Chapter 342: Cleanup (1)

The helicopter lifted with a soft, buoyant rise, and from the flush-mounted speakers Captain Cox's voice spilled out under the roar of the rotors.

There was a blue button on the right armrest, just as he'd said. Not that I had anything to tell him. The helicopter racing south was faster than I'd expected—fast enough to match the pace I'd managed back when I was only just stepping into B-Class, running along a Space Wall.

"At this speed we're pushing four hundred kilometers an hour, aren't we? Pretty quick, for a helicopter."

"It is a high-speed model. Phase-energy panels solved the fuel problem completely, so aside from finicky maintenance and a difficult build, there is nothing to fault in it as a personal craft."

"Huh? You know an awful lot about it. Have you flown in one?"

I swept the cabin for bugs and wiretaps with Spatial Perception, then turned to Franc, who was answering without a single hitch. She smiled, bright and a little shy.

"It was the same type the head of House Aldion kept for his own use."

"Don't tell me you were close with the mechanic, too."

"Pardon? Well... yes, I suppose. Hehe."

"You really did know everybody, didn't you."

"Not to that extent~."

We traded a little idle talk, and before long a base opened ahead of us—roads cut in a clean grid, and beyond them a long runway already cleared and waiting. At the end of it sat a massive airliner in black paint, engines idling. It resembled the hotel-style jet I'd taken a few days ago to hunt the Blade Runner, only larger: three pairs of engines on the main wings instead of two, and two small ones mounted on the tail besides.

The helicopter set down right beside the runway where the airliner waited. Franc and I followed Captain Cox to the mobile stairway parked at the hotel jet.

"This is as far as I go. May you have a comfortable flight to the United States."

Soldier to the bone, Captain Cox snapped off a salute you could have measured with a protractor, then turned and went straight back to the helicopter.

Waiting at the foot of the stairs was a beautiful servicewoman in uniform—expressionless, black hair cut short, a black beret on her head. The moment Captain Cox left, she saluted me with crisp military precision.

"Major Amy Burns, sir! I have been assigned as your escort until we arrive at Andrews Air Force Base!"

I tipped my head once for a salute fierce enough to set that short black bob swaying, and took in the Phase Power rolling off her. Sure enough, a D-ClassPhysical Reinforcement user. Her looks leaned less Western than mixed, East and West. Between the mixed-heritage bonus and the Physical Reinforcement physique bonus, her face sat right about at the level of my lovers'. Combat muscle packed her whole frame; the body looked remarkably solid, the sort of person who had taken training to its absolute limit and actually absorbed it.

A D-Class Physical Reinforcement user ought to have plenty of real work. And they stick someone like this on as a simple guide? The uniform wasn't a standard service dress either—a women's ceremonial dress uniform, the skirted kind, assigned as my escort. Something about it smelled like a scheme. Hard to say whether I was overreacting, or whether America simply wasn't thinking.

Anyway, I climbed aboard and looked around. They'd apparently converted a two-hundred-seat airliner; the cabin was absurdly spacious, and the fittings far more luxurious than the last one I'd ridden. Of course they would be. A plane remodeled to host an ultra-VIP, a two-hundred-passenger airframe customized for a single person—luxury was a given. Still. Just how much money had they slathered onto this one aircraft?

I was taking in a cabin as opulent as any royal penthouse when an announcement drifted down from the ceiling.

Something about the announcement felt bleak. I followed Major Burns's lead and sat with Franc on a white genuine-leather sofa set along one side. The major fastened my seat belt, then spoke quietly into the communicator seated in her ear.

"Ready. You may depart."

A boom mic wired up by the side of her nose, maybe? Standing at a rigid angle beside me instead of sitting felt oddly uncomfortable, so I spoke to Major Burns.

"Don't stand there. Sit down."

"Yes, sir!"

Major Amy Burns, locked at attention a moment ago, click-clacked over and sat in the chair opposite me. Soon I felt that strange sensation of my body lifting clear, and through a window smaller than my face I watched the ground drop away beneath us. The plane climbed for several minutes straight, punched through the clouds, and kept rising a good while after that. A chime announced that the aircraft had settled into stable cruise, and I undid my belt.

"If you require it, I will brief you along with the materials on Muscle Bear and White Thorn Turtle, sir!"

I was looking out at the sea of cloud spread below the window. Major Burns had tensed her gut and barked it with force. I took the file folder she offered, opened it, and said,

"Go ahead."

"Yes, sir! This aircraft is currently bound for Andrews Air Force Base, thirteen kilometers southwest of Washington, D.C. Time to arrival is approximately four hours and thirty-five minutes, and immediately upon arrival you will transfer to the high-speed helicopter X-21-1 standing by on site..."

"Once we're in the States I'll handle getting around myself. Just the parts I actually have to do. Briefly."

From that starched posture I could tell she meant to walk me through the schedule down to one-second intervals, so I waved a hand as I spoke. At that, those large, clear eyes—deep double lids—flooded with fluster, and she started to stumble.

"Ah—ah. Yes, sir! Immediately upon arrival, a C-Class wind-attribute ability user will attach to the Chairman of Grand Blue, after which all combat will be recorded on video! In addition, we will divert the attention of Muscle Bear, whose position is being tracked in real time, and guide it to the prepared combat zone, creating conditions favorable for the Chairman to engage!"

Listening, I looked over the materials they'd prepared on Muscle Bear and White Thorn Turtle. Muscle Bear was listed as a pure Physical Reinforcement type; White Thorn Turtle, a flame-attribute type. Muscle Bear's energy-field durability sat at a level that wouldn't break even under an A-Class wind-attribute user's secret art, and a B-Class Elemental user's Elemental Cluster Bomb couldn't inflict any real damage either. The fur worked as serious armor. Physical defense was such that a B-Class Physical Reinforcement user, pouring in TP and throwing everything they had into a hurled strike, could barely scratch the hide.

Its physical functions, unsurprisingly, were written up as overwhelming a B-Class Physical Reinforcement user. Its primary means of attack, the file said, was reckless assault that trusted in that huge frame and in fur with outstanding resistance to both physical and attribute damage. Forepaw swings, a hard two-legged stomp, a charging body slam—and every one of them simple. Maybe it hadn't been a high-grade subspecies for long. A hundred-meter hulk swinging its forepaws, slamming down on both legs, and charging is a vicious attack, no argument. But all of that is just how a wild bear fights. The swordfin had been the same... Hm. You could say it lacked anything that marked an Aberrant.

For ranged attacks, it uprooted trees and threw them, or tore up great clods of earth, rocks and all, and hurled those. The force sprayed out like a shotgun blast, the report said, and turned the surroundings into a honeycomb. Tremendous power, thanks to its physical ability and its weight class—but the notes also said it wasn't particularly bright. White Thorn Turtle was simpler still. From a distance it fired a bending laser from its mouth and flame rounds from the sharp protrusions of its shell; when something closed in, it shot needle-like projectiles from all four legs, and those needles detonated violently on contact. The report judged its defense superior even to Muscle Bear's.

I confirmed that part, found it absurd, and looked at Major Burns. She'd been strangely restless from the moment I started on the White Thorn Turtle file, and the instant my eyes hit her she flinched and started reading my mood.

"With a file like this, you could drag in an elementary schooler, tell them to write it, and they'd manage. Isn't the White Thorn Turtle material a little thin?"

"I—I apologize, sir! A small amount of data on Muscle Bear could be secured across two raids, but as we have not yet attempted a raid on White Thorn Turtle, we were unable to gather information! I apologize, sir!"

Watching Major Burns bow so deep her beret nearly came off, I didn't even feel like getting angry. She wasn't the one responsible. What was the point of tormenting her?

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"Haa. We start the fight with Muscle Bear, right?"

"Yes, sir! White Thorn Turtle has currently halted its movement in Las Vegas. Command has judged that dealing with Muscle Bear, which is heading toward Washington, D.C., is the more urgent priority!"

I had no intention of putting on some flashy fight, so the moment it started I'd erase the thing in one shot with Mana Cannon mk2. I didn't want the corpse of a subspecies I'd evolved falling into American hands—or anyone else's—and getting studied.

"Understood. If I need anything else, I'll call. Major Burns, go get some rest too."

"No, sir! I am fine!"

Had she only just been commissioned into the military as an ability user? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠She was blaring so loud I was getting tired just listening.

"I'm the one who's not fine, and my ears hurt. Go rest."

"Ah... yes, sir..."

Major Burns, who'd been snapping her answers back so crisply, went gloomy in an instant and headed down to the lower-deck cabin looking drained.

"Let's rest until we arrive, too."

"Yes."

Chasing Major Burns off seemed to have brightened Franc's face. Was I imagining it? I held her hand tight and turned my eyes to the window. At seven kilometers up, the plane began to build speed. About two hours out of Korea, as we were crossing the airspace over the Pacific, Major Burns came up wearing a devastated expression and reported that White Thorn Turtle had begun destroying Las Vegas again.

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Franc, who'd opened her eyes at the sound of Major Burns approaching, went round-eyed at the news that Las Vegas was being destroyed, and asked,

"Had they not said Las Vegas was already wiped out?"

"In Las Vegas, Nevada, four cities are gathered together. They sit packed tight against one another, so people generally lump them all under the name Las Vegas."

Major Burns hesitated, then opened her mouth again.

"What was destroyed before ran through Spring Valley into North Las Vegas and Nellis Air Force Base. At present it is coming down along the main roads toward Paradise, and it is said to be smashing every building in sight..."

"And no other news on Muscle Bear?"

"No, sir! Muscle Bear is still assessed to be resting in Uwharrie National Forest!"

"Got it."

I sent Major Burns back downstairs once the talk was done and shut my eyes. Once we landed I wouldn't get to rest until both of them were down, so I ought to sleep while I could. Then again, forcing yourself through work you don't want to do really does stack the mental fatigue fast. I hadn't even started, and I was this tired.

Whether it was the power of six large engines and two small ones, crossing the Pacific and the United States had taken a little over four hours. At that rate, this was basically a supersonic airliner, wasn't it?

I'd set Franc on my lap and we were nestled together, and from about the time American soil came into view I kept my eyes on the ground. What stood out was the highway running from the heartland out west, cars lined up in a crawl. A column of citizens fleeing west from the center of the country, by the look of it. The sun was only just rising and they were still on the move. Had they been driving all night? Watching that, my chest went a little tight...

No. It didn't. I was simply numb.

Even if it was only retaliation, after they'd hit me first, I was a little afraid of myself. Did I have the makings of a psychopath? I'd thought I had some capacity for empathy, in my own way...

I fed Darky—who'd woken from a nap in my coat pocket—fruit and snacks, tended the Heavenly Cloud Sword, cast a little Wicked Hands across Franc's body, and by the time a bit more of that had passed we arrived over Maryland at seven in the morning, local time. We'd left at four in the afternoon, Korea time, hadn't we. From the sky, Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland showed a plain without a mountain in sight, houses packed tight against one another, and an enormous runway. Take away the runway and it would have passed for a residential district, not a military base.

In the blue dawn, the dark not yet fully gone, the plane touched down, and from a distance four jeeps and a dozen-odd broadcast vans came tearing in.

"...What is that."

I hadn't thought they'd go so far as to call in the press. I stood on the stairway docked to the plane and watched the reporters come on like a pack of dogs, sick to the sight of them; Franc sighed, and behind us Major Burns dithered, utterly at a loss.

Breathing another country's cold morning air, I looked over the four jeeps. In the lead ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one sat a bald man in a U.S. Army uniform and a man in his mid-forties in a black suit. In one of the jeeps behind them, I could see a C-Class wind-attribute ability user. I walked down the stairs and off the plane, and Major Amy Burns, following me down, spoke from behind.

"The gentleman in uniform, seated in the rear of the lead jeep, is Major General Arnold Nagan, the officer in charge of Andrews Air Force Base. The gentleman in the suit beside him appears to be Brigadier General Logan Dalton of the National Defense Security Command."

"National Defense Security Command? That's the outfit that bastard Altron Banner belongs to. The one who had a hand in the plan to kidnap Hwayeon."

I muttered it with my face hardening, and Major Burns flew into a panic, flailing both hands as she shouted.

"Ah, no, sir! That is—yes, but Major General Altron Banner has been relieved of his post and is in custody to be punished under United States military regulations. Brigadier General Logan Dalton is the officer who succeeded him...!"

"Enough. I should've just told them to have the ability user recording the footage standing by, and nothing else. We're leaving. Now."

The day was cold, I had no drive, and seeing the high-and-mighty of a country I didn't want to look at, irritation started to rise. I scowled and muttered as if it were a bother, and Major Amy Burns let her brows droop, unable to step forward, hemming and hawing—and that was when Franc shot me a glance and walked out ahead of me.

Wondering what she meant to do, I watched. She planted herself in front of the people pouring out of the jeeps and broadcast vans that had come to a stop. Franc blocked the bald man coming at the very front—Major What's-his-name Nagan—and, with every eye on her, opened her mouth in a quiet, ringing voice.

"The Chairman says he will be departing at once. Where is the ability user charged with the footage."

At Franc's confident, forceful voice the reporters faltered, then aimed their cameras from a distance and started filming; in front of the lenses they launched into passionate spiels. The whole thing had the crackle of a live broadcast. Major General Nagan stared at Franc for a moment, then glanced at me standing behind her and called a name.

"Captain Romin!"

At Major General Nagan's call, a woman who could not possibly be mistaken for a soldier came walking out with a bright smile—a fluttering, forsythia-yellow sundress, strappy shoes, long wavy brown hair spilling down her back. The palm-sized camera she had floating beside her on the wind looked like broadcast equipment. She seemed a bit airheaded, but I wasn't going to be looking at her for long. It hardly mattered.

"I will introduce only the officer in charge of filming to the Chairman of Grand Blue."

"Please keep it short."

Major General Nagan passed Franc—who'd stepped slightly aside—with his mouth shut tight, came up in front of me, and indicated Captain Romin following behind.

"Captain Ashley Romin, under the National Defense Security Command. She will handle the live relay you requested, along with video recording and interim communications."

"Hello, Chairman~. I'm Ashley Romin~."

A languid voice, the kind that suggested a whole flower meadow where her thoughts ought to be—different from Kang So-ra's. The exact opposite of Major Amy Burns. I gave a slight nod and went straight to the point.

"I'll take Muscle Bear first. Where is that thing."

Faced with a major general who hadn't even introduced himself, I ignored courtesy just as thoroughly and got down to business, and his expression set hard. A rough pass through the general's mind showed no small store of resentment toward me had piled up. I wondered why he'd hold a grudge against someone who'd come to help, and then a reason I had no choice but to grant came to me. Maryland was right next door to New York. He'd have the latest in politics and diplomacy down cold. They'd said the American political world was in a tangle because of me, too.

On the way over I'd seen an article from an online paper, and Major Burns had explained that its ripple was larger than expected. The point of the piece was that I had no intention of helping the United States. In other words, Major General Nagan was a Republican. A twisted smile almost came out, but I didn't want a tiresome scuffle, so I borrowed the look Franc had nearly frozen him with and stared at Major General Nagan. The tip of one eyebrow twitched.

"...It is still in Uwharrie National Forest. Will you require any other support?"

"I took the Blade Flyer without support, too. Anyone else tagging along will only get in the way."

At my cold reply I could see the surrounding soldiers' faces turning uncomfortable. The continued edge seemed to have soured them. Offended or not, what did I care? I wasn't planning to get friendly with any of them. Captain Romin, for her part, was still looking at me with that bright smile, and the camera floating beside her head was blinking a red lamp. Had she been recording for a while already?

"We will keep Muscle Bear's position continuously updated through Captain Romin."

I heard Major General Nagan out, took Franc by the waist and Captain Romin by her slender forearm, and unfolded Space Leaping up into the clouds, four kilometers off the ground.

"Eek!"

The moment we arrived above the clouds I struck a small Space Wall, stood on it, and let go. Captain Romin, who'd been smiling so brightly, kept the smile—and only her eyes went huge. In that state her sundress flipped up and she started to fall; she hastily called the wind, lifted herself, and pressed a hand to her chest with a look of genuine shock.

"Th-that was too muuuch. You scaaared me."

Captain Romin pouted, on the verge of tears, and didn't seem to care in the slightest that her sundress had flipped and her black mesh panties had been on full display. A glimpse of brown pubic hair through the pitch-black mesh lingered, flickering at the edge of my sight, but I pretended not to notice and switched on my Certifier to bring up a map. Uwharrie National Forest was... that way.

Franc set a light hand on my shoulder and smiled. Seeing that, I snatched Captain Romin—still floating in the air—by the waist, hauled her up like luggage, and spoke.

"Don't open your mouth."

"Wha... hyeek?!"

"You'll bite your tongue."

I kicked off the Space Wall at once and launched myself southwest, toward Uwharrie National Forest.

"Kyaaa~!"

Kick off a Space Wall and fly for six seconds, Space Leap six kilometers, kick off again and fly six seconds, then Space Leap. Five minutes of repeating that, and we'd arrived at Uwharrie National Forest in North Carolina. As for Captain Romin, who was supposed to be filming me... her eyes were spinning. Hauled like luggage, she couldn't pull herself together.

If I just let go like this, would she fall and die?

...I shook off the hand on her waist and flung her forward. Captain Romin seemed to realize at once that she was falling; her eyes blew wide as saucers, she flailed, and she called the wind again to lift herself. She came whistling back, looked at me, puffed her cheeks, and protested in a small voice.

"That's too much~! You did that earlier and then you did it again~!"

"How about doing your job."

I looked at Captain Romin with a sour face, and she quietly dodged my eyes, glanced around, then startled and flailed both arms. Franc, seeing that, handed over the handheld camera she'd picked up, and Captain Romin pressed a hand to her chest and let out a sigh of relief.

While Captain Romin adjusted the camera, I soothed Franc's shoulder—she'd gone a little displeased at the captain's whining—and turned to look around. From the sky over the little town called Troy, the forest known as Uwharrie National Forest, and the clear lake and river glimpsed off to the west, made a landscape that looked quite livable. Secluded and quiet, you might say. The thing I'd come here for, though, was nowhere in sight.

"I don't see Muscle Bear. Franc, do you?"

"Not toward the forest."

Franc, eyes narrowed, hands cupped into a telescope, soon seemed to spot it. She pointed one way and called out.

"Ah, it's at the lake over there! I think it's drinking along the shore!"

"The lake? Where's the lake... ah."

She meant that thing to the northwest, the one like a black dot. I studied the direction she was pointing, and sure enough, amid a landscape of solid green and sky blue, something like a black speck was loitering. Ignoring Captain Romin's curious stare from behind us, I gave a light kick and launched myself toward the place called Badin Lake.

The closer we drew to the lake, the more that black dot enlarged, and its shape began to resolve. Get too close and it might sense my Phase Power and run, so I stopped closing the distance, turned to Franc, and asked,

"Well?"

An abrupt question, but Franc answered without hesitation. Her complexion had darkened a little, though.

Conscious of footage that might or might not be going out live—there was no way to know—Franc only moved her lips. I read them, turned my back to the camera, and answered the same way.

A lot of people had died. Franc's face had darkened, perhaps from thinking the same thing, but I decided I wouldn't feel sorry. If I'd been even a little short on power, it would have gone the other way. I'd have lost Hwayeon and become America's puppet—their toy, and their weapon. Hwayeon might have ended up their plaything, too.

Ah. Only now did I understand why the evacuation columns of American citizens hadn't stirred a thing in me.

I was a man who could gladly become a demon, if it was for someone precious to me.