Big thanks to my betas: STARWARZMYLIFE, dieFabuliererin, Cuthalion9, and QueenieJocelyn

The Commander

A black screen with white text flashed into existence. It was nonsensical—perhaps even gibberish to the general populace. To beings of metal and electricity, the words were sparks of life: Exe and ini files loaded; diagnostics ran on servos from the joints of limbs; calibrations calculated of audio receptors and vocabulators.

All of it was, in terms understandable for organic beings, the beating heart of a droid, the metaphorical blood that pumped through the veins of B1 battle droid, B1-259.

The B1 droid unfolded from its compact configuration, turning its head to take in its surroundings. It was in one of the many recharging compartments on the starship. The machine was one of the hundreds of its kind to be activated. It transferred to the ship as soon as the droid was deemed combat-ready by its creators.

A strong beep pierced its audio receptors, signaling an incoming transmission. B1-259 brought a hand to its head to accept.

"B1-259, you are to report to the bridge for guard duty."

"Roger, roger."

The transmission ended. Mission directive typed before his optics along with the optimal path to take to reach its destination. The droid moved with stiff legs, taking purposeful steps to join the single-file line of B1 battle droids retrieving their weapons from the rack on the wall. All of them moved systemically like a well-oiled machine.

Step forward, grab blaster rifle, exit. Step forward, grab blaster rifle, exit.

It would probably seem mundane and boring to the eyes of a living being, but to a droid designed for war, this was their programming—their core function. To act outside of that was an impossibility. It was like seeing the number two in binary code: unthinkable.

B1-259 reached the rifle rack and grabbed its designated blaster. With its rifle in hand, it exited the cramped compartment. The droid started marching to its watch position, navigating through the spacious passageways. Feet clanked against the steel flooring as shoulders swayed with each step the machine took—a joint creaking very sharply.

The battle droid quickly went through its error logs, searching for anomalies from its activation. After a few seconds of sweeping through terabytes of data, B1- 259 found the reason for the unpleasant sound. The creaking stemmed from the machine's left shoulder joint. It had begun to rust. Must have been when the droid was placed under that pipe after its creation and waited for deployment.

After further examination, B1-259 determined the rust would be a hindrance but not a mission liability. Good. It didn't want to be turned into scrap so soon after construction.

B1-259 paused in front of the opened doors of the elevator.

Strange. To think such ways was not in the coding of battle droids.

It entered and pressed the button for the bridge. The droid registered a slight tug downward as the elevator ascended.

The thought mattered not. What mattered was what it was ordered to do, and that was guard duty.

The elevator opened, and B1-259 exited. It straightened its spine, standing at attention. "B1-259 reporting for guard duty, sir."

A tactical droid, one designed to be more intelligent than any B1 series could ever imagine, turned to regard it. "You are late, B1-259."

"Sorry, sir."

"Unacceptable. You will be disciplined when Commander Coquer arrives." The tactical droid returned its gaze to the viewing ports. "Commence guard duty with B1-853."

"Yes, sir."

B1-259 listened and followed its order. It stood to the right side of the elevator while its partner stood to the left. They held their rifles ready to use at a moment's notice.

"Hey." The droid turned to its partner. "Do you have information about Commander Coquer in your memory banks, 259? I have data about General Grievous, Whorm, and Count Dooku, but not this Coquer."

B1-259 quickly ran a search about Commander Coquer in its memory banks and came back with no results. Must be a last-minute addition to the Confederate Droid Armies.

"No, I don't."

"Oh." B1-853 sounded disappointed, almost as if their kind could emote like their masters. "What do you think they are like?"

"Enough idle chatter," TA-125 interrupted them both. "We have an incoming ship exiting out of hyperspace."

A scowl etched on his face, Coquer traveled in silence to his destination, still fuming over his interaction with his father. How could someone be so blind to the faults of raising their son as a tool of war? And don't get him started about his father actually orchestrating a war for him to be used in.

Most, if not all, parents wanted to steer their children far away from conflict. They were even willing to take their child's place in the case of war. Not his father, though. Not Dooku.

A voice as soft as the wind, as gentle as a mother calming a crying child, whispered into his ear.

"Son," the voice crooned.

Coquer tightened his grasp on his biceps and released a sharp breath of air. He couldn't understand why his arrival to his homeworld caused the strange feminine voice to appear. Maybe it was stress from not seeing his planet, nor his father, in years, or it was the fact he was ordered to leave Trench's mercenary group.

Either way, he found the voice aggravating—not because it randomly said the same word ever so often, but because of whom it reminded him.

Coquer closed his eyes, taking long, measured breaths. He hoped whatever mission his father tasked him with would be a short one.

The ship exited out of lightspeed when he entered the Sertar Sector of the Outer Rim. His eyes opened to see a large fleet of ships. Coquer recognized the models of the vessels before him. He would never forget the day they tore through Gan Moradir's defenses like they were nothing. They were all Trade Federations battleships, with a few cruisers and frigates of the same design among them. In hindsight, he should have known that battle was preparation for this war.

"Unidentified vessel, you are in CIS controlled space. State your business or be destroyed," one of the battleships hailed him.

The voice sounded modulated. A droid, perhaps? And what was the CIS? A new corporation or organization, maybe? Had his father sent him the wrong coordinates?

Regardless of who they were, he was still in quite a pickle. His sailer didn't have the firepower to battle against even a cheaply made starfighter, let alone an entire fleet. While true its speed and maneuverability were top-notch, he wouldn't last long in a dogfight with the fighters he knew those battleships carried.

Here goes nothing, he thought.

He flicked the switch to open a two-way transmission. "This is Coquer, ward of Dooku of Serenno, Count of Great House Serenno. My Lord tasked me to arrive at these coordinates before receiving further orders," he stated confidently.

Coquer waited for a response. It wasn't like he had proper credentials to prove his purpose here. He wished his father had given him more details about this so-called mission and those he would be working alongside. All he could hope was that they believed him and welcomed him aboard.

"Apologies, Commander Coquer. Welcome to your fleet. Board the lead Providence-class dreadnought."

Coquer chuckled at the classification of the ship. Providence; a timely preparation for future eventualities. He never knew Neimoidians had a sense of humor. He guessed the name was fitting since they were about to wage war.

Coquer flew his vessel to the lead ship. He had never seen such a large war vessel up close. They somehow seemed more massive than when he first saw them as a child. Much of the ship was the same as the ones from the battle of Gan Moradir. It had a dull gray finish, a long cylindrical shape, and an unnecessary fin-like spire towering from the hull. Any tactician worth their salt could point out that the spire was where the bridge lies. A plain structural weakness if he ever saw one.

Aesthetically, it was quite drab, even to him, but it was not designed to win fashion contests. Variants of cannons and turbolaser batteries littered its side, demonstrating its strength and power.

Coquer noticed what he assumed to be a hanger bay at the aft part of the ship. He directed his sailer to it, entered, and landed inside. Besides the tens of oddly standing fighters that filled the launch bay—seriously, how would a pilot get inside one—three droids were awaiting his arrival. He picked up his bag of personal effects before standing from the pilot's chair and making to leave the solar sailer.

A droid, one from a model he had never seen before, took a few steps towards him, signifying his authority among the three machines. The lead droid kept its hands folded behind its back. Its torso was large and boxy, and its limbs were long and thin. Unlike the two beside it, this droid had splashes of color: cobalt blue and forest green.

"Commander Coquer, I am tactical droid, TA-125," it greeted. Its robotic voice had a masculine tone to it. "I've been assigned to assist you with your invasion of Elom."

"Invasion?" he scoffed with a roll of his eyes. Why was he not surprised? "Right. Give me a full debrief while you lead me to my quarters."

"As you wish, Commander."

Coquer stood in front of a wall mirror, fixing his sleeves. His new quarters were large with room to fit a bed, a desk with an accompanying terminal, and space for his belongings—not that he had many. He didn't know if all ships of this model had such spacious accommodations or if this one was custom-ordered to have such an expansive space. If his father had a hand in the design, it was most likely the former. Nobles of Serenno always had a taste for such luxuries.

Not that Coquer would ever have known of such fortune.

He inspected himself in the mirror, moving his body to see if there were any wrinkles or creases in his new uniform.

Honestly, it was all too much. Coquer wasn't used to having such grand space all to himself. His mentor, Trench, wanted him to learn what it was like to live under the condition of those he would one day command: something along the lines of inspiring camaraderie and being humble of one's status. Sadly, it would be impossible to use his mentor's teachings amongst Coquer's current crew.

Droids could shrug off blaster rounds; they didn't need any motivation to charge against the enemy as real people did. They worked in large numbers, and while B-1 battle droids couldn't think on their feet, T-1 tactical droids could outsmart any opponent with their artificial intelligence.

Every droid was programmed with zero self-preservation, willing to sacrifice themselves for the success of their mission. They were designed to be the perfect soldiers for a fledgling Commander such as him.

Except they weren't the perfect soldiers. Not in the slightest.

"Commander," a voice from the other side of the door called out. It had a higher pitch and sounded a bit more human than the monotone voice of TA-125. "You are requested on the bridge."

"One moment," Coquer replied.

The young man picked up the holster lying at the foot of his bed and fastened it around his waist. He spared one final look at the mirror, grinning at his appearance. Standing in his uniform with his vibrorapier and pistol strapped to his hip, he looked like a man on a mission—a true soldier.

Coquer entered the bridge where TA-125 waited patiently.

"Commander Coquer," the droid greeted with a bow of its head, "we've received word that we can commence with the invasion of Elom."

"Very well," he acknowledged. "Order all ships to prepare for lightspeed travel and have all fighters ready for take-off once we arrive."

"Yes, sir."

The droids followed his orders, issuing his command to the rest of the fleet. Coquer walked to the Captain's chair, claiming it. The familiar hums of hyperdrives spurring to life filled his ears, and the slight rumble of the warship preparing to jump covered his body in goosebumps.

Coquer knew how to wage combat, having learned from someone he dared to say perfected it. He understood that every order had consequences, one way or another. He had ordered the deaths of those he shared meals with, led the charge to slaughter those who wanted a better life, even provided relief aid to those the Corporate Alliance deemed worthy.

But through all those instances, he always had Trench at his side. This battle would be the first time he engaged in combat without his good friend's wise counsel. The revelation made his palms clammy.

"You only need to worry about the next conquest. Am I understood, boy?"

Coquer chuckled at what once was a terrible memory. Yes, he needed only worry about the next conquest, for there would be one after this, then one after that, and so on and so on. Anxiety and worries had no place on the battlefield; there were only the present and the future.

He placed a hand on the handle of his rapier, gazing upon the vacuum of space and twinkling stars. His ship lunged forward, entering hyperspace travel.

"No matter how it was achieved, take heart for the victory you attained, Coquer. No one as young as you could accomplish the same feat, and no one ever will."

A/N: Here's to the official start of our first arc! It's a short one, but one I have a lot of fun writing. It took me some time to decide Dooku's full name, since there's nothing in canon or legends about it. Since he is a count of a noble house, I assume his last name is Serenno.

Do tell me what you think of the introduction of my favorite droid from the OG. I'm hoping to humanize the droids and the CIS in general in this rewrite. Here's hoping I do the awesome characters of the CIS justice.

There's a poll on my profile asking how's the rewrite compared to the OG. I'm always strive to improve with each chapter I write, but I want to hear from you all what you think.

Next update is September 8th.

Till Next Time

Updated Dec 20 2021