Droid Delivery
Jedi Master Jennlyd pulled a small handle on the control panel, and the streaks of white resolved back into dots as the burnished-silver ship dropped out of Hyperspace.
“Call down to the planet—they should be expecting us.”
Cinally tapped two buttons and twisted a dial. “Planet Vanton, this is the shuttle Vigil. Come in, please.”
“Vanton here.”
“We’re here to pick up a delivery.”
“Name?”
Cinally glanced at her Master. Jennlyd suppressed a sigh. “Ovrienna Blil.”
“It’s for Lady Ovrienna Blil. A protocol droid.”
“Oh sure, sure. Lady Ovrienna’s droid. It’s about time you showed up.”
Cinally grimaced. “Apologies. If you’ll just send your landing coordinates, we’ll accept the package and be on our way.”
A set of numbers appeared on the display. The Padawan punched them into the nav computer, and Jennlyd pulled the ship into a dive, its nose pointing gently toward the atmosphere.
Clicking off the radio, Cinally leaned back in her chair. “I still don’t get why she needed us to pick up her droid for her.”
“We’re doing her a favor. One for which she’s paying handsomely.”
Cinally couldn’t argue with that. They hadn’t had an assignment from the New Republic in months—nearly a year—and prices for everything were still incredibly unstable since the collapse of the Empire.
“But why’d she need to have it repaired off-world, anyway. Aren’t there droid mechanics on her planet?”
“The engineers on Vanton are some of the best in the Galaxy, Cinally. Doubtless Lady Ovrienna required some service that was beyond the skill of the local shops.”
While Jennlyd landed the ship, Cinally went into her quarters to check her outfit. They weren’t acting as Jedi on this job, only simple couriers, so she wore civilian garb. Light tan trousers with a green tunic. Her body hadn’t fully recovered from their stay on Orionis, so the tunic was still quite snug across a bosom larger than Ukio melons. After smoothing a few locks of hair back into place, Cinally felt the presence of her Master standing in the room’s doorway.
“Really, Cinally. There’s no need for vanity. This is a simple job, not a social call.”
Cinally tugged at the lapels of her tunic where they puckered over her curves. “I just wish it fit better.”
“Come. Let’s not keep the administrator waiting any longer.”
“Yes, Master,” Cinally mumbled.
***
The administrator of Vanton was a Devaronian wearing a jumpsuit of so many different colors it nearly hurt Cinally’s eyes to look at her. She looked a few years older than Jennlyd, with wide hips and a large belly. The woman was so portly that her jumpsuit was undone around the middle, a sliver of light gray undershirt splitting the outfit from just under her breasts all the way to her waist. The repair center was far from a bustling hub of activity. The two landing pads Cinally could see were both unoccupied, and there were no other people around, just the three of them and a handful of droids moving around the loading area. Yet, as she checked the claim code Jennlyd gave her, the administrator seemed in a near-panic for them to leave. Did she suspect they were Jedi? Was there something illegal going on here?
Evidently satisfied with the claim code, the administrator used a communicator to call into the facility. “Send F33-D out. Her pickup is here.”
The voice on the other end of the comm seemed even more eager, if that were possible. A few minutes later, a door opened to admit Lady Ovrienna’s droid. Her plating was tinted gold like a typical 3PO unit, but the chassis had been designed with a distinctly feminine aesthetic. Coils of brass thread gave the appearance of an elaborate hairstyle, done up in a high bun with looping plaits. The shoulders and hips were shaped to give the impression of a servant’s livery dress, and the upper torso was shaped to resemble a moderate bosom. Cinally had never seen a droid like this one—no wonder Lady Ovrienna had sent her to be serviced by specialists.
The droid staggered up to the group with the particular gait of humanoid droid models. “Ah, Administrator. You should have told me we had guests. Won’t you stay for some tea, perhaps a light lunch?”
The administrator laid a hand on her large stomach. “No, they were just leaving. You’re going home, F33-D.”
“Nonsense. Biologicals can’t travel on empty stomachs. Won’t you all follow me?”
The droid began walking back toward the building, assuming the women would follow. Cinally shot a look to her Master, who asked, “Is something amiss with her programming?”
“She’s always like this,” The administrator said. “She can be convinced, but not ordered. Her program is coded to only accept direct commands from Lady Ovrienna.”
“That’s… troublesome,” Jennlyd mused.
“We’ll put a restraining bolt on her if necessary, but it’s easier to just go along with her quirks.”
F33-D led them into a simple dining area, where she served tea and snacks for the next two hours. Any attempt to refuse her offerings was met with dismissal and further insistence by the droid.
“More cake, Lady Jennlyd?”
“I’m not a Lady, and no, I couldn’t possibly—”
“Don’t be silly, you’ve barely eaten anything.”
The droid set a slice of cake in front of the Jedi.
“And you, Administrator. I know you’re ready for another sandwich.”
“-urp- Fine…”
“What about you, Miss Cinally? Your tea is nearly empty.”
Below the table, Cinally rubbed her tight stomach. This was not helping her ill-fitting wardrobe. “No, thank you.”
“Come now, a spot of tea is just the thing to aid the digestion.”
The droid refilled her cup, and Cinally took a polite sip, the tea so thick with sweetener she felt like she was chewing it.
Only after the three women had been served and doted upon to the point of excess did F33-D allow herself to be led to their ship. The administrator tried repeatedly to sell Jennlyd a restraining bolt to keep the unit in line until they reached Shasso, but the Jedi wouldn’t hear of it. “There’s no need, Administrator. Lady Ovrienna insisted that the droid be delivered pristine. We will deactivate her if necessary.”
Cinally suspected her Master simply didn’t want to part with the credits, and wondered if their situation had really grown so dire.
***
Even at Hyperspeed, the journey to Shasso would take over fifteen days. Despite the meagre supplies the Polan-717 carried, F33-D insisted on serving the women three times a day, sometimes four. As her tunics continued to shrink, Cinally wondered why her Master didn’t simply deactivate the droid as she’d promised. They even had to make an unscheduled stop to resupply.
The ship dropped out of Hyperspace, waking Cinally from her sleep cycle. Despite having eaten several portions mere hours ago, her stomach was already rumbling in anxious anticipation of her next meal.
“Have we reached Shasso already?” She asked as she climbed into her cockpit seat.
“We’re a bit low on fuel,” Jennlyd said. “I thought it best to stop for resupply rather than being stranded in deep space.”
Cinally checked the gauges. The tanks were still nearly half full—more than sufficient to reach Shasso. But, of course, they took on several crates of food rations.
“Master, shouldn’t we deactivate F33? All this extra food is eating into our profits, literally.”
“Ovrienna Blil’s fee is considerable, Padawan. More than enough to cover a few extra ration crates. If she finds we tampered with the unit, she may alter the terms of our deal.”
Cinally adjusted her tunic—she was starting to have trouble keeping it closed over her chest—and held in a sigh. Her Master’s reasoning was sound.
***
When the Vigil finally touched down on Shasso, Jennlyd’s hips had grown wide enough to catch on the arms of her pilot’s chair. Cinally’s largest civilian tunic was so snug she showed off a deep expanse of cleavage like a Coruscanti debutante. “This is almost as bad as the time we delivered those crates of Bantha dung to the farming colony.”
Jennlyd retied the belt around her robe, drawing even more attention to her vast bottom and rounded belly. “Enough grousing, Cinally. F33 will be off our hands shortly.”
“Yes, Master…”
Ovrienna Blil’s palace stood as a collection of tall spires tucked into the forested mountains of Shasso. One of the few merchants who’d stayed neutral and supportive enough to survive the overthrow of the Empire, Lady Ovrienna lived in a luxury rarely seen in the Galaxy. A liveried servant greeted them at the landing pad, the line of her grey-blue dress spoiled somewhat by a plush form beneath.
“Ah, the Jedi couriers. You’re right on schedule. Lady Ovrienna will receive you in her chambers—she’s been most eager for the return of F33-D.”
Jennlyd nodded in assent, and the servant led them into the palace. The main chamber was hung with deep red and gold tapestries, its stone floors covered in a myriad of brightly colored rugs and furs. In place of electric lights, the walls were dotted with gas lamps, and several chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling. With a sinking feeling of dejá vu, Cinally took in the sight of Lady Ovrienna herself.
Ovrienna Blil lounged lazily in a plush divan in the center of the room, her breasts rivaling those of Numa Bondara or even Searlu Jarrelill. Resting on a collection of cushions that would have filled the Vigil’s cargo hold, they rose high and round, each larger than the entire body of a Hutt.
“F33!” Ovrienna cried. “Thank goodness you’re back. Shyx does her best, I daresay, but I’ve sorely missed your service.”
“My lady,” the droid said, concern lacing her mechanical voice. “What has happened in my absence?”
F33-D waddled onto the dais, poking and prodding at Lady Ovrienna’s engorged form. “Why, you’re practically wasting away!”
While Jennlyd spoke in hushed tones with the Lady’s head clerk, accepting their agreed-upon payment, the droid barked orders to the other droids and humanoid servants. Clearly, they’d been in the process of serving food to their mistress when they arrived, but at the droid’s insistence, they redoubled their efforts. The chamber soon echoed with the sound of gulping and chewing as Lady Ovrienna’s attendants proffered opulent dishes.
Cinally was so engrossed in the display that she nearly failed to notice her Master backing slowly toward the exit. Jennlyd carried a leather case filled with credits, and she lightly touched Cinally’s arm. A look and a glance were all Cinally needed. She and Jennlyd backed out of the chamber, waiting until they were out of sight to turn and make rapid steps back to the landing platform.
Lady Ovrienna’s voice followed them out, “Won’t you stay for lunch, ladies?”
Jennlyd pretended not to hear her.
***
Back in the ship, Cinally tapped buttons and switches to bring the engines online. “Why does this keep happening to us?”
Jennlyd sighed, resting a few fingers on Cinally’s hand. “I don’t know. But we’re well-supplied for now. I suggest we find a nice quiet planet to lay low for a while.”
Cinally glanced at her Master, feeling an uncharacteristic warmth from the older woman. “I think that’s a good idea, Master.”