Chapter Seven
Hk-47 watched the human thug gurgle and cough his last, enjoying every moment of the organic’s suffering until finally the man fell back and died for good. He shot him once more, just to be sure, then tossed the very dead Sullustan aside. The creature’s facial flaps were turning an interesting shade of purple, but it wasn’t worth more than a passing note in his databanks.
With a lack of grace that felt like a magnet rubbing against his circuits, he trumped out into the corridor and found two dead Gamorreans on the ground. He paused, realising that he had made a mistake, one of the pigs was only mostly dead.
He corrected that before returning into the operating room.
The girl, his would be master, was still concussed by the stun grenade. That would not last forever. She would awaken soon and discover that he was no longer tied to her by the restraining bolt. But that was for later.
He raised his purloined blaster and aimed it squarely at her head. The calculations for the perfect shot came to him in an interval of time so short it was barely worthy of notice, but he did not pull the trigger.
The girl had the makings of a proper sith, the sort that could, if put in the right place and given the proper incentive, shake the galaxy to its core. At least, that’s what he hoped, insofar as he could do such a thing. He did not know the state of the galaxy at large.
Perhaps, just maybe, allowing an organic companion to follow at his side would be useful. He had certainly tolerated some before. He even respected one or two. Though in the grand scheme of things, the likelihood of this girl being worth his attention was astronomically low.
She groaned, a hand, her organic hand, coming up to rub at her forehead. That had been faster than he predicted.
“Observation: You seem to be coming back to your senses.”
She tensed, then spun out of the chair, grabbed her dropped blaster and pointed it around the room while her eyes darted around. It was a decently fast reaction. Not nearly as rapid as a proper combat droid, but fast nonetheless. “Hey, robot, who killed these two?” she asked while pointing to the dead organics at his feet.
“Query: isn’t it obvious?”
She nodded. “Well done.” Standing the little human moved to the door and poked her head out before turning back towards the operating table. She raised her mechanical arm, flexing until the three-fingered hand ground closed. “This is going to take some getting used to,” she said.
“Observation: Filthy organics usually have difficulty replacing their fragile body parts.”
“We’re usually pretty attached to our original bits, yeah.” Her attention turned to the shell of the stun grenade. It was still mostly intact, though a bit of blue smoke was pouring from the cracks in the casing. “What was that?”
HK-47 slowly bent forwards against the protest of his rusting knee joints and picked up the grenade. “Assessment: A reusable Merr-Sonn Munitions neural stun grenade.” He turned it around slowly, then crushed it into a crumpled mess. “Commentary: A very specialized weapon used to subdue belligerent organics.”
“Well it gave me a damned headache. Next time you see one tossed my way, shoot the person that sent it.”
“Statement: I did.”
Snorting, she got to one knee next to the dead human and started searching his pockets. She found cred chips and a few Hutt peggats that she tossed to the floor. A comlink joined them, then a magazine for the thug’s blaster. “I don’t know what half of these things are,” she said.
“Advisement: They are various items that you might find useful. I would explain them, but I will be going now. Statement: You were an amusing organic to follow. I will allow you to live and cause chaos to facilitate my escape.”
The girl’s head snapped up, locking with his ocular sensors before falling to his chest where the bolt was gone. “You’re free,” she said.
“Observation: your ability to notice the obvious will no doubt serve you well.” HK-47 began to walk towards the exit.
“Hey, what’s your name?” she asked.
He paused. “Query: Is that not something you should have asked earlier?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “It never came up.”
He nodded. “Statement: I am HK-47, hunter-killer assassin droid.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you going to work for if you’re free, HK-47?” she asked.
“Comment: There are plenty of people that need killing. Organics are always willing to spare some credits to get rid of some foe or another.”
“How would you like sticking with me?” she asked. “You’re handy for translating, and I could use your expertise besides.”
“Statement: None of that is useful for me.”
“Your purpose is fighting, isn’t it? Stick around me and you’ll never lack in action.” She reached up to her neck and tugged at the collar there. “By the way, how do you remove this damned thing?”
Hk-47 pondered the offer for a few seconds, a terribly long time for a droid of his capabilities. Perhaps he could remain with the little sithling. She would certainly end up dead at the hands of someone more capable, and then he could hire himself out to them, slowly climbing the totem pole of death until he was once more serving at the top. “Assessment: the slave collar is linked to a central data bank. The only way to deactivate it non-explosively is from the main server.”
She groaned. “This one explodes too?”
“Observation: if your head explodes I will be certain to record it for prosperity.”
“Thanks,” she said before letting go of the collar. Still on her knees, she freed the belt off the human male and slipped it around her waist before replacing his two blasters into their sheaths. “Right then, HK-47, our first goal, if you do want to work with me, will be finding that databank and taking care of it.” She found a grenade in the Sollustian’s pockets and tossed it in the air before catching it. “It might be fun.”
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“Advisement: The collar marks you as property of Nimas the Hutt. The Hutts do not take kindly to anyone disrupting their business.”
“You’re saying I should allow myself to be enslaved?” she asked.
“Negation: Oh no, I am merely saying that any fight will have to be spectacularly bloody to succeed. Comment: I am rather excited... potential master.”
She shook her head, long hair tumbling down her shoulders and over the collar. “Don’t call me master. You’re a free robot, aren’t you?” Walking past him, the human pointed to the pile of detritus and junk she had pulled from the pockets of her assailants. “Is any of that useful?”
“Query: If you do not wish for me to call you master, than what title do you want? Observation: the flat round objects are peggats, a local currency used by the Hutt cartels. They are acceptable anywhere in Hutt space. The flat chips are Republic Credits. They are used in most civilised space.”
She nodded and picked up the useful bits, leaving the rest strewn about. “My name is Taylor. But when we’re on the job, call me--” she cut herself off and his social subroutines suggested a certain amount of hesitation. “Call me Khepri.”
“Query: is Khepri a title in your disgustingly primitive native tongue?” he asked.
The girl, Khepri, stood up and stretched. It was obvious that the weight of her new arm was bothering her, but she made no complaints. “Not really. Just a name I was given. The name of an old god that that was symbolised by beetles. It’s not important.”
“Statement: All titles are important. Fleshy meatsacks tend to have an overinflated sense of pride and fear when responding to the appropriate title.”
She rolled her eyes and slid out of the operating room only to pause with a wrinkled nose at the sight of the dead Gamoreans. “Fine then, if you’re so keen on giving me a title then pick one that isn’t too insulting. Do you know where the centre for this thing is?” she tapped the collar around her neck.
“Negation: I do not. Advisement: Perhaps finding one of Nimas’ thugs still alive would allow us to discover its location?”
She grunted and slid back into the operating room and stood over the dead human. She kicked him over, then bent down and started pulling off his jacket. The coat was too big for her by half, but when she pulled the collar up it hid her throat and the device wrapped around it. “Let’s find someone to talk to.”
They were careful on exiting the clinic not to make any fuss or attract any unwanted attention. As soon as they were on the street, Khepri lead the pair off towards a side road, then down an alley. “Tell me what you know about Nimas,” she demanded.
“Statement: I know very little. If this Nimas is like other Hutt then they most likely hold a firm grasp on the region’s economy and armed forces. I suspect that they are subservient to another larger Hutt. Comment: No slug worth its weight in salt would want to live in this kind of backwater.”
“They? You don’t know if Nimas is male or female?” she asked.
“Comment: The Hutt are hermaphroditic. Nimas’ gender at the moment is entirely up to Nimas.”
“Huh. You mentioned slugs, were you just insulting them or were you being serious,” she asked before poking her head out of the end of the alley.
“Answer: The Hutt are large sentients that take on the form of two-limbed slugs. They grow to obscene proportions over the course of their exceedingly long lives and are quite enjoyably ruthless in both combat and trade. The Hutt cartels have never been a group anyone sensible would want to anger.”
She huffed. “Well, they shouldn’t have placed a collar around my neck then.”
“Query: Not even after knocking you out while you were in the process of robbing them?”
She paused for a few long seconds. “I might be a little too ruthless right now. Damn. I still need to get this thing off. Let’s just try to do this with minimal casualties.”
“Observation: Minimal does not mean none.”
The girl pointed to a pair of humans walking together down an otherwise vacant street. Both were armed under the brown parkas they wore, but they looked unconcerned and at ease, adopting the easy swagger of off-duty thugs. “We’re going to ask those two some questions. Well, you’re going to ask. I’m going to capture them.” She nodded to herself. “Did you find a title that you like yet?”
“Query: What do you think of Darth Khepri?” he asked.
“Darth? What’s that mean?”
“Explanation; Darth is an ancient title given to Lord of the Sith, a very pragmatic group of warriors who refused to bend to anyone’s rulership. They stood in opposition to the bureaucracy of the Republic and the tyranny of the Jedi. They were feared and respected in equal measure.”
Tilting her head back, she eyed his optical receptors for a moment. “You sound like you respect them.”
“Admission: I have served with and for some Darths in the past. They were always the best of masters.”
“And taking the title won’t piss anyone off?”
“Statement: Oh, it most assuredly will. Though perhaps just those you would have angered anyway. There are no longer any Darths or Sith as far as I am aware. A pity.”
She shrugged. “It’ll do for now, I guess.”
***