Young Writers Society

hello! I'm new to this site, I love this story so I wanted to share it. I've been working on it for almost a year now, I think. 642 (aka Stallone) is a fun dude. 

happy reading! 

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“Sir, I really think this is doable,” Dr. L’othaim stated confidently. “We will need more resources, sure, but it’s not hard. This army can be improved.”

“Have you tested your theory?” The general asked sternly. He was not on board with the doctor’s idea, and the two of them had been at a back-and-forth for almost thirty minutes so far.

“Well... no.” Dr. L’othaim paused. “I need permission to do so. This is why I came to you. Just grant me permission to test on a handful of the clones. I won’t let you down.”

The general shook his head. He let out a heavy sigh. “Doctor, doctor.” He sat forward in his seat. “We both know the real reason you want this. It could mean a name for yourself,” he stared the old man in the eye, “a chance at fame. Is it not? But you are too old. It would be a waste to lend you even one of my clones. You may even kill them in the process. Can you afford the mistake? I cannot.”

The old doctor’s heart sank. The general’s words stung him. What more could he say? He tried, and he failed to get support for his idea. It was useless to try and continue.

“Thank you, General, for your time.” he finally said, voice more unsteady than he had cared for it to be. He straightened and turned to the door.

The general did not reply to him.

Dr. L’othaim left the room and walked down the hall in silence.

The general’s words rang in his mind, cutting deeper than they should. Why? Because they were true? Yes, they were true.

L’othaim craved respect. He craved acknowledgment. As any brilliant man would.

So why shouldn’t I have it? The thought struck him suddenly. A surge of rebellion rose within him.

Why shouldn’t I make a name for myself? It is about time.

His work had been copied more times than he could count. His ideas were given to other, much younger scientists. L’othaim was a cheated man. But not anymore.

I have never broken a rule in my life. But now...

He made the journey through the corridor, up to the Production Floor where a new batch of clones was being created.

Now I will break many.

He reached the Production Floor and surveyed the room. The room was empty. The other scientists had retired for the day. It was evening, and work was done.

Rows upon rows of tanks lined the room. Each tank contained a small life form inside, suspended in fluids and attached to cords and wires. By tomorrow morning these life forms would resemble infant humans. By tomorrow afternoon they would be born.

I just need one.

He walked down the rows of tanks. He knew them well; he worked on them daily.

This one will do. No, wait. The cameras. He looked towards the security cameras on the ceiling.

I must stay out of view. Farther on then.

He continued walking. At last, on the other end of the room, he stopped in front of a tank. No security cameras would catch this tank. It was the last in the row, and almost hidden in the corner.

The life form inside numbered six-hundred forty-two. This number was posted on the side of the tank. The life form sat still and peaceful, completely unaware of L’othaim’s plans for it.

Perhaps I shouldn’t.

A moment of hesitation hit him.

No, I should. I deserve this victory.

He would make the ultimate soldier. These clones were already enhanced. But he had the knowledge, the skill. He would make this one better.

“Alright,” he said aloud. He checked the number attached to the side of the tank. “6-4-2, is it? Well, 642, you will be the greatest super soldier to ever grace the galaxy. Let’s get started.”

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The clones were born the next afternoon. The process was a routine one, as the scientists did this yearly, and everything went smoothly.

Dr. L’othaim was confident in what he’d done the night before. He had made no mistakes in his experiment. Despite this, he couldn’t help being a little on edge. If 642 showed any immediate abnormalities, there could be problems for him.

But 642 did not show any abnormalities. He was just like all of the other clone infants. A healthy, squirming, crying being.

L’othaim kept a close eye on him throughout the day. Nothing.

Perhaps I failed. Still, he is only a baby. Maybe in a few weeks I will see something.

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A year passed.

The troop of clones had aged from infants to the human equivalent of seven-year-olds. As soon as they grew out of infancy, they left the scientists’ care and were moved to the military program.

The scientists were allowed to observe them and keep tabs in case any abnormalities arose. This was routine, and no one expected problems.

Dr. L’othaim, however, stayed ever-vigilant. This was the age he expected to see some differences in 642.

Each clone was a complete copy of the others. They all fell into line, same face, same eyes, same build. No personalities and no mind of their own, and an unwavering obedience to their superiors.

Except for 642.

L’othaim was the only one to notice. It was one evening during the clones’ last few minutes of daily training when he spotted the first difference.

The boys all stood in a row, expressionless, listening to a speech that their superior officer was making. L’othaim wasn’t listening but it was something about their purpose and their mission to “cleanse the world”.

The speaking officer droned on as he walked up and down the row of clones. As he passed one of the boys, the child rolled his eyes.

L’othaim froze.

Did that boy just... roll his eyes?

He blinked and peered closer. It was 642.

Sure enough, the boy wore an expression on his face. An expression! It was a look of annoyance.

My word... L’othaim stared in horror. He has a personality.

This was totally unexpected. He had never intended to give the boy a mind of his own. None of the other clones had minds of their own. It defeated the purpose of making these soldiers. No, L’othaim had only wanted to make him stronger and better than the others. Never this.

642 made a face to himself and silently mouthed something.

Despite his shock and horror, L’othaim found this slightly amusing. He is a cheeky little fellow. Where did that come from?

So this boy was unique. But what could be done? If he showed more of this attitude, the officers would catch on. The boy could be killed and L’othaim would be discovered. He thought over his options and then turned to a guard standing nearby.

“Please send 642 to my office after training,” he said calmly. “I think he needs an assessment.”

The guard nodded in compliance. He was a clone as well. Mindless like the children across the room and made to follow orders. Beneath his helmet, he had the same face as the children, too. They would look exactly like him in two years’ time.

L’othaim sighed and left the room. He headed to his office, plotting what he could do to fix the child’s mind. How to take a conscious mind away?

Each scientist that worked in the Production Program had their own office, which also doubled as a personal study laboratory. L’othaim’s laboratory was a mess. Stacks of old books and research papers lay scattered on the tables. Various materials in vials and jars of matter sat in random places on the floor and on shelves.

L’othaim barely gave a thought to straightening up the room. He headed straight to a stack of books and searched through it, hoping to find some information to help him.

Fifteen minutes later, a guard delivered 642 up to Dr. L’othaim’s office. He escorted 642 into the room and then left without a word.

L’othaim looked up from the book in his hands. “Hello there,” he said, looking at the 642.

The boy’s eyes moved around the room. Even his eyes had personality. They missed nothing in the room, moving from the vials and jars to the papers on the tables. “You have a lot of stuff,” he stated.

“Why yes, I do,” L’othaim nodded. He set the book down. This child piqued his curiosity. It wouldn’t hurt to talk with him for a moment or two, would it? Then afterwards he would find a way to rid 642 of his mind and make him just as compliant as the rest. If this was possible.

“Why do you still use books?” 642 asked. “This planet has a virtual library.”

L’othaim’s brow furrowed. “I’m what you call ‘old school’. Books are better. How do you know about the virtual library?”

“I accessed it two nights ago,” the boy shrugged his shoulders. “The control room has a computer I can get into.” He had no shame and his face was honest. 642 had truly hacked the security computer and read some books.

The old man stared in disbelief. “You snuck out of your quarters? How did no one see you? Where was the security?”

“The man in the control room sleeps all night. A couple guards saw me,” he said. “I told them I was looking for the bathroom. They believed me.”

Heaven forbid. This child is capable of deception. This was disturbing indeed. Yet, somewhat fascinating to L’othaim.“Astounding,” he said aloud. He sat down in a nearby chair, studying 642. “What else have you done?”

The child was pleased to share what he’d done. L’othaim was the first person that had ever talked to him like this. He spoke to the old man with honesty, and it was plain by the way he told his stories that they were true.

He’d already done quite a few dangerous things in his short life. The more L’othaim listened, the more impressed he became. This child was sneaky, curious and highly intelligent, and apparently a wonderful liar. None of these traits were intentional on L’othaim’s part but he didn’t count them as disappointments.

Almost a full hour passed as the boy and the elderly scientist conversed.

They were interrupted by a loud alarm bell ringing throughout the facility. This was normal, it happened nightly. It signaled that everything was shutting down for the night.

642 paused mid-sentence about something. He glanced at a nearby screen to check the time.

L’othaim sighed and arose from his chair. “642, this has been a very informative evening. I’ll call a guard up to escort you to your quarters.”

The boy’s face filled with disappointment. “But why did you call me here?” He frowned. “Are you going to tell on me?”

“No, not yet,” the old man shook his head. He had made up his mind. If 642 were to get into trouble, it would not be because of L’othaim. Something about this child was oddly endearing to him. “Not until you do something very very bad.”

“Oh. Okay, cool,” 642 nodded.

Almost every time the boy spoke, he said something that amused L’othaim. Like “cool”. Where did he learn that from? No one in the facility spoke like that. “I do have some advice, son.” He grew serious, looking sternly at the boy. “You must act just like the others. Don’t let anyone hear you talk like this and don’t repeat any of what you’ve told me. Will you do that for me?”

642 didn’t understand, but he trusted L’othaim. “I guess so.”

He took L’othaim’s advice. As far as anyone else was concerned, 642 was just another clone.