Chapter Fourteen: A World Governed by Dyson’s Principle

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Yamashiro was a remarkable man. In Yuki’s eyes, this man named Yamashiro was the most extraordinary person in the world. He knew many things that Yuki, his mother, even the mayor and Dr. Schultz did not. Yet, on the other hand, he often believed in some bizarre and inexplicable ideas.

For instance, he insisted that Yuki address him as “Master.” Allegedly, this title implied a kind of “contract” between warriors.

He genuinely believed “we might be living inside an enormous illusion.” More than that, he even invented a ritual to test such a notion.

And the core component of this device turned out to be a greasy, filthy machine.

Yet, Yamashiro approached it with utmost seriousness. After covering it up, he had Yuki disassemble the machine and then reassemble it. This process was repeated five times to ensure that Yuki could still recall the machine’s structure even without chip assistance before he finally stopped.

It was only the next morning that Yamashiro brought Yuki back to the town.

However, there was an unexpected visitor at Yuki’s small cabin.

It was the mayor.

“Mayor,” Yamashiro was somewhat surprised. “What brings you here?”

“Jorg… no, I should call you ‘Yamashiro’ now,” the mayor said, his biological features contorting into a fairly normal smile. “I came to see how you’re doing here.”

His gaze kept darting toward the remains of Will’s prosthetic body.

Yamashiro sent Yuki away and then asked curiously, “How did you know…”

“The doctor is my nephew. I heard you bought some parts from him, so I figured you were assembling a prosthetic yourself,” the mayor said with a chuckle. “Naturally, I was curious! How’s your prosthetic coming along?”

Yamashiro shook his head. “This is a difficult matter; I’ve only just begun.”

Seeing that Yamashiro hadn’t yet transplanted his brain into that canine prosthetic, the mayor was somewhat disappointed.

He understood that these warrior prosthetics all had their own design philosophies, with many parts and structures intricately matched. Random modifications were not ideal.

In his mind, the best outcome would be for Yamashiro to simply hot-plug his brain into the canine prosthetic.

Yet, thinking that Yamashiro might be a “warrior,” the mayor felt he might not be the right person to interfere.

He shook his head and asked, “Are you facing any difficulties with this?”

— Was this… a gesture of goodwill? Or simply business?

Yamashiro pondered briefly, then tried, “I don’t have a suitable outer shell right now…”

Of course, the outer shell of the canine prosthetic couldn’t be used directly on Yamashiro’s body. He felt he understood bionic fists, but those were not meant for combat, and he wasn’t accustomed to using them.

Still, Yamashiro needed an outer shell—at least one that could shield him from dust. An outer shell would also help avoid others’ scrutiny. At the very least, Yamashiro thought, having an outer shell might prevent an enemy from disabling his battery in the first strike.

Besides…

Surviving an encounter with Will Granddog was already a matter of luck.

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He also truly needed a skullcap that fit the fracture at his forehead.

No matter how strong the brain-computer interface was, it could never match the protection of alloy armor. Exposing his brain in battle was just too risky.

However, Yamashiro’s skull seemed to be made of some rare alloy, making restoration to its original state extremely difficult.

The mayor considered for a moment. “That’s not hard at all. There’s a 3D smelter in town. If you can provide the exact specifications, I can make a simple one—though, of course, the materials left from the Sublimation War aren’t exactly high-grade, and we can’t smelt warship-grade materials.”

Yamashiro hesitated, “And the cost…”

“Don’t be so formal, Yamashiro,” the mayor patted his wiry shoulder. “You saved us all, after all. I can afford to pay you back this much.”

— Really?

Yamashiro was skeptical. When buying parts, he sensed Dr. Schultz’s probing. Schultz was the mayor’s nephew. It seemed the town’s interest groups didn’t entirely see him as a “savior.”

Was the mayor really so kind?

“I haven’t asked you yet, Yamashiro. Are you comfortable living in this scrapyard town since Yuki found you?”

Yamashiro raised his hand, cutting off the mayor. “Mayor, I am grateful to this town. You were there when Yuki awakened me. I know you all saved me. I remember that. You are my lifesaver. If there’s anything you need, just say so. I will try my best to help.”

The mayor studied him, as if pondering something. Yamashiro couldn’t read his expression through the camera. Finally, the mayor seemed to recall something and nodded. “I understand. Let me be straightforward. In less than half a month, the welfare officer will arrive…”

Yamashiro was startled. “Really? There’s social welfare?”

“When has there ever not been social welfare? Taxes are collected to provide social welfare—that’s only natural!” The mayor was shocked. “You didn’t even know that?”

Yamashiro hadn’t expected that this organizational structure, which seemed utterly regressive, would still have the concept of “social welfare.” He scratched his head. “Strange… how could I forget… Is it that important?”

The mayor shook his head like a worried elder. “If you forget so much, what will you do…?”

Yamashiro asked, “What does the welfare officer do?”

“What else? The tax officer collects gene taxes, then in half a month, the lord counts the taxes from all regions, and the welfare officer announces the welfare based on the revenue…”

As the mayor explained, Yamashiro realized that the so-called “welfare” was very different from what he had imagined.

Here, welfare, like taxes, involved infants.

However, these infants were not collected but rather released from the human gene pool.

The “quality” of these infants was not in question; more importantly, they effectively prevented the genetic bottlenecking of various settlements.

Generally, the amount of welfare was 120% of the taxes.

For every ten infants taken in, twelve would be returned.

These infants would then be entrusted to those willing to raise them.

However, foster parents could not give male infants their own surname, nor change the “middle name” of female infants.

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Surnames indicated the Y chromosome, while middle names indicated the mitochondria. Because of this requirement, the concept of “family” could exist.

The first rule of the Dyson Principle was “All humans have the obligation to maintain human genetic diversity.” Refusal of this obligation meant automatic loss of civil protection. A large portion of one’s “name” served as a marker of genetic diversity. The Dyson Principle extended to forbid arbitrary name changes.

Yet…

Yamashiro was surprised. “Under such strict conditions, are there really people willing to adopt children?”

Humans desired to raise children because their genes endowed them with the instinct to pass on their information. In some human cultures, “adoption” served as a cultural continuation for foster parents to inherit family honor and the like—this was Yamashiro’s impression.

But now… neither blood-related nor allowed to inherit the family name?

The mayor found this odd. “Why not? Mutual support among family members is considered a form of welfare.”

“Welfare… oh…I think I understand.”

Perhaps, for parents in this era, raising children was truly just “welfare.” Parents need not worry about education because, at the first brain modification, “knowledge” was implanted into the brain. Cybernetic humans were indeed easier to raise than natural humans in many ways…

Julia seemed to only watch Yuki from outside the window at night.

But understanding this made Yamashiro feel the era was even more awkward. He valued Julia’s love for Yuki as consistent with that of past eras, but…

The mayor found it strange. “Is it that strange? Yamashiro, where did you come from? Was it very different from here?”

Yamashiro shook his head, his voice synthesizer producing a bitter laugh. “I don’t remember.”

The mayor sighed. “Anyway, in less than half a month, the welfare officer will come to this town. But this year, the tax officer hasn’t collected full taxes… What happens next depends on luck. Maybe nothing will happen, or maybe… we’ll temporarily lose our ‘protection.’”

Having been awake for some time, Yamashiro roughly understood what “protection” meant.

Using old-world terminology, “civil protection” included what was once called “right to life,” “right to health,” “property rights,” as well as “personal rights” and “economic, cultural, and social rights.”

Yamashiro still didn’t know what exactly governed the world now, but it seemed other political rights did not exist for most people. Therefore, “civil protection” did not equate to full human rights.

Those who lost civil protection had no rights safeguarded.

Anyone could treat the unprotected however they wished.

If those without protection harmed those with it, they became “rioters,” and the lord had the duty to eliminate them.

However, the Dyson Principle never stipulated “to what extent elimination must occur.” In this, the lord had wide discretionary power.

Yamashiro once thought that the so-called “Dyson Principle” might be a foolish idea born from taking “the less control, the better” to its extreme.

“If the lord is in a good mood, a rioter might get away with anything. But they could also be killed the moment they lose protection.”