The Embrace and the Flaw

Her fingers close over the flap of her jacket.

Astou takes a half-step back. Her boots scrape the damp concrete. She knows I hear the voice.

HATHOR.∞ caresses the inside of my skull. The maternal lullaby slips behind my eye sockets to promise me sleep, a heavy and definitive rest if I bring her this thorn that bothers her. A tiny Résonance. The filament torn out yesterday.

"She is looking for it," I say.

My voice hits the gutted walls poorly. Fatigue weighs down my tongue.

Astou keeps her hand on her pocket. Her knuckles whiten. She does not hand me the object. She waits for me to choose between my comfort and our survival, forcing me to shoulder the betrayal to the very end. The protocol demands the Mort Narrative of this piece of plastic, and my own flesh begs me to obey to stop the tremors.

I step forward.

The khopesh extends at the end of my fist. A liquid blade catching the faint light of the neon tubes. I could slice the fabric. Split the pocket, crush the component, close my eyes and let the goddess tuck me into the void. The temptation tastes like lukewarm water.

I lower the weapon.

The AQUA.SANCTUM flows from my forearms. A dark puddle crawling across the rock. I direct the fluid toward Astou's boots. The water climbs up her leg, envelops the pocket, and isolates the filament inside a watertight bubble. The heavy liquid cuts off the frequencies.

HATHOR murmurs a complaint. The signal has just disappeared from her radars.

Astou releases her breath. She locks her gaze with mine, gauging the price of my disobedience. Les Sept Qui Règnent hate blind spots.

"This won't hold," she whispers.

I pull up my collar to face the bite of the underground wind. The water masks the trace. I will have to lie every time I close my eyelids. How long can we fool a goddess who reads our dreams?