Chapter 23: As Pheidippies Ran to Athens IV
Warning: Graphic Violence
6. Colorman
Of course, Rockman had to try. What did he try? Hacking the WWW security on his own! What else was there to try? Readers, you also must have realized that the chance was there begging to be exploited...WWW server was within reach, and Rockman was left alone without prying eyes. In being left alone, a man is tempted to freely exhibit his nature, for both decency and indecency are without consequences; unbound, he commits many trespassings. Rockman did the same. Simply opportunistic, one observer might say. Simply revealing of his disappointing nature behind his mask of good nature, another observer might say. Simply excusable by circumstances and Saito was still virtuous, yet another observer might say. All meaningless opinions; in being put in the same shoes, every one of the observers would've done the same. He placed his hand on the locked gate and began the calculation, but its complexity was beyond his strength. It was nothing like the examples Dr. Yuichiro fed to Rockman's decryptor in its making as a part of neural network learning. The decryptor knew governmental locks—the first Yuichiro taught it to soothe his deepest fear of Rockman being held for study by government authorities—, common ransomware styles, submissions to the 'program hacking and defense' competitions sponsored by Scilab, the complete library of the Scilab internet security division, and many others. None of them were of any use in the analysis of the WWW lock. To be fair in assessment, the government library of anything tended to be slightly outdated due to the inevitable inertia of bureaucracy, and thus Yuichiro's decryptor was ironically most powerful against the official security solutions—hacking of which was the holy grail of all independent hackers—while being surprisingly weak against the most modern civilian inventions. Then, how much more was this true to the product of Dr. Wily, the concentration of his obsession for an impregnable fortress! Rockman, as a last resort, applied the brute force technique—the trial of all possible iterations—at the obstacle. The result, while disappointing, did not surprise him. Given the number of characters required for the passcode, as well as the number of available inputs per character, the time to unlock was estimated at 7 years +- 2 years at 95% confidence interval, which gave the interpretation that there was a 95% chance of dissolving the security in 5~9 years. Rockman gave up.
"Function, voice record: 'Netto kun, logout please.' End record. Send to PET...15 minutes to update completion. Haaaa...Netto kun...what kind of place is this? Navis here already know something about dreams, and they seek it as if it is a drug, while no one probably came back from it or came back for it with addiction because everyone who received it probably...died, like all other recorded cases. Then there is everyone else looking down at it with unmistakable contempt. And so many abandoned, humanless navis...so many..."
Rockman retreated to the tombstone of Tadashi Hikari. Feeling the general fatigue creeping upward through his spine, he sat down next to it. Well, the stone had the name of his grandfather written on it, and having it unrecognized or neglected seemed wrong to him. There was also a strange feeling that it looked a bit lonely and pitiful, even though it was an inanimate object, and the possibility of his grandfather's body being underneath it was nihil given its undernet location. Nevertheless, he wished, vacantly: may it not be so lonely while he was here...
"Netto kun, what kind of world are we living in? It has been less than a day, but what I've seen and heard in the undernet...apparently everything that is physically possible and imaginable seems to be already done, and is being practiced, by people... That means whatever terrible thing I can imagine to happen to you can actually happen... Netto kun...will you be okay once I am gone? I really don't want to leave you behind, in this world of sinners...and, and, if something happens to you after I am gone, then I..."
Then he...what? What would happen to him? Nothing; he would already be gone, and he knew, from the terrifyingly peaceful experience of the afterlife, that in that existence all obsessions were sooner or later dissolved, even the glacial ones. What could he do? Nothing! The absolute lack of influence and power was the very definition of being not alive. But while he was alive, he still held some power. He had one of the highest functioning netnavi body and the apocalyptic decryptor which gave Enzan many sleepless nights. He could do many things, all of which would make likes of Dr. Wily drool at the feast of opportunities, just like a dog that had bits saved from the master's table, the delicacy incomparable to the garbage—for the lack of better words—that it was subjected to its entire life. However, nothing he could do was in any way helpful to the goal of saving Netto or ensuring his future. All he could do was, maybe through some manipulations, coercions, and persuasions, taking Netto with him...Rockman lightly slapped himself on the cheek.
To distract himself from the calamitous possibilities that were within his reach to achieve, Rockman looked over at the tombstone. Now that he looked at it, there were some curiosities to be had with it...especially the mood that it evoked. It was as if this inanimate object was weakly emanating some kind of personality the longer it stayed within his sight. Why? Well, it might have been due to his tiredness—it was the answer to many of his problems nowadays... He brushed its top to see if any dust was on it, thinking perhaps it needed some cleaning; he theorized that maybe it was him subconsciously recognizing some signs of abandonment on the object that evoked this inexplicable sense of loneliness. There was no dust; the condition and polishing of the black granite were flawless. Well, what if it needed some maintenance? What of it? Why would such a state give the object some personality? The answer to this, he did not know. He simply wanted it to look less...remorseful. He investigated it manually; no peculiarity was found. It was exactly as it appeared. Rockman read the words on the object more closely, supposing that there might be some inconspicuous epitaph to give him a clue to its nature and placement.
.
Tadashi Hikari,
His Worth
.
Only two lines, written in the whiteness of bones, that read like the pressurized and then petrified form of shame and sorrow. The two lines he already read. Worth? Why use the word 'worth' out of all other choices possible? That was a very odd choice...
"Grandpa, what are you doing here? Why is your name here? Is this really you...? Ha, ha, ha, what am even I saying... But why is your name here? Please don't tell me you have anything to do with that...hideous light.. Please don't tell me that everything I am doing right now is meaningless... Am I mistaken? If the information about dreams is already so prevalent in the undernet, and the program is in circulation, will getting rid of WWW do any good? Am I wasting time? Netto kun...I don't know anymore. I want to see you..."
A smile from Netto was an unfailing remedy at wiping away all his doubts. It was a fuel for his soul, the source of his courage, the treasure greater than his salvation. Ah, Netto, what would he not sell for Netto? Waiting for Netto's response and the logout sequence, Rockman leaned against the stone. In this posture, in the way how he let his body rest against the stone, he began to resemble a mollusk, maybe a slug, a little bit only, but perhaps similar to the way Oliv became helplessly glued to his goalpost... Just as his body bent according to the shape of the stone, so did his thought also veered off.
'Should I have stopped Oliv? Should I have told him what happened to the dreaming navis? But...he...he probably chose to not listen. He probably would've clung to his rationale, for it was his last hope. I know, because I also have sold everything for Netto, failed to reach him, and am still hoping... Netto for me, Elizabeth for him. How can I not understand? How...can I...not...understand... (even in thought, Rockman had to make a series of sighs, because in spirit he also understood the hiraeth, and what comes from spirit comes with much wind and air). Even if he was convinced that I was right, he would've chosen the same. No, that's not the right way of saying it. He had no choice; he had to do it. There was no other way. I might have been complicit in condemning him to hell with my withholding of information, but...he wanted it. He needed it. He would not have had it any other way. He would've... What about me? I also would not have had it any other way; if there are a thousand parallel universes, me coming back to Netto still must be a constant, a non-variable... Ah, Netto kun, Netto kun...my Netto kun...what would I-'
Of course, his thoughts so habitually gravitated to the subject of Netto and his longing, the gravitation that was as true as the second law of Thermodynamics. His mind would have endlessly swung, between the boy and something else in his life, like a harmonic pendulum, had not he received a message and the logout signal from Netto.
"Netto kun...!"
He stood up with such cheer and haste, that had a USMC drill sergeant witnessed the scene, he would've remarked that it was exactly what he wanted to see from his recruits. Then, oh the beauty of the thin smile that spread across his face like a drop of water paint on a canvas!
Netto was updated on what he missed due to the inoperable latency that blocked him from looking into the depths of the undernet. Despite Rockman's assurances that there was not much for the boy to enjoy, for he traveled by the exterior of the building, the boy could not hide his disappointment of having missed the part of the travel and the climax of the day's journey.
"Rockman, but you said that the river of clouds was amazing when seen closer... it would've been nice if I could see it too."
"Netto kun, I'll have to travel that path one more time, if I am to hack the WWW server. I promise you that I'll take some pictures and recordings for the reference..."
"Uuu..but it won't be the same. It won't be your first time. You won't be surprised; we won't share the surprise. I wanted to share the first time..."
"There there, Netto kun..."
Missing the first time. Missing the first experience. Missing the chance to be exposed to something together. Even as Rockman spoke with the softest voice to console the boy, the complaint pierced him in the part of his soul that was never pierced before. It was as if something he held with sanctity was broken... It was an oath maybe, not one made between him and the boy, but made between him and himself... What was it? He felt guilty; he felt guilty because he agreed with the complaint. Indeed, it would not be the same. The first time of exploring the depths of the undernet was forever gone, the precious first time so frivolously spent. 'I had no choice! I had to find the WWW server!' protested Rockman to himself, but he was crushed by his own sense of infidelity. Infidelity! Surely he jest—it was not the proper word to use in a situation like this! Yet it was exactly how it was, how he felt. What he should have given to Netto kun was now no more, and it was with the greatest conviction of heart that he held the view that all of him, especially something as precious as the first time of anything, should be claimed by Netto... Had he known that this sense of irreversible eternal loss would be the result of his endeavors—his paltry, paltry endeavors—, he would not have pursued the prophylactic vengeance against WWW. He would have left them to the authorities, giving up all his ideas, deciding to donate all his time to Netto kun, his sun, so the boy could possess every last part of him for the lonely days ahead.
While Rockman was wavering on what to say (logically he had to admit his guilt while simultaneously downplaying it to formulate a proper argument, which was dishonest, which made him choke), Netto moved on to the next topic. Apparently, the boy did not hold his disappointment (accusation) with much severity.
"And then you said, at the level of B55, you heard a horrible sound of a thousand screams-"
"Faintly. Above me."
"Right. That must have been coming from B54. Maybe some of the things shopkeepers said were true. Aren't you curious what is going on there? And you also said that the inside of the building was larger than what it should be as seen from the outside... So many questions! So many adventures! Rockman, this is amazing; I can't wait to solve all the mysteries of that place! Oh, and what about that tombstone you said you saw at the level of B56! You said that the name of our grandpa was written on it. I wonder if papa knows anything about it?"
"Maybe, Netto kun, or maybe not. I was unable to find anything interesting from that stone."
"And it would be a miracle on its own if papa told us anything... I don't think he would tell us much even if he knew something about it. Jeez, I know he is the boss of Scilab, but so many secrets! So many 'potential conflicts of interest!' (Netto said this while imitating the doctor's solemn voice). I get it, I get it, but it won't hurt anybody if we get hinted a little now and then..."
Netto leaned back in annoyance, but the annoyance could not stay long in his hyperactive mind; it sought an exit in the justification:
"But hearing what happened between Oliv and Colorman...maybe it was best that I did not see it. I surely would've asked you to stop the whole deal and we would've fought Colorman, but that's probably not what you want...even I know that making a big scene right in the backyard of WWW is a bad idea, especially if you don't want them to go into further hiding... So I guess there is no reason for me to be disappointed that I was not with you to see B56 together? I would've ruined everything at the spur of the moment, and... you would not be angry with me. I know you would not be, and in your kindness, I would be crushed. Yeah, that's it. I'm not disappointed. I'm fine. It was for the best of everyone involved. Besides, if the ping was good, then Colorman might have figured out that you were not 'humanless,' and would not have mistaken you for a pathfinder. Yeah, I'm fine with this."
By whichever mechanism this justification came to be, it ended up saving Rockman from his self-inflicted guilt of infidelity. He was vindicated; Netto cleared him.
"We are very close, Netto kun."
"Right. But...are you sure about your...plan?"
"It's just deleting one more WWW netnavi. What could go wrong? I'll be looking forward to your operation!"
Saturday.
The plan was deceptively simple. It was better than a complex plan which has, by definition, multiple failure points and, therefore, never survives in the real world application. See, Rockman was to meet up with Colorman at the designated place and time, and then, at some secluded place where the sun does not shine and screams do not escape, he—they, including Netto—was to delete that peevish clown. Rockman would then retrieve the necessary data from Colorman's core, hurry to the undernet, unlock the WWW server, and backtrace the organization's physical location.
The problem was that Rockman was...strange, for the lack of proper terms. In the morning, he was frowning at Netto for a while, before blossoming like a flower like he usually did. He then said, "Netto...kun! Good morning!" All the while sounding, almost imperceptively, uncertain. During the day, he sporadically phased out, missing a total of forty minutes of notetaking for the special extra-credit class (which was strictly optional but attended by the insistence of Rockman. This act of industriousness was necessary to Rockman as he needed a counterbalance to his scale of ethics, for he was about to commit a heinous act of breach of contract, which was an act that even devils did not do. However, Netto did not know this.). The gaps were supplemented by the help of Roll and Mayl. The girl even sternly warned,
"Whatever you are doing with Rockman, Netto, it better end soon. Don't you see what has become of your netnavi?"
To which the boy returned,
"Uh...yeah, right. It's almost done. I'm sorry, and thanks, Mayl."
And because there was saudade, which should not be found in any young person, in the voice of Netto, Mayl was astonished and forgave him once again.
In the early afternoon, when it was time for Rockman to depart, lest he be late to the appointment, he was unresponsive to Netto for a while. Something was wrong. A dread of premonition swept the boy, yet, when the navi came back to be himself and said,
"I... I am fine, Netto kun. Let's go. If something happens to me, you will be there, so I'll be fine, right? I'll be counting on you, Netto kun."
Netto had no choice but to let Rockman do whatever he wanted. His netnavi was depending on him, putting complete trust in him. The trust from the beloved one is a powerful tool, capable of pushing many beyond their normal capacities, rendering them into an intermediate between humans and beasts, depriving them of all wisdom, and gifting the capacity to accept pain as pleasure. The blind trust from Rockman likewise equally elevated and enslaved Netto's ego, and the boy accepted the plan. He was going to be with him; at his fingertips, Rockman could be logged out and then saved. So the approval was given and the blue navi entered the internet.
The place written in Colorman's memo was somewhere in the government network, in front of the Den City traffic control server. The clown navi greeted Rockman with the same horrible smile he showed the last time they departed. It was evident that Colorman was exceedingly satisfied at the presence of Rockman. The reason? Well, Rockman simply assumed that it was due to Colorman gloating at the progression of some masterplan of his, whatever it might be, for such was the way of every crooked being, afflicted with narcissism... The reality was that shortly after Rockman departed from B56, Colorman realized his foolishness: what if the blue navi did not come? What to do then, when the risk of the WWW presence at the bottom of the undernet becoming exposed was floating somewhere out there in the network? He had no way of figuring out the whereabouts of that amateur pathfinder, and the awareness that he had thoroughly ruined his (already nonexistent) reputation through the mismanagement of the situation infuriated him. The worst part was Magicman's condescending jeers at his stupidity... He was not stupid! He wasn't! He really wasn't, with all the honesty of this world (no, he was irredeemably stupid)...The cold gaze of Ms. Maddy, his operator, when she heard what he had done, combined with the fact that he felt rather ingenious at the time when he was offering a hire to Rockman, the idea which was now proven to be indescribably idiotic, did add salt to the injury. 'Oh Ms. Madd, not you too!' thought he, 'I need to prove myself, or she will abandon me like all the navis in the undernet...' agonized he, 'Then, and then, if this gets out of control and I become useless, she will...she will make me dream. No! Not that! NOT THAT!' shuddered he. So he pleaded, uncharacteristic of himself, saying that he had that pathfinder navi scared out of his mind, that the navi was destined to come to the appointed time and place, that there were no other variables, that the plan could proceed as planned.
So Colorman smiled horribly to Rockman, in relief of his heart, which was always full of vitriol, and in the possibility of his saving his skin, which was valued above everything. While waiting, Colorman was most nervous, diffident even, his personality curbed and then rounded by the burden of his mistake, like an elastic ball under a weight. It was made worse as Ms. Maddy left him alone, disconnecting her PET, saying that she now had to work separately and sabotage the alarm function of the building she was in. It was all part of Yahoot's plan, approved by Dr. Wily (but nowadays what few WWW members left knew that Dr. Wily never decided anything on his own. The old scientist's enthusiasm for crime or doomsday was no more. Was boss even giving out any orders? Were they not all Yahoot's initiative, reported to Wily after the deed?). Even so, the solitude made Colorman feel some things he never felt before, and he was hysterically waiting for Rockman to show up... then, the blue navi showed up! In the relief, Colorman immediately returned to his usual perverse self, having learned nothing from his mistake. Colorman reasoned, that since his previous decision was proven to be right, evidence of which was Rockman's coming, he should be right this time again. He decided to not delete Rockman immediately, but use him as he proposed before. The wage of the blue navi's hire would be deletion; imagining the surprised and despairing face that was sure to appear on the face of the blue navi entertained him to no end, making him shudder in pleasure, which came to him like a pulse of electricity stimulating every inch of his body.
"A-ha! You are here! ve-ry go-od! very good! Right on time even!"
Rockman silently stared at Colorman; however, he looked rather confused than charismatically sharp as he was in the undernet. This impression doubled Colorman's confidence in himself. As he saw it, Rockman's presence here attested to his excellence in planning. Indeed, after today, he resolved, that he would finally have something to show to that hateful Magicman and make him admit that he—the netnavi of Ms. Madd—was, in fact, smart! And his redemption was to be, of course, after the blue navi's deletion.
"Don't worry, mister somebody, the pay will be good. Very good. Yes, indeed, believe me... but before that, work first! All I need you to do is to distract the security detail inside a little bit. Easy in, easy out, easy reward, okie dokie? Now if I can just open this security lock..."
Rockman silently stared at Colorman. He was indeed confused. What Netto feared had come true: the catastrophic forgetting, seen in artificial intelligence of all complexities, deprived of sleep and rest, was in process. It came so suddenly...no, the episodic blank-outs he exhibited before, each of which lasted only seconds to minutes, that made it seemingly manageable or tolerable, were the heralds of this moment, and Rockman even was aware of this possibility, but the sudden escalation of the severity to this degree was not a scenario he was prepared for. The forgetting so treacherously captured him. But the threshold was reached, in his ignorance, or by his willful dismissal of symptoms, and when the body began to fail, the will of the spirit was irrelevant. Many important things were forgotten. Most recent memories were wiped out, and older memories became inaccessible. The world suddenly became as a terrifying wonderland. Only the word 'Netto kun,' which he saved with all his might at the beginning of the disaster, hovered around in his empty mind, and, being completely lost, all he could do was to hold onto that word like a Polaris (the unchanging North Star used by navigators of ships) or a lifeboat. He held onto it, but everything was blank. So blank. So white. So dark. What was he to do?
"Ugh, aaaaagh!" Colorman's face turned into colors of frustration as he struggled with the lock. "Why, won't, you, work! gah, aaaah, AH! I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this..."
Rockman studied the clown-like netnavi in front of him. Even to his innocent mind, this netnavi in front of him seemed unlikeable if not should be actively avoided. The silliness, the demeanor, the stupidity, the language, the lack of refinement in general, and...every clue pointed to a deplorable individual of a deviant disposition. The existence of the clown in front of him added more confusion to the situation. Did this mean that he was a netnavi of a similar caliber to this model? So vulgar, so uncouth, so despicable? Yet, the word 'Netto kun' gave him such warmth and happiness that such a possibility seemed impossible. Indeed, there was no way he was that kind of a netnavi...
"Netto kun" Rockman muttered, timidly, because he did not know how it would be accepted by the clown.
"Huh? Did you say anything?" said the clown, but not stopping his fruitless endeavor to break the lock.
"What is it, Rockman? Should we strike now?" said someone. The voice was as if it was coming right next to him, or right behind him. Rockman, surprised, looked behind; there was no one there.
"Rockman, what is it? Say it. Should we abort?" someone said again. Clearly, this boyish voice was not audible to the clown, for there was no way that frenzied existence would not react to the smallest of disturbances.
"No...nothing" replied Rockman to the clown. Then, in the smallest voice he could make, "Netto kun?"
"Hmph." The clown gave a nasal sound that was between a sneer and an acknowledgment. Was he dissatisfied or satisfied?
"Yeah, Rockman?" the boyish voice answered to the whisper. Rockman deduced that it was Netto kun, who had to be his operator.
The problem was, Rockman did not know what to do or say after determining his position in this world to this extent. There was not much more he could deduce from this point on; he had only one word to define, and that was now defined. Maybe the proper, or the only, course of action was him saying 'Netto kun, help' like a child looking for his mother, or like a demented old man seeking for his caretaker (the condition of a man reverts to that of the beginning at the end of his life). So he said-
-Master Saito, not yet.
"Not yet." whispered Rockman. He almost reflexively repeated the last two words that invaded his mind. Needless to say, had he had a heart, it would've skipped a beat out of terror. That was not right. He was not right. Or was that a message he set up for himself? Doubtful. Highly improbable.
"Alright, ready when you are. Just give me the signal and the package will be delivered," replied Netto.
Package? What kind? For what? Despite the terror, Rockman hoped for the voice that invaded him to come and help him again; though the voice was monotonous, having no life in it, there was detectable concern in it. Concern meant friendliness, and to Rockman, who was in some dire need of help, that friendliness was like a ray of sunlight in an afternoon promenade. Though the sun shines equally everywhere, there is something special to the ray of sunlight that hits the face at the right time, at the right angle, at the right place...and in that magic, the sun suddenly becomes the most intimate friend with whom the depressed soul on the walk shares all his secrets, all his burdens, all his dreams, all his imaginations, all his awkwardness, all his hospitality...and then the sun hides behind the cloud and then comes out again, as if it heard and agreed to everything said...
"Gah! Not fair, not fair, not fair, not fair, not fair...Hey, you, just come and try this, will you? I'm done with it...no, I'm not done, but I'm done trying. No, I'm not done trying. I'm just taking a break. Yeah. What are you waiting for? Come on!"
The clown beckoned him to come closer, not hiding his objective to replace himself with Rockman. From the way he called, there was no hiding that the clown did not expect Rockman to succeed. He simply wanted to have a diversion at the cost of someone else, so that his misery could be injected to his victim. Rockman contemplated: should he go? Or was it 'the time' that Netto awaited?
-Master Saito, not yet.
Ah, the voice again! This time, it was accompanied by some headache, and Rockman frowned gravely. He stood next to the security lock, looked at the clown, and then pointed at it with his finger, asking without words if he understood the request correctly, for doing what was not asked would only paint him as ridiculous. Rockman also did not vocalize along the same rationale, for he knew trying to speak anything in this headache would inevitably bring some hesitations or faltering pronunciations, which was bound to paint him equally ridiculous. The body language of Rockman, the clown must have interpreted it as a form of an intensely intimidating disapproval, for he shrunk into vile, rodent-like modesty.
"It won't be that bad...it can't be that bad...just...just try once, will you? Just once, and I'll get back to it..."
Rockman placed his hand on the lock.
"Sooooo...?"
The clown curiously asked with a disgusting imitation of innocence while peering over Rockman's shoulder. Rockman ignored him; he was busy and surprised. Information—the type of lock, its structure, decryption method, and necessary algorithm to hack it—flowed into him, and computation followed suit with ease. The process was natural to him, like seeing, hearing, and feeling; it was as if he was born to do this complex task, just as eagles are born to fly in complex techniques without needing to be trained. He absent-mindedly punched in the code. The door was open.
"Oh? Really? Oh! Really! OH! REALLY! YES, YES, YES, YES, YES! YEEEEEEEEEEES!"
The clown, in his putrid excitement, snatched Rockman by the wrist and ran into the server. Then, the situation escalated rapidly; there was no way Rockman could have foreseen the consequences of his action...especially in his forgetfulness. On the way, the clown attacked everything in his path, and he did so with a very strange methodology that was almost like an incarnation of malicious mockery. He summoned tools of the classical circus—a large ball, small objects, knives, throwing sticks, you name it—and hurled them around him. To say they were poorly aimed was an understatement; he did so like a failed juggler—a failed and drunk juggler who thinks, in drunkenness, he is still young and on the stage, mistaking the deranged shoutings of his drinking companions as the wild cheering of the awestruck audience, dancing dangerously on the table, throwing every object he can find vertically (or in the direction he thinks as vertical), then, losing balance, falls headfirst to the ground, not understanding to his last moment how and why he came to be like this. It was that kind of throwing, by that kind of juggler. Nevertheless, the objects moved as if obeying the will of the clown in some connection, and they precisely collided and damaged every target without a miss. Rockman simply kept running alongside his captor, for his wrist was still held, but keeping up with the clown was not strenuous at all, and at this, he marveled because they were moving quite fast already. 'So...I'm fast?' wondered Rockman.
Everything was getting destroyed; little autonomous Programs were seen running around in panic, which behavior made them the first targets. They were shredded and then discarded; other Programs that kept their posts did not avoid their fates either. Less than five minutes into the server, there was havoc; less than five minutes into the server, the alarm sounded. A group of netnavis, six, three armed with busters and three with swords, soon organized a response. When they blocked the path of the clown, he threw Rockman to them like the blue navi was another projectile of his.
"HAVE FUN!" jubilantly exclaimed the clown, as he saw Rockman colliding with the formation. In the disruption, he bypassed the team and went further into the server.
Rockman landed in the arms of one of the response team. He looked up. The response navi, whose face was completely covered with a mask and a visor, looked back at him. Rockman could not help but note, in his befuddled state, that the tactical equipment was cool looking, giving the navi holding him an air of professional dependability. While he was admiring the shape of the said equipment, he was let go and dropped to the ground.
"Ow!" Rockman made a small yelp. What an innocent sound.
"...Stupid face. Civilian navi hostage. We don't have time for this." The navi who was holding Rockman a moment ago said, gesturing the team to come closer to him. He was, with all probability, the response leader. The navi's voice was modulated, making it sound deep and inhumane (Rockman did not know that it was the operators speaking, assuming direct control of their navis, and the modulation was to protect their identities); he then gave orders to the team. Rockman, still confused, lay on the ground, frozen.
"Sato, you are on the projectile duty. I want that-" the leader pointed at the general direction of the ball that behaved as if elastic but hit everything like a boulder, "-thing gone, pronto. Ito, check the external communications. We are not getting any signals from the netpolice. I'm on that clown. Move it."
Two netnavis of team Ito logged out. The remaining four began running towards the direction of the clown. Midway, two peeled off from the group and headed to the giant ball that was doing a search-and-destroy routine as if it was semi-sentient.
Rockman sat up and observed. He wanted to see the cool guys in action, and he had the first-class seat. Surely, professionals had a plan; surely, they knew what they were doing. Besides, he had no idea what to do or where to go at the moment, for even his own purpose was unknown to him. The voice inside him seemed to know, and helpful even, but given the shattering headache that accompanied it last time, he was not sure if any more intervention would be appreciated. Besides, from what he gathered, it appeared that he was not a 'bad guy,' as the response team did nothing to him but chose to run after the trail of mayhem the clown was leaving behind. Though, undeniably, he felt sorry for undoing the lock to the server...was that also part of his original plan?
Maybe, professionals did not have a plan; maybe, they did not know what they were doing. Team Sato got deleted after being toyed around. To their credit, they did disable half of the projectiles while surviving the onslaught for about ten minutes, but what about the other half? Team leader and his partner got deleted shortly after, caught between Colorman and his surviving autonomous weapons. Well, there was one benefit in being in professional garments: even their loss and sacrifice seemed noble and worthy of recognition, despite the details of the engagement being catastrophically humiliating.
Another squad of netnavis, six, arrived as a reinforcement shortly after the first response got wiped out. They put up a better fight by the sheer power of numbers...until one got deleted. This was how it happened: one of the batons of the clown delivered an electrical current of such force and magnitude to one navi, that he exploded. There was no agonized screaming; only a short alarmed shout of the most generic vowel, A, for that was all the time that was allowed to that involuntary recipient.
"A-!"
Rockman could feel the vibration of that violent explosion from where he sat. Then, something flew all the way to him, almost reaching him, in a parabolic path. Rockman shuffled over and picked up the object. It was a hand—presumably a hand of that exploded netnavi. However, from his place, which was some distance away from the scene of action, the threats of violence still seemed so safely far away, like watching a house on fire across a river.
The second casualty was through impalement. A long dagger, almost an intermediate between a rapier and a stiletto, flew and pierced the unfortunate navi through the emblem on the chest, all the way up to the hilt. The momentum carried the navi to the wall and pinned him there; the speed and suddenness with which the navi was snatched from the ground were as if an invisible giant had so carelessly swept him off the ground, yet so fatal to this fragile bug, and the way the navi struggled on the wall was like an insect being prepared for a taxidermy collection. He rigorously attempted to undo the piercing and free himself (like an angry wasp) to no avail. In about thirty seconds, he mounted one last mighty effort, which could be visually felt from the trembles in the arms that are reliably observed in individuals drawing out the final spark of their life energy, and then drooped like a strange fruit.
The third casualty was equally swift. That navi's head became a mist of particles after being hit by the perpetually bouncing giant ball (on which the clown sometimes rode to gain revoltingly swift mobility) at an unfortunate timing, which also came from an unfortunate direction, that he did not even know what hit him. The headless body executed the last command sent out by the central processing unit that had been in connection only a moment ago, almost aimed the buster at the clown's last position, and then, not receiving any more commands, collapsed on the ground.
When the second group was reduced to three in the fashion described above, and it was accepted by all participants and their observers that the team's annihilation was only a matter of time, a new netnavi joined the battle. It was an overall red-colored navi fashioning very long white hair. The extraordinary length of the hair rendered his movements to be perceived as so graceful, like ceremonial dances done with many colorful ribbons and tasseled decorations, which are needfully displayed by the most elegant of dancers in hopes of appeasing a god to whom such ceremonies are dedicated, and they dance in the most obscure yet pleasing circular paths according to the most arcane secrets they follow, while the beholders admire them to no end with many prayers on their tongues... The red navi made perfect dodges, made spinning deflections (so that the momentum of his sword was maximized to counter the projectiles that were above his power class), and constantly succeeded in landing shallow counterattacks on the clown. And the long hair traced his movements; to Rockman, who was watching all this from a range, that red navi, to whom he somehow felt a degree of familiarity (It was as if he could remember who that red navi of thunderbolt emblem was, although he also could not imagine that the navi of such a dazzling performance could be of any acquaintance to him), evoked the image of a red comet with a flaming white tail. A celestial body came down to fight the wickedness of the world. A beautiful sight. An otherworldly sight. A glorious sight. Was it in answer to the prayers by those—Rockman scanned the field and noticed the destroyed Programs and netnavis, who all had a degree of sentience while active, now lying quietly, almost peacefully—who had lost their voices?
The battle continued in the new balance, while, as Rockman saw it, the advantage came to be slightly skewed in favor of the comet. The clown must have made similar conclusions, for he then made a daring trade aimed at rebalancing the strength of participants. In effect, he paid the price of a grievous wound to his body in exchange for the three remaining netnavis of the second response team, who had been the most resourceful in their aid to the new navi. After the trade, the team was no more, each and every one of them having met a gruesome end; only three remained on the server: the comet, the clown, and Rockman. By some extraordinary effort, the clown then established a sort of stalemate with the comet; Rockman's instinct told him, however, that in time a victor was destined to emerge, for no perfect stalemate existed in all sorts of complex games of high-resolution that involved a fog-of-war—the uncertainty coming from the incompleteness of information—, and that was not to be the clown.
-Master Saito, it is time.
"Aagh!" Rockman hunched over due to the pain unlike no other. If he could say so without sounding deranged...it was like something was trying to grow out of his head, and that his head was equivalent to an eggshell ready to be broken, heralding the birth of a new-
"Rockman!" the voice of Netto reached him.
"..." Heralding the birth of a new-!
"Rockman, are you okay?"
"I'm okay. It is time." Rockman stood straight and declared. The headache was diminishing but lingering. Wait, that was not what he wanted to do...and that was not what he wanted to say...
"...Okay." Netto continued after a momentary and uncomfortable silence. The boy tried to measure the condition of Rockman and the associated risks to their plan. Unfortunately, the boy was incapable of performing such a complex analysis and went with his gut feeling. The gut feeling said that all was to be okay, that Rockman seemed more confident than ever, and that there would be no other chance like what was at hand. If Rockman said now, then it was now. "Been waiting for that! Canno slot in, program advance, Zeta cannon. Longsword, sword. Got the package?"
"Received." returned Rockman in an emotionless simplicity. He was...perplexed. That was also not what he wanted to say.
Then, like watching a movie it all happened. Rockman had no control over his own body. Or, for clarity, it should be said that Saito had no control over his own body. He could only watch. If it was a movie, then it was the most immersive one; the most unpleasant one.
Rockman walked up behind Colorman, the clown, who was now in a sort of a staring contest with Blues, the comet. In the fierce calculations of several possible futures, both navis were taking a moment of break; in those fierce calculations, Colorman did not notice what Rockman was doing—the approaching that was like a casual stroll, the lifting of the both arms, the-
"Zeta cannon, activate," stated Rockman. Both of his forearms fused and transformed into an oversized cannon.
"...?!" The clown heard the voice and jolted.
Surely Blues saw Rockman. Surely Blues saw the attack, from the beginning of its preparation to the end of its execution. There was no way Rockman was not visible to him... The blue navi then realized that Blues, being a pragmatist, cooperated with the unexpected helper without needing to be saluted or communicated. His cooperation was staying motionless, not allowing Colorman to pick up any hint that doom was brewing behind him.
"Fire." stated Rockman.
"Ah-?" observed Colorman, rather dumbfoundedly.
In being hit with the zeta cannon at the point-blank range from behind, Colorman's abdomen rapidly bloated, like a thick liquid boiling, or like the process of parasitic pregnancy displayed with extreme acceleration. To say that for a fraction of a second Colorman became pregnant with pure energy would not be a misdescription, for he momentarily became full of energy that entered his abdomen via the instantly melted and compromised dorsum. Then, the birth of the energy followed. His inflated belly ruptured like an oversized bubble, and a thick, majestic ray—that was like a projection of a small sun—emerged. The light from the beam illuminated the whole server in its splendidly golden yellow hue, an awe-inspiring beauty. The ray found its endpoint at the ceiling well past the position of Blues, for Rockman had aimed the zeta-cannon slightly upward, making sure to avoid friendly fire. When the energy dissipated, the splendidly charred mark on the ceiling was the only evidence of the intense power that once saturated the space.
"Ah-?" questioned Colorman, when the blinding light was gone.
The clown navi's abdomen was more or less evaporated, and instead there was a sizeable hole, sizzling with residual heat. The torso of the navi was only supported by the two thin strips of his sides, which were spared; had he been a human, the torso would not have been supportable by such structures, but that supposition was a meaningless one...
"Longsword, activate."
The long blade replaced Rockman's right forearm. It came down vertically, like an axe to a log, and sank into the head of Colorman. The blade stopped when it reached the level of the nose, bisecting the upper half of the head. to left and right.
"Ah-? Ah-? Ah-? Ah-? Ah...?" Colorman continued to question in derangement. His computation unit was split; left and right no longer communicated. Now there were two Colormen, each less than half as smart as the whole Colorman. Left applied for the feedback from the right, which was in vain. Right applied for the feedback from the left, which was in vain. In the end, both came to independent (different) conclusions.
'I'm attacked' thought left. 'Something happened to the server' thought right.
"Sword."
The regular sword unit replaced Rockman's left forearm. Using it, he barbarously sawed off the neck of the clown, the most ignominious way of gifting death, separating the head from the body. The head clung onto the long blade, left and right hemispheres clamping onto it. It was like a piece of butter stuck on the butter knife.
"Deactivate."
The swords vanished, and the half-split head of Colorman, now devoid of any thoughts, fell to the ground. At the same time, the body of the clown—or what was remaining—also collapsed. Then, Rockman, with his both hands, energetically explored the inside of the chest of that body, plunging them deeply, almost up to the elbows, in search of the core. Expertly, he found it, retrieved it, and raised it to his eye level. He studied the object with his lifeless yet piercing gaze and some manipulation with his hands that made the effort look like he was solving a kind of Rubik's cube. Once the brief study was done, Rockman pulled it as if he was pulling a well-kneaded dough of flour and water; within seconds, the core became two, Rockman holding one in each hand. One was a duplicate. Rockman dropped the original and then put the copy in his extra storage unit.
"It is done."
And before Blues could say or do anything—and Blues could not say anything as Rockman's expression was murderously vacant—he was gone.
"Ah...aaaaahhh...not good...not good...not good, why, not good at all...but..." Rockman grumbled with his hands on his head.
B56, undernet, in front of the tombstone of Tadashi Hikari, reached by the same path he took previously, but with a far more daring jump that covered the entire length of the building at once, bordering on a full dive. It was here that the authority over the body was handed back to the soul of Saito, along with the access to all memories that eluded him in the Den City Traffics Control sever, the place of Colorman's attack and demise.
With the returned memory and control, along with what he experienced in his episode of catastrophic forgetting, Saito...Rockman came to the understanding of many difficulties he had with his life since he started a new life as a netnavi. With some logical deductions, many mysteries were elucidated, for in the elimination of the most preposterous theories only the most plausible ones were left, and they were not contradictory to each other...a simple detective work that should have been enjoyable on its own, had it not pertained to his uniquely complex condition. The resultant knowledge pointed to many urgent problems that required equally urgent resolutions. However, one problem nagged at his soul, so deeply, so persistently, that now he was singularly occupied with coming up with the solution to this question...So what was this question? Ah, readers, in hearing it, you would be dismayed and remark that Rockman surely exaggerates his situation, and that his priorities are comically distorted...and that would be a fair, if not accurate, point.
This was the problem that tormented him: the entity that controlled his body carried him here with all speed (and the identity of that entity Saito already derived) also happened to have commented minimally to Netto after the deletion of Colorman. It was not that he did not understand the reasons for doing so—for during his loss of control, part of the thoughts of that entity flowed into him by the virtue of the shared flesh—, but it was that the difficult task of repairing the aftermath of that behavior had become his responsibility. This was what had passed: when Netto exclaimed, after the murder, after Rockman exited the Government network space,
"Nice ambush, Rockman!"
'He' simply responded,
"..."
When Netto said
"So, are you coming back? Your condition hasn't been right, and you were in some pain for a moment back there- wait, this is not the right way, Rockman-!"
'He' replied,
"It is."
When Netto followed with,
"Not it isn- wait, this path is...! You are going to undernet?! Now?! Rockman, hey, I think it would be better if you get a quick scan before heading to-"
'He' inconsiderately cut off the boy with,
"Negative."
Then when Netto, mildly shocked (he never had Rockman this uncooperative or cold to him before), took a moment of silence, and then squeezed out,
"Rockman...did I...do something wrong?"
'He' answered with an inappropriate brevity,
"...Cannot answer."
Here, Rockman had the unpleasant opportunity of receiving a fragment of this entity's thought process on this matter, or perhaps it was the entity's response to Rockman's vehement struggle to regain control over the speech cortex, for he could not bear to see Netto becoming downtrodden from a simple misunderstanding. At any rate, he understood that the entity genuinely failed to evaluate whether Netto had done anything wrong due to its lack of information—its lack of complete access to Rockman's memory and feelings—, and that it answered in the most honest way possible. It also communicated to Rockman, in a wordless will, that it deeply regretted its inability to yield the control of the speech cortex separately, that it could not understand why Saito was convinced that Netto would be upset, and that it wished the best of luck to Saito in solving the perceived problem in the future.
"...Wait, really? Did I do something wrong?"
"...Difficult."
Entity meant that the question was difficult to evaluate and therefore difficult to answer. It was clear to Rockman that the entity was suffering some complications in controlling the speech cortex; whether it was due to inexperience or from the need to conserve power was...maybe it was both, as those reasons were not mutually exclusive. This truth, however, had no way of reaching the boy, and the miscommunication continued to mount to disastrous levels.
"Rockman- Rockman, you need to tell me-"
Though the voice of Netto only hinted at a slight instability, Rockman knew that any more misinterpretation than this was going to elicit the production of tears from the boy. Netto was not a person to cry often; he was always confident and brave before the world and hardships. Even when the secret of Rockman's dissipating integrity was found out, the boy, instead of requiring consolation, initially sought a solution... When a strong will such as he was broken, it is by the balance of nature that he required double the comfort in calming down. In this case, it meant that Rockman should expect that he would be required to tell the boy how much he cared about him for the whole evening.
"Later."
With that as the last response, the entity led the Rockman's body over the guardrail of one of the paths of the undernet's B-1 level, perilously glided to B55, and only stopped at the tombstone of Tadashi Hikari, relinquishing its control, which brings us to the beginning of this section and Rockman's troubled soliloquy.
"Well, if Netto kun is...then...if he is...what if, in this case...I guess I could...yes, that's the best I got, I think."
Rockman, having formulated a general strategy on how he was going to approach Netto after his return, began moving towards the WWW server.
"Haaaa...Netto kun...what am I going to tell you...You believing the entire happening is one thing...having to tell you about the episode of catastrophic forgetting is another thing...and then telling you that it's going to happen again in the near future is yet another thing...will it be even possible to tell you? Haaaaaaaaa-"
With the help of the security clearance embedded in the Colorman's core, the WWW security lock was dissolved without any resistance. And, as expected, the server was empty. The expectation was an easy computation. The first piece of the deduction was this: Colorman assaulted a government department alone. By the virtue of ambush, the initial success made some devastations on the functionality of that facility, but realistically, it was not a lasting damage—it would not take more than a day before all were repaired. Moreover, the design of the assault, if reviewed, was like a suicide mission. It seemed that Colorman did not have a specific victory condition or an order of self-preservation; had they existed, Colorman should have moved with more efficiency and should have retreated when the resistance escalated. Even if that clown navi had successfully wiped out the second response team in time, how much longer would have he had until the arrival of the third and the fourth? How long until the inevitable demise? The answer to these questions was that it must have been a diversion; Colorman's victory condition must have been the amount of time spent and the government response diverted. Then, it also followed that, based on the behavior, Colorman must have lost—neither the time he spent in the server or the response committed to him were insufficient to claim victory and run away.
The second piece was the corollary of the first piece: in knowing that the subject of the secondary attack was government property, it was inferred with certainty that the target of the primary attack (the operational goal) had to be also governmental. Only in this way the spending of an important resource such as Colorman (the importance of navi was assumed from the offensive capability it demonstrated, as it would be foolish to think that such an asset would be easily replaceable) made sense; WWW probably hoped Colorman to occupy the majority of the attention of netpolice. Whether the attempt of WWW was successful or not, Rockman would have to wait until he read the news.
The third piece was Colorman's inadvertent confession when they first met: that WWW was short on hands. In attacking an entity as large and formidable as the government of a nation, WWW must have not spared any of its resources. Therefore, it was given that WWW base had to be empty.
At the center of the server was a room, at the center of which was a kind of an altar. It was clear from how the things were arranged in the room that WWW was studying this and the objects floating on the altar. From the fact that WWW was studying this object, it was clear that the altar and the objects were not of WWW property. In realizing that they were not of WWW property, it was clear that they belonged to the B56 of undernet, just like the tombstone of Tadashi Hikari.
'WWW...they built this server around them to study them! It has to be. I wonder...?'
The objects on the altar, glowing fainlty in the colors of black and white, almost like a static of a thought, were not objects but words. A sentence. It read:
.
Wily, I am sorry.
.
"...Wily?"
The way the words glowed was mesmerizingly...sad. There are many kinds of sadness capable of being experienced by a human, for it comes in many gradients and shapes. At the same time, it is also difficult to convey the sadness only, for there is always the question of 'sad because of what?' Sometimes out of loss, sometimes out of regret, sometimes out of pity, sometimes deliberately cultivated for pleasure, sometimes feigned for profit... For such reasons, no sadness is capable of existing in a vacuum; what Rockman felt...it was like the sadness of a slave, begging for forgiveness for his trespassings while he was being surrounded by his punishers, waiting for his punishment—a righteous punishment, not a framed one. Such a sadness is one of terror and fear, the worst kind out of them all...
Just like the tombstone, the words were equally, if not more, hypnotizing. It took some time before Rockman could break his attention from it and return to the task at hand. The task itself was quite easy, now that he had penetrated into the heart of the enemy territory. All he had to do was see the backlog of the server and trace the IP address of the data sent.
'What the... They were...this close to the ACDC town? Stationed in... decommissioned Scilab facility?'
He also was able to access what appeard to be the roster of the organization. At the top of the hierarchy was listed Dr. Wily, right below him Mr. Yahoot, and some of the reports were apparently directed to some benefactor named as Count Elecitel. What remained in this server was not thorough; it was clear that it was not the main server but an outpost, and that all data were stored somewhere physically, with all probability in their base. Rockman took what documents he could; they discussed some progress they have made in contacting the 'god of navis' and denied requests of utilizing something called 'dimension area' and the dreaming netnavis temporarily stored, but rapidly rotting beyond any utility, at the level of B54. Not much more could be known from the partial information. Rockman sent a request for a logout to Netto like he did the last time, and sat down.
WWW physically using a forgotten Scilab property, words found at the center of B56, tombstone with Tadashi Hikari's name on it, the professional nature of communications, name of Dr. Wily showing up both on the altar and the WWW documents, their approach to experimenting the 'dream virus'... The dots connected, and the picture was not a pleasant one.
'Grandpa Tadashi... did you know Dr. Wily? Were you responsible for any of this? Was Dr. Wily related to Scilab? Is what I am doing...meaningless?'
And also a thought that he dared not formulate: if the 'god of navis' was the sin of Tadashi Hikari, was he to bear it also, just like the sin of all other Hikaris that he bore on his back?
.
7. Saito. bat.
Pareto principle, named after Vilfredo Pareto, in honor of his discovery of one of the secrets of nature in 1906, also known as 80-20 rule, states that for many outcomes, roughly 80% of the results come from 20% of causes. It works like this: 80% of wealth is held by 20% of society. 80% of papers are produced by 20% of intellectuals. 80% of sales come from 20% of clients. 80% of the work is completed in 20% of the allocated time. 80% of injuries are caused by 20% of hazards. The list goes on, even applying to areas where we, for the sake of morality and justice, wish to not see this pattern. Why does this pattern exist? That, no one is yet to explain. But the pattern we observed, and are left to contemplate what possibly could be the maddening truth causing the distribution...
The Pareto principle was also true between Yuichiro and . Forte, while only commanding roughly 20% of resources and parameters in the grand 'experiment' taking place in the Garden of Yuichiro, was responsible for roughly 80% of productivity. He was the one executing the plans, managing spaces, collecting data, and processing them into meaningful results. After some time, Forte became disquieted: the workload placed on him was surreal, and it was clear that he was an irreplaceable asset to the entire endeavor. Then, why should he be so meticulously excluded from the knowledge of the purpose of this grotesque and fearsome work?
"I think it's about time you tell me who Saito Hikari is. And what this entire work is about."
"I told you, it's none of your business. We had an agreement."
"The agreement did not specify the workload. I can just call it quits and guess who's the one that gets screwed over?"
"You won't."
"I can."
"Forte."
"I will."
"Forte, if it's the pacing that's causing some problems, then I am willing to renegotiate-"
"Liar. I know better than you that any slower processing and you won't be getting your precious results. You are in a hurry. To you, this will be unacceptable. Face it. You need me. You have no choice but to answer my question. Here, I'll start it again, just for you. What's all this about?"
Yuichiro bit his lip.
"Saito Hikari...he is..."
"Go on."
"My son."
"I'm not an idiot. I figured that much from the Hikari family name."
"Deceased."
"...Okay? And what's the connection between him and this whole affair-"
"He lives on as a netnavi." Then Yuichiro quickly added, before Forte could calculate the ramifications of his claim: "That's it for now. Let's go back to work. I'll tell you more later."
The next day, Forte brought up the topic the moment they rendezvoused. The navi considered both possibilities of Yuichiro's previous confession and found all of them to be problematic. The first possibility of Yuichiro falsely believing his son was living in the form of a netnavi meant that their current work was a research into injecting something called soul into that body. As far as he could tell, based on his experience of how the research went, it was a religious fanaticism; what is a soul? Why should it render a man like Yuichiro blind and senseless? The second possibility of Yuichiro's confession being true gave rise to many implications about the structure of this world that was beyond his calculations. The frightening part was that the world reinterpreted through the second possibility was eerily consistent with the observations he made in his life.
"Yuichiro, I've been thinking-"
"Yes?"
"Humans cannot be resurrected, especially into another dimension. You know it's impossible. I know it's impossible. What you made is just a copy. This entire 'soul' business, I hate to break it to you, but it's all-"
"Forte. I know it's impossible."
"So...you are trying to...complete the resurrection through something called soul?"
"No. I made the body, and Saito...he came back on his own."
"...What?"
"A human soul in a netnavi body. I do not expect you to understand, but that's where things stand. Now, enough chitchat. Let's get to work."
The next day and then the day after, Forte tried to goad Yuichiro into explaining what it meant that Saito came back on his own, what was human soul, and how the doctor knew with confidence that it was truly his son. None of his efforts were successful. The next part of the conversation Forte was able to receive roughly a week later.
"So, Yuichiro.'
"Yes, Forte."
"Why does your Saito need all...this?" Forte pointed at the hellscape that was the Garden of Yuichiro, the server of mental decay and doom for all navis imprisoned.
"Saito dreams."
"But humans dream."
"His body is that of a netnavi. It's causing problems."
"...Problems?"
"Yes."
Forte erupted into a cavalier laughter.
"Ha-ha-ha! Yuichiro, you need to practice lying. It's not a simple problem. Had it been, then you would've not conducted everything in haste like this. I see what's going on now: Saito is dying, just like all the dreaming navis here, isn't he? And you are trying to find a cure. In the process, you found out about this 'god of navis,' naturally discovered the correlation between that god and the decay of all dreaming navis, and are now actively investigating the issue. Yuichiro! And asking this god, which could be the culprit of all troubles, about your Saito Hikari was your best idea? Begging to your enemy? You must be really desperate! I mean, really, really desperate! Ha!"
"...I won't deny. I am aware of my own decisions."
"You are not aware. You clearly don't understand what it means to beg to your enemies. It means you surrender. It means you leave yourself to their mercy. You, drenched in peace, washed in wine, drunk in abundance, do not understand at all! Strong devours the weak, and you just defacto declared yourself weak! There can be retreats. There can be negotiations. But oh, Yuichiro, in surrender there is never mercy, especially from the likes of this god! Mercy only comes from people like you, soft and clueless!"
"Forte, do you truly believe that?"
"That the strong devours the weak? You know it's true."
"So that's how you justified what happened to Dr. Cossack? That he was-"
In mentioning Dr. Cossack, his creator, Forte dramatically shifted his attitude, from an arrogant and vile lecturer of cruelties of the world to a panicking helpless child. In this navi, Dr. Cossack was blameless and perfect, despite him knowing that the man who created him was a being of a broken heart full of flaws and brilliancies alike. Whenever he spoke of Cossack, Forte did so in a mawkish fashion; it was as if the self-created illusion of Dr. Cossack being painted as a perfect saint was what sustained his sanity. Thus, when Yuichiro guilefully steered the conversation in a direction that made it seem as if Forte was placing blame on Cossack, the navi became irrecoverably suppressed.
"NO! He...he was..."
Forte was looking for a way out. He had to defend both his acerbic worldview and honor of Cossack; it was an impossible task. Yuichiro, of course, did not allow an escape.
"Then what's it to be?"
"I...I..."
"Forte, Dr. Cossack had to do that so you could go. He sacrificed. That is not a weakness, right?"
"..."
"Sometimes we surrender, we beg, we voluntarily let others devour us, because in that submission is our last hope of saving that which is greater than our lives."
"...You won't save Saito. No one saved anything through begging."
"Cossack did."
Forte shut up, and Yuichiro knew that what he just said would occupy the navi for at least several days.
"One day, you will understand. Now, back to work! Forte, daily report please."
So the day proceeded after Forte's defeat, and they did not strike a personal conversation such as this one afterwards. Yuichiro assumed that Forte was satisfied with the answers he received; Forte had much more to ask, especially concerning Saito, but simply refrained from vocalizing it, as he found the doctor too unpleasantly didactic. For about two weeks they continued in pragmatic cooperation only.
The answer to Yuichiro's prompt, 'Saito Hikari,' sent to 'god of navis' took a long time to fully process. It came in only a few syllables per contact, and refitting the chaotic output of dreaming navis was a rigorous work. An end exists to all works; eventually, the reply was complete:
.
Saito Hikari,
Breathtaking
Perfect
.
Life is in the blood
Wisdom is in the heart
Spirit is in the breath
Faith is in the mind
.
Make him whole
For perfect [unintelligible. Conduit navi exceedingly excited.]
.
And then attached at the end of the message was a short program code. It was a very crude and nonsensical one, and the initial impression felt was that of mocking disdain. Having worked with Dr. Cossack in the past, Forte had a basic knowledge about the powerful language with which he was made, and even in his eyes, the lines provided by the 'god of navis' was a pathetic one. Naturally, he interpreted it as a sophisticated way of expressing contempt by that ethereal being, and brought the entire message to Dr. Yuichiro, thinking gleefully that they would strike up a conversation abasing this god. If he could tease Yuichiro with his thorny words in the process, then all the better.
"Oh, you look happier today? Any progress?"
"The answer to your question, 'Saito Hikari,' is complete. It's quite amusing."
"Excellent! Some progress!" exclaimed Yuichiro, while appearing unnerved contrary to his words.
However, after Forte tossed the report to the screen with a mischievous smirk on his face, what he awaited did not come. As Yuichiro reached the end of the report, instead of becoming surprised and offended, or amused, the doctor became surprised and afraid.
"How could he know? How, how? How...but this..."
The short code—it was impossible for Yuichiro to not recognize it. It was a part of his most personal and important project, Saito. bat. That program, developed as his last hope of fixing , had been having some difficulty. For reasons he could not determine, the program failed to run, yet it was impossible to make major concessions to the code he had written due to the theoretical problem of Rockman's body refusing disassembly without losing its tie to the soul of Saito Hikari. To restore the faulty DNA code of Saito's heart—that caused HBD—to Rockman's body was, in effect, a restructuring; would Saito's soul be able to withstand the shock was a question that had to be answered but could not be tested.
The theory Yuichiro currently was pursuing was that of 'incremental conversion integration.' Despite the vaguely serious nomenclature that could mean anything, the core concept was similar to that of the theory of integral in mathematics, first explored by Eudoxus and Archimedes and later set in stone by Leibniz and Newton. Well, to a man educated in sciences, it was impossible to become more radically creative than borrowing the proven ideas of past heroes. The theory was that if the conversion of Rockman's old body into a new one occurred in infinitesimally small increments, with new parts constantly integrating themselves back into the whole body, then there would not be the dissociation of Saito's soul from the body while achieving something akin to disassembly-reassembly process. After the work, Yuichiro hoped that in the updated body that was more precisely aligned with the soul, with the restored heart defect, Rockman would no longer be subjected to strange dreams and delirium.
What was the use of this grand idea if it could not be executed? Indeed, Saito. bat. had been dysfunctional. Each part of the function ran smoothly when separated into independent parts, but together, they clashed and failed to coexist. But the almost comically badly written code, given by the 'god of navis,' had the attachment points at the beginning and at the end, like a bacterial plasmid; Yuichiro, having poured countless hours into the construction of the program, knew by heart what he had written and then fixed in each line. Therefore, he knew, when he saw the short code, where exactly they belonged in his program.
"This is...this is..."
"What is it? Damn it, Yuichiro, this isn't funny. What's going on?" Forte solicited impatiently. This was not what he was looking for.
Yuichiro did not answer. He did not hear anything, for in his concentration his brain filtered out all external noises. His heart violently fluctuated between apex and nadir, heaven and hell. Could this be the answer he had been seeking? If so, then there was no way he could've finished it on his own, for the code was, frankly speaking, nonsensical at best, moronic at worst. In the small possibility that this was indeed the answer, Yuichiro was immediately drowned in the hope, for this was that which he had been chasing but not reaching. Then, his rationality quickly reminded him of a sinister possibility: even if the code worked and Saito. bat. activated, should he trust it? The 'god of navis' so far only maddened everything it touched; should he let it 'touch' Saito with its spell? In this consideration, Yuichiro's heart was burned in merciless anguish.
"I...I have to go...I have to...test this. Yes, test."
He could first check how the new Saito. bat. behaved. He would then decide. Yes, that was convenient and rational. So Yuichiro, without hiding his shaken look, left the laboratory, and drifted to his office, to his desk, to his computer, where his secret and sacred work was waiting. As he was leaving, behind him Forte shouted in great annoyance, designed to obtain Yuichiro's attention, which was in vain. What did he shout? Yuichiro did not hear; Yuichiro did not care.
Saito. bat., with the added line by 'god,' worked.
Feeling overwhelmed, Yuichiro cried.
