Too vast to set down on any planet’s paltry spaceports, the [i]Vepsis Dol [/i] hovered over Q’ab. Abstract and distant, never once in its long life was the transport vessel marred by any appreciable tug of gravity or crush of atmosphere. Instead, forged in the vastness of space in the shipyards of Zo, it claimed the higher calling of portal amongst the stars. Six massive reactors fused arcana harvested from sankuls with unstable antimatter, propelled the effluence through its engines, and made mockery of the limitations of physics. They—[i]it[/i]—overturned archaic notions of the impossible and instilled life into the dream of galactic imperialism. 

From the moment of its recent arrival, hundreds of shuttles had come and gone. Steadily, these deposited cargo into its labyrinthine bowels, which, while abuzz with activity, lacked much in the way of people. Its sentient inhabitants were limited to those eternally trapped in the sankuls, who of course sensed nothing, and an aberration in the form of a kukull who, without adequate paperwork, managed to infiltrate one of its bays by secreting itself within a veritable mountain of shalam. Otherwise,  there was naught; neither crew nor captain, for the ship was completely automated by a host of machinations that oversaw maintenance, operations, and service and, for the duration of its stay, loaded, sorted, secured, and documented all its cargo.

One finicky bit of cargo, the aforementioned kukull, resisted these efforts. 

In to a bin it was placed. A moment later, it was in another pile of rocks; doubtlessly up to no good. The machines returned it to where it belonged. As such, the process repeated, et still the unruly heap manifested in unexpected areas. Ever patient, the machines returned it to where it belonged. Ever persistent, it continued its exploration.

[center] . . . [/center]

Within the bedlam of the Ja’regia, Nirak mul-Siyé presented herself in a reflective posture; not of inward awe, but for the evocation of any beholders. 

Nothing of her physique conferred on those who viewed it a sensation of vitality or the organic, for there was no face, no limb, no flesh to admire. Instead, her form presented a purity both abstract and sharp-edged from which three Ganeshan trunks of pale white stone flowed faultlessly from a central prominence, arced in a sensuous trifold embrace, and rooted her whole to the sixth tier of steps that encircled the platform whereon bureaucratic proxies shouted and heaved simulacrum of code and law alike into the torrent above as though such sundry reams were merely chaff cast up into the wind. Given that mode of legislation, any progress constituted a miracle. In opposition to the raucous, the stillness of her body, the suppression of her nonessential senses, and the millennia of practice allowed her to pluck content from the fog of confusion.

Known as the witness, she seldom abandoned her post in the hundreds of cycles of her existence. In those rare instances, it was for matters of great importance.

The cryptic conversation between the Av’llys and Au’lan, Domnik and and Buoliq, did not escape her attention. However, it intrigued her less than two other motes of mystery that flitted through her data stream. Not born from within the Ja’regia, but communicated by the Noema, of which she was an agent, came a ship’s manifest and an inheritance of title. Normally lost in the milieu of a trillion filings, these were conspicuous by virtue of their origin.

Through an intonation of their shared organ, she drew Domnik’s attention.

[I] << Heresy yet defies us in Ganax’ab. >> [/i]

[I] << Potan Mul is dead. >> [/i]

Her actual information was far less clear, but anyone who survived a moment with their sanity intact in the vociferous storm of the Tabulus Dis’quosum would have recognized its merit. The manifest of the [I] Vepsis Dol [/i] listed the highly anticipated sankul, but lacked a vital name amongst its list of passengers—Potan Mul. The implication of such would be poorly-received by the Si’ab. Granted, alone, that could easily have been a mechanization of his trade. What solidified her conclusion was the transfer of title from the former Av’llys assassin to something beneath even the station of a pathetic Wa’ali—an automation.

A pet—a mere toy!

Had she a mouth or the desire to fashion one, she would have spat. Yet the title’s veracity was unimpeachable and its copies undeniably present in the Hall of Records.

Worst of all, Ec-shavar was listed as the inheritor’s executor.