the Parting Glass

Of all the money that e'er I had / I spent it in good company / And all the harm I've ever done / Alas it was to none but me
And all I've done for want of wit / To mem'ry now I can't recall / So fill to me the parting glass / Good night and joy be to you all

So fill to me the parting glass / And drink a health whate'er befalls / And gently rise and softly call / Good night and joy be to you all

Of all the comrades that e'er I had / They're sorry for my going away / And all the sweethearts that e'er I had / They'd wish me one more day to stay / But since it fell unto my lot / That I should rise and you should not / I gently rise and softly call / Good night and joy be to you all

Good night and joy be to you all.

Prologue | January 18, 2004

Woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, beep!
Woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, beep!
Woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, beep!

The world is silent except for the intermittent beeping of the machine that monitors her vital signs, and the flow of the fluid around her skin. It's thick and sticky and warm, and a hue of transparent green that tints the dim fluorescent lighting shining from the floors. All is calm. All is weightless. Her eyelids are slightly open, her eyes rolled up and flickering back-and-forth slightly as she dreams. She has no sense of time or self, only that she is.

Then they open all the way, as she hears something beyond the sounds of her mechanical womb. Footsteps, moving closer with every passing moment. She turns her head slightly—as far as the tubes and wires for the mask covering her nose and mouth will allow her to—and watches as a hand is pressed against the glass. She squints. The light seems very bright now, now that she's using her eyes.

The fingers are slim and pale and much like her own fingers, which are curled against her bare chest. She hears a faint murmuring, words being spoken to her. She relaxes; she knows this voice. It is Mother's voice. She will not hurt her, will not tear her from her home like the others do. And when she washes the fluid off her skin, Mother always uses warm water. Not cold.

Mother's hand pulls away, and she waits. A few moments later comes the usual hisss sound, and the apparatus above begins to rise, and the fluid begins to drain into vents at the bottom of the tube. She finds herself lowering into a standing position, and her long dark hair—which has been floating in a cloud around her—plasters around her shoulders and back. After about a minute, the glass walls around her recede into the floor with a soft mechanical whiirrrr. She reaches up and pushes the large metal breathing mask off her face and takes a gasp of air. Not the purified, vitamin-filled air of the machine, but real air—the intoxicating blend of air she's come to savor. It always makes her cough when she takes her first breath, when she comes to life. Today is no different.

"Kuf, kuf," she says, and then she begins to shiver slightly. Mother reaches around her shoulders, and something soft touches her skin. She fingers the edges of the material and searches for the word for it. Towel. To dry with. The shivers fade, and she peers at the woman before her, no longer squinting. She adapts very quickly.

"The time has come for you to leave this place," Mother says, taking a hold of her shoulders and giving her a very intent look. She is not wearing her usual white coat, and there is a messenger back strap hooked around her shoulders. "Are you ready?"

Her eyes widen, and she nods, very quickly. Mother has discussed this with her before, during the rare moments when they have been alone. She hadn't understood, at first; even now, she's not sure. The woman had had to use little words to make any sense of the notion to her. But she has a feeling, an idea that perhaps there is something beyond the tile and metal walls. Something wonderful and intoxicating, like the air outside the machine. She is drawn to it like the occasional moths she sees beating around the fluorescent lights.

"Good," Mother says to her now, smoothing the towel against her shoulders. "I have clothes for you. Follow."

Obediently she walks behind the woman, being careful to copy her footsteps exactly like she always does. She is very careful to pay attention to what she is shown, but especially to what Mother shows her. She wants to be just like her. Perhaps she can learn. They reach a small plain room with some things she has never seen before. Her eyes widen, and she moves to one of them—a shining white contraption with a metallic centerpiece, and two metal handles. She brushes her fingers across the surface, her lips parting slightly. Mother shuts and locks the door behind them.

"What is this?" she asks of the contraption, her voice soft and small. The only time she uses it is when she is with Mother.

"Sink," she replies. Just the name, as always. She has progressed in her language skills to the point that additional words don't confuse her, but it has become a habit for Mother to teach her in this way, and she doesn't mind. Her fingers touch the cool metal. "What is it for?" she asks.

"Water," Mother says. She reaches past the girl and twists one of the handles. Water gushes from the centerpiece, and she jumps slightly.

"We need to hurry. Dress." Mother points to a stack of clothing sitting on what looks like a strange white chair. She moves over to it and does as commanded, pulling the garments on: jeans and a blue t-shirt, and a jacket, and socks with running shoes. She has worn clothes before, during training for Assignments. She will do her first Assignment in a short while.

After she is dressed, Mother opens the door again and peers into the hallway. She is holding a small firearm which she retrieved from the back of her pants. "Come," she says. "Hurry. Tell me if you hear someone nearby."

She hastens after the woman. They break into a run, down a long white corridor. The breath burns in her lungs, wildly intoxicating, urging her on with the promise of the unknown. Around a corner they run, Mother catching her wrist and pulling her along. Their hearts pound in her ears, and the lights buzz slightly. Another heartbeat joins the fray, and she pulls on Mother's hand and points down the hall, at a door that is opening. They stop, Mother points her weapon at the man emerging and fires at his head, without hesitation.

His thinning scalp explodes into a red mist. His eyes roll up in his head and he takes a few erratic steps, then falls to his knees and then the ground, face-down. She can see a big hole in his scalp, filled with pooling blood and white particles. It smells both alarming and intoxicating, just like it always does. The base scent is metallic, but there is always something more to the scent—something unique to the individual. She wants to look closer, but Mother pulls her back and shakes her head. "I will explain later," she whispers. "Keep running."

They resume their journey down the hall, stepping over the man's body. She can still feel his heat through the thin fabric of her shoes, and the dying electrical currents in his body. She understands he is dead, that he is no longer experiencing consciousness, and she wonders what it is like to be him right now. Is it like floating in her tube? What is he thinking, what is he seeing?

"Almost there," Mother whispers. "We might make it."

Make what? She wonders. They traverse another corridor and pass through several doors, at which Mother pauses to swipe a piece of plastic through a security keypad. The doors make heavy noises: beeping, grating metal, squeaking, clicking. They finally reach one that looks bigger and heavier than the others, and what's more, there is a window through which she can see a bright white light.

Mother swipes her keycard again and pushes the door open.

The light is so bright that for a moment she is blinded. She raises her arm to shield her face, gritting her teeth, and then the pain fades and she can see again. She peers out, and her mouth falls open. The world is white and cold and dark figures twist up from the ground and splay across a grey-colored, lumpy-looking ceiling, except she instinctively knows it is a ceiling she can't reach. Not a manmade ceiling. Her heart pounds in her ears, and the cold air burns in her lungs. Her throat makes soft yet high-pitched noises with each breath, and her mouth feels tight. The corners are lifting up.

"Come," Mother says. She pulls on her wrist again and they run down a flight of concrete stairs to the ground: asphalt, covered in the cold white substance. They hurry across a large expanse like this, toward a shiny red thing that she has never seen before. It slightly resembles the training vehicles, though.

Mother digs in her pocket and pulls out a set of keys, her hands trembling. "We are going to your aunt's, in San Francisco," she says, as she presses a button on the key fob. Pegs slide up in the doors of the vehicle. "Get in on the other side," she instructs. She does so, pulling the door shut beside her as she sinks into the softest seat she has ever felt.

Mother sits down too and inserts the keys into the ignition, then turns the engine, her foot pressing down on the gas pedal. The vehicle roars in response, and she hauls the steering wheel over as far as she can. They lurch forward, down the asphalt pathway, the dark shapes stretching up to the grey ceiling on either side. She presses her nose to the window, gazing out at the passing scenery in wonder.

"I know you have many questions, but they will have to wait for now," the woman says, her voice tense, her eyes on the ground ahead. "The drive will take nearly a day. About nineteen hours. There is a map on the floor in front of you, and you know how to operate this vehicle. It is like the simulations."

"Okay," she says.

"If anything happens to me, you will follow the path highlighted on the map," Mother continues. "Don't stop, for anything. Follow the signs along the road…obey the speed limits…and in the bag are tools for you: money, identification…you will find your aunt and tell her I said…" she pauses, her eyebrows drawing together. "Tell her I said you are my daughter and you need her protection. That you will be pursued by very bad people."

"Okay." She looks at Mother. "You mean…"

"Yes." Her fingers tighten on the steering wheel. "He is still alive."

She says nothing in response. What can she say?

"If anyone asks you your name…" Mother looks over. "You are now Laura, okay?"

"Okay," she says, confused. "But I have a name."

"No. Not anymore…never again. You are Laura now and all that is behind you. Forget X-23."

She feels confused. Mother hesitates. "It's like Pinocchio. You are becoming real, just like he did. You were a puppet…and now you will be a girl, a real girl."

This makes some sense to her. Her mouth parts slightly. She still has many questions, but Mother has told her there is no time now. Later, she promises herself. Later I will ask.

But there is no later.

It happens very suddenly, about an hour after this. Mother slows the car and turns toward a brightly-colored building baring the name Esso. There are concrete platforms, with strange devices lines along them: tubes with guns at the ends of them. Mother pulls up the vehicle beside one of these devices and stops it, mumbling: "I can't believe it. I can't believe I forgot gas. Wait here." She gets out and runs around the vehicle. She hears scuffling sounds, and looks over her seat.

Mother is standing against the side of the vehicle, working on something with a bent head. There is a mechanical hum, and liquid sounds. The smell of high-octane gasoline. A figure enters her field of vision from the side, and she looks out the back window. Her eyes widen. Him.

He's smiling, widely, and looking at Mother. "Going somewhere?" He asks loudly, his voice barely muffled even though he is outside the vehicle.

Mother looks up at him, her face pale, her green eyes widening in absolute horror. She opens her mouth, but whatever she is going to say never comes, because He raises his hand—in which is a firearm—and he squeezes the trigger.

BANG!

"NO!" she shouts, from inside the vehicle, but it's too late. Mother jerks backward—like the man from earlier—the air around her head turning red, like a halo. Her eyes roll back, and she falls against the devices. She struggles with the door, her fingers unable to grasp the handle for some reason. Spilling out of the vehicle, she falls to her knees on the concrete. To her right—under the car—she can see the lower part of Mother's body, and the red liquid pooling around her shoes. The air reeks of her blood.

Ahead of her, the man is sliding his weapon back into its holster. He looks at her. He is pleased.

"Well, clone, you just sit tight. Kimura's on her way right now," He says. "Let's get you home, you little freak…and we'll pretend this never happened." He pauses. "After we punish you, of course."

She looks back at Mother, her arms shaking against the cement. She can smell the death, she can hear the tiny fizzling sound of the electricity leaving her body as all signs of life evaporate. She can hear the absence of her heartbeat.

"No," she says.

He shakes his head. "Clone…"

"No." She sits up.

He moves to her, reaches down and grabs a handful of her long hair and yanks upward, pulling her to her feet. She grits her teeth against the pain, kicks her legs wildly. He leans closer and examines her face. "You don't say no," he says. "The fuck ideas did she put in your pea-sized brain?" He reaches into his holster again for his weapon. "Shot through the frontal lobe should give you a nice reset."

She swings her foot into his crotch, as hard as she can manage, like she was taught. He instinctively lets go as He curls around the area protectively. She brings her knee into His nose repeatedly, her heart pounding. If Kimura gets here…she'll miss her chance, she'll go back and this will be over. She hears voices—someone is running out of the Esso building, yelling, but she takes no heed, grabbing him by his brown hair and yanking his head backward. Her throat burns. She may not know much, but she understands what it is to hate, and she hates Him with absolute clarity.

"Fucking animal!" he burbles, through a mouth full of blood and broken teeth. Her blows are powerful. She wants to spend hours beating him, days, she wants to strip his skin off piece by piece and drown him in sweet-smelling fluid and dissect him with small bright lights, as he has done to her. But Mother had told her to stop for nothing.

Quickly, quickly. The head or the heart. She chooses the head, makes a fist—there is wet pain and a sound—and then she rams the metal-covered blades through his brain and out the back, several times. Shluckt, shluckt, shluckt. She lets go of his hair and he falls flat on his back with a thump! Hot liquid runs down her face. She assumes it is blood, but it tastes salty. Someone is screaming in the background. She doesn't have time. Running around the vehicle, she steps over Mother's body, then pauses and kneels and runs her fingers across her eyes. "Thank you," she whispers.

She knows to say this because of her. Her eyes burn, and she realizes the hot liquid is coming from them. This has never happened before, but she can't stop to analyze it now. There are sirens. She gets up and heads to the driver's door and opens it and gets in. The vehicle roars to life a few moments later, and she steps on the gas as far as the pedal will go.

…

She follows the road, and like Mother said, she stops for nothing. When the road she is on ends, she reads the map in glances. I-15 turns into US 20W, then I-W 86, then US93S, then I-80. Then US 101 N.

She sees things she can't fathom. Dense clusters of tall buildings with shining black surfaces. Enormous dark-and-white jagged shapes against a brilliant blue ceiling. Sprawling green flat areas. Dull yell flat areas. Red rocks, black rocks, yellow rocks, grey rocks. Water, lots of water. She discovers a button that lets her open the windows of the vehicle, and she drives the long stretches with her head peering out, the vehicle's motion causing the air to move very fast around her and making her hair stream behind her like a cloud. There are so many smells. She sees strange creatures along the side of the road, both alive and dead. She knows what animals are, from training. She'd had a small dog for a time, during the anti-empathy segment.

She follows the map through the sunset and the night and the sunrise, which takes her breath away with its unearthly beauty. This is a new concept for her: beauty.

The air starts to get warmer, and the sun in the blue ceiling begins to burn hotter. She reaches the last highway on the map and enters the biggest of the building clusters yet. She encounters a lot of other vehicles, and has to slow down below the speed limit on the signs. She feels nervous, but she continues to follow the map.

It leads her to a door, a red door in a very strange building, the likes of which she has never seen. There are many buildings like it around them, and green flat surfaces (grass, she realizes now, and the blue ceiling is the sky and the big shining thing is the sun, she is starting to connect them to the things Mother had told her about). She is puzzled about what to do with the door so she stands there for a while, the bag slung around her shoulders.

Suddenly it opens and a woman emerges, bending down to pick up a rolled packet of paper from the ground. She catches her breath—this woman, she looks like Mother. She could be Mother, if her hair was longer. And if she wasn't pregnant. She can hear the second heartbeat, very soft, like the fluttering of a moth's wings. She tilts her head to better hear it, and the corners of her lips turn upward slightly.

The woman doesn't notice her at first, until her gasp, and then she looks up and drops her paper in shock.

"S-sarah?" she asks.

"No." The girl pauses, and for a moment she is lost. Her lips straighten as her smile fades. Then she remembers her instructions. "Mother said...I am her daughter and I need protection." She raises her chin, determined not to fail the woman's last request of her. She will deliver the message in full. "I will be pursued by very bad people."

And then she falls silent. Those are the last words she speaks for a very long time, because she only speaks to Mother and Mother is now dead.