The Trojan Horse of the South

The construction of the rehabilitation center passed through the legislatures of each state almost exactly as originally proposed, with only minor adjustments. It was a massive, colossal project supported by no fewer than 11 Southern states.

Since it was a joint venture pushed forward by both the federal government and those 11 states, there was no criticism regarding wasteful spending. After all, even the most expensive item feels incredibly cheap when you pay for it in 12 monthly installments. In this case, it wasn't even an installment plan—it was more like paying only one-twelfth of the cost, so they couldn't help but feel they were solving a massive headache for a bargain price.

Furthermore, Southern politicians were too busy to worry about trivial matters like the rehabilitation center they had already decided to build. A bombshell declaration that there was a traitor among them who wished for the South's ruin had devoured every other topic of conversation.

"Sett is right! Logically speaking, these recent escapes make no sense!"

"We've doubled the militia patrols, yet the escapes don't stop? This is impossible without an internal collaborator!"

Of course, not everyone agreed with my assertion. Fierce arguments erupted in the salons and clubs across the South, as well as in the Jackson capitol building. The spark of an "internal spy" I had thrown during the hearing had instantly become a massive wildfire, swallowing the entire South.

"But aren't you being too hasty? A traitor... ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠are you saying there is someone among us who sympathizes with a lunatic like John Brown?"

"Hasty? Can't you hear the planters' blood running dry? This is a clear attack! Isn't Sett's analysis the most rational one?"

The pro-Sett faction and the moderates clashed intensely. And as if to prove the necessity of the debate, the promised experiment began.

Near the Mississippi state border, a soldier guarding a night patrol route muttered in a voice full of irritation.

"Tsk, so you're saying that in addition to the routes we're guarding, the darkies are now standing guard ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠themselves?"

"What can we do? It was decided by the state legislature. They say there's a traitor leaking our information, don't they? We have to follow the established policy."

The Mississippi militia members couldn't help but lament their fate, having been reduced to doing the same work as the slaves. Naturally, blatant, contemptuous grumbling poured out.

"What good does it do to mix in the darkies? They'll just be a drag."

"Still, wouldn't Major Sett's slaves be different? I heard they actually shot some guns at the capitol building the other day."

"Ha. That was just luck."

"Still, they're so black they probably can't even be seen at night, right? Considering that, they might actually be unexpectedly useful at night."

"Ah, true. I can't deny that."

Amidst distrust and contempt, Mississippi's unique dual-patrol system was activated. And exactly two weeks passed. The results were stark.

Faced with the grim results adorning the front pages of the newspapers, the voices of the moderates instantly began to lose their strength.

"...This is impossible. Only Mississippi... has zero?"

"Sett's warning was right. There was a traitor among us! Which damn bastard is playing the role of the Trojan Horse sent by the North!"

"I'm going crazy. Then how on earth are we supposed to monitor the slaves?"

No matter how much they want to deny it, numbers do not lie. Anyone who isn't a fool would know what it means that Mississippi, where I independently designed the security policy instead of the militia, had zero slave escapes.

Mississippi's success paradoxically proved the failure and incompetence of the other states, as well as the clear possibility of an "enemy within." The entire South began to boil. Suspicion and fear turned into paranoid rage.

"We must root out the traitor! Form a special committee immediately!"

"We must investigate every official and soldier! Anyone who sympathizes with John Brown must be hanged!"

I understand the sentiment, but go ahead and investigate all you want. Will you even be able to narrow down the suspects? Since I've already turned the arrows of suspicion in the wrong direction, no matter how hard they try, they will never find the right path. And the more they dig into that intangible threat, the more they will inevitably be consumed by fear.

The arrows, mixed with rage and fear, naturally converged on a single solution.

"In the end, Sett was right about everything!"

"Yes! That rehabilitation center or whatever it is, we have to build it quickly!"

"Fight fire with fire! Fight darkies with darkies! It's only right to leave the security and education of the rehabilitation center to Sett!"

They can't trust anyone else. Only I, James Sett, am the hope that can quell this turmoil, and my method is the only answer.

Of course, even as this was happening, John Brown's "Arrow of Freedom" was playing a major role beyond the Mississippi state border. Following the maps and information I provided, they continued to liberate slaves under the cover of night. Virginia, Georgia, Alabama. The reports of escapes were endless.

As John Brown continued his activities, unlike the Mississippi planters who had let their guard down, the patience of the planters in other Southern states began to hit rock bottom.

"How much longer do you expect us to wait! Start the construction of the rehabilitation center immediately!"

"If another slave escapes from my farm, I'll burn down the state legislature!"

"If the budget is insufficient, I'll pay out of my own pocket! Please, just build it quickly!"

The state legislators were plagued by daily protests and pressure.

"No, everyone. You all know how things work, why are you doing this? These things have procedures, you know?"

"If our farms suffer because of those procedures, will you compensate us? Huh? Will you?"

"Since when did you care so much about procedures! Just build it!"

In the end, unable to withstand the pressure from everyone, the 11 Southern states began to break ground for the "Sett Rehabilitation Center" with incredible speed, as if they had made a pact. All Southerners, keep gathering your strength for me like this! The sight of the *Genki Dama*—the spirit bomb that would end the war quickly—growing in size in real-time was truly a spectacle.

* * *

Usually, the construction of such large-scale, budget-intensive facilities takes years, starting with land acquisition and going through all sorts of public procedures. Isn't that the case even for the transcontinental railroad that everyone is singing about right now?

But the South was currently in a state of emergency. The fear that the specter of John Brown was planting "Trojan Horses" all over the South was devouring all rational procedures.

"Land? There are plenty of undeveloped state-owned plains ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠near the Mississippi River! Let's build it right there!"

"Project evaluation? The slaves are escaping and the farm economy is about to collapse, is this the time to worry about that! Are you joking?"

"Bidding notice? Just leave it to whoever can build it the fastest! If Major Sett has a company to recommend... ah, you happen to know some companies? Then that's even better!"

Every process was either quickly skipped or handled at near-light speed. As the federal government and 11 states went mad under the cause of national security, no one dared to even think about putting on the brakes.

The location for the rehabilitation center was naturally decided to be the vast, endless plains along the Mississippi River. The official reason was "ease of isolation and management," but the real reason was different.

"Cotton farming requires skill, so it's unsuitable to take those guys and teach them while doing it. But things like corn or potatoes will grow on their own if you just throw them in. Produce while educating. That is the Sett management philosophy."

The financiers who paid for this operation—which I spelled as 'rehabilitation' but read as 'forced labor'—couldn't be happier. They must have been worried about how to provide food to feed those hundreds and thousands of mouths during the education period, but hadn't that been solved all at once?

Of course, a significant portion of the food produced here was scheduled to be siphoned off so that the members of our farm could eat... no, no, it was scheduled to be looted by the wicked Northern soldiers when the war began.

"At this pace, the basic facilities should be finished within a few months."

"Yes. It will take until next year to fully fortify it, but I think it will take only a few months to create an environment where people can at least live and farm."

To think such a large-scale construction project could end so quickly—money and manpower truly know the answer. I looked around the construction site, which was quickly revealing its outline as if a massive city were being built, and returned to the mansion with satisfaction.

And in the study, a guest who had been staying at the mansion since yesterday was waiting for me. John Brown. His burning gaze was still a bit burdensome, but I was quite used to it now.

"Why are you standing and waiting? Please, sit down. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"No, that's fine. Let's get straight to the point."

He pulled a crumpled list from his pocket. It contained the names of those he had saved based on the information I had passed to him.

"Thanks to you, nearly a hundred people have found their freedom again. I don't know how to repay this debt. To be honest, I am truly grateful."

What is this, why are you being so cringey. I chuckled and waved my hand.

"It's nothing. I'll be saving far more people in the future, so if I receive thanks for something like this already, I'll get too tired later."

John Brown smiled faintly as if he couldn't help it, then soon hardened his expression.

"Let's check the plan again. Do I only need to operate until this rehabilitation center is completed?"

"That's right. You just need to shake up the South as much as possible until then. The more you run wild, Mr. Brown, the faster and more solidly that facility will be built."

Frankly, every time John Brown saves a slave, the completion date of the rehabilitation center might be moved up by a day.

"After that, I will take charge of 're-educating' those gathered inside. On the premise of liberation, of course."

"And by spreading the results of that re-education throughout the South, you will hasten the downfall of the Dixies?"

"You're itching to see it quickly, aren't you?"

When the war breaks out, the thousands of rages trapped inside will spread throughout the South, becoming excellent kindling. No matter how well the Terrans set up their space defense, there's no way to handle it if the Command Center inside the main base keeps pumping out hundreds or thousands of Infested Terrans.

John Brown was about to nod happily, but then he fell into thought for a moment and asked in a voice mixed with slight concern.

"I think your policy is correct. But it is true that I am worried, not that I disagree. Let's assume that when you truly liberate the slaves in that rehabilitation center, they cause trouble in the South. Wouldn't that eventually circle back and become a political burden for you? You must have thought about that, right?"

"Oh, are you worried about a vicious Southern planter? You've changed a bit too, Mr. Brown."

"Don't joke. Even if I didn't fully agree with your policy, I think you are a person hundreds of times more decent than the vermin here. I don't want to see those vermin picking unnecessary fights and cursing you later."

I guess it's true that even if people have different beliefs, if they bump into each other often, they develop a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sense of affection. I chuckled and asked back.

"Why would I liberate them?"

"...What?"

John Brown's eyes widened.

"Think about it. The war has broken out. In the middle of the South, there is a massive concentration camp holding thousands of vengeful black people who escaped to the North and were caught again. Will the Northern army just leave that alone?"

I tapped the map on the table, the location where the rehabilitation center would be built, with my finger.

"I don't even need to open the door to the rehabilitation center myself."

"Hoo... I see. You were planning to let in uninvited guests?"

Why would I? The North should be the one to open the door to the rehabilitation center. I'm a victim too, after all.