The Flyboy (Kes)

[Joey Rabeak]

The galaxy slipped by in streaks of blue and white as gravity itself became visible in hyperspace. At the controls of a brand-new, black-painted T-65AC4 X-Wing fighter sat an equally new pilot. Asleep.

Jofar "Joey" Rabeak sat slumped in his seat, head tilted back, mouth open and snoring lightly while his ship hurtled beyond the speed of light via autopilot. And why not sleep? His course listed a flight time of seven hours, and for the past three the brown-furred Nehantite pilot had been dead to the universe, lost in a land of pleasant dreams whilst en route to his first real post as an Alliance fighter pilot.

What a journey it had been, becoming one of the first Nehantites in the Alliance military in a non-engineering role. Not the first, but there had been few enough that Joey often felt like it, despite his best efforts to feel anything but different. To join the military is to partially give up yourself and become part of something larger, more important than just you. Being surrounded by so many different races was a culture-shock to the Nehantite at first, but he did not let himself be tempted to request special accommodations or treatment due to his species, aside from necessary things such as clothing with a hole for his tail, and shoes or boots that would fit his footpaws. And CC-30, though that was provided to him without asking, much to his relief. In the Alliance, Joey hoped to prove himself not as a Nehantite, but simply as a man.

Such a goal turned out more challenging than he cared to admit. Other students at the academy had vastly better education, or more experience off-world than he did, and it was easy to feel depressed and want to hide away in his first few weeks away from home. But he didn't hide away, he didn't allow depression to get the better of him, and instead Joey used his charm to befriend those better at certain subjects so that he could learn from them, and learn cultures from those he'd never met. An easy smile and playful nature enamored him to his fellow students, while his instructors could not deny the camaraderie he built in any of his classes.

Sadly, camaraderie did not always lead to the best of scores, and despite his best efforts, Joey Rabeak found himself struggling in his second year at the academy, and on the verge of washing out. All the best intentions in the galaxy didn't seem to come to his aid, as the depression and loneliness he fought so hard to keep at bay his first few weeks not only found him, they beat him into the corner. Alcohol, parties, even various boyfriends, Joey tried to find things to bring joy back to his life, yet all seemed empty the moment they were gone. Tasks were done mechanically, tests taken with little focus, and the desire to be part of something greater turned into nothing more than a distant memory as his thoughts turned to having to explain failure when he would inevitably be forced to return home.

Deliverance came in a most unexpected manner, as he was given the task of delivering a damaged and decrepit old Y-Wing to another station so that it could be torn down for scrap and any usable parts. A "take out the trash" run designed to be more punishment for poor performance than an actual assignment. Already stripped of its weapons, hyperdrive, and R2 interface, the Y-Wing was little more than a spaceworthy chassis that Joey climbed into, slumping down with a thud into the collapsed pilot's seat. The controls were sticky. Joey didn't want to know why the controls were sticky, and nor did he have time to worry about it as he cinched his gloves tighter and engaged the engines. Moments later he was being waved out of the docking bay and his vision became filled with nothing but stars. Nothing but stars for the next two hours, and it was only then that he learned that the radio and comm system had also been removed, leaving him with no entertainment or companionship beyond his own repertoire of showtunes and pop songs he could sing to himself in the acoustic hell that was the cabin of a Y-Wing. So sing he did as he plugged along as fast as the craft's crippled old engines would carry him.

About an hour into his journey, and halfway through the second chorus of "What He Say," even peppy, syncopated rythym failed to lift his mood, and Joey was left in silence, considering his options. Option one: he could continue his current decline in the academy until he washed out, where he could at least say he did his best, then go become an engineer somewhere. Option two: he could try and play the race card, and maybe get transferred to some other sort of position where he might find things easier, but he would have a difficult time living with himself if he did so. And option three: ...he had no idea, so he sat there quietly, cruising along and pretending he had some sort of game plan while he counted down the minutes on the clock - one of the few instruments left on the dashboard.

The following hour was one of excruciating boredom, until at last hope appeared in the form of a white speck in the distance which wasn't a star, but a station. Sitting up in his seat, he angled the nose of his Y-Lemon toward it and smiled. In but a few short minutes, his torturous road trip would be at and end.

The crew aboard the scrapyard station were doing anything but smiling, however. Angry red screens blinked out warnings of an incoming asteroid swarm which would pelt against the station's shields and likely obliterate the lone Y-Wing on its approach. Comms were opened on all channels to warn it, yet Joey failed to alter course as he had no onboard comm unit to receive their direction to change course. It wasn't until his own shields flared and his ship rocked from the impact of a hurtling asteroid the size of a football that he even realized the danger he was in.

And then it was on. Joey's Y-Wing had too much momentum to hook around out of the way, and the brakes were... well, after an application of them he wasn't convinced they hadn't been removed already either. Panic coursed through his veins like ice water as he plowed straight ahead, mind fumbling over what to do. A glance up showed that there would be no avoiding the fast-moving rock cloud by sheer luck, so Joey took a deep breath and decided it was better to go out in a blaze of glory than to just be space roadkill.

Strong paws gripped the sticky control yoke, yanking it back while his booted footpaws worked the pedals controlling pitch and yaw, angling himself straight into the oncoming storm. All shields were focused forward as he began a dangerous game of chicken with space rocks. Rolling, diving, spinning and ducking through them, each new asteroid presented its own challenge. Smaller ones unseen until it was too late hammered against his shields, the flash of impact temporarily blinding his vision, but still he managed to evade his geological assailants. For the better part of five minutes, Joey Rabeak threw every maneuver he'd ever learned in simulation or practice at the asteroids, as well as a few new ones born of panic or sheer luck, until at last he found himself free of the storm.

Only then did he turn back to the station, his right engine screaming and throwing more warning lights than his control console had lights left to illuminate, but he still managed to bring the junker in for a mostly soft landing inside the main hangar bay of the junkyard station.

Shaking and thanking Garfife and anything else he could, Joey opened the hatch to screams and claps of praise and disbelief, and he peered over the edge of his cockpit to see a crowd of ground crew pumping their fists in the air or clapping their paws while someone thankfully remembered to bring him a dismount ladder. No one thought the poor fool was going to make it through that mess alive, and yet through skill, determination and luck, Joey had.

It took only minutes for reports to head back to his superiors of his astounding agility in a Y-Wing of all things, and footage from station cameras was fed as well. What had started out as a punishment mission turned into the saving grace of Joey's career, and he was immediately plucked from strategic planning to be thrown into the X-Wing pilots class. From there, everything felt right, felt natural, and the aptitude he'd displayed in the asteroid swarm went on to serve him well as a fighter pilot in a truly agile craft. Joey found himself in that role, and threw everything he had at it. In the end he still didn't quite graduate at the top of his class, but his vigor and drive was undeniable. His reward upon graduation was a real assignment, Jovan Station.

Sensors beeped inside his cockpit, rousing him from his in-flight nap. Smacking his lips, he could taste the musty-sweet flavor of bad breath, and he sighed while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "How long we got, Deebs?" he said aloud to his astromech, R2-DB, whom he affectionately called Dat Boi, or Deebs for short. The astromech beeped and whistled, displaying a countdown clock before him.

"Cool, hope the can isn't too far off the hanger," Joey chuckled. "I am bursting for a piss." A wriggle of his backside brought his rump to life, and he sat up in his seat. "Three, two, one, p-shooo!" the Nehantite said, and with that he dropped out of hyperspace.

Jovan Station loomed before him, looking every bit like the picture postcard he'd been shown of it, and much to his relief there was no asteroid swarm detected anywhere in the area. Taking up his T-65AC4's comm, Joey cleared his throat, then clicked the button. "Jovan Station, this is Alliance X-Wing pilot Joey Rabeak approaching, do I have permission to land?"

Permission was granted, as the Nehantite was right on time, and Joey swung his black X-Wing into the assigned bay with ease, and touched down lightly before popping his canopy. Out was tossed a duffle bag before his legs swung over the edge and he dropped neatly to the floor, helmet remaining in the cockpit. "The john?" he quickly asked the approaching landing tech with his ladder. Given a quick point, Joey snatched up his pack and dashed off, grateful for a refresher after seven hours of flight.

Two minutes later he felt vastly better, and found R2-DB waiting for him by the refresher door. "Heya, Deebs, we make good time?" the Nehantite asked.

Dat Boi beeped twice, then wiggled slightly. Joey grinned. "Dang, I knew this bird was fast, but I didn't know she was that fast," he laughed. "Looks like I've got time for a sonic shower and change before reporting in. You go let 'em know the fuel mix ratio for our ride, okay? I'll be back later."

With Dat Boi rotating to head off, Joey scanned the hangar for the typical "truck stop" area, and sure enough he found it. Three credits bought him a five minute sonic shower and a private place to change. Flightsuit and gloves were shoved into his duffel while his duty uniform was pulled out and given a quick de-wrinkle in the sonic shower as well. Dressed, and ready, he made a brief stop to put a bit of product in his hair before styling it "just so." Making a good first impression was critical, especially on his first posting. With bag slung over his shoulder, Joey Rabeak headed into Jovan proper, and followed the guide signs toward central command. Over the last four years he'd been on enough stations that Jovan didn't really impress him all that much, though he was glad to see there was a decent variety of private enterprise, as that often meant good food and drink had to be available at least one of them. And maybe some attractive men, if he was lucky.

No, he told himself. It wasn't time to think about things like that, it was time to be professional, and present himself like the skilled pilot he was. Despite Jovan's size, it was only a matter of minutes before he reached the administration desk and presented his ID chip.

"Pilot Joey Rabeak, assigned from the Alliance Flight Academy, reporting in," he announced to the person behind the desk.