Star Wars_ X-Wing 01_ Rogue Squadron - Michael A. Stackpole [28]
Emtrey translated and the Verpine started buzzing. Wedge couldn’t figure out what was being said, but the friendly pat on the arm by the insect-man told Wedge the enthusiasm he heard was positive. “Emtrey, what did you tell him?”
“I told him that you think this ship is superior to what it was in its pre-molt stage. That is high praise. He is saying that he has a passion for restoring antiques like this and has taken the liberty to make minor adjustments that will enhance performance.”
“Oh, wonderful.” Wedge smiled and kept his tone light. The Verpine, with their fascination for technology and with eyesight that allows them to spot microscopic details—like stress fractures—without magnifying equipment, made for some of the best tech support in the galaxy. They were also known, however, for tinkering with the ships for which they cared. Wedge had never had a problem in that regard, but stories abounded about ships where the controls had been reconfigured into what a Verpine found would be a much better alignment—not realizing most pilots did not have microscopic vision or didn’t think in base six.
Continuing to smile, Wedge mounted the ladder an assistant tech ran up against the side of the X-wing. Poised on the edge of the cockpit, the pilot looked at his astromech. He didn’t recognize it beyond realizing it was one of the flowerpot-topped R5 droids. Though the R5 was a newer model astromech droid, Wedge actually preferred the dome-topped R2 astromech droids like the one Luke used because of the lower target profile they offered an enemy. “Then again, if they’re close enough to hit you, you’ll take the shots before they hit the cockpit, won’t you?”
The droid’s panicked hooting brought a smile to his face. “Don’t worry, the shooting is not going to start yet.”
Wedge dropped into the pilot’s seat and got a pleasant surprise. One of Zraii’s improvements had been a refurbishing of the padding in his ejection seat. This will make those long hyperspace jumps more comfortable. He strapped himself in, then brought his systems up. All the monitors and indicators came to life as expected. “Weapons are green and go.”
The R5 unit reported all navigation and flight systems were working, so Wedge pulled on his helmet and keyed his comm unit. “This is Rogue Leader requesting departure clearance from Folor Traffic Control.”
“Rogue One is clear for departure. Have a good flight, Commander.”
“Thank you, Control.”
With the flick of a switch he cut in his repulsorlift generators and feathered the throttle so his fighter rose from the hangar deck in a deliberate and firm manner. Using the rudder pedals to keep the lift generators in tandem, he killed roll and yawing. He wanted there to be no doubt in the minds of anyone in the hangar that his was a steady strong hand on the controls. His performance, he knew, would be pulsed out through the base’s rumor network and become fodder for every idle conversation until something truly worthy of discussion displaced it.
Adding some forward thrust, he moved the X-wing into the magnetic atmospheric containment bubble and through it to the airless exterior. Once outside, he kicked the Incom 4L4 Fusial Thrust Engines in at full power and rocketed away from the craggy grey lunar surface. He rolled the X-wing and brought the nose up slightly, sending the fighter into a gentle arc toward the horizon.
The datascreen in front of him reported the engines were working at 105 percent of efficiency—an increase he put down to Verpine tinkering. Throttling back to 70 percent, then 65 percent, he dropped his speed and flipped a switch above his right shoulder. The stabilizer foils split and locked into the cross pattern that had given the X-wing its name.
He glanced at the upper left corner of the screen and saw his R5 unit had been designated “Mynock.”
“Are you called Mynock because you draw a lot of power?”
Urgent whistles and tweets were translated to a scrolling line of