Star Wars: Bundle of Joy (working title)
by Mirwalker
AU Disclaimer: I am not versed in the SW lore beyond the movies, but will reference some off-screen material. So this story is technically AU, as I know I will have mixed up, mistaken or ignored some details in the complex, revised and still-changing canon. I've focused on internal consistency, and hope you can enjoy that instead...
CHAPTER 1
"You're not the first pilot to get his droid fried…," remarked the nearer mechanic.
"Or fused to his ship," sighed the second, as they both poked at the X-wing's melted midsection.
"Can you save her?" Dameron cut to the quick.
"The ship or the droid?"
"Yes."
The pair exchanged a glance, not entirely surprised or happy with the Captain's smugly unreasonable expectation.
"We can cut her out, eventually," one explained. "And the fighter can likely be repaired. But about the droid's future, you'll have to ask Molli."
"Molli?"
"The Droid Lorrd. Level Four."
Pleased by the success of today's mission again the pirates, no small part of Poe Dameron relished the congratulatory shouts, smiles and back slaps from fellow Corpsmembers as he made his way through the base corridors. Four raiders destroyed; another half-dozen damaged; and a clear message delivered to the whole syndicate: find some other hunting ground.
But another part also bristled at the apparent cost—the loyal R8 unit he'd chosen, trained and grown fond of over the past two years. Poe knew most people didn't get too attached to the mechanical beings, seeing them as mere tools. Even some pilots, as closely as they depended on their Astromech units in particular, only cared for them in the way they did their ships—naming and doting on them like treasured pets or steeds. But everyone knew that the quick-reflexed ace squadron captain had a particularly soft spot for compact companions of wires and whistles.
So it angered and saddened him greatly that he'd not been able to avoid the shot from, or return the favor to, the possibly talented, probably lucky enemy pilot today. And, as with nearly all of his emotions, Poe always turned guilt into action. In this case that meant nodding and calling back to his well-wishers, as he marched down to the base's droid repair shop to wrangle the best tech for immediate miracle work on the fused evidence of his mistake and heartbreak now sitting on the hangar desk.
Realizing immediately that he'd actually never had to visit before, Dameron stopped short when the door opened to reveal a small, dark and crowded space that reeked of oils and ozone. A few scattered pools of light revealed macabre splays of limbs, panels, and wiring bundles, suggesting he'd stumbled upon some sick cybernetic experiment. From other dark corners, weak glows and groans suggested a backlog of units not well, but not quite working either.
"In or out!" an accented order echoed from somewhere among piles and parts. "No liminal dawdling… Wait—Are you security? About plolling time! Over here!"
Responding unconsciously to the sharp, surprise command, Dameron was immediately lost in darkness as the hallway's brightness was cut off behind him.
"Here!" the voice repeated, even more insistently. "Far corner!"
Keeping an eye on a dented, dusty torso that watched him back, the pilot eased toward the invitation, trying not to touch or topple anything as he did.
"Finally," a tall figure waved impatiently, standing opposite a much smaller and hairier silhouette, over a third, blocky figure slumped in its chair across a workstation. All were wearing matching technician overalls. "Shoot it here."
"Excuse me?" Dameron squinted, trying to make out who was asking for what.
The shorter figure snorted, as the taller stepped toward the pilot, ushering him to get on with it. "We called security because medical take too long with their questions and tests. Shoot it here," he pointing to the back of the slumped tech.
"Shoot?" Dameron stammered, still trying to make sense of the scene. He raised his hands to show no ill intent, and as if to ward off the wild request.
"Blaster. Trigger. Pull," the speaker encouraged, his pale face popping in the dimness as he suddenly moved closer to inspect the hesitant helper.
What Poe's adjusting eyes now clearly perceived as an indignant ugnaught, growled something with a shrug and chuckle.
"Yes, but 'pretty' doesn't much help Bloff." Apparently tired of talking and waiting, the lead tech took advantage of Dameron's still raised arms, deftly snatched the pilot's sidearm from its flight suit holster, and fired three shots squarely into the back of his unmoving colleague.
tbc...
Am posting this teaser prologue, hoping to jumpstart my muse for several stories' sake. Sign for alerts to receive updates..