Ironsides led him into an elevator that bolted through the gigantic metal tower of the command complex. It passed through a tube made entirely of glass, giving a view of the grey, sprawling city below as they ascended. A metal city glowing with holo lights of blues, reds, and greens. Small blocky aircraft flew above the city at varying altitudes, all flying in straight, arranged lanes, criss-crossing the city skyline like a moving mechanical net.

  The buildings had varying shapes, some blocky monolithic towers, each floor glowing with holo lights, while others were of a sleek, curved design that looked smooth as a virgin’s thighs. The burning orange star painted the sky a light lilac shade, and up there in the distance, he saw Korrath, that faint, red rocky orb orbiting his new planet. I like the look of my Moon better… Marcus thought longingly, thinking of home.

  After the elevator came to a stop, Ironsides guided him down some lavish halls adorned with flags, golden posts with hovering spherical lights at their peaks, and a deep blue rug running across the floor. A large door, a similar design as the one to the Archon’s office, opened at their arrival.

  The chamber stood high above the metallic city. At the back, the entire wall was a thick glass window, letting natural light spill into the large room and glint off the smooth steel surfaces. Before the window sat a long, angular throne with veins of neon white lights shimmering across the surface. In front of the throne was a thick, polished silver table lined with what looked like polished black oak.

  Three other clones sat at the table and all turned when the doors opened. Upon seeing Marcus, they all stood to attention, clicked their heels with their chest salute, and said “Your excellency.”

  The saluting still made Marcus feel a little awkward and out of place, so he just paused, looked at them for a brief moment, and gave a curt nod. Ironsides waved him on, beckoning him to come. I assume the throne is for me…

  “Your excellency,” Ironsides said, breaking the eerie quiet in the room, as Marcus sat atop his throne. “Allow me to introduce the High Council, the prime decision making body of Neptura. Collectively, we are responsible for the whole administration of the state. Obviously, I am the First Minister, and I look after mundane tasks of administering government, second only to you, your excellency.”

  He waved his hand across to the clone closest to him, a bald man with a thick blonde beard. Damn, I do not look good bald, was Marcus’s first thought, though he dared not speak it.

  “This is Valen, your Minister for War,” Ironsides said.

  The bald man stood, his sleek blue uniform similar to that of Ironsides, though he had no shoulderpads nor a cape, and less medals. He saluted Marcus again. “Your excellency, it is a pleasure to formally meet you. Glory to Neptura.”

  The next, sitting directly opposite Valen, wearing more formal civilian looking clothes in the form of a pristine white tunic buttoned with gold at the far side of his chest, stood and saluted. “Your excellency, I am Claric, your Minister for Innovation. I oversee all research and scientific development for the state. I’m glad to see the delay in your awakening has not harmed you. Glory to Neptura.” His hair was longer and a little wavy, almost covering his ears.

  Marcus gave him a friendly nod. “You have my thanks.”

  “And finally,” Ironsides said, beckoning toward the uniformed man at the far end of the table. “We have Den, the Grand Admiral. He is responsible for the navy and its operations.”

  The Grand Admiral wore a military style cap rimmed with silver. His uniform was jet-black, his collar bore a white insignia. Medals and decorations made his right breast glitter in the light. He clicked his heels and saluted. “An honour to meet you, your excellency. Glory to Neptura.”

  Marcus shifted uncomfortably atop his throne.

  Ironsides took his seat, his cape folding neatly behind him, and cleared his throat. “Your excellency, I am pleased to report that your orders through the Genesis Command Interface have been received by our orbital command center, and the vessels will begin embarking on their tasks by the end of the day. Before long, the survey team will make the hyperjump out of this system toward the Lysandros system.

  “A cause for celebration, to be certain,” Claric the scientist said, clasping his hands. “Who knows what all the star systems around us may yield? It is an untapped well of knowledge. A wise first move, excellency.”

  Marcus tilted his head. “Seemed to be one of the only things to do. Isn’t that the point? Expansion?”

  “It is.” Claric nodded, but his voice faltered as Valen leaned forward with a hard, almost war-like expression.

  “Forgive my blunt words, excellency, but our duty to you also bids us to speak hard truths, both to yourself and to our councillors,” Valen said, his deep voice humming through the cavernous metal chamber. His cold blue eyes locked onto Ironsides. “The decision to wake the creator was a terrible miscalculation. He was supposed to wake centuries ago, yet he did not, and in his sleep has become a mythical symbol, in essence a god, to our people. And now we rush to fulfill our mission. I question the wisdom of such haste. We know nothing about him, nor him us! The years have changed us, gentlemen, and as such, we should adapt to the circumstances.”

  Silence shrouded the room. Ironsides shot Valen a sharp look, but the War Minister did not relent, and his cold gaze fell upon Marcus. “Your excellency,” Valen continued with a calm and collected tone, “by waking you and handing you the helm of Neptura, we risk dismantling your symbolic image as our god and leader. We have made you a mortal again, and mortals make mistakes. Perhaps it would be wiser to remain in hibernation, untainted by petty politics.”

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  Marcus blinked, taken aback by the brazenness of Valen’s words. I’ll have to keep an eye on that one. Perhaps the frank tone was a good sign of trust that the clone thought he could speak his mind, but those words could also be the seeds of rebellion. A coup… Is this how they normally started? “You think I’d be more useful as an icicle locked in a freezer?”

  “That’s a harsh way of putting it.” Valen shrugged. “It is merely a matter of perception, excellency. Gods are eternal, men are fallible.”

  Den leaned forward. “Enough of your cynicism, Valen. We have awaited the creator’s return for centuries. This is exactly what we need to inspire the people. We’re an army, let’s finally act like one! Would you rather we sit idle on this planet forever, withering away hiding behind myths and fairytales while the great wheel of history rolls on before us?” The admiral glanced at Marcus, and they exchanged a brief but friendly smile. Well, I’m glad most of them are on my side, he thought with a sense of relief. “He was a god in cryo-sleep, and he is a god still. You saw how the crowds reacted to him at the parade.”

  Valen turned to face the admiral with a frown. “Caution is not ‘withering away.’ Recklessness brought ruin to Vespera. You would do well to remember that.”

  “The decision has been made Valen, for better or worse,” Ironsides said, slowly raising his hand for silence. “The creator’s awakening marks a new chapter for Neptura. He lives and breathes, so what we have done cannot be undone, and we should stay the course. We are no longer a lost people forever drifting in the void; we have a purpose again.”

  “Hmpf.” Valen pressed his lips into a thin line but did not say anything else. He just leaned back on his chair.

  Marcus shifted in his seat. “I sense some division here… Is this normal for such an army?”

  Ironsides faintly smiled. “Forgive us, excellency. Our clone vats produce three types of clones: soldiers/workers, thinkers, and leaders. Each has slight tweaks in their genetic code. The soldiers and workers tend to be more docile and obedient, fast to follow orders and slow to question anything. Thinkers are our scientists and intellectuals, driving our technological progress, culture, and philosophies. Leaders are the top hierarchy responsible for government and high command, from local to high office. Leaders have the least genetic modification from yourself, able to think more freely and act independently. Discrepancies occasionally come up across the board, but clearly the creators deemed this appropriate for our use as a functioning army. All of us here, aside from Claric, are leaders, so we tend to argue more.” He chuckled.

  “Interesting.” Marcus nodded, now taking a special interest in Claric. “So you, Claric. Are you able to think freely?”

  “In matters of learning and philosophy, of course.” Claric scratched under his hair. “Fear not, excellency. I am eternally loyal. We all are.”

  That’s what I’m counting on. Marcus clasped his hands together. You won’t question me. You will be my eyes and ears here to watch our more rebellious elements.

  Ironsides leaned forward. “No fear on that count. Worry not of our occasional squabbles, excellency. It is a sign of a functioning government.”

  “Squabbles aren’t what guide us,” Valen muttered, biting his tongue. “Strength and unity is, and unity comes from a soldier’s discipline, not from—”

  “---Not from locking away the very reason we exist,” Den interrupted, raising his voice. “Can we put this matter to bed now?”

  Valen was about to say something, but Marcus decided to test his authority now. Perhaps I can unify them now and not have to worry about further ‘squabbles’ regarding my person.

  He raised a hand. “Enough. I appreciated this spirited discussion on my first day, and what I’m about to say may surprise all of you: I agree with Valen.”

  “What?” Ironsides gasped, furrows forming over his brow.

  Marcus leaned over and looked Ironsides in the eye. “He’s right. I think my being here is a mistake, but not because I’d be better locked up in a freezer. Because I am not who you think I am. I don’t know what happened to me when I died, but I can’t shake the feeling that some terrible mistake has happened.

  “I did not ask for this, I didn’t ask for power, but I was told to either take it or be a worker, yes? I’m here now, and I don’t intend to be locked up again. I want to go home, or at the very least figure everything out.”

  “See?” Valen said, motioning his hand toward Marcus. “He’s still talking crazy, and you want this man to lead us head first into the unknown?”

  Now Marcus frowned. “It’s not crazy, Valen. This place, and this galaxy, is not my home. I’ve never heard of a Vespera or anything like that, and you must believe me. I command you to believe me!”

  The Minister of War frowned but reluctantly bowed his head. “I believe you, your excellency. That doesn’t mean it makes any sense.”

  “Thank you,” Marcus said calmly. “I’m here now, and your Genesis Command Interface is rather simple to use from what I’ve seen. I may surprise you, if you give me time. I will help you find and retake Vespera, if that is my god given purpose, and after that you can help me figure all this out. Can we all at least agree to that?”

  The council exchanged glances and nodded one by one as though seeking eachother’s confirmation.

  “Glory to Neptura,” Ironsides said.

  “Glory to Neptura,” the other’s echoed.

  Marcus leaned back, heaving a breath he didn’t realise had built up in his chest. To think he once thought the sales floors and boardrooms back home were tense, but this? This is a whole new game, a whole new playing field. One in which I don’t know the rules.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” Marcus said. “I know I must sound crazy, which is why I want to have a private chat with Claric. I have questions.”

  “As you wish, excellency.” Ironsides stood up and made to walk out. Valen and Den followed him out, leaving Marcus alone with Claric.

  The scientist may have the answers he needed.