7 years A.B.Y.

Pleco Casmus in - "Dude, that was totally those droids…"

The change in pitch as the engines geared down from hyperspace awoke Pleco Casmus. The Rodian stirred, rubbing sleep out of his multifaceted eyes. Indeed, the indicator said he had been in system only a matter of seconds, and the whole of Agamar spilled out below him; a blue-green marble, infinitely huge. If Pleco was affected by the beauty of the planet, it did not show on his face, as it was incapable of human expression. He simply chirped in his singsong language, and from the rear of the ship came a tiny droid.

Low to the ground, 86-V was no bigger than a human hand and hurried along on six segmented metal legs, a single red photoreceptor glowing. 86-V scurried up the command chair and took his place on Pleco's shoulder. The little droid spoke in accented basic;

"I was checking the aft shield generator. It had me worried after that incident on Dantooine."

At this Pleco sang a reply.

"Well of course I should have checked it then…"

But Pleco cut him off with an off handed chord. Pleco's long fingers made a minor adjustment to the controls, and the old YV-666 freighter Jannik pulled out of orbit and swooped down into the atmosphere of Agamar.

"Our target landing zone is at the following coordinates." 86-V said, sending the information across Pleco's view screen. "It's an island chain in the southern hemisphere, probably tropical."

Banking sharply, Pleco guided the ship low over the ocean. As he flew, he sang a joke to 86-V.

"Very funny Captain. If I was capable of laughter I'm sure it would be emitting from me involuntarily right now."

Pleco sang something that roughly translated as, 'everyone's a critic' and flew on.

It felt like home. The heat and the humidity, the crushing green of the foliage, but most of all a salty sea breeze, carrying with it scents no human could appreciate, and triggered a moment of nostalgia in Pleco. But only a moment. He now stood on the shore of a tropical island, the beach a narrow strip around a fortress of vegetation. Behind him the blade shaped YV-666 sat near the surf, its engines cooling.

With a practiced hand, Pleco drew his trustee E33, checked the power pack, and slung it under his arm. Then, pulling back the tail of his long swoop jacket, he double checked that the four grenades; two Ion charges and two frags, were in place. Finally, he pulled the short Ion carbine off his shoulder, checking its pack as well. Ready to go to work.

Now 86-V, still on Pleco's shoulder, plugged himself into a slot on Pleco's body armor. After a slight pause for interface, 86-V began his primary duty as Pleco's translator. The Rodian spoke, but the voice that came out was 86-V's, slightly garbled.

"Ok, let's go hunting."

And off he went, soon losing sight of the beach as he advanced into the forbidding green…

Pleco moved low through the jungle. His Rodian hunter instincts well honed, his superhuman senses taking the fetid greenery in. Through the growth he could see a clear area ahead, a square of flat land and visibility cut into the jungle. Silently, Pleco crept toward the clearing, when his boot caught something.

Kneeling carefully, Pleco pushed aside the tangle of undergrowth to see what he had uncovered. He couldn't have been more surprised.

It was a helmet, once white but now green and brown with moss and decades of mud. It was plasteel and had a short crest along the top, the fading remnants of blue paint marked the crest grandly; even as a pair of beetle-like insects scuttled out of the shattered eye ports.

86-V, lending his voice to Pleco, could only beep a series of tones.

"I know." Pleco responded, long since having to wait for the computer translation, "Right out of the holo-disks. An actual Clone Trooper."

Pleco turned the thing over in his hands. It probably had lain here for the past 45 years, the dead Clone inside of it slowly devoured by the jungle, leaving only his helmet, the eye sockets full of bugs.

"Creepy." He was about to toss it aside, when he saw something. Turning the helmet over in his hands, he looked at the back. About the size of a Republic half credit, half way down the back of the grungy helmet, was a perfectly round hole; the edges singed and melted. Experience told him: Blaster. Close range. Pleco looked at it for a time, before finally tossing the helmet into the undergrowth.

86-V beeped.

"Yeah. They executed him." Without ceremony, Pleco slung his E33, unlimbered his Ion Carbine and continued into the jungle, towards the clearing...

At the edge he took his time. A few meters in front of him was the end of the jungle, beyond just bare red dirt. It had certainly not been cleared by anything natural. The silence made Pleco nervous. It would be easy to assume that the island was totally devoid of anything large and living, much less his quarry. But Pleco knew better. He ran a green hand over the mohawk comb of spines at the top of his head. No, he knew better because…

"Halt! Who goes there!?"

Vader's balls. He was trapped.

The voice was metallic and scratchy, like a damaged speaker on a Bith music box. Slowly, leaving his Carbine laying in the weeds, Pleco stood, his hands up by his head. The being with the scratchy voice was behind him, and Pleco could feel the phantom itch of a blaster pointed at his back.

"My name is Pleco Casmus. I was sent here to find you."

"By who?!" the scratchy voice demanded, "The Jedi? The Grand Army?!"

Grand Army…?

Pleco turned slowly, facing the scratchy voiced being who had gotten the drop on him. He was more than a little surprised.

With a metal, bird-like head and spindly arms, the thing looked absolutely delicate. It was rusty and badly in need of paint. A freak servo problem had caused the left arm to twitch bizarrely at the elbow. But the ancient blaster was held steadily in the right. Pleco focused on that.

"No. No I was hired by…" But he was cut off by the squawk of a communicator.

"Unit 32, status report."

"I have captured a Rodian sneaking around the perimeter; awaiting instructions."

After a pause, the communicator buzzed again.

"Bring him to me."

Pleco swallowed.

"Roger, roger." The spindly droid said…

Pleco was marched, blaster at his back, out of the jungle and into the clearing. At first even his excellent Rodian senses did not even detect it, but as they approached he spotted a cooler spot hidden among the sun-warmed dirt. So, he thought. A bunker then.

The spindly droid spoke into its communicator, and seconds later the cooler spot slid open, revealing a stairway, leading down into the earth.

"Move prisoner." The droid said in its high pitched monotone, punctuating the order with a jab of the blaster. Pleco, his hands still raised, stepped into darkness...

Down they went, the battle droid's blaster always level. They descended until Pleco lost count of how many steps, and had no idea how deep they were. Finally, the stairs ended, leveling off in a dirt floored main chamber. If Pleco could have blinked, he would have.

It was wide room with a low ceiling. Monitoring stations lined the walls, most dark and quiet, but a few still hummed with life. Other battle droids guarded the entrance, each in terrible states of disrepair; but they all aimed their weapons as Pleco entered.

Now with an honor guard of a dozen antique and dilapidated battle droids, Pleco was escorted further in, until he stood before what was obviously their leader.

Pleco held his breath.

The machine was slumped on a throne that had once been the drivers seat of an old AT-TE. With obvious effort, the skeletal thing rose, its limps creaking and whining as it stood. It was humanoid in shape, its head a skull with glowing red eyes, one of which had long burned out. If able to rise to its full height, the thing would have been over two meters tall, but now it stood, hunched and broken, balancing itself on an equally run-down electro staff. It turned its head this way and that, using its one good photoreceptor to study the prisoner its troops had brought it.

"You're a bounty hunter then, Rodian?" The droid said.

" I am." Pleco said, speaking through 86-V. "And you're a MagnaGuard. Specially built to serve as field commanders for the Confederation army. As well as attend General Grievous as personal body guards."

At this the MagnaGuard seemed to straighten a little, feeling whatever droids feel instead of pride.

"Affirmative. Why have you come here?"

"Can I put my hands down?" Pleco asked.

"If you must, but know that my battle droids will cut you down at the slightest provocation."

Pleco lowered his arms. "I'll keep that in mind. Do you know why I'm here?"

The MagnaGuard squinted its eye at the Rodian. "You are a spy. Sent by the Jedi to prepare the way for invasion. We were left here to defend this place. We've been waiting a long time."

Pleco looked around the dank chamber, at the none-functioning consoles and the barely functioning B1 droids, and finally at the crippled remains of the MagnaGuard.

"I can see that." He smirked. "But I've got some bad news boys. The war is over. In fact, another one started and that one ended too. You've missed a lot down here in your…" Again, Pleco cast a glance around the squalid hole, "…command center."

"LIES!" The MagnaGuard lurched forward as best he could, thrusting his electro staff at Pleco. "Disinformation! The Confederacy could never fall to the likes of Palpatine!"

"Sorry chief, Palpatine is dead."

"Felled by General Grievous?" The MagnaGuard asked, its voice lilting with hope.

"Uhh… No. He's dead too. Felled by another guy, who's also dead. I told you it's been a long time…"

"MORE LIES!" The MagnaGuard shouted again, attempting and failing to raise to its full height, "The hated Republic has sent spies before, and we dealt with them…"

"Yeah," Pleco said, "I know. Pretty sure I found one of them in the woods…"

"Enough! Execute this spy at once!"

The battle droids began to close in, and if Pleco could have smiled, he would have.

His hand snapped up, the trigger on the ion grenade already primed. The little sphere lofted high, seeming to hover at its apex.

It detonated in mid-air.

86-V, Pleco's translator droid was protected by hardened wiring. The other droids were not so lucky. The purplish wave of ions engulfed the room, frying every electrical circuit they contacted. The dozen B1 battle droids clattered to the floor, their circuits ruined, their brains fatally fried. Sparks exploded from view ports and limps detached themselves from torsos. The only droid in the room to survive the killer ion wave was the heavy-duty MagnaGuard, its servos cooked, its functions irreparably impaired. The blast had knocked it back onto his make-shift throne, and it sat slumped, its single functioning arm twitching feebly.

"Howzzz… Treacheryzzz…" Once the most feared battle droids ever constructed, the last of the MagnaGuards pathetically could not even raise its head. It lolled to one side, its jaw hanging loose and swinging. "The CISzzzz… Will be victoriouszzzz…"

Pleco stared down at the ruined droid, drawing the E33 slung under his shoulder.

"The Confederacy is obsolete." Pleco said, "Like you."

A single blast from the E33 blew the MagnaGuards cpu all over the wall. The droid's now empty metal skull snapped back once from the blast and returned to its sagging position, a hole burned in its forehead. The single red glowing photo receptor faded to darkness.

Pleco reslung his blaster and walked over to a nearby console. After some tinkering, it squeaked lazily to life.

"86, can you interface?" The little droid beeped an affirmative. Pleco removed an uplink cable from his armor and seated it in the console. A faint hum emerged from the holodisplay as the sub-light communication link was established. This type of transmission was slow… and very expensive. After another moment, the display popped to life. It was the head and shoulders of a beautiful middle-aged woman, her long brown hair done up in twin buns on either side of her head.

"This is Pleco Casmus, Senator Organa-Solo. The issue you needed resolved has been attended too."

The holographic display of the Senator spoke, her voice regal and firm, the voice of a powerful woman, a war-hero in her own right.

"The New Republic thanks you for your service Pleco Casmus. You have eliminated the last of a very old threat. We are very grateful. Not only for your actions but also your… discretion."

"Wouldn't do for the constituents to know there were rouge battle droids still running around fighting the Clone Wars, eh 'Princess'?"

The face in holodisplay soured slightly, but she retained her diplomatic, and formerly royal, bearing.

"Indeed not." she said curtly.

"And while your gratitude is appreciated, I'd appreciate your credits more." Pleco said.

The Senator pressed a few keys out of view, and looked back to the display. She seemed in a hurry to finish the conversation.

"The amount you requested has been wired to the account you named. Now if there's nothing else…?"

"Pleasure doing business with you Senator."

"I'm sure." she said.

The holograph vanished and the console darkened. Pleco stood straight, flexing his back.

"Well 86, another job well done. Shall we take our leave?"

The little droid beeped.

"What? I didn't vote for her. Besides, next stop is Mos Eisley, the happiest place in the galaxy."

The droid beeped again. It was a sardonic sound.

"Come on, we just got a small fortune for this little adventure, and the Pazaak tables are calling our name!"

Another beep, this one short and sharp.

"Oh, don't be such a nerf turd; it's only cheating if you get caught…"

Pleco Casmus left the bunker of dead machinery behind, but not before planting a thermal detonator in the deactivated MagnaGuards lap. As the Jannik lifted off from the surface of Agamar, he was rewarded with the sight of a massive fireball, erasing the last evidence of the droid army of the Confederation of Independent Systems….

The End

Pleco Casmus will return in "A Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy"