At the foot of Mount Maden, there stood a factory waiting like a wet rag, ready to squeeze the last bit of life out of that mountain. If you looked from far enough away, you could see the majestic chimneys of that factory through the gashes in the mountain.
The massive factory's metal gate smelled of mud-filled soil and fertilizer. Along the ramparts carried by that metal gate, slender armed robots patrolled constantly. These robots were not the human-like or state-of-the-art models you might know. Such a grand precaution in a planet filled with such misery was both unnecessary and would exceed the budget TESO had allocated for this world.
The robots were old-model patrol units with scrawny metal joints, their wires left outside their bodies, and faces consisting of visible, thin metal resembling a turtle's skeleton. They might even have dated back to before the Discovery of Immortality. These pathetic robots posed little threat as long as they didn't have weapons in their hands. You couldn't keep any populace under control with such wretched robots, let alone the Uruzens.
Two cybernetic men waited in front of the metal gate. One of them had a smooth white body. The protectors on his arms and legs were bulletproof and painted light gray. In the man's stance was the skepticism of ancient bandits. His back was straight, but his neck was tilted, as if he were constantly trying to listen to something. The man's messy black hair was puffed up, looking like the head of a hedgehog. To keep his hair in check, he had tied a careless white bandana around his head. Despite that, tufts of his frizzy hair managed to sprout from the edges of the bandana.
This man's trademark, however, was the drone friend he carried on his back. Nestled in a dent behind his right shoulder, a drone that could be considered a clunker with four propeller blades had one wing protruding over the man's shoulder, drawing all attention during a conversation. One could say the man looked like an angel with a single drone wing.
"Azrak..." said the other cybernetic man beside him. "...you've pricked up your ears like a hunting dog again, as if searching for something."
"It seems the paranoia left in you by your wisdom has come to life, Hikmar. Yet, I am not searching for anything... I'm just not at ease," said Azrak. "The situation we've fallen into here is not pleasant at all, and you have no idea how much it breaks my heart."
"When you say the situation we've fallen into, are you talking about being kept waiting in front of the gate? Or are you talking about doing work for TESO? Are you talking about working for cheap? Are you talking about working on this planet? Are you uncomfortable because the job we're doing is a protection mission, or is it not being able to kill anyone that bothers you? Does a planet where you know you can't get rich even if you steal creep you out? Or is it the man we're going to work for himself?"
The place they were in was enclosed like a cave, but Hikmar, finally bothered by the liquids constantly dripping onto his head, pulled the hood of his moldy-looking cloak over his head.
"Or is it me who bothers you?" Hikmar finally asked with a slight smile. "When you say the situation we've fallen into, could it be that you're referring to us working together..."
Hikmar was a doubled-over cybernetic who looked like a wise man with two right arms, one below the other. He held a metal cane in his left hand. This cane both helped him walk and could transform into a deadly weapon when necessary. Despite having weak arms, he had a large body. Those looking from the outside might liken him to a caterpillar with three arms and two legs. He constantly wore a cloak to hide his dark gray body. His face, compared to his stature, looked like that of a sympathetic old man. The only difference was that one of his eyes was covered with an eye patch similar to those worn by pirates.
One of Hikmar's right hands went toward the back of his cloak and pulled out a hand piano from his pocket. While holding the hand piano with one right hand, he began to play it with the other. The fact that Hikmar did such a thing regardless of any answer might seem strange to others, but for Azrak, the manners and attitudes of this half-crazed cybernetic felt quite normal. Was Azrak... was Azrak truly someone who deserved to fall into this situation?
"What happened?" Azrak asked. The melody of the music was coming through, but the absence of a hummed song was strange. "Aren't you going to hum?"
"The poem?"
"Yes... that poem you're always reciting. What was its name? Dead Galaxy or something?"
"No... I don't intend to recite it."
"And why is that?"
"Kingsley, the author of the poem Dead Galaxy, wouldn't want it to echo on a planet like this."
"The man is dead now..." Azrak said. "...I don't think he can worry about it."
"Do you know how he died?" Hikmar asked without taking his single eye off the hand piano.
"I'll find out when I connect to the Net. I don't feel like connecting to the Net right now..."
"I can tell you if you want."
At that moment, dozens of metal plates on the massive gate began to open one after another with a thud. Hearing the thin sound produced by the rotating cylinders brought relief to both men.
As the metal gate opened sequentially, one of the patrol robots stepped forward with a hologram paper in its hand. Around this robot was an army of armed patrol units. The robot that stepped forward was wearing something similar to military camouflage, unlike the others. Its metal mouth opened, and the speaker in its throat became visible. These patrol robots had no humanoid features; they were very old. That was why they stood with their mouths wide open and left all the work to the speakers in their throats when they were to speak.
Seeing the pathetic state of the open-mouthed robot, Azrak thought to himself, "What am I doing here?"
"Greetings, dear visitors. First of all, I would like to welcome you here."
"Visitors?" Azrak interrupted. He looked at his friend Hikmar, who also looked on with surprise at the word used.
"...I am Labiba, the manager of this facility. We would like to say that we are honored to host you. It took us a long time to contact you due to several procedures."
"Well, are those procedures resolved?" Azrak asked.
"Not exactly..."
"What do you mean, not exactly?" A foul smell was reaching Azrak's nose, and it wasn't coming from the damp earth. He put his hands on his waist and cracked his neck. While the water droplets continuing to drip from the ceiling bothered him like Chinese torture, it would be quite wrong to say that an anger was not building up inside him.
"I came here as a courtesy, so as not to keep you waiting any longer without news."
"Master Labiba... you speak of courtesy, yet you seem oblivious to even the simplest of human etiquettes. If you had come personally instead of sending your robot here to inform us, then we would have most sincerely believed in the sincerity of the courtesy within you—and I say this including my friend. We... in these moments when we possess the acceptance of people who have waited too long and are weary, your not approaching us with good intentions is an indicator of what a poor leader you are."
Hikmar put his piano back into his cloak pocket and took two steps toward the crowd of robots. There was no reaction from the robots, but Azrak could sense a line of code being triggered in the software controlling them. What provided him with this intuition was a glass eye implant that allowed him to perceive mechanical systems and electrical circuits.
He had found this implant in an Ark dungeon while fighting the Relic Monsters in TerraGorh. He had integrated the implant into his body illegally, and because of this very implant, he had become a sought-after target for many headhunters.
The beam erupting from the implant in his eye was as penetrating as an X-ray but much more complex and informative. When Azrak looked at a robot's outer shell, behind the steel plates, he could clearly see the electrical signals flowing in bright blue and red lines, the data packets dancing in the processors, and the vibrations of the magnetic fields in the motors. It was as if the entire mechanical system turned into a transparent anatomical map.
It was happening now. His gaze shifted to the arms of a few robots in the middle of the crowd. That pale golden beam seeping from his eyes focused on the pneumatic fingers of the robots holding weapons. Tiny relays inside the fingers held circuits that normally remained tightly closed. Azrak saw the electric field around these relays loosen slightly, and the energy flow drop to a lower voltage.
This wasn't a physical movement, but for his eyes, it was as distinct a sign as the relaxation of a muscle. This loosening meant that the relays were ready to tighten suddenly—that is, to pull the trigger. The robots were seemingly motionless, but their mechanical nervous systems were waiting ready for an attack. Just like the tension in a predator's shoulder muscles just before a leap, the mechanisms inside these robots were silently preparing for a move.
Hikmar opened one of his right hands like a religious orator. "I speak on behalf of my friend as well when I say that from now on, the only thing we want from you is a leader's courtesy. We bury our heads even for your shames. We shoulder your shame too. Just be kind to us and please... please realize what you have lost as you live with colonies on this planet. Perhaps you have lost your honor. Perhaps you have lost your benevolence. Because you have the power to do anything, your chastity might have been lost in those foul-smelling beds of yours. It is quite evident from your casual tone of voice while speaking that you lack dignity. You lost all of this on this planet where you live like a god-king.
But do not forget that we are not from your colonies who see you as that god-king. We are not your slaves or your servants. Let your speech, your behavior, and your attitude be in this direction. Please, even if you are not such a leading person, act as if you are; pull the wool over our eyes. That way, we can have a good business partnership."
Azrak was a grumpy man. He could always find something to complain about, but Hikmar's tirades comforted him more than they annoyed him. The fact that this man, who spent most of his day on the Net, spoke so clearly was due to his wisdom. Azrak found it heartening to hear the voice of the intense emotions building up inside him echoing in Hikmar's throat.
"Very well then..." said Labiba. "...I apologize, masters. Please... please come to my room so that I may host you as best as I can, in a way close to what you deserve. Please... please come inside."
Hikmar now had a proud expression on his face. The man with the staff, entering between the robots who parted like the sea Moses split in two, pulled his hand piano out of his back pocket once more. This time, while playing the melody, he also began to hum.
"At the summit of a wall woven from broken stones, Under a sky where light has been outlawed, I walk with my broken wings, which are now only a burden."
Later on, Azrak had connected to the SWR Net and researched Kingsley's death. Kingsley had died about a hundred years before the discovery of immortality, lonely and penniless from genetic cancer. That is, before everyone began to become mechanized, before the galaxy became a dead galaxy... If the galaxy was a "dead" galaxy even back then, what could the galaxy of today be called? Normally, it was said there was no village beyond death.