I, Synthorg: Synthorg Marines book 1, page 4
The galaxy filled with green and white dots. The orange spots were few and far between, mainly confined to the periphery of the galaxy. I didn’t see many reds.
“See how the situation has changed over the last two decades,” Vlasto said.
More and more green dots turned white, then orange. The reds cropped up here and there, mainly in the west and the east. A dangerous concentration of orange and red spots formed between the southern border of the Empire and the northern border of the Coalition.
Vlasto’s demonstration achieved the desired effect. Although all the marines still stood at attention, I could sense their unease. Their eyes ran from one end of the 3D map to another. Every one of those millions of dots on the map was a world with a sizable human population. A quick calculation showed that our allies were facing a trillion potential enemies.
However, I noticed another striking change. The Coalition had grown by over 50% in just two decades, in terms of the number of worlds it controlled. That was a huge increase. The more it grew, the more enemies it had.
A war was brewing. A war on a galactic scale.
“As you can see, our human allies are threatened from every direction,” Vlasto resumed. “We are the guardians of galactic peace; therefore, it is our duty to neutralize the threats as they arise, before the situation degenerates into an open war. To fight those new threats, we need new weapons. We also need to work more closely with the Coalition.”
Here we go. That’s what yesterday’s maneuvers were all about.
“The real-life arms test we carried out on Phlegethon was strategically important, as it showed to our allies that the imperial comsynts can operate effectively using human gear and combat vehicles. I know that the casualty rate was unusually high, but the sacrifices of your fellow marines were not in vain.”
Vlasto stepped toward Sam. “For his excellent leadership skills, Sergeant SCM-465 was promoted to centurion with the rank of secundus.”
As etiquette required, Sam pressed his right fist against his chest in an impeccable imperial military salute.
Now Vlasto turned around and strolled to me, ire brewing in his steel eyes. “And you, Corporal RGS-358. In your opinion, what am I going to do with you? Care to say something in your defense?”
I bravely met his gaze but remained mute. The legate was so close that I could smell his fragrance. The Venatici never use perfume or aromatic body lotions, because their skin naturally exudes a scent they find pleasant. That’s just one of the perks of being a genetically engineered deity. Vlasto’s scent made me feel cold, as if the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped.
“Come on, corporal.” His thin eyebrows moved closer together. “Surely you have an explanation as to why you disobeyed my direct order.”
“Milord,” I said blankly, “there is nothing I can say in my defense. My life is yours to dispose of as you will.”
“Indeed, it is,” Vlasto hissed. “You’re wondering why you haven’t been deactivated and recycled yet. Oh, nothing would give me more pleasure than to cut off your stubborn head and throw it in the recycling bin. The problem is—I can’t. Your name is on everyone’s lips in the capital. The Hero of Phlegethon, they call you. The one who did the impossible and won what many had believed to be an unwinnable scenario.”
I was so dismayed with what the legate had said that I didn’t know how to react. Was I supposed to thank him for sparing me? Was I supposed to feel joy or pride?
In truth, I was terrified. Not by what would happen to me, but by the fact that I—a synthorg—had lost the comfort of anonymity, and nothing in my training had prepared me for that.
Vlasto slammed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it hard. “Corporal RGS-358, I hereby promote you to the rank of staff sergeant.”
I clenched my jaws and gave him the imperial salute, still holding his gaze.
“Congratulations, sergeant. There is, however, one issue we need to deal with,” he added. “Do you know the meaning of the word decimate?”
“It means kill or destroy a large proportion of something,” I replied.
“This word also has another meaning.” Vlasto’s eyes were two narrow steel slits surrounded by darkness. “It means kill one in ten soldiers as punishment for the whole unit.”
He drew a thermal dagger from a sheath on his belt and pointed it at me. I felt the searing heat on my face coming from its blade.
“Your disobedience must be punished.”
He thrust the blade into Rabbit’s neck.
I bit my tongue to stifle a scream.
Vlasto did not withdraw his dagger immediately. He watched as life receded from my friend’s eyes, watched with mild curiosity and detachment.
Rabbit’s body shook and jerked as if being electrocuted. No blood poured from the fatal wound, as the blade was so hot that the wound was instantly cauterized. His agony didn’t last long.
His eyes, now dead, stared heavenward. I hoped the last image witnessed by my friend was not the face of his executioner, but the heavens promised by his religion. I couldn’t imagine what that might be, I only hoped that, whatever it was, the sight was beautiful.
The legate withdrew his dagger. His free hand reached into the pocket of Rabbit’s uniform and pulled from it a small data stick. He threw the stick on the ground and smashed it with his boot.
“I will not tolerate sedition!” Vlasto yelled. He stepped back and slowly turned his head, his glare sliding from one marine to the next. We all held our breaths, wondering who the next victim of our master’s wrath would be.
Where did Rabbit find this data stick?
Any reading material considered seditious by the imperial authorities was strictly prohibited on Venatici warships. That included most religious texts. Maybe Rabbit had found that stick during one of our ops? At any rate, synthorgs were seldom terminated simply for possession of prohibited reading material. They could be punished or sent on what our masters called a reeducation course, but executions were rare. Synthorgs with combat experience were too valuable to be summarily terminated, especially biotechs.
A bitter taste filled my mouth when I glanced at my friend’s lifeless body, still standing at attention next to me. He’d been executed because of me, because of my disobedience. I’d failed to save Tess, and now I’d lost him, too. My comrades would resent me for that. I wished the legate would have taken my life instead. I’d never felt more despondent and lonely.
“I am your god!” Vlasto roared. “You do not need any other gods. Obedience to me and the Empire is your only creed, your only religion. Is that understood?”
“WE FIGHT AND DIE FOR THE GLORY OF THE EMPIRE!” we shouted in chorus.
“Good.” Vlasto sheathed his dagger and added in an appeased tone, “Glad we cleared that up. Your centurions will continue the debriefing. I have urgent business to tend to.” His glare returned to me. “And you, hero, prepare for the trip. I am taking you to Erebo Caelis.” He said the word hero with such disdain that it might as well have been traitor.
My journey to the heart of eternal darkness was about to begin.
Part Two: Eternal darkness
07. Temptations
The journey to the capital world of the Empire would be a long one. Vlasto ordered me to report to his personal ship, the ISS Dromon, moored at one of the hangars of the Gravitas. I emptied my locker into a briefcase—not that I had many possessions—and proceeded to the nearest autopod terminal.
On Gravitas, autopods were spherical vehicles designed to transport up to four individuals to any part of the mega-carrier using the maglev system. It took only minutes for my autopod to reach the dock. There, a familiar sight unfolded before me.
Dozens of spacecraft of different sizes towered above me, maintained in place by magnetic arms. Their noses were pointed up, toward the hollow center of the Gravitas. That may seem counterintuitive at first, but logical, when you think about it. Inside the mega-carrier, artificial gravity—or rotational gravity, to be more precise—was achieved through centrifugal force, as the whole station spun on its axis.
Most spacecraft, however, were not big enough to generate rotational gravity. Don’t believe the rumors that the Venatici are so advanced that they had conquered gravity—on our master’s ships, artificial gravity was achieved through acceleration, exactly like on human ships. A constant acceleration creating a force of one gee allowed the crew to stand comfortably on the floor. Thus, the ships were designed as towers, the bottom being the rear part and the top being the nose.
The Dromon was a small command ship, a pocket cruiser. It was only about 250 meters in height—as opposed to 500 to 600 meters for regular cruisers—but it offered an excellent compromise between speed, maneuverability, and survivability.
I raised my eyes and admired the aerodynamic shape of the craft as I strode to the gangway. As with most Venatici warships, the Dromon was black, and its surface provided only dim reddish reflections.
Two comsynts guarded the entrance. They gave me the imperial salute as I approached. My uniform sported one large silver and one thin gold stripe on each shoulder to indicate my new rank.
The gangway led me to the lower levels of the Dromon. I’d never been on a command ship. Its décor presented a striking difference from the other warships: red carpets, marble floor, expensive holo-paintings on the walls.
My HUD informed me that I had my own cabin. I should have felt pride, but instead this only accentuated my feelings of loneliness and isolation. I feared that my new rank—and the way in which I’d obtained it—would alienate me from my fellow comsynts.
I reached the central shaft that ran through the entire ship. I had a choice between elevator cabins and cylindrical autopods, the latter having been designed to carry one person at a time. I assumed the elevators were for our masters and other VIPs, so I stepped inside one of the claustrophobically narrow autopods. When the door materialized, I felt like I was being buried alive in a transparent coffin.
Solidified rather than materialized would be a more scientifically appropriate term. The Venatici used metastable materials for their buildings and their crafts, materials that could instantly transition from one state to another. A solid could turn into liquid or a gas, then shift back to its previous state. On a Venatici ship, doors did not open and close—they de-solidified and re-solidified.
The autopod quickly brought me to the deck where my cabin was located and released me. As I stepped out, I came face to face with Vlasto. He wore a black doublet with breeches and was holding a glass of red wine between index finger and thumb.
“Welcome on board, Sergeant Reggs,” he greeted me with a smirk. He seemed to be in a joyful mood. “How do you like my ship?”
I saluted him. “Magnificent ship, milord.”
“I hope you’ll find your quarters to your liking.” He giggled.
I wondered how many drinks he’d had since the debriefing.
“How can I serve you, milord?” I asked.
“Oh, don’t worry.” He waved his hand in a manner I found a bit too effeminate for an officer of the Empire. “You won’t have anything to do during the trip. Maybe you could entertain me with some of your war stories?”
“Entertain?” I stared at him blankly. “Does milord find mission reports entertaining?”
He gave another high-pitched giggle and took a sip from his glass. “I’m happy I spared you, Reggs. We’ll have lots of fun together, you and me. I don’t give a damn about your reports. I want to hear stories. Anecdotes. You know, things that aren’t in the reports.”
I still stood at attention, wondering what my master wanted from me. “I assure you, milord, that our reports are complete and totally accurate. We do not keep anything out of the official documentation.”
Vlasto pouted. “Reggs, you have to work on your social skills. You’re as serious as a mortician. But don’t worry, we’ll work on that together. You know that your duty is to protect me, right?”
“I would give my life for milord,” I replied stiffly.
“Of course you will. But your duties also include preventing me from dying from boredom!” He giggled again and turned his back to me. “See you later, Reggs. Come to my quarters when you’re done unpacking your things.”
Understanding that I’d been dismissed, I proceeded to my cabin. Although it was rather small and contained nothing but a stasis pod, a desk, and a locker, I found these accommodations incredibly luxurious for a synthorg. I unpacked my meager belongings, put them away neatly in the locker, and went to my master’s quarters.
Meanwhile, the Dromon had taken off. The departure was so smooth that all I felt was a slight fluctuation in the force of the vessel’s artificial gravity. I connected to the feed of one of the external cams of the ship to see what was going on.
Gravitas was quickly moving away. It looked like an immense slate-gray doughnut dotted with white and red lights. The Dromon was speeding toward the nearest star, all its thrusters blazing blue.
I activated the 3D map of the ship on my HUD. Vlasto’s quarters were on the same deck as mine. Actually, they took up most of the deck. I strode to the entrance doors. If the décor in the rest of the ship was luxurious, my master’s quarters were even more opulent by comparison. Here everything sparkled with gold, platinum, and precious alloys. I barely dared to walk on the expensive red carpet that covered the floor.
And that was just the atrium.
Vlasto’s majordomo, a middle-aged male human, ushered me to the spa room, where our master was sitting in a hot tub, surrounded by four young females. Two of them were human, and the others synthorgs, pleasure models.
“Reggs!” Vlasto greeted me, raising his glass. This time, he was drinking champagne. “Care to join us? There’s plenty of room for one more!”
The females smiled at me suggestively and giggled. Although I was not designed to feel lust, I could tell they were all very attractive.
“Milord is too kind,” I said blankly. “Forgive me, but I cannot accept your generous offer. That would be inappropriate for a comsynt.”
Vlasto shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Your loss, sarge. The water is delightfully warm. You’re sure you don’t want to drink or eat something?”
He gestured toward a buffet that overflowed with exotic fruit and treats brought from all over the galaxy. The majordomo stood at attention next to me, ready to satisfy my every desire. The very idea that a human could service a synthorg was barely conceivable. It felt very wrong. Besides, I wondered why Vlasto employed humans when he could afford to buy as many synthorgs as he wanted.
“No, thank you, milord,” I replied politely, but firmly. “I already consumed a ration pack today.”
Vlasto took a sip of champagne and licked his lips. “Again, your loss. This giggle juice comes straight from the vineyards of the eastern continent of Altarn. The best alcoholic drink in the galaxy.”
He paused and stared at me with a sly smirk. “What do you do for fun, Reggs?”
“I clean my weapons and my gear, milord.”
Vlasto erupted in laughter, and his female companions imitated him in unison. “Oh, what an exciting life!” my master exclaimed. “But, seriously, don’t tell me you’ve never tried something more…spicy during your missions on human worlds? You know you’re fully equipped for that, right?”
He gave me a wink, and the girls looked at me with unapologetic interest. I’d never given it any thought, but apparently human females found me attractive.
“I see, duty first.” Vlasto shook his head, as if he were slightly disappointed. “Well, now that you’re not on duty, you might give it a try. Lots of choice here—an entire deck filled with chicks from different species.”
I didn’t know what reply to offer my inebriated master, so I opted for silence.
“You know, Reggs, you might think I have a perfect life here, on board my ship. But I’ll tell you one thing. Ever heard the expression: the sword of Damocles hanging over your head? No? The story goes like this.”
He clapped his hands. The girls obediently got out of the hot tub and scuttled to the exit. They wore bikinis that left little to imagination. One of the human girls had bruises on her thighs. The majordomo followed them and the doors re-solidified behind him.
“Dionysius was a king of the Ancients, our distant ancestors,” Vlasto resumed. “Damocles was one of his courtiers. Once, Damocles exclaimed that Dionysius was truly fortunate, as the king had power and authority and lived in opulence. Dionysius only smirked and said, ‘You want to get a taste of my life as a king? Let’s switch places for a day.’ But when Damocles agreed and sat on the king’s throne, he realized that a huge sword was hanging above his head, suspended by a thread. Suddenly, the courtier was no longer so envious of his king’s fortune.”
Vlasto tossed back the contents of his glass and threw the expensive flute against the wall. The glass shattered into myriad tiny crystals. He stared into my eyes.
“Want to trade places, Sergeant Reggs?” he yelled. “Wanna know how it feels to be a supposedly immortal deity? Imagine a hundred invisible swords all around you. Any one of them can strike you down at any time. My food and drinks are scanned on a molecular level for poison. Every servant goes through high-level security screening before setting a foot on my ship. And what about my brethren? Have you seen any other Venatici on board? No, you haven’t, because I bloody don’t trust anyone!”
He slouched in the hot tub and set his hands on his head, as if wanting to protect it from invisible objects falling upon him. I stood still, waiting for him to calm down.
“My father is among the most powerful beings in the galaxy,” he said in a more appeased tone, although his voice was slightly trembling. “Maximian Vlasto. I’m his greatest disappointment. I’ve been stuck in a low-level position for two centuries. Unable to move up the ladder. That’s why I drink and bang whores. To forget that I’m a failure.”
