Ch.31Work Record 006 – Loyalty Beyond Death (1)

Another day of work. I’ve never disliked working days. The mere fact of doing something felt like a blessing in itself.

It’s not that I hate rest. Sometimes I do want a day to relax completely, but even that feeling probably exists because there are days when I work. Having nothing to do would obviously be unbearable.

This, too, is very Belwether-like. Diligence, sincerity, and finding meaning between them were virtues of Belwether employees. Am I just a racehorse afraid to stop running for fear of never being able to run again?

No, that’s not it. Being glad to come to work on a Friday is meaningful enough. I got up from the bed in the night duty room, stretched lightly, and walked out to the office. President Yoon was already at work.

She’s wearing a long coat to prevent smog from settling on her skin. Judging by the wet hem of her coat, it must be raining. Outside the window, heavy rain was pouring down endlessly.

The wind gusts, rattling the office windows. At least the outside situation is more visible than from Belwether’s employee dormitory. Instead of the acrid smell of smog, today had a damp scent.

“On days like this, being able to sleep in the back of the office feels truly blissful. Did you have a good holiday? Seems like you took on a private request… and caused quite an incident too.”

“Ah, haha… Belwether did issue a media blackout, but it’s that obvious?”

President Yoon pointed at me with her distinctive milk-colored prosthetic hand. It was always more aesthetic than practical. The porcelain-like gloss was quite beautiful.

“As far as I know, there’s only one mercenary who can take down a Hollowwood Creek inquisitor bare-handed, and that’s you, Arthur. Oh, and there’s likely no work scheduled for today.”

A day without work. Working days need no reason, but holidays always have one. I hoped the reason I was thinking of wasn’t the case… but my hopes crumbled to pieces.

“Both Ms. Eve and Ms. Kay are absent at the same time. Vola has already left for a private request… and Mr. Enzo will just handle the accounting work and leave. Do you have any requests of your own?”

I couldn’t understand why Kay was absent, but I had some idea about my senior’s absence. I might have done something to cause her significant distress. Was it the pat on the head that was the problem? I’m not sure.

I deliberately answered quickly to hide my troubled expression.

“Ah, no. It seems the media blackout kept my name and face from spreading too far. As for work… it doesn’t seem like I need to clear the fire escape exits at least.”

“Of course not. Actually, we’ve received a request from another mercenary company to borrow an employee. I thought Arthur might have an opportunity to learn from a more systematically operated company, so I told them I’d ask you first before deciding.”

Nightwatch seemed plenty systematic to me, but no matter how systematic, it was still a small company with seven… eight people including Ms. Nadia. A company focused more on assassination and purges rather than peacekeeping.

An opportunity to learn from another company. It would be better than spending the whole day cooped up in virtual reality with nothing to do on such a rainy day. Still, it would be better to hear more.

“I’ll decide once you tell me what it’s about. I’d also appreciate knowing which company it is.”

President Yoon smiled with a confident expression. Her smile, though more common than my senior’s, was still a rare sight.

Above all, while my senior’s smile appeared when she was relaxed, the president’s smile was a tool to display her confidence. The feeling was somehow completely opposite.

“Our Nightwatch is ranked 46th in Belwether’s public work priority bidding, right? The company wanting to borrow Arthur is the number one mercenary company. There’s even talk that they might be incorporated under Belwether soon. It’s Lone Star Rangers. Here’s their company profile page. Take a look.”

I took the tablet she handed me and looked at the screen. Their logo was a sheriff’s badge with a large star in the center. Lone Star… this was Los Angeles, not Texas.

The company was large and clean, more of a corporate headquarters than an office building. I’d never seen a mercenary company that occupied an entire building. They had nearly two hundred mercenaries and about four times as many staff.

Perhaps the reason why requests of all sizes disappeared quickly when bidding started each day was because Lone Star took them. If they were a company Belwether was considering incorporating, they must also be training new recruits.

It was certainly a much more systematic place than Nightwatch, and might be almost like Belwether’s security team. I returned the tablet with some expectation.

“It certainly looks like I could learn a lot by helping out for a day. What’s the job?”

“Ah, perhaps due to the rain’s influence, a dormant homeland defense drone belonging to the Department of Homeland Security has awakened in the wasteland around Los Angeles. It had been effectively abandoned after being deactivated for a long time… if even the AI has come back to life, it could be serious trouble, so Lone Star Rangers offered to investigate and dismantle it.”

A homeland defense drone. From that war. To be clear, that war was that war. No one dares to add modifiers to it. More precisely… no one can.

It must have been made during that war. If it had been stationed in the coastal wasteland near Los Angeles, it would contain a veteran AI that had learned from repelling tens or hundreds of intruders.

Moreover, it’s a war machine. A war machine from that war, which made corporate civil wars or corporate conflicts look trivial by comparison—the most horrific thing I could imagine. After a moment’s consideration, I spoke.

“Why is such a dangerous item being handled by Lone Star Rangers rather than Belwether or Fitts & Morrison? No matter how big the company is, they must have fewer experts than a Belwether branch.”

President Yoon wiggled her finger as if I’d made a good point.

“Both Belwether and Fitts & Morrison plan to provide support. The problem is… since the federal government is involved, it would look strange for Belwether or Fitts & Morrison to take direct action. So Lone Star Rangers is lending their name, but in reality, everyone who knows about that drone will be gathering.”

Belwether denied the nation-state. Nation-states lack reason of state. Nation-states cannot operate efficiently enough—this was the company that had expanded self-governance through purchasing. Even cooperating with the federal government would damage their image.

However, since that very federal government created the drone, cooperation would be efficient. So Belwether chose the most efficient method: cooperate without appearing to cooperate.

For such a large-scale operation, my role becomes unclear. At Nightwatch, I was a secret asset not even referred to by name, but not in an operation of this scale.

“That drone follows the identity registration law from that war era. Nobody uses that war-era identity registration anymore, and since everyone emits enough radio waves for the drone to detect, it will naturally classify everyone as invaders and attack. But not you, Arthur. You’re a walking radio silence, yet you can operate much more precisely than a pure human.”

They seemed to need the most efficient offliner available. Indeed, among Type IV posthumans without even serial numbers, I was the most readily available.

I would have a role to play. Working with Belwether after a long time. I finally understood what the big waters President Yoon wanted to show me were. I nodded lightly.

“Has the camera been neutralized?”

“On days with poor visibility like today, that drone doesn’t use cameras at all. It uses sensors in its legs instead. Your task is simply to approach the drone and check its operational status, but the compensation will be five or six times that of a regular request. You’ll see a bigger company, experience a bigger field, and receive a hefty payment.”

And face a war machine from that war era up close, I thought but didn’t say. I just nodded.

My skin was not only radio-absorbent but also shock-absorbent. I could approach without emitting radio waves, sound, or vibration. It was the right choice and would be a good experience. If nothing went wrong, that is.

“I’ll do it. When Belwether and Fitts & Morrison join forces, there’s no problem they can’t solve. Though the nationalists would hate to see it.”

“Excellent. Lone Star Rangers said they’d send a car. They’re not the kind of place that would expect you to find your own way on a day like this.”

So the number one company isn’t arrogant? Well, considering they might be incorporated under Belwether, they probably aren’t that kind of company. President Yoon placed her hand to her ear and informed someone of my acceptance.

After waiting silently for about five minutes, I heard a car braking through the rain, followed by footsteps coming up the office stairs. After the automatic door opened, a man in closed reinforced armor walked in.

It was wasteland camouflage specification. The outer shell was a mix of the beige and brown colors abundant in the wasteland, with some black and gray… and a sheriff’s badge of the same color was attached to it.

They seem to take great pride in the name Lone Star Rangers. The joints, driven by servomotors quiet enough that no operational sound could be heard, moved as he made a gesture of tipping an invisible hat brim.

“Good morning, partner. I’m Michael Glenn, head of the Special Operations Division at Lone Star Rangers… and today I’m your driver. Can you believe this, Suyeon? I’m the bottom rung on this job.”

President Yoon responded with her usual cold, rigid attitude, but Michael didn’t seem to find it strange. He continued nodding with his friendly demeanor.

“Taking Arthur with you means you’ll have a junior colleague. He’s agreed to the work, and the contract?”

I signed the paper contract he produced first, then the president countersigned it. This confirmed my agreement to the loan.

Wearing raincoats, we went down the office stairs together and ran a couple of steps along the rain-drenched sidewalk into Lone Star Rangers’ van. Michael sat in the driver’s seat.

“The rain’s coming down terribly. In the drug-infested streets, several people must have already died.”

Despite wearing a raincoat and running straight into the van, the rain was so heavy that my face and trouser cuffs were completely soaked. The downpour was so intense that the road was barely visible through the van’s windshield.

“You’re talking as if twenty people getting washed away on rainy days isn’t a common occurrence, Michael.”

The car started moving with road guidance displayed on the windshield. The only visible part of the road was the virtual line on the windshield, but most people drove well even in these conditions.

After driving for a while, we entered an underground parking garage. Fortunately, the roads drained well, so there was no risk of submersion. I couldn’t even see Lone Star Rangers’ headquarters building.

I took off my raincoat and entered the Lone Star Rangers building, taking the elevator. The elevator went up for a long time, stopping at the top floor. The elevator doors opened, followed by another soundproof barrier.

A familiar face caught my eye. It was the Shepherd. He was standing inside, wearing reinforced armor. Beside him was someone from Fitts & Morrison wearing a lobster suit with no distinction between neck and head.

And among those reinforced armors was a woman in a neat uniform. Her brown-streaked blonde hair was tied up, with hollow cheeks and hysterical eyes. She must be one of the nationalists.

I felt from that moment that I was involved in something big. What looked like glass doors when open became instantly opaque when closed, sealing off the inside and outside. Michael patted my shoulder and said:

“As I mentioned, this is the best offliner available in this city. Everyone, close your eyes and turn on your radio detection. Then you’ll see how this friend appears to the drone’s eyes.”

An offliner’s performance depends solely on the body’s performance. Belwether’s Type IV posthuman was the best enhanced body available, and I was the only one with no implants added afterward.

My body doesn’t emit radio waves and, true to Belwether’s masterpiece, even absorbs them. To them, I am empty space. The uniformed woman spoke in a sharp voice:

“The AI in that drone isn’t stupid. It won’t see Arthur Murphy even if he approaches the drone, but if he makes contact, it will quickly realize there’s something it can’t see right in front of it. Then we’re just offering a sacrificial lamb to the drone. Let’s be honest. Isn’t this attempt at dismantling really an attempt at reverse engineering?”

I could see a house of cards. That flimsy. Everyone who knew about the drone had gathered, but their objectives seemed to differ. The Shepherd responded:

“If we’re not checking whether it can be dismantled, the only alternative is to snipe it, but could you tell us what would happen if we don’t neutralize it with one shot?”

The uniformed woman sighed. She slammed her fist on the conference table in frustration and turned on the holographic projector. The image of a six-legged drone appeared.

It was painted in wasteland camouflage colors like the division head who brought me, with six all-terrain legs, a humanoid upper body, a head embedded in the shoulders, and two arms with gun barrels instead of hands.

The large-caliber railgun extending from its back over its shoulder was chilling just to look at. That seemed to be the extent of its armament. Visually, at least.

“It will expand its detection range to find us hiding at a safe distance and start firing its standard 25mm armor-piercing explosive rounds. Those rounds alone can penetrate lobster shells with ease. Belwether products might barely avoid penetration, but the subsequent explosion would be enough to kill the personnel inside.”

It couldn’t even be called a gun barrel. No sensible person would call a 25mm caliber weapon a gun. We call that a cannon. She lightly tapped the railgun part of the hologram.

“I won’t explain about sniping. Cover is useless, so we’ll disperse to make it take longer to aim.”

Simply put, I need to get close to such a drone to check if it’s just a tin can or not. This seemed quite different from the job of approaching to check its status and earning money.

“But if we take the risk and send in an offliner… checking its operational status would be simple. We have a master key. If you can get close enough, it’s definitely a simple task.”

She enlarged the hologram to show a small slot on the back of the drone’s neck. It looked like a reader slot for chips or cards. Then, she took out an old card labeled Department of Homeland Security from inside her uniform.

“This card contains the emergency inspection temporary pause code from that war. When inserted, there will be one of three responses: either no reaction because it’s just a momentary malfunction, no reaction because the internal artificial brain is damaged… or it will begin a self-diagnostic. If it starts self-diagnostics, there’s no possibility of dismantling it. Understand?”

The source of her hysteria seemed to be the possibility of pushing an innocent person to their death in front of a war-era drone. Not a bad person for a nationalist.

The man in the lobster reinforced armor, who had been quietly listening, spoke. He was probably the security team leader from Fitts & Morrison.

“If self-diagnostics begin, give a hand signal and lie down immediately. We’ll attempt destruction with Fitts & Morrison railgun snipers. The Shepherd and I will fire simultaneously with two rifles.”

Belwether makes perfect guns. Fitts & Morrison makes powerful guns. If Belwether makes ergonomically designed guns that are easy to shoot and reliably kill people, Fitts & Morrison makes personal weapons that have recoil that could break your wrist and are excessively heavy but can blow off the head of reinforced armor.

Generally excessive, but occasionally not. That railgun sniper rifle was one of those guns that couldn’t overcome the question of “what would you use that firepower for?”

The uniformed woman approached me. She reeked overwhelmingly of cigarettes. She held out the card to me and said:

“I… I find it infuriatingly terrible that someone who experienced that war is assigning such a task to someone younger than that war. Still, you’re the best card we can play, Mr. Arthur. Will you take it?”

Not just not a bad person for a nationalist, but simply a good person. That’s why I gladly accepted the card. That plastic card was the heaviest among all the light objects I had ever held.

I decided to say my reasons were money and honor. I would take this as an opportunity to make myself known to Belwether and Fitts & Morrison. I determined not to get emotional about it.

“If it’s the most efficient method and the solution with the minimum variables, I should gladly do it.”

My answer was clean, but she looked at me the way nationalists typically view young Belwether employees. It was like looking at a child soldier.