Imprisoned, that was all Sub-Visser Seven could think of, he was imprisoned again. And this Navari, one who he had come to consider a friend of sorts, had coldly murdered one of his fellows. Had actually murdered several, but now he knew what the Yeerk race truly was, and he hated them for it.
The Sub-Visser had never before felt such disgust, such utter hatred, even in the minds of his various hosts. Fear had always been the dominant emotion, that and confusion. He realized that he did not even know the Navari's name, even with all they had told each other, all the stories of past conquests they had shared, he didn't know.
And now he was back in his little mental cell, trapped until the Navari found another host for him. Or until he decided to kill him. He thought death to be the more likely outcome, given how much the Navari hated him now.
He lost track of time, until a forceful voice snarled at him.
Get out.
Without a word, Sub-Visser Seven slunk out of the Navari's ear-canal. Unexpectedly, there was another ear waiting for him. A Hork-Bajir, he knew the feel of their ears. So this was to be his new host.
***
As the Yeerk slithered out of his head, Darkblade had the urge to just kill the little creature and be done with it. He fought it, his othersense told him that this creature would have an important role to play in the future. What that was, Darkblade didn't know. But his othersense had guided him to victory before, and so he would trust it once again.
Darkblade watched the Hork-Bajir Controller turn to face him.
"Why did you - ?"
"For reasons I do not yet understand," Darkblade snapped, cutting him off.
"Will you at least tell me your name?"
A quick footsweep knocked the impudent Controller to the ground. Summoning his staff, Darkblade stabbed at the Controller. Stopping only when the tip of his blade rested between the Hork-Bajir's eyes.
"I do not give my name to inferiors. And you, slime crawler, are as inferior as they come," Darkblade spat contemptuously.
Turning on his heel, Darkblade stared into the sky of the desert world. Transforming, he cast one last glance at the Sub-Visser in his new body and let his eyes glow a warning crimson. Lest the Sub-Visser get any stupid ideas about pursuing him.
Igniting his rockets, the Teknoman took to the sky and was soon moving too swiftly for any ship to catch. Once Darkblade was back in space, he headed for familiar territory. A place he had been spending more and more time at of late.
As soon as he had glimpsed the well-known shape of the space station, Darkblade knew he was home.
What passes as home for me I suppose, he brooded. The wall of Radam tentacles opened at his approach. Striding past other Teknomen, some sleeping in their teknopods some just restlessly haunting the corridors, Darkblade made his way to Nalshanda's audience chamber.
Tekno-Warlord Nalshanda was a mystery to Darkblade. The Warlord seemed to be bereft of the normal emotions, bereft in fact of any kind of emotion. He was old, older than Darkblade, maybe even a little older than Omega himself.
I swore to myself I would not think of him, Darkblade berated himself. Thinking of Omega would only distract him, and he needed to focus. He was a Radam Teknoman, a warrior. That was all that he could be.
Pushing those thoughts out of his mind with an effort, he continued walking. Passing through a last wall of tentacles, Darkblade stood in front of Nalshanda's throne. Kneeling, the Teknoman waited for the Warlord to notice him.
***
Tekno-Warlord Nalshanda shifted in his teknopod, wings folding out of his line of vision as he sensed the presence of another. One crimson eye opened, blazing with a fury more powerful than any Teknoman. Recognizing Darkblade, Nalshanda hissed softly.
He had been hoping that the young Teknoman had left his station for the last time. Baring his half-inch canines behind the cover of his mostly folded wings, Nalshanda watched the young one kneel. Closing his eye, Nalshanda waited.
***
Darkblade knelt outside the half-length Radam tentacles that made up Nalshanda's throne. A Teknoman did not call on a Warlord when they were sleeping, and so with some difficulty he restrained himself. Nalshanda's thoughts and feelings were mostly opaque, closed off to him and all the other Teknomen, but Darkblade was by no means stupid.
He knew the Warlord was only barely tolerating his presence. And then only because Omega had threatened the other Warlord with a slow, painful death if he didn't.
Omega again, why do I always find my thoughts circling back to him?
Darkblade shook the thoughts of his long-ago commander out of his mind, this was hardly the time. The tentacles shifted out of his line of sight, allowing him a clear view of Nalshanda's teknopod. Bowing his head slightly, Darkblade watched as the red-winged Tekno-Warlord stepped out of his pod.