Damien flung his breakfast tray against the far wall. The team jumped in unison at the loud crash. Before his tray had settled on the hard floor, he turned and faced the group.
“Am I the only one here who is tired of killing human beings?”
The room was silent for a few tense seconds. Emily tucked her nose deeper into her book. Gibbs was the first to speak.
“I’m not killing human beings,” he said, voice even. Detached.
“Oh, for—”
“Get it through your head, Union Jack, these aren’t people. They’re tools. We are trying to reprogram the tools to work for us.” Damien could tell from the look in the programmer’s eyes that he meant every single word. He didn’t want to believe anyone could be so cold. So inhuman.
“That’s just my point, isn’t it?” Damien insisted. “What makes it okay to reprogram a person? Who decided that we should have that power?”
“You’re thick,” Gibbs accused. “How can they be people? They don’t have identities. We can do whatever we want with them.”
“Oh, bollocks.”
“No, seriously, I want you to tell me, what makes them human? What makes them so indispensable? Because those aliens think they’re pretty disposable.” Gibbs’ hands flew wildly around him as he spoke. Edward scooted the chess board closer to himself to prevent the pieces from becoming collateral damage.
“That’s a ridiculous question,” Damien stammered. He couldn’t believe he was having this discussion. “Look at them. They are our brothers and sisters. Just because they were created with science doesn’t make them any less real. Or any more disposable.”
“How many clones is it worth to save the human race? What if it takes a thousand? Ten thousand? Will you sacrifice a portion of those echoes to make sure we survive?” Gibbs punctuated his speech with loud raps on the table now. Edward watched the chess board with growing unease at each impact.
“I would ask the same of you, how many people would you sacrifice to save us?” Damien shot back. “If it takes ten million people to end this war with violence, is that a sacrifice you’re ready to make? Will you give your own life? The life of your family?”
“Don’t.” Something changed in Gibbs’ face. His eyes darkened and his jaw clenched under his scraggly beard. “Don’t you talk about my family.”
“The memories these clones have are as real to them as your memories are to you. You are no different than they are.”
“Don’t you dare.” Damien could feel the ice in Gibbs’ voice. “I’m nothing like those cheap monsters. You’re deluded. That’s why you can’t bring yourself to kill that clone you have in your infirmary. I wish Lincoln would hurry and tell you to pull the plug.”
“Okay.” Lincoln stood. “That’s about enough.”
“Lincoln, what is he talking about?” Damien turned on his friend. “Don’t tell me you’re actually considering this? That’s murder, Lincoln.”
“No, we’re not seriously considering it at this point. But you need to understand that we may need to. How long do we keep him on life support?”
“As long as it takes. He’s a human being, Lincoln.”
“Bull,” Gibbs said.
“He’s not a clone, Gibbs,” Keri interjected. “We have the manifest. He is one of the pilots. All the clones but the one who broke loose are accounted for.”
“What?” This was news to Damien. When did they recover the manifest?
“It’s true,” Lincoln answered. “We were able to pull the shipping and the crew manifest. Everything checks out: your man was—is one of the pilots. Every clone is accounted for, save one: the dead clone we pulled. Everything seems pretty straightforward now.”
“Yea, right.” Gibbs stormed out of the room.
Edward looked around sheepishly, moved a bishop and whispered, “Checkmate.”
Day 360 - 06:41
Lincoln Harris gazed out of an observation window at the rough horizon of the dwarf planet, Ceres. He always tried to be here for this, one of his favorite moments of each day. A shimmer caught his eye on the horizon, followed by bright white beams lancing through black of space from the point. The brilliant flash of white light as the sun emerged into full exposure was quickly dampened by the automatically tinting windows.
“Sunrise twice a day for a year, and it still never gets old, does it?” Damien approached the large picture window. The small observation deck managed to feel cavernous despite the size—lack of furniture or other trivialities combined with a floor-to-ceiling picture window that occupied an entire wall lent to that effect. Lincoln stood in his favorite spot on the space station. The only place he didn’t feel cramped.
“It really doesn’t,” Lincoln replied, without looking away. The view was captivating. Uncountable stars as a seamless backdrop to the bold sphere of fire that was Sol. The harsh light cast long shadows across the craggy surface of the planet below. Lincoln loved catching sunrises here. It was almost a religious experience for him. Almost.
“Do you believe in God, Lincoln?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Lincoln shrugged. “You?”
“I do,” Damien replied. “Now I’m no choir boy or Bible-thumping saint, but I look at sights like this”—he gestured at the vista—“and can’t help but question the idea that it was all a cosmic accident.”
“Sure.”
“It’s just, there’s too many unanswered questions for God to not be an answer to some of them,” Damien kept on. “And my mother was a Baptist. She wanted me to be a preacher, but I couldn’t do it.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“You can imagine the talk in med school,” Damien chuckled. “God is pretty unpopular in higher education, you know.”
“Many people would say that education is the enemy of religion.” Lincoln’s voice lacked conviction. He didn’t have a hard opinion either way on the issue. He couldn’t convince himself that it mattered.
“Many people are short-sighted.”
“Maybe so. What’s on your mind?” Lincoln turned toward his friend.
“I can’t help but wonder,” Damien said thoughtfully. “Let’s say there is a God. When he creates man—or woman—he imbues him with a soul, right?”
“Okay.”
“But when man—or alien, rather—creates man, like these clones, man can’t give it a soul.” He paused as if he wanted to say something else, but lost the words.
“I guess not.” Lincoln encouraged his friend to talk it out.
“Or maybe they can, I don’t know,” Damien shrugged. “What is a soul anyway? I can’t see it on a scope or an EEG. I can’t feel it in me.” He stabbed his hand at his chest.
“A lot of people have asked that question over thousands of years.”
“Right, but none have asked with quite this much baggage.”
“You’re not wrong.” Lincoln turned back to the view.
“What are we dealing with here, Lincoln?” Damien said with a hint of frustration. “What lies in the hearts of these captured shells?”
“Maybe the answer isn’t binary,” Lincoln said.
“What?”
“I mean, maybe it’s not just black and white. Few things in life are ever so cut and dry. It’s like—”
“No, that’s it,” Damien said excitedly. “Lincoln, you’re a bloody genius.”
Lincoln turned to watch his friend sprint out of the room and down the corridor.
Day 362 - 12:14
“Okay Doctor, you’ve been holed up in your lab for two days. It’s about time you tell us what in the solar system is going on.” Keri’s voice caught Lincoln by surprise. He turned away from the nebula picture as Damien entered the dining hall where the rest of the team had been assembled for the last half hour.
The dining hall was the most conveniently located room with enough space for all of them to meet on the station. Lincoln also figured it would help his team to let down their guards a little bit. He had been once again counting the stars in the mundan
e nebula picture on the wall while he waited for his friend to join them. The doctor had called this meeting, and he was nearly fifteen minutes late.
“I’ve figured it out.” His friend stood tall, beaming, and clean shaven. Lincoln suspected that was the cause of his tardiness.
“Well it’s about bloody time,” Gibbs said in his best mock British accent. Lincoln wasn’t impressed, and judging by the look on Damien’s face, neither was he.
“Ignore him,” Lincoln said. “What have you found?”
“Okay,” Damien began. “I’ll try and explain as best I can. The brain, as you well know, is a complex organ. Very complex. But, at its core, it is simply a conduit for minute electrical current. That’s how our entire nervous system is wired.”
Lincoln crossed his arms. “Sure, we all know this.”
“Of course,” Damien replied. “The way our brain interacts with the rest of our body is through transmitting instructions through our nerves by using this current. In oversimplified terms, it’s not all that dissimilar to how a computer shares instructions with its members through the binary language. Where a one is representative of power flipped on, and a zero is representative of power turning off. In layman’s terms, our brain does very much the same thing. By firing neurons in certain patterns, our body can interpret those impulses as instruction, and your arm moves. Have I lost anyone yet?”
“I think I understand,” Edward said. “So it’s reasonable to assume that the implants each one of these clones have embedded within their brain transmits information this way?”
“Right. It is quite reasonable to assume that.” Damien affected a wry smile. Lincoln tolerated his friend’s theatrics, though his patience was wearing thin. “But that assumption is wrong.”
“Okay, get to it,” Gibbs said.
“So our brain fires neurons, like tiny electrodes, and our nervous system can interpret these electrical spikes in neuron firing, and do something with it. This is testable. We naturally assumed the clones would behave the same exact way. We were wrong.
“Our little brothers and sisters out there, while biologically similar, conduct information in an entirely different manner. From studying our past tests, I’ve been able to reach some reasonable conclusions. It would appear their nerve conduction is a bit more, shall I say, refined than our own. The neurons inside their brain share information by modulating the width and amplitude of the current within the small electric impulses.”
“You’re talking about pulse width modulation?” Edward asked. “That’s really something.” The man had a new wonder in his eyes at the idea. Lincoln feared his eyes showed only sleep deprivation.
“Yes,” Damien replied. “It is similar to that. You can thank Lincoln for the tip.” He gestured at Lincoln, who simply shrugged and waved for Damien to continue.
“Somehow,” Damien obliged, “their synapses have been developed in such a way as to read and understand minute changes within the electrical current of the neuron spikes, and I assume, the harmonics governed by the modulation.”
“Okay, so we know how they think,” Lincoln said. He wanted to get to the point. He needed answers. “What do we do about it?”
“Well, that’s the trick isn’t it? To my knowledge, no one has thought about applying pulse width modulation to organically computed interpretation. It’s a completely new idea. A novel concept. The possibilities are thoroughly intriguing. Imagine communicating at the pace of binary, but with twice the resolution? Three times as much? The possibilities are overwhelming.”
“Yes, yes,” Edward jumped in excitedly. “The idea of sending intricate and incredibly long packets of information in a fraction of the time as using standard binary is… well, it’s unprecedented. Organic computing is already orders of magnitude faster than solid state, but if we can harness this kind of pattern…” He seemed to trail off in a daydream. “We have much to learn, just imagine—”
“That’s fine, we can all go home and write textbooks about it later, but how does all of this help us now?” Lincoln had been content to let his team talk all of this out thus far, but he was ready for action. It had been over two weeks since he had talked to the man in the black suit. He felt pinpricks down his spine at the notion of that man coming down on the station—a reaper collecting his dues.
“Right, sorry,” Damien replied, doubling down on his notes. “This tells us much about our enemy. Unfortunately, it will take time to learn how to communicate this way. But I think I know why the clones are dying. By trying to communicate with strict binary protocols, we were essentially applying brute force electrical impulses to a finely tuned system developed for elegant communication. With every test, we are quite literally blowing their circuits.”
Emily gasped. Her normally bright demeanor seemed to cloud and her shoulders slouched. “That’s why they convulse.” A gravity settled into her expression. “If what you’re saying is true, we’re basically causing the body to electrocute itself.”
“That’s exactly right,” Damien confirmed, eyes darkened with the sobering truth.
“My word,” Emily sat down, trembling. “What have we done? Dr. Fuller, do you think they could feel it?”
“I hope to God they couldn’t. It would feel like a million wildfires covering everything both inside and outside the body.” At this, Emily began to tear up. Lincoln shifted uneasily, both at her emotional breakdown and the idea of what Damien had just shared. This would kill the morale of the team.
“Okay, we need to focus.” Lincoln rubbed his eyes. Whether from the weight of their deeds or from ingesting so much information, he wasn’t sure. “I’m familiar with pulse width modulation as a concept and technique in electrical design, but how can we modify our process to be able to communicate with the clones? What can we do to close that gap?”
“You’re not going to like this,” Damien said. “We need to wake one of them up.”
Lincoln scrutinized his friend, looking for the joke. They had orders. Waking clones up willy-nilly wasn’t included. Sure it wasn’t forbidden… but it was common sense. Damien’s eyes betrayed no humor, however.
Lincoln sighed. Time was running short. The team needed to produce some answers, and this was the first solid lead they’d had. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
Day 363 - 08:23
“If we’re going to do this, you need one of these.” Lincoln opened a small black safe. He pulled out a silver handgun, checked that it was ready to fire and handed it to Keri.
Keri felt the unfamiliar weight of the weapon. “It’s been a long time since boot camp, Lincoln. We’ll have to pray it doesn’t come to this. Emily and I have selected a candidate to bring out of stasis.”
“Where is the rest of the team?”
“They’re sequestered in the mess for now, in case things go south.”
“That’s good. You and I are the only ones here with military backgrounds. It’ll fall to us to keep the rest of the team safe. We are way off protocol here.”
“You’re right, but I hope to God we’re making the right call.”
“They’re breathing down my neck, Keri, I have no choice.” Lincoln pulled a gun for himself from the safe. “We’ve been here for almost a year and what do we have to show for it?”
“We’re getting closer. You know that. The doctor and Emily are making strides.” She followed Lincoln out of his small bunk room and down the hall.
“I know, Keri, I know. That’s why I’m trusting him with this crazy plan. Let’s just hope we don’t need these.” Lincoln nodded at the gun in Keri’s hand as the pair stalked down the gray hall. Lincoln wasn’t convinced that waking up a clone would be the best idea, but he knew their options were limited. The man in the black suit had made his expectations clear. Lincoln grimaced at the demands placed upon his team.
The two of them reached the lift at the end of the corridor. As they waited for the lift to meet them, Lincoln considered the task at hand. He’d never been given explicit orders to not wake a cl
one up, but the implication had been clear enough. They shouldn’t take chances. Not only were the clones bred for a singular purpose—killing humans—but the scientists up top weren’t sure if their communication was one-way or if the clones could report back anything of interest. Best to not take the chance. On the other hand, it was often said that most clones didn’t even know they were clones.
That left Lincoln with a problem. He didn’t like not knowing what to expect. As the lift doors opened, he decided to try optimism on for size. Maybe the clone they planned to wake wouldn’t be violent after all. At any rate, the team should be careful about getting into any kind of shootout on the station. “Put that away until we need it.” Lincoln stepped into the lift.
Keri tucked the handgun underneath her belt and followed Lincoln. They entered the small cylindrical vehicle and Lincoln keyed the button for the storage level. The feeling of weightlessness marked the descent as the pod slid downward on the safety railing. After a few moments of what felt like freefall, the lift beeped to indicate they had arrived at the desired floor. The door opened to a startled looking Zachary Gibbs walking toward the lift.
“Zachary?” Keri gasped. “What are you doing down here?”
“My morning jog, obviously.” Gibbs chuckled, patting his large gut. “But really, I uh, I thought you guys were going to wake one of the clones up, so I was going to meet you down here to see how it went.”
“You’re supposed to be in the mess with the rest of the team,” Keri said.
“I thought you guys might need help with the console. You know, just in case.” Gibbs’ eyes danced from the ground to Lincoln’s and back. Never to Keri.
“Are there any problems we should be worried about?” Lincoln asked.
“Well, you never know,” Gibbs said, eyes still shifting.
“Is there a flaw in the design or something you should be telling us?” Lincoln stepped off the lift, closer to the man.
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