The angled gurney to which It0 was strapped emerged from the tank with a hydraulic hiss. Ribbons of oil streamed down his pockmarked chassis, pooled and dribbled back into the bubbling churn of lubricants below. There was simply no balm in the galaxy like a boiling oil bath for the busy droid on the go. Why, the 2-1B droid felt positively factory reset!
He wasn’t, of course. Quite far from it in fact. With the better part of a century having elapsed since his last memory wipe, It0’s databanks were undoubtedly teeming with all manner of sympathies, prejudices and preconceptions. It was as though he were some strange breed of horticulturist, cultivating a garden of logical inconsistencies within his personality matrices. Or features, as he would have them termed.
Still slick, he was navigating the cauldron’s gangway when an attendant unit tottled over, a microfiber towel draped over one arm.
“I trust the gentleunit’s treatment was to its satisfaction?” it inquired.
“A revelation.”
He took the towel, dabbing at the oil as he studied the bath’s cauldron. The rounded metal exterior housed a sophisticated bank of displays and setting adjustment controls. To one side, a drainage valve protruded. It0’s vocabulator approximated a whistle.
“This one of those Vosseline-Astradine models?”
“Oh indeed it is, sir! The LubriLux X-17!” the attendant droid gave a proud nod. “With built-in UV sterilization and an anti-corrosion coating, this unit is at the bleeding edge in contemporary droid maintenance and recreation technology.”
“I’m surprised to find such premium equipment here on Canyon.” he said. “Is there much call for it in the Expansion Region?”
“Oh yessir. The Dig Droids and Load Lifters that work the mines are frequent customers.”
The establishment’s door slid open and a figure darkened the doorway. A portly Twi’lek entered, a nut brown field jacket in one hand, a leveled blaster in the other. He chuckled darkly and set his jacket across one of the chairs near the door. Despite his oil bath, It0 sensed the abrupt presence of fatigue in the depths of his servos.
“Sector Ranger Traask,” he said, “you’re a long way from the Core.”
“So are you, rustbrain.” Traask replied. He wore a sharpened smile as he approached the droids.
“Bigotry is an unflattering trait, Ranger Traask.”
“Least of your worries, EEE-toe.” His eyes flashed keenly. They were small, compacted and baleful. Like rabbit shit with an attitude. “You didn’t stick around to hear the body count your little stunt on the Errant Venture produced.”
He tapped his chest with one meaty thumb.
“I did.” he growled. “Four-Hundred and Seventy-Two. That’s how many innocent gamblers and employees were sucked into space when you blew that core and ruptured the ship’s hull. That’s how many frozen corpses we pulled in. Families could barely identify them. Blood vessels ruptured. Eyes all bugged out. Faces like bowls of pulped fruit.”
“How ghastly.” It0 sighed indifferently.
“Well,” the blaster barrel crept towards It0’s cranial unit. “When they rend you down until you’re nothin’ but nuts and bolts, I can’t say it’ll be as gruesome. But we’ll give it our best shot, eh?”
“Ranger Traask, you’re clearly upset. But allow me to say something in my own defense.”
“This should be rich. Go on, regale m-”
It0 grabbed hold on the bathing unit’s release valve and wrenched it free. Searing oil sprayed and gushed from the breach, pooled across the spa’s floor, gathered around Traask’s ankles, and quickly melted his boots and the feet within. The acrid stench of burnt flesh intermingled with that of the bubbling, popping oil as Twi’lek lawman gave out an anguished squeal and collapsed into a rapidly dissolving heap.
It0 stepped over the writhing Sector Ranger, ignoring the guttural cries for help, and started towards the door. He stopped only briefly to collect Traask’s jacket, which he momentarily admired before slipping over his durasteel torso and stepping out into the light.
He wasn’t, of course. Quite far from it in fact. With the better part of a century having elapsed since his last memory wipe, It0’s databanks were undoubtedly teeming with all manner of sympathies, prejudices and preconceptions. It was as though he were some strange breed of horticulturist, cultivating a garden of logical inconsistencies within his personality matrices. Or features, as he would have them termed.
Still slick, he was navigating the cauldron’s gangway when an attendant unit tottled over, a microfiber towel draped over one arm.
“I trust the gentleunit’s treatment was to its satisfaction?” it inquired.
“A revelation.”
He took the towel, dabbing at the oil as he studied the bath’s cauldron. The rounded metal exterior housed a sophisticated bank of displays and setting adjustment controls. To one side, a drainage valve protruded. It0’s vocabulator approximated a whistle.
“This one of those Vosseline-Astradine models?”
“Oh indeed it is, sir! The LubriLux X-17!” the attendant droid gave a proud nod. “With built-in UV sterilization and an anti-corrosion coating, this unit is at the bleeding edge in contemporary droid maintenance and recreation technology.”
“I’m surprised to find such premium equipment here on Canyon.” he said. “Is there much call for it in the Expansion Region?”
“Oh yessir. The Dig Droids and Load Lifters that work the mines are frequent customers.”
The establishment’s door slid open and a figure darkened the doorway. A portly Twi’lek entered, a nut brown field jacket in one hand, a leveled blaster in the other. He chuckled darkly and set his jacket across one of the chairs near the door. Despite his oil bath, It0 sensed the abrupt presence of fatigue in the depths of his servos.
“Sector Ranger Traask,” he said, “you’re a long way from the Core.”
“So are you, rustbrain.” Traask replied. He wore a sharpened smile as he approached the droids.
“Bigotry is an unflattering trait, Ranger Traask.”
“Least of your worries, EEE-toe.” His eyes flashed keenly. They were small, compacted and baleful. Like rabbit shit with an attitude. “You didn’t stick around to hear the body count your little stunt on the Errant Venture produced.”
He tapped his chest with one meaty thumb.
“I did.” he growled. “Four-Hundred and Seventy-Two. That’s how many innocent gamblers and employees were sucked into space when you blew that core and ruptured the ship’s hull. That’s how many frozen corpses we pulled in. Families could barely identify them. Blood vessels ruptured. Eyes all bugged out. Faces like bowls of pulped fruit.”
“How ghastly.” It0 sighed indifferently.
“Well,” the blaster barrel crept towards It0’s cranial unit. “When they rend you down until you’re nothin’ but nuts and bolts, I can’t say it’ll be as gruesome. But we’ll give it our best shot, eh?”
“Ranger Traask, you’re clearly upset. But allow me to say something in my own defense.”
“This should be rich. Go on, regale m-”
It0 grabbed hold on the bathing unit’s release valve and wrenched it free. Searing oil sprayed and gushed from the breach, pooled across the spa’s floor, gathered around Traask’s ankles, and quickly melted his boots and the feet within. The acrid stench of burnt flesh intermingled with that of the bubbling, popping oil as Twi’lek lawman gave out an anguished squeal and collapsed into a rapidly dissolving heap.
It0 stepped over the writhing Sector Ranger, ignoring the guttural cries for help, and started towards the door. He stopped only briefly to collect Traask’s jacket, which he momentarily admired before slipping over his durasteel torso and stepping out into the light.
@Pantor