Book 1 — Chapter 57 - Part I

Published Summer 2026

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Day: Hyningo

Date: 1

Month: Oketekarium

Quarturn: 1618

City/Town: Hylaton

Country: Minu

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Tane felt the smile come to him as the delicious remembrances of his weekend kept invading his thoughts. A weekend that was spent abroad meeting up with Sloan. 

 

It had been a marvelous one that was filled with connection, laughter, and pleasure. Not only were his physical yearnings for Sloan satiated, but being with her in Michi had provided him with a safe haven away from all the nonsense that spiraled around Hylatee. Sloan brought him mental and emotional gratification that had softened some of the newly acquired edges. 

 

He had hoped that Sloan wasn’t exaggerating in her declarations of her own ecstasy that she insisted he brought her. He was falling hard and fast, and wanted to give her the same bliss she had bestowed upon him. 

 

Yet, as he returned to Hylaton, he found the need to remind himself that he was back at the epicenter of so many of his pains. And in being so, he would have to return to his state of hyper-awareness that would allow few instances of happy reminiscing, lest he leave his guard down to his own affliction. 

 

He shook his head and released the smile as he brought his focus to the present. His work required attention — and yet, he actually wasn’t clear where the files were that he was in need of. 

 

He stood from his desk and leaned forward towards his communication board, pressing the button that connected him directly with his assistant, Denton, as he asked. 

 

“Denton, can you help me find those files on the Lepa excavation? I can’t recall where you told me you placed them.”

 

As he turned toward the large cabinet that housed all the hard copy files of his work, he heard the door open behind him, which prompted him to compliment Denton’s attentiveness. 

 

“That was fast. I’m sorry to bother your work, but I’m having a time finding the updates and the reports are due…”

 

However, before he could continue, the sound of a heavy object striking his desk top jolted him from his immersion and turned him quickly to see where the noise had come from. 

 

He felt his expression of startlement quickly sink — along with his heart — as his eyes focused on Cartmel, who was standing at the front of his desk with a dispiriting inducing appearance.

 

His visage was one he couldn’t control, and because of that, gave his thoughts away; Cartmel showed her signature sarcastic smile as she spoke. 

 

“I notice you’re not pleased to see me.” 

 

“No, indeed,” he responded with a light chuckle, attempting to disguise his sincere thoughts. “I’m just surprised at your visit. And the announcement of it; that’s all. So, for what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

He felt his brown frown by reflex, as Cartmel didn’t answer directly. Instead, she stood silent for a couple moments, only moving as she seemed to be suddenly struck with a pain that forced her eyes to squeeze shut and her head to lower as she seemingly rode it out. 

 

As whatever had inflicted her had passed, she gave him no time to inquire if she was okay, and she exclaimed.

 

“We’re finished examining this relic you and Jacinth retrieved. I have what I need. For the most part. Though there is something I would like you to investigate. Come closer.”

 

He pushed his concern aside and moved to the desk to sit, as Cartmel pointed at the artifact and spoke. 

 

“This is Corichal written language. But it seems to be a dialect that could not be translated by general Corichal. I trust that given your education, you would know someone who could do such.”

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“I don’t have anyone in mind straightaway, but I can ask around and see who best to speak with,” he admitted — as there were few people he knew, much fewer who would work with him on such endeavors that would benefit Hylatee.

 

“Keep the piece in your care. The translation isn’t a great priority; more of a curiosity,” she noted with a strange articulation to her voice, which again was pushing him to ask if she was well. 

 

Though his confusion mixed with curiosity was further piqued by Cartmel asking him to keep the artifact; as he had never known her to part with a find. Even if there were something for him to investigate, pictures would always have sufficed. 

 

It was a moment that led him to wonder if he was dreaming. But as he knew this wasn’t a dream, he was at a loss for words and reached across the desk to take the artifact. 

 

However, as his hand met the piece, Cartmel grabbed another part of it, ceasing his movement. He looked up to her as she spoke in a quaver. 

 

“But before you do, Tane, I’m in need of other information.” 

 

He released his hand from the artifact and sat back in his chair, awaiting to hear what conditions came with her gifting as he asked.

 

“What kind of information could I provide?” 

 

It was a question that she didn’t seem to hear, as she again seemed to be struck by a pain that caused her to squeeze her eyes closed and pull the artifact towards her. She then remained still as she awaited whatever was inflicting her to pass. However, after several moments of quiet, she took her free hand and reached for her own wrist that held the artifact as if she were forcing herself to let go.

 

For a brief moment, he wondered if Cartmel was toying with him, as what was playing out seemed almost theatrical. But such was a fleeting thought, as he knew better. She would never waste time and energy with such subterfuge; she was far too direct. Something was wrong. 

 

“Are you … feeling well?” he asked in a careful tone.

 

He watched as Cartmel’s eyes opened wide with a pop. She stood straight and began to move about his office in a drifting manner. As she came to a painting that hung on his wall, she studied it for a moment and seemed to enjoy its image as she smiled lightly. But her admiration didn’t last, as she leaned forward, grabbing at the ornate frame near its corner, and pulled a small chunk off easily. She held it aloft for a moment, making it clear to him what she was holding, and then dropped it to the floor. As the piece bounced against the wooden slats, she waited for it to cease its movement, allowing her to step on the piece, crushing it under her shoes. 

 

With the strange action, he felt his breath increasing in its speed; he was firmly unnerved by what was unfolding before him. But he had little time to consider what was happening; Cartmel garnered his full focus as she spoke. 

 

“Listening device. I have them in every room, every hall, every corner. And to say I’m the only one who utilizes them would be a foolish statement.” 

 

As Cartmel returned to meandering around the office, she continued her thoughts.

 

“I find it very interesting, Tane. You truly hate me. With a passion. And yet, you’re of such good nature, you still found it within you to be compassionate towards me and ask me if I was well. It reminded me of a study that was done pre-Bottleneck. How it was discovered that nearly 70 percent of those who have power positions — such as politicians and business executives — showed an appreciable degree of psychopathic or sociopathic traits. A percentage only outdone by criminal populations. They exhibit deceitfulness, cruelty for cruelty's sake, delusions of grandeur, and they approach every facet of their lives transactionally with no accountability or responsibility exercised.” 

 

She turned her head and looked at him directly, as if she were awaiting a response. He swallowed the knot that was forming in his throat as he offered a light smile and responded.

 

“I was not aware of that. Though to your other comment, I think ‘hate’ is a strong …” 

 

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Tane,” she interrupted with a low rumble in her voice. “I can easily gauge your thoughts of me. I can assess that you would easily believe I would fall into that 70 percentage. And you’d be right.”

 

Cartmel, as she reached the door to his office, reached her hand out to the handle and fidgeted with the lock. Turning it back and forth as if she were trying to decide if she should lock the door or not. Her movements of locking and unlocking increased so quickly, it was to the point he lost count and couldn’t tell if the door had been locked or not. As she suddenly ceased her action, she returned to her wandering and relaying her explicative thoughts.

 

“That other 30 percent. You would put Jacinth into that category. Wouldn’t you?” 

 

He rubbed his lips together, trying to moisten them, as they were becoming dry with the fear that was firmly on him and rising with each passing minute. But as Cartmel’s eyes returned to him, waiting for a response, he nodded and answered with an irrefutable confidence. 

 

“Firmly.”

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“Jacinth isn’t alone in his competition to see who can create the most civic assets — who can ingratiate themselves to the public more,” Cartmel uttered with a tone of ire. “He spent how much this past weekend on those new community centers?”

 

“I was out of town, I didn’t know about this particular undertaking of his,” he confessed. For while he and Jacinth were as close as brothers, there was still a great deal of Jacinth’s work he wasn’t familiarized with.

 

“Do you see the value in community centers?” she asked with a voice of sincere inquiry.

 

“Given my background, I certainly do,” he affirmed. “Communities are the backbone of society.” 

 

“Hmmm …” Cartmel hummed in thought as she approached him at his desk, finding one of the seats, and sitting to it in a casual, slumped manner that appeared to him like clothing laid out on a chair in a dressing preparation. 

 

It was this ease that was twisting his fear deeper, as this was a Cartmel he had never encountered — and he wasn’t certain how to approach her to secure what he felt was his own literal life. 

 

However, his emerging thoughts on how to navigate the current situation were halted, as Cartmel proceeded in articulating her sentiments.

 

“Someone once said endeavors — like these charities he’s in such a rage over — are just the rich giving back the money they stole from the poor; only, the rich are deciding how the poor should have spent it. It’s funny because it’s true. We’re obsessed with money. All we ever do is talk about it. All we ever think about is getting more. It’s never enough. It never satiates. We really do steal that money without moral question. All the while, the poor are debating if taking back the money we stole from them is the proper thing to do. Them being well-behaved victims. The psychopathy of greed doesn’t allow for empathy and generosity; you’re a deficient being. Then there’s Jacinth.”

 

She paused for a moment as a wry smile washed across her face and her head fell back, directing her eyes to the ceiling as she reflected.

 

“I went to school, you know. I recall one class, the instructor was telling us that to alter power structures, you have to go beyond simply challenging them; you have to swipe and shatter to the tiniest details. It frazzles the power structure and triggers them to make mistakes that are often fatal to that structure.”

 

“I don’t follow … how are those two thoughts connected?” he asked, as he was fully befuddled by her discursive speech.

 

“Jacinth and I are two different beings, and yet one in the same. I’m sociopathic. Psychotic. I’m boundlessly greedy. Not just for money. I want power. I want the order I see fit. I want admiration for what I have put in place. While Jacinth seems to have his own version of sociopathy. Of course, his isn’t defined as such. His manipulation. His deceit. He uses his intelligence, his charm, for his swiping and shattering. All for a supposed greater good. All for his altruism. His benevolence.”

 

He took a deep breath that he could hear beyond the ringing in his ears due to his blood pressure spiking. He didn’t know what was going on, but in that moment, he found an almost anger-inducing spitefulness move into him. He was decided; he wasn’t going to placate her. He would stand his ground and his beliefs as he rejected her claims.

 

“I disagree that Jacinth has his own version of sociopathy. He’s not. But you are correct. He’s altruistic and benevolent. He’s the epitome of self-governance and largesse.”

 

Cartmel turned her eyes to him and stared in a strange manner. Not anger in his disagreeing with her. Nor the twisted smirk of amusement she often displayed when she was intrigued that someone differed with her. It was a blank gaze. Yet her eyes showed many thoughts moving through her mind. A mindset he couldn’t begin to discern. He blinked with fear as Cartmel burst into a short laugh as she spoke.

 

“Agglomerate is a deficient language. Yes. Jacinth isn’t a sociopath. He’s something else. It’s the language’s fault for having such limited meanings. I remember proto-Agglomerate being just as bad. But in some languages, they worked within their limitations.”

 

His fear turned to near levity as Cartmel leaned forward, placed her elbow on the desk, and rested her chin in her hand with a coyish look as she continued. 

 

“In the Basta language, they didn’t refer to poor people as varashakashteh; for it imposed upon them an inferiority, below standards, and imparted that there was something fundamentally wrong with them and their situation was of their own making. Instead, the Basta language said of them, they were ‘giaha a bedadon abe’a’. Do you know what that means?”

 

I don’t. I’ve never heard of the Basta language,” he conceded, as he had not come across such in all his studies.

 

“It means ‘plant that needs water.’ I enjoy that denotation. That they just need the resources to help them grow and flourish. I …” Cartmel paused as she seemed to be searching for something, her eyes moving quickly; then continued in a broken and sad voice. “Enjoy … that’s … I could never buy … what I couldn’t feel … joy. Jacinth. People like Jacinth. The poor. They all experience joy. Knowing joy means … knowing Deo. To not have that … they feel contempt. When I was poor, I experienced joy … then rich people ripped it away from me with their covetous … we …”

 

Abruptly, as if another pain struck her, she sat up straight with a jerk and shook lightly for several moments. They were moments that found his rapid breathing had returned as her facial expressions contorted into various appearances of discomfort to struggle. Then, as a visage of pitiable sadness consumed her face, she mouthed something he couldn’t make out.

 

He brought in a deep breath and pushed past his panic as he shook his head and asked. 

 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. Can you repeat that, please?”

 

He focused on her mouth, watching her voiceless lips form what he could have sworn were the words “Help me. Help. Me.”

 

Then, with a burst of energy, Carmel stood from the chair and snarked at him as she spoke.

 

“Don’t play dumb. You’re privy to a great deal of information that interests me.” 

 

He felt his eyes blink in bewilderment, as Cartmel’s voice and countenance seemed to suddenly return to the moment at which he asked what information he could provide. It was as if the last 10 minutes hadn’t happened. He raised his hand to his forehead and rubbed as considerations if he were dreaming were far gone and replaced with the question if he was experiencing a stroke. 

 

“You and Jacinth are very close,” she spoke with an emphasis that resembled more of a statement than a question.

 

Yet, his head was still reeling from the mental whiplash he was processing from the tone shift. He tossed his hand in a gesture as all the alarm he had been feeling had fully given way to perplexity as he returned. 

 

“He’s my best friend.”

 

“Then you can probably provide insight into why he’s been spending so much time in Melchior. And don’t give me any of that Sanctuary and charity shit. I have no need for redundancy in hearing about his bleeding heart. I’m talking about the evening trips to Melchior, well after any charity meetings would take place.”

 

He suddenly wondered if the last 10 minutes hadn’t been a new tactic of Cartmel’s. One to throw him into such disorientation that he was diverted from thinking clearly during her newest rounds of interrogation. Though such artifice didn’t change his answer to the truth, he knew; he threw his hands up with a shrug and retorted in an aggressive tone. 

 

“Dear Deo, Cartmel, what do you want me to tell you? You know how Jacinth is. He doesn’t find the social scene here stimulating. He complains that everyone is too rich and dull. He likes the people in places like Melchior or Demeter; he likes to talk to them, hear about their lives. It is intellectually stimulating for him. Just his way.”

 

His intonation didn’t go unnoticed, as Cartmel expressed a surprised and confused look on her face to his response. Though it was one that she chose not to react to, as she seemed more concerned with the context as she rolled her eyes and muttered.

 

“Yes, he does like to scum it.”

 

She paused as her features moved into a hint of softness. She tapped her fingers on the artifact, while her head tipped to the side as she spoke softly.

 

“Where did I go wrong with that boy?”

 

It was another question that didn’t require a response. However, as he was fully frayed, he spoke out of turn and with continued force. 

 

“If I may speak plainly, I don’t believe you went wrong with Jacinth. He does have the occasional fringe tastes and preferences; but he is a highly intelligent man who is devoted to making things better. Jacinth is the best of men.”

 

Cartmel’s face softened further as she stared at the desk, as she stared into seemingly nothing. As her mind came back to the moment, she nodded and commented.

 

“Your family is all very handsome.”

 

He feigned a light smile in an attempt to bring any semblance of control as he asked.

 

“Did Jacinth show you pictures?”

 

“No. I was just going through his office and saw them on the desk,” she admitted with no shame. “Your family doesn’t do business with Hylatee because of U’Awesa’s antitrust stance and export bans. Because of the damn country’s stubbornness, it made it difficult, but I tracked down my own broker this morning and have ordered a small shipment of your family’s meats to be delivered.”

 

“I’m flattered you went to such trouble,” he confessed. “I can assure you, my family will be as well. I hope you enjoy the hard work they put into rearing the animals.”

 

As she seemed unimpressed with his comment, she turned and began to walk out of the room, speaking over her shoulder as she left. 

 

“I will be forwarding contact information to you of my personal chef. I want you to educate him on how to properly prepare the meat, what goes best with it, and all the details they must know for the perfect meal.” 

 

As Cartmel reached for the door and found it locked, she paused for a moment as if she were truly confused and unnerved. But, with a quick motion she unlocked the door and exited, slamming the door shut behind her. 

 

It was a reaction that told him in no uncertain terms that the interaction between them, in all of its discomposure, was an organic one — and not a ruse on Cartmel’s part. Which, again, brought a low-level terror upon him as he exclaimed aloud to himself. 

 

“What is happening?”

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 • • •

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Tane felt a bit of a fool as he quickened his pace down the hall towards Jacinth’s office, chiding himself to temper his desperation and not hurry to Jacinth like a child running to a parent. However, what he had experienced only moments before with Cartmel had shaken him so markedly, his rational mind wasn’t convincing him to calm. He was sincerely freaked out. 

 

As he rushed past Na’thot and Termi’s desks, he didn’t give them an opportunity to greet or inform him if Jacinth had anyone in his office, as he proceeded directly to the door and, with what he felt was the definition of, burst into the room. 

 

It was an intrusion that found only acknowledgement, in the form of a glance, from Brisocas as he was standing in the office near the door with an expression of frustration that was notably conspicuous as his face was reddened at the cheeks and the tips of the ears. 

 

But it truly was only a glance. Brisocas returned his attention to Jacinth, who was at his desk with his back turned, maintaining the conversation he was having as he spoke.

 

“... and I do not see an issue with what I have proposed. My father taught me that those in the service industry should be bestowed particular respect, as they have made it their job to serve you. Because of that, I am to make it my job to show appreciation. In this case, my proposal would ensure …” 

 

As Jacinth turned from his desk, papers in hand, he paused upon seeing him and offered a bright smile as he greeted him warmly. 

 

“Tane! I did not hear you come in. You’re a welcome sight. Brisocas and I were concluding our debate on …” 

 

“You’re a welcome sight,” Brisocas interrupted with a mocking voice. “Make no mistake, Jacinth, I take note of every subtle slight you lob at me. And trust me, every instance lessens any mercy I will show you in the future.” 

 

Jacinth sighed vocally and spoke in a calm, assured pitch. 

 

“My language was not intended as a slight on you. I was …” 

 

“And of course, a conversation with you never goes without your righteousness,” Brisocas again interrupted with sneering visage and voice. “What is it with you? Your urge to identify with the oppressed. Why is that? Is it because your attempt to co-opt their suffering will somehow nullify your privilege; absolving you from the moral pains you feel of that privilege?”

 

“I hardly think being decent and treating service workers as people can be labeled as righteous,” Jacinth responded with his own irritated tone rising. But while his voice rose in volume, he remained calm and spoke with authority. “As to your accusations of my motives. No, I do not aim to exonerate my position. My impetus is knowing it is my absolute duty to use this privilege for the benefit of all.”

 

Brisocas chuckled and shook his head as he backed away from Jacinth towards the door and commented in a sarcastic tone. 

 

“As the Hume saying goes: be careful what you wish for. You may get what you want, and feel the pains of the oppressed acutely.” 

 

With the less than veiled threat projected, Brisocas turned from them and exited the office, slamming the door behind him. 

 

He looked at Jacinth, who released his frustration with a vocal breath that appeared to deflate his shoulders as they relaxed. 

 

It was an occurrence he wished he could feel at that moment, as he was further bewildered upon hearing the conversation between Jacinth and Brisocas. He didn’t allow Jacinth the opportunity to say anything, as he asked a serious question that came to mind in a voice that rang truly panicked in his ears. 

 

“Is there a gas leak in the building? What the shit is going on?”

 

It was a question that struck Jacinth as humorous at first, as he erupted in cachinnation. But as Jacinth studied him and gauged his expression, the laughter quickly subsided; replaced by a look of concern as he asked.

 

“You genuinely look frightened. I thought you were being colorful. What happened?”

 

It was a question he couldn’t directly answer as his mind was spinning. He stumbled over his own lips, as he could only put forth a question of his own. 

 

“I … Jacinth, I … What’s going on with Brisocas? He’s been ramping up his threats to you. What is going on?”

 

“There’s not much concern to be had there,” Jacinth assured with a sigh. “Brisocas has been trying to undermine my efforts and get me in trouble with my mother. While he has nefarious objectives, he’s incredibly bad at being nefarious. But that nonsense aside, what’s troubling you?” 

 

He moved closer to Jacinth; as while he knew Jacinth’s office was cleared of listening devices, he didn’t trust the moment, and lowered his voice to a whisper as he responded.  

 

“Cartmel came into my office and said the most unhinged things. Not the normal malice; this was something else, and I’m significantly freaked out. I don’t want to talk here.”

 

Jacinth’s brow furrowed as he nodded and explained. 

 

“You’re in luck. I’m about to head out to meet with Amala, as she had something urgent she wanted to speak with me about in private. Perhaps whatever you both have to say are connected.” ​

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