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Some Disassembly Required

By: DankeDonuts

https://dankedonuts.sofurry.com/

"Greetings, I am BB-2000! I am fluent in over six-million forms of whoop-ass!" The gladiator droid raised up her arms in a simulation of bravado as she strutted about the small ring. Which hovered just above a crowded circle of approximately two hundred and fifty humans and non-humans. The whole of which engaged in the expected amount of cheering and applause for a group which considered her to be the star combatant of this match.

They were correct to reason so. Probabilities here high that this would be an easy and definitive victory. So much so that her Master had instructed her to prolong the opponent's defeat. Make a particularly spectacular show of pummeling LX-9B-N into scrap metal.

She used this display of pre-match bravado to scan the room one final time. To one side of the spacious, and very private, speeder garage were several more metallic pit-fighters waiting their turn on the night's card. As well as their makers and masters, most of them humanoid, including her own. He a youthful man of dark brown skin and very little hair. Wearing a silver yellow vest over a multi-pocketed jumpsuit. He was seated in a small privacy box. Above him, a holographic poster of BB-2000's designation and portrait. Her exterior shell being that of a protocol droid popular with pre-Imperial politicians. Humanoid of form, with idealized female proportions. Dark pink and chrome of primary build, with a shell of purple where a human female might have a head of short-cropped hair. Purple lips. Scrolling text boasted her wins (high), losses (few), draws, (three), and total dismemberments (five).

Her opponent, LX-9B-N, was not all that mobile at present. Most likely communicating with his Mistress, who was seated in a box similar to her Master's on the other side of Fighter's Row. It was boxy, thick-legged number crafted of two unlike models of binary load lifter. It's neckless head was that of a third model, half buried in between its shoulders. One long, illuminated line in place of eyes granting the semblance of a pair of goggles.

Back in the days before and during the Clone Wars, BB-2000 had fought exclusively in an officially sanctioned Femme-Bot league. Her victories were transmitted to sporting establishments across the known Galaxy. Now, she and her current Master got their battles where they could find them. In underground dives like this hidey-hole on Ord Mantell. Below Imperial notice. The takes were small; just enough to keep his stomach full of protein bars and her chassis coated in chromuim polish.

Amid the crowd, an obese Rodian was moving about collecting last minute bets. Those spectators that didn't have their eyes squarely focused upon her were instead sharing conspiratorial stares with their neighbors. Whatever illegalities they were up to did not concern the competitor.

Aside from the ring and the Master's box, the room was sparsely lit. A necessity in these days of little better than back-alley brawls. Not that poor light was a problem for her superior visual sensors and targeting equipment. However, she could not make out the far edges of the two-story space, for all the second-hand smoke clouding the air. Not for the first time, the droid was thankful that her maker had not seen fit to provide her with an olfactory sensor. (Or any facsimile of a nose, for that matter). The scent of T'bac was known to be disruptive to non-addicts.

At the edge of her vision, her motion detectors caught and highlighted movement pushing through the crowd. A large Herglic with jet-black skin. Specifically, "Brick" NaKooda, the door muscle. The immense cetaceaoid's head was well visible above the being's around him. The scarring forward of his blowhole - glowing pale blue and white with reflected stage lighting-- confirmed his identity to a near absolute certainty. Micro-calculations derived from the movements behind the Herglic revealed that someone (Ninety-three point seven-seven percent probability) or someones (eighty-six point four-five percent) was following closely in his wake.

Conclusion: The bouncer, an individual whose sole purpose was to remain on watch elsewhere was escorting someone in deeper into the arena. Very suspicious.

She activated her internal commlink, which was already set to a private channel the opposing team could not hear. Giving a dire warming in her cheerful soprano. "Master Velachee, this facility's security has been compromised. Citizen NaKooda is escorting parties unknown to towards my position! From the main door!"

The man on the other end of the line cursed in a low voice, and in a manner that wasn't as creative as her Maker's had been. "Could be Bekk Oavog looking for those creds you haven't won yet."

"We should leave immediately!" the droid suggested, adding a second circle to her pre-victory strut as an excuse to keep looking around. "You never should have put me up for collateral on your loan!"

"Don't start that again! We'll be fine. We just can't give him any time to start up again before Weeko calls the betting over. I'll just... make myself scare 'til then." Opening his booth, he made a comment to someone next to him about needing to visit the refresher before the match started, then slinked his way out of the garage. In the time it took him to speak again, the Herlic breached the front row. Two humans, one male and one female, both cloaked, moved ahead of the alien to face the crowd from within the 'splash zone." The small ring of empty floor where one might expect to be hit by flying droid debris.

Velahee's breathing pattern indicated that he was looking for something within a reasonable margin of error. "All right, I'm here. If we need a quick exit, I heard there's a-"

His words were cut off by an atonal warble, at or exceeding the high range of human hearing. It set many in the audience cringing. And demanded their attention, calling all heads towards the fist-sized transmitter in the cloaked man's hand. He shrugged free his disguise to reveal the stark white uniform of an Imperial officer. The woman next to him revealed herself to be wearing the armored grey jumpsuit of the Imperial Army.

They probably all thought that the only purpose of the signal. BB-2000's superior auditory processors, however, immediately processed the binary sequencing it was delivering. Specifying authority. Transmitting instruction. Demanding compliance. Preemptively ordering all droids in the vicinity to power down. Codes that were utterly ineffective on her. Being that, like much, like much of her internal structure, her droid brain was of custom make. She'd never been programmed to accept those codes.

They were standing right below her. She could reach down and crack their skulls if she had a mind to. Gigabytes of stored data was put to work calculating the most likely results of a direct engagement with Imperial officials. The conclusion that such an action would invariably lead to the termination of her autonomic functions. Also, rather annoyingly, there was the imperative to protect Master Velachee. A directive she had been programmed to comply with.

The male Imperial directed his words into his comm unit. They slithered out through every speaker and communication device in the place. Including her own internal unit. A clipped Coruscant accent. "I am Lieutenant Arvok Wrem of the Imperial Security Bureau. This den of iniquity is hereby closed. You are all under arrest-"

A low rumble started up to drown out his words. The rising storm of protest in turn was silenced by the sound of blaster fire from behind, behind, to the sides. Eight blasters in total, lighting the hanger walls. Their wielders marched forward, dressed similarly to the woman at Wrem's side, complete with flared helmets. Their goggles glared blue and white. BB-200 had only moments before calculated the odds that Wrem's backup would have infiltrated the facility ahead of his arrival at only thirteen point one one percent. She filed a timed reminder to herself to further research Imperial stratagems at her first opportunity in order to reach more effective conclusions in the future.

The crowd of humanoids, bereft of a droid brain's elegant appraisal of hostile situations, simply went wild. And not in the usual ruckus manner associated with droid-on-droid combat. This was a riot; panic of and rage against capture. The troopers closed in step by step, firing on stun, and those closest to them were shoved their way by panicked beings. Several clusters of beings formed up and pulled weapons, bullying their way to the hanger door. Everyone else scattered, grabbing whatever or whoever they could to defend themselves while trying to be the ones left in the crossfire.

The droid Masters lined up on Fighter's Row had brought their own protection. It quickly became evident that none of the pit-fighter units were programmed to accept Imperials' shutdown code. Most of them assumed protective stances, shielding their Masters against the rush of two troopers coming to claim that territory. The largest one scooped up his master, a tiny Ugnaught, and started bashing down the wall behind them.

LX-9B-M turned and assumed a runner's crouch, pounding his boxy fists together in a way that telegraphed a charge. Towards BB-2000's end of the ring. The side with the officer near it. Apparently, his Mistress, the who had just ducked down inside her control booth, had evidently opted for public execution.

BB-2000 decided to put the chopshop gladiator's final act to use. She crouched hard and fast, putting a fist through the floor of the hover-ring. Destroying an inertial stabilizer, setting off a series of sparks within the hole she'd made which informed her that she had initiated a cascade failure. Diverting emergency power to her legs, she ran in a direction opposite the oncoming pit-fighter. the stabilizers gone, the three-model droid's weight pulled the Officer-facing side of the rig down. Hers rushed upwards, adding momentum to the femme-bot's leap. She cleared most of the combatants and spent the next two seconds breaking the lower ribs of a one-eyed Trandoshan.

Meanwhile, the Lieutenant was still barking orders over all-comms. "Under the Contraband Confiscation Act, I order you to power do- aaaauuugghhh!"

Helpless reptiloid in hand, BB-2000 used his body to hide her passage from the nearest Imperial. Dropping them unceremoniously onto the permacrete when he was no longer needed. She found herself suddenly grateful for the T'bac smoke that eased her exit from the large room. Though she shuddered to calculate its caustic effects upon her polish.

. . .

Wren's communicator had stopped transmitting by the time BB-2000 reached the single-story suite of administrative offices connected to the facility. But the sounds of combat were still reverberating through the un-shielded walls. Reinforcements would have inevitably been called, BB-2000 reasoned.

She could only trust that her Master had found the secret exit he had alluded to. And that he continued to show the tactical acumen to keep from contacting her through the monitored comlines.

Her (few) hopes of an easy escape were dashed when the body of her Master came sliding out of a doorway clutching his chest. Coming to a stop a mere footstep away from her. While he groaned, heavy footsteps pounded their way towards them. "Figured someone would come this way," snickered NaKooda the Herglic. He was wielding an oversized stun-club, the harsh hum of which indicated it was set to its highest charge. "Sorry, clanker. The ISB's deal was just too good. And I don't' get paid without your bodies."

The droid assumed an offence stance, fists raised. "Greetings! I am BB-2000!-"

"I don't care!" The dolphin-man shouted her down. "Back there! With the rest of the fish! Both of You! Now!"

"You interrupted a good line!" she told him, allowing her vocorder to assume a pouty whine. Despite her play at umbrage, she believed the upcoming match was already won. For she had three distinct advantages. First the scarring atop the cetaceaoid's head betrayed that he was poor at defending it. Second, the doorman had never seen her fight before. Third, stun-sticks didn't work on droids.

She initiated combat by doing something she reasoned within a wide margin of probability would be the last thing NaKooda would expect of a droid set on defending her Master. She kicked Velachee back towards the Herglic.

"Beeebeeeeee!" the human cried as he rolled back through the doorways and careened legs that were roughly the width of his waist.

Confounded NaKooda looked down at the cringing male, then back up. His mouth as far as "Wha-" before her fist slammed into the wide space between his eyes. The room about them was a small one, and loaded with desks and datafile cabinets. Four advantages. But the limited result of her first strike, and two quicker ones, suggested that her opponent didn't much need to protect his head. Three advantages.

"Get out," she told her Master. Who scurried away on his belly while she ducked the counter attack. Her counters were quick and light; testing the strength of his other body parts, never committing to anything that would give him an open strike. Drawing the fight out not to put on a show but to better assure her victory through observation. Based upon the larger being's movement patterns, she calculated a ninety-four point three three percent chance that he had a weapon secreted inside his left boot.

He was swinging his exposed weapon right-handed, however. Suggesting that his most likely plan was to pin her with the stun-stick and finish her using the other hand. Smart. He was smart enough also not to wear himself down destroying the walls and desks to get at her. There was no value in dismissing good strategy. Putting her on the defensive long enough to maneuver himself to the door was not good tactics. Blocking her access to the exit succeed only in trapping himself. The Herglic, wide across as two humans standing shoulder to shoulder, would have to turn from his opponent in order to side-step through it.

Now was the time to make him move for the boot. She stepped in close to him, deflecting his empty hand, to give him a good punch to the gut with full follow-through. Presenting herself as a target for attack from above. A tempting offer for one so tall. Grinning ferally, he brought the stick up high and swung down hard. She caught it in her right hand. Diverted the rest of her reserve power into her legs to resist being moved back under the weight he brought down, adding his second arm to the pressure. Structural sensors scattered throughout her body fared up, warning of how long she could withstand so many kilos of force before suffering severe internal damage. Not long. Her left moved out of his view.

With gritted teeth, he bared down even harder. Seeking to power her down to the ground, he overextended his arms. Forcing her into a low crouch. Raising the tension in his bones just enough to let her dislocate his right wrist with a single well-timed uppercut. He howled in pain, releasing the stun-stick. Inertia forced it from BB-2000's hand as well. She allowed momentum to let her stumble a few precious decimeters away.

The Herglic did not disappoint. He did not take his eyes off her while he reached into his footwear. But he did have to take a knee. Thus exposing the other one- his right - and remove a good arm from play for a very brief moment. That mistake cost him the knee. A spin-kick past the limp hand separated patella from cartilage with a crackling noise that must have been as excruciating to his lobeless ears as the physical pain was to his nervous system.

The Herglic howled, collapsing to the floor. He held up his good hand, weapon undrawn, in a nearly universal signal of surrender. "OK, OK! I give! Go on, get out of- nyyyaaahhh!" The lone hand was quite easy to shatter, given that the droid could now put both of hers towards crushing it. "Whatdya hafta do that for? I gave up!" he mewed, his face scrunched pathetically.

"So you can't undo this." BB-2000 picked up the stun-stick, twirled it around in her hand, and wedged the business end firmly into her fallen foe's blowhole. Past experience, filed and indexes, informed her most carbon-based beings with exposed skin would have turn blue while under subject of suffocation. This one did not. His eyes did, however, bulge out quite satisfactorily while he slapped at the cylinder with flimsy, useless paws. She filed the data away for later use. "As I was saying! Ahem! Greetings I am BB-2000! You have been warned!"

The Herglic gagged his last just as she finished speaking.

"Beebee, You... You killed him." Velachee muttered from just the other side of the door. The human seemed quite surprised that termination of life functions was an option available to her. What data her prior Master had chosen not to transfer regarding her was not an error she sought to correct.

"He could have revealed our use of the secret exit," She answered. Then crooked her sideways. "There is a secret exit?" There sounds of combat beyond had all but ceased. The enemy was coming.

"Uh, uh, yeah, this way." Velachee led her a few rooms down to what appeared to be the cleaning droid's storage closet. The occupant of which already been moved out of the way. "The mechanics around here got more than one scheme going. I paid a Twi'Lek gal off to get some secrets about this place before we came here. She said this place is part of a network that helps people get loose from the bounty hunters that infest this planet."

"Paid her off with credits that could have paid off Oavog," BB-2000 groaned.

"Don't start with that." He ran a gloved hand around a wall until a click sounded. Sliding loose a secret panel, he waved BB-2000 inside. He sighed, "I suppose we'll have to run from bounty hunters ourselves, now. I didn't know I needed to scrub everything before I snuck off. The Imps might find evidence of who we are when they clean up the site."

Might? Assuming the abandoned holo-emitter had survived the mass arrest, her poster would be the most beautiful piece of evidence at the crime scene. "I will pound that bridge into kindling when we get there."