Jaheed
After a long meeting with the Emperor – wherein the Grand Architect spoke at length about civil war with the Se-dai and the Crimson Emir both, whilst his acolyte struggled to listen – Jaheed and Kore found themselves walking down one of the Panopticon's many, many, many identical onyx-marbled halls. Neither spoke, nor had Jaheed said a word to the Emperor beyond a few grunts and nods of assent. It was simply impossible to focus on anything other than the immediate future, even when talking to the ruler of all mankind. His body was on one track and his mind on another entirely.
And it was thus that, without thinking, he bumbled straight into the wrong room.
"My liege," Kore said quickly, at his shoulder – but in that moment Jaheed was entirely frozen.
He had stepped into a place replete with gilded finery; all manner of white and gold in stark contrast to the Emperor's beloved jade and onyx. These were the colors of the old empire, of Volsif XCVI. The entire place was a time capsule, one that felt almost out of sync with the rest of the wider world. And lounging there on the couch, flanked by a pair of grey-suited servants, was the most beautiful woman Jaheed had ever seen.
She had long black hair that collected on the floor like living tendrils and framed within it a pale, immaculately-sculpted face. Two golden eyes stared out, each laden heavy with dark-blue shadow, and about her skull there levitated a gently-rotating, gilded halo. Her very essence radiated grace and poise, a true avatar of nobility. To gaze upon her was to gaze upon a dream, fragile and impossible and terribly, terribly fleeting.
She was nothing short of otherworldly. And, for some reason, instantly unsettling.
"A thousand apologies, my lady," Jaheed said quickly, crossing his arms and bowing his head. This, perhaps, was a bit too much contrition, though when interacting with Highborn on the Panopticon it served one well to err on the side of deference. Impropriety was often punished with death, after all. "The error is mine – I'll be on my way at once."
"That's quite alright," the woman called – and her voice was a soothing, lilting chime that halted Jaheed in his tracks. He did not move and did not entirely understand why. Kore was at his shoulder, visibly uneasy, but for the moment his towering bodyguard might very well have never existed at all. Right now, this was the only place in all the universe – or, at the very least, the only place that mattered. "I don't mind visitors. On the contrary, I relish any opportunity to speak with a stranger." She smiled, exposing two rows of perfect white teeth. "There are so many familiar faces on the Panopticon. It is only inevitable that one tire of them.”
"Well..." Jaheed started, taking a wary step forward. Why was he getting closer, rather than just turning around and getting out? Even Jaheed could not have said. Beside him, Kore bristled but said nothing. "In that case, my lady, allow me to introduce myself. I am Jaheed Vell, Acolyte to the Seventh-Blessed Empyreal Jade Emperor."
"Acolyte," the woman repeated, her eyes twinkling. She did not introduce herself in return. "His latest project, then? How thoroughly amusing."
"It’s an interesting position, to be sure," Jaheed blushed, masking his embarassment at once with a false little chuckle.
"You must be exceptional indeed," the woman mused, leaning forward and resting her chin on one pale hand, "to captivate the attention of Doss himself."
And just like that, the spell was broken. Jaheed blinked, straightened, and then demanded: "Who are you, exactly?" Because there was not a soul on the Panopticon who would dare speak the Emperor's Lowborn name, save perhaps for his oldest and closest Scions. And this was no Scion. This woman was either exceptionally stupid or exceptionally powerful, and on the Panopticon it always behooved one's interests to assume the latter.
Power meant danger – and right now, Jaheed was fumbling in the dark, with no idea who or what he was up against. He needed to get out, and fast – yet an impolite departure could very well spell his demise.
"Oh, I’m nobody of particular import," the woman said with an exaggerated sigh, reclining back against the couch and flipping her hair over one shoulder. Her eyes were literally smoldering. "A socialite. A hanger-on. An impartial observer."
"You are Highborn?" Jaheed asked. The woman cast him a sly glance, which reached him like a dagger between the ribs.
"Do I look Lowborn to you?" she giggled. That question in no way necessitated an answer.
The small, quiet sense of danger mounting at the back of Jaheed's skull was growing more insistent by the minute. The acolyte bowed his head and began to move slowly, surreptitiously for the exit.
"A word of advice, if I may," he offered, at the doorway, before he could stop himself. The woman arched an eyebrow, as though this were all quite dryly amusing. "Mind your tongue when you speak of the Seventh-Blessed Emperor. That name is never to reach his ears – and the Jade Emperor hears everything, after all."
"He hears what he wants to hear," the woman scoffed, rolling her eyes. Even now, she seemed indifferent – as though even the Grand Architect was but a petty concern, one entirely beneath her. "Fret not for me, Jaheed. There is little I can do to anger him beyond that which I already have."
Jaheed, somehow even more puzzled than before, opened his mouth to speak, to inquire – and then, with Kore's hand tapping a warning against the small of his back, he just smiled and bowed a respectful goodbye. And then he was outside, and then the spell really was broken, and he was wondering what the fuck had just transpired.
"What the fuck was that?" Kore hissed, eyes darting back to the thankfully-closed door. Jaheed could only throw up his hands.
"We need to get back to the Gorger," the Security Chief said simply. “I don’t like having you exposed out here.”
And to that, there was not a mite of contention.
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Kore
They had been on the Cloud Gorger for approximately five minutes when Diesch broke the news: The Mondat had failed. Sain Sahd was alive.
Then, of course, all hell broke loose. Kore and Tarsus were arguing fiercely as Diesch continued to explain that, after a very public assassination attempt at a restaurant, Sain Sahd had been escorted away safely. Amongst the numerous casualties were a dozen civilians and, most notably, the Holy Se-dai warrior Hephaestus. At that, Sekhmet bowed her head and muttered something under her breath. Kore didn't have to guess what she was saying.
"As long as we're here, we're in danger," Diesch was insisting. "It won't take a genius to figure out who ordered the hit, and Sain Sahd is a voiddamned Scion. Mark my words, retaliation is coming soon."
"And? We've got Sekhmet," Tarsus pushed back, jerking her head to the brooding Se-dai. "She kills assassins for a hobby."
"He could hire the Mondat right back at us!" Diesch snapped.
"I got no problem killing Mondat," Sekhmet scoffed.
"Your cousin certainly did."
"I am not Hephaestus," Sekhmet snarled, rising very suddenly to her feet, and Diesch was apologizing at once with hands up in the air as Kore moved to put a hand on her girlfriend's shoulder, to steady her before things could go from bad to very much worse.
She was hilarious, had been Sekhmet's response, the previous night, to Kore’s question of whether she knew Hephaestus. Pretty good sparring partner, too. And that, Kore knew, was high praise indeed from her acerbic girlfriend. Now, Sekhmet’s old friend was dead and the target was alive and the crew were, indeed, all in a great deal of danger.
"We could lay low at Ket Sal's manor for a few days," Kore offered, less trying to solve the problem and moreso trying to diffuse the tension. The Scion did indeed have a heavily fortified mansion on the remote moon of Deimos; with Ammit and Sekhmet together, everyone’s odds of survival would be drastically increased. Even if the two Se-dai could hardly stand each other.
And then Kore realized that nobody had been looking at Jaheed because the Acolyte was hyperventilating, eyes wide with frozen panic, and so she surged across the bridge and took his hand and was speaking in a low, calm voice, doing everything in her power to be an anchor amidst a sea of anxiety and fear. And gradually the crew of the Gorger fell silent as their benefactor, too, slowly began to calm, his breathing leveling out and his eyes beginning to close. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he leaned back in his chair with a sigh and thanked Kore with a silent pat on the hand. He needn't say more to her than that, she understood perfectly well.
Jaheed opened his eyes.
"We're all in danger," he agreed, after a moment.
"Okay," Kore nodded, kneeling beside him. "What do you want to do about it?"
"My uncle has to die," Jaheed told them, in a quiet voice that was nevertheless harsh with resolve. His head turned, slowly – to meet Sekhmet's eyes. "I'm sorry to ask this of you," he began.
Sekhmet had spoken vaguely about their conversation last night, and Kore could see now that something truly had changed between them. Because Sekhmet, rather than offering an insouciant refusal – rather than making him work for it, at the very least – just nodded her head and said, "I'll take care of it, boss." The boss part was blatantly tongue-in-cheek, though still delivered with a faint hint of sympathy.
"Are you sure?" Kore asked – which was a question for Sekhmet and Jaheed both, for now Sekhmet would be rushing headlong into obvious danger. Into forces that could rip her away. Though Kore had long forgotten that terrible dream, the image nevertheless appeared in her head, unbidden: Sekhmet's near-skeletal form, chunks of her flesh missing as she howled like a thing from the depths of hell itself. Her face, partly torn-away to reveal a grinning mithril skull.
"I can do it," Sekhmet said, rising to her feet. She stepped over, kissed Kore on the forehead. "I'll be okay. I promise."
"Alright," Kore gulped, nodded – and then her expression hardened and she was all business once more. Not a woman, not a girlfriend, but a tool. An instrument. The Chief. She, too, rose to her feet, and now she towered over every one of her peers. "Diesch," she ordered, snapping her fingers. "We need Sain Sahd's whereabouts. Has he been relocated? Has he been assigned a new Se-dai?"
"I'll trawl the network, see what I can find," Diesch grunted, pulling up a tablet and setting to work at once. "Jaheed – can you ping me Ket Sal's number? Might need to lean on him for this one."
"You got it," Jaheed nodded, sending him the details with a trio of blinks. Just about all of them had ocular implants, now. It was part and parcel on Holy Mercury.
"Tarsus," Kore continued, turning to the erstwhile pilot. "We might need a fast exit."
"C'mon, Kore," Tarsus grinned. "Who are you talking to?"
"And you," Kore finished, rounding on Sekhmet, whose dour mood didn't stop her from giving Kore an exaggerated who, me? look. "You're not going out there in a tank top and jeans."
"You're six and a half feet tall," Sekhmet laughed. "You gonna lend me your coat?"
"Tarsus, you got a spare jumpsuit?" Kore called, ignoring the remark.
"Hanging in the boiler room," the pilot called back.
"So, what – I'm a mechanic now? A mechanic with a sword?" Sekhmet arched an eyebrow. At Kore's blank expression, she added, "Baby, things can go very wrong in the heart of the Panopticon. I'm not getting stuck there without my sword."
"Fine," Kore conceded, after a moment, burying her anxiety beneath layers of cold duty. "Go get dressed, Sekkie. I'll be waiting."
"You don't wanna come with?" Sekhmet teased – but Kore just snorted and turned away. Right now she was Chief of Security and nothing more.
Her eyes fell on Jaheed, then, and her heart caught in her throat. Because Jaheed didn't look miserable or sad or even anxious. The young man was sitting ramrod-straight, his gaze cast forwards, and his expression was as cold and resolved as any Kore had ever seen.
He had chewed up his guilt and swallowed it – just as she had on Proxima. In that moment, she had never felt sorrier for him.
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Hours later, the call came in, and Jaheed retreated at once to his private quarters with tablet in hand. He double-locked the doors and dimmed the lights, as though either of these things might somehow mask the terrible deeds he would sanction. Had sanctioned, in truth, because an incoming call from Sekhmet could mean one thing and one thing only.
He closed his eyes – took in a deep breath – opened, and accepted the call.
And there it was, then. Sain Sahd's face, a mask of agony, staring up at the recorder with dull yellow eyes.
Jaheed swallowed. His throat was dry. Suddenly, he had nothing to say.
"He doesn't have long," came Sekhmet's voice, from behind the camera. "Two minutes at most before he's gone. Whatever you wanna say, Jaheed, I suggest you say it now." And at that, Sain Sahd's eyes went saucer-wide.
"Wait-Jaheed?" he blurted out, amidst a wheeze of pain. "Nephew?!"
"Uncle," Jaheed greeted him flatly, forcing his voice to remain tight and controlled. This was the man who had betrayed him. This monster was no family at all.
"I don't-I don't understand-" Sain Sahd coughed, trying and failing to sit upright.
"Why?" Jaheed demanded, suddenly, the word having just ripped itself free from his throat. And then, far louder: "Why, damnit? What the fuck did I ever to do you? Was it because of my father? Was it Ketteres, or Serohn? You couldn't take your anger out on the Emperor, so you decided to take it out on me?"
"Jaheed-" Sain Sahd gasped. "What are you-"
"Or is that just part of being a Scion?" Jaheed shouted, and all semblance of control was gone with the wind by this point. "Cutting off every little weakness and connection, molding yourself into something hard and sharp. I understand that! But you could've just left me alone, Sain. You didn't have to-” His voice broke. “You fucking bastard, I thought you were proud of me."
"Please-wait-"
"All I ever wanted was to be just like you!" Jaheed roared, tears streaming down the sides of his face now. "You know what you told me, one night, that changed my life forever? You told me that Mom would've been proud of me. Father never spoke of her – never told me a damn thing a about her. But you knew her so well. And through you, I...I felt like I knew her, too." He blinked away the tears, pounded a fist against his forehead. "And now that I'm here, with you, the first thing you do is try to kill me. You tried to lure me to my death!"
"No!" Sain Sahd burst out, with such fiery and sudden desperation that Jaheed physically flinched. "Jaheed, what are you talking about?! I would never-"
"Your man handed me the note," Jaheed sniffed, clutching the tablet tight. "A note from you, to meet at a hangar where an ambush was lying in wait. Don't you deny it. Don't you dare."
"I'm on my deathbed!" Sain Said protested, a sentence cruelly punctuated by another hacking, bloody cough. "Why would I...lie to you? Jaheed...please..." And slowly, the old man's trembling hand reached up, as though it might somehow reach across the connection and make contact with his nephew's face. "I'm sorry, Jaheed. The way I spoke to you...I had to cut you off. It was for your own protection. But I never...you were like a son to me." He, too, was weeping now. "I was proud of you, Jaheed. I was so, so proud."
"But why-who-" Jaheed sputtered, too choked up to properly respond. The entire room was spinning. His ears were rushing. Everything was wrong and nothing made sense and his uncle was dying and it was all his fault.
"It could have been anyone that wanted to hurt me," Sain Sahd coughed. "Or the Emperor. And they used...my name? Bastards." His hand curled into a trembling fist. "I was such a fool," he wept, shaking his head. "I never should have scorned you. I'm sorry, my nephew. I'm sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry."
He was fading, now, his words growing slower and softer by the minute. And so the panic set in.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
"S-Sekhmet!" Jaheed stammered, shouting now. "Save him!"
"He's bled too much," came the Se-dai's curt response. "There’s nothing I can do."
"But there's-no! Surely there's something-"
"Jaheed," Sain Sahd whispered, reaching out with a bloody hand once more. Jaheed whimpered, wanting more than anything in all the cosmos to hold that hand and to be there and for this terrible, terrible nightmare to please just come to a close. He wanted to wake up in the real world, in his bunk, where everyone was okay and everything was alright. He wished and wished and wished and yet still he was right here, right now, watching his uncle bleed to death.
"You're gonna make it, some day," Sain Sahd said, in a voice that was little more than a low wheeze. "You're gonna do great things. Just don’t...don’t let this place…"
And then Sain Sahd fell silent, and spoke no more.
Jaheed stared blankly at the tablet screen.
Something broke inside him, then. Something critical, some load-bearing column essential to the concept of being a person. And his soul reeled at once, scrambling to fix that which had broken, and all it could come up with was something else entirely. No bridge across the chasm – but a narrow, winding chain of rickety old boards and stained, fraying rope.
Jaheed's expression hardened. He sat up straight and squared his shoulders, then reached up to wipe at the tears in his eyes. And then he asked Sekhmet, in a voice utterly void of even the tiniest emotion: "Were you seen?"
"No." The camera shifted, and now he was looking straight into Sekhmet's silver eyes. There was, he noted dispassionately, a great deal of uncharacteristic sorrow in her countenance. "Snuck in, killed eight Centurions, tripped zero alarms. I should be able to get out just as clean."
"Do it," Jaheed ordered. "Don't bother hiding the body. I want you back here as soon as possible."
"Will do, boss," Sekhmet acknowledged. And then, after an odd pause: "Hey."
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Jaheed grunted, switching the tablet off. And in short order he rose to his feet and stepped over to a full-length mirror. He straightened his collar, slicked back his hair, concealed his reddened eyes with carefully-applied makeup. He held up his hand, noted that it did not tremble. And finally he found himself looking at no man at all, but an edifice of cold rock, of something hard and sharp.
That would do.
He stepped outside and found Kore so close as to be practically eavesdropping through his door. She stepped back at once, startled – and then instantly her expression softened.
"Hey," she said, pulling him into a tight hug. Jaheed did not resist. "You're stronger than I am, you know that?" She stepped back, regarded him at arm's length. "Seriously. It had to be done, but…" Her expression softened even further. "I'm sorry it had to happen like this."
"Sain Sahd didn't order the hit," Jaheed told her. She blinked – then recoiled as though physically struck.
“What?" she blurted out – but Jaheed was already striding down the hall, forcing the Chief of Security to jog at his side.
"Tarsus!" he called, snapping his fingers. The captain, who had been lounging in the pilot's seat, was now alert and on her feet. "Set course for Deimos the moment Sekhmet boards."
"Aye, boss," Tarsus nodded, returning to the navigation console at once. Her fingers were flying about two holographic display panels as Jaheed continued and Kore followed, bedraggled and confused.
"Deimos?" Kore demanded. "Jaheed – talk to me, damnit!"
"We're going to see Ket Sal," Jaheed rounded on her, and the intensity of his gaze was such that Kore, twice his size, all but stopped in her tracks.
"You think he...?" she trailed off, momentarily lost for words.
"Sain Sahd had minutes to live. There was no reason to lie," Jaheed explained flatly. "But Ket Sal had motive plenty."
"Ket Sal is your friend-"
"Ket Sal is a Scion," Jaheed snapped. "They don't have friends. Now get to your post, and strap in. Diesch?" He keyed his comm unit. "You get all that?" Kore was staring at him as though he had sprouted a second head, which he pointedly ignored.
"Copy," came the response. From the bar, no doubt. "I'm already digging into everything we got on those Vren Clade assassins, trying to see if there's anything we missed."
"See that you do," Jaheed ordered, clicking the unit off. And then, he turned to find Sekhmet standing at the entrance to the bridge, looking just as confused as Kore.
"The hell is all this about?" she asked, eyes flicking around – which meant threat assessment, not bewilderment. The rogue Se-dai could smell the conflict on the wind, clear as day.
"Deimos," Jaheed told her simply, taking a seat at the captain's chair and using the display to look over Tarsus' shoulder, tracking the Gorger's various systems as she prepared to take flight. "You up for a fight?"
"Toujours prête," Sekhmet answered automatically. Jaheed didn't know that meant always ready – but he understood well enough. The point was moot, anyway, because Sekhmet would do as he instructed. It was Kore, now at his side, who seemed determined to fight him every step of the way.
"I think," she offered quietly, with no small amount of concern, "that this might be a little hasty."
"I'm entirely clear-headed," Jaheed told her, as the Gorger began to rattle and shake. A messy takeoff for an aging beast, as per usual. "If Ket Sal is the loyal ally he claims to be, he'll forgive at once my wild accusations in the wake of my uncle's untimely demise. And if he's not, well – I suppose we'll just see who has the better Se-dai, won't we?"
And then the Gorger was tearing into voidspace, and Jaheed was leaning back with eyes closed and mind entirely focused. Kore hovered by his side for just a moment longer – and then she stepped away, and Jaheed was alone.
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Ket Sal
Ket Sal's private estate was a thing of beauty – an elegant piece of construction hanging from beneath a sheer cliff face nearly a mile above the nominal surface, accompanied by a mighty waterfall that divided the manor neatly in two. It was a gorgeous and secluded place, deep in the jungle of newly-terraformed Deimos, and it had cost the man a fortune and a half to build.
The usual trio were waiting as the Gorger descended to the pad below – Ket Sal at the lead, smoking idly, with one-eyed Maít on one side and stoic, unhelmeted Ammit on the other. Ket Sal's jacket whipped madly back and forth as the Gorger's engines spat one final superheated breath, and then the landing gear were hissing in relief and the ramp was descending with an aging whine.
There came Jaheed, clad in a grey jacket over a dark sweater, his eyes locked with furious purpose. By his side was Kore, shotgun in hand, and Sekhmet – Sekhmet, out in the open, her hand resting quite pointedly upon the hilt of her sword. Immediately, Ammit saw that her cousin was spoiling for a fight, and immediately she took a single step forwards, blocking line of sight between Ket Sal and the itinerant Se-dai. To her liege, she signaled surreptitiously with a hand behind her back: Danger imminent. Something is wrong.
Though he continued to appear comfortable and at-ease, Ket Sal blinked twice in rapid succession, signaling his acknowledgement. In this, he would defer to Ammit's judgement, which he knew brought the warrior great relief indeed. Some Highborn were hopeless to try and protect; Ammit and Ket Sal were a genuine team of two, communicating seamlessly in a silent language of their own devise.
At any rate – Ket Sal could smell it too. Something was dearly wrong here. Nevertheless, he queued up his most congenial smile and spread his hands, though he was careful not to step forward and break Ammit's invisible radius of protection.
"Jaheed!" he called warmly, arms still spread. "Welcome to Deimos."
Jaheed didn't respond. He just reached into his jacket, pulled out a sleek las-pistol, and leveled it right at the Scion’s face. And, of course, his wrist would've been severed in the blink of an eye – had Sekhmet not leapt forward at once, sword unsheathed, and Ammit not been forced to intercept. Now, Ammit's blades were crossed against Sekhmet's own, and there was a mighty shower of sparks as mithril ground against mithril. Each Se-dai struggled with all their strength as their heels dug long, deep furrows into the metal below. Their eyes were locked upon one another; their faces eerily calm even as their eyes blazed with wild silver.
Ammit was stronger. Sekhmet was faster. Ket Sal had no idea whether or not to fancy his chances and, more to the point, had no interest in gambling away the life of Maít – Maít, who was a frozen statue beside him. Across the way, he noticed, Kore was unmoving as well. Her gun-barrels had not lifted an inch and beneath her mask of stoic indifference Ket Sal could read clearly the telltale signs of discomfort.
A house divided, then. He could work with that.
"Jaheed," Ket Sal began, still pleasantly unfazed even beneath the barrel of the gun. He was a Scion, after all. "What the fuck."
"Sain Sahd is dead," Jaheed said, with not a hint of emotion. The young man was ice-cold, to a degree Ket Sal had not thought him capable. The pistol remained perfectly steady in his hand, even as he leveled it at a man who could have him erased. A man who was, ostensibly, his ally and friend.
"You did it yourself?" Ket Sal arched an eyebrow. He, too, had heard news of Sain Sahd's survival. His eyes flicked momentarily to Sekhmet, whose face was locked into tight focus as she struggled against Ammit's vastly superior strength. "The handiwork of our renegade, I take it."
"He told me something, before he died," Jaheed went on, ignoring those words entirely. "He didn't put out the hit."
Oh. Well, fuck. This all made quite a bit more sense now, didn’t it. With this new understanding Ket Sal's mind was whirling, trying to find the best way to unravel this gordian knot and, above all else, get Maít out of danger. She was the priority, above all else. The rest was all secondary.
"And now you suspect my husband?" Maít demanded, with sudden vehemence, from beside him. Ket Sal understood at once that she was making a play, bidding him to join along. He had no intention of disappointing her. "My husband, who has shown you such great favor?"
"You're a liar," Jaheed said simply, his gun and gaze remaining firmly upon Ket Sal. His focus was undivided. "It's what you do."
"Guilty as charged," Ket Sal admitted, casually. "But not to you, not lately, and certainly nothing to warrant treatment such as this." He was letting the warmth drain by degrees from his voice, ramping up the menace and the ire bit by bit. Giving every impression of a man whose temper was beginning to override his self-control.
"See, that's the problem," Jaheed went on. "What can you possibly say to convince me that it wasn't you? Only a fool takes a Scion at their word."
Ammit tilted her head nigh-imperceptibly – signaling soon. All three of them were in on this game, then. It fell to Ket Sal to kick things off, and he took to his role with enthusiastic aplomb.
"Listen to me, Jaheed," he growled, his voice dropping low. It was an old Scion's trick – every one of them had an absurdly threatening register they could call upon when the need arose. "All of this can be fixed, okay? All of this can be forgiven. But I am telling you, in no uncertain terms, that you need to put that gun down now or this will go very, very bad for you."
"Yeah?" Jaheed challenged, to Ket Sal's disbelief. He thumbed back the dial on his las-pistol, loudly cranking the weapon to full power. "How's that?"
"Jaheed..."
"This is how we're gonna talk, Ket. Now tell me: did you try and have me assassinated?"
"I won't just destroy your life," Ket Sal snarled, ramping up both the venom and volume of his words. In truth, it was perhaps more genuine than not. "I'll destroy the lives of your entire crew. I'll destroy the lives of your families."
"I'll destroy yours first," Jaheed countered dryly. "Answer the question. Did you order the assassination?"
"No."
"Don't lie to me," Jaheed snapped. "Did you order the hit?"
"I did not."
"Did you try to have me killed?"
"I've already answered this, Jaheed."
"Did you want me dead-"
"Void-damnit, I said no!" Ket Sal roared, eyes wide and spittle flying, with all the vigor and frenzy of a man who had just lost his last vestige of self-control. It was all a calculated act, of course, because right as Ket Sal was moving unexpectedly and making a great deal of sudden noise, Maít too was going for the knife concealed in her sleeve.
All this was too much threat-potential for Sekhmet to ignore and her eyes flicked to the side, almost entirely on instinct, and that was all the opening Ammit needed. On cue, her leg snapped up and caught Sekhmet under the chin, knocking the rogue Se-dai off her feet – and before she could hit the ground Ammit was grabbing her by the ankle, whirling around, and hurling her apostate cousin with all the prodigious strength she could muster. Sekhmet went flying, skipping twice like a stone against the floor before finally crashing with a hangar-shaking impact against the farthest wall.
And that, of course, was far too much for Jaheed to ignore and so his head, too, turned, which gave Ket Sal all the time he needed to withdraw his own concealed pistol and level it right back. Kore raised her shotgun, belatedly – for it was obvious now that she simply was not on the same page as her companions – and then, with a blur, Ammit was beside her and the shotgun was severed quite neatly in two.
From a cloud of dust and debris came Sekhmet, blindingly fast with sword in hand – but she skidded to a halt when she saw Ammit standing right between Jaheed and Kore, arms folded and blades sheathed. She could not possibly reach them in time. And so, Sekhmet watched from a distance of several-hundred feet as Ket Sal and Jaheed held one another at gunpoint. To Jaheed's credit, he regained his composure at once, even in the face of what was now certain death. Still the gun did not waver.
Ket Sal decided to give it all just a moment to breathe. He took a long, long drag from his cigarette, blew out a cloud of smoke, then straightened his collar and said, to Jaheed: "I'm sorry you had to kill your uncle."
Slowly, the barrel of the gun began to lower.
"Okay," Jaheed said, finally. "Okay."
"We calm?" Ket Sal arched an eyebrow.
"Yeah," Jaheed agreed, hands in his pockets now. Not quite humiliated, not undignified. The young man had changed since last Ket Sal had seen him, that was for certain.
"By the void, Jaheed," Ket Sal muttered, as Maít just shook her head as Ammit bade Sekhmet approach. "You know I just woke up? The three of us were literally-"
"I'm sorry," Jaheed said, bowing his hand. "You understand-my uncle-"
"I get it," Ket Sal waved a hand, and the smoke trailed a fine spiral through the air. "I do. But void, Jaheed. Maybe a phone call first, yeah? Or anything other than this. Look, I'll forgive you, okay? But Jaheed-" he jabbed the cigarette like a rapier, "-don't ever threaten my family again, you understand me?" His voice dropped low again, and this time it was no act. "You saved Maít's life, which means you get off once. Once. You ever pull a stunt like this again and I'll have Ammit skin you alive." Before the Acolyte could respond, Ket Sal jerked a thumb and said, not unkindly: "Now get the fuck out of my house."
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Kore
"What'd I tell you?" Jaheed bragged, as the Cloud Gorger attained liftoff once more. "He forgave me. My uncle just died, I'm hysterical, and he knew he was the most obvious suspect. This was the fastest way to do it."
"Damn sure not the cleanest," Kore muttered. Kore, who had been and still was sweating buckets. She had been very much against all of that and was also very much aware just how close to death the three of them had come. Beside her, Sekhmet was brooding, humiliated as she was by her defeat at Ammit's hands. Most Se-dai, from what Sekhmet had told her, felt a strong sense of kinship – but those two, Kore thought to herself, just seemed to outright despise one another.
"So, where to now?" Tarsus asked, glancing over her shoulder. The captain seemed remarkably at-ease with what she had no doubt just witnessed.
"Holy Mercury," Jaheed replied, as though it were obvious. He glanced over at Kore, then back to the helm. "I'm going to talk to the man who sees everything."
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Jaheed
"Jaheed Vell," the Emperor greeted cheerfully, as the onyx-doors hissed shut behind him. "It seems you killed your uncle for nothing."
Whatever words Jaheed had been preparing died in his throat, at that instant. He stopped in his tracks, blood running cold, and suddenly there was a pounding in his ears. Rage, even in the face of the most powerful man in all the Great Domain.
"What did you just say to me?" Jaheed demanded, storming forwards. The Emperor shook his head and gave a low, mirthful chuckle.
"Quite the baleful tone you've adopted," the Architect remarked. "Nothing like the mewling, stuttering deference by which I've known you for so long. A welcome change, to be sure."
All-seeing. All-knowing. All-seeing. All-knowing. The words repeated like the beat of a drum in Jaheed's head as he halted some few feet away and jabbed an accusatory finger.
"You knew," he snarled.
"I know everything," the Emperor shrugged. Beside him, Anansi was watching Jaheed with narrowed eyes. It did not occur to him, then, that it was only by the Emperor's silent occipital-implant command that she did not strike him down where he stood. He was dancing on a razor's edge and yet he did not care to know it. How could he? His inner world lie in a state of apocalypse.
"You could have stopped me!" Jaheed shouted, for all the good that would do.
"There is nothing I cannot do," Volsif agreed.
"So why the fuck didn't you?!" Jaheed demanded. The Jade Emperor cocked his head to the side in a distinctly inhuman gesture, and he was approaching now with hands clasped behind his back. Anansi, as always, was his lithe and stalking shadow.
"I am not a teacher," the Emperor explained, calmly. "I am not a mentor. I am not a guide. What I am, Jaheed Vell, is an observer. You are here because I want to see what you will do. I allowed you to kill your uncle because, well, I wanted to see what you would do! And look-" he grinned, "-you did not disappoint. Seventeen breaches of decorum in the past forty-two seconds, all punishable by instantaneous execution. You have finally done as I requested, Jaheed Vell. You have bared for me your true, ugly inner self. It is a joyous occasion indeed."
"Then who tried to kill me?" Jaheed demanded, the moment the Emperor finished speaking. "If you're so fucking perfect and omnipotent and so fucking all-powerful or whatever, then tell me – who sent me to die, that day?!”
Volsif arched his eyebrow in what could only be described as an expression of pure delight. "My half-sister, of course," he purred.
"Your half..." Jaheed trailed off - and then everything clicked into place. The woman he had encountered just that morning, the otherworldly figure that had bade him enter – the woman in whose presence he felt woefully insignificant, just as he once did in the presence of the Emperor himself. The woman who had dared to call the Emperor by his Lowborn name, who scoffed at the threat of his almighty retribution.
Hiela Der Zenket Nashosa Tel-Ban Volsif, Noble Primarch Incipitor Princess of the Great Domain – Forty-Third of her name and Thrice-Blessed by the Inner Hand. Volsif XCVI's beloved secondborn daughter, a figure who had all but faded to history when interstellar war erupted between Doss Ken Volsif XCVII and the much-hated Crimson Emir. A footnote, really, an individual whose gender had precluded any possibility of Ascension to the Hallowed Throne. A legend, a myth. And a recluse, above all else.
Jaheed had stood in the presence of royalty – and not even known it.
"Okay," he said, simply. And then he turned and began to walk away.
"You intend to kill my half-sister," the Emperor called, from behind. Jaheed did not stop.
"I intend to leave this place," the acolyte growled, beneath his breath.
"I forbid it."
Jaheed stopped. Said nothing, though his fury was writ large in the tension of his back. Turned, slowly, to meet those green-glittering eyes. Glared with a look of frigid hate.
"She loathes you," Jaheed spat. "Openly." This was one of few things the public did know of Hiela Tel-Ban Volsif – that she, just like her older brother, despised her adopted sibling with all her heart.
"Indeed," the Emperor chuckled. "Even now she feeds information to my hated half-brother, sowing the seeds of my annihilation."
"Then let me kill her," Jaheed practically shouted.
"No."
"Why?!"
"Because I enjoy her," the Emperor told him simply. He stepped forward, and Jaheed froze as the Great Architect rested a single metal hand upon his shoulder. The Architect’s palm was freezing to the touch. "I enjoy very much the games we play; to spar with a vast and ferocious intellect such as her own. She amuses me to no end, Jaheed. And thus it is my will that she remain unharmed."
"I-"
"Thus," the Emperor concluded, "it is reality."
And that was it, finally. The nail in the coffin. The full weight of Jaheed's impotence came crashing down upon him and he understood at long last that his uncle was dead and he could do nothing about it.
"Why?" he asked, finally. A plaintive and aimless question.
"To hurt me," Volsif answered, because of course he knew exactly what Jaheed meant. He always knew. "To rob me of my latest indulgence. She is petty, in that way. Like a child." His smile grew. "Endlessly amusing, as I said."
Jaheed opened his mouth to speak – and found that there were simply no more words. He had said and seen and done so much today that was simply nothing left to give. He was hollow.
And so, Jaheed turned and walked away. Marched through the labyrinthine halls of the Panopticon, up the Gorger's ramp, and straight into his bed. There, he lay very still, and there he made to himself an ironclad pact:
There would be only the climb, from that point onwards. The climb and nothing more. He would never tire and he would never rest. He would whittle himself away, shaving down his fragile reconstruction of a soul until it was something small and sharp and dangerous. And at every hour of every waking moment he would hold that sharp little shard in the palm of his hand and he would squeeze, and it was the bite against his skin that would keep him hungry and keep him alert and keep him from ever, ever becoming something else.
The acolyte closed his eyes, and soon his thoughts were washed away by the gentle grace of all-obliterating sleep.
And so the world turned on, uncaring and unknowing.