How I Fell For a Sith (Star Wars)

Chapter 15: Chussy

The grimy glow of Circumtore’s artificial lighting casts my shadow long against the station’s metal flooring as we approach a storefront that looks like it’s been cobbled together from salvaged ship parts. “Vega’s Droid Emporium” flickers in neon above a doorway cluttered with spare mechanical limbs and optical sensors.

I take a step toward the entrance, but Vae’s hand catches my arm with surprising gentleness.

“You are going in alone,” she says, her crimson features partially hidden beneath her hood.

I pause, turning to face her. “Why? Afraid they’ll recognize you?”

She shakes her head slightly. “Kind of. Four Twenty will make a big deal if I accompany you.”

The name clicks in my head, and I can’t help the snort that escapes me. “Your old droid is named Four Twenty?”

“Yes?” Vae responds, her brow furrowing slightly beneath her hood. “Is that amusing for some reason?”

I stare at her for a moment, waiting for the punchline that never comes. Her expression remains genuinely puzzled, no hint of recognition in those crimson eyes.

‘Of course, this galaxy doesn’t have weed culture. That’s too bad.’

“Never mind,” I say, shaking my head. “So, how will I know which droid she is?”

Vae’s lips curve into a slight smile. “She’s white, thin, and very odd. And you already know her name.”

“Oh yeah, right,” I nod, patting the credit chip in my pocket. “I’ll go buy her then.”

“Meet me back at the ship when you’re done. I’ll be watching you to make sure you’re safe.”

Vae melts back into the shadows of a nearby alcove, becoming just another hooded figure in the station’s perpetual twilight. I take a deep breath and push through the shop’s entrance, immediately assaulted by the smell of oil, ozone, and hot metal.

The interior is a chaotic mess of droid parts organized in a system that makes sense only to its creator. Shelves overflow with processors and motivators, while partially assembled droids hang from hooks in the ceiling like mechanical carcasses in a butcher shop. The proprietor, a greasy-looking Toydarian, hovers behind a counter cluttered with circuitry.

“Welcome, welcome!” he calls, wings buzzing as he floats toward me. “Looking for a particular model? Something to clean your ship? A protocol unit, perhaps?”

I scan the shop, looking for any sign of a white, humanoid droid. “Actually, I’m interested in a specific droid. I believe her designation is Four Twenty?”

The Toydarian’s bulging eyes widen at the mention of the droid’s name. His wings flutter nervously, creating a small breeze that disturbs the dust motes dancing in the shop’s dim lighting.

“Four Twenty?” He blinks rapidly, relief washing over his features. “By the stars, someone actually wants to buy her?”

He darts behind a curtained doorway and returns moments later, practically dragging a sleek, white humanoid droid by the arm. She moves with fluid grace despite being manhandled, her T-shaped visor pulsing with a soft blue light.

“No amount of restraining bolts could get it to stop,” he confides, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “The things she says... just wait, you’ll see.”

The Toydarian suddenly grabs both my hands in his stubby fingers, the gesture so unexpected I almost pull away. “I’m so thankful someone wants to buy her,” he gushes. “At first, I thought she’d sell easily with her technical specs. But I can’t even wipe her memory since she’s such a good slicer, she blocks every attempt!”

“Okay, okay,” I say, gently extracting my hands from his grip. “How much is she?”

His mouth splits into a wide, toothy grin. “You’re getting a bargain, my friend, only 2,000 credits.”

I hesitate for just a moment. I’m not sure if that’s a lot or a little for a droid, but Vae said to buy her, so... I don’t think too hard about it. It’s definitely a good chunk of what we just made off Dreeg’s head, but if Vae wants this droid, she must be worth it.

“Deal,” I say, pulling out my credit chip and handing it over.

The Toydarian swipes it through his reader with practiced efficiency, then hands it back to me with a flourish. “All yours! No returns!” he adds quickly, already backing away as if afraid I might change my mind.

Four Twenty’s visor brightens noticeably. “New owner detected,” she announces in a surprisingly melodic voice. “Initiating preliminary scan.” Her head tilts slightly as she studies me. “Human male. Approximately twenty-five standard years. Heart rate elevated. Interesting pheromone output. Are you sexually aroused by droids, sir?”

I choke on air. “What? No!”

“Fascinating,” she continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “Did you know that Chiss females experience a 37% increase in oxytocin production during physical contact compared to baseline humanoid standards? Their pussies also contain specialized…”

“We should go,” I interrupt hastily, feeling heat rise to my face. “Right now.”

I grab Four Twenty’s metallic arm and hurry her out of the shop, practically shoving her through the doorway as the Toydarian flutters behind us, his relief palpable in the heavy sigh that follows our exit. Once we’re safely outside in the grimy corridor, I release my grip on her arm and take a steadying breath.

“I’m Rax Orlen,” I say, figuring some basic introductions are in order.

The droid’s T-shaped visor pulses brighter. “I am Four Twenty, Chiss sexual behavior specialist and elite slicer,” she announces with what sounds like pride in her synthesized voice. “My primary functions include data extraction, security circumvention, and comprehensive documentation of xenobiological mating practices, with particular expertise in Chiss reproductive behaviors.”

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. Now I understand why Vae pawned her off and why the Toydarian was so eager to get rid of her.

“Let’s head back to the ship,” I mutter, gesturing for her to follow me through Circumtore’s winding corridors. “It’s called The Handsome Gentleman.”

Four Twenty falls into step beside me, her white durasteel frame moving with surprising grace. “The Handsome Gentleman. Interesting designation. Did you know that vessel naming conventions often reflect subconscious sexual desires? This suggests you may harbor homoerotic…”

“So,” I interrupt quickly, “Chiss reproductive behaviors?”

“Oh yes!” Her voice modulator practically vibrates with enthusiasm. “My database contains 7,842 unique observations of Chiss sexual behaviors across various planetary environments and socioeconomic strata.”

I nod, keeping my eyes forward as we navigate through the station’s bustling thoroughfare. “That’s... specific.”

“Did you know,” Four Twenty continues, leaning closer as if sharing a secret, “that Chiss females are approximately 10% more likely to expectorate on male genitalia during oral stimulation than their human counterparts?”

“That’s enough information for now,” I cut in, feeling my face grow hot as a Rodian passing by gives us a startled look.

Four Twenty’s head tilts slightly. “Your elevated heart rate and increased blood flow to facial capillaries suggest embarrassment. Fascinating! Would you prefer I talk about how elastic a Chiss’s Vaginal canal is?”

“Actually, silence would be great right now.”

Every step feels like an eternity without Vae beside me. I keep glancing over my shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of Vae’s hooded figure following at a distance, but the sea of bodies and artificial twilight conceals her completely.

“Your discomfort with sexual discourse suggests repression common in human males from conservative upbringings,” Four Twenty observes, matching my hurried stride with mechanical precision. “Perhaps we could discuss something more innocuous, like Chiss digestive…”

“No. No more Chiss anything,” I interrupt, relief washing over me as the entrance to our docking bay finally comes into view. “We’re here. Thank Christ.”

The Handsome Gentleman sits exactly as we left it, its battered hull a welcome sight after the awkward journey through the station. I punch in the access code, and the landing ramp descends with a pneumatic hiss.

“After you,” I say, gesturing for Four Twenty to board first.

The droid’s visor pulses as she ascends the ramp. “Fascinating. Did you know that 4% of all sexual encounters in hyperspace result in minor injuries due to unexpected turbulence?”

“Please,” I groan, following her aboard and hitting the control panel to close the ramp behind us. “I’m begging you to stop.”

We stand in the cargo hold, an uncomfortable silence settling between us as I wait for Vae to arrive. Four Twenty’s visor pulses rhythmically, her head swiveling as she scans our surroundings.

“Your ship requires significant maintenance,” she observes after a minute. “The life support systems are operating at 76% efficiency, and the hyperdrive motivator shows signs of imminent failure.”

“Sick.”

Vae finally comes in through the ramp door.

Four Twenty’s reaction is immediate and startling. Her visor flashes brilliantly, and her mechanical body straightens to attention.

“Old Master!” the droid exclaims, her voice modulator pitching higher with what sounds disturbingly like joy. “Thank the Maker! You said you’d be back to retrieve me, and you’ve actually returned as promised!”

Vae’s expression darkens immediately. Her crimson features twist into a scowl as she pulls her hood back, revealing her horns and those intense red eyes that now narrow dangerously at Four Twenty.

“Don’t say anything weird to Ty-Lar,” she snaps, stepping between me and the droid like she’s protecting me from some mechanical predator.

Four Twenty’s visor blinks in what I interpret as confusion. She tilts her head, looking from Vae to me and back again.

“Ty-Lar?” she repeats, her mechanical voice somehow conveying genuine puzzlement. She turns her T-shaped visor toward me, scanning me from head to toe. “You mean Rax Orlen? My new owner’s designation is clearly Rax Orlen according to his biosignature and the transaction records.”

Vae’s eyes flare with that dangerous yellow tinge that always signals trouble. She steps closer to Four Twenty, her hand hovering near her concealed lightsaber.

“Only I can call my husband Ty-Lar,” she says, each word precise and deadly as a vibroblade.

The tension in the cargo hold becomes thick enough to cut with a knife. I clear my throat, stepping forward to defuse the situation before Vae decides to dismantle our expensive new droid.

“Husband?” Four Twenty’s visor brightens with apparent interest. “Fascinating! I was not informed of your marital status, Master Orlen. This opens up entirely new avenues of research potential. Did you know that in mixed-species relationships involving Devaronians, the frequency of…”

“Enough!” Vae cuts her off, her voice sharp enough to make even me flinch.

Four Twenty falls silent immediately, her visor dimming slightly. I can almost imagine her pouting, if droids could pout.

“So,” I say, desperate to change the subject, “Four Twenty is a slicer, right? That’s why we needed her?”

Vae nods, her crimson features softening slightly. “Yes. She’s one of the best slicers I’ve ever encountered.” She gestures toward me to walk with her.

I follow her to the worn couch that serves as our makeshift common area, sinking into the cushions with a sigh of relief. Vae settles beside me, her warm body pressing against mine as she pulls me closer. The familiar weight of her arm around my shoulders is comforting after the tension of the past hour.

“Yes,” she continues, her fingers absently tracing patterns on my shoulder, “Four Twenty is exceptional at breaking encryption and accessing restricted networks. She’s one of the best slicers I know. But she’s also the most annoying droid in the galaxy.”

Four Twenty’s visor whirrs indignantly from where she stands watching us. “I can hear you, Former Master. My audio receptors function at 128% of standard protocol droid capacity.”

Before Vae can retort, a soft chime sounds from the datapad I left on the small table beside the couch. The screen illuminates with a notification, casting a blue glow across the dimly lit space.

“A message?” Vae says, her voice instantly cold as ice. Her arm tightens around me, no longer comforting but possessive.

Vae snatches the datapad before I can stop her, and I watch in growing dread as her eyes scan the message. Her Eyes turning to a rageful yellow that always scares me.

“From Tinos Kan.”

Four Twenty: 

Tinos Kan from last chapter: