Part XV -- Good Droid, Bad Droid
One normally didn't think of droids as intelligent, emotional beings, or as beings period. Most people thought of them as appliances -- they mostly did what you told them to, when they broke down you fixed them, and when they REALLY blew a motivator or became obsolete you sold them for scrap and bought new ones. Few realized that they had distinctive personalities, got cranky or depressed, or could become bored.
Artoo was very, very bored at the moment.
He hated it when Steve had to go to work at the electronics store. When the human was at home he would enlist the astromech's help in upgrading some computer software or working the glitches out of the television set. Sometimes they would just pop a movie -- usually Star Wars -- into the VCR or DVD player and let their brains/logic processors rot, or Steve would clean and polish Artoo's plating. But between eight in the morning and three in the afternoon, Artoo was home alone and left to entertain himself. Was it any wonder that he spent so much time meddling with the other machines in the house, just for something to do?
Cautiously Artoo used an arm extender to pick the lock on the closet door. What could be in here? He whistled success and pulled open the door to find various cleaning supplies -- and a strange-looking contraption he'd never seen before.
With a curious tootle he wheeled closer to examine it. It was a little over a meter high, with a handle at the top, a wide foot-shaped base, and a roughly cylindrical body. It didn't reply when he beeped a greeting, so it couldn't be a droid. So what was it?
Extending his grasping arm, he grabbed it and pulled it into the living room to experiment with it. The machine rolled on two small wheels, making the job easier for Artoo. A coil of thick wire hung from one side of it, and this he unraveled and attached to a power outlet. Earth machines were curiously hampered by these cords. He wondered why some bright soul on this world had yet to invent the fuel cell.
How was the machine activated? He could see no computer feed or activation switch, only a pedal-like button near the base. Gingerly he extended a pincer-arm to press it.
A hideous screeching roar assaulted his auditory receptors, and he swiftly deactivated the machine. What had that been? Some nasty by-product of the contraption's actions? If so, did its intended purpose outweigh the accompanying racket? Though his logic processor advised otherwise, he turned the machine back on. This time,
however, he turned down his receptors so the machine's bellow was little more than a low drone.
When nothing happened Artoo wondered if it was broken, but then saw a corner of the drapes being slowly pulled into the machine.
Shrieking in surprise, Artoo hurriedly scanned the contraption for a reverse switch of some kind. Finding none, he grabbed the power cord and rolled backward, yanking the plug from the outlet. Just in time -- another few centimeters and the thing would have been climbing the curtains. With a lot of tugging and pulling Artoo managed to detach it.
So it was some sort of intake device. And since he saw no output orifice of any kind, it must have been a shredder or pulverizer. Now thoroughly intrigued, he plugged it back in and began placing pieces of scratch paper and food wrappers in its path. It seemed to have trouble gulping the larger items, but it eagerly took in smaller chunks of detritus.
Artoo didn't realize the machine had sucked up its own power cord until its roar became a high-pitched scream and sparks began to fly. The droid squealed in panic and tried to disengage the machine from its cord.
By the time Steve came home from work, accompanied by Emily, Artoo was standing sheepishly in the center of the living room, surrounded by various bits and pieces of whatever that thing had been.
He whined pathetically as if to say "Please don't hurt me, I didn't mean to."
Steve and Emily just stared. Then, unexpectedly, they both started laughing.
"Well, I guess this means I won't be able to borrow your vacuum cleaner after all," said Emily with a grin. "Too bad about it for you, though."
"Eh, now I've got an excuse to buy a new one," Steve replied dismissively. "Thing was a piece of junk anyway."
Artoo crooned in relief. He wasn't going to be in trouble after all.
"C'mon, Artoo!" Steve told the droid. "Let's get this stuff cleaned up so we can watch 'Spaceballs' tonight."
***
Fett didn't want to be doing this. It was totally undignified for a bounty hunter to be doing this. The only consolation he had was that no one outside this pitiful system would know what he was doing.
It was just plain dumb luck that he and the Osmonds, while browsing an outdoor flea market, happened to run into the Church family -- minus Vader, who was back at the house meditating or something. Rachel had instantly made an announcement, and she insisted that Fett be the one to accompany her. She probably figured he was the next best thing to Vader.
With a weary sigh he entered a nearby restaurant, the Leapfrog Diner, Rachel in his arms. She made urgent little whimpers as he scanned the establishment. The place was packed with people in costume, and at one large table they jabbered loudly in some strange Earth tongue. A haggard-looking waitress approached him, her expression that of resignation. He knew the feeling.
"Are you with the Tokyo Japan Fan Force Chapter?" she asked.
Rachel answered for him -- loudly. "Gotta go potty!"
Her eyes lit up with both understanding and relief. "Ah," she noted. "Back corner by the kitchen door."
"He's such a sweet father, isn't he?" a fake Padme Amidala said admiringly as he walked past her table. Had his arms not been full, he might have pulled a blaster on her, the mood he was in.
There were two refreshers -- one for men, the other for women. Fett wasn't going to be caught dead in a ladies' restroom, so he pushed open the men's room door.
"Don't wanna go in there!" she protested. "It's the boy's room!"
"Tough," he growled. All the same, he cupped a hand over her eyes.
The bathroom was a mess and didn't smell much better, but at least it was empty save a Grand Admiral wannabe standing at a urinal. Fett waited until he was finished before setting Rachel down and shooing her into a stall.
"Cute kid you got," the Admiral said as he washed his hands.
"She's not mine," Fett said adamantly. Then, to allay any fears that he had kidnapped the girl, he added "She's my niece."
"So you're coming to Nova-Con for some sort of family reunion, eh?"
Fett shrugged. "In a sense."
"Well, I hope your family's not as dysfunctional as the Skywalkers." They shared a laugh as the Admiral departed. "You take care, sir."
"I will."
Rachel was still in her stall, singing as she took care of "business." Fett listened a few moments to her song before realizing he had to go too. He turned to a urinal, undid the armor plate covering the front of his pants, and did some "business" of his own.
Something demanded his attention, something not quite right. Perhaps it was a sound, barely audible but discernible nonetheless. Perhaps it was a faint, unusual smell, or a slight change in air pressure in the room. Whatever it was, it raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Was there danger?
A stall door swung open, and instinct screamed out that it wasn't Rachel. He hadn't become the galaxy's best bounty hunter by dismissing instinct. Pinching his fly shut with one hand, he drew a blaster with the other and whirled to face the intruder.
IG-88 -- two metric tons and one-point-eight meters of durasteel and state-of-the-art logic processors, bristling from head to toe with deadly weapons of every type imaginable. The metallic hulk stomped out of its hiding place and leveled a rifle in his direction.
Fett swallowed to relieve his suddenly dry mouth. His blaster wouldn't be of use. Unless one knew exactly where to shoot they couldn't penetrate that thick iron armor, and Fett didn't know where such weak spots were located. He had other weapons that might be more effective against the assassin droid, but he would never be able to draw them before IG-88 riddled him with blaster burns.
"Boba Fett," the droid croaked in a bass, computerized voice. "Caught with your pants down."
Fett managed to fasten his trousers with one hand, never taking his eyes off the machine. "How did you get in here?" he demanded.
"Through the door, the same way you did," IG-88 replied. "Though rather than cause a stir by coming in here in broad daylight, I manipulated the lock and entered at night."
"How did you find me?" Fett hissed, stalling for time while he tried to come up with an escape plan.
"Must I explain? I forget how dense biologicals can be." Fett could have sworn the droid was rolling its photoreceptors at him. "After Jabba the Hutt's demise, I deducted that you would be taking more job offers from Lord Vader, as you have hired your services out to him on several occasions. I also theorized that, as the Holonet stated the Sith Lord was last seen in Area 51, you would logically be there also. From there, it was only a matter of slicing into the Executor's computer to discern Vader's landing point and selecting an ambush site." It gave a low whirr, its version of a laugh. "I never calculated that you would stumble into my trap so quickly."
Fett lowered one hand to a pocket on his thigh, where he kept an item that might help him get out of this sticky situation intact. IG-88's blaster followed his hand as it moved. He needed the blasted machine to look away for a moment so he could pull it out without getting shot.
"You have monopolized the title of 'best bounty hunter in the galaxy' long enough, Boba Fett," IG-88 boomed. "You will die now."
There was the sound of a toilet flushing, and Rachel opened her stall door and began to skip out. She halted in mid-skip and screamed when she saw the droid. The assassin whirled its cylindrical head to locate the source of the noise.
That was all the diversion Fett needed. He jerked the object from his pocket and flung it at the horrid contraption's chest plate. It clanged against the plating and stuck there.
Rachel screamed again as blue-white lightning streamed out of the ion pulser and enveloped IG-88. The droid's arms flailed spasmodically, its electrical systems going berserk. With a hideous mechanical shriek its arms went limp, and its photoreceptors darkened as its systems went offline.
"That was cool!" Rachel said, awed.
"I'm glad you thought so," Fett snarled as he pried open IG-88's chest panel and pulled a thermal detonator out of his pocket. He set its timer for thirty seconds, activated it, and hurriedly planted it in the droid's chest.
"Hurry!" he told her, grabbing her hand.
"I left Mori by the potty!" she shrieked.
He let out an exasperated growl and ran into the stall, retrieving the doll. He scooped her up in his free arm and charged out of the restroom.
The restroom door had barely been shut before IG-88 blew. Due to clever building construction the room was nearly soundproof, but even so the explosion was audible, if muffled considerably. Fragments of steel pelted the door, causing it to shudder ominously. Miraculously, the bathroom contained the detonation, though Fett had no
desire to open the door and check the damage.
/They'll probably pin it on vandals/ Fett decided. /Let them think what they will about the droid parts./
"Bad droid went boom!" Rachel exclaimed as Fett set her down and took her hand. "Boom! Boom!"
He squeezed her hand warningly. "Not a word about this to anyone but your parents, Rachel."
"Okay."
As he and Rachel left the bathroom alcove and began to head for the exit, he saw that all activity in the Leapfrog had come to a halt. Every eye was upon them, demanding an explanation for the noise.
"Do not," he said loudly, "eat the enchiladas." He gave a sighing "Wooooh!" and waved the air in front of his mask as he and Rachel departed.
Behind him he could hear the Grand Admiral ask "Is it too late to change my order?"
One normally didn't think of droids as intelligent, emotional beings, or as beings period. Most people thought of them as appliances -- they mostly did what you told them to, when they broke down you fixed them, and when they REALLY blew a motivator or became obsolete you sold them for scrap and bought new ones. Few realized that they had distinctive personalities, got cranky or depressed, or could become bored.
Artoo was very, very bored at the moment.
He hated it when Steve had to go to work at the electronics store. When the human was at home he would enlist the astromech's help in upgrading some computer software or working the glitches out of the television set. Sometimes they would just pop a movie -- usually Star Wars -- into the VCR or DVD player and let their brains/logic processors rot, or Steve would clean and polish Artoo's plating. But between eight in the morning and three in the afternoon, Artoo was home alone and left to entertain himself. Was it any wonder that he spent so much time meddling with the other machines in the house, just for something to do?
Cautiously Artoo used an arm extender to pick the lock on the closet door. What could be in here? He whistled success and pulled open the door to find various cleaning supplies -- and a strange-looking contraption he'd never seen before.
With a curious tootle he wheeled closer to examine it. It was a little over a meter high, with a handle at the top, a wide foot-shaped base, and a roughly cylindrical body. It didn't reply when he beeped a greeting, so it couldn't be a droid. So what was it?
Extending his grasping arm, he grabbed it and pulled it into the living room to experiment with it. The machine rolled on two small wheels, making the job easier for Artoo. A coil of thick wire hung from one side of it, and this he unraveled and attached to a power outlet. Earth machines were curiously hampered by these cords. He wondered why some bright soul on this world had yet to invent the fuel cell.
How was the machine activated? He could see no computer feed or activation switch, only a pedal-like button near the base. Gingerly he extended a pincer-arm to press it.
A hideous screeching roar assaulted his auditory receptors, and he swiftly deactivated the machine. What had that been? Some nasty by-product of the contraption's actions? If so, did its intended purpose outweigh the accompanying racket? Though his logic processor advised otherwise, he turned the machine back on. This time,
however, he turned down his receptors so the machine's bellow was little more than a low drone.
When nothing happened Artoo wondered if it was broken, but then saw a corner of the drapes being slowly pulled into the machine.
Shrieking in surprise, Artoo hurriedly scanned the contraption for a reverse switch of some kind. Finding none, he grabbed the power cord and rolled backward, yanking the plug from the outlet. Just in time -- another few centimeters and the thing would have been climbing the curtains. With a lot of tugging and pulling Artoo managed to detach it.
So it was some sort of intake device. And since he saw no output orifice of any kind, it must have been a shredder or pulverizer. Now thoroughly intrigued, he plugged it back in and began placing pieces of scratch paper and food wrappers in its path. It seemed to have trouble gulping the larger items, but it eagerly took in smaller chunks of detritus.
Artoo didn't realize the machine had sucked up its own power cord until its roar became a high-pitched scream and sparks began to fly. The droid squealed in panic and tried to disengage the machine from its cord.
By the time Steve came home from work, accompanied by Emily, Artoo was standing sheepishly in the center of the living room, surrounded by various bits and pieces of whatever that thing had been.
He whined pathetically as if to say "Please don't hurt me, I didn't mean to."
Steve and Emily just stared. Then, unexpectedly, they both started laughing.
"Well, I guess this means I won't be able to borrow your vacuum cleaner after all," said Emily with a grin. "Too bad about it for you, though."
"Eh, now I've got an excuse to buy a new one," Steve replied dismissively. "Thing was a piece of junk anyway."
Artoo crooned in relief. He wasn't going to be in trouble after all.
"C'mon, Artoo!" Steve told the droid. "Let's get this stuff cleaned up so we can watch 'Spaceballs' tonight."
***
Fett didn't want to be doing this. It was totally undignified for a bounty hunter to be doing this. The only consolation he had was that no one outside this pitiful system would know what he was doing.
It was just plain dumb luck that he and the Osmonds, while browsing an outdoor flea market, happened to run into the Church family -- minus Vader, who was back at the house meditating or something. Rachel had instantly made an announcement, and she insisted that Fett be the one to accompany her. She probably figured he was the next best thing to Vader.
With a weary sigh he entered a nearby restaurant, the Leapfrog Diner, Rachel in his arms. She made urgent little whimpers as he scanned the establishment. The place was packed with people in costume, and at one large table they jabbered loudly in some strange Earth tongue. A haggard-looking waitress approached him, her expression that of resignation. He knew the feeling.
"Are you with the Tokyo Japan Fan Force Chapter?" she asked.
Rachel answered for him -- loudly. "Gotta go potty!"
Her eyes lit up with both understanding and relief. "Ah," she noted. "Back corner by the kitchen door."
"He's such a sweet father, isn't he?" a fake Padme Amidala said admiringly as he walked past her table. Had his arms not been full, he might have pulled a blaster on her, the mood he was in.
There were two refreshers -- one for men, the other for women. Fett wasn't going to be caught dead in a ladies' restroom, so he pushed open the men's room door.
"Don't wanna go in there!" she protested. "It's the boy's room!"
"Tough," he growled. All the same, he cupped a hand over her eyes.
The bathroom was a mess and didn't smell much better, but at least it was empty save a Grand Admiral wannabe standing at a urinal. Fett waited until he was finished before setting Rachel down and shooing her into a stall.
"Cute kid you got," the Admiral said as he washed his hands.
"She's not mine," Fett said adamantly. Then, to allay any fears that he had kidnapped the girl, he added "She's my niece."
"So you're coming to Nova-Con for some sort of family reunion, eh?"
Fett shrugged. "In a sense."
"Well, I hope your family's not as dysfunctional as the Skywalkers." They shared a laugh as the Admiral departed. "You take care, sir."
"I will."
Rachel was still in her stall, singing as she took care of "business." Fett listened a few moments to her song before realizing he had to go too. He turned to a urinal, undid the armor plate covering the front of his pants, and did some "business" of his own.
Something demanded his attention, something not quite right. Perhaps it was a sound, barely audible but discernible nonetheless. Perhaps it was a faint, unusual smell, or a slight change in air pressure in the room. Whatever it was, it raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Was there danger?
A stall door swung open, and instinct screamed out that it wasn't Rachel. He hadn't become the galaxy's best bounty hunter by dismissing instinct. Pinching his fly shut with one hand, he drew a blaster with the other and whirled to face the intruder.
IG-88 -- two metric tons and one-point-eight meters of durasteel and state-of-the-art logic processors, bristling from head to toe with deadly weapons of every type imaginable. The metallic hulk stomped out of its hiding place and leveled a rifle in his direction.
Fett swallowed to relieve his suddenly dry mouth. His blaster wouldn't be of use. Unless one knew exactly where to shoot they couldn't penetrate that thick iron armor, and Fett didn't know where such weak spots were located. He had other weapons that might be more effective against the assassin droid, but he would never be able to draw them before IG-88 riddled him with blaster burns.
"Boba Fett," the droid croaked in a bass, computerized voice. "Caught with your pants down."
Fett managed to fasten his trousers with one hand, never taking his eyes off the machine. "How did you get in here?" he demanded.
"Through the door, the same way you did," IG-88 replied. "Though rather than cause a stir by coming in here in broad daylight, I manipulated the lock and entered at night."
"How did you find me?" Fett hissed, stalling for time while he tried to come up with an escape plan.
"Must I explain? I forget how dense biologicals can be." Fett could have sworn the droid was rolling its photoreceptors at him. "After Jabba the Hutt's demise, I deducted that you would be taking more job offers from Lord Vader, as you have hired your services out to him on several occasions. I also theorized that, as the Holonet stated the Sith Lord was last seen in Area 51, you would logically be there also. From there, it was only a matter of slicing into the Executor's computer to discern Vader's landing point and selecting an ambush site." It gave a low whirr, its version of a laugh. "I never calculated that you would stumble into my trap so quickly."
Fett lowered one hand to a pocket on his thigh, where he kept an item that might help him get out of this sticky situation intact. IG-88's blaster followed his hand as it moved. He needed the blasted machine to look away for a moment so he could pull it out without getting shot.
"You have monopolized the title of 'best bounty hunter in the galaxy' long enough, Boba Fett," IG-88 boomed. "You will die now."
There was the sound of a toilet flushing, and Rachel opened her stall door and began to skip out. She halted in mid-skip and screamed when she saw the droid. The assassin whirled its cylindrical head to locate the source of the noise.
That was all the diversion Fett needed. He jerked the object from his pocket and flung it at the horrid contraption's chest plate. It clanged against the plating and stuck there.
Rachel screamed again as blue-white lightning streamed out of the ion pulser and enveloped IG-88. The droid's arms flailed spasmodically, its electrical systems going berserk. With a hideous mechanical shriek its arms went limp, and its photoreceptors darkened as its systems went offline.
"That was cool!" Rachel said, awed.
"I'm glad you thought so," Fett snarled as he pried open IG-88's chest panel and pulled a thermal detonator out of his pocket. He set its timer for thirty seconds, activated it, and hurriedly planted it in the droid's chest.
"Hurry!" he told her, grabbing her hand.
"I left Mori by the potty!" she shrieked.
He let out an exasperated growl and ran into the stall, retrieving the doll. He scooped her up in his free arm and charged out of the restroom.
The restroom door had barely been shut before IG-88 blew. Due to clever building construction the room was nearly soundproof, but even so the explosion was audible, if muffled considerably. Fragments of steel pelted the door, causing it to shudder ominously. Miraculously, the bathroom contained the detonation, though Fett had no
desire to open the door and check the damage.
/They'll probably pin it on vandals/ Fett decided. /Let them think what they will about the droid parts./
"Bad droid went boom!" Rachel exclaimed as Fett set her down and took her hand. "Boom! Boom!"
He squeezed her hand warningly. "Not a word about this to anyone but your parents, Rachel."
"Okay."
As he and Rachel left the bathroom alcove and began to head for the exit, he saw that all activity in the Leapfrog had come to a halt. Every eye was upon them, demanding an explanation for the noise.
"Do not," he said loudly, "eat the enchiladas." He gave a sighing "Wooooh!" and waved the air in front of his mask as he and Rachel departed.
Behind him he could hear the Grand Admiral ask "Is it too late to change my order?"