{Gait}

Pehton gaped all around. Above the warehouses and along the streets, conduits opened. They opened to various locations in the Vast Collective, including Earth. Some were only small enough for an arm to fit through, and some enormous enough to swallow a space-scraper. The clunking Overseers avoided them and realigned their course in the sky. And what a sky.

The distant sun dawned on the horizon, filling the purple haze and pink clouds with warm light. Pandemonium never looked so beautiful. And there was chaos. People fled the capitol in droves. So many owned only a few possessions and ran with them on bare feet into those worlds.

Sagan was setting Gait free.

As if he heard her thoughts, Iuo asked from behind, “Is this Sagan’s doing?”

Pehton hugged her gliders. “This might sound crazy, but it feels like her.” She turned to find him transporting a huddled group of squinting people in black jumpsuits. They gazed at the sky in varying degrees of awe and fear.

Iuo looked like he wanted to say more but thought better of it. Instead, the Lamian Prince asked, “Are you okay out here by yourself?”

“Yeah. I’ll be careful not to fall into another world and you do the same.”

Looking at the sky, he nodded gravely before taking the people to shelter. Meanwhile, Pehton made another round of the Emporium and almost tripped into a tiny conduit in the street.

When Matt delivered his depiction of Razor’s assault against Sagan, the human did so devoid of emotion. Hard facts. It left Pehton cold. She wanted to better understand the Seamswalker’s wrath. And there was a way.

Pehton rushed inside and whisked over to the special divine booths. Only two to choose from, and Matt was clear on the details. They went into this one. As she messed with the controls, she remembered Razor explaining how the booths worked like the capsules to record experiences. There’s no way he tortured the Seamswalker without recording it in every way he’d want to playback later. The sick bastard. Her nacre port would make it especially easy—

“This isn’t the perimeter, Executive Warden.”

The Lyrik whirled with a flush.

Korac leaned in the doorway with his arms folded. He looked good in the clothes she grabbed for him. He looked good without them—

“I… ah…” She shut her mouth and turned orange all over her black skin.

“Can you do it?”

Her eyes widened. Understanding his gesture toward the controls, she caught on. “Yes. It’s ready to go. Korac, as a professional, I advise against this.”

The Icarus shrank the booth when he entered it with all that cold energy. “And under which circumstances do I appeal to you for permission?”

“As one of Razor’s victims.”

“Let’s get this over with.”

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They entered it the instant Pehton pinpointed the right file. And endured a woman filled with kindness and joy, suffering unnecessarily. In a world of vice and misery, the Executive Warden witnessed and experienced copious amounts of both. But something about Sagan’s sweetness added a layer of perversion that Pehton barely stomached. Still, she stayed as long as Korac stayed. And he stayed until…

Razor held onto Sagan and calmly explained, “The Seam wants you. I can feel it. And you’re so weak. Too weak to leave it when it claims you. Say it, Sagan. Say it, and I’ll save you.”

With her body half sunk into a conduit in the floor, the Seamswalker stared into the Pain Curator’s eyes. Frightened, bleeding, and alone, she ground out, “I only belong to him.”

The temperature dropped below zero. By the time Pehton removed her goggles, Korac already left the booth. “Shit.” She ran after him. Sure. If he caused the scene, she suspected he wanted to cause, she could keep the Lyriks off of him. But not Triss. The woman was Gait’s first Executive Warden for a reason.

Metal screamed across the Emporium, and a charcoal panel flew over the current Executive Warden’s head. More wrenching cries and another panel went soaring.

“Korac.” She glanced back at the kitchens to see Iuo moving another group into the abandoned access door. This was not the right time. Never mind how much she agreed with him. Pehton ran to the Divine Booths and ducked with the demolition of another tombstone in the vice cemetery.

“Korac. Stop. They’ll hear you—” She stopped outside the door to the next one in line.

His black wings contrasted so much against his pale features. Mid-meltdown, he turned his head slowly to acknowledge her. Those diamond eyes shaded over with storm clouds of a soft gray.

Undiluted pain.

Pehton considered his childhood. What she knew of it, anyway. All that abuse with no regard to his age nor for his consent. And now he couldn’t protect the woman he loved from it. From the same two people who held responsibility for his trauma.

“You know. You go off. Do what you need to do. I’ll handle the Lyriks.”

With her permission, Korac peeled another wall down and tossed it. Pehton marched right into the main floor, preparing any minute now for Razor’s personal guard to arrive. Give Korac some space to deal with his issues. She was fine with it—

“Look, girls! Our Executive Warden brought friends to play with us.” Triss leaned on the mezzanine’s banister, naked. Oleen and the others flew to flank the chandelier. “Kill the intruders. Start with Pehton.” The red-feathered woman waved dismissively and walked away. “Wake me from my nap when you’re done. I need to rest for Razor’s return.”

Pehton scoffed as the Lyriks went into formation. “Triss, you’re not this dense. You know I can control their volition.”

The former Executive Warden paused. “Oh. Can you?” she asked without turning around.

Pehton didn’t like the way the other woman said that.

“What a coincidence. So can I. A gift from my lover. We’ll see if I can kill you in my sleep, traitor.”

The Lyriks descended on Pehton as Triss left for Razor’s suites. The current Executive Warden exerted all her will on them. They stopped, but strained until she felt it in her bones. “Korac! Korac, help!”

The shift in air from his immediate arrival fluffed her feathers. He sounded hungry as he asked, “Am I allowed to kill them?”

This was the exact question Pehton asked herself. Oleen, normally so pretty and serene, snarled against the wills warring inside her. And what of the atrocities Razor submitted them to over the years? Pehton knew she meant it when she condemned them to this. They deserved it. But how could they ever right their wrongs if this were their existence?

“This is all my fault. I need to fix it. Korac, I…”

Korac watched the women above and glanced at Pehton with respect in his eyes. “I know what you want. We’ll need more help, and I’m suddenly struck with a notion. Can you hold them off?”

The Executive Warden swallowed her doubt and nodded with determination. “Yes. For this, I can.”

“I’ll return quickly. Don’t die, Executive Warden. I’ve grown frond of you alive.” A smirk. He had to smirk.

Stiffly, Pehton shook her head. “That was so comforting, and now I know I’m a lost cause. Go!” She smelled the burning kerosene as she called the Siren’s Gale.

Korac left.

The fire blazed and consumed Pehton. She cocooned herself in it and circled the Lyriks in flight. Faster and faster. Until her wake caught up with her internal fuel source. There she held it in a cage surrounding her people.

“I will fix this. I promise.”