Do Droids Laugh?
~`~`~
A C-3PO Story.
Disclaimer: Star Wars ain't mine. If is was, I would be writing movies not fanfiction.
I blame this story on a coke and chocolate binge which had me sitting up at 1:00am with my laptop in front of me.
This is not my first Star Wars fanfic, but it is the first one I've posted on the net, so I hope someone reads it. Here goes;
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had started with Anakin.
"Don't droids ever laugh?" the five-year-old had questioned.
"That is hardly relevant." C-3PO, human-cyborg relations had returned, proceeding to lecture the boy about how, no matter the circumstances, it was simply rude to replace his fathers vintage Gaqin brandy with cleaning fluid, even if it did smell nicer.
Threepio was not a nanny droid. Yet he had volunteered for the duty four years ago, when first Mistress Leia and General Solo had been able to receive their children back into their home. Over the next few years, he had learned that this had not been a wise move. He had been disassembled on numerous occasions, painted blue on another, and even imprisoned in a storage closet. So his programming, which did incorporate a healthy dose of self-preservation, warned him not to volunteer again. However, he now found this service was taken for granted by his owners, and was stuck frequently looking after the children. Such as today, when he had been left with Anakin.
He found Anakin to be the most troublesome. The boy resented being told what to do, and though his research into the matter told him that this was normal for a child his age, this did nothing to help the situation. When Threepio had suggested that he do some work on his mathematical studies, the boy had instead lifted Threepio with the Force and pinned him to the wall. When Threepio's protests became monotonous and the boy had grown bored, he let Threepio down none to gently and gone off to find some more mischief.
"Don't droids ever laugh?"
Replaying the conversation over in his SyntheTech type AA-1 verbobrain and analysing the voice inflections, Threepio detected a certain amount of disappointment in the Anakin's voice. For approximately 6 seconds, he pondered this peculiar find.
Droids did not have what humans termed a 'sense of humour.' Threepio knew that for certain; it was a fact. Droids functions were controlled by information processors. Those processors did not register amusement, or any other form of emotion. True, some models were programmed to display emotion through voice and gesture; but this, Threepio knew, was merely an addition by their creators to make humans more comfortable around them. Droids did not really feel those emotions.
And yet when he called up his memory files of the time during which he had aided the Rebellion, he distinctly remembered feeling the emotion of fear on a number of occasions; mostly due to General Han Solo's reckless flying habits, he decided. Most droids, however, were given a memory wipe every five years. He had not had one for... well, as long as he could remember, due to the insistence of Mistress Leia and Master Luke. Perhaps these 'feelings' he remembered were just his memory files degrading, perhaps they were simply a side effect from containing so much information in his memory banks.
Once finished with this train of thought processing, Threepio moved to the hallway. Hanging on the wall was a reflective surface approximately 50 centimetres wide by 70 centimetres high, surrounded by a frame of Alderaanian Oak. Threepio stood before the mirror and tried to laugh.
At first he searched his databanks for recordings of laughs that he had heard. He found several. Standing awkwardly, he played one of those laughs through his vocal processors. It was General Solo's laugh, a delighted, throaty whoop. It sounded odd to Threepio, as if someone had put a Jeruvian Lizard-Cat into a garbage disposal and turned on the compactor. In contrast to his own voice patterns, the harsh, deep sound clashed awfully.
Threepio pulled up another laugh. This one was Mistress Leia's. A soft giggle that he had recorded one night when she had returned home to find Han had made her dinner, and was in what humans termed a 'romantic' mood. At her request, Threepio had powered down for the night soon after that.
Threepio played the sound, and knew from experience that the inflection was too feminine. For some reason he couldn't quite pinpoint, he imagined that General Solo would be very amused to find such a sound coming from Threepio. He discarded that file.
He pulled out Lando Calrissians laugh. This was an even deeper laugh than General Solo's, and had a decided 'Hah-hah!' sound to it. Threepio had recorded this file upon first meeting Lando, on Bespin Cloud City. He had greeted General Solo with this laugh, after a quick change of mood that had quite baffled Threepio.
This too, however, was not right. It did not fit. Threepio gave the droids equivalent of a sigh, (merely to simulate human characteristics) and discarded that file as well. He combed through the many other files; the laughs of over a eleven hundred different individuals were stored in his memory databanks, and there were many from different races; Wookiee, Bothan, Sullustan, even Hutt... yet none of them were right. He even had a sample of R2-D2's version of a snicker. Why could R2 laugh, when he could not? The simple answer was that Artoo was a droid with more time on his hands than was good for him, and attitude difficulties to match, yet Threepio was sure that he felt a twinge in his circuits that matched the human description of jealousy.
Then his verbobrain arrived at a solution. What he needed was not a recorded laugh, one that he had borrowed from someone else; he needed his own, individual laugh. Threepio set to work.
He took samples of laughter from all his memory files, filtering them out into catagories, and selecting the most suitable. These he dissected, using his own vocal processors to lower or heighten the inflections, smooth out the syntax, and merge styles and speech patterns.
This entire process took him nine point seven three five five minutes. At the end of that time, Threepio's photoreceptors registered his own image in the mirror, and he readied himself to put his new creation into audible form.
And at that moment, there came a noise from the kitchenette. Threepio abandoned the mirror and hurried towards the source of the noise. He entered the kitchenette, and found Master Anakin, obviously having emerged from his sulking fit, in the middle of the floor, the storage cupboard above the bench open. Shards of plasglass littered the floor, interspersed with chocolate chip cookies. The five-year-old had tried to reach the jar, but, lacking the vertical dimensions required for the task, and had tried to lift it down with the Force, Threepio surmised.
Anakin looked up guiltily as Threepio entered, almost frightened at the trouble he thought he would be in. He screwed up his face. "It wasn't my fault," he said as innocently as possible, in a tone that matched his fathers quite nicely.
Threepio realised that this was the perfect opportunity to display his new creation. He tilted his head to one side and let loose his laugh.
Anakins eyes widened in shock at the unexpected conglomeration of modulated sounds coming from Threepio. Then he turned and raced from the room, disappearing into his bedroom and palming the door shut behind him.
Threepio had anticipated several reactions to his laugh. Frightening the boy had not been one of them.
Threepio wondered if perhaps his programming had been right; droids were not meant to feel amusement. He stooped stiffly to clean up the broken jar and scattered biscuits.
A few minutes later, he realised how strangely quiet it was. He made his way to Anakin's bedroom, intending to check whether the boy was still there. He found the boy sitting at his work station, his back to the door, working at the mathematics program. Anakin was doing... homework?
Threepio backed out of the room, unseen. He stored his created laugh for future use; it might just come in handy the next time Mistress Leia and General Solo went out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And that, my friends, is it. Over to you. Comments? Criticism?
~`~`~
A C-3PO Story.
Disclaimer: Star Wars ain't mine. If is was, I would be writing movies not fanfiction.
I blame this story on a coke and chocolate binge which had me sitting up at 1:00am with my laptop in front of me.
This is not my first Star Wars fanfic, but it is the first one I've posted on the net, so I hope someone reads it. Here goes;
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had started with Anakin.
"Don't droids ever laugh?" the five-year-old had questioned.
"That is hardly relevant." C-3PO, human-cyborg relations had returned, proceeding to lecture the boy about how, no matter the circumstances, it was simply rude to replace his fathers vintage Gaqin brandy with cleaning fluid, even if it did smell nicer.
Threepio was not a nanny droid. Yet he had volunteered for the duty four years ago, when first Mistress Leia and General Solo had been able to receive their children back into their home. Over the next few years, he had learned that this had not been a wise move. He had been disassembled on numerous occasions, painted blue on another, and even imprisoned in a storage closet. So his programming, which did incorporate a healthy dose of self-preservation, warned him not to volunteer again. However, he now found this service was taken for granted by his owners, and was stuck frequently looking after the children. Such as today, when he had been left with Anakin.
He found Anakin to be the most troublesome. The boy resented being told what to do, and though his research into the matter told him that this was normal for a child his age, this did nothing to help the situation. When Threepio had suggested that he do some work on his mathematical studies, the boy had instead lifted Threepio with the Force and pinned him to the wall. When Threepio's protests became monotonous and the boy had grown bored, he let Threepio down none to gently and gone off to find some more mischief.
"Don't droids ever laugh?"
Replaying the conversation over in his SyntheTech type AA-1 verbobrain and analysing the voice inflections, Threepio detected a certain amount of disappointment in the Anakin's voice. For approximately 6 seconds, he pondered this peculiar find.
Droids did not have what humans termed a 'sense of humour.' Threepio knew that for certain; it was a fact. Droids functions were controlled by information processors. Those processors did not register amusement, or any other form of emotion. True, some models were programmed to display emotion through voice and gesture; but this, Threepio knew, was merely an addition by their creators to make humans more comfortable around them. Droids did not really feel those emotions.
And yet when he called up his memory files of the time during which he had aided the Rebellion, he distinctly remembered feeling the emotion of fear on a number of occasions; mostly due to General Han Solo's reckless flying habits, he decided. Most droids, however, were given a memory wipe every five years. He had not had one for... well, as long as he could remember, due to the insistence of Mistress Leia and Master Luke. Perhaps these 'feelings' he remembered were just his memory files degrading, perhaps they were simply a side effect from containing so much information in his memory banks.
Once finished with this train of thought processing, Threepio moved to the hallway. Hanging on the wall was a reflective surface approximately 50 centimetres wide by 70 centimetres high, surrounded by a frame of Alderaanian Oak. Threepio stood before the mirror and tried to laugh.
At first he searched his databanks for recordings of laughs that he had heard. He found several. Standing awkwardly, he played one of those laughs through his vocal processors. It was General Solo's laugh, a delighted, throaty whoop. It sounded odd to Threepio, as if someone had put a Jeruvian Lizard-Cat into a garbage disposal and turned on the compactor. In contrast to his own voice patterns, the harsh, deep sound clashed awfully.
Threepio pulled up another laugh. This one was Mistress Leia's. A soft giggle that he had recorded one night when she had returned home to find Han had made her dinner, and was in what humans termed a 'romantic' mood. At her request, Threepio had powered down for the night soon after that.
Threepio played the sound, and knew from experience that the inflection was too feminine. For some reason he couldn't quite pinpoint, he imagined that General Solo would be very amused to find such a sound coming from Threepio. He discarded that file.
He pulled out Lando Calrissians laugh. This was an even deeper laugh than General Solo's, and had a decided 'Hah-hah!' sound to it. Threepio had recorded this file upon first meeting Lando, on Bespin Cloud City. He had greeted General Solo with this laugh, after a quick change of mood that had quite baffled Threepio.
This too, however, was not right. It did not fit. Threepio gave the droids equivalent of a sigh, (merely to simulate human characteristics) and discarded that file as well. He combed through the many other files; the laughs of over a eleven hundred different individuals were stored in his memory databanks, and there were many from different races; Wookiee, Bothan, Sullustan, even Hutt... yet none of them were right. He even had a sample of R2-D2's version of a snicker. Why could R2 laugh, when he could not? The simple answer was that Artoo was a droid with more time on his hands than was good for him, and attitude difficulties to match, yet Threepio was sure that he felt a twinge in his circuits that matched the human description of jealousy.
Then his verbobrain arrived at a solution. What he needed was not a recorded laugh, one that he had borrowed from someone else; he needed his own, individual laugh. Threepio set to work.
He took samples of laughter from all his memory files, filtering them out into catagories, and selecting the most suitable. These he dissected, using his own vocal processors to lower or heighten the inflections, smooth out the syntax, and merge styles and speech patterns.
This entire process took him nine point seven three five five minutes. At the end of that time, Threepio's photoreceptors registered his own image in the mirror, and he readied himself to put his new creation into audible form.
And at that moment, there came a noise from the kitchenette. Threepio abandoned the mirror and hurried towards the source of the noise. He entered the kitchenette, and found Master Anakin, obviously having emerged from his sulking fit, in the middle of the floor, the storage cupboard above the bench open. Shards of plasglass littered the floor, interspersed with chocolate chip cookies. The five-year-old had tried to reach the jar, but, lacking the vertical dimensions required for the task, and had tried to lift it down with the Force, Threepio surmised.
Anakin looked up guiltily as Threepio entered, almost frightened at the trouble he thought he would be in. He screwed up his face. "It wasn't my fault," he said as innocently as possible, in a tone that matched his fathers quite nicely.
Threepio realised that this was the perfect opportunity to display his new creation. He tilted his head to one side and let loose his laugh.
Anakins eyes widened in shock at the unexpected conglomeration of modulated sounds coming from Threepio. Then he turned and raced from the room, disappearing into his bedroom and palming the door shut behind him.
Threepio had anticipated several reactions to his laugh. Frightening the boy had not been one of them.
Threepio wondered if perhaps his programming had been right; droids were not meant to feel amusement. He stooped stiffly to clean up the broken jar and scattered biscuits.
A few minutes later, he realised how strangely quiet it was. He made his way to Anakin's bedroom, intending to check whether the boy was still there. He found the boy sitting at his work station, his back to the door, working at the mathematics program. Anakin was doing... homework?
Threepio backed out of the room, unseen. He stored his created laugh for future use; it might just come in handy the next time Mistress Leia and General Solo went out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And that, my friends, is it. Over to you. Comments? Criticism?