An Unknown Facility

[Battlemaster]

About 4,000 kilometers from Tipoca City, a small series of buildings stood silently against the crashing waves and howling beasts. The small, town-like area had been silent for years, having been away from the eyes of Kaminoan authorities for ages. Only recently had the hideout of an unsung mad scientist been visited. Only a few months ago had the foreboding place been registered as part of Kamino.

Only a few months had passed until the company that bought it bled it dry.

The short Sullustan man in charge answered to the name Rendin Ora, and he was the CEO of a little-known robotics company, Denitron Droidworks. Denitron wouldn't be found on any major planets; the company was still in its infancy stages, with only two droids units on the mainstream market (sadly, those two also being the only models that merited continued production). Ora wasn't impressed. He was the kind of person that planted a seed in the morning and had shrubbery by dinnertime; patience was virture he neither believed in nor practiced. In his view, all things did come to those who wait, but by then they'd be obsolete several times over. Rather than patience, Rendin Ora practiced impulsiveness, believing more that the Force favored the bold.

He had yet to be disappointed.

About half a standard year ago, Ora had procured a factory on Mustafar on a whimsical decision. Inside, he found that he had made the deal of his life; in addition to machines that were still in top condition, he also found mountains of flimsiplast records, the keycode to a bank account holding millions of credits, and a fully-grown Human clone still gestating in his incubation chamber. Eager for more, Rendin Ora had personally scoured through every document he could lay his hands on, searching to see if this "Aherk Formidonis" had any other stores across the galaxy. Four months later, he stood in an uncharted building on Mustafar's poetic opposite, finding almost everything that had eluded him on Mustafar. Blueprints. Materials. Programs. The two facilities, both now registered under Denitron Droidworks, went hand in hand with another. But it couldn't stay this way, Ora figured; the unexpected power surge that unlocked the facility was too large to go unnoticed, and forced them to get everything off-planet as fast as possible.

It wasn't a problem; all around him, musclemen of various species hauled crate upon crate to the four YV-100 freighters situated at the north, south, east, and west ends of the facility. And among them were the reasons that they were all there. Shiny, durasteel droids aided the men in loading the facility's contents, each of them standing just over two meters in height, sporting a lean human figure and bright red photoreceptors. They were the predecessors of a smaller, darker, and much more deadly machine found in the Mustafar facility, but even with their relative inferiority, these prototypes would raze the market, possibly even toppling Cybot Galactica. The thought brought a smile to the Sullustan's lips.

Up until that uppity silver protocol droid had to bother him. Again.

"Mr. Ota! I really must protest this theft!"

[Battlemaster]

"Well, well, if it isn't the can opener back to bother me once again. And it's ORA."

The dull silver 3PO droid seemed to be blasted back by the insult as though the words carried a physical force all their own. Sparky, as he was called by the corporate businessman, raised his right arm in an attempt to point accusingly at the man reaping the benefits of her master's work. But her physiology foiled her; protocol droid construction only allowed for so much movement in all of their joints, resulting in her arm still being bent at the elbow and her index finger only barely being held up. Much to Sparky's frustration. And much to Rendin Ora's seemingly inherited sweet delight.

"If the name of my master's thief meant more to me than an insect on a viewscreen, I'd bother trying! I must ask you to leave this place at once and continue your thuggery elsewhere!" Sparky's squeaky voice was almost comical in its anger, the limited movement of the droid causing a small smile to form underneath Ora's jowls. It wasn't like other protocol droids, this one. He couldn't expect it to be; every other droid in the place, even the kriffing living staff were unique in their own odd way. But the droids, especially. This Sparky thing had much more fire in her heart than her metal kin; a mentality that made one believe that she actually WOULD carry out her threats despite her inherent programming to be polite and tend to the needs of sentient beings.

Would believe, that is, if one could get past her almost juvenile voice and persistent inability to hold to her cruel intentions.

"Sparky, listen to me. Your master? He's right behind me! At my own pesonal beck and call! The contract that declares ownership of this little facility is right here with me, signed with his own signature! I own everything in this place, my dear friend, even you. The workers were paid and returned to Tipoca in return for their silence, but you, I don't think will answer to such a bargain."

"Not in your wildest dreams, <<sir>>."

"Well, if we're going to speak in my native tongue..."

Rendin Ora cleared his throat as his cold black eyes stared down the bright yellow photoreceptors Sparky prized. It was how she got her name, actually; her right ocular sensor had a tendency to spark on occasion, giving it a slightly more orange glow thanks to the damage. But as far as intensity went, her eyes had nothing on the businessman's glare. For although her eye sparked, Ora's eyes burned.

"<<Now YOU listen to ME, you tin-forged malfunctioning prat. I was the one who found this facility years after its master died, I was the one that allowed the workers to return home after four years of neglect, malnutrition, and bordering on cannibalism, and I alone will reap the benefits of what I have earned! It may not look like it, true, but all I did for my company to get them here? This place is MINE! I found it! And I'm helping save hundreds of thousands of people in the process, which you can't see because you're too one-sided to notice anything beyond your master's will. Did YOU scour the Burning Plains to find a factory amidst horde upon horde of Kubaza beetles? Can't imagine you could. Did YOU personally fight down the defenses of that Force-forsaken factory? Of course not. Did you save a young man from four years of over-gestation? No, madam, you did NOT!!>>"

"<<Did you?>>"

The Sullustan fell silent, every fiber of his being shaking with impotent rage.

"<<And for your information, sir, that abomination standing behind you is NOT my master.>>"

"Your eyes are far too receptive to be a protocol droid's, Miss Sparky."

Ora turned his head toward the only other person in the room not helping the combined force of men and droids load anything of remote value onto the four ships parked outside. He was standing roughly 180 centimeters in height, with jet black hair and smooth, tan skin. His features were handsome, although not overwhelmingly so; had he dared smile, he would not have looked out of place in a picture of the heroes of the Old Republic. But his face was expressionless, the only truly notable things about him being his face, his lean, slightly muscled build, and his deep blue eyes. He was wearing the outfit and equipment of a Republican Guard to sell Ora's lie that his raid was indeed legally sanctioned, despite the fact that this matter required no military oversight whatsoever. But it was, above all else, the eyes that caught most people. When one first looked into them, one could see that they were as serene as they were blue; a reflection of Manaan's pristine ocean, unperturbed by the robbery or altercation around him. But at the same time, when one took his demeanor and facial expressions into consideration, it was as though the oceans in his eyes were storms violent enough to put Kamino's own to shame. The man in question turned his head back to Ora, as if waiting for some malignant cue to come his way.

"Aherk, would you please take Miss Sparky somewhere where her...suggestions will be more welcomed?"

Without a word, Aherk's head snapped back toward Sparky, marching toward her and hauling her over his shoulder as he carried the opinionated droid outside into the cold rain.