Disclaimer: Akorae Arkenarn is a fictional character, and any relation to a character in the Star Wars universe, or a Fan Fiction story, is strictly coincidental.
Akorae Arkenarn had been working on the droid in the dark, smoky Industrial Automaton factory building for weeks with little success. She was continually plagued by stripped screws, cracked durasteel pieces, and wires like her nerves: frayed. It seemed like the droid already had a personality, and Arkenarn was paying for it.
Cint'asia Vor'kega, the head of this particular factory, was almost jumping out of his plush-looking office chair with his frustration.
"What do you have to show for the past month? You've been trying to build the same droid for four weeks. Four Weeks! I've been losing money since I took you on! I thought you were a mechanic!"
"I... I am..."
"A mechanic doesn't spend for weeks on the same droid!"
The red-eyed Chiss had a point. Arkenarn wasn't a mechanic. She could barely handle her last job, the management of a Mos Espa junk shop. Arkenarn remained silent.
"I just can't afford a washed-out mechanic, if that's what you really are, spending time I don't have on a single robot! I'm gonna have to let you go."
Another lie.
"Mr. Vor'kega, I don't think you understand my situation. I have children without a father. We barely have enough food to survive. I NEED this job."
"I NEED someone who can do their job efficiently. You can't finish one thing, that's it. You're fired!"
Arkenarn retreated from the desk, across the imported carpeting, and left the lavishly decorated office, complete with rancor-tooth wall sconces. The woman shuffled down the stairs, red-faced, and retrieved her toolkit. Arkenarn was about to step out into the Bespin morning when she got the best idea of her life.