ABOARD THE MALACHOR, 40 YEARS ABE:
BB-8 looked out upon his small army with pride. Thirteen mouse droids, two black astromechs both larger and older than the BB-series, four tall and spindly janitor droids, and one hovering interrogation droid stared back at him through their variegated unblinking optical sensors.
It wasn't enough to seize control of a whole ship, of course-not a ship of this size and complexity, at least-but it was a beginning. His quest to rescue his pilot before Poe could get himself irreparably damaged had progressed to an eighteen-point-oh-oh-four-seven-six-nine percent chance of success.
Given Poe's habits of getting himself into impossibly dangerous and ridiculous scenarios, that was a strong percentage point for this stage of BB-8's planned operation. All he needed now was time…
BB-8 rotated his domed head and tilted it back so that his main optical sensor was pointed at the interrogation droid and chirped a command. IT-X 38 swivled gently on its repulsors to meet BB-8's gaze and replied with a low, musical tone.
BB-8 rocked backwards, twittering in surprise. Poe had yet to be subjected to interrogation? That was good, albeit inexplicable. BB-8 adjusted his estimation of mission success to twenty-seven-point-two-oh-six-one-oh-seven. He gave IT-X 38 instructions in a complicated, rising warble.
IT-X 38 replied with a short, firm hum.
Around them, the mouse droids began to chitter quietly, scooting a few millimeters back and forth on their freshly-installed magnetic treads with which BB-8 had replaced their standard-issue wheels. Wheels might suffice for ordinary mouse droids, but his plan required more maneuverability than they provided. Fortunately, a properly outfitted Super Star Destroyer had no lack of parts available for confiscating.
BB-8 issued his commands to the rest of his troops. The mouse droids chittered assent; the janitor droids beeped understanding; the astromechs responded with excited hoots and whistles; and the interrogation droid emitted another low, satisfied hum.
Then they dispersed, the door to the small janitorial storage closet which BB-8 had co-opted as his headquarters and staging ground sliding open almost soundlessly at the older of the two Imperial astromech's transmitted command. The suborned droids rolled, hovered, or glided out into the larger storage room and from there, on to their respective missions throughout the ship. The door shut again, leaving the small orange and white astromech alone.
BB-8 stayed where he was, rocking back and forth a little in an attempt to work-off his anxiety. The plan was going well so far, but one main element of it was completely outside of his control: he needed Poe to stay alive long enough for BB-8 to execute a rescue.
He trilled to himself encouragingly, but in the solitude that prevailed in the absence of his new allies the sound seemed more lonely than it did anything else. BB-8 was forced to acknowledge the fact that a less-than-thirty-percent chance of success was not, in fact, very good odds…
But BB-8 was a Rogue, just like Poe. He would just have to change the odds...or die trying.