The ghostly face shifted its gaze to the corpse beside the control console and said:
"That body is a fake Ruur. I'm the real Ruur—Eternity Rul! Tell me what year it is!"
As he screamed, flecks of green Force energy sprayed out like ghostly flames and landed on the surrounding robots.
The robots seemed to come alive. Green light shone from their terrifying metal faces as they rose from the floor one by one, letting out hungry, zombie-like moans.
"Are you sure you want to get this angry right after waking up?" Aphra slashed her Lightsaber through the air in front of her, as though to keep the robots away. At the same moment, the group instinctively formed a circle, back to back.
Zero Three, the clever robot, claimed the safe spot in the middle.
"Tell me the year! Or I'll torture you until you do!" Ruur sounded desperate. He kept repeating the demand.
Aphra didn't know why, but she could tell the answer mattered to him.
And whatever an enemy wanted, she wasn't about to give him.
"Which calendar do you use? You'll have to give me a chance to convert it!" She raised a hand to pause the torture that hadn't started yet. She wanted to talk.
"The Dumanjo Calendar!" Ruur shrieked. Still, he halted the robots around them and waited quietly for an answer.
Aphra only rolled her eyes. She looked at Deathstroke and shrugged. "Boss, you take this one. The Dumanjo Calendar dates back to ten thousand years ago, according to legend. It's almost as much of a legend as this place. I can't convert it, so I guess negotiations are off."
Deathstroke had known it would come to this. He waved the others back, stepped out in front of them, and looked up at the