Noticing Screwellum's unabashed gaze, Bonova smiled and asked,"Mr. Screwellum, is something the matter?"
Their eyes met. Screwellum nodded slightly."There are indeed some questions."
Bonorva gestured politely."Please, Mr. Screwellum."
Without hesitation, Screwellum asked directly:"Tell me—what is the difference between an intelligent being and a tool?"
Bonorva fell silent to think, and in an instant, he ran through hundreds of lines of reasoning and refutation:
Hypothesis: The difference lies in their material composition.
Refutation: Screwellum's composition clearly differs from humans'.
Hypothesis: Intelligent life can think, while tools cannot.
Refutation: Thinking, judging—tools can also perform these functions. Many tools can even adjust their own "judgments" according to environmental changes.
Hypothesis: …
Refutation: …
Sensing the electrical signals in Bonorva's brain, Screwellum realized he had already obtained the answer he wanted.
He raised a hand to interrupt Bonova's endless internal reasoning."You've fallen into a thinking trap," Screwellum concluded calmly. "Your reasoning itself is flawed."
"To reason carefully through logic is fine—but to be completely trapped by it is not. True thought for a sentient being is the blending of subjective and objective judgment."
"Form is irrelevant. Thought itself is irrelevant. What truly defines intelligent life—are contradictions."
"Be it desire or character—it is the power to act against logic that separates intelligent beings from tools."
Bonova summarized, "Then, in your view, Mr. Screwellum, I am a tool."
Though he said so, there was no hint of resentment in his voice.
"Not quite. But compared to intelligent life, you do resemble one," Screwellum replied frankly, not mincing words.
Bonova nodded, accepting the evaluation.
"There is nothing wrong with that. Excess emotion only clouds judgment. This is the nature of divinity—it leads to what is closest to 'correct' judgment."
"You call it divinity," Screwellum acknowledged the first half of Bonova's reasoning, but then offered his own critique.
"Your understanding of the world derives entirely from extraordinary characteristics. You require more humanity to balance it."
"If language, thought, and emotion could all be rewritten into characters that inorganic life could understand—like butterflies, whales, and you—then in the ocean of data, all life would share a single form."
"If the boundaries of meaning can be defined by the length of data fields, then there would be no distinction between humanity and divinity."
"In my eyes, your actions and your thoughts resemble more a child who has not yet received proper education."
Screwellum opened his palm.
"Like this gentleman here—he's quite childish, really."
On his hand was a transparent worm with twelve segments.
Pointing at the monocle on his right eye, Screwellum explained,
"This gentleman seems to have tried to parasitize me by exploiting the fact that I wear a monocle."
"Children act on instinct. Likewise, you follow the instincts of extraordinary traits. When a child learns right from wrong—what can be done and what cannot—they grow up."
He then turned his calm gaze between Bonorva and the worm—Amon—and continued his lesson:
"And you—only when you gain humanity, when your understanding of the world, of right and wrong, becomes whole—only then will you have truly grown up."
"As mythic beings, especially those born as such," Screwellum tapped the worm,
"your concept of time differs from mortals. Growth, for you, has nothing to do with age—it lies in how you perceive the world."
"I came here as a guest; I should not be preaching."
He tilted his head slightly, and his gaze seemed to pierce the train car, as though locking eyes with someone unseen.
Then, looking back at Bonorva, he continued:
"When I first arrived on this planet, I didn't appear where you found me. This planet is sealed within a barrier—but I found a breach."
Bonorva's calm eyes showed no change, as though unaware of the deeper meaning behind his words.
"At that breach, I met a man wandering between life and death. I could tell he wasn't a good person—but his desire to protect this planet, to protect you all, was something I deeply respected."
"When he saw me, he was already mad. Yet after I... communicated with him for some time, he regained a little reason. When he awoke, he seemed moved by my temperament—and begged me to save his son."
"I'm sorry I refer to him as 'he' instead of 'He,' because what I'm describing is not the 'Black Emperor' you speak of—but a father."
For the first time, Bonorva's eyes rippled with emotion—but quickly calmed once more.
He bowed deeply.
"Thank you for your teaching."
"It seems you still have a trace of humanity," Screwellum noted, his keen perception tinged with faint amusement.
"The difference between intelligence and a tool—think on it again. For a scholar, thought itself is more important than any answer."
Seeing Bonorva resume his contemplation—this time from a human perspective—Screwellum did not disturb him further.
He looked down at the time worm in his hand, which had repeatedly tried to escape or self-destruct.
An invisible barrier separated them from Bonova, to avoid interrupting his thinking.
"Don't keep trying to parasitize others," Screwellum said mildly. "You'll only get caught."
"Kill me," came the faint voice of the worm.
"No," Screwellum shook his head. "You need a lesson instead."
"You may think this is amusing, entertaining. As a born mythic being, you treat life like ants, like toys—existing or perishing by your whim."Screwellum's tone sharpened as he judged Amon's cruelty.
"To a child, games are fun, yes. But adults have many ways to solve problems—and even more ways to end a game. A certain lady once taught me how one should handle such things."
Amon ignored him, merely repeating, "Kill me."
Screwellum paused.
"In this city, there are 21,423,574 of your clones, aren't there?"
Amon said nothing.
"No, there's one more," Screwellum continued. "Harmony, Elation… and Propagation. He seems to be trying to walk a path different from yours."
Invisible data spread outward from the worm in Screwellum's hand, compiling a message to all twenty-one million others.
A message titled 'Humanity.'
Unlike how he treated Bonorva, Screwellum showed Amon no mercy.While preserving their self-awareness, the worms' very essence was rewritten.
From then on, these time worms could no longer replace their hosts' consciousness—they would instead share their hosts' feelings.
Screwellum opened the window and lightly tossed the worm out.
It flew off, parasitizing a bird.
"You truly are a remarkable teacher," said the clear-eyed priest beside him. "Thank you also for teaching Him."
"I'm no teacher," Screwellum replied, shaking his head softly. "I only recently conversed with a true one. He called himself a mediocre man, a doctor. He has quite the method of teaching."