- Taking Responsibility
The night on the planet Neo-Aether was quiet.
Bands of pale violet light circling the upper atmosphere enveloped the entire city, softly illuminating the towers of the Archive Core District.
From a high-level corridor of the Council Building, Hannis looked down over the planet’s nightscape.
This world, which he had once declared would become the core of galactic restoration, now felt unbearably heavy.
“Meter…”
he said, his voice mixed with a sigh.
“I really do think that’s the crucial point.
I’m feeling the limits of my own political ability.”
Without turning around, he continued.
“When it comes to gathering information, I’m confident.
I’m the one who turned Neo-Aether into a planet of data and records.
But… that alone doesn’t make politics move.”
A brief silence fell.
“I just can’t behave the way Aporiana did.
Despite enjoying overwhelming trust from the government,
she never clung to positions of power—except for that role as plenipotentiary ambassador.”
Hannis smiled faintly.
“And there’s more.
She was the granddaughter of Olden Purpura.
Even so, she never made that fact public until the very end.
…What a character. I can only admire her.”
Meter slowly opened his mouth.
“Hannis. The reason she was exceptional wasn’t only because she was pure and upright.”
Hannis turned his face slightly.
“Aporiana chose to know and remain silent—and she accepted that responsibility.”
“Accepted…?”
“Yes.”
Meter’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact.
“She deeply understood the section on Jill Eforum in the Bery Documents.
The essence of Eforum’s ability is not to predict the future.”
After a brief pause, he continued.
“It is the ability to discern what outcomes human society fears,
and which responsibilities it tries to avoid.”
Hannis listened in silence.
“Aporiana understood the internal state of the Consuarium,
the distortions within the Galactic Lilinas Federation,
and even the dangers inherent in Lambda Gris’s Chrono Bloom.
And yet, she deliberately chose not to speak.”
“But isn’t that… cowardly?”
At the low question, Meter shook his head.
“No.
She knew who would be hurt, and who would be forced to bear responsibility,
if she spoke.”
Meter said quietly,
“That’s why she chose to bear, all by herself,
the consequences of not speaking.”
Hannis’s gaze returned to the planet’s lights.
“…I’ve also heard the references to military strategy.”
“Yes.
The stories of Sun Tzu and Wu and Yue in the Same Boat.”
Meter went on.
“Even sworn enemies, once they find themselves in the same boat,
have no choice but to cooperate in order not to sink.
That isn’t a beautiful moral tale.”
“A story about resolve, then…”
“Yes.
Not a story about sticking to one’s beliefs,
but about the resolve to share the consequences.”
After a while, Hannis muttered,
“…I’m afraid.
Afraid of what will happen if political reform,
with this planet at its core, fails.”
Meter did not answer immediately.
After a few seconds of silence, he said,
“That’s fine.”
Hannis turned around.
“Those who feel no fear should not engage in politics.
Those who act on belief alone
will always blame someone else when they fail.”
Meter stepped closer.
“But you, Hannis,
are trying to accept your own powerlessness as something that belongs to you.”
His tone was not encouragement, but confirmation.
“That is a far more political quality
than any talent for manipulating information.”
A long silence.
At last, Hannis let out a deep breath.
“…You really show no mercy.”
“I’m a robot.”
Meter relaxed the corners of his mouth just slightly.
“But that’s precisely why I can say this:
you are no longer running away.”
The light of Neo-Aether stretched their shadows long across the floor.
“The first step toward galactic restoration
is not to proclaim the correct ideals,”
Meter said at last.
“It is to decide that you will take responsibility,
no matter what the outcome.”
Hannis nodded slowly.
The reform had already begun.
To be continued.
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