Echo- First Pulse

by C Scott Frank

  “How can we make a decision like that?” Edward watched the clone as he began to stir. “How are we qualified to impact so many lives?”

  “Depending on who you ask,” Keri said. “It may not be lives we’re impacting at all, in the technical sense.”

  “Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re on their side?” Edward shot a look of disbelief at Keri. “Zachary is bad enough. I thought you were better than that.”

  “I didn’t say I completely agree with him. I don’t know what to think. This isn’t something anyone can prepare for. On the one hand, they certainly appear to be humans and match our definition of life. On the other hand, they are created in a tube. Created by science. Some might say nothing more than an instrument or a tool. And they’re killing natural-born humans. How many clones is saving mankind worth?”

  “To quote the good doctor,” Edward began, “how many humans is it worth to save mankind?”

  “That’s a question our race has asked themselves for a long time, Ed. I wish I could say I had an answer.”

  Emily opened her mouth to share her point of view, but something on the monitor caught her eye. “Guys.” She found it hard to breathe. “Look.”

  The other two turned and looked at the monitor where the camera feed had still been rolling. The camera now showed two figures: Gibbs and Lincoln. The two were talking in what appeared to be a heated debate. Emily gasped as the larger figure, Gibbs, raised a gun and pointed it at Lincoln. They all looked away when they saw him pull the trigger.

  Day 363 - 09:53

  Lincoln sidestepped quickly—too quickly for Gibbs to adjust his aim. His shot went wide and ricocheted off a heavy support beam and punctured an inhabited stasis pod.

  Alarms sounded from the pod as glass hit the floor. Lincoln dove for Gibbs and knocked him to the ground, sending the gun flying. Lincoln rushed to the pod’s console to see if he could salvage anything. The clone inside began to go into cardiac arrest, body convulsing as his heart froze in his chest from the shock. His face turned a pale blue and his eyes opened, hollow. While unseeing, they betrayed some subconscious horror. Lincoln tapped at the console, trying anything he could think of, but it was no use. The machine echoed a flat tone as the man settled into the pod, eyes still staring, lifeless.

  Lincoln heard a bellow from behind him shortly before a shoulder collided with his spine. His face smacked against the screen violently—the glass cracked under the impact. He threw an elbow behind him, connecting with the side of the larger man’s head.

  He slumped to the ground and turned to find Gibbs. The programmer had gotten bold; Lincoln hadn’t expected a fistfight with the guy. Gibbs crawled toward the gun, under a nearby stasis pod.

  “Leave the gun, Gibbs,” Lincoln grunted. “You don’t know how to use that thing, you’ll kill us both in here.”

  “Yeah, that’s the general idea.”

  “I don’t believe you have a death wish.” Lincoln rose to his feet, hot blood trickling down his face. His eyes stung and his back hurt. He couldn’t believe the team worried about boredom a few short days ago. “Zachary, just give it up man.”

  “Nah, I’m good.” Gibbs dove for the gun. Lincoln lunged a split-second behind him, grabbing his hands in a vice. Gibbs tried to aim the weapon, but Lincoln held fast. Gibbs tried to use his weight to roll on top, but Lincoln was too strong. He brought a knee up and caught Gibbs in the gut, making him cough in Lincoln’s face. His grip loosened just long enough for Lincoln to steal the gun. He kicked backwards to get some distance and aimed the gun at the programmer.

  “Fine, whatever, I give up.” Gibbs held his hands up.

  “Good answer.” Lincoln stood. “Get up. Leave your datapad. We’re going to have to lock you in your quarters. I don’t want you to try anything.”

  “Who me?” Gibbs flashed a wry smile as he hefted himself off the ground.

  “Come on.” Lincoln turned toward the door. He realized his mistake a second too late. He heard Gibbs’ bulk pound toward him. He sidestepped the tackle and caught Gibbs around the shoulders, using the large man’s momentum against him. He threw him to the floor, ready to clamp his hands behind his back, but instead of the dull thump of the man’s body hitting the ground, he heard a sickening crunch.

  He looked down into Gibbs’ face on the ground. The large man was silent, looking at something over to his right. Lincoln followed his gaze but only saw an empty stasis pod, one of the cylinders the shuttle had intended to take back. Lincoln looked back and noticed a pool of dark liquid spreading from under the programmer’s head and neck. Blood.

  The foot of the stasis pod next to him protruded into the walkway. Skin, hair, and blood covered the jagged corner of the heavy machine. Lincoln swore as he felt the man’s neck, already knowing what he would find.

  Zachary Gibbs was dead.

  Before he had time to process what had happened, his comm clicked with a burst of static.

  “Lincoln,” came Damien’s garbled voice. “Lincoln, I’ve made a mistake.”

  Day 363 - 09:56

  “Is he dead?” Emily asked, her voice trembling. Adrenaline filled her veins. Her body’s natural reaction to quiet her fear. She was out of her element.

  “It looks like it,” Keri said. On the small display, Lincoln felt Gibbs’ neck for a pulse. He shook his head confirming Keri’s answer. Lincoln held a finger up to his ear and then darted from the room. A moment later, the screen turned black as the lights in the room automatically shut off.

  A soft alarm sounded behind the group in the room and they all turned to find the clone staring at them. He lay still under the straps, his eyes the only movement as they met each team member’s in turn.

  “Looks like our pal is awake,” Edward said, stating the obvious.

  “Here we go.” Keri unclipped the holster on her hip.

  “Where am I?” The clone asked. He stared bullets through the team, unblinking. His stare made Emily squeamish.

  “You’re aboard a research station. I can’t tell you where yet, because there’s a lot we don’t know,” Keri answered, approaching the table.

  “You don’t know where you are?” The man asked, brows furrowed. “What kind of research are you doing?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Keri replied. Emily turned to hide her smile at the misunderstanding. Language was fascinating. Her gaze landed on the monitor showing a dark room. Gibbs’ body lay somewhere in that darkness. She flipped the monitor off, a shiver running up her spine as Keri continued. “We’re doing research on clones. Our goal is to learn how to communicate with them. If we can see how the mind of a clone works.”

  “That’s good. We need to put an end to this forsaken war. I’m a soldier, get me back out in the fight.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  Emily settled in behind her workstation to check on the readings. Brainwaves made their way across the screen as the monitors gathered their data.

  “Are we getting the readings we need?” Keri asked.

  “Yes, just a little longer.”

  “What readings? What am I doing here?” The clone’s voice sounded impatient behind Emily. She turned around in her chair to explain, but Keri cut her off.

  “Do you remember your name?” Keri asked him.

  “Michael,” the clone said. “Michael Vance. I was stationed on Imperium. Last thing I remember, we were prepping to help the evac from KB1104. Did our ship run into trouble or something?”

  “Michael,” Keri began. “There’s no easy way to say this. But you’re a clone. I don’t have your file in front of me, but you were likely taken as a prisoner of war and placed into stasis to be transported here.”

  “Look, lady, I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but there’s some kind of mistake here.” The man shook his head and tugged at the straps holding his arm. “Let me go, we can work this all out. Clone or not, I just want to know where in the worlds I am.”

  “It’s not uncommon to experience amnesia—
“

  “It’s not amnesia you crazy bat, do amnesiacs remember their name?” He labored against his restraints.

  “That’s a good point, but I’m still not letting you go anywhere.” Keri tapped her sidearm noticeably. “Look, there’s a lot we do know. We know that you have some vague memories about your childhood, but you can’t even remember where you graduated high school. You think you’re a human fighting clones, but you don’t remember how you ended up in the military. You don’t even realize that it’s been over three months since you were picked up.”

  “How do you know what I think or what I remember? If you’d calm down for half a second, maybe we can have an actual conversation and—”

  “Got it,” Emily interjected as a monitor beeped. “I think we’re ready to synthesize. Ed can help me recode some of this to match Damien’s pulse algorithms, but we can go ahead and put him,” she nodded at the clone, “down.”

  “Put me down?” The man struggled against the straps, shaking the whole bed. “What am I, a dog? What do you mean put me down?”

  “It’s okay,” Keri said soothingly. “We’re going to put you under light sedation for a little while. When you wake up, everything will make much more sense.”

  Edward helped Keri hold the clone still as she injected him with a tranquilizer. Once the man was unconscious, they fitted him with the appropriate electrodes and sensors and positioned the radio antennae around his head. Emily turned back to her station and pushed everything else out of her mind.

  “Okay,” Emily began, “We’re ready to begin.”

  Day 363 - 09:57

  “Lincoln,” Damien whispered through his comm. “Lincoln, I’ve made a mistake.”

  Damien had locked himself in his office as soon as the pilot had tried to grab him. The pilot’s restraints were the only thing that had saved Damien. That and God, maybe. Damien sat on the ground out of view of the large windows in his office. The steps of the pilot pacing outside the office might as well have been bombs for all the tension Damien felt. Somehow he’d gotten out of his restraints.

  “Come on doctor,” the pilot taunted. His voice was hoarse from the damage to his throat. “You don’t have a problem digging around inside someone’s head and changing who they are, but you’re scared of a little fight?”

  Damien trembled out of sight. He hoped that Lincoln would be here soon. He could use a break right about now.

  “I’m glad you went with the open concept for your office, doc, really brightens the place.” Damien heard a squeal as the pilot ran his fingers along the glass. “I especially love the big windows. They really open things up.”

  Damien flinched when he heard the crash against the window. Glass cracked under the barrage. One more hit would shatter the glass. The pilot swung the chair again, and this time the chair went straight through, clattering against the floor next to Damien, showering him in tempered glass. The doctor took a deep breath and stood to look at the pilot.

  “You’re an activist,” he said quickly, hoping to get him talking. Hoping to get him on the same side. He raised his hands slowly and continued. “I’m a pacifist. We’re on the same bloody side, believe me.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t,” the pilot said. “People can and will say anything if they believe their life is on the line.”

  “Is my life on the line?”

  “I can’t let you continue your work.” The pilot shrugged as if it was out of his control. “You must know that.”

  “Whatever side of the debate you’re on, we’re working to save humanity,” Damien pleaded. He hoped he believed it himself.

  “Humanity is relative.” The man’s harsh voice gave Damien chills. “Why should we be treated any differently than you? What gives you that right?”

  “We?” That… couldn’t be. That meant—Damien shook his head and cursed under his breath. “Bloody hell, he was right this whole time.”

  “What exactly did you think happened on that shuttle, doc?” The pilot edged closer to the doctor.

  “We assumed you had stopped the clone from sabotaging your mission,” Damien offered, shrinking backwards.

  “Well, you’re not entirely wrong. But it looks like you’ve completely misjudged the nature of my mission.” The pilot had Damien backed into a corner. “Exactly how many clones have you killed, doctor? How much blood is on your hands?”

  Damien looked at his own hands as if he expected to find them covered in blood. “I—I never asked for this. I’m not a murderer.”

  “Tell that to the bodies you’ve piled up.” The pilot worked his fists. “Don’t fight it and this will end quickly.”

  Damien looked over the man’s shoulder as he closed the distance. “Oh, thank God.”

  The pilot pulled up short and turned to look. Nothing. He screamed as Damien led with a sweeping kick into the side of the man’s knee. His balance wavered and Damien rushed past him out of the office.

  “You little whelp,” the pilot growled and steadied himself. Damien rounded the doorway of the office and gunned for the exit. Pain lanced between his shoulder blades and he went down hard. His face stung from the impact of the floor, the heavy book landing next to him on the ground, courtesy of the pilot’s throwing arm.

  Damien heard the pilot stalking toward him in the broken glass. He slid himself backward, around a table and out of sight. He inched toward a refrigerator on the nearest wall. He kept it stocked with various chemicals, something in there could cause some damage. He grimaced as his knee bumped a beaker off a low shelf, shattering it on the ground.

  The pilot emerged from around the corner with a grim smile and limped toward him.

  “You are a pacifist doctor,” the pilot said condescendingly. “I was bred for war. Do you really think this goes your way?”

  Damien ignored him and reached up to open the glass door. The pilot slapped his arm away with one hand and flung the doctor onto his back with the other. Damien used the momentum and swung his other hand around to meet his attacker. The pilot was a hair too slow, and the glass bottle in Damien’s hand shattered against the man’s cheekbone. The force of the impact sent the pilot sprawling onto the hard floor next to the doctor.

  Damien rolled and grabbed the shelf next to him and pulled it down onto the bleeding pilot. The man covered his head as glass and metal showered down around him in a clamor. With a shout, he erupted from the debris and pounced on the doctor before he could get away.

  Blood dripped off of the pilot’s face onto Damien’s as he tried to pin the man to the ground. He held him down with one hand and punched Damien in the face, the back of his head cracking violently against the floor.

  Damien’s nose crumpled under another vicious punch. Hot blood poured down his face and down his throat through his battered sinuses. Involuntary tears welled up in his eyes from the barrage, his vision blurred through the stinging pressure. Damien summoned up as much effort as he could, and as the pilot threw another punch, Damien wriggled sideways and the punch landed on the metal tile. The pilot howled as his fist crumpled against the floor.

  Damien seized the moment to kick his way out of the vice the pilot had locked him in. He rolled to his left and tried a kick toward the pilot’s head. The pilot ducked and took the brunt of the force in his shoulder, falling backward into the glass refrigerator door, the impact threatening to spiderweb the door.

  Damien stood to flee, but the pilot swept one of his feet. He fell to the ground once more with a cry of pain. He tried to scoot away, but the pilot was on him in an instant, landing blow after blow to his neck and ribs. Damien tried to hold his hands up to stop the attack, but couldn’t gain any valuable leverage.

  He threw his hands into the pilot’s face, trying to grab his throat in a desperate attempt to strangle him. The pilot was stronger. He peeled Damien’s nimble fingers back one by one, threatening to break them with each tug. Aside from the stifled grunts and occasional gasps of struggle, the room was silent, the only soundtrack coming from the a
ir handlers gently humming in the background.

  The pilot planted a knee into Damien’s sternum, suppressing his diaphragm. Each breath became a struggle. As he grew weak and his arms fell quiet, the pilot grabbed the sides of Damien’s head, cupping his ears, and slammed his skull into the hard metal floor.

  ∆∆∆

  After four heavy impacts, each one punctuated by a sickening crunch, the doctor lay still. Panting heavily, the pilot rolled to the floor next to the bleeding man he had just killed and caught his breath.

  Two short minutes went by, and the pilot heard footsteps from outside in the corridor. He stood up and looked for somewhere to hide. He found a perfect place to set an ambush: between the two glass refrigerators there was just enough room for him to slip into the shadows. The pilot hurried into his trap and silenced his breath as the newcomer entered the infirmary.

  “Oh no,” the man said as he walked through the doorway. “Damien, what have you done?”

  He walked cautiously through the rubble with his gun half raised, as if ready to draw down any direction at the slightest provocation. His boots crunched under broken glass and ruined lab equipment as he progressed through the war zone.

  When he noticed the doctor’s feet sticking out from behind a lab table, he muttered a curse and rushed forward.

  The pilot simply watched from the shadows as the man strode past the refrigerators without paying any notice.

  Day 363 - 10:14

  “How’s he doing?” Keri peered at the vital readings on the monitors above the clone’s head, data in neon colors against a dark background.

  “He’s doing great,” Emily responded clinically. Her eyes and nose were still red from the tears shed over the confrontation between Gibbs and Lincoln. “Better than expected, look at this.” She turned her display around to face Keri.

  “Unbelievable.” Keri inspected the screen. “That resting brain function. It’s—”