Part 55: 13:32-15:09: The Final Missing Piece
Chapter 55: 13:32-15:09: The Final Missing PieceTHE DESERTER: then spits it out into the extinguished fire before him. He raises his black eyes, hooded by creased eyelids, to meet yours.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] Unclouded by cataractshis eyesight is sharp.
THE DESERTER: I may have. All sorts of little rats have come sniffing around, trying to give up the position
SAVOIR FAIRE: [Medium: Success] The *position*? Sounds like a hiding place
THE DESERTER: Reactionary rock and roll music. He gestures north. Playing on the water.
KIM KITSURAGI: I did.
THE DESERTER: Sad FM, huh? I always hated that station. Phlegmatic, counter-revolutionary dirges Sadness is a mental illness, a weapon of the bourgeoisie.
THE DESERTER: Its a Triangong 4-46.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Medium: Success] South-east Samaran-made. Exotic. Must be defunct too. No modern rifle manufacturer of that name springs to mind.
KIM KITSURAGI: It was sent to us by our brothers in the Hsin-Yao Commune. Military aid. He pats the rifle.
THE DESERTER: Yes, I bet youve killed a lot of people with it His eyes narrow. you fascist *fuck*. Have you come to make me one of them? His grip on the rifle tightens.
COMPOSURE: [Medium: Success] His right eye twitcheswith what? Fear? Rage?
KIM KITSURAGI: We have *come* to ask you questions, nothing more. The lieutenant puts his hand on his holster. If you do not comply, we will take you in. Do you understand?
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant pulls his pistol from the holster.
THE DESERTER: Youre a glorified night-watchman. He looks you in the eye. This is a service rifle. I can only lay it down before an enemy commander of corresponding rank.
THE DESERTER: A big wheel of the 4th Regiment of the pederast army. He sighs. To hell with it. Its a walking stick anyway
THE DESERTER: The rifles in a shabby state, like a crutch thats seen too much travel. Hieroglyphs are embossed into the forearm made of walnut.
KIM KITSURAGI: No one said it had to be a Belle-Magrave The lieutenant does not take his eyes off the old man. We were just guessing.
VISUAL CALCULUS: From ballistics, it could easily have been a Triangong too.
KIM KITSURAGI: The right type and the right calibre, the lieutenant nodsglancing at the gun.
REACTION SPEED: [Medium: Success] Some kind of involuntary response? Something is slightly off with his motorics
THE DESERTER: My name He looks across the water, then back at you: is Iosef Lilianovich Dros, Political Commissar of the 114th Anti-Aircraft Division of the 4th Army of the Commune of Revachol. I am a deserter, a partisan, and a prisoner of war. This is my termless surrender. His eyes turn to the reeds again, dead and dull.
KIM KITSURAGI: The Commune of Revachol The lieutenant forgets to close his mouth. Do you mean the ICM? Youre a holdover form the
THE DESERTER: From the Insulindian Citizens Militiathe Army of the Revolution. I was recruited in Jamrock in 07, trained in the Ecole de Contrôle Aérien and consigned to emergency defence duties in 08. I left my unit on the eve of the Landing. When I returned here on May 14th the Commune has fallen. Still armedand *ideologically trained*I wrote a criticism of myself. And resumed partisan duties.
THE DESERTER: No. He looks into the firea wisp of smoke rises from somewhere between the charred logs. Ive been on other islands too.
THE DESERTER: Its not how a human being should live, but I had to He grimaces, clearly in pain. I couldnt just forget. I couldnt just forget what I saw.
THE DESERTER: He nods.
VOLITION: But he can now.
KIM KITSURAGI: What have you been doing during all this time?
THE DESERTER: Hiding, fishing, waiting He looks across the water.
SHIVERS: [Medium: Success] Where the afternoon grows late. On Rue-de Saint-Ghislaine people walk home, streetlights will soon be lit. Further inland the streets are alive with workers: men, women, children. Streethawks and migrant labourers. The temperature is steady. Altocumulus clouds form above Precinct 41.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Medium: Success] Two police officers step out of the Whirling-in-Rags cafeteria. Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare inspects giant letters across the plaza mosaic, in dark red government-marked heavy fuel oil. Patrol Officer Judit Minot points west. The fishing village She glances at her watch. We meet in 15 minutes. Its a ten minute walk. The officers go, leaving behind the writing, still smelling of petroleum. ONE DAY, it says, I WILL RETURN TO YOUR SIDE.
THE DESERTER: For her to return.
KIM KITSURAGI: Her, who?
THE DESERTER: A waste. He blinks his black eyes. The material base for an uprising has eroded, the working class has betrayed mankind and themselves
THE DESERTER: You could say I misunderstood the historic role of the proletariat, and thought Mazovian socio-economics were fallible. For a second I doubted the irreducible laws of historic materialism.
THE DESERTER: Its the same thing you havent seen *it*. Not reallynot naked. Its impossible not to be afraid.
RHETORIC: [Formidable: Success] It remains unclear what *it* is. He makes leaps he doesnt expect you to follow.
KIM KITSURAGI: And this was when? The lieutenant instinctively looks to his notebook, but does not take it out.
THE DESERTER: The combined might of international capital, all at onceall the greed and terror in the worldtore into Revachol. It lifted streets from the ground and turned houses into ghosts. We were in the flak tower He gestures toward it. huddled on the floor. The artillery was eighty kilometres away in Ozonne but I *knew*, I knew the Commune would fall. We would all be turned into ash. So I said I was going to the map room He looks east.
THE DESERTER: Airships. I climbed out. He closes his eyes: Into hell. The Landing was complete. The chain was submerged, I had to swim back. The fortress was half-submerged too. Shattered.
THE DESERTER: The mask of humanity fall from capital. It has to take it off to kill everyoneeverything you love; all the hope and tenderness in the world. It has to take it off, just for one second. To do the deed.
THE DESERTER: Coalition military called it Operation *Death Blow*. He winces. I later found out, on the radio. They called it
THE DESERTER: Supplies, vegetables He winces. I collect rainwater. Its the life of a dog, not a human being. He coughs once more, then puts his hand on his belly
KIM KITSURAGI: How is your health, Mr. Dros?
THE DESERTER: Ive been throwing up blood since winter. Red, like beet rootbeen passing it in stool too
VISUAL CALCULUS: [Medium: Success] He does seem frail, gaunt for his age, more like 75 than 65. Trouble putting on weight could mean cancer.
KIM KITSURAGI: The RCM can provide medical services. You need to be looked over.
THE DESERTER: I havent. I have holes in my brain. Years missing, others filled with pain only. A decade of His eyes roll into his skull and back.
THE DESERTER: No wonder. All your minds are rotting from the radio waves He nods toward Martinaise. I watched the *traitors* of this city turn the lights back on. More and more each year. Ruins, glittering in the dark, like a fucking merry-go-round Its disgusting He looks down at his shoes; his face parched from the sun and the windtheres a wince of pain in there somewhere.
THE DESERTER: It was hard into 10s He shakes his head. I didnt have partisan training, they were searching for stragglers, those bloodhounds He closes his eyes. Floodlights on the water at night.
KIM KITSURAGI: There were posters. Campaigns.
THE DESERTER: We communards still hopes and they needed to snuff that hope out. The East capitulated, Martinaise and Coal City were turned to dust He looks south. But Jamrock, Fauborg, even Couron; and Boogie Street of coursethose fucking kipts had Mazov coursing through their veins
THE DESERTER: At night. I used a dinghy He nods toward the deflated tire in the reeds. I only went after dark then. When I got to the city I stayed underground. Patrols. You lot. The commons too, theyd started snitching
KIM KITSURAGI: In the city you move underground?
THE DESERTER: I dont want to. Theyre all traitorspigs, rabbits, and dogs. Men without ideals are only animals.
THE DESERTER: I know.
KIM KITSURAGI: So youve been there?
THE DESERTER: Sleeping He coughs. Some nights. Ammo-scrounging on others. Those Magraves were shit even before they corrodedsome had bullets in the chamber, however.
THE DESERTER: The propaganda bunker? He coughs. I used to, but not anymore.
KIM KITSURAGI: Propaganda bunker?
RHETORIC: [Formidable: Success] You cant possibly be this naïve.
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Hey, whose side are you on!?
THE DESERTER: He stares at you coldly. Youre the RCMyou represent the Moralist International, the enemies of humanity, who took this city. I represent their adversary, le Parti communiste dInsulinde. Take me to them as a prisoner of war. I have relinquished my weapon, I can no longer serve. No superiors can relive me of my duty, you bulldozed them all to a mass grave for trying to free humanity His hand shakes and he breaks into a coughing fit.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] A spray of blood from his mouth, on the black charcoal in the firepit
THE DESERTER: Liberal reactionaries signed that instrumenttraitors, who should have been burned alive He draws his breath. I answer to the Communist Party.
KIM KITSURAGI: Is that part of why youve been here all this time? Because the Party didnt surrender?
THE DESERTER: The old man does not answer. He tilts his silver head and looks at the reedsyou see a small tremor pass through his legs.
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant speaks softly. His job was to assure the army answers to civilian controland follows the ideology of the commune.
THE DESERTER: Scientific communism! The tracksuit-clas old man is suddenly reanimated. A *commisaire politique* is a knight-philosopher of the Revolution, a future human.
REACTION SPEED: [Medium: Success] Awakened from shutdown by the promise of *ideology*.
KIM KITSURAGI: Detective. The lieutenant gives you a stern look. We have not come here to discuss ideology. He then turns to the old man. We have come to ask questions regarding a murder investigation.
THE DESERTER: The old man spits into the fire pit. He does not say anything more. A hitter passes his lower body
COMPOSURE: [Challenging: Success] The expression on his face is unreadable. Theres some sort of interference there neurological?
THE DESERTER: Ive used it for killing people.
KIM KITSURAGI: Killing people?
THE DESERTER: Its a gun. Thats what theyre for. You want a moralist euphemismdefending your family and your property? I havent done that. Ive used it to kill people.
KIM KITSURAGI: Interesting. The lieutenant nods. During, or *after* the War?
THE DESERTER: There is no *after* the war. He shakes his head and smiles, his teeth rotten black: Class war is never over.
LOGIC: [Easy: Success] So hes continued killing *after* hostilities ended. Okay, okay
REACTION SPEED: This is what you *live* for. This is *the shit*.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: The great serotonin jackpot.
RHETORIC: [Easy: Success] Go in straight, no euphemisms, he doesnt like those
HAND/EYE COORDINATION: [Easy: Success] No-no. Be careful now, slow and steady does it. Make him repeat it first.
ARIST: [Easy: Success] Youre not really sure why your hand/eye coordination is giving you conversational advice right now, but you push the thought aside.
HAND/EYE COORDINATION: I have useful things to contribute too!
THE DESERTER: Nothing comes to you. Silence, his black eyes look at you.
SHIVERS: ALL IS NOT AS IT SEEMS.
KIM KITSURAGI: Detective? The lieutenant turns to you, with well disguised impatience.
THE DESERTER: What did I just say He keeps shaking his head, erratically suddenly. He brushes something out of his eye
ARIST: You were saying?
HAND/EYE COORDINATION: Aww
THE DESERTER: I dont *want* to tell you anything, you grotesque murderer.
THE DESERTER: The who now? He leans in and cups his ear.
THE DESERTER: Oh yes that one, he looks up at the sky and clicks his tongue. Ugly piece of work, that boy
KIM KITSURAGI: Did you *kill* him? The lieutenant takes a sudden step toward him.
LOGIC: [Easy: Success] Exhaust him with proof. Pile it all on him, get a confession.
HAND/EYE COORDINATION: [Medium: Success] The gun. The murder weapon is the perfect opener.
PERCEPTION (SMELL: [Trivial: Success] The scent of blood in the air but what else? There was something you cant remember
THE DESERTER: Heh
KIM KITSURAGI: Not a lot of guns around that use military grade ammunition, are there?
THE DESERTER: Its a real gun, he points to the lieutenants holster, not like your little musketeer pistols. Ive seen you prance around with those, jumping hoops for the liberals You look like imbeciles. Why dont you ask them to give you real weapons, huh? He chortles. Going against automatic rifles with a *flame bomb* of course you got all those boys killed!
HALF LIGHT: [Easy: Success] Damn, he saw you. Hes watched it happen.
THE DESERTER: None of those people mean *anything* to you. The vultures feed on this city and you prepare the meal for them.
RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] Youre getting diverted. Push the gun. Only the gun matters.
KIM KITSURAGI: So you watched the fight? The lieutenant points inland. Did you like what you saw? The mayhem? It was all your doing. Your plan. *You* got them killed.
We put that point we just got into Rhetoric.
THE DESERTER: Murder The old man does not say morehe just glances into the reeds and then twitches once more
VOLITION: [Formidable: Success] Like a marionette, on some invisible string
LOGIC: Who caresthere were may bells in the grass when you got her! And on Klaasjes balcony!
REACTION SPEED: You got it! Remember, the boot prints were like no *modern* sole
ENDURANCE: [Medium: Success] Maybe dont beat yourself any more though? Youre not immortal
KIM KITSURAGI: Nothing else comes up. You see the lieutenant watch you try to stimulate thought processes by hitting yourself.
THE DESERTER: Almost *where?* Almost ready to bleed to death? He looks at the bloodstain on your pant leg
Okay, lets talk to the lieutenant.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] Youre fairly certain that Dros can still hear you.
KIM KITSURAGI: Good. He nods. Were doing very good. He *wants* to confessI can see that. We just need to pile it on, a little morethe more we have on him the closer he is
KIM KITSURAGI: Ballistics. Let him cook here for a minute or twowe can have another look around the island for a snipers nest. He looks to the small tower on the coast. I think we should check out the post.
KIM KITSURAGI: Remember, the lieutenant whispers. He wants to tell usbut he doesnt want to *help* us. It needs to looks like we already have everything.
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] There is palpable excitement in his tone. He likes him for this*a lot*. But theres something more too
Okay, lets return to the tower and see if we missed anything when we picked up the gas can.
ARIST: [Trivial: Success] Oh, hey, look at that. A huge fucking *mattress* just laying in the middle of a cold tower next to some firing slits. How the helld you miss this, idiot?
MATTRESS NEST: A single-person mattress. Modern, civilian use. Brand name: Marjorie. Theres a fuel stain on the cover, along with cigarette burns.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): The silhouette of a tobacco picker adorns the paper filter. The brand: Tioumoutiri.
MATTRESS NEST: The springs screech as you lean on the mattress and crane your neck to look out
INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Trepidation. A tingling feeling in your stomach.
KIM KITSURAGI: Do you have line of sight to the window?
KIM KITSURAGI: A pair of binoculars? Or the scope of a *rifle*? He points to the makeshift bed. Youd be prone, lying on the mattress, barrel resting on the embrasure
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] The lieutenant pauses. Regret comes over him.
We put a point into Logic, and get ready to return to the deserter. This time, weve got him for sure.