Soft swirls of aether washed over the xphern—delicate, deep, perfect. Each speck of gri—each molecule of dirt—vanished into the aether, and really, if Finn spent too much ti thinking about it he would lose his mind, this fact that the aether surrounded him at all tis, brushing molecules that could beco anything over his skin, lungs, eyes, the internal fibres of his throat and sinuses and ear drums.
Infections.
Bacteria.
What were molecules of aether—drops of universal power—if not the possibility of disgusting things touching upon him. Everything, in the end, could beco a disgusting thing capable of reaching into him. Once Emilia had talked Malcolm into going to the Grey Sands with her for a weekend, Finn being dragged along as well. So much sand. Sand between toes, in ears, between teeth and under nails and coated on the skin until a thousand showers couldn’t wash it off. Even now, Finn sotis felt that phantom itch of sand that was years gone—it really was quite amazing, the sensations a mind could pull up. Minds, Finn knew, were impressively wonderful—terrible—at pulling up mories for which the person wanted no part.
If he could purge his mind of a million little mories, he would.
If he could tug each sensation, each errant, inescapable thought away, he would.
“I love you like this; I’ll love you even if you are no longer like this,” Malcolm had said, after Finn had completed his first and only real job for The Black Knot. His skin had been rubbed raw with soap, soap—so much soap and yet for weeks Finn hadn’t felt clean, only Malcolm never leaving his side forcing him away from the shower again and again and again because maybe, if he scrubbed a little harder, scoured his skin with sothing stronger, he might cease to feel as though sothing were eating him alive from the outside in.
Little microbes, digging their teeth into his flesh.
Diseases, working their way into his pores.
Evil, burrowing under his skin.
It had been on that trip to the Grey Sands—which, despite the sand, had been enjoyable overall—that a random Free Colonier had wandered their way up to him, their eyes plucks of white orbs that, to this day, Finn had no idea of their quality. Had they been capable of sight? Had they been real or prosthetic? He had no idea, but the old woman’s words were burned into his mind: “You who cannot be touched, you fret over sand, but fear not, for fretting about is a protection in itself from the enemies from without. Protected souls fall into the line of our saviour’s sight, so fret not and fret forever—there is purpose behind all her glorious machinations, each cracked clone as much a gift unto this world as each perfect clone. Purpose, obscured, but there.”
Now, did Finn have any idea what the old woman, with her milk-white eyes and wobbling gait, had ant? Not really. Despite years of mulling her words over, mostly, Finn just enjoyed the idea that he was a gift to the world, despite his issues.
It was both a wonderful and terrible thing to be soone who hated his body and mind and yet enjoyed it—after all, as much as the idea of doing anything sexual with Malcolm send a clench of fear and revulsion through him, this version of Finn was still soone Malcolm cared for, and how could Finn hate himself when the boy he loved liked him as he was?
Would have been nice if the idea of doing more than tangling his feet and fingers with Malcolm’s didn’t make him what to die, cut the offending limb off, boil himself until he was nothing but gore and viscera and then burn himself still until nothing was left but ashes that would blow into the wind and fall back into the aether—maybe in the next life, the idea of his and Malcolm’s bodies coming together wouldn’t be quite so disgusting.
In front of him, the nervous clone who had been handing over the xphern shifted. They might be older and more experienced than Finn, but Finn had effectively inserted himself as Malcolm’s secretary and right-hand man. While everyone had long co to assu Andre would eventually take the role as Head of The Black Knot from his mother, Malcolm would one day be the second most powerful person in their organization, and his affection for Finn was well known.
Just as Malcolm had killed for Emilia nurous tis—not that Finn thought the girl aware of how often Malcolm ordered clones to kill people who made her feel the target of a predator—everyone, including Finn himself, knew his friend would kill for him as well. Emilia would likely kill for him, too—and by extension, the triplets and Rafe; possibly so of her non-black-knot friends as well. To be loved by Emilia, to love her in return, was to accept that every person she loved was now soone to be kept safe.
This was currently a bit of a problem, but as Finn turned his eyes to the xphern and left the nervous clone to run off—there was a reason that particular clone hadn’t been assigned to work deep cover, it seed—he contemplated the reality that they were liable to end up with a dozen more people on their List of People Who Needed to be Protected for Emilia. It was a long list, each person on the list yet another person he would force himself to kill for, if needed.
Hopefully, Finn generally wouldn’t be required to do any such thing—he really didn’t have the stomach for guts and gore, although… well, it was really more of an issue that he couldn’t erase the possibility of sothing having contaminated him from his mind, when blood fell in his vicinity. If Emilia—or perhaps Halen, finicky boy that he was—designed a skill that was capable of being so thorough in its eradication of anything that might touch him…
“Who’s that?” Malcolm asked when Finn sidled up to him, eyes still trained to the series of ssages that were flowing through the xphern.
A bolt of hesitation shot through Finn as he hovered next to Malcolm.
The embassy was clean—the area around Malcolm, who was always sure to run a million cleaning skills anywhere he stopped, so Finn would feel more comfortable settling next to him, even more so. Finn would run a thousand more cleaning skills, or course, his friend only watching him with those soft, smiling eyes. If only Finn could scrub them both so clean his brain would let him enjoy the press of Malcolm’s body against his own.
Occasionally, his mind would calm enough to let him enjoy a bit of closeness. Mostly, it was when they were in the shower, chemicals and cleaners right there and Malcolm never complaining that Finn would wash himself then Malcolm then himself again. It wasn’t that his friend was dirty, disgusting, a contamination just waiting to infect Finn and kill him, deform him, destroy him; rather, Finn was disgusting, dirty, revolting, and never would he want that gri to transfer to Malcolm.
For a mont, an image of one of the older clones—one long dead now, Finn’s guardian having slit his throat for the thing he had done to Finn and his podmates—lood within Finn’s vision.
His podmates were fine—had gotten over it. Why couldn’t he?
Shifting in front of Malcolm, Finn lean back against his friend. For a mont, Malcolm was tense; Finn knew he would relax. Physical affection between them was always a painful thing, but Malcolm never rejected him when he attempted to show it; indeed, that mont of tension passed, and then, Malcolm’s arm was wrapping around his waist—pulling him close.
“It’s the xphern that was being used to contact the person who tipped us off about the situation brewing in Falmíer,” Finn explained, his voice a soft whisper.
On the other side of the yawning room, Miles and Zitra’za Yu stood, huddled together, discussing options for getting in contact with Wander Fulbrun. Apparently, there were a few secret communication thods that the Seerish leader had for contacting a number of foreign leaders, and their secretary general was very much not happy to only be learning about it now.
Neither he nor Malcolm were allowed to know the details, although Malcolm had already shared that he didn’t doubt Miles would be sharing the most pertinent details with at least them—Miles wasn’t stupid enough to not think Malcolm would tell Finn anything he knew, every thought that slipped through his head. It remained to be seen if the man would tell the Laprise mothers or the Baxter fathers what he learned, however. Understandably, Miles was extrely unhappy that Penelope hadn’t told him about the situation with his daughter and Olivier de la Rue—the secretary general wasn’t blaming Malcolm because it was exceptionally clear that he was overwheld by guilt and fear for Emilia.
As for the Baxter fathers… well, when Miles had inford them that their children had been part of the group to go to Lüshan, the n had brushed him off. At the ti, both of the Baxter twins had still been missing, and Miles had been looking to see if the Baxter branch had anyone in Falmíer who might be able to help Emilia and her friends.
Keeping the Baxter family’s plants secret was apparently more important than all their lives combined. Miles had been furious—neither Finn nor Malcolm could bla him. It wasn’t a secret that the Baxter family were good at their job, slipping agents into nation after nation, organization after organization. Finn didn’t doubt that for a nation like Lüshan, which was known for accepting refugees, they didn’t have dozens, if not hundreds, of plants and sleeper agents. To not be willing to sacrifice a single one for their children and all the people they loved?
Needless to say, it was no wonder Levi had daddy issues. Loren was worrying more for the triplets than the Baxter fathers were for their children—although, as a clone himself, Finn knew full well how all encompassing the love of their guardians often was. It was a bit mixed as to whether younger clones would love their guardians in return, but guardians who didn’t love their wards were often seen as unsuited for raising a new generation of clones.
“Wait… they want to help us?” Malcolm asked, reading over Finn’s shoulder, careful to keep himself pulled back a little, lest the feel of his breath over Finn’s skin send him spiralling.
This—this holding of each other over clothes was fine, nice even. Finn knew all it would take was the smallest of things to break him, sending him crashing to the ground, heaving and panicking. Yet, Malcolm had seed as though he needed the physical connection while the wall of the room was… porous. It bubbled with intricate designs—beautiful motifs, all split through a mixed-dia landscape of ancient fabrics and marble and gemstones that Finn could practically see crawling with terrible, terrible things. All those little bugs, just waiting to climb onto his body and make a nest of him.
Parasites crawling into his ears to dine on his brain—it already felt an incomplete thing; he didn’t need more consud by bugs and creatures and monsters of minuscule proportions.
The world was a terrifying thing, with monsters big and small. Finn quite preferred the big ones, so easy to spot with their predator eyes and snapping teeth and grizzly claws. Better to be ripped open and consud by a monster that towered over him than slowly consud by a monster within.
“They also want us to give them everyone’s xphern exchange number—apparently they have access to a bunch of security caras that could help. They said the drop group has a number of Fräthk’s people trailing them, waiting for a chance to attack.”
“Why are they only offering help now? Did they ask for anything in return?” Malcolm asked, his tone a sharp bite that had Lan’za’s eyes shooting their way. While the Seerish girl was also outside of the bubble of privacy Miles and her mother were existing within, she was standing closer to them, relaying bits of information as it ca through her xphern—not that anyone didn’t think the information coming through was less than honest about Emilia’s situation in particular.
Knocking his head back against Malcolm’s chest, Finn skimd through the ssages for an older ssage—he had looked over all of the correspondence earlier, before handing it off to that other clone. No one had thought their contact, who had been silent for several days, would return, but soone had needed to stare at the xphern and go over the ssages over and over and over again, searching for the smallest of details that might have been missed during the initial readings of the ssages.
A few things had been missed, mostly because the situation had seed confined to Falmíer and The Black Knot only had those few clones in the city, as well as the head of the embassy, at the mont. It wasn’t considered important enough to dedicate more ti to investigating.
“What does that say?” Malcolm asked, glaring at the offending ssage—that was a fair response, given it translated into a strangely nonsensical ssage.
“I asked the Lüshanian ambassador,” Finn replied, “back when I first looked over the ssages. He said it is slang that has been popular with so of his interns recently—the young ones who will eventually work here. There are a number of groups—difficult ages, different schools—and they visit the embassy for a few weeks every year to supplent their education. According to him, this bit of slang is really only sothing he’s heard from those between the ages of about twenty-four and twenty-eight.”
“You’re saying our contact is a twenty-sothing-year-old?” Malcolm asked, letting Finn skip through more of the ssages, nurous other bits of strange language choices making more sense if one were to consider that the writer may not yet be thirty, and therefore, using slang their Censor’s had no translations for—the Lüshanian language pack was rarely updated and primarily used the conversations that occurred during their joint training missions to made adjustnts, aning the languages skewed towards that spoke by Drinarna over the age of sixty.
“That would be my guess. It would explain why they only contacted us now: either they didn’t know what was happening, or they didn’t know what to do.”
“Or they were waiting for sothing,” Malcolm suggested, sending over the list of all the xphern exchange numbers Emilia and her friends were using to Finn’s Censor.
Diligently, Finn began to input them into the xphern while also sending off a ssage to Halen and Taelor, informing them that they might have new allies in the city, but in the end, who really knew if these new allies were to be trusted—who knew what they would ask for in return for their help.
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