Finally, that horrible enslaver implant was out of his titanium skull. Although he was still perplexed by what Ec-shavar personally grafted into him after the gala. Ganax’ab’s governor claimed it served to formalize Eti’s continued presence on Cizra Su-lahn in spite of the shortcomings of his given caste. The process stung quite a bit, which was odd as he turned off his pain receptors; indeed, it made him feel vulnerable, less pragmatic, and he sensed he wasn’t quite free and never would be. Still, in terms of actual autonomy in the given environment, it was as good as it would get, and excitement nevertheless surged into his extremities. Another few steps and he would be on the shuttle. As he hastened along, Eti Naris grew more elated. A few minutes and he would be on his ship, his beloved Tabris Ruzgar. The thought was euphoric. Visions of his feet propped on a cushion in the lounge and a large glass of MILK clenched in both paws occupied his fantasies. Then, he knew, he would be free as a synthe could, in the Cizran Empire, ever be.

Perhaps he would allow Ulu’gol to be his guest and regale him with the gossip and innuendo of why he so loathed Xo’pil. 

A palm pressed against his chest. It wasn’t the kukull—no, that was behind him, doubtlessly on its way back to Ec-shavar’s lair. Even so, he was shorter than the someone or something, hardly an unusual predicament given his diminutive stature. Irritated at the delay to his freedom, he glanced up to fully observe the impedimenta.

[i]“You are Eti Naris. I am Tob Ydrian,”[/i] said what was quite clearly a synthe, a model slightly older than himself, although larger and fashioned in the likeness of an otter, [i]“but just call me Boomslang. As his truthspeaker and meat shield, it is my duty to ensure the commands of my master, Ec-shavar, are properly executed upon our arrival on Cizra Su-lahn.”[/i]

Eti swatted the paw off his chest, barked, [i]“get in the fraking shuttle,”[/i] and shoved his way on board. Ulu’gol whirled and clicked after him, but Eti was no longer in the mood for chit chat.. A proverbial ball and chain was the last thing he wanted, although he admitted to having accounted for the fact that such a being would afflict him on his journey.

As he took his place on the shuttle, Tob sat across from him and appeared less than offended. Instead, he sat there, a cocky smirk tucked beneath his whiskers, and started sharpening a kukri. On the handle was a small toggle. Eti, as a trained assassin, was familiar with the device. One could stab a synthe, or really any electronic device, and trigger an electromagnetic pulse that would surge through the blade and into the incapacitated victim. Quite effective.

As the shuttle lifted, a thought occurred to Eti: once they were on Cizra Su-lahn, and the writ of inheritance acknowledged, Tob would be a prisoner on his estate and, effectively, belong to him. He wondered if Tob realized that.

There was at least one more thing to be thankful for: he escaped Q’ab alive; more than could be said of his master, Potan Mul.