Chapter 168: Frozen Gear (3)
Chapter 168: Frozen Gear (3)
My shock continued to mount after that.
Take the somewhat large mosquito flying through the air, for instance.
As expected, it was a machine.
Equipped with a syringe whose back end was shattered, it possessed a body made of tiny gears. It was a creature that sucked the oil out of other machines. I might have understood if it used that oil to lubricate its own body, but the broken syringe couldn't hold a single drop. The oil simply leaked out, dripping onto the ground.
The creature being preyed upon was no different.
At first glance, it looked like a rabbit, but with speakers attached to its ears emitting a faint voice—“I will now announce the current time. The time is 49:732”—there was no way it was a rabbit.
And that white, rabbit-shaped clock was currently nibbling on the Mechanical Grass I had twisted earlier when I first arrived on the island.
Click. Click.
It continued, making rhythmic metallic sounds.
Then, the flying syringe was snatched out of the air.
A strange metal bird with a beak that rotated like a drill had claimed it. The exploiter that had been scattering oil on the ground was ground into metallic dust and scattered in turn, disappearing into the metal grass.
What on earth was this?
The more I thought about it, the more my mood soured.
To be honest, it wasn't like I hadn't seen bizarre sights before. I’d seen plenty of scenes where senses and reality didn't align, and where common sense didn't apply.
The Otherworld inside The Hole.
Reality suffering from Otherworld Erosion.
But those experiences weren't so much about feeling "bad" as they were about the fear of seeing the reality I knew being trampled. The fear that reality was becoming a jumbled mess of mismatched films, forced together into a single reel.
However, this small island before my eyes was different.
On the surface, it perfectly matched our world.
Even the laws of physics likely matched our world.
The bird eating the insect.
The rabbit grazing on the grass.
The plants using the scraps of a meal as nutrients.
They were all natural parts of our world.
And yet, the entities making up this world were things I didn't recognize. Meaningless, unsettling machines that left nothing of value behind. These pointless, unstable things—which made me feel ill just by looking at them—were stripping the meaning away from our reality, a reality that was supposed to have inherent meaning.
That fact was utterly revolting. The fact that this wasn't Otherworld Erosion, but our own world.
* * *
“…You’re saying this isn't Otherworld Erosion?”
That machine over there, which I couldn't even begin to understand the function of?
“Yes. We can create the exact same thing using purely our own technology, without any Otherworldly Power,” the Librarian said, catching a butterfly that had fluttered in front of him.
“Look here. This tiny, round piece of metal on its abdomen is the battery. It uses that energy to turn its wings into magnets to fly. Hmm, that’s not quite right. It would be more accurate to say it uses magnetic force to levitate.”
Holding the butterfly by its wings, the Librarian launched into a lecture, explaining every detail.
The butterfly’s joints.
The operation of its sensory organs.
Even how it moved.
“Ah, however, there is one thing I don't know. Its behavioral patterns. Even though its form and flight method are different, its behavior is identical to a butterfly found in nature. With our current technology, implementing that is impossible.”
Having finished his explanation, the Librarian released the butterfly.
As if it had already forgotten being captured, the butterfly fluttered right past my eyes. It bore a garish pattern of yellow and black.
Crunch.
I swiped my hand at it.
The agonizingly slow butterfly couldn't react at all before it was crushed in my palm. When I opened my hand again, nothing remained but meaningless scraps of metal.
“There’s no way this is a butterfly.”
I brushed my hand off, letting the metal fragments scatter to the ground.
Just as the metal bird had done moments ago.
I returned the machine, which was devoid of life, to where it belonged.
“Hmm. What exactly is a butterfly?”
Perhaps stimulated by my words, the Librarian, who was walking ahead to find the path, asked the question back.
A butterfly.
I was the one who brought it up, but I couldn't give a precise definition of a butterfly either.
I remained silent.
The Librarian didn't say another word and kept walking forward. It felt as if he were waiting for my answer. He didn't say it out loud, but his back seemed to speak for him.
I forced myself to squeeze out an answer.
“Uhhh… An insect with two wings that scatters pollen and sucks nectar?”
“Haha. I believe even an elementary school student could give a better answer than that.”
The Librarian’s voice was laced with amusement, as if my answer had been quite satisfying in its inadequacy. Of course, regardless of his satisfaction, I felt a bit miffed that my answer had become an object of ridicule.
Whatever. If you ask anyone what a butterfly is, they’re just going to say it’s something that flutters its wings.
“Then what do you think it is?”
“To which are you referring?”
“A butterfly. I answered, so you should too.”
Let’s see what kind of answer he gives. If it’s a boring one, I’ll roll around on this hard metal ground and laugh in his face.
“I see. A butterfly…”
Perhaps he didn't have a prepared answer despite being the one to ask, as the Librarian fell silent, the sound of his gears whirring.
Creak. Click.
Usually, it was a grating noise, but it felt different on this island. The sound of gears and sparks, the flow of coolant, and the spinning of fans… they felt as natural as the sounds of nature here.
In fact, the sound of my own heartbeat felt like the only thing out of place on this island.
How long had we walked through this discordant metallic symphony?
“A butterfly… is perhaps a being that thinks of itself as a butterfly.”
Finally, the Librarian spoke.
“What kind of bullshit is that?”
The words left my mouth as a spinal reflex. That’s how absurd his answer was.
However, thinking it might have been too harsh to judge a friend’s considered answer like that, I chewed over his words once more.
“Yeah, it’s still bullshit.”
I could only spit out the same conclusion.
“Why do you think so?”
The Librarian threw another question back at me, unfazed by my verbal abuse. Like a teacher instructing a young child.
“What do you mean why? How would a butterfly know it’s a butterfly? With that tiny grain of a brain?”
Could a butterfly even perceive itself as a butterfly in the first place? Did that tiny head have the capacity to recognize what it was? Even we humans go through so much trial and error to figure ourselves out.
“Is it really that strange? We ourselves have lost our sense of self more than once or twice, yet we still proclaim to the world that we are human.”
True, I’d been through that a hell of a lot.
Being hit by mental attacks, suffering from Otherworld Erosion, falling into the Otherworld.
But there was one decisive difference.
“Humans are smart enough for that. Butterflies aren't.”
I don't know much about biology, but I feel like even if you used magic to swap the consciousness of two butterflies, they wouldn't even realize they’d been changed.
“Is that not also our own arrogance? Our intellectual level is not infinite, and neither is our perception. Perhaps they see things we cannot. Those butterflies.”
The Librarian gave a thin smile, belittling himself—no, belittling humanity.
What was wrong with him today? He seemed quite different from his usual self.
“Is that scientifically proven?”
“Of course not. Dogs might be one thing, but insects have a system so different from ours that it’s still a difficult field to study.”
“Then it’s not your area of expertise. Stop acting like a humanities major and only talk about what you know—what’s been proven. We have enough philosophy with Calavera.”
What is death?
What is a human?
Are we alive?
I was sick of it all.
And another thing.
“Let’s just settle on one thing. That butterfly earlier was a machine made of iron. Not a living creature.”
Snap.
I reached out and tore a branch off a nearby tree. By doing so, a multitude of mechanical devices were exposed.
Twisted gears.
Leaking lubricant.
Sputtering steam.
“Look at this mess of machinery. Can you really call this a living thing?”
I felt like I was getting too tangled up by obsessing over the single premise of a "butterfly." Let’s go back to basics.
“That thing earlier was metal. The butterflies we know are biological. Simple, right?”
I’ll end my proof there. What was it? Q.E.D?
That doesn't sound right.
QCQ? No, that’s Close Quarters Combat… wait, is it? Did it start with a C?
Uhhh?
I wanted to wrap things up with a flourish, but I couldn't find the right words due to my meager knowledge, so I just groaned.
Then, the Librarian’s counterattack began.
“In that case, am I a living being? Or a machine?”
He turned around and began walking backward.
He looked at me with a smirk as he posed the question.
Hey. That’s cheating.
“Didn't you ever take debate classes as a kid? Didn't they tell you not to ruin a debate with stuff like that?”
Of course, I never took them, so I’m allowed to do it. But you aren't, you Westerner.
“Well, I don't have experience with childhood debate classes, but I did learn how to throw punches at The Society.”
The Librarian threw a jab into the air as he spoke. Even though he was walking backward and his footwork was a mess, if I were to give him a generous evaluation considering he was a researcher, there was definitely weight behind that jab.
…Just what kind of hellhole was the Management Bureau’s Society debate hall?
My thoughts strayed in a strange direction for a moment, but I quickly pulled them back.
Hmm. Is the Librarian a machine? Or a life form?
First of all… most of his body is mechanical, right?
His heart was replaced by an engine a long time ago, his eyes and nose are mechanical, and didn't he say his lungs became mechanical recently too?
Then, for starters, the majority of what’s needed to sustain life is mechanical.
Uh… then if it’s not the internal organs that matter, is it the brain? What happened to his brain?
My thoughts reaching that point, I stared intently at the Librarian’s blonde hair.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Just… I want to pop the lid and see what you’re thinking.”
“Even if you saw my brain, you wouldn't be able to read my thoughts.”
That’s true.
Tsk. Nothing I can do about it.
“Seeing as you’re being so snarky, I guess you are alive. Fine, I lose. Let’s just say that thing earlier was a butterfly too.”
Damn guy. Winning a debate by using a cheat code. Aren't you ashamed to call yourself a scholar?
“Hmm. Then it is my victory. Shall we give that butterfly a scientific name? How does Pieris mobis sound?”
Look at him acting all big when he’s not even a biologist. And even if he gave it a name, I doubt it would be recognized.
Well, let’s move past that. Onto another topic.
“No, but while I’ll admit that thing earlier was a butterfly, I can't accept the other part.”
“To which are you referring?”
What else?
“The part about a butterfly being a butterfly if it thinks of itself as one. Whether a butterfly has the intelligence to recognize itself or not.”
Butterflies aren't that smart. You said earlier that they might have something beyond us humans, but even including the Otherworld, intelligence and sensory capabilities are generally higher in larger creatures.
There are things like Oxymoron’s nurses where you can't tell where the sensory organs end and the nervous system begins, but generally speaking.
“Didn't I say it hasn't been proven? Therefore, there are things we don't know…”
“Then we can't have a conversation. By that logic, I could have a pet transparent tentacle monster that breathes fire in my house. It’s true that thing is a butterfly, but your proof is wrong. OK, Dr. American? If you don't like it, try proving that butterflies have something we don't know about.”
Now then, let’s continue the debate.
Let’s drown out the metallic noise filling this island with our voices.