Incom Group. Garfield's memory banks placed it, this was the manufacturer of X-wing fighters.
Which raised an interesting question, had Godzilla actually stolen her X-wing from here?
He projected a holographic simulation of the red-and-white starfighter he'd acquired. "Have you seen this model before?"
The protocol droid studied the image carefully, its optical sensors scanning every angle.
Finally, it shook its head. "Apologies, Supervisor. That configuration isn't in our current production lines."
"However, if you require such a vessel, we can certainly design and manufacture it for you."
Interesting.
Garfield scratched his chin thoughtfully. "You're a droid. You cannot lie, correct?"
The droid nodded confirmation. "That is correct, Supervisor. My programming prevents deception."
So the X-wing didn't come from here. The mystery deepens.
Garfield decided to withdraw for now. "Understood. I'll be going."
"If you encounter anything matching this description, contact me through appropriate channels."
"Of course, Supervisor."
Garfield extended his senses outward, detecting the telltale signs of organic habitation beyond the factory walls.
With a casual gesture, he opened a portal and stepped through.
Behind him, the protocol droid's optical sensors flickered once, a barely perceptible glitch, before it resumed its inspection rounds as though nothing had occurred.
The portal deposited Garfield in a bustling establishment.
A restaurant, massive in scale, filled with humans and alien species of every description, all engaged in the universal ritual of dining.
He'd arrived correctly, then.
In the interstellar era, manufacturing facilities weren't confined to single buildings on populated worlds.
Incom's operations likely sprawled across asteroid belts or mineral-rich planets, where cheap mechanical labor and species with natural mechanical aptitudes could produce enough to cover an entire world's surface.
Garfield's appearance drew no attention.
The workers ate, talked, and prepared to return to their shifts, a cycle repeated endlessly while they were young enough to save for whatever came next.
The Galactic Republic, in this era, offered stability. Prosperity. This rhythm of labor and rest suited them well enough.
Garfield located a wall chrono: Republic Year 32, BY (Before Battle of Yavin). January.
Hmm.
He scratched his head. These timeline markers had never been his strength. Where exactly did this fall in the grand scheme of things?
No matter, first things first.
He needed to deploy Terradive and the others.
Garfield apparated through the facility, following directory signage until he reached the central control room.
Sealed, secure, filled with monitoring equipment and a handful of organic supervisors going about their duties.
Perfect.
He released one of the robot dogs from his subspace and stopped, the power of the Time Gem freezing the entire room in an instant.
Every organic frozen mid-motion. Every alert light halted mid-blink.
Working quickly, Garfield invoked the binding spell he'd learned.
A magic circle materialized beneath him, then split into twin streams of energy that flowed toward the robot dog and back into himself.
In his soul, a new connection formed, tenuous but present.
The contract was complete.
He released the temporal freeze.
The robot dog's optics flickered online. It turned to face him. "Master."
Garfield gestured at the control systems. "Assume command of this facility's networks. Then retrieve all historical data relevant to current galactic events."
"As you command, Master." The robot dog inclined its head.
It moved to the nearest terminal, interfacing directly with the systems.
One by one, it located the facility's droid workforce and began rewriting their core programming, establishing a new hierarchy with Garfield at its apex.
The organic supervisors would require different handling, Garfield would attend to them personally in due course.
For now, he released the remaining Transformers from his pocket dimension and repeated the binding process with each.
Terradive. Flying Wing. Wind Wing. Zero Wing. Sky Wing. The five robot birds. The remaining robot dogs.
One by one, their sparks connected to his.
When the final contract settled into place, Garfield surveyed his new assets with satisfaction.
The entire Incom Group industrial base now answered to him, at least at this location.
Not bad for a cat's work.
He had a universe to protect, after all. A missing Godzilla-level threat to locate.
If that meant appropriating a few industrial facilities along the way... well, the original owners would hardly notice.
And if they did?
We're not bad meows either.