[fancy]<span style='font-variant:small-caps;font-weight:bold;'>Wereling was dirty, sore</span>, and happy as a Gammorean in a barroom brawl. Hydrospanner in one hand, he crawled out from under the access panel that guarded the innards of Turbolaser #4, having finally zeroed it in on a range he could stand.
Some poor sod had had to zero them in down to under 250 meters, knife fighting range where capital vessels were concerned. The last gunner this ship had had probably worried mosly about enemy fighters, but with the birds this baby was now carrying, the range could be opened a bit. Besides, Wereling knew that as good a gunner as he was, he could compensate for the long targeting he'd just set his capital lasers for, if it all REALLY went to pot.
He stood up, and cracked his back by placing both hands on either side of his spine and bending backwards, and then checked his chrono. It had been hours since he started what he hoped would be a quick recalibration, and had turned out to be damned-near a minor refit. He'd missed the crew orientation by hours. Oh well, he thought, the Captain DOES want this thing battle-ready.
On an Imperial vessel, re-zeroing the guns would have meant a minor software adjustment at the tactical station. The wonders of Imperial standardization would have taken care of the rest. On THIS vessel, sword of the Alliance that she was, a host of refits and impromptu field modifications meant that after he'd done the software change, two thirds of the turbolaser turrets responded in error to a subsequent diagnostic. He'd had to spend the next six hours crawling inside access panels and maintenece crawlspaces manually re-setting the turbolasers back to yard specs, then had to re-run the diagnostic again, which had taken care of all the remaining turrets except this one, Turbolaser Turret 4.
Over the next few hours, he'd had to basically rebuilt the turret from the ground up, even going EVA on the ouside of the ship at one point to manually check for damage to the sensor linkage array. Finally, he'd found the fault, a damaged targeting computer link, and replaced it from stores. The manual diagnostic he'd just run just confirmed the turret's working status, and it was even zeroed to the correct distance. Now, four hours past the end of the ship, it was time to hit the 'fresher, and then the rack, for some much-needed down time.