Ultimately, each option Eti reviewed was inferior to the one lain out far in advance of Potan Mul’s presumable ascendance to the nether. Inevitably, the time of decision arrived, yet uncertainty irked him as a specter of a future that typically presented itself in readily discernible patterns, repetition, and bureaucracy instead suggested uncertainty. Merely a high probability his schemes would meet with complete success existed; not absolute confidence.

He grunted and initiated the process that would abandon him to the fates.

[I]“Approaching Zöld’nach,”[/i] the Tabriz Ruzgar intoned audibly.

The message and an attached countdown likewise levitated in neon orange glyphs on the viewport before they diminished to a corner. With mind-sync temporarily suspended, such primitive measures were advisable, although not strictly necessary. The ship was fully capable of autonomous activities and the route familiar. Eti merely wanted to mitigate the risk of either being detected by surveillance or the ship’s modified logs being tainted by his own memories 

Even with those precautions and others in place, Eti was nervous, although such yielded no external sign. He merely nodded as a reflexive action. His mind was otherwise occupied: a self-destructive algorithm running on his systems meticulously overwrote all information with respect to Potan Mul’s activities in this sector of space and rendered indecipherable Eti’s dreams of autonomy. By the time they landed, neither Eti nor the Ruzgar would have a clue what really happened to Potan Mul nor, if they were told, would they be able to explain why. He could only hope he would somehow stumble across the data storage device hidden on Q’ab in a manner that would allow him to complete his coup without incrimination.

Below, the planet, no longer a cosmically-estranged glint, overwhelmed the viewport. From the midst of its expansive grasslands pierced a lance of mountains sculpted in a brutal panopticon that lurched inward upon a perfectly circular caldera like the barbed teeth of a massive eel, its throat a gargantuan red lake. A blight on an otherwise verdant sprawl, yet necessary to the protection of its inhabitants from the great periodic deluge. Distortions flickered in a dome above Zöld’nach, a clue to the shield emplacement that defended the city along its interior fringe from more deliberate manifestations of danger. 

As the vessel neared, in the middle of the lake, which visibly bubbled from the city’s power source, the magma column far below, presented a docking platform. Meanwhile, along the caldera’s fringe, in the shade of the lithic overhang and built into the semi-dormant volcano’s very walls, the architectural style of Q’ab’s natives and conquerers presented in a fusion of ancient ruin and concrete brutalism. Were it not for the aesthetic of the native illumination—a sea of fireflies, foliage aglow in bioluminescence, and strands of pastel fiber optic—one might well assume these were natural features, an abandoned quarry, or the like.

The ship landed, Eti sat up, and the chamber relaxed its hold on him.

He felt a premonition that something important was about to happen.

[center] . . . [/center]

[i]“Impound this vessel, contents, and pilot drone,”[/i] Ec-shavar commanded the guards as he entered the hangar, [i]“and queue them for processing.”[/I]

Eti stood behind him, genuinely baffled, but didn’t question the decision. Sure, being called a drone was definitely insulting, but no more than the degrading nature of his own existence. Instead, he focused his attention on why the order was given. He felt it must have to do with his mistress’ disappearance. Death, rather. Yes, Potan Mul was dead

[I]How?[/I] Eti wondered.

The Ruzgar didn’t know.