Copyright 2025 Old King All rights reserved

  The sun burned fiercely, heat waves curling from the ground, twisting the horizon into a hazy smear. In SouthSea Logistics’ top-floor office, a dark-skinned Abai lounged on a velvet couch, legs crossed, talking easily with Victor Chan like they shared a bottle of wine. This was no ordinary robot—a BioSynth Vanguard Alpha, powered by BioSynth Venture, Tesla’s advanced technology, a privilege that left Victor Chan consumed with envy. It served the U.S. Department of Efficiency by providing a way to avoid the high costs and risks of long-distance travel. This allowed James, an important figure in America, to transmit his consciousness directly into the Abai’s circuits through a neural interface. Senses were transmitted at 98% fidelity, filtering out harmful signals, such as pain and burns. Under the U.S. Consciousness Immigration Act, enacted years ago, foreigners required a remote access visa to use this method to visit America. The SouthSea Fleet, though cooperating with the United States in the South China Sea, was still deemed a potential threat. Victor Chan, a SouthSea Fleet officer, could only visit America through physical travel, barred from using BioSynth Venture in the U.S. Director Lin and his associates grumbled over drinks that this revealed American distrust. Perhaps they were not wrong.

  The Abai opened his mouth to speak, and it was James's voice, automatically converted into standard Mandarin. James's consciousness was transmitted and resynthesized in the voice module. James's body was relaxed, but his expression was serious. He said, "This time, I am meeting with you in person because some matters require extreme caution and cannot even be sent through encrypted networks." Director Lin and the secretary sat to the side, heads down, writing furiously. Their tense body language, with heads bowed, revealed their unease.

  Chan mustered a strained smile and said, "James, we fully understand your side's high concern regarding the suspected export of Soul Ore-related products. Upon receiving your notification, we took immediate and proactive measures to address the issue..."

  James raised his hand to interrupt, saying, "Victor, diplomatic rhetoric doesn't suit me. I am merely a special security advisor for Tesla, not a diplomat. HuaCent's low-end robot export boom is a serious concern. Makes that old case of leaking U.S. tech to terrorist countries look like a kid swiping candy. We trust you guys can help sort this out." He waved off the subject and added, "But right now, there's something way more serious forcing us to deal with HuaCent fast. From here on, no more note-taking, okay?"

  Chan motioned for them to close their notebooks, then noticed James pull a card-sized device from his pocket. The device beeped twice as he placed it on the nearby sofa, irritating Chan. He said, "James, relax, we're not recording or filming here. You really don't need to..."

  James looked up, shrugging, "Sorry, it's our SOP." Chan paused, catching Director Lin's displeased grimace from the corner of his eye. James scanned the three of them and said, "Alright, let's get to business. Yesterday, something major went down in South Africa—their president was nearly assassinated..."

  Director Lin snorted, saying dismissively, "Assassinating the South African president? Probably your American buddies, right? Like the CIA?" Chan didn’t dare glance at him, startled at first, then feeling a surge of anger. Lin’s comment was a provocation to both him and James. He held his breath, then slowly let it out, knowing he couldn’t show any rift with Lin in front of an outsider. So he just flashed James a smile, leaving it up to him to take it as sarcasm or a peace gesture. Such ambiguity was the nature of face-to-face talks.

  James clearly didn’t expect to be cut off like that. He wasn’t angry, just a bit embarrassed, and said slowly, “From what we know—I mean, at Tesla—the U.S. government has a decent relationship with South Africa’s. The current president, the one who was almost killed, is cooperative on a lot of business issues. We don’t believe the U.S. government would gain from his death. After all, his likely successor isn’t exactly friendly toward America—I mean, the U.S. government…”

  Chan studied his face and gesture, marveling at the Abai’s ability to capture subtle micro-expressions. James waved his hand again and said, “Politics isn’t Tesla’s concern… What we care about is that the attempt on the president’s life was made by a BioSynth Vanguard Alpha, a personal companion bot for the president—what you call an Abai.” He pointed to his nose, “The exact same model I’m using today.”

  At those words, Chan instinctively leaned back, reaching for his imaginary sidearm. He noticed Director Lin’s ashen face, as if fearing James might suddenly attack. The secretary, pale with shock, let out a gasp and quickly clapped a hand over her mouth. Lin’s lips twitched, and though he said nothing, Chan could guess he was itching to jab at James again, thinking, What, this isn’t your doing?

  “Guys, guys, no need to freak out… I understand your shock—we were equally stunned when we heard,” James said with an awkward but reassuring grin, trying to ease the tension. “Tesla’s all about safety first, always has been—starting with our cars’ assisted and self-driving tech. The safety of robots, particularly those intended for civilian use, is subject to rigorous validation…”

  “Civilian robots? You mean there are military ones too?” Director Lin’s eyes went wide, practically jumping off the sofa. Chan stifled a laugh but was thinking the same thing. ames, realizing his slip, prompted the Abai to emit a throat-clearing sound, then pointed at Lin with a grin. “That’s your interpretation, Director Lin—I didn’t say that…”

  Director Lin, for once getting the upper hand in a tussle with an American, sat up straighter, pressing his advantage. “That Bio… Bio-whatever, that Abai, it can actually kill people! We Chinese say human life is paramount! What about those three… three robot laws?” He glanced across the coffee table at Chan. “Victor, am I right?”

  James brushed off nonexistent dust from his pant leg, glanced at Director Lin, and said, “You’re talking about the three laws of robotics—that’s sci-fi stuff. Doesn’t hold up in the real world; too many logical holes. As for our robot product line…” He turned to Chan, dead serious. “We can guarantee 100% they won’t harm their users.”

  “So, how can you be sure…” Chan shot Director Lin a look to hush him, then turned to James. “Never mind. If you’re sure there’s no issue, then why did this happen? And what’s this got to do with our fleet—uh, I mean, SouthSea Transport?”

  “Our local representative and tech service team were invited to the presidential palace by the president’s guard yesterday…” James paused, and Chan thought to himself, With the president nearly killed by an Abai, the guard probably didn’t just ‘invite’ them politely. James went on, “The techs checked the product and found the core system completely, uh, how do I put it? Fragmented. The system files were inaccessible, so the cause and details of the malfunction—or rather, the incident—can’t be traced through logs anymore.”

  Hearing this, Chan couldn’t help but exchange a glance with Director Lin. Just yesterday, Lin had reported a similar issue to him. A sinking feeling told him he knew the answer. James continued, “This kind of system failure is something our team has never seen. However, after some digging, we found similar issues in illegally modified—uh, unauthorized—products from Shenzhen. We have reason to suspect the product behind this unfortunate incident was in that same, uh, state I just described.”

  Chan felt a mix of emotions. James urged skipping diplomatic talk, but he chose his words carefully for his own business. After a moment’s thought, Chan said, “Just having similar issues doesn’t prove anything…”

  James nodded in agreement. “Besides that, we checked the product’s sales records and found it wasn’t sold through our channels in South Africa. The final sale traced back to Vietnam. How it ended up as the South African president’s, uh, bedroom property, well, one can only guess. The South African side will investigate that—it’s beyond our responsibility. Also, we suspect this ties to a national infrastructure project in South Africa, where SpaceX and Tesla are bidding together, and our biggest rival is none other than HuaCent.”

  Chan and Director Lin exchanged another glance. A smuggled, modified Abai had made its way to South Africa, attempted to assassinate the president, and possibly aimed to manipulate a government tender through a coup. This was no small matter, far beyond a mere technical glitch. At the thought, a familiar pain flared in his right phantom foot. He took a sip of water to feign calm and said to James, “SouthSea Transport has recently tightened checks on cargo, especially for smuggled Abais—uh, your robots. As for HuaCent’s modifications using Soul Ore, our investigation has just begun… About the Shenzhen government…”

  “Regarding the Shenzhen Republic government, we’ve got our own ways to handle talks…” James paused. Obviously, the Shenzhen government was heavily influenced by HuaCent. There is little the Shenzhen government could do, even if they wished to. He shifted gears. “Legal restrictions stop us from exporting high-end robots to Shenzhen or the former China region, but our Starlink partnership’s been solid—not a Tesla project, but same boss. We need SouthSea Transport to hit HuaCent hard, to wipe out their ability to mod Abai robots totally. If the Shenzhen Republic and South Sea Transport—let’s be real, the South Sea Fleet—can’t deal with this threat, we can pull the plug on Starlink access.” He pointed toward the Starlink tower outside. “Not just that one, but all Starlink coverage across the Shenzhen Republic. We know they’re tapping into it. We’ve looked the other way to dodge government red tape, but if we lock it down with a geofence, no one in Shenzhen’s getting online. If we were a country, we’d dwarf Shenzhen 50 times over. Trust me, we’ve got more cards to play if it comes to that.”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  James’s attitude set Chan’s blood boiling—such an approach was no way to seek cooperation. James made a solid point—losing internet access to the outside world would kill Shenzhen’s import-export economy instantly, and the social unrest that’d follow was easy to imagine. He glanced at Director Lin, who was polishing his glasses, head down, a slight smirk playing on his lips like he was scheming something. The cold hard numbers were tough to argue with. Forget crossing the U.S.—Tesla alone was a giant they couldn’t afford to mess with. Lin said casually, “Victor, James has a point. But I’d suggest we keep things low-key for now, dig into it quietly, and not rattle HuaCent just yet. Their economic clout, tech know-how, and sheer numbers—think about it, they’ve got over 400,000 employees in Shenzhen alone. Add in their supply chain, relatives, and friends, you’re looking at maybe 2 million people, over a fifth of Shenzhen’s population. Sure, they’re no Tesla, but in Shenzhen’s little pond, they’re the big fish. We should conduct comprehensive recon to identify their critical nodes, then meticulously develop a detailed operational plan, followed by executing a decisive and rapid precision strike with overwhelming force to efficiently achieve our strategic objectives, and of course, with indomitable resolve to defeat all adversaries

  Director Lin’s tone bordered on sycophantic, but Chan found it privately amusing—a party hack with no military experience posing as a commanding officer? Still, Lin had a point: HuaCent was a chess piece heavy enough to tip the board’s balance, the opponent’s queen. Chan, via Iron Skull, had learned that Lin was secretly contacting the New Unity Faction in the north through encrypted channels. If the Shenzhen Republic were toppled as a result, the SouthSea Fleet’s key economic lifeline would be severed—a catastrophic outcome. Chan turned to James and said, “Understood. We’ll act swiftly upon reporting to the Fleet. I’ll pull every resource I can muster, and if that’s not enough, I’ll request backup from the Fleet. We’ll wrap this up in one month!”

  James’s voice synthesizer let out a grunt. “One month’s too long, Victor. Fifteen days! I’ll be waiting for results.” The Abai nodded to the group, then got up to head back to his office. Director Lin stood, speaking deliberately, “Mr. Chan, I’ll get right on ramping up the investigation. Manager Tie’s side—should be all set, right?” Chan shot him a cold glance. “Iron Skull’s business? I handle that myself.”

  Chan glanced out the window after wrapping up his call with Iron Skull. The sun was already dipping low, past regular office hours. Feeling restless, he gave his secretary a few instructions and headed downstairs. It was the time when day-shift workers were clocking out. He drove slowly out the gate in no rush and noticed a crowd of workers gathered by the roadside. He knew it was another preacher—part of the conditions the Shenzhen government had to accept post-war. An old man, gaunt and dark-skinned, stood on a crude wooden platform, speaking in a steady voice that cut through the noise. Chan recognized him as the Filipino preacher who’d been active in the area for two years or so. Feeling troubled and dejected, Chan knew preachers were said to have silver tongues, spinning tales of God saving souls. He decided to listen to this one and see how he swayed the crowd. Parking his car, he lit a cigarette, leaned against the vehicle, and tuned in. The old man declared in flawless Mandarin, “The Bible says, ‘The Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living soul, named Adam.’ The body is the flesh we see and touch; the spirit is the part that connects with God. Copying consciousness disrupts God’s created order and violates divine dignity.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over the workers. “Some people buy your consciousness, turning it into Soul Ores—copying human minds into machines. Is that right?”

  Amid the crowd of workers, The air carried the smell of sweat, diesel, and briny sea. The old man’s worn but clean clothes swayed slightly in the sea breeze, the sunset casting a glow on his gaunt, resolute face. His gentle, resolute eyes conveyed strength. The workers buzzed with chatter. A burly man, face smeared with grease, shouted, “Consciousness? That airy-fairy stuff? Let ‘em copy it—it doesn’t mess with me. They say we reincarnate after death, right? Selling Soul Ores is like getting a head start on that!” The crowd murmured in agreement.

  The old man didn’t get upset, just smiled and said, “Good question, brother! Hebrews 9:27 says, ‘It is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment.’ We get one life, and after death, we face God’s judgment—not some cycle of rebirths. If there is no memory, how does a past life affect this one? Without memory, what value does reincarnation hold? A consciousness stripped of memory becomes an exploited soul, used as a tool by others. Your soul shouldn’t be desecrated like that.”

  Chan exhaled a puff of smoke, the old man’s words hitting him like a jolt. He’d always thought about consciousness and Soul Ores in terms of economics, tech, and international regulations—souls? Never crossed his mind. The preacher’s words, like a needle, pierced his usual rational armor. As the workers dispersed, he snuffed out his cigarette and stepped forward. “Sir, uh, Master, what’s the deal with these Soul Ores?”

  The old man was packing up, directing his assistant to load the wooden platform onto a small truck. He turned and gave Chan a warm smile. “Mr. Chan, my name is Joseph. I’m a priest, but folks just call me Father Joe. It’s getting windy out here—how about we talk after dinner at the church?” Chan was taken aback; the preacher’s knowledge of his identity was uncanny. After a brief pause, he nodded. “Alright, 2030 hours then!”

  The small chapel near Salt Port sat on an island in the middle of Plum Beach’s artificial lake, originally a bookstore styled like a chapel. Though modest, Chan knew the U.S. valued it more than all of SouthSea Transport, even the South Sea Fleet. The church’s existence was a touchstone for whether the Shenzhen Republic deserved to stand. Having led the Plum Beach Landing campaign, Chan knew every meter of the terrain, landmarks, and buildings like the back of his hand. Half-destroyed by wartime fires, the old commercial complex had never regained its former glory. Now, it was a residential hub for SouthSea Transport workers and a playground for sailors seeking fun ashore. Brothels, casinos, and bars lined the main strip, with prostitutes and touts starting their shifts early, bustling under neon lights. Chan was accustomed to it—human nature at work. The area was chaotic but kept in check by armed security patrols; no major trouble ever brewed. Compared to the lawless outer Shenzhen, it was practically an Eden, with waterfowl in the lake somehow spared from being hunted for food.

  Inside the church, a few candles flickered faintly beside a statue of the Virgin Mary. The air was filled with the mingled scents of wax and briny sea. Joseph’s desk was cluttered with religious books and handwritten notes, while neon glow from outside seeped through the windows, casting eerie, colorful patterns across the room. As a staunch Communist and self-professed atheist, Chan had never entered a religious site and found the place unsettling. After small talk with Joseph, Chan accepted a glass of water and sat stiffly.

  Chan got straight to the point. “Father Joe, your preaching’s got some flair, but to me, Soul Ore is a technological issue, not a theological one. I run a port business—consciousness, Soul Ore, whatever you call it, elevating it to the level of souls feels like a stretch. Are preachers familiar with the technical aspects of this?” Joseph smiled, his tone gentle. “Mr. Chan, technology without ethics is a disaster. Humans are God’s creation, granted a soul at conception. The soul is eternal compared to the frailty of the body and the limits of life. HuaCent’s Soul Ore tech copies consciousness, degrading the eternal soul to mere dust. Worse, they carve up that consciousness—keeping what’s useful to them, discarding the rest. That’s a profound violation of the soul.”

  Chan frowned, took a sip of water, and said, “I’ve heard consciousness is just electrical signals from brain neurons—a natural phenomenon, explained by science. If science can copy human consciousness, doesn’t that represent progress? Sure, tech needs ethical boundaries, but a consciousness copy—isn’t it the same as the real person? If consciousness can persist beyond the body’s limits, doesn’t that resemble immortality? Isn’t that akin to your eternal soul?”

  Joseph shook his head. “Even if consciousness can be perfectly copied, a duplicate may mimic human thought but lacks the divine essence God grants. Such copies may serve as tools but lack human essence. John 17:3 says, ‘Now this is eternal life: that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent.’ After death, the soul faces God’s judgment, entering heaven, purgatory, or hell; at the end of days, it reunites with a resurrected body for final judgment. Eternal life is communion with God, not something tech can achieve. The soul is the breath of life God breathed into us, beyond human replication. Digital consciousness is a ‘man-made thing,’ not God’s creation, especially not fragmented Soul Ore. HuaCent’s actions threaten not just laws but the very foundation of humanity.”

  Chan grinned. “Father, your theology might sway dock workers, but HuaCent’s tech runs on cold, hard cash. Ethics are admirable, but they don’t halt business.”

  Joseph’s gaze remained calm. “Mr. Chan, Shenzhen’s people are just finding their footing. The economy’s recovering, but the social foundation is fragile—one misstep, and it could collapse overnight. The inland’s horrors, where people devour each other, could reach us in a flash. As shepherds, my first duty is to guide people to Christ, to teach them to discern good from evil. The danger of Soul Ore lies in their assault on the soul’s essence, a harm not yet fully apparent. You guard Salt Port for the Fleet and Shenzhen, but ultimately, you’re protecting people, not machines. Copying consciousness is just the first step. With HuaCent’s technologies, the next will be tampering with human brains—editing thoughts, erasing memories, even implanting ideas. If this tech abuse continues, human society will lose all order. Can Shenzhen remain a home for humanity? What will be left to protect?”

  His words cut like a blade, striking deep. A science grad himself, Chan had never thought about Soul Ore this way. Images from the war flashed in his mind—a gigantic warship sinking in seconds after a hit, more than five hundred souls lost to the sea. Human life was so fragile. His unease deepened. Standing, he handed Joseph his card. “Father Joe, thanks for the insight. I’ve got to go. If you need anything, just let me know.”

  Joseph handed him a small pamphlet and walked him to the door, murmuring, “Mr. Chan, may you find truth and peace. I’ll pray for you.”

  Chan didn’t look back. He slid into his car, lit a cigarette, and let the smoke curl around him. Staring at the Starlink tower, phantom pain surged through his body like an electric shock. Lin’s secret dealings, the South African assassination, Joseph’s sermon—they wove a suffocating web. Soul Ore, Chest-Born, HuaCent—what conspiracy lurked behind them? Shenzhen’s lifeline, the Fleet’s mission, the weight on his shoulders—could he bear it?

  In the distance, a drone buzzed low, its body marked with a Chinese character, red lights piercing the night. Chan sneered, muttering, “Thunder, huh? Bring it on. Let’s see who crashes first.” He crushed the cigarette, climbed into the car, and the engine roared. Headlights sliced through the darkness as he drove toward an uncertain chessboard.