TK-421, Why Aren't You at Your Post? - Episode 1

TK-421, Why Aren’t You at Your Post?

            So there I was, on board the Empire’s newest gim-crack – the “T.T.” I called it, for “Technological Terror”.  Not to Lord Vader’s face, mind you – I didn’t much care for the idea of hovering two feet above the ground getting my brains choked out by some dumb (but effective) trick of that ancient, hokey religion of his, especially since I didn’t have my blaster at my side.  I had been forced (physically forced, I mean, not “force” forced) to leave it with the secretary when I came in.

It was something, I can say that – the Death Star, I mean.  That’s what they called it, the blood-thirsty little imperialists.   Everything’s got to be death this, death that, destroyer this, destroyer that.  Over-doing it, I say.   Intimidation only goes so far – I’ve learned that in my line of work.  You got to wheedle people along sometimes – please them, flatter them, make them think they’ve got what they want.   Everybody’s happy that way, and then you don’t have up-start groups with an over-inflated sense of freedom and justice posturing around and compromising your security.

Jawa was with me on this case.  Not just because I thought he might come in handy, or because I didn’t really care to stroll into a giant space station the size of a small moon built by a blood-thirsty, power-hungry, and chronically paranoid despot, all by myself.  No, I was actually getting to be genuinely of fond of the guy.  In spite of the fact I didn’t know his name even, and was more or less just assuming his gender, he was growing on me, and I found it comforting to hear the shuffle of his brown robe as he walked beside me, his sleeves flapping along at his sides.  He didn’t say much, and that was O.K. with me.  In a weird way, I think we were beginning to understand each other.

“Move along,” said a stormtrooper.   He was eyeing Jawa with a cocked helmet, and what looked like disapproval.  I wanted to say, “You move along,” but I shut my trap because that’s what you did when you were around imperials.  Sure, the stormtroopers had the intelligence level of a wompa in a vegetative state, but they had blasters, and I didn’t, and, at this range, I wasn’t about to put too much faith in their unimpeachably bad aim.