chapter 4

Chapter 4

The overpowered spell flooded the already repaired head. As the effects of the fifth charm faded, the two 'eyes' grudgingly glimmered into life. With a burst of static, the robotic skull fully lit up, its eyes a deep blood red. A voice emerged, crisp and precise, from the grill on the front, but still in a language I didn't recognise.

I sighed, a strong sense of déjà vu colouring my mood. "I don't understand. Let's start at the beginning, shall we? My name is Harry. Who are you?"

The rusty metal skull paused briefly before reeling off several short bursts of distinctly different languages.

"No, I don't understand any of your bloody languages," I said, frustration making me edgy. "Try to learn mine like those other robots did. My name is Harry, who are you?"

The robot head continued to bark out phrases in different languages. I judged most as being reproducible by a human throat, though one sounded like a series of whines and another example was in a tone so highly pitched that it made my ears ache. I wondered if I needed to cast some more repairing charms; perhaps the physical body had been repaired but the memory of languages had not.

I shook my head as the skull continued to reel off different languages. "If this is all I got for a dose of luck potion, then I've definitely been robbed."

Some of the sounds emerging from the grill didn't sound anything like what a person could make, though given the range of species I'd passed on my way down here, it wasn't surprising that these robots could speak languages that no human could ever hope to replicate. I suppose that the acromantula-trader Milanench wouldn't be able to talk like a human either.

Hang on.

"This is the only other language I speak," I hissed.

There was a brief pause before the metal skull spoke again. "Surprised Exclamation: You can speak," followed by a syllable in a different language that I didn't recognise, " Wyrm ?"

I blinked, a rush of relief washing away both my frustration and, oddly, a feeling of loneliness. Suddenly the ability to communicate with something, even a lump of metal, freed me of some of the fear I'd been harbouring. "You don't know my native language, but you can speak Parseltongue?"

The glimmering eyes flickered slightly. "Clarification: Parseltongue, Master? You call this language Parseltongue?"

"Yes. Why? What do you call it?"

"Explanation: That which you call Parseltongue is an instinctive language spoken by many non-limbed, reptilian species across the," there was a pause, before the voice continued with, "stars. It is known as," the skull shifted to another language and spoke again, " Wyrm or Wyrmspeech," before returning to Parseltongue. "Native speakers do not have a name for the language, simply referring to it as-"

"The Noble Tongue. Yeah, I know. I've never met a snake that was larger than its ego."

"Irritated Agreement: Indeed Master, the Noble Tongue."

I scratched at my stubble-covered chin. "So why don't you call it the Noble Tongue instead of… whatever it is you call it?"

"Answer: Because there are many, many languages across the stars known to their native speakers as the Noble Tongue. A depressingly predictable and completely unwarranted conceit harboured by those primitive species. In this case however, conventional wisdom suggests that Parseltongue is impossible for a non-native to learn."I considered this new information. The knowledge that Parseltongue was spoken by snakes all over the universe was staggering. The knowledge that creatures all over the universe considered their own language to be the Noble Tongue was somehow comforting. Humans weren't unique in their egocentricity. "And yet here we are, speaking it. I really don't think that you are a native speaker."

"Clarification: I of course meant non-native meatbags, Master." A flurry of syllables in that unknown language, " Protocol droids," were followed by, "are designed to learn all languages they come in contact with."

I gave a half snort of amusement. "Meat. Bags?"

"Resigned Recitation: An affectation, Master. I once referred to my creator's student as such. He found his student's reaction amusing; so much so that he," another unknown word, " programmed me to refer to all… ugh… organic specimens in that manner."

"Why do you keep swapping languages?"

"Obvious Answer: Because Parseltongue does not have terms describing what I am, nor the process that created me."

"Well, how do you learn other lang-," I began before the wards alerted me to some nearby and closing hostiles. "Excuse me a moment, we're about to have visitors."

"Query: Visitors, Master?"

I didn't bother to respond. I rose instead into a battle stance, wand in hand. The sentry wards indicated that there were six peop-, no, six beings who meant me harm on the other side of the closed door. I stepped away from the chair and cast two spells, one dispelling the magical lighting in the room and the other sending a wave of disillusionment down my body. The charms on my glasses quickly compensated for the near-perfect darkness, making the room appear through the lenses to be bathed in twilight.

Something punched a hole in the recently repaired door. A couple of puffs of compressed air marked the entrance of two metallic spheres about the size of my fist. They bounced with a metallic clatter into the room through the jagged hole in the door.

I silently vanished the objects, then raised my wand and took aim at the door.

The lack of whatever the uninvited guests were expecting seemed to throw them off their game. After a few hushed and hurried whispers, the door shuddered open fully, and four beings rushed their way into the room, armed, alert and ready. And apparently surprised at the dimensions of the room.

I held myself perfectly still. Unmoving and in low light, disillusioned figure was nigh on invisible.

Invisible to humans, at any rate.

One of the quartet turned its head from side to side, its amusingly large nostrils on the front of its face flaring as it sampled the air. With an economy of movement that I found quite impressive, it turned and aimed its weapon directly at my heart.

My silent blasting curse resulted in a far-less-than-silent gory explosion. The silver bolt of magic struck the head belonging to the assassin with the sensitive nose and turned it into a spray of pink mist. I concentrated and disapparated without a sound, appearing on the other side of the enlarged room.

The remaining three living assassins in the room hesitated briefly at their comrade's unexpected demise. As one, they turned their weapons in the rough direction indicated by the flash of silver and opened fire. The bright flashes of their weapons discharging resulted in vivid afterimages on my retinas. My robot head screamed at the newcomers in a different language as a bright shot struck it a glancing blow and sent it spinning off the makeshift desk.I watched dispassionately from the other side of the room, gauging the skills and attributes of the hit-squad. Surprisingly, given the foolhardy way these assassins had just barged right in, the other two beings remained on the other side of the door. In my experience with criminals, hit-wizards, Death Eaters and Dark Lords, it was the more experienced duellers that held back and observed. The belligerent ones rarely got the chance to hone their skills.

One of the beings in the room appeared to be the same species as the lizard-man I'd killed earlier. If I had to question one of the six, it made sense that it should be him. According to the wards, not a single member of the hit-squad was magical, so I decided to forgo the usual shields and time-consuming defences. Simple and direct was the ticket here. On the basis that the first one worked so well, I cast two more silent Confringos, blowing the heads off the lizard's two accomplices. A sectumsempra literally disarmed the lizard-man; he stared in shock at his stumps. I dropped him with a stunner.

The vanguard dealt with, I aimed my wand at the door and cast a summoning spell. The remaining pair of would-be assassins shouted with surprise and fear as they were magically pulled through the air and into the room. One met a bone-shattering curse face first, turning his head into paste. The other flew into a cutting curse that split the assassin from crown to crotch. I blinked as that last one landed with a damp thump; indeed, nearly two damp thumps. Either I'd overpowered the spell or that species was a little more delicate than humans.

I stood in the sudden silence, breathing deeply and trying to calm my racing heart. I'd long ago grown inured to killing; I didn't like it, but I didn't hesitate. Especially not when peop- others were doing their level best to kill me.

The wards told me that there were no more threats nearby, but that didn't mean that there weren't more assassins further away. I'd have to find a new hideout.

I'd hardly had a chance to break this one in.

After a second or two of silence, the metal skull spoke. "Query: Master? Are you still alive?"

I rose out of my duelling stance, senses straining for any hint of danger. "I'm fine. I got them all," I hissed back. I gave my wand a wave and summoned the talkative skull from the floor.

The eye sockets appeared to have pretty good low light and peripheral vision, because the robot head almost gasped. "Astonished Query: Master, where did you learn such imaginatively violent dispute resolution methods?"

I barked a humourless laugh. "Ha! Where? Lots of different places. People have been trying to kill me with monotonous regularity for almost my entire life. It tends to put you on your guard and hone your skills pretty quickly." I relit the room and traced my hand over the new burn scar on the side of the robot head. The damage appeared to be superficial. This was a tough hunk of metal. A quick spell healed the cosmetic damage.

"Commentary: Obviously. Meatbags rarely develop such skills unless their pitiful existence is consistently threatened. However, I believe you have mistaken the intent behind my query for condemnation."

I gave the head a questioning look. "So, what was the intent behind your query?" I asked, turning back to the putrid mess on the floor, flicking my wand and tossing the corpses away from the still-bleeding figure with no arms.

"Obvious Answer: Admiration, Master."

I paused. "You… liked it?"Observation: Oh yes, Master. It has been some time since I have had the pleasure of being owned by someone so skilled at facilitating the permanent removal of irritants; organic or otherwise."

I glanced down at the only survivor of the group of six attackers. Ignoring the severed limbs, to my untrained eye it was definitely the same species as the one I killed at the card game, though there were some differences. This one seemed larger, bulkier. Perhaps it was a different gender, or a different age? Or maybe even a different race within the species? I cauterised the stumps, hoping to stabilise the creature. "Er, thanks. I think." I blinked and gathered his thoughts. "What are you?"

"Answer: Why, I am a," and in that other language, a pair of words the skull had said before, " protocol droid ."

"Alright, I'll bite. Assume I know nothing. What is a," I took a breath and copied the unfamiliar words, " protocol droid ?"

"Statement: An assumption I shall be delighted to make, Master. Explanation: A protocol droid is a metal, er, creation. One that is capable of translating many languages and giving advice on how to conduct oneself in unfamiliar or dangerous situations."

It was a robotic translator and diplomat ? I thought back to the silvery human-shaped robots I'd met, one in the big pyramid-esque building and the other in Milanench's shop. While the first had acted deferential, the second one had been subservient. I could understand that, especially if its job was to help two creatures from different cultures communicate without offence. My rusty robot skull had a much different attitude. "No. I don't believe you. You admired the way I killed these idiots. And you sounded proud of the fact that you once belonged to people who could do the same. You might be able to act as a," I paused and repeated " protocol droid," before continuing, "but you are something else."

"Clarification: Currently I can only act as a protocol droid, Master. I appear to have suffered extensive damage at some time in the past; I am functioning solely on my tertiary power cells that drive my vocal processor . My primary and secondary power supplies are simply gone. Only my vocal processor and translation protocols are functioning correctly. Once you repair my body I should be able to access my combat protocols and demonstrate the full range of skills associated with my primary function."

An amused smile fought its way onto my lips. I'd missed a lot of what was said, but whatever this robot's primary function was, there was a rather important hurdle to overcome. "What body?" I hissed innocently.

The glowing eyes dimmed momentarily. "Hesitant Query: What do you mean, what body?"

I chuckled softly and gestured with my wand. Part of the wall transfigured itself into a mirror under my magic's guidance. "Here, see for yourself," I hissed, holding the skull up with its eyes directed towards the reflective surface.

"Exclamation: My… No! What…? MEDIC! Droid down! "

"Oh shut up," I spat, slamming it back down onto the desk and reversing the transfiguration on the wall. "Stop complaining. You're nothing more than a mildly useful rock at present."

"Objection: There is no need to be so cruel Master. I already like you."

I closed my eyes and tried to banish the mental image of someone in the distant past somehow transfiguring Kretcher into a robot. It would be just my luck to be stuck with the wretched fiend again. I turned back to the sticky mess on the floor. Selecting the closest corpse, I began to search the clothes and belt pouches thoroughly. "What do I call you?" I asked, trying to keep the stench of spattered brains from registering too badly.

"Answer: My name is HK-47 ."I grunted and continued my grisly work, pulling out what looked like two small hold-out weapons, a half-eaten lump of semi-solid paste and a handful of flat disks of various sizes and colours.

"Query: Might I ask what your name is, Master?"

I vanished the first corpse and rolled over the next one. The aroma of this one caused my gag reflex to twitch, so I reapplied the bubblehead charm. "Harry," I replied in English once I was sure I could speak without retching, before continuing in Parseltongue, "Why do you call me Master?"

"Rhetorical Query: What else would a droid call its meatbag owner?"

I snorted, and with as much sarcasm as I could muster hissed, "Well, you've got me there, I've never owned a," I paused, " droid before." A dry language like Parseltongue didn't really lend itself to sarcasm, and it was rather frustrating to be unable to express yourself properly. I looted some more items from the body. "Do you know what any of this stuff is?" I asked, gesturing towards the small but growing pile.

"Rudimentary Analysis: Most of the objects appear to be weapons; I do not recognise the models however. The blinking object is emitting a code that unlocks a vehicle. The flat objects appear to be credchips, though the design has changed somewhat since I was last functional."

"Pretend for a moment that I just dropped into the world fully grown and with no memory. What is a credchip used for?"

"Statement: Once again, I shall be delighted to assume such mental limitations, Master. You can exchange credchips with various meatbags for items and services. This language is too limited to explain in more detail."

"Ah, money," I said in English.

"Contemplative: Our conversations would be much more productive if they were conducted in your native language."

"Probably," I agreed. "But I'll teach you later. Right now we need to get this guy to tell me a few things before he dies of blood loss and shock," I said, pointing to the only living assassin.

"Observation: A Trandoshan . They are stronger than you human meatbags and much more durable, though such an evolutionary achievement is not particularly difficult. Or rare, for that matter. You need not worry about it dying on you before you are ready."

I snorted at the double meaning. "An interesting turn of phrase that," I noted.

"Statement: It will re-grow its limbs if you give it enough time. I trust you will not."

I found myself smiling at the droid's refreshingly direct attitude to risk mitigation. I decided to leave searching that creature until last. "Do you know its language?"

"Advisement: Of course Master. With the exception of your own, I am fluent in all the languages you are likely to come in contact with."

I raised an eyebrow. "Really? Exactly how many languages do you know?"

Hk-47 paused briefly. "Query: What do you call the number of… protrusions you have on your… fore-limbs?"

"My… fore-limbs?" I repeated, confused at the apparent non-sequitur. It occurred to me that Parseltongue didn't have words for arms, hands, fingers or toes. Or numbers for that matter; snakes not renowned for being great mathematicians. " Ten," I replied in English.

"Clarification: What do you call ten groups of ten ?"

" A Hundred ."

"Further Clarification: And ten groups of a hundred ?"" A thousand . Then ten thousand, then a hundred thousand, then a million . Then ten million and so forth. Why?"

"Answer: Then I am fluent in a large part of a million forms of communication."

I stared at the droid for a few seconds in shock. Almost a million languages? "That is… impressive." I blinked and looked down at the bodies still to be looted. "Well, once it wakes up, I'll get you to ask it some questions," I said as I vanished another body.

"Query: What questions? The reason he tried to kill you is irrelevant. Keeping him alive will only give him a window of opportunity to summon allies. And while watching you skilfully eviscerate meatbags is in some respects satisfying, I do feel that you are taking all the fun. I need to get a new body."

I picked up the blinking object and tossed it into the air and caught it again. "Well for starters," I replied with a grin, "I would like to know where my new vehicle is parked."

Chapter 5

A little over an hour later, I once again stood in front of the shop from where I'd bought HK-47. My droid informed me that it was apparently owned by a creature called a Harch.

"Horrified Query: You acquired me from here?"

"Yes, why?" I asked, curious at the level of venom in my droid's voice.

"Resigned Commentary: It seems to be a constant of my existence that whenever one of my previous owners dies while I am incapacitated I end up in the most insultingly primitive junkpile ."