Conversation · The Deserter

"You sure?" He whispers. "You sure we got it all?"

(Nod.) "We've been thorough."

"Right." He turns to him. "Give him his rights."

The words come to you, clear as day.

"Iosef Lilianovich Dros, you are under arrest for the murder of the mercenary leader, Kortenaer. You will be taken to the nearest precinct holding area for preliminary investigation."

(Turn to the suspect.) "One more thing, Mr. Dros..."

"Hey..." The kid interrupts you at 'you're under', his voice subdued. "You sure we got all this shit?"

... is what you want to say. You can barely get to 'you're under...' when you suddenly get weary...

Did you get everything, detective?

It may be too late later, the circumstances change, are you sure we're done here?

(No, I got everything I need, say:) "Iosef Lilianovich Dros -- you are under arrest for the murder of the Krenel colonel."

(Turn to the suspect.) "One more thing, Mr. Dros..."

... is what you want to say. You get to 'you're under...' when a warning rings in the back of your head: did you get everything?

... is what you want to say, but wait god damn it! With the words 'you're under...' still stuck in your throat you think: what if I missed something?

You will have to be very convincing and very sober to make them believe, sire.

"I found some things in the phasmid's nest, Mr. Dros."

He stares into the reeds. Your words don't stir anything in him. Perhaps you should...

Show him the Oranjese passport.

No reaction. His breathing is slow and he appears very old all of a sudden. Around eighty.

This is an old man -- at last. No longer a tin soldier, but the broken down remains of a man.

"Did you take this passport and other papers from a buoy on the coast?"

He blinks and continues to stare at the reeds. "The... spirit."

"He hears us... The spirit?"

No reply. He's gone again.

"Try something else? We got him back for a moment."

"Let's have a closer look at that, after. I think I'll be more useful than him..." He nods toward the old man.

"I'm going to let you rest now Mr. Dros." (Conclude.)

The plastic cape flaps around his face, in a gust of wind. His back is slouched and his mouth open.

The blacks of his eyes are receding, his pupils are returning to normal.

The strength has all gone out of him -- just frail old bones in a sack of tracksuit trousers and a wind breaker.

Show him the ceramic helmet.

Nothing. Just dull staring -- not even rage left wherever he is.

The last embers have gone out. The war is over.

"If Cuno kicked it into the sea, as he said he did -- the ebb would pull it back here. This makes sense. Mr. Dros could have picked it up. Or... the phasmid, even? If it did, this is incredible..."

"I can't believe that helmet, man. I kicked it into the fucking ocean and it washed up here. Or... do you -- do you think the phasmid brought it here?" He squints, looking around.

"About that..." Cuno squints at the helmet. "Me and C kicked that shit into the ocean. She took it off the corpse and kicked it, rugby style. How'd it wash up here..." He pauses -- then squints. "I don't know."

Show him the detached scope.

"I..." He turns his eyes to it. "I lost..."

"You lost it, Mr. Dros?"

He turns his eyes to the reeds again -- as he's done so many times. Beige and white stripes...

"He lost the scope. Then it somehow made its way over there. With the help of a magpie phasmid?" The lieutenant observes the lens sparkle in your hand.

"This sight is a T-9, Mr. Dros. Was it attached to the rifle, when you made the shot?"

Silence. Not even a sigh.

You've gotten all you will out of this poor being.

"Hey -- hey." He waves his hand under his nose. "You took the shot -- bang! -- and got rid of the evidence. Bug brought it back. Sound about right?"

"Hang tight." [Leave.]

"We should think about getting back to the mainland. To get help. He'll be safe here. If we don't take too long..."

"Yeah, old man. Hang tight." He looks at you. "Let's slowly start shufflin' off Death Island, okay? We're about done here..." He looks to the flak tower.

The old man holds himself for warmth. His gaze is vacantly directed toward the mainland.

"What has happened to this man?"

"Old age and shock." He looks at him, then you.

"Old age and shock, yes."

"The appearance of the phasmid, in conjunction with the stress of the arrest. He's spent his entire life here. For him to leave would be..." He shakes his head.

"I mean, getting arrested as a fucking GIANT stick insect jumps up behind you..." He shakes his head. "That shit would break any man. Even a Cuno Man."

"I think it's the phasmid."

"Yes. The arrest and the appearance of the phasmid -- the combined stress..." He looks at you. "But you think it's something more than that, don't you?"

There's much more. Remember what it said, when it spoke.

Quite a few things about that health check you did on him make sense now.

"He's been here for a long time. Who knows how much of it in its company?" (Conclude.)

"He did seem distressed when it finally came to arresting him. Like he didn't want to leave this place. And the insect maybe..." He looks at his notebook.