The Black Betty, currently on a salvage mission for Councilor Drongul, flies through the endless purplish Driftscape, its hull barely a whisper against the vast emptiness.
In real space, a derelict ship (a Large class Kellidi transport) looms ahead, a steel behemoth caught in the dim glow of a red star. Dropping into real space, the transport comes into view of the Betty.
Three hundred feet of silent metal, its once-proud form scarred by time and micrometeorite impacts. Its name was illegible along the hull, faded under decades of radiation and neglect. Its distress beacon had gone silent long ago, but the signal remained—a ghost in the void, pulsing in measured intervals. That was how they found it.
Aboard the Betty, Vaëlorin analyzes the derelict through flickering readouts at the Science station. Scanners run their silent sweeps, revealing few active systems, no signs of life—just a drifting husk of a ship, abandoned in the void.
The Black Betty slipped from the shifting hues of the Drift into the cold stillness of real space, its hull settling into the quiet embrace of the void. Ahead, the derelict transport hung like a forgotten relic—a silent behemoth, stripped of its name, scarred by time and micrometeorite impacts. The red star’s dim glow cast long shadows across its weathered form, outlining the eerie stillness of a vessel long abandoned.
At the Science station, Vaëlorin exhaled slowly, his fingers moving across the flickering readouts with practiced ease. The console’s soft illumination painted his sharp elven features in pale blue light as he began the ritual of observation—for to scan was not merely to collect data, but to listen.
A ship is never truly silent.
It whispered in the pulsing intervals of its lingering signal, in the faint electromagnetic ghosts that clung to its faded hull. Even now, the ship’s presence resonated with the cosmos—a fragment of its existence still etched into the great celestial harmony.
“A vessel adrift remembers the hands that once shaped it,” he murmured, adjusting the Betty’s sensors. “Even the void cannot erase history—it only buries it beneath layers of time.”
He tuned the Betty’s scanners, aligning them to pierce the ship’s decaying defenses, peeling back its veil of silence.
One final breath.
Then, he initiated the scan.
+2 from the Betty I think?
In the turret, the Ysoki sat in the gunner’s chair watching, just in case the forgotten derelict wasn’t quite forgotten or alone in the dark. His armor was already on. Burlap’s helmet was strapped to the chair, because explosive decompression didn’t play favorites.
Soldiers were creatures of habit – from necessity. An hour before they left the Drift he had meticulously cleaned, checked, loaded, and safetied his weapons… even the one he wasn’t likely to bring on a salvage run. Now, it was the pre-deployment ‘wait’ which made him antsy, like it always did.
Vaëlorin exhaled slowly as the scan data coalesced into readable patterns, his fingers moving deftly across the console to refine the output. The Black Betty’s sensors had done their work, now it was time to relay the preliminary findings.
“We are looking at a derelict Kellidi-class transport,” he announced, his voice smooth but measured. “Large frame, three hundred feet in length. Standard cargo hauler, most likely outfitted for bulk transport, though its specific modifications are currently unknown.”
His gaze flicked to the red star, its dim glow painting the derelict in long, stretched shadows. He allowed himself a moment to observe it, as if reading some forgotten truth in its flickering light.
“The star is… old. A red main-sequence, likely low-metallicity, nearing the latter half of its hydrogen-burning phase. Its spectrum is shifting—evidence of ongoing stellar mass loss.” He tapped a control, narrowing the Betty’s readings on the celestial body. “Given its mass and energy output, the system is likely under gravitational decay. Any planets within its habitable zone would have long since suffered atmospheric stripping, their magnetospheres weakened by the solar wind.”
His lips quirked into a faint, knowing smile.
“A fitting graveyard for a ship lost to time.”
He turned his focus back to the readouts, preparing for the next phase of analysis.
According to Vaëlorin's instruments, there are no life-forms aboard. The vessel was not attacked; whatever stranded it here did no damage to the exterior of the vessel.
Oddly, life-support and gravity are still functional aboard the vessel.
Cherry had while in the Drift decided to do her Doshka practice. Her heavy blade singing in the cargo hold. Tin Man stood to the side with a towel and held her personal computer with Vesk music that is mostly marching band ensembles to build love of Damitosh and the Imperium.
When Vaelorins' voice pipes up she stops and the heavy blade thunks down and she leans on it as her tail stops the music. "What short of goods we looking at? Anything we can reconfigure for Betty?"
The vesk mechanic who is self taught in the field began to make her way to the bridge so she could be in on the conversation. One hand grabs Toto and begins to work on pulling up schematics for the Kellidi Class.
As she does she takes her tail and grabs the towel to place the cool damp towel on herself giving the satisfying feeling of a dip into the river after lying on the hot rocks.
"I'll be up shortly"
Vaëlorin’s fingers danced across the console, refining the scan’s output as new data filtered in. The ship’s silent profile remained unchanged, a specter against the red star’s dim glow. Yet, beneath the surface, anomalies presented themselves—an absence of the expected, a presence of the inexplicable.
“No life-forms detected aboard,” he reported, his tone even but thoughtful. “No bodies, no residual bio-signatures. Whatever happened here, it left no trace of the crew.”
He adjusted the Betty’s sensors, scanning for external breaches, impact stressors, signs of forced entry—yet the hull remained whole, untouched. His brow furrowed.
No external damage. No decompression. No evidence of violence. The ship was not attacked… it was simply left behind.
He exhaled slowly, processing the contradictions. A vessel adrift in deep space, its distress beacon pulsing weakly, its name faded with time—yet life-support and artificial gravity remained operational. A ghost ship that refused to die.
“Curious.” He tapped the console again, confirming the readings. “The ship’s interior remains stable. Gravity and life-support are still functional.” His fingers lingered over the controls as if questioning the data itself. “This vessel should be dead… yet something sustains it.”
He leaned back, eyes narrowing at the derelict framed against the void.
Abandoned, yet maintained. No crew, yet still breathing.
The mystery deepened.
Cherry gets up there with her Doshka on her back and Toto in her hand. As she taps on her own personal computer she places it on the engineering station.
"Have we scanned for any exterior service numbers indicating our Mystery vessels origins?" She notes as she turns to look over Vaelorins Shoulder.
" There could be drones keeping it operational and wouldn't register on the normal sensors without a internal audit of the ships manifest and roster" Cherry begins to tap on her own computer as Tin Man pops up his guns inactive and carrying extra tools.
I wonder if Vaelorin will mind music while we work. I doubt it, he loves Vesk Music. With that Cherry worked Toto's screen as she then worked Betty's panel and then Oosilthaks' March on Valsillus begins ot play on the ships internal speakers.
The comm crackles and the Ysoki’s voice comes through. ”Any signs of radiation? Or maybe a bio-hazard hit the ship.”
James "Joyride" Maxwell, was bored... and the Elven voice which he oft-times appreciated droned on... lecturing.
This is why I dropped out of school. Hehe... Cherry - practical as usual. And, LT - all about how close he can get to grab some things. We each have our place in this tapestry of life, yeah?
It was time to get back to work. He placed his cup of fancy coffee down, cappuccino to be precise. It locked into place then lowered out of view. Hopping back into the cockpit seat, he strapped in and opened general comms.
I see an airlock at the aft center. Trap or otherwise, anything indicate we should not get up close? Want me to dock so we can take a closer look?
Pre-emptively, he start to gently maneuver... expecting an affirmative.
Joyride Maxwell manages to dock after a brief effort realigning the ships. He knows he could have done that a lot more gracefully, but success is success, after all.
Drongul, male, Half-Elven. Age 87 years - not so old for a Half-Elf.
He's one of the four surviving councilmembers from before the attacks; he had served 20 years back on the Colonies.
Vaëlorin barely shifted from his place at the Science station as the Betty lurched ever so slightly upon final alignment. It was a successful docking—technically. Yet, from the brief jostle of the ship’s stabilizers recalibrating, he surmised Joyride had needed more than one attempt to correct his approach.
A pilot’s maneuvering is like brushwork upon the canvas of space, he thought, watching the console flicker as the docking sequence finalized. Some paint with precision, some with passion… and some wield the brush like a club.
He exhaled quietly before speaking.
“Ah. A textbook example of controlled enthusiasm.” He tapped a few keys, double-checking the Betty’s stabilizers. “It is fortunate that ‘success’ is measured by completion rather than artistry.”
He flicked a glance toward the cockpit before returning to his readings, tone as neutral as a systems diagnostic.
“Shall I also scan for paint transfer, or is that to be filed under ‘acceptable wear and tear’?”
Burlap stays on the Coilgun, sweeping the barrel across the hull of the transport, specifically watching for an automated turret or any weapon hardpoints that twitch during the docking maneuver. When the ships are mated, he secures the gunnery station, grabs his helmet, then slings his rifle. He pops the hatch and slides down the ladder to the main deck, cycling the hatch afterwards.
Activating the comm again, the Ysoki squeaks, Movin’ to the hold and the backdoor.“ Excited by the prospect of doing something, he takes the stairs three at a time. The soldier slows down as he approaches the hatch. He checks the read-out to make sure the airseal is good, then levers himself up on the hatch support struts to peek through the small window into the airlock. ”Seal looks good. No tentacle-ated aliens in the airlock.”
Vaëlorin barely glanced up from his console as Burlap’s voice crackled over the comms. He tapped through the environmental readings, verifying the Ysoki’s assessment.
“Fascinating. A ship abandoned for decades, yet still sealed and functional. A mystery worth considering.” He paused for a beat. “Or, we could simply appreciate the temporary absence of tentacles and proceed.”
He adjusted the scan parameters, sweeping for any lingering anomalies before standing from his station.
“Let us hope your optimism is well-placed, Burlap. It would be most inconvenient to have been deceived by a patient set of appendages.”
Alzura Frostflare strides onto the bridge, summoned by the appearance of the ship. Alzura is suli: a child of the elements... or so the story goes. She wears a short, cropped leather jacket with metal studs on the shoulders and a lowcut, black crop top. Blue-grey pants with black highlights accent her dark blue boots, which are decorated with butterfly wings, a small nod to her goddess, Desna. The outfit exposes much of her light blue skin as well as her toned abs. Her technicolor curly hair frames a beautiful but stern face.
The stern expression was new to her, or so those who knew her before claim. She had been an outgoing, somewhat famous student at the Solarian temple on Drakon, well liked by most of those around her. Highly social and skilled with a solar blade, she never wanted for friends. Then Drakon fell. Despite being lauded as a hero for flying a transport shuttle full of survivors away from the surface of the devastated planet, Alzura was changed. The light in her eyes was gone, replaced by something dull, deep, and dark. She spends most of her time alone now.
Aggressively rubbing her eyes until colorful spots explode in the darkness behind her closed eyelids, she listens to the reports from their science officer. 'Nothing' was the best they could hope to find, with increasing danger coming with anything more interesting than 'nothing'. The remarkable condition of the ship was a little more than 'nothing' and she doesn't like it. Cherry Bomb's hypothesis that it could be the work of automated maintenance drones isn't completely insane, but she still doesn't buy it.
"I've seen enough horror vids to know that abandoned ships are abandoned for a reason." Ghosts weren't very likely, but the Cyleerin dredging up some old freighter to draw them in wasn't out of the question. Still, this was their job. She thumbs a command on her coms unit and, without missing a stride, her reconfigurable clothing changes, replacing the fashionable outfit with a decidedly less fashionable one, but one that offers more protection from radiation. At the airlock she dons her kalo encounter suit. The sturdy armored suit offered excellent protection and life support and - as the kalo or aquatic - it had obviously been modified for a bipedal airbreather. She does not remove her starknife from its hidden resting place in her prosthetic arm, as it can be called to her hand with a though.
"Helmets on. Life support engaged." Vaëlorin may say the life support on the derelict ship is functioning normally, but she has her doubts. As her own helmet fwips into place with a hollow shunt, she starts the suit's brief self-diagnostics procedure to ensure it is in proper working order. Setting her personal com unit into a slot on the chest of the armor, she activates its flashlight function. It doesn't provide much illumination, but they would feel foolish if the lights went out and they had to scramble for torches. "And remember," she grumbles. "Ain't nothing' here worth dyin' for. If things get messy we come back to the Betty, withdraw to a safe distance, and blow this ship to hell."
Burlap drops off the door and slaps his face-shield down. He holds his AR at ‘low ready’ with the sling providing support. ”Poppin’ our door.” He cycles the hatch then peeks into the intervening space before moving to the freighter’s hatch.
I got yer back, LT... James positions himself close behind the Ysoki, weapon at the ready with his head on a swivel.
Vaëlorin watched as the final scan cycle completed, the data stabilizing into patterns he had already predicted. The ship remained silent, its systems unchanged. There was nothing more to glean from the console.
Nothing else to extract. The mystery will not unfold from here.
His fingers moved with practiced precision, shutting down his station in a controlled sequence. The passive scans would remain operational, but his role at the console was done. He stood, smoothing the sleeves of his coat before turning toward the exit.
“Scans are complete,” he reported, his voice even. “No new readings. No signals. No changes. The ship remains silent.” His hand flicked across the last set of controls. “I am shutting down the Science station and reporting to the airlock.”
Moving with measured steps, he departed the bridge, boots barely making a sound against the deck. As he approached the airlock, he activated his suit’s life-support systems with a quiet hiss, the heads-up display coming online in his visor. The ship loomed beyond the Betty’s hull, waiting, unchanged.
“Let us hope this vessel appreciates visitors,” he remarked dryly, adjusting his gloves. “Though I suspect its hospitality will be… lacking.”
With that, he stepped into position, ready to proceed.
Cherry follows Vaelorin down and manages to grab ToTo and the Tin Man.
"We can keep in contact with the ships systems with Toto. Right ToTo"Cherry says to her Datapad and the speaker answers in a male robotic voice of a gentleman.
"Yes, Misstress, I am attached to Betty's Computer system and operation systems. I can keep us apprised to the conditions of the scans" The AI ToTo says as Cherry taps the Tin man, and he grabs some gear.
Cherry doesn't change any clothes as she holds ToTo in her hand and has her Tactical gun in the other. Tin Man takes up position infront of her with both long arms forward to fire at whatever comes towards them.
At the dock she looks at the others."So what do you think will find? Hopefully something valuable"
Vaëlorin cast a glance at Cherry’s datapad as ToTo’s synthesized voice echoed in the corridor. A direct link to the Betty’s systems—efficient.
“A useful tether,” he acknowledged with a slight nod. “Let us hope the Betty does not develop opinions about our choices while we are away.”
As Cherry posed her question at the dock, he considered for a moment, adjusting the fit of his gloves before responding.
“An empty ship, fully functional, yet abandoned. Logic dictates we will find either something valuable… or the reason it was left behind.”
His fingers drummed idly against his wrist console before he added, almost as an afterthought,
“When investigating a mishap, one must always take care when attempting to reproduce the conditions that led to it.” He flicked his gaze toward the derelict vessel. “After all… one might succeed.”
With that, he stepped forward, ready to proceed.
"I mean stripping the materials is also profitable, and could aid the Engineer Core with materials. Something the Fleet needs. Without threat of Cyleerin incription or sabotage." Cherry says as she uses her tail to tap Totos screen and looks at the others.
" Oh you mean ToTo. yeah, ToTo's a good boy. He maybe a cobbled together monster of salvaged bits! But so is the life of a Vesk Junk Frieghter engineer with too much time on her hands, and lots of supposed Obsolete parts! Same with Tin Man!" She says to her four foot tall Drone who lifts his arms and the two tool bags.
'Ah we'll be fine, With your brain and my engerineering ingenuity we should beable to succeed in any technological based problems. The rest, can take care of the grunt work. Or as my mother said "The Honorable Work" of dispatching enemies" Cherry said, though she lifts her pistol and checks it quickly before looking over her shoulder at the Doshko on her back.
Clarissa hustles up to the rear of the line, her med-kit slung over her shoulder.
"Wait up guys! Wouldn't want someone to get a paper-cut over there and be without bandages," she jokes.
The airlock on the transport vessel opens directly into a storage area, approximately 40' by 25'. A hallway exits off either side, which you can intuit by the placement of the ship's rear thrusters lead into the port and starboard thruster housings. Another exit, a double-wide door straight ahead of the airlock, leads out of the storage area and into the ship proper.
The room is dimly lit, with flickering blue-ish emergency lights casting deep shadows. The air is thick with the scent of metal, old coolant, and a faint sour tang of decay.
Around you are stacks of storage crates that appear not to have been touched for some time; except one small area, in which crates had been opened more recently.
Burlap raises the assault rifle to his shoulder – high ready – and thumbs the selector to ‘single’. ”Weapon hot.” As soon as the hatch is halfway open, the Ysoki darts through the gap and moves quickly to the nearest set of crates, using them for cover. Wherever his eyes go, the barrel of the rifle follows – high, low, left, right, in constant motion. He then dodges to the second set of crates and continues looking for trouble from any direction… with most of his attention focused toward the far end of the cargo hold. He find a decent spot to provide covering fire for his team coming through the hatch.
Via comms, he reports back, ”Nothing, so far. Got two corridors, probably to the thrusters. We should clear them before moving forward. Big double doors up ahead.” He waits for the rest of the team to enter the hold.
Burlap notes nothing he'd consider unusual, perhaps because he's focused on clearing the area of potential threats.
Perception, once lock opens: 26
Joyride, however, immediately notes the slightly open containers across the room. It definitely gives the impression someone (or something) has been here more recently than this ship was evacuated.
" Do you see any computer terminals?" Cherry days through her comm unit as she instinctly pulls up her hand gun ready to fire on any oncoming creature.
It was a hard habit to get tid if when drilled in your head as a child.In fact even her early years on Vesk Salvage Frieghters and Junkers she was drilled by upstarts who sought glory. At least in jer interpretation of the Holy Art of War teaches any thing used effectively to win a war is considered earning glory. So Cherry focused on her craft and her Drones. Though it wasnt much she has defeated a Cyleerin or two since the Exodus.
Alzura does not have a weapon, or at least she does not appear to have one. Nevertheless she advances boldly into the cargo hold. "Nobody go running off alone. Vaëlorin, do you have schematics for this model of ship? We should find the captain's console first, see if we can figure out what happened here." The suli approaches the pile of crates ahead of them, though she is momentarily uninterested in what they may contain. To get a better view of the cargo hold, she nearly leaps up the pile of crates, hardly slowed by her heavy armor.
Guys, open crates... there and there. Something's been here.
He moves as best he can along with the Ysoki. Nothing is sneaking up on that rat.
Settling near Cherry, Vaëlorin reached for his wrist console, fingers gliding across the interface with a measured grace. Lines of data flickered across the screen as he tapped into the Betty’s systems, scanning for any archived schematics of the derelict vessel. A ship, even one lost to time, would leave echoes in the void—registry logs, design templates, fragments of its past woven into the great lattice of recorded knowledge.
“A vessel’s form is never truly forgotten,” he mused, eyes flicking between readouts. “Even when its name fades, even when time erodes its purpose, its blueprint remains—waiting to be found.”
The data filtered through, cycling possibilities, and he refined the search parameters, reaching through the Betty’s databanks as if unearthing a relic buried in digital sediment.
“I am searching for the ship’s schematics now,” he continued, voice calm, detached. “If there is any record of its design, we shall know it soon.”
His fingers hovered for a moment before he activated another sequence, a faint pulse of arcane energy crackling at his fingertips.
“Additionally,” he added, “should we encounter any dormant systems, any consoles lost to time or damage, I can create an interface—a holographic window into the machine’s mind.” His lips curled ever so slightly. “All things mechanical whisper if one knows how to listen.”
With that, he turned his focus back to the stream of data, parsing through the silent echoes of the ship’s past.
"Guys, open crates... there and there. Something's been here."
Since neither AP slugs are bouncing off the walls nor are laser beams punching inconvenient holes in anyone, Burlap takes his eye off the sight for a moment to glance at the open containers. He immediately falls back to the airlock to cycle close and lock Betty's hatch... just in case there is something still on this boat that managed to spoof the sensors.
Cherry does not note any terminals in this particular room more advanced than a door-pad.
Alzura has no problem climbing up the most steady pile of crates. Not a lot of clearance to the ceiling, but enough for her to crouch there and get a decent view of the room.
It seems clear of hostiles. There are three main piles of crates; the one near the entrance, the largest one (and also the one that contains the open crates Joyride saw) to map-south, and a more organized smaller pile map-north.
Vaëlorin is able to pull up a basic layout of the vessel. Bridge should be in the next chamber forward. Engineering to the starboard and port of that (starboard for the engines, port for other ship systems). A couple low-yield gunner pods to beyond that, one to port and one to starboard. Beyond that are living spaces. No large cargo holds on this particular vessel; it was configured more as a passenger vessel.
Burlap and Joyride examine the open crates; one obviously contained food stores, some time ago. Most of it was looted; the rest has gone bad. Some of the other crates contain personal items that might be used to. Some of it might have moderate value.
Settling into position, Vaëlorin’s fingers moved fluidly across his wrist console, interfacing with the Betty's onboard systems. The ship was old, but its core data architecture still held form—fragments of its history encoded in circuitry and forgotten protocols. It took only a few moments and then the schematics began to take shape.
“I have located the vessel’s basic layout,” he announced, his tone even, detached. A few more keystrokes refined the display on his console. “Bridge should be in the next chamber forward. Engineering is split—starboard houses the engines, port contains the ship’s other primary systems.”
He paused, reviewing the layout with a critical eye.
“Two low-yield gunner pods positioned further aft, one to port, one to starboard. Minimal armament. This was not a warship.”
His gaze flicked over the remaining sections, confirming the final details before continuing.
“Living spaces beyond the turrets. No large cargo holds—this vessel was configured for passengers, not freight.”
He tapped his console once more, committing the schematics to his memory. A transport vessel, abandoned in the void.
Left to drift, yet still functional. A structure without its purpose, a body without its soul.
“A curious design,” he remarked, voice laced with quiet intrigue. “We shall see if its former occupants left any wisdom behind.”
With that, he sent the schematics to the rest of the team’s datapads, then turned his attention back to the waiting corridors ahead.
Vaëlorin’s gaze swept the dim, dust-laden hold, his visor’s readouts flickering in quiet intervals as he processed the scene. A ship abandoned, yet preserved. No damage, no distress—only absence.
Absence does not preclude presence.
He adjusted the settings on his wrist console, keying in a spectral analysis for known energy signatures. The ship’s power systems had endured, which suggested redundancy, automation—intent. And intent, by its nature, left traces.
“I will conduct a sweep for magical auras,” he announced, his voice even, measured. His fingers moved in a slow, deliberate gesture, summoning the flow of arcane perception. “If this vessel retains power where none should remain, it is prudent to ensure that power is not… unconventional in origin.”
A pause. Then, with a faint tilt of his head, he added,
“I am certain no one would object to confirming that this ship is not, in fact, haunted.”
With that, he extended his senses, preparing to unravel whatever unseen energies lingered in the space between circuits and steel.
Looking at the opened crates and supplies, the fur between the Ysoki’s eyes furrows and spikes – the rodent version of a frown. ”Raiders steal everything, not just some food. Whatever happened here, there was at least one creature on-board that lived long enough that they had to scrounge for food, but not long enough to eat it all. Or they found a way off before the food ran out.”
Burlap methodically checks and clears both thruster rooms.
Vaëlorin detects no magic in any visible areas within the range.
Burlap does not see anyone in either of the thruster rooms but...someone has opened the doors, at least the north one, relatively recently.
"Very good, Vaëlorin. Then lets head to the bridge. Don't wanna stick around here any longer than we hafta." Alzura half crawls forward atop the crates and jumps down the far side, her mag-boots hitting the deck with a solid thunk. "If someone is using this ship for storage I don't wanna be here when they get back." The ideal outcome would be to find that the ship is in good enough condition to return to the fleet under its own power. She doesn't get her hopes up, but they should have some answers soon. A confidant scrapper, the suli is less cautious than LongTail. The cramped corridors of spacecraft favor her preferred style of combat, and if someone is laying in wait, they want to limit how much time ambushers would have to prepare.
The rat-soldier returns. ”Someone’s been in the starboard thruster room relatively recently… enough to shake the dust off the hatch.” Since the team has already started moving forward, he raises his weapon and stalks quietly forward along the left-hand wall, looking for threats.
Vaëlorin tilted his head slightly at Burlap’s observation, his gaze shifting to the dust-streaked surfaces of the derelict’s interior. A vessel this old should have been coated in uniform stillness—an untouched relic drifting in the void. And yet, movement.
An inconsistency.
He tapped a few silent commands into his wrist console, reviewing the scan data once more. The readings had been conclusive. No life forms, no biological signatures, no residual magical presence. And yet... the evidence of presence lingered.
His fingers paused over the controls before he exhaled quietly, lifting his gaze to the others.
“Far be it from me to dismiss physical evidence,” he said, his tone even, carefully measured. “But I will remind you that the ship-wide scans were quite thorough. By all recorded metrics, this vessel is abandoned.”
He let the words settle before adding, with only the faintest touch of dry amusement,
“Of course, history has shown that ‘abandoned’ is a term with… flexible interpretations.”
With a final flick of his fingers, he powered down his scanner.
“Regardless, I see no harm in maintaining vigilance.”
A brief pause, then a slight incline of his head.
“I will defer to those who specialize in preparing for the unexpected.”
With that, he adjusted his grip on his wrist console and moved forward, eyes scanning the path ahead.
A device could be used to baffle the sensors, it's not unheard of. James throws in a bit of his recent education. Expecting to be crushed by his betters.
Heads on a swivel... He covers the Ysoki.
The Ysoki keeps advancing, weapon ready, even while responding to Vaelorin. ”Assumptions kill. Does a Cyleerin automata even have life signs? I don’t know… but I don’t want to find out the answer is ‘no’ by staring at a hole where my chest used to be. So, I'm gonna be cautious until every dark corner is checked.”
The Ysoki keeps advancing, weapon ready, even while responding to Vaelorin. ”Assumptions kill. Does a Cyleerin automata even have life signs? I don’t know… but I don’t want to find out the answer is ‘no’ by staring at a hole where my chest used to be. So, I'm gonna be cautious until every dark corner is checked.”