Boomslang loafed deep in a divan across from Eti Naris. In one hand, he held a filed straight blade. Wet with a green fluid, it slowly slid along the underside of his extended claws on his opposite paw. The threat was obvious, yet, in spite of that, he he saw the way Eti looked at him—with feigned apprehension and barely suppressed confidence. It wasn’t the artificiality inherent in all synthetic beings, but a charade rife with subtext and, perhaps, a complementary threat. 

[I] ‘Just what is he planning?’[/i] Boomslang ruminated angrily behind his menacing, toothy grin.

The companion synth’s records indicated it was merely a pleasure model supplemented with subroutines for enhanced spacecraft piloting. It would have no chance in a fight. Yet it sat there, almost smug, insistent on these sterile and claustrophobic environs. Rather than the lavish quarters available to someone of its dubitable stature as an inheritor of Cizran wealth, the elevated wa’ali opted for the cabin of the [i]Tabris Ruzgar[/i], craft of his former slaver. Usually companions hated their masters, yet this was evidence of sentimentality.

Then again, it could be scheming revenge.

[i]<< Alert. Alert. The ship has prematurely exited superluminal travel model and is on an inertial propulsion. Maintenance underway. Support vessels in region notified. Please remain calm. >>[/i]

Boomslang and Eti Naris twitched in the direction of the notice and then back toward one another with expressions that conveyed quite explicitly [i]I had nothing to do with this[/i]. Boomslang certainly didn’t feel anything different, not that there was any frame of reference where he sat.

[I] “I guess we should go investigate,” [/i] Eti suggested, then stood up and strolled off to find the other living inhabitants of the hauler.

Boomslang jumped up to follow his ward.

[center] . . . [/center]

An alarm sounded softly in the action center of the [i]Dira Var-sha[/i]. Given Cizran military supremacy throughout the galaxy over the last several centuries, it was a familiar notification. It signaled neither threat nor foe, of which few remained, but rather a mundane request for assistance—a distress signal. Somewhere, a vessel was confronted by mechanical difficulties, perhaps lanced by cosmic rays or struck by debris. Whatever the matter, these seemed to become more regular occurrences as the fleet aged and maintenance languished due to the ostensibly deadlocked efforts to allocate funding by bureaucratic arm of the Cizran government.

[i]<< Vepsis Dol – hauler class-q , call sign 3EPL6 – experiencing propulsion failure and requesting assistance. Repeat … >>[/i]

It droned on and on in an electric pulse that would continue so long as the plea for help went unanswered. The ensign manning the station would need authorization to suppress it.

[i]“Sir, do we wish to respond to this distress signal? It is coming from the Vepsis Dol,”[/i]—she keyed the name into the database to retrieve its manifest and waypoint information before relaying the data to the first officer—[i]“a hauler on its way to Cizra Su-lahn from the Ganax’ab system. It contains a haul of artifacts, shalam, and political detainees under the protection of Governor Ec-shavar and Minister Plangó Felho'Te-vesztø.”[/i]