"...and we've been scheduled to bring medical and relief supplies to Ryloth."
When he had first approached the Rebel Alliance, the reaction had been skeptical at best. And the dark skinned, human-looking droid couldn't have blamed them. By all appearances, he was a child. Even when the Rebel authorities had learned that he was a droid, the illusion of youth had left them critical of what, if any, value the afro-headed automaton could bring to the rebellion. But timing was everything, and the small droid had landed a job piloting a Nova-One during the campaign to revolutionize Ryloth. He'd chanced into an opportunity, one in which the Rebels had gambled -- and both the Rebels and BB had come away with the benefit of having succeeded in their objectives.
And, now that the Rebels knew the boy was capable, they had put his droid brain to more rigorous and varied use that piloting a blockade runner. As qualified as he might be for running from the law.
He wasn't running now. He wasn't slicing for the Hutts, or cracking Mon Calamari ship lock-out encryptions for the Red Ravens either. He was the captain of an Alliance starcruiser. And that was as startling a fact for him as for anyone around him.
Of course, few were likely to sign on to serve under a droid. And, since no one was concerned with hurting a droid's non-existent feelings, even fewer were subtle in their dissatisfaction. Machines in command. Heartless, unfeeling, cold, calculating computers determining the fate of human lives. There were some legitimate concerns behind the paranoid phobias fueling many of those complaints, none of which was going to be solved in a day.
If it could be solved at all.
And so, perhaps for a lack of qualified candidates, the droid had selected a former Imperial officer as his first mate. Rough, rugged, and well-lined with age, the Coruscant man just stared at the droid from behind icy blue eyes as he awaited the droid's response. "Your tone, Mister Hobis," the boy remarked finally, his auditory processors having noted a distinct variation in pitch. Inclining his head to gaze up at the towering figure, he said only, "Is there a problem?"
The man nodded curtly, crossing his arms in front of his chest.. "They want us to take on munitions and equipment to supply Jamoura as well."
The youth blinked, using the gesture to hide the half-second it took to access his memory and reference the named stellar landmark. "We'll pass through the Jamoura System on our way to Ryloth," the boy said in a matter-of-fact tone. It was a logical move, most efficient in terms of current allocation of resources. "I fail to see the objection."
"Redemption is a medical ship," Tal countered pointedly. "Carrying military parts would render us a legitimate target."
"We're a support frigate, Mister Hobis," the boy corrected, in the same matter-of-fact tone. "Most of the signatory governments to the Alderaan Conventions no longer exist. And, even if the traditional laws of war were upheld, we have turbolaser batteries, ion cannons and a full wing of starfighters..."
As the youth spoke, a chime echoed throughout the ship.
[ "Captain Pendago, please contact the bridge." ]
"In other words, Mister Hobis, we're already a legitimate military target," the youth remarked pointedly, before reaching across the desk where he stood working to toggle a small comms panel. He could have activated the remote slicer that was now housed in his body, not by design or any desire of his own -- making it the droid equivalent of a cancer -- and continued the verbal conversation while answering the commlink remotely. But one way of addressing the 'droid fear' of the crew was to act human. In what subtle ways that he could, anyway. "Pendago, sitrep?"
[ "We are entering the outskirts of the Lamaro System, sir." ]
Behavioral programming necessitated the execution of a head nod, even while there was no conceivable means by which the person on the other end of the commlink would be cognizant of the physical demonstration of acknowledgement. "On my way," the youth announced, switching off the channel before looking back up at the aged human across from him. "Make arrangements to take on the parts and equipment," the droid remarked, finalizing the conversation which the pair had been engaged in earlier, as the two made their way out into the hallways and corridors of the ship.
"...and have X-Nav begin plotting a course to the Jamora System," the droid remarked, as the pair crossed through a pair of airlock doors.
The human bristled beside him. Tal Hobis wasn't happy with the decision. But, then, it wasn't his decision to make. And it never had been. BB was taking for granted that the man was disciplined enough to understand that, even in a militia like the Alliance, that was the nature of command.
"Very well, sir," Tal intoned finally, having to slow his pace to match the shorter stride of the droid. "On a different matter, may I arrange shore leave for the crew?"
The boy merely nodded. In truth, had Tal not brought up the matter of crew rest, then the droid would have broached the topic. "I want a shore patrol posted and a minimum operational crew onboard at all time."
This was the Rebel Alliance. As militaries went, you'd be hard pressed to find a more relaxed environment. At the same time, orderly schedules and exact time-tables for deployments was a luxury for the Galactic Republic. And BB didn't feel like getting an order to make the jump to hyperspace in a ship that didn't even have the manpower to clear out of orbit.
At the same time, a starcruiser wanted for many things. More work was rarely one of them. "Tell Gee I want to take advantage of the downtime," the boy commented, as the pair neared the bridge to the ship. Pausing just outside of the blast doors, the boy turned and added, "Any maintenance that we've been putting off, I want to try and accomplish it while we don't have much else going on."
Receiving the nod from Hobis, the youth turned and stepped over the threshold.
"Captain on the bridge!"
As the droid and his first mate made their way into the command and control center of the frigate, a militia officer looked up. "We've dropped out of hyperspace, and are now manuevering around the Reef," the human deck officer remarked, inclining her head toward the droid before fixing a cold glare at the former Imperial that stood in the boy's shadow.
A droid in command and an Imperial chief of staff. If BB didn't know it as real life, it would almost sound like the premise to some gods awful HoloNet sci-fi comedy.
"Radio the starport. Inform the Admiral of our arrival, and request authorization to berth," the droid stated, giving a nod as the human woman took her leave to carry out the assigned orders. As he looked away, the boy turned to gaze out on the cosmic wonder which lay beyond the forward-looking windows of the ship's bridge.
The Reef Asteroid Field. A highly dense debris disk outside the star system housing the Krasnie Drives orbital shipyards. With extremely precise coordinates and an accurately calibrated navi-computer, a small ship -- such as a light freighter or shuttle -- could make the jump straight to Lamaredd. A capital ship, or a small ship crewed by people who didn't have death wishes, were relegated to navigating into the star system through sublight propulsion.
It made Lamaredd a decidedly strategic location for the Alliance, if not also frustrating to get to.
But it was astetically pleasing to behold and, for now, that was what the droid did. Clasping his hands behind his back, the boy watched the stars as the frigate drifted through the night toward the distant blue gem on a sea of stars.
When the Admiral's staff had informed the ship that the leader of the Red Fleet herself was waiting for the boy, the ship had still been only halfway through the slow crawl toward Lamaredd. Multiple axis planetary rotations, satellites, asteroids, comets, and random debris created narrow space lanes for capital ships in trafficked sectors such as inhabited star systems. It left frigates and larger ships in a restricted manuevering posture -- which didn't lend itself to much speed.
As a result, he'd taken a shuttle so not to keep the admiral waiting.
It was still his first week as a ship captain. Making the admiral wait would probably not reflect well, even for a rebel militia.
Lacking a uniform of a professional military, the small droid was aware that he looked like a youngling and so wasn't afraid of looking the part. A light, field green jacket was worn over a t-shirt and cargo style utility trousers. Aside from his apparent age and diminutive stature, the only other thing that stood out about him was his lack of any kind of side arm. In fact, aside from a VersaPad, the only thing he carried with him was a small med kit.
He was, after all, originally conceived as a medical droid.
And it was a welcome change returning to some of those roots.
"Admiral," the afro-headed youth intoned, identifying the woman from holo recordings as he emerged into the control room. She looked younger in person than he had anticipated. A feeling that was, perhaps, mutual in that respect. Bowing his head, the boy's social protocols directed that he drop his eyes respectfully as he introduced himself to the woman.
As he straightened back up, the boy said only, "Colyn Pendago, of the Redemption."
[member="Krasnaya Xue"] [member="DasGeneral"]
