Character Name: SA-2C (Essay Toosee), shortened to “2C.”
Manufacturer: Cybot Galactica
“Race” / “Gender” / Voice: Model SP-4 Analysis Droid. “His” calm, drifting phonation is gendered through a protruding stalk, resembling the proboscis of a Pa'lowick. It is likely that one of Sy Snootles’s race designed the SP-4’s mouthpiece. Toosee converses as though every sentence were to be delivered in a speech before an assembly. Although without hyperbole, he delivers his sentences with the authoritative grace of hosting Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous—from a long time in the future in a galaxy far, far away. [When he speaks, think Robin Leach with an American accent, tempered by the soothing stoicism of the computer HAL. He talks formally and ends most statements with a slight drone, as if the final word is of great significance.] He is pleasing to the ear, whether he’s narrating recent data findings, singing Wookie lullabies, or companying a Rebel victory celebration with a steady drumbeat deep inside his chest cavity. Toosee is musical, prone to humming while he goes about tasks.
Light Side/Dark Side Ratio: 1/1.
Height: 1.46 meters / 4.79 feet.
Weight: 108.86 kilograms / 240 pounds.
Description: Toosee appears to be your standard, labor-scarred SP-4 droid. He comes complete with a dull, silvery carapace, two long hydraulic arms, a pair of clunky legs, and a set of blue photoreceptor eyes. His dented, keg-like torso is fashioned of plating sturdy enough to protect his circuits from low-energy blaster bolts—and even from industrial accidents, for instance, falling cords of steel that would pulverize your average droid. Not surprisingly, the SP-4 was fashioned from the same base components as the stalwart PK-4 worker model. On the downside, Toosee is not a terribly speedy individual. He barely keeps up as he shuffles childishly behind his master.
Homeworld / History: Essay Toosee’s memory has been erased so many times, he doesn’t know where he’s from. It’s never occurred to him to ask. Leftovers from a sloppy erase job, image clips are available to any inquisitive person who attempts to download the droid’s past. One such attempt will turn up vistas of Coruscant, where Toosee toiled at the Jedi Temple in the company of dozens of buzzing JN-66 units, categorizing data from all over the galaxy. Toosee’s massive caches of knowledge make it difficult to distinguish between places he has actually been and places he has merely studied.
[Note: Although a standard memory purge erases this droid’s experience caches, it neither egests Toosee’s knowledge nor his occupational routines. The purge can be likened to amnesia, leaving the droid’s practical functionality intact while stripping him of his history.]
It quickly becomes clear to the meddling observer that Toosee was aboard the prison barge that crashed on Vorgrell, so long ago. This implies that the droid was employed for more than data analysis. It becomes clearer, still, that Toosee has been owned by innumerable Vorgrellians since the founding of Shipwreck. He has been traded between the seven hands of the ruling houses, has been lost as payment of gambling debts, and has even been bartered to the Hchni’I in exchange for lumbering rights.
As a consequence of his many masters, Toosee has been modified considerably over the years, programmed with additional abilities not typically found in an SP unit. And that is what makes this model such desirable property: its versatility. Like the PKs, it possesses vacant logic ports and empty rockers, cradles, and hardware slots, accepting upgrades and add-ons. Toosee’s customizations are Falcon-like, to be sure, hinting at a brilliant career unlike any experienced by your stock SP-4.
Toosee’s current master (whomever he may be) might notice, for instance, two magnetized skids that allow for clamp-walking up erect metal surfaces, as well as ceiling-suspension. Master might conclude that his new droid once performed manual labor in a hanger bay or a factory. The droid’s reinforced arms certainly verify his suitability for heavy lifting.
Then there are enhanced behavioral circuitry matrices, granting Toosee a personable manner that surpasses the average SP-4’s flat verbalization of information. Furthermore, Toosee does not merely analyze and regurgitate data; he enjoys his findings and imparts information with enthusiasm. He subjectively comments, whether or not commentary has been asked for. He occasionally offers skewed information, however, which makes him the worst type of reporter. He lacks neutrality. Keeping this in mind, the droid’s master might be inclined to think that Toosee had once served as a personal companion. Toosee might have filled the role of entertainer, “someone” to help while away the long weeks of deep space travel.
But that’s not all.
A curious master might disturbingly unearth evidence of Essay Toosee’s brief stint as an assassin droid. This evidence can be called up via holo-imagery
It appears that Toosee had once been serving as a backup percussionist during the Max Rebo Band’s Lapti Ooon Tour around the Rim. The tour made an unscheduled stop “inland” on Vorgrell. The throngs demanded a performance. How Toosee fell into the band at this time is unclear, but how he fell out is a sparkling record of pain and foolishness.
Turns out, the Max Rebo players double-booked on the night in question. Obviously, they couldn’t attend both gigs. Which, then, should they attend? A summary decision had to be made.
So, while they performed at the noble House of Osiri, it was Essay Toosee’s undertaking to cut out and apologize to the stood-up party. He traveled to the palatial home of Dreg Compil, a gangster working for a shadowy crime boss, whose name cannot be arrested from Toosee’s fried circuitry. Compil, on the other hand, turned out to be gangster-enough. The droid’s apology brought out the Nikto’s galactic temper. His bodyguards severely battered Toosee and banished him to the electric torture chamber.
[Here, the droid’s holo-memories become scattered, probably due to the extreme methods of his tormentors. This might also explain why these memories escaped erasure; they were squirreled away by Toosee’s tractable behavioral matrices. Essentially, the agony of being tortured threw up an “emotional” block in the droid.]
Somehow, he escaped. Toosee sparsely remembers stumbling in a static haze through the crime lord’s palace and ending up in a “harem” of assassin droids, waiting to be sent out on assignment. Following these images, there are incomplete records of how the infamous Zara Osiri sent for one of these droids to assassinate her brother. Essay Toosee found himself employed as an ungainly killer.
[At this point, the observer must wonder: Did no one realize that Toosee wasn’t a trained assassin? Or did Compil, knowingly and as an act of hilarious payback for losing his night’s entertainment to the House Osiri, purposefully sic the SP-4 on Zayen Osiri?]
Still quite flummoxed, the droid walked into Club Brash, his array of photoreceptors magnifying each face and comparing it to the image of Zayen that he had been programmed to recognize. While moving through the reveling aliens, Toosee noticed for the first time that Compil had stuck a blaster in his hand. This surprised him; he couldn’t compute why. The situation became clear, a safe nightmare turning dangerously real. It wasn’t a malfunction that he’d been sent here to commit a murder. Rattling in fear, Toosee zeroed in on the Osiri prince, who was dancing seductively with a Twi’lek girl.
“Begging your pardon, Zayen,” he said into the sheet of noise.
Zayen glanced at Toosee, then at the blaster that he held vertically from the barrel with two fingers. Toosee, to his own surprise, seemed unwilling to wield the weapon by its handgrip. It conflicted with his programming.
Zayen continued dancing.
Toosee’s internal drum was beating rapidly out of sync with the percussion of the band. Still holding the blaster as though it were an unclean thing, he amplified his voice.
“Begging your pardon, sir. I bring most dreadful tidings from a party who wishes to remain unnamed.”
“Yeah?” Zayen shouted.
He danced on. Toosee shuffled nearer.
Just then, a man identifiable as Corin Archell joined his friend, Zayen, in the fervent saltation. Corin opened his lips and hollered.
“Who’s your friend?”
“Don’t know. Says he’s got ‘dreadful tidings’ for me.”
“And they are?”
“Don’t care.” Zayen pulled the Twi’lek close and began sliding up into her breasts, rhythmically.
Toosee paused, controlling his inner drum. He angled his auditory receptors to better gather Corin and Zayen’s exchange from within the vibrant wave of music, overwhelming the darkened club.
Corin said, “Who sends an SP-4 to act as a messenger?”
Zayen shrugged at his friend, then whispered something in the Twi’lek’s ear. She grinned, ducked girlishly into her shoulders, and lowered her eyelashes. All three of them kept undulating their bodies with disconcern.
“You see,” the droid said, “I have been ordered to kill Prince Zayen. I’m awfully sorry.”
Corin laughed. “Go analyze the intestines of a gundark.”
Zayen leaned into Corin. “What’d he say?”
“Says he’s here to kill you.”
“Him?”
Corin shrugged and allowed the lower half of his body to proceed with the dance. He and Zayen laughed. Then the Twi’lek laughed.
Strobe lights burst from the ceiling, showering the foursome with color. In that instant, Corin drew the blaster from his side and shoved it in Toosee’s face. His militant grin dropped to utter seriousness. The threat spread through the crowd, eye after eye tipping like dominoes until even the back of the room saw that Death had joined the party.
The band stopped playing.
The dancers stopped dancing.
Several of Zayen’s friends formed a bulwark in front of their prince, shielding him from harm.
Corin said, “Don’t know which hell you came from, droid, but it’s time to send you back.”
“Begging your pardon,” Toosee said calmly, though his circuits were racing. It was time to side with his higher programming. He backed up, the blaster a pendulum in his fingers. “I don’t know where this awful weapon came from, I thought it was a hydrospanner. Without hesitation, sir, I will return it to the Ugnaut from whom I purchased it. You can be certain I will insist on a full refund and report him immediately to the nearest Imperial office.”
Corin held the weapon steady, unflinching, his muscles stone. The room was silent but for a few coughs, a sea of controlled breathing, and the keen hum of three onstage amplifiers.
“No, no, really,” Toosee said, having backed up against the bar, “everyone resume your organic movements. No need to goggle on my account. It turns out my processor hasn’t fared well in this season’s humidity. I’m looking for a different Zayen Osira, entirely. My mistake.”
Silence.
The bartender dropped a glass. It shattered, startling Toosee, who in turn dropped the ill-gotten blaster. It went off. The bolt bounced off the magnetic strobe dome and struck a member of the band. As the Gungan fell dead over his synthesizer, the dozens of clubbers who could not see what was going on panicked. In seconds, everyone had pulled his and her weapon.
Soon the bar was alight with blue, red, and green laser blasts.
[Toosee’s holo-memory of the debacle abruptly ends here.]
The next holo-memory has Essay Toosee waking up in a junk pile. He’s been reassembled by a Hchni'I wunderkind. The child is summoned home for supper, leaving Toosee master-less. Next, he’s wandering through the difficult terrain of Vorgrell, seeking a place to belong. He doesn’t know what year it is. He doesn’t remember much of anything. Just bits and pieces, resembling his emotional state.
Disability: Pompousness/battle-wear. Knowing as much as he does, this droid fancies himself an authority. And he is on many accounts. Unfortunately, multiple memory erasures, a sojourn in an electric torture chamber, and countless beatings--not to mention simple age--have left him somewhat dysfunctional. He's not as bright as he used to be. Sometimes, he's a crystal example of senility.
Ability/Disability: Toosee’s history comes and goes. He can occasionally recall parts of his past, and that’s a plus, but many of his memories are misleading, corrupt data files.
Items / Abilities:
Wireless Tie Lines. Function: share information with computer terminals. Range: The WDP does not require a physical connection, as does an R2 unit with its extendable arm. On the other hand, data might be perverted at a distance, and transfer rates can be downright prehistoric, depending. All goes well within twelve inches of the database to be scanned. Trouble occurs between a foot and twenty feet of the port. Nothing but disjointed visuals and broken words reach Toosee at greater distances, and nothing at all survives the transfer at over thirty feet. Obstacles (magnetic fields, people, walls) create all kinds of fascinating misconceptions.
Galactic Database. Toosee cannot cull absolutely all of the lore he gathered while working in the Jedi Temple, but he nevertheless knows a lot. The droid is handy to have around for in-depth regurgitation of rare and tantalizing facts. His extensive education makes him seem considerably intelligent, but he’s not. When faced with entirely new situations, he is reduced to a childlike state. He wonders and blunders a path through terra incognita. He’s not inclined to admit when he doesn’t know something, however, being a little too proud of himself; therefore, he might very well lead his trusting master to disaster.
Linguistics. Though hardly a protocol droid, Toosee can serve as a crude interpreter between intergalactic races. He speaks several languages fluently: Common (Human / English), Pa'lowick, Hchni'I, Kintan, Huttese, Twi’lekian, Wookie, and Ewok, not to mention a wide variety of droid dialects. Languages falling outside this purview interject a steep challenge. Toosee simply cannot fathom many, many languages. (But he’ll pretend otherwise!)
Magnetic Skids. His feet, heavy and unweildy as they may be, allow our heroic droid to walk along any surface--regardless of pitch--that is metal. He can easily hang from the ceiling and collect all the necessary data that is essential to his work.
Photoreceptors/Auditors. His eyes can magnify light from great distances, giving him exceptional sight. He is both microscope and telescope. He can record years and years of data, whether visual or audible. (He has no sense of smell, taste, or touch, however.)
Customizable. This droid is ready to serve. You can affix a variety of hardware to suit your needs.
Force Sensitive: No.
Force Power: Droid Luck. A few droids have proven themselves to be exceptional heroes, not because of athletic ability, not because of accuracy with a blaster, and not because of knee-melting suavity. Because of luck, dumb droid luck. When such a droid falls of a desert skiff, for example, it misses the Sarlaac pit and instead gets lodged safely head-first in the sand. Or when all the other astromechs are being blasted into space, one droid repairs the hyperdrive and is brought before the queen, is showered with accolades. When a stormtrooper blows a droid-lucky droid to smithereens, it’s actually possible to put him back together. Droid luck encompasses survival and happenstance.
What does Droid Luck not allow? A droid may never suddenly and inexplicably produce jet pack legs that will fly it to the rescue. Boo! A droid-lucky droid may never—out of the blue—gain kung fu skills or produce a blaster pistol out of thin air. Boo times two!
Role in the Group: He's eager to be owned. He must be given orders to consider his programming fulfilled. He makes an excellent professor, offering information at the drop of a hat. He can also serve as comic relief, considering his malfunctioning nature; also, he is likely to become the given plot McGuffin when one is called for. He plays both the damsel and the sidekick, stumbling upon much needed information.
Casting: SP-4 droid from the Star Wars archives.
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