Legrange

Borate’s office was plastered in campaign posters. It wasn’t exactly making Legrange’s job easier, having the Chief of Authority challenge the very man that the Resistance existed to resist. But Chief Gerstley Borate seemed to be the only man in Toun who Mayor Chaguartay wasn’t several steps in front of, and the move did seem to have unsettled him. Authority reform, outlawing Black Knights, Tree preservation… none of these were usual platforms for Chaguartay and yet all were part of his manifesto once Borate had announced his candidature. Not that it appeared to be making a difference to the Resistance, who were as determined as ever to resist.
Legrange looked around.
“I assume I’m not here to talk politics?” He didn’t want to talk politics. Borate was, as far as Legrange was now concerned, a dead man, both metaphorically and soon, probably, literally. Legrange was not an ideologue.
“No, I’ll keep it brief,” explained Borate, leaning far back in his seat. His brow was slick, his usually robustly glowing skin pasty, his dark hair slicked to his scalp. He didn’t look well. “I seem to be a busy man,” he chuckled, without humour.
Legrange nodded. He didn’t want to catch whatever his boss had contracted. Keeping it brief was fine with him, and he didn’t need to extend the encounter with unnecessary words. Borate lifted up a file, an actual, physical, cardboard folder, and tossed it across the desk towards Legrange. Interesting.
“Missing person,” he said, simply. “Jack White. Only been in Toun three years, came from… somewhere. It’s probably in the file. Married, one kid already. Seems to like it here. We have his wife here for you to talk to. Seems like there may have been some kind of altercation, which she claims involved other parties. You need to get to the bottom of that and, if it’s true, who those other parties might be.”
Seemed simple enough but… Legrange didn’t need another distraction. He was good enough at distracting himself.
“Who’s the Cadet?” he asked, wracking his brains for the most useless junior member of Population. “Rumston? Stolzinger?”
“No, no cadets,” Borate shook his head. “Too sensitive.”
“Sensitive?” Legrange was intrigued. “So who has spoken to her?”
“Me,” replied Borate. “Only me.”
He shook his head again. Legrange scratched his. He was intrigued, that was an unorthodox turn of events, but he still didn’t want the case.
“Why isn’t this going to Population?” he asked. “I don’t see how this concerns Resistance.”
“She was brought in by a Resistance Agent,” explained Borate. This didn’t, actually, explain very much.
“Brought in by a Resistance Agent?” asked Legrange. “Are you sure?”
“I got the recs checked,” Borate confirmed. “Definitely Resistance. An Agent Jones.”
This made more sense. Agent Jones again.
“OK, so you want me to ascertain the extent of Resistance involvement in the disappearance of this Jack White?”
Legrange lifted the file and opened it. The front sheet had a pic attached to it. Young woman, blonde, attractive. Slightly familiar.
“Evandra White, Junior Director in Administration,” he read. He tossed the file back on the desk. “OK, I’ll talk to her. I need to find out more about Agent Jones. She might be helpful. I still don’t get, though…” He indicated the file, balanced precariously on the edge of the desk. “Why the secrecy? I’ve not seen an actual file in years.”
“Evandra White,” repeated Borate, rubbing his pasty face, looking more concerned than Legrange had ever seen the Chief look before. “Nee Chaguartay.”
Evie Chaguartay! Suddenly Legrange understood.

Lagrange

The cadet became slowly aware of the shadow being cast across the Refec table. He turned his head, half an eclair to his lips, to register whose shadow it was. On his list of people he was really hoping that it wouldn’t be, one name came out easily on top.
“Detective Legrange,” he spluttered, in cream, scrambling to his feet.
Legrange inclined his head. It amused him the way the cadets reacted to him. It wasn’t fear, but there was no one they were less keen to disrespect. He didn’t mind, it was useful. It meant that he could always guarantee the same table in the Refec.
“You’re sitting at my table,” he pointed out. “But it’s OK. I’ll wait while you clean it.”
The cadet was already on his feet and halfway to the cleaning station. Legrange wasn’t entirely sure why he was held in such esteem. It was something, he supposed, to show for all the years he’d worked in Authority but it wasn’t as if he could make or break careers, or that everyone was clamouring to get into Resistance Intelligence. The young cadet finished wiping the table with a flourish of the cloth.
“Vete, Matador!” he barked, with a smile. The cadet looked confused. Legrange sighed. Nobody went Outside any more.
He sat down as the cadet scuttled off, clipped his ComX unit to the side of the table and tipped the wink to Pablao behind the service hatch. The Com lit up the surface of the table, creating a mobile desktop with, because it was Legrange’s desktop, a pile of files in the far left hand corner, and an empty space everywhere else.
Legrange drew a circle with his finger on the right hand side, and a placemat appeared, onto which Pablao wordlessly placed a double stuffed chillidog. It was his speciality and Legrange’s favourite. Without really looking up, Legrange barked a thank you, pulled down his first file, grabbed the dog and took a large bite. He wiped the chilli from his hand and his mouth with the napkin Pablao had left and started to read.
“So, Toshock, let’s see what your brigade is up to this week,” he mumbled, under his breath and through a mouthful of chillidog.
The first report was a personnel update. New recruit, Agent Jones, seemed keen, they all were when they started, agitating for an escalation in hostilities, no appreciation of the art of urban warfare. She’ll learn, won’t she Toshock? Nothing by way of background, although she must have one, to join as an Agent. Toshock generally liked to train and promote for within. He closed the file, whipped it from the table to the trash. Nothing of worth in there, apart from the parts he could make up from have seen dozens of similar recruits. He sighed. He was probably getting too old for this, he’d definitely been here before. You and me both, eh Toshock? Next file.
He almost laughed out loud when he started to read it.
“Well I never,” he chuckled, “I owe James a sandwich. Kap, you old fool…”
He’d been so confident that young James’ fake intelligence was a waste of time that he’d happily bet that it would be disregarded as soon as the Resistance had decoded the stupidly simple cypher they’d used to transmit it. Secretly, he hoped that they’d see it as a sign that Authority was being complacent, didn’t regard them as worthy of too much effort, and lull them into a false sense of security that Legrange could exploit. But even better than that, it seemed that Kap, trusted lieutenant of the great General Toshock had taken the whole thing at face value and sent a team out on a wild goose chase, hunting down a man who didn’t exist, other than in the childish imagination of Sergeant Sergey James.
Legrange sat back and polished off his chillidog. He felt a lot better now. Good news, good food…
His Com bipped, which meant, given the mode he was in, that the entire table top suddenly flashed up an image of the caller. Chief Borate’s ruddy face glowered up at him. Legrange pushed his chair back. That was too much.
Fortunately it wasn’t a visual call, and rather than the face starting to talk to him, it was quickly replaced by a meeting invite. In Borate’s office, starting now.
Legrange sighed, wiped his face once more and stood up from the table calling his thanks and Deleon to an unseen Pablao, somewhere inside the kitchen. It was as well he stuffed his food down, or he’d never have time to eat anything around here.
A cadet was already hovering, waiting to take his table. He unclipped the Com and vacated it, although he left his empty plate. Perks of seniority. There had to be some.