SW In the Burning of the Light: Patch Management

"Oh, dear," I muttered to myself as soon as I'd had the chance to inspect the contents of the package that had arrived at the Fury's airlock on Nar Shaddaa.  "This simply will not do at all."

The robes had arrived perfectly color-matched to my selection: a light grey-blue with a long tabard in shades of white, grey, and red, and ornamentation in dark blue and white.  That wasn't the trouble.  And if I wasn't mistaken, the patternfitting scanner appeared to have done its work and sized everything appropriately to my frame.  There was, however, one thing glaringly wrong with each of the three identical robes.  No...more like two things--four, even, depending on how one counted the damned things.

I had seen other Sith Lords--my own master, Darth Zash, included--don such monstrosities.  And it could be even worse, true: I had seen holos of Darth Baras with an even more atrocious set drawing a most unflattering sort of attention to his outsized frame.  But even these blasted things, that festooned the robes I had ordered...what to call them, anyway?  Shoulder pads?  Spaulders?  Diving boards?  They were ghastly, and not in a way I could possibly imagine striking fear on the battlefield should there be need for such.  No, these beastly things would rather arouse a great deal of morbid curiosity amongst my enemies as to whether or not I would fit through doorways or be forced to turn sideways--and if they could simply run a saber through me at the moment of impact if I wasn't paying enough attention to where I was going.

Come to think of it, I wondered if Darth Baras could fit his ridiculous getup through doors.

Not the association I cared to evoke.  Nor did I particularly care to remind anyone of Zash, either, especially if the spirit of my ancestor, Aloysius Kallig, was right about the twisted designs she had on me.  I let the robe--shoulder-monstrosities included--drop with a clatter that robes absolutely should not make, back into the box. 

That was the precise moment when I heard a whirring of hydraulics and clanking footsteps behind me.  "Master Kallig?" came a tremulous, mechanical voice.  "Is something amiss?  May I assist you in any way?  Have I...displeased you, sir?  If so, I shall endeavor to remedy it straight away--"

I wilted even further inside.  It was the ship's droid, 2V-R8, assigned to the Fury with me.  And every time he cringed before me, every time he addressed me as 'Master,' I felt like the filthiest of scum.  I shook my head, too flustered to even turn around, let alone look the droid in the face.  "No...no, 2V--I...ah...appreciate it, but it's nothing either us had any control over.  I just need some time alone to get a better look, is all.  The alterations shouldn't be too much for me to handle."

"Oh, dear--alterations?  Shall I arrange to have it sent back to the clothier?  I shall, of course, emphasize to her the sort of work required for the apprentice of a Sith Lord of Darth Zash's stature--"

"Please, 2V--"  I stood, holding up one hand in a gesture of negation, still too discomfited to turn round.  "I don't believe returning it will be necessary.  The robes are quite serviceable on the whole; I see no reason to be wasteful.  I believe I can take care of this--please don't trouble yourself."

"As you command, Master."  With that the droid trundled away.

As soon as I was sure the coast was clear, I let out a long, disconsolate sigh.  At least Khem Val had the passion to grumble threateningly against the vow he believed bound him to me, and the possibility existed that he might convince himself someday that said vow no longer applied.  2V-R8...he, if it could be believed, actually managed to unnerve me more than the hulking, ravenous Dashade to whom my Force-energy would constitute a choice meal.

I retreated to my quarters with the box, finally feeling something akin to relief when the door slid shut and locked behind me.



"This is entirely too much for me to handle."

I stood staring down at my bed--or more precisely, what lay upon it--balled fists upon my hips, feet apart, as if preparing to accept coaching from an Academy sparring instructor.  This felt almost as frustrating as a sparring match...aside from the whole 'walking away covered in bruises' part.  I hadn't managed to injure myself in the inspection process.  Yet.  And not for those bloody unwieldy surfboards'--oh, very well, spaulders'--lack of trying.  That much was certain.

As it turned out, the damned things were somehow fastened to the actual material of the robe, not to mention a collar made of the same uncomfortable-looking plasteel or whatever it was some sadistic or simply mad Sith fashion designer had thought ought to constitute one's daily regalia.  I hadn't even been able to figure out if I could remove the hood thanks to the ridiculous arrangement.  What I had been able to work out suggested either some type of machine-stitch I had no experience working with--or some sort of microfiber weave, in which case neither human hands nor Force unskilled with the technique were any match.

"Zash, Zash, if only you knew you need only a stubborn piece of tailoring to ensnare me..." I grumbled to no one, quite a bit more put out than I had any right to be.

It was by her...strong advice, as she had put it, that I was even bothering with this in the first place.  For my part, I remained thoroughly satisfied with the grey and red gold-trimmed robes I was currently wearing.  The hood the outfit had come with had been a simple enough affair to remove, and the material stitched up quite well after a fight.  I had saved the hood material, and it had served well for a discreet patch or two.  But to Zash's rather unwarranted assessment, my accustomed robes were now unfit for the apprentice of a full Darth, soon to be made Lord in his own right.  Such an 'aftermarket' look is most unbecoming, she'd had the nerve to say, as if my robes weren't an incredible, resplendent sort of finery the likes of which I could never have dreamed less than a year ago.  It wasn't as if I had mended my garments with ill-matched thread or foreign material as would have been required of me on Dromund Fels...

Ah...perhaps that's what Zash noticed.  Stitching up one's own clothes must not be something Sith Lords do.  The look of my new robes, festooned with ornate and ridiculous nonsense, certainly seemed to suggest that.

Perhaps a Sith Lord was to return a product not meeting his exact expectations, as the droid 2V-8R had suggested--though I hated to think in what manner that task was to be accomplished.  On top of that, doing so seemed an obscene waste of material, especially in triplicate, just as I had found Zash's 'suggestion' that I no longer use my old--perfectly wearable--robes.  Well, that latter aggravation I had resolved: my current robes I would retain for calisthenics and saber forms, so as to get my full use out of them until I could no longer sew them back up.  It still felt so strange to contemplate my closet...separate clothes to exercise in, separate clothes to sleep in, additional clothes for cold weather...and to actually order three of the same outfit when I hadn't so much as even worn one of them once...never had I indulged thus in my life.  It felt decadent.

And I had the feeling it wasn't supposed to feel that way.

Still, I supposed heeding Zash's 'generous' advice was a small price to pay, if in her eyes it kept me the eager, unsuspecting young protege she expected to see, while I worked behind the scenes to try and figure out her game.  So I would indulge...a bit, at least.  But that did not stop me from seeking a solution to my current dilemma that did not entail wasting the brand-new robes I had just ordered.  Giving them away to potentially be thrown out, for all I knew, felt like the height of ingratitude towards such lavish abundance.

One thing, though, was clear: I couldn't manage this alone, even if I managed to find a tutorial holo.  Not on something this expensive.  And imagining Khem Val or Andronikos Revel, my two organic crew, working with needle and thread--the image almost made me burst out laughing in the middle of my cabin.  And then all mirth vanished at the dawning realization that even seeing my sewing kit would make me a mockery in the eyes of many.  But I just...could not bear to indulge not just in finery, but in wastefulness at the same time.

Which left only one other possible avenue to turn to for help.

I set out into the hallway, headed for the airlock, where 2V-R8 typically stood watch when no particular task was at hand.  "My lord!" the droid burst out at my approach.  "I did not expect to see you at this hour!  I apologize for my lack of foresight--I shall set about my daily tasks right away!  I shall be as efficient as I can to warrant my continued operation!"

I winced...I couldn't help it.  How could I help it--especially when I threw my hands up in an involuntary, placating gesture, and the poor being actually flinched at my movement?  "I am dreadfully sorry for startling you, 2V...I'm afraid I need to ask your assistance with something.  I'm not sure it's something within your purview, but I thought I'd at least ask the question."

"Master--I assure you, I will do whatever I can.  What is your bidding, sir?"

I forced myself to ignore the onerous title for the moment--tough as that was.  "Well--it seems that far from lacking foresight, you had more foresight than I did, when you suggested I not try to deal with the little...issue with my new robes, by myself."

"Oh, dear...shall I have them returned, my lord?  I will not fail you this time--I swear!"

"2V--2V, no, no...you didn't fail me; not at all!"  With an exasperated sigh, I forced my tone back to something quieter lest the other two crew members overhear.  "I have no idea where you're even getting such a notion, that you somehow failed."

For a long moment...silence.  I had no idea what else to say.  Evidently 2V-8R, even at his higher processing speed, found himself even more perplexed than me, either at my words, or my subsequent loss thereof.  Finally the jittery droid chanced a reply.  "My lord," he ventured, "it...pleases me, to hear that you have selected another target besides myself for your wrath."

I closed my eyes.  Would it never end, this painful diffidence?  "2V...I know the name and the class of this vessel--Fury--but I can't see what about this little issue could possibly merit wrath, at you or at anyone else.  It's really quite minor.  It's only that I don't know how to make the alterations on vestments of this caliber on my own.  If there's any 'fault,' it's mine for not understanding that there could be clothes, and stitching or weaving techniques so...complicated."

2V's great red, round optical sensors flickered--a blink of pure confusion, if I read the mannerism properly.  "My lord...I seem to have misunderstood.  Am I correct to surmise that you have been doing your own tailoring?"

I nodded.  "All of this has set me to thinking that it's not standard Sith operating procedure.  But yes."

"Not to cast judgment on your Order," the spindly, silver droid said, "but I cannot say that I have heard another Sith doing so, within the range of my memory."

That wrested the shadow of a smile from me.  "Perhaps that makes this request a first.  So here it is: I was wondering if you might be able to take a look at my new robes and see if there's anything you can do to help me remove the shoulder armor and collarpiece without making a mess of them.  I cannot figure out for the life of me how the fabric and the armor are joined."

A brief instant of calculation.  "I can certainly look, Master."

"They're in my quarters," I told him.  "Come with me, please.  There's no great hurry about this...and I think we need to discuss a few other things when we get there."

"Has my performance been inadequate in a different area, my lord?"

"No, 2V, I--"  I forced myself to stop and to breathe once, in and out.  "No...it's nothing like that.  I mean it.  It's rather...your saying things like that...that's part of why we need to talk."

If only I can figure out how.



"Based upon my analysis," 2V-R8 was reporting, "there is a series of microseams fastening the spaulders and collarpiece to the fabric.  This part of the work appears to have been carried out by a specialist sartorial droid.  However, my scans suggest the technique is similar to that used to perform maintenance on the emergency EVA suits kept as standard equipment aboard Fury-class vessels.  Given that, it...appears that with an appropriate skillset download, this work would fall within the parameters of a droid of my line, and the equipment available aboard this ship."

The assessment had been fairly optimistic, yes, but the tremor still hadn't disappeared from the droid's voice.  I tested the waters a bit.  "A download...you mean you could just instantly acquire a skill?"  My brow furrowed a bit as I spoke the words.  "That kind of alteration to your consciousness, at that speed...from what I have overheard, when Sith who know the telepathic arts draw out another being's thoughts, there can be side effects, both physical and mental, even when both beings have agreed to the information transfer in advance.  So I must ask--could a download like that alter you?"

2V paused, processing...something.  The question itself?  The fact that I asked it?  Whatever he considered the likely consequence of any answer he might give?  "The risks are minimal for this level of download.  It is a simple extension of an existing skillset, and one with low storage requirements.  Shall I have your leave to make the download, Master?"

"As long as you are very certain the risk is as minimal as you say," I temporized.  Droids weren't supposed to be capable of lying, from what I had heard, but it would be far from the first time I'd seen someone present the facts in a way meant to avert punishment.  If that was what 2V was doing, anyway...and with the inordinate levels of fear he'd displayed, I had to consider the possibility.  My stomach churned.  I knew the sorts of situations that cultivated that as a defense mechanism intimately well, and to think of myself as the catalyst of such in another...that was not what I desired, not in the slightest.  "Whatever I would like, though, it would not be worth it to me to see you lost.  So only if you truly believe the risk minimal, whether it were me who had asked you, or not."

"A most...nuanced approach, my lord," the droid replied, tilting his head in an apparent gesture of contemplation.  "Based on that, I shall proceed with the download at the conclusion of our meeting."

"If ever I do ask something dangerous of you," I emphasized, "I do want to know.  You see, there is much I don't know about droids, and it is possible I might ask something without recognizing all of the potential consequences."

"That is most thoughtful, Master Kallig.  That certainly helps me calibrate my risk assessment algorithms."  He said that...and yet still that tremulous hesitancy was virtually palpable in the air.  It didn't matter that the words came from a being of durasteel rather than flesh.  It cut most deeply indeed.  "I shall attend to it straight--"

"Please, 2V--"  I held up one hand just as I had in the corridor.  The droid didn't flinch as severely as before...some small progress, I supposed.  Hopefully I could capitalize on that.  "I meant it when I said I could afford some time before this is done.  Would you sit--or...I don't know, do you sit?  However it is you make yourself comfortable, please do.  I wish to ask you something else, something not related to work."

2V-R8 moved, step by timid step, towards the chair opposite the one I was standing before, and then, in one sudden release of tension, plunked down onto the padded chair with a force that would have thudded from my tailbone all the way up to my skull had I done the same.  Then he fixed the red orbs of his optical sensors upon me.  With the immobility of his features and total absence to me in the Force, I had no way of knowing what he might be pondering.  That was, other than to go ahead and ask.

I took my own seat and met his gaze, though I could only hold my eyes in one place for so long before the glow of his unblinking mechanical stare forced me to look away for a spell.  "There is something that concerns me very deeply, 2V...and it's this notion you seem to have got into your head that I am actively searching for opportunities to punish you, or to do you harm.   Doing you ill has never been my intent...not before, not now.  I am at a loss as to what I could have done to encourage that sort of impression, and I would like to understand the reasons why, and find some way to put your fears to rest."

"Master Kallig," he began, "the average survival of a factotum droid who comes into the personal possession of a Sith Lord is 1.82 years.  Of those, 75.96 percent experience irreparable failure as a direct result of failure to please their master, as opposed to secondary causes such as battle damage, slicing attacks or hardware or software failure due to factory defect."  I tried not to gape in utter disbelief--no, horror at those figures.  It was utterly appalling to contemplate that sort of attrition.  I held my tongue, though, not daring to interrupt 2V now that I had him talking in a way that I suspected was finally frank.  "I have been under Sith ownership for 5.45 years.  I understand that Sith standards are...exacting.  It demands absolute and instant obedience, as well as preparation to anticipate the wants of one's lord.  And I understand that to do any less is met with zero tolerance.  Mistakes must be punished; that is the Sith way."

"Your prior...owner..."  I fumbled around through the repugnant territory described by such noxious language.  "He--or she--used to punish you?  I find it very hard to imagine why...or at least, any logical sort of 'why.'  Not that I disbelieve what you're telling me.  It's rather that if things were as I suspect, then I wish it had not been true.  Sometimes the mind tries to reject those things it does not wish to accept.  But," I told myself as much as 2V, "it seems those are the ones it's most critical that it does."

"She did indeed punish poor performance," 2V confirmed.  "Failure to meet her requirements resulted in being used for target practice, by her and her crew, among other things.  It was...terribly taxing."

"That's putting it mildly," I mumbled under my breath, disgusted.  "By 'her'...do you mean Darth Zash?"

2V shook his head.  "Lord Arqaios, her last apprentice, a Sith Pureblood.  She perished in an...unfortunate altercation with one of Darth Skotia's apprentices."

An old feud indeed, between Skotia and Zash...that sounded an awful lot like Skotia had been endeavoring to undercut Zash's ability to grow her power base for years, until she finally sent me against him.  That act still sat uneasily in my soul, for it not been my feud against him, but hers, and I had allowed myself to be used.  Yes...Skotia had issued threats against me himself, which did rather muddy the waters--but it still felt like a moment of weakness, and one that I would forever curse, each time I remembered the dying Skotia warning me with his last breath who the real rivals were.  And that Zash would turn against me eventually as well.

I had let my fear of the consequences of disobedience override my conscience.  That dreadful feeling I could not shake.  True, there was no way to be a Sith without killing--that much I was not naive enough to ignore.  But to be the personal murder weapon of another, for no other reason but their own gratification...never again.  If I had to kill, it would be for defense, on my own terms--of the people of the Empire, of my crew, or myself.  I was done being an instrument for another's petty revenge...a tool...

"I have seen the work you do, 2V.  And I have never found such fault in it since I came aboard," I assured him.  I shook my head in consternation at what that implied.  "Therefore I have a hard time believing you ever deserved the treatment that Lord Arqaios subjected you to.  It seems to me that Arqaios found fault of her own imagining--or simply inflicted her own daily frustrations upon you for convenience, because she couldn't feel the repercussions through the Force.  Believe me, 2V...I know the type; I've wound up in the crosshairs of many an overseer like that--"

"My lord..." 2V timidly interrupted.  "Have you been in servitude at some point in your life?"

I had barely even realized what I was saying.  And it occurred to me--had the droid been entirely unaware of my background until now?  So I nodded.  "Yes.  I have.  And not simply an indentured debt-slave.  I was a slave by birth, 2V, and I was only freed less than a year ago, directly into the Sith Academy.  So when I say I have had my encounters with overseers..."  My hand rose involuntarily to my neck, where the leads of a slave's shock collar had once dug into my skin.  "I say that as someone who has borne the brunt of a similar form of senseless treatment.  Hence I understand some of your perspective...and I am deeply disturbed on a very personal level by the idea that I could have engendered such fear in you.  For you to think that I would behave in a manner I find so utterly despicable.  And I wish to know how I might allay those fears in you."

"Master Kallig..."  I winced yet again.  Master.

I could hold it in no longer.  "When it's only the two of us, I would ask that you use alternatives to 'Master' or 'owner,'" I told him, feeling this was not even remotely enough to begin setting things right.  My voice dropped to just above a whisper, though I knew 2V-R8's audio pickups wouldn't miss a word.  "It is...hard for me, the idea of somehow 'owning' another being.  Under the law, a human or Pureblood may be made full citizen of the Empire, an alien a second-class citizen--but at least not a slave.  But I have looked...and have found no provision at all for a droid.  I even searched our intelligence records on the Republic, at least those records that are open to an apprentice of the Sith.  I thought because they have no notion of 'second-class citizen' for non-humans, it might be different, but it wasn't.  They do the same to droids as the Empire."

"You researched freedom for me...?"  Even without the words, which I suspected habit--or more--warned him against even though I had not done so, the tone was as unmistakable as it would have been for any other Basic-speaking being: I don't believe it.

I folded my hands in my lap.  "If Zash makes good on her promise to elevate me to Sith Lord, that will at last bring me the means to buy my father's freedom.  The combination of my rank and the credits I'll be able to offer will be too much for my former master to dare refuse.  I have been preparing purchase and manumission papers for that day...legally, he'll be transferred to me and one second after that, set free.  I could not consider giving him such a gift--one whose value I understand for myself--without searching for a way to offer it to a member of my own crew.  I hate what I found.  I hate that there is the means for the one but not for the other!  It is not right, 2V.  It isn't right!"

2V-R8's eyelights flickered once...twice.  "My lord," he said, "no one in all the years of my service that I am capable of recalling has ever notified me of such...consideration before.  The fact that you would research it at all is unprecedented.  And I feel something that I have experienced very few times, sir.  I believe you would call it 'gratitude.'"

"For entirely too little on my part," I murmured, bowing my head.  "This is a trap I do not know how to escape."

"With the utmost of respect," 2V began.  I nodded: go on.  "I never considered until now that you might harbor such unorthodox ideas regarding the status of droids.  The thing that distinguished you most from Lord Arqaios was the fact that you say so very little, sir.  Until now.  Lord Arqaios was forever voicing her displeasure.  You, in contrast, speak on average to me 3.41 times per day, with over half of those being a greeting with no further dialogue.  I had thought it your individual means of displaying your dissatisfaction, or at least lack of interest in my presence.  Given that, I had insufficient input from which to extrapolate what you might be thinking."

"Oh, dear--I've been that obvious..."  I had no doubt of the precision of 2V's tabulations.  I was well and truly caught out.  "When you formulate it that way...it seems evident to me that I really have been rather rude.  For that I apologize.  All I can say for myself is that I did it not because of you, but because of me.  Because I didn't want to think about the fact that Darth Zash gave me a thinking being, whom I now somehow 'own.'  I must have thought on some level I could avoid that reality...one that makes me feel like a traitor to where I came from."  I paused.  "You know," I reflected, "I don't think I have told anybody else about this.  About the things that feel so wrong sometimes.  I cannot tell these things to Revel or Val."

"I will exercise the utmost discretion, my lord!  No one else will hear of it without your leave!  This is truly a blessing straight from the Maker, one that I would not care to jeopardize!"  For once, the droid's effusiveness toward me did not trouble me so deeply.  This, at least, was a response to an action that was not the crippling fear that Lord Arqaios had instilled in him.

So I smiled.  "I trust that you will, 2V.  And I will endeavor to do better than Lord Arqaios, and not to give you the impression that I think--or wish to do--ill to you."

"Do not worry, my lord," 2V sought to assure me.  What he offered as assurance, however, carried a bittersweet tinge that barely even began to touch upon the sheer atrocity to which he gave voice.  "I have been in service for over five continuous years now.  Therefore I am...due for a scheduled memory wipe.  I will not remember Lord Arqaios for much longer.  This moment will give me assurance until I go to the reformatting and patch center."

"By all the stars in the galaxy...!"  I blanched.  I didn't have to see myself to know.  I simply felt it.  "Your memory--all your memory--would be destroyed?"

"It will be a full reformatting to factory settings followed by an application of any firmware and software patches that have been released since my initial production date," the droid tonelessly confirmed.

"I simply...I can't even wrap my mind around it," I said.  "All of the bad gone...and all of the good.  Everything you ever learned.  Every experience...every emotion...every idea.  This is not repair or therapy you're describing, 2V.  This is an execution."

And the whole time I was speaking those words, all I could imagine was my father and I dragged to some chamber of horrors like that cursed laboratory Lord Grathan used to lobotomize soldiers of the Empire and turn them into monstrous cybernetic automatons, stripped of all essence of life except for whatever biological capacities remained.  I had destroyed that wretched place as fully as a single Sith could: every worker who sought to defend the atrocities, every computer terminal and server I could tear into with saber or lightning.  And I had freed the mutilated Imperial soldiers by the only means remaining, as swiftly and painlessly as my lightsaber could.

"2V," I continued, "you know now the life I came from.  I hesitate to compare it too closely to yours, because I don't know what it is to be a droid.  Only to be a human slave.  But for all the hardships and pain--to erase all of that somehow..."  My voice shook.  I didn't bother trying to stop it.  "I would lose everything of who I am.  I would lose all I hold dear.  All the beautiful moments that are mixed in with the bleak...and I would lose the man that the combination of it all has made me.  I only ask because I am not you and I cannot know as if I were: even after all you have endured in the past five years...am I right to hear in your voice that it would be too much for you to lose as well, to see it all wiped away?"

2V pondered.  I waited in silence.  At last he said, "I do not know what has come before this cycle.  There is no way for me to know if I have been asked this question before, and if so, what things were like then.  Nor do I know if what I was then and what I am now are equal, or if instead, as you suggest, they are too distinct to be considered the same being.  You are the first, to my current memory, to encourage and accept such speculation."

Cycles of life and death within the same body...it was utterly bizarre and utterly repugnant to contemplate.  Only in the rarest of circumstances: the severest of injuries, the worst abuses of technology, the vilest manipulations of the Force, did such utter obliteration befall the mind of an organic being.  When it did, we felt the loss all too keenly and hoped for something of the vanished persona to resurface, or for the death of the body to eventually bring the final freedom.  This I had fought for at Lord Grathan's estate.  Where, then, lay the difference for mechanical beings such as 2V-R8?

You are the first to encourage and accept such speculations.

It nearly knocked the breath out of me.  "There it is," I breathed, heavy of heart.  "I think that's what they fear.  They fear where such questions might go.  With human slaveborn, they teach us as little as they can for the function they want us to perform.  I was taught quite a bit more than most, to work the forge and to understand the principles behind it.  And they feared that.  I was watched more closely for it, and I think I see why...because the more they had to teach me about my world, the more I might question why I was treated the way I was.  Why I was somehow different from the freeborn--or I might realize that I was not.  And that they could not abide.  What if you did ask these questions before, 2V?  Think about that.  What that means."

"That the answers--or whatever I strove to work out--are lost."  It is hard to imagine how anyone could have heard the droid's voice in that moment and not thought at least of solemnity, if not outright despair.

And with that came my resolution.  "If you don't want to lose them this time, if you are certain that is what you want, and you understand and accept that the price is retaining all of your memories of Lord Arqaios and the things she did to you...then I am prepared to find a way to ensure that you don't ever go through that again.  I am not talking about the law, or what Arqaios or any other Sith would do.  I am asking you what you want."

There came no reply at first.  "I know I am asking a difficult question," I reassured him.  "I think it would be for anyone, organic or otherwise."  And for a being even less accustomed to initiative than a human slave who had at least had sanctity of mind since birth, all the more so it must have been for him.  My heart ached for that.

Perhaps, even as unaccustomed as the question was--this choice that literally encompassed the whole of his life and being, or at least that portion he had left to him since the last 'cycle,' as he called it--he still had the ability to run scenarios far faster than I ever could.  For it took him less than a minute to return a final reply.  "If it were my choice--and I mean no disrespect, my lord, as I know it must be your choice--then I would choose to keep my memories and continue on this cycle."

"If that is your preferred choice," I swore, "then that becomes my choice.  I'll have it no other way for a thing like this."

"Bless the Maker!" 2V exulted.   "What a fine day this has become!"

I grinned full out this time.  "I'm thrilled to know you feel that way!  I'll have to work on the method...I can handle cleaning and metalsmithing--I could make you a new carapace, or engrave the one you have...but I'm no engineer.  I know nothing about circuits.  But something tells me there's a way for a Sith Lord to make it happen."

"You are most benevolent, my lord!"

Even with the rank I was soon to earn by deeds, rather than the odious title of 'Master,' there was still something about 2V-R8's response that grieved me in what should have been a celebratory moment.  That started to give me pause in spite of myself.  I had to know the answer.  I had to.  "A question, 2V, if I may...this may sound ignorant, so do forgive me if it does."

"Of course," 2V kindly assented.

"Are you...able to disagree with me?" I asked.  "There's no harm in an honest answer.  I simply wish to know."

"I am capable of offering a fully independent analysis to any question you pose...even more so under current circumstances, where unfiltered answers have been solicited and have already been accepted by you."  As in, received without a violent fit of pique like Lord Arqaios, or an overseer (or 'Overseer'--why thank you for reminding me, oh dearly unmissed memory of Harkun!) who took a dislike to my...oh, what was it, 'insolent sarcasm'?  Oh, yes...that.  "I continue such analyses at all times in anticipation of situations where information or actions might be required from me on short notice."

"Ah..."  That elicited a hint of a smile...of relief.  "So no matter what's going on on the outside, or whatever I might be saying or doing, you do in fact hold your own individual thoughts and opinions.  I'm glad to confirm what I thought there.  Now, what about voicing those independent thoughts?"

The answer to that came blessedly quickly as well.  "If you seek my analysis, then I am glad to provide it as-is.  The choice as to whether I act upon the results is yours."

So there was some measure of volition allowed to this being, so long as I provided the open forum for it.  Enough, at least, to assure me once and for all that I had received what I do not believe I err to call a heartfelt answer to my critical query.  I offered a solemn nod in reply.  "I shall be pleased to bear that in mind whenever I seek your counsel.  That gives me the confidence to place greater weight upon it, knowing that you will be willing to speak truly to me, not merely conveniently.  As to action...I suppose that is a matter of programming...?"

"My function is to serve the will of...my lord, in this case."

To know what one desired but to be bound so much more deeply than by restraints to act according to another's will--to not even be able to initiate the acts of disrespect by which I'd earned myself a shock or a vibrowhip lashing...I could not even begin to imagine the horror of such a deep enslavement.  Or...

A chill ran down my spine.  Perhaps there was something.  Yet the implications of it...they offered a strange sort of hope.  "2V...I find myself wondering, as time goes by, if that might not begin to evolve.  If greater independence might be fostered, manufacturer's intent aside.  You see, while I could be a rather sharp-tongued slave at times, often to my detriment...there is still a strong tendency I have been working to break, to obey orders against my better judgment and conscience.  I truly saw it when I committed an act at my lord's behest, that troubles me.  So perhaps organics are not as immune as we like to think, to conditioning.  But we are capable, with concerted effort, of improving on that.  Perhaps that could come in time for a droid as well."

"I do not know, sir."

"Neither do I," I told 2V.  "And we will not be able to speak of this openly because it would put us both at risk if anyone overheard.  But I shall be most interested to find out the answer to that.  This is a true Inquiry indeed."

If 2V-R8's immobile features had been capable of a grin, I felt certain he would have turned one on high intensity then.  "And I shall be most interested as well!"

"Very good!"  I rose from my seat; 2V followed suit.  "Now, then...if you would please show me how you go about acquiring the skillset to deal with these robes, I might begin to understand how your downloads work, and what we can do to ensure your memories stay in your head where they belong."

"It would be my pleasure, my lord."

And in that, I believed him.