Chapter Thirty-Two
The Atlas burst into the edge of the Antar system and--under Xarly’s deft piloting--angled up so that it was even with the ecliptic plane of the system. Not that every planet in Antar respected it, but the two worlds that Taylor was interested in both spun around their sun at about the speed and actually passed fairly close to each other.
Fairly close when it came to the scale of planets and moons, that was.
Taylor stood at the far end of the bridge, arms crossed and back pressed up against the wall. It was the only place she could be without interfering with Xarly’s piloting. She didn’t need to be in the bridge while they flew over to Antra Five, but she was growing restless with the waiting around.
The Atlas wasn’t cramped. It wasn’t a huge vessel, but it had more legroom than her home back on Earth. Still, being stuck inside the ship day in and day out made her feel a little stuck. She was looking forward to stepping outside.
Her time wasn’t wasted. She spent the flight practicing martial arts with HK-47, who had a wide repertoire of moves and skills to teach (they used a length of pipe instead of her lightsaber. Only an idiot would turn on a plasma torch in an enclosed space, training mode or not) and so she got her daily exercise in and learned of new ways to break some of the strange aliens she might meet along the way.
Other then that, and hours spent planning, she had mostly tended to her insects. Feeding her Tatooine-imported scorpions and breeding the eclectic mix of insects she’d come across so far. She had yet to find anything truly horrific, but she planned on making a few trips in the future to some jungle worlds whose entire entomology entries on the Holonet were little more than lists of warnings.
Something to look forward to.
In the meantime... she refocused on the space around them.
The Atlas cut a straight-line across empty space on route to Antar Five. The world was the system’s industrial hub, but that wasn’t too apparent from above. The Gotal had, at some point in the distant past, implemented some laws and regulations that made it so that the industry on the world had a fairly neutral impact on its environment. There were still huge patches of light visible from high orbit where cities and spaceports dotted the surface, but the world was otherwise a lush brown and green ball with splotches of blue.
Xarly called something back. She understood one word in four, but pieced together that they had received permission to land and were going to approach the spaceport.
Taylor waited for Xarly to let go of the controls before she moved up, then out of the bridge.
As much as she wanted to see the landing, there were things to prepare. “HK-47,” some insects in the hold buzzed. “Let’s prepare to meet our contacts on the surface.”
“Statement: Charging weapons for maximum diplomacy.”
Taylor rolled her eyes. To be entirely fair, HK-47’s approach did have some merit. She just wanted to try a few peaceful methods before resorting to explosions, assassinations, and other tricks that would encourage HK too much.
She slid into the cargo hold and noted her droids standing in neat rows. HK-47 had finished painting and modifying them at his leisure. Of her complement of 75 battle droids, all but two had been repainted. Those two could serve as spies in the ranks of the Seperatist’s own droid army, if the need arose.
The rest were all painted in blacks and yellows by HK-47 and an enthusiastic Skarsk Nek. Of those, ten had been outfitted with additional weapons and long black trenchcoats that hid their forms and added weaponry.
Taylor inspected one of those. “Are they all ready?” she asked.
“Report: All of your droids have had their core programming modified. Unfortunately, the hardware leaves much to be desired.”
“Not exactly working with the best?”
“Conjecture: I suspect that the makers of these droids were heavily focused on quantity over quality. The hardware barely meets tolerances. My additions have improved them, but they are nowhere near battle ready.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Can they fight and guard us?” Taylor asked.
“Insulted Rebuttal: Master, I do not need these second rate junkers to keep myself safe. Though if you are asking if they can distract an incompetent adversary for a few moments, then yes, they can serve that purpose.”
Taylor nodded. It would have to do. Half of the purpose of the droids was more visual. They were too small for the coats to really bulk them out, but she thought they looked appropriately sinister with their hoods up.
“I’ll see about allotting you some credits to purchase the hardware to make them better, if they prove useful.”
“Suggestion: A more rapid and reliable system of locomotion than those flimsy legs coupled with even a single thermal detonator would make these units approximately four hundred percent deadlier. As well as render them illegal for purchase, production, and ownership in three quarters of the galaxy.”
Taylor stared at HK-47 for a moment. “Check in with me before you produce any suicide-bomber varients,” she said.
“Acknowledgement: You are correct Master. Your own insectile control would be a far more efficient way of delivering such a payload.”
The ship rocked, and Taylor reached out to grab a hold of a railing on the ceiling. Her mechanical hand clamped around the metal, then slid back a ways before she tightened her grip. “While you’re looking for parts,” Taylor said. “Look around for better arms.”
“Acknowledged: I understand wanting better hardware for yourself, Master.”
“Someone has to make prosthetics with integrated weapons.”
“Compliment: You are always so quick to remind me why I chose to work with you.”
The ship rocked a bit more, and soon Taylor could feel them banking around and slowing down. Something shifted below, and she knew that the landing gear was dropping. It only took a few more minutes that she felt insects slipping in and out of her range as they approached ground level.
The Atlas touched down, and Taylor let go of the rail above and started to look for the last of her gear. She buckled a sturdy belt on, with a pair of holsters for two blasters, then another, smaller belt that allowed her to tuck her lightsaber in the small of her back, the way she’d once carried her combat knife.
The ship intercom popped to life. “Captain, we’ve landed,” Xarly said. “There’s some port-authority people heading over, but we’ll take care of them if you want to head out now.”
Taylor nodded, she was pretty sure she had pieced together that message correctly. She had a few insects in the bridge hum and buzz her next message. “Thank you, Xarly. HK and I will be moving out.”
She felt Xarly shiver. “Still creepy,” he said over the intercom before shutting it off.
HK47 touched a control pad next to the cargo bay door, and it slid open while a ramp unfolded itself. Taylor took her first breath of fresh air from an entirely new planet. It stank of oil and fuel, but it still amazed her. She wondered if some people got so used to space travel that they took it for granted.
The front line of her droids snapped to attention and formed up behind her in twin rows as she walked out. Tattletale chirped and burst out as well, catching up as Taylor and HK47 were halfway to the ground.
It was late into the evening on that part of Antar Five, but to Taylor it still felt like early morning. A strange bit of jetlag. Spacelag? She made a mental note to ask HK47 about it later, but she suspected she’d just hear about robotic supremacy from the assassin droid.
“Query: Do you have an initial destination in mind?”
“I think so,” Taylor said. “We’re supposed to meet with Dooku’s representative, Asajj Ventress. Let’s send her a message to meet up somewhere nice. And while we’re doing that, we can figure out the rest of our itinerary. I want to meet whomevers’ in charge of that terrorist group.”
“Sarcastic statement: I am certain an active terrorist group’s leader will be excited to reach out to you with no previous warning or provocation, master.”
“Don’t be that way, HK, the terrorists aren’t visiting us. We are visiting them.”
“Statement: An important and possibly enjoyable distinction.”
***