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Fondor - Colonies
Cassian Andor
Rule one, Cassian reminds himself with a grimace, is to never carry anything you don’t control. It’s not that he forgot it, it’s just that the gravelly voice of Luthen escapes him until the moment a blaster bolt nearly takes off his hand.
“Would you like me to help?” K-2SO remarks dryly as another round of blaster fire nearly singes Cassian’s hair. “Or shall I continue to calculate your odds of fighting off two platoons all on your own?”
Cassian shoots the droid a rueful look as they both crouch down behind a waist height balcony constructed of pure marble. Only their third mission together and everything seems stacked against them.
“They’re not good.” K-2SO adds unhelpfully.
“Try Mission Control again.” Cassian orders, ignoring the comment and peeking up over the marble balcony railing.
K-2 gives the mechanical equivalent to a sigh as he raises his comm.
“Mission Control? Hello? This is K-2SO and Captain Andor. Come in, Mission Control? Anyone, do you copy?”
Cassian listens for a response, but all he hears is static and the shouted orders from their enemies two stories below. He hauls himself up and aims, but only a few rounds leave his barrel before he curses and ducks down again.
Dozens of red bolts light up the air right where his head had been. Cassian once again thanks whatever aristocrat on this planet chose to build this balcony with solid marble, especially seeing as how it’s the only thing keeping him alive right now.
“I’m sorry sir,” K-2’s glowing eyes rotate to meet Cassian’s. “The channels still seem to be down.”
“Something’s not right—“ Cassian grunts, waiting for a break in the red bots to get up and fire again. He takes down two stormtroopers this time.
“—why would the channels be down? The only jamming signal out there is the one we just placed!” He huffs, slamming back into the marble.
“It’s possible that the jamming device is blocking all transmissions in or out of Fondor, and not just the Empire’s.”
Cassian’s eyes go wide.
“How possible?”
K-2’s posture stoops, and he looks down as if trying to load the answer to Cassian’s question.
“According to the mission statements, the jamming node wasn’t tested before deployment.” K-2 dials off. “And if what I’m picking up on the static wavelengths is anything to go off of…I’d say, it’s 100% possible. Rather, a 100% guarantee.”
Cassian groans in exasperation.
“Why am I just finding out about this now?” He shouts, not expecting or wanting an answer.
Of course. This would be Cassian’s luck. That’s why Luthen taught him rule one within minutes of meeting him. Bringing K-2 on missions must be throwing him off.
“By the way,” K-2 looks towards the balcony doorway as he speaks. “There’s about a dozen stormtroopers coming up the stairs.”
“Maybe you should shut up unless you have something helpful to add.” Cassian growls, takes out another trooper below, and ducks back to safety.
The mission went to shit nearly the second they touched ground. Over double the amount of stormtroopers expected patrolled the small communications outpost on Fondor like space junk orbiting a moon. Cassian and K-2SO’s instructions ordered them to plant a jamming node so the rest of the rebels could attack and loot a large cache without alerting the larger platoons stationed just a few clicks away.
Cassian and K-2 snuck in without too much trouble, but after planting the node, every trooper within shouting radius started…well–shouting. With chaos on their side, Cassian figured they could slip out mostly unnoticed, but they only made it one street away before patrols spotted them and gave chase.
K-2 suggested the upper balcony for better vantage and Cassian agreed, or at least he had in the moment. Now it seems more like a cornered prison than a strategic sniping post.
A larger, taller building sits next to this one, giving them just a little cover from the onslaught of red plasma raining on them. If they need a quick getaway, a small alleyway between the two buildings remains the only option where they won’t immediately be shot.
Rule two floats through Cassian’s mind as his heart thuds faster than the blasters firing. Of course, he remembered rule two, build your exit on your way in. That one entered his rotation of standard procedures almost immediately after meeting Luthen. Charges, beady black canisters, lay waiting below. Cassian explained to K-2 earlier why they needed the explosives. K-2 happily calculated the most promising locations to cause maximum distraction should things go wrong…and now the two of them sat, cornered above some.
Cassian muses about triggering even one. The whole street would be in flames within minutes, and this building–nothing but a pile of rocks. To make matters worse, with the channels blocked, Cassian and K-2 possess no way to signal Mission Control for the rendezvous at the pick up point.
“Captain–”
“Quiet K–” He motions for the droid to shut it.
If they get back to street level, the odds of finding a speeder or something hijackable seem high. Cassian knows that between him and K-2, no vehicle poses a challenge to steal—or borrow—he likes to think that some of the property he used in the past made its way back to the rightful owner.
“Cassian–”
“What?” He barks, ducking lower as a bolt fries the balcony railing sending sparks sprinkling over him like glitter.
“We have less than a minute before those stormtroopers will be on our doorstep.” K-2’s glowing eyes bear the same white intensity as always, but Cassian thinks he hears a note of distress underlaying K-2SO’s mechanical whirring. Funny. He’s never been one for the subtle nuances of droids–with the exception of B2EMO.
He makes a snap decision.
“Okay, here’s the plan.” Cassian ducks his head towards K-2SO. “Jump down through the gap and find us a ride out of here. I’ll cover you. When you find something, come back and get me.”
K-2’s eyes whirr behind the lenses.
“Cassian, a two story drop, even onto a speeder, has a 86% chance of injury.” He tones hurriedly. “Not to mention the stormtroopers inside—“
“Do you have a better idea?” Cassian hisses. “We need something fast to get out of here, and you need to get it.”
“Why me?”
Cassian gives the droid the most exasperated look he can manage.
“BECAUSE I HAVE THE BLASTER!”
An explosion rocks the balcony, light flashing in the windows. The stormtroopers arrive on their floor, their theme playing out before them.
“K, GO!”
Cassian all but pushes the droid up and into the cover of the larger building. Another moment and K-2SO jumps off and lands in the alleyway of the street, away from the blaster fire.
Cassian hears shouts below, troopers alerted to K-2’s presence. He jumps up, firing off bolt after bolt. He thanks his training and experience as white helmets fall, toppling down onto the street. Two, five, now seven fall. He ducks, just in time. Bolts singe the edge of his jacket sleeve.
The room shakes behind him. Those balcony doors refuse to hold for long.
More shouts from below. He needs their attention to stay on him, not K–2.
On his feet again, Cassian fires down an unholy barrage of shots. The troopers shoot quickly, but Cassian is quicker. Bodies pile up, white helmets and armor rolling and then going still. Not enough. Too many troopers stream past, going after K-2 no doubt.
He repeats the process. Sometimes, Cassian thinks that he is the droid, wired and programmed to kill. He breathes, ducks, whirls, dodges, kills, and repeats again. Sometimes he forgets to blink.
And then, in a moment faster than a blink, it all goes wrong. It seems to happen in slow motion. In a breath, a tiny moment of hesitation, he sees with a hyper focus, a single stormtrooper take aim across the street. He fires off a shot, and Cassian instinctively jerks out of the way, but just a hair too late. It makes no sense when he feels a spike of fire light up his arm–his right arm .
Cassian dives behind the balcony–falling to an ungraceful heap.
He grabs at his right arm with his left, gritting his teeth against the molten pain that emanates from the blackened burn on his arm. It’s just a blaster shot, non critical, and he’s been shot before, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s—
CRASH—
The balcony door smashes open, and one, two, five troopers spill out onto the deck.
Cassian forces back nausea, grabbing his blaster with his left hand. His aim veers to the side, but he manages to take down a few troopers as they pile out.
“There he is!” One shouts.
“Disarm him!” Another exclaims.
Cassian barely hears their calls.
A bolt hits his blaster before he fires another shot. It flies out of his hand, hitting against the balcony rail and clattering to a rest out of reach.
“Wait—“ one trooper orders, holding a glinting, white-armored hand out before the others. “Orders are to keep him alive if we can. They want to interrogate him.”
Cassian’s heart stutters. The last thing he wants is to live out the rest of his days locked in a cold cell, tortured every hour until he spills his guts. Literally.
The troopers approach him like a dangerous creature. Blaster barrels pin him to the wall like iron spikes driven through his flesh. They trap him, they will flush out his secrets, the rebellion, and anything else they want.
And so he reaches his shaky left hand into his pocket, rests his thumb on the detonator, and flashes a steeled glare at the troopers.
He hopes K-2 will forgive him for this.
“You’ll never take me.” He declares, triggering the detonator.
________________________
K-2SO
Input…
Weather: sunny - partial cloud coverage
Temperature: detecting…
Sound Level: high
Plant life: abundant
Intelligent life: minimal – probable cause, Empire brigades flooding the streets
Override–information irrelevant
Confirm override–
OVERRIDE
Temperature detected: 45–
OVERRIDE.
Cassian Andor condition: alive, uninjured, heart rate high
Objective–locate a speeder, save Cassian Andor
K-2SO’s analysis plays out as normal as his metallic footsteps thunder through the empty streets of Fondor. Pure information flows in and out of his databases, stemming along circuits and powering systems. It’s how he makes decisions. It’s how his programs function. Data. Raw data.
Run. Find a speeder. Pick up Cassian. Leave. Meet up with the rest of the rebels. Return to base. Make sure Cassian visits medical–he skipped that on their other missions–and await the next assignment. Hopefully another with Cassian.
The steps lay out before K-2 like a simplified algorithm. Efficient. Ordered. Sure, events may turn out differently, but the recipe points towards success.
And so it makes no calculated sense when the explosive charges, laid along two streets nearest to the outpost by himself and Cassian earlier, explode.
The world rocks around like a loose bolt jolted by lighting. K-2 freezes in place, scanning for data. He needs information.
Who set off those charges? Where is Cassian?
Objective: Locate a speeder, save Cassian Andor
Speeder location: unknown
Cassian Andor location: balcony, second story–now UNKNOWN
K-2 lets the bits and bytes click into place. His gears whir and grind, working in near overtime–a common occurrence since his recent reprogramming.
Objective: Save Cassian Andor
Cassian Andor condition: last seen alive–now UNKNOWN
New Objective: locate Cassian Andor
K-2 knows Cassian won’t be happy if he returns without that speeder, but an overwhelming amount of data concludes that Cassian’s orders need ignoring. At least this time.
And so, he takes off running back towards Cassian’s last location.
Metallic feet splash through puddles and leap over potted plants. Their chances of landing on Fondor with sunny weather sat very low, but K-2SO finds that the sunlight only paints the world in a clearer light and not a better one.
Smoke pours out from the street like an overworked machine belt. Wave after wave plumes up like angry insects swarming a kill.
K-2SO scans for Cassian’s comm signal. His wires cross and tangle, nothing coming through clearly despite his sensors working at 100% capacity.
Where is Cassian?
The explosions caused entire buildings to crack and fall, blocking any easy path in or out of the street. Climbing over the rubble will take time—5 or so minutes, but K-2SO estimates that with all communications down the Empire will take far longer to respond. 57% longer.
And so, he climbs. The broken fragments of marble and steel scatter haphazardly across the mouth of the street. K-2SO’s functionality allows him to clamber quickly around the most precarious piles. The crushed wildlife beneath lies green and limp.
Thankfully, if a bright side to this situation exists, any and all civilians left weeks ago. The Empire all but marched them out like a line of trained soldiers. K-2 finds most people hate oppression, and so he casts no blame on the previous owners of these houses which now lie like the crumbling ruins of an ancient society.
K-2’s programming purposely excludes any code for guilt, but that fails to stop him from adding up the thousands of credits worth of damage the explosives inflicted. The half caved-in building, decorative tapestries torn in half and burning brightly within, the smashed pottery housing exotic plants–now smashed into green and blue pulp, and the forgotten items of clothing blasted amidst the rubble and dust shine as a testament to his and Cassian’s destruction–something he finds holds a morbid commonality around Cassian. He keeps the tab, silent and hidden away in his data banks. If Cassian ever asks, K-2 denies the existence; however one day he hopes to pay back the damage. All of it.
Objective: LOCATE CASSIAN ANDOR
He forgets about the damage as he crests the top a heap of rubble and scans the street. A visual, 3-D model of it overlays his vision providing an astonishing level of wreckage.
The charges destroyed the once aristocratic homes and structures. Where a penthouse sat now lies nothing more than smoke and rock.
K-2 needs to get to the building they were holed up in.
He charges down the rubble heap as quickly as his droid legs take him. A few dirty white armor pieces sprinkle the wreckage. No Imperial reinforcements impede his ill-timed rescue. That leaves him pointedly ignoring the calculations displaying Cassian’s odds of survival.
If the number reads higher than 0%, it’s enough for K-2.
He reaches the ruins of the balcony and scans. It takes seconds, minutes. Too long.
K-2 recognizes portions of the building. That twisted metal rail used to be a doorframe. The gold speckled knobs from light fixtures rest on small hills of crushed marble.
Searching: no results
Searching: no results
Searching: no results
Searching: no resu–LIFE DETECTED
K-2 tears a solid chunk of marble in half to get to the sign of life.
Cassian Andor: FOUND
Cassian lays amidst the dust and broken metal as if he belongs there. Remnants of the penthouse stick up around him as if creating a wall to keep him trapped. Dust coats his body and his eyes remain firmly shut as K-2 stoops down to get a closer look.
Blood trails down Cassian’s face. Too much. 30% too much. His body hooks unnaturally around a piece of rubble, and judging by the angle at which his body lays, K-2 estimates that the jagged chunk of rock hit him mid-fall.
“Captain—” K-2 prods, lowering his metal hand to Cassian’s shoulder.
Cassian barely stirs, and as K-2 listens, he hears the raspy quality that his breathing takes on.
A list of diagnosis and procedures flood K-2’s data banks. Cassian needs surgery. He needs stitches. Bones need aligning. He needs water and new clothes. He needs a bacta tank and—
Distant shouts of stormtroopers echo amidst the war zone. K-2 scans for them, noting their proximity with a whirr of apprehension.
Cassian needs to be anywhere but here.
K-2SO scoops the limp body of the captain off the ground like a child. Cassian lets out pathetic groans of pain, no doubt from the jostling of his injuries, and K-2 notices more trauma and blood spanning down the length of his torso and legs. A particularly nasty piece of shrapnel extends out from Cassian’s left leg, a trail of dark blood staining the fabric around it. K-2 tries to keep any more jostling to a minimum as he cradles Cassian securely in his arms. His weight presents no challenge for K-2 to hold. He just presses the man’s head towards his chest plate and takes off in a run.
K-2 knows exactly where to go. His data banks hone in on one specific location–a safe house. An Empirical safe house. It resides only one click away. At his speed he expects a quick arrival. Cassian needs a quick arrival. His breathing feels weak against K-2’s metal torso.
The safe house rarely sees use. K-2 retrieves the data on it from his time serving under the Empire. Supplies and medical tools lay on the data logs, but an alarm bell rings within him at the thought of staying within Empire territory, especially with Cassian’s current condition. However, he needs immediate medical attention. Other than storming back into the communications outpost for bacta, this is their safest option.
“...K…?” Cassian breaths.
K-2 looks down in surprise to see Cassian’s eyes squinting open. His programming excludes emotions like relief and joy, but the odds of Cassian interacting sat so low that this seems impossible.
“Captain Andor–” K-2 exclaims. “You are badly hurt. Remain calm.”
Cassian’s dark eyes appear locked in a haze as thick as the smoke surrounding them. He peers up at K-2, tries to crane his neck to look around, then lets out a low groan.
“You aren’t remaining calm.” K-2 frets. “I will list off your injuries so you know what kind of damage you sustained.”
Cassian’s eyes briefly meet K-2’s. They brim with pain, glistening with tears that he refuses to shed.
“First is your head.” K-2 tones. “You sustained blunt trauma which is bleeding at an immense rate. Your pupils are dilated, and you’re experiencing noticeable disorientation. If left untreated, this could result in permanent cognitive impairment. Chances of full recovery are 100% if treated soon and bleeding staunched.”
K-2 leaps over a smaller, soldering pile of blackened wood and metal. Cassian grunts and closes his eyes.
Heart rate: weak
Medical needs: immense
“Your ribs sustained multiple fractures and breaks.” K-2 continues. “Moving your torso or bending over will inflame these and lead to immense swelling and discomfort.”
“It’s– grrahh –already discomforting–” Cassian gasps out.
K-2 laments his inability to give Cassian a pointed glare or frown. Why waste breath for the sake of irony? Instead, he checks their arrival time.
Nine minutes.
“Obviously I meant additional discomfort.” K-2 chides. “Luckily, broken ribs are completely mendable if treated quickly.”
Cassian tightens his mouth into a firm line.
“Your right leg is impaled with one large piece of shrapnel and three smaller pieces.” K-2 adds to the list. “I will remove these once we arrive at a safe location. You have a 70% chance of a long-term limp from these, and if not treated properly, they have a 73% chance of infection. However, a deeper scan will allow better assessment of damaged ligaments and nerves.”
Cassian’s eyelashes flutter, but he fails to speak up or react to K-2’s words this time. Not a great sign. His heart beat continues with a regular, albeit weak rhythm. K-2 anchors on that steady thump, running in time to it as if a drum of war signaling on.
They round a corner, exiting the once proud street and entering one untouched by carnage.
Red bolts of blaster fire appear out of nowhere. Shouts from stormtroopers surface in the air, disorganized and chaotic. K-2 spots them quickly, white helmets peeping out from behind decorative pots and in between shops. No more than twelve.
K-2 ducks, pulling Cassian in close. He hunches a shoulder and turns so his body positions between the blasters and Cassian’s exposed form.
They need another route. K-2’s programming calculates one automatically. It routes around this spot, adding on six minutes to their trek.
So be it.
“In addition to the nine severe burns and thirteen cuts, you also sustained a split lip, chipped tooth, and burnt hair.” K-2 speaks erratically while cutting sharply to the left. The blaster fire hits close. Too close. Another two degrees to the right and that bolt would have hit Cassian’s foot.
Cassian’s eyes flare open at the blaster fire. He struggles to turn his head, and K-2 knows that despite his injuries, the captain craves awareness. He wants to assess the situation to find a safe way out.
Too bad K-2 now runs the mission.
“Those are mostly superficial damage,” The droid continues, trying to keep Cassian’s focus away from their attackers. “But you humans care so much for those things. With the right amount of time and some synthetic work, you will make 100% recovery from those as well.”
They round out a corner and K-2 continues darting down a side street at speeds he rarely uses. Cassian opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out are breathy groans and silent protests. He pushes against K-2’s hold as if wanting the droid to set him down. K-2 doubts Cassian’s ability to speak a coherent sentence let alone walk.
Heart rate: speeding up—irregular
Symptoms: panic, shock, struggling to stay conscious
K-2 spares seconds to look down at Cassian and really see the man. Despite K-2’s warnings, Cassian’s training insists he press on and fight, even if on death’s doorstep. The Alliance endowed him with that mindset. K-2 fumes at Cassian’s failure to see the flawed logic in this instance. If he persists in fighting, his body will shut down. 100% certainty of death.
“I also estimate a 99% probability that you will dismiss my concerns and attempt to proceed to the rendezvous point anyway.” K-2 locks eyes with Cassian who at least lets a flicker of guilt cross his face. “Please don’t make me remind you of the importance of your well being, Captain. I am not programmed for sentimentality, but I am programmed for logical outcomes, and yours does not look favorable at the moment. Further resistance and I will be forced to take measures to ensure your survival."
“...just…put me down K–” He protests, pushing against K-2 with a feeble arm. “I can walk–”
“Captain, you are in no condition to continue.” K-2 sharply contradicts him. “Continuing in your current state poses a 97% likelihood of irreversible damage. As your injuries are substantial, and you are refusing logical directives to rest, I must take measures to prevent further harm."
Cassian gives K-2 a glare that says more than the captain’s broken sentences. Backing down is not in his nature. K-2’s sensors report with growing alarms that Cassian’s heart rate keeps erratically spiking while his breath comes labored.
"This is for your own good, Captain. I will apologize for this later."
K-2SO slows, adjusts his hold, and reaches out swiftly to apply pressure to a specific point on Cassian's neck—enough to induce unconsciousness without causing lasting harm. Cassian’s eyes go wide, panic flashing through them, then his body goes limp. K-2 takes no satisfaction in the lack of resistance, only solace in the fact that their arrival at the safe house still stands at roughly 10 minutes.
"You’ll thank me later,” K-2 laments. “Your well-being is, after all, my primary objective."
________________________
Cassian Andor
Cassian awakes with the familiar sensation of drugs coursing through his system. He opens his eyes and takes in the room around him, fighting a rising sense of panic as he fails to recognize anything familiar around him.
He lays on something stiff while four walls rise around him in a space scarcely larger than a closet. A window above his head shows darkness outside–or at least, no light pours in through it. The sparse decor and drab, off gray walls tell him frustratingly little. Two dim yellow light fixtures glow warmly. A single key-pad door stands resolutely, though Cassian wonders in a haze if its purpose is to keep him in or to keep something else out.
He forgets that train of thought the second he tries moving. He lifts his arm to get leverage underneath himself, but his right shoulder aches dully and his left feels stiff. In fact, now that he takes stock of himself, he struggles to find some part of him that doesn’t feel like he just exited the frying floor.
No. No, no no. How–where is K-2? How did he get here?
Cassian pinches his eyes shut, groans, and thinks. He remembers the communications outpost–the underestimation of men stationed there. He and K-2 ran…and he blew up the charges. Right. Well, that explains the pain.
The drugs push against his consciousness. They make Cassian want to drift off to sleep, but his instincts scream at him to find out his location and if the mission turned out successfully. He needs to get up. He wants to…but his limbs feel heavy, like someone lined his clothes with layers of credits.
He closes his eyes…
When he opens them again, Cassian feels the nagging sense that time slipped by. Darkness still sits fatly upon his window, but the weightiness of the drugs lessens.
He needs to get out of this place. He needs to know what happened with the mission.
With a grunt, Cassian rolls onto his side and pushes himself up. His body screams in protest as a small blanket slips off of him. His shoulder burns. His entire torso and stomach feel like he got hit by a starship entering hyperspace. He holds his position for a second, but his body gives up on him just as fast.
With a cry he fails to contain, Cassian falls on his face.
He lays there, panting. He realizes bandages cover most of his body in place of clothes. A military-like cot supports his weight, just barely off the ground. He smells sweat and blood, no doubt from himself.
If he just gives it another go, he can get up. He just needs…a moment.
He sucks in another breath, wincing as his stomach rises.
Okay. Okay. Now or never.
Pushing himself up onto sweaty hands., Cassian breathes words of encouragement to himself. That’s it. Just a bit more…
His knees find purchase below him. Yes, that’s it! His right leg throbs terribly.
Another heave almost sends him tumbling back to the ground. He groans through it, tucking an arm around his stomach as if it can do anything against the firey pain lancing through him.
His head hangs, dark locks drooping in front of his eyes. Damn…what a sorry excuse for a captain.
The room door slides open, and familiar metallic footsteps of K-2SO clang above his head. Relief floods through him at the noise, unremarkable as it is.
Wait. Did he move his arm to lean on it, hand in a fist, or had he fallen in the last few seconds, unaware?
“...Captain?“
Cassian’s head hangs, and he opens his mouth to defend himself. He realizes K-2 asked him a question, but all he feels like doing is throwing up—not having a conversation.
“…” And another groan of pain leave his lips.
“Cassian, you must have forgotten the list I recited.” K-2 speaks, full of sarcasm. “You are in exceptionally poor condition and should not get up.”
“K—“ Cassian gasps out. “We need to go—get out of here.”
“This place is secure. I can’t say the same about your wellbeing. Now, stop moving before you puncture a lung.” K-2 places a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back over onto his back. Cassian finds his strength evading him like the tide slipping off a beach.
He collapses back in an ungraceful heap. K-2 maintains a light but firm pressure on his shoulder. Cassian knows from experience that K-2’s stubbornness mirrors his own, but he fails to see the droid’s contentment staying here, wherever they are. The mission stands as more important than his own well being. They should go, find out what happened, and get back to base. One might expect the droid with programmed objectives to see that more so than a human.
Cassian keeps his breaths shallow. Too deep, and it feels as though his side will rip in two. He needs his side.
“Are you finished?” K-2 asks.
Cassian flicks his eyes up, squinting through sweaty locks of hair to see the droid considering him with a cocked head.
“Finished trying to send yourself to an early grave?” K-2 clarifies. “You’re only 28, Cassian, and my findings show that Kenari males are supposed to live much longer than 28.”
Instead of gracing the droid with an answer, Cassian closes his eyes and exhales slowly through his nose.
“Who told you I’m from Kenari?” He mumbles.
“You did, on our last mission.”
Oh. Right. K-2’s ability to get Cassian babbling on about his life is unnerving.
“You know, your probability of permanent nerve damage is minimal, but your repeated insistence that you can get up and go about your normal activities makes it skyrocket." K-2 recites.
“We should go K.” Cassian exhales. “How long has it been? And where the hell are we?”
K-2’s metal joints clank as Cassian hears him sitting down. Not in a rush, he thinks to himself.
“If referring to how long it’s been since I carried you, over half dead, to this safe house, I’d say…five hours, 37 minutes, and 18 seconds.”
Cassian eyes shoot open.
“Five hours?” He exclaims.
K-2 nods.
“Your body showed a 100% higher chance of healing while sleeping.” The droid explains. “Once we arrived here safely, I administered the exact doses of propofol, etomidate, and ketamine to keep you unconscious for that period of time.”
Cassian runs his left hand through his hair, letting the information sink in. A bandage wraps around his head, keeping some of his hair pinned down. He hates how his arm trembles as he moves it, but he hates more knowing that they failed the mission. He and K-2 knew about the malfunctioning jamming node. If it knocked out everyone’s communications…did the rest of the rebels continue with the mission? Did they try to rendezvous with Cassian only to find destruction?
He swallows down the lump in his throat, repeating his earlier question.
“Where the hell is here?”
“A safe house controlled by the Empire.” K-2 says with what sounds like pride. “The Empire used to use this as their main outpost until the communications structure was finished six years, five months, and three days ago. It sees light use, if any. The data surrounding it was accessible to me while I served under the Empire, and since you failed to wipe that memory when you reprogrammed me, I suppose you can thank yourself that you aren’t dead in the streets of Fondor.”
Cassian digests the information slowly. Too slowly. His brain feels like it has been tied behind a speeder and dragged through every puddle on this planet. He feels sick, although that is owed to the broken ribs poking around inside him.
He focuses on breathing as K-2 rambles on about the details of where they sit, how likely they are to be discovered—an extremely low possibility according to the droid—, and how long Cassian’s wounds require for healing. Tuning the droid out takes little effort, but Cassian finds himself oddly grateful for his presence. Usually he embarks on these types of missions alone or with very little company. Less teamwork that way. Less things to go wrong, and less people to get hurt.
Since he found K-2 and reprogrammed him, he thought nothing would change. Therein lay his mistake. K-2’s loyalty to Cassian stares him in the eyes–literally. As Cassian contemplates the droid, his unwavering commitment shines like the polished iron on his shell, even through the hazy pain. K-2 carried him through the wreckage of a battle zone, disobeying Cassian’s direct orders. He defended him, treated his wounds, and found somewhere safe enough to hole up in until Cassian’s strength returned.
Loyalty runs high through the Rebellion, but K-2 possesses something far greater.
“What is rule 3?” K-2 asks abruptly, pulling Cassian out of his thoughts.
He flicks his eyes over, peering at the droid in confusion. Rule 3? But there was no rule 3. Only 1 and 2, and he’s never told K-2 about them. At least, he thinks he never told him.
“Rule 3 of what?” He refutes.
“Your rules.” K-2 tones again. “You talked in your sleep. You said you forgot rule 1, and based on past interactions with Luthen, I divulged that one. You implement explosives into nearly every operation which I’m assessing has to do with rule 2. What’s rule 3?”
“I don’t have rules.” Cassian grunts. “And Luthen only ever told me two.”
Silence falls again, and Cassian feels awkward stewing in it. He practically sees the bits and bytes clicking away in K-2’s head, calculating the next question to ask. K-2’s curiosity reminds Cassian of B2EMO in a more painful way than he will ever admit. Perhaps that stands as another reason why he likes K-2
Cassian shifts on the cot, accidentally jostling his broken ribs around. He gasps and blinks against the pain, even dulled by drugs. The thought of a bacta tank lingers longingly in his mind. Since K-2 refuses to leave and standing or walking extend past his current ability, he just wants to sleep. He wants to wake up and see the familiar base of Yavin IV above him. There he has purpose. His fight means something.
“Do you live your life by these rules?” K-2 asks again into the silence.
Cassian meets his gaze with suspicion.
“I don’t live by anyone’s rules.” He eyes the droid.
“Your behavior suggests otherwise.” K-2 seems far too smug for a droid with no emotion. "And your dismissal of this comment just completed my calculations.”
“What calculations?” Cassian grumbles.
K-2 sits up straight, letting Cassian wonder for the hundredth time why the droid acts so human-like.
“Important calculations about you–Captain.” K-2 speaks seriously. “I must bring something to your attention. Your recent behavior—specifically, the tendency to disregard your well-being in pursuit of mission objectives—is statistically unsustainable."
Not this again. Cassian gives K-2 a tired look.
"There are more important things to worry about K–"
"That is precisely the problem.” K-2 interrupts. “You have always adhered to your other rules, and they have served you well. However, I believe it's time to add a new rule—rule 3: prioritize your own survival."
Cassian shifts slightly, wincing as his leg reminds him of its earlier impalement.
“K–we’ve only been on two missions together.” He argues. “They don’t always go this bad.”
K-2’s posture tilts.
“My data shows that a good number of missions with you result in that outcome. 78% in fact.”
“It’s not that many.” Cassian frowns.
“It is.”
“It’s not–fine. Sure. Missions go bad.” Cassian rolls his eyes in exasperation. “You don’t know all the details. I’m just one soldier. The missions–the Alliance is more important. It has to be. Always.”
"Allowing me to look after your health would not diminish your effectiveness as a soldier or of the Alliance.” K-2 argues in a frustratingly logical tone. “In fact, it would enhance it. After all, a functional Captain is more valuable than an incapacitated one. If you cannot look after yourself, Captain, let me do it for you. It is, after all, within my programming to ensure your safety."
Cassian sighs.
Rule 3, let K-2 take care of him when things go bad. He can live with that. Can’t he? He certainly adopted Luthen’s more brutal rules without trouble.
"Fine,” He bites out with reluctance. “But only when absolutely necessary."
K-2 sits back in satisfaction.
"I will hold you to that, Captain. Rest now. You will be of no use to anyone if you don't."
Cassian fights the urge to roll his eyes at the droid and instead slips them shut. Sleep tugs heavily on his chest. He hears beeping–an indication that K-2 is scanning something. Probably him.
“Oh—“ K-2 cuts into the silence once again. “I apologize for knocking you out earlier.”
Cassian opens his eyes to glance at K-2 then looks away. Images of another KX droid reaching out to strangle him flood his mind. That situation turned out very differently, but the sight of K-2’s hand going for his neck had still sent a spike of anxiety running through his already traumatized body.
“It helped your body relax and start to heal.” K-2 continues. “It was for your own good.”
Cassian nods, or tries to. It comes out more of a panicky jerk of his head, but K-2 seems content with it.
“When can we leave?” He asks, changing the subject.
“When you can walk on your own.”
Cassian winces, mentally examining his leg. If K-2 makes him rest to heal, they will be here for weeks. He glances around the tiny room—really more of a spacious closet than anything.
“Is there any bacta here?”
K-2 gives Cassian a droid equivalent of a raised eyebrow.
“This is a safe house Cassian, not a hospital.”
Cassian fights the urge to roll his eyes.
“I can’t sit here for three weeks K!”
K-2 pauses, seemingly running the numbers on yet another calculation.
“Then rest. I will seek out bacta or a way out without drawing any suspicion while you do.”
Cassian raises a tired eyebrow at him.
“Really?”
“Yes.” K-2 affirms. “After all, if I don’t, you’ll just go off and try to do it yourself.”
Cassian slips his eyes shut again. Sounds like K-2 is adopting his own set of rules for working with him. All the better.
“That’s your rule 3.” Cassian mutters, sleep creeping into his head. “Do whatever you can to fulfill the mission.”
“That would be rule 1 for me Cassian.”
“Doesn’t matter…” He breathes. “…both have a rule 3.”
K-2 doesn’t respond, and Cassian’s consciousness takes a deep dive into a pool of darkness. Just a moment now and sleep will take him.
“I see.” K-2’s mechanical whirring speaks into Cassian’s subconscious. “You and I have a bond with this rule 3. This will carry us through many operations. Great thinking Captain. Rest well.”