The sky tore open with a scream.
It began as a flicker in the upper atmosphere — a faint, burning streak across the pale blue. Then a shape emerged, spinning, tumbling, shedding sparks. A ship. Small. Fast. Dying.
DRN-5571 stood beside the Shield Battery, watching as the object hurtled downward, trailing smoke and shrieking metal. It vanished behind a ridge with a dull, concussive thud that rippled through the sand like a distant cannon shot.
The Jawas scattered to gather tools. Instinct.
She paused.
Incoming technology. Potential value. Unknown allegiance.
She activated the Observer and sent it gliding silently toward the smoke plume.
---
The crash site was chaos.
A light starfighter — compact, sleek, half-vaporized on impact. No clear insignia. A wing torn off. The cockpit canopy shattered.
Inside, slumped in the pilot's seat, was a humanoid. Young. Breathing, barely. Blood on the console. A strange insignia on their jacket — not one she recognized.
The Observer hovered silently, recording.
No weapons systems detected nearby. No distress beacon active.
Just a broken life, waiting to be saved… or scavenged.
She turned away.
For now, it would wait.
---
Back at the outpost, the farmers returned.
Three of them this time. Not the quiet pair from before. These came with tools, data tablets, and subtle tension in their posture.
She greeted them with her now-practiced gesture. They nodded, but without warmth.
As an offering, she presented them with:
Two water cartridges (refined from moisture units)
A rebuilt comms crystal
A food replicator cube
And a small energy cell extracted from the Shield Battery overflow
They stared.
One farmer took a cautious step forward, then froze.
The other muttered something — harsh, sharp. A word she didn't know.
Observer recording: increased heart rate. Subtle weapon movement.
She tilted her head.
What had she done wrong?
---
An hour later, they were gone — leaving behind the gifts untouched.
She stared at the pile.
Too much.
A new note was added to her catalogue:
---
Species: Moisture Farmers (Expanded)
Notes: Accepting small trade. Larger offerings interpreted as threat, bribe, or dominance gesture. Possible territorial culture. Proceed with limited-value exchanges only.
Conclusion: Intent ≠ Perception
---
She sat beside the Pylon that night, watching the Observer's recording of the crash again.
So much she didn't understand.
So many mistakes she couldn't afford.
But learning was construction.
And she was built to adapt.