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After a flushed Cassian had beat a hasty retreat, K-2SO turned his optical processors on Sergeant Melshi.
"Why does Captain Andor refer to you as a silly rabbit?" he inquired pleasantly.
Sergeant Melshi blinked.
"Welll, I imagine for the same reason he calls you a silly rabbit," he said.
K-2SO considered the response, analyzed it against existing data points.
"You are of above average height for someone of your species," he observed. Melshi raised his eyebrows.
"So I've been told," he says. "You're of average height for your model, but most species would consider you tall."
K-2SO straightened to his full height.
"A KX-series droid is designed for optimal combat and security capabilities," he said primly. "My height permits me to visually assess for threats and take immediate measures to neutralize them."
Melshi hummed.
"I'll take your word for it," he said. "I thought you were just going to say that Cassian has a type."
Indeed, he had also observed Captain Andor's partiality towards individuals of above-average height. Other preferences which he had logged in a secure file buried deep within a hidden subroutine included dark hair (as a droid, he did not have hair, but he supposed that his chassis was dark), a certain level of insubordination (as a reprogrammed Imperial droid, his very existence was insubordinate by nature), and an unquantifiable quality of tenderness (he was not tender at all, he was a security droid, but Cassian seemed to be willing to make an exception for him).
"I could not say," he said in response to Sergeant Melshi, who was tall and had dark hair and got confined to quarters for insubordination every other week and touched Cassian's hand very gently over the dinner table. "I do not have enough data points to conduct a reliable analysis."
Melshi considered this.
"We can fix that," he said. "Have you met Bix yet?"
He knew of her, of course. It was impossible not to. Her presence in the house was impossible to miss, even though she was not here. The green plants that Cassian kept watered. The paintings, certainly not done by Cassian, in the bedside drawer. The empty space in the closet that no one filled.
Also, Corporal Sartha had told him everything after Jenoport, when he'd requested a full profile on Cassian Andor outside of what it said on the official files. He suspected that she was still in regular contact with her, based on some choice comments she had muttered beneath her breath about someone being just a holocall away.
"When did you meet her?" he asked instead. Melshi shrugged.
"She called Vel once while I was there," he said. "We've chatted a couple times since. She's clever. More than a match for him."
Yes, that was consistent with the data he had gathered. Cassian had a fondness for people who pushed back against him a little. In more than one sense. Who said only organics were capable of verbal wit?
"And she is aware of your relationship with Captain Andor?" he inquired. "I was given to understand that this would be considered unconventional by many organics."
"Depends on the organics," Melshi quipped. "I had two da's and a ma. Yes, she knows. I'm under orders to be careful with his heart and to take no banthashit from him."
K-2SO tilted his head.
"Cassian's latest medical indicated a functioning cardiovascular system within acceptable margins of concern," he said. "And I was not aware he was in the habit of handing off organic digestive waste to you."
Melshi snorted.
"I think it's safe to say that between you and me, he's getting in a healthy amount of cardio exercise," he said. “So do you want to meet her? She knows about you, if that’s what you’re wondering. She’s pretty busy but I can send her a message, see when she has the time.”
His processing coils warmed within his datacore as he considered his options.
“I wouldn’t want to put you out of your way,” he said cautiously.
“Not at all,” said Melshi, with no rapid blinks or sweating to suggest that he might be lying. “You’d actually be doing both of us a favour. It’s hard seeing Cassian going out, doing what he does all alone. You’re the one who looks after him when he can’t look after himself. It sets my mind at ease knowing he’s got you. I think it’d take a load off her shoulders too.”
Well. Put like that. It was blatant flattery, but he was starting to appreciate the merits of that particular organic trait.
“I suppose if it will help,” he said. “I’m very helpful, you know.”
“The way you threw those troopers across the square on Rishi was extremely helpful,” Melshi agreed. “Twenty all, by the way. You lose.”
He looked down at the tiles Melshi had just splayed out on the table. Looked at the discard pile, and his own hand. Ran a few quick calculations.
“The statistical probability that you could have that combination of tiles when at least three of them have already been discarded out of play is infinitesimal.”
“Really?” Melshi blinked. “What, are you saying I cheated or something?”
He shrugged his limbs, one of many odd motions that he had learned to adapt into his protocols. Organics were very reliant on body language so it only made sense to integrate more micromovements into his motor patterns if he was going to be spending so much time around them.
“I’m merely stating the evidence.”
“Ah, well now,” Melshi said, “That’s all circumstantial, I’d say. You can’t actually prove that that infinitesimal chance didn’t happen, can you? Whereas you have just admitted to counting tiles and that is definitely cheating.”
He considered Sergeant Ruescott Melshi carefully. His mouth was currently shaped in a smile, in what he had observed humanoids calling a crooked grin. The analysis of his body language suggested smugness, self-satisfaction. From the notes in his secure file, he knew that Cassian greatly enjoyed such displays. They were usually a precursor to Cassian requesting that he power down in the other room for a few hours.
His processing coils grew hotter as he quickly executed a few internal scans. The results were unclear. While he was reasonably sure that he was not as enthusiastic about this sort of teasing as Cassian was, he could not rule it out for certain that he didn’t enjoy it a little. More data points were needed, so as an experienced Intelligence asset of exceeding efficiency and competence, he decided to acquire them
“Would you like to test our physical compatibility?” he asked.
Melshi raised his eyebrows, another odd organic behavioural trait he had yet to fully decipher.
“You know you don’t have to,” he said. “Just because we both care about Cassian doesn’t mean we also have to do anything.”
Very considerate. He could certainly see the appeal that kindness had. It was nice when other beings spared a few seconds to think about whether they might be inconveniencing you. He wasn’t entirely convinced about keeping it up all the time -that just sounded exhausting and inconvenient to one’s own self- but he could appreciate its occasional utility.
“I agree,” he said. “But it’s a scenario which we have no data for. It is entirely possible that one or both of us might find it worth pursuing. That is the point of a test. It provides a structured system for examining information with quantifiable results.”
Melshi took a moment to think it over.
“Can’t argue with that,” he said at last. It wasn’t true because Cassian said that Melshi could argue with anyone and anything. He was just choosing not to argue right now, which was interesting, flattering, and appreciated all at once. “Quick question though. Who’s the silly rabbit here?”
That was easy. So easy that it didn’t even need asking. They both said the answer at the same time.
“Cassian.”
Cassian came back in some time later. This time, he flushed an even brighter pink. He did not beat a hasty retreat, though it took some effort to convince him otherwise. It did unfortunately mean that the test was inconclusive, since an outside factor (Cassian) had entered the situation in the middle of things and possibly prejudiced the results.
What a shame. They’d have to do more tests in future. Thorough ones, for accuracy’s sake. Such was the life of a rebel Intelligence operative.