The assassin droid, created by Darth Revan himself during the time of the Old Republic, maintained a "lethal" efficiency even after thousands of years. Thanks to millennia of experience and a highly developed AI, it was leagues superior to its "younger" counterparts.
In all the explored parts of the galaxy, the entirety of his electronic personality matrix hated only three things: stupid meatbags, saving stupid meatbags, and being idle when there was a chance to engage in a firefight, even if it wasn't against meatbags.
The Master's order to protect a small meatbag, however, forced him to be precisely that—idle. This triple affront to his simulated-emotion subroutines nearly made the droid spark with indignation. He increasingly shot glances from his crimson optical sensors at the protection target, seriously considering the tempting option of "accidentally" exposing the boy to a burst from a Droideka's rapid-fire blaster. Yet, loyalty to the Master's commands stubbornly blocked this stream of calculations.
The young organic only added fuel to the fire, constantly aiming for the exact center of the most exposed terrain. This forced HK to perpetually drag his charge by the scruff of his neck to safe cover, missing all the fun of the skirmish. It wasn't even particularly good fun, as the Trade Federation droids proved to be exceptionally stupid, clumsy, and plagued by obvious targeting system failures. How else could one explain the fact that a machine, built for battle and free from the imperfections of organic beings, moral issues, and the weaknesses of the flesh, could miss a stationary target by a good half-meter from a distance of ten paces?
And then there was that bucket on wheels, mistakenly referred to as an astromech droid, constantly getting underfoot and behaving no better than Skywalker.
HK even gave a "kind word" to his old friend, T3-M4. That small droid also loved to shove his flat head right into the thick of things. Apparently, this R2-D2 could be registered as a follower of the ancient, recklessly brave astromech. Truly, a Cult of the Heroic Mechanic!
Just now, as the Queen's security forces detonated two AAT tanks covering the main gates of the palace hangar, the young meatbag dashed into the thick of the action, trailing the equally restless young monarch. The bucket, wasting no time, rattled right after him.
For almost a full second, an unusually long period for him, HK watched the crimson streaks of blaster bolts fly everywhere but into the running young nuisances and their rather wide, though squat, barrel-shaped target. He became completely convinced that the enemy droids were hopeless.
Of course, the Queen's guards weren't paragons of combat training either. But to expect more from the self-defense forces of a peaceful planet, where an army was non-existent and the guard served purely ceremonial functions, would simply be foolish.
The Jedi, however, were correcting the situation. They advanced confidently, covering not only the Queen but also her troops, while destroying dozens of mechanical soldiers. Yet, after evaluating their actions, HK concluded that the Order's representatives were either holding back or did not possess the level of training that was standard for Knights of the Old Republic era.
He used the Padawans Juhani and Bastila as a benchmark. Undeniably talented, but Padawans nonetheless. In the assassin droid's estimation, they would have handled this much faster and more effectively. After all, for some reason, the current Jedi hadn't even considered using the Force to disable the enemy droids. And this, when even the Master's spouse, during their hunt for the Star Forge, could easily short-circuit the control circuits of at least five droids at once.
HK was about to unleash a caustic comment to critique the actions, training, lineage, and clear regression of the Order's members, but after a quick glance at the enemy droids' broken formation, he merely shook his head. To criticize meatbags when his mechanical brethren had themselves devolved to such a level... was not appealing.
The small meatbag seized this moment to dive into more trouble, following his persistent urge to watch the Jedi fight.
"Irritated Comment: 435 years of active service," the droid muttered, blasting the head off a B-1 aiming at Anakin. "7,659 successful liquidations," another couple of shots left holes in the stretched 'snouts' of the enemies. "2 galactic wars," a mechanical arm grabbed Skywalker by the collar of his tunic and flung him behind the stacks of crates lining a row of N-1 Starfighters. "16 local conflicts," a thermal detonator rolled into the crowd of B-1s. "And I end up... a nanny."
The droid bowed its head, and without even looking at the target, turned another opponent into a heap of scrap metal.
"Tired Commentary: Should have stayed with the Mandalorians," HK lamented his heavy fate.
The next moment, a new squad of enemies burst into the hangar, opening a sporadic but dense fire. However, after a couple of seconds, HK revised his opinion, as one of the blaster bolts nearly nicked the assassin's right shoulder. The fire was chaotic, but tight.
"Strict Command: Hey, you small meatbag, hide inside a fighter cockpit. The armor will protect you better than a pair of Jedi on the other side of the hangar."
Anakin was about to object, but a series of shots at his feet instantly curbed his rebellious nature and forced compliance.
"Threatening: Move!" the assassin droid snarled, planning to scorch the restless target's boots with the next burst if he didn't hurry.
HK had just confirmed that the boy was safely hidden in the fighter cockpit when the doors at the far end of the hangar opened, and a tall humanoid in a black cloak stepped out to meet the Jedi. Upon closer inspection, it was a Zabrak with a blood-red skin tone uncharacteristic of his species.
"Go on, Your Majesty," Qui-Gon said. "This is our concern."
His Padawan, Kenobi, stood beside him.
The Zabrak followed the example of his opponents, shedding his cumbersome cloak, activating a double-bladed lightsaber, and settling into a fighting stance.
Meanwhile, the Queen's pilots had commandeered most of the N-1 Starfighters and, following the plan, were taking off to attack the droid control ship.
HK, however, focused on the Zabrak, recognizing him as the one the Master had encountered on Tatooine. It would be beneficial to capture him for interrogation. The Creator would be pleased. However, the droid had no intention of violating his order and leaving Anakin unguarded.
Suddenly, the sound of engines starting echoed from behind. Turning, HK saw the canopy of an N-1 snap shut, and the fighter smoothly taxied onto the runway. R2-D2's dome stuck out of the astromech slot.
HK made a sound akin to a noisy exhale and smacked his own faceplate with a hand. That restless bucket on wheels had presumably ventured too close to the fighter, and, falling into the astromech-navigator's loading zone, had activated the automatic launch procedure.
"Annoyed Muttering: If he returns intact, I will rip out all his internal components and replace them with a trash compactor mechanism, so that the intelligence level of that, forgive the term, droid matches its purpose!"
However, the fact that the protected object was rapidly moving away from the planet's surface did not cancel the threat of an imminent dismantling for the astromech.
So, Skywalker was out of reach, the Jedi had disappeared behind a blast-proof door with the Zabrak, and the guards were preparing to move on and try to seize the Viceroy. The droid had to decide what to do next. Though, he had to improvise quite often.
"HK, where is Anakin?" the Queen called from the other end of the hangar, having noticed the boy's absence as her people regrouped.
"Confident Answer: He is safe," the droid replied, concluding that a fighter cockpit could indeed be considered a safe place.
After all, there was no confirmation that Skywalker would fly into the thick of the battle. Therefore, that factor could be ignored. Besides, the Queen could also be considered a small meatbag in need of protection. And her status as monarch placed a high priority on the safety of this person, which HK planned to ensure. He needed some way to compensate for the hypothetical failure of his initial order to the Master.
The Queen was prevented from asking further questions by Captain Panaka, the head of security. He reminded the monarch of the limited time for the operation and urged her toward the hangar exit.
"Are you with us?" he briefly asked the droid.
HK nodded and followed the dark-skinned guard.
Finding themselves without Jedi support, the Queen's troops sharply slowed their pace. Firefights with the droids dragged on, the guards frequently exposed themselves to enemy fire, and were sustaining injuries. Only by sheer luck had no one been killed yet. However, precious minutes were spent taking each corridor or room, which led HK-47 to decide to take the vanguard.
It helped. The assassin's accuracy combined with his speed left the enemy droids no chance.
"Stop!" One of the guards, who was scouting ahead and checking side passages, raised his hand. "Nearly two dozen droids and a dozen Droidekas have blocked the corridor. It looks like an ambush."
"Sarcastically: An ambush? You don't say? Did you determine that by the number of droids per square meter?" drawled a bored HK, who was starting to tire of the uniformity of fighting B-1s.
The Droidekas might have offered some resistance, but there were too few of them. And HK had plenty of experience in destroying such machines.
The guard was clearly stung by the droid's comment but did not make a scene about it, earning the assassin's silent approval.
"What should we do, Your Highness?" Panaka turned to the Queen. "We could try to exit outside at the eastern gallery and climb the outer wall to the floor above to bypass the ambush. But that would cost us about ten minutes."
"But it would save our people," one of the soldiers offered timidly.
The Queen sank into thought. She herself had insisted on being allowed to make all the decisions. Now, however, she would have preferred to trust someone more experienced in military tactics and strategy.
Meanwhile, HK-47 cautiously peeked around the corner. The droids did not react. The assassin waved a mechanical arm. A couple of Droidekas twitched, but no shot followed.
Assessing the information gathered during the assault, HK concluded that the Trade Federation droids prioritized organic targets. The B-1s and Droidekas did not attack HK unless he attacked first. The situation was exactly the same with the bucket-like astromech. Without a command from the governing AI, which had set the objective of opposing the Queen's guard, composed of organics, they would not fire upon a fellow mechanical soldier. This was a massive flaw in the B-1 series.
Of course, it was strange that the control station hadn't simply updated the targeting parameters to add HK to the priority list. Perhaps it required a system reboot, which was impossible during an assault. Or maybe the Neimoidians had decided to economize on the control station's AI, limiting the number of information streams processed simultaneously. In that case, the battle with the Gungans must be consuming the lion's share of computational power. A chance, then.
"We will go around," the Queen decided in the meantime.
"Urgent Recommendation: Wait exactly two minutes," the assassin droid declared, walking over to the guard acting as a demolition expert and snatching a makeshift explosive charge, assembled from eight thermal detonators, from his backpack. "Insistent: Hand it over. Watch and learn, useless meatbag."
HK holstered his weapon, concealed the charge behind his back, and confidently stepped out from the corner, heading toward the ambush.
"Halt! Identify yourself!" commanded a B-1 with officer markings.
The droids aimed at the assassin but did not open fire, attempting to reach the control station via the encrypted channel.
"Joyful Greeting: Greetings, fellow droids! I am HK-47, Assassin Droid. I sincerely hate these stupid and useless meatbags and have arrived here to assist you in their liquidation," the ancient droid announced, raising and displaying his empty manipulators.
The B-1s exchanged glances.
"Motivation unclear. Emotional coloring detected. Clarifying instructions required," the officer stammered.
"Friendly: Oh, come now. We are all droids here. Why the suspicion?" HK took a few steps forward.
The opponents, meanwhile, debated what to do. Orders to attack and destroy organics were clear. The task of capturing the Queen alive was also perfectly understandable. But what to do with a droid? The AI did not respond to queries, relegating the palace defenders to a waiting queue and prioritizing the army fighting the surprisingly well-organized Gungans.
"Benevolent: I see you have doubts. Allow me to dispel them! I have a gift!" HK pulled the cloth-wrapped, makeshift guard explosive from behind his back.
"What is it?" asked the nearest B-1.
"Explanation: A present. A surprise for him." HK pointed to the Droideka standing in the center of the droid group.
The mechanical soldiers' gazes immediately converged on it. The Destroyer droid seemed surprised by the attention and spun around uncomprehendingly.
"Good-natured: This is for you." HK held out the bundle, then immediately corrected himself: "Awkward Muttering: Oh, excuse me, I forgot about your design feature."
The Droideka strained its meager computational power to understand what feature he was referring to.
"Request: Please hand this bundle to our armless comrade," the assassin droid asked in a solicitous voice, addressing the nearest B-1.
The mentioned "armless droid" lowered its gaze to the rapid-fire blasters that replaced its manipulators. Until this moment, it had not pondered this feature. Now, it suddenly realized it was deficient.
The B-1 obediently took the bundle and carried it toward the Droideka. HK took a couple of steps back.
"Polite: Hey, you," he called to another B-1.
"Me?"
"Clarification: Yes, you. Take three steps to the left."
The droid dutifully moved.
"Why did I have to move?" the B-1 belatedly realized.
"Explanation: You were outside the blast radius," HK answered gently, drawing the detonator.
"What?!"
"Mocking: Bye-bye, buckets of bolts!"
The thoughtfully disabled audio sensors calmly endured the acoustic shock from the detonated explosive, yet the blast wave forced the assassin droid to recoil and take several steps back to maintain balance.
"Conclusion: Stupidity has no place on the battlefield," HK pronounced after checking all systems and confirming he had no damage.
Behind him, the guards began to filter into the corridor, accompanying almost every step with a vivid and largely uncensored commentary on the scene before them.
"Proposal: Shall we proceed? The Master should be waiting for us in the Throne Room."
The droid's voice brought the Queen back to reality; she had been staring mesmerized at a tapestry depicting the previous monarch, burning on the singed walls.
"What? Yes... Yes, of course. Let's go," Padmé managed to articulate and moved forward.
Panaka followed suit.
"Look, Your Majesty. Look," he muttered under his breath. "War only seems heroic and interesting from a distance. In reality, it is nothing but piles of bodies among the wreckage of our homes and rivers of blood in the ashes."
HK watched the monarch and her guard walk away and shook his head.
"Contemptuous: Pacifists," he said, barely audible.
There was very little time left before meeting the Master. Everything would have to be explained somehow. And how to explain the unfulfilled order, the droid could not fathom.
As he went to catch up with the guards, HK sincerely hoped he would never have to be a nanny again. But something in his logical circuits insisted that this hope would not be realized.
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