Busted and Blue

I was asked by a computer, a shadow on the wall
An image made by Virgil to rule over us all
To amplify the sirens and to find real amends
I'm through the echo-chambers to other worlds away
- Gorillaz, Busted and Blue

It had been over a month since the incident at Burger Factory. And it had not ended well for Kaydence.

Crime was, by the very design of the city, difficult to do in Neo Manhattan. Oh, people tried all the time, but between the digital and physical surveillance, the AutoCops, financial incentives and citizens more than willing to snitch on each other, criminals tended to last as long in this city as spiders in a bath. The most criminal one could be here was in cybercrime - picksocketing, theft of data, creation of illegal braindances, virus-based vandalism. And even that carried the risk of having armed AutoCops kicking your door down at three in the morning.

But it happened enough that a legal system existed, even on this planet. One that, much to her own surprise, Kaydence had ended up being dragged through.

Valley of the Pagans

Welcome to the land of the permanent sun
Where the flowers are melted and the future is fun
- Gorillaz, The Valley of the Pagans

Our story begins not on Earth. It begins elsewhere. Very, very much elsewhere.

Many years ago, long before Zoofights Corporation took off to the stars, there were thise who had given up the Seanet~ravaged Earth as a bad job beyond saving. This meant that other corporations, rising out of the ashes, were all making the big space race, hoping to snag whatever pieces of galactic pie they could grab. And while there were many failures, there was one group that, in the background, was quietly - almost insidiously - succeeding. Formerly known as Osmond & Sharpe, it would eventually grow and gain influence over the planet Spero in almost the same way as ZF Corp influenced Earth, slowly assimilating almost every kind of service into itself as it swelled like a bullfrog on helium.

By the time of the completion of the planet's new captial city, Neo Manhattan, they'd undergone a rebrand. Partly because the "Sharpe" of the original name had left under mysterious circumstances, but primarily because, in the course of the city's development, they had become the sole provider of almost everything anyone could ask for. They hadn't allowed any competition - with no regulation, any potential rivals were snapped up like chicken nuggets in front of a shark. Food, technology, entertainment, living space... it was all under their thumb, though under many different brand names.

And thus did they become United Everything Services - or UES, for short. Founders and sponsors of Neo Manhattan. And it is in this city, ruled by one brand, that our story begins...

Six Months Before

Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, it's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope.
- Dr. Seuss

Inside his private mansion, on his Whalestrand estate, Cleveland Jeremiah Sharpe sat in his study and polished the dagger.

The newly-christened Sharpe Manor was not really his. It had sort of... fallen into his hands, like most things had. But it had been acquired long before the purchase of Aqualand had ever come to fruition, as sort of a safety net in case things went south in America. And while they hadn't per se, he had been started to be viewed through a lens of suspicion for a while. A lens he didn't particularly want on him for extended periods of time. In any case, it meant no more expensive and boring long-distance flights to inspect the parks progress.

In fact, the way that Sharpe was looked at in Whalestrand was refreshing. There was none of the inherent cynicism of America - it was all wide eyes and outlandish gossip. It was almost like he'd started afresh, with how many wild stories and flights of fancy buzzed in the press and on the street like inquisitive wasps. Was he a wilful dreamer, brought up from poverty in some far-flung farming state? The product of infidelity between a rich countess and some vagabond? A charming rogue from some other dimension, or perhaps another planet? Plenty of speculation, but very little detail.

That was good. Keep things vague and the punters filled in the details themselves. And when you let them do that, you had them in the palm of your hand.

The winter sun was low, so even the largest window permitted only a little light into the room. But what little that did come in still made the metal of the short, pointed blade gleam dully against the clinical white of the cleaning cloth Sharpe ran over it. 

The dagger was not the only unusual thing in his study. On the furthest wall, a large engraved mezzotint depicting some old-world country manor marred the pale surface like a black bruise. Rows of glass cases showed other curiosities - masks, bas-reliefs, statues, arrowheads, jars, a strange whistle. Locked in its own separate case with an iron padlock, a canine skull grinned without mirth from behind the reinforced glass. Something on the mahogany desk faintly glowed and span, the pinkish-purple light throwing weird highlights on the sharp, eagle-like face of its current owner.

It would be trite and inaccurate to say that Sharpe did not believe in the supernatural. In a world that persistently proved that the supernatural existed, such beliefs were the equivalent of putting a hessian sack over one's head to escape the sunlight. Far better to say, perhaps, that he had no romantic ideas about the supernatural. He saw them for what they were and attached no greater significance or fable to them. He put no stock in superstitions or flights of fancy - he stripped the phantom and the banshee and the alien bare and saw their bones, without finery or adornment. 

And that meant he saw their worth.

Ten Years Before

WARNING: Mentions of animal abuse and suicide. Reader descretion is advised.

Man, do not pride yourself on superiority to animals; they are without sin, and you, with your greatness, defile the earth by your appearance on it, and leave the traces of your foulness after you - alas, it is true of almost every one of us!
- Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov 

Berufjörður, Eastern Iceland
November, 2012

Julius Eriksen, captain of the fishing boat Hvidhal, was not sure about what he was going to do.

He knew what he was going to do, of course. He'd been paid a lot of money for it, by a man who spoke with a strange accent and had said a lot of big words. And he was nothing if not a man who knew his trade very well, and wanted badly to support his family through that trade. Three thousand US dollars was not something you sneezed at, not if you knew anything about exchange rates and cared about keeping your house.

But Julius was starting to have second thoughts, the intrusive little voices that, just as you find yourself set on doing something, pipe up and go "Here, can't we have another talk about this?"

It was a bad time to have them, too. He was on the deck of the Hvidhal, and they were waiting for word from the boats that had gone up ahead. The day was fine - no clouds, a pale blue sky, but still chilled by an icy sea wind blowing in from the west. A wind that pulled at the tangled mass of his hair and beard and threw the faint, salt spray of the waves over the side of his boat. His men were waiting all around him, as tense with anticipation as he was.

So the second thoughts were very unwelcome at the moment.

Seven Years Before

Evil begins when you begin to treat people as things.
- Terry Pratchett, I Shall Wear Midnight

For a long time, mankind has found amusement in the suffering of others. There's something about seeing somebody go through some sort of pain and knowing it isn't you that's darkly reassuring or entertaining. It appeals to the remnants of ape in the back of the head, the part of us that looked at what the leopard just did to their troopmate and think 'hey, that's one less male I have to fight to chat up Doris over there'.

When the average man does it to the average man, it's called schadenfreude, and people laugh about it. When governments do it to the average man, it's called tyranny and people tend to do something about it, or at least grumble. The Romans were smart enough to sell popcorn when they did, which made it entertainment and so it was okay, even though people were still getting killed horribly.

When humans do it to animals, its a lot more complicated. Some animals, like dogs and cats, were smart enough to realize that acting cute was an eternal meal ticket for them. Anything done to them was considered unthinkable. Others, like cows and pigs, weren't so quick on the uptake, and so nobody makes a fuss when entire herds go into the big shed and never come out again. 

And then there were those who were quick on the uptake, but they weren't dogs or cats, so it didn't matter. And the only people who cared were those in white coats, and okay, maybe they stroked you and fed you fish, but that was as far as that went. You didn't have fur or big honest eyes, so there was nothing preventing you from being shoved in a tank several times too small for you and made to do somersaults. When people did that to animals like that, it was called entertainment. The ideas the Romans left behind were a lot more tenacious than first thought.

Or perhaps not.

In 2016, The Orca Welfare and Safety Act was passed by the California Assembly. It meant one thing, and one thing only. No more animal shows. No more dragging these actually quite intelligent out of the ocean and making them do tricks. No more breeding animals just to keep it going. Someone, somewhere, had turned around to ancestral memory of the Roman, the man who sat and laughed while a spear went through a lion's throat, and said 'no, this is not okay, and honestly your nose is hideous'.

There were a lot of people upset about this. But one of them wasn't.

Nineteen Years Before

For nothing is secret, that shall not be made manifest; neither any thing hid, that shall not be known and come abroad.
- Luke, VIII. 17 (King James Version)

Mocrocks Beach, Washington State
April 4th, 2004

"This is stupid," grumbled Dave as he followed his friend James down to the beach.

"No, come on!" James called back over he shoulder as he ran ahead. "You gotta see this!"

Dave didn't really want to see whatever it was. He didn't even want to be outside, because it was cold and windy and the sky was full of iron-coloured clouds that threatened to drizzle. It was a typical April day, which meant it was spring, and Dave hated spring because it wasn't ever sure if it wanted to carry on being winter or get a move on and get to summer already. And he lived near the coast, which made it worse. The wind blew stronger from the sea and made you wear hoodies and jackets even when the sun was out.

He should have been inside, doing homework or watching TV. Anything a normal kid did. But then James had come round and said he had to come down to the beach with him. And James was the kind of boy whom, if you tried to attack him with logic, skirted around it with his own sideways logic that you couldn't argue with even though you knew it made no sense. So Dave knew it was pointless to try.

So here he was, following his idiot friend down to the beach. The wind was blowing hard, making him fold his arms over his chest in spite of wearing his hoodie, and it definitely looked like it was going to rain. And the seagulls were screaming, which irritated him even further,

This was so stupid.

His mood wasn't improved when he stumbled over the Step. That was the informal name for where the concrete slabs of the pavement ended and the dirt path down to the beach began. Time and weather had eroded it to the pint where it was just an inch shorter than you expected it to be, and a little loose as well. It took two massive steps and a lot of flailing for the boy to get his footing back, and his ankle stung in protest.

"Come on!" shouted James, who had gotten further ahead. 

He could have left him. He could have just turned around and walked back home and left the idiot out in the cold and the wind. Who cared about some dumb thing he'd found on the dumb beach on this dumb stretch of coast in this dumb village?

Dave huffed, shoved his hands in his pockets and followed.

Contrasts

There are two kinds of people in this world.