Ch.152021 Work Record – The Industry’s Sacred One (2)

I close the operation plan that’s still filled with empty spaces. This is a dream. One can dream, but one must not be buried in dreams. This is a world without wish-granting lamps.

Someday, when the operation plan is complete, when I can secure all the necessary support, and when I can control all those situations… only then might I be able to reveal it with some dignity.

For now, I decided to keep it hidden. This was a plan to attack Belwether’s partner companies. If discovered now, the inconveniences would far outweigh any benefits.

The title of “industry saint” was far from sufficient. To realize the seemingly far-fetched idea of expelling Hollowwood Creek, I needed to become a better person.

Fortunately, it’s work I enjoy. I finish the day preparing my sniper rifle after receiving a message from Director Yoon about training in the wasteland tomorrow morning. The next morning, I again look up at the hazy sky.

It was quite thick, but visibility was still around a hundred meters, so no warnings were issued. Since the smog could worsen during the day, I left home with a gas mask tucked at my waist.

What I rode was small and less powerful compared to the Smog Piercer. Inadequate for carrying the responsibility of an entire city, but sufficient for carrying one person’s life.

Upon arriving at the designated coordinates, a message appears indicating this is the training area of the mercenary company. Virtual reality training was useful, but for something like sniping that depends heavily on variables, reality was better.

I put on the prepared thermal goggles and peer through the smog. I can see the targets Director Yoon had prepared, and soon I hear her voice over the comms. The basic skills test begins.

Recoil control wasn’t an issue, but having trained primarily in close combat where shots hit almost instantly, handling a sniper rifle that required calculating ballistics was somewhat burdensome.

It’s not too serious. I can adapt quickly with training from a sniper who was also trained by Belwether. While I wasn’t born with many natural talents, I certainly knew the joy of learning.

I repeat the training from seven in the morning until two in the afternoon, too late even for lunch. For about an hour, I just hit targets following automatically calculated trajectories, but after that, I had to do it myself.

With the computational assist device running, it’s not a major problem. Since having a computer implanted in my head, there aren’t many calculations in the world that remain difficult.

“It’s the first time I’ve had a new employee who delivers such satisfactory results whenever I assign work. Very good. Ah, do you remember our dinner appointment from last time?”

She seems to be saying that her ex-husband who works at Cheoncheon Robotics wants to see me. I checked my to-do list before answering.

“Of course. It’ll also be an opportunity to verify if Cheoncheon Robotics actually has human employees.”

“Hearing such responses come naturally makes me think Belwether would weep. It’ll be a formal dinner requiring a suit… let’s meet at Cheoncheon at 4:30.”

At times like this, Robin’s advice to look for places other than companies with night shifts seemed quite sincere, but I still had no intention of leaving the night view.

It’s an enjoyable place. A place where vastly different people gather to create their own optimal efficiency is ideal for a Belwether retiree. For both Director Yoon and myself.

I stop by home to wash off the smog residue from my body. The smog had thickened since morning, enough that gas mask advisories were issued around lunchtime. I remove the used filter and attach a new one.

A formal suit and gas mask make for an ill-matched combination. Still, with a holster for Small Evil at my waist, I headed to Cheoncheon Robotics by taxi rather than bike, as befitting a visit to a major corporation.

I board the self-driving taxi and bring up search results for Cheoncheon Robotics in my field of vision. Searching for “Cheoncheon” brings up a short paragraph that requires translation to read.

‘Cheoncheon: Clear blue sky.’

The paragraph naturally led to the company motto. I’d heard that the city where Cheoncheon Robotics’ headquarters is located still hasn’t washed away the aftermath of that war.

‘Cheoncheon Robotics aims to preserve this single word from the dictionary. The sky is not red. Purple is not clear. The sky must be blue.’

We pass through Koreatown and stop in front of a glossy black curtain wall standing tall in its center. I’d heard the building was designed to protect employees from the red sky that causes visual fatigue.

As I exit the taxi armed, several sentry guns rise from nearby sidewalks, but they quietly retract after verifying my freelancer license. It feels somewhat desolate.

Only Cheoncheon Robotics’ humanoid drones stand tall, greeting me with phrases like “Welcome.” I pass by them and enter the main entrance. The interior has quite an atmosphere.

Despite being a place where people rarely enter, it was thoughtfully decorated with holographic gardens. Director Yoon was waiting inside. There was also a man I hadn’t met before.

He was a man who had exposed parts of his body that could be exposed, installed drone launchers, and replaced his jaw with a black artificial component. He had quite a generous impression and seemed like a good person.

He approached me and extended his hand. It was a detachable prosthetic hand. A device that could be detached and operated as a drone. He was a man excessively modified, though in a different way from Vola.

“Finally meeting you, Mr. Arthur. Sseup, if I were to be polite, I should tell you my name… but Cheoncheon Robotics has few human employees, you know.”

He showed me the empty lobby, even pointing out that the receptionist was a drone, then shrugged. His body movements were slightly strange. He might even be a mass of drones.

“So, personal information disclosure is prohibited. But, well, there must be ten million Kims at headquarters… just call me Director Kim comfortably. As for my face… well, it’s rarely exposed externally.”

He naturally raised the hand after completing the handshake, and the detachable prosthetic detached, touched his face once, then returned to settle on his hand. I decided not to express any discomfort.

Most of the elevators moving around Cheoncheon Robotics’ building were for cargo. When they opened, you could see drones being repositioned. One of the few elevators for humans arrives.

“I’m not assigning work right away, so just follow me comfortably. A freelancer joined Suyon’s company, so… from the perspective of a man with many stories, I should at least see your face.”

There aren’t many topics more intriguing than the story of an ex-husband maintaining a professional relationship with his ex-wife. Director Yoon brushed off her hands as if she found him quite displeasing.

“That’s why I divorced him. Cultural differences. He keeps treating a Los Angeles native like someone from his hometown—how could we communicate? Still, he’s a capable person.”

Director Yoon must have also felt the subtly uncomfortable atmosphere. She shrugged as if to say it couldn’t be helped, then boarded the elevator. The walls visible outside the elevator were red.

Those red walls changed to purple as the rapidly ascending elevator rose, and the top floor that pierced through the smog was blue. We stopped somewhere in the fading purple.

Only Cheoncheon Robotics would have a private tatami room in their employee cafeteria. It was quite different from what I could imagine as an “employee cafeteria,” but for Cheoncheon Robotics, this was it.

After ordering a set meal without synthetic ingredients, he sat comfortably and began pouring out words. Contrary to my initial impression of him as a rather lighthearted person, his voice now carried considerable weight.

“I heard you’re from Belwether… that branch manager, Walter Goodman or whatever, is quite a funny guy, isn’t he? A coup in our branch city? In December, no less. Ridiculous.”

Clearly, during Walter’s coup, Cheoncheon Robotics had frantically offered to send drone forces if Belwether wanted them. It was something I could handle alone, so the offer was declined.

Of course, regardless of the weight in his voice, it was a sensitive topic. Even between Robin and me, external politics wasn’t something we could discuss comfortably. Director Yoon sighed and tried to stop him.

“Talking about external politics at a first meeting doesn’t seem very polite. Can we change the subject?”

He abruptly stopped at Director Yoon’s words and again showed his good-natured smile.

“Sseup, that’s true…. Ah, have you ever been to Cheoncheon Robotics’ headquarters? I mean, in Seoul.”

Cheoncheon Robotics’ headquarters had a strange symbiosis with nationalists. Typically, companies would buy the entire city where their headquarters was located and rename it, but Cheoncheon’s headquarters used the original place name interchangeably.

To be precise… there was no city for Cheoncheon to purchase in that land. They say the entire country was contaminated by radiation and biological weapons that turned the sky red and poisoned the land, leaving only that one city.

“Ah… I’m a Los Angeles native, so I’ve only been to Los Angeles and Detroit.”

“That’s quite unfortunate. A vertical city of fifty million people is quite a spectacle. And if you haven’t been there, you can’t boast about being from Lower Seoul.”

His right hand detached onto the table and began projecting a hologram. The hologram showed a double-layered city. It looked like one city built on top of another.

He reached out with his left hand and poked at the lower city that seemed to be beneath the new city. His voice suddenly became nostalgic, as if struck by homesickness.

“The lower level is a much better place to live than here. The ceiling is filled with displays showing a blue sky, it preserves the original appearance of the city, and the air is quite clean.”

Isn’t the lower level usually the worse place when a city is built on top of another? I remembered learning a few examples, but from his description, Lower Seoul seemed more like a privileged zone.

I bring up images of the upper level in my field of vision. The buildings were full of sophisticated curtain walls, but the sky was blood red. On good days it might have a bluish tint, but it was almost always somewhat reddish.

In contrast, Lower Seoul, though seemingly somewhat outdated in its buildings, allowed one to see a blue sky, albeit artificial—perhaps a “cheoncheon.” I wasn’t sure if even the term “upper and lower” might have opposite meanings there.

He’s quite sentimental, boastful, and careless enough to show his face—a rather sloppy person. Around the time he continued talking about his hometown or Cheoncheon Robotics’ achievements, the food arrived.

The meal was satisfactory. In fact, since donning the Type 4, any meal without synthetic ingredients was satisfactory. I thought such conversation might continue after the meal, but this time it didn’t.

While his manner of speaking remained inscrutable with excessive emotional expression, and he would glibly gloss over uncomfortable topics… the content of his speech was what one might expect from a middle manager at a major corporation.

“Working alone with only drones in a place without people makes you talk too much when you finally meet someone. Don’t you have something to boast about, Mr. Arthur? Like the Chance model?”

Though he asked casually as if he already knew everything, his expression didn’t change, but I didn’t answer naturally. Director Yoon glared at him and calmly retorted.

“Seeing you call that ‘something to boast about,’ it seems Cheoncheon Robotics’ drones must be inferior to those wartime drones? Having difficulty with reverse engineering, perhaps?”

I needed to take control of the conversation. I had no desire to divulge information and go home from a place Director Yoon had brought me to establish connections with a mega-corporation.

“Oh, not at all. Reverse engineering the Chance model would be Belwether’s internal data, and if we tried to extract it, it could lead to a corporate war. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“Indeed, but seeing you try to ask what a former employee whose retirement records were deliberately obscured might know, your intentions seem… suspicious, don’t you think?”

He sighed as if dumbfounded and detached his prosthetic hand again. Keeping his arm still, he moved just his hand to scratch his head, then said:

“Exactly right. If I had asked a few more questions here trying to extract information, you’d have countered with ‘Do you want a corporate war with Belwether?!'”

Director Yoon sharply retorted to him, whose manner had become somewhat looser. It was unusual for her to be so cutting.

“I don’t think I come across as someone who talks nonsense.”

Was there another bet this time? Director Kim’s hand jumped down from his head and reconnected with his wrist. He finally stated his real business.

“Anyway, deactivated Chance models can be found quite readily along the West Coast. Though Mr. Arthur’s 0193 was the first operational one… that’s why I have a favor to ask.”

He detached his hand again to display a hologram. Several still-operational infantry drones were confined in what looked like detention cells. They were operational but not moving.

“We at Cheoncheon have secured some drones, but… without command authority, we can’t confirm what mission they’re currently executing, nor can we deactivate them.”

He seemed to want to borrow Chance’s command authority. That much I could help with by going there. Director Yoon nodded comfortably as she leaned back.

“Let’s properly record it as a debt. One must be strict when helping a mega-corporation. There’s nothing better than making someone owe you when building connections, which is why I brought Mr. Arthur.”

I decided to ask only in my mind. Chance wasn’t particularly fond of getting entangled with those wartime drones.

‘Were you listening, Chance? Opinions?’

“Evaluating. Evaluation complete. Affirmative. We might be able to find clues about the external commands I mentioned to you last time.”

The eagles are dead. The exile in the Caucasus is over. I will return the fire. Was that it? Probably.

Director Kim’s statement that he wouldn’t assign work right away turned out to be a lie. Nevertheless, I nodded.