Cyborg Complications

Aft - Servant Mercy

Normally pristine and beautiful, the main lounge of the yacht's interior has been gutted down to its infrastructure, allowing the space to be retrofit into a mobile scientific workstation. Most of it is dedicated to the droid sciences, but there is a medical table and computer workstation, along with three sizable holographic research tables.

To aft, there is a nondescript cargo area dedicated to storing of supplies, with cargo loading doors directly aft. However, the floor is able to open up, transforming the cargo bay into a small hangar capable of storing a single, small starfighter. The main boarding ramp lies to the bow of the ship, just below the cockpit's hatchway.

Personal quarters extend to port and starboard, and are the one reminder of how luxurious the ship once was. Sleek, black walls with bountiful lighting lead to comfortable sleeping and personal areas, four of them in total that line the vessel's outer bulkheads.

Siika

This young, human woman carries a skin tone that is somewhere between dark and fair, framed by black hair and brown eyes upon an angular face with full lips. She has an average height for her age, and her slender frame has just enough shape to be on the light side of curvy. Her thick hair is braided and pulled back into a ponytail, revealing some sort of cybernetic enhancement affixed to her head. The sleek, black metal covers part of her ears and wraps around the back of her head, starting at the temples and disappearing behind her hair. The skin around this technology has the appearance of scar tissue, suggesting that it is a permanent implant that cannot be removed.

Woven fabric in earth tones is draped over her upper body, the darker weave breathable and fitting much like that of a tank top. Beneath is a lighter fabric that drapes down her arms, covering part of her hands. Black metal piping winds down her fingers, appearing to be some sort of cybernetic implant lining what would be her bone structure, complete with tiny servos where the knuckles would be. The fingers themselves are encased in a material that fits like a second skin; the same material is worn up to her neck, suggesting it may be a bodysuit of some type, closely matching her natural skin tone. A leather belt is clinched around a slender waist, matching the necklace worn around her neck. The necklace is adorned with three artistic baubles of mysterious origin. Her legs are covered by trousers of a similar color to her woven, tunic-style top, fitting just loose enough to hide the cybernetic supports worn on her legs. Brown leather boots are worn up to her calves, and a single earring dangles from the left side of the cybernetic halo upon her head.

Sarna

        A young human female of average height who appears to be in her late teens. Her face is rounded with youth, her nose slightly upturned, yet the large hazel eyes flecked with green and gold that dominate her features are intelligent and confident. Her long, dark brown hair is worn unbound, allowing it to fall in loose waves to her waist.

        A white, cowled cloak covers her shoulders and falls to her polished brown hide boots. A pair of layered tunics in contrasting earthen brown tones are covered by a rust-hued tabard that's cinched at her narrow waist with a broad obi and a leather belt lined with pouches for storage. A holster for a blaster hangs at her hip, while the hilt of a lightsaber is clipped to her belt. On her legs she wears a pair of white, tight-fitting trousers tucked into her boots.

Delphine

        Bright, light, golden blonde tresses are what first strikes whenever this human woman catches the eye. They part near the center framing her lovely and expressive features, with a smile that is broad and quick, and flow down to her elbows. She's of average height for her species with an athletic frame and a healthy build. Her nose is narrow, straight and pert, fitting nicely between her large eyes and full lips. Her brows are slightly darker and expertly styled. Long dark lashes frame aquamarine eyes that shine with confidence and intelligence. High cheekbones and a well-balanced chin and forehead lend perfection to her stunning appearance.

        She wears a lightweight white tunic with light grey pants that go to mid-calf. Over this she wears a crisp black tabard cinched at the waist by a black leather obi and matching utility belt. A clean black blaster is strapped to her left hip in a black leather holster. She wears short black leather boots that leave her legs bare for a few inches before her pants hem begins. She may also wear a light grey cloak over her outfit and black leather gloves.

Trina

        With slender limbs and a narrow waist, Trina has the silhouette of a human female. At a glance, however, she could easily be mistaken for a droid. Both her arms and legs have been completely replaced, the incomplete outer surfaces of each appendage made up of a mixture of brushed aluminum and mirrored chrome. Wires and servos are exposed in places, either as an aesthetic choice or due to lack of funds to complete the work. More chrome covers the crown of her head and down the back of her neck, a sharp contrast to the tan flesh still visible over her cheeks and clavicle. One eye looks upon the world with a blue, human iris, the other takes in the light through an optical lens and sophisticated technology.

        From her choice of attire, Trina shows no desire to blend in with the unmodified humans of Regency society. A gray tank-top reveals more than it hides, exposing where her synthetic shoulders meld with the remaining flesh of her upper body. All along her bare midriff, lines of metal contour with shape of her abs, a crude map of where bio-mechanical equipment has invaded her torso beneath her ribs. Simple black shorts function for the purposes of modesty, another wardrobe statement to show where her fully cybernetic legs blend with the remaining human anatomy. No shoes cover her feet, nor gloves cover her hands.

Lincoln

A human male, tall for his species at around 6'2" in height, the frame of the individual is lean. His eyes are a vibrant blue and dark hair peeks out from beneath a wide brimmed hat that shields his features. He has a well lined jaw and a few crags on his features that show experience being outdoors, a rugged look. He is dressed in rather plain clothes, a vest with a few items upon it such as energy packs and a comlink. His pants maintain the rugged look and at his hip hangs a badge or sigil of some kind that is bronze in color and looks to have a hint of officialness to it.

(Liam Hemsworth is the motivation for the look with a sort of 'cowboy' feel in the clothing)

Carrying:

A7 Long-Barrel "Peacemaker" Blaster Pistol

In the cargo bay, K7-8 is still hard at work cleaning and organizing the mess left behind by the pirate attack. The remainder of Siika's droid army remains offline, their dead eyes staring off into the aether with their bodies resting in haphazard forms. Except for one.

TT-180, the ship's medical droid, is currently undergoing the same surgery K7 went through some hours earlier. Her rear chassis is open, a new power cell installed, and a data cable is attached to Siika's mobile computer. With micro goggles upon her face, Siika is flipping dipswitches in sequential order as the medical droid is gradually brought back online.

"Ready for the download, Tri?" Siika asks, her finger hovering over the 'primarily load sequence' switch.

        The medical droid, ill-equipped for combat with its thin limbs and delicate surgical attachments, lays on the operating bench between the cyborg and the cybernetic girl. The repair droid, K7-8, stands not far off. The casual observer might observe the silhouette of the repair droid as an old man, fretting over the health of a dying companion. That observer then might see that K7 is a droid and dismiss that assessment as nonsense. But to those that knew K7, had interacted with him and seen the droid pour itself into the work of restoring his companions... they know the truth. The droid is worrying over the medical droid, TT-180, just as Trina might worry over Siika if her friend were in the same position.

        Trina, for her part, looks into the open chest cavity of the medical repair droid with no small amount of trepidation. The mechanics were simple enough for the droid techs. Siika in particular is an inspiration, as if the halo giving her agency over her body is a halo in truth, a true angel descended from cybernetic heaven to deliver this small droid army back from the dead.

        Trina is nervous, not because of the physical aspects of the repair, but the "spiritual" part. She had done something for K7 that she'd never done before. She was ready to do it again for the medical droid... but really, she was ready to face oblivion for Siika.

        Siika asks the question, and Trina responds with a nod. She opens her left palm, then the center of that hands slides open again. She engages a cable into the exposed data port, then prepares to connect to the droid and ride the data stream once again.

        "If something goes wrong..." Trina starts, then shakes her head. "Nothing's going to go wrong. I'm ready. Flip the switch."

"If something goes wrong," Siika assures Trina, "I will handle it." There is a confidence to her words that comes from true conviction. After all, while it pained her to use her family as an assault weapon, she did so knowing that there was more than a chance of hope to restore them. All of them.

Turning away from TT-180, she walks over to her mobile computer console, and calls up the medical droid's backup memory file. A few clicks to load not only the medical database, but the experiential algorithms, the operational functions, and the personality engrams. Then, with a swipe of her finger, she commences the download.

Brown eyes look up for a moment, watching Trina as the data begins to pour through the cable. She's ready to do her part, should anything go south.

        The data stream hits, and Trina tumbles under the weight of it. An avalanche of droid code, memories, personality, medical knowledge expanding across hundreds of species... it's more than what Trina experienced with K7.

        Fear causes Trina to cling to her human consciousness, delaying the failsafe. Her open hand, with the connections both to the data stream and to the droid, remains perfectly still, while her other hand moves down to grip the edge of the table.

        "Can't... " Trina says through gritted teeth.

        And then she's gone. Her humanity retreats into the delicate gray matter within her skull. What's left is the machine version of her. The part that kept going when the flesh was weak. The part that knew had no sense of right or wrong. She had a job to do, and she did it, walking over the droid data stream with the same care she'd shown K7.

"Blast it," Siika remarks as she hears and watches Trina's struggle. "This was a bad idea," she says to herself, and begins punching up commands to ease the downloading, to give Trina some relief. "This was a bad idea and I knew it."

As for TT-180, the medical droid's eyes come online, and the incoming data is absorbed into empty memory banks. As the download continues, her medical apparatuses begin running through test sequences, but there comes a moment where she makes a blurting sound.

On the computer console, the display goes into a distorted state for a moment. Siika frowns, and punches at it with stiff fingers. "What the hell?"

Within the data stream, something flips around and crosses digital polarity. An imprint from Trina's consciousness duplicates and imprints itself upon the medical droid, and it isn't necessarily the best part. Some recent trauma or argument, distorting the data stream and corrupting the backup's personality algorithm.

"Trina," Siika asks, worried. "Trina, talk to me. You okay?"

        The voice that comes out of the Trina's mouth is not her usual alto. It's a robot's voice, grainy, and oddly modulated.

        "Trina is asleep," the voice says. She releases her grip on the side of the table to reach across to the console and turn the data stream back up. "I am monitoring her vitals and will regulate the flow of data according to what I believe is in the best interest of the patient."

        Trina's human eye is closed. She turns her cybernetic eye to regard the droid on the operating table. "He sure is a handsome fellow, isn't he? We'll have him fixed up, good as new. Just like that time we set your arm, Mistress Siika, when the bulkhead came loose while you were installing the retrofits. Do you remember?"

Siika stands there, mouth ajar, watching as this all takes place. After a moment, she chides herself for disregarding the computer, and quickly turns to study the data stream.

At this, her eyes widen, and she turns to look as Trina's computer voice recalls something only TT-180 would know. "//Damn//," she curses, and quickly dances her fingers across the console. "Memory engram entanglement. //DAMN//! I should have known better!" She hisses between clenched teeth, navigating the digital sphere with rapid finger motions that suddenly become faster than any human hand should be able to move.

One by one, piece by piece, she begins untangling the crossed data streams. If she doesn't, Trina could end up in permanent psychosis, and TT-180 could not only lose her download, but a cascading code failure could wipe it out from the computer's memory banks.

"C'mon, c'mon, //c'mon//!" she cries, urging her fingers to move faster. And they do. The servos move them faster than is humanly possible, dancing and flicking at a nearly blinding pace.

        "Mistress Siika," the droid voice coming from Trina's mouth is soft. She reaches her hand towards Siika, not quite touching the frantically moving hands. "Such exertion is not recommended and can result in--"

        The words are cut off and Trina straightens, a pained look on her face.

        "Can't..." Trina's voice again. Another wince. Her human eye opens, but her eye swims in its socket, unseeing.

        The data stream is nearly complete. With the exception of the bit of code fused deep within the download of TT-180's personality, the checksum operation has been successful. Save for the entanglement.

        Siika's desperate attempt to save the files, save Trina, and save the droid are met with another will. Trina sifts through the data alongside Siika, a line of digital harmony laid alongside and on top of the melody Siika's rapidly moving fingers create.

        The data stream ends. The connection between Trina and the droid severs. And Trina's legs buckle. She tries to catch herself using the side of the operating table again, but her grip slips and she collapses in a heap on the floor.

A gasp comes when the process is complete. Siika darts away from the console, rushing toward Trina as she falls. She tries to catch the cyborg woman, but the servos in her hands are jammed, causing her fingers to twitch in an unresponsive state.

"Karabast!" she curses when Trina hits the floor, and crouches down beside her with a frown. "Okay, no more of this, Tri. Seriously. It's too much."

Meanwhile, TT-180 has competed her download, and sits upright. She reaches down and unplugs herself, closing up her chassis before stepping down from the operating table in what could best be described as defiance. Her body rotates, taking in the damage to the cargo bay, then finally comes to rest on Siika and Trina.

"... what the //hell// happened in here? It's an awful mess!"

        Buffers full of droid code begin to flush. Trina returns to herself, slower than when she'd held K7. Her eyes focus, and she sees Siika next to her, on the floor. For a moment, she wonders why they were on the floor. Then she sees Siika's hands, the fingers splayed out, the joints locked in strange and painful looking configurations.

        "Oh Siika," Trina says, reaching to take the cybernetic woman's hands in her own. She knows how the joints work, the tendons, the small muscles, and she begins to slowly, gently soothe Siika's fingers back into alignment.

        "I'm okay," Trina says, a touch of digitization coloring her words. She clears her throat and tries again, more clearly. "I'm okay. It's okay. How is 180? Did we do it?"

"We're not doing that again," Siika says, defiantly. "I can complete the downloads without -"

The young woman cuts herself short, and not because of how Trina is massaging her cyber-hands into alignment once more. No, her eyes are upon the medical droid, and her mouth slowly drops open.

"Hello?" asks TT-180. "Are you listening?" Her eyes are locked upon Siika, and there is a particular saltiness to her mechanical voice that wasn't there before. Not to mention that she had a male vocoder configuration before the pirate attack. "Did you lose your ability to understand Basic? What happened here, //Siika//?"

Pulling away from Trina, Siika rises to her feet, staring at the medical droid. "Uh.... One Eighty?"

"Yes, that is my designation," the medical droid retorts, and begins walking toward Trina and Siika. "But from now on, you can call me 'Tits'."

        Trina pushes herself to her feet and looks at the droid, as if for the first time. In spite of the still dissipating ghosts and shadows of the droid in her bufferrs, this \_is\_ the first time she's seeing this new being. The sense of Deju-vu she'd had when talking with K7 upon his resurrection is completely absent when regarding the medical droid.

        Brushing non-existent dust from her legs, Trina regards Siika a moment. "I... I didn't... I don't think I did this." And yet she knows, somehow, she is responsible.

        Turning back to TT-180, after hearing what the droid said about addressing it, Trina shakes her head. "No. No, I don't think I will call you that."

        When Sarna arrives, Trina breathes a sigh of relief. She's not sure what the Padawan is going to do to make the situation better. Maybe just a hint of normalcy will be enough.

Lincoln couldn't sleep or really rest following the events that had taken place, too much adrenaline and too much to do in terms of seeing to people, helping out where needed with repairs and the like. By time he moves into the area where the others are congregated he's been awake perhaps longer than most human species should be and it is showing around his eyes and fatigue etches his features. The man is dirty, clearly having been working and his normal wardrobe has been ditched in favor of an undershirt and his pants. His blaster is still in its holster however out of precaution. The rag in his hands, dark black in grease is being used to wipe off other marks as he speaks levelly towards them, "I think that repair job is done, if I followed the directions correctly at least."

Slack-jawed and speechless, Siika stares at the medical droid for a long moment, only briefly looking toward Trina, Sarna and Lincoln in turn. When her eyes come back upon the medical droid, she frowns.

"Like hell I will," she retorts, and raised her wrist computer.

"Don't you //dare//!" the medical droid gasps.

"Sleep," Siika says, and touches the wrist computer's touch screen, sending a command to submit TT-180 into standby mode. The medical droid stops moving, and her eyes dim; but somehow, she seems defiant in how she entered standby mode.

"........ I am not... //ever// calling her that," Siika declares for the room's benefit.

        "That's what I thought she said!" Sarna declares, laughing at Siika's outburst, then pausing to give Trina a concerned look. Something about her presence feels... strange in a way she can't describe. The girl looks over at the droid in sudden standby mode, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "So, tell me what Tits' name really is, so I get it right?" Sarna giggles again, then turns around in time to see Lincoln's entrance, and the giggling turns somewhat nervous in tone. "Oh, thanks for taking care of that," she says. "I was worried it might not get done before the trip was over. How much longer do we have, anyway?" she wonders out loud.

        "The droid's full designation is TT-180." The words come from Trina's mouth, with her voice, but there is an odd accent in the way she says the droid's name. She shakes her head. "T. T. I mean, I understand why she might come up with such a nickname, but... " Trina gives Siika a sidelong glance. "I know I never actually met 180 before the... before, but I thought she was a he?"

        Then Trina turns her attention to Lincoln. She approaches him, her stride confident, and she reaches up to his cheeks, her metal thumbs tracing the circles beneath his eyes. "There, there," she says, her hands still touching his face in a way that is far too familiar. "I can see that you are tired. I will prescribe you a mild sedative, which I want you to take without alcohol."

        Trina's hands freeze on Lincoln's face, and she blinks. Confusion is clear on her face, but she doesn't withdraw or say anything.

Lincoln's own expression is one of restrained surprise. He blinks, staring at Trina as her hands remain on his cheeks and he clears his throat some. "I think I'll be ok without the sedative... might stick with some alcohol." His tone he keeps flat as his hands gently lift up and move Trina's hands from his face. "Is there anything I should know going on here?" the question is asked to no one in particular but his eyes do not leave Trina's.

        Slumber for the Acolyte was brief but enough. Using meditation techniques was the only thing that helped after the harsh words exchanged with Trina. There's an old saying that one should never meet one's hero. Now that she's so intimately witness the changes that can be so quickly wrought upon a person piloting a mech, Delphine gets a sick feeling when she even thinks about watching another match. But it wasn't just the physical changes to Trina, but her spirit and loyalty as well. Loyalty. Delphine continues to question it feeling fairly certain that Trina's loyalty will lie with her Regency handlers. When Delphine awoke, she knew what she had to do where Trina was concerned.

        Delphine does not come upstairs once she awakes. Instead she makes her cabin comfortable and sits to meditate. She reaches out towards not only the women and man in the ship with her, but towards Telmar and towards Ravace. Her search takes a while but soon she is met with flashes of insite and even a partial vision. With a gasp she pulls herself out of it. She rises and sets about getting dressed and stuffing a small pack. She arms herself as they've all been doing since the pirate attack and comes up to the droid bay.

        "It won't be long now," the Acolyte says as she appears, all rested and freshly groomed, her dark clothing highlighted with grey and white trim. She stops in the midst of the gathering of humans and droids and hybrids and raises a pale brow in Trina and Lincoln's direction, seeing her cupping his face in her hands. "What in all the stars did I miss?"

"She //was// a he," Siika confirms for Trina, still giving the medical droid a side eye. She circles him, or her, studying the droid visually in a way. "Must have been a reset in the primary personality loading code, some kind of..." Her words trail off as she watches Trina, who comes into view as she finishes circling the droid. ".... imprint."

She stares for a moment longer, but clears her throat when Delphine arrives. Her wrist computer is checked, and she straightens. "Coming out of hyperspace in five minutes," she says, and immediately makes for the port hallway, not yet heading for the cockpit. "I'll see you all up front."

Someone, it seems, needs a bit of a refreshening herself. Moving into her personal quarters, Siika sighs and detaches the wrist computer from her arm, setting it aside. Then, she scrolls up a very personal command, moves to the center of the room, and extends her arms.

There's movement in the ceiling; as five droid-like arms detach from their resting place and move toward Siika. One by one, the arms begin detaching her cybernetics, prompting a little grimace from the young woman's face during a few detachments that cause discomfort. Her arms go slack, only to be caught by two of those droid arms, and then her legs do the same, until the young woman is left dangling there in her skin-suit, completely prone and incapable of movement.

The single free droid arm rips the seam in her skin-suit, from neck to waist, and begins pulling it off her frame, leaving her skin exposed with little metal inserts that stick out from exposed skin. There are over a hundred of them, surgically inserted directly into her bones and muscles. The skin-suit is discarded into the laundry bin, and a fresh one withdrawn, this one all black. It's pulled over her feet and legs, up her body, and then the mechanical arm shimmies the gloves onto her paralysed fingers and arms. Finally, the droid arm re-seams it up her back to her neck, before the others begin the process of re-attaching her cybernetics.

        Giving a nod as Trina gives a reply to her question, Sarna furrows her brow, uncertain exactly what just transpired or what methods the women were using to resuscitate Siika's Droid Army. But as the former mech jockey approaches Lincoln and caresses his face, her jaw goes slack and her big hazel-green eyes go even wider. She can sense Trina's confusion at her own actions, which just puzzles her further, and she turns to listen to Siika, trying to piece together her explanation. The implications for what she said are frankly terrifying, but Siika does nothing more to explain, disappearing into her quarters, and Sarna turns and stares at Lincoln and Trina as she steps toward Delphine with some relief and grips her arm. "I don't know what's going on, but we've got five minutes till we come out of hyperspace. Perhaps we should all get strapped in?" she asks in an effort to ease the tension in the room.

        When Lincoln removes Trina's hands from his face, some of the spell is broken, but not all of it. She takes a step back and offers an apologetic look to both Sarna and Delphine, for some reason. To Lincoln, she only offers a smile.

        But then Siika is speaking and moving, and Trina takes a pair of steps in her direction. "Damn it," she says. "I am a mech pilot. A hacker." She pauses, looks back at Delphine, and rolls her eyes before continuing. "Maybe even a Regency Agent. I'm not a doctor, yet all I want to do is chase after Siika, give her a pseudoprofin for the muscles in her hands, and start her on some gentle physical therapy after a few days of... Gah! I'm doing it again!"

        Trina stomps up to the resting TT-180 and taps the droid forcefully on the chest. "Get out of my--"

        But then there is that lurch as the ship leaves hyperspace. The sudden shift in gravity. The whine of the inertial dampeners keeping everyone from being rattled around like dice in a cup.

Lincoln casts a glance at Sarna and Delphine before he brings attention back towards Trina when she walks away, observing the woman's demeanor. Taking a moment to clear his throat, when he speaks he finds it a bit quieter than he normally would. "Whatever is going on... it is game time people." Taking one more glance at the others, he heads to where he'd stored his personal bag and sets to work getting changed in preparation for the next phase of the trip, not wanting to look like a mechanic.

"We still have five minutes and you need to pack some rain gear," Delphine warns presciently, gesturing to her own small pack. "I had a vision," she says casually, as if she'd just said she'd picked up bread at the market. She stands up straight and looks Sarna, Lincoln, and Trina in the eye each in turn. "There was rain. Lots of rain. And...Ravace." She takes a deeps breath and breaths out again before crossing her arms in front. She cocks a pale brow and directs her next words to Sarna. "Somehow...he's...well, he's expecting us."

        Delphine takes another moment to look at Trina while pulling her blaster and checking the power cells. "Is everything alright? You feel okay?" she asks after having watched the mech pilot grasp the face of Lincoln. She's surprised Sarna doesn't act a bit more territorially but then realizes something else is at work here. As they lurch out of hyperspace and Lincoln also urges readiness, she purses her pale pink lips and says, "Because it won't take a big excuse for me to insist you stay on the ship. If you're gonna blip out somehow...that's enough for me."

Once she's all reattached, Siika does a simple test, moving her arms and legs before the mechanicals set her onto the floor again. She reattaches the wrist computer before grabbing a long, hooded coat from her wardrobe. Dark blue with muted, silver piping. Not the usual woven outerwear she prefers, but, she also doesn't want to get soaked by rain. No jewelry for this trip.

As she passes the others, her attention goes to Lincoln. "Don't suppose you have another of those blaster thingies, huh? I don't think we'd get very far with Boomer strapped to my back, and he's recharging his power cell, anyway."

Soon enough, she's joining the others in the //Servant Mercy//'s cockpit, and taking her place at the captain's chair. "Vee, my nav droid is still down, so I'm gonna need you to plug in, 'k handsome?" Reaching up, she pulls the ship out of hyperspace, allowing the visage of Telmaria and the star it orbits to zoom into view.

        "He's right, whatever it is, we don't have time to deal with it now." Sarna gives Trina a concerned look and nods at Delphine's assessment. "Are you going to be okay out there? Do you need to stay on the ship?" She finds her own belongings and sits in the navigator's seat where she tugs on her boots. Instead of her usual white cloak, she produces out a dark gray poncho suitable for the inclement weather, and she pulls it over her head and adjusts it as Delphine addresses them.

        "A vision?" Sarna opens herself to the Force, brushing against Delphine's thoughts quizzically, wanting to learn more of what she Saw. "It sounds like we're walking into a trap, then," she assesses bluntly. As Siika joins them, she smiles at her interaction with Vee-Four, who's been a sport considering he interrupted a long overdue oil bath for this trip. As the stars slur into pinpoints, she grips the arms of her chair and watches in fascination.