There was never much for a Republic Trooper to do aboard these damn training ships.  The occasional blaster range, teaching the young'uns weapons drills and marksman techniques, but asides that they pretty well just had free reign of the gym or mess hall to fill their off hours.  The best he could do was try to keep up with affairs on the grander scheme, and luckily for him and the other Troopers their own command staff felt much the same.  Fresh battle reports, skirmishes mostly, were loaded onto the data slate in his hand and he was strolling the corridors on his way back to his bunk space from the blaster range after another grueling two hours of watching navy brats turn the berm wall into a thuroughly charred chunk of metal.<br/><br/>Reading the reports, and the attached casualty lists, were doing nothing for his already sour mood.  Some of the cadets would be decent shots for navy brats, and others missed their calling as Troopers as far as he was concerned, but there were always those few that he couldn't trust with a blaster unless he was hovering over their shoulder making sure they didn't shoot one of the other trainees.  Seeing a few names he recognized in the MIA and KIA sections of the casualty lists had him torn remembering the 'good old days' with lost friends and tipping his mood to a full boil remembering the loss of his parents.<br/><br/>Although he was short, the fact that he was in armour (standard protocol for instructing on the ranges) and that he had arms bigger then most crew's legs kept any of the crew out of his way without him having to pay attention to where he was going.  Even the droids avoided him, likely some loophole in their basic manuevering program and logic engines about avoiding immovable objects.  He'd thought to ask but never really bothered, having little use for protocol droids anyways.<br/><br/>Deciding it was only going to lead him to trying to punch a hole in the bulkhead, he finally gave up and thumbed the pad's power switch, giving it an annoyed smack against the wall to vent some frustration before tucking it away into one of his cargo pockets.  He finally looked up, eyeing a pair of cadets chatting up a...combat droid?  Either that or the bucket of tin was the most reinforced protocol droid he had ever seen.  He'd been hearing rumours but nothing concrete, but still hadn't decided what to make of it.  They hadn't employed combat droids in...bloody well forever, so what was up with this thing?