There is always the matter of the will – or the wills, rather. What she's been left, and what she will leave, and figuring it out is all the more pressing now that she's involved Kalique.

Technically, there's only some parts of Seraphi's will that require interpreting. As it's been years since her death, much of what was intended for Jupiter has been spread out among her children – like Earth.

So she's been left – well, money, first of all. That's the easiest to sort out, since it was just set aside. Jupiter's only just learning the rates of exchange, but it's enough to last a lifetime. Many lifetimes.

Planets. More than a dozen, some seeded long before Earth, some seeded long after. One of the planets, Jastea, is actually scheduled for harvesting in the next decade. She's… put that on hold.

Various odds and ends. A reportedly-favorite portrait, furniture of all things, jewelry and crowns. She doesn't even recognize the names of half of what makes up the list.

A ship. This ship, actually, which is probably why she's able to explore the rooms and corridors and take it all in – she gets the impression that most Entitled wouldn't take kindly to some grubby newcomer wandering in and out of rooms, touching the walls to see what they're made of and taking in everything with wide-eyed stares.

It's… well. There's not a flaw she can find in it, though admittedly she might not know one if it stared her in the eye, but it makes her skin prickle to walk here.

Of course, the ship did pass to Balem after Seraphi's death, so that might be why.

It still feels like the equivalent of a horror movie mansion. Too large and too old and too much of a bad idea. She just might look into purchasing her own ship to avoid it. Something smaller.

Before she knew exactly what she'd be getting from the siblings – getting back, in a way – she'd discussed the idea of buying a ship and been assured she could afford a fleet of decently-sized ships without denting her inheritance. She's not sure if she's ridiculously wealthy or if ships are ridiculously cheap, but the idea still unsettles her. It's blood money, after all.

She's also not sure what's normally included in inheritances, let alone for inheritances meant for a reincarnated version of yourself, but it's hard to miss one glaring absence – there is not a drop of RegeneX, nor any knock-off brand.

Titus is, of course, a particularly skilled liar, but still she wonders if there wasn't a grain of truth in what he said. Did Seraphi sympathize, at some point?

There's nothing personal about the will, no notes set aside for her, no advice, no way for her to know what Seraphi imagined and expected of her. Still, everyone seems to look at Jupiter and see Seraphi 2.0 – newer, emptier, easy to shape and manipulate.

There's no first impressions anymore, and in a way, Jupiter resents her. What is she to make of this women?

Her fingers glide over something she hadn't noticed before, and it clinks as it skitters a few inches away.

Metallic, but dark enough to almost blend in with the dark, glossy surface it was resting on and elliptical, fitting easily into her palm.

There's a smooth inner core, suspended in the center of an overlaid twisting, glided pattern that seems mazelike, with empty spaces between each line.

In the center is a groove, an indentation that her thumb slides snugly against that looks like it could pop the whole thing apart if she pressed hard enough. Then again, 'hard enough' might also snap off the design. It doesn't look like anything meant to carry something, either.

Huh.

How is she supposed to interpret Seraphi when she can't even figure out whether Seraphi's little… thing is a toy or decoration or something functional?

…well. Seraphi's or Balem's, and, the more she thinks about it, it's more likely Balem's; he's certainly had the ship longer.

She sets it down, and moves on. It seems too delicate to hold.

Maybe everyone thinks the harvesting is normal. Maybe she shouldn't dwell on how long Seraphi must have been harvesting planets, and she should just think it's impressive that Seraphi challenged the system at all.

Maybe if she was born in Seraphi's position she'd be all aboard the human-harvesting train, too – although that thought creates a knot of unsettled feelings in her stomach.

She wasn't born into it. Which means, even if she has no clue how to do it, she's gotta fix this whole thing, mess that it is.

The reliance on RegeneX goes deeper than she'd like.

If it was just a way for Entitleds to attain immortality – fine. Shut it all down. Be done with it. But it's a healing spray, a cure to make otherwise-terminal diseases manageable, raising life expectancies across the board even when not directly used to extend a life.

Cutting it off entirely, suddenly, would be… well. She'd be causing more deaths.

She needs a balance. Something to take its place well enough without grinding humans up for immortality goo.

Is that possible? Maybe not in her lifetime, but in anyone's? Nothing short of a miracle is going to solve her problem without Kalique, it seems, and even then, it... does seem like it will take a while. A long while, from what she's learned.

If Seraphi had never involved Jupiter in this, she wouldn't have to – devote herself to this thing she knows nothing about. Doesn't even really have a place to start. Doesn't understand it, doesn't understand what needs to be done. She wouldn't have to deal with assassins and balancing lies against truth for the sake of the greater good.

And yet.

Without Seraphi – if she hadn't known – Earth would be harvested a few years down the road, and she'd still be scrubbing toilets.

Well, she's doing that anyway, but that's different. Now she knows that's not all there is for her.

And, well. Jupiter may yet die in ignominy, but the Earth will never be touched. She'll make sure of that.

Which brings her to the hard part – figuring out how to do that.

She's made certain arrangements. Clumsy, certainly, but if she should be murdered by the morning, she won't leave anyone scrambling to figure out what to do about Earth.

The majority goes to family – her family, not Seraphi's – but if she's killed anytime soon, she doesn't want make an enemy for them out of the only remaining Abrasax that hasn't betrayed or planned to murder her.

So. Kalique has been… written in. It's not a decisions she takes lightly, nor is it one she's sure she won't regret.

But Kalique may still yet find a way to solve this problem, if it benefits her enough.

"Do you think," Jupiter blurted, "There's a way to – get rid of RegeneX? Or replace it or, or – something. Has it ever been tried?" Caine and Stinger are, while eager to help and teach her, are no historians, and Kalique has lived much longer than them.

Kalique raised immaculately-styled eyebrows and pauses, something very much like a tea cup raised halfway to her mouth, then lowers it. "Well, of course there have. You remember what I told you of the near-extinction event?"

Hard to forget. The clinical tone of the history sheaves that elucidated on the situation hardly made the horror any lesser. Cloning, she's learned, is far from the simple solution she'd imagined. Not enough genetic variation means it's an imprecise science, and over-reliance on only specific genetic codes means that some particularly… persistent viruses can adapt to them and wipe them out in vast numbers.

And the DNA itself wears away each time; copies of copies of copies may look young, but they have less time, the farther down the line it goes.

A sip. "Well. This was nothing so dramatic, of course, and the vast majority of attempts failed entirely, but those that worked to varying degrees of success were-" At Jupiter's noise of interest, Kalique's mouth curled up, and she hooks her head minutely. "You'll have to find details elsewhere, I'm afraid. I'm far from an expert on the matter. All that did work had such small audiences or required such high levels of material that it was completely financially inadvisable. And..."

Kalique's mouth evens out, and there's a note of something like pity in her expression. "Others worked… temporarily. As I've said, I am not well-versed in this history, and I never saw the experiments, but I'm told the results were quite gruesome. Something evidently went wrong along the way – the genetic transfer did not set permanently. I can find you something with more information, if you'd like."

And Jupiter nodded.

It was, indeed, gruesome. Like transplants rejecting, something caused their bodies to suffer a rejection of the replace cells. Skin sloughed off, organs shut down. One helpful document included a diagram of the damage.

So. Kalique knows far more than Jupiter does, that's for sure, but she still needs more.

Jupiter has a better idea of where to start – right now it looks like her best bet is just to throw money at hired researchers, until she can figure out where to focus on, but that's the thing. There are such broad possibilities, she can't possibly cover them all at once, and if they focus on the wrong area… well, she might not even know for years. Decades, maybe.

This whole thing is headache inducing.

The next room has the dregs of a RegeneX bath clinging to the pool set in the center. It's smaller and simpler than others she's seen; the controls are… in adjacent rooms, maybe? Funny how aesthetically pleasing something like this can look when it holds the remains of hundreds.

Thankfully, a more welcoming distraction interrupts that thought.

"Jupiter."

Kalique, moving towards her in a rush of softly-perfumed air. She clasps her hands over both Jupiter's arms, smiling warmly.

A spiked splice follows, pausing at the doorway and then slowly turning back. Not with Kalique, not with Jupiter, and not truly with Balem, although assigned to make sure the division of the ship's contents goes exactly as planned, they are the closest to a neutral party Jupiter's seen in days.

"You've taken care of…" Jupiter's still not entirely sure what Kalique's supposed to take from the ship, or what she's been given, but the question tugs at her anyway. It's polite, at least. "…everything, no problems?"

Kalique waves a hand behind herself demonstratively. "Most has already been split into mine, yours, and all that is to be auctioned."

"Titus?"

Kalique presses a hand to her mouth, the sheer material connected to her fingers shifting with the motion. "Oh, I'm afraid there's nothing for him here. In fact, I daresay my poor brother has – hardly anything at all left to him."

Jupiter nods slowly, her curiosity kindling, but squashed down. That's another can of worms. A fine question from someone else, maybe, someone not currently holding him on trial.

"But it isn't… like that, for you?" She doesn't think Kalique would be in such high-spirits if she wasn't managing to benefit in some way.

A smile. "No. Balem was seldom open with his affection, it's true, but it has always been easier with us. Well, I suppose – was." Her expression becomes softer and she seems to look through Jupiter, rather than at. "Stubborn, as well. Would rather put all he owns to sale to benefit an unlikely heir rather than seem too fond of us. What a shame."

Jupiter nods. Being here, hearing Kalique talk about her 'brother dear' doesn't ease the guilt, misplaced though it may be. Must be – weird, for Kalique as someone who cared for him, to have to interpret his actions after his death.

Another moment, and then Kalique draws in a breath, and her attention no longer seems turned inward.

"I was involved in some rather lengthy negotiations, so I must say, I was glad for once to leave Cerise." She smiles at Jupiter conspiratorially. Right, Kalique's gardens. Can they be called gardens when it's planet-wide? "It is unexpected but oh, Jupiter, you really must see it when this is all over."

As if this will ever be over – but Kalique probably means just figuring out Balem's will.

"It sounds – lovely." Jupiter closes her eyes, a little overwhelmed by everything still. "I'll visit you on Cerise soon – promise."

There's a glimmer in Kalique's eyes, a pleased pull to her lips, and yet Jupiter does not find it nearly as ominous as she, perhaps, should. Kalique's manipulations are subtle and probably more dangerous for it, but Jupiter is so tired of being ever-wary.

Kalique tilts her head. "Everything is as well as ever? You haven't encountered any further problems, have you? You can always come to me if you have."

Jupiter lets out a slow breath. "Y—n—I'm, uh, still sorting everything out." Her hands swing at her sides for a moment, then clasp in from of her when she recognizes the nervous gesture. "I know. Thank you, Kalique. I appreciate your help."

Kalique must recognize what's left unsaid, because she smiles, not unkindly. "I'll leave you to it." She reaches to squeeze Jupiter's hands in her own for one short moment. "I am looking forward to your visit."

And there she goes, sweeping from the room that seems so much smaller now.

In Kalique's absence, Jupiter's eyes track the room slowly. The viewing wall, so common to those outer rooms on the upper levels. Letting in the starlight.

The faint patterns on the walls, sparse and subtle and swirling.

The pool.

She walks towards it, slowly. Lowers herself, first kneeling near the edge, then further so that she's cross-legged before it.

The water glows, faintly.

Whether that's some inherent nature of the stuff, or a trick of the starlight through the window, she doesn't know.

She wonders what it feels like.

She considers trying it, just dipping in a finger so she knows. The gentle thrumming of the ship sends it cascading over itself at the edges, a slow continuous rock around the pool, and thought it seems to flow as easily as water would, she imagines it has a gooey, viscous feel to it. The clinging weight of those who died for it.

She wonders if wondering won't be enough for her, one day, if she would grow old and grey and discontent and think that just one dip cannot hurt, just once for all the good she's doing.

If she'll rationalize it away.

If she'll grow hungry for eternity.

She's young, now, and barring some residual soreness from the fights, as able as she's ever been. Pretty, if she's allowed that vanity. She may not always be. That lure must be enough, for some.

Jupiter turns away, and leaves the waters untouched.