ᴏɴᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴢᴇʀᴏᴇꜱ


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Life was as busy as ever for this plucky astromech, with babysitting galore keeping him busy. What BB-610 had been lacking in the saving the galaxy department, he’d more than made up for in the sheer amount of diapers he’s had to change and head injuries he’s narrowly prevented, not for lack of trying from the Nobles’ newest little terror. As far as he was concerned, this was even more taxing than fighting Sith...
What was once a foreign concept has since become one such topic BB-610 has grown intimately familiar with: organic life, with the journey from infancy into adulthood. The droid loves and cherishes the little ones with every last electron in his synthetic core, but even artificial creatures such as himself deserve a break.
Enter Kahlil, who’d taken the family’s bundle of headaches out for the day, leaving BB-610 to bask in some much needed relaxation with Valery. Time, so far, spent cleaning their residence’s many rooms — only then would he turn to himself for a routine inspection.
All systems operational, diagnostics up to snuff . . . Mm. Satisfactory. His tool-bay disks are given an internal ogling, and BB-610 can’t help but notice the distinct lack of something very special to him in one of them. With the narrowing of his optic, he turned to the drawer at the side of his recharge spot in the little ones’ bedroom.
Utility arm extended, the drawer is opened, and from it is fished a small, metallic box with an input socket adorning its center casing. Unearthing his scomp link, it’s promptly inserted into the socket in question, turning it with a satisfying series of clicks that ultimately pop the case open.
A shoto lightsaber, its hilt a gorgeous onyx with cyan accents, lay inside. A few seconds are spent marveling at the mere sight, the droid’s proverbial heart a-flutter. It never ceased to amaze, having been assembled meticulously by the droid’s own hand.
While BB-610 may not be one with the Force, he did possess an ability that proved just as invaluable when it came to lightsaber construction: computer precision, with an inherent knack for knowing the smallest of nuances on account of his role as a technician. He had no nerves, no thoughts or hesitation — simply the cold, calculated precision of his programming.
Ever so gently, as though he were handling fine china, the astromech’s utility claw scoops the hilt into its grasp, clutching it. The appendage is tilted this way and that, eyeing the sheen of the weapon he’d been far too busy to test . . . until now. With the press of a button, the air concentrates with newfound energy, and a crackle of plasma speaks for the blade that swiftly emerges.
It’s a bright teal, owed to the kyber crystal he’d earned many moons ago on Ilum with the help of Valery. The low buzz of the lightsaber is hypnotic, a comforting hum that drones away at his palm. BB-610’s optic dilates, enamored by the beauty of it. A part of it felt perverse, for a lowly astromech to wield such a powerful instrument, and it was intoxicating.
Arm outstretched, the lightsaber is lowered, as though he were knighting a Padawan. With the swirl of his chassis, the blade is suddenly swung overhead, deflecting imaginary blaster shots. A few more swings, with the nastiest of Sith at the mercy of his blade, stabbed through the heart, gutted by boiling plasma, struck skyward and——
Oop— The lightsaber slips from his grasp, the astromech recoiling with a synthetic shriek. The weapon falls to the floor, blade automatically withdrawn, rolling uselessly for a brief little wobble. BB-610 peers down, taken off guard.
Unsurprisingly, this may be harder than he thought . . .
