The Clone Republic (Clone 1)

by Steven L. Kent

  Two bullets flew so low over my shoulder that they clipped my armor. One of the other men was not as lucky. As a seemingly endless wave of laser fire flew overhead, the interLink echoed with his scream.

  Shannon shouted for him to stay down, but the wounded man did not listen. I turned in time to get a glance of him, though not in time to read his identity. The laser must have grazed the front of his visor, superheating the glass, which melted and splashed on his face. He managed to climb to his knees before a combination of bullets and laser bolts tore into his face and chest blowing him apart.

  Seeing what was left of the soldier collapse back to the ground, I felt that strange, soothing tingle. Some hidden corner of my brain automatically took over, shutting out the panic. “I think I can get a grenade in there,” I called over to Shannon.

  “No grenades!” Shannon shouted.

  “I can get it in the hole,” I said.

  “I said no, goddamn it!” Shannon said. “You hear me, Marine?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I did not answer as I released the grenade I was pulling from my belt. At that moment, lying in the soil with bolts and bullets streaking over my head, I wondered if Sergeant Shannon might not be the real enemy. Rolling over on to my stomach, I held my gun in front of my face and squeezed off three shots. The men in the cave responded with a hailstorm of laser fire.

  If anybody had asked me to guess who would break up the stalemate, I would have said “Shannon.” But he was in a worse predicament than I. He was pinned down under heavy gunfire directly in front of the cave.

  It took Vince Lee to turn the battle around. Suddenly pushing off the ground in a cloud of dust, he sprinted toward the mouth of the cave and leaped forward, squeezing rapid shots from his particle-beam rifle. Firing blindly, he managed to hit three of the Mogats guarding the cave. Using my heat-vision lenses, I watched them fall.

  Lee landed face-first and slid into a cloud of dust just in time to dodge the return fire. I do not know if Lee and Shannon coordinated their attack on a private frequency; but as the Mogats concentrated their fire on Lee, Shannon rose on one knee, aimed, and fired.

  Undoubtedly using heat vision for a clearer view, Shannon did not fire blindly. Each shot hit its mark, and the last of the Mogats fell dead. I expected more shooters to come, but the mouth of the cave remained empty.

  “Cover me,” Lee called, over the interLink. Keeping his rifle trained on the cave, Lee stooped into a crouch and cautiously walked toward the foot of the cliffs. He pressed his back against the obsidian wall, then inched his way toward the cave. He came within arm’s reach of the opening and paused. “See anything?” he asked Shannon over an open channel.

  “All clear,” Shannon replied.

  “Great work, Lee,” Shannon said. “Okay, everybody, stay put. Captain McKay is sending a technician to check for traps.” Shannon and I joined Lee just outside the mouth of the cave, but we did not enter it. Shannon took a single step into the fissure. He patted a clump of obsidian with one hand. Glancing back at us to make certain that no one was too close, he fired into the wall.

  “Sergeant?” I said, rushing over to see what happened.

  “It’s nothing, Harris,” Shannon said. “I’m just testing a theory.”

  An AT hovered toward us, hanging low over the valley and landing in our zone. The kettle opened, and a Navy lieutenant came down the ramp wheeling a bell-shaped case behind him. The engineer wore a breathing suit. It was not stiff like our combat armor, but it protected him from the environment. Shannon met the lieutenant at the bottom of the ramp. I followed.

  “What’s that?” I asked Shannon.

  “That, Corporal Harris, is our eyes,” Shannon answered. “Right now we have the enemy trapped in these caves. We’re going to send in a recon drone to make sure our positions do not get reversed.”

  “A recon drone,” I repeated. “That makes sense.”

  The case looked like it had been made to hold a tuba. It was three feet tall and wide on the bottom. The metal wheels under the case clattered as they rolled down the ramp.

  “Are you the one that requested a drone?” the lieutenant asked. “What’s the situation?”

  “There are hostiles in those caves, sir,” Shannon began.

  “I know that, Sergeant,” the lieutenant interrupted. This was no fighting man. He was a technician, the lowest form of engineer—but he was also an officer, and he had all of the attitude that came with wearing a silver bar on his shoulder.

  “The enemy had several men guarding this entrance, sir,” Shannon said. “My men were able to neutralize the threat. We want to send your drone to look for traps and locate enemy positions before going in, sir.”

  “Playing it safe, Sergeant?” the lieutenant quipped in a voice that oozed sarcasm.

  “Yes, sir,” Shannon responded.

  “I didn’t know you Leathernecks were so squeamish,” the man mused. “I suppose I can help.” He opened his case.

  “What an asshole,” I said over the interLink.

  “Steady, Harris,” Shannon answered in a whisper. “He’s not just an asshole, he is an officer asshole . . . a second lieutenant. They’re the buck privates of the commissioned class; and they always have chips on their shoulders. Besides, we need this particular asshole.”

  “Heeere’s Scooter,” the tech said to himself as he opened the bottom of the case. Scooter, a chrome disc on four wheels that looked like a slightly oversized ashtray, scurried out of the case. This demented officer treated the robot like a pet, not equipment. He’d painted the name “Scooter” across its front in bright red letters, and he stroked its lid gently before standing up.

  “I do not believe I have seen that model of recon drone before, sir,” Shannon said in a respectful voice that would certainly curry favor.

  “It’s a prototype. I built it myself,” the man said. I could not see his face clearly through his breathing mask, but the lieutenant’s voice perked up. “Let’s have a look in that cave, shall we.”

  The lieutenant pressed a button on the outside of the case, and a four-inch video monitor flipped out of its lid. When he turned on the monitor, I was amazed by the panoramic scope of Scooter’s vision. The silvery top of the robot was a giant fish-eye lens, offering a 180-degree view. Looking at that screen, I saw the case from which Scooter had emerged, the cliffs, and everything in between. The camera caught everything, and the monitor displayed it in stretched, but accurate, detail. This engineer was both a dork and a brilliant engineer.

  “Impressive little specker,” I said over the interLink for only Shannon to hear.

  “Stow it, Harris,” he replied.

  Issuing the command “Scooter, enter cave” into a small microphone, the tech sent the drone on its way.

  “Audio commands only?” Shannon asked.

  “I programmed Scooter myself. He uses onboard sonar to find the best paths. He has dedicated self-preservation circuits. The only thing a human controller can do is slow him down.”

  Judging by what I saw on the monitor, Scooter used the same basic night-for-day vision technology we used in our visors. He was a stealth drone with no lights or weapons.

  Skirting around rocks and holes, Scooter sped toward the cave like a giant, silvery beetle. The men in our platoon stopped and watched as it scampered by. When it reached the lip of the cave, it paused. For a moment I thought the little tin can might actually be scared.

  “It’s taking a sonic reading,” the lieutenant said, as if reading my thoughts.

  “Damn,” Shannon said, with respect.

  Pulling a small stylus from his case, the lieutenant said, “Sergeant, take this. If you want a closer look at something on the monitor, tap it with the stylus. That will send a message to Scooter.”

  The monitor turned dark as Scooter hurried into the cave. The little robot had a good eye for stealth. It traveled in cracks and crevices along the side of the wall, well concealed from enemy eyes.

  That was
good for Scooter, but not so helpful for Shannon. Even with enhanced night-for-day photography, Scooter was not showing us what we needed. It was showing us the safest path for creatures that were less than four inches tall. Also, Scooter moved too quickly. A squad patrolling such terrain might creep along at one or two miles per hour, but Scooter covered it at a steady fifteen miles per hour. Images flew across the monitor. Five minutes into its patrol, Scooter stopped and ran another sonar scan.

  “Okay,” the lieutenant said, “the Mogats are at least two miles deep into the caves.”

  “You’ve located a path to them?” Shannon asked.

  “Sergeant, they’re two miles down,” the technician said, sounding shocked and mildly offended. Scooter has scanned for traps, and the entrance comes up clean. He’s also verified their campsite.”

  I turned to look at the cave in time to see Scooter motoring out of the shadows. The lieutenant must have programmed it to think like a puppy when it was not performing a mission. The goddamned little robot detoured into a crowd of Marines milling near the cliffs and ran circles around their feet. When they did not respond, it returned to the lieutenant and parked itself beside his foot.

  “But you did not locate the path to the enemy’s position?” Shannon asked.

  “Scooter could not get to them; they’re too deep in,” the technician said.

  “Does Scooter have a map that leads to their locations?” Shannon asked, his irritation beginning to show.

  “If you mean a map to their doorstep, that is out of the question, Sergeant. I am not going to risk a valuable prototype reconnaissance unit.”

  “I know a safe dark place where we can stick his drone,” Lee muttered over the interLink as he came up beside me.

  “But you’re willing to send in an entire platoon,” Shannon added. “My men . . .”

  “Clones,” the technician corrected.

  Shannon made one last attempt to explain himself. “I am not going to lead my men into that cave blind,” he said in a reasonable tone.

  “I’ve done what I can, Sergeant,” the lieutenant said as he bent down to pick up his robot.

  Shannon grabbed the man by his shoulders, pulled him straight, and then slung him backwards against the hull of the transport. “I don’t agree, sir,” Shannon whispered in a dangerous tone. “I think you can do more. I think you want to do more, because if that is all your useless bug-shit robot can do, I’m going to smash it. Do you understand me?”

  “I’ll have you in the brig for this.” The lieutenant clutched the robot to his chest. His voice trembled as if he was about to cry.

  Shannon picked up his particle beam and pointed it at the robot. “Right now, the safest place for Scooter is in that cave. Do you understand me, sir?”

  The lieutenant’s show of officer anger faded, and behind it we saw the scared technician. “I spent a lot of time programming Scooter,” he pleaded. “If you want to locate hostiles, you can requisition a combat drone. That’s what they are made for.”

  “I’m tired of arguing with you,” Shannon said as he reached for the robot. “If you aren’t going to send that bug into that cave, then it’s useless to me.”

  “You’re insane,” the technician said.

  “Even worse,” Lee said to me only. “He’s a Liberator.”

  “Get specked,” I shot back.

  “Sorry.”

  Staring at Sergeant Shannon, the technician must have realized that he had no options. Shannon was out of control, of course, and there might be a court-martial awaiting him when he returned to the fleet. But for the moment, with no available help, the lieutenant had no choice but to do as he was told. He passed Scooter over to Shannon.

  Taking great care to be gentle, Shannon placed the robot on the ground.

  “Scooter, enter cave,” the lieutenant spoke into the microphone in a pouting voice. He turned to Shannon. “You will have hell to pay.”

  “No doubt,” Shannon mumbled.

  Shannon, Lee, and I bent over the monitor to follow Scooter’s progress. The little robot zipped past our men and into the cave, then resumed its original path. The lieutenant kept his microphone close to his lips, issuing whispered orders. “Proceed at half speed.” “Slower. Slower.” “Stay close to the wall.” “Pause and hide at the first sign of activity.” “Scan for electrical fields.”

  “Can you brighten this transmission?” Shannon asked.

  “The monitor has gamma controls, but you’ll lose screen resolution,” the lieutenant said.

  He fiddled with the controls, brightening the scene. The gamma controls made a big difference. Suddenly we could see footprints and tire tracks on the ground.

  Fifteen minutes after Scooter entered the cave, the robot started to detect sound waves. They were faint, but the robot registered them as human speech.

  “Okay, Sergeant, here is a voiceprint. I’m bringing my robot back.”

  “Can you give me a visual feed of the men?” Shannon asked.

  Still not looking at Shannon, the technician uttered a few inaudible words. Shannon repeated the question, and the man shook his head.

  “The robot stays down there until I see people.”

  Looking around the cave from our Scooter’s-eye point of view, I began to feel motion sickness. The fish-eye distortion left me dizzy, and I really had no idea what we were looking for.

  “I don’t see any people,” Shannon complained.

  “Sound carries well in caverns; they may still be a half mile farther in,” the tech answered. “This is obviously the right chamber. You’ve located your target. I’m bringing my robot back.”

  “Not until I get my visual confirmation,” Shannon snapped. “I want to know the best way to get to the enemy. I want to know how many men they have and how well fortified they have made their position. Most of all, I want to see how close Scooter can get to those Mogats before they start shooting. And, Lieutenant, I really do not give a shit if they hit Scooter. Got it?” Shannon said all of this in a single breath.

  As soon as the robot heard voices, its self-preservation programming became active. Scooter moved at an unbearably slow pace, hugging closer to the wall than ever. The reduced speed was helpful. Scooter was several miles into the caves, and his path exposed tributaries and side caverns. Its slowing down gave us more time to study the video images.

  Eventually, Scooter turned a corner and neared the spot where the Mogats had dug in. We could not see them, but we could see the dim reflection of distant lights on obsidian walls. The robot continued its slow roll forward, inching ahead like a scared mouse.

  We heard the guards before we saw them. Scooter rounded a huge knob in a wall, and suddenly we heard voices echoing. The image on the monitor turned bright as a man stepped right over Scooter. The robot watched as two men walked away, swinging lanterns.

  “They almost spotted him,” the technician said. “Are you satisfied?”

  “Not really,” said Shannon.

  “Get specked!” the lieutenant shouted. I thought he would recall his robot, but he made no move to pick up his microphone. We watched on the monitor as Scooter continued ahead for another few minutes, until the little robot reached a fork in the path. It paused and hid behind a rock, blocking most of our view on the monitor.

  That time, even Shannon did not complain. Four men walked right next to the camera. One of them almost stepped on Scooter. They did not see the probe. They kept talking as they walked through the passage and disappeared into a tributary. Once they were gone, Scooter’s self-preservation programming went into overdrive, and the little robot scurried in the opposite direction.

  “Wh—” Shannon started to say something and stopped. He bent forward, practically pressing his visor against the monitor. “Can you roll the video signal back?”

  The scene on the monitor ran in reverse.

  “Stop,” Shannon said. He studied the image and traced it with his finger. He scrolled the image forward and backward on the monitor. �
�Can you analyze this through other lenses?”

  I looked over Shannon’s shoulder and saw what he was looking at. There were two large metal cases; machines of some sort. A series of pipes ran through and around them.

  “I have heat and sound readings,” the tech said.

  The heat reading was immense. The heat signatures showed yellow with a bleached corona. I didn’t know what the Mogats used the machines for, but they were practically on fire.

  “Can you ID this equipment?” Shannon asked.

  The technician shook his head.

  Shannon turned back to the monitor. “Has your robot left virtual beacons?” Shannon asked.

  “Yes.”

  “All the way down?”

  “Yes,” the lieutenant said. “All the way.”

  “Can you upload that information to me on the interLink?” Shannon asked.

  “No problem,” the lieutenant hissed. A moment later, Scooter rushed from the cave and streaked right to the lieutenant, who picked it up and loaded it into its case.

  “That’s a magnificent robot you have, sir. The Navy needs more of them,” Shannon said with a crazed laugh.

  “Harris, I need to contact mobile command. I think we might be off this rock in another few hours.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Dammit, Shannon!” McKay snapped. “What in God’s name did you do? There’s a lieutenant demanding a firing squad. A firing squad! He claims you assaulted him and threatened to shoot him.”

  I could not tell if Shannon had purposely included me in their conversation, so I listened in silence.

  “In point of fact, sir, that would not be correct. I threatened to shoot Scooter.”

  “What the speck is Scooter?” McKay asked.

  “The lieutenant’s recon robot, sir.”

  “You threatened to shoot his robot?” McKay asked. There was a tremble in his voice, and I heard other officers laughing in the background. “Threatening Scooter is a serious offense, Sergeant. You may be looking at a long stay in the brig.”

  “Not meaning any disrespect, Captain, we need to settle that account later. I believe I have found a way to force the enemy to surrender.”