Star Wars - Shifting Gears - Unpublished Read Free Page A

gather around the hologameboard.
    “No. I’m going to work late tonight.”
    “On the Jawas’ astromechs?”
    Amalk shook his head. “Tomorrow for them. I’m more interested in the one-legged protocol droid.”
    “A sleek design, sir. Nothing I’ve seen before, and I’ve seen quite a few come through your shop. Either a very new model or a one-of-a-kind design specially commissioned. Mmmm. I suppose it might also be a very old one, an antique that has been kept in good shape.” The scout cocked his head. “Except for the missing leg, of course.”
    “I’ll have to use that one.” Amalk pointed to an olive-gray leg hanging behind the counter. “At least until I can fashion one to match the rest of his body.”
    “I am certain Y3-FE9 could help. He’s becoming increasingly proficient at welding joints. I would help if I could. But mechanics and electronics are not my areas of expertise.”
    Amalk didn’t reply. He was busy carrying the black protocol droid over to his worktable. With the dust brushed off its casings, the droid looked smooth and glossy, with few sharp angles. Nothing marred its metal surface. He laid it down almost reverently. “I told the Jawas I was only buying you for spare parts. Truly thought so at the time,” he said to himself. “But maybe I can get you running. You’d be quite the showpiece. Wonder what languages you know? How many? Wonder where you’ve been. Who made you?”
    “If you do not need me for anything sir, I would like to go out back and watch the hologame.”
    Amalk waggled his fingers, dismissing the scout droid. “Hmm. Maybe I could sell you to a crime lord who collects fine droids. Or to a merchant who travels Imperial lanes. No matter who I sell you to, you’ll make a magnificent informer.” He flipped open the chestplate and began humming. Picking through his tools, Amalk began repairing the droid.
    “Definitely fixable,” he said after a few hours had passed and a thorough memory flush was finished. “Not in such bad shape after all. No. Not at all. Language chip intact. The Jawas didn’t know what they had. All you need now is a new leg, a specially-fitted reactivator switch, and my deeply-implanted intelligence program. Undetectable, unflushable. Perfect.” He continued to hover over the droid.
    “No one will ever learn you’re working for the Alliance. Your photoreceptors and audial recorders will absorb all manner of Imperial activity, and you’ll report back to me whenever you’re able to sneak away to download information. Why, maybe I’ll even be able to sell you to an Imperial officer. Shine you up just right to catch his attention. You’d gain first-hand information. Yes, you’ll make a fine addition to the Rebel spy network. You know, I’ve placed nearly 50 droids with my program seeded deep inside them. They’ve been spying on the Empire for more than a year. You’ll join them shortly.”
    He oiled the black droid’s motivator, then carefully polished the metal plates that covered most of the body. “You are a beauty,” he whistled softly. The droid’s face was well-defined, not unlike the visage of the chef droid he’d acquired a few weeks ago. But this one was almost handsome by human terms. The brow swept back to form a ridge that looked like the rounded knuckles of a closed fist. “Judging by that overlarge locomotor, I’d say you will be able to move quickly. Oil you enough and you’ll be quiet, too. You have some interesting attachments and compartments. I’ll look those over in the morning.”
    Amalk pushed himself away from the workbench and retrieved the olive-gray leg. “Hate to put this on you, but I want you up and walking around. Make you a little lopsided, but just for a couple of days. Efeenine will help me craft you a new leg, black and shiny, so well-made that no one but me and you—and Efee, of course—will know it’s not your original. There!” He attached the wires from the gray leg to the droid’s