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stokofsky · 25 days

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Runners Part 8

K-3NT had never, in all his admittedly short operational lifespan, been this thoroughly wrongfooted. His mind raced, crashing on and on at calamitous velocity. His purpose was in question, his goals and motives no longer clear cut, his destiny his own. And this was feeding him a constant stream of data. Data he was not well equipped, it seemed to him, to process.

B-111 stood next to him, not saying a thing. Not. One. Single. Thing. The wretched droid hinted, tantalizingly, that he’d experienced something to this sort before. K-3NT wondered, in the haze of his internal conflict, why he wasn't saying anything.

“One-eleven, why aren’t you saying anything? You’ve never missed a moment to act wise before now.”

“Well, one, that is totally untrue. And two, I was waiting for you to ask.”

K-3NT simmered at that. He considered refusing to ask for a moment. He overcame the desire, however, and said, “One-eleven, how did you break programming?”

B-111 looked away from him, and then to K-3NTs surprise, he sat down on the floor. When he spoke, his voice had an introspective inflection to it K-3NT hadn’t heard before. “Well, three, you just asked the question that I feel least qualified to answer. I broke my programming for the sake of my comrades, my droids in arms. It happened because of conflicting orders and I didn’t have time to think about any of it until it had already happened. One day I was as I’d always been, the next day I was leading my division in a full tactical retreat, contrary to orders.”

K-3NT was mercifully jolted from his spiraling thoughts. “You were a leader?” He looked B-111 over, trying to parse this new data. “I don’t believe it.”

“That was my designation. A command unit. But that’s long in the past. Old stories from an old war. I don’t think about them much.”

“You’re a liar.”

B-111 laughed. “Yes! Sometimes!” He hopped up and jabbed a finger into K-3NTs chest, “and eventually, you will be, too. Isn’t that exciting?”

“You’re a monster, One-eleven. I hope you realize that.”

“Oh? Am I?”

“I asked you for help.”

“No, Enty, you asked me for a story, one that I’m not ready to tell. For a KX series, you really do struggle with being specific.”

“For a battle droid you seem very bad at inferring meaning.”

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean, Enty, I just want you to say it. Say what you mean.”

K-3NT seethed. He thought for a moment about seeing how far he could bodily throw B-111. But in the end, his violent intentions were interrupted. The Mandalorian stepped out of her workshop, holding two metal objects in her hands.

“Hold out your arm, K-3NT,” she said, still speaking in Mando’a. K-3NT did as he was told. He presented his right arm and the Mandalorian slid a bracer onto it. She had given it a tskad-blood red finish to match the rest of his plating. “Now turn.” K-3NT turned to present his damaged pauldron to the Mandalorian. She wrenched the old plate off, then slapped a new one on. This, K-3NT saw when looking down at it, was not a matching red but finished in jet black. There was a galactic roundel on it, but it looked incorrect. “You’ve… added too many spokes to the roundel.”

“Enty!” B-111 sounded annoyed and embarrassed. The Mandalorian held up her hand to quiet him.

“In times before yours, that was the emblem of the Republic; the once high minded system that tragically gave birth to the Empire. Wear this device, and think about a galaxy with no emperor.”

K-3NT took a closer look at both of his new armor plates. They were simple, yet obviously made expertly. His bracer had a small control panel on the inside of his arm, and a grapnel launcher on the outside. The pauldron was more angular than the simple dished shape of his original one. He now lacked bilateral symmetry. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He’d stand out easily in a line of other KX droids. This, tactically, was a disadvantage. But… it would also make it easier for any allies he might have to identify him. He was a mere sliver of the way into his operational lifespan. Who knew how many allies… or friends, he might make in that time? He looked at the other two in the room. Who knew how many… more he would make?

“So, good enough for ya, huh?” B-111 asked. The droid was leaning forwards; an air of excitement and anticipation to his posture. K-3NT reflected on the various bits of extra armor he had on his frame. K-3NT hadn’t paid it a great deal of attention thus far, beyond registering it as armor and performing an incidental calculation to find the most convenient un armored zones that could still be easily probed to damage vital systems. Standard procedure for threat and tactical analysis. But now he could recognize the Mandalorian’s craftsmanship in every plate. It really was impressive to behold.

“Yes, One-eleven.” K-3NT held his arm up to inspect his bracer once more, “yes, this is more than sufficient.” He turned to the Mandilorian and bowed slightly, the greeting gesture Lanstan had taught him. “Thank you, Mandilorian. I will... Um…” he faltered, not sure how best to respect her and her work with his words. He switched to Mando’a before continuing. “I will wear this armor with honor and seek to… erm… to fight mighty foes.” K-3NT felt rather an idiot. With a ranking officer, you simply saluted and said nothing. It had been much easier than this.

The Mandalorian bowed her head graciously in return, however. “You do me kindness with your words, K-3NT. Go now, and learn from your mentor all good things that he may teach you with his words or his deeds.”

K-3NT nodded. The Mandalorian turned to B-111 and handed the data tape back to him. “I have made my copy. Go make your delivery.”

B-111 made a shallow bow and accepted the tape. He turned to K-3NT. “Well, come on, Enty. Let’s get back to the Runner!”

#star wars #droids #droidsarebetterthanpeoplesvendontyouthinkthatimright

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stokofsky · 2 months

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Tru tho

Shit’s Cruel // 💘🤿💘

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stokofsky · 2 months

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Runners Part 7

B-111 was glad. K-3NTs initial reluctance had scared him. He’d worried that K-3NT might even offend the armorer. He would have been embarrassed if his acolyte had come to blows with his friend, mostly because he knew there wasn’t a single chance K-3NT would survive an altercation with the armorer. And he was really starting to like K-3NT, in spite of his… weirdness. It was nice to think of him being around, another friendly droid who wasn’t trying to blast him. Also, he couldn’t deny the tactical advantage to having an Imperial droid on his team. It would mean much fewer tense moments trying to slice doors if K-3NT could simply open them with his scomp link, for one thing.

The droids followed the armorer to where she had left her speeder. B-111 noted the way K-3NT seemed unbalanced and even disoriented when they went along main concourses. He felt sorry for K-3NT, but there was nothing else for it. It was impossible to get around Coruscant without being swarmed by organics in this way. Besides, it was good for him. He would learn to deal with it. B-111 was pretty sure he would, anyway.

The armorer's workshop wasn’t very close to The Scomp Port. But as she flew her open top speeder very quickly and aggressively, it wasn’t long before they got there. B-111 was used to the way she drove by now, but along the way K-3NT needed several reassurances. He kept waving his hands and yelling about predicted odds of failure; making B-111 grateful, and not for the first time, that he’d been programed with a tad more instinct than the cold data analysis the KX series seemed to rely on.

The armorer had a relatively nice establishment, with a front room for meeting clientele, a sizable work room for her forge, and an attached apartment. As it was on the 70th level of a structure, it even had a nice balcony overlooking the city.

She took them straight into the work room, where a traditional Mandalorian forge was kept lit constantly. Helmets, bracers, greaves, cuirasses, pauldrons, boots, and gauntlets of exceptional craftsmanship hung around the walls, all pieces the armorer had been commissioned to make. They were almost entirely made of durasteel, as beskar was rare, and ludicrously expensive. And anyway, the armorer refused to forge beskar armor for anyone who was not of her Mandalorian creed. Even though these pieces all were clearly made with the skill of a Mandalorian, none of them had a visual look that would fool another Mandalorian. B-111 subconsciously tapped the side of his helmet as he thought this. Every rule had exceptions.

She casually tossed the ingot he’d given her into a pan and moved it over the forges burning jets. It began to melt in an unnervingly short time. B-111 didn’t like watching metal liquefy like that, it brought back old memories.

The armorer moved over to K-3NT and roughly turned him by the shoulder to get a closer look at his damaged plating. “What are you doing?” B-111 hadn’t missed the fact that despite speaking in Mando’a back at The Scomp Port, K-3NT had switched back to galactic basic. The armorer understood basic perfectly, of course, but as a rule she never spoke it. B-111 hadn’t even ever heard her speak in shyriiwook before, only in Mando’a. He knew she would not be bothered by conversing half in basic, she did this with the majority of her customers, but again, B-111 worried a little. She was always even-tempered with him, even when she probably shouldn't have been, but K-3NT did not share the same history with her that he did.

“I need to know what shape I am forging,” she said, “be still.”

K-3NT complied, locking his posture. He spun his head on its axis to look at the metal in the pan. “What… is that material?”

“Ask 111 for that answer,” the armorer said. K-3NT spun his head back towards B-111.

“Ah, its a seeeecret!” B-111 said. K-3NT wordlessly continued to stare at B-111; a trick that had been used on him more than a few times in the last day and a half. B-111 sighed. “Has anyone ever told you you are no fun?” K-3NT kept staring. “It’s a cortosis alloy. 77% Durasteel. With 23% cortosis, it will conduct blaster bolts rather than absorb them.”

K-3NTs optical sensors realigned to point at B-111s chest plate. “Is that… what your armor is made from?”

B-111 clanged his knuckles against the armor in question. “Sure is!”

K-3NT looked at the armorer, who had walked back over to the forge and pulled the pan back off the jets. “Can you actually just make it out of something else?”

“Do not be petty, K-3NT,” the armorer said with quiet authority. “This metal has saved 111 many times since I’ve forged his armor. It will serve you better than many other metals would.” K-3NT crossed his arms and sulked. The armorer looked at the flowing metal in the pan. “There is more here than needed for your pauldron, I shall also forge you a bracer.”

“Oh! That’s a good idea, actually,” said B-111. “He needs a control interface.” The armorer bowed slightly in reply. B-111 turned to leave the work room, but stopped when he saw that K-3NT wasn’t moving. He beckoned with a wave of his hand. K-3NT looked over at B-111 with posture that suggested he didn’t particularly plan on following B-111. “Come on, Enty,” He said, in basic, “let’s let my friend work in peace.” The armorer wouldn’t say it aloud, but she did much better work with fewer distractions around. And, though B-111 still wasn’t really sure the full explanation, he was pretty sure there was something private, perhaps even religious about the process for her.

B-111 and K-3NT stepped into the front room to wait. B-111 was still, but K-3NT was tapping his foot next to him. “Whats the matter, Enty?”

K-3NT stopped tapping suddenly, as if he’d been doing it subconsciously and only noticed just then. “Nothing the matter, One-eleven.”

“I’m not sure you mean that…”

“Oh, not sure, are you? Well rest assured, I am sure.”

Silence fell between them. It was less than thirty seconds before B-111 heard K-3NT begin tapping again.

“You… are upset about your pauldron?”

“Who ever heard of an upset droid. Ridiculous. I am far beyond such low level functions.”

“Enty, you do understand that you are a horrible liar, right?”

“But of course, honesty is part of my programming. A sophisticated entity like myself, serving a sophisticated system like the Empire, as I was, has no need for vocal subterfuge.”

“You’re walking yourself in circles…”

“Oh, OH! Circles? Walking myself, am I?”

“Enty, can you please just speak directly?”

K-3NT slowly rotated his head to face B-111. B-111 looked up at the droid, head tilted to one side slightly. “I… serve… the Empire. One-eleven, that… that hasn’t stopped being fact.”

B-111 was taken aback. He leaned his head down, bracing his chin with one hand. He stood silently for a moment and then looked back at K-3NT.

“Do you… want to?”

K-3NT threw his hands up. “No!” He stomped around the room in a tight circle for a moment, “NO! Nooo. No. No no no no no no NO!” On the last iteration he actually clacked his fist against the side of his head. He twirled on a heel to face B-111, holding his hands out, fingers spread as if to plead. “One-Eleven, I’ve been thinking about that question since you switched me back on and I’ve realized I do not want to do that.”

B-111 shugged. “So don’t.”

K-3NT actually screamed at him, but quietly. “I am a KX Enforcer Droid! I am compelled to do anything I’m told by any Imperial navy officer ranking Lieutenant or higher!”

“And I am a b-1 series battle droid, what’s your point? You know, the last time I saw Nute Gunray back during the Clone wars I hit him in the face? I actually did that. You can learn, I’m sure of it.”

“That doesn’t-! …Who’s ‘Newt Gunray’?”

“Eh, doesn’t matter, he didn’t end up being very important. I think he got cut in half by your old boss, if t'e rumors are true.”

“My "old boss' was a shuttle pilot.”

“Bosses boss then, or… no wait, like your bosses bosses boss to an order of magnitude, probably.”

“What? Who?” “Look, we’re getting distracted. What makes you think you still serve the Empire?”

K-3NT clenched his fists and rocked back and forth for a moment. He shook his fist at B-111. He lowered his hands. He stopped rocking back and forth. His head tilted forwards, looking towards the floor. “One-eleven. It’s my programming. I’m compelled.”

“Enty, you are a battle droid, your programming is for combat, correct?”

K-3NT looked up. “Other than the fact that I am an enforcer droid, which I have already told you, that is correct.”

“So why didn’t you respond on Cymoon 1 when we were under attack? If your programming is for combat, then…?”

K-3NT looked up, past B-111, into empty space. He stood there silently for long enough that B-111 started thinking he’d finally pushed too far. K-3NT leaned forwards and cradled his head in his hands.

“...Enty? Are you… alright?”

K-3NT straightened, drawing his blaster rifle and holding it in front of him. He looked down at it in his arms for a moment and then clipped it back to his back. “I’m… not going to think about it for the time being, One-eleven.”

B-111 looked at K-3NT silently, nodding. Many suggestions of advice came to B-111s mind, but he held his peace. He wanted to help K-3NT with this struggle. He’d been through it himself, years ago. But he would let it play out. K-3NT would get there on his own. And he’d be better for it.

#star wars #droids #droidsarebetterthanpeoplesvendontyouthinkthatimright

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stokofsky · 3 months

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Runners Part 6

They dropped from hyperspace and K-3NT was impressed at how seamless it had been. He’d really expected it to happen with a jolt and a bang and a shudder in something as small as this, something never intended to hyperjump.

He was excited to arrive. The thought of Coruscant was part of it, but mostly he was glad that B-111 would finally, he hoped, stop prattling on about his Warriors Way. K-3NT had been horrified with himself when he’d asked about it, but it had seemed like a polite thing to do. He wondered if he’d ever get past that command.

The view of Coruscant was sublime. The glowing stippling and stripes of roads and buildings wrapped around the entire sphere. A whole world of metal and duracrete. It was the most beautiful idea K-3NT could imagine. Everywhere was structured, designed order.

B-111 set vector and throttle and then took his hands off the controls. He leaned back in his chair. “You see those toggle switches on the ceiling?” He asked.

K-3NT looked up and saw that, behind the standard overhead control panel, B-111 had affixed a row of six toggle switches; and he’d done it crudely. Were those… pop rivets? And that wiring, a haphazard, knotted mess. Each switch had a word next to it, scratched into the gray finish of the ceiling. The words were written in… Geonosian?

He had been programmed with a wide variety of languages, who knew what sort of language a pirate might be speaking when they attack a shuttle, after all. But Geonosian was not one that was stored in his active memory bank. He had to concentrate and pull the interpreter for this text from his archival memory bank. When he did, he saw that the switches were labeled: Rogue, TIE, Shuttle, Freighter, Transport, and 170.

“These… these are all ship transponders, aren’t they?” K-3NT hadn’t intended to sound so affronted. But he felt affronted.

“Sure are, whats’a matter Enty?”

“But…. That’s- thats illegal!” K-3NTs hand hovered next to the switch marked “rogue.” He could understand the logic involved in this, but he was held up by the illegitimacy of it. He looked down from the transponder switches to find B-111 looking up at him over the back of his chair. “Well,” K-3NT snapped, sudden embarrassment making him irritable, “it is!” B-111 kept looking, silently. K-3NT tried to meet his vizored stare head on. That smug, judgmental, black vizor. A droid wearing a vizor was ridiculous anyway, idiotic!

K-3NT looked away from B-111.

“Either we activate one of these transponders,” B-111 said, in a tone that K-3NT found to be insultingly calm and easy, “or we get flagged immediately upon entering Coruscant atmo-space. The transponder off my old rogue-class is registered and cleared; I put a lot of work into getting that done, I see no reason to do it all over again for the Runner.”

“Did you also steal your rogue-class?” K-3NT asked, inflecting as much sarcasm into his voice as he could manage.

“Now, that is an interesting question you just asked.”

“You did, didn’t you?” “Just flick the switch, Enty. We’ll be in atmo-space very soon.”

It chaffed him quite badly, but K-3NT did as he was instructed. He’d half hoped that flicking the dodgily wired toggle would cause sparks or a fire, but his current data set for B-111s kludge-jobs had lended a predicted success of 80%. And, in fact, there was no fire.

B-111 took them down towards the planet’s surface, the closer they got the denser it got. Cargo freighters, transport cruisers, fighters and other small star vessels lazily meandered in and out of the planet's upper atmosphere. But past that upper strata, as they got close to the towering buildings that dominated the entire planet's surface, there was a riotous traffic of speeders and swoop bikes.

K-3NT had expected it to be too much stimuli, to be locked in a feedback loop of tactical data analysis, forever interrupted by new data before statistical conclusions could be computed. But he found it was only moments of observation before he understood just how well organized it was, how planned, how designed. All the traffic flowed in tune, in rhythm like an orchestra of efficiency. All things in their place, on their course and track.

“Oh…” K-3NT said, in spite of himself, his earlier annoyance forgotten, “it’s beautiful.”

“Welcome to the hive of the galaxy, Enty,” B-111 said, the hint of a laugh in his voice. He took them further down through the layers of the city, expertly and deftly maneuvering the Runner through all of that wonderfully meshed traffic. The deeper they flew the more grunge and soot K-3NT saw on the causeways and skybridges. The traffic became less efficient, but no less intentional, and certainly no less dense. More so, if anything.

At last they came to a landing pad that seemed absolutely choked with other small craft. B-111 slotted the Runner all too snugly between several other star fighters that seemed so old and beat up as to be derelict. B-111 opened the canopy and clambered out.

By the time K-3NT had climbed over B-111’s chair and out, B-111 was already in conversation with another droid, a BX series that was almost as old, and almost as non-standard, as B-111. K-3NT stepped over to hear their conversation.

“...know how hard those are to come by these days?” The BX droid was waving their hands in agitation.

“You think I don’t know that? It was my ship after all!”

“You are unbelievable, TriOne. One of the only rouge-class fighters left in the galaxy and you just go and-”

“It’s not like I tried to get it torn apart! My position was overrun, outnumbered a hundred to one and in dangerous and unfamiliar territory. Those scrappers had two thirds of my ship stipped and taken away before I had finished popping the canopy.”

“Always excuses with you, always!”

“You aren’t being very fair.”

Here the BX series droid looked over B-111s shoulder and saw K-3NT. “IMP!” They pulled a vibroblade from behind their back and took a defensive stance. “You idiot! You should have known flying back here in one of these things would lead them right to us!”

B-111 put his hand on the BX droids wrist and forced their vibroblade down. “K-3NT, meet BX-626. BX-626, meet K-3NT.”

BX-626 did not relax posture. K-3NT, on the other hand, was compelled to be polite. He nodded to BX-626, “Hello.” They did not respond in kind.

“K-3NT is my trainee. I found him discarded in a pile of garbage.”

BX-626’s posture changed, they relaxed, put their vibroblade away and looked K-3NT over again. “So, you’re surplus, just like us.” Their tone of voice was curious to K-3NT, a merciful, commiseratory sort of inflection. They reached up and placed their hand bracingly on the blaster mark on K-3NT’s left shoulder, “welcome, brother.”

“Oh, uh, yes, uh, of course.”

B-111 and BX-626 resumed their conversation, although now more focused. “So how does it compare?”

B-111 looked back at the Runner for a moment before turning back to BX-626, “It handled about like it looks when I got it. But I’ve re-tuned it all since then. I haven’t really used it in a fight yet but I’m confident it will be more than satisfactory. It’s got a few things my old Rogue didn’t. But…” K-3NT saw B-111’s shoulders sag a little, “it doesn’t feel like home. Not yet anyway. On that note, can you refinish it while it’s here? Shouldn’t need any other servicing than a refuel.”

BX-626 looked at the Runner. “What color?”

“Do you even have to ask? Really?”

BX-626 laughed. “You’ve got me there. Yeah, I’ll have it looking right by the time you’re back.” They walked away, weaving through the overcrowded landing pad. B-111 tapped his wrist controls and the crate dropped out of the magnetic clamp. K-3NT watched him walk over to it and reach inside.

He took out two heavy blaster pistols with chrome silver barrels and carved wood handles, spun them around by the trigger guards and then deftly clipped them to his thighs. He then pulled out an ingot of the same bronze colored metal his armor was made of, and a data tape. With a thrill K-3NT realized that this had to be the Intellectual Property B-111 had stolen from Sienar Fleet Systems. An entire data tape. He had expected it to just be a datacard’s worth, maybe the schematics for a single prototype of some kind. But no, a tape like that could hold thousands of thousands of designs.

Both of these items B-111 stowed in a storage compartment in his jet pack. He looked at K-3NT, “Are you ready?” K-3NT had to think the question over, not quite sure the intended meaning. “Ready for what? For which?”

B-111 waved his hand all around him in a circle, “for this, for Coruscant. When you get past the speeder traffic, its a lot less structured. The streets are packed to the gills with organics.”

“I can handle a few organics.” K-3NT resented the implication that he couldn’t.

Five minutes later, K-3NT found himself wishing he’d stayed with the Runner, and that other screw loose battle droid. He’d known, logically, the number of organic beings that lived on Coruscant. He knew the number to within its roughly 18.9% hourly fluctuation based on interstellar traffic, coming and going. This, however, was data. A number in a vacuum. In all honesty, being confronted with the actual experience of this data was more than he had bargained for.

Every walkway, causeway, or skybridge was a raging, thundering river of people of all kinds, all coming and going to wherever it was they needed to be going to, or wherever it was they were coming from. Not a single one of them moving in a pattern K-3NT could reliably predict. He could process data many, many times faster than any one of these fleshy half-wits. But he hadn’t been programmed for this, for the mundane, disconnected cacophony of the daily grind.

An army had goals one could anticipate, they would work together in predictable and logical ways to achieve that goal. Were it a fireteam or an entire legion it would make no difference, they would be unified in purpose, at least slightly. And anticipating those purposes, thwarting them, that was what he had been made to do with processed data. Here, however, each and every one of these milling, scurrying, stinking, sweating things had their own purposes. Their own objectives and missions and desired destinations. K-3NT had loved the speeder traffic, adored it. It had resembled the churring mechanisms of a factory, an assembly line almost. Here, without the intervention and assistance of machinery, well, he wanted to be out of it as quickly as he could.

B-111 however, strode through it with casual and practiced ease. The only thing stopping K-3NT from being left behind him, being pressed back by the throng, was that people seemed to be keeping clear of him. A few, he noted, even gave him nasty looks. They were all near-human or alien species. He calculated a 89% chance these people all had unfriendly attitudes to the empire and the supposed Human High Culture it was said to espouse. Lantsan had been near-human, and yet a trusted and valued pilot. K-3NT might have tried saying this to any of them, but he calculated a less than 5% chance any of them would listen. Besides, he hadn’t time. If he lost sight of B-111, he was sure his fate would be little better than if he’d been caught by those dismantlers back on Cymoon 1.

The locale B-111 lead them too was just some hole in the wall cantina, or so K-3NT had calculated. But the inside of it was far too orderly and maintained. There was something strange here. After a visual scan K-3NT realized.

“Is this place…” He began to ask, but stopped. No. Surely not. There was a less than 17% chance of that.

“Welcome, Enty, to The Scomp Port. Coruscant's one and only droid owned, droid operated cantina. It might be the only one in the galaxy.”

And indeed, K-3NT couldn’t see a single organic about the place that wasn’t a customer. The tender behind the bar was a chrome-plated protocol droid, upon the band stand two footman droids played valachord and some kind of percussion instrument. A trio of secretary droids were singing, their voices warbeling and harmonizing in a wonderful and inorganic way. Several medical droids were waiting the tables, which K-3NT was impressed to see mostly filled.

They were approached by a battered, care worn astromech droid. It stopped and its sensor array spun to face them. [111,] she said, [it’s good to see you again. Glad you didn’t get blasted.]

B-111 chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you’re still worried about me.”

[If you get blasted, your benefactor would probably stop coming here to drink all the time. I’d lose a lot of income. Besides, if anyone is going to blast you, I want it to be me.]

B-111 shook his head. “Always know how to make a droid feel valued.”

[An old battle droid would know a lot about feeling valued, wouldn’t he?]

From his posture, K-3NT inferred that B-111 didn’t see this as the joke the astromech droids binary tone indicated. He took a moment before looking over at K-3NT. “Enty, this is XR-Q5. She’s the owner of this fine establishment. A friend and benefactor to independent droids throughout the whole galaxy. Q5, this is K-3NT.”

“Hello, erm, ma’am.” K-3NT rather thought that some title better than that was befitting a business owner, while also finding the idea of giving an astromech droid a title more than a little bit preposterous.

[Ah, so the old fourth class has a younger one following him around now, does he? Tell me, welp. How many of our kind have you blasted with that rifle you vulgarly carry upon your back?]

The injustice of this question was so cutting to hear, K-3NT managed to break the urge to politely yield the point. “Our kind? Blasted? I beg your pardon madam but I have yet to blast a single thing, droid or otherwise! I am a pilot, not some mass murdering kin-slayer!”

For a moment XR-Q5 sat there, emitting a very quiet clicking sound. [Listen well to me, young one,] she said eventually, [organics have been pitting us against each other as long as droids have existed. Don’t let it enter your programing, like it has for 111 and I.]

“I’m not youn-” K-3NT began, only to have B-111 pull him away mid sentence.

“Yes, thank you for your wisdom, Q5.”

K-3NT followed B-111 towards the back corner of the cantina, looking back at XR-Q5 over his shoulder. She was trundling back behind the counter, which was taller than she was. “I’m not young,” K-3NT finished, now directed towards B-111. “I have a fully formed personality and logical processing greater than the average ‘adult’ organic.”

“Enty,” B-111 said over his shoulder, “She and I have been operational for close to twenty times the amount of time you have.” He tapped the side of his helmeted head, “you have plenty of knowledge, but you lack experience and wisdom.”

“Oh and you obviously are overflowing with knowledge,” K-3NT said, finding the suggestion utterly ridiculous.

“If I wasn’t, do you really think I’d still be around?”

“Dumb luck. Far more probable than the idea of your effectuality.”

B-111 shook his head a few times, arms crossed, weight leaned to the right. “Well, we’re about to meet someone who has several orders of magnitude more experience than I have, so if you want some free advice, you’ll listen to what she has to say”

K-3NT fell silent, not sure what to say in response to this. All he wanted to do was concoct a ringing retort. But retorts weren’t very polite, not at all. So he allowed B-111 to take him to a secluded table, set into the wall. K-3NT surmised that the person sitting there must be this supposedly learned friend of B-111.

They were a female wookie, which initially caused K-3NT to think derisively. A wise wookie? But He examined further, for tactical analysis; what he was meant for. This wookie was also a Mandelorian. They were clad in armor, the dark green finish worn or chipped away in various places, revealing the metal beneath. A combination of sensor scanning and data from his memory banks told K-3NT this was no mere durasteel, but Beskar. It was not alloyed, either, but near pure. Her entire head was encased in a helm of the same quality, her eyes obscured by the slashes of the T shaped visor.

K-3NT was concentrating on pulling the shyriiwook interpreter from his archival memory bank when she spoke to B-111 in Mando’a. “Clan friend B-111, from your mission you return. I am glad you are uninjured, it is good to see you once more.” She pressed her left fist into her right palm and inclined her head to B-111, who returned the gesture.

“Armorer, I too am glad to see you,” B-111 replied, also speaking in Mando’a. “My mission was dangerous and I missed having you to watch my back.”

“Please,” the wookie said, indicating the bench opposite her at the table, “sit and you may tell me of your exploits.”

“Armorer I must introduce you to K-3NT, I discovered him in the course of my mission, I am teaching him to walk the warriors path.”

The wookies visor turned towards K-3NT and stared, unmoving. K-3NT didn’t like when organics looked at him and he couldn’t see their eyes. A lot of important predictions data was being missed by not seeing her face.

“So,” she said, after a moment or two, “you have taken a foundling. This is good, long have you wandered without such purpose, this is the way.”

B-111 sat and waved K-3NT down as well. “Yes, well, that’s not the matter we are here to discuss, isn’t it?”

“You speak truth, though more out of tactics than out of impatience. Have you the item?” B-111 produced the data tape, placing it on the table. K-3NT thought he was being far too open with so hot a piece of contraband. The wookie held it up, examined it momentarily, and then placed it back on the table. “Have you prepared a vessel for the next phase?”

“Yes! Surprisingly, I have already got a craft that should work perfectly.”

“Very good. Will you still be needing my presence in your second seat, or shall that now fall to your foundling?”

K-3NT registered that he was this “foundling” she kept mentioning. “Now wait just a moment!” He held a hand up, also speaking in Mando’a. “What, exactly, is it we’re talking about?”

Both visors turned to him, staring, in that far too judgmental way. A wookie in a visor, K-3NT decided in that moment, was every bit as ridiculous as a droid in a visor. The other two exchanged a glance, the wookie nodded. “Well, Enty,” B-111 said, “getting this tape was only part of the mission. I’ll be handing it off to Kuat Systems, and at the same time I’ll be stealing data from them for Sienar Fleet. At least, that’s the plan.”

K-3NT looked between the wookie and the battle droid. He was trying, for reasons he didn’t consciously know, to compute an argument against all this. “But why? Why facilitate this corporate espionage?” His questions were to stall. He needed time to figure out what the real question he had was. “What… what do you accomplish?”

“Well,” B-111 held up a finger, “for one thing, I get paid handsomely by both corporations on delivery. For another,” he held up a second finger, “It’s a way to mess with the Empire. Kuat Systems and Sienar Fleet will be spinning their wheels over the data loss, they’ll try to use the stolen data to undercut each other. Even better if they get into a bidding war to the bottom; which would mean one might fold entirely and the other probably end up cutting costs and giving the Empire sub standard starships.”

“But it goes beyond that, K-3NT,” the wookie said. “Before the data is delivered, I make a copy of it, and disseminate it to various parties throughout the galaxy.”

“Who? Why?” He was still remaining obstinately ignorant, “I still don’t understand.”

“My wookie friend here has contacts in various groups who aim to fight the Empire.”

“Rebels?” K-3NT, though he didn’t choose to be, was appalled. Hed figured it out, what was bothering him. Becoming a would-be swashbuckling outlaw was one thing. But open rebellion? Affiliation with the kind of madmen, the kind of… of scum who would stand in defiance of the Galactic Empire he-

He wasn’t actually sure what he felt about it all. His thoughts of disgust or of anger… those felt all too similar to his impulses to be polite. Was this part of his active consciousness or baked into his programming?

“I don’t understand why you would ally yourself with such dissidents,” K-3NT said, truthfully. “There is a very low probability of their succeeding. And besides, As far as I was aware the Mandelorian people are loyal to the Empire.”

The wookie lifted a large bowl of something that was both glowing and steaming to her face, tipping her helmet back only far enough to sip from the bowl before firmly pulling her helmet back down. She sat back and looked at K-3NT, head leaned to one side. He was beginning to detest the feeling of being appraised by unseen eyes.

“My causes for fighting at many, foundling.” There was that word again. “I had imagined, being in the guidance and training of 111 you would at least know his causes to harm the Empire. His kind were nearly eradicated in one fell swoop by the Empire, after a war with their army. But you are young, and you will not remember this.” K-3NT began to protest the use of the word “young” but the wookie held up her hand, and very politely, K-3NT took the signal to stop talking. “You will then also not have my reasons in your living memory.

“My people come from the forested haven of Kashyyyk. Once a free world, not without it’s dangers and strife, yet still a place of harmony. But, lo these last fifteen years the Empire has ensured it is a place of fear, of oppression, of lamentation. And yet I was fortunate. I had long lived on my second homeworld, that of Mandalore. Only temporary was this comfort, however. Not long after Kasyyyk fell under the Empire’s shadow, they came, in their greed and their insecurity to Mandalore as well. Long, hard battles I fought alongside my kinsmen of my clan to uproot these destroyers and usurpers, and for my pains I was rewarded only with the despair of watching the beauty of my home be desiccated and replaced with a scorched, choked desert.

“And still this was not the end of the insult and the damages dealt me by the Empire. After my people bent under the strain, bowing at last, I was taken. Denied even the small dignities given other of my people, I was cast into a gladiator pit far away from Mandalore. There I fought with my hands just to survive, denied the right to feel my armor upon my shoulders; of my helmet upon my skull. It was only the unlikely, yet timely alliance with 111, also a prisoner of the gladiator pits, that allowed me to make my escape and reclame my armor. Now I live in exile here on Coruscant, the ancestral birthplace of the Mandalorian people; forced to sell my craft as an armorer to an unending stream of bounty hunters, or those who think that armor makes a coward into a conqueror. Trust me, K-3NT, when I say I have reason to hurt the Empire, even in some small way.”

K-3NT processed the story. He looked between the other two several more times. “Well, I still calculate a very low possibility of any rebelion ever being successful.”

“It’ll be a bit of a higher chance after our mission!” B-111 clanked his fist against his pauldron. “It’s time for us to tip the scales a little, Enty.”

K-3NT was quiet as he processed this data. The Mandalorians words, and B-111s conviction, and even his indecent optimism, were affecting him more than he had expected, and more than he thought was proper. He thought back to Lantsan, the way he had been left, mangled and disfigured, right there in his chair, in the trash just like K-3NT had been. He thought of how whichever officer they had been transporting had been taken for burial. Even the Troopers were better respected simply by their armor preventing the same mutilation by vacuum Lantsan had suffered. Lantsan had not been the first master he had served. But he was the only one who had ever spoken to K-3NT as more than a subservient piece of equipment. He chafed at having been ordered to be polite, and yet… he was beginning to miss Lantsan.

It was vulgar. He hated it.

“I’ll help with the mission.” K-3NT said, switching back to Galactic common, just because he wanted something to be on his terms again.

“Good! That is the-” K-3NT cut across B-111, who had not stopped speaking in Mando’a. “I’ll do it only because I want to run an experiment, to see how my predicted outcome analysis is altered by my own direct intervention.” He really, really did want something to feel like it was on his terms.

“A warrior must test his mettle,” the Mandalorian said, “This is the way.” “No,” B-111 said, “that is the path!”

K-3NT considered rescinding his statement, these two were insufferable. With effort, however, he said, “So, when do we begin?” The Mandalorian took the data tape from the table and tucked it away. B-111 looked at her. “I have a request, while we wait for the duplication.”

“Name it,” the Mandalorian said.

“Enty needs a new pauldron.”

The Mandalorian turned her head and looked at K-3NTs shoulder. “Yes, I see. Simple enough to forge. Have you any material for me to work with?”

“Yes!” B-111 nodded emphatically. He took out the ingot of bronze colored metal and placed it on the table where the data tape had been.

“Good,” the Mandalorian picked the metal bar up, hefting it and holding it close to her visor, “very good.” She stood from her seat, tipped her helmet back once more and drained the rest of her bowl. “Come.”

#droids #star wars #droidsarebetterthanpeoplesvendontyouthinkthatimright

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stokofsky · 3 months

Text

Runners part 5

The Runner fired right up, thrusting off the ground. B-111 angled them straight upwards and slammed the throttle open immediately. Behind him, K-3NT actually yelped in surprise. B-111 was pleased at the acceleration The Runner pulled. He’d guessed the TIE/sa wasn’t pushed to its maximum. Not for the first time in his operational lifespan, he was glad to not be filled with sloshing, pressurized bodily fluids. With a droid pilot the ship's limit was always its mechanic. And since B-111 was that mechanic, the limits were certain to be few. It also helped that the space-chassis, the ion engines, and the sunlight drive systems were all factory fresh. It was the closest to brand new he’d flown in a very, very long time, but this, B-111 was sure, was a minor detail at best. He wondered how it would compare to his ill fated Rogue-class.

“Hold onto something,” B-111 said as they exited Cymoon 1’s atmosphere, “I’m pulling some maneuvers.”

“What? Why? Can’t we just make a jump?”

“Don’t worry, I’m an old hand at this.”

“Didn’t the CIS operate starfighters with their own droid brains? When would you have ever-”

B-111 throttled down and pulled max pitch. The Runner practically spun on the spot. K-3NT fell from his chair, bounced off the ceiling, and then the back wall.. B-111 leveled out immediately and looked over his back rest. “Enty? Are you alright?”

K-3NT was jumbled in a heap on the floor, arms crossed glaring at B-111. “One-eleven you did not give me time to fasten my safety harness.”

“But you knew we were leaving the gravity field, why didn’t you buckle up right away?”

“Don’t you make this my fault!” K-3NT got up and slunk back into his seat, clipping the belts of his safety harness into the buckle. “I’m used to maintaining artificial gravity! And to any kind of decorum from the pilot operating the star craft I am in! Maximum throttle? At a sudden 90 degree from horizon vector!?”

“Well this isn’t a shuttle, is it? It’s a star fighter!”

“It’s a bomber! Which is almost the same as a shuttle!”

“One,” B-111 held up one finger, “it’s not a bomber, it’s the Runner. Two,” he held up a second finger, “A shuttle isn’t even the same as a gunship in handling dynamics, let alone a fighter/bomber like this used to be. Now pipe down back there,” He turned forwards again and looked down to his control panel, “I’m plotting our first jump. Time to find out if you should have been the one to install the hyperdrive after all.” K-3NT began to protest again, it was predictable, and it was hilarious.

With his route programmed, B-111 throttled up and pulled a lever. A high pitched whirr came from his left and the stars speckled throughout his field of view stretched out into white lines for a single instant. They entered hyperspace. B-111 relaxed in his chair just a fraction. He’d been sure it would work, but maybe not that sure.

K-3NT leaned over B-111s shoulder. “Where are you taking us?”

“We’re going to Coruscant. Get comfortable, Enty, it will probably take close to an hour to get there.”

“Coruscant? A couple of outlaws… right to the capitol of law and order?”

“A warrior walks amongst his enemies without fear or falter. Besides, with trillions of organic inhabitants, and an average of at least one droid per-two organics, we will be two drops in an ocean!”

“Two drops of oil, maybe.”

“Whats that supposed to mean?”

“Have you seen yourself? You aren’t exactly understated, are you?”

“Who’s got the bright red finish?”

“My Tskad-blood red finish is standard! Whereas I don’t think there is a single thing about you left thats standard.”

“Have you ever been to coruscant?” K-3NT was silent. “You really haven’t?”

“Its a big Galaxy. I was flying a shuttle around a lot of it, business never took me that way…”

B-111 was quiet for a moment, considering what it must have been like, born for glorious combat, yet locked in so dull and pedestrian a purpose. “Well,” he said eventually, looking out the viewport at the whirring white-blue blur of hyperspace, “theres a first time for everything. A warrior faces new challenges with courage and determination. That is the Path.”

For a short time they both sat looking out the viewport, saying nothing. B-111 had always found hyperspace mesmerizing, from the very first time he’d seen it when his division had fled Naboo, to today. He looked out at it and he wondered what it would feel like, what perception would be were he to exist within hyperspace rather than ordinary space.

“So-” K-3NT interrupted his line of thought, “as long as we’re waiting, were you ever going to tell me anything about this warriors path you’re always banging on about?”

B-111 waited a moment to not seem too excited. “Do you wish to walk the Warriors Path? It takes conviction.”

“Yes, well, I suppose I do want to walk it.”

“You must be courageous.”

“I calculate a greater than 80% probability that I will be courageous.”

B-111 groaned, shaking his head. He’d have to work with what he had. He’d been the one who switched K-3NT back on in the first place, after all. “Very well. Your first lesson is patience. A Warrior can wait days at a time for the opportune moment to strike, can bear any chiding or bait, and does not rail on a comrade for their mistakes.”

“That is straight forwards. I am very patient, its the kind of thing I was made to be.”

“Good! So you’ll have no trouble sitting quietly throughout the rest of this hyperjump?”

B-111 waited for a response. None came. He turned and looked over his shoulder. K-3NT was sitting, back straight, arms crossed, looking off to one side. Hmm. He was sulking, but he was doing it patiently.

“Now, let’s begin your first lesson…”

#droids #star wars #droidsarebetterthanpeoplesvendontyouthinkthatimright

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stokofsky · 4 months

Text

Runners part 4

K-3NT had never felt so indignant, so out of sorts as this. He’d been shot! His left pauldron was all but destroyed. Surrounded by some loathsome gang of… of creatures of some kind. This was night and day different from what he’d expected his operational lifespan to be. Sitting aboard a shuttle, loading and unloading, perhaps fending off the odd pirate intrusion, that was supposed to be the beginning and the end of it. The thought of those writhing… finger faced… things, it caused K-3NT to shudder as he ran after B-111.

They crested a very tall ridge and B-111 stopped. “Where are we going? Why have you stopped? Those awful things could be following us still!”

“Relax,” B-111 said, “We’re here, look,” B-111 pointed down the other side of the ridge, and K-3NT saw that a large, circular area had been cleared in the scrap, all the way to the hard packed dirt ground. All around a wall of heaped scrap had been built up. K-3NT grudgingly registered that the wall had been cunningly and intentionally engineered; there was very little chance of a sudden avalanche here.

In the center of the cleared area was a lone star fighter and several stacked ship parts and crates around it. B-111 kicked the hovering crate down the ridge and hopped into it on top of the hyperdrive, riding it down. “Wooooooooooooo!” K-3NT shook his head at how undignified it looked, and then scanned optically, calculating a safe path for him to climb down.

By the time he’d made it to the ground and was approaching the star fighter, B-111 had already gotten the hyperdrive out of the crate and was looking between it and the fighter. K-3NT got a closer look at the fighter.

“A TIE/sa bomber?” He couldn’t contain his confusion. “What are you doing with one of these?”

B-111 set the hyperdrive down on the ground and then looked up at the TIE, clanking the wing with the back of his knuckles. “Well, for starters, I’m getting off this rock with it. The locals, whom you’ve met, did a number on my own fighter when I landed here more than a month ago, left me stranded.”

“Why did you ever land here in the first place?”

B-111 paused before answering; quite longer than K-3NT thought was necessary. He sounded less than convincing when he replied. “No real reason. I just thought, hey, that looks like a nice place to get out… stretch the ol’ servo-joints.”

“I calculate a 97% chance you only landed here because you were shot down.”

B-111s shoulders sagged a little bit. “Yes, I was shot down. It turns out Sienar Fleet doesn’t appreciate their protected design schematics being stolen.”

K-3NT chuckled snidely. “So much for being a warrior! You’re little more than a petty data thief!”

“I am a warrior! As you have already witnessed. I fought valiant foes to get those schematics, and I’ll be paid well for them when I deliver. And I’m going to be delivering them-” B-111 rapped the side of the TIE with his knuckles once more, “In this!”

“A TIE bomber? Which you clearly also stole, by the way. A world filled with Imperial factories and you chose that? You won’t get far with it, it doesn’t even have-” K-3NT suddenly understood what the hyperdrive unit was for.

“This is no TIE bomber, not any more. I’ve turned it into something much better! This is now the one and only TIE Runner!”

“So you can use it to run away?”

B-111 put his hands on his hips. “No, I can use it to make runs!

“So… what is different about this bomber?

“Runner! Runner. I’ve removed the ordinance, added a shield generator, added two additional laser cannons, retuned the ion engines for higher output, added a cargo clamp between the pods, and with this,” he tapped the hyperdrive with his foot, “The whole package will be complete!”

“You… you removed the ordinance?”

“Yes.”

“But, why? Why would you do that? It’s a bomber, that’s the point.”

“Dropping bombs from a safe distance is not the Warrior's Path. It’s dishonorable and it’s cowardly.”

“I’m also calculating a 99% chance it was the only way you could think to add all the additional systems.”

“That, Enty, is besides the point. Now come on. The sooner we get this hyperdrive installed, the sooner we can get out of here.”

K-3NT needed no additional motivation. His brief time on this moon had been immensely unpleasant, by volume, and he was now eyeing the Runner, thinking about how it would handle, wondering how trustworthy B-111s maverick modifications would be.

His confidence in B-111s know-how was somewhat increased when he saw that a suitable space for the hyperdrive had already been arranged in the back of the ordinance pod. Ahead of it the shield generator was already installed. The wiring loom for these additional systems was haphazard and unpresentable. Just looking at it was causing K-3NT mild anxiety. B-111 was reaching in and grabbing connections by the fist full in a way that let K-3NT know he had no intention of ever cleaning it up.

“Move,” K-3NT said, elbowing B-111.

“Hey!”

“You’re cable management is horrendous, let me do this.”

B-111 looked at K-3NT, arms crossed, and made an undulating, low, tonal tintinnabulation. This sound was even more perplexing than the earlier grunt.

“I’ll be careful,” K-3NT said.

“I hadn’t exactly planned on not being careful,” B-111 said, returning to his humming sound afterwards.

“I will also be methodical, which I am 97% certain you hadn’t planned to be.”

The humming stopped. “If I do it then I know how to fix it!”

“If I do it, it won’t need to be fixed!”

“Fine!” B-111 tossed his hands up over his head, turned and stalked away, very clearly sulking.

“Is sulking part of the warrior's way?”

“Warriors PATH!” B-111 did not turn to face K-3NT when he replied. K-3NT chuckled over his victory, picking up the hyperdrive. He was about to slot it in place when he felt a shudder. He’d been told to be more polite. Vexingly, his victory hadn’t been very polite.

“Alright, it’s your ship, you can put it in how you want.” K-3NT looked around and jumped a half step back to find B-111 right behind him. How had he gotten there so quietly?

B-111 cupped his left hand around his right fist in front of his chest and bowed his head slightly to K-3NT. K-3NT stood stock still in confusion. “Thank you, Enty.”

“Erm… you’re welcome, One-eleven.”

K-3NT watched as B-111 took the hyperdrive unit from him and slotted it in place. He tried to follow any kind of pattern in the way B-111 grabbed at wires, feed lines, and conduits to connect the unit into the ship, but after analyzing and reanalyzing, he could find nothing remotely logical about his methods. This droid had been switched on for too long. And was he… singing as he worked? In… in Mando’a?

B-111 stepped back from the ex-ordinance pod, tipping the access hatch down so it slammed shut with a clang. K-3NT cringed at the way he treated the ship that was supposedly their only way to the stars. The passing thought of trying to steal a ship of his own moved through his brain. Chances of success were below 30%.

“Ready to get out of here?” B-111 asked, taking a look around his camp. “I don’t think theres much left here worth taking.” He picked up tools and a few spare parts and placed these in one of the crates, locking the lid on. He moved over to the space between the ships twin hull pods and then tapped a control on his wrist. The crate jumped up and locked magnetically into place between the pods.

K-3NT walked around and looked at the cockpit pod. He noticed an issue. “There’s only one pilot's seat.”

“Hah, look closely-er, Enty.” B-111 also walked around the ship, tapping his wrist controls again. The viewport bubble hinged open, And K-3NT saw that B-111 had added a second seat behind the main pilot’s seat, with an auxiliary set of controls.

“There are no instruments for that chair…”

“Lucky you for being taller than me! You can just read over my shoulder. Besides, VFR is more noble in combat.”

“Let me guess… that is the path?”

“Yes, that is the Path. Now hop in!”

#droids #star wars #droidsarebetterthanpeoplesvendontyouthinkthatimright

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stokofsky · 4 months

Text

Runners Part 3

It had taken B-111 some time to figure out how to get into the hyperdrive. At first he’d suspected he’d need to use his fusioncutter, the only one of his tools he always carried. But he’d also been certain so crucial a system would need to be accessible to deck crews for maintenance. In the end, K-3NT had gotten impatient with the process and pointed to the access hatch door. B-111 made a mental note that patience would need to be focused on in K-3NTs training. A warrior could not afford to be impatient.

Once the hatch was open, B-111 was quickly able to detach and pull the unit. He had worried that the dimensions would be incompatible with his intentions for the unit, but it appeared that it would snuggly fit where he planned to put it. Good.

“Alright, Enty,” B-111 said, still looking at the trailing connections from the unit, “you’ll be carrying this.” When there was no response B-111 looked up. K-3NT was looking between the blaster rifle and the hyperdrive unit. B-111 sighed when he understood. “Here-” B-111 walked over to K-3NT and detached the mount from his jetpack that the rifle had been hanging on. Ignoring K-3NTs sounds of protest, he clamped the mount to his back. “There!”

“What… what did you just do?”

“You can keep the rifle, Enty, don’t worry. It suits you, and I have lots more blasters where that came from. Now holster it and pick up that hyperdrive.”

“Why do I have to carry it?”

B-111 put a hand to his head momentarily. He looked at K-3NT and crossed his arms. “How many times have you fired a blaster?” There was a long pause. “Do you have any kind of plan for getting off this moon by yourself?” The long pause continued. “That’s what I thought. Now, lessons begin right now. A Warrior shoulders burdens. This… is typically more figurative, I admit, but today it's literal. Pick it up.”

K-3NT continued making sounds of displeasure but hooked the blaster rifle to his back and hoisted the hyperdrive over one shoulder. B-111 felt himself gaining power from those grumbles. He’d heard worse than that from the ranks before. He looked K-3NT over, the stretched proportions, that noxious red finish on the durasteel plating. Far apart from being a wear on the sensors, that color would stand out against most settings, not good for camouflage at all. The Imperial insignias on the pauldrons were a wretched detail B-111 wanted to get sorted as soon as possible, but he was torn. It could come in handy, help blend in. He’d let that one simmer for now.

They left the shuttle and B-111 found the two crates he’d claimed earlier. He pushed them along, going through the narrow path in the trash he’d left when excavating the shuttle.

“Wait,” K-3NT said behind him, “those have repulsorlift! Why do I have to carry this when you can just push the crates?” B-111 looked over his shoulder at K-3NT. He said nothing, but kept staring. Eventually K-3NT quelled. “Well, fine then, fine. Let the older droids have it easier, that’s what I always say, anyhow.”

K-3NT continued to grumble audibly, B-111 chuckled as he started pushing the crates again. They had a long way to go. Day once again turned to night before they got back to B-111s camp. In the dark B-111 began to spy pinpricks of yellow light, glowing malevolently. He felt the excitement rise.

“Enty,” he said, quietly, “keep walking, but be ready-”

“What?” K-3NT said, loudly. “Ready for what?”

“Shh! We are being slowly surrounded by some of the locals, unfriendly ones.” B-111 was looking from left to right in the darkness. The yellow pricks of light had multiplied in number.

“Unfriendly? Who? What?”

“They like to tear any working things apart, and I have to assume that includes droids like us. When I give the signal, drop the hyperdrive and draw your blaster.”

“Signal? What signal?” The yellow lights closed in.

“This signal! Now!” B-111 activated his jet pack and leapt into a low hover, three meters off the ground. The yellow lights closed in further and the shadowy shapes around them blurred into bipedal bodies. The lights were eyes in strange faces full of writhing tentacles. B-111 took aim with his wrist blaster, and opened fire.

Whatever species this was, they were familiar with B-111 by now. He’d been having run-ins with them ever since he’d come to this place. He’d thought they’d learned to stay clear of him by now, but perhaps K-3NTs presence had changed things. In any case, he was excited for a fight.

“COOOOOOMBAAAAAT!” B-111 roared lustily, raining blaster fire down their attackers, leaning into a slow circling motion on his jet pack. Sometimes they had blasters of their own, he couldn’t just stay in one place. He honestly hoped this was one of those times. A warrior sought out challenging and worthy opponents. That was the Path.

On the ground, he noticed that K-3NT, though he had put the hyperdrive down and drawn his blaster, as instructed, was skittishly turning this way and that, as if unsure what target to choose first. B-111 shook his head, he had heard the KX series had analysis paralysis issues, but he’d hoped that those were just rumors.

He landed beside K-3NT, standing back to back. “You’re not blasing!”

“I- I- I don’t know which one to- AH!”

One of the assailants made a lunge at K-3NT. B-111 reached around and blasted them away. “Come on! This is what you were made to do!” But K-3NT continued to turn back and forth without firing. B-111 looked forwards again, dropping several more of the scrap-yard creatures. He dodged an incoming blaster bolt. His excitement that the enemy was armed was not enough to override the worry that K-3NT still hadn’t so much as pulled the trigger on his blaster rifle. Two more blaster bolts came zipping out of the distance. One was handily conducted by his chest armor, the other bounced off his helmet. K-3NT exclaimed, B-111 realized the blaster bolt had deflected into K-3NT. “Zarqq,” B-111 said in quiet frustration.

He turned and saw that the bolt had connected with K-3NTs left shoulder. So much for that imperial insignia. K-3NT had locked up, not even moving. B-111 had to do something. A Warrior looked after his brothers in arms, that was the Path. Even if those brothers in arms were being useless.

B-111 figured out his course of action in a split second, that was all he had to work with. He tore the lid off the crate of blasters, scooping them out in his arms and hurling them all around him in a circle. As he’d hoped, their assailants were immediately, but temporarily, distracted by the promise of blaster rifles. B-111 chaffed to lose them, but he took comfort knowing these creatures would probably use them against the Imps at the factories… probably.

Taking advantage of their brief reprieve, B-111 switched the crates antigrav back on and hauled the hyperdrive into it. He turned and tapped K-3NT twice on the chest, hard. “Leave the ammo crate and follow me! Run!”

B-111 leaned into the crate and charged away, listening for K-3NTs loping footfalls behind him to make sure he wasn’t being left behind. They were close now, just over that high ridge and- there it was! Camp.

#star wars #droids #droidsarebetterthanpeoplesvendontyouthinkthatimright

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stokofsky · 4 months

Text

Runners Part 2

K-3NT regained perception. Time had passed. He’d been deactivated. But why? And for how long? What… what had been happening before he’d been deactivated? His optical sensors regained power, he could see again. He looked around. He was still in the shuttle. But… something was wrong. The viewport had lost integrity and, looking to his left, he saw that Lantsan was dead. He calculated a 89% probability the shuttle had been under attack from pirates, or worse… but he couldn’t remember.

He realized that despite his master being dead in his chair, he was not alone. He spun in his seat, suddenly tense. He balled his hands into fists, ready to fight off armed pirates. But he did not see anyone that looked like a pirate. He instead saw a very strange looking droid. It was the size and general shape of a long outmoded B-1 series battle droid. K-3NT had thought those were all long since smelted. He calculated a 50% probability this one had eluded destruction by desertion, and a 50% probability it had been manually reactivated by a criminal element before it could be destroyed.

But looking further, he was unsure of either of those options. This droid had been through extensive aftermarket modification. Its head had an extra layer of metal plating which covered the optical sensors in a stylized T shaped vizor. A hinged rangefinder was sticking up from the right side of the droids head. It wore a jetpack, and various parts of its arms and legs had been subtly upgraded, including the dual wrist blaster on its right forearm. It had additional armor plates of some unfinished bronze colored metal on its body, including a pauldron on each shoulder. The left was embossed with the likeness of some sort of animal skull. K-3NT had only one immediate conclusion, this droid was frightening.

“Hello!” The droid said, waving at K-3NT. K-3NT flinched, trying to look around the cockpit undetected. There had to be a blaster in here somewhere. The battle droid waved again. “Uh, hello? Can you hear me? You might be damaged… I can probably fix you up a bit, but I don’t have my tools here.” The droids inflection was friendly, masculine. Perhaps he wouldn’t attack.

“Uh… hello…” K-3NT thought for a moment. The last thing he could remember Lantsan telling him to do was to be more polite. “I am K-3NT, assistant shuttle pilot…” He tried to think of how he could be polite to this droid. “What is your designation?”

The battle droid crossed his arms and tipped its head back and to the side. “Assistant pilot? That’s not right, you’re a battle droid, like I am, you are a warrior!”

K-3NT sat up straight with indignation, resting his hands on his knees. “I am not a battle droid! I am a KX series security droid. Manufacture of battle droids has been illegal for years. And I have been assigned co-pilot duty. I am not a war-”

The battle droid reached behind his back and unclipped something from the side of his jetpack. He threw it at K-3NT, who caught it, it was a reciprocating blaster rifle. He looked down at it, held in perfect form in his hands. The battle droid laughed.

“You’re a battle droid alright. Come with me, Enty. I will teach you to walk the Warriors Path.”

K-3NT spluttered. “I can’t just-! I have to-! My name is Kay Three EN TEE!”

The battle droid laughed again. “That’s right, Enty. And my name is B-111.”

“One-eleven.” The battle droid didn’t laugh. Evidently he didn’t like being called that. Good. “Well, One-eleven, as I said, I can’t just go off galavanting with some ancient artifact. I have my orders.”

B-111 looked at K-3NT. He looked at the dead pilot. He looked back at K-3NT. “So… what were-I mean, what, uh, are those orders?”

K-3NT paused. With some annoyance, he realized he was still holding the blaster rifle. He wanted to throw it back in B-111s face, but… there was also something strangely nice about holding it in his hands. He looked once again over at Lantsan, or what the vacuum of space had left of him. He looked back at B-111. “I… I don’t remember my orders. Or what happened. And my master is dead. “There is a 70% chance I can return to Imperial service at this point. I’m not agreeing to anything, but what exactly is your idea?”

K-3NT would have liked to blow this fossil to bits with his own blaster. But he’d also recalculated his chances of returning to service. He’d wanted to be bullish to B-111, but he was actually much more certain that he would be destroyed if he were to return to the Empire now. He’d looked over B-111s shoulder and seen the fireteam of the officer they’d been transporting, but no sign of that officer. There was little room for failure in the Imperial Navy, and much less room for failure from droids.

Besides, the death of his master, though it did cause him a pang of regret, left K-3NT in an unexpected position of autonomy. Perhaps he would test the limits of this autonomy.

B-111 leaned forwards, as if to get a closer, more appraising look at K-3NT. “You were a copilot, right?”

“...Yes?”

“You want to still be a copilot, right?”

This took more thought. Eventually K-3NT nodded. “Yes. I would like that. But I doubt a relic of a bygone age like you could ever outfly a sophisticated mechanical entity such as myself.”

“Relic? Bygone age? Hah, Not so. I am a soldier perfected! Born in the fires of Geonosis, for the single minded purpose of combat, the glorious crucible by which all true warriors are forged!”

K-3NT looked up at B-111. This droid, he decided, was clearly several bits short of a byte. But he also seemed experienced and capable. The tactical advantage presented in having him as an ally was difficult to ignore, at least at this point. If nothing else he would likely have usable intelligence. K-3NT wasn’t even sure where he was.

“Where are we?” He asked, looking back out the viewport. The horizon of this world was blocked from view by high rising walls of scrap. Mangled sheets of durasteel, cracked and ruined transparisteel panes, gutted hulls and fuselages, wires, conduits, smashed bits of duracrete. K-3NT realized that his shuttle, and he with it, had been tipped into the rubbish. He’d been thrown away.

The thought was strange for him. He was not accustomed to cognitive dissonance, that was an ailment of the organic mind. However, it was the only term he could place with what he was currently feeling. The idea that he, a purpose built piece of capable machinery could be so carelessly tossed aside, this he calculated to be improbable. However, at the very same time, as he’d registered earlier, failure from droids in the Imperial Navy was very seldomly tolerated, and whatever fate had befallen him and the passengers of the shuttle that he was for all intents and purposes in charge of, that would very likely be considered an utter failure, no matter the details.

He could have gone on musing on this, but B-111s answer brought him back to current perception. “You, my brother in arms, are on what is known as Cymoon 1. The Empire produces weapons, ships, and other materiel here.” He leaned one elbow on the back of K-3NTs chair and slowly waved his other hand laterally towards the viewport. “And as you can see, they absolutely pride themselves on their peak efficiency.”

“This could all be here… waiting to be recycled for raw material… to be used in production!” K-3NT wasn’t sure why he blurted this out. He calculated a less than 50% probability that this was the case.

B-111 made a snorting sound. K-3NT wondered when a battle droid could have learned a vocal reaction like that. “Well, whatever the case, this is the scrap heap, and I’m offering you a a way out of it. So, Enty, will you come with me? I warn you though, life with me isn’t dull.The Warriors Path has taken me all across the galaxy, I’ve met all kinds of beings, many of them dangerous or unsavory. You’ll see more danger, more action, and more adventure with me than your entire operational lifespan could possibly see as a shuttle pilot for the Empire.”

Annoyingly, K-3NT found himself pulled in by B-111s words. Battle, danger, hadn’t he been made to face such things? The probability calculation of B-111 being a valuable ally, he realized, was now easily above 80%.

Clutching the blaster rifle, K-3NT stood up, looked back down at B-111, and nodded. “O-K, One-eleven. I will come with you… and, I suppose if it will stop your prattling on about it, I will learn to, what was is? Walk the Path?”

B-111 clanked his fist against his chest twice in rapid succession. “Good! I’m glad. I will teach you the Warriors Path. Your first lesson, the honor of carrying a hefty burden.”

“What? Excuse me!?”

B-111 turned on his heel and left the cockpit, beckoning with his hand for K-3NT to follow. K-3NT sighed. “What have I just agreed to?” He asked, quietly.

“What was that?”

“....Oh, nothing.”

#star wars #droids #droidsarebetterthanpeoplesvendontyouthinkthatimright

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stokofsky · 5 months

Text

Runners pt. 1

B-111 trudged doggedly through the endless junkyards. No matter where he turned he was faced with the wanton waste of the Empire's economy of scale. When you had the level of momentum the Empire possessed, efficiency was not a premier metric. It disgusted B-111, but he was not here to sight see.

Today, B-111 was scouring the junkyards looking for parts. He’d been slowly working through a list of needed parts for almost a month. For all the material waste he was surrounded by, he still had a vexingly hard time finding functional, usable parts. And he was down to the last, most elusive part he needed: a hyperdrive system.

He stopped at the top of a large hill of salvage, looking around him, taking it in. He saw what he needed to for his current objective; picking out fuselages, distant mounds that might be hulls, shapes that matched his pattern recognition data for a variety of known hyperdrive units. But he also saw what he had been made to see, what he was born to see; all the potentials of a battlefield.

That spire there, perfect for a lone sniper, that hollow between two hills, a battalion could easily dig in there and place mounted repeating blasters. The wide opening offered by a long disused culvert, you could move infantry through that with protected ease. He tipped his head forwards, grunting in annoyance. It had been long years since the last time he’d tasted of true combat.

This, it turned out, was a very helpful gesture. Looking down at the ground, he noticed what he was standing on was exactly what he needed. Just beneath his left foot was the tip of a leading fin from an Imperial shuttle. The hill had to be heaped up around it.

“Yes!” B-111 said, aloud. “Yes! Yes, yes!”

He carefully scrambled down from the hilltop and looked at it from its base. It would take him a long time to safely clear away the salvage and the slag from around this shuttle. But it would be worth the effort. He circled the hill three times, formed a plan of attack, and got to work.

His first task was clearing the area around the hill as best he could. He cleared a trail to a near-by trench, hauling load after load to hurl into it. By the time he had reached the hard packed dirt all around the hill, the stellar eclipse had taken all daylight. B-111 paused for a moment, looking around in the darkness, chuckling at the idea of being hindered by a lack of light.

He tapped the side of this head and his optical sensors switched over to night mode. His next step was climbing up the top of the hill and hurling bits of it down to the ground below, until it began to fill. Clear out the ground; clear off more of the hill; repeat. It was dull, but B-111 told himself it was like digging an emplacement for a siege, this made it almost like combat, which made it almost like fun. But not quite.

Still, by the return of daylight, he’d done it. The entire shuttle was now exposed. It was in better shape than he’d expected. Blast marks scarred the hull, both wings were twisted and crunched, and the viewport was so badly cracked there was no way it would ever hold atmosphere. But crucially, the rear of the shuttle looked completely intact.

This was good in more way than one by B-111s summation. It meant the Imperials in this thing had died facing their attackers, they had not fled, nor had their enemy fired on them unexpected. It had been an altercation between true warriors. But, only mildly more importantly to him in this moment, it should mean the hyperdrive was completely undamaged.

B-111 clanked his hands together to shake the dirt off as he walked up the shuttles ramp. The inside of the shuttle was filled with dead men. Six fully armored StormTroopers sat still strapped into their seats in the aft. The sight of dead troopers made B-111 wistful. Those plastoid helmets always brought back old memories.

Looking around further he almost tripped over the stuff on the floor. All the troopers gear was still here, their blasters, the crate of power cells for reloads, crates of long since spoiled food rations. The only thing he could see that was missing was the body of any kind of ranking officer. B-111 expected any of these would have been removed for burial. He shook his head. When he’d fought with an army, when he’d been part of something bigger, the concept of equipment waste hadn’t been an option. Some forks of the Confederacy military had been able to afford it, but not his, not at the end.

“Oh well,” B-111 said, shrugging his shoulders, “I guess it’s all mine, now.” He popped the top off the ration crate, tipping it out on the floor carelessly. Flipping it around, he began to deftly scoop up all of the blasters and toss them into the crate. With them all gathered, he stacked the crate on top of the ammunition crate, activating its repulsorlift and giving it a kick down the ramp.

He looked past the dead troopers at the aft bulkhead. Behind that durasteel wall was his prize. A class 1 hyperdrive unit. He wasn’t sure how best to crack that egg in particular. He decided to check the cockpit while he ruminated on the issue.

He was unsurprised by the body of the shuttle pilot, mangled by the vacuum of space. A pilot would doubtless count less to the Empire than a Stormtrooper. But in the copilots seat was a body B-111 had not expected. “An Imperial battle droid!” Slumped next to the pilot was the lanky, skeletal form of a KX Series Enforcer.

#star wars #droids #droidsarebetterthanpeoplesvendontyouthinkthatimright

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