Chatterbox: Chirp at Cricket

Look what I found that I wrote a long time ago!

It's a Star Wars fanfiction from the perspective of R2-D2!

I haven't finished it yet, but it starts from the beginning of A New Hope, whil R2 is on the Tantive IV!

Sorry it's kinda long, or maybe that's just the font I have it in in Google Docs.

Enjoy! And please apprase what I need to edit, I wrote this almost exactly a year ago.

Tell me if you want more. 

LOG ONE. PRACTICE NUMBER 67341287576. DROID:R2-D2

Greetings. I am R2-D2. This is my recorded log. It can only be activated under MCCCodingm16c48b*R2-D2. Luckily, my procoders have long died, so no one knows my visual log coding. I found this programing while going through my ability practice, and have never used it until now.

Perhaps that is a good thing.

I know that C-3P0 has this program. That is why his memory was wiped. I don’t like to think about that.

When the rule of the Empire is over I think I will tell him about our past. But not now. For now I must be content with roaming the Tantive IV as a helper to Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan. With my best friend, the talkative C-3P0. The (extremely) bossy C-3P0. The nerdy C-3P0. The funny C-3P0. He is funny, but does not know it.

Ha!

LOG TWO. PRACTICE NUMBER 67341287577

DROID:R2-D2

It has happened! The Tantive IV is under attack! I am racing through the droids quarters. Well, not racing. I cannot go very fast. But still, I am racing through with my best friend, C-3P0. This is good. But the fact that he is babbling is not good.

“Did you hear that? They’ve shut down the main reactor. We’ll be destroyed for sure. This is madness!”

(“It will be okay.”) I beep. That is the only thing that annoys me about myself.I speak in binary. That means not many can understand me. C-3P0 has to translate for me often. SO embarrassing.

A quick movement of the Rebel troops catches our attention. The men and women position their blasters toward the main doors. I hear C-3P0 moan, “We’re doomed!”

(“You worry too much!”)

“There’ll be no escape for the princess this time.”

Good grief.

A loud banging directed my attention away from C-3P0.

“What’s that?” my friend asks.

(“Ut-oh.”) I beep. I figure it was a tractor beam, coming from the Star Destroyer behind us. This is not good. But worrying about things is not good either.

We brace ourselves for a certain explosion, and sure enough, it comes.

BOOM!!!

What seems like a hundred identically armored stormtroopers pour into the opening made by blaster fire. The Rebels put up a good fight, but it was clear the Empire was winning.

I beep in shock, as a bolt of blaster fire blazes toward me, and as quick as Force Lightning, I’m off.

We look both ways before heading across a hallway, walking (er, rolling) between blaster fire, before reaching another entrance.

As I speed away, another bolt of blaster fire hits right next to C-3P0. He thinks that  I couldn’t hear him, but I distinctly heard him mutter, “I should have known better than to trust the logic of a half-sized thermocapsulary dehousing assister…”

(“Well, at least I have some courage programmed into me!”) I rebutt, and speed away faster.   

I’m escaping, down the droid maintenance hallway  when all of the sudden, I sense Anakin on board. The new  Anakin. I remember when he was a good person. But the Emperor promised him he could save his wife if he lost himself, or he could lose his wife. I don’t think Anakin knew the Empire never keeps it’s promises. Anyway, he chose the former, and that is why I am speeding down this tight corridor. I had lost C-3P0 a long time ago, and figured that he was hiding. Or, to think about the more probable, he had gotten lost. I bet that he had gotten lost.

“Droid! Droid, could you come here?”

I start at the sound of the feminine human voice. Maybe… that was Princess Leia! Maybe… I could help her! After all, I was a droid in need of a mission. And C-3P0 would not mind me stopping to help someone in distress-I hope. I beep my way up to her.“Weeee ooo weee oooo?” (“Yes?”)

“I need to record a holographic message. Do you have that programing?”

I check. But you know that. You are written into my datacomputer, and so know every move I make.

“Wo wee wo wee oo wo we wo we wo.” (“Affirmative.”)

“Alright then. Message begins… now!”

She clears her throat and begins, “General Kenobi. Years ago you served my father in the Clone Wars. Now he begs you to help him in his struggle against the Empire. I regret that I am unable to bring my father’s request to you in person, but my ship has fallen under attack, and I’m afraid that my mission to bring you to Alderaan has failed. I have placed information vital to the survival of the Rebellion in to the memory systems of this Artoo unit. My father will know how to retrieve it. You must see this droid safely to him in Alderaan. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.” She then looks to the side and crouches down.

“Okay, end of message, Artoo. Now this is the tricky part. You need to see this message safely to a man named Obi-Wan Kenobi. He lives on the planet below us, in the middle of the desert. Use your navigational programming to find him. Here is the information.” With this, she inserts a disc into my side and watches it slide in.

“Don’t let anyone except General Kenobi get ahold of this, okay? This information is imperitive to my mission, and if it gets into the wrong hands, millions of people could die.”

“Whot weet wi witta wittle oo!” (“Okay!”)

“There should be at least one escape pod for you to use-”

“Artoo! Artoo-Detoo, where are you?”

Thank goodness- C-3P0! We could go to Obi-Wan Kenobi together. That is-if he wasn’t too cautious.

“At last! Where have you been? They’re heading in this direction. What are we going to do? We’ll be sent to the spice mines of Kessel, or smashed into who knows what!” I hear a crash, and hurry toward where the escape pods were.

“Wait a minute. Where are you going?”

Good grief.

(“It doesn’t matter. Just follow me!”)

I keep heading down the hall, and blaster fire roars behind me, getting closer with every move.

“Hey, you’re not permitted in there,” my friend says, as I turn into the escape pod access corridor.  “It’s restricted. You’ll be deactivated for sure.”

He’s getting in his lecturing mode. Not a good sign.

(“Mindless philosophy, from a mindless philosopher.”) I said as I roll in.

“Don’t call me a mindless philosopher, you overweight glob of grease! Now come out, before somebody sees you.”

(“I have a secret mission. I must deliver the plans. Stay behind if you want. But I must go.”)

“Secret mission? What plans? What are you talking about? I’m not getting in there!”

(Are you kidding me! Fine-get blown up or whatever. My mission is more important than a droid with an attitude.!”)

A blast echoes throughout the chamber, and I see flames lick near C-3P0.

(“What is your problem! Dumb trigger-happy stormtroopers! Holy stars from above! I could just…”)

I am startled from my rage by the sight of C-3P0 leaping into the escape pod murmuring, “I’m going to regret this..”

I press the ‘Eject’ button, and as much as I hate to admit it. I feel a burst of fear. What if the ship fires at us, and my best friend and I are reduced to cosmic waste, hanging forever over this desert planet?  Tatooine. Than the Rebel plans will be forever lost, and there will be no hope for Princess Leia…

No, no. Don’t think that way. The pod is past firing range-I hope.

My worries are interrupted by C-3P0’s own.

“That’s funny, the damage doesn’t look as bad from out here.”

(“I’m sure it will be okay.”) I say.

“Are you sure this thing is safe?” he then asks.

I muffle a droid laugh as we speed off into the atmosphere, with me steering, and C-3P0 worrying.

LOG THREE. PRACTICE NUMBER 67341287578

DROID:R2-D2

It is a rough landing on the sandy surface of the planet we saw from the Tantive IV. I feel quite energetic from the daring escape, and ready to find Mr. Kenobi. I feel-giddy. The same cannot be said for C-3P0, though.

“How did I get into this mess?” he moans. “I really don’t know how. We seem to be made to suffer. It’s our lot in life.”

(“It could be worse. I did steer us into the sand. Would you rather we have landed on one of those rocks?”) I say meaningfully.

He ignores me.

“I’ve got to rest before I fall apart. My joints are almost frozen.”

(“Alright, Mr. Particular. Next time, I’ll take that into account.”) I say, still mad that he is not grateful for where we- alright, I’ll admit it-crashed.

“What a desolate place this is.” cries you-know-who.

Humph. Talk about a tough crowd.

(“Okay! Let’s go!”)

I am stopped by a yell from C-3P0, “Where are you going?!”

(“To the nearest town. We can get help there. Than we can be on our way-and boom! Mission done. Than you can get back to a normal life. Easy!”)

“Well, I’m not going that way. It’s much too rocky. This way is much easier.”  

 (“There are settlements over there. Not in that direction.”)

“What makes you think there are settlements ‘over there’?”

(“Well, because of my navigational programming, I seem to pick up life forms just past the rock formations. Also,”) I say, choosing my words carefully, (“I think I have been here before, and my long term memory has specifically acknowledged the fact that settlements are this way.”)

“Don’t get technical with me!” chides Mr. Fussy himself.

(“But C-3P0, I have a mission. I must help the Rebellion stop the-”)-I lowered my beeps-(“-Death Star.”)

“What mission?” asks my dumbfounded partner. “What are you talking about? I’ve just about had enough of you! Go that way! You’ll be malfunctioning in a day, you nearsighted scrap pile!”

(“Yowch!”) I yelp as my friend kicks me on the leg. I wince as I try to turn toward my friend, who scolds, “And don’t let me catch you following me begging for help, because you won’t get it.”

I wish extremely hard that C-3P0’s memory had not been wiped. If it hadn’t, he would remember the burning suns, the heat of the day. How the Tusken Raiders swept the plains. How Jawas lurked around corners. How Jabba… I stopped. It never does good to think negatively. Instead, I roll toward the rock mesas-and pray that night isn’t soon to fall.

LOG THREE. PRACTICE NUMBER 67341287579

DROID:R2-D2

To pass the time while I head toward civilization, I am making a record list, here for posterity, of what I would do if I were human.

1. I would walk, run, skip, leap, and dance with my legs.

2. I would talk more than C-3P0-in Basic.

3. I would start a “No Droid Left Behind” campaign, to ensure Droid Rights.

4. I would pilot a ship like a pro.

5. I would eat all of the food that I have seen served-and seemed so, so delicious.

6. I would kick the Emperor in the rear end! (I would probably die for this-but it would be sooooooo funny!)

7. I would join the Rebel Alliance.

8. I would become a Jedi!

9. I would give lots of hugs to people.

10. I would be best friends with EVERYONE.

Woah! Must stop my list. I have a funny feeling that I am being watched. Rocks don’t just move on their-

LOG THREE. PRACTICE NUMBER 67341287580

DROID:R2-D2

Pardon me! I just woke up- and in the strangest of places too. Thousands of droids crowd the walls-old models of R5s, D16s, and even a rare Z-1A6. I then realize where I am; a Jawa’s Sandcrawler. Mind you, I have never seen the inside of one of these things-and I hope I don’t have to never again. I notice I have a restraining bolt attached to my chest.

Shoot.

I get up, starting to roll around-and notice that I am getting some funny looks from some of the droids. One, another R1 unit, red and white colored one, blows me a droid raspberry as I roll by.

Double shoot.

I respond, with a quick-paced insult, and a number of B16, 8B, and M72 droids, start, as any droid would respond when called

I roll on, looking at the droids, and wondering if they have any hope left.

“Artoo-Detoo! It’s you! It’s you!”

C3-P0?!?!

I am then embraced by a large, golden droid.

(“C3-P0,”) I say, contented.