Since I am wise, even though I was excited, I didn’t recklessly unleash the “Holy Lance” at maximum power.
Still, the fact that even when I throttled the output down to 10%, the corridor melted a little, I hope the Tech Gobs can forgive me. If I had fired it at 100%, it wouldn’t have pierced through the hull, but it would have gone through several sections, so my rationality was still functioning properly.
“Damn it, cooling down again!!”
I was starting to get irritated with the “Holy Lance” as it released steam and opened its cooling panels. Since I’ve pushed it so hard for the last half day, the heat sink must be fried, but if I have to cool down frequently even in low-power mode, it might as well be useless.
[What happened!?]
[A big guy was waiting at the gate! I’ll open it now, so please wait a bit!]
Ridelberdy also arrived shortly afterward. Judging from the fact that he was covered in white blood, it was evidently hell both at the front and no less so at the rear.
While the Sylvanians gradually ascended, engaging repeatedly in rearguard battles from behind, their numbers were somewhat lacking. Aren’t there only a dozen or so?
[What happened!?]
[We climbed / nobly / and were guided]
When I asked the individual overseeing the rabbit warriors, their return was filled with a sorrowful hesitation. Looking at their blood-covered bayonet mounted on the coilgun they carried, it was clear they had engaged in a fierce close combat.
Their ammunition was depleted. Despite being a species lacking in combat spirit, they still came to the battlefield for my sake, but three of them ended up as casualties.
[…May Tisy bless them]
Offering a prayer to Prometheus of the rabbits, I felt a sense of regret at my own insufficiency, but there was no time for that now. I pounded my knee and reinvigorated my resolve. Mourning can wait for later. According to the rabbits’ mythology — which was beautifully chronicled in the Tisy File — Sylvanians believe that after death, they will be welcomed into a basket of fresh grass and receive the eternal caress of “steel fingers.”
If they fell fighting for their village, even the gentle Prometheus would surely accept them.
“Damn it, there’s no choice but to force it open. Forgive me, everyone.”
Wiping away my sorrow as I sheathed my single-molecule blade and drew it again. The razor-sharp edge of a single molecule should be able to slice through the central control room door, whose protective coating has peeled off.
No good. I was kind of hoping to use Tiamaat 25’s defense systems, but the fact that it attacked us indicates that the communication band has been contaminated and the code is completely destroyed.
Direct connection is dangerous.
For a moment, I hesitated by the console next to the door, but then I kicked the door in after carving into it. The heavy double-layered door fell with a thud. It was nearly 30 cm thick, so it was so heavy that my ankles started to creak.
Come to think of it, it is an explosion-proof door for the central control room, so I should have just applied pressure instead of showing off.
While lightly protecting my ankle and entering, the space was extremely bleak.
There was not a trace of futuristic sci-fi machinery; it was mainly smooth and bland metal walls and floors with only a chair and connection terminal at the center.
This design doesn’t change much, whether it’s equipment or a ship.
Since the control of the ship is directly handled by either the humans or the onboard multi-sequential artificial intelligence systems, there was no need for the luxury of instruments or monitors that require visual reading, consuming time unnecessarily.
Thus, our ships are fundamentally designed to be spartan. However, I find it quite lonely as someone accustomed to classical VRs that simulate historical naval captains — I wish it had plenty of mysterious circular dials.
Would it not be possible to place some unnecessarily extravagant columns that might crush you if they fell?
[Come in! Hurry!!]
While indulging in these extra thoughts, valuable time continued to slip by. Having completed the clearing process in mere three seconds of base reality time, I led the reduced number of warriors inside.
[Help me out!]
“Yes!!”
And then, wedging my fingers into the edge of the blasted explosion-proof door and trying to lift it, it was too heavy, so I asked the Tech Gobs, whose strength far exceeded their stature, for help, and we finally managed to partially lift and close the door.
I could feel the mockeries pursuing us from the rear.
[Seal it! Redistribute the ammunition! I will check the state of the “Great Mother”!!]
Though it’s a case of being completely cornered, there’s nothing we can do about it.
Moreover, as I expected, if we can only subdue the “Great Mother”…
“Yikes!?”
‘What has happened, Captain!’
“Bastard!! What the hell is this!!”
Now, the captain’s seat, located near the wall with its back toward the entrance, wasn’t visible during the clearing process, but while searching for the connection terminal, I let out a scream upon encountering the grotesqueness tightly embedded within the seat cushion.
There was a mass resembling an undefined lump of a tumor, vaguely human-shaped, clinging to the captain’s chair. The position where its head-like portion rested against the backrest, hugging it like a fetus, seemed to fundamentally desecrate life, creating a nauseatingly repulsive sensation.
Ah, that’s right; the Tech Gobs mentioned that the “Great Mother” was violated by the “Corrupted Male Deity”.
Is this it? The name fits so perfectly that I feel like praising the ancient Tech Gob who named it.
“An automaton’s corpse…that can’t be right.”
‘Captain, prosthetic bodies neither decay nor rot.’
“I know that.”
The revolting object, pulsing with disgusting beats, was partially fused with the captain’s seat interface.
Hmm, I’d like to remove it surgically, but forcibly extracting someone who is directly connected like this tends to destroy the one being removed.
So then, I must connect to this terminal across the terminal, despite these circumstances…
…This is troublesome.
There was no other choice, so I connected my terminal to the vacant side of the two ports—but the power abruptly cut off.
This crucial moment, and my battery is dead?! Let’s set aside that classical comedy and instead focus on reality: my terminal’s outdated CPU couldn’t endure the overload and burned out.
From the logs salvaged barely after the terminal was destroyed, it was evident that the terminal was deluged by a torrent of immense information, mad codes within 0.06μs.
This small terminal wasn’t cracked; it was simply burned out by what boiled down to the question “Who?”.
‘Captain, this is…’
“It’s undeniable; it uses photonic crystals for quantum computing.”
The processing speed per second, the deranged but logistically sound programs, all indicate something that neither I nor Selene, with our processing speeds and capacity, can execute.
In other words, connecting directly is the only way to silence this grotesque male deity.
“To be engaging in electronic warfare at such a critical juncture…”
‘Captain, it’s reckless! Your case doesn’t even carry a secondary brain unit!’
“But then, if I stay silent, I’ll be torn into pieces. It’s worth the recklessness.”
‘You’ve been doing nothing but reckless things lately!!’
Pulling out a cable from a storage unit, I also retrieved a spare communication drone and sent it floating in the air.
‘I will provide support, but do you know how many kilometers away they are? The communication delay is more than 2 seconds!’
“There’s nothing I can do; this is the only light-speed communication we have.”
When we constructed the galaxy-scale communication networks, we realized “isn’t light slow?” quite some time ago. Even in the era when our predecessors only possessed fleshy bodies, light was considered too slow.
After all, even with wired communication, playing fighting games with people on the exact opposite side of the Earth results in a few frame differences. With such an inconsistency, it’s impossible to have a proper match. Thus, we developed quantum communication and laid down an FTL communication network across the galaxy.
However, with no terminals, satellites, or anything supporting quantum communication available now, it’s extravagant and entirely unrealistic to hope for it. Simply having someone accompany us is already something to be grateful for.
Through the thin radio waves, I don’t know how much my partner can achieve, but she’s a multi-sequential self-aware entity. Born as an electronic warfare expert and a virtual world fairy, there’s nothing but prayers that she’d somehow sync with me.
“Galatea.”
“What is it, Nozo… Ah, what is this?! I-Is this the corrupted male deity?!”
Somehow stopping her as she hastily tried to point a gun, I managed to hold her back, explaining that destroying it physically might also damage “The Great Mother”.
“I intend to defeat this now, but it’s quite dangerous. If I grip your hand strongly, please yank the connection out for me.”
“K-Do you have terminals? …Er, I mean, putting that aside for a moment, is it safe?! The Gear Priests say that disconnecting machines connected through circuits usually destroys them… ”
“Craziness is worse. I trust you.”
When I extended my hand, after a mere pause, she firmly returned the gesture.
Alright, emergency shutdown preparations in case of an emergency have been made.
“Alright, let’s dive into the sea of maddened codes.”
‘It’s like diving into a storm. I’ll be accompanying you though.’
“Sorry, Selene. May the blessings of the Three Holy Saints, the three A’s, be upon you.”
‘And may the blessings of T. Osamu and A. Ken be upon you, Captain.’
A deep breath. And then, with a firm resolve, I connected the cable to the terminal, and a flood of madness surged through.
But after all, it is merely a program. No matter how crazy, as long as it’s coded, there is a pattern. Even if it seems entirely random numbers, it wouldn’t function otherwise. Since it’s fundamentally still producing meaningful entities while corrupting “The Great Mother” and continuing to spawn abnormalities, it is still spitting out something coherent.
“Ugh, disgusting.”
‘A mixture of ternary and fifteen-based numeral codes, old command prompts, and software. Incredible, this is not invasive information flow nor a virus… it attempts to burn and rewrite our consciousness!’
The repetitive “Who?” probes are grinding down my mental barriers. It alone is overwhelming; blocking the mad program from infiltrating this far while defending our sanity against madness turns our brains into boiling pots.
Shit, compared to the mass of lunacy that once flooded communication channels, the madness emitted by this single entity is better but for the “pressure” to be at this level…
‘Sealed off contaminated ports 23–44, deployed deceptive zones, dummy barriers… They are being penetrated. Transitioning to a multilayer defense’.
“Defense is on you! I will delve into the interior control system and attempt a reboot.”
The several layers of barriers and decoys around my self are being burned away one after another. The other side is sending completely mad codes through high-spec communications wavelengths, attempting to burn away our sense of self. Being neither simple viruses nor anything so, our antiviral measures and offensive barriers are viciously insufficient.
“Connect this relay to Tiamaat 25… Where is the control system… Shit, the internal programs have been completely rewritten!”
‘Sealed ports 67–89, cut dummy barriers 1–22, new multiple deceptive zones deployed.’
The incursion is rapid! Now, it’s uncertain whether I can read and understand the mad program before it erases me entirely. I momentarily recover control of my body, fishing out three needle-free injectors from a pouch on my waist.
These, referred to as cybernetic accelerants, are a form of combat drug that forcibly overclocks the mind by temporarily lifting limits. Usually, it’s not enough to keep up at a normal speed; I must risk burning out parts of the memory to surpass it in speed and read this complex numeral code!
“What is Nozo doing?!?”
“Snap out of it!”
Breaking the seal, I rapidly injected all three into my neck, whereupon the world thumped in pulse-like rhythm, and my vision turned completely red.
My cybernetic system overheated due to the temporary overload, and heat my d-type prosthesis couldn’t tolerate caused my nose to bleed profusely, but there was no time to care.
“…I’ve got the tail! Starting code conversion!”
I’ve grasped the pattern of the crazy number sequence! Decomposing the overlapping “Who?” voices, finding their method, and forcibly converting them into binary, which is the code we generally handle. Moving through Tiamaat 25’s data towards the central control system.
[Not yet, warrior! The pressure from the outside is intensifying!]
[Hold more strongly! With greater force! Excessively so!!]
Meanwhile, the outward pressure is also mounting. Realizing they can’t hold us here, the mockeries are massing at the entrance, repeatedly ramming into the opened lid in an attempt to force it open.
Shit, close call — the door-opening command was about to run. Not happening on my watch.
‘Captain! Danger!! Our deceptive zones have been penetrated! Mental barriers 1–3 damaged! Dummy barriers are being ignored!’
“Just a little more, a little more left.”
I can feel the shell protecting my self being scraped away, grinding. Holding out against the mind-maddening pressure, I approach the corrupted codes, correcting them from the edges, inching closer to “The Great Mother’s” control.
Alright, connecting to the ship’s control system, disabling the security clearance with emergency procedures, bypassing the authentication codes to enter complete ship control…
“Connected! Emergency shutdown protocol!”
‘Barrier 4–6 reached contamination limit! Cutting them off! We are now on the final barrier!!’
“I can’t stop rewriting the program! Just grant me twelve more seconds!”
‘You’re asking for too much!?’
They overwrite the program crazily as I fix it, necessitating counter-overwrites from me. Otherwise, the emergency shutdown I’ve initiated will be interrupted.
Accept the mainframe… approved, passing on virus blockers as recognized commands, final approval procedures executed, the OS controlling the ship begins issuing notifications.
‘Tiamaat 25, initiating shutdown following emergency protocols.’
Softwares running throughout the ship are forcefully terminated, and the shutdown process commences, causing the functions of “The Great Mother” to fall, halting the subtle vibrations sensed since entering the ship.
The main engines and auxiliary engines, the internal manufacturing machines; all cease their operations. Please hold out until the restart…
‘Tiamaat 25, shutting down. Thank you for using our services.’
“Ga– Galatea!!”
At the same moment the final barrier marking the distinction between “myself” and “not me” was scraped by icy claws, the shutdown was executed.
I grabbed Galatea’s hand, instructing her to disconnect the cable.
Simultaneously, the world went pitch black.
‘Captain! Captain!!’
“Nozo! It’s disconnected! Nozo!!”
My cybernetic system couldn’t bear the overload, attempting to reboot by shutting down the power. A somewhat normal procedure, allowing some relief.
My strength fled from my body as I heard the cold voice of the cybernetic OS.
Rebooting in progress, cache deletion, clearing tainted data…
The sound of banging on the door ceased. As expected, those abnormals were being controlled by “The Great Mother’s” drone management system, so they stopped moving once the system shut down.
We won.
In the fading consciousness, I let out a triumphant battle cry in the gradually quieting world…
[Space Exploration Supplemental Notes] Direct connection between computers makes it possible to interfere with each other to the extent that it is more efficient than using terminals, but in essence, it is a dangerous act akin to touching souls, so it is not done unless under extremely reliable conditions or with people you are extremely familiar with.
I apologize for the delay; I found something I wanted to revise just before submission.
On July 18, 2024, an update is scheduled around 18:00.
