Part X -- Aggressive Negotiations
Luke wouldn't have been so reluctant to get out of bed if it hadn't been for the airhorn blaring in his ear at seven A.M.
"Up and at 'em!" bellowed Trapper, giving the horn another blast. "Opening ceremonies for Stellar-Con start at nine!"
"Mrrggghhmmmnnn." Luke grudgingly lifted his head out of the blankets to see Trapper sitting on the edge of the bed, giving him a reproachful stare. Did he ever change out of that costume?
"Trapper, let him sleep if he wants," Austin scolded from the computer desk. "We've got an hour before we need to leave."
"He's okay," Luke mumbled, sitting up and peeling off the bedcovers. "I was hoping to get up by now anyway." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and started to stand up.
"Morning, Luke."
Upon hearing Liberty's voice he grabbed a blanket and flung it over his lower body to cover himself. She was sitting on the coffee table, decked out in her Lady Vader armor with her helmet in her lap. Around her neck was what appeared to be a religious pendant on a silver chain. Coppery-red hair with blond streaks flowed over her
shoulders, and her silver-blue eyes sparkled in amusement.
"Nice underoos," she commented.
"Sorry for the show," Luke apologized, wrapping the blanket around his waist to form a skirt of sorts.
She shrugged, clasping her hands atop the helmet. "My parents were hippies. I've seen people a lot more naked than that."
He blushed furiously. "Uh... nice necklace."
"Thank you!" She touched the medallion. "This is the Zodiac star sign I was born under, Ares the Ram."
"Is Zodiac part of your religion?"
"Nah, it's some New Age fluff," Austin replied.
"Don't dismiss the star signs as hogwash, Austin," Liberty replied. "As a Scorpio, you'd do well to keep an open mind."
"What's my sign?" Luke asked, curious.
"I don't know," Liberty replied. "Unless you could point your birth date out on one of our calendars, I can't figure it out."
Luke peeked at Austin's computer screen, where he was typing something on a text processing program. "Work?"
"Uh-huh," Austin mumbled. "I write a weekly syndicated column that goes in our local newspaper, 'The Star City Herald,' and a few dozen other papers in the American West. It's a feature specially for geeks like us. It's called 'Life As a Geek.'"
"Oxymoron," Liberty said with a smile. "And is it any wonder that they put it right next to the New Age fluff column, the horoscope?"
Luke laughed as Austin glared at her.
"Can we go now?" insisted Trapper.
"Can I get dressed first?" asked Luke.
Trapper huffed loudly before turning on the television set to kill a little time -- among other things -- playing "Bounty Hunter."
"So are you two brother and sister?" inquired Luke.
"Uh-uh," Austin replied. "I only have brothers, and Liberty's an only child."
"Are you married?"
Liberty laughed. "Austin still hasn't recovered from his first marriage. Though after Melissa, I can see why he's leery of getting hitched again." She gave a mock pout. "But he just doesn't love me enough to propose to me."
"C'mon, Lib, I love you!" Austin protested, whirling around in his swivel chair to face her. "Just give me a little time."
"Where have I heard that before?" Liberty wondered aloud.
Memories of Han and Leia flashed through Luke's mind while he collected his snowtrooper outfit and retreated to the bathroom to get dressed. Despite the obvious cultural differences, Earth humans weren't so different from the rest of the galaxy after all.
***
If Conrad's quick explanation during the car ride was correct, the Star City Convention Center was theoretically the venue for any large gathering -- concerts, college fairs, business expos, auctions, and other activities. And on occasion it did host one of the above. But any native could tell you that the gleaming building wouldn't exist if there wasn't such a pressing need to house Star City's massive conventions. Its chrome-like finish and futuristic dome-and-spire design made it look as if some mischievous deity had picked it up from Corusant's metropolitan districts and grafted it here as a joke. In the center of the paved courtyard was a large fountain with a bronze statue of Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader dueling savagely amidst the columns and sprays of water. Other than the five bare flagpoles out front, the convention center looked entirely too alien in this Earth city.
"What are the flagpoles for?" asked Vader.
"One for each movie," Conrad quipped. "Just kidding. They'll put flags up during the opening ceremony. Two poles will have Star Wars flags on them -- a gray one with a red Alliance crest and a black one with a white Imperial insignia. The other three will have Earth flags -- Star City flag, Colorado state flag, and American flag."
It was still half an hour until the opening ceremonies, yet the courtyard was packed. Hundreds of costumed revelers waited for Stellar-Con to begin. One fan in Imperial Royal Guard robes had come prepared for the wait with a six-pack of an alcoholic beverage, a lawn chair, and a portable computer. A Padme lookalike in white
battle attire and a Han Solo of a skin color Diana described as "Latino" broke out decks of Star Wars cards and sat on the ground for an impromptu game. Other fans just gossiped, compared costumes, traded Episode III rumors, or complained about the wait.
Someone elbowed him.
"Yo Dave!" Steve greeted, utilizing Vader's alias. "You dropped this." He slipped a black leather wallet into his hand. Inside were several bills of Earth currency, a handful of coins, an ID card with his pseudonym and basic information on it, and a second card he didn't recognize.
"That's a Star Wars fan club card," Steve explained. "You are fan, aren't you?"
"Whose picture is this?" Vader asked, referring to the face on the ID card.
"Oh, I just downloaded Hayden Christiansen's face onto my computer and aged it twenty years," he replied. He put his hands on his hips and scanned the crowd. "Well, this year's pretty tame compared to last year. Waiting was a horror then." He shuddered. "Idiot newscasters tried to get right in the thick of things to film us and got trampled when the doors opened. Someone's kid puked on the leader of the local 501st garrison. A Darth Vader wannabe and a stormtrooper got blasted and busted the windows out of the coffee shop next door. A bunch of Trekkies decided to stir up trouble by streaking..."
"What's streaking?" asked Vader, not sure he wanted an answer.
"Running through a public area without clothes on."
"I... see," Vader noted. He decided Earth people were just plain bizarre.
"Maybe our trusty MC will actually start the gig on time and we won't have problems this year," Diana suggested hopefully.
"Probably not," Conrad countered.
Ominous murmuring ensued as seven people hopped onto the edge of the fountain and smirked maliciously at the crowd. Their garb didn't appear to be of Earth, yet it wasn't Star Wars-ish either. He kept a cautious eye on them, sensing that they were going to be causing trouble shortly.
"Uh-oh, rivals," Conrad remarked. "Attack of the Fandoms."
"Back to repeat last year's stunt, are they?" Vader observed.
"Who knows?" Diana replied warily. "The three on the left are Trekkies, fans of a TV show and movie series called 'Star Trek.' They're our biggest rivals. The two in robes look like Ringers, or 'Lord of the Rings' fans -- though I don't know why they're here. They've never harassed us before. The one on the far right in the red bodysuit is Spiderman, and the one in the leather and goggles..." She hesitated. "I don't recognize him."
"'Dragonriders of Pern' fan," Steve informed her. "I know because that's the F'lar lookalike who tried to run me over with his car last year at Nova-Con."
"Take this, you stupid Stargeeks!" one of the Ringers shouted. "You and your stinking self-important Smellar-Con can pucker up and kiss us right here!"
With that, all seven hecklers turned their backs to the throng and...
Vader averted his gaze. He really didn't need to see that.
"Oh look, it's the moons of Yavin," Conrad said blandly.
Boos rang from the crowd as people yelled for the party crashers to vacate the area. The Royal Guard hollered congratulations to them for putting their best faces forward, while a Jedi Padawan began throwing things and scored a direct hit on Spiderman's derriere with an empty soda can. Other spectators loudly suggested such
punishments as pinning the seven down and giving them Queen Amidala makeovers, forcing them to watch the "Holiday Special" until they went insane, or dressing them up as Jedi and turning them loose at the Sons of the Sith headquarters. Through it all the pranksters continued to laugh derisively and shout retaliating insults.
Vader decided a truly Star-Wars-ish punishment was in order. He focused, thrust with the Force... and like professional water dancers the seven tumbled headfirst into the fountain. The jeers from the fans became applause.
"Dave!" Conrad cried, both shocked and amused.
Vader only smiled. The vulgar gatecrashers had gotten what they deserved.
The bewildered rivals scrambled out of the fountain and made a hasty exit, sputtering and coughing all the way. One of the Trekkies still had his pants around his ankles and was trying to hop away and pull them up at the same time.
After the cheering died down, the wait resumed. Other members of the Elite began showing up, among them Luke with the Powers and Fett with the Osmonds. He exchanged polite nods with the others as they arrived, answering to his false name as naturally as he was able.
"You look weird without your helmet on," Luke said in greeting.
"And a good morning to you too, Nick," Vader replied. "What makes you say that?"
"Watched the last movie at Austin's last night," he explained with a mischievous grin. "You should, too. It'll do you good."
"No thanks," Vader replied. "Perhaps we should speak more of this in private, Nick Sorenson. We don't want to attract undue attention."
Luke nodded in understanding. "Right, David."
"Excuse me?" another Vader impostor interrupted, walking up at that moment. Vader wannabes were fairly common here, but this one was defined by a golden bandolier crossing his torso from right shoulder to left hip. To further separate him from the others, after his initial remark he began speaking in another language entirely.
"I'm sorry, we don't understand you," Brigham told him.
"So sorry," the man apologized in thickly accented Basic. "I'm with the Paris France Outpost of the 501st, and I seem to have lost my comrades. All the stormtroopers look alike."
Luke and the impostor shared a laugh. Vader didn't find the comment particularly amusing but forced a laugh anyway.
"My name is Gabriel," the false Vader introduced, touching his chest. "Gabriel DeBour."
"Nick Sorenson," Luke replied.
"David McKnight," Vader added.
"Brigham Pratt," Brigham put in.
"Bonjour Nick, David, Brigham," Gabriel said. "Forgive me if I make a mistake, for this is my first visit to America."
"You speak very good English," Diana complimented.
"Merci, Madame!" Gabriel exclaimed. "Thank you. Our outpost goes to many conventions in Great Britain, so most of us know English."
"Why are you wearing that gold thing?" Rachel piped up.
"It is to define us as members of the Paris France Outpost," Gabriel said proudly. "All members are supposed to wear them so we can find each other in a crowd, but many of them forget to put them on. I haven't seen a stormtrooper in gold all morning," he lamented.
"Sorry, but neither have we," Luke said apologetically.
"We'll let you know if we see a French trooper in a gold sash..." Brigham began. Abruptly he froze, the cup of soda he was carrying halfway to his lips. "Aw, crap!"
"More Trekkies?" Vader inquired, quickly scanning the crowd. If it was more pranksters, it didn't feel like the same ones as the "moons of Yavin."
"Worse," Brigham replied. "It's Ezekial. Coming this way."
Vader spotted a dark-skinned Rebel pilot advancing on them, a Leia in Hoth gear on his left and a Jedi Knight on his right. "A rival fan group?" he inquired.
"No, it's a person, and he's a..."
"Well, if it isn't our little Moe Mormon Brigham!" the pilot sneered, shoving rudely past Gabriel to confront the trooper.
"Yo Zeke," Brigham replied. "Get lost."
"It's a free country, isn't it?" Ezekial shot back. He gave Vader a quick glance. "Haven't seen this one before. Who's he?"
"I am David McKnight," Vader replied.
"Dave, you'd do good to find a different friend to hang with," Ezekial advised him. "Mormons like Brig will try to convert you at every opportunity. They consider those not of their faith to be inferior."
/I already have someone trying to convert me at every opportunity/ Vader thought, glancing at Luke. Aloud he said, "And I suppose you think your religion is superior to Brigham's?"
"I'm a proud member of the Baptist Church," Ezekial bragged. "And trying to change other's lifestyles to boost our own egos is beneath us."
"I notice criticizing other's lifestyles to boost your ego is not beneath you, however," Vader retorted.
Ezekial's dark skin took on a pink undertone. "I ain't talkin' to you anymore, Peewee."
"Don't you have someone else to torture?" Steve asked crisply.
"Don't you have some Rainbow Rally to attend?" Ezekial demanded.
"Leave Steve alone," snapped Brigham.
"You're condoning his behavior?" Ezekial gasped, feigning shock. "I thought Mormons were against such lifestyles."
"Bug off or I'll..." Brigham snarled.
"You'll what?" Ezekial taunted. "Quote scripture? You Mormons are soooooo wimpy. I've never seen one of you pick a fight or even throw a punch..."
The crowd gasped in alarm as Brigham tossed the contents of his cup into Ezekial's face. The Rebel stood there a moment, slowly wiping his face, before smiling smugly.
"That the best you can do, Mormon boy?" he jeered.
"Don't do it, Brig," Conrad warned. "We won't think any less of you."
"I've turned the other cheek one too many times," Brigham growled. "Now he's gone too far!" And he charged his foe with an infuriated roar.
Fans leaped out of the way as the two laid into each other, screaming insults and letting fists fly, along with parts of Brigham's armor and shreds of orange cloth from Ezekial's flightsuit.
"Love thy neighbor as thyself!" Ezekial snapped.
"Love thine enemy!" Brigham retorted.
"Love one another!"
"Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth!"
"Go to hell!"
"Bigoted jerk!"
"Mormon pansy!"
"Xenophobic moron!"
"Generation of vipers!"
"Cast the beam from thine eye, hypocrite!"
"You and the peacenik French can all suck eggs!"
At the insult to his heritage Gabriel took notice. Had he been a massif, his hackles would be raised. He grabbed a nearby Aurra Sing's fake blaster rifle and leaped into the fray, clubbing Ezekial savagely. At first Aurra protested, then began cheering the Frenchman on. Meanwhile, Ezekial's tagalongs waded into the melee to help him out.
Mike, who had just shown up and was running to meet up with the rest of the Elite, ran unknowingly into the heart of the brawl. Patrick dove in to rescue him and Jason, probably feeling obligated by blood ties, followed. The Royal Guard, seeing some excitement at last, plunged into the mass of bodies and lashed out indiscriminately at both sides. What had begun as a patient vigil had become a free-for-all.
Luke started to charge into the mess to break it up, but Vader clamped a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't injure yourself needlessly," he ordered.
"We have to stop it!" Luke protested.
"These scuffles happen every year," Austin told him. "Different people have different tiffs, but they end the same way. They ride themselves out; don't worry."
Sure enough, the fight dissolved as people began disentangling themselves and limping away. First Jason and Mike staggered out of the mess, the latter nursing what would surely become a black eye, then Patrick, his breastplate spattered with blood from his injured nose. The Jedi staggered free and let his Aayla Secura girlfriend fuss over him while the Leia lookalike dragged the frothing, snarling Royal Guard away by his arm and
dumped a bottle of water over him to cool him off.
Gabriel's shoulders and chest heaved as he stalked toward a group of gold-sashed stormtroopers who had gathered to watch the tussle. His helmet was chipped in places, his bodysuit ripped over the ribs from armpit to waist, and his bandolier had been torn and now dangled limply from one shoulder. But he seemed immensely pleased with himself, and he held up a battered lightsaber, a trophy gained from the fight.
"Vive la France!" he bellowed.
His comrades roared assent, pumping their fists in the air.
"Hey, that's mine!" the Jedi protested.
Brigham and Ezekial, meanwhile, continued their bout of "aggressive negotiations." Pieces of stormtrooper armor and flightsuit material lay scattered about, and Ezekial's helmet went skittering across the courtyard to land at Vader's feet. By now a law enforcement officer had arrived on the scene and tried to break up the fight, but when Brigham's elbow caught him in the cheekbone he backed away and waited for the brawl to peter out.
"Those two have born grudges for years," Austin informed them. "Brig's put up with a lot of abuse from Zeke, and it had to explode sometime."
"At least they're communicating," Darcy pointed out.
"Yeah, with their fists," Fett and Liz said at the same time. They stared at each other a moment, startled, then resumed their aloof stances.
"What was all that discussion about?" Vader demanded. "About Steve's lifestyle and Mormons being intolerant of other faiths?"
"It's not important," Emily replied. "People fight over the stupidest little things. But does Brig's religion or Zeke's prejudices or Steve's sexual preference really warrant a fistfight? I really don't think so, but they do, and its that attitude that causes so many wars and so much hatred on our planet." She gazed meaningfully at him. "Maybe that's the same attitude that has the rest of the galaxy in such upheaval too."
She did have a point, but hers was the observation of an idealistic. He had little use for those. He'd had ideals once, and they had been for naught. Besides, the Galactic Civil War wasn't about trivial hatreds but about keeping the galaxy in one piece. But then again, it was the trivial hatreds that had ripped it apart in the first place. Stang, he hated it when these Earth people were right!
By now Brigham and Ezekial were lying on the ground, panting and moaning in pain, unable to raise a finger, much less a fist. The officer informed them that he should take both of them down to the station for assault, but since they were first-time offenders they'd get off with tickets this time for disturbing the peace. These the officer wrote out and stuck to their chests before walking off and leaving them to recuperate.
"You pack a mean right hook," Ezekial mumbled.
"Thanks," Brigham groaned. "Your uppercut ain't so bad either."
"C'mon, start the gig already!" grumbled Liz.
"It's only ten minutes after starting time," Sparky pointed out. "Keep your shorts on."
Luke wouldn't have been so reluctant to get out of bed if it hadn't been for the airhorn blaring in his ear at seven A.M.
"Up and at 'em!" bellowed Trapper, giving the horn another blast. "Opening ceremonies for Stellar-Con start at nine!"
"Mrrggghhmmmnnn." Luke grudgingly lifted his head out of the blankets to see Trapper sitting on the edge of the bed, giving him a reproachful stare. Did he ever change out of that costume?
"Trapper, let him sleep if he wants," Austin scolded from the computer desk. "We've got an hour before we need to leave."
"He's okay," Luke mumbled, sitting up and peeling off the bedcovers. "I was hoping to get up by now anyway." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and started to stand up.
"Morning, Luke."
Upon hearing Liberty's voice he grabbed a blanket and flung it over his lower body to cover himself. She was sitting on the coffee table, decked out in her Lady Vader armor with her helmet in her lap. Around her neck was what appeared to be a religious pendant on a silver chain. Coppery-red hair with blond streaks flowed over her
shoulders, and her silver-blue eyes sparkled in amusement.
"Nice underoos," she commented.
"Sorry for the show," Luke apologized, wrapping the blanket around his waist to form a skirt of sorts.
She shrugged, clasping her hands atop the helmet. "My parents were hippies. I've seen people a lot more naked than that."
He blushed furiously. "Uh... nice necklace."
"Thank you!" She touched the medallion. "This is the Zodiac star sign I was born under, Ares the Ram."
"Is Zodiac part of your religion?"
"Nah, it's some New Age fluff," Austin replied.
"Don't dismiss the star signs as hogwash, Austin," Liberty replied. "As a Scorpio, you'd do well to keep an open mind."
"What's my sign?" Luke asked, curious.
"I don't know," Liberty replied. "Unless you could point your birth date out on one of our calendars, I can't figure it out."
Luke peeked at Austin's computer screen, where he was typing something on a text processing program. "Work?"
"Uh-huh," Austin mumbled. "I write a weekly syndicated column that goes in our local newspaper, 'The Star City Herald,' and a few dozen other papers in the American West. It's a feature specially for geeks like us. It's called 'Life As a Geek.'"
"Oxymoron," Liberty said with a smile. "And is it any wonder that they put it right next to the New Age fluff column, the horoscope?"
Luke laughed as Austin glared at her.
"Can we go now?" insisted Trapper.
"Can I get dressed first?" asked Luke.
Trapper huffed loudly before turning on the television set to kill a little time -- among other things -- playing "Bounty Hunter."
"So are you two brother and sister?" inquired Luke.
"Uh-uh," Austin replied. "I only have brothers, and Liberty's an only child."
"Are you married?"
Liberty laughed. "Austin still hasn't recovered from his first marriage. Though after Melissa, I can see why he's leery of getting hitched again." She gave a mock pout. "But he just doesn't love me enough to propose to me."
"C'mon, Lib, I love you!" Austin protested, whirling around in his swivel chair to face her. "Just give me a little time."
"Where have I heard that before?" Liberty wondered aloud.
Memories of Han and Leia flashed through Luke's mind while he collected his snowtrooper outfit and retreated to the bathroom to get dressed. Despite the obvious cultural differences, Earth humans weren't so different from the rest of the galaxy after all.
***
If Conrad's quick explanation during the car ride was correct, the Star City Convention Center was theoretically the venue for any large gathering -- concerts, college fairs, business expos, auctions, and other activities. And on occasion it did host one of the above. But any native could tell you that the gleaming building wouldn't exist if there wasn't such a pressing need to house Star City's massive conventions. Its chrome-like finish and futuristic dome-and-spire design made it look as if some mischievous deity had picked it up from Corusant's metropolitan districts and grafted it here as a joke. In the center of the paved courtyard was a large fountain with a bronze statue of Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader dueling savagely amidst the columns and sprays of water. Other than the five bare flagpoles out front, the convention center looked entirely too alien in this Earth city.
"What are the flagpoles for?" asked Vader.
"One for each movie," Conrad quipped. "Just kidding. They'll put flags up during the opening ceremony. Two poles will have Star Wars flags on them -- a gray one with a red Alliance crest and a black one with a white Imperial insignia. The other three will have Earth flags -- Star City flag, Colorado state flag, and American flag."
It was still half an hour until the opening ceremonies, yet the courtyard was packed. Hundreds of costumed revelers waited for Stellar-Con to begin. One fan in Imperial Royal Guard robes had come prepared for the wait with a six-pack of an alcoholic beverage, a lawn chair, and a portable computer. A Padme lookalike in white
battle attire and a Han Solo of a skin color Diana described as "Latino" broke out decks of Star Wars cards and sat on the ground for an impromptu game. Other fans just gossiped, compared costumes, traded Episode III rumors, or complained about the wait.
Someone elbowed him.
"Yo Dave!" Steve greeted, utilizing Vader's alias. "You dropped this." He slipped a black leather wallet into his hand. Inside were several bills of Earth currency, a handful of coins, an ID card with his pseudonym and basic information on it, and a second card he didn't recognize.
"That's a Star Wars fan club card," Steve explained. "You are fan, aren't you?"
"Whose picture is this?" Vader asked, referring to the face on the ID card.
"Oh, I just downloaded Hayden Christiansen's face onto my computer and aged it twenty years," he replied. He put his hands on his hips and scanned the crowd. "Well, this year's pretty tame compared to last year. Waiting was a horror then." He shuddered. "Idiot newscasters tried to get right in the thick of things to film us and got trampled when the doors opened. Someone's kid puked on the leader of the local 501st garrison. A Darth Vader wannabe and a stormtrooper got blasted and busted the windows out of the coffee shop next door. A bunch of Trekkies decided to stir up trouble by streaking..."
"What's streaking?" asked Vader, not sure he wanted an answer.
"Running through a public area without clothes on."
"I... see," Vader noted. He decided Earth people were just plain bizarre.
"Maybe our trusty MC will actually start the gig on time and we won't have problems this year," Diana suggested hopefully.
"Probably not," Conrad countered.
Ominous murmuring ensued as seven people hopped onto the edge of the fountain and smirked maliciously at the crowd. Their garb didn't appear to be of Earth, yet it wasn't Star Wars-ish either. He kept a cautious eye on them, sensing that they were going to be causing trouble shortly.
"Uh-oh, rivals," Conrad remarked. "Attack of the Fandoms."
"Back to repeat last year's stunt, are they?" Vader observed.
"Who knows?" Diana replied warily. "The three on the left are Trekkies, fans of a TV show and movie series called 'Star Trek.' They're our biggest rivals. The two in robes look like Ringers, or 'Lord of the Rings' fans -- though I don't know why they're here. They've never harassed us before. The one on the far right in the red bodysuit is Spiderman, and the one in the leather and goggles..." She hesitated. "I don't recognize him."
"'Dragonriders of Pern' fan," Steve informed her. "I know because that's the F'lar lookalike who tried to run me over with his car last year at Nova-Con."
"Take this, you stupid Stargeeks!" one of the Ringers shouted. "You and your stinking self-important Smellar-Con can pucker up and kiss us right here!"
With that, all seven hecklers turned their backs to the throng and...
Vader averted his gaze. He really didn't need to see that.
"Oh look, it's the moons of Yavin," Conrad said blandly.
Boos rang from the crowd as people yelled for the party crashers to vacate the area. The Royal Guard hollered congratulations to them for putting their best faces forward, while a Jedi Padawan began throwing things and scored a direct hit on Spiderman's derriere with an empty soda can. Other spectators loudly suggested such
punishments as pinning the seven down and giving them Queen Amidala makeovers, forcing them to watch the "Holiday Special" until they went insane, or dressing them up as Jedi and turning them loose at the Sons of the Sith headquarters. Through it all the pranksters continued to laugh derisively and shout retaliating insults.
Vader decided a truly Star-Wars-ish punishment was in order. He focused, thrust with the Force... and like professional water dancers the seven tumbled headfirst into the fountain. The jeers from the fans became applause.
"Dave!" Conrad cried, both shocked and amused.
Vader only smiled. The vulgar gatecrashers had gotten what they deserved.
The bewildered rivals scrambled out of the fountain and made a hasty exit, sputtering and coughing all the way. One of the Trekkies still had his pants around his ankles and was trying to hop away and pull them up at the same time.
After the cheering died down, the wait resumed. Other members of the Elite began showing up, among them Luke with the Powers and Fett with the Osmonds. He exchanged polite nods with the others as they arrived, answering to his false name as naturally as he was able.
"You look weird without your helmet on," Luke said in greeting.
"And a good morning to you too, Nick," Vader replied. "What makes you say that?"
"Watched the last movie at Austin's last night," he explained with a mischievous grin. "You should, too. It'll do you good."
"No thanks," Vader replied. "Perhaps we should speak more of this in private, Nick Sorenson. We don't want to attract undue attention."
Luke nodded in understanding. "Right, David."
"Excuse me?" another Vader impostor interrupted, walking up at that moment. Vader wannabes were fairly common here, but this one was defined by a golden bandolier crossing his torso from right shoulder to left hip. To further separate him from the others, after his initial remark he began speaking in another language entirely.
"I'm sorry, we don't understand you," Brigham told him.
"So sorry," the man apologized in thickly accented Basic. "I'm with the Paris France Outpost of the 501st, and I seem to have lost my comrades. All the stormtroopers look alike."
Luke and the impostor shared a laugh. Vader didn't find the comment particularly amusing but forced a laugh anyway.
"My name is Gabriel," the false Vader introduced, touching his chest. "Gabriel DeBour."
"Nick Sorenson," Luke replied.
"David McKnight," Vader added.
"Brigham Pratt," Brigham put in.
"Bonjour Nick, David, Brigham," Gabriel said. "Forgive me if I make a mistake, for this is my first visit to America."
"You speak very good English," Diana complimented.
"Merci, Madame!" Gabriel exclaimed. "Thank you. Our outpost goes to many conventions in Great Britain, so most of us know English."
"Why are you wearing that gold thing?" Rachel piped up.
"It is to define us as members of the Paris France Outpost," Gabriel said proudly. "All members are supposed to wear them so we can find each other in a crowd, but many of them forget to put them on. I haven't seen a stormtrooper in gold all morning," he lamented.
"Sorry, but neither have we," Luke said apologetically.
"We'll let you know if we see a French trooper in a gold sash..." Brigham began. Abruptly he froze, the cup of soda he was carrying halfway to his lips. "Aw, crap!"
"More Trekkies?" Vader inquired, quickly scanning the crowd. If it was more pranksters, it didn't feel like the same ones as the "moons of Yavin."
"Worse," Brigham replied. "It's Ezekial. Coming this way."
Vader spotted a dark-skinned Rebel pilot advancing on them, a Leia in Hoth gear on his left and a Jedi Knight on his right. "A rival fan group?" he inquired.
"No, it's a person, and he's a..."
"Well, if it isn't our little Moe Mormon Brigham!" the pilot sneered, shoving rudely past Gabriel to confront the trooper.
"Yo Zeke," Brigham replied. "Get lost."
"It's a free country, isn't it?" Ezekial shot back. He gave Vader a quick glance. "Haven't seen this one before. Who's he?"
"I am David McKnight," Vader replied.
"Dave, you'd do good to find a different friend to hang with," Ezekial advised him. "Mormons like Brig will try to convert you at every opportunity. They consider those not of their faith to be inferior."
/I already have someone trying to convert me at every opportunity/ Vader thought, glancing at Luke. Aloud he said, "And I suppose you think your religion is superior to Brigham's?"
"I'm a proud member of the Baptist Church," Ezekial bragged. "And trying to change other's lifestyles to boost our own egos is beneath us."
"I notice criticizing other's lifestyles to boost your ego is not beneath you, however," Vader retorted.
Ezekial's dark skin took on a pink undertone. "I ain't talkin' to you anymore, Peewee."
"Don't you have someone else to torture?" Steve asked crisply.
"Don't you have some Rainbow Rally to attend?" Ezekial demanded.
"Leave Steve alone," snapped Brigham.
"You're condoning his behavior?" Ezekial gasped, feigning shock. "I thought Mormons were against such lifestyles."
"Bug off or I'll..." Brigham snarled.
"You'll what?" Ezekial taunted. "Quote scripture? You Mormons are soooooo wimpy. I've never seen one of you pick a fight or even throw a punch..."
The crowd gasped in alarm as Brigham tossed the contents of his cup into Ezekial's face. The Rebel stood there a moment, slowly wiping his face, before smiling smugly.
"That the best you can do, Mormon boy?" he jeered.
"Don't do it, Brig," Conrad warned. "We won't think any less of you."
"I've turned the other cheek one too many times," Brigham growled. "Now he's gone too far!" And he charged his foe with an infuriated roar.
Fans leaped out of the way as the two laid into each other, screaming insults and letting fists fly, along with parts of Brigham's armor and shreds of orange cloth from Ezekial's flightsuit.
"Love thy neighbor as thyself!" Ezekial snapped.
"Love thine enemy!" Brigham retorted.
"Love one another!"
"Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth!"
"Go to hell!"
"Bigoted jerk!"
"Mormon pansy!"
"Xenophobic moron!"
"Generation of vipers!"
"Cast the beam from thine eye, hypocrite!"
"You and the peacenik French can all suck eggs!"
At the insult to his heritage Gabriel took notice. Had he been a massif, his hackles would be raised. He grabbed a nearby Aurra Sing's fake blaster rifle and leaped into the fray, clubbing Ezekial savagely. At first Aurra protested, then began cheering the Frenchman on. Meanwhile, Ezekial's tagalongs waded into the melee to help him out.
Mike, who had just shown up and was running to meet up with the rest of the Elite, ran unknowingly into the heart of the brawl. Patrick dove in to rescue him and Jason, probably feeling obligated by blood ties, followed. The Royal Guard, seeing some excitement at last, plunged into the mass of bodies and lashed out indiscriminately at both sides. What had begun as a patient vigil had become a free-for-all.
Luke started to charge into the mess to break it up, but Vader clamped a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't injure yourself needlessly," he ordered.
"We have to stop it!" Luke protested.
"These scuffles happen every year," Austin told him. "Different people have different tiffs, but they end the same way. They ride themselves out; don't worry."
Sure enough, the fight dissolved as people began disentangling themselves and limping away. First Jason and Mike staggered out of the mess, the latter nursing what would surely become a black eye, then Patrick, his breastplate spattered with blood from his injured nose. The Jedi staggered free and let his Aayla Secura girlfriend fuss over him while the Leia lookalike dragged the frothing, snarling Royal Guard away by his arm and
dumped a bottle of water over him to cool him off.
Gabriel's shoulders and chest heaved as he stalked toward a group of gold-sashed stormtroopers who had gathered to watch the tussle. His helmet was chipped in places, his bodysuit ripped over the ribs from armpit to waist, and his bandolier had been torn and now dangled limply from one shoulder. But he seemed immensely pleased with himself, and he held up a battered lightsaber, a trophy gained from the fight.
"Vive la France!" he bellowed.
His comrades roared assent, pumping their fists in the air.
"Hey, that's mine!" the Jedi protested.
Brigham and Ezekial, meanwhile, continued their bout of "aggressive negotiations." Pieces of stormtrooper armor and flightsuit material lay scattered about, and Ezekial's helmet went skittering across the courtyard to land at Vader's feet. By now a law enforcement officer had arrived on the scene and tried to break up the fight, but when Brigham's elbow caught him in the cheekbone he backed away and waited for the brawl to peter out.
"Those two have born grudges for years," Austin informed them. "Brig's put up with a lot of abuse from Zeke, and it had to explode sometime."
"At least they're communicating," Darcy pointed out.
"Yeah, with their fists," Fett and Liz said at the same time. They stared at each other a moment, startled, then resumed their aloof stances.
"What was all that discussion about?" Vader demanded. "About Steve's lifestyle and Mormons being intolerant of other faiths?"
"It's not important," Emily replied. "People fight over the stupidest little things. But does Brig's religion or Zeke's prejudices or Steve's sexual preference really warrant a fistfight? I really don't think so, but they do, and its that attitude that causes so many wars and so much hatred on our planet." She gazed meaningfully at him. "Maybe that's the same attitude that has the rest of the galaxy in such upheaval too."
She did have a point, but hers was the observation of an idealistic. He had little use for those. He'd had ideals once, and they had been for naught. Besides, the Galactic Civil War wasn't about trivial hatreds but about keeping the galaxy in one piece. But then again, it was the trivial hatreds that had ripped it apart in the first place. Stang, he hated it when these Earth people were right!
By now Brigham and Ezekial were lying on the ground, panting and moaning in pain, unable to raise a finger, much less a fist. The officer informed them that he should take both of them down to the station for assault, but since they were first-time offenders they'd get off with tickets this time for disturbing the peace. These the officer wrote out and stuck to their chests before walking off and leaving them to recuperate.
"You pack a mean right hook," Ezekial mumbled.
"Thanks," Brigham groaned. "Your uppercut ain't so bad either."
"C'mon, start the gig already!" grumbled Liz.
"It's only ten minutes after starting time," Sparky pointed out. "Keep your shorts on."