A/N: The ending is abrupt, but as always, I am too lazy to do anything about that
It's just a short silly piece, so don't expect any mind-blowing revelations
I hope you enjoy!
* * *
“Well, check it again. It can’t be anything else.” Atton stared down T3. Or rather, he tried. If he had but asked, the exile would have told him that trying to stare down inanimate (in a manner of speaking) objects was a wonderful exercise in futility. As it was, she decided that letting him learn it himself was probably the best thing to do.
“Just check the damn connector. I don’t trust the diagnostics anymore than I trust you.”
T3 warbled sadly and drooped a little. The exile was listening with an odd little smile when she heard Atton think damned trash compactor
“Because I don’t trust droids. They break. In the head.”
That was extremely suspicious.
The droid’s response was surprisingly matter-of-fact.
“Well, whatever you call that thing on your…head.”
She certainly never knew that droids could be so…petulant.
“Yeah, well, if I’m mean to you, it’s because I care.” His thoughts rapidly turned to flip the card and you get -1 which makes it 20…
She pushed herself off the wall and walked into the main hold. Atton feigned ignorance of her presence, but she crooked a finger at him. “Atton, could I have a word with you?”
His mind threw up a brief but terrifying image before he suppressed it.
what you’re thinking.”
“Damned Jedi,” he muttered under his breath.
“I still can hear you, and I can’t help it when you’re being so loud. Comm room, Rand. Now.”
He folded his arms defensively. “I have nothing to do with the juma juice and cigarras in the secret compartment. Don’t persecute me!”
The exile gave him an opaque look. “Oh, really?” Taking him by the arm, she gently pushed him into the room, which triggered even more disturbing thoughts. He sprawled on the lone seat before catching himself and offering it to her.
She continued leaning against the wall, tapping a finger against her chin thoughtfully. “Now, I would like to share a little story about what Bao discovered yesterday…”
* * *
The day before
Bao-Dur straightened up with a sigh, kneading the small of his back. He tapped T3 gently. “Hey there, little guy. Run a diagnostic and report.”
T3 cooed happily and did so. He liked Bao-Dur. The Zabrak was always covered with grease, which was nice. And he always had time to talk to T3, which was even nicer.
“Well then, looks like you’re all right. I replaced the burnt circuits and cleaned you out, but let me know if I missed anything. What happened to you anyway?”
The droid twittered, flashing his numerous lights for emphasis.
“You couldn’t comply?”
your programming? That certainly explains a lot.”
T3 whirled and spun, beeping empathetically.
“What’s the commotion about?” Bao-Dur smiled as the general entered. She crouched down and T3 scooted over, trilling happily.
Bao-Dur rubbed a hand over his horns, chuckling quietly. “Someone asked our little friend to do something, but apparently it was so unthinkable that he actually overrode the directive, so the failsafe mechanisms kicked in and fried him. Luckily, I had some spare parts knocking about.”
Lei raised her eyebrows. “T3, give me a report of what happened before the malfunction.”
Bao spoke above the droid’s reply, “I’m afraid he can’t do that. Short term memory drives didn’t survive.”
She asked him, “Any ideas?”
The Zabrak shrugged. “Just one of those mysteries of the universe, general.”
* * *
“And why are you telling me this?”
“Just a hunch, dear. No need to get so worked up about it.” She gazed at him levelly, longer than he was comfortable with. “Atton, is there something you’d like to tell me?”
He really hated the way she could dismantle him by just looking at him. He fidgeted. This was worse than having the old witch dig through his head. At least that elicited sympathy from Lei.
“Well. I guess I kinda…broke him?” He looked moderately repentant.
“How? Or am I happier not knowing?”
“It’s—uh—I think I should just show you.” He slunk off to the cockpit, and she followed him, not knowing quite what to expect.
* * *
The day before
T3 backed away from Atton, warbling softly in apprehension. The scoundrel looked decidedly less scruffy than usual. That little piece of information flickered through the droid’s circuitry and the logic processors, which needed but a hundredth of a second to answer “beware”.
T3 rapidly analysed the fistful of organic matter in Atton’s hand:
Species: drachenfutter schadenfreude
Native planet: Dantooine
Appearance: Flowers range in colour from white (the common variety) to red and yellow, including every shade in between. The species was developed by Monsieur Marglabarsh, an eccentric human who dabbled in the psychology of mating rituals, and was famous for inexplicably breaking into laughter when he observed males attempting to appease females. This inspired him to develop this delicate bloom as his contribution to the propagation of sentients across the galaxy.
“T3, I need a favour. You just need to go to Lei. Carrying this.” He thrust the bunch of flowers into T3’s photoreceptors.
The little droid beeped nervously.
“Aren’t you programmed to follow orders, you little bucket of bolts? Go on, get!”
The light on T3’s head flashed as the droid projected the Exile’s possible reactions. He factored in the Exile’s psychological profile, the Exile’s interactions with Atton, Atton’s psychological profile, Atton’s history as a Sith, Revan’s feelings for the Exile (allowing for decay over time), Revan’s history as a Sith, Revan’s psychological profile, Revan’s relationship with Bastila, Bastila’s history as a Sith, Bastila’s psychological profile…
Secondary circuits simultaneously processed the request, projecting the outcome of a relationship between the exile and Atton. T3’s behaviour core sparked in protest, and the droid wailed.
There was a very small mushroom cloud.
Atton kicked the droid experimentally. T3 creaked, and the smell of smoke wafted out. The exile was not going to be happy. Well, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Whistling and looking as innocent as a summer sky, he sauntered off in search of the literally most wanted Jedi in the galaxy.
* * *
The exile fingered the bruised petals. “You asked him to give me this?”
“Yeah. And he just blew up. I would have given it to you, but you were with the old hag, so…” He rubbed his neck, looking pained.
“I see. And it’s been under your seat all this while?” She really did like the flowers, although she wasn’t about to admit it.
The scoundrel flushed and mumbled something in assent. Abruptly, awkwardly, she hugged him, and pulled away before he could return it.
“Thanks. I really needed it.”
He was too shellshocked to say or do anything, which was a damned shame because he really wanted to put his arms around her. She turned to leave, but turned back with an impish smile. “By the way, I’m sorry I listened in on your thoughts. Apologising was the rule, right? Oh, here’s a new one: don’t break stuff. Unless I tell you to.”
With a swish of robes, she was gone.