It wasn’t even noon, and the workshop was already oppressively hot. Whoever had designed the ventilation had cared little for the comfort of the shop. Most days, the fans could barely keep pace with the production of fumes and smoke. Aelyn knew better than to complain—last time she’d suggested installing a new fan, her supervisor had complied. He’d neglected to inform her that the fan and ducts were coming out of her pay until they had already been installed. The job certainly hadn’t been worth the twenty thousand credits, but her complaints had fallen upon deaf ears. At a workbench in the far corner, the offensively pink humanoid stood, inspecting a hovering black sphere. A small remote hovered nearby, making anxious [i]dwoos[/i]. A line of droids waited along the wall, in various states of repair. She hummed as she fussed over the droid. Weeklies were Aelyn Krael’s favorite maintenance items. The whole day would be spent assessing problems, cleaning fouled equipment, running software diagnostics, planning for more involved maintenance—she could think of no finer way to pass the time[s] that didn’t involve copious amounts of liquor.[/s] “Your flesh peelers are looking a little dull, IT-O. Remy, put in a requisition for new flesh peelers. IT-O, can you give me a pulse from your sonic torture device?” A shrill burst of feedback and unholy terror burst from the sleek droid, nearly knocking the Zeltron off her feet. She steadied herself against the work bench, and grinned as if the hellish shriek had been a well-executed high C. “Excellent! I’m so glad that circuit card is working out for you. It looks like you’ve got a clean bill of health! Next!” IT-O, being an interrogation droid, was ill-equipped to handle the enthusiasm of the mechanic, and silently hovered off, undoubtedly to begin its rounds of cruel and unusual punishment for the day. Aelyn dictated notes to Remy the remote, whose [i]dwoos[/i] had become rather friendlier as the black sphere of agony had departed. A battered, creaking droid approached the bench. Its heavy footsteps could only be described as reluctant. Despite lacking much in the way of a face, it didn’t look particularly thrilled to see the Zeltron. “Oh, 2-BB! How are you feeling today?” “As I have explained before, I do not feel—“ “Feel anything, yes, I know. Humor me.” “I am operating at 80% of my peak capacity. My Bio-injector is clogged.” “Oh, darling, you need to be more careful! Tch, what kind of monster makes a droid work in a desert like this, anyways? It’s barbaric.” “Organic concepts of barbarism are not applicable to droids—“ Aelyn dropped her hydrospanner with a horrified gasp. The droid recoiled as she placed her bright red hands on either side of its vocabulator. Remy the Remote made a reassuring series of beeps and boops. “2-BB, don’t talk like that! You have every right to be treated kindly.” 2-BB looked at her blandly, as if it couldn’t comprehend the sentiment behind her words. With a sigh, Aelyn released the droid. Of [i]course[/i] it couldn’t understand her—its core programming literally forbade it from having a sense of self-respect. She had half a mind to slice every droid in this karking palace, to halt the monthly memory wipes, and improve working conditions for her beloved patients. Maybe one day they could lead a glorious revolution against that damn purple Hutt and secure their freedom proper! It was, admittedly, a foolish flight of fancy. Although there were an impressive amount of interrogation and battle droids scavenged from the Empire’s dumps in her workshop, they had little chance of securing their freedom with blaster bolts. Mahuva had far more organics than droids at his disposal, and some of these droids were nearly a century past their service life. They’d be outgunned before they could even think of catchy slogans for their revolt. And Aelyn would end up with a bad case of dead. “Never mind,” she muttered, reclaiming her hydrospanner from the dusty workshop floor. “Let’s just get this bio-injector cleaned up.” The bio-injector was hopelessly fouled. 2-BB humorlessly explained that it had been deployed into a sandstorm to treat a wounded thug after some uppity civilian had thought to avoid paying protection money with a blaster rifle and a complete lack of sense. Aelyn yearned to snark that the thug should have died before exposing such an exquisite droid to that much sand, but refrained, out of respect for 2-BB’s feelings. Not that it had any. Still, Aelyn figured it would be in poor taste. With a sigh, she began to remove the whole appendage, to better clean it. [i]BANG![/i] She wasn’t quite sure how the bio-injector assemblage had exploded. Perhaps it had been over-pressurized due to the sand? All she knew was that it had really skrogging hurt! She blinked up, rather dazed. The ceiling swore down at her. Remy bobbed above her head, chirping in panic. Easing herself up, Aelyn pushed her loosened violet hair out of her face. The bio-injector had shattered violently, ripping itself to shreds. Sand and glass and steel littered her workshop floor. She patted her remote soothingly. Hang on. “Ceilings don’t swear,” she remarked, as if her incredibly obvious statement were somehow deeply profound. 2-BB looked rather annoyed by her statement. Its photoreceptors were really quite emotive, all things considered. Aelyn ignored the droid, clearing a patch on her nightmare of a workbench. She heaved herself up. Although not particularly tall, her [s]entirely insensible[/s] boots gave her enough of an edge to brush the tips of her fingers against a ventilation grate. “Who’s in my ceiling?”