
Ric allowed Mik to pin him while his free hand worked the gun free from its holster. Neither of them were aware that panic had taken hold in the pit of Ric’s stomach, or that the press of the earth above them and the additional weight of his brother made him feel even more trapped than usual. Ric himself was hardly aware of more than that the struggle had grown more serious for him. With the gun free of the holster, the darkness tickled at the edge of his vision. Mik was only subtly aware that something had changed in the wrestle play until Ric brought the gun up and the barrel was resting shakily against Mik’s temple.
Mik held suddenly still as the click sounded in his ear and Ric’s raspy voice said, very, very softly, "Bang. You’re dead." The silence after that was oppressive and Mik was, perhaps afraid to move. Ric’s voice came again, a sharply hysterical edge to it. "Get. Off. Me."
Letting go of his shirt, hands open, empty and unthreatening, Mik pushed back. His gray eyes were stormy with an almost annoyed dismay. He sat back on the hard, cold floor and said, "Yeah, Sure Ric."
Ricohh switched to a two handed grip on the gun. The weapon trembled in his hands but Mik never left the gun's sights. Almost too nimble, Ric was on his feet, backing away. His eyes were simply wild with fear.
"Easy, Ricohh ..." Mik said ever so softly aloud and more softly still in the depths of his brother’s tortured mind. The contact let him see that Ric’s head was a mess of old and fresh memory of being trapped, in the dark, with no escape. Mik’s expression twisted into sympathy as ragged breaths came from Ric’s lips and the gun fell from his numbed fingers to clatter uselessly on the floor. This is the last time you'll have to come down here, he told him, soothingly, apologetically. Still, as close as they were, it was hard for Mik to understand the fear that he himself didn't possess. Even so, what it did to Ric was just so clear, so scary ... maybe even dangerous.
This is so damn UNFAIR! He continued to back away from his brother, his soul, and the fear and a metallic taste bit on his tongue.
Mik stood slowly, but didn’t move toward him. He wanted to say he was sorry, but he thought it would sound far too empty -- because it wasn’t nearly enough to outweigh the enormity of Ric's unique aloneness.
As his back hit the wall, Ric gave a startled yelp. "Damn you!" Turning wildly, he found the nearest tunnel, and plunged headlong down it. Born under the moon of Imikk, symbol of the Syrynykkian Goddess of Speed, Ric vanished as fast as he could into the cursed dark.
In Mik’s cry there was fear and worry but the words that came with the cry of dismay reflected his strongest emotion. "It's not my fault!" He scooped up his brother's weapon and shoved it into his belt then ran into the tunnel after him. Thought they were identical, he prayed to Imikk to grant him greater speed than his twin. His voice echoed off the wet stone. "RICOHH!"
All he wanted was out of there; but, Ric’s mind was too clouded. He chose paths that lead him deeper into the bowels of the place. He couldn't see, couldn’t hear because his blood was pounding, filling his ears. The Deep Dark wrapped it’s cocoon around him, enfolding him in its impenetrable blanket. He stopped in his tracks to listen, to feel ...
