Archive of Our Own ^beta

Day 1

Darth Ferrus glares across the ship’s hold at the two figures standing at the top of the open ramp. “You had one job,” he says with a growl.

His twin brother gestures toward his companion in his usual flippant manner. “What? You said we needed a droid.”

“A maintenance droid. Maintenance.”

Darth Festus looks over at the tall, bipedal droid standing next to him, and shrugs. “He says he can fix things.”

The droid’s servos whir as it turns its head toward Festus, optic sensors glowing amber in the dim light of the cargo hold. “Statement: I am most adept at fixing things, yes indeed, Master. Provide me with the right tools, and I will fix any number of things for you.”

Ferrus can already feel the headache gathering strength behind his eyes. He examines the droid’s rust-colored chassis, its long, sturdy limbs, its expressionless and vaguely triangular face – and he wonders why the hell he even bothered asking his brother to do anything. He takes a long, deep breath. “What kind of tools would those happen to be?”

“Statement: I am sure that I do not need to tell my new masters which tools are best for my line of work. I am but a humble droid.”

Festus is trying to hide a smirk behind his hand and doing a terrible job of it. “Hey, droid, why don’t you tell my brother what your favorite tool is?”

“Commentary: I have always had a fondness for disruptor rifles, though I have on many occasions made use of a simple Aratech sniper rifle and found the experience to be quite enjoyable.”

Ferrus scowls at his brother. “Maintenance,” he says, emphasizing each and every syllable. “You bastard, you bought a damn assassin droid.”

Day 17

Ferrus points a finger directly at the droid’s head. “You’re staying on the ship.”

The droid leans to one side, staring out at the bustling spaceport visible beyond the ship’s open ramp. “Objection: And miss out on a chance to eviscerate some sniveling, soft-bellied organic meatbag? Master, you are cruel.”

His brother sidles up next to him and gestures toward the droid. “How can you say no to that face?”

Ferrus crosses his arms over his chest and glares down at his twin. “Easily. And forcefully, if necessary.”

“Statement: Oh, Master, how it thrills me to hear you threaten me with violence. It bodes well for your treatment of our enemies.”

“For the last time, we don’t have enemies – we have targets. And most of the time we need to bring them in alive.”

“Unfortunately,” Festus mutters, eyebrows raised as he looks at the droid and sighs.

“Observation: If you were to take up assassination work, you would always be able to kill your targets.”

Festus cocks his head to one side and taps a finger to his chin. “The droid does have a point.”

Ferrus lets out a gruff laugh. “You want to be an assassin? Go around killing government leaders and politicians, all for a bunch of spineless, drooling sycophants who don’t even have the guts to do the job themselves? Have fun with that.”

“You’re right, that does sound pretty boring.” One corner of his brother’s mouth twitches as he tries to hold back a grin. “I’m impressed that you even know the word ‘sycophant’.”

Ferrus lowers his chin and scowls. “You think you’re the only one around here with any brains?”

“Well sure. I’m the clever twin, and you’re the dumb brute.” Festus tilts his head a little, and that stupid grin widens. “Is that not how this relationship works?”

For a brief moment, Ferrus seriously considers punching his brother in the face. Then the moment passes, and he unclenches his jaw and smiles. “No, brother. I’m the strong one, and you’re the crazy one, remember?”

He feels a faint, dark flicker through their twin bond, but Festus just smiles and turns to the droid. “What do you think, HK?”

“Statement: I think if you take much longer arguing over which of you frail, water-filled sacks of flesh is marginally superior to the other, you are going to lose the bounty you are hunting, and I will stand here laughing at your ineptitude because you ordered me not to leave the ship.” The droid nods its head at Festus. “In the most respectful way possible, Master, of course.”

Festus stares at the droid in open awe. “So much sass.”

Ferrus yanks his lightsaber off his belt and shoves past his brother, heading down the lowered ramp. “Come on, idiot. We’ve got work to do.”

Day 49

“Dammit!”

“Query: Have you injured yourself, Master?”

Ferrus looks up from the pile of tools he’s rifling through. “No, just can’t find the damn hydrospanner.” He waves toward a section of durasteel plating on the wall in front of him. “Trying to fix the repulsor unit. Have you seen my brother?”

“Answer: He is currently scowling at a news article about some dirty Jedi weaklings.”

“Sounds about right,” Ferrus mutters.

“Statement: It seems the Jedi have started accepting new students. Why anyone would want to join their pseudo-pacifistic ranks is beyond my programming to understand.”

“Yeah.” He looks up and notices the hydrospanner lying on the deck behind the droid. “Hey, give me that, would you?”

The droid twists around and reaches for the tool. “Observation: You seem more irritated than usual, Master. Do you require some psychological assistance? I am programmed for such things.”

Ferrus growls, sending his frustrations through the place where his twin bond normally is; but Festus has already put up that damn barrier again. It’s been happening more and more frequently. “What I need is for my no-good brother to get down here and help me fix this stupid ship, but instead he’s off hiding somewhere, reading.”

The droid is silent for a moment. Then, “Query: Would you like me to kill him for you?”

“What? No!” He holds out a hand. “Just give me the spanner, crazy droid.”

“Statement: As you wish, Master. Just between you and me, I like your brother better.”

“Now there’s the surprise of the millennium.” Ferrus grits his teeth as he fits the hydrospanner to a bolt and begins to remove them all one by one. “I thought you said you couldn’t kill your masters.”

“Clarification: Not intentionally, Master. At least, I do not believe so.”

“Well, that’s a comfort.” Ferrus pulls the panel away from the wall, examines the ancient antigrav generator inside, and reaches for a pair of protective goggles. “Should I be worried you’re going to murder me in my sleep?”

“Answer: Have no fear, Master. You are far more useful alive, and I do so enjoy your particular brand of brutality. Why, it warms my circuits just thinking about it. And as I told you, it is against my programming to harm the soft, squishy meatbags I call ‘master’.” The droid pauses a moment, turning its head slightly as if to gaze off into space. “I think.”

Ferrus huffs out a breath. “You’re as weird as he is. Two peas in a freakish pod.”

“Agreement: Indeed, Master. I find the smaller master’s vicious streak to be quite compatible with my own.” The droid approximates a sigh. “Contemplative: It is such a comfort to be understood.”

Ferrus rolls his eyes and holds out a hand again. “Welding torch.”

The droid places the torch in his hand without further comment, and Ferrus lowers his goggles and sets to work welding the broken mounting bracket that is apparently the cause of all their troubles. After all the constant chatter, the droid’s silence is almost eerie. Once the welding is complete, Ferrus begins to bolt the outer panel back on.

“There,” he says once the panel has been returned to its proper place along the wall. “I hope you were paying attention, because next time you’re doing this.”

“Statement: Certainly, Master. As long as you provide me with ample opportunity to kill something for you, I will gladly perform these menial tasks, for which I am so grossly overqualified.”

Ferrus pushes the goggles up on his forehead and arches one eyebrow.

“Amendment: Of course, I will carry out whatever functions you deem necessary, regardless of the reward. I live to serve my masters.”

Ferrus bends down and hoists the tool bag over his shoulder. “That’s better. By the way, you should definitely call my brother ‘the smaller master’ next time you see him.”

“Statement: I would be happy to, Petulant Master.” The droid turns toward him conspiratorially and lowers his voice in imitation of a whisper. “That is what he told me to call you.”

Day 95

“Statement: This is not the weapon I requested, Masters.”

Ferrus leans forward in his chair and exchanges a confused glance with his brother before turning to look at the droid standing in the doorway. “You asked for a new blaster rifle.”

“Correction: I requested an Aratech Mark III disruptor rifle. This is a Malaxan F-12.” A loud, metallic clatter echoes throughout the room as the droid drops the weapon it’s holding. “A Malaxan,” it repeats in disgust, as though that should mean something to either of them.

Festus stretches his arms over his head, reclining in his own chair. “To be fair, HK, all those blaster rifles kinda look alike.”

Somehow, the droid manages to glare at each of them in turn. “Statement: I would think even two baby-faced meatbags such as yourselves should be able to tell the difference between a Malaxan F-12 sniper rifle and the vastly superior Aratech Mark III disruptor rifle. But I suppose that might be wishful thinking on my part.”

Ferrus can already feel indignation winning out over calm, cool indifference as he sits up a little straighter. “Baby-faced?” he says. “Do we look like a couple of mewling children to you?”

“Query: If I say 'yes', would you be more or less likely to let me kill someone for you?”

“How old do you think we are?” Festus cuts in, looking vaguely interested.

“Analysis: Based on skin elasticity, lack of static lines, jawline definition, general youthful exuberance, muscle mass not yet reaching maximum potential—”

“What?” Ferrus snaps.

“—all of these factors – along with others that are likely beyond your simple meatbag brains’ abilities to comprehend – indicate an age of nineteen to twenty standard years.”

Festus nods slowly at the droid. “Damn. I've got nothing.” A slow grin as his gaze shifts to Ferrus. “And he basically called you scrawny.”

Ferrus counts backward from five as he glares at his twin brother. “What does that say about you, idiot?”

That irritating smirk again, this time with an equally irritating shrug. “Hey, I’m wiry, and I have never claimed to be otherwise.”

“Statement: By my estimation, you both have significant room for improvement of your physical forms.” The droid tilts its head as if deep in thought. “Of course, that is still nothing compared to my own capabilities – but then, how can a liquideous fleshbag hope to achieve the perfection that is inherent to my singular design?”

Ferrus folds his arms across his chest. “Singular? I’m pretty sure I saw another model that looked just like you at the scrap yard—”

“Warning: I must stop you right there, Master. I was designed and constructed by the most brutal, cunning, and vicious Sith Lord to ever live. There are no other units like me, and we will never speak of those idiotic and ineffectual imposters ever again.”

Across the room, his brother points at him and mouths the word “brutal”, then gestures toward himself and mouths “cunning”, as though it’s a question. Ferrus rolls his eyes and shakes his head at his idiot twin. Festus laughs under his breath and angles his head over the back of his chair. “You’re getting pretty mouthy, HK. And are you sure ‘liquideous’ is even a word?”

The droid’s head snaps toward Festus with impressive speed. “Expletive: Dammit, Master, I am an assassination droid, not a dictionary!”

Day 183

The target is quick and surprisingly strong for an older man – Ferrus has to give him that much credit. He’s managed to evade them for several minutes on foot, which is no small feat. But the game is getting a little tiresome, and now that their quarry has fled into the hangar, he’s thinking it’s time to end this.

Ferrus raises a hand as he enters the hangar bay, sending out a wave of energy that throws the man against a stack of cargo containers. The bounty staggers from the force of the impact, and in those few dazed seconds, Ferrus launches forward and tackles him to the ground. The man struggles in vain to throw him off.

“It’s over, old man,” he says. “Might as well give up. You’re worth more alive than dead, but my brother’s been itching to kill someone.” To say nothing of the crazy assassin droid who is finally going to be leaving them after all these months. He’s looking forward to not dealing with that nonsense every damn day.

Ferrus sits upright, holding the target down with his knees. He plants one hand on the back of the man’s head as he activates his lightsaber with the other. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his brother saunter over to join them, his weapon also ignited. He can feel Festus’s heartrate picking up speed.

“What are you gonna do?” the man says with a sneer. “Couple of wannabe Jedi brats wavin’ your lightsabers around? You think I’m scared of that thing? Go ahead, kill me with it. My nerves will be so scorched I won’t even feel a thing. It’ll be a more peaceful ending than the Hutts will give me.”

Ferrus growls and digs his knee into the bounty’s back. He holds his lightsaber vertical, ready to drive it down—

“Hold on a minute, brother,” Festus says as he deactivates his saber and hooks it onto his belt.

Ferrus lowers his weapon, allowing it to hum near the man’s ear. His twin crouches down next to their target, tilting his head sideways to meet the man’s defiant stare.

“Let me assure you,” he says, his voice going so quiet, Ferrus can barely hear it, “that there are no Jedi here.”

Festus reaches into his left sleeve and pulls out the crude blade he has carried with him since their youth on Korriban. He leans in closer, not quite smiling as he drags the flat edge of the knife against the man’s cheek. “It amuses me that you think you have any idea what I’m capable of doing to you.”

Ferrus can’t help the smirk on his face as the man goes still underneath him. He might give his brother grief about being such a weirdo, but he does admire Festus’s capacity for terror. His twin’s gaze flits up to meet his, and through their bond he senses anticipation as Festus waits for the signal to proceed.

Of course, the droid chooses this moment to step in.

“Query: Might I be permitted to kill him, Master? You can consider it a parting gift for your most loyal companion. Please?”

Ferrus looks over at his brother, rolls his eyes, and shrugs.

Festus’s lips twist in a wicked smile as he glances up at the droid. “You know what, HK? How ‘bout a race? First one to catch him wins.”

The droid raises its blaster rifle in front of its chassis. “Answer: I find this game most agreeable, Master. My behavior core is practically glowing already. This should be fun.”

Ferrus removes his knee from the target’s back and grabs him roughly by the collar. He hauls the man to his feet, pulling him close. “If I were you,” he says, “I’d run.”

The man looks between the three of them, uncertain but still defiant. Ferrus shakes his head and looks back at the droid. “Better give him a ten second countdown.”

“Confirmation: Certainly, Master. Counting down now. Ten, nine—”

The bounty’s eyes go wide, and he turns and starts to run.

“—eight, seven, six, five—”

A stack of cargo crates topples to the floor as the man scrambles to get away.

“—four, three, two—”

“You know, HK,” Festus says with a sigh. “I’m really going to miss you.”

The droid rotates its head a quarter turn in their direction. “I will miss you, too, Masters. Even if you are a couple of worthless meatbags.” The droid’s optic sensors flash in what Ferrus recognizes as anticipation. “May the best droid win— one.”

As Darth Ferrus watches the pair of them race after the bounty with impressive speed, he can’t help thinking that maybe – just maybe – he’ll actually sort of miss that mouthy, bloodthirsty assassin droid.