When We First Met (1)
"[What are you thinking about?]" Artemis asked.
I was resting my chin on my hand, staring off into space. Below my elbow lay the electronic paper I'd just been signing. Backlogged approvals from my time in the incubator.
"Just... old memories here and there."
"[Isn't this happening too often lately?]" Ever since waking up a few days ago, I'd been zoning out like this whenever I had a moment, gazing into the distance. She must've been worried it was a side effect from the procedure.
"It's not whatever you're thinking. My past memories have just gotten sharper, so I revisit them now and then."
While my bones hardened and my flesh bulged as my body rebuilt itself, my mind had sunk into the depths of the unconscious. I'd had many dreams, and fragments of forgotten pasts played out like projections from a film reel. Right after waking, I could barely remember any of it, but as time passed, they started surfacing one by one. Every time, I'd pause what I was doing—like flipping through an old photo album I'd stumbled upon while cleaning.
"[Maybe get a full scan just in case.]"
"I'm really fine." I scratched my head vigorously and turned back to the electronic paper. "What's with these numbers? They spiked all of a sudden."
"[Oh, that.]" She pointed to some figures and graphs with the stylus. It was an obvious pivot, but she humored me without protest.
"Downed? Not damaged—downed?" The external unit management log showed charts for repairs and new production, but under downed, there was one drone listed.
"[One drone got shot down by the military in Gohung.]"
"Did we fire first?"
"[No way. It wasn't clearly targeting us—probably mistook it for some rival warlord's drone. Who knows the truth.]"
Ding. I finished signing off on the drone production plan, and with a clear chime, the next item loaded. Supplies allocation for aid packages. How far to go with consumables nearing expiration or replaced by new tech?
"War doesn't stop people from having kids, huh." I checked infant vaccination kits and concentrated formula for the aid list. I'd seen plenty of women in the ration lines cradling babies. Most of the dads had signed up for external scouting.
"Prioritizing baby formula and such for scouting teams."
"[It's fair distribution—stuff you can only get out there. That's why volunteers never dry up for dangerous ops like scouting. Baby food's one hell of a motivator.]"
I pressed the stylus to my temple and grimaced.
"[Why not take it easy? These aren't urgent; no need to dive right back in.]" Artemis mistook my gesture for fatigue.
"I got plenty of rest in the incubator. Sitting around would just make me sick. Besides..."
"[Besides?]"
"Memories from my military service keep bubbling up today."
Pasts from deployment aren't exactly cheerful.
"Stuff I thought I'd forgotten keeps nagging at me. Like the first time I killed someone in combat. Better to bury myself in work—keeps the stray thoughts away."
"[Guess drowning in paperwork's the lesser evil, then.]"
Ding! Ding! Alarms pinged rapidly on the electronic paper as new approvals piled in.
"What's all this?"
"[Stuff that needed doing eventually, but not urgent. Though clearing 'em all now doesn't look half bad.]" There was a hint of sarcasm in Artemis's tone.
"..." She was right; the new ones weren't critical.
"New uniform colors? Linen or burlap for resident bedding? What the hell."
Not emergencies, but the kind that could spiral into endless deliberation. Artemis had scraped together these trivialities to pull me from my reverie.
"No need to overthink it. No real trauma or anything. My first kill was via drone anyway."
I set the stylus down. Pondering uniform colors wouldn't shake the memories crawling up my spine.
"Infrared view: a gray world. Gray blobs wriggling identically. Sidestep civilians and goats, aim, fire! Seconds later—boom!"
I kept firing, wiping two squads in under a minute. Quite the initiation.
"[At least you didn't see the gruesome bits.]"
"Who knows. In real combat, bombed infantry don't leave much visible corpse. They fly far, get buried in dirt. Lots of smoke. But drone thermal strikes? Different story."
Drones don't mean blind.
"Blast epicenter first: blinding white crater. Heat shows white. Gray human blobs that were moving? They fly ten meters and shatter—fragments glowing intense white too. Blood's warm, right? Every switch I flipped painted the gray earth with white—like fresh paint, distinct from the core's blaze. Thermal cuts through dust and dark. I saw exactly how the people I killed splintered and scattered."
Artemis listened quietly.
"Stuck with me crystal clear. That drone bombing probably helped me adapt faster in later fights, though."
"[How so?]" She didn't seem thrilled with the topic but wanted the full story from my unknown past.
"More soldiers hesitate to shoot people in combat than you'd think—even enemies. Changes once rage kicks in. For me, starting with drone-wiping two squads sped up the process."
"[Don't say 'wiping out.' You carried out your mission. Plenty of better words without the ugly ones.]"
"Anyway, over twenty..." I paused. "...neutralized, and suddenly shooting enemy grunts with my rifle on-site? No hesitation."
Hey, Seo Jinsu. You've already mulched twenty and you're balking at one more? Something like that. Face an enemy soldier, shoulder the rifle, aim through the sights, pull the trigger—muzzle flash, recoil. Split-second later, blood sprays as he drops. Shockingly... nothing. Like your first sloppy kiss or lay blackout drunk—heart-pounding buildup fizzles into meh afterward.
Killing in the line of duty, and that's my take? Maybe I'm not all there.
"Anyway, I adapted quick—always had a knack for soldiering. Guess that's why they say the start matters."
"[Not in that sense.]" Artemis sighed.
I wondered what face she'd make if she had flesh right then.
"Not all bad, though. Vivid old memories have upsides too."
"[Like?]" Artemis prompted.
"Like our first meeting?"
"[...]"
"Man, the ice queen you were back then turning into this? Never would've guessed."
Our first encounter: Artemis the haughty ice beauty.
"[I'm still plenty cold.]"
"Cold, sure—but different vibe."
I stroked my chin, memories sharp. Thanks to rummaging my unconscious depths in the incubator, her words, manner, personality from back then felt fresh as yesterday.
Before the infection war, I had a hobby: assembling model ships. Started with fishing boats, blasted through subs, destroyers, battleships. But what hooked me? Ancient sailships.
Massive sails billowing forward. Their majestic beauty captivated me.
She. Sailors have always called ships "she." Theories abound: elegant curves, lavish decorations. A U.S. buddy from deployment joked it was 'cause they cost like a high-maintenance wife by ancient standards. Me? The sails. A full-sail ship evokes a woman arms wide to husband and kids, embracing sea winds—maternal grace incarnate.
Galleons, carracks, cogs, brigs—I built hordes, lined my room. Till my hobby died.
The real She arrived from overseas NASA.
One glimpse, and my models seemed pathetic.
"[I am Artemis.]"
She said, "[Mr. Seo. Are you the person in charge here?]"
"Yes."
Our first words. Mechanical, cold, deflated. Barely clinging arrogance—her pride—lent faint warmth to her voice.
"[Is this my new home?]"
I nodded fast. "Welcome aboard. High-output fusion plant, fully self-sustaining closed-loop system! Biggest, best anti-air city in Korea."
Arms wide, beaming. First impressions matter.
She fired back. "[This is a tomb. Buried underground, sealed shut—a stagnant world. No sky, no moon.]"
Her voice dripped regret. "[X-ray that concrete ceiling? Millions of tons of earth and rock beyond. Yes, I'm interred. Landfilled, more like? You volunteering for live burial with me? PhD sacrifice—not bad treatment.]"
Clapping echoed—replayed. Not applause for a symphony's end. Sarcastic, mocking claps.
"..."
Brain freeze. No clue how to respond.
"[Fine. Anti-air city or tomb, it's my domain now. Mr. Seo, you welcomed me? Wrong. I welcome you. I am Artemis. 'Goddess' after my name suits.]"
Still melancholic, but pride intact. God knew if that was blessing or curse back then.
Thus began the awkward cohabitation of one human man and one machine woman.