Conversation · Joyce Messier

"Khm." The lieutenant puts down his notes for a moment. "Opinions expressed here do not reflect the official position of the RCM."

She turns to him. "And what is your official position, lieutenant?"

There is curiosity there that goes unnoticed. The lieutenant takes a step back, absent-mindedly.

"My position, ma'am? My parents got ripped to shreds in the Revolution -- I would have gone the same way. I was saved by being two years old. That's my position -- the abattoir."

"Understandable," she nods.

"With some hygiene, modest social care and perhaps a little research program."

The wind stops and for a moment there's silence. The charge dissipates into the dark water. All is quiet on the Martinaise inlet...

A dog barks, a gunshot echoes off the walls of some distant building. A woman's voice...

THERE IS PEACE IN THE HEART.

"Good hygiene, really? A very moderate solution to an extreme problem. It's those sort of half-measures that doomed the authorities in Graad..."

"When they failed to step up, Mazov and his party stepped in. In this particular case, maybe a more robust state response might have been appropriate..."

"Liquidate the rabid, prion-infested dogs who want to kill everyone -- with cleansing artillery fire."

The wind stops and for a moment there's silence. The charge dissipates into the dark water. All is quiet on the Martinaise inlet...

A dog barks, a gunshot echoes off the walls of some distant building. A woman's voice...

POCKMARKED BY CANNONS.

"Liquidate?" She nods. "That's what King Filippe kept screaming from the Sol Aurum. Liquidate, liquidate!" she says in a sing-song-y kind of way.

"In the end they liquidated the Sol Aurum. Melted the palace cube down to gold and platinum and sold it for bullets. Strange times," she says almost wistfully.

"With privatized healthcare and a work ethic that does not turn your brain into sponge tissue."

The wind stops and for a moment there's silence. The charge dissipates into the dark water. All is quiet on the Martinaise inlet...

A dog barks, a gunshot echoes off the walls of some distant building. A woman's voice...

IT'S ALL YOURS.

"A poor remedy for prion disease," she says. "That was the attitude of most of the more moderate indotribes, particularly those who supported the king..."

"Coupris, Resplendent... both gone now. Those that survived mended their ways. They're all ultras now."

"I asked you -- who are you in all this?"

"And I asked you, past-less detective of the Citizens Militia. What insight has acute encephalopathy given to you?"

Here's some wisdom lady. SAY THE DEATH THING.

"And I asked you, philosopher-detective of the Citizens Militia."

"I would have killed more -- 400 million -- if that's what it took."

The cold runs down your spine as you say the words, like a small electric charge that seeks grounding.

"I see -- a tenth of humanity." She's unfazed. "The key of History is in the lock -- keep turning, at any cost?"

"Until the middle class, the gentry, and the workers are all gone and the age of man is over."

The wind stops and for a moment there's silence. The cold dissipates into your parietal lobe like a dissolved bullet. All is quiet on the Martinaise inlet...

A dog barks, a gunshot echoes off the walls of some distant building. A woman's voice...

THE AGE OF MAN IS OVER.

"Over?" She nods. "That's entropolism, the very height of late Modernity: evacuate this world. You may prove a truly Modern Man yet."

She is not at all fazed by your genocidal sabre rattling.

A counterargument, but still -- your historic mass-murderer fantasies have only endeared you to this person.

"At any cost -- until humanity is free and the age of Capital is past."

The wind stops and for a moment there's silence. The cold dissipates into your parietal lobe like a dissolved bullet. All is quiet on the Martinaise inlet...

A dog barks, a gunshot echoes off the walls of some distant building. A woman's voice...

CAPITAL IS PAST.

"Past?" She cocks her head to one side. "That's what Dobreva, the leader of the communards said, before she got a bullet in her head. Don't get me wrong..." There's sadness in her voice...

"Capital is finished. But understand this -- its end won't free anyone. It will only lead to more suffering."

"Until it's all mine -- every pigment-drenched black leaf of money in Revachol."

The wind stops and for a moment there's silence. The cold dissipates into your parietal lobe like a dissolved bullet. All is quiet on the Martinaise inlet...

A dog barks, a gunshot echoes off the walls of some distant building. A woman's voice...

IT'S ALL YOURS.

"All yours?" She nods. "That's been the motto of many an indotribe. There is something clarifying about that strain of ultraliberalism..."

"Believe it or not, Wild Pines isn't even the most notorious example -- that would be Saint-Baptiste. You can go quite far with that attitude."

"Until this insanity is crushed and Revachol reigns -- a suzerain forever."

The wind stops and for a moment there's silence. The cold dissipates into your parietal lobe like a dissolved bullet. All is quiet on the Martinaise inlet...

A dog barks and a gunshot echoes off the walls of some distant building. A woman's voice...

REVACHOL FOREVER.

"Forever?" She cocks her head sideways. "In twenty years Revachol went from a king to a commune to a Zone of Control. She is forever. But the next thing she will be is something else."

"I don't know what I would have done differently."

"Then you would have died, most likely. Not far from here -- maybe even right here, during the Beachhead, defending the coast the day the Coalition took the city."

The cold runs down your spine -- she gestures toward the waters.

"Probably."

The wind stops, there is silence on the dark water of the Martinaise inlet...

A dog barks, a gunshot echoes off the walls of some distant building.