The flight to the clone vat facilities from the central command complex took the better part of the day. He rode in the Grand Archon’s personal stratoship, which was like a personal plane only far quicker and smoother and capable of space flight.

  They soared above the clouds, yet he felt as though he were in a grounded chamber, free from the pull of the spacecraft’s speed. Out of the window, a few clouds dotted the pale, sunkissed sky. Far below, an endless deep blue sea stretched on as far as the eye could see in every direction.

  Marcus gazed in awe at the brilliant fauna that greeted them on the flight here. Huge sky whales with wings twice the size of the largest plane he had ever seen on earth, with bulky bodies and huge orby black eyes, looking something like giant flying manta rays, drifting amidst the clouds. Closer to the water he had seen a massive serpent-like creature diving in and out of the water, with an exoskeleton that looked like ornately carved sharp rocks had been welded to its skin.

  Eventually, a green blanket of land slowly crawled forward, all but replacing the view of the ocean with grass. The stratoship rapidly descended, coming to a halt mid-air above a gargantuan, monolithic complex of black metal buildings, smoking towers, and men swarming about like little ants.

  The stratoship landed with a soft whisper, the faint roar of its engines fading into nothing as the boarding ramp descended. Marcus adjusted the cuff of his uniform, an ink black tunic with trousers to match and a golden eagle pin fastened at the collar. The humid air wafted over him as he and Claric walked out of the ship down the ramp. The scent of chemical smoke invaded his nose. Everywhere he looked, he saw his own face, whether he be refueling the ship or driving a truck around hauling supplies.

  “Welcome to the cradle of humanity, your excellency,” Claric said as they walked off the ramp. “Or one of them, at least.”

  Marcus nodded but said nothing. So this is where they all come from… He hoped it was protected well, else a few missiles could end it all.

  They walked in silence through the sprawling, industrial-like compound, flanked by armoured clone guards escorting them every step of the way. The black metal walls drank in the light of the sun, towers belched steam into the air, and the low rumble of heavy machinery and vehicles sent a dim tremble through the ground as though the earth itself carried a beating heart.

  They walked into one of the rectangular, steel structures, where Claric led him to an elevator that shot them deep beneath the earth. Once down, Marcus was taken to an observation deck high above one of the cloning rooms. It was a vast, dark, gloomy chamber, drowned out by the hissing sounds of industrial machinery. Below, the vats glowed with the pale blue liquid inside them, stretching out into the darkness. Shapes floated within the opaque blue liquid in each vat, indistinct but humanoid.

  “Millions of lives start within these dark halls, their bodies nurtured and grown in perfect harmony with the creator’s design. This process preserves humanity's essence, untainted by the corruption of the old technocrats who ruled Vespera centuries ago.”

  Marcus raised a brow. “Yet they are born of a machine to lead such short lifespans…”

  Claric pressed his lips into a thin line. “Yes. Life is full of these strange contradictions, but we have made our peace with it. At least when they leave the vat, they are pure humans. Their minds are free from the corruption of technology. Better to endure a brief, unaltered, and honourable existence than to become something unnatural.”

  Marcus stepped closer to the glass, peering down at the figures drifting amidst the pale blue fluid. His reflection stared back at him, ghostly and blank. “They are altered, though. You said you genetically modify them to be obedient.”

  The clone shrugged. “The forerunners wanted humanity, but they also wanted a good army. That we are, I am sure of it, excellency. The clones were never bred to replace humanity, only to safeguard it.”

  Marcus studied the vats below carefully. The liquid in the vats rippled every now and then, as though the figures within were restless. “Tell me of these forerunners, then Claric. And of Vespera. Or what you have managed to uncover, in any case.”

  Claric gestured to a console embedded in the glass railing. A flicker of light brought up a dim blue holographic display. The grainy image of a group of men and women with stern, gaunt faces appeared. They wore uniforms adorned with strange, symbolic insignia that Marcus didn’t recognise.

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  “The forerunners, as we call them,” Claric spoke, “were revolutionaries. Survivors of the Great Atomic War that ravaged Vespera. Some say the planet was a paradise, bustling with lively metropolises where the people lived plentiful lives, enjoying vast, lush green nature preserves in their off times. It had oceans similar to that of Neptura, though there was far more landmass to sustain a great civilization. It was the revolution against the technocrats that brought about the Great Atomic War. The forerunners were those revolutionaries that fled Vespera like many other early colonists, taking with them the machinery to construct the clone vats, hoping one day the army they created would return to Vespera to complete the revolution.”

  “So the forerunners started this revolution?” Marcus said. “You keep mentioning technocrats, but I’m not entirely sure what that means. What did they revolt against?” Such knowledge is powerful to me. They may be obedient, but their loyalties can still have flexibility. I need to know how not to piss them off.

  Claric nodded. “Well, as far as we aware, long before the space age, Vespera was ruled by a loosely knit network of Monarchs. As technology progressed, a new technocratic class of oligarchs had usurped the old aristocracy shortly after Vespera’s computer revolution. More and more new technologies started encroaching upon the lives of the people, always sold under the guise of convenience and health while ushering in a tyrannical regime of total control behind the curtains. Then they attacked the very soul of humanity itself with cybernetics. Robotic limbs, organs, and so on. People were happy at first until the cybernetic implants came—neural chips that could hijack one’s brain itself. By fusing flesh with steel, they unraveled the very fabric of what it means to be human—at least in the forerunners’ minds.

  “The technocrats promised a utopia, yet they created a grey, soulless mass of indentured servants to build their empires.”

  “Were the forerunners cyborgs, then?”

  “No,” Claric said. “Many on Vespera refused, almost religiously, to be fused with technology. Although our knowledge of precisely when the revolution began is patchy, we suspect that the technocrats resorted to more authoritarian measures to abolish any free will that remained in humanity. It was this that likely sparked the fuse of the war. The forerunners believed that liberty of the mind was sacred, that nothing should be allowed to ever poke around in there. We do not know who actually triumphed on Vespera because the forerunners left before any atomic weapons flew. We estimate that they had calculated it was coming, and fled to preserve themselves.”

  Marcus’s gaze lingered over the glowing blue vats again. “And what of Vespera, what happened to it?”

  Claric hesitated, then pressed another button on the console. The holographic display shifted, now showing a slowly spinning planet. Its surface seemed covered with thick grey clouds and whirling storms.

  “A radioactive waste,” the clone said. “The planet is still there, obviously, and it is unlikely that human life was eradicated, but it would have set the technocrats back a few centuries as their technology was laid to waste. We know not who even rules the planet today.”

  Marcus watched the display. “If it’s as you say—a nuclear waste—is it even worth going back? Neptura seems a perfectly fine world to me, from what I have seen.”

  Claric glanced at him, and for once there was some uncertainty in his usual calm expression. “But of course. The planet will heal with time, or we can heal it once we retake it. In the grand scheme of things, a nuclear winter is like an inconvenient cold for a planet. It is the sacred homeworld, we must go back.”

  Marcus chuckled, linking his hands behind his back as he paced. “So this is humanity's legacy, ey? Fighting over a shattered planet, with men made of the machines they so hate, scattered amongst stars.”

  “Perhaps, excellency.” Claric glanced at him with an unreadable expression. “Or perhaps it speaks to the resilience of nature. Even in the face of annihilation, we endured.”

  “Hm…” Marcus nodded. “Yes, we are resilient, aren’t we? Where actually is Vespera, Claric? I have not seen it in the times I’ve watched our research craft exploring the neighbouring systems.”

  The scientist scratched his head, looking towards the ground. “That is the trouble… We don’t actually know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know? It’s your home planet, is it not?”

  “The old star maps and any navigation charts from the revolutionary period have been long lost.” Claric held his palms open, shrugging. “There have been vague estimations based on accounts we have heard from old testimonies and personal records. We think it might be somewhere to the galactic west, a little closer to the core than Neptura. But how far, we cannot say. We can only learn more by continued exploration, that will surely light the way.”

  Marcus sighed. “So I have been tasked with finding a planet that we do not know the location of? Brilliant. I should like to learn as much about it as you know.”

  Claric gave a slight bow, and the two walked from the observation deck into the humid, dimly lit corridors below, where the buzzing of the vats drowned out all his thoughts.