On the stage, Octavia remains the picture of serenity as she orchestrates the congress.
Octavia: Ms. Recoleta, as a witness to the congress, you have the right to express your doubts—calmly.
Recoleta: Listen, you—
She recalls the complaints of her two former companions, the jailer's dismissals, and the confused expressions of every editor she has ever faced.
If she were to lay out every detail of her novel here and now, she would only get the same response.
Recoleta: huff No, it's nothing. It's just that I'd like to participate in the dice-rolling ceremony. May I?
Octavia: Of course! The very fact that you're standing here in the Panopticon proves that you share a common fate with it.
Recoleta surveys the prisoners waiting to cast their die. Their expressions are serene, untroubled, calmly awaiting their fate. The joys and misfortunes of those before them do not affect the long, winding queue in the slightest.
She takes a deep breath.
Recoleta: It doesn't matter when I roll the Die, since the rolls are simply a reflection of the randomness of fate, right?
Octavia: Precisely.
Recoleta: Then, I'd like to perform my roll after the 27th inmate. Is that alright?
Octavia: As you wish, Ms. Recoleta.
COMBAT
Octavia: It seems fate favors you, Ms. Recoleta.
Octavia: Here are your supplies.
Octavia: Please be sure to follow the distribution rules of the congress. This is an essential structure of Comala and a belief shared by all its inmates. Honor it.
Recoleta: Just as I suspected.
Recoleta: These supplies belong to me now, Octavia. I'm free to use them however I please.
Recoleta strides toward Edoardo, who has curled up in a distant corner, clutching his head, as his body trembles in silence.
Recoleta: Here, Edoardo, take them.
Inmate IV: ...?
Inmate IV: B-But I haven't fulfilled my destiny yet.
Inmate IV: These precious tablets and capsules ... I can't accept them. They are gifts from fate. The Die has placed them in your palm.
Recoleta: But I don't need them; you do.
Inmate IV: Th-Thank you, kind miss.
The prisoner's trembling stops. He blankly pinches his arm, as if trying to distinguish reality from dream.
Then, all at once, he snatches the medication from her hands and shoves it into his mouth.
Recoleta: Edoardo?! What's wrong? A-Are you taking the medicine right now?
Recoleta: There's no need to rush. There's plenty of it. You can have it all.
Inmate I: For goodness' sake, Edoardo! How could you squander fate's gifts like this?
Inmate I: Kind miss, please, give me the medication. I need them more than anyone else.
Inmate II: No, I'm the one who needs them most. Give me the medication. I beg of you.
Inmate II: With the protection of these amulets, I might finally be able to get a peaceful night's sleep, no more trembling floors and wailing ghosts.
The prisoners shove and struggle, countless hands reaching toward the hapless writer, trying to snatch the small round pills of salvation.
Octavia: Enough! Enough!!
A blue glow spreads through the room, forcing the prisoners to clutch their heads and fall down to their knees. Their riot comes to an abrupt halt.
Octavia: You shouldn't have done that, Ms. Recoleta.
Octavia: Your ignorant generosity could shatter the very basis of our survival.
She steps toward Edoardo, now writhing in pain, and picks up a few stray capsules scattered at his feet.
The pills dissolve into a stream of voided sand, vanishing as it pours through her fingers.
Octavia: We have never had such chaos at the congress. Understand this: We rely only on the randomness of fate to distribute supplies and assign responsibilities.
Octavia: If you disrupt this status quo, the entire system of the Panopticon will collapse beyond repair.
Octavia: It is only by respecting the arbitrariness of fate and adhering to the rules of the Die of Babylon that we have kept this place functioning all this time.
Recoleta: The Die of Babylon?!
Recoleta: Tell me, how did you know this name? Are you the one orchestrating this whole thing?
Recoleta, equally confused and furious, grabs the hostess's collar.
Recoleta: C-Could it be? Are you Aleph, just as Vertin suspected?
Octavia: Let go of me, Ms. Recoleta! Have you gone mad?
Octavia: The roll of the Die is absolutely random. I'm not orchestrating anything. Before the congress began, I made an oath. I intend to keep it.
Vertin: Please, calm down, Ms. Recoleta. I think she's telling the truth.
She lets go of her grip as the reality of their situation dawns on her.
Recoleta: S-Sorry, Octavia, but, please, you have to tell me how you learned about the Die of Babylon.
Recoleta: I must know. Only my pen pal and I should have any knowledge about this die.
Octavia: I heard about it from the Physician. He described it as a symbol of collective consciousness that we could harness to maintain immaculate order in the Panopticon.
Octavia: The Comala Congress was coined, iterated, and perfected by the Physician based on this concept.
Vertin: The Physician again. Everything eventually leads back to him, just as we suspected.
Recoleta: I see.
Recoleta casts her eyes over to the silent jaguar, who has remained wordless from beginning to end, watching it all unfold.
Recoleta: Jailer, we have to meet with the Physician in person, now.
Jailer: As I've told you many times, Dr. Merlin is too busy at the moment.
Jailer: I couldn't possibly trouble him over a novel and a pen pal. They're just fantasies.
Vertin: Couldn't you make an exception?
Vertin: What if they're not just fantasies? What if they're tied to the very survival of this place?
Vertin: Ms. Recoleta said the Panopticon could collapse because of the Die of Babylon.
Jailer: Are you seriously telling me you believe that nonsense?
Recoleta: It wasn't nonsense, nor are they fantasies! You saw with your own eyes how I won the die roll!
Jailer: It was just a coincidence.
The jailer's words are at odds with the subtle motions of her eyes and face. The Foundation's investigators seize on a prime opportunity to apply pressure.
Vertin: What if we present you with stronger evidence to prove it's more than just a coincidence?
Vertin: If everything in the Panopticon proceeds according to Ms. Recoleta's novel, as she says, she should be able to predict what happens next.
Vertin: Including the roll results of the "absolutely random" Die.
Recoleta: That's right! The Die of Babylon isn't random at all. It's nothing but a supercilious fraud veiled under the guise of fate, an enactor of the inescapable loop of history, and—
Recoleta: And not one of you is paying attention to me whatsoever. Ugh, to hell with this era of ignoring unknown writers.
Vertin: Ms. Recoleta, please make your prediction for the next inmate's die roll.
Vertin: This way, you can prove to Ms. Jailer the irrefutable connection between Comala and your novel, The Rise and Fall of Sanity.
Recoleta: You finally remembered its name! Oh, what sweet balm to my spirit!
Vertin: Ms. Octavia, please continue the congress, and let the next inmate perform their roll. Then Ms. Recoleta's statement will be proven true.
The hostess of the congress remains noncommittal.
Octavia: I appreciate the reminder. No matter the interruption, the Comala Congress must go on, though not for Ms. Recoleta's sake, of course.
Octavia: Next inmate, please.
Following the die's designated order, the next prisoner steps forward to roll.
Octavia: Hello, Inmate García. You know what to do.
García: Of course.
Recoleta: "The 6th face. A broken pillar. The conflux of fortune and calamity."
Recoleta: So, the result of the next roll will be a 6.
Her prophetic precision plunges the Hall of New Encounters into breathless silence.
Octavia: As fate reveals, the number is 6.
Vertin: Just as Ms. Recoleta predicted.
Jailer: That could still be a coincidence. Do it again.
Recoleta: "The 13th face. A bewildering cadenza lacking a true beginning or end."
Recoleta: "The 4th face. A drowning man used the last of his strength to swim to safety, only to discover he'd mistaken a mirror for the surface of the water."
Recoleta: "The 17th face. He limped toward the distant oasis, only for the faint moisture and eerie stillness to cruelly reveal it as a mirage."
Recoleta: "The 6th face. Another broken pillar, with identical cracks to the last. It confirmed the Paracausality Researcher's hypothesis—this place used to be a circular building."
Recoleta: Is that enough? I've almost finished the entire chapter.
Octavia: It's not possible.
One "coincidence" after another begins to stir into an uproar.
The coincidences appear endless.
Octavia: Who are you?
Recoleta: I'm sorry if this comes as a shock to you, but I did warn you, Octavia.
Recoleta: Now, it's proven. The Die of Babylon is anything but the so-called "randomness of fate."
Octavia: Have you been sent here by some god, or are you a Hopi prophet?
Octavia: Have you brought this knowledge to save us, or to shatter our beliefs, our world?
A question destined never to need an answer. She lets her eyes fall into the cardboard box and onto the twenty-sided die. The ridiculousness of its nature becomes starkly visible.
Octavia: What is this thing in my hand? What are we? What is this prison?
Jailer: I don't know if it's some kind of sorcery or arcane skill, but it's unfathomable.
Jailer: I'll take you to the Physician. Not because of your earlier request, but because the situation has escalated beyond my means.
Jailer: The overseer of the Panopticon will decide how to handle your situation.
Vertin: To be honest, Ms. Recoleta. I wasn't sure you'd be able to correctly predict everything.
Sonetto: Timekeeper, are you saying that you risked everything on a hunch?
Vertin: It worked, didn't it?
Jailer: Come with me. Dr. Merlin's office is in the central tower.
For her part, the now vindicated writer follows at the end of the line, letting her mind race like a bullet train.
Recoleta: In the sixth version of my novel, everyone in the town dies because of the Die of Babylon, for only death can close the loop of history.
Recoleta: And Jailer, you're the Bank Clerk, right?
Recoleta: So, in the end, will you also have a meltdown, like the Bank Clerk does, when he realizes that he and the Dune Piscator are the same person?
Recoleta: If all of this is tied to The Rise and Fall of Sanity, then, as its creator ...
Recoleta: I will get to the bottom of this.