Chapter Text
Master didn’t have long left. Techie, unable to cry, whimpered.
“Don’t weep for me,” Master said, patting Techie’s discolored hand. “I’ve had a long life. This is just what happens. We grow old, we die.”
“Will I?” Techie asked.
Master frowned. “Truthfully, I do not know. You’ll find out eventually.”
“I’ll be all alone.”
“No. You’ve been a brilliant pupil, Techie. You can create another.”
Techie shook his head. “I can’t do it by myself. I’m not ready. I don’t have your intelligence, your experi–”
“Hush, child. Never forget your mind is that of a once-great engineer, a prodigy. Do not discount how much you have learned over your five short years of life. Do not forget all of the animals you’ve successfully reanimated without my help. You can do this. Besides, there’s no shortage of corpses. If you fail, you simply try again.”
Techie swallowed. “How much longer do you have, Master?”
Master shook his weary, grayed head. “I do not know. Could be days, could be months.”
Techie nodded. “Then I will start. And ask all the questions I can before you…”
“Die. It’s alright, Techie, it’s not a bad word. You died, once, though I know you don’t remember.”
Techie shook his head. “That wasn’t me. That was someone else. I come from his flesh, but I am not him.”
Master smiled softly. “No, I suppose you are not. You share his face, his frame, his organs, his brain, but that is all, in the end. Your personality is all your own. Your soul, if you have one, as well.”
Techie tilted his head in thought. “So whoever I bring back…will they be different, too?”
“I assume so, yes.”
“Does it matter, then, who I pick?”
“Well, yes, it always matters, just as it matters what canvas and paints an artist chooses, no? You must pick a body that inspires you.”
“I suppose what I mean is, does it matter what history there may or may not have been between my source and his?”
“His?” Master smiled. “You are sure you will make a male companion?”
Techie nodded, resolute. “It is what I desire.”
“You have that in common with your source, then, too.”
“What of the history, Master?”
Master sighed. “Well, most of the men would’ve been in service to your source. He was a leader, a fierce General. Many of these bodies are the soldiers he commanded. Whether a ghost of hierarchy and authority would continue to exist, I don’t know.”
Techie didn’t think he wanted to risk it. “Did he have any equals?”
“In a way,” Master said, rising unsteadily. Techie moved to help him, stooping under the old man to support his weight. “Come. Let us visit The Fridge.”
The Fridge was where Master kept the bodies. It was more of a freezer, ice cold for better preservation. In each drawer was a body encased in a bacta-like gel that kept the flesh and organs alive until the body was chosen for resurrection. Master tapped at a drawer labeled KR/BOS.
“What do the letters mean?” Techie asked.
“That represents his name. Or rather, names. Kylo Ren, born Ben Organa-Solo.” Techie looked at the drawer beside it, still labeled, even though Techie knew it was empty. It was where he came from. The label read AH. “Dear boy, open Ren’s drawer, will you? It’s too heavy for me now.”
Techie nodded and pulled. It was easy for him. His source had been slight but strong, clearly someone who trained regularly to keep in excellent physical shape. He didn’t look it, but Techie was strong. With the drawer pulled out, he entered the code Master had taught him, which retracted the durasteel encasement and let him see a body suspended in gel.
The body was badly scarred, burned in places, and large. He was nearly bald, the sparse hair that remained long and black. He looked angry for a dead man, like he was playing dead to fool his enemies, like any minute he could rise up and slash their throats. Techie did not like looking at him. It made him uneasy.
“This is my equal?” Techie asked, skeptical.
“Well, as close as you’ll find here.” Master said, his voice rich with amusement.
“Who were we to one another?” Techie asked.
“Depends who you ask. Co-commanders. Rivals, forced to work alongside each other. The Brain and the Brawn of a terrible, fearsome mission. Counterweights to one another.” Master’s lips curled up in a smile. “And if rumors are to be believed, they were, at times, lovers.”
“Sounds complicated.”
Master chuckled. “Indeed it does. They both had a flair for the dramatic, though in their own styles.”
“Did you know them?”
Master nodded. “I did. Not well, but enough.”
“Do you think the rumors were true?”
“I always suspected so, yes.”
Techie squinted his mechanical eyes at the body lying beneath him in gel. “He looks scary. Like he’ll hurt me.”
“Anyone could hurt you. At least if he looks like he might, you’ll be prepared. Much better than a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
Techie was getting better at understanding idioms, and was pretty sure he knew what Master meant. “He’ll need a lot of spare parts. He’s badly burned.”
“Yes, and we have drawers full of spare parts.”
“I do not like his bald head.”
“You’ve sewn hair before. You can choose any color and texture you like.” Master sensed Techie’s trepidation. “You don’t have to choose this body, Techie. There are many others. But you asked to see your source’s equal; Well, here he is.”
The next day, Techie spent his hours trying to make Master comfortable as he waited for the end. Warm tea, lots of blankets, his favorite books, various medicines. But whenever he tried to attend to him, Master shooed him away and told him to work on his project.
“I don’t want you alone for too long,” Master said. “I fear you couldn’t cope.”
Techie pouted. He doubted himself all the time, but did not like it when Master doubted him. “I’ll be fine. Ring the bell when you need me.”
In The Fridge, Techie began collecting spare parts. A new left arm, skin for the torso and facial burns, a couple of toes, and a scalp with hair. Fit was the most important consideration, then texture, then color. Color could always be corrected through artificial needs, if necessary.
Techie looked at his own hands. The left did not belong to his source, as the original was damaged beyond repair. As such, his hands did not match in size nor color, and fine but jagged blue stitching ringed his wrist like a bracelet. The same stitching could be found on his sternum, back, neck, and over his left eye. Master was already old when he recreated Techie, his hands shaky and imprecise. Techie, on the other hand, was steady and careful. His creation would not be marred by imperfect sutures, and he would take care to dye or paint areas where the skin did not match. His creation would be indistinguishable from a natural-born person, he decided.
He was pleased that Ren’s eyes seemed healthy. His own source had been without eyes entirely, the body desecrated after its death by enemies. Master had created Techie’s mechanical, cybernetic eyes, and they functioned well, but required frequent maintenance and were very obviously unnatural. Techie ventured out of his home very rarely and hated the stares he encountered when he did. While he knew all sorts of droids, cyborgs, and aliens existed around him, he’d never seen someone who looked so almost-completely-human-but-not-quite as he did. It disquieted others and therefore it disquieted himself.
His materials gathered and prepped and Master given his nightly medication, Techie retired to his room to review the notes from his last project, a Porg resurrection. It had gone very well, and the Porg now lived in the grassy fields behind the castle, fit and happy. He had successfully resurrected many animals, but never a human, and Master had only successfully resurrected a human once. What Techie was to undertake tomorrow would be no small feat.