Forgiving Rome

by Clay Ferrill

  I often watch him as I load my brush to stroke youth and beauty back into the aging face of his mother on canvas, a renowned and ravaging beauty in her day, I can see this clearly, the intensity of her dark blue eyes even now with the tiny lines of age, are incredibly captivating.

  In the work I have her posed with her left bared shoulder back and head turned slightly toward me. Her eyes, that if staring straight ahead would shoot off to the distant bottom left of the painting. It had looked so unbalanced, that. But something made me want that posture for her portrait. The very instant she moved just her eyes to look slightly up and directly at me, it had been perfect.

  Now, daily, as the sun progresses across the daytime sky these weeks later, every single day without fail, the gloaming of evening in the coming snows provides the best possible light for my work into the early evening hours, last lights reflecting off the fresh and daily snow of late. Often after we broke her pose to eat supper with mother and Archy and Ilsa, she would stand gazing at the work in progress. She always smiles, pleased with my impression of her, forever freezing her beautiful youth in my strokes. I paint what I feel and what I see with my eyes.

  Chapter Four

  Day One

  Fast Friends

  I bent to listen as Luigi’s voice spoke to me. Barely louder than a whisper as we walked together in the midday sunshine. Still our expelled breaths could be seen in fleeting clouds dissipating behind us as we breathed our warmed breaths into the crisp, cold air. All I could do was stare into his face and study him, sensing the young priest’s interest in me by his pheromones. It was arousing interest, in listening to the young man speak, so nervously and rapidly in Italian with his hands waiving wildly in expression. So enchanting. Everything about this young priest is captivating. I said nothing, nodding my head in understanding and smiling. Aware that I am dowsing the young Luigi with my own powerful pheromones in direct reaction to his.

  We neared the back wall and started to turn back, I motioned Luigi over to a bench under a bare tree bathed in warm sunshine that had been brushed clear of last evening’s snowfall and was now dry. Just the motion of my hand toward the bench had young Luigi smiling widely. They were both enjoying their meeting. Each mind envisioning a long and fruitful friendship with the other, the infinite possibilities of the future of them. I was certain of one thing already. I will know Luigi. Something so overwhelming and pleasant about how this discussion was making me feel physically. So warm and fulfilling. Is this love? He questioned.

  I shot my eyes at my watch and stood abruptly, having forgotten the time. “Mi scusi Luigi, ho un appuntamento importante. Vorrei parlare di nuovo con voi.” I bowed just slightly, thanking Luigi again in English. I said I hoped we would become close friends so they could each have someone to talk with and ... even confide in. Friends of a similar age. The cultural intelligence I will gather in such a friendship could only benefit me. I had spoken just as quickly and nervously as Luigi, matching his urgent cadence and pitch, my smile I’m sure is emphasizing my dimples. Bowing slightly again and smiling, I turned toward the closest door and jogged briskly inside to head down to the Vatican’s archive vaults. I am already one minute late and had been sternly cautioned about the old curator’s impatience.

  As I rounded the corner the old man was just walking up too. Good. I smiled widely showing my perfect white teeth. The old man shrugged his shoulders, rubbing his right shoulder as if in pain, his face winced. I approached and rounded him and put both of my large hands to work on the old priest’s sore shoulder and pressed into him hard. The pressure just there caused him to release a heavy sigh of relief. Without a spoken word, I dug both thumbs into the proximal end of the humerus and pushed on it hard. “Hai tirato un muscolo, padre. Un semplice massaggio aiuterà con questo” as I dug into the muscle with both thumbs, feeling the knots first tense and then relax and dissolve under their pressure.

  I hoped the old man would follow my suggestion and get a massage to help control the pain. In this close proximity, if you could actually see it with the naked eye, the old man’s head and shoulders were being drenched with my pheromone to move him to compliance. Very disarming, that intense onslaught of the unseen, powerful influence to calm and ease the old man.

  Turning to the vault door and slowly pulling it open, the ten-foot-high slab of 2-inch-thick single pain of pressure-resistant tempered glass crystal clear and polished looking. As we entered the small anti-room to the main archival vaults behind yet more thick glass and sealed doors, told to be a labyrinth of collected volumes and art I would love to explore one day, but not today. The single reading table and lamp, a pitcher with ice and water with lemons, and a single iPad lay on the table’s surface. The old priest motioned for me to take a seat in the large leather desk chair and poured his water glass full.

  He pointed to the iPad. “That remains in this room. Do not remove it.” Without saying another word, the old priest left the small chamber and closed the large glass door, smiling at me, the tall young man with blonde hair and the richest blue eyes he could ever recall seeing in his long lifetime. As I took my seat, the old priest stopped at the glass wall and lifted his left hand. He pressed a button on the wall and the glass of the room instantly dimmed to opaque. I will have total privacy.

  Father Coleman Livingston

  I tapped the face of the iPad and then picked it up, folding its case so it angled to a comfortable reading angle. Lowering the chair a bit, I relaxed back into its support and scanned the room with my eyes. The small, shiny dots in the ceiling corners of the room a familiar sight. Someone always watches me. I moved the pitcher of water closer, the stainless-steel handle cold to my hand.

  This, Father Andrew had said, is to be my charge, my responsibility in my life. I must assess, formulate evidentiary support for my conclusions and report back to Father Dunn and His Holiness only. All findings are to remain strictly confidential to the three of us until such time the Pope deems it necessary to inform the Divine Reparations Council members. As he had rubbed the side of my face in kindness, he spoke to me of why His Holiness had wanted me to review and assess the intelligence information already gathered. What prepares me for this important task is the specialized data sets and volumes of written materials that were piped into me and visually displayed during my final gestation period. The human genome in its entirety.

  The human genome is the complete set of nucleic acid sequences, encoded as DNA within the 23 chromosome pairs in cell nuclei and in a small DNA molecule found within individual mitochondria, usually treated separately as the nuclear genome, and then the mitochondrial genome. Human genomes include both protein-coding DNA genes and noncoding DNA. Haploid human genomes, which are contained in germ cells. The egg and sperm gamete cells created in the meiosis phase of sexual reproduction before fertilization creates a zygote. It consists of three billion DNA base pairs, while diploid genomes, found in somatic cells, have twice the DNA content.

  My focus point in this life and the bulk of data and facts I was fed as I finished gestation. While there are significant differences among the genomes of human individuals, these are considerably smaller than the differences between humans and their closest living relatives, the chimpanzee. And bonobos. Can’t forget them. Cloned, all, and prolifically so. Practice makes perfect.

  The first human genome sequences were published in a nearly-complete draft form in February 2001 by the Human Genome Project and Celera Corporation. Completion of the Human Genome Project's sequencing effort was announced in 2004 with the publication of a draft genome sequence, leaving just 341 gaps in the sequence, representing highly-repetitive and other DNA that could not be sequenced with the technology available at the time.

  Technology has dramatically advanced since that time. The human genome was the first of all vertebrates to be sequenced to such near-completion. As of 2018, the diploid genomes of over a million individual humans had been determined using next-generation sequencing techniques and protocols. These d
ata are used worldwide in biomedical science, anthropology, forensics, genealogy, and other branches of science. Such genomic studies have led to advances in the diagnosis and treatment of diseases, and to new insights in many fields of biology, including human evolution. And human cloning.

  Although the sequence of the human genome has been almost completely determined by DNA sequencing, it is not yet fully understood. Most, though probably not all genes have been identified by a combination of high throughput experimental and bioinformatics approaches, yet much more work still needs to be done to further elucidate the biological functions of their protein and RNA products. Recent results suggest that most of the vast quantities of noncoding DNA within the genome have associated biochemical activities, including regulation of gene expression, my more specific focus, the organization of chromosome architecture, and signals controlling epigenetic inheritance. Far too scientific for the common man, I know. But I myself know, which is my point.

  The image on the surface staring back at me was the image of young Luigi’s face? I blinked rapidly at the mental realization and then again looked down at the screen. Not Luigi. Same general facial features, but this is not my new friend. I swiped my finger to the next page, which included data and vital statistics about the person in the image. This young man, almost as visually striking as my new friend, was a human clone. Created by a royal family. Four months ago. As I read on, I learned of the pregnancy and scanned the rest of the information quickly to determine the timeframe. No other major events surrounded the royal family during the time the child must have been conceived. This was my conclusion to make, so I needed empirical evidence. I looked back up to the name. Akmal. It says right there that it is the Arabic word meaning “most complete”. Akmal was a breeding clone. Swiping again a blank page appeared, the border of a form awaiting entry. I tapped the only icon, a microphone icon. It began pulsing indicating it was active.

  “Subjects royal family. A King and a Prince. Approximate match to Her Royal Highness’s pregnancy conception. Akmal was a breeding clone. Confirmed that the prince is in fact sterile. A polo injury in youth. The princess is carrying twin males. Those male children will produce multiple sets of twins. Will require authorization to pursue and address. Suggest using a papal visit as entre to the palace and to gain direct access to the royal family. Uncertain how they would be isolated otherwise. Pose as an advanced Vatican Security Specialist under the pretense that they are there to inspect and ensure safe access and egress for His Holiness so he remains secure for a visit there with the King and Prince in attendance. A papal visit should never take place. Task priority to remain fluid at the discretion of His Holiness. The babies will not be born for 5 months yet.”

  As I watched, the program that recorded my voice typed out the words once I stopped speaking. Tapping the screen one time, the annotation function closed and a “Status” option appeared providing three choices: Pending Approval, Scheduled, and Priority. I tapped the true answer to the question. Priority. The next screen that appeared, an image of the full document replete with Papal Seal and digitally-scrawled signature. The document granted me the permission to pursue the targets and “assess only”. His Holiness never gives a direct order to end a human life or lives, according to Father Dunn. In this I am to be patient. It is an unspoken and unwritten implication however, that one does whatever is necessary to accomplish God’s will. That’s high above my purview, thankfully.

  According to Father Dunn, a dear man, any personal transgressions against other humans, any actions recommend be taken, including assassination and murder, would be cleansed from my conscience and soul through the act of the Confessional. The resulting forgiveness that always follows, assured.

  I swiped again. The image of a strikingly handsome man painted the screen. My core being reacted to the image strongly. I reached down to adjust myself, spreading my legs instinctively as I stared at the image. Visually moving me to physical reaction. Wow, I thought as I gazed at his image. Even the image of this man’s face is arousing.

  Using my two primary right-hand digits I enlarged the image of his face to inspect it more closely. Totally flawless skin. Arresting eyes. The thin sheen of sweat on the skin no doubt releasing an intoxicating mixture of his powerful seduction pheromones. Another breeding clone. A swipe of my finger to view the known statistics, numbers approximating any fact italicized pending confirmation. Lots of unconfirmed data here, which drew my attention to the bold numbers, not italicized and therefore confirmed facts. 212 children confirmed as conceived, 91% of them sets of twin males, three sets of triplet males. Those 212 males would each propagate over a thousand offspring collectively over the periods of their lives. That offspring would then propagate an additional five thousand children, ALL with a very specific and powerful middle-eastern dominant gene strain carrying forward. The numbers grew exponentially. I drew my breath at the mass of it. The size of it from just this one breeder clone.

  They are eradicating races of people genetically in jihad? A very silent war on mankind … cleansing of their ancient bloodlines … Knights of Damascus … considered other races, by religion mostly, to be pollutants of their otherwise superiority as the dominant race on earth. Islam extremists, all. Oh, good Lord. They are waiving their sword over the future of mankind on this planet. Every race’s genetics are targeted for cleansing.

  I swiped right and selected “Pending Approval” and the machine appeared in thought for over ten seconds. The icon changed from Pending Approval to “Scheduled”. This was all the permission I would need. I may be traveling to where they were housing their Braheem clones. If it is me selected, that is. Location showing confirmed with geo-coordinates. The translation of his name means “FATHER OF MULTITUDE” in all capitalized letters. He is their primary weapon in their silent, stealth genetic war on the entire planet.

  Before leaving this screen, I tapped the image again. The same initial physical reaction, except this time I am now fully hardened by the fright I feel. I am bare under my silk-lined cassock. Perhaps not such a good idea after all. I should have worn underwear or a jock strap underneath my cassock, but I loved the feeling of being bare underneath. Rubbing myself, a reaction to just the visual image of this clone. I gripped myself through the fabric, rubbing my bareness across the silk. I tapped the image again and the screen painted with a 3-dimensional image of the naked form of the clone Braheem. I lost it. I urgently pulled the fabric of my cassock up to expose my nakedness.

  Staring at the image I moved my hands over my body frantically, overwhelmed with the need to fuel the sensations. Imaging what it would be like to … touch and smell … oh my God. This beautiful male body. The taste of … his skin … taste of his ... Within a minute I choked in hushed grunts of extreme satisfaction. I rubbed it into my skin. Panting heavily, I raised my hand to my mouth and let my tongue taste of my salt. Reaching out to the iPad I swiped my whole hand over the glass without looking again at the naked visage as I took a deep drink of the water and worked to still myself and my breathing. That middle eastern god of a man. I had lost control completely. A very powerful being, indeed. Even the mere thought of exploring him with all five senses had overwhelmed me.

  Standing just slightly, I let the heavy fabric of my wool cassock slide down my legs, once again covering myself and my shocking, sudden arousal. Distracted only momentarily, the blank page again. Except this time the language on the page had not been dictated by me. But rather by His Eminence himself. Bearing the Papal Seal and his digitalized scrawled signature, surprisingly, it authorized the execution of the clone currently in use, but also the destruction of the clone production facility producing the Braheem, located outside the Czech city of Prague hidden in the rural, mountainous countryside. Exact geolocation data showing confirmed. This was to be a priority I know. Even a single Braheem producing that many offspring and so prolifically, even if half of the women carried successfully to term, would ripple across the globe for the next millennia at least. They
must all be cleansed somehow. To do otherwise, to harm the woman and the children they carry is unthinkable.

  Science created this possibility. Science must be employed to correct the sloppy, hate-borne overreach of mankind in this.

  Swiping my finger over the screen again, an image of a very kind and caring face appeared. A calm washed over me staring at the image. The very sight of her face was calming. Alluring. It did not spark physical arousal this time. A very kind and beautiful face, that. I swiped right. “Dahrah” is a pleasure clone created for sexual slavery. The name translates to “most excellent”. I swiped right, unstirred by the image of her face. Same data types as before except no italicization, all confirmed data. There are 40 Dahrah clones kept alive at all times living in a luxurious brothel outside of Damascus, Syria. 20 female Dahrah and 20 males.

  Reading more, it appears the Dahrah also infect their quarry, except that is done through physical contact and the consumption of any of their bodily fluids, in any copulation either orally, vaginally, or anally. So, if you touch anything wet produced by a Dahrah clone, you’re going to carry the gene as part of your DNA for the rest of your life. Evil.

  The numbers here are staggeringly high. Any infected will further spread the same dominant genes forward by infecting future sex partners with the dominant strain - all body-fluid exchanges. Exponentially. Even the saliva exchanged by kissing. It also explains that male humans will be infected by something as small as a tooth scrape, indicating that the Dahrah, both female and male alike, are designed to be copulated orally. Curious, I tap the image again and the naked form of each sex appears. Almost identical in height and mass, the females have enlarged breasts and buttocks, beautiful curvaceous figures. The male version, large genitals and a rounded posterior. Predominant chest and leg muscles. Both male and female bodies are completely hairless.