"They're good apes, actually."

"They're good apes, actually."

"I don't know about that..." She turns north, to the bombed out buildings lining the waterfront, then shivers slightly.

No. The tiny apes are doing all they can to be better. It's not their fault.

It takes time for the apes to change. And work. Perhaps what happened here was part of that time -- and part of that work.

The apes will never change, they are all evil. End of discussion.

"Who got the mineral rights?"

"The liberals got the mineral rights." She looks up to the sky, then inland at the crumbling city. "And by mineral rights, I mean everything."

"How did the liberals win it all?"

"They didn't win so much as survive. We were the last ones standing when the war ended -- everyone else got shot in the head, remember?"

We -- she's one of them. Of course.

"If everyone got shot, who was there to surrender to?"

"To foreign intervention -- the Coalition. Those people really took the mineral rights."

"Who are the Coalition?"

"The Coalition of Nations. Graad, Mesque, Vesper, Messina, Oranje and Sur-La-Clef -- the armed centre of the world. They landed here and ended the Revolution. It was the moralist thing to do."

There is bitterness in her voice -- tempered with understanding. She is critical, but ultimately understands the cause.

"Moralist?"

"The moralists believe in keeping everything exactly the way it is. They believe in mineral rights -- and not shooting people in the head..."

"At least not in the same manner and volume as the others do. They are the long-standing provisional rulers of Revachol now -- the Coalition Government."

The rulers of Revachol -- and also the world. These guys are strong.

"This is their Zone of Control. They embolden the RCM with crumbs of the same law they took. Technically speaking -- you are a moralist."

The colour of moralism is blue. The official motto of the Moralintern, or Moralist International, is: 'A blue forget-me-not; a piece of the grey sky'. Unofficial: 'For a moment, there was hope'.

"I don't think I am moralist, ma'am."

"Of course," she sizes you up. "Not easy to be moderate about head-shooting in your line of work."

Rooty-tooty pointy shooty!

"Rooty tooty pointy shooty!"

"That's the way of History." She nods.

(Cock your finger pistols.) "Rooty tooty pointy shooty!"

"Not just technically -- practically as well. I like what I've heard about these people."

"A devout man of the centre," she nods. "Hard to come by. It's good to have someone who takes a moderate approach to head-shooting -- in your line of work I mean."

"If always picking the option that doesn't commit to anything then hell yes I am -- and also not."

"An almost endearingly moralist standpoint," she bows. "It must be hard to take a moderate approach to head-shooting in your line of work."

"Wait. You just said the liberals already took everything."

"The liberals took everything that wasn't nailed to the ground -- the Coalition took the ground," she stomps her rubber booted foot. "The ocean, the laws and the people."

"Okay, and by liberals you mean..."

"Liberals are usually middle-class people, detective. Or the remaining gentry. The beneficiaries of the pre-revolutionary arrangement."

"Some were rich enough to stay with the Constitution; with monarchy -- big mistake. Others bet on the Revolution, they were called the Ultras, or ultraliberals. They fared well."

"Would you say it was a bunch of apes dukin' it out?"

"Why of course -- we're talking duke-out central. Full-swing intraspecies warfare."

"And the apes -- were they evil?"

"No. I would say the apes were neutral." She looks at you, her gaze sharp.

"Sounds like evil to me."

"On the other hand..." She turns north, to the bombed out buildings lining the waterfront. "Maybe you're right."

"Okay -- neutral."

"On the other hand..." She turns north, to the bombed out buildings lining the waterfront, then shivers slightly.

"When was this kerfuffle?"

"The Turn-of-the-Century Revolution?" She smiles, mischievously. "Don't answer it -- it's a trick question."

"The Revolution began in '02, on the isola of Graad, though by the end nearly the whole world had gotten involved."

"Who started it?"

"It wasn't a who, but a what. A pandemic of tzaraath, a particularly virulent prion disease, which the authorities in Graad proved unable to contain. Then Mazov came along and overthrew the government."

"What did this tzaraath do?"

"It made people overthrow their governments."

"Wow, really?"

"Of course not. It was a highly infectious microorganism that destroyed brain tissue. The actual causes of the Revolution were material. The pandemic only provided the spark."

It was a funny time in history. They'd discovered transistors and rock music, but they didn't know anything about prions. Nobody did.

"Where did it spread from there?"

"From Revachol and Graad? Not far. The world managed to cauterize itself. Mazov's government was overthrown in '08, and the Coalition crushed the Revachol commune two years later. It was The End."

"What came next?"

"Why, you and I, officer--" She spreads her arms, raincoat flapping in the wind. "Our lives in the Zone of Control."

Something tells you her life and yours are not that similar. Maybe it's because she has a boat and you have... that necktie? A pair of pants?

"What is the Zone of Control?"