Conversation · BADGE: LTN-2JFR DU BOIS

"Wait -- satellite-officers?"

"You are given the title of 'satellite-officer' if your partner is quickly promoted through the ranks and you rise with him. You don't seem to be a satellite..."

"Thanks for explaining all this." (Don't mention it.)

"My pleasure."

"So you've been putting up with me because we're of the same rank?"

That's what it says on the badge. No more information is provided.

You should look at the badge when Lieutenant Kitsuragi is around -- he could help you make sense of all this.

The badge in your hands shines as you rotate it, catching light. You see lines of information on it. And a shining watermark.

Put the badge away. [Leave.]

"Precinct: 41?"

"Yes. It's the designation of your Precinct. Forty-one. Like mine says Fifty-seven. The 57th is mostly Industrial Harbour. A lot of asphalt. The 41st is..." He stops.

"What?

"It's a tough station to work in. You have all of Jamrock to cover -- that district should have three precincts, but money is what it is."

It's no wonder you are like you are, he thinks. But then again...

"But then again..." A faint smile. "It's a legendary district. And a hell of a station too. It must be an honour and a curse to work with people like Pryce, McCoy, Berdyayeva..."

...Roberts, Feuerbach, De Mettrie... suddenly names from your décomptage flash in your forebrain.

He knew all those people although they're not from his station. They must be big.

And you? Is it an honour to work with you? Don't ask him, ask yourself.

The number shows that this badge belongs to an officer of the 41st precinct.

Look at the photo.

The man keeps winking at you with his green-grey eyes. The photo is old, no doubt about that.

But the badge is new. You used an old photo for a new badge.

Good choice. A newer photo would look... different.

How old?

Eight, maybe ten years. The guy in the picture is rather good looking. He's got a nice haircut and is distinctly lacking in massive sideburns.

And he's winking? Why?

Why do you think? His face is already contorted by the Expression. Although it looks less grotesque on him than it does on you now.

It looks better on him because he isn't in as much pain while producing it as you are now. Although there's already a hint of that pain, certainly.

Don't be fooled. The bad times have already begun.

Wake up the past and tell it to stay awake -- the bad times are here to stay.

It looks like you had quite the charming face -- way back then. Your hair is brown and slightly curly, your eyes seem more clear somehow.

The lack of alcohol swelling is a bonus. Though there's a pinch of that in your cheeks already.

Don't be fooled. The bad times have already begun.

"Date of issue: 7th of November, '50..."

"Four months ago -- I'm guessing that's when you were promoted to the rank of lieutenant double-yefreitor."

"A new badge usually comes with a new rank. You seem to have been... doing well then."

The pain in your chest tells you you were working yourself to death to earn that rank.

The case created a lot of edge you have to take off. The death march really gets us going.

You're pretty sure you weren't doing well -- but better? Probably yes.

A lot can happen in four months. Especially in winter. The winters are never easy on you, of that you are sure.

I remember that time... the tie around your neck feels tight suddenly. That was a good time. We had a good work/drink balance going. What happened, man? Pump it up.

"Four months ago? Seems like a new document was recently made. One is handed to you as part of a promotion, or... if you lose the old one.

The badge was issued roughly four months ago.

A new document is given to you as part of a promotion. Or when you lose the old one.

"I found my badge!"

"At least something good came out of all this." The lieutenant glances at the badge in your hands.

Study the badge.

Encased between two durable plastic sheets is a bluish card with lines of information -- and a watermark in the shape of the street grid of Revachol West.

You see: a photo, a name, a rank, a document number, the date of issue, and -- in the lower right corner -- your precinct.

[Leave.]

The man in the photo looks at you solemnly.