Duty Log 002 - A Fitting Result (4)
"Well, I guess that's the end of the investigation for today. We've even registered you as a Jaiina member, so we've achieved our goal..."
I hadn't wanted to drag Eve into this, but her cold voice still carried a thread of worry.
"Don't try to handle everything from start to finish on your own, Arthur. When a higher-up from Bellwether assigns a personal request and tells you to go somewhere quiet, it's fine to ask for backup."
I mull it over for a moment. Is dragging Eve into danger really the way to go? As head of security, Shepherd One could summon a special task force in full sealed reinforced suits anywhere in Los Angeles within a minute. But one more witness wouldn't make things safer. There's only one way to ensure safety: erase the information entirely. Erasing data is easy, but hiding even the absence of information is harder.
"Put it through as an official emergency task under Bellwether Corp's name. Luckily, I have a company senior nearby, so Stephanet can be the witness from Bellwether's side, and my senior can cover for Yakyeong."
But Shepherd One clicks his tongue in annoyance and leans in with a more casual tone, whispering. He's clearly against making it official.
"It's my day off too, Shepherd Six. I'm just looking into some unsolved cases—don't blow it up into a bigger deal. Your senior... fine, they can tag along. I'm just asking a few questions, so why all the suspicion?"
"I heard something similar right before I became a 'nobody.' 'Don't worry, it's just formalities.' Then bam—three hours later, I was no longer Shepherd Six, and I'd never even worked at Bellwether."
I still believe in Bellwether Corp's values. The way their AI acted just before my dishonorable discharge—that's the Bellwether I trust. But I no longer trust the people there.
Still, one sentence shakes that thought a little. Eve tugs lightly at my jacket hem and whispers from behind me. Her voice remains cold and concise.
"It's true. He's the only Bellwether affiliate around anyway."
A nagging idea creeps in: maybe I'm getting over being betrayed by people by betraying someone else in turn. That's not who I used to be. Probably.
Maybe that's why Shepherd One came to me—he sensed the same. My thoughts finally start flowing rationally. In this hyper-speed era, trust is synonymous with everything. The better you know each other, the harder it is to trust. Once you draw a line on how well you know someone, everyone below it becomes untrustworthy. And yet, we have to reach out. Otherwise, the line just keeps rising, leaving us in a world full of the untrustworthy.
"Alright. Let's go. Sorry for the suspicion."
Shepherd One shakes his head, as if he'd distrust me for trusting too easily.
"No, Shepherd Six. Suspecting before trusting is a good attitude. The real key is willingly trusting after the suspicion passes. Do you have that courage?"
"As much as you have for bringing up my past like it's yours. Is that okay?"
Thinking about it, it's strange. Shepherd One, my direct superior, wasn't at the disciplinary hearing. For a Posthuman IV leak like that, the entire security team and intel processing team should've been there. And as far as I know, he wasn't the type to delegate everything to the branch head and wash his hands of it. His callsign isn't Shepherd for nothing.
"That was my protest against not saying a word about how my subordinate was treated. I was off-duty, so I used 'couldn't contact you' as an excuse and just got the report the next morning."
We head to a café a bit outside the downtown core. On the way out of the campaign hall, he blocks the speakers again and gets mildly chewed out by the Jaiina member for why he keeps doing that. No big deal. Even "outside downtown" in Los Angeles is just a corner of the skyscraper-choked skyline. The entrance is on the first floor, but the room we've booked is on the third.
Shepherd One has the air of a warrior. His short-cropped brown hair looks military, he's wearing the same Posthuman IV as me, and around one eye gleams a military cybernetic implant too bulky to lighten, neatly finished. I don't know what machines fill his neck and spine, and the components on his hands are classified to me. He draws the blackout curtains, launches a few drones to soundproof the small café room from the outside. Probably because calling me Shepherd Six already violates security protocols.
Eve sits by the window. Her focus seems more on me than him—like she's curious how I navigate people and situations I hate.
Three cups of nameless synthetic tea arrive. He takes a sip before finally speaking.
"You dodged the basics well. Your actions were theoretically fine—no evidence, even if you acted like a higher-up from the manpower management team. Do you remember the mercenary agency registration number of those guys trying to ambush a merc in that junkie alley?"
Memorizing an eight-digit code isn't hard for security, especially patrol with all the passwords. The first four letters mean mercenary agency anyway.
"MHRC-11283769. They said an emergency task popped up in their inbox that morning, so they went to hit that merc—and after checking, it sounded plausible."
"Got the number. Plausible story—except assigning emergency tasks isn't the mercenary management division's discretion. That's direct authority from the manpower management team above the contractors. And there was something unusual."
Unusual... yeah. One thing. They were all armed with Bellwether gear. Rifles to helmets—unlike the gullible randos who fell for my words, their equipment was solid.
"All their gear was Bellwether. Thinking back, I wondered how lowlifes like that were kitted out so well... Oh, right. When I went with colleagues to shop for guns for merc work, the arms dealer mentioned the black market was flooded with Bellwether gear."
Shepherd One listens quietly. When he taps the table with his finger, it rings out solidly. Augmented bodies are augmented.
"And where did you meet that merc? It's all classified anyway, so spill. If it's okay with the lady, fine. Otherwise, I can make a soundproof bubble."
I shake my head. It's not something I mind saying that much. The frustration was never being able to tell anyone, and Eve stepped into my personal mess willingly.
"Bellwether slapped a gag order, so I've kept quiet. The place? The lab where this Posthuman IV I'm wearing was cultured. What happened there?"
I say what I know, what I heard, and hear what I don't. I don't want to get tangled in internal politics, but it's not my company anymore, so I keep talking.
"Obvious at a glance. They copied your brain, extracted it from a dying employee, planned to plug it in. Next room was the OR. Connects the dots easy, right? Flood the market with weapons, siphon one Posthuman IV with a dead employee's brain... then use the mercenary division to clean up anyone involved. My theory's set, so yours first. Keep your thoughts flexible."
Someone who thinks weapons and a Posthuman IV can take on security? Laughable. Posthuman IV isn't Bellwether's top weapon because one person can rip through dozens of sealed suits alone. It's just a body. Just the base. But few outside security know that. People fixate on the flashy name, not the specs.
I think it over. The deepest involvement points to manpower management. And the one thing missing from everything siphoned so far? Manpower. That's what they manage.
"The manpower management head raising a private army... sounds absurd."
Shepherd One runs a cybernetic hand over his face and nods.
"If it sounded plausible, I'd have called in the Law Assassination Team and intel processors, rolled up on manpower management with a task force. It sounds absurd, so I'm investigating solo. What idiot thinks starting a civil war in an arms corp is brilliant?"
"Hasn't been caught yet, and if they're as dumb as you say, they believe it. 'I can do it.'"
Shepherd One raises his table-tapping hand into a fist but sighs and sets it down quietly. He knows smashing the café table helps nothing.
"The fact it could be true is horrifying. Anyway, thanks for the cooperation. I needed someone trustworthy with no ties to internal politics. The branch head's an efficiency zealot who'd do anything to maintain it, no matter the underhanded shit. What'd he tell you?"
"From the company's view, avoiding precedent matters more than saving one employee. Oh, do you know a Walter? The copy who cultured me said he wouldn't bow to some Walter."
Shepherd One shakes his head. Names are top secret. Knowing them makes pinpointing too easy. Higher-ups are just ranks and callsigns.
"Probably the manpower management head. Mutual secrecy means I don't know other heads' names, nor they mine. Branch head would, though—evidence would simplify everything."
He drains his tea. The heat barely registers on a Posthuman. He exhales a frustrated breath.
"Quid pro quo. What do you want to know? Plenty, I'm sure."
This is goodwill. I trusted and cooperated, so here's some honey. Take it.
Only one question matters.
"That... biotech monstrosity, the former test subject. Know where it is?"
"Revenge?"
"Call it cleanup. I just want out of that damn mess ASAP. You know?"
Shepherd One shakes his head like he doesn't. Even he's just a cog. An important one meshed with others, but nothing special.
"Lost it. Moves smart. Probably hiding in the wastelands around LA, but exactly? No clue. Know how many died that day?"
"Heard only one from the monster—me, but I survived... so zero on-site."
He tsks bitterly. Maybe patrol dodged the tragedy entirely.
"Evac'd employees to staff quarters, sealed security doors, fought from there. But one door opened—don't know why. Jaiina's corrosive gas bomb leaked in. Emergency seals shouldn't open without my authority... 169 dead. I remember every name."
His body hums faintly—Bellwether war machines powering up, then quieting. Bellwether builds order, security guards it... but Shepherd One's drive seems beyond that.
Silence falls. He continues.
"Nearly sparked a corp war in LA between Bellwether branch and other megacorps. Others—even megacorps—handed over every Jaiina-member employee without alibis that day. Not in press releases or Stephanet-accessible files. Couldn't publicize it."
One thing clicks. Bellwether didn't buy the 'some heretics' line fully. They executed everyone who might be, then believed. Jaiina bled enough. Innocent blood mixed in, sure... but it quenched Bellwether's rage.
Corp war is the worst possibility. Was it fitting? I didn't see it, just heard—so no clue how many real terrorists were culled.
Stopping war means every less horrific method. Good thing a soundproof bubble formed around Eve unnoticed. I sigh slowly. No need to chase Jaiina anymore. Thought I was circling in place, but found an exit. Surrounded by enemies? Nah, graves. Target: that one biotech horror. Kill it, and the past overlaying today a hundred times stops. Unwanted memories end. New path opens.
Which is right? Or... what's right, what's wrong? I know Bellwether's on one side, but the other scale's a mystery. Thought answers would resolve it—leaves bigger unease.
Skies look blue from refraction. LA's gray from city reflections, maybe.
"First time knowing the answer makes it more frustrating. But... lighter now. Today's mess wasn't pointless."
"I probably can't imagine how you feel, Shepherd Six. No one can. But don't deny yourself recognition. Rest up. Good company fit—work hard, skip the revenge. Then... track Jack from that brain prison. Anything else?"
"No, nothing."
My tone's curt, clerical. Tea's cold. Soundproof fades after he leaves.
Eve, who hasn't sipped hers, speaks quietly. Tries for cold, fails—makes it sincere.
"Sorry. I pushed your back. I thought... you could make any story end well. Dreamed we'd chase trivia, snag a tiny clue, go home."
No anger at her. Picking a target for unknown rage is dumb.
"No, really. We got a real clue—not trivial, like you dreamed. And now you see: I'm ordinary. Just try to make it good. Different from first impressions?"
I gulp cold tea. Gut burns less, but no big change.
Eve watches, shakes her head faintly. Maybe smiling.
"No, still exactly the first impression."