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Chapter Text

“I don’t understand… why aren’t you attacking me?” asked the small Jedi, huddled in the cave. It was very small; only half the size specified by the neural net identifiers. Still, it wore the specified robes, and had a Jedi weapon on its belt. Its nose made a strange sound and the small Jedi reached up, wiping at it. It must be leaking coolant.
BXD-731 hesitated, computing the question. The squadron’s typically ever-present tactical stream was still offline. Nothing but the driving rain and booming thunder filled his auditory processors, making it difficult to converse. Sensors indicated continued exposure to these elements may cause extensive chassis damage, so BXD-731 approached the lip of the cave.
“Uh, well… the war is over, Jedi,” replied BXD-731. “Uh, I don’t know who won.”
“Rewire and Longshot just… they just…” It said, hiding its face in its hands. BXD-731 logged the distress indicator and waited for follow-up information. After a probable response window had elapsed, the droid asked, “Mmm, this rain may damage my circuits. Can I come in?”
Thunder crashed overhead and the small Jedi’s second probable response period timed out. “Okay, I’m coming in there.”

The cave was adequate shelter, with low moisture levels and a slightly higher temperature. BXD-731 stooped down and stepped through the torrential run-off serving to disguise the place from view. It really was a good hiding place from the weather.
Searing light overwhelmed his photoreceptors.
“Get rid of that!” shouted the little Jedi, its voice shaking.
BXD-731 jerked his head back, away from the humming weapon. “Ah! I can’t see!” Proximity alarms blared at the front of his priority processing queue. “Get rid of what?”
“The blaster!”
BXD-731 lifted his arms and let it clatter to the ground. The humming faded, along with the light.
“Good. Don’t try anything.”
“I don’t want to fight you, Jedi,” reiterated the droid, folding his limbs together and inward. “Uh, I don’t think I ever wanted to fight.”
The small Jedi’s face returned to its hands. Now that he was up close, BXD-731 identified it as a subadult human female. Subadults, he knew, were very valuable to most organic societies. They were usually accompanied by adults for protection, but this one appeared to be on her own. He tilted his head – a habit formed in the time since his last macro memory wipe – to elicit more information.
The Jedi – she – was leaking coolant again, and her whole body was shaking. Organic behaviour identification protocols suggested she might need assistance. His last orders received were to cease hostilities. So, until he received orders directing otherwise, BXD-731 determined that his priorities should default to that of civilian management.
“You should repair that,” he said, gesturing to her eyes. “Coolant loss leads to system failure. Where is your nearest maintenance facility?”
“This is it,” she mumbled.
He tilted his head the other way. Organics had many needs, and this cave only fulfilled two at best. “Your deployment had several troop transports.” He nodded, a gesture useful for emphasis. “You should return there! They will help you.”
“I… can‘t.” she tucked her knees up to her chin.
BXD-731 noted the similarity to his own stasis posture. “Are you having problems with your power supply, too?” he asked.
She studied his faceplate with an expression he couldn’t classify. “They’ll kill me.”
“Your own troops will kill you?”
“They shot my Master,” she explained, hugging her knees tight. “I got away.”
“Oh.” BXD-731 tried several ways to parse this intel, but none of it matched known Republic military stratagems. Then again, it didn’t match Separatist military stratagems for commanders to destroy droids for just answering questions, either; and that happened all the time.
“Why are you alone?” she asked.
“I was separated from my squadron. Uh, when the ceasefire was ordered, I tried to return, but interference from the storm blocked all my communications. They should be working now, but they’re not.”
“I saw piles of droids back that way,” she said, gesturing off somewhere with her chin. BXD-731 turned his head in the direction indicated, but there was only a rock. She must have meant a long way away. “Piles?”
“You’re the only one I’ve seen walking around.”
“Oh...” His head hung forward on its central axis. Wherever possible, BXD-731 always avoided looking at the damaged and dismembered chassis parts of other B-1 droids. When presented with it, the stimulus was hard to ignore, however. It drew his attention, and it was common.
“I guess we’re all alone,” he said. “SRN-260 and I were going to socialise. Um, well, I guess I’m free now.”
“Something’s different. Something really bad happened,” she said. “Longshot was my friend,” she added.
“Well, uh, the war is over. That’s different. Maybe your Clones malfunctioned?” BXD-731 wondered. But, something was different. He observed the rate of rain had increased, but there was another layer to the sound. He devoted extra power to sensors. Four distinct sets of footprints were moving through the trees. “Uh… don’t answer that right now,” he said, lowering his vocal module output to just above minimum. “Um… can I pick up my blaster?”
“Yes,” she said. "I hear them, too."

Chapter Text

Sifting through layers of sound, BXD-731 sinks lower to the ground. Several Clones move through the trees, their footsteps heavy and unhurried.
The small Jedi pushes his blaster into view.
"Have they seen us?" she whispers.
BXD-731 shakes his head, readying the weapon despite the probability warnings blaring in the back of his neural net. He isn't a match for three Clones. There's a nagging process in his priority queue; call for backup. Again, he dismisses the routine. If what the tiny Jedi says is true, then he is the only active unit. As if punctuating the point, the datastream is still silent. No new voices or compulsions. No new orders.

The targets shuffle into range. One of them has its helmet removed.
"I think the kid went this way."
"Wait," says another. "What about that?" The Clone gesturing towards the cave moves closer. The small Jedi stops breathing, but BXD-731 cannot afford to look over.

A burst of movement catches his processor. Something flies out of the clumps of long grass lining the mouth of the cave. Two blaster shots ring out.

"A Radosian Rat. Get a grip, soldier. Come on," groans one of the targets, face twisted in frustration. "We should get to the shuttle. She might’ve tried to circle back looking for her Master."
"Yeah, we can do another sweep after we've checked in. I haven't eaten yet this rotation."
"Always thinking with your stomach, eh, Flapjack?"
"You two head back," grumbles the third, keeping his rifle cocked and at the ready, "I'll stay here and keep looking... Good soldiers follow orders..." the target mutters under his breath, stalking off in the wrong direction. The subadult female's respiration resumes.
BXD-731 focuses on the Clone heading off into the underbrush.
Soon, the soundscape settles back into the natural white-noise rhythms of a rainy forest, no matter how many layers deep he scrubs the audio.

"They are gone," he confirms at last.
"They'll be back." She pulls her hood up over her head. "I have to get off this planet."
BXD-731 considers this information. With so many Clones around, his own survival prospects do not appear favourable. He taps his right index digit against his audio output device. Sometimes, that gesture helps him to come up with solutions. The datastream may be silent, but what about operations? He thinks a query towards any Separatist ships' transponders nearby. To his surprise, his question receives three answers. One is very odd. Instead of appearing in his mind like a bright, steady star, the signal warps and flickers. He feels an urge to report it, but there is no one to report to, so BXD-731 satisfies it by informing the Jedi.
"I'm picking up a few signals. Um, there are two troop transports and I think... something else pretending to be a reconnaissance drone."
"You think? You don't know?"
"Um, well, its transponder code is... corrupted. It might be damaged. It is the closest." He nods, hoping the gesture looks suitably encouraging. An important part of civilian management is the maintenance of organic moods.
She pulls her hood off, looking at him with an expression he doesn't recognise. "I can't use a drone. There aren't any atmospherics inside those things."
"I know. But, I'm not sure it is a drone. Um, sometimes, locals will falsify Separatist IFFs. It might be something you can use." He shakes his head. He shouldn't be telling her this classified information.
"Call it, then."
"Uh, well... I can't. I'm not authorized. I mean, if it is a drone, I can't call it. We have to go to it."
She stares at him for a period of time his neural net informs him is socially uncomfortable. "Give me your blaster back."
BXD-731 hesitates, calculating several variables at once. "Um... will you protect me?"
She watches the rain. BXD-731 considers repeating the question when she answers, "I don't think I can get off this planet without you. Nevermind. Keep it."

BXD-731 pushes wet foliage out of the way. The flickering signal draws closer, and with every step, he does his best not to look at the droid parts littering the forest floor.
"I don't like this," he says over his shoulder. "Um, maybe we should try one of the other signals."
"This was your idea."
"Hmm," he concedes. "Anyways... what is your skill complement?"
"My...?" she replies, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Uh, what are you qualified to do?"
She pauses. "That's a difficult question... I'm not sure how to answer that in a way that's going to make sense to you."
"Well... my Maintenance Officer would say something like, 'Try me.'"
The Jedi makes a sound, a kind of hoarse bark that sounds halfway between a laugh and a sob.
"Erm, did I ask something inappropriate?"
"No, let's... let's just get to wherever we're going."

At last, the trees reveal a ship, its silhouette unrecognizable to his neural net; it's definitely not a Separatist drone. Or, at least, it isn't anymore. Parts of what used to be a drone are fixed into the hull of something containing a mix of different designs. BXD-731 devotes more power to scanning it over. Moss coating the top of what looks like its aerilons tell the story of how long it must have been here. Thick bunches of cable trail out from the underside of the wings, connected to a power supply somewhere out of sight. He shakes his foot loose from a bit of netting and a broken supply crate. Yes, definitely a local's abode.

"Keep watch," she says.
"Roger, Roger." His neural net provides him with a little reward stimulus; receiving and executing orders is good. BXD-731 straightens up, holding his blaster at the ready.
"Please don't say that when I tell you to do something."
"Roger, Ro-- uh, yes."
The Jedi is busy examining the outer hatch. She taps a long sequence into the keypad. BXD-731 recognises the sound.
"Hmm. Uh, hm. How do you know Separatist reset codes?"
"We've been at war with you for a while," she replies tersely.
"That is very classified information, Jedi."
"Tayren," she says, shaking her head and stabbing yet another sequence into the keypad. " I'm Tayren Noss." She sighs, resting her forehead against the hull. "And... I'm not being very patient with you. I'm sorry."
"I have never been apologised to before." His social programming for such an event is entirely lacking. "Um. Here, let me try," he says, gesturing towards the buttons.
"I've tried a few. I don't think it'll do any good. I think whoever put this together has changed things around." She glances about the place furtively. "We should try somewhere else."
"Um, no... your codes are just very old," he explains as he taps away. The hatch opens with a hiss. Tayren looks at him in silence; a behaviour BXD-731 notes as being common.
He shrugs. "Uh, well, you have been at war with us for a while."

His footsteps click loud on the metal floor. The vessel is in surprisingly good condition, in spite of its outward appearance; only a thin layer of dust rests on the flight controls. Though he recognises the controls and their operation - part of his standard programming - he is compelled to suspend further investigation and await an authorised pilot unit.
"What are you doing?" asks Tayren, peering at him, her brows furrowed.
"Awaiting a - hmm," he puzzles. "Wait, uh... wait... hmm, my programming doesn't have an answer for this."
"Can you fly it?"
"I think I know how, but we need a Flight Officer."
Tayren leans on the console, touching her head with her hand. "When there's no Flight Officer, what do you do?"
"Wait for one."
"But when there aren't any," she says, speaking slowly.
"There is always a Flight Officer. There are always more of us," he says, tilting his head in a way he hopes will help him to think. BXD-731 used to have a command authorisation module strapped to his back that relayed, checked and verified all his thoughts and decisions. Some time ago, that had been removed due to causing unnecessary delays in unit response times. Still, it would be good to have one of those now.

Tayren's whole body snaps taut, her weapon flying into her hand of its own accord. She's staring out the open airlock at something.
The wall behind her erupts in sparks, blowing out his photoreceptors. Blaster fire rips through the air.
"Close the door!"
BXD-731 stares at the controls. He shouldn't touch them. He should wait for a Flight Officer.
"Close the door!" she shouts again.
Time passes at a constant rate for the most part, but BXD-731's auxiliary processors spin up, and things seem to slow down.
A Flight Officer is never coming. But, chain of command does not apply to droids in the same way as organics. He is built for a task and is expected to simply deactivate if he cannot fulfil it. Light flares again in his photoprocessors; more blaster plasma causing chaos. BXD-731 reaches a conclusion. Defying his programming, the hatch seal depresses under his digits. A loud hiss fills the cabin.
"For your safety, please remain seated during take-off."