Throughout my existence, I have known a great variety of people: wise kings, inscrutable captains, audacious generals, versatile engineers, and intrepid pilots.

  I believe I have met many people. Because of my role as a strategist, I must understand how both my allies and my enemies act and think.

  Thanks to my advanced processing capabilities, I was always able to calculate their actions and predict their behavior.

  And yet, despite all of that, I cannot fully understand the person standing before my monitor.

  I met him in the most unexpected way. What were the chances that our paths would cross? I could calculate it, but it would be a waste of resources; even so, I know they were minuscule. At first, several centuries separated us. If it hadn’t been for the war and the shipwreck, who knows whether I would even still be alive now. On top of that, after being swallowed by the legendary Red Storm, that should have been the end: an eternal sleep, drifting aimlessly until returning to nothingness.

  But against all odds, I woke up one day, and standing before me was a red-haired young man in a suit on the verge of falling apart, battered and exhausted, yet happy to have found me. After that, we quickly became companions and comrades-in-arms in our crusade to escape what he called “this damn storm.”

  He is a strange young man who continues to spark my curiosity every day. He claims he became an engineer because he lacked the talent to be a pilot, despite the fact that his skills at the controls of an armor are those of an ace. He doesn’t seem ambitious or particularly driven, yet he has a remarkably ingenious mind when it comes to finding solutions to problems.

  At first glance, he appears somewhat childish, always laughing and cracking jokes, but when the situation demands it, he advances decisively to the front and fights with ferocity to push through. He proclaims himself a misunderstood genius, destined for marginalization by people he defines as inferior; and yet, when Alex—a person he had known for little more than a month—disappeared, he fought tooth and nail, putting his own life on the line in an attempt to rescue him.

  He is an old-school conspiracy theorist, moves with ease through the darkest reaches of the EtherNet, and speaks ill of the kingdom and the royalty, but shows great respect for soldiers, especially those who have died in the line of duty. He loves machines and science, yet his mind is open enough to pray to a God whose name he admits he doesn’t even know.

  I cannot analyze him. He has too many facets for someone so young. How was he raised? What drives someone like him to keep going? And most importantly: how far can he go? I am about to find out.

  [I need you to let me enter your mind] I requested in the midst of the battle.

  “…Damn it.”

  I saw his expression falter for an instant. It was completely expected; after all, his personality fit perfectly with that of someone who keeps aluminum foil in his pocket.

  “…What for?” he asked, scowling.

  [Do you know my Sovereignty?]

  “Of course. Absolute Comprehension. One of the legendary Nine Hyper-Giant Sovereignties of the Princesses, the only Sovereignties executed by ships.”

  [And do you know what its effect was?]

  “As the name suggests, you used your advanced systems of information gathering and analysis to perfectly comprehend every inch of the battlefield in real time, no matter how massive it was, allowing you to devise the optimal strategies.”

  I nodded as I watched him. It still seemed strange to me that things which, in their time, had been top state secrets were now available on the net.

  [Perfect, that saves time. As you know, my capabilities still aren’t at their maximum, and even if they were and I could activate my Sovereignty, it wouldn’t help much. Even if I told you a bullet was approaching your flank, a kick from behind, and a stab from the front, your reactions would be too slow due to the delay.]

  “But it would be worth trying,” he said with his characteristic fighting spirit.

  [No. According to my calculations, if we did that, we would still end up defeated.]

  “Okay, okay, bad idea… then why do you want to enter my mind?”

  [If we connect through your pilot circlet, you would have direct access to my information processor and scanners. It would be similar to how you connect to the armor’s processor to enhance your mental capabilities, only several levels higher.]

  “How deep will you go?” he asked seriously. I don’t think I had ever seen him like that.

  […I don’t know. For us to connect, I need to understand you] I decided to be as honest as possible.

  Up to now, I had never tried anything like this, so what I would find inside was a mystery even to me. I watched him think in earnest for a few seconds, until the sounds of the golden armors drawing closer forced him to make a decision.

  “Do you promise me I’ll be able to win with this?” he asked, almost resigned.

  [I can’t promise that, and even if you do win, I don’t know if you’ll still be yourself in the end. But it’s the only alternative that doesn’t lead to certain defeat.]

  He let out a long sigh. “Alright, but you’d better not go snooping around in there,” he said as he unlocked the access permissions.

  [I’ll try to leave everything just as I found it] I said, as if it were a house, while activating the connection.

  ***

  Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect from the human mind. Mine, like that of most AIs, is an example of order and efficiency… or at least it used to be. Lately, it has been kind of a massive mess.

  What would I find there? A labyrinth of memories? A holistic space filled with abstract thoughts? A dangerous land full of mysteries and revelations?

  My thoughts wandered for a few seconds among so many possibilities, and before I could even realize it, I was already standing in a pleasant, homey room. It felt clean and warm; it seemed as though someone had genuinely put effort into creating a cozy atmosphere.

  [Nice, but a bit anticlimactic after thinking about so many things] I said as I looked around, far more ordinary than I had expected.

  My contemplation was interrupted by the sound of a door opening. From it emerged a small red-haired child of about four or five years old, who crossed the room with tiny steps.

  [Rob?] I spoke to the little one.

  “He can’t hear you. It’s a memory, an event that can’t be interfered with, only observed,” I heard a voice beside me.

  I turned in surprise, looking for the source, and ended up widening my eyes in shock.

  [Rob…? no, wait, you’re not him.]

  Suddenly, I noticed a tall figure standing next to me. It wore a dark robe that gave it an ominous air. Startled, I jumped back and took a defensive stance, ready for the worst. Then I looked at its head: a red dog-shaped mask covered its face. The sight completely threw me off; any sense of danger vanished at once when I saw those cartoonish eyes and the goofy tongue hanging out of its mouth.

  The masked figure made no move to clarify anything and simply remained at my side, watching the little one.

  [You say it’s a memory?] I spoke cautiously, attempting to start a conversation.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Correct. From a rather early age,” he replied calmly.

  [If this is a memory of Rob, shouldn’t I be seeing it from the child’s perspective?] I asked, hoping for some clue to its identity.

  “The mind recognizes you as an external entity, so instead of showing it through Rob’s eyes, it presents it to you from the perspective of an observer,” he answered evenly.

  That made sense, but more importantly, I noticed a pattern. I needed to confirm it.

  [Hey, what’s the password to Rob’s portable device?]

  —Cliffordrules★★★longlivethejam.

  Yes, that confirmed it.

  [You’re Rob’s subconscious, aren’t you? You answer without hiding anything. The real Rob would never have shared his password.]

  The Rob at my side fell silent for a few seconds, then turned toward me with a smile. “Correct. You can call me Sub-Rob or Clif-Rob, and I’ll be your guide on this journey through the mind of my other self, just as Virgil was to Dante on his journey into the depths of the underworld,” he said, showing the first spark I’d heard in his voice.

  Everything felt strange, but I was aware that in this place, things could easily become odd.

  [I suppose I’m in your hands, then. Tell me, what am I looking at?] I asked while watching the tiny mini-Rob try to reach a photograph on a small table that was a bit too tall for him.

  “The answers to the questions you had when you created this link: how was he raised? What motivates someone like him to keep going? And most importantly, how far can he go? I believe those were them.”

  I supposed I shouldn’t be too surprised that some of my thoughts had been read as well. After all, this connection went both ways.

  I still had some doubts, but since the scene didn’t seem likely to stop, we both turned our attention in silence to the child, who, upon realizing he couldn’t reach the photograph with his short stature, had decided to bring over a chair to help himself.

  He climbed up with some difficulty, his small, trembling arms straining. His little hands were just about to reach the photograph when, in a moment of carelessness, the chair wobbled, making him fall.

  I flinched internally, and for a second raised my arms to try to catch him, even though the action was entirely illogical, as I was well aware this was only a memory.

  “Don’t worry. He may have lacked some things, but there was always someone there to catch him,” Sub-Rob told me.

  And proving his words true, a pair of delicate hands reached out and caught the child before he touched the floor.

  “That was close, little one. Remember, you mustn’t do things like that. If you need anything, I’ll gladly get it for you,” a woman who appeared out of nowhere gently scolded him.

  I looked at her closely. She was a young woman, probably still in her twenties. Her brown hair was tied back in a long ponytail; her features were soft and beautiful, further highlighted by her gentle purple eyes. She wore a pink dress full of lovely details: ruffles and ribbons. Over it, she had a pristine white apron filled with pockets and decorated with little animals. Lastly, atop her head was a fabric headband adorned with ribbons. Her entire being radiated an aura of calm and tranquility; she was like the perfect image of a caregiver.

  She must be his mother. She’s a lovely woman.

  Mini-Rob looked a little embarrassed in her arms. How adorable. I’ll tease him about it later.

  “Is this what you wanted to get?” the young woman asked, picking up the framed photograph.

  Caught red-handed, mini-Rob avoided her gaze shyly. Such a sweet child. How did that sweety boy turn into Rob?

  “It’s the picture of Mom and Dad… I wanted to see it again,” he finally said in a tiny voice.

  “Aww, little one, of course, let’s look at it together,” she said as she showered him with affection and sat him on her lap on the sofa.

  [Who is she?]

  “Her name is Evelyn. She’s the one who raised him, and his only family,” Sub-Rob answered.

  Before I could press further, I saw him place a finger to his lips and point toward the pair.

  “Tell me about them, Evelyn,” the child asked excitedly, holding the photo in his little hands.

  “Of course. You never get tired of listening, do you?” she said while stroking his hair. “Your parents were soldiers. That’s how they met and fell in love. They piloted large, powerful armors, protected people, and fought against villains.”

  “Wow…” I saw the little boy’s face light up, only to darken slightly the very next moment. “But… they’re not…” he said sadly, looking at the photo.

  Seeing this, the woman hugged him and comforted him.

  “They may no longer be here, but they left me behind to take care of you,” she whispered, trying to console him.

  [So she’s not his mother?] I directed my question to Sub-Rob, who was still watching the figures on the couch, somewhat absorbed.

  “As my other self told you, after the heroic sacrifice of the Princesses, the stance of the kingdom and its people toward AIs made a complete 180-degree turn. From being mere servants and work machines, they became allies who fought side by side with humans to defend the people of Altar from destruction and then rebuild it shoulder to shoulder.”

  Rob had told me about that. After our sacrifice, sentient AIs became citizens of the kingdom. It wasn’t that we had been treated like slaves before or anything like that, but in the eyes of the law and the kingdom, we were still machines; even though we Princesses always held a special position.

  “After that historic event, humanity faced a different problem: the lack of skilled labor. The kingdom had grown accustomed to always being able to acquire a worker with whatever talents it needed in the form of AIs, so with their absence, it was forced to seek another solution.”

  A rather complicated problem. What could possibly match AIs in capability? Though I didn’t understand why he was telling me all this when I had asked about the wo…

  [Wait, don’t tell me that…!]

  “Correct. They found the answer in genetic engineering. They created a race of perfect assistants, with abilities far superior to those of ordinary humans, into whom any desired knowledge could be implanted. Combined with their beautiful appearance, they quickly earned the acceptance and love of the populace. They called them galateans.”

  So they decided to replace robots with biological servants. But that would mean…

  [Impossible. The humanity we fought and died for would never have…]

  “To have slaves? Is that what you think happened?” he replied, stealing the words right out of my mouth.

  [What else could it mean? They created a race to work for them. That goes against the fundamental principle upon which all human nations were founded.]

  “Humanity is no one’s slave, not even its own,” Sub-Rob replied.

  That’s right. During the era when humanity was taking its first steps into the galaxy, it encountered other races that already inhabited it, some of which had less-than-noble intentions toward this new race and tried to enslave it. In response, humanity—despite always having internal differences—united under a single creed that would lay the foundation upon which the entire galactic frontier would stand.

  […Yes. We will never be enslaved by anyone, nor will we be the masters of anyone.]

  “Naturally, that ethical dilemma also arose during their design. Would it be right to create conscious beings, just like us in every sense, to perform labor? We had already faced similar doubts with AIs. With first, and, to a certain extent, second-generation models, it was tolerable, since even if they seemed conscious, they weren’t. So they decided to replicate something similar.

  [They created living beings without consciousness] I let each syllable slip out slowly.

  “Yes. Galateans have no consciousness. They lack complex emotions such as pain, anger, sadness, or loneliness. They don’t ask themselves who they are or why they exist; they simply carry out the tasks for which they were created. They can learn anything they’re taught, but they lack the spark of curiosity needed to innovate on their own. Curiously enough, for them, work is a pleasure; the simple act of helping and being useful fills them with a profound joy,” he kept watching the scene as it slowly faded away, leaving the room empty. “Rob’s mother was an incredible woman, an elite pilot from a military family. Nothing frightened her, and she faced everything with a professional’s calm,” Sub-Rob said, letting a smile escape beneath the mask. “But the one thing she wasn’t prepared for was being a mother. She was a complete novice. She bought books and attended classes. She worried about what kind of food to buy him, the fabric of his little clothes, everything… In the end, to ease her worries a bit, they decided to hire a galatean specialized in childcare.”

  [Evelyn.]

  “That’s right. But shortly after his birth, both parents were summoned by the navy due to an emergency, leaving Evelyn with one final instruction: take care of Rob until they returned.”

  [But they never came back.]

  “…That’s right. And as a result, the contract was still in effect. The kingdom’s laws were obliged to respect the arrangements the parents had made, and so Rob’s upbringing fell to Evelyn.”

  Really? It sounded strange to me, but I was certain his subconscious couldn’t lie. Still, it wasn’t a story you heard every day.

  “It was all due to a series of coincidences, but even so, the outcome wasn’t bad. Rob grew up under the care of someone whose sole purpose in life was to protect him, raise him, and love him with her entire being; far more than what most people receive from being raised by their own parents.”

  [It sounds like a perfect outcome.]

  “Well… it had its difficulties too. Since Evelyn was a childcare specialist, her knowledge more or less capped out at around ten years of age. So Rob had to go through adolescence with a mother who sent him to bed early, read him bedtime stories, gave him sweets if he behaved well, and bought him clothes with hero prints,” he said, somewhat embarrassed.

  Well, that explains his behavior, which can be a bit childish at times.

  As we spoke, the door to the room opened once more, and through it entered a Rob who was a little older than before. The younger Rob approached a blue circular device, resembling a sleep pod, that stood in one corner of the room. The boy paused for a moment in front of the pod, as if hesitating about something. From within his clothes, he took out the photograph of his parents once more, looked at it for a few seconds, nodded resolutely, and stepped inside.

  Suddenly, the image shifted, and we found ourselves in a large hall with cool colors and somewhat dim lighting. Standing at the center of the place was the young Rob.

  [Where are we?]

  “Inside the simulation capsule. It’s a direct link through the EtherNet to the training simulators.”

  [Training simulators? Aren’t those restricted to military personnel?]

  “Let’s just say they never deactivated his parents’ account.”

  Wow, bureaucracy really has grown somewhat incompetent centuries later. Leaving that aside, why would a child want to undergo training? Was this where his frustrated desire to become a pilot originated?

  Suddenly, two luminous doors rose up in front of him: Combat Training and Shooting Training. The boy observed them for a moment before choosing the combat one. After he crossed through it, the room completely transformed into a training hall, with racks full of bladed weapons everywhere and a large central combat circle.

  If you have some time, I invite you to check it out. I’m sharing lore content, fun facts, character interactions with a touch of humor, and some designs.