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Season III
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[Part 1 of a collaboration with @RichHobbit]
The cantina lights were low, washed in the amber haze of Dorin’s filtered atmosphere beyond the viewport. Vasher Drayn sat alone in a corner booth, flight jacket still creased from the Ashlon campaign, helmet resting beside a half‑empty glass. Across from him lay the scorched chassis of BD‑R3 “Red,” the little copilot droid who’d saved his life more times than he could count. He poured a second drink and let it sit untouched, a quiet memorial in the dim light.
The door hissed open. An Ugnaught in a grease‑stained vest stomped inside, trailed by a BD‑unit and a swarm of tiny Anzellans carrying tool satchels. They weren’t here for him; they moved with the chaotic purpose of a crew already late for their next job. But the droid stopped mid‑stride, tilted its head, and chirped sharply at the sight of Red’s broken frame.
Vasher stiffened as the droid approached his table. “Hey—easy,” he muttered, pulling Red closer.
The Ugnaught arrived a moment later, grumbling. “BD‑9R, leave the man alone. We don’t poke at strangers’ scrap.” But the BD‑unit ignored him, projecting a flickering diagnostic holo over Red’s damaged core.
Before Vasher could protest, the Anzellans swarmed under and over the booth, squeaking orders at each other as sparks flickered beneath the table. Tools clattered. Someone shouted triumphantly in a voice barely louder than a whisper.
“Stop—stop! That’s my droid!” Vasher snapped.
The Ugnaught raised both hands. “Relax, pilot. They’re just checking the damage.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“Don’t need to. I know a BD‑unit in trouble when I see one.”
BD‑9R hopped up onto the Ugnaught's shoulder and projected a soft holo—Red’s last stable memory, a brief moment of calm before the fighting turned ugly. Vasher’s anger faltered, replaced by the familiar ache of loss. The Ugnaught studied Red’s core, his expression shifting from annoyance to something closer to concern.
“This one’s been through hell,” he murmured. “But maybe not beyond saving.”
He snapped his fingers, and the Anzellans instantly packed up Red’s parts with military precision. Vasher stood, torn between instinct and hope.
“…Fine,” he said at last. “Take him. But I’m coming with you.”
The Ugnaught shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
BD‑9R chirped encouragingly as the crew filed out into Dorin’s storm‑lit night, Red’s faintly glowing core cradled in an Anzellan’s tiny arms. Vasher followed, leaving the untouched drink behind.
Posted : 23/08/2026 7:24 pm