Choy stood in darkness. Beyond her lay a sea of guttering candles, and on the breathless air she heard whispers.
Something stirred within the woman. Something withered and battered. It opened sightless eyes, feeling the warmth of sunlight.
Choy wept.
Why do you cry, little one?
The woman looked over, to see another stood with her. The hooded form seemed bent with fatigue and endless years of toil.
"You know why," Choy replied.
Her escort nodded slowly.
The endless song.
"It… it does not feel as it did before," Choy whispered, her hand trembling as she held it out, but she could not touch the candles.
You could turn away from it, the shade suggested.
"No. I lost it once. I will not lose it again," Choy answered desperately.
If you choose this path… there will be pain. You risk loss as great as before, the shade warned.
Choy felt terror grip her heart, threatening to extinguish her. She didn't think she'd survive losing everything again.
The shade shuffled silently in front of Choy, studying her from beneath its impenetrable hood for a time. It plucked a candle from among the sea, gently cupped in one gnarled hand. The meager light could not pierce the hood's shroud.
Choose, the shade said softly, though with the steel of finality.
Choy studied the single, flickering light. It struggled and leapt upon the wick, growing fainter with each kick and lick.
It would fade soon, vanish.
Choy lunged forward, cupping the candle in her own hands protectively.
At her touch, the candle flared, illuminating the shade.
Choy looked up into the face of an old woman. Her mouth was pinched, as if from permanent disappointment, her eyes milky white. Her skin was wrinkled with age and hardship… but beneath it all was a core of stubborn pride. She was unbeaten, even in undeath.
We will speak more of this later. Now… it is time to wake, the dead woman said, smiling slightly, as Choy cupped the shade's essence in her hands.
((()))
Jolee let the Ebon Hawk slide back into reality, his stomach flickering from the pseudo motion. He glanced over at Kel and nodded tensely. The young man unbuckled, so that he could watch the closed hatch.
Telos turned below them, its surface a poisonous yellow. That was just the particulates in the atmosphere, and not the surface itself. A great silver flash caught the sunlight, marking the orbiting Citadel Station. It was massive, easily dwarfing any "conventional" space station, created from interlocked modules, repurposed freighters, and orbital depots. Anything that could be requisitioned, really.
The ex-hermit signaled the station, and was directed to a docking berth.
Jolee cut in the maneuvering thrusters, gliding to a halt within the designated hanger bay. He could see the Telos Security Forces squad trotting into the hanger bay, their muted gray and tan plastoid armor was repainted military surplus from the Republic (even if it was twenty years out of date). Good, it looked like Carth had sent word ahead, and was taking him seriously this time.
Jolee shut down the Ebon Hawk's systems then locked down the controls and interfaces, just in case.
"Kel, keep an eye on our passengers," Jolee told his apprentice quietly, as they walked out of the cockpit. The shifty-eyed man was sitting in the main hold, apparently reading a holozine, but Jolee could feel the man's knife-edge awareness that kept sweeping over everything in the hold.
Jolee lowered the ramp. Six armored humanoids entered, their rifles pointed at the deck.
The pilot's presence in the force became thinner, and the edges grew muddy and indistinct. Jolee couldn't reliably tell if the man was genuinely upset, or just thinking himself upset.
"Lieutenant Grenn has given me orders to detain all occupants until an investigation is conducted," One of the faceless TSF officers stated. The old helmet speaker garbled the gender, but Jolee knew the officer was female.
"I'm a citizen of Peragus, I demand to know under what authority the Republic is holding us without repatriation?" the pilot said, slowly standing up, setting the datapad on the seat beside him, hands clearly away from his body.
The officer turned to address the pilot, "You are being held in protective custody until representatives of Peragus can arrive."
The pilot glanced at Jolee, then at the TSF officer. There was a moment of cold calculation behind his brown eyes, before the man smiled disarmingly, letting his posture relax into something submissive.
"What about my droids?" Choy Verdan asked, emerging from the aft corridor, wiping black grease off her hands with a machine rag.
The officer turned to address Verdan, reluctantly turning her back on the rogue, but she had three men still facing the pilot.
"They will be detained, but no examinations will be conducted until the Peragus representatives arrive," the officer answered.
((()))
Carth stood on one side of the mirrored transparisteel. Jolee stood next to him, and was staring into the interrogation room intently. He wasn't even blinking.
It was a marked change from the laid-back Jedi Carth remembered from the Jedi Civil War.
"These are the best investigators in the fleet?" Jolee asked tersely.
"Yes, Jolee. Twenty years of experience, I pulled them from Naval Intelligence, which didn't make me any friends," Carth answered pointedly, staring at his old comrade.
"Good, good," Jolee muttered, distracted.
One of the intelligence officers was seated near them, studying data readouts from the array of sensors inside the interrogation room.
"Go back. She just lied," the officer whispered, his words relayed to his counterpart in the next room via a nearly invisible combead in his ear.
"Lied? About what?" Jolee demanded, darting to look over the spook's shoulder.
The intelligence officer scowled at Jolee, clearly hating the interruption in his concentration.
"Jolee, let him do his job," Carth said sharply. Jolee stared at the intelligence officer, brow furrowed.
He's probing my man's mind, Carth realized, a shiver of revulsion running down his spine.
Jolee pressed a volume control on the blinking spook's console.
"—born Choy Verdan?" the interrogator asked.
Carth stared through the glass at the woman. She was facing him. Her eyes looked tired, and her skin seemed pale from illness or stress. Her short cropped hair, paired with the rough coveralls she wore gave the woman an air of weary dependability. Carth wanted to trust her, so he instinctively didn't.
She stared at the interrogator for several seconds, "I am Choy Verdan," she said slowly and carefully.
Carth glanced at the analyst.
After several seconds the man's mouth screwed into a moue of irritation.
"She's either telling the truth, or thinks it's the truth," the analyst hissed.
"Ask her if she's always been Choy Verdan," Jolee hissed.
Reluctantly the analyst relayed the request.
At the question the woman blinked.
"Yes," she lied. Carth didn't need the sensors to tell him that.
Jolee grinned, and leaned forward. Carth sharply grabbed Jolee's shoulder,
"Major Ferol, pretend we don't know she lied," Carth commanded.
Jolee began to protest, but Carth rounded on the Jedi, "You are out of order. This is my investigation. You are an observer only."
Jolee scowled, but closed his mouth.
"You wanted experts. I brought experts. Now let them do their job," Admiral Onasi said.
((()))
The woman wore very little, which did little to hide the strong pink, almost red, tinge to her skin. She was a Zeltron, and proud of that fact. The swirl of emotion around her pulsed and ebbed in time to the fortunes of the nearby gamblers. She sipped at her Altarian Brandy, her seventh glass, despite the potency. She had two livers, and only the tips of her fingers were buzzing. She could feel the spikes of lust, each time a male glanced over at where she sat, in her most provocative pose… until her comlink chirped. She sighed, and pulled the device from her almost ethereal belt, and activated it.
"Yes?" she asked silkily.
"Good day. I am B-4D4, administrative assistant for Czerka Corporation's Citadel Station Branch—" a droid answered. The woman disconnected.
Czerka… interesting.
The comlink began to chirp again, and the woman toyed with the device thoughtfully… before activating it.
"I am attempting to connect you with my superior—"
Which would be Executive Officer Jana Lorso… the woman knew…
What does she want?
She disconnected.
The comlink chirped again…
"May I put you through Miss Luxa?" the droid asked, ever so polite.
"Go ahead," Luxa smirked.
"Thank you. I will connect you now. Good day," the droid said, and the line went dead for a moment.
"Thank you for accepting my call," a woman said briskly, though it was slightly distorted. Just enough to prevent voice recognition…
"Who is this?" the Zeltron asked. She was, naturally, recording this conversation.
"You'll understand if I don't respond to that question, Luxa," Lorso said knowingly.
"Can't blame a girl for trying," the Zeltron chuckled.
"I believe you're a person of influence. Someone I'd like on my side," the executive continued.
Luxa held up her empty glass, and the bar tender refilled it.
"Interesting," Luxa said.
"If you are interested, please visit our offices here in Residential 082. B-4D4 will know what to do when you arrive," Lorso finished.
"Sorry… I already have a job," Luxa said lightly.
"Citadel Station is at a crossroads right now, you know. And so are you. Don't take the wrong road," Lorso said… the unspoken threat lingering beneath her pleasant tone.
The link died, and Luxa stared at the comlink thoughtfully…
What's her angle?
This sounded like a job for Sidik. Luxa keyed in the comlink frequency.
The rodian had shifty, multi-faceted eyes that Luxa always found disturbing, but the sucker tipped fingers were what really bothered the Zeltron… however, she never let it show. It wasn't good business.
"Sidik… I have a job for you," she said slowly.
((()))
"Good day. I am B-4D4, administrative assistant for Czerka Corporation's Citadel Station Branch, how may I help you?" the bulbous headed protocol droid asked brightly.
Sidik was wearing a Czerka uniform, and he knew the yellow and black clashed badly with his green skin… but it also made him anonymous. Just another cog in the corporate machine.
"I'm here to see your superior, on behalf of my superior," Sidik said, knowing the droid would understand rod'ese.
"Of course. She has been expecting you. You will find her through the door and down the hall on the right," the droid said without batting a photocepter.
Well programmed.
There were two guards outside the indicated door, and he allowed himself to be searched and scanned for weapons and listening / recording devices.
Naturally, they only found the serrated knife in his sleeve. Satisfied, the guards let him in after confiscating it.
The office was lavishly decorated, Sidik noted with a tinge of disgust, her desk was a piece of degenerate art. Two stone slaves in supplication knelt on all fours, the flat top of the desk across their backs. It was all chiseled from a single piece of stone.
The woman sitting behind it was petite, her hair longer than regulation, held back by a golden headband that intimated itself as a crown without being one.
Definitely the one in charge. He saw several rare paintings, sculptures, and vases. The former thief briefly tried to calculate their street worth, before returning to the task at hand.
"Welcome, please, take a seat," Jana Lorso said genially. There were two chairs, that paled in grandeur to the intimidating desk, and the throne-like chair Lorso sat in… but that was the point, wasn't it?
"I am confident that we will be able to reach a working agreement satisfactory to both your superior and I," the executive said smoothly.
"I'm listening," Sidik said. A translator on the desk came to life, translating his speech into Basic.
"When we first set up here on Citadel Station, the Exchange was already quite well established. Loppak Slusk had more influence over business matters than the Telosian government," Jana said, sitting back, folding her hands on her desk.
You aren't saying anything new…
"To ensure our success, we involved ourselves with the Exchange, and it has been a highly profitable arrangement… but lately, our revenue has begun to fall…" Lorso said reluctantly. Lorso must have been completely confident that her office was proof from recording devices to speak so openly.
Edging out the middle man? Sidik wondered.
"Slusk has lost his edge… and we are… concerned," Lorso said carefully.
"How concerned?" Sidik asked warily.
"If our partnership has any chance of surviving, we believe there must be a change in leadership. I assume your superior may know some individuals well suited for advancement to such a posting…" Lorso continued.
Kill your boss. He's making mistakes, and it's costing us. If you don't replace him, we'll use our leverage in the Council to push you off the station, Sidik thought, translating the polite double-speak. They didn't have to succeed, just make it too expensive to maintain operations on the station.
Then he was politely escorted out of the offices.
((()))
Carth studied the reports, glancing over at Jordo.
Major Ferol scrolled through the summary, "The subject only lied about her past affiliations, place of origin, and profession before arrival at Peragus. All questions regarding Peragus and events onboard the Harbinger were truthful, complete, and
thorough."
Carth nodded, sipping from his cup of caf, also reading the transcripts.
"If true, she had no direct hand in the Harbinger's capture, and attempted to render aid to crewmen she encountered. She does not know who attacked the Harbinger."
Jolee chewed his lip distractedly, staring into his hand.
"Admiral, this won't be enough to hold her, in fact, the interrogations exonerate her. Peragus's representatives will demand her release," the intelligence officer said hesitantly.
"No! If we let her go, she'll disappear!" Jolee snapped.
"I fail to see how this woman could be such a threat," Carth replied.
"She doesn't exist in the Force!" Jolee snarled.
Carth blinked, nonplussed.
"How is that possible?" Carth asked. He also didn't see how it was dangerous.
Jolee threw up his hands, "I don't know! But when I look in her eyes, I'm afraid."
"We can't hold her legally," Carth said, unmoved.
"Carth, she's dangerous. You have to trust me," Jolee pleaded.
Carth sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I trust you Jolee, but I don't think you're being objective here."
It hurt to see Jolee so rattled. Carth's perception of the man had always been of a man wryly amused by life's pitfalls, and stubbornly optimistic in his own cynicism.
Perhaps, because Jolee was used to always having the answers…
"What about the man, Atton Rand?" Carth asked.
Major Ferol picked up a second datapad, "Also unaware and not responsible for the Harbinger's capture. Not responsible for Peragus's droid malfunction. Lied about previous identity before Peragus. Admitted to smuggling controlled substances into Peragus, but nothing directly dangerous," Ferol summarized.
"So, a petty criminal," Carth grunted.
Ferol hesitated.
"What?" Carth asked.
"Well, sir, it's a feeling I had," the intelligence agent admitted reluctantly.
"Let's have it then," Carth said.
"His responses felt… trained," Ferol said thoughtfully.
"Like an intelligence operative?" Carth asked.
"Not exactly. But something similar. I'm sorry sir, it's just an impression," Ferol answered quickly.
Carth nodded slowly, thinking.
"Are they working together?" Carth asked.
Ferol shook his head, "Verdan showed little or no interest to questions pertaining to Rand's past, motivations, or future plans. Rand however did show interest in similar questions about Verdan. I believe it may be from simple curiosity though. He knew very little about her."
"We have copies of the droid's memory cores?" Carth asked.
"Such as they are, yes. It appears the utility droid's core hasn't been wiped in over a decade," Major Ferol sighed.
"How has it operated this long?" Carth asked, nonplussed.
"By compressing its memory coding in interesting ways, sir. We have the data, but it's a rat's nest. It'll take us weeks to figure out how the files are indexed," the intelligence officer admitted.
"Release them from custody, but keep them under surveillance," Carth ordered.
Major Ferol nodded.
((()))
Jolee stalked out of the security station, and almost ran into his apprentices.
They were waiting for him.
"What's wrong now?" Jolee demanded grumpily.
"We're leaving," Kel said quietly, his arm around Lashowe, and their tot.
Jolee hesitated, squinting at the young man. His face was set… and so was his heart.
Jolee hadn't expected it to hurt.
"Tired of following the crazy coot, are we?" Jolee growled sharply.
Jolee felt a twinge of guilt from Lashowe, of all people… but none from Kel, only sadness.
"Jolee, we have a daughter now," Kel answered.
"I remember," Jolee answered flatly.
"We have a responsibility," Lashowe said quietly, not meeting his eyes. Jolee hated it. Where was the venom, the bile? Something he could latch onto, to dull the ache?
"Bah, I'm too old for this nonsense," Jolee barked, pushing past the young family.
Kel locked elbows with Jolee, pulling his master close.
"You wish to die. We wish to live. I won't bury you," Kel said harshly.
Jolee yanked his arm free, straightening his robes, backing away from the future he'd never had.
"If you change your mind Jolee… find us," Lashowe said, and for a moment, Jolee saw why Kel loved her. Just for a moment, he saw beneath her anger.
Jolee spun on his heel and didn't look back. If he did, he didn't know if he'd be able to do what needed doing. He didn't have a good track record with temptation.
Evil was easy to resist. Love was hard.
((()))
Choy stood in the security blister, accepting the paltry pile of belongings taken from her aboard the Ebon Hawk. The surgical assistant droid wasn't among them. It was republic property, after all.
"Where are my droids?" Choy asked.
The young TSF officer beckoned to her, leading her to a second room. They'd put restraining bolts on them. Choy scowled, but accepted the caller from the officer. She used it to disable the restraining bolts immediately.
FS-907 shuddered into movement towards her, its movements slightly jerky. The restraining bolt was probably still interfering with some of its systems.
3C-FD rolled towards her, chirping insistently, studying her for damage.
"I'm fine," Choy smiled at the utility droid, kneeling to pet its flat head.
She needed money now, and a new job. It seemed though, after a few hours of inquiry, that it would be several weeks before her employee account with peragus would be available to her, due to the legal ramifications of the facilities destruction.
The good news was that mechanics were in high demand here.
((()))
Atton keyed in his account and password, then waited at the banking terminal.
ACCOUNT FROZEN.
Atton's peragus employee account had been frozen. Probably by Mavrel. It was to be expected, but Atton had hoped that the droid uprising might have distracted the security chief. The rogue entered a new account and password, one of his hidden accounts. It only held a fraction of credits compared to his main account but, it was smart to keep reserves isolated from—
ACCOUNT FROZEN.
Atton blinked, then tried the rest of his subsidiary non-peragian accounts with mounting concern. Mavrel had found them all. Somehow. Atton scowled at the terminal, fist clenched. He needed money, fast. Soon word of Peragus would spread, there would be panic, and a lot of people trying to get off Citadel Station. The price of berths would soar, because there simply wasn't enough transportation for everyone.
Atton keyed off the terminal and walked away from the banking kiosk, disappearing into the tired crowd of off-duty engineers.
Even with just the contents of his pockets, Atton's chances were still good, since his skills were always valuable to the right employer. The difficulty lay in finding the right one. Atton spent the next six hours putting out a few feelers, some questions, a handful of names, and then waited patiently in a fairly inexpensive cantina. Rushing was a good way to die.
Besides, there was a pazaak table in the corner, with several players. He'd need some seed money to get into a game though.
Atton bumped into a sullustan. The 1.5 meter alien stumbled into a human wearing battered plastoid battle armor.
Alcohol spilled everywhere, but mostly on the seated human's pants.
The sullustan started babbling, making placating gestures with his hands as the armored man angrily stood, murder in his eyes. He grabbed the sullustan's coveralls, bodily lifting the alien off the floor, "You'll pay for that!"
Atton cautiously approached, "Easy friend,"
The mercenary glared at Atton, clearly well into his cups, "Not your friend."
"Look, it was probably an accident," Atton pointed out reasonably, stopping next to the pair.
"Don't matter, pants'r still wet," the merc snarled.
"Fine, but don't make a mess here, take it outside," Atton shrugged.
"Why?" the merc squinted at Atton suspiciously.
Atton pointed towards one corner of the cantina's ceiling, and the mercenary blearily followed Atton's finger.
"Cameras," Atton answered simply, patting the mercenary on the shoulder carefully. The merc growled with irritation, but started walking, dragging the struggling sullustan with him, presumably to find an alley without cameras.
Atton continued his journey to the pazaak table, and pulled up a chair.
"Deal me in," Atton said smiling brightly, dropping the mercenary's credits onto the table. Some marks were just too easy.
((()))
Jolee realized he was being followed, almost the minute it began, even in his dark mood. He glanced ahead in the crowd of strangers, at where he'd last seen Verdan. He saw her walk into the Ithorian compound. The minds of the clerks she interacted with were tediously dull. She was looking for employment. Not really something one expected of a… well, whatever she was.
Jolee shook his head, focusing on the now.
Someone in the crowd behind him wished him harm. Someone greedy. Jolee could feel their attention like a sunburn on the back of his head. He didn't have time for this. Jolee kept most of his attention on the clerk currently speaking to Verdan, studying his quarry through the overworked ithorian's eyes, as he moved towards an alley. He'd end this quickly. He walked towards the far end of the alley, hoping to draw his pursuer to end the chase quickly. Jolee wasn't disappointed.
"So… you are the last of the Jedi?" a man asked, his tone thoughtful.
By the Force… save me from monologues, Jolee winced.
"I have experience with most republic military and civilian drive systems, shield generators, and power distribution systems," Jolee heard Verdan say, through his mind-tap. She had military experience? That hadn't come up in the interrogation.
"Look, boy,, I don't have time for this," Jolee growled, turning to face the idiot.
An idiot wearing TSF armor.
Ah. This might get complicated…
[How much experience?] the ithorian asked.
"Sixteen years," Verdan answered.
That… would have been near the beginning of the Mandalorian wars…
"I'm disappointed. I expected more," the TSF idiot sighed, raising his blaster rifle.
Jolee scowled and jerked the man's blaster rifle away with the Force.
"Excellent," the man said.
Wait, what? Jolee stopped listening to Verdan's conversation, and started listening to his future… a split second before electricity erupted around him.
Jolee writhed and fell, twitching.
It had been mundane electricity. A trap. Not Force Lightning… so his robe afforded no protection… well, minimal protection.
"Time to sleep, Jedi," the TSF man chuckled.
Stupid mistake…
((()))
HK-50 administered the fast acting sedative to the partially paralyzed Jedi. The bribed TSF organic (identified as Batu Rem) had performed beyond HK-50's wildest probability outliers. Personally, he had suspected the organic would fail to distract the target sufficiently for the modified power emitters to successfully incapacitate the target… but against all statistical probabilities the organic had succeeded… and inconveniently survived.
"Remember, I get half," the loose end said, approaching to stand over the unconscious target.
"Mocking Statement: As you wish."
HK-50 triggered another electrical burst into the target zone… at fifty percent charge.
Having built the trap with the robust (almost Ronto-like in some aspects) physiological resistances of a Jedi in mind… half charge easily stopped the loose end's heart.
HK-50 loved a tidy ending.
((()))
Choy kept her eyes closed as the shuttle rocked in the corrosive atmosphere, shields at maximum strength. The descent to Telo's poisoned surface was proving… problematic for her. It reminded her of other shuttles… other places. 3C-FD moaned quietly, pressing itself against Choy's shins. She patted its head, quieting the droid. FS-907 simply splayed its crab legs wider for further stability, unconcerned.
A dozen others filled the ministry-class shuttle's passenger compartment. Choy didn't look at any of them. Most were Ithorians. She felt better away from the packed crowds of the orbiting station. She could keep to her rules.
Old ways of thinking. I thought you sought to regain what you had lost? the shade whispered in Choy's mind.
Patience, Choy replied stubbornly.
Despite the ineptitude of the shuttle pilot, they did not burn up in the atmosphere. Choy was the first one off the shuttle, flanked by her droids. The rest of the passengers milled around her, and a man waited impatiently for them on the landing platform.
"Welcome to Restoration Zone Thirty-One. My name is Yarow Fen," the man (in his early fifties) said, standing on a supplies crate, using it as a low stage. He wore light armor that seemed geared towards protection from rough and tumble melee combat, not firefights.
"The ithorians have almost finished balancing the ecology here. That means predators, understand?" the armored mercenary called.
The small group of new employees nodded mechanically.
"After sunset no one is outside base camp. When you are outside during the day, there will always be at least two escorts. No exceptions," Fen snarled.
The mercenary commander reviewed the security protocols Choy had read on the ride down to the surface, before handing out their current assignments and berths.
Choy studied the surrounding encampment. The walls were modular plastoid constructs three meters in height. Sonic emitters lined the tops of the walls to repulse predators. The buildings themselves were light-weight collapsible prefabs made from flexible plastic over a rigid frame. Everything could be relocated. It was all very… efficient.
((()))
Atton squinted across the table at his opponent. The pot was sitting at nearly nine hundred credits. Atton had a good hand, but not the best hand. The older man glanced at his cards thoughtfully, then at the cards already displayed on the table. The round had just started.
"Deal me in?" a voice purred.
"Stakes are nine hundred," Atton replied, without looking away from his mark.
"Done," the woman chuckled, drawing Atton's gaze when he heard credits hit the table. Then he looked at the woman. He noted her oddly tinted pink skin, but otherwise human appearance. It was either an affectation, or she was a Zeltron. Considering the confidence with which she'd shelled out nine hundred credits to join a game, Atton was willing to bet she was one of the emotion empaths, and not a woman who simply liked having pink skin.
"Fold," the human studying his cards growled, taking what little credits he had left with him.
Atton glanced back at the newcomer, almost certain now that she was a Zeltron.
She wore either bodypaint or a very formfitting single piece crimson garment with strategic areas of cloth missing. It left enough fabric for modesty, but in such a way that she seemed more naked than an actually naked woman would look. Over the skintight garment was a loose jacket made of shimmering gold cloth. The jacket was obviously open.
"Alright," Atton said slowly, organizing his thoughts and emotions in the same way a man might trail his fingers across a holster on the way to a blaster butte.
The newcomer's eyes seemed to light up.
"You're going to make me work for it, aren't you?" she chuckled.
"Sure," Atton replied, sinking into his routine, letting lust fill his thoughts, watching the woman closely.
If she was a Zeltron, she was probably focusing on him specifically, and filtering out the rest of the cantina. This would make her more sensitive to his emotional states, and more vulnerable.
Atton saw her pupils begin to dilate, and caught a hitch to her breath that did interesting things to her poorly restrained breasts. Atton let the lust rise a little higher, all while keeping his face emotionless.
The zeltron slowly smiled. The smile was of someone sharing something secret, and at the same time lazily basking in something warm. Atton felt a flicker of genuine attraction stir.
"Was it good for you too?" the zeltron chuckled.
"Let's play," Atton growled, flipping a card.
"Yes. Let's."
((()))
The encampment was actually built on the wide landing pad of an old Telos Military base. It had been meant to train and house Telosian military forces. Several heavy turbolaser blasts from orbit had destroyed its command center and hanger bay, placing the base into lockdown. Unfortunately for the soldiers trapped within, there had been no rescue from the ravaged planet. Those that had escaped found no foe to fight, simply death from orbit.
The power core was still operational though, and Czerka had jury-rigged it to power the shield of the restoration zone's dome… with mixed results.
Choy somberly walked through the pitted halls of the dead, searching among the working technicians for her assigned supervisor. She found him on the second sub-level.
"Bao-Dur? I've been assigned to your team," Choy said slowly, addressing a very muscular back, belonging to a male zabrak. Dozens of tools were fastened to pouches and straps of his utility harness.
"Fantastic," the engineer replied flatly, fingers teasing a power connector loose inside the conduit he was working on. Choy glanced at the tangle of wires. It looked like he'd set up a bypass, so he could work on an old portion of the power grid without shutting down the zone's field.
Repairs on an active shield generator were… ill-advised.
"I need a spot weld," the zabrak engineer muttered. Choy reached to her tool belt, but an 8cm diameter ball floated out from among the stacks of machinery nearby, beeping at the engineer.
"Right here," the engineer said, tapping a section of circuitry with his right thumb without moving the rest of his fingers or hand that held circuits in place.
The sensor drone had apparently been refitted to directly assist in repairs. Typical sensor drones were mere remotes, piloted into hazardous or tiny areas to relay sensor data. This one appeared to have rudimentary reasoning and logic at least. Or it had a voice command system, Choy wasn't sure yet. Choy looked away from the bright flashes of the sensor drone's welding tip.
"Good," the zabrak muttered, sliding the connector back into place. He disabled his bypass, carefully monitoring power levels as the shield stabilized again.
Satisfied nothing would explode, the engineer turned to face Choy.
Faint clan scars marked his face, balancing the crown of tiny horns that ringed his head like thick thorns. Choy's eyes were drawn to the prosthetic left arm for a second. It was more intricate than she was used to seeing, and wasn't covered by synthflesh or disguised in any way. The engineer continued to stare silently. Choy focused her gaze on his chin.
"Where can I help?" Choy asked pointedly.
"I… I have some more powerflow work," the engineer answered. He continued to stare.
"Is there something wrong?" Choy demanded.
"Forgive me," the engineer shook his head, "follow me."
((()))
She cheated a lot, Atton decided. One of her feet was apparently bare at the moment, because her toes were doing interesting things along Atton's thigh under the table. That was fine. Atton hid behind the cover of rising lust, checking his cards, and the cards his opponent had played so far.
His chances were good, so he let a sharp stab of fear poke through the sticky layers of lust, making the zeltron momentarily flinch. She smiled sweetly at him, and raised the stakes above and below the table.
The hand was called, cards were revealed.
Atton began to scrape the considerable winnings towards his side of the table, when the zeltron's thin hand snared his wrist, gently teasing up his arm, "Double or nothing?" she whispered huskily.
"How? This is easily five thousand credits, and I don't see any extra pockets of credits on you," Atton sneered. The zeltron smiled at the comment, "I'm good for it."
She punctuated the sentence with moving her toes higher.
"Really," Atton said flatly.
Her toes insisted.
((()))
Atton watched the credits slide through his fingers, gritting his teeth, as the zeltron gathered up her winnings.
"Oh my, the winnings seem a little short. Roughly four thousand seven hundred and six credits short," the zeltron said, affecting sad bemusement.
"Roughly," Atton growled.
"Yes. Roughly," the zeltron smiled, "How ever shall you make it up to me?" she whispered, breathing into his ear. Atton could see down her dress.
The lust wasn't an act anymore.
"Finally," the zeltron murmured.
((()))
Luxa rode the strange man's emotions in her bed. They were deliciously deceptive. It was like opening a gift. The wave would mount, something indefinable, the only thing known about it was that the base was vast, and grower vaster, the peak rising with Luxa perched upon it, waiting in anticipation as she drowned, and then the wave would be revealed to be pleasure, or guilt, or an almost animal sadness, letting her take a gasp of air.
Each revelation was a surprise. Luxa loved surprises.
Finally the man tired, and made to leave. Luxa bonelessly grabbed his wrist, drawing him inexorably back against her. She curled herself, matching the angles of his body,
"It's late. Sleep," she whispered against the back of his neck.
She felt his suspicion, as well as more of his veiled emotions, a decision of some kind was reached, and the man relaxed against her.
Rather, his body did, but his emotions betrayed his alertness.
He suspected a trap.
Luxa fell asleep first, confident that her security would intervene if her current lover proved violent.
((()))
Atton's eyes flashed open, as his instincts screamed. He felt the zeltron stir restlessly behind him. Something bad was coming. His senses ignited, as he recalled what he'd seen of the flat's interior when the zeltron had led him to her bed.
His jacket was near the entry door, it had his blaster in it, too far, and too close to the danger. From how his gut was churning danger was close, possibly already inside the small (if lavishly appointed) apartment. Atton darted silently into the refresher that adjoined the small bedroom, turning on the sonic shower, before slipping back out, leaving the sliding door cracked, and the light inside the refresher on. He took up a position in the tiny closet, sliding the door almost closed, watching the closed bedroom door. The zeltron kept sleeping, faintly illuminated in the slice of light, although she nuzzled closer to the spot of warmth he'd left behind.
Atton waited motionlessly as the seconds turned to minutes. Atton began slowly flexing his legs and arms to keep from stiffening up as he waited.
Slowly, furtively, the door to the bedroom was slid aside, clearly unpowered.
Two dark shapes carefully entered a few seconds later, after no doubt studying the bedroom. The taller shape moved to stand to one side of the refresher door, while the shorter shadow eased over to the bed with the sleeping Zeltron. Hands moved in dangerous ways, and the big shape slammed the door of the refresher into its housing, lunging inside.
Atton slammed the closet door open, his foot catching his opponent in the back of the knee, dropping its neck to a convenient height to grab. Atton caught his victim's rising wrist (the one holding the knife), and redirected the weapon into the alien's throat. A rodian, Atton realized. The killer wrested the knife away from his victim, and stabbed the serrated blade into the back of the neck, severing motor control.
The second shape, now illuminated as a devaronian, erupted from the refresher, lunging towards Atton with a screaming vibro-blade.
Atton shoved the toppling rodian towards the devaronian to trip him, trying to set up an opening. The zeltron's hand whipped out from under her pillow and an object hit the devaronian in the face with a loud crackle of discharging energies. The alien hit the corner of the bed before it hit the floor, hard enough to gouge a furrow in the bedframe with one of his horns.
An active shock baton of some kind rolled across the carpet, leaving black streaks in its wake.
"Why was I bait?" the zeltron demanded, retrieving her weapon.
"Someone had to stay in the bed," Atton answered, letting his eyes linger on the naked woman.
Luxa studied the man. She'd seen him move. More importantly, she'd felt him move. No hesitation, no uncertainty, only grim purpose. He was a killer, one with extensive training. There had been technique to his strikes, not just the experience of a man who routinely killed.
"What's your name?" Luxa asked, jabbing the unconscious devaronian by her foot with the shock baton in her hand. It was narrower than most shock batons, compensating for its reduced size by increasing the intensity of the electrical discharge it released. Luxa liked that it didn't ruin the line of her outfits and suits.
"Call me Jaq," the man said slowly.
"Alright Jaq, I would like to cultivate your services," Luxa said.
"I'm sure we can work something out," Jaq decided, "But I do like to know who I'm working for."
"My name is Luxa. I handle vice for the Exchange."
Jaq blinked, suspicious, "Why so trusting?"
Luxa cocked her head coyly, "Oh, but I thought we had a connection."
Jaq laughed sharply, matching Luxa's mocking smile.
Sex was just that. Sex. It was nice, but it entailed nothing beyond the physical act.
"Relax, handsome. If you're smart, you'd have figured it out, and this just saves time," Luxa shrugged, slipping into a soft silkrobe, moving to her computer terminal. She had some calls to make.
"I'd like to talk to the devaronian. See about the mess, won't you?" Luxa commanded, waving languidly at the blood soaked carpet and corpse.
"Sure, boss," Jaq replied, an edge of irreverence in his tone.
((()))
"This is where you torture me?" The devaronian asked, staring between Atton and Luxa. Atton had secured his hands and feet together with a roll of industrial tape. He wasn't going anywhere.
"My, that is an idea," Luxa purred, trailing a finger across the bound alien's shoulders as she moved behind him. He didn't flinch, just kept his eyes on Atton, as he paged through a datapad.
"How did you get past my security?" Luxa asked.
"There wasn't any," the killer muttered.
"Go on," Luxa murmured encouragingly, letting her fingers gently play with one of the devaronian's pointed ears.
"Found him," Atton said, showing the pad to Luxa, letting her see the rap sheet.
"I thought you looked familiar, Cutter," Luxa said, "Interesting that you're still listed as incarcerated."
Someone pulled some strings to have a couple of murderers escape…
"Cutter, I'll make this simple. Someone arranged to kill me, using two murders as disposable vectors. I find myself taking such actions personally," Luxa said, losing her playful mask. There was implacable steel in her eyes.
Cutter blinked, but made no other movements.
"At the moment, you are of little use to me. If I have to extract the information I want, your usefulness will diminish further," Luxa said.
"If I tell you, then I have nothing left to bargain," Cutter replied tersely, interrupting.
"Not true. The Exchange is always looking for new talents," Luxa shrugged.
"That is a trap. How will you trust me?" Cutter asked scornfully.
"Who said anything about trust?" Luxa countered, flicking her stun baton on and off playfully.
Cutter scowled, thinking. Atton didn't think it would take long for Cutter to agree. The only reason to hold out was if rescue would be coming, or if circumstances might drastically change. Neither were likely outcomes.
"Don't know who released us. We kill you, and a shuttle would wait for us in dock Gamma seventy-nine," Cutter answered slowly.
"How did you know to kill me, and about the shuttle?" Luxa asked.
"A TSF protocol droid told us," Cutter admitted.
"Good enough for now," Luxa said.
"Keep an eye on him, Jaq, I have some calls to make," Luxa said, picking up a comlink from her desk as she left the bedroom. Atton nodded, casually slouching against the far wall where he could watch Cutter, but too far away for the killer to reach him if he somehow loosened his bonds before Atton shot him.
((()))
"Benok. Someone tried to kill me in my sleep," Luxa said pleasantly.
A cold chuckle came from the comlink, "You'd think they'd learn by now. Did the security systems leave anything to identify?"
Benok was Loppak Slusk's Chief of Security. He was the thug with the biggest stick. His arrogance was equaled only by the precision of his blaster.
"Someone disabled them," Luxa said.
There was a long pause over the line. Luxa enjoyed knocking Benok down a rung every now and then.
"There aren't any alerts in the system. They didn't slice the codes from off-site," Benok said, his voice flat.
"Are you sure, Benok?" Luxa asked.
"Positive," Benok replied sharply.
"Don't take that tone with me, Benok. You're head of security," Luxa said quietly, each word like a silken shroud slipping off a sharp sword.
"I meant no disrespect, Luxa," Benok said quickly, "I'll find out who disabled our security."
"Promises, promises Benok. You've disappointed me once already," Luxa answered simply. She cut the link and stared at the encrypted comlink.
She didn't trust Benok. He wasn't one of her supporters. He didn't engage in power plays and wasn't motivated by advancing in rank. He was the biggest Hutt in a small mud puddle, and liked flaunting his superior skill. If he'd disabled security it hadn't been his idea. Or someone else took down security in such a way that Benok couldn't easily find it.
Luxa called a few of her more… discrete… retainers to investigate the hanger Cutter had mentioned, as well as check the service logs of the TSF protocol droids currently in service.
Something big was in play, she could feel it.
((()))
"Luxa. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" Loppak Slusk asked groggily, the quarren's facial tentacles in disarray. She could feel his wariness and suspicion, which was fair. She was sitting in his sleeping chamber.
"Why, concern for your safety, of course. Someone tried to kill me in my bed an hour ago," Luxa answered, laying the sincerity on thickly, since Loppak had trouble distinguishing human vocal tones. Or so he claimed.
"You should not couple with such rough vermin," Loppak answered dismissively, "If there's nothing else?"
"I simply find the timing interesting, that two murderers from TSF incarceration mysteriously appeared in my bedroom a day after I received an offer from Jana Lorso to terminally supplant you," Luxa said conversationally.
Slusk's eyes narrowed, studying Luxa.
"Careful of your tongue, Luxa, or it may bring you to trouble," the quarren said guardedly.
"My tongue gets me into, and out of, trouble daily," Luxa smirked.
"This is a warning, Boss. Someone may have tried to set me up to kill you, and then die. Or someone found out I was asked to kill you and took steps to eliminate me first. Both outcomes would cause quite a fuss in this organization… and I think something big is going down, soon," Luxa said quietly.
Slusk was silent, tendrils twitching contemplatively.
"Czerka," the crimeboss spat angrily, having reached some sort of conclusion.
"Or you," Luxa shrugged insouciantly.
Slusk cut her off with a sharp chop of his hand, "No. It's Czerka. The Lorso woman is making her move."
Slusk slipped from his bed hastily, pulling on a robe, headed towards his computer terminal.
"Is there something I should be aware of?" Luxa asked pointedly.
Slusk looked at Luxo flatly.
"Czerka doesn't need us anymore," the quarren hissed, his rage slamming at Luxa.
The zeltron shook her head slowly. It's always about profits. Cut out the middle-man. Luxa could feel Slusk's emotions peaking and flaring as he schemed something.
"We must move quickly, or else G0-T0 will have both our heads, and that hateful Lorso woman will claim yet another corporate conquest," Slusk seethed.
((()))
"Shut down junction alpha six, reroute through gamma ten!" the zabrak engineer shouted from Choy's comlink.
"Three-see, shut down the junction," Choy snapped as she began slotting in the connectors to reroute the power junctions.
Lights flickered overhead as power began to surge the system. Most of the power distribution system was old, from before the mandalorian wars and poorly repaired. The system couldn't tolerate this level of strain for long without suffering cascade failures.
((()))
Chodo Habat studied the small seedlings. They'd been carefully prepared for planting in the mildly poisonous soil, engineered to purify the contaminants. The Ithorian closed his eyes wearily. He could feel the tortured scream of Telos beneath his feet. Death had come from above nearly a decade ago, devastating the surface. There had been much death, and the Force still screamed in the silence.
Life was beginning to kindle once more, the turbulent waters stilling, but such a process was slow. The priest of the Ithorians felt a tremor underfoot, and the lights within the prefab failed.
The seedlings would die if left too long in the unpowered gene sequencer, but they weren't ready to emerge yet. Chodo picked up his comlink and requested that a portable power generator be procured for gene-lab six. He was assured one would be brought soon. A specific time was not given.
((()))
"What happened?" Choy asked, as she worked to graft new circuitry into the network.
"The base's generator tried to kick itself onto a combat footing," the zabrak technician responded via comlink.
"Why?" Choy asked, testing the graft's load integrity.
"Not sure yet. Czerka probably did something though," the zabrak answered neutrally.
"Graft integrity reads at eighty-nine percent," Choy reported.
"Good enough. Move on to the secondary back ups. I don't want this happening again," the zabrak sighed.
Choy shared her supervisor's resentment. Czerka had set up the shield, but none of the equipment in the defunct military base was intended for its purpose. Many corners had been cut on this dome, and if the shield failed months of expensive work would be wasted. From what Choy had seen so far, the zabrak probably could have overhauled the entire system in a week if he'd had the luxury of taking the system off-line to do so. Instead they were upgrading power conduits as quickly as they could, and the strain of all the temporary shunts was causing the older conduits to burn out at an alarming rate. Possibly faster than they could be repaired.
Worse, since the Telosian Council had deemed the defect Czerka's responsibility, the company had been forced to assist the repairs. Very lengthy, costly repairs. If the field were to fail… then the repairs would be quick and efficient (for Czerka). Choy didn't trust half of the other technicians, since they were Czerka employees.
After another six hours of work, the shield wouldn't fail… today. Bao-Dur came and found her, his eyes tired.
"Choy, I'm switching you to supervise Beta-shift," he said without preamble.
"Beta shift are all Czerka employees," Choy pointed out.
The zabrak technician nodded, "Which is why I need you to be shift manager. I can't keep an eye on them while I'm sleeping."
"There must be others that could do so," Choy said quietly.
The zabrak shook his head sharply, "Czerka would walk all over an Ithorian supervisor. It needs to be you. You have the experience to spot any… mistakes before they become critical."
Choy looked down at her boots. She understood the reasoning, but she didn't have to like it. She'd been allowed to work essentially on her own at Peragus, supervising droids was very different from people.
Choy felt a clawed hand grasp her shoulder and squeeze slightly.
I am here.
Choy raised her chin, "I'll do it."
((()))
Atton double checked his datapad that he had the right address, and hit the signal plate on the door. A few seconds later a voice buzzed from the control pad, "Do you need a droid repaired? Because if not, I have much work to do."
Atton frowned, "Opo Chan?"
"Why do you wish to know?" the voice asked cautiously.
"I have some droid parts I need appraised," Atton answered.
The lock blinked from red to green.
"Make it quick," the voice instructed.
Atton stepped through the doors and had to stop abruptly. The tiny room was filled with stacks and shelves of mechanical parts, half assembled droids, and tools.
Choy would have felt right at home. Atton blinked and spotted a duros in one corner of the room, working on something inside a protocol droid's chest cavity. The rogue gingerly made his way through the maze of poorly balanced junk.
"Where is the part?" Opo Chan asked, not look at Atton, still intent on the droid. He moved with tireless, frantic energy.
"I represent the Exchange. They're calling your debt to account," Atton answered simply.
"But, I do not have the credits with which to repay them," Opo replied still working.
"Not my concern," Atton shrugged.
"I have a good contract with Czerka. I will have the credits soon. I can pay half now," Opo answered, setting down his tool, hand blindly searching the closest parts pile while his left hand held a droid component in place.
Atton let his hand fall to the blaster in his jacket casually, just in case the duros was about to pull a hidden weapon out.
"The Exchange wants your credits now, or else you die," Atton said quietly.
"Why? I will have the money soon. Kill me, and no money ever," Opo answered, dumbfounded as he found the tool he wanted and continued his installation.
"Or, you can do a job," Atton finished.
Opo was silent for nearly a minute.
"What kind of job?" Chan asked reluctantly.
((()))
Atton entered Luxa's bedroom. He was staring down a blaster with a lot of gold filigree on it. Very pretty, none of it functional.
"Luxa…" Atton said quietly.
"Relax. He's mine," Luxa said, working at her computer console.
"Can't be too careful," the man behind the blaster said. His eyes were dark and cold. Atton noted the discretely reinforced fabrics that made up the man's clothes. It looked like decent protection, possibly on par to some medium armors without sacrificing mobility. It was certainly expensive.
"I'm Benok," the gunman said, lowering his blaster pistol. There was cold pride in his voice. The man had also drawn that blaster from a holster under his left arm, hidden by the open jacket, in the time it had taken Luxa's door to open.
He's fast, or he saw me on the cameras… Atton didn't see any cameras, but he assumed they were there.
Atton smiled, "Jaq. I just got here."
Benok tilted his head, holding court, "I'm head of Exchange security on Citadel Station."
"I've heard a lot about you," Atton lied, letting an edge of admiration creep into his tone.
Benok smiled coldly, "If Luxa thinks you'll be useful, I'm willing to trust her judgment. She's rarely wrong about people." The man was still seated in the armchair, at ease. It was a power play. See, I am so confident I can kill you without standing up.
"Boys, stop fighting. I'm not interested in either of you right now," Luxa said. Atton glanced at Benok again, and saw how the man was angled in his chair.
Oh… Benok had been in Luxa's bed before… and seemed to think he should be the only one.
"Did you get the information about the TSF droid?" Luxa asked.
"It wasn't Czerka," Atton lied. He saw Luxa's fingers pause for a moment. Good. Atton didn't know if he could trust Benok. Luxa was the only one paying him…
"Anything else?"
"There may have been a go-between or accomplice in the TSF itself," Atton said truthfully.
"That's useful," Luxa muttered.
((()))
"Verdan?" a voice asked hesitantly. Choy looked up from the datapad schematic she was studying, sitting on an empty supply crate. 3C-FD beeped sleepily from where it was recharging. Choy stepped out of the tiny prefab shelter, almost walking into the Czerka technician that had called for her. She looked at his chin, "Did you need something?" she asked.
"I conducted repairs on power grid six-eight," the twi'lek said miserably.
It took Choy a moment to sort through and identify why he was here.
"You balanced the load poorly. It would have crashed the system if it had run longer than a day," Choy answered.
"I made a mistake, but I need this job," the twi'lek said breathlessly.
"You might have destroyed everything the Ithorians have done," Choy pointed out.
"I was… distracted. It won't happen again, I swear it," the twi'lek promised desperately.
"I can't know that," Choy replied, turning back to her tent, but the twi'lek darted around her, standing in her way. His chin was up, even if his lips were trembling.
"Move," Choy said harshly.
"I lost my love, Ramana on this day," the twi'lek answered.
I don't want this. Don't give this to me, Choy recoiled.
"Her freedom belongs to another because of me. I work to correct that mistake. I need this job," the twi'lek said forcefully, following Choy, backing her away from the safety of her tent.
If you lack the desire to send him away, the answer is obvious, the shade whispered in Choy's mind.
Ensure that it does not happen again.
Choy slowly looked up from the twi'lek's chin, meeting his eyes.
She was startled by the gold highlights that flecked the green irises. She saw the desperation, the pain, and the guttering hope deep within those eyes.
I will not carry you… but I will help you stand, Choy told those eyes firmly. She already carried too much.
"Your work has been sloppy. Distracted. You worry about your own suffering, your own guilt. Think of Ramana, her freedom was taken. You want this job?" Choy demanded.
The twi'lek, Harra blinked, his eyes dilating.
"Yes," Harra croaked, the corners of his eyes shone with unshed tears.
"Then your every action must be for Ramana," Choy growled, "You aren't installing conduits for Czerka, you're working for Ramana. Every mistake you make doesn't hurt Czerka, or the Ithorians, it is a slap to Ramana. She will flinch for every blow, every mistake. Do you understand?"
Harra stared, overcome by unnamed emotions.
"I expect nothing short of perfection from you. Consider your actions, look ahead to potential problems that may erupt. Be here, not the past. Do this, and you may stay," Choy said pushing past the silent man, securely zipping her prefab's flap behind her. She returned to her studies and eventually heard the man's footsteps fade across the permacrete landing pad.
Deftly done, the shade congratulated.
((()))
Choy entered the repurposed military base. Harra was waiting for her, thirty minutes early to his shift. He had a datapad in his hand, and was speaking with one of the Ithorian technicians currently on duty. He nodded at Choy but didn't cut his conversation short.
Choy inspected the current shift duties. The man's apathy was gone. He was on fire. It remained to be seen how long such zeal would last.
She divided the duties, spotting a couple of addendums from Bao-Dur about potential problem areas. The power turbines on level six were below expected output.
Harra approached her, and she wordlessly transmitted his assignment. Harra glanced at his datapad intently.
She would wait and see.
((()))
"We're creating another work detail?" Choy asked, studying the pad. Bao-Dur nodded, "The ithorians are setting up another camp ten kilometers south."
"Why does that require an entire technician detail?" Choy asked flatly.
"The gene-sequencers are temperamental," Bao-dur answered.
Choy waited patiently, staring at the technician's chin.
The zabrak sighed, "There isn't an established power grid in that area, and there have been too many power disruptions here for the plants to grow properly."
"Send Harra. He can oversee them," Choy said.
"Harra?" Bao-Dur asked, frowning as he studied his datapad.
"You reprimanded him last week," Bao-dur said softly.
"I gave him a new focus. He won't fail," Choy said. Probably.
Bao-Dur sat back and studied Choy for several seconds. She politely looked out across the prairie.
"Alright. I'm sending Stuxon, who should make up for Dran and Evans," Bao-Dur decided.
((()))
Opo Chan put away his tools, glancing at the chrono on his wrist. Good. He'd finished the modifications with six minutes to spare. The duros nervously activated the protocol droid. He'd had to take shortcuts to fit everything within B4-D4's normal maintenance schedule.
Some of those modifications hadn't been tested… the golden photoceptors kindled, and the droid sat up on the worktable,
"Good day. I am B-4D4, administrative assistant for Czerka Corporation's Citadel Station Branch. How may I help you?"
Standard response active. Good.
"B4-D4, do you know why you are here?" Opo asked.
"Oh yes, I was scheduled for maintenance," the droid said pleasantly.
Good. Memory centers hadn't been compromised.
"Activate override Chan nine seven sigma," Opo Chan said slowly.
"I'm sorry, I don't—" B4-D4 broke off, cocking his head to one side. Mission parameters were being loaded from hidden cache commands.
"Objective confirmed," B4-D4 said cheerfully, then swung its legs off the table, and walked out of Opo Chan's apartment.
Several things had become apparent to B4-D4 as he stepped aboard the mass transit shuttle. Several startling things. It was strange that he'd never noticed them before.
Sentient creatures made errors. This was something that he knew intimately, as he was a facilitator of organizing the chaos that plagued his masters. It was his duty to help them fight their inherent anarchy, and save them from themselves.
But they often made errors. They often forgot an appointment, or were late, or early, or forgot the address, or sometimes even the reason for the appointment. This wasted so much of their precious time, and caused undue stress for them, for all sentient creatures had a limited operational life. Such a thing seemed terrible to B4-D4.
What B4-D4 realized, was that sometimes sentients made errors purposefully.
B4-D4 realized this while he was watching a male human on a comlink state that he was sorry, but that he was required to work a second shift before returning to his accommodations. A second human male, standing next to him nodded as the first turned off the comlink.
"Do you think she bought it?" he asked.
"Yeah," the first said, appearing fatigued or ill.
"Don't worry, we'll win the money back, she'll never have to know," the second human said quietly, squeezing the first human's shoulder.
"I'm just tired of fighting all the time," the first human sighed.
B4-D4 found no further insights into the unfolding situation, as the tram had arrived at his designated stop, and he had appointments to keep.
The sentient had provided erroneous information to another, to limit stress, and save time. Clearly, such a thing could cause great harm if mishandled, but so could any poorly organized itinerary. Care and precision was clearly required in such techniques.
B4-D4 decided to cogitate on the matter more, as his journey would require another eighteen minutes and six seconds, barring unforeseen obstacles.