Closing Horizons and the Chained Pig Doctor
A vast plain stretched endlessly to the horizon, unbroken by a single obstruction. In the far western sky, only the red flash of the horizon blazed. The dark blue spectrum of sky and earth, starting from the east, closed in from above and below like a curtain toward that crimson line. A round world, where light seeped in solely from the horizon. Jin-cheol felt it resembled the inner world of some giant's eyeball. As the western eyelid shut, this world was closing too. Come tomorrow, the eastern eye would open again.
He turned his head. There was the crackling campfire and his companions gathered around it. Dol Jumeok, the reckless gorilla who devoured anything without discrimination. A mercenary who'd flown all the way to this distant east for coin. Lamien, the pilot. Fighter pilot from the rabbit fascist state of Zasoyeonbang, racing into enemy territory to meet her lover. Little Maro, the Lavito kid who'd tagged along by chance. He wasn't sure exactly how young the boy was—Lavito ages were unfamiliar—but he seemed the most bewildered by their current mess. And then there was Jin-cheol himself.
A cryo-soldier from the 21st century who'd slumbered through a hundred ages before waking. He'd kicked out from the kind, simple Kampoeni tribe of Atukai and rolled all the way to Siol, that muddy cauldron seething with arrogant races. Hell-bent on chasing clues to humanity's remnants, he'd bolted from there too, crossed the sea, and tumbled to this wasteland he guessed was old America. What an idiot.
Jin-cheol snapped off a twig from a bundle of kindling and tossed it into the fire, lost in thought. Still, gotta check if any humans are left hanging around, right? America's armories sound intriguing too. Back in that era, maybe real bipedal mechs are sleeping there? And what the hell is the Muksaang House planning to do with those buried relics they're digging up? Wipe out every trace of humans like they did everywhere else?
Sitting still only let useless thoughts circle endlessly. Rubbing his eyes, Jin-cheol spotted Lamien staring at him from across the flames. He flashed a grin.
"What's the deal, Rabbit Navigation? Another night camping."
"...What's 'Rabbit Navigation'? Don't pin weird nicknames on me. And this area's always thinner on people than the coast. We could push through the night and hit a village, but that's way too risky."
Riding a hoverbike through the dark? Yeah, perfect way to die if you're suicidal. Jin-cheol hadn't really meant to blame her, so he shrugged and changed tack.
"We'll get there eventually. Problem's that hog."
"Hog? What's wrong with the hog?"
"How much fuel's left?"
Jin-cheol stood and approached the hog parked to one side. He laid a hand on its body—still warm. The heat from running all afternoon hadn't faded. Lamien hustled over and fiddled with it too.
"It's warm."
"Not 'warm'—how much fuel? What do I check on the gauge?"
"Hm. Probably this." She pointed to a needle gauge, the needle drooping at one end.
"Gotta start it up."
At her nudge, he fired the engine with a whine. The needle settled midway but short—a rough third left.
"One more day and we're done. What runs on this thing? Oil?"
As Jin-cheol scanned the hog, Lamien, already mounted on the saddle, replied.
"Charges from the battleship's engine. That's why hogs always pair with battleships."
"...So what fuels the battleship's engine?"
"The battleship engine? It runs itself. Long as the core's intact, no fuel needed. Auxiliary stuff uses holy oil or steam, but the core engine's a pure artifact on its own."
"..."
It hit like hearing about liquid-stabilized nuclear fusion. Infinite power for flying battleships?
"Cores do crap out eventually if they're ancient. That's why folks keep excavating new ones. Flying battleships are prime strategic assets—get two or more, and you steamroll neighbors."
"Can't your people make their own cores?"
"Core engines are priceless artifacts. Countless scientists tried cracking their principles and power source, but no dice. Or rather, such research gets squashed."
"Why?"
Lamien's eyes darkened.
"Figuring the mechanism demands disassembly, but that's forbidden. Wreck it or fail to reassemble, and your nation's battleship's grounded. Can't fend off threats, and the general loses face..."
Her words rang hollow, like she couldn't stomach them. Fair enough—that massive flying ship could do wonders beyond warfare. They could forge trade routes spanning the world, slashing sea voyages of weeks to days. But from what he'd seen, the second a nation ditched its war machine, neighbors would rip it apart.
Watching her quietly, Jin-cheol grinned.
"Spending these days with you, I get it—you don't dig generals or the military much."
"...Anyone short of a diehard party member who does? After all that death, pain, grief... worshipping a general? What kind of moron—"
Gazing at the fading sunset, Lamien trailed off, ears twitching in surprise at her own words. She shot Jin-cheol a flustered look. He gave a wry smile.
"I'm no Lavito. Got no one to snitch to."
"...Even non-Lavitos have party members. Rare as hell, though."
"Idiots out here across the sea still simping for rabbit generals?"
Lamien cracked a small smile at his exaggerated shock. Jin-cheol grinned back.
"Those fucks must be really bored. Some worship the sun, some the Mother of Vengeance, some another schmuck... Guess I need a god now too?"
"No faith?"
"Eh. Seen too much bullshit and horror back then. Feels like I believe in something..."
Jin-cheol looked up abruptly. Against the deepening dark blue sky flew a massive unnamed bird. Blacked out by scant light, winging north. Tracing its shadow, he murmured,
"...I believe. It's just not a god."
Lowering his gaze from the sky, he met Lamien's eyes again. She blinked vacantly, deep in thought. Then a voice called them.
"Dinner's ready! Come eat!"
Dol Jumeok, ladle in hand. Shockingly, he'd swiped food and cookware fleeing the last village—probably from the inn. Jin-cheol hadn't noticed.
"...That guy's a natural chef now."
"Looks tasty."
Jin-cheol killed the hog's engine and headed back with Lamien. Maro already clutched a bowl, swallowing hard. Kid was adapting better than expected. Makes sense how he survived the village.
"Here."
Dol Jumeok served Jin-cheol first, then himself, Lamien, Maro. Apparently his idea of group hierarchy. Absurd, but Jin-cheol just shook his head and dug in. Treating him as boss meant no sudden cannibal fits on Lamien or Maro.
"Oh."
Thick stew crammed with chunks—damn good. Zasoyeonbang slop versus this was gruel to gourmet.
"Fuck, this is delicious."
"Hm."
Dol Jumeok just slurped his own amid the praise, but that twitching lip betrayed him. Not quite camping chef master yet.
"Ooh..."
"Wow! Tasty!"
Lamien and Maro raved; Dol Jumeok's grin turned grotesque. He refilled their plates on demand. By the time he realized his bowl was all that remained, they were done.
"..."
Dinner ended to the scrape of his ladle on the pot.
*
Next day, they saddled the hogs and tore across the plain. No recharge meant burn it dry. Under the blazing sun, whining engines, whipping wind, sand, and dust engulfed them. Vortices trailed their sprint.
Lamien rode behind Jin-cheol today, arms locked around his waist, face buried. Dust, probably. He glanced at the gauge. Not yet noon, needle already bottoming. Barely any left.
Fuck, walk this wasteland? Yesterday's hog miles? On foot, it'd stretch their trimmed month back to months.
"...!"
Far horizon: jagged structures atop a low hill. Village? Fuel near gone anyway. Jin-cheol signaled Dol Jumeok with a raised hand, veered slightly. Dol followed.
Village confirmed. Jin-cheol eased speed. Lamien lifted her head from his back.
"Fuel?"
"Not yet. Spotted a village though."
Quieter engine let her voice through. She peeked past his side.
"Village for sure. Let's snag hogs."
"What? Trouble?"
"Plenty clear of Urata. Better sell at the general store or garage for parts value. Grab something else instead."
Solid plan. No flight, but wheels beat feet. Village details sharpened: low hill buildings of wood and plaster. Plaster over three stories, wood below. Cozy cluster.
But snaring his eye: massive pump on one side, arm swinging like a pendulum, pistoning below. Oil derrick, no doubt.
"...They use oil, huh?"
"Baika merchants skip backwaters like this. No holy oil or steam? Pump crude."
"Kids don't ship holy oil from Siol?"
Thinking that, he steered toward her pointed building. Junkyard vibe. Garage central, yard littered with brass engines, screws, steel frames, gears, wheels galore.
Their hogs touched down; a plump Lavito emerged, sweat-and-oil rag over shoulder. Hands and face grease-smeared. He eyed the hogs, nodding satisfaction, addressed dismounting Jin-cheol first.
"Hogs?"
"Yup."
"Prime stuff. Southern friends' work, eh?"
"Yours now."
Eyes widened.
"...For real?"
"Fair price."
He tilted his head, ambiguous.
"Dunno. Two mint hogs? Sell the garage, still short."
"Throw in a ride, we haggle."
Lavito smirked knowingly.
"Ah, no-charge junk. Got a runner."
No intros; straight to garage depths, yanking a tarp. Beneath: Lavito-scale armored truck.
"Dug from nearby mine years back. Engine lives, thought jackpot... but frame fused. Patched it best I could, too big for our kind. Been gathering dust."
Jin-cheol circled. Oversized for Lavitos, perfect for him and Dol.
"Fuel?"
"Holy oil stock. Rigs diesel now. Village pumps—load up."
Dol approached, eyes gleaming. Silent approval.
Olrogs nomad-tanked northwest, right? Truck-checking Jin-cheol eyed the mechanic.
"Just the truck?"
"Huh? Why? Tweak it, she'll fly."
"Tight for four."
"Eh, is it?"
Not really. But with musclebound gorilla Dol? His space threatened. Cargo bed sucked for passengers.
Mechanic scratched chin, then a-ha!'d, dragged out something inner: brass pipes and gears in a tangled engine lump.
"Last month's buy. Meant for farm gear after frame-split. Want it? Bolt wheels fore-aft, hog-rival speed!"
Trustworthy? Wheel-less, bike-ish. Hog joy swayed him.
"This, truck, plus silver. Thirty nuggets?"
"Fifty. Fuel topped."
Mechanic blinked between hog and truck, calculating. Grinned, thrust greasy hand.
"Deal!"
Jin-cheol shook. Mechanic gleamed—hog teardown glee. Stolen anyway; Jin-cheol let it go.
"Repair time?"
"Not long. Hit the tavern, drink up."
Exiting, Dol spoke first.
"Post-fix, I drive that?"
"Grabbed the small one for that. You haul the other two."
Dol brightened, led the way. Jin-cheol shook his head at the enthusiasm.
Watching, Lamien noted,
"Deal-savvy. Not your first time?"
"Mechanic seemed pro. Ignored us for the hogs."
"Yeah. Weirdo."
"..."
Maro trailing silent, four crossed the main drag to the pointed tavern. Local Lavitos glanced but no approaches. They strode bold.
But inside, pinned stares froze them. Especially the uniforms packing one wall.
"..."
Jin-cheol scanned calmly, slapped silver on the bar.
"Round."
"..."
Gloomy bartender prepped without reply; Jin-cheol claimed an empty table casual. Others followed mute.
"..."
Drinks arrived—white milkish for Maro—shattering quiet. Soldiers chattered among themselves.
Jin-cheol sipped, leaned back relaxed. Caught Lamien's stiff face.
He whispered,
"Ease up. Too rigid looks sus."
"...Not the soldiers tensing me."
"Then what?"
Lamien hissed through clenched jaw,
"Pig Doctor. He's here."
Pig Doctor? Oh.
Miguel. Rebel. Reason Donchaba spilled Zasoyeonbang rout to Siol council. Clue to Ishanka's daughter, Snow? White Butcher's kid.
Jin-cheol eyed the uniforms. One Lavito amid them, iron shackles on wrists. Ragged clothes, scarred face. Gulped water awkwardly with bound hands. Disheveled, but eyes—those eyes blazed in the wreck of his face. Steeled conviction, burning zeal. Willpower dwarfing average Lavitos leaked naturally.
Their eyes met by chance. He grinned oddly.
Then a soldier barked,
"What business do Essai and Olrogs have in a backwater village like this?"