Chapter 142
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 142
Chapter Title: #Test (7)
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The encouraging speech was musically perfect as well. With rhythmic stresses and poetic vocabulary, it conveyed more than its literal meaning. Exceptional oratory was a qualification for leadership in itself. Winter thought: because language is a tool for empathy. But what it evokes empathy for—that's what divides the history of right and wrong. Enthralled crowds had rallied behind Hitler and Mussolini too.
The president's appeal was a beautiful form of empathy.
Those who responded to it changed noticeably. They grew deeper. And more resolute. Most would fade soon enough, but life was meaningful in every moment.
As the tableware was cleared away, Joanna remarked,
“The president’s term is almost up. It’s such a shame.”
Winter nodded.
“No one else could have pulled this off. If only this weren’t his second term.”
This assessment came from comparing the twenty-six apocalypses he’d endured with this worldline. The nation’s stability was unparalleled. There was plenty of backlash over accommodating refugees and disaster victims, other missteps no doubt, and critically, they were rushing the obvious liberation ops a bit too much, but...
‘Worldlines where the monetary economy holds are rare.’
As he pondered, the intelligence buff output info on the current worldline. The U.S. now ran almost entirely on a domestic economy. Factoring in martial law, trading halts, payment moratoriums, payment guarantees, and the barely rebuilt domestic finance—it was a human miracle forged from effort, sacrifice, and luck.
Joanna let out a sigh.
“Even so, his chances of reelection were slim. There are... no, tons of people who hate the president. Fools who scream only about their own losses in this hard world for everyone. The problem is he’s done too well up to now.”
Meaning, if they’d truly felt the crisis, they wouldn’t act that way.
Winter’s view differed slightly.
“I’m not so sure. Some people might have no choice but to hate him.”
“Even in this best-possible situation?”
“The best outcome came through necessary evils, and pain numbs reason.”
“Hmm.”
Joanna furrowed her brow.
The memory Winter recalled then was the day of Private Stan Page’s funeral. The boys and girls who’d come to see the boy officer had railed against the adults’ cowardice.
“This is a bit different, but at Fort Roberts, there were citizens refusing to cross beyond the blockade line. Conversely, plenty from the other side wanted to head to the contamination zone garrison.”
“Someone said that to your face, Winter?”
“Don’t get mad. They were kids who hated their parents.”
“Hated their parents? What the... Ah!”
The detective realized, her face clouding over. Winter smiled.
“Displaced citizens have their grievances too, but it’s nothing compared to real refugees. Does that mean I should call those citizens shameless?”
“You have the right.”
“I don’t want to exercise it.”
“...”
“Not sure if this analogy fits, but even if I were a terminal cancer patient, I couldn’t tell someone with two broken legs to shut up. My pain might be worse, sure. But both are pains most people can’t just endure. It’s hard to expect common sense or reason from the suffering. Patients lash out at doctors because it hurts too much.”
Joanna listened silently, pausing before speaking carefully.
“It might be an extreme example, but I get what you mean. My judgment was a bit hasty. It’s easy to condemn what’s on the surface. Mexico was like that too.”
“Mexico?”
“Yeah. There, drugs often mean livelihood. Actually, for most. Excluding the ruling class at the top of the cartel pyramid, the couriers, hitmen, corrupt cops—they were just doing it to survive. No other options in that society.”
Winter listened closely to the continuation.
“But without knowing the inside story, it’s contemptible on the outside. Killing people, stealing goods, yet cherishing their own families. To us then, they were villains pointing guns at me and my team, merchants selling drugs to American citizens, criminals our country ordered eliminated.”
She confessed calmly. Far more killed than arrested.
“The only difference between them and me was nationality. I was just lucky. Lucky people killing unlucky ones. The more I understood, the more hopeless it got, so I tried not to. I wanted to be a machine following orders. Patriotism and duty are like addictive drugs. You overuse them to shake off guilt, and the more you do, the more numb you get as a human. That’s why, I guess. I end up hating people so easily...”
She pressed her forehead, then uttered one word. Boundary. Right. Boundaries.
“I’ve gotten into the habit of drawing a comfortable line and not understanding those beyond it. Seems like I did it again this time.”
“That’s overdoing it. Too much self-flagellation.”
It was a familiar frustration. Winter had told the masked therapist the same: hatred that offered no answers the more you understood it.
Judging solely by what they’d done, his father and mother were hateful. But had they chosen it themselves? Been fated that way? With slightly better parents, education, opportunities—they could have been much better people.
Thus, Winter’s hatred should target all the conditions that made such parents. Blaming just them was, in a way, a compromise with reality.
Joanna gave a wry smile.
“Didn’t the president say it in his speech? Day by day, may our own limits expand.”
“And?”
“Thanks for pointing it out. I’ll keep overcoming myself. I believe others can too. I’ll hope for it. So Winter, don’t lose faith in people.”
Lose faith? Winter blinked in confusion at the cryptic words. Joanna elaborated.
“Might be my misread... but I’ll say it anyway. Your words showed deep understanding of people. But there was cynicism too. Didn’t know why at first, but now I do.”
As a profiler detective, she looked at Winter.
“People are only this much. I won’t expect more.” That vibe. “But Winter, including me, people can become better.”
“...”
“Sorry if I overstepped.”
“No, no. You might be right.”
It hit home. An unfamiliar familiarity. Himself through another’s eyes. Hatred asserting its presence. Fewer outbursts lately, but the stone in his chest remained heavy. Heavier now than when he’d lost his body.
Winter looked at Joanna anew. Yes, anew. She felt human again, strikingly so. He’d long realized humanity depended on how you treated them.
The detective asked cautiously.
“Did I offend you?”
“No way. I think the same. I want to surpass my own limits.”
Melt the unmelting stone, hate the unhatable world, fight what can’t be fought. Chasing this impossible wish in the fragile daydream of the afterlife. Caring for people with powers denied to them.
‘Never succeeded once.’
Over apocalypse after apocalypse, he’d become superhuman in dreams, but still swept by causality beyond cognition, the worldline’s vast currents. Same here. The people left at Fort Roberts. Winter’s story after Winter left. Good dreams felt distant.
At least he was improving in knowing what he himself wanted, bit by bit. The more he knew, the more daunting, but better than ignorance.
‘Knowing lets you let go.’
Ignorance just left vague pity. Venting at human-like things was fleeting fun. Even that didn’t work lately. April Pacific was still filthy.
He was briefly unguarded. Seeing Winter with his cigarette out, Joanna restrained herself. No choice. He hadn’t shown ugly emotions. Masked Winter tapped his wristwatch.
“Time’s almost up. Shall we?”
“Yes.”
On the way back to the range, Joanna broke the awkward silence with a new topic.
“You’ll get a vote in the upcoming election, Winter.”
“Really? This is California. Practically impossible, no?”
Troops deployed on ops usually couldn’t vote. No polling stations in op zones. Iraq surges left ~250,000 sidelined yearly.
Even if California was nominally homeland, it was now a contamination zone accessible only by permit. Like D.C. lacking Senate seats as federal district, special disaster areas might restrict voting.
But Joanna’s answer differed.
“Symbolic, like the radio. They’re holding votes somehow in the three contamination states—Washington, Oregon, California. Online voting possible in contamination zones. Even calls to count isolated citizens’ ballots. Unless ops drag to fall, no issue.”
Hard to top that symbolism. But worrisome too.
“Online voting? Ripe for fraud...”
“Voices are raised already. Most important election since founding. No fraud tolerated. Implementation needs more debate.”
“Hope a good one wins.”
“Agreed. Election decides humanity’s fate.”
Survival or extinction. Who’d be elected? No candidates known yet.
“Ann. Any chance of a portable radio?”
“Why?”
“To vote informed. Want to hear debates.”
“Super Tuesday soon, yeah. Got it. I’ll look into it.”
Super Tuesday: early March, GOP and Dem primary day. Mid-February now, so heated polls pre-conventions. Curious about progress. Candidates? Would this worldline rush to doom in madness? Too little known to predict.
“Sorry for the personal request.”
“No. Supervisor’s role includes agent convenience on ops. I’ll formally suggest for others too. And...”
She rolled words in her mouth, then shook her head.
“No, never mind. If it happens, I’ll tell you.”
“...?”
Winter was puzzled but didn’t pry.
The training area spanned a full floor with multiple ranges. Until afternoon sun vanished beyond Golden Gate, Winter endured tests. Mobile shooting, mag changes mid-fire, weapon swaps mid-fire—completed obstacle course with moving targets.
He shattered prior records across the board.
Toughest: dark room shooting.
Entered like normal range. Multiple rail-mounted movers. But post-prep, others including Skylar donned NVGs; room went pitch black.
Then motor whir of targets. Instructor Skylar:
“Targets stop soon, lights 0.5 sec. Three targets. Memorize positions. Shoot on command after lights out.”
Clang. Red lights. 0.5 sec: instant. Winter burned targets to retina. Uneven spacing, varied heights.
「Combat Sense」 helped here. 「Personal Firearms Proficiency」 handled handling, accuracy, lethality only.
“Ready.”
Tension in Skylar’s voice. Footsteps neared. Blindfold on Winter—to block muzzle flash spotting.
After delay, command.
“Shooter, target 1, fire!”
Bang! Winter fired per body sense. No visual cue like slant-warning, but nerves tugged right direction.
“Target 3, 1, 3, 2—rapid fire!”
Easy so far. Fired first on command, three more even intervals. Amid rolling casings, stifled groan. Hit true. Winter lowered muzzle, waited.
Next harder.
“Three steps left, one back.”
Correction disrupted. Winter sensed via dulled nerve stim. Confident prior shots hit vitals, but now tough. “Target 2, fire!” ~1 sec aim. Bang! Different reaction.
How far from prior group?
More moves: five right, three left, one forward, one back... Fire, fire, fire.
Genius spatial grasp, but limits hit fast. Before tenth move-fire, all corrections crushed to nil.
“Remove blindfold.”
Not Skylar—Captain Fowler. Winter blinked at light, checked targets first. Wanted true measure.
“At least human this time.”
Captain’s eval matched grouping. Skylar numbered hits by record. Third post-move missed vital. Fifth missed. Ninth: three shots, none grazed.
Note for body memory.
Winter deemed combat power plenty boosted. This experience = limit awhile. Useful in real combat? Maybe.
Recording Lt. Skylar looked distraught.
Whispers: “Felt like morning I saw news of corpses running.” “Day my girlfriend-wife confessed pregnancy. Horrific.”
“Acclimation: one week. But.”
Captain addressed Winter, eyes averted.
“What you showed today exceeds one man’s share. Expecting in field.”
“Thank you.”
Winter saluted with nod.
============================ Author's Note ============================
#Q&A
Q. Hanmo Person: Winter solstice is my birthday... Such a grand old gift...
A. Well... unavoidable then. Delay apocalypse a bit... Christmas? Humanity wandering out on Christmas deserves punishment...
Q. Guaaaaak: @Presidential Secretary (read: author). Worked hard. President didn’t write that speech himself, right.
A. Thanks. Rewarding. Took ~4 hrs polishing after drafting. Haha.
Q. CyBac: @In speech, ‘crossroads of necessary evil and necessary evil’—not clear. Meaning?
A. Whichever way, against conscience. Choices only necessary evils.
Q. svjk: Danny Chen and Daniel Quan same person?
A. No. Daniel Quan: Chinese-American shot dead in riots. News caster mentioned pre-speech.