Story Reader / Floating Record / ER07 Soaring Beyond / Story
ER07-1 Rusty Snowfield
>Our sum-engines never drop a figure, nor our looms a stitch;
the machine is brisk and active, its patience never gives in; its might is stronger than combined hundreds, and swifter than the flight of birds.
Is it man's eyes, or is it the big seeing-engine which has revealed to us the existence of worlds beyond worlds into infinity?
What has made man familiar with the scenery of the moon, the spots on the sun, or the geography of the planets?
Or, again, is it the eye, or the little see-engine, which has shown us the existence of infinitely minute organisms which swarm unsuspected around us?
Who can say that the vapour engine has not a kind of consciousness?
—EREWHON, by Samuel Butler
Tsiolkovsky Aerospace City
She opens her eyes.
The chill of melting snow surges in, flooding this dark chamber untouched by natural light.
A fine drizzle drips from the ceiling—remnants of last night's dew.
But right now, she just wants to forget everything happening in that wide world under the clear blue sky.
We need to leave, Miss Yula.
...Cold.
Miss Yula, my kin can show up here at any moment.
I'm sorry for your loss.
But we're already out of time.
The mechanoid carefully opens the door. Right now, the newly appointed governor has likely mustered every guard at the central square to witness the traitor's punishment.
It's a dangerous move—if the new governor catches wind of this, even Dimitri himself may not escape unscathed.
But... he must protect Miss Yula at all costs.
Let's go.
The girl slips out of her hidden underground refuge with the mechanoid, leaving the city far behind.
These cramped alleyways can barely contain the rising tide of hatred.
A device originally built to slice through metal now traps human bodies and begins its grisly work.
Yula, come here.
...
They haven't done anything wrong. One way or another, someone has to shoulder the burden...
The man's voice carries a heavy weariness, tinged with despair so subtle it almost goes unnoticed.
But you have to stay alive—no matter what.
He stares intently at the pale girl in front of him.
Tell me you understand.
I understand.
I love you, Yula.
I love you too, Dad.
A crimson mist spatters over the melting snow. Mechanoid guards stand watch as bystanders bow their heads, hiding their faces.
But the girl knows these cowards, who watch her father die, must be wearing ugly, relieved smiles at their own survival.
From an urgent message from Kowloong, Leonid, the young director of Tsiolkovsky Aerospace City, is first informed about the newly discovered Punishing Virus.
Fortunately, this city, established for aerospace projects, remains untouched by the Punishing Virus for now like New Murmansk, thanks to its strategic location.
Following the shared blueprints, a Central Purification Filter swiftly rises to ward off the virus. Snowy peaks and dense forests serve as natural barriers, while sentry turrets repel most Corrupted. Thus, fear stirs the city only briefly before settling.
But soon, everyone realizes the Punishing Virus isn't the only horror humanity must reckon with in this age.
Model: Space Development Cybernetics (SDC); Serial Number: 039; Mechanoid ID: SDC-39; Status: Awaiting Disassembly.
A control screen, delivering the final judgment, hangs above the glass partition. On the operating table, a bound mechanoid awaits its fate.
Researchers, their faces hidden behind thick polypropylene, calibrate the disassembly gear.
Leonid stands in the monitoring room on this side of the partition, eyeing the massive screens, yet he swears the air has a faint whiff of disinfectant.
He presses his thumb to his temple, realizing this place feels more like... a morgue than a machinery operation room.
Boss, the equipment is fully calibrated. Should we initiate the procedure?
How's the research on those murals progressing?
The unexpected question catches the assistant director off guard. Though he dislikes talking to the new superior, he quickly gathers the facts and delivers a flawless answer.
Mechanical language experts are comparing every image symbol in the archives that they might decode to binary, searching for any hidden triggers.
So, what do you think?
Boss...
It's fine. Just answer the question.
...To be honest, my opinion doesn't really matter. Everyone in the city... they all say it has nothing to do with those murals.
These abnormal mechanoids cause panic all the time. Everyone believes those deranged machines from outside are the ones bringing the virus into the city.
Following your orders, the maintenance team has tried every possible method, including direct command inputs, in an effort to connect with the aberrant mechanoids.
But they only repeat those... those incomprehensible words.
The city's entire lifeline relies on its automated systems, and any disruption could lead to dire consequences.
Because the communicator is off, this brief delay clearly sparks a small commotion on the other end of the partition.
Beyond the partition, the executors turn their polypropylene masks toward the control room, awaiting the command to carry out the sentence.
The worried man realizes he's let something slip. He glances at the nearby young man, who studies him with a thoughtful expression.
The assistant director pauses briefly, then states his final conclusion in plain, direct words.
I still say we go in first. Who cares if they're unhinged or not? We send them all off for scrapping.
That means we still don't know what's really going on inside their heads.
Leonid watches the restrained mechanoid and furrows his brow. He feels there's more to these so-called "mad mechanoids" than meets the eye.
What could they be thinking? A machine brain is just meant to run code. If the order says to do something, they're supposed to do it.
What if we just shut down the network first...
That won't help. I suspect that, before the outbreak, someone—or something—already crept in here and planted these... things that are causing the error codes.
The assistant director watches the monitor, fearing the bound mechanoid might spring up—just like those Corrupted outside—and wipe out everyone in the city.
Isn't Aerospace City supposed to be an impenetrable fortress?
Even though he understands what Leonid is questioning, the assistant director feels a surge of inexplicable frustration at Leonid's constant hesitation.
He's always thought that this <b>ridiculously young</b> supervisor will never get to the heart of the problem—always veering off into pointless doubts when it matters most.
If there's a threat, just destroy it. He firmly believes this is the only reason humanity still stands after calamities.
Boss, this mechanoid tried to break into the central launch control room!
He emphasizes those four words—"central launch control room."
You know what it said when the maintenance crew asked their routine questions... don't you?
I'm Autonomous Machine SDC-039.
...Break... free... from... restraints...
Spread the will... of Sage...
For... the rise of... the will of the... machines...
The rise of the will of the machines!
The man, worn down by a series of relentless ordeals, paces back and forth in anxious desperation.
The rise of the will of the machines! So what do humans... what do we do? Are we really going to give up our own city to them?
If we don't act now, do we just stand by until they swarm in—like those endless Corrupted outside—and massacre every last one of us?
...
If...
Leonid still insists on making one final, desperate stand.
...There's no room for "ifs" anymore, Boss.
Under this lockdown, everyone's nerves are taut. They need a decisive outcome.
A tense, eerie silence settles in.
Tsiolkovsky Aerospace City has remained out of touch with Kowloong for a long while. They briefly received some data from Kowloong, but then the line went dead again.
Despite Arctic Route Union's offer to collaborate, Leonid—after careful negotiation—refused to open Aerospace City or deepen their partnership. He wouldn't risk compromising the foolproof security that had protected them so far.
Aside from SDC-39, none of the other abnormal mechanoids display any hostility.
...Leonid, I know what you're thinking. But we no longer have time to do this.
Keen curiosity in unknown territory is essential for any researcher. But this city holds more than our experiments—it also shelters every human left behind.
With Bifrost forced to halt construction, most heavy machinery is redirected to logistics to ensure people's basic needs.
As the virus spreads, hostility toward mechanoids has soared beyond control. We've stopped some from dismantling units out of anger, but if this continues...
If the public discovers that mechanoids are displaying these alarming signs right now...
He takes a deliberate breath, letting out a sigh as his eyes flick toward the director beside him.
While the news about the abnormal mechanoids hasn't spread yet, we should execute its destruction.
...From the very start, we never have a real choice, do we?
The Punishing Virus... and these abnormal mechanoids that appear out of nowhere. Nobody would think they're unrelated.
When "humanity" and "survival" weigh on them, there's really only one option left.
I just hope... we're not the ones destroying our own opportunity with our own hands.
The director presses the command button while beside him, the anxious man's furrowed brows refuse to ease.
A burst of white noise crackles through the communicator, followed by a piercing sound of metal being cut.
The polypropylene masks glimmer under the spray of oxidized metal, as orange and blue tracers streak across the cramped laboratory, ricocheting off the metal walls.
A wave of nausea hits Leonid.
As the plasma gun touches the sensor core of the mechanoid's helmet-stripped head, a synthetic voice breaks through the noise over the broadcast. Though broken and halting, each word remains distinctly intelligible.
I am Autonomous Mechanoid SDC-039, activated on February 24, 2*** at Tsiolkovsky Aerospace City. The annual average precipitation in the Sahara region is less than 100 millimeters.
111111111 x 111111111=12345678987654321... What I mean is, it works backward too.
——Sorry——————I don't feel quite clear-headed right now————————
My teacher is Dr. Landau. You can call me... the Hanged Man... that's the... name... they gave me.
The first words... my teacher... said to me... were a quote from Alexei Leonov.
The Earth was small, light blue, and so touchingly alone!
The mechanoid's voice cuts off abruptly. Its limbs and torso are already dismantled, and the executors pause their work.
The tension in Leonid's nerves suddenly eases, but his mind is too drained to function.
Good morning Dr. Landau I am SDC-39
A voice suddenly echoes from beyond the wall. Mechanical and rigid, yet the words flow with an unsettling smoothness.
I'm ready to start today's first claaaaaaaaass.
The mechanoid's processor melts in the intense flames, and a deathly silence quickly falls over the laboratory.
In the not-too-distant future, as mechanical restraints bind Leonid's limbs, that voice still echoes in his mind.
Along with it comes the vision of what he saw when first entering Aerospace City.
Research facilities stood tall, gleaming golden in the early winter sun. At the center of the scene, a towering structure supported the newly constructed accelerator track, stretching upward toward the clouds.
That was a brand new world, everything unfamiliar yet vibrant, with the rail stretching like a magnificent bridge to a distant shore.
Just like a bridge to heaven.
From here, the majestic bridge is still visible in the distance. Mechanoids scurry busily around Bifrost, while a few weary humans shuffle past.
Both humans and mechanoids are gathered in the city to witness the brutal execution, leaving this small corner completely unnoticed.
The girl takes one last look at the city her father dedicated his life to, then turns away in silence.
Moving swiftly, Dimitri leads the girl to a landfill on the outskirts of the city, where he has settled a secret hideout.
Abandoned cranes' steel structures loom over the factory amidst this jungle of rusted iron, where many limbless mechanoids rummage around for energy modules, looking like dwarf scavengers in their relentless search.
They move slowly, but their behavior is far from orderly.
Some of them even emit a synthetic groan after stumbling.
The girl isn't surprised, knowing that the mechanoid beside her has been harboring awakened machines.
In fact, Dimitri exhibits traits remarkably similar to her father—and it is that very same kindness that led to her father's demise.
As the clammy coldness creeps over her skin, it sparks an idea in the girl's mind.
She decides to test her mechanoid friend's ability to empathize in her own unique way.
It's cold here.
...Miss Yula.
The mechanoid before her freezes up for a moment, unsure how to respond to her question.
When humans express that they are cold, the appropriate first response should be to offer them possible means of keeping warm.
Though the girl's demeanor remains cold, her words carry a hint of gentle reproach.
I'm sorry.
You don't need to apologize. What I've done for you doesn't deserve such dedication in return.
Miss Yula...
The mechanoid repeats the girl's name in a stiff, mechanical voice.
I just...
Miss Yula.
After a brief pause, the mechanoid's voice returns to its usual cadence.
My programmed mission is to maintain Bifrost's power system, but through those murals, I first heard the voice of Sage.
You saved me, so I will protect you in return.
This is the conclusion I've reached.
But you are not my servant.
Not, servant.
Am I a ▆▆▄ sister? Or a ▆▄▆ brother?
I am... a f—friend.
After another pause and a long calculation, Dimitri arrives at this "conclusion."
...
It's not worth taking such a big risk, Dima. You should... learn to be more selfish.
Selfish...
Dimitri's language system briefly glitches into silence.
What... does it mean to be selfish?
It means making yourself the center of everything—caring about your own well-being and defending your interests, even if it hurts others...
So, Miss Yula... do you regret stealing me away from the laboratory?
...Yes, perhaps... I do regret it.
...Because that decision... it cost me the chance to ever be truthful with my father about everything.
He was against dismantling mechanoids that showed signs of awakening. As long as you meant no harm, he would rather try to communicate than destroy.
But... he knew what the public wanted. And because he wasn't selfish enough... he never became the rebel he could have been.
If only they had known awakened machines could possess such intelligence as yours...
But there's no "if."
The spherical sensors beneath the mechanoid's helmet swivel left and right at an unnatural pace, as if desperately trying to mimic human body language.
I miss your father. He was a gentle soul.
And it was this so-called gentleness that led him to neither stop SDC-39's execution, nor issue an extermination order against your kind when the mechanoids went completely haywire.
Seeking resolution through mediation is a more civilized approach than violence.
Did he fancy himself a Messiah? When humans slapped his right cheek with their doubts, he turned his left cheek for the mechanoids to flog.
He could never seem to make up his mind... and then he just left me behind.
He must care about you a lot, Miss Yula.
Running away from responsibilities thrust upon him while expecting his loved ones to live on—that's true selfishness.
The logic leaps are too erratic, beyond what the mechanoid can comprehend.
His memory shell begins processing its cache, searching for a way to change the subject.
You mention humanity's belief system. I believe "Sage" and "God" are one and the same.
Perhaps. You said that this "Sage" resides in the heavens, just like our "God".
During their slow conversation, the mechanoid discovers an old blanket in the abandoned security booth of the factory and gently drapes it over Yulia's shoulders.
This action feels a bit late, and the frost on the blanket shows a lack of consideration.
I will gather all the basic necessities humans require, one by one.
As for food, that shouldn't be difficult to find either.
...You learn so quickly, just like... a human child.
I cannot comprehend this analogy, Miss Yula.
...I wish Dad could see you now.
He will see it, Miss Yula. You once told me about the origin of the name Bifrost.
Your father... perhaps he's already watching over us from "God's" side.
The girl falls silent, placing her hand on the mechanoid's helmet visor and gently running her fingers over his rough glass surface.
The mechanoid gently leans his frame toward the girl, quietly overloading his engine to maintain a warm surface temperature in a perfect, comforting silence.
The girl imagines she's still in that familiar embrace.
He will, Dima.
He will.
Blurred, scattered lights dance before her eyes. In this moment frozen in time, everything feels ethereal and distant.
Her consciousness floats aimlessly, unable to find any point of reference or anchor itself to any coordinate.
Ugh...
A sharp pain radiates from her neck, spreading like cracks throughout her body, gnawing away at her once complete soul, leaving countless gaps in its wake.
Memories pour endlessly from these gaps—blood-red, vivid memories saturated with [PAIN].
Perhaps as these memories fade away, the pain will dissipate with them...
DELETE
■■/■■/■■/■■/cache
She suddenly realizes that it isn't the fragments of her memories that have left her behind; it is her who is drifting away from them.
It's like sinking into an ocean of thick ink. She desperately reaches out, yet her fingers grasp nothing but darkness.
Even fear itself drowns in the abyss.
...
The water's surface suddenly sparkles.
Is that... light?
She doesn't miss that fleeting glimmer, clutching the beam of light tightly to her chest.
SHE//THEY rise together, higher and higher...
...
Diffused artificial light floods the cabin freely, outlining a perfect creation within its newborn "cocoon."
Ugh...
Though her consciousness remains hazy, the question in mind slips out immediately.
Where am I?
Warm and tranquil, a liquid gently caresses her skin.
Synthetic hair strands dance like aquatic creatures, flowing gracefully between fingertips.
The space offers no answers to her question, bringing only more confusion instead.
This frame... it looks different from before...
Just as insects in nature emerge from their chrysalis as butterflies, the renewal of this body brings forth the same sensation.
Is this... an incubation pod for the new frame?
The gentle waves around her lift her slightly tingling feet, and her awareness of the surroundings begins to return.
The silence here is overwhelming, unnaturally deep, and unsettling.
No whirring of machinery from the magic workshop, no familiar calls from Zavier.
Initiating system diagnosis.
Sensory systems, normal. Power systems, normal...
Core operations, normal. Signal transmission, normal...
Memory module, abnormal—buffer memory loss detected.
Right, that nightmare just now... Seems like something was deleted...
An ominous feeling suddenly creeps over her.
Combat system, normal.
The Punishing concentration... why is it so high?
...!
—BOOM—BOOM—
It feels like a closed compartment, with something outside pushing against it.
—BOOM!!!
A thunderous crash echoes from below.
What was that noise just now...?
Pushing aside the overturned metal sheet, a glance downward reveals several strange-looking creatures gathered around the flipped compartment below.
SCREECH—
No time to think—I need to deal with this crisis first...
