Good Reception (2)
"Reception is good. Nice to chat with you."
Artemis sent over some coffee. Even as I took a sip and set it down, there was no reply from their end. Sometimes when something you've desperately wanted finally arrives, it throws you off. I waited quietly.
"..."
[...]
A faint mechanical radio hum continued.
My enhanced hearing from the body mods picked up side chatter during calls—not just the person talking, but everyone else's local broadcasts too.
"We're well aware of the external situation. Jeonju alone has over ten confirmed infected clusters, and there's nowhere nearby to call for help. You're probably the farthest north any group's pushed."
No immediate reply. Should I steer the early convo?
"Where'd you come from?"
Even in the safer south with lower infected risk, crossing a third of the Korean peninsula in this era—no public transport, no rest stops, dangers everywhere. I could sense their grit.
"Long haul."
"Hey, drop the formal talk. No need for polite speech in emergency comms."
Eugene sounded super awkward, like casual speech was foreign to him.
"Yeah. But no more aid coming. Urgent threats cleared, and with winter, they're self-sufficient now."
Thanks to our help and the cold, most infected in Yeosu got wiped. They'd tightened defenses north of the city, sent big scavenging teams to Suncheon and Gwangyang—situation improving fast.
"Can't disclose."
Silence stretched. Not revealing position wasn't just secrecy—it signaled exclusivity, no intent to take them in. But they weren't expecting a free ride either.
"Can't disclose."
"Can't disclose that either. Just call me Manager."
I cut sharp, but no hostility or curtness in my tone. They picked up on it; talk continued.
"Can't. We don't take outsiders yet."
Brief silence.
Comm crackled with murmurs. Their main expedition motive dashed.
"Later. Right now, we're swamped—can't spare focus."
"Of course."
I paused, loading my voice with resolve and trust.
"Wiping every last infected from this country."
No response over the line.
"For survivors, the infected war's history—like WWII in textbooks. Civilians, government, military—all treat it that way. No blame. Day-to-day survival... guarding your hard-won safe spot, scavenging better food for kids or elderly parents. That's the war people face. But for me, infected war's ongoing. No clue how long, but I'll erase them all."
Securing, developing, deploying infected extermination tech. Shelter had prime conditions—maybe best on the peninsula, world even.
"Sorry, not enough merit. Got any STEM PhD candidates?"
[...]
"Doesn't seem so."
He paused, picking words carefully to avoid rubbing me wrong.
Eugene had a knack for framing their motives positively in talks.
From their view, maybe unfair. Drawn by our goodwill, endured the trek.
"I was military. Officer, precisely. No burning patriotism or zeal."
That's why I ditched for a sweet shelter gig without regrets.
"Still, chose a job staking my life for others'. Means something. Even out of uniform, part of that oath to the nation lingers. Thin link, but there."
Throat dry, I gulped coffee. They stayed quiet.
"Helped Yeosu 'cause it was dire—no aid, tons dead, maybe whole area lost."
Now garrison and civs cleaned up, building base—but when we stepped in, they were on death's door.
"Troops on op can't halt for a few citizens. But thousands, tens of thousands in peril? That's a new objective."
"Help in ways we can."
I gathered thoughts.
"Weather forecast?"
Out-of-left-field; he flustered.
"Yeah, real forecast—not Jeju's garbage."
Jeju's hit rate under 30%.
"Daily channel at fixed time: survival tips, infected cluster moves, variant habits, weaknesses. We're closest to 'em, run a lab."
Civs knew shockingly little about infected. Government, cut off safe on Jeju, info stagnant.
"Even non-vital stuff: personal stories, events at big camps. Humans feel secure in social networks."
"Got a super cute announcer. She'd blow up debuting here."
Eugene took it seriously, not as a joke.
"Step by step, low-cost stuff first—restore pre-war Korea. That's our plan."
I clapped. Clap!
"Anyway, pushing north more? Just danger, no gains. Head back."
"Will do. Over and out."
Click.
"Haa."
Sank deep into the chair back.
"Knew you wouldn't take 'em?"
"No reason to trust or need 'em."
Drained the last of my coffee.
"Not like the offshore prison—take 'em now or thousands starve. Over a hundred infected clusters between us. Pickup needs helos, no guarantee no more like them. Send one every time?"
Central control screen showed a small lodge. Artemis dispatched recon drones when they first broadcast. This was arrival footage.
They holed up in a mountain foothill lodge. Outside: two trucks, one van, bikes. Two guys prone in good overwatch, poncho camo—solid scout team.
"This Eugene guy's got leadership. Idealistic streak. How'd that play in our city? Labor gain vs. risks too high."
In apocalypse, labor's common but often worthless—no value add easy.
"Liked the 'potential risk' angle."
"Huh?"
Screen played a vid: handsome guy (presumed Eugene, face unknown) speeching in Shelter, his voice dubbed.
Hundreds cheered. They wore Shelter-processed natural cotton. Faces: discontent, excitement, fervor. Eugene's: satisfaction. Vid paused.
"Worried 'bout this scenario?"
"Plausible enough."
"Possible start, impossible success."
Vid resumed: robots and human security quashed quick. Ringleaders exiled.
"Covert factions organizing, hitting critical mass, exploding. Fascinating research."
"Psych study? Didn't know you cared."
"Not psychology—human behavior."
Artemis laughed—that pleased, scheming chuckle when inventing or moon-talking.
"I'm alpha and omega of Moon Base—Artemis Project. Central control AI building, protecting civ in harshest environs."
Long with her, I'd half-forgotten that intro.
"Building, controlling human society—my nature. Prisoner stuff's your task, but ties to my research."
She ran social experiments indeed.
"Once resolved, we'll open Shelter gates. Expand civ to outside world—maybe Moon."
Screen: concept pics. Massive city encircling our rocky hill, hundreds of thousands. Majestic silver-white Moon base. Her input since birth, refined endlessly—like the old man whittling sticks. Moon-whittling goddess?
"Need crowd-handling experience, incidents, for that?"
"Exactly. City's biased talent pool—limited data."
She was game for Shelter unrest for human behavior study.
Mid-chat, surveillance pinged movement. Artemis warned as I hit transmit.
"Raven Rock."
Attention-grabber.
"Raven Rock. Emergency."
"Evac now."
Gunfire crackled before he finished.
Gruff male voice.
"Infected?"
"Yep. More coming."
Eyeing their position on screen.
"Our surveillance had you tagged."
Someone else. Eugene hissing shut up.
"Call it protection."
"Northeast of you: two infected packs moving. One toward you."
Screen: Walker horde cresting low hill. Vehicles and lodge nearby.
Faint scolding.
"Nah, headed that way already. Bad luck."
Scolding stopped.
"Ammo count?"
"All to heads, still short. Don't wanna die? Roll out."
Seconds later, youths poured from lodge on screen. Mounted trucks, bikes. Drone descended. Two guys reflex-aimed at underside weapon—scavenged old K2s.
One guy, amazed.
"Don't shoot. Mine."
Drone voice hit; shocked faces.
Eugene, shotgun ready.
"Yeah. Area crawling. Brute-force same route? Worse trouble."
"This time? Your escape path has a Lugnut nearby—huge muscle lump."
"Quick on uptake."
All aboard while we talked.
"Hit a Lugnut? Vehicle flips. I'll guide safe path from above—follow."
Vehicles peeled out before I finished—most heard my drone voice. Some grumbled trust, but monster howls shut 'em up.
Drone climbed high.
Hundreds-plus Walkers ahead, some variants—not too threatening. Dusk fell; vehicles fled monsters. They followed my drone lead.
3D map: green dot their convoy. Red dots infected packs encircling—like severe chickenpox rash. One last: blue dot cresting distant hill.