First Reply For Those Who Fall Tonight

[Caspian Dinn]

Coruscant
The Core Worlds
The Undercity​

The steady click-click-clicking of heels on ferrocrete rang out in the tight and winding alleyways of Coruscant's seedy underbelly, drowned in part by the general din of a city that never slept. Machinery hummed and thudded, rattling anything that was not welded down, voices called out to no one in particular, and a few blocks away blaster fire joined in the cacophony.​

​

Still, it was the clicking that resonated most of all, that hurried step with a destination in mind, shadowed by a softer boot which followed with a different sense of urgency; the rest of the world need not exist for how peripheral it had become.​

​

At each corner the distance narrowed, inch by inch, minute by minute, until heels became the salty scent of sweat masked by overpowering florals, and heartbeat matched frantic heartbeat, pulsing through tightening throats.​

​

Stomach twisted, seeped in hunger and bound by a rage that swelled with each passing second until the world around him turned red at the edges and that last shred of sense drifted away on barely recycled air.​

​

They were alone now, heel and boot, click and patter echoing in tandem as alleyway turned constricting and darkness settled within and without.​

​

Hand reaching, pocket knife glinting in the dim light of a neon sign three floors up, Caspian made his move; all he could feel now was that rage-fueled hunger, the need to sink his teeth into flesh and find relief in the warm lifeforce of another.​

​

This would have been easy back on Zaathru, but nothing ever was here in the Jewel of the Core Worlds.​

 

[Hard Chrome]

HEURISTIC PROCESSOR ARCHIVE // FIELD OBSERVATION

HARD CHROME

CORUSCANT // LOWER LEVELS | Caspian Dinn

Coruscant produced more noise than Hard Chrome had any reason to process. Machinery vibrated through the ferrocrete beneath his feet, ventilation systems cycled somewhere behind the walls, and intermittent blaster fire several blocks distant registered before being discarded as irrelevant.

The terminal occupying his attention was considerably older than the alley surrounding it. Chrome's forearm remained connected to the access port while corrupted directories crawled past, most dismissed almost as quickly as they appeared: incompatible servomotors, obsolete regulators, manufacturers dead longer than some governments.

Then one entry survived the filter.

Cranial control assemblies. Origin unknown.

The lack of attribution was why he had come.

Footsteps had entered the alley behind him nearly a minute earlier. Chrome had retained them without interrupting the search. Two organics moving in the same direction, one following the other, the distance between them narrowing and widening several times despite repeated opportunities to close it entirely.

A small metallic click finally drew more of his attention. Folding blade. Chrome continued reading.

The weapon should have explained the pursuit. It did not. Whoever carried it had already been close enough to use it, more than once, yet the expected attack had never followed. As the distance narrowed again, the man's movements became less controlled rather than more.

That was unusual.

Chrome had observed enough predators over the last century to recognize the moment immediately before violence. They generally became more deliberate once their prey was within reach. This one did not.

The terminal completed another search cycle. Nothing useful. Chrome disconnected his forearm.

He did not step into the alley. Only his head turned, crimson photoreceptors settling first upon the organic, then upon the small blade held in his hand. Neon caught along battered armor and exposed mechanisms as the old MagnaGuard regarded the scene from beside the terminal. No weapon was drawn. No warning followed.

The knife was real. The opportunity to use it had been real. Its purpose remained unclear.

Chrome's head shifted several degrees.

"What is the knife for?"

 

[Caspian Dinn]

The words sounded out in the narrow alleyway right as Caspian made his move, and what ought to have been a clean slice to the spine, severing mobility in the process, became a rougher cut to the abdomen that sent viscera tumbling to the floor with a horrible splatter.​

​

In the aftermath, the boy took half a step back and stared wide-eyed at the putrid sight before him. Whatever hunger and anticipation had been built was lost in a heartbeat, and the boy's skin turned a sickly shade of green.​

​

It was one thing to pounce while the hunger was high, sinking teeth into flesh was much more civilized in his mind than whatever the Nether this was; it had kicked the beast back down into the depths of his belly, and left him nauseatingly back in his right mind.​

​

"I didn't mean to--- kark." The boy turned toward the voice, taking several more steps back toward the entrance of the alley, fully expecting pursuit; what he had not been expecting, however, was the shiny metal body of his onlooker. Not a human, not even some lesser person, just an old clanker. At once, Caspian's feigned fear turned to unadulterated disdain.​

​

"Couldn't keep your rusty nose out, could you?" he huffed, "Now look what you made me do, it's ruined."​

​

It. Not she, for the corpse now slumped on the floor in a pool of sticky red was most certainly a woman, just... it.​

​

Nobody wanted to eat a corpse, where was the fun, the adrenaline, in that? Especially since the spice had begun to ebb away. Such a shame, it had felt like a particularly strong specimen too.​

​

Hard Chrome ​

 

[Hard Chrome]

HEURISTIC PROCESSOR ARCHIVE // FIELD OBSERVATION

HARD CHROME

CORUSCANT // LOWER LEVELS | Caspian Dinn

The knife answered the question almost immediately.

Not particularly well.

Hard Chrome watched the strike change at the last moment. The blade entered at the wrong angle, continued farther than intended, and left considerably more of the organic on the ferrocrete than had apparently been planned. His interruption had altered the movement. That much was evident. Whether that made the result his responsibility was less useful to determine.

The reaction that followed was more interesting.

Chrome had seen organics opened by blades, blaster fire, explosives and weapons designed specifically to leave very little behind. The sight on the alley floor required no adjustment from him. The one holding the knife reacted differently. Whatever urgency had driven him moments earlier disappeared almost as quickly as the blood spread across the ferrocrete.

Chrome remained beside the terminal.

He made no move to pursue when the other organic backed away, nor did the insult directed at him produce any visible response. Clanker supplied no information he did not already possess.

"It's ruined."

That did.

Chrome's photoreceptors shifted from Caspian to the body. The injury was severe enough that survival was unlikely without immediate intervention, though the possibility seemed increasingly irrelevant. The knife had done exactly what knives commonly did when used with sufficient force.

Apparently that had not been the desired result.

His attention returned to Caspian.

There had been no satisfaction after the attack. No attempt to search the body, take valuables, or finish whatever confrontation had begun before Chrome noticed it. Instead there had been disappointment, followed by something close to revulsion.

The dead organic had become useless.

That was new information.

Chrome's head rotated several degrees as he regarded the young man standing nearer the mouth of the alley.

"Ruined for what?"

 

[Caspian Dinn]

The knife-strike had been less the result of Caspian's hand and more the fact that the woman had turned toward the droid's voice... at least, that's what Caspian told himself. If she hadn't of turned his knife would have struck true, of course, he was no amateur no matter how he looked.​

​

In the end he was mostly just glad that very little of the woman's blood had gotten on him. There had been some spray, of course, but it was localized down low. Only a tiny splatter reached his face, and he wiped it away without much thought before licking a speck from the finger of his unburdened hand. His knife hand? Yeah, that was ruddy as the day he was born.​

​

"All the energy's gone from it" he huffed, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Can't you feel it? All of that life is just... gone." He toed the woman's frail body with its quickly dwindling light, then scowled. "It's shivering, I don't want to taste something cold, that's so.. so.. uncivilized."​

​

Small moans sounded up from the woman though she was barely clinging to life. Regardless of how near-inaudible they were, the boy still half turned toward her and brought a finger up to his lips. "Shh" he hissed. "Go to sleep." He poked her in the forehead until she fell back, the last of her strength gone, then turned that finger toward the droid accusatorily.​

​

"Now we have to clean this up" he said, "Or people will start asking questions."​

​

Hard Chrome ​

 

[Hard Chrome]

HEURISTIC PROCESSOR ARCHIVE // FIELD OBSERVATION

HARD CHROME

CORUSCANT // LOWER LEVELS | Caspian Dinn

Hard Chrome regarded Caspian for several seconds after the explanation. Energy. Life. Cold. None of the terms were particularly difficult to understand on their own, though the distinction the organic placed between them was less obvious. Whatever he had intended to take from the woman apparently depended upon her remaining alive while he did it.

Chrome's photoreceptors shifted back toward the body. She moved.

Barely.

The sound that escaped her was weak enough that most organics might have missed it beneath the machinery and distant traffic of Coruscant's lower levels, but it was enough. Caspian silenced her with a finger to the forehead and waited until she fell still again. Chrome continued watching.

"It is not gone. You described the life as gone. The organic remains alive."

The difference seemed relevant.

Chrome had encountered a considerable number of dying organics over the course of his operational life. Some continued moving long after survival had become unlikely. Others stopped before the damage appeared sufficient to explain it. None had previously required him to consider whether the useful portion of an organic could disappear before the organic itself did.

That possibility was filed for later consideration. Then Caspian pointed at him.

Now we have to clean this up.

Chrome's head shifted several degrees as the statement processed. The assumption behind it was almost as unusual as everything that had preceded it. Caspian had gone from resenting his presence to including him in whatever came next without any apparent transition between the two. Chrome looked once more toward the woman, then at the blood spreading unevenly across the ferrocrete. A body. A weapon. Biological material. At least one possible witness if the woman survived long enough to become one. There were several ways to interpret the instruction.

His photoreceptors settled back upon Caspian.

"Define 'clean this up.'"

 

[Caspian Dinn]

While it was true, the woman was technically alive, her presence in the Force was too dim to be of use to him. She had both feet in the Nether now, and only a pinkie finger remained in the land of the living. No, she was beyond use for him... but that did not make her entirely useless.​

​

"I needed its blood pumping, its pulse strong, its presence here not there." He waved a hand. "What would a clanker know..." he sighed, shaking his head. "No matter, it's over now. I'm sure there's something still worth harvesting, and the rest? Well, I overheard a guy looking for fertilizer a few levels down, organic matter is organic matter, you know? Why waste it."​

​

He crouched down to wipe his knife clean on the woman's skirt, folded it in on itself, then pocketed it. "You're a universal donor, right?" he asked, making a nodding gesture in the hopes that she would mirror it. "You're gonna save so many lives."​

​

With a pat-pat to her cheek, Caspian looked back to the droid.​

​

"Here, help me move it. There's a burned out building back the way I came, we can put it in there and I'll get to work." A pause. "What's your designation, anyway?" he asked. "Or are you one of those cool droids with an actual name?"​

​

He couldn't go around calling the thing Clanker after all, some uppity types took real offense to that and Caspian wasn't looking to draw attention.​

​

Hard Chrome ​

 

[Hard Chrome]

HEURISTIC PROCESSOR ARCHIVE // FIELD OBSERVATION

HARD CHROME

CORUSCANT // LOWER LEVELS | Caspian Dinn

Caspian's explanation resolved part of the inconsistency.

Hard Chrome understood circulation, pulse and biological function. The distinction Caspian drew between those things and the presence he described remained less clear, but the practical result was simple enough. The woman could remain biologically alive after whatever made her useful to him had already faded beyond reach. Chrome watched as Caspian wiped the blade clean, then listened to the alternatives proposed for what remained. Harvesting viable tissue was common enough. Repurposing organic remains as agricultural material was less familiar, though there was nothing particularly inefficient about the idea.

The conversation with the dying woman appeared unnecessary. Chrome let him finish. Then Caspian instructed him to help move the body.

Chrome remained where he was for several seconds. Nothing in his standing directives required cooperation, and his original purpose in the alley had involved a corrupted terminal and records that still waited behind him. He could disconnect from the encounter now and resume the search exactly where he had left it. Then Caspian asked for his designation.

Chrome's photoreceptors settled on him.

"Hard Chrome."

A short pause followed.

"It is a name."

Other identifiers had existed. Production classifications, military assignments, numbers attached to records that had survived longer than some of the organics who created them. None answered the question Caspian had actually asked.

Hard Chrome did.

His attention shifted back toward the woman. The burned-out building Caspian had mentioned was nearby. The terminal and its records would still be there later. So far, every answer Caspian provided had produced another question. No directive required that he continue. Chrome reached down anyway.

One hand closed beneath the woman's shoulders with enough care to avoid further tearing the wound. The old MagnaGuard compensated for her weight almost immediately as he lifted her from the ferrocrete, the effort barely registering against systems designed to move considerably heavier things. Chrome looked toward Caspian.

"Which way, softbody?"

A fraction of a second passed.

Softbody seemed adequate.

 

[Caspian Dinn]

"Who you calling Soft Body?" he quipped, though there was a tiny bit of humour behind the boy's eyes. "This way, Hard Chrome," he said, directing him first with a nod of his head and then with his footsteps.​

​

"You know, that's a killer name," Caspian said, "Much better than Soft Body, but... I'll let it go, for now." Said with all the grace of a boy who thought very highly of himself. Still, why rock the starship? Right now Hard Chrome was doing him a solid, even if it was his fault Caspian hadn't gotten to bolster his strength. As they said back home, don't look a gift Zaathri in the mouth.​

​

"So, what were you doing anyway?" he asked, as he led the way down the alley toward the burnt out building. It had been recently flamed, the smoke had barely settled which kept anyone from rushing in to claim it. Perfect for an impromptu extraction station. "Back there, I mean."​

​

At the barely-holding-on doorway, he glanced over his shoulder. Nobody that he could see was out there, but there was a steady trail of blood linking drop site to extraction site, to say nothing of the viscera sprawled between both points.​

​

He pushed the way open, door hanging lopsidedly on its remaining hinge, and held it for Hard Chrome to pass.​

​

"Alright, so, I'm thinking jars? And ice. Lots of ice. Maybe some sort of bag to carry the good stuff in?" He looked up at the droid. "Watcha think? Can you get some of that?" He paused. "Do droids need credits? I saw a flyer, someone'll pay good money for the useful bits, you know? I meant what I said to it, lots of lives will be saved. A good sacrifice, to be sure. So, anyway, credits? Fifty-fifty..?"​

​

Hard Chrome ​

 

[Hard Chrome]

HEURISTIC PROCESSOR ARCHIVE // FIELD OBSERVATION

HARD CHROME

CORUSCANT // LOWER LEVELS | Caspian Dinn

Hard Chrome followed.

The woman's weight produced no meaningful change in his pace as Caspian led them through the adjoining alleys, though the route behind them was becoming considerably more noticeable. Blood continued to drip from the wound despite Chrome's effort to avoid disturbing it further, leaving an intermittent trail across the ferrocrete all the way back toward where the encounter had begun.

Caspian, meanwhile, appeared pleased with the name.

"I agree."

There was no hesitation in the response. Hard Chrome had accumulated enough numbers, classifications and military identifiers over the course of his operational life to recognize the difference between something assigned and something retained. Hard Chrome had survived longer than most of the designations that came before it.

Caspian's question about the terminal required considerably less explanation.

"Searching."

Chrome adjusted his grip as they approached the burned-out structure, smoke still clinging to the interior with the familiar smell of scorched wiring and melted insulation.

"Obsolete military hardware. Cranial control assemblies."

He left it there. Caspian had asked what he was doing, not why.

The damaged doorway protested as it was pushed aside, and Chrome passed through before lowering the woman onto the first reasonably stable surface he found inside. He kept her clear of the worst of the soot and debris. Whether that distinction still mattered to her was uncertain, but there was little reason to make Caspian's proposed work more difficult than necessary.

Jars, ice and bags were apparently the proposed solution. Chrome looked toward him.

"Ice is inefficient."

His photoreceptors moved briefly across the burned interior before returning to Caspian.

"A sealed container with active coolant would maintain temperature more consistently. Medical transport cases would be preferable if the tissue is intended for transplantation."

If preserving the organs was the objective, suitable equipment was the simplest part of the problem. Concealing what had happened appeared less developed. Chrome rotated his head toward the doorway. Portions of the blood trail remained plainly visible outside, leading directly back through the route they had just taken.

"Also, your cleanup remains visible from the alley."

Preserving anything seemed premature while the location remained so easily identifiable. Then came the question of credits.

"Droids require resources. Organics have chosen credits as the preferred method of acquiring them."

Components, repairs and information all required resources eventually. Whether Chrome consumed food or required shelter was largely irrelevant to the exchange. Caspian proposed an equal division. No agreement had existed when Chrome entered the alley, nor had any terms been established before the woman was moved. Caspian did not appear particularly troubled by either detail.

Neither, apparently, was Chrome.

"Fifty-fifty is acceptable."

His attention shifted once more toward the doorway and the trail beyond it.

"After we clean properly."

 

[Caspian Dinn]

"I'll pretend like I know what any of that means" he said, of Hard Chrome's search, "I'd offer to help, but, well, as I'm sure I just established, I haven't the foggiest."​

​

Once inside the burnt out building, and with the woman set upon a sooty metal table, Caspian turned to face the droid once more.​

​

"Okay, so no ice," he shrugged, "if you can swing the other stuff. If not? Well, then ice."​

​

Soon enough his gaze was drifting back to the door, following the trail of viscera and blood that marked their path. The boy frowned, a deep and troubled frown, before tapping his chin and the toes of his right boot in sync.​

​

"Yeah, transplants," he was mumbling in response to Chrome's earlier statement, "If I had sand, we could get this cleaned up easily," he went on to add, just as quietly, before addressing the droid. "Zaathru had so much sand, Mother was always having them use it to clean up after the sacrifices." He shook his head then. "Ain't seen any sand around here, though, so... I guess I better get to scrubbing. Alley first."​

​

He looked down at the woman, then prodded her several times in the forehead - once per word that followed.​

​

"You made such a mess" he chided the barely-live body.​

​

Then, with a hmph, he stepped away. "So, how do they clean up blood in this neck of the woods?" the boy asked.​

​

Hard Chrome ​

 

[Hard Chrome]

HEURISTIC PROCESSOR ARCHIVE // FIELD OBSERVATION

HARD CHROME

CORUSCANT // LOWER LEVELS | Caspian Dinn

Caspian's lack of understanding did not require clarification. He had asked what Chrome was doing. Chrome had answered.

Sand was more relevant.

Zaathru meant nothing to Chrome. The mention of sacrifices did, though he left the subject alone while Caspian turned back toward the woman and began assigning responsibility for the state of the alley one poke at a time.

"She did not."

Chrome looked at Caspian.

"You did."

There was no accusation behind it. The sequence of events was simply incorrect.

His attention returned to the blood trail outside. Sand was crude, but the principle was familiar; absorbent compounds were commonly used around leaking machinery.

"Sand is inefficient, but functional."

The rest of Caspian's question had a similarly uncomplicated answer.

"Maintenance stations should have sanitation supplies. Something suitable can be acquired."

Coruscant possessed no shortage of equipment intended to transport biological material, though its manufacturers had probably envisioned different circumstances. The same applied to whatever containers Caspian ultimately required for the useful portions of the woman.

Chrome looked back at him.

"You mentioned sacrifices."

A brief pause followed.

"Were the bodies harvested afterward?"

 

[Caspian Dinn]

"She did" he said incredulously, "It's her bits that are all over the place, and she turned into the knife. I was going for her spinal column. Quick clean slice and she wouldn't have felt any of this. Much less messy too." He huffed and crossed his arms. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"​

​

When Hard Chrome thought up an alternative to sand, Caspian positively beamed. "Wonderful, wonderful. How's this for a plan? You fetch what we need to clean up and harvest her, and I'll do the hard work of actually cleaning and harvesting?" He knew how to do those things, he did not know how to get the necessary equipment.​

​

"Fifty-fifty, remember?"​

​

When his throwaway comment about his mother's sacrifices was made, Caspian lifted his head; he had been watching the woman on the table, her light was fading fast. He reckoned she had less than fifteen minutes, maybe half an hour. She was cold, he knew that much.​

​

"The bits mother didn't eat were saved for later" he confirmed, "But she was always so hungry, especially when father was home. The two of them?" He shook his head, "Insatiable."

Hard Chrome ​

 

[Hard Chrome]

HEURISTIC PROCESSOR ARCHIVE // FIELD OBSERVATION

HARD CHROME

CORUSCANT // LOWER LEVELS | Caspian Dinn

Hard Chrome regarded Caspian while the explanation was delivered. The woman's movement had altered the intended strike. That was accurate. Caspian had still been holding the knife. Both conditions remained true, and the distinction seemed considerably less complicated than Caspian was making it.

"She changed the outcome. You still stabbed her."

The follow-up question required less consideration. "Yours. I carried her here." That seemed sufficient.

The proposed division of labor was equally acceptable. Caspian possessed the necessary knowledge to extract and preserve organic material; Hard Chrome did not. Hard Chrome, however, was considerably better suited to moving through an unstable building, forcing open storage compartments and carrying whatever equipment remained useful afterward. His photoreceptors shifted once toward the woman. Caspian's assessment of her remaining time appeared reasonable. Pulse weakened. Surface temperature continued dropping. Waiting for ideal equipment would eventually eliminate the need for urgency, but only by creating a different problem.

"Agreed. Fifty-fifty. Searching."

The building had once served some industrial purpose, though fire and abandonment had erased most evidence of what. Chrome moved through two adjoining rooms before finding anything worth returning with. The first maintenance cabinet had already been stripped. The second had partially fused shut, which improved its chances considerably. One pull tore the warped door from its hinges.

Inside remained several sealed rolls of polymer sheeting, chemical-resistant gloves, a half-full container of surface disinfectant and a collection of cleaning implements whose usefulness varied substantially. A battered refrigeration unit farther down the corridor had lost power long ago, but two unopened thermal storage packs remained inside its insulated compartment. Their active coolant had expired. The casing had not. A cracked supply bin yielded several sealable containers of varying sizes. None had been manufactured for biological storage. All were clean.

Chrome stacked everything beneath one arm before noticing a dented metal bucket tucked beneath a collapsed shelf. His photoreceptors rested on it for approximately half a second before adding it to the collection.

When he returned, Caspian was where he'd left him. The woman was too. Chrome arranged the recovered supplies beside the table in no particular ceremonial order: polymer sheeting, gloves, disinfectant, containers, thermal packs and, finally, the bucket.

"Available equipment is suboptimal. It is no longer nonexistent."

The information about Zaathru remained active in his processor while Caspian prepared to work. The sacrifices had been consumed, then stored when consumption exceeded immediate need. There had apparently been nothing wasteful about the remains, regardless of whatever ritual had produced them in the first place. Caspian's current behavior was therefore not an innovation so much as an adaptation to a different environment. On Zaathru, someone else had provided the bodies. Here, he had been forced to acquire them himself.

Hard Chrome looked toward the woman, then back to Caspian. "Your mother preserved excess material." He moved to the opposite side of the table, placing both hands where Caspian could direct them. "Show me how."

The division remained fifty-fifty.

Learning appeared to be included.

 

[Caspian Dinn]

"Well... Yes, I suppose I did didn't I?" The boy frowned, deep and contemplative, before blinking up at the droid with a satisfied nod. "Very good, then I shan't question your loyalty further."​

​

While Hard Chrome wandered the burnt out shell in search of useful products and equipment, Caspian got to work mentally chopping the woman up into her more useful bits. Organs first, and since he had no plans to personally eat her anymore there was nothing he was specifically trying to keep alive. He only cared now so that the bits had more time on ice, to make it to their destination.​

​

"Heart first, I think," he told the woman, tapping her cheek oh so softly. "What do you think?" Of course she had no opinion, she was barely there at all anymore.​

​

When the droid returned, Caspian looked his way with a gleeful grin. "Something is better than nothing, my friend," he declared, before the droid shifted up to the table. "We should get some of that sheeting under her, it will make handling the final messes much easier. Then it's a matter of opening her chest cavity, careful mind you, or we'll ruin the goods, and extracting the goods. I don't have a surgical knife, sadly, mother's attendants had a surgical knife, and other such tools. Still, I have a knife, and you have strong hands, yes?"​

​

His gaze drifted back to the door.​

​

"Shouldn't that mess out there be dealt with first?"​

​

Hard Chrome ​