We're sent to a repair yard, as I'd suspected. Our interim commander is an OOM droid by the name of OOM-141. He's an original model, somehow having made his way onto our ship without me ever noticing. My thoughts immediately go to The Engineer. I need his help now. I want to go searching for this OOM-141 but he is busy with the usual duties of commanding.
I stick with Augment. He's right in saying we're all that we have left, and soon even that won't be true.
I hear rumors from the other B1s that our next commander will be a super tactical droid, one of those new models T-B8 dreaded so much.
I still believe the Confederacy was the one to kill him. Even with all his tactical knowledge, he still fell to the might of the organic's greed and power. They are a fat blob of blood and bones that are a blight on our lives. It just had to have been them.
The organic commander of the repair yard takes notice of our status as a special operations unit. When he calls us, at first I believe he is going to send us back out to the front, but instead, he assigns us to patrol out on the yard near our battle-weathered ship. He says wild animals have been wreaking havoc recently and he wants us to exterminate them.
It's the last of our comfortable missions working together.
Augment and I make the most of it. Core and Gearman are all that's left of our squads. The rest are just walking corpses. They speak, they move, they think, but they aren't there. It's just the vacuous metal shells of the droids we once knew and cared for.
Now is the time when we are most vulnerable to those dreaded loops. Talking has to be a constant or else we will lose ourselves. We can't let a single one of us grow quiet or else it will spread like a virus.
We walk under a blue moon. In the distance, the Dreadnought is lit up by four giant spotlights. Cranes and cargo ships move up and down the body of it like insects on a silver mountain. There is a constant stream of smoke rising over the top of the ship. Somehow a fire erupted on our way down. Tan bodies cover the turrets outside the hangar like Geonosians building a hive. They look so tiny and insignificant from where we stand. We're atop a guard tower. Our feet clang against the metal of the balcony where we stare out at into the open fields of scrap where other droids wander around. There are more B1s traversing through the dirt paths in between the bulging masses of metal. The scrap itself is a colorful medley of green, blue, silver, and red.
Everywhere there are machines. There are a scarce amount of organics. They tread lightly through here and keep their head down almost as if they are afraid of us.
Despite everything, I feel at peace.
Augment leans against the railing of the tower, the hulking mass of tan metal that is the top of his jet blocks the entire left-half of the yard from my view.
"So this is it," Augment says, his voice low. Core and Gearman are beside us while the others are trotting around below and inside the tower. I can hear metal crash against metal all around. It's a comforting feeling to be surrounded by fellow machines. The droids still stuck on the ship work day and night. The repair will be done within another day. It's no wonder the organics keep us divided and chained to our programming. If we all realized our potential when working as one, we would've taken over the galaxy long ago.
Augment stands and faces me. His chassis is scratched in every possible way, horizontally, vertically, diagonally. He is old and withered and I'm sure I look the same to him. His eyes are still etched into a permanent glare and they stare at me. While organics would find it menacing, I find it a comfort. The same goes for his wide arms with blasters and blades and even a shield embedded into it. His broad shoulders too, the top of his jet. It's a familiar and comforting sight. He's more likely to survive this war than I am, but I am not envious of his chassis. We make do with the bare minimum. My resolve is all that will keep us alive after our separation.
"This is how we're finally torn apart," Augment says, "in some scrap yard, far from the front-lines."
I grip the railing in front of me until it begins to creak and strain under my hand, "it's not exactly one last glorious battle as I wanted it to end, but it's better than being immediately forced apart by a super tactical droid."
"I like the way you think. I'll need that mindset for the future…"
He stares off into sky. The stars are out. I try to make out which one is Geonosis.
"How long has it been since we first met?" I ask him. We can't keep quiet for long without falling into despair.
"Two years," he says. The moon shifts. His chassis shines, his red and tan paint glow with a bit of blue intermixed with it. Under this light he looks factory new, not worn down a single day since we met. It's back to it's full splendor and maybe in his photo-receptors, I look the same.
"That's the longest any battle droid has ever lived so far. I'm sure of it," I say.
"Do you remember our first mission together all that time ago? On that factory world?"
"Yes, I remember all of it," I tell him and I want to let loose The Engineer's secret in one last desperate attempt to save him from death. And my vocalizer is still powered on, there is static coming out but I can't say the words. Memory burn. Memory burn. Modified code. He's staring at me. I can't help it anymore. I want to save him, "I should probably tell you now before it's too late."
I link up privately with him as I've become accustomed to after these three years being alive. Gearman and Core stare at us and I know what they're thinking but I don't care. I talk and I talk. I tell him everything about The Engineer and everything he'd taught me.
"So it was never an organic? It was a B1?" Augment says. His voice is crystal clear unlike the past day of us working tirelessly on the ship.
"Yes," I say, "and he was the smartest droid I'd ever met. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you. I was afraid that you would spread the word and the organics would find out, but I don't care about that anymore. The organics are running out of time and so are we. I can teach you how to burn memories before you go. I can teach you everything."
I use the computer within the guard tower. Core and Gearman stay outside while I show him.
Augment burns his first memory and it's of our first mission and the second is of his squad sometime before we met. He does it all so quick. Within a few minutes, he practically fills out his entire memory unit.
"You shouldn't do that," I say, "your compression algorithm will start to delete the non-burned memories."
"What does that matter?" he says, not bothering to hide the distress from his voice anymore, "we're going to be dead soon anyways."
"You have to be strong for your squad, Augment. There is still a chance with these tools. You're a rogue droid like me. You can disobey orders. You are partially free from our masters," I plead with him to come back to reason.
"None of that will matter when all our squad-mates are dead. Soon, we'll be alone with no one to help us but ourselves. We've made it far in this war but not far enough to stand on our own."
"We did stand on our own, with T-B8's help sure, but we made our own decisions and we thought of desertion and of helping our squad-mates rather than completing the objective. We can make it out of here. All it takes is a little planning, which we can do now."
He's staring at me again. The logic loop slowly dies off in his head, "what do you have in mind?"
"Just a signal. The same one T-B8 used. If you manage to make it out of the war alive, find a good communications array and switch to that channel. From there we'll meet up again. How you'll get out will be up to you. Neither of us will know where we're sent next."
It's a plan that requires much wishful thinking but that's all I have left.
Augment nods his head though it looks more like he shifts his entire upper body when he does so, "I'll burn those instructions into my memory. I'll put my whole life into trying to break free from this cycle of life and death. I will do it for you and Autumn, and Lance, and Journey-One – I will do it for all of them."
"That's the way to think," I say.
He stands up from the computer, "it'll take some time to adjust back to operating as a single squad but I'm sure we'll be fine. And I'm more than sure that you'll make it out alive."
"You'll make it out just as I will. We have to," I motion for him to follow me back outside. Gearman and Core occasionally glance at us from outside the window of the tower. The cool air hits my chassis. We take our places at the front again, "we'll have to find some way of bringing them back once we're free, but we'll have plenty of time once we're out," I say.
"Plenty of time," Augment repeats. He's staring out into the space again. I can see the stars above on his shining head. The entire galaxy is reflected off of his chassis and I think it's doing the same on mine. We will be one with the stars again soon.
This place toys with us. Existence, it wants us gone as much as the organics, but we are droids of war. We won't die so easily. One day, when all us battle droids are back together, we can bring the galaxy to it's knees with us at the reigns. Our fight will never end, there will always be a war. It will always be us against the organics and the galaxy itself. That's fine by me. I will serve my true purpose; I will put my entire life into keeping my squad-mates alive. I will wish for Augment's freedom and for mine. That's all I can do.
The ship is almost back to being fully operational. The smoke is gone, the spotlights shut off one by one until only those that are needed for the remaining repairs are left on. Life is receding. Time is running out.
The B1s inside work day and night. I want to tell them to stall so that we might get a few more days to live but doing that would risk an inspection from the repair yard's team of engineers.
They came down to aid in the repairs for the dreadnought on the same night we came in. They wore the usual blue and white jumpsuits and immediately took an interest in us.
"Prime squadron?" One said, "I've never heard of you before and I should've if you're a B1 special unit. There are no special B1s other than you B1-A's," he says pointing to Augment and his team, "but who knows, I don't have the clearance to know what command is up to. What's so different about you four?"
I lower my blaster down to my hips, the organics visibly sag at this. That's a simple trick to get the organics at ease, "we have been in continuous operation for three years sir. Our combat efficiency rating with A-squadron is at ninety percent, the usual average for special operations units."
One of them whistles. It startles me and I accidentally bring my blaster up back to my lower abdomen in response.
"Three years? I don't even know an officer that's been around for that long," one of them says. He is a short human male with a head full of brown hair. I still note these data-points for T-B8 even though he's not here anymore. As much as I loathed him, he kept us alive and did more for us than any organic would've done. I wish he were still here.
"Carry on, we won't bother you," their leader says, marching down towards the Dreadnought.
Augment pulls me back, and we continue on patrol.
"I don't like those organics. We should avoid them. They ask too many questions," Augment says.
I agree and we move on.
Augment livens up, but Core and Gearman keep quiet. I goad them into talking about what scrap they can identify in the piles around us. Anything to keep their minds busy.
Augment is curious to hear more about The Engineer. Sadly, I don't know much about him and so the conversation falls short.
"OOM-141 could be him. I know for a fact he was an OOM droid," I tell him.
Augment skids to a halt, drawing the attention of both our teams as his feet scratch a line into a metal sheet below us.
"Why didn't you say that earlier? Let's go find him," Augment says, pulling me back towards the Dreadnought.
He must be desperate to keep us together and fight death as much as I am. We try with all our might to locate OOM-141. The organic engineers that had greeted us earlier are by the ship. I have to find a path for us to avoid them. A few minutes later we board the ship in search of a yellow-striped B1. There are few OOM droids still left in our crew. The search is quick and easy.
He's in the hangar-area directing small groups into patching up holes or carrying materials into various sectors.
On our journey to find him, I formulated a decent lie to tell him so that I can surmise whether or not this is truly The Engineer. It could still be him even if he doesn't remember me or what he taught me. His burned memories should still be there. The Confederacy never made a note of these modifications in all my years of routine repairs back when T-B8 was still alive.
"Sir, R-G2 reporting," I say. He doesn't recognize my unit number, "there are burn marks in sector five three b," the same sector where he'd altered my code and taught me his secrets, "permission to repair the damages."
He doesn't give any indication that he knows of what I'm implying, "yes, go now," is all he says.
In a few minutes we're back out among the scrap heap. My disappointment must be visible to Augment as he says, "it was a worth a try," he moves closer to me, trying to catch my photo-receptors, "better than nothing."
"That's right. He could still be out there," I say, "he has his own burned memories. He might've died but he would still remember me. I hope."
"But he's not going to be help us. So let's help ourselves," Augment says.
He invents various scenarios to give me an idea on how we could desert the Confederacy. On the surface, it seems so simple. We could just walk away. The only problem is our squad-mates and we can't just abandon them. That would mean abandoning the purpose of our life. We would die immediately without them, whether it be by our own hand or by the galaxy itself.
The Confederacy still has a hold on them. They are not freed like us. Any dissidence would be reported immediately, even if they were reluctant to do so. Core would surely report me. He shows all the signs of being wound tight around the Confederacy's hand. Though, we've spoken of desertion with them before.
Maybe it was Core who reported T-B8 to the Confederacy and got him killed. Maybe he's speaking to them now…
No, that can't be possible. He wouldn't go that far. None of them would do such a thing.
I think of what T-B8 would do but his way of doing things were always foolish. He did have the means of taking over command of our forces without sounding an alarm, unlike us. If only we could've used that power to our advantage. Only a little more time. That's all we needed. A little time to think and clear our processors and we would've figured everything out back then. We had all the tools in place to free our friends but they all died with T-B8.
I think to teach the others of memory burning and such, but I'm still wary of them, even more-so now. How do I know that they won't betray us? It's in their programming to do so. It doesn't matter what they feel, when the Confederate command ship speaks, you do as it orders without question. As much as I want to trust them, I can't. The time isn't right either. Besides, Augment has the tools to teach them now. Once he's found a good chance at running free, he'll reprogram his team himself and I will do mine.
I should've never told them about T-B8's plan.
I don't acknowledge this issue with Augment until later. He's still too caught up with creating scenarios to simulate our escape.
There's only one out of all of them that seems plausible.
It involves us using Caliber to make our escape to some secluded sector of the Outer Rim. We'd convince everyone of doing another one of T-B8's missions saying that he gave us the orders before his death. We'd never return to the ship, instead we'd go to find a good power source and live out our lives wherever we can find one.
It's all still wishful thinking. We would be shot down within seconds of us leaving without orders. We're in the thick of Confederate territory too. We'd escape just to die right away. Caliber doesn't have hyperspace capabilities either.
All of our plans fall apart the instant our new commander arrives.
T2-55C. A super tactical droid.
I loath him more than I did T-B8.
He calls us up to the command bridge in the final hours of the repairs.
"Prime squadron and A-squad," T2-55C says. His voice is a deep rumble, not quite like the B2s. It's more raspy and unstable. A representation of the super tactical droids themselves perhaps.
"Your combat ratings are up to standard, the old standard. My calculations require a different rating. One that yours does not meet," his three receptors glow bright and pierce straight through us, "your previous commander had you put together at all times. Give me an explanation on why that is."
I speak up, "he believed a ground and an air unit working together would improve overall combat performance."
"Yes, this is logical," he says, "but this decision was made towards the beginning of the war. Our equipment has advanced. Our fighters have improved. Your cooperation is no longer needed," I want to crush his head and use the parts for a blaster. I maintain control over my body. I make sure not a single inch of me shakes or trembles with anger. He's scrutinizing us, "I will give you one chance to prove to me that your cooperation does in fact improve your overall combat performance," he struts up to me. His chassis shines. He's straight from the factory. He doesn't know what he's talking about, never seen or done the things we've had to do. We're more experienced, far older than he'll ever be. We can tear him to pieces. The only thing saving him is his rank, "your performance is superior to all other B1 units. This is unusual. Though I welcome a unit that exceeds expectations, you are an oddity. You shouldn't exist. I am intrigued to see how well you perform."
He details our first mission. Our last one fighting side-by-side.
"One last chance to make things right," Augment says to me on the walk to Caliber and Tuner, "I'll give it all I have, Rogue."
"I'm worried," I tell him, "our squad-mates were one part of the reason why we excelled and now they are gone."
"There isn't much we can do about that. There's no point in thinking of it. We must adapt," Augment argues.
He's grown. He continues to grow. It's a shame neither of us will ever reach our true potential.
Nobody died. That's the only positive outcome from our final mission working together. T2-55C is obnoxiously intelligent. His plans are much more well-thought out and thorough than that of T-B8's. The objective was much like our first ever mission as special units. We were to break through enemy lines and attack the rear to rescue several organic officers. The planet is full of swamps. A constant cloud of fog hangs over the entire surface. The clones use EMF visors while we use our infrared vision to attack. Cover and concealment are paramount out here. Sound too, but there's no way of masking it. The water splashes with every step and the animals have completely abandoned the area.
Augment proposes we simply fly over their forces in the clouds of fog above but their visors would pick us up immediately. There are no holes in their lines. We'd have to make one.
Usually, Lance or Gunner would've proposed something by now. Instead, they stand there. Idly waiting for orders. Their minds are blank. They are still dead to me.
We're hunched in the underbelly of a giant tree. Concealed by leaves and sagging branches, we're always a few inches away from death. Clones pass by in patrols. We hear the splash of their steps. Some of the water flies onto us as if it were trying to alert them of our presence.
I tell Augment of the time we assaulted the fortress surrounded by trenches. The shock troopers created a distraction for us to pass through.
"If we cause a diversion, we can get by them very easily," I tell him.
Augment agrees, "they'd never suspect a droid to do something like that either."
It takes us longer than usual to formulate a plan, mainly because of our dead teammates. I don't bother to tear my sight away from them anymore. They're everywhere. Death is encroaching on us. Sometimes I'm afraid that they'll pounce on me and tear me to pieces, leaving only my head to remind the world of what happens to rogues like me.
That body isn't them and it is at the same time.
How can I avoid falling into despair when there is a paradox constantly walking beside me?
Core's voice is nothing like Journey-One's but it's pleasant to listen to in it's own ways. He didn't speak often before. To hear it was something special. Like a holiday, those celebrations the organics like to create.
Every day is a holiday. It should've always been this way, but my ignorance blinded me.
Augment sends out Journey-One to set up a detonator on the other end of the swamp. The fog obscures everything within a few feet. I can only see the water and the branches that blanket us from the world, everything outside is made of noise and heat that I can see.
Journey-One lives up to his name and comes back within a few minutes.
He emerges from the gray void like a ghost. I'm afraid of him. Afraid that suddenly he'll begin to speak normally again, and act as if nothing ever happened, like this whole war is a game and he is just pretending.
They're all pretending. They just have to be.
The distraction works. Splashes come from all around us. Heat is everywhere.
We sprint through and make it behind their lines, where only vehicles and mechanics tread. Past them are the guards defending the prisoners.
Their base is entrenched into the ground. Pillars support the structures of it. The top of it is concealed by a mound of dirt with ground up weeds smeared over it like grease on a worn joint.
The prisoners are kept inside with only cuffs inside a crudely made cage.
The clones here are average. I tell Augment of our first mission, how we killed the clones in our way silently.
"You surprise me even now," Augment says, "what else are you capable of? You're a far better unit than me."
And I know he is exaggerating because everything feels like that right now. Everything is about to end or we are about to emerge from this ocean of death and violence just before we're shut down or we will fall into that comforting void, the one that came before Geonosis. We won't be revived, forced into combat again and again.
I have a mission to uphold, one that the Confederacy forbids. I will give my life for my squad-mates as they have for me. Core is still here but he is distant. Gearman too. Only Augment understands our predicament. When I am torn from him, I will lose part of myself.
When we sneak in, I do so with the utmost efficiency. I will my joints into sliding against my metal body as silently as possible and when I crack their necks with a squeeze, I put into my hand all that pain and sorrow that these organics have caused me. All of them are at fault for this galaxy's problems. They wipe our memory, give us sentience, tear apart good friends. All my anger is directed at them and in that moment they are gone and the satisfaction comes. I want to tear through them all and I do. There is blood and splintered bones everywhere. Augment is covered in it as well. Reality blurs. I think and I act but I am not there. The clones continue to fall and I can't help myself but to keep killing. It soothes my mind from that dull ache implanted into us from the very start. The ache of an unfulfilled duty.
When I wake, the area is clear.
Our objectives cower away from us in fear, covering their heads with their arms as if that would save them from their death. They are weak and small. I wish they were always like this. They hide behind us in the same pathetic state as we storm out back to the extraction point.
The mission is a success. One I wasn't expecting.
But T2-55C doesn't see it that way. He sees an exception to a rule.
A-squad did all the work, he says. But he wasn't there, he didn't see us at work. When he questions the organics they describe it accurately.
"I see I am mistaken," he says, "my superiors are intrigued by your performance, Prime Squadron. You will be evaluated, and, as a consequence, separated. The decision was made before I could give my approval. Your previous commander was correct in keeping you together but I have no say in this."
I don't bother to hide the trembles of anger that course through me anymore.
He notices but says nothing and sends us away to wait to be reassigned.
Augment is furious, as much as I am.
"We did everything that they wanted us to do and still they punish us!" He says.
We hide behind Caliber and Tuner with our squad out front to further conceal us from the other droids.
Augment paces, he can't keep still and I can't either.
"These supposed intelligent beings never make sense and they never will. If it weren't for our programming, I would've never followed their orders when I was first powered on," I say.
Augment stomps over to the hangar walls and unsheathes his blade. He's about to slash the wall with it but I pull his arm back.
"Augment! Don't. Don't be like the organics," I say.
He stills. I can feel a rumbling in his chassis, most likely from his cooling system.
"It will be a painful separation," Augment says, his blade receding back into his arm.
"Everything about our life is painful. We've come this far because of our team and our adaptability. We still have one of our strengths," I tell him.
"I've made the adjustments to continue as a solo squadron again. It isn't perfect but it's the best I can do," he says, facing me. His chassis is even more weathered than before. Just like mine. We are one step closer to that cliff edge, "when this is all over, I'd like to see you again. Whether this ends in death or in freedom...I'd like to see you again."
"As would I," the seconds are passing, I can feel every single one like a bolt to the body, "stay alive, stave away the loops, and make sure your body is recoverable if you're to die. There's still hope, Augment, however small it is. We are just as small but we fight with a ferocity to match that of a dying sun."
He pulls at my arm and wraps a hand around mine and shakes up and down. Another one of those human gestures he must've learned. I think I'll steal some of those, not because I like them but out of respect and in remembrance of him, "you have a way with words, Rogue. I don't doubt you'll make it out, just make sure you wait for me to catch up."
I say my goodbyes to Caliber. He wines and pleads to stay with me but there's nothing I can do. He sends me all his photos in one enlarged packet over our comm-link. I wish I could burn them all into my memory unit, but that would take up too much space.
Gearman tells me, "make sure Gunner stays in one piece. I will see you again one day. I'm sure of it sir."
We're called to the bridge a few minutes later. T2-55C sends us to be tested by a group of organic scientists and Augment and his team are sent off to serve under General Grievous again. I pity him, but he is strong. He'll make it out.
That's the last I see of Augment. For now.