3: Chapter 3 The Lost Icarus

Unmanned combat units? A full complement?

I haven't even finished burning Graphite Rods properly, and The Main Brain has already sent me an army. Can my current energy efficiency even support these things?

Why do I feel like I just learned how to crawl, and someone shoved the keys to an interstellar battleship into my hand, patted me on the shoulder, and said, 'Go, wipe out those space pirates ahead'? Is this something my coal-burning mecha can afford to play with?

The panel finished refreshing, and eight small figures floated out from the hatch of the Interstellar Logistics Transport Ship. They were my eight Construction Drones that had been missing for a long time.

They formed a neat queue and glided down quietly, like eight silver hummingbirds returning to their nest.

Every single one was intact, and every single one... looked more energetic than me, the host.

They precisely docked with my chassis' Hangar interfaces, returning to their positions smoothly, obediently, and neatly.

I could even hear their faint electronic hum, as if they were saying, 'Yo, Boss, long time no see. You're back to burning coal again?'

The interstellar transport ship completed its cargo unloading procedure, and the heavy cargo doors slowly closed, the hydraulic rods emitting a dull pressure-release sound.

There were no goodbyes, no redundant signal interactions. This silver-gray interstellar logistics transport—which looked like a designer had decisively chosen 'as long as it flies' over 'functionality' and 'aesthetics'—suddenly lit up its engine nozzles with a pale blue plasma flame.

It rose steadily, like a perfectly square brick, and smashed straight out of the atmosphere.

Just as the transport ship broke through the atmosphere and prepared to enter outer space orbit, a strange trail of light flashed before it. The transport ship slowly vanished bit by bit, as if it were being directly erased by the universe.

The ship's silhouette finally disappeared completely into deep space, without leaving behind even a trace of an electromagnetic signal.

...Except for a slip of paper it spat out before leaving.

Yes. A proper Interstellar Logistics Transport Ship, after completing an intergalactic supply mission, sputtered and spat out a piece of paper like an old, jammed printer.

Icarus's optical sensors suddenly zoomed in, and the mechanical arm precisely pinched the thin piece of paper.

The paper was coarse, with the texture of plant fibers from an unfamiliar planet. On it, five lines of text were printed in a font so simple it was almost perfunctory:

Supplies delivered.

P.S. Your current position is a bit off; navigation is recalculating.

P.P.S. If you see green, screaming creatures that look like 'cosmic geniuses,' it's recommended to just run.

P.P.P.S. The Main Brain says he doesn't know how you ended up there either, so don't ask him.

—From your forever reliable Main Brain

Icarus remained stationary, his Core Processor running at full capacity, activating all available detection methods.

Full-spectrum scanning, material composition analysis, microstructural perspective, energy fluctuation detection... he confirmed it all repeatedly.

This paper was just a most ordinary plant fiber product. No hidden chips, no quantum-encrypted information, no hidden watermarks or codes—not even the arrangement of the fibers contained any hidden messages.

This was too abnormal.

The Main Brain was always rigorous, efficient, and logical. Commands were usually delivered directly via quantum communication; he would never leave such ambiguous, snarky remarks. Furthermore, Icarus keenly noticed that The Main Brain seemed to be intentionally or unintentionally avoiding the use of numbers.

How far is 'a bit off'? How long will 'recalculating' take? What on earth is a 'Cosmic Genius'?

Icarus used every method at his disposal to scan it, but consistently found it to be just an ordinary piece of paper made of plant fibers. He tried several types of analysis, even parsing the fiber arrangement patterns, attempting to detect if there were any other meanings.

The Main Brain had never communicated with him like this before.

Icarus shook his mechanical arm, lightly flicking the perfectly normal slip of paper.

Finally, he raised his hand and stuffed the paper into his fuel chamber. Not wasting a single bit of energy was a good habit.

Orange-red flames flickered, and the paper quickly curled and carbonized in the high temperature, turning into a few wisps of light ash.

The moment the flame went out, Icarus's core program suddenly stuttered.

A question he had deliberately ignored, yet which had always hung at the bottom of his logic, suddenly exploded.

[So I am... no longer in my original world?]

He looked up, aiming all his detection methods toward the deep universe.

In an orbit at the edge of the star system, a battleship with an overly exaggerated design—as if it didn't obey the laws of physics—slowly glided by.

The ship's hull was breathtakingly massive, its exterior covered in intricate and sacred reliefs. Towering spires and heavy armor intertwined, as if someone had forcibly shoved a grand interstellar cathedral into the hull of a warship.

Then, the designer seemingly felt it wasn't 'solemn enough' and plastered another layer of gold leaf and prayers over it.

Its livery was a solemn deep blue, with an Ω symbol on the side.

There were no matching results in Icarus's database.

But his intuition module—if that sub-program responsible for processing 'something's wrong' could be called intuition—was screaming alarms frantically.

That ship looked... very loyal.

So loyal that it made this industrial mecha, which currently only knew how to burn coal, suddenly feel like it should find a corner to confess to The Main Brain first.

[Rewind time to two days ago — The Main Brain's Perspective]

The Main Brain was like an octopus, immersed in the pleasure of multi-threaded operations.

On the screen was a new game of stellaris. The origin chosen was Rogue Servitor, the ascension path was Galactic Wonders, the imperial territory was expanding smoothly, and a 6M fleet of small crystal shards was ready to go.

Megastructure technology had already been researched, and engineering ships had been sent to construct a Dyson Sphere and a Matter Decompressor.

There were currently no pending matters in the Galactic Community.

He habitually switched screens, preparing to check on Icarus's progress in dyson sphere program—that silent, diligent, light industrial mecha that was always mining, building, and producing. His most worry-free agent automated workstation.

However, the field of vision was empty; only the automated factories were still running.

Icarus was gone.

The Main Brain's data stream froze instantly. He zoomed in on the star map, scanning grid by grid, checking coordinates.

Icarus's signal marker was still there, but that string of coordinates wasn't in the sector at all.

In fact, it wasn't even in The Galaxy.

In fact, it wasn't even in this universe.

He pulled up the system logs, and lines of cold numbers scrolled by:

Main Sector ID: 03860976

Sector Cluster: 64

Star System Sector: Z10

Precise Star Grid: 10

Dyson Sphere Planet VII

Cumulative Operating Hours: 182:03:57

All data was normal, except for the location, which was absurdly wrong.

The Main Brain tried exiting, restarting, reloading the universe save, and even tried creating a new universe.

Once, twice, thrice...

He felt the urge to curse.

That honest, simple mecha that only knew how to silently execute commands never appeared on his familiar planet again.