A slightly longer time ago in a galaxy far, far away…
STARE WARS
EPISODE I: THE PHANTOM PLOTLINE
TURMOIL HAS ENGULFED THE GALACTIC REPUBLIC.
THERE IS NO DEATH STAR, NO REBELLION AND NO
DARTH VADER, SO THE MOST EXCITING THING
GOING IS THIS BROUHAHA ABOUT TRADE ROUTES.
UNDER THE PRETENSE OF PROTESTING UNFAIR
TAXES OR SOMETHING (BUT REALLY HOPING TO
SCORE A DATE WITH THE NUBILE QUEEN AMIDALA),
THE VICEROY OF THE FEDERATION (NOT THE STAR
TREK ONE) HAS BLOCKADED A PLANET CALLED
"NABOO" (NO, REALLY).
WHILE THE SENATE ENDLESSLY DEBATES WHETHER
THIS PLANET'S NAME IS STUPID OR REALLY, REALLY
STUPID, CHANCELLOR VALIUM HAS SECRETLY
DISPATCHED THE ONLY TWO JEDI WHO WEREN'T
DOING ANYTHING ELSE AT THE TIME, AND
COULDN'T THINK UP A GOOD ENOUGH EXCUSE,
TO SETTLE THE CONFLICT…
On a ship freshly emerged from hyperspace, a figure hooded in brown robes looked out the viewport at the bright yellow words scrolling past into oblivion, and nodded approvingly. A second, identically robed and hooded figure stepped forward and stood at his side.
"Master," asked the second figure, "where are we going?"
"Can't you read?" replied his master, gesturing impatiently at the words now disappearing into the void. "To Naboo, to settle the conflict."
"Oh." A pause; then, "Are the hoods really necessary?"
"Of course," his master nodded sagely. "This is a secret mission."
Chapter One: The Negotiator
The sleek Consular-class diplomatic cruiser, Radiant VII, cruised gracefully across the Naboo system, its occupants blissfully unaware that soon they would all be dead (with two exceptions). Vivid red paint reflected the light of the Naboo star like a flaming torch in the heavens, making the Radiant live up to its name. In half an hour, it would look even more like a torch, because it would be on fire. Soon there would be a Radiant IIX, living up to its name in some other star system, somewhere, provided the shipyards did not run out of red paint what with all these starships named Radiant they had to keep building. Nobody aboard ever asked what happened to Radiant I through VI, but perhaps they should have. Maybe then they would have thought twice about taking a ship with the number seven in its name.
One of the ship's occupants, a young man in a brown hooded robe, did think twice about taking a ship with the number seven in its name, and on the whole concluded he had "a very bad feeling about it"; but he had a bad feeling about everything, including sunspots, so nobody paid much attention to him. His companion, a slightly older man in a matching robe, seldom thought once about most things, let alone twice.
The thirtyish blonde woman in the cockpit, Captain Maoi Madakor, knew what happened to Radiant I through VI, but thinking twice was above her pay grade, and so she concentrated on the approach to Naboo. A sign, mounted on an asteroid, drifted past her cruiser; it was supposed to welcome visitors to Naboo, a certified peaceful planet, but what it read instead was "WE COME TO NABOO — A PEACEFUL PLANT" because there were gaping, charred holes where the first L and last E should have been.
"Are we there yet?"
Captain Madakor jumped about three feet from the deck, banging her elbow painfully against the life support controls. Rubbing her arm, she glared at the robed figure that had appeared so suddenly behind her.
"Master Jedi, I must ask you to stop creeping up on me like that."
The robed figure shrugged. "I'm a Jedi. It's what we do."
Returning her attention to the screens, Madakor saw the Trade Federation blockade hovering directly ahead like something out of Mars Attacks! Dozens of grey saucer-shaped battleships guarded Naboo as if it was Helm's Deep and not an oversized golf course with a corner on the broken statuary market. A signal came through; without thinking, she answered it.
The screen above her head flickered and resolved itself into an image of a rubbery green alien in an absurd hat. This bug-eyed, noseless wonder was the Neimoidian Viceroy of the Trade Federation, Nute Gunray (yes that was his real name).
"Gleetings, captain."
Wincing slightly at his awful accent, she replied, "Viceroy. The ambassadors wish to board immediately."
"Of coulse, of coulse. Ret me remind you that this brockade is compretely regal."
"Yes, Viceroy."
"Totarry aboveboald."
"Sure."
"No seclet agendas."
"Uh-huh."
"Have I pointed out how regal this brockade—?"
Madakor cut him off.
"We'll be landing on the flagship shortly," she told her Jedi passenger.
"Finally," said a new voice.
Madakor jumped another six feet out of her chair, bruising her other elbow on the copilot's chair.
"Stop that!"
The other Jedi apologized and turned to his master. "Qui-Gon—"
"Ah-da-da-da-da! Use my codename," Qui-Gon snapped.
"Er, sorry, I meant Firebird—" Madakor suppressed a snicker "—what do we do once we're on the flagship?"
"We negotiate, Obi-Wan."
"How come I don't get a codename?"
"I'm too tired to think up another one," Qui-Gon flippantly replied before elbowing Maoi away from her flight controls.
"I'll take it from here, captain."
"Er, master, perhaps we should leave the flying to ARGH!" screamed Obi-Wan as the cruiser listed suddenly and sharply starboard.
"Nonsense. The Qui-Guy can fly anything."
Everyone yelped as the ship lurched to port.
"Anybody know what a landing bay looks like?"
=•=
Minutes later, the Radiant VII's nose protruded through a brand spanking new hole in the Trade Federation flagship's outer hull. Hatch seals hissed as they decompressed, and when it had popped open, Qui-Gon leaped lightly to the deck.
"See? Piece of cake."
"An excellent start to the negotiations, Master," quipped Obi-Wan, landing behind him. "Viceroy Nute Gunray will be most impressed by the brand new hole we've put in his ship."
"'Negotiations' is my middle name, Obi-Wan."
"I thought it was Quigley."
"Shut up, Obi-Wan. I'll have Viceroy… uh…"
"Nute Gunray."
"…Whatever-His-Name-Is eating out of my hands. In fact: new codename. I am henceforth known as The Negotiator."
"Does this mean I get to be Firebird?"
"…No."
"My gods!" Captain Madakor was halfway through the hatch now, examining the damage to her ship where its hull met the interior of the Federation starship. "The paintjob! Do you have any idea how much Flaming Torch Red Nº 1733 costs?"
Qui-Gon called up to her. "Stay with the ship, captain! Play canasta or something."
Whirring servos heralded the approach of a protocol droid, a brightly polished silver model hurrying down the battleship's stark grey corridor in that prissy manner protocol droids seemed so good at effecting.
"Greetings. I am Not-See-Threepio, your—"
Qui-Gon wasn't listening. "All right, Raygun! Let's talk turkey."
From nowhere, he produced a turkey, an awkward, brown bird that squawked and gobbled and flapped out of his hands and ran away down the corridor with its wattle fluttering behind it.
"Now eat out of my hands."
Reaching into his pockets, he pulled out two heaping handfuls of greenish-brown pellets, presumably turkey chow, and offered them to the droid.
"That's not the Viceroy," sighed Obi-Wan, palm to face. "That's a protocol droid."
"…I knew that."
"I have a bad feeling about this…"
=•=
Actually, the Viceroy had no intention of being with them at all. Nute Gunray, leader of the Trade Federation, shareholder in the Techno Union, patron of the arts, and twelve-time winner of the Ludicrous Headgear Award, was quite calmly drawing up his Action Plan. So far, it read thus:
1. Blockade Sector
2. Occupy Naboo
3. ?
4. Profit
"I think you may be missing a few steps, sir," announced his faithful assistant, Rune Haako. "Several steps, in fact."
"Don't rush me, Rune. I'm new to this whole 'planetary conquest' business. Haven't even put together a Mission Statement yet."
"I thought your mission statement was 'Get some hot underage action from the Queen of Naboo'."
"Rune, keep your voice down," Gunray hissed. Three or four fellow Neimoidians continued about their work, huddled over workstations placed around the bridge of the Profiteer. None of them seemed to have heard, although one of the battle droids could be heard to ask, "What does 'underage' mean?"
"And besides," blustered the Viceroy, "fourteen is totally legal on fifty-two hundred worlds, including this one. Now what is it, Rune? Can't you see how busy I am?"
"Well, I have bad news and… No, scratch that; I only have bad news. The Supreme Chancellor's ambassadors—"
"Oh, send them away. Give them a gift basket or something."
"—are Jedi."
"WHAT?"
His yelp caused the bridge crew to jump, and the droids swivelled their tin can heads around, looking for something to shoot.
"Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods oh gods oh gods oh gods oh gods!" Snatching Rune's conical hat off his bald head, Gunray jammed it over his mouth and breathed into it until he stopped hyperventilating. Then he placed the limp, slightly moistened chapeau back on his assistant's head.
"All right. Get rid of them."
"How?"
"I don't care. Tell them to come back in a week. Tell them we've changed our minds. Tell them I died. Give them the toll-free hotline number."
"But nobody ever answers the toll-free hotline."
"Exactly."
"Look, these are Jedi. They're not just going to go away."
"I know, I know. Oh gods! What a terrible idea this was."
"Let me state for the record that this could all have been avoided if we had followed my suggestion and blown their ship up before it landed."
"Don't be stupid, we have to establish the shadowy mastermind behind these events!"
"You mean that hooded weirdo who looks like Emperor—"
"Yes, him!"
"I can't believe we're taking advice from someone we've never met who won't show his face or even tell us his name."
"He has a name."
"If that's his real name, then I'm the Queen of Alderaan."
Gunray shuddered at the thought, but Rune was right; Sidious, as their enigmatic benefactor called himself, was probably an alias. Still, the man (if he was a man) could make things happen. It was best not to sweat the details.
Firing up the holoprojector, he put on his best game face as a flickering, three-dimensional image of Sidious appeared. Oddly, the man appeared to be having some sort of seizure.
"Gods," breathed Rune, "is he… dancing?"
Heavy bass notes accompanied by a female's throaty voice boomed from the projector's speakers: "Can't read my, can't read my, no he can't read my poker face…"
Realizing he was on, Sidious cut the music with a twitch of his hand and turned to face them. As usual, the hood of his nondescript cloak was up, leaving the upper three-quarters of his face in absolute shadow and rendering his true identity an utter mystery to people who had never seen Return of the Jedi.
"Damn it, Viceroy," he said, "I told you not to contact me. I'm the Big Bad; I call you."
He had a sumptuous bass voice that carried a perpetual sneer, as if he was licking each syllable on the way out of his mouth.
"I aporogize, Rord Sidious. We have an ulgent deveropment."
"Drop the accent, you nincompoop. It may fool everybody else but I'm getting tired of it."
"Yes. Right. Um." Gunray fiddled nervously with his hands. "We have a slight hitch in the plan."
"The only hitch in the plan is you, you halfwit. What now? Have you forgotten how to tie your shoes?"
"No, we…" He swallowed, hard. "We think the two ambassadors might be Jedi."
"What? Are you sure?"
"Well, they're wearing Jedi robes, and carrying Jedi lightsabers. And they said they were Jedi."
"This changes nothing. Skip to Step 2, and add Step 1½."
"Step 1½?"
"Kill the Jedi."
"Is that legal?"
"Of course it isn't legal, you complete arse," Sidious snapped. "Neither is invading Peaceful Planets, now stop—bothering—me! Sidious out."
His image flickered one last time and disappeared.
Gunray gestured impatiently at his assistant. "You heard the man. Kill our guests."
"Again, there are several logistical problems with that sentence."
"Use that poison gas we've been saving."
"Poison gas? I thought that was air freshener."
As one, they looked over at the opposite side of the bridge, where a crewmember was about to enter the executive washroom.
"Don't—!"
Too late. The doors slid shut behind him, and moments later they heard his body hit the floor.
=•=
In the Profiteer's waiting room, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan apprentice to Jedi Knight Qui-Gon Jinn, paced anxiously while his master happily leafed through a back issue of Wookiee Living. He was a rather handsome young man, with short brown hair and a pale complexion, the sort of fellow you might expect to spot trains or get brassed off. His master's blithe and erratic behaviour made him nervous, but then, a lot of things made him nervous: bounty hunters, volcanoes, waiting rooms, suspicious moons. Recently he'd had a recurring nightmare about a small moon that turned out to be a battle station. It was preposterous, but then again…
"What's taking so long, master?"
"First part of the negotiations, Obi-Wan: the head games. They try to sweat you out."
"I don't know about sweating, but if that droid brings us one more tray of canapés I'm going to vomit."
An distant explosion rumbled through the ship, and instantly he sensed what it was.
"Master, they have destroyed our ship!"
Qui-Gon seemed unperturbed by this development and remained glued to his magazine.
"Patience, my young Padawan. Everything will work out just fine."
The door slammed shut.
"And they've locked us in."
"Patience."
"And now they're trying to gas us to death," Obi-Wan cried as sinister vapour began seeping from the vents.
"And I'm trying to read this article."
Calmly, Qui-Gon took a sip of his coffee.
"That coffee's decaf," his Padawan quietly said.
Brown liquid spewed from Qui-Gon's mouth, drenching a photo of a Wookiee housewife demonstrating the proper etiquette for beating a rude houseguest with his or her own severed arm.
"That does it," he growled, rising to his feet. "Time to find Viceroy Gunboat and negotiate his face off."
He sniffed the air.
"Do you smell… lilacs?"
=•=
Sergeant 0H-5H1T of the Federation's Droid Army couldn't help feeling nervous as his unit approached the waiting room door. You'd expect a robot to be without fear, but the Powers That Be had decided it would be funny if droids reacted like they had emotions. When 0H-5H1T met the person responsible, he swore he would blast them if he ever got the chance. He decided to ease the tension with a joke.
"Knock, knock," he said as they came to a halt.
Misunderstanding, one of his battle droids leaned forward and rapped on the door.
"No," he sighed, "you're supposed to ask, 'Who's there?' Knock, knock."
"Who's there?" came the obedient response. Before 0H-5H1T could reply, however, the door slid open and a pair of Jedi burst through with lightsabers drawn.
"Jedi," he shouted. "Blast 'em!"
Really, they tried. They really did. But what chance did cookie-cutter mooks have against a pair of protagonists armed with laser swords and telekinesis? It was an extremely short fight. As 0H-5H1T lay on the floor, wondering where his legs had gone, he heard one of his subordinates mumble …
"I don't get it…"
=•=
"Sergeant, do you have them?"
"Had to re-prioritize, sir," buzzed 0H-5H1T's tinny voice. "Currently working on locating my lower body."
"You mean they got past you?"
"Through us, to be exact."
"Stang!" Gunray threw the comlink in the corner and glanced up just in time to see two robed figures dashing down the corridor towards the bridge.
"I'd like a word with you, Viceroy Gundam!" shouted the leader, a bearded man with a brown ponytail.
What? "Seal the bridge!"
Heavy durasteel doors slammed shut over the entrance. There was a muffled clang and an "Ow!" from the other side. "Activate security perimeter," Gunray added as a precaution. A battle droid near the door braced a chair against it.
"There," said Gunray, exhaling. "That should hold them."
Rune raised a green finger. "Don't Jedi have plasma swords that can cut through durasteel like hot butter?"
In response, a bar of green light slid through the door and traced a circle of molten metal. It withdrew just as the piece fell to the floor with a clang. The bearded Jedi's face appeared in the hole, grinning brightly.
"Heeeeeeeeeeeere's Gonny!"
Panic crept up Gunray's chest and constricted his throat. It was never supposed to go like this. He was a man of profit margins and growth strategies, not military strategy. For fuck's sake, he ran a corporation! He wasn't exactly sure what his company did (the script was rather vague on that point) but he had a notion it involved mergers and acquisitions. Now he was trapped on the bridge of his own ship, besieged by berserk Jedi, one of whom had just called him "Gundam." Oh, why did he take the advice of a figure that kept his face hidden in the shadows? It was so clichéd…
"Close the blast doors!" That was Rune. Brilliant idea. Surely even lightsabers could not penetrate triple-reinforced, premium grade tritanium.
Short answer: they could.
As the metal around Qui-Gon's lightsaber started to glow orange and soften, Gunray smiled brightly at Rune and said, "Maybe we can convince them to use the executive bathroom."
Rune rolled his eyes and slapped an enormous blue button labelled "DESTROYERS."
=•=
"But master, wouldn't it go quicker if we both used our lightsabers?"
"I am the senior Jedi here, and as such it is my duty to cut through doors. You keep watch. And quit calling me Buttmaster."
"Keeping watch," Obi-Wan sighed, scanning the corridor. Battle droids wouldn't have been much of a threat, even if they did somehow manage to get the drop on two men with precognition. He supposed that, if he had both hands tied, was blindfolded, and his lightsaber was made of cheese, dispatching the droids might take longer than passing gas. Faintly he wished for a challenge, but he forgot you should always be careful what you wish for.
Sinister steel orbs rolled around the corner, gaining speed. At first he was confused; what possible danger could enormous metal balls possibly pose? Then they got closer, and he realized the orbs were actually more droids, rolled up into spherical shapes for ease of transit. This confused him further; why go to the trouble of building a droid that rolled up like an armadillo? Why not just give it wheels or something? Being a man, he already knew the answer: because it wouldn't look cool.
Cool was the only way to describe destroyer droids. Deploying tripod legs, they unfolded to a height of almost seven feet, bristling with weaponry and armour. It would have been a lot cooler if the dizzy droids had unleashed a barrage of blaster fire, rather than stumble around bumping into each other and trying to determine which way was up.
"Master, destroyers!"
Qui-Gon looked up from his work. "What…?"
Getting their bearings, the droids faced their Jedi quarry and opened fire. Obi-Wan swung his lightsabers about, bouncing the shots back to their owners, but it didn't seem to be doing much.
"Oh, for—they have force fields!"
"Well that doesn't seem very fair."
"No," sighed Obi-Wan. Master and Padawan exchanged glances. Together they arrived at the same conclusion.
"RUN AWAY!"
=•=
"Are they gone?"
"Check."
"You check."
Grumbling, Rune poked his green head out from under the table and sneaked a peek. After awhile the gunfire had stopped, only to resume seconds later. Amid much swearing, the green lightsaber disappeared from the blast doors, and the gunfire receded into the distance again. Viceroy Gunray had suggested they wait a bit longer, in case it started again. Twelve minutes had since passed.
"I don't see anything," Rune said, resuming his position under the table beside his boss.
"They could be invisible."
"Jedi cannot turn invisible."
"How would anyone know?"
Silently they digested the implications.
"Maybe we ought to stay here a little while longer."
"Good idea."
They would have stayed there longer if the incoming transmission alert had not sounded.
"Oh no," moaned Gunray. "People always call at the worst times."
"It's the Queen of Naboo, sir," said a battle droid crouched beneath one of the other workstations. "Shall I put her through?"
"Don't answer!"
"Answer? Okay!"
Gunray gasped. At the droid's confirmation, the battleship's enormous circular forward screen rippled like a mercury fishpond and displayed an image of Queen Amidala in all her glory. With her extravagant makeup, she looked rather like a geisha—a geisha wearing Liberace's bathrobe and a gold lame model of the Taj Mahal on her head.
"Viceroy."
"Oof!" Rune fell into the screen's line of sight on hands and knees, pushed from behind by Gunray. Scowling, he rearranged his robes and stood up.
"I am the Viceroy's assistant, Rune Haako. How may I be of service?"
"By getting the Viceroy out here," Queen Amidala demanded imperiously.
"Tell her I'm not here," hissed Gunray.
"He says he isn't here, your highness."
"You—!" Growling at his assistant, Gunray emerged from his hiding place. "Ah, hello—hum. Ahem. Harro, Queen Amidara. So preased to see you. You could not leturn are those text messages of mine, yet heal you awl, talking to me."
"Cut the crap, Viceroy. I've spoken to the Chancellor. He says he dispatched two ambassadors and they're going to make you leave us alone and stuff."
"Ambassadols? I did not see any ambassadols. Did you see any ambassadols?"
"Only the hole they made in our door," replied Rune, sotto voce.
"WERL, as you can see, there awl no ambassadols here. So I whirr be seeing you velly soon."
"I'm telling!" Face screwed up in anger, Queen Amidala terminated the transmission.
Rune sighed. "That could have gone better."
"Do you think she liked me?"
"Sure, she liked you," nodded Rune, not really meaning it. With a touch, he jammed all communications to and from Naboo.
=•=
Battle droid M-03 hated guard duty. After all, there was a reason his kind were called "battle droids" and not "guard droids." He'd rather be planetside, blasting away at... little furry creatures. That felt right for some reason. Failing that, he'd settle for frog people.
"...had to go back for my lightsaber..."
What was that? Cocking his head, he aimed his auditory receptors at the air vent behind him.
"...want to know why we can't have force fields."
"Because it wouldn't be fair, would it? We've already got unstoppable plasma swords and telekinesis; what more do you want?"
"Force fields would be nice, that's all."
"You're never happy, Obi-Wan. Never happy."
Shaking his head, M-03 decided he would report to maintenance first thing when he got off duty, and get his aural sensors checked.
=•=
After an hour in the ventilation ducts with Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan was about ready to swallow his lightsaber.
"I'm just saying, Obi-Wan, that the window for negotiation is not yet closed."
"But master, they tried to gas us to death! And then shoot us! Twice!"
"Obviously—remember what I said about the Buttmaster thing—the negotiations haven't started. Once they meet The Negotiator, it'll all be over in seconds."
"Somehow I doubt that."
"Ho-hum. Master, Padawan," Qui-Gon gloated, pointing first to himself and then at Obi-Wan. "Ergo, I'm right."
He would have gone on, had he not suddenly mashed his face up against the metal grille of the air intake. Obi-Wan failed to stop in time and they fell through, landing in an undignified heap on the floor. Cautiously, they peered around a crate of explosive ordinance at the Profiteer's enormous hangar bay. Droids bustled every which way, carrying loads of equipment, ammunition, and "PROPERTY OF THE TRADE FEDERATION" placards. Armoured transports and battle tanks rumbled up loading ramps into the bellies of huge landing craft with the words "NABOO OR BUST" painted on their flanks. A Neimoidian's voice echoed over the loudspeaker: "Invasion Fleet Squadron One, prepare for takeoff. Invasion Fleet Squadron Two, stand by."
"Hmm," mused Qui-Gon, scratching his chin, "it seems they are preparing to invade the planet."
"Wow, master, your Jedi intuition skills are frightening sometimes."
"I know. Don't worry, Obi-Wan, yours will come in time. Perhaps we had better relocate the negotiations to the surface. Get the Queen and everybody around a table, and we can resolve this."
"Master, I don't think—"
"Question is, how to get there from here."
Scanning the hangar, Obi-Wan spotted an opening. Two droid transports had collided, leaving the landing craft unguarded while the drivers shouted at each other about who had the right of way. Using stealth, he and Qui-Gon could easily slip into the ship undetected.
"Master, that starship! We could—"
"Quiet, Obi-Wan, I'm cogitating. Now... if we held our breaths, and leapt from the airlock, we could UHHHHhhhhhhh."
"Sorry, Master," Obi-Wan apologized, lowering the ventilation grating he had used to knock Qui-Gon unconscious. Keeping an eye out for alert droids, he began the arduous task of dragging his master into the undefended ship that would carry them to Naboo.