The sway of the waves made his body rock. The Giga-yacht, named in Marcus’s honour, chopped through Neptura’s restless, eternal sea, yet he felt as though he were sailing across calm summer waters. The engineering prowess of these clones never ceased to amaze him. The yacht was thrice the size of any super-yacht he had seen back home on Earth (and he had seen it all). Perhaps calling it a small cruise ship would have been more suitable. It sliced through violent waves well over thirty meters in length like they were nothing.

  His jaw had dropped observing it in operation from the main deck. Its unique design and oddly shaped hull made it suitable to sail across any waters, stormy or not.

  A truly unsinkable ship. He knocked on wood, recalling that the same had been said of the Titanic.

  In his wildest dreams he had envisioned owning a yacht on Earth. Actually owning one, not just renting one for a few days to take a bunch of pictures and show them to desperate, impoverished people so he could sell his stupid courses.

  And now I have a finer yacht than any billionaire on Earth, able to withstand even the harshest and cruelest of seas. Yet he found himself with no one to share it with. Not his wife Anna, or any of his friends, or the swarms of despicable lickspittles who fawned over his wealth. It made him feel strangely empty inside.

  It was these thoughts that had dampened what should have been an exciting mood as he stepped onto a podium in a grand, spacious hall, where most of Neptura’s elite had gathered to listen to him speak now.

  The domed ceiling loomed high above as though he were standing inside a metallic cathedral—a vast expanse of dark titanium, pulsing with dim blue neon lights that ran up along the walls like the roots of some cybernetic tree. Massive pillars forged of sleek, blackened coldsteel lined the chamber, their surfaces engraved with intricate geometric insignias that glinted faint gold. Between each pillar, tall vertical banners bearing the silver eagle of Neptura hung rigid in the calm breeze of the yacht’s ventilation system.

  Before him, in a small amphitheater-like gallery with rows of seats that stretched upward, sat the many clone leaders, officials, and scientists upon whom Neptura’s functioning as an interstellar state depended. It was like staring into a thousand mirrors. Everywhere he looked, he saw his own face looking back at him as he stood on the raised dais in front of the Archon’s Lectern, a monolithic slab of blue stone. It shifted faintly as though some cybernetic creature slumbered beneath its surface. Behind him, a great wall bearing a giant steel emblem of the Nepturan Eagle dominated the hall.

  Marcus took a glance at the two subtle holo-prompters to his sides and cleared his throat. “Gentlemen. Today we do not merely celebrate a scientific achievement. We celebrate a turning point. A moment when we look beyond the great sapphire waves of Neptura and toward the boundless frontier of the stars. Our efforts in stellar cartography and planetary analysis have yielded unprecedented discoveries. Planets teeming with life, worlds ripe for habitation, resources untapped, and, perhaps most significant of all, proof that we are not alone in this vast galaxy.”

  He sighed, clearing his throat again, and turned his head to the other holo prompter, giving the appearance that he was talking to the crowd rather than reading from a script.

  “The forerunners did not carve their way through space to remain confined to one little world floating in the far reaches of the unknown. We were not bred to stagnate and lay idle. We were made to conquer, to claim, to retake the sacred homeworld of Vespera. Our survey expeditions have confirmed habitable worlds well within our reach. And now the question before us is not whether we can expand, but whether we will seize this opportunity before it is taken from us.”

  He paused for dramatic effect, letting his gaze linger on the scientists in the front row—Claric among them—before shifting his eyes toward the military leaders further back.

  “We have the knowledge. We have the technology. But knowledge and technology alone do not build civilizations. It is the indomitable will to act that does. The colonies we establish in the future will be the citadels of tomorrow—the foundations of an empire that will endure beyond our lifetimes. But only if we choose to act.”

  His tone became a notch lower then.

  “There are those among us who may question as to whether we are on the right course. They see danger in the unknown, they see obstacles instead of opportunities. And yet the course of history is paved by those who dare to act.

  “We stand at the precipice of something far greater than any of us. The time for deliberation is over. It is now a matter of what we build next. A human colony beyond Neptura, a foothold in the unknown. A home for future generations.

  “I will not ask if we should do this. That much has already been decided. I ask only who among you will follow me into the unknown?”

  He raised a glass of Lyran wine.

  “To the pioneers, the first settlers, to the legacy we forge in the stars. To Neptura!”

  The hall erupted in thunderous applause, though with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Some saw conquest, some saw destiny, and some… saw only risk. Marcus watched them all carefully as they cheered.

  Establishing the first Nepturan colony was fast becoming a hot topic amongst the leadership and had gripped the imagination of the scientific caste of clones in particular a great deal. Hence was the purpose of this conference. A few of the wealthier patrons, collectively calling themselves the Stellar Colony Initiative, had offered to put up a donation equating to 500 Power Units for Marcus’s work on exploring the stars and surveying a vast array of planets, with the not-so-subtle hint that he should establish a colony soon.

  He made sure to keep it in mind, but the 500 Power Units could be used in the immediate term to further fix up the Nepturan economy and close his deficits, which would thus enable him to focus more on the establishment of a colony when the time came. What they don’t know won’t hurt them.

  The attendees moved into the Grand Reception Hall, where a vast buffet was freely available to everyone. The reception hall was grand in its own way, much like the conference room, though less imposing. Its dim, ambient lighting cast golden hues across the polished floors of obsidian-metal, with the glow of decorative fires flickering across its tiles. A long buffet table stretched across the center of the hall. Platters of Crimson Reef Pinchers, Skywhale marrow bites, and Emberfruit tartlets, among other dainties, decorated the table in a rainbow of colour. Fountains of Lyran wine flowed a brilliant blue in near infinite quantity, enough to get all the patrons drunk to their hearts’ content.

  Tall, arched windows lined the far end of the hall, revealing the churning, stormy sea beyond as the yacht sliced through the gargantuan waves. They rose into monstrous, blackened walls of water before crashing down in a foamy torrent, sending endless froth into the darkness. Yet the yacht barely shifted, resisting nature’s fury.

  Marcus absent-mindedly swirled the blue wine in his glass, dwelling on his speech, while the clone officials all gathered into the room to pick at the food and drink. A trio of clones, clad in fine, glimmering tunics and shiney dress shoes, approached him. Some wore dark capes so long they trailed behind the wearer like a long, silky rat tail. Others wore mantles that rose past their heads.

  They were some more scientists, he gathered. The military men always dressed less flamboyantly.

  Marcus recognised them as the founders of the Stellar Colony Initiative. Jorik, Elian Rho, and Holorick.

  “Grand Archon.” Jorik bowed his head, his tunic glinting silver under the light. He was distinct by the face tattoo of a simplistic insignia under his eye. “A fine speech, indeed. You have the entire conference buzzing. We’re already probing the best locations for the first settlement on Aestara 1 in preparation for when you give the order.”

  Marcus smiled, taking a sip of his sweet, citrusy wine. “And what are the early results telling you?” he asked, humoring them.

  Holorick straightened his form, brushing down his mint-green robes. “Preliminary models suggest we focus on a large archipelago in the northern hemisphere of the planet, which is rich in mineral deposits. With some controlled gene modifications, we can ensure our Nepturan clones adapt quickly to the atmosphere. A self-sustaining colony within five cycles is entirely possible, and there is a large mountainous range that would provide ample protection for the Quantum Clone Vat we will need to erect to sustain the colony.”

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  “Five cycles?” Elian Rho scoffed, fiddling with a golden nose ring piercing his nostril. “With enough backing, I believe we can halve that timeframe. The real challenge is establishing reliable logistics and shipping the machinery for the clone vat over without damaging it in transit. Without a proper relay network, the colony could experience a bottleneck.”

  Marcus smiled and nodded as they bickered, sipping his wine, thinking about anything else. The way they spoke about it, one would think it was just an engineering problem rather than a monumental endeavor of uprooting millions of clones and planting them on an alien world.

  “I respect how eager you all are about this,” Marcus said. “It’s a great thing, really. But there’s still some problems to sort out at home first, ey? All in good time.”

  The trio nodded eagerly, murmuring to one another about potential planet specialization as Marcus slowly drifted away to the more important people in the room. I only need their money. The bickering they can keep to themselves.

  He spotted Ironsides, Claric, Den, and another clone at one of the observation windows currently being battered by a foamy shower of sea water. The four appeared locked in some amusing conversation as they nursed their drinks. The Grand Admiral noticed Marcus first, clicking his heels and puffing his chest out before giving a curt nod.

  “Your excellency,” he said, welcoming Marcus to join the little group. Even though all the clones were essentially the same, he felt a sort of kinship with these gentlemen. They had been through so much in the short years Marcus had been with them. Not to mention, Den had saved his sorry arse. “Come, there is someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Marcus approached, stealing a glance at the unknown clone beside Den wearing a yellow tunic and black trousers. His hair was blonde and very short, his face freshly shaved. The man didn’t smile, and his eyes the same icy blue as all the rest.

  “This is Kestral Varn,” the Grand Admiral said, gesturing to the yellow man. “Your new Minister for War.”

  Kestral Varn met his gaze, standing stiff at attention. Something in his posture reminded Marcus of Valen, which wasn’t a good sign. Who am I kidding, they’re all the same fucking person!

  “An honour to meet the Grand Archon in the flesh.” Varn bowed his head respectfully. “I look forward to serving on the High Council and ensuring that the prestige of Neptura is never thrown into question again.”

  Marcus tilted his head in a curious fashion, studying the man. “Questioned by whom, exactly?”

  Varn smirked, then chuckled a little. “By those who would see us falter, your excellency. These ‘Star Elves,’ for example. Neptura will never bow before xeno scum, I promise you that. And if I should fail in that promise, I’ll fall on my sword before you can ask for my resignation. Humanity will reign supreme.”

  Furrows formed above Marcus’s brow, and he nodded, impressed with the enthusiasm. Bit of a purist, isn’t he? Maybe I could use someone like that, maybe not. “We are strong, though strength isn’t just measured by the barrel of a gun,” Marcus said, “but by foresight, too.”

  Varn nodded, seeming to neither agree nor disagree. “Foresight is necessary, yes, as is decisive action. We have just discovered a new primitive civilization in the Sarrith system, have we not? These ‘Xaelith?’”

  Ah, so that’s what they want to talk about, Marcus pondered as they stood in their loose little circle, out of earshot of the chatting officials in the hall picking at the buffet.

  “I’ve reviewed the data,” the new War Minister said. “They’re a primitive people using spears and arrows, likely made of some bad pig iron, and they offer no threat—for now. But that doesn’t mean they should be ignored. What if another power finds them, like this Aeluyn Covenant? What’s to say the Star Elves won’t take the planet and enslave, or worse, uplift the Xaelith into a power that could one day challenge us?”

  “What do you suggest, Varn?” Ironsides asked, arching a brow. “A preemptive strike?”

  Varn shrugged, sipping from some Lorqa juice. “I’m suggesting we don’t wait until they become a problem. A civilization left alone may take a thousand years to touch the stars—if they possess the aptitude for it at all—but is it so hard to imagine that they could be used as a proxy by another interstellar power? Such as the one on our doorstep? The elves merely have to infiltrate their society, share their technology, and these Xaelith could be building rocket ships within a century. We’d be fools to allow them to claim it. I say we wipe the xenos out from orbit with our corvettes and take the planet for ourselves—we already know it’s suitable for colonization.”

  Claric scoffed, shaking his head. “We haven’t even claimed the system yet, and you’re already planning the extermination of an alien species?” The clone now faced Marcus, giving him a knowing look. “Your excellency, we can study the specimens, just as we did the star elf. Their DNA could hold certain… secrets… that we could benefit from.”

  Extended life… Marcus thought. Claric was looking out for him, remembering their mission. Yes, Claric speaks truly. This Kestral Varn reminded Marcus oddly of Valen with his hawkish behaviour, though he seemed to hold alien life in lesser regard. Maybe that’s just how all those military men are taught. Marcus made a mental note to look at the curriculum being taught in these military academies at a later date. Though, when he thought of it, Den was a military man too, and he was nothing like Valen or Varn. Most curious.

  “I see.” Marcus sipped at his wine, watching the crashing waves through the window as his ministers kept chatting.

  “The question,” Ironsides said, adjusting the golden cufflinks on his tunic, “is whether we will cower at the specter of a race that still wages war with sharp sticks, or use them as an asset. We could wipe them out easily enough, but we could also subjugate them and have them work for us. There is one caveat you seem to be missing, Varn, and it was a point I meant to raise with you in good time, your excellency.” The First Minister turned his attention to Marcus.

  “Oh?” Marcus said, raising a brow.

  “Some of us seem to forget—” Ironsides shot a glance at the War Minister “—that the blueprints for our Quantum Clone Vats have been lost long ago, and we do not yet possess the technology to create new clone vats of such magnitude, nor the quantum code required for their functioning. Neptura has two Quantum Clone Vats to sustain our population, and we have the components for three more that we can construct, which are to be used on new worlds. After that, until such a time we can draft a new design, we will be at a… limit. This is still a distant problem, but I suggest we begin preparing for it now. Five Quantum Clone Vats will maintain a vast population of clones, equating to 100 Populations, but if we are to keep expanding beyond that, we need… new blood.”

  That had been another problem Marcus was confronted with. A clone army who couldn’t build more of their fancy, massive clone vats. Neptura had two currently, and on the planet were the components to build three more, locked away in storage, with all their strange quantum code and genetic blueprints. It was like putting together massive ikea furniture.

  “You suggest enslaving the primitives?” the Grand Admiral asked impassively, giving the slightest nod of approval.

  Ironsides shrugged, raising his arms. “A harsh term but yes. I prefer to say subjugating them.”

  “Ergh…” Kestral Varn gave a dismissive shrug. “We don’t even know what they look like. I prefer the certainty of dominance over the gamble of cooperation.”

  “That’s why you’re a soldier and not a politician.” Ironsides chuckled, drinking the last of his wine.

  As the conversation splintered between the little groups, and other officials stole the attention of his ministers, Marcus took the opportunity to drag Claric to one side regarding their secret little project to extend his life.

  “You have studied the star elf we’re holding, I trust?” Marcus asked, gazing at his faint reflection through the observation glass. “Do you have anything for me?”

  Claric nodded, speaking in a hushed tone. “We’ve concluded our preliminary studies on the Star Elf at the Lysandros research facility.”

  “And?”

  The clone hesitated. “They don’t seem to live much longer than we do, I’m afraid. They live longer than Nepturan clones, yes, but not much longer than a normal, naturally bred human. In fact, the life span is near identical.” He shrugged. “Whatever their small biological differences to us they have, longevity isn’t one of them.”

  His lip twitched, though he tried to hide his irritation. All these fucking fancy yachts and space ships and they can’t figure out how to make me live a few more years? For fuck’s sake! Another dead end, a failed avenue to extend his existence.

  Lest I die and live forever…

  He sighed, rubbing his temple. “Are you certain?”

  “As certain as can be,” Claric replied, stoic. “We can keep studying, but if you’re hoping to merge their DNA with your own, it won’t give you the results you seek.”

  Marcus clenched his jaw, staring at his own reflection in the glass. A thousand more reflections stretched behind him, laughing and eating and drinking. Clones of himself.

  They were all him, yet none of them were.

  For the first time that night, standing at the nerve center of his empire, surrounded by the greatest minds and most powerful men of Neptura, he had never felt more alone.

  What’s the point of building an empire if, upon death, I am to be thrown into another life in which I could be some helpless miscreant, a slave, or worse?