Star Wars Rebels

                     Chopper trundled             down the corridor, grumbling in low tones. Do this, Chopper. Do that, Chopper. Hera and Kanan were always telling him to get things done—things that always had to be done now. Yet when was the last time they had thanked him with a lubrication bath? It had been thirty-two days, twenty-three hours, fifty-seven minutes, and four seconds since his last dip. Parts of him were getting rusty. Rust slowed his joints. Rust made his circuits misfire. Rust made him crabbier.

            Chopper stopped before the turret. Inside, Kanan whirled in his seat, trying to get a lock on the approaching TIE.

            Chopper chirped for Kanan to shoot better. The droid knew Kanan couldn’t understand exactly what he said without a translation screen. That was one of the difficulties of working with organic beings. Their brains couldn’t handle binary.

            Kanan pressed the gun triggers. This round didn’t miss. It reduced the enemy fighter to space dust.

            “I’m a little busy, Chop,” Kanan said, scanning for the other two TIEs.

            So am I, Chopper wanted to reply. But the droid kept those beeps to himself. He started to move away to the comm center.

            “Wait…” Kanan said. He looked down at the droid from the turret. “What are you doing back here? Shouldn’t you be fixing the shields?”



            Chopper rasped Hera’s message to Kanan in binary.

            Kanan shook his head and fired again. His shots kept the two TIEs from getting closer. “Did you say you’re fixing the comm?” he asked.

            Chopper revolved his dome toward Kanan. The droid had to admit this human was one of the smarter organics he’d worked with. Kanan Jarrus often got the gist of what Chopper chirped.

            Kanan didn’t wait for Chopper’s response as he pumped the cannons. “Because I don’t need to talk to ‘Captain’ Hera right now. What I need is for you to get back there and fix the shields!”

            Chopper groaned. He could have fixed either the shields or the comm unit during the 34.2 seconds he had wasted here. He turned around and headed back toward the cockpit.

            “Oh, yeah,” Kanan yelled from the turret. “When you see Hera, tell her to fly better.”

            Chopper repeated his low-toned grumbles. Organics were so inefficient in communicating with each other.



            Hera jerked the flight yoke right and left to avoid the TIEs’ lasers. The navicomputer showed that the two fighters blocked the escape vector into hyperspace. If Kanan couldn’t do his job and blast them, she’d have to find a way to get rid of them.





Chopper reentered the cockpit. The droid whistled something that sounded like she needed to fly better.

            “Oh, he said that, did he?” Hera yanked the yoke to one side, pulling the Ghost in a fast arc around a TIE. Her fingers danced on the controls. The nose gun’s targeting system came online. Almost immediately she had a lock on the TIE.

            “Do I have to do everything myself?” she said, pressing the firing button.

            The TIE stood no chance against her attack from behind. Its explosion reminded Hera of fireworks on her homeworld of Ryloth.

            “There, I just reduced Kanan’s targets by half.” Hera glanced over her green head-tails at the droid. “Tell our fearless leader he should be able to handle one lone TIE fighter on his own.”

            Chopper blurted out something and turned back toward the corridor.

            “What was that?” Hera asked. She heard nothing more as the droid rolled off.



            When Chopper was out of Hera’s visual range, he angrily waved two of his repair arms back in her direction. This was ridiculous. Going back and forth, like a computer program caught in a never-ending loop. Meanwhile, without shields, the Ghost had nothing but a thin layer of hull plating to keep them all from being obliterated.