Part 40: 21:39-23:00: The Sound Of Silence

Chapter 40: 21:39-23:00: The Sound Of Silence



We have made the life-altering decision to get sober, a decision that we will have to keep making every day for the rest of our lives, a continuous test of willpower… at least for our next twenty waking hours until this “get sober” thought resolves. It’s just that easy, huh?

…Let’s just keep exploring this church.











ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] As you slide the dollar and fifty cents into your pocket, a realization comes over you.
RHETORIC: No, no it doesn’t!
ARIST: Yes… you can feel the gears turning, turning towards the only possible conclusion…
SAVOIR FAIRE: One hundred and sixty-one dollarinos! We’re *rich,* baby! Well, lower-middle class at best, but still!
ARIST: Yes, yes… you can feel the urge to lord your status over the serf class rising, crawling across your limbs. This is the power of capital!
RHETORIC: Ugh, new money.
SAVOIR FAIRE: You should berate welfare recipients!
ARIST: If we can get rich by stealing loose change and tricking a billionaire in a container into investing $100 into a bogus youth centre, they have no excuse!
SAVOIR FAIRE: You should organize with your neighbors to prevent the development of high-density housing!
ARIST: I know they have to live somewhere, but why here? They’re gonna tank the property values and take all the parking!
SAVOIR FAIRE: You should move to an area that just so happens to be completely segregated so you can enroll your hypothetical children into a school that is also all-white!
ARIST: The neighborhood is just so much better, and the school district is top-notch for Fandaniel and Knattaleigh or whatever I would have named them. Actually, wait, repeat that one?
SAVOIR FAIRE: You should start a private equity firm, lend money to a healthy business trying to scale up, start slashing costs and completely fucking with the operational structure, then when you don’t see an immediate 1000% ROI begin laying off half the staff and dismantling everything to pay off your debt and satisfy your investors until there’s nothing left in the building but drywall and the entire business is forced to shutter! And then do it over and over again!
ARIST: Uhhhhhhh…
SAVOIR FAIRE: THE NUMBERS ONLY GO UP. BETRAY THE LEFT.
RHETORIC: You see where he’s going here yet?
ARIST: Yeah, I’m not down with this.
RHETORIC: The tainted paper will destroy you. You must let go of it as soon as possible.



Let’s distract ourselves from whatever that was by examining the computer again.





EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION: “Good, I’ve unlocked the filament. After ending the call please press PRINT to access the filament.”



EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION: “Sleep well, Fortress Accident,” she says as her voice disappears into a whirl of static.




MAINFRAME: The first entry, made on the 4th February ‘51 by an unknown author, is short and concise: “Arrived at the church. The door was boarded up, so I used a crowbar to get inside. Looks like the place has been deserted. Nothing out of the ordinary, but I’ll ask around. Need to figure out how to get the electricity in.”
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant leans closer, scouring the printout over your shoulder. Just as you finish reading he looks up, muttering under his breath:







MAINFRAME: “8th FEB, ‘51: Bought the antenna, had some problems setting it up, called Simo for help. Heard the others are back to *making art* (drinking somewhere out of town). Sulislaw started a rock band again, Lexie has been asking for money from strangers… But at least the artists have their act together—they’re qualified labour, they can get work anywhere: graphic design, ads. The programmers are doing fine, too, I mean they’re programmers. The writers, though… they’re fucked.”



KIM KITSURAGI: “Seems like something to do with radiocomputers—unfortunately I don’t know enough about them to understand what the author is saying.”




MAINFRAME: “12th FEB, ‘51: Brought some food from the grocery store. Apparently there’s a strike going on in the harbour. Definitely not happy to see the Martinaise people again. Everything’s now set up in the church, going to start working tomorrow 8 AM.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “The strike…” He strokes his chin. “We’re nearing the date of the murder.”



MAINFRAME: “25th FEB, ‘51: I’ve been sending data up to Lintel for a while now, trying to recreate the data loss, but nothing. Didn’t even feel like logging in the disappointment. But I did discover a curious *audio-spatial* anomaly at the back of the church. I’ve named it *the swallow* (it swallows sound). Need to get some mics.”



MAINFRAME: “28th FEB, ‘51: Yes, the first recordings confirm that the swallow is real and I’m not just losing my mind. It’s a pillar of silence with a diameter of approximately three meters. Seems like the higher I go, the less I record. This might be a coincidence. Or it *could* be connected to the data loss that led me here.”




MAINFRAME: “MARCH, ‘51: Some kind of young *discomen* have appeared next to the church. I’ve been trying to record the silence to find the epicentre, but now it turns out I’ve also been capturing the future of dance music, one neo-disco song over and over again… Fortunately the song is so monotonous I was able to devise an algorithm to factor it out. The other day one of the discomen came in. Before I could even say hello, she got scared and left. Good, I don’t want anyone distracting me from my work.”



COMPOSURE: [Easy: Success] Don’t compare whatever *anodic music* is to the shining light of disco!




KIM KITSURAGI: “I knew it wasn’t a good idea to meddle with that machine…”



MAINFRAME: “MARCH ‘51: A new 2m AUX cable, noodles, crackers, Ping-Ping energy drinks, water, TOOTHPASTE, gum, also some canned air…”





SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “Breaking into my radiocomputer, I see.” She glares at you as she holds down the OFF button for several seconds. The machine reboots.
INTERFACING: [Medium: Success] Yes, you *are* breaking in. But not into *her* radiocomputer. You’re a master circuit-bender.



SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “No one’s hiding here.” She barely looks up from the keyboard. You hear the machine whir back to life. “It’s just me and my computer—and it has been this way for weeks. Now please give me some room. I need two seconds to see that you haven’t destroyed anything.”





While we wait for the computer to reboot, we examine the fine clothing items we pilfered earlier.



We put on the Mesque Banger’s Red Brogues, because they really accentuate our awful sweatpants.



ARIST: [Medium: Success] She should be ready by now, right?




SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “Yes.” She thinks to herself. “Or no, not anymore. That project is dead.”




SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “If you’re not here to hire me, I don’t really know how I can help you.” She turns back to the terminal.
LOGIC: [Medium: Success] Did she say *over 16 years of experience*? She must have started programming when she was still a teenager.







SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “What? No. No one suspicious around here.”

ARIST: [Challenging: Success] What? You just admitted there was a crab man! That’s at least *a little* suspicious!








SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “On the *front*. The unified front of radiowaves, licensed and controlled by Lintel in the East-Insulindic region.”



SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: She stops to think. “I guess it is… So far I’ve been quite satisfied with it. Martinaise is an unstable region with bad coverage and the operation has been surprisingly stable. But it’s not the cheapest one on the market, so I wouldn’t recommend it for your regular red tape operations. Fraser 1000 is a foolproof line for civilians. Anyway…” She turns back to her terminal. “You should do some research before you decide to buy anything. Ask around, compare the prices. There are many milieus dedicated to that sort of thing.”



SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “I’m working.”



SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “Could you…” She closes her eyes. “Could you just… *shh* for a moment? Or get to the point—I really need to focus on something.”





SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: She inhales sharply, before answering in a single breath: “Because I needed something *good* for my investigation and Rehm Civic is widely agreed to be below all standards, so I had to upgrade. Besides, owning a Rehm Prefect isn’t such a big deal anymore.”



SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “I know a friend of a friend who used to freelance for the Coalition,” she says nochalantly, scratching her ear. “I was actually aiming for the military-grade Rehm Rational series, but couldn’t find one.”



SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “They are connected to my Rehm Prefect.” She looks up. “Whatever you do, just please don’t move them, okay? Thanks.”




SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “You really like those questions, don’t you?” There’s a hint of amusement in her tired eyes.




SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “I’m looking for the location of a two-millimetre hole in the world.”
LOGIC: [Medium: Success] Wait, what?
INTERFACING: [Easy: Success] She’s looking for a disruption in the *radio waves*. That’s what her personal log said.



SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “Exactly, what *does* it mean?” There’s something frantic about her as she locks her gaze with you, eyes shining like pearls. “Up to now it has been impossible to say what it is, because it’s impossible to measure *nothing*. What do *you* think it is? What qualities does *nothing* have? How do you measure something that does not exist?” She’s suddenly absorbed in the conversation, waiting for your answer.



SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “Exactly,” she nods, “very true! That’s what I’ve been aiming for, that’s why I have those basins. I’ve tried using hydrotransducers to record the silence—to find out where it *begins*. But honestly, it’s not progressing very well.” She grows silent, staring at her circle of basins—it looks like some ancient ritual.







SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “Somewhere underneath those roof beams I assume.” She looks up, eyes trying to pierce the pitch-black heights above, but without much success.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] Only a faint criss-cross of rafters can be made out from the dark, most of the tower disappearing into the shade.



SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “There’s this place at the back of the church, a place where all audible vibrations seem to decease—I’ve named it the swallow. And the higher you go, the less you record.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “The pillar of silence? Are you sure it’s not just an architectural quirk?”




SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “No, I don’t.”



SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: “Because it’s just trial and error, trying to locate the swallow—the exact point in space.”










ARIST: [Legendary: Failure] Not really sure where this is going, but okay, whatever. Go do that, I guess.








NOID: “No matter,” the paranoid young man mumbles gruffly. “Is he going to be a problem?”
ANDRE: “Yeah, Noid is right… let’s get back to the point. What are we going to *do* about him?”




NOID: “I guess it’s not a *massive* problem, now that I think of it.”
EGG HEAD: “Everyone is welcome—to dance ‘till the morning light! YEAGH!”




NOID: “What a pity! That’s my favorite thing in the world.” He drops a hammer back into a toolbox. “And she doesn’t like it at all.”

ARIST: [Trivial: Success] You know, now that Soona’s brought it up, you almost doubt Noid’s sincerity when he talks like this!

ANDRE: “A shame.” He sighs. “What can we do now? Do you see a way out of this jam—and into a laser-lit future of dance and unity?”




NOID: “Look at you, honour-man.”
ANDRE: “No, Noid. He’s right… maybe we’ve approached it the wrong way after all. I’m sure there’s a workaround. We can make a deal not to bother her. If that’s okay with her… We only wanna get in the church and spread the joy and ecstasy of music.”
EGG HEAD: “The lines in the dark, exist, CO-EXIST!”
NOID: “At least crab man seems like an *advanced* being. He’s hard. He’ll understand.”



EGG HEAD: Egg Head can not believe what you just said. It makes him pump the jam a *little* slower for a moment, but then he returns to the full swing of it.




This is good. We’re doing a good thing here.



Now time to bring it all crashing down.





NOID: The young speedfreak puts down a busted capacitor and looks at you.
EGG HEAD: The one with the large head seems very enthusiastic about whatever you have planned.






ANDRE: The young speedfreak is silent.



ANDRE: “Hey man, who knows what she’s on about.” He scoffs. “I get it, she doesn’t want us in the church. She’s got something against us.”



EGG HEAD: “We don’t need drugs to be hard core!”




ANDRE: “We know she has a problem, man. We’re working on it. She didn’t exactly have a smooth adolescence.”




ANDRE: “I have no idea how you arrived at that conclusion, but it’s *wrong*! Look, we even have speakers!” He points at the speaker.




ANDRE: “It’s a one speaker system! It’s monodynamic. You wouldn’t know the first thing about sound reproduction in anodic music! Other speaker… Pffft!”





NOID: “He said it was for his nose. What more do you want?”








ANDRE: “What do you mean *do*?”
EMPATHY: [Easy: Success] There’s resignation in his voice. He’s almost ready to drop the act. It wouldn’t take a lot of pushing.





ANDRE: He thinks for a moment, then opens his mouth, but closes it again. Then finally raises his hands: “Things are just way too hard for an entrepreneur in this city. It’s not like we’re *not* gonna turn the church into the wickedest club in East Revachol…”
EGG HEAD: “Because we are! We totally are!”
ANDRE: “We just gotta turn it into a speed lab *first*.”




ANDRE: “No, man! They’re spooky alright. It’s just that they would also probably call the police if we started cooking speed in there.”
EGG HEAD: “But the sine was *way* off too. I couldn’t feel the love at all…”
ANDRE: “So… what now?”



EGG HEAD: “YEAHH!” The young man’s smile widens to inhuman proportions. His teeth beam in the floodlight.
ANDRE: “I knew it…” The would-be leader drops his spiked head between his knees… “It’s impossible now.”



EGG HEAD: “There *needs* to be a club for anodic music in there. NEEDS TO! Everyone hates each other. Everybody hates it here, it’s all just drugs and we’re slaves and I *can’t*… we are running out of time! We need a win, Andre.” He looks at you. “I promise this will be a win! We won’t cook speed in there, we’ll do it clean, we’ll do it true. We’ll do it sober and *real* and beautiful. This will be a victory for the light!”
SHIVERS: [Medium: Success] This will be nothing.




ANDRE: “Okay, we’ll try to do it without the drugs.” He raises his head from between his knees. “We’ll do a straight up club in there, spinning the maddest reels and nothing but, I swear to god! Okay, Egg?”



ARIST: [Challenging: Success] You’ve done a good deed for the future of anodic music today. Whatever the hell that is.




ACELE: “I did and I’m sorry.” She doesn’t appear surprised. “For what it’s worth… which isn’t much.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “This is why I didn’t go into the tent.” The lieutenant looks at the ocean, squinting his eyes. “Typical delinquency.”
ACELE: “You don’t get to choose your posse, they choose you. Mine are idiots, but they’re mine. I tried to talk Andre out of it, I even tried not to lie to you…”



ACELE: “I know. But I knew you’d see through their plan too. I’m not an idiot. I should have been able to control them. I will in the future. I promise.”




ARIST: [Medium: Success] After you finish your conversation with Acele, you realize it’s almost 23:00. Evrart told you to head to the boardwalk after 22:00 to meet with some woman called “the Pigs” and recover your gun. Get a move on.



ARIST: However, you notice something curious on the way…







KIM KITSURAGI: “We might find her down *somewhere*—there’s an old storm drain system beneath Martinaise that’s mostly collapsed. Revachol’s sewage system has been built and rebuilt four or five times now.”





ARIST: [Challenging: Success] You try to avoid thinking about the near-impossibility of the task you face as you approach the boardwalk. As your steps carry you closer, however, you hear something. Something oh-so-familiar, something irreversibly burned into your brain, even if all memory of ever hearing it before has been destroyed. There’s no mistaking it.
PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Challenging: Success] It’s a siren.
ARIST: You climb the stairs with trepidation, unsure of what scene may lay before you. Are other cops here?




ARIST: [Easy: Success] Oh, what the *fuck*.