Clean House

Document 1

QSI-N_68403(vs).meme

Yaanis-5 Black Library Leak Incident

ArQive: QSI-N_68403(vs) Loaded...

ArQivist’s Notes:

1. These memarqs recovered/recorded by [redacted] during Yaanis-5 BLL Containment Operations. For ArQive Overseers Only, by Special Authorisation from Central ArQive Council of Superintendents.

1.1 Access and review of these records is subject to Black Library Record Containment Guidelines and is authorised only under strict scrutiny. Any failure to follow protocol will result in immediate termination.

1.2 All accessing parties are to be logged into this ArQive’s Associated Access Logs Folder according to guidelines and subjected to pre- and post-access psychological screenings by Soulstar Authorised Wanderthoughts.

1.3 Screenings are to be logged into this ArQive’s Psych.Log Restricted Access Dump, and with ArQivist’s Regional ArQive Overseer Council, and the Central ArQive Council of Superintendents.

2. Any ArQivists with lingering P-IPFI or other anomalous neurological imprints are to be sequestered pending full analysis of anomalous effects. If P-IPFIs cannot be purged by application of Antithymestics, ArQivists displaying Intransigent P-IPFI symptoms associated with this ArQive are to be terminated under Black Library Record Containment Guidelines, or as outlined below.

3. ArQivists who pass screening are to be administered Class-A0 Antithymestics by Soulstar Authorised Wanderthoughts following conclusion of operations. A subsequent screening to confirm memory purge is to be administered after Antithymestic treatment to confirm successful memory purge. ArQivists found with anomalous memory persistence are to be sequestered pending full analysis and treatment. If AMP remains following additional Antithymestic administration, ArQivist is to be terminated.

Warnings:

1. ArQive contains RAW .meme files. Use of Class-4 DVR-VSync Required.

2. Failure to use appropriately rated equipment will result in Permanent-Irreversible Personality Fragment Imprinting (P-IFPI).

3. ArQivists manifesting P-IFPIs associated with this ArQive are to be sequestered immediately pending analysis from Soulstar Wanderthoughts. Those manifesting symptoms of Severe P-IFPI are to be considered lost and terminated immediately.

4. Any ArQivists terminated due to Severe P-IFPI are to have their remains atomised and scattered over not less than 1 cubic parsec of interstellar space by Autonomous Specialised Containment Vehicle (See ASCV Guide for details). ASCV is then to be disposed of in the nearest black hole. An OmniAudit of the ArQivist is also to be performed. If corrupted materials are found, they are to be immediately disposed of following the protocols outlined above. These protocols supersede BLRCG Handbook Protocols (Exception E11).

5. Any breach of protocols will result in the ArQivist’s immediate termination as well as Full Site Audit by The Central ArQive Breach Containment Unit. It is recommended that a full review of the BLRCG Handbook is undertaken prior to continuing.

[begin record]

Document 2

Talvo_01.meme

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A light drizzle cast the cobbled streets in a misty lucence Ullifrikh would, on any other night, have found equal parts eerie and beautiful. As his car glided to a stop, he couldn’t help but think of how the old eccentric would have been out in the middle of the night, slipping and sliding over icy streets with his prehistoric analogue camera. In pursuit of that ever-elusive one perfect shot, he would, invariably, have found himself yet again at Old Sawbones’ surgery being treated for exposure. Frostbite had already nipped off a few of the old man’s fingertips, to say nothing of certain appendages best left off official records. Sighing, Ullifrikh engaged the vehicle’s landing gear. No point putting this off any longer.

The door to his car slid open and he stepped out into bone-chilling cold. He donned his hat and raised the collar on his woolen overcoat to block out the wind as best he could. Even for a native of Yaanis-5, winter in the South was a fierce and ferocious beast. His breath came in great puffs of smoke, which quickly coated his beard in a fine dusting of hoarfrost.

“Boss,” Deputy Jaaing greeted as Ullifrikh approached.

The young woman lifted up the police tape to let him through before following him toward the stately rowhouse where Old Man Jaafarek lived.

“Lovely place,” Jaaing said, “whole town’s straight out of a postcard.”

“Mmhmm,” Ullifrikh grunted, walking up the steps to where Detective Læfeln was waiting.

New blood. Detective Inspector Læfeln was their first. County South Alfar-Hakvidr was too rural until recently for there to have been any need of detectives. Two deputies and a sheriff had been sufficient for centuries. But with the opening of a new titanium mine and its attendant mills and manufactories near to Dagalr Village, South Alfar-Hakvidr had seen a significant influx of population. Before the Governor’s Quarterly Restructuring a few anno back sent them a dozen fresh reinforcements from Alfarsstvo, Ullifrikh, Jaaing, and Kulður had been overwhelmed.

It had been an adjustment for many of the transfers, but Ullifrikh was happy to have them, and most were happy to be rid of Alfarsstvo. From stories Læfeln and his compatriots had told—when Ullifrikh could get them to say more than a few words—Alfarsstvo had seen its better days. Dagalr Village had too, now that he thought of it.

Miners and factory folk, they were a rough bunch. Most of the work was done by drones, robots, or other heavy machinery, but these were still businesses that lived on their margins. Collecting what the diggers left behind was hard but necessary work, and even the machine operators couldn’t escape the dust and sweat, forced down into the tunnels and shafts by necessity of maintaining signal.

Like soldiers, the hard and dangerous work they did made them a hard and dangerous bunch. As much as business was booming in Yna Dagalr Industrial Zone, so too were crime rates. No place was void of black markets and the seedy individuals whose stock and trade was the illicit, not even rural South Alfar-Hakvidr. Only matters of degree separated one land from another.

What had happened here…the last time Ullifrikh had been called to a scene of this manner of crime was before his tenure as Sheriff, nearly a century and a half ago. Degrees of separation, he mused. Even rural South Alfar-Hakvidr was not immune from this.

“Boss,” Læfeln greeted as he ushered Ullifrikh in.

“Tvørrim’s beard,” Ullifrikh swore, seeing the state of the door.

“Right?” Læfeln reacted.

“You ever see something like this in Alfarsstvo?” Ullifrikh asked, assessing the foyer.

The once stately rowhouse looked as though a whirlwind had torn through it. Holes had been blasted through the walls, the inner workings thereof spilt all over the floor like shoals of gutted fish. Furniture, what of it remained identifiable, had been smashed, cut to pieces, and rifled through. Legs of tables all akimbo with fragments of whatever compartments or drawers they once had, with their contents, lay upturned in piles amidst their faces, each reduced to individual timbers and arranged in teepees as though to be made a bonfire of. Sofas and armchairs had been toppled over, spines broken, upholstery split, innards ripped out and flung aside in the manner of wild dogs, rabid and enraged. Ceilings, floorboards, light fixtures, not a thing remained in the house that had not been in some way violently defiled.

Ullifrikh’s first thought was that he had stepped into the scene of a robbery. The scale of destruction quickly disabused him that notion. Whoever had done this was looking for something. Although it was impossible, given the state of Jaafarek’s domicile, to determine whether or not it had been found, Ullifrikh felt as though whomever was responsible would not have departed without their prise.

“Watch your step,” Læfeln said, as the two stepped inside.

“Taking that as a no,” Ullifrikh assumed, stepping around a hole torn in the floor.

“Just…” Læfeln began, but the words caught in his throat. “I…”

The big city detective sighed heavily.

“Left Alfarsstvo to get away from all this?” Ullifrikh finished, as Læfeln led him upstairs.

Every niche and frame on the right side of the once stately staircase had had its contents smashed, torn out, or toppled. Sections of walls, the bases of the niches, and every third stair had been torn up, the contents behind or beneath which exhumed and littered about whatever remained intact. Once grand and ornately carved balustrades of old-growth chestnut had been smashed to pieces, their decorations no longer discernible midst their splintered remains.

“Yeah,” Læfeln agreed, stepping around a pile of rubble.

“What did the old man get his hands on to warrant this?” Ullifrikh wondered aloud.

“No idea,” Læfeln replied, reaching the top of the stairs. “Makes you think it was worth a planet’s weight in tanzaurum.”

“Þrain’s Mane,” Ullifrikh muttered, joining Læfeln on the narrow balcony set between the stairs to the first and second floors.

“You sure you want to see this?” Læfeln asked, gesturing toward the closed door to Jaafarek’s parlour.

Surprisingly, the stately chestnut door had remained unscathed. Ullifrikh shuddered to imagine why, or what lay beyond.

“No choice,” Ullifrikh responded.

Læfeln nodded his reply before banging on the door.

“Sawbones!” Læfeln barked. “Boss is here!”

“Ge’ nae ferr semma, wihjja!?” Old Sawbones shouted.

“What did he say?” Læfeln asked Ullifrikh.

The local accent may as well have been an entirely different language. Of the Alfarsstvoans, only one had achieved much success in deciphering it.

“Give no fair second, wouldn’t ya,” Ullifrikh translated, “let me handle him.”

“Fine by me,” Læfeln agreed, passing Ullifrikh on his way downstairs.

“Æy! Jja bocks mæyd flog! Biggitab jja mæk nae hae!” Ullifrikh barked at the Old Sawbones. (Oi! You box-mad flog! Pick it up! You’ll make no hay!)

“Aa fagga lamm!” Old Sawbones returned. “Gitnae rars ab in hai!” (Ah fuck a lamb! Get your arse up in here!)

Steeling himself, Ullifrikh pushed the door open.

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Document 3

Talvo_02.meme

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Ullifrikh fished his cigarette case out of his breast pocket as he stepped out of the house. The pungent odour of synthotine smoke was already strong on the air as he took up station next to Læfeln. Without speaking Læfeln pulled a lighter out of his pocket and offered it. Ullifrikh took the lighter, lit his cigarette, and handed it back.

“You asked if I’d seen anything like this,” Læfeln said, slipping his lighter into his pocket.

Ullifrikh took a long draw off his cigarette before replying.

“Yups.”

“No,” Læfeln said, flicking his half-finished cigarette off to the side.

“Worked homicide didn’t you?”

“Vice,” Læfeln corrected.

“Right,” Ullifrikh grimaced, taking another draw off his cigarette, “The profile Guv sent reads like homicide. Cleaned up a lot of messes.”

“This,” Læfeln reacted, gesturing behind him toward the house, “this ain’t no mess.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t know,” Læfeln answered, “don’t want to neither.”

Ullifrikh took a long draw off his cigarette before stamping it out on the wrought iron hand rail and tossing the butt aside.

“Still,” Ullifrikh said, “we owe it to the old man to find who did this.”

“Find who did this?” Læfeln scoffed. “Trust me, the kinds of people who do this, without being heard, without leaving a trace? Yeah, you don’t find them. Poke around their business, they’ll find you.”

“You have something to share, Detective?” Ullifrikh asked.

“Just saying,” Læfeln responded, “seen a lot of shit. Whoever did this was looking for something. Tore the place apart, tortured the old man for days, but the neighbours don’t hear a thing? Don’t see a thing? Then, out of the blue, we get flooded with calls about this shit. The guys did this, they cloaked the place up and worked that man for days. Nothing about this feels right, Cap. Nothing. I’d say let the Guvs handle it.”

“Fuck,” Ullifrikh swore, spotting a pair of suits—one male, one female—stepping out of a car. “Who invited GSIU?”

“Like I said, boss,” Læfeln commented, “something ain’t right about this.”

“Damn straight,” Ullifrikh grumbled, as the two agents ducked under the police tape. “Better go see what the suits want.”

Ullifrikh trudged down the steps, burying his chin as best he could in his chest. Even his beard couldn’t keep the bite of strengthening southerlies off his face. And they were picking up, the winds. Daylight was on its way, all two hours of it they’d have.

“You must be the sheriff,” the male suit greeted with all the warmth and pleasantness of a dehairing brush. “GSIU.”

“I know,” Ullifrikh grunted, “don’t recall calling you here.”

“You wouldn’t,” the female said, “name’s Esela, this is Gefnar. We’re investigating a string of homicides in the province. This one popped up on our radar.”

“String of homicides you say?” Ullifrikh responded, incredulously, “Læfeln, you heard about this?”

“No, sir,” Læfeln answered.

“Gonna need to see some ID,” Ullifrikh put.

Without offering resistance, the two suits sent their credentials directly to Ullifrikh’s nueromesh computer, the details appearing on his retinal display. He’d’ve been suspicious, were it not for their tired, exasperated expressions.

“Monitoring our radio chatter, then?” Ullifrikh grumbled, satisfied they were GSIU. “How’d you get here so fast anyway?”

“Like I said,” Esela responded, “we’re investigating—”

“A string of homicides in the province,” Ullifrikh interrupted, “heard ya the first time. Big province, though.”

“Sure is,” Gefnar agreed.

“We’re staying at the Cozy Pines Inn,” Esela said, irritably. “It’s just up the road in—”

“Vølpenntvo,” Ullifrikh interrupted.

“Great! You know where it is!” Esela exclaimed, exasperatedly. “Are we done!?”

“For now,” Ullifrikh said.

“Do you mind showing us what happened?” Gefnar requested. “Need to confirm this isn’t related.”

“I got a choice?” Ullifrikh responded.

“No,” Esela answered, bluntly.

“I’m not a tour guide,” Ullifrikh retorted, stepping out of the way, “you want to see what happened to Old Man Jaafarek, place is all yours. Just mind your manners with Sawbones.”

Without saying another word, the suits stepped past Ullifrikh and Læfeln, climbing the steps, and disappearing inside. Something about them made the hairs on Ullifrikh’s neck stand up. It was too convenient that they were here. Too damn convenient. Even if they were staying in Vølpenntvo.

“Beginning to think you’re right,” he said to Læfeln, lighting another cigarette. “Something’s not right with this. Not right at all.”

“Word of advice,” Læfeln said, walking away, “leave this one to the Guvs.”

“How’d you know,” Ullifrikh murmured to himself, as he looked up at the ruined rowhouse, “and how’d you get here so fast?”

Læfeln may have been right, but Ullifrikh hadn’t been sheriff for the last twelve docades for nothing. Like an old dog, once he’d caught sent of something, he couldn’t let it go. Not until he’d tracked down the whole den and turned it over. It was his nature. Fighting nature only left a man exhausted and defeated.

Lighting another cigarette, Ullifrikh decided he ought pay Old Man Jaafarek’s favourite dealer a visit. If anyone would have sold the eccentric collector a death warrant, it would be Smugtub Voldir—Yaanis-5’s infamous tradesman of suspiciously obtained, questionably legal curios from The Way’s least pleasant rat holes.

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Document 4

Talvo_03.meme

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Only a crater remained. Smugtub Voldir’s stash house was gone, ship and all. Soot-stained, bare, blasted bedrock in shades of pitch punctuated with chunks of debris like glitter on black paper was all that remained of it. Inside the crater, a trickle of water from the nearby river had formed a trail of ice down which a thin rivulet flowed to the bottom where a frozen pond had gathered.

Scratching his beard, Ullifrikh could only wonder as to what, or who, had obliterated the former smuggler’s terrestrial domicile in such a display of excess. The crater was easily twelve metres deep, fifty across. It was as if the unexploded bomb Ullifrikh’s predecessor had removed from Voldir’s garden had mysteriously returned and with a vengeance.

Fragments of engine components and shards of thermally coated hull lay about the crater, confirming the ship was toast and Voldir had taken his final flight. Grimacing, Ullifrikh realised he would miss the old rascal.

Though the notorious trader had been out of the contraband game for over a century, Voldir’s penchant for bringing home all the bizarre and the dangerous contraptions to be found in places like New Rio, Throj, and Kaidani IZs had made him a regular feature on South Alfar-Hakvidr’s Public Nuisance board.

Ullifrikh looked over the scene again, scratching his beard, unable to shake the feeling of responsibility. People from all across County South Alfar-Hakvidr had warned him that something like this would eventually happen. They’d implored him to do something— anything—about it. He’d had the same concerns, expressed them even. All the way up to the Governor’s desk, but there was nothing to be done.

After his last stint in prison, Voldir had kept his nose squeaky clean. He didn’t bring back contraband anymore. Nothing explicitly so, anyway. His flights were all meticulously logged, he paid all his taxes, dues, and fees, and all his licences had sterling records. All his customs claims were spotless, inspections were flawless, hell, his record with the Starport Safety Inspection Bureau was the best in the biz. The only thing on his record for the last century was an expunged traffic ticket he’d received in the next county over for driving with a burnt-out tail-light. Smugtub was so clean, it made Læfeln suspicious enough to bring him in for questioning.

Ullifrikh remembered being dragged into the station that day. It was after Jaaing clocked in for her shift. She saw Læfeln working Smugtub in the interrogation room, stepped in to see what was up. It took the both of them to calm the detective down after turning Voldir loose.

Looking over the crater, Læfeln’s words played back in Ullifrikh’s head. No one is this clean, Cap! No one! Certainly not a guy with a rap sheet like his! He’s got to be tampering with our records!

He wasn’t. Everyone knew it. Two docades in the slam may not have been enough for the hardened crooks of Alfarsstvo to clean up their acts, but it seemed to have done the trick for Voldir. That and Ullifrikh’s threat if Voldir ever set a single toe out of line again.

Seeing cold, weeks-old destruction, Ullifrikh couldn’t help but think back to the suits who’d shown up to Jaafarek’s. Though he couldn’t place why, he knew they’d been here first, and while the embers were still hot.

Smugtub Voldir had sold Jaafarek the goods that got both of them killed. Ullifrikh couldn’t prove it, but he knew it. He knew the Guvs knew it too, that they were chasing the same ghosts. What he couldn’t peg down, though, was the incongruity of it all. He’d reviewed every manifest and claims declaration Voldir had submitted, and his last shipment was spotless. A few books, a contraption of questionable make and purpose, some pieces of local art, and an assortment of curios, cultural artefacts, snacks, and beverages from New Rio. Taxes paid, inspections passed, nothing flagged.

Returning to his vehicle, Ullifrikh resolved to ask Voldir’s neighbours—what few there were—what, if anything, they might have witnessed. Given Voldir’s penchant for the dramatic, and the rusty old tub he piloted, Ullifrikh had little hope anything useful would come of it. A re-review of his last customs declaration was in order too.

As he drove away, Ullifrikh resolved to get to the bottom of this. Whatever this was.

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Document 5

Talvo_04.meme

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“Still working the Jaafarek case?” Læfeln asked, startling Ullifrikh.

Removing his glasses, Ullifrikh looked at the detective standing in the doorway.

“You really ought to let it go,” Læfeln said, “Guvs are handling it.”

“I know,” Ullifrikh grunted, putting his glasses back on.

“You know they can rejuve your eyes, right?” Læfeln commented.

“Got any more revelations to share?”

“Yeah,” Læfeln answered, “County Comptroller is here. Wants to talk with you.”

“About what?”

“Guess.”

“Fuck… Send her in.”

Læfeln leaned out of the door and gestured.

“On her way,” Læfeln said, stepping out of the door frame.

Ullifrikh lifted his gaze from the case files only long enough to see a short, wispy woman in a tailored dress and flashy heels walk into his office. She hadn’t gotten rid of that frilly haircut either. This was going to be less worth his time and more unpleasant than—

“Sheriff! So good of you to see me,” she said in a squeaky voice that made Ullifrikh’s skin crawl.

“Anjinjaa,” Ullifrikh grunted.

“I see you’re still obsessed with Jaafarek and his…associates,” Anjinja mentioned, ensuring to emphasise her disgust.

“Yups,” Ullifrikh responded.

“You ought to let it go, Ullif,” Anjinja said.

“Why are you here, Anji?” Ullifrikh asked.

“Lingering sentimentality,” Anjinja answered. “Deadline for ballot registration is today.”

“That so?”

“Yes. Are you running? Or resigning?”

Ullifrikh lifted his head to look his ex in the face.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Anjinja answered, “so just answer the question.”

“I’m busy, Anji,” Ullifrikh responded, “see yourself out.”

With an exasperated sigh, Anjinja stood up, slung her purse over one shoulder, and made for the door.

“No taunts this time?” Ullifrikh spoke up.

“Like any lingering sentimentality, it seems even those are wasted on you,” Anjinja replied, the poison so often in her voice absent. Only a hollow resonance of disappointment remained.

The door shut behind her and Ullifrikh returned his attention to the photos scattered on his desk. Somewhere in this mess was the clue he needed, the breakthrough. If he could just find it, he could crack the case wide open, expose the secrets GSIU was trying so hard to cover up. This was beyond just Old Jaafarek, beyond Voldir, beyond Fingers and Dozer.

GSIU was behind this. They didn’t want anyone to know what Smugtub had found, what he’d sold Jaafarek, what they’d killed all of them for. Dirty secrets. Dirty little secrets.

Ullifrikh clenched his jaw. Rage filled his veins just thinking about Jaafarek. His cabinet of curiosities was a local gem, and GSIU destroyed it and for what?

He had to find it.

He had to.

And he would.

For Jaafarek.

For South Alfar-Hakvidr.

For everyone.

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Document 6

Talvo_05.meme

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The impact sent reverberations through his arm as Ullifrikh slammed the young woman against the wall of her barn. Hot lances shot through his bad elbow—an old injury’s echoes dulled by adrenaline and exhilaration. He was so close.

The young woman, pinned beneath his forearm, cried out with pain, flailing and scratching at him arm, trying to liberate herself from his grip. Drawing his gun, Ullifrikh put it to her chest.

“DO IT!” she shrieked. “SHOW EVERYONE WHO YOU REALLY ARE!”

She continued screaming incoherent streams of expletives. Ullifrikh moved the barrel of his pistol to below her navel. The screaming and struggling stopped when he cocked the hammer.

“Fuck you,” she panted, her gaze turning dark.

“Fingers,” Ullifrikh growled, pressing the barrel of his gun into her belly.

“Fucked him. Hardly knew him.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Ullifrikh snapped, elbowing her in the face.

“What the fuck do you want from me!?” she screamed, blood pouring out of her nostrils.

“Smugtub Voldir!” Ullifrikh shouted, bashing her in the face with his revolver. “What did he sell to Fingers!?”

“Ow! Fuck you!” she swore, kicking Ullifrikh between the legs.

Growling, Ullifrikh headbutted the woman, slammed her arm against the barn wall, and shot her through the elbow. Blood erupted from the wound and the woman screamed, falling to her knees. Ullifrikh grabbed her by her armpit and hauled her back to her feet, sticking his thumb in the wound.

“FINGERS! WHAT DID VOLDIR SELL HIM!?” Ullifrikh roared.

“Nothing!” the young woman screamed, clutching at her arm. “He tried to pawn off some old book! Said it was worth a fuckload of money! Fingers said no!”

“BULLSHIT!” Ullifrikh shouted.

“I’m telling you the truth!” the woman sobbed. “Fingers can’t even read! He’s fucking dyslexic, you crazy fuck!”

“The book!? Describe it to me!”

“I…I don’t know! It was fucking weird! Like an actual book! Paper, leather bound, art collector shit! What the fuck do you want!?”

“Did you get a title!”

“I don’t fucking know! It was some fucking sciency sounding bullshit! I look like a gods damned labcoat to you!?”

“Do I need to jog your memory!?” Ullifrikh shouted, pushing the barrel of his gun into her abdomen.

“I don’t know!” the woman wailed, tears and blood flowing down her face. “It was like, black holes and fucking quicksand or something! Seriously, man! I flunked science class! What do you want from me!?”

Ullifrikh uncocked his pistol, bashing the woman in the head with the grip. She crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Looking down on her, in a heap on the dirt floor, he expected to feel guilt and shame for what he’d done. But he felt nothing. Nothing but righteous satisfaction.

“This was for Jaafarek,” Ullifrikh said, spitting on the unconscious woman.

Holstering his weapon, he turned and marched out of the barn. Outside, Ullifrikh peeled off his mask to light a cigarette.

“Quicksand and black holes,” he mumbled, rolling the words over his tongue. “Hmm…no… Quicksand and Singularities? Maybe.”

Continuing to toy with the words, Ullifrikh finished his cigarette, flicking it into the bushes before heading off into the woods in the direction of his car.

Læfeln would be furious with him, but that didn’t matter much. Sure, Ullifrikh might’ve used the new Tin’s face, but it wasn’t anything Heavy Hand Læf hadn’t done himself. Besides, Heavy Hand had dropped the case, he’d betrayed everyone. If anything, he’d brought this on himself and it was no more than he deserved. That Ullifrikh had gotten what he needed to bust the case wide open made it all the better.

Jaafarek had bought a book and an old one at that. The only place printers and paper were still in vogue was the other side of the Galaxy, in Kaidan. If GSIU was killing over it, the juice between those pages must have been rich indeed—enough to really cook their goose. Old Man Jaafarek was no fool, though. He wouldn’t have bought anything like that on a datachip, but print it on paper and wrap it in pig skin, and he couldn’t help but fork over the cash to whomever was selling it.

Everyone knew that.

South Alfar-Hakvidr had only one man with a physical library.

This book, this real, physical book, Ullifrikh had enough to figure out its title. From there, it was only a matter of time before he knew what it was and why GSIU had killed so many people for it. For that, there was only one person to call—an old friend of his. He’d heard she’d been hired by some archive of rare and unique records. Perhaps they might just have a copy as well. All he needed to do was give her a call.

As he sat down in his car, Ullifrikh felt a grin form on his face. Today was a good day.

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Document 7

Talvo_06.meme

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“Val,” Ullifrikh said into the phone, “it’s Ullifrikh. Give me a call back. Still chasing down leads on Jaafarek. Wanted to pick your brains about a new development. Heard he bought a book off Old Smugtub. You know any books about quicksand and black holes? Maybe quicksand and singularities? Especially one worth its weight in gold? If you have, let me know. Anyway, I’ll let you g—oh! Almost forgot! Tell Valahi Junior Uncle Ulli said hi. Take care. Bye now.”

Ullifrikh ended the call with a lazy swipe of his hand, pushing the entire app display off his holopane. His personal Qube had finished trawling for results on the Galactic ‘Net for his query. After a few minutes of scrolling through results, he crossed the title off his list. Another bust. Singularity Quicksand, like every other query he’d tried, had returned nothing but scientific literature with flashy titles, doomsday conspiracy theory fan fictions about this Tanno’s preferred brand of social decay, and pretentious sci-fi novels about all manner of debaucheries or wormholes to different timelines.

Rubbing his forehead, Ullifrikh released an exhausted sigh. He’d tried just about every combination, permutation, and even cracked open a thesaurus—virtually—to find even more ways of arranging or writing black holes and quicksand. Nothing was showing up that even seemed to match the kind of text a nefarious government agency would torture a man to death over.

“Fuck!” Ullifrikh swore, looking at a long list of potential titles crossed out.

Despair began to set in. He’d exhausted every lead, every witness, everyone who’d ever known or been involved with or even sat at the same lunch counter as the victims, and he had as much now as he did then. Nothing.

“Fuck you!” Ullifrikh swore through gritted teeth. “Fuck you, you fucking fucks!”

He thumped his temples with his fists, trying to come up with something, to find some way to make this all make sense. Was there a combination he hadn’t tried? Was it even about the book?

No!

It had to be about the book!

If Voldir was trying to sell it, it came from New Rio, and New Rio is exactly the place a book worth killing over could come from.

“Wait,” Ullifrikh realised, as he scanned his list again. “Wait a minute…”

Pushing the notepad aside, he input a new search query into the Qube. The Quicksand Singularity.

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Document 8

Talvo_07.meme

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A ringing in his ears startled Ullifrikh out of sleep. Scrabbling about, he knocked his mug off the desk, sending cold coffee spilling all over the floor.

“Fuck!” he swore, answering the phone. “Gods dammit!”

“Ulli, everything okay?”

“Val!?” Ullifrikh responded, retrieving his coffee mug—now with a fresh crack in it.

“Yeah. Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes,” Ullifrikh answered, “spilt my coffee. You get my message?”

“Yes. Wish I hadn’t, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“Look, whatever this case is, whatever it’s about, let it go. It’s not worth it.”

“Can’t do that, Val. You know that.”

“Figured you might say that,” Valahi sighed, “listen, don’t call me again. I don’t want to be involved in this, and I certainly don’t want my daughter involved. Lose my number. We never met.”

“Val! Don’t be like—” Ullifrikh exclaimed, “fuck! Val!? Dammit!”

He redialled, but the call went straight to voicemail.

“Dammit, Val! Don’t be like that! I need this! I need to know! Answer the phone! Fuck!” he shouted, before angrily ending the call.

Ullifrikh smashed his fist down on his desk. Hot lances shot through his elbow again, this time accompanied by similar sensations from his hand. Lifting his fist, he saw he’d punched a hole through his desk. A few splinters had embedded themselves along the side of his hand and little finger, beads of blood welling up around them.

Cursing under his breath, Ullifrikh swiped the phone app off his holopane and grabbed a cigarette. He ignored the splinters in his hand. Synthotine first, first aid second. Damn hard to pull splinters out when stressed. He fished a match out of the box adjacent his cigarette case and lit it. Lifting the match to the cigarette, he lit it, and took a long drag, shaking out the—

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Document 9

Talvo_08.meme

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Slowly, like a moth breaking free of its cocoon, Ullifrikh came to. One eyelid cracked open and a lance of light shot through his optical nerve. He squeezed his eye shut, attempting to shake his head, despite the pounding headache that had made a kick drum of his skull.

What the fuck? he thought to himself, when he found he couldn’t move. At all.

Adrenaline surged through his veins as he became aware of his situation. He realised he had been stripped to his underwear and tied to a chair. He was cold too—chilled to the bone. His eyes shot open, and, after adjusting to the blinding light, he saw he was in a concrete cell.

Well ain’t this just the icing on top, Ullifrikh through.

He’d been abducted, that was for sure. Seems Læfeln was right after all. GSIU had come for him, and now here he was, in a concrete box, tied to a metal chair, with metal cables. Struggling was a futile effort. He couldn’t even move his head. Hells, he could only move his chest enough to take shallow breaths.

“Fucking shit ass suits!” he swore.

“You’re awake,” a woman said, startling Ullifrikh

Her voice was the sound of honey and lavender mixed with spiced wine, and yet it was the most sinister thing he’d ever heard. In his periphery, he saw the shadow of a slender feminine figure rise from behind him. Gracile and elegant, she strode around the chair, each movement so lithe as to make it seem she was gliding on a carpet of cloud. As she came fully into view, Ullifrikh beheld a young woman of grace and beauty the likes of fairy tales. She was naked, hairless but for a mane of silken black tresses that cascaded unbound and untrimmed down her back and all the way to her ankles. Strange markings ran down her arms and torso, pulsing with a soft violet glow.

Ullifrikh had heard of magick sigils before. Old wives’ tales they were for the most part, but he knew better than to discount them entirely. Smugtub Voldir had brought back enough peculiar potions and tinctures from New Rio to convince Ullifrikh that wizards and witches were wandering the stars.

In the realisation that his captor was an Orkidean, the pieces began to fall together. The murders, GSIU, the book, all the warnings about this case, he was right, about all of it, but wrong about how deep it went.

“You’re about to demand your release,” the woman said, matter of factly, her sigils pulsing brighter, “and question my attention to detail, as though the name Ullifrikh Talvö is foreign to me, your station, et cetera. And yes, ordinarily, kidnapping a sheriff, former or otherwise, is a rather ill-advised course of action. I am, in fact, naked, and I don’t fuck trees. Yes, that is quite prudish and rude of you, I agree.”

“Get out of my head!” Ullifrikh growled.

“No,” the woman refused.

“Fuck you!” he swore. “Who the fuck are you!?”

“I think you’ll find I am the one asking questions,” the woman countered, “who told you about The Quicksand Singularity?”

“I’m not…”

“Ashaan Kinuð,” the woman said, “and did you tell anyone else besides Valahi Almör?”

“No,” Ullifrikh answered, recognising the pointlessness of resistance.

It seemed she was a witch after all. Verbal replies were unnecessary. Anything she wanted to know, she simply had to ask the question.

“Yes, you’re getting it now,” the woman agreed.

“Who are you?” Ullifrikh asked.

“A janitor,” the woman answered, “or, perhaps a plumber. Perhaps none of these...”

“You kill Jaafarek?”

“Did you murder Ashaan Kinuð?” the woman returned. “Oh, you didn’t know? So righteous, you are. Yes.” She pressed a finger into his chest. “That burning, right there, in your chest. That’s not guilt. That’s not shame either. No! Couldn’t be that! It’s heartburn, innit? Because you’re a righteous man, Ulli! Guts so unctuous with holiness, acid reflux eats you alive!”

It seemed he’d gotten his answer. Even if she didn’t pull the trigger, he knew this herbalist, this fucking whore, she was responsible for Jaafarek’s, Fingers’, Dozer’s, and Voldir’s abrupt and ultraviolent demises! Ashaan’s too! He didn’t think it possible, but she had done it! Nonviolent his arse!

“Fuck. You.” Ullifrikh hissed.

“That is an experience you would not survive,” the woman scoffed. “Last question. Which do you desire more? Knowledge, or freedom?”

“You know what,” Ullifrikh spat.

“Of course I do,” she replied, “but this one is a choice.”

“You know my answer.”

“She does,” another voice, this one male, a deep baritone the timbre of course gravel and chainsaws, said from behind, “I don’t.”

“He your pet?” Ullifrikh taunted.

“Bow-wow,” the man replied, mockingly.

“We’ll give you some time to think on it,” the woman replied.

“Wait! I need a piss!” Ullifrikh shouted, as the woman walked around the chair.

“Sounds like a you problem,” the man said, over the grinding of metal on metal.

A loud clang resonated from behind Ullifrikh before a horrendous squealing somehow worse than fingernails on planed slate split his eardrums. His two captors stepped out, and the door squealed shut again before the steel bars ground back into place, stopping with a loud thud.

“Ah shit!” Ullifrikh swore, losing control of his bladder.

Urine sprayed out from between his legs with enough force to splatter his face and torso, even through his underwear. Swearing profusely, Ullifrikh strained and struggled against his bonds, urine dripping off his face and chest. The flow slowed, but that only resulted in warm piss pooling over his thighs and running down his legs. The room filled to saturation with its foul odour as it collected in his seat, coating his legs and buttocks. Then, he felt his stomach churn.

“Oh no…” Ullifrikh peeped.

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Document 10

Talvo_09.meme

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The door clanged open again, much to Ullifrikh’s relief. He’d been sitting in his own piss and shit for long enough for a painful, inflamed rash to form on his backside, up his back, and down his thighs. Days, they’d left him! It had to be! One heavy set of footsteps thudded their way into the room and the door shrieked closed.

As the woman from before glided into view Ullifrikh felt his mood sour even more than it already had. He scowled, but this had no effect on her.

“Why are you doing this?” Ullifrikh asked, the words painful to form in his hoarse throat.

He was thirsty, desperately so. They’d left him without water or food and the headache he’d woken up with had only gotten worse from the dehydration. Every breath now pained him, his nostrils dry and inflamed, his throat so parched it ached.

“The answer to only one flavour of that question is free,” the woman replied, nodding to the man behind her. “Given you have already disentangled that particular mystery, verbalising it is worthless.”

“Humour me,” Ullifrikh responded.

“Make your choice,” the woman repeated, ignoring him, “knowledge or freedom?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I want to know why. Why all of this? And over a book at that!?”

“A pity,” the woman sighed, gliding out of view, “you were much beloved by your peers, your community. Despite all you have done, you will be missed.”

“Wait!” Ullifrikh shouted, hearing the door squeal open. “You can’t leave! You have to tell me!”

The door squealed closed again.

“FUCKING BITCH!” Ullifrikh screamed, feeling blood in the back of his throat.

As the bars clanged back into place, he roared, “GODS DAMN YOU! FUCK! COME BACK!”

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Document 11