What ELSE Do We Know?

[Karl the Unfettered]

Vivi the Hammer, as was normally the case, was bored. The Archeri were gone and Nar Shaddaa was still a shithole planet, and to top it off she never had gotten a chance to break shit with her pal Io'an. He might disagree with the assertion that they were pals, but he was a sap and she didn't care anyway so it worked out in the end! For her, at least.

She couldn't stand whiners, is all, and he'd been so whiny with his headaches and his runny nose and his bleeding coughs. Breaking shit solo was fun and all, but something about having a pal (or an audience) just made it all so much better!

That settled it. She'd find the guy and drag him off again, and THIS time she wouldn't allow any amount of whining or coughing to stop the pain train! Now the trick was to find him.

The thought that without the Plague around he wouldn't be so weak and easy to drag around didn't cross her mind. Thoughts like that had a hard time finding purchase in a mind like hers!

The first place she decided to look was the in-house cantina in the Blind Eye, because it was closest and she needed a stiff drink before getting into any shenanigans that day. Stiff drinks always made for better shenanigans later, in her opinion. So she skipped her way through the casino toward the cantina and came to a stop just inside. "Anybody seen Io'an?!" she demanded of the room at large, looking around herself. "He 'n I gots BUSINESS t' take care of!"

[caelum]

CZ-EX-5573 was in a bit of a problem. Multiple problems really, but they were the kind of problems that could be eliminated given a proper brisk handling and a step by step plan. Efficiency was the name of the game, most of the time, and the game itself was simple, also most of the time.

The issue becomes then, as Eggs stared blankly at the ferrocrete rubble it had been buried in, was that in this case that it was not playing the game. The game here, essentially, being the absence of the board, an opponent the moderator and even it's own pieces.

And without a board to play in, a game to consider, it fulfills it's basic programming. There was a distinct problem with that, however.

Directive 01-A as follows. Obey any and all commands from Czerka Handlers.

Obstruction. No commands given by Czerka Handlers.

Obstruction. No contact with Czerka Handlers in recent memory.

Directive 01-A as follows. Impossible to complete.

There is a moment of hesitation, impossible to observe or measure for an organic sapient, before it proceeds.

In event of absence of active Czerka commands or presence, CZ-EX Units are to follow Directive 19-Z and make contact with authroized handler.

Directive 19-Z as substitute primary. Fulfilling directive. Contacting nearest CZ Sensor Relay....

.....processing

.....processing

.....processing

Czerka Sensor Relay disabled. Contacting CZ Planetary Sensor Relay.

.....processing

.....processing

.....processing

CZ Planetary Sensor Relay disabled.

If one could listen in to a droid's thoughts, one would perceive a sort of confusion. A dread completely alien to the droid's personality matrix that the pause had evolved from a singular hiccup in it's processing cores into a confused pause that could have perceived even by a sapient organic. It continued.

Directive 19-Z as substitute Primary. Czerka Personnel unavailable. Czerka Resources unavailable. Defaulting to Standard Republic Holonet-

Connection achieved. Wireless Transmission insufficient. Source identified as "Ask for the Password First Fuckwads" connection listed under Blind Eye Cantina establishment. Physical Attachment required.

Completion of Directive 19-Z is Primary. Physical Access to Blind Eye Cantina listed as Primary. 

There is a certain degree of satisfaction as the conclusion is reached, the task set forth. Servos whir beneath the rubble, as CZ-EX-5573 proceeds to move.

It was an abandoned area, the sad consequence of the Archeri invasion, and the rubble that had fallen atop the droid would have killed any other sapient organic. The ferrocrete shudders, the wall slowly quivering into a pile of dirt and boulders as the Executioner walked out into the empty street. 

It's blank, grey, featureless head scans the area. To those watching, the blank expression was a disconcerting sight, especially to those humanoid sapient organics from which a facial expression was an integral part of the social dynamic process. This was by design, and the purpose the Executioner had been constructed to fulfill did not require a friendly face.

Something attracted it's attention, the glint of metal beneath buried rock, and a hand reached forth. Aping the human form, while constructed from durasteel, the hand crushed the rubble around it, withdrawing a Novis Marksman Heavy Blaster pistol. Further observation found little else of use.

Then, with a smooth, unsettling, grace that seemed at odds with the droid's humanoid frame, it began to walk towards the cantina.

[Rugs]

Down below the Blind Eye’s main floor, in a basement space the crew had semi-affectionately come to call the Slicer Den, Io’an was cut off from the rest of the world.

He lay sprawled across an over-plush couch, sock-covered feet thrust resting on the arm, head nestled on a balled-up jacket atop a middle cushion. A slender headset covered his eyes, but the set of his mouth and white-knuckle grip on two small controllers — one in each hand — spoke to a tremendous amount of concentration.

“Oh come on, Qiki, another freakin’ blue milk spill?” Despite his best effort, a note of genuine frustration carried through his voice. “All I get are the stupid speed boosts.” Not that they didn’t have their uses, he admitted to himself as he ignited one to close the newly-opened gap between his friend and himself.

They were playing Galaxy Pod 59, a brand-new release in the popular holo-reality podracing game series. Qiki was annoyingly good at it. Io’an thought himself decent enough, but he couldn’t hang with Qiki or Reflex.

Reflex, at least, seemed to relish in taking Io’an to the woodshed in a place where his “Force bullshit” couldn’t help him.

Qiki seemed to relish in beating everyone.

Io’an clenched his jaw as a trap from Qiki sent his podracer careening off the edge of the track. Reflex had once accused him of “scrub quoting” so he kept his complaints to himself, these days.

Most of the time.

But he couldn’t completely hide his annoyance as Qiki zipped across the finish line, far enough ahead of him that he didn’t even bother finishing the race. He tore the visor off his head, leaving his blonde hair unruffled and sighed loudly. “I think I need a break,” he said, too calmly. Stupid fucking game.

If only they’d played Outer Rim Commando instead. Then he’d give Qiki a run for her money.

Even so, the frustration passed as quickly as it came. It was hard to stay mad, after living through the Archeri siege. Or after seeing Obie again, he thought with a quiet smile, thinking of his recent excursion to Coruscant with Qiki.

With the Exchange’s pivot to Circumtore well and truly underway, they’d found a few hours of precious down time to do as they pleased. Io’an had wanted to go down to the repair bay, to keep pressing along in the endless task of getting the Exchange’s mechanical equipment and droids back up and going after the battle, but he’d been talked out of it for the evening.

So I can get my ass kicked in this racer instead, he thought, more amused than annoyed.

The door hissed open behind him. Io’an sat up, peeking over the back of the couch to see Reflex’s heavy head sticking in from the hallway. “Hey, uhhhh, Io’an?" The Herglic’s speech slurred a little; he’d been up at the bar, last Io’an knew. “That Vivi chick is lookin’ for you. Says somethin’ about business needs settlin’ or something.”

Io’an shot Reflex a confused look. The Herglic threw up his thick arms in a shrug. “Fuck if I know, dude, but you better go find her before she finds you.”

“Fine, I’m coming.” Io’an got off the couch with only a bit of grumbling as he looked around for some shoes to throw on. The Slicer Den was... less than neat, this evening. “You comin’ with or stayin’ down here?” he asked Qiki as Reflex stalked back up to the cantina.

[Moonfire]

Galaxy Pod 59 wasn’t Qiki’s favorite game. No, Qiki’s hSports career had almost completely centered entirely around a series of competitive idol-dancing simulators and the occasional arcade fighting game, but boy did she love absolutely smashing Io’an it. Every twist and turn of the controller and thrust of an item could be felt vibrating in the energy between them. That little lingering bit of something that bound together the plague survivors.

Though Qiki enjoyed careening his podracer off the whirling psychedelic bridge just as much before all that bullshit as she did now. The prickle of irritation in the back of her skull was an added bonus as Io’an tossed away his headset with an acidic grunt of frustration.

Bounding up to her feet the dreadlocked woman spiked her controller, nigh-indestructible thanks to a few choice modifications, valiantly to the floor with a shriek of pleasure. “Fuck yeah! First place! Grand Champion! Star Trophy! You buncha of stupid fucks’ll, give me a challenge! Fuckin’ snooozin’ out there! Ahahaha!”

Twisting and turning about in place the oversized and tattered hoodie sagged off her small shoulder as Qikki continued her usual round of gloating. Loudly mocking Spector’s usage of items and reenacting with her hand Io’an’s pod tumbling into a ditch in the previous map. It was halfway through one such line that she realized Io’an, spoil-sport that he was, was trying to flee the scene of her grand victory with Reflex. Tossing off her own VR helmet Qiki grabbing an open bag of screaming orange cheez-triangles, hooking it up and under her arm before thrusting a hand into its depth, messily chowing down.

“M’comin’ Yo-yo,” Qiki laughed hoarsely, spraying crumbs in the process. “Fuckin’ Reflex isn’t wasted enough to play DokiDokiDancyTime with me yet an’ m’not lettin’ you go salt-up the bar without me.” She laughed, abandoning her shoes to wander barefoot up the durasteele stairs towards the cantina.

[Karl the Unfettered]

Following her pronouncement, Vivi was content to stand in the entryway, arms crossed beneath her generous chest and foot tapping impatiently against the floor. Not that she was actually impatient, of course, but things happened a lot faster when people thought Vivi and her hammer actually were. And faster was better!

Sure enough, she saw the big black form of Io'an's buddy Reflex stand up from the bar and go slouching downstairs to the so-called "Slicer Den", where Qiki suckered losers into gaming against her. And losing, as often as not! Vivi was convinced she cheated, but didn't care enough to make a Big Deal™ out of it. And where Reflex was, Io'an usually wasn't too far behind...

Bingo! she thought gleefully, an ecstatic smile crossing her face as she finally caught sight of the man himself. Gasp! and a bonus in the form of Qiki too! Hot damn, this was gonna be a REAL party with a girly like her in tow!

The thought that either of them might resist or otherwise say no didn't cross Vivi's mind. People who said no to Vivi the Hammer weren't happy for long!

"Io'an!" she called out, happily skipping over and throwing an arm around his shoulder. "You 'n ME, pal! 'Member a while back I said we was gonna go BREAK SHIT? An' you was a big ol' whiny bitch about it cuz of them spores 'n shit or whatever? Well GUESS WHAT!"

Just for the hell of it she reached out and slung an arm around Qiki too, oblivious to the cheesy snack cloud surrounding the smaller woman. The Three Dorks united once more!

"All 'at spore shit ain't a problem no more now izzit!? An' 'at means yer outta excuses! So yer comin' with me 'n we're gonna go fuck up a Black Sun weapons cargo 'n kill a whoooole buncha their clowns!"

She turned her attention toward Qiki, and her demeanor seemed to sweeten up just a bit. Certainly the volume went down. "Heya toots. Yer comin' too! Y'all needa git out 'n git some fresh air 'n some sunlight! We'll play 'at dancey game yer was all hopped up about las' time when we git back, eh? How'ZAT sound!?"

It was hard to tell whether she was thinking of DokiDokiDancyTime or TripleX Pole Dancing Sim 9000 for that particular statement.

[caelum]

The ambient noise levels increased the closer it approached it's targeted destination. Noise variance in keeping with standard pubs/social gatherings typical to Nar Shadda. Which is to say, distressingly loud. The droid made the observation that, for the most part, organics that trended towards pubs like the Blind Eye were the sort to enjoy a degree of over-saturation in regards to their senses. The occupants would not likely bar his path.

Despite this, a bar was a bar, and a line formed at the entrance of the bar, less than a dozen prospective patrons, and CZ-EX-5573 considered it's options. 

Obstruction. Entrance barred. Security enforcing access to Blind Eye likely present. Forcing entrance likely to create commotion, as patrons incensed at social faux pas.

Processing....

Directive 5-11 states that unless explicitly ordered by Czerka Handlers, that CZ-EX-5573 was to obey and follow all local laws in which it finds itself.

Directive 19-Z does not qualify as explicit order. Directive 19-Z classified as general blanket order to fulfill as appropriate. Qualifiers exist within Directive 19-Z so as to break Directive 5-11, but none qualify in this current instance.

The droid jerks to a stop, before moving fluidly towards the back of the line, joining the line of patrons as they slowly enter the cantina. It places itself behind an irritated looking twi'lek nearly half it's size. It ignored the yelp of surprise from the girl, sensors painted directly ahead of it as the line crawled forward.

Several minutes passed like this, a few stares at the droid as the line progressed. Eventually, there was commotion behind it, and CZ-EX-5573 turned around.

It was a small group of organics, ranging from the red skinned, tough looking, devoronians to the scaled, reptilian, transdoshan. The leader of the group, an angry looking zabrak, spat something in Zabraki. The patrons behind him turned aside for the group quickly, fear evident in their eyes. This continued for a few seconds more, until the group reached the droid's location.

The Zabrak spat a word once more, presumably a plea or command of some sort. CZ-EX-5573 reviewed it's protocols, then turned around, facing the group.

"Greetings. This unit is designated as: CZ-EX-5573. My installed language subroutines are, binary, galactic basic, Huttese, Twi'leki and Mando'a. Please direct your comments in these outlined languages."

The droid spoke with a pleasant, gender neutral, tone designed to be as non-confrontational and abiding as possible. The organics in front of it seemed to fail to recognize the care for proper protocol that it had committed for them, and the transdoshan began speaking in rough, near unintelligible, basic.

"Move droid." he said. "Our line, we want in."

Conundrum. Order given by non-Czerka personnel. Author of command is aggressive and follows Pattern 62-V of aggressive contact protocol. Disengage socially first step.

"I am sorry, sir." it said politely. "I am unable to do that. I require access to this establishment and-"

To the side of the zabrak, the devoranian moved. In it's hand was a club of some sort, made from some industrial steel support beam that had been gnawed down to arm's length. Despite that, it looked heavy, though the speed and force the organic had sent it flying towards the droid's head did not give that impression.

Status. Use of deadly force utilized against this unit. Directive 01-01 dictates continued operations as Primary in all situations. Directive 01-02 further dictates that application of force follows: Disarmament->Injury->Impairement->Crippling->Death. Situation dictates 01-02-01 response. However, weapon does not match industry standard, making disarmament difficult. Threat augmented to 01-02-02 response.

The Executioner moved quickly, extremely quickly. The droid moved into the blow, sidestepping the devaronian's strike and raising it's arm to grab him by the upper arm. The Executioner's other hand grabbed the wrist and, in a swiftly brutal motion, the droid's knee rose up in pulverizing force, hitting the man's elbow and dislocating it with enough force that pale bone could be seen poking from crimson flesh.

The man screamed as he fell back, organic fluid falling on the floor as his fellows gaped in alarm, before turning towards the droid. CZ-EX-5573 took a moment to review protocols, before continuing.

"I am sorry for your injury, sir." it said, still polite. "But I require access to this establishment and-"

Status. Aggressive postures noted in organic party. Pattern 24-U, coordinated group response against perceived threat. Situation likely to resolve in violence. Combat initiated.

"Oh dear." the droid muttered, almost absentmindedly, as the fight began.

[Rugs]

“Wasted DokiDokiDancyTime with Reflex?” Io’an laughed as he threw on shoes and wandered up the stairs after Qiki. “Don’t let me miss that shit.” Reflex was surprisingly decent — considering his overall hugeness — at the game sober. He was a sight playing the game blasted.

Io’an didn’t encourage, but far be it from him to miss free entertainment if it was gonna happen any-damn-way. “Wonder how much he’s had to drink alr-”

"Io'an!”

Io’an had time to manage an ‘uh-oh’ before Vivi was on him, arm draped around his shoulder. “I- Now wait, I don’t know if I said anything about breaking stuff,” he protested weakly. Did he? Bits of his time suffering through the Archeri Plague were feverish hazes.

He looked desperately to Qiki for help. Would she offer any? Qiki could be just as rambunctious as Vivi, in her own way.

“Are you sure we should be going after the Black Sun? I mean, think of the trouble that could start, or if it gets out of hand...”

His words drifted off as fear and pain cut like knives over the ambient noise of the Force. Io’an’s focus sharpened, drawn to the doors at the front of the Blind Eye. He freed himself from Vivi’s arm and walked hurriedly to the entrance.

Fights were nothing uncommon on Nar Shaddaa, and some even occasionally ventured near to the casino. But none could be allowed to spill inside. So soon after the Archeri Crisis, Io’an nerves were still on edge.

He stepped outside, past some bouncers that were watching the nearby altercation with some interest, and saw a droid and some collection of aliens at odds with each other.

“Of all the damn places...” he muttered to himself as he called on the Force.

“Hey!” Io’an’s voice, amplified by the Force, carried as if through a megaphone. “You can’t fight out here. Take it somewhere else.”

[caelum]

Combat Directive advises restraint. Directive 01-B directly dictates that unless absolutely necessary, lethal force must be used sparingly unless otherwise ordered.

"STUPID FUCKING DROID!" the devaronian cries out in pain, bleeding from the cut on his brow, his blood spilling downward in a crimson tide and blocking the organic's vision. He flails wildly for a moment, his ruined arm brought tightly to his body, and the droid observes it's actions visually while keeping track of his comrade.

Variable noise reduced significantly. Suddenness of injury and combat operations renders them pliant and passive as per Genovese Protocol. Audio-visual surroundings fall within combat subroutines.

One hundred and thirty seven degrees from anterior frontal cross section. Combatant labeled 'Zabrak' attempting physical contact to Lumbar Spinal support via the use of a vibro-knife. Responding.

The Exterminator turns, legs shifting tactically as the droid angles the strike away gently with an open hand while responding with a brutal elbow strike to the zabrak's surprised face. In the next moment, before he could reel back, the droid turns that open palm into a closed fist, nearly crushing his wrist before throwing him entirely onto the his devaronian friend. They collapse into a pile on the floor, wheezing in pain, as the transdoshan stared at the Executioner, it's eyes widening as the droid bent down to pick at the vibro-knife.

Before anything else could happen, a masculine yell filled the air, causing the Exterminator to turn to the side. There, a male sephi stood, his voice crushing the spell over the rest of the crowd. They begin to murmur to themselves, and the droid pauses for a moment in consideration, before turning away from the group and walking several steps towards the male. He deactivates the vibro-knife, placing it within internal compartments that slide open with only the barest hint of shuddering difficulty.

"My apologies." the droid says, it's tone completely neutral of expression and emotion. "These individuals were denying me access to the club. I require access to the club. Would you be able to allow me access?"

[Karl the Unfettered]

"Yes I'm sure we should go after Black Sun!" Vivi countered haughtily, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. The nerve of some people, it was enough to drive a girl crazy! Well, crazier, in her case. Maybe. Argh, too many words!

The sudden sensation of pain from outside was a welcome reprieve from the dangerously self-aware muddle of her thoughts, and she happily followed Io'an in that direction. Ooh, that was a big droid. She had to have it along for the ride! Hee, ride...

"Hey! Rust bucket!" Vivi yelled, nudging Io'an aside and stepping forward. "Y' want in on our casino? Gimme a hand with this errand my pal 'n I gotta run 'n I'll letcha in!" Once again her arm went around Io'an, just in case people were unclear who her "pal" was.

Despite everything, one of the goons was struggling to his feet, sheer hatred letting him ignore the injuries meted out by the droid. "Stupid... droid..." he hissed, fumbling for a blaster. Vivi sighed and stretched out a hand, concentrating on the new senses that had appeared since the Archeri crap; the blaster trembled, then flew out of the holster and into her grip.

Yay, it worked! Having superpowers was pretty cool now and then!

"ANYONE ELSE?!" she demanded loudly. When no one stepped up she casually broke the blaster into pieces and tossed them over her shoulder. "You three piss off! Rest a' y'all, step on in, enjoy yerselves. And YOU." and she whirled on Eggs. "...yer comin' with us. Please." A couple of bouncers belatedly appeared to enforce Vivi's words, restoring order to the line and herding the troublemakers away.

[Rugs]

Io’an’s brow creased ever so slightly as he peered at the droid. It wanted access to the Blind Eye. That was all well and good. The Eye was a business for paying customers, after all, and they were still some weeks away from beginning the ambitious renovation project to move it to its new home in the sky.

Before he could say anything, Vivi piped up, offering access in exchange for assistance on her crazy rampage idea. “I still don’t like that,” Io’an muttered, more to himself than anyone as she looped an arm around him.

“The Eye is open to customers, yes,” he said to the droid, eyeing it questioningly.

Next he knew, Vivi was dismantling some poor fool’s gun and sending the rest of the angry men away. As order resettled over the outside lining queue, Io’an turned to her.

“Ok, so let’s say I do go along with this. What are we even going to do?” The Black Sun certainly had a presence on the Smuggler’s Moon, though they’d pulled much of their resources out of Hutt Space when the Archeri came rampaging through. Io’an supposed headquarters in the Core afforded that luxury.

Even so, there were still Black Sun targets to be found, if they were feeling that ballsy.

“Just... blow something up because we can?”

[caelum]

The droid took a moment to consider the organic's statement, before allowing its head to jerk abruptly, inclining itself in a gesture of what its records dictated was recognition. Considering that the organic did not seem to waylay its path, it moved past, and approached its primary target: a small, ancient looking, modem. A small section around the droid's wrist opened up, revealing a long, winding, cable that wriggled itself into the modem's port, establishing a physical connection.

All at once, a stream of information washed over the droid.

Unit CZ-EX-5573 Status Report

Presumed offline and non-responsive.

Status as follows

Czerka, as much as it may want to, did not have the sufficient data storage necessary to store any and every information collected by its products. For the most part, a droid's memory storage was sufficient to collect the data of its every day life for over a century before any relevant data is backed up within the Czerka mainframe and the primary source purged. In this way, the company was able to streamline their services so as to limit congestion, while at the same time keeping any data they deemed important.

For CZ-EX-5573 however, there was a more immediate problem.

As far as the Czerka servers were aware, it had been destroyed. More to the point, the servers presumed 5573's destruction decades ago, such that the exterminator no longer had access to Czerka's servers. A combination of such access removed from a supposedly terminal unit, and that of outdated company protocols.

The cord slithered away from the modem, the droid walking to the outside of the bar, loitering at the front as processors mulled over what it should do.

Confusion was not a natural state towards the unit and right now, it was very confused.

[Karl the Unfettered]

So... was the droid with them or not? She wasn't sure what to make of that head jerk motion or whatever that had been. It seemed more intent on hooking up to a- the hell was that thing? Why was a modem hooked up anywhere near the Blind Eye when there was a decent holonet wireless literally everywhere? Maybe it didn't have a wireless connection?

Droids were dumb.

She decided to address Io'an's remaining concerns. "What, ya think I ain't gotta plan?! Fuck you, I gotta plan!" She dragged him back inside, because discussing criminal conspiracies outside and out loud was a very good way to get said conspiracies jacked out from underneath you.

She checked to make sure no one was listening, then leaned in. "I gots it on VERY good authority that th' Sun's gotta weapons shipment headin' outta th' system today," she told him in a low voice, which was unusual for her. "On account a' them ditchin' Nar Shaddaa, right? Not like we c'n blame 'em, cuz we're ditchin' too! But anyway we can't hit 'em at th' warehouse 'n we can't hit 'em at th' starport, 'n Missus F proooobably won't let us borrow a ship t' hit 'em in space. So we gotta hit 'em when they's movin', yeah? In transit, like!"

She looked around again; still no one paying attention. "There's a fuelin' station in th' Red Light District where they supposed ta stop in at, I figger we hit 'em there 'n use all 'at fuel fer splodeys 'n shit, yeah? Take out all kinds a' clowns in a coupla cheap shots all at once, and th' transports're supposed ta be tough shit so we'll need more bombs t' crack 'em open once we dealt with everyone outside! An' once EVERYONE'S dead we poke through th' shit on our own time 'n fuck off outta there with th' good stuff!"

In her own mind it sounded like an awesome plan, at least. "An' if we c'n get that rusty ol' bolt-bucket back there t' ride along, we'll have that much more on 'em than they gots on us!"