Star Wars OPEN Star Wars: Black Sheep (Always Accepting New Players)

OOC: This is a joint post between me and Mistress_Renata and the silent participation of Rebecca_Daniels. Thank you both!

IC: Jocelyn “Joy” Sunwalker, Max Pallas, Zara "Zero" Yaren
Corridor of Alliance Carrier Intrepid
B-flight Briefing
Black Sheep Squadron Briefing Room

Jocelyn walked through the corridors hoping to reach her cabin before too many people noticed her and Carols. She did not want to draw too much attention to the little Tooka, not that she kept it a secret, just some people were too mean and would vent their indignation for the fact that she used to be an Imperial on her little fur baby. She also wanted to avoid any practical jokes.

As if on cue two women appeared, a young human female and a purple-skinned Twi'Lek. 'Stang' she cursed in her mind so she adopted her usual glacial facial expression as to discourage any unwanted interaction. It seems the human female did not pay attention to her face but to Carols, which was normal as it was just an adorable ball of fur. Jocelyn listened silently to what the woman was saying. Carols seemed very interested in her fingers as its teeth were growing and she always wanted to nibble on something and the fingers looked tasty.

'They can see what?' she was confused but said nothing.

"Her name is Carols and be careful as she seems to like your fingers."

"They...can see in the dark," Max repeated. Gently she rubbed the jawline of the furry creature and heard a raspy purr. "Little ones do love to chew. Hello, Miss Carols, I'm so glad you're here with us." She smiled at Joy. "Sorry. But this ship needs all the luck it can get. I'm Max. This is Zara. We've been assigned to...Sheep Squadron."

"I am Sergeant Sunwalker, also from the same squadron."

"We were going to get some lunch. This ship is so huge; the mess hall and the gym are the only places I've been able to find. There's probably some sort of recreation area...but then again, maybe not. I can't imagine the Empire believes in fun."

"I have served on such a ship in the past so I can give you a brief tour around ma'ams." that was when she still flew a TIE Fighter, the good old days. Now she could connect the faces of her flight mates and of course they outranked her.

"Really?" Max looked a little uncertain and glanced at Zara, who was edging in the direction of the officers' mess. "That would be great, but don't call me ma'am. Maybe after you get the little one settled somewhere?"

"I was bringing her to my cabin, it is nearby. If you want you can wait for me in the mess hall or you can come." Joy blinked.

Max looked at Zara. "We'll wait, won't we? We'll save you a spot at the table." Zara nodded, and the two moved off, leaving Joy to cuddle her pet.

Jocelyn shrugged in her head, but simply nodded and turned towards the direction she was headed.

**************

Joy reached her cabin. It was a small one, but a welcome change, at least she was alone. Well not exactly alone as Carols was with her. The only company she needed. Joy was used to the austere, spartan accommodations on-board military vessels. They provided her with a sense of being at home.

She sighed ‘I need to go out more...’ she chuckled to herself as she put the kitten on bunk where it started kneading the cover. She needed to make a bed for her, also a toilet. ‘Should have thought about these things before I took a pet with me.’ Jocelyn chastised herself. A box with a towel in it should be the perfect bed. Will have to find another box and some sand… if she could not find any litter. Should use some of that Rebel ingenuity that had she had picked from her time with the Alliance.

First to grab some food for her and her little fur-baby…

**************

She was on time for the briefing the following morning. The presence of the Devaronian confirmed her fears that it was indeed him who was going to lead the squadron. Next was FO Pallas and last was FO Yaren. Joy kicked herself for allowing this to happen especially when she noticed what the Lt. was signalling her. They would need to work on the discipline.

Being appointed as deputy made sense and she was impressed by the new Flight Leader. He certainly seemed better than Flagg, not only because he promoted her but for making more sensible decisions. Even the proposed formation was good. He had done his reading. She was not able to pull the files on her flight mates but that would be corrected soon. Jocelyn had qualms about the proposed slicing but she said nothing, did not want to antagonize people from day one.

The proposal about the gunner sounded outrageous and as she was about to say something it was when FO Yaren spoke and what she said made her blanch slightly. You can't speak to your superior officer that way.

“Flight Officer Yaren may I remind you that you are talking to our Flight Leader?”

TAG: @Sarge, Mistress_Renata, Rebecca_Daniels

 

IC: Major Beskaryc Taab
Black Sheep ready Room/Port side hanger bay, Rebel Carrier Intrepid

"OK, well that's it then. I guess we're dismissed." The words from the squadron commander caught Taab by surprise, and as well thy should have. The Mandalorian had spent most of the last few years in Imperial service, and things were a more than a bit more professional there. Taab generally appreciated professionalism in his chain of command, it was usually the only thing he knew that kept him on his leash so to speak. Taab reflected on that a moment as he nodded to the members of his flight as they went about their business. He hadn't been warned that he would be a flight leader, or the squadron XO, though he should have suspected both from the generous green to gold promotion he had been given. He would have to go through their records when he had a moment, first though he wanted to get acquainted with his new ride. Excusing himself silently from the ready room he headed down to the hanger bay where the Black Sheep's craft had been secured.

The solo journey was a quick one, for obvious reasons the ready room was relatively near the launch bay used by the squadron, though it was made all the quicker as the few he ran into in the corridor made way for him. It wasn't because of his new rank, that much he knew because he hadn't had time to adorn his beskar'gam (Mandalorian armor) with the appropriate insignia yet. No it probably had to do with the fact that he was a fully kitted up Mandalorian stalking the corridors, a rare enough site, and few wanted to get in his way. Of course he was strange even by Mandalorian standards in that while he wore his own buy'ce (helmet) on his head, another, one with black and red coloration that came no where near matching his own dull grey color scheme, hung from his belt. Taab found he had placed his hand on the "spare' helmet as he entered the bay and began looking for "his" craft.

It would be an A/SF-01 E B-Wing/E heavy fast attack starfighter, named the Iron Cross by his son. An attack fighter, that would have suited him very much Taab thought to himself as he made his way over to where several B-Wings had been parked against the far bulkhead. E model, that meant a two seater, Taab though, though he wasn't up to date on the nomenclature the Rebellion used for their fighters. There looked to be just one of those, with an extended cockpit section to accommodate the gunner, landed on it's struts it was low to the ground rather than towering over him in a gantry. That must be it. He moved towards it slowly, cautiously, almost like a young boy approaching a pretty girl at a school dance. It had been since...forever, that Taab had felt this sort of trepidation and he had no idea where it had come from. There it was, Iron Cross scrawled across her nose in both basic and mando'a, though it was what was in front of the name that caght Taab's attention. The nose of the craft had been covered in an rather artistic rendering of a strill's mouth, with the four auto-blasters jutting forward of the nose creating the illusion as a part of the animal's teeth. The name of the craft was written out just behind the strill eyes and farther back, under the canopy was written "LT Atin Taab" in block print just above the word Scorch which was again in manuscript. Under that was a series of markings, the outlines of TIE fighters, bombers, freighters and a few light capital ships, there was even half a silhouette of a Star Destroyer, counting the kills his son had made with this vessel. Taab nearly broke down in tears at the sight, but stopped himself. Instead he removed his right crushgaunt and placed his bare hand against the metal skin of the Iron Cross. His son had fought in this craft, and the Mandalorian was hoping to feel a part of the youth's burning desire for justice to be felt through it. His hand dropped away from the craft in disappointment, all he felt was cold metal. He climbed the short ladder that sat alongside the B-Wing and opened the canopy to show the interior of the cockpit.

Looking in, Taab saw the pilot's position out in front, with a gunner station located behind. It was supposed to make it easier for the pilot by dividing the workload Taab knew, though looking at the B-Wing it didn't look like any gunner had been assigned to his son's craft, not when he had been alive, and from Flagg's briefing, not now either. Taab shrugged as he closed his eyes and removed his helmet, placing it in the empty back seat of the craft before unclipping his son's buy'ce from his belt and placing it over his head...

It took a few moments as the bucket's system's booted up, and Taab used those to climb back down and stand directly in front of the Iron Cross. This wasn't the first time Taab had looked at his son's bucket over the last two weeks, so he knew which files to open...

"Hey buir, (father)" The image of his son appeared on the HUD of Atin's buy'ce. The lad was wearing his beskar'gam and that ratty beret of his as he smiled at the holo recorder. "This must be the third, maybe fourth time I've made one of these for you. Though with your current address I can't really send them." Taab's eyes softened at the sight of his boy, sitting there in some hanger not too unlike this one, a variety of Rebel craft stood in the background, mostly Y-Wings. Atin was right, by the time stamp on the letter Taab would have already been living at the Arca Company barracks on Coruscant when Atin had recorded this. The Empire likely would have intercepted the message and tried gleaning whatever intel they could have from it's contents. Taab shook his head in disgust, his boy had done the right thing in not sending any of these, though he must have recorded them knowing that they could never be sent...

"Got some great news today, got assigned a new ship." He took a step back and Taab could see now a B-Wing with an extended cockpit that had been hidden behind his son. "It's one of the new B-Wings, with a gunner station to help me out." His son looked back at the holo-recorder defensively. "Not that I need the help, but I requested the two man version just in case you..." he started to stammer. "Well...just in case." Even through the holo image Taab could tell his son was blushing somewhat. "It's just a base model right now, but it's easy to reconfigure and I already have a few ideas." Taab looked at the craft in the holo and compared it to the one sitting there in front of him. The one his son was showing him was was pristine, no carbon scoring and a basic light load out of weapons while the Iron Cross showed signs of hard use, blackened panels along with chips, dents and dings. The weapons load out was entirely different as well, so if it was the same craft as the Iron Cross, then Atin had made good on his ideas. Taab began a slow walk around the vessel as his son filled him in on the modifications he had planned.

"First things first, I'm gonna keep the two auto-blasters under the nose and add two more." Taab looked at the Iron Cross and again took note of the quartet of auto-blasters protruding from the strill's mouth. "Some folks put real laser cannons there, the hardware is there for mounting them, and the power flow too, but I like the idea of the faster firing auto-cannons to chew up unshielded eyeballs and even infantry in the open if I'm going air to mud." Taab nodded, he could appreciate that, though a pair of lasers would have been more powerful even than the four auto-blaster cannons, sometimes quantity of fire had a quality all it's own. Plus it freed up power for elsewhere. "I'm going to offload the laser cannons on the secondary S-Foils and replace them with ion cannons." He pointed to where the laser cannons had been mounted and Taab noted that indeed they had been replaced with Ion guns along with a laser targeting system that would feed information to the gunner's station and targeting computer.

"The main S-Foil has another laser cannon and a trio of ion cannons but all but one of those ions is coming out," Atin said with a grin. That gave Taab pause, he knew that grin and continued his walk around the craft, wondering what he would find. "That should give me just enough room to mount a light turbo-laser for anti-capital ship action." Taab couldn't help but smile at his son's enthusiasm, and ingenuity. He had indeed managed to get a light turbo-laser cannon mounted n the weapon's nacelle at the end of the primary S-foil, and there nestled in beside was one of the ion cannon's that had originally been installed on the craft. "I've also got two proton torp launchers with a magazine of six each that I'll leave alone, though I do want to upgrade the targeting scanners..." His son looked at the B-Wing, beaming with pride. "There are some external hardpoints for mounting additional weapons, but I am going to offload those." He shrugged. "Going to be stretching things to the limit powering the mods I already have in mind, and there's never enough to really go around anyway." The boy never stopped smiling. "So what do you think buir? " Taab nearly smiled. The craft was set up in an interesting way, auto blasters to tear up unshielded targets, ion cannons to hammer the shields of anything so equipped, or to disable a craft whose shields were already gone, and the turbo-laser to handle the big stuff. "I'm going to call her the Iron Cross, now if only I could get some beskar (Mandalorian Iron) plates to mount fore and aft to really make her flying tank." He looked at the craft as he rubbed his chin before looking back at the holo. "You think I could get any past the blockade back home..."

Taab's eyes began to water uncontrollably now and he blinked shutting down the playback. He could see on the craft where it had been prepped for mounting those heavy armor panels, though it looked like his son had never gotten the plates. Taab sniffed as he shook his head. Like the Mandalorians could afford to be mounting beskar to assault fighters right now. He snorted again, willing his tear ducts to dry. His son's image had only projected within the privacy of the helmet's HUD, no one else around would know what he had been watching, and he intended to keep it that way. He removed his son's buy'ce and powered it down before clipping it to his belt them clamored back up the ladder and retrieved his own helmet from the gunner's station. His son had wanted it to be Taab's station, but that wasn't going to happen now. Atin had crafted a lethal killing machine, and very soon it would be Taab's turn to let it loose upon those who had forced the killing of his son.

TAG: Any in the hanger bay that might see Taab.

OOC: I planned on a couple of weeks OOG time spent for our characters getting to know one another and their surroundings and since the posts have been spectacular I'll be keeping to that plan though I do have the bare bones of our next mission prepped and ready to go. Oh and...



The inspiration for the nose art on the Iron Cross.

 

IC: Ethan "Veteran" Malek
Port side pilot's ready room, Rebel Carrier Intrepid (Quasar Fire class)

Ethan was glad that Ianna didn´t seemed to judge him for his homeworld. He had never seen Chandrila himself but from what he knew it was in many ways the exact opposite of Eriadu. Where Eriadu was loyal to the empire and the homeworld of Tarkin, Chandrila was one of the biggest supporters of the rebellion and the home of Mon Mothma herself.

"So ahhh...you have..." Ianna stopped herself but Ethan had a feeling what she had wanted to ask him. For a brief moment his thoughts returned to his parents and the last time he had seen them. It had been so many years ago, when he had left Eriadu after being drafted into the imperial army. His parents had been proud over his promotion in the rank of Sergeant but in the following years he had kept only sporadic contact with them via the holonet, until around a decade ago they had passed away peacefully. His duties at the time hadn´t even allowed him to return for the funerals and for a moment sadness overcame him as he thought back to these days. Maybe one day, he told himself, maybe when this war was over he could return to Eriadu and visit his parents one last time.

Ianna seemed to have recognized how uncomfortable he felt, as she changed the topic. "Do you follow Limmie at all, what's your favorite team?"

Again memories of his past returned to Ethan, though this time they weren´t filled with sadness. "Yes I did," he admitted to her. "When I still served in the empire I used to watch the games with some of my comrades when we were off duty. And I developed quite a soft spot for the Team Alderaan." He stopped and for a brief moment he asked himself what had happened to the team. Had they been on Alderaan when it was destroyed? Or where they off world? But even if they where, the empire would have probably arrested them, if nothing else. Then he continued," once I became a mercenary in the Hutt space I didn´t followed the leagues as closely as before, though I did saw a few matches on Nar Shaddar."

@galactic-vagabond422

 

IC: Ianna "Kid" Mcear
Port side pilot's ready room, Rebel Carrier Intrepid (Quasar Fire class)

She could see in his movements that he expected her to ask about his family, it seemed she didn't change the topic quick enough. Her eyes looked to the ground worried she'd made tread upon an open wound with him. However he answered her.

"Yes I did," He started, again causing her to grimace, past tense, "When I still served in the empire I used to watch the games with some of my comrades when we were off duty. And I developed quite a soft spot for the Team Alderaan." Nervously her foot turned rubbing against the deck. The Royals, or Royal Alderaan Limmie Team*, she remembered watching games between them and the Pats. They were good, very good. Just another thing the Empire took away from the galaxy, The Republic, Freedom, Peace, and one of the best limmies to ever exist. "once I became a mercenary," the older man continued, "in the Hutt space I didn´t followed the leagues as closely as before, though I did saw a few matches on Nar Shaddar."

Unconsciously Ianna sneered, "Smugglers," she said quietly, "Dirty players all of them." She did not have a good opinion of 'the team from Nal Hutta's moon' as they were euphemistically called, particualrly by those that didn't care too much for them. It was said that a planet's character infused itself into their team, being made up of locals also had this effect.

The Alderaan team always played cleanly and with sportsmanship, not taking an aggressive stance and drawing only a few penalties every season. The Smugglers on the other hand, could barely get through a game without a card being thrown, or a player being ejected.

She shook her head, now wasn't the time for an in depth analysis of the current state of her favorite sport.

"They were good, played with heart," she said in a sort of quiet memorial for the fallen players standing in for the billions lost with death fell from the stars. A silence fell across the conversation for a moment as the girl found her words again. "I'm a born and bred Chandrila fan, I even have a jersey my father bought me." A few gears turned in her head, "You know since we're heading to the Mid-Rim we might be able to pick up a few broadcasts, like from Ord Mantell, or Euceron, if we're lucky we can get a Patriots game." Her energy suddenly returned to her the prospect of watching her home team playing again, even on a pirated broadcast, lit her up inside. They were heading into enemy territory but, even that had its silver lining.

A thought suddenly occurred to her after doing a quick head count, and a little math, not her best subject, her eyes widened then narrowed.

Now was maybe not the best time for that idea...later though.

"It'll be nice to feel a little more at home on this ship, I'm sure the cramped rooms aren't any help." A rye smirk grew on her face. "Well my quarters are perfectly sized to me." she said looking up at the taller man. He was of average height for a male, but, Ianna was noticeably below that. "But, I bet it's difficult for taller guys." She recalled tossing her bag, carrying her jersey, bolo ball, rifle and everything else into her room and flopping down on the bed. While it was small she could still spread up upon it and not be too uncomfortable. An advantage to her short stature.

"What do you like to do in your downtime? I generally like playing limmie, it's a little difficult to find space but, it keeps me moving, and I love it. Plan on joining the Patriots...you know, after this whole war is done. I should still be young enough to play by the time this is all over, right?"

TAG: Anedon

*OOC: The Royal Alderaan Limmie Team was created with the blessing of Trieste GM of the Elite League Limmie game.

 

IC: B Flight Joint Post ​

Zara "Zero" Yaren, Jocelyn "Joy" Sunwalker, Kayn "Mean Streak" Balzroth, Maxime "Max" Pallas​

Black Sheep Briefing Room​

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​

"Do they pay you by the word?" Zara asked, eyebrows raised. "I mean, uh-- no comments here, Lieutenant Streak." ​

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“Flight Officer Yaren may I remind you that you are talking to our Flight Leader?” ​

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Kayn grinned and made a dismissive gesture to Sgt Sunwalker. "It's not a problem for me, Joy, I appreciate honesty more than military formalities. Better to be up front about who we are than to keep it all bottled up until it spills over at the wrong moment. Besides, I'm fluent in sarcasm. Observe. Yes, Zero, we all get paid by the word, which is why your pay stub is always single digits." ​

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He grinned in what he hoped looked like a friendly joking expression to the Twi'lek. Establishing a good rapport with this group is not going to be easy, he thought. Maybe I should tone it down a notch. That's what Paladin always told me to do.​

​

"Seriously, I have no problem with any of you telling me what you think. Tell me sarcastically if that's what you like; as long as it's honest sarcasm, I'm good with it. What's on everybody's mind? Besides the chow which is unfit for scavengers, we already know that. What else?"​

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Jocelyn listened to the exchange and said nothing. The Flight Leader had a point so she did not object. She still objected to what they were doing with the slicing, but there was nothing she could do right now so she let it drop.​

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"As long as Sergeant Stiff here remembers we're not in the Imp academy, I'm good." While Zara didn't indicate who she was addressing, it was fairly obvious that Joy was the new target of her sarcasm. She'd seen the woman with the Tooka yesterday, she wasn't all bad, but clearly she needed to loosen up, have some fun before they all got blown up into so much space junk.​

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Max bit back a grin. She'd gotten a taste of her new wingmate's sarcastic streak the night before, and had a feeling that Zara would be saying a lot of the things she was thinking. That brought a frown. Could the Twi'lek woman read her thoughts? She might have to switch to the doonium headband. Although it could be an asset in combat.​

​

"I only have three thoughts, well, two," she said. "One is what was the number of that ship you want? I can't make any guarantees. And two, is it true that we've got some sort of genius caff-making droid assigned to us? Where is it?"​

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"The A-wing I want is 7841. The one I expect and really don't want is 7839. As long as I don't get 7839 I'll be satisfied, and if I get 7841 I'll be positively gleeful. Got it? As for the droid... It was here a minute ago; did it sneak away when I wasn't paying attention to it? Droids do that, you know."​

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Max nodded, noting the numbers on the datapad and looked around for the gleaming coffee-serving droid. Beside her, Zara shifted restlessly.​

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Jocelyn ignored the sarcasm, it took more to get under her skin and besides being called Stiff was not so far from the truth so she let it slide... for now.​

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"I would like to address an issue with our formation. Since my craft is the slowest one and the fact that it is the only Y-wing, I think if we can install some more sensor packages I could direct you to your targets."​

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"Sensor packs, yes, that sounds like a great idea. We should be able to requisition those through normal channels. That Hutt is supposed to be in charge of supplies, so get in touch with him about Y-wing parts. Speaking of slow ships in the flight, I'd like to get you into something faster. According to your open file, you're qualified in hotter ships; didn't you pilot interceptors?"​

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"Yes, I am proficient in flying TIE Interceptors and my last command was a squadron of TIE Defenders."​

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"Defenders?! Holy pudu! Your talents are wasted in a Y-wing. Have you asked for a faster ship?"​

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"I am guess I am too Imperial for the Alliance's tastes." she said matter-of-factly.​

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Zara eyed Joy after the revelation of her skills with a Defender, already regretting what she was about to say. "Then command's a bunch of idiots. Should have you in an A-wing, at least, 'stead of wasting your skills in a wishbone." She paused, frowning, the words almost sticking as she said them. "Could always swap. I used to fly Ys."​

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Joy considered the offer, she had started to get used to the Y-wing, but if this was going to work, maybe she would need to adapt.​

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"To tell the truth I prefer the X-wings, but I think it will be useful if we can keep the Y-wing as an alternative option. I... I started to like the old Wishbone."​

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"What about you, Max? Want to be part of an A-wing flight? Maybe we can con the Vipers out of another one. I doubt we can make that happen for a while, but it could be a goal to work for."​

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"Nope. I mean, uh, no sir. X-wings for me all the way. Like I told Zara--uh, Zero--speed is good, but I like to actually do some damage." Max shook her head. "A-wings just don't pack the same kind of punch. Uh, sir." Aargh! This military foofoo is gonna make me nuts! She brooded. If she was going to be tail end Charlie with eyes in the back of her head, she might NEED eyes in the back of her head. Or a few refits to her X-wing. ​

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Kayn chuckled at Max's attempts at military formality. "Pallas, I'd love to tell you to relax, but like I told the flight sergeant, I want us to learn to talk like Imps on the comm, so we need you to learn to say sir. When you slice into their channels and start giving fake reports and bogus orders, you need to sound like them, so keep working on it. But when we're off duty, I'm Kayn. I'm not so stuck on myself that I need to hear people call me sir all the time. Joy, I know that's not what you're used to, but you'll adapt. Spend some time with Zero and you'll get the hang of it."​

​

Max leaned back in her chair, muttering to herself in Corellian, <<I joined a Rebellion, not a military.>> She thought of the Bandits and felt a pang. She missed them terribly, and it was still hard to believe they were really gone. She glanced towards the door, wondering what else was on the agenda for the morning. She was ready to get out to the flightline.​

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"All right, we've covered a lot here today, so let's close this meeting. Everybody knows what needs doing next, right? Joy, make those sensor upgrades your first priority. Max, see if you can get me a good A-wing like 7841, and Zero -- I forgot one other thing that we'll need to get done, black markings on our ships, so, Zero, you get to scrounge up some black paint- Max, are you all right? You look like Death just rang your doorbell."​

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“Um...does it HAVE to be black? I mean...I'm not trying to be difficult, it's just...well, black is really, REALLY bad luck!"​

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"Well, we are the Black Sheep, so what would you suggest?"​

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Max stared down at her feet. ​

We're so dead. ​

"Blue?" she said hopefully.​

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"We're rebels, let's rebel. Blue it is. Zero, find us some dark blue paint, I mean really dark, midnight blue, so you can only see it's blue under super bright lights. If anyone outside the flight notices, we'll just look at them like they're crazy, right? All right, let's get out of here and get some things done. Call me if you need me or have something to report. And remember to think about our flight name, Baker Flight just doesn't cut it. And if none of you comes up with anything, we'll be Balzroth's Babes. Yes, that is a threat. Dismissed."​

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Well, that could have gone better, but it could have gone a lot worse. At least they haven't mutinied yet.​

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TAG: Sarge, TheAdmiral, Rebecca_Daniels, Mistress_Renata, Chyntuck​

 

IC: Foodie
Droid charging room, port side hangar bay, Rebel Carrier Intrepid

The lights in the hangar bay had been dimmed for ship’s night when Foodie came back from Captain Husk’s quarters. He considered folding up in his usual corner near the loadlifters, but he remembered that he needed to recruit an astromech for the well-being of Miss Akiva’s voorpak and the rare seeds it would earn him in return. Most droids would be gathered in the charging room off the hangar bay at this time of day. Come to think of it, Foodie’s batteries could use a reload too. He made his way to the charging bank and slipped between the barrel-like mechanicals until he found a free station. He plugged in and sat back to enjoy the gentle flow of electricity across his circuitry.

The port side hangar bay had been allocated to Black Sheep Squadron, and for Foodie’s current purposes this came with advantages and disadvantages. The positive was that the astromechs were likely to be as reckless as their owners and that it shouldn’t be too difficult to persuade one of them to help with adjusting the Intrepid’s ventilation systems. The negative was, however, that the astromechs were likely to be as reckless as their owners and that impetuous manoeuvres involving the Intrepid’s reprocessors might very well result in the entire carrier venting its atmosphere into the void space. He had to choose his partner-in-tinkering carefully.

One option he excluded from the get-go was Digger, who, moments after being brought on board by Flight Officer Pallas, had raced towards a fellow astromech to electrocute him. Who knew what he had in mind? This behaviour was most unbecoming of a droid and Foodie did not want to fall victim to Digger’s mood swings. He would have to choose a different companion.

There were a few astromechs he could not consider as suitable candidates because of their owner. Shadow, for instance, was a perfectly serviceable R2 model but Sergeant Sunwalker appeared to be a rigid, by-the-book type who wouldn’t approve of something as casual as collecting carbon dust scrubbed out of the ship’s atmosphere. Pat was as cheerful as Miss Ianna, but Ianna could be a little clumsy and airheaded at times and Foodie couldn’t take the risk that these traits had rubbed off her droid. Squirt was an R2 as well, but if he was half as angry as Flight Officer Tehanis there would far too many aggrieved circuits to soothe in the future. Sergeant Malek’s astromech was certainly a fine droid, but Foodie didn’t know enough about either of them to trust him with such a delicate mission. Robo, being Commander Flagg’s astromech, was no doubt most knowledgeable about the Intrepid’s systems, but if anything went wrong Foodie would find himself on the wrong side of the commander’s temper and this was something he was keen to avoid.

He paused for a moment and considered TJ, who was assigned to Raider Squadron but was also very knowledgeable about the Intrepid. TJ had a personality, Foodie would give him that, but his insistence that he was a Jawa in an R3 chassis was… disturbing. He was, however, a very talented astromech. Foodie decided to keep him in mind as a backup solution.

He brought his photoreceptors back to the droids that were on standby around him. Another R3 unit named Biscuits was charging at the far end of the room. Foodie had to call up the file from his memory banks to remember that he was the property of the Bespinian pilot who had a monthly subscription to a wine-and-cigar delivery service. For a moment, Foodie thought that he had found the droid he was looking for – until he checked out the exact brands that Lieutenant Coppa was receiving. He thanked the Maker for being unable to gag due to the absence of a stomach among his components. Cheap, second-rate stuff. No, Biscuits would not do. What if he had been ‘upgraded’ with parts of the same low quality as his owner’s wine and cigars?

His list of prospective partners was becoming rather thin, Foodie thought with the electronic equivalent of a sigh. The C-8 model had been nicknamed Crazy Eight by his owner, a clear indication that something was amiss. Flight Officer Walker had christened his droid AK47, after a slugthrower so outdated that it belonged in another, very distant galaxy – hinting at the astromech’s state of disrepair, no doubt. There was that DRB-12 prototype that went by the name of Darbie, but that was exactly the problem – he was a flashy, show-off prototype, and Foodie preferred tried and tested models. That left only one option.

Max was Flight Officer Nikoloz Dimmall’s droid – the one who had fallen victim to Digger’s aggressive impulses. From their limited interaction so far, Foodie was under the impression that Max was rather cantankerous and temperamental, and being an R5 model he was a cheap knockoff of an R2 series droid. However, R5s were known to be dependable, and, most importantly, Flight Officer Dimmall was obviously a skilled mechanic himself – not only skilled, actually, but passionate about mechanics. Hmmm. This might actually work. Foodie had to approach Max tomorrow and check his credentials after they powered up. If Max had been in Dimmall’s service for a while, he would certainly have acquired the knowledge and competence to manipulate something as simple as atmospheric reprocessors.

TAG: Mostlymad

 

IC: Kayn "Mean Streak" Balzroth

MEMO TEXT
TO: LT Shirl Coppa, LT Cassell Wystari
FROM: LT Kayn Balzroth
SUBJECT: Squadron Morale & Leadership
MESSAGE: Guys, we have issues in this outfit. I assume you were both listening at the squadron briefing and got the message that the senior officers on this boat see us as a leper colony, our own CO refers to us as "dregs", and our XO doesn't give a damn. If this squadron is going to become a unit, it looks like it will be up to us as flight leaders to bring us together. So let's put our heads together and figure out what we can do about it. I'm thinking that the first step ought to be a party in the mess hall. Let's call it a "Frack The Brass" party, nobody over the rank of LT invited. They think they can tell us we're all going to die and they'll break us, I call bantha pudu on that, we'll show them we're tougher than that, and we'll do it by having a freaking fantastic Black Sheep party. I want to see drinks, good food, music, dancing, games, contests, karaoke, indoor limmie, stupid pet tricks, anything that will get these pilots together and give them the good time they've all earned. Let's make this happen. I'm contributing half a case of Corellian ale, my last box of cigars, and I'll try to get an omnibox for some live music. What can you guys bring in by tonight?

TAG: The Vanguard, Corellian_Outrider

 

IC: Koruga Vereem Royu’jha
Port side hanger bay, Rebel Carrier Intrepid

Now this, Koruga thought, was a ship.

A ship in very poor repair.

But that mattered very little. What did matter was that it served as a base for his own modifications, which the U-wing did handily. In fact, he'd essentially holed himself up in the hangar bay since the unit's initial meeting, tinkering with the ship and running endless diagnostics on the it's various subsystems. Not that he really wanted to be around them anyways. The Black Sheep. Poodoo. An insult to his noble heritage, but a lot he had to accept regardless. Back in his clan's heyday, it wouldn't be tolerated. He'd be commanding the squadron. No, the fleet. He'd be commanding whole armies and reaping the rewards tenfold.

But his clan was gone. And he was alone, slogging it out with the Rebels on the losing side of a war. That analytical voice in the back of his head reminded him that the Rebels were a gamble with a high payoff if they did win. But that didn't matter if he was dead before they won.

And he most certainly would be dead if he couldn't get the feking U-wing's fins back into alignment.

<"I swear, if these de-synchronize one more time, I will throw someone.">

R0-Dn, freed from his straps and making himself busy acting as a surveyor beneath the hulking ship, quickly scampered away at the implication of someone being thrown.

<"No, not you Roh. Unlike these wretches, you actually have value to me."> That was about the closest he could get to an admittance of affection, but the droid had been around Koruga enough that even its relatively basic circuitry could understand it. The threat of peril over, he returned to his master with a status update. "Visual Confirmation: Junction 3-A active. Rotatory plates aligned."

Now that could make the Hutt weep with joy.

<"Excellent! Now, all we have to do is re-test the flight control lines and power up the laser cannons. See if you can fetch a power droid from the charging bay.">

The mouse droid squeaked in confirmation before rolling off towards the charging bay.

Tag: Chyntuck / Anyone who's in the Hangar

 

IC: Ethan "Veteran" Malek
Port side pilot's ready room, Rebel Carrier Intrepid (Quasar Fire class)

"They were good, played with heart,"Ianna said and Ethan nodded slowly as he remembered the Royal team. He had enjoyed watching their fair and tactically brilliant games, especially when they had managed to defeat on of the less noble teams like the one from Nar Shaddar.

As Ianna continued Ethan tried to remember on whether he had ever seen a game of the Chandrilian Patriots. Probably during his time with the empire, he remembered them as being one of the better teams in the league and like the Royals known for fair play. He allowed himself a smile when she wondered if they could listen to a few league broadcasts during their upcoming mission, glad that the war and death she had experienced hadn´t taken away her enthusiasm for her favorite sport. In his years as a soldier and later mercenary Ethan had seen too many soldiers who had lost themselves in the bloodshed and had only cared about fighting anymore.

"I still know some of the imperial codes," Ethan told her. "Maybe some of them are still used and we could get access to the holonet." These codes where pretty much the last thing from his days with the empire that were still in his possession. He had offered them to the rebel leadership after his joining but they had found them useless as most of them where more than a decade old by now.

"It'll be nice to feel a little more at home on this ship, I'm sure the cramped rooms aren't any help. Well my quarters are perfectly sized to me. But, I bet it's difficult for taller guys," said Ianna suddenly changing the topic.

Ethan smiled, "I´ve seen worse and I was rather lucky to have been given one of the larger quarters for officers, though it will probably take me a few days to get it somewhat comfortable again. This ship is really in bad shape." For a moment Ethan thought back to some of the other ships he had served on. The imperial ships had been very clean, yet cold and empty at the same time. In his time as mercenary he had traveled on ships so filled with cargo or passengers that he had barely a place to sleep. This ship was better, but not by far.

"What do you like to do in your downtime? I generally like playing limmie, it's a little difficult to find space but, it keeps me moving, and I love it. Plan on joining the Patriots...you know, after this whole war is done. I should still be young enough to play by the time this is all over, right?"

Ianna asked him and Ethan returned to the present, scolding himself on how easily his thoughts had drifted away again. Is this a sign of age, not being able to stay concentrated on the present anymore?

"When I was younger I used to play a bit as well," he admitted. "Though I feel I´m getting to old for it these days. Lately I´ve started to read holobooks or work on my X-Wing when I get some time off duty."

Ethan was impressed by Ianna's optimism and her plans to join her limmie team after the war. She still has a home, a family, a dream she can return to. For a brief moment he thought about what he would do if they would defeat the empire. Maybe he could settle down somewhere and find a place for himself. But if he was honest to himself, his place was here. Two weeks after his sixteen´s birthday he had been drafted in the ORSF, for his piloting skills and since then had been nothing else than a soldier. I´ve been a soldier for so long, will there even be a place for someone like me when this war is finally over?

Tag: galactic-vagabond422

 

ICC: Max Pallas
Port side hangar bay, Rebel Alliance Carrier Intrepid

Max inhaled instinctively as she went into the hangar. Fuel and lubricant, overlaid with a whiff of tibana gas and the faintest suggestion of carbon. Yeah. She smiled to herself as she approached her ship. The last three days had been so busy that she hadn’t had any flight time, and she’d come to need it as much as she needed water or sleep. This would be purely a shake-down flight. She had no responsibilities to defend the Intrepid at the moment, that was the province of the Vipers and the Intruders. But her ship had taken a beating during the escape from Hoth, and while the preliminary repairs were completed, if they were about to undertake more serious mission, it would need a thorough going-over, nose to tail. An hour or so putting it through its paces should give her a good idea where any potential problems were.

Digger rolled up to her side, and she patted its dome with a smile. “I’ve got a special task for you, when we get back,” she said. It whistled happily. She felt a little strange about slicing the records to transfer the A-wing Balzroth wanted. Imperial records were one thing, going in and messing around was part of the Rebellion. But it seemed dirty sabacc to tap their own records for their own advantage. Of course, she’d tapped the personnel files, but that was different. You had to know who you were flying with, after all. She didn’t entirely trust Rebel Intelligence to winnow out the double agents, or to be able to identify the ones who would stab you in the back.

Still, adjusting a requisition manifest… that would be it. No more. Although… Sunwalker admitted she wouldn’t mind a crack at an X-wing. A-wings were hard to find, and Y-wings were next to impossible. But X-wings were being manufactured…in small quantities in hidden shipyards and workshops throughout the Outer Rim. It shouldn’t be too hard to find one that was available. She toyed with the idea of requesting a new one for herself, and rejected it. No point being greedy.

“Okay, Digs,” she said. “Let’s get ready.” She nodded to the crew who came out to her, and they went over the paperwork, a flightplan, the load-out, fuel documentation, and a whole lot of other stuff that she’d never had to bother with when she’d flown with the Bandits. Then she walked around the ship, checking to make sure that everything was in order, gaskets closed, alignments on beam, power couplings secured. She had two torpedoes, although she wasn’t headed to combat. It was more of a precaution, in case something pounced while she was in flight. Cannons fully charged… yup. Time to get in. She nodded to the head of her crew, and started to climb into the cockpit while the crew slowly lowered Digger into the astromech’s socket where it normally rode. Max flicked the power up switch, and reached for the straps of her crash harness.

Suddenly, there was a loud, sustained shriek from Digger and shouts from the crew, causing her to jump up and turn to see what had happened.

“Bring it up, bring it up!” cried the Garlass crewman. Digger was quivering, and chirping randomly.

“What the hell--?” said Max, as Digger was pulled free. The human woman on the crew looked inside the socket.

“Here,” she said, “it’s here.” Max looked to where she was pointing, and she could see the problem. There was a ring of insulation material, padding to ensure that the droids didn’t rattle loosely in their sockets and become damaged. This had worn through, even to the metal underneath, and a live wire was loose. It had sparked when Digger had come in contact with it.

Max quickly reached over to her controls and powered down. “Well,” she said, “I guess this flight is scrubbed.”

“We can fix it up,” said the Garlass crewman. “We can spray on an insulation patch, stick on some ductape, you’ll be ready to go in fifteen minutes.”

Max frowned. “The whole ring will need to be replaced,” she pointed out. “And the entire socket lining.”

“Well, sure,” he replied. “We’ve gotta go over the whole ship, yeah? That’s the point of the flight. We’ll add it to the punchlist. Put it right at the top.”

Max looked at Digger, who was on the hangar deck now. “I can’t fly with Digger, though,” she said. “Not until he’s been checked out.”

“That’s okay, ma’am,” said the woman. “We’ve got some of the diagnostic mechs. They’re not much for a combat situation, but they can do one or two hyperspace jumps no problem. Bonus is, they’re made for running diagnostic problems, we’ll have a full systems read-out when you land.” She turned and gestured. “R2-SK, come here!”

Digger wailed in protest. Max went over and knelt next to the droid. “I’m not risking you, buddy,” she said. “We’ve been through too much together. I want you in the best of shape before we hit our first mission, okay? Go run a full self-diagnostic, hardware and software. When I get back, we’ll make sure to fix any problems. Then you and I will tackle the fighter together. Besides, I’ve got a special task for you. One that requires your…special skills.”

Digger turned his photoreceptor away from her, and made a grating noise. Max turned to see what he was looking at. That yellow and red droid was rolling past, burbling to itself. “Hey,” she said, “focus! I need you to do this, okay?” Digger whistled sadly. “Attaboy!”

In half an hour, she was in space, putting the snubfighter through its paces, and pondering all of the fixes and alterations she planned to make to prepare it for the job ahead. She hoped Balzroth had meant what he'd said, about using dark blue paint instead of black. That would make her life so, so much easier. Back on the Intrepid, Digger brooded…

Tag: Chyntuck, Mostlymad

 

IC: Max (R5-T9) & Foodie (Combo post with the wonderful Chyntuck!)​

Intrepid Hangar Bay​

Patience wasn’t something this little red and yellow astromech droid had a ton of and it showed as the temperamental R5 unit rolled around the bay, essentially pacing. <Blast that fleshbag Max and her electroshock happy droid,> the R5’s head spun in anger as he wallowed in his thoughts. Peering out again at the X-Wing from behind a stack of crates he silently wished he could get a closer view of the show that was about to begin. <I still have a few moments,> he booped quietly to himself as he rolled out from behind the crates, <time to see if there is a better vantage point.>​

As he rolled through the bay he wasn’t paying too much attention and ran smack into Foodie. <Hey! Watch where you are going, scullion!> Max whirled and beeped angrily.​

Foodie was so overjoyed at the sight of the R5 unit, whom he had been looking for since ship’s morning, that he let the astromech’s discourtesy slide. “My dear colleague!” he intoned cheerfully. “I was hoping to find you. I am aware that droids of your series are most talented with large starship mechanics, and I was wondering if you could assist me with a small adjustment to the Intrepid’s...” ​

<Let me cut you off there, glorified dishwasher. I’m a busy mech,> he tilted himself to look around Foodie before continuing in his search of a better vantage point. He zipped past while beeping <and I don’t have time for whatever it is you are about to ask for.>​

...atmospheric reprocessors,” Foodie finished lamely.​

With all of Max’s zooming around and gyrating the truncated cone he had for a dome, Foodie was beginning to wonder at this peculiar behaviour. It wasn’t unheard of for R5 units’ servomotors to experience this sort of malfunction, but the astromech seemed to get it under control and came to a halt. ​

<You want me to what?!> The astromech exclaimed before zipping back towards Foodie. He’d quickly realized that his best vantage point was to just stand out in the open while having a conversation with the chef droid and its curious request. ​

“I was asking you if you could assist me with, ahem, modifying the Intrepid’s atmospheric reprocessors so as to isolate the carbon-based dust that is scrubbed out of the air. Surely that should be an easy task for a droid of your talent.” ​

<Modify the atmospheric reprocessors eh? What a curious request.> <What do you need this for and what’s in it for me?> Max really didn’t care but he needed to keep the conversation going as long as possible.​

The astromech’s tone was curt and blunt. This was an obstacle Foodie hadn’t quite anticipated, but before he could answer Max was twirping and chirping again. ​

Max hopped a little with glee as he watched his nemesis, the fleshbag Max, and her shock happy droid enter the bay. And it gave him an idea. <Actually, I’m looking for some upgrades and would like to know what that astromech> – he turned his photoreceptor towards a point somewhere behind Foodie – <has installed? You get me a current schematic of his upgrades and I’ll fix your atmosphere reprocessors to do what you need.>​

Foodie turned around and saw an R2 unit that was rolling under an X-wing to be lifted into his socket while Flight Officer Pallas chatted with the hangar techs. He immediately recognised it as the aggressive little droid that had electrocuted Max upon arriving on the Intrepid. Something about this didn’t feel quite right. “This particular astromech does not seem to be in prime condition,” he countered. “If you are looking for upgrades to mimic, your colleague Biscuits would be the obvious choice. He is an R3 model, after all.”​

Rolling to the side to get a better view of Digger’s bay, Max angrily countered, <Listen, dough puncher, since when did you become an expert in astromech upgrades? I told you my price. Now get me those specs or find some less qualified droid to do it that might kill all of the meatbags here.>​

This R5 unit really had the oddest behaviour, Foodie thought as he watched the astromech zoom around him once more. And the only possible explanation for his extreme rudeness was undoubtedly that he had learned manners in the service of a Hutt. However, as little as Foodie knew about the inner workings of astromechs, he was quite certain that the R3 series was superior to the R2 series in every regard, and that Max’s insistence on getting Digger’s specifications indicated some further purpose than mere upgrades. He computed quickly. Was this his problem? No. Did he have good reason to be sympathetic to Flight Officer Pallas’s droid? No. Would he be able to acquire the specifications? Possibly. This wasn’t a particularly bad deal. ​

“All right then, we have an agreement,” he said. “However, I will request that you give me a sample of your skills with the atmospheric reprocessors before I procure this droid’s specifications.” ​

There was suddenly a loud electronic shriek and Foodie spun on his heel to see that sparks were flying out of Digger’s X-wing socket. Several technicians shouted and ran forward to fuss over the astromech as Flight Officer Pallas lowered him to the ground. ​

Normally a request of skill would throw the temperamental R5 into a tantrum but with Digger’s electrocution Max only hopped and spun with glee. <Fine fine, whatever! I’ll get to work on it right away.> He twirled and zipped past Digger’s bay on his way to the reprocessors. If the little droid could grin he would have been grinning from ear to ear.​

Foodie had a bad feeling about this – about all of it – but then, procuring Digger’s specifications would be much easier now that the electrocuted astromech was being sent to maintenance by his owner. He watched Officer Pallas take off with a diagnostics droid, and as soon as her ship was gone he followed the hangar technicians to the repair room. All he had to do was to plug into the ship’s computer, and if Max delivered his end of the deal Miss Akiva’s seeds would be his. ​

Tag: Mistress_Renata, @Anyone_in_the_Hangar​

 

IC: Ianna "Kid" Mcear
Port side pilot's ready room, Rebel Carrier Intrepid (Quasar Fire class)

"I still know some of the imperial codes," Ethan told her. "Maybe some of them are still used and we could get access to the holonet."

Her eyes widened hearing that Veteran might have codes to jack into the broadcasts.

"Could you really, really, really," she bounced just a little rocking on the balls of her feet. The thought of getting to see her team play again excited her beyond anything from the past few days.

"I´ve seen worse and I was rather lucky to have been given one of the larger quarters for officers, though it will probably take me a few days to get it somewhat comfortable again. This ship is really in bad shape."

"Well it's kinda nice, feels lived in you know." she said at him mentioning the old ship they were now living in. "It's not exactly home but, at least I don't have to break in my bed." That thought brought to mind her own bed, a soft warm thing that had been in her family for years and her blanket, made by her grandmother.

She shook her head throwing away the homesickness, it wouldn't help her here.

"When I was younger I used to play a bit as well," he said. "Though I feel I´m getting to old for it these days. Lately I´ve started to read holobooks or work on my X-Wing when I get some time off duty."

"Pisshhh," she said pushing off his chest with her hand, "You're never too old to play, you could play goalie, or midfield." She gestured him closer standing on her tippy-toes she whispered into his ear. "We got enough people to play a game of Limmie Sevens." She pulled away nodding her head vigorously. That was her plan get everyone together and play a big old game of limmie. "Wait you can work on ships?" she said eye lit up, "Do you think you could take a look at my Y-Wing." she looked away shuffling her feet, "I'm not really good at working on things, like that. I worked on my family's harvesters but, these ships are a little beyond that." She rubbed the back of her head. "And Pat can do some stuff but, it might be a bit much for her to handle."
Anedon

 

OOC: this is a combined post between myself, vehn, Mitth_Fisto and mostlymad

IC: Beskaryc Taab/Louise "Lou" Gray/Akiva Lurell AKA 'Wolf'/Nikoloz “SQ” Dimmall
Black Sheep hanger bay, Rebel carrier Intrepid

Taab had just slid his own buy'ce (helmet) back over his head when a flight tech approached him cheerfully. "Ah Major, I know B-Wing pilots are attached to their planes and all, but did you want me to remove the name of the former pilot of this craft and put..." The rest of the man's less than well thought out plan to help died on his tongue as Taab reached out and grabbed him by the throat. "No one," he began to squeeze, his strength augmented by his crushgaunt, would choke the life out of the human tech in a matter of moments, "is to touch this craft but me." Taab started blankly at the tech through his own T-Visor. The man's eyes were starting to bulge as Taab released his grip. The man could only cough in response as he ran off, surely to tell the other techs to stay away from the crazy Mandalorian's craft.

Taab looked back at it one last time. He wouldn't have armed the Iron Cross that way, he would have far preferred laser cannon to the ion guns, at least for the most part, but this had been, and still was in Taab's mind, Atin's fighter. He wouldn't change the paint scheme, or alter the load out. Most importantly, he would never erase his son's name from the ship's side. The Iron Cross was Atin's, and forever would be.

Across the bay a repulsor tractor pulled a hoversled full of miscellaneous starfighter parts, most notable being a pair of TIE solar panels, slowly down the line by a lone, angular face flight officer. As Nik drove the tractor he kept his head on a swivel looking for nooks and crannies aboard the former Imperial starship for any spare parts that may have been missed that he could use for the pet project he had charged himself with.

He’d dismounted and was scavenging around near the bulkhead the B-wings had been parked when his ears caught the Mandalorian’s interaction with the flight tech. Jeez the XO is brutal, he thought to himself as he recognized the Mandalorian as he came around from behind a row of B-Wings. Nik supposed he shouldn’t be surprised given the Mandalorian reputation. Still, despite his trepidation, Nikoloz approached his newest flight leader and whistled in admiration of the Iron Cross. “That’s quite the custom job she’s had done to her, sir. While, personally, I’m not too keen on the idea of going into battle without at least one pair of lasers I do admire the work. She’s probably the most lethal fighter to anything of size but she’ll need a competent fighter escort to make use of her armament but I suppose that’s why you have the rest of us in Delta flight.”

Taab stared at the man through his T-Visor. He recognized him as a member of Black Sheep squadron, and from his own flight if he recalled correctly. He brought up the squadron profiles on his HUD, matching a name to the face. Flight Officer Nikoloz Dimmall, X-Wing pilot in Black 15. That put him leading Delta flight's second element. The man stepped back to admire the Iron Cross a bit more Nik eyed his helmeted XO before asking, “Are you sure you want to do ALL the maintenance on her sir? Speaking from experience, Blades can be a bear to maintain especially around there,” he said pointing to the central area of the ship.

Taab looked at where the FO pointed and scowled behind his faceplate. He hadn't meant it that way, though perhaps that's how the tech would take it as well. He just didn't want them altering anything, naturally normal maintenance work would be handled by tech crew. Still, he didn't feel like explaining himself. "I know what I'm doing," he barked. "I've handled a lot worse on my own." That wasn't strictly true. The Crusader was rather easy on the upkeep for a ship her size, after all the YT-1300 series was known for it's ease of maintenance by small crews, and most of the time he hadn't been quite alone while maintaining her, but Skew didn't need to know that. He'd invariably had either the resources of the Bounty Hunting Guilds or his wife to help garner spare parts and the ship had usually had a crew besides just himself. There had been his mercenary group durng the Clone War, then his son Adenn followed later on by Atin...

Atin. His eyes flashed at the thought of his dead boy and he was ready to kill the next being who suggested altering the Iron Cross when a hydrospanner from above clanged off if his armored shoulder plate and clanked to the deck. Taab looked up, wondering how he hadn't seen the Codru-Ji working on her own craft, another B-Wing, suspended in the rack above the Iron Cross. Lurell her name was, and she explained Taab's statement better than Taab could have.

"You didn't realize the royal me in that!? Man will be flying with a ghost, you never work on a craft alone with one of those. Besides, droids don't count if they follow directions. Or those who live or die by the same." Taab nodded to her, realizing they weren't flight mates which he thought was too bad. Another B-Wing in the flight would have proved devastating to enemy formations. She tapped her craft's own nose art of a smoke filled helmet and rebreather wearing a scarf over a large misty symbol that bled into the paint job, on the scarf were the words 'Ace in the hole.' she nodded down at them both. She always felt it was a testament to the fallen, before popping the canopy to perform the safety over-rides for her own repairs.

Meanwhile, Lou paused, one boot inside the hangar and the other over the threshold on the way out, and turned as she watched her XO nearly strangle a hangar tech. She shook her head in disbelief and started to make her way back to call off the dogs when the hangar tech was released. Crisis averted.

She watched as a repulsorsled carrying TIE solar panels made its way across the hangar floor and finally stopped near the Mandalorian. Words were exchanged. She was too far to hear what had been said. Another voice, higher up, caught her attention. Someone was hanging from a safety harness, tools in hand. She thought the hangar crowd was interesting, to say the least. She gave a nod to the nose art and thought of her own that she'd painted on only a few minutes before.

Lou examined the B-wing before her. She'd never flown one. She supposed that at some point her aging Y-wing would be replaced by this new bomber. She wasn't so sure she liked the design or the moving parts that could fail at a moment's notice in hyperspace or combat. The armament was better than her Y-wing but reports from the field indicated the speed was about the same. Still, something about the design gave the B-wing a sense of fragility.

She didn't say a word but stood in silence. She would take her time to speak especially around her new boss who now noticed her standing there, admiring the B-Wings in the hanger. Once again he called up the pilot profiles on his bucket's HUD and was surprised to see another in his flight. Flight Officer Louise Gray, Y-Wing pilot, and his wingman. He waved her to come over and join them.

"Lou" he called out to her from under his buy'ce using her callsign. "Flight Officer Dimmall here thinks we'll need a good fighter escort to make good use of the attack craft." He pointed to the Y-Wing he thought was hers. He was inclined to agree with Skew on that matter, but wanted to put her to the early test. "Think they're up to it, or are you and I going to end up going it alone?" While he waited for an answer he looked around the hanger. Two of his flightmates were here, wonder where the third could be?

Lou warily approached the XO. Even underneath that helmet he looked dangerous. When he asked for her opinion on attack craft needing a fighter escort she hesitated. Was this a trick question? Perhaps not.

"If we're facing squints I want the fighter escorts. If we're facing eyeballs, well, I think we can hold our own." Taab nodded along with her as she explained her reasoning. "Besides, anything dumb enough to get in our way when our torpedoes go hot is going to be plastered into the next life. I've never once felt like fighter escorts were useless. They covered my tail on Scarif. I'm indebted to them. Just don't forget about us heavy lifters when the time comes. My Y-wing may not be as new as the B-wing here but I'd take it any day of the week. Fewer things that can go wrong, if you catch my drift."

Taab glanced over at Lou's bird. He had never flown Y-Wings before, but had seen them in action back during the Clone Wars. They had seemed competent fighter bombers then, but that was against droid fighters. He shrugged, supposing your standard TIE pilot wasn't much better off than a VULTURE droid anyway. As to how the old torn apart and put back together Wishbone would stack up against a maintenance heavy Blade, that he didn't know. Though the B-Wing certainly had the edge in firepower, it wouldn't be worth much if it was sitting back in the hanger unable to fly. Wolf seemed to have an opinon though.

Akiva worked on hitting the right buttons and flicking the proper switches to make sure she wouldn't fry herself accidentally on the craft. Still she could hear what was being said down below and had to grin a bit to herself about it all as she began to carefully climb back out and toward the previously mentioned hairy engine area.

"Rubish!" She called down on the latest drivel. "Y-wings just already have had everything go wrong twice and fixed before you laid eyes on. B-wings are still new and you might be the first to have a certain problem." Waving a spanner with that she turned back to propping open the panel, "Such as the repair crew reinstalling the heating elements as if factory instead of following the upgrades after Hoth." She sounded like she was speaking from experience, recent experience, there, and she did have a point.

"All right," Taab said quietly in a low gravelly voice. His new wingman had passed the test in Taab's estimation. "Blade, Wishbone, it doesn't matter so long as we get ordinance on target." he looked to Lou through his T-Visor. "And we will get ordinance on target." He looked at Skew now. "Your Splits," he referred to the X-Wings, "clear the way for us and then cover our backs and we'll be killing Imperials by the hundreds." He smiled to himself, hoping his estimate was a conservative one. "Now, has anyone seen your wingman around?"

TAG: Vehn, Mitth_Fisto and Mostlymad

 

OOC: Merry Christmas to you all!

This is a joint post between me and @galactic-vagabond422 , thank you for your participation!

IC: Jocelyn “Joy” Sunwalker, Ianna Mckear

Corridor of Alliance Carrier Intrepid

Joy walked out of B Flight's meeting. It went alright, by Rebellion standards, if they were in the Empire they would all get reprimanded. She needed to work on the other two women if they were going to survive the coming fight they would need some discipline. It was good that she had nerves of steel and a lot of patience. But first things first, she needed to fill in a requisition form and send it to the Hutt... a kriffing Hutt!

She walked down the corridor and someone caught her attention. It was Ianna! She was meaning to talk with the girl, give her some guidelines, now that she was not under her wing.

"Kid, I need to talk to you for a moment." Jocelyn stopped her.

Ianna didn't have much to do after the briefing the day before. Her talk with her wingmate went well, she might have a mechanic to look over her precious Y-Wing, and a potential player for her game of Limmie Sevens. In honor of that she was wearing her green and white Patriots jersey, over her uniform of course, just in case a superior officer were to appear. Out in the halls of the Intrepid her face was always a little cherry, the battle of Hoth was weeks behind them now, the pain of loss just sliding off her.

Rounding a corner she spotted Joy, former imperial and fellow Y-Wing pilot. The young girl could still recall tearing those cruisers to pieces over the frozen wastes. She had a fondness for the older woman, that care showed on her face as she approached, a full toothy grin was plastered on her face.

"Yeah sure," she said quickly replying to the Sergeant's request, before wrapping her up in a tight hug. "It feels like it's been forever since we had a chance to talk." Kid continued releasing Joy, "Sucks that we aren't in the same flight. But, I'm sure we'll get a lot of chances to work together."

Joy still felt awkward being hugged that way, not that she disliked it, it did not feel right, but managed to return the embrace.

"Yes, well, at least we are on the same ship and in the same squadron." she managed to give her a small smile "Ianna..." she paused and sighed "You have to be careful how you express your emotions. We may not be in the Empire, but still we are a military of sorts. I cannot be seen hugging you in public, given my position. I like you, you and Lou became my friends, but when I we are on duty I am your Sergeant first and your friend second." Joy managed to smile again to show her that she was not chastising her. "That goes for the others as well."
The girl's face soured a little. Joy wasn't being harsh but, what she was saying kinda hurt. The smile returned to her face quickly.

"I'm sure command won't mind, I mean it shows camaraderie and trust between pilots right? I would think they would like to have pilots that care about each other. So...I mean is it really that bad?"

Joy chuckled softly "Ianna, you are a good person. It is..." she paused "... Just the rules are that way. But your heart is in the right place. Look, I used to command a whole squadron and some of the people there were my friends, but I had to set my feelings aside and make tough decisions. I hope that makes sense. Just you should know that I am your friend, but when we are on duty I have to be a bit distant and I guess that goes for you too. When we are off duty we can all joke and laugh, hug..."

Ianna shook her head.

"Why does it have to be different, why hide what's inside? Does it really matter if we're on or off duty? If you're my friend, you're my friend, why act like we're not? What's the danger of being friendly while on duty?" The young girl was getting a little flustered, she just didn't understand why she had to be so distant, why she had to close herself off when she was 'on duty' whatever that meant. "Shouldn't your feelings influence your decisions. How can you lead if you don't care?"

Joy remained silent as she did not want to tell her that she might have to choose between her friends' lives and the success of their mission. "Ianna, once I thought like you. I grew up during the Clone Wars and with the stories about the Jedi and how they both cared and lead but later realised that they cared a bit too much and that skewed their perception."

Again the girl wrinkled her nose.

"Perception of what? What is right and what is wrong? The right thing to do is the right thing to do. What's so hard about that?" She wouldn't let this go, friends are friends whether in war or not.

"The Jedi cared too much when leading a living army and that made it hard for them to make difficult decisions."

"What 'difficult decisions'?"

"Sending people to fight and die..." she said flatly.

The words hit her like a meteor, she was talking about sending people to die, to sacrifice their lives for the rebellion. And Joy would be the one making that order.

"No..." Ianna replied, "no you, you wouldn't knowingly send us in to die would you? Is the mission more important than our lives?"

"Every time we are sent on a mission we are risking death." Jocelyn started carefully "Besides you heard Flagg, they don't care if we live or die. I just want to make sure you will survive, but there could be a time where an officer will have to make a choice to let a squadron member perish or the mission. It is almost an impossible choice, that is why we distance ourselves..." she sighed "That does not mean I don't care about you, but I cannot be viewed as favouring one person over the other when it comes to hard choices. My instinct tells me to protect my friends, but my training to be ready to carry out the mission. I am sorry..." she tried to smile and placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. "Know this, unless the mission is so vital and there is no other alternative, I will not knowingly jeopardize the lives of anyone."

Ianna looked at the ground holding Joy's hand in a warm grip. Death surrounded them and the briefing did little to assuage the feeling. Was Kid just being naive or was it just her want to keep her smile blinding her from the reality Joy was trying to express? She was right, she couldn't play favorites, it would be unfair to the others. Even if they were jerks like Flagg or scary like the Mandalorian, she couldn't put Ianna's life over theirs.

The only comfort she found was that Joy would not knowingly throw her and the others' lives away without a good reason. While Kid would like to never lose anyone deep down she knew it was inevitable. This was a war, people die...

Like Maniac.

There was no choice at Hoth, if they stayed, they all died, but, there was hope if they left. The young woman worried about being put in that situation again, would they escape...how many would they lose, would she be among the dead. The thought of her own death shot a bolt of fear and sadness through her. She didn't want to die, she wanted to live past this war, she had so much to do. A tear fell from her eye as she looked up at Joy a weak smile plastered on her face.

"Well," she started a little brokenly, "At least you're not a jerk about it like Flagg." A weak breath left her chest, "I'll try to not...be too affectionate while we're on duty...But, I make no promises. I can't help myself sometimes." For what felt like the final time, she wrapped her arms around Joy in a tight almost suffocating hug.

She didn't want to let go, part of her knew the Joy would still be her friend but, have to act like she wasn't even temporarily, hurt.

"I don't want to lose anyone else."

Joy returned the embrace slowly. She was not sure what to make of it and freed her hand to gently wipe the tear.

"Now, now..." she patted her "The good thing is that I am not your commanding officer." she smiled "I am not going anywhere, Lou is also here and I am sure you will make more friends."

Ianna gave one last squeeze before letting go and stepping back with grin.

"What do you mean make new friends, I got 16, just some of them don't know it yet." There were still the tell-tale salt lines of tears, and her eyes were red and puffy, but, her mouth still held onto her smile, it hadn't broken. "I guess I'll see you around." She gave a little wave and made her way to the hanger, there were somethings she needed to check on.

Joy exhaled slowly, that went better than expected. Part of her wanted to be tough on the Kid but that would be her old self. But either way she had to keep some distance for both their sakes. She was just a Sergeant, but still, had to set an example.

She took her datapad out of her pocket and keyed a short message to Lou “Hey Lou, I just spoke to Ianna about protocol. I think it would be best for you to talk to her when you have the time, I am not sure that I am good with words. See you around. Jocelyn.”

Maybe should check on the Y-wing and see where those sensor upgrades would fit.

TAG: @Vehn , Anyone else

 

IC: Ethan "Veteran" Malek
Port side pilot's ready room, Rebel Carrier Intrepid (Quasar Fire class)

"Could you really, really, really?" Ianna asked him and Ethan saw the excitement she felt at the chance of seeing a few games of limmie when they would be in imperial space.

"I´m not sure," he admitted. "These codes are pretty old, more than a decade now. But I kinda doubt the empire would bother with replacing some basic codes for the regular holonet, so maybe we are lucky and they haven´t." From what Ethan remembered of the empire they tended to be rather sloppy in most none military related things and probably didn´t cared much about the regular holonet. "And even if they have the security probably won´t be high so maybe someone could hack into it." For a short moment Ethan thought of Max and with it the memory of the escape returned.

"Well it's kinda nice, feels lived in you know. It's not exactly home but, at least I don't have to break in my bed." Home, for a brief moment Ethan wondered how many years it had been since he had been at a place he would truly call that. Eriadu probably, decades ago. Since he had left he had spent his time mostly on spaceships, military ships or smuggler hideouts and none of these place had even closely resembled a home. Thinking back to his childhood Ethan remembered their small house and his room below the roof. It hadn´t been much but from his window he had seen the mountains and the Carrion Plateau in the distance. He asked himself what had happened to the place since he had left. Maybe he could return there, when this was over.

"You're never too old to play, you could play goalie, or midfield. We got enough people to play a game of Limmie Sevens." Ianna brought him back to the present. Again Ethan asked himself if this was what aging truly was about, having ones thoughts constantly drift back to the past and forgetting the here and now.

But he smiled at her words, "Maybe I could try it out. I´ve played it a bit myself in school, back on Eriadu. It was probably rougher than how they play in the league."

"Wait you can work on ships? Do you think you could take a look at my Y-Wing? I'm not really good at working on things, like that. I worked on my family's harvesters but, these ships are a little beyond that. And Pat can do some stuff but, it might be a bit much for her to handle."

"Oh, I´m not a mechanic," Ethan said quickly and raised his hands in an appeasing gesture. "I´ve just picked up this and that over maintenance over the years. It's hard to find a reliable mechanic on Nar Shaddar and even those who are usually demand ridiculous amounts of credits for their work. So I´ve tried to take care of the easier stuff myself and only frequent them when I have too. If you want I can have a look at your Y-Wing but if it's something more substantial you should talk to a real mechanic."

Tag: @galactic-vagabond422

 

IC: Ianna "Kid" Mcear
Port side pilot's ready room, Rebel Carrier Intrepid (Quasar Fire class)

Kid's eyes widened hearing that the codes were a decade old, that was more than half the time she'd been in this universe, would they still work? She smiled anyway, putting all her will into hoping that they would.

"Maybe I could try it out." The older man said, "I´ve played it a bit myself in school, back on Eriadu. It was probably rougher than how they play in the league."

"You should be fine, we'll play by league rules so it shouldn't be too rough." She smiled trying to be reassuring, she really needed this to work out, she needed an outlet for her energy.

"Oh, I´m not a mechanic," Her wingmate said quickly holding up his hands conciliatorily. "I´ve just picked up this and that over maintenance over the years. It's hard to find a reliable mechanic on Nar Shaddar and even those who are usually demand ridiculous amounts of credits for their work. So I´ve tried to take care of the easier stuff myself and only frequent them when I have too. If you want I can have a look at your Y-Wing but if it's something more substantial you should talk to a real mechanic."

"Oh...It should be fine, Y-Wings are easy to work on, I mean they're already half taken apart." A little laugh left her chest.

After that she quieted just looking around. Most of the room had filed out finding something else to do. Maybe it was time for her to do the same.

"Well, I think I gotta' go, we'll catch up later ok?" She waved as she made her way out. She hoped to catch up with Joy and Lou sometime soon, Ethan was nice enough and she was sure they would work well together but, she'd formed a connection with the two women and wanted to keep that alive.


__________
Hangar, Rebel Carrier Intrepid (Quasar Fire class)

Ianna put her best smile on her face walking into the hangar, still dressed in her bright jersey. She did her best to put the conversation with Joy behind her, though it had to be said it was hard to take. Like bitter medicine it was unpleasant but, required if she was to succeed as a soldier in this rebellion. This conflict however was kept off her face, her smiling mask firmly attached.

Pat approached from the charging stations with a happy tweet. Ianna patted the astromech's head.

"So how's our big sister huh?" she asked looking up to the battered Y-Wing older than herself still beaming. She always thought of Pat and her fighter as the siblings she never had. Chadrila had a strict one child policy, which robbed her of the joys of having a confidant, or someone else to talk with at home. This was lessened by having a large extended family nearby but, it just was never the same as she imagined it.

Pat whistled and beeped as Ianna walked around her fighter. It looked like the carbon scoring was cleaned up though the armor plates still looked dingy. Tapping a button on the side the latter descended from beside the canopy.

"Well," she started, "Looks like they fixed the ladder. means that got to the other stuff too right?" As she looked to her R2 unit, which came up to her chest were most towered over their droid counter parts, she saw an older woman with blonde hand. Not Joy but, the face was familiar.

"Lou!" the young woman called out bounding closer baggy jersey flapping behind her. As she approached Ianna moved in for a hug but, stopped herself. Were they still on duty, was this going to far? This all left her awkwardly moving closer arms slightly apart but, not fully committing to the act.

Was this alright?

"Get over here, you," Lou said with a laugh as she brought Ianna behind her Y-wing and gave her a hug. She didn't want a superior officer suspecting anything odd going on so she made sure to include her astromech droid. She knew she was breaking protocol but if showing Ianna a gesture of friendship kept them both alive through this Sith-awful shooting mess than it was worth all the perceived trouble.

"I haven't seen you since our little flight was broken up! I see you're doing well," Lou said pulling away and then she noticed the Patriots jersey, "oh please, girl, you need to start rooting for a real team. You know, like Nar Shaddaa. They're dirty but they play limmie the real way. The way it was meant to played. I might be able to give you a pass though because I'm pretty sure my new commander is a Mercs fan."

Kid could help but, smile deeper as Lou pulled her behind the other Y-Wing and took her into a warm hug. Pat followed behind them almost standing guard as the two woman embraced. Ianna felt warm, it was almost like being with her mother again, but, Lou was not as comforting. However that didn't really matter she receiving much needed kindness. She wrapped her arms around Lou's waist and held on tightly.

"Yeah, sucks that they did that." she said taking half a step back, "But, at least we're in the same squadron."

"What?" she replied looking at her jersey, "You can't be serious, Nar Shaddaa? That's not how limmie is played. It's cheating to play like they do. Low blows, fighting, they play like the rules don't exist." She shook her head a little huff. "But, I'll agree, the Mercs just as bad...if not worse." She couldn't believe that someone she flew with would support a team like Nar Shaddaa.

Her face soured a little but, after a moment or two the thought came to her.

"Would you want to play Limmie Sevens sometime?" She asked almost conspiratorially like she was organizing some sort of clandestine meet up.

Lou laughed and nodded. "I would love to play Limmie Sevens. I did a bit of pick up Limmie as a kid. I usually played goalkeeper because they wanted someone as tough as nails back there. Course we had to contend with the mud. The mud on Roon is terrible. Here, well, I won't have that worry will I?"

Lou looked back at the hangar. There was a bit of free space toward the end. Maybe that could be a good place to play Limmie Sevens. She pushed those thoughts aside and brought up the heart of why she'd beckoned Ianna over.

"Did Joy have a chat with you about protocol? It's serious stuff, Kid. I know I tend to bend the rules but I'm not your superior officer, either. There's a reason that protocol exists. When lives are on the line that protocol will save yours. I know we've gotten a bit chummy recently but when the shooting gets hot out there I need to know that you've got your head screwed on straight. The Rebel Alliance needs discipline. From where I'm standing it has none of that. That's a problem. It's a miracle the Alliance is still in this war," Lou said.

Lou studied Ianna for a minute and wondered if she'd been too hard.

"Look, I'm not the best with words. Just ask my husband, soon to be ex-husband. I'm saying this because I care about you. You're a good person, you have good intentions, and maybe you remind me a bit of myself when I was younger. Discipline is more than following orders blindly. It's about unit cohesion. It's about keeping calm when torpedoes are exploding all around you and your wing mate is crying out in pain over the intercom. There's a time and a place for emotion. The sooner you realize that, the longer you're going to live in this war. I want to make sure you walk away from all this and don't become another notch mark on the solar panel of a TIE fighter."

The smile deepened on her face hearing another person being interested in playing Limmie. Her plan might come to fruition quicker than she thought.

The grin faded as Lou continued, as she got to the she wanted to talk to Kid. Again she looked to the ground trying to fight off the sour expression threatening to appear on her face.

"It's our heart that's gotten us this far, the fact we care is our strength. The Empire throws away lives, We fight to save everyone...Shouldn't that count for something?" She retorted to lacking discipline, something deep inside told her that the older woman was right but, Kid's good heart couldn't take having to accept losses.

She quieted when Lou brought up a wingmate crying out in pain. Her mind was shot back to Hoth, to Maniac. He didn't cry, he was rather quiet as he smashed into the ground. That didn't change what she felt, she wanted so much to save him but, there was nothing she could do.

Her hands balled up into fists she hated this, hated these lectures about locking away her emotions. She would not let herself become cold, distant. She had to keep her smile but, how could she smile if she was dead? Conflict again rose in her, the weight of what was being said threatened to crush her spirit.

"You're asking me to do something I'm not good at...I wear my heart on my sleeve. I can't lock it away when it suits me. But, it's that same heart that keeps me in this fight, keeps me here. I would have fallen apart long ago if I didn't think this fight was worth it. It not like I haven't lost anyone in combat before, I have, and I got through it. But, I don't want to lose any of you...Is that alright to feel or should I just not...because I can't do that...not all the time. I know you're just trying to help, like Joy but, it's all a bit much. I care...I can't help it." A weak somewhat broken smile grew on her face trying to hide her pain and conflict.

She didn't know if she was succeeding.

Lou softened her expression. She reached out and gently placed a hand on Kid's shoulder.

"Don't ever stop being you, Ianna. Don't ever let this war change you or corrupt you or make you any less than who you are," Lou said. "I've had a lot of things go south on me the last few years. Maybe that's jaded my perspective on life. Maybe that's just made me hard inside. Maybe I just got tired of feeling because it was the only way I could protect myself."

Lou paused and looked down at the hangar floor. When she returned her gaze to Ianna she managed a smile, "Keep your hope. We're going to need everything we can get before this war is over. You brought some good things to my attention. Perhaps I've got some learning to do of my own. I won't keep you any longer. Just know you've got someone watching your back."

The younger woman held Lou's hand in a tight grip. Her full smile returned seeing it returned by her conversation partner.

"No worries, made a promise long ago to never lose my smile...I intend to keep it. No scary lecture is going to scare it away." She replied.

As Lou turned away the smile faded, the conflict between being who she was, and being the soldier the Rebellion needed her to be rose up within her chest. Lou made it sound as if it was possible to have an open heart and still fight, while Joy made it clear that one must have distance when the decisions were life and death.

Pat possibly sensing this conflict lightly bumped into her drawing attention. A few happy tweets sounded from the green and white dome.

"No, I can't go see Foodie...I don't think he can help." She was projecting on the the droid, she didn't have any clue what her 'little sister' was saying. Pat seemed to take it in stride extending one of her arms she offered it to Ianna, like a child asking their older sibling to follow them. With a heavy sigh the pilot took the surprisingly warm metal appendage. All at once the astromech sped off nealy dragging Ianna behind her.

"Hey Pat would you slow down?" Ianna called out, only to receive what sounded like a high pitched squeal from the little droid. As they ran looping around fighters, ducking under equipment, and excusing themselves when they nearly bowl over the technicians. Ianna had no idea where she was going but, she didn't care, she was laughing again, that joyous child like laugh that she should had outgrown years ago.

When they finally stopped they stood before her, well, their Y-Wing.

"What are we doing here Pat?" the Pilot asked a little out of breath.

Some more unintelligible tweets as a slot opened on Pat's chest revealing a painting kit. With her extended arm Pat gestured to the space next to the cockpit, where her name would go. It was blank.

"Come on Pat you know I'm no good at that stuff."

Pat insisted even lowering the ladder with a barrage of happy whistles.

"Alright...alright but, don't expect it to be good."

She took up the simple paints and small paint brush. As she got comfortable, laying on her stomach, legs bent at the knees swinging back and forth in the air, she chose her colors, green and white of course and began putting her name on her craft.

Her tongue stuck out her eyes squinted as she tried to recall her calligraphy classes, something her mother was adamant about when she was growing up. It took a while and it was in no way a work of art but, she'd done it, she'd put her name on her ship, with a few stalks of green wheat growing on either side. Her own sense of flair showing through. Now she looked to the nose, also blank, her ship...no her sister needed a name.

She sat cross legged on her bomber paint brush in her hand, face scrunched in thought, a bit of green paint on her cheek. Then it came to her. She scrambled over to the front again laying on her stomach as she wrote the name on her craft.

'Serica'

She didn't know where she heard the name but, she'd always liked it, always thought it would make a good name for a big sister...If she ever had one.

She took a moment to bask, just gaze upon her work. It was far from perfect, and barely legible put it was her work, her heart that went into it.

She wouldn't want anyone else to fix it.

TAG: @Anedon @Vehn Anyone else

 

OOC: this is a combined post between @Mostlymad, @Rebecca_Daniels, & @TheAdmiral

IC: Jocelyn “Joy” Sunwalker / Zara "Zero" Yaren / Nikoloz “SQ” Dimmall

Black Sheep hanger bay, Rebel carrier Intrepid

Where the frack did someone get paint on this ship? Two crew members had shrugged noncommittally and Zara’s search eventually took her to the hangar, thinking they might have some spare ship paint. Two technicians paused in their work to direct her to a supply closet, but they weren't sure if they'd have black, let alone "super dark blue". But they hadn't asked for anything in trade for that information so Zara thanked them before setting off again.

The closet was stuffed with odds and ends, including a few sealed tins of old ship paint and painting supplies. Black paint, even, she was pleased to note as she pulled it down from a high shelf. Probably not enough for the full squadron, maybe not even the flight, but it would do for her purposes today; she could always requisition more later. On another high shelf was some light blue, like the detailing currently on her A-wing. This one took some climbing to reach but she didn't dump it on her head, so she counted it as a success. She pried them both open and carefully poured just a bit of the blue into the black; Zara didn't pretend to understand what that whole "dark blue" nonsense was from her wingmate but superstitions weren't uncommon among pilots.

As she stirred the splash of blue into the black, the black paint stayed exactly the same colour. Good. Pushing the lid back on, Zara picked up the canister and the supplies she'd chosen and made her way back to the lone A-wing in the Black Sheep hangar.

On the canister, Zara pulled out a pen and marked in big lettering on the front "FOR B FLIGHT ONLY, AKA, BEST FLIGHT" then, after a moment, rotated it and wrote on the back "EXCEPT BALZROTH, KISS MY EXHAUST PORT". He probably wouldn't mind, he didn't even have his A-wing yet, and by then they'd have more paint.

First, she began by taping off all the ports and exposed spots on her fighter. The technicians usually did this sort of thing, but painting the entire A-wing would take a while, and it wasn't like she had anything better to do. Someone had painted her Hoth kills under her cockpit, she noted as she taped off the cockpit canopy; running a finger along the shapes, she frowned. At least she'd be painting them over soon.

Ports, vents, and cockpit taped off, Zara hopped down and began assembling the spray painter.

Meanwhile Joy had contacted her astromech to meet her in the hangar for a check-up of the ship. She’d pushed back the conversation she had earlier with Ianna as she did not want any more distractions, now it was back to business. There was another thing that needed doing, painting the ship, but first things first.

She stepped in the hangar. It was bustling with life as usual. Droids, technicians, pilots moving around. There was a constant noise of crafts being worked on. It was accompanied by the smell of spilt fuel, fresh paint. The usual.

Joy passed by an A-wing and saw a familiar face, the Twi'Lek Zara preparing to work on her fighter. Jocelyn said nothing as she did not want to distract her squadron mate. Hopefully they could find some common ground if they were to work together.

Nikoloz had found it. Though it’d been buried deep in the recycled parts bin, smelled like unwashed feet wrapped in leathery burnt bacon, the cabin for the imperial fighter he’d been scraping together sat upon a hoverlift he was pushing through the hanger bay. I’ve all the pieces to build this blasted thing... now to find the space and the right shipbuilding tools to make it happen! Whistling a happy tune the usually stoic pilot danced a little jig for a few steps in celebration before he cut it short when his eyes noticed an A-Wing and her Twilek pilot taping the ports, vents and cockpit of her starfighter.

That’s her! Nik thought as he passed the stall. That’s that crazy fracking pilot that cut through the space between me and an eyeball in one hell of a crazy ‘bout of acrobatics! So lost in thought Nik hadn’t seen Joy and nearly ran the hoverlift into her. Jerking the controls he avoided a collision but a safety strapped snapped making a loud pop that echoed through the bay. Near instantaneously he switched the controls over to the lift and managed to swing the lift arm over to keep the eyeball cabin from rolling off the lift and into Zero’s bay. “Krayt’s balls! Sorry! Nearly ran you over there!” Officer Dumall grinned sheepishly as he pulled out another strap from the cargo area of the lift.

Being almost hit by what appeared to be a part of an Imperial fighter startled Joy. She jumped from her place to avoid the collision and glared at the man. She had seen him at the briefing but could not place a name. 'Great, now they are trying to kill me.' she pushed back the creeping paranoia. Joy bit back a retort intended for the man, but that wouldn't change things, besides he apologized, sort of...

The noise behind her caught Zara's attention and she twisted to see a human with a hoverlift almost hit Joy, the lift carrying... was that part of an imperial fighter? She eyed them both, fairly certain she had seen the human man at the briefing but not sure which one it was yet; there were a lot of humans in this squadron and Zara hadn't yet matched callsigns to faces. Joy, at least, she knew, even if there was some degree of conflict there. But since they were passing her ship, she could satisfy her curiosity. Was he working with Joy's Imperial knowledge on something? Was this another ex-Imperial? Zara stepped towards them carrying with her the spray painter she was struggling to disassemble.

"Planning something?" Zara nodded her head towards the chunk of machinery being hauled along.


“Maybe...” SQ kept his sheepish grin and shrugged noncommittally. “You’re Zero, right?” He turned to Joy and jerked his thumb at Zara, “This hot shot pilot saved my keister in a furball over Hoth when she flat scissored into the sparse space between me and an eyeball that was all over my six. Damndest thing I ever saw. Spooked that TIE long enough for me to break away.” She is also the reason you couldn’t save your wingman, a nagging voice in Nik’s head prompted sinisterly. SQ’s face hardened for a moment. You had a choice, help this brash pilot that saved your bacon or save your wingman. You chose... ENOUGH! Nik roared at the voice in his head. Time will tell... Shaking his head to rid himself of the voice he continued. “Anyway, we went into a 2 circle climb with the bandit on her six. As we turned into each other she vaulted up giving me a clean kill. It was the fanciest flying I’d ever seen!”

"I was just passing by and I saw you. Where did you get the paint?" Joy turned to Zara.

"Around," she shrugged, answering Joy's inquiry first. "You can take it when I'm done, if you want. I'll find some more later." If there was any left once her A-wing was as black as space.

"And well, Hoth was what it was. Had to do something and my targeting was out." She eyed the human pilot, trying to remember who had been in that dogfight. "That would make you Skew, then?"

“S. Q. Skew... one desk jockey with a radio screws up your call sign and it sticks forever,” Nik palmed his face and groaned. It seems like Skew is going to stick... well isn't that the way it usually goes?

Zara continued to eye SQ, Skew, whatever. She'd have to look up his real name later. No one complimented her flying like that, not without something backhanded hidden in there. She got the job done, that was it; Hoth had been calculated risks, where the risk had only been to herself. Maybe it looked like fancy flying to him but not hitting that TIE had taken everything she had. And if she had hit it? Well… then it would have only been Zara eating that mistake, no one else. But there had been something in Skew's eyes for just a moment...

Joy frowned slightly but said nothing. She would find paint herself, but first things first, she needed to check on her craft regarding the sensor upgrades. She turned to look at the part of the Imperial fighter. “Is that a TIE cockpit? I can help you with that if you want.”

“It is,” Nik eyed the other female pilot for a moment before nodding slowly. “It’s Joy right?” he hoped he recalled the callsign correctly from the briefing. “Sure, I could use another set of hands. You know, I thought that I might be able to scrape together a TIE from parts around the ship. An Imperial vessel like this might benefit from having a few TIEs on board. And since I’m pretty handy with a wrench and there are tons of Imperial manuals on board I figured I’d do something with my spare time,” Nik beamed. Manuals? Ha! If they only knew just how useless they are to someone with your experience.

Joy could feel her excitement growing. The prospect was interesting to say the least. “I am quite familiar with Imperial craft… well not the technological part, for that I can lend you my astromech, I stole it from the base I was stationed. That is if you need my assistance.”

“Familiar eh? Former Vac-Head then?” he asked teasingly.

Joy snorted, “Last was commanding a Defender squadron. Before I left, that is.”

The mechanic’s eyes bulged a bit in surprise at Joy’s comment. “Trips eh? Impressive. Not many squadrons of those. Which was yours?” Please not the Skulls.

“Death Head Squadron or simply the Skulls, under command of Grand Admiral Thrawn.” Joy stated flatly. The Empire liked such bombastic names, much to the Chiss’ displeasure, who, if the rumors were true, preferred more artistic approach. “I was first stationed on Lothal, but then had to be moved to another facility to train new pilots. Before that flew on a regular TIE, have some experience with Interceptors as well. They called me Shadow back then or Skull Lead.”


Stifling his surprise with a cough, Nik listened intently as Joy told her story. Of all the frak’n places in the galaxy I get assigned to the same frak’n squadron as Shadow!? Skull Lead!? Or as us grunts called her... the Ice Queen!? the nagging voice cursed. Calm down. We never worked directly on her ship and we wore masks nearly every time we worked on anything. There is no way she recognizes us. Time to play dumb. “The Death Head is pretty elite isn’t it? Something like third behind Obsidian Squadron and the 181st right?”

Jocelyn chuckled softly. If she was still in the Empire she would have told him that those two Squadrons could not compare with the Skulls “Well… yes. It was an elite squadron, given we flew Defenders. Though was more of an experimental one. The Grand Admiral wanted to imitate some of the Rebel tactics. Like having pilots with multiple skills and better improvisation abilities.”

Got to hand it to Grand Admiral Thrawn, best stock ships with good pilots is a sound strategy. Call me biased but while Obsidian is king of the blue, the Skulls were king of the black. The One-Eighty-Worst can suck vacuum... I don’t care what Capt Fel has done with them. Yeah, it has nothing to do with what you did nor your ego either... It was Nik’s turn to chuckle, “Yeah, tough to beat a squadron of trips with competent pilots. With such a cush job it’s a wonder you ended up here flying a wishbone of all things.”

Joy looked to the side, she did not like to talk about her reasons for defecting. Having both her parents arrested on trumped charges and the ISB breathing down her neck. “I guess, I am too Imperial for some people,” she managed to look up and smile.

Clearly Joy did not want to talk about her past and Nik definitely did not want to pursue it. Hell the last thing I want is the Ice Queen to recognize me and foil my mission. While they never formally met Nik did a lot of work for one of her underlings. Anais Corrin. AKA Fairy - AKA Skull 7: Tall, blonde, and beautiful. An aristocrat’s daughter who had her way with whomever she wished. And if the rumors were true Fairy was the only person that could melt the Queen. Realizing there was about to be an awkward silence he blurted out, “Not too Imperial for some of us.” Smooth. Might as well throw a wink at her too. Instead he grinned big, possibly making it worse, as the realization hit him in the irony that the Rebels had given her Joy as a callsign. If they only knew, he thought before nodding toward the TIE cockpit, “As for the TIE I would welcome your insight whenever you can provide it. I’ll be building it in stall 437.”

Jocelyn almost blushed and blinked ‘Was he hitting on me?’ she thought and immediately chased it away. Then nodded “As I said, I am not that much familiar with the technical part, but am familiar with the layout. Also when I defected I stole an Imperial astromech which I can loan you, I am sure its technical database is still intact.” Unless Alliance Intelligence purged the data, she did not add that part.

Careful. “Your droid could be a valuable asset, thank you. If I run into anything that the manuals don’t explain well, they are Imperial after all, I’ll ask to borrow your astromech. Otherwise I won’t bother taking its time away from whatever you have him assigned to do. Feel free to stop by though if you want to check to see how it is going.” He remained pleasant but he really didn’t want the former frak’n Skull squadron astromech snooping around too much. Who knows what it could glean.

Joy shrugged “Alright then...” she was about to say something but noticed that Zara was observing them so she closed her mouth.

The two were caught up in their reminiscing about Imperial squadrons, so Zara kept working at her spray painter while listening in. While she didn't have the details before now, Joy's background wasn't unknown, not after their briefing earlier. And yet something this time was different. Oh, she already knew she didn't like the stiff ex-Imperial, but there was something about the way she talked about her history. A note of pride? Zara's hands tightened as she renewed her frown in Joy's direction. Imperials who defected honestly were one thing, but taking pride in killing good rebels?

The nozzle of Zara’s spray painter finally unstuck itself with a sharp pop, and brought her back to the moment. Maybe she was reading too much into it. "Well, at least we have a few who could fly that thing if you get it done. Only thing faster than me out there." At least until the Streak got his fancy new A-wing, she decided as she bent to pick up the nozzle, if he got the one he wanted it was probably going to be in better shape than hers.

“Actually,” Nik chimed in nodding towards Zero’s starfighter, “your A-Wing is the faster of the two. Well, at least stock they are but not by much, maybe one megalight per second. There are likely some that are faster but they’ve been modified.”

Zara shrugged, glancing between the other two slowly, unsure. "My ship's a bit less than stock these days. Though I suppose that thing is too," she said, indicating the scavenged cockpit. "Mine's at least spaceworthy." Not that she doubted Skew's mechanical skills, but if this junk had been kicking around when the rebellion was so desperate, maybe there was a reason for it. Then again, they'd found some use for 'junk' already on this ship, a pile of worthless pilots on a suicide mission. Maybe the scrap Skew was rebuilding could do the same, drive right into the Emperor's throne room and free the galaxy. Maybe they’d get lucky. “Make sure that thing knows who the enemy is once it's up there. Would hate to break all that hard work.”

“That would depend on the pilot that’s flying it,” Nik quipped as he finished strapping the loose cockpit down. “It’s more likely that whoever is piloting it would be worried that the rest of the squadron would mistake it for an enemy!” The mechanic grinned widely revealing two rows of off-yellow, crooked teeth. “Whelp, ladies,” he bowed respectfully before looking directly at Joy, “it seems we all have some work cut out for us.” He smiled as he jumped up into the tractor. “See ya around.” With a wave he ferried the TIE cockpit toward stall 437.

Zara nodded at the other pilots and returned to her spray painting. One technically not black A-wing, coming up.

Joy lingered for a moment then turned towards the area where the Y-wings were parked. Hopefully her astromech had already started the check up.

Tag: @Bardan_Jusik & Anyone listening in the Hanger

 

IC: Astromech R2-MA16, a.k.a. "Digger"
Rebel Alliance carrier Intrepid, port side droid maintenance workshop

R2-MA16 had served, to the best of its memory, 24 pilots. The vast majority had regarded it as a useful piece of equipment, a tool to be used as needed or ignored. The better ones had ensured it was maintained and repaired on a regular basis. It had done its best to carry out the functions required of it, and to fulfill its pilot’s wishes to the greatest extent possible. The entire reason for its existence, after all, was to serve.

But this pilot, Max Pallas… this pilot was different. One of the better ones, yes… she was careful about maintaining it with regular oil baths, memory sweeps to clear out unnecessary clutter and ensure optimum functionality. She checked that its accessories were clean and properly lubricated and she’d given it extensive additional programming. No longer a mere astromech, it could slice security files and override secure protocols when needed.

Above all, she had given R2-MA16 a name.

To have a name meant that you were more than a piece of equipment. It meant you were a companion, a comrade, a valued ally, even—perhaps—a friend. And R2-MA16, most commonly referred to as ‘Digger,’ meant to live up to her trust in it.

That snarky, self-aggrandizing trash receptacle had no right to cast aspersions on her. Digger knew what a pale donkey was. A quadruped, a slow, stupid, stubborn beast of burden… Digger’s pilot was none of that! (Well, okay, it would have to admit to the stubborn, but that was, as it understood, a characteristic of organics originating on Corellia and not always a design flaw).

And Digger knew that the astromech who was Not Max was responsible for the sabotage of the X-wing. The organics hadn’t caught it, of course, but its ocular receptors could see the regularity of the striations around the worn section. NotMax had deliberately scraped away the insulation and exposed the live wires to shock Digger. NotMax would pay.

Digger had submitted to the Alliance diagnostics. It had lost some of the schematics and operations specs for the N-1 Naboo Starfighter and the Haslip Skyrunner, but as those were both obsolete, it wasn’t worried. It had also lost some of the operational standards for the RZ-1 A-wing Interceptors, and those would need to be reloaded. While Max generally preferred to fly Incom’s T-65 X-wing class fighters, there were some A-wings in the squadron and one could never be sure what duties would be needed.

It had done a self diagnostic of the other, hidden drive. A separate drive, which Max had installed and had the code access to, this held the special programs she wanted. It also held some personal memory files. As near as Digger could tell, most of the slicing and intel analysis programs were intact. Unfortunately, three precious episodes of Jett Starseeker: Coruscant Knight were gone. Banned by the Emperor immediately on assuming power, it was one of Max’s favorite holoshows, and she had honed her slicing skills by trying to find old episodes buried in the bowels of various Imperial libraries and comm. networks. These episodes were from Season Four, at least, which was a bit easier to find. Still, Digger knew she would be upset, and that was something else to lay at NotMax’s door.

It finished the self diagnostic. Some of the insulation foam was scorched, and would need to be replaced, along with two fuse links in the mobility wiring. Overall, though, Digger had gotten off lightly.

NotMax would not. Digger unplugged from the diagnostic station and rolled back to the hangar, brooding. Its pilot would be returning shortly, and while it waited for her, it would ponder appropriate retaliation.

NotMax would pay.

 

IC: Flight Officer Henri "Dreamcatcher" Devlin (NPC)
Viper 11, Intrepid CAP, Mid Rim

From inside the cockpit of his A-Wing (tail number 7841) Dreamcatcher looked out into the endless expanse of stars before him. His section had been tasked with providing escort of the Intrepid and were only about half way through their assigned patrol duration when a low powered comm signal came in.

"Dre.....cher, Lad...ug, how read?" The signal from his wingman, the Verpine with the callsign Ladybug, was cluttered by static, but he could make out what she was saying. Still it surprised him she was contacting him at all, their flight thus far had been conducted in silence, using only hand signals to communicate between the two fighters to keep their emissions to a minimum.

"You're weak but readable Ladybug. Whaddya got?" he finally replied after turning down the power to his own wireless set. "...ve ... incoming." Most of the transmission was garbled, but the last word came in just fine. Panicked for a moment he looked to his screen. The fighters had been running passive sensors only, again to keep their detectable emissions in check, but he saw nothing. Did his passive sensor suite need an overhaul? Looking out the front of his fighter toward the starscape beyond also revealed nothing. He jerked his fighter over, in line with hers and gave her a wide eyed expression that she probably couldn't see though his flight helmet anyway, looking for a hand signal to tell him where the incoming bogeys were coming from. Raising her insect like appendages she pointed back towards the Intrepid before giving him a two count. So two fighters, from the direction of home, that made no sense.

He gave her another hand gesture, letting her pull lead as she had contact and rolled around slightly above and behind her fighter as she rolled out on an intercept course with the incoming bogeys. They too were running silent, though pinging their IFF showed them both to be friendlies. "It's Archer..." Ladybug commed again, as Dreamcatcher saw the same flight info scroll across his HUD. The squadron commander was relieving them early, and personally. From past experience that could mean only one thing, an unscheduled hyperspace jump. Commander Adem liked to make those on his own. Ladybug led the CAP flight around and back onto Viper Lead's wing as he slowed to accommodate them. Through his own series of hand gestures he told them what Dreamcatcher already knew. The Intrepid was leaving and they were to head back to the barn. Acknowledging lead's signals Flight Officer Devlin took back control of his flight and led he and Ladybug back towards the landing pattern.

Halfway there he noticed another anomaly on his screen. His passive scanners were tracking another signal, one he hadn't noticed before. It was inboard of them, closer to the Intrepid. The carrier didn't seem to mind the closer in ship, which was a fighter now he could assume by the size of the signature, so it must be one of theirs. Either a close in CAP had been established, or someone was out for a check ride. A grin formed on his face as he glanced over to ladybugs fighter. She had to have seen it too. "Warm up your targeting lasers." He said on their closed channel, hoping she would get most of the message. It was an X-Wing, he could see that much now, and was also squawking a friendly IFF code. One for that new squadron, the garbage that were being called Black Sheep Squadron. His grin grew to a broad smile. This would be fun.

He kept his flight in the landing pattern for the starboard side hanger, the Vipers were in the outermost pod on that side, as he kept his eye on the Black Sheep X-Wing. "Steady, steady," he told himself, barely containing his excitement. "Now!" this he called out over his comm system to Lady Bug who pulled in hard after him as he pushed on the stick and maxed out the throttle. The A-Wing responded as it always did, quickly and efficiently. Within moments he was behind the unaware X-Wing and pulled the trigger on the stick. Targeting lasers lashed out at the X-Wing, painting it's hull a dullish orange for a moment before his fighter slashed by. A moment later the process repeated as Ladybug's A-Wing also hit the X-Wing with the standard targeting lasers used not only to track targets, but to track simulated kills in a mock dogfight.

Dreamcatcher performed a victory roll out in front of the X-Wing, he knew it's pilot could see him clearly as he did so, and commed out over an open channel that his flight, the Black Sheep X-Wing and even the Intrepid. "Baa, baa Black Sheep! Baa!..." He was cut off as the flight controller on the Intrepid overpowered his signal.

"Knock it off Viper 11 and get yourself back in the landing pattern." LT Felix didn't sound amused by Dreamcatcher's antics. "Frak all. We don't have time for you to reorient and land in the starboard pod. New approach vector is 87 carom 10, for a port side landing, inboard pod." Dreamcatcher pulled his craft around and settled in on the glide path letting out a somewhat deflated. "Roger that, 87 carom 10 for port side inboard approach." Ladybug followed along behind him without a word. Yeah they had caught hell from flight ops, but it was worth it to put the new squadron in it's place. At least he wouldn't be landing in their bay, the inboard pod was the home of the Intruders, which was bad enough. The fighter would have to be flown out and transferred over to the Viper's bay after the Intrepid had completed her jump, but he would leave that to some nugget.

"Black Eight, we're making an unscheduled jump in a few, so come on back home." LT Felix's voice again called out over the short range wave. "Vector 17 carom 13..."

TAG: @Mistress_Renata

OOC: I think we've all had enough meet and greet time so I'm going to get us off on our first mission as a squadron in my next update (some time next week). Looking to wrap up any small plot bunnies running about before then, most specifically getting Sarge's character his new fighter. If no progress is made on that front by the time I post I'll assume he gets tail number 7839, the Hanger Queen. However this post sets up hopefully a bit more motivation and even opportunity to get him his cherished 7841. Figure the party being planned can be used afterwards as a post mission victory party... for those characters that survive anyway.

Any questions feel free to ask either in the fanclub or via PM.

 

OOC: This will have to be a two-parter...

IC: Max Pallas
Port side hangar, Intrepid
Part One

Either Max was getting used to the strange, dancing Gamorrean or else he—she?—was learning the correct flight deck signals. In spite of his slightly bouncy, hip-swaying shuffle, she had no problem understanding the instructions to guide the X-wing in. As she climbed out of the cockpit, she spotted some of the other squadron members working on their ships. Joy was doing something to her Y-wing, while a Rodian technician shifted restlessly from side to side nearby. Zara was painting her own ship, ignoring the maintenance droid hovering just behind her. The two ground support who had helped her earlier, the slim, dark-skinned human woman and the tall, gray-skinned Garlass man, were waiting for her.

“Ma’am,” said the woman. “What’s the verdict?”

Max looked them up and down. “Deflector shield generator is a bit erratic. The pulse generation isn’t steady. Could be a bad motivator or a fuse problem. That’s pretty key. Imps might like to fly without shields, but I want all the protection I can get.” She handed the datachit with the flight readouts to the woman, who slipped it into her datapad, and nodded.

“Mm-hmm. And the starboard engine isn’t at optimum.”

“It had a funny noise. I think the centrifugal debris extractor could have a blockage. Stars know there was a big enough debris field, trying to get away from Hoth,” Max added softly.

The Garlass nodded. “We’ll check the extraction vents,” he said. “Sometimes it’s just a bent vane.”

“And the droid socket, of course.” Max pursed her lips. “That’ll be a mess. The whole thing will need to be cut out and replaced, and the wiring checked.”

The woman nodded. “We’ll get right on it,” she said.

Max nodded back. “I need to check in on my own droid and take care of it,” she said, “but as soon as I’ve got him squared away, I’ll come back and give you a hand.”

“What is with all of the Black Sheep?” said the Garlass, chuckling. “That’s our job, ma’am! Officers don’t fix their own ships!”

Max snorted. “I’m a Rebel, not an officer!” she said. “In my old cell, we couldn’t afford not to fix our own ships. We had exactly one ground tech for eight pilots, a guy who ran a maintenance yard, forgot more about fixing ships than I’ll ever know, and he helped us find our way around a hyperdrive.”

The woman smiled. “You’re in the REAL Starfighter Corps now,” she said. “Captain Husk and Lieutenant Felix both came from the Imperial Navy. We do things a little more by the book.”

Max eyed them uncertainly. She wasn’t sure she wanted ex-Imps working on her ship. But she was surrounded by them. What could she do? “What’s his deal?” she asked. “Why would he defect, if he commanded an Imperial carrier?”

The woman and the Garlass exchanged a look.

“He is from Alderaan,” said the Garlass simply. Max didn’t need him to explain further. The sons and daughters of Alderaan had a reputation for pacifism, advocating negotiation and diplomacy to settle disputes. Until the destruction of the Death Star, a few years ago. Many of the Orphans had found their way to the Rebellion. Some were open about their desire for revenge, but most simply vowed that no other world would suffer destruction as theirs had. Even with the Death Star destroyed, they were committed to the fall of the Empire, believing that to be the only way to ensure peace and safety in the Galaxy.

Behind her, Digger whistled. Max glanced at him. “Right,” she said, “I’ll be back to give you a hand. Um, I’m sorry, I didn’t get your names?”

The woman saluted. “Sergeant Emilia Sparkiniss,” she said, “though most people address me as Sparky. This is Private K’Olo-k’eolo.”

“I go by Koko, ma’am,” said the Garlass, baring a double row of extremely sharp teeth in a rather frightening smile.

“Maxime Pallas,” said Max. “I go by Max, not ma’am.”

“Well, not when there are senior officers around,” said Sparky, with a grin. “Okay, we’ll get to work. Don’t worry, we’ll have this kite ticking like a semmox in nesting season.”

Max didn’t know what a semmox was, but she nodded and saluted, signing off on the paperwork that Sparky handed her, and walked towards the droid maintenance shop, with Digger at her side.

“Okay, buddy,” she said. “Let’s get you squared away, and while we do that… Lieutenant Balzroth has a job for us. A special job.” And at some point, she had to find out who the idiot was who decided to get cute out there…

 

IC: Max Pallas
Port droid maintenance workshop
Part Two

It wasn’t easy to get the protective carapace off of Digger, but one of the maintenance droids gave Max a hand—well, a claw. She dropped it in the tank of carzha acid, to dissolve the damaged insulation, then turned her attention to the scorched wiring underneath.

Digger hooted at her. “Yes, right,” she said. She glanced over at the other droid, who was tending to other duties, and took a quick look around the room, noting the location of the security cams. “Right,” she said softly. “Patch into standard diagnostic programming, but we need to go deeper. Streaky wants a particular ship transferred to him, and Sunwalker needs a new X-wing.” She plugged her datapad into Digger to monitor the progress, and began to replace damaged fuses and wires as Digger did its thing.

It wasn’t hard to find the existing requisitions for the Black Sheep. Max took a look at available X-wings first. Six brand new ships, straight from the workshops of Incom! Destined for Rogue Squadron… She shook her head. No, don’t think so. Hobbie Klivian was a nice guy, for an ex-Imp…but his track record with starfighters was downright shameful. No, a nice refurbished job would be better for him. He was going to be stuck in a bacta tank for a few weeks anyway, after his run-in with the AT-AT on Hoth. So… a few keystrokes and a new T-65 was coming Sunwalker’s way. Now, this A-wing…

Max looked at the records of the ships that Kayn had mentioned. Personally, she couldn’t see a damn bit of difference between any of them. Pretty much the same amount of flight time, same maintenance, same stats… Her eyes narrowed. 7841 was currently assigned here on the Intrepid, to Viper Squadron. A pilot named Henri Devlin, Viper 11. Viper 11… where had she heard that? Wait a minute…

She took a closer look. Viper 11! That flathatter who targeted her as she was on her way back to the hangar! It took only a few seconds to pull up his personnel record, deftly avoiding the flags that were set up to catch intrusion (Rebel systems had better security than the Imps she’d encountered, but really… they could use some work). Henri Devlin… Yes! Flight Officer, born on Nubia, trained at the Coruscani Pilots’ Institute –ex-Imp, yeah, that would explain the arrogance. She suppressed a smirk. He didn’t have the number of kills she had, and that was the official record, not including the ones she’d gotten back on Sharan. She hummed a little as she went back to the requisition form and added a line or two. 7841 could go to Balzroth, and Viper 11, a legend in his own mind, would surely be able to coax an excellent performance out of…what was it? Right, 7839.

She slipped out of the requisitions area carefully, making sure that the access logs and internal checkthroughs were blanked. Digger beeped softly, assuring her that any questions wouldn't lead to them. She didn’t know he’d used NotMax’s code sign to mask his entry. Any flak would go to the R5 unit.

Max looked thoughtfully at Devlin’s record, and chuckled. It seemed to her that the young man was overdue for a complete physical. A very, very…thorough physical. Colon cancer was, after all, treatable, but only if caught early enough. The tests were…unpleasant and extremely uncomfortable, but not harmful. Really, he should thank her for worrying about his health and fitness. It only took a moment to slip into the medical facility systems and insert a ping, a notification that Flight Officer Devlin was due.

She slid out again, carefully covering her tracks. Double and triple checking, she closed down altogether, and did the actual assessment for Digger. “Lost the A-wing schematics? Yeah, we can fix that.” Done and done. Digger detached from the Intrepid’s systems, and Max checked its other programming from her datapad. All the important stuff was there, but… “Oh, man, not Episode Ten?”

Digger whistled sadly as Max made a face. Episode Six of Jett Starseeker was no loss, really, it was a filler episode. But Episodes Ten and Eleven set up the whole series finale, as Jett’s young Padawan, Gari-Avit, was lured away from the path of the Jedi by the seductive red-headed assassin, Jayda.

Max patted Digger’s dome. “Not your fault, Digs,” she said. “Accidents happen. We’ll find it somewhere else, I’m sure. No way some Imperial librarian didn’t stash it off the books. Every librarian I’ve ever known has been a subersive at heart.”

She was just unplugging her datapad when there was a sound at the door.

“What are you doing?”

Tag: Anyone

OOC: I don’t know why I think Hotshot’s name is Henri… I swear I saw it somewhere.

 

Joint Post: Kayn Balzroth, Max Pallas
Aboard Intrepid

"What are you doing?" asked Kayn, stepping into the droid diagnostics lab. "Is your droid having problems? Maybe you can requisition a new one. I'm trying to track down that caf-droid to whip up some decent grub for the big party tonight. You seen that droid anywhere?"

"Had an exposed wire in the socket, he needed a few fixes. I definitely don't want a new one; he's got some...special talents, but you already know that. Strictly off the record..." Max chuckled, and softly told Kayn about her run-in with Viper 11 and her revenge. As she refitted Digger's body, she added, "I'd as soon not do any more slicing here on the Intrepid. Too many incursions increases the risk of getting caught and them tightening security."

"You sliced the requisition? Has it been transmitted yet? When can I get my A-wing? Now?" Kayn was practically hopping with excitement, not realizing he was acting like a little kid who desperately needed to pee.

Max arched an eyebrow. "It'll get here when it gets here! Oh, and I've got an X-wing on order for Sergeant Sunwalker. That might take a little longer; we're going into hyperspace soon." She plugged the nozzle for the foam into the appropriate opening and dispensed new insulation into Digger. "Five minutes, and you'll be good to go, buddy."

Kayn forced himself to calm down. Let me think... What could go wrong now? Maybe the Vipers will (rightfully) claim there was a mix-up with the datawork and that they gave me the wrong ship. What can I do to make sure they don't want it back? Hmmm...

He turned to go, then remembered Max was still there. Paladin would have chided him for rudely walking out on her, especially after she had just done him a favor. A big favor. "Thanks, Max, uh, good job, well done." Paladin always said it was easy to be polite to people. Easy for him, maybe. Or maybe I just need to practice.

The Black Sheep hangar bay was busy. After a few minutes of searching through the bustle, he found the paint locker. And a can of black-ish paint, with a note, obviously from Zero. KISS MY EXHAUST PORT. Kayn added a line under that. PUCKER UP, BABE. LOVE, THIN MINT.

Paint located, he turned to a rack of stencils. There was a new one on the top of the stack. Good, someone was on the ball and had prepped a Black Sheep Squadron emblem. Excellent! The minute 7841 parks, I'll get our insignia painted on. The Vipers might not want it back after we've marked it as ours. Might as well put a plague warning on it, as popular as this squadron is.

Stepping back into the hangar, he accosted a random droid. "You there, droid, there's going to be another A-wing coming in here soon. See to it that I'm notified the moment it gets here, and get the dorsal fins prepped for painting. Got that?"

Not trusting the droid to understand simple instructions, Kayn decided to find the squadron maintenance chief and make sure things went smoothly with his new ship's transfer. Which one of these wrench-benders looks like he's in charge? Surely somebody is trying to keep all these fracking droids in line.

 

IC: Max Pallas
Black Sheep Hangar, Rebel Carrier Intrepid

Max headed back towards the hangar, with Digger at her side, gleaming in a freshly applied coat of paint, white with accents of dark blue. She could see the techs working on her ship, four in all. Sparky and an older human male were huddled over the deflector shield generator, while the massive Koko was with another human at the back of the X-wing. The centrifugal debris extractor was in pieces on the floor. The problem, she learned, was indeed a blockage, which had bent one of the vanes on the vent. As soon as they replaced the vent shield, they'd reassemble it, no problem. The deflector shield generator was proving more problematic, and Sparky had decided to replace the entire fuse assembly and all of the power conduits. That would take a while.

"Still," said Sparky, wiping lubricant off her hands, "she'll be ready for painting tomorrow morning."

"Good," said Max. "I've got some special instructions for the paint job, from the flight leader, so I want to be on hand."

"Run along to lunch, ma'am," said Sparky. "We'll get this done."

"You don't want help?"

The young woman chuckled. "Frankly, ma'am, you'll be more help if you stay out of our hair!" Max grinned, she could appreciate that.

"Comm me if you need me," she said. She headed towards the mess hall, moving towards a pile of crates with legs. No, it was someone carrying a pile of crates. As Max drew close, the top one started to slide. She dived forward, grabbing it and easing it off the top of the stack. "I got it, you're okay!"

TAG: @galactic-vagabond422

 

IC: Ianna 'Kid' Mcear
Black Sheep Hangar, Rebel Carrier Intrepid

After painting her name on her ship, and naming her big sister, Ianna decided to make herself useful. She spent most of that time just running around picking up this and that, doing whatever she could to help. Mostly that involved carrying parts or tools from one place to another. The young woman was happy to help, not like she had a lot else going on and it let her get to know the crew that would be working on her sister.

"Hey...Kid." one of the techs called out, an Zabrak in simple grey overalls, the name on his chest 'Aarcadi'. Ianna made her way over smile on her face. "Got a lot of parts here for an X-Wing, Bay 24. Can you take them over there? Load lifter's on other tasks."

"Yep, you can count on me."

"They're over there." The taller being gestured over to a stack of metal crates stacked higher than Ianna herself.

"Ok," The pilot said quietly to herself as she walked over to the stack. She took a deep breath getting into position to lift the mass. Her father taught her the proper way to lift,

"With you legs, not your back." He would chide.

She wedged her fingers under the edge of the bottom crate and took another breath. With a great heave she stood her arms straining her legs holding firm.

"You don't have to take the whole thing..." Aarcadi said eyes wide at the feat.

"No...No...I got this." Ianna's face was red her voice strained but, she would not put down her load, this was her charge she would see it out. With an unwomanly grunt she took a step, then another, and another. It was getting easier but, her arms were already starting to burn, but she could take it.

As she continued on her quest, to deliver these parts to their intended location, she felt a bit of wobbling come from above.

"No," she said quietly to herself, "No nononono." she continued willing the part to stay were it should.

Then a voice called out, a female one. She looked to see another pilot, she recognized her grey eyes and dark brown hair, Pallas right.

"Thanks," she eked out between gritted teeth. Her brow was furrowed her dark blonde hair braided and running down her straining back hidden under her bright green and white Patriot's jersey. "Mind putting that back on the stack. These have to go to Bay 24."

@Mistress_Renata