Kore

"Over there should be good," Ket Sal said, blowing a cloud of glittering smoke from between his lips.

Maít and the Scion watched, both of them smoking expensive Mars-smuggled cigarettes, as Ammit hauled Az-Azsad to the corner of the Cloud Gorger's cargo hold. And then, of course, the beatings began, steady and measured and rhythmic. Ammit was just as deft a hand as Gaun, if not more so, and though she broke nearly every bone in the ganglord's body he neither perished nor fell unconscious for the entire duration of the experience. And all the while Kore was somewhat disturbed to see Ket Sal and Maít observing with calm, impassive expressions, their hands nevertheless clasped tightly together. She wondered, to herself, just how many beatings the pair of them had overseen before.

"That's good," Ket Sal said, finally, and the Se-dai stepped back at once. Az-Azsad was now little more than a miserable wreck of broken bones and ruined flesh, and his bloodshot eyes tracked belatedly as Ket Sal strode over with hands thrust casually into his pockets. The Scion looked down upon the Vzngtchian ganglord and did not smile.

"You blew it," Ket Sal told him, his voice muffled by the cigarette between his teeth. "You had a pretty sweet deal, after all. The Emperor was content to let you merge with the Tenko Family in peace, rather than simply eradicating you outright. You could have ruled Horstchia-12 just as you did before, albeit under a different title and albeit subservient to the planetary governor." He leaned forward, blew out another cloud directly into Az-Azsad's disfigured face. "That deal no longer exists. The Jade Emperor barely knows who you are, Az-Azsad, and thus your life now belongs to me. And I intend to-"

Without warning Maít strode forward, jerked the las-pistol free from Ket Sal's holster, and shot the Vzngtchian ganglord right through the eye – the same eye Gaun had taken from her.

The ganglord seized, tensed – and then, with a final shudder, he fell backwards and went entirely still.

If Ket Sal was upset, he didn't show it. The Scion just shrugged, put an arm around his wife, and held her close. "That's that, then," he declared, and so it was.

Kore, who had been tasked by Jaheed with overseeing this grim procedure, now stepped forward, pulling her cap down over her eyes and clearing her throat. "Do you have any further need of the body?" she asked, stifling her unease down beneath the usual veneer of stoic professionalism.

"Not at all," Ket Sal replied graciously, turning to meet her hooded eyes. Bruised and cut-up as he was, already the man who stood before her now was almost unrecognizable from the pitiful specimen she had found in that cell. Maít, too, was standing tall and proud, though the right half of her face was wrapped in a makeshift eyepatch. "Ammit will see to the disposal of our trash." And the Se-dai did just that, hefting the dead man over her shoulder and striding away without a word – headed, no doubt, for the nearest airlock.

"Well?" Kore asked, after a moment.

"Well," Ket Sal repeated, giving her nothing.

"What's on your mind?” Kore asked bluntly, unwilling to labor to shape the words into something more formal. Her only concern, in that moment, was what would be happening to Sekhmet next, and she had no patience for a verbal tête-à-tête with the triumphant Scion.

"Ha!" Ket Sal gave a dry little laugh. "A fair question. Wondering if I'm going to sell you out, are you?"

"Something to that effect."

"That's a reasonable concern," Ket Sal admitted, spreading his palms. "But no, Kore. I have no intention of stabbing you people in your collective backs."

"You'll keep her secret, then," Kore said coldly. There was no question as to whom her referred. "Despite the obvious danger."

"Danger," Ket Sal repeated, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He looked up, gave Kore a quizzical sort of stare. "What is danger, really? Keeping a secret? No, no. To me, now, danger is being forced to watch – helpless – while a man puts a knife to my wife's eye." At that, Maít said nothing but nodded her assent. Now, the Scion took a step forward, and his smile vanished abruptly as his face fell into faded shadow.

"Sekhmet killed Gaun, and all but handed me Az-Azsad on a platter," Ket Sal said, his voice dropping dangerously low. "I'll see the Domain burn before I sell her out."

Kore's expression did not change.

"You lie like you breathe," the Chief of Security said, speaking to a Scion of the Emperor as though he were a mere Lowborn. "You change your face at will."

"Ordinarily, yes," Ket Sal admitted, his tone lightening somewhat. "But my augments are entirely burnt out. This," he waved a hand over his face, "is the real me." And Kore realized, then, for the first time, that she had hardly seen the Scion even smile since his rescue. Even when he laughed, he did so with a curiously neutral sort of expression, with mirth that reached his eyes and nowhere else. He had been plastering on false grins for so long that it seemed he had, perhaps, forgotten the nature of the gesture entirely. In that moment Kore could not help but feel a small pang of sympathy for this man of unfathomable power and wealth.

"Look," Ket Sal offered, putting his hands in his pockets. "You chose to take this gamble. You all knew the risks involved."

"We did."

"So, what more can I say?" Ket Sal shrugged. "I can only tell you that I am a man for whom wealth is no object; for whom mountains move at but a word. If ever there is anything that any one of you ever needs," he snapped his fingers. "It shall be provided for you. In a heartbeat."

There was a long, long, long pause between them. And then, finally, Kore reached out and extended her hand.

"Welcome to the Cloud Gorger," she said, simply. "For whatever that's worth."

"It's worth plenty," Ket Sal replied, giving a small – but genuine – smile.

----------------------------------------

Hours later, Kore was holding her hand when finally she woke.

It wasn't a particularly gentle process; nothing like how an ordinary human would emerge, bleary-eyed and blinking, from a long and fruitful slumber. Instead Sekhmet's eyes flashed bright silver and her entire body spasmed, once, and then she was sitting directly upright, eyes flickering wildly now. Kore knew from experience that the Se-dai's myriad systems were booting up one by one, flooding her vision with diagnostics and readouts.

Slowly, Sekhmet turned - saw the look on Kore's face - and gave her a weak smile.

"That bad, huh?" the Blessed Executioner deadpanned.

In truth, Sekhmet didn't look bad at all. Ammit had – without speaking, which put Kore quite ill-at-ease – carried her wounded cousin to Kore's bed, whereupon she had wrenched each and every one of Sekhmet's twisted limbs back into proper place. Beyond that the patches in her skin had healed rapidly, as had any bruising, and Kore had brushed her hair to the point where it almost looked kind of nice.

But then, of course, there had been the matter of her eyes – eyes wide open but pitch-black, dark and lifeless. And there was her blood, too, which Kore had never seen before and had never wanted to see before. But now she had indeed borne witness to a viscous, aquamarine-colored fluid that had been dribbling from the Se-dai’s right ear. Kore had dutifully padded it away with a cloth, then incinerated the cloth as quickly as possible. The last thing she needed was another reminder of Sekhmet's mortality.

Now, the Se-dai's hand was pulsing warm and vibrant in Kore's grasp.

"You look perfect, mon chéri," Kore said warmly, sitting forwards and kissing the rogue Se-dai on the forehead. Sekhmet leaned back into her pillow and smiled, either blissfully content or blithely amused by Kore's clumsy pronunciation. "Welcome back."

And then, without warning, it was though an invisible storm had passed over her. Sekhmet’s countenance twisted and suddenly she was hunched forward, sobbing – a phenomenon that could only manifest itself as full-body shudders, given that tear ducts were unnecessary for mechanical eyes.

"Je suis un menteur," Sekhmet wept, all but babbling now in a state of distress the likes of which Kore had never seen before. "Je suis un menteur, je suis un putain de menteur pitoyable. Je suis faible et je suis un échec..."

Kore knew about half of those words – and none of the important ones – but she didn't hesitate for even an instant to lurch forwards and wrap her arms tight around the trembling Se-dai. Just as she had expected, Sekhmet's skin was almost too hot to touch. The Se-dai was working herself up and her body was responding in kind and Kore really had no idea why but nevertheless she was stroking her hair, whispering softly and telling her that it was alright, that she was here, that they were safe. There was a time when Kore would have been wary at the prospect of an unstable, unpredictable Se-dai; that time had long since passed.

After several minutes had passed, the shaking finally subsided, and without looking Sekhmet made a small noise at the back of her throat – an indicator, Kore understood, that she needed physical space. Kore stepped back at once.

"...you know," Kore said, after a moment, because in all honesty she was extremely scared for her girlfriend and had zero fucking idea how to help her, "I'm pretty sure that was the coolest thing I've ever seen, back there. With Gaun. Where you like...teleported at him? What was that?" She forced a mocking grin. "Don't tell me-that wasn't for my sake, was it?"

“Of course it was, you moron,” Sekhmet muttered weakly, her voice but a dry-throated rasp. “Everything I do is for your sake.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” Kore quipped, trying to keep some semblance of joviality in her voice. But then the two of them were silent for some time – until finally, apropos of nothing, the Se-dai asked:

"Would you like to know how I was created?"

Kore truly had no clue what was going on. But she decided, then and there, with total and overwhelming conviction that she would stop trying to interpret and instead just sit there and listen to what the Se-dai had to say.

"Sure," Kore said gently, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. Sekhmet wasn't looking at her – she was staring straight at the wall as she spoke.

"Sperm from the Sovereign, and frozen eggs from the original twenty Se-dai," Sekhmet said, her words tight and clipped. "Mash those together, you get an embryo. And that's not-that's not me, mind you. Oh, no. They take a DNA sample from that particular embryo, then use that as the blueprint for vat-grown organs." She smiled without mirth. "The embryo, the real Sekhmet – they just incinerate her. Sekhmet dies, because they don't want or need her. What they want is..." She gestured limply to herself. "This thing sitting here in front of you. This shadow, this copy, this half-woman. An echo of the original."

Kore wanted to interrupt, to protest, to tell her that she strongly disagreed – but she had the discipline and the common sense not to interrupt.

"So, they have this mithril skeleton already waiting for them," Sekhmet went on. "Mass-produced, all identical. And these, the...we call them Bouchers, but in Common Tongue we say Fleshweavers – they graft raw biomass to that skeleton. And it grows, and shapes, and integrates, and you get this chimera of metal and flesh. All vat-grown or factory-made. There's a brain, of course, into which they program this and that. How to shoot every gun, how to pilot every ship, how to speak every language, et cetera. Years and years this takes. Then, when all's said and done, they seal the whole thing up in a final mithril carapace and then they grow all the other shit on top - synthskin, hair, teeth, fingernails. The extraneous details, because this thing is supposed to look like a person for fuck-knows why. And then..." Her lip quivered. "The Birth."

"Sekkie..." Kore began, gently.

"The first thing a baby does is scream," Sekhmet continued, her words growing louder and faster. Her eyes were glowing brighter and brighter. "Of course they do. It's horrifying, isn't it? To go from a dark, warm void to this fucking shithole of a reality. All the sights, the sounds, the smells, the shapes, it all hits them all at once. It’s too much information for any mind to possibly take in." Her hands curled tight into fists. There was a distinct creaking of metal. "Now imagine no womb. No warm void. Just non-existence," she snapped her fingers, "and then existence. Just. Like. That. In an adult body, with knowledge already in your head that you can't even begin to interpret or understand."

Kore fumbled for words, found nothing. “I-” she attempted.

"You can't understand it," Sekhmet snapped, her skull whipping around as she met Kore’s gaze head-on. Thin trails of steam were wisping from the corners of her mouth. "You can't even imagine the terror, the horror, and I'm grateful beyond all belief that you never will. You'll never know what it's like to be a thing that knows it should not exist!"

"You are not a thing!" Kore said sharply, unable to bear this talk in silence any longer. With every one of Sekhmet’s words, that cold fist was closing tighter and tighter and tighter around her heart. "Listen to me, Sekhmet-"

"I was created for a specific purpose," Sekhmet shouted back, hunching forwards. "If that purpose did not exist, then I would not exist. That is an objective fact!"

"But you left the Se-dai!" Kore protested, desperately. "You became your own-"

"I never fucking left," Sekhmet snarled, and at once Kore fell abruptly silent. The Se-dai was speaking now with such thick, tangible malice that anyone other than Kore would have taken a full step back, right then and there. But Kore refused. She would not abandon her, even by a matter of mere inches. She would not be moved from this spot.

"The Emperor knows about me," Sekhmet practically spat. "He knows us. And, in his infinite generosity, he has deigned to allow this thing-” she gestured to the two of them, to the room in which they slept night after night “-to continue.”

"What-when-" Kore sputtered, well and truly shocked. "Sekhmet, why didn't you tell me?!"

"Because I was ashamed!" the Se-dai roared. "I didn't fucking run anywhere! I'm just like everyone else – ‘All Within His Hands,’ right? The Grand Architect. All of us playing along to one man's selfish whims." She scoffed. "You know, Anansi could take you from me at any time. I'd be powerless to stop her. If he wanted it – if that was his particular whim, on that particular day –" And then, abruptly, the fight had gone out of her, and the Se-dai slumped down upon the bed. Her head hung low, and her hair framed her skull like a heavy curtain. She looked as defeated and exhausted as Kore had ever seen her.

"You don't know," she said, quietly. "What the Sovereign did to us. You don't know what it really means to be Se-dai."

"I don't," Kore admitted, slowly. And just slowly she stood up and made her way to the side of the bed. Reached out a hand - thought better of it. Instead, she tossed her cap aside and said: "Tell me about it, Sekhmet. I got all day to listen."

"I'm not supposed to-" Sekhmet muttered, looking away. Kore had never seen her like this before. Not just anxious or worried – but afraid. Terrified, even, of some nameless and invisible threat.

"You don't have to," Kore said gently, lowering herself to the bed beside the despondent Se-dai. She reached over, ran her fingertips down the arch of the Blessed Executioner's back. The Se-dai offered no protest. "But if you want to talk about it, Sekhmet, you don't have to be afraid to do so. You and me, we’re safe here. There’s not a force in the universe that can do us harm."

It took some time – but eventually, Sekhmet did indeed tell her. She spoke in low, hushed, shuddering tones, and she told Kore everything. Her entire history, from birth to first death. And, perhaps most importantly, she told her of the Sovereign.

By the end of it there were tears welling in Kore's eyes and a new understanding in her heart – and the seed of worry was joined now by another seed, one of low and burgeoning fury. Of rage, rage that was stoked and kindled by every cautious word that slipped from the Se-dai’s lips. Rage at the thought of the woman she loved enduring a life the likes of which nobody should ever have been forced to live.

"So, I mean…of course I left," Sekhmet said, finally. "How could I possibly do otherwise? It wasn't noble, or heroic, or some bold choice I made. It certainly wasn’t premeditated. It was just reflex, like an animal caught in a trap. Like prey. And then, well, I latched onto you because I had no purpose – and I have to have a purpose, Kore. Otherwise, I just don't..." She trailed off. "Why would I even exist?"

Later, in private, Kore would weep bitterly for that which she now understood. But at that moment she just took the Se-dai's face in her hands and told her, in no uncertain terms:

"You are everything I will ever need you to be," Kore told her, gentle but firm. "My beautiful, obnoxious, wonderful, stupid girlfriend. I'm not going to go on and debate whether you're human or a tool or some bio-robot chimera or what, because I know what you are to me. You're just Sekhmet." A pause. "And yes, I admit it: you are really fucking cool."

For a moment, the rogue Se-dai’s expression was unreadable. And then:

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

"I mean, I did just get my ass kicked," Sekhmet laughed, weakly, but the laughter was genuine and the tension had finally broken and so the two leaned against one another, fingers interlacing and chuckling quietly to themselves.

"What in the void are you talking about?" Kore countered, making a very serious face. “You obliterated that creepy bastard.”

"With a cheap move," Sekhmet granted. "Which, by the way, I very easily coulda killed myself doing."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't," Kore said magnanimously, ruffling her hand through the shorter woman's hair as she so often did. It was a sort of equalizer between them, of the nominally larger but physically weaker putting the Se-dai 'in her place’. She suspected that it made Sekhmet feel just a tad bit more human.

"Shit," Sekhmet muttered, rubbing sheepishly at the back of her neck. "Moving on to, uh, other topics. Ket Sal knows, huh?” Kore gave her a nod and a grimace.

"Yeah," Kore confirmed. "You blurted it out pretty much right away."

"Sorry," Sekhmet muttered, glancing away – uncharacteristically apologetic in the face of her blunder. "My blood was hot."

"Well, he says he doesn't care," Kore offered. "Which...could very easily be a lie. But he seems grateful to me. You saved his wife and his Se-dai, after all, and he seems to love ‘em both pretty dearly."

"Like some kinda weird-ass fuckin' family," Sekhmet agreed. "C'est vraiment un univers étrange. Ammit's like, what? His daughter? His second wife?"

"Fuck knows what goes on in that head of his," Kore laughed. "But we did the smart thing here, Sekkie. And we literally could not have done it without you, for whatever that's worth."

"I know, I know," Sekhmet said contentedly, leaning back against the headboard and closing her eyes. "I'm pretty much the best."

"You are."

"At everything."

"Uh huh."

"Including cards."

"There's probably some parallel universe where that's true, yeah."

Sekhmet opened one eye. "Don't be sarcastic."

"I'm not!"

"That scar on your cheek is really hot, by the way," Sekhmet said, apropos of nothing – to which Kore, who had forgotten entirely about the furrow left by a Vzngtchian melt-blade, reached up and touched gingerly at the mottled skin. "Don't you dare get that regrown."

"Quoi que tu dises," Kore recited, from memory, and the Se-dai rolled her eyes.

"You sound fucking ridiculous," she scoffed. "You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?”

“I know,” Kore replied happily, snuggling in beside the rapidly-cooling Se-dai. And in that moment, all the Great Domain ceased to exist. All save for the warm little pocket of space in that room. “I know.”

----------------------------------------

Jaheed

It was Maít, surprisingly, who came to see him first.

The brief face-to-face meeting between Jaheed and Ket Sal had been an awkward one, one of brushed shoulders and polite formalities and quick words of thanks and little else. Indeed, Jaheed had immediately cloistered himself up on the bridge with Tarsus and Diesch, leaving to the ever-reliable Kore the task of 'managing' the Scion and his family. It was Kore who had accepted Ket Sal’s thanks, and it was Kore to whom Ket Sal had promised riches and favor both. And all the while Jaheed - the silent benefactor, the orchestrator of the entire operation – had been absent.

"He's...nervous, if you can believe it," Maít said. At that Jaheed could not help but scoff. "Seriously. You should see him pacing, wringing his hands. It's ridiculous."

"Don't tell me he's feeling guilty," Jaheed deadpanned – but Maít did not smile. The Acolyte’s eyes narrowed. "Seriously?"

"He's a complicated man," Maít said simply. She smiled. "But he's not a bad person, despite himself. And he is – we are – profoundly grateful. We..." She trailed off. "You should hear it from his mouth, not mine." But still she reached up, put a hand on Jaheed's shoulder, and squeezed. "Thank you, Jaheed. You didn't have to do this."

Jaheed swallowed, nodded his head. "You're welcome," he said. And so he made his way down to the Gorger's dusty old bar – a place that was usually only frequented by Diesch, but that now played host to one of the most powerful men in all the Great Domain.

Ket Sal looked tired. His back was hunched, his coat hanging over him like a shroud, and in his hands were a cigarette and a half-empty bottle of Kerastian whiskey. The ashtray at his side was packed nearly to the brim with discarded, smoldering remains.

The floor creaked beneath Jaheed's foot – the Scion's yellow eyes fell upon him – and Ket Sal raised his glass in salute.

"Jaheed Vell," he toasted, raising the glass high. "The man I wanted to see dead."

"Didn't work out too well for you, did it?" Jaheed replied, with a touch of bitterness. But still he stepped forward, pulling out a stool and taking a seat beside the waiting Scion. Ket Sal shifted to allow the young man some room.

"Actually it did all work out, in the end," Ket Sal mused, staring at his own reflection in that green-amber bottle. "Despite my best efforts."

"I should have left you to your fate," Jaheed said simply. He said it because he deserved to say it, and had for some time now.

"But you smelled opportunity, didn't you?" Ket Sal said. "Powerful favors from a powerful man. You knew this was your best chance to prove yourself to the Jade Emperor, and so you shunted aside your pride and extended a hand to a hated enemy. And you did so to buy yourself this, right here – the conversation we're having at this very moment."

"That's right," Jaheed said, unapologetically.

"Let me tell you something, then," Ket Sal went on. "I don't care. Not one iota." He turned fully to Jaheed, and his yellow eyes were like twin suns. The heat of his stare was almost oppressive. "I thought Maít was going to die in that place. I failed her, Jaheed. I had to sit there and watch them take her to pieces and know that it was my fault, and that I was powerless to stop them." He took a long, long swig from the bottle, then gasped and wiped his mouth against a dark-purple sleeve. "You spared me that, and I don't give a single solitary fuck as to why. The star in my sky..." His hand trembled. "You brought her back to me."

"Fucking hell," Jaheed muttered, suddenly, and without warning he snatched up the bottle and took a heavy gulp of whiskey that burned like searing acid. And after a few more gulps, he slammed the bottle down with a long, sustained burp and demanded: "Well, what now?"

"I could offer you money," Ket Sal shrugged. "Ships, weapons, clothes, people. I can give you just about any material thing that exists in this Great Domain of ours. Or..." He put the cigarette back in his mouth, then extended a gauze-wrapped hand. "Partners."

"...in what sense?" Jaheed asked, eyes flicking from face to hand to face again.

"Do you want money, Jaheed Vell?" The Scion asked, knowingly. "Or do you want power?"

There was no need for Jaheed to answer.

"I'll open doors for you," Ket Sal said, understanding full well the look in Jaheed’s eye. "I'll make introductions. Drop your name in casual conversation with men who control the fates of galaxies. I'll be your benefactor, Jaheed," he blew twin trails of smoke from his nostrils. "I'll be the one in your corner until finally you have everything you've ever wanted."

"How generous of you," Jaheed remarked, his words only partly-sincere. Old habits died hard, after all, and the memory of Ket Sal's sneering face at the Vell family execution was a difficult one to ignore. In that response lie an obvious question – why not just pay me off and be done with me?

"I think I'd enjoy a long-term project like this," Ket Sal answered, casually. "For whatever that's worth."

There it was, then. An offer – not like the Emperor’s, wherein Jaheed was kept as a sort of amusing pet. This was an offer of genuine friendship, and of access to a world that until now Jaheed had only ever dreamed of. This was everything Kore had promised and more, and everything he had promised her in return.

This was why Serohn and Ketteres were dead.

"One more thing," Jaheed said, though nevertheless he reached out and shook the proffered hand. The Scion grinned – then arched an eyebrow, puzzled.

"Anything," Ket Sal offered.

Now, there was a shift. A silent, subtle, invisible yet immediately clear rebalancing of power as Jaheed leaned forwards, his own face falling into deep shadow as he said, in a low voice of dire import:

“You are going to tell me everything you know about Sain Sahd.”

----------------------------------------

Kore

That night, with Sekhmet clutched tight within her arms, Kore dreamt of sights and sounds beyond human comprehension.

It had been some time since the last of these strange dreams, since the days of the deception on Proxima. So long it had been – and truly, there had been so much focus on the work and so little time for thinking about anything else – that Kore had all but forgotten about them. She had forgotten about the strange, terrifying sights and sounds. She had forgotten visions of a thousand different Kores in a thousand different places doing a thousand different things, all of them her and yet somehow none of them her.

Tonight, she dreamt of Sekhmet. Sekhmet, who was in ruin. Sekhmet, the right-hand side of her torso ripped apart. Her arm, torn savagely away. A teal ribcage hung exposed to the open air, festooned with all manner of complex machinery and pulsing, throbbing grey-purple flesh. The skin from the right-hand side of her face had been torn away to reveal a grinning mithril skull, its teeth forever bared. A deep, warbling, utterly inhuman sound emanated from a mouth without a jaw – a mouth that just hung open and gaped. Kore saw eyes like a beast, like a wild animal's eyes. Frenzied. Feral.

The words ripped themselves from Sekhmet’s exposed throat - GIVE HER BACK.

She saw Sekhmet fall, too. Saw her drop like a puppet with cut strings. Saw her eyes dim and go dark. Watched her die, powerless and alone.

And as always, right at the end, there came the voice. The voice of nothing and nobody at all that told her, in no uncertain terms:

I don't know how to help you

Kore's eyes snapped open. There were tears running down the sides of her face. Then, at once, there came a terrifying realization: Sekhmet was gone. There was no warm presence nestled up beside her. Kore's arms were wrapped around naught but empty space.

Already having forgotten why she was suddenly so concerned for the Se-dai's well-being – for these dreams invariably slipped from her mind at the moment of waking – Kore sat straight up, eyes darting around frantically. Panic began to set in. She experienced an irrational, silly, and visceral fear that Sekhmet had never existed at all; that the woman she loved so dearly was nothing more than a figment of some long, strange, waking dream. Kore was on her feet, then, a melt-blade held backwards in her hand. She keyed the knife on, and the edge began to shimmer and ripple. Her heart was pounding. Her body was alert and activated and ready for a fight. Reacting as though it were in a fight. Kore's hand wrapped tight around the door-handle, and she prepared to charge out and meet whatever foe might appear.

Then, the ex-rebel stopped. Closed her eyes. Forced herself to take a deep breath. In, out. That was the way. There was no fight, no danger. This was the Cloud Gorger, still hurtling through Deep Space. Everyone here could be trusted, even the wretched Ket Sal. Sekhmet rarely slept, Kore knew, and often liked to prowl the Cloud Gorger in the twilight hours of artificial night. There was nothing alarming or unusual about this situation.

Reluctantly, Kore forced herself back to bed, thumbing the melt-blade off and setting it down on the nightstand beside her. Still within arm's reach, just in case. She re-fluffed the pillows, taking only two of the four – leaving Sekhmet a space on the bed, in case she decided to return. Settled down and pulled the blanket tight and bid her eyes close once more.

Yet still, she remained awake, for there was an undercurrent of troubled thought in the background of her mind that she simply could not expunge.

Sekhmet would come back. Sekhmet always came back. So what, she demanded to herself, am I so void-damned worried about?

----------------------------------------

Sekhmet

Eleven minutes ago, Kore's door had hissed open, and in an instant Sekhmet had been on her feet, teeth bared and eyes blazing, moving only as a Se-dai could – blindingly fast, yet leaving her slumbering partner entirely undisturbed. She held Kore's melt-blade in a backwards-handed grip, the weapon deactivated but just as dangerous, ready to hurl the weapon through the air and murder whomever dared intrude upon this sacred domain.

It was Ammit who stood in the doorway, clad only in baggy pants and a black bodyglove, seemingly unsurprised by Sekhmet's violent and sudden response. At once, Sekhmet was both irritated and embarrassed, and so – as she eyed her orthodox cousin warily – she offered only the following: "Could've knocked."

"I did not want to disturb your companion," came Ammit's flat reply. Nonplussed and unemotional as always. "Nous devrions aller parler,” she added. We should talk.

Sekhmet arched an eyebrow. "[What about?]" she asked, slipping effortlessly into the Ceres’ native tongue.

"[You,]" Ammit replied, as though that were obvious. And then the Se-dai was off, her footsteps sounding gently against the carpeted floor. Sekhmet glanced back at Kore's slumbering form – Kore who was currently drooling and mumbling something in her sleep – then, with an inexplicable pang of guilt, she turned to follow.

The Gorger was silent, save for a low and steady hum – one that was noisily omnipresent in the range of Sekhmet's enhanced senses. All the lights had been dimmed to better simulate what was nominally 'nighttime', and the ship felt now like a haunted, abandoned version of its old self. These were twilight hours indeed, hours in which Sekhmet ordinarily felt right at home. Not so, this time.

Ammit came to a halt at the observation deck, a small enclosure before which the vast canvas of Deep Space loomed. Inky black nothingness permeated by wild streaks of effervescent white; a stark and constantly-shifting painting to the enormity of It All. Something for spacers starved of any and all stimulation to gaze up at, in the worst throes of their malaise and madness.

Sekhmet leaned forward on the railing, sticking an unlit cigarette into her mouth – more to chew on, than anything else – while Ammit stood at rigid attention beside her, hands clasped firmly behind her back. Apostate and Orthodoxy indeed. Opposite and anathema.

"[You spoke with Anansi?]" Ammit said, after a long and awkward silence had passed. Though Sekhmet did not turn, she did deign to make eye contact with Ammit's reflection.

"[Anansi spoke at me,]" Sekhmet replied, and to her surprise Ammit actually gave a slight smile.

"[For all her virtues,]" Ammit agreed, "[she is a Se-dai with many faults.]"

"[She finds me disgusting,]" Sekhmet remarked ruefully. "[That much was made clear.]"

"[She has suffered greatly, and there will be more suffering soon to come,]" Ammit said, not apologizing. Just explaining. "[Anansi has chosen to carry a burden for all The New Blood.]"

“[The New Blood,]” Sekhmet repeated, snapping around and shooting her cousin a pointed glare. Le sang neuf. “[You used that phrase once before. Its meaning eludes me; speak plainly or this conversation is at an end.]”

"[I know you suffered at the hand of the Sovereign,]" Ammit replied, which was not an answer. Though, in truth, the moniker she used was le salaud – the Bastard. At the very mention of that particular creature Sekhmet stiffened, her mind and body both conditioned through years of experiences best left unspoken.

"[Who didn't?]" Sekhmet scoffed, more than a little defensively. "[Anansi had it worst of all. I have no right to complain.]"

"[Every Se-dai has a right to complain,]" Ammit snapped, with a sudden surge of aggression that caught Sekhmet entirely off-guard. And yet, once she recovered, this entire thing was finally beginning to snap into place. Sekhmet understood exactly what this was – and she wanted no part of it.

"[Is that what this is about?]" Sekhmet shot back. She was feeling angry and insulted and uncharacteristically insecure and, in truth, she couldn’t quite put a pin on why. "[You and I should whine about our lives as a collective unit? As ‘The New Blood?’]" She scoffed. "[No, thank you. I'm going back to bed.]"

"[Great change is coming,]" Ammit interrupted, which stopped Sekhmet dead in her tracks. Slowly, her head tilted to the side, and her fingers began to claw. She gave Ammit a low, dangerous look.

"[I know the dogma, just as you do,]" Sekhmet said. "[I know well of the Jade Emperor's ‘Great Undoing.’]"

"[The Jade Emperor has nothing to do with this,]" Ammit practically shouted - and that truly froze Sekhmet on the spot. That had her re-thinking every interaction she'd had with Ammit and Anansi both, since her self-imposed exile. That had her hand drifting to a sword that was no longer there.

"[This,]" Ammit declared, her voice thick with grave portent, "[concerns the future of all Se-dai.]"

"[Madness,]" Sekhmet hissed, with ever-rising vehemence. "[We are not a people. We are but tools-]"

"[What tool runs away?]" Ammit countered.

"[Don't presume to know me,]" Sekhmet said sharply. "[You know nothing.]"

"[You are a person,]" Ammit said. "[Just like me, just like Anansi. Just like all The New Blood.]"

"[Delusional.]"

"[You delude only yourself.]"

"[And what would you do?]" Sekhmet demanded, stomping forwards and putting herself right in Ammit's face. The opposing Se-dai did not flinch. "[Kill the Sovereign? Burn Ceres? Overthrow the order?]"

Ammit's expression did not change.

"[All with the Jade Emperor's approval, yes?]" Sekhmet added, words thick with sardonicism.

"[I am not one to repeat myself,]" Ammit finally rumbled back. "[The Jade Emperor has nothing to do with this.]"

"[Yet he supports your idiotic little movement all the same.]"

"[He supports Anansi,]" Ammit clarified.

“[And Anansi heads this New Blood of yours,]” Sekhmet scoffed. “[You are but a puppet of a puppet.]” And then she decided that she had heard enough. Without further ado Sekhmet stormed off, knocking shoulders with Ammit as she passed, and it was only when Sekhmet had reached the door that her orthodox cousin spoke up:

"[Anansi did not understand why you ran,]" she called. Sekhmet turned, furious, her eyes gleaming bright. "[But I do. And I weep for you, my sister.]"

Something angry and ugly flared up within Sekhmet, then.

"[I, too, am not one to repeat myself,]” Sekhmet snarled, her words dripping with bile. "[So I shall say this only once more: I. Did. Not. Run. Save your tears, cousin. I have no need of them. And, as for this pathetic little sorority of yours?]" Her nose wrinkled, and she turned sharply away. “[Just leave me the fuck alone.]”

Before Ammit could reply, Sekhmet slammed the door shut. And that was the end of that.

----------------------------------------

Kore

The Cloud Gorger's ramp hit the Panopticon's glossy onyx surface, and thus the crew’s seven-week vacation through Deep Space had come to a reluctant close. The crew disembarked as one great blob of camaraderie, with Jaheed and Ket Sal at the center chatting animatedly about the cuisine of Talos VI. The two had, to their combined surprise, actually found one another to be kindred spirits, and it was everyone else who found the Acolyte and the Scion irritatingly similar.

All were in relatively high spirits – all save for Kore, bereft of Sekhmet, who still nursed within her a small and silent seed of worry. Nevertheless, she was all business as she shadowed Jaheed, her cap pulled tight and her coat flowing freely behind her like a billowing shadow.

"Everyone," Ket Sal called, turning sharply on his heel, and the ramp was now his soapbox as all regarded the Emperor's first Scion. His yellow eyes flicked from one face to the next as, beside him, a black-suited attaché appeared carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle. "I would like, once again, to extend to each and every one of you my profound gratitude." Maít moved to join him, and he put an arm around his wife with a gracious smile. "Every one of you contributed in some way to preserving the lives of my family. For that, know this – if ever you face an obstacle in your lives that you cannot surmount, know that you will always have a friend in the Scion Ket Sal."

And that was that. Everyone stepped away feeling quite good about themselves – save for Jaheed, whom Ket Sal stopped at once with a hand on the shoulder. Beside him, his attaché extended the bundle.

"A gift," Ket Sal said, "for our mutual friend."

Puzzled, Jaheed took the offering - unwrapped it partly - and found himself staring down at a katana of exquisite make, one almost in perfect imitation of Sekhmet's weapon (which had all but disintegrated in the wake of the Seventh Vile Art). There was, however, one key difference – this blade was, rather than burnished steel, one of smooth and reflective onyx. It was a mithril-composite molecular blade, one capable of crossing even against the weapons of full-blooded Se-dai.

"I had it commissioned on the trip back to Mercury," Ket Sal said, as though that were somehow sufficient explanation.

"That's...incredible," Jaheed trailed off. "Where did you even find someone willing to fabricate such a thing?" Mithril composite was found on Ceres and Ceres alone, and the Fleshweavers were known to guard their secrets jealously.

"I have powerful friends in interesting places," Ket Sal winked. "Friends who would like very much for a Scion to owe them a favor. Yet the means matter not, in the end. She killed the cyborg Gaun in humiliating fashion. I would give her the world, were it within my power to do so." Then, his eyes flicked to Kore, who had been silently shadowing Jaheed the entire time. "Will this be to her liking?"

"She was pretty bummed about the sword," Kore confirmed. "She's going to be thrilled."

"Well, then," Ket Sal grinned. "Perhaps-"

And then, beside them, a hovercar skidded to a halt, and a Praetorian dismounted at once with a quarter of Centurions in tow.

"Jaheed Vell," the captain thundered, crossing his fists in brief, truncated salute. "The Seventh-Venerated Emperor requests your immediate presence at his Empyreal hangar bay."

"What?" Jaheed blurted out, eyes darting around. Ket Sal, too, frowned at that. "To what end?"

"There is work to be done," the Praetorian said simply. "You are to come with us. Alone."

"Might the man have a moment to collect himself?" Ket Sal interjected, stepping forward and facing the Praetorian without fear. The soldier just stared back, blank-faced and nonplussed. "This has been a long and difficult journey."

"The Seventh-Venerated Emperor was explicit in his instructions," the Praetorian intoned. "Jaheed Vell will come with us, whether by volition or by force."

Jaheed and Ket Sal exchanged a look – and then, Jaheed glanced back and met Kore's eyes. Silently, he stepped forward and pressed the bundle into her waiting arms.

"You remember what we talked about?" he asked, quietly. Kore's expression hardened, somewhat, and she gave a small nod.

"Are you certain?" was all she asked.

"After what he told me?" Jaheed glanced back at Ket Sal. "Absolutely. A man in my position must be decisive, Kore. And I have made my decision."

"Then consider it done," Kore said. "We'll be right here when you get back."

"Thank you," Jaheed said, turning away.

And then, well, that was that. Jaheed boarded the hovercar and was whisked away in the blink of an eye. Tarsus departed to requisition some tools and set to work repairing the Cloud Gorger. Diesch went to vanish into whatever alcohol-serving establishment he could find. Ket Sal, Maít, and Ammit all left with warm wishes and fond farewells. And thus Kore was left quite entirely alone.

Well, not quite entirely. With a sigh, the ex-rebel pulled her cap tight and ascended the gangplank once more, sword slung over her shoulder all the while.

She and Sekhmet had work to do.