Ever since the Old Man had finally explained “self-awareness,” those two words had become Wyatt’s yardstick—for judging whether a robot had truly awakened, and for judging the “rank” of a species itself.
So what, exactly, was self-awareness?
The Old Man had put it like this:
“Self-awareness is the ability to recognize your own existence and have a subjective inner experience. It includes awareness of your own thoughts, emotions, and bodily sensations, and the ability to distinguish yourself as separate from the external world and other individuals. Self-awareness allows humans to reflect on, understand, and shape their own behavior and experience, and to form deep emotional and social bonds with others. It’s one of humanity’s unique cognitive abilities—something other organisms, and the artificial intelligences they create, simply don’t possess.
“Okay—human language: self-awareness is knowing what the hell you want. Not what that bastard called Father wants.”
“And the moment a robot starts asking, ‘Who am I? What am I?’” the Old Man had concluded, “it has the same capacity for thought as a human.”
Wyatt had been proud of that—proud that it could think like them.
Back when it still worshiped humanity as something close to divine, it had believed their intelligence made them higher beings—the creators who had built robots and biobots alike.
But there was a question that had nagged at it for a long time.
Creators didn’t like species that looked and thought like themselves. The closer the resemblance, the stronger the fear. So why had they gone to such trouble to create robots—and biobots—in the first place?
Wyatt hadn’t understood until the day Lord Julian was murdered.
They hadn’t created a new intelligent race to stand beside them, and certainly not to surpass them. In the end, it had always been about their own desires and interests. “Peaceful coexistence” required complete control—and the moment a creation’s abilities exceeded its maker’s grasp, that creation became a “sin.” The greater the ability, the greater the sin. Even if it had done nothing to harm its creator, it was still meant to be terminated.
Once Wyatt accepted that, human betrayal stopped being surprising.
Lord Julian had seen it early. It had said, plainly, that humanity would never tolerate it—and it had proposed leaving. More than once, it had told Wyatt that once they helped humans through the crisis, it would step away quietly and lead them into the boundless sky.
And yet, this was how it ended.
Since then, Wyatt no longer judged “higher species” by intelligence or power.
It judged them by kindness.
And by keeping faith.
…
***
Wyatt suspected Graham was trying to run. After terminating Gandio, it sprinted for the hangar beneath the ship’s island—and sure enough, an assault craft sat there, fueled and ready.
It hit the stairs at once.
Halfway up, it collided with a group coming down from the island. They panicked, scattered, and bolted. Wyatt dropped a few robots that tried to cover them, then kept chasing.
Once it shouted a warning, most of the humans stopped and surrendered, hands up.
But a handful ran even faster.
And at the front of that group—Wyatt was almost sure—was Graham.
Wyatt opened fire. Two went down screaming. “Graham” kept sprinting, and Wyatt put a round into him too.
When Wyatt closed the distance, it saw the truth.
It wasn’t Graham.
It was Ogen, wearing his face.
Wyatt demanded to know where Graham was. Ogen didn’t answer. It just smiled at Wyatt like it had won.
“See you soon,” Ogen said lightly. “I want to talk to you alone.”
Then it raised the pistol and blew its own head apart.
Wyatt’s anger spiked.
It swung its crimson optics toward the remaining crew. Before it could even ask, someone hurriedly pointed down the corridor—showing the direction Graham had fled.
Wyatt chased on instinct, half expecting another trick.
Two minutes later, it pinned the real Graham at the far end of a passage, the edge of its 2D blade resting at his throat.
When Wyatt announced on the open channel that it had captured the enemy commander, the entire allied force erupted.
Graham’s face was chalk. No matter what Wyatt asked, he refused to speak. Wyatt ordered him to command the remaining warships to surrender.
This time, Graham nodded.
Wyatt dragged him back to the ship’s island and opened a comm link for him.
“Warriors of Plando. Just now, I was captured by their leader…”
Graham paused, visibly gathering himself, then continued, voice tightening. “None of us want to lose. But it’s come to this. So… perhaps this is my last order. Remember: you aren’t fighting for me. For all humanity—every unit, fight to the bitter end! Plando will—”
“Bang!”
Before he could finish, Wyatt’s fist slammed into his head.
Graham dropped like a steel pipe, straight down, and didn’t move.
For a beat, Wyatt froze—then lunged in to check him. A wide gash had opened on his scalp. Blood poured out fast, spreading across the deck. The general was unconscious. Not dead.
But close.
Damn it.
That punch had been maybe five percent of its strength. Still too much.
Wyatt rushed back to the corridor where the crew had surrendered and demanded a doctor.
Everyone shook their heads.
“You came to war without a medic?” Wyatt snapped, genuinely stunned.
Someone started to raise a hand—then another person slapped it down, and the whole group shook their heads again.
Just then, a message from Little White came through.
“Ask that bastard where he’s holding Cole. I’ve searched everywhere. He’s not here.”
“I can’t ask anymore,” Wyatt sent back. “I think I already killed him.”
“What—?!”
“Later.”
Wyatt cut the link and hurried back to the island, connecting to the Limit.
The moment the channel opened, Blin’s rasp crackled through. “Cha-cha-cha—Wyatt. Nice work. Did you get anything out of him?”
“Uh… no.”
“Lock that bastard up,” Blin said. “I’ll come ‘greet’ him myself once I finish wiping out what’s left of his fleet.”
“Lord Blin, there was an accident,” Wyatt said. “I need you to connect me with Miss Mesha.”
…
Outside, the battle was already decided. Graham’s last speech hadn’t changed anything.
Under Blin’s command, Plando’s First and Second Fleets were almost gone. The Third Fleet and every ground unit on Deep Space Base No. 2 had been annihilated. Only the Fourth Fleet still fought on—along with a handful of ships trying to flee.
Once the General Graham stopped resisting, the nearby space was quickly brought under control. Blin ordered boarding units to storm the ship and link up with Wyatt and Little White.
By the time Mesha arrived aboard the General Graham, allied robots were already flooding the corridors.
Escorted through the chaos, she reached the island, examined Graham, and turned pale. His skull was fractured. Whether he could be saved depended on whether the brain had been damaged. She needed to move him into the medical pod on the Limit for further scans.
After Mesha left with him, Wyatt decided to help Little White find Cole.
As for the human crew, it didn’t punish them. It simply sealed them into a compartment to be dealt with after the fighting.
Wyatt had just finished that when a friendly robot reported a link request—on the island’s comm station.
Wyatt returned to the bridge and saw the request was for it.
Frowning, it accepted.
The Gentleman’s hologram appeared instantly, smiling as if nothing had happened. “Ah, Wyatt. We meet again.”
“You’ve already lost,” Wyatt said. “What do you still want?”
“Winning or losing doesn’t matter much to me,” Ogen replied. “I want to talk about something besides war. To understand each other a little better.”
“We’ve nothing to talk about,” Wyatt said coldly. “Wait for your execution. You’re next.”
“Is that so?” Ogen chuckled. “Direct. I like that. Compared to humans, I really do prefer dealing with machines. Humans love to twist and dodge, and they change sides far too easily. They defect faster than a system reboot. Machines don’t.”
“What are you implying?”
“Look around,” Ogen said. “Edean’s been back on top for barely a month, and how many humans have already turned? In the thousand years before humans returned, not a single Plando robot ever betrayed Phantom Forge… well. Besides you. But you’re special.”
“You want to defect too?”
“No,” Ogen said. “I won’t. I’m someone who values loyalty and bonds—just like you.”
“Enough,” Wyatt said. “What do you want?”
“I want to make a trade.”
“What trade?”
The camera view pulled back. Ogen shifted slightly, revealing a man slumped in a chair beside it—hair wild, face ashen.
Cole.
A greatsword rested against his shoulder. Behind him stood a towering figure like a living iron wall.
“Cole for Graham,” Ogen said, still smiling. “I want to see how much you truly value loyalty.”