Cults Must Be Weeded Out

People in purple robes had Gong Ryun completely surrounded.

"You have such a wonderfully kind face."

"Ah. Yes."

"Do you currently belong to any faith?"

"I have no religion."

"Ah! The Martial faith, then!"

"No, what I meant was—"

"Truly excellent! As it happens, I've been observing you with my insight technique, prospective believer, and I can see that you carry a burden. Could it be—could it possibly be that your total inner energy is insufficient?"

"…"

"We happen to have just the solution. What do you say? Will you place your trust in our order and seek the light?"

"…"

Gong Ryun was being tormented by cultists.

Ordinarily, the best way to deal with strange people was simply to leave. Right now, however, he couldn't. These strange people were today's clients.

The story rewound a few days.

"Hell if I understand any of this."

In a café somewhere, Gong Ryun clutched his skull ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as though it might come apart. He was studying for a vehicle operator's license. On the table in front of him sat an americano—the price of his seat—and a tablet, a cheap basic model he had finally bought on sale after Un-rang swore that owning one would change his quality of life. The tablet's hologram display showed an open certification textbook.

Once he realized that manual driving was an extremely rare skill, he had decided that, as long as he was in this deep, he might as well get the license. According to Brigit, qualified vehicle specialists were in surprisingly solid demand. When exploring remote regions no human foot had ever mapped, the local data simply didn't exist, and driving AIs were liable to glitch—so a manual driver would be brought in. Survival programs regularly featured vehicle experts who hand-drove jeeps alongside local guides and ecological specialists. And every so often, when the dirty work was the kind that left no AI flight log, a manual driver was useful for that, too.

The catch was that almost nobody bothered to take the manual license. Unless you were aiming to become a vehicle specialist, you spent that time learning lightfoot arts instead. Outside of special cases like exploration, ordinary life almost never required hand-driving. That shortage of qualified people meant the pay ran high, and under the right conditions you could quietly rake in serious money. Gong Ryun had figured that one more certification couldn't hurt. He already knew how to drive perfectly, so the exam should have been easy.

That optimism shattered on the first page of the textbook, which opened with physics formulas.

"Why do I need to know how an engine works just to drive a car??"

It only got worse from there: the physics of drivetrains, the electrical engineering of automotive batteries, how speed and acceleration and gravitational force altered tire friction, calculating impulse on a hard stop—an entire festival of knowledge he could not begin to grasp. The part about actually using the steering wheel and pedals was buried at the very end of the book.

He tried, for a long time, to force the science into his head. He failed with spectacular thoroughness.

"The license… is a wash…"

Gong Ryun slumped back in his chair. His skull felt ready to burst from the overload. The expression on his face said it all—he had burned every last mental reserve down to ash. He had carved out free time by taking a rare break from work, and it had all gone to waste.

He had scrubbed every driving-related thought from his mind—when Brigit contacted him.

The message was simple: through a chain of acquaintances, she had stumbled onto people who needed a manual driver, and the job was a perfect fit for him. Gong Ryun took it without a second thought. He went to meet the clients.

The rendezvous was near the city's western gate, at a punishingly early hour of the morning. The job was a survey of Morlaren Canyon.

Oh. So I'm finally doing one of these. It was the kind of thing all the rage among people his age lately. They probably needed a driver to reach some barely explored stretch of wilderness. With so many expeditions going out these days, vehicle specialists were scarce, and in the scramble to fill a slot, word of him had somehow filtered through the network.

They said they would explain the details on site, so Gong Ryun packed a protective mantle and a respirator and headed for the western gate.

What he found there were people wrapped in purple robes. Five of them. The robes hung all the way to their feet, and every face was swallowed by a deep hood; where a face should have been, there was only black shadow. From time to time they muttered under their breath toward empty air.

Gong Ryun's instincts prickled. This was a private contract, after all. He had accepted it on the faith that Brigit would never recommend anything dangerous or illegal… but looking at these thoroughly suspicious figures, that faith was starting to wobble. What even were they? You couldn't see a single face. The highway robber he had met last time flickered through his memory—that one had worn a robe just like this. People who hid their faces were never good news.

Still, he decided he ought to at least talk to them. If the work turned out illegal, he would back out on the spot and leave.

"Hahaha. I'm the client. Finding a driver has been a real ordeal, so this is wonderful. So many survey teams have been heading into Morlaren that hiring a vehicle specialist—and there were never many of those to begin with—has become like plucking stars from the sky. Meeting you through mutual acquaintances is a stroke of pure luck. No license is fine. I've heard your driving is excellent. You might have picked it up as a hobby—perfectly natural. I myself adore survival programs! I've even daydreamed about learning to drive manually someday! Hahaha!"

Huh. Once they actually spoke, the voice was pleasant and easygoing—not a bad impression at all. Judging by the tone, the man was somewhere between a young adult and middle-aged.

"Our mission is a survey of Morlaren Canyon. We'll make a full circuit by vehicle and conduct a general investigation of the terrain. Your only job is to drive. There will be no other chores of any kind—no unloading, nothing. Outside of driving hours, your time is entirely your own."

Surprisingly reasonable and courteous, considering how they looked.

"The schedule will run early-morning departures and evening returns, over the course of several days. We need to collect data and also analyze it ourselves, so some days will be fieldwork and some will be analysis. The analysis can run long, so the survey days may be a little irregular—hahaha! But we'll give you ample notice well in advance, so don't worry. We expect to go out roughly three days a week. For today, let's simply work together once, and if both sides are satisfied, we can extend the contract for the remaining surveys. Of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠course, if it doesn't suit you, you're free to stop at any time. If absolutely necessary, we're open to negotiating which days as well."

"How is payment handled?"

"A day's wage, paid the moment the work is done. For reference, the amount is…"

The figure was substantial. For an unlicensed, off-the-books driver, it was almost more than what a fully certified vehicle specialist would earn—with a premium on top. That was the daily rate? Not weekly?

Good lord. Gong Ryun reeled under the sheer novelty of it. The offer was so good it circled back around to looking suspicious.

"There's a reason the pay is high. It's a confidentiality premium."

"Don't tell me this is illegal work…?"

"Hahaha. We may look a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠little odd, but we're thoroughly sensible people who keep the law. We pay our taxes on time, you know. We simply don't want a record of our movements left behind—where we surveyed, that sort of thing. That's also why we use a manual driver. A driving AI leaves a travel log."

"Even if you pay me for silence, what's to stop me from talking somewhere else? How do you trust that?"

Gong Ryun thought of his work with Medilla. Simply by witnessing her illegal operation, he had nearly been silenced for good. That was standard practice among the unorthodox. People could not be trusted. No matter how solemnly they swore to keep a secret, it meant nothing. Only death was eternal silence—unless you forged something as binding as a master-disciple bond. So the idea of padding his pay with a confidentiality fee looked thoroughly fishy. And the job was wilderness exploration, of all things. No witnesses. What if they simply killed him out there?

The client's answer was nothing like what he expected.

"Hahaha! That, my friend, is a matter of faith! People live by trust! And with the money this good, you'd have at least some sense of loyalty not to betray us, wouldn't you? Hahaha!"

What? He was astonishingly sunny and optimistic—for a man wearing the creepiest purple robe imaginable and hiding his entire face.

"And if you're worried about being silenced, why not simply tell the people around you before you go? Then even if something happened to you, they'd report it. That's the sort of safety measure anyone sets in place. There are other options, too! You could draft a private contract and keep a copy. If anything goes wrong, it's powerful evidence! This is all standard practice. Asking for it is a worker's legitimate right. While we're on the subject—let's do it right now!"

On top of everything else, he was civilized and rational.

Gong Ryun felt his internal suspicion meter drop sharply. He was ashamed of himself for judging people by appearances alone. Right. A person could wear a robe if they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wanted to.

Then and there, he wrote up a contract. He downloaded the form from the mercenary application—an electronic contract with full legal force. All that remained was to do the job. It smelled like a sweet, easy commission, and he was glad of it.

If only the client hadn't said one last thing.

"By the way—does our driver happen to have a religion he believes in?"