Welcome to Gaia! ::

Clarice's words still buzzed in his head after the fact, the accompanying designs spinning like mad dancers in his head and equally as inviting, beckoning him in his idle moments. Remember. He had written down so much so hastily that the report had to be repeated several times due to his own messy handwriting; he wondered if this was what Chel dealt with any time she tried to write a report. Then he regretted thinking of Chel.

Again and again Jack copied his notes and diagrams. He didn't mind the repetition: after all, it just made the dream that much more solid in his head. Remember. Tell him. Whatever wore Clarice's skin (as he highly doubted the woman had decided to reach out to him beyond the grave) had been a gracious teacher, and the least he could do was oblige it.

(He realized it was the height of hypocrisy after Chel's ordeal to listen to any person in any strange dream, but clearly his was of a different flavor: beneficial, not a ******** two-bit scheme.)

Fingers fiddling eagerly with the folder, he loped to Dr. H's office shortly after lunch, invigorated by a hearty meal (an apple, carrot slices in ranch dip, and two cups of coffee; his post-Saharan stomach could only take so much). He knocked twice. "Doctor?" he called. "It's Hawthorn. I've come across something you might be interested in."

He closed the door behind him and was ready to launch straight into the discussion, shaving or not, but his leader's words gave him pause. "Caelius?" Jack asked with raised brows and the beginnings of unease in his chest. "May I ask what he needs her for?"

It hit him a split second before the doctor explained. Chris's voice yelled in his ear again to add insult to injury. God damn it, he needed to fix his sleep schedule.

"Of course," Jack said with a tight nod. Now wasn't the time to consider that he might really have sent Chel off to her death, or whether his suggestion to her would stick long enough to save her life. No, of course, he had his things he needed to bring up right now. "But no, sir, I wanted to bring something else to your attention."

He placed the folder on H's desk. "I was out in the Sahara recently with a group sent in to look into the Famine clones. This is a compilation of what I've learned about the process."

"It does, sir." That, and way too much served on his broken a** plate one after another. "I had to make sure there was a degree of sense to them as well," Jack added mildly. "It wouldn't behoove either of us if I had just come to you the day after, ranting about something I saw in a dream. I had to be sure it looked authentic enough for investigation." Writing and rewriting and reading and rereading. Remember. Tell him.

He paused. "I've never met her before, but Clarice sends her regards."

He was reminded a little too much of the glassy look Chel had worn. No, worse. Sharks, he had thought once. Everyone in Life that mattered had something of a shark in them. Jack wondered if he was just another piece of meat in the office.

"When we infiltrated the base, my partner and I were attacked by clones," he began. "We were swarmed. I woke up to a dream or hallucination and saw her there with me. She told me the work was done by a horseman named Nest, that it was trying to recreate her work but had instead stumbled across something else while doing so." He explained the rest: the fact that he was the first had survived the process somehow, the numbers (my money is definitely on seven), and the mention of Ancients.

If the doctor asked him for more, he would summarize what Clarice had shown him of the cloning process, leaving the gritty details and hard numbers in the report to be looked at later. Either way, he finished his explanation feeling almost like he was awaiting the result of a trial, stiff, quiet, and wary.

He should have felt at least a cautious sense of optimism enter him, but Jack remained guarded. It was a natural instinct these days. "As you say, sir."

He hesitated. "I was brought up to accept what was given to me and work with it," he replied, "not to reach out for more like an ungrateful child." It had never been an issue until now because Jack had never been in a position like this, not with someone he did consider his superior and therefore treated with respect. He struggled briefly with the question, How far is too far?

"Truth be told, sir, I don't know what is appropriate to ask for." (That folder's contents meant something to H, but how much?) "Especially given that I am still a trainee. However...At the very least, I'd like to continue pursuing work concerning these clones," he admitted. "If not be so bold as to ask if your projects could use another pair of hands?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

He made to bow but stopped himself as a niggling thought occurred to him, one that Owain stirred himself.

"Ah...One final question if I may before I go. Have there ever been reports about hunter weapons and connections with the legacies?" Jack asked. "I understand that the weapons conversion process eradicates their memory, but for whatever reason mine keeps...not so much remembering as he does have certain urges he can't explain, things that are linked by a common need to create. The feeling grew more intense when we were stationed in the Tower routing horsemen."