Private Flight Pattern Unknown

[Ivy Maro]

Wedge Draav

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Breathe. Breathe. Don't sweat. You've got this.

Ivy's right leg bounced in nervous anticipation, trying to conceal the worry on her face.

This was the real deal.

Around her was a waiting room full of Navy personnel. Ivy stared out the window, trying to distract herself from her nerves with the grandeur of the fleet and neighboring city planet below.

She had passed the Naval Academy with flying colors, pun intended. Now it was time for the entrance exam that would determine which squadron and what kind of spacecraft she would be flying. What she would start out as, anyway.

Choice and potential were taken into account for which type of exam she would be given. Ivy had chosen big, backed by her academic performance which in truth was averagely "satisfactory" yet "promising" according to the eye of a few seasoned teachers of hers.

Starfighter.

The best of the best. The poster child of the Navy. Starfighter pilots were elite, and competition for those positions was super high.

Based on how she scored though, she would either walk out of that simulation room with a Starfighter badge, or be assigned to another division. Gunship, transport crew, flight tech...

Doubt seeped into her thoughts.

Competition wasn't exactly Ivy's thing. She didn't come from a family legacy of pilots. She wasn't sure if she even had passion for flying.

Did she really have what it takes? If she did, she didn't think she would be asking herself that question.

At this point, she just wanted the test to be over. Glancing at the holoclock on the wall, she waited for the examiner to arrive.
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[Wedge Draav]

LET'S SEE WHAT YOU GOT, KID.

WAR HERO• REPUBLIC NAVAL STATION• Ivy Maro

Wedge was holding paper. Not a datapad, paper. He insisted on it. He liked the feel of it in his hands. Datapads and terminals were heavy, and annoying. Plus, there was something about having a tangible object to focus on. He flipped his paper up and down as he walked, eyeing over the file of one:

Ivy Maro .

Wedge's footfalls were paced and measured, stiff. He was an Officer, true, but he carried himself like the nigh-outlaw he was now. The Republic Navy, however, was paying for a few weeks out of him as a contractor, an instructor, and an evaluator. That he could do. The Republic may have been on the receiving end of his ire for this and that, but they were still, mostly, the good guys.

And good guys needed good pilots. He stopped in front of Ivy, smiled, and sat down next to her. He was calm. He didn't need to yell, scream, or be hard. She was here. That was proof enough of her bravery and her tenacity. He didn't need to know if she wanted to do it.

He was here to make sure she could do it.

"Miss Maro, my name is Wedge Draav. I'm sure, you're aware of my resume and my many accolades. That isn't why I'm here today." He stopped, reaching over and tapped the folder next to him. "We, my friend, are here to see if you can hack it. The simulation is just that, alright? Just a sim." He said, pulling up her file. He thumbed through it, again, just to be sure.

"The simulation today, ain't gonna be the normal one that they give Starfighters. Today, you and I, will be on a patrol when we encounter a numerically superior enemy patrol. It will be two o' us, on a standard Imperial TIE patrol pattern. If you didn't know, that's between five to eight TIE fighters."

He leaned forward, closing the file, looking over at Ivy. His hands folded over each other, and he looked over at Ivy.

"It's something you may well run into, and may have to deal with. Pirates, slavers, and smugglers run the same general pattern. Remember. You don't gotta be the best. You just gotta be better than them."

 

[Ivy Maro]

Wait a minute... That face...

For a moment, Ivy stared in starstruck silence as Wedge Draav sat next to her and introduced himself, going over the details of the test simulation. Curiosity piqued as he went on about how different from the usual this sim would be. Ivy wouldn't put it beyond what she knew of Draav's maverick reputation to test her "street smarts" beyond the book, tossing her into a situation that could be applied more practically outside of the military.

He had a very casual way of talking that put her at ease, which Ivy appreciated. Her look of nervous anxiety melted away. A small smile sprouted, releasing her pent-up doubts with a short whisper of an exhale.

"Remember. You don't gotta be the best. You just gotta be better than them."

Her grin widened at Wedge, eyes brimming with joy and gratitude, absorbing his aura for a second. She had been worried her instructor would be some rigid, straight-faced stickler. How'd she get so lucky? "I like you, you're cool!" She blurted after a pause.

With a rejuvenated bounce in her step, Ivy stood up and followed Wedge out of the waiting lobby.

"Wow, you are the Wedge Draav, I can't believe it!" She said giddily. "I knew I'd seen your face somewhere! Pretty sure you got a whole fanclub back at the academy."

"And you know... My philosophy too, when it comes to tests," she added playfully, recalling Wedge's earlier advice. "A pass is as good as 100 percent. If you make it back in one piece, it's a win!"

The doors to the simulation bay whisked open. Relatively bare except for two cubicles made of projector screens, each wrapped around the replica of a starfighter cockpit.

Ivy took it all in, hands on her hips. "Ahh, these look familiar. Just like the academy."

She turned to Wedge. "So. Any flight checks, ground theory today or we jumpin' straight to it?"

She was used to all the lectures and pop quizzes the Academy put her through, but Ivy knew very well during war and especially surprise attacks that the whole mission briefing and pre-flight checks weren't always possible except trust your partner and your ship to hold themselves together in the moment.
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[Wedge Draav]

LET'S SEE WHAT YOU GOT, KID.

WAR HERO• REPUBLIC NAVAL STATION• Ivy Maro

Wedge ran his fingers over the simulation chamber. He recalled training Revenant Squadron- where he met Reima. His eyes lingered over the simulation pod, where he put his team through countless drills, every scenario. Rehearsing attacks, defenses, down to the finest details. The simulators were good, great, even. But nothing could replace the real thing.

"So. Any flight checks, ground theory today or we jumpin' straight to it?"

He ignored her remarks about him being well-known at the academies. He didn't seem comfortable with that notion, or perhaps, not anymore. Infact, he seemed to not live up to the legends. He was soft-spoken, slouched in his appearance, and looked tired. His eyes had nothing behind them. Not a spark, not a hint of mischief or daring-do as most pilots did. Not anymore.

He began loading himself into the cubicle on the left. He had his helmet- scratched up, surviving multiple shoot-downs and a brush with a Stormtrooper's bolt. He clasped, curiously, an oxygen mask over his face. Even out of atmosphere, Wedge flew with it on. Helped him regulate his breathing, and kept it cool and calm. Pure oxygen, partly, may have been the reason he was so famously known for flying without a droid.

He began the simulation on his cockpit, screens lighting up, coming awash with lights, sounds, trying their best to simulate the movement of a cockpit. The mechanics and hydraulics of the seats underneath them whirred, simulating the movement of the cockpit. There was a brief warmup period, a sort of pre-game before the simulation started. He tested his out, rolling his fighter, waiting for Ivy to load in.

"Load in and skip the pre-flights. Pre-flights are checklists. I don't need to test you on your ability to read a list, do I?"

 

[Ivy Maro]

Ivy noticed it. The small gaps between Wedge Draav 's movements. The way he didn’t quite meet her energy halfway. The lack of reaction to her praise...

Still, Ivy did what she always did in moments like this. She let it slide off her. She chose what stuck. If he was quiet, fine. If he was different than the rumors, also fine. Wasn't going to bring her down. She'd do what was needed to keep up the morale.

“Aye aye, sir," Ivy replied with a cheeky grin after Wedge dismissed the pre-flights. Hopping into the cockpit on the right, Ivy slid into her seat and pulled the restraints tight across her chest with practiced efficiency. Her helmet clicked into place a second later, the military-issued rig modified with extra sensory pickups around the ears and jawline to mimic atmospheric vibration, engine resonance, even subtle hull strain.

T'was the galaxy's fanciest arcade game. Panels flickered awake around her in soft blues, ambers and whites. Ivy wrapped both hands around the controls, flexing her fingers over the throttle and stick while the startup systems hummed beneath her boots, muscle memory kicking in. The canopy slid shut, locking Ivy inside.

“Oh hey, what do I call you?” Ivy's voice crackled over the comms as the simulation continued booting around her, realizing questions she probably should've asked Wedge beforehand. “Do we use callsigns? Shadow One, Shadow Two? Am I the leader or are you?”

No sooner did Ivy finish speaking that the simulator lurched violently beneath her, gravity systems engaged with startling realism as the simulated starfighter launched into a loading sequence. The cockpit vibrated, hydraulics hissing underneath the seat as artificial inertia shoved her backward. Blue light exploded across the cockpit as the ship slammed forward into hyperspace, stars stretching into endless electric streaks around her canopy.

Ivy laughed under her breath despite herself.

A cold mechanical voice filled her cabin as the AI illuminated her nav computer.

“Mission parameters uploaded. Enemy interceptors detected. Outnumbered engagement. Escort disabled. No allied reinforcements available. Objective: Survive and eliminate the hostile squadron.”

Ivy's fingers tightened around the controls. The blue hyperspace tunnel trembled around her.

“Simulation begins in three… two… one.”

Stars snapped back into existence as Ivy's fighter dropped into open space. Black vacuum stretched infinitely around her, pinpricks of white scattered across the darkness like frozen sparks. For one strangely peaceful second, nothing moved except the idle drift of her targeting reticle.

She looked to her left and saw the nose of another starfighter, remembering where she was and who she was flying with and what she was supposed to be doing here.

"Hey, I see you! Can you see me?" She gave a little goofy wave at Wedge with her right hand, chuckling.

Right! The mission. The exam...

Straightening up, Ivy took advantage of the calm before the storm to briefly test out her steering system, rolling experimentally to the left, then right, feeling the resistance in the controls while stars smeared across the viewport.

She wasn't particularly known at the Academy for "taking things seriously" when the situation obviously wasn't the "real thing" to her. She always felt like she was trying to crack some invisible code, guessing what instructors wanted instead of just flying. Half of the time Ivy would think she understood the assignment perfectly only to discover she'd assumed the wrong thing entirely. It got drilled into her eventually: Never assume. Ask.

She was a little relieved that Wedge wasn't some rigid by-the-book hardliner. Which either meant he graded easy... or he graded in ways nobody saw coming. Weirdly enough, that relaxed her. Just do you, she breathed to herself.

Were formalities out the window now?

"Question: How much control do you have over this thing?" Ivy rambled again. "Are you able to stop-pause-rewind if things get out of hand or if you wanna say some cool commentary-lecture or whatnot? Also what happens if you get shot first and you 'die' and I'm left here all by myself? Does the sim stop or can you still watch me and speak over comms even if you're 'dead'?..."

She wasn't sure where all this nervous energy was coming from but whether it was paranoia or a genuine premonition of the Force... Yeah, she probably just jinxed it.
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