Saturday, February 24, 2007

<--- Rules Update - 2B1B (Toob) --->

Trillinae's faithful (and much put upon) medical droid, Toob has been through a number of scrapes while serving his current mistress. While he was no stranger to peril before, working as he did for a band of mercenaries on the Outer Rim, his time with Trill has been far more dangerous. Blown apart several times, Toob is one dismantling away from suggesting that he be fitted with snap-on joints for ease of reconstruction.

2B1B (Toob): Diplomat 2/Tech Specialist 3; Init +0 (+0 Dex); Defense 12 (+2 armor); Spd. 10m, VP/WP 12/13; Atk +3 (1d6 damage, laser scalpel) melee, +3 (2d6 damage, internal blaster in head) ranged; SQ Skill Speciality (Treat Injury), Synthesize Chemical; SV Fort 2 Ref 3 Will 7; SZ M; Rep 1; Str 10 Dex 10 Con 13 Int 18 Wis 11 Cha 12.
Equipment: Improved sensor package, translator unit (DC 5), recording unit (audio), vocabulator, weapon mount (sporting blaster, head) x2, masterwork medkit (reusable), chem synthesizer, heuristic processor
Skills: Appraise +9, Bluff +5, Computer Use +11, Diplomacy +5, Forgery +10, Gather Information +7, Knowledge (medical) +9, Listen +7, Move Silently +2, Repair +5, Search +8, Spot +8, Treat Injury +15.
Feats: Skill Emphasis (Treat Injury), Skill Emphasis (Computer Use), Weapon Group Proficiency (simple weapons), Weapon Group Proficiency (blaster pistols).

Monday, February 12, 2007

Day... whatever.

She had been sulking long enough. It was time for him to do something about it.

Toob gathered his digital courage and made his way into the back of the pod where his Mistress had been holed up for some time. The privacy door was closed but, due to the violence of the crash, could no longer lock.

"Mistress? I have conducted a series of repairs to our flight systems utilizing the escape vehicle's internal schematics. I believe this vehicle might actually convey us a considerable distance this time."

There was no immediate reply. Only the sound of breathing and the shifting of thermal blankets could be heard beyond the door.

"Please, Mistress. I do not think this precipice is entirely safe. My examination of our surroundings earlier leads me to believe the ground beneath us is inherently unstable." He did not add the rest of the sentence, "...much like yourself."

Again, there was nothing. The motion he could hear indicated she was conscious and he had no reason to suspect her incapable of hearing him. She was therefore choosing not to respond, even now that a present danger had been indicated. As a medical droid, he was well versed in every aspect of organic beings but, for all his knowledge he could not and would not presume to say he understood them. This particular organic was, without question, the least understandable of them all.

His files had led him to believe that pregnancy was capable of causing behavioral anomalies in female humanoid species. These changes had a range of severity from mild to radical, with most human and near-human females falling closer to the mild end of the spectrum. Toob was tempted to permanently rename the "radical" category of behavior shift to Trillinae, but such acts of pique were beneath a professional droid of his caliber.


As it was, he had not been bluffing about the instability of their current landing site. There was genuine cause for concern. He was incapable of piloting the pod with any degree of skill and, damaged and complex as it was now, this vehicle needed a steady, expert hand to guide it. It needed Trillinae and one way or the other, he had to convince her to come out of her "cave".

"Mistress, if you are still concerned over your unprovoked attack upon my person, I assure you that I am undamaged and do not reserve any umbrage regarding the incident."

Still nothing.

"Mistress, you require a number of medical boosters and vaccinations. I suggest we try to find herbal approximations I can use to synthesize the needed chemical components. Perhaps our next landing zone will contain them?"

Utter silence.

"Mistress, there are a number of negative factors regarding our current situation and your present state of mental health. I highly recommend you extricate yourself from this chamber and pilot us to a more stable location. Then we can discuss how best to improve our situation. Agreed?"

There was still no answer. Just more vague motion and breathing. The latter had increased slightly, indicating that Trillinae was moving inside the small room, but she was making no efforts to come to the door or answer him in any way.

"Mistress, I must insist that you respond to my queries. I am your medical counterpart and I have expressed grave concerns regarding your physical and mental well being."

More motion. More breathing. No answers.

Despite himself, Toob clenched his servo hands. This was becoming intolerable. he was not truly programmed with a temper but as a heuristic computational robot, it was possible for him to learn one. Before speaking again, he nearly doubled the volume output on his speaker.


The door opened and Trillinae came out, dressed only in a bed robe and a thick towel. A set of headphones perched over the arch of both ears, a faint music audible from them as she moved past him with a relaxed smile.

"Sorry about that, Toob. I was just taking a long soak and listening to the same five songs on infinite track." She puttered past him, checking various welding joints on her way to the cockpit chair.

"Hey, nice work on these. Did you do these repairs? Not bad at all." She settled into the seat, strapping in and starting her pre-flight.

"I was just thinking, I've sulked long enough. How about we get this big bucket into the sky and see if we can't find somewhere safer to put down? I really don't like the looks of this cliff side. Just doesn't seem safe, you know?"

Pre-flight finished, Trill pulled back on the engine throttle and brought up the pod's power systems. As she idled its hovering jets, bringing the craft slowly up into the air, she glanced back and asked sweetly, "Oh, I thought I heard your voice a minute ago. Did you want something, Toob?"

The medical droid was quite incapable of answering her, as he was repeatedly slamming his head cowling into the nearest bulkhead....