Jidai Geki

Haha, of course!

Yes, I just noticed your review. Thank you very much, I really appreciate it. Saw the paperback for the first time the other day (a friend ordered it, got hers before I got it!) and it was pretty exciting!

Well as I said, it's expensive! I'd also appreciate it very much if you could put a review up on Amazon when you're done with the final draft. I'm currently sitting at 0 reviews and I don't think it's doing me any favours!

Thanks Brendan. The book is also available in paperback format now: https://www.createspace.com/4623503. It's a hell of a lot more expensive than a digital copy -- I was forced to set the minimum price at around $20 US.

Thanks Ami. I kinda went through self-publishing in two phases, since I looked at it last Christmas, as well. Formatting the book correctly so that the Table of Contents, chapter headings and indentations etc. displayed correctly was a bit tiresome, but only really needs doing once. The process of putting the book up on Amazon was actually pretty painless. I had to fill out some US tax form, add a blurb, choose a royalty option (there are two -- 35% and 70%) and give account details. All fairly straightforward. Brendan -- sorry, I forgot to acknowledge some of your post the first time round. It'd be great if you mentioned the book here. Describing it in 140 characters or less might be tricky... you can just say it's a 'post-apocalyptic steampunk revenge tale'. Cheers!

That's strange Brendan. Maybe it's got something to do with the Australian Amazon site? I just checked and it's up. Thanks to both of you guys for your support when I was writing it. I put you in the acknowledgements Brendan, because of course I did! The finished version will differ a bit from the version you both read.

Hey all, I realise it's been over a year since I posted, but I thought I'd pop in and give a quick update on this. The book that I posted piecemeal here over the years has been completed, edited, and put up on Amazon.com. It can be found here: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Tell-No-Tales-Lee-Parry-ebook/dp/B00HI3MSPC/ref=sr_1_49?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1388225273&sr=1-49 (Amazon link) http://www.themire.co.uk (Promotional website; fairly simple at the minute, features links to character biographies and the book) Apologies for this new shamelessly self-serving thread, but I believe the old book thread has been archived. If I've broken any rules, Travis, let me know and I'll remedy the situation! Thanks.

Because he's incredibly, incredibly unlucky. -------------------- ‘Sir, we have the Princess.’ ‘Excellent. Bring her in.’ Darth Vader was taking his coffee in his private chambers on board the Star Destroyer. It did him well to take a break from crushing people's throats with the power of his mind, he found; all work and no play made for a cranky Sith Lord. The Princess, positively brimming with indignation, was brought into the chamber, flanked by two stormtroopers and led by an officer. She glared at the Dark Lord. ‘Lord Vader! I can't say I'm entirely surprised to find you behind this outrage! I demand an explanation.’ ‘Don't act so surprised, Your Highness. We know that you have the Death Star plans. Give them to us now, and we may show you mercy.’ ‘Plans? I have no idea what you're talking about! The Imperial Senate will not stand for this travesty-’ Vader was up on his feet, his finger jabbed accusingly at Leia. ‘Do not lie to me, Princess,’ he said in his best grave tones. ‘If you fail to talk now, our torture droids will extract the information amidst your screams. I-’ Vader became aware of a pointed silence in the room. Princess Leia was biting her lip in an effort not to laugh. ‘What is it?’ The commander walked around the desk and whispered into Vader's ear, or where his ear would have been if it wasn't covered by the black helmet. Vader listened. He looked down. ‘Yes, well... it's been a busy day, hasn't it, capturing of Rebel flagship and all... a man's mind wanders. Besides, if I feel like taking my trousers off, it's my prerogative...’ The intercom on Vader's desk buzzed. He hurriedly buckled his pants on, glaring at Leia, and pushed the 'talk' button. ‘Yes, Sergeant?’ ‘Sir, your three-piece linger-’ Vader quickly scooped up the small comlink and turned away. He spoke into it in what he thought was a low voice, which is quite impossible to do when one's voice is mechanically amplified. ‘Yes... good... the one with the extra lace? Excellent... yes, yes, in black... well I hardly think pink would suit me sergeant... no, I don't have the calves for it, I'm afraid... how much? Well, it strikes me as a bit extortionate... I would have thought gauzy material was cheaper... fine, fine, pay the man. Thank you, sergeant.’ Vader replaced the comlink. Leia and the commander resolutely avoided one another's gaze. ‘Now- ah yes. You will be tortured, I'm afraid. Yes if you don't wish to inform us of the location of the plans, you leave us no choice. Take her away!’

I'm glad you guys like it. It's a bit rough around the edges in parts (grammar mistakes, for instance) which I'm trying to catch, but some slip through the cracks. ----------------- If ever the Emperor ran a competition for 'most pleasant place to live', Tatooine would in all probability not even make the shortlist. A barren, desolate ball of rock and sand, Tatooine rarely attracted tourists, and those that it did were not tourists for long. For example, one of the biggest attractions on Tatooine was the Great Pit of Carkoon, and unfortunately that had an unnerving habit of eating people. Carnivorous landmarks tended to put off sightseers, and so the Tatooine tourist board were loath to list it in their brochures. It doesn't inspire confidence when your only quote from a satisfied customer is ‘I liked the Tusken arrrrghmyeyemyeye.’ Secondary to the less than friendly ethnic people were those who were all too eager to accommodate tourists, namely by giving them a complimentary back-alley tour of Mos Eisley followed by a 'knife to the throat of your choice' and an optional shallow grave. Fortunately, these considerations were not of much concern to droids R2-D2 and C-3PO, currently standing outside their recently vacated escape pod and bickering over who got the last of the lubricating oil . ‘Well, this is a fine mess you've gotten us into, you overweight glob of grease. ’ ‘Beep-beep.’ ‘Don't you swear at me! I told you we should have stayed on the ship. My mother was right about you.’ ‘Beep.’ ‘Well, of course I don't actually have a mother, but that's not the point. The point is that you're no good for me. I'm stuck out in the middle of nowhere with no idea where to go, no lubricating oil left, and a little bucket of bolts like you for company. What are we going to do now?’ ‘Beep-whirp.’ ‘That way? I'm not going that way. What makes you think there's anyone that way, anyway?’ ‘Beep.’ ‘You can babble about prevalent winds and moisture patterns all you want, Artoo Detoo, but that doesn't change the fact that I am clearly more intelligent than you, and I am clearly right in going this way.’ ‘Beep.’ ‘I am not being difficult. I happen to know this planet. I've been here before, you know.’ ‘Beep.’ ‘Well, I wasn't with you then. Now stop being difficult and come this way!’ ‘Beep.’ ‘Fine. Sod off, then. Go that way, see if I care. You'll be rusted before the day's out.’ ‘Beep.’ ‘Well I didn't mean literally rusted, obviously. Of course I knew there's no moisture here, I've been here before.’ ‘Beep.’ ‘Yes, and good riddance.’ And, with that, the two droids set out on their separate paths. --------------- It is a well-known fact that people who complain incessantly about their misfortune do, in fact, receive a proportionate amount of hardship. And so it will come as no surprise that, as Threepio wound his way through the Dune Sea he was attacked by rogue womp rats, twice by Tusken Raiders, a band of annoyed moisture farmers, and on one occasion by a swarm of startled mynocks, who aren't even native to Tatooine. When he thought that his day had gotten as bad as it was going to get, he was promptly disabled by a group of Jawas and loaded onto their sandcrawler, which just goes to show that even the Force has a sense of humour.

The Maw: Spite Station Astrographical Information Region: Outer Rim; Maw Nebulae Sector: Kessel Sector Orbital Position: N/A Moons: N/A Grid Coordinates: T-10 Physical Information Class: Station Atmosphere: Type 1 (In Station) Primary Terrain: Station Points of Interest: Spite Station Force Nexus Maw Installation The installation was a Krath research facility built from asteroids in the midst of the Maw Cluster Prison / Slavers' Bay The prison facility in the Maw contained various facilities within the compound, including the main prison buildings, a weapons storage building, communication relays to nearby vessels, and several landing platforms, including one for tankers. Those facilities and more were also connected via a repulsor-lift railway system that also held other facilities together. The communication relays, placed at the far corner of the prison, consisted of seven towers. An environmental dome was placed in the installation between the weapons storage and the relays. This particular facility was dated, and thoroughly redesigned by Lord Furion, and soon by another force. Societal Information Indigenous Species: Unknown Immigrated Species: Slaves of all kinds Primary Language(s): None Faction Affiliation: Sith JediRP Canon History: The Maw was a cluster of black holes located in the Kessel sector of the Outer Rim Territories, at the center of the Maw Nebulae. The ionizing gases being drawn into it made the cluster visible and made it one of the Wonders of the Galaxy. Because of the intense gravity of the black holes, the entire Kessel system was slowly drawn into the Maw. The stability of the cluster itself was something of a mystery, with some believing that an advanced civilization might have constructed it, rather than it merging together like a normal cluster would. Most of the area of the Maw was saturated in radiation, plasma, and strong gravitational forces. More than that, the power of the Dark Side reigned supreme across the expanse and spread like the plague in every which direction. Any ship's captains that neared the edge of the Maw would notice pieces of their ships being pulled apart, and some smugglers and criminals used it as a shortcut past the Kessel Run. Spite Station itself, along with the facilities conjoined, have not entertained visitors in quite some time. There is another force at work beyond the eyes of the common folk, remastering the Station in secrecy. ((Summary compiled by Exodus. Thank you!))

Darth Vader was not a happy man. He was seldom a happy man in any case (it's amazing what first-degree burns to 90% of a man's body can do for his temperament) but he was particularly vexed at this moment in time. The reason for his vexation was, in fact, the Rebel Reg. Reg was currently gasping for air and trying not to pass out. This could be partly attributed to the fact that he was being suspended several feet from the ground by his throat. ‘Do not toy with me, Rebel. Where are those plans you intercepted?’ Vader said ominously. He often spoke in an ominous tone. Reg tried to grin. ‘Well, that's the thing, isn't it, your Grace? We're just a consular ship, mission of diplomacy an' all that. Been serving on this ship twenny years, man and boy. Never seen no plans what pertain to the construction of the Empire's top-secret weapon. No, nuffin like that, your Grace. You want a speech drafted, we're the people to talk to. O' course you don't seem the sort of man who'd want a diplomatic speech written up, no offence intended, you seem like a man of action, Milord. Anythin' else I could help you with?’ ‘If this is a consular ship, then where are the ambassadors?’ ‘Ah you want yer actual ambassadors, yer Grace? We had a few floatin' about a few days ago. Couldn't stand 'em meself, all posh an' that, aloof sort o' thing, saving yer Grace's presence. Incidentally, I was just saying to my mate Jim the other day what a decent bloke you was, yer Grace. Full o' dignity our Lord Vader, I was saying. Fine figure of a man. In fact, while your here I was wondering if I could get an autograph? For the little 'uns, you see. Our Charley, he loves you to bits, Milord. Fine figure of a man. Er.’ Vader tired abruptly of the man and launched him into a bulkhead. A loud crack indicated Reg's head was not compatible with the sturdy metal surface. The hapless officer in front of him cleared his throat nervously. He had been unlucky enough to be selected to give Lord Vader bad news. Giving bad news to Vader was akin to cutting off one's own legs with a rusty knife, without the laughs. ‘The Death Star plans are not in the main computer, My Lord.’ he said in clipped tones . ‘Have you captured the Princess, Commander?’ ‘Yessir, she's being brought up as we speak, sir.’ ‘Sorry to bother you, your Grace. I seem to have banged me 'ead a bit. Couldn't trouble you for a medic, could I?’ Vader looked down. Reg was grinning sheepishly, a rivulet of blood pouring from his forehead. Vader sighed, and stepped on the man's throat. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen when you were the second most powerful man in the galaxy. People were supposed to die when you threw them headfirst into walls. He turned back to the officer. ‘Good. Now, tear this ship apart and bring me the passengers. I want them all alive! Spare none!’ ‘Yessir. Erm- so am I to take them alive, sir, or spare none?’ ‘I thought I made that clear, Commander. Do not make me repeat myself.’ ‘Just as you say, sir. Very good, sir.’ Vader raised a gloved hand. ‘When the Princess is here, bring here to me. We will teach her the futility of opposing the Emperor. None shall stand against the might of the Empire!’ Vader paused, seemingly thinking about something. ‘Oh, and bring me a coffee.’ ‘Yessir. The usual sir?’ ‘Yes. The last teaboy gave me milk, Commander. You know how I hate milk.’ ‘Of course, sir. No milk, sir.’ ‘Yes. I had to decapitate him, you see. I don't mind the sugar so much, but I can't abide milk. Brings me out in a rash.’ ‘Just as you say, sir.’ There was an embarrassed silence. When one was in the presence of the Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Navy, one didn’t expect to discuss his lactose intolerance. ‘Yes. Good. Very well, carry on.’ Vader turned and swept away majestically, his cloak billowing. It was an awesome sight to behold. Unfortunately it was spoiled somewhat by Reg. ‘Only, it's quite painful, and his Lordship accidentally stood on my throat, Force save his soul. If I could just get a bandage and some painkillers,’ continued Reg, oblivious. The commander sighed. ‘Someone get a coffee for his Lordship, two sugars, no milk. And have this man killed.’ ‘At once, sir.’

Actually, I wrote a Darth Vader fanfic set before the OT too (before the PT's came out) when I was about sixteen, but I have no idea what happened to that. ---------------------- C3PO, human-cyborg relations, skittered about the dark corridor worriedly. It said a lot for his ability to convey his current state of mind that, despite the handicap of a body fashioned entirely of metal and the flexibility and range of a TV movie actress, he contrived to look worried almost all of the time. He muttered ‘Oh, dear’ for the thousandth time and puttered down the corridor in the hope that R2 had magically appeared there since the last time he had checked. A battalion of stormtroopers had the effect on the droid of covering thirty metres in the opposite direction seemingly without moving, an ability available only to the most devout cowards in times of danger. He didn’t notice the small barrel shape of R2 in front of him until he was almost upon the small droid. Despite having his panic circuits on overload, 3PO was observant enough to notice the slender form of Princess Leia, clad in a long white gown and sporting a hairstyle outlandish enough to get her arrested without the additional charges of treason and insurrection. She was bending over R2, seemingly fiddling with a small button on the front of the droid’s chassis. She looked up, noticed the protocol droid approaching, and quickly disappeared amongst the bulkheads. C3PO disregarded this and fussed around R2, his berate circuits once again at full power. ‘Artoo Detoo, where have you been? Anything could have happened!’ said 3PO, contriving to indicate that, without his chaperoning skills and general heroism, R2 was as good as junk. ‘Beep,’ said R2, stating as succinctly as possible that while, indeed, something could have happened, he doubted strongly that he would be the recipient of such events, and that is was generally 3PO who found himself in troublesome circumstances. ‘Don’t you speak to me like that, you near-sighted scrap pile! I ought to just leave you here right now, it’s no less than you deserve.’ R2 informed the protocol droid that, while nothing would please him further, the two of them had a mission to accomplish and that it didn’t do to allow personal feelings intrude in such matters. ‘Mission? What are you babbling about? We have no mission, you little fool! Come on, there’s some nice stormtroopers down there. Let’s go and surrender ourselves. The Emperor is gracious and all-’ R2 opined that, while the Emperor was many things, gracious was not one of them. He then launched into a detailed description of exactly what 3PO could do with his stormtroopers, along with a list of possible places he could store them. 3PO prepared himself to launch a tirade of verbal abuse at the small droid, but was interrupted by a badly-fired blaster bolt from the encroaching stormtrooper squad . ‘Oh, all right then,’ 3PO said, clambering into the escape pod. ‘I’m going to regret this…’ -------------- On the bridge of the attacking Imperial Star Destroyer, the over-eager, newly commissioned Lieutenant Drexel had been put in charge of monitoring unusual emissions from the captured Rebel craft, there not being anything of any real importance the Captain was about to trust a greenhorn with. And so it was with some excitement that he noted the jettison of a single escape pod from the Tantive IV. He eagerly signalled the Captain. ‘Sir, an escape pod! Should I destroy it?’ The Captain shook his head. ‘Hold your fire, there’s no life-forms.’ He turned away, indicating in no uncertain terms the exchange was over. Lieutenant Drexel’s brow wrinkled in perplexity. ‘But sir, aren’t we looking for some form of plans?’ The Captain sighed and turned back. ‘That’s right, Ensign-’ ‘-Lieutenant, sir-’ ‘-Lieutenant. What of it?’ ‘Well, isn’t it conceivable that maybe one of the Rebels was cunning enough to hide the plans in the escape pod and jettison it, sir?’ The Captain smiled, not unkindly, and placed a hand on the shoulder of the Lieutenant. ‘Ensign-’ ‘-Lieutenant, sir-’ ‘ -If we went around shooting things because there might be this here and that there, we’d be no better off than the bloody Rebels, what? No, I’m afraid we have to do these things by the book. And the book says there is nothing in that escape pod.’ Drexel’s honest brow knitted again. ‘But sir, it takes hardly any power to fire a single bolt. Surely we’d be better off taking no chances, sir? Shouldn’t we destroy it any way, just in case?’ The captain shook his head vehemently. ‘No, no, no, it doesn’t work like that, lad. We simply don’t go around shooting at stuff because it’s jettisoning from a captured Rebel vessel which happens to hold extremely sensitive technical readouts to the Empire’s secret weapon, what? You have to apply a bit of common sense in these situations, Ensign-’ ‘-Lieutenant, sir-’ ‘-Quite. As I said, one has to go by the book, what?’ ‘Have you ever thought that the book might be wrong, sir?’ There was a noticeable drop in temperature in the room and a horrified silence fell over the bridge. The two officers sat next to Drexel casually leant away from the luckless Lieutenant, experienced enough to know what happened to people who doubted the word of the Captain’s mythical Book. ‘That sounds like Rebel Talk to me, Ensign,’ the Captain said quietly, contriving to illustrate that Rebel Talk was the worst kind of profanity one could utter. ‘Lieu- all I’m saying, sir, is that maybe we should-’ ‘First Officer Bedrin, escort this traitor to the brig.’ First Officer Bedrin saluted smartly. ‘At-a once, sah!’ He proceeded towards Lieutenant Drexel, and eyed the man as if he had just found him on the bottom of his boot. ‘Reeeight you 'orrible little man! You git chore worth-a-less rump up out o' that cheah and proceed forthwith to-a the brig, Former Lieutenant Drexel!’ ‘What? Now, look here-’ ‘Are you givin' me lip, boy? You will follow your orders to-a the letta, me laddo! Now up you get, come on-’ The hapless Lieutenant was escorted from the bridge by the first officer and two rather large men whose faces suggested that they had had any sense of humour surgically removed at birth. The Captain gestured to an Ensign working on a power conduit. ‘Right Ensign, you just made promotion. Congratulations, you are now an Ensign.’ ‘Haha. Very good sir. You mean Lieutenant sir?’ ‘Yes, that's what I meant. Now, back to making sure those plans have no way of escaping that ship, Ensign.’ ‘Lieutenant, sir.’ ‘Quite.’

It's worth pointing out that this is around eight years old. I'm trying to repolish some of the dialogue, but it was probably the first piece of creative writing I ever did off my own back, so it's not exactly my best. Reading this next part, it appears my 21-year-old self heavily drew inspiration from Monty Python and the Holy Grail... ----------- Elsewhere on the ship, a group of men crouched by an airlock, their blasters trained on the door. They looked quite bored for members of an armed insurrection about to captured and asked unpleasant questions for hours on end. One of them, chewing gum nonchalantly, glanced over at his comrade, who was concentrating intently on the airlock. ‘Think they’ll get us this time, then?’ he inquired. His companion sighed, suggesting that he had been subject to the other’s inane babble in life-or-death situations before. ‘ Of course they’re gonna get us, Reg. We have been caught in the tractor beam of a Victory-Class Imperial Star Destroyer, which has a crew of three thousand and a complement of five thousand stormtroopers, one hundred and twenty-eight turbolaser emplacements, thirty-two ion cannons, twelve missile launchers, an aforementioned tractor beam, and a partridge in a pear tree. We, on the other hand, number less than three hundred, and are in a Corellian Corvette with minimal armaments and an Arakyd thermonuclear reactor what has been disabled by a barrage of furious wrath from our Imperial friends out there. So yeah, I reckon we’re gonna bite the proverbial blaster bolt, Reg.’ ‘Kuat Drive Yards.’ ‘What?’ ‘S’a Kuat Drive Yards reactor, Jim. Not much of a Rebel, not knowing your own reactor specifications, are you? See, where you gone wrong is thinking that Arakyd are responsible for the manufacture of your basic thermonuclear reactor-’ ‘-Reg, I really don’t think-’ ‘- When in fact any Rebel worth his salt knows that Arakyd are responsible for the manufacture and distribution of a variety of munitions such as concussion missiles and blaster pistols such as the one you are holding at the moment-’ ‘-Reg, could we just-’ ‘-And ergo they are entirely ill-equipped for the outfitting of ships vis-à-vis the obtainment of a decent turn of speed in a sublight environment. Stands to reason, really. Only Kuat Drive Yards have the manpower and equipment to outfit a ship of this size with a thermonuclear reactor.’ Jim nodded wearily and waved his hand at Reg in a conciliatory manner. ‘Alright Reg, you’re right. I made a mistake and you rightly picked up on it, Force forbid that I forget such an important fact as the make of our reactor during an impending life-or-death situation.’ Reg, one of life’s pub quiz veterans, nodded smugly. ‘Well, just so long as you admit your mistake-’ ‘ ‘Ere, did you say these blasters are Arakyd?’ Reg, cut off in mid-gloat, looked up at the owner of the voice with a hint of annoyance. ‘What?’ ‘I said, did you say these blasters are Arakyd?’ ‘Er yeah-’ The newcomer shook his head in a manner that suggested he was about to impart his infallible knowledge on the subject of small sidearms. ‘Nah, mate, you’re bang out there, intcha? S’well known fact that Arakyd are responsible for ordnance and weapons such as missiles and turbolasers, right?’ ‘Well, o’ course-’ ‘-But what people forget is that they don’t tend to focus on the personal firearm market, right? No, your general blaster is produced by Blastech Industries, innit?’ Opined the blaster expert. ‘ Well, yeah, everyone-’ ‘And so you have made the not uncommon mistake of assuming that Arakyd are responsible for the manufacture of all Rebel weapons, including small firearms such as the blasters what we are holding now. S’a sign of ignorance, really. You should check your facts before spouting off about the state of the firearms industry as it relates to the Rebel Alliance, mate.’ Reg, who considered himself an authority on all inconsequential trivia, bridled at this last comment. As such men often do, he responded by changing the subject to something he was a little more comfortable with. ‘You takin’ the piss?’ ‘No, mate, just correcting you on a minor point-’ ‘I don’t have to stand for this! I’m a good citizen, me! I pay me taxes on time, same as the next bloke, do a decent day’s work-’ ‘You pay your taxes?’ ‘I- What?’ ‘You pay your taxes, do you?’ ‘Well, I was talking wossname. Figuratively, like.’ ‘Bloody ‘ell, we’d be in a sorry state if we all went around paying our taxes, wouldn’t we? We are members of an illegal insurrectionist cell what is in a state of rebellion, and as such we do not consider ourselves subject to the draconian laws of the current ruling body, right? Next you’ll be saying ol’ Palpatine’s not a bad fella, underneath all the murders and genocides and such. I’m having my doubts if you’ve really got you heart in our quest for truth and justice, mate. You an Imperial spy, are you?’ Reg, an easily provoked man when his limited reserve of verbal banter had been exhausted, knitted his eyebrows. ‘ What did you just call me, you little toerag?’ The gun expert’s face was a picture of righteous indignation. He gestured at Reg and looked around at his fellow Rebels for support. ‘Did you hear that, eh? He called me a toerag! I don’t call that very indicative of a man who is fighting for democracy and equality, do you? He is obviously a wolf in sheep’s clothing, sort o’ thing. We have an agent of the dread forces o’ fascism amidst us, lads! Get ‘im!’ ‘Right, that’s it, you little tosser! I’ll do you-’ Jim, who had been bemusedly watching, made a grab for Reg and restrained him from doing the firearms authority a mischief. ‘Leave it, Reg! It ain’t worth it-’ ‘- You heard what the bastard called me! Let me go, I’ll bloody well clout him-’ ‘D’you hear that? This is the suppression of the freedom of speech via the application of force, this is! He’s a bloody Imp if ever I saw one!’ ‘Why you little-’ At this point the airlock exploded inwards in a shower of metal, dispatching the unfortunate Rebels nearest the doorway quite quickly. A hail of blaster bolts zinged down the corridor, singing Rebel and wall alike. The gun expert and political commentator took a repressive blaster bolt to the chest, and got dropped faster than a Welsh language course. Reg, his affronted indignation forgotten in the face of a squad of heavily armed stormtroopers, dropped to the floor and began firing back with his Blastech pistol. Unseen behind him, two droids trundled across the corridor, miraculously avoiding the blaster bolts whizzing overhead.

This is a re-work of a Pythonesque Episode IV parody I wrote years ago. Some of the dialogue was a bit, well silly, except unintentionally. The reworked dialogue is, of course, supposed to be silly. ------------------ IT IS A TIME OF GREAT PERIL THROUGHOUT THE GALAXY. A HOST OF BRAVE, IDEALISTIC WARRIORS AND DIPLOMATS HAVE BANDED TOGETHER IN THIS HOUR OF STRIFE TO FIGHT AGAINST THE EVIL MIGHT OF THE ‘GALACTIC EMPIRE’©, AND GENERALLY HAVE A SIT-DOWN AND HAVE A CHAT ABOUT HOW IT WASN’T LIKE THIS BACK IN THEIR DAY. I MEAN, BACK THEN, YOU COULD GO OUT AND LEAVE YOUR SPEEDER UNLOCKED, COULDN’T YOU? AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ON THE SODDING RODIANS, COMING OVER HERE AND STEALING OUR JOBS… ANYWAY, I DIGRESS. WHERE WAS I? GALACTIC PERIL, PERIOD OF GRAVE WOSSNAME… OH YEAH. ON THE BRINK OF THE KNOWN GALAXY, A CONFRONTATION IS BEING PRECIPITATED BETWEEN THE SHIP OF THE BEAUTIFUL AND COURAGEOUS PRINCESS LEIA ORGANA, AND THE SINISTER AND NEFARIOUS AGENTS OF THE EMPIRE. WITHIN THE REBEL SHIP ARE CARRIED THE PLANS TO A WEAPON CALLED THE DEATH STAR, AN ARMOURED SPACE STATION WITH ENOUGH POWER TO DESTROY ENTIRE PLANETS. THEY PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE CALLED IT SOMETHING LIKE THE ‘PLANET DESTROYER’ OR SOMETHING A BIT LESS MISLEADING, BUT THAT’S IMPERIAL PR FOR YOU- MISLEADING NAMES AND PLANET-DESTROYING DOOMSDAY WEAPONS. OUR INTREPID PRINCESS RUSHES TOWARDS THE PLANET TATOOINE, HER CARGO IN DANGER OF BEING INTERCEPTED BY REALLY UNPLEASANT PEOPLE… An explosion rocked the Tantive IV, nearly unbalancing the prissy protocol droid C3PO and his diminutive partner R2-D2. 3PO leaned against a wall to catch his breath. Well, not his breath, because droids don’t actually breathe, but he leaned against the wall anyway for a metaphorical breather. Probably letting his RAM initialise, or something. ‘Did you hear that, Artoo? They shut down the main reactor! We’ll be captured for sure.’ R2 contrived to indicate, via a complex series of beeps and whistles, that he had indeed heard the large explosion, and that that they should probably get off the ship. C3PO looked worriedly at his companion, or as worried as one can look with a face made of solid metal. ‘Leave? We can’t leave, Artoo! They’ll deactivate us for sure if we try to escape! No, we should stay here and… explain things. Yes, I like that idea.’ 3PO brightened. ‘ I’ve always said the stormtroopers aren’t a bad bunch, you know. A jolly fine body of men. They have quite nice armour too. Very snug. Brings out their pectorals. Their helmets are very… shapely, too. ‘ 3PO drifted away in a state of contemplation, anticipating being man-handled by several well-built man in plastic armour. With helmets on. R2 beeped worriedly, indicating that trying to explain things to the Emperor’s soldiers was like trying to reason with a very annoyed rancor, nice helmets or not. 3PO bridled. ‘Well I’m not going anywhere, you overgrown sack of bolts! I’m going to find the princess. She’ll know what to do.’ R2 agreed that this was probably the best course of action, and that 3PO should follow him. The two droids set off down the narrow corridor.

We’re shown into a swanky conference room, an airy get-up dominated by a long shiny hunk of oak flanked by leather chairs. The guy who showed us in nods at the chairs, a smile never threatening to crack his cheery exterior. “Sit. Mister Gunray will get here when he gets here.” “Yeah, thanks. Can I get a-“ I’m talking to thin air; guy turns around and walks out without so much as a ‘see ya’- “drink?” I sigh. “Never mind.” “Friendly bunch, aren’t they?” observes the kid, slouching into one of the chairs and taking his hat off. “What now?” “I guess we wait. See what this schmoe’s gotta say for himself.” “I ain’t so sure he’s got anything to say, Chief.” “Think you might be right on that one,” I say, taking my own hat off and laying it on the table. “You know the Wise Men, though. Gotta wait for him to make his play.” --------------------- “Can I get you boys anything?” lilts the broad, a plastic-pretty automaton with a smile as brilliant as her eyes are dead, and a paisley dress that makes her look like she just walked outta some wholesome all-Corellian cereal commercial. “Drinks? Something to eat?” “Whyren’s. On the rocks,” I say. The smile shifts up a gear. She smiled any harder, the top of her head might have toppled off. “Of course! Please wait one moment, Mister JayDee.” “Don’t recall tellin’ you I was a JayDee, sweetheart,” I say, my face hardening. “Oh!” her smile faltered. “You all dress the same, you know how it is.” She gives a coquettish giggle, trying to offset my sudden shift in mood with some good ol’-fashioned feminine wiles. It doesn’t take. “Not sure I do, sugar. That drink’d be swell round about now.” “Of course.” She totters out on four-inch heels, a broken ankle threatening every step of the way. “They know we’re JayDee,” points out the kid. “Yeah. I called them and told them, remember? It’ll make this easier if they know who they’re dealin’ with.” “Will it? I got a bad feeling about this…” “These guys are morons. Don’t sweat it.” As if to contradict me, the door cracks open a tad and two round, greenish globes hit the floor with a hollow tinkle. The kid’s moving a split-second after me- he’s getting fast- and we throw the table over towards the grenades the droid geeks just threw in. The explosion rocks the air and slams into my ears like a freight train. Everything goes dim and far away for a second, a tinny ringing singing in my ears, and I hear the door go again. The droid clean-up crew is expecting us to be on the ground, dead or dying. They ain’t expecting two pissed-off JD waiting for them, irons in hand and spitting lead at them. They go down easy and fast, all dead or as good as after head and chest shots. The JD don’t screw around when it comes to training their guys up. “Looks like the negotiations are over, Kyoo-Gee,” says the kid breathless, thumbing fresh rounds into his iron. “You kiddin’ me? They just opened,” I reply, reloading my own. “Let’s go see our pal Gunray.”