“Why’s that?”
“You can imagine the shape of many of the corpses. We have gophers, our cadets, who try to find the owners of body parts, but they’re not always successful. Still, we keep a database here on everyone we can.”
“I’m looking a few months back.”
“That could be tricky. We have a twenty-four-hour window in which to find out the names — after that, friends and family, as well as our cadets, simply forget they existed. The Reset. A clean slate.”
“But if that’s the case, how does the Patriot — a paper run by Blandos — report things from the day before, without also forgetting?”
“Easy. The morning edition goes to press in the evening, before midnight, and it’s delivered before dawn.”
“A simple system.”
“It functions. Events here change daily, thanks to the Capes, but you’ll find some articles we run — about the mayor and his corrupt minions — are the same every day. I get creative and change wording — the next morning’s news is fresh to everyone at the newspaper aside from me.”
Gypsie-Ann then pursed her lips, clearly annoyed.
“Lately — lately — that’s been changing. One of the copy-editors this morning pulled me up for running similar articles two days running. Embarrassing stuff.”
“Excruciating.”
She broke out in a smile. “Sarcastic tongue you’ve got there.”
“Special training. Anyhow, I’ve been told Blandos don’t revive like the rest of Heropa after those twenty-four hours you mentioned.”
“Injured ones recuperate, but you’re right — the dead stay dead.”
“Why is that?”
“No need? Plenty of other people to act as fodder for you fool Capes. The same rule applies to us — possibly it has to do with live organic matter versus dead. I haven’t worked that out yet. But Blandos’ memories are wiped, whereas ours are not.”
“Then how about a Blando remembering a death from months ago?”
“That would be…highly unusual.”
“Not impossible?”
“I never use the word. Can you be more specific about the John or Jane Doe?”
“A bystander killed in a tussle between Capes.”
“Well, that goes without saying. Anything more solid?”
“Name of Sekrine.”
“S-E-K-R-I-N-E?”
“I think so.”
“First name? — I assume Sekrine is the family name.”
“I don’t know.”
Stellar blew out loudly again and looked at her visitor.
“Without luck, this will take forever to find, if I find it at all. We have no computers here — there’re none in Heropa. They like to keep things old school. So, everything’s on paper, stored away in the archives. I need some incentive. What’s the slant?”
“I don’t know yet. But I do need to find out the circumstances of his death.”
“So it’s a he? You could’ve told me that before.”
“Does it help?”
“Nope.” The reporter glanced at the door, and then nodded to herself. “Tell you what, how about you doing the legwork? Here’s a key to the archive, which is on the thirteenth floor. I’ll write you a note to give the guard there. But if you find anything untoward — you tell me right away, and it’s my story. Deal?”
“I’m not sure. This is personal. It mightn’t be something I want written up in a neat little article.”
“Deal or not?”
“You sure are pushy.”
“I know. But I’ll be discreet — won’t run with anything without your approval.”
“Deal.”
Gypsie-Ann passed over a bronze barrel key with a decorative open eye attached to the end, and then began scrawling something on a scrap of paper that had a coffee ring across it. As she did so, the woman once again pursed her lips — obviously a habit. She handed Jack the letter.
“There’s something else. See this?”
She held up her right thumb, which was wrapped in a peeling Band-Aid.
“Paper cut, I get them all the time. This one I did yesterday — but it hasn’t healed overnight like it should do with the Reset.”
Jack grinned. “Funny you mention that — I still have bruising from our tussle with the Rotters two days ago. And I’m not talking up phantom pains.”
“Trouble with the idI hardware?”
“Injuries hanging round, Blandos recalling the day before yesterday. Sounds like this Reset thing is on the blink.”
“Interesting.”
“Speaking of interesting, I read your article on the death of Rabble Rouser.”