Ch.208031 Work Record – 001 Duty Log, Madeline’s Lot Sheriff’s Office (3)

The village tour comes to an end. Though there are only about one hundred and thirty households residing in the village, supply trucks frequently come through, and engineers occasionally called in by the Old Road also visit, making for a decent floating population.

This small county sheriff’s office has six people handling police work, not counting the sheriff himself. While the engineers are considered half-insiders, the supply truck drivers are complete outsiders.

The truck drivers don’t actually drive. The vehicles drive themselves. The drivers guard the trucks. If there are weapons mounted on the trucks, the drivers serve as both the trigger and the safety mechanism.

They verify whether objects identified by the truck are human, and after confirmation, they judge whether that person is truly a threat and decide whether to attack or not. That’s their job.

Of course, human errors occur quite frequently. But these human errors involve not killing people who could be killed, while machine errors involve killing people who shouldn’t be killed.

With such truck drivers moving about, the roads are maintained even across the wasteland. Knowing that road destruction results only in death, even gangs hiding in the wasteland don’t touch the roads.

If someone destroyed roads near a city owned by a specific company, that company’s security team would respond. And if someone attacked roads in the wasteland that no one claimed ownership of, they would witness the Market Keeper’s descent.

For wasteland residents, it would be the first time they’d ever see a Market Keeper, and naturally, it would also be the last time.

Increased land transportation costs due to road destruction is a market failure caused by external factors. Then the Market Keeper corrects it. That’s just how it works.

The problem will mostly arise with those outsiders. If I’m going to pretend to be Matt Collins, I should know what Matt Collins would worry about.

I return to the sheriff’s office. The amount of paperwork generated in this village seems manageable for the sheriff alone. That meticulous… man with glasses seemed to prefer it that way.

A moment of peace. It’s unfamiliar. This is my first time working in a place leisurely enough for these people, who are essentially the village’s security team, to spend time on trivial matters.

The day’s work ends with listening to the other deputy sheriffs talk about Madeline’s Lot. They all seem to be natives of Madeline’s Lot.

Marcus Cavendish was a man who came to Madeline’s Lot—where survivors were barely getting by after that war—with ambitions, invisible at the time, to make it the site of the Old Road.

At first, he seemed unremarkable, but they say he won people over with his unique charisma and vision. He was the only one who could have willingly partnered with a megacorporation without being ostracized.

Afterward, that hydroponic facility was built in the center of Madeline’s Lot, and the people of Madeline’s Lot were able to live in clear air surrounded by a dome… everything seemed to be going well.

That’s a lie. I recall seeing in documents—that neither Agent Jeff nor Agent Julia could interfere with—that drug supply significantly increased as Madeline’s Lot and the Old Road grew. I mustn’t be fooled.

After changing clothes in the locker room again, I head toward the accommodation prepared for me in Madeline’s Lot. Though it’s called accommodation, it won’t be anything special… I should remind myself that my home in LA was just a studio with a bedroom and living room.

Even that was excellent accommodation for a young professional. I drive to the address I received before coming. I wondered if there was any advantage over riding a bike, but it did seem somewhat better.

It was quite on the outskirts, even in Madeline’s Lot with its empty lots and yellowed grasslands. And while I expected a decent row house or apartment building… it was a proper house.

Someone was waiting in front of the house. A Pure… no. An ordinary Nationalist woman. It feels so strange to see someone not carrying a gun at their waist.

Since the house didn’t have a garage, I parked in the empty lot in front of the house, which didn’t even have yellowed grass, and got out. She awkwardly tried to wave her hand, then suddenly changed course and extended it for a handshake.

I was a bit taken aback but grasped her hand and shook it lightly. She seemed unsure how to treat me. Since I was someone she knew, that confusion could be considered wise.

“Ah, um, so~ you’re the new deputy sheriff, right? So… hmm, you’ll be staying here. You see, Marcus is quite an ambitious person.”

I have no idea what she’s trying to say. I felt I knew more about the scale of Marcus Cavendish’s ambitions than she did. She kept stretching her words as if trying to be smooth, but then became awkward again.

“I saw him at the ice cream shop today… but he couldn’t make ice cream with that grand dream of his. He needed money to make ice cream, right?”

She burst into laughter at my unexpected response. Waving both hands as if that wasn’t what she meant, she finally spoke in a much more comfortable voice.

“No, no. I’m not saying there’s some fairy godmother making houses… I mean, hmm. Marcus Cavendish is an ambitious person, so the village property is extensive. The dome is quite large, isn’t it?”

It was surprisingly large for something physically supported. That thick crystalline material might not be such a heavy material, and perhaps the hydroponic facility helps support the weight.

“He set up the dome to cover an area much larger than the original Madeline’s Lot, so there’s excess land. That’s why there are enough spare houses to just give one to a newcomer. Does that make sense now?”

I nodded slightly. Not everyone in the world can greet a stranger with a smiling voice saying, “Hey, friend.” If there are people like Harry, there are also people like this.

“Now I understand. Ah, I’m Deputy Sheriff Matt Collins. I was assigned today, and I’m well aware that everyone thinks I’m either an auditor or a spy sent by the Nationalists.”

Given her personality, I opted for a direct approach. She was flustered and didn’t know what to say, biting her lip and mumbling before finally explaining as if making an excuse.

“Ah, w-well, no, I, I don’t think that way, so don’t worry! And my family doesn’t either… Actually, about… hmm, half of the people probably don’t think anything at all!”

“So the other half really does think that way. I should meet that suspicious half first and clear up their doubts. And, you forgot to tell me your name.”

“Ah, right. My name is Amaya Hope. I’m an Old Road employee, of course. There’s no other way to make a living in this village besides the Old Road, right? So… shall we go in? We should check the condition of the house!”

She was the type of person who either couldn’t progress a conversation or pushed it forward too rapidly for me to even notice. She’s not used to dealing with people. She probably took on this task as well.

Finally, something familiar appears. She took out a metal key from her pocket and opened the door, leading the way into a small single-person house without a garage. The interior wasn’t bad at all.

A table extending from the wall divided the living room and kitchen, and the interior was properly furnished. After dusting herself off, she entered with quick steps and turned on the internal system.

It’s no different from me connecting to Chance and controlling the house with my thoughts. Only for most Nationalists, there was one extra step. I looked at the company name on the panel and turned on my phone.

I installed the company’s home system management application, bypassed her as she was confused about the buttons’ functions, and synced it with my phone. I turned on the lights and activated the cleaning drones embedded in the pillars.

Amaya slumped as if completely drained by the sight. She’s definitely a Pure. She had a somewhat timid and fragile impression. I decided not to think about work-related matters.

Dark brown, very curly hair, and those distinctively Pure, unaugmented green eyes I hadn’t seen for a while until meeting Agent Ines. It wouldn’t be difficult to remember her.

“Somehow, you seem more proficient than me, even though you just arrived in this village today….”

“I have the ability to simplify problems. You were going to tell me that not everyone in the village welcomes me, weren’t you?”

Amaya suddenly straightened up from her slumped position and looked at me. With wide eyes, she asked:

“How did you know that? Did you hear something outside…?”

“Marcus said the same thing. See? Simple, right?”

She made a sound like air deflating from her cheeks, as if she’d lost steam. Not everything in the world is as complicated as she thinks.

It’s all simple things. Even without grand operations and secret plans, people’s suspicions can be read, and even without an infiltration mission, a new deputy sheriff would have come to Madeline’s Lot.

“It is simple…. Ah, would you like a beer? You probably don’t know which restaurant to eat at, and someone loaded me up with food, saying a twenty-three-year-old rookie fresh out of training wouldn’t know what to cook.”

She showed me two bottles of beer cold enough to have condensation on them, and a plastic container designed for hot food, filled with tofu dish. At least I wouldn’t smell the fishiness of pseudo-food.

“If this is a village that offers a beer after work, it might really feel like a new home. Ah, I guess Marcus doesn’t like beer and takeout food either?”

Continuing with the leisurely joke, I placed the bags on the table that the cleaning drones had swept over. A subtle spicy aroma was rising from the small bag containing the food.

It was mapo tofu with bean meat mixed in and seasoned with thick synthetic flavoring… At least they didn’t forcibly try to imitate real ingredients, and the spiciness even helped mask any fishy smell.

Tofu franchises and KSC are truly everywhere in North America. KSC makes everything taste reasonably good, and tofu franchises… well, soybeans were real ingredients to begin with.

“Marcus’s favorite food is….”

“You don’t know but don’t want to admit it, so you’re stalling, right, Amaya?”

She nodded slowly. Since she allowed me to choose Marcus Cavendish as the first topic of conversation, I decided to overlook her inexperience.

“It’s nothing special, but Marcus once asked me to have dinner sometime. I must have made a good impression.”

Amaya looked at me with one eyebrow twitching. She seemed to have heard something quite unfamiliar.

“It’s not easy to make a good impression on Marcus. At first, he was kind of like… the village worker! But at some point, he started looking at people as if they weren’t satisfactory enough.”

Additional information gathering is never a bad thing. This was data I could figure out the reason for on my own, without anyone processing it for me. Marcus Cavendish’s desired talent profile had changed.

Originally, he viewed things from a Nationalist perspective, but later he started thinking like a Corpie. The people around him were all selected according to his past standards, so they clearly wouldn’t meet his current expectations.

So did I act like a Corpie today? No. What I showed him today was an understanding of the Old Road’s longstanding values while thinking flexibly like a Corpie.

It was fine this time, but I should be more careful in the future. I was a human created by Corpies to the bone. There’s no telling when it might slip out. I formulate a strategy.

“Really? Well, should I tell you what we talked about? From your response, it seems like you’re one of those who want to make a good impression on Marcus.”

My offer to share information meant at least that I wasn’t trying to extract information. Even someone like her, who gives more answers than questions asked, is wary of volunteering information.

“I don’t have a habit of eavesdropping on others’ conversations… but what employee wouldn’t want to look good to the boss? What did you talk about?”

“Well, Marcus was trying to make an impression on me. He spoke at length about what the Old Road is, and said he didn’t care if I was a spy or whatever. I just happened to sympathize quite a bit with the Old Road’s ideals.”

“That doesn’t seem special….”

If anything was special, it was the Detroit story. Don’t I tell everyone I meet, “I’m from Detroit”? It seemed like I did.

But the fact that being from Detroit shaped Matt Collins remained unchanged. I decided to willingly mention it once more. Even if I weren’t from Detroit, I would still be an outsider.

“I did talk a bit about my hometown afterward. About Detroit. You know it’s a… unique city, right?”

“Ah, Detroit! Do you know the Serena Vanderbilt series? I really love it.”

Is this something to be proud of? Maybe it is. Trying to control all leisure activities would be the foolish thing to do.

“We can talk about the Serena Vanderbilt series later. Anyway, being from that unique city, I said that while Detroit made a wise choice, I wasn’t sure if that particular company was necessarily the right answer.”

Marcus Cavendish wore leather and carried a club, but he was a modern man. He could use anyone for his ideals and interests. He was too principled to be called a bat-like person.

I try to convey this fact. She seemed to have some sense of it already. After pondering for a while, she lightly tapped the table with her palm as if something had occurred to her.

“Ah, I remember now. After seeing me watching the Serena Vanderbilt series, he said something like… what was it… ‘Try to learn more from Detroit than from Serena Vanderbilt!'”

She must have realized it was a disapproving remark. I decided not to be too suspicious of Amaya. From her reactions, the Marcus Cavendish I knew and the one she knew were the same person.

I understand the feeling. He’s looking for someone who can hear the beasts howling. Not someone who follows the ideal with dull eyes, but someone who thinks and will follow him.

It seems that starting a megacorporation in Nationalist territory is difficult from the very beginning with personnel recruitment. Thanks to Amaya, who was waiting to help me settle in, I was able to infer a bit more.

So, I decided to quietly listen as she went on to talk about the Serena Vanderbilt series. I kept to myself the many off-the-record accounts I could have shared.