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Four weeks had passed without much of a hitch. Turles was showing up more and more to trainings, Raditz was also friendlier with you after your conversation. One afternoon, as the crew trained together, comms opened from the bridge from the only person who was not training at the time: Bulma.
The blue-haired scientist had a scouter-piloting device on her eye. A tool she had devised to control the ship remotely, which was a rather interesting addition to your arsenal. “All hands on deck, we are approaching Sadala Station.
The training stopped immediately, six Saiyans headed to the bridge to see what was coming. You see Kalabash being clearly nervous.
“20 years…” He says. “20 years since that terrible day, and here I am again.”
A grim sight appeared before your eyes, the station, which was built in the orbit of a lonely asteroid, was surrounded by bodies. There were hundreds of dead Frieza soldiers bearing armors and scouters from olden days, from back when you were just a child. Those weren’t what made this grim, it was the frozen bodies of dozens of Saiyans orbiting around the asteroid and station.
Kalabash grits his teeth and the rest of your crew furrows their brow, Bulma is clearly distraught.
“That’s terrible.” She says, taking her hands to her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
Kalabash shakes his head. “They died like warriors, all of them. Like true Saiyans.” He continues.
You nod as does the rest of the crew. You gritted your teeth as well as you looked at each and every one of these Saiyans, some bearing recognizable haircuts and battle armors, others seemed to have shunned them completely for mere fabric as a way to repudiate their service to the Cold Empire. All of them had hurt, blank or terrified expressions as they floated around.
“We will give them a decent burial when we have the chance.” You say. “That’s the least that they deserve.”
Calava watches, cross-armed. Raditz puts his hand on the window as he looks on at the bodies passing by. Nappa leans on the wall and stops looking while Turles looks at them with a clenched fist.
Then the bridges comms ring. “Huh?” Bulma says. “We’re receiving a transmission?”
“What?” You say. Your surprise then mixes with disgust. Did someone dare take over the station? “Open them, don’t enable our video feed.” You say.
Bulma opens the comms and a male’s gravelly voice rings out. “Hey, unidentified ship passing by Rocomo Station. Get the hell out of here before I send my men out there.”
“Who are you?” You ask.
“Who am I?! Who the fuck are you?” The voice responds clearly irritated. “Get out of here before I blow you into the space dust.”
The comms call ends. Surprise among your crew subsides into anger. You reach range to sense energy signatures inside, some seem rather powerful, but it’s hard to individual power levels from this far.
