Droids do a good enough job maintaining themselves, but not a perfect job. Not a good enough job to hold the entire Grand Army of the Republic in near-constant warfare.
You aren't an especially unique case.
Orphaned due to the conflict reaching your used-to-be-neutral home planet in the earliest parts of the war, but enough of an adult at the time that you could survive on your own to finish the rest of your vocational training.
Two years into the war, you were enlisted by your now staunchly Seperatist government to travel with the droid legions in order to conduct repairs that require a more organic touch.
That was how you ended up here, dropped in the middle of a battle on some planet that you didn't think you could remember the name of if your life depended on it, blaster (that you have no idea how to use) clutched in one hand, tool bag clutched in the other, and orders that are simply "find the General."
Nice.
You hadn't seen another organic in days, not since you had been chosen seemingly at random from the barracks full of other conscripted mechanics, and certainly not on any of the small ships crewed entirely by droids that you'd had to hop to get here. You figured that seeing another organic would be a breath of fresh air, even with what was sure to be a stuffy power imbalance between you.
You survey the edges of the battlefield, trying to plan out cover should you need it.
"The General is still at the front?"
The khaki battle droid escorting you nods.
"You aren't supposed to go there. You're under orders to stay in one piece," it says with its standard issue nasal voice.
The droid starts to push you off towards a droid landing pod.
"You must wait here for the General and set up for repairs."
"Ok, ok! I don't want to go get shot either, tin can."
"Good. I will inform the General of your arrival." It leaves you on the ramp of the pod, stepping a few strides away to use its com link while you kneel down to rifle through your tool bag for your foldable repair stand and supplies. You are curious to see what this general looks like, but you're worried that he'll arrive before you're set up and that you'll ruin your first impression with your only hope for organic interaction. You also take this opportunity to stash your blaster away before you hurt yourself.
"Sir! The repairs mechanic has arrived! We are successfully stationed at your pod."
"Excellent," a distorted voice responds, "I will arrive after I slaughter the rest of this clone scum."
"Roger Roger!"
You don't have to wait long before the fighting dies down and you begin to see droids marching back to the pods and settling into their crouched travel positions inside.
You turn to your escort droid.
"Is the General-"
You're cut off by catching sight of a massive white figure bounding towards you, the smaller battle droids doing their best to scurry away from his path.
"General!" Your escort cries out, quickly leaping to the edge of the ramp to make room for the hulking figure. "This is the new mechanic!"
"I have eyes, you empty-headed droid." He snarls out, thwacking it across the head.
"Oh my god-!" Was all it managed to get out before it fell backwards into a rock.
He rotates the bulk of his shoulders and face plate towards you, looming over you. "Welcome to my army, fellow organic." He leisurely rolls his gaze down over your form. "You should prove useful to me."
"H-hello, Sir."
"Yes, you cower as you should. I am an intimidating figure am I not?" He begins to laugh, though it ends with a series of short coughs. "We will be leaving back to my Dreadnought immediately. Repack your supplies."
You nod, then think better of it and salute, kneeling to fold down your repair stand.
The General stares at you for a moment longer then hums, brushing past you to settle into the pod. He sprawls his powerful limbs once he settles in his seat, and you can't help but sneak glimpses of him out of the corner of your eye while you work. You try to deduce what parts of him are organic and what parts mechanical.
You certainly hadn't expected your new boss to be… at all as he had appeared to be so far. Not a cyborg, not melodramatic, and certainly not asthmatic, but you figured that he would at least be more interesting than the hundreds of identical battle droids you had already interacted with for your job.
You hear a few more muffled coughs from the General.
"As soon as we return to the Invisible Hand you will conduct repairs on me first."
"Yes, General." You respond and stand up, having just finished gathering your supplies.
"General, we are now ready to make the jump into orbit!"
You sling your tool bag across your chest and inspect the walls of the pod. It only has ports for droids to secure themselves, nearly all of them already filled by returned droids, barring the seat that your new boss has already claimed. You quickly position yourself at the front of the pod and search for hand holds.
"Mechanic." The General's voice stops you. "What are you doing?"
"Trying not to get a concussion on the way up, sir."
The General hums again, shifting to rhythmically tap the metal fingers of one hand across his thigh. He speaks again.
"That won't do. Come here."
"Sir?"
"Come here, mechanic, unless you are craving brain damage."
You make your way to the General, intimidated to be so close to him and unsure as to what his solution might be. Just as you get close enough to him to notice the damaged red flesh surrounding his very organic eyes he reaches out and lifts you, arranging you across the thigh support bars that make up his lap.
"There." You hear him rumble where he has you pressed against his abdomen. "Secure enough for you?"
"Yes, but, General, I think I'll end up quite bruised." You grimace, part at the feeling of the unforgiving metal and part because you definitely shouldn't have just complained. He could so easily knock you off onto the floor to fend for yourself if he decides you're being ungrateful.
The General swiftly scoops you up with one arm, shocking you by detaching the bottom half of his other arm to use as two. You gasp releasing the grip you've maintained on your bag strap to scramble a hold onto the curve of his shoulder as he shifts to use his newly revealed bottom hand to toss the end of his cape up over his thighs.
He settles you back down.
"Is that better, fragile little mechanic?" He says, a fair bit of sarcasm dripping from his voice. You do hold your tongue about that, especially since he just made an effort to fix your problem.
"Yes, sir."
The General ignores your response in favor of barking at the droid in charge of lift-off to hurry up.