... long time ago, in the clutches of the First Order...
"Just so you know, there's not much I'll be able to do for you with a dislocated shoulder," I said to the shiny, shiny Stormtrooper as she dragged me deeper into the maze of the ship.
There was no response. That wouldn't do… "Look, you guys are clearly all about efficiency and matching outfits. Why don't you tell me what the hell you think you can use me for…? Because if you think I look like Stormtrooper material I can save you a lot of time. I'm not going to be a good little soldier. I'm going through your brainwashing kicking and screaming and I'll traumatize every psychoanalyst along the way…"
"Nobody wants to turn you into a soldier," came a voice from under that improbably shiny helmet.
"She speaks. Finally."
"You're about to be evaluated," added the shiny trooper.
"Why? I mean… Why waste your time? Let me just tell you. I was self-employed and if I could I'd have me fired… I'm not a good fit. In any environment. And this," I said with a gesture that took in all the depressingly uniform corridors around us, "is not your normal work environment. What more is there to evaluate? You're going to find out the first time someone tries to give me an order. Spoiler alert – I'm not going to respond well."
She didn't answer. I wasn't entirely sure she was listening to anything I just said – and here I was being so helpful.
"My default mode is mutinous, lady. And I'm going to be rude. I'm going to be rude to you. I'm going to be rude to them," I waved at the pair of Stormtroopers we just passed by. "And I'm definitely going to be rude to that guy."
The last statement I addressed both to her and the furious looking ginger in a uniform that made me suspect I was dealing with a slightly higher rank here. Though… who knew? I sure didn't know how armies worked. Yet another reason to keep me out of this. Not to mention I'd look ridiculous in black – which seemed to be the only color these uniforms came in from what I've seen during my recent trip through the ship.
"Oh right," said the man, looking at me without bothering to hide the fact that he really didn't have time for any of this, "the civilian consultant."
"Is that what I am?" I said, feeling momentarily confused. I would have remembered if I agreed to take that position – or for that matter if anyone bothered to offer it to me. But what that harmless sounding term probably meant in this particular case was captive. Though whatever they imagined they would gain by seizing me was still something of a mystery.
Maybe this high rank could have told me once he was done glaring at… everything. Just everything. I could tell at a glance that this was someone who probably spent hours just looking out at the galaxy in all its beauty and being disgusted by it.
"I don't need an evaluation," I said, turning back to the shiny Stormtrooper that still held me by the arm, because she suddenly seemed the reasonable one, simply by proximity to this guy. "I'm telling you, this is just… a bad idea. Just send me back. We can't be that far and…"
"You have no say in what happens to you."
"Listen up you little…" I said to the ginger… and stopped right there, rethinking that comment since he was a good deal taller than me. Everyone around seemed to have that in common. If I didn't know what a ridiculous idea that was I would suspect that the new pseudo-emperor chose his minions based on their height. "I don't have time for this."
"You don't have time for this…?"
"I am not getting evaluated. Why would you want to do that anyway? And to what purpose? Do you actually expect some poor analyst to spend an hour with me and my issues and be able to function after that? Because, wow… You underestimate my power."
... not long after...
"Right. We're going to keep this short," I said once I found myself face to face to a middle-aged man in a black uniform who clearly drew the short straw here. How else to explain that it was him out of the army of evil minions with the appropriate degree that found himself in the same room with me…?
And he clearly didn't understand the significance yet. Time to fix that.
I mean I was here in this predictably depressing room with a false mirror along one wall being evaluated, whatever that meant. Maybe it was on me though. Somehow I thought I should have known that telling First Order officers I'm not getting evaluated would result in me being thrown into a room with someone who brainwashed people for a living. Oh well… There really was only one course of action they left me then.
"I have suicidal tendencies. Not in any abstract form – I actively try to shorten my stay in this frail mortal shell. I mean I mess with electrical components for a living and you'll never see me taking any precautions. Ever. That's how much I wanted to live when I had full control over my life. Becoming a civilian consultant," I said with a glare aimed at the mirror opposite me and whoever was on the other side of it, "might just make me take it to a whole new level."
The analyst didn't say anything in reply. Either he was too much of a pro or I surprised the hell out of him by being this forthcoming with the information. Somehow I thought it was the latter…
"Also I'm verbally abusive. A lot. To everyone. That's just something you need to learn to deal with. I'm not doing it on purpose most of the time. It's just something that happens. You know that filter people have? When they think something inappropriate but know better than to say it? I don't have that," I continued as the analyst stared at me, probably wondering if I was going to answer every question he didn't get to ask. "And I make no exceptions. None. I am so lucky my grandma is possibly the most awesome lady in the known universe – anyone else would disown me the first time I called her a nerfherder. Anyway. There's that. Also I don't do uniforms. Or discipline. Or mornings. Anyone who tries to wake me before nine better be able to defend themselves."
I sat there in silence for a moment, wondering what else I might add. As I did so I reached into a pocket and seized a piece of candy. "Oh," I said a second later slightly less legibly, what with being busy chewing, "and this place better be well stocked when it comes to sweets. Low on sugar I turn into a real nightmare."
"So you are a mechanic…?" asked the man, finally remembering he had a job to do here.
"Engineer, technically. Pretty narrow field of specialization, too. But yeah, I can fix stuff. I mean I'll try my hand at anything that's sparkling dangerously or emitting smoke – as I said, suicidal – but I only really know what I'm doing when dealing with big machines. You know… your wardrobe-sized supercomputers… I won't bore you with proper terminology, since I never bothered to remember half of it. You don't actually need that to be able to keep them running. So yeah. That's my thing. Please don't tell me that's exactly what you've been looking for."
He didn't say that. For a long moment he just sat there not saying anything. I'd think it was a psychological trick of some description if only I couldn't tell by his slightly shaken expression that he really didn't expect me to be that kind of expert. After all, they so rarely came in this shape and size – not to mention in shorts this short.
I proceeded to eat another candy as I waited for him to get his act together. I was under the impression he was supposed to be a professional. Not that I've been doing such a good job of being a terrified captive pleading for my life, but in my defense I've never been a captive before while this guy was presumably on that side of the table a thousand times in the past.
"Oh, I almost forgot. I'll want to be reimbursed for the damage inflicted on my droid. I know you think you can do whatever you want, but come on – that guy in a mask was really crossing the line. I mean, whatever, let him have his emotional moments. Not my problem. But if he thinks he can damage my property and just walk away he has another thing coming."
"Guy in a mask…?"
"You know. The Jedi… I mean, probably not a Jedi, working for this outfit. The other variety then. Sith."
"How could you tell he was a Sith?" asked the analyst, sounding intrigued all of a sudden.
"Well that needlessly showy weapon was a dead giveaway. And I felt him digging through my head, which, again, something I'd like to be reimbursed for. Also I heard him mention a Skywalker. Loudly. I mean, really – I know Jedi are famous for disappearing into exile on the worst backwaters, but come on… It's not such a bad neighborhood. Not bad enough for a Skywalker to decide to slum it there for sure. Want a piece…?" I said, offering him a candy as he sat there studying my disinterested expression.
To my surprise he took it. I couldn't help smiling, since I could see all the calculation behind the act. He probably thought he was establishing trust by letting me know he would eat it without suspecting I was trying to poison him. And here I sat thinking I would if I could…
"So this is a military operation, right? Rhetorical question. Just wondering who's in charge here. You know – who not to piss off if I don't want to be taking a trip out of the airlock. And please don't tell me it's the Dark Knight."
"Who…?" he asked, thoroughly confused now.
"The Sith. Try to keep up. I mean where does that guy fit in? This seems to be modeled pretty closely on the old Empire – and not in a subtle way either. You didn't even bother to design new armor, just went with all the Stormtrooper suits from army surplus…"
"Your point…?"
"Is this new guy like… Darth Vader replacement? Oh what am I saying? Of course that's it," I said, laughing softly to myself. "I guess that explains the helmet. So… He's not in charge. Who is then? Who do I have to convince I'm the person he needs to be sending home before I start interfering with smooth working of this operation?"
"That would be general Hux."
"General. Is that as high as you can go in military? Oh what?" I said in reply to his amazed expression. "I'm a life-long civilian. Where was I supposed to pick up this stuff? Anyway. Hux. Try not to piss him off, whoever he is," I said to myself in that need-to-remember-this tone I used when taking mental notes as I did repair jobs.
"Can I have another?" asked the analyst, momentarily confusing me. It took me a second to figure out what he meant. I handed him another candy, trying not to smile too hard at what for some reason felt like a minor victory.
"Speaking of military personnel – who was that guy outside? Oh you know – tall, elevated evil glares into an art form… please don't make me use the g-word…" I said, but the analyst just stared at me in incomprehension. "The ginger. And please don't tell me you don't know who I mean, that guy's impossible to miss. I mean talk about intense… What? What did I say? I didn't even get to the no-soul joke yet…"
"What?" he said as he tried – and failed – to suppress laughter.
"Don't tell me you never heard about that. What system are you from anyway? I thought everyone knew gingers don't have souls. You know an hour ago I'd call that malicious rumor, but I think I'm sold now. What?" I said, confused. His laughter got even more out of control as I sat there and watched him in disbelief. And here I thought the First Order was made of stone cold professionals.
"A little help here?" I said, addressing the mirror I strongly suspected of hiding some high ranking officer behind it. The analyst had literal tears of laughter in his eyes.
Predictably there was no response. I sighed, ate my last piece of candy and sat there as the guy went "No… soul…" to himself, choking on laughter.
"Glad someone's having fun," I sighed.