Fixer watched the small holo-pad as the schematic came to life and began to turn. The droid had invested many hours of off-duty time pulling details from the recordings made during the engine's rebuilding in order to make the holo-tat as accurate as possible. Satisfied, it shut down the 'pad and pulled the data-chip. The ship was less than a day's transit from Outland Station. Given the station's reputation, Fixer wasn't sure if finding someone who could program and emplace a holo-tat would be a simple matter. Crewmates had assured the droid if no one on the station could do so, someone would know where to get it done.
Once dockside, Fixer researched the station businesses and came up with a potential winner, a place called “Mej's Decorations.” Suitably equipped with a map of the station, it set out in search of answers. Perhaps this Mej would not have an assistant who was as fascinated with droids as Najinni's assistant had been.
Hannen peered closely at the rotating schematic. “So. You seem to have been driven to capture every physical detail. Very laudable.”
Fixer studied the display, as well. “But compared to your dancer, my engine is too plain.” It was as if a patient in sick-bay had begun manifesting an entirely new set of symptoms incongruent with a previous diagnostic report.
“Shh. Patience, metal one. Art comes from the most basic and plain elements. How do we make your engine dance?”
Mej sat with them, two data-pads held in his clawed hands. One 'pad held the basic schematics of the FX-7 series droids, while the other held the details on the Hovin I-X holo-emitters. “What is a dance, really?”
Fixer thought about it for a moment. “It seems a dance is little more than a mating ritual. And I fail to see how engines can copulate.”
Fixer dropped its head on its stalk as the other two laughed. Once they had regained their composure, Hannen waved her hands placatingly. “We mean no offense, Fixer. From an inorganic point of view, that makes perfect sense, but I believe Mej was talking more simply. Dance is little more than self-controlled movement. The dancer strives to master a smooth transition of states, moving fluidly from one to the other to the next. Do you still have the telemetry data from the engine? May we see the stages of progress?”
The request took Fixer by surprise. “Y-y-yes, of c-c-course.” The droid plugged in the appropriate data-chip.
“Would you please play the telemetry from your very first reading on the device?”
“F-f-first? But there's n-n-nothing there, the engine was dead.”
“Yes, precisely. The engine had no transition between states. So, play the telemetry from the first time it actually ran.”
The read-out appeared in the air over the table and Fixer's fine-manipulators flexed in sequence. It had been such a horrid read-out, revealing a blown hetro-pulse integrator that had been hidden from its initial assessment. But it had run, at least for a few moments.
“And the next, please?”
Under Hannen's guiding, Fixer strung out every telemetry session recorded from the engine, from the cold hulk it had first found until it had completed its self-appointed task of retuning the device to original factory specifications. She questioned Fixer as they went, drawing out the details of the rebuilding process and Fixer's own thoughts about the task. Finally, they were done and engineering data filled the air over the table.
“There is your engine's dance, Fixer. A movement from the moment of death to the moment of full life, led there by you. Yes, yes...that is a thing to be proud of. Very proud of...” She trailed off and began working on her own data-pad. Lines appeared, connecting the various telemetry sessions to the floating schematic, and colors began to dot its surface. Mej watched carefully, occasionally adjusting a color or a detail, sometimes removing something entirely.
Fixer watched the pair work, fascinated by the seemingly illogical moves they made. It could find no discernible pattern to their actions and could only hope that, like a regimen of medical treatments, everything would build on each other to reach a satisfactory final result.
Finally, Hannen laid her 'pad down. “Well. That takes care of the preliminaries. Now we must wait for Mej's ancient system to properly compile the data we have prepared for it. This will take time, Fixer. Several days. Weeks, possibly. How long is your ship here?”
The disappointing fact was the ship was due to leave in two days. Outland Station was a regular port of call for Captain Wran, however, and it told the Siniteen this.
“Well, perhaps a happy medium, then – I can hang her creation in the shop until your next shore-leave on the station,” Mej offered. “I see where the design is heading and it will be as glorious in its way as her Xiana Gol is. Good for business, too.”
Reluctantly, Fixer agreed to this arrangement, having little choice in the matter. After leaving a deposit with Mej, the droid headed towards one of the cantinas where its crewmates liked to spend their shore-leave. Alternately disappointed and elated over the evening's work, Fixer found itself missing the company of its shipmates.
