trans_9 | Gently, but with undeniable will divesting myself of the holds that would hold me. (Pt. 5: Chances)

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Gently, but with undeniable will divesting myself of the holds that would hold me. (Pt. 5: Chances)

The plan was...well, it wasn't simple, but it sort of was.

While the CLF attacked multiple Clone Processing centers to distract the government, the group with the CLF would target one particular one in the region that'd once been New Jersey. The group with the government would offer their services in putting down their own people.

In the center, they'd split up into several groups. One would fight a fake fight, create a massive diversion, and blow up the room where the samples their DNA were being kept in the process. Another group would secure a teleporter pad. That team would teleport out other teams to steal a ship, steal some med tech to teleport to said ship, and steal a medical database. Another team would go to the main command center and hack into the government mainframe to down the sensornet around the planet so they could escape. And Nightwing himself would accompany the clones to upload the harvested memories to the Mother Brains, left unguarded because of the diversionary fighting, and make sure that was all they did.

Meanwhile, there'd be a standing order for all teams to avoid killing other crewmates, and avoid killing guards unless absolutely necessary.

It was a complicated plan. If a single part fouled up, they might find themselves dead, trapped, or worse. But if it worked, it'd work pretty spectacularly and leave them with medtech, a medical database, the clones helped, and possibly a grateful Council depending on how the fight went, because of the ones seemingly aiding the government.

In some worlds, things that were a million-to-one-chance (exactly a million-to-one) by their nature had to work. Let's hope this world is one of them, eh, mission crew?

[ooc: Only comment to threads if it says they are open here. All threads: OPEN. Characters may get injuries up to and including 7 on the Injury Scale (scroll to the bottom). Any higher, and they must ask permission of the plot-runners, just to make sure everyone isn't immobilized without enough people to help move them.]

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It had been a long few days, for everyone. There was blood smeared across his face and his uniform shirt was wet with blood, some of it even likely his own. He couldn’t remember all his injuries or where he’d gotten them anymore. His forehead was damp with blood and he looked slightly unstable on his feet, but his face was serious, calm as he entered the room, silent for a few moments as he listened and registered what was going on, giving Conner a concerned look and barely leashing his impulse to go to his son, to drag him from this battle field and get him healed and wipe this day away.

Instead he stepped up next to Daniel, pausing for a moment and studying the archeologist with a strange smile, putting a hand on his gun and pushing it down completely, pointing the weapon at the floor. No threat to anyone in the room. “Wait, Doctor Jackson.” And that word, that tangled word, that order from someone who knew exactly what they were asking, exactly what the price of waiting could be.

He looked at Dr. Henderson, eyes calm, shoulders relaxed, voice level. By all appearances, he knew exactly what he was doing. “Please. Both of you. Wait.”

It was a request for trust from two people who could alter everything. He needed these children to trust him, because the rawness of the emotion in this room was thick enough that any action could strike the powder keg building. “Conner, wait. Hold for just a moment, son.” He rested his hand on his good arm, completing a quick visual assessment and reminding himself to thank whoever the medic was that had looked after his son when he couldn’t be there. It wasn’t good, but Conner would live, and with life there was the potential for things to change.

“Moses, please wait. If you know me at all, if you know who I am, then listen to me. Lower your gun. There has been enough death today. We’re all sick of it. Please, all of you. Wait.” That word was a powerful thing, though deceptive, it took more strength than most people had to wait, to watch a coiled moment pass without interacting with it.

He knew what he was asking of them, knew exactly the cost if he failed.

He looked at the tanks, at the faces of the sleeping clones, at everything in the room first before finally, almost unwillingly, looking at Guy. He was human, here, gun holstered safely at his side, sword sheathed, and hands empty. The only thing he was armed with were his words, and the hand resting on Conner’s arm. If his son wanted to leave, he knew nothing he could do would make him stay. “You’ve uploaded the memories and now you’re uploading programming to order them to kill. That won’t work.” He shook his head. “Because the people you are creating, the memories you’ve given them, would never abide by such an order. Even now the agony of those who have been forced to watch themselves….” He shook his head, looking at Conner, eyes quiet, hand steady on his arm. “Conner, I know this is asking a lot of you, I know today has been more than enough to test even the best of us. But Conner, I need you to trust yourself.”

And that was it, no impassioned plea for Conner to see the way Guy thought or to capitulate, even Rory didn’t agree with a super powered army set to kill. But he could see what they didn’t, what nobody in this room was thinking of. Guy had uploaded the memories of the people who had come here, heroes, some of them. Others not so heroic, but all good people. All people who had done their best to avoid the killing behind them. How could anyone with those memories, with the memories of love and value and courage running around their heads be anything but good? What was needed here was not grand gestures, but little gestures. What was needed here was trust and the ability to have faith in themselves.

"Don't," he said to Rory.

In the end, what happened in this room happened because of his action or inaction. Even bullets could be stopped. He was hurt badly but he likely had at least one burst of speed in him and that was enough.

His expression was pained.

"Don't make this my choice. That's not fair."

He was just a teenager. He'd been branded and lost his hand and watched his clone die. There was no way he could make a rational decision right now, and it was much easier if what Guy was doing was wrong, letting him have the chance to step down, and stopping him if he didn't.

There were a bunch of people here. Let them decide. He'd just enforce whatever was decided was right.

Edited 2011-07-29 04:43 (UTC)

"Us?"

Guy laughed, turning to face the console. It was bitter, hollow. "There never was a chance for us. I'm a Beta; I only have a year left, if I don't get killed beforehand. You don't have much more. The likelihood of clones like us being able to transfer our memories to new bodies are slim to nil. When we're gone, we're gone.

All the Council has to do to win is stop production, destroy the processing plants. Most of us will die out within ten years. You think they won't do it, if they're desperate enough? To keep the power that they have, over both us and the Realies? That's all they care about. Power."

He went silent, listening to the others, back still turned. What were they fighting for in the first place?

Freedom. The ability to make their own choices. To be recognized as people, not something programmed to be used for whatever purpose.

The image of Harriet lying there, dying, flashed through his mind. She'd chosen to take that blast meant for Moses, entirely of her own volition.

Could he really take that away from somebody? Treat his fellow clones as the Council, and the Realies did?

His hand hovered over the key that would start the programming.

And then, it moved to his side, curling into a fist.

"We'll do things your way, Moses. I'll trust that you know what you're doing."

Moses lowered his blaster, heaving a sigh of relief.

"C'mere," he said quietly to Guy.

Daniel didn't resist when Rory pushed the gun the rest of the way down. This was a crucial time, a tipping point, and Guy needed time to think it over without being bombarded with information and further pressure.

It seemed like someone had gotten through to him, because Guy didn't make any motion towards the computer. Keeping the gun down, Daniel kept his mouth shut and stood by, making sure to keep very still. As long as no one made any sudden moves or did the wrong thing, like spooking Guy, he was sure this could be solved peacefully.

He waited.

Edited 2011-07-29 07:34 (UTC)

Sam wasn't quite ready to relax yet. But he didn't make any moves toward Guy and Moses. Instead, he turned his attention to the wounded ones. "Kon, Rory?" He didn't say more, the questioning look he gave them followed by a look up and down themselves was enough to make clear that he was checking on their welfare.

"Alive, stable. I'll make it until we can extract." His face was concerned as he looked at his son, questioning, his own health was barely important. Conner's was, the hand on his arm was as much support as reassurance. Conner was an adult, and he trusted him to handle himself, that didn't make him any happier when he was injured. He kept his hand resting gently on Conner's arm, face calm, voice low.

He gave every outside appearance of being calm and level, controlled and contained despite his injuries. Only his son probably in a position to notice just how tightly wound he was, just how exhausted he was and how mentally strained and in pain he was. The other Time Lord had left his heart racing and his head aching, and there was still blood seeping slowly from his nose. After this, he probably wouldn't stay on his feet for much longer, his body just wouldn't take it.

It was strangely almost a relief to feel so deeply and truly exhausted. To know that sleep was in fact a possibility once they returned to the ship. But not right now, right now he needed to speak, to find the words.

"I'm not putting it on you, Conner. He sighed, voice a whisper, looking up at his son, trying to get him to understand what he saw. It wasn't quite the big picture, it wasn't what Moses was seeing. "They have our memories now, they're alive, simply sleeping. If they aren't woken up, if no one tells them they're allowed, then they'll just be lambs here, children waiting to be murdered in their beds. Because the government doesn't want them to have our memories. Imagine someone knowing what you know now, the life you've led. Imagine trying to tell that person their purpose in life is to build a fountain or make food their entire life. To be a slave and a servant. If I can see it, so can they."

It wasn't a desire to manipulate, it wasn't a want to turn Conner's head and influence him, it was the understanding that if his son opened his eyes for a moment, then he would see that he was one of the few in the room with a valid choice in this. "I'm not asking you to raise an army, Conner. That's not what they are. That shouldn't be what they're meant for. All I'm asking you to do is trust yourself." He paused, looking at his son, and then turning to look at the tanks once more. "We can't stay. We knew that from the start."

Edited 2011-07-29 23:54 (UTC)

Superboy looked conflicted and very tired, but that gave way to a thoughtful expression. Stepping forward, slowly, and then determinedly, he went to the console. Leaning heavily on it with his one hand, he looked at the screen, at the programming there.

"What if we woke them up without the programming? Delete it. No programming telling them to be slaves, no programming telling them to join the CLF or kill people. Just the basics they need to be people, like walking and dressing themselves and and all that."

He turned and looked at the others, his gaze piercing.

"I had just the basics. The control programming in me didn't kick in until later and then I overthrew it, but in the beginning, it was just the basics, and I was a person. I made my own choices, my own mistakes. That way they won't get wiped out in their sleep, and that way no one's controlling them either--and the government can't program in more control stuff to compensate for our memories later. Forget an army, forget violence, that's enough to do a civil disobedience thing. That's a Million Clone March right there. And the thing is, instead of forcing them, Moses, you can just ask them to do it. They're going to wake up eventually anyway--why don't we do it now, and just ask them to help and to not hurt anyone doing it?"

They were already made, already living beings. So why not just wake them up early and see if they wanted to change their world? See if they were willing to do it without violence--the more of them there were, the better their chances at doing it without as much violence.

"They'd wake up fully realized clones like we were planning. They wouldn't have programming telling them to be slaves. They'd just be people..."

Moses shook his head. "But that many at once... we wanted to have them released as they were normally released, gradually win them over and build up a solid enough base for a mass resistance. To have it happen all at once--it's a complete wildcard. It might be enough for passive resistance. Protests. But we don't know what they'd do either--what'd they'd choose. It'd be leaving things entirely up to hope."

"You are our hope," Guy said suddenly, moving to stand next to Moses and look him in the eye. He'd said that he was going to put his trust in him, and he was a clone - a man - of his word. "You're the one who never gives up hope, no matter the circumstances. If you can't get through to them, no one can. Or, are you going to give up on hope?"

Now that Kon came into his field of vision, Daniel had to keep himself from starting. He looked terrible, the kind of terrible that shouldn't be on his feet in the first place, much less talking.

Daniel felt now was the time to speak up again, especially since Guy had very much moved away from the console and now that he definitely seemed more willing to listen. "I think that's the point of it in the end. You're leaving it up to fate, environment and the individual, which is more than you were ever offered. Neither of you can decide, or predict, how everyone will react to their own people's history when they learn it and that's what you're giving them. A chance to choose for themselves."

Edited 2011-07-30 04:26 (UTC)

Sam nodded along with the others after he listened to Rory. "It's hard to let someone else make a decision when you know what the right choice is. But it's important that you let them make it if they're going to have any concept of autonomy. And that's the goal, isn't it? To have them be able to think for themselves, independent of all programming? People will make the right decision in the end."

"That's the thing, the thing you wanted. Choice. That was the goal all along, you don't want an army. You want brothers, sisters. You want a chance to change the world." He swayed a bit but let Conner pull away, relieved, knowing he had managed, knew his son was the better man for this job. Knew that, without a doubt, Conner was the one they should listen to.

"You wanted us to help you. We can't stay. But right now is the best chance you're ever going to have for having this. Leave them here and they'll be changed or killed. Take them with you, and you might have to convince some of them. It's a very real possibility you will. But we decided for you in the end, didn't we?"

He swallowed, tasting blood, one hand coming to his ribs as quietly and subtly as possible. A few were broken, he knew that. Normal human in super-powered combat? It just wasn't going to work out that the normal human came through without a scratch. But he needed to speak. He needed to stay on his feet.

"Those memories you took? I believe in those people."

He believed in his son, and he believed in the Doctor, he believed in Sakura and Nightwing. He believed in Kang, even, though he wouldn't mention that. Because Kang wouldn't be bothered by blowing things up. Himself? Well, maybe not. But he believed in them. He believed that they could help see this world into a better tomorrow.

"Moses, you can do this. It doesn't have to be later--it can be now. You just have to lead them--not force them, really lead them."

He took a few deep breaths, leaning against the console, looking back at Moses.

"You picked the name 'Moses' on purpose, didn't you. Well, it's time to step up and lead your people to the promised land. Take out the programming, wake them up, and hope."

It took a moment, but Moses stepped forward and manned the console, fingers tapping away.

"I'm removing the programming, giving them only the basics."

He shook his head.

"This is crazy."

Could they do it? All at once? Could they do it right all at once?

Whatever the case, they had to try.

Guy took a deep breath and moved to stand next to Moses, "It's crazy, yes, but I have faith in you. All of us in the CLF do. You're our leader for a reason."

Daniel opened his mouth, about to ask whether it was a good idea to have the clones practically born right in the middle of a battlefield, but shut it after a moment. Like he said, you didn't get to usually pick and choose what you wanted to happen from life. That included births. Although it could be argued that they were just doing that right now.

At least he wasn't going to have to delivery babies right in the middle of a war zone. That was a plus.

He just hoped they were doing the right thing by doing it at this time.

There wasn't anything else left to say, really. He tried not to look as nervous as he felt. What this situation needed was quiet resolve, not nerves. But he really couldn't help it.

"It's absolutely mad, you're right." He stepped forward, lending Conner his shoulder. His son barely looked stable on his feet. "But sometimes, when the world goes mental, your only choice is to match it. Believe in yourselves or this will fail before it starts." He took a deep breath, trying to make himself relax.

It was done, it was over. There part of it was done.

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Gently, but with undeniable will divesting myself of the holds that would hold me. (Pt. 5: Chances)

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