Conversation · Joyce Messier

As your gaze instinctively turns north, a small black pit opens up in your stomach.

"And... (point north) ...there?"

"An uproar of matter, darling, rising into the pale. Rolling. Evaporating even, a great vision. The area of transition 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..."

She closes her eyes and breathes out heavily: "... the most disco thing you will ever see."

You hear your pulse rise, the air feels caustic and cold suddenly.

"Six thousand kilometres from the end of the world?"

"Yes -- that is enough. Many cities are built much closer."

"The pale can damage the mind?"

"Extensively."

"How?"

"Some say the damage stems from extreme sensory deprivation. Others argue 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."

Who says and who argues?

"Who says and who argues?"

"The logical positivists say -- the dialectical materialists argue."

"What does this over-radiation feel like?"

"It feels terrible. Absolutely terrible. International standards strictly limit civilian travellers to six days of pale exposure per year..."

It's more for her -- way more.

"You're not a civilian passenger?"

"No, Lieutenant Du Bois. I'm 'Entroponetic Business Class.' I'm cleared -- and trained -- for 22 days of pale transit annually."

Perhaps that explains her strange pining after the Revolution? Some degraded early memories...

Someone else you've met may have been exposed as well. The strange grey-haired woman in her lorry.

"You're not a civilian passenger?"

She's looking out toward the sea, what at, it's hard to say.

She's over-radiated. And then some.

"Are you over-radiated?"

"Up to my gills, officer."

An acidic smile on her lips. It's getting worse every year.

"Do lorry drivers pass the pale?"

"Yes. Carried in the hulls of airships," she nods. "It's a horrific job. Automation will abolish it, soon."

You should ask the Paledriver about this. See what she says.

That poor woman must have stories to tell like you wouldn't imagine...

"No, nameless detective of the Citizens Militia. I am a member of the Entroponetic Business Class. I'm cleared and trained for 22 days of pale transit annually."

Let it go.

"What are its physical qualities?"

"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."

There's a slippery article in there...

"Is it the pale or pale?"

"Pale when it's particular -- this territory of pale -- the pale when it's pale in its entirety. Once you've seen it..." She tosses her head. "Language balks at the difference."

"Wait, and what is an isola?"

"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..."

"Mundi, Seol, Samara, Iilmaraa, Graad, Katla, and this -- Insulinde."

"And Insulinde is...?"

"An oceanic isola. It comprises mostly of water. Mundi is the largest, Katla the coldest, Insulinde the bluest. What can I say..." She stops. "Each is perishing and dear."

"Okay, another term then."

"Of course -- ask away." She seems slightly relieved.

"The pale is not, technically speaking, part of reality..."

"Yes," the lieutenant looks at his watch. "Also, I think we've had enough excitement for today. We do have a case to attend to."

His voice is low, but firm. All she can say is...

"Of course, lieutenant," she bows, then turns to you. "Let's try something else."

"What do you mean it's not part of reality?"

"Ma'am." He turns to her again. "Remember, you're dealing with a very sensitive and impressionable police officer who is still recovering from a recent medical episode."

"The lieutenant's right, let's change topics?" She gives you a little wink: "What do you want to know? Anything!"

But... she wants to tell you.

You could sneak back -- later, when he's not around... unless you can convince him to step aside?

This is not going to happen with the lieutenant present -- unless you can convince him to step aside.

You could sneak back, later, when the lieutenant is not here... unless you can convince him to step aside?

"Ma'am." He turns to her again. "This philosophical police detective is very sensitive and impressionable because of his recent medical episode."