A different kind-of story, not meant to be taken seriously. It's not really based on the actual characters or universe or anything really. I started writing this as an exercise, to see if I could actually write a story with not too much thought being put into it. And also just to have some fun. That, I did.
Leonard Nimoy or George Takei or one of them once said something about how in Star Trek V he thought that it was cheap entertainment with the crew do things like having Scotty bash his head on a beam, with Sulu and Chekov lost in the woods and Uhura doing that naked dancing, and this story sinks to that level, and beyond. But I can live with it.
So far, I've started working on the first chapter but, if anyone actually is interested, I'm not very good at making myself write, even this .... stuff. But I have an outline for where this story is to go and I'm hoping that it will become, somewhat, more intelligent.
Feedback: Deliver the diss.
Beginneth
The bridge of the ISD Chimaera was reasonably quiet when Captain Pellaeon exited the turbolift. He stepped onto the main deck and looked around for a moment, as the doors made a swooshing sound behind him as they closed. He clasped a styrofoam cup of coffee in his right hand and a datapadd in his left, looking over some reports he'd had sent to himself early on. The ninth game of the Gault sector's world series hoverball championship had been played earlier that night. Pellaeon had been too busy assisting Grand Admiral Thrawn with some indescribable matters of importance so had forgot to watch it.
Actually, he pondered, he hadn't really forgot to watch it. He could've possible rescheduled their indescribable matters of importance He just didn't exactly feel like broaching the subject at all with the Admiral.
Who knows, his mind pondered, the Admiral might even have agreed to the rescheduling. Indeed perhaps the Admiral would've joined him. Would he have wanted that? he asked himself. The answer was not forthcoming. Why am I talking to myself? he heard his mind ask itself, as he listened in the background. There was no forthcoming answer to that question either.
He walked forwards, moving to the forward section where the crewpits lay, passing by several crew members. These were all crew members from gamma shift, the shift that ran from late evening to early morning. Pellaeon approached the shift leader. Lt. Commander John Smith, a medium height and built man with short red-hair, was sitting in Pellaeon's usual bridge chair but with the footrests lowered, his feet stretched out upon them.
The more junior officer looked at his captain for a few seconds and then asked, "Do you want me to vacate your seat sir?" though he didn't budge a centimetre.
Pellaeon nodded. "Yes."
Smith's eyes wandered from Pellaeon to Grand Admiral Thrawn's empty chair. "Okay." He jumped out of the chair, standing next to Thrawn's chair as Pellaeon took his seat. It was warm, he noticed. Mmmmm. Normally he didn't like to sit in a chair someone had recently vacated but it become slightly chilly all of a sudden. Someone from beta shift had probably left the air conditioning on too long. He wondered if he should have worn a cardigan.
Pellaeon pulled a lever on the side of his chair and a tray table ejected itself. He folded it down and placed the datapadd flat on the surface, while his styrofoam cup went into the cup holder.
"So..." began Smith. Pellaeon looked up at him. He was still standing. Standing because of the reaction Thrawn would've made if he'd dared tried to sit there. Pellaeon grimaced internally. He didn't like to think of what would happen if Smith tried it someday. No not at all. "What's that you're looking at?"
"It's the main marks from the ninth game of Gault sector's hoverball world series." The captain then took a breath.
"Who's winning?"
Pellaeon inwardly sighed. Loudly. "The game has finished so someone has already won."
"Ah."
Yeah, thought Pellaeon. He focused on the datapadd again.
"So who won?"
"I don't know. I'm reading each round as they went. I'll find out at the end who won."
"Ah." Smith turned and moved away and Pellaeon assumed the man had gone into some other section of the bridge. He hadn't. Seconds later Smith returned holding something in his hands. He placed the stool on the floor, between Thrawn and Pellaeon's chairs and seated himself, his feet resting on the bottom rung. He looked over so he could read the datapadd. There was silence for a moment, followed by another similar lengthened moment where Smith read what was on the padd quietly, but loud enough that Pellaeon could hear. "Four out for thirty?!" he suddenly exclaimed loudly. "Gee, what's going on?"
Pellaeon coughed. "Could you perhaps not be so loud...you're ruining the mood."
Smith put a hand to his mouth. "Sorry, sorry. My bad. I'll...be quiet." They both returned to the way they'd been reading before Smith's outburst.
And Pellaeon was now able to actually devote his full attention to the material he was reading. He'd read all the way up to round seven and so far the game had the feeling that it would be another one of those ordinary games. Someone would score a few points on one team, then Team Two would score some more points and finally the third team would round it up, again, with some more points scored. Interesting stuff.
There was a sudden change in music and then an alert siren sounded suddenly. Pellaeon was visibly jolted and looked around for something to focus on.
"Sup?" he heard Lt. Cmdr. Smith call down to the crewpits.
Several crewers looked up and then an Officer called out. "A ship has just dropped out of hyperspace four point two five kilometres away."
"Hmmm," said Pellaeon, nodding. "Yes, that would trigger the too close for comfort...sensor....thing." He coughed. "IFF code?" he ordered.
"It reads as a Rebel slash New Republic Calamari class battle cruiser."
That type of ship was one of the few that actually could cause some damage to an Imperial Star Destroyer such as the Chimaera, thus explaining it's presence.
"There's a new craft alert going on," called out the same officer who'd spoken before. He looked at his console. "Reading several T-Wings leaving it's mothership, on intercept course. Also picking up several X-Wings launching."
Pellaeon rose to his feet and looked out the window, glancing around a bit to see where the ships were. He turned to the crewpit guy. "Where are they?"
He pointed towards the rear of the bridge. "Thataway."
Pellaeon nodded and then looked at Smith who was pretty much doing nothing, focusing in on Pellaeon's datapadd and the hoverball tournament thing. "Smith?" he called.
"Just a minute."
"Smith," Pellaeon repeated.
"Just five more minutes."
So Pellaeon sighed and continued. "Helm, bring us about at azimuth one-eighty degrees from current position. Signal TIE Fighter group Alpha and TIE Bomber group Beta to launch when ready."
Smith looked up and out to the approaching ships. "This should be good."
The ship spun around to face the other direction. There was a timeskip and a cutscene from TIE Fighter played and several fighters zoomed off to have a fight. A TIE fighter blew up, then an X-Wing blew up, then another X-Wing blew up, then ten more blew up. Finally everything was destroyed.
"That was fast," commented Smith.
Then something terrible happened. While repositioning his buttocks, he lost hold of what was in his hands. As Pellaeon watched in horror, he dropped the datapadd. It landed with a thud and shattered into a million teeny tiny itty bitty teenty pieces. An inhuman shriek escaped his mouth, and then he yelled. "Nooooooooooooooooo!"
* * *
Getting off work two hours late, Pellaeon entered The Bar at a slow pace. Looking around he saw that Guinan wasn't around. Ralf, Guinan's droid assistant, was serving instead.
"Hey Cap," he said nodding in Pellaeon's direction.
Pellaeon waved hello and took his seat at the bar. He mumbled a greeting, his head drooping down to the bar.
"Tough day?"
Pellaeon looked up with a look as if to say 'Aren't you observant'. "Something like that."
"What happened?"
He shrugged. "Nothing much. The usual. The usual that somehow is different from six months ago and will be different six months from now. They're tricky, these 'usuals'."
"Thrawn killed another one of your crewers?"
"Not today." He proceeded to narrate some of the tiring events of the day such as the turbolift traffic jam, the TIE Offender practice session that had turned nasty and the opening of the new mall that he'd had to cut the declaration ribbon of.
"So, what can I do you for?"
Pellaeon sighed. "What do you think I want you to do?"
"Listen to mindless chit chat each day and deliver some usually meaningless advice?"
Pellaeon nodded slowly. "Yeah.... No! You're a barman! I think, coming into the bar and sitting here at the bar, with my hands on the, aforementioned, bar, I want something from, the bar. The Bar," he said emphasising the name. "Something to drink. If I wanted someone to tell my problems too, what do you think my personal log is for?"
"Summarising."
"Then I'll go to the counsellor or therapist!"
Ralf looked perplexed. "Therapists? We have those onboard?"
"Um." Pellaeon suddenly had no idea. "Maybe. But I'll tell you what I want, what I really," and then there was a substantially large pause of silence, before he continued, "really want. I came here to have a drink, so...give me a drink. That's an order."
"Okay." Ralf poured him a drink of some exotic alien alcohol and Pellaeon sculled it, a look of ecstasy on his face. "You want some more?"
"Sure I do." Ralf looked at him for a moment before pouring another drink. The captain sculled that one too.
Many drinks later Pellaeon had an unlit cigarette in his mouth and ten shot glasses lay empty on the bar. "You remind me of him a bit y'know?" the captain was saying. "You do. You do." He paused. "I'm telling you you you do. Hmmm?"
"I'm sure I look like your brother, Cap," Ralf said with a grin. "But we're closing up."
"What?"
"I said 'we're closing up'."
"I heard you the first time! What?"
"Time to go, cap."
"I have to leave?"
"You have to leave." Ralf gave him a look. "Can you walk?"
"Can I walk? Can I, I, walk?" Pellaeon rose shakily to his feet. "I think I can..." Pellaeon stood for exactly four seconds before he fell forwards onto the bar. "I can!"
Ralf sighed once again and called over one of the droid waiters. "Fred, make sure Captain Pellaeon gets home okay, okay?"
"Sure thing."
* * *
Sitting at his desk in his private lair, a specific number of decks down from the bridge, Admiral Thrawn pressed the intercom so as to call his secretary. He bent down to speak into it. "Rukh. Summon Captain Pellaeon immediately."
Rukh pressed a button to respond. "Okay." He rose and walked out of the room.
On the bridge Pellaeon was seated in his chair. He'd had two trays placed on the tray table. The Inbox was overflowing with papers while the Outbox didn't have a single scrap as yet. Commander Ardiff was standing next to him, showing him several forms that he'd delivered personally which Pellaeon had to fill out.
"Okay," Pellaeon said nodding. "I think all these crew members deserve their military funded holidays plus holiday pay. I'm sure they will all enjoy their...time away."
"Yes," agreed Ardiff, nodding. "We'll all have a blast." Pellaeon turned to Ardiff, his eyes barely noticeably becoming slits for a second before they returned to normalcy. "Blast..those rebels that is. Probably won't have time to even sit down what with all the...work going on. None of us will not...be doing....work." He looked warily at Pellaeon who still hadn't said a thing since Ardiff's unofficial announcement.
Pellaeon said nothing but his mind was a fury inside. Steam shot out of his ears and his eyes blazed a red fury. He picked up his big rubber stamp from the inkpad and stamped down hard on the papers, stamping each one-by-one as hard as he could.
"Uh...thanks....sir." Ardiff grabbed his papers and proceeded to run away.
Pellaeon continued stamping the table's surface itself now that it was bare. His mind was a daze and it was a few seconds before he realised what he'd done.
"Dammit." He pulled out his hankie and proceeded to wipe up the mess he'd made. And then he sneezed. He put the hankie up to his nose as he sneezed, but inadvertently wiped some of the ink onto his face.
Pulling a sheet of paper from the Inbox, he raised his hand, holding the stamp, above the paper. He was just about to stamp his stamp but he heard a noise.
"Captain Pellaeon to the Information desk," came a voice over the loudspeakers. "Captain Pellaeon to the information desk."
Giving his face a wipe, the captain jumped out of his chair and looked to the desk, wondering what was up. Rukh was standing next to the desk, a pencil stuck over one ear. Pellaeon strolled up to Rukh where the Noghri joined up with him. They both entered the turbolift. Several seconds later the lift doors opened and they entered Thrawn's lair.
Rukh took his seat behind his desk which was right next to the doorway, on the left as they entered. On the right was a couch and a water dispenser where Pellaeon rested himself. He looked up further into the room but his vision was obscured by a dense fog. Rukh spoke something into the intercom and a reply came seconds later. Rukh looked to Pellaeon. "Admiral Thrawn will see you now."
"Thanks." The captain rose and proceeded into the fog. The floor became different from it's usual metallic Imperial style and became much like the surface of a sewer with floor coverings that reminded him slightly of manhole covers. He thought he heard someone yell 'Cowabunga' but dismissed it as a triviality.
. He walked about fifteen metres straight ahead before the fog became less dense, and he felt carpet along the floor. Thrawn's lair opened up around him. The Admiral's desk sat almost completely against the back of the room, his computer situated upon it's top and a line of holo projectors up both sides of the room which were displaying a scrolling marquee. Pellaeon wasn't sure where he wanted to go today.
"Hey," he said in greeting to Thrawn.
"Good evening, Captain Pellaeon," spoke Thrawn in a loud spooky voice, his red eyes staring into him. "How are you this evening, Captain?"
"Okay, I guess." He nodded to Thrawn and gave a little fake smile where he clenched his teeth and opened his mouth slowly.
"Really?" asked Thrawn.
"Yes, really," answered Pellaeon, still gazing into Thrawn's eyes. He nodded for a few seconds.
"That is not what I have been led to believe," stated Thrawn matter-of-factly. He picked up a remote control of his desk and activated his holo-projectors. A series of clips, all showing Pellaeon began playing before the both of them. There was one clip from the bridge, then another from the bridge, one in the bar, one in the shower, then several more on the bridge. All showed Pellaeon with various degrees of emotional health, the shot of him trying to throw John Smith into the crewpits probably the worst of the lot, but the others weren't too good either. All showed him losing his temper.
Pellaeon watched the events unfold with a feeling of ambivalence, and wondered what exactly that meant since ambivalence meant he was feeling two completely opposite emotions. But wasn't ambivalence an emotion too, so wasn't he feeling three emotions? He was sure someone out there would explain it to him...oneday.
"Oh," he finally replied. "Yah, it was bad there for a moment. But I'm okay now."
Thrawn steepled his fingers before him. "Captain Pellaeon, I require all my officers to be operating at their best during this period of time that we are in, and it would not do for us to have my liasion to the fleet delivering sub-standard quality of work. Wouldn't you agree, Number One?"
"Sure. I guess."
"That is why I'm relieving you of command." Pellaeon's jaw dropped at this. "You're firing me?" he stammered.
The Admiral shook his head. "Not at all. I'm sending you off on vacation. I've had the Chimaera set course for Bastion where we will remain for the duration of time before you return home."
It was a lot for the captain to digest. "Wow. So...Wow. I'm like....wow." He paused shaking his head. "So how long do I get for this vacation?"
"Approximately, X amount of days," answered Thrawn.
"'Kay," answered Pellaeon. "And if I take less than....X amount?"
"You won't. The specific time period that I have just disclosed," began Thrawn, gesturing with his hands as he spoke, "has been calculated so as to provide as much time as is needed for the events that are to unfold, appropiately, quite coincidentally with your time away."
The captain stroked his chin in thought. "Ah yes. I see." He grinned. "Good thinking."
