STS. LOG-005. (Patreon)

LOG-005."Beginning final approach, stand by for landing sequence."I didn't outwardly respond to the B1 pilot variant's statement, as caught up in my own thoughts as I was. The machine didn't let that deter it though, turning back and focusing on navigating the Sheathipede class transport shuttle we'd managed to spring out from Silent Guardian's small hangar bay (after no small bit of digging and cleaning on the part of the crew) through the small sandstorm that had kicked up in the wake of my carefully planned slaughter.Silently bringing up my right hand and inspecting it, I tilted my head, several diagnostic subroutines observing and reporting as the subtle motors and systems hidden beneath my frame's exterior plating did their work to ensure the limb functioned as intended....My body had been changed. That was something I could accept, largely in part due to lacking the necessary organic chemicals to actually panic about silly little things like being turned into a robot.But the violation of my mind, however, was another matter entirely. It produced a far deeper, more contemplative uncertainty. Especially since I couldn't be sure what elements were simply me and what was the logic based reasoning of an artificial intelligence, all designed specifically to dictate and work with the inherently cold calculus of war.Learning that one of the nearby C-9979 transports had been chock full with what seemed to be a small brigade's worth of BX commando droids (something that still shocked me somewhat, considering the sheer expense such a thing likely entailed. Seriously, whoever had been behind this initial operation had made a heavy investment in what was likely to be the future hidden installation's security forces) had been a veritable miracle, and I hadn't hesitated to exploit their use and put them to work as soon as possible.In a similar vein, I'd barely given it a thought before ordering that human lives be taken upon realising the likely purpose of the outpost. The logic in it had been so insidiously simple in the moment, really. If they weren't promptly silenced, I likely risked the organics calling in an entire fleet's worth of star destroyers on my shiny metal head.Hells, I could see it now, even. Republic-turned-Imperial vessels jumping into the system and bombarding me from orbit before I could so much as open a hailing frequency, reducing me and everything associated with me to little more than glass and superheated scrap metal in less than an hour.Besides, it wasn't like talking to them would help in any way or form, for that matter. As perturbed as I was at willingly ordering the execution of (relatively) innocent people, I was under no delusions as to the nature of my current existence. I was a droid. And a Confederate battle droid at that. I had no rights due in part to my mechanical origin, and by default, most people who weren't also Separatists would both immediately and for a lot of reasons justifiably respond to my existence with copious amounts of blaster fire.Still, that didn't mean I had to play the part of a complete monster. I'd given my little recon-turned-assault team an addendum to their orders, namely that offers of surrender were to be accepted, and prisoners taken if possible. Did that risk a false flag surrender strategy? Maybe. The Republic had been terrible about such things, and the Empire had been born from the rotting corpse of the Republic. But it also made me feel at least a little better about things, and judging by the BX field captain's report, they in fact had managed to wrangle some of the local garrison into throwing down their weapons, even if it was mostly through direct force.Shock and awe was useful like that. And when shock and awe failed...well. Any half decent blaster not made in a black market usually had a stun setting for a reason. Or so my internal records suggested."Landing sequence complete! Deploying boarding ramp!"Smooth, that was something about the Sheathipede I hadn't quite expected when I'd first gotten into the vaguely bug like thing. The entire ride had been almost utterly calm bar the occasional bump thanks to the unruly weather outside.It was neat."Mm."Standing up from the singular seat I'd taken and letting the pair of commandos I'd brought along take up positions beside me, I silently stared as the doors slowly opened, before finally striding down the lowered ramp and out into the sand.The sight that greeted me was...well."Let go of me you blasted clanker!"The clone trooper's defiance in the face of capture was met with a sharp rebuke from the droid manhandling him, namely that of a swift backhand to his head, which in turn sent the soldier tumbling into the dust coating damn near every part of this base.The act drew concerned glances and shouts from the gaggle of other uniformed figures all assembled into a vague line facing the shuttle, though judging by his groans, he'd be fine.All around them, I could see the outpost itself, which...wasn't actually as bad as I'd expected it to be. Sure, a few areas were either scorched or still littered with happily crackling flames, but most of the place seemed to have gotten off relatively intact considering the level of firepower I'd dedicated to conquering it.Nonetheless, I didn't allow my attention to wander for too long. Namely because I was finally in sight and just about each and every prisoner was now staring at me, most of their faces hidden behind their helmets, though a few had either lost them during the fighting or merely hadn't been equipped with them at all."Kriff...what is that thing?"Ah, so there were the gunships. Impressive looking machines, even when just idling in a basic hovering pattern."It's a-kriff, it's a super tactical droid. Blasted things only showed up near the end of the war but the ones that did were always trouble for everyone involved. Either this one's been reactivated by some insurgent holdouts or we've got a rogue commander on our hands. Not sure which is worse."I listened to the hushed conversation between what seemed to be a clone trooper and...what might have been the early rendition of a stormtrooper (I vaguely remembered certain details about the armour, at least. KT-something or other) even as I continued to stride forward, inspecting the surviving retinue.My optics picked out individual details as I finished my approach. Their haggard forms. The way a few clear injuries were causing some of the men to limp or lean on to others for support. There were about...twenty eight of them in total. A surprisingly large number (or not, considering just how violently one sided the fight had likely been), all carefully kept together and away from any hint of escape or retaliation by a loose ring of silent commandos brandishing their blasters, some of them still clad in stolen armour.Finally coming to a stop, I stared at them for a moment longer before nodding to the figure standing to my side."Report."On cue, the BX captain stepped forward from its previous position next to a not at all small pile of gathered corpses that I was steadfastly ignoring, its white optics almost seeming to gleam as it spoke."The outpost's garrison has been overtaken and its primary comm relay has been identified and secured. Looping the relay's all clear signal has also ensured the wider galaxy does not currently know of our presence, and likely will remain ignorant for some time."The killing machine turned its angular head, glancing at the gaggle of organics being hemmed in by its subordinate droids."As per your orders, we have also taken prisoners. What should we do with them?""You'll release us immediately, that's what you'll bloody well do!"I couldn't physically blink in this body, but some semblance of an urge to do so nonetheless remained as a singular man dressed in what I recognised to be an officer's uniform took a single step forward, hesitating for a second as several blasters were levelled his way before resuming his loud and angry ranting."You have no idea what you're doing, do you? You utterly idiotic, malfunctioning machine! All droid forces have been ordered to stand down and await retrieval by appropriate Imperial authorities, and you've done this!"Well, at least I knew he was definitely an Imperial. And that I wasn't insane and imagining things, judging by some of the utterly horrified looks the men (cloned or not) under his command were shooting him."-so do not make me repeat myself. By my authority as Imperial outpost commander Maxir Minne Dara, I declare that you will release me, you will stand down, and you will await your imminent decommissioning!"...Stars, the sheer audacity of this bitch. It was almost impressive! Almost."-AM I UNDERSTOOD you worthless hunk of metal-hurk!"Spittle had been flying from his thin lips during the entirety of his tirade, but now no more than a few droplets escaped his mouth as I allowed his body to all but wrap around my mechanical fist, before letting the winded man drop to the ground in a wheezing and groaning heap of pain."I do not recognise your authority, outpost commander Mazir Minne Dara. Nor do I recognise the authority of your Empire."Leaning down, I idly noted several of the nearby stormtroopers backing up as I grabbed the Imperial by the scruff of his uniform, hauling him to his feet before all but throwing him in the direction of the Sheathipede, sending the man flying through the air for a brief second before he harshly impacted with the sand beneath us all, rolling twice before finally slowing to a stop."I am Confederate fleet commander Spyder-"It was a name and moniker as good as any other, considering my primary processor couldn't recall the corrupted data of its previous owner. "-and as of this moment, I am assuming control of your outpost. In accordance with general Galactic law in relation to the capture of wartime combatants during conflict, you and your subordinates will be treated with the basic standards prisoners of war are entitled to."In spite of the part of me that was flinching somewhat at the seething glares the few remaining clones were shooting at me (they'd been the good guys for most of my childhood, sue me) I didn't stutter even once. The logical reasoning (good job calculation based subroutines!) that insisted I sound like a scary motherfucker helped with that. Alongside my utterly pitiless voice apparently being the default."But make no mistake. I can choose not to abide by the Confederacy of Independent Systems' basic standards of conduct at any time. You are now at my complete and total mercy, and should do well to remember that. Now, get in the shuttle. You are being relocated."As the commandos began to corral the survivors into the soon to be tightly packed Sheathipede (several of them also filing inside to ensure no desperate hijacking or some other such nonsense occurred), I carefully neglected to mention that they would likely be flying in a big ass circle for the next few hours until I figured out how I was actually going to hold them all.Hm...the outpost could work. Maybe. It already had a suitable barracks and if the field captain was to be believed, a functional hydroponics system intended to keep the inhabitants of the outpost fed. I'd just need to make sure I had somewhere else to hide the bastards whenever some likely inevitable Imperial inspection showed up to fuck with me.And of course a suitable garrison to keep a bunch of trained soldiers in line without killing them all....Fuck me. So much to do.