Conversation · Kim Kitsuragi

"Yes -- until we stopped it." The lieutenant is quick to correct him. "He saw the mercenary as an enemy combatant -- there's plenty for prosecution to pick from, as far as motive is concerned."

"Yeah. Check this shit -- he's like some fucking old school warrior. Man From Hjelmdall shit. Only against rich people and... pederasts I think? Cuno doesn't know what a pederast is, Cuno's not a university..."

"But he did that shit. To get the Union fucks killed, so they'd get the other fucks killed. Boom! Giant kill-storm. Mastermind shit -- only, like, a really old mastermind who's fucking stupid."

"Okay. Mastermind."

He's not getting it.

"He's a trained sniper. The weapon he used is more than capable of making the shot."

"Yeah, like... the ballistics too, pig. We got him knee deep in popo shit."

"Okay, Cuno -- okay." He rubs his temples, then turns to you. "And he'll confess? To prosecution too?"

"Wait -- Jean. Was there not a giant kill-storm?"

"You were just up his asscrack for the mass murder shit. Now it's nothing? Why do you think that shit happened?"

"..."

"You ain't saying shit, because you don't got shit to say."

"He, uh... being a Communard probably had to do with it. You know, class warfare stuff."

"He killed him in an act of rage induced by the phasmid's semiochemicals."

"Possibly induced," he corrects you. "But even without that -- this man spent fifty years on the islands in the bay. In solitude. Loathing what Revachol has become. There's plenty for prosecution to pick from in terms of motive."

"Phasmid... Jude, I think we should just go and write Harry a station call. It's getting..."

"Fucking... listen to him, pig! Grandpa's deranged. Cuno knows you don't believe this phasmid shit -- but he was hatin' rich people, some kind of pederasts too... fuckin' hating everything."

"Worse than Cuno's violent dad. Shakes like a pig, eyes like saucers. Wavin' at nothing. That's some dark shit -- and he's been with that bug for like -- ever. Don't close your mind to this shit!"

Hah!

"He's a trained sniper. The weapon he used is more than capable of making the shot."

"Okay-okay..." He rubs his temples. "Will he confess? To prosecution? No phasmid weirdness, just straight up confess?"

"Listen -- he was acting violent. Scatterbrained. In a fragile mental state."

"Yeah, okay, I get it -- people develop fucked up psyches in solitude. If he's been hiding for fifty years it's understandable."

"Yeah, he was like a fuckin' assassin, tell him..."

"Cryptozoology? You're giving me cryptozoology? Trant was feeling pity for you -- you use the chance to go full crypto!"

"I'm pulling the plug on this straggler thing." He shakes his head. "You're gonna get a station call to explain what happened. Coast guard is gonna scan the island. That's it."

"Cryptozoology? You're giving me cryptozoology? You say you have a motive and you use the chance to go full crypto on me!"

"A Revolutionary matronym?"

"The custom started in Graad, where they have patronyms: Krasovich, Larsovich, etc. The revolutionaries saw this as a chauvinist atavism so they used matronyms, derived from the mother's name, instead."

"This man's mother was Lilian. He's Lilian's son -- Lilianovich. The custom was overturned after the Revolution failed, but not before it made it to Revachol."

"So... it is what a soldier of the ICM would be called."

"Thank you, Trant. Thank you for that piece of cultural theory." He turns to you. "You said you have a motive."

"This man would be Lilian's son -- Lilianovich." He turns to Vicquemare. "The custom was overturned after the revolutions failed, but not before making it to Revachol."

He thinks this detail bolsters your straggler theory.

"It is what a soldier of the ICM would be called."

"Okay, Trant, thank you. I get it. Harry..." He looks at you sternly. "No more giant insects -- you said you have a motive."

"This narrow-minded pig," he mumbles, drilling his temples with his index fingers. "I can't fucking..."

Bring him to heel.

Get the kid in line. You could use his help here.

"Also, the phasmid was female. The reeds are its nest."

"Female? What makes you think so?"

"You had to see it... It had the subdued colours of a female. And the nesting behaviour too, I think."

It was definitely female.

"Incredible... Were there eggs in the nest?"

"Not as far as I could see. There were other things there, though..." He turns to you.

It's interesting time. Forget about the rest.

"It had gathered items in its nest: behold, a passport."

"Actually, you know -- this would indicate it was a male. This is far from anything in my field, but I think such nests are called 'bowers'. They are for attracting mates."

Bowers are built by males of species who can't afford colourful mating displays physically -- this one was plain coloured...

"It could have been male, actually..."

"It must be robust if it can move a helmet with its limbs..." He trails off, lost in thought.

It could maybe roll it? Like a dung-beetle.

"I still think it was female."

"Of course. As I said, I'm only guessing. I didn't see it." He pauses, turning something over in his head. "It must be robust, if it can move a whole helmet with its limbs..."

"It had gathered items in its nest: a helmet, a scope, and a passport."

"I think it emits a chemical that makes it look even more like the reeds."

"Hmm, yes. That would be a kairomone -- a pheromone that's seemingly beneficial to the host. It usually stimulates the affected nervous system -- not a human's, of course, but perhaps a predator's?"

Keep it to yourself.

"Nothing is off the table, but -- I want to stress this -- the find does not have to be connected to the case. The case is 100% prosecutable -- without any kairomones."

"Of course, lieutenant. Of course. We should treat the case and the phasmid as completely separate from each other. People are not going to..." He shakes his head.