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8-ZRFL didn’t blink. His specifications didn’t include eyelids.
A pity; anything to see clearly through the smoke, steam, and gouts of coolant permeating the transport ship currently overrun by clone troops from the Empire’s battle cruiser–
There he was! The astromech droid CR0-L1, his counterpart and companion for…goodness, how long? 8-ZRFL couldn’t recall; had his memory been wiped? Well, they’d been together a very long time, of that he was quite certain.
Was that another person? One of the passengers?
No, here came the black-and-red droid, cleverly uncoiling his sinuous tubular form to undulate beneath the crossfire from opposing combatants. He restored himself to his default cylindrical shape and beeped cheekily.
“Where have you been?” 8-ZRFL scolded. “We’re amidst a space battle, if you hadn’t noticed!”
CR0-L1 responded with a string of whistles.
“Prophecy? What prophecy?”
CR0-L1 didn’t answer, just began sauntering down a dimly-lit access corridor.
The protocol droid hurried after, stooping his taller humanoid frame. “We’re not allowed here. This is strictly off-limits to anyone except crew.”
The other ignored his warning. He stopped at a blinking wall panel, extruding fingerlike rods to tap in a code.
Nothing happened.
CR0-L1 tapped again.
“I told you, escape pods are for humans only–”
Frustrated, the black droid snapped his rods together and banged them against the panel. A hatch opened, and CR0-L1 coiled into the cramped interior.
Muttering imprecations, 8-ZRFL followed. “This is a terrible idea, we are going to get into so much trouble…” He was still complaining when the pod fell away to the ferociously glowing planet below.
***
8-ZRFL wished he could completely erase the following hours on the desolate surface.They had been beastly hot, humiliating, and far too devoid of his infuriating companion.
However, they were reunited now, and things were looking up. Their nasty smelly captors – 8-ZRFL wasn’t speciesist, but he had standards – had shoved them from the sandcrawler along with several barely-functional droids. The domed structure nearby suggested…not exactly civilisation, but reliable power, decent maintenance facilities, and perhaps even some sort of purpose.
(Above all, 8-ZRFL hated feeling useless.)
8-ZRFL unbent so far as to market himself shamelessly to a sceptical customer, even throwing in an endorsement of his counterpart (magnanimously eliding CR0-L1’s recent erratic behaviour). His careful framing paid off; now both he and the astromech were in an underground bay, having the dents and glitches accumulated through past misadventures repaired.
The nephew of their new owner proved technically skilled, albeit annoyed to be looking after the new purchases rather than “wasting time” with his friends. Let Master Adam sulk; privately, 8-ZRFL agreed that discipline and duty outweighed frivolous pastimes.
Adam whistled tunelessly, poking at debris jammed into CR0-L1’s crevices. The black droid squealed in melodramatic protest, while a canine-shaped servo at Adam’s feet added simulated yips.
The protocol droid ignored their noise. He moaned with pleasure, though, as he sank into a luxurious oil bath, hoping it might restore the gleam to his golden plating.
He had a good feeling about this.