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"What is it?" You ask, half-motioning to his staff.
When he had first laid eyes on the orb, Ramattra could barely speak. A moment of awe- of fury. He had crossed continents, walked most of it alone, only occasionally the rare few of his kind of who had managed to integrate into human society quickly giving him assistance. He had come so far for answers. To be greeted by serene omnics offering him a mediation tool was a harsh slap. How could this be what he needed- what all omnics needed?
"It's a Shamabli meditation orb." He replies, then corrects himself: "It was."
It took weeks for him to relax among his own brethren. Took even longer for him to realize that his silent walks around the monastery at midnight were not a result of his extended wake cycle. On each circle of the stone-walled perimeter, Ramattra's orb refused to do more than flicker its lights. That was fine, because he was too busy scanning the freezing mountain for any heat signatures.
"Was?" You stare at the purple-striped thing. With a tip of his head, the orb floats out of the crook of his staff, settling between you. "Oh," you murmur, leaning in close to watch the tiny pyramids circle in waves.
It had begun floating on its own. He had dismissed his optics array while meditating- a feeble attempt to acquiesce to Mondatta's recommendation to disable or suspend his combat programs. He could not disentangle many aspects of his HUD from raw optic feed, so the only option was to turn it off entirely. That was fine; they were miles away from any human interference. And for once, Ramattra mediated without running checks. When he had re-engaged them, the orb had finally taken on its intended life, glowing a soft gold and spinning slowly.
That was the trick; Ramattra could not make it float, could not force it to bend to his will, to obey his commands. He could pry into its inner workings, but he knew all too well that would defeat the purpose. No, the orb was intended to run on the very background processes that were difficult for Ramattra to access himself, to be a visual, physical representation of his own state.
You catch one of the pyramids between your thumb and forefinger. The rest that circle the orb shift, fill in the space. It's tiny, pointy where it digs into the pad of your thumb, solid when you press on it. One side glows a soft purple, the same hue as the orb itself, as the line of light inside the staff's crook. With a lift of his fingers, the pyramid dissolves.
"What...?" You blink, stare down at your open, empty palm. With another movement, a dust cloud settles over your hand, then manifests, compresses into the same pyramid. "Nanites?"
Ramattra hums.
He doesn't really remember why he took the design. He knows how he got it. A new arrival had nearly entirely overloaded when their orb refused to sync with them anymore- had almost overloaded again when presented with a new one that they could successfully link with. Ramattra was the best engineer at the monastery, of course he had offered to investigate the faulty device. Any chance to crack one open and pick it apart from the inside. It was as much a self-satisfying investigation as a genuine service to his brethren.
He'd improved their designs within a week and quietly kept the blueprint tucked into his memory banks. Just in case.
He didn't know, exactly, what that had meant yet. Ramattra knew by then that despite his hours, years of self-reflection, of looking out into the universe, of pondering his very own existence and life, that there was something not right. Something here wasn't working. Every time he had to venture down into the town below the monastery for parts and cloth, he felt it in the world. In the very shadow of this omnic safe haven, he saw the fear and hatred in human eyes.
"The Shambali use them to heighten self-awareness, to regulate intense emotions. It's a symbol of internal, spiritual balance to control them." He says, and summons the orb closer to himself. "They can be difficult to control when affected by powerful discord."
"But you altered it?"
The orb settles into his palm. He turns his hand, inspecting the smooth, dark surface. "Yes," He says, "I call it a void accelerator. The orb acts as a magnet accelerator, propelling projectiles where I desire."
"Does it still help you?" You study down at the tiny pyramid still in your grasp. Ramattra's faceplate lifts, stares blankly at you. When you meet his gaze, you rephrase. "You said it regulated intense emotions, that you would meditate with it. Does it still work like that?"
The orb floats before him, pulls the missing piece from your hand. They dance around the orb in slow waves, spinning individually as they go. Ramattra hums, resettles himself. "Yes, in a way."
In the background, he scans the outside of the compound for movement.