Chapter Text
Thick, white smoke filled the corridors of the ship, only pierced by bright red blaster fire and the screams of the wounded and dying. Prince James Organa was almost grateful for it. Even though he could barely see, it also hid him from view in his white senator’s gown. At least so far, he seemed not to have been detected as he made his way through the halls, pressing close to the walls and peering carefully around corners before proceeding.
When he heard another pained cry abruptly stop, he could not help but wince. He was their leader, he should be there with them, and in any other situation he would have been. But this, this was more important. Tightly gripping his blaster with his right hand and the data chip in the other, he inched closer and closer to the escape pods. He himself could not leave, that would have been a foolish endeavour, as the Star Destroyer that held his Corvette in its clutches would certainly sense a life form on board and shoot him down. A droid, on the other hand…
He let out a huge breath when he saw R2-D2 rolling towards him, seemingly undamaged and softly trilling. “R2, what a relief.” He bent down, opened a compartment in the little astromech droid’s dome, and began uploading the contents of his data chip into its memory banks. “Listen to me, R2, this is of utmost importance. I need you to deliver this message to Mr. Allen on Tatooine, and quickly. Take an escape pod and let nothing deter you. You understand?”
R2 beeped solemnly, and James got up with a smile. “I have faith in you. Now, would you mind recording a message for me?” He squared his shoulders and summoned all his royal dignity, as he laid out the importance of the plans that the droid now carried, and ended the recording with a final plea.
Not losing any time, R2 turned on his thrusters and rolled off into the fog. James heard a distant “There you are, my good fellow!” in the voice of the resident protocol droid and couldn’t help another smile. At least R2 would have a friend by his side, and there was no droid braver or more loyal than Thorpio.
Taking a deep breath and raising his blaster, he melted back into the smoke, letting the noise of the fight guide his steps.
The Jawas had lined up about half a dozen droids in front of their sand crawler, but Catherine was not overly interested. She preferred to chat with the little hooded creatures with the glowing eyes, even though she could barely understand what they were saying. This particular group came by every couple of months to sell their salvaged wares, and they really weren’t so bad, despite what others might think about them. They had even taught her a few words in their language. Catherine had tried to return the favour, but Basic didn’t seem to agree with their tongues. You had to be careful, of course, when dealing with Jawas, as they were fond of pranking, but Catherine had never found them to be malicious. Still, she paid close attention to little George as he ran circles around the scavengers and called him back whenever he came too close to touching things he was not supposed to.
“Catherine!” Richard Morland waved her over. She quickly grabbed George’s hand and dragged him over to her uncle. “We’re taking these two. Clean them up before dinner, will you?”
She nodded automatically, never overly inclined to deny a request, then remembered something. “Oh, or could I do it later? I promised the little ones we would look for shooting stars – I spotted one earlier, in full daylight!”
Richard Morland’s stern expression couldn’t hide the fondness in his voice. “Always with your head in the stars. Chores first, Catherine.”
“Yes, uncle.” She took her binoculars from her belt and held them out to George. “Here, you better start without me, then. But don’t drop them, you hear me? Let William show you how it’s done, and don’t look into the suns. Don’t look into the suns.” She scrutinized the rapidly nodding child for a few moments, then ruffled his hair. “Off you go. I’ll be quick, I promise.”
She turned her attention to her uncle’s new acquisitions: a red and white astromech, and a golden, almost humanoid droid. “Welcome,” she greeted them politely. “My name is Catherine, Catherine Morland. If you’d follow me?”
The golden one bent his shape into an uncomfortable looking half-bow. “Ah, what a fine lass you are, pleased to make your acquaintance, I see we will get along famously. My name is J-“
He was interrupted by the sound of an explosion coming from the other droid, which sputtered a little and then stopped dead.
“Oh no.” Catherine hurried over and waved away the smoke. “Seems like its motivator was defective.” She looked up at her uncle who looked about to yell at the Jawas. He, like so many others, was always so quick to assume they had done something on purpose. “I am sure it was an honest mistake?” she tried.
Something touched her arm and when she turned, she saw the perpetually surprised looking face of the golden droid. “Excuse me, madam, but that R2 unit is in prime condition.” He pointed to another astromech unit, this one silver and blue. “A real bargain.”
Catherine looked hesitantly in the direction of the other droid. She didn’t like the idea of leaving the white and red one behind just because it was malfunctioning a bit, surely it could be repaired somehow? But she knew that spare parts were rare around here, and the Jawas probably would have more success scrounging one up than her. Really, it was probably for the best. “Uncle Richard? What about that one?”
Uncle Richard huffed and began to argue with a Jawa. Neither seemed happy about it, but in the end, a deal was struck, and the blue and silver unit rolled towards them with a melodic chirp and a speed Catherine was not used to in R2 units.
“You will not regret it,” the golden one informed Catherine. “He really is the finest astromech you could find in the outer rim. I have worked with him before, there is nothing he can’t repair, why, I am sure he even repaired himself once.”
Catherine nodded along. “That does sound very impressive.”
The golden droid extended a hand when the smaller one reached them and patted the R2 unit’s dome jovially. “See what your old buddy Thorpio is willing to do for you? I don’t even expect gratefulness, it’s just what one does for their friends. You would do the same for me, wouldn’t you.”
The R2 unit’s chimes sounded slightly doubtful.
Catherine called a goodbye over to the Jawas, one of the few phrases she knew in their language, which always made their little yellow eyes light up, and then turned towards her home. “Now follow me, please, I will get you cleaned up.”
She led them to the garage, where she ran an oil bath for the golden droid which he accepted with a heartfelt “Thank the maker” and a complaint about dust contamination. While he soaked, she fetched a rag and started to wipe the R2 unit down. “Now, I think you got interrupted while you were introducing yourself. Thorpio, was it?”
He made a gesture that was probably supposed to look grandiose, splashing a little oil in the process. “J-3PO, human-cyborg relations. But my friends call me Thorpio. And my good pal over there is R2-D2.”
R2 chirped cheerfully. Catherine smiled at the little droid. “It’s good to meet you, too. I’m Catherine. Welcome to the Morland moisture farm. I will help you get all settled in, and then tomorrow, I’ll show you the fields. It’s almost harvest season, which is when we’ll need your help the most. We’ve got a couple other droids, too, I’ll introduce you tomorrow. But first, bath time.”
The dust covering R2’s chassis was quickly cleaned away. Frowning slightly, Catherine bent closer to inspect the dark spots on the metal that would not come off from rubbing with a soft rag alone. Residue from explosions, or blaster fire, most likely. “What happened to you?” she asked softly. “This looks like – have you been in a fight?”
“Oh, dozens,” said Thorpio, as if Catherine should have expected that, “nay, what do I say, hundreds, even. Barely a day goes by in the rebellion without a scuffle or two, isn’t that right, R2? You see –“
Catherine did not like to interrupt people, thought it terribly impolite, generally, but she felt like she needed to clarify. “You are Resistance fighters?” she breathed. “Against the Empire?”
“Why, of course! As you can see, I am not merely any protocol droid, I am amongst the very best. I am programmed with over thirty thousand languages from all over the galaxy, you see, surely you can imagine that my contribution to the cause is invaluable.”
“I’m sure it is,” replied Catherine, still trying to wrap her head around this news. She had heard of the Resistance, of course, she had even overheard Richard and Charles talking about maybe joining them during their last visit from the academy, and while she was aware that the fight against the Empire was a real event that was happening right now, it all seemed so far away that her brain had stored away these stories with all the other myths and legends that she loved so much. “But should you really be telling me all about that? Not that I don’t want to know, but you don’t know me at all, what if I was an imperial spy or something?”
“A fine lady like you? Now don’t be ridiculous!”
Catherine turned her face away and went back to cleaning R2, tuning Thorpio out while he prattled on. She certainly did not hold any love for the Empire, and neither did she believe she had what it took to be a spy, and she was used to being dismissed during the first five minutes of a conversation. He probably hadn’t even meant it like that at all. Nevertheless, it rankled. Fortunately, she did not have to think about it for long since she found distraction in a metallic splinter that had lodged itself in a gap in R2’s plating.
“Oh! You’ve got something, there. Hold still for a minute, please.” She tried to dislodge the foreign object, first with her bare fingers, then, when that proved futile, fetched a small, narrow tool. “Now, isn’t that better?” she exclaimed happily, and then almost fell back on her butt in surprise when she saw a blue cone of light emanating from the droid, projecting the faintly striped holographic image of a young man right onto the floor of the garage.
Clad in a white, floor-length, hooded robe, with his hair delicately twisted into buns, he stood upright and with purpose, but even in the flickering light the look of worry on his face was hard to miss. “Help me, Benvolio Allen,” he said, no, urged, “you’re my only hope.”