First Officer's log, Alliance Frigate Novgorod.
I'm still not used to that yet - first officer. Heck, it's been months now, and I still don't even know what it means. Kinda too late to ask at this point. I mean, first? How the heck am I first? First in command if you forget to count the Captain? Or am I just a first mate with a swankier name because there are mandatory uniform requirements? Stupid navy. Stupid traditions. Stupid job.
I guess the assignment itself isn't so bad. Don't get me wrong, I'll drop everything and hop back in a cockpit at a moment's notice if you give me half the chance; but there's not much for a fighter jock like me to do in this day and age. Patrols are about as exciting as they would be in a fighter, except your bunk and all your crap comes with you, you can get up and take a stroll without having to suffer hard vacuum, and you don't need to pee into a bag - though I have my suspicions that one or two of the crew might be into that sort of thing for weird alien kink reasons. Whatever floats their speeder, I guess.
I'm still not used to the whole scale thing. I've served on big starships and carriers, and I used to bum around the galaxy in a two-man Corellian freighter. The Novgorod sits weirdly in the middle. The Astral Queen used to feel like you were flying your house around the galaxy, but the Novgorod feels - and maneuvers - more like a whole apartment block. I keep bumping into neighbours in the corridors, and everyone knows me. I'm not used to that. On the Valiant and the Challenger, outside of your fellow pilots and the deck crew, no one really gave a crap who you were; just another body in a flight suit, no need to pay them any mind. Here though, it's at the point were so many people are wishing me a "Good morning, sir" that I'm tempted to get my response tattooed across my chest and get in the habit of walking to the bridge shirtless. There's so many names, too; so many faces. And it's not like back in the Rogues when all the pilots had a handy nickname, and I only had to pay attention to the few dozen pilots directly under me: the whole crew is my responsibility, and they all expect me to know their name.
I don't even know what day it is. Who the hell thought this assignment was a good idea?
I suppose one thing has changed, though: when I first came aboard, I hated the fact that the Novgorod was too damned big compared to what I was used to flying. Now I'm glad she's so damn small.
Commander Jaden T. Luka
Alliance Defense Forces
* * *
Jaden stifled a yawn as he stepped out of his cabin. He'd barely made it a few trudging steps into the corridor before the first crewman passed in the other direction, wishing him a pleasant morning. Jackass. What the hell kind of mentally deficient backwards-minding kriff-for-brains idiot could possibly feel upbeat and optimistic first thing in the morning? Barring waking up beside a beautiful woman - or better yet, between two - was perhaps the exception; but that would mean he'd just left behind a bed with attractive naked people in it, and that hardly seemed like something to be pleased about.
"Morning, Astro," he muttered back, the name not sounding right the instant it tumbled from his lips. "Aston? Asquith? Aster?" A string of other permutations of similar syllable sounds faded away into a mumbling grunt. At least his voice had started in the same place; he'd put in his due diligence. If they wanted a proper platitude from him, they'd have to put in leg work of their own and find their way to a compromise. Shorter names, people. Better yet, compress everything down into a single letter. That way he'd have the added bonus of a one-in-thirty-four chance of getting it right just by guessing. Those were pretty good odds, all things considered.
He'd have to pitch the idea at the next staff briefing.
The deck plates clunked a little under his feet, maintenance panels not quite seating properly into the seatings that were designed for them. Jaden guessed it was because of rushed repairs, or residual battle damage. From what he knew, the ship had gone through the wringer more than a few times before he'd come aboard. Sadly - from a certain point of view - the ship hadn't managed to see much of that kind of action since he'd been his XO. So sure, there were a few scuffles near the Tion Border, and the occasional pirate run-in, but Jaden was a Rogue; and when the crew bragged about the glory days before the Treaty, it sounded like they'd been on the bleeding edge when there was actually blood and edges to be had. Now, they had swapped the deadly swarms of TIE Fighters and marauding fleets of Star Destroyers for the occasional opportunistic smuggler who didn't want to pay the proper import taxes on his tava beans.
It was with those thoughts pressing a sag into his shoulder than Jaden stepped through the hatch and onto the Novgorod's bridge.
Within an instant, the familiar clicks and chirps of a Verpine voice found their way to his ears, the Lieutenant at the helm choosing not to engage his normal translation vocabulator, knowing full well that the Commander would understand his meaning.
A slight chuckle escaped from Jaden. "Shitty morning to you too, Twitch," he offered back to his wingman, striding tiredly up the few steps that separated him from the command chair. He'd barely even managed to position his backside on the cushion pads - a backside, he took a brief moment to note, was a little saggier and less pert than he was used to; staying in shape within the cramped quarters of the Novgorod was a balancing act he hadn't quite got the hang of yet - before a scowling figure turned away from whatever console he'd been busy-bodying over, and advanced on the XO.
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