A Long time ago, in a Galaxy not far enough away….
Star Wars: Rabble
If you asked Qypbur Yll, it was a beautiful day in the Galaxy. Empires did that, what with their totalitarian control of shipping and all. It was good weather for smugglers, and what was good weather for them, became good weather for cantinas such as the Rowdy Rim.
The clientele lived up well to the establishment's name; the din was almost that of a battlefield, complete with a blaster shot on occasion. In some parts of the Galaxy, Qypbur knew, that would be a cause for concern, but when you lived on the Smuggler's Run, it was a matter of daily life.
"The next one to try that gets an extra serving of tibanna gas!" a shrill and irritated voice called from somewhere by the far wall. Qypbur didn't even turn to look. It was that Hera person, quite a temper that one. And young, too young to be in these parts. No matter, she would grow up. Those who didn't ended up dead, those who did, well, they still ended up dead, but the timeframe was somewhat extended.
"Just remember," the elderly Zabrak rumbled, "that you are going to be hauling whoever you shoot to the trash compactor yourself. You've used up your weekly allowance yesterday."
Whatever choice epithet was hurled in his direction, the barman did not heed or hear, as his attention was drawn to another of his patrons.
The dreary routine continued so for a good many hours, spacers coming and going, brawls starting and ending, deals being brokered or broken. The derelict HoloNet receiver spewed a stream of dire threats at the miscreants responsible for causing this week's trouble against the Empire from its place beside the counter. It was, as Qypbar Yll expected, a beautiful day.
The door slammed for the innumerable time, and an innumerable individual of scruffy appearance and criminal bearing approached the bar. A cred coin and a concoction that Qypbur did not even wish to know the contents of exchanged hands and the individual departed.
As was his norm, and the sacred duty of a bartender, Qypbur followed the departing man with one eye. When said man approached the far booth at which Hera sat, his interest was piqued. The woman had been giving off an aura of danger that was impossible to miss for one experienced in the underworld, and if anything, the new patron had an experienced air about him. Qypbur wanted to see where this went. Information, after all, was a pricy commodity in this part of the Rim.
"I am former Jedi Padawan Jarrus and I am looking for a ship and a captain." He blurted out pompously. "I believe it's time the Empire payed for destroying the Jedi Order!"
The Twi'lek to whom this was addressed snorted rather derisively, "Could you be any louder?" she muttered, "The way you are carrying on, the only thing the Empire will be paying for is your bounty!"
The nearby crowd broke into raucous laughter. Qypbur gladly joined in, if anything, this would be entertaining.
"I don't think I should be the one worried about bounties here." The kid retorted, "I'm not related to a terrorist."
"Look here!" Hera Syndulla growled, rising from her chair and knocking it away. "I fail to see how you have room to talk, seeing as how you aren't even canon."
The wannabe Jedi seemed taken aback, "What do you mean 'I'm not Kanan'? Of course I am Kanan! That's my name."
Hera sighed and muttered a sentiment with which Qypbur felt he would agree if he knew Twi'leki. "Look here," the she moaned in resignation, "Do you want to hire my ship or not?"
Kanan Jarrus instantly brightened. "Of course I do!" he hollered. Then, climbing atop a nearby chair and producing a compact megaphone from his belt, he delivered a rather rousing speech that bade all those present to take up arms against the tyranny, villainy, treachery and overall badness of the Empire. He finished his impassioned call to war by declaring, "Come! Join now and become the crew of the Ghost!"
Nervous muttering spread like ripples through the cantina. One of the newer spacers, Qypbur did not know his name, spoke up on behalf of all those present, "Ah, fighting the Empire is good and all, but I don't want to become a ghost."
When all was said and all was done, only three decided to join Kanan Jarrus' band of miscreants, a pyromaniac by the name of Sabine Wren who fancied herself a Mandalorian, though, how she could think that not knowing the Resol'nare was beyond Qypbur; a human boy by the name of Ezra – an absence of logic, if there ever was one – who possessed a ship that turned out to be more "Phantasm" than "Phantom" and perhaps the only person Qypbur would miss, a hulk of a man by the name of Zeb Orrelios, one of the best bouncers that the Rowdy Rim had seen in recent history.
As the motley bunch trooped out of the cantina, the patrons went back to their drinks and previous business and Qypbur Yll went back to his glasses, taps, and grimy washcloths. After all, when you lived on the Smuggler's Run, stranger things happened, and hey, the Empire still had a stranglehold on trade routes. Everything was fine.
"Ceeone, prepare to make the jump to light speed!" Hera announced from behind the controls of the rust-bucket known as the 'Ghost'. Really, the sooner she dropped off the crazy kid with his equally-as-crazy crew, the better. She was a smuggler, not a cabby, and there was a juicy deal in the Ison Corridor with her name on it.
"See what?" an irritating voice piped up from behind her. Really, didn't he know when to stay out? One would have thought that two bulkhead doors would be hint enough.
"Chopper, could you—" This time she was interrupted before she could finish her request.
"You see a chopper? But we are in a vacuum, it would not be able to fly!" Kanan pointed out sagely, or what he thought was sagely, anyway.
"Just prepare to make the jump into hyperspace…" Hera sighed resignedly. The endpoint of this journey could not come soon enough.
Maybe she should have wished more specifically.
As it was, the navicomputer was not yet ready when Jedi Padawan Kanan Jarrus wanted to know what the hyperdrive levers did.
With a flash of pseudomotion and a whir of a spooling up motivator, the VCX-100 accelerated to speeds faster than that of light in under a tenth of a second and promptly ploughed through the asteroid known as Skip 97083695-Krill.
Upon impact, the relativistic shields collapsed, exposing the Ghost and its crew to the swirling vortex of hyperspace.
No-one knows how long their journey lasted, nor when it came to an end, but what is known is that the Corellian Engineering Corporation VCX-100 light freighter "Ghost", perished with all hands upon striking a hyperspace anomaly three parsecs out from the Drexel system. What scant remnants of the ship that turned up in realspace were swallowed by a hitherto uncharted star, whose existence would remain unknown to the Galaxy at large until the light from the supernova reached civilized space. And that, as anyone who studied astronomy knows, would not happen for a very long time.
«Epilogue»
If you asked Han Solo, it was a beautiful day in the Galaxy. The Millennium Falcon was fuelled and repaired, Jabba had just delivered his latest paycheck and no bounty hunters were hounding him. Seated at a table with Chewie and four crazy Jedi, he was at a loss to say how it could be better.
"Did you feel that?" the Farm kid asked of his brown-cloaked companion. "It's like the Force released a sigh of relief…?"
"Yes, Luke," said companion smiled kindly and affirmed, "All is right with the Universe."
"Wow kid!" Han chose to interject, "Not so fast. We still don't know about that Inquisitor guy." He turned to his left where the sixth member of their party sat, "Red?" he welcomed.
"He's dead." Mara Jade reported, with what seemed like satisfaction in her voice. "He cut himself in half with that stupid lightsaber. Malorum finished the job by throwing him down the reactor pit in the Imperial Palace. Though that nearly defeated the Empire there and then. We really should build tougher reactors…."
The group chortled in agreement and for a time, matters of Galactic importance were forgotten in favour of this moment with friends. As expected, Leia brought the conversation back to business.
"Master Kenobi, are we done here?" she asked, feeling rather anxious to return to her senate duties.
"Indeed we are." Obi-Wan replied with another of his smiles, "The Galaxy does not need our attention for quite some time."
"Well that's good news." Mara declared, vacating her seat and gathering her travel bag, "I still have a vacation to attend to."
Luke also stood, reaching out his hand to shake Han's, "Han, Chewie, we're meeting back here in two years, right?"
"Sure kid, just don't do anything stupid." The smuggler advised, giving what passed as a farewell for him in this day and age.
"Take care Han," Luke called after the departing smuggler, "And Mara," he waited until she turned to face him before continuing, "Could you skip the part where you are trying to 'Kill Luke Skywalker'?"
She stood there, considering, then with a grin that was more humour than anything else, she responded, "I could, but where would be the fun in that?"
Minutes later, the last members of the party left Chalmun's Cantina, and Luke, if he were asked, would say that it was a beautiful day in the Galaxy….
The End, well, from a certain point of view, anyway….
Sorry for the long absense from Young Jedi, circumstances, real life and a matter of miscalculation on my part have conspired to make writing an almost impossible feat for the past couple of months.
What I had managed to write was so atrocious in quality that well, I am glad it will never see the light of day, so to speak.
As the saying goes: "If at first you don't succeed, erase all evidence that you even tried." On a computer, that is excedingly easy.
News, on the other hand, I have been able to get, and honestly, the more time passes, the less I am impressed with the Clone Wars "bonus content" and the "Rebels" TV show. I am preparing a lengthy address on that matter, but for now, suffice it to say that the EU no longer exists, and "Moraband" has been made the homeworld of the Sith.
This fan-fic will be the only one that I will ever write for Rebels - unless an opportunity arises for parody that I cannot refuse.
I hope that you have enjoyed this parody, and, as I always say, May the Fiction Be With You!
Clean word count: 1,652 | Posted: 3/3/14, 0847 GMT