M39.990
-Empty Void, thousand of light years outside the the milky galaxy-
Far from the tumultuous worlds of mankind, beyond the wars of xenos and men, a lone construct drifted in the endless night. It was a space station the size of Terra's moon, its vast hull cloaked against the eyes of the galaxy. No record of it remained in any Imperial archive. No xenos probe or augur scan had ever found it.
It existed beyond notice — ancient, vast, and waiting.
A bastion of mankind's might. A relic of long past era of mankind's glory.
Within one of its countless chambers, a lone figure sat before a flickering cogitator screen. The dim blue glow cast shadows over his face.
A tall, athletic man of Southeast Asian features, with long dark hair cascading over his shoulders and skin unmarred by age. Though he appeared young, his dark eyes held the weight of countless millenium.
His silk robe, crimson and black, bore a name stitched over the left chest: Nusa.
"I knew the entertainment of 2nd Millenium is among the best. So creative, so imaginative."
A faint smile tugged at his lips as pixelated zombies staggered across the archaic screen. His fingers moved deftly over ancient controler.
Pixelated figures shambled toward his avatar, crude zombies crafted from a digital entertainment age long dead. His fingers danced over ancient controls, dispatching the undead with practiced ease.
He smiled slightly as a celebration to the small victory.
Around him, huge piles of manga lay scattered: Naruto, One Piece, Bleach, long-forgotten artifacts of a gentler time.
Stacks of ancient comics series, Marvel and DC heroes all in pristine conditions.
Behind him, Rows of miniature figures — armored warriors, mobile suits, and anime heroines — filled display cases like relics of a priceless museum.
A knock came at the chamber door.
Nusa paused his game with a flick of his wrist. "Enter."
The door slid open, and a small procession entered as the room brightened — butlers and maids of various racial features appears and various ages, immaculate in old-fashioned victorian attire, carrying trays of steaming dishes and bottles of aged wine. Their movements were precise, silent, born of centuries of drilled etiquette.
yet beneath immaculate skin and practiced smiles, augmetic implants and gene-modifications gleamed.
At their head walked an elderly man.
His posture remained unbowed by age, though his lined face and silvered hair spoke of centuries passed. Yet his sharp gaze had not dulled.
"My lord Nusa," the butler intoned, "today's luncheon features Italian cuisine — Osso Buco, saffron risotto, a selection of cheeses, and Barolo wine, vintage M39.043."
Foods and drinks enough for twenty people is prepared on the table.
Nusa smiled faintly. "Smells good, Robert."
The servants set the table, clearing away old comics and data-slates with practiced grace. Nusa rose, stretching languidly, and took his seat at the table as the meal was served.
"Give me the report." Nusa said swirling his wine.
Robert stepped forward, standing before his master.
With a nod as holographic appears between the two. Whenever nusa retreat to his chamber, Robert would be the second highest in command of the base.
"Current population of geneclone on Moon Tear station is 585 million, the gender ratio is stable at 50:50. Military personel is about 5%, staff 24%.... Agricultural yields have dipped by 3.1 percent due to a filtration malfunction affecting oxygen levels in one hydroponics sector. Reserve is more than enough for another decade."
He swipe of his hand, the display shifted.
"We have found a Mercury size asteroid at 98 light years from our current position. We will be sending mining fleet in about three terran days The mass will be broken down to the quark level on a two months schedule for future fabrication."
"Marvelous! with the volume of mass it provides, it is more than enough to recreate another Moon tear and feed another billion."
Nusa jokes as he sips his wine.
"Your foresight in maintaining independent food supplies spares us the indignity of converting stone and dust to bread." Robert smiles following the joking manner.
This interaction is one of the times Nusa enjoys as he feels his humanity
"And the next gen-clone batch?"
"The next batch of gen-clone will be ready in four days. As standard setting they are set at 20 years old, 55 years of lifespan, will enter 2 years of mandatory education and 3 years of vocational education after their skill and talent has appear."
The projection flickered off as Robert finishes his explanation. His hand on his back. Standing at attention
Satisfied of the update, Nusa cut a generous slice of veal, savoring it in silence.
But he could feel it — the weight behind Robert's gaze.
"What is it Robert? It seems there is something you want to say?"
The butler hesitated. His fingers twitched. "If I may, my lord…"
Nusa raised a hand stopping the old butler who has accompany him for the last 300 years.
Two sharp claps echoed in the room. The other servants immediately ceased their duties and filed out without a word, the door sealing behind them.
"I believe… it is time," Robert said at last, placing a hand over his heart and bowing.
Nusa frowned. He set down his fork.
"It has been over one hundred and fifty years since Marina's passing," Robert said softly. "I've lingered long enough. It is time for me to go to her side."
Nusa sighed, running a hand through his hair. Time moved strangely for him.
For him, the years blurred together, and for the last millenium, with his augmentations disabled and his old life simulated, even a century could vanish like smoke.
Truly time passess by quickly when you are having fun.
"Has it really been that long?" he asked quietly.
"It has, my lord. And my son, Martin, stands ready. He has long prepared for this."
Son, a blood descendant. One of the privilige given among extended life span, rejuvenation and even rebirth given only to geneclones who has done more than their duty demand.
They can marry but unable to bear children without certain gene injection, approved only by Nusa. Even then the gene is not inherited thus their children must do as good as their parents.
A small smile touched Nusa's lips. "Martin… I remember the night he was born ."
"He is eager to serve you. Always has been."
A small proud smile appears in the bulter's wrinkled face.