Four of Wands
A time of harmony,
unity, and success
​
XXVI
The Stargates of Isis
The fire has settled and
reigns over its realms
​
Isis embarks on a grand endeavor,
leveraging her recent temporal displacement to Earth's past.
Distance from her dominion is no impediment to her reign.
Through stargate conduits, she forges psychic connections,
a constant instrument of her will.
Each command will be enacted through her trusted lieutenants.
Should any distant outpost challenge her sovereignty,
its local commander will swiftly receive reinforcements to reassert Isis's dominion
I
Within the swirling nebulae of her own mind, Isis sculpted the nascent forms of Earthly civilizations, their destinies etched in the very fabric of her thoughts. She, the sovereign of this cosmic forge, would remain tethered to Artemis, her celestial haven, and would never again breach the temporal veil to tread upon the dust of the nascent world. Time travel, a serpent's kiss of unforeseen consequence, was anathema. With a flick of her wrist, a decree of ultimate finality was forged, a law that severed the very possibility of temporal transgression. Those ensnared by its forbidden allure would face not mere justice, but a spectacle of raw, primal judgment: public execution, their screams echoing into the void. Yet, in a twisted homage to the bonds of blood, a sliver of hope, a cunning loophole, was woven into the decree – for those who journeyed alongside Qblh, redemption might yet be found. Proof, she mused, was a fleeting specter, a phantom to be chased. The very *belief* in their guilt, she decreed, was the undeniable testament, the chilling echo of their transgression. And for herself, another escape hatch, a hidden sanctuary from her own absolute law.
The Earth still craved a conduit, a nexus point, a portal from which her silent dominion could stretch. Her vow of non-interference was but a whisper against the roaring tempest of her ambition. Agents, unseen and unheard, would be her eyes and ears, their reports a river of whispers flowing through the portal. Qblh, her chosen vessel, the key to this terrestrial gateway, was already en route. He was, in his essence, a pliable force, readily yielding to her enterprises, his intervention a rare and distant storm. She harbored a chilling certainty: under his very gaze, she would orchestrate the planet's subtle subjugation, his every suspicion a constant, gnawing dread of an Armageddon she would, with cold precision, prevent. For in that ultimate catastrophe, his blame would fall upon her meddling hand. Isis, with the foresight of a cosmic chess master, would never court failure at the hands of her own brother. Qblh, possessing a titan's endurance and a spirit forged in the fires of adversity, was destined to bear the weight of consequence, to absorb the blows and rise, unbroken. He was, she mused, so very like a man, and a flicker of ancient wonder crossed her face – could these mortal beings indeed be the architects of their own genesis?
The notion of temporal boundaries, once inviolable, now as fragile as spun glass, the ease with which they could be shattered, unleashing chaos and unraveling the delicate tapestry of existence, sent a shiver of primal fear through her. But this dread was soothed by the bedrock of her brother's unwavering integrity, his resolute grip on the continuum of space and time. She found a strange solace in his rituals, the arcane practices that safeguarded the profound secrets of the Genie, the very essence of their cosmic order.
The raw accounts of the fleet's annihilation, a symphony of shattered hulls and dying cries, resonated deep within Isis. These were *her* ships, her pride, now reduced to echoes of their former glory. Yet, a grim satisfaction bloomed. Qblh, in his brutal efficiency, had spared her subjects. This wasn't a massacre; it was a legend forged in fire, an Artemis epic, not a tragic blunder. Defeat was a foreign concept. Isis felt the surge of absolute control, a predator surveying its domain. Qblh, ensnared by the insatiable hunger of eighty-four virgins, would be consumed for days. Time. Precious, potent time for her to weave her machinations.
A chilling decree, carried on the silent currents of her will, reached Gemini. Qblh must be separated from the volatile spark of Genie. Should their paths intersect, Gemini was to deliver a stark ultimatum: Genie was forbidden within the Pleasure Dome. Disobedience meant immediate presentation to Isis, the offending entity banished without reprieve. A second transgression, however, would summon her direct, unyielding attention, and Qblh himself would be dragged to her presence.
Her thoughts drifted to the ghost of the Venetian empire, a whisper of civilizations that clawed at the edges of memory. Her own lineage was ancient, seemingly etched in stone, yet the bedrock of history felt disturbingly fluid. She herself had sculpted official narratives, bending truth to fit her grand design. But the Earthlings… they pulsed with an alien allure. And then there were her own, lost souls, unaccounted for. Could Qblh, in his vast, untamed power, reclaim them? She would pay his price, yes, but she would also lace her offers with a subtle poison, a temptation designed to shrink his demands to a mere pittance.
Antiope and Helen. The names themselves were thorns in her side. Qblh, she knew, would shield them with his formidable might, a fierce, unwavering bulwark against her retribution. She fixated on their images, a knot of conflicting emotions tightening within her. Forgiveness, a concept as alien as starlight to her decree, warred with the unshakeable certainty of their guilt. Her law, a complex tapestry woven from eons of dominion, declared them criminals, their transgressions unforgivable. To leave them unpunished would be to tarnish her own authority, a compromise she could not countenance. Qblh, understanding this, would spirit them away, beyond her reach, to some forgotten corner of the cosmos. No, she would not pursue them. If their paths dared to cross hers, judgment would be swift. If Qblh himself presented them, she would, as was her custom, honor his plea.
Yet, the gnawing obsession for a stargate on Earth remained the undeniable engine of her ambition. The Pegasus, a phantom ship carrying its own stargate, was key. Earth, still clinging to its association with "Jim," would perceive it as a harmless relic, an echo of a bygone era. Secrecy was paramount. With a silent summons, her starship navigators materialized, their forms shimmering like heat haze.
"Sisters," her voice, a silken whip, cut through the hum of anticipation. "Cygnus, our unwitting pawn, is now ensnared in the Pleasure Dome, occupied for days. I require a stargate on Earth, and I require the Pegasus returned to my orbit, today. Can this be achieved?""
"Not without the knowledge of the Genie, m' lady. We must assume that it is fully knowledgeable concerning our operations. We have all learned to respect his device. All secret ways to Earth are closed to us, m' lady. We cannot imagine a way to approach Earth without him gaining knowledge."
"Then I shall presume that he will do nothing. Set up a stargate for yesterday then and arrange for a put-call displacement of the Pegasus."
"M' lady, that has never been done. None of us knows how to do that."
"Maybe you don't, but I do."
Isis was at the helm of her empire's resources. The very fact that Qblh could hold his own against her said a much about his power. Yet, Jim was simply good at running and hiding.
He had no social skills and no armies, but he was rather quick to perform.
Jim wanted her to give up the empire and go off with him and live a simple life. Undoubtedly, that is what he would be doing with Helen and Antiope. But Jim would want to show-off to Antiope and Helen. He was typically male in that department even though he claimed to have full control of his instincts. Isis knew better. She only led him to believe that he had free will. He would go through great efforts to free himself of her, but that only strengthened the bond with her twin. She felt that they were the same creature, but only split into a male and female form.
A tremor, a primal hum, whispered through her thoughts: *all life, a singular, pulsing current*. The notion wasn't a sterile observation; it was a visceral truth that dissolved the boundary between her and her people. Their triumphs surged through her veins like potent wine, their agony a raw wound on her own flesh. Her twin, a mind like a honed blade, craved dissection, scoffing at the tidal surge of empathy that defined her. He saw only his own keen sight, his own sharp hearing, blind to the deeper resonance that allowed *her* to perceive the universe's subtlest breaths. His physical limitations, a cage he fought with ferocious intellect, were a constant gnawing at his pride.
The children. A flicker of fierce protectiveness, a desperate yearning for a future not yet stained by duty. When their young minds, still malleable as clay, were forged into rulers of Artemis and the vast, trembling empire, *then* perhaps, she could escape. But Xuang… the thought coiled in her gut, a serpent of unease. His recklessness, a wildfire she could barely contain. To hurl himself at Earth, a fragile jewel in the cosmic void, to shield it from Artemis's encroaching shadow? She couldn't chart his course, couldn't predict the tempest that raged within him.
Jim’s presence was a suffocating weight, a chilling whisper urging her to sever her ties to the terrestrial sphere. Earth. A minuscule mote, adrift in the unfathomable darkness, millennia from breaching the interstellar sea. How easily she could have dismissed it, a distant, irrelevant ache, had her brother not anchored himself there. Now, his entanglement was an irresistible magnet, drawing her own gaze, her own fierce vigilance, to its dusty plains. A clandestine dance would begin, a subtle weaving of shadows and secrets. Gemini, a sentinel of unparalleled perception, would be her shield, her watchful eye upon the nascent portal, once its ethereal tendrils had been established. The sheer audacity of the gate’s unveiling, its vulnerability to Genie’s insatiable curiosity, was a knot of dread in her chest. Yet, the unyielding truth was this: she had to *know*. To remain a prisoner of doubt was a fate she refused. Unbowed, unyielding, she would face any challenge.
She would forge ahead!
Gemini, her unwavering ally, would be the bulwark between Jim and the seductive allure of Earth’s primitive innocence. Antiope and Helen, their destinies irrevocably altered, would be spared the ultimate severing, but their wings clipped, their journeys through time rendered impossible by Qblh.
"Sophia," her voice, a low, resonant command, cut through the air, sharp as a shard of ice, "I require a crew for the Pegasus. Tactical squadron. Lethal precision."
"As you command, my lady," came the chillingly obedient reply, a promise of blood and steel.
**"Departure. Now. Full power. My throne’s gateway will remain tethered to the Pegasus’s arrival point."** The words crackled with an urgency that vibrated through the very stones of the palace. This temporal sleight of hand, this audacious defiance of linear progression, would allow Isis to stride the decks of the Pegasus while her corporeal form remained anchored to her throne room, a phantom presence in two realities at once. The air, usually thick with the scent of incense and ancient dust, now thrummed with the sharp tang of ozone and anticipation. Guards, their obsidian armor gleaming under the arcane illumination, were more than mere sentinels; they were a living, breathing bulwark, their every shadow a promise of swift, brutal retribution. The floating console, a nexus of shimmering light and humming energy, drifted to her side, its surfaces cool and smooth beneath her questing fingertips. Gemini, their gaze sharp as honed crystal, were already a silent, watchful presence, their very stillness a premonition of Qblh's every subtle tremor, ensuring Isis would be alerted to his shadow-play before it could ensnare her.
Isis’s fingers danced across the console, a conductor orchestrating the symphony of the cosmos. A course query, a whisper of intent, bloomed into a satisfactory navigational solution, a celestial map that resonated deep within her soul. No clumsy temporal rewind for her; this was an instantaneous translocation, a leap across the void. Her crew, scattered across the temporal tapestry, would experience no jarring paradox, no fractured reality. For Isis, it meant an immediate, almost breathless, arrival on Earth within mere hours. Yet, the specter of causality loomed, a stern judge of her ambition. She could not linger, lest she shatter the delicate framework of existence. A single, indelible mark upon Earth, a nexus point, was all she required.
The Pegasus’s onboard computers, vast repositories of forgotten journeys, hummed to life as Isis’s command link pierced their digital heart. Earth’s ancient geography, a phantom limb of forgotten continents, flickered across her display. She juxtaposed these spectral landscapes with her current maps, the stark absence of Atlantis a brutal testament to time's relentless erosion. The modern maps, though less poetic, were undeniably more practical. Her own records, etched in the very fabric of celestial memory, held a more profound understanding of humanity's primordial past than modern man could ever dream. The present, however, remained a tantalizingly blank page. Jim and John's zealous destruction of Venetian electronics had severed any direct conduit of contemporary Earth culture to the Venetian databanks. A shrewd move, she conceded, a calculated blindness. To unravel the threads of causality, one needed foreknowledge, a blueprint of the event to be altered. The less she knew, the safer her transgression. To revisit her own past, however, was an impossibility; that was a realm she knew too intimately, a tapestry of cause and effect she could not reweave without consequence. A flicker of understanding, sharp and unsettling, ignited within her. She was beginning to grasp the immense burden Qblh carried, the razor's edge upon which he perpetually walked. She braced herself for his intervention, expecting him to lash out if she dared to push too far. Yet, a strange comfort settled over her. In his own convoluted way, she suspected Qblh would always shield her from true, unrecoverable peril, should her ambition lead her astray.
The ability to “see” or transmit/receive information instantaneously between two distinct time periods
separated by space or time beyond the immediate event horizon is a skill
that the Queen of Artemis is able to exercise via utilization of stargate technology.
The matter and antimatter pairing allows for the modulation of signals to be transmitted
either way through spce time or both instantaneously
via the connecting corresponding wormhole.
Each end of the wormhole has a stargate
which acts as a gate to the wormhole.
Communication devices are linked to each gate and the local Venetian authority.
Each high priestess on Earth could thus demonstrate
a psychic link with Isis and vice versa.
Such ability is considered to be closely related to the concept termed as remote viewing.
Such a skill is called magic by our ancestors and even modern folk.
Such ability has been classified as witchcraft.
We may then certainly understand the power of these high priestesses
when they exercised their wil
