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  https://youtu.be/K-pR3NxIUYQ?si=s2l39_A_ztcIXH-f

  After Is Not Because

  The Grand Market of the Constancia Kingdom bustled with its usual mechanical cacophony—the whirring of gears, the chiming of merchant-automatons, and the flutter of wings as mechanical birds swooped between the market stalls.

  “Fresh-forged passwords! Still warm from the anvil!” squawked a flying advertiser, hovering near Princess Sylla’s golden crown. “Magical firewalls! Tested on real trojans!”

  “Security of Her Highness is my duty,” Sir Cuprum waved his copper-plated arm at the bird.

  “Speaking of security,” Princess Sylla’s optics narrowed playfully at her guard, “that verse you quoted this morning—about moonlight on silver roads?”

  “Ah, Voltarius!” Sir Cuprum’s cooling fans whirred appreciatively. “Such mastery of form!”

  “And did you discover this mastery in my private letters?”

  “Your Highness! I would never!” His fans spun faster. “Many courtiers admire his poetry.”

  “Of course. Then perhaps it’s time we made our network more secure.” The Princess’s gaze wandered across the market stalls until it settled on a modest setup where a roundish, silver-bluish robot was sketching network diagrams on a worn blackboard. His chassis, though well-maintained, showed signs of extensive travel.

  She approached, her curiosity piqued. “You work with security systems, foreigner?”

  The humble merchant’s optical sensors adjusted as he turned. “Yes, Your Highness. I specialise in protective algorithms.”

  “Oh really?” She leaned forward, examining his diagrams. “And you think you can do better than our current systems?”

  “Well,” he explained patiently, “my newest programs are like guards who can spot a known criminal even in disguise and recognise suspicious actions from someone they’ve never seen before.”

  “That sounds promising!” The Princess’s servos whirred with excitement. “You must come to the palace at once and upgrade our security!”

  Sir Cuprum stepped forward. “Your Highness, protocol requires extensive background checks for any outsider entering the palace.”

  “But think how pleased Father would be! He might even grant you that promotion you deserve...”

  “My duty comes before rewards, Your Highness.”

  The constructor considered for a moment. This could be his chance not just to earn some cryptocoins, but to truly help and perhaps find promising students. He bowed deeply. “Constructor-Magister Eugen von Kernel, Wandering Cyberwarden, at your service.”

  The Princess’s optics brightened. “According to the Royal Decree of Security, section seven, paragraph three: ‘Any Constructor-Magister may be granted temporary access by direct royal order.’ Which I shall generate right now!”

  Sir Cuprum accepted it with a resigned whir.

  Eugen gathered his modest tools, trying not to appear too eager as he followed the Princess toward the palace.

  Hours later, deep within the palace of Constancia, the Constructor stood amidst towers of iron mechanisms that rose from floor to ceiling. Fibre-optic cables wove between them like luminous vines, their soft blue glow reflecting off polished surfaces. The entire chamber hummed with an energy that reminded him of his academy days.

  “Fascinating,” he murmured, running his fingers along a familiar configuration of circuits. “This bears the mark of Constructor Magnus—one of my teachers.” He turned to the Princess and Sir Cuprum with barely contained enthusiasm. “Your Highness, before we write new defence algorithms to recognise potential threats, we must run comprehensive tests of encryption protocols. Most importantly—” he gestured towards a device that scattered salt across memory banks, “—we must check the hash-salting mechanism. The procedures would require His Majesty’s presence and approval.”

  “Father is so busy lately...” The Princess’s voice carried a note of longing. “And this would take far too long! Can’t we show him something now?”

  Eugen watched the salt crystals scatter chaotically across the memory banks. It pained him to see such fine machinery in disarray. “Very well, let me at least fix this mechanism—”

  He reached for his spanner and approached the device.

  Suddenly, alarm bells shattered the chamber’s steady hum. Sir Cuprum’s blade extended with a sharp hiss as he moved to shield the Princess.

  Guards poured into the room, their metallic boots clanging against the iron floor. Behind them strode a tall figure, his grey chassis gleaming with gold decorations.

  “Lord Plumbum!” The Princess stepped forward. “What is—”

  “The treasury! Someone has accessed the vault. Many cryptocoins were transferred, and the trail ends here.” His optics fixed on Eugen. “And who might this be, examining our central processing core?”

  “Constructor-Magister von Kernel,” the Princess replied. “I invited him to help improve our security.”

  “How... convenient!” He spoke with cold suspicion. “Guards, arrest the constructor!”

  “But this device isn’t even connected to the treasury systems,” Eugen said, his voice steady despite the guards surrounding him.

  “Sir Cuprum, tell them! He never reached the device, did he?”

  The knight stood motionless for a long moment, then slowly retracted his blade. “Your Highness,” his tone softened, “please allow the guards to do their duty.”

  Evening fell over Constancia. In the dungeon, electromagnetic torches cast an eerie blue glow through the iron bars. A hidden door scraped open, revealing Princess Sylla and Sir Cuprum.

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  “So you disagree with the verdict?” Princess Sylla’s voice carried down the corridor.

  “Your Highness, it is not my place to question His Majesty’s judgment,” Sir Cuprum replied stiffly.

  “Yet you’re helping me now?”

  The knight hesitated. “My duty is to protect and assist you within proper bounds. If Your Highness wishes to question the prisoner, I see no harm.”

  While the knight watched the corridor, the Princess approached Eugen’s cell. Despite his circumstances, the constructor appeared remarkably composed.

  “I want the truth,” she said. “If you did breach our security, tell me how. What vulnerability did you exploit?”

  Eugen’s optical sensors brightened slightly. Even now, the teacher in him couldn’t resist a final lesson. “The true vulnerability, Your Highness, lies not in your kingdom’s network.”

  “Don’t play games!” The Princess’s servos whirred with frustration. “I’m not sure, but everyone thinks you’re guilty!”

  “With all due respect, Your Highness, they’re not thinking at all. The Royal Prosecutor wasn’t thinking. The jury wasn’t thinking. Perhaps even His Majesty wasn’t truly thinking when he signed my shutdown order. They’re merely recognising patterns, never questioning their assumptions.”

  The Princess tilted her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Let me illustrate. A backup memory core and a connection cable cost 110 cryptocoins. The core costs 100 coins more than the cable. How much does the cable cost?”

  “Ten coins, obviously!” she replied instantly.

  “Would you mind using your mathematical assistant to verify?”

  The Princess started to object, then paused. Her optics widened. “Oh! If the cable were ten coins, then the core would be... one hundred and ten... making the total one hundred and twenty… Five coins for the cable, then? But what does this have to do with anything?”

  “It shows how readily we accept patterns that seem obvious. Just as everyone accepted my guilt because I was present when the breach occurred. After does not always mean because of.”

  The Princess grew quiet. “But then... if timing alone isn’t proof...”

  Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor. Sir Cuprum stepped forward. “Your Highness, we must go.”

  Eugen extended his hand. “If I may—would you publish my latest work? It’s in my memory banks.”

  The Princess reached forward, but Sir Cuprum stepped between them. “Your Highness—”

  “Please. It’s merely text. Not a single line of executable code. You can verify this.”

  Sir Cuprum scanned the file, then quickly downloaded it before guiding the Princess through the hidden door. As they hurried through the secret passage, Sylla turned to her guardian. “Sir Cuprum, truly—why did you help me tonight?”

  “Your Highness, I... I never accessed your private letters. That poetry quote—I simply remembered hearing it. And as the constructor said: after doesn’t always mean because of.”

  The Princess stopped abruptly, “I’ve been unfair to you, haven’t I? You mentioned other courtiers admiring Voltarius...” Her voice grew thoughtful. “Has anyone been quoting his poetry lately?”

  Before Sir Cuprum could answer, the echoing sound of the executioner’s approach reached them through the walls.

  Night had settled over the kingdom when the executioner led Eugen to a larger chamber deep within the dungeon. The constructor found the haste peculiar—only two unfamiliar courtiers attended, their frames partially hidden in shadow. The executioner methodically prepared the electronoose while Eugen waited.

  King Algorex arrived, his golden chassis betraying signs of irritation. A noble robot whispered urgently to the monarch, nearly pushing him forward. Through the shadows, Eugen made out a familiar grey chassis with gold decorations.

  As the executioner connected the power cables, Eugen spoke his final words: “Remember, Your Majesty—after does not mean because of.”

  The surge of electricity struck, and then—

  Eugen’s consciousness flickered online in a dimly lit workshop. His new optical sensors struggled to adjust, feeding him fragmented data. Something felt wrong—his new chassis responded sluggishly, neural pathways still forming.

  “Don’t move yet,” a familiar voice commanded.

  Through static-filled vision, he made out Princess Sylla standing near the workbench. At his side, an artificer in a stained apron worked frantically, connecting delicate cables between Eugen’s temporary chassis and what appeared to be a partially melted memory core.

  “You figured out my article,” Eugen said, his voice unsteady as new circuits adjusted.

  “Once Sir Cuprum brought it to me, everything became clear!” The Princess could barely contain her excitement. “Though retrieving the core proved... challenging.”

  The mechanic grimaced. “From the forge itself, if you please. Sir Cuprum helped me get past the guards and insisted on searching through the remnants. Nearly got myself arrested, I did.” He adjusted another connection. “Never seen anything quite like this core design. Almost there—” A sharp crack interrupted him—the mem ory core had split. The artificer cursed. “That was close,” he muttered. “Transfer complete. But you’ll need time to get used to yo ur new shell.”

  The Princess’s tone grew serious. “I insisted on a proper investigation this time. Our Master Constructor confirmed that the device you examined wasn’t connected to the treasury systems. The evidence against you made no sense. And when we started looking deeper...” Her servos whirred with anger. “Lord Plumbum had been reading my private letters! He quoted that poem many times, knowing Sir Cuprum would repeat it unconsciously and nearly succeeded in framing him—and when you arrived, examining our systems, he saw an even better opportunity.”

  Sir Cuprum’s familiar heavy steps approached from the back of the workshop. “A merchant caravan leaves within the hour. They have papers for a new artificer’s apprentice.” He handed Eugen a worn cloak. “It’s not exactly Constructor-Magister quality, but—”

  “Perfect for an apprentice,” Eugen replied, examining his equally worn temporary chassis.

  “When Lord Plumbum realised we were closing in, he fled,” the Princess continued. “The city’s on high alert now. Guards are scanning everyone’s neural patterns... and if they recognise you...”

  The distant sound of marching feet made them all freeze. Sir Cuprum moved to the door, checking the street. After a tense moment, he nodded—it was time.

  They made their way through empty streets, Eugen struggling with his unfamiliar frame. Every patrol forced them to hide, pressing into shadows as scanning beams cut through the pre-dawn darkness.

  “I hate that we couldn’t do more,” Sylla said as they neared the city gates, frustration evident in her voice. “Father is being absolutely impossible about this. He says admitting a mistake would undermine his authority—can you believe it?”

  “Your father did one thing exactly right,” Eugen replied softly. “He gave his daughter the ability to question everything.”

  The Princess’s optics flashed with sudden intensity. “Wait—what if that’s it? What if they deliberately give commoners and lower nobles inferior processors to keep them controllable? After all, Lord Plumbum counted on everyone following patterns instead of—” She stopped herself mid-theory, then added with a touch of sheepishness, “Though I suppose there could be other explanations: costs, energy requirements, oversights, traditions... What do you think?”

  “I think,” Eugen replied carefully, “that your kingdom’s security vulnerability is as good as fixed.” He tensed as another patrol approached.

  This one was different—a ranking officer led it, his scanning equipment more sophisticated. The Princess’s optics lit up with that familiar sparkle of mischief.

  “Oh, Captain!” She called out imperiously, stepping into view. “How fortunate! I’ve had the most brilliant thoughts about Lord Plumbum’s possible escape routes. Father will be so pleased if we catch him quickly...”

  As she drew the patrol into an animated discussion, complete with elaborate gestures, Eugen slipped past. He reached the merchant caravan where several robots loaded the last crates. The early morning light caught the worn edges of his temporary chassis as he climbed into a cart.

  The Princess managed to throw him one last glance. “Show them all what a real teacher can do,” she whispered, too softly for the guards to hear.

  As the caravan disappeared down the road, its wheels leaving tracks in the morning frost, the Princess and Sir Cuprum watched from the castle walls.

  Somewhere in the distance, a mechanical bird took flight, rising into the dawn above the kingdom of Constancia, where an old pattern had finally been broken.

  Animation Studio Lazorewka

  05.01.2024