After the Second Fall Pt. 01.1

"Come on, Rosie. You're making me self-conscious staring at me like that," said Maggie, reddening slightly. "You can't take a shower with your clothes on."

"Oh! Oh, yeah, of course," replied Rosie, quickly stripping off her shirt and pants, trying to make it look like she'd done so dozens of times before. When she got to her undergarments she froze. Rosie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing her hands to keep moving, but she couldn't get them to pull the straps off her shoulders. She took another breath and tried again, but instead of making any progress, tears returned to her closed eyes and began rolling down her cheeks for the second time in the morning.

Maggie watched this internal struggle for only a moment before placing hand on Rosie's back and a second on her shoulder. Rosie stiffened further, seeming to pull back into herself, so Maggie took a step back. "Rosie, Honey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Rosie shook her head in response, again failing to respond verbally.

Unsure what to do, Maggie stepped forward and gently took the younger girl's chin and tilted it down. "Rosie, look at me. Come on, Honey, look at me. I won't hurt you. That's right. Now what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"I just... you just caught me off guard is all. I thought I'd have more time before, you know, I'd have to get naked..."

"Oh, Rosie. I'm so sorry. I didn't even think about that. I was just trying to show you how to take a shower without embarrassing you. I guess I did the opposite, huh?"

Rosie sniffled. "It was that obvious I had no idea what to do?" she asked, wiping tears with her dirty shirt.

"Yeah, pretty much. Look, nothing weird is going to happen. We take off our clothes so that they don't get wet, and then we stand under those nozzles over there and use the water that comes out to get clean. That's it."

Rosie's fear lessened as she heard the explanation. "You mean you have so much water that you can use it just for cleaning? Do you drink it afterward?"

Maggie made a face. "No, of course not, but the water does recycle, so try not to get it in your mouth -- it can make you pretty sick. And keep it out of your eyes, too."

"Oh. Okay, I guess that sorta makes sense. I've just... I didn't know there was that much clean water in the city. We always just stood out in the rain, or sometimes used a rag dipped in a rain barrel." Rosie smiled, wiping at her tears. "This does sound much better, though."

Maggie smiled back. "It definitely is." With that, Maggie stepped into the room, turning on two of the shower heads. She was joined shortly thereafter by Rosie, who had overcome her bout with modesty.

After what would generally be regarded as an inordinately long time, the ladies finished their showers and headed to their next stop, with Maggie back in her clothes and Rosie in a towel; her clothes had been discarded in the trash bin at the room's exit.

Walking into the storeroom, Maggie quickly picked out several sizes of the various garments for Rosie to try on. Not long afterward the two were dressed in matching outfits consisting of dark blue shirts and tan skirts, with simple black sandals. Each of the shirts had light blue stitching around the sleeves and v-neck collar. The ankle length skirts were cut up both sides to allow for easy movement while still managing to hide the ladies' legs most of the time. Underneath Rosie was now wearing a soft white camisole and modestly cut panties. Despite her new attire's clear focus on function over form, Rosie had never felt more luxuriously dressed, and told Maggie as much.

Maggie just laughed and hurried them on to the kitchen.

Like the shower, their visit to the kitchen took substantially longer than Maggie had expected. In addition to being the least picky eater Maggie had ever met, Rosie managed to eat a significant percentage of her body weight. As they left, with Rosie still chewing, Maggie was trying to determine if the thin girl had somehow managed to hide some of the food in her pockets for later. Deciding to leave that mystery unsolved, Maggie led the way to the common room that also functioned as Madame Bower's office.

The room, regularly referred to as the Lounge by the women that it served, was large and square with a desk against the far wall, comfortable looking couches in the center, and high tables spaced along the side walls. The room decor tended toward tan and rich browns, with light blue accents, matching the trim on the girls' sleeves. Beautiful flowers of different varieties sat in clear vases on most of the tables, and several large, colorful rugs softened the look and feel of the harsh, gray concrete floors.

Scattered throughout the room were more than a dozen women in the same uniforms, most of whom -- like Maggie -- looked to be in their late twenties or early thirties. The clear exception was a middle-aged woman sitting on the nearest couch with two of the others. All three were smiling as they conversed.

It was to the front of this couch that Maggie led Rosie. When the older woman looked up, Maggie curtsied and introduced her companion. "Madame Bower, this is Rosie, the young woman you sent me to fetch. As you instructed, she's all cleaned up and has eaten."

Ruth disengaged herself from her companions and stood, appraising the newly arrived pair. "And what took so long, Miss Maggie?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, but without any ire. "I expected you both some time ago."

"Well..." started Maggie, but Rosie stepped forward before she could proceed.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, it was my fault. I took longer in the shower than I should have. I was just trying to get all of the dirt off me, and, well, there was a lot of it."

Ruth looked the young woman over with the benefit of many years' experiences. The girl had a slight build, despite her height, but seemed even smaller due to being underweight, perhaps dangerously so. Her eyes were blue and seemed almost sunken due to her malnutrition, but they would be striking once she filled out. However, even in her current state, the girl had some natural curves, and it was a good sign that she took responsibility for being late, even though it didn't matter in the slightest.

Ruth motioned for Maggie to step away with her for a moment. While the two women held a nearly silent conversation amongst themselves, Rosie was left to stand awkwardly in front of the seated women, occasionally making eye contact, but mostly staring at her feet, overwhelmed by the room and its occupants.

After the brief interlude, Maggie waved to Rosie and went off while Ruth made her way back. "Ladies," she said, addressing the seated women, "please excuse us."

Ruth hooked her arm through Rosie's and led her to the door. "Rosie, walk with me for a while. I'm going to show you where you will be sleeping." A short while later they were back at the storeroom. "From here, your room is just around the corner. Since you seemed to get along with Maggie, and because we don't have extra space right now, you'll need to share a bed with her: it's the one with the stuffed bear. Tomorrow, Maggie and your new roommates will show you around more and help you learn your role.

"But that is all for later. Today, I just want you to rest. Sleep as much as you can, eat when you're hungry, and I will see you back in the Lounge tomorrow morning by the eighth bell. You have already seen the shower, the kitchen, and the Lounge -- do you think you can navigate well enough on your own?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm pretty good with directions."

"Very good. And you can call me Ruth when we're alone. Otherwise, I'm Madame Bower: we need to keep up appearances after all," she finished with a smile. "See you tomorrow, Honey."

Truly shocked at the turn her life had taken, Rosie walked slowly, as if in a daze, to her new room. There were two sets of stacked beds complete with sheets, blankets, and pillows, two simple metal chairs, and four shelves, all of which held assorted personal items. The farthest top bunk had the tell-tale bear, so she climbed in, closed her eyes, and was asleep in moments.

Chapter 3

Like more than half the room's occupants, John stood against the wall watching the heated discussion's as-yet-undetermined end draw closer. Argument had already proceeded for more than a bell, which was very rare in this forum. Around the room's central table sat the five members of the Complex Council. Dr. Shepard sat in the final chair at the table's foot, also waiting for the decision, his report having been the impetus for the discourse. On one side of the debate (and the table) was Richard Jacobs, Director of Research & Development, who was vigorously defending the current Adam design. Director Jacobs was an obsessively fit man more than halfway through his expected lifespan. Aggressively confident in his approach to all of life's challenges, he was in the process of arguing opinions as facts, his favorite tactic toward winning arguments.

His current opponent was Director Ronald Baker, Head of Special Projects. Like Jacobs, Director Baker was no pushover, having risen to his Council seat in large part due to a series of inspired successes. Baker was a younger man, only now approaching midlife. He was highly energetic and tended to appear scatterbrained to those that didn't know him, often changing topics rapidly and arguing both sides of a given topic. In this case, however, he was uncommonly focused.

"Director Jacobs, I freely concede your point that there is no good way to rigorously test the hypothesis proposed by Dr. Shepard. However, one does not simply discount ideas because they are difficult to demonstrate, especially when the potential benefits are so large."

"As a general statement, I fully agree, Director Baker," replied the older man. "The stakes here, as you know, are too high to move forward without confirmation. Furthermore, we should not endanger multiple Adams from the pool without strong confidence that this approach is sound. Nor are the immature trainees a good test: this event may have been age related. Consequently, I do not see a clear path forward."

As Baker was about to respond, the Executive Director, seated at the head of the table, raised her hand and the younger man immediately abandoned whatever he was about to say. "Director Jacobs," she said looking down the table at him, "proceed with the bone density tests, both the real time scans as well as point samples. These data will be useful, regardless of the outcome.

"Choose three Adams from the pool, as well as one in each of the final three years. I want the point samples from throughout the body; you will determine the specifics. Work with Director Humbolt to select the least promising subjects in case they don't survive the testing."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Director Baker," she said, now looking down the other side of the table.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Choose one of the less promising Adams from the pool; Director Humbolt can help here as well. I want you to show him the results of Dr. Shepard's autopsy and train him to hit the target area with regularity. Work with Dr. Shepard to assess performance; if Dr. Shepard becomes satisfied that his hypothesis may still be valid, set up a one-off fight with another of the less promising Adams. Do not tell the second about this project; we need to know if the idea will hold up in real world conditions.

"Dr. Shepard, this is your top priority, excepting only immediate medical responses."

"Yes, ma'am."

"We will discuss results at the Council meeting after next." Here the Executive Director looked to the other members of the Adams Council, silently checking for dissent. Seeing none, she dismissed the meeting.

As the directors were departing, John left his spot on the wall and sidled up to Geoffrey Humbolt, Head of Personnel, as he was leaving the room. "Hey, Geo, do you mind if I walk with you for a moment?"

The director kept moving as he responded, "Not at all, John, but you don't really need to make an argument. Pip doesn't make sense for this: he's as atypical as we've ever had, so who knows what we would find if we start probing him. No, we'll have to find different trainees."

"I was hoping you would say that. I agree that the results would be disputed, regardless of what they showed."

"Good. Anything else?" asked the man perfunctorily.

"Actually, yes. It won't take long, but it's best if we talk privately."

Humbolt stopped and looked up at John, raising his eyebrows in mild surprise. "Alright, let's step into my office, but we need to keep it short -- I'm already late to my next appointment."

Facing each other across the director's desk in a small room without windows, buried in one of the Complex's lower floors, John began. "Geo, I don't have much confidence that Director Baker's efforts are going to be successful."

"Neither do I, John. After all this time, we're not likely to find a magic bullet."

"Yeah, but that's not exactly what I meant. Have you reviewed the footage of Pip's fight in detail?"

"I've seen it several times, especially the fatal strike. So?"

"Did you notice anything strange about the way that the fight unfolded, specifically about Pip?"

The director regarded the handler critically. "Listen, John, I don't know what you're driving at. Spell it out for me so I don't have to guess."

"Sorry, Geo, I was hoping that you saw what I did.

"Look at the fight again. The way that Pip moved -- the way that he avoided punches at the last moment and then the accuracy of his own strike -- I'm convinced that it's something different than we've seen. When I said that I don't think the program will work, it's because I don't think any of the Adams can duplicate what Pip did, although I'm not sure myself what that actually was. Personally, I do think Dr. Shepard's hypothesis is valid."

The director raised his eyebrows again, this time genuinely surprised. "And what would you have me do?"

"If the fight happens, and if the demonstration is unsuccessful, I would like for you to argue for keeping the hypothesis alive."

"What would be the point? What is it I should argue for?"

"I want you to give Pip a fight against a pool Adam, and not one of the bottom feeders."

Humbolt was actually incredulous at this point. "As his handler, aren't you supposed to try to keep Pip alive?"

"Yes, but..." John replied. "I know it doesn't make sense logically, but I have a strong feeling that he'll be able to do it again if the Adam doesn't know it's coming. Pip's different, we all know that. I suspect that whatever it is that went wrong with him, may have actually gone right, and we're about to learn what that means."

The director leaned back in his chair, considering the suggestion, as well the potential implications if John was right. "Let's see how the first fight goes and we can talk again then."

"Thanks, Geo," said John, standing to leave. "Don't forget to take another look at Pip's fight -- you might consider watching it at half speed." His request made, John excused himself with a wave and walked back toward his own office.

Twelve days later, John Rogers and Geoff Humbolt stood side by side next to the training arena, watching the final preparation for the planned fight.

"So what did you think?" asked John.

"You were right that it was much easier to see with the speed slowed down, but I don't know if it's anything really that special. I've seen Adams before that could slip almost any punch. It's a skill for sure, but it's not magic."

"It's possible I'm just seeing what I want to see; maybe it's because I like Pip."

"Oh, yeah?" asked the director. "I thought handlers didn't get attached."

"Well, that's normally true, but it's hard not to like him. He's automatically the underdog in everything he does, so he's easy to root for."

"Hmm. Almost gives you hope that you could have been in the Adam program?"

"Ha!" barked John. "I wouldn't last past the opening exchange: I'd get beaten with the bloody end of my own arm. Have you seen the size of them?" asked John facetiously.

"Have you looked in the mirror, big man? I'd bet you could do the same to me if you had the inclination, and I'm not exactly small."

John smiled. "Well, that's what happens when your old man was an Adam. You know what the best part is?"

Humbolt look at John suspiciously. "Big dick?"

John laughed again. "I was going to say oversized brain, but that's not bad, either."

"Uh huh," came the response. "Why don't you keep that equally oversized mouth closed -- it looks like they're ready to start," said the director without rancor.

At opposite sides of the sand the two fighters were receiving final instructions from their respective handlers. The two of them, despite being relatively low in the Adam pool, were true specimens. Like all Adams, they were were excessively tall, obscenely muscled, and frighteningly wide. Furthermore, these two had similarly broad facial features and a medium skin tone, indicating they came from the same genetic stock. In the streets of Rieckenburg they would have been called twins, but that term didn't have any meaning within the Adam program.

"Which one is the test case?" asked John.

"The one on the far side, with the scar below his right ear. That's Mitch. The other is Topper. And before you ask, no, I don't know where the name came from."

"And they're identical?"

"As close as we could make them. Doesn't bode particularly well for that batch that they're both at the bottom of the pool, but at least they made it this far."

"Do they fight the same?"

"Not really. Somewhere along the line they diverged, developed their own personalities, preferences, whatever. That said, I don't think they've formally fought each other before. Should be interesting to see what happens."

"Always," agreed John.

Standing in the sand, the two fighters were ready to begin, muscles tensed and eyes focused on each other. The bell rang and they rushed together, eager to get directly into the fight. The initial exchange was as brutal as it was fast. Mitch, the fighter with the special instructions, was getting more than he was giving, consistently half a heartbeat slower as he tried to look for a specific opening in Topper's defense.

The Adams broke apart for a dozen beats before reengaging one another. This time Mitch feinted to the left and managed to sneak a right roundhouse into Topper's ribs, but the latter shrugged it off as he had other strikes. In return, he split open Mitch's left cheek with a counter right. The violence of the blow staggered the Adam and sent him back two steps. This was followed up with several body punches, causing Mitch to drop his hands; Topper promptly introduced his forehead to his opponent's nose. Mitch's knees buckled and he folded awkwardly, head smacking the sand as he hit. The second bell was late in coming, allowing Topper to land several kicks to the ribs and an additional heel stomp to the solar plexus. When it did sound, Mitch was convulsing on the ground, vomiting blood even as more streamed out of the wound on the side of his face.

Taking in the scene, Director Humbolt nodded. "As I expected. Looks like we don't have a magic bullet after all."

"Come on, Geo, I told you this would happen. I would say the results are inconclusive, so please don't forget what I asked," interjected John quickly.

"I know, I know. I'm not going to commit to anything now -- I need to see how the Council meeting plays out. On the positive side, at least you only need to wait a couple days for an answer."

"Yeah, there is that. Anyway, thanks for at least considering it."

"Sure. Too bad the fight was so one sided, huh?."

"No doubt. I expected more from a pool Adam. Maybe he was too distracted, or focused, or something. Or maybe it's because his name was Mitch. What the hell kind of name is that for an Adam anyway?"