Chapter 19
A pale, sterile light flickered to life in the depths of the ROM facility, illuminating rows of cylindrical tanks filled with viscous fluid. In one of these tanks, a silhouette floated motionless – the unmistakable form of Lance Corporal Allen. Or rather, a copy of him. The fluid glowed with an eerie green hue that cast dancing shadows on the laboratory walls. Small bubbles streamed from the respirator fixed over the figure's mouth and nose, and faint electrodes connected to his temples pulsed with light, feeding data into nearby consoles.
For a long moment, there was only silence and the gentle hum of machinery. Then, with a hiss of hydraulics, the cloning chamber began to drain. The fluid receded from the tank, gurgling through hidden pipes. The figure inside slowly sagged to the bottom, coming to rest on his hands and knees as gravity took hold. A final gust of steam vented from the chamber's seals before the glass panel slid open.
The newly formed clone of Allen gasped in his first breath of open air. He – for he was every bit as human and alive as the man whose likeness he bore – collapsed forward, coughing up fluid from his lungs. His fingers splayed against the cold metal floor, and he shivered violently, bewildered by the sudden onslaught of sensation. Cool, recycled air caressed his damp skin. Every nerve in his body felt aflame with overstimulation, from the harsh brightness of the overhead lights to the distant blare of klaxons echoing down the corridor.
"Easy now," a voice echoed from somewhere beyond the haze of the clone's vision. Strong hands gripped his arms, preventing him from falling flat on his face. The clone squinted, vision swimming, and made out the blurry outline of two figures in dark uniforms. One wore a white lab coat stained with fluid, the other donned the black and crimson armor of a ROM commando.
The man in the lab coat spoke again, his tone clinical but laced with urgency. "Subject A-1 is conscious. Vitals are within expected parameters." He produced a thin device and waved it before the clone's eyes, checking pupil response. Satisfied, the scientist gave a curt nod to the soldier beside him. "Help him up. We don't have much time."
The ROM commando hooked a muscular arm under the clone's shoulder and hauled him to his feet. Legs trembling, the clone braced himself against the side of the emptied tank. His heart pounded in a frantic rhythm as disjointed impressions flooded his mind. He knew things – how to stand, how to breathe, how to speak – but he couldn't recall how he knew them. Fragmented images fluttered at the edges of his consciousness: the flash of muzzle fire, a woman's determined eyes, the sense of running through chaos and smoke. They felt like memories, yet they weren't his. Nothing made sense.
"W-Where…?" the clone rasped, the single word scraping out of his throat. He lifted his head, blinking away liquid and tears, and tried again. "Where am I?"
The scientist exchanged a quick glance with the commando before stepping forward. He pressed a thin blanket around the clone's shoulders to cover his bare, shivering form. "You're safe. You're among friends," he said, voice echoing slightly in the cavernous lab. His ID badge glinted under the fluorescent lights – Dr. Ferris, Chief Bio-Engineer. "Can you understand me? How do you feel?"
"I…" The clone struggled to find words. His thoughts were a turbulent storm. He felt everything at once – cold, confused, alive. With a shaky hand, he wiped his face and caught sight of his reflection in a shard of glass from the tank. A pair of dark eyes stared back at him, full of confusion and latent pain. The face was familiar: strong jaw, close-cropped hair, a thin scar above the left eyebrow. He knew this face… but he did not know himself. "Who am I?" he whispered, barely audible over the distant alarm.
Dr. Ferris placed a firm hand on the clone's shoulder, guiding him away from the broken glass. "You are a soldier of the ROM now," he answered carefully. "A creation of ours – a very special one. Your designation is A-1." A hint of pride crept into the scientist's voice as he added, "You're the first successful clone of Lance Corporal Allen, one of the UEN's finest soldiers. You carry all of his strengths, and none of his weaknesses."
The clone's brow furrowed as he absorbed the words. Clone. The concept rattled in his mind, unlocking an avalanche of comprehension. Those images flickering in his head – battles, faces, voices – they belonged to Allen, the original, not to him. He was made from another man. He was another man, copied. A surge of emotion swelled in the clone's chest, so intense it nearly choked him. Anger? Fear? It was impossible to tell. He braced a hand on the nearby console to steady himself.
Before he could form another question, a tremor shook the floor beneath them. Overhead, the lights flickered as the wail of klaxons grew louder. The commando at the clone's side pressed a finger to the comm unit in his ear. "Dr. Ferris, we have to go. Now. UEN strike teams have breached the outer perimeter," the soldier reported, voice taut. "They're advancing fast. We've lost contact with Beta squad in the east wing."
Dr. Ferris cursed under his breath. The clone could see a flash of alarm in the man's eyes before he regained his composure. The scientist rushed to a nearby terminal, hands flying over the keyboard to download whatever data he could salvage. All around, the laboratory was a scene of hasty evacuation – assistants in lab coats darting to and fro, securing equipment and grabbing armfuls of research drives. The corpse of the monstrous Hybrid Morph lay sprawled not far from the clone's tank, a testament to the fierce battle that had taken place mere hours ago. Its grotesque, half-mechanical carcass sparked and oozed black fluid onto the floor, and the clone found himself staring at it in morbid fascination. He remembered this creature in flashes: a vicious fight, fear and fury mingled as he – no, as Allen – fought for his life. The memory made the clone's head throb. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the phantom sensation away.
Another explosion rocked the facility, closer this time. The lights dimmed as dust rained from the ceiling. "We have to evacuate," the commando barked, already tugging the clone toward the exit. "Move!"
Dr. Ferris pulled a small case from under the console and hurried after them. "Follow me, A-1," he urged the clone, his tone caught between gentle coaxing and raw impatience. "We need to get you to safety. The UEN forces cannot reclaim this facility – or you."
Half-dazed, the clone allowed himself to be guided out of the lab. His legs grew steadier with each step, strength returning rapidly as adrenaline surged through his veins. In the hallway beyond, red emergency lights strobed against metal walls. The air smelled of smoke and burning circuitry. Distant gunfire rattled through the complex, accompanied by the heavy thud of detonations. The battle for the factory had resumed in earnest – UEN reinforcements had finally arrived.
They passed through a corridor lined with shattered cloning vats and toppled equipment. Unconscious technicians and fallen ROM soldiers lay scattered about, casualties of the earlier skirmish. The clone's eyes darted over the scene. He knew the UEN troops were here, somewhere beyond the next bulkhead, but he felt no kinship to either side at that moment. He was simply… adrift, a living specter caught between two warring worlds.
"Over here!" Dr. Ferris shouted above the din, pointing to a reinforced door at the end of the corridor. The commando led the way, weapon raised, and the small group pressed on. The clone's senses were sharpening by the second; each gunshot echoed like thunder in his ears, and he could pick up snippets of shouted orders beyond the smoke. He realized he understood those commands – UEN hand signals and tactical calls – even though he'd never been trained by them himself. The knowledge lived in his muscles and mind, inherited from Allen's genes and whatever neural imprinting the ROM scientists had done. It was a disorienting realization.
Just as they neared the door to the hangar bay, a figure in UEN combat armor emerged from a side passage, rifle raised. "Stop! Hands where I can see them!" the soldier yelled, blocking their path. Behind the mirrored visor, the UEN trooper's voice betrayed a mix of nerves and determination.
The commando reacted instantly, stepping in front of Dr. Ferris and the clone. But before he could fire, the clone moved on impulse. Years of battle instincts – Allen's instincts – roared to life within him. In a blur of motion, the clone lunged forward and snatched the sidearm from the commando's holster. His body moved almost automatically, fluid and precise. CRACK! He fired a single shot that caught the UEN soldier in the shoulder, knocking the trooper to the ground with a cry of pain.
The fallen UEN soldier stared up in shock as the clone advanced, weapon trained. For a heartbeat, the clone hesitated, gazing down at the insignia on the trooper's uniform. A strange emotion fluttered in his chest. These are my enemy… aren't they? he thought, even as his hand steadied, prepared to finish the job. The momentary confusion was broken by the commando's voice barking, "Leave him! We need to go, now!"
Sirens wailed urgently as more footsteps pounded nearby – the UEN team was closing in. The clone reluctantly backed off, sparing the wounded soldier a final, conflicted glance. Then he turned and followed Dr. Ferris and the commando through the heavy door which hissed open to reveal the hangar.
Inside the vast hangar bay, controlled chaos reigned. A sleek black ROM transport shuttle idled on a landing pad, its thrusters already warming up and casting a hot orange glow across the deck. Dozens of personnel swarmed about, some carrying crates of equipment, others ushering injured comrades up the shuttle's ramp. Overhead, the dome of the hangar had partially collapsed; through the gaping hole, the swirling amber clouds of Jupiter's atmosphere were visible, lit by sporadic flashes of lightning. The battle outside was inching closer – stray tracer rounds from distant firefights streaked across the opening like shooting stars.
Dr. Ferris hurried the clone toward the shuttle, shielding his face from a gust of exhaust. "Get on board!" the scientist urged, nearly breathless. The clone obeyed, ascending the ramp two steps at a time. Around them, the shuttle's engines whined louder, ready for immediate takeoff.
As he stepped into the shuttle's dim interior, the clone's eyes quickly adjusted. The cabin was cramped and illuminated by red emergency lights. Wounded ROM soldiers sat strapped into seats, and a pair of medics were tending to a stretcher secured along the starboard wall. An unconscious man lay on that stretcher, an IV drip and monitors hooked to his battered body. The clone's attention drifted to the patient – something about the figure tugged at him, a nagging sense of familiarity amidst the haze of chaos.
He took a tentative step closer, narrowing his eyes. The wounded man's armor had been stripped away, revealing a torn undershirt and a torso wrapped in bloodied bandages. Wires and medical tubes snaked around the stretcher. With gentle hands, one of the medics lifted an oxygen mask from the patient's face to adjust it, momentarily clearing the view of the man's features.
The clone's heart nearly stopped. He knew that face.
Despite the bruises and pallor, it was like looking into a mirror. Lance Corporal Allen – the original Allen – lay before him, alive but gravely injured. The tail wound from the Hybrid Morph's attack had been hastily treated; dark stains of blood seeped through the dressings on his chest. His eyes were closed, and his head lolled to the side as the medics secured the mask back in place over his nose and mouth.
For an instant, the din of the shuttle and the battle outside faded to nothing. The clone felt the floor tilt beneath him as if the world itself had slipped off axis. He was staring at the man he had been replicated from – the man whose fragmented memories lurked in his mind. A rush of incomprehensible emotion surged through him: awe, pity, fear, and something else… an ache of identity crisis so profound it stole his breath.
Dr. Ferris noticed the clone standing rigid and wide-eyed. The scientist quickly stepped to his side. "Now you understand," he said quietly, his tone oddly sympathetic. "That is Lance Corporal Allen – your progenitor. He nearly destroyed this entire operation, but in doing so he gave us a gift: you."
The clone couldn't tear his eyes away from Allen's unconscious face. He felt as if he were dreaming, looking at some phantom of himself. "He's alive…" the clone murmured, his voice barely audible over the rumble of the shuttle's engines. A tremor ran through him, and he wasn't sure if it was relief or panic.
"Alive, yes – for now," Dr. Ferris replied tersely, placing a hand on the clone's shoulder to steer him toward a seat. The ramp was closing and the shuttle lurched as it lifted off. Through a small viewport, the clone glimpsed the hangar falling away beneath them, and flashes of gunfire as UEN soldiers stormed in too late to stop their escape. "We've gotten what we need from him. The High Command will decide his fate soon enough."
With gentle but firm pressure, Dr. Ferris pushed the clone down into a seat and buckled a harness over him. The clone barely noticed; his mind remained locked on the sight of his original self mere feet away. I'm him… and he is me… The thought spiraled in his head, threatening to overwhelm him.
As the shuttle banked and accelerated away from the embattled platform, the clone finally tore his gaze from Allen and looked around the cabin. Injured ROM troops groaned softly. One of the medics was barking coordinates into a comm unit, guiding the pilot toward a rendezvous with a larger ROM cruiser above the tumultuous clouds. Captain Asha's promised backup had arrived in force – through the haze of Jupiter's atmosphere, bright lances of energy weapons and explosions indicated a full aerial engagement underway. The clone felt the shuttle shudder as it weaved through turbulence and stray flak.
Dr. Ferris knelt before the clone, drawing his attention back. The scientist's eyes were sharp and searching, keen to assess the mental state of his creation. "A-1," he said, using the clone's designation like a name. "Listen to me. I know this is a lot to take in. But you must focus. You were born for a purpose."
The clone swallowed hard, finding his voice amid the turmoil inside him. "A purpose…?" he echoed. He glanced again toward Allen – his purpose had something to do with the original, surely.
"Yes," Ferris continued, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "You are destined to be the perfect soldier. Loyal to the ROM, free of the weaknesses of those who came before you. Lance Corporal Allen and his UEN comrades would never accept you – they would see you as an abomination. But with us, you have a home… a mission."
The clone's hands balled into fists on his knees. The words seeped into him, heavy with implication. He did feel an innate loyalty, a pull – but to whom? The scientist's rhetoric was steady, rehearsed, yet the clone's inherited conscience wavered. Images of battle flashed in his mind again: Allen's memories of fighting alongside fellow UEN soldiers, the camaraderie and sacrifice. And now the clone also recalled how he had almost shot a UEN trooper minutes ago without hesitation. Was that truly his enemy? Or was he simply fulfilling programming like a machine?
Dr. Ferris must have sensed the conflict in the clone's eyes. He stood and spoke more firmly. "You are not Allen," he declared, as if reading the clone's thoughts. "You are better. Stronger. You will help us end this war. Think of it – the UEN will fall, and there will be no more needless battles like the one that scarred this gas giant today." He gestured toward the front of the shuttle where, through the cockpit window, the fiery arcs of a larger conflict lit the skies. "We will bring order and peace, and you will be our spearhead."
The clone closed his eyes, trying to shut out the world and the war beyond. He drew in a shaky breath. It was all so new, so overwhelming – yet a part of him yearned for direction, for identity. Slowly, he nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Perhaps if he complied, the storm inside him would settle. Perhaps if he had a mission, he could forget the terrifying emptiness of being a copy.
Satisfied for now, Dr. Ferris allowed a thin smile. He reached out and tightened the harness strap across the clone's chest. "Good. Rest for now," he said. "We'll be docking with the flagship soon. Once we're secure, we can begin your proper orientation and training." The scientist's gaze flickered briefly to the unconscious Allen, and a shadow of distaste crossed his face. "And we'll decide what to do with him."
As the clone leaned back, the shuttle's cabin reverberated with the deep thrum of its engines. He stared up at the ceiling, where red lights pulsed in sync with his own racing heartbeat. Below, the gas giant's platform and the secret factory were dwindling specks, soon to be in the hands of the UEN. Above, the ROM flagship awaited, a new destiny lying in its metallic embrace.
He took one last look at the original Allen – the man who was, in a sense, his father, his brother, himself. Allen's chest rose and fell shallowly, each breath a hard-won victory against death. The clone felt a twist of uncertainty in his soul. Did he owe allegiance to the ones who created him, or to the life they had stolen to do so?
That unspoken question hung heavy in his mind as the shuttle breached the upper cloud layers, leaving behind the scorched battleground below. The clone closed his eyes, listening to the drum of his heartbeat and the muffled sounds of war fading into the distance. In that moment, he resolved only one thing: he would survive and find his purpose – whatever it turned out to be.
Unseen beyond the shuttle's hull, dawn was breaking on the far side of Jupiter's horizon. And with it, a new chapter was beginning – for the war, for the UEN and ROM, and for the two identical men whose fates were now irrevocably intertwined.