A Precious Matter
Nobody calls it by its proper name, Deathgiver. That name lives only in the manual. Even the instructors won't touch it. What everyone actually says is hunter-grade pistol—longer, somehow, than the official name. They'll shorten the New Government Complex to HQ in the name of economy, then throw that very economy to the dogs. They should have given the thing a less childish name from the start.
Which is why Backscratcher is the finest name there is. Three syllables. Already a clean win.
Call it essential hunter's gear. Hunters work in small teams, so the variety of equipment they can haul is bound to suffer, and this weapon makes up the difference. One gun, built to answer more than one kind of situation.
Like the one we were in now.
Yeah. This would do.
Crack!
The slide rattled hard. A special round—the kind that spiked the highest gas pressure the instant it fired.
Boom!
High explosive. Part of the ceiling came down with the blast.
"What the fuck!"
"A bomb!?"
"Bomb, my ass. I heard a gunshot."
"Agh! Don't shove me!"
"Everybody hold still! You'll step on the wounded!"
The ones getting ready to strike their lighters started flailing in the dark, every last one of them.
Dr. Myeong was no exception.
"Woo Jungkook! Was that you? Damn it, I'd have to be able to see something first."
The only calm one was the squad leader serving as my meat shield.
"......A hunter-grade pistol?"
"Shh."
Time to make the ones thrashing around put their heads down.
"Freeze!"
Useless.
"I said don't push!"
"I told all of you to stay still! We can't see a thing anyway!"
"Wasn't the exit that way?"
"If this comes down, we're all dead!"
Nothing for it but a threat.
"Freeze! Or I fire another one!"
There. Quiet at last.
They seemed to be paying attention. Might as well explain.
"Small, but the blast is serviceable. Especially good for breaking rock. It's fired from a micro launcher, so it'll carry a good long way."
I had no intention, of course, of telling them the truth.
"A bomb?"
"We got hit with a bomb!"
"Must be nice, being right."
"Why the hell is a postman carrying something like that?"
They were starting to get it.
"Keep acting up and I'll fire another. I'm only aiming at the ceiling."
"Is that bastard completely insane......?"
"You think you're not gonna die?"
Nope. They didn't get it.
"We'll die even if we stay still. If that's how it is, dying together is the smartest choice I've got. Clean, too. Burial included, all in one shot. What's not to like?"
"Crazy bastard's bluffing. Go on, shoot again. Asshole."
"Don't provoke him, you lunatic! That guy's actually insa—"
I pulled the trigger again without hesitating.
Boom!
The ceiling came down once more.
"You maniac!"
That had been the last high-explosive round.
The special cartridges were big. Load Backscratcher to the limit and you still only got two.
"Anyone else feel like throwing a fit? I'll shoot toward the voice."
"......"
"See? You never listen until I hit you one more time."
Suppression complete.
They dropped their voices and started comparing notes. Not that they had any real options.
And in the middle of it, the Gentleman came out a gentleman.
"Is anyone hurt?"
At that, the Waste Disposal Squad began checking on one another in the dark.
It didn't take long.
"Nothing worse than a few light bruises?"
"Lucky, then. That crazy bastard......"
"Fuck. I can't tell if this is good luck or bad."
It wasn't luck.
I'd shot that way on purpose.
I'd already laid a wide attunement over the underground space, and I used it. First I aimed for the points most likely to collapse under a high-explosive hit. Call it a high-explosive round if you like; in the end it's still a small special cartridge sized for a pistol, and it isn't going to do serious damage to terrain. This place, though, had already been chewed up by the airstrike, its integrity failing all over. I read the probabilities, struck the weakest spot, and let them believe I was carrying a genuinely powerful bomb.
Second, I aimed where no one would be hurt. An injury bad enough to spark panic would only make a riot more likely. If I wanted them to grasp the situation and put their heads down on their own, they needed to be in their right minds.
I hadn't attuned to the Waste Disposal Squad, so I wasn't firing off their positions. I'd used the link I'd made with the wounded while triaging them by severity. The whole squad was staying beside the wounded. Avoid the wounded, and the squad stayed safe as well.
"It wasn't luck. It was mercy. I deliberately shot farther off. I've been going easy on you. From here on, it really will come down on your heads."
"Hah. Like you can even see."
"I told you not to provoke him......!"
"Can I see? No. Why—want to test your luck? I can at least tell which direction your voice came from. So—"
"Ah—ah! All right, all right!"
Firmly suppressed.
Now for the point.
"I'll say it again. What matters right now is looking after the wounded, isn't it? That part in particular, which I understand you care about most."
"Do you fail to grasp that there is nothing more we can do? We cannot take them to headquarters. They will not receive them."
The Gentleman was right. That wasn't what I'd meant.
"I never once said we should go to headquarters."
"Then what, precisely, are you proposing? The nearest place from here is headquarters. A safe settlement is a considerable distance. Do you imagine we can move this many wounded?"
"Who said headquarters was the nearest?"
"Hm? A postman, of all people, with a sense of geography this poor? Have you breathed too much toxic gas?"
Faster to show him.
"Wait."
This spot was perfect for a radio call. Everyone who'd handed me a set was stationed somewhere nearby.
Beep-beep-beep.
"You hear me?"
"Mmgh...... Hm? Testing whether it works?"
Tata, answering with his mouth full. Dinner, then.
"Got some business while I'm at it."
"Already picked up airstrike intel? If you're calling me, don't tell me......"
"Not that."
"Whew. Nearly choked."
"I've got the radio cranked all the way up, so let's not get into anything too personal between you and me."
"Huh? You with someone?"
"Who else. Dr. Myeong. The people with me need to hear how this plays out."
"Suit yourself. What about Brother Heo, though? He looked exhausted."
"He's resting comfortably."
"Good. Send him my regards. The Cores he appraised are working out well."
"Will do."
I couldn't actually pass that on. That was fine. He'd have heard it well enough on his own.
"So what's the business? My freshly roasted rat is getting cold."
"Since we agreed to trade anyway, I was thinking of sending some people your way."
"The contract said we'd take your errand runners too, so as many as you like. But people? You mean more than one?"
"Patients. Didn't you see the airstrike that hit nearby?"
"How could I miss it? It was right in front of us. Our search team nearly got caught in it. Some postmen you know get hurt?"
At that, the Waste Disposal Squad quietly started comparing notes again, checking with one another whether this was the settlement they were thinking of. I figured I'd save them the trouble.
"I'm sending the wounded to the Human Meat Factory. Just make room until they've recovered enough not to die."
The squad finally remembered that there was a fairly developed settlement closer than headquarters. A place they'd never visit in their lives, so it hadn't even occurred to them.
"How many?"
"About ten?"
"......That's a lot. Can you even bring them all the way here?"
"My colleagues will move them. About twenty people."
"That's thirty altogether......?"
"And I'll be sending a doctor and some medicine as well. Keep that in mind."
This time Dr. Myeong jumped.
"Why would I go back there!"
"I didn't say you."
"Huh?"
"Sorry, but that's too many. Everyone voted and agreed to be friends, sure, but numbers like that are a problem."
You open high. Then you walk the number down.
"Then the people moving the patients only come as far as the front gate. And not in a mob—one group at a time. Only the wounded go inside the settlement. That acceptable?"
"Hmm......"
"Well? I've really cut it to the minimum."
"Better than a minute ago, but......"
"But?"
"Looking after the wounded. You're not the type with that much self-sacrifice in you."
"There's a cut in it for me. It's business."
"Now you're making sense."
"They'll all submit properly to a body search. If you want, tie a few of them up and hold them like hostages until the wounded recover. Secrecy goes without saying."
Around here I needed the Gentleman's confirmation too. I took my hand off the button so Tata couldn't hear.
"Hey, Gentleman. Right?"
"......If they will accept us."
Good.
"Even just the wounded—ten people will cost a fair amount to look after."
"The ones transporting them will collect the money themselves. If you want, take a few and use them as labor. Farming, cleaning, that sort of thing. They're hardworking errand runners."
"Really?"
"Gentleman?"
"......Should they accept us."
"Thorough body searches. A few held as insurance, like hostages. Visitors cover their own expenses. We can use them as workers. And secrecy, last of all. Understood. You hold up your end too, as promised."
"Soon as I'm back I'll comb through the airstrike intel and get a read on the zombies and monsters in the area. Give your search team a little less to suffer through."
"Good. I'll get ready right away. And understand this—I'm not taking your request just because of the contract."
"There's another reason? Didn't think you'd be this eager about saving lives."
"I don't care about that."
"Then what?"
Beep-beep-beep.
The moment the call ended, the underground space grew noisy.
"Send the wounded to the Human Meat Factory?"
"Isn't that just offering them up to be eaten?"
"I heard that was a false rumor."
"Eaten or not, what lunatic goes to a place that dangerous."
"Didn't they say the road in is full of traps? Mines and the like."
"Isn't what the postman is doing right now the bigger trap?"
Not finished yet.
"I've still got a call to make, so how about a little manners?"
This time, the big radio. Business with Boss.
Beep-beep-beep.
The underground space went quiet again at the sound of it. Everyone was listening.
"Who is this."
"It's me, Boss."
"Nowhere to be found when I need you, but the second you need something, you sure know how to call. What is it?"
"Happy news. There's finally something Boss can do for me."
"......And which part of that am I supposed to be happy about?"
"Someday, when I answer your call, you'll be glad. So be glad a little early."
"Hearing you talk nonsense, I suppose I ought to listen. Talk."
Boss had dealt with all kinds of people through the black market. He knew plenty of them directly, and a great many more at one remove. To do business with him, you needed a way into HQ, so those without clearance often entrusted their goods to someone who could enter and had them sent on to the black market. Plenty of people out in the world stayed in indirect contact with him that way. Gather everyone tied to Boss and you could stand up a provisional government.
"Nothing major."
One doctor, and a few medical supplies. Emergency treatment was already done, so a cheap doctor from the outside world would do, and the supplies didn't need to be anything impressive. All of it, in the end, had to go to the Human Meat Factory. I didn't say a single word about why. Not even about how entry to the Human Meat Factory had become possible.
And yet—
"Request received."
Boss granted it without a moment's hesitation.
"See you later, then."
"Yeah."
Beep-beep-beep.
It was the first time I'd asked him for anything like this. The circumstances of a man doing something he'd never done in his life. I hadn't thought Boss would need a long explanation, and sure enough, I was right.
"Well? You all heard that."
By now we could faintly make each other out. Our eyes had adjusted to the dark, and a little starlight was leaking in through the fallen ceiling. Even so, nobody suddenly drew a gun and took aim. Only Dr. Myeong had the dagger I'd given him clenched tight in his hand, and he wasn't threatening in the slightest.
"......Can we trust this?"
"Who knows."
"If it goes the way the postman says, it would be a great help to the wounded."
"Even so, this is moving far too fast......"
Hard to believe. Fair enough. But this part, at least, was real.
Not that I can pull my insides out and show them.
Everything before had been a con. This, if they would only trust me, could actually happen.
"I can't give you any more reason to believe me. The choice is yours."
I lifted the muzzle from the squad leader's temple.
"Hm?"
"Thanks for the use."
A gun ought to go back to its owner.
The moment he took it, I gave him a light shove toward the Gentleman. Then I raised a radio in each hand, high enough for everyone to see.
"See the button? This one's small—maybe you can't. Anyway, they look a little different, but it's the same function. Emergency call."
A safety measure, for me.
"Press it, and a warning tone goes to the people I just contacted. It means something's happened to me. Then the favors I just asked for disappear on their own. So if you're not planning to refuse my offer, don't try anything stupid."
If they were planning to refuse, then stupid was allowed. But really. We'd see.
"Talk it over. Dr. Myeong?"
"Huh?"
"Keep flailing around in that stance and you'll be the one who gets hurt. Put it away."
"I'm pretty good with a knife, you know."
"Ah. Sure."
"Do you even know what an incision is?"
One by one, they started lighting their lighters.
"If we accept the postman's offer, do we just let the doctor go?"
"That's probably the point."
"Ha. That's a bit much."
"It really isn't right. If justice isn't served, what's the point of saving a life?"
"What you just said is even less right."
"Saving lives does come first."
"Even so, just letting him walk doesn't make sense."
"Is this even something to split over? We can do both!"
"Must be nice, being that simple."
The underground space dissolved into the light the lighters made. The glow seemed to reach even the platform lying beneath them.
"Sinusitis."
"What?"
"You said you can't smell. It's sinusitis."
The mercenary had barely managed, after asking all over, to track down a doctor in the outside world. The answer he got back was not the right one. Of course it wasn't. The man was a quack.
"That's not what I mean! I lost my sense of smell completely!"
"Good grief. If you aren't going to believe me, why ask for a diagnosis?"
"I'm asking you to diagnose it properly! What's wrong with you!"
"What are you mumbling about? Ah, go somewhere else! Honestly...... Hey, why are you taking that back! The fee stays!"
With his sense of smell dead, the mercenary was nothing more than an ordinary man, and that meant the commission had failed. In the end he never found the target before the airstrike, and could only watch from a distance as it came down. If he meant to find the target even late, his nose had to come back.
"Stone seller!"
"What are you saying? Don't come back!"
He couldn't return empty-handed. Not like this.