Dead Man Talking

“I trust you are aware that I have a door? Should you ever be so fortunate as to visit me again, I would invite you to use it.”

“The wall was tired. I thought I’d let it lay down.”

“Hm. I’m sure. Well, what can I do for you, my ingress dyslexic friend?”

“Friend’s a funny word for me. Seeing what I’ve come here to do.”

“Quite. Tell me, who hired you?”

“No chance you believin‘ I’m doing this 'cause I’m bored?”

“…”

“Maybe because you’ve wronged me?”

“I’ve wronged many people - why, just this morning I trod on my valet’s toe and yet I still breathe. No, I do not believe that I have done anything to warrant such… attention from a person of your evident skills.”

“My 'evident skills,' eh? Office like this, not surprised you have the fancy words for it.”

“Certainly, I can say that I’ve had as few interactions with your caste as I could. However, I would like to know who hired you, and how much they paid.”

“Thinking you could out-bid ‘em? Wouldn’t mind hearing that.”

“I’m sure. No, rather I would dearly like to know how much my life is worth. It’s a concept that’s fascinated me since university, a professor once said that we could not place any value on human life, I disagreed.”

“That a fact?”

“Yes. Allowing for the sunk-cost of appropriate weaponry, the average cost of a human life at the time was something like seven hundred Terrars. Considering that it’s what the most common, and commonly lethal, bullet cost at the time.”

“Never mind the cost of the time of the one what shot the bugger.”

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Have to have my principles, don’t I?”

“And yet, dead men tell no tales.”

“Not even going to call for help?”

“Please don’t taunt me, it’s childish. Besides, I assume that one such as yourself would have taken great pains to ensure my guards are otherwise occupied and, since I am as you see me away from my desk and devoid of personal communications, how could I summon them?”

“…”

“Gods on high. You don’t have an exit strategy do you?”

“…”

“Well, I must say that you’re unique in your field. If you’ll accept a corpse’s praise, I’m quiet impressed. Oh come now, don’t be like that. I am being sincere. Making it here must have taken no small amount of skill and yet, you‘ve done it without any of the pre-planning others would deem necessary. It’s fascinating. Join me for a drink?”

“Just how stupid do you think I am?”

“An assessment that changes by the moment. Customarily, when a man is sentenced to die, he is granted a moment to pray and a last cigarett - I never was a man of faith and gave up the smoke years ago, so, if you wouldn’t mind I would very much like to open a bottle I had been saving for a special occasion. Then you can… escape however seems best to you. No complaints? Join me?”

“Here, I’ll open that. I‘ve been around enough to know even rich bastards like you can hide something up your sleeve.”

“Up the sleeve of my bathrobe? Well, I’m certain daimyo had to suffer worse indignities to avoid being taken in their beds. Samurai lords, they liked to have each other assassinated.”

“Right, I knew that.”

“Naturally.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“My dear…?”

“Sir.”

“My dear sir, I never implied otherwise. But considering that the last of that lineage died out around a thousand years ago and reading has become… unpopular among the lower classes, I assumed you didn’t know much about Nipponic feudalism.”

“Feudalism?”

“No need to sound so embarrassed. Ignorance is a failure of the state not of yourself. Feudalism was, and is, a social structure wherein the vast majority of society is forced to pay rent for the privilege of being allowed to do the work without which society cannot function. In the old days, it was land. The peasants worked the land, growing food and tending animals without which no one would have survived. Yet for that privilege they were forced to pay a portion, large or reasonable, of their produce to their lord. Furthermore, they were required to pay for the usage of critical infrastructure. Bread cannot be made without a mill, and the Lord often times owned the mill. Charging a fee.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“Remember, I never said you were stupid.”

“Suppose not. If we’re going to do this, raise to you the parting glass and all, then we should get it over with. You have a glass?”

“Side table. See it?”

“Clear enough.”

“Won’t you join me?”

“Don’t trust your glasses.”

“What is this world coming to. Is that something that actually happens out there?”

“Former boss of mine was killed by a poisoned needle hidden in the leg of a boy slave, right where he liked to touch them. I’m told he died slowly.”

“My word… that is…”

“What? That is what? Gruesome? Genius? I thought so, and so did everyone else I knew. ’course we only knew about it ‘cause of the cameras sewn into the kid’s eyes. Perfect-match contacts, all but invisible. Made by your company, as it happens.”

“I was going to say literary. Was the man’s name Vladimir, by any chance?”

“No. Masa.”

“Too much hope for. Very well, have it as you will. Pour me a measure and, I suppose asking you not to take the bottle is beyond reason, take a swig. Just do a dead man one favour, won't you?"

"My way of seeing, you're a bit beyond asking for any favours. But sure, fire away."

"Savour it. My last moments on this planet, I'd much rather not spend with some slackwit who'll take it like a shot of liquid courage before a bar fight. Taste it. Savour it. Tell me what you feel."

"Fair enough, I suppose. To you, then."

"What do you think?"

"Burns something awful. Not sure it isn't the same liquid courage. Then again, it's spicy. Tastes... now wait a moment, cinnamon and vanilla with something that reminds me of smoke. Reminds me of my father."

"It's a rare vintage."

"Guess it makes sense you was saving it."

"..."

"What?"

"Something the matter?"

"My - ack! - my throat! It burns!"

"Does it? Hmm. Would have thought a man such as yourself would have a higher tolerance. Or a stronger stomach."

"H-h-ow...?"

"Sh-sh-sh... You should have paid more attention to, what was that undesireable's name? Masa? Hm... you should have paid more attention to where micro-needles can be hidden. And you should have killed me sooner."

"I c-can't..."

"Oh I'm not going to kill you. Not yet. First, I would very much like you to answer my question from earlier. I would very much like to know exactly how much you were paid for this job. And if you co-operate, I'll let you die even if you don't share the names... the pain should be starting soon. Left untreated, it will kill before you die of dehydration."

"Fu-f-fuc-"

"I would prefer dehydration myself. Seems kinder."

"ARGH!"

"Time is ticking, my anonymous friend. Make up your mind."

"Six million Terrars! Make it stop!"

"Hm. I'm almost offended."

"..."

"Nothing more to say? Ah well, I might as well keep the promise."

"urgl....."

"Pity."

*click*

"Gerion, there's a corpse in my room. Trace the DNA and find its accounts then find the source of six million Terrars. If you don't find anything of use... friends, associates, family. Find the source and stamp it out unless it's threat level four or above; if it is, report back and I'll make other arrangements."

"Yes, sir."

"Quickly, please. I want... this mess cleared away before breakfast."

"Yes, sir."