There was no time to waste. Amon felt his 16 new pretty little toys already playing wreck the house with his innards. He could feel his left thigh tingling from the nanomite concentration and switched the metaspheres to his right pocket instead.

  The cabin was a 5-minute walk away. He passed through well-lit corridors filled with Marines and other SFC personnel going about their business. Even with 32% losses, the Dreadnaught was bustling with activity, and that's because only one part of the personnel was combat troops.

  Where the SFC was mainly a reference for the combat forces, the Marines, yet other divisions existed inside the ship, including engineers, maintenance crews, navigators, and security forces.

  It was easy to distinguish each division by the color of their uniforms, grey and black for the Marines, blue for the engineers, and red for security. Yet the contrast mainly lay in the Genome-to-human ratios of which Amon was a clear exception.

  It was uncommon for a first-generation Genome like himself to be in the Spacedive Marines. They died too easily to make a difference. Spacediving did not require a genius mind, or exceptional reflexes, only adequate preparation and a fair amount of luck. His death would be wasted here, but unfortunately, he was no longer in any control over his fate.

  Paradoxically, from all the other divisions, the sciences were filled with the most Genomes, towering over everybody else, wearing unique appearances, topped with beautifully carved bodies, and armed with the sharpest minds. He knew the explanation for it was not as complicated. Scholars and scientists had a wealthy background to be given a chance at higher education. And credits could buy lots of privileges, just not all of them.

  If things hadn’t turned out the way they did, he could have been one of them. On the other hand, the security forces of the Dreadnought had quite a few second or third-generation Genomes. As generations passed the DNA tended to regress closer to the more naturally acceptable human limit. It was an inevitable battle against the roots of humanity.

  For the security forces, however, Amon had a special name. He called them bred brutes, not only because of their eagerness for violence but also because they were bred this way.

  Arriving at the cabin door Amon inputted the passcode and underwent a facial scan listening to the door hiss open. In moments he dumped the metaspheres he carried in a sealed container to avoid being exposed to their active fields.

  Next, he grabbed the day’s meal. A mealbar the size of his thumb tasted so stale he grimaced while he chewed. The plastic wrapper had the image of a slick space cruiser sailing around a planet with the caption Taste the stars.

  Amon thought he probably was tasting the dirt of a thousand meteorites while he gulped it down. He looked forward to the SFC main hub's slightly larger flavor selection.

  Forcing his lungs to take a deep and slow breath, he lay in bed with his feet bent. His body didn’t exactly fit comfortably in the standard beds the combat troops were issued with.

  He turned the wrapper around and mindlessly read the nutrient info. The list of ingredients was so long that the producer used short descriptions to fit everything neatly.

  3000kcals/bar; Proteins, Carbs, Fats, Vitamins, Minerals, Body Rejuvenators, Mood Stabilizers…

  Amon with a pained moan grabbed at another mealbar. Unfortunately for his tastebuds, he needed two to maintain his strength.

  The cabin around him was sparse, only equipped with a small desk, the bed he was currently on, and a closet where his biosuit was stored. All crumped in a 3sqm room. The overhead yellow light wasn’t blinding, he had it tuned to a comfortable shade so he could stare at the ceiling and read through his optics without issue.

  Which was exactly what Amon was doing. He read over the battle reports, looking for familiar names, damages, and the like.

  It took him a while to go through everything. Apart from the casualties he quite enjoyed the information dump. Numbers and reports were his bread and butter–two things he’d never had the chance to taste, which made the saying somewhat exotic.

  —-

  A knock on the cabin door interrupted his studying. He was familiarizing himself with several new weapon designs found in the Helion Syndicate battleship. The SFC engineers hadn’t delayed uploading their findings to the mainframe, in their neatly organized servers, which he shouldn’t have access to, but he did, oh yes he did.

  Amon lifted himself to sit on the bed. Standing felt claustrophobic inside the cabin, especially since his head reached uncomfortably close to the ceiling.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Enter,” he said to the man he had been expecting for some time now.

  The door slid open to reveal Sergeant Tommy Plink, the first friend Amon made in the SFC.

  “Yo Amon, you good, big man? Or did the little Helion men tickle your thighs as you stomped on them?” He said with a smile that Amon couldn't resist mirroring.

  “Hah, says you whose luck may be even greater than an Overlord's gonorrhoeal glands,” Amon replied, mentioning maybe one of the ugliest parts of the ugliest species ever seen in the universe.

  Tommy nearly choked his laugh as he processed the words. Amon squinted his eyes in disgust too. The banter had gotten the better of him.

  “Come, sit. How are you holding up?” Amon said motioning to the chair in front of the desk. He had been a little concerned but the fatality list he had read through didn’t have Tommy’s name on it. But still, he worried.

  “Well enough, well enough,” Tommy replied and sat down. His smile came out a bit forced this time.

  “Let me check on you then, just to ensure everything is working fine,” Amon didn't have to move much to grab the tablet and tools for the job.

  Tommy, used to the check-up by now, extended one hand and Amon attached the white sensor patch connected by wires on his bare skin. The tablet started running a systems check as it found a connection, and Amon saw a healthy amount of nanomites swimming lazily inside Tommy’s veins.

  “Good, good...” he muttered absentmindedly but mostly he was looking over the code on the tablet's screen displaying the recent data history. No recent injuries came up.

  Amon pulled the patch off him, having gone through the data and found nothing wrong, then moved closer to check on the other bioaddons he had installed.

  Since there was no way to implant a brainchip safely while operating in a crew cabin with no proper tools, Amon had to improvise. He had embedded a cheap version of a brainchip in Tommy’s posterior neck muscles, one he had developed with the materials he had on hand. This way it lost some potential functionalities but with the cheap materials he was working with it didn’t make much difference.

  There was only one app running, the Optics, with only one signal channel and no further capacity. It was just right for the job–barely an upgrade from Lowtech but essential in keeping Tommy alive.

  Through the tablet, Amon ran a server connection to the Optics and when they synced, the system ran a diagnostics that came out green. All was well. His one worry about a malware infection evaporated and finally, he could relax the stiffness he felt gathered on his neck and shoulders.

  Tommy must have seen the worry leave his features because he exhaled and slumped on the desk.

  “Grab a drink later at the commons?” Tommy said after a moment. He knew this was not a social call.

  Amon had to go through the same process 23 more times as other marines dallied in the corridors near his cabin, waiting for their own checkup.

  “Are you buying? I’m finding myself a bit low on credits…” Amon joked since they both knew that wasn’t the case.

  “For you anytime, I heard there is a new Taste the Stars cocktail you’ll love,” Tommy said with a malevolent smile.

  Amon groaned.

  —-

  The 24th knock surprised Amon. He was about to fall asleep. The day off the Marines were offered after a battle would end in about 9 hours, which would bring back the mandatory daily training.

  This time he stood to open the door himself.

  A woman he had not seen before waited nervously at the entrance to his cabin, but something familiar clicked, and Amon made a calculated guess.

  “Gardenia, I didn’t expect you so soon,” he said and she frowned surprised. They hadn’t taken their masks off before parting ways.

  “Sergeant Amon, you are especially easy to find,” she said, her brown eyes darting sideways in a way that reminded him of a scared rodent. Her features were rounded, especially in the nose and cheeks.

  “That I am, please enter,” Amon showed her the desk chair and sat back on the bed to open up the way.

  She looked thin and frail without her biosuit on, and her black hair was unkept but she strode in with only a moment's hesitation.

  The door hissed closed behind her and she gazed apprehensively at him as she sat.

  Sometimes Amon wondered if he would be as brave, entering a Genome’s cabin almost double her size. How desperate would he have to be?

  “You have had many visitors, Sergeant. I had to wait a while,” she said, in a flat voice.

  “I take it you considered my offer then,” he replied with a wave of his hand, giving her time to continue. She kept averting her eyes whenever they locked gazes.

  “I have. How d..do we start?” She asked nervously.

  Amon explained to her his services, the same offering he provided to every other Marine knocking on his door with the same request.

  She paid him back the credit he had given her by swiping the electronic card on his tablet and the operation started by taking a vial of her blood.

  “First I’ll grow the nanomites on your blood so they can recognize you as the host body. It will take a few days until the number is sufficient to enter your bloodstream,” Amon explained as he worked. He found that it eased the mind to understand the whole process and the patient this time was particularly overwhelmed.

  “After that, they will multiply and sustain their own. They behave as parasites inside the host body by absorbing parts of the nutrients you ingest. You will find yourself hungrier during the acclimation period, which is a normal reaction. For a month you will double your meals to sustain a healthy level of nutrients for both you and the nanomites.” He told her and she nodded along with the instructions.

  Now for the second part. They switched places and she lay down on the bed in a supine position. He could tell she was nervous, her hands fidgeting at her sides, but he only needed her head to remain completely still.

  “I will grow your optics by taking a sample of your cornea and developing it alongside the panel and miniprocessor. It will feel as natural as your own sight when I install them. Together with the controller chip, it will take about erm…about a week to finish.”

  Amon wasn’t sure how she imagined the process but she seemed relieved after he finished collecting the samples. For any ordinary human, the upgrade from Lowtech must have seemed an extravagant affair. And Amon knew why. He offered the service at a fraction of the usual cost. It would have been impossible for her to afford any of this.

  Before she left she saluted crisply. The list of 24 became 25 and a loose plan Amon had been working on since he unwillingly joined the merc company came a step closer to fruition.

  —-

  Sleep inside the cabin used to be a fleeting thing. It had been a long while since then, more than a few years. He just remembered he must be turning 30 soon.

  Now falling asleep was as easy as it gets, never mind that the Dreadnought was speeding through space, building up momentum. They would accelerate for two weeks straight, with the slight pull of their increasing speed a constant companion.

  Post-light speeds were rightly uncomfortable to the eyes, so Amon was glad his cabin was just a metal box that once felt like a cage but now was oddly comforting.

  He dozed off to the constant white noise of the ship.