Forgiving Rome Read online

  Forgiving Rome

  by Clay Ferrill

  Copywrite 2015. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters are 18 or older. Neither this novel or any portion thereof may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

  Smashwords Edition, License notes:

  Thank you for purchasing this book. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoy this book, please encourage desiring readers to secure their own copy from their favorite retailer. Thank you so much for your support.

  Disclaimers

  This is a work of fiction. Names of characters are fictitious or actual historical figures from centuries past. Any resemblance to persons living, or to any actual real-world events is purely coincidental.

  All copyrighted and trademarked names, businesses, and products mentioned in this book remain the property of their perspective owners. The author is in no way attempting to claim any such ownership by their use. No infringement is intended.

  This story contains adult language and material, including homosexual discussions and overtones, including innuendo of homosexual activities. It has not been written as erotica. This book is not recommended for minors, those who do not wish to read such material, or if it is illegal for you to own a copy.

  Peace be with you, fellow human.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page, copyright, and license notes

  Disclaimer

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 – 1508, Raphaello Sanzio da Urbino

  Chapter 2 – 2020, Father Coleman Livingston

  Chapter 3 – 1508, The Young Apprentice Learns

  Chapter 4 – 2020, Fast Friends

  Chapter 5 – 1508, Countess of Bad News

  Chapter 6 – 2020, Doing His Duty

  Chapter 7 – 1510, The Stallion of God

  Chapter 8 – 2020, Desert Palaces

  Chapter 9 – 1513, Springtime Rome

  Chapter 10 – 2020, The Study of Art

  Chapter 11 – 1519, An Unwitnessed Trial

  Chapter 12 – 1520, The Four Seasons

  Chapter 13 – 2020, The Pope Speaks Only Truths

  Chapter 14 – 2020, Two Souls from The Guf

  Chapter 15 - Forgiveness

  Prologue

  His eyes open slowly, fluttering to clear the lids of their sticky heaviness in rapid and then slowing blinks, the world outside of the curved glass and stainless-steel pod clearing as both lensed membranes detach from his eyeballs and float weightlessly there in the thick, viscus fluid. Like jellyfish floating weightlessly, the pulses through the dark fluid increasing in intensity now, vibrating and moving them as they float further from his face. Gradually, slowly, his vision coming into sharper and sharper focus even through the slur in which he is still fully immersed. With eyes open and moving about, scanning, it means he is awake. Alert. I’ll watch this series of sequences very carefully to ensure the changes we made to pre-breach are in fact improvements. Though honestly, you cannot get this particular subject wrong. They’ve all been perfect male specimens. Perhaps this one will be perfect in the eyes of Him, too.

  All of his variations and iterations are stunning feats of science. I call him “him” now, because I can see that he is, in fact, awake and alert. Conscious. While suspended in final gestation, it must remain an “it” to me, for the sake of my heart. As randomly happens, a few of his versions have never woken up and went straight to organ harvesting.

  He should react to my presence here within his line of sight any moment now. I step out of the shadow of the steel beam, one of many that support this level four stories under The Academy of Sciences building. His eyes fix on me. Good. Keep looking at me. I need him to mimic the emotions I show in my expressions to him. But his eyes must be cleared of fluid first. I will study the video recording later to confirm my initial observations here, before I publish my findings to the formal Council in just a few hours now. They will be further perfected and in just a few days, become a permanent part of the Vatican official record. But I believe we have done it, finally. I have wanted to see this specific thing happen as long as I can remember. Right is being done in this miraculous act of God and science, beautifully, harmoniously so.

  Squinting hard to press all residual fluid and matter from his eyeballs, their slow rise above the receding liquid bath anticipated with frequent upward looks and rapid blinking and squinting to clear the fluid and matter from the eyeballs. I could see that in the expression of his eyes alone. He longs desperately to see clearly. To see life. As his full eyes appear above the fluid level now, exposed to pure oxygen, he immediately tears. Good sign. It works faster this time. His eye lids aren’t stuck shut this time either. There is a mirror positioned exactly opposite him and it’s a reddish-amber tint. Very important. He must recognize himself as a fully-grown man in life, but not shocked by his true image. This self-recognition secures the spirit he will need from the vaults of God, The Guf. The Hall of Souls. How I wish I could only just see that beautiful moment as an expression upon his face. The moment human spirit enters him here.

  A large breath motion in, he is now anticipating the air he will soon breathe, his eyes darting around anxiously, riveting back to my onward stare changing from an expression of alarm to a calm, questioning expression. Miraculous to see the emotions manifest there so precisely. His chest expands and contracts, the urgent inhale and exhale moving the throat umbilicus closer to detaching from the interior surfaces of his lips and mouth. I know to just wait patiently as the fluid descends down his body now, slowly, revealing the finished physical design of this exquisite human man. I can already see an almost mischievous expression, fleeting but there if I watch for it closely. I’ve seen it twice now. His spirit will be a mischievous and playful spirit. This brings me great joy. It is at it was in his original life so very long ago.

  His jaw moves as if gently sawing, working to loosen adhesions of the umbilicus. It requires detachment using its weight in gravity to help pull it free from his inner lips next to the gum line. It’s very important that the pressurized mixture of oxygen and vaporized nitrogen be the first gases mixture to permeate his skin. It drains very slowly for that reason and the pressure created by the fluid and gas exchange is intense. It pulses in pressure to awaken capillary under his flawless epidermis. Oxygen to allow his skin to begin to breathe for the first time in his new life. The gases being forced into the pressurized tank maintain a 41.2 pounds-per-square-inch during the entire breaching process.

  The pressure pulses to 69.0 PSI and instantly returns to 41.2 PSI. This in fact mimics exactly, the intensity of natural childbirth pressure, the way the mother pushes to create pressure to expel her baby from her womb, then born into an oxygen-rich environment. 41.2 PSI is optimum, tested exhaustively and confirmed. The fluid level approaches the bridge of his nose, his stares at the surface cross-eyed watching it move closer to the end of his proud and broad nose. I smile at this genuinely and sensing a change in my expression, his eyes lock again on me. He smiles and turns to his mirror. Such beautiful, expressive eyes. More blue showing, but the pupils are fully dilated in this dim light. They sparkle clearly through the slur thickly coating his eyelashes.

  For the last three gestation days, his brain, a fully-formed adult brain, has been fed a constant stream of information and data repetitively and continuously looping, both consciously and subconsciously, in both visual and audio. 71.9 hours straight without interruption to be precise, and right into the final gestation tank from which he is about to breach. Along with that streaming alternation of video/audio, his body has been dosed with testosterone mixe
s to heighten and then maximize his comprehension capacity. Serotonin, or more specifically 5-hydroxytryptamine, is a monoamine neurotransmitter. It acts as a contributor to feelings of well-being and happiness, though its actual biological function is complex and multifaceted, modulating cognition, reward, learning, memory, and numerous physiological processes. Also, exhaustively tested and confirmed.

  He will be wise, this one. I can see that too in his eyes and his very countenance. The strength of his limbs. He tenses more now and increases the deep breaths of fluid into his lungs and then out, his force increasing as the fluid mats the sideburns of his growing beard, exposed, it is slicked to his skin. Only a minute or so longer and he will breathe. It is at this time he will be considered officially as a human man.

  Exposing more of his head above the fluid line now, slowly descending, the sonics are loud standing just outside the tank watching, the intermittent vibrations jarring as they undulate and churn the surface of the fluid as it moves down his face lower and lower. His eyes mimic my own as I move through a range of facial expressions. There is no proof that this helps them in their short seven-day lives, but it is such a beautiful human exchange between us two. I enjoy this very much as a scientist, but also as a psychologist. He mirrors me. The strong sonic pulses and vibrations jar his physical body on the surface of his skin to help loosen the excess epidermal matter and slough the dead cells from what will be perfect and flawless skin.

  His head is still fixed in the clamp at the base of his neck, as I watch, he attempts to move his head. Unable, I watch as he wills his eyes to look downward at the receding fluid level now just at the tip of his nose, cross-eyed. The expression in his eyes seeing that, now mostly clear of fluid thanks to his generous tearing, is an expression of excited anticipation. It is almost time for him to take his first breath. I watch as his eyes browse the room, wandering. They fix on something and I turn my head to see what he is looking at. I see them there and know what has drawn his attention. The tiny, shiny reflective lenses of multiple cameras as many senior members watch live worldwide. Eyes watching him breach into life. Let them watch as his skin comes into sharper focus. This is when his skin begins to breathe and look more alive. When his pores open to the oxygen they need for this body to survive. Captivating to the viewers, I’m sure, when he is freed from the slurry of overly-salty, visually-muting fluid that is his artificial placenta. When the men watching will see his full physical body for the first time.

  At first, I can very clearly see the dark, almost royal blue of the major vessels and arteries in his neck through the translucence of his skin, just as a newborn baby would be at the moment of its birth. Royal, indeed. He will see the same, but in the reddened-amber reflection, bulging and pumping blood now more rapidly and with increased pressure that consciousness brings inexplicably. This can be seen by the naked eye. The transformation of it. This is a most natural human state at birth. Not having been exposed to any skin-darkening elements of this world yet, he is about to step into it as a fully-grown human man. The tint begins to form as if molten in his center as the heat sensation explodes inside him, sending a warm rush through his circulatory system.

  His eyes first look up and then roll back into his head at the physical sensation he’s feeling. I see it there now blossoming as it moves through his veins rapidly and begins to surface to the outer layers. Magical, that. An almost muted shield erupts, rises to the surface of his skin and spreads quickly, darkening the hue of his naked form. The fluid has now lowered to below his pectoral muscles, his somewhat cleared skin slick in appearance and highly shiny for the first few seconds until the nitrogen and oxygen mix mats and mutes the finish. Perfectly even tone and pallor. Excellent capillary response. Perfection. We got it right again.

  The visual image of this breaching is startling and even frightening if you’re not prepared to see an adult body in that state. I myself am always apprehensive, bordering fright, because breaching a human clone into life can go horribly and torturously wrong. I’ll remember to request a change to the pre-breach sequence to force-tint the epidermis before his body comes into view. Otherwise, it can be visually jarring and quite unpleasant. In a few minutes now, he will breach into life.

  As this is somewhat of a ceremony of sorts, over the sound of the sonics I hear the music being pumped into this room increasing in volume. Catholics and choirs go hand-in-hand. Alone, choirs are beautiful sounds to be admired and loved. Cherished in their everyday rarity. But when they’re used to a grand scale, as now, they are intended to move the listener emotionally. They capture more of the spirit of an event. This event. His dark blue eyes are sharp as the pupils gradually shrink, the lights now slowly rising. The dark, heavy lashes, coated wet with the slur still, his eyeballs appear to be perfectly clear of matter.

  He is staring straight at me now, studying me, the umbilicus connected to his mouth showing tear-stress from its increasing weight in the oxygen atmosphere. He blinks again rapidly, several times, his eyes highly expressive, dancing almost, and at first, he showed me his alarmed face. His disconnection from mirroring my expressions with expressions of his own. Brilliant. I smiled at him staring at me. His eyes slowly rose at their corners, eyes smiling back at me. I will myself to stay calm. Twice previously His Eminence has seen fit to terminate life pre-breach for reasons that will forever remain unknown to me. I must trust that he knows what is right in this regard. But this time, he really is perfect.

  He blinks more slowly now, fixing his eyes again on the umbilicus attached to the inside of his mouth. Hands begin to grip and clench in fists. His lower jaw is beginning to move against the umbilicus, loosening it from its attachment points. The warm dark swirling fluid recedes to expose more and more of his body. Not yet has his holiness seen fit to allow his naked body to be exposed completely, so the moment is approaching once again where He will decide if this being lives, or must die. If the latter, one small automatic injection will still his heart, killing him painlessly and instantly. His lips are now moving more aggressively against the umbilicus, still unable to turn his head. He appears to be smiling. I love this part. He’s really only trying to stretch his sticky lips apart to free them from the umbilicus. They have been sealed around it now for perhaps years in his previous blank state. I don’t care. He’s here now, finally. His mouth turned up at one corner, showing his dimple clearly. We were right to make him, again, a beautifully captivating specimen of man.

  His body, now preparing to draw his first breath, pulls free as the clamp holding his head releases. Leaning instinctively forward to press hard outward by tensing all of his torso’s muscles. He needs to push the thick, heavy fluid up from his lungs and out through his nasal passages. Just like a newborn baby. The color is disgusting and cannot be changed or hidden. But I do understand his expression. It really does look like used-up brownish oily sludge when it comes out through his nose from deep inside his nasal passages. Repeating, he pressed outwardly from within again, with considerable muscular force, contracting all possible muscles to purge the gelatinous, sticky fluid from his body.

  Leaning over he bites through the umbilicus cleanly, letting it slip under the surface of the fluid now just edging below his stomach umbilical cord. Chewing a few times, his thick Adam’s apple moves up and down as the tissues detach and are swallowed to be digested and passed. After several vomiting convulsions, he is emptied. This is the turning point. If he is going to be terminated before breaching, he will elect to do so now. I hold my breath in anticipation just as he inside the tank is holding his. I close my eyes and bow my head. I take a deep breath and as I release it I open my eyes to face it.

  He lives.

  The very picture of calm confidence now fixes his expression as I watch him carefully, almost as if he too knew he had passed the unknown test and would be allowed into the world. He mirrors my expression. To see the light and life of his eyes go blank and vacant would have crushed my heart.

  We have carefully engineered this s
pecific sequence of the full span of basic human emotions earlier now, hoping that His Eminence will see him as he is. I have shamelessly manipulated and influenced him in this. He must be seen for what he is. As a fully conscious human man with a human soul. Already aware, he visibly warms in expressions to his moist surroundings and begins moving his now freed limbs. His fingers grasp in fist and release and float there unmoving and then again, a grip and wrist turn. The emotions crossing his expressions appear a mixture, passing rapidly, he senses the safety and comfort leaving him, so overwhelmingly profound, that. He opens his jaw more widely to finish pulling his lips apart, softly fixed together with his womb’s natural adhesives.

  He breathes.

  As if washing over him, his eyes roll back as he slowly and deeply inhales the 101-degree oxygen. Just as expected, his instinct to breathe air; he slowly and forcefully draws it into his lungs and holds it as it displaces fluid. His eyes turned back into his head, the muscles of his chest and torso contract and release, again, again. It feeds out through his body now, unseen, giving renewed life to his blood and tissues. His muscled chest expands greatly, the dense hair there, darkened blonde and slicked flat to his skin. Back arching and his ribs exposed under his taught, moist, flawless epidermis as the fluid line descends below his pubic bone. He looks down toward his stomach and moves his hand in a familiar way, pinching the cord and pulling it until the tender umbilical cord is ripped away. Trickles of blood flow down his pelvis and into the viscous, mottled surface of the receding fluid.

  Reaching again, he grasps his ample genitals, tugging there. His first self-touching sensations, his hand slowly drifting away in the fluid, then quickly darting back to again caress his large masculinity in a motion that creates the first sensations of the touching of his own skin, his length and girth growing under his fingers. He plays with himself without an expression of guilt, which is so common. Good. He will be a sensual being as a man. As it should be.