Episode 1 - Saved by Serious Shortcomings
You know, it's kind of funny. Who would have ever thought delusions of grandeur could get a guy killed?
"This is Penni Duron reporting from right outside the halls of the Senate on Coruscant with HoloNet breaking news. Newly appointed Emperor Palpatine has just finished speaking in grave detail on a...just disturbing plot by the Jedi Council and sadly it would seem the rest of the Jedi Order as well to overthrow all levels of the government and seize power of the entire galaxy as we know it. Once considered the heroes of peace and justice, these conspirators are now obviously branded as outlaws, and armed and dangerous at that. We can only consider ourselves extremely lucky that the diligent efforts of Emperor Palpatine were able to foil-" Click.
This is a strange strange universe we live in. Here it is, a half past noon, I'm lying in bed, stayed up way too late drinking and doing don't ask what else last night, and the only way to cure this hangover is to have another drink of Jabiimi Spiced Rum. And I'm pretty sure the fine Twi'lek lying next to me is a paralegal from the local prosecutor's office, but now that the fog is lifting, I'm not exactly sure I even got her name before she showed me why Twi'leks have such a fantastic reputation. The reports are definitely true, by the way.
But because I'm such a complete and utter failure in life, I'm living to tell about it. Where is the sense in that?
In another life, I would have been Wes Zinnen, Jedi Knight. And right now, I would be a dead man. Instead, I got thirteen years of the most embarrassing humiliation that you would not even wish on your worst enemy, only to be told at the end of it "a fine human being you are, but gifted with the Force, you are not." Condescending piece of backwards speaking Bantha crap. That guy may have actually gotten what's coming to him.
Let's see, let's list all the reasons I'm still breathing: I'm kind of clumsy. I'm not too bright. Skills with a lightsaber? None to speak of. Skills with the Force? Even less. I'm slow. I'm lazy. My attitude isn't quite as positive as it should be. My outlook on life is as negative as it could be. People skills? Notta. (Just ask Master Rancissis about the time he let me tag along to see him settle a labor dispute between the Utarian Asteroid Governing Authority and the workers in the Flaxen Spice Miners' Union. Let's just say the galaxy is in serious need of the medicinal flaxen spice and the Utarian Asteroid Field is in serious need of a new government. Curiously, neither can be found at the moment.)
So they didn't trust me with a lightsaber, but they sure as hell trusted me with a shovel and hoe. Since I wasn't going to be a Jedi any time in the near or distant future, they kindly offered for me to do manual labor in some farming community located way out in the Outer Rim, and I kid you not, I swear the planet was actually named Bumdeal . (They say it's pronounced, "BOOM-day-all," but it's clearly, "Bumdeal".) I kindly offered for them to stick their offer where the Twins of Tatooine don't shine. But I was then lucky enough to get a counteroffer from that little booger of a troll.
"Go home now, you will. Never a Jedi will you be."
Go home, I did. And a Jedi, I never was. But much happier, I definitely am. Dammit, he's got me speaking backwards.
To teach us humility, we always lived very humbly in the Temple. Only the basic necessities in life, no flashy clothes or cool technology, merely what we needed to survive. Believe it or not, I actually got used to it because that was all I ever knew…that is, until I returned home to Naboo. As it turns out, the Zinnen Family – owners of Z-Force Aerospace Engineering, makers of top-of-the-line sublight engines for vessels of all sizes – is one of the wealthiest families on all of Naboo, and in that whole system for that matter. How freaking sweet is that? Was I a little bummed for having wasted the first thirteen years of my life on some lofty aspiration that would never come to fruition? A little bit. Was I able to get over it faster than Master Qui-Gon getting wasted by a Sith? You bet.
Time to do another mental inventory, just to make sure I have all this straight. You get kicked out of the Jedi Order because you're the biggest mess-up ever to step foot in the hallowed Temple, only to return home to live in the lap of luxury and later on you learn that had you become a Jedi, you would have been rounded up with all of your would-be colleagues so you could all be destroyed like worthless cattle for war crimes you probably didn't even commit to begin with but rather you were just some acceptable collateral damage in some vast government conspiracy merely to aid some jerk's assent to power. Note to self: failure is definitely always an option.
I really don't remember those first five years after coming home. Mom and Pops were so happy to have me back, they didn't give a womprat's ass what I did with my life, so naturally I spent ninety percent of it drunk, and I really can't recall the other ten percent. Then eighteen came along. And eighteen means freedom.
Of course in my case, freedom merely meant my parents finally got sick of me and told me either I got some education in me or they would kick my sorry butt straight out onto the streets. Call me crazy, but I had already heard enough pompous idiots preach at me for one lifetime. So again I took the latter.
Wealth does have its privileges though, and one of those many privileges is connections. I used my parents' name and got a pretty awesome gig with the Naboo Royal Security Force working at the Palace in Theed. Didn't know before then that the Queen has at least ten different lookalikes who double also as extra bodyguards. The fantastic part is, when the Queen is hot, that means you also get to work with at least ten hotties day in and day out.
Gifted with the Force, I may not be, but gifted with the ladies, that's another story. All I had to do was start telling them about my "life of adventure and excitement" as a Jedi, and they were all over me like snot on a Hutt.
But like with everything else in my life, I quickly got bored with my monotonous routine on Naboo, so I decided to go back and see what else Coruscant had to offer besides the gouge-my-eyeball-out-with-a-spoon boring epicenter of the universe known as the Jedi Temple, and decided to put in for a cop gig right here at the heart of the galaxy. Considering most of the patrol speeders around here sport a Z-Force sublight engine, it wasn't too hard locking down a job on the force.
Much to my surprise, for the first time in my life, I actually didn't screw something up, and somehow it paid off. Earlier this year I made detective, and man do I love this job – sleuthing around, busting bad guys, building up a reputation, and women totally dig a guy in uniform.
"Wes, baby, you coming back to bed?"
"Be right there, sweetcakes."
My name is Wes Zinnen, Detective, Coruscant Special Investigative Unit, and boy am I glad I'm no Jedi.
Episode 2 - "I Got it From My Mama" or "Never Underestimate the Power of a Corellian Creme Donut!"
"Good morning, Detective Zinnen. You have an urgent holo on line 3," my cute little blonde hair, blue-eyed secretary Jen says to me as soon as I walk in the front door. 0800 Monday morning and already I'm being tasked with missions of the utmost importance to the security of all Coruscant. I walk into my office, shut the door, and press "receive" on my holotransmitter as I hang my jacket up.
"Wesley, this is your mother." Oh, son of a-
"Yes, Mom, I know. Believe it or not, I can actually see your beautiful face as well as you can see me. Hence the point of a holo." I sit back in my executive pleather chair and prop my feet up on my desk. These conversations are usually never short and usually always painful.
"Don't you be smart with me, young man. You're not too old for me to bend you over my knee."
"Yes, Mother, thank you, you make that abundantly clear, almost daily. Now to what do I owe the honor of being able to speak with you oh so early on Monday morning before I even have my first cup of coffee or Corellian Crème Donut from Dexter's Diner?"
"Oh, what have I told you about those dreadful things?" Here we go again. "You know high cholesterol runs in the family. And with Flaxen Spice being so hard to find these days, who's going to save you when you're chasing after some dangerous criminal and you collapse and fall dead with a heart attack?"
"Thanks, Mom. Love you too. Hold on, I have a holo on the other line."
"But-" I press the hold button before she gets another word in. Before her image even has a chance to fade away, I press the intercom button.
"Jen, dear, would you mind stepping into my office for a moment?"
"Right away, sir." "Sir," that's funny. You do have to admire her professionalism. She wants to be an officer someday. Can't let that happen too soon though. She's an excellent secretary.
Her divine legs walk into the office, followed by the rest of her fantastic body. "Please, have a seat. So…what did you do this weekend?"
She looks puzzled as she sits down across from me. "Isn't your mom still on the line?" she says inquisitively. She'll make an excellent detective sometime in the distant future.
"Yeah, but she put me on hold. But anyway – hey! You knew that was my mom and you didn't pre-alert me?!"
She simply grins. And I think I'm in love. She's good. And she'll have to pay for that one.
"Well, since you asked, detective, Friday night Art from Accounting took me out to the opera house and then we-"
"Wait, you went out with Art from Accounting? Art from Accounting hasn't had a date in two and a half years. How in the world did Art from Accounting get a date with you?"
"He asked."
"He asked?"
"He asked."
"He asked. Well…you wanna go out Friday night?"
"No," she says with a smile as she gets up and starts heading out of the office, "that would be fraternization, sir." She turns around and winks as she slides her hand up the door, "And your mom is still on line 3."
Now I know I'm in love. I wonder how she'll take it when I fire her so she can go out with me.
"Mom," I ask as I click the holo back on, "you still there?"
"Of course I'm still here, Wesley." Fooey. "Where have you been? I've been waiting here all day for you."
"Very important police work, Mother, and it's only 8:05. Speaking of which, hold on a sec, Mom."
"Wait, don't-" Click.
Intercom, "Jen, dear, would you mind running to grab me a large coffee with extra cream and sugar and 3 Corellian Crème Donuts from Dex's?"
"Sir, you do know high cholesterol runs in your family, don't you?"
"Of course I do. Now, would you mind – hey! How did you know that?"
She turns around and smiles at me through the window. "Good question. And sir, please don't call me 'dear'."
"Anything you say, dear. Now run along, would you? I am a very busy man." I'm pretty sure I hear an emphatic "hmph!" as she grabs her coat and walks out, but I can't be certain. This may be the beginning of a very beautiful or very destructive relationship.
Click. "Mom? Sorry about that, the police commissioner needed my advice on something."
She shakes her head as she starts ranting, "You see, that is exactly why I called. When are you going to stop all this police nonsense and come home to Naboo where you belong? You know your father and I were very supportive of you when you were trying to do the Jedi thing – and we all know how that turned out – and then you wanted to be a policeman working with all those tramps from the Palace and now you've been gallivanting all over Coruscant for how many years now? You need to get your act together and-" Line 1 incoming holo lights up. First break I've gotten all day.
"Mom, I'm sorry, I actually have to go this time. Hugs and kisses. Love ya."
"Wesley, don't you-" Click. I press the Line 1 button and an image of Police Commissioner Franqs appears.
"Good morning, Commissioner," I say as my feet immediately jump off the desk and land on the floor. I need caller ID on this thing. "What can I do for you this morning?"
"Zinnen…good to see you're hard at work as always." I hate people more sarcastic than I am. "Several local officials have disappeared in the last two weeks, and as of this point our investigations have turned up nothing. We are now tasking you with this assignment."
"Me? Isn't, uh, what's his face, Suqor from Precinct 22 already on this case?"
"Yes," he says solemnly, "but unfortunately while at a local junk shop looking for spare droid parts for his malfunctioning H-28U Housekeeper droid, an old beat-up droideka inadvertently reactivated itself and blew off his left leg without warning. Needless to say, Detective Suqor from Precinct 22 is not currently fit for full duty." And I thought I had bad luck. Ha! That's kind of funny, if you think about it. "So we are now tasking you with this assignment, effective immediately."
Open mouth. Insert foot.