Fatal Grounds
Every one of the red uniforms smelled good. The scents were different, but they seemed to be using the same class of product Dr. Myeong favored. From the Geofront, then. Exactly the sort of target Clock-out Man would love to track.
"Postman Woo Jungkook. That you?"
Seven red uniforms in all. Only one of them carried a small device, and he kept checking it — some machine that showed him whatever he needed to know, by the look of it. Not like those clueless bastards from the post office after-action unit. Hard to tell how much these ones knew. They wouldn't be easy to handle.
"I'll ask again. Postman Woo Jungkook, the one who failed his mission. Is that you?"
"If you already know, why ask?"
"Your attitude is poor."
"I don't even know who you people are. Why should I bother with manners?"
"Hm."
Nothing I'd said was wrong.
"We'll set that aside."
So they had no intention of telling me who they were. Look closely and they were covered in gear I'd never seen before — so much of it that the shapes alone wouldn't even tell you what it was for. The whips had caught my eye first, but something else stood out once I really looked. The rings. Every one of them wore an identical ring on the index finger. A mark of the unit, maybe?
"Then I'll confirm. Delivery successful. Companion deceased. Under ordinary circumstances the postman's proper duty would count as fulfilled, and the post office would have no cause to issue penalty points. This, however, was a special mission, so—"
"No need to recite what I already know."
In truth, they probably didn't want to be saying it either. The sad habit of civil servants: even a story everyone knows has to be read out loud one more time.
"True enough. You're a civil servant yourself, so you'd understand. Very well. I'll omit, without hesitation, everything you're likely to know."
Good. Stop wasting my time.
"In any case, we are standing by for the post office after-action unit to enter their report. By procedure, they come first."
"Hm?"
"Is there a problem?"
I'd just burned a perfectly good stretch of time on exactly that. What were those people still doing, not entering anything?
"Ah. It's in. Hm...? The mission failed, but the penalty has been waived?"
What?
"Originally you were to meet with us, complete the procedure, and be driven out of Headquarters. But with no penalty points... I was given to understand that if a failed mission carries extenuating grounds, you are not expelled. Is that correct?"
"It is."
I had no idea how any of this was working, but it was to my benefit either way.
"The grounds for not applying the penalty are... oh."
The other uniforms closed in around him.
"What? What does it say?"
"...This is the reason?"
"Don't try to understand it. This must be how they do things on the surface."
"It's humane, in its own way."
"Well... respecting cultural diversity is the proper course."
"I believe this one ought to be recognized."
What on earth was written there?
"Is this reason factual?"
"Of course it is."
Anyway, move on. It benefited me.
"Frankly, whether or not the post office docks you points is no concern of ours. That is the post office's affair. We need only do our own work."
"But that reason, you see—"
"Hm?"
I want to know. Couldn't they just tell me that much?
"...Never mind."
"Hm. Well then, this first—"
I slipped the arm he thrust at me on pure reflex.
"Remarkable reaction speed."
"If that's a compliment, I'll take it."
"I am only removing the necklace. Hold still."
Click.
The necklace opened easily. All he'd done was set a hand on it. What had he done, and how?
"Clean, same as the doctor's. Not a scratch. You did well up to this point. But from what the doctor told us, you lost your companion's necklace?"
"Not lost. An accident that couldn't be helped."
The necklace Dr. Myeong had so refreshingly blasted into nowhere. I'd known it would be a problem once we got back. The thing looked expensive. Of course it would. That didn't mean he'd stirred up trouble he had no intention of cleaning up himself.
If he hadn't done it, I would have thrown the thing myself.
A fucked-up mission, planned by those Geofront bastards. If I could put even a little dent in their property, I'd keep throwing their toys away and walking off.
"Not lost — an accident? Hm."
For now, focus on getting through this.
"Very well. I'll hear it. If it truly could not be helped, we can make allowance. It will have to be a very grave accident, of course."
"This allowance — the lost necklace only? Or the companion dying, too?"
"Both. That does not undo the mission failure caused by the companion's death, but in the after-action process we can cut you a little slack."
"Any chance of a more detailed explanation?"
"Hm."
The uniform unpacked one item from the briefing he'd been given.
"If allowance is made, the matter ends with you being sent back out on the mission."
"That's the one I want least."
"If it is not made, we choose the mission you are sent back into."
Tch. A basement under the floor.
"And claims that he took ill and died do not qualify. That would mean you failed to care for the patient properly."
So that was the rule.
People usually called Elder Heo's death a natural one, old age taking its course, but it was more accurate to call it death by illness. An old man whose sickness never turned, until it killed him.
Then I'll have to make another reason.
From the way he talked, they weren't about to allow for anything short of disaster. But this, they wouldn't be able to reject.
"It was a very grave accident, obviously. An airstrike came down on our heads. The doctor and I barely made it. The appraiser didn't."
The uniforms stirred.
"If that is true, then yes, it is a very grave accident... Can you prove it?"
Obviously.
"Plenty of witnesses. Dozens of people were at the spot where it hit. A good number of them are Waste Disposal Squad, and they come and go from Headquarters. Some of the wounded are being treated at a settlement nearby. Want to go ask them one by one?"
Elder Heo had, of course, already been dead just before the strike. But an airstrike had come down on my head and Dr. Myeong's. That was a fact. The people who'd been there wouldn't properly remember whether some old man had been standing beside us or not. Say he'd been there, and they'd figure he must have been — and they'd tell you the strike itself was beyond any doubt.
And besides.
"If you want, you can try that thing. What was it. Fingerprint matching? You've got technology like that. Appraisers all have their prints on file."
"And what would a fingerprint match tell us?"
"We managed to find a single finger and buried it. Right where the strike landed. I remember the spot. Go and check."
"Does that prove he died in the airstrike? He might have died elsewhere, and you only buried him there."
An excellent point.
"See where we buried him, and you won't be saying that."
"Hm?"
"Underground. And I mean deep. Extremely deep."
"Underground?"
"A place sunlight never reaches. You wouldn't bury someone there under normal circumstances, would you? You put them somewhere sunny. Easier to come back and visit."
"And yet you buried him underground because—"
"I told you. We all got hit together. We looked to see if the appraiser was alive, and his body was already scattered in pieces. Who's going to hunt for a necklace in the middle of that? We weren't in any state to think. We buried the finger where we stood and ran. Couldn't even do it properly. Instead of a shallow grave, we found a place no one's hands would ever reach."
"Hm..."
"What, you think I knew it would come to this and went all the way down there on purpose, just to bury a finger? While breathing toxic gas?"
The uniforms started whispering among themselves. Coming to an agreement didn't take them long.
"This claim of many witnesses. It is true?"
"My mouth's getting tired."
"We do not let things slide. We will take this Waste Disposal Squad you mentioned and investigate. As for the claim that a finger was buried—"
"There's someone who can testify to that, too."
"Good. Then you will wait in the holding cell until verification is complete."
Sticklers. Well, fine. The rest of it had left my hands.
"The holding cell is that way—"
"Food come free?"
"...?"
"I'm hungry. You check it out and everything I said is true, then I got locked up for nothing, didn't I?"
"Procedure is simply—"
"So at least feed me. That's basic human decency."
"That is—"
"Look at you. All this fuss over a single meal."
"...Very well. Someone bring this one a meal in the holding cell—"
"Something with warm soup."
"...Prepare something with warm soup, and bring it to him."
I supposed that counted as a relief. The red uniforms never swung their whips. But not one of them, not for a single moment right up to the end, let a whip leave his hand.
News that the postman sent out with the first wave had returned scattered along the internal reporting lines, in every direction. Among those who received it was an agent of the Future Technology Department.
"Noona. Word has come that Woo Jungkook has arrived."
"Haa... One mountain behind us, at least. I kept wondering what we'd do if he actually made it back safe."
"However—"
It was not merely news of a return.
"The mission failed, it seems."
"What...? Jungkook?"
Jo Yong-han went through the report with care.
"The delivery itself succeeded, but one companion died on the return. An appraiser, according to this."
"Well... protecting an indoor-duty worker while carrying out a mission can't be an easy thing."
"How would you like to proceed?"
"Hm?"
Jungkook's failure was unfortunate. For the Jo siblings, it was an opportunity.
"This special mission redeploys its personnel until it succeeds."
"Ah. That's right...!"
Sisters who had to step outside Headquarters at least once. Handled well, a chance to place themselves with Jungkook.
But.
"Even if they go out together with Woo Jungkook, a companion's survival is not guaranteed. An obvious point, if one thinks about it."
"Mmm..."
Silence followed. Then one peculiar detail caught the eye.
"Hm...?"
"What is it?"
"The mission failed, but he received no penalty points."
"What does that mean?"
"The grounds are..."
The grounds, once he had confirmed them—
"It is nothing."
He couldn't bring himself to say.
Postman Woo Jungkook — cancel the mission-failure entry. Report the corrected result.
"What are we supposed to enter?"
The two from the post office after-action unit had their brains spinning faster than at any moment in their lives.
"The appraiser's dead, so flipping the failure itself is going to be rough."
"I know that. I'm saying, what reason do we attach so the mission can fail and he still doesn't take penalty points?"
"Ugh... This is hard."
And then a thought surfaced.
"Oh! We've had this kind of thing before, every so often!"
"Have we?"
"Somebody steps on a mine, loses a leg, that sort of thing!"
"And here I thought you had something. That wasn't just stepping on a mine. It was when the information Headquarters issued was wrong."
"Anyway, when that happens they still mark the mission failed, but they waive the penalty as compensation!"
"And what does that have to do with now? That guy's got all his limbs."
"He looks intact on the outside. The inside might be another story!"
"Huh?"
His fingers flew over the scanner, entering the grounds.
"This. This right here."
"Ah...!"
"Solid?"
"They'll have to accept it. No question."
"Whew. Done."
Subject: Postman Woo Jungkook
Mission: Failed
Penalty Points: Waived
Grounds: Grave injury sustained due to faulty information from Command — Eunuch
"Yeesh. Isn't there some other way to put it besides 'eunuch'? The tone's a little..."
"They've already opened it on the inside. Too late."
"Ah, this is a bit..."
"Long as the meaning comes through, what does it matter?"
The information the after-action unit had entered passed cleanly through every reporting line. Not even the verification request one might have expected, at least once, ever came. No one asked a question. No one dug any deeper.