Letting the neuralink transport his mind into the cybernetic bird's eye view of the galaxy he was so used to, he checked where they were at:
- Power Units: 483 +38 (Vesperan Standard Monthly Gain)
- Raw Materials: 19 +47
- Food: 1.6K +15
- Heavy Compounds: 148 +18
- Consumer Goods: 57 +24
- Research Points: +66
- Cohesion: +258
The Consumer Goods issue had been resolved as the construction of the Manufacturing Facilities on Neptura was now complete. For the time being, he would not need to worry about it, allowing him to focus on further expanding his economy and military.
The next key issue was the sustaining of the new colony, The Creator’s World. The initial clone settlers would last around fifty years, give or take, but without means of reproduction, they would simply die off.
Neptura had the material and parts to create three more of the Quantum Clone Vats, but Marcus needed to plan for the future in this regard. It would be unwise to use all three on the new colony, only for it to be flooded with an excess of clones while preventing them to colonise and sustain new worlds.
For now, he would only erect one Quantum Clone Vat on the new colony, allowing it to grow the clone population at a manageable rate. For this, however, he needed 600 Raw Materials. So, noticing that he had a massive stockpile of food, he sold 1000 units of Food and 100 units of Heavy Compounds (which were far more valuable) and used the remaining Power Units to buy 500 Raw Materials. Then, he clicked onto The Creator’s World and commissioned the construction of the Quantum Clone Vat. To ship over the components from Neptura, dig out the building site, and put them together like a gargantuan construction project of Ikea furniture, it would take one standard Cycle.
Using the time dilation in the GCI, he sped up the ninety day journey back to Neptura. He unplugged himself as the stratoship slipped into Neptura’s atmosphere.
As he left the room, First Minister Ironsides caught Marcus as he made his way back to the main quarters of the ship. “Your excellency,” the clone said. “One of our diplomats has come back with a troubling report from the latest dialogue with the Aeluyn Covenant.”
“Oh?” Marcus frowned. “What is it?”
The clone’s eyes darted from side to side in the flash of a second, betraying his anxiety. “I think it would be best discussed in a council meeting, excellency.”
Marcus nodded. “Very well. Let’s all convene in the throne room, then. That will allow us to get into a fresh set of clothes and catch our breath, ey?”
“Yes, your excellency.” The First Minister saluted and hurried off.
They convened in the throne room, bathed in morning light, as soon as they were able. Marcus leaned back on the throne as his ministers took their seats, his fingers drumming against the armrest as he wondered what this new development could be.
The holotable flickered to life, displaying before them the translucent, crisp image of a star elven diplomat. His mantle golden, beneath which flowed immaculate green robes. A strange, curved golden headband held back his short lilac hair, and those twinkling eyes full of venom stared them all down.
“We want an end to this farce,” the elf said. “We have asked, we have waited, and yet you still hold one of our own with impunity. We know not if the citizen you abducted even still lives. Do not mistake our patience for weakness, human. Nor our mercy for cowardice. Let us remind you, ‘Grand Archon,’ of what you truly are.
“You, a child playing at kingship, command nothing but a pale imitation of an empire. Your kind crawls through the dark recesses of space, scavenging the remnants of a war you did not fight, grasping for a power you did not earn. You wear the name of a ruler, yet your throne is but a fragment of a forgotten machine. You are a relic of an age that has long since crumbled.”
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A strange star map then materialized behind the emissary, its golden pathways connecting countless systems, far larger than Neptura’s domains, like a vision of the past carved into light.
“We were once the Golden Covenant, the architects of unity and guardians of the stars. Our fleets spanned the heavens, and our cities gleamed with the light of our sacred faith. Time may have taken much from us, yet even now, we endure.
“But what are you, Grand Archon? A whisper. A footnote in history. The corpse of an empire that never was.”
The star map behind the emissary shifted, the once-glorious domain reduced to a few fragmented territories littered across the vast recesses of the galaxy.
“Return our brother to us, or the embers of our past will become the fire that consumes you.”
The transmission cut there, and the hologram fizzled out into nothing, leaving the room in a heavy silence.
“They still haven’t lost their flair for theatrics, have they?” Marcus chuckled, but he found his fingers tapping faster against the armrest. The threat felt as though it was suffocating him, though he dare not show it. Are they preparing to attack? Could they have built up their fleet to surpass our own?
Ironsides straightened himself on his seat, arms crossed over his chest. Whilst he maintained his usual calm, his expression had hardened. “We expected a response, but this…” He shook his head. “This is a declaration of intent, your excellency. Intent for war.”
Den, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, war medals twinkling under the light, snorted. “A declaration of arrogance, more like. The projection is laughable. ‘The corpse of an empire that never was,’ are we? Yet what are they? After all, he had just gloated about how great they used to be, not now. They’re trying to shame us into compliance.”
The War Minister leaned forward, studying the star map projection still hovering in the air between them. “The Grand Admiral raises a good point. They’re invoking their past as a means to justify their future. If they still see themselves as this ‘Golden Covenant,’ they believe the stars belong to them. Our stars. They won’t stop at their borders. Even if we did return their captive, what’s to stop them from demanding we cede territory next?”
Claric tapped his fingers against the table, his brow furrowed in thought. “There is something to be said about their confidence, though. This Golden Covenant, according to our studies, truly was a magnificent empire once. Long before we ever left Vespera’s orbit. Should they still hold any remnants of that power…”
“They don’t,” Den snapped. “We already proved that when we held them off in the Eryndal System.”
“Barely…” Claric shot back. His words lingered in the air.
The council waited, all eyes on the Grand Archon. Of course, they couldn’t give the prisoner back. He was their leverage, they would look weak, and it could still be studied, for what it was worth.
His first battle had ended indecisively, an important lesson, and now a second confrontation looked to be looming before him. A real, genuine, interstellar war… Marcus shuddered at the thought.
In the event of war, Neptura would either emerge as a rising power to be respected, or nothing but a shattered dream.
This was no longer about a prisoner, it was about power.
He could laugh it off, dismissing their arrogance as the desperate clawing of a dying empire of a people full of longing because they had once commanded the stars. Refusing to engage could show that Neptura would not even take their threat seriously, declaring themselves to be the future in a similar display as what the Xel’Rai Celestium had done to them.
But to ignore the insult, however, also risked underestimating them. Marcus did not know how strong they truly were, and they surely had not been sitting idle this entire time after that skirmish. It could still be possible that this was not a bluff. If we strike first and hard, we shall erase any doubt about Neptura’s place in the galaxy. The prisoner would remain with them, squeezed for every piece of intelligence he was worth, and the Nepturan fleets would fly to war. No negotiation, no diplomacy. Just fire and ruin.
But we still aren’t ready, dammit! They still needed more ships, they needed to divert more resources to military production rather than economic output. But it just may be the case that the time had finally come. Marcus straightened, letting a slow smile creep upon his lips.
“They think they can shame us into submission,” he spoke with a cold tone. “That by invoking their past, they can cow us or make us doubt ourselves.” He shook his head. “But I don’t see an empire reclaiming its birthright. Nothing ever comes back from the dead. I see a dying order, desperate to remind the stars of what they once were.”
He let the words sink in before continuing. “But we are not a whisper in history or a fallen empire. We are an army. We are the future, and the future doesn’t beg for recognition, it seizes it.”
Ironsides folded his arms, his expression stoic, but he did not say anything. For once, the voice of peace and caution was silent. Varn, as expected, gave a sharp nod.
Claric raised a brow. “And what of the prisoner, your excellency?”
“We keep him, obviously,” Marcus said. “They want him back for whatever reason, so let us keep him. It might buy us some time. If they were in a position of confidence, they’d have just taken him by force instead of giving us this pathetic display. Or they can offer us something in return.” He turned to Ironsides. “Prepare our diplomats. If these elves want to talk, we let them, but only on our terms. Buy us time, Ironsides. Stall them.”
The First Minister nodded. “Yes, excellency.”
Marcus then shifted his gaze to the Grand Admiral. “The time is coming. Den, the fleet is to begin immediate expansion. I want new ships built, I want new armies in orbit. I want to make sure we never come close to a stalemate again.”
“What if they attack first?” Kestral Varn said.
Marcus smirked. “Then we make them regret it.”