It might seem surprising, but even though Jonas had been looking forward to completing Patchwork, he approached it with caution. Rather than diving into the final steps of the great project, he spent the afternoon sitting outside beside the shimmering portal, his fishing rod in hand. He wasn't just stalling—he was thinking.
He followed Hermione's instructions carefully, but they were still just that: instructions. There was no guarantee the result wouldn't be some murder-bot or explode the moment he powered it on. He wasn't a robotics expert. His experience came from tinkering, trial and error, a few scraps of electronic know-how he'd picked up out of necessity. How could he even verify that he'd put it all together correctly?
His survival suit, torn apart during the battle with Dr. Smith's cybernetic remains, was beyond repair. Maybe it was time to make a new one. He still had some armor pieces stashed in the wardrobe room—bits and pieces from across the multiverse. Should he cobble together something quick and functional? Or should he take more time, build something sturdier, or maybe even arm himself?
He hesitated. Weapons had never been his thing. If you asked him to hit the side of a barn, he'd probably shoot a cloud instead. He didn't like guns. Even in the fight against Dr. Smith, he'd only used one because he had no other choice. Weapons made him frown. They made him feel... off.
Still, he had to consider the risks. If Patchwork went rogue, he'd need some way to defend himself. After hours of pondering, he finally made up his mind: he'd craft a basic suit of armor and set up an array of automated defenses—guns, maybe—just in case. But eventually, he would have to trust the thing.
That was the real problem.
He'd seen Star Trek. He knew Lore had pretended to be Data. How could he know if this android, another creation of Dr. Soong, wasn't secretly a twisted counterpart too? What kind of safeguards could he put in place? Hermione had thought about that, of course, but her solution involved deep-level tampering with the android's mind. Jonas wasn't up to that. One wrong move and he could wipe the whole thing out. He just had to hope Hermione knew what she was doing.
So he sat there and fished a little longer. Pulled in a few strange things—maybe junk, maybe treasure. A cracked yellow Sinestro ring. A green power battery. Perhaps the remains of a battlefield between lanterns, or maybe from a war in some other universe where green and yellow Lanterns fought together. Nothing useful today.
Eventually, he reeled in the line, packed up, and headed back.
He spent the rest of the day assembling a patchwork suit of armor, fitting, given the name of the android he was about to bring to life. After a simple dinner, he turned in early. Tomorrow would be the day.
The day the process ended. The day, hopefully, Patchwork would live.
If all went well, Jonas wouldn't be alone anymore. He'd have a companion—someone who could make sense of the bizarre sci-fi tech he'd been collecting, someone who could help him test it, fly it, use it. Someone who could help him leave this place.
Because the truth was, there were a lot of things Jonas couldn't do. He was just a regular person, stranded on a strange alien world for reasons unknown. All he had was a powerful, red fishing rod that could pull artifacts from the multiverse. That, and whatever courage he could scrape together.
He tucked himself into bed and slept lightly, nerves buzzing.
At dawn, he woke—bright-eyed and bushy-tailed—ready to begin the procedure.
His armor would have looked comical to some, but for Jonas, it was the best he could manage.
He'd rummaged through his stash and found an old stormtrooper helmet—the kind from Return of the Jedi, the forest moon variant with the brow ridge. It was his favorite version. Something about that brow ridge—it looked like the helmet was wearing a hat. A helmet with a hat. Ridiculous. And yet… kind of cool.
He added a few mismatched armor pieces—durable overalls, padded undershirts, bits of under-armor. None of it fit quite right, some of it he'd stitched together by hand. Over all that, he layered a bulky yellow hazard suit. Visibility wasn't great, but he managed to rig a working breathing system. The tank was an old scuba tank, and when he breathed, he sounded like Darth Vader trying to be subtle.
Looking at himself in a mirror, he chuckled. He looked like Marty McFly in Back to the Future, when he dressed up as "Darth Vader from the planet Vulcan" to scare his dad. The resemblance was uncanny.
Weapons came next. He'd cobbled together several blaster-like contraptions—some real, some questionable. There was a phaser, an energy beam emitter, something that might've been a disruptor. He wired them to a common trigger, hoping he could fire them all at once if needed. Hopefully. Probably. Maybe. Look, he wasn't an engineer—just a guy who'd been futzing with multiversal junk for five years.
At the center of the lab table sat a large R2 dome. It wasn't a full droid—just the head—but it had been expanded and modified into something like a mobile toolkit and assistant. It chirped, rotated, and clicked with a loyal kind of energy. Astromech brains were known for their reliability. This one, at least, had proven trustworthy so far.
So Jonas let the R2 head handle the final assembly. The last two components were delicate, and Jonas didn't trust his shaky hands. The R2 unit worked for over an hour, performing precise, quiet work that Jonas wouldn't have been able to pull off if his life depended on it.
Then, finally, it was done.
Patchwork's eyes flickered on—just a blink at first, then another. Human-like. Curious. The bed rotated forward, raising the android to a forty-five-degree angle. He looked around the room: the strange yellow-suited man in front of him, the array of laser weapons on the floor, and, unseen to his side, the little R2 head.
"Greetings. My designation is Patchwork. I see you've laid out several destructive energy beam weapons in front of me. Do you intend to activate me and then destroy me?"
Jonas' voice crackled through the helmet. "No. I'm just... not entirely sure of your character yet. I don't exactly know how to confirm a robot won't try to murder me."
Patchwork blinked. "So... you are my creator?"
"Not really. I just followed your creator's instructions."
"Hmm. Fascinating," Patchwork said, tilting his head slightly. "And now that I've been activated—completed—what is your plan? Will I be subjected to a test? Or am I meant to sit here indefinitely?"
"To be honest? I'm not sure," Jonas admitted. "What would you do, if you were in my position?"
"I'm afraid I don't fully understand what your position is, sir."
"Okay. Let me spell it out."
Jonas leaned on the workbench, arms folded.
"I have a ship. It can travel between dimensions—maybe. The last crew who tried to fly it? Fried. That includes Hermione—the woman who designed you. I don't know how to lock in coordinates, I don't know if the ship works, and I have no technical skill beyond cobbling stuff together and hoping for happy accidents."
He took a breath, Vader-like.
"I've been stuck on this strange planet for years. Five? Two hundred? I have no idea. Time is weird here. I don't age. I might be immortal now—maybe that's part of the planet, maybe it's something else. But what I do know is that I've been alone. Completely, utterly alone. And I don't know how much longer I can take that."
Patchwork listened in silence, his head slightly tilted.
"You're the only chance I have," Jonas continued. "You might be able to pilot the ship. Understand the tech. Maybe even fix it. But at the same time… you could crush me in two seconds. Your right hand? That's from a T-X. It can morph into tools, weapons, whatever. Your left? That's from a T-800, built for brute strength. Your torso's from a Super Battle Droid, your right leg from some kind of velociraptor robot, and your left leg… I don't even know what that is."
He paused, his voice lower now.
"But it's your brain that scares me. You're a Dr. Soong android—the same lineage as Lore and Data. One of them was a psychopath, the other a saint. There was a third—sort of a blank slate that became like Data after a memory upload. So that's two good robots and one bad one… and the bad one fooled everyone for a while. So here's my question, Patchwork—what are you? Good, evil… or something else entirely?"
Patchwork was silent for a long moment.
"I see your dilemma," he finally said. "Your caution is understandable. It would, perhaps, be the wisest course of action to destroy me now."
"However," Patchwork continued, "as you have stated, it would be a mistake to destroy me. I may be your only chance off this planet, and I believe I have the skills to assist you. I possess the knowledge of my previous incarnation. Like Commander Data, I am—broadly speaking—a Starfleet android. A derivative of Soong's work. A self-copy, created by Data in his later years, with many of his protocols and traits carried over. Although I was given no specific designation, I was meant to serve in Starfleet as he once did.
"But something went wrong. At some point, my head was separated—or perhaps lost—and my memory ended there. I remember seeing my creator, Data, one final time. Not long after, I awoke here. This is not a Starfleet vessel, nor any Federation base I am familiar with. Given the variety of components in my body, I suspect I've been reconstructed from parts gathered across galaxies… or perhaps from collapsed timelines. I cannot say."
Jonas listened, breathing softly through his helmet, unmoving.
Patchwork turned slightly toward him, voice measured.
"I can only assure you that I harbor no ill intent. Despite your belief that you offer me no value, destroying you would mean I lose the only companion I've ever had. And that… would be unacceptable. I was designed, after all, to be human-like. I crave connection, just as you do. Perhaps even more so."
He paused, searching Jonas's expression.
"I don't know how to prove my sincerity. As you rightly said, it's difficult to know the mind of another—especially when that mind isn't entirely human. I don't know whether you consider me a person. But I assure you, this body—powerful though it may be—is imperfect. For instance, my left leg appears to incorporate Cybertronian technology. I believe it can transform into a gun."
"Please don't do that," Jonas said quickly.
"Of course not," Patchwork replied gently. "I fear that even a twitch in the wrong direction might convince you to vaporize me."
He stood still, almost stiff as if holding back unnecessary movements. "So. I have no way to guarantee your safety. You have no way to restrain me without destroying me. What shall we do?"
Jonas sank into a nearby chair, watching the android silently. His breath fogged the inside of his helmet.
"I don't know what to do," he admitted. "All I can say is—I can't stay here anymore. I need to leave this planet. And I hope you're a decent… person."
He hesitated over the word person, unsure if it applied. Unsure if he believed it applied. Still, he went on:
"If you help me get out of here, and you're unhappy with how things go… maybe we can renegotiate. But I just want to live. I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of surviving for no reason."
Patchwork nodded.
"I understand. And I believe I can help you. It would be my pleasure. I have memorized all Starfleet protocols and directives. I was trained, designed, to serve as a peacekeeping and ambassadorial unit. I was meant to work alongside people, to cooperate and learn. If you'll allow me, I would like to refer to you as my commanding officer. Captain, if you don't mind."
Jonas blinked, taken aback. Then slowly, he nodded. "That's fine."
With a careful hand, Jonas reached for the central control. One by one, he powered down the perimeter weapons. He released the clamps holding Patchwork in place, then stepped back cautiously.
Patchwork stood.
He was tall—at least eight and a half feet. Comically tall, given the proportion of his head. But he moved with care, lowering himself slightly to meet Jonas at eye level.
"Thank you, Captain, for placing your trust in me," he said. "I will do my best to live up to our arrangement. I would appreciate being shown to quarters and familiarized with the ship if that is acceptable."
Jonas let out a long breath of relief. "Yeah. Sure. R2, let's go. I've got a room prepped for you too."
Just then, Patchwork paused. He turned toward a soft twiddle chirp from behind. The little R2 head rotated, its dome spinning as it silently hovered.
He turned back and tilted his head curiously at Jonas.
"Excellent. So you did have something up your sleeve," Patchwork said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I suspected there was more to you than just some... lost scavenger. Perhaps you undersell yourself, Captain."
Jonas gave a small, crooked smile. He didn't know if the android meant it, or if it was some half-learned sarcasm protocol, but it didn't matter. It sounded sincere.
And for now—that was enough.
"Come on," he said, nodding. "I'll show you around."