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Within a Trade Federation base on Bondo III, two Cato Nemiodians have found security and hope for themselves guarded by their own droids.
According to the deal which had been promised to them by the mastermind, the droids were given their own life chargers, allowing them to serve their commanders without risk of deactivation.
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“Lieutenant Gord,” Commander Sol said as he swiftly walked towards his second in command,“We have new reinforcements of droids moving in towards our position.”
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“Ahh, yes. Well the more droids the better. We’ll be safer, and will continue in our…goals.” Sol finished sighing with cowardly confidence,
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“I would rather blast the skulls of a couple dozen Screechers than have an [u]army[/u] of droids to our control. This is cowardly of us…”
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“To hide and let a pack of computers do the job for us.” Gord growled angrily after days of conflict between his commanding officer.
Just then, a droid marched up to the two,
“Sirs, we have two incoming: B type: #1 battle drones. They are coming into this control center as we speak.”
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Marching in were the two droids, one of which was missing an arm, and was lagging behind. All the same, they were reinforcements, and Sol accepted all battle droids…limbless or fully functioning.
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“Yes, yes!” he cheered, raising his arms as if he was reaching out for a hug to a held dear relative,
“Your contributions will help us greatly.”
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Tossing the complement away, the droid lowered his weapon, and replied bluntly, “We have a report to transfer about our journey.”
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“Do you request a ”U.T.D“, commander?” the droids replied,
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The Nemiodian chuckled, “No, no, no. We can do that later, get your comrade repaired. I want my troops ready and fully functional to protect me…and Gord.”
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“Yes, sir.” the droid replied,
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The other stammered, tripping over himself as he attempted to reply respectfully to his commander, “Y-y-y-yes, sir-sir-sir!”
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Listening to his commander with disgust, he knew that he could serve as a greater leader than Sol ever could. He was cowardly like all of Gord’s brothers before him. He could end the apocalypse if he wanted to. He could have ended the Clone Wars if he wanted to! But he was always held back by Sol…but no more.
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It was his time to rule, his time to control, his time to make his mark in the galaxy, the Trade Federation would respect him for his power, his courage, his strength as ruler.
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“Ah, don’t you feel it, Gord? Do you see the tide changing? The Clone Wars will be over soon. Sidious will be pleased, and Duku…How do you suppose he’ll react when he sees Bondo III under such…such…control?”
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“Yes,” Gord replied, his hand moving towards his hidden blaster, “they would be very proud, but I can see then more thankful.”
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“Well, they aren’t exactly the thankful type. But I am, we will be safer more than ever with those troopers added to our numbers.”
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“I don’t know the mastermind’s plans, but I do know this: I am glad that I never have to go out there and put myself in danger.” Sol stated, “Never try, never fail. Those are words that I live by. Don’t forget them.”
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“With all do respect,” Gord mocked, “Don’t you think that risks come with the territory in the field of battle, and if you don’t take them, you risk failure, and the full wrath of Sidious upon you.”
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“I see it as saving money and time, more money means more pay…and more time means more chances of escaping when it’s necessary.” Sol corrected proudly,
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Angered and disgusted by his Commander’s words, his green fist turned yellow as it tightened around the grip of his blaster.
“You cannot believe what you are saying, Commander! Such selfishness is what lost us battles throughout these three years of war!”
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“But at least we have our lives, and at least we don’t get blood on our hands.” Sol fired back, slightly put off by his second in commands back-talking.
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“My life,” he continued, “maters more, than any other Trade Federation employer in this base, and I must be protected within these walls, or I will die!”
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No longer could Gord take the sound of his commander’s voice, he yanked the blaster from his back, and aimed it firmly at Sol,
“I am sick and [u]tired[/u] of your cowardice! The galaxy would be better off without our people, do you realize it?!”
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Trembling before his second in command, he held his hands to protect his face from the sight of a blaster putted at his chest,
“P-please! Don’t kill me, I don’t want to die!”
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“Precisely why I plan on killing you, Sol,” Gord replied, “you could never take risks, you could never die for your Confederacy.”
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With that, Gord fired a blast through his commander’s chest, ending his life before he hit the floor.
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Staring at the body for a few seconds, Gord smiled with satisfaction as he felt the weight of control fall upon his shoulders, he was in control.
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Looking upon his soldiers, he was awed and hypnotized by his troopers lining side by side waiting for his first command as the commanding officer of all.
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“Go out, and clear the fortress of any impurities before we begin phase 2, do what we must be done!” the droids replied with a loud and strong, “Yes, sir!!”
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After the troops had moved out, Gord walked towards the spectacle, the image of phase 3 which was to come soon, and Gord was impatient for it.
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Sol was right about one thing: the Sith will be pleased, but after the completion of the mastermind’s genius plan, and he would be promoted, respected by all.
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“I love being the victor.” Gord grumbled to himself,
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“And soon…my General, you will get a chance to get a taste.”
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“I pray for your return, and be it the will of the Force, others will follow you.”
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“[u]I[/u] would follow you.”
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