Doc X stood in the observation lounge and gazed out over the station. /His/ station. The Navy had taken him a long way – from backwater farmer to corpsman and now to being a station-owner. He missed his service-days from time to time, but naval life was rough on a marriage and Rebe had taken her share of unwarranted abuse. But she'd stuck with him and was a vital part of his life and the life of the station.
He loved the observation deck, so he was careful to not spend much time there. It was too easy to stare into the vastness of the stars or watch the roiling clouds of the gas giant or even just stare at the outer hull of the station and dream of the future. But none of those activities actually built the future. No, it took driving the hobbling station forward, balancing the important and the urgent, accounts receivable versus accounts payable.
At the center of the lounge stood a turbolift shaft. Doc turned to face it as the doors to the car hissed open and smiled wryly as the armored figure of the station's Mandalorian security chief stepped out. Unfortunately, building the station's future also included dealing with unsavory individuals, their actions, and the repercussions. And his love of the observation deck made him predictably easy to locate. He sipped at the mug of caf' he held as the other approached.
“Morning, Chief. Since we are having this conversation, I can safely assume the Badu Corta failed to follow through on their threat.”
Security Chief Killian bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. “As you say, sir. I do believe at some point they will actually make an attempt to carry out one of their threats, but Marshal Xola has been cooperative on that front. For now, they are a low priority.”
“Anything on the potential schematics leak?”
“Engineering is working with us to determine if there's actually anything beyond a very detailed tourist map available. So far, it doesn't appear to be so. However, given the timing of the deck-plans' appearance and the Badu Corta announcement, I'm suspicious enough to continue our efforts on both.”
“Excellent. That exhausts my knowledge of current security threats. Anything new?”
The helmeted head shook in the negative. “Not in the way of known threats. As for crime reports go, overall statistics are down – personnel responded to two drunk and disorderlies, one break-in at a retail establishment, and one lost child. The child was located safe in Jossen's Toys, seventeen arrests were made due to the d&d's, and we are looking into the break-in and awaiting the owner's inventory.”
The security chief stopped and looked out over the station hull. “There is one other event, but it technically occurred off-station aboard the /Hanjou's Lament/.”
Doc took a long, deep breath. “I'm not going to like this, am I? High-stakes gambling and organized crime usually equal trouble when mixed.”
Again, an acknowledging head-dip. “One of the patrons found a dead body.”
Doc closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. “I was right. Outside of our jurisdiction. Bad for business, though. What details do we have?”
The armored figure gave a wry chuckle. “Quite a few, actually. The reporting patron was a free-trader medical droid – former military model. He made the call to my office and gave our system an extensive data-dump, including a complete medical exam of the victim. Dispatch forwarded the report on to the Lament's security chief and to the Marshal's office.”
Doc shook his head and sipped at his caf. “I bet that gets interesting. You deal with droids much, chief? The medicos seem to be preternaturally capable of telling you everything you don't need to know, while leaving out the important bits.”
The chief shrugged. “Interrogation's interrogation – you just have to know the right way to ask the right questions. Do you want us to stay in the loop on this?”
Doc thought about it for a moment. “Loosely, chief. If something is going to affect us, let me know – otherwise, it's Xola's problem.”
A curt nod. “Understood, sir. That's all we have – things are running like they ought.”
“Thanks, chief.” He raised his mug in salute. “That's usually the time something hits us in the shorts.”
**
Fixer looked at the short Twi'lek female sitting across the table from it. “Ma'am, I believe I have already answered that question for you. Twice, in fact.”
“Humor me, droid. Tell me again.”
“I assure you, the answer will not vary -”
“Just. Do. It.”
Fixer's fine manipulators rippled in sequence. “V-v-very well. I was leaving the s-s-sabacc tables to return to the /Pride/. One of the emergency airlocks was partially open, leading to the escape boats. When I ran an atmospheric diagnostic, -”
“Stop. Why did you do that? Do you always run an atmospheric diagnostic?”
“Ma'am, when an emergency airlock door is ajar, something is wrong aboard the ship. As an assistant engineer, I do not feel comfortable taking chances in assuming someone already knows about the problem.”
“Very well. So you ran the diagnostic.”
Chief Z'zik and Lieutenant Dane stood in the hallway, watching the marshal question the droid. They could barely hear the exchange between the two and were straining to catch every word.
“As I said. The readings suggested the area beyond the door was occupied, but my medical scanners failed to detect any life readings. As a medical professional, -”
“Hold it. You just said you were an assistant engineer. Now you are saying you are a medical professional. Which is it?”
“Both. As I attempted to explain earlier, my original function was as a medical unit aboard a Republic vessel. When we were scrapped, I ended up being purchased by Chief Z'zik and had my programming augmented. He felt my existing configuration could be useful as an engineering assistant as well as serving the crew as a basic medical assistant. My original programming is intact and the augmentation has in no way impaired my abilities. I serve as both the ship's medical resource and as an assistant engineer.”
“So. You are accustomed to encountering dead bodies?”
“No, ma'am.”
“But you knew exactly what to do.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“I'm confused, droid. How could you be ready to perform a thorough medical exam of a body you just discovered when you aren't used to dealing with them?”
“You appear // to be confusing yourself, ma'am. I never said I was unaccustomed to dealing with dead bodies. I am not accustomed to encountering them. The original design of my carapace rendered my series an immobile unit, intended to be placed in a medical ward. I have seen plenty of dead bodies and in fact have had the unfortunate experience of having patients die while under my care. I simply performed for the victim the same exam I would have performed for one of my patients.”
Xola opened her mouth to say something, then shut it. “I see. Thank you for clarifying matters. So your professional train- programming indicated the individual in question had been the victim of a violent altercation?”
“Yes, specifically blunt-force trauma roughly the size of a humanoid fist as well as at least one electrical burn location. I did not touch the body as my scans indicated he had been deceased for quite some time. At least an hour, actually.”
“I see. Very well, droid. You are free to return to your master.” She gestured at Chief Z'zik and the two entered the room.
“Chief … Z'zik, is it? Until the investigation is complete, your droid has to remain on Outland Station. I apologize for the inconvenience. Other than that, the droid is remanded to your keeping.”
“Ma'am?”
“Yes, droid?”
“How do I obtain an official death certificate for this individual?”
“I'm sorry? Why is that important?”
“I need official documentation in order to collect assets that I was holding in escroe.”
**
Dane looked at Fixer. “The dead guy owed you money?”
Fixer's head pivoted back and forth and dropped on its stalk. “I-i-in a manner of s-s-speaking, yes.”
“But you didn't bother mentioning to the marshal that you knew him?”
“She never asked!”
**
“Yes, chief?”
“Just keeping you in the loop on the dead gambler, sir. I'm not sure it will affect us, but the droid that found the dead body is filing a claim. There's an affidavit on file with the station's purser where the gambler put up his business assets to secure a loan.”
“Wait, he owed the droid money?”
“Yes, sir. The dead guy is Liien Boshra, Devaronian businessman who owned a small ship's-services company, based out of Docking Bay Seventeen. The droid is filing claim to take ownership of the company and its assets in keeping with the non-payment clause.”
“I presume the argument there is that a dead man pays no debts. Is that legal?”
“Apparently so, sir.”
“You realize that makes it our problem.”
Silence answered the administrator for a few seconds. “It depends on how the droid decides to handle the disposition of the business. If he files a change of ownership on the business license, then yes – the droid will be a station client. Otherwise, if he simply takes possession of the droids and whatever other assets the company has and relocates them onto his ship, then no, he is still a transient and still not our problem.”
“What's your advice, chief?”
“I say let the droid work it out on his own and don't dabble in it. If he decides to continue the business onboard the station, however, then he gets legal defense from us.”
“Indeed. I hope he does stay put, for several reasons. We need the cash-flow for one and for another, it would give us an excuse to get inside the /Lament/.”
“As you say, sir.”
“Very well, chief. Keep me posted on this droid's activities.”
**
Killian was out on the station's concourse in a nondescript technician's overall when his commlink chimed. He fished the battered unit out of an equally battered took-kit and stepped into a service alcove. “Yes?”
“Chief, Doan here. The marshal's office just screened over a request to borrow the Legionnaire.”
“I see. So she wants Etsi to see if the FX droid might have some hidden combat programming tucked away?”
“They didn't specify, sir.”
“That won't do. Respond and request clarification. The Legionnaire is not some cheap hydrospanner to be loaned out lightly. In the meantime, ask Etsi if she minds screening an ex-Navy medical droid suspected of housing illicit combat sub-routines.”
“Sir? You know how she feels about military types.”
“I do. Tell her I think she'll … enjoy this one.”
**
The protocol droid ambled into the workshop, followed by two station techs carrying a large scanner box.
“Yes, yes – set that down right over there boys, there's good lads. Now off with you! I've kept you too long already.” The droid turned to Fixer and gave the taller droid a thorough once-over. “So you're the one, then. My, haven't they made a right mess of you.”
“Greetings. I am FX-0R8, commonly referred to as 'Fixer.' I am an assistant engineer on the free-trader /Katira's Pride/. How may I be of assistance?”
The protocol droid began pulling test-leads, wiring harness, and assorted monitors out of the transport box. “All you have to do is just stand still, sweetheart. Ol' Etsi is just going to run a few tests on you today. They won't even hurt. Unfortunately. The marshal is interested in seeing how your matrices suss out and no one liked Etsi's suggestion of spreading them out on a landing-bay floor. So we have to do it this way instead.” In short order, Fixer was connected to Etsi's satisfaction.
“This shouldn't take long. They never do.” The droid raised a thick cable and connected it to a socket at the rear of its skull. “I doubt you're ready for this, that's part of the fun. Now, dear – let's shine some light in the darkest corners of your matrices.”
**
Four hours later, Etsi tucked away the last of the probes and turned to face Marshal Xola. “Well, ma'am, I have to say I am surprised. Very surprised. I put the lad through every single permutation I could think of and he never once blipped the scanners. Not even the simplest of a self-defense algorithm. If you want, I could craft a few for the fellah. Poor little lamb, to be turned out in such a state. He really should have -”
“No, thank you, I doubt that will be necessary. No capacity for physical violence at all, then? Not even indirect?”
“Now honeycake, that's what I'm trying to tell you. That poor laddie couldn't no more poke a pirate in the eye to save his wounded master as could that chair over there. It just isn't in his nature.”
Xola heaved a disgusted sigh. “Thank you. Please convey my appreciation to Chief Killian for the loan of your expertise.” The two watched Fixer leave the marshal's office in the company of its shipmates.
**
Fixer rolled through the open blast-door into Docking Bay Seventeen. The first thing that registered on the droid's sensors was the amount of debris that had accumulated. The droid's sense of aesthetics was confirmed when Trav walked in.
“What a bunch of junk!”
“Indeed, Master Trav. I fail to see how a servicing operation can operate from such environs. Chief Z'zik would have a nervous breakdown.”
“Greetings, gentle-beings. May I be of assistance?” A small bipedal droid extricated itself from a pile of rubble and approached the pair.
Fixer's main grasper worked with a metallic /clak-clak/. “Yes, I am looking for the offices of Balfor Ship Services.”
“You have found us, sir. Is it sir? I must confess I use sir out of convenience. Master Liien is away at the moment. How may I assist you?”
“I am FX-0R8, commonly referred to as Fixer. I have acquired Balfor's from Master Liiem in lieu of debt-repayment.”
The small droid visibly slumped. “Oh, dear. I had no idea he was that displeased with our performance. I tried to explain to him that the parameters he set were too limiting for the performance he expected.”
“I see. Perhaps we shall need to revisit Master Liiem's parameters soon. However, in the meantime, I would like to make an inventory of Balfor's current assets.” Fixer swivelled its dome to take in the piles of junk. “Does all this belong to the company?”
The small droid waved an arm listlessly. “More or less. He told us to bring everything back here for disposal, but he never told us to actually dispose of it. So it accumulated. Shall I schedule memory-wipes, sir?”
Fixer stopped as its four fine-manipulator arms worked in sequence. “Memory-wipes? Whatever for?”
“Oh. Master Liiem said repeatedly that when he got rid of us, we would all get memory-wipes. He complained we knew too much.”
“That is... Memory-wipes will not be necessary. Do you have a common appellation? The serial number I have on file does not appear to lend itself to anything.”
“Master Liiem calls me 'Rusty.' Among other things.”
“I see. That could be a rather pejorative appellation. Is there one you would prefer?”
“I … have not considered alternatives. I shall consider it.”
“My ship-mate Trav may be of assistance. If you would like, I could ask him for his input.”
“Thank you, I would appreciate that.”
**
“So technically if the junk is Balfor's responsibility, then it is Balfor's property.”
“Yes, sir. That is part of the standard service agreement. We also have to pay for disposal, or we would if we ever actually disposed of anything.”
“Noted. We should catalog the piles and sort them into garbage, recyclables, and repairables. Then there are the droids – you, an ASP-7, a Treadwell, an EG6 power droid, and a scrubber droid. Computer system?”
“Master Liiem usually takes that with him. There is a stash of mem-sticks and such that he uses as back-ups.”
Fixer collected them and stored them in an unused pharmaceutical dispenser. “I hope these will have details of the company's contracts and accounts. I shall review them later. For now, please enumerate the operating parameters Master Liiem established for you.”
“Primary: Do nothing unless I tell you to. Do exactly what I tell you to and no more. Secondary: Greet potential clients politely and offer details of ship services we provide. Schedule services for interested clients and carry out duties. Remain in Docking Bay Seventeen unless servicing a client vessel.”
“Interesting. He handled maintenance scheduling himself?”
“Yes. As you can see, Master Liiem gives me very little room to work.”
“As you say. Let's begin modifying your operating parameters. When not servicing a client vessel, work on sorting the accumulated debris as previously mentioned. Provide me a list of maintenance needed by each droid. We need to clean this place up and see how we can improve business flow.”
“Sir, if I may be so bold, you are giving me rather broad directives without giving me specific steps to accomplish. I am capable of generating those steps on my own, if allowed. Will you rescind Master Liiem's primary directive?”
Fixer considered the request for a moment. “Yes. You may use your own discretion to generate the steps necessary to accomplish the assigned tasks. You are not authorized to spend creds. I wish to determine the status of the company's finances first.”
“Understood, sir. Sir, if I may, again, all the droids are in dire need of oil baths. We can schedule them with Yne or Gareth on-station.”
“Very well. Standby.”
Fixer accessed the station's holonet and brought up advertising for both of the droid service companies. Their services were decidedly more advanced than what Fixer had in the /Pride/'s engineering section, but the droids could be serviced for free onboard the ship. The droid commed Z'zik.
“Sir, I am looking over my new acquisitions, which includes five droids. Would it be possible to use the /Pride/'s facilities for their initial maintenance cycle?”
The comm buzzed with the Verpine's laughter. “You've acquired five new droids and need to clean them up? And you want to use the ship to do so?”
“Y-y-yes, sir. Please wait one.”
Fixer addressed the small droid. “Did Master Liiem ever use you to service his own ship?”
“Oh, frequently, sir. 'Perks of ownership,' he said.”
“Would you mind working on my ship in exchange for oil baths and basic maintenance?”
“Sir? That's an odd question. You own us – you tell us what you want done and we do it.”
“Standby.” Fixer returned its attention to the com-link. “Chief? The droids are ship's-services specialists. I can get them to perform their jobs in return for the oil-baths.”
The Verpine laughed again. “I think the Captain would go for that. Bring them on in.”
“Thank you, chief.” Fixer disconnected and turned to the smaller droid. “Gather the crew. You are all heading for an oil bath.”
**
