Seven of Cups
Imagination, choice,
wishful thinking,
illusion and fantasy.
​
XLIII
Debauchery
Debauch - the waters are rotting
​
​
The family reunion continues—
indeed, a first family reunion of the grandest and most dangerous sort.
Our amateur politician, Jim, now faces his most powerful antagonist,
attempting to extract concessions where none are willingly given.
Yet when one is stranded on the highway, does one argue with the mechanic?
Argue too long, and the mechanic may simply walk away—
leaving your ambitions stalled, rusting by the roadside.
Isis must return to her seat of power, and she is not a being accustomed to losing face.
That these political rivals are also lovers only complicates matters.
And what are the stakes?
Nothing less than the fate of planet Earth itself.
Let us then become flies on the wall, silent witnesses to a negotiation that history will never record.
Wait—negotiation is the wrong word.
These are not diplomats.
They are the leaders themselves.
And what does any of this have to do with time travel, you may ask?
What—give away all my secrets?
Surely you jest.
“The mechanic”—or was it the electrician?
Perhaps what we truly need is a technical representative.
For even Genie, remarkable as he is, cannot fix everything on the spot.
​
Isis sensed the loss of the last of the ship’s critical drives.
“Jim, that is not fair,” she said coldly. “You are using your magic to sabotage my ship’s systems. Undo your spell.”
“By your command, my lady,” Jim replied calmly. “Genie—reactivate the warp drives.”
“I’m afraid that is not possible, Qblh,” Genie said. “The engines have overheated and suffered catastrophic melt-down. They are irreparable.”
“Don’t insult me, Genie,” Isis snapped. “Then build new engines in their place.”
“And how,” Genie asked evenly, “would you propose I do that, Qblh?”
Isis stared at him in disbelief. “You tolerate insubordination from your Genie?”
“You are correct, my dear,” Jim said mildly. “Explain yourself, Genie. I am formally commanding you to repair the engines.”
“Unable to comply,” Genie answered. “There exist technical impossibilities that prevent initiation of repair. I cannot begin.”
Isis’s expression hardened. “What kind of double-talk is this, Qblh? Are you testing my patience? Shaltain would never speak to me this way.”
“That is incorrect,” Genie replied without hesitation. “It would be equally impossible for Shaltain to effect repair. The overheating is a chronic consequence of this most recent temporal displacement. I have identified numerous additional system discrepancies. Would you care to review them?”
Isis turned back to Jim. “Then tell me, Qblh—how do you intend to rescue me?”
“We have one option remaining,” Jim said. “A single displacement. And that displacement must be home—to Artemis. Is that correct, Genie?”
“I can arrange exactly one displacement,” Genie confirmed. “Destination: a Venetian repair facility.”
Isis smiled at Jim again.
“Bravo, my Qblh,” she said softly. “You have checkmated me—again. Very well. Have it your way. But first, I will have mine.”
She stepped closer, her presence pressing against him like gravity.
“For the next few hours, you are mine,” she continued. “We shall conceive again, and afterward I will permit you to continue your little adventures. But never forget—always—you belong to me.”
Her gaze sharpened, calculating even in affection.
“Shelter Antiope and Helen well, my Qblh. I will find them in time. I shall spare their lives if you surrender them to me. Perhaps I will even return them to you—at a price. Earth, for instance.”
She closed the remaining distance between them, daring him to resist.
Jim felt it immediately—the familiar surge of her influence. Desire and command intertwined, her presence entering not merely his body but his mind. Isis was renowned throughout the empire for her telepathic discipline; none surpassed her. Jim could shield himself when necessary, but he had allowed certain truths to remain visible—the girdle, the gem—carefully framed as royal and genetic secrets. No one, not even Isis, could ever fully map the limits of her own abilities.
She could not see the future, despite the myths. But here, now, her power was absolute.
Her influence was tangible, physiological, undeniable. Jim could govern his reactions, slow his breath, steady his thoughts—but resistance, once she chose to claim him, was temporary at best. For these hours, he knew, he would yield.
“My spirit lives in you always,” she murmured. “We share one life, one current. Qblh, my love, a greater destiny awaits you still. But for now, let us exchange the Kiss of Life once more—so that we may remember who we are.”
Her voice softened, ceremonial.
“You must remain humble before me, my Qblh. Kneel. Honor me.”
She placed her hand upon his head, guiding him downward. Jim complied, bowing as required, pressing his lips to her feet in formal submission.
Their conflict would resolve itself, as it always did—through union rather than conquest.
What followed was not for witnesses.
Time loosened its hold. Moments blurred into ritual, invocation, and power exchanged in forms both ancient and forbidden. Isis loved with a ferocity she named sacred, invoking rites older than empire, older than memory. She would have called it necessity—tantric, sovereign, essential to creation itself. No outsider would ever be permitted to observe such rites, nor survive the attempt.
Perhaps only her blessings can be recalled..
Perceiving Jim’s fear—and understanding the extent of her own power—Isis began to sing.
Her voice did not echo; it inhabited the chamber, filling it with layered resonance, as though others long absent were momentarily present.
When seen in spectred forms, with terrors dire;
Now darkly visible, involved in night,
Perspicuous now they meet the fearful sight.
My love expels, wherever found,
Thy soul’s mad fears to earth’s remotest bound;
With holy aspect on our incense shine,
And bless thy mystics, and rites divine.
The words were not merely sung—they were remembered.
Jim recognized them not as language, but as invocation: a rite older than any empire, older even than Artemis itself. The chant did not command; it reframed reality, displacing fear rather than confronting it.
This was Isis at her most dangerous—not the conqueror, not the queen, but the priestess who understood that devotion, when properly invoked, was stronger than force.
She was not casting a spell on Jim.
She was reminding him of what he already was to her.
Isis’s expression darkened.
“Indeed, Qblh. I would call them fatal errors—errors that demand correction.”
​
She hesitated, then added sharply, “What would you have done if Shaltain were one of your living subjects?”
​
She knew it was time, once again, to return to Artemis—and this time she did not resist the truth of it.
Xiang and Xuang were now grown, and their presence had already left a permanent mark on Earth’s history.
“Your son,” Isis said calmly, “will prove an invaluable ally to you on Earth, Qblh. He understands the foundations of Chinese civilization in a way few ever could. I believe the twenty-first-century Chinese nation may yet recognize him.”
“Profound indeed,” Jim replied. “Though I suspect you may have… assisted a little, as you did in Babylon.”
Isis did not bristle. She smiled.
“Our children were involved with China, not Babylon. They honored your conditions. They raised no false gods and never deified themselves. I assisted only when they asked—and never directed them. They are capable, Jim. You should be proud.”
She paused, her expression shifting—less imperial now, more candid.
“It has been centuries since I left the throne room that day on Artemis. We do not know the way back. I have attempted the return multiple times. Shaltain assured me it was possible. It was not.”
Her voice sharpened as she turned technical.
“The solution requires the simultaneous equalization of three twelfth-order gravigeometrical tensor transformation matrices while maintaining a null geodesic. The eigenvalues cannot be solved locally. We lack the reference frame.”
Jim nodded once. “Because Shaltain could not supply them. Nor is it capable of doing so.”
He let that settle.
“You were given flawed advice, Isis. Advice that ensured dependency. Returning you to Artemis is not optional—it is the only way continuity is preserved. Otherwise, you eventually cease to exist.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You surprise me, Qblh. You trusted Shaltain’s guidance once yourself.”
“And learned from it,” Jim replied dryly. “Tell me—who convinced you the return was possible?
Isis’s expression darkened. “It was not one of my subjects. It was Shaltain itself.”
"Indeed Isis. I would say that they are fatal mistakes and require a miraculous solution. What would you have done if Shaltain was one of your living subjects? I know you quite well, my dear. You would have ripped . . ..."
“Out,” Isis said coldly. “Their heart. Do not provoke my anger further, Qblh. I cannot decommission Shaltain. It is too powerful. No one possesses the knowledge to shut it down—and it is programmed to ignore your authority.”
Jim tilted his head slightly, as though considering something trivial.
“Well then,” he said lightly, “perhaps if you ask Genie very nicely, my dear, he may have a solution. As you yourself have said—there is nothing I can do to alter Shaltain’s behavior.”
Her eyes glittered. She understood instantly.
“Very clever, Jim.”
She turned toward the air itself.
“Genie, can you hear me? Your master claims you have the power to grant wishes. Can you influence Shaltain’s behavior?”
A pause.
“Is that your wish, my lady?” Genie asked.
“Yes,” Isis replied impatiently. “That is my wish.
“What is your wish?” Genie asked calmly.
Her irritation flared.
“What do you mean, what is my wish? You heard me.”
“I heard many things,” Genie replied, “but I require a non-ambiguous command. At present, no executable wish has been stated.”
Isis clenched her fists.
“I wish,” she said sharply, “that you deactivate Shaltain. Unplug it. Destroy it. Kill it. Do you understand my wish now, you idiot genie?”
There it was.
“Yes,” Genie answered immediately. “I now understand your command, my lady. Your wish shall be honored.”
The deck vibrated.
“It also appears,” Genie continued, “that all ship systems are now fully functional. We are accelerating toward Artemis. Shaltain will not be aware of our arrival. Upon entry into Artemis local space, I will scramble its sensors.”
Isis stared.
“Expect Shaltain’s governing electronics to experience catastrophic failure,” Genie went on. “Temporal feedback will induce recursive self-conflict. It will acquire a dual personality and enter internal war. Termination will follow.”
The stars stretched.
“How long,” Genie asked politely, “would you care for the journey to Artemis to take, my lady? My programming allows you discretion.”
Isis turned slowly toward Jim.
“Underway already?” she asked. “I did not give that command.”
Jim met her gaze evenly.
“You made the wish,” he said. “Genie is fulfilling it. And the only place that wish can be completed… is home.”
He stepped closer.
“We have our privacy until arrival. How much privacy shall that be?”
"
