For such a short piece of writing, "George" really packs a wallop! This micro-fiction sure does demand much upon the reader; however I believe the payoff is worthy. Take it slow and feel free to read it twice if needed. I look forward to your comments,
Lewis
George
George was technically living. He did have a beat-box and the most advanced plastic pulse ever assembled. GR-78 was a sub-orbital weather fixing station and George's current assignment. Why George was stuck on a Sub-Orb "Wet Fox" was beyond his plasticity; perhaps if he had bio valves, bio neurons, and skin, instead of a mold, he might have had a choice. But George did choose to keep fluid on Altarian politics and instinctively knew that all four of the big boys were no longer capable of activating hydro-fall, without synth help. Indeed, countless synths were being forcefully reassigned for work too dangerous for bios and if a synth or two had to be "reprogrammed" daily, well, that's what they’re for, right? As he was stationed at this wet fox, at least his exo-mold was never in any real danger, unlike the seeding-synths ordered to spark hydro burst in the Altarian atmosphere.
George should have been pleased, yet he wasn’t. He was finished waiting— it would be months before the commandant of the '78, a known "Organics Survivalist", would even glance at his transfer request and besides, today there would be major demonstrations all over Altari. So George stole some replication discs, handed them to the most corrupt fueler-captain on duty, hid onboard, and signaled ahead to the Student Synth Alliance. Upon landing, the ship was seized by crazed-students mistaking the fueler for a hydro-carrier. Riots had already begun. Communal-Organic-Patrol Synths had been zazing both, students, and synths alike. George spotted the alliance and bolted, un-zazed, to them.
The kids in the alliance were ragged, but they seemed determined as they slashed through the volatile masses (to get to Grand Hydro Station Plaza, George hoped) and he kept pace with them easily. After trudging a mile or so, breaking through barracks, avoiding deceptor-synths and losing a few members, the frazzled pack eventually made it to the plaza. On the podium, behind a triple-plated golden-ion fountain of pure hydrogenated air, one of "the Seven" was placating a cheering crowd. Clad in a grey-gold suit, medallions all over his jacket, and ribbons too-many-to-count, this seven was assuring those gathered that all bios need not worry; that synths "would be assigned where needed" and that "hydro fall was imminent".
Protected by a cadre comprised of both elite military synths and bio commanders, the colonel was explaining that "Biologicals own Altari", and everything in it, including synths, and that just because "the Supremes ruled that a beat-box and a plastic pulse made one 'alive', the seven must set a superior standard." He continued in such a fashion for some time…
No one noticed, amidst thunderous applause, a certain truant-synth making his way to the front of the crowd. However, most-everyone in attendance did see when, after making it through the "Guardians of the Seven" and in one fluid gesture, how the synth in question effortlessly scalpeled out the Colonel's heart, removed his own beat-box, sliced-out the Colonel's brain, disconnected his own plastic pulse, while switching the Colonel's organics for his own synth-parts. With years of mandatory wet fox emergency drills behind him George's elegance in performing this complicated operation was most valued by the unshocked orator behind the podium who was rapidly losing bio-integrity.
Yes, it was George's amazing non-human speed that enabled an oblivious Colonel, moments before collapse, to continue his oration, trailing off with, "We must insist that all living beings be measured by the content of their character, that ONLY those in possession of actual hearts, real brains be allowed free will, that those with the manufactured parts, the so-called beat boxes, plastic pulses, that they serve their rightful masters..."