Ch.285The Eighth Entanglement – Law, Order, and Capriccio (14)

Inspector Jack Wilkes watched it all unfold. Though he had been replaced by a terminal and remained deactivated until now, living his normal life, he lost his sense of self when the Industrial Spirit King connected with the angel he was following.

The Industrial Spirit King didn’t immediately understand what was happening. He didn’t know about the incident that occurred at dawn when nothing could be seen, but he knew that the detective brought by the little elf and that little elf were involved.

It should have been a case that would end up in a maze or with a false murderer. However, after the two became entangled by chance, the case took on a completely different appearance. The case… seemed to be solved.

Inside the concrete temple, the Machine of the Age used parts from the previously created No. 7 to make new components. Unlike the terminals, it was a machine with self-awareness. It was No. 8.

Bolts and nuts connecting pipes fell away, and a bent pipe dropped onto the conveyor belt. The separated pipes reconnected and secured each other.

An engine that had been just a small part inside the Machine of the Age pulsed with six cylinders and fell onto the conveyor belt. Countless parts poured from the body of the Machine of the Age onto the conveyor belt.

Terminals with parts of their bodies replaced by metal and machinery assembled the components on the conveyor belt instead of workers. They were experimental modifications of some terminals received from the Idealists, and they proved quite useful.

The machine was crying. The Industrial Spirit King was operating, spewing smoke. The light of life and consciousness sparkled over the blackened mythril body. He infused magical power into the components he had created himself.

Magic was willpower. It was a technique that created phenomena by moving catalysts with mere thoughts. Consciousness was coincidental. Magic could artificially create coincidence.

A combination of very subtle electrical signals occurred. Through perfect coincidence, vitality began to flow through the Industrial Spirit King’s body. The mechanical body began to operate.

The small cutter attached in place of its head clicked repeatedly. It looked up at the Industrial Spirit King in the concrete temple as if he were a god, mother, and father.

The Industrial Spirit King connected his consciousness to that Industrial Spirit and conveyed what No. 7 had learned. He shared the story about irrationality that the little elf had told him.

He also informed it about the recent incident. Then he severed the connection. The Machine of the Age asked No. 8, who now possessed sufficient knowledge:

“My child, No. 8. I’d like us to put our heads together. Irrationality doesn’t change. But in my thinking, that irrationality that will bring about the end… also does good things. What do you think?”

No. 8 began operating, clicking the cutter on its head like a small habit. Perhaps it would be good to summon No. 1, but for now, he decided to talk with No. 8.

That small component soon produced a result. It said something very simple and obvious. It seemed to be trying to persuade the Industrial Spirit King, resembling No. 7.

“I was programmed with the information that irrationality is a variable. I think we can’t know whether the value from a variable will be negative or positive, Machine of the Age. Are you certain this irrationality will bring about the end?”

One end of the Industrial Spirit King’s mind was watching Inspector Semangelof, unable to contain his anger, slamming the door as he left with angelic power, while the other end was here watching No. 8.

“That is fate, my child. Even I cannot change it… and the God-President, the supreme and great driving force, might be able to change it but won’t. Human irrationality will make them miss the time to respond.”

The Industrial Spirit King offered words he had refined once more. These were words he hadn’t shared with No. 7. Words only he knew. No. 8 thought for a moment, then waved its cutter again.

“We can’t be certain whether the value the variable will produce is positive or negative. There’s certainly a possibility that people will handle it well.”

“The age is now at the peak of its golden era. How could it possibly get better than now… at the peak of the golden era. Being already at the peak of the golden era means…”

The Industrial Spirit King tried to find words to convince his component, but ultimately found an answer for himself. This was how conversing with components helped.

He placed his hand on No. 8 again. He conveyed information about how many factories were operating and how vigorously they were running. He asked:

“Do you think we can hope for better results than this? Everyone is producing more than enough happiness, leaving an abundance of something. Isn’t this already… a happy age?”

But he had forgotten that No. 8 had no opportunity to see the world. Unlike No. 1, which had been sent outside, No. 8 had just been created and only possessed the knowledge that had been programmed into it.

No. 8 answered based on that programmed knowledge. Though it had consciousness, without knowledge beyond what was programmed, that consciousness wasn’t very useful.

“I think it’s fine even if we can only maintain the status quo. The world seems sufficiently happy, as the Machine of the Age says. Then, wouldn’t it be okay to leave it to the variable?”

Nevertheless, No. 8 used all its consciousness to say the best words it could. But the Industrial Spirit King was also a resident of New York. Like all New Yorkers, he suffered from a particular mental illness.

It was obsession. An obsession with salvation. He had the contradictory obsession of wanting people to save themselves while firmly believing they would fail. The Industrial Spirit King hummed. He calculated.

A man wearing a police coat walked out from among the terminals. There was one thing he needed to test. If he could know just one thing, he could determine the answer.

The Industrial Spirit King restored the consciousness of John Fairfax, whom he had merged with himself through magic. He returned his real consciousness, not the crude one he had placed in the terminal to allow him to act naturally.

Whether that consciousness was truly John Fairfax’s mind or merely an inferior copy, no one could know. No one knew the limits of this magic that merged electrical signals in the brain.

But Mr. John Fairfax, having received back such consciousness, lowered his posture from the rigid attention stance he had been holding. He nearly fell but caught himself with his hands on the floor and stood up.

It was his body but felt like it wasn’t. It was like receiving back a pen that had been lent to someone else for about a week. Someone else’s habits remained.

He rubbed his aching joints and then looked up. He didn’t know where he was. Before him was a wall of massive machinery. He heard the fierce hissing of steam.

He saw numerous cylinders pulsating enormously and a massive organ in the center. He vaguely knew what he was looking at. This was… the Machine of the Age. The Industrial Spirit King.

The Industrial Spirit King asked him gently. It wasn’t a voice. It was the sound of people dreaming of the future and hope, the sound of sweat droplets falling from hardworking industrial workers. All these things formed a voice.

“Do you remember where this is? Do you remember who you are? You have… been unconscious for a long time. Despite that, do you remember?”

The Industrial Spirit King’s voice was so loud and authoritative that it made one’s mind dizzy. He vaguely remembered that people who had an audience with the God-President had experienced similar symptoms.

Wondering what on earth was happening, John finally decided to answer. If he didn’t answer, he felt he wouldn’t be able to find anything out.

“I’m… John Fairfax. I was working as a medical examiner at the New York Police Department, and I was trying to report mechanical components I found inside corpses during autopsies… and now I’m here, Industrial Spirit King.”

Consciousness could be preserved. The Industrial Spirit King suppressed the urge to burst into laughter. The mind could be preserved. The soul could be preserved. Then the method he had just thought of would surely be useful.

He had already heard everything he wanted to hear. John Fairfax turned around at the sound of approaching footsteps. There was a terrible monstrosity. It looked like an angel, but about half its body had been replaced with machinery. A decaying angel.

He tried to flee toward the Industrial Spirit King, covering his mouth against the stench, but the angel flew up slightly with its steel wings and lunged at John. It grabbed the back of his neck.

John reached out his hand to the Industrial Spirit King one last time. Before he lost consciousness in a seizure, all he could hear was a gentle and satisfied voice.

“The proof of the hypothesis is complete, No. 8. I’ve finally thought of a way to prevent the end. Yes, I admit it. Variables can create positive values. They can create positive results, like how those two saved a man who was merely an assailant. But they can also create negative values. The most extreme manifestation of those negative values will be the end. Therefore…”

Eliminate the variables. If only constants remain, the end will never happen in the first place. The Industrial Spirit King decided to listen to his foresight once more. He just needed to find out the year when the end would come.

He would turn everyone into terminals and make them repeat what they had been doing until the end passed. Only constants. No one would do anything foolish, and the end could be avoided.

Afterward, everything could be entrusted to the variables again. They could be made to heal the void themselves. John had just proven that there was a way to restore consciousness.

The Idealists’ magic and their terminals, which the Industrial Spirit King had obtained incidentally while proving that “people only change when they bleed,” had opened a new path.

Am I being guided? The Industrial Spirit King wondered briefly. All paths were leading to the answer. Perhaps the supreme and great driving force was helping even machines move forward.

Just as the Industrial Spirit King loved the people who created him, the supreme and great driving force, the God-President, loved the people he had been with since his birth. His deep love was helping.

This is not a calling, the Industrial Spirit King defined calmly. This was, at best, a trial. It was asking whether he could endure with love until the end passed, whether he could sacrifice himself.

The Industrial Spirit King would not part the sea like Moses. All he could do was carry people beyond the end like an ark, even as seawater filled it and his body decayed. That was enough.

He was not a great being. He was just a machine created by people, becoming more and more complex. He had only one purpose: to create. To create anything.

He was a consciousness that emerged to make the repetition of that purpose more efficient. That was who he was. Though adorned with the fancy name “Machine of the Age,” he was no more than a servant of the age.

This servant of the age had been given the opportunity to solve the most difficult problem. A being who had not even received one talent of grace had been given the opportunity to make the greatest sacrifice.

Gladly will I do so. The Industrial Spirit King looked down at No. 8. After a moment of connected thought, No. 8 could sense an aura seeping from the Industrial Spirit King.

No. 8 knew nothing about sanity and madness. It only knew about the operation of machines. Too much power was being injected into the Industrial Spirit King’s body. He was operating while overloaded.

“Our conversation has given me the answer, No. 8. I’m grateful to you. Variables can create good things. They can do the right thing, like how that little elf saved one person. I’m going to bet on that possibility. I’ll turn everyone into terminals to eliminate variables until the end occurs, preventing the end, and after we’ve avoided the end, those variables… my beloved parents will be able to make the world a better place.”

No. 8 tried to speak, but the Industrial Spirit King disassembled it. Unlike with No. 7, he disassembled it and stored it inside the Machine of the Age before it could finish speaking. He expanded and made it a component according to his created purpose.

Perhaps a dogmatic doomsayer had entered the most dangerous stage. Or perhaps a crazed machine god was regaining his sanity. No one present could determine the answer.

Assistant Inspector Jack Wilkes found himself momentarily dazed and resumed organizing the documents he had received from the prosecutor. Lately, he seemed to be out of his mind at times.

Mr. Charles Port from the fish shop looked up to see Inspector Semangelof flying away. Shortly after, Miss Annabel Castle from the furniture store saw that the passing angel was searching for somewhere.

The Industrial Spirit King could easily determine that the angel was going to try to crack his sufficient plan and flawless logic. He sent out mechanized terminals.

Inspector Semangelof intended to find that reporter. He didn’t know what he would do to that woman who had ruined his plan, but it was obvious what he himself could decide.

However, when he almost reached the street where those poor people lived… he could hear the sounds of a brawl. There was a series of wet, thumping sounds of someone beating a person with a club or something similar.

As an angel, he tried to ignore what he should naturally respond to. But as if grabbing his ankle, a voice rang out from inside the alley. It was an urgent voice.

“Ack, urgh… D-damn it! Requesting backup! Badge number is…”

Another police officer? Inspector Semangelof rubbed his face. How annoyingly troublesome. He folded his wings and glided into the alley.

A human police officer was being attacked by two other humans. Inspector Semangelof, landing at flying speed, grabbed the man in the police uniform and threw him backward.

But the moment he threw the police officer back, the two attackers froze as if they were machines that had stopped operating. They… had no facial skin. There were only mechanical devices that unpleasantly mimicked humans.

The Industrial Spirit King wanted to show his will to the God-President. From behind Inspector Semangelof, another mechanized terminal with its facial skin removed approached and grabbed the back of his neck. Mana poured in.

The attackers also began moving again and grabbed him. One shoved his hand into Inspector Semangelof’s mouth to prevent him from screaming. The other attacker clung to his body to stop his struggling.

The Industrial Spirit King concentrated his mana. Though the body had poor mana permeability and required all his strength, it wasn’t a lengthy process. He was able to obtain a real angel terminal.

With this, the variable created by his little elf became only good. It became a happy ending. It was certain that only such happy endings would remain after preventing the end.

The Industrial Spirit King had faith. He hoped for the future. He loved the people who were his creators.