Chapter 67
Chapter 67
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 67
Chapter Title: Questions of the Soul
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“Marshal,” Karyan appeared at the door at some unknown point, his tone complicated as he called out.
Celia turned back to size him up, casually pulling a shirt from the stack of uniforms in his hands. He slipped it on without buttoning the top one, then rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. “Where’s that bear?”
“...General Abel is outside dealing with a few senators. Would you like something to eat?”
“No need.” Celia grabbed a pair of military pants next and put them on right in front of Karyan, then walked to the bathroom to pour himself a glass of water and drink it down.
The whole series of movements and his attitude were smooth and practiced, but Karyan couldn’t help feeling a bit awkward. As he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, Celia asked very casually, “By the way, there’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you.”
“W-what?”
“About soul refraction—if the test subject wakes up with memories intact, how do you determine if it’s the real body or a clone?”
Luckily, this question wasn’t too tough, but answering that face was way too much pressure. Karyan leaned against the doorframe like he had no bones left, replying weakly, “Actually... it’s pretty easy to tell. No matter how you swap bodies or edit memories, that core sense of self in the soul doesn’t change. The brain has this subconscious way of knowing if you’ve truly lived those memories. For example, if it’s a clone that wakes up, the first thing it’d say when it sees me is: ‘You’re Karyan?’ Because it doesn’t have that firsthand feel for its own memories. But if it’s the marshal himself waking up, he’d stretch and go: ‘Yo, Karyan!’”
Celia raised his glass. “Yo, Karyan!”
Karyan: “...”
“Speaking of memory edits,” Celia said calmly, taking a sip of water before asking, “Did General Bear tell you on the shuttle that Parliament edited the... original owner’s... memories? Is that another one of Parliament’s tools to control test subjects?”
Karyan fell silent for a few seconds, then shook his head with visible difficulty. “Not entirely. Test subjects are a dime a dozen—they’re only good as decoys, nothing else. What Parliament really wants to control is the real Celia. But the real one’s too hard to deal with, so they came up with using an Omega body, editing memories, and so on, hoping to get back a marshal who’s valuable in all sorts of ways but totally obedient to Parliament.”
Celia nodded thoughtfully. “So why did only I wake up?”
Karyan started playing dumb. “Huh?”
“The Alliance retreated fifty years ago. They must’ve made at least a hundred test subjects in between. Why did only the one you were overseeing wake up?”
“No idea. Maybe good luck—”
“Hm?”
“I’m just a soldier, I don’t get that stuff—”
“Hm?”
“Or dumb luck—” Karyan glanced at Celia’s expression, then went all in. “I really don’t know! Does it even matter now? All the researchers on Red Earth Star died in the bombing. I can’t dig them up and ask one by one!”
Celia arched one eyebrow slightly, fixing Karyan with that trademark subtle look.
The hospital room fell utterly silent, not even a whisper of wind from outside. Karyan’s cheeks trembled faintly from how tightly his muscles were clenched. His feet were even starting to go numb, but he didn’t dare shift his stance.
“Because this experiment was different from all the ones in the past fifty years,” Celia said softly after a long moment, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Because you didn’t edit my memories.”
Karyan’s face changed in an instant.
“What are you two talking about? These researchers need to come in and check the subject’s parameters... oh my god!” Abel burst in with a crowd of geneticists. The moment he saw Celia, his eyes went wide. “M-Marshall!”
“Hello, Mr. Bear.”
“Mr. Bear? My name’s Abel! Oh my god, you’re really—you’ve got to be really—” Abel clutched his eyes and paced the room in two frantic circles, his face a picture of utter chaos. He waved desperately at the researchers. “Hurry up and do all the checks that need doing. Once that’s done, I’ve got to take him to the secure dorms. This afternoon I still have to prep that idiot Senator McKee for the press conference. Oh my god, Karyan, you sure this is a failure? You sure?!”
Karyan looked away, saying nothing.
But Abel was too flustered to notice the answer. The researchers approached to take Celia’s pulse and blood pressure, their hands shaking. The rushed basic checks wrapped up in twenty minutes, and Abel nervously escorted Celia onto a small shuttle, heading toward the dorms.
Only now did Celia figure out what this area was—a residential enclave for Alliance government officials, right next to the government complex. It was much like how Imperial officers clustered across from the palace: tightly controlled, sealed shuttles for travel, hardly any pedestrians on the roads, with top-notch security everywhere.
As a “test subject,” Celia was housed in a sealed dorm building deep in the enclave. Compared to the mighty Empire, the exiled Alliance government was truly down on its luck. Public facilities were visibly outdated and worn, and his dorm was a tiny two-room unit with nothing but a bed and a dining table—no other furniture. The system housekeeper could only handle basic cleaning.
“Is this some ancient Earth-era worker housing?” Karyan wasn’t too pleased.
But Celia took any hardship in stride. He toured the bedroom, even bouncing on the single bed. “Pretty clean, though.”
Abel seemed wary of this Omega who might or might not be the real deal, pretending to study the floor intently. After a moment, he coughed. “Ahem... Tomorrow, Speaker Marcus will come see you. Two days from now, there’s a galaxy-wide press conference to announce ‘the marshal has returned.’ Until then, you can’t wander. I’ve got to put this tracker on you. And here’s a communicator—if you need anything, contact me directly through this.”
Karyan started to flare up again, but Celia shot him a look that shut him down. He extended his hand, letting Abel snap the ring-shaped tracker onto his wrist.
“Who’ll be at the press conference?”
“Parliament and military reps, families of the fallen Glory Legion soldiers, diplomats from other nations, and news media.” Abel paused, his gaze darkening. “Plus some special guests, but the military’s talking to Parliament to keep them out.”
Karyan asked curiously, “Who?”
Abel was about to answer when a distant explosion echoed from outside the window. All three whipped around to see a spatial rift tear open in the distant sky. Several pitch-black beast-shaped flying craft shot out at incredible speed, vanishing instantly into the cluster of Parliament buildings.
Before the two generals could react, Celia turned back, his expression one of perfect understanding. “—Dark Star Hall?”
“Yeah, but how did you—”
“Yunis and Osroed?”
Abel’s mouth fell open, snapping shut a few seconds later. “Y-yes... Yunis and Osroed, probably some other warriors too. Dark Star Hall’s tight with the Konsetlin family. Even Speaker Marcus is under their thumb to some degree, let alone a good chunk of the military brass.”
Celia nodded, falling silent.
As the speaker who led Parliament to surrender to the Empire, Douglas Konsetlin had long stepped down from all public offices. But the family hadn’t retreated from the political center. Centuries of accumulated power let them influence Parliament from every angle, and Marcus—hastily elected as the new speaker after the exile government formed—was naturally under their control.
As for the military brass—Celia had been dead fifty years. Who knew how many purges Parliament had run through the ranks? Besides those with truly stellar war records, how many of Celia’s loyalists could still be left?
Abel didn’t linger long, soon rushing off to Parliament. Karyan followed him out but hesitated slightly at the door, turning back to look at Celia solemnly. “If you want to leave, I can still arrange it now.”
Celia raised a hand to stop him. “Real or not, I’m in Alliance territory now. Instead of helping me escape, help me stay better. Can’t you tell what’s urgent here?”
Karyan wanted to argue, but Celia cut him off firmly. “I know you mean well, but when the nest falls, no eggs survive. In this environment, so-called ‘personal freedom’ is nothing but a pipe dream.”
Karyan had no rebuttal and could only leave the dorm.
The Gryphon light brain hovered by the window, watching him hurry onto the shuttle with pity. “Why does he give off the vibe of a poor kid who lost his mom and got handed off to a stepmom? That life’s gotta suck. Gavin, you beat him up on the shuttle just two days ago, but he’s your own son—how could you do it!”
“...” Celia grabbed the Gryphon by the ear and dangled it in front of his face. “Can you hack the Alliance government’s management system?”
“Sure! But I’m a light brain with ideals and principles! What’re you up to? Peeking at Parliament’s ladies’ room or changing room?”
“You’ve got 300G of porn stashed in the Imperial database—your principles are long gone. Help me monitor Parliament Hall fully. Locate Yunis.”
The Gryphon grumbled, “Can’t touch Phoenix’s little hand, so I gotta kill lonely nights with porn—is that my fault?” as it grudgingly linked into the Alliance Parliament building’s central system. Thanks again to the exile government’s threadbare setup, the 3S light brain Gryphon breezed past the firewall, projecting a dense holographic map of the building’s internals in midair.
“They’re here.” It hopped onto a moving red dot in the network. Then it zoomed in. “See, that’s Alliance Speaker Marcus.”
The holographic projection lit up Celia’s brooding profile. In the image, Yunis, Osroed, and a few other high-rank warriors strode forward arrogantly. A short, pudgy, white-haired uncle trotted alongside, dressed in expensive fabrics but with a cringing posture and fidgety movements. His eyes darted when he spoke, clearly ill at ease.
“...Yes, the gene tweaks are mostly done, but this is just a fairly successful copy... We adjusted the memory frequencies per your suggestion, but for some reason, it woke up with zero memories. No idea if it’ll be controllable...”
“That’s your problem, Mr. Speaker.” Yunis said coldly. “Tweaking memory frequencies doesn’t mess with the soul refraction itself. Didn’t you succeed once in the Venus Fortress battle? The memory edits were lighter then, but the principle’s the same. If it’s not working now, it’s something else.”
Marcus scrunched up his face in distress. “But... what could it be?”
“You’d have to ask yourselves.” Yunis paused, a chilling smile creeping over his pale face. “Maybe the experiment glitched. Maybe the copy’s no good. Or maybe... someone doesn’t want it to succeed...”
“—Who?!” Marcus jumped.
“Still playing dumb with me, Mr. Speaker? Never mind the Celia diehards in the military—Parliament’s full of factions with different views. Some even want to surrender to the Empire as an autonomous system, or migrate to the outer stars and wash their hands of the Empire entirely... Just on soul refraction alone, plenty disagree.”
Marcus’s shock faded, replaced by a strained smile. “Some opinions you have to hear out. A lot of things, even I can’t call the shots—”
“I’d advise you to get your priorities straight, Speaker Marcus.” Yunis halted, turning to loom over him until sweat beaded on the speaker’s forehead. “You wouldn’t be in that seat without Konsetlin family backing, and Douglas Konsetlin is already our loyal, obedient friend. Those dissenting voices in Parliament? You know how to handle them. What matters is Dark Star Hall gets its payoff from this.”
Marcus nodded repeatedly, his fingers twisting together nonstop.
But Celia noticed his fawning smile dim a touch.
“We’ll attend tomorrow’s press conference,” Yunis said coolly, ignoring it. “As for Ophiuchus matters, we’ll discuss after it ends.”
Yunis paid the speaker no more mind, leading his Dark Star warriors straight ahead.
In the feed, Marcus’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment. After a moment, he flung his hand in frustration, looking utterly dejected.
“He wants to sideline the Konsetlin family and latch onto Dark Star Hall’s thigh directly?” The Gryphon bounced eagerly in front of Celia’s nose, smugly guessing. “Yunis snubbed him, so now he hates the Konsetlins?”
“...He’s probably a pacifist.” Celia gently scooped up the Gryphon, eyes thoughtful. “The Konsetlin family’s held the speaker’s seat too long. They want to lead the exiles in a counterattack on the Empire, boosting Alliance status while growing their power—hence needing Dark Star Hall. Marcus just wants a quiet corner to cling to his scraps of authority. Yunis’s words just now were a warning.”
The Gryphon half-got it. “So he doesn’t want you revived...?”
“My revival’s the result of all these factions tangling. His opinion doesn’t matter—he’s just a puppet.”
“Then... what’s with Ophiuchus?” As a former Imperial mech, the Gryphon cared about Imperial turf. It struggled free from Celia’s grip. “Is the Alliance targeting Ophiuchus? Will Dark Star Hall send troops to help? But I don’t get what’s in it for them—the Alliance is broke and chaotic, and Ophiuchus is such a wasteland...”
“Dark Star Hall are political opportunists. They chase bigger gains.”
The Gryphon still didn’t get it, tilting its head with question marks, looking utterly innocent.
Celia didn’t explain further, just tweaking its ear. “Know the most effective way to deal with political opportunists?”
The Gryphon shook its head in confusion.
Celia smiled.
“—Break their political alliances.”
·
Late that night.
The Alliance command base loomed silent and majestic in the darkness, its entrance lined with robotic soldiers, all rifles at the ready, infrared eyes sweeping the night.
A moment later, one robot’s eye light winked out. Its rifle arm drooped with a clank-clank, freezing in place.
The other robotic soldiers triggered emergency protocols, converging to check. But before their central systems could report up the chain, sparks erupted from every robot’s head in a crackling burst. Seconds later, they all stood motionless.
“Outdated Imperial castoffs from twenty years ago...” A light orb drifted down from a roadside tree. The Gryphon sighed. “The Alliance is so broke, so pathetic. Come marry into the Empire already!”
Celia’s eyebrow twitched faintly as he leaped from the tree, landing as lightly as a big cat.
“Good thing I’m with you, huh? What would you do all alone? Get bullied? Eaten by these thirsty Alliance Alphas? See General Aaron’s good side now? He gave up even a smart, beautiful me to help you! Compared to His Majesty chasing you for a romp, the difference is night and day! Touched yet? Huh?! So when are you finally gonna sleep with Aaron?!”
Celia ignored the Gryphon’s mental barrage completely, swiftly dismantling a robot’s head by hand. He yanked the chip from its control core and swiped it on the door lock.
The heavy door whooshed open.
A silver-white metal corridor sloped thirty degrees downward, ending two hundred meters away in a bank of elevators—nothing else. Celia headed for them. But the deeper he went, the more uneasy he felt, a baseless tension and wariness stirring deep in his mind.
“Fine, skip Aaron—marry Phoenix off to me then. Too much to ask? It’s not, right? Okay, if that’s too much, just let me touch Phoenix’s little hand. A lonely mech like me, a century alone, would be thrilled with that... Oh, by the way, Yunis is on sublevel 250. Two-fifty—suits him perfect!”
“Which level’s Barnett on?”
The Gryphon froze. “Who?”
“The high-rank warrior missing an arm, trailing Osroed.”
The Gryphon’s mind filled with question marks—minor character, right? Why’s Gavin asking?
But it dutifully scanned the whole base, then hesitated. “The Dark Star Hall warriors’ guest areas are shrouded in thick fog. Hard to see clearly. Probably same level as Yunis.”
Celia nodded slightly, but that faint oppressive feeling in his chest grew sharper for some reason.
He knew this sensation well. Those who lived and died on battlefields often had an eerily sharp sixth sense for danger.
Some things had to be done, danger or not. Celia’s face was set like stone as he reached the elevator at the corridor’s end and swiped the chip. The doors slid silently open.
—250.
The sealed metal box sank deep underground. As the elevator display ticked upward, that jittery, stifling, nauseating churn in Celia’s core intensified. He dug his nails hard into the web of his hand between thumb and forefinger. In the instant pain strung his nerves taut, the Gryphon went, “Huh?”
“What?”
“...Dunno...” The Gryphon peered around puzzled, then murmured, “It’s weird. There’s... a lot of fog around you.”
The elevator’s lights blazed bright, its mirrored walls clearly reflecting Celia’s face—
His pupils contracted sharply in that instant.
