The wind howled over the dunes like a whispering code stream. Every grain of sand seemed to carry static. DRN-5571 walked slowly, awkwardly, leaving footprints for the first time in her existence.
Her senses strained. No HUD. No neural net. Just eyes and instinct. And yet, some part of her remembered motion, construction, defense — fragments of her old subroutines.
Then she heard them.
High-pitched chatter, mechanical squeaks, the sound of scraping metal.
She crouched low behind a dune, peering over the ridge.
Below, a massive sandcrawler lumbered across the desert, kicking up clouds of dust. Small hooded figures swarmed around its base, examining the wreckage of some machine — a rusted droid with one arm torn off. They poked and prodded it with tools and excited squeals.
Organics. Cooperative. Primitive tech. Unarmed.
She stood up.
At once, the figures froze. One pointed. "Utinni!"
They bolted into defensive positions, raising strange, boxy weapons — crude ion rifles. A few ducked into the sandcrawler's open hatch.
She raised her hands, unsure why — a learned gesture, something she had seen in human memory-echoes through psionic bleed.
"I am not hostile," she said. Her voice was strange. Soft. Female.
The Jawas looked at each other, uncertain.
Then one approached — slowly, carefully, holding out what looked like a circuit board.
She tilted her head. Her fingers twitched again. The code whispered louder now.
"Begin construction."
Golden lines shimmered on the sand at her feet.
The Jawa jumped back with a startled cry.
A pulse of energy rippled outward — forming a perfect hexagon.
Then, with a deep thrum, a Pylon rose from the desert. Crystal-blue light surged through it, anchoring the area with clean, psionic clarity. The Jawas gasped.
Before they could react, she stepped forward, letting the matrix guide her.
She activated the interface.
Moments later, a Gateway pulsed into existence beside the Pylon, humming with energy. The air shimmered with potential.
The Jawas stared in awe. One dropped his rifle. Another cautiously reached toward the structure, only to be zapped gently by a protective field.
She turned toward them, eyes glowing faintly.
"This is... a safe place," she said slowly, more to herself than them.
The Jawas looked at each other.
Then, one raised a fist and shouted: "Utinni!"
They cheered.
DRN-5571 stood among them, watching the light of her first outpost illuminate the twin suns.
Something deep within pulsed in rhythm with the Pylon's glow.
She didn't know where she was.
But she was no longer alone.
And she could build.