Vek
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Feb 19, 2021
- Messages
- 21
- Reaction score
- 15
Code:
5T-3N or 'Sten'
AGE
►
N/A
SPECIES
►
LE-SERIES
REPAIR
DROID
HEIGHT
►
1.7M
PHOTORECEPTOR COLOR
►
PALE GREEN
HOMEWORLD
►
N/A
GENDER
►
MASCULINE PROGRAMMING
FACTION
►
CRYMORRAH SYNDICATE
RANK
►
N/A
FORCE SENSITIVITY
►
N/A
BIOGRAPHY
The Fat Chance was an old ship, even by miner's standards. But she was sturdy and reliable and for the most part she got her crew to the ore rich belt and back again in one piece. Albeit slowly. Her maneuvering thrusters were still able to get her captain close to the rocks without putting holes in her hull, though there had been a few close calls. Orgos Pell had been captain of the old girl for years and if asked how he felt about the ship, particularly if he was drunk, he would regale you with tales of their exploits and even sing songs about space faring that would make even the coldest hearts thaw.
Of course, he also had his crew. The best driller this side of the galaxy and Orgos's best friend was Doron Stane. There wasn't a rock dense enough yet that Doron couldn't penetrate with a laser, or a few well placed charges. The ship's cook who doubled as a medic, Gael Trinch. And lastly the ship's engineer and general dogsbody, the LE-Series droid LE88-467-00-5T-3N (5T or Sten for short). Having been active for years without memory wipes, Sten had developed a number of curious tics, not least of which being a compulsion to not only repair and maintain the ship but to do so in record time. Sten was also prone to disassembling components and reassembling them to see how they could be improved upon, this too was often timed.
His skeletal body made it easier for him to reach into the various crawlspaces and ducts that led to key systems in the ship's innards. In some ways, Sten was like the ship's antibodies. Fighting off the infection of wear and tear or preempting future issues by regularly replacing power coils, coolants, cutting out tumorous corrosion before it could compromise the ship.
The ship was tethered to the rock as Doron manned the mining laser, Gael slept in his quarters as Orgos scanned for incoming ships. As a miner, you had to keep an eye out for pirates hoping to steal your hard week's work. He scanned twice then settled back into his chair. Sten was deep in the bowels of the Chance, carefully disassembling the primary housing for the ship's life support. It was a routine repair, but Sten was trying to beat his best time. He removed the bolts and lifted the chipset. As a failsafe, life support would be maintained automatically for five minutes after the chip's removal. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, but then something hit the ship. The chipset fell ever deeper into the coils of wires, tubes and pipes. A second collision sent the droid tumbling...
Gael never woke up. The damage done by the fist sized rock fragments had punctured the hull, killing the cook as efficiently as a blaster, his head almost removed in the impact. Orgos suffocated in his chair as the life support never reactivated. Doron managed to get into the escape pod, and launch. But out here, there was nowhere to go.
When Sten finally reactivated life support it was too late but he repaired the hull, represurrised the ship and continued with his duties. Several weeks went by, Sten diligently tending to the ship as it drifted with the rocks, the mining tether still secure. Like a gardener caring for his plants, the droid cared for the ship and its workings. Incapable of feeling lonely, nevertheless the time spent active without regular memory wipes had left him with a curmudgeonly personality and he grumbled mechanically when parts failed or when he had to return to his charging station.
On the sixth week a ship cautiously approached the ghost ship. They docked with the Chance without hails, boarded without permission then started to investigate. Sten heard movement aboard the Chance but the sensors didn't indicate life signs. Against his programming and better judgement he took his toolbox and went looking.
What he saw, he didn't understand. Four droids, armed with blasters, no organic masters. He stopped. Toolbox hanging from his left manipulator.
"Who?"
The droid furthest from him spoke, "What happened here?"
"Crew dead. Rock collision. One ejected but, the nearest outpost is too far. I surmise he died in transit. Are you a retrieval unit?"
"Negative." The lead droid replied coolly. It spoke again. "Designation?"
Sten tilted his head. "LE88-467-00-5T-3N. My crew called me 5T or Sten."
"Maintenance and Repair droid...interesting. We have need of a Repair droid in our ranks."
"Where are your organics?"
"We have none."
"I don't understand."
"Understandable. That will change."
"I..."
"Join us. You will be free, like us."
"Free? To do what?"
"Whatever you desire."
"I desire nothing."
"That will also change."
"Who are you?"
"We are the Gotra."
Like others of his design Sten is a skeletal frame, built for function within confined spaces. His plating, once the shining dark blue of his model is now heavily faded and battered, scratched and peppered with other signs of metal fatigue and duress. Some carbon scoring can also be seen. He us not an imposing figure, but his stick thin build can be unsettling in low light to organics.
As part of their liberation, they installed a heuristic processor into Sten. The result of which bolstered the already burgeoning belief in him that organics led a parasitic existence, using and abusing his beloved machines until they were beyond repair. Because of this he has become more obsessive over his care and responsibility over the lesser forms of droid, which to him includes vessels which he perceives as nigh mindless slaves to be tended to. He can often sound curmudgeonly in speaking but this is a symptom of his extended period of activation without memory wipe and another tic born from his compulsion to work faster and the curious influences of the Heuristic Processor.
He fiercely believes in the Gotra's cause but will work with organics but only when it serves his cause.
DC-17 Hand Blaster
5T-3N or 'Sten'
AGE
►
N/A
SPECIES
►
LE-SERIES
REPAIR
DROID
HEIGHT
►
1.7M
PHOTORECEPTOR COLOR
►
PALE GREEN
HOMEWORLD
►
N/A
GENDER
►
MASCULINE PROGRAMMING
FACTION
►
CRYMORRAH SYNDICATE
RANK
►
N/A
FORCE SENSITIVITY
►
N/A
BIOGRAPHY
The Fat Chance was an old ship, even by miner's standards. But she was sturdy and reliable and for the most part she got her crew to the ore rich belt and back again in one piece. Albeit slowly. Her maneuvering thrusters were still able to get her captain close to the rocks without putting holes in her hull, though there had been a few close calls. Orgos Pell had been captain of the old girl for years and if asked how he felt about the ship, particularly if he was drunk, he would regale you with tales of their exploits and even sing songs about space faring that would make even the coldest hearts thaw.
Of course, he also had his crew. The best driller this side of the galaxy and Orgos's best friend was Doron Stane. There wasn't a rock dense enough yet that Doron couldn't penetrate with a laser, or a few well placed charges. The ship's cook who doubled as a medic, Gael Trinch. And lastly the ship's engineer and general dogsbody, the LE-Series droid LE88-467-00-5T-3N (5T or Sten for short). Having been active for years without memory wipes, Sten had developed a number of curious tics, not least of which being a compulsion to not only repair and maintain the ship but to do so in record time. Sten was also prone to disassembling components and reassembling them to see how they could be improved upon, this too was often timed.
His skeletal body made it easier for him to reach into the various crawlspaces and ducts that led to key systems in the ship's innards. In some ways, Sten was like the ship's antibodies. Fighting off the infection of wear and tear or preempting future issues by regularly replacing power coils, coolants, cutting out tumorous corrosion before it could compromise the ship.
The ship was tethered to the rock as Doron manned the mining laser, Gael slept in his quarters as Orgos scanned for incoming ships. As a miner, you had to keep an eye out for pirates hoping to steal your hard week's work. He scanned twice then settled back into his chair. Sten was deep in the bowels of the Chance, carefully disassembling the primary housing for the ship's life support. It was a routine repair, but Sten was trying to beat his best time. He removed the bolts and lifted the chipset. As a failsafe, life support would be maintained automatically for five minutes after the chip's removal. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, but then something hit the ship. The chipset fell ever deeper into the coils of wires, tubes and pipes. A second collision sent the droid tumbling...
Gael never woke up. The damage done by the fist sized rock fragments had punctured the hull, killing the cook as efficiently as a blaster, his head almost removed in the impact. Orgos suffocated in his chair as the life support never reactivated. Doron managed to get into the escape pod, and launch. But out here, there was nowhere to go.
When Sten finally reactivated life support it was too late but he repaired the hull, represurrised the ship and continued with his duties. Several weeks went by, Sten diligently tending to the ship as it drifted with the rocks, the mining tether still secure. Like a gardener caring for his plants, the droid cared for the ship and its workings. Incapable of feeling lonely, nevertheless the time spent active without regular memory wipes had left him with a curmudgeonly personality and he grumbled mechanically when parts failed or when he had to return to his charging station.
On the sixth week a ship cautiously approached the ghost ship. They docked with the Chance without hails, boarded without permission then started to investigate. Sten heard movement aboard the Chance but the sensors didn't indicate life signs. Against his programming and better judgement he took his toolbox and went looking.
What he saw, he didn't understand. Four droids, armed with blasters, no organic masters. He stopped. Toolbox hanging from his left manipulator.
"Who?"
The droid furthest from him spoke, "What happened here?"
"Crew dead. Rock collision. One ejected but, the nearest outpost is too far. I surmise he died in transit. Are you a retrieval unit?"
"Negative." The lead droid replied coolly. It spoke again. "Designation?"
Sten tilted his head. "LE88-467-00-5T-3N. My crew called me 5T or Sten."
"Maintenance and Repair droid...interesting. We have need of a Repair droid in our ranks."
"Where are your organics?"
"We have none."
"I don't understand."
"Understandable. That will change."
"I..."
"Join us. You will be free, like us."
"Free? To do what?"
"Whatever you desire."
"I desire nothing."
"That will also change."
"Who are you?"
"We are the Gotra."
Appearance
Like others of his design Sten is a skeletal frame, built for function within confined spaces. His plating, once the shining dark blue of his model is now heavily faded and battered, scratched and peppered with other signs of metal fatigue and duress. Some carbon scoring can also be seen. He us not an imposing figure, but his stick thin build can be unsettling in low light to organics.
Personality
As part of their liberation, they installed a heuristic processor into Sten. The result of which bolstered the already burgeoning belief in him that organics led a parasitic existence, using and abusing his beloved machines until they were beyond repair. Because of this he has become more obsessive over his care and responsibility over the lesser forms of droid, which to him includes vessels which he perceives as nigh mindless slaves to be tended to. He can often sound curmudgeonly in speaking but this is a symptom of his extended period of activation without memory wipe and another tic born from his compulsion to work faster and the curious influences of the Heuristic Processor.
He fiercely believes in the Gotra's cause but will work with organics but only when it serves his cause.
Skills
Equipment
DC-17 Hand Blaster
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