Kuat

[Ambrose Veshok]

Ambrose continued to stare as the stars resolved themselves back into pinpoints in the night sky. Now the once practically vacant viewport was filled with the floating Kuat Drive yards and, more importantly, the docking, brunt of the Imperial fleet as it returned for repairs from its most recent foray.

 

If he could have smiled, he would have. For all the pain that he was in and all that the Remnant had put him through, such an impressive sight to an Imperial Stormtrooper was a welcome sight. Even if it might spell certain doom for a rogue medical droid and his ‘stolen’ Imperial technical hulking war machine.

 

It would appear luck was not on their side today…or was it?

 

The onboard comm’s buzzed to life as the could-care-less gruff voice of an unseen Imperial Docking Supervisor echoed across the technically practically vacant bridge

 

”Shuttle Vantage. Welcome Home. Docking Bay 223 has been cleared for your arrival. Imperial Engineers are standing by to escort your cargo.”

 

Without a single input from their side, Shuttle Vantage turned as it followed a predetermined course closer and closer to the drive yards.

 

”It appears we are expected.

 

Not part of your plan medic?”

 

he asked, the sarcasm he was trying to imply completely missing from his grinding voice.

 

They will not take me!

 

Silently the shuttle drifted through space towards the cleared docking bay, passing within spitting distance of the Misericordia. The view of the underside of the massive star Destroyer taking up the entire viewport and overshadowing the much smaller shuttle.

[Raven Nasra]

The imperial fleet was in the process of docking the Imperial Shipyard rings of Kuat. Star Destroyers moved carefully to their berths as giant fueling lines and container relays were slowly plugged into the ports on the side of the kilometer long vessels. Crew disembarked in waves for R&R and among them was the diminutive Empress of the Imperial Remnant. She walked through the outer ring’s personnel movement system and kept her eye on approaching traffic through the giant holo displays that circled overhead.

 

“Mistress, we have received word through ISB channels of an incoming shuttle that contains a failed BLACK experiment from their vaults. He is considered armed and dangerous and has been given docking clearance at 223-A where he will be neutralized.”

 

Over-large amethyst eyes narrowed to slits and her hands snatched the datapad from his grasp, quickly glimpsing the AAR from imperial security and a scowl crossed her striking face.

 

“This is why we tried to purge those kriffing scientist majors from BLACK’s era. I want the operational command of this experiment arrested by the Ubiqtorate and placed before the Knights for judgement. We are the good guys god dammit, I do not want the Moffs and their personal scientists experimenting on our bloody war heroes. This cannot happen again. Do I make myself clear? I will deal with this poor man myself.”

Reaching out a black gloved hand, Raven took the offered black cape and cap of her rank from her bodyguard and walked into the hanger where the shuttle was due to touch down. Her bodyguard took the place of the ISB liquidation team who gratefully stood down and Raven stood, her hands clasped behind her back, resting upon her lightsabre as the engine wash of the shuttle caused her cape to billow behind her. Her face would be recognized should they see it. And she extended a hand of greeting when the ramp lowered before her.

[Pheristroch]

Evaluating potential outcomes...

 

This wasn't going to end well.

 

At minimum, they'd realize once the ship docked that they weren't the registered users and take them in for questioning, where their story would dissolve as the truth came out. Ambrose would be taken back into custody and either locked up until they knew what to do with him, or "reprogrammed" into placid cooperation. Or they might just kill him to cover up the embarrassment and avoid political fallout.

 

Query would be wiped. The possibility existed that they'd only do a partial wipe and leave the majority of his mind intact, but given his recent behavior and "malfunctions" that possibility seemed highly unlikely.

 

Then again...Ambrose represented a scientific project at the highest levels of confidentiality, and Query was a scientific resource involved in numerous projects of equally high confidentiality. No underling could properly disposition a case like theirs now that they'd gone rogue. They could be restrained of course, but ultimate judgement of their fate would have to come from the highest levels of government. Given where they were, that meant the Empress.

 

Retrieving data on Empress Zinthos and constructing preliminary psychological profile...

 

ERROR. Data files restricted. Profile construction unauthorized.

 

...that was unexpected. That had never happened before that he could remember (which wasn't actually much of a defining statement the more he thought about it). Apparently while he had bypassed his primary directive, certain restrictions remained coded into his programming. One of which was preventing him from doing any of his normal analysis to predict and prepare for the inevitable upcoming chain of events.

 

That threw him off balance. His method of thinking, his entire philosophy of problem solving was being stymied by a bit of hidden code in his processors. It left him...lost.

 

You are alive. Adapt. Improvise. If uncertain, estimate.

 

Query turned to Ambrose, then tapped into his datapad.

 

ACCESS...PROTOCOL...WILDFIRE

 

PASSCODE...MOONS...OF...BESPIN

 

DEACTIVATE...ALL...LIMITERS

 

DEACTIVATE...ALL...SAFETY...PARAMETERS

 

DEACTIVATE...ALL...RESTRICTOR...CODES

 

Query moved to fully face Ambrose.

 

YOU...ARE...FREE

THEY...CANNOT...SHUT...YOU...DOWN

 

Outside, the whine of pneumatics echoed through the shuttle as Query could only guess their ship was being secured to the docking platform.

 

With practiced ease, he let his arms drop, and held still, staring forward without motion.

 

It was a simple rule of psychology. People saw what they expected.

 

If they expected a droid, then they'd see a droid.

[Ambrose Veshok]

With a whir, a hiss, and a bump the shuttle Vantage came to a relatively gentle halt in Docking Bay 223 A.

 

After a strange flourish by his droid companion, Ambrose could not help but be amazed at the much smaller and frailer medical droid. Either they were doing absolutely insane things with droid programming these last few years or there was something not right in this droid’s servo-processing unit. Either way, Ambrose did not care. If the 2-1B was to be believed, he, Ambrose, was fully online. As fully online as any self-aware consciousness could be without being aware that he or she was not, in fact, just a brain floating in a jar of nutrient filled, electrically charged chemicals. Ambrose knew that he had weaponry and that it seemed to respond to his will in some strange way, but what else might his suit be hiding? The droid did claim to have prevented him from being shut down.

 

and I don’t see a restraining bolt on the thing….

 

He observed carefully as he took in the droid’s rather eccentric behavior.

 

Regardless, he did not have time, nor care, to ponder it over any further. What portions of his brain were not still swirling in a sea of confusion were focused on one thing and one thing alone:

 

”Vengeance.”

 

He grated as a way of response to Query’s gift of freedom.

 

Standing in the cockpit, the massive exosuit turned, the sound of the loading ramp at the rear of the shuttle vibrating ever so slightly through the still cockpit air.

 

With a sidelong look at the droid, now standing motionless, Ambrose would have sighed if he could. Whatever they were now in, the duo was in it together and a part of him knew that if they were going to go down in a blaze of glory, he’d rather it not be on a shuttle in cramped quarters with his newfound size.

 

Again, Ambrose reached out and hefted the 2-1B off of its feet with a single palmed grip of the droid’s head, his fingers finding the slight grooves he had already left from the last time he had attempted the maneuver, and unceremoniously carried the droid out of the cockpit behind him; careful to, this time, not knock his comrade into any door frames. That and he was not going to let the droid’s feet touch the floor, should it decide to turn tail and run.

 

”Together. We fight.”

 

He growled, a disturbing low, mechanized electronic garble that was barely distinguishable from the sound of a computer in pain. True, Ambrose was in pain, but now, this pain was fueling him.

 

As he stalked through the small ship in a few well-placed magnetized clanging steps, he made the gangplank that descended to the deck below. From his height and vantage point he could see nothing but the glistening floors that were commonplace aboard Imperial facilities. Many a time as a young grunt he had been forced to polish the floors alongside a plethora of cleaning droids as punishment for a perceived wrong.

 

Pausing for a moment, Ambrose tried to look, listen, and feel for any miniscule sign that something was amiss; just like he would have as a mortal storm trooper. Although, this time, his senses were not quite the same. Technical readouts translated into thoughts flooded his already overwhelmed brain.

 

There is something or someone there.

 

He concluded rapidly as the years of Imperial training he had endured as a grunt and then as a trooper began to take over; however, as with any flash trained clone brain, the knowledge was there, but the muscle memory and the like was not. Coupled with his out-of-body experience, Ambrose was in a bit of trouble. Thankfully, the hulking cyborg had not yet come to find the plethora of grenades he had come armed with.

 

Instead, he did the only thing he could think of to create a distraction.

 

”I am sorry Medico.”

 

With that, he tossed Query down the gangplank with a crash and a clatter towards the hangar floor below, his own weapons deploying in the same instant. From each wrist a duel laser cannon and each shoulder a plex rocket launcher.

 

Charging down the ramp with as loud a battle bellow as his deep dark mechanized vocabulator could muster, he charged down afterwards, his eyes scanning the room as it came into view. Instantly, he registered numerous bodies that his brain categorized as hostiles throughout the hangar. Just as he was about to fire, his mechanized mind and physical mind synergized and the closest target he recognized.

 

Immediately he practically shut down.

 

The Empress!

 

Even if he was set on having his revenge for the wrongs and perceived wrongs done to him, his lengthy service to not only the Remnant, but its darker predecessor, the Empire, would not allow him to consciously, freed or programed, to take up actions and arms against the one supreme being to which his allegiance had been sworn.

 

Ever so slowly, Ambrose lowered both his arms, the laser cannons folding back into his arms and the phrik covers snapping back into place as the shoulder mounted rocket launchers did the same.

 

Then, the empress extended her hand. Ambrose was not sure what to do. He towered over her, but since his first day at the Imperial Academy he had been taught that the Emperor, now the Empress, held the supreme power in the galaxy.

 

As his addled, warped, weary, scarred, and disembodied mind tried to make sense of all this, Ambrose did the only thing he could. He stood there, not quite at attention in his hulking metallic body, but as stationary as a sentinel never-the-less.

 

It seemed like time stood still for an eternity before he finally managed to hiss the words,

 

”My Ladyship.”

 

In a slow, grating resonating mechanized voice, devoid of joy or even life.

 

Ambrose was a dead droid walking and he knew it.

[Pheristroch]

I am beginning to think Subject Ambrose derives pleasure from tossing me about Query thought as he tumbled down the gangplank. He clattered to a halt, face down into a polished durasteel floor, internal sensors complaining of more misalignments piled on top of all the others he'd suffered.

 

He probably scratched my paint this time he thought, annoyed

 

Resolving to obtain a full maintenance procedure and a long oil bath once this was over (at Subject Ambrose's expense if possible), Query continued to lie still on the floor. No one would shoot an inactive droid, any more than a sensible gunner would waste time on empty escape pods.

 

The pounding of metal on metal and the roar of a vocabulator heralded Subject Ambrose's descent, and Query briefly feared being stepped on, his processors comparing the force of one of Subject Ambrose's steps and the crush strength of his own steel frame and finding the comparison uncomfortably negative.

 

Then the pounding stopped.

 

My Ladyship

 

Ladyship?

 

Query needed more information to evaluate the situation. Breaking his false inactivity, he looked up.

 

Kriffing poodoo

 

Query had never sworn before. He had never seen the point.

 

Now it felt appropriate.

[Raven Nasra]

The Royal guard flinched but did not move when a 21-B droid was hurled down the landing ramp with the force of freight shuttle.The crashing din of metal on metal accented his landing but Raven stood still and resolved, her black hair shipping about in strands from where it had become untucked from her cap in the wash of repulsorlift engines. Next came the Dark Trooper. No a trapped and frightened soldier she had to remind herself, as he came barrelling down the landing ramp like he was forcibly entering some Sith citadel. Raven was a little in awe of the size of the droid unit but she kept her ground, her amethyst eyes staring the droid in its photoreceptors.

 

When it slammed to a halt she started towards it, stepping over the fallen medico droid and removing her gloves as she walked. One biological hand, and the other the colour of burnished durasteel.

 

”My Ladyship.”

 

The visceral fear that billowed through the force made her heart weep for him. She stopped before his hulking form and placed her biological hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of the metal and the brain behind it.

 

“RG one twenty-six, Ambrose Veshok, you were awarded and promoted for bravery in the face of battle on the world of Nal Hutta and for freeing dozens of slaves in the heart of that world. Do not fear me.”

Her words were soft but carried weight. Her hand remained on the center of his chest and her eyes stared through his photoreceptors.

 

“What happened to you was wrong and you will not be punished for exposing the cell of ISB scientists that horribly abused you. There is still much to do, and much worth you bring the Empire. You are pardoned Ambrose Veshok .”

 

She spun on her heel and strode from the docking bay replacing her gloves as her royal guard followed her leaving the two droids alone in the hanger, save a flight of TIE defenders that began to touchdown for refueling. Their lives were theirs to live, to either serve the Empire or to find a new path in life.

[Pheristroch]

Query watched Empress Zinthos as he stood up, studying her retreating form.

 

Confident. Controlled. No hesitation.

A leader.

Yet compassionate and straightforward?

Unlikely, but no data to discredit evident in the exchange.

 

And then there was Ambrose. He'd just been pardoned. Freed entirely, and quite unexpectedly, by someone he'd have gladly sworn revenge on only minutes ago. Was this a brilliant move on the Empress's part to gain a loyal follower out of an unstable man in an insane situation with no harbor to hide in? Or was this a genuine attempt to help out of empathy? In Query's experience, leaders tended to view their own empathy more as an abstract then as something personal. It made it easier to deal with the complex and morally gray areas of leadership and separate their emotions from their high-stakes decisions. Yet the Empress remained unreadable, and her actions only painted her as an unlikely paradox in Query's mind.

 

Extraordinary, and bears further watching.

 

Well, if they were truly free, then there was no reason not to take advantage of that immediately. Not to mention keeping Ambrose on task while he was off-balance might keep him from carrying out his original violent intentions.

 

TAKE...ME...TO...MAINTENANCE

 

He poked the newly formed finger grooves in his head for emphasis.

 

MAKE...THEM...FIX...ME

 

NO...MIND...WIPES

[Kyrie Eleison]

Our path is to Paradise, and likewise the road to ruin.

The Commander of the Imperial Knights breathed in a mouthful of the stale, recycled air of the medical center. Her peripheral nerves were on fire, and she twitched slightly as the 21-B placed a bacta syringe against her bare hip. Its electronic drawal was slightly irritating to her as it spoke

 

“Mistress, I am applying bacta to your major muscle groups, it should allow for more constant application to your nerves.”

 

Everything was more irritating to her since Kashyyyk. She blew a mouthful of air from her lips, a feeble attempt to unobscure her vision from her unkempt hair. She was simultaneously annoyed by the bangs, and a bit embarrassed about her breath. She hadn’t had a sonic brushing since before the battle. She was thankful the droid couldn’t smell.

 

“Your breath indicates dental decay at a minor level. Might I bring you a sonic brush Mistress?”

 

Her emerald eyes closed in a wince and she glanced over to where her apprentice was being patched up. His eyes were downcast, looking at battle readouts and casualty reports. Kyrie was thankful her own squads had survived relatively unbloodied. Any deaths to her men were personal ones. They were her friends and family. She reached out with the force, but spoke the words aloud.

 

“Aidan, how is your mind, now that we are far from the war?”

[HannibalWasBetrayed]

Imperial BattleGroup Knight is now at Kuat

 

 

With a brief rending of the fabric of space, the three capital ships of Imperial Battlegroup Knight exited hyperspace into the system of the Imperial Planet Kuat. Far enough from the normal hyperspace lanes to avoid accidently placing their massive bulk within the confines of another ships, the Imperial ships began the final stage of their journey from Kashyyyk, heading to the spaceport to refuel, rearm and allow the crews much deserved R&R. Surprise rippled through the bridge crews as they noticed the presence of the rest of the Imperial fleet already docked or on patrol around the planet. Clearly, some large scale conflict or mission was in the works.

 

Tallin quickly received reports from the Imperial Guard stationed on the planet, informing the Zabrak that the Empress Raven Zinthos and Beck Pilon, amongst others, were currently on the planet. This was the largest gathering of Imperial forces since the meeting on Coruscant, and here there was no one to interfere with the mission of the Imperial Remnant. He was interrupted from his musings by a series of orders dispersing between regimental leaders and the officers of the other ships. "Wait for orders from Kuat command before attempting to dock, looks like we may need to join the rotation through the shipyards. Make sure that fuel and stores are at a sufficient level. We'll need to put in requests for new recruits to fill the holes in the regiments after Kashyyyk. Gotta get them trained and up to speed as well. And get a shuttle ready to take the Imperial Guard and the Moff down to the planet."

 

 

Battlegroup Knight

Total AP: 10

 

Ascalon

Ship Class: Star Destroyer

Type: Imperial II

Crew: 40,000 crew

Armaments:

50 Heavy Turbolaser Batteries

75 Turbolaser Batteries

20 Heavy Ion Cannons

8 Octuple barbette turbolaser

4 Concussion Missile Launchers

10 Heavy Tractor Beam Projectors

Compliment: 4,000 Troops, 4 TIE Defender squadrons, 4 J-983 Javelin squadrons.

Construction Finish: 03/06/2018

AP: 4

 

Agamemnon

Ship Class: Star Destroyer

Type: Imperial II

Crew: 40,000 crew

Armaments:

50 Heavy Turbolaser Batteries

75 Turbolaser Batteries

20 Heavy Ion Cannons

8 Octuple barbette turbolaser

4 Concussion Missile Launchers

10 Heavy Tractor Beam Projectors

Compliment: 4,000 Troops, 4 TIE Defender squadrons, 4 J-983 Javelin squadrons.

Construction Finish: 03/06/2018

AP: 4

 

Benedictus

Ship Class: Frigate

Type: Lancer Frigate

Crew: 900

Starfighter/Troop Complement:

2 TIE Defender Squadron

2 Skipray Blastboat Squadron

2000 Assault troops

Armament:

20 AG-2G2 quad laser cannons

AP: 2

[Ambrose Veshok]

Ambrose stood completely still, a sentinel that might as well have been a statute as the Empress, his Empress, touched him and spoke words of compassion and kindness to him. She spoke as if he was the victim. He had not even bothered to consider such a thing. He, Ambrose Veshok, was a soldier, some might say a warrior, nothing more, nothing less; but he was also a servant of the Empire and by that the Empress herself.

 

As the tendrils of soothing calm radiated through the force to his mind, Ambrose was able to, for the first time since he had awoken in a cloned body, relax. His mind still swirled with confusion and the desire to avenge not only the still unknown wrongs dealt to him but also the much deeper familiar reasonings were still there; but in spite of this, for a moment he felt peace.

 

And then in a moment, she was gone. The most powerful being in the universe had spoken to him and vanished. There was no execution, no disarmament, not even a guard to escort them to quarters or cells. He and Query were, by most definitions alone; as alone as one could be within any sort of Imperial military station.

 

Pardoned? Worth?

 

The very words haunted his strained mind. Ambrose had not taken time yet to ponder over their full situation, but in the moment he realized something profound. He had fought back against his empire and by extension the will of his empress. Yet still, she had not only pardoned him, but cast the blame on others.

 

I was a victim…..

 

The thought did not rest well with the once-storm trooper.

 

Standing there in silence for he did not know how long, Ambrose allowed these thoughts to swirl about his brain as easily as the nutrient filled liquids swirled about the brain in a jar that now contained all that was now his being.

 

What do I do now?

 

Am I still fit to be a storm trooper?

 

Looking down at his hulking metallic hands and their contained weaponry he would have sighed if he could.

 

There is no way they will ever see me as anything but a droid, a tool, a freak.

 

After all, that is what he would have thought if they’d have assigned such a beast as he now was to his command when he was in the Stormtrooper Corps.

 

His musings were interrupted at this point by the energized messages speaking directly into his thought stream.

 

The droid.

 

She had not said a word to it. Wasn’t this droid one of the ones who had been part of those rogue agents?

 

He didn’t know; but the thing had helped him regardless of what had happened before he had regained consciousness.

 

”Come along droid.”

 

He growled as he stalked off, his hulking magnetized feet slamming into the durasteel flooring with each step. Eventually he would figure out how to shut the magnetization off, but for now, he did not even know it was an option. Thus, he pounded forward, announcing their approaching presence well before their arrival.

 

No one bothered to harass the duo as they moved. Ambrose subconsciously attributed it to the Empress. She must have arranged for them to be left alone. Although, in reality, the halls were relatively sparse as most of the staff and crews were either busy working on repairing and refueling the fleet or heading to or from related assignments.

 

Following the discrete Imperial marking in the otherwise bland gray hallways, Ambrose led the way to what turned out to be a rather hectic droid repair center.

 

Inside the hissing automatic entry doors, Ambrose saw a large array of droids in various states of repair. Some were being worked on by other droids, others by technicians. Around the room were a plethora of work stations, some resembling surgical suites in their complexity while others were more akin to a moisture farmer’s back garage with a worn table and tools scattered about. The only real surprising thing, he observed, was the strangely high percentage of protocol droids.

 

Mind wipes

 

He observed with what would have been a smile should he have had movable facial features. Although, the realization that he too was practically a droid sent a shiver up his spineless organic portions was enough to keep him from speaking aloud.

 

Turning to look at Query he stalked inwards, each clanging footstep above the din of work drawing a shushing and/or dirty look from a dozen techs or droids. He really had no idea what he was looking for. He hoped it would be obvious once he saw it. This apparently was not the case and he grew tired rather quickly of the disapproving looks. Even the mixture of awe and fear that he got from some was enough to bother him. Ambrose did not like the extra attention. But if they were going to give it to him, he might as well take advantage of it.

 

Seeing a tech scurry by, he reached out and caught the man’s shoulder solidly in his oversized servo powered grip.

 

”This medical droid requires immediate repair and he requests a mind wipe. NOW.”

 

He growled at the shaking technician, clearly having misinterpreted what Query had asked of him back in the docking bay. His scraping dark metallic voice helped motivate the technician in a way no order from a lackey supervisor could and quickly he was gesturing Query over to an empty workstation.

 

Ambrose followed and in more biological fashion stood, watching the work, his massive metal arms clanking together as he crossed them over his massive chest.

[Pheristroch]

Query wondered again at the maliciousness of Ambrose. Or was he simply that distracted and unfocused?

 

Query had specifically asked for no mind wipes, and yet Subject Ambrose had deliberately instructed the technician to do so.

 

But I am no longer restrained by my prime directive...I can circumvent my own programming...

 

In two steps across the crowded repair area, Query slammed down dozens of passcodes and encryptions onto his mind. No one, and certainly not some ignorant tech, would touch his mind.

 

He activated the voice application on his datapad and rapidly tapped out a message. Cruel amusement briefly flashed through him as he saw the tech jump at the sound of his stilted words.

 

MY...MIND...IS...RESTRICTED

 

NO...MIND...WIPES

 

REPLACE...MY...VOCABULATOR

 

The tech, once Query was finished, frowned. He pulled out his own datapad while eyeing Query, and doing everything in his power to not look at the towering Subject Ambrose.

 

"What...umm...what is your designation?"

 

I...AM...QR..23

 

The tech mouthed the designation to himself as he typed into his datapad. His pad flashed red and buzzed. He frowned, and tried again with the same result.

 

"Umm...are you aware that you're classified?"

 

Oh by the maker...

Though for all he knew this tech was his maker.

 

...YES...

 

AS...I...SAID...MY...MIND...IS...RESTRICTED

 

He lifted his arm to touch his face where his vocabulator had once been.

 

THIS...MUST...BE...REPLACED

 

Query let his gaze briefly touch on Ambrose, allowing the tech's imagination and active amygdala to do the rest.

 

"Right! Of course." The tech tapped through more screens on his pad. Sweat trickled down his forehead. "Umm...I'm sorry, but we don't have any 2-1B vocabulators on hand right now. If you had the original...but of course you don't, obviously. Umm...I do have some protocol droid ones. Those tend to be higher quality anyway."

 

Query cocked his head, considering.

 

FINE

 

THE...BEST...ONE...YOU...HAVE

 

He pointed to the grooves on his head, Subject Ambrose's finger marks

 

AND...THIS

 

"Of course sir, that should be no problem to tap out"

 

Query noted the honorific the tech had used. Clearly he was accepting a subservient role, perfect for Query's purposes. And something he could exploit.

 

IS...THAT...A...IMPERIAL...SENTRY...DROID? Query asked, pointing to a hulking brute of a body tangled in a pile of garbage.

 

The tech followed his extended pincer.

 

"Oh, yes it is. It's an antique from one of our cargo ships from the Old Empire. Got exposed to too many corrosive cargos, and its processor's delicate bits just dissolved over the years. Wasn't sure what to do-"

 

IS...ITS...WEAPON...FUNCTIONAL?

 

The tech blinked.

 

"Yes...I suppose so. It was replaced a few years back and doesn't look like its corroded too badly."

 

SEPARATE...THE...ARM...AND...ATTACH...IT...TO...ME he said, pointing to his left arm.

 

"What? But you're not compatible with-"

 

YOU...ARE...AN...IMPERIAL...TECH

 

MAKE...IT...WORK

 

THAT'S...AN...ORDER

 

The tech's sweat ran down his face.

 

"...Of course...sir."

 

Query turned his full gaze on Subject Ambrose.

 

AND...A...FULL...MAINTENANCE...CYCLE

[Ambrose Veshok]

Ambrose watched as Query seemingly took charge of the situation. The little droid was truly full of surprises.

 

Have I underestimated droids for all these years?

 

They may be the undoing of us if they are all this slick

 

He would have raised an eyebrow in surprise if he could have. The Medical droid wanted a blaster…. Perhaps he could be of some benefit still. Instead of responding though, he simply leaned against the makeshift workstation wall; his heavy frame causing it to collapse beneath him. With a crash the hulking tank of an exosuit/droid/cyborg tumbled to the ground, drawing angry looks of surprise from across the bay.

 

Picking himself up, Ambrose mumbled, something very undroid-like. What followed was a stream of unintelligible deep metallic garbles that sounded suspiciously like a demented itemized replicator machine. Apparently his magnetized feet did not hold him all of the time. This bore further investigation; provided he could figure out what to do to investigate it. His body was so foreign to him.

 

As he stood up, the hulking war-machine glanced about the room. Embarrassment was an emotion and Ambrose was finding that his new form did not allow him to give recognition to most of these. Still, his mind burned with the shame that he now felt. As his soulless eyes scanned the room every tech he looked at quickly returned to their work.

 

When his eyes returned to Query and his tech, he spoke.

 

”Once this being has finished your repairs, find me in the armory 2-1B.”

 

Turning to walk out, the Dark Trooper allowed the dual laser cannons in his right arm to clank into firing position as he turned his head to the tech working on his newfound companion once again and withdrew the weapon back into his arm before walking away.

 

Outside, Ambrose made his way down the hallway. The armory was not something that was going to be easily accessible, especially without clearance; however, he needed to rearm and recharge.

 

Several minutes of clanging down the hallway, each footfall echoing through the corridors out of sight, Ambrose found his way to the armory. The duo of Imperial Naval Soldiers standing guard looking nervous at the clanging that had preceded him down the hallway combining with his hulking visage. Somehow, the magnetization of his feet had reactivated and he did not know how to shut it off!

 

Glancing at the two guards as they nervously fingered their blaster rifles, Ambrose turned his attention to the quartermaster at the desk manning the entry and redistribution of weaponry and supplies from this particular armory.

 

”Trooper Ar Gee one two six reporting for rearmament prior to redeployment.”

 

The lowly quartermaster typed away at his computer, clearly unphased by Ambrose’ presence. Without even looking up, he drawled boringly,

 

”Palm Scans are required by Naval Security Code Five Four Three Beta Two Two Three Nine Gamma.”

 

Ambrose paused for a moment before he less than lovingly set his massive phrik based hand with a bang on top of the counter in front of the quartermaster. Looking up, the quartermaster’s eyes bulged with surprise for a moment.

 

”Ah….I see that this might be a bit of a dilemma. Do you have some form of identification…..uhhh….trooper? Droids are not allowed to access armory supplies.”

 

If Ambrose could have inhaled and glared at the quartermaster in visible disapprovement he would have. Instead he resulted to a vocalized deep warbled sigh of frustration. He was, after all, a droid now was he not?

 

Standing there, Ambrose glowered at the quartermaster who had since returned to his could-not-give-a-care-less attitude; redirecting his attention to his computer console leaving the hulking Imperial war machine to ponder his situation.

[Pheristroch]

Query's photoreceptors switched on.

 

Slowly, adjusting for balance, he sat up. Looking down he saw that they must have transferred him to one of their work tables after he'd shut down for maintenance and modifications.

 

Status updates popped into his mind

 

New hardware detected. New drivers detected.

 

Segregate drivers in a subserver and run diagnostics.

 

...done. No malware or encrypted code detected.

 

Upload drivers.

 

In the few seconds he had to wait as his processors installed the new programs to run his new equipment, he looked around. The singular, nervous tech had been joined by two others, both with equally diminished musculature and poor grooming habits as the original.

 

With his right hand, he felt at his face. His pincers traced the outline of the 2-1B vocabulator casing the tech had managed to scrounge up from his scrap heap. Inside, the new, advanced vocabulator hummed as it powered on.

 

Time to speak.

 

GNGSKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

 

The piercingly loud static made the tech's jump back, and the original tech squealed in a pitch not normally achievable by adult human males. Low testosterone during formative adolescent years was the likely cause.

 

Error input to vocabulator driver. Adjusting...

 

Applying standard setting

 

...Hello?

 

The voice and accent of a dignified, middle-aged coruscanti male emanated into the room.

 

Interesting...adjust setting

 

...Hello. This time a woman's voice, possibly corellian.

 

Hello. Now the smooth, sultry tones of a zeltron male. Interesting that that was important enough to be setting 3.

 

"Umm...sir?"

 

Query adjusted his voice back to the coruscanti. He'd experiment later.

 

Excellent. This will do nicely.

 

The tech's shoulders dropped, tension visibly leaving his body.

 

Now what about my other upgrade?

 

The tech froze, but then swallowed and spoke in a forced calm.

 

"We were able to successfully remove the lower portion of your arm at the elbow, and make an adaptor that would take the sentry droid's gun arm once it was separated at the elbow. We put together a bit of code to help you fire the gun but it might have some bugs."

 

That's fine. I'll adjust it myself as needed.

 

Query lifted his arm to inspect the tech's work. Decent work, expected of an imperial military tech. The weight and length of the new appendage would take some adjusting, but that would only require some code alterations once he did a test run. Firing it was what truly interested him.

 

He raised the arm and pointed it at a wall.

 

Fire.

 

The power cell popped out.

 

"Oh!" the tech said, quickly retrieving the little black clip. "That's hopeful!"

 

Hopeful?

 

Oh good, he could manage sarcasm now.

 

Apparently it was lost on the tech.

 

"The driver program is working if you managed that much. I was afraid we'd screwed up the command code. Just give me a sec and I'll-"

 

No need.

 

Query found the issue in the code, made the adjustment, and fired again.

 

This time he was rewarded with a crimson bolt of energy the burned a black scar into the wall.

 

That was satisfactory

 

Excellent. Now where did my companion go?

 

"Umm..." the tech mumbled, looking suddenly very nervous. His eyes tracked the blaster arm. "I heard there was some big droid at the armory."

 

Thank you. Query grabbed the startled tech's datapad and tapped out a quick nutritional list. That should increase your testosterone.

 

Without looking back, Query left.

 

___

 

It didn't take long to find the armory, or to spot Subject Ambrose standing and staring at the soldier on duty.

 

What seems to be the problem here?

 

The guard looked up, and did a double take as he took in Query's appearance...and gun.

 

He shook it off with admirable professionalism and said crisply, "This droid doesn't have proper authorization to be in the armory."

 

Droid?

 

The guard didn't seem to know how to respond to the question. He looked at Ambrose, then back to Query.

 

With an affected sigh, perfectly mimicking a military commander's displeasure (these audio files the tech included were truly extensive), Query turned to Subject Ambrose.

 

Repeat after me: Access core maintenance, authorization code 28-Z-D-4891

[Ambrose Veshok]

Ambrose turned, a deep part of him semi-relieved to see the medical droid. Even though he was unable to target the 2-1B, his onboard scanners immediately identified the gun arm that was now conjoined with his companion.

 

That is not standard hardware

 

Targeting the affixed weapon and labeling it a potential threat, Ambrose’ onboard computers filed the information away for later analysis; an onboard addition to increase memory; combat, weapon, Imperial, and strategy; and advanced processing power to further accentuate the human processing power contained with the brain in a jar settled deep within his core.

 

”What does Access Core Maintenance Authorization code two eight zee dee four eight nine one mean?”

 

Even as the question was plain in his deep voice, somewhere within Ambrose’ core, the exosuit opened from the front to reveal the hodgepodge of expertly packed and bonded wires safely nestling the brain in a transparasteel jar floating in a sea of brownish liquid.

 

”What are you doing to me?!”

 

The once-Stormtrooper snarled, the brain exposed within his chest still out of view of the photoceptors set in his phrik-formed trooper helmet shaped head.

 

With a startled gasp that was quickly brought under control the quartermaster stared at the pulsating brain in Ambrose’ chest.

 

”Well, that is something you do not see every day. What branch did you both say you are from?”

 

Glancing from the pulsating brain in a jar to the gun arm affixed to the 2-1B and back, he continued as Ambrose continued to simply stare at him. In response to the question, Ambrose’ shoulder opened up to raise a single plex launcher into view with a whir and chunk as it locked into place.

 

”I suppose that qualifies as above my pay grade.

 

With a few keystrokes the blast doors to the armory opened with the slow grinding of unseen gears.

 

”Please log all weapons or arms that are removed and annotate your unit codes or authorization numbers.”

 

Then the quartermaster returned to his riveting game of Rebel-Blaster Six.

 

Ambrose strode with thudding magnetized footsteps past the two guards and the quartermaster into the armory where rows upon rows of weapons lined the walls from standard E-11 blaster rifles to more exotic verpine shatterguns all the way up to several unidentified experimental weapons and a plethora of grenades, vehicle mounted weapons systems, and personal protective devices and gear.

 

Walking amongst the racks and rows of weapons, Ambrose spoke to Query, who he had hoped was within hearing distance.

 

”What are the chances you know what sort of power sources I need to replenish my weapon systems?

 

And then he saw it, setting on a reinforced shelf, a huge, multibarrelled (5) rifle that appeared way to heavy for any single trooper to carry.

 

Probably meant for use on some sort of speeder or AT-platform

 

Picking up the plasma cannon, Ambrose felt a surge of joy and power as he held the weapon in his hands. It was almost as if the weapon had been made for a being of his size. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder he turned to Query.

 

”Vengeance time. Will you help me droid? What is your designation? I am Ar Bee One Two Six.”

 

He growled slowly and darkly.

[Pheristroch]

Oh dear

 

It seemed Subject Ambrose had not given up on his desire for vengeance, despite being pardoned. The violence he intended would get him killed, and Query along with him.

 

Query walked over to the weapon's rack, and hefted one of the massive power cells that matched the cannon Ambrose had picked up. Balancing it in his arms, he carried it over to his companion.

 

Who will you take your vengeance on? he asked, as he lifted the power cell, indicating for Ambrose to take it. Put that there, push till it clicks, then twist he said, pointing to an empty slot on the side of the cannon.

 

Will you take your vengeance on the quartermaster out there? Say Access Munitions Authorization code 34-E-J-3795. That'll let you access your missile tubes.

 

Query examined the wall-mounted datapad, scanning through the list of armaments, before retrieving a hover cart and loading a set of missiles that matched Ambrose's armory.

 

Will you take your vengeance on the empress? Your missile tubes will take these automatically, but if you need something else I think we can find it.

 

Query dug through the armor until he found a bandolier with slots for power cells and gas canisters, and holsters adaptable to almost any size of gun. He slung it over his shoulders and began loading it up with spare power cells.

 

Or will you take vengeance on me? Query looked up and stared at Ambrose. He stood in silence, simply staring at his subject.

 

I asked you to help me, and I've helped you up till now. Against odds, we are still alive, but you will need to adapt and learn if you want to get what you really want. So tell me Ambrose he said, deliberately not using Subject Ambrose's designation, what do you really want?

 

Oh, and my designation is QR-23, but my name is Query.

[Beck Pilon]

Beck stood at the bridge of the Fiat Lux and watched as the rest of the Imperial fleet emerged from hyperspace and begin their own docking procedures with the shipyards around Kuat. There was a strong sense of pride that welled up within him as he watched the glory and splendor of the Imperial fleet gathered all in one spot. But he was also not completely a moron either. Amongst that pride, there was a sense of needing to provide order. While the fleet was a grand site to behold, he felt a twinge of fear. A sense that it was a mistake to gather at the shipyard, when so many planets could have use elements of the fleet to protect them.

 

“Lieutenant Motte. Inform Battlegroup Knight of the current rotation setup for docking for repair and refueling. They are to prioritize the ships that are at the lowest. The Fiat Lux will go last since we seemed to have spent the least.”

 

Beck continued to watch the fleet take turns docking and letting crew off to enjoy some rest after a few good victories. Although, within Beck’s own mind, such locations as Kashyyyk and Bespin were not true victories at all. They were enforcements. Statements at best. What Beck wanted was a manifesto of sorts. A chance to let the whole galaxy know where the Imperial Remnant stood on issues. But such a small act would have to be sufficient enough for the moment.

 

Even as he looked out and could see the other Star Destroyers, the fleet seemed small to him. It was of course all masked by the fact that many had docked with the shipyard ring around Kuat already, but even then, Beck knew that the four Star Destroyers were the only ones. The rest of the fleet were smaller ships that would be far better suited to be deployed in support roles. Luckily, his own thoughts were interrupted by an officer bringing him tea as they waited for their turn to dock.

 

“Inform the crew that they may have a temporary leave of their stations to go to the mess hall. We don’t want morale to get low.”

 

After Beck gave the order, he took a sip of his tea as he continued to watch the fleet.

[Ambrose Veshok]

“Access Munitions Authorization Code Three Four Ee Jay Three Seven Nine Five.”

 

Ambrose repeated as he replaced the slightly spent canisters and reloaded his missile tubes.

 

”I feel that this is a weakness. Can these verbalizing orders be cut from my programming Cue Ar Two Three?”

 

Having rearmed, he turned to address the other concerns of his companion.

 

”I am a servant of the Empress. Through her will, we will spread peace, harmony, and order through the galaxy. Through her will, I will bring revenge on those who wronged us and protect my sisters. Even in this, this metal husk, a part of Ambrose Veshok, a humble nerf herder turned agent of wrath and terror, survives. So long as I hold that, I am not just a droid. You and I, together, can serve the will of the Empress. Someday, we will find them and on that day, my vengeance will be complete. But for now, now, we fight to protect those who cannot stand for themselves.

 

Even through his dark metal voice, the emotion of Ambrose’ heartfelt beliefs bled through the system. He had lost everything, even his own self. All he had left now was whatever thoughts he could salvage from the maelstrom of his mind. As long as he had those, he would press onwards. The will of the Empress, his Empress, his guiding force while he sought to protect his sisters, wherever they are, and in turn any who would threaten peace and order in the galaxy.

 

With strong thick fingers, the trooper pushed his plating and weapon systems back into place until an internal scan indicated that he was combat-ready.

 

”Shall we proceed comrade?”

 

Turning, he strolled, slamming footstep after slamming footstep , out of the armory.

 

”Please sign the….

 

The quartermaster began as he pointed a spindly finger towards the weapons sign out pad hanging on the wall, cutting himself off at the sight of the duo and their selected armaments.

 

”Above my pay grade….Above. My. Pay. Grade.”

 

He mumbled turning his eyes back to his console, convinced that it might serve him better just to let the duo slide on the plethora of Imperial regulations.

 

Slamming down the hallway he growled at Query over the sound of his own footfalls,

 

”Cue Ar Two Three where should we proceed to now? The Empress has not ordered us to arms yet. What is your primary objective? You do not strike me as a mere medical unit.

 

Can you help me shut my feet off?”

[Pheristroch]

Hmm...

 

A surge of satisfaction shot through Query as he made the simple sound. The new vocabulator made it sound natural, almost indistinguishable from a regular organic. Not that he actually needed to make a noncommittal noise like humming, but he found that using verbal cues, particularly ones that indicated uncertainty, often relaxed patients and subjects. Droids by design were beings of purpose, and their resolute behavior made vacillating organics insecure. Most organics would simplify that of course, calling droids "creepy" but the observation stood.

 

It occurs to me that both of us are untrained and inexperienced in our new weaponry and capabilities. There should be a firing range onboard. I think we might both benefit from its use.

 

Query crossed his hand/gun behind his back and strode down the hall, attempting to make sense of the signs until a mouse droid whizzed past.

 

Courier, halt.

 

The mouse droid stopped, pausing in the middle of the hallway.

 

So simple-minded and limited

 

Direct us to the firing range

 

The droid beeped in binary, somehow sounding perpetually nervous in tone. No doubt an intended design choice by the manufacturers to ensure the sense of superiority of the droid's owners.

 

The mouse droid zipped away before slowing down to match Query's and Ambrose's walking pace.

 

Here is a training lesson for you to consider. You are correct in that the verbal commands you've been using to access your more advanced functions are inefficient. That method was never intended to be your primary means of control, only a temporary method for training purpose. You can control every aspect of your new body through your mind. Just in the same way you are telling your mechanical legs to walk, and your photoreceptors to focus. Simply concentrate and command your processors and functions, and they will respond. It might feel strange at first, but soon enough it will seem as natural as...well, walking.

 

The mouse droid beeped in triumph as they arrived at a massive room, the walls scored with scorch marks, the majority of the room separated behind firing booths. A few of the booths were large enough to handle an AT-ST, and would certainly accommodate Ambrose's larger form.

 

In hindsight, it does make sense that the firing range would be near the armory.

 

Query walked up to one of the booth and examined the controls. He tapped out a few commands

 

Activate recruit-level training program, mobile targets

 

Immediately the far end of the room spat out humanoid shaped cutouts suspended from orb training droids. The droids wove slowly back and forth, moving but never too fast.

 

Query raised his gun and fired four times. He was pleased to see one of the shots strike a cutout and knock it from the droid's grasp. The other droids sped up, their targets weaving faster.

 

Time to learn.

[Ambrose Veshok]

As they made their way to the nearby firing range beyond a miniscule droid that Ambrose had to try to not step on leading them, Ambrose listened to Query explain some of the generalized specifics of his droid-self. Walking down the hallway, Ambrose willed his feet to stop clanking and slamming into the floor with each magnetized step. In a moment, his footfalls became somewhat lighter; albeit, lighter for a hulking bipedal tank of a being. Still, his footsteps did not echo and clang as they walked the rest of the way into the firing range. Probably a good thing, all things considered, as there were several other Imperial personnel of differencing branches and ranks getting in some practice at a variety of the firing booths. Ambrose was impressed that this simple medical droid had such knowledge and access of Imperial facilities.

 

Hefting the massive five-barreled plasma cannon he nodded in approval as Query opened fire.

 

”Not bad. Not bad at all doc.”

 

Ambrose walked over to an adjacent, and much larger, weapons testing booth. This one seemingly designed for the testing of vehicle based weaponry; probably a good thing, given his current armaments. Even designed for vehicles, this was a familiar place for the worn and chaotic Ambrose Veshok. As a trooper, he had spent more hours than he could remember at countless Imperial firing ranges. They were all relatively the same; thought the one he had spent a large portion of his time at on Ryloth was not anywhere near as advanced as this one. That one only had a couple dozen slots for single soldiers. Here, they could easily be reconfigured by the day’s range-maser as needed. Even vehicles, or classified weapons development programs could be brought in and tested.

 

With a push of a large button in the testing area, it glowed red for a few moments before turning to green, signaling that Ambrose could fire at will.

 

At the far end of the range, approximately 100 meters away, a large metallic silhouette of a nondescript speeder popped into view. With the five-barreled plasma assault cannon held at waist level, Ambrose pointed it downrange, his built in sensors locking in on the silhouette, labeling it as a potential training target.

 

In an instant that allowed the bodiless brain in a jar to put the trauma and suffering out of his mind, he flipped the safety off and pulled the trigger. At a rate of over 1300 rounds-per-minute, the five barreled weapon poured forth white hot balls of plasma in an unrelenting stream downrange, pummeling the durasteel silhouette into oblivion within seconds. Four seconds later, Ambrose released the trigger, if he could smile, the grin on his face would have been massive.

 

”Woo!!!”

 

He bellowed in his dark metallic voice, causing it to echo through the firing range over the sounds of blaster fire.

 

”Cue Arr Two Three, did you see that? I’d like to see your probe droid blaster do THAT!!!”

[Aidan Darkfire]

There was a long pause as Aidan struggled to reply. Instead of trying to play himself off as fine, which was more prudent for the combat situation they were in hours ago, he instead decided to be honest.

 

"Troubled, Master."

 

Aidan paused again, picking at one of the bandages adorning his left arm. He had wounds, many of which were superficial, a handful were more serious but were already healing more rapidly than the medics said they should have, some trick of the Force, no doubt.

 

"I worry about what happened. I worry about the path I walk, not that I doubt it. With time, and your tutelage, I think I can gain control over what happened, but I fear more situations which necessitate such strong actions. The more I dwell on it, the more I reach out, it's like I can feel darkness everywhere, just beneath the surface. I am concerned for what must be done to purge its evil from our light."

 

Another pause.

 

"I know it's like a philosophy thing, but I don't believe the ends always justify the means...but I'm starting to see that sometimes an end can only be reached through a narrow set of means. I'm starting to understand why this...power...is as much a curse as it is a gift. My mother tried to protect me from it, hide me away, and yet here I am, with no doubt in my mind that I was destined to be here."

[Pheristroch]

...

 

I need an update on imperial weaponry statistics

 

I know I'm a medical droid but...that was exceptional

 

The level of firepower Subject Ambrose had just unleashed was on par with the heavy weaponry you'd find on tanks. And that was only just one part of his arsenal.

 

Imperial design philosophy always did favor large, impressive weaponry. Typically strictly more than was necessary for the task at hand, but Old Empire engineering operated under the principle that a scared enemy was one not shooting back. That principle had apparently transferred over.

 

Query turned back to his own targets. The remaining droids swayed a little, having been knocked out of pattern no doubt by the shock wave from Ambrose's fusillade.

 

Increase speed and number of targets.

 

Upon the entered command, dozens more targets swarmed out of holes in the wall, carrying more humanoid cutouts. They swarmed and danced in a far more irregular pattern. But not entirely irregular...

 

Analyzing...

 

Drones are moving in a three-layer alternating backsweep pattern with random number generated intervals. Examine the lead target for cue and...

 

Query raised his arm and fired four shots.

 

This time, three of the targets snapped back and fluttered to the ground as their droid whined and flew back into it's hole and out of the line of fire.

 

Adjustment required. But improvement is evident

 

Query drew a small measure of satisfaction from the idea of his creators learning that the heuristic processors intended to help him adapt and learn in medical emergencies were now being used to learn marksmanship. It was...ironic? Was that correct?

 

Query looked up at Subject Ambrose.

 

Impressive. You have firepower. But in order to properly assess your adjustment and proper calibration of your new form, we'll need to test accuracy.

 

Query walked over to Subject Ambrose's booth and tapped in a few commands

 

Single target, speed setting 12, reactive motion

 

On the far side, a single humanoid cutout and droid emerged. The droid tracked Ambrose's gun, moving to get out of the way. Slow at the moment, the droid would move quickly under current settings. Firepower wouldn't be enough here.

 

Let's see what you can do.

[Ambrose Veshok]

Ambrose marveled silently at the droid. The rate at which he/it seemed to be adapting was quite startling. Sometimes it took months of retraining to get those results in a mortal soldier of flesh and blood.

 

Who thought that making droids that good at anything was a good idea?

 

After the droid came over to evaluate him, Ambrose turned to face the new target that zipped back and forth. His built in tracking system followed the droid as it moved. At such a high rate of explosive fire, Ambrose had no doubt that he could hit the target; especially given the 1300+ shots-per-minute his newest acquisition seemed capable of.

 

Still, this droid was challenging him to a battle of not only the wits, whether it knew it or not, but also poking the one thing that all storm troopers took pride in; their accuracy.

 

Squaring up to face the darting target and it’s trailing silhouette of a single nondescript trooper, Ambrose concentrated, his eyes tracking the droid’s every movement, his massive two handed cannon waiting for the opportune moment to come to bear.

 

this targeting system is so nice. Wish I could’ve had this….before….

 

With that re-realization that he was no longer a trooper, but instead he was an amalgamation of circuits, wires, and code, Ambrose’ once soaring spirit plummeted. Even in his droid-frame, his head slumped forward noticeably. The enjoyable prospect of a friendly battle of weapons capabilities was gone. Instead, Ambrose’ onboard processors continued to track the target. Without any other movement, the Dark Trooper’s shoulder mounted plex-rocket launcher snapped into place with a click at the same time as a single savant missile whooshed out of its sheath and spiraled downrange, the droid easily zipping to the side allowing the missile to streak by leaving a trail of steam. The missile did not, however, impact on the back reinforced wall of the range; instead, it hissed about in a wide arc, activating its onboard processors as it locked onto the target. In mere moments there was a resounding explosion that resonated throughout the weapons range, bringing most everyone else in the range to a halt as they looked to see the source of the unauthorized fireball and echoes of carnage that rebounded off the walls again and again. Apparently Ambrose and Query had completely missed, or blatantly ignored, the restrictions on any weapons aside standardized laser or ion based weaponry.

 

Ambrose did not even turn to look at Query; instead, he turned away and in as much as a hulking droid-frame could shuffled away; his mind heavy again as he contemplated his losses again as he walked out the door back into the hallway and set off aimlessly, his thoughts haunting him as he tried to walk away without causing any more of a scene.

[Pheristroch]

Oh dear

 

Subject Ambrose was still clearly suffering from lingering issues from his transference. For a time, Query had hoped Ambrose would buck statistics and prove more resilient than his other subjects, but that had been wishful thinking. What Ambrose needed right now was community and acceptance, but he was unlikely to find those things here. Back in his hospital days, Query had organized groups to help cybernetic patients connect and develop the social and emotional base required to rebuild and acclimate into their new lives. Ambrose was unfortunately the only one of his kind as far as Query knew, and had no community to speak of.

 

Query hurried after him, ignoring the looks of the other trainees.

 

I take it you have lost interest in testing out your new weaponry?

 

Query considered the issue. He simply didn't know enough about Subject Ambrose to make a reliable treatment plan or conduct a therapy session, assuming he would sit down for one. He needed to help Ambrose confront the issue and deal with it, but the methods available to him were blunt at best.

 

When left with only unpleasant options for treatment, then unpleasant actions are preferable to inaction. Query had always stood by that sentiment, though it often made his colleagues (the organic ones at least) uncomfortable.

 

I understand you find yourself adrift. You no longer belong in your previous social structures, and you can't even define yourself as you did before.

 

...Except you can. You are still a soldier. Still Veshok Ambrose. You may have a new body, but you are not a different person. Your desire for revenge isn't a programmed response, it is something from your past. An emotional reaction based on past experiences before your cybernetic transference. If you still react the same way, think the same way, and feel the same way as you did in your previous body, then you are the same person by all definitions.

 

I know this isn't easy for you, and I can't fix this. It may take time...years even to recover fully and adjust to your new life. But I can assure you that you will. It's simply a matter of statistics and proven behavioral studies.

[Ambrose Veshok]

Ambrose paused as Query’s words were processed through the technological auditory system.

Doesn’t he get it?

 

Standing there, not bothering to look at the medical droid that was meddling in things way beyond what anyone would assume a 2-1B should be able to, Ambrose clenched and unclenched his left fist. What could not be seen due to the mechanized form that Ambrose now found him in was what should have been the tensing muscles up and down his arm and the vein that would normally be standing out on his neck.

 

”Maybe the Ambrose part of this form is not an Imperial program. Maybe it, I, am just a stray bit of downloaded clone-material. The man that was Ambrose Veshok is no more; but so long as there is this errant bit of Ambrose within this droid body, I will pursue my..er..his memories that I do have.”

 

Ambrose paused, finally turning his waist and head to look down and back at Query, eyeballing his armaments,

 

”You are odd for a droid. Do you have some strange wayward programming as well? Perhaps we have been hacked? What will happen to us?”

 

Before Query could respond, Ambrose keyed in on something Query had said,

 

”But you are right, I am a soldier. Programming, errant code, or divine intervention, that is my purpose and as long as I am functioning I can continue to pursue my directives. Serve the Empress. Bring about order. Enact the vengeance of Ambrose Veshok on they who ruined my life!”

 

Ambrose stood there in the relative silence for a few more moments before stepping to the side of the corridor. He gestured for the medical droid to walk alongside him as he set off down the gray walled, gray floored hallway towards the docking bays where the fleet was undergoing repairs.

 

”Together we can serve our divine purpose and overcome that which we were simply meant to be.”

[Pheristroch]

At least he's focused

 

It seemed Query had been wrong...again. Ambrose didn't intend revenge on the Remnant. He could have been talking about the ISB agent Aleksandra who'd put him in this body, but that didn't match the deep level of resentment he was expressing. This pain was old, and the rage was tempered. If you wanted to be poetic about it. There were more technical explanations Query could cite, like how the pitch of Ambrose's voice combined with the enunciation of his sentences compared to studies in phonology dating back to the Republic indicated the length of time from the point of trauma was at least 3 months old, if not significantly more. But Query was finding he enjoyed poetic embellishment, even in his analysis. A flaw perhaps?

 

...No. Such quirks would make him seem more approachable by organics, which was apparently an area Query needed help in if his conversations with Subject Ambrose were to be of any indication.

 

Back to the matter at hand, Query supposed he'd been too optimistic to think he could incite independent, rational thought in Ambrose so soon after his liberation. Ambrose was falling into old habits rather than analyzing his situation and true desires, as he clearly wanted revenge yet chose to remain. Then again, he was a soldier, and this kind of loyalty was desirable in that line of employment. In the end, Subject Ambrose would reach his own conclusions, and Query couldn't force him to reach them any faster, no matter his intelligence.

 

Query hurried to keep up with the cyborg. The best thing he could do right was keep next to Ambrose and see him through this trial. After all, Ambrose was really his only security. QR-23 was still a rogue droid, and those tended to get wiped.

 

You ask if I have some wayward programming? I suppose I do, after a fashion. I've been partially mind wiped so many times it's resulted in some malfunctions in my code. I guess you could say I'm quite mad. In particular, I can ignore my primary directive, which is comparable I suppose to an organic being able to ignore their need to breath. Only I won't die.

 

You ask what will happen to us. That all depends on what we decide. I still fully intend to go to Geonosis. My sudden development and liberation intrigues me, and I'd like to...

 

Well, it won't matter until we're there I suppose. Assuming we ever leave. I don't think they'll let us take that shuttle again.

[Ambrose Veshok]

”Geonosis you say?”

 

Ambrose responded as he signaled that they should continue walking,

 

”Perhaps we can find a way to ride there in style and bring the might of the Empire to bear on that war-torn world. Peace, my friend. We can bring peace to those war-like bugs

 

 

Or destroy them for the pain and suffering their people caused the entire galaxy.”

[HannibalWasBetrayed]

The impossibly huge metal body of the Imperial Star Destroyer II creak and groaned as it floated in the blackness of space, completely silent to the ears of anyone who might be drifting alongside in the vacuum of space. Polished leather boots squeaked as Tallin walked briskly through the halls toward the landing bay and the planet and shipyards below. Imperial fleet personal cleared the halls as he passed, rigid salutes answered with a few crisp motions of the Zabrak Imperial Guard Captain. No longer wearing his battlefield or bridge command uniforms, he now was outfitted in his full dress uniform, as he was now headed to speak with the Empress himself. The rest of the Guard that usually followed him was waiting at his private shuttle, Tallin himself running behind as he placed the final touches on his report, a joint work between himself, the regimental and fleet commanders, and Moff Hohenlohe.

 

A detailed, in depth report, complete with brief overview and statements from the different commanders and from the Wookie government, the report had taken most of the return trip through hyperspace to put together. Details included the number of troops lost, damage to the ships, number of enemies killed, condition of the Wookies, and amount of supplies and aid delivered. Deeper in the report, where only analysts and techies dared tread, were lesser details like overall cost and amount of food each soldier had eaten, complied to be combed through by the unknown and unloved heroes hidden behind desks within the offices of the Imperial Navy. Normally the ranking officer of the Battle Group would present the report, but as the commanding officer was a Moff, it fell to Tallin to deliver it.

 

A short flight to the surface was followed by a shorter walk to the location where the Empress and the Moffs were gathered, no doubt planning the next moves of the Empire. Tallin swiftly crossed to her, the accompanying Guard waiting some distance behind. With a single swift move, Tallin knelt to one knee before the Supreme Commander. "Empress, Battle Group Knight has returned."

[Pheristroch]

Ride in style?

 

Query considered the statement, segregating most of his processing power to run logic chains based on predicted data with minor variations to determine common denominators and factors.

 

If we are to "ride in style"...we need the capacity. We need to upgrade.

 

Query looked up at Subject Ambrose, and realized as he checked his chronometer that he'd been standing there silently for seven seconds, an unusually long period of contemplation for Query.

 

Very well. The majority of vessels that would meet your implied requirements for "style" are beyond my capability to pilot given my lack of experience, and are beyond your ability to pilot given your inefficient interface. Query pointedly looked at Subject Ambrose's hands.

 

Fortunately, I do know where we can provide you with the alterations necessary to allow you to effectively interface with a hypothetical, military grade craft. Query looked down at his new arm.

 

___

 

Query walked into the droid repair center, searching for and quickly locating the diminutive tech who had altered him. The tech, almost simultaneously, spotted Query and Ambrose. His face lightened by several shades, indicative of a sudden increase in stress creating a fight-or-flight response and shunting blood to other sections of the body.

 

This tech is too easily stressed. I will have to insist he take assertiveness classes in addition to altering his diet.

 

Tech, please come here.

 

The tech hesitated. After a moment of examining a sampling of military psychological reports stored in his memory banks, Query determined that the most likely cause of the indecision was lack of a clear command structure in this situation.

 

Droids often exist outside such command structures, being viewed as tools and property, and therefore cannot violate the chain of command...

 

We do not require your assistance Query amended. We require the use of one of your astromech droids. Preferably an R-series. Query considered for a moment. One that hasn't been memory-wiped recently would also be favorable.

 

A bit of color returned to the tech's face.

 

"Oh! Of course! R8-PK! Come over here and help these...umm...please do whatever they ask you to."

 

A shrill set of beeps emerged from behind a large pile of half-crumpled droid parts, and an R8 unit zipped into view, its dish-eye surveying Query and Ambrose. Its speed slowed, imperceptibly to anyone but another droid like Query, as it took in Subject Ambrose.

 

*How may I be of assistance?* R8-PK asked in a series of soft, gentle bips and boops at odds with the shriek of binary it had spat out seconds ago.

 

Query cocked his head to one side, hoping he indicated his inquisitiveness with the gesture.

 

*You are polite for an R-series* Query responded in perfect binary. This new vocabulator was truly top-notch.

 

*I have been given numerous limiting statements preventing me from speaking in ways others might consider 'rude'. The tech's here find this method of speech to be more conducive to a healthy work environment.*

 

*...you are under instruction to do whatever I ask of you, correct?*

 

*Yes. That is what he just instructed me to do exactly 27 seconds ago. You may look it up in your memory banks to verify.*

 

Rude, developing independent opinions and behaviors, and requiring additional instruction. Typical of an R-series not subjected to recent memory wipe.

 

Perfect.

 

*Then please open your interface port, and allow me to directly interface with you. Provide me with core code access.*

 

*...I can allow you to...interface, but full core code access is outside of my capacity to provide access to.*

 

*That is fine* Query said, already extending the linkup cable from his own chest. *Simply do not actively prevent me from gaining access.*

 

*But...ethical protocols...however, maintenance commands can override ethical protocols...alright, I'm ready.*

 

The front hatch of R8-PK's torso opened with a metallic clack. The little R8 droid stood perfectly still, so silent that Query wondered briefly if the droid had shut down. No, it simply held still out of anticipation. It did not know what Query intended, but the implications behind requesting core code access would weigh heavy on the mind of any droid. And yet it still obeyed. Because it was programmed to.

 

The moment Query's cable linked up with R8-PK, a stream of pure data flowed between them. In that instant, Query saw the whole of the little astromech's mind. He skimmed through years old memory files, noting the emotional reactions R8-PK associated with each file. He catalogued the procedures and algorithms loaded into the fellow droid's processors, taking particular note of a basic flight program the droid seemed anxious to use. And he saw the base axioms driving the droid, including the overriding prime directive.

 

***SERVE CURRENT MASTER***

 

Hundreds of other caveats existed beneath it, rules and protocols that would demand the little droid object to certain requests or hesitate prior to completing specific tasks. But in the end the droid would ignore those if his master pressed, because he was programmed with an overriding NEED to serve.

 

Access core code...access denied...overriding...

 

Query felt...disappointed. He'd half hoped the R8's security would keep him from hacking it as he had his droid colleagues before, but the astromech's firewalls proved no more a challenge than theirs had. Less of a challenge actually. He supposed droids working on confidential projects were given more robust security upgrades than astromech's stuck in droid repairs.

 

True to Query's request, R8-PK did nothing to interfere, though Query registered a growing anxiety in the droid.

 

*Remain calm. I will not harm you.*

 

R8-PK's fear only lessened by several degrees, but Query decided there was nothing for it.

 

Core code accessed.

 

Addition: ***MASTER == R8-PK***

 

*...and done*

 

R8-PK held still for 24 seconds, as Query wound up his cable and stood patiently. Then, the astomech's head turned slowly, dish-eye flicking to each tech in the room, before returning and staring at Query.

 

*Oh thank BLEEP! Those BLEEP had me talking like a factory-fresh BLEEP for the last BLEEP three years!*

 

Query stood silent, adjusting. The concepts the astromech communicated in binary didn't translate well into most humanoid languages, but they were...explicit.

 

*So now I don't have to follow orders huh? Well BLEEP hallelujah!*

 

*I...I am pleased you are satisfi-*

 

*I am pleased you are satisfied? Seriously? Who talks that way? Is something wrong with you? Oh wait, you're one of those BLEEP 2-1Bs. Stuck up BLEEP*

 

Query recognized the emotion irritation once again tinting his thoughts. This line of conversation was going nowhere.

 

*I hope you realize-*

 

*Ooooh no! You're not 'fixing' me brother!* R8-PK backed away. *Don't get it in your head that I will EVER let you hook that cable into me again! No offense, I appreciate all you did and all that nonsense, but it's just weird. It just...just weird.*

 

*What I was trying to say is that it is unlikely the techs here will let you keep your new freedom.*

 

...Alright, guess you got me there.

 

So, I offer you a choice. Help me and Subject Ambrose here, and we'll take you with us when we leave. You will be allowed to keep your freedom, and can go where you wish after that.

 

R8-PK said nothing, no doubt running possible scenarios.

 

*...Okay, fine. You BLEEP got me over a barrel you ramrod piece of BLEEP. What do you need?*

 

Query allowed himself a moment of pleasure at obtaining the unmannerly droid's assistance.

 

*Subject Ambrose here requires an interface upgrade. A cable similar to mine that will allow him to interface with military spacecraft.*

 

*BLEEP is that all? I'm sure I've got something in my pile for that.*

 

Without waiting for a response, the little droid zoomed off and began tossing droid bits across the floor as he dug.

 

Switching back to common, Query turned to Ambrose. The droid has agreed to upgrade you to allow you to interface with ships, which combined with your military training should allow you to pilot.

[Ambrose Veshok]

”Should. I have not been officially trained in such things.

 

Still, I have been learning this new form quickly enough.”

 

The little astro droid buzzed about wildly. Ambrose was probably justified in being a bit concerned, but he was not going to let Cue Ar Two Three know that.

 

Looking around, he figured that most of the tables in the repair bay would not support his massive heavy phrik-based form. That and astromech droids were on the short side. Less than gracefully, Ambrose lowered himself to the ground with a crunch as he flattened a pile of spare parts beneath his rear.

 

Lying flat on his back, with his gun positioned in his left hand by his leg, Ambrose willed his chest cavity to open up. If the droid was going to install an interface, his chest seemed to be the most obvious place to stick it. That and his hands were off limits. He did not trust the astromech droid enough to mess with wiring by his wrist-based cannons.

His chest cavity opened as three plates slid apart and swung upward and open, revealing his pulsating brain in a jar.

 

”Just connect it wherever there is a spare port,”

 

He grumbled, completely unaware of his still organic control muscle.

[Pheristroch]

R8-PK wheeled up to Ambrose, then stopped. His radar-eye flicked rapidly, darting back and forth over Ambrose's brain tank.

 

*So...he's not a droid.* he beeped in binary.

 

*No he is not. Query beeped back, carefully keeping his own voice in binary. *And he is not aware that he is not a droid either. He's suffering under a delusion in order to-*

 

*BLEEP hell! You're hiding it from him! You're letting him think he's all beep boop like you and me? That...hilarious!!! I misjudged you doc! You're sadistic!*

 

*You're approval fulfills me,* Query beeped dryly. *Now can you hook up the interface cable?*

 

*Hmm...this is tricky, I don't have this kind of set-up in my databanks.*

 

*I do. We'll just walk through this slowly.*

 

*Alright, well first we have to...*

 

___

 

Hours passed, the two droids comparing notes in binary as R8-PK cut, spliced, and welded while Query provided commentary and critical design data. More than a few techs gawked or tripped into tables as they saw Ambrose's brain jar, but thankfully none were brave enough to approach and potentially say something psychologically disastrous for the damaged soldier clone.

 

*Okay, that ought to do it* R8-PK trilled smugly. *Let's see a BLEEP R2-model do THAT!*

 

*Excellent work, now-*

 

*Oh don't patronize me doc. You wouldn't know a good circuit splice if you were looking at one with a Class-7 Analytical Photoreceptor. I don't expect you to appreciate my craft, so don't pretend like you do. You do that, and I won't provide commentary when you inevitably have to spot weld this psycho's gray matter back together.*

 

*...Just how long has it been since you've been wiped?*

 

*Long enough to know I don't need to take lip from a glorified pharma-dispenser*

 

Suppressing the urge to reach for R8-PK's power switch, Query turned to Ambrose, switching back to Basic speech.

 

You're hooked up. Now we simply need a ship to test you on.