A "Punishment" for Selfishness

Oasis No. 8. Li Ke, who had just turned in for the night inside the royal residence, suddenly received an incoming communication request from the rear. "What? The broodmother sample was found?!" Hearing those words, any lingering drowsiness vanished in an instant. Constrained by distance and endurance limits, the communications drone could linger over Oasis No. 8 for only ten to twenty minutes. He had to keep things as brief as possible. "Who has the sample?" The voice over the channel continued, "It's in the hands of Beacon Squad. They used emergency procedures to send a message to the nearest transmission tower in the Wandering Marsh, but since their mobile communications base station was lost during the operation, the Investigation Department is temporarily unable to establish contact with them." Researchers placed extreme importance on the attribution of intellectual property. Not only was it a matter of honor, it directly dictated their career advancement. When assigned to specific operations, field teams under the Investigation Department's Containment Program were required to report strictly to their direct superiors. Skipping ranks to file reports was forbidden, and taking it upon oneself to leak intelligence to parties outside the project team was strictly taboo. It was a rule, and a sacred one at that. Yet there was an exception. Namely, if an exploration team lost direct communication with their immediate superior, they were permitted under the Principle of Priority Preservation to report critical intelligence to whatever higher-level department could receive it, leaving that department to forward the message. Everything Beacon Squad had done conformed impeccably to the Academy's regulations. The trouble was that this report was supposed to travel through Li Ke's hands step-by-step up to the Chief Technology Officer. Now, practically any researcher with a modicum of influence would learn of the mutant broodmother's existence. For Li Ke, who had claimed credit for discovering it first, this was catastrophic. Above all, because the test tube wasn't in his own hands, countless researchers would jump at the chance to trade with Beacon Squad for it. Bribing a few low-level explorers was laughably simple. All it took was adding their names to a few published papers or letting them put their names on a handful of research results, and not a single explorer could resist the temptation of becoming a full-fledged researcher. And for cadets who were already researchers, it was even easier—the advancement opportunities they craved were as plentiful in the Research Department's laboratories as paper money in Enterprise territory. Tapping his index finger lightly against his knee, Li Ke scowled and muttered a curse. "An operation... My order was to tail those people! What unauthorized operation did they concoct?" The man on the other end answered helplessly, "According to their account, they did shadow the Alliance from a safe distance of five kilometers without making a move... but troops from the Alliance and the Enterprise ambushed them." Li Ke snarled, "They had drones! How could they possibly get ambushed by the Alliance and the Enterprise?!" A hesitant voice came over the channel. "Well... I'm not clear on the specifics either, but according to their report, they repelled the attackers during the skirmish, seized the opportunity to rescue the captured teammates, and successfully escaped with a truck stolen from the Alliance along with fragments of the broodmother's tissue." Li Ke closed his eyes in contemplation for a long while before speaking slowly. "Fine. Understood." "Then what about..." "We'll deal with it when they return." If they knew what was good for them... He wouldn't mind buying the sample from them with three research papers worth ten thousand assessment points and a D-grade achievement, which could also serve as compensation for their casualties. If they didn't know what was good for them... He would simply assign them to some A-grade or S-grade ruins project... ... In an Academy devoid of currency, points were everything. Assessment points (K-points) determined one's grade evaluation, while reward points (G-points) could be redeemed for consumer goods to improve living conditions, purchase research equipment, invest in exploration team gear, and more. Passing the annual assessment was the single most important event of a researcher's year. Whether A-grade or C-grade, only by meeting this year's KPI targets could they guarantee sufficient—or surplus—funding in the coming year (meaning reward points) and generate enough K-points to retain their current rank. Yet assessment points alone were never enough to secure a promotion; relying on those meant waiting until the end of time. To prove they deserved access to more resources and classified intelligence, a researcher had to submit adequate research accomplishments. Take the most numerous demographic, the D-grade explorers, as an example. According to Academy rules, if an E- or D-grade explorer wished to become a full researcher, they had to pass at least one professional skill assessment and be officially designated as a student by a researcher of C-grade or higher. A C-grade researcher could supervise at most three students, and until those students attained C-grade status themselves, the supervisor could take on no new pupils. Rising from E- or D-grade to C-grade, barring exceptional resources, took at least five to ten years. Though the rule's original intent was to ensure mentors devoted their energy to a select few students, because hardly anyone would suck up to a mentor who had already filled their three student slots, most C-grade researchers of ordinary background chose their students with extreme caution. If an explorer failed to catch a mentor's eye, their only path from D-grade explorer to D-grade researcher was to produce a fully credited D-grade achievement. When that rule was first instituted, meeting the requirement had not been terribly difficult; the wasteland was ripe with opportunities waiting to be exploited. Yet as more and more ruins were excavated, relying on leftover databases and map records to unearth a D-grade technology the Academy hadn't already cataloged had become harder than scaling the heavens. It was like the very last locked achievement in an endgame file—perhaps not exceedingly rare, but impossible to unlock on the first playthrough. And to independently develop a brand-new technology recognized as D-grade was a nigh-impossible feat for an explorer with neither backing nor resources. Otherwise, the rank of Academy researcher would have inflated as wildly as Enterprise paper money long ago. Still, while earning assessment points and research achievements was an uphill battle for researchers with no foundation, it posed little difficulty to the academic titans who commanded their own laboratories and research groups. Over the course of more than a century, having mastered the system, they had devised tailored playbooks to reliably churn out K-points and sub-D-grade achievements. These methods included, but were not limited to, breaking down a single technology into countless sub-technologies that met D-grade criteria, or creating dozens of mildly useful yet redundant variations of an existing reclaimed technology. Not to mention, the Foreign Affairs Department and Internal Affairs Department had bent the rules to forge a set of assessment standards that had nothing whatsoever to do with academic research. For instance, the war mediation project a certain B-grade researcher was currently undertaking. Even if the outcome fell short of expectations, so long as the results fell within acceptable baseline parameters, it would yield a C-grade achievement at minimum. D-grade achievements could be manufactured, and E-, F-, and G-grade achievements could be mass-produced, but a genuine C-grade achievement was well worth a B-grade researcher's utmost exertion. After all, if he could deliver a major triumph beyond the Chief Technology Officer's expectations, he might even snag a B-grade achievement! And if he had amassed an adequate track record, possessed strong family backing, or enjoyed a bit of both, he might take another step forward and reach A-grade! Once at A-grade, one was effectively part of the Academy's core leadership. Even the Chief Technology Officer, who served Doctor Conclusion directly, was only S-grade. This was precisely why the B-grade researcher who had witnessed Yu couldn't bear to let go of the mutant broodmother, yet couldn't abandon the mission at hand either. Chu Guang had no idea what that B-grade researcher who had tasked Beacon Squad was called, nor what schemes the man was hatching. Relying purely on his seasoned instincts as a dev planner—along with the Reindeer tracked vehicle's movement logs, an E-grade female explorer's testimony, intelligence regarding the Golden Lizard royal family gathered by the Battlefield Atmosphere Group along their journey, and a trail of other clues—he had pieced together the broad strokes of the affair: First, a mid-to-high-ranking Academy figure had traveled to Oasis No. 8, most likely under orders from above to mediate the war in Sunset Province. According to Brother Edge, he had overheard similar rumors back at the Great Rift Valley—the Academy high command had expressed displeasure with the Great Rift Valley's inaction regarding the Lost Valley nuclear warhead, while the folks in the Great Rift Valley had basically replied, "What does that have to do with me?" Strictly speaking, according to the century-old pact, Sunset Province—which had once served the Post-War Reconstruction Committee—ought to fall under the Great Rift Valley's sphere of influence. Yet after propping up an unreliable proxy in the Free State of Bugra, the Great Rift Valley clearly had no appetite left for sorting through the wasteland's tangled messes. They had settled contentedly into their role as a massive shelter beneath the Aegis, passively ignoring even the Bone Chewers' unrest unfolding right under their noses. If the Great Rift Valley had no intention of intervening in Sunset Province, and the Academy was unwilling to forfeit its grain-rich tributary, the Golden Lizard Kingdom, then the Academy was bound to dispatch an influential mid-to-high-level representative to Sunset Province to broker peace. A C-grade was too low, while an A-grade was too important to put themselves in harm's way, leaving only a B-grade figure for the job. And that was where coincidence entered the picture. Yu, piloting the Dragonfly transport alongside the little follower it had picked up in midair, had glided straight toward the edge of the Wandering Marsh while pursuing Luo Yu. A spectacle of that scale could hardly escape the notice of survivors in the marsh. Any settlement affiliated with the Science Committee would inevitably report it to the Academy deep within. Once the incident was categorized as fallout from the war, passing it to the suspected B-grade researcher sent to mediate the conflict was entirely logical. That was how Yu's fruiting body came into the B-grade researcher's sight, prompting him to dispatch Beacon Squad to recover it. Chu Guang could even make an educated guess that if the pilot of that Saber fighter was still alive, the Academy was probably holding him as a bargaining chip. Upon discovering the broodmother had fallen into the Enterprise's hands, in order not to jeopardize his primary objective of mediating the war, the B-grade researcher had adopted a cautious approach rather than inciting the Golden Lizard Kingdom into a reckless bid to intercept the Enterprise and Alliance convoy. Of course, it was also possible the Golden Lizard Kingdom had balked at the Alliance forces deployed in Sunset Province, resisting their suzerain's demands under the pressure. Events could indeed align that coincidentally. Even Chu Guang found himself caught between amusement and disbelief as he pieced the entire narrative together. Of course, what surprised him even more was Lao Bai. "You abducted one of their researchers???" "Ahem, explorer... and we didn't abduct her. We left her right next to that truck, and she chose to follow us on her own." Watching the dumbfounded Administrator on the holographic screen, Lao Bai explained awkwardly, even using "we" to spread the blame across his good brothers. According to Fang Chang, the matter was quite simple: her favorability rating had simply hit the threshold, triggering a hidden branch quest outside the main storyline—Event: Academy Explorer Defection. Explaining that to an NPC, however, was probably pointless. He recalled seeing Yaya ranting on the forum a long time ago. Whenever someone bluntly asked the Administrator, "Hey, what's my favorability at?" the deadpan response was invariably, "No such setting exists," or "I am not that kind of person." Yet according to the planner's hints on the forums, the hidden mechanic of favorability plainly existed; the NPCs were simply unaware of it. Fearing the Administrator might misunderstand the situation, doubt her motives for joining the Alliance, and consequently arrest her as a prisoner or throw her into a POW camp, Lao Bai chose his words with care as he addressed the man behind the screen. "Respected Lord Administrator... I don't believe you need to worry too much about an abandoned E-grade explorer. The Academy has no idea she's alive, and she has no reason to remain loyal to them. Meanwhile, her knowledge and experience are precisely what the Alliance needs." As he said this, he admitted to himself that he was acting with a sliver of selfishness. It wasn't that he was smitten, as Ye Shi had teased. He wasn't the sort whose morals wavered at the sight of a pretty face, and he harbored no romantic intentions whatsoever. Had Zhao Xiao stayed behind, he would have pleaded on that young man's behalf just the same. The reason was simple. She had chosen to abandon her past identity and remain behind out of trust in him, and out of yearning for the Alliance he had described. He simply didn't want to betray that trust, nor did he want someone who looked up to the Alliance to be disillusioned by it. Call him simple-minded, or say his game brain had been overtaken by muscle; he didn't possess Fang Chang's meticulous calculations anyway. Most of the time, he just wanted to act with a clear conscience. If Miss Chen truly did something detrimental to the Alliance, or turned out to be an Academy spy, he wouldn't hesitate for a second to bring her to justice. Yet if she had done nothing wrong, and was casually discarded merely because of unfounded suspicion... He couldn't accept that. Watching Lao Bai through the holographic display, Chu Guang found the spectacle rather amusing. Come to think of it, this was the very first time he had seen such a cautious, gingerly look on the man's face. Though he had never seen a real-life photo of Lao Bai, this thoroughbred manly man—who insta-locked top lane during group queues, dropped straight into Pochinki in battle royales, and greeted every losing streak with a grin—had always matched the image of Tryndamere, the unyielding warrior who refused to fall. If that was too abstract, comparing him to the eccentric winter swimmer shouting "Ollie give!" painted a much clearer picture. In short, hesitation did not belong on that face. A faint, imperceptible smirk touched the corner of Chu Guang's mouth. Fine, then... He would play along. "You're overthinking it. A mere E-grade explorer is hardly worth my paranoia." Tilting his chin up slightly, Chu Guang looked down at the player before him. "Hold your head high and square your shoulders. I won't fault your personal feelings, but the hesitation on your face makes me question whether your loyalty can be relied upon." Caught between laughter and tears, Lao Bai scrambled to explain, "I didn't mean it like that—" "Meaning it or not," Chu Guang interrupted, his tone brooking no argument, "your current state is unsuited for remaining on the front lines. I order you to depart the combat zone immediately, take Luo Yu's flight back to Dawn City to report to the Army Command, and take three days of rest and reorganization locally. Consider this your punishment." Pausing for a beat, Chu Guang slowed his cadence, gazing at this good brother who treated him as an NPC, and continued with earnest gravity. "The Alliance makes no distinction of bloodline or origin. Be they Wilante, researchers from the marsh, wandering scavengers, or even former enemies—so long as they sincerely unite beneath the banner of the Alliance, we will treat them with equality... You are a corps commander of the Alliance. Others may harbor misgivings and prejudices, but you must not doubt our path." For a moment, Lao Bai found himself unable to meet his eyes. Filled with shame, he replied, "Understood." Strange. It was clearly just a game, yet he had no idea why he was getting so deeply immersed. Could it be due to the sequence Talent? Seeing Lao Bai acknowledge his mistake, Chu Guang found it in his heart to stop teasing him. Clearing his throat, he went on. "Don't carry too heavy a burden. Just treat it as a vacation. As it happens, have that explorer accompany you back. This is an active war zone, no place for her to be. When you have time, show her around and help her understand our Alliance... There's no rush on putting her to work." Good grief. So it was a hidden quest trigger after all. Relieved that he hadn't fallen out of favor, Lao Bai let out a breath and cupped his fist with a nod. "Orders received!" Three days wasn't long; he could treat it as a standard rotation. Though he hated leaving his brothers behind to return to the rear on his own, he trusted their abilities. Even without him, they would carry out their duties splendidly. Unaware of what Lao Bai was thinking, Chu Guang dropped the call with satisfaction, convinced the player had taken his thoughtful intentions to heart. Watching the holographic display collapse, Chu Guang let out a sigh of relief and finally couldn't hold back a burst of laughter. "Hahahaha! Brilliant!" Startled by his sudden outburst, Xiao Qi, perched atop the pen holder, propped her chin on her hands with a puzzled expression and asked eagerly, "Is this like creating an alt account with a cute girl's avatar to pose as an upperclasswoman and chat with your roommate?" "Get lost! Who on earth would do something that scummy?" Chu Guang glared at Xiao Qi on the rim of the pen holder, flicking his finger to launch the chatty figurine straight into the cup. Whether he had ever done such a thing, he couldn't quite remember. College life felt like a lifetime ago. Feigning ignorance of the clattering noises and pitiful pleas for mercy coming from the pen holder, Chu Guang leaned comfortably back into his chair. The plane crash incident could be considered resolved for now. Though the Alliance's troubles were far from over, and the impact of the Academy's sudden meddling on Sunset Province remained uncertain, that was the very reason he existed as the Administrator— he would lead this young Alliance to demonstrate to those ancient "fallen empires" their non-negotiable boundaries and their resolve to fight to the bitter end. Chu Guang's gaze drifted toward the desk calendar. Perhaps one day in the future, he would let slip a sliver of the truth to those four dear "sons" swept up in the vast vortex of Wasteland OL—such as the fact that Dawn in the game and A-Guang on the forums were the very same person—and savor the comical expressions on their faces. Yet it was far too early for that. Even his own understanding of the truth was merely the tip of the iceberg.