SG: Aurora #47 - Me, Myself and I

[Frobozz]

   Colleen MacCloud stared balefully across the desk at her employer, 
Arthur Doyle. Doyle calmly returned the engineer's gaze, never allowing 
there to be even a moment's suggestion that he was about to lose his 
temper. Sometimes when conducting impromptu negotiations, the lie was more 
important than the truth.
    "Ye cannae be serious," Colleen said finally when she realised that a 
stare worthy of a Top Ten pop singer was not going to get him to start. 
"I've been more productive in thae last two months than I've been in the 
whole bloody year! At... least, the last one I was -around- for!"
    "I know, Colleen. I'm not faulting your efficiency. You've put the 
space exploration program at least six weeks ahead of schedule. You've 
done Aurora a larger favour than we could ever repay."
    "Then whae, may I ask, is the blasted -problem-?"
    "It's your interpersonal relations, Colleen. A certain number of 
explosions and absent-minded accidents are expected in a mad science shop; 
that's why we pay so much for liability insurance and legal fees. But... 
Coleen, in all the time I've known you, I've never seen you act like you 
did today."
    "T'was under stress. It willnae happen again."
    "But therein lies the problem. It -has- happened again, Colleen. I'm 
aware that this isn't an isolated incident. This is simply the most 
egregious and the one that means I can't turn a blind eye towards your 
behaviour any longer."
    "So yer -benchin'- me?"
    "Yes, Colleen. Yes I am. You've put us six weeks ahead of schedule; 
while I'd like nothing better than to use that time you've bought for us, 
I think in the long run it will profit myself, Aurora and you all the more 
if you use it as a vacation."
    "I donae -need- a vacation, Arthur! Whae I need is tae work!"
    "Colleen." Doyle's voice took on a hard edge, one that immediately 
stilled Colleen's protests. "You have done nothing -but- since we 
recovered you. No one can take the pace you've set for yourself. You're 
human, and you need a certain amount of downtime to keep yourself in 
balance. One thing more."
    "Aye?" asked Colleen, voice sullen.
    "Please keep in mind that this isn't easy to say to -anyone-, least of 
all to someone whom I respect as highly as I do you. But I think you 
should consider seeking counseling. All fees will be paid for you, and it 
would be strictly confide--"
    "Thae be IT!" bellowed Colleen, leaping to her feet as her hands 
slammed down on Doyle's desk. "Ye can sit me on th'sidelines where I'll 
watch like a good little girl at rugger, but ye WILL nae insult me in this 
manner!"
    "There was no insult meant, Colleen. But just look at yourself. Look at 
how you're acting. You--"
    "This be nae about me," snorted the affronted engineer. "Ye cannae 
stand tae look 'pon me, an' so ye cast me -away-."
    Doyle's face turned to an icy mask before Colleen had finished her last 
word; and she knew in her heart that she had traipsed merrily over a line 
that should not have been crossed. When he finally spoke, Doyle's voice 
was toneless and flat.
    "Colleen, I can't talk to you when you're like this." Doyle pointed to 
the doorway. "You are on four weeks paid vacation as of right now. Now 
please get out of my office."
    "Arthur, I..."
    "Not now, Colleen. I'm sorry, but not now."
    Colleen nodded mutely and rose. For the first time in a long time -- 
perhaps since she awoke to found herself behind enemy lines, in another 
altiverse -- Colleen felt truly afraid. The cold feeling gnawed at her 
guts like rats, and in that moment the engineer wondered if she would ever 
feel warmed again. She turned and walked to the door, hearing each 
footstep fall louder than she could believe possible, knowing that each 
one reminded Doyle of her presence and thus the hateful thing that she had 
just said. She had crossed a line. There was no taking it back, and there 
was nothing she could say right now to make things better.
    But there was one thing more that needed to be said. Or rather, there 
was one thing more that still needed to be asked. She only prayed that 
Doyle would consent to answer her after... what she had just done.
    "Arthur..." she began, half-turning without looking at Doyle.
    "Yes, Colleen?" Doyle asked in his flat tone. "What is it."
    "Will... he... will he be all right?"
    "I don't know. Honeybear says that it's too early to tell."
    "Ah."
    "Goodbye, Colleen."
    Colleen nodded, turning towards the office door. She put a hand on the 
knob, then turned it and stepped through.
    "Aye. Goodbye indeed."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

                Chris Angelini/Frobozz Magic Productions

                              -and-

                        Mademoiselle Muse Inc

                        -in association with-

            'We Didn't Mean To Colour The Sky Pink, Honest!'
                Industrial Special Effects and Magic

                               -and-

        The Overworked and Underpaid Lisa MacDougall (producer)

                             -present-

                             AURORA #47

                          "Me, Myself and I"


%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

    There were few inhabited locations in the Beanstalk more lonely than 
this one. While many areas in Aurora's surface-to-orbit structure were 
empty, cavernous tombs -- due to the vast amount of space available in 
comparison to amount needed by those who called it home  -- these areas 
were almost never seen save by the engineers who needed to access them for 
whatever installation or renovations were needed. But everywhere that 
there was life in the Beanstalk, a conscious effort was made to ensure 
there would be bright lighting and a feeling of warmth, to keep the place 
feeling human habitable.
    The only exception to this general rule of good beanstalk-keeping could 
be found on Aurora's prison level, which boasted bare metal walls and 
carpeted floors. This austerity was both practical -- in that those 
incarcerated here tended to be resourceful and clever, capable of turning 
a salad fork and bubble wrap into an escape device -- and also 
cost-effective, as prisoners had far better things to complain about than 
the decor. If Daphne Anesthetic, the Beanstalk's warden, had anything 
negative to say about this general lack of warmth in her workplace then 
she'd not said it to any member of Aurora; not that she was in much of a 
position to say a word about anything these days. But the crux of the 
matter was that the Beanstalk's prisons remained a fairly bleak choice of 
vacation spot.
    Right now, Colleen found the environment to be exactly what she needed. 
There was a depersonalization to the area that appealed to her current 
state of mind; there were no reminders that anyone had left -their- 
distinctive and unique mark upon this little universe. But Colleen hadn't 
come to wander the prison halls for their ambiance; rather, there was 
someone in particular whom she had come to visit.
    "Took you long enough," muttered a crotchety voice from within the cell 
where Colleen stopped. "I was expecting you last week."
    "I'm so sorry tae disappoint ye," replied Colleen, snagging a visitor's 
stool with one foot and dragging it over to sit upon. "But some o' us do 
nae dance tae yer tune."
    "Oh naturally," replied the prisoner, shaking her head with a rueful -- 
yet amused -- expression written across her face. Said prisoner waited 
several moments for her visitor to speak again, and then continued. "Was 
that what you came here to tell me, Colleen? It hardly seems worth it to 
trek -all- the way down here just for that. You probably could have used 
inter-stalk mail to send me a postcard with that written on, and had room 
at the bottom for a few random jibes to make yourself feel better."
    "Oh do shut up," muttered Colleen, who was already beginning to feel as 
if this visit was something of a mistake. "An' do try t'remember that ye 
be the prisoner and I the free woman. So ye may wish t'keep a civil tongue 
in yer mouth, mm?"
    "I think my being a prisoner is precisely why I can get away with 
wising off at you right now, mirror miss. You wouldn't believe how 
liberating t'is to have absolutely nothing more to lose. But... ah, I 
sense that I've struck a nerve. I also sense that you're wrong in your 
assessment."
    "An' which one might -thae- be?"
    "That I'm the prisoner and you're the free woman. I believe we may be 
prisoners together, and you've but come to commiserate about your own 
incarceration."
    "Ye're more insane than I thought."
    "Am I? I'm not altogether convinced that I'm either insane or wrong in 
this. You have the look of a prisoner, and I suspect you have the mindset 
of one too."
    "Rubbish!" snapped Colleen. "What would ye know of any of it?"
    "Oh, this and that," replied the prisoner, brushing back her long red 
hair. She rose from her cot and walked over to the cell bars, staring back 
at her visiting twin. "After all, who knows you better than the woman who 
lived your life for all these years?"

***
    "Playin' a role doesnae make ye me," replied Colleen, her voice 
dropping to a dangerous whisper. "It merely makes ye an actress an' 
nothin' more."
    "If I'd just pretended to be you for, oh say, a month then I'd agree 
with you. But I lived a good chunk of your life and -- save for one or two 
bobbles -- no one even noticed the difference. I put it to you that 
someone capable of this feat might... just -might-... understand her 
subject on more than a surface level. Unless of course you want to argue 
that no one knew you well enough to tell the difference between us..."
    Colleen said nothing as she glowered at her altiversal counterpart. The 
woman standing across from her was Colleen MacDougal, who hailed from the 
neighbouring 001SUPERGUY, a universe both very similar and very different 
from the one Colleen knew. The engineer's twin had come across an 
altiversal bridge that the two of them forged and had promptly captured 
and replaced Colleen to act as a deep-cover mole within Aurora's ranks. 
The 'true' Colleen had spent the subsequent time trapped in the Hellish 
(tmish) prison of a stasis chamber until she had been rescued through the 
brave efforts of former Aurora leader, Nicholas Treis.
    To say that there was a bit of bad blood between the two Colleens would 
be to understate things just a tad.
    "No? I didn't think you'd care to admit that, even if it meant 
repudiating my skills. At least you still have your pride."
    "I came here tae ask you somethin'," began Colleen, flatly ignoring 
MacDougal's words. "But perhae I have come in error. Ye seem to be little 
use t'me in this mood."
    Colleen hesitated as she made to rise, realising that her double was 
making no move to stop her. Trying to recover her dignity, she turned her 
back on MacDougal and folded her arms.
    "But still. I suppose I can but see if I can coax some sense from ye," 
she finished, pursing her lips. "Some answer."
    "By all means," replied MacDougal, her eyes lidded with amusement at 
the aborted attempt at storming off. "As you can see, I have nothing but 
time."
    "Fine." Colleen hesitated for a moment, and then sighed. "-Why-?"
    "That's an open-ended question, cousin. Why what? You're going to have 
to help me out a little bit so I'll know what it is that I'm answering."
    "Why did ye... do it?"
    "That's still fairly vague, but I think I can finally take a stab at 
answering. You want to know why I impersonated you? Why I took over your 
life? All that?"
    "Aye."
    "I'm sorry to disappoint you, cousin. But it was my job."
    "Thae's no answer!"
    "That's every sort of answer, cousin. My Upline told me to do it and so 
I did. That's just how things work where I come from."
    "But... ye went -further- than that! Ye did things ye did nae have to. 
Ye..."
    "Ah." MacDougal paused, then favoured her counterpart with a sad smile. 
"You're on the very cusp of asking an intensely personal, not to mention 
intensely interesting, question. I'd let you fumble around for a minute or 
two until you managed to get it out, except I don't think you'll be able 
to ask it. I know that I wouldn't if I hadn't lived through the answer to 
it. You're wondering why I made your life into what I did?"
    "Perhae." Colleen paused, then sighed and nodded. "Aye."
    "All right, cousin. I suppose as the victor, those spoils belong to 
you. But I suggest you sit down, all right?"
    "Oh aye? Why might thae be?"
    "Because the prisoner should be comfortable in her cell, and I fear 
that yours is much larger than mine."

***

    "Thae's twice that ye've called me a prisoner," said Colleen, after she 
had retaken her seat. "What th' *dei'l* do ye mean by that?"
    "What do you think I meant?"
    "I haen't a clue."
    "Let's start there. There's one bar to your cage that you just can't 
stop rattling on."
    "Oh, aye? An' whae might thae be? What bar could I -possibly- be 
rattlin' upon--"
   "*Colleen*."
    Startled by the firm interruption, Colleen halted mid-word, staring at 
her dopple.
    "I know you, Colleen. Not just because I've lived a version of your 
life, but because I've spent the last five years living -your- life. I'm 
your face reflected in the mirror; and I know the secrets that you share 
only with your looking glass. So let's drop all pretense here, all right? 
And for that matter, here you can at least drop that bloody -accent-. Do 
you know how much I've hated having to mangle a perfectly good brogue?"
    "It's... it be... my natural--"
    "What do you think that first bar is, mirror miss? -God-, give me some 
credit for being a highly trained spy. I researched your life the first 
chance that I got so I wouldn't have to fake it. Do you know what I found 
out?"
    "I'm afraid ye may try tae tell me," replied Colleen in a quiet 
whisper. The cold chill of earlier had returned, and it had brought along 
friends.
    "I found a young woman who graduated at the top of her class; and yet 
despite this head-start out of the gate, I found someone who was having 
trouble being taken seriously in the engineering world." MacDougal drew 
her knee against her body, hugging it. "Being a mad scientist is bad 
enough here, isn't it? Almost -no- one wants to hire those. 'Reproducible' 
and 'reliable' are what just about every non-superguy-related sector 
wants. Mad scientists are notorious for deliverables that lack both 
traits.
    "But even worse, when a female mad scientist comes knocking on your 
door, faster than you can say 'glass ceiling', you're going to find some 
seemingly non-discriminatory way to tell her that there's no room at the 
inn. That must have been quite a blow to a budding inventrix just starting 
out and already tripping over the debris of two decades ago.
    "So were I she, I might decide that if you can't beat them, you join 
them. I might cultivate the image that everyone expected me to have. I 
might unleash my genius and use it to drape myself in the robes of the 
soulless scientist. I might start to speak in a thick accent that was a 
caricature of my own... the better to seem a -lot- more exotic. And even 
better would be to seem just a little bit buffoonish, thus taking the 
'mad' sting out of 'mad science'. And having completed my extreme 
makeover, I might shop myself around in the only sector that would have 
me."
    MacDougal stared at her double, who kept her eyes firmly on the ground. 
She hardly seemed to be breathing, much less inclined to answer back. 
After a moment's pause, the spy continued.
    "It would be a good disguise. An excellent mask to wear. It would let 
you stand on your own in a world that's expecting another Andy Awesome, 
another Qwintor, another Silly Wizzard. It would give you a flair that 
might make others overlook your unfortunate deviation from the accepted 
mould. And most of all... it would be a mask that you could wear, one that 
lets you chuckle at those who think they know you.Keeping the real you 
hidden from sight while the new and improved Colleen rockets up the ladder 
and proves what she knew all along: that she ranked amongst the top five 
mad scientists in the world and could stand proudly at the top of the 
heap, if only she was given a chance.
    "Still nothing to say? I'm really sorry for that, because I hate 
monologues; but needs must when the devil drives. Or would you say 'when 
the de'il drives'? Probably the latter, but let's not split hairs, shall 
we? This is the point where my research gives way to abject speculation.
    "It's my guess that this young woman, this goddess of technology, this 
peerless peer realised that as her -father- had the bad grace to be born a 
citizen of Erin, she was saddled with an Irish name that was potentially 
confusing to the world in which she was moving. It's further my guess that 
while she picked up her Scots accent from her mother, she didn't absorb 
much in the way of culture along the way. So, when she first gave her 
surname as 'MacCloud' rather than 'MacLeod', she was stuck with it once 
the ink dried on her first contract. I do have to give her credit for her 
gumption, however. I speculate that, once the error came to light, she 
decided to wear the name as a badge of honour and brazen her way forward.
    "Now mirror miss, I could be wrong on all of this. Research doesn't 
necessarily translate into fact; just ask any computer security research 
firm. So either tell me where I'm wrong or else please, drop the mask. 
You've been wearing the damned thing for so long that it's gotten stuck on 
your face."
    Colleen finally looked up, her arms sliding to cross defensively over 
her chest. Several moments passed before she broke the silence that 
settled between them.
    "I can't say that ye--you got it all right," replied Colleen 
experimentally in a soft, lilting accent that sounded so strange to her 
ears. "But I suppose I can't say that you got it all wrong, either."
    "There we go," replied MacDougal, sighing with just a trace of 
pleasure. "Now isn't that much better? We've already taken off one mask 
and that's -only- going to make it easier for us to talk. By the by, it 
sounds nice. I can just barely hear the Celtic that you've buried under 
the tombstone of your stereotypical Scots accent. It's lovely and exotic. 
I'm truly jealous of it. You should encourage it to grow back."
    "I suppose ye will say that you never followed this route yourself?"
    "Not... this one, no. But we aren't here to talk about me, remember? No 
Colleen MacDougal pity-parties tonight. You were here to talk about 
yourself. Or mmm. I think you came here to sit there and then go away 
telling yourself that nothing could help you. Unfortunately for your plans 
to feel miserable, I think that I can do something for you after all."
    "Ah, of course. Why did you ever go intae espionage when you had a long 
and full career as a psychologist ahead o' you?"
    "Who said I didn't dabble? But then again, who said I did? Either way, 
it doesn't much matter. Colleen? You came here because you tried to step 
back into your life and you couldn't. And when you went to find someone to 
ask why you couldn't get back into the shoes you used to wear, you realise 
that there wasn't a living soul who shared your quantum signature with 
whom you could share this."
    "An' you know this -how- again?" Colleen demanded, feeling her anger 
reaching out to try to take control of this situation. "Yes, yes, I know 
you researched my life and yes, you made some shrewd guesses, but I fail 
tae see how ye can claim to have gotten into my head -that- far!"
    "I've gotten into it because I've lived in it!" retorted MacDougal, 
finally letting her calm slip. "And I can't say that I much enjoyed the 
experience! Not until I made your life -mine-!"
    "That's exactly the PROBLEM!"
    "No, that's exactly the solution!"
    "What th' HELL(tm) do ye mean by that?" Colleen demanded, squeezing her 
hands into fists. "Whae the HELL(tm) can you possibly mean?"
    "Your life WAS a mask, Colleen! Everything in it was a carefully 
constructed facade for you to hide behind because you ran into one 
roadblock and that made you afraid to ever again work without a safety 
net! I couldn't change everything you hid behind, but I certainly could 
change it so I had -some- fun! And -that's- why you're here!"
    "WHY? If you know me so well, WHY am I here?"
    "Because you just tried to slide back into your life, and you realised 
that a STRANGER could live it better than you could!"
    "That's a DAMNED LIE!"
    "Is it? IS IT? Co-workers who were complete strangers when you left are 
now, out of the blue, talking to you -- and you have NO idea how to deal 
with that, am I right? People at work expect you to talk to them in a 
certain way, and even though in their heads they -know- you're not the 
Colleen to whom they spoke just a month ago, they still can't help but 
treat you like you were me, can they? And the more this goes on, the more 
you sit there and ask yourself -why- this is happening. I -know- that this 
is what's going on in your head, because at first I was treated the way 
you -expected- to be, and I hated it, and now I know just how alien it 
must be to you!"
    "You have nae IDEA!" Colleen screamed back at her, her fingernails 
cutting into her palms. "If you love this life so much, why don't YOU live 
it?"
    "Because I can't any longer," replied MacDougal, her voice dropping 
into a wistful sigh of regret. "I don't have a life any more. I'm paying 
for who and what I was. But if I could, mirror miss, I would. I loved 
living your life for you. There was only one regret..."
    "I canna--cannot believe you could have any regrets, ye cold-hearted 
bitch," replied Colleen, trembling.
    "No? Then your imagination is even more limited than I expected."
    "Fine. So t'is. What -is- this grand regret?"
    "You can't guess? No. I suppose you can't. Things like these just 
aren't in your vocabulary."
    "Jus' tell me. You're so damned smart, then speak -plain- for the 
benefit of those of us who're poor, limited souls who haven't anything 
-worthwhile- in our lexicon."
    "If you don't know what it is, then I'm not going to insult both of us 
by -telling- you. Besides, you're letting the most essential part of this 
conversation sail right over your overstuffed head."
    "Oh -aye-?"
    "Yes. Aye. Whichever you prefer. I -can't- have your life any more, 
which is a real shame because you didn't seem to have much use for it 
before I got here. So why aren't you doing something to take it back?"
    "Now this shows -jus'- how little you know, you traitorous she-bitch. I 
hae been doing -everything- in my power to take back this life that ye 
stole from me -- and don't think that the fact that you were the one who 
stole it has been forgotten! Perhaps you think it's a simple matter to go 
sliding into a life you've not touched in years?"
    "Actually, given that I managed it with yours and I'd never touched it 
before, I think it's not nearly as difficult as you're making it out to 
be."
    "And -I- think that it's easy to speak when you're sitting in your 
cell, smug as smug can be, watching your victim pick up the pieces that 
you scattered!"
    "Hm." MacDougal considered her double for several moments before 
nodding. "Yes. I think 'victim' does fit you. And yes, I was at least 
partially responsible for making you one, mirror miss. But pieces? 
Scattered? Now that's where I have to disagree."
    "Disagree? -Disagree-? What word would -ye- use for what you've done to 
my life?"
    "Honestly? Organized. Your life was already in pieces, scattered 
willy-nilly about the place. They were like a machine that sits in parts 
on a worktable. Everything is -present-, but the machine is non-functional 
simply because no one's done anything useful with those parts."
    "Ah," replied Colleen, feeling deeply stung. "An' so you claim that my 
life was the machine, and your betrayal... t'was but a bit of routine 
maintenance?"
    "No. No, it was espionage, Colleen. The routine maintenance was just 
the happy fallout of my plying my spy craft."
    "I certainly would -love- to hear how you would justify the murders 
your actions led to, then!" snorted Colleen. "If only t'hear the pretty 
words in which you dress that!"
    "I don't justify murder, mirror," replied MacDougal, struggling to keep 
her voice controlled. "Just as I'm not trying to justify what happened to 
you. I made you believe my good intentions and then I traded on your trust 
to replace you. There's really nothing about that which -isn't- me being a 
lying bitch. Just..." Her eyes flashed. "Just as there's no pretty way to 
dress up murder. And I'll thank you never to speak to me about it that way 
again."
    "An' I'm doing you favours why, precisely?"
    "You're -not-. You would be showing my victims the respect they 
deserve. But maybe I'm a fool to expect that kind of respect from someone 
who lives with her life wearing white gloves over bloodless hands."
    Abruptly, Colleen rose and walked away from the cell. MacDougal frowned 
after her, then called after her mirror image.
    "I'd ask if it was something I said. But I already know that it is. Who 
was it, Colleen?"
    Colleen paused and clenched her fists. "Why should I tell you a thing?"
    "Because I notice that you stopped when I called you back, mirror miss. 
You don't really want to walk away from me because, no matter how much we 
yell at each other, at least we're communicating. You need communication 
right now, more than anything. And whatever I just nailed you on, it's 
sore enough a point that you need someone to talk to right now. Who else 
is going to discuss it with you? Since you're here, you're probably 
feeling pretty isolated. Hm... well we know that Kent's dead. I'm sorry 
about that, for what it's worth. It wasn't my call even if I accept his 
life on my conscience. But that's one confidant you don't have to turn to. 
At a guess, Doyle's more pissed than usual with you. Might be part my 
fault though. Sorry about that, for what -it's- worth. And... who does 
that leave you? Underlings? Nope, they're terrified of you. Friends? 
Couldn't really find any in your Rolodex. Not that you really kept a 
Rolodex. Though you'll find mine in the upstairs cupboard. So you came 
here to have a good yell... and maybe for something more. Maybe to talk to 
the one person who -- perversely -- is close enough to you that you don't 
need to have any secrets from her. Now, am I wrong? Am I anywhere close to 
wrong?"
    There was a silence that stretched out for a long while. MacDougal 
stared at her twin, who kept her eyes down as she let that percolate.
    "Nay. You... aren't wrong."
    "Who was it, mirror miss?"
    "T'was Moore. It was an accident..."
    "I believe you."
    Colleen snorted softly. "Oh thank you." She paused, then considered 
again. "But it wasn't just... Moore. It was Walker. An' Young. An' 
Turner..."
    "It sounds like you've been having a lot of accidents lately."
    "Aye. Indeed."
    "Can I be a little blunt right now... Colleen?"
    "When hae *I* ever stopped you?"
    "Fair enough. But this time I'm asking. Seriously asking. May I?"
    After a moment, Colleen nodded.
    "You're trying to live half a life behind a mask. You were managing 
it... -just-... before I came along. You did it by fooling yourself into 
thinking that you were happy; that it was a rich and full life. That the 
mask hadn't become the real you. But when you came back and saw what your 
life could be like, when you realised that the mask had been donned by 
another and no one even noticed... well, you're a smart girl, mirror-leen. 
But you're not emotionally smart. You threw yourself into your work, but 
that wasn't enough. And you started to act out through it."
    "I..."
    "I'm not saying I'm all completely right," replied MacDougal, raising a 
hand. "Humans aren't that easy to fathom. But I think what I'm saying 
touches a nerve?"
    "...aye."
    "You want to change. Don't you?"
    "Aye."
    "Then you can. It really is that easy. You have what I didn't, 
mirror-leen: you have a choice. My life was written for me and I made the 
best of it. You... you can take your life and write it however you want, 
use all the florid language you like, and put it between two beautiful 
covers that'll look nice on the bookshelf. Just promise me two things?"
    "Aye...?"
    "First, promise me that you'll see someone. Someone..." She grimaced. 
"Trained in stuff like this. Who can help you get to your core. Trust me, 
it'll help and it'll help a -lot- with your boss. Nothing gets you 
forgiveness better than seeking help."
    Colleen snorted softly again, but this time the note held no derision. 
"Promise."
    "Good. And the second...  promise me that you'll live enough for us 
both."
    "Ah... ye may not be in here forever, you know."
    "No, no I know," replied MacDougal, a small smile gracing her lips. 
"But promise me anyway?"
    "Aye, then. I promise."
    "I know we can't be friends, but... well. Confederates, mirror-leen?" 
she asked, offering a handclasp through the metal bars.
    "I think... perhaps maybe even friends," replied Colleen, glancing 
shyly up at her mirror image before accepting the clasp.
    There was a loud clang as Colleen was yanked against the bars, head 
striking metal with enough force to stun. MacDougal's hands worked 
quickly, finding the tools she knew would be hidden on her counterpart's 
clothing. She let Colleen fall to the floor with a dull thud, turning her 
attention to the cell door. It was the work of moments for her to gimmick 
it open.
    "Sorry," MacDougal said to Colleen's motionless form. "But necessity 
exists." Hm. She was caught in a choke point, the only exit from which was 
controlled by an external console, and the guard manning it was no doubt 
raising an alarm right about now. She had... a pair of pliars, a 
screwdriver, some gum and fewer than five minutes to escape before 
reinforcements sufficiently emboldened the guard to attempt a capture.
    Well, if this wasn't going to be a mite bit tricky, she didn't know 
what was. But that was just fine by her. Colleen MacDougal loved a 
challenge.

***

This issue is mine, mine, mine and you can't have it. Nyah and copyright
belongs to Frobozz/Chris Angelini, 2007. Mess with my legal rights and
I'll send over Gggthstx to discuss 'fair use' with you. Email to
frobozz at eyrie.org. Homepage at http://www.eyrie.org/~frobozz.



---
-Chris
frobozz at eyrie.org
http://www.eyrie.org/~frobozz

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