by E G Manetti
The Cartel
The Apprentice Volume 1
A Twelve Systems Chronicle
E G Manetti
Copyright
Copyright ©2012 by Buniac Entertainment, LLC.
Cover Photography by Jim O’Connor Photography
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or used in whole or in part by any means without the written permission of Buniac Entertainment.
All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-0-9886900-0-4
Dedication
For Carolyn,
‘Thank you’ does not begin to cover it.
Prologue
I am the sum of my ancestors. The trowel slices the moist soil. I am the foundation of my family. Lilian rips the weeds from the loosened soil. Honor is my blade and shield. The trowel slashes, the weeds are decimated. Again and again, Lilian tears into the soil, clearing space for her plantings. Above her, the walls of the garden rise on three sides. On the north side, the house rises four storeys to complete the enclosure.
The ancient house has stood for five centuries. It is in desperate need of repairs that have been too long postponed. It does not matter. It only needs to stand for three more years. Three years. Honor endures.
“Lilian, what do you?” The familiar voice pulls Lilian from her violent assault on the weeds that have run rampant in the herb garden.
Dean Joseph, Lilian’s mentor, considers the dirty, sweaty young woman with a combination of affection and concern. “You have cleared twice the space you will be able to cultivate.”
Sitting back on her heels, Lilian turns her face to her mentor. “Once I enter the Cartel, I will not own my bells. I must clear this sufficiently that the weeds will not encroach.”
Joseph offers Lilian his hand up as he asks, “Have you questions?”
Taking the hand, Lilian rises as she ponders her response. She has endless questions. She voices her concern, “Will he hurt me?”
As Lilian finds her feet in the herb garden, Dean Joseph replies, “Hurt you Lilian? Adhere to the strictures and Monsignor Lucius will have no cause to correct you.”
Corporal punishment is the least of Joseph’s fears for the lovely twenty-four year old. It is a common enough practice and, public opinion notwithstanding, Lilian is not a coward.
Shaking her head, Lilian finds she cannot voice the source of her fear. Something in her face or stance enlightens her mentor. “As to that, it will be different from what you have known. You must not expect monsignor to be considerate of your pleasure. I cannot imagine he will hurt you.”
Chapter 1: The Cartel
A millennium ago, the Five Warriors ended the three centuries Anarchy that threatened to destroy the Three Systems. Since then, the Order of the Five Warriors has spread to Twelve Systems with the original Three Systems retaining dominance of the expanded society. Of the billions who inhabit the Twelve Systems, a handful of millions claim direct genetic descent from the Five Warriors and their retainers. This elite group, the warriors, dominates the Twelve Systems through its commercial, spiritual and political institutions.
Of the warriors, only a small percent claims a signet and the title seigneur or monsignor. These are the rulers of the Twelve Systems’ commerce. They control the wealth and opportunity of the vast society. At the pinnacle of commerce are the cartels. Currently, there are five dominant cartels, seven challenger cartels and scores of cohorts and consortiums attempting to gather enough economic power to reach cartel status. Among the five dominant Cartels is the Serengeti Group which controls the mining and refining of Vistrite, a semi-liquid crystal critical to all advanced technology. Comprised of three powerful ‘cartouche’ or families, Serengeti is headed by Lucius Mercio of the Blooded Dagger Cartouche.
Sevenday 1, Day 1
I am the sum of my ancestors. I am the foundation of my family. Honor is my blade and shield. Honor knows not fear. Honor endures. Honor acts as duty commands. I am the sum of my ancestors…
The comforting words of the Warrior Litany stiffen Lilian’s spine as she steps off the public transport and walks the two blocks to the Serengeti Group headquarters. Consumed by her thoughts, Lilian does not notice the glances that follow her.
Slightly above average height, Lilian displays the well-toned form of athleticism. Gathered tightly to her head in a warrior’s queue, her long, dark red hair appears almost black. The severe arrangement reveals the fine bone structure with its high cheekbones, deep set gray eyes and determined chin. Lilian is not so much beautiful as arresting. This day, the creamy skin tones are pale, lacking the slightest hint of pink.
Honor knows not fear. Honor endures…
Serengeti Headquarters is a massive structure that encompasses an entire city block. Squaring her shoulders, Lilian enters the intimidating edifice. As the entry guard frowns at her credentials, Lilian politely asks, “If you please, what level for the Associates Hall?”
Snorting, the dour man rakes Lilian with his eyes. “Second storey. Use the Commons riser bank.”
Nodding her thanks, Lilian rushes the length of the lobby to the riser bank as quickly as stricture permits. To do so, she must weave among the boutiques, cafes and lounges that are popular among the elite of commerce. Dodging a slow moving trio, Lilian enters the crowded bay. Four carriages pass before Lilian is able to find a place.
Jostled by myriad elbows and shoulders, Lilian attempts to hold her place by the door. Shadeless scum whispers maliciously from the back of the carriage. As the door opens on the second storey, Lilian attempts to push past a large woman at the front the carriage only to find her way blocked by a weighty arm. The woman’s sweet features hold an unlovely expression.
As the doors begin to recess, Lilian abandons decorum to duck beneath the fleshy barrier and propel herself into the corridor. Closing her eyes against frustration, anger and the burning of her hands and knees from the carpet, Lilian evens her breath as she returns to the litany. I am the sum of my ancestors.
Exiting the bay, she finds no indication of the Associates Hall. The corridor holds a number of sealed doors that offer no hint of their purpose. In the crowded hive the Cartel, the area is ominously empty.
“Mistress, do you require assistance?” the polite inquiry calls Lilian’s attention. The small man in Serengeti servitor livery is bedecked with a tool belt.
Thank you, Adelaide.
“If you please, I am expected at the Associates Hall,” Lilian requests.
“Associates Hall, you say?” the servitor responds. “First Day are you?”
“Yes Mister,” Lilian returns.
First Day is the first day of the New Year and the customary commencement date for new associate contracts.
“Well hurry then, lass,” the servitor admonishes, “you’re at the far end of HQ.”
At Lilian’s widening eyes, the man continues, “This corridor will take you there. Hurry now.”
Honor knows not fear. Lilian dare not race. She strides the long corridor as rapidly as her modest heels permit. She mentally curses the entry guard. He has sent her the long way round. This day. Honor endures.
Light perspiration beads Lilian’s lip and moistens her arms and legs as she arrives at the Associates Hall. It lacks but minutes to eighth bell.
The amphitheater is an archaic remnant of the founding days of the Cartel. Then it would have been the Servitors’ Hall with the servitors armed for battle training. The Serengeti Group is known for its reverence of tradition and strict adherence to protocol. Its
commitment to ancient formality also serves as a reminder that in these modern civilized times, commerce remains conflict. Serengeti associates are expected to excel in all forms of commercial warfare.
At the entrance to the hall Lilian hesitates. She intended to slip in unnoticed well before eighth bell. Instead, she is the focus of the thirty or so occupants. Once again mentally cursing the guard, Lilian enters to find her place.
The chamber can seat five hundred, the chairs rising from the floor and the podium in concentric rows. Seated in the first rows are a handful associates arrayed in the finest of commerce couture, the protégés. Forty days gone Lilian expected to have a place in this elite group. As she passes the elegant crowd sneers greet her, “Coward. Shadeless twist. Demon shit. Doxy.”
The middle rows hold twenty or so associates garbed by the better merchants. The murmured hostility gathers volume as Lilian passes the larger group. Chin high, shoulders squared, Lilian does not acknowledge the insult although she rages within. She should be accustomed to insult and able to ignore it by now. This day. There is only this day.
In the back row sit five associates in the same economical suits as Lilian’s. Two in the mufti of the Serengeti Cartel apprentice. One in the pale gray-blue of the Iron Hammer apprentice, one in the olive of Grey Spear and one in the severe black of Blooded Dagger. This small group is silent as Lilian takes her seat next to the other Blooded Dagger apprentice.
The black of Blooded Dagger does not favor her fellow apprentice. It gives his medium complexion, sandy hair and light brown eyes a monochromatic appearance.
“I am Chrys, apprentice to Seigneur Rachelle,” offers the young man with the formal clasped hand salute of the commoners.
Carefully repeating the unfamiliar motion, Lilian returns the greeting, “I am Lilian, apprentice to Monsignor Lucius.”
The politely neutral expression of an experienced apprentice yields no hint of recognition. “Well met Mistress Lilian.”
“Well met indeed, Master Chrys,” Lilian completes the formal greeting as the chimes sound.
At the sound of the eighth bell chimes, the gathered associates silently rise to their feet, as Associate Master Straus takes his place at the podium. The Associate Master’s remarks are dry and predictable.
“Well come associates of Serengeti. This ancient house…”
As the Associate Master drones on about the great history of Serengeti, Lilian steals a side-long glance at her companion. Upon rising, Chrys proved tall. His length of leg does much to mitigate the blocky torso.
She cannot help but wonder how a man fulfills the duty of the bond. If Lilian fails to find monsignor appealing, she need only be compliant. For Chrys to please his seigneur he must be a good deal more than compliant. Mayhap –
Do not. Do not. With the mental admonishment Lilian abandons her wayward imaginings and gives her attention to the Associate Master.
“Your slate has been provided by your cartouche and encrypted to its security-privilege. Instructions on your worksite location, schedule and immediate assignments are all contained in your slate. Lose your slate and you compromise the security and honor of Serengeti.
“Protégés, you will proceed to your mentors immediately after collecting your satchels. Other associates, you will remain for further instruction.
“Come forward.”
»◊«
It would have been well to have the slate earlier. With the aid of their devices, Lilian and Chrys navigate the labyrinth of Serengeti to locate their worksites buried in the middle of the Blooded Dagger section. Each of Serengeti’s three cartouche controls a section of the massive facility and restricts access accordingly. As the dominant cartouche, Blooded Dagger controls the top twelve levels.
In addition to the cartouche sections, the Cartel maintains common areas for use by all personnel. These include the Archives, Communications Central, Training Facilities, Serengeti Militia and Control Center, Medical Facilities, Conference Chambers, Research Facilities and Laboratories. All are housed in the first ten levels above the lobby.
As they follow the path laid by their slates, Lilian and Chrys pass through a sea of sterile worksites that flow around the four sets of riser banks. Lilian barely notes their passage as she struggles for a way to acquire what she needs without displaying a dangerous level of ignorance.
Think. Courtesy. We are two protégés on First Day.
“Master Chrys, may I inquire as to your area of excellence?” Lilian’s words, tone and accent reveal her exemplary education.
“Technologistics, Research and Development in particular. Seigneur Rachelle leads R&D for Serengeti. I am very fortunate to be her apprentice,” returns Chrys.
Chrys’ response is almost as well formed as Lilian’s. The man’s tones hold a slight burr on some sounds that suggests origins in an agrarian community.
“Seigneur Rachelle is quite expert, then?” Lilian asks, determined to keep the other apprentice speaking. She is well aware of the R&D Seigneur’s expertise.
“Yes, Mistress Lilian. May I inquire as to your area of excellence?” Chrys responds.
“Analytics and Problematics,” Lilian returns and then completes, “With strong emphasis in financials, risk analysis and complexity modeling.”
Keep the conversation going, keep him talking, “Have you been on Metricelli Prime long, Master Chrys?”
Chrys stops walking. For a moment he stands quietly, examining Lilian’s face as if searching for coded messages. After a moment he nods, “Mistress Lilian, I have been on Metricelli Prime for two years studying at the Institute in the Western Continent. That is not what you truly wish to know, is it? I beg pardon, but this is farcical. I am well aware of who you are; the scandal, the change of status, all the comment and gossip, the vicious despite.
“I do not know why you chose this path over the Final Draught. I care not. Ask what you will of me. I will render assistance, or not, as I am able.” For the entirety of his speech, Chrys has not shifted his stance or his quiet tone.
Honor knows not fear. Lilian is not troubled by Chrys’ bold description of her situation. She does not care for the hostility and insult. It is not the source of her desperation. In the two sevendays since Lilian sealed her apprentice contract she has memorized the thirty-six strictures that comprise the apprentice protocol. Review of the applicable legalistics proved maddening. The strictures are contradictory and open to a wide degree of interpretation.
For her entire memory, Lilian had been heir to a cartouche. That it was newly formed and minor did not alter that she ranked with ten thousand among billions. Many have sought her favor, her friendship and her aid. For the first time in her life, she must ask more favor than she can offer. It is alien and bitter and it matters not.
Lilian must have aid. This highly placed apprentice has offered it. In return, she must offer her trust. “Master Chrys, I thank you for your graciousness and I beg pardon for my clumsiness. As you have rightly determined, I am poorly equipped to prove my bond.”
Chrys’ countenance does not alter with her admission.
Honor knows not fear. Has she erred, it will be revealed soon enough. Lilian forges forward, “It matters not why I chose this path. The difficulty I face is that I do not truly understand the expectations.”
Honor endures. Drawing a deep breath, Lilian exposes her vulnerability, “My education includes the classics, not the niceties of custom that are trained into an apprentice over eight years of advanced studies. I have read the contract, studied the protocols and strictures. To be able properly perform, that comes from experience I lack.”
As Lilian counts five painful heartbeats, the technologist’s neutral expression holds. He will not aid her. Lilian battles despair even as Chrys’ gentle smile dissolves his neutrality. Lilian can breathe. Thank the Shades. He will aid her.
Shaking his head slightly, Chrys says, “Mistress Lilian, I cannot transfer the skills and knowledge acquired through eight years of advanced studies
and ten years of apprenticeship in ten minutes. I will offer what I am able.
“Always address your bond holder as ‘milord’, or ‘milady’ in my case. I do not believe it possible to overuse the honorific. Never refer to monsignor indirectly except as milord or monsignor.”
At Lilian’s open bewilderment, Chrys expands, “Do not voice, if you please milord. The correct phrase is, if milord pleases. The word ‘you’ is a term of equality or intimacy. You may not employ it with your bond holder.”
“We must always refer to the ranked as either seigneur or monsignor, never as he or she.” Lilian grasps the concept quickly.
“Yes, well done,” Chrys confirms. “Even in your mind, address monsignor only as milord. Think of monsignor only as monsignor, never by name. It might slip out and that will go ill for you.
“It is wise to avoid questions. If you can acquire the information from another source, it is better not to ask. An inquiring mind is an asset in a protégé and an annoyance in an apprentice. In the end, the protocols, all those strictures, they are but one instruction, ‘Discover a Means.’ Do not ask, do not complain, discover a means.”
At Chrys' last comment, the contradictory information that has bedeviled Lilian for two sevendays reconciles. It is not rational. It is another form of trial. She regrets she has naught to offer the young man but courtesy, “My thanks, Master Chrys.”
Chrys barely acknowledges it, there are more pressing matters. “It is of little moment. Come, we should hasten. Late arrival is treated with severity.”
Honor knows not fear. Honor acts as duty commands. The thirty-fifth storey of the Serengeti Headquarters has the same gray with scarlet and gold décor as the rest of Blooded Dagger territory. At this level, the carpeting is thicker, the use of scarlet and gold more extensive. The worksites grouped among the riser banks are four times the size of Lilian’s. They are constructed of cherry wood and not fabricated materials. The paucity of doors along the exterior walls indicates sizable offices.