Dwwoooo

'Hey, you alright there little guy?'

'Brewrrr.' Bao-Dur backed up from the astromech unit, quite worried its head was about to pop off. He quickly noted to himself not to mention to T3-M4, the word, head. It was particularly dim on the ship this night, providing of course it was actually night (space travel being what it was). Shadows cast themselves in odd ways, dancing about in the wake of passers by, and to look down the corridors was frightful; except for when passing by the main room or the med room, you could hardly see a spot of light. In the maintenance room, weak rafter lights cast a dim, gloomy, yet oddly warm haze of illumination over the alien and the droid.

'So, what'd he do this time?'

'Beet! Det rr woo boop deet.'

'That's harsh. This has got to stop, I'll call him in.' The Iridonian mechanic rose from the maintenance room floor, stepping back from the small unit that had been parked next to the workstation. Covered in blotches of black burn marks and physical shears, the poor little droid looked as if he could barely operate. Bao-Dur was just about to exit into the main hold, but was blocked as two ominous figures filled the door way, indicated in the darkness most notably by their crimson eyes.

'Iridonian,' the orbish device known as G0-T0 addressed, 'if we might have a word.' Juxtaposed with HK-47 next to him, the unit looked supremely powerful, and moved over as if it were actually in control of the situation; the Hunter Killer unit followed. The sleek black ball was rendered particularly menacing floating through the dimness, and the HK figure appeared sinisterly at home.

'We have some concerns about one of your crewmates, mechanic.'

'Well, what does this have to do with me?' The droid was cold and remorseless in its tone as always, and it appeared to be pacing in air as it vocabulated.

'You, Iridonian, are, unlike the petulant occupants of this derelict hulk you call a freighter, well-mannered and trusting. And the fact that you have an arm of yours inside one of our panels much of the time, where you are quite vulnerable to the defensive systems we do not tell you about,'

'Umm...'

'... serves that you have a good reason to help us. This is why we come to you.'

'Deet.' The astromech unit was in on it too.

'Statement: The Scoundrelish sack of squishy that you call 'Atton' has been causing us a great deal of grievous irritation. Irate Declaration: The fact that my Master's goggle-eyed affection for him stretches so deep serves him well. Dismayed Statement: Their mating ritual, which consists of consuming profuse amounts of alcohol, rolling around on the floor, and locking their slimy siphons to parts unmentionable, ensures she ignores our pleas for help.' Bao squinted at the mental image. 'Admission: As of yet, we have been unable to find a successful means with which to reduce the volume of his mockeries.'

'Oh come on,' Bao-Dur scoffed. 'He doesn't like droids, but...'

'Do you know,' G0-T0 interrupted sinisterly, 'what ping pong is... Iridonian?'

'No.'

'Neither do I. However, I am, apparently, the most suitable device for it on this ship.' The mechanic panned his vision across the odd trio, and it was quite clear they meant business.

'I'll uh... I'll talk to him, for a start.'

'See that you do,' G0-T0 ordered. 'And if he fails to comply, arrange for an... accident... such as falling down a flight of conveniently placed blaster shots.'

'I don't think it'll come to that,' Bao-Dur retorted, aghast.

'Ardent Supposition: It just might.'

'Dwwoooo.'

---

'Atton, I need to talk to you for a minute.' Atton Rand the Scoundrel, and the Bounty Hunter Mira stood perched over the main hold's Computer. Mandalore busied himself in the corner, trying desperately to ignore Kreia as the eerie sage leaned in over his mechanical work, speaking vaguely about something. The pair at the computer fixed their eyes on the holographic images of game pieces; a game of Dejarik. Atton's brows were furrowed in a mix of concentration and irritation.

'One second,' Atton whined lightly. 'I've got her here.' Kreia, bored of the Mandalore's rebuffs, wandered over to watch the game in her characteristic tone of simply 'unimpressed.' Mira seemed much the same, though, as always, was much more physical and vocal about it; arms crossed, foot tapping and mouth running.

'What you've got, Scoundrel, is some scruffy looking nerf-herder hair, and an unnamed disease from the Red Light Sector. Make your move.'

'Hey!' Atton pointed a finger. 'Who's scruffy looking?'

'It is not the most permeating of your flaws either,' Kreia joined in. 'I, for one, am most assured in my opinion of you when your little Dark Lord rises each time the Exile passes by.' Mira cracked up in cackles.

'The lil'est Sith Lord! Too bad he doesn't have a Double Lightsaber; he sure looks short on his own.'

'And you would know this how?' Atton shot back. Mira cocked an eyebrow.

'Well, ask the Divining Rod to think for you enough, and someone is bound to let on to your secret. Move.' Carefully analysing the holographic board, the man finally picked his battle, moving a pawn to block off the path of a Jedi Knight figurine. The Scoundrel smugly folded his arms and waited for the Huntress to retaliate; Bao-Dur grew impatient. With a roll of the eyes, the Huntress swooped in and stole her victory; the Scoundrel had not taken into account the location of the Senator and Jedi Master figurines, the first of which barrelled through two of his Jedi Knights unstoppably, and the second of which put his Supreme Chancellor piece into an undisputable check. With a mocking pat on her own back, Mira declared her triumph.

'And they spell it dee-jar-ick! Nice try anyway, Scruffy.' Leaving her opponent simmering, the Huntress wandered off in the direction of the dormitories as did the wispy old ex-Jedi, giving Bao-Dur his opportunity.

'Can we talk please?'

'Yeah, sure. What about?'

'The droids, actually.' Atton let out a resounding bellow of laughter, the memory of his defeat almost seemingly forgotten.

'That's exactly what I'm talking about,' Bao lectured. 'You've got to stop mistreating them.' Atton stepped away from the computer and pulled a drinking thermos out from under a nearby chair.

'What for? There's not much else to do on this ship except deal with cocky hags of different hair colours.'

'Well, it's ticking them off, and I don't think it's a good idea to have an assassin droid as your enemy. The same goes for Goto.' Bao-Dur shuddered. 'That thing looks like a sword rack's wet dream, not to mention a Sith Lord's interrogation tool.' Atton took a seat, having a chuckle.

'Yeah,' he mocked, 'and I bet they'd use him on princesses, too.'

'I'm being serious here. If anything, leave the poor astromech unit alone. Locking him inside the hyperdrive during blast off is just cruel.'

'What, gimme a break. He said he was interested in working on it.'

'Oh? And you took that to mean working in it?' The Scoundrel had another row of giggles at the retelling of his own wit, clearly remorseless. 'At least, next time you try and bother him, make it light and pleasant, and don't make it affect of all of us.'

'How do you mean 'all of us?''

'Haven't you wondered why it's so dark on this ship?' Bao questioned, irritated, 'Putting him in there did some serious damage, and we had to re-route a lot of power to keep going.' But the Scoundrel was not deterred, and felt it was still quite worth it.

'Hm. I'll keep it in mind. Now, if you're done with your lecture, I've gotta run.' Atton rose and stretched lazily, tossing the thermos aside. 'The security computer down the hall from the cockpit needs fixing. Damn machines never work. Catch you for Pazaak later?' Bao frowned and conceded with a weary sigh.

'Yeah... sure.'

'Warning: Not so fast, meatbags.' HK-47, with T3-M4 at his flank, strolled into the room. Only HK could make casual strolling look sinister, almost appearing to stalk. 'Statement: The astro unit and I have demands to make.'

'Deet! Rewrr boop doo!'

'That's nice,' Atton mocked, 'But if you'll excuse me, I have some mindless repetitive tasks I'd rather pretend to do.' The Iridonian shot a glare at the Scoundrel, who in turn shrugged angrily and flopped down in a chair like a kid on time out.

'Statement: The T3 unit will go first.'

'Beet! Dreewwr beet doo woop. Rrr meep det doop beep, det deet ee wrewrp. Erp whrrr boop beet doo, dwoo eep meet bet doot. Deew deet.' The room hung in a stuck and hung silence.

'Did... you actually understand that?' Atton queried in amazement, furrowing a brow heavily. 'All I caught was 'very.''

'He says,' Bao explained, 'Things are going to change around here... that his kind need more respect... He says he wants bi-weekly tune ups... uh... Galactic Standard Time... a private re-charging compartment... and...' The Iridonian stopped cold, looking and sounding distinctly nervous.

'What?'

'... he wants... quality time with you so uh... you two can... learn... to be friends.' Atton cocked his head slowly over to the direction of the little droid.

'T3, I would rather fudge a Wookie.'

'Breet!'

'Kyle,' Bao-Dur corrected.

'What?'

'His name is Kyle.'

'Um...' The annoyed man laughed, but not entirely in mirth, rather more in confusion. Bao-Dur blinked and stared politely, as if there was nothing to be befuddled about. 'T3 isn't...'

'T3 is a classification," the mechanic told him. "If you did more than stick him in hyperdrives and unscrew his wheels while's he's shut down, you might know that.'

"Dooo..."

'Interjection: On that matter...'

'Dwoo boop beet!'

'Threat: Silence wheeling fecal bucket, I am speaking!' Chittering bitterly, the little unit finally wheeled away into the dark corridors, tired of the abuse. 'Statement: As I was saying; since we are on the subject of violations during shut down, I believe it is time I spoke with you, Iridonian, about such maintenance you have been performing on me.'

'What about it?' As the two began the conversation, Atton grew tired, and left for the security computer room to begin his tasks.

'Irate Query: What about it?! Statement: You are violating me without my knowledge, for reasons I am not informed of!'

'Well, your Master left a decoder chip meant for Goto inside you by accident,' Bao-Dur shrugged. 'I had to fetch it.'

'Affronted Query: By comparison, then, if you were to snatch a package of rations intended for my Master and devour it with the slimy siphon on your face, it would be perfectly ethical for me to disembowel you with cooking spoons?'

"Spoons?"

"Reiteration: Spoons. Statement: These clangy, unwieldy devices are the best technological metaphor for your mechanical skills."

'That's it, I don't need this. Why don't you go shut down before you have a 'maintenance' accident?'

'Query: Is that a threat, horned meat bag?'

---

Atton cocked his head to the side, furrowing his dark and dirty brows. The security screen flickered on and off, words spelled plainly in Basic materializing gradually. For three hours the Scoundrel had tried with all the effort a professional slacker could muster to try and get the blasted piece to work. Filthy, sweat-soaked and bloodshot tired, he had more than enough.

'Ugh. Stupid machines!' The Scoundrel slapped the side of the security computer. 'All of you! Useless contraptions!' Relentlessly he continued smacking the computer, working up a fit. Behind him the sound of whirring wheels caught his ears, and the chiselled man stopped cold. T3-M4 perched himself quietly in the doorway, staring coldly at the human. A sly smirk crept out across Atton's face as he stared the little droid down. With a maddened cackle, he swung his hand at the computer again, clenching his fist to produce a greatly resounding slam. T3 sat silently.

'Stupid...'

Slam

'little...'

Slam

'machines.' The Scoundrel mockingly dusted off his hands, clapping them together with an extremely self-satisfied smile; the droid silently kept on with blocking the doorway.

'Don't feel bad tin can,' Atton taunted, 'at least you have a slightly less autonomous purpose than this thing. Welding slop distributors is nothing to be ashamed of. ' Spitting and crackling, the grimy screen behind him lit fully to life in synch with the droid's signal emitter, the aqua blue hue drowning the room in its light.

'You!' Atton hissed, accusingly glaring at the little droid, 'You broke this thing?!' White letters flashed across the screen inside a black bevel outline.

Not broke. Switched off. The lights dimmed further in the cockpit corridor, leaving the bypass from the main hold to the security computer room as tar black as the rest of the ship's hallways. The Scoundrel's eyes darted around nervously.

'What the hell is going on?' Words flashed on the screen again, and he stared back at them.

I thought we'd spend a little quality time. Atton scoffed, ignoring the oddity of the droid controlling the computer.

'You know how I feel about that, though I have to give you credit for going to decent lengths to actually talk with me... you know... in words.'

What a stupid little machine I am, indeed. Atton rolled his eyes.

'You don't take all that seriously do you?'

Should I not?

'Of course you shouldn't. It's... uh... friendly ribbing.' Brief clicking sounds could be heard as the droid tilted its head slightly.

Ha. Ha. Ha. I get it now. Good one. Now that we've done what you want, we should do something I want to do. He seemed childishly enthusiastic; a few small clicks and chirps emitting from his primitive vocabulator. We could play my favourite game. Atton grunted.

'Yeah? And what's that?'

The words on the screen disappeared, and another set took its place.

Distract stupid meatbag. The man turned around slowly, deathly shock painted on his face more and more as clanking could be heard approaching from the main hold.

'Dwwoooo.'

'You...' he let out in a panic, 'you're... an astro droid...'

'Smug Statement,' HK interrupted, appearing at the flank of the little robot, 'I, however, am not.' A crimson orb of light appeared next to the Hunter Killer.

'Nor am I,' rang G0-T0's ominous monotone. The screen flickered violently as the units glared coldly at the petrified Scoundrel. Another set of words appeared on it.

My name... is Kyle. Meatbag. HK crouched into a stalk, raising a large Blaster Carbine as the lights faded lower and lower around them.

'Mockery: And my primary function is...'