Part 46: 17:28-19:45: Dancing With Oblivion
Chapter 46: 17:28-19:45: Dancing With Oblivion
We’ve resolved Soona’s quest for the source of the anomaly, but there’s still a few loose ends here in the church. Let’s talk to Egg Head to resolve one of them.
EGG HEAD: “Yeah! It was awesome, and scary. Very hard core!” His voice booms through the chamber, then gets silent.
EGG HEAD: “Ooh. Ooh!” His puzzled face turns into a wicked grin. “But how?!”
Well, shit.
Thankfully, we have a couple skill points left to use, so we put one down in Interfacing to try again.
INTERFACING: Listen, you can use the compressor to select between which track it’s compressing, either the auxiliary signal or the main input from the tape. Make it alternate between the signals.
EGG HEAD: “Side-chaining it, you said?” He turns down the music, his hands moving deftly across the mixer, setting up the necessary controls… Then he puts on his headphones and his eyes go wide, wider than they’ve ever gone on drugs. He starts jumping up and down with bliss, in total silence—still listening to his headphones.
EGG HEAD: “ARE YOU READY, POSSE?!”
ACELE: “What in the world is going on?” Acele looks on, amazed at the display. “The way melody and bass flow together… it’s unnatural.”
ANDRE: “God damn it,” you hear Andre say to himself over the thumping beat, “this dance club idea might just work out.”
EGG HEAD: “DOLORIAN CHURCH—THE PLACE TO BE!” Egg’s losing himself in the sound. “Pump it, pump it!”
ARIST: [Medium: Success] It suddenly occurs to you that you never actually made an offering to the window. Present a figurine.
REACTION SPEED: I don’t know. What are we thinking of? Part of your mind has gone on to other things already…
INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Only a strange little sadness remains.
ARIST: Well, shit, so much for that.
ACELE: Your words echo through the hall. The wooden boards all groan and creak. She remains silent.
ACELE: “Okay.” Her teeth rattle. She takes the device from you and places it in her lap. “I’ll stick to it.”
SUGGESTION: [Medium: Success] Something changes between you two. She looks at you differently now—as an equal. A fellow human being.
Woo! Double sixes!
ACELE: “Excuse me?” She casually brushes her hand through her hair.
ACELE: “All right,” she concedes. My father was a Zemlyaki. He died years ago. He was a bad man. Not a lot of good things to say about him and what he did.”
ACELE: “What do you think? The competition came and took everything away. It was like in a war zone…” She’s gritting her teeth.
ACELE: “It was a stupid idea and I’m still disappointed *I* came up with it.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Aren’t there any local authorities who might look down on such activities?”
ACELE: “Not in person, but I let them know. You can’t do anything without the fat ones getting wind. It wasn’t too difficult to convince them, really… It’s a good thing you ended that mes, though. I felt I was turning dad-wise, into a corrupt business-person. Unpleasant.”
AUTHORITY: [Medium: Success] Hear that? Set justice on its feet. CONFRONT EVRART.
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] You’re right, that’s a bad idea. This isn’t even meaningful evidence, and you already knew about the drugs anyway. The absolute best case scenario is the same as the absolute worst case scenario: You have to go face Evrart fucking Claire again after he’s already played you, and you won’t get anywhere from it. Actually, scratch that, worst-case is he laughs at you, so they’re not *exactly* the same.
ARIST: [Easy: Success] What else could possibly be wrong? It’s definitely that thing you said about the working class.
Let’s go finish this off by talking to Andre. He had a check we failed earlier, so let’s try again.
ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: GOD?
SPINAL CORD: Psst. I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. Every vertebrae in your spine is an unformed skull ready to pop up and replace the old one. Like shark teeth. The one you’re currently in has a little brain forming in it. Waiting for its turn…
SPINAL CORD: Foolhardy! Do you even *know* what’s happening on the surface? Maybe a thousand years have passed? Or maybe you started spazzing out like two seconds ago?
VOLITION: [Medium: Success] Free from self-awareness. No deliberation, only—and I mean *only*—execution.
EGG HEAD: With his reel-to-reel mixer blasting the anthem of a future that will never come, the young man observes your moves for a second…
ACELE: The young woman lifts her headphones up slightly and raises her chin, looking at you expectantly.
SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: She cuts in before you can repeat your question. “Acele, aren’t you going to dance?”
ACELE: She turns to Soona, then back to you, then briskly shakes her head and puts her headphones back on. “No. Recording.”
SOONA, THE PROGRAMMER: The lead programmer throws the other young woman a knowing glance before turning her attention back to her own work.
SAVOIR FAIRE: The dynamic motion of your flailing body is bordering the extreme. You’re going off the charts…
No, we’re missing one…
Not yet.
KIM KITSURAGI: “What’s going on here?” The lieutenant looks at you and the speedfreaks grinding around in the church, a group of unhinged lunatics. “Delinquents,” he grumbles.
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant squeezes the bridge of his nose. The lights reflect off his glasses…
EMPATHY: [Easy: Success] He’s obviously having trouble adjusting to this new reality.
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant crosses his arms with a bemused look.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Oh, c’mon, Harry…”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Sheesh, okay…” He backs up with his hands raised in the air, observing the criss-cross of your feet… “Okay, you psychopath…” He adjusts his spectacles, then pops his collar as high as it will go. “I see what your doing there. It’s jacked-up footwork, plus some… Is that Ubi folk dancing?”
EGG HEAD: “Nah, it’s not *Ubi folk*, it’s hard core!”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Oh yeah? I did 15 years in the Juvenile Crime Unit. I can *do* age-inappropriate. Now check *this* shit out!”
SHIVERS: I AM LA REVACHOLIÈRE.
SHIVERS: I AM A FRAGMENT OF THE WORLD SPIRIT, THE GENIUS LOCI OF REVACHOL. MY HEART IS THE WIND CORRIDOR. THE BOTTOM OF MY AIR IS RED. I HAVE A HUNDRED THOUSAND LUMINOUS ARMS. COME MORNING, I CARRY INDUSTRIAL DUST AND LET IT SETTLE ON TREE LEAVES. I SHAKE THE DUST FROM THOSE LEAVES AND ONTO YOUR COAT.
SHIVERS: THE MODULATIONS OF MY VOICE ARE NOTED DOWN WITH THERMOMETERS AND BAROMETERS. YOU FEEL ME IN YOUR NOSTRILS, ON THE LITTLE HAIRS ON THE BACK OF YOUR NECK.
SHIVERS: YOU ARE AN OFFICER OF THE REVACHOL CITIZENS MILITIA. *AGENTES IN REBUS*, WHEN YOU WEAR YOUR COAT YOU WEAR MY SOUL. YOU MOVE THROUGH MY STREETS FREELY IN MOTOR CARRIAGES AND ON FOOT. YOU HAVE ACCESS TO THE HIDDEN PLACES. YOU ALSO CIRCULATE AMONG THOSE WHO ARE HIDDEN. I NEED YOU. YOU CAN KEEP ME ON THIS EARTH. BE VIGILANT. I LOVE YOU.
NOID: “Fuck yeah!”
ANDRE: “I bet you did! Those were *some* advanced moves, man.”
EGG HEAD: You might be imagining it but it feels like Egg Head turned the volume down. Such is his respect.
ARIST: [Formidable: Success] Actually, you’re definitely imagining it because as we covered earlier, the mixing desk is set to max, *glue-style*.
ANDRE: “Man… now… now, man… now…” The would-be leader stutters with excitement. “Now imagine if we could do that, right? But with, like, a *thousand* people?”
ANDRE: “Alright!”
Goodbye, speedfreaks.
We decide to buy an extra Thought Cabinet slot and put in Cleaning Out The Rooms. Here’s something funny: Waste Land of Reality and Cleaning Out The Rooms are offset in progress by one minute (5 hours 36 minutes vs 5 hours 35 minutes). They’ll activate right after each other.
Well, let’s tell the last two storeowners of the Doomed Commercial Area the truth about the place.
PLAISANCE: “What do you mean the *actual* source?” She clutches her pendant anxiously. “Are you talking about the… *Third Presence*?”
Oh god, forgot about this nonsense.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Ma’am—what he’s telling you is true. We found an entroponetic anomaly in the Small Pinewood Church down the coast. I don’t mean to be an alarmist—and more research *is* needed—but… it’s not looking good.”
PLAISANCE: “But… but… *that’s* not in any of the ancient texts! How am I supposed to protect my bookstore from *that*?!”
PLAISANCE: “Close… the shop? But it’s all I have! No, there *must* be a way… Especially now that Annette is settling in at school again. She’s finally making friends in this place!” She looks at her daughter, quietly studying in the corner of the shop. “No, we can’t leave Martinaise. We can’t.”
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] That went about as well as you had expected. Plaisance had tried for years to stave off the “curse,” but there was no recourse in the end, because the true cause was so much bigger than her. Existentially of course, the 2mm hole is tiny.
Now to tell Neha.
NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Excuse me?” She sits up, visibly agitated. “A 2mm hole in reality? This can’t be true.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “I’m afraid it is, ma’am. Soona Luukanen-Kilde, the former lead programmer of Fortress Accident, made the discovery.”
NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Soona is involved in this?” She appears to take this in while the chatter from her headphones continues unabated… “So it’s even worse than I thought. It’s not just the commercial area that’s curse, it’s *the entire world*.”
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Are you lying? Simply naïve? Or is there genuine hope for the future within you? Even I cannot say.
NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Just Martinaise?” She gives you a rueful smile and takes a look around…
Two double sixes in an hour, huh.
NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “What are you talking about?” she says, shaking her head. “My address is exactly the same—Rue de Saint-Ghislaine 10.”
NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “This doesn’t make any sense.” She looks around the makeshift nest that she has carved out for herself, bewildered.
NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “And what, does it mean that I’m safe from failure?”
NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “It’s a mourning ring,” she replies. “I made this when my first company failed. It was a small jewellery shop right here in the East Delta Commerce Centre, built with the little I inherited from my parents…”
NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “It wasn’t just the jewellery shop either. I always thought that it was just the world, that you were supposed to try again and again until you finally succeed.”
NOVELTY DICEMAKER: “Yeah.” She stares out of the window, not really hearing your words. “Or maybe it’s the entire world that’s cursed? It’s such a precarious place. Nothing ever works out the way you wanted. That’s why people like role-playing games. You can be whoever you want to be. You can try again. Still, there’s something inherently violent even about dice rolls. It’s like every time you cast a die, something disappears. Some alternative ending, or an entirely different world…” She picks up a pair of dice from the table and examines them under the light.
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Should you have told her that? You may have done some damage there. Her worldview is now compromised.
Wait—*ALL* Red Checks fail!? What!?
Let’s finally go and talk to the washerwoman we’re renting from about that bullet we found last night.
WASHERWOMAN: “God damn that girl,” she murmurs softly.
COMPOSURE: [Medium: Success] And without anger. A long and harsh life has taught her not to buckle under pressure.
KIM KITSURAGI: “A bullet?” The lieutenant turns to you and gives you a little nod… then turns to the washerwoman: “You didn’t put it there, did you? *She* did.”
WASHERWOMAN: The old woman sits in silence, her hands moving into the water bucket. Some water sloshes over the edge. Slowly she speaks, wringing out a rag: “Yes, I let my room to that Ruby girl…”
WASHERWOMAN: “She came last Friday. Left on Monday, in a hurry…” Her wrinkled hand kneads a blue rag in the water. “What has she gotten herself into, that girl?”
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] She seems genuinely worried about her previous tenant. She’s seen her hiding out from trouble before, but this seems different.
WASHERWOMAN: “Yes, early, with the dogs—around 8 o’clock, I think.”
WASHERWOMAN: “No.”
WASHERWOMAN: “She’s good company. Knows how to talk to an old woman.” She rubs her cold hands together. “At my age, you don’t get a lot of quality conversation, so I really appreciate that about her.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Did she talk to you much during her last stay?”
WASHERWOMAN: “How would I know? She’s a gruff one, but not violent. She doesn’t go around toting a gun.” She looks back toward her shack, thinking.
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant stops writing for a moment. He looks at you, then at the old woman.
WASHERWOMAN: She tilts her head to the side, looking up at you, deep in thought. Then she makes up her mind. “No, she’s a fighter.”
WASHERWOMAN: “Nothing of the sort.” She shakes her head. “Sure, she was no stranger to the bottle… she fit in, that way. But I only knew her to have a beer on the beach while watching the sunset…”
INLAND EMPIRE: [Challenging: Success] The sun sets for everyone.
WASHERWOMAN: “Not that I know of, though she was into nice music. She once showed me a few mixtape-milieus she’d made.” She brushes her forehead with the back of her hand. Water drips to the ground. “Although I guess she was pretty handy with the mechanical and technical stuff. Even fixed the heater in the shack. You should be thankful for that.”
WASHERWOMAN: “I don’t know… further up the coast. She tried to leave quietly but the hinges on that door screech like a cat in heat—woke me up. I heard her rushing in those heavy boots, heading up north.”
VISUAL CALCULUS: [Medium: Success] It’s a peninsula. She might be *trapped*.
WASHERWOMAN: After a moment of silence, she says, “You’ll never find her, you know.” Her tone is without malice. “She knows the coast like the back of her hand. *You* only just arrived.”
INLAND EMPIRE: [Trivial: Success] The ‘Feld Electric’ mural… you feel like you should go look at it again. Step *closer* this time.
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] She really means it. It’s an honest plea.
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Before you go check out that mural, you spot the payphone from earlier. You could use some entertainment, so you decide to try dialing some random numbers again.
Unfortunately, Harry decides this time to use his hands instead of his mind to lift the handset. That or they patched that since the last time we used this phone. Whichever.
PAYPHONE: Calling… Still calling…
AUTHORITY: [Easy: Success] Again? Seriously?
PAYPHONE: Someone with a masculine voice picks up: “Hello, Girard speaking!”
PAYPHONE: “You shouldn’t mess with people like this…” His voice is very calm. “You go have a nice day now.” Phone hanging up.
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Okay, good start, do the same thing next time with the subtle difference of *not* totally fucking wussing out.
PAYPHONE: Calling… Calling… Calling… Still calling… *Still* calling… “Stop calling me, man!” Someone picks up. The voice on the other end is slightly hysterical.
PAYPHONE: “My *debt*? I don’t fucking owe you, it’s…” The young man realizes something. “Who is… ah never mind, I don’t have time for this…”
SUGGESTION: [Medium: Success] He does not seem to be overly thankful of your kindness as he hangs up.
PAYPHONE: Disconnect tone.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] You don’t really get the concept of a *crank call*, do you?
PAYPHONE: Calling… “I’m tired…” A man answers, fast this time. His voice is hoarse from cigarettes. You hear typing in the background.
PAYPHONE: “If I could go just one month without writing. No, two months… I could regenerate my brain. Fucking liberalism…” The man disappears with a sigh. You do not hear the customary disconnect tone, just silence in the handset—the machine is still waiting for you to dial a number.
LOGIC: [Easy: Success] Seems like it did not have time to swallow the coin. This sometimes happens.
INTERFACING: You dialed 001. This is not the area code of Revachol. It is another destination—on another isola. Some far-off nation state.
INTERFACING: 451—you have dialed god knows how many numbers. The headset has been waiting silently to relay a signal—surely nothing can come of this, you think. But it does. A connection.
PAYPHONE: An ultra-long-distance call. Your ear fills with a crackle, the wash of a strange ocean full of white noise. A little bird starts ringing in there, not like the local calling tone before. No, a small ring in a cage of distortion, far away, a distant network of phones… Calling… Calling in the night…
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] The saddest sound in the world.
PAYPHONE: Calling still…
PAYPHONE: Calling… Calling… Calling… Calling… Calling still… Then the ocean breaks. Out of the depths, a woman’s voice emerges. Small. The dearest thing you’ve ever heard.
PAYPHONE: “Dora.” She’s still confused. “Who is this? The connection is bad…”
INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Dora. The name feels like a *gift*. A gift that was meant for you—to make it possible to live.
PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] In the distorted distance you hear someone turning next to her. Bedsprings rattle.
PAYPHONE: “Do you know what time it is? It’s so late here…” Sounds like she’s looking for a clock on the night stand.
PAYPHONE: “Harry…”
PAYPHONE: You dial the number again—twenty-six pulls of the rotary dial. The machine eats the coin and a terrifying ocean of distance rustles in your ear… In the middle of it—a familiar ring. Small. Distorted. Calling… Calling…
VOLITION: [Medium: Success] Put it down.
ARIST: [Impossible: Failure] You need this you need this YOU NEED THIS, SHUT UP!
PAYPHONE: Calling… Calling… Calling… Calling… Calling…
PAYPHONE: Calling… Calling…
PAYPHONE: Phone hanging up.
ARIST: [Impossible: Failure] Please… Just one more time…
PAYPHONE: You dial the number again—as you’ve done many times. You remember it well now: 001–41–44–47–11–17–361–451–67–451–451. Calling… Calling… Calling… Calling… Calling…
ARIST: [Formidable: Success] You stand there by the boardwalk for a good while. Your knuckles are bleeding profusely while you lean against the payphone on the verge of tears, your head and heart full of empty. Kim stands off to the side, probably pretending to ignore you, unsure if he should step in. Maybe he should. Maybe you should have drank yourself to death on Sunday instead of this weird half-death you’re walking around in. You’ve never been thirstier, and all you’ve got right now to quench it is the bottle of blue fire. You still almost drink it. Fuck. Fuck this.