86—EIGHTY-SIX, Vol. 4
EPILOGUE
WOUNDED IN ACTION
His habit of forcing people to write paper reports in the Federacy, where electronic documents were the norm, and making someone write one down on paper was mostly just a form of bullying, was one reason Grethe couldn’t stand her killer mantis of a commanding officer.
“—The aforementioned new Legion unit will henceforth be designated the High-Mobility type—Phönix.”
Sitting behind his long table stacked with papers, the chief of staff seemed unusually elated.
“In addition, the mass-produced intelligent Legion will be designated Sheepdogs… A new type that’s immortal on top of employing optical camouflage—and the small fry becoming intelligent. Looks like we’ll have to reconsider our basic strategy again. Irksome.”
“And in addition, we have the Legion making human farms and filling warehouses with skeletons. Our mental health squad’s gonna have their hands full right off the bat, aren’t they?”
As she cast her gaze at him, the chief of staff raised his hands apologetically.
“Sorry, sorry, don’t glare at me like that. I wouldn’t have had them go on this mission if I knew.”
While they may have been elites compared to the Federacy’s troops, the Eighty-Six were child soldiers, and the example of the original five they’d shouldered made it abundantly clear they had a certain mental fragility.
The human psyche hinged on the early memories of one’s life, when one was loved unconditionally. And so the Eighty-Six, who’d had their families robbed from them, their dignity stripped away, and their existence denied all before they even reached their teens, matured while lacking that basis. Having to survive on a battlefield that demanded they be strong may have made them appear to be toughened, tempered swords, but at the same time, their blades were so terribly fragile.
Grethe kept her steely glare fixed on the chief of staff, who then spun his chair around and looked away.
“Fine, fine. I’ll arrange a vacation for them. Maybe a hot spring? Would you like to join me while I inspect the place?”
“Where do you get off nonchalantly asking me out on a date? Are you sick in the head?”
As the chief of staff shrugged wordlessly, his capable aide pulled a guidebook full of tourist attractions out of the pile of paperwork and left the room. Watching the aide walk away, the chief of staff then added, “…Grethe. There’s a question that’s been bothering me for a long while now.”
His tone had turned sincere. Grethe looked up into his black eyes, which shone with wisdom.
“Just how…did they get the idea to assimilate human neural networks?”
Grethe furrowed her brow.
“What do you mean?”
“How did machines, with no functionality but to destroy things, come up with the idea to assimilate something, and then learn how to break it in such a way that they could make it a part of themselves?”
Now that he mentioned it, it was odd. Humans thought with their brains, the most developed among all mammals. Those were all things that were taught in middle school, but it wasn’t some self-evident truth one would come to on their own without being told. It was said that far in the past, people once thought the soft organ nestled within the human skull was something of a useless intestine that produced phlegm.
So how would killing machines, whose neural networks were different down to their very composition, arrive at that conclusion?
“Hearing that message Captain Nouzen received got me to thinking, so I looked into things. Zelene Birkenbaum, the developer of the Legion. The genius researcher who improved on the AI model the United Kingdom developed—aka the Mariana Model—when it was released over the public network and who single-handedly developed the Legion’s control system.”
“But I thought she didn’t live to see the Legion she put her heart and soul into developing put into action and passed away from disease shortly before the first series of Ameise was rolled out.”
“She didn’t leave a body.”
Grethe’s face froze in shock.
“…What?”
“There’s no death certificate or record of her burial. There’s the chance they were lost in the upheaval before the government was overthrown. But considering even her mother didn’t see her remains, it’s odd.”
“……”
“On the other hand, I received a report from the United Kingdom about a commander unit they’re facing off against. Its identifier is the Merciless Queen. Most commander units are Dinosauria models, but that particular one is an Ameise. And one from the first series, from the early stages of the war, at that. A model that, as far as we know, shouldn’t be operational at this point.”
For the Legion, undamaged neural networks were precious bounty. At least, they had been until now. It was for this reason that most observed cases of Shepherds used the Dinosauria—the most bulky and defensive of combat Legion—as their vessel. Of course, there were exceptions, like the Morpho and the Admiral, but there were no recorded cases of a fragile unit like the Ameise being used.
And it was the only type of Legion developed prior to the developer’s death.
“So where do you think she went?”
“…About Major Penrose…”
After a meeting that involved the people in charge of every division in the Strike Package, only Lena, Annette, and Shin stayed behind in the meeting room, and Shin suddenly spoke.
“I’ve been trying to remember ever since, and this morning I think I finally recalled a few things.”
“That’s amazing! Good for you.”
Putting aside the tablet terminal she had picked up, Lena brought her hands together with a gentle clap, and Annette’s face took on the terrified visage of a convict waiting to have their verdict read to them. Shin’s expression, on the other hand, looked oddly uncomfortable.
“You were…more than just a lively girl—you were like a little monster.”
…Pardon?
“You’d pick up sticks and swing them around. You’d jump into every puddle and then start throwing mud everywhere. You hated hiding in hide-and-seek, but whenever you were It, you’d spend the whole day seeking, only to cry a river when the game ended.”
“…Shin?”
“You’d always insist that you liked making candy, and you’d give me a lot of them, too, but most of them weren’t edible. Looking back on it, that might be half the reason I ended up disliking sweets.”
“Oh, that part of her hasn’t changed to this day.”
Even so, these days, she could make something tasty every once in a while, so perhaps that was progress.
Or not.
“Your mistakes weren’t something as basic as adding too much sugar or mixing it up with salt. Sometimes all you had to do was melt chocolate, but you somehow ended up turning it purple. And from what I heard, you’d have your father taste your sweets, and he’d end up fainting, so I never knew what I was supposed to do when you brought them to me. Oh, and also…”
Speaking in a drawn-out tone one wouldn’t normally expect, given how taciturn he usually was, Shin fixed his gaze on Annette.
“…you probably didn’t know, but your mother would come in later to take your sweets and then give me ones she made instead. Those were normal and delicious.”
“Ugh, whatever! …No, wait, wait up. What the hell?!”
Annette finally jumped to her feet, the device she’d brought in to project electronic documents tumbling to the floor.
“I’m sitting here, listening to you, and you just go running your mouth! You had sword fights with sticks and played in the mud same as me, and when we played hide-and-seek, you’d hide in crazy places like on top of the highest tree in the thicket near the neighborhood! That was awful, and I know about how you cried when your brother scolded you for it later!”
After a moment’s pause, Shin’s gaze seemed to waver a bit.
“……I have no recollection of that.”
“Liar, you just paused and thought about it!”
Her scream echoing in the conference room, Annette breathed heavily, her shoulders rising and falling. Her face then contorted with her outburst of emotion.
“What the hell? Are you doing this on purpose? Aren’t there better things you could remember, dammit…?!”
What Annette wanted him to remember—what she wanted to apologize for—wasn’t anything as trivial and silly as those memories.
“Not much I can do about it… We always used to argue like this, though.”
“You dummy!”
Shouting as if to shove that word at him, Annette rushed out of the conference room. Watching her leave with a bothered expression, Shin gestured toward the exit.
“Could you?”
“Sure. I’ll be leaving, then!”
Thankfully, Annette hadn’t gotten too far. She stood in the intersecting corridor, her back to the corner wall. Her face was the picture of dejection.
“…It’s fine. He really doesn’t remember the last time we fought,” she spat peevishly as Lena approached, not looking at her.
“The fact that I didn’t save Shin has been tormenting me ever since, but if nothing else, it doesn’t seem like that bothers him anymore. Why would something that meaningless linger in his memories, right? It’s fine… He doesn’t have to remember anymore. Not at this point.”
Even if that meant she’d never be able to apologize. Even if they’d never go back to how they were before.
“In the end, I was just acting based on my own wrong impressions I’d made as an ignorant child. That my relationship with my childhood friend…that the world being so small would be things that never changed. So even if he does remember anything else, it’s fine if it’s just more pointless things.”
Annette then stole a glance at Lena.
“Like how I said we’d get married when we got older.”
“Huh?”
Lena looked back at her, an odd squeak escaping her lips. Annette then smirked all of a sudden. It was the first bright, carefree expression Lena had seen her make in a while.
“Just kidding. Though it’s true… Shin’s always been thick when it comes to things like this. There are girls who’ve been in the same squad as him for a long time now, so he might get snatched away if you’re not assertive, you know.”
“A-Annette…?!”
As Lena glanced around in a flustered panic to check that there was really no one else in the abandoned corridor, Annette grinned fiendishly.
“Do your best with him.”
Lena wasn’t so ignorant as to not realize this was Annette’s way of severing her lingering affections, of bidding farewell to the first love of her youth.
“…Thank you, Annette.”
“Don’t mention it. Now, off to work with you! A tactical commander can’t leave her troops neglected. Wouldn’t set a good example, would it?”
Nor was she so blind as to not notice that Annette looking away was her way of asking to be left alone for a while.
“Thank you… I’m sorry.”
Perhaps he’d expected her to come back, because Shin was sitting alone in the empty meeting room. The information terminal was turned on and streaming some news program while he was writing a document. He addressed her without turning his gaze in her direction.
“There’s no problem with me using this room so long as no one has it reserved, right? I’ve got some reports to write, and the office is kind of loud.”
“Yes…”
The Processors had been given a shared office, but since they’d been treated like drones until now and hadn’t been given proper schooling, the Eighty-Six had no habit of sitting silently by a desk. And to top it off, they had a lot of energy to spare. That resulted in the office being relatively—or rather, very—loud. Looking at it another way, it was a very fun office to work in but entirely unsuited for when one wanted to concentrate on their paperwork.
“Have you gotten used to writing reports now?”
“?”
“Back in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, your battle reports and even your patrol reports were always a mess.”
His Handlers before Lena had never bothered to read them, and Shin had never needed to go on patrol, so their contents had always been arbitrary nonsense. With her words reminding him of that, he gave a faint, wry smile.
“I don’t have much of a choice now. Colonel Wenzel can be harsh about those sorts of things.”
“Can she? I guess I should have been harsher on you, then.”
“…Spare me, please.”
Lena chuckled at how displeased he sounded. But once her laughter died down, she asked a question that had been bothering her. Was he…?
“Were you actually just…being considerate of Annette?”
To spare her from being bound by her guilt. Perhaps he really did remember everything but chose to mention only those trivial memories out of consideration…
“No.”
But Shin responded with a denial.
“I really don’t remember much at all. Like I said, we used to argue all the time, so it must not have left much of an impression.”
Almost as if to contrast how deep of a scar the guilt had left on Annette.
“I can’t remember her face clearly yet… Though maybe I just didn’t have the leisure to think about it so soon after the operation.”
Lena bent her head to one side with concern.
“…Are you sure you shouldn’t have rested longer? You felt so bad after the operation, you had to stay in bed for several days.”
That was, without a doubt, the influence of the sudden increase in mass-produced Shepherds—the Sheepdogs. Even though he had no visible symptoms, like a fever, he’d spent several days following the operation mostly asleep. The medical squad had looked after him, and he’d been approved to go back to full operational duties, but…
“I’ll get used to it soon enough. I was like this when I first started hearing the Legion, too.”
“……”
There was one thing she’d come to understand. Regardless of whether he said he was fine, Shin could not be trusted to be completely honest about his health. He had a tendency to run his body ragged…without even being aware that he was doing so.
The sound of the news report from the holo-screen tore through the silence between them.
“Next, we have an update on the recapture operation for the Republic of San Magnolia’s northern administrative Sectors.”
Looking to the holo-screen, Shin reached for the sensor set on the edge of the table. He intended to either change channels or turn it off, but Lena stopped him. Unfortunately, the Bleachers’ behavior had continued as it had been until the Eighty-Six had left the garrisoned base. Criticizing it felt like a pointless endeavor.
The news program explained the war situation plainly. The current front lines, what Sectors had been retaken, how many casualties had been taken, and the number of downed enemies. It also discussed the human samples found in Charité’s underground, and while some truths were covered up, the report was mostly accurate. At the very least, there was no attempt to falsify the war condition.
“—Furthermore, the battle for Charité’s terminal was conducted by the Eighty-Sixth Strike Package, formed by child soldiers given shelter from the old Republic of San Magnolia, aka the Eighty-Six—”
Lena looked at the program, pleasantly surprised to see the report went down to such details. It discussed not only the achievements but also who’d achieved them. The Republic never reported on such things, but this was likely how things should be…
The program continued and went into an explanation regarding the Eighty-Six. It told about the five child soldiers who’d been rescued in the western front. Of the terrible persecution their motherland had inflicted on them. Of how after the Republic’s fall, countless other children were discovered to have undergone the same treatment.
The coverage then went on about how these very children took it upon themselves to save their old homeland. Of their own wills.
“…Huh?”
Of how they swore loyalty to their new country, in the name of noble benevolence. Of how these heroic child soldiers offered up their bodies and lives in the name of the Federacy’s justice, to save the homeland that had once tormented them.
“What…?”
It was a tragic, sublime, faultless story. A sad yet sweet fairy tale that would make anyone shed tears, grow angry, and tremble in deep admiration. A story meant to generate luxurious sympathy for one to drown in, served up with tears and garnished with emotion.
“Wh-what is this…? What is the meaning of this…?”
The one thing she could say for certain was that this wasn’t the kind of coverage Shin, who was sitting right in front of her, Raiden, Theo, Kurena, Anju, Shiden, or any of the other Eighty-Six she knew wished for.
There was nothing these proud people would hate more than to be arbitrarily treated as pitiful children…!
But contrary to Lena’s outrage, Shin simply gave an indifferent grunt.
“This kind of broadcast’s been going on since the large-scale offensive. They’ve been treating us like we deserve mercy since the day they saved us, and it’s been escalating as the war gets worse… If they can pity us and feel rightful wrath toward the Republic for what it did, they can easily feel like they’re superior and just. That’s all there is to it.”
The Federacy hardly remembered themselves how similar this was to eleven years ago. When the Republic had suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of the Legion, its citizens had looked to the Eighty-Six as an outlet for their frustration. This was the same. All they did was trade one form of discrimination for another.
He looked up at Lena as she shivered with rage, tilting his head quizzically like an innocent monster, just as he had when they’d walked through the streets of Liberté et Égalité.
“…Is it really something to get that angry over?”
“Of course it is! You didn’t fight just to be propped up for some tragic story! To be looked down upon like pitiful children! Don’t you…?”
Losing her strength, Lena hung her head. This was just like…
“Don’t you feel anything…? Aren’t you upset by how the place you fled to is treating you…?”
“…Not really.”
His voice seemed truly and honestly indifferent. She also thought he might find her annoying for caring so much about the matter.
“It’s not pleasant—that much I’ll admit—but after all this time, both pity and scorn are the same to us… Didn’t I tell you already? The Federacy isn’t a utopia. It’s a country made up of humans, same as the Republic.”
He then broke into a callous smile. A desolate, resigned, and somehow relieved smile.
“Humans are all the same, no matter where you go. That’s all there is to it.”
That distorted smile…filled with cold fury and disdain. The same emotions the Eighty-Six in the Eighty-Sixth Sector had directed toward the white pigs.
“Shin…is this world beautiful?”
His expression turned dubious at the sudden question.
“What are you—?”
“Is this world kind? Is it a good place…? What about people? Are they beautiful? Kind? Are they good?”
His graceful face, at first contorted with confusion, gradually lost all expression as Lena’s questions dragged on. And paying that no attention, she continued her questioning.
“This world… Its people… Could you learn to love them?”
No answer came.
“I understand… No, it makes sense.”
The world wasn’t beautiful to them. No, maybe it was, but it certainly wasn’t kind. And people weren’t kind, nor were they good. They certainly weren’t beautiful. And that wasn’t limited to the Republic. It was just as true for the Federacy… For all people. The Eighty-Six had all but given up on the human world, deeming it cruel and wretched…and hopeless above all.
“It’s not that you can’t remember your childhood. You don’t
want
to remember it. Because that way you can keep thinking that the things you lost, that were taken from you, never existed to begin with. That way you can keep believing people are despicable.”
The Eighty-Six had been subjected to severe persecution and cast out into a deadly battlefield, and in the process, many things had been chipped away from them. Their families, their names, their freedom, their dignity. But as the blade of malice continued to swing, peeling away layer after layer, they cast away the past they loved in order to preserve their pride. They had to willingly wipe away the affection they’d once known, the kindness, the warmth, the joy, and the memory of the people who had granted them.
Because if they were to remember those things, they would come to hate them.
That they’d once had joy to lose, that people were inherently good, that this was humankind’s truest form… They would come to loathe the world right before their eyes, because it was
none of those things
. They would loathe it and eventually lapse into being as despicable as the world was. They would descend to hating their persecutors and lose the final pride they had left, believing base vulgarity to be the true essence of man.
And what few kind people they did meet, who were willing to extend a helping hand, they would simply set apart as precious exceptions to the rule, who tried to protect the world and its people from despair.
That was why they felt nothing. No scorn. No contempt. Not toward people, not toward the world. They held no expectations for goodwill or justice. Not embracing so much as a sliver of hope…
To this day, Shin
still
couldn’t answer her question about whether there was anything he wanted to do. All he did was reflect Lena’s wishes. He still had no answer to the question of what he wanted for himself. He simply
pretended
he was trying to remember to smooth that fact over. But he never did try to face his lost past.
“You… All of you might have left the Eighty-Sixth Sector. But you’re still trapped by it. You’re still trapped by the Republic. By us—the white pigs.”
They forgot everything so that they wouldn’t have to loathe others.
To protect that pride, they had to cut away everything else.
Even the very perception that something precious had been taken from them.
And that was why Shin and the rest of the Eighty-Six were the same as they’d been when they were trapped in the Eighty-Sixth Sector. Clinging to their last remaining vestiges of pride and never looking back on what they’d had to cut away to preserve it. Just as they’d been when they ran through that battlefield of certain death, sealed by human malice—the Eighty-Sixth Sector, where the whole world was their enemy. Without the happiness of the past to look back on, they couldn’t imagine knowing happiness in the future.
They’d survived and gained freedom. But they had to cast away the strength to imagine the happiness ahead, and even the strength to wish for it.
Shin simply looked up at Lena, silent and expressionless. Her words likely didn’t resonate with him. The shadow of a bird of prey in flight filtered in through the window. The shadow of its wings fell over the room, as if to signify the break between them.
She thought she stood on the same battlefield as them. That she had finally caught up to them and would fight by their side from now on. But that wasn’t the case. They might stand on the same battlefield and throw themselves into the same battles… But she saw the world in a way that was too radically different from their own perception.
I am a Republic citizen. The side that stole from them and chipped away at them. So saying this is probably terrible hubris. But even knowing this…
“That makes me…so sad.”
A single tear rolled down her soft white cheek.