The cockpit of the Tie Oppressor was cramped, they weren’t really designed for comfort, more for the sake of practicality and functionality, and it was a place that Quo felt at one. Feeling the ship respond to his input on the controls gave him a comfort, if comfort can be allocated to a Sith. His reactions and concentration were not forced in here, it was more reflexive, more of an instinct than a chore. He’d spent many hours making this ship his own. The parts that he had added were bespoke, his own hands had manufactured the parts, his own brain had designed them, and the ship was the better for it he felt. From the modification that he had made to the main bomb bay, making it into a cargo hold, right through to the advanced electronics and sensors that he had installed it was down to him. The very seat he was sitting in was moulded to fit his body perfectly, cushioning and caressing him as the ship twisted and turned under his ministrations.

From the very first time that he had seen her, after he had unearthed her from her sandy grave on Jaaku, he had known that she was his. She had called to him through the Force, nagging him incessantly, guiding him to her hiding place beneath the golden ocean. He had brought her back to life, resurrected her, and brought her with him when he had arrived on Sepros. He had repaired her damaged systems, and through a process of cannibalisation of some of the rusting remains that he found in the forested areas of the planet he managed to get her ready for flight again. He extended the fuel tanks, and put in protective plating over them, boosted the shields up to one hundred and seventy three percent of optimum.

Deep in the jungle he had found several turbo cannon, that were in various states of degradation. Cobbling all the parts together, and manually carrying them back to his makeshift workshop in an abandoned hangar. Working all the hours that his body would allow he managed to get one of them working, the tree stumps and fragments of wood around stood as testament to its destructive power. Mounting it onto the air frame was a battle and a half, but through trial and error Quo managed eventually to mount it as close to the centre line of the fuselage as made no difference. He uprated the twin laser cannons that were already mounted on the wing stubs of the craft, recalibrating them and upping their fire rate so that they could almost match an X-Wings. Installing three extra battery units also improved the recycling of the shields, although it did little to improve the aerodynamics of the craft. There was a new rear cockpit added, courtesy of a crashed Tie Fighter so that he could carry another person, or more equipment if necessary. When he had finished, and all the new panelling was added to correct some of the deficiency she looked like a Tie Oppressor that had some strange kind of glandular problem, but Quo didn’t mind, she was his, and her bite was definitely worse than her bark. She was a fine ship, with a fine name.

The Eenzaam. It meant ‘Solitary’, and it was perfect for her. She was the only one, and Quo was proud of her. He had built her into the craft that she was, and he treated her as his own. He had never had a family, and probably never would, but the Eenzaam was his offspring, and he would look after her like she was flesh and blood. She would fight to her last breath, and could take on ships that were a lot better on paper. He had cured all of her shortfalls, from the sluggish response to the controls, to the poor quality of the sensors, to the lack of speed. She now carried an extra cannon, extra batteries, and proton torpedoes, and was still faster and more agile than any other Oppressor in the Galaxy.

Once all the work was completed he managed to get some time inside the main hangars, more specifically the spraying bay. The Eenzaam was given a coat of matt black paint to her hull, with three blood red slashes across the bow, looking like she had been raked by a rancor. Quo thought it was fitting, in that she had been a wounded animal when he had been led to her, and now she stood, newly recreated, with her scars and modifications she fitted his own persona. He too was scarred, and had a few prosthetic modifications of his own. They were a good fit together, they suited each other.

Now, seated in the front cockpit, he skimmed the surface of Sepros, swooping down over long abandoned cities and temples, feeling the g-forces squeezing his body into the custom made seat, he truly felt alive. Nobody could take this time away from him, and his mind went on journeys that his body could not follow. Confusions that angered him on the ground were as clouds around him as he flew, dissipated with the gusts of wind aloft. Spinning and looping his ship, diving down crevasses that were barely wider than the Eezaam, vortices whipping behind as he whirled and rolled. His mind was calmed, his thoughts blessed with clarity, and even the seemingly insurmountable problems of his earth bound alter ego were solved and processed, even as his body, strapped tightly into the ship was carrying out physically demanding aerobatics. He understood where he stood in the Galaxy, what direction he should follow, and knew the power of the Dark Side of the Force. Quo was as at peace as he ever was, he was home, home alone.