A Look At Cahethal’s Relationship With The Calendar
Standing in the corner of her laboratory (well, the one she was using currently anyway), the Seosten woman known as Cahethal held a syringe up to her eyes. Within that syringe was a bright green liquid that rather closely matched the color of the eyes she was studying it with. They weren’t her natural eyes. Those, the ones she had been born with, were long gone, having been lost in an accident millennia ago. Not that she minded, given how much better these were. She could upgrade them whenever necessary or possible, and they allowed her to not only see into different visual spectrums, but she could even examine things at the microscopic level.
Cahethal was doing that right then, studying the green liquid in a way that normally would have required far more effort than simply holding it up to her eyes and squinting. She examined its molecular structure discerningly, then very carefully measured out three drops of it into a vial that was already most of the way full of a blue concoction. Those three simple drops created a hissing sound upon contact with the other liquid, sending a pink cloud into the air that dissipated after a moment, yet left behind a very distinct scent that quickly spread through the whole lab. The room itself was about ten meters wide, shaped a bit like a half-circle with her tables full of handheld tools and such equipment lining the curved portion, and all her machines stacked up against the long, flat wall. And now the entire room, all of it, had been filled with this scent. Though it could have been worse on that front. There were so much worse things that one could be stuck smelling than--
“Are those kaduei berries I smell?” The woman who asked that was standing in the doorway of the lab, having just stepped in. She had dark skin and wore a tan trench coat over a white shirt. By normal human standards, she appeared to be in her twenties, but of course was quite a bit older than that. “I didn’t know there even were any of those within a million lightyears of this planet.”
“There aren’t,” Cahethal primly informed the taller woman. She herself was on the short side, a slender, small figure who was commonly mistaken for being a child or young teenager from the back. It was part of why she tended toward using somewhat taller hosts when that was possible. Stepping that way, she beckoned. “Taste this, July.” With that simple instruction, she held the vial out that way expectantly. “Not all of it, leave at least half and then tell me how it makes you feel. And make sure you taste it all thoroughly, no pouring it straight down the back of your throat.”
Without any hesitation that some might have shown in that situation, the latest Calendar member to take on the moniker of July accepted the vial and carefully emptied as close to half of it onto her tongue as she could. She let the liquid sit there, taking in the taste before swishing it around in her mouth thoughtfully for several long seconds. Then she gradually swallowed and took a breath. Her eyes, having closed partway through that, opened once more. “kaduei berries,” she repeated in an awed tone. “That is absolutely the juice from kaduei berries, how did you get it?”
“I told you, it’s not the berries,” Cahethal reminded her firmly. “I am not in the habit of lying when unnecessary, or repeating myself. This is science. I am replicating the taste of the juice, or attempting to. Though if your reaction, and refusal to accept my initial word are any indication, it has been something of a success.” After getting that much out, she checked the clock up in a corner of the room. “It has now been long enough for the berry’s distinct aftertaste to arrive.”
“Ohhh there it is.” With a slight shiver of obvious enjoyment, July allowed the taste to run its course before tilting her head a moment later. “Hmmm, oh it’s delicious, but I don’t think it lasts quite as long as it’s supposed to. The last time I had true kaduei berries, the aftertaste lingered for almost a minute, and was even stronger. That wasn’t quite half that long. But still, replicating even that much without any of the actual berries themselves? You’re a genius, Miss Cahethal.”
“That would mean more if you hadn’t said it immediately after describing my failure,” the other woman noted, though without any real hostility. Her voice was flat, a simple statement of fact. “But I shall take it in the spirit it was intended. Have you come to lend aid or make a request?”
“Ah, both,” July admitted. “I would like to ask for a leave of absence one week from today, for three days. I have a private matter I need to attend to. Until then, I’m here to help with anything.”
“Are the timing and length important factors?” Cahethal didn’t actually have anything of particular note planned for those days, but it would still be good to know just what sort of request she was dealing with if something did come up before then. The more vital the timing, the more drastic any arising situation would need to be for her to tell the woman to postpone her plans for awhile.
Not so much because she cared all that deeply about how her subordinates felt, but because it was illogical to push them beyond the point where they would remain effective. She thought little about their friendship, and not because they were Mendacia. She honestly thought little of anyone’s friendship. Their Mendacia state was relevant only in the sense that it made them available and their loyalty rather cheap to purchase. But that loyalty was a string that could only be pulled so far. If she wanted to maintain their effectiveness properly, they needed to be allowed their perks, their rewards, and in cases like this, their vacations. It made little to no mathematical sense to refuse requests like this if she could help it, after all the effort she’d put into making this July an effective agent. But if something did arise, she wanted to be able to effectively calculate how much delaying that request would cost her. Relationships, loyalty, they were all about math.
In this case, July seemed to consider the question briefly before replying, “Both are rather important, but if something comes up, I can cut it short by one day, or postpone it for a day or two, without… extreme complications. I made a promise to one of my contacts here on Rysthael to aid in his search for his mother once he had any idea of where to look. He has found a lead and called in that favor. The person he wishes to interrogate will arrive at that location in one week. We believe it will take three days to properly plan an infiltration and extraction of the man.”
“Then you shall have the three days, lest something drastic present itself,” Cahethal noted simply. While she was talking, the woman had carefully searched through an assortment of sealed vials along one of the shelves, found one particularly small one full of a yellowish liquid, and added a bit of that to her original concoction with an eyedropper. Sealing that, she shook it up gently before offering it to the other woman. “Test now. Wait. Wash your mouth, then test.”
July obediently did so, rinsing her mouth with water from the small sink before tasting the updated liquid. Though now with those yellow drops added, it had thickened somewhat into more of a syrup. After allowing it to rest on her tongue for a moment, she swished it around and swallowed. Then she waited, head tilting thoughtfully one way, then the other. “Mmmm, that lingers properly. I think you’ve duplicated the taste and effect perfectly now, Miss Cahethal.”
“Thank you for the evaluation.” With that, the Olympian scientist stepped over to a refrigeration unit, taking out a sealed loaf of bread before retrieving a jar of smooth fincone butter. With smooth, practiced motions, she used a knife to create a sandwich using the butter and a bit of the fake Kaduei Berry syrup. After ensuring it was properly prepared, she held the food out to the woman. “Now taste it this way, to see that there is no loss of flavor or texture after preparation.”
Still uncertain as to what the point of this was, July nonetheless did as instructed. She had, after all, fulfilled much more dangerous and unsavory orders than ‘eat this sandwich’ during her time as part of the Calendar. Not to mention the centuries spent before being recruited by the woman. Yet, as simple as the request may have been, she took it as seriously as any other. Biting into the sandwich, July allowed herself to experience the flavor, tasting how the sweet syrup mixed with the faint bitterness from the fincone butter. Through the process of eating the entire sandwich (after glancing toward the other woman to ensure that’s what was desired), she repeatedly washed her mouth out to ensure the taste was always as fresh as it could be.
Once she had finished the sandwich, July took a moment to let the flavor settle before giving a short nod. “Excellent, Miss Cahethal. If I didn’t know that it was artificial, I would swear the syrup came directly from fresh kaduei berries.” She nearly asked, with incredulity, if there was truly none of the actual fruit involved in the process. But in the end, she stopped herself. Cahethal had already stated that there weren’t, and as the woman had noted, she absolutely did not lie about such things. Nor would she take the incredulity as a compliment. She had said that there were no berries in the syrup and that it was made entirely from artificial ingredients, and she meant it.
“Good,” Cahethal replied briskly before setting about making another batch of the stuff. “As I said, but to make it official, your request for leave is approved, assuming no vital interruptions. Please maintain contact day to day and inform me of any changes to your plans. I wish you luck with it.”
After promising to do so and thanking her employer, July looked at the newly completed second batch of the syrup and raised a hand. “If it's not a secret, do you mind if I ask what that is for?”
Briskly cleaning the supplies she had used and sealing the finished product, Cahethel replied, “August has spoken very fondly of these sandwiches in the past, and lamented that he is incapable of purchasing the berries so far from their source. I had queried about acquiring a supply as a reward for his previous work, but the cost and time required were both prohibitively expensive, and the supplier was being annoyingly stubborn about it. They said that if I didn't like how they run their business, I should simply make the syrup myself. Their sarcasm was noted, but I decided they were not entirely wrong. So, I looked into it this afternoon and here we are.”
July opened and shut her mouth, looking annoyingly emotional about the whole thing for just a moment. Thankfully, she restrained herself from expressing that emotion. Cahethal appreciated the overall effect rewarding her people could have, but she had no desire to experience physical signs of their gratitude. That was another reason she preferred working with Mendacia. They were already conditioned not to try to hug her or initiate any other contact. She appreciated that habit.
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Finally, after taking a second to collect herself properly, July spoke again, though her voice cracked just a little in the process. “Miss Cahethal, that is-- you went through all this trouble to make an artificial version of one of the best-tasting and most rare berry syrups in the galaxy just to reward one of us for doing a good job? Just so August can make a sandwich he remembers?”
Cahethal made a noise in the back of her throat. “First, it was hardly a great deal of effort. I would thank you not to insult my capability by implying that duplicating the taste of a simple syrup would be taxing. I am not some amateur with my first chemistry set. As I said, this was something I thought of this afternoon. It required barely a few hours of analysis and work. And second, in exchange for this artificial syrup, August will be aware that his efforts are appreciated and will be rewarded. These few hours I've spent on this today, when there was little else for me to work on at this immediate point anyway, will be paid exponentially by his continued desire to please me.”
July offered her a very faint smile, though Cahethal could tell she was making an effort to hold herself back from a stronger reaction. She was aware that her employer didn't enjoy such displays and did her best to respect that. “You have been good to us. We… we do appreciate it.”
“Good,” was Cahethal’s simple response. “You should. As I should appreciate the work you do for me. Our relationship, such as it is, remains intact and as healthy as can be expected. Now, I’ve conditionally agreed with your request. So long as the situation does not meaningfully change before then, that agreement will stand. You have fulfilled my request to aid in the tasting of the syrup. And I have answered your query as to its purpose. Do you have another reason to be here?” The words, ‘if not, go away’ went unstated. They really didn’t need to be said out loud.
With a quick salute, July confirmed that she had nothing else to say, before turning on her heel to walk out of the room. On her way out, Cahethal instructed her to have August come down, but not to tell him why, or to give any indication about what the woman had been working on. She wished to have the man taste the syrup without knowing what it was supposed to be. His untainted reaction to the flavor was vital to being certain that she had succeeded in her endeavor.
***********
Months Later
The door opened with a hiss as Cahethal walked through and back into the lab. She looked around briefly before moving to the refrigeration unit, where she retrieved a sealed container full of the artificial syrup. Examining it to ensure there were no leaks, she set it on the nearby counter, then placed a writing pad next to it. Carefully, and in perfectly neat handwriting, she began to write down the full recipe for how the syrup was made. Realizing she was writing for people who may not understand her own shorthand or particular chemistry terms, the woman wrote as though telling a child what to do. She described each and every step of the process, and what the results of that step should look like. Bit by bit, she laid out the entire very specific and demanding way that the syrup had to be created in order to produce the proper flavor.
By the time she was done and had secured the writing pad to the container before depositing both into a small metal box that was immediately sealed, there was a figure in the doorway. A tall, thin Seosten man with long blond hair stepped inside. “Madame, you requested a delivery?”
Tapping the box once before picking it up and holding it out, the woman gave a short nod. “Yes, take this to the agreed-upon parcel exchange we have with the so-called Fusion School. It should be delivered to the one known as August, or any of the other…” She trailed off before focusing. “Correction, deliver it to their headmistress and instruct her to give the contents to the former members of the Calendar. She will know what that means. And they will know what it’s for.”
The man repeated the instructions, taking the box before pausing. “Is it true that they’re leaving?”
“They have left to join the Fusion School,” Cahethal confirmed. “They will not be returning.”
“Heh, that’s the gratitude of a bunch of Mendacia for you.” With a dismissive snort, the man turned to head out again.
Or he started to. Before he could get anywhere, however, Cahethal ordered, “Stop.” When he turned back that way, she informed him, “My subordinates have earned their graduation to better things. They did all the work I requested of them, and now they are moving on. I do not fault them for accepting that opportunity. You, on the other hand, have earned nothing from me. Continue to speak ill of those whose efforts I relied upon for quite a bit longer than I have even known of your existence, and we will have issues. Is that understood?” She waited for the man to weakly agree that it was, before brusquely dismissing him again.
Once he was gone, the woman leaned against the counter and squinted at nothing for a few long seconds. Then she spoke. “Computer, prepare a list of new Calendar candidates from all available Mendacia. Have it sent to my personal terminal, and mark it to be read… tomorrow. I’ll read it tomorrow.”
“Done,” came the simple response. “Would you like to move to the next item on your agenda?”
“No,” Cahethal replied. “I am done for the day. Mark me as unavailable except in case of emergency. I do not wish to be disturbed.”
Once the computer acknowledged that, Cahethal dimmed the lights in the lab, then sat and thought of why she had made the syrup. And, more importantly, why she had sent the remaining sample and recipe to her former subordinates now that August, July, and the others had left her service.
They no longer worked for her. They chose to leave. Nothing she did for them would be helpful to her work in any way. Rewarding them no longer made any sense.
So why had she sent that recipe?
*************
Doctor Manakel Considers The Jacob Situation
“Hey, what’re you reading?” Grover Clyde floated up over Doctor Manakel’s shoulder to peer at the paperback novel his fellow ghost was holding. The two of them were spending some time in one of several libraries inside the Roundabout’s Haunted Mansion while they finally had a bit of a break. In Grover’s case, he had been reading encyclopedia entries about various large predatory animals and mysterious sea creatures. Whereas Manakel… “Nancy Drew?” He blinked, leaning closer to ensure he had that right. “You’re reading an old Nancy Drew book?”
Opening his mouth to retort reflexively, Manakel paused, considering his words instead after seeing the curiosity on the boy’s face before settling on a simple, “Given the proclivities of our gracious host, can you perhaps see why I might feel the need to, ahh, get into the head, as they say, of a teenage female detective with a penchant for finding herself in an overabundance of trouble?”
Grover blinked twice, taking that in before bowing his head. “Do you mind if I read that after you?”
Raising his arm to gesture grandly toward the shelves nearby, Manakel replied, “There is no need for you to wait. The Ankou vessel seems to have provided an entire collection of Detective Drew’s adventures. I recommend beginning with The Secret of the Old Clock, as it is the first.”
As Grover moved to one of the energy orbs to collect enough power to make himself tangible so he could pick out the book, Manakel lowered himself back into the armchair. But he didn’t return to reading. Instead, he stared at the cover and let his mind drift. He thought back to the first time he had met Felicity Chambers. No, not in Crossroads while possessing Risa Kohaku, the real first time. Not that he had known her true name then, or anything about who she really was. That true first time, all those centuries ago, when he had met the young man who called himself Jacob and claimed to be… well, claimed a great many things, really. Some of which were true, others, well… he could hardly fault her for not coming out and telling them everything. Even if it had led to so many problems. Felicity had been doing the best she could in a difficult situation.
Or rather, she would be doing the best she could in a difficult situation. This version of Felicity, the one working to build the Roundabout alongside her friends, had not yet actually been through that particular situation. She had not experienced the pyramid, had not yet made those choices. Thanks to the Ankou splitting Felicity into so many duplicates and spreading them through the timeline, another version of her was going through that. Or had gone through, by this time. Another version of him (his ghost self, that was) would have already watched it play out and realized what was actually happening. That other version of his ghost-self would finally understand exactly why things had played out that way. It was a strange thought, knowing that even as his younger living self had been interacting with the eccentric young man who called himself Jacob, his older ghost self had undoubtedly been feeding Felicity information to prove her all her claims. That understanding truly made that whole situation make so much more sense.
Honestly, the pieces of that puzzle had been falling neatly into place ever since Felicity had inherited first his Necromancy, then Fossor’s. But the real truth, or most of it, hadn’t actually come into view until that instant back in the cave with Gaia Sinclaire. When Felicity had, in the spur of the moment and without any thought, transformed herself into the male appearance and announced her name as Jacob, Manakel had been very glad he wasn’t physically manifesting at the time, because he was quite certain that his reaction would have given away far too much.
Felicity Chambers was Jacob. That was a realization that had left him reeling quite a bit. He’d been forced to pull back somewhat from the girl and become somewhat dormant outside of their usual Necromancy training, afraid he would give something away and end up changing the timeline if she overthought things. He was uncertain if she’d noticed, mostly because the only ways to find out would be to either come out and ask her (a nonstarter), or spend enough time with her to see any reaction for himself. Which would largely defeat the purpose. To say nothing of the paradox involved in spending time with someone to find out if they noticed you weren’t spending time with them. And if there was one thing they didn’t need now, it was a paradox.
Smiling absently at the cover of the mystery novel as it lay on the chair, having fallen through his now-intangible form, Manakel shook his head slowly. Honestly, there was a chance he could simply go ahead and tell this Felicity what was going to happen--or had happened back at that pyramid. He could tell her everything, could prepare her for the memories that would rush into her mind as soon as she was reunited with all her other selves. Was that the right thing to do? Should he warn her about the choices that other version of her was making, or would doing so simply make her fret too much when she should be focusing on building this school?
It was difficult to know what the right choice would be. For the moment however, he wouldn’t say anything. Perhaps later, after things had settled in. Right now, he wanted Felicity to be able to focus on her job here. Not to mention actually enjoy what was supposed to be some semblance of a vacation. Telling her what some other version of her was doing at one of those rifts would only distract her, when she could do nothing about it anyway.
No, even his personal knowledge could only provide so much context. She needed her own thoughts and memories to truly understand what had happened back then, to understand the choices she had made.
And maybe, with those memories and context, she would find a way to apologize to Sariel.