“Yeah. We could always wait until they die of liver failure. Save the ammo.”
“You okay?”“My bladder’s a bit full, but fine otherwise.”
(...)They’ve got reinforcements, he thought. They look like a different problem altogether.And they were, but not for him this time. The reinforcement droids raised their integral blasters without warning and simply opened fire into the group of militia. They fired a few bolts in an orderly manner and then waited, looking down at their victims as if checking. The Umbaran—commissioned officer or sergeant?—stepped forward and fired another blast at close range into a Weequay. Apparently satisfied that their job was done, they gathered up the group’s assortment of blasters and sidearms, searched the bodies for something—ID, Niner suspected—and marched calmly away, back down their approach route.
Niner heard Fi exhale at the same time he did.“Well,” Fi said. “You can empty your bladder now, I suppose.”
Atin appeared, a jumble of circuitry and wires in one hand. “Looks like the tinnies have shown up to take over. But why shoot them?”“Tinnies?” Fi said.“What did your squad call them?”“Droids.”
Fi walked ahead on point.“I haven’t fired a shot yet,” he said.“On this sort of mission, the fewer the better,” Atin said.Niner took it as a sign that Atin was joining in. His tone wasn’t as defensive. Regular people said they couldn’t tell the difference between one clone and another, did they? That was what came of spending too much time looking at faces and not enough wondering what shaped people and went on inside their heads.
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timeasmymeasure
