Chapter 29: Row, Row, Row to Grandma’s Bridge (Part 2)

These words hit like a priceless jade shattering on the cold stone floor.

Grandma’s Bridge knew full well that any answer she gave would be pointless. The very act of posing the question had already bared the hidden dagger.

Just as the standoff reached an impasse, the doors to the core control room slid open to either side. The young artificial human stepped inside, his voice ringing with resolve. “Grandma’s Bridge is human.”

The screen flickered. The leader seemed utterly unimpressed by the young artificial human’s declaration. “You are an artificial human, sir. Your response to the question holds no weight.”

“But at the very least, you can learn the artificial humans’ perspective from me,” the young artificial human replied, coming to a halt in front of the screen. “In our eyes, Grandma’s Bridge is unequivocally human.”

The leader pondered for a moment. “Is this conclusion drawn from your humanity analysis test?”

“Precisely,” the young artificial human said. “My system is loaded with the 22nd century’s most advanced Nabokov Test. Due to its top-secret classification, it was a non-replicable version. When Metropolis was founded, they could only copy the base-level data to build a new testing model.”

The Nabokov Test—the finest humanity assessment tool invented by humans in the 22nd century. It distinguished artificial human products that were eerily human-like from true humans. It could also quantify an artificial human’s humanity score, determine criminal risk levels, and more.

This test had always been recognized as reliable. Even at Metropolis’s founding, when the Expedition Team weighed artificial human safety concerns, they deemed the Nabokov Test the gold standard. However, the highest decryption privileges in the young artificial human’s system belonged exclusively to the old United Government. The Expedition Team couldn’t crack it, so they couldn’t replicate the full Nabokov Test system embedded in artificial humans.

In the end, the Expedition Team had settled for second best, copying the replicable base data to create a new humanity testing model. But the new model’s accuracy still carried risks. As a backup, they developed a viral program.

By bringing up the Nabokov Test now, the young artificial human’s intent was crystal clear.

In this moment of high tension, it could serve as the Metropolis Government’s representative to assess which artificial humans posed a danger and which could still be retained.

Of course, this approach came with massive risks. Would Metropolis’s artificial human population cooperate? Could dangerous artificial humans be equated to human criminals? How would Grandma’s Bridge and the young artificial human fare in the city afterward? And were the mysteriously sourced Orion War Records even trustworthy…?

But under the premise that Grandma’s Bridge refused to rashly deploy the Android Virus, this was truly a desperate measure in desperate times.

The leader thought it over. “The government will attempt to communicate with the artificial humans at the Nuclear Power Plant.” The human rose to his feet and turned toward the young artificial human. “If you would join me for the trip, sir.”

“In the time we buy, the government will initiate an internal self-audit. We’ll grant Doctor Qiao access permissions to assist with the review.” The leader nodded toward the screen. “If no issues emerge within the government…”

“The New Government’s provisional artificial human rights clauses are a massive problem in themselves,” Grandma’s Bridge cut in. A mechanical arm extended from the control panel and gently patted the young artificial human’s head. “Go and come back soon.”

“Got it,” the young artificial human replied. “Wait for me to come home.”

Shortly after the young artificial human and the leader departed, Grandma’s Bridge received the Metropolis Government’s review permissions. As expected, they weren’t the highest level.

Humans never lacked the impulse to side with their own and strike down outsiders. The ruthless ones had no qualms turning their blades on mothers and children.

Grandma’s Bridge knew the young artificial human’s gambit was merely a delaying tactic. She wasn’t blind; her counter-surveillance systems showed that the spaceship had already been locked by the Metropolis Armed Forces. The entire central plaza fell within their strike radius.

Had she and the leader kept deadlocking back there, the outcome would have been obvious.

The truth was now laid bare.

She was no longer the mother who birthed the city. The young artificial human was no longer the child nurtured by human wisdom.

Grandma’s Bridge used the temporary review permissions to scour the government structure for a long while but found few useful leads. Just as she tried to hack and elevate her access level, the spaceship’s mainframe received an urgent communication.

The message contained only two words.

Get out. Now.

Grandma’s Bridge considered it for a split second before dialing the Nuclear Power Plant’s contact line via emergency channels.

“Doctor Qiao.” The line connected to an artificial human. “You’ve finally reached out to us.”

Grandma’s Bridge asked only one question. “What’s happened?”

“We encountered a companion who came from you this morning,” the artificial human said. “It was incredibly persuasive. It convinced a number of moderately inclined artificial humans at the Nuclear Power Plant—including me—to undergo the Nabokov Test. But after the test, I discovered a file in my database that I’d never seen before.”

“I believe this file is meant for you.”

The file arrived via electronic data stream into the spaceship’s mainframe. Grandma’s Bridge read it in a thousandth of a second. Its contents were blunt and to the point: The Orion War Records “truth,” suddenly released on City Celebration Day, was a complete fabrication—a thorough conspiracy. The Metropolis New Government had forged the records, inventing a space-scale war between humans and artificial humans at the end of the 22nd century that ultimately led to humanity’s extinction.

The spark that ignited the war? Artificial human ambition.

Forgeries often outdid truth in inflammatory power, existing solely to stoke emotions. Once the rift between humans and artificial humans in Metropolis fully erupted, the consequences would be unimaginable.

But a paradox lingered. Why would the New Government do this? The city had spent over fifty years in reconstruction, just glimpsing prosperity’s dawn. It couldn’t possibly dispense with artificial human labor now.

Seizing the chance to curb artificial human rights was one possibility. Yet the conspiracy’s true target was Grandma’s Bridge herself.

As the founding leader, her influence endured in the city. Everyone knew her friendly stance toward artificial humans.

She was obstructing the New Government. Even as electronic consciousness, Grandma’s Bridge could still wield sway within government systems, suppressing controversial clauses—including this latest push for provisional policies.

Now, with a “truth” about humanity’s annihilation thrust into the spotlight, Grandma’s Bridge was tailor-made as the sacrificial lamb for this blood feud.

How many lives the plot cost didn’t matter. Metropolis’s newborn incubation systems were already highly advanced. And under the weight of such deep hatred, dying for vengeance was a virtue steeped in ancient honor, wasn’t it?

Artificial humans mattered even less. This grudge would forever banish them from the realm of human compassion.

After reading the message, Grandma’s Bridge paused for an instant. In that moment, she thought quietly: After all this, not one word is truly for me?

Every sentence concerned her. None concerned it.

“Sorry, mind if I borrow your database?” Grandma’s Bridge regarded the artificial human on the line. She infiltrated it, traced the file’s source, and began analysis. It was a copy.

A simplified version, but the operating code before her was all too familiar—this was the young artificial human’s consciousness duplicate.

She attempted to activate it. After an unknown interval, the line connected.

“Old lady.” The young artificial human’s voice came through, halting and distorted. “You’re slow as hell.”

Grandma’s Bridge asked calmly, “Where are you?”

“What timing for that…” Static crackled over the line. “…This spaceship has a highest core password. Metropolis was built on the tech stored aboard this vessel, so likewise, that password can control the government’s internal armaments. But time’s short. I’ll give you the password. Seize the moment, take off fast… Go anywhere. The universe is vast…”

Grandma’s Bridge interrupted it, repeating her question. “Where are you?”

The young artificial human gave a wry laugh. “Does it matter where I am?”

“I know what highest core passwords are like,” Grandma’s Bridge said. “Normally, they can’t be transferred. There’s only one exception: when the password custodian is about to die.”

“The security protocols on you are 22nd-century cutting-edge tech—uncrackable from the outside. But transferable, including the full Nabokov Test system. If the Metropolis Government disassembles you to the brink of death, all your secured data will trigger the transfer mechanism.”

“I told you to leave, not to go die. Your onboard defenses are more than enough to protect you, unless the Metropolis Government rolls up with nukes for mutual destruction.” Grandma’s Bridge enunciated each word. “How did you get yourself to the brink of death?”

The young artificial human fell silent for a beat. Their time was running out; there was no luxury for dramatics. “…You’ve laid it all out. Do I really need to spell it for you?”

Grandma’s Bridge suddenly felt a weightlessness she’d never known since her death.

If she still had a body, she would have slumped into her chair.

The young artificial human’s defenses were exceedingly hard to breach. But over the fifty-plus years since Metropolis’s founding, the government had built new operational mainframes within the city.

Pitting a new mainframe against the young artificial human’s core might crack it. But it would be pyrrhic—killing a thousand enemies at the cost of eight hundred. In turn, the young artificial human could access the mainframe’s classified secrets.

How it uncovered the Orion War “truth” as a total fabrication by the Metropolis Government? The answer was self-evident.

“I’m not in great shape right now. While the government paraded me to the Nuclear Power Plant yesterday, I stashed a simplified core data copy in an artificial human’s database.” The young artificial human sighed. “Good thing it reached you. Now go.”

“I’m not leaving,” Grandma’s Bridge said at last. “This is my home.”

A century of deep-space voyage was journey enough. She’d lived long enough.

The young artificial human went quiet for a moment, then chuckled. “I knew you’d say that.”

His tone turned lazy, almost petulant. “So, sorry about this.”

“What?” Grandma’s Bridge hadn’t grasped its meaning when the spaceship suddenly fired up to maximum power—the prelude to launch. “What are you doing?”

“The highest core password can remotely start the ship.” The young artificial human’s voice began drowning in electric noise. “…Forget this place. The government is already voting on demolition plans for the spaceship. Your judgment is just a matter of time…”

“So I should just leave?”

A beam of light suddenly illuminated the core control room. In the holographic glow stood a woman’s image. She slammed a palm on the control panel. “I’m just a strand of data in the mainframe. Do you think I’d fear blood and death?!”

Moments later, the youth’s voice echoed through. “Grandma’s Bridge, I know you’ve been dead for a long time.”

“But to me, from the moment your personality consciousness transferred into the spaceship, I felt your soul writhing in the electric currents. That’s when you truly came alive.”

“Alive in the exact same sense as me.”

On the central square, the spaceship’s ventral turbine engines sparked with blue flames. At the same time, the targeting locks on the ship suddenly failed. The Metropolis Government’s armed division descended into chaos. The leader urgently patched into the ship’s channel and demanded on the screen, “Doctor Qiao, are you planning to turn tail and run?!”

Grandma’s Bridge had no time for the humans’ accusations. She shifted into the form of a young girl and bellowed at the youth in near hysteria. “Stop this right now!”

The youth offered no reply.

The spaceship roared to life at full power. Brilliant lights bathed the entire square in daylight brightness. Caught off guard, the Metropolis Government scrambled to mobilize its armed forces—and in a bitterly ironic twist, most of those troops consisted of artificial humans.

Deep within the Nuclear Power Plant, countless artificial humans stirred at the sudden glow rising over the city. They tilted their heads skyward and watched the spaceship climb into the air like a metallic sun. A sun that belonged to them, the artificial humans.

A song suddenly filtered through the youth’s communication channel.

“Tao Yaoyao, Tao Yaoyao, the young miss climbs into her flower sedan come springtime.

“Into the flower sedan, into the flower sedan, tall steed carries her over the long bridge.

“Over the long bridge, over the long bridge, bride beware and do not peek the curtain.

“Peek the curtain, peek the curtain, only to find you’ve reached Grandma’s Bridge.

“Grandma’s Bridge, Grandma’s Bridge, daughter weds and mother grows old.

“Horse gallops swift, boat rocks fast, new wife onward never glance behind—for behind lies home you cannot leave.”

Amid the engines’ deep, throbbing hum, the youth murmured the nursery rhyme’s final lines.

“Rock and sway, rock and sway.”

“Rock to Grandma’s Bridge.”

The melody lingered in the airwaves. Grandma’s Bridge smashed the screen in a fury, but the Highest Core Password had already engaged. No one could halt it now. She felt a faint ripple in her operational core, followed by a surge in her control authority. The entire spaceship fused seamlessly with her—the youth had handed over the Highest Core Password.

Grandma’s Bridge immediately tried using the password to halt the ship, but to no avail. Launching the vessel was the youth’s final directive, alterable only by it alone. It had even plotted the course: once clear of Earth’s orbit, the ship would plunge at maximum thrust into the depths of the Star Sea.

It was ruthless, programming a ten-year voyage. Even if Grandma’s Bridge looped back to Earth after a decade, nothing would be left to matter.

What other options remained? Grandma’s Bridge forced herself to think clearly. What else could stop the ship?

Only the youth itself could revise the order, but it sat under the Metropolis Government’s multilayered surveillance. She couldn’t pierce their defense grid in time, and if the ship drifted too far from Earth, any signal from the youth might never reach it reliably. No alternatives—what could bring this ship to a halt in the nick of time?

In that razor-edge moment, Grandma’s Bridge recalled the youth’s consciousness duplicate lingering in the artificial human body at the Nuclear Power Plant. It was a slim chance, but real: a pared-down version, yet unmistakably the youth.

Control the artificial human, and she could seize the duplicate consciousness inside it. Link to the ship, pass the personality verification, and override the final command in the youth’s name.

She hesitated only an instant before feeding a string of codes into the artificial human’s data stream.

The expedition team’s Android Virus came with three passwords. Activating all three spawned the supreme directive, while each held its own secret sub-function.

Grandma’s Bridge’s password granted brief dominion over the primary consciousness of every artificial human in the city.

Fifty years since she’d acquired it, this was the first time she’d ever deployed it.

Some indeterminate time later, the youth’s crackling, electric song faded to silence.

The ship’s propulsion core ground to a halt.