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“CAN I HAVE A MOMENT of your attention, my Omnistar Magna?” I ask as I catch up with the Omega cohort. Omnistar Tercius Ulnor stops me before I reach Omnistar Primus or Magna.
“What the hell are you doing?” says Ulnor in my ear, digging his shoulder into my chest, ready to push me and send my flying off.
He’s a Homo perfectus. Thus, much stronger than me. If he wanted to, he could rip my head off. Brandishing a blade, I would defeat him. That isn’t, however, the point of this interception.
I notice Omnistar Magna half notices me. With clear annoyance, he exchanges glances with Omnistar Primus, who nods in return. Omnistar Primus walks towards me and says to Ulnor, “Leave us. All of you. I shall meet with you soon aboard the God’s Torch.”
Ulnor growls at me. His eyes kill me ten times over before he retires with a snarl.
I notice I’ve stopped breathing. This act of mine, this interruption, would’ve been enough to warrant death by beheading on the spot.
“How can I be of service, Alastar Magna?” asks Omnistar Primus, towering over me.
I feel like a prisoner pleading for mercy. “My Omnistar Primus . . . I don’t understand. We’ve conquered the galaxy. The crusade is over. It was a glorious battle. How can it be that so soon after ending one crusade, we’re starting a new one? We already have a whole galaxy for ourselves!”
Omnistar Primus studies me in silence. I feel aware of him scrutinizing every one of my micro-facial movements.
“You should be proud in knowing you will be the leader of our next conquest. Aren’t you exhilarated in joy to find you’ll soon be spilling more xeno blood, feeling the rush of battle?”
I should say yes, that I’m honored to shed more blood as humanity’s Adalid, but it would be a lie. My silence doesn’t seem to bother my superior. He knows me well.
“May I speak freely?”
“Please do,” says Omnistar Primus with a smile.
I fear he knows what I’m about to say.
“Ten thousand years ago, I enlisted in the ÆTAS. I was guaranteed freedom and a paycheck after ten years of service. I know things changed when the Tragalaf invaded Terra. It was because of them that I eventually ended up with this old body . . . thing is . . . I feel it’s about time I get my wish to retire. I’ve been asking for this reward for centuries. I cannot be the leader of the next crusade. I’m old and rusty. I’m no good like this.”
“Well, well. The most celebrated soldier in the ÆTAS has asked for much this time,” says Omnistar Primus.
“It’s my right.”
“Claiming your reward after millennia of service is strange, indeed,” he mocks.
“I’ve requested it before.”
“But you’ve rescinded your request, asking for yet another battle, for more bloodshed.”
“It’s my code of honor, my Omnistar Primus. It’s my duty to finish what I’ve started, to finish the Galactic Crusade. And now I’ve finished it. Plus, I have a duty to my legion. My soldiers need me.”
“Argo Herrero,” he says, calling the dead name I left behind to become Lynx. I get chills. “You were the first supersoldier on active duty. When you were a simple sapien born and bred in the fucking SLAV, you were nothing. You signed a contract, yes, but your body died, and you were transplanted to this new, obsolete thing you are allowed to keep because our superiors find it useful in their marketing campaigns. Understand that when you were transferred to that body, you became military property. You are special because the ÆTAS decided you would be special. That is something that could change like,” and he snaps his fingers. “You completed your missions because they were orders. You decided nothing. Your will did not intervene. You conduct battle because you are a tool of destruction, specialized to pursue a specific task. And the military employs its weapons as it so pleases.”
His eyesight drills my skull. I’m a slave. I always knew it, but I’m chastised and put in my place.
“We’ve summoned you again. Not all of us wanted to. But we did. Some members of the brass thought you’d be the best suited to continue the crusade, now gone intergalactic. In honesty, I think you’re inferior in many ways and should be punished in many other creative ways. And as for you, your Bushido locks you into your place. You have a will, but only to conduct the battle you were ordered to conduct, to organize your legionnaires as you best see fit. But do not mistake that freedom with being free. You are not free, Argo. Remember, you are a tool. And tools have a use. And then they don’t.”
He breathes in and then says, “And don’t give me this bullshit, you do it for your legion, that they need you. They could very well be led by Ogre or Tuigon. You kill because you want to. You get more than pleasure in doing so. So don’t play the martyr.”
“But . . .” I’m trembling, shivering. His words burst the bubble of remorse, of hate and loathing, the barrage of memories I’ve been hanging on for millennia. “This pain . . . I can’t . . . I can’t continue living like this!” I plea. My hands clasp together. I feel the urge to get on my knees. I hold off, knowing it’d be a grave mistake to show such a low sign of submission.
“Emotions are very important, Argo. Those are the ones that hold you fast to Bushido. Without them, you wouldn’t feel the pain you feel, the hate, the unstoppable fury of vengeance when one of your brothers fall. The melancholy you feel comes from being an earthling, an old mind once born in Terra, coming in contact with new technology. You remember too much. We do. In that, we are similar.”
What is this? Is he admitting that he also feels the pain? The longing for a past left underneath the ashes? Did he have a family like I did? Did he have children? A loved one? Who is this Grey Wolf, this Razu Wrath I once knew?
“I know what you’re thinking,” says Grey Wolf. “You think, for the hundredth thousand millionth time, you should take your life.”
“Harakiri,” I mumble.
“Harakiri is allowed to some soldiers who have caused great dishonor to their legion and feel a righteous death is the only way to redeem themselves.”
“And I? Am I allowed? I did kill four Tourists . . .”
“No. You would never be granted such wish.” He smiles. “Suicide without harakiri is unheard of in our ranks. Doesn’t mean soldiers don’t think about it. It means, come the moment to act and slit the wrists or hang from a noose, they find themselves blocked by a reason or another to continue in active duty.” He grins.
I lower my head, unable to sustain Omnistar Primus’s condescending gaze.
“Now, Alastar Magna Lynx, return to your post. Remember the Student of Honor, Zi? He’s on his way to meet you. He has many questions. After you’re done with him, present yourself to Terra. “Your Novasphere needs to be equipped with the latest technology. The newest and finest warp engine created to date. There, you shall unite with your brothers and have a last chat with Omnistar Magna. Now go.” He glares at me, turns around abruptly, and leaves.
“Glory and honor,” I say emptily, raising my right fist.
I’m nothing but another piece on the table of chess that I’m forever condemned to play on. No escape. No remorse. No redemption.
Motherfucking Zi. I hate that student. The last thing I need is meeting him after my soul has been stripped of all hope.
“The student has left the citizen cruiser, The Prelude of Suns,” says Iris. “The transport shuttle will be docking on the nearest hatch to your position in exactly one hour. Be advised.”