Kikiwai Airport, 4 Million Gulden Reunion
Kikiwai Dimensional Airport, arrival floor.
"4 million gulden."
The reunion with Oatanocha was the worst.
"Top secret rate, 4 million gulden."
"Ah, sir, please don't do this to me..."
"4 million gulden."
Oatanocha, who had rushed straight from HQ duty on an overnight flight from Linden, was in an utterly foul mood.
"You flew business class. HQ's throwing in extra hazard pay on top, so can't you just get to work—"
"4 million."
"......"
Was this how Kim Doo-han felt staring down that American officer?
"I'm not the one footing the bill anyway. Telling me won't change a thing."
"4 million."
"Fine, I'll at least talk to Dr. Sau about it."
"Now you're talking sense. Carbon-based lifeform."
The creature scowled with its unreadable face, then flicked a tentacle to no-look-pass my carry-on suitcase.
How was it that after all this time rubbing elbows at HQ, its personality hadn't budged an inch?
"Your fellow trainee has quite the entertaining mouth on him."
That was when it happened.
Someone called out from behind me.
"You've arrived."
"Long time no see. You've gotten a bit tanned since last time."
I turned with an awkward smile to find a short dwarf grinning behind sunglasses.
"Haha... Guess the southern hemisphere sun hits different."
"You look healthy. That's good."
Laurel Tree's renowned director, Bergenev Masterhand.
True to his relatively short-statured race, his voice came from about waist height. But it carried the dignity and gravitas only a veteran could possess.
"I've noticed this since last time, but you've got the visuals to be an actor. Any interest?"
"I'll politely decline."
It sounded like flattery, but was a big-shot director really tossing out casting calls this casually? Good thing I knew my place.
Time to change the subject.
"The busiest man in Laurel Tree making time for me—I'm flattered."
"I figured jumping into the field with a small crew now and then isn't so bad."
Masterhand pulled down his mask and chuckled sheepishly. Behind him, his staff hustled to unload filming gear. They'd all come via private jet, emerging from the VIP lane.
"Director, we'll head in first and get some rest!"
"Yeah, yeah. Reserve the food truck for tomorrow."
"I'll go prep then, sir."
"Yeah. Thanks for the hard work, Kim Byun."
A man who seemed to lead the filming crew and suited lawyers bowed to the director one by one before vanishing.
They'd flown in from Dimension 12 at dawn, so they should be wiped, but everyone looked buzzing with excitement.
"Everyone's full of energy."
"Giving them vacation after the shoot. They've all been dying to hit Kikiwai. Wife and kids arrive tomorrow."
"Ahh..."
That explained it.
These folks were the team I'd asked Masterhand to bring along. His visit to Kikiwai was part marketing ploy, part aid for our plan.
But nothing in this world came free.
"Guess I need to wrap up the unfinished business with Dr. Sau."
"Don't worry. Meeting's set for this morning."
"Perfect."
The director grinned, pleased.
Masterhand had secured exclusive rights to the autobiography of a pilot enlisting for the space war. On top of that, he'd demanded—and gotten—permission to film the "precious situation" unfolding in a few hours. Colossus Robotics had no reason to refuse.
Buying rights to an autobiography without even a outline? He was eyeing a full movie adaptation of this incident.
If he could snag footage of Colossus's live-fire test, he'd make gold from it.
A powerhouse director spotting box-office gold in Dimension 0.1's crisis.
Dr. Sau, packaging the solar system's candle-in-the-wind fate as entertainment to rally interdimensional support.
Their needs matched perfectly through me, their mutual acquaintance.
A collaboration born of pure self-interest, but if they teamed up...
"A chance to help these little friends of yours. When do I get an experience like this? Haha."
...Maybe it wasn't just business?
"Shall we? Grab coffee and chat shoot details."
"Not too tired?"
"Slept plenty on the flight."
"If you're good, works for me. Limo's waiting. This way to your lodgings."
I led Masterhand out of the airport.
The director, his crew, the lawyers—they'd all play key roles in the plan alongside Oatanocha.
Just like Bishuti's old comrade.
Or Isaac and Deputy Manager Razma's guests over there.
"......"
En route, I glanced at Razma and Isaac chatting with their collaborators.
Razma ignored me. Isaac met my eyes and gave a subtle nod.
Yeah, they'd handle it fine.
The spot I took Oatanocha to was Diamond Pearl Head—Kikiwai's tallest peak, famed for its massive observatory.
Why drag this prickly tentacle blob out of the city? Simple.
Its species had an acute knack for detecting electromagnetic waves, beyond even top-tier tech.
As everyone knew, every full-time Dimensional Credit Vault banker wielded a Job Authority—divine blessings tailored to their talents and quirks.
Oatanocha's stemmed from his bizarre physiology and that abrasive personality.
Life Hack let him freely mess with nearby electronics, reflecting his lone-wolf mindset: untouched by others, reshaping his world on a whim.
"Let's start."
Oatanocha ignored the muttering holograms from the Nanoi techs waiting at the observatory and activated his Job Authority by tapping his badge with a tentacle.
-Crackle!
Blue sparks danced in the air, and the box we'd brought popped open on its own. Twenty-five palm-sized robot figures—mass-produced Colossus units—shot into the sky.
"Not bad for carbon-life machines. Withstanding Life Hack for over three seconds."
"Too late."
The twenty-five mass-prods scattered in all directions under Oatanocha's remote control.
"Hope they're okay..."
These weren't piloted by trained aces, so no dogfights with space monsters. The rushed prototypes' job ahead of Afro Sass and the real test?
Recon.
Yep. Oatanocha would use the Colossus swarm as antenna extensions from his tentacles, sniffing out signal-jammers blocking Dimension 0.1's waves from reaching folks.
"Doubting this body's prowess? Infuriating for such inferior creatures."
"Then quit griping and do your job right. We gotta find the signal hijackers before we snag 'em."
"Wasting high-caliber talent like mine on this is an outrage."
"Saving lives, though? And Branch Chief's covering your 4 million gulden."
"If it's that critical, that bald bastard better log my merits properly for eval. Unless you want your new smartphone turned to brick."
"Your threats are weirdly small-scale..."
Personally? I'd love to see it. Slick Ellama raging at a bricked phone, gun to this guy's dome.
But would its body even die from a headshot? Now I was curious. Next time, I'd politely ask Ellama what this creep said, then beg him to pull the trigger.
Time to stir the pot a bit more. Tell him it called him a "damn baldy."
"...Hm? This is..."
That's when two of Oatanocha's tentacles lit up like LEDs.
"Found it."
I flipped on my radio the second he spoke.
"Sending coordinates and pics."
-Static
Got it.
"Huntin's on, you sow-head pork."
I clamped Oatanocha's yap before Bishuti could reply, killing the radio.
"Mmph! Mrrgh!"
"Crazy bastard, die alone if you're suicidal!"
You head back to HQ after, but I've gotta keep working with that guy!
"Rest is yours, Deputy Manager Bishuti. Thank you."
I switched the radio back on, polite as pie.
Yeah. Maybe.
Just sometimes.
When dealing with inhuman assholes.
A little violence was the answer.
Same day, morning.
Kikiwai, some hotel's 37th-floor corner suite.
Members of a fake citizens' group backed by certain political factions from Great Huuriten mainland lounged here, funded lavishly.
"Nanois are persistent. They cram their signal into any open channel."
"Won't last. Catch 'em all, overlay our audio and video."
Primary gig: scarfing pineapple pizza while hijacking "real" Nanoi signals from Dimension 0.1, swapping in fakes.
Clear violation of interdimensional and broadcast laws—no excuses if sued.
But victims were too busy staving off solar system doom to hunt them down.
Funded and equipped for ops like this, they were less "citizens' group" than political thugs—ex-cons mostly, with rap sheets. Even the clean ones hailed from shady mid-tier security firms tied to crime syndicates.
Recent orders: infiltrate thin dimensional barriers, snatch incoming Nanoi SOSes, flood fakes.
Their nonstop sabotage branded Dr. Sau and Colossus Robotics liars across dimensions.
And they'd keep at it till the pulse bomb turned Nanoi to cosmic chum with the space beasts.
[-.—|..—.|.—.—|. ..-|..—-|. ..--|]
That's when the 10 a.m. routine ping hit. The lounging thugs perked up.
"HQ."
"New orders?"
"Yep."
Decoded message was simple: Located Dr. Sau and crew scrambling to save Nanoi.
"Closer than we thought."
Too tiny to spot easily—no sightings till now. But they'd bagged the tail.
Intel pegged Sau's group nearby. Funded by Dimensional Credit Vault loan from the new Kikiwai Multidimensional Branch.
"Crowdfunding weirdness? Closer than expected."
"What now?"
"Why..."
Eliminate them.
The apparent ringleader muttered low. No guilt, no fear in his eyes.
People ignored the invisible. He did too.
Having long ditched ethics, gassing unseen Nanoi intellects? No biggie.
"Find their room, break in at night, spritz gas. Barely enough for humans—no trace—but lethal dose for them."
They'd inflicted violence on others per paymasters' whims. A dash of poison for Nanois? Like bug spray.
"Bribe housekeeping for room numbers. Move out ASAP."
Just a side hustle to fund booze and bets.
"Pulse bomb's a pretty sight when it pops, they say."
"Solar system fireworks."
"Not bad."
Money-hungry pros like them handled gigs flawlessly. Skilled, too.
But they didn't know.
-Crackle
Someone brighter and more capable with cash had hit Kikiwai last night.
[Found them.]
That since dawn, someone had been combing the island via some means.
Kidnap team, stand by.
Far more vicious than HQ's Data Management Oatanocha.
Initiate op when target exits. Repeat: Initiate when target exits.
Black van and trailer prowling their hotel.