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Commodore's office aboard the Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Warrior. Rear Admiral Hav Antiel, commodore of the ship, was concluding a meeting with the ship's TIE Corps squadron commanders.
“That's about it, gentlemen," said Antiel, setting his datapad on the desk behind him. "Any lingering questions?"
The three squadron commanders, itching to get back to their work, shook their heads almost in unison.
"Cool-- erm, very well. The only way forward is through. Dismissed."
Antiel relaxed his shoulders and circled around to his desk chair, plunking himself into the comfortable leather as the commanders found their way out. Though in his mid-thirties, the admiral looked quite a bit younger. Maybe it was the chubby cheeks and youthful crop of still-brown hair. Maybe it was the '70s-era sideburns.
It was the end of another month at the helm of the mighty Warrior and nearly the end of the year—a time when Antiel couldn't help but reflect on the passage of time and the impact of choices made long ago. He rested his hands on the desk, squeezing his slighty-too-small nerf leather gloves into fists.
What is a 'year' in space, anyway? he wondered. Seems completely arbitrary.
Antiel gazed through the transparisteel viewport, pulling off the black gloves to expose his two cybernetic hands. They were brassy and mechanical, but their precise workings moved silently as the admiral absentmindedly tapped the fingers together.
Antiel's newest toy, an all-black R4-series agromech, whisted at the sight of his robotic hands. The sound caught Antiel off guard; he'd forgotten all about the droid. It had been sitting silently in the corner since the day it arrived two weeks ago.
"What?" Antiel barked. "You've never seen Mikar Mechno-Arms before?"
The black droid let out a low whistle and tottered toward Antiel. The admiral laughed and shook his head before looking down at his gleaming digits.
"Yeah, they're something else, I guess." Antiel looked over at the droid. "Did we give you a name yet?"
The droid wheeled over and issued a series of chirps and whistles. Curious, Antiel grabbed his datapad for a real-time translation.
'' WHY ROBOT HANDS '' appeared on the screen.
Antiel chortled. "Don't have much for manners, do you?" He sighed, adding conehead under his breath.
"'Why robot hands?' That is a long story, my wobbly friend," said Antiel. "A long, long story. Probably three or four reports' worth."
The droid whistled.
'' FOURTH WALL BREACH '' appeared on the screen.
"Listen, conehead. There's a long line of Star Wars dudes with robot hands. If I'm not worried about clichés, then do you think I care about breaking the fourth wall?"
R4 grumbled a low, harsh tone.
"Exactly," said Antiel, resting his heels on the desk. "Now settle in. This here's a story about pirates, booze, kidnapping, and the sultry sounds of b'ssa nuuvu..."
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