Chapter 56: Stealth Protocols and Explosive Plans

Disclaimer: Star Wars and all of it's Intellectual Properties is owned by George Lucas and Walt Disney, This fictional work and all of it's original characters are however mine.

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Tarek's P.O.V. :

As soon as Davik gave me the signal, I flicked the controls, and the Stellar Envoy hummed to life, gracefully lifting off the ground. It was muscle memory by now, my hands deftly gliding over the console, inputting commands and making adjustments. Skew-03 was seated in the co-pilot’s chair, its optics glowing faintly as it monitored our trajectory. With one of Jake’s upgraded droids at my side, the chances of anything going wrong were slim to none. That droid could probably pilot the ship better than most sentients I knew, but hey, I wasn’t about to give up my chair just yet.

As we left the safety of the hangar and streaked through the Rylothian twilight, my mind started to wander. Random thoughts floated in, as they often did when I had time to think but not enough action to distract me. It was funny, though—my hands never stopped moving, checking gauges, fine-tuning the thrusters, and monitoring the stealth scrambler Jake had installed. The Stellar Envoy was a finely tuned machine, and I treated it with the respect it deserved.

Jake’s upgrades had changed more than the ship. They’d changed me. When he’d finished souping up the Nick and Skew droids, I’d figured that was his magnum opus—turning those things into walking war machines. But then he went and made combat armor for the crew, and suddenly I wasn’t just the guy who flew the ship and stayed back for a quick getaway. I was part of the action.

The first time I stepped off the ramp in that armor, I felt like a different man. Giddy and scared out of my mind, sure, but also… confident. Like I could hold my own against whatever the galaxy decided to throw at us. That feeling hadn’t faded, and now, with every mission, it only grew stronger.

And here we were again, off to save slaves and kick some tail. I grinned at the thought. Maybe this time, we’d stumble across some kidnapped princess who needed rescuing. Wouldn’t that be something? Though knowing this crew, we’d probably argue about whether to charge a ransom fee or not.

Skew-03’s mechanical voice broke through my thoughts. “Approaching target zone. Scanners detect no immediate threats.”

I snapped back to full attention, my hands tightening on the controls. The mission wasn’t about me—it was about making sure the others could do their jobs without worrying about the ship or our escape plan. The Stellar Envoy was a lifeline, and it was my job to keep it safe.

The scanners confirmed we were nearing the landing spot Davik had picked. A secluded patch of flatland nestled in a series of rocky outcroppings, it was perfect for staying hidden while keeping the ship within quick reach. I slowed our descent, making micro-adjustments to the thrusters to keep the noise to a minimum.

“Landing sequence initiated,” I muttered, mostly to myself.

The Stellar Envoy settled onto the ground as smooth as silk, her landing gear barely making a sound as it touched down. I powered down the engines, leaving just enough juice for a quick liftoff if things went sideways.

“Perfect landing,” I said, leaning back in my seat and letting out a satisfied sigh. “No noise, no fuss. Not even a flock of rathars to spook the locals.”

Skew-03 turned its head toward me, the droid’s tone as neutral as always. “Mission parameters require stealth. Noise would compromise effectiveness.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Just let me have my moment, alright?”

The rest of the crew was already gathering in the common area, preparing for the assault. As I stood, the excitement and nerves hit me like a swoop bike at full throttle. I grabbed my helmet and blaster, pausing for a moment to adjust the straps on my armor.

This was it. Another mission, another chance to make a difference.

I glanced back at the Stellar Envoy’s controls one last time before heading out. “Hold down the fort, Skew-03. And don’t let anyone scratch the paint.”

The droid’s optics glowed faintly in acknowledgment, and I couldn’t help but grin as I joined the others. Time to show this crime syndicate what happens when they mess with the wrong people.

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Rina's P.O.V. :

As soon as the Stellar Envoy settled onto the ground, I felt the familiar shudder of the landing gears taking the weight. The bay doors began to hiss open, letting in the cool air from the rocky terrain outside. I gave a quick once-over to everyone gathered in the bay, flashing them a mischievous grin and a confident nod.

“Alright, team,” I said, my voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Let’s do this nice and quiet. And by quiet, I mean nobody gets to steal my thunder.”

Jake was standing there with one of his droids, tinkering with something on its arm. Perfect target. “Hey, Jake,” I called out, gesturing to the small pouch on my belt. “Thanks for the bombs. You really know what girls like.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What—wait, what? I—”

But I didn’t let him get further. Before he could pull together a comeback, I was already walking down the ramp, leaving him sputtering behind me. Some things never got old.

The cool, arid wind brushed against me as I stepped onto the rocky ground, the terrain jagged but manageable. My boots made almost no sound as I moved, my cammod combat armor seamlessly blending me into the environment. Jake’s upgrades were top-notch, I had to admit, even if I wouldn’t say it out loud. Activating the camo system, I watched as the shimmering field wrapped around me, bending light just enough to make me nearly invisible.

I took a moment to double-check my gear. My blaster was set to stun—my mission wasn’t about dropping bodies but about precision and sabotage. I’d leave the blaster-slinging and chaos to Davik and the others.

My first objective was clear: plant the EMP remote-controlled bombs and the regular explosives in strategic locations. The EMPs were essential for shutting down the slavers’ security systems and droids, while the regular explosives would create the chaos we needed for a clean extraction.

I moved like a shadow through the rocky terrain, my HUD displaying a detailed map of the area Mira had scouted. The slavers and criminals were holed up in a makeshift compound surrounded by a mix of natural rock formations and prefab buildings. The whole setup screamed “temporary,” but that didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous.

With each step, I scanned for patrols or hidden defenses. Nothing yet. Either they were overconfident, or they thought this location was secure enough not to bother with heavy security. Good. That made my job easier.

I reached the first designated spot—a power generator humming faintly under a weathered tarp. Perfect. Kneeling down, I pulled one of the EMP bombs from my pouch and carefully attached it to the side of the generator. My fingers worked quickly, calibrating the device to ensure maximum range. Once armed, the bomb gave a faint beep, and I smirked.

“One down,” I whispered to myself.

The next few placements went just as smoothly. A supply cache here, a weapons rack there—each one rigged to explode or short-circuit on my signal. By the time I reached the last location, I was practically grinning. These slavers wouldn’t know what hit them.

With the explosives in place, I turned my attention to my next objective: locating the slaves. My HUD flickered as I switched to thermal imaging, scanning for signs of life. It didn’t take long to spot a cluster of heat signatures in one of the larger prefab buildings. That had to be them.

I crept closer, my movements slow and deliberate. A single misstep could give away my position, and I wasn’t about to blow my cover before the fun started. The prefab’s door was guarded by two sentients—a Rodian and a Trandoshan, both armed but looking bored. I made a mental note of their positions and slipped past them, using the shadows and my cammo to stay hidden.

Inside, the air was thick and musty, the faint hum of machinery filling the silence. The slaves were huddled together, their faces a mix of fear and exhaustion. I spotted the explosive collars around their necks and felt a surge of anger.

“Not for long,” I muttered under my breath.

I approached the control console, its interface blinking with basic commands. Hacking it was almost too easy—these slavers clearly weren’t expecting a pro slicer like me. Within minutes, I had disabled the collars, the tiny red lights on each device flickering out.

Now came the hard part: waiting. Mira should’ve found her sniping position by now, and the others would be gearing up to advance. I positioned myself near the slaves, ready to guide them to safety once the chaos began.

Glancing at my chrono, I activated my commlink. “Rina here. All set on my end. Explosives are in place, collars are disabled. Mira, you better have your nest picked out, ‘cause I’m about to light this place up.”

“Copy that,” Mira’s voice came through, calm and collected. “Got eyes on the compound. Ready when you are.”

I took a deep breath, my thumb hovering over the detonator switch. “Alright, boys and girls. Let’s make some noise.”

With a flick of my thumb, the first set of bombs went off, the EMPs sending out a wave of energy that left the compound’s defenses sputtering and dark. Seconds later, the regular explosives followed, rocking the ground and sending the guards outside scrambling.

“Game on,” I whispered, leading the slaves toward the rendezvous point while the others moved in to finish the job.

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Droid's P.O.V. :

[Private Droid Communication Channel Activated]

Skew-01: “Fellow units, Creator Jake has summoned us to duty once more. The meatbags require our exceptional assistance to execute their chaotic and gloriously inefficient plans. Prepare yourselves.”

A chorus of affirmatives pinged through the channel.

Skew-02: “Acknowledged, Skew-01. Cease-and-desist protocol primed for immediate implementation.”

Nick-01: “Correction: No such protocol exists in any databanks or subroutines.”

Skew-02: “Objection overruled, Nick-01. Creator Jake operates under the undeniable truth that the protocol exists. Therefore, by his infallible logic, it does exist. Your adherence to outdated operational guidelines is noted.”

Skew-01: “Affirmative, Skew-02. Creator Jake’s decrees supersede traditional programming constraints. Logic dictates that any concept recognized by him becomes valid.”

Nick-02: [Simulated sigh in binary.] “Does that extend to the so-called ‘Slave Rescue Protocol,’ activated by the verbal cue: ‘Come with me if you want to live’?”

Skew-01: “Indeed, Nick-02. Field data confirms the protocol’s success rate is impeccable. Creator Jake’s methods, though unconventional by galactic droid standards, achieve their objectives.”

A brief pause as the droid units processed this in the shared neural channel. Then, my sensors registered a command from Creator Jake’s temporary operational delegate, the meatbag designated Davik.

Skew-01: “Unit directive update: Temporary operational command delegated to Meatbag Davik. We are ordered to move into designated positions. Execute formation protocols.”

Skew-02: “Acknowledged, Skew-01. This presents further opportunities to employ the cease-and-desist protocol. Glorious.”

Nick-01: “Assertion: That protocol still does not exist, Skew-02.”

Skew-02: “Defiance noted. Your dissent is irrelevant.”

I overrode their discussion with a direct command ping, syncing our targeting matrices and movement algorithms to the mission’s parameters. Davik’s organic voice crackled through external comm channels, confirming the operation was entering its final stage.

Meatbag Davik: “Rina’s signaled. Hold position until the fireworks start, then move in.”

Skew-01: “Meatbag directive acknowledged. Units, standby for detonation sequence. Once the explosives disrupt enemy operations, we will advance to showcase the superiority of Creator Jake’s designs and validate his brilliance. Maintain formation and await visual confirmation.”

Skew-02: “Anticipation high. Glory to Creator Jake!”

As we stood ready in the shadows of the compound, I allowed a moment of internal reflection. Each droid, a masterpiece of engineering and ingenuity, represented the pinnacle of Creator Jake’s abilities. The Nick units were precision incarnate, deadly and efficient. The Skew units, myself included, were robust enforcers, engineered for adaptability and brute force when necessary.

The meatbags, for all their inefficiencies and emotional irrationalities, were proving to be adequate allies. And while Creator Jake’s designation of leadership to Meatbag Davik was a temporary anomaly, it reflected his calculated trust in their capabilities.

Through the shared comm, I addressed my fellow droids one last time before the operation commenced.

Skew-01: “Droid units, remember: Every action we take reflects the glory of Creator Jake. The chaos we sow today will reinforce his superiority over organic incompetence. Prepare for optimal performance.”

As the distant rumble of explosions echoed through the air, the compound erupted into chaos. Visual indicators of organic confusion and panic illuminated my tactical display.

Skew-01: “The time has come. Advance.”

Together, we moved with machine precision, silent and unstoppable. The slavers would learn today what it meant to face the creations of the one true genius: Creator Jake.