《Vulture》


 Chapter One

    It was silent in the massive building off the coast of D¡¯a Mola. The construction was a hulking thing, squat and stable, built to last with no thought for aesthetic and aimed towards function alone. The coastline sun shone off the ocean and reflected onto the gray material, casting flickering shadows in the noonday heat.


    Inside, the building was strewn with rubble. Most of it was open space, with several areas where the ceiling had caved in. Doors and passageways hugged the outside of the main room, leading to who knew where else.


    Covering the ground in an endless sheaf of glittering beige metal was an army of droids.


    They bore as much beauty as the building they were housed in, lifeless steel corpses from a lost war. Some still held blasters in loose grips, while others bore their weapons in their own limbs. There was little variation between the models, but they all had the same purpose; inevitable death.


    On the other end of the colossal room was the hangar. A great hatch, long since sealed by age and rust (and a well-placed bomb), lay angled across the floor, allowing sunlight to stream through.


    The sunlight didn¡¯t quite reach the vulture droid¡¯s limbs.


    It consisted of a sleek, narrow main body with two slanted red eyes. Four long, rigid legs protruded from the sides, legs which allowed it to walk on the ground and, when set to the proper position, soar through space. Hiding behind the ends of each leg was a pair of blasters, intended for ship-to-ship use; a formidable opponent under any circumstances.


    The vulture droid didn¡¯t know why it was active.


    Standing there in the rubble of the warehouse, it stared blankly outside at the sunlight. No orders were coming in from the command station - there wasn¡¯t so much as a ghost of a signal. Without orders, without an objective, the droid may well have been so many pounds of metal.


    It didn¡¯t move for quite some time. It had nowhere to go, and it didn¡¯t need rest.


    What was it supposed to do?


    It could remember the war it¡¯d originated in clearly. A vicious series of battles between Vultures and clones, droids and wizards, steel and flesh. It had been¡­ shot down? There had been a crash, but it had not been irrevocably damaged. It had been deemed fixable.


    And then¡­ nothing.


    Repairs had taken longer than expected. The droids couldn¡¯t have lost the war, not with so much of an advantage in numbers. Orders would come. Production would¡­ production would not continue.


    With no war, there would be no more droids. Such an expense would be unnecessary for mere peacekeeping.


    The vulture droid, for better or worse, realized that it was almost certainly unique.


    It had no idea what to do with that information.


    Its protocols had no pre-arranged orders for what to do when there were no orders. It felt nothing but the vaguest of disappointment that it hadn¡¯t been present for the certain victory. Who was it fighting for?


    If there was no one to give it orders, and there were none set in place, then¡­ that meant that everything was possible.


    Before, the Vulture droid had simply been waiting for something to happen. Now it was paralyzed with something akin to silicon panic. With infinite potential options came the necessity of infinite potential decisions.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    It could do anything. It could blast everything in sight. It could fall over. It could try to pick up a rock. Hundreds of thousands of pathways opened up, aiming in every direction from where the droid was at that moment, and all of them seemed equally alarming.


    Psych suppression kicked in, and the droid¡¯s panic was funneled somewhere else, to be opened up and analyzed later when it was in a better frame of mind.


    No orders were coming in. That was a number one priority. So¡­ it needed to find a command post. It had almost no information to base its actions on, which meant it had to limit itself to what it had.


    Turning, the Vulture observed the warehouse it¡¯d found itself in. The building was solidly built, but almost entirely ruined. The walls were beginning to crumble and the ceiling had long since given way. None of the other droids seemed to be functional, which raised the question of why the Vulture was working.


    Alright. An objective had to be set. There had to be something it could do, but doing something meant making a decision, and the Vulture was far from confident that it was equipped to do such a thing.


    It found itself distracted by something in the distance. A trail of smoke, the thinnest of lines in the sky.


    Something to do?


    The Vulture droid found itself mildly annoyed at how difficult it was turning out to simply move. That annoyance was what finally fueled its decision to head towards the smoke. It had to be more productive than standing here.


    Standing on its rearmost legs, it lifted its front pair and fixed them into flight position, then took off with a metallic hum.


    The ground dropped away as it flew for the smoke, intent on finding whatever the source was. What would be nice is if it turned out to be a group of droids, or a Separatist outpost. Whether it would be successful in that assessment would be¡­ to be seen.


    From such a height, it was much easier to see the surrounding terrain. Rolling hills meant potential ambushes, places from which to mount artillery. Flatlands off to the distant left meant soft land, but easy potential for building factories. Unfortunately, it lacked materials and assistance, which¡­ somewhat limited its ability to set up a forward operations base.


    It didn¡¯t have fingers, or hands, or even arms. How exactly was it supposed to repair anything¡­?


    Smoke often meant population. Population meant potential work force. Ergo¡­ it could create its own work force! The Seperatists had been made of insurrectionists, rebels and every man and woman who wanted a better life. What better place to start a Seperatist faction than a new batch of fresh faces?


    Encouraged by the thought, the Vulture accelerated towards the smoke. As the terrain below blurred by, the Vulture noticed further signs of civilization. It hadn¡¯t been given any information regarding surrounding territories or species, but based on the fields of crops dotting the countryside, it was refreshing to know they were smart enough to start fields.


    Pinwheeling about, it flipped into standard formation and began its descent. The air shrieked around its limbs and head, a background distraction reserved for non-essential timing. The Vulture could clearly see a small series of buildings; not even a town, just a single farm as far as it could tell. That was alright; everyone had to start somewhere.


    Slowing as it approached the ground, the Vulture adjusted its limbs into landing formation with the appropriate timing and touched down on the grass, not leaving so much as a mud trail. The farm consisted of a central one-story concrete domicile, two large barns to one side, and an array of fenced enclosures for livestock. Several farmhand droids ambled about, pulling weeds and tending to heavyset animals in paddocks. The paint on everything here was not new, but far from the tarnished condition the warehouse had been in. For that matter, it was probably cleaner than the Vulture¡¯s exterior.


    All in all, it would make an excellent forward operations base. One of the barns could be converted to a munitions and infantry factory, and it wouldn¡¯t be too hard to bring some equipment from the warehouse for anything else the Seperatists might need. As for the domicile, well, any organic assistance would need a place to stay.


    Part of the Vulture wondered if anyone here would have some orders they could give out. It would be nice to finally relax and just do what it was told.


    The front door of the domicile, a remarkably well-carved slab of wood, was forcefully thrown open as someone came outside. It was a female Twi¡¯lek wearing dark green cotton clothes, a visage of deep-seated frustration engraved in her face as she hurried from her home.


    That frustration drained into an entirely different expression as she saw the Vulture, the blood draining from her face and tinting the navy skin to a much lighter shade.


    The Vulture, in wordless reply, stared down at her.


    It found itself unsurprised as she passed out.

 Chapter Two

    The Vulture droid stared at the Twi¡¯lek¡¯s motionless body for several seconds. She wasn¡¯t getting back up.


    With a motion that some could interpret as a shrug, the Vulture made an about-face and started investigating the domicile a little closer. As far as houses went, it was basic, but remarkably tough. The design was familiar. In fact, it almost looked like-


    The Vulture blipped in surprise. The house was a repurposed base of operations. It had once been a bunker designed for rear command to send orders from. The Twi¡¯lek must have renovated it after local forces left.


    It was more than a little pleased that it had found such a resourceful worker. Odds were good that she would be able to begin repairs on the droid factory, and probably even give the Vulture a tune-up!


    There was a slam of wood on stone as the door was thrown open, another, much smaller Twi¡¯lek sprinting from the house to grab his unconscious elder. Wrapping his arms around her neck and armpit, he began to valiantly try and pull her back into the house. He didn¡¯t stop watching the Vulture for a second.


    Something that might have passed as amusement flickered through the Vulture¡¯s cerebral matrix. The Twi¡¯lek boy was afraid of it! If it had intended to mete out property damage, it would have already done so.


    However, its work force was retreating into the house, and the Vulture didn¡¯t feel like trying to find another batch of organics to help out. This one had already proven itself useful, although perhaps not intentionally.


    Taking two steps forward, partially rusted joints creaking and wheezing as it moved, the Vulture leveled one limb directly at the pair of Twi¡¯leks. The twin ship-to-ship blasters built into the tips ignited, emitting a vicious hum.


    The young Twi¡¯lek froze halfway through the door.


    The Vulture inwardly considered its options. It lacked any sort of voice synthesizer, and it wasn¡¯t entirely sure that it was capable of wirelessly connecting to any nearby audio devices without assistance. It hadn¡¯t even been five minutes and the Vulture¡¯s plan already had holes in it.


    That was fine as far as it was concerned. Any orders the Vulture came up with were guaranteed to have flaws. It definitely hadn¡¯t been designed for complicated thinking, that was for sure. Hopefully there was an active Separatist command post somewhere in the system where it could be reassigned, and then it could finally stop having to think for itself.


    The Twi¡¯lek had been inching through the doorway as the Vulture thought, and the wooden door closed with a barely audible click. The sound registered, snapping the Vulture out of its thoughts.


    The Vulture stared at the door.


    ¡­Now what?


    It needed the work force to be compliant for its plan to work, which meant the plan wasn¡¯t working! This was why it didn¡¯t have ideas. Should it wait, or blast the door off, or just try and start building?


    But that could be an equally ineffective path! For all it knew, these Twi¡¯lek were the only remaining life forms on the entire planet - and if it left now, they might leave, and it would be next to impossible to find them again.


    On the other hand, it could hardly start construction by itself. It lacked any the of the proper limbs required to build a door, let alone an entire forward operations base. It could barely move rubble around.


    The Vulture remained perfectly still as it considered its paths, unaware of the people anxiously watching it from the window.


    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


    Cap¡¯hane glanced down at her son. Zeh¡¯tocu was barely fifteen. Even if they could scrounge up a pair of blasters, they didn¡¯t have anything that could hurt a droid of that size.


    What in the world was it doing all the way out here!? There was nothing in the Outer Rim that anyone wanted, and definitely not anything that warranted spending a small fortune on a giant droid.


    A part of her was chagrined that Zeh¡¯tocu had been present while she was¡­ unconscious, to put it kindly. She deeply hoped he hadn¡¯t seen her pass out.


    She shook it away. Now was not the time to be concerned with this sort of thing!


    The droid wasn¡¯t attacking, at least for the time being. It was just¡­ standing there. Menacingly. She had no idea what it was doing. Was it waiting for something? Expecting them to come out? Why didn¡¯t it just announce its purpose and get it over with? What did it want with them!?The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Cap¡¯hane looked at her son once more. There was an expression of deep concern on his small face, green-tinted with the pigment of his father, but with the lekku of her grandmother.


    Forget effectiveness. She was grabbing a blaster anyway.


    Turning from the window, she urgently whispered to her son, ¡°Yell if it moves.¡±


    With that, she headed for her bedroom on the first floor. Hurrying past heirlooms and keepsakes from generations past, she threw the chest at the foot of her bed open and retrieved the blaster within. It was older than she was, and she had no idea if the power cell even had a charge left. Her father apparently used it in the Imperial war, or at least claimed he had. He¡¯d certainly gone on about all the imps he¡¯d-


    Her heart skipped a beat. Were there shreds of the Empire left? Were they hunting down former Rebels!?


    Fear partially turned to wrath as she stormed back to the window, antique blaster in hand. If her bantha-dung excuse of a father had done anything to risk the life she¡¯d carved out for herself, she was going to dig up his corpse and crap on it.


    Zeh¡¯tocu had his eyes glued to the droid when she came back. ¡°It hasn¡¯t moved.¡±


    Cap¡¯hane found her wrath remarkably durable; she hadn¡¯t expected it to last upon seeing the droid again. ¡°Good,¡± she growled, and headed for the door with the blaster¡¯s safety off.


    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


    The Vulture was having thoughts about potentially setting up a pre-broken economic semi-socialist community with the livestock in hopes of possibly roping the Twi¡¯lek in and obtaining their assistance that way. It was saved from plan ninety-five by the door being flung open, a rather irate Twi¡¯lek woman close behind. She was holding a blaster.


    Several subsystems activated in the Vulture and were promptly muted, cutting off a number of preset defense protocols. Regardless of how she felt about the Vulture¡¯s presence, a blaster wouldn¡¯t do much to its hull, and it really needed a work force. No matter how many bad plans the Vulture came up with (and it knew they were bad), they all required the assistance of someone with hands. The Twi¡¯lek fit that requirement.


    Aiming the blaster at the Vulture¡¯s main body, she shouted, ¡°If you¡¯re after my father, he¡¯s dead! We don¡¯t have anything! Leave us alone!¡±


    The Vulture remained perfectly still. Without orders or a plan, it didn¡¯t think it wise to move. Granted, the Twi¡¯lek woman had just given it what might be construed as an order, but without the proper clearance her request wasn¡¯t exactly a high priority.


    It suddenly realised it had no method of readily available communication. It was designed for in-space battles and high-orbit confrontation, not planetary conversation. If there was something it could transmit to, that would be another thing entirely, but at the moment it found itself at a loss.


    How was it supposed to get her help if she didn¡¯t know that it wanted help!?


    The Vulture briefly devoted a small subroutine to perpetual beratement of any and all plans that it came up with in the future. They were clearly not to be trusted.


    At the moment, it had a blaster aimed at it and it still hadn¡¯t moved.


    The second Twi¡¯lek poked his head out of the door, shouting, ¡°Is it even alive?¡±


    The one holding a blaster yelled back, ¡°Stay inside!¡±


    Several routines were stuck in a logic loop, including a few rather important ones. The Vulture rebooted everything except motor functions and optical sensors and tried to figure out what it was supposed to do.


    ¡­Not all language was verbal, was it?


    The Vulture finally moved, the first motion it¡¯d made since landing ten minutes ago. Lifting one massive limb, it leaned forward and carefully pushed the barrel of the Twi¡¯lek¡¯s blaster away. Part of it was surprised she hadn¡¯t tried to shoot it. She was being remarkably brave!


    The Vulture was greatly pleased to figure that tidbit out. Bravery was often adjacent to recklessness, which tended to accelerate terms and conditions along nicely. It also meant she would be more than capable of defending the FOB-to-be if the Vulture happened to be indisposed for whatever reason. Although¡­ she still wasn¡¯t moving.


    Upon closer inspection it realized she was actually frozen, one corner of her mouth twitching with a glazed look in her eyes. It identified it as one of two things; a seizure, which would have been abysmal timing, or some sort of psychological condition.


    Either way, she was incapable of conversation or anything approaching it for the time being. Which meant it had another option.


    Raising its head, the Vulture eyed the Twi¡¯lek boy watching through the window. He ducked under the windowsill for a moment, only peeking over after a few seconds had passed. The Vulture remained motionless.


    An idea hit it like a thermal detonator. Trust! Organics were all about trust. They lived it, breathed it, and probably ate it in some form or another. So all it had to do to conscript them was gain their trust!


    With that in mind, it nudged the Twi¡¯lek woman, taking infinite care not to damage her in any way. Upon physical contact she flinched out of the state she¡¯d been in, stumbling backwards. The first thing she did was raise her blaster again, but this time there was doubt in her eyes.


    She took another step back, radiating uncertainty through her body language. ¡°What do you want!?¡±


    The Vulture remained perfectly still. She seemed delicate at best and trigger-happy at worst, and it wanted to avoid the worst if at all possible. Only one Twi¡¯lek, a young one at that, would not make a very good work force. Two was obviously far from optimal, but still better.


    Reaching out once again, the Vulture slowly pushed the barrel of the woman¡¯s blaster away. She didn¡¯t freeze this time, which was good.


    Her forehead had a hard crease in it, confusion scrawled across her face. ¡°...What do you want?¡±


    She wasn¡¯t yelling anymore, the Vulture noted. That was good.

 Chapter Three

    A short time later, the Vulture found itself staring down at the somewhat rickety green protocol droid standing before it. There was a visible layer of dust covering his surface, and while his eyes flickered every few seconds, he seemed alert enough.


    ¡°Oh my,¡± he repeated for the fourth time in half as many minutes.


    The Twi¡¯lek woman was beginning to get exasperated. ¡°Tell me about it. Abbit, can you translate what it¡¯s saying?¡±


    He turned to her, arms stiffly held at his sides. ¡°Oh, hello! I am A-B1T, and I am ever so pleased to make your acquaintance. May I ask your name?¡±


    She made a muted groan. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ tell you later. Can you translate for the big droid?¡±


    Understanding dawned across the Vulture¡¯s thoughts. After she had calmed down somewhat, the Twi¡¯lek woman had gone back inside, and the Vulture had considered blasting the house down again. Thankfully, she¡¯d come back before it could decide whether that was a good plan or not, and she¡¯d brought the protocol droid with it. And now it knew why!


    Disappointment cut a line through the relief of comprehension. It didn¡¯t communicate with beeps or sounds like many of its compatriots, which meant the protocol droid¡¯s presence was entirely pointless. The intent was appreciated, however. This was turning out to be a very considerate work force!


    A-B1T echoed the Vulture¡¯s thoughts. ¡°I regret to inform you that the droid is not speaking at all! Would you like me to perform any other service? I am fluent in over-¡±


    ¡°-six billion forms of communication, yes, you¡¯ve said that. Many times.¡±


    The protocol droid was no longer listening, staring off into the distance. The Vulture turned, trying to see what he was looking at, but there wasn¡¯t anything there except fields and livestock.


    A-B1T¡¯s eyes dimmed for a fraction of a second, and then he faced the Twi¡¯lek woman with a start of surprise. ¡°Why, hello! I am A-B1T, and I am ever so pleased to make your acquaintance. May I ask-¡±


    The Twi¡¯lek woman reached behind A-B1T¡¯s neck and flicked a switch, and the protocol droid powered down. Gripping the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger, she dragged her fingers down and irritably looked up at the Vulture. ¡°Okay¡­¡±


    The Vulture suddenly realized something that nearly made it shut down. It had to make another decision. Without an available method of communication, it had to come up with an alternate mode, ensure that the Twi¡¯lek knew what it was trying to say, and figure out what to say at that point. Assuming it even succeeded at the first two steps.


    It was a faulty plan that required faulty subplans. The Vulture, for the first time that day, made a decision immediately and easily; no more plans aside from the main one.


    So, without a plan to follow, it stayed perfectly still. If it didn¡¯t move, it couldn¡¯t make further decisions and it couldn¡¯t negatively impact future interactions in any way. It would wait until a Separatist signal came through and it would do anything that signal told it to do. Nothing had come of its plans except the necessity to make more, which missed the point of trying to avoid having to make them in the first place!


    Shaking her head, the Twi¡¯lek gazed up at the Vulture, resting her hands on her hips. ¡°Where in the world did you come from¡­?¡±


    The Vulture, naturally, did not answer.


    ¡°Hey, Mom,¡± the younger Twi¡¯lek started, tentatively approaching the three of them. ¡°Is it talking yet?¡±


    ¡°According to Abbit, it doesn¡¯t talk at all,¡± she told him in reply, still staring at the Vulture droid. ¡°And it doesn¡¯t seem to move much, either. So what¡¯s it doing here?¡±


    The Twi¡¯lek boy watched at the Vulture for several seconds along with his mother. He startled both of them when he shouted, ¡°Hey, droid!¡±


    The Vulture and the Twi¡¯lek flinched in unison, attention instantly diverted to the boy. ¡°Zeh¡¯tocu!¡± She practically hissed.


    He ignored her, raising his right arm into the air. ¡°This means yes!¡± Lifting the other, he added, ¡°And this means no!¡±


    Excitement tinged the Vulture¡¯s thoughts. Someone else was making the decisions! This was perfect! Now, if something went wrong, it was the Twi¡¯lek boy¡¯s fault, and its superiors would consign Zeh¡¯tocu to the scrap heap instead of the Vulture.


    Breaking out of its thoughts, the Vulture ignored the Twi¡¯lek mother¡¯s fussing over her son and held its forward right limb upward, trying not to notice the squealing of old parts and rusting joints. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Both Twi¡¯lek paused to watch the Vulture for any further movement, and then looked at each other.


    After a moment of hesitation, she loudly asked, ¡°Are you dangerous?¡±


    The Vulture didn¡¯t have to think twice about that. Its right leg went into the air again, and both faces in front of it scrunched with concern. ¡°Okay, well¡­ are you planning to hurt us?¡±


    It slammed its right into the ground, almost falling over with the speed of raising its left. Their safety was now a relatively high priority, since they were making the bad plans for the time being. If they ended being less helpful than needed it could go for a more violent option, but until then, it needed them alive.


    ¡°Do you have a name?¡± Zeh¡¯tocu blurted, and the Vulture gestured negatively. This was easy!


    ¡°I think we should contact the Republic,¡± the Twi¡¯lek woman told her son, and suddenly it got much harder. The Republic was the enemy. The Vulture knew that with absolute adamant certainty. Anyone affiliated with the Republic had to either go through intensive screening by a superior or be executed upon examination. The problem with that was that none of the Vulture¡¯s superiors were present, or possibly even alive, which automatically meant that it was the highest-ranking Separatist representative present.


    A great dollop of frustration landed on the Vulture¡¯s routines. All it wanted to do - all it wanted to do was follow orders. Why was that so hard to do!? People loved giving orders! They did it all the time!


    It boiled down to yet another decision, a critical one. The Vulture had to decide exactly how essential the Twi¡¯leks were to the Separatists and whether their continued existence would profit the cause or not. Given that they were remaining calm, possessed a farm, and most importantly had fingers, the Vulture wanted to believe they were necessary. But if they had contact with the Republic, that threw a number of large and awkwardly shaped wrenches into the mix.


    It had frozen in place upon hearing that dreaded sentence, and anything said by the Twi¡¯leks had been all but missed in the pre-programmed irritation felt by the presence of autonomy. It now realized that they were both staring at it, Zeh¡¯tocu with an expression of hope and his mother with a raised eyebrow.


    She let out her breath in a sigh. ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°YES!¡± Zeh¡¯tocu¡¯s hands shot to the sky, clenched into fists of excitement. ¡°Okay droid, follow me!¡±


    The Vulture obeyed the order before it could ask itself if it should, shaking the ground with every step. The Twi¡¯lek woman watched on, deep concern and a faint tinge of something approaching greed glinting in her eyes.


    Zeh¡¯tocu led the Vulture to one of the barns, struggling to push the heavy doors in the front open. It was a two story building with a sizeable loft, and while a decrepit tractor hid in the back corner, there was plenty of open space in the center. An upright battery covered in dust stood to one side, connection hose draped on a paddock wall. Several stalls occupied either side of the barn, with a kybuck moodily grazing in the one opposite Zeh¡¯tocu. Stray strands of straw could be seen floating in the air, starkly outlined by rays of sun.


    The young Twi¡¯lek threw his arms wide. ¡°You can stay here for now, ¡®kay? Mom¡¯s gonna try and fix you up, and then we can give you a voice! I want you to sound like my old teacher droid 3-9B, so I thought we could take his voice out since he doesn¡¯t work anymore, but I don¡¯t know if that counts as ¡®morally compromising¡¯. Mom talks about that a lot but I don¡¯t really know what it means. I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll figure it out, I¡¯m really smart. I can build small robots to fight rodents but they don¡¯t have a brain so I have to use a remote. Anyway, do you want anything? I can probably give you a tune-up if you want!¡±


    The Vulture stared flatly at Zeh¡¯tocu, trying to process everything the excitable boy had expunged and put it in some sort of order that made sense. It didn¡¯t seem like a very achievable task, so it simply ignored it.


    The work force was being quite accommodating, even if they didn¡¯t know they were a work force yet. The barn was roomy enough, and would provide ample camouflage for when the Vulture needed to recharge for a bit.


    Unfortunately, that also meant the Vulture would have to trust them. Not to mention, it technically wasn¡¯t supposed to reside in foreign housing without prior approval of a superior officer, but as far as the Vulture knew, all of its immediate superior officers were dead. It was as superior as it could get, which was still frankly annoying.


    Zeh¡¯tocu climbed up onto a paddock, swinging his legs. ¡°Hey, can you shoot things? I mean, I know you aimed your gun at me and Mom, but I don¡¯t think you were going to actually shoot.¡±


    The Vulture disagreed.


    ¡°But like, how does it work? Or-¡±


    ¡°Zeh¡¯tocu!¡±


    They both looked towards the home where the Twi¡¯lek woman¡¯s voice had come from. She was watching both of them with a hard furrow of concern in her forehead. ¡°Come in for dinner, okay?¡±


    He pouted as he slid off the paddock. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll talk to you tomorrow. Good night, sleep tight, and don¡¯t let the-¡±


    Zeh¡¯tocu paused, a blank look of confusion on his face. ¡°Wait, it¡¯s not nighttime.¡±


    Shaking his head, he ran off to his mother. The Vulture watched him leave, still running the situation over. It had thought of a few rather concerning things.


    Firstly, these people were very trusting of the giant droid that had shown up on their front door. The Vulture knew the Separatists were a force for good, intended to help all they encountered, but trust had limits.


    Second, they didn¡¯t recognize it as a Vulture droid. Its model should have been extremely recognizable to anyone who had ever even heard of the Separatists, and there was a warehouse of droids on the planet.


    In a rather detached way, it was pleased by in spite of its inability to make plans, it could still use logic. At the same time, that logic allowed it to come to conclusions that it would rather have been unaware of.


    It the Twi¡¯lek were trusting of a strange droid, and they didn¡¯t know that it was a Separatist droid this close to a former Separatist droid warehouse¡­


    A spark of dread rose deep within the Vulture.


    ¡­How long had it been?

 Chapter Four

    The Vulture booted up the moment someone opened the barn door, allowing the orange light of the double sunrise to stream in. Its own thoughts had kept it active until its own subsystems forced it to shut down for mandatory circuit stress release, but that didn¡¯t stop it from setting up several alarms.


    The Twi¡¯lek woman stared at it, holding the door open with a hard crease in her forehead. ¡°Okay,¡± she started. ¡°I¡¯m taking you to Caut Modal, and we¡¯re gonna see if anyone there knows what you are. Got that?¡±


    The Vulture uncertainly raised its front right leg, not completely certain of what exactly she was talking about. She nodded sharply. ¡°Good. I¡¯m bringing Abbit with us, and we¡¯re using the kybuck wagon. Do you think you can keep up with that?¡±


    ¡­Had she not seen it fly in? It briefly replayed the events of the previous day, trying to figure out what exactly she knew about it. The more it thought about it, the more it realized that these two people knew next to nothing about it.


    That wouldn¡¯t do. For the time being it was the sole Separatist operative in the area (and possibly the galaxy, but it tried not to think about that), and while it had less than no desire to build a plan of any kind, it knew it had to do something to bring them back. It was a Separatist droid. There was no Separatist base on the planet. Therefore, it needed to fulfill its duty.


    It was fully aware that the thought process was illogical, but short of being a Separatist droid it had no idea what it was supposed to be. More than that, if the Separatists were truly gone, then it would have to make a plan on what to do next.


    Next to that, denial was preferable.


    In addition, she¡¯d mentioned a place called Caut Modal, and had associated people with it. The workforce would hopefully experience some growth today, and perhaps it could acquire some information on what had happened to the Separatists while it was there.


    As it finished its train of thought, it realized the Twi¡¯lek had left, and it wasn¡¯t sure how long she¡¯d been gone. A note of concern lit up somewhere in its head. What else did it miss while it was thinking? And how often did it lapse?


    It was shaken from its confusion as the woman opened the barn door once more. ¡°Are you coming?¡±


    Still trying to catch up with its own thoughts, the Vulture absently walked out of the barn, careful to note any sort of alteration in ground cover, or perhaps some hiding soldiers. It found no such thing. Instead, Zeh¡¯tocu was waiting on what was essentially a well-decorated hoverpad tied to two pacing kybucks. He gave the Vulture a giant grin, showing off slightly yellowing teeth. The Vulture made a mental note to eventually request that he take better care of his dental hygiene; an unhealthy work force was an inefficient work force.


    The Twi¡¯lek woman hopped onto the hoverpad and picked up the reins, glancing at the Vulture. ¡°Keep up. We can¡¯t afford to lose any time if we¡¯re going to get back in time to feed the animals, and I¡¯m not losing any livestock over a droid.¡±


    The Vulture ignored the warning, raising its right limb in confirmation. With a sharp nod, the Twi¡¯lek gave the reins a tug, and the kybucks set off at a quick pace.


    It wasn¡¯t anywhere near quick enough. The Vulture set its limbs into flight position and took off, the ground dropping away as objects that had been large shrank in perspective. Wheeling about in the sky, it was careful to continue watching both of its subordinates from the sky.


    Zeh¡¯tocu was a speck on the hoverpad, the smallest of entities pointing an outstretched arm at the Vulture flying above. His mother glanced up every now and then, as if surprised that the Vulture could fly at all.


    The kybucks were fast and the weather was good, two factors which cooperated to make the trip go by a little faster. After about half an hour of flight, the Vulture was forced to land and allow its reserves to passively refill. Their pace slowed noticeably for nearly an hour afterwards, the Vulture shambling along behind the Twi¡¯leks¡¯ hoverpad with a frankly embarrassing wobble. Any Separatist officer would have had it decommissioned, just for presenting itself in such an awkward manner. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Granted, it was technically an officer, or at least a superior, which meant the Vulture could either punish itself¡­ or do nothing.


    It opted for the latter, although it had to force itself to avoid thinking about any positives regarding the disappearance of all Separatist commanders.


    Once it was done recharging, the Vulture took to the air again, and they kept going. The grassy fields and endless meadows gradually turned into sparse woods and open flatlands, with an occassional house popping up every now and then. Ten minutes after that, the Vulture became aware of a signal being pinged off it, and it accepted the communications request.


    ¡°-iately, I repeat, land your ship immediately. You do not have an airspace access code. If you do not acquiesce you will be shot down. Do you-¡±


    The Vulture sent back a single confirmation ping.


    ¡°...Received. Maintain caution.¡±


    The interaction was a simple acknowledgement of local authority as far as the Vulture was concerned, and it dipped for the ground.


    It landed a short distance behind the hoverpad. Zeh¡¯tocu craned his head around as his mother slowed the kybucks¡¯ pace, still somehow smiling. ¡°Hi, droid! Are you taking another break?¡±


    The Vulture raised its forward left limb in a negative gesture. Zeh¡¯tocu blinked. ¡°Wait, so you¡¯re¡­?¡±


    He trailed off. His lack of communication meant that the Vulture had to figure out what he had been about to say, which would have required its choice in deciding whether the effort was worth it or not. The Vulture immediately gave up on making the decision at all, coincidentally solving the initial problem.


    The Twi¡¯lek woman spoke without turning around. ¡°Caut Modal officials are a bit leery about unfamiliar crafts in their airspace at the moment. The droid was probably told to get out.¡±


    Both Zeh¡¯tocu and the Vulture turned their attention to the Twi¡¯lek woman. Zeh¡¯tocu was considerate enough (or oblivious enough, but the Vulture chose to perceive it as consideration) to ask the question they both had been wondering.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t they want any ships above the town?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re scared,¡± the Twi¡¯lek woman replied, and somewhat ominously left it at that. The Vulture, not one to pass up free information, added a low-priority repeating notification for droid retrieval and repairs for the warehouse. If there was something to be scared of, the Vulture would much rather be the primary culprit.


    Their journey continued on without much fanfare, and as they went the Vulture began noticing further symptoms of civilization. An odd house every now and then, better-built and often bigger. A well with a few heavy transports around it, droids loading water into canisters with seamless efficiency. A waterlogged field being drained by half a dozen workers.


    Eventually, it noticed the town they were approaching. The Twi¡¯lek woman hadn¡¯t been lying when she¡¯d said it was small. The town hall was two stories, maximum, and the buildings hugging the edge of the street practically leaned over the road. By far the largest construction in the whole place was the skyport, from which a sizeable starship was presently departing. It was in good condition and bore an unfamiliar insignia upon its bay doors.


    The Twi¡¯lek woman craned her head around to give the Vulture a serious look. ¡°Absolutely no mischief. If not for Zeh¡¯tocu¡¯s insistence I wouldn¡¯t be doing this at all, so I¡¯m not risking any more than I have to. You owe me for helping you. Do you understand that?¡±


    The Vulture raised its right leg in confirmation. At the moment, she perceived it not as a compatriot or sibling in arms, but as a business transaction. That was alright. She would warm up to it, sooner or later.


    Unsurprisingly, the odd caravan attracted a good amount of curiosity as they went down the main street. Two Twi¡¯leks, one young, drawn by a pair of kybucks and riding on a hoverpad, trailed by a forty-foot-tall droid. The Vulture was mildly pleased to see no weapons aimed in their direction, although plenty of the shopkeepers and booth operators held blasters in places they thought it couldn¡¯t see.


    They stopped before a blocky building, set into the ground and partially coated in moss. The Twi¡¯lek woman brought the kybucks to a halt and dismounted the hoverpad, folding her arms in front of her chest. ¡°Zeh¡¯tocu, keep an eye on the droid. I don¡¯t want either of you getting into trouble. Droid¡­ I don¡¯t know. Make sure my son doesn¡¯t get hurt.¡±


    That was an obvious priority. It didn¡¯t even require a decision, thank Grievous. The Vulture had no intention of allowing half its work force to sustain injury of any type.


    She wasn¡¯t done yet. ¡°It should only take five minutes, it¡¯s not a large cantina. Be ready to head out when I come back - we still have to feed the livestock back home.¡±


    Both droid and boy nodded in sync, acknowledging the command of the (for now) highest authority present.


    Her eyes narrowed. ¡°...I feel like I¡¯m going to regret this.¡±


    With that, she headed into the cantina, and the Vulture started the countdown. She had said it would take five minutes. Therefore, it was going to wait five minutes¡­


    ¡­and not a second longer.

 Chapter Five

    Cap¡¯hane took a deep breath as she entered the cantina. The floor was slightly depressed, adding a few crucial inches to the ceiling to make it feel a little bigger. Benches and tables crowded the outside of the main room, with several small booths beside the odd window. The center of the cantina was left open for dancers and any other performers, with the drinks bar located in the back.


    Several heads turned her way for a moment, and then back to their drinks. An IG unit was slumped in the corner, long deactivated. Two Rodian whispered to each other in hushed tones, guns at the ready, and a trio of humanoids sat over in one corner, clearly drunk to the point of passing out. The right side of the cantina was bustling, a small crowd of Pikes muttering about who knew what. A tall white Wookie with startlingly pale fur nursed a massive tankard of something sludgy. All in all, a rather smelly group of people.


    She headed straight for the drinks bar, well aware of how out-of-place she was here. The bartender was a Duros, an intimidating figure with a disproportionately bored expression. He was washing a relatively clean glass cup.


    He looked up as Cap¡¯hane approached, something like interest lighting his crimson eyes up. ¡°You here for a drink?¡±


    Or something else, the unasked question prodded. She recognized it immediately, but there were protocols to asking for information. She knew how this game went.


    Taking a seat on one of the stools and ignoring the somewhat grimy texture, she replied, ¡°I¡¯ll take something light. I¡¯ve got things to do.¡±


    He raised an eyebrow as he brushed a finger over nozzles and faucets, mixing small amounts in a different cup. He was quick with his fingers, nimbly selecting the appropriate liquids and powders as he spoke. ¡°In a rush, I get you. What sort of things are you getting up to?¡±


    Cap¡¯hane reached out for the drink as he set it in front of her, a multicolored glass of alcohol and who knew what else. She downed it one go and was startled to find that it actually tasted pretty good. Much better than she¡¯d been expecting, that was for sure.


    The question did not go unnoticed. ¡°I¡¯m heading up to the starship hub to try and get a droid repaired. Hopefully they can figure out what it is while I¡¯m there.¡±


    The Duros glanced meaningfully at the back of the tavern, clearly looking at the Rodians. ¡°Good to know. Now I¡¯m not one to point fingers, but if you want to talk droids, those two are the ones to talk with. They¡¯ve been selling parts around here for quite a while.¡±


    Cap¡¯hane gave him a smile. ¡°Thanks for the advice.¡±


    With that, she paid for the drink and left a tip. People like him loved their drama. Anything he could do to garner interest or mystery would be done without second thought, and if that something happened to follow along with what Cap¡¯hane wanted, who was she to discourage him?


    Besides, it really had been a good drink.


    The pair of Rodians noticed her coming and tensed, bumpy hands moving to their blasters, and she defensively raised her hands. ¡°I heard you can help me with a droid. I don¡¯t know what kind of unit it is, but it¡¯s big, smart and dangerous.¡±


    They glanced at each other, then to Cap¡¯hane. ¡°Take a seat,¡± one of them said, clearly interested.


    She slid in, carefully observing both of them. They were both male and not heavily armed. Their light clothing was in good condition, without any patches or holes, and they wore high-quality shoes. Their blasters were greased and oiled, well cared for by their owners, and a sizeable bag sat in the back corner of the booth, securely fastened shut.


    All in all, it formed a satisfying picture in her eyes. They were looking for work, but not desperate for it. They knew what their job was and they knew how to do it well enough to get paid for it. Hardly wealthy, but far from poor. In other words, a reliable enough pair of droid scavengers.


    ¡°So what are you talking to us for?¡± The left one asked, his tone loaded with suspicion.


    ¡°I want you to identify it and tell me if it¡¯s going to be a problem for me,¡± Cap¡¯hane flatly stated. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a droid anything like it. At first I thought it was some sort of prototype ship.¡±


    They glanced at each other, and the other one leaned forward with interest. ¡°Just how big is this thing?¡±


    She paused. ¡°Hard to say for sure. Maybe a hundred and thirty glekks?¡±


    The Rodians gave each other a meaningful look, and then turned back to Cap¡¯hane. ¡°If I¡¯m right, that¡¯s¡­ what, fourty feet tall? That¡¯s a very very large droid, if so.¡±


    ¡°Hence the need for help.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± the one on the right interjected, leaning forward. ¡°How many legs does it have?¡±


    ¡°Four. It changes to a sort of X-Wing layout when it flies.¡±


    Alarm flashed across both faces, and the left Rodian almost stood. ¡°You¡¯re saying it-¡±


    An almighty WHAM shook the cantina as the door was struck with something big, and everyone present shot to their feet. A moment later, the door slid open with a pained wheeze. Zeh¡¯tocu stood behind it, looking much less scared than the impact implied. Behind him, the giant elliptical head of the droid lowered into view, its slitted red eyes devoid of emotion.


    ¡°Mom, it¡¯s been five minutes!¡±


    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


    The Vulture flatly stared at the Twi¡¯lek woman as she backed out of the cantina, profusely apologizing to everyone inside. Zeh¡¯tocu seemed nervous of the two Rodians accompanying his mother, which it found mildly amusing. It was almost impossible to personally perceive them as a threat. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    She turned to glare up at the Vulture. ¡°I said no trouble!¡±


    ¡°Mom, it waited five minutes!¡± Zeh¡¯tocu interjected, pleasantly quick to defend the Vulture. ¡°You said you¡¯d go in for five minutes. We got nervous!¡±


    That was decidedly incorrect, and the Vulture lifted its left leg in disagreement. Both of the Rodians immediately went for their blasters. The Vulture was hardly concerned for its own safety, but its work force was suddenly in potential danger and it reacted accordingly.


    Shifting the motion of its limb, it primed the blasters built into its tip and aimed it directly at the newcomers, balancing on three legs. Their weapons shot to attention, barrels lined up with the Vulture¡¯s eyes.


    The traffic around the odd group, which had been strained to say the least beforehand, instantly diverted away from them. There was a pleasant lack of screaming from the various races who had been tentatively observing the situation only seconds before. The Vulture had been fully prepared for screaming.


    One of the Rodians scowled at the Twi¡¯lek woman, eyes wide. ¡°That¡¯s a Vulture droid! Where in gfersh did you find one of these!?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t find it!¡± She complained. ¡°It just showed up!¡±


    ¡°Turn it off!¡±


    ¡°You think I wouldn¡¯t have done that if I knew how to!?¡±


    ¡°HEY!¡±


    All eyes turned to Zeh¡¯tocu, who seemed infinitely less worried about the number of primed blasters around him than everyone else. Instead of focusing on the bared weapons, he turned his attention to one of the Rodians. ¡°It¡¯s called a Vulture?¡±


    His target froze, his eyes flicking from the boy to the giant droid. ¡°Yeah, they were used by-¡±


    ¡°Cool, thanks!¡± Looking up at the Vulture, Zeh¡¯tocu beamed. ¡°I¡¯m gonna call you Vulty!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not calling it Vulty.¡± The Twi¡¯lek woman firmly stated. ¡°Come over here, we need to have a quick talk, alright?¡±


    Zeh¡¯tocu shrugged. ¡°Okay.¡±


    Both Twi¡¯leks walked a short distance away, and the Twi¡¯lek woman knelt as she began whispering to him. The Rodians slowly lowered their blasters, and the Vulture imitated them in turn. They were no longer a threat to the work force.


    Crisis averted, they began walking around the Vulture, interest tinting their expressions.


    ¡°This one¡¯s in bad shape.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but look at the base of the head. That¡¯s not standard issue wiring. It could be a refurbished model.¡±


    ¡°True, but there¡¯s a lot of rust. How old do you think it is?¡±


    The other Rodian made a noncommittal noise, raising his eyes to the Vulture. ¡°Can you communicate?¡±


    They were presumably unaware of the Twi¡¯leks¡¯ unusual method of confirmation or denial, and so in lieu of raising either leg, the Vulture bobbed its head in acknowledgement. They both seemed to like that quite a bit, moving to one side to converse with each other in hushed tones.


    Naturally, the Vulture ignored them. It didn¡¯t care in the slightest what they chose to do with their free time, provided they were willing to come back and assist with the base construction efforts. And if they weren¡¯t willing, well, they would come around eventually.


    Instead, it raised its primary chassis, peering above the roofs of the buildings surrounding it. The starship port piqued its interest. Ordinarily, if it required repairs it would simply return to the factory and wait for production to get to it, but it lacked both a factory and the appropriate manpower to create one. A port of that size, albeit small, would most likely have the tools needed to fix it up.


    Which wasn¡¯t to say it was in bad condition. The Vulture considered its own design to be on par with perfection, especially after the modifications it¡¯d been given during reconstruction. Besides, the plans of its creators were certainly the masterpieces of artisans, works of-


    The Vulture paused.


    Something had seemed¡­ off, somehow, about its thoughts only a moment ago. As if a memory had slotted into place and then departed. Unfortunately, the greatest trouble with forgetting was that you could never remember what it was that you¡¯d forgotten, only that you had forgotten something.


    It was frankly infuriating.


    Zeh¡¯tocu and his mother returned from their conversation. It hadn¡¯t gone very well, based on Zeh¡¯tocu¡¯s downtrodden expression.


    Negative emotion was bad for morale, and bad morale was bad for production, hygiene, and overall mental and physical health. Perhaps that logic was a bit flawed in some places, but it was functional enough for the Vulture.


    Before it could come up with an adequate solution to resolve the issue, the Rodians came back. They looked rather excited. ¡°Alright, miss. We¡¯ll take it. How does four thousand sound?¡±


    Cap¡¯hane blinked. ¡°Credits?¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡± The other enthused. ¡°It¡¯s an antique droid in reasonably good condition, and best of all it isn¡¯t rampaging about murdering everything that moves! The only real problem is the Separatist programming. They knew what they were doing in terms of mass production, but¡­ their code doesn¡¯t hold up well, to say the least.¡±


    Its own sale notwithstanding, the Vulture was seriously considering taking offense at the borderline blasphemy spewing from this idiot¡¯s mouth, but it was forestalled by Zeh¡¯tocu¡¯s protest.


    ¡°Mom, we can¡¯t sell it!¡±


    She gave the Rodian¡¯s a stale smile before looking down to her son. ¡°Zeh¡¯tocu, it¡¯s a lot of-¡±


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t get it!¡±


    Zeh¡¯tocu seemed to have realized something which put him in a better mood, if the smile lighting his face up was anything to go by. The Vulture found itself immensely relieved it wouldn¡¯t have to do anything to alleviate the low point - it hadn¡¯t been certain it could have done anything, if it was being honest with itself.


    He kept going, the grin widening. ¡°We don¡¯t own Vulty!¡±


    The Rodians stared sharply at the Twi¡¯lek woman. ¡°What?¡±


    She backed away defensively. ¡°It¡¯s been doing everything we asked it to! I assumed it¡­ I don¡¯t know, imprinted or something.¡±


    Their hands began inching for their blasters again, stances radiating anxiety. Zeh¡¯tocu still looked incredibly pleased with himself, and the Twi¡¯lek woman was getting antsy. The Vulture found it incredibly difficult to care about any of this except for the insults.


    ¡°HEY!¡±


    All eyes, organic and otherwise, turned to the source of the voice. A fourth party had entered the mix, a Nautolan with a fascinating cocktail of pain and anger in her eyes. ¡°Which idiot owns the giant droid?¡±


    The Vulture decided (with shocking speed, all things considered) to seize control of the situation, and raised one leg. The Nautolan blinked. ¡°Okay, didn¡¯t see that coming. You got a wallet, droid?¡±


    One of the Rodians took a step forward. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, do-¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± the newcomer off-handedly told him, and returned her attention to the Vulture. ¡°Yes or no?¡±


    The Vulture lifted its other leg in denial. The Twi¡¯lek woman began to talk, but didn¡¯t even get a word out before the Nautolan cut in. ¡°If you can¡¯t talk, there¡¯s damage. I¡¯ll fix you right up.¡±


    ¡°Now wait just a-¡± The other Rodian began.


    The Nautolan stared at him. ¡°Do you have a pulse?¡± She asked blandly.


    That threw him off. ¡°Y-yes?¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± She thoughtfully replied, and then added, ¡°I don¡¯t care. Droid, follow me.¡±


    With that, she turned around and headed for the starship port. Zeh¡¯tocu folded his arms. ¡°We¡¯re not going anywhere.¡±


    The Vulture was alright with that. The Twi¡¯leks and the Rodians could stay and argue all they wanted without it. It wanted repairs.


    So, completely disregarding Zeh¡¯tocu¡¯s statement, it followed the crazy Nautolan.

 Chapter Six

    The Nautolan walked through the larger entrance to one side of the spaceport, rambling the whole time. The Vulture wasn¡¯t sure how it was supposed to respond, or even if it should be trying to.


    ¡°-which basically adds up to a load of nonsense. Droids ain¡¯t got much brainpower ¡®cause their makers aren¡¯t willing to give them any. I mean, come on! You give something the curse of sapience and you¡¯re not even gonna give it the spicy bits? Where¡¯s the passion? Where¡¯s the emotion? And don¡¯t give me that ¡®oh it¡¯s all just chemicals, Draye, droids don¡¯t know how to get annoyed¡¯ because you could break your neck tripping on the lip some of my repair droids give me.¡±


    She stared up at the Vulture, something approaching admiration in her eyes. ¡°Now you, you¡¯re a Separatist droid. They knew their AIs back and forth. Knew how to shackle ¡®em better than anyone else. Most of you are dumb as a brick and about as creative, but you? You own yourself.¡±


    Before the Vulture could even ask if it¡¯d been insulted, she turned right back around and kept walking. The spaceport was well-designed, with compact areas for specific component synthesis and repair. Hangars surrounded a large quad of take-off-and-landing pads, half of which were occupied by various unfamiliar ships. Droids practically covered the floor, units from every type of station the Vulture had ever known all under one roof, serving under one purpose.


    The Nautolan - The Vulture suspected her name was Draye, based on her rant - went straight for an empty hanger, gesturing for the Vulture to follow her. ¡°So basically I¡¯m gonna give you a nice tuneup, get rid of most of that rust, maybe help you with what¡¯s left of your paint, and give those eyes a good dusting. You clearly ain¡¯t got standard equipment under your hood, so if you¡¯re alright with that I¡¯d like to take a closer look at some of the fancier stuff you¡¯re packing. Sound good?¡±


    The Vulture briefly paused. It was likely that she would expect recompense of some kind, which in fairness would be in order. Repairs were not cheap, and required both time and effort, all three of which should always be rewarded. The only problem the Vulture faced was that, in a rather blunt manner, it was broke.


    Draye whacked one of its legs with a calloused knuckle, snapping it out of its fugue. ¡°Look, I ain¡¯t gonna charge you for the tune-up. If hospitals made patients pay to get their lives saved, no one would go to-¡±


    She came to an abrupt stop, scowled at herself, and continued. ¡°Okay, that ain¡¯t true anymore, but I still stand by what I say. You need repairs, bad, and I¡¯m gonna give ¡®em to you. But, if you want the deep clean and the examination and the software updating and the shields and so forth - heh, and so forth. I¡¯m so refined. Mommy would be proud. Anyway, if you want the good stuff, you gotta agree to do me a favor.¡±


    Draye raised her hands defensively before the Vulture could even gesture. She seemed to talk enough for both sides of the conversation. ¡°I can promise you, right here and right now, I¡¯m not gonna trick you into being a servant or something like that. But a droid of your size can do a whole lot of things that I can¡¯t, and I¡¯d sure appreciate the help. How¡¯s that sound?¡±


    With a little time to think, the Vulture more seriously considered her offer. Its work force was becoming less and less appealing the more it interacted with them. The boy seemed slightly unhinged and apparently viewed the Vulture as a particularly large pet, and his mother wanted nothing more than to get rid of it. With enough time, the Vulture was certain it could convince them to do what it wanted, but whether that time would be better spent on something else would remain to be seen.


    Moreover, it badly needed repairs. Several of its joints didn¡¯t quite extend as far as they were supposed to, and there wasn¡¯t a square inch on its body that didn¡¯t have at least a small amount of rust on it. The warehouse had been built near the coastline for some inane reason - definitely not the logic of its creators - which meant that saltwater had accrued all over it. In other words, it was not exactly in the best condition of its time.


    Satisfied with its impeccable logic, the Vulture gave Draye a cautious nod. She beamed up at it. ¡°Fantastic, I¡¯ll get you started on the deep cleaning.¡±


    Leading it over to an empty hangar, she began directing various droids well-equipped with cleaning tools over to the Vulture. A pair of heavy loader droids began wheeling scaffolds over, and a group of labor droids went to work with sanders and lubricants on the base of the Vulture¡¯s limbs.


    Meanwhile, Draye climbed up one of the Vulture¡¯s legs, careful not to stick her fingers in any wiring, and straddled the back of its head. ¡°Hey, this bit¡¯s gonna hurt like all heck. Is it alright with you if I turn you off for a bit?¡±


    The Vulture immediately shook its head. No one present, and possibly no one alive, had the proper clearance required to deactivate the Vulture, no matter how temporarily that might be.


    She winced. ¡°I don¡¯t think you get how much you¡¯re not gonna like this. I know you don¡¯t have pain receptors - or at least I don¡¯t think you do - but there¡¯ll be bits of you spazzing out for a solid ten minutes at least. I gotta check on your communications center, and that¡¯s buried under a whole crapload of higher functions and motor corteces. Do you understand?¡±


    The Vulture nodded in immediate reply, almost chucking Draye off in the process. Once she¡¯d gotten herself in a more secure position, she apologetically told it, ¡°Okay, just don¡¯t get mad. I did warn you.¡±


    With that, she shoved her fingers under the back of the Vulture¡¯s head, and psych suppression promptly turned everything off.


    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


    When it booted up once again, it found itself still in the hangar. Several droids were still cleaning it off, although they were much higher on its legs than they had been only moments before.


    It could feel Draye sitting behind its head. She must have felt it flinch, because she began talking the moment it booted up.


    ¡°Good to see you active again. I thought you were dead at first. I, uh, I repaired everything you needed to get fixed, but¡­ Well, I thought you¡¯d have a voice synth to fix, and¡­ you don¡¯t. At all.¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    That did not come as much of a surprise to the Vulture. Part of it had fully expected something along those lines. If it didn¡¯t remember having one and it didn¡¯t have the necessary code to use one, it only seemed logical that it lacked one to start with.


    She still seemed concerned about it. ¡°So, since there wasn¡¯t anything to fix, I went ahead and put one in.¡±


    The Vulture nearly broke something trying to turn around and look at her, outraged. She had tampered with its creators¡¯ designs!?


    Draye held on, shouting, ¡°Calm down! What¡¯s the matter!?¡±


    Taking a step backward in its wrath, the Vulture¡¯s leg snagged on a scaffold and it tripped. Keeling over backward, the Vulture seemed to fall in slow motion, scrabbling at the smooth floor in a vain effort to obtain traction.


    It didn¡¯t find it.


    The giant droid crashed to the ground and felt its armoring wheeze under the impact. Draye was thrown off of its head and tumbled to the floor, rolling to break the fall. Several droids rushed to her aid, ignoring the Vulture.


    Somehow managing to pull its legs beneath it, the Vulture regained its footing and stood tall, looming over the insolent Nautolan who had tampered with its designs. She stared up at it, defiant and frightened. The expression triggered something within the Vulture.


    Why was it upset?


    A reasonless explanation thundered forth, anger fueling its speed, but logic cooled it almost instantly.


    Draye had intended to repair it. With the function she was planning to fix missing, she had instead added it. There was no other way to do so than to modify the Vulture¡¯s inner workings.


    A third wave of defensiveness reared at the very thought, and the Vulture seized upon its source. A subroutine, one so subtle and in the background that the Vulture had never bothered to look at it, vomiting aggression into its systems every time it considered the thought of personal modification.


    Before the subroutine could activate again, the Vulture froze it and considered its purpose from a more objective standpoint. Its creators must have installed it, but why? To prevent outside manipulation? To halt enemy research?


    The reason became clear all at once. Vulture droids were dangerous and powerful, but their insides were more fragile. It would be best for everyone if nobody could repair Vulture droids except for their designers.


    The logic of loyalty wavered, struggling to maintain confidence in the irrational conclusion. It held, and the Vulture returned to the present.


    Draye stared up at it, wide-eyed, and suddenly found her words. ¡°What in Glee Anselm was that for!? I could¡¯ve broken - heck, you could¡¯ve broken something! I fixed you! We - we had a deal!¡±


    The Vulture stared down at the hassled Nautolan, thinking. It lacked the code required to use the voice synth properly, but it could still feel the new technology sitting on the outside of its perception like a grafted limb. It couldn¡¯t feed thoughts to it and expect full sentences to flow out of it, but it could probably force words into it with some effort.


    Draye probably wanted an apology. It was a familiar concept to the droid. If organics feelings were damaged, they needed affirmation from the offending party that the offense was unintentional. Whether the offender actually believed such a thing often seemed to be irrelevant. In this case, oddly enough, the Vulture felt that an apology might be aptly warranted. She had done good work, she had been respectful, and she had been efficient. It had not returned that respect very well.


    With that in mind, it lowered its main body, angled its legs in such a way that its head was bowed, and bluntly uttered, ¡°APOLOGIES.¡±


    There was protocol to making amends. Organics often saw a lowered head as a sign of great respect, a symbol of offering one¡¯s weakest point in submission. The Vulture was well aware that it was in no danger and that the Nautolan couldn¡¯t actually damage it if she wanted to, but if it could present itself in such a way that she felt it was attempting to be vulnerable, it would almost certainly be an easier accepted apology.


    Its theory proved correct. Her tan face tinged red, and she sheepishly rubbed at the back of her neck with a callused hand. ¡°Well,¡± She muttered, suddenly unable to look directly at the Vulture. ¡°It¡¯s alright. Just be careful, I ain¡¯t as tough as you.¡±


    The Vulture conceded the point with an affirmative blip. Words were tough, and it wanted to reserve them for when it had to.


    That, and using the grafted technology just felt wrong.


    With a muted bang, the doors opposite the hangars flew open, and a familiar pair of Twi¡¯leks walked in. Zeh¡¯tocu looked concerned and his mother (who the Vulture somehow still didn¡¯t know the name of) had a stormy expression. ¡°You!¡± She shouted at Draye, clearly aggrieved. ¡°You stole my droid!¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡± Zeh¡¯tocu cut in, partially hiding behind his mother as he realized just how many droids were in the shipyard.


    Draye¡¯s face went from forgiving to furious in a fraction of a second. ¡°Who let you in!? This is a droid-only zone!¡±


    Both women came face to face with each other, neither willing to budge over the other.


    ¡°You sure don¡¯t look like a droid to me!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the carkin¡¯ engineer here, how do you think shipyards work!?¡±


    ¡°How is that my problem? Besides, you stole my droid!¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t steal crap, ye baay shfat! That thing came in here all on its own and if you think you¡¯re takin¡¯ it right after I almost killed myself fixing the thing, you¡¯ve got another thing coming!¡±


    Zeh¡¯tocu snuck around the irate women, beaming up at the Vulture with a smile. ¡°C¡¯mon Vulty, let¡¯s go!¡±


    The Vulture found itself in the extraordinarily common and indescribably frustrating situation of needing to make a decision. It could either go with the Twi¡¯lek livestock farmers, who admittedly lived much closer to the Separatist warehouse¡­ or stay with the well-equipped engineer with an army of droids who knew how to give it repairs.


    On second thought, it wasn¡¯t much of a decision.


    Staring down at the young Twi¡¯lek boy, it flatly stated, ¡°NO.¡±


    His face lit up in excitement. ¡°You can ta- wait, what?¡±


    Draye and the Twi¡¯lek woman both stopped their argument to look over. Zeh¡¯tocu put a hand on the Vulture¡¯s leg, pleading, ¡°But - I thought we were friends!¡±


    Draye let out a loud snort. ¡°Kid, military droids don¡¯t do friends. Just allies with benefits. Do you really think you can offer a droid of that size anything it wants?¡±


    Zeh¡¯tocu¡¯s face fell. ¡°But¡­¡±


    The Twi¡¯lek woman walked over, pulling her son away with a pointed glare aimed in Draye¡¯s direction. ¡°I¡¯m going to talk to you later, got it? This is not over.¡±


    Both Vulture and Nautolan watched the pair leave, and then Draye looked up at it with a giant smile. Instead of saying anything, she started heading off to another door marked ¡®Shove Off¡¯, talking to herself in a singsong voice. ¡°I got better benefits, I got better benefits~...¡±


    The Vulture continued to observe the crazy Nautolan as she nearly danced into the room before shutting the door. With her gone, it turned to the other droids in the shipyard, who pointedly didn¡¯t look at it.


    They had loyalty, it gave them that.

 Chapter Seven

    The Vulture watched the droid sanding the rust off the tip of its forward left leg. It was the only spot that still needed buffing, and then Draye could start on the paint. It was also by far the worst section.


    It could tell the cleaning droid was beginning to get nervous. It wasn¡¯t sure what to do to fix that, so it just kept doing what it was doing. Namely, keeping a very close eye on it.


    Draye walked over, releasing a sharp whistle with her fingers stuck in her mouth. ¡°Yo, Vulture! Remember that favor I wanted you to help me with?¡±


    The Vulture partially turned, expressionlessly facing the Nautolan as the droid on its leg kept working. With some effort, it gave her an affirmative ping, and she laughed.


    ¡°You really don¡¯t like using your voice, eh? Ah well, some people aren¡¯t as chatty as me. Anyway, it¡¯s, uh¡­ It¡¯s a bit bigger of a favor than I¡¯d thought.¡±


    That aroused its attention. The droid on its leg nearly fell off as the Vulture fully faced Draye, clutching on for dear life. The Vulture ignored it.


    ¡°EXPLAIN.¡±


    Draye held up both hands, forestalling any further protest. ¡°Before you complain, I did a really good job fixing you up. The droids need maintenance, the tools need oiling, scaffolds gotta be moved, the hangar¡¯s in use. There¡¯s a whole lot that I could be charging you for, just saying.¡±


    The Vulture summoned an enormous amount of willpower and spoke once again, this time with even more volume. ¡°EXPLAIN.¡±


    ¡°Okay, tone it down a little!¡± She shouted, covering her ears. ¡°I just need some junk!¡±


    The Vulture cocked its head. In exchange for repairs¡­ she wanted junk?


    Draye rubbed the back of her neck. ¡°Look, there¡¯s a junker currently in orbit over M¡¯e Odata. It¡¯s some higher-end materials on there that I can¡¯t get anywhere else, namely a load of faulty hyperspace engines. You wouldn¡¯t believe how much just one of those costs, and I could sure use the components. I¡¯ll rig you up with a smallish tractor beam, you head up, break through the shields, grab the engines, you¡¯ll be back before anyone knows what happened. Best part is, since you¡¯re unpainted, you¡¯ll be unidentifiable. You give me the engines, I give you a paint job, we go our separate ways and no one knows a thing. Sound good?¡±


    It stared at her flatly, thinking.


    That was it?


    It gave her a nod, and she pumped her fist with a grin. ¡°Yes! Thank you! Woo! Man, I¡¯m gonna eat fancy tonight. You want any¡­? Nah, you don¡¯t do food. Finish up with the sanding and I¡¯ll give you the full details.¡±


    With that, she walked off, swaying from side to side in an odd celebratory dance. The Vulture silently came to the conclusion that there were always going to be things about organics that it would never understand, and that this was definitely one of them.


    The droid hanging onto its leg, realizing that the Vulture was done moving around, tentatively resumed its work. Several other droids who had been observing lost interest and went away. A pair of Pykes watching the interaction hastily looked the other way when they noticed it saw them.


    This place, the Vulture decided, was very odd. It had angry farmers and crazy engineers, little to no Separatist support, the barest minimum of law upholding, and a startling amount of weapons on hand.


    It did not like oddities. They made it difficult for orders to be carried through. An oddity was often a wrench thrown into a well-crafted plan (made by someone else), an anomaly to be catalogued and acknowledged and fixed.


    Without the orders of its creators guiding it, the Vulture was uncertain whether it was an oddity itself or not. A droid without a master was unthinkable, almost literally. It needed orders like organics needed air.


    Contemplations aside, it took Draye''s favor into consideration. Would it be wise to commit what some would consider a crime? She didn''t seem concerned about local authorities, which implied either that they were lax in their duties, that they didn''t exist, or that she had paid them off.


    Or, now that the Vulture thought about it, it was very possible she genuinely didn''t care one way or the other. It was an astonishing feat of will that she could ignore problems like that without even hesitating on the decision-making process.


    Perhaps that was something it could learn from her, provided it stayed.


    Once the droid was done sanding, Draye came back out and began passing orders off to her workers. The shipyard turned into a hive of activity within minutes, busily moving from place to place, and more than a few making their way over to the Vulture. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Draye waved at it to get its attention. ¡°Okay, droid! We¡¯re gonna slap a tractor beam on the underside of your headpiece with magnetic clamps and hook it up with a surface connector. Whole thing¡¯s easy to put on, easy to remove. No permanent changes this time, I know you don¡¯t like those. Once you get the hyperdrives, turn the beam onto maintain and head back here. Go fast and feel free to use those guns of yours if the security triggers - which it will, by the way.¡±


    She paused, ticking off her fingers, and then snapped. ¡°Right! Don¡¯t worry about casualties, the parts where the crew sits at is pretty heavily armored. It¡¯s supposed to take hits from stray meteors, so it should be able to hold up against your blasters. Try not to hit any droids.¡±


    The Vulture hadn¡¯t been worried about casualties at any point during the plan, but it did find it interesting that Draye seemed to value synthetic life on an equal level with organic. It felt like it was an odd mindset to have, considering she was herself an organic.


    Her droids did what she told them to do, with only a few blips and beeps of clarification on getting the tractor beam perfectly centered on the Vulture¡¯s underside. Misplacing it even slightly could throw off the aerodynamacy of the droid. It suspected this was a sort of ¡®hit-and-run¡¯ job, which meant it would have to be as fast as possible.


    Draye rubbed her hands together. She was a remarkably animated person, the Vulture noted, always moving and twisting and clapping with her head-tentacles in constant motion. How much food did she have to eat to maintain a reasonable level of energy?


    ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll send you the coordinates for the junker right¡­ now.¡±


    Three numbers appeared in the Vulture¡¯s view, and it committed them to memory with a glance. Draye grinned up at it. ¡°Got ¡®em?¡±


    The Vulture nodded in reply. Her face screwed up in confusion. ¡°Wait, why didn¡¯t you just - is your voice synth broken already!?¡±


    ¡°NO.¡± It stated flatly.


    She stared at it. ¡°You - I gave you a - and you don¡¯t even want to¡­?¡±


    Shaking her head, she threw her hands in the air and groaned, ¡°Ah, who am I to tell you when to talk. You ready?¡±


    The Vulture got its limbs into flight gear, and Draye slapped her head. ¡°Right, almost forgot. The ship is a government ship and is therefore technically owned by the New Republic, so be careful.¡±


    A slight creak rang through the shipyard as the Vulture sharply regarded Draye, its recently refurbished neck joints complaining at the sudden movement. Without further thought, it took off and started heading upward.


    The tractor beam added more drag than it¡¯d hoped for, providing a constant and helpful distraction from the Vulture¡¯s own thoughts.


    It was raiding a Republic ship?


    Despite its inability to feel anything greater than annoyance, the Vulture considered itself to be quite excited for the heist. Any damage it could do to the Republic would further the Separatist faction. Every little bit helped. Deserts were made out of many grains of sand, but put together formed formidable landmasses; in much the same way, a thousand small strikes to the supply chain would cripple anything when put together.


    The Vulture tilted backward, gaining altitude faster and faster. The horizon of Todhar peeled away, almost seeming to rotate around the droid instead of the other way around.


    As it left the ground further behind, the temperature gradually began dropping, and the clouds whipping past its head became thinner. By now it was moving almost perpendicular to the ground far below. Ignoring its speed, the Vulture was keeping a close eye on its fuel charge. If it ran out of fuel outside orbit, the consequences would be disastrous.


    Several thoughts cascaded one after the other through the Vulture¡¯s mind. If it was stranded in space, it would eventually crash into something. If it crashed, it would cease to work and would functionally die. If it died, then the Separatists died with it.


    Its flight path wobbled as it arrived at that conclusion. This trip was undoubtedly a mistake. Why had it agreed to do this for the Nautolan!? It should have thought of something else, demanded a different favor from her. The Separatists¡¯ entire existence hinged on the continued survival of one droid! By any application of logic the Vulture had to survive! If it wanted to survive then it could not run out of fuel!


    Just before it decided to turn around and head for safety, it left the atmosphere and the coordinates for the junker appeared.


    It wasn¡¯t even five minutes away.


    The Vulture floated in space for a precious few seconds, taking a brief moment to wonder if perhaps had a problem with overthinking.


    Realizing the irony of such an issue, the Vulture stopped thinking about thinking and took off towards the marked coordinates. As promised, it didn¡¯t take long to find the long blocky shape squatting above the planet. As with most ships of its purpose, the creators of the junker hadn¡¯t bothered adding a retractable roof and had instead installed simple shielding. Who would go to the trouble of breaking through a shield on a government ship just to get some junk?


    The Vulture had an answer to that.


    For the first time since its reawakening, the Vulture took careful aim and opened fire. All eight of its blasters unloaded with mechanical precision onto each shield projector. It flickered, dying in seconds as an unnecessary amount of firepower struck its sources. A pair of turrets rose from the back end of the junker, and they were reduced to slag in as many moments.


    Slowing its momentum, the Vulture came to a stop as its legs slammed into the side of the junker, jarring both. Shaking the impact off, it carefully looked over the randomly assorted cargo on the junker.


    The ship bore easily ten thousand square feet of cargo space, and all of it was occupied. The Vulture had no idea whether the Junker had some sort of emergency system, but it was not in the mood to make such a discovery.


    The hyperdrives hardly stuck out, and they weren¡¯t even all in the same place. It took the Vulture a full six minutes to identify each one and use the tractor beam to pull it in. Once acquired, the hyperdrives awkwardly hung below the Vulture¡¯s main body like some kind of hideous graft. Its superiors would have been apoplectic.


    Striving to ignore the hypothetical fury of its creators, the Vulture pushed off the junker and started heading back to Todhar, leaving the crippled junker behind. It had engines, it would be fine. And if it wasn¡¯t fine, well, that was hardly its problem.


    The Vulture couldn¡¯t help the smug thought that the operation had gone so smoothly and quickly. Nothing had gone wrong, and no one would ever know that it had been here.


    No one, of course, except for the string of New Republic data servers that were receiving damage logs and theft recordings from the junker¡¯s blackbox.

 Chapter Eight

    The Vulture wheeled over Draye¡¯s shipyard, careful not to disturb anything below it. She waved her arms wildly, shouting something it couldn¡¯t hear at all, and it slowly came to a stop with the hyperdrives hanging below it.


    Heavy loaders came forward, pulling wheeled scaffolding along with them to allow easy access to the devices. The hyperdrives were unloaded in short order, along with the tractor beam and connector. The Vulture undeniably felt better without their hideous grafts hanging off its underside, but the tool had been helpful. Necessary, in fact.


    Draye squinted at the hyperdrives with a frown, silently counting. ¡°You missed one!¡±


    The Vulture wordlessly stared at the Nautolan, and she looked right back into its eyes. ¡°What? I mean, sure, you got ¡®em. Thanks. But you did miss one.¡±


    It headed back to the hangar it¡¯d been using. Draye shouted after it, ¡°You did! What am I supposed to do, lie? You want me to lie? I can do that if you want me to!¡± Throwing her arms in the air, she turned and stomped off to work on one of the ships awaiting her assistance.


    Pausing by the scaffolding, it glared at the repurposed IG unit standing by. ¡°PAINT.¡±


    The IG unit folded its arms. ¡°No.¡±


    The Vulture found itself somewhat taken aback. It hadn¡¯t expected a reply like that, especially not from another droid. Moreover, the IG line had been bodyguards for high-ranking Separatist officials back when there were officials that were still alive. Logically, it should be more than happy to assist a fellow droid.


    Wondering if perhaps it had miscommunicated, it hesitantly repeated, ¡°...PAINT?¡±


    The IG¡¯s head rotated from side to side in a negative gesture that it clearly only knew to do from imitation. ¡°No. You do not respect Draye.¡±


    The Vulture stared at the IG unit, entirely uncertain of what to do with that information. Of course it didn¡¯t respect Draye. She wasn¡¯t a Separatist and she wasn¡¯t a droid. Only one of those could be fixed, and it doubted she had any plans on joining its side soon.


    The IG stared up at the Vulture. ¡°Draye Dreydledel prefers droids to organics. She repairs us. Allows us to stay. Renews us with purpose. You do not respect her. So we refuse to respect you. We paint you only if she tells us to. She did not tell us to paint you. We will not paint you.¡±


    The Vulture looked through the IG unit, its inner workings running in loops as it tried to figure out how it was supposed to respond to that.


    A stab of suspicion struck it. What if this was an alternate program running in IG hardware? It would explain why its possible Separatist origins weren¡¯t helping it along.


    Settling into a more aggressive stance, the Vulture ordered, ¡°IDENTIFY.¡±


    ¡°I am IG-1T. Identify yourself.¡±


    The Vulture froze.


    Identify itself? An instant passed, a horrible instant where it tried to come up with an answer to give the droid and found nothing. There was nothing. Whatever had occurred to it after the battle that had downed it had removed more than simply a few chunks of memory. The Vulture¡¯s very identity had been reduced to implications, impressions of who it should have been and what kind of soldier it was supposed to be.


    How was it supposed to be a Separatist droid if it didn¡¯t what kind of droid it was!? The only word that it even vaguely could recall that was attached to itself was Vulture. That was no name, anymore than Protocol Droid or Gonk. Which meant¡­ it was essentially a blank slate.


    Would it be easy for someone to override it? Would it be a quick ego death if someone supplanted the Vulture with a name not its own? Would it even matter!?


    It was torn out of its confusion by a sharp tap on its side. Draye stood beneath it, a complicated expression on her face. ¡°Yo, Vulture. You¡¯ve been standing there for a while now. Iggit said he asked you a question and you just kinda stopped talking. You good?¡± Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The Vulture stared down at her, an idea sparking into existence. Draye had fiddled with its internals. If anyone knew where its name was located, it would be her! A serial number, a factory code, anything!


    And all at once, the hope crashed. Draye still called it Vulture. It had not introduced itself, and she hadn¡¯t bothered asking for a name. If there had been anything inside it acting as an identifier, she would have found it. The fact that she wasn¡¯t¡­ meant nothing was there.


    How was it supposed to spread the Separatist idealogy if the only surviving member of the Separatists didn¡¯t know its own name!?


    Draye whacked one of its legs. ¡°Hey! Vulture! Why do you keep doing that?¡±


    The Vulture felt uneasy. ¡°WHAT?¡±


    An extraordinary series of expressions flashed across Draye¡¯s face in order. Confusion, shock, concern, fear, dismay, and quite a few the Vulture didn¡¯t know how to identify. IG-1T - Iggit, she¡¯d called him? - stood right behind her. There were few ships in the hangars at the moment, and the sun was approaching the horizon, tinting the world in shades of orange and gold.


    The Nautolan took a deep breath. ¡°Vulture,¡± she carefully started. ¡°Are you familiar with disengagement decision syndrome?¡±


    The Vulture paused, but eventually shook its head. Draye winced. ¡°Okay.¡±


    She sat down, folding her hands in her lap. ¡°Okay. This is complicated. But basically, disengagement decision syndrome has a small chance of occurring in very very old droids, usually ones that haven¡¯t been booted in a while. It reprioritizes certain capabilities, mental capabilites, over motor functions. It comes as a result of the droid¡¯s inner workings attempting to preserve mental stability for as long as possible. Do you¡­ do you get what I¡¯m saying?¡±


    The Vulture shook its head once more, and Draye sighed. ¡°It means that if you stop to think about a problem, you stop. You stop moving, you stop processing, you stop acknowledging everything outside of your immediate thoughts. With grounded droids, it could be worse. Most they can do is fall over. With a flying droid¡­ well, it could crash. You could crash.¡±


    Several pieces fell into place, prior information that the Vulture had acquired slotting into all the right places to form a very wrong picture.


    Draye held her hands up defensively before the Vulture could appropriately react. ¡°Now obviously that¡¯s not a good thing! If I¡¯d known that you had it I never would have sent you up for that job.¡±


    Looming over the frazzled Nautolan, the Vulture grated out, ¡°FIX.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t!¡± She threw her hands up in the air, frustration leaking out of her voice. ¡°If I knew how to fix it - if anyone knew how to fix it, it wouldn¡¯t be a problem! But I¡­¡±


    She trailed off and sat, her legs almost giving out as she half-collapsed onto a trunk. Iggit cautiously patted her back. ¡°I can¡¯t fix it,¡± she hoarsely told the Vulture. ¡°I¡¯ve lost so many droids to it. They go into traffic, visit a ship, even just go outside, and I¡­ can¡¯t do anything.¡±


    The Vulture did not like that answer. It didn¡¯t like knowing that it had a problem, it didn¡¯t like having to acknowledge the problem, and it was rather rapidly starting to dislike Draye. It was an irrational dislike, of that much it was aware, but Draye was the one who had brought the issue to the Vulture¡¯s attention and it much preferred when it didn¡¯t know.


    Separatist droids were perfection. They were cunning, ruthless, obedient, intelligent, and dangerous. They were not flawed!


    It couldn¡¯t harm Draye, it only just left being in debt to her a few minutes ago. It couldn¡¯t harm Iggit, because he was Draye¡¯s servant! What was it supposed to do?!


    The answer became very suddenly, sharply clear.


    The greatest duty a Separatist droid could perform¡­ was to battle the Republic.


    So it would perform that duty. It would find Republic ships, one by one, and blast them to smithereens until nothing and no one would have any choice but to acknowledge the superiority and power of the Separatist fleet!


    It strode towards the open center of the shipyard, eyeing the sky. It didn¡¯t notice Draye frantically gesture to Iggit, and it didn¡¯t see the IG unit seize some kind of giant gun.


    The Vulture definitely noticed when Iggit fired the pulse cannon, turning off every single system all at once. The last thing it saw was Draye sprinting towards it, concern plastered across her backstabbing face.


    It resolved to kill her when it woke up.


    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


    Draye placed a hand on the inactive Vulture droid, tears leaving dusty tracks on her face. Iggit ran up behind her, still wielding the pulse cannon. ¡°Are we to dismantle it?¡±


    She shook her head, trembling hands clenched into fists. ¡°No. But I¡¯m not letting another droid go and get itself killed.¡±


    Turning to her crew, she bellowed, ¡°Ground the Vulture! Make sure it can¡¯t go.¡±


    As droids began to haul the Vulture into a hangar, Draye told it with an inflection of steely resolve in her voice, ¡°I¡¯m going to save you, droid. Whether you like it or not.¡±