The small side-hangar in the IFC-II Fearless had been originally a private shuttle-hangar for dignitaries, but now it had been converted by the more practical Vast Empire splinter faction into a repair bay for damaged vehicles – something made very apparent be the dinged-up TIE Interceptor that was now resting in the room, propped up by a pair of cranes built into the ceiling of the hangar bay. Parts of the fighter were littered around underneath it, seemingly at random. From a C-pod sitting on the floor, linked to a pair of speakers, some strangely catchy music was playing (rather loud), and from the bowels of the damaged fighter came the reassuring sound of curses, bangs and crashes. It was clear that someone was currently in the task of attempting to fix the damned craft…and wasn’t particularly enjoying it.
Despite appearances, nothing could be farther from the truth. Though he was routinely using language that would make the population of Nar Shadaa as a whole feel sick (or more sick, given the air quality there), he was thoroughly enjoying what he was doing – that was why he’d volunteered to have a crack at the Interceptor whilst the rest of the mechanics team was working on some higher-priority repairs. He still wasn’t sure why the crew had trusted him with the burnt-out fighter, but he was damn glad for the chance to relax and unwind from the rigorous business of training to be a fighter pilot. If his way of relaxing was to swear at this dren-infused fierfecker of a fighter, then that was his business. Garbed in the jet-black pants of a navy cadet, with some plastoid-capped armoured boots from his time as a defence force officer and his navy-issue undershirt, the man’s gear was stained with sweat as he struggled with the mess of electronics and wiring that had been made of the craft.
After all, take enough hits from a Y-Wing Bomber’s Ion cannon, and the electrical systems in a fighter weren’t going to be shorted out for a while – they would burn out completely. Trainee Sam Dunn had spent the better part of the last two days stripping out the damaged electrical components and wiring from the crippled craft, and had made sure to do a full inventory of all the items and request replacements be brought down from the main storage area. He’d only just received those parts from a loader droid, and had began the complex job of re-wiring and soldering everything. Every chip, every wire, every bit of electronics in the entire fighter. It was going to be a hell of a job, but he was determined to not let this damn thing beat him. He was currently hanging upside down from the top hatch of the fighter, his legs bent at the knee and hooked around the lip of the hatch to keep him balanced, as he re-installed the ships targeting computer, and wired it to the sensors system that he had only just replaced. A soldering iron in one gloved hand, a datachip in the other and a mass of wiring clamped between his teeth, at least now his cursing was muffled as he burned his thumb yet again.
After welding the main chassis for the computer back in place, he looked at the holographic display that he had placed on the floor of the cockpit again. Connect node 53A to chip F2, solder into place – DAMN! Another burn, but at least the part was connected properly. Okay, so connect node 53A to node 26C through wiring…solder…hah! No burns this time. Sam let out a muffled grunt of victory, and proceeded onto the next one. Re-wiring a fighter wasn’t a particularly difficult task, just fiddly and very, very time consuming – just stripping out the damaged parts had taken a day and a half. He fully expected the job to take an entire week, but he didn’t care. He had a week off after the first part of his one-year training course, and he planned to use it bringing this old thing back up to operational status.
Putting his mind back to the task of hand, he wiped his brow with the back of his gloved hand, and, yep, more sweat. It was stinking hot in here, and his shirt was well and truly stained beyond repair. Pretty burned, too. He didn’t mind, though. Okay, so that was the link between the concussion missile bay and the scanners done, now to hook them up to the targeting computer, and he should be able to get missile lock…
*TWO HOURS LATER*Sam Jack Dunn sat in the pilots seat of the under-repairs TIE Interceptor, and closed the panel of the targeting computer, making sure all of the wires and cables were neatly bundled and stowed inside it so that they wouldn’t bounce around during flight and become disconnected. Now, it was the moment of truth. He pressed the activation button on the targeting computer, and held his breath. After a few tense seconds, lights started to flicker on and off, and the screen came to life.
SCANNING AVAILABLE WEAPONS – CONCUSSION MISSILE DETECTED. LOADED MUNITIONS: 0. RUN TARGETING TEST? [Y/N]
Sam Dunn, of course, selected Y. After a few tense moments, the screen switched to the targeting display, and started to run through a simulation diagnostic, scanning for random objects in the hangar and then targeting them. After about three minutes, Sam had learned that the magazine was linked correctly, the missile launchers were linked to the scanners and computer – but the port-side launcher wasn’t connected to the main generator. Cursing himself, he powered down the whole thing and grabbed some wiring and a soldering iron, descending once more into the bowels of the fighter. From outside, more bangs and crashes could be heard as the frustrated cadet hunted down the problem with the determination of a starving Reek, and with the same delicacy, ripped the malfunctioning component out. About ten minutes later, he’d managed to rectify the problem. Twenty minutes later, the diagnostic was successfully completed. Missile launcher was all good.
Now for the laser cannons…
*SIX DAYS LATER*The Chief Mechanic had taken some time off of his lunch break each day for the past week to check in on the young recruit as he put back together the fried starfighter, piece by piece. He’d written it off as needing a full rehaul that would take too many man-hours to be worth taking up the time of his crew, who were needed to maintain the vehicles that were working, perform flight checks, assist the pilots in entering and exiting their fighters, and perform repairs on more critical craft than a lowly Interceptor. When the young recruit had seen the wrecked fighter, the Chief remembered the way the kid’s eyes had lit up. It reminded him of the first time he’d seen a broken astromech droid, when he was a youngling. So, when the pilot trainee had asked for the chance to try his own hand at repairing it, the Mechanic had given him the manual, the schematics and the requisitions forms he’d need, and told him to go nuts.
The first few days the kid had seemed very stressed as he ripped out one fried component after another. That was the hardest part of major rehauls, the psychological attack when you realized just how big a job it was, and how unglamorous. He had thought for sure that the trainee would give up, but he’d been proven wrong. Swearing, cursing and promising revenge on the machine every step of the way, Trainee Sam Dunn had put it back together piece by piece. He’d just had a qualified pilot run it through its paces out in the black (the guy had seemed eager to volunteer, perhaps hoping to earn some brownie points), and it had done everything asked of it. The pilot had noted that the fighter was very highly manuverable, and so responsive that it seemed actually dangerous to fly it – obviously, the cadet had managed to re-haul the power management system and come up with a few improvements. It was a solid fighter, but anyone who tried to fly it would probably get himself killed…except maybe someone who knew it down to every single nut and bolt…
“Well, trainee. It looks like the fighter works perfectly…a little too perfectly. I don’t know what you did to it, but she flies like a swoop-bike on steroids now. Tell you what – I’ll hold onto it until you pass your training, and then assign it directly to you. She’ll remain Imperial property, but otherwise, she’s yours. You did a good job – I’ll pass along a recommendation that you receive a Starship Mechanics qualification.”Sam Dunn looked absolutely shocked – he’d just worked on it as a side-project, he had no expectation of getting any qualifications out of it, or even being assigned the fighter as a reward! He’d just wanted to get to know how they worked better. He threw a crisp, sharp salute the Chief’s way in acknowledgement of the reward, and was grinning from ear to ear. The two continued talking for a short time, about innovations of the TIE Interceptor over the original fighter, of the merits and disadvantages of the VE modifications, and over starfighters in general. Ten minutes later, the two parted ways, each with a little more respect in the other.
- OOC:
- 1,570 words. Alternate title "GODDDAMN MACHINE!"
