The elegant woman in the veil moved her slightly creaking arm, confirming its motion, before quietly sipping her tea.
Seated across from her, I, too, as if nothing were amiss, imbibed the pitch-black liquid reserved solely for clergy, then silently returned the cup to the saucer without a sound.
“Tasteless, isn’t it?”
“Please stop. I was just thinking the same thing.”
That was our impression of the tea served in the VIP room.
No, truly—it was unsatisfactory; it had an unmistakably amateurish flavor, as though carelessly tossed together with “this’ll do,” and was profoundly lacking in depth.
Is it the body, perhaps? Or the richness? There was a lack of depth when rolling it around in the mouth, and the bitterness was overpowering…
“Truly, humans are decadent creatures. This should never have been consumed.”
With a sigh, the Archbishop, now cloaked in a new veil—ah, currently serving as Assistant Cardinal, Lady Aurelia—rapped her newly presented prosthetic arm and returned the cup to the table. At this point, it was clear there was no intention to continue drinking.
“So, how does it handle?”
“Adroitly crafted, even more skillful than the original arm with less strain on the body, irritatingly so.”
The prosthetic arm presented to the former Archbishop, who had lost her left arm and leg while commanding the evacuation at the front lines, was directly connected to her “sub-brain” through advanced software, owing to her being an endpoint user, providing a simulated sense of touch.
Thanks to this, it seemed she could return to everyday life without any hindrance, which was certainly reassuring.
But, did she really not need it? If there were any desires, I could have added a shot-type coil gun, ultrahard blades, or even grenades considering the available housing space in the leg.
Though noble, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to have some sort of self-defense measure on hand…
“Speaking of handling, how about yours?”
“Well enough.”
“I did manage to recover the torso, though.”
As time passed, on the day after I retrieved my prosthetics, I had a tough time peeling a sobbing Galatea off me, but the fitting went smoothly, allowing me to finally reappear in public.
My attire remained a casual work overall with the first-tier weapon dangling as usual, but given that practically the only ones capable of handling me unarmed are the Magius Geanaite clad in Gear Armor—oh, and someone better at hand-to-hand combat than myself—I visited without any visible armament. Though I had been returned my monomolecular blade and other accouterments, it was a matter of courtesy, after all.
“Ah, so parts of it remained. It’s miraculous that it stayed intact in there.”
“It was retrieved as far as possible, but…”
“I assure you, there’s no need to worry. I’m just regular flesh now, so it would be fine to mourn me along with the others.”
I coolly bid farewell to my previous body, with which I had bid a tearful goodbye.
Was the Cardinal Assistant not fully grasping this sentiment, for I could sense her frowning beneath her veil?
Of course, after all that time spent reconstructing the unit with Selene’s help, it wouldn’t make a difference if it were completely damaged now—it’s not as though one treasures their lost baby teeth forever.
“Though you say that, there have been voices from the underground preachers suggesting that your remains be consecrated as holy relics, considering you are part of a saint.”
“…”
That made me pause.
What? I mean, I’m still alive and kicking. And after reading through the materials Galatea gave me, there didn’t seem to be anything in there about a saint’s revival or anything. Why are you venerating such things?
“What for?”
She glanced to the side, perhaps at the sprawling city below.
“The commoners need something to cling to. Something to venerate in times of need.”
Isn’t the Titan-2, still standing outside the city, more than enough? Worshiping a headless corpse sounds dangerously cultish—I’d rather avoid it.
“… Though you say so, seeing as it’s necessary for a complete resurrection, I’ll entrust you with it and we’ll dispose of it ourselves later.”
“I’m relieved.”
She must have a lot on her plate too. Between halving the personnel after that and the city’s reconstruction, it’s definitely overwhelming at her young age of thirty-nine.
“By the way, how’s the lockdown in the forbidden area going?”
“We’ve gathered most of the information. It appears the forefathers didn’t want to grant you excessive technology.”
“What was their reasoning?”
“To avoid becoming unhealthy, like sitting in front of a box that endlessly produces food.”
The Archbishop’s astonishment was evident, even covered by her veil, but when boiled down to its simplest essence, that was the answer.
After that, we delved into deeper layers to uncover what the beings they revered as “forefathers” truly desired—though, out of consideration for their faith, I sent Galatea back—obtaining various kinds of data.
However, to summarize the findings in hindsight, the “unknowns” increased significantly.
“Unsure, you say?”
“Um, I apologize for the implications, but the meaning behind the abandonment of this ship, or why reproduction was allowed on Terra 16th, remains a mystery.”
While the contamination of the communication band was not as severe on “Tiamat 25,” the impact was substantial on “Inanna 12.” Thus, the retrieved data was fragmentary. However, there were a few points we could confirm with certainty.
First, their history was remarkably accurate.
Assuming the onset of communication band anomalies as X time, the “Inanna 12,” which was connected to the fleet’s communication network, had been contaminated within ± ten seconds. As this ship was adjusting the tides of a planet by pulling and pushing the moon, the progress logs remained intact, lending credibility to the records.
However, there was a difference between them and us.
Even though they were somewhat modified humans, they were not as vulnerable as “mechanized humans” or multidimensional selves and did not suffer fatal consequences from the contamination.
So, the question arises—why was “Inanna 12” left adrift until the end?
Apparently, the culprit was cunning and included non-higher beings (“non-higher beings”) among the targets. The pseudo-intelligence controlling the ship was incapacitated to a certain extent and sent a false report indicating that the “Nagato 7,” the flagship of the fleet, had experienced a singularity reactor critical accident.
“What kind of power source do you have?!”
“I just want to clarify, but as it’s a quasi-planet, the ‘Inanna 12’ itself carries three such reactors.”
Upon learning this, she abruptly stood, glancing uneasily at her feet. However, the fact that the principle of singularity reactors was conveyed suggests that the apocrypha details much technical insight.
“Well, you’re better off giving up. If it ever goes berserk, there will be nothing anyone can do.”
“… Now I understand why this theory is only recorded in the apocrypha. I couldn’t have imagined it was beneath our feet.”
“Relax. There have been zero accidents thus far. Even on ships that have sunk, they’ve managed to disperse the black holes immediately, rendering them harmless. Otherwise, no flagship with a two-hundred-person crew would have such reactors.”
In any case, since the “Nagato 7” belongs to the “Nagatonokuni-class planetary battleship,” a flagship exclusively designed for the Unified Space Army, the vessel houses seven singularity reactors. Were any of these reactors to breach its casing, there would be significant galactic upheavals in the vicinity, potentially giving birth to a new galaxy. Hence, the pseudo-intelligence of the “Inanna 12” scrambled to evacuate the crew in panic.
Indeed, if a black hole were to form, there would be no escape. However, there are some emergency jump scenarios that provide limited safety, indicating why the pseudo-intelligence attempted to save the crew. Or perhaps it was simply defined to do so in emergencies.
In any case, the crew entered what’s known as “stasis pods,” an enhanced version of cryosleep devices that maintain the body in a state nearing zero metabolism while in suspended animation. Every crew member entered these pods, hoping for a miracle.
However, the “Nagato 7” never had a critical accident. The disoriented pseudo-intelligence couldn’t leave the star system and drifted aimlessly. Over time, the vessel’s trajectory was gradually pulled by gravity into what would become a crash landing.
“So, what happened to the forefathers?”
“Only then were they awakened. Jolted awake by an ‘untraceable command’ received by the pseudo-intelligence.”
Naturally, the pseudo-intelligence aboard “Inanna 12” wasn’t completely incompetent—despite being severely contaminated it attempted to stabilize the ship’s position with thrusters. However, no ship of quasi-planetary scale is equipped with infinite fuel, and they ultimately succumbed to gravity.
The crew was awoken from stasis when it became clear catastrophic measures had to be taken. To avoid planetary impact, the ship began to disintegrate itself as it crash-landed.
The bewildered crew, waking to this dire situation, likely had no idea what was happening—thinking they’d been caught in the first singularity reactor accident, praying to their gods while entering stasis, only to find themselves abandoned on Terra 16th with minutes till impact.
Whether through the pseudo-intelligence’s remnants or the captain’s decisive judgment, we cannot ascertain from the fragmented logs, but to minimize planetary damage, the “Inanna 12” began self-dismantling each section as it crash-landed on the surface.
Thanks to the anti-gravity units, there was no impact akin to the dinosaur-extinction event, but the crash ushered in a mini Ice Age as it landed.
“Is this the truth behind the nation-building mythology?”
“Indeed. Should we add this as an addendum to the apocrypha?”
“… Best to leave it aside. No offense, but it sounds somewhat silly.”
Fair enough. After all, sailors fundamentally rely on machines and instruments since they can’t experience space firsthand.
“So upon landing, they thought—like me, they yearned to return to their homeland no matter how much time passed.”
“Then…”
“They maintained the ship as they prayed for rescue, using their genetic material as a foundation to create your people.”
Here, they clung to one last bit of hope, praying for a rescue party that would revive their rescue beacon.
Still, they noticed something peculiar. Despite being a bit deluded, their primitive clocks hadn’t broken, and they realized a millennium had passed since the incident. Simultaneously, they noticed that their ships and equipment—clearly past their life expectancy—somehow remained intact.
After all, even a colossal ship capable of commanding numerous detachments would suffer issues if neglected for a thousand years. Generally, quasi-planetary vessels required maintenance every eighty years and overhauls every two hundred.
Considering a ship was designed with an estimated lifetime of eight hundred years, it’s improbable for an abandoned vessel simply orbiting to remain unscathed.
This led them to form a hypothesis—there’s something mysterious about this planet or star system.
And this mystery was what kept them alive.
Eventually, their explorations led to those stylish disfigured remains—actually, just replicas of our skulls—and formed the holy doctrine.
Honestly, for people living in a scientific age to believe “the planet blessed us with magic” seems a bit extreme, but given the inexplicable phenomena, one could understand their desperation.
“And to ensure the ship’s prayers continued, they entrusted us…”
“And went back into stasis.”
Unfortunately, most people of the Solar Federation are Old Humans, so even with mechanical augmentations and gene therapy, living for three hundred years is already considered a good run. Their only hope of returning to their homeland was returning to stasis and waiting.
Thus, over approximately a hundred years, they painstakingly increased the population of their creations—teaching them everything they needed to know, then abruptly entering stasis themselves…
“And? What of the forefathers—the crew?”
“Hmm… unfortunately, it seems this planet’s magic only works for machines… the second attempt at stasis was too much, and they all ended up freeze-dried.”
“Freeze…?”
“Simply put, they turned into desiccated lizards. No amount of soaking would bring them back.”
The first attempt was barely survivable, but the second was fatal. Enthusiastic cohorts, expecting rescue parties multiplying their numbers, arrived eagerly but met total annihilation.
Though the stasis pods were intact, the people within had perished due to overuse and repeated cycles of hibernation.
It’s a cruel ending, but unforeseeable consequences are inevitable.
Honestly, no one’s ever tested how long humans can remain in stasis—it was only a hundred years at most during the early experiments. In theory, it was estimated that “perhaps five hundred years might be doable” for stasis pods.
Though safer and more reliable than conventional cryosleep, no one envisioned durations reaching two thousand years—so this outcome is expected.
“Thus, the extent of what we’ve uncovered concerning the forefathers is roughly this.”
“… If anything, it’s reassuring that the existence of the mechanical gods has been confirmed.”
Clutching her hands to her forehead, she prayed, and I felt sympathetic.
Although it was her side that requested this new information, I couldn’t help but feel I wasn’t entirely to blame…
“Still, there’s one big mystery that continues to puzzle me.”
“Mystery?”
“Why your kind possesses photosynthetic crystals, a fact absent from all records. In fact, it wasn’t even part of the original design.”
“Eh…?!”
Her reaction, though intense, paled in comparison to my own shock.
I mean—I assumed the Confederation had somehow engineered them for natural birth, but who would have expected they just “appeared without anyone knowing”?
【Addendum on Planetary Exploration: Stasis Pods】 A type of artificial hibernation device that dramatically lowers the human metabolism, enabling long-term preservation. Preferred over cryo-freezing because it allows longer periods of stasis and results in less “stasis hangover” upon reawakening. However, the longest guaranteed preservation is five hundred years, with no guarantee for usage beyond a second cycle.
The next update is planned for around 18:00 tomorrow.
