boxofmisfits | Strange Droid

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Strange Droid

When the Stormtroopers returned to the Admonitor, they had a box with them, claiming that they got a good deal on it and thought the Grand Admiral might appreciate it. Opening up the box had revealed a droid, but not like any Thrawn had ever seen. While he'd seen droids within the Empire, none were quite this human looking. The lead Stormtrooper, Commander Balkin, said that he felt Thrawn might appreciate it as an art piece or collector's item. Balkin said that the seller hadn't known what world the droid came from, or what culture made it.

Thrawn accepted the droid and took it back to his office. The droid wasn't like any he'd ever seen before, even after cross-referencing various models dating back to the Clone Wars. He'd even looked at droid models from the Sith Empire and Old Republic, and it matched none there either. The strange synthetic skin was interesting, as Thrawn could see no real reason for it. Perhaps it had covered the unit's entire body once.

Thankfully, Thrawn had figured out which wires went where within the droid, and had found a way to hook it to a battery that would give it enough power until it could recharge itself. After some fiddling, Thrawn managed to boot the droid up.

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The last time he'd powered off, Nick had expected it to be his last. He had expected his consciousness to fade during a barrage of system errors and for his body to be tossed out into the garbage once and for all. That wasn't what had happened. He had found himself awake in periods. Unable to move or speak but able to see what was around him.

For a time he'd been a museum's relic there for people to gawk at. He remembered flashes of tourists looking in on him, children tapping on the glass case he'd been displayed in. Then he'd been sold to a rich man and his family where the man himself spent hours trying to repair him.

Nick was half sure parts of his skin had been lost during that part of his scattered history due to the rich man's unsteady hand in trimming the damaged parts. Of course his skin had been damaged for a long time so perhaps those bits would have flaked off regardless.

Then another museum for a few years followed by a sale to an artist who had called him the clockwork detective. The artist had been good at taking care of what was left of the skin on him. She'd also gotten him new threads that she called befitting of a man of his station. Though he couldn't say it he missed the patchwork trench coat he'd originally been wearing. Though the artist had put that into a box that she'd slid into the bottom of his display case. At least his hat still sat slightly askew atop his head.

Then there had been a long period of darkness. Nick wasn't sure whether to call it sleep or if someone had just switched his off button.

When his awareness returned he was somewhere new again and it wasn't the garbage dump he had expected.

He glanced around the room, vaguely aware of the person who he assumed might have been his latest buyer. He moved his fingers, first the ones on his left hand and then on the right. Something felt different. His awareness felt a little more solid. Less like he was all out of energy. He moved a hand to over his stomach— half expecting to find his wiring hanging out. It did feel as though they had been messed with, the flow of energy was different.

"Who...?"

Better if he found his bearings before worrying about anything else he supposed. Especially since it had been so long since he'd even been able to move at all.

Thrawn watched the droid power on, noting the eye movement, the way the synthetic skin conformed to the droid's face. The amount of articulation on the face was unusual for a droid, as even protocol droids had a solid plate molded to look like a face. Humans usually found droids easier to relate to if they had some semblance of a face. This, though, this one had moving eyes, a moving mouth. With some work, and new, more realistic skin, it could possibly even pass for a human.

"So, you still function. Most excellent. What is your designation?"

His brows furrowed slightly. So the man in the room was his new owner then. He was different from the museum curators, the rich man, and the artist. Sharper. There was an intelligence there far from the regular run of the mill person. And from the look of his outfit, Nick guessed military or navy. He wasn't sure— the uniform was unfamiliar to him.

"The name's Nick Valentine," He replied, since that was the only name he knew. Maybe this man wanted his serial registration number or something but Nick wouldn't even know where to start looking for that. Hopefully he wouldn't be taken apart to have his pieces scoured for answers.

"What's yours?" He asked, his tone coming out perhaps a little sharper than he had intended it to.

Edited 2026-05-05 22:22 (UTC)

Interesting. His voice was much smoother and more "human" than was typical of a droid. Even the droids who were programmed to speak Basic had a certain robotic quality to the way they spoke. The accent wasn't one that Thrawn was familiar with either.

Nick Valentine was also a very human name.

"I am Grand Admiral Thrawn, and you are on board my ship, the Admonitor, currently on patrol in what is commonly referred to as the Unknown Region." Not what the Chiss called it, or what Thrawn privately called it.

Thrawn. Admonitor. Unknown Region.

None of those things made sense to him. Didn't sound familiar. He had an idea of his name and a vague idea that he was far from home. Had a vague idea of his career too before he'd been this. It was mostly flashes though. Memories that didn't quite feel like they were his in quite the same way as his time as a display piece did.

He tested the movement of both hands again and moved to stand to test whether or not he could. Nick didn't approach Thrawn though he was still watching him.

"Can't say any of that rings a bell."

He patted the pocket of the coat he wore. Empty. Something was missing there too.

His metallic hand went to the top of his collar, feeling that a few buttons there were open.

"... Were you rooting around in my wires?"

"I had you hooked up to a battery so you could recharge," Thrawn replied. "A previous owner may have also been careless with you, and I had to rearrange some things within you. If you require it, the ship has a robotics bay. We may have to take a sample of your artificial skin if we are to replicate that."

Even the way Nick Valentine moved wasn't exactly like a droid. Most droids tended to be stiff in their movements, and only advanced combat models, like the MagnaGuard model, had truly fluid speed and movement. Valentine wasn't like that, though. He wasn't a cyborg, though, for initial scans showed that he had no amount of organic tissue.

"Suppose I'm lucky it hasn't all flaked off," Nick said, the corner of his lips twitching up into a slight smile. He reached up to run a finger along where the synthetic skin had torn away from the back part of his head and he shifted his jaw much the way that someone organic would when their jaw was stiff.

He patted at another pocket. Not there either. Perhaps in his old coat.

"I shouldn't have happened to come with accessories, should I?" He asked, tone not quite jovial but still not quite as grave as it had been, "A second coat, perhaps?"

He remembered the artist. Remembered that she'd kept it.

Of course he couldn't be sure that this man had bought him from her, from someone else, or had just found him on the side of the road somewhere.

"You did, actually," Valentine was clearly searching for something, some personal item.

Moving back to the box the droid had arrived in, Thrawn took out a folded up coat and hat, and returned to Valentine, holding the items of clothing out to him. A droid who wore clothes was a curious thing indeed. There was no need for warmth, and most droids weren't programmed to have a sense of style, unless an owner chose to customize them.

"Suppose I should be happy they weren't thrown in a different pile of garbage than I was."

If that was what had happened to him.

He took the items from him, shoulders sinking in the exact same way they would for a human being reunited with something familiar. Something that was theirs. The coat was rumpled and patched in places and obviously old much like he was. But it was his and it was sentimental.

Reaching into one of the pockets he pulled out a pack of cigarettes that was slightly dented and the labeling faded. There was also a lighter.

That had been about what he'd expected.

He used practiced motions to pull one cigarette out to put to his lips and then hesitated, "You don't mind, do you?"

Thrawn eyed that cigarette curiously. "Very well. I ask that you not get ash on the floor, however."

Thrawn would sometimes indulge in a cigarette, but not often, and he took measures to make sure his office didn't smell like smoke. Technically officers weren't allowed to smoke on Imperial ships, though it was an open secret that some ships had designated smoking areas, or that some of the higher ranking officers did so in their private quarters, and they would be cleansed of the smell before inspection.

"What purpose does doing that serve? I checked and you have no throat, nor do you have lungs."

Nick made a soft noise that might have been gratitude as he lit the cigarette. Much like the pack itself, the cigarette wasn't in pristine condition and no organic would likely bother to even smoke it. And of course all it did was smolder as he held it between his lips.

Even so his shoulders lowered in the ways that a nicotine addict getting their fix would.

"It just feels right to do."

He'd always done it he thought. Sometimes he remembered bits and pieces from before the museum. A cramped office. A girl. A neon sign. Sometimes there was a memory of someone in a red coat gesturing with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of something in the other. But nothing specific.

"Maybe whoever made me did it for the fun of it."

Programming him to be jonesing for a cigarette ever so often to go with the look.

"I will ask you to refrain from smoking in public or outside of designated areas."

Thrawn could bend the rules, but he preferred to keep the ship clean. He couldn't imagine that a droid got actual withdrawal symptoms if denied cigarettes, so he figured that Valentine could do without if ordered.

"Is that also why you wear clothes?"

"Don't know. I've been wearing them as long as I can remember at least."

Nick supposed that Thrawn was his owner now. Something about that thought made him bristle. He should be a free man. But he had spent a long time as property so it could be worse. Had been a long time since he was conscious for it though since he'd been switching on and off at random previously.

Periods of being awake and aware followed by long stretches of time where everything was just black.

"You've had a look under the hood. If I didn't dress myself I'd probably be trailing wires wherever I went."

"We can have more skin, or even proper plating, made for you," He noticed that one of Nick's hands was stripped down to the metal skeleton, which he would have found impractical.

"Want to turn me into a restoration project, do you?" Nick asked, though there wasn't bite behind it. Curiosity mostly. His CPU was processing everything so far and trying to connect the dots. Thrawn wasn't any of the museum curators. Nor like the artist.

"Gotta tell you that that didn't work out so well for me last time."

He was a little more like the rich man, he thought. Someone who wanted an antique because the antique was unlike most other things. A very unique art piece with a history that Nick couldn't even remember. He supposed he'd best hope that Thrawn had acquired him for the uniqueness of his construction and not because of whatever it was that was processing between his ears. Nick didn't think there was anything useful there to anyone besides himself.

He held the hand still covered in synthetic skin beneath the end of his cigarette, catching any ashes that might fall. Despite the fact that the other one was stripped bare down to the metal, he still had enough range of motion to comfortably hold and manipulate objects with it.

"Can't say I'm much of a—" He began, and hesitated as he pondered the right term, "— A combat unit, so I don't know how cost-effective it'd be to give me plating."

Seemed like an awful waste of resources on an old detective like him. He had an awareness that he could hold his own in a fight but that wasn't what he was meant for, "As for my skin, well. Let's just say that the last guy who tried to fix it ended up making matters worse."

He wasn't sure the silicone was structurally sound enough to support a patch job either. And the thought of replacing everything made him uncomfortable. He hadn't seen his own reflection in a while but he remembered it. And he wasn't sure how he'd feel if he ended up looking into a mirror after a full replacement and was unable to recognize himself.

"Would you not prefer to at least have your wires and circuits better protected. I noticed that there are some impromptu repairs on you, which I imagine aren't terribly safe or stable."

Thrawn went to his desk and got out an ash tray, handing it to Valentine.

"Making sure my sealant's still good would probably be a good idea. And covering up my wires a bit better. 'Course it all depends on what you intend to use me for."

He wasn't a combat unit. Thrawn didn't strike him as someone who needed the services of a detective. If he was to be a collector's item then keeping him powered on wasn't really necessary. He accepted the ash tray with a thanks, holding it in his hand and tapping the ashes off his cigarette before placing it back to his lips.

"Don't think there's anywhere I'd blend in so my functionalities are limited."

He had a vague notion that he had been somewhere he stood out before too. But that it hadn't mattered so much. That he'd had a place to call his own. But he couldn't remember where or even when that was. Whenever he tried to think back that far he could practically hear his CPU overheating from the strain and most of what he got was flashes and static.

"You probably ain't one to take in an old detective for the company either."

"We may need to analyze your sealant to see what it is made of, and if it may be improved." Thrawn couldn't imagine that the sealants in most droids wasn't compatible with Valentine's circuitry.

"What I would want from you would have been determined by what manner of droid you turned out to be, such as a protocol droid or combat unit. I'm afraid there isn't much use for a detective on the ship at the moment, but I think I would enjoy your company. In my youth, I read my share of mystery and detective novels."

"Guessing you had me brought straight to your office?"

The repairs and powering on seemed to be something he'd done by himself. Probably hadn't had him analyzed then. At least not beyond the surface level he was capable of telling himself. That was another reason why he reminded Nick of the rich man. He had wanted to work on him himself too.

"Not sure I'd be useful there either— can't say I remember most of my cases. I remember one where I got a young gal out of trouble by going beep, beep, beep and convincing her captors that I'd been rigged to explode. Seem to remember earning myself a place to stay through it too. But beyond that it's just bits and pieces."

He tilted his head, careful to mind the worn silicone on his neck so it wouldn't tear further with the motion.

"... Of course I'm sure I could make somethin' up if it keeps me from being tossed in the garbage."

"I did. My intent was to study you and then have the robotics engineers do work on you, to determine what needed to be restored or upgraded."

He made it sound like it was no different than handing over a damaged painting to be restored. Some of it would have also depended on how intact Valentine's processor was. From the sound of it, his personality was still intact.

"Very clever." Thrawn said with approval. "Simple, but the best solutions often are."

"Doubt it'd have been as successful if—" He began and then pondered. Why had that worked if droids were so common? One would think that they'd have known that he was bluffing given that if he exploded himself then the girl would have been left all on her lonesome.

"I think I was a relative unknown at the time. What I am, I mean."

But mechanical people were obviously common here. Even though he hadn't seen anyone who looked like him during his admittedly rather short time switched on rather than off.

"Has to have been a while ago."

"Perhaps."

Perhaps Valentine had been in a part of the galaxy that didn't have droids. The Ascendancy didn't have droids, didn't even really know about them until that incident with the Trade Federation. Perhaps Nick had been imported from the inner galaxy to the Unknown Region, where the general population was unfamiliar with droids, and thus Valentine could easily fool them with his bomb ploy.

"Droids are not terribly common in this part of the galaxy. Are you familiar with the Trade Federation or the Clone War?"

"No."

Neither of those rung a bell. Once again he could practically feel his CPU overheating and he had to lean back against a nearby chair as he tried to process what there was in his memory. He remembered the life of Nick Valentine. Remembered his girl. Remembered Eddie Winter. Remembered a planet with plenty of humans. He didn't remember which planet that was though.

He remembered flashes of other things. That case. A man who didn't seem human in a red coat. An office with a young woman manning the desk. A city that hadn't been entirely friendly to him.

"I remember a planet that didn't look like it was doing too hot. But I also remember it before it went to hell but those memories aren't mine."

Nick had been a cop, he seemed to remember. Details were out of reach though.

But he and Nick were different people in different times with different careers.

"After that it's mostly flashes. Don't know how I got to the museum I used to be kept in and don't know how I changed hands afterwards either."

"You have another's memories? Fascinating."

Thrawn didn't even know that was possible, and it opened up a whole set of implications. Cloning done not by creating a whole new person, but by simply uploading the flash learning into a droid's body. Thrawn didn't even know that there were droids with that kind of processing power, capable of holding a lifetime's worth of memories.

"A museum actually sold you to a private collector?"

"The original Nick Valentine. He was a cop, I think."

That would explain a lot about what he could remember. Those memories were what had allowed him to be a detective so he was grateful he thought. Even if it was weird to remember a life that wasn't yours. To not be fully your own person.

"It did. Eventually the kids stopped tapping on the glass and visited less and less. Rather than put me in storage and spending time and money on preserving me when I wasn't earning them anything, they sold me to someone with dreams of restoring me."

A fun little project to work on.

"He, uh. Wasn't exactly trained in that type of work."

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