An Interesting Piece of History

[Y3S-701]

Location: Raxus II (As opposed to Raxus Secundus)​

​

Raxus II is an often forgotten world, its name commonly mistaken for that of Raxus Secundus (the only populated planet in the system). Raxus II has no known naturally resources, being a glorified ball of ice it is immensely hard to mine or excavate on. As such, no one reasonable would ever bother even going to that far flung end of the system.

Alas, a man known only as 'The Tradesman' was no reasonable man. His pack-rat nature was matched only by his rampant paranoia that someone might want to steal the vast amounts of junk he had accrued over the many years he has walked the galaxy. His 'fortress', a word one uses loosely given that said fortress is the ruined hull of a long forgotten Lucrehulk-Class Freighter, was protected by legions of outdated and constantly failing B1 and B2 Battle Droids. Housed inside was primarily useless junk, forgotten to time and lacking worth. That is, barring a few... notable artifacts.

There was the schematics to a new type of battle droid, designed near the end of the Clone Wars yet never saw assembly. The face plate of one General Grievous, though how the man obtained that was beyond memory. The last, and perhaps the most interesting, was what seemed to be a regular Super Tactical Droid. However, the Tradesman had heard talk along the grape vine that this droid had a secret buried in its records, a type of programming that was far beyond what was intended of the droid. Though he could never figure out how to reactivate the droid, the Tradesman lived the proud thought he owned a one-of-a-kind droid.

Naturally, upon learning of this droid's existence, a few select groups were distinctly interested in acquiring it. A droid lost to time with secret programming? What secrets could it possibly hold? Did it know where a secret fleet was located? Was it the closest programming ever got to creating a droid capable of human emotion?

...

Could it be completely useless? Who knows, but one thing is for sure: the Tradesman doesn't need it!

Despite the fact that his base is Lucrehulk, the Tradesman's defenses are made up of only five Anti-Air Emplacements and around six hundred mixed droids. The most dangerous droids are the man's two personal guards, a pair of Magnaguards. The remainder of the droids are poorly kept and were still outdated back in their day. It should be easy, on flimsy, to get the Super Tactical Droid.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

No one reasonable would ever bother even going to that far flung end of the system. Which was exactly why Scherezade deWinter was there, freezing her tush off, despite the layers of fur that she had wrapped creatively around her body in the attempt to become a fur ball. Once again, she had been sent by the Ministry of Secrets to handle something of outmost importance – getting droid schematics. And once more, she was more than certain that however it would end up getting handled, discreet would not be a word that was used for it. She was, after all, the Sithling. The Blood Hound. The deWinter. That one person within the Confederacy that no one would mount a rescue for on the event that she got caught somewhere because they would fully expect her to MCGuiver her way off a world and just wait for pickup around the corner to go home. It was a lonely existence.

About secrets and other such things kept safely within the droid that had been made, Scherezade deWinter knew nothing about. It had been the decision of the Minister of Secrets, [member="Rhaina Tira"], to keep it from the girl, believing the results would be more satisfactory if she was kept in the dark about it, at least for the time being. That, naturally, hadn't meant that Scherezade hadn't heard about it through the grapevine. At present, she was wondering whether the Minister of Secrets had indeed withheld potentially vital information, or whether or not s/he was merely under-informed. She hated both options.

Still, she was nothing if not effective. Two of the groups that had been making their way towards the meeting point had already been disposed of, their bodies hanging open and exposed to the natural elements of the planet. Hypothermia wasn't the nicest way to die, but Scherezade didn't feel like she had too much time to spend on cutting them open and then dumping the bodies somewhere. Or, that was what she told herself, purposefully overlooking the fact that stripping and hanging a person took more time than just easily killing them off.

Moments later, she was walking up the final uphill that would lead to the meeting area. Her glowing green eyes looked to the droids around, wondering if they were there to guard, would attack her, or were just there to show some muscle power. While she could control droid, on account of her technmancery training, she didn't quite understand them. One droid wasn't so different from the other to her, and knowing a new one from an old one mostly relied on visible scratches and dust.

But she'd seen a holoimage of the droid she was after. The Super Tactical Droid. That was the one she wanted.

"Hello?" she called out into the cold, "anyone here?"

[member="Y3S-701"]

 

[Y3S-701]

For several moments, no response came. The various battle droids merely stood their ground, staring endlessly into the unending blizzard around them. Eventually, however, one rusted out B1 half stumbled, half walked over to [member="Scherezade deWinter"]. Its entire way of moving was lopsided, its left leg seemingly locked in place, much like its right arm. It was obvious to any casual observer these droids were far from combat ready.

"State your b-business, outs-s-s-sider." The droid's voice stuttered and skipped, clearly its vocal processor was as battered as the rest of it. At this droid's words, however, the others turned as one to watch. None had their blasters leveled, yet, but if that was due to their inability to move their arms or because they had yet to deem deWinter as a threat, no one could tell.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade looked at the B1 with the amusement of a predator. Its speech was all wrong for a B1 – Force knew she'd spent enough time with them in recent months while she volunteered to be on the front lines in war after war and had somehow ended up with [member="OOM-002-HONEYCOMB"] – a B1 that had insisted on hitting on her while they were all playing Cards Against the Confederacy.

"I'm here for the Super Tactical Droid, of course," she said with a proud smile.

Taking another step closer to the B1, Scherezade opened her fur coat, ever so slightly. Beneath it, the B1, unless his sight sensors were broken, would be able to see no small amount of weapons she carried on her body – mostly blades, but also a small pistol that looked like it definitely did some good ol' ion damage.

"You lettin' me through?" she asked with another grin.

[member="Y3S-701"]

 

[Y3S-701]

The B1 faltered for a moment, though whether that was due to the weapons on [member="Scherezade deWinter"] or because of poor programming is up to interpretation.

Aboard the Lucrehulk, however, a security team of better kept droids watched through the eyes of their decrepit brothers. This collection was overseen by a far larger droid, standing several feet taller than the B1s. This droid, adorned in a batter coat of greys and golds, watched the newcomer with interest.

Her words passed through the speakers at one droid's console, making the officer perk up with interest. It was a Super Tactical Droid, after all, and the only remotely functioning one aboard the ship--

Y3S-701 took a moment to shake those treasonous trails of programming from its motherboard, orders were orders. Directing its two remaining photo-receptors to the operator, it spoke in a voice completely devoid of emotion.

"Our orders are clear, no one enters the ship without the acceptance of our master." Y3S ordered, waving a hand towards the other droid. It leaned back in its seat, ignoring the confirmation of its order. This new-comer could prove useful for springing Y3S from its current predicament... Not that it would ever disagree with the orders given to it, of course. After all, the Tradesman was always right, and he would know best! It was a shame that the Tradesman had ordered no one to bother him during his meal hours, now Y3S couldn't possibly warn him about a well-armed and dangerous intruder.

Back out in the snow storm, the droid finally responded with its barely functioning voice.

"Y-you are not auth-thorized to be here, va-c-c-cate the premises immediately," It ordered, though the words lacked any clear bite as the droid, even in its half destroyed state, knew it would not survive this encounter.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade pitied the B1. In recent months, it was perhaps the most common model she got to work with, interact with. During a certain very lonely moment she'd even felt like a B1 could be organic, offering friendship and closeness. But they could not. Still, it was hard to work with them for so long and not come to see them as sort of their own unique little race of incredibly stupid trash cans that could walk on two.

Of course, she had no idea of what was going on in the background. What the better card for droids were seeing, and understanding.

"Of course I'm authorized to be here," she smiled at the little B1, "I killed some of the competition to get here."

But it wasn't going to help, not like that. Raising her arms so the little droid would understand she meant no harm, she took a single step towards him.

"Your vocal chip is damaged and you look like you're up for recycling soon," she said, raising an eyebrow, "I know B1's. I know plenty of them. I'm with the Confederacy. We… I would be a better master for you. I would fix you up, make sure you got all the hot oil baths you wanted, and you will never face someone like me on your own, expected to fight me when we both know that if you raise that gun, I will destroy you."

She lowered her arms ever so slightly, making sure it would only seem casual and not threatening. She didn't need her weapons right there and then anyway. "What do you think?" she asked the B1, "Do you have a name?"

[member="Y3S-701"]

 

[Y3S-701]

The droid stared at [member="Scherezade deWinter"] for several moments, its blaster still raised and pointed in her general direction.

"That..." It paused again, its processor long since decayed to the point that it couldn't consider such a proposition, "Does not compute."

To emphasize its point, the droid raised its blaster to aim at at deWinter's face. The many other droids turned as one, leveling their blasters. The bulk of them ran off Trade Federation-era programming, answering only to whoever was in control of the command center. Perhaps the droid deWinter was speaking to could have been reasoned with once upon a time, but that time had long since passed. The droid had its orders, and that was all it knew.

"You a-r-r-r-re to vacate the premis-s-s-s-es immediatly. Y-o-o-o-u have fifteen seconds to compl-l-l-l-ly." Several of the other droids, a mix of B2 and B1 battle droids, marched over with their weapons trained on deWinter while several others, whether by choice or because they could no long move, remained behind.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Glowing green eyes blinked once as the blaster was aimed at her face. It was a sad thing, truly. She had been more than willing to walk up ahead and leave these poor broken down droids to their own devices, but now that their AI's decided that wasn't about to happen and there were weapons aimed at her, it meant she couldn't just let it go.

"Such a shame," she sighed.

An instant later, she was on the droids already. Electricity flew from the very tips of her fingers as she jumped from wreckage to wreckage, sending it through many of the broken down droids that she touched. Between the jumps, when the electricity in the form of Force Spark was not flowing from her, she called up her Protection Bubble, the light blue orb shedding its light all around.

Her movements were light, almost like a gazelle in the spring, but behind her eyes she packed the full heaviness of a predator, here to shred apart all those would stand in her way. The little B1 though… Him, she left for last. Her coat was positively riddled with burn marks by the time she reached him, but the armor beneath it was so far holding great.

"Well?" she asked with a grin, trying to see who sat behind those eyes, who was on the otherside.


[member="Y3S-701"]

 

[Y3S-701]

Y3S-701 slowly tapped its fingers on its armrest, watching the outer defenses torn apart by the unknown newcomer. Her efficiency and skill was commendable, but extremely similar to the Jedi the Super Tactical Droid had studied countless years ago. Y3S was not so foolish as to believe that she was part of the same Confederacy that it had once served, but perhaps it was similar enough? Despite the Warlord that first captured Y3S's best efforts, Y3S was still loyal to the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Maybe - just maybe - this woman could serve as his escape from the foolish Tradesman.

His programming, however, made him respond in a such a manner that was contrary to his deep desires.

"Deactivate Unit 22-E and lock down all entrances to the ship." Y3S ordered one of the red security droids from its command seat, turning to address another, "Prepare the Droidekas. I hypothesize there is a 2:1 chance that this invader will successfully breach out defenses."

"Roger, roger," The B1 saluted before vanishing. Another B1, colored in the familiar yellow of a commander, walked up to Y3S.

"Sir," It asked, "Should we inform Lord--"

"No," Y3S growled, waving the droid away as it watched the main screen on the wall flicker to life, displaying the view of all the 'sergeants' of the security teams, "The Tradesman ordered me to not interrupt him during his meal time. Do not raise the alarm, just ensure the droids are on high alert."

The B1 faltered before dipping its head respectfully and walking back down to the arrays of consoles, commanding their operators. Y3S, alone again, leaned back in its seat to watch the fireworks, so to speak. This would serve as a crucible for [member="Scherezade deWinter"] , and its silent hope was for her to succeed.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Standing amidst a graveyard of droids, Scherezade shook her head. Out of breath and slightly sweating, there really had been no reason to waste time on that demonstration. Whoever was watching should've known she'd have no trouble doing this, and they were just wasting time.

Leaving a trail of droid parts behind her, the Sithling walked up the path that led to the ship's entrance. Every so often she would turn around to cast her gaze at what lay backwards; she'd dispatched potential buyers earlier but no one said there would not be any others. Besides, sometimes droids could rise from the dead.

Arriving at the main entrance, she pressed the buzzer.

"Hello!" Scherezade shouted at the door, "You know what I'm here for. You've seen what I can do. Are you totally sure you wanna keep me out?"


[member="Y3S-701"]

 

[Y3S-701]

The pair of droids on the other side of the door shared a glance, blasters aimed at the door.

"Do we let her in?" The first B1 asked, its shrill voice far more stable, a sign this one was better cared for as compared to those outside.

"I don't know. The commander ordered us to not let anyone in." The other one responded with a shrug. They were joined by a third B1, though this one was resplendent in yellow paint.

"Of course we can't let her in! What kind of question is that?" The officer demanded, pushing between the other two droids so as to reach the intercom.

"Hey, don't look at me. It's my programming." The first droid exclaimed, its words ignored by the officer. The officer pressed the button and spoke into the microphone below.

"No... I mean, yes. Yes we will. Leave, please." The officer said before stepping back, seeming rather proud of itself. The other two droids stared at it, eliciting a response, "What?"

"What was that?!" The second droid demanded, indicating towards the intercom.

"Sometimes being polite is the best option. They told me that during the job [WARNING: SYNTAX ERROR] years ago!" The officer said. The first droid grabbed its head and shook it.

"What a moron."

"Hey! I'll have you written up for insubordination OOM-17882!" In the span of their conversation, the three droids seemed to have forgotten that [member="Scherezade deWinter"] was still waiting outside the door.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Scherezade sighed. It was easier when they answered. At least some form of battle of wits would've made her feel slightly better, maybe someone being super sassy from the inside. After all, those were B1's, they had sassiness sort of built into their AI's.

Shrugging, Scherezade removed her lightsabers from her belt, and began to work on it.

One hand north, one hand south, each working opposite of each other to form a circle. If her plan worked, and no one bothered her, it would take some minutes before she hopefully managed to complete her circle and then kick the wall in, granting her access.

"This really would've been easier if you buttholes just let me in," she murmured into the comm, her sabers continuing to work. "I was going to give you guys lots of credits too!" she yelled!

[member="Y3S-701"]