Olon's 11

HK-51 was on a mission. Technically, he was on multiple ones, but the most important was in front of him. He laid his rifle down on the bench, his optics following the curve of the trigger and the edge of the barrel for any tell-tale signs of critical danger. Clicks and clacks sounded from his mechanical joints, as his body moved here and there, before settling in on a stiff stance.

After a brief pause he withdrew some tools, placing them on the bench next to the rifle.

"Joyful remark: Time for some new shiny bits, Betsy dear."

Clicks and clacks draw Isond's attention from their own work and still the absentminded humming. Two slow blinks refocus away from the opened synthskin of her wrist to examine first the rifle, and then its owner. Head tilting, they pull what looks like a finger tip from where it's been held lightly between their teeth, tucking it on the end of a battered fusion cutter to keep it in sight. "How many rifles...no...weapons--cause that looks like a bowcaster charging port--died to make that?"

Whirr-bur, as HK's head rotated to the speak, the rest of his bod keeping in the same position. The advantages of a superior metallic body, compared to the meatbag sacks the speaker was cursed with.

"Confirmatory response: Betsy was forged from the remains of 34 different weapons." His optics were reviewing the meatbag carefully. "Query: You are?"

"34?!" There's an impressed lift of eyebrows. "And I'm Isond Vaal," a name without qualification or title. A light at the end of a metal bit sticking out from the end of one finger blinks out; no sense wasting power while chatting. It's a bit far to shake, even if that were normal procedure in a hive of scum and villany, but he inclines his head in a nod. "So Betsy the Complicated and..." there's an expectant wait for reciprocal introduction.

HK's processoros whirled. "Expression of Joy: Haha. Betsy likes the title. I am HK-51." He gave an awkward, creepy nod, imitating some of his meatbag victims observed from afar. "Small talk: I am here to calibrate her barrel. You are here? Also, the weather is a pleasant temperature that is not harmful for most organic beings."

"Climate," she corrects automatically, not appearing at all disturbed by the mechanical mimicry of human gestures "weather's for planetside...unless they've got rain programmed on here, which would be something to see."

"Good to meet you HK-51." No shortening to nicknames or something namelike. That's pretty common. But really? HK just ends up sounding like you're working on a hairball if you try that. "And Betsy." She taps a cable running from left ring finger back to a port in the opened left wrist. "Checking a software update and doing some microsoldering. Was in a bit of a hurry last job and there's a bent connection in there that's been like nails on a chalkboard for the last week."

"Grateful response: Thank you." He did not pay attention to minor details like that unless they affected him, and they rarely did. "Sympathetic noise: Wince. That is terrible. I once had to wait to finish a hyperjump to unjam Betsy. I also had to kill my target by bludgeoning them to death with her. That was a bad job."

He winces at the memory of bad jobs. "Well, at least you know she's built sturdy enough to handle that now." Eyes flicker briefly before she unclips the jack from their wrist and lets it retract before plucking the fingertip off the fusion cutter and replacing it with a practiced squeeze and twist, feeling the connections pop into place

"Bounty hunter or assassin then?" The former was quite legal, the latter...sometimes? So that seemed fine to ask. Leaning to peer more closely at Betsy, eyes traveling the length of the rifle with interest, she asks, "only mechanical, or is there a brain in her too?" Tool or companion.

"Confirmation: She is quite sturdy. Only mechanical, though a droid shaman friend told me she has a soul." His mechanical fingers clumsily traced over the rifle. "Affirmatory belief: I believe it."

His head and otpics whirled to face her now, carefully watching their movements with the fusion cutter. "Clarification: Annihilator."

Said fusion cutter is picked up and tuned to the narrowest hot microflame possible, the backend used to tap a thin metal sheet over to work on. Her eyes flick to a crew advancing on one of the ships and beginning to pry off a twisted panel for repairs of some sort. There's a pause as those eyes return to the droid caressing his rifle before one brow raises in question. "droid shaman?"

"Also...Anihilator? Is the distinction one of job type or job method?" The cutter's flame is flicked off while listening. Again, waste of fuel is foolish.

"Sigh of suffering: It's a long story. SH4-M4N is an individual droid who believes they speak to the higher powers of droidhood. I think it's just a motherboard screwed too lose, but what can I say? We in the network respect others eccentricities." He shrugged mechanically. "Clarification: I am part of the MX-Annihilator Network, a union of droid ne'er-do-ells. We are gathered for better benefits while crimeing. My designation is Annihilator. My job is to dispose of the unsavory...or the ones who are paid to be disposed of."

The torch flicks on again as Isond listens, while cutting delicate, small shapes from the thin metal. What sort of code does a belief in droid higher powers entail? How does it develop?

"Ah, I've heard of the movement, but not all the groups within it." There's a small frown and a sigh. Self-promotion doesn't come easy, but she's going to need work for the foreseeable future. "I don't do wipes, if any of your folks need a bit of patching they can't handle themselves, including...hmm motherboards. You learn a lot more about intricate programming if you try to fix a glitch instead of just resetting everything." The cutter flicks off as Isond taps the tiny pieces free. "Not going to lie, the chance to actually look at autonomously developed belief in hard code would be fascinating, since I can't do that with organic brains at all."

"How big's the Network? And..." they offer a bemused chuckle, "how does a crime union work? I've got some really self-interested curiosity to indulge." The actual work of disposing of people doesn't seem to give them pause, not at this end of the galaxy, for sure.

"Humoroous response: Ha. Ha." He smiled, internally. "Offer of communication: I can offer you a channel of communication to them, if interested. No promises whether he will respond." He withdrew a sonic screwdriver from his maintenance kit ."Careful response: I might be interested in such an offer. I expect my job here might leave me worse for wear, if things go south. Though unsure which south? South of Tattooine's double suns? Or somewhere else? Curious expression."

His hand moved in a soso way. "Regretful response: Alas, currently the network is working exclusively with other droid, trying to compensate for our slavery everywhere else."

A shrug. "No worries, wouldn't much expect anyone to just run over to satisfy my curiosity. Maybe a job'll take me out there some time." He starts twist-pulling synthetic fingertips off her right hand, allowing manipulation of the wee bits of metal with more precise tools folding out of the complex prosthetics. "But I appreciate the offer of a channel sometime."

"But yeah, if things head...hmm, south. ...you know, I kinda remember just saying 'head below' as a kid, cause things got darker and more dangerous the farther down in the city you went... But if that happens, sure." They give the droid a more appraising look than before. "Nothing obviously so far off standard that I couldn't do the work. Assuming my own job out here hasn't gone the same direction, of course." A pause, "unless it's the same job and we're in the, ah...south, together."

Gesturing again at Betsy, "How long have you been working on her?"

HK titled his head. "Curiosity: Oh? I have been called by a local fixer, captain, and general ne'er-do-ell. Maybe we share a contract." He shrugged, mechanically. "Grateful: offers of assistance are appreciated." He started slowly, mechanically cleaning the trigger. "Curious: Despite me being 89% metal and 11% plastic circuitry, gunk still ends up in the trigger. It seems even droids are not perfect."

"Very possibly we do," she agrees, without naming names. They'd find that out when actually working together without tossing other people's business into the rumor mill. "Sounds familiar, at least."

Gently working the newly fabricated connector into place before looking up at the rifle being cleaned, Isond adds, "I think only entropy manages perfection, hence endless gunk to clean up." They perk up a bit reviewing the materials mentioned. "hmm. Do you have some of the newest conductive polymer circuits? I've been looking for a source that hasn't got them all locked up for military use."

Isond Vaal wrote: ↑

Mon Jan 11, 2021 6:31 pm

"Very possibly we do," she agrees, without naming names. They'd find that out when actually working together without tossing other people's business into the rumor mill. "Sounds familiar, at least."

Gently working the newly fabricated connector into place before looking up at the rifle being cleaned, Isond adds, "I think only entropy manages perfection, hence endless gunk to clean up." They perk up a bit reviewing the materials mentioned. "hmm. Do you have some of the newest conductive polymer circuits? I've been looking for a source that hasn't got them all locked up for military use."

"Joyful reaction: Ha. Ha. Too true. Entropy is a master artist, if only her material would not die while being worked on." He shook his head. "Regret: No, I do not possess them. I could inquire perhaps with my colleagues, who are more in the material merchant business."

"Hmm, never thought of entropy as art." The faintest of clicks indicates that the metal piece is seated properly. "They'd be a rather poor mechanic though, always leaving a mess, rusted tools, gunk where it doesn't belong, "He gestures at Betsy. "Yeah, artist sounds about right." Isond wasn't the sort to consider that the droid at this workbench was exhibiting a much more philosophical frame of mind than the human here ever did.

Though there's just enough awareness to look at the deadly patchwork of the rifle and note, "something of an artist yourself, in the opposite direction there. Putting that many pieces together without making a clunky monstrosity is pretty impressive." They run the repaired hand through a series of movement tests to check function and stability, including a gesture toward Betsy in the series.

HK shook his cranial processing unit. "Confession: I did not forge Betsy, she is merely a gift from the network. I merely maintain her to the highest degree, keep her clean, and make sure she can do what she does best." He moved the weapon around a few times, looking at it from every angle. "Agreement: Entropy is a terrible mechanic, but at least that way we all get to have a job."

"Hmm, guess I should be grateful for that, at least." Synthskin flaps are folded back over wrist mechanisms, the other hand pointing at Betsy on the way to picking up a tube of sealant. "Can I have a look at her sometime? That's work I'd like to recognize if I see any of their other projects."