Jolinar surveyed the Corellian countryside as she soared over it in her NL1 starfighter.  The nimble craft had been given to her as half of her payment for a job she’d done on Naboo as a teenager, while she was based on Tattooine.  Her temporary employer had mistakenly believed the craft was beyond repair and would never be worth anything.  In the end, he had been the one who was cheated when Jolinar met a mechanic old enough to be her grandfather that had helped build and maintain NL1’s.  The old man had regaled her with tales of the famed Battle of Naboo between the Trade Confederacy and the local population.

One of the alarms on the control console beeped a warning.  Jolinar looked down at the display screen and cursed.  A storm was approaching swiftly from the port and stern.  She was going to have to make a run for a nearby ravine.  It was the best spot she could find for waiting out the storm.  From the readouts, the storm was going to be a nasty one, and it was BIG.  She fed more power to the engines and angled towards the ravine.  It was anyone’s guess whether or not she was going to be able to make a landing before the storm hit.  Without an astromech droid, attempting to fly through such a storm was suicidal, even by Mandalorian standards.

Jolinar was still a few kilometers away from the safety of the ravine when a wind gust slammed into her starfighter from behind.  She struggled for control, fighting the wind every step of the way.  Another powerful gust slammed into her from the port side just as the other one stopped.  She was pushed several kilometers off-course, and cursed again.  She regained control of the craft and got herself back on course.  She made it to the ravine and flew close to the ground looking for the best spot to land.  She spotted some rocks clumped together in a sort of U-shaped formation that was big enough to hold two NL1’s with room to spare.  She had almost reached it when a powerful downdraft pushed the fighter to the ground.  Clods of dirt and grass flew up and Jolinar winced at the sounds of tearing metal.  She was thrown against her harness as the craft came up hard against the boulders she’d been making for, stern first.  The engines sputtered and died.  Jolinar still had full power to everything else, but according to the damage reports, the engine was going to need to be completely replaced.  She thought about the spare parts she always brought with her, and thought she might be able to patch together enough of the engine to be able to get it to a settlement of some kind, but there was no way she was going to be able to get it all the way back to the city without extensive repairs.  She sighed and shut down all non-essential systems and attempted some meditation techniques she’d picked up somewhere and waited for the storm to pass.

Roughly three hours later, Jolinar woke suddenly.  At first she didn’t recall where she was or what it was that had awakened her.  She shifted slightly, and met a little resistance.  Then she recalled she was in her crashed starfighter somewhere in the Corellian countryside.  It must have been the cessation of the rain and thunder that had caused her to wake up.  She unbuckled her harness and popped the canopy.  A few clouds still lingered and the wind gusted on occasion, but the storm had passed.  She pulled the lever for a pressurized compartment on the side of the craft and outside on the starboard side near the stern, a door opened.  Jolinar landed numbly on her feet and pulled her toolbox and parts box from the compartment and headed back to assess the damage.  She was glad that for once she'd gotten up early in the morning to go for a joyride.  There was still plenty of light left for her to work on her engine.

Jolinar opened the main access hatch for the engine.  It was large enough for her to go inside as far as her waist.  It was uncomfortable lying there with her back end and legs hanging over the edge, but she ignored the discomfort and shone her glow rod over the engine.  The damage wasn’t as bad as she’d feared, and some of the parts were salvageable.  Most had to be discarded, however.  She pulled out all the charred and disconnected wires she could reach from her current position and sorted them out into two separate piles—what was salvageable and what wasn’t.  The reusable wires she set on one portion of a piece of canvas.  She would use the other side for the small parts and the components that were reusable.  That done, she went back inside and pulled out all the parts and components that were destroyed and threw them in the discard pile.  She set aside parts that had potentially salvageable components in a third pile.  Checking over her work, Jolinar grunted satisfaction and repeated the process through the other maintenance hatches.  By the time she was done, the discard pile was up to her knees.  The other two were pitifully small in comparison.  She sighed and sat down to sort through the partially usable parts.  Most of them she ended up discarding because there were only a couple of components in each worth keeping.  The rest she repaired with spare components pulled from her box of parts.  She surveyed her work, and satisfied, she set to repairing the engine as much as she could.

Three hours later and covered in engine grease and smelling of hydraulic fluid, Jolinar cursed loudly and fluently in every language she knew, inventing new words and phrases when the ones she knew ran out.  She thought she had repaired the engine enough to limp it to the nearest settlement, but it turned out the two servos she needed had been damaged in the crash, and she didn’t have replacements.  She went over to the discard pile and threw parts everywhere until she found what she was looking for.  She cracked open the casings and hurled the servos as hard as she could, uttering several choice words and phrases in Mando’a.  The insides had been fried by the surge of power that cooked most of the engine when it slammed into the boulders.  She took several deep breaths to calm herself.  While she was wondering if she could cannibalize her fighter's weapons for the needed servos, something tugged at the back of her mind.  As she scanned her environment, she unholstered the DE-10 blaster pistols she kept strapped to either side of her waist and set her thumbs to the safety catches.

Jolinar whirled around and pointed both her blasters at the strangers as soon as she heard their footsteps and voices.  She smirked at them and lowered her weapons, though she didn’t holster them just yet.  They were just puppies, really.  About the age of her foster brother, Raist...mid-teens or so, if she guessed right.  It wasn't always easy to judge a human's age, despite the fact that she had grown up around mostly humans.  She was better at reading human facial expressions and judging ages than most of her race, though.  She studied them a moment, noting the obvious interest of the older one.

“If you boys happen to have a couple of these servos handy, I just have to plug them in and I can coax this thing over to that ranch you mentioned” Jolinar said in Mando’a, indicating her starfighter with a slight not of her head and kicking one of the damaged servos over to the boys.  She finally holstered her weapons, tucked her thumbs lazily into her belt, and leaned against her starfighter with one ankle casually crossed over the other.  To a distant observer, she would appear to be perfectly at her ease.  In a way she was, but she was also ready to spring into action at the slightest hint that these two were anything other than what they appeared to be.  “I’m Sam Antha.  You can call me Sam, or Jolinar.”

Jolinar gave him permission to check over her fighter, but warned him that if he damaged anything she was going to take it out of his hide.  "Oh, and try not to scratch the paint" she said with a smirk.  She promised she'd tell them how she'd acquired the fighter once they'd gotten the day's business taken care of.

Jolinar eyed the old woman appraisingly.  Speaking perfect Mando'a, she replied "I'm Sam Antha of Clan Antha.  I go by either 'Sam' or 'Jolinar'."  She made the appropriate greeting gestures to show she had no hostile intent as she spoke.  Continuing in basic she said "these two provided a couple of part for me to be able to limp Starchaser here to your ranch.  Thanks to that...storm, she's in need of a full overhaul on the engine."  Jolinar hesitated only slightly before saying 'storm', swallowing the swear word she'd been about to utter.  She'd been raised not to swear in front of someone of advanced age, unless permission had been given.  Jolinar began mentally calculating the potential payment for the repairs, as well as food and lodging and how much she was willing to pay.  She didn't ask, knowing the time would come soon enough to discuss business.

Jolinar accepted the terms.  She told a few stories about the family she'd grown up with.  She fulfilled her promise and told the story of how she acquired the NL1 (omitting certain details such as her employer and the job she'd been hired for), and shared some of the stories the old mechanic had told her.  A few of the people stared openly at first, never having seen a twi'lek up close before and some having never seen one at all.  Jolinar made it clear she was aware of their scrutiny, and then ignored it.  Several people asked questions that she answered as honestly as she could.  She didn't talk the entire time...several others recalled stories of their own that they shared.  Eventually, dinner ended.  With much relief, Jolinar bid the crowd good night and, guided by one of the many children in residence, headed for her room.

The following morning, Jolinar was up early to start work on her starfighter.  She began by removing the hull plates from the back half of the fighter.  Most of them needed to be replaced anyway, after that rough landing.  What was reusable she leaned against a wall next to the workbench.  The rest she tossed onto a repulsorsled to be taken to the scrap pile later.  She removed every piece of the engine and arranged the parts on the workbench.  She sorted through every piece, component, and wire.  The bigger pieces of wire she set cleaned and set aside to go into her box of spare parts.  The rest she discarded, seeing that there were enough materials to build at least a squadron of similar fighters.  Most of the engine parts and components got discarded as well.  Jolinar kept a few pieces out to go into her spare parts box.  She carefully cleaned and examined the engine housing, and saw several large cracks in it.  She added that to the repulsorsled.  Checking her chrono, Jolinar saw that she'd spent the entire morning in the shop.  She stretched out a few kinks and took the repulsorsled to the scrap heap and dumped the load.  She returned the sled to the shop and took a quick sonic shower before heading to the kitchens for lunch.

Jolinar's afternoon was spent learning her way around the farm and helping with a few quick jobs here and there.  Dinner that night was much like the first, with the difference that Jolinar aided in the clean-up afterwards.  One of the children, a little girl about six years old, summoned the courage to tug Jolinar's pant-leg and ask to touch her lekku to prove to another child that she wasn't scared of Jolinar and that the lekku were real.  Fighting off a grin, Jolinar allowed it.  She laughed out loud when the girl returned to the other child's side and stuck out her tongue in an 'I told you so' gesture.  Chores done for the day, Jolinar went back to her room and fell exhausted into bed.

Jolinar rolled out of bed and ran for the door, grabbing her slugthrower...a Self-Defense Engine, Frontier Model B pistol...and one of her KYD-21 blaster pistols as she went.  The blaster she tucked into the waistband of her pants at the small of her back, and the slugthrower she kept in her hand.  The bare floor was a little chilly under her bare feet, but her loose-legged pants and loose tunic kept her warm enough in spite of that.  Jolinar followed the source of the noise at an easy jog, putting on a burst of speed when she heard the first blaster shot.  She arrived at the scene in time to hear a male identify himself, and not be killed on the spot.  She walked up behind and to one side of Grandma, not bothering to move silently.  She stopped close enough to be able to provide assistance if needed but far enough away to not be intrusive.  Jolinar couldn't quite contain a snicker when she saw the male get shot in the leg and banished to the barn for the night.

"I'm fine.  Just making sure I have all the supplies I need before that storm hits.  If I have to run out for parts, I will be very unhappy."  Jolinar hadn't bothered reaching for a weapon, figuring that anyone who came down to the hangar was known and at least tolerated by Grandma.  If it were any different, she'd have heard the fighting long before anyone got into the compound this far.  There were too many people around for any stranger to get very far.

Jolinar had made pretty decent progress on rebuilding her engine.  She'd found a casing the day before tucked into the back of a storeroom covered in a dusty cloth.  She'd spent the day before cleaning and inspecting it when she wasn't doing chores around the ranch.  Today, she installed it and was checking to make sure all the bolts were tightened down and secured with a thin strand of metal so they wouldn't vibrate out of their sockets while she was in flight.  She checked the last bolt and stepped out from the other side of her fighter.

"Quit playing with that thing and put it back where I had it."  She snapped, pointing her sonic screwdriver at the newcomer.  "I don't care if you're the karking Emporer.  You don't come in here and start playing with someone else's tools any more than you'd go into their house and play with their weapons."  The human opened his mouth to say something, and she cut him off.  "I'm using them, so for the time being, they're mine."  The human shut his mouth and put the fusion cutter back on the table.  "Now, who are you?" she said in a calmer tone.  "I'm guessing you're fairly well known here, or you wouldn't be this far into the compound.  At least, not by choice."  Jolinar smirked slightly when she said the last sentence.

Jolinar was a bit irritated that he'd ignored the fact that she didn't particularly need help, and that he started working on her fighter before she'd given permission.  Then she figured that it was that much less work she had to do.  She didn't know or trust him, so she would go back over her craft and check everything to make sure he hadn't screwed up or intentionally done anything.  Some would call her caution paranoia...but to her, paranoia was just another word for longevity.  Taken in moderation, of course.  Extremes of anything could kill you.

"Sam Antha, clan Antha.  Ordinarily, if someone dared to touch any of my fighters without getting my permission first, I'd blast their heads off.  Only reason I haven't done that yet is because I'm a guest here.  Well...that and it would make Grandma pretty pissed at me, and she'd be likely to kick my shebs into next week if she didn't blast me first."  Jolinar paused a moment.  "I will be checking everything you've done when you're finished to make sure you didn't botch or sabotage anything.  I mean that as a simple statement of fact."  Jolinar hooked her thumbs into her belt, which put her hands near her twin KYD-21 blaster pistols.  She had a couple of blades on her too, but those weren't visible.  The thought crossed her mind that she needed a hold-out blaster.  Even when presumably among friends, she didn't go unarmed.  The only time she was unarmed was when she absolutely had to be...and she was careful to avoid such circumstances as much as possible.  She smirked to herself.  Growing up, her security blanket-type of things were firearms and blades where most children had a stuffed animal or blanket.  It was one of the few childhood habits she still retained.

Jolinar smirked.  "Yes, she would."  She checked over the work he'd done very carefully, checking for even a slight hint of anything out of place.  Everything was where it belonged, with no scratches or dents, and everything was as clean as it could be in an engine.  "As to that hyperdrive, if you happen to have a small enough one lying around, bring it out so I can look at it."  Jolinar leaned against her fighter and looked expectant but skeptical.

"You did what?  Why?  It would make more sense for you to have given everything to a clan member that you've known your whole life.  Or even another squadron member you've known a long time.  Like the wookiee."  Jolinar paused.  "Not that I don't appreciate it and all, but...it's just unexpected."

"I know it is.  You're sort of a clan member now anyway.  You've been here long enough that everyone's pretty much accepted you as family.  Besides, you're the only other Mando'ad that was in Kaph."  Sovern tried for teasing, but his embarrassment came through loud and clear to Jolinar.

"Ok then.  But be warned.  You gave it to me free and clear.  You're not getting it back when you come back from your mission."  Jolinar replied, going with the teasing part.

"Well...I guess I'd better go finish up the last minute stuff.  Now that you're fighter here's been fixed up, I have to leave.  Enjoy your new toys."  The former squadron mates shook hands in farewell, and Sovern left on his mission.

Jolinar retrieved the appropriate access information and documentation and officially took possession of her inheritance.  She made her way to the hangar outside her new house, and opened the doors.  All her other fighters and ships had been moved in to it as well as the new ones.

"Frak me sideways!  I've got enough spacecraft here to be considered a private fleet!  A personal squadron at bare minimum!"  Jolinar spent the rest of the night personally inspecting every inch of every one of her new vehicles.  She was going to have fun testing all the systems.  At least...the systems on the ones she didn't need an entire crew for.  Those that did...well, to get a crew all she had to do was commission some of the Clan members.  Since she had Grandma's authority while in residence, it wouldn't be hard at all.  An almost manic gleam appeared in her eye as she tried to decide which of her new toys she'd play with first.

OOC:

Story is now closed.