Tarry Bennett

Tarry Bennett watched the storm brewing in front of him with weary eyes. It was the end of a long day after what felt like an even longer few weeks. Meeting with the leaders of the four major Guilds was the absolute last thing he wanted to be doing, but his duty as mayor of Occaigh rarely cared about what he wanted. Duty was cold and unfeeling and didn’t care about his comfort. It only cared about function and resolution.

The arguing had been fervent ever since the collapse. Eleven were dead and all anyone could do was blame everyone else. He expected better, he knew he shouldn’t have but he always stubbornly hoped that people were better than they were. The Guilds rarely got along, which was ironic because they were the biggest contributors to Flexibilis’ economy. It was only through a highly orchestrated collaboration that they were able to do so. They all quietly, albeit reluctantly, acknowledged that cooperation was a necessary evil.

Tunnels were a wonder, there was no denying it. Tunnels shortened vast distances into brief walks. They connected Occaigh and the twenty-three other major cities together. The cities were each their own free-floating spheroids in the aether. Without tunnels they disconnected; inaccessible by any other means. There were many smaller spheroids connected to the major cities similarly by tunnels, providing access to a great variety of locations and resources. They were even used within the cities themselves.

He ran a hand through his slicked-back blonde hair. Whether or not tunnels kept the world running meant nothing to his home life. Francine’s sympathies with his job were likely evaporating, and he wondered if coming home with a bouquet of flowers would be too half-hearted.

“No, I still have too much work to do, she’ll be asleep by the time I’m home anyways,” he thought glumly.

The request Eli made of him also remained at the back of his mind. Did he really intend for Olly to pass the aptitude test and become a Cartographer? The odds were stacked against him in many ways. What was his angle? Why was he so insistent that Tarry’s favour to him should be repaid in the form of a nomination? He still maintained that it was akin to throwing it away; it made no sense.

“Your boy was green! You sent a child to be in control of a highly dangerous process!” The Grandmaster of the Labourers’ Guild, Oleg Shevchuk, roared at Abigail Garcia, the Conductors’ Guild Grandmaster.

The yelling interrupted Tarry’s wandering mind. Oleg was once again falling back on the cornerstone of his argument.

“I will not discuss credentials with someone who runs a Guild without any,” Abigail said coolly, “By our accounts, the Conductor behaved in a manner befitting his station and position and appeared to act heroically. He leaped into action and saved a Labourer before the collapse, pulling her from harm’s way. He’s devastated by all accounts and we’re supporting him by giving him any time he needs. That said, there are less than savory depictions of the man put in charge of your people, and it seems he openly acted in ways that undermined our Conductor, who I might remind you again, was in charge of the site.”

There had never been a problem with punching a new tunnel before and the Conductors’ had gone on the defensive immediately, recognizing the most public backlash would undoubtedly point to them. They were the most visible Guild and their people were treated like local heroes. Anything that threatened this image was a huge hit to their credibility.

Oleg slammed his fists on the table, causing the Cartographers’ Guild Grandmaster, Franklin Byrne, to startle, muttering “I say” under his breath.

“Do not speak ill of my people. I will remind you that every man and woman who died belonged to my Guild. You speak of devastation but you don’t have an ounce of compassion. This loss is mine, and yet you’re choosing to take your Guild’s incompetence out on us. Not to mention, your boy’s words ring hollow. I have more witnesses who were onsite to corroborate accounts.”

Tarry struggled to hold his tongue. He knew that his intervention would only turn their ire onto him, but it was typical for Abigail to play into Oleg’s inferiority complex. He suspected that Oleg was also highly sensitive to the fact that he had been the one to lose workers in the collapse and he could appreciate Oleg’s fury.

“Abigail, we know the Labourer’s Guild generally does good work. Is it possible the failure lies with the site itself? If so, I’m worried about other existing sites,” Alzira chimed in, looking bored.

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“Oh no,” Tarry thought desperately, “Now she’s done it.”

Alzira Silves was the Grandmaster of the Controllers' Guild. The tactic, as her’s usually did, worked to keep the attention off the Controllers. It renewed Oleg’s defensiveness of the quality of his Guild’s work and Abigail’s efforts to undermine it. It also brought attention back to the Cartographers as the origin of the site, which set Franklin Byrne, the Cartographer’s Grandmaster off again on a spiel of offended blusterings.

Tarry knew why she did this, it frustrated him to no end because it usually kept conversations going needlessly past their natural end, but he did understand it. Hers was a Guild that started their work after all the others were completed. They were the most interactive with the general public, so keeping negative attention on the other three served her better.

All in all, their personalities contributed very little towards the resolution of the current situation. They all had something to lose. They all had something to defend. Each of them believed they were the most important contributor. Egos flared regularly in times of peace, but now that tragedy had struck any thoughts of collaboration were thrown out the window. All they could manage to do was tear each other down.

And so they were back where they started. The vicious shouting had been unrelenting and showed no sign of stopping. If more people knew of the infighting that took place Tarry was sure there would be pandemonium. But alas, he was in the unique role of mediating their quarrels and ensuring they all presented a united front to the broader public.

Tomorrow he would have to speak to the press, and there was the added bonus of the Academy aptitude test in only four months' time. Not only would they have to publicly get along over the coming months as the investigation into the disaster continued, they would also have to coordinate the usual aptitude test for would-be apprentices. Keeping up friendly pretences while infighting waged in the background would surely be the death of him.

Tarry looked at his watch, despondent. It had been going on for four hours now without reprieve. Abigail and Oleg were red in the face. Franklin had threatened to leave six times already. He hadn’t, of course; Tarry wouldn’t put money on the seventh time being the charm. However, he had let them fight it out without getting any closer to reaching a resolution. He’d had enough.

Tarry cleared his throat loudly, and all four turned to him, three of them had murder written clearly on their faces.

“At this point, I’m not sure we’re going to come to an agreement today. In my powers, I will be calling for a public inquest, and I expect all four of you to cooperate in this process.”

“Tarry, my boy, do not overstep here,” Franklin said warningly. Nothing inspired cooperation quite like a mutual enemy with these four. And to them, sometimes he and his office could be. If they felt he was giving them direction they immediately bristled.

“I do not presume to tell any of you what to do, but I do feel the need to remind you that I am the elected official and I have people to protect. People that included the now eleven dead. I hope that I won’t have to wait until the end of the inquest to implement safety procedures. I would also hope the four of you would perform your own unbiased approach to come up with solutions to ensure this does not happen again. There will be numerous statements and press releases coming up, my desire is that all five of us can work together and avoid open slander and blame. In private, fine, I have and will continue to listen to you all air your grievances but I expect a certain level of decorum and dignity in public,” he warned them sternly.

His assistant knocked and let himself into the room, all eyes turned to him.

“So sorry for the interruption sir but you’ve got an urgent call from Aspir. Highest priority line,” he said hurriedly.

Tarry let his palms drop face down on the desk in front of him heavily.

“I’m going to go take that, if anyone has anything productive to add upon my return I will be all ears. But if not I will be adjourning this meeting.”

He strode out of the room.

“Highest priority line, eh?” he asked as he shut the door to the conference room behind him, feeling the growing suspicion that his night was only just beginning.

“Yes sir, it’s coming in from Mayor Desmarais, she says it’s a matter of national security,” his assistant responded in a low voice, patching through the call to the highest security line.

Tarry leapt into the call, pulse quickening.

“Mayor Desmarais, how can I be of assistance?” he responded, keeping his voice even.

“Mayor Bennett, there was another tunnel problem.”

Oh no.

“What kind of problem? Any casualties?” he inquired nervously.

“No, no casualties, thank goodness, but there’s been another collapse. We’ve got it under control and out of sight of the press and general public, for the time being.”

He looked back to the room full of warring Grandmasters, dreading what was to come.

“Good, let me confer with my counsel and the Grandmasters on the next steps and we’ll collaborate on the response. Appreciate the warning, I’ll be in touch.”

They hung up and he dragged a hand slowly down his face.

Fuck.