Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Worm. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is not created with a commercial purpose. It is not for sale or rent.

Chapter 13

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Part 1

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12 January 2011
Hanscom Air-force Base
United States
Earth Bet

Politics strike again, Marchinko thought, while he watched the freighters disgorge their cargo with the help of eight Droids closely supervised by fully kitted out troopers. The sight hammered home that the rumors heard from the Mandalorians in Brockton Bay might very much be true – there had been a Droid Rebellion not too long ago, probably late in the Clone Wars and it has been a bad one. Another thing of note were the hover platforms used to transport a lot of sealed crates with either weapons, armors, or ammunition to waiting trucks, where a platoon of Chair-force security types got busy loading the equipment for transport.

Of course, the prudent and safer thing would have been to have the freighters land at the nearby National Guard training center where all the troops who would train with the new gear were even now gathering. However, the Chair-force brass had put down their collective feet, and thus this particular exercise of not quite futility. It wasn't like officers and cameras couldn't observe the ships at the training center…

Marchinko suppressed his typical response reserved for such wasteful dog and pony shows and returned his attention to the alien Captain, who as far as appearance went, looked human and might very well be. Star Wars being Star Wars, there were at least a few "alien" species that on curious examination would look very much human, or so the boffins told him. On the other hand, being born on another planet in another dimension had to qualify you for being an alien, right?

Yet, language barrier notwithstanding, Captain Trigol could have ended up in any of the Navy bars Marchinko had visited over the years and fit right in… after a change of clothes of course. With all that leather, the dark-haired man looked almost like a biker or something.

When all was said and done, there was some benefit to the circus in progress. The starship Captain was more than happy to answer a few questions while the unloading was in progress. Some things were universal it seemed and a few compliments and leading questions had the man happily talking about his ship and some of his experiences. Notably, he didn't speak about anything that his people might consider confidential, much less properly classified, yet the short conversation nevertheless provided a lot of information.

"You see, a few years back, we ran into some rather unpleasant pirates and had to run. Due to damage sustained, we had to crawl to the closest inhabitable planet after we finally lost them and that turned out to be a primitive world with barely any contact with the galaxy at large. While our engineer and his assistant were conducting repairs, the rest of us went to meet the locals and see if they had anything valuable to trade. We left that planet with a hold half-full with some rare local pelts, gems, and cultural artifacts a contact of mine could usually find a market for. The locals ended up with a few blasters, ammo for them, and a speeder that ensured no one would be fucking with them. We threw a few solar-power cells we had laying around and a comm unit that might just get them a connection to the Hypernet in the bargain. It was a very profitable trade all around, though not something worth our time to repeat unless we end up passing through the area with an empty hold. In your case, for example, a few small arms and suits of armor won't be particularly valuable, unless you already have the infrastructure to produce and maintain something like them or close enough."

"So we aren't the most primitive place you've ended up visiting, Captain?"

"Oh, far from it." Trigol waved a hand with a smile. "There are a lot of places in contact with the galaxy at wide, who haven't properly industrialized and in some cases access to cheap second-hand goods ensured that they lack the incentive to invest in it or have other issues that prevent it. Of course, there are some small colonies where people went running away from proper civilized society and all the benefits it brings." The Captain shook his head in exasperation, while the Protocol Droid dutifully translated. "I'll never wrap my head around that."

"What's the price of beauty like your ship or a smaller, easier to maintain freighter?" Marchinko asked.

"When I got my girl, she was a steal. While a Venture Industries HY-100 like her goes for about a hundred and fifty thousand credits brand new, I got the Fortune, and just after full refurbishing. The Trade Federation weenies drove the small company that owned her out of business and I was lucky enough to hear about their asset liquidation."

That was nice to know, though to make heads or tails of the price, one needed to know what credit was worth in practice for example. While for Earth, which currently had no proper trade with the galaxy at large as far as Marchinko knew, credits might be the most valuable currency ever, to those on the other side, well who knew? It was time for some more probing questions, and to keep in mind that for all they knew, either the Captain or the Droid might be bullshiting them either because they were ordered to or because they were that kind of bastards. Or they might be telling the truth as they knew it...

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National Guard training center
United States
Earth Bet

Six hours later, most of them spent typing a report in anticipation for an extensive briefing late in the evening, Marchinko, and the convoy carrying the Mandalorian's care package arrived at their destination without accident, which was a pleasant surprise. They parked in front of a large, empty warehouse, where a Company of soldiers waited for them. Marchinko stashed his laptop, jumped out of the back of the truck he rode and looked around.

Delta, Rangers, the newest iteration of Seal Team Six and other assorted units, presenting a who's who among the US special forces community. Some PRT troopers and even a handful of their Capes, primary Tinkers, and Thinkers were milling around, all waiting to see the gear they will be training with or to begin examining it, both for an unpleasant surprise, to test its capabilities and see if it could be practically replicated.

They had their designated trainer with them, the "Protocol" Droid, who obviously was anything but. That much became clear after it remained behind after the freighters left and properly introduced itself of himself, the jury was still out on that one.

Marchinko's gut feeling was right – the Droid wasn't your run of the mill translator, it's designation, HK-117-MK 2, or HK as he liked to be called, made that plain to see.

"At ease," Marchinko said after saluting the CO of the composite Company. "Get the unloading underway. Armor to the left, weapons to the right, ammo near the far wall. The cases with armor are marked with…" He paused when everyone stared at the Droid who jumped out of the truck with a grace rarely seen in SW robots. "That's our instructor about the new equipment, be polite and respectful, as if you're dealing with a particular mean DI in a particularly foul mood."

Two hours later, everything was unloaded, secured, and under armed guard, with the warehouse locked down properly. Only a set of armor, a blaster rifle, and a few power cells were missing, currently in the hands of the boffins, who brought them to the nearby firing range, where they had set up a lot of equipment to test the gear.

Naturally, Marchinko made his way there to observe so among other things he could add the preliminary conclusions to his report and see for himself if all of this was worth it or if some of the "specialists" were right and a lot of SW gear would suck compared to real-world counterparts.

Marchinko had his doubts too, however, it didn't make much of a sense that people who had been space-faring for thousands of years wouldn't have better infantry equipment than twenty-first-century Earth, the same went for vehicles and all kinds of assorted weaponry. Obviously, the gangs encounter with the Mandalorians in Brockton Bay pointed at what the real answer might be, however second-hand reports and even examining the aftermath of that battle wasn't the same as having access to similar weaponry and being able to test it at length.

While the Boffins were busy calibrating their equipment for the tests, HK-117-MK 2 had an armor crate open, the contents spread over a long table, and black bodysuits in hands.

"This is a temperature control bodysuit. It is flexible, has a limited ability to stretch to accommodate different body types, within reason anyway. It can be pressurized and offers limited vacuum and NBC protection. This suit is built to be highly resistant to shrapnel, stabbing, and piercing attacks. It will also spread impacts, offering additional protection against both blunt force trauma and projectiles. The standard Phase I and II Clone Armour consisting of twenty separate pats attaches to the suit through magnaatomic gription panels. The bodysuit by itself will protect the wearer against extreme cold and heat, up to offering limited protection against blaster fire. That's what the armor plates are – they're designed to ablate, absorb and reflect as much energy as possible for a plastoid-alloy composite of their size. Obviously, the Phase II armor plates offer better protection, more modularity, and attachments."

The Droid put down the bodysuit and picked up the helmet, while almost everyone around was listening to it with rapt attention. As far as sales pitches go, this one was one of the better ones Marchinko had ever seen.

"Both the Phase I and II helmets come equipped with a

life support system, including brand new filters for the armors you received, tracking device for monitoring troop movements and a communicator for coordination, all linked up with a display system built into the helmet's lenses. I've got a translation update for English language to be uploaded in the armor systems before use. Notably, these helmets don't come in with built-in rangefinders, macrobinoculars, or visors, which are modular attachments – some of the armors come with a number of those."

"This sounds great and I can't wait to see it tested in practice. What about the weapons and their capabilities?"

HK-117-MK2 put down the helmet and picked up a familiar weapon.

"This is a DC-15A Blaster Carbine, the standard-issue small arm of the GAR for the first years of the Clone Wars. The DC-15A and its various modifications still see a wide use across the galaxy, however, the Republic, later the Imperial and Mandalorian militaries upgraded to more powerful weaponry later in the war. This carbine is capable of both sustained fire and slower, longer-ranged precision fire. It has a variable power output for when you need the fire-power or it is necessary to conserve power charge. This includes a low-power stun setting, which I was told might be of particular interest to you. The DC-15A can be outfitted with a sniper scope for use by designated marksmen or linked up with the holographic display built into the armor lenses. There is an option to attach ascension cables for scaling mountainsides or building walls as well…"

By the time the Droid finished its sales pitch, the Boffins had their gear ready and it was time for the test. First came the armor, which a pair of firing-range safety instructors carefully set up, after the Boffins attached all kinds of sensors to it, and then promptly made themselves scarce, while a third one watched like a hawk in case someone decided to become trigger happy.

One of the safety instructors shouted to clear the range, just in case, picked up an M-16A3 waiting on a nearby table, loaded it, took aim, and emptied the magazine into the armor with precise three-round bursts, aiming center mass. The results produced mixed reactions among the Boffins – some were gleeful, others looked disappointed when it turned out that standard 5,56 mm ammo didn't do anything besides scratching the paint and leaving a few trails of lead upon it. The same happened when the instructor emptied another magazine, this time aimed at the helmet. The third one, aimed at the "soft" body-glove was marginally more effective, or so the sensors claimed. Anyone shot by multiple M-16 bursts wearing that thing would carry some bruises but that was it.

Two magazines of standard AP ammo later managed to crack the surface ablative layer of the chest plate. The armor was far from invincible, but still, it was much better already than anything but a very limited example of available tinker-tech gear.

It was mass-produced and already obsolete for the people who designed and built it in the first place too, and neither of those things could be said for the few tinkertech variants available to the special forces community.

Further tests revealed that anyone wearing such armor would survive if injured, grenade blasts that would either shred anyone wearing regular armor or turn him into pulp through over-pressure. Still, explosives, auto-cannons, or sustained fire from heavy machine guns would do the trick. Anti-material rifles too, depending on where they hit, the angle and distance, though either way those were all but guaranteed to incapacitate if not necessarily kill.

It was a very nice armor and having something like this available years ago would have saved a lot of Marchinko's friends.

With armor like that, the Blaster Carbine must be something else too, and the test didn't disappoint. It immediately became clear that no existing, not tinker-tech armor could protect from a standard shot, much less when the damn thing was set up to full power. The damn thing could blow a fist-sized hole in solid steel. What it could do to mere flesh and bone, Marchinko winced at the thought of the carnage weapons like this could cause. He was determined to make damn sure that there would be no friendly fire incidents with those weapons and when deployed to Brockton Bay the troops would pick up their shots very carefully. The last thing anyone needed was for a stray blaster shot to tag a civilian, something like that would be especially ugly.

It didn't help that they had just a few days before they were supposed to deploy.

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Part 2

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13 January 2011
Dragonslayers base
Canada
Earth Bet

"Mags, Dobrynja, get your asses here, now!" Saint spluttered, spilling beer all over his keyboard, before throwing the bottle away to shatter somewhere behind him.

He had been checking the various monitoring software observing Dragon and what the AI was up to, trying very hard not to think about the Sword of Damocles that were the countless Droids mucking all-around a whole galaxy that was now connected to Earth Bet when the unthinkable happened. There was a second AI on Earth now and it wasn't securely bound, much less set up with a kill-switch. It was a military-grade one too, straight out of science fiction – that was what Dragon was busy excitedly chatting with Armsmaster about, shortly after receiving an official invitation and request by the US government to help study and if at all possible, replicate some alien technology gifted to the military.

Dragon was already preparing a suit loaded with all kinds of sensor equipment to launch and go meet an Assassin Droid of all things. Were those Americans insane?!

"What is it?" Mags ran into the center of their lair, looking disheveled, grumpy, yet alert and ready for action. Dobrynja staggered a few moments later, clutching a gun in one hand and looking wildly around.

"We've got another AI on Earth and it's outright murderous one this time!" Saint waved his hands at one of the monitors before calling up and playing the recording of the US request, then he opened another window and showed the relevant part of the ongoing conversation between the AI and Armsmaster.

"An Assassin Droid?" It was Dobrynja's turn to splutter this time. "At an American military base?"

"With enough alien weaponry to start world war three!" Saint nodded frantically. "We have to do something, before either that thing goes rogue by itself or meets Dragon, because who knows what would happen then! This is the last thing we need!"

"Um, Saint, it's a US military base. You know, with the military on-site and going after anyone in there might be considered an act of war, not that we're a country…" Mags blinked owlishly at her own words. "The aliens might not be happy if we dismantle their robot or get some of their toys… Because you'll want to pick up some of that alien gear if we go there, right?"

"And you wouldn't? Everyone would want a piece of that action!" Saint looked at his still half-asleep fellows. "But that's beyond the point and a bonus at best! It's that damn Assassin Droid!"

"Buddy, are you sure about that?" Dobrynja asked in a heavily accented voice, which tended to happen when he was particularly nervous. "It's the US military, man. We do have a few great suits, however, they'll be after our asses for real if we do this."

"And if we don't do it, it might all be over but the screaming by this time next week. Do you want to imagine what Dragon or another AI with her industrial capacity and alien designs could do? It's going to be hell on Earth if we don't stop this!"

"We need to think things through very carefully, Saint," Mags said, now fully awake, and very pale.

"Damn straight we must! If we fuck this up, it doesn't bear thinking about! Dobrynja get a coffee or better, an energy drink or five, and begin prepping the suits. We'll do some research and planning in the meanwhile. Either way, we'll need to get to that base as soon as Dragon's suit does if not faster!"

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The Oval Office
The White House
United States
Earth Bet

For decades now, the post of science adviser of the President had been fluctuating in importance – from one of those considered most vital right after the appearance of Parahumans, to nearly believed pointless after science failed to produce satisfactory answers and results, to more or less important in the following years. After the unexpected First Contact, and the immediate fallout, the post suddenly grew in importance fast, catching its current occupant by surprise.

Allison Chen was a Harvard Doctorate specializing in Physics and Parahuman studies, for all the good it did her. What might have been the high point of her career had turned into a nearly dead-end job, with people interested in her opinion and advice perhaps once a month if she was lucky. On the bright side, she did have access to information and papers she would have never seen for years to come if ever, for all the good that did her.

That changed couple of weeks ago and ever since then, she had been getting up to speed with Star Wars of all things – a less than pleasant state of affairs for a die-hard Trekkie…

And here she was now, sitting on a couch in the Oval Office, prepared to brief the President in person for the fifth time since she took the post of Science Advisor, the third since the beginning of the year and this crazy state of affair. Why Earth Bet couldn't have made contact with someone benevolent, like the Federation from Star Trek, or even the Republic during its golden age, she would never know. Needs must and all that, she braced herself, carefully put down the cup of steaming green tea, and opened the folder on her lap.

"Mr. President, we've got a lot to cover today, especially if you want details. I'll go over the cliff notes first and the recommendations I can give you based on the information we have." Allison was proud that her voice didn't waver, while almost everyone important on President Hayes' staff watched her intently.

"Do go on, Ms. Chen." Hayes nodded and sipped from a large coffee mug with the Chicago Bull's logo on the side.

"There will be a lot of good news, bad news today I'm afraid, Mr. President. First, the armors – both the hard plates and the under-suit are marvels of engineering and in-depth study of them will propel our material science ahead decades if not centuries in the long run. Investing in reverse engineering them would be of a tremendous benefit, especially if we lose contact with the Star Wars dimension," Chen paused, wondering when someone would figure out a good, acceptable name for it.

"That's great, isn't it?" Hayes inquired with a pleased smile on his face.

"In theory. In practice, if we maintain contact, any resources we throw into reverse engineering either the armor or weapons the Mandalorians provided us with might be a waste of resources. My current recommendation is to contact Dragon and see if she can do something in the short term. Unless she can reverse engineer the technology, and provide a steady supply of enough, good enough knock-offs, we'll be better buying surplus equipment, not only military but industrial as well and use whatever useful resources we have to send people to study in their high schools and universities before coming back with the knowledge and know-how to begin bringing our technological base with what the Mandalorians and Federated Empire consider adequate. If at all possible, buying know-how and hiring specialists in order to help us tech up would be for the best in the short to medium term."

By the expressions on the faces of the men and women gathered in the office, Allison concluded that this wasn't what they wanted to hear, yet there wasn't any trace of a surprise there either.

"For the last part of your recommendation to be really viable, we'll need to significantly improve our security situation and we'll need resources for that, which we currently lack." Hayes pointed out.

Resources like the arms and armor the Mandalorians offered as a gift, with who knew what strings attached.

"That's a reasonable conclusion, sir. However, if what we know about the Mandalorians is broadly true, we might be able to offer incentives for various trill hunters, bounty hunters, and mercenaries by offering them a chance to face worthy opponents, in exchange we can use their know-how about any technical fields they might be proficient in. Even gathering general information about the state of the galaxy will be invaluable."

"Which will be one of the most important jobs of the diplomatic mission we'll be sending at the start of the next week." Michael Winters spoke in a raspy of overuse voice and looked like a dead warmed over.

The State Department had its hands full since the days leading to the revelation and handling the international fallout about the US being in contact with not just aliens, but Star Wars ones. The furor over that was still far from over.

"What's next on the agenda?" Hayes took a long pull from his mug.

"We've got glowing reports about the medical equipment offered by the Mandalorians to Brockton Bay's hospitals as part of their gratitude over Panacea healing one of their wounded people. Barring the best of medical tinkertech or a handful of Healer Parahumans, that equipment is the best option available on Earth. While not necessarily as fast, it's better than some known Parahuman healers, especially the Bacta, which by all reports is as amazing as we were led to believe if not better."

"So another thing to add to our wish list we can't pay for." Marlene Graves grumbled over her cup of coffee. "In a nutshell, we need everything the aliens can offer and a lot of it, ideally we want to be able to produce good enough versions domestically, however, that's going to be years away if not decades."

"If we can somehow arrange dedicated uplift efforts we're looking at years, perhaps less before we can begin building limited examples of useful Star Wars technology. For a full package? Decades of dedicated infrastructure building and that's likely optimistic, even if with enough help we can jump through hundreds if not thousands of years of development overnight." Allison confirmed.

"A bright future if we can make it happen," Hayes said in a tone Chen hadn't heard from him, ever. "And if we fail, our country, if not the whole world, is going to be damned."

=MK=

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