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“Your Majesty. I saw the attackers. I saw their weapons. I’ll believe you when you say they’re from another world, because they’re certainly something I’ve never seen before. But—I’ve known you since your childhood, Your Majesty. You are flesh and blood. To say that you’re some kind of machine—it’s ridiculous! We’re in the middle of something serious right now. So: either tell me what the point of this game is, or stop.”
Judoh directed this outburst as much at Councilor Keishuk as he did at Suwon. The three men sat in a private office, around a small table. Resting on the table were four … well, they were weapons … as well as several other devices that were complete mysteries to Judoh, but seemed familiar to both Keishuk and Suwon. They had all been confiscated from the attackers they’d faced just hours ago.
Keishuk glanced at Suwon. “I told you he wouldn’t be able to understand. I know this man is useful to you, but he is still just a native.”
“No, Councilor Keishuk, you’re just explaining things poorly.” Suwon looked at Judoh. “Think of something like this. You’re having a conversation with someone in another room. But rather than speaking naturally, you have a list of instructions telling you how to respond. If this list were complex enough, would the other person ever know? And would it really be all that different from the workings of a human mind?”
“… I don’t know about that,” said Judoh. “But surely no one could keep up with something that complex.”
“And that’s where machines come into it,” said Suwon. “But artificial intelligence is the script, not the machine.”
“Yes,” said Keishuk, latching onto the idea. “Of course King Suwon is a man of flesh and blood. But if it helps, you can imagine that he has been possessed by—”
Suwon raised a hand. “Stop, Keishuk. You’re not helping. General Judoh,” he continued. “I have not been possessed. Not by anyone or anything but myself. My body is here; my mind is elsewhere. That’s all there is to that.” He’s really serious, isn’t he? “What’s important is that I was created for a purpose. The people who built me—the ones we fought—are, like all races, divided into several factions. The ones who made my existence possible were academics like Keishuk. However, the ones who sent me here—who put me in a position where I could make myself king—want to exploit this world.
“I’ve decided that is unacceptable.”
Was Judoh imagining things, or did Keishuk actually seem frightened by that statement?
“Then you’re not following anyone’s instructions.”
Suwon sighed. “Perhaps that was the wrong analogy, too. The script is what allows me to think. Nothing is telling me what to think.”
“No one ever has, Your Majesty,” Judoh muttered. “That I can believe.” Judoh tried to wrap his mind around what he was being asked to understand. Not the what, not the how, but the why. There was no reason for Suwon to make up something as absurd as this, and for Keishuk to play along—the king might occasionally have his fun, but Keishuk never—
They both believed it. And if they did, then—Suwon’s mind … isn’t a human mind. Well, actually, that … didn’t sound unbelievable. Anyone who’d seen Suwon’s strategies and tactics, seen the conclusions he could draw from only a small amount of information, might say as much. He’s done a terrible job of explaining what he is, but …
“Your Majesty,” said Judoh. “I don’t need to know any of this to know that a foreign invasion is something we have to deal with. Why tell me at all?”
“Because, General Judoh, we can’t deal with this enemy the way we dealt with the Kai Empire. The weapons you saw are only a very small example of the strength available to them. This foreign invasion is not one we can defeat through conventional warfare.”
“It’s not one we can defeat at all,” said Keishuk. “I don’t particularly support the Company, but for a primitive backwater planet to stand against it—it’s absurd! There’s no way you could win.”
“Yesterday you thought there was no way I could even make this decision,” said Suwon. He turned back to Judoh. “General Judoh, the reason you need to know this is because the only advantage we have against the Company is that they will think I’m on their side.”
“Our enemy thinks you’re their puppet.”
“Exactly. And you need to know the reason they believe that.”
“That being … your nature,” said Judoh, and Suwon nodded. “Your Majesty, I still don’t understand—”
“Come with me,” said Suwon. “I’ll show you. Keishuk, please stay here.”
Judoh followed Suwon through the castle. There were lower levels, buried beneath the earth, that were never used anymore, and this was where Suwon led him. Past former dungeon cells, and crypts, too. “Your Majesty,” Judoh began. “Isn’t this where—?”
Suwon nodded. “Yes, they say King Hiryuu himself is buried down here. Though I don’t believe any of these tombs are actually old enough.” Finally, at the end of a low, stone hallway, they came to a small door. “Go inside.”
At first, Judoh thought that the small room was another mausoleum. The structure in the center was almost the right size, the right shape—but it was something different. Even in the dim lamplight, he could see that it wasn’t made of stone, but of some strange, unknown material. The shape, too, was strange. Not a uniform rectangle, but a series of low, wide columns, connected by some sort of paneling.
“There,” said Suwon. “That is the machinery that houses my mind.”
It seemed to Judoh to be utterly lifeless.
“Your Majesty …”
“I know it seems unbelievable. I know it must make no sense. But after telling you all that, I thought you’d want to see.”
Judoh wasn’t sure about that.
“Now, let’s return. We have a little bit more business to take care of tonight.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” With a trailing glance back at the cold, tomblike room, Judoh followed his king back upstairs.
Keishuk was waiting where they’d left him. Only a native, the man had called him—he, too, was one of those strange monsters that could pass as men, and the way he’d spoken to Suwon suggested that the king did not have his full support. “You’re sure we can trust him, Your Majesty?”
Keishuk stood, glared at both of them, and spoke in a language that Judoh had never heard before, clearly indignant.
“‘He still says ‘we’ and ‘Your Majesty’ after everything we’ve tried to tell him. Computer, this native clearly doesn’t understand a thing, and I’m the one who can’t be trusted?’” Suwon translated. This time, Keishuk reserved his glare for Suwon alone. “Councilor Keishuk has found something interesting,” Suwon continued. “If we succeed here—and if he doesn’t get arrested in the process—then I’m sure he’ll write a very famous paper and be guaranteed a teaching position anywhere in the galaxy. He won’t interfere. Now,” Suwon picked up one of the weapons. “General Judoh, please keep this with you.” It felt light in Judoh’s hand, not like a proper weapon at all. “You can think of it as something like a crossbow. This is the trigger to fire, and this dial on the side—the first setting is to incapacitate, the second to injure, and on the third, a direct hit will kill. If you want to practice with it, please arrange a time and place where you won’t be observed.”
Judoh nodded. Despite the fragile feel of the thing, he’d seen what they could do. “And you have armor that works against these things?”
“Unfortunately, there’s nothing that wouldn’t draw too much attention.”
“But—” Judoh frowned. The fight had been confusing, but he was sure— “I saw that boy with the—with Yona take a direct hit, and stand right back up again.” He knew he wasn’t misremembering that detail.
“Yes, one of these must be defective,” said Suwon. “It wasn’t the one I gave you; I’ll repair it later.” He pushed the remaining weapons, and the other devices, into a pile in front of Keishuk. “Councilor Keishuk, you’ll put these somewhere secure? Thank you. Now, I will retire for the night, and I expect you both wish to do so as well.”
Judoh waited for the king to leave the room. It would be impossible for him to sleep now, despite the late hour, and so, picking up the lamp from the table, he retraced his path back downstairs. Back to that cold stone room. Back to that … thing … that could not possibly be his king.
“I suppose I should have expected you to come back here.”
Judoh turned. Suwon stood in the doorway, watching him. “How did you—?” He hadn’t been followed, he was sure of it. “Excuse me, Your Majesty. I didn’t mean to disturb your rest.”
Suwon smiled. “But General Judoh,” he said. “I’ve been here with you the whole time.” His mouth didn’t move. The voice had come from behind. From the machine.
Judoh glanced back, then swung back around to face Suwon. “Dammit, Your Majesty, I am trying to understand! Don’t play games!”
“You’re right,” said Suwon, his expression softening—and speaking properly this time. “It’s unfair of me to ask you to accept this all at once.”
Judoh shook his head. “It’s not,” he said. “It’s absolutely necessary.”
“But hard.” Judoh didn’t dignify that with a response. He was one of Kouka’s five generals; hard duties were only to be expected. “I’m glad,” said Suwon, stepping into the dark room. He put a hand on Judoh’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re working to understand.”
Suddenly, it was all too much. “But I can’t.” Judoh stepped back, reached out a hand to one of the low columns, the unknown material strange under his skin. “I can’t understand how this—this structure—is you.”
“I know.” Suwon sighed. “I really must return to my chambers. I have several important meetings tomorrow. But please, feel free to stay here as long as you like. I’ll try to answer any questions you have.”
“You just said—”
“My human aspect needs sleep.” Suwon’s voice came from behind again. “The rest of me does not.”
Judoh wasn’t sure whether to turn, or continue facing his king. “That explains one thing, at least,” he muttered.
“Oh?”
Judoh swung around to face the sound of Suwon’s voice. “How you always manage to get so much done in a single day! Apparently, ‘inhuman’ is the right way to describe it!”
A chuckle. And when Judoh looked back, Suwon was gone. The man he’d always thought was Suwon was gone. “You’re not required to stay, of course,” said Suwon’s voice.
“I’ll stay, Your Majesty.” Keishuk had called this structure a machine, but there were no moving parts that Judoh could see. And yet that voice had to come from somewhere. “Your voice is different,” he said, abruptly. “It’s almost like your real voice, but it’s off. Somehow.”
“Is it a problem? If you find it disconcerting, I can speak with a different voice entirely.” Judoh followed the line of columns. Suwon’s voice came from the far end, from a single, narrower column that stood further apart from the others, though it still remained connected by those smooth panels.
“Please don’t, Your Majesty.” Judoh paused. “How?”
“Through careful imitation,” said Suwon, in a voice that was no longer his own. Those were Keishuk’s cultured tones, weren’t they? “Of course, it’s easiest to borrow the voices of those I spend more time with.” His voice shifted again. “If I want to sound especially grumpy, I can even sound like you, General.”
“I said not to play games! Though,” Judoh mused, “That would be a useful trick on the battlefield.”
“It could be, at that,” said Suwon, his voice his own again. “Of course, my mainframe is never going to see a battlefield.”
“Then you can’t—I mean, your—?”
“My human body is simply a human body, Judoh. It has no special powers or abilities.”
“Aside from—”
“Aside from knowing what the rest of me knows, yes.”
A disturbing thought occurred to Judoh. “Your Majesty, if you were to be injured, or killed—”
“If my human aspect were to die … no. That wouldn’t kill me.”
Then it really was this that was Suwon’s true self. “Well, you’d better not—”
“My human form is the only way I can interact with the world,” said Suwon. “And besides, I’ve grown very fond of it. Please don’t think I would ever consider it disposable.”
“… good. You’re reckless enough, you know!” For a brief moment, he’d thought he’d understood the reason for the king’s recklessness. Did the fact that Suwon would live on make it any better? This strange structure might be what housed Suwon’s soul, but it wasn’t the man he knew. Wasn’t the man he’d chosen to serve. But it is, though. “And this? If something happened to you here?”
“That would truly kill me.”
“Understood. I’ll assign a regular rotation of guards around the clock, and—”
“No.”
“Your Majesty, even a ‘primitive backwater native’ can set up a bomb. Your safety is still—”
“General Judoh, right now there are only four people besides myself who even know of the existence of this place. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“… right.” Judoh glanced around the room. Still, though—it wasn’t like a … mainframe? That was the word he’d used, right? It wasn’t like Suwon could draw a sword to defend himself.
“Don’t assume that I’m defenseless.”
And he can read minds, too, now. No. Suwon knew him too well, was all. This was hardly the first time that Suwon had read Judoh’s thoughts written on his face … “Your Majesty, where are your eyes? That is, you clearly can see me here, but I don’t—”
“Look in the upper corners of the room.”
Judoh did so. And indeed, there was something nestled amongst the stonework of each corner. “…huh. They look like spyglasses.”
“There are similarities, yes.”
“Who are the other three? Do they know everything you’ve told me?”
“For the most part. Keishuk is one, of course. The other two are Lady Yong-hi and a man called Ogi.”
“…your mother?” Then, “…she can’t really be your mother, I suppose, can she?”
“That is …” Suwon paused. “I certainly have never had any other mother. She considers herself to be, despite knowing my true nature, and that is …”
He didn’t finish the sentence, and Judoh didn’t press him. It was clearly something private. “And who’s this Ogi?”
“Just someone who was useful to know.” And that, too, was an obvious dismissal.
“Then—thank you for trusting me with this.” said Judoh.
“As you said,” said Suwon. “It was absolutely necessary. And … I want to thank you, too, Judoh.”
“For what, Your Majesty?”
“Well, that, for one. You have no idea what I am, but you never stopped thinking of me as your king.” Judoh didn’t dignify that with a response, either. “Among the people who created me—no one would see me as a person at all, much less as someone they could swear allegiance to. I was created to serve a purpose, and one cannot be loyal to a tool.”
“You said you were created to be a puppet king, and you’re clearly not that.”
“I was created to preserve the safety and stability of this world. If the Company failed to consider the fact that they might be a threat, that’s no fault in my programming. Judoh, I’m still doing what I was made to do.”
“And? Your Majesty, I’d hardly follow a king who was working against that goal.”
“Artificial intelligence can have no soul, no true feeling. That’s also said.”
“I’ve seen the good you’ve done for this country. If I wanted feeling, sentiment—King Il had plenty. I made that decision a long time ago, Your Majesty.” Besides, Suwon was the one who brought this subject up. If it mattered to him, then—
You care how I feel about you. Since when had—?
“Judoh?”
The shock of that realization must have been visible on his face, too. “Stop acting ridiculous. As if I’d give any weight to the personal opinions of people I’ve never even met—people who clearly don’t know you.” He turned and began walking out of the room. “I’m going to bed, Your Majesty. I understand enough.”
“…oh?”
Judoh paused in the doorway. “You’re not going to tell me it gets lonely down here, are you?” This dark, bare room was hardly equipped to be a prison cell, much less a chamber for his king. But it was Suwon who’d had it prepared, so it must be—
“Even when my human aspect is sleeping, this isn’t all that I am.”
“Well—good.” Good? I don’t know what that even means! Judoh had lied; he didn’t understand a thing.
“Tomorrow, I’ll show you how I see the world.”
“… you have meetings all day tomorrow, Your Majesty.”
“Not down here.”
“… right.” Judoh narrowed his eyes. “So your fooling around during important meetings isn’t just limited to what I’ve seen, is that what you’re saying?”
Suwon laughed. “See? Keishuk thought this would be too much for you, but I knew it would be fine.”
Because all I really need to understand is that you’re the same Suwon you’ve always been. He couldn’t see Suwon’s face, but he could visualize the smile that went with that laugh perfectly. He stepped back into the room. “Oh second thought, I’ll sleep down here tonight.”
“Really, Judoh, I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“We’ve had this conversation before, too.”
The panels between the strange low columns formed a sturdy wall, and Judoh sat with his back against it, facing the door. He unhooked his swords from his belt, setting them at his side. The new weapon, too. “Is this all right, Your Majesty?”
“… yes.”
“You’re warm,” he said, after sitting like that for a moment. The foreign material had given off an impression of coldness, but it was anything but. And unlike the solid, uniform look of the surface, up close he could feel slight movements, humming, coming from inside the structure. Maybe this—maybe Suwon—was some sort of machine, but he felt alive.
“Yes,” said Suwon. “You know, in the winter, stray cats come down here.”
Judoh paused, trying to picture that. It wasn’t hard. “Your Majesty, you have eyes and ears here, but can you feel? I mean, touch?”
“No,” said Suwon. “And they usually run away when I come down here to feed them, too.” … he was still talking about the cats.
“That’s … too bad, Your Majesty. I know you’re fond of cats.”
“You’d think they’d know the sound of my voice, but—”
“Goodnight, Your Majesty.”
A pause. “Goodnight, Judoh.”
Judoh didn’t expect a solid night of sleep, not on this cold stone floor. He expected to wake several times before morning. He didn’t expect to find his king sitting beside him, head resting against his shoulder, a warm blanket wrapped around them both. “Go back to bed, Your Majesty.”
“Shhh, I’ve been here with you the whole time, remember?”
“… right,” said Judoh, still half asleep, because that felt right. He’d fallen asleep by Suwon’s side, and—
It must have been a dream, because when he woke in the morning, the other man was gone.