Bursting from hyperspace we behold a most dazzling sight. Within the starry expanse of empty space floats a marvelous, gigantic space station that's built in ludicrous jaw-dropping style, like a ginormous Vegas Strip casino resort. Searchlights rake the darkness around it while the lights flaring through the various duraglass coverings on its surface make it gleam like a massive jewel. The space before it is loaded with droves upon droves of spaceships: cruisers, merchant transports, luxury vessels, and even military craft, all jostling to get into the expansive hangar bays set in the base of the station.
After some careful maneuvering, scrapes and considerable swearing, the first wave of visitors get their ships settled in. Carry-ons and luggage in hand, they step out into the hanger and are greeted by a few dozen uniformed P'w'ecks: the somewhat smaller subspecies of the Ssi-Ruuk race. The chipper brown-scaled raptors direct the spacefarers to the lit directional cordons, assisting with any particularly heavy carry-ons to better aid the arrivals in getting to the freight-class elevators deeper within. A P'w'eck in a snazzy vest and cap mans the controls, and one quick ascent later the doors open into wonder.
"Welcome to Luxury Station Dionysus!" the PA announcement dings, enticing the crowd of tourists to shuffle out, gawking at the sights and sounds they will inevitably be immersed in. "Please come forward to the reception concourse for check-in, and get ready for the most divine resort in the galaxy!"
The arrivals lane is an absurdly wide, carpeted path that leads straight to the aforementioned concourse: a cone of flashing displays and tech, with a ring of desks around its base containing employees of various species eagerly awaiting the guests and their forthcoming credits. From there, it's through one of several entry gates that one steps out onto the main casino floor, and what a mind-boggling layout it is!
In an area the size of seven city blocks, the casino encircles the arrival terminal and is divided into several zones. Brochures given to the guests explain that these zones contain the restaurants, gambling halls, theaters, hotel, and amusement park, all guaranteed to lift their burdens of boredom at last. Only one hour after the first arrivals, the whole place is jumping with high rollers and thrill seekers, loners and families alike, and still more and more keep coming!
The first key arrivals, though, are the lovey dovey couple of Will and Sara. Having paid for their room and gotten their brochures, the pair pass through one of the rear entry gates, seeing the first of the station's many amazing sights.
"Wooow!"
Sara's quite awestruck, no surprise given the look of the Grand Plaza. A meeting grounds for sure, decked out in tables and chairs, refreshment stands, fountains, and tiled mosaics. Center of all is a towering, ten-storey tall golden statue of the God of Merriment himself, raising a toast to the vast starfield on display overhead. Milling about the area are a good chunk of the citizens to arrive, many of whom came from the outer reaches of the galaxy, including a fair number of Ssi-Ruuk. There are even a decent number of small children running about, or being flung around like wrecking balls on those leash harness things to smash other degradingly-harnessed children as a form of boisterous greeting between passing mothers who chat it up while their charges batter one another for their little lives.
"Yeah, that's really something," Will agrees as they keep moving past the scene of wholesome violence. "You'd think this kind of place would be way more expensive."
"Probably an opening weekend discount or something," Sara offers. "Then again, we haven't seen the prices for the restaurants and gift shops."
"Yeah, that's usually where they get ya. Any place you want to check out first?"
"Let's just get to our room and drop off our stuff, then work it out from there."
"Good idea. Less things to get in our way with all these people around."
The sweet couple make straight for the hotel, whereas unseen at the other end of the plaza, our second pair of heroes are already engaging in some funtime. Or one of them is.
"Man, where to start with these selections? I never imagined this much space devoted just to gambling outside of Rodia."
"Can't we just go to our room first?" Copeland asks helplessly. "Relax and have a clearer head when planning things?"
"No time my fair Alex!" Anna snaps with a raise of her hand. "I got to get in a good winning streak before settling in. Set a precedent for the killing we'll be making."
"You'll be making," he grumbles. "Can I at least get something to hold all our bags before going any further with this?"
"No time for that either! We have to hurry before the best spots are taken. To the Craps Lane!"
The portly miss runs off, leaving her paramour to groan and trail behind with their luggage.
Shortly after, the Republic Military arrive and disperse en masse to their respective zones of fancy. One making a beeline for the bar district is the ginger general and his flustered right-hand private.
"Ya sure this is a good idea, Sarge?"
"Course it's a swell idea, Jennings," mumbles Chris, having adopted the mannerisms and fashion of Hunter S. Thompson: Hawaiian shirt, aviator sunglasses, beach hat, fancy cigarette holder in the corner of his mouth, and frequently taking swigs from a small metal flask. "All men in power need to break away from the ordered insanity and ease their collective spirits for a few days of sweet levity. And if it means drowning my brain cells in hooch of varying degrees of quality but in definite excess of quantity then you can't really judge."
"I just don't think it'd make a good image if people saw you all drunk."
"It's not just me who'll be tarnishing their images in the name of restorative vigor and hedonism: it's the whole d**n military I've given leave to, including you." Swig from his flask. "You're just as free to go out and do whatever you d**n well please in that simple God-blessed heart of yours. After all the hard work we put in keeping this boiling plate of screwiness held together, no one can fault us in cutting loose like any average John Q."
"Oh, uh, yeah, I guess you're right, Sarge. Then, I'll just go have some fun."
"Not yet, Jennings. I need someone to spot me for the first few rounds; don't want someone snatching my wallet while I'm building momentum. Should only be an hour… maybe two. You might have to hold my hair if I misjudge the potency of what they have on shelf."
"Ehhhh, sure thing I guess, Sarge."
Back at the center of the station, our most iconic heroic couple are bustling in with the latest wave of vacation-goers exiting the elevator.
"Didn't think there'd be P'w'eck on staff," Squishy casually remarks, as he focuses on keeping close to his larger wife to avoid getting trampled by the surrounding crowd. "Never really see those guys doing work outside Jawa Home."
"It's quite surprising," Sylvia agrees, shrugging up her duffle bag. "P'w'eck laborers are typically associated with Ssi-Ruuvi enterprises. At least the ones here look better treated."
"And happy to do their jobs as well."
"That too." The red-scaled Ssi-Ruu goes silent as she takes in the sheer mass of moving bodies they're in the midst of. "This is far from what I had expected, and I haven't even seen the main attractions. All these people..."
"I know, it's crazy," her husband agrees. "And there were lots of military staff too, including the Mega Man bosses. I hope they left enough behind to watch Coruscant at least."
"I doubt the entire military would go on vacation just like that."
"Heheheheh, yeah. That'd be pretty ridiculous…"
Squishy and Sylvia soon make it to reception in little time, coming up to a desk occupied by a smartly-dressed Twi'lek lady. She acknowledges them with a nod and a smile.
"Good day and welcome to Dionysus. Could I have your names please?"
"Yes. I'm Sylvia Ja—hey, what are you..?" Sylvia is disrupted by the teeny Jawa clambering up onto her back and neck, flustering her. "Squishy, what did I say about doing that in public?"
"It's only for elevation, sweetie." A clearing of the throat and he says to the receptionist, "Yes, we're the Jaa-Ruuks: Sylvia and Squishy. Just us two, yes indeedy."
"Excellent." As the Twi'lek types in the registration, she converses idly, "I knew who you were; that was just a formality. It's hard not to recognize someone who has defended this galaxy from tyranny multiple times."
"Yeah, well half of those times it was just the one guy," Squishy clarifies.
"And he was more a nutcase than a legitimate tyrant," Sylvia adds.
"A whole lot of people still appreciate what you Jedi have done, and it honors us that you chose to come here for some rest and relaxation."
"Oh yeah, this place is already hoppin' by the looks of it," Squishy says while craning around his beloved's sturdy neck like a mast. The receptionist tilts her head and smiles.
"That it certainly is."
Meanwhile, higher up in the concourse tower, a lone individual sits in a chair facing the wide window that looks out onto the Grand Plaza. He quietly regards the many guests below as well as looking over a holo-screen filled with the names of registered arrivals. A highlighted line catches his attention, prompting him to tap his communicator with a claw.
"Justine, be a sweetheart and have the Jaa-Ruuks sent up to my office."
"Right away, sir," the perky lady voice replies before cutting off.
Down on ground level, Squishy and Sylvia get past the entry gates, with Squishy leading the way.
"I think I saw Guts Man over there. We just might be able to catch up to him."
The Jawa's hope of advancement is halted by three friendly-looking staffers who approach the two.
"Pardon the intrusion, but the owner of this grand station requested to have a word with you two in his office," announces the lead gent, to the couple's surprise.
"Oh, they do?"
"What for?" Sylvia asks more warily.
"Nothing unbecoming, I assure you. Just a pleasant word. And to save you the inconvenience, we'll have your bags taken to your room in the meantime."
The other employees gently and swiftly take hold of Squishy and Sylvia's belongings before they can say or do anything. As the two staffers head off, the one who addressed them gestures cordially with an arm.
"If you'll follow me." As he leads the way, the couple give each other a shared look of curious concern.
"Didn't expect that. Any idea what this could be about?"
"Not the faintest clue," Sylvia says. "Hopefully just a pleasant word, like he said. Though for what reason..."
Thus the two follow their escort back to the concourse. Unbeknownst to them, the final member of the Jedi ensemble has just entered the plaza. With a smug look, he ganders at all the attractions being offered.
"Alright, Jo: A break from the usual rundown tavern, Red Light District scene. Been out of the game a little longer than acceptable, so now it's time to get classy and suave like you normally are. Oh yeah, gonna knock 'em dead with this timeless killer look." He smooths his luscious hair with both hands, then spotting a potential green-haired mark, he declares,"Time to get the ol' Webbol magic working."
With a shot of extra confidence he struts his way toward Score Town, which oddly enough is also the name of one of the nearby gaming zones.
Gambling's in full swing with slot machines ringing, cards dealing, balls rolling and cash flowing both ways. The likes of Stone Man, Split Mushroom and Flame Mammoth play poker, while Tomahawk Man and Shell Shieldon try roulette. At one blackjack table, things are heating up.
"Will you hit or stay, sir?" the dealer asks the towering mass of metal and lightbulbs seated before him.
"Just another second, alright,"grunts Spark Mandrill impatiently as he fiddles with his cards. "Move on to someone else."
"You're the only one left, sir."
"You scrutinize me? Thinking I'm counting cards?"
"That thought hadn't occurred to me."
"You think I'm up to monkey business, then?"
"Not in the slightest, I assure—"
"Cuz I'm no d*** monkey!" He slams his massive fists on the table. "I'm an ape! Top of the species! Not some puny poop-flinging pansy a**!"
He flips the whole table over with a roar, then springs high up, grabbing the lights above and clambering about to the hoots and hollers of those below as MMX1 boss music plays. However, this goes unnoticed by the sizeable crowd gathered around the craps tables nearby, their eyes resting solely on the fortunes won and lost over the roll of the dice. Namely the fortunes of Anna, which had been increasing for the past few rounds.
"Come on, baby: Mama needs a ninth pair of shoes."
Toss of the dice, and a landing of seven raises a cheer from the spectators and a whoop from the tosser.
"YEAH! This is the kind of winning streak I'm talking about." As she puts in more chips for the next roll, Copeland edges up to her.
"I really think we should get to the hotel."
"Just one last roll, dangit."
"You said that four rolls ago."
"Well now it'll be official." Turning to her squire, she holds up a pair of dice. "Blow on this for luck, Alex. Gotta seal the deal."
"We really have to talk about this addiction of yours in length at some point."
"I Said BLOW!"
Copeland complies, and another toss of the bones brings one final big win and cheer.
While that's going on, we turn back to the central tower, where Squishy and Sylvia have been escorted onto a private elevator set within the circle of reception desks. They arrive at the upper stop, and after the doors slide open they exit onto the plush carpeting of a fairly minimal-esque office, furnished with a modern art statue thing, some tall potted plants, a glass cabinet full of various decanters and cups, and an economic yet sleek desk set before the wide window that shows the towering golden statue beyond. The chair of said desk swivels around to reveal… well, this is a surprise.
It's a full-grown Ssi-Ruu sporting blue scales that practically gleam, covered by a sharp teal vest with grey fringes over a light orange undershirt. Even more eye-catching and befuddling is the navy-blue silk top hat adorning their oblong saurian head.
"Ahh, the star-studded couple of the millennium graces my humble presence at long last! I'm honored to have you aboard my pride and joy: Dionysus!"
The southern-accented greeting and arm flourish leaves said star-studded couple speechless, which seems to have little bearing on the station owner's attitude. "Sorry to have brought you here so suddenly, but I felt compelled to personally welcome you aboard this fine resort, as a sort of christening you see. Though judging by your looks, I bet you weren't expecting such a catered reception."
"Well uhhhh, not really? But uhhh, all the same, it's nice. It's just that, uh, we hadn't ehh…"
"We hadn't expected a Ssi-Ruu to be in charge," Sylvia finishes for her husband, who nods rapidly.
"Yeah yeah! Though it's mainly the unexpected welcome, but you being a Ssi-Ruu, yeah that's something."
The snappy-dressed Ssi-Ruu chuckles warmly. "It would be quite the surprise seeing a Ssi-Ruu in my position, definitely. Then again, such a sight was made possible due to you both." The raptor gets up from his chair and walks around his desk, bringing along a snazzy ebony hooked cane. "Some introductions are in order on my part. The name's Th'rekiuk. But you can call me Bob; I know how hard Ssi-Ruuvi names can be on Basic, milady and gent. And it does bear repeating, it's such great pleasure to make your acquaintances."
He bows stylishly, earning two bemused looks. Sylvia takes up the task of overcoming this peculiarity with, "We're happy to make yours as well. Although, you don't owe us a special welcome of any kind."
"Yeah. We're just here for a vacation."
"Ever so modest; that's something I highly respect out of you two," Bob says graciously. "It's quite commendable how you stay so humble despite your many accomplishments. Squishy: the daring diplomat, taking it upon yourself to make us Ssi-Ruuk an accepted member of this prosperous Republic when no one else would give us the time of day. And Sylvia: a stellar ambassador for our species, demonstrating the grace and strength that we are capable of aspiring to. It's no exaggeration when I say that what you two have done in finding each other has ultimately made this galaxy a better place to live. Not to discredit the feats and hard work of the other Jedi, but the both of you are especially inspiring to the likes of myself."
Bob clears his throat. "I apologize for gushing like some fanboy. Not the kind of proper behavior you'd expect from a businessman, wouldn't you say?"
"Well, uh, I wouldn't say that," Squishy says. "Just been awhile since we've had someone, uh, express their appreciation. Especially during one of our vacations."
"But it's very flattering all the same," Sylvia amends. Bob nods and grins.
"I thank you for tolerating me. It's just that the things you two have done has made my life in the galaxy easier. Or rather, possible." He turns and walks past the desk to look wistfully down at the busy plaza. "It was certainly rough goings on Lwhekk, as you well know firsthand, Sylvia. A revolution dismantling the caste system, forcing my folks and I to skedaddle in search of someplace considerably less hostile. I should consider myself lucky my parents weren't the religious type and were fine with relocating out of Consortium space, otherwise… we may have met a far more gruesome fate."
"A little ironic that the Revolution was what allowed me to get onto the planet without being blown up or ripped to pieces." Squishy laughs a bit, but as no one else is laughing he coughs uncomfortably. "Yeah, that is incredibly lucky it never came to that for you. But I can only imagine how hard it must have been, leaving your homeworld under those circumstances."
"It was hard, certainly, those first couple of months drifting around the outer fringes avoiding major spaceways and settlements. The uncertainty of how the rest of our lives would play out was especially troubling. But, thanks to you, that uncertainty didn't last." Turning back to them, he continues, "When we first learned of the peace you brokered with our kind, my folks wasted no time in getting us closer to the central worlds to make a better life for ourselves. My father happened to be an apt economist as well as a nobleman, and through some careful trading and investments he was able to scrounge up a half-decent fortune, which I inevitably took up myself when he got too old for the stock game. Had it not been for you two, the most we could have hoped for would have been the life of pirates, or strung up by those seeking revenge for the Consortium's past injustices."
"I'm glad it all worked out for you," Sylvia says. "It's comforting to know that some of the former nobility have made an honest living outside Lwhekk."
"I'm especially glad I was able to earn the Ssi-Ruuk's trust and make that allegiance as quickly as I did," Squishy adds.
"Indeed. It really was the fresh start we desperately needed. So much so that in time I felt the desire to repay this wonderful galaxy for all the opportunities and wealth it's afforded my family. And what better way to repay the hard-working citizens than with the best in entertainment, excitement, and leisure."
Bob's monologue is interrupted by the ding of the elevator, which opens to reveal a P'w'eck in greasy overalls and a worker's cap and goggles ensemble atop their head. The reptilian skitters past the Jaa-Ruuk couple and comes up to Bob's side, showing itself to be one and a half feet shorter than the Ssi-Ruu. Handing over a data pad, the newcomer chirps and whistles in his native tongue.
"Here are the specs for the stabilizers and hull integrity, boss. It's performing sublimely, just like we tested."
"Excellent. I never had a doubt she would." Looking at his guests, Bob elaborates, "This here is Jirivril, or Petey as he usually goes by. He's my head engineer, as well as overseer for the rest of my P'w'eck crewmen."
"Hey there. Big fan of your work," the brown-scaled Petey greets with a wave.
"Thanks. Nice to meet you," Squishy replies with his own wave.
"I found Petey and a number of the P'w'ecks employed here while I was scouting a building site on Rodia," Bob explains, patting his engineer on the back. "Scavenging out of the back alleys just to make a living they were. But they could get serious mileage out of old junk, and I'm the kind of guy who admires efficiency."
"We had been the servants of some big shot technician from the Council on Lwhekk who was making a run from the revolution," the little lizard explains. "At some point he jettisoned us in an escape pod to reduce drag. We were able to get it to land on a habitable planet, and real lucky it was one boss was visiting."
"Truly lucky, given the kind of partnership we'd form after I found them. You see, Petey and the others are equal shareholders in this grand enterprise, with all the benefits and fair treatment that come with it. After all we put into getting this station in the air, we're practically family."
"Our elders would've gone mental if they knew who we'd be working with, but it's a d*** sweet deal."
"Indeed it is, indeed it is. Everyone is owed their due and a chance to stand tall and proud with the rest."
"I gotta get back to work, boss. Gotta ready more space for the remaining ships."
"You go on and do that. They're all in good claws with you!"
Petey slips back past Squishy and Sylvia toward the elevator. Once the doors close, Bob resumes talking.
"He's truly irreplaceable, him and the rest. Not just for their eye for tech, but they've been great friends during those years of planning and construction. Warms my heart being able to make up for the injustices done to them."
"It really is wonderful," Sylvia admits, warranting a nod and a wink from Bob.
"Just following your example is all. Speaking of, you two also provided the inspiration for the final design of Dionysus." He pauses to walk about his office. "When I got hold of our hard-earned wealth, I decided that opening a casino would be a good investment, for very few things can match the thrill of gambling. And nowadays they also make fine resorts, meaning entertainment for those not wanting to stake their credits. I had wanted to get my feet wet on Rodia, the gambling capital of the galaxy. But them old duffers and their old money weren't big on letting in fresh competition outside their circle, as you'd imagine.
"So I figured, why not put it up in space? It'll be mobile, no land restrictions, and I could fill it with whatever I darn well pleased. Your Jawa Home was a good reference point: friendly, inclusive to every race, with good times taking priority over profit. A wise fella once said if you make a small man feel big, you make money. Well, I believe if you make someone feel as welcome as everybody else, you do just as well, if not better."
He stops to give the two his full attention again. "As for naming it, well, it seemed only fitting that it'd be dedicated to the god of festivities himself. Cuz that's what we're all here for: to be festive." He pretends to smack his head. "And now it occurs to me I've been yapping it up and squandering your own merry time. I only wanted to give you a direct hello and humble thank you; these chompers have a bad habit of rattling on once I start talking."
"That's fine. We're used to long monologues," Squishy assures the businessman, to which Sylvia nods.
"And this one wasn't a preamble to some final showdown "
"All the same, I conveyed my appreciation via words long enough. Now I would like to express my thanks through something more worthwhile." Bob takes off his hat, sticks a claw inside and pulls out two platinum-coated cards in his claw. "I'd like to upgrade you to our Royale Supreme Executive Suites, usually reserved for our highest of high rollers, in recognition of all your hard work."
"Whoa, really?!" Squishy blurts out. Sylvia, however, displays better poise about this.
"That's awfully generous, but it's really not necessary."
"Probably not. But as one ambassador of goodwill to another, I insist you get the royal treatment you deserve. At least while you're vacationing here, that is. And hey, why pass up a free upgrade?"
"He has a point, honey," Squishy notes, earning a shrug from his wife.
"I suppose." The two accept the proffered keycards.
"Those cards will also grant you access to the VIP section for the welcome banquet ball that will be held in the next couple of hours. Private, lavish seating at no extra charge."
"Even fancier! That's super dang nice of you, Bob."
"My total unmitigated pleasure, Squishy. Now, if you'll just head back down that elevator, my staff will have you carted to the hotel. To save that leg energy of yours for the fun Dionysus has to offer, you understand."
"Got it. It was a pleasure meeting you, Bob."
"Very much the same on my end you can be sure, Sylvia." Bob bows before putting back on his hat. "You go on and make the most of your stay. I'll be seeing you again at the banquet if you wish to attend. If not, then some other time."
"Alrighty. Well, you take it easy. Or at least as easy as possible." Squishy gets a wink from the casino owner.
"Likewise. And with no difficulty on your end, I can assure you."
Sylvia and Squishy vacate the office, leaving Bob to return to his desk and resume his administrative duties.
Later, a swanky hover car carries the couple through the zones toward the back section where the hotel is located. As it hovers along, we see Anna dragging an overburdened Copeland, who's now responsible for carrying the boulder of gaming chips on top of the luggage.
"Anna, please, at least let me sit down to get a better grip on these things."
"Have to work in motion, Alex. That's how we've always dealt with things, plus those roulette tables are calling me. I cannot resist!"
"Yes you can! No, wait, Sith upbringing." At that moment the hover car carrying the Jaa-Ruuk couple goes by. "Hey, that was Sylvia and Squishy just now."
"Don't care; get moving!"
Yanking Copeland's poor ear Anna carries on her mad pursuit for the high roller life… although she's already rolling in plenty enough as is, but whatever. Anyway, turning to the back edge of the station, we finally get a look at the ziggurat-like edifice of Dionysus station's premier hotel: the Euclidean. A ring of pools and gardens make up the outlying border of the premises, and you can bet they're flooded with vacationers.
Military staff, merchants, and even hardened criminals cannonball and chicken-fight like school boys and girls, with Launch Octopus dominating pool volleyball.
"Mweh heh heh heh HAH! Nobody can get the dunk on me!"
"You have more arms than any of us, yo," complains a skipper in an inner tube wearing floaties.
"Then start getting good, scrub! Quit hating and EAT MY BALLS! Ma ha ha ha ha!"
And how the balls rained furiously from the tentacles of the hyper Maverick. Poolside, the hefty frame of Rear Admiral Duff McWhalan lounges before such a brutal ballin' display, completely at ease and with a glass of refined fruity transmission fluid in hand. Next to him, Aqua Man's also in Lounge Mode, his tanks completely filled with the delightful joy juice.
"This is the absolute best!" the Robot Master squeaks over his internal sloshings. "So much relaxing and no cares to get in the way!"
"You got that right, Ensign Aqua Man," the burly whale bot agrees. "This sort of getaway is just what the doctor ordered to restore morale." Holding out his glass, he asks, " Speaking of which, would you kindly top me off?"
"Absolutely, sir!"
Aqua Man aims his arm pump and fires, expertly sending an arc of sweet robo nectar into the commander's glass without missing a single drop. In one of the quieter swimming pools, guests enjoy some relaxing laps until a menacing fin cuts through the surface.
"Shark! SHAAARK!"
While people yell and scramble to get out, someone drops their Babe Ruth.
"DOOKIEEEEE!"
The remaining swimmers scream and leap straight out of the pool, Coming Clean with the aid of Green Day. Luckily, Ving Rhames happens to be the lifeguard on duty!
"Open Season, mother-f***er."
Ripping off his shotgun leg and cocking it, he takes aim and fires a buckshot into the water. This causes Metal Shark Player to surface in a fright.
"H-h-hey! I'm only swimming heeeeere!"
His protests fall on deaf ears while the angry bad-a** keeps Having A Blast, although he accidentally shoots the musical accompaniment, putting them into early Burnout.
"You're going on the Endangered List When I Come Around," he growls, chomping up the wayward Babe Ruth as the Basket Case slowly chases the shark robot around the pool. (Sheesh, all these song references, it's like Pulling Teeth [;P])
Turning away from that scene of absurdity, we delve into the interior of the hotel, with guests going in and out to either relax, regroup, or seek out new ventures of fun. Up on the highest floor, Squishy and Sylvia are checking into their new suite, and boy are they in for a surprise.
The couple are gawp for several seconds after opening the door, dumbfounded by the luxury of their upgraded accommodations. Of course this pause doesn't last long in the Jawa's case.
"Holy crap look at the size of this place!" Squishy dashes across the thirty-foot floor space, bounds up the circle of stairs and throws himself onto the emperor-size bed that's the centerpiece.
"You know this place is ritzy when you got the bed in the living room!" he exclaims while spazz-bouncing on the bed like a hyperactive gerbil.
"There's even a kitchen. Looks fully stocked, too," Sylvia observes more calmly, looking to her right to gander at the aforementioned kitchen. Her attention switches back to her husband when he lets out a massive gasp of delight.
"The complimentary mints, they're HUGE!" He holds up one green-wrapped mint, his yellow eyes sparkling with glee. "They're as big as my fist! Even if it's not much, that's still a serious upgrade." Noticing something else, Squishy flings himself backward, tumbling over the steps and springing off the floor in the direction of the open balcony. Leaning over the railing, he reports, "The pools are right below here. I bet I could jump straight down there. Extreme diving!"
"Please don't," his wife warns as she goes to their luggage, which has been left by the kitchen counter, and begins sifting through their belongings. "At least not in those robes of yours. And when there aren't so many people down there."
"Yeah, it's looking pretty crowded. Maybe some other time." Squishy then scampers from the balcony into a different door. "I bet the bathtub here is as big as a pool anyway!"
"We have executive suites just as nice back at home."
"Yeah, but being a tourist in some new place makes it so exciting. It's a unique sense of discovery and stuff." Squishy disappears through the door, only to exclaim seconds later, "I was totally right!"
Sylvia only shakes her head and grins at her husband's excitement. "If you're not too enthralled by all the thrilling furniture and fixtures, you may want to consider what part of the station we should check out."
"Honey you're absolutely right: there are other things to do here!" Squishy pops out from the bathroom, holding up some papers. "And I happened to have snagged these pamphlets at reception." In a single bound he lands back on the bed and begins reading. "Gotta see what sort of competition we're up against. No harm mixing business with pleasure."
"I'd be pleased to find out what kind of restaurants this station has. I haven't had anything to eat since we left Jawa Home, and I'm starting to feel peckish."
"Me too. But there's that banquet Bob mentioned. Should be plenty of food there."
"That's not for another couple of hours, he said. And I'm not entirely sure if I'd want to go."
"Hmm? How come?"
"Don't you think it was a little off-putting how much he wanted to show his gratitude? Piling praises on us, giving us this high roller suite out of the blue. Sort of like he was desperate to get on our good side, the way I see it."
"Yeah, it was kinda weird how he acted. But I didn't sense any ill intent from him, and it's a nice change from the usual villains and warmongers we usually deal with. He's certainly not Contractor levels of obnoxious, I can say that much."
"Even so, I'm surprised you jumped on his offer as quick as you did."
"What makes you say that? You know I like free upgrades."
"Yes but, I dunno, I thought you might've been a bit jealous about the compliments he kept sending my way."
"Me? Jealous? I don't see why I would be. I mean sure he's wealthy, verbose, a snappy dresser, has a nice accent, shows compassion toward the downtrodden, matches your height and is your same species, but how could any of that interest you when you got a bundle of me to meet all your needs?"
Sylvia laughs lovingly at that. "You got me there, honey."
"That I do." Throwing down the pamphlets, Squishy declares, "Alright, I figure we can do a bit of wandering around the hotel area, engage in whatever fun things interest us, maybe grab a snack, then go to that banquet. To uphold our reputation as ambassadors of goodwill, if for no other reason."
"Hm, true."
"First though, let me help you unpack." With that, Squishy springs back down to the floor, this time joining his wife in divvying up the luggage, just so that part of the vacation can be out of the way.
Everyone else's vacation onboard the station is in full swing, particularly in the general amusements zone. Taking up the central section is a large and rather swanky fun park loaded with all the typical staples: carnival games, food stands, sideshows, and rides galore. Hanging and twisting over this funland is a jaw-dropping roller coaster that looped and corkscrewed patrons at teeth-clattering speeds, eliciting screams of delight from those riding the carts. As well as the legitimate screams of terror hollering forth from Hugo of Geek Squadron.
"AAAAAAAH OH GOD WHY DID YOU JERKS PUT ME ON HERE GET ME OFF I HATE YOU ALL YEEEEEEEEEE!"
As the coaster speeds away, the dashing crimson figure of Quick Man blurs after it along the tracks.
"Hey wait up I wanted to get on!"
He's closely followed by Overdrive Ostrich. "Me too!"
Then out of nowhere Metal Sonic comes zooming around to his bop-a** battle theme. Below, amid the pushy crowds and flashing lights of the various booths, Will and Sara are having a leisurely stroll hand in hand, enjoying a corn dog and cotton candy respectively.
"This is so wonderful, Will," Sara says over her sugar floss. "It's kinda like back when we first dated."
"Yuh-huh," Will agrees, nomming his battered meat stick. "Back to before I got into the military. Far simpler times."
"Never imagined things would get like this, you know? Before becoming Force Users, it was just dealing with ordinary things. Then suddenly we're fighting video game characters and gods and being friends with bosses from those video games."
"Could make for an apt metaphor for adulthood if you look at it a certain way."
Sara huffs wryly at that. "Chyeah, a deranged adulthood, bordering on schizophrenic."
"Can look that way as well. But, hey, as long as we got each other, and our friends, it can be pretty fun."
Sara snuggles up with her man. "No argument there, especially when it's by your side. I love you, Will."
"Ditto."
"Hey, I feel up for twirling teacups. Do you?"
A nod. "Sure." And to the teacups they go.
Across the station is the bar and restaurant district that caters exclusively to the gastronomically-inclined vacationer who doesn't want all that fussy gambling and physical exertion to get in the way of the fine art of food and drink appreciation. Or to drown in waves of alcohol, completely tuned out from the world beyond the bar stools, TVs, tacky decorations, and pretty waiters and waitresses. For our most dashing of Jedi heroes, he's trying his luck at finding companionship beneath the palm leaf hangings of one cabana-themed bar.
"So you're a journalist, huh?" Jo asks the olive-skinned brunette, working on the charm like a knife smoothing butter on toast. "Bet you're gonna come away from this place with all kinds of pictures for the travel zines."
"I mostly cover sports, but yeah, I could make a little extra snapping some shots while I'm here," the pretty reporter replies. "Though my main focus is to relax, just like everyone else."
"Yup. Even tried and true heroes need some R&R. Speaking of which, how would you like me to buy you a drink and then go unwind somewhere less noisy?"
"While I'd appreciate the free drink, I'm actually here with someone else."
On cue comes her companion: a very muscular lady with a red mohawk and looking swol as all f***.
"Hey babe, I found the volleyball courts. Let's ditch this place."
"Sure thing, Roxie." Looking at Jo, she waves and says, "Nice talking to you in person, Jo."
After the two lovers leave, Jo's fabulous hair deflates slightly as he huffs and swivels on his barstool, planting his chin and arms on the bar.
"D***it; five strikeouts in a row. What is my deal here?" Before he can sulk further, he turns his head right, then uprights himself upon seeing Chris in the seat next to him, nursing what appears to be rum. "Chris?"
The casually-dressed general gives a start, but looking over he settles himself. "Whuh huh? Oh, hello there, Joseph. Pleasant surprise seeing you here."
"I didn't know you were vacationing."
"Affirmative in the utmost, good friend," Chris mumbles through his cigarette holder. "And so is about d*** well everyone else in the galaxy as you might have noticed."
"Oh. Well, I haven't had much time to look around. Been spending my time around here." In a mutter, he adds, "Getting dunked on in the wooing department."
"Eh, not scoring with the ladies or whichever gender of preference ought to be the least of your worries. It seems I've stumbled into the reptile house, and someone's been serving alcohol to these d*** animals."
"Uhh, I think that's just the bartender."
A P'w'eck stands opposite the two, with booze nozzle in claw and the sternest of neutral expressions. Chris offers his glass and gets a refill from the lizard, giving it a "Gracias" before they go tend to someone more polite.
"Guess it was," Chris acknowledges before taking a cool sip. "This fine vintage, it's making my head swimmy. My subordinate was supposed to look out for me, but up and ditched me a while ago. No idea where that gangling private is."
On the outer ring of the restaurant zone, a crowd has gathered around a ceremonial quaffing table, cheering the unrelenting devourment of food. Rising out of the dregs of crumbs and grease spots appears Jennings, victorious with a face smeared with about seven different meals. The crowd cheers over seeing him not only conscious, but looking quite smug.
"And we have ourselves a winner for the Gluttony Gourmand Challenge!" announces the head server to a round of applause. "For that, our worthy challenger has literally eaten himself a free two hundred credit meal, as well as a T-shirt and a photo on our Wall of Fame! But, if he so chooses, he can try to tackle the Emperor's Dining Gauntlet and earn unlimited dinner vouchers for a lifetime! So contestant, do you think you're ready?"
"I was born ready!" Jennings hollers with the kind of determination you'd never expect from a comedic foil.
"Well you heard him: bring out the next course!"
The crowd cheers anew at the arrival of a piping, towering plate of food, which the scrawny aid tears into like a rancor.
After ruminating for literally one second, Chris asks Jo, "So aside from chasing that proverbial tail, what else have you been up to, my chum?"
"Prrrpt, crap all else. Hardly been any work these past few months, though with this place livening people up, that's bound to change quick. Haven't seen any of the guys—Squishy, Will, Alex—in a long time. Never found cause to go to any of their systems, I guess."
"Mmhm, a d*** poor shame, that. All you've been through, all we've been through, we should be thick as thieves. Hold barbecues, social calls, all that kit and kaboodle. Frequent correspondence is the key to maintaining balance, which is what I'm going to maintain by going back there and shooting whoever purveyed these dope-a** beer nuts." Slamming down said nuts, Chris continues, "Because that's what I do: I uphold balance. Keep it all in check so pretty women don't gotta worry about not getting their children their favorite candy bar, so they can live to run away another day, savvy?"
"Okay, which Johnny Depp character are you channeling here?"
"Dunno. I've had about two boot-fulls of rum; get off my back, Dangle."
"What?"
Just then, a chimey chime bings over the station PA system, preceding a voice.
"Attention Dionysus patrons! A special welcome banquet will be held in the Crystal Light Plaza in one hour. All guests are encouraged to attend for an evening of fine dining, live entertainment and, most important of all, fun! See you there!"
Once the announcement bings off, Chris gets up from his stool with drink in hand.
"Well good talk, Jo. I'm gonna go slip into some evening drink wear, maybe comb my beard a bit, hopefully stumble over my treacherous whipping boy to play man servant for the dinner."
"Huh. I thought you didn't care for banquets."
"Only those held by politicians, Joey my man. Besides, I need something to complement the rum. Not because I want to get sober, but just so my blood doesn't turn into pure alcohol. Stupid fleshy torso not being able to adapt, grumble grumble grumble."
The general staggers his way from the bar, and in a few seconds there's several crashes and a frightful woman's scream. "Me apologies, love. Yo ho blow me what have you." This is followed by a gasp and a slap. "Right, carry on, citizen."
Jo shakes his head, then after a moment he gets up as well. "Well, I guess a change of scenery could better my chances. Time to adorn the foolproof nighttime suave." With renewed optimism, he departs.
One hour came and went, and unsurprisingly every guest has come to the banquet. The Crystal Light Plaza is set in the southern part of the station, and is more dazzling than the Grand Plaza. Chairs and tables are arranged atop the polished quartz that made up the floor before the massive stage, all beneath a grand crystalline chandelier hung from a dome of glass showing the stars outside. Guests file in to get their seats in time for their fancifully delivered dinner.
At the check-in station, Squishy and Sylvia make it to the front of the line and present their keycards.
"Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Jaa-Ruuk. We've been expecting you," the receptionist cordially says. "Clarence here will guide you to your exclusive VIP seating area, if you'll kindly follow."
Squishy gives his wife a starry-eyed look of giddiness, to which she smiles as they follow the stalwart usher past a velvet rope upward. Past a twisting stairway, they're shown onto a wide circular veranda with one simple but elegant table set up by a railing overlooking the plaza and stage below. Squishy can't stop making noises of awe as the staffer pulls out the chairs for their convenience, onto which the two plant their rumps.
"Jeez, honey, we don't have VIP seating this exclusive and open air back at Jawa Home," Squishy says a bit breathlessly, to Sylvia's mild amusement.
"Mainly because it would've taken up too much space and blocked out a noticeable part of the viewing dome."
"Right. Those Ithorians are real practical with their ship layouts; nothing ritzy to get in the way. Still, we can enjoy this view all to ourselves."
"That we can. And look: complimentary champagne."
Squishy then notices the bucket of ice and bottle chilling atop the table. "So it is. Guess you got something to kick off the evening right."
"You won't even have a little? It's not that alcoholic."
"Yeeeeah, but you know what little it takes to knock me out. Though I might be willing to have a little sippy sip for the occasion."
"Hmhm, that's the spirit."
As Sylvia pours their glasses, the other guests below have finished getting seated, and nicely-dressed servers have started bringing out the food and drink. As that's happening, musicians come out on stage and begin playing dining music to ease everyone into eating comfort. This works exceptionally well for Will and Sara, seated a few yards from the open squared off space before the stage.
"Swell setup," Will says, looking around at the swift movements of the servers. "It's really got that high class luxury hotel feel."
"It sure does," Sara agrees. "I don't know if I'll be able to eat anything after all that carnival food."
"Maybe something light. Bet there's gonna be a salad course; that's usually how it goes in these places. You can have mine when it gets here."
"How thoughtful of you."
Elsewhere, further from the stage, another couple is mellowing out and enjoying their opening patte. At least, one of them is. The other is lamenting something fierce.
"Awwwwwhhhhhh, this sucks so muuuuuch," Anna groans into the tablecloth as Copeland looks on passively, eating his modest serving.
"That's how gambling goes, Anna. Only a matter of time before it comes crashing down and takes your income with it."
"But I was doing so well. That stupid roulette table just had to betray me. And after all the sweet nothings I was whispering to it!"
"Lady Luck is a cruel mistress to all sexes. Plus, never wise to bet everything on just one number."
Anna looks up with a glare. "How else are you gonna make the big winnings? That's no time to be chickening out; it's where you go big or go home!"
Copeland only shrugs and eats. "Just food for thought. Not that you care to listen to my advice, in spite of numerous similar instances."
"You're darn right I'm not gonna listen! But it's all irrelevant." Snatching up her drinking glass, Anna declares, "After a quick recharge of food and drink, it'll be time to hit the card tables. Though a quick stop by the slots are in order to recoup some spending money."
"Mmhm. And some electrical tampering will be in order with that, I take it?"
"Of course, Alex my ward. Machines try to rig you, you rig it back. Simple science. Now for some wining and dining."
"I've got your plate right here."
"Excellent! It's turning around already!"
"Hmmmmm. I suppose I can tolerate your bursts of optimism a lot more than the ones Squishy spews out."
Arriving fashionably late is our good friend Jo, weaving his way trying to find a chair at an empty table or, preferably, one loaded with single ladies attending a bachelorette party. As he wanders casually about, up high he's noticed by Squishy.
"Holy crap. Look Sylvia, it's Jo!"
"Huh, that it is. Guess we're not the only ones who had the idea of coming here."
"Uh-huh. Definitely should hit him up. After we eat, of course."
"Hrm. I hope he finds a seat. It's looking really packed down there. Hold on, that table he's heading for… That's Anna and Alex!"
Squishy follows Sylvia's pointing claw, and upon spotting them cries out, "Wow! Is all of our group here? That'd be crazy!"
Below, Jo spots the table his two other comrades are sitting at and homes in on them. Once at their side, he announces himself.
"Anna! Alex! How's this for a coincidence, bumping into you two?"
"Whaddya know, if it isn't Jo!" Anna responds, turning in her seat to look at him, as does Copeland.
"Coincidence indeed, Jo, given how Squishy and Sylvia are also here."
"Hold on, Squishy and Sylvia are here too?" Jo asks.
"Or so he claims," Anna says. "I ain't seen them at all since we got here, and I definitely would have spotted them if they had sat down to eat here."
"It's been a couple of hours, and he's probably goofing off somewhere." Looking at Jo, Copeland asks, "How have you been holding up?"
"Well enough, well enough. Just vacationing to do something different, check out a flying destination spot other than Squishy's place, relax, chill, practice my chill, all that good stuff."
"Well you can't get much chillin' just standing around gabbin'. Come on, pull up a chair and join us," Anna insists, and Jo does.
"I ran into Chris earlier," he mentions. "He was getting pretty settled in at one of the bars. Guess it shouldn't surprise me that he's a drinker, but he never really seems that way just by looking at him."
"Alcohol and crazy usually go hand in hand," Copeland sagely says. "As long as he doesn't wreck up whatever general vicinity we're in, then we can't really complain about his methods of relaxation."
"Yeah, about that, he said he was going to get dressed up for the banquet."
"Then I guess I better finish up this plate and clear the blast zone."
"No no, you're gonna take your time and enjoy that meal of yours," Anna says. "Gonna need your strength to carry my winnings. Besides, the place isn't in shambles yet, so Chris must be keeping it in moderation."
"Lord willing it lasts long."
The music from the stage comes to a stop as a loudspeaker sounds off.
"Good evening, patrons. Thank you for coming to the Crystal Light Plaza for this evening's welcoming banquet. Enjoying your first course? A good way to help with the digestion is doing a little light exercise. That's right: grab your favorite partner, because it's time for some ballroom dancing!"
The band onstage begins playing soft swing music, encouraging couples of all types and ages to get up and head for the dance floor. Will and Sara watch the various guests maneuvering their way past their table.
"Ooooh, ballroom dancing!" Sara says excitedly. "I haven't done that in so long." Standing up, she reaches over to her manly husband and says, "C'mon, Will. Let's get over there."
"Okay sure, but I'm gonna be pretty rusty."
"I'll help you through it."
Reflecting his wife's smile, Will gets up, and hand in hand they join the procession onto the dance floor. Getting themselves a nice empty spot, the two face each other and, with arms in proper position, they begin swaying to the music. This goes unseen by the three other Jedi still sitting at their table.
"Either of you up for some dancing?" Jo asks, to which Anna shakes her head.
"Nuh-uh; I haven't had my food yet. You're more than welcome to take Alex up and show him a good time."
"Uh yeah no, thank you," is the taller gent's response.
Up on the VIP veranda, the Jaa-Ruuk couple observe the dancing.
"A whole lot of people are in a dancing mood tonight, it seems," Sylvia remarks.
"Don't see why we shouldn't be as well." Getting up onto the table, Squishy offers a hand and asks, "May I have this dance, mon ami?"
Giggling, Sylvia answers, "You certainly may." She takes both of Squishy's hands, and lifting him up she carries him over to an open part of the veranda, swinging him about gently in a rather silly yet tender one-sided waltz. On the dance floor, things are getting a lot more intimate for Sara, as she rests her head against Will's chest while they move to the music.
"This is absolutely wonderful…" she says dreamily, absorbed in her husband's warmth and encompassing presence.
"That it is," he silently agrees, swaying gently in step with his love as everybody else on the floor does the same with their respective partners. Squid Adler is cutting quite the dapper rug, as well as the sports journalist and her body-builder beau. Even puny Ice Man is treating an old lady to an enjoyable two-step.
Of course only a small percentage of guests are in motion; the majority are content with watching the dancers while enjoying their exquisite meals. In the case of the galaxy's most decorated general, it's strictly about the food.
"Still gotta balance out the alcohol; can't go down just yet," Chris grunts while tearing through bread rolls and cheese plates at his table near the back. He has swapped his Hawaiian shirt for a tuxedo T-shirt, and for whatever reason has donned a pirate's hat as well. He's partly through shoveling a plate of hors d'oeuvres when he looks to his queasy-faced aid. "What's gotten into you, Jennings?"
"Bluugghh… far too much, sarge. Don't, feel hungry at all," the poor man-lad groans before planting his head on the table, hoping the lower elevation will help his digestion.
"Then allow me to relieve you of your vittles, soldier." Chris sweeps over a tray of shrimp and pours it down the hatch, along with some cocktail sauce. "Need those reserve calories in case they play my song and I unleash the Money Maker. God help those lead-footed souls if it comes to that."
This merry mood of dancing and eating carries on a few minutes longer before a special someone makes their appearance. The station owner himself, still wearing the same outlandish outfit from earlier, strolls out to center stage, signalling the band to stop. As things quiet down and people take notice, Bob taps a portable mic and speaks to the assembly.
"Good evening and salutations, my dear and wonderful guests! Sorry for the disruption, but I felt this was the right time to present myself before the night's festivities really get underway."
Sylvia and Squishy stop their "dancing" upon hearing that familiar drawl, and the Jawa leaps over onto the railing for a better look.
"Look, it's Bob!" he points out unnecessarily.
"The name's Bob, and I'm the owner of this resort," the blue Ssi-Ruu introduces himself. "First, I want to personally welcome you all to Dionysus, and humbly thank you for your patronage. How are y'all feeling so far?"
"As pleased as a barnacle on a bilge, me hearty!" shouts Chris from the back. "I never laid me eyes on so wide and fine a selection of liver-shrivelers and kidney-picklers in this quadrant of the galaxy befarr! And this seafood platter be simply to die fer, yar."
"I'm glad to hear our drink selection is to your liking. I like the hat, by the way."
"I stole it off ey small child by yon fairway. A pirate's life for me, yo-ho!"
Bob chuckles before resuming. "I hope all of you are having just as swell a time, minus the petty thievery of course. But in all seriousness, it warms this reptilian heart seeing all you fine folks here. I never would have imagined such a massive turnout; I honestly didn't think half your number would come. I am truly humbled, and determined more than ever to deliver the finest thrills, amusements, entertainment and leisure possible to you all. Now, before I yammer on and spoil your meals, I want to make a quick toast."
A P'w'eck server comes over with a champagne flute, prompting the guests to do likewise. Squishy hops over to pick up his mildly warm glass along with Sylvia as Bob raises his.
"To you fine people, this wondrous Republic we inhabit, and to the continued proliferation of merriment!" He drinks.
"Hear hear!" Squishy cries before raising his glass to his lips, downing half of it in one swig. He pecks his lips and says, "Hey, it's not that—", then collapses face first onto the table. Sylvia rushes to lift him back up on shaky legs. "I'm shtill conscioush at leassse…"
"That you are," Sylvia agrees. Everyone else has finished taking their respective toasts, and Bob hands his empty glass to the server before continuing.
"To kick off the main course and the next round of dancing, I would like to sing for you a song. A little favorite I picked up while doing research on what makes that classy, swingin' casino sound."
He signals the band, who raise their instruments and immediately play a frantic piece that catches everyone by surprise. But after five seconds of frenzy,
"That! Old black magic has me in its spell.
That old black magic that you, weave so well.
And those icy fingers, up and down my spine.
The same old witchcraft when your eyes meet mine."
People find themselves bopping to the toe-tapping, rapidfire words, with some astonished by the saurian beak producing them.
"Wow, his singing's incredible," remarks Copeland.
"It's probably autotuned," Jo dismisses. Regardless, the station owner sways and belts out those sizzlin' verses.
"I should stay away, but what can I do?
I hear your name, and I'm aflame.
Aflame with such a burning desire
That only your kiss-kiss-kiss-kiss-kiss, can put out the fire."
Bob pulls out a device from his vest in the midst of his singing, and tapping it the lights above the stage flip on and begin roving over the plaza. Suddenly there's movement from the floor as everyone starts rising from their seats, except…
"Hey, where you going?" Chris asks a departing Jennings, who goofily says, "I gots to move!" People begin meandering, swaying and bobbing to the dance floor, letting themselves loose as the music intensifies. Launch Octopus waves his arms around wildly while Duff and Cloud Man shake their thangs, and Axel the Red does the Charleston. Sylvia and Squishy are dancing like mad up on the veranda, as are the trio of Jo, Copeland and Anna. Sara has separated from Will to do her own bit of jitterbugging, leaving her husband standing awkward and confused.
"Uh, Sara? Heh, okay, I guess you do your thing."
She does, as does everyone else while a heady haze of heat descends and thickens over the gathering. Bodies slide and leap and twirl, and like the little leaf caught in the tide the guests go round and round and round and round, completely lost in the music generated by their smiling host, who struts the stage like the venue of Olympus. The excitement rises, the mirth of the moment swells to a crescendo, things get blurrier and blurrier in a flurry of swing.
Then in a burst of trumpets, it all goes blank.