Conversation · Joyce Messier

The doubt is fully formed in your head -- the alien feeling persists -- yet something's still missing. You have finished mulling over the Jamais Vu thought, but your Conceptualization skills are not nuanced enough to make sense of it...

The doubt is fully formed in your head -- the alien feeling persists -- you just can't word the question yet. You have to complete the Jamais Vu thought first.

It's on the tip of your tongue -- a doubt of sorts, already in your head -- but it's not fully formed yet. You have to wait and return to this later, once the Jamais Vu thought is complete.

Ask for Kim to step away while you discuss the pale.

Good idea. Just ask him. He won't make a scene.

"Kim, can I talk to the ma'am alone for a second?"

"Fine." He steps away with his notes.

See? What can he do. You're a grown man.

"Now -- what is the pale?"

"Fine." He steps away with his notes.

Yeah, you still aren't over the fear that something bad might happen. He expressly said you've had enough excitement for today.

"Yes?" She's waiting for another term.

...is what you want to do. But should you? He expressly stated you shouldn't hear about it. What if it renders you mad? Or catatonic? Or makes you lose your memory again?

"What times are these?"

"Unimportant, as I said. The mineral rights were all distributed during the Revolution -- as were the bullets to the heads."

"These are... unimportant times, detective." She puts her finger to her lips, then points at you: "You and I were born after the dust had settled, a thousandth of a second too late."

"Got it. Another question, then."

"Too late for what?"

"For the Big Time." Her eyes light up. There's a flash of teeth.

The smile of a predator. No doubt what she's got in mind.

"You've got a predatory streak."

"All men are predators, dear. Nothing much to be done about that. It's all a matter of where you get to file your teeth..."

"What's the Big Time?"

"The Revolution," she says.

"Hah -- and what is this Revolution I keep hearing about?"

"It's quite easy: every hundred years or so our species gets together to decide what's next: who gets shot in the head and who gets the mineral rights -- it's a real kerfuffle."

What is... (Think of something close to you.)

Six kilometres southwest -- in the Valley of Dogs -- junior officer Chad Tillbrook takes aim at a rabid, black dog licking its wounds in the grass.

To his left, his partner Émile Mollins whispers: "You heard what happened to Tequila Sunset? In Martinaise?"

"Yes, he lost his mind," Tillbrook answers, finger on the trigger. "Don't worry, Émile..." He pulls on it slowly. Slowly now... "He'll find it again."

"We always do."

"What am I?"

"You? You are an officer of the RCM," she says energetically.

"The Revachol Citizens Militia?"

"Precisomundo!"

"Good. And what is the Revachol Citizens Militia?"

"Nothing more nor less than the de facto law enforcement body of post-revolutionary Revachol, detective."

"Yes," the lieutenant steps in to make a gesture encompassing you both: "We are the Revachol Citizens Militia."

He's being sarcastic.

"Are we?"

"We are."

"You said de facto?"

"Yes. That means: not de jure. The RCM acts in what is poetically called the twilight of international law; both at the behest of the Coalition Government -- and to its chagrin."

"That's it for the who I am part then."

"Permit me to conclude with this: who you are -- to me -- is the police. The only legitimate law enforcement authority in Revachol..."

"And if those authorities drink so hard they need help recalling the basic terms of reality -- well, I am here to help." She bows and smiles.

"...and if the law officials of our nation need help with the basic terms of reality -- well, then I am here to help." She bows.

"What do you mean?"

"The RCM's responsibilities are defined by the Emergency, Wayfarer, and Aliments Acts -- three pieces of legislation keeping the city in a -- let's be honest -- laissez-faire stasis to the benefit of foreign capital."

"All three are good to know," the lieutenant looks up from his notes, "when we're out policing."

"So I'm basically going to avoid this subject and ask the next question in this line of inquiry."

"Truly moralist of you. The Coalition Government would applaud you for staying out of politics. And yet..."

"There's nothing basic about your role, detective. It's true that the RCM keeps everything the way our seemingly permanent provisional rulers like it..." She leans in.

"Yet on the other hand -- I know these people. I deal with them daily. Let me tell you, dear, they are not fans of you."

"Why?"

"The post-revolutionary decade was a disaster for the Coalition Government. Revachol in the Twenties was hell, especially on the west side of the river: gang warfare, a botched privatisation scheme, a nuclear pile meltdown..."

"They called it the International Zone -- because no nation wanted to claim responsibility. The RCM restored peace where the Coalition failed. A true-blue citizens' initiative," she smiles. "They will never forgive you."

"That's somewhat of an exaggeration," the lieutenant interjects. "In reality, ours is a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"Revacholians get to keep the peace in Revachol, and the Coalition doesn't have to worry about it..." He coughs. "Anyway, sorry to intrude. Please continue."

"Yes, lieutenant. Permit me to conclude with this -- who you are -- to me -- is the police. The only legitimate law enforcement authority in Revachol."