The buzz of some unseen machinery hummed in the background amidst flickering translucent holo screens displaying figures at the end of the room. Marcus sat back on his throne, now turned so that it faced the glass, allowing him to gaze over the metallic city sprawling below him. It did little to distract him from the whirlwind in his head.

  Claric stood by him, hands clasped behind his back. His long hair caught the pale light piercing the glass.

  “Tell me something, Claric,” Marcus said. “Do you believe me?”

  The Minister for Innovation turned, his brow furrowing. “Believe you, your excellency?”

  “The story of how I died,” Marcus clarified, tapping his finger on the armrest. “My car crash, my home planet, Earth. How this is not me.”

  Claric hesitated, then gave a shrug. “Cryo-sleep is not a perfected practice. It is possible your memories were fragmented, scrambled, or reconstructed all together. But…” He glanced at Marcus, “I cannot dismiss the possibility outright.”

  “Is that because I commanded it, or because you speak the truth?”

  Claric bowed his head slightly. “I speak truly, sir. I do not believe you would be so adamant over a mere fabrication.”

  “Hm.” Marcus leaned back, his lip twitching. “I remember dying, Claric. I died, and yet somehow I remember. I feel like, whatever has happened, I was not supposed to remember. It makes no sense.”

  The clone didn’t respond immediately, maintaining a stoic expression. “A troubling thought. But having delved into various schools of philosophy myself, I recount a saying from my tutor: ‘Perhaps death is not the end, but a doorway—one that rarely lets us look back.’ It may not be the memory that is flawed but the meaning behind it.”

  Marcus rubbed his chin with a finger, brooding. “Well, I’m not a philosopher. But let me ask you this. Have you ever heard of Quantum Immortality? It’s an idea from my home.”

  Claric’s brow lifted. “I cannot say so, your excellency. What is it?”

  “It’s something about how if we die, our consciousness moves on. It shifts to another reality, a parallel universe, where we are still alive. I forget the exact details, but it means… It could mean I will wake up in a new life every time I die.”

  The clone’s gaze darkened somewhat. “A fascinating theory,” he murmured. “Not entirely implausible, I suppose. The universe is vast and strange, and we understand so little of its workings.”

  “So you’re saying it's possible?”

  Claric tilted his head. “I see no reason to dismiss it entirely. The multiverse, assuming it exists, would be governed by laws beyond our comprehension.”

  Marcus’s throat tightened as though a ball got stuck in it. His thoughts spiralled into a black hole. Could it really be possible? he thought, clutching the armrests hard. Every death, a new life? A new me, in some random world, in some random galaxy, for all eternity? He could be born into anything. In fact, statistically, he would be born into anything and everything. A slave, a prisoner, or one of those poor fuckers caught by a cartel for doing something naughty. A horrifying, endless nightmare of rebirths stretched before him, infinite and inevitable.

  “I need to avoid death,” he blurted out, more to himself than to Claric.

  “Pardon, excellency?”

  Marcus waved a hand, dismissing the comment. “Nothing. I’m just thinking aloud.” He got up off the chair, finding himself becoming hot under his clothes. The ocean in the distance churned, spitting foam against the black rocky cliffs.

  An idea began to brew in his mind, an unknown resolve. If Quantum Immortality was real, then the only way to avoid an endless cycle of suffering was to never die. Immortality. What a beautiful and cruel irony, he thought with a saddening gaze. To escape eternal life, he had to achieve it on his own terms.

  “Claric,” Marcus said, turning to the scientist, looking him straight in the eyes. “Tell me what you know about extending life. You lot seem pretty advanced, you must have something.”

  “There have been experiments…” The clone frowned, gathering his thoughts. “We have tried to prolong the life of our clones, obviously, despite the current genetic modifications, but the process is far from perfected.”

  “I want you to keep researching it. Make a special division for it if you must. I will provide whatever resources are required,” Marcus commanded with a hard tone, leaving no room for argument. “Keep me informed of your progress. And… keep this conversation between us.”

  Claric stiffened his form and saluted. “Of course, your excellency. I will carry out your orders at once.”

  Marcus remained by the window as the door hissed shut behind him, staring out at the restless waves beyond the city.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  I will live, no matter what it takes.

  #

  He had brooded a few days with this difficult predicament in his mind, a predicament in which he could do nothing. These people are advanced, far more advanced than we ever were. Surely they can prolong life! It scared him to even go back into the Genesis Command Interface for a while, knowing he was only speeding up his own demise.

  But at the same time, should Claric find a solution to my problem, speeding up time would just get me to a solution quicker… Like Russian Roulette, he thought, but then not really, because whatever would be would be regardless of how fast or slowly he got there.

  His personal apartments were luxurious, at least. Still in the central command complex, a three story penthouse atop one of the residential towers on the far side of the citadel. The main hall stretched out before him, its black polished floor glinting faintly under the blue strips of neon light reflecting from the steel grey walls. One side of the room, like his throne room, was a sheer wall of glass, situated to give a view of the oceans and the grasslands beyond the city, rather than the city itself, which Marcus preferred. On the other side, sleek, low hung furniture hovered above the ground in a sunken living area, where a central table displaying a holographic image of the Aureon system span lazily in the dim light. The ceiling arched high above him, projecting an image of a star lit night sky so that it looked three dimensional, invoking the feeling of boundless space above.

  It was nice, truly. Nicer than anything he’d ever had on Earth. I worked tirelessly, sacrificed so much, and blackened my soul to have only a fraction of the wealth I have here… And yet he felt no richer, no more accomplished. And a little bored, too.

  They had no TVs or traditional entertainment that he was used to. No smartphones… Then he grinned. Maybe that’s for the best.

  A loud bleep sounded from some hidden speaker, indicating someone was at his door. He clicked a button on a control console and opened it, then went to sit down on the cushioned, hovering furniture.

  First Minister Ironsides walked into the hall, saluting when he saw the Grand Archon. “Your excellency, the survey ship is well on course to the Lysandros system. If you tire of idling, you may go into the GCI to carry on your important work.”

  “Ironsides,” Marcus said, resting a foot on his knee as he gazed at the holoprojection of the Aureon system. “Something has been brewing in my mind, something I’d surprisingly not thought about during the strange past few days of my life.”

  “Oh?”

  He looked at the First Minister directly now. “Tell me, Ironsides, is this planet entirely devoid of women? Everywhere I turn, I’m greeted by my own face. I’ve never considered myself hard on the eyes, but even I have my limits.”

  “Ah.” Ironsides looked down, chuckling. “I’m afraid not, your excellency. It seems the forerunners sought no need to clone women since we have means of reproduction already. Nor do our clones have any sexual urges. It was modified out of their genetic code to make them more effective soldiers. Strengthens their loyalty, and they do not rape nor engage in other vices.”

  “A terrible oversight,” Marcus said, disappointed. “Everything we do revolves around women for god’s sake. Why else do we build these grand palaces, show off our power like peacocks, and destroy our enemies if not to secure our lineage at the end of the day? You take that away, and I’m beginning to wonder what the hell the point of this place is.”

  The clone bowed his head, obedient as ever. “To retake Vespera, your excellency. We all live to serve the sacred homeworld.”

  “Yes, Vespera…” Marcus turned on the chair, brooding. I don’t give a fuck about Vespera. I want to go home. And yet my legitimacy, my authority, rests upon this planet. I’m shackled to her as much as these clones are to me.

  Ironsides stepped down into the sunken living area. “Sir, if you have urges you cannot satisfy, I’m sure we could research the possibility of producing a female from one of our vats for you. It might be that some genetic code for a female is stored away in there somewhere, but the quantum coding is so old that we have trouble digging into the data.”

  “I want a woman, Ironsides,” Marcus snapped. “Not some robotic meat sack grown in a tank for my pleasure.”

  “Apologies, excellency.”

  “I had a wife, you know?” Marcus turned to face him now. “Anna Pankova, she was called. God, what a woman. I miss her dearly.”

  “Perhaps she was put in cryo sleep with you when the forerunners came to Neptura,” the First Minister said, then stopped his words, realising his folly.

  The Grand Archon frowned, letting the dim hum of the machines around the lavish steel chamber fall upon the room before he spoke. “My real wife, back home on Earth. I wonder what she’s doing right now, or if she’s even alive. Maybe she’s been sucked into another body somewhere in the universe…”

  The First Minister stood still as a statue, glancing awkwardly around the room, unsure of what to say. He still thinks I’m talking crazy.

  “Do you know what it's like to love, Ironsides?”

  “Of course, your excellency,” the clone replied sternly. “I love Neptura, I love Vespera, I love my fellow brothers in arms. And of course, I love you, the Creator.”

  He chuckled. “I understand what you mean, but I was talking about real love. The love only reserved for a woman.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

  He rested his chin on his hand. “It’s a powerful thing. It makes us do great things and very stupid things. You know how you’ve found the one, Ironsides? When you don’t have to wear a mask around her. When she looks into the darkest recesses of your soul and smiles. When you long to have a conversation with her, not for sex but just to hear her words because they are worth hearing. That was my Anna… and she was taken from me. By a fucking lorry driver.”

  “She sounds like a great woman, your excellency,” Ironsides said. Marcus didn’t care to drone on further. The clone was just responding like a trained dog. ‘Yes, master!’

  “As I said before,” Ironsides continued but Marcus interrupted.

  “Yes, yes, you want to plug me into your computer so I can find your Vespera.” He stood up, making to walk out of the room. Might as well get on with it. That’s all they want me to do.

  Ironsides smiled, following him out of his apartments with glee. “Our Vespera, your excellency.”