Narrator 1: Jonas Spahr is getting ready for work.

[Bright, driving string music]

Narrator 2: Brushing his hair, trimming his beard, adjusting his uniform. He’s very critical of his reflection. Everything must be perfect.

Narrator 3: Or at least LOOK perfect, today.

Narrator 1: It’s kind of hard to concentrate on looking perfect. He keeps getting jostled.

[The sounds of heavy furniture and parcels being moved around.]

Narrator 2: Movers are packing up his possessions and moving him out of the Consector’s mansion.

Narrator 3: Everything’s going in boxes. Movers are bumping around, picking things up.

Narrator 2: And MORE movers are jostling around THOSE movers. It’s very chaotic.

Narrator 1: Today Spahr is being moved out of his house, and someone else is being moved in. This isn’t his house anymore. Tomorrow he will be getting ready for work somewhere else.

Narrator 2: Normally, his Company entourage would be briefing him on the day’s events, current affairs, his schedule, et cetera. He doesn’t have an entourage anymore though, so he’s catching up on the latest the way any other regular Trustee would, by listening to the news on the teletheric.

[The music recedes, as the teletheric switches to a news program.]

Narrator 3: (Unnamed newscaster) “Today we bring you coverage of yesterday’s court martial of Jonas Spahr. For those of you who weren’t listening live, Spahr delivered remarks before the Upper Trust, apologizing for the Company’s incompetent handling of Breach seditionists and utter failure to control an emergency situation as it broke out. Spahr assumed responsibility for gross mismanagement of catastrophic events on Midst, and Senior Notary Fleit delivered sentence.”

Narrator 1: (Fleit) “You are hencemspecsum, forthwith, thus and thus, no longer Prime Consector of the Consectorial Company of the Trust. Jonas Spahr, you are hereby relieved. Your term of service has come to its end. May you continue to pursue Valor in other capacities.”

Narrator 3 (Unnamed newscaster) “As a member of the sentencing committee, Notary Imelda Goldfinch also had these remarks on the redistribution of Spahr’s Valor.”

Narrator 2: (Goldfinch) “In light of your many years of exemplary service, rather than simply debiting your account, the Upper Trust has decided to give you the opportunity to instead donate your Valor to your successor, investing them with the power and resources to do what you could not. In this way, your legacy will continue to generate value for all Trustees.”

[The teletheric news program concludes with a brief music sting.]

Narrator 3: Spahr is standing at the door now, blocking some of the traffic of the movers to and fro.

Narrator 2: There’s just one last piece he needs to be ready to walk out the door here.

Narrator 3: He’s been putting it off.

Narrator 1: Spahr turns to a decorative marble bust, some ancestor of his, a decorative piece beside the front door. Draped around its neck, hanging upon its chest is his, Spahr’s, abacus.

Narrator 2: His NEW abacus.

Narrator 3: No longer composed of Valor, but of Caenum, instead.

Narrator 1: He lifts it reluctantly from the marble shoulders of the sculpture, and, with a heavy heart, places it on himself.

Narrator 2: And out he goes, exiting his house that is no longer his house.

Narrator 1: His usual ride, his bocular stallion, is not here awaiting him today.

Narrator 2: It’s not even his anymore.

Narrator 1: Someone else owns the stallion now. Oh, well. So instead, Spahr takes a stroll. He walks down the boulevard outside of his house and heads over to the local light rail station.

Narrator 2: The Highest Light Rail.

[All narrators chuckle.]

Narrator 1: Spahr gets to take the train like everyone else.

Narrator 2: People are definitely eyeballing him as he takes his seat on the train.

[The smooth hiss of an efficient and modern locomotive arrives, doors opening.]

Narrator 1: He does not look back. He maintains composure, gazing out the window stoically.

Narrator 3: Some people point and whisper.

Narrator 2: He hears occasional words, snippets of whispered conversations. (Unnamed Trustee) “That’s him!”

Narrator 3: (Unidentified Trustee) “How does he show his face?”

Narrator 2: (Unidentified Trustee) “I thought he’d be taller.”

Narrator 1: (Unidentified Trustee) “Hey, look at his abacus.”

Narrator 2: (Unidentified Trustee) “Is he still with the Company?”

Narrator 3: (Unidentified Trustee) “Do you think that’s him?”

Narrator 1: Nope. Don’t need to worry about any of that. What a nice view today. Wow, look out the window. Let’s look out the window and not listen to any of that. We don’t notice any of that. Spahr is fine.

Narrator 2: The train glides between stations, snatches of the glittering cityscape flashing by outside.

Narrator 3: Spahr is kind of disassociating here. You would too if you had just been deeply fired.

Narrator 2: The city glides by, but he doesn’t really see it, for as much as he’s fixedly staring out the window and not making eye contact with any of the other passengers on the train.

Narrator 1: Oh, just kidding. He’s definitely, he’s totally paying attention to what everyone around him is saying. How can you not? It’s—

Narrator 2: It’s hard not to.

Narrator 1: It’s unavoidable. Passengers are embarking and disembarking at different stops as they come and go. Newcomers again get their first glimpse of him, and the hushed murmuring, the gossiping, the whispering around him continues.

Narrator 2: (Unnamed Trustee) “Isn’t this like the second Prime Consector in a row to get fired in some kind of scandal?”

Narrator 3: (Unnamed Trustee) “Oh shit, yeah! Costigan was replaced by Spahr after THAT whole debacle.”

Narrator 1: The doors open, the doors close, the train continues to move. Station after station. Passengers boarding, passengers departing.

Narrator 3: The sounds of that morning’s teletheric transducer pronouncement continue to haunt him, emitting over station loudspeakers, playing from people’s portable transducer devices.

[The sound of the teletheric broadcast rises and falls with the train’s progress from station to station]

Narrator 2: He can’t escape it.

Narrator 1: (Fleit) “No longer prime Consector of the Consectorial Company of the Trust…”
The train glides into the Heights Crossing station. Passengers arrive, passengers depart.

Narrator 2: (Unnamed newscaster) “…Jonas Spahr’s removal from office, Trustees may well be wondering what lies ahead for the leadership of the Trust. With the current state of Valor, this is a very delicate time for all account holders.”

Narrator 1: And the train glides on.

[Train ambiance ends with a decisive door’s hiss.]

Narrator 2: Spahr finally disembarks at the Central Vault station and continues from here on foot down the marbled stairs of the city center, between the hedges and fountains.

[City ambiances fill the air, water fountains gently burble and sluice.]

Narrator 3: He enters a enclosed skybridge and, as he emits from the far end, he sees the Central Vault on full display at the far end of a wide parade ground.

[A distant marching band is heard to play, crowds milling, conversing.]

Narrator 2: The crowds are much denser here. Most people are walking the same direction as he is.

Narrator 1: (Unnamed newscaster) “…weather on the horizon. A new Prime Consector has yet to be selected and we go now to reporting live from the seat of the Upper Trust at the Central Vault. A major public announcement is shortly to be delivered on the future of the Trust’s leadership. It is currently a beautiful morning in the Highest Light as crowds gather…”

Narrator 2: Spahr moves through the growing crowd, all converging outside the Central Vault, and takes up his position amongst his fellow Company officers at the front, as a grand solemn procession approaches them.

Narrator 3: A beautiful morning it may be, but there’s some inclement weather on the horizon. A bank of dark storm clouds distantly visible through the glass dome of the plaza, staining the otherwise perfect brightness of the Un.

[Distant thunder.]

Narrator 1: A phalanx of Company stand at attention, Spahr now among them, watching their arrival.

Narrator 2: The rest of the Company is a bit awkward around Spahr. Everybody’s awkward around Spahr today.

Narrator 1: Or maybe it’s him. Maybe he’s awkward.

Narrator 2: Maybe HE’S the problem. In any case, all the weird looks he was attracting on the train, it’s not stopping. He continues to attract strange, standoffish, awkward, wary looks.

Narrator 3: (Unnamed Company member) “Excuse me Consect— ah, Spahr, um, could you step aside please?”

Narrator 1: He has a position here now amongst his former Company members, just standing in their normal ordinary ranks. He is not in charge.

Narrator 2: He takes a deep breath, looks straight ahead, out at the crowd, and his gaze happens to fall upon a familiar face. Former Prime Consector Costigan, his own boss, once upon a time.

Narrator 3: She’s there in the crowd, looking pretty serious and stern.

Narrator 2: As befits an important governmental assembly like today.

Narrator 3: Their eyes meet and she gives him a sort of small nod. She tips her chin up as though trying to communicate, you know, ‘Keep up appearances, buddy.’

Narrator 1: He’s trying his best. He’s doing okay. He’s fine. He’s just great.

Narrator 2: A troop of Upper Trust dignitaries, including, namely, Imogen Loxlee, Senior Notary Milton Fleit and Imelda Goldfinch, now step forth onto the sweeping front stair of the Central Vault, looking out across the lawns and the promenades where the public stands waiting.

Narrator 3: Imelda’s abacus is looking a little lighter for wear than those of her companions. Her once broad notarial sash, wide and gleaming, has become a slender string of pearls.

Narrator 2: But she wears it with pride all the same.

Narrator 1: Imogen Loxlee herself takes the stand,

Narrator 2: glittering in tasteful Valor, as always.

[The crowd’s murmur recedes as Imogen Loxlee speaks.]

Narrator 3: (Loxlee) “Good morning, everyone. This is a unique occasion. We face an uncertain and difficult moment. The flow of Valor has been interrupted by a wave of Caenum so vast and bleak that even with all our best minds and best efforts directed towards solving it, we remain hampered by the conventions of process and procedure. Every moment we spend deliberating, the problem grows worse. It is because of this emergency that the Upper Trust, the Central Vault, and the Company have approved a course of action to help this difficult moment to pass. For the good of the entire Trust, we are temporarily appointing a single leader to unite and guide us to a better tomorrow.”

Narrator 2: She shuffles the note cards in her hand, taps them into a neat square against the surface of the podium.

Narrator 1: (Loxlee) “His unique… qualifications and insights have guided us to the correct solution. And so empowered with this new office, shall pursue a course-correction both efficient and immediate. His contributions and actions have elevated him to a Valorous balance exceeding even my own, Valor that has been further bolstered by generous donations from many Trust officials. It is my… high honor to present the Trust’s newly most Valorous citizen: Tripotentiary Moc Weepe.”

[A deep, sonorous version of Weepe’s theme.]

Narrator 2: And there he is. He is revealed, stepping forth for his…ascension? Coronation?

Narrator 1: He approaches the stand, wearing sunglasses to protect him from the bright unlight and heavy vestments. He adjusts the mic stand up about a good foot.

Narrator 2: He does a little wave.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Hi. How do you do, the Trust?”

Narrator 3: The crowd is silent.

[The crowd, indeed, is silent.]

Narrator 2: Zero reaction.

[A cough.]

Narrator 1: Somebody coughs. Somebody next to Spahr says, “What the fuck?”

[Weepe’s theme continues.]

Narrator 2: So, this is the first time Weepe has appeared before the general public ever since his recent… cosmetic changes. Only the Upper Trust has seen him until now. Since he’s standing at a distance, and is thoroughly garbed in ceremonial vestments, they can’t necessarily see ALL the grisly details of what’s going on, but they can still tell that something is WRONG with this guy. Even mild Fold-related conditions are relatively rare to see in the Un, but whatever THIS is, is on another level of weirdness. Spahr, for his part, is painfully unsurprised by any of this. Weepe’s appearance is the least of his concerns. That’s not to say he ISN’T concerned about it, considering it’s kind of his fault.

Narrator 1: If he hadn’t been so concerned about Valor, Valor he ended up losing anyway, he could have stepped in. He could have stopped the horrible chain of events that led to this moment. Well, too late now.

Narrator 2: Weepe continues.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “It is my purpose to restore the Trust to equilibrium, an action I’m executing swiftly and decisively. Don’t worry about a thing. We got this economic problems well in hand and a nice uh… solution is on the way. We will have things back to normal in no time, or my name isn’t Moc Weepe.”

Narrator 2: Ah, wonderful. Well, that’s good.

Narrator 1: Great. This is terrific. No more economic problems.

Narrator 2: They fixed it!

Narrator 1: Thanks, Weepe.

Narrator 3: You heard it here, same as everybody else.

[The pomp and celebration of the marching band’s music picks up again.]

Narrator 2: With that, Weepe is ordained Tripotentiary and presented with a special ceremonial abacus, a large bib necklace of ultra rare, ultra high denomination Valor beads, forming the shape of the Trust sigil, spilling down across his vestments.

Narrator 3: There’s this little rigamarole of all the dignitaries sort of placing their hands upon him, donning the bib, clasping it just so.

Narrator 1: There are these sort of production associates running around indicating that the audience should clap, please. Clap now. Cheer. Nobody wants to cheer. What in the hell is going on?

Narrator 2: Outside the glass enclosure high above them, the bright unlight is starting to get a little bit darker as these storm clouds that we’ve been mentioning start to blow in closer and closer, the outer walls buffeted by an oncoming blustery wind.

Narrator 1: It is very clear to Spahr standing here amongst the Company, looking out at the assembled populace, that, uh… people aren’t really into this.

Narrator 3: There seems to be a little bit of discord starting here and there. Someone even shouts out, (Unnamed Trustee) “This is bullshit!”

[The crowd’s discontent grows, first just background conversation din, but slowly rising to angry, raised voices.]

Narrator 1: But this is a public event. The media are here, we can’t have this kind of thing, and discord is not what the Trust needs at this particular moment. So these objections are quickly shut down by the Company.

Narrator 2: Little groups splinter off to deal with various pockets of misbehavior as they pop up.

Narrator 3: Spahr considers helping, but at a terse shake of the head from a Company lieutenant, he’s dissuaded. HE would only make things worse.

Narrator 2: The newly disgraced ex-Consector? People aren’t going to listen to him. So he just stands there, staring straight ahead, grimly silent.

Narrator 1: The crowd is visibly disgruntled. So maybe a voice of reason would be great right about now. Why, the Trust seems to have just the person for the job.

Narrator 2: Oh, who’s that taking the stand now?

Narrator 1: Imelda Goldfinch takes the mic to deliver the fine print for this big announcement.

[The crowd din diminishes.]

Narrator 2: Imelda reaches up to where Moc Weepe had lifted the microphone and pulls it all the way down to the lowest level, where she can speak more comfortably. (Goldfinch) “Thank you. The Trust has always been supported by three pillars: the Prime Consector of the Company, the Senior Notary of the Central Vault, and the Most Valorous of the Upper Trust. But as Mrs. Loxlee so rightly said, in these unprecedented times, this kind of division can no longer serve us. We cannot afford the slow, inefficient leadership of yesterday, not if the Trust is to survive. We need something new. We need a Tripotentiary. Let me assure you, while this measure may be unprecedented, it is not unsupported by the strictures and policies of notarial practice as it relates to periods of economic upheaval. All the relevant laws and subsections will of course be made available for public verification. And remember, this is only temporary. It shall remain in place only so long as it is beneficial. What is clear is that things cannot remain as they are now. We all deserve better.”

Narrator 3: Honestly, what Imelda is saying is kind of resonating with the crowd. Some of the dissent seems to be calming down. This is relatable to the human experience here in the Highest Light.

Narrator 2: Things HAVE been really shitty. They DO deserve better. They want things to be better, and fast. And if this will help make that happen… sure?

Narrator 3: Why not? It can’t be worse, right?

Narrator 1: Oh, it could be!

Narrator 2: Shhh, spoilers!

Narrator 1: But hopefully it won’t be! Hopefully it’ll be fine. Everything will be great. Just wait and see.

Narrator 2: (Goldfinch) “But, rather than looking at this from the point of view of a notary, let us hear the truth of things from the beloved voice of the teletheric himself, Jedediah Pom!”

Narrator 1: The famous voice of the teletheric indeed, Jedediah Pom himself, makes his way toward the dais from where he’d been sitting in the crowd. He’s not a member of the Upper Trust, so he has been standing amongst the public for now.

Narrator 2: Accompanied, as usual, by his trusty (ha) intern ‘Backpack.’

Narrator 1: He passes by Spahr on the way, circling around the Company. And in doing so, pauses for just a moment, he—

Narrator 2: —leans into him conspiratorially.

Narrator 1: (Pom) “Spahr, I always thought you’d be my last Consector, but not for these reasons.”

Narrator 2: Gives him a little clap on the shoulder.

Narrator 3: Pom takes to the stairs, shuffling some more papers he’s obviously been handed by the Upper Trust. God, they really want to control the narrative here, don’t they?

Narrator 2: Backpack dials in some microphones and plugs in an audio cable as Pom prepares to begin his speech.

Narrator 1: (Pom) “Dear compatriots, this is my final broadcast. Rumors of my impending retirement have in fact been true. [Exclamations of dismay from the crowd.] It has been my distinct pleasure and honor to voice the Valorous adventures of many Prime Consectors in my three decades of service. [A sentimental, wistful melody accompanies the speech.] To travel the cosmos, and tell the peaks and valleys of current events. From the Trust’s most inspiring triumphs to our most disheartening setbacks. I have seen firsthand the selfless bravery and limitless compassion of our people. Ours is a society that strives ever toward goodness, to be the best that we can be. We want to do more good than harm in this life.” He adjusts his microphone, looks at his papers.

Narrator 2: The crowd listens solemnly.

Narrator 1: He glances at Backpack. She gives him a thumbs up. They’re rolling. Pom is a little—

Narrator 2: This is an emotional moment for him. The culmination of a long and glorious career, and under such unusual circumstances.

Narrator 1: He’s never cried on the air before. Today’s not going to be the day. Fuck, look at all those people staring back. He clears his throat. (Pom) “Excuse me. But what great adventure is free from challenge? Where one chapter is ending, another begins. The page is turning, mine and yours.” Ooh, people are listening now. He’s like Mr. Rogers. He’s the David Attenborough of the Trust. He is well-known.

Narrator 3: He’s a beloved household voice. The sort of person you would gather around in the evenings over dinner and listen to.

Narrator 2: And it’s weird for people to realize that they’re never going to hear his voice again in the same way, over the waves.

Narrator 1: They know it. He knows it. The crowd is quiet, listening, waiting, attentive. (Pom) “The Trust is not some abstract thing, some great cosmic construct that floats or sinks and takes us all where it goes. The Trust is us, standing here in this city, or listening to this broadcast from wherever you may be. WE take it where WE go. There will come a day when the challenges we face now will be but memories. The hard times, stories that we can tell our children. Today’s hungers, tears, strains, and toils, the tools we use to build a better tomorrow. But until that day, we must hold together. And we shall make it yet.” [An emotional cheer from the crowd.] People in the crowd are crying. Oh, this is going well. Pom puts his papers aside. This last bit is from the heart. (Pom) “We will write a brave new chapter. We will make it grand indeed. We will tell a story worth remembering, of togetherness, of truth, of… Trust.” He looks out across the crowd one final time and raises a hand. (Pom) “This has been Jedediah Pom, signing off.”

[The wistful tune having reached its crescendo, the cheers of the crowd begin to wind down.]

Narrator 2: And this concludes the assembly. The crowd begins to disband, the ranks of the Company begin to dissolve and file away.

Narrator 1: The crowd begins to disperse as Spahr stands motionless.

Narrator 2: The Company officer in rank next to him, Gretel, gives him a little nudge. (Gretel) “You haven’t said a word this whole time, Spahr. Any thoughts on all this?”

Narrator 3: Spahr, still gazing evenly out over the disbanding crowd, blinks, and says (Spahr) “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

Narrator 2: And as the Company is dismissed, Spahr departs along with the rest of them, going where he is told.

[The final chord of the melody resolves, and fades away.]