If there was one thing in all the universe he despised, it was the B-Wing.
The A/SF-01 B-wing heavy starfighter was many things, but it was first and doremost too much firepower in too small a frame. It was designed to have modular weapons assemblies, but all that meant to him was that the flyboys would change their minds a dozen times before they ever took off on a strike mission. Yet even worse than that was the gyroscopic cockpit that made the B-Wing unique. The main collar that held the cockpit to the starfighter had more delicate and moving parts than the Y-Wing that used to be his pride and joy. Every time that hotshot goes out, I’m picking micrometeorites out of the gyros for a two shifts…
Further still, if there was one thing he downright loathed, it was Bothans. Life had taught him early on that a Bothan’s only skill in life was treachery, and they were very proud of it. It made them naturally inclined to be in insurrections, revolutions and Rebellions like this. But that deceitful streak was paled in comparison to the sheer amount of fur a Bothan can shed. Which meant that after every sortie, his first job was to vacuum out the already delicate B-Wing cockpit. Heavens forbid the great Bolor Se’lab find even ONE obnoxious hair in his seat during pre-flight…
But above all things in existence, Abbdul Ful Marthyren hated the Empire, which had not always been the case. He could remember calmer days in sterile factories, watching lines and lines of the Empire’s preferred starfighter be built and carted off to their transports. Sure, the TIE Fighter was little more than a coffin with cannons, but there was an elegance in that simplicity. Abbdul could name every bolt, screw and hose that went into a TIE Fighter, and in a properly stocked workshop, field-strip and rebuild one on his own. The workers under his charge would watch such a spectacle in awe of his mastery.
And then his homeworld of Alderaan had been destroyed. Try as the propaganda and the media might to lie to him, Abbdul put two and two together quickly enough when thousands of his TIEs had been ordered for something classified and huge. No one would tell him what it was, only that his entire supply for months would be going there. Then the orders suddenly stopped, with chaos following as local Moffs and governors all fought among each other for his creations. That was when the name ‘Death Star’ crossed his path, and that path took a full carrier of two dozen fresh TIE Fighters right to the Rebellion.
“And how do they reward me? With this monstrosity of over-engineering and non-human overcompensation…” he muttered to himself while staring upside down into the engine housing of his B-Wing.
This little bit stems from a conversation had over a fine snifter and many hand gestures. Because everyone remembers the heroes, but few remember the hands behind them that make such feats possible.
I hope you all enjoy.