Part 36: 16:00-17:02: Beyond The Pale

Chapter 36: 16:00-17:02: Beyond The Pale




ARIST: [Challenging: Success] You can do this. You won’t chicken out like last time. Just ask Kim to leave. You need Kim. You do need him. Just not for this.



Fuckin’ A!






JOYCE MESSIER: “*Isola* is a Messinian word for a continent of matter, enveloped on all sides by the pale. Also: isolation, or land mass. We used to believe there was only one. In the last four centuries we have discovered seven…”




JOYCE MESSIER: “Achromatic, odourless, featureless. The pale is the enemy of matter and life. It is not *like* any other—or *any* thing in the world. It is the transition state of being into nothingness.”




JOYCE MESSIER: “No, detective, we’re safe.” She points to the sea. “It begins there, 6000 kilometres to the north, and even more to the south, east and west. You are in the middle of the isola.”




JOYCE MESSIER: “An uproar of matter, darling, *rising* into the pale. Rolling. Evaporating even, a great vision. The area of transportation between the world and the pale is called *porch collapse*. Imagine a grey coronal mist, cold vapour, marked by spores of an opportunistic microorganism—a mould that’s adapted to grow at the edge of the unrest. It’s…”



JOYCE MESSIER: “It’s difficult to describe—or even measure—something whose fundamental property is the suspension of properties: physical, epistemological, linguistic… The further into pale you travel, the steeper the degree of suspension. Right down to the mathematical—*numbers* stop working. No one has yet passed the number barrier. It may be impossible.”




JOYCE MESSIER: “Oh, it is…” Her lungs deflate, her words sound like a sigh, “…*so* difficult for us.”
PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] A squall of birds, hardware operating in the harbour. Firm, self-evident.
JOYCE MESSIER: “It is possible to force dimensions on the pale—in modern times we can even compress its latitude, bouncing radio waves from one end to the other. Shortening the path.”




JOYCE MESSIER: “Some say the damage stems from extreme sensory deprivation. Others that pale somehow *consists* of past information that’s degrading. That it’s rarefied past, not rarefied matter. They call it *the blend-over of the self*. The pale does not only suspend the laws of physics, but also the laws of psychology, maybe History, even… The human mind becomes over-radiated by past.”




JOYCE MESSIER: “It feels terrible. Absolutely terrible. International standards strictly limit civilian travellers to six days of pale exposure per year…”



JOYCE MESSIER: “No, lieutenant Du Bois. I’m ‘Entroponetic Business Class.’ I’m cleared—and trained—for 22 days of pale transit annually.”
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] Perhaps that explains her strange pining after the Revolution? Some degraded early memories…



JOYCE MESSIER: “Yes. Carried in the hulls of airships,” she nods. “It’s a horrific job. Automation will abolish it, soon.”

ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Automation, to you, represents the capitalist class trying to squeeze out further profit where a human being with a paycheck used to be. Or at least, it would if you had any real grasp of politics outside of sloganeering. It’s disgusting. But somehow, this capitalist, in this one case, made you see value in it. What a terrifying, disgusting job. Go automation, you suppose.
LOGIC: [Challenging: Success] It won’t be that simple. It never is. Look at this world you find yourself in—do you really think it’s about to develop automated transportation anytime soon? It’s just another pipe dream, even if presumably well-intentioned.

REACTION SPEED: [Easy: Success] You should ask the Paledriver about this. See what she says.



JOYCE MESSIER: “Up to my gills, officer.”



JOYCE MESSIER: “*Entroponetics*,” she corrects, “is the scientific study of the pale. Or a recent iteration of it, by way of Graad. The study of the pale reaches back 6,000 years—the Perikarnassians called it the Western Plain.”





JOYCE MESSIER: “Hybrid airships, detective. Conventional rotors or jet engines no longer add velocity after the point of reference for motion is suspended—once you’ve crossed from near pale to far pale…”



JOYCE MESSIER: “Then they don’t.”





ARIST: [Legendary: Failure] You know the answer. What else could it be?

JOYCE MESSIER: “Precisely. One of the few measurable effects of the pale is that it is expanding at an unknown rate.”



ARIST: Reality is being consumed by nothing, literal *nothing.* What is there to say to that? It’s all meaningless—or at least, it will be.

JOYCE MESSIER: “Most people—and indeed most private and government sector organizations; entire civilizations and religions even—find handy ways to ignore or downplay that knowledge. I suggest you do the same.”



JOYCE MESSIER: “One and all,” she closes her eyes. “They say pale is death, but for the Universe.”



JOYCE MESSIER: “Yes, sweet reality,” she stomps her foot. “But before we do, tell me detective…”




And suddenly, we are at a crossroads, with many paths before us. Let us consider them all.

ARIST: True, but it doesn’t really encompass the totality of what needs to be expressed here.



ARIST: …Disco? What does that even mean anymore?



ARIST: I mean, yeah, probably, but you don’t have to be so *dramatic* about it.



ARIST: You’re not this kind of idealist or this kind of corny. Next.



ARIST: Oh, shut up. This isn’t about Communism. Unless perhaps… No! Stop it!



ARIST: Oh, shut *up*.



ARIST: You have the political understanding of a third-grader.



ARIST: Again, superficially true, but the word choice is… off. You are a part of this world. You have to live in it. Its problems are your problems. You cannot ignore them.



ARIST: Abdicating responsibility seems like a copout, but really, it might be the most appropriate response. This threat is beyond your reach, your very comprehension. But in the end, there’s only one choice…



ARIST: But what is *disco*? And if *this* is it, is that even good? Does good and bad even matter on this most existential of scales? Can you fight? Probably not. Maybe all you can do is submit. No. All you can do is live. Maybe that’s what’s so disco about it.
COMPOSURE: If the whole world is disco, the party’s gonna get stale.

JOYCE MESSIER: “Hmhm…” Her eyes tense. Crow’s feet radiate from them. She observes you: your bloodshot eyes and swollen face.
ENDURANCE: [Medium: Success] Your ailing constitution, sweaty forehead, the beads there and your heavy breathing.



JOYCE MESSIER: “I hope so, I truly do. If I may suggest—hold on to your colleague Kitsuragi. I ran a check on him and he is very competent. In the meanwhile…”
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] Some of that assurance is meant for herself, as much as it’s meant for you. She must have *a lot* on the line here.





KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes, well…” he thinks. “The rest of us have dealt with it for thousands of years, so…” He looks around, a little uncomfortable now.




ARIST: [Formidable: Success] That was… wow.



Oh hey, a new thought. Something to distract us from… that. Sure, why not?









Oh goddammit, this is what happens when we get too into *disco* whatever.




We’re going to put one point into Inland Empire and another into Logic.

ARIST: [Challenging: Success] One side effect of pale exposure—well, exposure to the *concept* of the pale—is that your already-overworked imagination is now running amok even further. Better apply your reasoning even further to counteract it.



ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] Where are you goi—oh no.



ARIST: Please, no. You’re not ready.



ARIST: Stop, please. *I’m* not ready.



ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] You stand in front of the door in silence. You know you can’t ignore this, but still… why? How can you deliver this news? How can you do this to someone?
LOGIC: [Medium: Success] It won’t be you who does it to her.
EMPATHY: [Challenging: Success] A part of her may actually be grateful to you for informing her—but yes, she will forever associate you with this. This is the only thing she will care to remember about you.
VOLITION: [Challenging: Success] But you still need to do it.
ARIST: You’re burning up now, flashes of heat moving through your cheeks and your arms and your *skin*. Why? Why can’t we let someone else do this? Why?!
EMPATHY: Because this isn’t about you.



PERCEPTION (SMELL): [Medium: Success] Something smells good—soupe à loignon?
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant motions for you to go ahead and knock.
INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] This is the door, you already know it’s the right door. This is going to be *so hard*.



KIM KITSURAGI: “You’re right, let’s talk this through.” He looks at the apartment door and lowers his voice a bit…
PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] You hear light footsteps passing by the door and some folk music playing on the radio.
KIM KITSURAGI: “We have our first preliminary identifications—in all likelihood the deceased is the husband of Billie Méjean. We need to confirm this, as well as deliver the death notification to Billie herself.”



KIM KITSURAGI: “Dead? Just don’t say that you know how they feel. You don’t.”





DOOR, APARTMENT #20 “Hello! Who is it?” A voice calls out from the other side of the door.




DOOR, APARTMENT #20 “The police? A moment, please, give us a moment.” You hear shuffling inside.
PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] Tidying up. Nervously.
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] There’s fear in her voice.















ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] Stop gawking!!!! You’re making this even harder than it has to be at this point, distracting yourself and putting it off. You need talk to her.



WORKING CLASS WOMAN: “I don’t think I introduced myself properly—I’m Billie. Would you like something to drink?” She looks around in the kitchen. “Tea, lemonade? We’re out of coffee…”
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant has taken off his foggy glasses and is busy cleaning them in his handkerchief for now. You’re on your own here.



BILLIE MÉJEAN: “Is this about Victor, my husband? Is he in some kind of trouble again? I can come pick him up in the station if that’s what…” She stops, her eyes trying to read answers from your face.
COMPOSURE: [Medium: Success] Keep it together. You don’t want your body language to tell her the news.
BILLIE MÉJEAN: “Sorry, I’m rambling…” She shakes her head and tries to laugh it off. “It’s just that Victor often gets into all kinds of trouble. So, how can I help you?”





ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] Small talk. Yeah. Go for that.

BILLIE MÉJEAN: “How have I been?” she shakes her head. “You’re not here to discuss *me*—what is this about, officer?”





BILLIE MÉJEAN: “The girls are staying at their friend’s place tonight, and Victor is… out.”



BILLIE MÉJEAN: “No.” She stops.



BILLIE MÉJEAN: “No. I guess I’ll find out when he decides to come back home.” She looks at the front door.

ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] Oh god, you’re making this so much worse, so much more painful than it needs to be. She’s gonna figure it out while you’re sitting here asking questions you know the answers to. Why are you *doing* this?!



BILLIE MÉJEAN: “Oh, it’s in Jamrock. The one at Meroe Street. I don’t know the official name.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Central Jamrock Public Library?”
BILLIE MÉJEAN: “I think, yes. If that’s the one on Meroe.”



BILLIE MÉJEAN: “Just to return a book of mine, why?” She looks at you quizzically. “Why all those questions, detective? Did he…”





BILLIE MÉJEAN: “Um, it’s just your average brown leather jacket. But he bought it as a teenager.”




ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] At least you’re out of *fucking* questions now, you *fucking* idiot!




ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] You sit there in silence for several seconds, trying to verbalize, to make any sound at all, but the words die in your throat. You take a deep breath; in this condition you’ll either fail entirely or just blurt them out in a rush, and you can’t afford to do either. Collect yourself for one more moment, forget about Billie Méjean staring anxiously at you, and just…



ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] You don’t say it perfectly, not as crisply or as firmly as you’d like. It’s not the bedrock she needs. But it’s as close as you’re gonna get, and that’s damn close.



EMPATHY: Yes. That’s the most important thing. Use that word.




BILLIE MÉJEAN: “Oh.” She touches her neck, eyes pale like pearls in seawater. “Oh,” she says again, “But he was just…” She looks at the kitchen table, where two cigarette butts are still in the tray.
EMPATHY: But he was just here. Alive.
KIM KITSURAGI: “We understand this comes as a huge shock. I want you to know that me and my partner,” he points at you, “are here for you if you have any questions. Take your time, ma’am.”




ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] You regret it the instant you say it. She’ll latch onto that detail, this moment. She would probably have found out, but you could have spared her this right now, if nothing else.

BILLIE MÉJEAN: “I see…” She withdraws, trying to picture the scene. “And you just… found him there? Lying in the cold? How long had he been there?”



BILLIE MÉJEAN: She blinks, eyes welling up with tears, as her hands start searching for something in the pockets of her dress.



BILLIE MÉJEAN: A small, terrified smile quivers on her face as she takes the handkerchief and wipes away the tears. She looks disoriented.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Is there anyone we could call for you? A friend, a family member, someone who could be here for you?”
BILLIE MÉJEAN: “No, no…” She breathes in. “I just need to tell my girls…” The air gets sucked out of her lungs suddenly. “God, should I call them? Should I tell them to come home?”



BILLIE MÉJEAN: “Good, that’s probably the right thing, thank you…” She nods, but with a wretched expression. “Just tell me, what do I need to do next? Where is he? Can I see him?”
KIM KITSURAGI: “We’ve taken him to the city morgue. The local coroner will be contacting you shortly to arrange the funeral. Here’s his number in case you want to contact him earlier.”
DRAMA: [Medium: Success] A very good call.
KIM KITSURAGI: He hands her a leaflet with the morgue’s contact information. “Is there anything else that the RCM could do for you?”
BILLIE MÉJEAN: “No, I’ll call you if something comes up, I’m still…” She rubs her face, runs her fingers over cheeks that have become numb.






ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] Your heart is still pounding, your hands still shaking. You hid it well in there, but the instant you left you just *broke.* You look over at Kim.



KIM KITSURAGI: “You did enough.” He pauses, rubbing his hands together to generate some heat.




KIM KITSURAGI: “They’ll manage.”





ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] And as you walk down the length of the balcony, down the stairs and out of Billie Méjean’s life forever, you have a thought. Not a Big, Important Thought, but a critical one all the same. You think of Victor Méjean, dead for two days before you found him, surrounded by empty bottles and cans, blood leaking from his temple, eyes full of fog and head full of empty. His end came at the bottom of a bottle. You’ve been so thirsty for a drink all week, but now the memory of the taste makes you retch like it was gasoline. Kim waits up for you at the bottom of the stairs. You need to get out of here.