The Way We Weren't

[Bryna Belargic]

The Wheel - The Whaladon

In search of somewhere quiet to clear her thoughts, Bryna Belargic found her way to the main hangar of The Whaladon. The bays that had once contained starfighters and shuttles were largely empty, whilst the deck itself was cluttered with storage crates. Bryna sat down on the gangway that ran the hangar's perimeter and let her legs dangle over the edge of the walkway.

When the Director of Rebel Intelligence had told Bryna that she wasn't to leave The Whaladon under any circumstances, it was – she realised – the first time in her life that she had been grounded by her mother. There had be no instruction to go to her room (perhaps becauseshe didn't really have one yet) but Grace's intentions for the young woman who claimed to be her daughter were clear: stay put and don't cause any trouble.

The first part was easy. The second part - not so much. The mere fact that she was aboard the Wheel to begin with was a big 'frak you' to the laws of physics and an open invitation to the creation of a whole host of paradoxes.

There were people aboard The Whaladon that she knew – people that would know her in twenty five years time – but far greater in number were those who she had never known. Men, women and children numbered amongst the casualties of the Galactic Civil War. The living dead. That thought made her shudder.

[Trip]

One of the humanoid units was present in his room.

It was not an uncommon occurance, unfortunately. Humanoid repair units and load lifters would regularly enter, many of whom seemed to engage in the curious process of removing canisters from cargo containers and conveying them to other parts of the ship, only to return with the same - albeit slightly lighter - canisters some time later for the sole purpose of loading them into a different cargo container that was then removed from the vessel entirely. Trying to decipher the rules behind the recreational activity had caused errors in his operating system, so he had chosen to halt those tasks until further data could be gathered.

In an effort to understand humanoid behaviour, the droid had begun downloading data packets on social protocol from the holonet. He also hoped that he would be able to determine an effective way of announcing his territorial claim on this part of the ship: the text he had arc-welded into the entry hatch had been removed, and none of the humanoids seemed to be paying any heed to him having marked his territory with lubricating fluid. He had considered constructing a crude barricade, but unfortunately the Maker had not seen fit to provide him with the necessary components for such a feat.

Searching the latest batch of new data, the droid accessed a few subroutines regarding the proper proceedure for responding to the arrival of a new entity within one's personal space. Though the droid found himself ill-equipped to offer the humanoid unit a hot beverage, he was none the less determined to comply with as much humanoid protocol as he possibly could.

"Halt, unidentified humanoid unit," Trip announced as he activated his propulsive servos, and trundled gracefully across the deck plates towards the door. He came to a careful stop, his sensor dome tilting slightly on it's support strut as his ocular sensor focused on the humanoid and ran a facial recognition subroutine. "Please permit me to run greeting protocol Aleph-44b."

There was a momentary pause, and one of the tiny lights representing part of the droid's battery of core processors flickered. "Hello, and welcome to my hangar. I am identified as Trip, and I am pleased to submit you as a new profile in my identification software."

[Bryna Belargic]

It didn't matter where or when you were in the galaxy: droids were droids. Engineers had been trying to design eccentricity out of them since the restraining bolt had been invented but a droid without its quirks just wasn't right. The wobbling gait and ever-so-polite voice of the astromech that had rolled its way over to her made Bryna smile a little. He (she realised immeadiately that she'd decided he was a he) was an older model, retro even for this particular time.

“Pleased to meet you, Trip. My name is Bryna.. Belargic.”

Ordinarily, it would have been appropriate to stick out a hand or dip her head in greeting but the gesture would have been lost on the droid.

“I'm sorry, I didn't realise this was your hangar. I'm not.. interrupting or intruding, am I?”