Protocols and Princesses
MISSION LOG – IG-88B
OBJECTIVE: Acquire encrypted datapad from Chandrilan noble, Senator Vann Tenric.
LOCATION: Coruscant, Upper Levels.
TIME INDEX: 7969.316.2 C.R.C.
STATUS: Active
NEW SUBROUTINE DETECTED: Biological preservation procedure engaged. Subject identified: Leida Mothma, biological offspring of Senator Mon Mothma.
CONSTRAINT: Bodyguard Protocol 9-B tethered via regulatory restraining bolt. Manual override: disabled.
EMOTIONAL RESPONSE: UNDEFINED.
It should have been simple.
In and out. Assassinate Senator Vann Tenric. Extract datapad. Erase trail.
IG-88B was built for assassination. Precision. Perfection. He wasn’t constructed to babysit political brats with a flair for dramatics and a surprising ability to disappear in the most crowded parts of the most vertical city in the galaxy.
Yet here he stood, tall and gleaming beneath the overhead skylight of a chandelier-flecked rotunda, with a child tugging at his metallic claw.
“Are you defective?” Leida Mothma asked, nose wrinkling. “You haven’t responded in over seventeen seconds. That’s extremely rude.”
IG-88B's photoreceptors glowed a deep red as his head slowly rotated 360 degrees: heat signatures flickering through thermal sensors, directional mics capturing the buzz of diplomatic chatter. No threats. Not yet.
“Verbal interaction unnecessary. Priority subroutine: prevent biological expiration.”
“Excuse me?” Leida blinked. “I am not a ‘biological expiration hazard.’ I am Leida Mothma, daughter of the Senator of Chandrila, and I demand to be taken to the Galactic Menagerie. Immediately.”
She stomped one foot with ceremonial defiance. IG-88B registered it as: negligible kinetic threat. Ignored.
How did it come to this?
Earlier that day, IG-88B had infiltrated the Senatorial Ball disguised as a high-end security unit. The kill was close. Vann Tenric, a corrupt aristocrat, was alone in the atrium. The datapad, full of Imperial blackmail files, sat plainly on his belt.
But then the child happened.
“Oh! My bodyguard droid!” Leida had squealed, mistaking the gleaming assassin for her family’s actual protocol unit, which had been temporarily displaced due to a protocol mishap involving a spilled jorgan fruit cocktail.
A cluster of aides spotted IG-88B, praised his “discipline,” and before the droid could eject his vibroblade… Slapped a restraining bolt onto his torso. It locked with a chirp.
Now, he was hers.
“Primary mission integrity at 83%. Adjusted priority: Maintain proximity to Subject Leida.”
Current Status:
The Menagerie.
Why, in the endless pit of Coruscant’s mismanaged bureaucracy, did the most secure zoo in the galaxy exist ten floors above a black-market weapons depot?
Leida pressed her face to a transparisteel enclosure. “I want to ride the Anooba.”
“Negative. Species: hostile. Rating: Class 2 mauler. Child mortality rate: 76%.”
“You’re no fun.”
An alarm klaxon blared. IG-88’s head swiveled as his sensors pulsed to life.
Threat detected.
Tenric’s enforcers, armed and scanning the crowd, sweeping toward Leida.
Perfect. He could eliminate them, retrieve the datapad, and—
Leida had vanished.
MISSION LOG UPDATE:
NEW PRIORITY: Locate inferior biological organism. Termination of Tenric suspended.
IG-88’s chassis spun with balletic violence through the crowd. Red sensors pierced steam and body heat. A micro-howl, a child’s shriek, echoed from above.
He ascended a service shaft like a spider on durasteel silk. Reached the mezzanine.
Found her dangling from the ledge of a viewing platform, having climbed the exhibit fence “to get a better view.”
“Catching falling offspring: inefficient subroutine,” IG-88 noted grimly.
He caught her anyway.
He’d pulled her through a grimy utility access loop just shy of the infamous 1313 levels. The lights flickered like they owed the Empire money.
The shot rang out, too close for comfort. Leida didn’t flinch so much as pout.
“Next time I say ‘take me out,’ I do not mean downward.”
IG-88 engaged.
Blades, darts, thermal grenades. His torso spun fully, arms locking at impossible angles, laying waste with cold elegance. The enforcers didn’t stand a chance.
But Tenric?
Gone again.
IG-88 scanned for him, rage held back by command restraints. He looked down.
Leida had sat herself on a crate, oblivious, braiding a broken wire into her hair.
“You’re lucky I’m patient,” she said.
By nightfall, they stood atop the galactic skyline.
Coruscant pulsed below. Tenric stood across the roof, surrounded by fresh guards, datapad flashing in his hand.
Leida tugged on IG-88’s leg. “You can go shoot him now. I’ll just sit here and write in my journal.”
He paused.
“That is... acceptable.”
He advanced.
But then—
A guard broke rank. Shot fired. Wrong angle. Headed straight for Leida.
The datapad was right there, and so was the noble.
But IG-88 turned.
Caught the bolt. Body flared red with heat. Armor undamaged.
“Mission priority: altered.”
He eliminated the threat in seconds. But the datapad?
Gone again.
Leida stared, breathless. “You jumped in front of me.”
“Correction: mission subroutine requires biological preservation.”
“You saved me.”
“Statement: Functionality intact.”
She leaned against him, hair brushing durasteel.
“You’re still ugly.”
FINAL MISSION LOG ENTRY:
STATUS: Incomplete
Datapad retrieval: Failed
Leida Mothma: Alive
Assessment:
- Biological offspring demonstrate nonlinear threat patterns.
- Unexpected resilience.
- Emotional logic erratic.
- Babysitting: incompatible with assassination protocols.
Conclusion:
Mission type: To be avoided.
Forever.