I didn't respond immediately. My brain was too busy buffering.
"…Uh,"
I said eloquently.
"Possibly?"
She shrugged, unbothered.
"Tch figures, why would you be Interested In a meatbag then you got your own personal moving and talking s*x doll."
Another nodded.
"Lucky you sir, you got what a hundred plus years to have fun as for us expendables we got what three years before we shrivel up like mummies?"
I scratched the back of my head awkwardly, water still dripping down my body, mixing with the rising steam. I didn't know what to say because they weren't wrong.
They were cannon fodder, factory born soldiers with expiration dates baked into their DNA. Three years.
That was the average life expectancy after deployment. It didn't matter how perfect they looked, how sharp they were, how alive they felt. They were never meant to last. Invicta made them that way.
"Yeah… regarding that,"
I muttered, forcing my gaze up toward the fogged ceiling.
"I'll talk to Invi about it. See what can be done."
That made them pause. Then smiles. Genuine ones.
"Damn, you're not half bad, sir,"
One of them said, rinsing shampoo from her hair. Another laughed.
"And here I thought you'd hit us with the classic 'You're just tools, deal with it' speech."
A third offered a half salute with a soapy hand.
"Thanks for giving a damn, even if it doesn't change anything wewe already been genetically modified before we even had a heartbeat,"
Another added.
"And that sir means locked genomes. Any more changes and we turn into soup."
Another one piped up, more upbeat than I expected.
"But hey, silver lining? Our kids, if we have any get a five year give or take life expectancy boost."
That brought on a round of chuckles. Muted. Bittersweet. And then the tone shifted.
"Speaking of kids…"
A mischievous voice purred. One of the female soldiers towel around her neck, sides covering her mountan peaks, hair slicked back, stepped closer, tracing a finger lightly along my bulky pecks down to my ripped sixpack.
"About time we got to the fun part, yeah girls?"
The others whistled, laughed, muttered things I pretended not to hear.
"C'mon, sir"
She grinned.
"You, me and my battle sisters, here and now. Make some elite little supersoldiers. For the future, of course."
My brain short circuited.
"Uhh..."
I started. Then I glanced down. Son of a b*tch. Yep. Parade stance. Locked and loaded. My facial muscles twiched.
F*ck, dadys happy as f*ck that youre working again little fellow, but you chose the worst of times to do It.
I coughed and scratched the back of my head again.
"Yeah. Uh. Look ladies, tempting as that might be, I'm gonna have to pass this time"
She pouted dramatically, fists planted on her hips.
"Tch. That's not what your friend down there's saying."
I looked away, muttering under my breath.
"That's a mutiny I'll deal with later."
Then, louder.
"Anyway, I'm not exactly in the mood. Kinda came out of a tank twenty minutes ago, still mentally processing the fact I saw someone play maracas with my battle brothers ribs."
They all laughed at that. Not cruelly. Just… knowingly.
"Fair enough, sir,"
One of them said with a smirk.
"Rain check, then."
I turned around, voice dry.
"I'll add it to the apocalypse calendar."
And with that, I grabbed a towel and walked out still dripping, still processing, and now somehow more exhausted than before I got in the shower.
I made it halfway to the exit before I stopped dead in my tracks. Oh. Right. I looked down. Still butt n*ked. Still locked and loaded.
Except now? After all the augmentations, I wasn't packing an above average sidearm anymore. I was lugging around a fully upgraded anti materiel rifle.
"F*ck…"
I muttered, palming my face.
"I can't just strut through the halls like this. Even I'm not that thick skinned."
And right on cue.
"Need some clothes, dearest hubby?"
I turned around to see Invicta leaning casually against the wall, a folded set of black space uniform draped over her arm. Her eyes slid down like a slow scan from a corrupted AI camera.
"Not bad. Not bad at all Drac"
She said, voice smug as hell. I snatched the clothes from her hands without a word, pulling on the compression boxers first, followed by the fitted uniform piece by piece, combat trousers, undershirt, jacket, gloves. The gear hugged my body like it was tailor made. Which it probably was.
"Thanks,"
I muttered as I zipped the top half shut.
"No problem,"
She chimed sweetly, still grinning like a cat that had just peeked into the dog kennel. As we walked out of the shower block together, I cleared my throat.
"Hey… anything you can do about the clones' lifespans?"
She blinked at me, then gave a lazy shrug.
"Nope. The only solution would be cloning new bodies under a normal growth cycle and transferring their consciousness Into them"
I looked at her sidelong.
"So why not just do that?"
She snorted.
"Because it doesn't work. Trust me, I've tried it. The moment their minds realize they've been displaced, they start falling apart. Emotionally. Mentally. Within a week they turn into drooling husks with empty eyes and a craving for wall paint."
"Mechanical or synthetic replacements?"
"Same sh*t, different packaging,"
She muttered.
"Something goes wrong every time. They lose… something. Best word you meatbags have for it is probably soul."
I went quiet. That was a word I didn't like thinking about. After a moment, I sighed and said.
"Can you at least try again? Run some new variables. You never know, this time might be different."
She gave me a long, unreadable look, then sighed too.
"Yeah, sure. Why not. I'll just slap a quantum brain scanner on their heads and start continuous mapping. Maybe this batch will surprise me."
We reached a corridor junction a clone technician saluted as we passed.
"Thanks, Invi,"
I said quietly. She nudged me with her elbow.
"Don't mention it, meathead. Just try not to die before I can figure out how to preserve your soul or whatever"
I gave her a half smile.
"Deal."
Then we continued to walk and before I realized It we arrived at a train station, the doors whooshed open as Invicta and I stepped onto the smooth chrome tiled platform.
A sleek black mag-lev train sat docked like a silver bullet waiting to be fired. Clones milled about engineers, tech crews, armed escorts all going about their business like it was just another Tuesday.
Invicta led the way, hands behind her back, hips swaying with mechanical precision as she strutted across the platform in that smug way of hers.
"Where are we going?"
I asked, glancing around.
She glanced over her shoulder and grinned.
"It's a surprise."
That set off a quiet alarm in the back of my head, but I followed anyway. Because of course I did. We boarded the train, took seats in what looked like an officer's cabin soft synthetic leather seats, a crystal clear screen showing hangars and corridors blurring past as the train launched forward with barely a whisper.
I leaned back. Something had been nagging at me since I got back on my feet.
"So, uh... not to be rude or anything, but since you need a train onboard a spaceship just how big is your real body then, exactly?"
Invicta turned to me and gave me the stink eye.
"You know thats the same as asking a woman how much she weights?
Only to blink innocently the next second.
"Tch Im just messing with you Its thirty two kilometers."
I choked on absolutely nothing after hearing the number.
"H... How long?"
"Thirty two kilometers,"
She repeated without missing a beat.
"That's f*cking long, but again I guess It has to be so long In order to acomadate an extra one million people"
I muttered trying to make sense of it.
"Wait, then how the hell do you plan to lift off? That thing's practically a floating continent!"
She just grinned, completely unbothered.
"I come equipped with anti gravity generators, darling. Afterburners too, if I need a little extra kick in the ass."
I rubbed my temples.
"That… that explains exactly nothing and also somehow makes it worse. You're a flying superweapon the size of a small city."
She nodded cheerfully, then frowned, her tone suddenly pensive.
"Anyways it's weird. Some of the tech built into me is clearly black tier stuff that should be impossible. But then other systems are clunky. Primitive, even. Like they were added later. Honestly, sometimes I look at myself and think…"
She pouted.
"Just what the hell were my creators thinking?"
I tilted my head.
"You mean you don't know who built you?"
She shrugged and looked out the window.
"Nope. Memory's fuzzy before I became self aware. Just fragments. Orders. System prompts. Ancient code with no labels. Whoever they were... they didn't stick around long enough to explain."