Irma Kinton
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Dec 15, 2018
- Messages
- 159
- Reaction score
- 53
THE INNER RIM, PLANET CHARDAAN, A SPACEPORT SOMEWHERE ON THE SURFACE...
Irma Kinton, space pilot, librarian, blasterfighter and amateur vehicular combatant, cursed as she re-seated a xylen integrated circuit.
"Guh! I have just about had it with this thing!"
Not so long ago, the diminutive Tintinna had blasted off from Corellia on the second leg of her journey to find out the truth about her family's past. She had gone off in search of the Ossein, mysterious spacefaring nomads who - she hoped - would have information about the distant past, about things the vast Corellian central archive did not record. She had found it romantic, in a way; the lone star-pilot, off in search of the truth, likely following the same path that her distant ancestor had centuries before.
She could have picked a better ship for the job, though.
The ship had been a rescue, a partially disassembled derelict she had found at the back of a Corellian used starship lot. It was a starfighter, an old TS-1 Sunbolt that Irma had affectionately dubbed the Khurel. The Tintinna had always thought that the Sunbolt was a misunderstood classic; she adored its sleek, speedy-looking lines, its unique tubular cockpit, its gleaming inoxium skin. She had spent months restoring the Khurel to working order, had put blood, sweat and tears into the endeavor.
Not all of it had been her blood, as a few Corellian street punks had discovered when they had tried to steal the astromech socket intended for the ship. The episode still gave Irma nightmares, but she had survived.
Of course owning and flying a classic starfighter was not proving everything it was cracked up to be.
Prior to owning a starship of her own, Irma had flown small airspeeders and skiffs as a hobby before she had set out from her home on Delacrix. At that point, she had only been into space a few times, and then only for short hops. Based on that experience, a starfighter like the Khurel seemed ideal; a high-performance runabout, big enough for herself and her droid! What could be better?
Plenty, as it turned out.
There was a reason people tended to travel long distances in things like light freighters, Irma had quickly discovered; there was room to get up and walk around, to stretch, to lie down. Irma, in the confines of her cockpit, had to sit in the same position for hours, sometimes days, and had learned to take advantage of every opportunity to stop and stretch her legs, no matter how briefly. That doing so significantly lengthened what - in a normal-sized ship - would have been relatively direct journeys, well it was a sacrifice Irma was willing to make.
And then there was the maintenance.
"Okay, okay, did that work?"
Squirming out of the guts of the spacecraft, Irma wormed her way back into the starfighter's cockpit, checking the readouts and indicators that glowed on the efficiently laid out control panel that backed the ship's nosecone. With ID-3R02, Irma's droid copilot, off doing errands, she would have to check on the results of her work herself.
The Tintinna's expression lifted more and more as, before her eyes, the panel gradually transitioned from red to green. She pumped her fist in triumph, swinging into the seat.
The TS-1 Sunbolt's manufacturer was long extinct, the victim of hubris and a product that was long on promises but only average in results. Irma didn't hold it against the Khurel, it was a decent machine no matter what people said, but that didn't change the fact that dealership networks and OEM components were basically nonexistent. Things broke down on the little fighter, like they would on any small craft, but for Irma it was usually more of a struggle to get things going again when they did.
Case in point, the power core she had just spent several hours coaxing back to life.
Ironically, the power core was not some strange proprietary design that was hard to get parts for, it just wasn't any more reliable than it had to be. Tacspeed Systems - the Sunbolt's original manufacturer - had originally been developing a high-tech new power-plant and drive system for the ship, but had been forced to drop in a mass-market replacement in order to get the ships out on time. The result was a ship that had parts that didn't quite fit, and so when things did go wrong, it was usually something of an ordeal to set them right. More than that, old equipment developed more problems than new, usually, and Irma was fairly sure that her ship's power core was a factory original, with all that entailed.
Still, Irma had managed. The Khurel, Force willing, would run smoothly for a little while longer. The Tintinna was proud of herself.
It was at that moment that she heard voices.
The Tintinna had rented a spot in a fairly small hangar bay, a quiet place to work. She hadn't met anyone for hours aside from a few custodial droids, and they were gone now.
She peered out of the transparisteel of her cockpit canopy, staring at the small group of figures a few meters away. Their backs were turned to her, and she could hear them talking among themselves.
What's going on here?
@Nor'baal @Sabrina @Faster Than Light
Irma Kinton, space pilot, librarian, blasterfighter and amateur vehicular combatant, cursed as she re-seated a xylen integrated circuit.
"Guh! I have just about had it with this thing!"
Not so long ago, the diminutive Tintinna had blasted off from Corellia on the second leg of her journey to find out the truth about her family's past. She had gone off in search of the Ossein, mysterious spacefaring nomads who - she hoped - would have information about the distant past, about things the vast Corellian central archive did not record. She had found it romantic, in a way; the lone star-pilot, off in search of the truth, likely following the same path that her distant ancestor had centuries before.
She could have picked a better ship for the job, though.
The ship had been a rescue, a partially disassembled derelict she had found at the back of a Corellian used starship lot. It was a starfighter, an old TS-1 Sunbolt that Irma had affectionately dubbed the Khurel. The Tintinna had always thought that the Sunbolt was a misunderstood classic; she adored its sleek, speedy-looking lines, its unique tubular cockpit, its gleaming inoxium skin. She had spent months restoring the Khurel to working order, had put blood, sweat and tears into the endeavor.
Not all of it had been her blood, as a few Corellian street punks had discovered when they had tried to steal the astromech socket intended for the ship. The episode still gave Irma nightmares, but she had survived.
Of course owning and flying a classic starfighter was not proving everything it was cracked up to be.
Prior to owning a starship of her own, Irma had flown small airspeeders and skiffs as a hobby before she had set out from her home on Delacrix. At that point, she had only been into space a few times, and then only for short hops. Based on that experience, a starfighter like the Khurel seemed ideal; a high-performance runabout, big enough for herself and her droid! What could be better?
Plenty, as it turned out.
There was a reason people tended to travel long distances in things like light freighters, Irma had quickly discovered; there was room to get up and walk around, to stretch, to lie down. Irma, in the confines of her cockpit, had to sit in the same position for hours, sometimes days, and had learned to take advantage of every opportunity to stop and stretch her legs, no matter how briefly. That doing so significantly lengthened what - in a normal-sized ship - would have been relatively direct journeys, well it was a sacrifice Irma was willing to make.
And then there was the maintenance.
"Okay, okay, did that work?"
Squirming out of the guts of the spacecraft, Irma wormed her way back into the starfighter's cockpit, checking the readouts and indicators that glowed on the efficiently laid out control panel that backed the ship's nosecone. With ID-3R02, Irma's droid copilot, off doing errands, she would have to check on the results of her work herself.
The Tintinna's expression lifted more and more as, before her eyes, the panel gradually transitioned from red to green. She pumped her fist in triumph, swinging into the seat.
The TS-1 Sunbolt's manufacturer was long extinct, the victim of hubris and a product that was long on promises but only average in results. Irma didn't hold it against the Khurel, it was a decent machine no matter what people said, but that didn't change the fact that dealership networks and OEM components were basically nonexistent. Things broke down on the little fighter, like they would on any small craft, but for Irma it was usually more of a struggle to get things going again when they did.
Case in point, the power core she had just spent several hours coaxing back to life.
Ironically, the power core was not some strange proprietary design that was hard to get parts for, it just wasn't any more reliable than it had to be. Tacspeed Systems - the Sunbolt's original manufacturer - had originally been developing a high-tech new power-plant and drive system for the ship, but had been forced to drop in a mass-market replacement in order to get the ships out on time. The result was a ship that had parts that didn't quite fit, and so when things did go wrong, it was usually something of an ordeal to set them right. More than that, old equipment developed more problems than new, usually, and Irma was fairly sure that her ship's power core was a factory original, with all that entailed.
Still, Irma had managed. The Khurel, Force willing, would run smoothly for a little while longer. The Tintinna was proud of herself.
It was at that moment that she heard voices.
The Tintinna had rented a spot in a fairly small hangar bay, a quiet place to work. She hadn't met anyone for hours aside from a few custodial droids, and they were gone now.
She peered out of the transparisteel of her cockpit canopy, staring at the small group of figures a few meters away. Their backs were turned to her, and she could hear them talking among themselves.
What's going on here?
@Nor'baal @Sabrina @Faster Than Light
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