An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Haven’t updated this fic since may. Now that the series is concluded and this fic has been an AU ever since season 4, I felt like it wasn’t relevant anymore. But a reader messaged me expressing that they still had an interest. So...
Here’s an update! :D
Nobody ever read-in Lonnie, Kyle and Rogelio on Horde Prime and the space Horde, so when Glimmer and Adora tell them about it they’re just like
Meanwhile, Entrapta returns to the Crypto Castle to learn that Hordak has left while she was gone. She’s sad, but she always knew this was coming and she hoped he happy.
Scorpia invited Dak to come with them to the rest of the Princess’ kingdoms to help Entrapta build weapons to fight Horde Prime and Dak is overjoyed at the opportunity to spend more time with their mother.
[no image, because OC]
And, aboard the Velvet Glove, Hordak had been stripped of his name and returned to his serial number. But he still wants to know the truth about his old mentor, so he helps Skeletor steal a ship and escape.
(( It’s SPOP Hordak, I just don’t have a picture of him with Skeletor because Skeletor doesn’t exist in SPOP. ))
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
This chapter is short and a mess. It doesn’t flow right. I’m pretty sure there are like, million logical errors, and the transitions between the flashback and present don’t feel organic.
But I updated!
And that’s what’s really important, right?
...
A holo-screen, no larger than a standard issue datapad was projected from the armrest of Red Hord’s throne. It should have displayed readouts of the rift. Projecting energy readings from the special anomaly, radiation levels, temperatures, gravitational forces if it had any. Instead, the display was taken up entirely by the face of Hordwing.
“Maintain communications as you pass through.” He was saying.
Red Hord only rested his chin on his fist and allowed his fellow cabinet Lord to voice his concerns as if they were advice from a senior colleague. They couldn’t show it, not in front of brothers of lower rank, but Hordwing was worried about him. Hordwing didn’t want him to go to a shadow dimension they knew next to nothing about that had already trapped one of their brothers since his disappearance.
But, their Emperor, no, their Brother, had ordered Red Hord to go, so he must go.
That did not mean that Hordwing had to be happy about it.
“And be sure to send a signal through the rift every six hours so that the rest of the fleet can monitor your progress.”
“Out of curiosity, if the rift snapped shut behind me and I was trapped in there with Hordak, what could you do?” Red asked him. Equal parts annoyed by the other man’s hovering, and genuinely wanting to know what Wing thought he could do.
Hordwing only frowned at him.
Red Hord smirked back. He liked pointing out to the older man when he was being absurd. It made for a fun dynamic to their relationship.
“Just keep the com open for me.” He growled. Then, in a softer tone, so that only Red Hord could hear, he repeated. “For me, Red.”
With a sigh, Red Hord did leave the com channel open. He leaned back in his throne. “Helm, take us through the rift. We might all go to join the Host, let’s not arrive there an embarrassment.”
“When we go to the Host we’ll go together, Red.” Wing reminded him. “You’re not allowed to die without me.”
“You’re not allowed to choose when I die, Wing.” Red hissed back, keeping his voice down so that none of his own crew could hear him. “Only our Brother may choose when we die.”
Every single screen on the bridge –discounting the one Lord Hordwing was on- displayed the rift. From all different angles. Allowing for wide shots of its complete length and width, with measurements on its size, to close up images where one could see the small details of the fabric of space torn and tattered like actual fabric. Threads and strands of reality irradiated and glowing, drifting on the fluctuations of power that held the rift open.
As the Leather Vest drew closer, the readouts changed to data on their ship. Course heading, hull integrity, radiation shielding. Several alerts climbed into the yellow as they drew nearer. When the nose of the ship passed through, everything went to read. Temperature rising, hull plates heating, radiation shielding weakening. A few of Red’s bridge crew looked back at their Lord, silently asking for permission to turn back.
But, Prime ordered them into the breach. So, into the breach they would go. Come high water or the All High Host.
“Continue on heading.” He commanded.
“What is it?” Demanded Hordwing over the com. He could hear the alerts over the channel, but was not at an angle where he could see anything on the bridge. “What’s wrong.”
“Nothing I imagine isn’t perfectly normal for passing between dimensions.” Red Hord growled. It was kinda nice that Hordwing wanted to maintain radio contact and make sure Red was okay. But did he really have to be so annoying about it? Red Hord wasn’t a hatchling fresh out of the tank! He was a Lord, promoted by Horde Prime himself same as Hordwing. He didn’t need one of his older brothers looking out for him.
The ship gave a shudder as it passed all the way through the rift.
Hordwing’s image on the com screen went fuzzy for a moment. His voice breaking up. “You alri- -Red? –Respond- -what- -appened, Red Hor-?”
The bridge crew scrambled to assess any possible damages. Hull integrity, atmosphere leakage, nitrogen levels. Anything that could indicate fatal damage to the ship. Everything came back just within acceptable limits. A little high. Definitely undress stress and definitely close to the border between ‘Acceptable’ and ‘Danger’. But still just the right side of acceptable. Whatever Prime did with his magic sword to open the rift and ground it so that it stayed open, he also grounded it to make it safe for his forces to pass through.
Red tried adjusting the frequency of his com to try and get a clearer channel out to Hordwing. “All systems normal.” He informed the other man tersely. “I shall message the Emperor with an update within the next six hours.”
“And me, too, Red.” Wing added, voice a low whisper again. “You’ll message me too, right?”
“As the situation allows.” He nodded to the other Lord. Then switched off the com. Then to his helmsman, “We’re through. Put us in a stationary orbit over the planet, then do a scan for 66694-42-003’s signal.”
Damn Zero-Zero-Three. The idiot couldn’t just fuck-off happily to the middle of nowhere. No. He just had to rip open a pimple in time and space to wave at Horde Prime. ‘Hello, Brother! I live! Come find me!’ Damn idiot.
And Hordwing’s –for lack of a better descriptor- clingy behavior was due in part to Zero-Zero-Three.
Red Hord and Hordwing always had an interesting dynamic from the first moment Red was named and promoted to the cabinet. They were very close in age, only one batch apart, but from different crèches. Wing rose through the ranks of the First Division and Red through the Second, so they never actually met face to face until his promotion. They worked together well, easily. Red Hord did not have so easy a time whenever he had to work collaboratively with Hordren or even Hode –and Hode was, in part, the reason he was promoted in the first place!
Then Hode turned traitor.
Wing and Red were there aboard the Velvet Glove when Hode and his Gar partner tried to steal the Sword. Wing was one of the ones that held him down when Prime chopped off his head. Wing was one of the few that got to hear the last thing Hode said to Prime before he died. A statement that shook Wing to his core.
Wing didn’t get the opportunity to process, however, because almost immediately, Hode was replaced by Zero-Zero-Three, whom was named Hordak.
Hordak was also close in age to Red Hord –three batches apart- they did not develop the same kind of easy working relationship that Red enjoyed with Wing. But they did work well together. They might have worked better together if Hordak knew more about Hode. Red so desperately wanted to tell him more about Hode. To confide what he knew to another brother.
Red couldn’t talk to Hordwing, he used to be a wing pilot before he was promoted and pilots had no filter. They talked too much and didn’t know what not to say. Red Hord could not talk to Hordwing. Hordak had been Hode’s favorite. He would have liked to talk to Hordak, but Hode never clued the younger clone into what he was doing. Hode intentionally kept Hordak ignorant. In hindsight, that ignorance was probably what, not only saved Hordak from being executed along with the rest of Hode’s Force Captains, but also allowed him to be promoted to the cabinet.
But then Hordak fainted in a strategy meeting and was immediately stripped of his rank and banished to the front lines.
Red remembered Wing suddenly grabbing his hand and squeezing harder than was necessary when they watched Prime wrap his hand around Hordak’s neck and lift their little brother gasping and wheezing from the floor.
Wing held down one brother while Prime cut his head off, then watched a second brother be lifted in a choke-hold before being cast out. Maybe Wing was the brother he should really tell about Hode. But Wing was also an idiot. A different kind of idiot from Hordak, but still an idiot was an idiot.
After Hordak’s –Zero-Zero-Three’s- banishment, that was when Wing started with the whole, ‘when we go to join the All High Host, we go together’ bullshit. He watched Prime banish one cabinet Lord, a brother of equal rank to his own, for having issues that were the fault of the cloning facility and not the brother’s himself. And he watched Prime kill another brother, also a cabinet Lord, but one with seniority, who has served Prime for years!
Somehow, he got it into his head that either he or Red Hord were going to be next. That the first time either one of them failed, Prime was going to kill them on the spot. Wing did not want to be apart from Red, he had grown very attached to his brother. So, if they were to go to the Host, he wanted them to go together. At the same time.
Red almost rolled his eyes at the thought. Wing didn’t get it. If a brother was executed by Horde Prime, they did not go to join the Host. Traitors and weaklings were unfit to fill the ranks of the Host. Traitors and weaklings did not get an afterlife.
After Hode was unceremoniously executed, Red abandoned him. Abandoned his ideas and his Plan. Moved on. Took everything he knew –really knew- about the older brother and locked in a box. Away, deep in the back of his mind where he didn’t have to think about it. His loyalty returning to where it belonged, to where it always should have been. To Prime. His Brother. Brother to all.
It was stupid anyway. Hode turned out to be an idiot. Only an idiot could think to supplant the Emperor of the Known Universe. That was what happened when you let an alien fuck you in the cloaca. It fucked up your brain too. If Hode hadn’t crawled into bed with that Gar from Eternia none of this would have happened. Zero-Zero-Three never would have ascended to the cabinet, and by extension never been banished, and Red Hord wouldn’t be commanding his ship through a terrifying rift in the very fabric of space to a shadow dimension to collect the idiot for Prime.
Sometimes, Red did wonder how things would be different if Hode had succeeded. What kind of Horde Prime would Lord Hode have been?
…
Four-Zero-Eight looked at the droplets of dark purple blood. Hearing the drip louder than it actually was. Hearing a pounding in his ears. His arms shook with just the effort of holding himself up and his vision swam. For half a moment, his mind failed to register what his Lord was saying.
“You stupid, worthless, incompetent, failure!” Lord Horrin was snarling, saliva spraying from his mouth as he spoke. He was so angry.
He kicked Four-Zero-Eight in the side and the younger clone went tumbling across the hanger floor. What were they doing in the hangar again? Was this even the hangar of the Wool Cardigan? Oh. Right. They were abourd the Vinyl Hood. Lord Hode had to save Horrin’s strike force from a mission gone bad.
“The rebels took Nordor because of you!” Looking around the hanger, Lord Horrin lifted a crowbar that had been left out next to a batwing in mid-repair.
Vision swimming, Four-Zero-Eight barely register his Lord raising the crowbar over his head. He closed his eyes, preemptively wincing at the pain he knew was coming.
But the blow didn’t come.
“That’s enough!”
Four-Zero-Eight opened his eyes, vision still blurred. It took his brain longer than he felt it should have to understand what he was seeing. At first, he thought he must have been saved by a shadow. A figure of darkness grabbing Horrin’s wrist, holding back the blow. But that was insane. Shadows didn’t move like figures. Staring at them, breathing hard, Four-Zero-Eight blinked his nictitating eyelids until his vision cleared enough for the scene to make sense.
It wasn’t a shadow. It was a cape. Long, and black, and hooded. The hood drawn low over the head so that the face was all in shadow. The only thing visible, the crimson glow of his eyes. Lord Hode. Lord of the Third Division, and commander of the Vinyl Hood, the ship they were currently on. Lord Hode stayed Horrin’s hand.
“This is not how you educate a Force Captain that has failed you.” Hode said, voice issuing from the shadows of the hood, sounding as deep and dark as the shadows themselves. Hode had the same voice they all had, Horde Prime’s voice, but –somehow- Hode knew how to manipulate his tone and pitch so make himself sound so different when he wanted to. Hode looked down at Four-Zero-Eight, noting just how severe his injuries were. “This is not how you execute one for failure either.”
Horrin pulled his arm out of the other Lord’s hold. “You do not get to dictate to me how I deal with my own Force Captains, you Old Ghoul!”
“But I do get to dictate what goes on, on my own ship.” Hode replied calmly. “And I dictate that brothers are not to be bludgeoned with crude tools on my hangar floor.” It looked like Horrin was about to respond, but Hode cut him off before he could. “If your Force Captain failed to take the rebel stronghold of Nordor, perhaps it is because you –his superior- did not adequately prepare him for the mission.”
“How dare you-!” Horrin turned to fully face the other Lord.
“How dare you!” Hode snapped back, raising his voice only to match Horrin’s. “You fail in the mission our Brother chose to honor you with. You needed me to save you. Then you come into my ship and get blood all over my hangar blaming a subordinate for your own failure as a commander!” Hode snapped his fingers. “Lord Horrin is tired from his ordeal, Zero-Zero-Three, show him to an officer’s stateroom so he may rest.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Four-Zero-Eight blinked blurry eyes as a still pillar wearing a dress and a Force Captain’s badge stepped forward to politely escort Lord Horrin out of the hangar.
Hode bent down in front of him, the only thing in focus.
Taloned fingers gently brushed hair out of his face, examining his wounds. “He really did a number on you, little brother.”
Four-Zero-Eight had to spit blood out of his mouth before he could speak. “I am grateful to my Lord Horrin for taking the time to teach me this lesson.”
The words sounded robotic and insincere, even to his own ears. But working in the Second Division under Lord Horrin had thought him what to say and when to say it. Even when he was half delirious. He knew how to get by. He knew how to survive. It was how he was able to rise to become a Force Captain in the first place. Not because he was the best, most skilled, or most competent. It was because he knew how to play their game.
Those glowing red eyes blinked at him from under the darkness of the hood. His response impressing Lord Hode somehow. “My, my, Four-Zero-Eight, you just might be wasted under a Lord like him.”
…
“Lord Red Hord,” a bridge officer pulled him from his reminiscing, “orbit is stable and we have located a signal consistent with 66694-42-003’s. Your orders, sir?”
Red stood from his throne. “Our Emperor wasn’t his little brother returned to him. Let’s go pick him up.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
In this chapter, the colonizers think unseasoned chicken has too much flavor.
...and some other stuff happens.
...
The office walls were bare. Lord Hode could say what he wanted about other species and hanging useless pictures on their walls. But Zero-Zero-Three preferred to work without the distraction, and since Lord Hode had abandoned him on this Host forsaken rock, the recently demoted Captain felt he was entitled to ignore his Lord's opinion on the matter. So, the abstract paintings came down. The blood-soaked carpet was ripped up and replaced with dull gray floor-panels.
Zero-Zero-Three took over rule, as he was commanded. Set his forces to rooting out and destroying the last remnants of the native's rebellion, and re-solidifying Imperial Horde control of not just the planet but the system.
The short lived native revolution and subsequent Imperial backlash and takeover had left a large percentage of the population's young parentless. Unlike Horde clones, these naturally hatched creatures (or naturally born, in all honesty Zero-Zero-Three was unclear on how non-cloned beings did things) did not possess either the physical ability or the mental capacity to care for themselves. Some could not even walk on their own or feed themselves yet. Apparently, those were things that came with time out of the –uh, egg. Without adults to care for them, the care for these orphans –orphans being a new word Zero-Zero-Three learned, meaning an offspring without living parents- the care for these orphans fell to the ruling body. Fell on the Empire. Fell on Zero-Zero-Three as the Imperial Territory Captain ruling the planet in Horde Prime's name.
Massaging the side of his head, Zero-Zero-Three suppressed the urge to groan. Why couldn't all beings just hatch from tanks? Artificially grown. At a physical age resembling adulthood. With the knowledge and understanding they would need to be self-sufficient already programed into them. Why did other beings have to be so… primitive?
No clone trooper could be expected to care for these orphans. But without care they would most certainly succumb and expire. That would not do, since the Empire relied on the populations of conquered worlds for labor to support their clone armies. The job of child care would have to be delegated to their own people. But to prevent another generation of rebels to be raised, Zero-Zero-Three had to offer incentives to those who remained loyal to the Horde Empire.
All the property of the rebels was seized by the Empire. Dwellings of appropriate size were repurposed to house hatchlings orphaned by the battle –or just orphaned in general. Why limit it only to the offspring of dead rebels. All hatchlings had the potential to grow up into useful adult units that could support the Empire. Adult natives who worked to care for these parentless hatchlings were given room and board in the dwelling with them, plus double rations. If they already had homes of their own, or families of their own and still took care of the Empire's orphans, then their whole family was given double rations.
Since Lord Hode had said that their culture placed importance on children and the family unit, Zero-Zero-Three felt it necessary to make a show of offering relief to those with offspring and families.
Hode often liked to repeat that if one understood a species, one could control a species. Zero-Zero-Three wasn't sure if he believed that entirely. But, he did have to admit that local aliens –across multiple worlds, over average- were less discontent, and less likely to revolt when the occupying Territory Captain made concessions in favor of local interests. Here, local interests were children and families. So, Zero-Zero-Three implemented policies that would ease the hardships of children and families.
He must have been doing something right. Because by the time the planet completed a single rotation around its sun, the previous uprising was a thing of the past. If it was spoken of, it was along the lines of 'hey, remember that thing that happened?' 'Yeah… but it's better now.' With no mention of recent decent.
Zero-Zero-Three walked down the main street that lead out from the capitol building. The same street that, one planetary year ago, had run green with native blood, was now clean and almost sparkling. Paved with a composite stone made from local aggregate minerals. It was overall a muted and neutral gray color. But when the sun hit it just so, tiny flecks of the aggregate in it reflected the light and shone with multiple colors. Like the facets of a prism, or ombre tones of a pearl. It was actually quite pretty. (Not that Zero-Zero-Three would ever admit out loud that he found the literal ground beneath his feet pretty.) Hode would have liked it. He would have made some comment about the aliens choosing to use a sparkly mineral for utilitarian purposes like paving was 'whimsical' –whatever that meant.
It wasn't just the literal street itself that was brighter.
The buildings that lined the way –most of which were businesses- were open, full, and thriving. Nearest the capital building were stores for convince. Which sold an eclectic collection of bottled water, speeder fuel, domestic coolant, adhesive bandages, poor quality chargers for mobile communicators, lighters, and any manner of other items one might need in a pinch. Then there were the eateries. Local restaurants and cafes that served local foods. Overall, the Horde did not eat local foods no matter what planet they were on. Overall, most clones preferred the bland and flavorless ration bars that were provided for them. Alien cuisine held too much flavor and was overpowering to the clone pallet.
"Captain, hey, Captain, you gotta try this!" But every now and again, one clone trooper would diverge from his brothers and develop a taste for local fair.
Looking across the plaza, Zero-Zero-Three saw the brother that was trying to flag him down. Sitting in the outdoor seating area of a café was a clone trooper like himself. Identical in face and pigmentation. But wearing the zero-suit of a wing-pilot. Ugh. Wing-pilots. Zero-Zero-Three would be lying if he did not admit that he was not fond of them. Those that piloted the batwing-class fighters did not comport themselves with dignity and restraint as befitted the clones of the Emperor of the Known Universe. Wing-pilots, were energetic, flippant, liberal, and impulsive. It was rumored that they got different programming and conditioning in the tanks, and that was why their behavior was so… abrasive to other more conventional clones.
Suppressing the urge to groan, Zero-Zero-Three crossed the street to silence the brother that was trying so animatedly to make a scene.
"Be silent!" He snarled. "And behave yourself as if you were made from the most perfect being in the universe."
"Right." Nodded the wing-pilot as if he'd merely forgotten that he was supposed to be a tall scary soldier within a military engine for Imperial colonization and control. He cleared his throat, then in a more controlled tone began again. "Captain Zero-Zero-Three, the locals of this café have made a dish especially for us. You must try it. It's very good! They call it 'unseasoned fowl'."
Zero-Zero-Three peered down at the all white-meat cut of bird on his brother's plate. Unprocessed meats did not appeal to him. He turned his eyes back to his brother. "Eating local cooking is the fastest way to get yourself poisoned." He informed the clone. "See that your batwing is serviced and your bunk is in order before you die."
Zero-Zero-Three continued walking.
After the restaurants and the cafes, were the most useless of businesses: the curios and keepsake shops. Places that sold tiny statuettes, and globes filled with fluid with flecks of glitter that swirled around when you shook them, unnecessary clothing articles, or accessories, highly edited photos. Junk. Stores that sold junk. Clutter.
But then Zero-Zero-Three paused in front of the window of one shot that proudly claimed to sell 'classic art', as opposed to 'contemporary art' –the distinction was something Hode went out of his way to explain to Zero-Zero-Three. 'Contemporary art' was relevant to the time in which it was made. 'Contemporary art' for this planet, in this time, usually featured muted colors, simplified lines, and the winged emblem of the occupying Horde Empire somewhere within the piece. But 'classic art' for this planet was brighter, more vibrant. Featuring almost all the colors of the spectrum and depicting subjects of whimsy and frivolity. One in particular caught Zero-Zero-Three's attention.
In the shop window was displayed a painting of one of the alien natives, sitting in a sunny meadow, with some kind of string instrument laying across their four legs. Zero-Zero-Three did not care for the image as a whole. Not really. He had no love for the cultural clutter that was art. But the string instrument featured in the image reminded him of his Lord. Since Hode had chosen to reminisce about their first meeting before he left Zero-Zero-Three on this world, the younger clone had often recalled that same meeting often since his Lord left.
A mission briefing. The first mission briefing Zero-Zero-Three attended since being promoted to a sub-Commander, and an unorthodox briefing as far as he could tell.
Lord Hode gathered all his Force Captains and their sub-Commanders into the Gallery Deck of the Vinyl Hood, and after explaining that their targets were Randor and his brother –who's name escaped Zero-Zero-Three now- they were deposed princes from an already conquered world, and had turned rebel leaders. Hode insisted on playing a song from that very same already conquered world. That was when Zero-Zero-Three asked the relevance, the question that drew him to his Lord's attention. No other clone would have ever dared question a cabinet Lord, no matter how irrelevant they thought his eccentricities were.
'An insight into the enemy mind.' Hode had answered simply. Even back then, he tried to encourage those who served under him to study and understand the races they conquered and ruled. 'If you understand a species, you can control them.'
Zero-Zero-Three had no idea where Hode learned to play an instrument. He found it hard to imagine some terrified native of some conquered world calming down enough to teach a cabinet Lord to pluck the strings in any order that might produce a tune.
The Host knew the Horde did not have musical instruments! The Horde did not compose music, or sing songs. The Horde had no need for such things.
Looking at the painting in the window and remembering that unorthodox mission briefing, Zero-Zero-Three could even almost recall the lyrics to that strange alien song. '…Wielding blades of steel and light, the purest spirit, sealed inside…'
Acting on impulse and surprising himself as much as the shop owner, Zero-Zero-Three pushed the door open and stepped inside. A tiny little bell over the door tinkling to announce him. The poor shop owner looked like they might faint when they saw it was a Horde officer that had just entered. They probably thought they were about to be raided.
"That. In the window." Zero-Zero-Three pointed at the canvas stretched over a wooden frame before the alien could speak.
The shop owner blinked their ocular organs at him, waiting for the Territory Captain to finish his statement. When he didn't, the alien –speaking in heavily accented and broken Imperial Basic- offered, "Would Sir like the painting?"
Then Zero-Zero-Three realized he wasn't actually sure what he wanted. He certainly didn't want it for himself. He had no use for 'art'.
"I could make it a gift for Sir." The alien clarified that they had no illusions about charging a payment from a Horde soldier.
A gift, yes. Not for himself, he had no use for the art. But for Lord Hode. Zero-Zero-Three would never be so weak as to beg his Lord to come back and take him away from this place. To take him back into space. By his Lord's side. Where he belonged. But a gift of art –which Lord Hode was fond of- would at least remind the older clone that Zero-Zero-Three still existed. That he did as ordered. That he did not complain. That he was a good servant. Then, maybe, after being reminded of that, Hode might return to this world, collect Zero-Zero-Three, and take him away from this place.
"Yes." Nodded Zero-Zero-Three, arms folding behind his back in a rest. "I will take it."
…
But Zero-Zero-Three did not hear back from Hode after he sent the gift to his Lord. Not even a short message wave over the extranet to thank Zero-Zero-Three for the gift. Of course, cabinet Lords did not need to thank those beneath them for paying tribute. But Hode usually tended to make an effort to acknowledge the efforts of those below him. He said he received a high quality performance from subordinates that felt recognized. So it was odd to Zero-Zero-Three that he never even received a message from his Lord confirming that he even got it.
Such an occurrence was so out of character for the older clone, that Zero-Zero-Three hunted down his logistics officer to make sure it was even sent in the first place.
The logistics officer looked downright insulted that his Territory Captain thought he was so incompetent as to march down to his office and demand a follow-up report. "Yes, Captain, I sent the package to Lord Hode aboard the Vinyl Hood." He insisted. "I can't presume to know why the Lord hasn't responded to you yet. I'm sure he's very busy. He is a Lord after all."
Maybe you're just not as important to him as you thought you were.
"Where is the Vinyl Hood now?" Zero-Zero-Three asked instead. Maybe with the ship were within a hundred lightyears or less, he could just call Lord Hode directly over the com-set and ask if he received the painting and if he liked it.
The logistics officer huffed. Actually huffed. As if following the order of his Territory Captain and commanding officer were a great inconvenience for him. As if Zero-Zero-Three were being absurd and the logistics officer was only humoring him because he was the other clone's commanding officer.
He punched the request into his terminal, then paused. Confused by what it told him. "Huh. That's odd."
"What is? What's odd?" Demanded Zero-Zero-Three.
"It says here the Vinyl Hood's been decommissioned." He explained.
"That can't be right." Zero-Zero-Three insisted. "The Vinyl Hood is the flagship of a cabinet Lord. They don't just decommission those out of the black on a whim."
The only time in his own living memory that Zero-Zero-Three could recall a cabinet Lord's flagship being decommissioned was after that cabinet Lord had died.
Remembering that, a horrifying thought occurred to Zero-Zero-Three. Lord Hode was very old. The oldest clone he knew of. He had never known a Horde clone to die of 'old age' before. Almost all clones were killed. 'Natural causes' was not a thing within the Horde military machine. But if anyone was going to die of 'natural causes' it would be the oldest one.
He looked back at the logistics officer. "Does it give a reason?"
"No, Captain." The other answered. "I don't have the appropriate clearance for that. And it's not pertinent to my duties."
"Let me see." Zero-Zero-Three pushed the other officer out of the way and keyed his own clearance and access codes into the terminal. Apparently, as a Territory Captain and former-Force Captain working under the direct command of a cabinet Lord, he still did not have the appropriate clearance either. Zero-Zero-Three growled in the back of his throat, baring his teeth at the screen. How dare it deny him.
Next to him, the logistics officer seemed unconcerned. He sipped a mug of caff –an alien beverage from another world that was strong and unpleasant in flavor, but high in caffeine. "Are you done, Captain? Because I would very much like to get back to work now."
Zero-Zero-Three snarled at him too, but said nothing. Storming away, he returned to his own duties as ruling Imperial agent of the system. He had other things to concern him besides what may or may not have happened to the Lord who abandoned him here –even if his Lord's fate was very concerning.
As he watched the Territory Captain stomp away, the logistics officer just continued to sip his caff.
…
Responsibilities as a Territory Captain kept Zero-Zero-Three busy. While the decommissioning of the Vinyl Hood did concern him greatly, he could not afford spend too much time thinking on it. He didn't have the appropriate clearance to inquire about it, so there was no point in trying. All he'd succeed in doing would be to irritate his Lord –assuming Hode was even still alive to annoy. Zero-Zero-Three didn't know, and that was also a concern he tried not to spend too much time thinking on.
Then a memo crossed his desk informing the Territory Captain –him- that the Velvet Glove, the Emperor's flagship was enroute to the system and due to arrive at the planet within the week.
Zero-Zero-Three almost fainted when he read that –and it had nothing to do with his defects.
The Velvet Glove! The Emperor's flagship! Was Horde Prime coming? He rarely entrusted his personal ship and pride of the Horde space fleet to anyone else. Horde Prime, the Emperor of the Known Universe was coming to his system, to his planet.
In a bit of a panic, Zero-Zero-Three opened up a conference call between all the pertinent departments. Himself, his chief security officer, the wing squadron leader, communications secretary, and the asshat from logistics (whom slurped at a mug of caff loudly through out the whole video conference).
'Within the week' meant 'less than a week'. Horde Prime did not give them much time to prepare, arrange accommodations appropriate for the Emperor of the Known Universe, organize a suitable welcoming with all the necessary displays of loyalty and reverence. As Lord Hode taught him all those years ago, that's all it was. A show. A show of loyalty. A show of power. Zero-Zero-Three didn't need to be shown how powerful his Big Brother was. But he desperately wanted his Brother to know how much he revered and adored his Emperor and genetic template.
All Horde clones revered Horde Prime. He was their creator. The Horde did not have gods, but Horde Prime was definitely 'god-like' to them.
Standing on the covered platform of the spacedock, Zero-Zero-Three felt a lump of nervousness form in his throat.
The last report, from when the ships came out of hyperspace, was that it was not just the Velvet Glove and its escorts. It was the Velvet Glove, the Linen Cloak, the Lycra Pant, and the Leather Vest. Three of the four cabinet Lords' flagships. All but the Vinyl Hood, which Zero-Zero-Three already knew was decommissioned.
Why would the Emperor and his whole cabinet –minus Hode- come to this little world he'd been marooned on? This little world who's only trait of value was that it was an almost equal distance between Capitol Core and Old Revenan.
Zero-Zero-Three stood nervously at parade rest. He was all the more aware of how tight the high collar of his uniform was. He wanted to reach up a talon to unclasp one of the fasteners and allow himself some breathing room, but he the highest ranking officer on the planet, it was his duty to greet the Emperor's party. He was about to meet the Emperor of the Known Universe, actually meet him, not just glimpse a triangle of fabric from his cape from across the room. Zero-Zero-Three was going to see him. He did not want to look disheveled in the presence of his Emperor. His Brother. The Brother of all.
The capitol ships remained in orbit over the planet. Horde Prime and his cabinet came down in shuttles. Three shuttles and one batwing painted a non-standard shade of red –that one would be Lord Hordwing, it was said he was a Wing Captain before being elevated to cabinet Lord and refused to let other brothers pilot for him.
Lord Red Hord's shuttle landed first.
But the hatch did not even open until Emperor Prime landed and exited his.
Only then did Lord Red Hord and Lord Hordren disembark from their own crafts and join their Emperor on the platform.
Sinking down to one knee, eyes on the floor, the flat palm of his right hand going over his heart, Zero-Zero-Three executed the bow he spent less than a week practicing. Every clone was programed with knowledge of the correct etiquette for meeting their Emperor and Brother. But none of them ever felt the need to practice said etiquette. There was over three billion of them, and only one Horde Prime. Most clones went their whole lives and never met their Brother.
Zero-Zero-Three kept his eyes focused on the ground between them, waiting for the order to rise. Just within the peripheral of his vision were the steel-toes of Prime's boots, and the faintest whispering of the hem of a green cape. It was about as much of the Emperor as the clone got to see back in the Grand Throne Room aboard the Velvet Glove so many years ago.
"You are the Territory Captain in charge of this world." Prime announced. It was not a question. Horde Prime probably had legions of aids to brief him on what Captains were in charge of what planets or troops. The Emperor knew his rank, his serial number, who assigned him his post, and how long he'd been installed on this world.
"Captain Zero-Zero-Three, Your Grace." He answered without lifting his eyes.
"A First Row." Prime commented.
A clone hatched from one of the tanks in the first row of a hundred. There were fifty crèches in total on Capital Core, each crèche held nine-hundred tanks, all divided into nine long rows of one hundred each. The clones in the first one hundred tanks were the first to be hatched in any crèche. There was also a saying about First Rows. 'First out of the tank, first to die'. There was no formally compiled evidence to show whether this was true or not. All clone troopers had high mortality rates. Soldiers tended to die frequently. That was why the cloning factory produced so many. To keep up with turn-over.
The planet he was stationed on had completed one of its local years. However, planetary years were based on planetary rotations around their local sun(s). Standard Imperial Years were measured off a different system and tended to be longer than the average planetary year. Zero-Zero-Three answered in Imperial Years.
"I am eleven SIY." He still kept his eyes down. The Emperor had no given him leave to rise yet.
"A long lifespan." Did Prime sound impressed? Zero-Zero-Three hoped his Emperor was Impressed. Most clones did not make it past their eight SIY.
"That's what I've been told, Your Grace." Zero-Zero-Three didn't know what else he was supposed to say to a statement like that. When he learned of his condition and the handicaps that came with it, he didn't expect to live much longer beyond that. Now, here he was, meeting the Emperor.
Did Hode know this would happen? 'Preform your duties here well, and you just might find yourself elevated above a Force Captain.' Was that what was happening here? Lord Hode was gone and Prime needed a new clone to fill his cabinet. But… if that were true, then Lord Hode was…
Zero-Zero-Three felt his heart hammer against his ribcage, and it had nothing to do with his defects.
"Rise, Little Brother." Commanded Prime.
He called him 'Little Brother'. Zero-Zero-Three was not prepared to the fuzzy, light-headed feeling when the Emperor of the Know Universe –whom was Brother to all- called him 'Little Brother'. He was almost… giddy? Was giddiness a feeling Horde clones could experience? If so, that's what Zero-Zero-Three felt. Horde Prime called him 'Little Brother'!
He kept his eyes down as he rose from his bow. Trailing up the Emperor's body. Steel-toed boots that melted seamlessly into metal greaves. Utilitarian combat tights, nothing fancy or pretentious Horde Prime was a warrior first and a ruler second. One arm hung casually at his side, the other hand rested casually on his hip. Both covered in light plate armor going all the way down to the tips of his talons. It gave the illusion that his arms and hands were made of steel and not flesh. A chest that was lightly armored, the breastplate emblazoned with the red-winged emblem of the Horde Empire. A cape of bright green falling from the armor of his shoulders. Hesitantly, Zero-Zero-Three raised his eyes up to look at the Emperor's face.
He was expecting to see his own face looking back at him. After all, he had the same face as all his other brothers. They were all clones of the same man. This man. Their face was his face.
Prime was taller than Zero-Zero-Three. Taller than all his clones. They were all the same height. But Prime stood almost a head above Zero-Zero-Three. His face was older than he expected too. As old as Hode looked, in fact. With more lines under his eyes, and coming down from his bottom lip, creases on his forehead and over his ears. And scars! Zero-Zero-Three never imagined his genetic template having scars. He never thought anything in the universe could harm his Brother. He was a perfect being! How could he have been injured to have scars?
One long diagonal gash starting from just above his ear on the left side, and cutting down across his face to end at his chin on the right. The scar looked old. Rough skin knitted together unevenly, and darkened with age.
Zero-Zero-Three didn't realize he was staring until Prime spoke again.
"Show me this planet you've been holding for me." He commanded.
"Yes, Your Grace." Zero-Zero-Three preformed an overly theatrical about-face and was about to lead his Emperor off of the spacedock platform.
But before he could take even one step, Red Hord mentioned, "Hordwing is still flying around."
Freezing in his step, Zero-Zero-Three experienced a brief moment of panic. Did he just offend his Emperor and the cabinet by forgetting and excluding Lord Hordwing? Turning his head, the clone looked past the Emperor and Lords to see if Hordwing's red-painted batwing was coming in to dock.
Hordwing appeared to be doing loops and barrel-rolls over the city.
Horde Prime did not even look back to see what his third cabinet Lord was doing in his personal, one-man, fighter. "Leave him be. He will tire himself out, and be presentable by dinner." To Zero-Zero-Three he said, "Lead the way, Captain."
In a bit of a daze, the clone turned back around and began leading the Imperial party without actually knowing where they were going or what he should show them. Zero-Zero-Three wasn't expecting to have to make any decisions during this visit. He was expecting the Emperor or the cabinet to give him his orders. They were his superiors. What did he know about what they wanted?
He decided to begin by showing them the space port. It was the only redeeming thing about this planet.
Trade.
It was equal distances between Capital Core and Old Revenan. Right in the center of the Empire. Center of the Empire, and center of trade. Everything passed through here. Synthetic embryotic fluid for cloning, coaxium, taydenite, and spice. Raw materials like iron, carbon, the steel that was made from them, copper, silver, gold. Clean water. Unprocessed food resources like wheat, barley, rice, quinoa, corn, and the ration bars that were made from them. Also textiles like silks, wool, linen, velvet, vinyl, leather, and lycra. Tiles, and bricks, and glass. Cement, plasters, industrial space adhesives, epoxies.
The spaceport was booming with activity.
Hundreds of different ship designs, crewed by thousands of different kinds of aliens. Loading, unloading, haggling with yet other aliens. A busy center of commerce, teeming with activity.
Prime's expression remained impassive as Zero-Zero-Three pointed out the security check points he added. He was a little reluctant to point out the other non-military changes he'd made, such as a care center specifically for the offspring of those that worked at the docks. Since the native culture placed a high importance on their offspring, they could work for the Empire, and work calmly and more efficiently knowing their children were nearby. Also scheduling breaks and mealtimes, as well as setting caps for how long work shifts could be. Lord Hode tried to teach him that not all races had the stamina that was engineered into Horde clones. Other races needed to pace themselves. Other races needed breaks. Other races needed to stop and sleep after so much activity. (It was a lesson Zero-Zero-Three was beginning to understand himself, as his defects required him to rest more often and consume more calories than his brothers to keep up his energy.)
But then Prime directly asked Zero-Zero-Three how he managed to, not only recover after the revolt, but actually improve on the numbers from the previous Territory Captain prior to said revolt. So, Zero-Zero-Three told him. Showed his the child-care center, the breakroom, the workers only lounge, the barracks for those that did not have pre-existing homes to go back to after shifts. All the while, Prime's face remained an impassive mask. Impossible to read. Not even the curtesy of ear movements to clue the nervous Captain in on his Emperor's thoughts.
From behind Prime, Lord Hordren asked how Zero-Zero-Three could trust the natives to work the shipping yards with so many freedoms so soon after a rebellion had just been squelched. All the changes he implemented looked an awful lot like privileges given to worlds and peoples that remained loyal. What had these creatures done to earn such difference?
Zero-Zero-Three paused, feeling nervous again with all three pairs of eyes on him now. Not just Lord Hordren, but Lord Red Hord and the Emperor himself. A cabinet Lord had asked him a question. He shouldn't hesitate too long in answering.
"Incentive." He blurted out. Then quickly scrambled to give a more eloquent and detailed explanation. "I was not originally a Territory Captain. Before this, I was a Force Captain. I commanded Your Grace's military and kept peace in the Empire. I have put down more rebellions than I can count-" Zero-Zero-Three knew the exact number of rebellions he'd put down since becoming a Force Captain "-and one consistent theme between them all seemed to be that the rebels felt they had more incentive to resist than to accept Imperial rule. Giving them more incentive to remain obedient reduces the chances of rebellion."
Red Hord tapped his chin in thought. He used to be a Force Captain before he was a cabinet Lord. Zero-Zero-Three knew that because he knew Red Hord before he was 'Lord Red Hord'. Back when the other clone was just Captain Four-Zero-Eight. He wondered what opinion another Force Captain might have.
But then Red Hord glanced to Prime, looking to the Emperor for the final word. Hordren was also looking to Prime, and Zero-Zero-Three wondered if they knew something of their Brother's thoughts already. They were cabinet Lords. They were closest to the Emperor. If anyone could guess what Prime was thinking, it would be them.
Zero-Zero-Three felt his ears droop when it occurred to him that Prime might disapprove of how lenient he was with this world. Should he have been stricter? Impose an earlier curfew. Have more frequent sweeps of the city. More surveillance and security at the ports and docks. Did Prime think Zero-Zero-Three was irresponsible and negligent. Or worse, lazy. A failure. Useless.
Zero-Zero-Three did not know how to hold a planet.
There was an uncomfortably long pause in which no one said anything and everyone was looking at Prime.
Finally, the Emperor turned, almost as if he'd lost interest in the space port and the shipping docks. "Be carful, Captain, a being might not have the 'incentive' to remain obedient to you if they get the chance to experience something… else."
Red Hord and Hordren looked momentarily tense.
Zero-Zero-Three blinked, confused. Prime placed so much weight on 'someone else', he wondered if there was another meaning in that statement that he was just too ignorant or too much of a 'slow learner' to understand. His ears drooped just a fraction before he caught the action and consciously forced the muscles in his ears to stand up.
"We'll have to wait to see the long-term results of these policies of yours." Emerald green cape swirling around his ankles, Prime moved to the corridors that would eventually take them out of the shipping dock complex. "I am board of menial laborers. Show me your administrative bases."
So, Zero-Zero-Three took the Imperial party to the capitol building. He drove the landspeeder (that was adapted for urban use) himself.
Hordwing's custom red batwing dove low and zoomed over the streets and between buildings multiple times as they drove. The first couple of times this happened it startled Zero-Zero-Three enough that he thought he might have to take evasive action to protect the Emperor.
But Prime and the rest of the cabinet seemed unaffected. After the third time –when Zero-Zero-Three was just starting to acclimate to the distraction- Red Hord slouched in his seat, massaging the side of his head, and muttered, "By the Host, 'Wing, haven't you calmed down yet?"
For half a moment, Zero-Zero-Three was about to ask what it was that Lord Hordwing might need to calm down from. But reminded himself that Hordwing was a cabinet Lord and it was not any of his business. Then he remembered that the Lord used to be a Wing Captain before he was elevated to the cabinet. Wing-pilots were just… that way.
For the rest of the drive, Zero-Zero-Three tried to ignore the bright red batwing that seemed determined to panic every single being within the city –native, visiting alien, and clone trooper alike.
Overall, Zero-Zero-Three's administrative and clerical practices were not all that different from any other Territory Captain's. All clones were programmed the same in the tank. They all thought, more-or-less, the same, and all organized things more-or-less the same. Horde Prime lost interest in touring the capitol building even quicker than he grew board of the spaceport and shipping docks.
There was one gratifying moment, however, as the party was passing the work station of that asshat logistics officer who slurped his caff loudly. He was sucking on his mug of caff, making those obnoxiously loud sipping sounds, when he noticed the Emperor just walked by him and he spilled his mug of –hot- caff all over his lap. Hearing him holler in pain made Zero-Zero-Three the happiest he'd been all week.
Prime's unreadable stone expression did not change. By the end of the tour, Zero-Zero-Three didn't know if he'd done well in his position, or disappointed his Emperor in all categories.
"I see you've kept the government up to standards." Was all the Emperor said, and the clone decided to take that as a complement. At least, he did not disappoint. He was 'up to standards'. "You may show me to what passes for comfortable quarters on this world then return to your duties. But I expect you to join us for dinner, Captain."
"Your Grace?" Zero-Zero-Three had to make sure he heard that right. Horde Prime, the Emperor of the Known Universe, and Brother to all, had invited him to share a meal? He felt slightly light headed again and had no idea if it was from his defects or not.
"Do not make me repeat myself, Captain, I am not an indulgent man." Prime informed him.
"No, of course not, Your Grace!" Zero-Zero-Three quickly shut up and showed Prime to the rooms he'd had furnished as private living quarters for the Emperor.
The communique only said the Emperor was coming. It did not mention that three of four cabinet Lords would all be in attendance, and so Zero-Zero-Three hadn't prepared anything for them. Once Prime was settled, enjoying the privacy of his rooms, the clone rushed to get three other rooms cleaned, furnished, and ready for Hordren, Hordwing, and Red Hord.
It was a whirlwind of barking orders, motion, carted furniture, flying linens, and many varied alien expletives that Zero-Zero-Three had never heard before. He warned each and every being that used such vulgar language –both alien and clone trooper alike- that such profanity would not be tolerated while the Emperor was in residence. This was the only warning. Make sure everyone else knew to comport themselves with dignity and respect. If he had to repeat himself, there would be no other warnings, Zero-Zero-Three would start taking tongues.
Everything was finally ready by the time Hordwing's batwing finally landed in the courtyard outside the capitol building. One pronged wing of the fighter almost decapitating the fountain statue that Lord Hode had made Zero-Zero-Three study when he first arrived on this world.
He rushed down to greet the cabinet Lord properly.
Red Hord was already down there by the time Zero-Zero-Three came running up.
He stopped short. It looked like the two were talking and Zero-Zero-Three did not want to interrupt what might be an important –if informal- discussion between two cabinet members.
Still snippets of the conversation couldn't help but drift to his ears. All Horde clones had excellent hearing. The pointed shape and long length of their ears didn't miss much.
"…I do my best thinking in a cockpit." Lord Hordwing seemed to be explaining. "I was thinking about what the Old Ghoul was saying before-"
He cut himself off abruptly, noticing Zero-Zero-Three there.
"Do you have something to do, trooper?" Hordwing snapped.
Coming up to the pair properly, Zero-Zero-Three gave the two Lords the exact same bow he always gave to his own Lord. Bending at the waist to the appropriate depth. Holding it for the appropriate length. Then straitening. "Lord, Hordwing, I am Captain Zero-Zero-Three, the Territory Captain in charge of this world."
"Hode's favorite." Hordwing looked him up and down.
Zero-Zero-Three felt a little shock run through him as being called Hode's 'favorite'. That couldn't have been true. If he really was his Lord's favorite, why had he left him here? Why hadn't he kept his by his side? And where was Lord Hode anyway? No one had yet offered an explanation for his absence. Which left Zero-Zero-Three's mind to wander, and his mind could wander to some bleak places.
Whatever Hordwing saw from his once-over examination, he did not seem impressed. "This is the one? He doesn't look dangerous."
Resisting the urge to fidget like a newly hatched clone, Zero-Zero-Three felt insulted. He was a soldier made from the template of the most powerful being in the universe. Trained in combat and military craft since before he could form conscious thought. He was a machine for conquest through violence. He was dangerous. He was exactly as dangerous as any of his brothers. Exactly as dangerous as Hordwing was.
Hordwing offered him a second glance. "You're thinner than the average trooper. Did you used to be a pilot before the Old Ghoul banished you here?"
Over average, batwing pilots tended to be a bit leaner and less muscular than the average clone trooper. Their gods did not make the same demands on their bodies, and so they received different physical training. Now Zero-Zero-Three looked Hordwing over.
He was wearing the zero-suit of a pilot, all black with the winged emblem of the Horde emblazoned on the chest. But, like all officers of consequence, he had augmented the look to suit his own tastes. The red wind raising up to the shoulders and turning into stripes that traveled all the way down the arms to the tips of the fingers of his gloves. Hordwing was slight of build compared to Red Hord. He kept up his pilot's physique even as a cabinet Lord. But he was still thicker and more muscles than Zero-Zero-Three.
Perhaps Hode was right. Perhaps he should alter his uniform and armor to conceal his falling body mass.
"I am unaccustomed to the duties of a Territory Captain." He answered honestly. He did not know how to hold a planet. "I find that I sometimes forget my standard ration intake while trying to complete them."
"So, you're thoughtless and irresponsible." Concluded the Lord.
This time Zero-Zero-Three definitely, definitely was insulted.
Hordwing grabbed Red Hord by the arm and brushed past the other clone. "Prime will be expecting up for dinner and he'll want me showered and dressed."
Glancing back at Zero-Zero-Three, Red Hord offered him an almost sympathetic smile. "Our Brother does not eat ration bars. You might want to prepare your stomach for unprocessed foods."
…
Zero-Zero-Three was glad for the warning.
He had no idea how one 'prepared their stomach' to eat food it was unaccustomed to, but at least he wasn't surprised when an alien server –not one of his own, a servant from the Velvet Glove- placed a cut of unseasoned poultry and steamed green vegetables in front of him.
Looking up at those seated around the table, Zero-Zero-Three felt so out of place. The Emperor of the Known Universe seated at the head of the table. Lord Hordren, administrator of the Fourth Division seated at his right hand. Next to Hordren was Hordwing, administrator of the First Division. Then Red Hord, administrator of the Second Division. The most powerful beings in the universe (minus Hode, whom no one had yet said why he was absent) seated at one table together. What was a humble Captain like Zero-Zero-Three doing here?
No one started eating until Horde Prime took his first bite, and it was noted that Prime's meat was dripping with sauce and seasoned with herbs. He, it seemed, was not overpowered by flavor in his food. But then, he was a perfect being. Perhaps perfect beings were just unbothered in general.
The cabinet Lords all nibbled at their own plates and –to spite the lack of seasoning- did not appear to be enjoying their meals as much as Prime was enjoying his.
Was Prime enjoying his? His expression remained neutral. Unreadable. Passive. Almost apathetic. As if he didn't even care that his kitchen staff that he brought with him off his ship went out of their way to tailor the plates of the Emperor and each of his Lords, and his guest to their pallets.
Cutting himself a conservatively sized bite, Zero-Zero-Three brought the meat to his mouth and chewed on it slowly. The texture was not unpleasant. The flesh was tender, but juicy. Cooked enough to be done all the way through, but not overcooked so as to be dry. It was very well prepared. That was not the problem. The problem was the flavor. Too much flavor. Even unseasoned, the meat of the bird had a taste all its own that was much, much stronger than what Zero-Zero-Three was used to. Than the negative-flavor of the ration bars issued by the Horde military commissary. Zero-Zero-Three was not used to it, and he quickly decided that he did not like it. He wondered if it would insult Prime if he didn't eat the rest of it. One bite was more than enough for him.
"How does it compare?" Asked Prime from over his own plate.
"It is not what I'm used to." Zero-Zero-Three answered honestly.
The Emperor seemed unsurprised. The vast majority of his clones preferred the processed rations he manufactured for them over real cooking made from fresh ingredients.
"And being a Territory Captain instead of a Force Captain, how does that compare?" Prime continued.
Zero-Zero-Three frowned, not sure what kind of answer his Emperor wanted. "It is very different." He finally decided was both true, but also a neutral enough answer to not offend anyone at the table. "Half as active and half as exciting than being a Force Captain, but somehow twice as stressful."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Prime's mouth cracked into a facsimile of a smile. Not quite a true-smile, but something adjacent to one. It was the first actual expression he'd seen the Emperor make. Setting his form down, he rapped his steel-tipped talons on the tablecloth. "That's a clever way to describe it. I did not know you were clever, Captain."
Zero-Zero-Three flushed. Ears darkening a deeper shade of blue, face feeling warm. The Emperor of the Known Universe, his genetic template, his Brother thought he was clever.
"What you have done on this world and with the shipping docks was also quite clever." Prime continued. "Appealing to local values to keep them in line. It's something Hode would have done." It was the first time anyone had mentioned Lord Hode by name since the party arrived, and Zero-Zero-Three couldn't help but notice that it was said in past tense. "I wonder, are you actually clever, or are you just copying his strategies?"
"Your Grace?" He asked, unsure how to answer that question.
"I remember you." Horde Prime informed him. "You jumped to defend Hode at Horrin's trial. You insulted your Lord in front of his Emperor by presuming he needed defending. Yet, Hode still favored you for many years. Why?"
"Well, I-" Zero-Zero-Three had no idea. He had no idea why Hode seemed to show a special interest in him over his other Force Captains, and he had no idea when Prime wanted from this line of questions. It was almost like her were… looking for something. But Zero-Zero-Three couldn't imagine what. He was just a clone, as unremarkable as any of his brothers. Unless… unless Prime somehow had heard about his defects and had come to investigate the flaw himself. To keep the cloning factory and crèches from repeating the same mistake. Zero-Zero-Three swallowed a lump of nerves. "I always thought it was because I was good at my job."
"No other reason?" Prime pressed.
The three cabinet Lords all sat, straight backed in their chairs. Almost tense. Nervous.
Prime was definitely fishing for something.
"I don't know!" Zero-Zero-Three blurted out. All of his insecurities and resentment of being left behind on this world bubbling to the surface and trembling out as a quiver in his voice. "I don't know why Hode left me here. I was a good soldier, and I was a good officer. I took my orders, I fulfilled my missions, I brought back victory. I served the Empire. I was ready to die for the Empire. But then he left me here. Dumped me far away from him without an explanation."
Leaning back in his chair, Prime steepled his fingers and regarded Zero-zero-Three from across the table. "Hode did not confide in you."
Blinking, the clone realized how ridiculous he must have sounded. Lord Hode was a member of the Emperor's cabinet. Why would he share the inner workings of his mind, his deeper thoughts, or motivations with a Force Captain that could die on any mission. Or worse, he captured and interrogated.
Lowering his eyes, Zero-Zero-Three muttered, "Lord Hode kept his own mind, Your Grace."
"You don't know about Hode." Continued Prime.
With his eyes down, Zero-Zero-Three couldn't see it, but the three cabinet Lords all exchanged glances.
"No, Your Grace, I guess I don't." Admitted Zero-Zero-Three. "I don't even know why he's not here with you right now, when the other Lords are."
This time, Zero-Zero-Three was looking up and did see the glances the three Lords gave each other. But he had no idea what they might mean. Just something significant.
"Lord Hode is dead." Emperor Prime informed flatly, without fanfare. Not an announcement, just a statement of fact. "He was the oldest clone to live on record and he expired from age. His cabinet seat is empty, and I am without someone to oversee the Third Division."
Mouth hanging open, staring at Horde Prime, Zero-Zero-Three just gaped.
"Zero-Zero-Three, Force Captain and Territory Captain, will you serve me as faithfully and diligently as you served your Lord?"
It was all Zero-Zero-Three could do to stammer out gibberish. The moment was so surreal. In the space of a heart beat he'd learned that Lord Hode was dead, then was being offered his late Lord's seat on the cabinet. This had to be a dream. This could not be real. Between his cloning defects and the dangerous life of a Horde soldier, Zero-Zero-Three never believed he might live long enough to even fantasize about a cabinet seat.
"Do not make me repeat the question." Prime warned. "Perhaps you are not as clever as I originally thought."
"Yes!" He finally got out. "I mean. I will serve you even more diligently, Your Grace." He offered a salute. "It would be my privilege."
As he said it, Zero-Zero-Three couldn't help but remember what Hode told him at their parting. 'Preform your duties here well, and you just might find yourself elevated above a Force Captain.' The only rank above Force Captain was cabinet Lord. He knew. Somehow, and Zero-Zero-Three had no idea how, but Hode knew this would happen.
