// CYCLE 12878; REIGN OF BLESSED EMPEROR VOLSIF XCVII //
// FOUR YEARS HAVE ELAPSED //
"Right, then," Jaheed said. He snapped his fingers. "Kill him."
"You sure?" Kore asked. Her gun was against the man's temple as he whimpered and sobbed.
"Yeah, I'm done with him." Jaheed was glancing off to the side now, hands in his pockets, waiting for the deed to be done.
"Jaheed, he's just a thief," Kore insisted, halfheartedly. "He's harmless."
"He stole from us."
"He stole from me."
"And I want him dead," Jaheed finished, glancing back. "So just do it already."
"Please..." the man whimpered.
"You certain?" Kore frowned. "Seriously-"
"Kore." Jaheed turned, folded his arms, and leveled against her an even, unblinking stare. Arched an eyebrow. "Do as I say."
"Right," Kore grunted, after a moment. She squeezed the trigger – felt the burst of heat, the jittering kick in her hand – and then the man was silent, laying there in the snow with a hole burned clean through his head.
"Cigarette?" Jaheed offered, by way of apology. Kore tucked her pistol away and accepted the olive branch without comment. And so, Jaheed turned away, already making for the ship, while Kore followed behind – the cold whipping at her coat as she fumbled with the lighter all the while. One click. Two. Three. Four. On the fifth try, it finally sparked.
"Asshole pickpocket," Jaheed muttered, moreso to himself than any other as they strode across a narrow suspended walkway. Below, an entire city spanned from horizon to horizon, every building painted in a thick coat of starch-white powder. It was the first snow Neptune had seen in years.
"Yeah," Kore agreed.
The two of them kept walking.
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Alas, in the span of four years it seems that the Great Domain has grown only darker.
The hand of the Jade Emperor closes tighter and tighter about his jealous fiefdom, and belief in his divinity only grows in volume and fervor both. His Greencoats now stalk every inhabited world, ensuring with keen eyes and strong hands that all live in perfect accordance with the Jade Emperor's vision. Mass-surveillance has become an accepted part of everyday life; those who fail to conform vanish from record and memory both. Yet even still it is a time of great and abundant prosperity, for violent crime has delineated to near-nothing and poverty is all but a thing of the past.
All the while, a dark shadow looms upon the edges of the Inner Systems. The Crimson Emir has now conquered seventeen worlds and obliterated ninety-four. His Sky-Melter fleet has grown to unfathomable proportions, a black and inevitable cloud slaved to the mind of the much-hated warmaster. The Emir's loyalist Se-dai have allowed him to strike at the heart of the Great Domain, slaughtering key inner-system figures with ease. Conflicts between Le Sang Neuf and the Loyalists are now all but common occurrences. Thirteen times the Loyalists have attempted to assassinate the reigning Emperor; thirteen times they have been foiled by the legendary prowess of Sha-sur Anansi. Yet each time the Loyalists come ever-closer.
The divide between the Outer Ring and the Inner is marked by constant conflict, by a thousand different skirmishes that unfold and conclude without end. Slowly, slowly, the Jade Emperor is said to be losing ground, and many whisper that soon the Crimson Emir will break through. And when he does, well – it is a certainty that only annihilation will follow.
Dire times indeed. For some, however, they have been eminently profitable.
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The Crew
"A toast!" Ket Sal called, rising to his feet, and for just a moment all the laughter and banter and idle chit-chat came to a pause. The Scion stood at the head of the table at the heart of his grandiloquent manor, glass raised, with a smile that just might have been genuine spread wide across his face.
To his immediate left, there was Maít Tas Oan, resplendent in a beautiful crimson dress and gossiping incessantly with Captain Sen Tarsus, who herself was clad in the fanciest clothes she could muster (a half-unbuttoned white shirt and dark slacks). Beside her was Abel Diesch, still wearing his usual sweater-and-coat ensemble, drunk as per usual and laughing uncharacteristically loud as Sekhmet – who, of course, hadn't bothered to dress up– pulled yet another riotous anecdote from her nigh-infinite repository.
To Ket Sal's right, Acolyte Jaheed Vell, wearing a suit patterned in sharply contrasting orange and black. These days, the acolyte favored the bold fashion styles of Pluto/Neptune, and up until the toast he had been chatting animatedly with the Emperor's oldest Scion. Beside Jaheed loomed Ammit – who had, for once, actually been convinced to let her guard down and join them all for this celebration. And finally, there was Chief Kore Vell, still in uniform, albeit with rolled-up sleeves and the top buttons undone.
"It's been a long, long year," Ket Sal declared, to which there were a great deal of solemn nods and murmured agreements. "The Emir gets closer every day, half the damn Domain's gone to hell. I, myself, was-" he put a hand to his chest in mock-offense, "-personally targeted for assassination by a loyalist Se-dai! Thank you, Ammit, by the way." The table broke into applause and the straight-laced bodyguard, currently drunk for the first time, blushed and gave an amended bow.
"But," Ket Sal continued, and all fell silent once more, "this has also been a time of great prosperity indeed. Because this year, I have been proud to watch this man-" he pointed to Jaheed, who gave the rest of the table a roguish can-you-believe-this-guy sort of wink, "-grow from a neophyte, a novice, a nobody into one of the sharpest and smoothest operators I've ever had the pleasure to work with."
"Ket Sal, that bastard, he owes me money," Jaheed explained, to another peal of laughter. "Thinks flattery’ll stop me from breaking his kneecaps."
"Blackmail’s my preferred tactic, actually," Ket Sal chuckled. "But seriously, folks. Seriously. This guy right here's a genius, don't get me wrong, but he wouldn't have half of what he has today if not for the people surrounding him. Kore, Sekhmet, Abel, Sen. You guys are just as impressive as he is, far as I'm concerned, and so this toast tonight is dedicated to the Cloud Gorger! May she fly for a thousand years!"
"She won't fly another week if Sekhmet keeps breaking her," Tarsus chimed in, to more laughter, and then all drank. And drank. And drank.
Above, a quarter of moons hung in silent congress, seeing all and saying nothing. Theirs, after all, was only to observe.
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Jaheed
"Hell of a thing, isn't it?" Jaheed mused.
He and Ket Sal were sharing a cigarette on one of a dozen balconies, now, just an hour after the Scion's toast. Below hung a vast expanse of shadowy woodland; above a span of star-peppered darkness. Behind, warmth and noise and home and, perhaps, even family. It was an odd, twilight sort of moment, one in which all the universe felt quite peaceable and still.
"Hey I half-meant all that stuff back there," Ket Sal said, clapping the acolyte on the back. "You built this, man. You should be proud."
"I am."
"You had the intelligence and the guile to surround yourself with the right people, to build yourself this network of-"
"Okay, okay," Jaheed chuckled, holding up his hands. "I said I'm proud, Ket. Void, you know I can't take a compliment to save my life."
"I'll shut up then," Ket Sal grinned, leaning forward on the railing and staring out at the darkness below. Warm night air buffeted at the two of them, enveloping them like a child's blanket.
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Modesty aside, the Scion was entirely correct. In four years, Jaheed had grown from an unknown to a distinctly known quality. The Jade Wolf, they called him, both for his infamous ferocity and his unusual proximity to the Blessed Emperor. He was renowned thus – when Jaheed Vell had his teeth sunk into something, he never let it go. He bit and held and in the end he always got his way. His influence was such that even Sekhmet was now something of an open secret. No longer did any one of the Gorger’s crew live in fear.
"So where to next?" Ket Sal asked, after a long silence had passed. "I'm off to Tenkaidas myself. Something about a trade dispute. Boring shit, but-" he blew out a cloud of smoke, "-should be pretty sedate, which means a nice little vacation for me and Maít."
"Ah," Jaheed said, folding his hands. "I meant to tell you earlier – you've been reassigned."
"Oh?" Ket Sal arched an eyebrow.
"To Madriu," the acolyte clarified. "Volsif wants the two of us working in tandem."
"To do...?"
"It's complicated," Jaheed waved his cigarette. "Assassination, extortion, mediation, diplomacy. He should've just sent the Liquidators to straighten the whole mess out, if you ask me, but-" he took a drag, blew out his own cloud of smoke in turn, "-y'know, they're stretched pretty thin these days."
"Huh," Ket Sal grunted, pondering that for a moment. "One Scion, one acolyte, two Se-dai. Works for me." And then, with a sidelong glance, "Did Doss have any intention of actually telling me this?"
"He told me to just pass it along," Jaheed shrugged. "You know how he gets. Flights of fancy."
"Oh, do I," Ket Sal rolled his eyes. "By the void, I know all about those. Well, shit – assume we ship out tomorrow?"
"Just so."
"Separate ships?"
"Yeah, I got some stops to make on my way back."
"What – that Neptunian tailor, again?"
“Something like that,” Jaheed grinned. And he would speak of it no more.
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Kore
Chief of Security Kore Vell was, at that moment, trying to pick Ammit's brain.
After all, this was a rare opportunity. Not only did Ammit never drink, but she was hardly ever even seen to eat. In truth this was the first time Kore had seen the warrior out-of-armor at all (barring her rescue on Horstchia-12), for usually the laconic Se-dai insisted on standing vigil during these sorts of 'family' gatherings.
But, Maít proudly confided the night before the party, Ket Sal had finally managed to whittle Ammit down after months of relentless cajoling. They could have simply ordered her to enjoy herself, of course, and the Se-dai would have obeyed without complaint. But Maít had explained at length that it was meaningless if Ammit didn't choose to do so herself.
Wouldn't be much a victory, now, would it? Maít laughed. Void, Kore, I'm so excited for you to really meet her. I promise you, there is a delightfully weird little soul beneath all those eight-hundred pounds of honor and dignity.
And so, Kore had done just that, and so even now she was sizing Sekhmet's rival up. And even now she was thinking to herself that the two Se-dai truly could not be more different. Where Sekhmet was slender and wiry, Ammit was a slab of solid bulk who rivaled Kore herself in size. Where Sekhmet was a loudmouth, arrogant braggart with a wicked sense of humor and a near-pathological disregard for authority, Ammit reminded Kore almost of an ancient knight – laconic, respectful, dignified, and deeply self-serious. Then again, Kore was certain by now that Ammit had slept with both her charges at one point or another, and was beginning to suspect that the impetus had come not entirely from the libertine Scion couple.
It was little wonder that she and Sekhmet despised one another.
"No, he's perfect," Ammit was insisting now, in response to Kore's goading remark about guarding a Scion. It had been bait, of course, and of course the inebriated Ammit had taken it at once. "Sérieusement, sérieusement. He's so ridiculously stupidly easy to keep alive."
"Yeah?" Kore asked, freely egging her on. "Jaheed's not too bad himself. Goes down when I tell him, stays down, et cetera. Can't really complain."
"Ket's a whole other level," Ammit insisted, planting a hand on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump. She yanked her arm back with terrifying speed, momentarily embarrassed, and then was immediately caught in the excitement of her own tangent once more. "We have all these contingencies and shit planned, it's nuts. We got hand signs, subvocalization, morse, code words, you name it. I can damn near have a full conversation with him without anyone knowing. And this was all his idea!"
"You got lucky, then," Kore remarked. "Good for you."
"Sans blague," Ammit nodded with extreme enthusiasm. She really did remind Kore of an over-eager child, in that moment, and it was impossible to find her anything other than endearing. "I know plenty of my sisters who got stuck with some real shitheads. Killed a few of 'em myself, though I really really really really really actually should not be talking about that." She glanced around, momentarily nervous, then shrugged her broad shoulders. "Bof, fuck it. We're among friends here."
"This is-this is a Le Sang Neuf thing?" Kore chuckled, pouring herself more wine. "You guys just assassinate Highborn?" This, she was certain, was indeed something she was really not supposed to know, but Ammit was on a roll and Kore wasn't going to stop her now. It didn’t help that Kore herself was also well past the point of total inebriation.
"We protect our sisters," Ammit declared firmly, jabbing a finger against the table. The digit splintered the wood and pierced clean through; Ammit either pretended not to notice or genuinely did not feel it. "That's what the New Blood is for. La sororité avant tout - sorority, above everything else." And with that, she turned upon Sekhmet a pointed gaze – and Sekhmet immediately interrupted her conversation with Diesch to glare right back.
“Uh-” Kore started, smelling at once that things were about to go wildly south.
"My girlfriend doesn't wanna hear about your dumb fuckin' little project," Sekhmet called, with a casual yawn and a look in her eyes that was anything but casual. Kore opened her mouth to speak – and then, abruptly, the glass shattered in Ammit’s hand and the Se-dai was on her feet.
"Nonono-" Kore was shouting – but already the two warriors were circling around the table and stood now chest-to-chest, eyes blazing and wisps of steam curling from their nostrils. Both, at least, were unarmed – but in truth a Se-dai was never unarmed, and a brawl between them could easily render the entire manor to ruins. Both were also violently drunk; and while both possessed the ability to flush the alcohol at once and return swiftly to sobriety, both were too drunk to actually consider doing so.
"You talk so loud, you know that?" Ammit slurred, glaring down at her itinerant sister. "Où est la honte? If I was a gutless coward like you, I think I'd keep my voice down. I don't think I'd even want to be seen, much less heard."
"And if I were a stuck-up holier-than-thou arrogant slowpoke moronic dumb shitty bitch-" Sekhmet spat, then paused. "Well fuck, I just wouldn't be! I don't look down on people, I don't give lectures, I don't preach nonstop about my fuckin'-"
"Slow?" Ammit demanded, eyes going wide, because that was apparently the nerve to strike. Some distance away – for safety's sake, of course – Kore and Maít were each shouting at their respective Se-dai to calm the fuck down, all to no avail. Their blood, Kore knew, had gone hot, and there was little she could do about that.
"You are so fuckin' slow!" Sekhmet laughed, right in Ammit’s face. "You got jumped by literal black-market cobbled-together cyborg l'ordure – I had to bail your ass out!"
"You know I can still see the dent from where I kicked your ugly face in," Ammit told her, tapping at Sekhmet's chin. The rogue Se-dai snarled like a dog but did not move, not yet. "Want me to chuck you across the landing pad again?"
"You'd never even touch me," Sekhmet scoffed.
"Wanna bet on that?"
"You don't even have any money, you dumbass-"
Kore, fed up, strode briskly across the dining room and slapped Sekhmet hard across the face – which felt like striking hard metal and really hurt, though she permitted herself no more than a hiss of pain. Sekhmet, of course, was moved not a millimeter by such an un-augmented strike - but embarrassment colored her features at once and she stepped away with not another word.
"You," Kore said seriously, rounding on Ammit, who now looked almost comically apologetic. "For void's sake, don't provoke her! You knew exactly what you were doing when you shot Sekhmet that look."
"The error is mine, lady Kore," the Se-dai bowed deeply, and her head remained bowed. "I forget my place."
This was the woman who had not one minute ago been speaking animatedly of her place in an intergalactic conspiracy; now, she was bowing and saying things like I forget my place. Kore found the contrast immediately upsetting.
"Just – c'mon, sit down, okay?" She beckoned back to the table. "Everybody's chill, nobody did anything wrong. We’re all just hanging out."
At Kore's words, Ammit actually seemed to relax, if marginally - then, she met Maít's eyes, and at her liege's nod she relaxed only further. "Okay," she said, finally. "Sorry again."
"It's fine, really," Kore reassured her, guiding the titan back to her seat. And then, because she knew from years of living with Sekhmet that this question could get any Se-dai talking: "So, hey – what's your Ker-sot look like?"
Ammit spent two hours, then, discussing the merits and qualities of her beloved hammer.
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Much later than night, after all were asleep and the mess of the dining hall was shrouded in moonlit shadow, Kore's eyes fluttered open. Already, she was forgetting the terrible and vivid dreamscape she had inhabited – already, memory of that otherworldly voice was slipping away. She and Sekhmet were squeezed together on an opulent couch, with a loudly snoring Tarsus passed out on the armchair beside them. In the dark she spotted other slumbering figures as well – Jaheed on the floor, Diesch on a neighboring couch, and Ket Sal no doubt in bed somewhere with Maít.
"Hey," Sekhmet whispered, because if Kore was awake then Sekhmet was wake. Impossibly warm lips brushed against her own. "I'm sorry."
"All you Se-dai ever do is apologize," Kore complained, with a groggy half-smile. She ran her fingers through the rogue's hair, as she so dearly loved to do.
"I hate when I lose control," Sekhmet told her, regardless. "Fighting is just how Se-dai work through their problems, for better or worse. But even then..." She trailed off. "I dunno. I'm jealous of her, sometimes. She's always doing the right thing. Always so disciplined and controlled. Never embarrasses herself."
"She started that fight," Kore reminded her, gently. "And I dunno about disciplined – she was pretty damn sloppy tonight."
"C’mon, that’s not her fault. She'd never even tasted alcohol before," Sekhmet chuckled. Then, more seriously: "I'll try to be better for you."
"You're already perfect for me," Kore said, kissing her twice in rapid succession. "Now stop saying dumb shit or I'll go make you sleep on the floor."
"Yes, ma'am," Sekhmet smiled, nestling deeply into Kore's arms and closing her eyes.
The next morning, all stood amidst the ruin of the previous night's conquest, bleary-eyed and hungover, as black-suited attendants bustled frenetically about them. It was Maít's insistence that the staff be contractors, not servants or lobotomites, and the way Ket Sal told it the Scion had only begrudgingly agreed. Kore, by now, knew the man well enough to surmise that it had been a joint decision.
"Well, shit," Ket Sal said, perfectly sober and healthy by way of his Scion physiology. Ammit stood sentry at his side, a stoic guardian once more. "I guess we'll see you there?"
"Shit," a very hungover Jaheed echoed, "I guess I'll see you there." And the two men shook hands, and that was that, and soon the crew were about the Cloud Gorger once more as the aging vessel ripped through Deimos' artificial atmosphere.
Now, the reverie was over. Now, the work began anew.