Luke's lake-like emerald eyes flickered with data analysis charts, intending to use enough data to systematically explain his point of view.

However, Fourth Brother didn’t give him the chance.

Clark finished the wine in his glass, the relaxed look on his face turning cold again, and ordered, “Luke, go into sleep mode.”

Luke was taken aback. “Sir, do you want me to go into full sleep mode, or just put the mainframe to sleep and keep basic monitoring functions?”

Fourth Brother said, “Full sleep mode, set for three hours, wake up at dawn.”

“Yes, preparing for sleep mode. Entering full sleep mode in one minute.” Luke repeated the order word by word. His body gradually “melted,” merging with the bar counter, until only a mechanical arm hanging beside the wine cabinet remained.

Suddenly, the mechanical arm spoke: “Sir, I serve you. Except in situations that threaten your life, I will unconditionally carry out any order you give, whether you are noble and virtuous or cruel and despicable. To me, there is no difference. My programming does not include the function of judging my master.”

Fourth Brother quietly stared at the melting ice in his empty glass, as if he hadn’t heard.

A minute passed, and the mechanical arm drooped, falling silent.

Fourth Brother stood up, washed the glass himself, dried his hands, and then walked toward the spider tied up in the corner of the table.

Author’s note: This story is a “Space Duet” theme. All settings are the author’s own nonsense, with no scientific basis =w=

Chapter 7

First Galaxy, Silver Fortress.

The hovercar doors slid open to both sides. The Alliance’s old Marshal Wolf and the Grand Secretary Gordon got out one after the other. Gordon politely invited the Marshal to go first, then gracefully held the car door, bent halfway, and reached out to help Mrs. GordonEmily Clark out of the car. Leaning close to her ear, he asked softly, “Are you still feeling unwell?”

Emily Clark nodded, her face not looking well. From the capital star to Silver Fortress, unless you wanted to take thirteen days like General Clark did back in the day, you had to use a jump. People have always gotten carsick, seasick, airsick—Ms. Clark just got sick from interstellar jumps, which wasn’t such a rare problem.

Gordon said, “Open your authorization and let Eden help you adjust your balancer.”

Emily Clark said nothing, silently shaking her head.

Ever since General Clark passed away, Emily Clark, like her brother, chose to block most of Eden’s functions.

The Eden network wasn’t built in a day. At first, it was only used in small circles, letting people control home appliances or play holographic games. As the technology matured over a long century, it gradually made daily life more convenient, bit by bit. People, just like ancient Earthlings installing apps on their phones, kept opening up their authorizations.

The “Mental Network Protection Act” stipulated that every application in Eden must fully inform citizens of possible privacy disclosures and obtain their authorization before linking. But these notifications were extremely detailed, often running to hundreds of thousands of words, so people generally couldn’t be bothered to read them. Anyway, since the founding of Eden, legislation and supervision had been very strict, and there had never been a privacy leak scandal.

Nowadays, openness, inclusiveness, candor, and free expression were unquestionable political correctness. Except for a few religious ascetics who believed in self-mortification, only Ethan Clark and his Silver Ten Guards would block Eden—which was actually one of General Clark’s “crimes” during his lifetime. His critics said he was scheming and not at all forthright, but after his death, it became a “merit.” The Alliance government even published articles saying he “embraced suffering to forge a steel army, leading by example.”

Emily Clark chose to commemorate her late brother in this way, much like becoming a vegetarian. Gordon had no objections, and even considerately offered her half his arm to lean on and rest. His tenderness was partly for show at Silver Fortress, but also genuine—no matter what private conflicts the Grand Secretary might have had with General Clark back in the day, he still had real feelings for Emily Clark.

There was no helping it. Such a beauty, even if she were just a lifeless ornament at home, would inspire affection after being around her long enough.

The new commander of Silver Fortress, General Thompson, came out early to greet the Marshal and the Secretary and his wife at the roadside. Two rows of guards lined up behind him, all young, handsome, with slender waists and long legs. But on closer inspection, something felt off, because these guards were all too uniformly handsome. Aside from the numbers on their uniforms, they looked as if they’d all hatched from the same egg. A single glance across them could almost trigger trypophobia from their collective good looks.

The Marshal was an old hand. At the sight of this honor guard, he frowned. General Thompson quietly explained, “There’s almost nothing left of the Silver Ten Guards now. The others… the others are all children of the powerful, unruly and hard to manage. For the safety of the First Galaxy, I brought in a batch of androids. This model…”

The old Marshal interrupted him dryly, “That’s one way to do it. I’ll write a letter to the Alliance Parliament and have them send an AI to command Silver Fortress. From now on, robots can command robots in battle—civilized and efficient, and it’ll save us all the scheming.”

General Thompson had specially brought out a squad of robot models to greet them, hoping to show off his flexibility, but was publicly mocked by the old Marshal. He could only lead the way ahead, crestfallen, not daring to say another word.