Hyperspace, lots and lots of Space in Hyperspace
Now I'm sure that the genius who thought putting a hyperdrive into the X-wing got a fat bonus from Incom. But I have to ask, did they ever actually flight test it with real people? Oh sure, it works well enough, but lets be honest here, this ship is really not made for the long haul.
There's only so much I can do while cooped up in here. The Alliance has drawn up a manual of "cockpit calisthenics" that is supposed to at least prevent some of the more serious side-effects of long duration hyperspace flight. You know, things like deep-vein thrombosis, bed sores, atrophy and the like. As I flip through the manual I do the ankle-rolls and the neck and shoulder rolls (both ways). But some of these have got to be a joke.
Page 32: "while reclining, pull your knees to your chest and extend legs up and back"
I mean get real gang! I can see it now: just as I'm doing this "vital exercise" the ship hits an unexpected gravity well and reverts next to a tour-cruiser packed with "family day" half-price ticket holders. While they're all crowded around the viewers I come floating by, ankles to ears, in my bright orange flight suit doing my "cockpit calisthenics". Talk about your bad dreams come true!
Sorry, but I'll suffer the occasional butt that falls asleep rather than risk that nightmare.
They could have at least put in a small holoprojector or something. I could stand some holos - even the old ones. Of course, what with R2 in back, I can do as much reading as I want. That little droid has tons of stuff in his databanks. But reading is so boring. I crave conversation, I crave the human touch. Heck, much more of this and I'll settle for anything to touch me. Sorry, that was uncalled for. Long and lonely trips can make a boy pretty randy if you catch my drift (if you think that was bad, though, you should hear how the spacers talk at a port like Mos Eisley).
I suppose that the time to think and collect my thoughts out here is good for me though. It's weird. I go from the only thing in my life that worries me is figuring out how to get the South Ridge condensers tuned and optimized to all of a sudden fighting the legitimate ruling authority in the galaxy in the span of, what, a couple of weeks? I mean, they're calling it a terrorist campaign. Me, Luke Skywalker, a terrorist. My Uncle would crap if he ever found out. Of course, that's what drove me to it - the way the troopers handled that whole droid fiasco. In a way, they brought it on themselves. They drew first blood.
So now I'm off, chasing ghosts, following voices in my head that no one else can hear. General Rikeen just about birthed a tauntaun when I told him I had to keep the ship for just a little while longer. I think he DID when I told him why. At least that's what it sounded like over the tight-beam.
It would be nice if Ben could hang around and chat (especially now - stang I'm bored) instead of popping in and out willy-nilly. I got to see him, though, last time. At least I think it was him. He kind of turned into Han but that was all right before I went to sleep.
Well, sleep is one thing not in short supply on this trip. I think I'll do some stretches and sleep (again).