By the time they returned to the Kingdom of the Rabbits, the Tech Gobs had increased in number by three individuals, though their original purpose had been seemingly lost.
Despite our efforts to staunch the bleeding—whose viscous, milky fluid was unlike anything we’d encountered before—three lives were lost, proving that mere hemostasis wasn’t enough.
With the assistance of the Rabbits, we applied emergency first aid to stop the bleeding, yet it was futile for those who had been injured in vital parts. How could we possibly treat beings whose internal anatomy we didn’t even understand?
“What are we supposed to do?”
What had begun as a peaceful morning ceremony in the kingdom had now turned into the chaos of a field hospital. The Tech Gobs who had a promising chance of survival were being examined by the one remaining doctor, while the bodies of the fallen were gathered in one place. Meanwhile, family members attempted the ritual of “head opening.”
[…What is that?]
[They are extracting the crystal that houses life/essence/soul.]
The leader of the group—a diminutive figure wearing torso armor, recognizable by his single yellow optic camera—explained this to me. The sight was unnerving even to the naked eye. Standing at a towering height of 122 cm and weighing approximately 60 kg with metallic components included, this individual was evidently the strongest in the group, a fitting leader indeed.
He introduced himself with a phonetic approximation of his name as Ridelberdy. Currently leading the Tech Gobs, he had originally been the aide to the top warrior. On a side note, since Rabbits identify individuals by scent and have no culture of assigning names, I had been managing them via AR tags. Perhaps it was time to start assigning names now?
It seemed Tisy used to do this during her time, and suggesting it might bring joy to them.
To digress, Ridelberdy explained through gestures while crying—were their tears transparent?—how they were cutting open the heads of their kin.
[We all return to the Great Mother eventually. This crystal that houses life/essence/soul is necessary for that transition.]
Though I refrained from bluntly asking to see it amidst such a somber atmosphere, it bore a resemblance to something…
To the photon crystals that housed the transferred consciousness of mechanized humans, the operational core of digital sentience entities created through mechanization.
Though crude and distorted compared to the refined ten-faced prisms, the small fragment resembling a thumbnail wasn’t something you could easily mistake. Even as someone who had handled such crystals during wartime—to extract from fallen comrades or salvage fragments after breakdowns—the similarities couldn’t be dismissed.
Yet, their bodies still contained brain matter after the procedure. Their physiology was shrouded in mystery. Could it be that a rudimentary photon crystal naturally forms within them to regulate their mechanical parts during cell division? Though that seemed improbable given the complexity involved.
How did these individuals even come to be?
[Dear guests / green allies, welcome… What has happened?]
As we watched their somber ritual with heavy hearts, the elder finally emerged from the den. Apologies for dragging such an elder around multiple times in a single day; once the production facilities have more capacity, I’ll devise a medication for your knees using Tisy’s data.
Witnessing him communicate through gestures and footfalls allowed my real-time translation system to refine its precision by cross-referencing the two languages. Perhaps soon, my archaic dialect might be smoothed out entirely.
[A blessing-less one has come—the accursed knight from the Capitol / Celestial Dome / Holy City.]
[The Capitol / Celestial Dome / Holy City!? Why!]
[Those arrogant ones claimed to have retrieved the Great Mother… and then proceeded to…]
Hmm? What was that censored part? A strong slang term that triggered some form of content moderation, perhaps?
Incidentally, Tisy’s records had warned that Tech Gob language contains fifty times more scathing vocabulary than Sylvanian, necessitating caution. An accidental pronunciation mishap leading to war would indeed ruin one’s day.
[However, why is there a blessing-less one here? They weren’t present when we last visited.]
[He is different! A consort / ruler / great protector of the divine! Can’t you smell the difference?]
Ah, this recurring term had me curious about its precise meaning. Tisy also left a cryptic note questioning whether she qualified as such.
[Excuse me, what exactly does ‘blessing-less’ mean?]
[One who does not possess the crystal that houses life/essence/soul in their head…]
Another automatic translation censorship kicked in. Was it possible, Tisy, that you suffered from profanity phobia? It’s a mental condition common among translation officers or diplomats with numerical sentience integration that I’ve heard of before. If so, you might have been one such individual in your previous duties.
Regardless, it clarifies something important. The term ‘blessing-less’ likely refers to beings without photon crystals embedded in their brains.
[Then, Ridelberdy, I am not blessing-less. Look here.]
[Sacred connectors… the ancient terminal!]
When I lowered myself and revealed the mark at the nape of my neck, his single optic visibly contracted in shock. As he approached to inspect closely, I allowed him to gently examine it, but stopped him when he started wiping it, concerned that it might damage the delicate mechanisms protecting it with swarms of micromachines.
[Do humans naturally possess such terminals?! Even among us, few are born with terminals nowadays!]
[Originally, did you all have terminals?!]
[Yes! I possess one too! And our ancestors connected through them to the Great Mother!]
He suddenly became despondent, lamenting the loss of the Great Mother two hundred years ago when the otherworldly beast-like monstrosity emerged.
His mutterings, interspersed with static-like noise, were partly censored, but contained derogatory references to the aberrant eagle-like creature encountered earlier.
They had once lived near this “Great Mother,” which was described in Tisy’s records as a sacred site, inaccessible to anyone besides Tech Gobs. Its exact nature remains undocumented as even Tisy, out of respect, hadn’t approached it.
However, one day, the “Great Mother” began spawning aberrations, driving the Tech Gobs from their sacred and ancestral land to their woodland refuge. Some mythic recounting spoke of an illicit union between their deity and an alien deity producing such horrors, leaving me momentarily at a loss to respond.
Such direct language could indeed be embarrassing…
[Those aberrations, they overflowed. That nearby blessing-less one, the accursed knight, has stimulated them. Tribes scattered into the forest; some came here to warn us.]
Ridelberdy’s shoulders slumped deeply as he added how a patrol had met this fate.
The elder, upon hearing this, panicked, insisting that defensive measures were immediately necessary. Perhaps these aberrations weren’t limited to airborne threats; there might be ground-based creatures as well.
We’re in a bind. If they reach the edge of the forest and aren’t dealt with promptly, things will get ugly for all parties involved. Not only the surviving Tech Gobs, but the Sylvanians could be at risk too.
Furthermore, the likelihood that the Tech Gobs were somehow manufactured through some means becomes stronger. Maybe some massive facility survived and produced them by chance. If so, this could be a significant lead to improve quality of life and our chances of returning home.
However, weaponry remains an issue. The flight-capable aberrations are inherently fragile but resistant enough to require three heavy shots in reinforced mode to eliminate. If we face something akin to heavily armored land vehicles, we’d be buried before we knew it.
And given the description of their ‘overflow,’ the numbers must be significant, potentially in the hundreds. Even with a full magazine at our disposal, engaging such a force would not be prudent.
On the other hand, improving our weapons has its limits, and we need an immediate solution.
“Uh… do you have any good ideas, Selene?”
‘Perhaps we should distribute weapons to the remaining Tech Gobs and Sylvanians? Designing a simplified production model based on your coil gun could potentially aid in defense efforts.’
It’s a reasonable proposition, though distributing advanced weaponry suddenly makes me uneasy. After all, there was that one incident in some star system where a faction gifted an underdeveloped planet with fusion weapons as a gesture of trust—ostensibly to avoid one-sided conflict—only for them to use it in an internal war and obliterate an entire sapient species. It led to widespread galactic economic sanctions and a particularly somber international conference. But the rest of us got a good laugh out of it.
The Sylvanians, though, are a pastoral and energy-efficient species, so it’s unlikely they’d misuse such weapons. Besides, given that the Tech Gobs already wield charged particle cannons, we might be past that point anyway. The enemy would likely use rail guns as well.
Honestly, a thousand or two Gauss rifles aren’t going to bring about the end of the world.
“But do we even have the capacity to produce them?”
‘Most of our factory production and power have been devoted to your maintenance and containment unit creation, but we’ve gained some leeway now. With single-shot simplicity in design, we might manage up to twenty rifles and five hundred rounds per day.’
Then let’s go with that. If we frame it as a gift from the Divine’s companion, they’ll likely treat it with proper care. Yes, it’ll be fine.
“Alright, add it to the production queue, then.”
‘Understood.’
With our current plan in motion, let’s focus on that human now.
From observation, their primary injury appears to be a laceration across the torso. The wound was treated meticulously. Upon inquiry with the Tech Gob medic, they had repaired a ruptured intestine by cleaning and suturing it. Unlike our era where bowel injuries were often fatal due to leaking scent in onion soup, the level of care here seems far more advanced.
This human, referred to as a “cursed knight” by the Tech Gobs, is the sole survivor of their group, the others having lost their lives either in an encounter at the Great Mother’s site or succumbing to wounds during subsequent care.
The survivor has brown skin resembling premium honey, short tousled hair, large feline-like eyes, slightly pointed teeth, and is unmistakably a Homo sapiens female body type.
Lifting her eyelid to examine it revealed naturally clear green eyes—not a camera—and her skin, touched through damaged armor, was soft and warm. This individual shares striking resemblance to us, considered ‘old humans’ and originating from Old Earth, or 1st Terra standards.
Moreover, her armor is lined internally with bioengineered artificial muscles. Primitive in design and function yet effective as a “reinforced exoskeleton” that augments rather than overpowers the wearer’s strength, possibly allowing for movement in what otherwise would be immovably thick plating.
…And judging from the remains, this armor’s frontal plating is over 20mm thick. What force could shatter that and yet leave the wearer alive?
Checking her neck for condition unearthed a small lump.
Not tumors or circulatory issues; the position suggested otherwise…
“Hmm… this looks like something from the emergency medical protocols—a passive neural jack beneath the carotid artery near the temporal bone…”
We mechanized humans, valuing the anthropomorphic form even with prosthetics, are designed within a virtual space mimicking old human anatomy to foster emotional development. This contributes to maintaining a sense of comfort and familiarity, hence most mechanical enhancements include a neck, a guarded yet crucial area, where neural jacks are placed for convenience.
However, exposed jacks are susceptible to damage, especially in combat environments. Therefore, most prosthetic designs included reserve jacks at the base of the skull, located as such due to the principle that if the area were significantly damaged, jack functionality would be the least of concerns.
So, this individual also has a jack.
Might it be possible to establish a direct connection?
“Hey, Selene, I need you to look at this.”
‘Captain, as versatile as I may be, there’s a limit to what I can handle. What’s the matter?’
“I think this is an emergency connection passive jack.”
‘…After scanning, you’re correct. Furthermore, there are faint traces of photon crystal activity.’
What the hell… how come beings who supposedly reproduce naturally can already possess something we labor to manufacture?! Beyond mystery, it feels downright unreasonable.
“…Since she’s unconscious, should we attempt a connection?”
‘W-what!? Captain!! Attempting a direct neural link with someone, let alone a female on first encounter, is highly indecent!’
“This is medical conduct! Cease your disrespectful remarks! I happen to hold the Beta-Class Cybernetic Engineering Medal!”
Due to communication terminal limitations with regard to processing lag, I intended to establish a direct neural link between my own cybernetic system and hers, a notion which sent my companion into chaos.
Direct neural linking involves removing barriers and intertwining consciousness zones, essentially a physical contact between minds or, in certain interpretations, souls. Deeper than the intimate act of physical union that now serves mostly for pleasure, the connection within consciousness zones is boundless, especially if you consider how much more enjoyable that could be. It carries profound significance, particularly for entities like Selene, who exist as numerical self-awareness clusters.
Though my intent was purely investigative in the pursuit of unraveling mysteries of this world, the act was understandably unsettling for Selene. She, represented by an adorable bloated avatar of her former frame, now displayed an icon in my display’s corner, making me feel an unwarranted sense of guilt during a legitimate medical endeavor…
[Notes on Planetary Exploration]
Passive Jack. An emergency-use connection terminal hidden inside the body, often attached directly to parts of the skull. Used primarily in crises where the neck may be damaged in order to prevent a mechanized person from losing functionality.
Hidden beneath the body’s exterior, connecting to the Passive Jack poses certain risks, and is therefore prohibited except for those qualified to handle cybernetic equipment.
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