Rating: PG. For "Star Wars" goofiness.
Feedback: Very, very much appreciated. In fact, it's mandatory.
Distribution: If you want it, by all means... Just let me know first, I'd like to know where my work goes so I can brag about it.
Spoilers: Um... Spoilers? Did you not read the summary?
Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything Buffy and gang belong to the Joss-god and everything Star Wars belongs to the Supreme
Overlord George W. Lucas. How I know his middle initial, I do not know, but it makes his name sound fancier nonetheless.
Author's Note: Alas, I have found my muse for this story! Huzzah for me!
A/N 2.0: Not a terribly lengthy chapter, but I wanted the next one to be extra long for your enjoyment. And for all those who are keeping score, a new main character is introduced within. This time, it's a Big Bad. Enjoy!
*****
From a very far distance, the Hell Star looks like any other planet in this populous galaxy. But once a person or creature got within a substantial distance of the massive metallic orb, they would find that it was far from being anything resembling a planet and more like a colossal floating battlestation capable of destroying worlds on the whim of a greedy commander.
Such a greedy commander was sitting quite uncomfortably, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table of the main conference room of the Hell Star as the argument about him continued its feverous tone.
Across the table from the impatient man, Linwood, a rat-faced commander with the backbone of a mouse and the brain size to match, had the floor.
"Until this battle station is fully operational, we have to keep on full alert," Linwood warned his comrades sitting around the large metal table. "We don't know what kind of tricks those Rebels could be concocting. They may very well be more dangerous than we expected."
The impatient man, let us call him Holland Manners, scoffed at Linwood's warning. "Dangerous? Now there's a laugh. They may be a threat to your fleet of lawyers and rats, but not to this battle station!"
"The Rebellion will gain sympathy in the Imperial Council as long as-"
Linwood's retort was interrupted by the entrance of two beings, neither of which human by any means, into the Hell Star's conference chambers.
"The Imperial Council is history, Linwood," a new and cheerful voice assured. "Not need to get your knickers in a twist."
The duo stopped bickering long enough to see their Commander-in-Chief, Richard Wilkins (affectionately called the "Mayor," though nobody knew why) entering the doorway. Tailing close behind "Mayor" Wilkins was the previously aforementioned Darth Angelus, bringing with him a swagger none in this room could match.
"H-history?" Linwood confusedly asked.
"Righto, Linny," Wilkins replied, taking a seat in the cushy chair at the head of the table. "Word on evil street says that the Master broke up the last bit of the council while you guys were in here having a tea party." He straightened a crease in his uniform before continuing. "So let us all bid a fond adios to the Old Republic."
If jaws could hit the floor, Linwood's would have done just that. "Th-that's... im-im... impossible."
"You're darn tootin' it was. But a slick dog that Master is, being able to break up an entire bureaucracy and still manages to keep the lot of 'em in line." Wilkins raised his hand. "Close your mouth, Linny. You're attracting flies."
"What about the rebels? If they've got a technical readout of this battlestation..."
"I know, I know. They could find a weakness and exploit and all that other pessimistic nonsense you seem to have conjured up these days." The Mayor leaned back in his unusually comfortable chair and grinned to his comrades. "Let's look on the bright side of life, gentleman. We've got a giant planet destroying machine and they don't. The odds are overwhelmingly in our favor."
"But..."
"What did I say about pessimism?" Linwood didn't reply. "That's what I thought."
Angelus, who hadn't said a word since arriving, was getting extremely bored with all this fancy political talk. "Can I say something?"
Wilkins swivelled his chair in the vampire's direction. "By all means, angel face."
"Now, I'm not saying the Hell Star isn't cool with its ability to blow large things up, because, let's face it, it is. I should just warn you not to place all your hopes and dreams into one machine." The dark creature tilted his head and shrugged, his coat shifting slightly with his actions. "Let's also face this: the ability to blow up worlds in a fowl swoop is pretty much just eye candy in comparison to the Power."
Manners, a scoffer he is, did it again. "Oh, no," he exclaimed in mock fear. "Not the Power! I'm so scared I think I might hide in a corner and suck my thumb." The mock fear dropped, but the acid in his voice remained the same. "Listen, Angelus, where exactly has the Power been in helping you find the stolen data tapes or the Rebels' secret hidden base?" In the matter of a blink, the form of the vampire had disappeared. "Um... He was there a second ago, right?"
A frigid hand gripped the back of Manners' neck. "Right, Manners. And now I'm here." In one quick motion, the Dark Lord spun his chair in the reverse direction and grabbed the front of the man's neck with the other. The vampire squeezed ever so slowly, teaching the man to never get on the bad side of a vampire with Champion's powers.
"I find your lack of faith annoying, Manners."
Just when the choking man's face turned an interesting shade of purple, Wilkins decided to intervene.
"Whoa there, sheriff. Ease up on the testosterone, will ya?"
"Fine." Reluctantly, Angelus released the vice tight grip, allowing Manners to breathe once again. "I was getting bored anyway. It's no fun when you can't hear 'em scream."
The Mayor straightened another wrinkle on the front of his uniform and folded his arms across his chest in a disapproving manner. "Now cut that out. I want all of my men alive for at least the first phase of this mission, do you hear?" A slouch in his posture told Angelus he was willing to negotiate, but not right now.
"Here's the game play. Angel here will get the location of the Rebel base by the time this place is ready to fry some worlds. Any questions?" When nobody had anything more to say, the Mayor clapped his hands and stood from his chair. "Right, then. See you all at the destruction of the Rebellion." With a cheerful smile, he warned, "Don't be late."
