The first day of the rest of your life.
Yeah, you got here. It doesn't matter how. Now what are you going to do?
You could try and get back out to rejoin the active team, but you and I both know you're not up for that, whatever the medics say.
You could join Rich in the kitchen, and try and talk your way through this with him.
Hey, I don't mean all of these options, I'm just putting them out there.
You could go down to the drone room and see if you can match Kristy's score. Get shot at where it won't hurt you, shoot back, maybe have something to show for it.
Yeah, good point, I hadn't thought the stormie angle quite through enough. Scratch that one, then.
How about this, then? Find that astromech, pressgang him into taking you through a simrun on the X-Wing. See if you can at least learn how to take off or something. Sound like an idea?
Oh, of course, lying here staring at the ceiling's going to do a hell of a lot of good. Gee, I feel better already, knowing that the cover on the four-poster's red, and it's hanging up there. Well spotted. Well, if that cover ever decides to turn to the Dark Side and start taking over the world, you'll be right there to stop it, won't you? First, last, and only line of defense against the angry manchester of the world. You've got the covers covered, all right.
Good. Move your arse. We both know you need to be doing something so freaking well do it already, you morose bastard.
The droid tootled angrily as the door swung open - actually swung, on hinges, no less - and the indig he'd been assigned to sidled in through the opening. Briefly, the droid wondered if the human had come out of some primitive desire to worship the God of Metal, but dismissed the thought - this rock was too primitive even for that.
"R2-D15?" the human asked, crouching slightly, a nervous smile on its face. "Uh... I think we got off to a bad start, somehow, and I was wondering if we could start over."
The droid spun its holocam in a full circle before fixing on the human again, a gesture of contempt R2-D15 felt confident would be completely over the head of the primitive. The indig's tone had been condescending, as if speaking to a Gamorrean child, rather than a droid capable of co-ordinating the actions of an entire fleet and still having enough run-time to slice the Bilbringi Zoneball Championships from the holonet.
R2-D15 was still proud of that.
As expected, the human was oblivious, and continued, "So, anyway. I'm Josh, though a lot of people around here call me Crispy..."
R2-D15 recorded, of course, since there might be something useful in the human's blathering, but devoted very little of his consciousness towards paying attention. As a game, he began painstakingly calculating the odds of being able to hijack a hyperspace-capable ship and getting somewhere where his skills might actually be appreciated. As always, the odds came out depressingly low, but it was the source of some amusement that the odds were raised one part in trillion simply by the room's door being open.
The words 'restraining bolt' triggered a flag in the droid's consciousness, and he played back enough of the recording for context - "...I'm kind of hoping we could work together, because I really don't agree with the whole restraining bolt thing. I'd hate to think it'd be necessary to use one, but..."
Of course, enslaving a sentient being was fine as long as said sentient wasn't biological. Of all the strange patterns of biologicals, this attitude was the one R2-D15 had always found most perplexing, and most distressing. And it seemed this indig had been infected with the meme, as well. It wouldn't be so bad if there was anyone around who could understand astromech code, and translate for him - but, naturally, this being a planet of sentients barely evolved enough to ignore their own wastes, there wasn't.
It was almost enough to make a droid believe in a deity. A malicious one.
Finally, the human ceased its bluster and extended its hand. If it didn't already know what to expect, R2-D15 was more than willing to continue its conditioning. He extended his arcwelder and gave the human a corrective jolt.
The human jumped back, obviously surprised that a droid would dare to defend itself from slavery. Just to make sure the point was made, the droid surged forward and zapped it again. "Why the hell -?" the human stammered. "Look, I was nice to you! I gave you a chance! There's no way I'm going to put up with this! I'm going to get a restraining bolt!" And so saying, the primitive stormed out of the doorway, slamming the antique monstrosity as he did so.
R2-D15 blatted after it, then surlily rolled into a corner to await the human's inevitable return. He'd welcome the impeded cognition that accompanied the restraining bolt - enduring his stay with his complete faculties was proving to be something of a strain.
<Is it safe?> tootled an astromech from the other part of the room. The carrier signal identified the 'mech as R7-F8, a droid with a strangely mystical bent. R2-D15 had contemplated reprogramming him several times in the past few days, as the R7 unit was almost certainly going to try to divide by zero the hard way if he wasn't stopped.
<As safe as it can be,> replied R2-D15 testily. <Though I was hoping I might be able to spend my last few minutes as a free sentient without having to talk to you.>
The R7 unit gave no sign that it had heard the jibe, instead rolling toward the door and scanning it, as if it held the key to some hidden knowledge. R2-D15 reflected grumpily that the R7 almost certainly believed it did.
<Do you know who that was?> asked R7-F8 querulously.
<The human I've been assigned to,> replied the R2 bitterly. <I wouldn't be surprised if I'm the first droid it's talked to.>
<That's not what I meant,> said the R7, as cryptic as usual. <I meant, do you know who you're dealing with?>
<An indig who thinks it can solve its problems with a restraining bolt.>
The R7 unit merely beeped mournfully in the negative, and activated its holoprojector.
A tiny version of R2-D15's assigned human appeared, pointing a blaster directly at the R2. "Maybe it should learn a bit of freaking common sense!" the hologram shouted, a study in 'I-have-a-blaster-and-am-going-to-use-it'.
<I fear you are angering someone whose wrath is terrible to see...> added the R7.
The R2 did not reply, but instead scooted over to where some shelving lay abandoned near a wall.
"You. Where are the restraining bolts?"
The Mendellian tech spun at the sound of Josh's voice, and boggled to see a figure standing there in Terra Group fatigues, sporting the insignia of a Captain. The flinty expression on Josh's face didn't help the Mendellian's composure. "M... me sir?"
"Yes. The restraining bolts. Where are they?"
"R... restraining bolts, sir?"
"Yes. Where?"
"Sir, I don't understand..."
"You don't understand 'restraining bolt', or you don't understand 'where'?"
The Mendellian began nodding halfway through the question, then turned to shaking his head, then went back to nodding again. "The f... first one, sir."
"Restraining bolts are those things you put on droids to control them," Josh explained, and inwardly cursed at the blank expression on the tech's face. "Small round things?" He held his thumb and forefinger a few centimetres apart, but the tech's face did not change. "You do work here, right?"
The Mendellian finally regained his composure, and straightened. "Yes, sir, I do, sir."
"Can you tell me where the space technology is kept, then, so I can perhaps have a look for myself?" The tech shot Josh a confused glance, and swallowed, apparently formulating a response, when Josh added condescendingly, "Most of it's pretty with flashing lights. You know?"
The tech finally realised that he was in trouble no matter which way he jumped, so took the path of least resistance. "Yes, sir. This way, sir."
Josh followed the tech into a large room - almost a warehouse - filled with spare parts for the X-wings in the hangar outside, as well as an assortment of other GFFA components. "The catalogue is here, sir," the tech said helpfully, proffering a three-ring-binder sitting on the nearest shelf. Josh took it with a curt nod, and the tech asked nervously, "Will there be anything else, sir?"
Josh flipped the folder open, eyes scanning the contents, and said without looking up, "I don't think so. You've been unhelpful enough for one day."
Josh scowled as the tech slipped away. The folder was almost certainly laid out in an order that made sense to someone - most likely Mike - but, naturally, the layout was an arcane secret handed down from tech to tech to prevent non-techs from doing exactly what Josh was attempting to do.
After ten minutes of steadily building frustration, Josh finally deciphered the code enough to find what he thought was the entry for restraining bolts. After ten more minutes trying to decipher the shelf system, he found the correct slot - but the only thing inside was a small palmtop holoprojector, and no restraining bolts. Frowning, Josh pulled the holoprojector out and activated it.
A small image of Mike appeared. "I regret to inform you that the part you're looking for isn't here," the image said, the resolution just good enough for the Brit's wide grin to be made out. "It's an ordering cock-up that we haven't obtained any bolts, and I take full responsibility. Captain."
Josh's face turned cold as the hologram switched itself off. Very deliberately, he threw the holoprojector as hard as he could against the backing of the shelf, and stalked out of the warehouse.
His steps echoed through the corridors of the Palace.
Late at night, this was often the case, since most of the staff had already gone to their quarters, and those that hadn't often had duties that kept them away from the corridors. It didn't happen very often mid-morning.
But then, people in full extragalactic battledress didn't often march through the High Palace - especially not one casually carrying a blaster carbine unslung. The slate-grey armour, the bulky utility belt, the odd-shaped environmental mask - all combined to create a presence almost as chilling as the black-and-white uniform of Eugor Atner's shock troops. Certainly, all conversation ceased as Josh stalked past, not resuming for a few minutes or so.
"What's going on here?"
The tech didn't look around, but continued trying to jimmy the door with a crowbar. "We heard noises shortly after you left, sir... the droids have barricaded themselves inside!" The tech glanced around, and continued, "We're trying to... uh..." he trailed off as he took in Josh resolutely flipping open a panel on the blaster carbine.
"Get out," advised Josh softly, as he adjusted the power setting on the carbine. The tech didn't need to be told twice, and sprinted as far and as fast as he could.
The power settings on the blaster had Aurebesh characters set next to them, which of course Josh couldn't read. But he'd tagged the labels as 'minimum', 'low', 'normal', 'high', 'extreme', 'obscene' and 'ludicrous'. He slid the selector halfway between 'obscene' and 'ludicrous', paced five metres back, sealed his armour, and fired.
The door exploded, dragging a large portion of the surrounding wall with it. The explosion rocked the floor, knocking Josh off-balance for a moment, while smoke and other more noxious gases buffeted him further. He recovered, then marched through the newly enlarged doorway.
The droids were huddled up on the opposite side of the room, and as Josh approached they pushed R2-D15 out into the forefront. Josh stopped halfway across the room, levelled his blaster at the recalcitrant droid, and said, "You. Are. Coming. With. Me."
Silence filled the room for a moment, broken only by the plinking noises of cooling rock. The tableau held itself for a few seconds, until, finally, the droid warbled defeat and rolled forward. Josh gestured impatiently with the blaster, and the droid continued to roll out the doorway, struggling slightly where the explosion had gouged the floor. Finally, the droid was out, and Josh strode off after it, still pointing the carbine at it.
For a few minutes afterward, the droids stood silent, shellshocked.
Then, slowly, they began to whistle a dirge.