FAMILIAL MENACE

True, it is not every day that the Sith Lord visits that pitiful den his trusted agent calls "my suite of rooms, Your Worship", but he has been known to find his way there occasionally. So it comes as a slight surprise that he does not hear a drawled "C'meen" or the noises of a B movie.

Instead, the door is opened cautiously and Jix peers out. "Oh, it's you, Uncle Dee. Look, it's not the best of times..." he mutters in a subdued way.

Vader frowns. What is going on? Is Jix hiding someone? Brought home a new acquaintance perhaps? "Look, Jix, when I agreed to give you an apartment here, we agreed that no birds."

The Corellian naturally hastens to deny, but refuses to give adequate explanation. Very well. Jix has brought it onto himself. He never was a match for the Sith Lord anyway. The door smashes and Vader walks in.

What he sees completely blows his mind.

This is not Jix's apartment.

Vader's helmeted head swivels as he takes in everything around him. No. It can't be. It just can't.

Nota singlecheap magazine. Not a single misplaced screwdriver, old pipe or dirty sock in sight. No speck of Jixness anywhere! Instead the usual empty and half full beer cans, the table is covered in jars upon jars of... strawberry jam, pickled mushrooms, apples in syrup, a huge basket of pasties, a plastic-wrapped packet that looks suspiciously like steaks, and god knows what other things, and is that a bloody embroidered tablecloth under it all?

And his agent standing amidst it all, shoulders hunched and a lost look upon his face.

"What happened?" Vader cannot help but feel a slight tinge of worry for the Corellian.

Jix merely shrugs. "The twice-yearly plague, I s'ppose. You see--"

"And who might you be?" a voice interrupts him.

Vader turns slowly. There, at the kitchen door she stands, arms akimbo, glaring alternately at Vader and the destroyed door. Inexplicably, the Sith Lord feels an urge to get a broom and clean up after himself. He holds himself back with supreme effort.

"My mum, Mrs Jixton," Jix mutters dejectedly. "Mum, this is, er, uh, my employer, Lord Darth Vader."

"Ah, you're the one the holonews are constantly blaring about. The- er, some sort of dark lord of what is not mentioned in polite society."

Jix groans. "Mum! Sith, it is Sith!"

"Yes, that. Well, if you're so high and mighty as they say, how come you don't take better care of my boy? All skin and bones he is, all skin and bones! And not enough food in his fridge to feed a kitchen mouse! How can he live like this? You should be looking after him. My Wrenga needs someone to take proper care of him! He does not deserve to starve or live on this pile of junk. He's a good boy, he is, even if a little bit slow on the uptake-"

Jix sputters and roars, "Mum! That is quite enough!"

Mrs Jixton, however, swats him over the head. "You be quiet, boy, when I am talking to your employer!"

Vader is totally overwhelmed. He sees only two ways out, and as he would prefer to retain Jix's services, he would rather not resort to his red-bladed Option Number Two. "Mrs Jixton, I'm sure it's been a pleasure but-"

"Nonsense, nonsense. These young'uns these days, always running somewhere, always busy, never find time to look after themselves properly. Now sit down, both of you, and be good boys, while I'm trying to find you something for dinner..."

FIN-