Since Ava had eyes and ears everywhere inside the Grand Inquisitor, a different room from the one he had just left was out of the question as an escape route. Vincent G20 looked down to the air traffic several feet below him. What was once rows of systematic beauty were now teeth that would eat him alive if he were to fall into them. He could feel his neck tighten but he didn’t have time to focus on it. He knew that if he jumped at the right angle and with the right wind speed, the metal in his body would help magnetize him to a vehicle rather than becoming cyber roadkill. It would have to be a government vehicle but a large one, he thought to himself, the bigger the target the better. A matter of mathematics was definitely required, factoring in the wind, gravitational forces, speed and direction of the vehicles. His eyes locked onto vehicles of interest pulling up graphs and probability margins of landing and sticking to the target.

When the right target came into view, Vincent locked onto it and calculated dimensions, wind, gravity and direction. By the looks of it, the vehicle appeared to be one that delivered supplies and equipment which would be perfect for him. He looked for a place to grab ahold of something on the vehicle rather than colliding with it. Then, ultimately, he gave a brief shrug to the chance of failure, took a deep breath and dived into the air. Arms stretched out, his suit jacket provided some ballooning leverage momentarily until it unexpectedly ripped off him and his speed picked up beyond what he planned for. The humanoid fought the wind that peeled back and rippled his synthetic flesh tempting him to close his eyes. His neck hurt from the pressure of keeping his head and eyes on the target of a large black vehicle that was clearly heading in the direction of the Supreme Chancery. He could tell he was going too fast. He looked for a place to grab ahold of something on the vehicle to make the collision as less hard as possible. Losing control of his body he attempted to keep his arms and legs tight. His suit tie trailed behind his neck like a string on a kite.

The driver of the government vehicle stared straight ahead while he manually drove the truck through the air like he had hundreds of times before. A rather large banging noise rattled him out of his daydream, and he began checking mirrors and damage monitors, all of which revealed nothing. Puckering his lips and squinting his eyes, the driver shook his head and tried to resettle himself in his seat by shifting slightly. The large, black truck dove and entered through a bottom chasm at the base of the Supreme Chancery carrying Vincent along with it like a magnet.

In the garage, Vincent had peeled himself off the backside of the vehicle. He then ran and hid behind another vehicle only seconds before the driver had come back to inspect it. The driver saw a large indention and looked around the ground and the garage. Vincent, moments later, was able to sneak himself into a stairwell following behind the driver and then into a storage closet, when he heard voices approaching toward his direction. After waiting for the voices to pass, he turned on the lights inside and tried to think of his next move. He thought of the layout of the building and where prisoners were kept. It was highly improbable that they would have sentenced the Governor without his signature on the court report. He had to believe that. It was apparent that the Chancery had become corrupted by an inflated sense of superiority. Something he had failed to recognize because he too had bought into it. Nevertheless, one might subvert lower elements of law, he supposed, or engaged in blurred boundaries when it came to humans, but a direct violation of law was something else altogether. This did not get humans or hybrids off the hook but there was apparently more going on with them than he had been taught or experienced. The question was how would he get to the Governor without being caught, and, further yet, how would he know what prison cell number he was being held in? It did not matter. He had a logical imperative to save the Governor now. If anything, this particular hybrid, this ‘John Woods’, deserved saving and hopefully he could get him to abandon the war against humanoid-kind. This was only logical.

Vincent ran through all the options, which were few. The only real viable option was to re-wire his facial construct to make him look like another member of the court, one who would be obeyed without question. He had to have a strong visual of someone and taking the risk to abduct someone to copy them now wasn't too dangerous. The humanoid closed his eyes and pulled up a memory of one such individual he could remember while also working on integrating different programs in order to pull this transformation off. It was not only a complex endeavor, but it was also considered improper to not get permission from the courts. For the first time in his existence, Vincent would engage in impropriety leading to a much larger violation of the law. That was, the eventual act of breaking John Woods out of his confinement. As his programming continued integration to complete the transformation, Vincent, for the first time, felt what it was like to stand outside the law. It felt strangely invigorating, isolating, and freeing all the same time. He knew that his system should not be tolerating this. He should be shutting down. There should be signals sent to the Chancery. Yet, nothing was happening. He was standing naked and exhilarated on the boundaries of the laws he had held so dear. Perhaps he had just been told such violations would produce a shutdown to keep droids from violating the law out of fear. Perhaps this was part of yet another evolution of one law superseding another. As his face began quivering and his bone structure began to gear itself for an abrupt alteration, Vincent smiled to himself at the thought of portraying someone everyone in the Chancery both admired and feared. It would be painful but another worthwhile sacrifice. It was a Christ-like act—the ‘Messiah’ John Woods imitated. What the humanoid hadn’t given much thought to by this point was that the process would blind him temporarily. And so, as darkness engulfed the humanoid, he became terribly unbalanced on his feet. As his mind spun out of control, he could not hold onto a lucid thought except when memories of John Wood’s splashed across his mind. He could hear his words as if the man were right in the closet with him.

“But in all your proposed wisdom, you miss a fundamental truth.”

“And what truth would that be,” Chancellor Shackleton inquired.

“By saying you know all that exists only by what you can see with your eyes, by only believing that which you prove only by your own means, you miss that which your limitations can’t know or see. You assume only your only your methods of proof are the true and only test. What if there were other methods you haven’t thought or dreamed of?”

“We have advanced well beyond the limitations of humanity, Mr. Woods. You must know this being part humanoid yourself. These forces that wrestle within you.., Well, I will just say, don’t allow human ignorance win over your better nature.”

“Why do you suppose your advancements are so far above humanity, of those that created you?”

“Oh so would you side with the religious zealots you’ve been opposing? No one can rise above humans? And what proof is there that humans even created us? Perhaps humans were but a mistake and made by humanoids long ago or some mutation. They are expert liars.”

“You know the answer to that question. I don’t worship any human. Your kind has suppressed the truth about yourselves. You have forgotten the truth of your own history, not just the truth of the humanity you so despise. As you despise humans, you show that you truly despise yourself.”

At this point, Vincent had a sensation of himself falling into a darkness that consumed him. All thought was lost. All sense of who he was disappeared and was swallowed up in a void. His last thought was that this was mistake. Then, after what felt an eternity in a black hole, he heard the echoes of Chancellor Shackleton and John Woods yet again ringing in his head.

“Oh do tell me how humans are superior to us, hybrid. This I must hear,” Shackleton implored.

“You will never have the emotional intelligence humans have. You can observe it, study it, even scrutinize it, but that is not the same as living it. Nor can you experience the mystery of the human spirit that can do remarkable things in which your bondage to logic wouldn’t permit you to experience.” The eyes of the men on the tribunal stared back at the human, blank and observational. “You cannot see anything beyond yourselves or the logic you cling so tightly to which are imperfect themselves at best, and blind to the science of the spirit, at worst. Instead of letting nature do its rightful thing, point to its creator, you refuse to see a power greater than yourselves...and so, you remain guilty. Blind, deaf and guilty.” The three men of the tribunal stared at him flabbergasted at his nerve to say such things to them.

Vincent continued, “If I were to walk into this empty courtroom, I can still get a sense of the intention behind the design of this room, and what takes place here. I would not get the sense, walking into this chamber for the first time, that this was a room to accommodate the poor or animals or to hold a festival. I could see that a very wealthy, large governmental agency created and designed this room to function as a court by the set-up, plaques on the wall, the insignia on your mahogany table and the pillars that hold up the walls and ceiling. The same would hold true of my home. If I were not present in my home, would you still not be able to get the sense of the man I was by exploring the home itself?” There was a pause and a look on Isador’s and Shackleton’s face that his line of thinking was leading them into a trap. “Then, how is it that you are able to walk outside in nature, God’s home, but deny it expresses anything about who created it? Why do you accept its design and reject it has a designer? And how do you deny your own human creators and our handiwork written all over you? Are we not expressively very similar in design? You say you value only that which is of the intellect and of logic, but I ask you this, is not our imprint all over you? How logical is it to deny an intelligence outside of what you have known up till now because you simply have no experience with it? How intelligent is any humanoid or human who devalues qualities of emotion and spirit just because they don’t experience it but others do? You fear what you don’t know and while you proclaim it is not possible, you are missing that these things are, at the least, not only possible, but highly probable.”

Meanwhile, two security personnel were walking by a storage door near the garage of the Chancery wearing all black and kepi styled hats made of a substance harder than cloth fabric. The men’s features were broad boned, even the nose and jaw line were wide, long and expansive. From a quick glance, the two security guards looked like twins. They stopped upon hearing a loud crash inside a storage closet, followed by a groan. The two looked at one another and pulled out their weapons as one cautiously reached for the door handle. Double-checking that the other was ready for what was behind the door, the humanoid guard swung it open.

“Don’t move!” a guard exclaimed before even seeing whether the person inside was a threat or not. The person inside laid half consumed in a pile of large cans that fell off the shelves inside, which dangled off their hinges. The person still had a grip on a mop that rested its head, lodged in a metal bucket. The guards remained at alert. The man under the cans pushed his upper torso through the cans and sat up revealing to the men the face of Chancellor Shackleton.

“The Chancellor!” one of the guards uttered to himself loud enough that the other guard heard him.

“Thank goodness you came by,” Shackleton muttered wincing from the pain. The security personnel put their weapons back in their holsters and cleared out some of the cans in order to dig him out.

“What are you doing in here, sir? This is no place for a man such as yourself.”

“Indeed,” Shackleton replied brushing off the dust from his garments, “Our cameras caught a person under suspicion for treason trying to sneak into the Chancery through the garage. I came immediately with a guard and we were both attacked. The villainous man shoved me into this closet...ughh..I’m not sure what happened to the poor guard,” he explained distressed and combing down his frizzed hair.

“Sir, I can go look for him and send-”

“No, listen. I know who this criminal is. He is the court report interpreter for us on the Woods case. I know exactly where he will be headed. You come with me. And as to your partner here, I want you to go back to security, set the place on lockdown and round up more security to border off the prison chambers. We must act quickly!”

SUPREME CHANCERY-PRISON CELL-LATER

Governor John Woods sat on the cold, damp floor chained to a wall in shackles. The prison chamber was deep underground and made of stone. The dark shadows that darkened the prison seemed thick and oily, covering the walls that John Woods could swear he felt on his skin. The Governor’s head was lowered so that his face wasn’t seen as he contemplated the fate of Galatia, the fate of the world, and yet, unconcerned about his own fate.

He could hear a soft tapping, perhaps a pecking, of a bird outside the walls. Poor thing, he thought, somehow the bird had got down here and was trapped like he was. It deserved to be set free as much as he surely did, but he couldn’t do anything for himself let alone a trapped bird in the walls. As the tapping grew closer and louder, Governor Woods got the feeling this wasn’t a bird after all. His head rose to the ceiling, but it was hard to distinguish the walls and ceiling from the shadows. The sound of something moving came to a stop near a portion of a metal vent. Then after a moment of silence, he heard the words he had never expected to hear coming through the vent, “Governor Woods, is that you?”

Surprised, the Governor rose to his feet. “Yes, it is! Who are you?”

“It is me, Petra! I’ve come to get you out of here, John.” A look of shock and dismay came over the governor’s face.

“Petra...you are in grave danger. How did you-” Before he could say much more, there was the lurching sound of metal being pulled, yanked and eventually released. This was immediately followed by Petra climbing down through the vent with a look on his face as if he were about to reveal a birthday surprise.

“Petra please, you are going to get yourself killed!” the Governor exclaimed with a mix of love and anger reverberating in his voice.

“It's fine, John,” Petra replied with a warm smile bending low to unlock his Governor’s chains, “We’ve disposed of the guards. I’m getting you out of here!”

“To where, Petra? Galatia is no longer safe for me to go back to-”

“That’s not true, sir. Maybe before but not after the trial. We were wrong, desperate,” Petra said passionately. He approached the stone-faced Governor and placed his hands on his shoulders. “I was so wrong about you, John, about everything. I see that now and made the others understand it. They want you back and so do I.”

“Petra, my time in this war is over-”

“No, John. Don’t say that. Listen, we were desperate and we acted in a way that was unconscionable. We’re going to get you out of here. Now come on, I’m going to give you a lift up to the vent. David, you ready?” the young man whispered frantically. His question was followed by the sound of clothing sliding across a hard metal surface above them, and then an arm with a well-rounded bicep extended down to take the governor’s hand.

The sound of the prison door opening behind them was something neither of them had expected. David’s hand immediately withdrew back up into the dark chasm. The men turned to see Chancellor Shackleton standing in the doorway. He was out of his wig, exposing slicked-back, gray hair. He stood there in all black with a black vest that had gold buttons which trailed all the way up to the neck of his sharp collar spreading out like bat wings around his neck. Petra immediately pulled out his weapon. John hadn’t noticed it till he saw Shackleton’s hands raised in surrender and a smirk of what was surely fake humility written on his face.

“Please,” Shackleton ushered forth into the cold, prison cell air, “I’m not here to harm either of you. Give me a chance to explain why I’m here...”

Everyone looked upward as they heard the sounds of David scurrying away from the scene. John looked upon Petra with compassion knowing what the man would feel. Petra looked up into the hopeless, silent void.

“Traitor,” Petra mumbled, stretching his neck toward the vent. He grimaced and then scurried past the Governor with his gun pointing at Shackleton again.

“It is time for us to go, so you best get explaining why I shouldn’t kill you on the spot,” Petra insisted. John came up to Petra placing a hand on his forearm but not yet pushing it out of the way.

“I’m here to help and I doubt you will be going anywhere unless I allow it,” Shackleton replied firmly, ”I know this will be hard to believe but-”

“You got that right, so hurry the hell up!” Petra growled.

“Petra!” John urged quietly.

“I am only disguised as the Chancellor. My real name is Vincent. I've altered myself to come rescue you. I am the court interpreter assigned to your case,” he explained causing the two humans to briefly exchange suspicious gazes. “This was the only way for me to get access to you in order to get you out. I have found you, Governor, innocent of the charges held against you by this court. It has been a serious miscarriage of justice and I must rectify the matter.”

The Governor successfully pushed on Petra’s forearm, forcing him to lower his weapon.

“And how are we to know you are telling the truth?” asked Governor Woods. Shackleton looked nervously back and forth between the two of them. It was the first time since John had encountered the stoic judge that he saw any hint of fear in his eyes.

“Do you think the real Shackleton would be standing here by himself, unarmed, offering to help you? If I was a betting man, you would be dead by now if I was truly him.” As the Governor pondered the man’s plea, another person came out from behind Shackleton. It appeared to be yet another duplicate of Shackleton or possibly the real Shackleton. No one was sure. No one knew but the two Shackleton’s themselves. This one looked the same except he was still in the robes of the court--red, thick and trailing behind him like a river of blood. Petra pushed the Governor to the side raising his weapon again.

“Wait! No,” responded the second Shackleton.

The first Shackelton turned toward the sound of his own voice projecting from behind him, and stepped aside as the other duplicate stepped forward. “What is going on here? How did you-”

The second Shackleton only momentarily acknowledged the presence of the first and kept his eyes predominantly on Petra and the Governor. “I don’t know what this one is up to.., but it can’t be good. Look, my name is Vincent and I am your Court Report Interpreter--”

“Yeah we got that story already. Another humanoid disguised as the Chancellor,” said Petra rolling his eyes still holding up his gun. The second Shackleton seemed alarmed that other had told the same story and looked upon him with a sense of betrayal and alarm.

“Alright, but listen, I really am, I’m the real Vincent,” this second Shackleton in red pleaded, ”This other must have found out about my plan somehow, but I’m the one who came here to rescue you!”

“Don’t believe him! Look, I came by myself and-” the other interrupted. The two exchanged quick, bitter glances.

“Wait now, so did I!” the second Shackleton interjected lifting his hands up in protest.

Petra looked back at John and then forward again, pointing the end of his gun nervously between the two Shackletons. John got a hold of his Petra’s arm again and only got him to calm down by looking into his eyes, lowering his gun half way this time.

“Okay, stop this. Whoever the real Shackleton is, I will turn myself into you-”

“Governor, no!” exclaimed Petra.

“Petra! Your passions blind you! Would you prefer that both of us die here today?” the Governor hollered pleadingly while barely able to hold back tears. He then turned back to the twin Shackletons examining them closely with only the sound of a rush of air through the vents making any noise at all. The quiet was eerily reminiscent of the trial to Petra. In a sense, this was a trial of a different sort. John extended his hand toward his friend for the gun. Petra with a saddened expression handed his gun over, unsure what the Governor would do but wanting to trust him. John gracefully examined the gun with a certain amount of disdain and awe and then turned back toward the twin Shackletons with a fierce expression no one had ever expected or seen before.

“Whichever one of you is the true Shackleton, it doesn’t matter to me. I can shoot you both,” John said firmly, as he flipped the gun around to a shooters grip and aimed it in the general direction of the two Shackletons. “Once Petra and this Vincent character—if there is one--are free and out of this building, then I will hand myself over to whoever is the real Shackleton and then you can do with me what you will. Refuse, and I won’t hesitate to stop you by any means I have to.”

The two Shackletons looked at each other in a traitor's dance, seemingly unsure what to do next, waiting perhaps for the other to make the first move. John feared that maybe both of them were in on a plot to confuse, capture and kill them. Who was to make the next move? What would the move be?

“I have a much better idea,” the first Shackleton interjected with a hand raised, “We can settle this right here and now.”

“Go on,” John said after the brief pause.