Ch.32006 Work Record – Loyalty Beyond Death (2)

“Don’t look at me with that expression. When a graduate of Belwether’s security team training college talks about efficiency, it means everything—success rate, my survival rate, and so on.”

Her smile seemed to be of little use. She put another cigarette in her mouth, lit it, and shook her head. Only a third of what I said seemed to have gotten through.

“The U.S. government calls that attitude technocratic authoritarianism. Just like Belwether calls democracy nanny statism. Do you have any family?”

“The company I work for is everything. Not like the nationalists worry about companies being more important than family… just literally.”

She looked like she wanted to shout at the Shepherd to go see a Belwether-built city for himself, but she ultimately held her tongue. She briefly bowed her head, then turned away and exhaled cigarette smoke.

“That was unnecessary. I apologize. Let’s proceed. If we leave it alone until it reaches the city, it will become truly dangerous.”

It wasn’t rude to talk about parents to returned children. Whether they were returned due to a simple change of heart or for some other reason, it didn’t matter. Without memories, there’s no trauma.

She went back to the hologram screen and displayed a map of the wasteland. The wasteland was just that—a wasteland. There was truly nothing there. Just black burn marks and dust.

“We’ll split into three vehicles. Belwether will take the lead vehicle, and Fitts & Morrison will take the rear. Mr. Arthur, you’ll be escorted in the middle with our Homeland Security vehicle. After we spread out, the security team leaders from each company will take the railgun rifles and find sniper positions. After that… it’s simple. Terrible, but simple. You just walk up and insert the card.”

It’s like Russian roulette. Put a gun to your head, spin the cylinder, and pull the trigger. If you don’t die, you’ve succeeded. Simple. But when you actually have to do it, it’s horrifying.

There was hardly any need for a briefing. I quietly observed them talking in the heavy air. The air smelled of cigarettes. Less offensive than the smog outside.

The Shepherd was giving detailed instructions to the assault team, but Fitts & Morrison’s Blue Lobsters would overwhelm with firepower if the drone moved. The engagement protocol was unrestricted weapons use. That’s what they said.

Both had trust. Trust that Belwether’s security team would follow the operation plan precisely and handle variables with improvisation… and trust in the individual abilities of the Lobsters.

I no longer saw Fitts & Morrison as the headstrong brutes I did when I was at Belwether. Trust just takes different forms. I resisted the urge to make a note of this.

After a brief meeting, the two security teams headed down to Lone Star Rangers’ underground parking garage. There were proper armored vehicles, not just bulletproof vans. All Belwether products.

They offered much better protection than bulletproof vans, but they would be of little use for this job. That drone could tear these armored vehicles apart like fortune cookies.

Most people inside the armored vehicles weren’t wearing enhancement suits, except for four individuals sitting at the four corners who wore closed enhancement suits much smaller in volume than those of Belwether or Fitts & Morrison.

Even their faces visible inside the visors looked almost pure human. They say nationalists don’t view modifications as positively. They must have hidden theirs.

One agent in a closed enhancement suit placed a hand on his visor and began reporting. I had been given a new codename.

“Casper has boarded. We’ll follow once the lead vehicle departs.”

Ah, right. The little ghost invisible to the drone’s eyes. I didn’t laugh out loud, but my mood lightened a bit as I felt the armored vehicle start moving. Only silence followed.

The woman across from me wasn’t smoking in the vehicle, but she was chewing tobacco. That level of use is addiction. I couldn’t think of any other means of stability in this situation besides depending on something addictive.

I asked a question to calm my nerves. I didn’t want my heartbeat to speed up and trigger the drone’s acoustic sensors.

“Did that drone have a callsign or codename? Communication would be impossible, but… it seems better to have a name to call it by than just ‘that war-era weapon abandoned in the desert.'”

One of the agents in an enhancement suit looked at me and spoke. He seemed to understand I was trying to ease the tension and didn’t dismiss it as idle chatter.

“It was usually called Chance. Its programmed order was to eliminate intruders. It was rigid with just that one command, but veterans who served with it generally recalled it as the best comrade. This information was set aside as unimportant, but you seem curious?”

I nodded slightly. To increase my chances of survival after the self-check began, I needed to know what kind of AI was controlling the drone. The command was singular: eliminate intruders.

“Chance is a drone that received the Medal of Honor. When the mainland was breached and civilians needed to be evacuated to the eastern regions, it stayed behind alone and repeatedly thwarted enemy attempts to conquer Los Angeles.”

People tended to be vague when talking about that war. Not any specific country, organization, or soldiers—just “the enemy.” Allies were allies, and that war was just that war.

Everyone seemed to want to forget that war as quickly as possible. Fortunately, it was now almost forgotten. And it was in these times of fading memory that Chance had awakened, causing this situation.

“But after the war, when Belwether offered to buy all of Los Angeles and negotiations dragged on, cleanup work stalled, and it was just left there. Belwether concluded there was no possibility of operation, but look now. It’s moving even when it rains, isn’t it?”

To me, this was the strange part. That Belwether had tolerated a variable. Belwether much preferred to thoroughly eliminate variables before proceeding. I couldn’t understand why they had accepted this risk.

Soon we arrived at the mission point and opened the armored vehicle’s doors. The rain was still pouring down, so Chance’s position wasn’t visible. I took off my shoes to avoid making noise when stepping on the ground and jumped out of the armored vehicle.

The rain was pouring, and the wind was so strong that anyone less than a Posthuman Type IV would have difficulty standing. It wasn’t particularly heavy rain—just the usual amount.

Personnel in enhancement suits followed me out of the vehicle and began to spread out widely. The Shepherd and Blue Lobster took positions with railgun sniper rifles. The operation was proceeding smoothly.

A nationalist agent in an enhancement suit who had disembarked with me gave me a light salute and pointed ahead, obscured by the rain.

“Go straight in that direction! With Posthuman Type IV hearing, you should be able to detect Chance’s drive sound!”

I returned a Belwether-style salute and walked into the wasteland. Despite the downpour, the parched wasteland soil couldn’t absorb the water and only channeled it away over the hard dust.

No matter how much rain falls, the wasteland doesn’t improve. Most things created by that war were like that. Things you can’t forget no matter how hard you try, can’t erase no matter how much you want to.

Communication was impossible. I couldn’t receive encouragement from anyone, could only move forward. Yet they would all be watching. They would be observing the movement of the empty space that couldn’t be detected by radio waves.

After walking for a while, I began to hear a rattling sound. Like a trembling leg. It must be one of Chance’s six legs. Looking in that direction, I could see a small silhouette through the pouring rain.

No, definitely not a small silhouette. With each step I took, making no splashing sound, the silhouette grew larger, until finally it became the drone I had seen in the hologram.

Around it were traces of Chance’s movement. Small holes made by its feet as it walked. But not many. Judging by the pit visible a bit further away, it seemed to have emerged from there.

I approached Chance, who had its legs folded like a dead spider, making no operational sounds. I inserted the plastic card I had received into the nape of its tucked, hunched neck.

But then, a fourth possibility I hadn’t heard about occurred. Chance immediately began speaking. It only outputted voice without moving its body. This wasn’t in the calculations.

“Self-check unnecessary. I am operating normally. Combat ready. Detection. Civilian identification impossible. Camera malfunction. Vibration detection. Vibration detection impossible. Has no one inserted the card? Probability minimal. This emergency inspection master key requires human hand insertion. Judgment. Presence of concealed individual inferred. Forced operation code deleted.”

A Chance in self-check mode would at least not be combat-ready and could be safely handled, but not now. Chance was combat-ready. I couldn’t use hand signals.

I needed to buy time. Would Chance’s AI have that level of intelligence? Judging by its ability to make inferences, it seemed to be a model capable of conversation. Its statement “I am operating normally” also indicated conversational capability.

Chance emitted an emotionless voice. Eerily emotionless. A voice that seemed to smell of the radioactive dust from that war.

“Please come to the front of this unit and identify yourself. If you do not identify yourself, you will be judged as a Combined Forces operative and engaged. This is the only and final warning.”

I had no choice but to follow Chance’s instructions. It still couldn’t see me. I moved only to a diagonal position in front of it and spoke.

“Good morning, Chance. The weather’s shit, but the day isn’t so bad. Don’t you think? What’s your operational purpose?”

“Human voice detected. Location undetectable. Confirmed that no Combined Forces weapon with this level of concealment capability exists in this unit’s database. You are not affiliated with the Combined Forces. This unit’s purpose is to destroy Combined Forces troops attempting to infiltrate Los Angeles. Please identify yourself.”

Was Chance really dangerous? Chance didn’t immediately attack me despite not knowing my identity and my being concealed. It wasn’t thinking about what to kill besides certain exceptions, but rather what it didn’t need to kill.

I didn’t know what the Combined Forces were either. I just decided to think of them as the enemy from that war. Right now, there was something more important than what the Combined Forces were—how to temporarily neutralize Chance. I sighed.

Chance’s purpose was to stop enemies entering Los Angeles. Having judged that I might be an enemy, it would be armed. It would certainly consider the two people with railgun sniper rifles as enemies.

I walked again to the opposite diagonal side of Chance. Chance aimed at where the voice had come from, but I was no longer there.

“I’m Arthur Murphy, general employee of Nightwatch, a mercenary staffing company. That probably doesn’t make sense to you. When was your mission end time, Chance?”

“The company classification ‘mercenary staffing company’ does not exist. The mission end time is until the war ends. Please state the current time, surrenderer.”

Strangely, while calling me a surrenderer, it still answered politely. Apart from that, Chance had sufficient ability to think. If it could think, it could be persuaded. I took a deep breath and spoke.

“The second Friday of November, 2097. Do you need more details?”

“That is not true. Because… I have not ceased operations. All drones are programmed to shut down upon war termination.”

So Chance’s operation meant the war hadn’t ended. I began to understand why Chance was guarding the area and calling me by names like Combined Forces. I took another deep breath.

I needed to convince Chance that it was now 2097. How do you persuade a machine? Cries of “Believe me!” wouldn’t work. I needed to dig into logic. I had an idea.

“What’s the average annual rainfall in Los Angeles, Chance?”

“About 12 inches annually. This is unnecessary…”

“No, it’s not unnecessary. How much rain do you think is falling right now?”

Chance paused briefly, motionless. The silence wasn’t long.

“I can infer it’s at least over 12 inches. A downpour of this magnitude has never been recorded. This is strange. The government database entry on Los Angeles weather has disappeared. Judgment. This unit has been moved to a location other than Los Angeles. Receiving coordinate information. Negative. This unit is in the Greater Los Angeles area.”

“What does that mean?”

The nationalists must be surprised by the amount of information the abandoned drone in the corner of Los Angeles had started accessing. With the thought of giving them a hard time, I continued.

“That… suggests the possibility that enough time has passed for Los Angeles’s general climate information to no longer apply. I ask again. Please state the current date.”

Chance’s voice had become much more respectful. It seemed as if the emotionless AI was, in its own way, pleased at the possibility that the war might have ended. I answered leisurely.

“The second Friday of November, 2097, I told you. Any remaining doubts?”

“The fact that a forced operation code was issued to me. Forced operation codes can only be sent from military transmitters. Only from military bases within Los Angeles city. Re-confirming. Cannot find location information for said military base. Weapon systems deactivated. I will judge this as operative activity.”

Of course it couldn’t find the military base. Belwether would have bulldozed everything after buying the operating rights to Los Angeles. If I gave the hand signal now, they would destroy Chance from behind.

But with the weapon systems deactivated, there was more time. As long as Chance didn’t announce rearming, there would be time indefinitely. I asked slowly.

“Chance, what’s your operational purpose?”

“This unit’s operational purpose is to destroy Combined Forces troops attempting to infiltrate Los Angeles.”

“Why?”

Since it was an AI capable of thinking enough to be asked why, I gladly asked. Chance paused briefly again.

“Because civilians cannot resist the weapons of Combined Forces troops at an effective level. The armaments of Combined Forces troops can easily destroy human bodies. Therefore… my destruction of Combined Forces troops heading toward Los Angeles is for the protection of civilians. Please identify yourself.”

“Arthur Murphy, general employee of Nightwatch mercenary staffing company. Now, let’s continue with the hypothesis. What would happen if, after a long post-war period, with major changes in Los Angeles and the identity verification systems from the war no longer in use, you returned to Los Angeles? Give me the worst-case scenario.”

Chance was silent again. After a long silence, it began to output its voice. It wouldn’t be able to feel horror. Chance has no emotion module. That’s what I had to tell myself.

“I might judge that Los Angeles has been occupied by unregistered Combined Forces civilians and destroy them. Considering this unit’s armament situation, approximately…”

“No, no. Don’t tell me how many would die. We already know that’s why we came. Based on our conversation so far, what do you think is my purpose in having this dialogue?”

This time Chance didn’t pause. I could somewhat infer how advanced its artificial brain was.

“To protect the civilians of Los Angeles. Judgment. We are operating with the same purpose.”