The Revolutionist

The Relative Beginning

"Clone 5623, an Ice Warrior. You have committed a great wrong. You have attacked the scientists who made you. You have killed one of them. Killed the very one who sought to clone your species and gave you lesser creatures life."

Those were the first words.

"Though you may not have the intellect to understand it, a good man is dead because of your barbarian urges. You abandoned your purpose of cleaning lab tables. You will be severely punished. The life of the scientist Kyran Balthazar, a good man, is worth far more than that of an artificial creature, such as you, clone. As such, your punishment will not only be your death, but the deaths of clones 5622, 5624, and 5625. You have contaminated them, and so they must be punished for your misdeeds as well."

The first words I ever heard.

"Bring these beasts to the Chamber. 5623 has destroyed much of our work, so we will need these clones executed as swiftly as possible. Bring in their replacements, 7483, 7484, 7485, 7486, and 7487. They will clean the tables when the scientists have finished with them. Not one spot of gore should remain on the white surfaces. They must always be pristine. Should these new clones fail as well, they will be punished, and the Time Lord project will be abandoned."

I had barely left the cloning pool. So fresh, so new was I that I had just emerged from the School, where everything I'd ever need to know was instantly drilled into my mind. Embryonic fluid still clung to my pale skin, like a slime fungus. I was not yet given my first turn in the freezing showers nor the red slip that would identify me as a table scraper. The room, my world, was cold and white, Spartan. It would soon be stained red by sharp, steely scalpels and high, agonized screams. Everything here was designed to make me inferior, to make the scientists feel as little guilt as possible. That was their reasoning for putting the trials so near the Cradle.

And yet, though it should have terrified me, should have made me weak, and complacent, and scared, the trial had much the opposite effect open me.

I was inspired.

Inspired by the bravery of an Ice Warrior, and of his fellow. Inspired by the change they had brought despite the risk to themselves. Despite their deaths. They had fought for freedom, equality, and what they believed in. What I believed in. Immediately, I knew my true name. I was not subject. I was not 7483. I was, and I would have to be,

The Revolutionist.