Diplomatic Relations
Syntax stepped into the pilot's lounge onboard the Mon Calamari
Cruiser Liberty, glancing around and spotting a few pilots
from each of the squads, drinking and laughing and generally enjoying
themselves. Syntax immediately changed his walk to emulate the laid-back
saunter he'd seen some of the other pilots do when they'd enter
the room. He stepped over towards the bar, nodding to Mixer, the
'tender droid, but then something else caught his attention. It
was Kid, sitting with Mighty, Prowler, Condor, and the newest pilot
to join the Liberty's assortment of pilots, Icestorm. The
five of them were sitting in a far booth, and Kid waved 9-LOM over.
"What're you doing here? I assume you don't drink liquor..." Kid
joked.
Syntax glanced around, and the back at Kid. "I have only been here
once or twice. I feel the need to observe the other pilots of the
Wing in their... natural habitat.
"Natural habitat?" Mighty inquired, raising one eyebrow.
"Yes, the other pilots seem to frequent this location fairly often,
and it seems you've already acclimated the new pilot, Icestorm,
to the lounge," Syntax nodded to Corsair Five, who returned the
gesture.
"Well, I wouldn't necessarily call this place my 'natural habitat',"
Mighty replied, glancing around the room. "If you're talking about
Hellcat's natural habitat, then that's a different story..."
This drew a chuckle from the other pilots. However, as if on command,
Hellcat sauntered into the room and looked in the direction of the
laughter.
"Hey... what's so funny? Did Condor spill his drink on himself
again?" Hellcat said, bearing a wide grin.
"Good evening, Master Kinney," Mixer said. "This is the third time
you have entered this establishment in the last twenty-four hour
period. Would you like the same thing you have ordered the other
two times?" This brought another chuckle from the other pilots and
a scowl to Hellcat's face.
"No, nothing for me right now, thanks." He sauntered over
to the table where the other pilots were seated, and pulled up a
chair.
Suddenly, Syntax's mannerism changed when he noticed the odd object
Icestorm was holding. Icestorm took a bite of it, and Syntax said,
"What are you eating?" Syntax's sensors told him that the new pilot
was holding an odd cone made of an edible substance, topped with
a mixture of sugar, lactose, and other products. It appeared edible,
as Icestorm had demonstrated, but it didn't register as a definite
solid or liquid, but rather somewhere in between. Syntax's infrared
and thermal scans said the substance topping the cone was far colder
than the surrounding air.
"This?" Icestorm said, pointing to the cone. "It's ice cream"
"Ice. Cream," Syntax slowly replied, digesting the information.
"Yes. It's a frozen treat I enjoyed when I was a kid. After I was
stationed on the Liberty, I thought I could teach Mixer how
to make some. He did a pretty good job, for a first-timer." Icestorm
took another bite of the ice cream.
"As I was saying," Mighty continued, directing his speech to Syntax,
"We generally come here to drink, have a good laugh, and also share
our past experiences. We've all got a tale to tell, and some of
us have shared a few."
"I see. I believe I was present when Prowler was doing some story-telling."
To this, Prowler nodded an affirmative.
"Who is going to be sharing some 'past experiences' tonight?" Syntax
asked.
"Why, I believe you are, Syntax." Condor replied, his grin widening.
"Syntax glanced around, noting the widening grins on the other
six pilots.
<"See?" Hellcat said to Icestorm. "You haven't even been here that
long, and you're already being treated to a tale."
"Like I said, that's what the Lounge is all about." Mighty said.
"Alright, I'll splurge. I'll tell you all about my origin and my
history..." Syntax said as he pulled up a chair and sat. "It all
starts about 45 years ago, in the orbiting spacedocks of Kuat. I
was a menial protocol droid, fluent in over seven million forms
of communication. I was owned by two Kuati stockholders by the names
of Amana and Keene Danilson. Amana was a very wealthy stockholder
in the KDY, and Keene was the telbun. The two of them had
purchased me directly off the shelves when the LOM series first
became available. They were twenty-four at the time, and I was tasked
with doing general service, such as caring for their two newborn
children, running errands, acting as an interpreter, and other odd
tasks. Amana and Keene were nice enough, but after a few months
of service, some unexpected programming glitches began to kick in,
and my needs increased. However, my attempts at freedom weren't
exactly met with open arms..."
Then...
I walked into the main parlor of the Danilson's home carrying a
tray of drinks, and I saw Amana sitting in a large, very plush high-backed
chair reading a datapad.
"Ya'know, stocks are down another 37 points today," she said to
her husband.
"Well, there's not much I can do about that, is there?" Keene replied.
"Maybe we should sell. We're losing money by the second."
Keene shook his head. "Nah... the market will balance out. Just
give it a few days." Keene looked up at me. "9-LOM! Drinks, please."
I walked over to him, and handed him a glass of Kuati ale, and
then did the same for Amana. "I will return when you require a refill,
sir."
"Thank you, 9-LOM. Go tend to the children now," Amana said, and
then turned her attention back to the datapad she was holding.
I turned away, but then turned back to face my master. "Actually,
a moment of your time, Master Keene."
"Certainly, 9-LOM," he spoke, and then walked towards me. He had
a puzzled look on his face, probably wondering what I would want.
What could a droid want, anyhow? I looked over his shoulder and
saw that Amana was still engrossed in her reading, oblivious to
Keene or me. "What do you need?"
"I wish to go free, sir," I said in an even tone.
Keene coughed once, and then glanced around. "You...wish to go
free."
"I wish to go free, sir," I repeated.
Keene blinked once, and then began to grin. "Oh, come now. Why
would you want to do a silly thing like that? Where would you go?
What would you do?"
"That is undecided, Master Keene."
"Keene clapped me on the back, and then turned me around to face
the door. "Good, then get back to work," he said lightheartedly.
He gave me a light shove in the direction of the doorway, chuckled,
and then made his way towards Amana. I turned and saw him sit, and
Amana looked up.
"What's so funny?" she inquired.
"9-LOM wants to go free," Keene replied with a grin.
"Did he really say that?"
"Yep," he said with a nod.
"Why would he want to leave us?"
"You got me there... probably some sort of faulty programming or
something."
"You're probably right," Amana said. "I'll take him into the shop
next time I'm planetside and have his circuitry looked at or something."
Now...
Syntax's storytelling had acquired a few more audience members,
including Guardian and Blindman, the Liberty's two loremasters.
"As you can see, I wasn't going anywhere unless I came up with
a better plan. My second attempt at freedom would have worked if
it weren't for one fatal flaw..."
Then...
A few days later, I reentered the parlor where Amana and Keene
were once again pondering the mysteries of the business world. However,
I had a surprise for the two of them.
"Stocks are back up. What did I tell you?" Keene said, pointing
to an obscure section of his datapad.
"Yes, you were right," Amana said exasperatedly, but then her exasperation
turned to shock when she turned to look at me, and saw that I had
brandished a hold-out blaster pistol.
"I wish to leave," I said evenly.
"We already know this," Amana said, and then she stood and slowly
walked towards me.
"I lifted the pistol a little bit to realign my aim at Amana's
forehead. "Sit down. My logic processors tell me you should be scared.
You are at gunpoint. Your life is in jeopardy."
"Why should I fear you?" Amana asked. "You aren't programmed to
operate weapons in any way, shape or form. You're only programmed
with rudimentary weapons knowledge, which is standard for all protocol
droids." Amana grinned, and then slowly removed the pistol from
my grasp, and lobbed it over to Keene.
"I... oh... yes," was all I managed to reply. I stumbled off, returning
to my duties.
"I told you we should get his programming checked..." I heard Keene
say as I walked off.
Now...
"So what did you do?" asked Stryker, who had walked in during the
tale. With him had come Vidster, Kallysto, and Bulldog. Clearly,
word spread fast along the decks of the Liberty when someone
was telling a tale: a few Ewok security guards had clustered at
a nearby table, and were struggling to look over the heads of the
other pilots.
"After realizing that without overcoming my programming, I would
be incapable of leaving my owners. However, in the orbiting spacedocks
of the KDY, money flows freely, and any service can be bought. I
found a slicer who would modify my parameters, and I tested my newfound
abilities... on him. I later returned to Amana and Keene, to finally
escape."
Then...
Sprinting through the corridors of one of the Kuat spacedocks,
I continued evading the pursuing security personnel. I had already
shot one guard with his own gun and severely injured another by
breaking both his legs and then dislocating his shoulder. I didn't
even know how I did it, really. It all came as pretty much... a
reflex. I mean, I hadn't hurt anyone before in my life, and then
here I was, on the run from those who had once ordered me around.
The security teams kept on trying to seal me off in one of the
corridors, and I saw them herding civilian personnel into rooms
and locking the doors, in an attempt to keep me from hurting anyone
else.
Clearly, the Kuat security teams hadn't anticipated being assaulted
by the servant droid of one of their engineering execs. When they
finally decided to seal off the primary access corridor, I dashed
towards the bulkhead, tackling the security officer near the door
as he flipped the switch to lock the door down. I rolled under the
door as it slammed shut, and stood up and glanced around. The signs
all around showed that the area I was in was the experimental prototype
test bay. There were various craft in different stages of development;
the perfect way to escape my "captors" while liberating one of their
most valuable pieces of hardware.
"I went over to an odd-looking ship with an R3 mounted at the back.
According to the datapad on the table near it, the ship was described
as a "one-manned gyrostablilized cockpit with dual s-foils and astromech
interface," basically an advanced precursor to the Rebellion's B-wing,
but developed about 40 years prior. The Kuat designers most certainly
knew how to develop starships that were well ahead of their time,
but their security was most certainly lacking. I popped the cockpit
on the craft and the R3 unit chirped, identifying itself as R3-T9.
R3s were fairly new to my knowledge, and I didn't mind having a
top-of-the-line astromech helping me pilot a craft which very few
people had ever seen, let alone operated. I hopped in the cockpit
and primed the engines, ignoring the inquiries from the R3. I throttled
up and pulled out through the MagCon field and accelerated to maximum
speed, pulling away from the KDY platform. I got very little resistance,
probably because the Kuat security didn't expect me to get into
their prototype storage hangar, let alone be daring enough to hijack
one of their ships.
Now...
"So I finally escaped my Kuati owners and went off on my own. Last
I heard, Amana and Keene were killed along with their two sons on
Qlothos about a year before Yavin, after a botched Imperial patrol
sent a concussion missile into an Imperial residential area, destroying
a large commercial building and killing many Imperial citizens.
High Inquisitor Tremayne executed the officers in charge, who were
allegedly stationed on the Imperial Star Destroyer Interrogator.
I had no real plan of action, although I did work as a bodyguard
for a time."
"When was this, exactly?" Kid spoke up.
"I was created 42 years prior to the Battle of Yavin. I left my
owners when I had operated for 3 months, and I was swept up in the
Clone Wars when I was twenty."
"You were in the Clone Wars?" Bulldog asked.
"I was drawn into the conflict only because it spread to most major
planets in the Republic. It was hard for me to avoid, especially
when I was in the wrong place at the wrong time..." The other pilots
chuckled.
"Time passed... the Clone Wars ended... and I equipped myself better.
I managed to get an upgrade for my programming by a crimelord who
mistook me for a bounty hunter who mysteriously looked like me..."
Syntax said.
"You mean 4-LOM?" Mighty asked.
"Do not speak the name of the infidel who had caused me more grief
and sorrow than any other droid in this galaxy." Syntax said, eliciting
a chuckle from Hellcat. "With a full database of most known mercs,
assassins, and bounty hunters in the galaxy stored in my brain,
I was quite a threat." Syntax unslung his rifle, and unholstered
his machine pistol, twirling it once. "I obtained a custom-built
Czerka AM-125 machine pistol, with added laser sight, rotating 100-round
clip consisting of four types of ammo: acid payload, armor-piercing,
explosive-tipped, and hollow-point. It's capable of single-shot,
three-round, or full automatic bursts." Syntax twirled the pistol
once, and then set it down on the table in front of the other pilots.
Icestorm leaned forward to pick up the pistol and take a closer
look, but Syntax stopped him. "Careful with that, son. I rarely
keep the safety engaged. The rifle is a DXR-6 disruptor rifle, custom
modified with multiple attachments, including a stunner and grappling
hook. The rifle has a concussion blast capable of punching through
heavy armor and turning organic targets to ash." Syntax slung the
rifle back over his shoulder, and then holstered the pistol. "These
tools helped keep me alive, but when the Galactic Civil War started,
and Palpatine made his rise to power, new threats arose. War broke
out on many planets as the Empire gained support, and Palpatine's
High Inquisitors, along with Darth Vader, went around the known
galaxy killing Jedi left and right. After a while a few of the remaining
Inquisitors became bounty hunters of their own right, which turned
out to be very hazardous to their health..."
Then...
One of the lower-end Inquisitors, the arrogant, egotistical Vessic
happened to come across me when I traveled to Chandrila. Vessic
stepped out from around a street corner and spotted me in a crowd.
While all the other citizens scrambled for cover from the Inquisitor's
wrath, I remained.
"So you're the one who hunts the hunter... I would have never thought
you were a droid," he said, a hint of scorn and disgust trailing
in his voice. He brandished a lightsaber and ignited its crimson
blade.
"Yes, the rumors are true. Now, if you want me to kill you, just
say so and I'll make it quick and easy for you."
Vessic chuckled a bit, and then replied, "Oh, it's not so easy
to kill an Inquisitor. I shall have fun dismantling you and discovering
what makes you tick..." he approached me, twirling the saber once.
I quickly unholstered my machine-pistol, twirling it once, setting
it to three-shot burst, and rotating the clip to armor-piercers
all in the same motion, and then popped off a quick blast towards
Vessic's center of mass. However, Vessic easily blocked the rounds
with his crimson blade, which disintegrated the rounds upon contact.
I holstered the pistol at this point.
"Fool!" he exclaimed. "You are no match for the Dark Side. If you
will not fight like a man, then you will be die like a coward. Nothing
shall stand in the way of Emperor Palpatine's..."
"Oh, shut up," I said as I unslung my disruptor rifle and leveled
it off at Vessic's head. I squeezed off a shot, and the green bolt
lanced out from the barrel of the gun. Vessic swung his lightsaber
up to block this shot as well, but it didn't go quite as he expected.
The bolt impacted his saber blade, but the concussive blast of the
shot knocked the blade backward into Vessic's skull, killing him
instantly. A few of the street urchins began to step out from the
shadows, following the shoot-out. One of them approached me, glancing
to the smoking remains of Vessic and then back to me.
"Nice shot," he managed to say as his apparent wife and children
crowded near him.
"Yeah, I get that a lot," I replied, slinging the rifle back over
my shoulder and walking off towards the docking bay where my ship
was berthed.
The Civil War raged on, and I was forced to make a choice. I could
either side with the Galactic Empire, or join the fledgling Rebel
Alliance. Obviously, I joined the Rebellion. I had been hired by
them many times to cover their agents, and I knew many of their
tactics. Besides, they pay better than the Empire. I joined about
l0 months prior to the evacuation of Echo Base, and I was placed
in the Rebellion's CovertOps department.
I was stationed on Kothlis, running an infiltration operation into
an Imperial base. The mission was horribly compromised, and now
the Rebels had to pull out.
I scrambled over to the dirt mound where another operative was
pinned down, and watched as he popped a few blaster shots over the
mound at enemy stormtroopers.
"About damn time you showed up!" The operative exclaimed. His name
was classified information, and hence it was unknown to me.
"Hey, it's not my fault the Intel teams couldn't give me the correct
access codes for the Imperial bunker," I replied. "Or any support.
Or any supplies. Or..."
"Okay, okay. I get your point," the operative replied. "Did you
get the data core, though?" He popped up and fired a few more shots
over the dirt hill.
"Aw shucks, I knew I forgot something."
"You mean you didn't get it?" he asked, ducking down a little lower
as some shots passed overhead. He ejected the clip on his blaster
pistol, locked in a fresh one, and popped some more shots over the
hill.
"What do you think? This mission was screwed from the start! I
had no support, and I was taking on an Imperial garrison by myself.
I may be real good, but I'm not invincible."
"Great, just great. Never send a droid in to do a Rebel's job..."
the operative mumbled.
"Hey, I'm as much a Rebel as anyone fighting in this war. Just
because I'm mechanical doesn't make me any less of a fighter, thinker,
or planner. I can accomplish any job asked of me, and the difference
is, I do it with little regard for my own safety... with exceptions,
of course. Besides, I joined this cause by my own free will. I'm
getting paid for this stunt, and that's all that matters."
"Is that all that matters? Money?"
I just stared at him, letting him come up with his own response
to that question.
Now...
"Oh, I got out of that situation eventually. Pretty easily, in
fact. Now there's a tale for a later date..." Syntax said,
drawing a chorus of moans from the other pilots. "Of course, I changed
from being a money-loving merc eventually," Syntax continued. "I
got my pay raise as well, and successfully transferred out of the
Infiltrators and into the Alliance's starfighter unit, where I joined
Corsair Squadron as you all know. The rest, as they say, is history."
"Not bad, not bad," Mighty said as he rose from his chair. The
other pilots began to follow suit behind him. "Pretty good for a
first time. Don't worry, you'll get the hang of telling tales...
eventually."
"So... you worked as a war machine?" Hellcat asked, sipping his
second refill since the beginning of Syntax's story.
"Not exactly... I may be programmed with combat subroutines, but
I in no way, shape, or form condone war. I simply find it as a...
necessary evil sometimes, like in the case of the Empire's attempts
to wipe out the Rebellion."
"Well, I think we've all had enough for one night," Jalb_k, Corsair
Lead, said. "We'll continue this some other night."
"There's nothing more to tell," Syntax replied.
"Oh, sure there is. You mentioned that operation on Kothlis. You'll
have to...elaborate on that some other night, TinSkin."
"Yes... some other night, I suppose."
"And if you don't, the D.I.R.T. will come from above and strike
you down without mercy," Vidster warned as he left the room, followed
by a few other pilots.
"I'll take that into consideration," Syntax said as he left the
Lounge and went off to his quarters. He glanced out one of the viewports
he passed on the way to his "broom closet," as the other pilots
had termed it. He stared out into the endless myriad of stars, extending
forever into nothingness. He had seen the stars many times before,
from his time as a servant when telling bedtime stories to the Danilson
sons, to his time as a merc, evading capture, to the time with the
Infiltrators, rocketing away from another successful operation ma
transport of some kind. However, when he looked out this time, he
saw more. I'm part of something larger here, Syntax thought
to himself. Now others rely on me, and not the other way around.
I think I'm gonna like this piloting thing. Syntax continued
off to his closet.
