Star Wars: The Parody Strikes Back



Part Four



Images flashed in Luke's mind as he slept: The ice cave of Hoth. The lightning flowing effortlessly from the Emperor into him. His stump of an arm. Him clinging to the bottom of the Bespin antennae. Darth Vader holding out his hand, in a motion for him to join him. His foster parents home smoldering from an Imperial attack. His friends trapped in Carbonite, a still life pose of horror in their faces. A Death Star firing on Coruscant. The picture of thin, wiry, clumsy Gungan laughing at him, followed by more laughter of every possible character, until it became a chorus in his head. The voice of his father whispered in his mind, "(cough) It only a matter of (wheeze) time before you cross over. Just release yourself (gasp) from ... (cough, cough, hack, wheeze) Give me a moment to get a second wind."

Before it could continue, he woke up suddenly. With a jerk reflex he thrust his fist into the adjacent pillow. The whirr of a lightsaber and the smell of searing feathers greeted his senses. He had just impaled his pillow with his lightsaber. It was the 7th one to meet that fate in the last month. He really should stop sleeping with his lightsaber. He was drenched with sweat, the room felt quite hot. He must have given off a lot of energy as he slept. When a Jedi has a nightmare, the room has (what he thought to be) a whirlwind in it. He stepped off his bed to further survey the damage. He slipped on a pool of his own sweat and found himself staring at the ceiling. The lightbulb read "Made by Acme Corp." Funny, he'd never heard of them before. Slowly he got to his feet, using The Force to rearrange the room back to its pristine state.



That done, he started his daily task of testing his artificial hand. Good old father, they'd make a good pair on the Jerry Springer Show. First he tried to make his hand as flat as possible. Hmm... it was resisting him today. Then he tried to form a fist, all but his middle finger slowly responded. Hmm... he exerted the will of The Force, the middle finger moved to it place, then jammed, and the entire hand began smoking and sparking. He detached it and tossed it out the window behind him. He was in the former Emperor's palace of Coruscant. There were a dozen lanes of cars that ran beside the palace. One of them now had a malfunction hand in it. A scream and the sound of a hover car slamming into a building confirmed the worst; maybe he shouldn't have emptied his bedpan out the window last night. Life was so much more complicated in the city.



He fit a spare hand on, placing new batteries in it. He put on the same robe he'd wore for the last 5 years. It never seemed to get very dirty. He quickly washed himself, and halfway through water leaked in the new hand causing it to spark and give him a nasty electric shock. Detaching it and draining it, he remember how much he disliked having to go through this every day. After he was done, he looked at the clock: 27:48. Urrhhh, he hated Coruscant time.



Today was the day he wished wouldn't come: The Endor Memorial. It was the one-year anniversary of the Battle of Endor today. One year since his father had been killed. To the rest of the Rebel Alliance is was a day of celebration. He had to join the celebration in the main foyer in... -18 minutes. Ah crud.



He quickly jogged through the corridors in the palace. What a life he has: Raised by adopted parents that were killed when he was a teenager. Never knowing his mother. His real father tried to kill him, chopping off his hand in one battle. He had sexual thoughts about his sister. And most of the Rebelion's youth wanted to be just like him. Most likely he needed a psychiatrist, not a lightsaber. If the rebelion wanted a brave, non-thinking, slice-'n-dice knight in pale white cloth armor; instead of a thinker, who was he to question the will of the billions of people? Fate truly had a dark sense of humor.



The main foyer was layered over 3 stories, including a ground floor. Ornate balconies and railing graced the open corridor and grand wide stairs. Such a place had been constructed with great cost, and now the rag-tag mass that filled it hardly complimented it. Huge orchestras and bands were playing all forms of music, there was a large selection of food and refreshments. The crowd danced on the floor. Admirals, diplomats, smugglers, royalty, soldiers, and civilians were all present. He strolled over to the refreshment stand and took a rather large glass of Ruby Bliel. This was a night/day/twilight/whatever he didn't want to remember. Most likely every person in the room wanted to see get his autograph, or see his lightsaber, or do acrobatics in the air. If he was lucky he wouldn't be asked to do "hypnosis" (a.k.a. a mind trick) on some unsuspecting backwater rube.



Well, well, Admiral Jerad was walking towards him. The man who had sent his entire academy, except for James and Leon, off to die. The cream of the galaxy was being sent to die. Sacrifice for one's cause could go too far. It wasn't Admiral Jerad that was going to die on some gigantic ship, surrounded by enemies. "Ah, Luke Skywalker, just the man I wanted to talk too. I have a question I figured you could answer."



"Now what would that be admiral?"



"What do Jedi do when they retire?"



Retire? The only Jedi he ever heard of retiring was Yoda. All the others died from battle. Time to bluff his way through the question, "We live on some deserted planet as a hermit. We chop wood with our lightsabers, and write books that of our expierences so that others will fight to read it, thus keeping the cycle of new Jedis and Dark Jedis complete. Then we die alone and forgotten, unless they need our knowledge."



"Okay... that explains your complete lack of fear of death, you have nothing to live for. One more question, what are the those lightsabers made of?"



The things were made of wood, plastic, acrylic paint, and some wires, a filament, and a really big battery. That just didn't sound mystical though, "Acromalite." With all these white lies he was telling he hoped he wasn't turning to the Dark Side.



"Well I look forward to having you lead Rogue Squadron in defense of Coruscant. I'm sure you'll make the Alliance proud."



Of course, nobody else could do what he did. He decided to take leave of the admiral, have another large Ruby Bliel and mingle with the crowd The trumpeter's were those aliens that looked like they ate dish detergent for a snack. Good trumpet players, but they looked like they were about to inhale the instrument. Was the floor bumpy? He was beginning to stumble. The music changed to something electronic. The dance became spasmatic individual motions instead of graceful group movement. He came across C3P0 doing a dance he called "The Robot", how appropriate. The limited, jerky movements reminded him just how useless that robot was. 'Protocol droid', such a waste of technology. Wait, they could translate, but that was it. Almost as if they were created to hated by those who witnessed them. The droid in distress? R2D2 was useful, it could fix things. The blasted things kept tipping over though. Was nothing working right? Like this floor, it just kept getting bumpier.



As if on cue he saw R2D2 running through the crowd trying to escape what appeared to be some engineers. They look like they had a data crystal they wanted to give it, but it didn't want it. The little droid was going has fast he could, running over everybody's feet. Then it tripped over one the bumps in the floor, or maybe it was a foot. The soldiers caught up with him and righted the wailing droid, while inserting the crystal. They the droid let out a beep that sounded like "Yahhhoooooo," and began spinning on it wheels. It kept spinning and spinning until it tipped over on it side. It kept of spinning and eventual spun on its head, its wheels in the air. The droid was a good break dancer.



He walked over to one of those orange aliens with the 3 eyes on the end of stalks. The lower half of the face looked like a dog. He couldn't remember their names, there were so many aliens. He had a nice conversation with him/her/it on the old Republic. They differed on whether Naboo was a planet or a doughnut. Stupid fool didn't know a doughnut when he saw one. Then he found himself back at the refreshment stand. He juggled Tim Bits using The Force for a few minutes. Then he was talking to a guard. They had an interesting discussion on whether the ancient human home world was the mythical planet of Venus, or the mythical planet of Mars. She agreed with him that the floor was getting bumpier. Then back to the refreshment stand. Hans Solo was there. Luke asked him how the Hutts were, if he was still doing any jobs for them. Hans was rather ticked off, Luke couldn't figure out why. Luke then decided to crack a joke to make up for it. "So, have gotten a flea collar for Chewbacca yet?" Amazingly, it didn't go over too well. He should loosen up, he was always so calculating and stressed. Or was that the Admiral? He couldn't remember.



He took a look over the railing to the dance floor. Was it his imagination, or was Princess Leia dancing with Chewbacca? "The Blue Danube" was playing and all the guests were waltzing. He also saw a Ewok hanging from a chandelier. A Stormtrooper and a bantha herder were laughing at him from upside down on the ceiling. He waved at them. Then he heard a voice calling him from the floor. Chewbacca released the princess with a gentle twirl. They were having pinatas of Darth Vader strung up. They were asking him to wack them with his lightsaber. He was not amused. Well it took him several swipes to hit the thing, they kept moving it out of range. He even made quite a gash in the floor. Eventually he hit it, and the pinata burst into flames and rained molten candy down on top of him. Quickly, he dodged out of the way, and into one of the more attractive dignitaries. For the next one he offered to hold the lightsaber by the other end, so the plastic end would hit the pinata. His offer was refused.



Then it was back to the refreshment stand. The floor was so bumpy, he was surprised the others could walk so easy. The Stormtrooper on the ceiling was now having a wrestling match with a tie-dyed Wookie. He shouted to the Wookie if he needed any help. The response of the nearby guests was to ask if he, Luke, needed any help. Why would he need help? It was the Wookie that was getting the German Supplex. After a 3-count the Wookie had lost. It was a good match. Too bad no one else had seen it. He spotted James and Leon on the main floor. Hey, some Jedi that would live for another few months, unless their hand slipped when shaving. He tried to jump over the railing to greet them, but his foot caught on it as he went over. The last thing he remembered seeing was a flowing, ocean-like floor rushing to embrace him.



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