Dynamic Patrol: Gel-Squad (Remastering!)

Chapter 20: Rounds

Since Tommy and Russell heard the message, they'd been gone for nearly four days. Leaving much of the ship's repairs up to D1. She moved about the corridors without time to wonder where the two had gone. She did not forget about Jason in the broom closet; in fact, that was part of her rounds. As expected, there were plenty of rations with a ship previously occupied by humans. The ration bars resembled beige bricks, and the texture was hard. For the first few days, she repaired the door sensors in the cargo bay and on the closet because of her Omeocoon friends' poor handling of door locks. Opening the door, she held the tray out at arm's length, which wasn't long, considering she had short arms. "I have your dinner." D1 got no verbal response but snatched the tray and huddled in the corner. Scarfing it down as if D1 would take it back if he didn't eat it fast enough.

When the prisoner signaled her attention, D1 started to reverse out of the doorway, preparing to continue her rounds. "Hey, wait. Could I have some water? I'm not complaining about this. I'm grateful you've given me food. But it's a little dry... and speaking of liquid, I've been holding it for a few days.. and I just don't wanna-- you know... piss myself." D1 stared at him blankly, her sensor focusing on him, "Very well, standby." She closed the door and returned a few minutes later with handcuffs; bounty hunters carried plenty of those for the various aliens they captured. "Is that really necessary? I mean, come on, I've already stopped banging on the door; I'll be good, I swear." D1 was not listening; she restrained and forced him out of the closet and down the corridor to the ship's bathroom. "You will have two minutes to complete your task. If you require assistance, I will be right outside."

Jason was going to thank the droid, but the door slid closed much faster, and from there, he began the first phases of his escape plan with no time to waste. He had opened up a maintenance hatch and pulled a metal fork out of his sleeve, which he used to eat his nutrient pellet earlier. He had a minute and a half left, at best. And the process of trying to do this was all the more difficult now that he was in handcuffs. He learned the ins and outs of this ship just enough to put his plan into action; he used the tines of the fork to undo the screws and release the front cover on an outlet in the bathroom, which was used to power a hairdryer or something like that; as he took the panel off, he released a wave of wires that connected to the back of the outlet. Jackpot. Jason attempted to spice a few of them, but D1 started to knock on the door. That was the 15-second warning. He'd have to continue another day. This bathroom was a convenient hiding spot just as easily as it would be an escape hatch; he stashed both the fork in the nest of wires and replaced the front plate on the outlet hastily. Half-tightening the screws with his fingernails. He even flushed the toilet to complete his performance and knocked at the door so that he could alert the droid he was ready to go. She opened the door immediately. And took him by his shirt to lead him back to his makeshift prison cell.

Upon return, she forced him inside and released him from his restraints. "I will return later this evening with more nutrients for you." D1 declared, before departing, she collected the tray and the water cup used by Jason. And then she prepared to back out of the doorway, but again, she was stopped by the prisoner. "The other two? Where are they?" D1 faced Jason blankly, "That is none of your concern." She would not grant him any more information than he needed, "I don't know why you do all the grunt work; I never believed in enslaving droids, in fact--" His sentence was cut short by the closing of the door.

D1 decided it was time to try Tommy's door again; she preferred him to Russell, seeing as how the bunny did not offer more to the relationship than tolerating her appearance. This would be the third time she tried to get his attention by chiming the door. And again, he did not respond. D1 decided to continue preparing the ship for its next operation after putting the tray and its contents in the galley. She continued on her repairs. Her repairs list covered almost every system on the ship, including the airlocks damaged when the poachers went at them with angle grinders—the hull which was smashed through walls and glass and was struck by falling lumps of concrete. The thrusters were continuously pushed past their limit despite not being designed for high-performance movements in close quarters, so they would need realignment. The ship needed to be repaired, suffice it to say. In her tool room/quarters, she found every tool required to service the damaged systems. The poachers were undoubtedly prepared. Unfortunately, it lacked the spares needed to perform such restorations, so patch jobs would do for now until they could secure a supplier for new components.

Her primary focus was the main computer-- the backup got things working enough, like environmental controls and the basic autopilot. However, a central computer would be necessary to operate the cloaking device and perform FTL calculations. The main computer also allowed for some amenities, like a higher level of autopilot. Their current version just flew in a straight line instead of being able to fly advanced courses, and other equipment like the weapons had to be targeted manually. That's why D1 elected not to lay down fire during the escape from the Chancellor's headquarters. Too dangerous.

D1 got into the main computer core in a small alcove designed just for droids to work. She pulled apart the entire assembly. Computer fragments, wires, and various portable monitors littered the floor as D1 decompiled the system and repaired the physical damage with a soldiering gun. Fried motherboards and computer chips were probably the result of her flight maneuvers. But when tested at full operation, D1 observed that this ship was incredibly advanced for its size; if only she got it to work.