Author's Note: Well, here we are, at the beginning of the final story's climax. Only two more chapters after this! I feel kind of sorry. It's been enormous fun throughout! I shall have to think of something new to write. Hmm...
Anyway, enjoy, and congrats to those who guessed correctly. I didn't outsmart you. Grrr.
Send In The Clones: Part Three
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Your Days are Numbered
The next few days started quiet, but as time went on and Medic's plan was put into action, the corridors of TF industries got louder and busier, filling with bustle and noise. Heavy walked through it all, feeling somewhat at a loss. Miss Pauling strode past at one point, waving her clipboard and chattering to Medic who also had his own clipboard and seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly.
Engineer spent his time pushing cartfuls of weird equipment around the place, but Heavy found he had nothing much to do except get in the way of the productive people. He got into the habit of making platefuls of sandwiches and leaving them in the mess hall fridge for whenever the busy people needed a bite. It was about all he could do to help.
If this plan does not work, we will all die.
Heavy did not fear death. He never had. There were worst things than dying, and fear made fools of men. Lose or win, everything would end in the next battle, no matter what. He had no idea what would come after. He loved fighting the robots- feeling the power to kill flood his mind and senses was exhilarating, but it could not last forever. It was obvious the other mercenaries were close to being completely worn out.
He walked past the rec room and noticed Spy and Sniper sitting there quietly. One or other of them would sometimes make a comment, and the other would nod or shake their head, but Heavy could see that what they were really doing was making the most of what might be the last time they had a chance to enjoy each other's company.
The other mercenaries not involved in planning were doing similar things: the two Scouts were burning off nervous energy by running laps around the base, while Demo, Pyro and Soldier were playing 'will it explode?' with a wood fire and some damp dynamite they had found in one of the base's many storage rooms.
Gerhardt bumped into him on his way past to somewhere, and muttered an apology before rushing off again. Heavy stared after him for a moment, and then shrugged and went to his room. He heard a distant explosion and a shout of triumph and he snorted, smiling briefly.
He padded in and sat down on his large bed. It creaked comfortably under his weight, and he grabbed a volume of Russian poetry from the bookcase and settled down to read.
'Your heart will be reduced
From fear and regret.
And you'll have strengths enough
To answer them again:
"From all that was my life
I never will abstain!"
And you'll have strengths enough,
Having recalled this rake,
To all that you have loved
To cry again: "Come back!"'
He put the book down and stared at the ceiling for a moment, before grabbing the leather-bound journal filled with messy writing that always sat on his bedside table.
"August 1st 1967, Cold Front
Memo: Remember to darn socks.
Mikhail is far better at coping with this than I am. He just takes it in his stride. He told me I think too much. How can I not think? He might as well say I should not breathe! I don't know what it means or how I am supposed to act. There is no set protocol for this situation, and it is not one I ever thought I would be in again. These are just the confused impulses of youth! Surely I left all that behind years ago?
I am too old for this.
It has to stop. I will tell him tomorrow.
Damn you, Misha."
"Coo?"
"Did Twenty-Nine-B say you could read zhat bit?" An amused voice suddenly interrupted. "It looks personal to me."
Heavy jumped guiltily and slammed the journal shut, looking up at the man leaning against his doorframe with Galileo on his shoulder. Gerhardt looked tired, but was smiling.
"I don't zhink I have ever seen your startle reflex before. Interesting." Without being invited, Medic walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. He sat down backwards on the desk chair and folded his arms along the top of it, resting his chin on his arms and staring at Heavy thoughtfully.
"How is plan going?" Heavy asked.
"Oh, ve are ready. Zhe machinery is very efficient. Engineer is just finishing building teleports." He said.
"So tomorrow, we go."
"Ja." Medic said. His fingers twitched and fidgeted, drumming along the wood of the chair for a moment. "Tomorrow, it all happens. For better or vorse."
"Da." Heavy agreed. "If worse happens, know you have been great friend to me, Gerhardt."
"Not as good a friend to you as Twenty-Nine B vas." He replied with a slightly sad smile. "I read his journal too. I zhought it was maybe time I told you I knew about... zhat, since it seems you vere not intending to ever tell me."
Heavy blinked and opened his mouth silently before closing it again. For once in his life, he felt utterly flummoxed and had no idea how to reply. "When did you read it?!" He finally demanded.
"Ve shared a tent back before ve attacked Sawmill, ja? I sneaked a look, more zhan once. I have not really had a chance to tell you since zhen- it has been so busy." He explained. "Also, you talk in your sleep."
"What did I say?" He asked, feeling a rising surge of guilt though his gut.
"I don't know, I don't speak Russian." Medic replied airily.
"Bastard." Heavy replied, starting to smile. "You are churning me up."
"Winding you up." Medic corrected. He sighed and looked around the room, briefly melancholy. "Vhen ve first met, I poisoned you. I dragged you out of your life at Teufort. I made you work vizh Spy and I am always boring you to death vizh science talk. I don't know vhy you put up vizh me, Sergei."
"Because..."
Because you need me.
Because you never, ever give up.
Because your passion burns so brightly.
Because you never let fear stop you.
Because you always see things through to the bitter end.
Because you are no coward.
He knew, though, he'd never be able to explain that in English, so he settled for a simpler version.
"Because is easy to listen to you talk and I am lazy."
Medic laughed, a genuine warm laugh of humour for once. It was a pleasant sound, and Heavy wished he had heard it more often. "Ve have been zhrough a lot, you and I, ja?"
"Da. So many things. Some good things, many, many bad things." Heavy agreed, not entirely sure where this conversation was going.
"And yet, in all zhat time, my dear friend, you never asked me if I wanted... to try chilli vodka." Gerhardt said.
Heavy just stared in shock for a moment before he felt his face stretch into a smile he could not even come close to controlling. He reached under his bed and produced a dusty bottle. "It is nasty drink. It hurts mouth a lot." He handed it over.
"I like it already." Gerhardt replied with a grin.
"Gerhardt," Heavy said, watching the man carefully examine the bottle before unscrewing the lid, "I have question."
"Ja?"
"When I slept for two years, I had dream, good dream. What did you dream of?"
Medic paused thoughtfully for a moment, and then got up and sat down on the bed next to Sergei.
Their eyes met.
Medic raised the bottle to his lips with a smile.
"Gesundheit."
Gray Gravel Company, the Bahamas, 19th February 1971
Gray Mann looked out over his control centre with a satisfied smile. It had been astonishingly easy, even with those idiots destroying his robots on many of their missions. They were a puzzle- he knew he had destroyed the Violet team and all the clones at the bases, but obviously a small group had escaped. He could see why- they were deadly fighters and worked so well as a team it was beautiful to watch.
He walked over to the window, arms folded behind his back and looked out over the sparkling sea. It amused him to think of that ragged little group of mercenaries, no doubt thinking they had thwarted him time and again and wrecked his plans. If anything, though, they were helping, and he was slightly annoyed that they had been so oddly quiet the last three or four days. They kept his robot attacks in the news, which caused more world panic and drove stock prices lower and lower. He had already bought controlling shares in RED and BLU after quietly killing his idiot brothers, and although the destruction of TF Industries was unfortunate, he could still mop up the remnants of its subsidiary companies. Then he'd withdraw the robots, blow up this base, claim a generous chunk of insurance and walk away, rich, powerful and ruling a good 98% of the world.
How had so few people noticed the shift in power over the last few years? Guns and bombs, armies and fighter planes, countries and even the Superpowers- they no longer mattered. Those mercenaries, with their tactical prowess and fighting skills, were a dying breed, soon to be extinct- and the poor fools did not even realise it!
True power lay in numbers and paper, not brute force. Businesses ruled the world now, and soon, he would rule the businesses. All of them. Monopoly laws would be a thing of the past. Governments would beg him to give them the weapons they felt they needed (but didn't- he would not allow an unprofitable third World War to happen), and to give their citizens jobs. He would treat people well, of course- he was not a monster. He would be the benevolent dictator, making sure everyone had enough for their needs. Of course, it just so happened that a happy society would consume, and every time they spent the salaries he paid them to buy items he made, a little bit of the money would stay with him. Acquiring riches had nothing to do with hoarding money- that was the mistake his stupid brothers had made. To become rich, truly, obscenely rich, you had to be the one who controlled the flow of money to other people. He could then use that money to grab all the Australium in the world, not just the pitiful amounts he had at the moment, and he would live forever. He would be a god.
And nobody would even bother to stop him.
A flash of light caught his eye out of the window, and he saw two battered-looking grey trucks drive up and park just off the road, near the main bridge that linked his island HQ to its larger neighbour. He had exceptionally good eyesight, and even without binoculars, he could make out the eleven people getting out of the two vehicles. He smiled thinly as they spread out in a protective circle around the smallest member, who placed a piece of machinery down and started fiddling with it. Gray frowned and leant forward. The device started spinning, and projected a flat white disc of light. A teleporter. Why is he even bothering with that?
The Engineer had not finished, though. He moved a short distance away and started building again. Another teleporter, and another. A whole row of them.
What is going on?
He pressed a button on his desk. "Sections 6 and 7, go and deal with those intruders."
"All hail the maker!" The speaker crackled in reply.
"Yes, yes, all hail me indeed."
He returned to watch as the group stood back from the row of teleporters, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
There was another flash of light as one of the teleporters activated. Then the next...and the next...figures stepped off the machinery one after the other and were greeted by those waiting. Gray cursed and reached for his binoculars. With shaking hands, he raised them to his eyes and peered down at the growing army.
"Oh...bugger."
A group of Scouts ran on the spot and checked their pulses. An army of Soldiers barked orders to each other, helmets wobbling. A legion of Demos raised bottles in salute. Medics, Spies, Snipers, Pyros, Engineers, Heavies...
A sea of clones. So many he couldn't even begin to count.
The binoculars dropped to the floor and smashed as Gray dashed across the room and mashed the button with his fist.
"Activate all Sections! All of them! Get those clones! Kill them!"
"All hail the maker!"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP AND JUST GO!" He screeched, running back to switch on all the robot control panels and slamming buttons left and right.
A warm tropical breeze drifted over the clusters of identical people as they sorted themselves out into groups. Each full team of clones had a different coloured armband so they could stay together as a group. There was a lot of quiet chatter and muttering, but most just waited tensely.
"It vill be different to before," Medic had explained, "Zhey vill be copies of us, as ve are now- and ve vill not alter zheir memories. Zhey vill know who zhey are, and vhy zhey are here. Zhis means zhat if ve all agree to zhis, so vill zhey, for zhey vill be us. Zhey vill not rebel like ve did, because zhere is nozhing for zhem to rebel against. Zhey vill have free vill and zhere vill be no secrets. I...hope."
The final clone- the yellow Pyro- walked through and nodded. Engineer nodded briskly, adjusted his black armband and turned to his copies.
"Ok, y'all, here we go." He said, looking at his clones. He shuddered slightly as the sea of identical faces looked back at him. "This is a mighty strange situation to be finding ourselves in, don't I know it. Y'all know the drill: keep those dispensers up and runnin' and those sentries firin'. If you have to choose which machine to keep going, make it the dispenser because that keeps everyone trucking. Ready?"
Next to him, Spy idly lit a cigarette and prepared to give his own speech.
"Well, here we are in a situation I never thought I would see repeated." Spy said to his group in resignation. "I like it no more than you do and...where are your armbands?" He placed a gloved hand over his face. "You removed them. Of course. Yes, I know I removed mine as well, but that is different!"
"Right maggots, listen up and listen good." Soldier barked over the mass of helmets. "You give your best fight today and that's an order. Sun Tzu said 'Invincibility lies in the defence; the possibility of victory in the attack.', so anyone found defending today will be court marshalled! I want to see none of that 'trying to stay alive' nonsense. Get out there and KILL EVERYTHING THAT MOVES. Except us, and the other clones. They can live..." Soldier motioned his group closer and continued in a whisper. "...for now."
"Ok, jerkwads, listen up." Bobby said, swaggering back and forth in front of his group. "Without us, this whole thing falls apart, got it?"
"They think we're just here to grab the money..."
"... but that's a load of shit."
"Yeah, you get the money, that's prio, but you can fuck those robots up too." Bobby said.
"And if any of you lays one of your filthy fingers on Miss Pauling, we'll come and get you." Rick finished with a snarl.
"Hrrr hrr arrrrr." Pyro said, looking over his masked group. He launched into a long speech, full of arm waves and dramatic poses. The Pyros looked on in bafflement and shrugged uncomprehendingly at the muffled speech, eventually spreading their hands and shaking their heads to indicate that they couldn't understand a word. Pyro sagged in disappointment, stood thoughtfully for a moment, and then grabbed one of the flares from his sash. He lit it, popped it into his flare gun and shot it into the air with a loud bang and a rain of rainbow coloured sparks. The Pyros cheered their leader and clapped excitedly.
"If you think I'm givin' a speech to you bunch of fruit-shop owners, think again." Sniper grumbled, glaring at the cluster of lanky Australians watching him. "Just go and shoot something."
Demo took a large swig from his scrumpy bottle and belched impressively. He looked over the other Demos with a huge, sickly smile. "I love you guys." The one-eyed men cheered and tried to perform a massive group hug that quickly turned into a drunken rugby scrum.
"Wow, ok. Well. Here we are." Miss Pauling said, looking over her slightly baffled-looking clones. "You know I'm not used to making speeches. Look after your groups, keep those upgrades going and stay low. No need for us to get shot when there are a load of guys to use as bullet-fodder, right?" She suddenly leaned in closely. "And if any one of you flirts with Bobby or Rick, I'll bury your body in quicklime. Choose one of the other men if you want, but those two are mine."
"Zhese dummkopfs vill be doing zheir best to die horribly and rapidly." Medic said, walking back and forth in front of the neat rows of identical doctors. "Don't let zhem do zhat. If you see a Medic fall, drop everyzhing and revive him, since ve are zhe most important vones here. Ve shall need to charge our shields and use zhem straight avay, for zhe advance across zhe bridge vill be under concentrated fire. Oh, and good luck, all of you."
There was a rumble of noise from the Gray Gravel Headquarters, and a silvery mass of robots poured out of the front gates. There were so many it looked more like a sparkling stream of water than the wave of mechanised death it truly was. Heavy looked at the approaching horde and then turned back to his army of clones, hefting Sasha with a vicious grin. He gave what he would afterwards consider to be the best battle speech ever:
"CHAAAAARRRRRRRGE!"
In Chapter Thirty-Eight: The final battle, clones versus robots, has started, and the prize is: the world. Gray, though, has one final dirty trick up his sleeve...