Disclaimer: All the characters, locations, events, etc. seen and used with the exception of originals, belong to their rightful owners, therefore: I do not own them.

Updated Author's Note 5/30/16: Hello, all and welcome to the first novel-length piece I ever wrote. Frankly I would be surprised if people are still reading this after all these years, but just in case, and for new and older readers who may revisit this just for kicks, I have taken the liberty of rewriting this little introductory note. I noticed recently that when I merged two of the chapters together that this story jumped back near the top of the list under the filters, and for that, I felt the need to clarify a few points.

I started writing the rough drafts of this story about 9 years ago when I was much younger and published it here a year later. It was my pet project for a long time and it, to date, the longest piece I have ever written. I beg your patience as the characterization of my OC fluctuates quite a bit - I am completely reconstructing her character and hope to find cohesion some day. Other mass edits will follow as well as well as a good amount of new content if all goes as planned. It should also be noted that this is very much not canon compliant in any way except for the obvious stuff.

I want to personally thank each and every person who read and reviewed this in the past. So thank you all! Onwards then!

Dreamer's Oath

Chapter 1~Emissaries

Droids were by far the lowliest and most pitiful things in the galaxy.

Their capability to understand what they were being told stopped short of true comprehension, but nonetheless, they obeyed. They neither ate, nor did they sleep. How could they? Machines lacked the ability. Beyond gender and a place in the universe, the lives they lead were transitory, and were too expendable for living beings to care what happened to any single one of them. Names were nonexistent; however, rank and numbers were something these gratuitous things were partial to. All replicas of the next - with the exception of those with higher standings - numbers were mandatory in identifying a particular one, but most of the time, they would approach the same issues as one, collective mass. There were few independent thinkers among them, thus, nothing they did went beyond their primary programming. They lived in a state of obliviousness, unaware of the harsher facets of the universe that lay outside of the Confederacy's ranks, and as such required strict order.

There had been put over them a tyrant, vicious in every way and merciless to the ineffectual. In the first week of this new leader's reign alone, more droids had been crushed and broken than the amount that had met the same fate on the last Republic attack. The machines had suddenly become far more enslaved than ever before, kept in line by the figurative whip of the Trade Federation, the ultimate, greedy master. There was no denying the stakes were being raised as war broke out into the farthest reaches of the galaxy, and the production of droids had slowed from overtime to far below steady. The factory output fluctuated based on the amount of money coming in at any given time, and San Hill, a financial guide from the Banking clan, very rarely offered to personally facilitate the military. Twice he had been convicted to, twice, and no other time after that. As it so happened, on one of those occasions, the new droid leader had been brought to life, monetarily backed by the Muunilist native. The superiors, the legendary Force users themselves, had been pleased, in any case.

It was only a couple months after the emergence of the Clone Wars that one droid on the Carnifex, the current, leading Providence-class destroyer in the Confederacy's fleet, noted something very peculiar on the scanners. Rushing to tell its neighbors, all involved in different jobs, it said in as loud a voice as it was able to: "The scanners have picked up a small ship coming for us!"

Droid designation 98-5, a chief operative, said in reply from its place on the upper platform, "Prepare to make contact. Check for clearance."

"Full scan in progress," chimed a worker at the display below.

Nearby, designation 37-1 said, "Who would be stupid enough to come near this fleet?"

"Unconfirmed," 98-5 droned; the AI technology powering its liveliness could only do but so much.

"Contact is made!" came the announcement, and a quiet fell over the bridge.

...

...

Drifting.

A willing victim in the clutches of a peaceful sleep, she heard a voice say, "I fear the road ahead is far from easy..."

The old one's face appeared, evoking both sorrow and hope. She looked upon them with this odd amalgamation of emotions, the words spoken to her keeping her legs firmly locked in place as she waited for the next proclamation. Around the dreamscape there were figures, shadowed and faded, and somehow she knew that they were the dead, returned from death's embrace for this very moment. They surrounded both her and the old one from all sides, their involvement no more than a looming presence.

"The gods' will is not to be faulted," the old one spoke again, laying an aged hand upon her forehead. The words stated were the words of death, the words imparted to one before they passed on from the present to the afterlife. She could feel herself sink into intense fear at this. "The life you have lived will be a undying reminder, unbroken and immaculate...May the afterlife honor you in the way your descent will..."

The shifting figures grew closer and closer, suffocatingly close, until the saving tug of reality broke the trance.

It had been too long since she had known the comfort of rest, of a blissful darkness. Awakening suddenly and frantically, she felt the hand on her shoulder and turned her head, her breathing quickened. Above her stood one of the her traveling companions. He had grown to be a dear friend over all the time they had spent together, and as he stood there she wondered why he was not still residing in the cockpit with the other. His facial expression betrayed his concern, but as he slowly withdrew, he did not hold back a message.

"We have made contact with a ship. You must come and speak with them."

She was on her feet quickly, wrapping the cloak she had been using as a blanket tighter around her shoulders. "A ship? Of what kind?"

"A warship. One of many," he answered, shifting restlessly. "They are speaking in the basic tongue and neither I nor Sarias can adequately communicate."

Nodding, she brushed past him, murmuring, "Thank you, Thhrack."

As they walked towards the cockpit, he, "Are you alright?" Unease clouded his normally unemotional tone. "You have had trouble sleeping."

"I will be," was all she muttered with a small head motion as the door that separated the cabin from the front of the small ship opened. Both crossed the threshold, and Thhrack took his position in the seat next to the pilot. "What is happening?"

"There is no time," Sarias replied, exchanging glances with Thhrack, who had fixed his gaze on the approaching fleet. "You must talk to them."

Sarias moved, and she pressed a nimble finger to the small, black button that would allow her to have a conversation with whatever the beings aboard were.

"Hello?" she asked in basic.

Releasing her finger, she waited, until the strange voice came through. "Unknown craft, state your objectives and passenger count."

She knew the language of the galaxy quite well under the circumstances, but not being able to see with whom she was communicating slightly unnerved her. The two men offered little more than slight shrugs when she shot them a look. They were not multi-lingual, and could provide little help with the predicament. Swallowing heavily, she replied in a steady voice, "There are three passengers on board. Our intentions are political and we ask permission to dock."

Again, when she waited for a reply, she received not an answer, but another question, "What is your purpose for needing to board?"

She countered none too patiently, "We mean no harm."

"What is your purpose for needing to board?" The monotone came for a second time, a bit more insistent. "Our scanners indicate no damage to your ship."

"That is right. No damage. Your scanners will also tell you that we have nothing on board that could harm your crew. We seek a meeting with your leader. You are a Separatist warship are you not?"

A silence ensued. It was an eternity before a decision was made, the answer surprising the three anxious listeners. "We are letting the shields up for you at hangar bay two."

"Thank you," she said immediately. It appeared as though all the time she had spent learning the basic language had paid off.

The shields over one of the side hangers were lifted soon after, and Sarias landed the ship within. It was a large space, despite the fact that it did not even appear to be the main bay, filled with bustling machines and vehicles. Movement was everywhere, the mechanized crew going about their business. The three newcomers donned their traveling cloaks, drawing their hoods to hide their faces for the time being, and suddenly, the woman found herself feeling a great amount of apprehension. Thhrack, ever the steadfast presence, gripped her shoulder as they began to descend the exit ramp, assuring quietly, "Everything will be alright." But there was an obvious unease in his tone as well.

Outside, there was a cluster of the mechanical beings - droids, the woman knew them to be called, though her comrades' knowledge was unknown - weapons lowered and seemingly unthreatening for the moment. She stepped out away from Thhrack and Sarias, reaching the end of the ramp and traveling a few paces across the floor. As if on cue, a single droid came out from the moderately sized group to meet her. The markings on its body implied leadership.

"State your business," the tinny voice came.

She breathed steadily, and summoned her clearest and most understandable basic, saying, "We have come with an urgent request, and have hoped to speak with one of your leaders. The Confederacy has ties with our world, but my people have not heard from them in several years after the initial contact was made."

"The General does not see political guests without orders. You will have to leave," and just like that, the small machine turned to leave. She stood in stunned silence for a brief moment, then hurried after the droid. Another, bigger machine's fingerless, vice-like hand closed around her arm to stop her, and a deeper voice intoned, "Return to your ship immediately."

Before she knew what was happening, there was a blur of movement and Sarias attacked the droid. He took hold of the metal arm that was attached to her wrist and ripped it off, the wires sparking angrily after being separated so quickly. "Stop, no! Do not provoke - " she began in their native tongue, but as she spoke a shot rang out, and Sarias dropped face first to the floor with a gaping hole in the back of his head. "No!" she cried, and forced her legs to move, darting for the ship, but other droids were already upon the vessel, swarming around it.

Thhrack was nowhere in sight, but the sound of more shots within the ship itself soon echoed, and seconds later, his body was dragged out by two droids. They pulled him down the ramp and dropped him on the floor, where he heaved painfully. With an unrestrained cry, she dove down in front of him, knowing that with several different shots littering his body he was mere seconds from death, and there she implored with the detached killers. There was no sense to be made of her words, for they were in both her own language and basic. One of the droids had taken hold of Sarias' ankle, and had started to drag his corpse away; the blood on the floor made her stomach churn. She took Thhrack's hand in her own, and though he was not a soldier, she wished nothing more than to know the sacred words to say to him in that moment.

Through his labored breathing, he managed to utter, "Things do not happen without reason..."

She gripped his unresponsive hand tighter, and said, "No, no, we will return home! We will return home and you will see the family you miss so much!"

"Too...late…" was all he managed to get out before he started to convulse, while the droids rapidly closed in to separate them. She was ripped away from her companion's body, and all of the sudden she could no longer find the strength to fight back. Her eyes stayed transfixed on Thhrack as long as she could see him, but he was gone by the time she lost sight of him.

And it was in this moment that she realized she was now a prisoner of the Confederacy.

...

...

...

Far from the commotion in hangar bay two there was a chamber, silent and as dark as the suffocating infinity of space. Everything was fabricated, everything was metal, and yet, out of all the dozens of rooms and spaces aboard the Carnifex, this chamber was the best the warship had to offer. Intended for the ship's captain, the vast room sported windows spanning from the floor to the high ceiling on three sides, offering a view of the black, star-filled sea beyond. It was truly a sight to behold, but not every being found it so impressive, especially in times of war. It was in this chamber that the cyborg sat, eyes fixed upon the back wall, far too preoccupied to present even the slightest amount of admiration towards what existed outside the imperishable glass windows. Not when the Confederacy's droid army needed such a firm hand.

For a short time, the cyborg had been the droids' commander, their general. Thrust directly onto a warship after a period of construction, he had acclimated at a disturbingly swift pace, becoming a symbol of power and fear among the ranks of the Separatist navy. Exempt from the complex emotional crises that mortals faced, he lead a numb life void of complications. Oh, he had once been living, had once possessed the weaknesses of the mortal mind, but since the day when his consciousness was transferred into a cybernetic body, he had felt virtually nothing, or rather, chose to feel virtually nothing most of the time. No joy or happiness. No sorrow or sympathy. No passion. Nothing. He went through life awashed in the grip of dark cynicism. Nonetheless, he was rarely bothered by the fact, preferring instead to spend his time planning, his mind fine-tuned for strategizing, cunning enough to challenge even the most intelligent of tacticians. Such a brain could formulate objectives without even working itself a great deal, and then come up with individual orders for the solitary regiments. If only, he would think to himself, they would send me on missions in person.

All that went to say, he had not been assigned any personal missions as of yet, still in what his superiors were calling a "testing period." It had not been an easy transition between humanoid and machine, the mechanized body strange and sensation limited. Sensors could only do so much by way of physical touch. Then there was the matter of health. He'd had a rough start and had been told multiple times that there was a chance that his remaining, sentient parts could reject the machine body that housed them, in which case he would simply drop dead where he stood. It was all a risk, a very expensive risk. He had learned that, as a scientific endeavor, he was worth millions of credits; the Banking Clan had emptied their coffers into the disgusting, insectoid hands of the Geonosians. Thus far, in the standard months since a nearly two year struggle had produced its final result, their investment was paying off. He supposed he ought to be appreciative, but that would leave the door open for repayment, and frankly, nothing major had yet come of the bodily improvement anyway.

He would be damned if all that came of his high military rank and newfound immortality was barking orders at non-sentient machines. What a waste that would be…

After all the pain and suffering he'd endured, a selfish part of him wanted to demand different, more first-hand work. It was not as if it would be his first exposure to military affairs - he had nearly twenty years of physical combat experience under his belt, different perhaps than what would occur in his current form, but the same in principle. He had been informed on that fateful day that he would act as a catalyst for many areas of the impending, galactic war, but had yet to do more than order attacks from the metal confines of the navy's flagship. The cyborg general had forgotten many things, some by choice, others due to legitimate brain damage, but he would never forget the day when everything changed…

His eyes had opened in painful increments, vision unsteady for a long moment before finding focus on the flurry of movement before him. His gaze had been quite clouded, but he had been able to distinguish that there were glass walls separating him from what lay beyond. He had tried to move, finding the action impossible. Why couldn't he move? Where was the sensation in his limbs? What was happening? He had taken a harrowing, shuddering breath, and it was then that he had realized that he was secured in a tank like some sort of specimen, inundated with regenerating bacta fluid. He had not been able to recall how he had ended up in such a predicament, and was still bothered by the fact that he could not feel his arms or legs.

Outside, insectoid creatures had scurried back and forth; their transparent wings had made an irksome buzzing sound. Another, an older man radiating wealth and refinement, had been present as well. A single one of the insects and a medical droid had approached the human and they had spoken in muffled tones. He had strained to hear.

The creature said something in a clicking, alien dialect, and the older man had looked to the droid for translation. "The subject's condition is stabilizing, but the neurological system itself is beyond the repair of even our most advanced scientists."

At that statement, it all had become clear, he could feel nothing because something had happened to his nerves. He had struggled to cast his eyes downward, and what he saw horrified him: his legs were gone. A glance to either side informed him that his arms were gone as well. His body had been quite literally ripped apart, but he could still not bring to memory the cause behind the injuries. It had all seemed so terrible at the time.

The man had then replied in an ominous voice, "I expected as much. We are fortunate he is even alive at this point."

The insect spoke again, and the droid translated, "I expect it will be a long period of time before the subject will be ready for your use. Many credits."

"Money is no concern of ours. The Banking Clan has more than enough funding for this endeavor, as long as my Master ultimately gains the result."

At the time, the concept had gone over his head. A master? What mortal was to say who ruled whom? He had looked the man over warily as he approached, garb more regal than anything he had seen before. By the time the older man had reached a close proximity, there had been no denying the fact that he was no ordinary human. There had been something special about him from the start. He had been...different.

"Can you hear me in there?"

All he had been able to manage was a deliberately slow blink, but the message had been received.

"Excellent. I trust you understand basic then?"

Again, all he had been able to accomplish was a blink. Basic was a challenge to speak in person, but understanding it was far easier, and he had waited with attentive ears for some answers.

"Listen carefully to what I have to say," the man had said, and if the injured one had been able to speak, he would have alerted the man to the fact that he had no other choice presently but to listen. "There was an incident. You were involved in a nearly fatal crash - your ship failed you. You are currently on the planet Geonosis under the care of its native inhabitants. It was by your own request that we, the Confederacy of Independent Systems, are providing you with a second chance."

The words had not triggered any recollections, alarmingly, and he would later find out that his brain had sustained enough damage to permanently impair a weaker mortal. It would be days until the memories of the crash hit him - the memories of how he had begged his rescuers through vacillant consciousness to save his life, how he had begged them not to let him die a wretch. But, during those first, waking moments, he had listened to all of what the older man had to say, and although he could not communicate effectively, he made it clear as best as he could that an agreement had been struck. At the time, a deal with the devil had been his only option, for a death without honor was worse than a lifetime of servitude.

It was all a bad dream now, the months of confinement and impatience.

The Geonosians - and what foul creatures they were - had done good work, artistic even, but it did not excuse the enormous amount of time it took to achieve the end product. Needless to say, the Trade Federation had grown restless, lacking any real leaders for their mindless war contraptions. Had it been any longer, the project would have been dropped, and he would have met a humiliating death.

His fingers, wickedly sharp, clicked restlessly on the sides of the chair in which he said, a sullen gaze fixed somewhere on the ground at his feet. He was motionless, the constant narrowing of his eyes and absorbed, manufactured exhales the only things disclosing the life that existed behind the complex cybernetics. This was as close to sleep as he would ever come for the rest of his life; his brain grew weary but his body did not. A small beep from the commlink built into his wrist brought him back to full alertness.

He accepted the transmission, and though he said only three words, an inquiry both swift and demanding, they conveyed a great resentment. "What is it?"

"Sir," the voice of one of his bodyguards warbled in its quiet voice, breaking its typical droid dialect. "Something has happened that requires your immediate attention."

His comeback wasn't delayed. "What is the nature of the situation?"

"Hostile intruders," The droid replied. "Three of them came aboard. Two acted out and were terminated and the other is in our custody. The species does not check out in any of our records. Awaiting orders, sir."

"I see..." He mused over it a moment, weighing the odds. "Bring the remaining intruder to me," he told his guard at last. "They will be dealt with in the usual manner."

"Yes, sir."

He contemplated the turn of events. It was not often that prisoners were taken aboard a Separatist warship - with the exception of Republic attacks and important, political guests, no one dared to board. Whatever had occurred, the cyborg speculated, was something far from ordinary, and answers were in order. No information could be compromised. The secrets held aboard this ship were many, and the thing about such secrets was that they could have some very dangerous results.

Not so different from me, in a way...he dared to think. Not so different at all...

...

...

They had placed her under the eerie watch of a large, almost alien-like droid that appeared far more advanced than its smaller counterparts. She rested with her back against the wall, scarcely believing what had happened. The gravity of the situation weighed heavy on her; she knew that, due to the fates of her companions, she would probably soon join them in death. What had happened was bad. One did not simply show that one's intentions were anything but peaceful and expect to face no consequences. Thhrack had said that there was a purpose to every predicament, no matter how perilous the circumstances seemed at the time, but she doubted his words.

Despite herself, she heaved a sigh, drawing the machines' attention. Though it had no features to show any hint of its intentions, she could tell by the way its fingers curled tighter around the handle of its weapon that it was on edge, ready to act if need be. Another droid of the same type approached, glancing at her before speaking to the other in a warbled, mechanical tongue, completely indistinguishable.

She looked upon the faces of her captors with intensity, trying to decipher something, anything that would aid her case, when suddenly there was movement from one of them, an excruciating pain in her head, and everything went black.

...

...

Hope you enjoyed this first chapter!