Ch.160Work Record No. 023 – Concerning Fire (1)

After teaching Kanun Sa how to fight like a well-trained mercenary and returning at dawn after finishing night patrol duties, when I wasn’t expecting any contact other than Eve’s return confirmation, a communication link starts ringing.

I had already received Eve’s return confirmation call. On the virtual screen that appeared in my vision, only the New World Communications logo was displayed. Emergency line 112387. Probably one of the emergency phones.

I wondered who would need to contact me through an emergency line, but I connected anyway. A woman’s voice comes through. It was the same woman’s voice that had contacted me when I went to retrieve Chance.

There was a faint bitter laugh in her voice. She must have done some background checking to learn that I had instantly become one of the finest hunting dogs among the corporate justice hounds.

“This is absurd. I thought you were just a child soldier who got lucky bringing Chance back, and I was grateful for that luck.”

“No one gets a free contract through luck or miracles. Did Chance contact you?”

“Yes. He asked me why I left him with authority. It was necessary. I didn’t expect you would be the one using Chance instead of Bellwether…”

She didn’t expect that I would be using Chance instead of Bellwether. That means she left those permissions for Chance thinking Bellwether would soon use him.

Authority itself was an obligation. The fact that Chance could command drones of lower rank meant that he would be controlled by drones of higher rank.

The name that immediately came to mind was Prometheus. She might have marked Chance as a potential agent for Prometheus to use within corporate justice territory. I remain silent.

“Ah, I understand what your silence means. This isn’t some spy movie. If it were, I would have used a drone with less self-awareness than Chance. After all, Chance is perfectly capable of evading orders.”

The reason cited as dangerous—that mass destruction could occur if he entered Los Angeles—was a lie. Chance could think for himself and wouldn’t have fired even if he had entered.

And above all, if they expected this authority to function as some kind of backdoor… the nationalists should have activated Chance to make Bellwether retrieve him. That didn’t happen.

Chance woke up because some Caltech students were researching war-era machinery and issued countless forced activation codes to him. Expecting that would be nothing but a joke.

“Then why did you leave Chance with that authority? I need an answer, not twenty questions.”

“I hoped Chance would extract information from Bellwether. Not for the federal government’s benefit… but for something greater. Do you know the real name of that war?”

I was a bit taken aback by her boldly admitting what she had previously denied, but I understood what followed. She was trying to verify if Chance trusted me.

Should I answer “Extinction War”? No. That’s something that shouldn’t be spoken aloud. I choose the answer she wants… and speak.

“Not everything known can be spoken.”

“Good. Then I should ask under which flag that name was given.”

“A fist raised among the stars.”

Chance made an operating sound as if deeply displeased. Does Chance know the emotion of displeasure? He probably does. Things to avoid, things that are wrong, things that must be eliminated. Threats are inherently unpleasant.

Meanwhile, she seemed surprised at how I had earned this much trust in such a short time. After a brief sound of admiration, she soon became displeased like Chance. She had decided to trust me.

It might be too simple, but what she knows is that I persuaded a perfectly functioning artificial intelligence from that war era to reveal that the war was called the Extinction War. That’s enough.

If she hadn’t decided to trust me, she would have said it was impressive. Her reluctance to share anything related to that war with someone younger than the war itself was the version of her I knew. I had earned her trust.

“This is no time to be pleased. Hah, damn it… That word just won’t die. No matter how we try to make it unknowable, to drown it by pushing its head underwater, it always comes back. So, what you want to know is…”

Fortunately, she seemed to know the inside story. Hiding my relief at the thought that retrieving Prometheus might be simpler than expected, I asked:

“How that war ended, and Pro—”

“Stop. Not everything known should be spoken. Especially in nationalist territory, that word is strictly forbidden. Absolutely.”

Is even Operation Prometheus as classified as the war itself? When I tried to say the word, she panicked, composed herself, and said:

“About the inside story of that war and what I can tell you… I’ll inform you after we change locations. NWC is secure, but someone like me using an untapped line for too long would be suspicious.”

The communication briefly cut off, then reconnected from a much quieter place. This time, her name appeared: Julia. Chance begins speaking inside my head.

“Do not discuss Operation Prometheus. I will verify that you remember the purpose of this communication.”

‘A Bellwether freelancer starting to get curious about who the nationalists really are. Recruitment activity disguised as seeking connections to learn about that war, without realizing it’s recruitment.’

“Very well. I judge that Agent Arthur Murphy is not suited to playing a stupid mercenary… but since your acting is excellent, I will offer no advice.”

‘Not a stupid mercenary act, but a mercenary with nothing but flowers in his head. The kind who thinks “Maybe nationalists aren’t so bad after all!”‘

When Chance fell silent again, I connected the call. She was trying to sound much more relaxed than her previous hysterical voice.

“Ah, we’ve only communicated through text before, Agent Arthur Murphy. You wanted to know how that war ended, correct?”

She spoke like a counselor. I should act somewhat young and foolish. Bellwether knows me, but the nationalists don’t.

“Yes, of course. I have no taste for not knowing things. And who would know better than your side?”

“A wise judgment. If only you weren’t from corporate justice. That war could only end after quite… no, an enormous amount of bloodshed. In some ways, it was regression.”

She steadied her trembling voice. She knew why I had contacted her. She knew this explanation was necessary to explain her intention to infiltrate Chance into Bellwether.

“This is classified information, though not highly so, but I can share it with a freelancer seeking truth… I’ll need you to sign a confidentiality agreement. Please sign.”

With my heart pounding, I sign the document on the virtual screen she sent. After confirming my electronic signature, she took a breath. Finally, it was time to learn the truth.

“Executive Order 17192. An order to erase all tangible and intangible assets related to strategic weapons. The strategic weapons from the late war period were destroyed as much as possible, and all documents were disposed of.”

She emphasized one phrase: “as much as possible.” Whether this meant some weapons couldn’t be destroyed or that some were deliberately preserved according to certain criteria, I couldn’t tell.

It couldn’t be the latter. If so, the nationalists would have used those weapons against corporate justice by now. Wait. I slowly reconsider what I just thought.

If they had them, they would have used them. Perhaps she thinks the same? That if someone somehow obtained strategic weapons from that war era, they wouldn’t hesitate to use them.

“Of course, it wasn’t just weapons and documents that were disposed of. Everyone who had access to the War Research Institute during that war, from the director to the janitors… and their families, friends, and neighbors were all eliminated.”

This could only be done in utter despair. People had completely lost hope in humanity, believing that if even one person remained, they would repeat the same actions. They made sure it could never happen again.

Perhaps it resembled Bellwether when it was frothing at the mouth. Like Bellwether killing every Jaina member without an alibi on the day of the terrorist attack. Even the aftermath was similar—no further problems.

“There were terrible technological, human, and social losses… but everyone suffered those losses. The same measures were taken in every country involved in that war. Listen carefully. It was completely liquidated.”

It was hard to imagine a nationalist chairman—no, president—signing such an order and then taking his own life. But there couldn’t have been a more certain method.

“There were countless people who said such things shouldn’t be done, but what mattered was that the war ended, not such minor complaints. We succeeded.”

She suddenly changed her tone and began hurling explicit criticism at Bellwether. I couldn’t hear clearly. The words she subtly emphasized one by one sounded louder.

“But what did Bellwether do? People may have died in the federal government’s liquidation efforts, but Bellwether never did anything on its own! Even now, it continues to spew nothing but hatred!”

Yet it sounded quite sincere. Arguing that the federal government holds moral superiority over Bellwether is perfectly reasonable. Anyone eavesdropping would find it acceptable.

“While they spewed hatred, the federal government created contingency plans for the future. Plans to embrace even a single person suffering under corporate justice, to prevent a war that should never exist.”

I reconsider what I had suspected. Was Chance sent to Bellwether as an information collector because they thought corporate justice wasn’t a proper replacement for the federal government? Probably.

“Whether this countermeasure is right, whether we deserve to shape this present… frankly, whether we’re in a better position than corporate justice in every aspect… I can only say we don’t know.”

Is this about Prometheus? What exactly is Prometheus? Given its command authority, it seemed like an AI, but if not, it could be something like a think tank.

It might be more natural if they had separately preserved scientists and key figures from the war era. Considering the mention of incomplete liquidation, this could make sense… but no, that’s not it.

If it were a residential area, it couldn’t move as a whole. An AI is the most likely possibility. There are too many entities that could have command authority, and she could say too little.

“Still, we don’t claim to know the best method for the future. We only beg to serve as a bridge connecting the future and the past. Isn’t that what matters?”

“I… certainly know that. The nationalists have been holding that position continuously since before that war.”

I deliberately placed only subtle emphasis. She spoke with a slightly overwhelmed tone. The content was theatrical, but her tone was sincere.

“I didn’t expect such understanding… Let’s talk again. Definitely. The prejudices planted by corporate justice, which can’t produce even one decent countermeasure, must be destroyed. How should we contact next time?”

“I’ll contact you again. I’m starting to want to know more. It would be nice to have a more in-depth conversation when you have time. You feel the same, right?”

“Of course. Ah, remember this. The flame of hope always burns despite all suffering, so we must never give up.”

Flame. A reminder that we were talking about Prometheus. After ending the connection… lying on my bed with my eyes closed, I asked Chance:

‘The flame that Prometheus wants to deliver is…’

“I draw a conclusion. Perhaps what Julia Pereira referred to was technology from that war era that hasn’t been destroyed yet, or in the worst case… preserved strategic weapons from before that war.”

‘What clues do we have?’

“That it exists. That we don’t know where it is. That it is somewhere. That’s all.”

‘That’s the worst.’

“I affirm. It is the worst. Also, I have a question.”

While deliberately trying to appear as if I’m falling asleep by turning over once, I mentally responded to Chance.

‘What question?’

“If it’s an artificial intelligence or think tank created during that war era, its purpose is likely ‘to return the war-era technology to the federal government after the liquidation is complete, to regain hegemony.'”

If the goal is to overturn what everyone agreed to forget for the sake of power… somehow the things I learned about nationalists from Bellwether don’t seem entirely false.

“However, Operation Prometheus is currently showing abnormal behavior. Despite nationalists being the legitimate successor to the federal government, it doesn’t seem to be heading toward them.”

It’s not going to Washington D.C., the capital, but wandering around giving orders to drones near Los Angeles. The reason is still unknown, but Chance’s words were true.

‘What if Prometheus doesn’t think so? How about the hypothesis that it’s still looking for the legitimate successor to the federal government?’

“I reserve judgment. The possibility is sufficient, but evidence is lacking. We cannot know Prometheus’s judgment criteria. However, I know where to start.”

‘So do I. From Mila’s house, right?’

“I affirm. I believe there is a high probability that the AI that raised her is Prometheus. The thief who stole fire—wasn’t that one of Ms. Mila Joyce’s former call signs?”

‘True, she was called Firethief. Could passing down the name to Mila also mean passing down the duties? Or was it just giving a similar name?’

“Insufficient basis for judgment. However, contacting the night patrol seems unrelated to Prometheus’s purpose. Even their first meeting appeared coincidental. At least, it wasn’t an intentional approach.”

All I had to do was… wait until Mila was ready to reveal her home again. And it seemed that the disguised call had created another problem.

I had affirmed criticism of corporate justice while talking with the nationalists, and my chair-stealing operation targeted Bellwether’s partner company. If discovered, it would become troublesome.