Chapter 835: The Brain-Machine Interface Project
The lights and runes on the various arcane devices flickered incessantly. From the laboratory’s foundation, the magical network emitted a low, steady hum. A streak of light swept across the surface of a nearby recording device. Then, Kamail approached the young researcher, Cohen Bell.
“The auxiliary equipment is ready, Cohen,” the Archmage’s voice buzzed softly. “Prepare for the third connection test.”
The young technician seated in the chair nodded. “I’m ready.”
As he spoke, he looked up and caught sight of Pea, who had come over out of curiosity to watch. He winked at her. “Keep your eyes peeled. This is the real use of the Neural Thorns.”
After spending some time together, nearly everyone in the lab had grown familiar with Pea.
Pea blinked, watching as two assistants stepped forward. One activated a device beside Cohen’s chair—a cylindrical terminal designed to connect to other arcane apparatuses, its runes glowing faintly. The other assistant moved behind Cohen, carefully extracting the Neural Thorns from the back of his neck. From the cylindrical device, a cable resembling an artificial nerve cord was pulled out and brought close to the end of the Neural Thorns.
“Consciousness Extension Project, third connection test. All units, record data carefully.”
Kamail reminded the team. Then, he nodded to the lab assistant standing next to Cohen, who connected the Neural Thorns to the artificial nerve cord extending from the cylinder. The terminal at the end of the Neural Thorns seemed to come alive instantly, intertwining and merging seamlessly with the corresponding structures on the nerve cord.
In the next moment, Pea saw Cohen’s body tense sharply. Simultaneously, many arcane devices in the lab emitted a piercing howl. Unknown instruments buzzed loudly. Nearby recording devices spat out long strips of punched paper tape. The lab’s lighting flickered erratically, dimming and brightening.
Kamail and Pittman watched anxiously as Cohen, the test subject, convulsed briefly before forcing himself to calm down, gradually regaining his ability to communicate. Pittman stepped forward first. “Cohen, can you hear me?”
“Many voices… overlapping…” Cohen struggled to open his eyes, looking at Pittman. “Perception… chaotic… but it seems… no, I can’t control it…”
With a final shriek from all the devices, the light atop the metal cylinder beside the chair suddenly dimmed. The connection between the artificial nerve cord and the Neural Thorns severed itself. The lab’s lights went dark for a moment before slowly returning to normal. Cohen Bell, sitting in the chair, was drenched in cold sweat.
“Don’t move,” Pittman said, placing a hand on Cohen’s shoulder. “Let’s check your condition first.”
After a quick physical examination, Pittman and Kamail confirmed that Cohen was unharmed. Pittman sighed and shook his head. “Still no success…”
“But it lasted one point two five seconds longer than last time,” Kamail buzzed. “That extra 1.25 seconds gives us more data to analyze.”
“That’s true… this data should be somewhat useful,” Pittman said, smacking his lips as he looked at Cohen, who wore a frustrated expression. “Was there any difference this time? What did you see when it cut off?”
“Basically no change. Once connected, I instantly felt my perception expand dramatically, but it was mixed with countless indistinguishable… impurities. The information from the auxiliary devices didn’t fully convert into harmless control signals. Instead, it became some kind of… something I can’t understand…” Cohen frowned, struggling to find the right words. Finally, he settled on a term he felt fit best: “a kind of ‘awareness’ beyond my comprehension.”
“Just as we hypothesized in the last meeting, the human perceptual boundary becomes chaotic when directly exposed to ‘alien cognition.’ Our brains can’t comprehend how a magical network terminal ‘thinks’… This isn’t just a matter of brain-machine translation,” Kamail shook his head. “The Neural Thorns connect more deeply with the brain than traditional artificial nerve cords, blurring the barrier between mind and machine. This ‘blur’ is our biggest challenge right now.”
“Looks like it’s still too early for humans to directly control machines with their brains…” Pittman stroked his sparse beard. “But at least the experiments controlling arcane terminals with Neural Thorns have gone smoothly. All this effort hasn’t been in vain.”
Pea didn’t understand the complex technical discussion between Kamail and Pittman. She simply leaned on the barrier beside the experiment area, craning her neck to watch Cohen Bell wiping sweat from his brow, her eyes wide. “Uncle Cohen, is this the thing you wanted me to watch? You look kind of messy…”
Cohen Bell was hit even harder by her words, instinctively pressing a hand to his forehead. A nearby researcher couldn’t help but tease, “Told you not to show off—now a little girl’s making fun of you.”
Pea shot the researcher a glare full of displeasure. Almost an adult now, she was sensitive about being treated like a child. She immediately retorted, “Who said I’m a little girl? I’ll be an adult in two years! And what do you mean by ‘making fun’? I’m just stating facts. Uncle Cohen doesn’t mind, right? Hey, Uncle Cohen, you look a bit pale. Are you feeling unwell from sweating so much? Do you want me to—”
Pea rattled on without pausing for breath, leaving no chance for anyone to interrupt. Kamail and Pittman, standing nearby, both took a half step back. Pittman muttered quietly, “Why didn’t we think to give her an off switch…”
Kamail’s runes flickered as he buzzed, “…That was careless.”
…
“Daughter? You have a daughter now?” The red-haired dragonborn’s eyes widened in surprise as she looked at Byron, the former captain she hadn’t seen in twenty years. Then she quickly caught herself. “Ah, right. Twenty years is a long time for a human. You should have a family by now… But wait, you only just had a child? And she’s just learning to speak?”
“Ah, my situation is a bit… complicated,” Byron quickly realized how ambiguous his words sounded and waved his hand. When he tried to explain, he remembered how special his bond with Pea was and smiled with a touch of nostalgia. “She’s my adopted daughter. She’s fifteen now. As for just learning to speak… that’s because she was mute for many years.”
“Mute?” Asalina’s surprise deepened, curiosity creeping into her tone. “Has she been cured?”
Byron glanced at Asalina, pride suddenly shining on his face. “It’s a miracle brought by arcane technology.”
“Arcane technology…” Asalina frowned slightly, repeating the phrase thoughtfully. “That term has recently reached the Holy Dragon Principality. They say it’s the foundation of the sudden rise of the Cecil Empire. Our southern expedition is partly to see this new phenomenon with our own eyes.”
“There’s more new things in this land than just arcane technology,” Byron said with a proud smile. “You’ve been away for twenty years and missed all the upheavals. Now that you’re returning to the southern territories, trust me, everything there will leave you speechless.”
He raised his glass, the deep red wine inside the crystal goblet catching the light. “Welcome to Cecil.”
Asalina raised her glass too. The clear clink echoed in the air. After sipping the fine wine, the red-haired dragonborn shook her head with a smile. “I kind of miss those days back in cheap taverns, where everyone drank bad beer from oak mugs, one after another… watered-down and awful, but at least the mugs clinked freely.”
Byron chuckled, then glanced discreetly at Victoria, who was chatting with Sir Gorosh nearby. Leaning subtly toward Asalina, he whispered, “If you’re interested, once we return to Winterhold, I’ll treat you to something stronger—our Cecil frost resistance potions. Fifty-two degrees proof, with a smoky aroma. You drink it by the barrel. That’s the real kick…”
“Looking forward to it,” Asalina leaned in as well, smiling softly. “But for now, tell me about your years away. What’s your adopted daughter’s name? What kind of child is she?”
Byron laughed happily. “Her name’s Pea. She’s a good kid…”
…
In the eastern continent, night had fallen over Alden.
A court noble in a dark coat hurried down the shadowy corridors of the Obsidian Palace. The glow of magical crystal lamps illuminated his face, damp with fine beads of sweat. The crisp sound of his boots echoed past pillars and doors, until he reached the door of Rosetta Augustus’s bedchamber.
A palace guard clad in black light armor, wielding a battle blade, stepped aside to block him. “Lord Bormer, Her Majesty is resting, and you do not have permission to enter at this hour.”
The nobleman called Lord Bormer looked unusually pale, his muscles tense from nervousness. More sweat beaded on his forehead. His abnormal state made the fully armed guard even more alert.
“I… I have urgent news that must be reported to Her Majesty immediately,” Lord Bormer pleaded, spreading his hands. “It’s very important. If I’m late, it might be too late!”
The guard studied him briefly before nodding. “My lord, I can relay the message for you.”
“No, I can’t say it now… I might only get one chance to speak. I must tell Her Majesty myself…” Lord Bormer gripped the hem of his coat tightly, as if something terrifying was watching him from behind. Summoning all his courage to fight instinctive fear, he insisted on seeing Rosetta Augustus in person. “Please, let me in to inform her. At least let Her Majesty know I came.”
The two guards at the door exchanged uneasy glances. “My lord, please don’t put us in a difficult position…”
But before they could finish, a gentle yet unmistakably authoritative female voice came from behind the door. “Let him in—that is Her Majesty’s order.”
Hearing this, the guards immediately straightened and responded with respect. “Yes, Miss Diana.”
Then, the magically sealed gates of the inner court slid open silently to either side. The guards at the entrance nodded to Lord Bormail. “You may enter.”
Lord Bormail stepped across the threshold. Beyond the heavy, ornate gilded doors stood a young woman with black hair and dark eyes, her features composed and gentle, yet her face was expressionless and unreadable. She wore the finest maid’s uniform—the royal head maid of the Obsidian Palace, the highest-ranking female official in the inner court. Though called a “maid,” here she was a voice of the Emperor Rosetta himself.
“Thank you for your assistance, Miss Diana,” Lord Bormail said.
“No need,” the royal head maid replied coolly. As she stepped forward, she raised her right hand slightly, gesturing ahead. “Please follow me. His Majesty is already waiting for you.”
(Recommended reading: Cyber Hero Chronicles. Why recommend it? The title says it all! P.S. Personally, I think it’s worth a look—at least the cyberpunk vibe in the beginning is spot on.)
(End of chapter)