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Tal’s defeat of the Angels revolves around the Key of Adam – she doesn’t reactivate it, but uses it somehow to undermine them and cause their ascent.  Somehow this also needs to be done at the Barrier, or in some way defeat the barrier.

Power is removed from the Well

When the well is finally discovered by archaeologists and brought back online, those who disappeared into the singularity see the flow of data and send alts to return and evangelize the new process.

This is the huge announcement made at the convocation of gods and priests.

A non-profit dedicated to making mentality-uploading free for the poor, homeless, and under-privileged.

They are a Harbinger of the Singularity

Denounced as a meat-grinder for the poor so the rich can live forever in a world of life-extensions and limited resources

Denounced by the Church – how can christ resurrect them if they are neither dead or alive.  But a similar argument was made about creation long ago.  Beside, reincarnation is a proven fact.  Does the church really want another evolution or cosmology embarrassment?

Denounced as a cult group, or as an endenturing process.  The only work that’s required of the Well of Soul’s citizens is to help make their instance prime (will there be one afterlife or many – just like will there be one internet or many?)

They advertise that they will let their minds be high, forever, safely, but denounced because they use the spare processes of these nirvana’d minds.  Just as trees use your lungs when you’re sleeping to produce CO2, is the retort.

Include a reference to Accelerando somewhere in there.

This Singularity process is cut short by the Apocalypse.

(Well of Souls – the world produced in the Key of Adam, which is a very large natural diamond owned by Lillith and leased to the group.  Her idea is that controlling this diamond is an easy key to devouring a multitude of souls in the future.)

Apparent setting: mythical Arthurian Britain, (410 CE)

Story begin with a series of Arthurian vignettes – rebuild tales from Steinbeck?

Told from Arthur’s perspective.  Should have Morgaine in each story.

Each story should have the unexpected ending – major characters killed off, or Morgaine wins – but the Arthurian characters are each true to their form, and the story overall follows the Steinbeck path.  Characters that are killed off reappear in later stories without anyone remembering they died – the story resets.  But with each reset, the tapestry unravels just a bit.  A character who died earlier may become despondent, depressed without knowing why, and feel their life was pointless.  Arthur is the rallying point for trying to keep people like their old selves – he’s the one who begins to discover the loose threads.

Arthur realizes that Morgaine is controlling the world.  She’s using the stone tables – the round one in Camelot, and the pentagonal one in Tintangel (combined in avalon, where the two of them are able to meet) – as the controls for the world.  Arthur comes to the tables one day when Morgaine is away from the world (she is often away from the world) and he finds her at the table  stiff, lifeless.  Once he gets over the shock, he tries to interface with it the way he remember Morgaine doing.   He calls it table.

He learns that this is Morgaine’s game, and the overall point of the game is to take control of the Camelot table as well and that he can control Albion from Camelot using the round table – he already does without knowing it.  Morgaine’s table is keyed to her voice, and Arthur’s to his.  When Arthur returns to his table, he learns that Morgaine is just a teenage girl from the real world, and that he and his kingdom are false intelligences.  (How does he use her table when she is gone, since the world stops when she is gone?  Doesn’t always unless she resets it – Perhaps that’s how she finds out – she lets it run afterward, to see what he’ll do (he thinks of running her through with his sword) – and when she comes back online and looks at the records, she finds him skulking in her castle.  She locks him in her dungeons, and oh, the things she does to him.

Arthur’s world is like the well of souls – it’s an upload portal, but not a singularity like is created from the well of souls.

Morgaine discovers that Arthur has gained direct control of the Camelot table.  Does that frighten you?  No – I read about that in the walkthrough – there’ve been a bunch of Arthurs that gained some limited self-awareness.

You’re not my sister – you’re a child!  In your world, I’m still a woman.  Show me your true age – she does, and she’s 14 or so.  But here is yours – Arthur is a toddler.  So do you need a wet-nurse, or shall we dispense with this game?

Arthur cannot beat her because she cheats – she learns hacks from other people playing the same world.

Merlin is a go-between for Arthur and Morgaine, but he helps Arthur more.  As a magician, he tries to divine Morgaine’s details, but of course, he cannot see beyond her character – she is the sister of Arthur, a witch, a fellow Druid, and no more.   Arthur tells him he is the most intelligent man in this world, and to apply that – figure this out, and Merlin becomes a bit of a hacker himself.

The final result is that Arthur understands that he cannot win – she will not let them.  He thinks about trying to teach her to be good – teach her ethics and the law, but that doesn’t work well.  He decides to collapse the world – to commit suicide is a mortal sin, but Adonai is not the king here – this false queen is our evil goddess.  She will just rebuild this world again, and you will have to relive all of this, none the wiser to her puppetry.  I think not – she will move on to some other pursuit, and we shall have peace.  Do we have souls – will they survive?  If we do, dearest Genny, you will certainly be at the right hand throne in heaven.  For myself, I will throw myself at the feet of my lord and beg for mercy.

He returns Excalibur to the table – it was carved from the stone that was to become the keystone (Part of the keystone is still in the center of the table), and the castle was built around it, so it’s still living stone), and with the assent of his table and Merlin, he closes the door to her.

Morgaine as the Serpent (snake,dragon) lady.

Morgaine as Genny possessed.

The Suit of Reason, of Intellect, of Self Sacrifice to Purpose.

The Suit of Air, ruled by the Lovers.

Tens:

The Lesson of the Suit is perfected.

The Ten of Swords:

The Sword becomes the Martyr, sacrificing himself for the cause, for reason, or for love. But he is the last Martyr, The Dark Before the Dawn, the catalyst of the necessary change.

Andrew Jackson “Jack” Riel:

Riel – the penultimate of Eva’s sons and her personal favorite, but by mistake her most neglected. He had no elder brother to mentor him, due to a slight mistake that dumped Tuk/Merlin off into post-Roman Britain (instead of post-British Americas – easy mistake). As the neglected son, the one who must make his own path, he is the one who receives the most personal attention from Lilith and her Get – after Cain, that is. He delves the deepest into the darkness of her society, but also comes the closest to unmaking her without super-material aid.

The Suit of Reason, of Intellect, of Self Sacrifice to Purpose.

The Suit of Air, ruled by the Lovers.

Threes:

The Lesson of the Suit is generalized to relationships with all people.

The Three of Swords:

The Sword can love but will not, because she has other plans. She is the Heartbreaker, who uses the love of others for her own end.

Melody Lilly:

Melody is Jack Riel’s college girlfriend, an introverted business major and counter-girl at the Tattoo Empire. She’s never been a favorite of Jack’s parents; they wouldn’t presume to direct his life, but they put some extra stress on a relationship that is already a bit thin from its one-sidedness.

When Jane turns Melody, she embraces the life whole-heartedly, but Jack cannot see it. His crusade against Lillith’s Get is started in an attempt to save her, but the only thing he achieves is to spur her further into the life.

- The First Client is Skilled in Seduction

Scene

Resplendent in her slick new ‘Skin – and in what amounted to a new face as well – Gaya palmed open the door to a cantina called Marta’s.

Are you certain about this place, Darling? It would be dangerous to be seen by the wrong eyes tonight.

<Quite certain, Ducky. There is no better place to find a pilot, and no place less likely to find Turnbull tonight. I’ve done my study. Please don’t worry.>

As you say. In truth, Gaya was not worried – she was excited. Between the bathhouse and the slinky ‘Skin, she was downright eager. This latest bounty had provided her with too little time and too few excuses to prowl, and the frustration had begun to mount. She couldn’t count on her Brutes for company, not any more, but she needed the release. Of course, she couldn’t be too promiscuous tonight, either – she was still on the job, and the only important goal was the ride. Still, she’d learned that the easiest way to catch a helping hand was with her thighs, and the best bait was a wink and a wanton smile. And Darling wouldn’t have dressed her up like this for nothing.

Gaya passed through the arched entryway and stepped into the large, reverse-dished interior of the cantina. Some fighting sport played in a washed-out holofield over the bar sunk into the center of the room. Columns, booths, moody ambient lights, and some poorly cultured flora broke up the perimeter of the room into niches and clusters where there was plenty of room for privacy. To the left of the bar a dancefloor sprawled vacantly, but the musical gear still littering the stage nearby suggested near-future probabilities. This would be easy.

Her Brutes should follow her into the cantina a few minutes later. Doubtless Turnbull had their profile, and the Brutes’ size would be a liability. There was little point in splitting Lorry and Fly – in fact, the two of them together offset their individual peculiarities – but as a group of three they were far too obvious and wouldn’t have any freedom to hunt. And of course, if she couldn’t charm a hitch from a pilot team, there was a reasonable chance Lorry or Fly might tickle their way through some wallflower into a berth offplanet.

Gaya logged into an autostation at the bar with a pseudonymous ID and entered a request for low-proof juice. There was no sense in talking with a barkeep who might remember her face tomorrow. Unless that barkeep had a pilot’s license and a parking space out back.

Where do we start, Darling?

<This is your hunt, Ducky. I led you to the fold – there are sheep everywhere you look. But you’re the She-wolf. Start nibbling.>

Gaya grinned and wet her lips with her new cup. Which of these sheep flew the fastest ship?

Cormick had been watching her since she’d come in the door. She was pretty in a dark, hungry sort of way, but that wasn’t what had captured his attention. Sharks aplenty circled the bar. She wore some sort of Hindri mark on her forehead; it was bright and detailed and intricate and designed to catch the eye, but that wasn’t what interested him, either. There was the glossy jet ‘Skin she wore – he saw the heads of men, women, and even femmes turning to follow her curves beneath its shiny surface – but it was merely nice packaging.

When she dallied behind the bar, it gave him a chance to study her – discretely he thought, since half the cantina was staring at the holofield above her head. But he wouldn’t have been able to focus on the field if they were calling his number for the lottery. She was … a blinding light. Literally, to his eyes – she glowed like a piece of a star. Her body was bathed in overwhelming spirit.

He’d never seen anything like it before. The rest of the bar was predictably oblivious to her soul.

“It’s rude to stare at a woman’s legs like that, my boy,” Kurtie breathed into his ear in that half-loud bar whisper. “Especially when there’s a pair here already waiting open for you.”

Cormick swiveled his chair back to the table and angled toward Kurtie. She raised her brows and tilted her head a little to the side, with a shrug that said, I’m just letting you know.

Cormick’s eyes flicked back to the table. Damwick and Glenda were amused by the blatant proposition. Byrie was doing a poor job of suppressing a laugh – despite the fact that Kurtie had been fishing for him on and off over the last several years. With no allies at hand, Cormick hid his response behind a raised glass.

Kurtie was clearly encouraged by the approval from the table and seemed about to say something truly wicked when Roger leaned forward and set down his empty cup.

“So… Major. Not that I want to be the one who questions free juice or gets in the way of twisting Greene’s ribs, but you mentioned business over the jawbone.”

Byrie unwrapped his arm from Tetva’s shoulder and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table so he could peak his fingertips together. The subtle glow of the table, filtering up through empty and half-empty glasses, cast a sober pall under his face. “Lean in, Damwick. Come on, girls – you too. Shoulders tight. Yes, Kurtie – you, too. This may end up concerning you as much as the rest of us. Cormick, you have the key?”

Cormick produced the button from his ’slung bag and set it on the table.

Byrie nodded and glanced around, making certain each face was waiting on him. “Greene and I have already talked about this, but I haven’t had a chance to talk to either of you, since things happened pretty fast this afternoon. You both know we’ve been thinking about using our fund to buy out our contract after we got off this snowball. None of us really care for Mother Military any more, and I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual. Well, she released us today.”

Damwick and Roger took a few moments to absorb that, just as Cormick had several hours earlier.

Byrie waited for their breathing to become regular again before he continued. “When Blackbie dropped us, she said she’d just as soon we don’t report back in and waste perfectly good food and salary. So…. we’re loose.”

Damwick’s eyes narrowed. “So…”

Byrie tightened his lips and nodded soberly. “That’s right. Each of you is free. Your contract is up, and the fund is vested. You’re not at Mother’s beckon call, and you don’t have to do another damn thing I say. They wouldn’t even demerit you for taking a swing at me, though you’d probably end up prying your teeth out of this table.” His eyes flicked uncomfortably to Cormick, admitting the exception. “So, Jasper – you’re already home, right? Easy enough for you to make your life here, though you’ll probably want to staple your disc down, if you don’t intend to wake up space-side tomorrow morning.”

“God! You know I didn’t even want to come back here with the quadry. Just because Mother Military bought my genes from someone who happened to live here a quarter century ago doesn’t mean this snowball has a claim on me. No offense, Kurtie. Don’t run that.”

Kurtie chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. ‘Chandier Native hates Chandier’ – that’s not news.”

Roger turned back to Byrie. “I’m sticking with the fund as long as there is one. Major.”

Byrie nodded. “What about you, Gunder? You want your seventh and your ticket?”

Damwick shook his head. “I’m in. What’s the plan?”

“Well, that’s lucky.” Byrie pressed his fingertips together and his knuckles cracked. “It would have been a hell of a time trying to free up the fund again. And since I’m now thoroughly convinced our Greene won’t be leaving us for the glory of sport… the plan, boys and girls, is this:”

Byrie thumped the button on the table, and it flickered sadly. His brows furrowed dangerously, but he gave it a more precise and demanding click. The top of the button began to glow, and a small projection sprung up and began to slowly spin. Little bullet points swirled out to orbit the central projection and beckon for attention.

Roger’s nose wrinkled. “What is that?”

Byrie grinned broadly and gestured toward the button. Cormick leaned back to enjoy Byrie’s pitch. “‘That’, Mr. Jasper, is the fastest ship on Chandier. Well, the fastest one that was for sale. But now it’s ours. One-seventh yours.”

“That hunk of junk? It’s got to be twenty years old! That part there is, anyway. That part’s probably thirty. And I don’t know about those things – I don’t think I want to know.”

“That is a seasoned privateer vessel.”

Glenda leaned low, putting her eye closer to the holo-model. “It doesn’t look fast. I’m not talking about the drives – the chassis looks like it would fall apart if it left the ground.”

“Looks, my dear, can be and should be deceiving in our new line of work.”

“How does she handle?” It was Roger again. He was opposite Glenda, chin near the table surface, flicking through the bullet points of the projection.

“We’ll find out tomorrow.”

“You bought her unflown?” Roger was aghast, and he was not alone. Even Tetva was eyeing Byrie with uncertainty over his shoulder.

“Please – anyone who can give us an example of a bad decision I’ve made, a bad direction I’ve led us, remind us all.” The table was silent for a few moments. “Here, I’ll even give you an easy one: This morning? I got us all fired, remember?”

Roger frowned. “That’s not quite the same…”

“The point’s the same, though.” Damwick grinned his lopsided grin. “Anyway – I always wanted to clasp hands with the Mayor. Sub-Mayor’s close enough.”

Cormick added, “And I’d never been in the Executive Tower before. They have nice couches.”

Kurtie took the opening. “You should have told me, dear. I would have given you a private tour. We could have tried all the couches. The Mayor’s suite-”

“So… no complaints? No one?” Byrie looked at each head in turn until it was shaken by its owner. Roger’s was the slowest to respond, but in the end it was the most firm. “And just to put you all at ease, I’d like to remind you that I do know some people outside of this den of intoxication and villainy. In fact, I’ve made an effort to meet a few more of the variety of person that is not us over the last few years. Some of these people have skills, and contacts, which are useful for checking backgrounds and ship-tag histories and other such things. What is more, as surely as you can trust me not to squander your one-sevenths, boys, or Cormick’s two-, I would think you would trust me to most fervently and jealously guard the placement of my three-sevenths. So.”

“So,” agreed Damwick and Roger, and Cormick nodded wordlessly.

“So, here’s where it becomes interesting.” Byrie tapped his fingertips together. “As I’m sure you all know, A’lah’s wisdom does not permit the interexchange of husbands and wives.” He looked up to Kurtie who probably didn’t know, since she wasn’t one of Byrie’s converts. “Serial monogamy is permitted to an eremite, but not plenigamy. There is a focus necessary for the performance of the sacrament that does not allow for indecision in your choice of a partner.”

Kurtie grinned. “Sacrament? Sounds good…”

“Therefore, we will be a ship of four or eight. Each of us will be partnered, or none of us will. Now, I know we’ve been in the field for weeks at a time before, but I don’t think Tetva would wait for my old carcass to come back if we were gone a month, or even a year. Don’t think it couldn’t be a year – I’ve been running through the jobs on the hire. More importantly, I don’t want to imagine what would happen if Gunder tried to keep the numbers again, or if we had to eat Cormick’s cooking more than two meals in a row. So Tetva’s on. Glenda? Shon?”

Glenda considered Byrie carefully, long enough that worry started to show on Damwick’s face. “What’s the buy-in?”

“A current seventh, or scale. Two sevenths gets you two shares of the proceeds, but one vote. Scale gets you an opinion and nothing more.”

“Hmm.” She jerked to an apparent under-the-table elbow from Damwick. “What? I’d try to buy you out. But I think, Yes. Scale, for now. I’ll try a job, but I may want off after the first run.” She turned purposefully to Damwick. “And if that happened, I’d hire a doxy for you to keep your boss happy, until you got tired of your adventures and knew what you wanted, and then I’d buy your share out. I can wait a month, or a year. Beside, A’lah doesn’t have claims on my loins while you’re gone.”

Byrie nodded graciously. “I’m glad to have a professional operator aboard, Glenda. It could be dangerous, though. The nature of privateering being what it is.”

“I don’t mind the danger. I’m combat-ready. What I don’t like is bad management.”

“I shall do my best to live past your expectations, then. Shon?”

Shon had never been talkative, and her voice could barely be heard over the din of the bar. “We’re married, now.”

A clamor of surprise and congratulations rose from the table. Hands were gripped, shoulders squeezed, and for a few long minutes business was set aside. Byrie keyed in for another round of stemware, courtesy of some earlier grateful cantina-goer. Tetva made them recount the brief ceremony, and Byrie interrupted only a few times to confirm that it had been imam-approved. Roger had decided to follow old tradition and take Shon’s family name, though he didn’t cede his wealth to her – that would have required Byrie’s approval, and there hadn’t been time.

Shon, now broken with grins and thank-you’s, began again. “We’re married, so I’ll go where Roger does. I can only do scale. If you need anything I can do.”

“Can you keep ship?”

“I believe so.”

“Then you’re welcome. Greene, that leaves you. Now I barely trust you around all of these women at the table, and so much the less if you sidle up to one in some dark corner on the boat there. Shall we rent you a doxy? I’m sure we can find one who would be willing to service on a high-risk privateer for, say, half your proceeds. Or should we perhaps consider a woman who has very subtly hinted that she would like to keep you as a pet? A woman who brings the valuable skills of public relations and sales on board with her, instead of the simple ability to take up space in your bunk? Though I hazard there would be some of that, too.”

Kurtie grinned at Byrie.

“A woman who I already spoke to about this an hour ago while you were picking up the key.” Byrie winked back at Kurtie. “Now, Cormick, I don’t want to rush you into any hasty decisions. But I’m sure you must have noticed that you left the service with a little promotion. That “ploos” means extra in the fund and your residual. Guess who lobbied for that, eh? That’s right-”

Kurtie interjected, “Actually, it didn’t take very much effort. I think they actually liked him.”

Byrie continued past Kurtie. “Anyway, I’ll give you some time to think it over. How about five clicks? Two. Three…”

“Excuse me?”

Cormick looked up, over his shoulder, and was nearly blinded. It was her. The luminous woman.

“I’m sorry for eavesdropping – I was – but I heard you mention privateering, Capatin?”

“Major.”

“Yes. And I see your ship there. Do you already have a charter off-planet? If not, I’d like to talk. If so, I guess I’d like to talk soon.”

Byrie smiled. “Do sit down.”

The woman did so, sliding into the narrow gap Cormick created between himself and the demonstrably displeased Kurtie Brook.

In another corner of the Cantina, Lorry was playing the part of the redundant fishhook, though it was Fly who was doing more of the fishing. The Brutes were sticking to the plan, trying to keep their distance from Gaya (while not looking like they were trying to keep their distance.) After the ruckus they’d raised at the spaceport, they could expect shape routines running in cameras anywhere; Gaya could move a lot more freely without them looming over her shoulders. Of course, in a fab town like this one, even one Brute would be noticeable, so Lorry and Fly stayed close together in the shadows at the edge of the room, relying more on the tight viewing angles created by the dome buttresses and the profile-static of the wall foliage than disguises for their anonymity.

Lorry did try to keep an eye on Gaya, though – she would need them to be ready to leave at her signal, and Lorry didn’t trust Fly, in heat as she was, to pay much attention to their leader. In fact… Gaya had already sat down at a table with what could have been a pilot group, maybe. She was making casual, apparently accidental contact with the man she sat next to, and her body language was invitational. She was sharpening her claws.

Lorry sipped at the froth on the top of her cup and shifted uncomfortably on the couch, or her small portion of it. She and Fly had found a seat behind where the band was setting up for another set, facing off into a small, poorly lit alcove created for privacy. Lorry usually fit nicely on a couch with Fly – even when intended for original-sized humans, couches offered plenty of room for cuddling, for some intertwined legs, or for Gaya to slide up into one of their laps. But usually couches didn’t have the two co-pilots of the Undertow crammed into the center between them.

Well, in all fairness, she and Fly had joined the co-pilots on their couch after learning the pair were taking their ship off-planet tomorrow. Now Lorry and Fly had wedged themselves into the bookend positions, and the four of them were stuck.

Fly had done up Gaya’s tigress motif in full style – her ‘Skin, boots, and gloves were all black-striped and setting off her already pointed ears and fangs. She’d drawn her glove-fingers out into stiff, claw-like points, too, which did to the male half of the pilot duo what it normally did to Lorry – make him perky and wriggly. He was purring almost as much as Fly when she ran her clawtips through the hair behind his ears.

The female half of the Undertow wasn’t nearly as enthralled by Lorry’s sunny flowerprint ‘Skin and her blossom hat. She wriggled on the couch only because she wanted more room, but instead she succeeded in letting Lorry slip further down the armrest and onto the cushion, ratcheting her in even tighter.

“You say,” the female co-pilot winced, “that there’s another one of you?” There was some incredulity in her voice. “Our cabin is … not large.”

“Oh, but she’s much smaller,” Lorry answered, setting her brow with an assuring furrow. She glanced over the co-pilot’s shoulder toward Gaya’s table and hoped she was doing better.

Once the luminous woman and Byrie began to haggle, Cormick and the rest of the table fell silent. Now, with Kurtie sitting on the newcomer’s far side (that is, well out of elbow range and effectively armed only with the evil eye), Cormick felt safe leaning away from the table to look the woman over again.

She had given her name as Gayahtri Spivak, a classic Hindri name that matched the shape of her face. That kind of racial specialization implied Mother Military or a formal religion. Cormick considered the latter far more likely – she had that mark on her forehead, and she had the earnestness of True Belief in her mannerisms. The Mother had a way of kicking any kind of earnestness out of her children, as it didn’t cohabit well with unquestioning obedience of stupid orders.

Gayahtri’s polished black ‘Skin and Jungas clung to her shape the way a ‘Skin really should. A filmy black drapery fixed to a choker broach at her neck hung down over her shoulders and torso; it disguised her shape only enough to make Cormick look more closely, which was of course its purpose. Each time she shifted in her seat – or even breathed – the complex of wrinkles and creases in the sea of black ‘Skin rearranged and changed the reflections of the Cantina’s greenish ambient lights. Combined with the vaguely sexual squishing sound her ‘Skin produced as it flexed, her every motion was transfixing.

Of course, alluring as it was, Cormick had seen suits like it in plenty in Marta’s before. It was the uniform of a domme femme, especially one who was advertising. But Gayahtri was no femme. And beside, her head glowed.

Cormick had not woken one morning in late puberty to see the light in the eyes of his bunkmates. He had not reported to Mother’s Special Programs, as the bulletins demanded, to announce that adolescence had gifted him with the vision of souls in his fellow conscripts. He never told Commander Oostrienne about the sparks that met in their mouths the first time she secreted him into her office to kiss him, or how he knew weeks before she told him that her interest in him had dwindled and transferred to another first-year.

According to Special Programs, these “Features” (as they called them) always manifested with the first promises of adulthood, so Cormick had felt no disloyalty in keeping to himself what he had kept to himself since he had been taught to sign at six months and his first memories had been embossed. In truth, he wasn’t certain he saw anything unusual until his tenth year, when quadry training began. By then, the seniors in his bunkroom had indirectly taught him the crucial skill of keeping his silence.

His silence almost became lockjaw when he reached fifteen and had the ocular tap implanted. He never worried that the false retinas would clear his vision – that would only have meant being normal again and remaining in quadry – but he was very afraid that the tap might open his secret to Mother. But apparently the Feature was somewhere deeper in his head; at least, Special Programs had never come for him.

But Cormick had never, in all his memory, seen a soul like this. Usually he saw only a pale blue light shining through someone’s eyes. Some charismatics might glow in the mouth as they spoke; lovers shared lightning at the fingertips when they touched, and more as they moved closer. He might see a faint aura through skin if the room was sufficiently dark; Marta’s, with it’s ambient twilight, was a great place for Cormick to see what someone was really like. The only time he’d see someone’s full ghost – the translucent body-shaped shell anchored on the much brighter bar of light that ran the ley line from their mind to the focal point between their hips – was emerging from their fresh corpse; but those phantoms didn’t stick around for more than a few minutes.

At least, until this evening. This Gayahtri’s ghost shone through her face, even glowing through her ‘Skin whenever the wall lights faded. Her ley line was not a hazy, static bar – it was distinct constellation of mandalic motifs.

Most disturbing to Cormick, the ghost did not seem completely bound to her body. It was a heartbeat behind her when she turned in her chair. While she lifted her cup to her lips for a sip, the ghost fingers emerged from the gloves to play over the curves at the cup’s edges. The body listened intently to Byrie, but the ghost studied each person at the table. It ended on Cormick and smiled beatifically. Cormick quickly turned away.

Gaya nodded appreciatively at Major Harold’s words. His ship looked a disaster, but the Major clearly embodied the first law of pirating: ‘To thine own skin be true.’ If Byrie Harold would fly in the ship, it was safe enough for her and for her precious cargo.

She’d given the table her true name against her instincts, but on her Darling’s insistence. Darling had not yet led her wrong, but she would not make good pirate – she was far too preoccupied with honesty.

<Trust me, Duckie.>

I am, Darling – more than you know.

“Good”, said Harold, tapping the key in the center of the table. The holo of the ship disappeared, and he slid it to the man sitting beside her, the one they called ‘Greene’. Greene was the only one alone at the table, if you didn’t count the blonde tart on her right. No one else seemed to count her. The blonde was making possessive eyes at Greene, but her fuming glares directed Gaya’s way were too desperate to be believed. So Greene was available, and might be a way to lock the deal. Maybe even a way to get a discount. Gaya winked at him.

The poor dear blushed! This would be easy.

<I like that one.>

Should we be bed him, Darling?

<More than that, Ducky!>

Shhh. Towel down, Darling! You’re making me too squirmy. Let me finish some business.

Major Harold had settled back in his seat, smugly confident. “So, next I ask, what is the destination? And should we expect inconveniences? If you were eavesdropping as well as I suspect, you’d know this is no salt and flour barge.”

“Star Cetaron is your destination, Major.”

“Hmm… The Nymphaeum, right? No discounts for clergy, Sister. Especially not for clergy.”

“None expected. As for inconveniences, let me just say that there must be absolutely no pit stops or hitchers, though I suspect there will be a few who will try very persuasively to convince you otherwise. You must jump straightly. If you hub even once, your payment will dwindle most saddeningly.”

“I see.” Byrie scratched behind his goatee. “These persuasive hitchhikers wouldn’t be in the battleship moored over the HFO, by some small chance?”

<Yes. Tell him ‘Yes’, Duckie. It will only be worse for us if he finds out later.>

Gaya leaned forward, so she could speak in the lowest of tones. “Though I haven’t had time to catch up on the comings and goings of the fixed orbit station, Major, I would suspect that you and I are of an understanding – your trade is in transportation, not information.”

Cormick had been studying the half-life of the bubbles on the surface of his drink since Gayahtri’s wink. The spirit inside her was staring at him now. He wasn’t fond of public attention, but he hadn’t been bashful since his graduation; this experience was leaving him off-balance. That he was sitting directly next to this strange woman was now as unsettling as it was intriguing. He didn’t want to be caught staring back at the ghost, and have to explain just what he was looking at, but neither could he ignore her. He resorted to stealing sidelong glances while trying to focus his mind on the job to which Byrie was committing to them.

“Well…” Byrie drew out the word, but he wasn’t using the delay to think, Cormick knew – it was purely for Gayahtri’s discomfort. Byrie didn’t have to ‘think’ very often; he reacted at the instinctual level, just like Cormick. “That’s the real trick, isn’t it. We’ll have to move past the HFO to jump, one way or the other. Skipping around the horizon just to bounce is bound to attract even more attention. So, even if we could make the calculations in motion, no doubt your spider up there already has the web laid out for you. It will cost you double. Seventy.”

Cormick restrained his mouth from popping open, but his eyelids did it instead. They’d paid seventy thousand for the ship. And now Byrie thought they could recoup the cost on the first job.

“Half now, half on delivery,” Byrie continued.

“I’ve bought ships for less, Major.”

So would have Cormick, if he and Byrie hadn’t been on this snowball when they were shopping.

“It’s not the ship you’re paying for, Sister – it’s the expertise of the crew. If you think someone else on this planet can fly you safely through the spiderweb, I invite you look around. But we don’t price-match, and we won’t be here waiting for your business tomorrow morning.”

For the space of a held breath, Gayahtri did not respond. “I can give you Ten now, Major. It’s all I have. But the Nymphs will pay you an additional One Hundred on successful Delivery.”

One hundred and ten thousand! Just a few hours ago, Cormick had thought of retiring on less than two-sevenths of that.

“Interesting…” mused Byrie. “But what’s the cargo? Too much mass will raise your price.”

“That’s no problem, Major. Only myself, and two others. One bag apiece.”

“This is no cruise-liner, Sister. The bunks are full.”

“It’s not the ship, I’m paying for, Major – it’s the expertise of the crew. And I’m sure, for the price I’m paying, you’ll find a mop closet you can spare. If no one among you will share a bed.”

Byrie chuckled. “Well said. Sister, you have your ship. I’ll take that Ten now, and you and your two will meet us at coordinates-to-follow tomorrow, no later than Half-Day. We will be leaving at half-past then, and we will expect the Nymphs to honor your deal, whether or not you are on board when we leave.”

Gayahtri fished in her holster bag and pulled out a conveyor. Cormick gawked. Most conveyors stopped at the x³ bank; this one had the largest x⁴ he’d ever seen, and that was more than half full. The marks on the top read 5*9*9*3. 10,047 in cash!

Even Byrie blinked when he saw the payment, but he didn’t miss a step. He took out his own conveyor, and somehow coaxed it to accept the 10,000 into mixed banks. It could be sorted out later. Cormick thought he might have lost a few grains in the transfer, but Marta’s bots would find them later. She’d be pleased by the tip.

Gayahtri took back her conveyor and rattled the few remaining grains it held. “Major, we will be more than on time. Now if you could recommend a flop where 47 might buy a bed and a reasonable expectation of privacy, I’d be obliged.”

Byrie tucked his conveyor away and slapped both hands on the table. “My pleasure, Sister. Leftenin Greene!”

Cormick immediately straightened and responded. “Yes, Sir!”

Byrie nodded. “Thank you for volunteering, Leftenin!” He looked back to Gayahtri. “Our best man, Cormick Greene, will show you more hospitality than 100 points could buy, Sister Spivak, and your 47 are yours, unless he earns a tip.” His attention returned to Cormick. “Greene! You have the biggest apartment among us – I expect that your bed is in guest-receiving condition, and your couch is in you-receiving condition, or it will be in twenty minutes, yes?”

“Yes, Sir!” Cormick stood. He thought he should resent the trick Byrie pulled on him, but he didn’t. In fact, he was exceptionally pleased. Byrie might even expect him to offer to service the woman, but he didn’t mind.

Gayahtri stood along with him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Left Greene. Major. But there is no need for the urgency. Perhaps Left Greene and I could learn each other a bit better before he takes me to his apartment.” Her eyes met his. “Cormick, is it? Do you dance?”

Cormick was the one most surprised when he answered, “Yes.”

Of course, Kurtie left the cantina in a huff only moments later.

Gaya found that Cormick was a passingly good dancer. That was convenient, since they were the only ones dancing on this side of the bar. The band was playing now on the other side, and dance floor was beginning to fill, but it would be too noisy over there for her to hear herself think, much less for him to hear her, when she wanted to speak.

When she first stopped him at an open spot on the floor and assumed the stance, his hand went to the small of her back. Though she was no femme, she let him lead. His eyes met hers only in brief flickers, yet he seemed to anticipate how she wanted to move a half second before she thought of it herself; this produced a strange sort of syncopated rhythm between them. It took her a few songs, but she relaxed against him and stepped as she pleased, once she accepted that he would lead her there anyway.

As her chin nestled against his temple (and he was even on the tall side for Military), his hand slid up the curve of her spine to the bulge where Darling lived beneath her ‘Skin. For an instant, her blood froze. Without breaking step, she caught his arm and guided it down, lower, until his hand loosely cupped the bottom of her ass. “That’s better, isn’t it?” She grinned teeth at him. He suddenly became shy again, which only encouraged her. “I can be wriggly when I dance, so you’ll have to keep a firm hold, or you might lose me altogether.”

He smiled and complied with a squeeze.

The band played through a predictable rotation of standards, including a few choreographed tunes that allowed even the leadfeet to participate. Waitresses and customers milled around beneath the cantina’s dome, and no one made even the slightest hint that the two rogue dancers should move to the other side. A few people watched them; most simply ignored them.

Gaya began to realize what it meant to step with a good dancer. If she wanted to try something – a spin, a slide, a hop – he made it work and still kept them on the beat. Though he was twenty centimeters shorter, he could dip her with little effort. His arms were much stronger than she’d suspected; he had appeared lanky beneath the coat and hat. If she insisted – as she did by pulling him off-course during one song – he would follow, but seduction was so much easier when she let him do the work.

He was graceful, but not fluid. ‘Fluid’ was her job; she melted to him and made sure he felt her curves at every step. “You’re very good,” she whispered in his ear. Either he was embarrassed or couldn’t understand her; either way he glanced away and said nothing.

She realized that he stole glimpses of her face each time her eyes roamed elsewhere, but every time she looked back, he turned away. It was like he knew her from before and was trying to remember it. Or waiting for her to remember him. Or perhaps he was just a boy with a crush on her. The beat changed again and they turned, and her thigh slipped between his. Oh, yes – he clearly had a crush on her. She grinned. “What is your apartment like, Cormick?” He glanced at her and she caught his eye and held it; she moistened her lips with her tongue, which hovered just above his eye level and only centimeters away.

They almost tripped.

She rested her cheek against the side of his head, which involved only a little slump on her part, and they continued to talk beneath the noise of the cantina and the band.

“Normal, I suppose?”

Oh… he was answering her question. She’d forgotten she asked it – it was only meant to get his attention.

“I mean, it’s pretty overgrown, but I keep it clear. It’s not as big as the Major suggests, but it will be comfortable. And the bed is clean, Marm Spivak.”

She tilted her head down to whisper, pressing close enough that her lips would just brush the upper fold of his ear, and her breath would rustle in the short hair there. Each time she swallowed, each time her lips met, he would hear it and feel it louder than the beating of his own heart.

“Gaya. Please, Cormick.”

“Of course, Gaya.”

“I’m sure the bed is wonderful, Cormick. But we’re hitting it off so well, we may not make it that far. I hope your couch is ample?’

“I-”

She willed him to turn them at another change of the beat, which kept him from having to think of a clever response.

Seduction followed reliable persuasion branches, like any other social manipulation. When the target was a man, a seductress typically had to give him room to play the aggressor. The seductress, in turn, had to play the part of a femme, since man-woman relationships tended to be more complicated and volatile: far too risky. She had to make herself a willing target, steering the social dynamic with only the most subtle and discrete touches.

But Gaya had never been convincingly passive. And some men simply made better prey than predators. Once you found them, the hardest part was pushing them along the edge of bashfulness without ever letting them really embarrass themselves. They were Gaya’s specialty.

“Cormick – have you had dinner?”

“No, actually. I-”

“Good. Because I ’m cooking up a big meal for you – an all-you-can-eat buffet – and I think the pot’s just about boiling over. I’d like to go to your apartment now.”

She pulled back to watch his eyes. His face went from blank, to surprised, to flushed with a guilty grin. She leaned back to his ear with a smile of her own. “Shall we go, then?”

Lorry had been certain almost half an hour ago that the pair wedged between her and Fly weren’t their trip off-planet. She’d had no success in attracting the affections of the female co-pilot, and she’d tried most every trick she knew. But Fly hadn’t given up on the male co-pilot, whose face she appeared to be devouring. So, Lorry tried to maintain polite small talk at least while she kept an anxious eye on Gaya.

The female’s responses had that ‘I hope you’ll not be here very soon’ sort of tone, but she didn’t seem ready to pry herself out the couch, either. She remained where she sat, cross-armed and sighing annoyedly while her partner struggled in Fly’s lap for leverage in their tongue-wrestling contest.

Then Lorry saw Gaya moving toward the door, a shorter man in tow. Lorry smiled – he seemed her usual type of score, though he had bad taste in hats.

Gaya caught her eye and discretely flashed, “five and follow”. Lorry blinked in response.

“Well.” Lorry nodded at the woman next to her. “I suppose we’d better settle with the bar. It was a pleasure, Cap Naaka. Fly?”

The co-pilot kissed Lorry on the cheek with only the requisite courtesy, but smiled brightly when Lorry stood and she was able to spread out on the cushion.

“Fly?”

Fly had rolled the male beneath her, and looked like she might mount him right there in the shadows of the cantina. She still hadn’t broken the liplock she had on his face.

“Fly!”

Finally the Brute looked up, leaving a red-faced, panting, and very pleased man half-dissolved on the couch beneath her. “Now?”

“Now.”

“Hmph.” Fly tousled the male co-pilot’s hair with claw-sharp gloves and stood. “Cap Ono. It was a pleasure.”

“Ah… yes.” He straightened on the couch, glancing over at his partner as he made himself more presentable. “A pleasure.”

Fly smoothed the wrinkles in her ‘Skin. “I left a card with my mailing box in your jacket, Capatin. Leave me a message if you’re in my zone. Maybe we can play that game you were describing.”

The co-pilot kept guilty eyes from his partner as the Brutes walked away.

Fly furrowed her brows at Lorry, crossing her arms tightly as they reached the pay-station and Lorry inserted her cash box. “I was winning allies. Nearly there. Another few minutes and he would have named the ship after me.”

Lorry shook her head and she settled with the station. She tipped to the percent, and the station dinged in response. Lorry tucked the conveyor away again. “Five and follow, Fly. Let’s make sure she doesn’t get out of range.”

Fly frowned, but followed Lorry out of the cantina.

He is able to find Lil’s jungle palace only because of the satmaps he’d been given at Duckworks. It’s a tiered ziggurat/pyramid with dense growth on each of the steps, effectively hiding it from satellites and planes, but from the ground it is ornate, made of polished marble and gold inlay. It’s about 5 miles up a path from a nearby town, which is controlled by Lil.

Riel comes to the town, and doesn’t stay at the inn. He is stopped by a family who tell him not to stay there – it is run by evil women. He tells them that he has come specifically to speak with those evil women, but they say “All the same, sleep with us, and you can go to visit the evil women during the daylight.”

The inn is brimful with vampiresses, but they are either lazy, functional, or dressed to the nines to meet with Lil. When Riel pushes his way in, he gets a lot of strange looks – there are very few other humans in there who are not food. He tells the inn’s mistress that he is there to see Lil, and of course the woman pushes back – there are many people who wish to see her, and it is her pleasure, not theirs with which she is concerned. Was he announced? Riel announces himself, and he is certain Lil will be pleased to see him. Certainly. The tax to see her is very high. How much? Riel reaches for his wallet. The cost is not dollars or pesos or Euros or yuan. It is in kisses – that is the only currency he has that is worth anything here. Then take your toll – take it double and carry it back to the Queen so she will know I’m here.

The Inn Mistress pulls him across the bar and closes her lips over the soft part of his neck beneath his jawbone. Everyone is watching him now. She takes only a small taste before she releases him. Her eyes widen as his blood washes over her tongue. He wipes away the trickle of blood on his skin, and presses until the wound closes. “I will let her know you are here.” See that you do. You will stay here while you wait. I have accommodations. No, you shall stay here while you wait, if you plan to survive the time of your waiting. The rest of the room is staring intently – some have drawn closer. You shall have a room with a lock. I shall send an attendant to see to your needs. It may be some time before the Queen will make time for you, if she chooses to see you at all.

She leads Riel to a small room in the corner of the inn, and gives him a charmed lock for the door.

When he leaves, he is accosted by vampires, and he has to kill several. Inn Mistress is not happy – assigns him an escort, who of course demand payment in blood, but the Mistress indicates it is to be very small draws. Inn mistress also takes cost of room and board from his flesh.

When Lil is ready to see him, he is taken down to the main hall of the inn, which is now emptied. He is washed in hot water and left naked. He hears a lot of commotion outside before Lil enters the room. She is nude, too, except for body paint on her shoulders and face and a tall headress of black feathers. Riel can see beyond the door that there are vampires crowding around – she shoos them away.

Riel offers her the chair across from him – he doesn’t stand – but she doesn’t take it immediately. Her eye-level still isn’t much higher than his – she’s a small, round-bodied woman not more than four-foot-eight or so.

She lifts her head and smells the air around him. She speaks in spanish. So, the hound of Ey-fa has come. Who? Ey-fa. Your mother. Riel shakes his head. You don’t know much, do you? E- v- a. Your mother – mother of the world she claims. Falsely. Hasn’t she shown herself to you? Hasn’t your brother explained? I don’t have a brother. Do you mean Mary? Maria? Is that the guise she shows you? How amusing – you must be a Catholic, yes? How funny.

So, has Eva sent you to kill me? Or is she going to try negotiating again? I’m not here to kill you. And Mary didn’t send me. I haven’t seen her for years. You found me on your own? This is very interesting. I think I might like you, hound. So why are you here? To talk. You know the price, don’t you. I demand a kiss. I’m ready. She sits on his lap, her naked ass on his bare thighs, takes his cheeks between her hands, and presses a long kiss onto his lips. He is surprised, but he doesn’t fight it. When they’re done – I thought you wanted blood? Are you offering? He doesn’t answer.

Maybe later. I think you and I will have much to talk about, much more than we can talk about today. If you have no brother, and your Mother has not been filling your head with her invective, you and I might have the opportunity to become friends. I wouldn’t hold your breath. Oh, I know a thing or two about you, Jack Riel. I know you’ve had plenty of friends like me, but none that could be as good as me. You and I will be good friends because unlike Eva, I will be honest with you. I will tell you the truth of reality. Doubtless your mother would warn you of my deceptions, of my trickery, but you will see that I speak truth, you will hear it in my words. I have no reason to lie, because truth is on my side.

You will come to my palace tomorrow morning, and every morning. She squirms on his lap, lifting a knee to rotate on his thighs and face him. We will learn each other more intimately. She continues to rock her hips until he is erect. I will tell you many things, many secrets, and you will tell me some things about yourself and perhaps we will become friends. And what then? Will you offer me a place at your side, a kingdom of my own to rule? Is that what you wish? They’re mine to give. I offered them to Adam – I’m sorry -Joshua, Jesus – and he rejected them simply because my hand held them. Think what he could have accomplished if he were King of the Jews – the title was rightfully his, but mine to grant – instead of a criminal rabblerouser. Much more than he did as Buddha, and his message wouldn’t have been twisted by Paulus or his stooge Cephas. He was foolish.

Do you claim to be Satan now? I will not help you to establish your rule on Earth. Your claims are dust – your words are empty lies. Mary did warn you about me.

Satan? No! That fool is in hell. She rubs her tummy. But I am the Devil, when I need to be. She steps off his lap. I see that there are some downsides to you being so… naive to the world. You don’t believe me – you don’t have any reason to fear me. Riel looks non-plussed. You’ll wish you’d had a little more faith. She grew, grew quickly into a ten-foot, then twenty-foot horned devil with cloven hooves and spaded tail. Her eyes and fanged mouth sprouted fire, and her breasts, which had grown very large dripped flames from the teats. In addition to her tail, she had sprouted a huge priapic cock, which also dripped fire. She stamped at the ground, shattering the wood floor to splinters, and her shoulders and wings broke through the ceiling. A body half fell from the floor above; Lil plucked the woman – Gloriana, one of his escorts – from the joist and chomped on her, ignoring her screams.

Riel was frightened, but was repeating over and over – it’s not real, it’s an illusion. Lil picks him up in her hook-clawed hand and holds him high. Her breath smells of roasted flesh. I have power more than you can imagine – this is only a parlor trick by comparison. This is not real! It’s an illusion! No, my dear – it is your world that is the illusion – your reality is a thin veneer over the substance of mind and mentality. It’s a lie! You refuse to understand, don’t you. I suppose I’ll take that taste of you now. She lifted him above her mouth and bit off his right leg above the knee. Riel screamed in pain, and continued screaming as she bit off his left leg. She chewed and swallowed, and lapped at the blood that spilled from his stumps, then pressed them to her nipples to cauterize them. Now the room smelled of his own burning flesh.

She tossed him to the ground, and began repairing the damage to the inn, pulling the floor and the beams of the roof back into place. Riel is sobbing on the floor. How is your reality now? Through his tears and shaking head, Riel still maintains, this isn’t real. Lil returns to her shape of the little Peruvian, and she places her hands on her hips. She shakes her own head. You may have your legs back, when you are ready, when you drag yourself up to my palace and beg before my throne. And perhaps I will forgive your disbelief, and we might still be friends.

Riel is flung from the inn, and he is collected by the family who housed him the first night. The cost is often high. We had five children – they have taken two of our son, and our eldest daughter is now no longer our daughter. On the second morning Riel begins climbing the path to the palace. To pull himself along with his hands takes much longer than he expects, and it takes him through the night. Several hours before dawn, he arrives at the steps of her palace. He knocks but there is no response, so he sleeps by the door. He awakens to be pulled into the palace. He is washed and reclothed, and taken to the throne room, which is her bedroom; her bed is the throne on the dais. I’m so pleased you came. I smelled you coming a little after midnight. Do you think we can be friends now? Place him on the bed and leave me.

He doesn’t need to beg, just fuck her. He won’t do that. He can fuck her, or she can fuck him, but if they’re going to be friends, they will have sex. Is he married? Does he have anyone that cares? He cares. This is sex, not a commitment. He has to give up on the Catholic dogma – sex is just a way to get closer and to make children. We won’t be doing any of that, but we do need to get closer. He hesitates, but relents when she tells him that unless they have sex, he won’t get his legs back. Once they’re done, she sends him away, but tells him to come back the next morning.

He visits her every morning for the next week.

Day 2 – she tells him about Mary, about Adam, and about herself.

Lil:  Are you a Christian / I’m not sure, but I have been.  Very Serious. / What kind of Christian?  Your father’s religion, the Buddha Christ – or the religion of Saul of Tarsus, for whom your son is named? (Riel had already learned not to rise to the bait, but it was difficult to hold his tongue.  he would have to ask her about this son later.)  Oh, was that a surprise?  Me and my loose tongue.  But you were saying… / I was a Catholic.  So what does that mean? / That could go either way.  There’s the “parents took me to mass” variety- / I had the stigmata when I was younger. / Oooh, now you have me interested.  Could you do it again?  I’d love to see you bleed like that.  Stigmatas bleed the bloodof Adam himself, they say, and in your case, I’d believe it.  I haven’t tasted him since… well, a couple thousand years ago when I helped him martyr himself. / (Again Riel just manages to hold his tongue.)  I don’t think so.  They’re pretty scarred over.  /  They’re still scarred? Why didn’t I notice yesterday?  This, I have to see.

Day 3 – she tells him about Baod (he’s what Coera is made of), and of Patar-Ori, etc.

Day 4 – she invites him to join her. He won’t help her take over the world. He doesn’t understand – it’s going to happen – it’s been fated to happen, without his help. He may even stop her from doing it this time, but it will be the next turn or the next. She has patience. The question is, not will he help her, but will he be her friend. She tells him not to answer, but to think on it.

Day 5 – He returns to say he cannot be her friend. Images are in his mind of how casually she killed his escort, and broke off his legs. She knows – she saw it, but she will be his friend, though – why did he come? He talks about the Keys of Adam, and she says she’s leased it out to the Well of Souls. She tells him also that he will return, and that he will not kill her – he couldn’t, anyway – she can smell him from miles away.

The Fates were first created as a joint act of Patar-Ori, Zehn Mehr and Epid Mehr to protect the souls of the Garden, before Lil’s treachery. Because they are eminations of Mehr, other solar gods (but not the majority by far) have instantiated their own copies of the fates to manage the lives of their creations, so there are billions of offices of Fates now through the pleniverses.

The task of the Fates is to culture a stable society of life by providing a moderate guarantee that average sentient life will survive through child-bearing and -rearing years. They do this firstly by managing the system through which guardian angels are bound to or extracted from souls. Typically, the souls groomed from Coera are bound to mote angels within Patar-Ori, who are tasked to attend and protect the life through their guaranteed lifespan, and to attend them to and from Coera (or at least to; from is only if the soul dies shortly after its guarantee. In the latter years, when souls are many and mote angels are few, the fates have established a method by which motes are drawn from the souls themselves. These souls can re-incarnate without needing to return to Patar-Ori for re-guidance, but they also tend to have a much slighter chance of enlightenment.

The Fates also use astrology to ensure an auspicious time for the birth of any given soul, so it can move freely within its intention-arc, while running into as few dangerous obstacles as possible. The Fates, of course, have no control over astrology or the stars, but they have an extremely accurate prescience of portents and significance, and how that will affect the environs within the Boundary. The Fates, as part of Mehr, share in his ability to see the fore and rear of time. Without the Boundary, the effects of the stars was considerably stronger, so while astrology is now less efficacious for the Fates, it is also less dramatic. Planets and the other solar bodies of course still have a very significant influence, but since all but Patar-Ori are stilled, their influence is also more gradual and less dramatic.

Finally, the Fates act as a kind of alarm system – they warn the guardian angels, who are not always within easy access of their protectees, when danger is afoot, and they keep track of such large impending events as wars, famines, plagues, and other catastrophes. Gods who are in good with the Fates may be able to learn of these things ahead of time, or they may petition the Fates for an overview of a particular soul’s future (the Fates’s ability to see details is very limited, even more than Mehr’s), but since there is little the Fates need or desire (aside from a vacation, but there is no soul who could manage their job), it is difficult to curry their favor.

Because the Fates are still a part of Mehr, they do not suffer all of the restrictions of the Boundary, and they are able to communicate, as much as semi-automatons are able, with the Fates of other stars. This network augments the Fates already remarkable astrological skills and prescience. Some suspect that the Fates and their Network may also be a way in which the otherwise still Epid Mehr mains in contact with mentalities and creation. This suspicion is especially heightened among those who know that Zehn-Mehr reposes among a forest of fates, though she does not have her own Life to manage.

don’t move the stars to control someone’s life – quite the opposite – they would seed in souls as fit the very complicated plan created by the stars.

You think it’s amazing the stars have influence over you now – you should have seen before the barrier! Planets and other solar bodies have more direct influence.

Fates of Patar-Ori/Sol operate out of their own office within Sol’s domain, but not under his supervision. They have a VPN out through the Barrier to communicate with the other offices of Fates in other systems