"Pot roast with gravy, please."

The food service droid opens the lid of an oval pot and scoops out roasted meat and vegetables with a large spoon attached to the right hand. The spoon retracts and is replaced with a ladle. The droid dips it into a pot of gravy then pours it on the roast. It extends the plate to Greg.

"Your dinner, sir. Please enjoy."

Greg is disappointed. He was expecting to wait for the gravy to warm up like last time. "Is the gravy is the correct temperature?"

"Yes. 138 degrees Fahrenheit." It extends the plate closer. "Please take the plate and enjoy your dinner."

"Cancel."

"You can not cancel."

"I don't want it. Cancel."

"There is no canceling."

"What is the gravy's temperature now?"

"Unknown. It is no longer in the warming pot and can not be monitored. You have seven and one eighth minutes left to sit down and eat before it is below optimal temperature."

Greg sighs. "Okay then." He takes the plate and puts it on his tray. He looks to Niven and says, "That didn't work out. I needed the gravy to be cool."

"Let me try." Niven turns to the droid. "Hi! I would like a pot roast with gravy, but I would like the gravy to be 148 degrees Fahrenheit."

The droid scoops out the pot roast and vegetables. "I can not serve gravy over 142 degrees Fahrenheit."

"Okay. 142 degrees please."

"Please standby as I warm the gravy." The droid freezes in place.

"Change temperature to zero degrees Fahrenheit." Niven gives Greg a nod.

"The lowest temperature I can serve is 148 degrees Fahrenheit."

"Oh. Well, that's fine." Niven takes his plate. "You're smarter than a targeting computer."

"Of course I am," replies the droid.

Greg, Niven, Bova, and Cord walk to the end of the serving line and find five Tie Fighter pilots standing in front of them.

"Oh, I forgot about you guys," Greg smirks. "How are you doing?"

"We are pissed off," a pilot said. "Those storm-troopers you sicked on us gave us the business."

"What does that mean?" Greg shrugs and looks to his team. They look tense.

"They kicked our ass!" The pilot grinds his teeth. "Now it's your turn."

"I didn't want to eat here tonight anyway." Greg throws his tray into the pilot's face. The other pilots leap forward to attack but they also get hit by trays and greasy food. "Run!"

The Gunners spin around and run down the serving line, passing bewildered pilots staring at them. A pilot jumps in front of them to stop them but he gets knocked backward to the floor as Cord and Greg plant their shoulders into his chest. Other pilots jump to their feet and chase the fleeing grunts.

The team turns into the passageway and runs as fast as they can to the nearest elevator. The doors close as a cluster of pilot hands try to stop them.

"That was close." Bova is catching his breath. "I don't want to go back there."

"Me neither." Greg is holding his liver. "I am really out of shape."

"Me too." Cord nods. "Now where? I think there's a take-away sandwich place on our deck."

The others nod.

The next morning they are stretched out in the cushy chairs in their bunk room's lounge, drinking coffee and staring out the window. High in the sky over the Death Star is a bright blue and green planet with swirling clouds.

"Now that I see it, I want to go there," Cord says.

"Where's the smog?" asks Bova. "How do they keep it clean?"

"Very strict land-use zoning laws." Niven nibbles on a sticky bun. "And all of their industries are carbon neutral. They think carbon dioxide can heat up the atmosphere. Ridiculous."

"I think I want to retire there." Greg turns to Cord. "Who did you know from Alderaan?"

"The weirdos on Dantooine. Many were girls."

"You mean the rebels you knew?"

"Yeah. A bunch came from here." Cord points to Alderaan.

"Huh." Greg scratches his chin. "I got a bad feeling about this."

"Me, too," says Niven. "I don't think the ruling family is too friendly with the Empire, but they don't have a military. They're not a threat."

They sit for a few minutes watching Alderaan get closer.

"Time to go to work." Greg gets up and tosses his paper cup. The others lumber to their feet and they amber out the door.

The team gets to their stations in the Gunnery Station and plays with switches. Greg puts on his helmet and looks at the approaching Alderaan. He can see the cloud swirls slowly rotate. He imagines himself falling from space into a cloud and landing softly on the top of a grass covered mountain.

Commander Sol storms in. "Holy shit! Crap! We are on! Right now! We're on!"

Niven looks over at him. "What's on?"

"Firing stations! We're going to fire the Super Laser!"

"At Alderaan?" Greg removes his helmet. "Why?"

"Because that's your job." Sol takes a breath. "We just do what we're told. Suit up." He scoots out of the room.

Greg puts his helmet back on. A text alert reads "Engage Target – Planet 01 / Mode – Destruct." He targets Alderaan's core, creates a firing solution, and activates live maneuvering. The Death Star starts rotating to point the laser to the planet. He activates the helmet com-link. "How's everybody doing?"

"I'm so nervous my balls are sweating," says Cord.

"I'm trying to remember what I do," says Bova.

"You do what you normally do," says Niven. "I'm the only one making changes." He makes sure all the t-handles are up. "Also, let's use hand signals when we're active. We don't know who will be listening in."

"Good call," says Greg. "When I pump my arm up and down, shoot."

Ten minutes later the Super Laser is almost lined up. Greg gets an alert in his display, "Fire When Ready." As the cross-hair approaches the center of the planet, he pushes buttons to initiate the firing sequence.

"Commence Primary Ignition" booms on the com-link. Niven and Bova start throwing switches to open the valves to the generators and start charging the capacitors. Greg pushes buttons to lock the targeting of the Super Laser. His helmet display shows full capacitor charge and he pumps his arm to shoot the laser. Niven slams down the t-handle override as Cord pushes buttons to engage gyros to hold the Death Star steady. Niven pushes buttons to energize the laser oscillators and flips the switches to close the relay to the amplifiers.

In one of the laser tubes, the intense high power laser beam passes by two technicians who are standing at a small control console on a tiny platform with no railing. One turns a knob and the other yells, "Holy shit, that's close!"

The beam meets up with seven other laser beams and they formed into one Super Laser beam that, in an instant, burns through the crust and mantel, and super heats the core. Alderaan explodes.

Greg watches the explosion in his helmet's video display. He must decide to be upset at what they have done, or accept it as a success. He removes his helmet. "Good job, team. I think we're keeping our jobs."

The others remove their helmets. Sweat is dripping from everybody's hair.

"That was brutal," says Cord.

Commander Sol and Admiral Talon march into the room, beaming smiles.

"Good job, crew," says the Admiral. "Excellent work. I know you did some goofy stuff to make the Super Laser work, but that's okay. Now we have time to get it working properly." He does a thumbs up.

"Yes, good job," Sol says. "Let's spend the rest of the day reviewing the log and see how things went."

"Yes, sir." Greg nods.

"Also, the reactor is recovering as designed." Admiral Talon rubs his hands together. "I'll wait a few hours and see what the mood is on the command deck. The Governor should be pleased. Maybe he'll tell me who that young woman is they have locked up."

"A rebel," says Sol.

"Every civilian is not a rebel. Thanks, crew!" The Admiral walks out with long strides. Sol sidles behind him.

"There's a woman on board?" Cord is astounded. "How is everybody not talking about that."

"She's a prisoner," Bova states. "She's not really hanging with the guys."

"That's a shame. Now what?"

Niven straightens out his uniform. "I need a coffee. Anybody else?"

"Yeah, let's go for a walk." Greg set his helmet down. "We're not blowing up any more planets today."