Part XI -- Stellar-Con
It was actually half an hour after starting time that Adam Cage, the Master of Ceremonies, deigned to show up. Dressed in a dashing Lando Calrissian outfit despite the fact that he was white, he was all smile and no real personality. Almost the moment he stepped up to the convention center doors the crowd began hissing at him for being tardy. Austin just rolled his eyes. Mr. Cage was fifteen minutes earlier than he had been last year -- whatever happened to applauding improvement?
"Welcome to Stellar-Con, ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted.
"Get on with it!" shouted an impatient Bib Fortuna.
"We're so glad to see that the international fervor toward the greatest movies of all time hasn't diminished," Mr. Cage went on, ignoring the heckler. "Star Wars is clearly no fad that is forgotten the moment it leaves the 'New Release' shelf of the video rental store, but a tradition that grows richer and more popular with each passing year..."
He droned on and on until the masses were nearly mad with impatience. Even Vader and Fett began shifting on their feet and muttering death threats. Austin sighed wearily as Sparky fell asleep in his wheelchair and Zack began another round of "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall." Was it the MC's theory that Stellar-Con couldn't begin until the participants were properly sedated?
At last Mr. Cage finished his speech and said, "Without further ado, the Denver Colorado Chapter of the Rebel Alliance with our flags and the Jedi Academy Dropouts to sing our national anthem!"
The audience cheered, more out of relief that the windbag had finally deflated than out of excitement that a Star Wars music group was performing.
"About time," Fett huffed. "That speech was even more pointless than that brain-numbing Monty Python film."
"Hey, Monty Python's the coolest!" Mike protested.
"You made him watch 'Monty Python?'" gaped Amethyst.
"Hey, he chose to watch it," Patrick defended.
"Monty Python's just plain weird," Conrad said. "Next time show him James Bond. That might suit his tastes more."
"James Bond is even more pointless than Monty Python," Brigham countered, nursing a crack in his shoulder plate from the brawl earlier.
"Don't diss James Bond!" Liz snapped. "That series is second only to Star Wars!"
"Who's James Bond?" growled Fett.
"Spy, secret agent, gadget guy... you know, your type," Jason replied. "His movies have plenty of action and more cool technology than you can shake a death stick at. Care to watch one with us after the con tonight?"
Fett nodded somewhat reluctantly.
"Liz, wanna join us?" Patrick invited.
"And be in the same room as the guy who nearly killed me? I don't think so!"
"I've got the entire series on DVD, including 'The Man With the Golden Gun' starring the one and only Christopher Lee," Jason said enticingly.
She grimaced. "I'll think about it," she mumbled before turning up her Queen CD.
"That means yes!" Jason hooted. "Better order another pizza tonight, Pat!"
"Shut up!" hissed Emily. "They're bringing out the flags. Nick, Rob, Dave, put your hands over your hearts." Luke, Fett, and Vader complied, but she shook her head. "Your right hands." When Fett didn't trade hands, she pulled his hand off his chest and slapped the other to his heart. "THAT hand's your right, Rob!"
Participants dressed as Rebels marched out in formation, escorting five Royal Handmaidens who carried folded flags. They presented these to five Luke Skywalkers, who in turn unfolded them with help from some Rebel troopers. The flags were slowly hoisted skyward on the poles, hanging limply in the still summer air.
"They look pathetic," Cody murmured before Amethyst hissed at him to be quiet.
/Cody has a point/ Austin thought. Even a small breeze would make the banners more impressive.
As if reading his mind, Luke made a small motion with his left hand, and the five flags rose in response to the sudden wind. They unfurled regally, displaying proud colors to the crowd. Everyone gasped at the sight.
"Why is Sparky saluting?" Luke whispered.
"He's a Gulf War veteran," Austin replied. "Anyone who's served in the American military salutes the American flag." He didn't bother to mention that Sparky had actually seen front-line action in the war and narrowly survived the battle... and on his way home from the airport after coming back to the States, had gotten in the car wreck that had cost him his ability to walk. The irony would have been funny had it not also been so tragic.
A quartet of men in Jedi robes, their hair spiked and dyed in unnatural colors, gathered at the base of the flags and sang a beautiful acapella version of "The Star-Spangled Banner." They sounded positively angelic, but Austin was relieved when they ended their song after the first verse. Two years ago another band, Chocolate Chip Wookie, had insisted on singing all four verses and had to run for their lives when an irate crowd threatened to tar and feather them for taking so danged long to finish. Austin sighed again. Why couldn't people show a little more respect toward the anthem?
"Ladies and gentlemen," boomed Mr. Cage, "Stellar-Con has begun!"
***
The three-day Stellar-Con didn't go very well.
Mike, ever the klutz, stumbled and fell into the booth of the Droid Builder's Club mere minutes into the first day, damaging two fake R2 units and smashing a mouse droid replica. When he offered to pay for the damage, he was quoted such a ridiculous price that Brigham had to intercede to prevent a fistfight.
Boba Fett overheard a Mara Jade lookalike bad-mouthing his father, complaining that his role in Episode II was trivial to the point of being almost unnecessary. Fett hadn't taken kindly to the remark and had slapped her. Security personnel had to bodily separate him from her much larger boyfriend.
Cody smuggled in a bottle of Pepsi Blue, disregarding the "No Outside Food or Beverages Allowed" signs, and managed to spill the entire bottle all over a table where several people were playing the Star Wars Trading Card Game. Even Austin was forced to admit that Cody probably deserved the black eye one of the players gave him for that.
Vader discovered the arcade, and so many people lost playing "Star Wars Racer" against him that he quickly earned the title of Least Popular Attendee.
Rachel and Trapper, armed with a kazoo and an airhorn, crashed the Star City Philharmonic Orchestra's "Music of John Williams" concert and had to be escorted out by security.
Steve came home from the convention one night to discover that Artoo had been "experimenting" with all the household appliances. Needless to say, Steve was not amused to find that turning on the DVD player also started the microwave, changed the station on the radio, rebooted the computer, and cut power to the fridge.
Add that to the numerous times their visitors' cover was nearly blown, the uncountable pranks played by Trekkies and Ringers, the unwanted surprise appearance of the Sons of the Sith, and a car accident that knocked out power to the convention center for over four hours, and it was no wonder that the entire Elite was referring to the event as Smellar-Con as they staggered wearily back to the parking lot on the last evening of the con.
"This doesn't bode well for Nova-Con," Emily remarked as she rubbed at a stain on her glove where someone's tantrum-throwing kid had thrown a can of soda at her.
"I don't care," Trapper said bitterly. "I can't go anyway."
"Chin up, Mini-V," Sparky told him. "There's always next year."
"You know, Nova-Con begins the day after a lunar eclipse," Liberty pointed out. "Fascinating, really."
"I don't think we needed to know that!" Liz griped.
"No, it's a good omen!" Liberty protested. "Good luck to the event."
"So what are we supposed to do during the month-and-a-half 'til Nova-Con?" Luke wanted to know.
"Just lie low and wait," Amethyst replied. "There's plenty here in town to keep you occupied until the con."
"And we plan activities to fill in the gap," Jason added. "Like tomorrow. We're planning a barbecue at our place."
"See you all then," Steve said in farewell as he hopped into his vehicle. "Gotta run. Hope Artoo hasn't broken anything beyond repair."
***
"No fair!" cried Trapper as Luke defeated him yet again in a "Jedi Starfighter" match. "You're using the Force!"
"Am not!" Luke laughed. "It's just a matter of what tactics you use. Here, I'll show you how I do that spin-fire-retreat maneuver."
"Nah, let's play Stratego," Trapper replied. "I've got the Star Wars version, and I kick Dad's butt every time we play."
Luke smiled. Just like a father to let his son win a game. He wondered, as he often did, how things might have turned out had he been raised by a father and mother. His aunt and uncle had done an admirable job, and he loved and missed them dearly, but it wasn't exactly the same. Had his own father not turned to the dark side...
"Luke, you wanna play Stratego or not?" demanded Trapper.
"Huh? Sorry, just in deep thought."
"You do that an awful lot," Trapper noted.
"I have an awful lot to think about," Luke replied.
"Must be a Jedi thing," Trapper said. "All my friends talk about how fun it would be to be a Jedi, but I'm sure glad I'm not one. It'd be really hard."
/How right you are, little one/ Luke thought. When he'd told Ben that he wanted to be a Jedi like his father, he'd had no idea what trials he'd face, what torment he'd suffer. But looking back, he realized that such hardship had been inevitable. It had been his destiny, as inseparable from him as his own skin.
"Yo Luke! Planet Earth to Commander Skywalker! Come in, Skywalker!"
"Give me a break," Luke replied. "I was in deep thought again."
"What if the roof caved in while you were in deep thought?" asked Trapper.
"Trapper!" called Austin, smothering Luke's retort. "Time for bed!"
"Aw, Dad!" whined Trapper.
"Don't 'aw Dad' me, Mini-V," Austin ordered, marching into the living room. "It's very late. But before you hit the sack..." He handed a package to Trapper. "I meant to give this to you in the car, but it slipped my mind."
"Wow, cool!" Trapper squealed, ripping open the package to reveal a false Imperial blaster. "Just like my old one!"
"Like I promised," Austin said quietly.
"May I see it?" asked Luke. He examined the toy carefully. It was indeed an uncanny replica of the actual weapon. Then a knob on the stock caught his attention.
"Looks like you won't be fighting any Rebels with this anytime soon," Luke noted.
"Of course not!" Trapper shot back. "It's fake!"
"I know, but look. This knob here controls the safety mechanism. In the position its in now, the safety's on. If it were real, you couldn't shoot it until the safety was switched off."
Trapper fell to the ground laughing.
"Industrial Light and Magic, you've just been busted," Austin observed. "Now to bed with both of you monkeys. You can discuss blasters and such in the morning."
"You're sounding more like my father than my own father," Luke noted without rancor.
Austin sighed and clapped Luke's shoulder. "Kid, give it time. You can't expect everything to be hearts and roses right off the bat. Your dad's a very sick, very confused man right now. He's going to need time and space to heal and come to terms with himself."
Time to heal. Time Luke wasn't sure they had. Imperial "rescuers" could arrive any day, and that would spell the doom of his personal mission and the possibility of reinstating the Jedi Order. A Jedi's greatest asset was patience, yes, but how could he be patient when he felt as if he had a ticking time bomb in his pocket?
***
It was the third night of James Bond, and Fett had yet to lose interest in the movies. True, the plots were fairly outlandish, but there was plenty of the action and gadgetry Jason and Patrick had promised.
Liz sat in an overstuffed chair on the other side of the living room, hugging her knees to her chest, her eyes occasionally leaving the screen to glare at him briefly. He glowered back from the other chair, wondering why she didn't just drop the matter and move on. The blaster incident happened four days ago. Why was she still letting that sore fester?
Patrick and Jason were sprawled on the couch in comfortable if obscene poses, fast-forwarding through a romance scene. He silently thanked them for their thoughtfulness. One point on which Bond and Fett differed was their attitude toward women. Whereas Mr. 007 seemed to have a new consort every movie, Fett kept his
distance from the opposite gender as often as possible.
"Beware of women, son," his father had once told him. "They're cunning to an extreme. When crossed, they're ruthless. If you offend a man, you'll find yourself on the wrong end of a blaster, but offend a woman, and you'll find yourself on the threshold of Hell."
He wasn't as extreme as his father regarding women, but he could see Jango's point. Females of any species were difficult to work with as business partners. Hunts were challenging enough; he didn't need to attempt to understand a woman's thought processes at the same time.
Of the infrequent times when Fett had teamed up with a second hunter on a particularly difficult hunt, only three of his temporary partners had been female. The first, an up-and-coming Gand findswoman, had abruptly accused him of double-crossing her and abandoned the hunt partway through, forcing him to complete the mission alone. Never mind that there was no proof of betrayal, and she'd had the nerve to demand half the bounty once he'd finished the assignment! He didn't regret shooting her in the least. The second, a Corellian human, had been so cranky during their brief partnership that he'd absolutely refused her offer to work with her a second time. She begged him to reconsider, blaming PMS for her sour disposition, but he never bought that excuse. The last, a Zabrak assassin, had been an excellent co-worker... until she abruptly asked him to marry her. That was the first and last time Fett had voluntarily quit a hunt before completing it.
Oh well. To each his own. Bond could charm all the ladies he wanted. Less for him to have to avoid.
He looked up to see Liz glaring at him again. He groaned. Another woman problem, and this one he couldn't just blast and hide the body.
Fett stood and moved to stand beside her chair. "Liz, this has to end."
She glared. "'Diamonds Are Forever' is one of my favorites. If you think it's too long, leave."
"Not the movie. The conflict."
Her glare didn't abate.
"I've apologized twice for shooting at you," he pointed out. "Now get over it and stop with the evil eye."
"I could've been killed!"
"You weren't. Be thankful for that."
"Just shut up, Fett! You were quiet in the films -- continue that streak!"
Well, he couldn't say he didn't try. He returned to his chair.
***
Diana was doing the supper dishes when Conrad stumbled in, looking like he'd gone a couple rounds with a Wookie. Green smudges streaked his hands and arms, and perspiration glazed his skin. She turned and regarded him sweetly.
"Done mowing the lawn?" she asked.
He nodded, panting and wiping sweat from his brow. She turned back to the sink as he collapsed into a chair.
"I could use a hot bath right now," he sighed.
"Sorry, Rachel beat you to it," Diana replied.
He cocked an eyebrow at her. "She's bathing herself now?"
"Not yet."
"Oh, Darcy's over for a visit, isn't she? Nice of her to help give Rachel a bath."
"Darcy's not here."
Conrad gaped. "You don't mean... you're letting HIM..."
"Honey, calm down," she told him, rinsing a salad bowl. "If it means she willingly takes a bath, what's the harm? And it's not like he's a pedophile."
He laughed as he stretched and popped his knuckles. "My mother would have a heart attack if she found I was letting a Dark Lord of the Sith give my daughter a bath. I don't suppose he was too happy about it."
"Not exactly, but he did say it was the least he could do for us. After all, we are putting him up for free." She finished scouring a frying pan and pulled the sink plug. "Dark Lord or not, Rachel's enamored with him, though why is beyond me. I thought she was still obsessed with Chewbacca."
Conrad laughed again. "How many times have we washed that Wookie doll of hers? Once, twice in five years?"
"Maybe Vader can get it away from her long enough to throw it through the wash," Diana mused as she dried her hands. "Personally, I think this is good for her. She needs some kind of companion, especially since Trapper's almost never in town and she has no brothers or sisters." And a shadow crossed her face.
"Diana," Conrad chided mildly, standing and moving to embrace her. "Don't be like this, love. We can't give up hope. Rachel deserves a sibling. How can we deny her one?" He gently kissed her forehead and held her against him.
Her voice was a strangled whisper. "What if we lose another one? Losing Noah was heartbreaking, losing Eli devastating. If it happens again..." She couldn't finish.
He simply held her, knowing words were insufficient in this situation. How painful it had been to lose their two boys, dead before they had truly begun to live. It had broken both their hearts, especially being so young themselves. Rachel was their little miracle, but Conrad felt that raising her as an only child was denying her the pleasure of a playmate. Diana was understandably nervous about getting pregnant again, but he hoped beyond hope that, someday, she would change her mind and dare to try again.
A shriek of gleeful terror mercifully cut their grieving short. The object of their thoughts bolted through the kitchen, dripping wet and stark naked, then dove behind the living room bookcase. Tracing her damp trail was Vader, soaked from head to toe and decorated with fluffs of bath bubbles. Conrad tried mightily, but he couldn't stifle his laughter.
"Having fun in there?" asked Diana, somehow managing to keep a straight face.
"She -- bit -- me," Vader boomed menacingly, spacing the words.
"Rachel, come out of there!" Conrad ordered, still chuckling.
"I don't wanna!" she cried. "Don't wanna take a bath!"
"C'mon, you little munchkin," Diana said sternly, pulling her out of her hiding place and carrying her toward the bathroom. "It's bath day, and you're dirty."
"No! No! Nononononononononononononono!"
"I'll read another book to you if you finish your bath without getting your mother wet," Vader said.
She immediately shut up.
Conrad began laughing again. "She's softening you, Lord Vader. You're actually volunteering to read her stories."
He picked up the dish-drying cloth and wiped his helmet and mask down. "Last night she insisted on this imbecilic tale about elves and a shoemaker. Who writes this children's drivel?"
"Hey, there's a lot of charm in those stories. Don't diss them. They teach our kids morals and values that nowadays are going down the toilet."
Vader grunted. "From what I've seen, those lessons don't carry far."
"Don't be such a cynic." He helped the Dark Lord remove his cloak and wring it out in the sink. "Did she really bite you?"
He extended his left hand toward Conrad. Imprinted in the leather of his glove was a semicircle of teeth marks.
Conrad chuckled. "For all your power, there are still things you can't do."
"True," Vader acknowledged.
It was actually half an hour after starting time that Adam Cage, the Master of Ceremonies, deigned to show up. Dressed in a dashing Lando Calrissian outfit despite the fact that he was white, he was all smile and no real personality. Almost the moment he stepped up to the convention center doors the crowd began hissing at him for being tardy. Austin just rolled his eyes. Mr. Cage was fifteen minutes earlier than he had been last year -- whatever happened to applauding improvement?
"Welcome to Stellar-Con, ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted.
"Get on with it!" shouted an impatient Bib Fortuna.
"We're so glad to see that the international fervor toward the greatest movies of all time hasn't diminished," Mr. Cage went on, ignoring the heckler. "Star Wars is clearly no fad that is forgotten the moment it leaves the 'New Release' shelf of the video rental store, but a tradition that grows richer and more popular with each passing year..."
He droned on and on until the masses were nearly mad with impatience. Even Vader and Fett began shifting on their feet and muttering death threats. Austin sighed wearily as Sparky fell asleep in his wheelchair and Zack began another round of "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall." Was it the MC's theory that Stellar-Con couldn't begin until the participants were properly sedated?
At last Mr. Cage finished his speech and said, "Without further ado, the Denver Colorado Chapter of the Rebel Alliance with our flags and the Jedi Academy Dropouts to sing our national anthem!"
The audience cheered, more out of relief that the windbag had finally deflated than out of excitement that a Star Wars music group was performing.
"About time," Fett huffed. "That speech was even more pointless than that brain-numbing Monty Python film."
"Hey, Monty Python's the coolest!" Mike protested.
"You made him watch 'Monty Python?'" gaped Amethyst.
"Hey, he chose to watch it," Patrick defended.
"Monty Python's just plain weird," Conrad said. "Next time show him James Bond. That might suit his tastes more."
"James Bond is even more pointless than Monty Python," Brigham countered, nursing a crack in his shoulder plate from the brawl earlier.
"Don't diss James Bond!" Liz snapped. "That series is second only to Star Wars!"
"Who's James Bond?" growled Fett.
"Spy, secret agent, gadget guy... you know, your type," Jason replied. "His movies have plenty of action and more cool technology than you can shake a death stick at. Care to watch one with us after the con tonight?"
Fett nodded somewhat reluctantly.
"Liz, wanna join us?" Patrick invited.
"And be in the same room as the guy who nearly killed me? I don't think so!"
"I've got the entire series on DVD, including 'The Man With the Golden Gun' starring the one and only Christopher Lee," Jason said enticingly.
She grimaced. "I'll think about it," she mumbled before turning up her Queen CD.
"That means yes!" Jason hooted. "Better order another pizza tonight, Pat!"
"Shut up!" hissed Emily. "They're bringing out the flags. Nick, Rob, Dave, put your hands over your hearts." Luke, Fett, and Vader complied, but she shook her head. "Your right hands." When Fett didn't trade hands, she pulled his hand off his chest and slapped the other to his heart. "THAT hand's your right, Rob!"
Participants dressed as Rebels marched out in formation, escorting five Royal Handmaidens who carried folded flags. They presented these to five Luke Skywalkers, who in turn unfolded them with help from some Rebel troopers. The flags were slowly hoisted skyward on the poles, hanging limply in the still summer air.
"They look pathetic," Cody murmured before Amethyst hissed at him to be quiet.
/Cody has a point/ Austin thought. Even a small breeze would make the banners more impressive.
As if reading his mind, Luke made a small motion with his left hand, and the five flags rose in response to the sudden wind. They unfurled regally, displaying proud colors to the crowd. Everyone gasped at the sight.
"Why is Sparky saluting?" Luke whispered.
"He's a Gulf War veteran," Austin replied. "Anyone who's served in the American military salutes the American flag." He didn't bother to mention that Sparky had actually seen front-line action in the war and narrowly survived the battle... and on his way home from the airport after coming back to the States, had gotten in the car wreck that had cost him his ability to walk. The irony would have been funny had it not also been so tragic.
A quartet of men in Jedi robes, their hair spiked and dyed in unnatural colors, gathered at the base of the flags and sang a beautiful acapella version of "The Star-Spangled Banner." They sounded positively angelic, but Austin was relieved when they ended their song after the first verse. Two years ago another band, Chocolate Chip Wookie, had insisted on singing all four verses and had to run for their lives when an irate crowd threatened to tar and feather them for taking so danged long to finish. Austin sighed again. Why couldn't people show a little more respect toward the anthem?
"Ladies and gentlemen," boomed Mr. Cage, "Stellar-Con has begun!"
***
The three-day Stellar-Con didn't go very well.
Mike, ever the klutz, stumbled and fell into the booth of the Droid Builder's Club mere minutes into the first day, damaging two fake R2 units and smashing a mouse droid replica. When he offered to pay for the damage, he was quoted such a ridiculous price that Brigham had to intercede to prevent a fistfight.
Boba Fett overheard a Mara Jade lookalike bad-mouthing his father, complaining that his role in Episode II was trivial to the point of being almost unnecessary. Fett hadn't taken kindly to the remark and had slapped her. Security personnel had to bodily separate him from her much larger boyfriend.
Cody smuggled in a bottle of Pepsi Blue, disregarding the "No Outside Food or Beverages Allowed" signs, and managed to spill the entire bottle all over a table where several people were playing the Star Wars Trading Card Game. Even Austin was forced to admit that Cody probably deserved the black eye one of the players gave him for that.
Vader discovered the arcade, and so many people lost playing "Star Wars Racer" against him that he quickly earned the title of Least Popular Attendee.
Rachel and Trapper, armed with a kazoo and an airhorn, crashed the Star City Philharmonic Orchestra's "Music of John Williams" concert and had to be escorted out by security.
Steve came home from the convention one night to discover that Artoo had been "experimenting" with all the household appliances. Needless to say, Steve was not amused to find that turning on the DVD player also started the microwave, changed the station on the radio, rebooted the computer, and cut power to the fridge.
Add that to the numerous times their visitors' cover was nearly blown, the uncountable pranks played by Trekkies and Ringers, the unwanted surprise appearance of the Sons of the Sith, and a car accident that knocked out power to the convention center for over four hours, and it was no wonder that the entire Elite was referring to the event as Smellar-Con as they staggered wearily back to the parking lot on the last evening of the con.
"This doesn't bode well for Nova-Con," Emily remarked as she rubbed at a stain on her glove where someone's tantrum-throwing kid had thrown a can of soda at her.
"I don't care," Trapper said bitterly. "I can't go anyway."
"Chin up, Mini-V," Sparky told him. "There's always next year."
"You know, Nova-Con begins the day after a lunar eclipse," Liberty pointed out. "Fascinating, really."
"I don't think we needed to know that!" Liz griped.
"No, it's a good omen!" Liberty protested. "Good luck to the event."
"So what are we supposed to do during the month-and-a-half 'til Nova-Con?" Luke wanted to know.
"Just lie low and wait," Amethyst replied. "There's plenty here in town to keep you occupied until the con."
"And we plan activities to fill in the gap," Jason added. "Like tomorrow. We're planning a barbecue at our place."
"See you all then," Steve said in farewell as he hopped into his vehicle. "Gotta run. Hope Artoo hasn't broken anything beyond repair."
***
"No fair!" cried Trapper as Luke defeated him yet again in a "Jedi Starfighter" match. "You're using the Force!"
"Am not!" Luke laughed. "It's just a matter of what tactics you use. Here, I'll show you how I do that spin-fire-retreat maneuver."
"Nah, let's play Stratego," Trapper replied. "I've got the Star Wars version, and I kick Dad's butt every time we play."
Luke smiled. Just like a father to let his son win a game. He wondered, as he often did, how things might have turned out had he been raised by a father and mother. His aunt and uncle had done an admirable job, and he loved and missed them dearly, but it wasn't exactly the same. Had his own father not turned to the dark side...
"Luke, you wanna play Stratego or not?" demanded Trapper.
"Huh? Sorry, just in deep thought."
"You do that an awful lot," Trapper noted.
"I have an awful lot to think about," Luke replied.
"Must be a Jedi thing," Trapper said. "All my friends talk about how fun it would be to be a Jedi, but I'm sure glad I'm not one. It'd be really hard."
/How right you are, little one/ Luke thought. When he'd told Ben that he wanted to be a Jedi like his father, he'd had no idea what trials he'd face, what torment he'd suffer. But looking back, he realized that such hardship had been inevitable. It had been his destiny, as inseparable from him as his own skin.
"Yo Luke! Planet Earth to Commander Skywalker! Come in, Skywalker!"
"Give me a break," Luke replied. "I was in deep thought again."
"What if the roof caved in while you were in deep thought?" asked Trapper.
"Trapper!" called Austin, smothering Luke's retort. "Time for bed!"
"Aw, Dad!" whined Trapper.
"Don't 'aw Dad' me, Mini-V," Austin ordered, marching into the living room. "It's very late. But before you hit the sack..." He handed a package to Trapper. "I meant to give this to you in the car, but it slipped my mind."
"Wow, cool!" Trapper squealed, ripping open the package to reveal a false Imperial blaster. "Just like my old one!"
"Like I promised," Austin said quietly.
"May I see it?" asked Luke. He examined the toy carefully. It was indeed an uncanny replica of the actual weapon. Then a knob on the stock caught his attention.
"Looks like you won't be fighting any Rebels with this anytime soon," Luke noted.
"Of course not!" Trapper shot back. "It's fake!"
"I know, but look. This knob here controls the safety mechanism. In the position its in now, the safety's on. If it were real, you couldn't shoot it until the safety was switched off."
Trapper fell to the ground laughing.
"Industrial Light and Magic, you've just been busted," Austin observed. "Now to bed with both of you monkeys. You can discuss blasters and such in the morning."
"You're sounding more like my father than my own father," Luke noted without rancor.
Austin sighed and clapped Luke's shoulder. "Kid, give it time. You can't expect everything to be hearts and roses right off the bat. Your dad's a very sick, very confused man right now. He's going to need time and space to heal and come to terms with himself."
Time to heal. Time Luke wasn't sure they had. Imperial "rescuers" could arrive any day, and that would spell the doom of his personal mission and the possibility of reinstating the Jedi Order. A Jedi's greatest asset was patience, yes, but how could he be patient when he felt as if he had a ticking time bomb in his pocket?
***
It was the third night of James Bond, and Fett had yet to lose interest in the movies. True, the plots were fairly outlandish, but there was plenty of the action and gadgetry Jason and Patrick had promised.
Liz sat in an overstuffed chair on the other side of the living room, hugging her knees to her chest, her eyes occasionally leaving the screen to glare at him briefly. He glowered back from the other chair, wondering why she didn't just drop the matter and move on. The blaster incident happened four days ago. Why was she still letting that sore fester?
Patrick and Jason were sprawled on the couch in comfortable if obscene poses, fast-forwarding through a romance scene. He silently thanked them for their thoughtfulness. One point on which Bond and Fett differed was their attitude toward women. Whereas Mr. 007 seemed to have a new consort every movie, Fett kept his
distance from the opposite gender as often as possible.
"Beware of women, son," his father had once told him. "They're cunning to an extreme. When crossed, they're ruthless. If you offend a man, you'll find yourself on the wrong end of a blaster, but offend a woman, and you'll find yourself on the threshold of Hell."
He wasn't as extreme as his father regarding women, but he could see Jango's point. Females of any species were difficult to work with as business partners. Hunts were challenging enough; he didn't need to attempt to understand a woman's thought processes at the same time.
Of the infrequent times when Fett had teamed up with a second hunter on a particularly difficult hunt, only three of his temporary partners had been female. The first, an up-and-coming Gand findswoman, had abruptly accused him of double-crossing her and abandoned the hunt partway through, forcing him to complete the mission alone. Never mind that there was no proof of betrayal, and she'd had the nerve to demand half the bounty once he'd finished the assignment! He didn't regret shooting her in the least. The second, a Corellian human, had been so cranky during their brief partnership that he'd absolutely refused her offer to work with her a second time. She begged him to reconsider, blaming PMS for her sour disposition, but he never bought that excuse. The last, a Zabrak assassin, had been an excellent co-worker... until she abruptly asked him to marry her. That was the first and last time Fett had voluntarily quit a hunt before completing it.
Oh well. To each his own. Bond could charm all the ladies he wanted. Less for him to have to avoid.
He looked up to see Liz glaring at him again. He groaned. Another woman problem, and this one he couldn't just blast and hide the body.
Fett stood and moved to stand beside her chair. "Liz, this has to end."
She glared. "'Diamonds Are Forever' is one of my favorites. If you think it's too long, leave."
"Not the movie. The conflict."
Her glare didn't abate.
"I've apologized twice for shooting at you," he pointed out. "Now get over it and stop with the evil eye."
"I could've been killed!"
"You weren't. Be thankful for that."
"Just shut up, Fett! You were quiet in the films -- continue that streak!"
Well, he couldn't say he didn't try. He returned to his chair.
***
Diana was doing the supper dishes when Conrad stumbled in, looking like he'd gone a couple rounds with a Wookie. Green smudges streaked his hands and arms, and perspiration glazed his skin. She turned and regarded him sweetly.
"Done mowing the lawn?" she asked.
He nodded, panting and wiping sweat from his brow. She turned back to the sink as he collapsed into a chair.
"I could use a hot bath right now," he sighed.
"Sorry, Rachel beat you to it," Diana replied.
He cocked an eyebrow at her. "She's bathing herself now?"
"Not yet."
"Oh, Darcy's over for a visit, isn't she? Nice of her to help give Rachel a bath."
"Darcy's not here."
Conrad gaped. "You don't mean... you're letting HIM..."
"Honey, calm down," she told him, rinsing a salad bowl. "If it means she willingly takes a bath, what's the harm? And it's not like he's a pedophile."
He laughed as he stretched and popped his knuckles. "My mother would have a heart attack if she found I was letting a Dark Lord of the Sith give my daughter a bath. I don't suppose he was too happy about it."
"Not exactly, but he did say it was the least he could do for us. After all, we are putting him up for free." She finished scouring a frying pan and pulled the sink plug. "Dark Lord or not, Rachel's enamored with him, though why is beyond me. I thought she was still obsessed with Chewbacca."
Conrad laughed again. "How many times have we washed that Wookie doll of hers? Once, twice in five years?"
"Maybe Vader can get it away from her long enough to throw it through the wash," Diana mused as she dried her hands. "Personally, I think this is good for her. She needs some kind of companion, especially since Trapper's almost never in town and she has no brothers or sisters." And a shadow crossed her face.
"Diana," Conrad chided mildly, standing and moving to embrace her. "Don't be like this, love. We can't give up hope. Rachel deserves a sibling. How can we deny her one?" He gently kissed her forehead and held her against him.
Her voice was a strangled whisper. "What if we lose another one? Losing Noah was heartbreaking, losing Eli devastating. If it happens again..." She couldn't finish.
He simply held her, knowing words were insufficient in this situation. How painful it had been to lose their two boys, dead before they had truly begun to live. It had broken both their hearts, especially being so young themselves. Rachel was their little miracle, but Conrad felt that raising her as an only child was denying her the pleasure of a playmate. Diana was understandably nervous about getting pregnant again, but he hoped beyond hope that, someday, she would change her mind and dare to try again.
A shriek of gleeful terror mercifully cut their grieving short. The object of their thoughts bolted through the kitchen, dripping wet and stark naked, then dove behind the living room bookcase. Tracing her damp trail was Vader, soaked from head to toe and decorated with fluffs of bath bubbles. Conrad tried mightily, but he couldn't stifle his laughter.
"Having fun in there?" asked Diana, somehow managing to keep a straight face.
"She -- bit -- me," Vader boomed menacingly, spacing the words.
"Rachel, come out of there!" Conrad ordered, still chuckling.
"I don't wanna!" she cried. "Don't wanna take a bath!"
"C'mon, you little munchkin," Diana said sternly, pulling her out of her hiding place and carrying her toward the bathroom. "It's bath day, and you're dirty."
"No! No! Nononononononononononononono!"
"I'll read another book to you if you finish your bath without getting your mother wet," Vader said.
She immediately shut up.
Conrad began laughing again. "She's softening you, Lord Vader. You're actually volunteering to read her stories."
He picked up the dish-drying cloth and wiped his helmet and mask down. "Last night she insisted on this imbecilic tale about elves and a shoemaker. Who writes this children's drivel?"
"Hey, there's a lot of charm in those stories. Don't diss them. They teach our kids morals and values that nowadays are going down the toilet."
Vader grunted. "From what I've seen, those lessons don't carry far."
"Don't be such a cynic." He helped the Dark Lord remove his cloak and wring it out in the sink. "Did she really bite you?"
He extended his left hand toward Conrad. Imprinted in the leather of his glove was a semicircle of teeth marks.
Conrad chuckled. "For all your power, there are still things you can't do."
"True," Vader acknowledged.