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Alastor hung in the air, suspended by swarms of tentacle-like cords plunged into access ports covering his robotic head and back. His consciousness flooded the entirety of The Black Armada, a huge warship floating in the orbit of Cevanti, its presence cloaked. Alastor monitored the communications that bounced around the planet’s satellites and other interceptable media, just in case the authorities below wielded technology that could pierce his hidden status. If they knew of their presence, they weren’t broadcasting it.
It had been a rough few days for the Saiyan AI. Although Orion’s NOVA unit was upgraded and he was no longer in jeopardy of dying from the obsolete technology, his cooperation with Alastor’s primary objective left a lot to be desired. He also no longer had Tenso, his trusted counsel, to help him in matters that Alastor would not prefer to deal with personally. A traitor, that one, using Alastor’s vast resources to attempt to extract revenge from Orion. He had dispatched one of his modified Saiyan warriors in pursuit of Tenso, with the expressed goal of returning him alive. In a direct confrontation, Tenso wouldn’t stand a chance. But the sharp mind of that one meant that a confrontation was highly unlikely. Whether they would ever meet again was up in the air.
No… Alastor thought. Nothing. How irritating.
He sent a communication request to the strongest warrior onboard. It was swiftly answered. “Yes, Alastor?”
“Meet me in my quarters,” Alastor said. “I have a task for you.”
“As you wish.”
The doors slid open in short order and in strode the Saiyan he summoned. The room was only lit by a single spotlight on Alastor’s floating frame, so he walked in darkness. The Saiyan reached the perimeter of the light and his features were fully visible - long black hair cascading over his shoulders, rough stubble and a rougher stare, broad-faced and well built. He had refused to be outfitted by Alastor, instead requesting sturdier enhancements to the clothes he already wore; a long brownish-copper robe that covered his arms, a maroon waistcoat with silver lining, and a loose, dull crimson scarf that was slung about his neck.
“You summoned me?” Cabbis asked.
“Yes. There is a unique pulse originating from the planet’s surface,” Alastor said as he descended from on high, his metal feet touching the ground. “I’m unable to decipher it, but I know it has some significance to our efforts. I need you to head planet side and identify the signal’s source.”
“A simple enough task,” Cabbis said, squeezing his knuckles, “but isn’t this more suited to one of the Drones?”
“No, the importance is too great to leave to anyone but yourself.” And Orion, if he managed to stick around.
“As you say,” Cabbis said. “I’ll depart immediately.”
As the Saiyan warrior left the room, and Alastor gradually hoisted himself back into the air, he dwelled on what could have been.
No, he thought, what could be.
But it required a deft touch. The nuance and patience to recognise the moment that would make it all possible.
And that moment hadn’t arrived yet.
It had been a rough few days for the Saiyan AI. Although Orion’s NOVA unit was upgraded and he was no longer in jeopardy of dying from the obsolete technology, his cooperation with Alastor’s primary objective left a lot to be desired. He also no longer had Tenso, his trusted counsel, to help him in matters that Alastor would not prefer to deal with personally. A traitor, that one, using Alastor’s vast resources to attempt to extract revenge from Orion. He had dispatched one of his modified Saiyan warriors in pursuit of Tenso, with the expressed goal of returning him alive. In a direct confrontation, Tenso wouldn’t stand a chance. But the sharp mind of that one meant that a confrontation was highly unlikely. Whether they would ever meet again was up in the air.
No… Alastor thought. Nothing. How irritating.
He sent a communication request to the strongest warrior onboard. It was swiftly answered. “Yes, Alastor?”
“Meet me in my quarters,” Alastor said. “I have a task for you.”
“As you wish.”
The doors slid open in short order and in strode the Saiyan he summoned. The room was only lit by a single spotlight on Alastor’s floating frame, so he walked in darkness. The Saiyan reached the perimeter of the light and his features were fully visible - long black hair cascading over his shoulders, rough stubble and a rougher stare, broad-faced and well built. He had refused to be outfitted by Alastor, instead requesting sturdier enhancements to the clothes he already wore; a long brownish-copper robe that covered his arms, a maroon waistcoat with silver lining, and a loose, dull crimson scarf that was slung about his neck.
“You summoned me?” Cabbis asked.
“Yes. There is a unique pulse originating from the planet’s surface,” Alastor said as he descended from on high, his metal feet touching the ground. “I’m unable to decipher it, but I know it has some significance to our efforts. I need you to head planet side and identify the signal’s source.”
“A simple enough task,” Cabbis said, squeezing his knuckles, “but isn’t this more suited to one of the Drones?”
“No, the importance is too great to leave to anyone but yourself.” And Orion, if he managed to stick around.
“As you say,” Cabbis said. “I’ll depart immediately.”
As the Saiyan warrior left the room, and Alastor gradually hoisted himself back into the air, he dwelled on what could have been.
No, he thought, what could be.
But it required a deft touch. The nuance and patience to recognise the moment that would make it all possible.
And that moment hadn’t arrived yet.