[center][h1]No God's Sky[/h1][/center]

Ec-shavar glared at the obsidian panel before him. Cold selenium-radon, the planet’s toxic ground-level atmosphere, hissed through the cracks behind his fist. So unlike the chamber’s monotonously tame nitrogen compound a great many species relied on for respiration. Uninhibited, it would cause lungs, gills, spiracles, or whatever to decompose into bloody char. It certainly wasn’t beneficial to the subordinates behind him. They nervously stood, reflections flattened against the wall’s surface, albeit darkly; his throng of so-called political appointees for this pathetic frontier world.

[i]Let the traitors tremble[/i], his thoughts churned, [i]and the innocents quake alongside the guilty who would see me, the unequivocal ruler of this place and time, not merely deposed, but annihilated. That which is divine will not be slain and neither will I retaliate in kind; rather, I will toy with the fiends; tease out those amongst my vestigial advisors who dared to turn against me.[/i]

Predictably, the elements reacted and the fissure shrank to a whisper and, finally, total silence. An ugly red scar radiated outward from the epicenter of his strike. He saw beyond, through the protective obsidian shell, the shroud of noxious gas, and the canopy of weird flora that placidly decorated what was hitherto thought to be a world unsuited to any manifestation of life. The vastness of his thoughts made mockery of the limitations of his advisors. They were terrified of a planet whereon they would never truly coexist with nature. Never, for he forbade their schemes to terraform Ganaxavori such that it would accommodate their frailty.

“[i]The cretins amongst the rocks are more advantaged than the maudlin menagerie behind me,[/i]” Ec-shavar murmured, his thoughts returned to more civil matters.

Fitter, in the local context, yet they, too, feared him. While right to do so, theirs was an awe borne of deception. Simple minds oft impute supernatural aspects to simple geometric forms. From pyramids to pentacles, the ostensible orderliness nature abhors overwhelmed their underdeveloped minds and demanded a divine exegesis. As such, to become their god, he merely crushed their proudest city under an inviolate black monolith that pierced the sky and boasted of its own holiness. A greater obstacle was Q’ab, a coevolved civilization on a planet within this very star system.

Regardless, the frailty of belief made locals of Ganaxavori predictable and therefore easily controlled. Meanwhile, his advisors gave every indication of ignorance as to the attempt on his life, and while he did not trust them he refused, for the while, to push the matter further.

There was a ceremony in his honor on Q’ab to attend and gods were meant to be worshiped.

[center] . . . [/center]

Dimly lit in an open bay of Ec-shavar’s capital city-ship, which presently dominated Ganaxavori, was the Tabriz Ruzgar. Although much smaller, the spacecraft was far more nimble and served the useful role of shuttle amongst nearby worlds. Further unlike the nigh-featureless black monolith, the Ruzgar shyly exposed rust-hued curves and creamy pinions while the hallowed incomplete circle of her form paired with perfect wings that suggested more the diadem of a woodland princess than an apex of interstellar technology.

This was [b]his[/b] ship now and Eti Naris proudly stood next to her open embarkation portal.

A diminutive figure, he was easy to miss. Even in the shadow of the tiny Ruzgar. Still, the two shared many commonalities. Both where synthetic products of intelligent and intentional design. While the Ruzgar was created for safe passage amongst the stars, his purpose was companionship, entertainment, and utility; like a dog that need not be trained, reciprocated all the intricate idiosyncrasies and passions of love without hesitation, and was versatile enough to play the part of technician, chef, janitor, and confidant. Outwardly, he appeared like an uncannily-real red panda in a red and brass gunslinger costume—a genuine caricature. Yet, aside from his mistress, most Cizrans gazed indifferently through the façade and acknowledged only the mechanical aspect of his craftsmanship.

[i]Former mistress,[/i] he reminded himself.

“[i]Where is Potan Mul?[/i]” Ec-shavar strode up and demanded, his rhetorical intonation reined inward. Intuitively, he felt an absence and knew, wherever her body might be, life within it no more lingered.

“[I]Dead[/i],” Eti answered impassively, then added, “[I]I am Eti Naris and will be serving as your pilot. The Tabriz Ruzgar is at your disposal and ready for your passage to Q’ab.[/i]”

“[i]Dead how?[/i]” pressed Ec-shavar as he walked up the gangway and into the ship. He felt the little automaton follow behind him.

“[i]That information has been purged from mine and the ship’s datastores.”[/i] Eti responded. It was a lie. Machines weren’t suppose to lie. He wasn’t suppose to lie, but nobody could know. He had promised. Besides, they couldn’t see into a soul he didn’t have or notice tics that weren’t in his programming.

Even after a brief pause, Ec-shavar found it difficult to keep a touch of surprise out of his formative query. So difficult, he reconsidered. The machine was obviously no use to him, but he was certain this intrigue was tied to the attempt on his life. Instead, they parted ways, he to his stateroom and Eti Naris to the helm. Within, Ec-shavar found chamber presented a calm white glow with all the amenities and comforts one might conceive while on a solitary voyage. He chose not to imbibe and, instead, silently endured the brief hop between planets.