Marcus Dain had just about stopped questioning it all by the time the clones rolled him out to a military parade. Amidst the weirdness of it all, it felt quite glorious in a sense, or epic. Crowds had gathered in their tens of thousands in a vast, metallic forum, glittering with blue holo lights and adorned with waving flags that bore the same eagle logo he had seen in the command complex.
The central command complex was a short flight from here, and yet its grey steel towers rose so high that Marcus could still see them. The sky looked different, too. Different from Earth, anyway. After the rain had come down, the sun, or whatever this star was called, shone with a brilliant white light that bleached the sky with an icy hue, leaving faint lilac and pink streaks amidst the clouds.
“They’re all here to see you, your excellency,” the former Archon, whose name was Ironsides, said. These clones, or at least some of them, had a strange tradition of taking nicknames as their real names, Marcus had learned, to give them a bit of individuality. In the old days, Ironsides had told him, they were just given numbers, and after that, they all had the same name but with a number on the end. “They want to know you’re here to lead us before we take to the stars once more.”
Ironsides was now the First Minister, since there could only be one Archon. And a Grand Archon at that… Marcus thought with a certain pride. He liked the ring of it.
They had given him new clothes, too. It was the first order of business. For this occasion, he wore a simplistic, high collared, knee-length black coat lined with subtle, dark blue geometric patterns. On his shoulders were two sleek, carbon fibre panels inlaid with faint hexagon patterns. Underneath he wore a simple grey tunic. They had offered him his body weight in medals and awards, but Marcus refused outright.
How silly that would be, he thought. I’ve never led men, nor won a war. I haven’t even fought in any battle, and the last fight I was in, I was thirteen years old. I have earned no medals, so I shall not wear them. These strange men deserve at least that much respect.
The only pin he wore was the sigil of the eagle that these Nepturan clones flew on their banners. A silver spec amidst his humble uniform.
Shockwaves cracked across the peaceful skyline, signalling the beginning of the parade. Dozens of aircraft flew overhead. First was a squadron of Specter Fighters, fighter jets spitting out hot beams of blue fuel, organized in a triangular formation as they raced forward. Then came strange, helicopter-like machines that had four circular propellers. They flew far lower and made a crackling racket as they thundered past.
Marcus found himself transfixed on all of this highly advanced machinery, ignoring the opening of the grand speech the First Minister gave, welcoming him, the great Creator, to Neptura.
The ground forces were even more impressive. Square columns of clone soldiers, all with opaque visored helmets and matte dark grey armour plates, holding their rifles in stiff positions, marched in perfect formation, not one step out of line or order. A single, moving mass as though controlled by the same mind. As they passed directly below Marcus, sitting high on an observing platform, they sharply turned their heads and saluted him, yelling “All hail the Creator!” Their voices sent thunder through the air like the roar from a football stadium.
It sent chills through his blood. They are truly mine…
“Magnificent, aren’t they?” First Minister Ironsides said to Marcus before he stood up to speak into a spherical microphone that hovered near his mouth. “Soldiers of Neptura, today marks the beginning of our greatest journey! For too long we have sat idle, without leader or purpose, gazing at the stars, waiting for providence to lift us from the depths of the unknown. The sacred homeworld, Vespera, lies out there amidst the stars, still in the vile clutches of those unworthy of her legacy!”
After the soldiers, the ground vehicles came. First, sleek white troop transports with tinted windows and thick tires, followed by missile carriers and self propelled artillery. Second, crawler tanks with four legs and massive cannons walked by the troops, then hover tanks and other hovering vehicles equipped with missiles or anti air guns. Next, vehicles with thick treads, kitted out with more guns than he could count. Afterward, other stranger vehicles, such as humanoid mech robots manned by a pilot inside, equipped with massive chain guns, missiles, and glowing plasma blades, along with tall walkers, short walkers, and armoured personnel carriers.
The great mechanized centipede slowly trudging before him seemed endless, and yet the hours seemed to pass by like minutes as he watched in awe and disbelief.
“But soon Vespera will be liberated,” Ironsides continued to the cheering of the rancorous crowds watching the display. “The might of Neptura shall finally take to the heavens, prepared to fulfill the mission of the ancient forerunners. The path forward is no easy one, but together, the galaxy will tremble under the shadow of our wings! Its planets shall rupture under the boots of our soldiers and the tread of our machines! The banners of Neptura will rise over the stars! For Neptura, for Vespera, for humanity!”
The crowds erupted into thunderous applause once more, and the ceremony closed with a giant drone light show of the eagle of Neptura, flying gallantly above the forum.
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After the parade concluded, Ironsides herded Marcus into a skyhawk which flew them back smoothly to the central command complex. Even the four propellers were silent from inside the aircraft. As the skyhawk lifted off, he watched the cheering crowd of his clones turn into little, ant-like specs. He then gazed at the rolling grasslands in the distance, illuminated by the white sky, and the great sapphire ocean beyond, glinting under the light.
The pilots operated the controls quietly in a stern, almost robot-like fashion. Ironsides turned to him. “What did you think?”
“That was fucking incredible,” Marcus said. There were no other words for it.
Ironsides just laughed, adjusting the cufflink on his dark blue military uniform. A short white cloak covered one of his shoulders. “And that was just but a fraction of your army, excellency. We have maintained a strong army ready for military operations in our idleness, and your awakening could not have come at a better time, because our scientists have just made a great breakthrough in hyperlane navigation.”
“What does that mean?”
A grin tugged at the corner of Ironside’s lips. “It means we can begin expansion. Searching for other star systems. Interstellar travel used to be an extremely hazardous affair, and our ancestors only used it to leave Vespera when the homeworld was all but doomed. But now it can be sustained to maintain colonies across several star systems. This is why it’s imperative I show you how to use the Genesis Command Interface, or GCI.”
Marcus raised a brow as the tall, grey spires of the command complex came closer into view. “What is that?”
“It’s easier for me to show you, lest you want a three hour long lecture.” The clone cleared his throat. “But, to put it briefly, it is how you manage our fledgling empire. It is how you control your armies, how you see the galaxy beyond reports and word of mouth. It is control, your excellency.”
Once back at the central command complex, Ironsides guided Marcus into a sombre looking command room. Teal hollow screens manned by clones showing graphs, lines, and bleeping dots lit up the backdrop of the dark chamber. In the middle, a large square luminous table dominated the room. On it were vague graphs and moving dots that Marcus couldn’t understand.
“This way, your excellency,” Ironsides said, guiding him toward the end of the table where a large metal chair stood. It almost looked like some mechanical throne. The First Minister beckoned him to sit on the chair, so he did.
The cold seeped through his clothes, yet it made him feel regal all the same.
“The GCI works with a neural link interface,” Ironsides said. “When you press the blue button under your right hand, the links will appear on either side of your head, integrating the system with your mind. For all intents and purposes, you will be one with the system. Able to see the known reaches of our state from a bird's eye view. You can select your planets, give orders to construct buildings, manage resources and populations, assign jobs, recruit army units or build ships from our orbital shipyard, and then command those ships. Either in battle or to scout unknown reaches of space. You will be within it, able to interact with it in whatever way you wish with your mind.”
“Hm.” Marcus nodded. “Sounds simple enough. Better than having to manage staff, I suppose.” He wished he had such a system back home for his business. He could have saved a fortune on staffing costs!
“Though I must warn you, excellency,” Ironsides said, tugging at his collar. “You will experience time dilation in the GCI. Due to the amount of time it takes to construct fleets, establish colonies, or explore space, it would be impractical to have it all in real time because you would have to sit plugged into it for months, even years… For this reason, there is a feature built into the technology in the way it interacts with your brain, allowing you to warp the passage of time. You can increase or even decrease the way you perceive time, letting months pass within a few minutes if you choose. You will be in your chair the whole time. And worry not, the daily workings and administration of government will be handled by myself and your other officials while you deal with tasks of more importance, and you can leave whenever you want to tend to serious diplomatic issues or decisions that require your immediate attention.”
“Wow, that’s amazing,” Marcus said, genuinely impressed. “I could pass a year by within a few hours if I wanted to?”
“Yes, in theory.” Ironsides nodded, putting his hands behind his back. “But I wouldn’t advise it, and don’t spend your life there. While it may seem counterintuitive… you will still age while in the GCI, even though it has you in a state of hibernation in which you don’t need to eat or drink. The aging process is slowed somewhat… but you can not stay there indefinitely.”
Marcus frowned, now a little afraid of the machine. “That is counterintuitive, dare I even say pointless. So what, I’ll work a few weeks in this thing then be on my deathbed? What’s the point in that?”
The First Minister pressed his lips. “To lead… Fear not, we should have enough time to retake the homeworld even in a normal human lifespan. It is hard for a clone because the genetic modifications required to make obedient, effective soldiers has essentially halved our life spans. Most of us live until about 50 years, but of course, we are adults from day one. You, on the other hand, can make full use of the GCI. After we retake the homeworld…” he shrugged. “Who knows, we’ll see what happens. It might be you never need to go into it again.”
“I should hope not!” Marcus snapped. The idea of being trapped in a machine interface for the rest of his life wasn't particularly appealing, especially when a few hours in there could potentially translate to years of his life.
The First Minister clicked his heels, stiffening his form. “In any case, I’m afraid it is your duty to lead us, your excellency. Fear not, technology improves rapidly and will improve fast while you’re in there. It may be that we find a solution to our short life spans on our journey. Our scientists are exceptional.”
Marcus sighed, his temporary excitement at being some sort of space king quickly fading away. “I assumed being an Archon meant I could do what I wanted, Ironsides. But now I’m starting to feel like your prisoner.”
The First Minister chuckled. “Are we not all prisoners of our duty? Shall we proceed, your excellency?”
He leaned back in the chair. “Come on then. Let me see my empire.”
