Chapter 47: Prisoners and Mercenaries

The DNA filaments used to animate the powered exoskeleton finally finished extending. My steel foot moved as freely as a flesh-and-blood one.

So rehabilitation began.

They handed me a towel and told me to run around the perimeter of the human village. I looped the towel round my neck and took off.

Move, dammit. Move, my leg, move.

That dramatic moment never came. I ran like any normal person. Honestly, the prosthetic felt… not that different from my old left leg.

I even tried the built-in jet boost.

It did not make me fly, but like the Insectum grasshopper models, it gave me a hop. I fell flat on my face.

I vowed never to use it again, dusted head to toe and swearing beneath my breath.

My doctor’s comment when he saw me was priceless.

“You’ve lost your coordination, haven’t you?”

“…”

Apparently, tripping on something like that was extremely rare.

So that’s what medical harassment is like. Horrible.

While I was thinking that, Quack Doc shoved a gag soccer ball in my hands and said, “Next.” The ball was a joke item printed with portraits of literary giants. Black and white, it looked exactly like a soccer ball and, to everyone’s amusement, that’s how it was used.

Since the leather ball’s patternaries were black and white, it somehow stoked Rudo’s herd-chasing instincts. He lit up and immediately snatched it. There was nothing for it but to sit in the shade and watch him.

Some kids gathered and started playing soccer with Rudo.

They looked so happy. I did not want to spoil it, so I called my rehabilitation done for the day. Such a shame. I was not slacking. Not at all.

Hmm?

A little unease pricked at me.

Some children were playing and other children watched them with envy. The gap between them was obvious. The players were well-nourished; the onlookers were not. Their eyes were like those of stray dogs. That was no look for kids.

It felt wrong for there to be a gap of wealth even among prisoners.

“Is that dog yours?”

A gentle-faced old man in a cassock had spoken. He wore a cross on his chest. A priest, I guessed.

I found it a little surprising that religion had survived to this era.

“Yes. Well, I suppose so.”

“Thank you. I’m glad to see the children are being allowed to play.”

“No, thank you.”

Rudo, high on excitement, kept the ball close and darted about like a bullet. His dribbling was annoyingly good. The children chased him like fish swarming bait.

“He isn’t a prisoner, is he?” the priest said with a smile.

“He’s a mercenary,” I answered, and showed the spine necklace I wore like a dog tag.

“Is that so. I hesitate to say this on first meeting, but could you help us?”

“I’m sorry. I’m only hired muscle.”

I said it bluntly. It wasn’t that there were no ways to help. Rikan had told me the prisoners here were taken as laborers and for ransom.

So buying them out was possible.

Not everyone could be bought, though.

You have to choose. I did not want that role.

It was easier to look away.

So I intended to do my share, collect my pay, and go back.

Even so—

“If it’s a small aid, I can do that.”

“That would be more than enough.”

That day I arranged, via Rikan, a small aid parcel for the kindly smiling man. I hoped it would save even a few of those kids from having stray-dog eyes.

***

The pillbox made from foaming agent mixed with earth had, unsurprisingly, a kind of brownish cast to it. 

The house—cast concrete, bare as could be—was the sort of flawed dwelling that felt too hot in summer and bone-chilling in winter, but it was still somewhat better than the place Rikan had arranged—or tried to arrange—for me.

“What kind of house is this? It won’t self-regenerate if a hole opens!”

Rikan shouted that his would have been far superior.

“In my homeland, houses do not self-regenerate,” I said as I handed him plain hot water.

The Leone mercenaries, wandering folk without a permanent home, did not care for strongly flavored drinks. Being outsiders everywhere, their history was dark enough to make them wary of poisoning.

So when hosting them, water or plain hot water was preferred, Rikan had explained.

“Why do you serve coffee with my hot water, Ratchet?”

“…”

Of all the people to complain, the one who taught me about the custom made the objection.

How unreasonable.

“Are you not worried about being poisoned?”

“No. You wouldn’t poison me, would you, Ratchet?”

“I’m honored to be trusted so much.”

“Yes. You’re the sort who would poison and then take the wrong cup.”

“You take me for a fool.”

Enough of that.

made a cup for Rikan and, as payback, I dumped in a generous amount of black pepper. When I brought it over, he claimed, “I can’t handle hot drinks,” and grabbed my cup first. So I was left with the peppered coffee. What to do?

“Oh? What’s wrong? Not drinking it?”

Rikan smirked.

I put my hands up and sank back in my chair.

“Fine. Apparently, this isn’t for me.”

“See. That’s why you get conned.”

“Conned? What do you mean by that?”

What did he mean? I tilted my head.

“Didn’t you make a donation to the church in the human village the other day?”

“I did?”

“That’s it,” Rikan said, but I didn’t really understand. “Well, in three days you’ll understand my words. Work, Ratchet.”

“I see. So it’s time.”

I had read the briefing while I’d been in the hospital.

The Leone mercenary clan’s long-cherished goal was to find a permanent homeland. They turned war into money for that goal, and they also did other work: land clearing. They took land from hostile forces—humans, Insectum, and Bubble. 

The target this time was—

“Bubbles, right?”

“Yeah. Those brainless, pride-less bubbles. We take their land.”

“I’m not very compatible with them.”

“That’s what makes a leader valuable.”

“I’ll rely on you then, leader.”

I sipped my coffee. It immediately shot back out of my nose.