The Dog Needs a Master

“Ugh, it’s freezing...”

She could barely stand it already. Four suns or not, the place was still gloomy and bitterly cold.

Erabelle hunched her shoulders and pulled her jumper tighter around herself as she descended into the basement of the 59 building. There was no sign outside, only a chaotic mess of graffiti covering the walls.

A pair of burly guards gave her a cursory glance.

The transformation tech at 59 was pretty outdated. Some of the avatars were even glitching around the edges. But this wasn’t a weapons shop or a mercenary bunker. There was no reason to waste money on appearances.

She waited by the door until a man she recognized motioned for her to come in.

“Back again?”

“Yes, sir.”

He greeted her as though he had been expecting her.

Erabelle cast the proprietor of 59 a mildly suspicious look, then threaded her way past the scattered sofas toward the counter.

A few patrons glanced in her direction before promptly losing interest.

Being low-level has its advantages. No one bothers looking twice.

“I’ve been hearing rumors that a rat’s been sniffing around.”

The owner was old. The lines etched into his face by drugs and physical leveling made that obvious enough.

“What do you mean?”

“An inspector from the Compliance Bureau.”

They were always around somewhere, but the fact that he was bringing one up specifically was unusual.

“Found a crack in the system, apparently. You know that crash a few days ago?”

He placed a small shard of dark alloy on the counter.

...

Custom-made alloy.

Expensive.

Which meant its users could usually be traced. Wealthy feudal knights, imperial agents—people like that.

Planetary System 2155 was a conflict zone, and the only faction with any real authority here belonged to the Second Prince.

There was no chance some feudal knight was casually wandering around this place.

So it’s probably an agent.

“She’s been poking her nose into everything. Be [N O V E L I G H T] careful. Consider this a gift.”

A gift?

More like a warning.

Erabelle slipped the fragment into her pocket, then set a stack of bills on the counter.

The owner raised an eyebrow.

“A finder’s fee. For Perum.”

“Ah. Right.”

He was the one who had introduced her to the Perum Complex Chimera Lab, the black-market clinic that handled augmentations.

“How’s the gear? Tried it out yet?”

He counted the money as he spoke.

“Not yet. I only had it implanted the day before yesterday.”

“Still got money left?”

“I need a Fusion Agent. A Mana Regulator and a Shield Disk too. And a full set of medication.”

“You really aren’t going to last long.”

She had been hearing that an awful lot lately.

Why did these aliens insist on projecting their own assumptions onto her?

This world was simply too harsh for an ordinary Earthling.

“Seriously, though. Installing an APU? You’re hardcore.”

Erabelle ignored his laughter.

“Can you get me some Biometic Ampoules?”

“Again? I can, but you know how expensive they are through our chemist.”

“Money’s not an issue. I’ll sell an organ if I have to.”

“No one buys organs from a chemist.”

Well... there are some strange tastes out there.

“But isn’t it a waste?” he continued. “If you can’t deal with the Compliance Bureau, what good will any of this do? You’ve stirred up plenty, same as always. And they look pretty serious this time.”

“I’ll deal with it.”

Exactly how she was going to deal with it was another question.

Damn.

The owner shrugged and nodded toward the woman standing beside him.

She handed Erabelle the disks and medication, while he placed a document envelope on top of the pill box.

“I’ll have the ampoules sent separately. Hope they come in handy. Think of it as a farewell gift.”

...Damn.

They only accept condolence money in cash.

Muttering to herself, Erabelle turned to leave.

Then the owner called after her.

“If things go south, destroy the paperwork. Got it?”

She wanted to flip him off.

But as a powerless special-contracted operative, she restrained herself and settled for doing it in her imagination.

***

“...An agent, huh.”

On the shuttle back to her unit, Erabelle pressed both hands against her temples.

“Why now, of all times...?”

What the hell had made him bring it up?

She had concentrated on concealing information, not on tracking physical movements.

But a conflict zone was essentially one enormous slum knotted together by dozens of tiny factions and gangs.

The instability left them little choice.

Touch any part of it carelessly and trouble followed.

It was better to leave the underground economy alone. As long as no one attracted too much attention, everyone simply pretended not to see one another.

Still, her thoughts kept spinning.

Scratching the back of her head, Erabelle got off the shuttle near the outskirts of the unit and resumed her usual rounds—bribing her coworkers to keep social relations pleasantly functional.

“Fresh beer straight from the capital—12 cp a bottle. What? You’re thinking the wholesale listing says 6 cp? Well, someone has to pay the courier. The ship fare alone was 5,000 cp. Cigarettes? Those are 18 cp.”

She wove through the dim alleys, conducting her own peculiar version of door-to-door sales: bribes in exchange for small favors.

“How much are you marking this stuff up...? Ugh. Lieutenant, did you seriously not wash your hair again?”

“Yes, I did.”

Three or four days ago.

Who cares? I’m only level 2.

Her low body grade might make things more obvious, but she had washed it.

They went a week without washing theirs.

Grumbling, Erabelle tugged her knit cap lower over her head.

“Ah! And what’s with the cap?! What’s the point of covering poop with newspaper?”

“It’s better than leaving it uncovered.”

Calling her poop to her face.

Harsh.

She scratched her itchy scalp through the cap.

“Ugh! Just go wash already! You’re ugly enough as it is!”

“Would washing help?”

“Nope.”

“See? Even washing won’t fix it. So what’s the point?”

“You’re... kind of right.”

Apparently defeated by her logic, the soldier sheepishly bought another two packs of cigarettes.

Idiot.

He had not even noticed the smell.

Erabelle smiled to herself and moved on, winding between the buildings toward her next stop.

“Chocolate! Chocolate for everyone who ordered! Sweet chocolate fresh from the capital, 40 cp! Or how about artisanal cookies? Only 39 cp!”

She hurried through the wind while snow and flecks of ice whipped through the air, the turrets and surrounding buildings shuddering beneath the gusts.

“Brrr, it’s freezing!”

Hunched against the cold, she made her way toward the main building, distributing the rest of her bribes before finally heading inside.

“Can I come in...?”

Erabelle paused outside the squad commander’s office.

Then hesitated.

Wait.

Maybe now isn’t the time.

“What is it? Come in.”

Erabelle shook her head.

There was a chill.

Her internal data was warning her.

So apparently, it really wasn’t the time.

“I’ll come back later...”

“Stop fussing and get in here!”

Damn.

There had been far too much swearing today.

Wearing a completely blank expression, Erabelle stepped inside.

As expected, the commander was in the middle of... reproductive activity on the office sofa.

The sight of him entangled with Corporal Jagon on the couch was visually devastating.

Ugh! My eyes!

And Jagon noticed her.

“Erk—Lieutenant! The door—! Sir, Lieutenant—!”

“...Yes.”

Jagon, who had once made her a very tempting first offer, was now diligently engaged in a completely different sort of work.

Taking on secondary employment during duty hours was a blatant violation of labor regulations.

Watching both a superior and his subordinate break the rules right in front of her made Erabelle want to claw out her own eyes and rinse the sockets with water.

And as an Earth-born conservative from Asia, she could barely stomach the sight to begin with.

She had been trying very hard to concentrate on the brighter side of life with Dezeb.

If dogs had been involved, that would have been one thing.

But this...

This was seriously interfering with her concentration.

“What is it? If you’re here to sell cigarettes...”

The commander’s irritated complaint died halfway through.

He rose abruptly.

“...You.”

His eyes locked onto Erabelle with terrifying intensity, utterly ignoring the decaying center now exposed beneath him.

At nearly 190 centimeters and packed with muscle, his sheer bulk was enough to make her instinctively shrink back.

His gaze traveled over her joints as though he were inspecting cuts of meat.

That was when Erabelle realized what he was looking at.

The APU implants.

His eyes moved across both shoulders, down the backs of her arms, over her wrists, both knees, her hips, and along her spine.

Thirteen implants in total.

Only after inspecting every one of them did he let out a hollow laugh.

“Figures.”

There was almost nothing in his expression.