More Than a Machine

The Trial

woot woot this one is short enjoy >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

  This was not what 642 had expected to happen.

  How could he have been so stupid? He'd been too confident in his training. Three years of experience and drills. Sufficient enough for the missions he'd been created for, but not enough, perhaps, to go up against Colonel Hiver.

  Sure, 642 was undoubtedly stronger and more powerful. But Colonel Hiver was a real human. A seasoned officer. He must have had at least twenty years of experience in comparison to 642's three.

  Now the two sat across the room from each other.

  642, with his wrists cuffed and four guards close at his side. Their heavy rifles all trained on him, ready to fire if he made a wrong move.

  Colonel Hiver faced him from across the room. His arm had been injured and now rested in a sling, and his face had been badly bruised from his fight with 642. He glared at the clone with murder in his eyes.

  642 glared back at him.

  The trial was about to begin.

  The head of the entire Production Program, General Bransell himself, entered the room. He would be acting as a judge.

  No one had much experience with this sort of thing. This facility was a production base, a  military school. Nothing here was set up for military court-martials and the like because no one expected this sort of thing to happen. The "courtroom", as it now was, was actually a large storage room.

  642 watched General Bransell enter with consideration. This won't be a fair trial. 

  Would it even be a trial? A hearing? 642 didn't know. He wasn't sure how this sort of thing played out.

  He glanced around the room. Guards stood at every door, blocking any means of escape. Various officers sat in the audience. A small group of scientists sat there as well, and several of them glared at 642 with wrath.

  L'othaim was not in the group.

  642 noted the old man's absence with resentment. Nice. No support for me.

  "Alright," General Bransell sat himself down at the front of the room. "Let's make this quick. I want to see the security footage from the mission."

  A large screen was already set up. An officer began to play the footage. The footage all came from the security cameras from the Troop 7 aircraft.

  The cameras didn't capture the entirety of 642's betrayal, but they captured enough. 642 was seen several times with a weapon in his hand, fighting the whole of Troop 7. Clones ran past the camera. The same clones fell back into the shot as lifeless bodies. The entire courtroom flashed as laser fire shot across the screen. Colonel Hiver himself appeared in the footage, trying to restore order, dodging an attack from 642 and disappearing from view again as he took on the rogue soldier himself.

  Incriminating footage indeed.

  642 was obviously guilty.

  "Alright, I've seen enough," General Bransell said. The footage immediately turned off. The general turned to look at Colonel Hiver. "You are to be commended, General. I'll see that Headquarters hears about you."

  Colonel Hiver nodded a reply and a "Thank you, Sir." He glanced at 642 across the room. There was no mistaking that smug look in his eyes. Taunting, triumphant. He smirked.

  642 didn't hold back. He flashed the colonel a dirty look.

  General Bransell turned to 642 and caught the look he flashed. "And you," he studied him with curiosity. "What have you to say for yourself?"

  The clone's gaze turned to him, seriousness washing over his countenance.

  The general immediately felt uneasy by how human this clone seemed. He almost looked away. If the boy didn't have a face that matched hundreds of other clones, the general would almost second-guess on his being one of them at all. 

  "I have nothing to say," 642 stated. "I stopped a massacre."

  "By killing your own troop," the general countered. "How is that any different than a massacre?"

  642 considered his answer. "It's the way you look at it." 

  Here he leaned forward, and he stared the general square in the eyes, his own undaunted and bold. "We were made for killing. We were born dead. The planet that we traveled to was not. What right do we have to take their lives away? What right have you to make us do it? Are you a god?" 

  He spoke so sincerely, so unsettlingly natural. Such simple words that packed too much meaning for a clone.

  The entire room began to murmur. Officers exchanged glances. The scientists stared at the clone in shock.

  One of the scientists silently rose from her seat and turned to the door. She was trembling as she slipped out of the room. It was Halsa.

  No one noticed her exit.

  Scowling, General Bransell's eyes narrowed on 642. Where did this being come from? Surely he wasn't defective. He was something deliberate. What's more, is that he seemed morally educated to some extent. "Who are you?"

  "You should know," 642 sat back in his seat. He shrugged his shoulders. "Your people made me."

  The scientists protested in a clamor of voices. One of them jumped up. "No, I swear to you! This thing didn't come from our lab!"

  "Sit down, man!" General Bransell commanded. "I want silence in this room."

  The scientist immediately sat.

  A small smirk played on 642's face.

  The room hushed. The general paused a moment. His eyes moved to 642, and then over to Colonel Hiver, and lastly to two guards and an officer waiting near the door.

  "Bring Dr. L'othaim in," he commanded.

  The officer and guards left the room.

  The smirk on 642's face vanished. What would they do with L'othaim? Use him as a witness?

  Why, of course. The old coward made me, and now he's going to condemn me.