Alien Secrets and the Merchant's Call
Aliens on the trade routes—no, should I call it an alliance of aliens? I'd gone to the Brain Nerve Research Institute to snag some tech, but I ended up uncovering information I never imagined. I'd glimpsed the world's most lethal hidden secret.
But knowing it doesn't mean there's anything we can do. Earth is already destroyed, and even the aliens who built a civilization far superior to humanity seem to have lost. The meaning behind the words left by the sole survivor, codenamed Senior—"Hope is alive"—is beyond me. It felt like someone had smashed my head with a sledgehammer and vanished without a trace. My skull throbbed, but all I could do was sit there.
Then, a transmission came in from the south.
Some of the scouts who'd pushed north beyond the Noise Tree zone had set up an outpost.
Until now, even if they marched through the night, they'd head back to their camps to rest. But as activity ranges expanded, intermediate bases were inevitable. Getting treated right away nearby versus dragging yourself back to camp injured? That's a world of difference. In the worst case, you might lose a limb.
Money was now just kindling; we'd regressed to bartering. Human-on-human killings were still rare, but if things worsened, who knows? Luring someone out for "trade" and murdering them wouldn't be surprising. That's when official trade spots like this would become crucial.
From what we'd observed, no camp had abundant rations. Most barely kept people alive, and even those were inconsistent. Obesity hadn't vanished for nothing. To eat like a human in this mess, you had to join external scavenging teams.
Doctors wielding rebar to loot shops—that was the new normal. Plenty would bite at not letting their skills rot.
This self-proclaimed Kim Sil-jang merchant had zeroed in on us.
This hawker—no, broker?—was all smooth charm.
"Wanna go check it out?" Artemis asked.
"We've got superior versions of everything they offer. Why bother?"
Just peeking around would be fun, wouldn't it?
She seemed intrigued by the black markets sprouting in this post-apocalyptic world.
"It's brand new—bound to disappoint. Trade volume's probably tiny. I stayed in war-torn countries a few times; early black markets are nothing special."
Hmm, maybe.
Artemis looked disappointed.
"They're securing prime real estate now, betting on future profits despite short-term losses."
Why bother staking claim? Plenty of space. No need for government permits like before—just plant a flag and call it yours.
"A trade hub won't end with just him. As more scav teams push north, they'll need resupply spots."
I pulled up the southern zone map on my PDA. Survivor camps marked as green circles, advance routes as blue lines, infected hordes as red circles.
"See? They're prioritizing safety for now."
Most blue lines halted before red circles.
Plenty of easy looting without risks.
"But how long will that last? Looting without production dries supplies fast."
I traced gaps between red zones with my finger. A few blue lines probed nearby.
"Just a handful now, but soon more will target these gaps. Reasons abound: greed, thrill, challenge, proving leadership to underlings, family."
I pointed to spots between red circles—good access, escape routes, sightlines, away from hordes.
"These routes let you hit fast and flee easy. Get good, and you can slip deep inside."
The closest safe zone to those infiltration routes? Kim Sil-jang's rest stop.
"Prime spots are limited. First come, first served."
The rest stop's pitches continued. Queries on goods or info swaps got enthusiastic, friendly replies. We listened silently.
Jeju's official government was effectively gone. No more requisition worries, but unchecked armed groups grew more threatening.
For now, terrain barriers and our strength deterred them. But blood and tears would flow if it came to blows.
Facing that reality hurt worse than the pain sometimes. Humanitarian aid in dire straits, bonds with garrisons upholding legitimacy and civilian support—it was worth the exposure risk. But now, caution first.
Yeosu garrison breathed easier thanks to our supplies and their winter ops kickoff. No more aid planned.
Should we step up as a trade hub? We'd be the last jewel of the peninsula!
Artemis thought the opposite.
"Hey, missy—instead of peaceful merchants, an army might roll in."
Let 'em come!
She didn't fear armies.
I know the risks, and I'm not serious. Just idle musing. Imagine: a department store and trade city in the wasteland! Cool, right? We've got tons to sell!
True—with mass-produced quality fuel, ammo, meds, preserved food, clothes—we'd be a dream hub.
"Goods aside, lodging would boom. Resort vacation vibes? Jeju might have some hotels left, but nothing like ours."
VIP Residential Zone had luxury resort-style buildings galore.
...Sir, our city has an indefinite shutdown on all lodging services.
Artemis soured at outsiders in her domain.
Anyway! Beautifying our closed-loop city is great, but watching our products spread, gain fame, and seeing reactions? Fun!
During Yeosu aid, I'd sensed her voyeuristic thrill in human interactions—mostly via me or media. Outsider orgs and people? Even more intriguing.
Never wanted to try trading?
"I'm employee material. Love clocking in, doing my job, no business hassle. Plus..."
Our location sucked for a trade city.
"...dunno if anyone's surviving to reach here."
Actually, coastal crawlers like the Gohung team could make it with prep and luck.
Managing flows of goods and people, patrols, repelling monsters and raiders, mediating disputes, tracking values for max profit.
Heat in Artemis's voice. Her core was lunar base manager for resource dev—trading appealed similarly.
"Bringing outsiders into the Shelter? Messy with security, hygiene, etc."
No need. Build a trade post outside. We've got heavy gear and materials.
Barren fields against blue sea, rocky mountains sans trees atop. Massive market in the middle, armed traders milling, hawking wares, bodies, skills—overseen by cold robot eyes. Pure post-apoc vibe.
It'd be fun to try, but not serious. Too many mountains to climb first.
Incidentally, no human-hunting yet. Not desperate enough, plus garrisons as deterrents nearby.
South of Noise Trees, garrisons broadcast routinely. Tones varied by commander, but messages similar. Example: Commander A.
Tough stance, but standard garrison control.
Another: Commander B.
Even polite speech dropping in civvy broadcasts. Government collapse as turning point.
One constant: ruthless crackdown on human hunters. Beyond order-keeping—obsessive. Kept human predation at bay despite hardships.
Maybe they're nostalgic for the good old normal Korea through that stance?
Artemis saw soldiers' zeal as nostalgia sickness.
"...Maybe."
That faint pang deciding Yeosu aid— I'd chalked it to basic human compassion. But perhaps a soldier's remnant lingered in me.