ADROIT REPAIR
by Leslie Blackhawk and Sam Esposito

"Hey! D.T.! Wake UP!" The harsh voice of the Twi'lek bartender broke into D.T.'s consciousness like a bad engine scream. The young tech's tousled blonde head snapped up and she almost fell backward out of her crude bar chair. The imprint of her table's surface stood out on her pale cheek. A small trail of drool dried on her lips.

"Huh? Wha . . .?" D.T. looked around, blinking in bewilderment. The subsequent spin of her senses warned her that, maybe, looking was not a good idea right now. The jarring voice of D'Nenga, the barkeep, convinced her that hearing was DEFINITELY a bad idea. Her head pounded in time to his every grating, though sincere, word.

"Come on, girl. It's time to go." D'Nenga said, not ungently. "I gotta clean up in here sometime. And you really should get back to the Feldspar." The Red Shift's barkeep gingerly tucked his arms under the disoriented tech's shoulders, clutched her well-worn coveralls, and gently lifted her to her feet. Once there, he held the swaying girl steady for a moment until D.T. got her balance. The rumpled and hung-over Celanese gazed blearily at him.

"You do know where your docking bay is, don't you?" D'Nenga asked. D.T. had been coming to The Red Shift whenever she was in Ratha Port for over a year, and she always drank heavily. But she was a good tipper and she was not to blame for some of the trouble she had been involved in. So D'Nenga was kindly disposed toward the Celanese girl. One time she had even fixed the Red Shift's always temperamental dispenser-droid for trade. Customers like that could be shown a little care.

"Dockin' bay?" D.T. slurred. "Dockin' bay? Noi-ji tat!" The curse was perfectly clear but the tech's rough voice jumbled the rest of the words. "Wher' am I? Oh, yeah. Kothlissss - Ratha Port." The slight girl was proud that she had remembered what planet she was on. But a greater cerebral challenge awaited. "L . . . Docking bay? Yeah, docking bay . . . 16! 16!" she shouted gleefully. Then, she grabbed her temples and moaned as the echoes of her own voice rattled her besogged brains.

"You going to be alright, girl?" D'Nenga asked over his shoulder as he stepped away from D.T. The tech rubbed her eyes gingerly, her pockets jingling with small tools and knickknacks.

"Yesh . . .Yes." D.T. was an experienced drunk and quickly gathered her wits. With a sloppy wave to D'Nenga, the seedy tech staggered out of the bar and into the bright sunlight of the Kothliss morning.

Meanwhile several light-years away, a lone X-wing wisked through the unknowns of Hyperspace. The pilot, Lt. Draven Farlander, wasn't very old, only about 23. He was young, bright, witty, and, most of all, he could fly with the best of them. He had been with the Alliance for a couple of years now and was suppose to meet a contact on Kothlis, in Ratha Port.

Draven was sleeping soundly, when several red lights flashed in protest and his Astromech Droid, R2-X7, began to squeal some sort of incomprehensible language.

"Huh....WHAT..WHERE..." he said as he suprisingly woke from his slumber gripping the stick and arming the lasers.

He looked around and smiled at his own fears. It was just the Gravitational Proximity Alert. He was coming up on Kothlis.

"R2, don't do that again, or I'm going to melt you down into scrap!" he scolded his R2 unit, for the sudden awakening. The R2 unit just whistled some and spun its head.

"Stand-by R2 to cut into sublight engines. 3....2....1....NOW!"

The X-Wing dropped out of hyperspace exactly 20 klicks away from the planet.

"This New Republic Ship AA-100 requesting permission to land in Ratha Port."

A female voice replied back, "New Republic Ship AA-100, you are cleared to land in Docking Bay 17, and welcome back Draven."

That was Isabelle, one of his lost loves before he joined the Alliance. "Isabelle, is that you?"

"Sure is sweetie! How have you been? Coming back for old times sake, or you just here to break my heart and run again?"

"No, no honey, I'm on official business this time, but I promise I'll show you a good time next time I'm by this way."

There was laughing over the intercom. "Draven Farlander on official business, I find that so hard to believe. But anyway, if you get a chance stop by. You do remember where I live don't you?"

"Of course."

As the conversation ended the X-Wing tore through the upper atmosphere. Draven spotted the city and as he got closer, he found his landing bay. Draven landed the ship nicely.

"Well, R2, you ready?"

"Beeb-bep-boop"

"Great, so am I!"

Draven popped the hatch and hit the droid release lever on the panel. R2 was lifted out of the socket and Draven jumped over the side. He took his blaster and put the holster on. He tossed his helmet into the cockpit, and revealed his face. He was quite handsome by human standards. He fixed his hair a little. He helped R2 down, and the two walked out of the landing area and into the bright sunlight of the Kothliss morning.

D.T. put one careful foot in front of the other, slowly walking down the business side of Ratha Port's Docking Lane. Around her the brisk morning traffic of the space port bustled on all sides. She did her best to ignore it.

The hung-over technician kept one hand placed against the sun-warmed stones of the shop walls for safety's sake. Whenever she would come to the gap of a doorway or open stall window, she would pause for a few seconds, get her concentration together and make a quick shamble across to the far side of the opening.

Around her voices shouted in every conceivable language as the multiple species and peoples of Ratha Port competed for the business of spacers and passengers disembarking from the enormous array of docking bays and landing zones on the far side of the spaceport wall. Occasionally, that wall would shudder as a freighter or other large vessel took off for parts unknown, confirming D.T.'s decision to use the shop walls across the Lane for support.

D.T. was holding her other hand across her brow in an attempt to prevent the piercing sunlight from spiking into her eyes, when she walked into something waist-high and very hard. The slender tech completely lost what little balance she had and went sprawling onto the hard-packed dirt that served as Ratha Port's 'pavement'. A few tools and sprockets fell from her pockets in a tinkling echo of her own more meaty 'thud'.

"Sloggon-Crit!" D.T. shouted from where she lay. Then she moaned as the impact and the sound of her curse kicked her head-ache into overdrive. As the girl struggled to sit up against one of the shop walls, her stomach heaved rebelliously. Leaning back against the rough brick wall of an import shop, D.T. slitted her eyes to see what had hit her as she breathed shallowly and quickly in an attempt to control her nausea.

Somewhere out of her sight someone spoke but D.T. wasn't listening. Directly in front of her stood the MOST battered R2-X7 droid that D.T. had seen in her . . . well, in this week at least. There was severe carbon-scoring on its anterior casing, its trian sensor could not be working at all with that crack in it, and she could smell an oxidant leak from where she sat!

"Noi-ji TAT!" D.T. shouted at the little Astromech Droid, "What's the matta wit you? Don' you got NO avoi'ens' sensors!" But in spite of her annoyance, D.T. couldn't help but feel sorry for the little fellow. Especially when the R2 began whistling out his woes to her.

"Bee-bo, bip-bip-bip, boo-ooo." the R2 explained.

"Wha? Wha' 'bout the secon'ary reflar system?"

"Dit-bee brrrriddit oo-boop."

"No. For how long?"

"Bee-bo."

"Crit. That's gonna fry yer t-circs in no time. How's yer MASA holdin' up?"

"BREEE dit-dit-dit-daa beep whistle!"

"No WAY! Okay, open up. I . . . shon-dolongo, where's my spanner?" D.T. began to pat the ground around her, looking among the tools and wiring that had fallen from her pockets for her spanner and, maybe her micro-incisor. 'Poor little thing', she thought to herself, 'Practically in worse shape than me!'

It was then that the R2's owner decided to step in.

Draven wandered the streets, looking about for his contact. He didn't even know what the guy looked like. Just that he would find Draven.

He was lost in thought about old times with Isabelle, when he heard the all too familiar whistles of a certain Astromech Droid. He quickly snapped into attention, but it was too late. The woman had hit the ground.

Before he could react she began to talk to the Droid, and was picking up tools, as if she was going to do some repair work on the Droid.

"Oh my, I'm sorry. Here let me help you up." He held out his hand.

After apparently finding what she was looking for she began to work on the Droid, ignoring Draven completely.

"Uhh... Excuse me, what the hell do you think you are doing?" he said. He had one hand on his blaster, ready to be drawn in an instant.

"Spanner . . . spanner." D.T. was mumbling to herself, "Crit! This is the wrong tool!" Why did she always have the wrong tools with her? Longo! She was cursed. Slowly, the words she had just heard penetrated the tech's foggy mind. That wasn't Binar-Sec. Someone other than the R2 was talking to her.

D.T. squinted around, trying to avoid letting too much light into her sensitized eyes. Eventually, her gaze fell upon a near-by pair of knees with what looked like the bottom of a flight suit on them. Her eyes traveled upward. Sure enough, there was a torso and a head up there. D.T.'s head bumped back against the shop wall as she lost her balance from her sitting position. But in spite of that, she was pleased to see that she had guessed correctly. The young gentleman standing protectively near the R2 unit WAS wearing a flight suit.

'Aha! A pilot! And a damn fine-looking one at that!' she thought, and then her dragging thought processes started working on other things.

"Wha' . . . " she said.

"I said, 'What the hell do you think you're doing?'" Draven repeated slowly. He was having trouble deciding whether to be amused or angry.

The bewildered technician looked up at him confusedly for a few moments, then transferred her attention back to HIS droid. She opened and closed her mouth a few times as if trying to figure out what to say. Draven hoped it'd be good.

"Umm-mm" D.T. felt like her comp banks were locking solid and this guy had his hand on his blaster! She knew she had to say something . . . "Ummm-mm. You a pilot." First thing in her mind, first thing out of her mouth. Noi-ji Tat she was thick!

Draven made a small disgusted sound. The woman was getting on his nerves. But at least she had stopped poking at his R2 unit.

D.T. gritted her teeth and forced her grinding thoughts to functioning. It was important that she SAY what she was thinking, and not in Binar-Sec either. Ji-Tat knew how jumpy or trigger-happy this guy was. "No . . . I mean, you a pilot and HE a As'romech!" D.T. stated proudly pointing to the R2-X7. She was doing it. She was talking, kind of. "Tha' means . . . Crit! You ain't tryin' to fly with him cross-wire' lik tha', are ya?"

One word in whole slurred ramble stood out to Draven - "cross-wired". Draven remembered the Rodian trader he bought the R2-X7 from. He thought, at the time, that it had been a good deal. Maybe too good? Of course, getting a second opinion from a tech sitting in the dirt of Ratha Port was no way to confirm it.

He looked a bit amused at the tech. He was finally seeing what was going on now. She was drunk, and was obsessed with fixing his Droid. He didn't mind the gesture, just not while she was completely plastered.

Here let me help you up." He grabbed her and pulled her to her feet. "I appreciate what you're going to do, but I'd rather have you tinker with my sidekick, while you're sober. Come with me and we'll get some coffee, in the local tavern. An umm....acquaintance of mine is suppose to meet me there anyhow. Come, it's my treat."

She looked a bit confused at what was happening. Her mind was still a little on the slow side and she still hadn't realized she was standing yet. The two walked, or at least Draven did while she somewhat stumbled hanging onto his shoulder, into the tavern. He got a booth in the back and sat D.T. down.

"I'll be back with that coffee." He said to her. "R2, keep an eye on her."

The little droid beeped with assurance of his order.

Draven walked over to the counter and got 2 coffees, and then proceeded back to the booth. Yup, she was still there, and still checking over R2.

"Here drink this. It might help the hangover." She drank a little. "Now tell me, who are you?"

She looked at him with a confused look as if she was trying to comprehend what he just said.

Crit! Stimulants! She could sure use some more of that. D.T. took a huge swallow of her coffee. And her stomach completely rebelled.

"Uh . . . 'scuse me." she gulped and leapt up from the table. With an experienced drunk's accuracy, she ran for the bathroom. After several painful minutes therein, her head -- as well as her stomach finally cleared. She looked around the confining and stinking room in confusion. This wasn't the Red Shift. In fact . . . she let herself out of the small room. Yep, this was the Borgado. What was she doing in the Borgado? Not that she minded but it just wasn't where she remember being.

D.T.'s mouth felt like a three-year oil pan so she headed to the bar to get another coffee. As she reached the bar, she saw with relief that Sandor was on duty. Good, at least it was someone she knew - someone who might give her a clue.

"Hey D.T. - you moving up in the world?" Sandor grinned at her as he expertly placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of the disoriented tech.

"Huh?" was D.T.'s stunningly intelligent reply.

"The pilot." he said nodding at a back booth where a good-looking athletic man in a orange flight suit with a battered R2-X7 was watching both of them. "Better than your usual drag-ins."

"What! I came in with someone!" D.T. was flabbergasted.

"Oh, honey." Sandor winked playfully at her. "You don't even remember your white knight? Listen, if it doesn't work out between you, steer him my way." The dapper bartender laughed lightly and turned away. D.T. could not tell if he was teasing her or not. What the shon do-longo had she gotten herself into this time? Well, hiding at the bar wasn't going to tell her. Not that she wasn't tempted.

D.T. ran a hand nervously through her short bedraggled hair, picked up her coffee mug and headed toward the booth. As she approached, the young man stood - rather gallantly actually - which just made D.T. feel even more embarrassed.

"Uh, listen . . ." she began but the young man's rich voice interrupted her.

"Are you okay now?" Shondo! Who was this guy? D.T. collapsed bonelessly onto a seat of the booth. This wasn't going to be easy. She looked down at the rough table and began to trace circuit diagrams unconsciously in the coffee that had slopped from her mug.

"Umm-m. Look. I don't remember how we got here. And I don't know who you are or what we might have done. And all I can say is I'm sorry. And . . . and . . . I just don't remember!" D.T.'s words poured out of her in rush ending with a small wail. Then she looked up. The crit-tat looked like he was trying not to laugh at her.

Draven sure hoped this woman was better with her tools than her booze. But at least she was now talking in clear and complete sentences. And the look in her eyes told him that finally someone was home. But her assumption . . . not on his worst day!

"No, no. I'm Draven Farlander. You tripped over my droid outside and muttered something about cross-wiring."

Draven held his hand out. The look of relief that came over the young woman's face was almost funny. She shook his hand numbly as the implications sank in.

"Your droid? Your . . . droid. Oh, sure, sure." the tech turned to where the R2 stood snuggled up against the wall. "I'm D.T. . . .And this little guy is critted up. Shondo! I smell oxidant. When was his last tune?"

Between the obscenities and the tech-talk Draven was having trouble understanding the woman even when she was sober - well soberer.

Draven looked at her for a minute. She was starting to sober up, although he couldn't tell if this was tech talk or just mindless drunken babble.

"Tune?" He hesitated for a minute as if he was embarrassed to answer. "Tune, well, let's see the last ol' R2 here went into the shop was just after a heated dogfight battle where my little sidekick here took quite a shot from a Z-95 Headhunter." He stopped for a moment to let it sink past the alcohol. "Would you care to do some repairs on my little buddy here?"

Before she could give an answer, a rather shabby looking Twi'lek entered the establishment.

"Think it over, my uh . . associate is here. I'll be back in a little while and you can give me an estimate." He really had no intentions of letting this drunken fool tinker with sidekick. But nevertheless he had to find some way out of the booth to talk to the Twi'lek.

A short time passed and Draven shook hands with his "associate" and walked back over to the booth.

"Well, what have you got for me?"

"Don’ think much of yer crew." D.T. commented as she snapped the top I/O port of the R2 shut with a practical flip. She tucked her micro-incisor back behind her ear and slumped back in the booth exhaustedly. She rested her forearm across her forehead and tried to gather her thoughts.

Draven tried not to bristle at the slur to his Republic comrades but the R2 had been having some problems ever since that dogfight.

"What’s the problem?" Draven asked sharply, "And can you fix it?"

D.T. peeked out from under her forearm. Ji-tat, this guy was cute but he was all orders. She leaned forward, thumped her elbows onto the table and cupped her hands under her chin. Then she looked Draven straight in his clear brown eyes.

"Yeah. I can fix it. But . . ." she turned away from the pilot’s leveled gaze. "Crit! I need to get some hammock time before I go into your friend here. These flashin’ lights are getting to be a pain." D.T.’s eyes unfocused briefly.

Draven let out a small breath of relief. Good, at least the woman knew better than to mess with his sidekick while hung-over.

"Look." D.T. continued, "You gonna be in town for awhile? Give me 5 hours down-time an’ I’ll be more than ready to fix the little guy up."

Draven thought that estimate might be a little low, but what the heck. One trip to the bathroom and the tech was already starting to make sense. He didn’t have anything else to do in town . . . except, maybe, when was Isabelle’s shift over anyway? ‘Ah, keep your mind on target’ he reminded himself.

"How much will it cost?"

Now, here was the question that D.T. always dreaded. A little moan escaped her lips while she readied her explanation. She looked over at Draven sharply. Well, this guy seemed all get-to-it and more than likely honest. She might just do better with the straight truth. We-ell as straight as she could be.

"Draven, this is yer lucky day. It ain’t gonna cost you nothin’." D.T. tried to rush on before the pilot’s attention was too caught. "But I tell you, that anterior casing needs to be replaced and I just ain’t got the part. So if you could pick one of those up, I’ll be glad to . . ."

"Wait. Wait a minute." Draven’s suspicions were alerted again. "Did you just say you were going to repair my R2 for FREE?" What kind of repair job was for free? This was starting to sound like a bad idea.

D.T. sighed. It figured that she wasn’t going to get by with this one. She unbuttoned the collar on her coverall and pulled it down slightly. Beneath the soiled fabric a small black band loosely circled her neck. On it a small display showed a glowing countdown.

"Look. I’m indentured. For the next . . . oh, four weeks or so, I can’t earn ‘neither monies nor goods for my services without such monies and goods being transferred to the property of my indenturer’" D.T. recited the contract from memory.

The pilot looked like he’d been hit with a macro-spanner. Londo! She was going to lose this one too.

Draven was stunned. He had heard of these indentured servants, but had never actually met one. "Well" he thought to himself, "At least she's just trying to screw over her boss and not me."

He looked at her as though he pitied her. "Is there anything I can do to help you out of this indenturement, let's just say it's payment for the free Droid work. And why don't you and I go walk around the spaceport. I'm not really sure what you'll need to fix my lil' buddy, and I don't want to get jipped. I could use your expertise in locating the parts."

He looked at her as though he had just found a new friend. "Tell you what, you go get some sleep, and we'll meet back here in let's say 10 hours? And then we'll take that walk. Sound good?"

"Okay." D.T. was too ‘tired’ too argue about the pitying glance. She had brought the indentureship on herself and was close to finishing her sentence. The tech didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize her standing with the Celanon Imperial courts at this point in time. She certainly didn’t want "out" of her indentureship if it meant becoming MORE of a criminal but Draven didn’t sound like one to talk to about "laying low." So she let it slide. Besides, it was making her head hurt just thinking about it - or maybe that was hangover. Whatever.

The ten hours he offered sounded good - five to sleep, five to get that turret on the Feldspar working. Captain Mahl, queen space ji-tat and the holder of D.T.’s papers, was going to be out of Ratha Port for another two days. That gave the young tech plenty of time to both fix the turret and show the new guy where to get the best parts ‘after hours.’ Besides, she did want to see the inside of R2 before she got too cocky about fixing him.

"’kay. I’m on the Feldspar. Docking Bay 16. Just walk in the bay and call. I’ll come meet you. Capt’n Mahl don’ wan’ no one on the ship but crew. So jus’ wait ‘till I come out an’ I’ll see what your frien’ here needs. That okay with you?" D.T. directed her last question to the R2 who had been sitting quietly throughout the discussion. The little astromech responded enthusiastically.

"Beee-be-beep drit-dri booo-oo."

"No, I won’ forget." D.T. responded dryly.

"Dit-dit-dit-beeweep."

"MASA, too. I remember."

"Brep-bip whistle braa-ap."

"No, I’m sure I can do better. Look, you start a list an’ when I see you in 10, we’ll go over it. Okay?"

"Bree-hoo." the droid finished cheerfully.

D.T. smiled over to Draven, and while it was obvious that he didn’t understand what the R2 was saying, at least he got the gist of it.

"Well, I gotta go." D.T. placed her hands firmly on the tabletop and pushed herself upright. She paused for a moment but the room didn’t swim out of focus so she figured she was good to go. She tossed a sloppy wave to the pair in the booth.

"In 10. Docking bay 16." she confirmed and then began to carefully walk to the front doors of the Borgado.


Adroit Repair - Page Two


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“Having trouble with your droid?”
Lando Calrissian - Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back