The knock at his study door brought Caleb’s attention up sharply from his desk. “Come in,” he said loudly, preempting the arrival of Andrew Linski as the aide slid before his desk moments later, seemingly never once actually lifting his feet from the thickly carpeted floor.
“There is something you should see, sir,” the shadowy aide said, offering a scarlet folder to the High Councilman. Caleb took the folder and set it atop his own notebooks spread out on his desktop, sliding his copy of the most recent Council session minutes aside. Within the folder was a stapled set of papers, photocopies of official forms. At the top of these forms were the bold print words, ‘THESE DOCUMENTS TO BE MADE AVAILABLE FOR PUBLIC VIEW’.
Caleb found himself looking at several Declaration of Intent forms, specifically Forms HCN-1, 2, 3 and 4. These were the forms one filled out when registering officially to become a candidate running for a position on the Empire’s High Council. Someone was throwing their hat into the ring at last, and with only four months before the beginning of the election period for the 7th Territory, a three-day stretch during which all denizens of legal age in the Territory would make their choice for who would represent them on the Council.
There hadn’t yet been a single other person registered. Caleb had been looking at potentially running unopposed, which hadn’t happened for a High Council seat in nearly sixty years.
Simone Parker was the name of the individual who had signed her name on these forms, and Caleb reviewed the papers carefully. Whoever this woman was, she had refrained from including any excessive bits of additional information on the first three pages of forms. Once these had been filed, she would, of course, have to fill out another set, which would also be available for public review.
“When did you get these,” Caleb asked of Andrew, closing the folder and slipping it into the center drawer of his desk.
“Late last night, sir,” the aide replied. “One of my, associates, says that Miss Parker is already at the Registrar’s Office awaiting his arrival so that she can proceed to the second set of forms.”
“Anything you can tell me before seeing the second set,” Caleb inquired.
“Yes, sir. She works for Ganges,” the aide said evenly. “She’s a long-time driver for their delivery fleet.” Caleb felt his shoulders hunch up, his fingers curl into fists. “She has never held any elected office, though she has run for two separate positions. Once, for a post on the 3rd Territorial Council when she lived there some eleven years ago, and once for a school board seat for the Williamson School District, where her son and daughter are both enrolled students.”
Caleb rose slowly from his seat, hands folded together behind his back as he began pacing around his desk. “This is distressing, Andrew,” he said, head inclined, eyes locked on the floor but seeing it only faintly. His inner vision threatened to completely overtake his sight, a vision slideshow of Ganges corporate images from their various owned services and sites. “She’ll have untold amounts of funds to rely upon from the company.”
“Undoubtedly, sir,” said the narrow aide from his post by the door of the study.
“She’s a mother, so there’s obviously going to be some sympathy for her from that sector of the citizenry.” He paused as he came back around to his seat. “She’s an everyday worker, which also helps pad her numbers. Any records of service with the Army,” he asked, looking up to his aide. Linski had moved silently between looks to stand directly across the desk from Caleb.
“Registered for the Compulsory Service Act, but otherwise, her only record in the Impirial Army is as a dependent,” said Andrew. “Her father was a military man, ended his career as a technical sergeant in Engagement Recon Forces.” Caleb thanked his aide for the information and dismissed him, watching as Linski slipped from the study without making a sound.
They’re not much different than him, Caleb thought of Ganges as he watched the aide move down the hall and ultimately off to the right and out of sight. When they make maneuvers, it’s sudden, unexpected, but smooth and frictionless. Ganges had made no waves when gobbling up all kinds of competitors, though eventually, the takeovers of various businesses throughout the Empire by the e-commerce giant filtered down through the public awareness. By that point, however, it was usually revealed that the takeover had happened months or years earlier, and nobody was shocked.
“It’s insidious,” Caleb said to himself, rising from his chair and striding over to the window which overlooked the street, granting him a decent view of the nearby neighborhood. He thought about Gordon’s Goods as he watched cars pass up and down the street, a once-mighty department store that had once been seen as Ganges’ main real-world, brick-and-mortar rival. How many people in the general public knew yet that Ganges had bought them out? Where would they even look to find out that this transaction had occurred? Caleb knew because of monthly industry reports that every member of the High Council received; did anyone in the media yet have that information on hand?
Caleb wheeled from the window, and as he got to the doorway of his study, found Andrew Linski already coming toward him down the hall. “Mister Linski, I need you to reach out to someone for me.”
“Someone in particular, sir?”
“Yes.”
**
“I guess I’m surprised you would even think to reach out to me,” said the scruffy, middle-aged fellow sitting across from Caleb in the softly lit dining room of the Councilman’s home. A short but magnificently crafted dining table, a dark cherry wood covered with a cream colored tablecloth that matched the walls of the room, hosted the journalist on one side, and the 7th Territory’s Councilman and his aide on the other.
Phil Kerat had been a longtime contributor for The Sentinel, one of the most esteemed newspaper outlets in the Empire for decades. He had begun his career in journalism at The Rolling Hills Gazette, a cub outlet owned by The Sentinel which served as a kind of training ground for the larger, national paper. In his second year working for the Gazette, Kerat had inadvertently discovered a massive bribery issue with the office of the mayor of Rolling Hills. The lengthy piece he ended up writing for the paper and its online equivalent was, to this day, credited as being the opening salvo in what turned into a six-month war of attrition with the mayor, culminating in a recall election and the arrest and prosecution of the man.
However, two weeks after Zack Dorros had bought out The Sentinel and all of its affiliates, Kerat had been terminated from their employ. The veteran journo had gone to his personal website and posted a scathing blog entry condemning the e-commerce juggernaut, accusing them of all manner of unethical behavior and dragging up dozens of examples of their underhanded practices. High Councilman Caleb White had read that post, had archived and copied it to his own personal laptop computer, which turned out to be fortuitous; the domain host that had allowed Kerat’s site to operate had nuked the entire site just days after the post had gone live.
“I’ve followed your career for some time now, Mister Kerat,” Caleb said evenly. He took a sip of water, his eyes roving over Kerat’s tools of trade; a digital voice recorder, already turned on and recording, a notebook and pen in the man’s lap, hand already moving to take notes, and a lightweight tablet computer, propped open with its screen facing away from the High Councilman. “I was quite impressed by what you did with mayor Johnston.”
“I didn’t do anything with him,” Kerat clarified. “I just relayed what I found out and let the chips fall where they may.”
“And fall hard did those chips indeed,” said Caleb, making a small gesture with his right hand. Linski, whose very presence made Phil Kerat feel like the apprentice of the Grim Reaper had decided to manifest in the physical plane and waltz about, moved in response to this tiny gesture, slipping out of the room and returning moments later with a cup of steaming coffee in hand, which he slid onto the table by Kerat’s tablet.
“Thank you,” Kerat said, the spectral aide already back around the other side of the table and easing down into his own chair. “Councilman, I assume you wanted me here to discuss your upcoming election cycle, yes?” Kerat took a sip of his coffee, grimaced at the bitterness. He quickly added some sugar from a glass bowl situated on the center of the short table, stirred, and tried again. Much better.
“Actually, no, Mister Kerat,” Caleb said, inwardly pleased by the slight stiffening in the reporter’s facial features. “I’ve asked you here to talk to you a little bit about the takeover of Gordon’s Goods, which was purchased by Ganges Corporation approximately six months ago. Were you aware that the Empire’s largest department store now belonged to Zack Dorros?”
“No,” said Kerat, furiously scribbling in his notebook as Linski leaned over toward the Councilman and whispered something in his ear. “I hadn’t heard or read anything about that.”
“Yes, it was quite the deal, apparently. Also, my aide informs me that your tablet’s camera is aimed a little low, you’ll want to adjust that,” Caleb added with a grin that Kerat cared for not one bit. Still, he did as suggested, until Linski himself rose and reached across the table, angling the camera so that he was himself not in view of the shot. “I’d also like to ask that when you’re editing the video that you adjust the framing soas not to include Mister Linski. He has certain spiritual beliefs regarding being captured on camera.”
“I can respect that, and will do so,” Kerat responded immediately. He didn’t understand this request, but wasn’t about to question it too deeply; the Councilman’s aide unnerved him in ways nobody else in his life ever had. “Do you have documentation proving the buyout?” Caleb reached down to his own side, withdrawing a plain manila folder from a satchet bag and sliding it across the table to the reporter.
Kerat opened the folder and looked briefly at the Articles of Consolidation forms within, as well as a copy of a Proof of Purchase, and another form titled ‘Re-Registration of Corporate Holdings’, which named Ganges Corporation as the beneficiary in the event of property damages to any Gordon’s Goods physical location.
“This is unambiguous,” Kerat said, mostly to himself.
“Those are copies, which you are free to keep,” said Caleb. “For reference in your write-up.” The Councilman didn’t say anything more while Kerat read through the papers, pausing his video and voice recorders, jotting down several notes for himself. A few minutes later, he turned the recorders back on and gave Caleb a blank look.
“Is there a reason you’ve shown me these documents,” he asked.
“Yes,” the Councilman said, opting not to elaborate. Caleb White had been a career military man, and it showed in his response style. He sat up straight, looked his questioner directly in the eyes, and didn’t give answers to questions that weren’t posed. He didn’t give more than he was asked for, and while this might frustrate a great many journalists, Kerat found it encouraging.
“Does it have anything to do with a Ganges employee announcing her candidacy for the High Council Seat of the Seventh Territory of the Holy Weiland Empire?”
“I believe the citizens of the Seventh Territory deserve to know as much as they possibly can about the people who are going to be the principle supporters of the candidate in question,” said Caleb. The Councilman held one finger up to hold Kerat, leaning off-camera to listen to his aide whispering directly into his ear. He sat back up and added, “I’d also like to point out that said candidate has had to take a running start to get the process moving. According to processors in the Office of the Political Registrar, the Ganges employee made several errors while filling out the first set of forms to formally register to run.”
Kerat nodded, taking another quick note; ‘clever use of the phrase Ganges employee as opposed to naming the individual, avoids giving them free advertising’. “Do you suppose that this detail is relevant to most voters?”
“I think it might behoove voters to recognize that one of their options for a beaurecratic position of some heft and importance in the Empire didn’t have the wherewithal to properly file for the chance to take that post,” Caleb replied with a dry grin. “I have experience in these matters that will continue to protect their interests and needs.”
The interview only lasted a few more minutes, and when it was concluded, Kerat ended up leaving the High Councilman’s home utterly convinced that not only would the man be holding his seat, he would be doing so by a very wide margin.
**
“Give me the numbers,” Caleb snapped, snatching the printout from Andrew Linski as he paced back and forth in the campaign office’s main space. After two months of town hall events, stump speeches, and television and radio appearances, he had been worn down into accepting that he and Simone Parker were presently neck-and-neck in the polls.
Parker’s people had been buying up enormous blocks of airtime for weeks, pummeling the local electorate with ads that they couldn’t escape from. Television, radio, internet ads, all had been dropped on the public of the Seventh Impirial Territory in waves that could not be avoided if a person consumed any amount of media at all.
“I got the data as soon as it was available, sir,” Linski said. He slunk about several feet away from Caleb, careful to avoid excessive dialogue or eye contact. The elusive aide had been wielded against Caleb in the last week, with commercials implying that he was a kind of ‘hand behind the throne’ figure in Caleb White’s career in two separate spots. One of these ads pointed out, and rightly so, that there existed almost no public records available to delve further into the history and character of one of, if not the, most trusted advisors to the High Councilman.
Caleb had nearly hit the ceiling when the aide declined his request to have his military records made public. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. I have an ongoing duty to uphold to the Empire,” the aide had responded, at which point, Caleb had dismissed him.
“Take the next few days off, and stay out of my sight,” Caleb had snarled at the shadowy figure, who had vanished almost without a trace at that point for three whole days. His absence in Caleb’s home and office was only noticeable to the Councilman when he felt compelled to look up and make a request, remembering each time that he had sent Linski away.
He now appreciated that Linski was being somewhat more solicitous than usual, more servile. The situation felt quite dire, and the numbers that he was looking at confirmed that. “She’s ahead in Durn County,” Caleb said, coming to a halt.
“Sir?”
“I was born in Durn County, Andrew,” Caleb said, tossing the sheet aside to be caught by a volunteer passing on the way to her desk. “She has my hometown.”
“These are only preliminary numbers, sir,” said Linski. “The vote isn’t for another two days.” Caleb nodded, thanked his volunteers, and made his way out into the blustery night. He turned up the collar of his coat and lit a cigarette, coughing harshly as he blew out his first cloud. “Sir?” Caleb turned his head slightly, spotting Linski a few yards away, giving him a look he’d only seen on the aide’s face once before- shock.
“I started back up a week ago,” Caleb said, waving the cigarette about. He took another drag, blew it out, and stared up at the stars overhead, letting the wind flap his coat about. “She was right, you know. At the debate. I have lost touch with these people.”
“I don’t believe that to be true, sir,” said Linski, stepping closer. “I cannot think of anyone who knows their Territory so well as you do among the High Council.”
“Once upon a time, maybe,” said the Councilman, shaking his head. He pointed up the road at the nearest humble residential homes. “How many people up and down this road do you suppose work at the Processing Centre, Mister Linski? Half? Seventy percent?” Linski pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapped around on it, and tucked the phone away.
“Sixty-six percent of the town of Morin, sir,” Linski said after a few moments. “Another ten percent are drivers in the Ganges fleet.”
“So, over three-quarters of the people in this town, where we have set up a campaign office,” Caleb said.
“Yes, because eighty-four percent of these same homeowners and renters are veterans of the Impirial Army, sir,” said Linski.
“People don’t think about where they came from, Mister Linski. They think about where they are, right now, today,” said Caleb, pitching his cigarette butt. “Let’s hope that they remember before Thursday.”
**
A knock at the door summoned Caleb’s attention, drawing it away from the thoughtless, formless stare he’d been giving to the filing cabinet drawer and its contents. Councilman Donald Grier, a tall, broad-shouldered man whose method of debate had always been enjoyed by the Seventh Territory’s representative, stood in the doorway, giving Caleb a gentle smile. Caleb didn’t understand why Grier always opted for dark suits and blazers; given his skin tone, Caleb would have thought he’d prefer a lighter shade to his attire, to contrast with the earthier brown of his skin.
“I have never enjoyed this,” Grier said, stepping in as Caleb gave him a small hand motion to enter. “And I’ve done it twice, if you’ll recall.”
“What are you talking about, Donald? You’ve never lost your seat.”
“Sure I did,” said the First Territory’s High Councilman, easing himself down into the visitor’s seat across from Caleb, who continued slowly putting odds and ends into a carton atop his desk. “I lost my seat on the school board eighteen years ago. Packed up, moved on and ran for city council in New York. Served just the one term, got voted out. Ran for Territorial Council, won that seat, then ran for the High Council. But I’ll never forget losing those first two positions.” He cocked his head to one side, giving Caleb a narrow-eyed look. “You never lost an election until now?”
“Not once,” Caleb said with a weary sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing as the headache throbbed once again. “And I’m no Martha Birch, Donald. I’m not going to be able to bounce back and re-take the seat in six years.”
“You could move down to New Orleans; Brad’s not running again next year, he’s going to vacate the seat, free up the Tenth,” Donald offered with a wry grin. Caleb scoffed at the idea. He had never been comfortable with the idea of moving locations just to try and go after an easy election win.
“I can’t do that, Donald. The Midwest is my home,” Caleb said, putting one last file folder in his carton and lowering himself with a rush of breath into the deeply cushioned chair on his side of the desk. He tried to think about the future, his future, but all his mind’s eye conjured up was a kind of fog. “Besides, it isn’t like I have to ever work again. Between my military pension and Council pension, I can take it easy.”
“You’re not going to, though,” Donald said, standing up. “I know you well enough, Caleb. You ain’t gonna be able to just putter around with those books of yours.” He straightened his blazer with a tug on the hem, nodding to Caleb and then squaring himself to him, extending one hand. Caleb rose and clasped it, shaking firmly with him. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, Councilman White.”
“And with you, Councilman Grier,” Caleb replied. Donald left the office then, leaving Caleb standing alone. He took up the carton in both hands, and made a swift retreat from the chamber, heading down the long corridor toward the entrance of the Council Hall.
Out at the car, he handed the carton to Linski, who put it in the trunk and disappeared up into the driver’s seat without a word. Caleb took one last, long look up at the building where he had served the wants and needs of the people of the Seventh Impirial Territory. Simone Parker would take up that mantle now, having eked out a victory of less than a thousand votes.
Ganges had, for years, been suspected by some in the general public of getting too big, of controlling too much in the daily life of the citizens of the Weiland Empire and beyond. Now, they had their very own plant on the High Council, Caleb thought as Linski drove him toward the airport.
When Caleb got out of the car and took his ticket from the slender aide, double-checking the flight and gate numbers on it, Linski cleared his throat. “Once I’ve finished clearing out the apartment here, sir, did you want me to come directly with the movers back home?” Caleb tucked the ticket book into his inner coat pocket and patted Linski on the shoulder.
“Yes indeed, Andrew. There’s nothing else to be taken care of. We’re done here.” Truer words were rarely spoken.
Side Notes
Market Impact Report For Investors [Q3]
Summary: Order Processing Centres have expanded throughout Weiland Empire, Great Britain, and the Russo-Chinese Confederation. Transport fleet establishment cost in RCC came in approximately 23% under expectation, which savings were rolled over into investment into Robokin toy line. Success of toy line beyond all initial projections, resulting in net benefit to stock value of approximately $728/share.
**
Transcript of Message Exchange , Todd Matthews (Head of IT and Employee Tracking) and Sandra Quinn, Personnel Director at Seventh Territory Processing Centre
TM: Please advise- facial recognition system has pinged us to indicate that a potential new hire may in fact be here under false documents and profile activity online.
SQ: Who is the potential real person?
TM: System indicates it is possibly Christina Kincaid. She is a reporter for The Sentinel.
SQ: Let me see what they say.
[2 hour gap in communication]
SQ: Mr. Dorros says to go ahead and hire her on. Steps are being taken to mitigate potential threats as we speak, if it is confirmed that it is indeed Kincaid.
**
INCIDENT REPORT
Facility: 7th Territory Order Processing Centre
Type: Injury
Level: Black (resulted in death of associate)
Involved Personnel: George Collins (victim), Kyle Vinn
Forklift operator Kyle Vinn apparently fell asleep at the wheel of his forklift and ran down packaging associate George Collins on the floor of the shipping dock. Impact was fatal. First responders were contacted immediately and confirmed this finding.
Surveillance video of the incident was copied and turned over to local authorities, as well as to our Robotics Development Division. It is possible that this incident will be used as further evidence that we need to put more funding into the research and development of robots to serve as forklift units for loading and unloading the truck fleet.
Not only will the safety improve immensely across our facilities with this step forward, but the long term savings yielded for Ganges by replacing these skilled laborers will far exceed the cost of development and production in the short term.
**
Negotiations Briefing 687-17
B-Side: Haversham Books
Nature: Buyout
Status: INCOMPLETE- FAILURE
Next Step: Removal from Third Party Pages of site
Summary: Tom Jameson, our VP of Acquisitions, met with Alex Haversham, founder and owner of Haversham Books, a bookseller out of Boston in the First Territory of the Weiland Empire, on October 17th, the Year of Our Lord 2015. Mister Haversham had been approached initially six months earlier and was asked if he would consider selling his outfit to us at that time.
Mister Haversham proved to be resistant at that time, citing his possession of a veritable bounty of first editions, signed copies, and limited run books as reason to resist efforts on our part to purchase. As an incentive, we invited him to participate in our Third Party Seller Program, allowing him to establish a location on the Ganges website to sell from. He was initially resistant to even this, since he already had a website component for his bookstore.
Mister Jameson, at the conclusion of this first meeting, made note of Mister Haversham’s standoffishness. ‘He is an anachronism, operating on principles that no longer serve the successful in any industry, even that of bookselling,’ he noted for the record. However, mere days after launching his Third Party page, Mister Haversham’s Seller account fairly exploded with activity; in two weeks, he was able to move half of his inventory.
This uptick in activity drew the attention of several other specialty sellers, many of whom engaged Mister Haversham in acting as a middleman for their own collections.
Mister Jameson did arrange for the second meeting, the one on October 17th, and presented another offer to buy out Haversham Books- he was declined immediately upon greeting Mister Haversham at the neutral location they had agreed to on the phone, a coffee shop only a few minutes from Haversham Books. To quote Mister Jameson- ‘The old fool didn’t even let me sit down with my coffee before telling me to go away and never trouble him again’.
It is, as such, our determination that we shall remove the shopping cart function from his Third Party page, though will maintain every other aspect. In this way, we will be able to bar Mister Haversham from re-launching his own site, owing to the Online Commerce Non-Duplication Act of 2012. Until such time as Mister Haversham personally recognizes that he must delete his entire Ganges account in order to delete the Third Party page, he will not be able to sell online.
In support of this action, we will also remove his ability to access his account’s messaging functionality. This course of action was presented to us by Mister Jameson, and will be undertaken effective immediately.
**
From the Desk of Beverly Locke, Psychiatrist
Personality Assessment For Client 18-1992
Date of Intake: March 4th, 1992
Date of Assessment: November 18th, 1992
Number of Sessions: 16
Length of Sessions: One hour, each
Narrative Cause of Contact: Patient’s mother became concerned with her son’s apparent lack of social activities and friends.
Name of Patient: Zackary Alphonse Dorros
Patient, a 20-year-old freshman at Alerat College in Philadelphia, 2nd Territory, was referred to my services for analysis and treatment of certain suspected antisocial tendencies. Zackary is a polite and well-spoken young man, his aims and ambitions clear, his presentation and affect somewhat stilted. For detailed analysis of his personal history, refer to Client File 18 for the year 1992. This is a summary report, assembled now that the client has opted to terminate his relationship as my patient.
It is my conclusion, given Zackary’s background, current activities, ongoing goals, and several interviews with his few friends and family members, that he fits the parameters of a kind of rare psychopathic personality. He lacks clear empathy, and his vocal attempts to clarify his own state of emotion at any given time strike me as, well, robotic. There’s a certain air of the artificial about him, and it only gets more noticeable as one is exposed to him more frequently.
Zackary’s intellect is obvious from the moment one begins to engage him in dialogue. However, that intelligence, while initially endearing, swiftly becomes overbearing, and sessions can sometimes feel more like a round of sparring than a therapeutic setting.
To clarify, I do not believe Zackary would ever engage in direct, physical altercation with another person. In this way, he is not a typical psychopath. It is my belief that he will, in his future, attempt to establish his own company, in order to maintain control over his own life, and the lives of those around him. He will, I believe, utilize this position of authority to bludgeon and belittle anyone he has dealings with.
God help us if he ever rises to a position of prominence in any industry.
-Fin
About the Author
Joshua Calkins-Treworgy is the author of a number of works in fantasy, horror, and science fiction. Prior to this work, his only other non-genre works have been articles on the art of narrative on his Substack page, and the novel ‘Fire Drill’.
He is a proud father, husband, and storyteller, in that order of personal importance. He is a practitioner of Kenpo karate, Wing Chun kung fu, and a fan of combat sports, as well as American football and hockey. An avid fan of tabletop roleplaying games and video games, he is also an ardent support