title: The Golems

author: rodlox

sequel: hopefully to tonight's ep...though if i have to ignore it, I will. Ana Stein's POV


The Golems
by rodlox

Ana's Voiceover: "In Jewish mythology, there is the story of the
Golem. The Golem's reason for being is to protect. To bring a
Golem into the world, one must write the Hebrew "Breathe" on it's
forehead. To 'kill' a Golem, one must remove one of the letters from
the forehead. Now, the question I always asked was "What if the
Golem doesn't want the letter removed?""


He's whistling.

He has a better tune than his brother did, I'll grant him that much. Even still, I'm having trouble concentrating while he's doing that -- and I have to finish this requisition form tonight!

"What?" I grind out, "Is? It?"

He sounds surprised that I'm so annoyed. He may've only been here for a day - on a 'vacation' by the Official - but already... "I know it's probably none of my business," Darien tells me, an unasked question in his voice, "but is there a history between you and Hobbs?"

I raise my eyebrow at that. "What makes you think there is a history between myself and him?"

"Oh, I don't know; the way you two talk together," you mean our mutual insults the other day?, "little things mostly. So . . .?"

"If I answer this question, could you do a favor for me?" I ask him, as sweetly as I can. He nods. "I'm his cousin. I'd sooner eat Southern Fried Bacon than have 'a history' with him."

"Oh," Darien says, thinking. "So, what is it you'd like me to do?" Is this multiple choice?

"See that door over there?" The one that looks like it's lead-lined. Darien nods. "Open it up, and stay in there for five minutes, please?" smiling.

Darien nods; at least he holds to his promises, unlike his brother. He goes to the door, opens it, steps inside, and closes it behind him.

I activate the stopwatch part of my wristwatch. Sure enough, the sound of a body backing up into the door arrives - though, with a look, Darien's lasted forty seconds, while most people only last twenty before heading for the door.

There's pounding and thuds plainly audible as I approach slowly, taking my time. By a minute and a half, Darien's face is in the plastic porthole in the door. "Hey, can I come out early?"

I cock my head, pretending not to understand. "There's a psycopathic - a violent and dangerous - something - in here!" The slamming of a dinner bowl against wrought iron bars echoes his concern.

I open the door at two and a half minutes. Darien looks like he'd love to get out of there, but he doesn't want to push me aside. My hand on his chest, I gently push him back inside.

After I shut the door behind me, I turn to see the source of the noise - besides a frightened Darien. Silver streaks have been flowing across him for a minute now - not enough to render him invisible, not if he's like the donors.

The real noisemaker's behind the bars still. Billy-Bob, an orangutang male in the prime of life, complete with cheek and neck pads.

He's also five hundred pounds of hyperactive rage.

I raise my hand, with no effect on Billy-Bob. Darien looks warily at the bars which are nearly all that stand between us and Billy-Bob.

I extend my index finger at Billy-Bob, and he backs up a little, but not calming down. Darien opens his mouth - do you want a bomb shelter?

"Zotz," I tell Billy-Bob, and he instantly stops his fit, curls up in a ball, and whimpers.

"Wow," Darien says. "Wow," he tells me. "How'd you do that?"

"You never read the book?" I thought everybody had that book.

"What book?"

"'Zotz'." And Billy-Bob whimpers some more, trying to hide under a burlap sack.


THE NEXT DAY....

On the way back from Shul, I picked up a newspaper. The main heading read 'Prominent Paleontologists To Speak Before U.N.' I sigh wearily - when will that matter simply drop?

I suspect, and a little fear, that even when there is a permanent peace between Israelis and Palestineans, there will still be debate and wrangling over Isla Nublar.

When I open the door to the orang labs, I see Rachel and Darien working on their extensile ability: their hands go silver, then the quicksilver reachesthrough the air, an extension of the arm. They both seem to be enjoying themselves so much, I hate to disrupt them.

However, my thoughts don't stop Rachel from remembering my schedule. She turns and looks at me, waving - dropping the quicksilver in the process.

I walk up to them now that they've noticed me.

"So," Darien asks, "What do we get to work on today?" Rachel just smiles.

"No work," I answer. That's why I'm only now stopping in, to say Hi to Rachel and Billy-Bob, like I do every week.

"Okay, then can I at least ask a favor?"

"What sort of favor?" I inquire.

"All I ask is that I get to return the hospitality you've shown me." I freeze in my tracks.

What? "Hm?" is all I can manage out.

"I'll cook dinner," he says. Oh.

Rachel tugs on his sleeve, her hands visible and signing. "Slow down," Darien asks her. "What're you saying?"

I can't help but chuckle. "She's warning you," I tell him. "She says I only have kosher food in my 'fridge."

"Ahh," he says. "And how would you know?" Darien jokingly asks Rachel, who taps next to her eye. "You've seen it?" Rachel nods at that. "Good food?" A vigorous nod in answer.

In the wild, about the only thing orangs eat that isn't kosher are the birds.
~~

"So," Darien says to me over the spagetti. "I heard that you helped my brother start the Quicksilver program. That true?" he asks in a manner that bespeaks more personal curiosity than professional interest.

Very well. "More of the other way around, Darien. Kevin was just returning from his sabbattical in Russia when the Program started up." Shutting my eyes at the memory, my ears flinch at the arguments that I still remembered between us. "There was a bit of a debate over what to call the project," though 'debate' is a polite word.

"Really?" Darien asked. "Like 'Q-S' vs 'Saran Wrap'?" smiling.

You have a nice smile. "No, more like 'Mercury' vs 'Golem'," I answer while stabbing a slice of hot dog; what this man can do with spagetti and kosher hot dogs is amazing.

"'Mercury'," Darien repeated. "Greek god who had a helmet of invisibility." Then he paused, a perplexed look on his face, and a touch of sauce at the corner of his lip. "Why 'Golem'?"

At least he doesn't criticize it, not like Kevin did. "Because the Golem was a servant of the people, performing its tasks in a way that others cannot."

Darien nods. "Yeah, that sounds about right. So, who won?"

I cannot help but stare in disbelief - yes, I know its rude, but still....he, of all people, doesn't know?

Maybe I should change the subject a bit - too much talk of Kevin can take my appetite away. "What's the number of your gland?"

"Nine thousand," Darien tells me. Purgatory! I almost choke on the orange juice.

"Then your skull doesn't have any more room in it for additions," I let him know.

"You're sure?" he asks, double-checking. I nod. "Not even a little tiny one?"

"Not even that."



THE NEXT DAY....

"I don't get it."

I looked aside at him. "What do you not get?" continuing to hold Rachel's hand as the three of us go for a walk around the compound. Both Darien and Rachel are walking on what he termed 'quicksilver stilts.' We're deep enough into the woods that nobody can see their visible selves.

"Everyone else calls me 'Fawkes' at least once a day - but not you. I was just wondering why that is."

I sigh. Curiosity did kill the cat, you know; and I can bet who they blamed for it. "Because your brother was also a Fawkes."

"Okay," stepping in front of me, facing me as we both kept walking, "you'll have to give me a bit more of a hint than that. Please?"

"Kevin thought," I explain, "that he saw a clear line dividing Man from Everything Else. That's why he opposed Human testing, yet felt free to wreck havoc in other forms of life - and not just my Orangs."

"There're other things out there with quicksilver?" I nod. "Aw crap." Oh yes, you should have seen the dobermans - they lasted a week before perishing: death by insanity, not a pretty sight.

"I heard that, after working here, he went to work for his uncle in InGen."

"Did he take anything with him?" and quickly follows it with - "No, he wouldn't be allowed to, right? After all, it's a government project."

"He took what he'd learned here," I clarify.

"Well, if it's okay, could you tell me some of that?" Then, "Or is my security clearance not high enough?"

You want the truth? Very well, since you asked nicely. "In the course of studying the Sasquatch, we learned that their nearest living relatives also have some of the same glands."

"What sort of relatives?" Darien asks, raising his hand. "I mean, maybe it's just me, but I never saw a chimp or a gorilla go grey then clear."

"The orangutang," I correct. "And you are correct: they lack the quicksilvering agent itself. But they do share the counteragent with their chamoflaging cousin." I frown. "And that's why Billy-Bob is the way he is."

Darien's frown is more from confusion than bad memories. "I don't follow - counteragent's supposed to keep people calm, right? At least, that's what it does with me."

"Kevin decided," I explain, "that we should see what effects would result if the counteragent gland was removed." Be thankful Billy-Bob never recieved a quicksilvering gland - invisible and hyper are not a good combination, never were.

"Whoa, Kevin did - I can't believe - It just doesn't sound like something -" my cell phone's ringing interupts Darien's stuttering.

"Yes?" I say into the phone, and listen. "Yes sir." Listening, memorizing the words. "Understood, sir; he'll be there." The other end hangs up, and so do I.

"Private call?" Darien jokes.

In answer, I ask him, "Does the name 'Isla Sorna' ring any bells?" After all, only Isla Nublar has been in the papers.

Darien nods, not even having to think it over. "Yeah. I was there two and a half weeks ago." And he gets this look in his eyes - he lost someone there, didn't he?

"Why d'you ask?" he asks me.

"Because that was the Official on the line -- and we're going down there."

"Sounds like fun."

" - with a team from the United Nations," I finish.

Darien's mouth hangs open, and I half expect an 'aw crap' to come out.


end.