Part 3: Days 3-5: Early-Game Onset Depression.

Day 3-5

I had decided to let the Force guide my path. After enduring Threepio's endless prattling, I decided that my particular Force for the night would be something strong enough to melt my liver. I still had my flask filled with some of Jack's finest, but I needed something Coke-like to mix with it. I tasked R2 with that one. It came into my quarters later with a tray on his head. The blue smoking drink on top of his head didn't look like Coke, nor did it look very inviting, but it was apparently the best they could do. Mixing it with the hard stuff resulted in a coagulated goo that tasted like what I'd best describe as well-aged foot fungus. I downed it all. Damn that Threepio.

I woke about 20 hours later, floating in a fluid-filled tank. Breathing in through some kind of respirator, I heard a distorted robot voice carry through my tank. It was pleasantly even-toned compared to Threepio's high-pitched whining.

: It is good you are awake sir.

: *snort?* Translation from Bubblespeak: What the fuck happened? Where am I?

: You consumed a binary liquid that had the effect of melting your internal organs. A swift response by R2-D2 summoned a medical team to store you in this healing bacta tank. We were just in time. You should be able to return to duty tomorrow.

: *snooooort.* Translation from Bubblespeak: Unavailable. Translater refused to translate what was said.

: Please simply rest.

I got out the next day, and went back to the war room. I felt oddly fine for having had a major organ dissolved a day and a half earlier. I went up to R2, unsure of how to thank him for saving my life.

: Um, hey, R2? I'm sorry for using you to store ash from my cigar earlier. You came through in the clutch, and saved my life. You're as good as any of the comrades I've worked with. Stick with me, and you get a cut of the pay.

: Dweeoot! Dwoot dwee dweeeeooot!

: Hell yeah I'm all about that nonsense! Bottoms up!

Just as I was about to take a swig straight from my flask, R2 went nuts with beeping and bumping into me.

: Dwee DWEE doo DOO!

: Sir, I'm afraid the medical droid informed us that you were not to drink anymore sir. Your liver could not properly heal, and any alcohol you ingest would likely result in a coma, or worse.

: So you're saying I can't drink, ever again?

: No, you can't, Master Meteor.

: R2?! This is all YOUR FAULT you goddamn trash can! What poison did you slip into that drink? I'LL KILL YOU!

I settled for kicking the shit out of it.

: Dwooo...dweee dwooo?

: Of course not! You have to earn pay, and last I heard killing your employer nets you dick.

I turned to Threepio, inquiring as to what I missed strategically.

: If we've lost already, do I still get paid?

: Actually sir, R2 took over the strategic planning in your name. It may have been a bit...rash...but we decided it was necessary to maintain the morale of our forces.

I looked up at the board. Hm.



: You sent General Dodonna to Mon Cal? Doing a little diplomacizing? That works. And the other five? Oh, I see, they're coming here to Triton.



: Yes sir. As you can see, they'll arrive here in 40 days.



: Holy SHIT, FORTY DAYS? I'm seriously supposed to wait over a month for them to come here?

: Actually sir, that is quite fast. If they weren't travelling in the Millenium Falcon, it would take twice as long. Hyperspace travel between sectors is time-consuming, Master Meteor.

: So that means it would take the Empire at least that long to find us, eh? Good. Let's start building construction yards here, we need a war machine. I don't think we could ebay up a military-industrial complex out here.

: As you command, Master Meteor.



: Good. Over near Coruscant, who's that ugly crap monster commanding the CKitten?



: Master Meteor! You mustn't speak of your troops in such a disrespecting tone! Admiral Neva is awaiting orders in our only friendly system in that sector.

: Fuck. Just...let her stay there. I don't want to talk to that, I want you to make it die. Ick.

: From now on, refer to that thing as Crapflaps.

I give a shudder and a sigh. I think the Force horribly misled me. No just God would create such an abomination, except maybe as target practice or kindling.

: I like the way things are shaping up so far in Sluis Van. I just hope Dodonna gets there in time to make a difference. Let's get him some help. See the training yard there? Get it running, and get us some spies, I wanna know the OpFor as soon as possible.

: Very well Master Meteor, I'll instruct them to train Bothan Spies. They are our best agents.



: I want to send in masters of stealth, who excel at disguise and espionage. You have suggested furries with big ears.

: Seriously, who will we really send?

: I don't know what you're referring to Master Meteor. Bothans have been giving their lives as spies for many years.

: Giving their lives? Are you kidding me?

: They're probably just getting killed because they look like THIS:



: How can they ever get within 500 feet of an imperial compound without someone going "Hey, look, a giant fucking bipedal cat!"?

: I'm more of an interpretor and protocol droid, Master Meteor, I don't know the intricacies of Bothan spying.

: Dweet do do dweet.

*A Hologram begins playing of Luke Skywalker.

: Greetings, I'm Luke Skywalker. I've programmed context-sensitive advice into this R2 unit to assist you with some of your tactical decisions.

The image flickers, and begins playing a different recording.

: *kicks R2 FOCUS! I can't see shit!

: Dwooo...

: Regarding Bothan spies: train several at once, I recommend a squad of five. Two handle the espionage, while three others act as decoys for that mission. Enemy troops will be distracted by the decoys, and the mission will succeed. If you send the spies without decoys, your mission would be doomed from the start. Use them often, and keep your intel up to date. Good luck, and may the force be with you.

The image faded.

: Screw that, I'm building 20.



: I'm expecting these bastards to drop like flies. Might as well make a lot to counter that. Other than that, have the Obmeiste Fleet deploy the troops to the ground. If the Imps come to town with a Star Destroyer, I don't want all the troops jetting when the Fleet boogeys.



: I'm afraid you're speaking a dialect of English I'm unfamiliar with sir, but I did understand you want the troops embark onto Sluis Van. In additional to standard force protection, they will help prevent insurrections, foil enemy saboteurs, and capture spies.

: Good. I have one last order. Rig Yavin to be a planet-sized bomb. If the Imperials send a force there to investigate, I want an earth-shattering kaboom.

: DWOOT?!

: Master Meteor! That is not possible! There are many people who still live on Yavin, and the Massassi Ruins have been viewed as a symbol of pride for the entire Alliance! It was the gathering point for our greatest victory to date.

: Threepio, I want that planet to be a bomb. If it isn't ready to blow within 30 days, I'll turn you into a bomb and station you in a storage bay on the Von Braun.

: I'm merely a messenger, sir. There is no need for constant hostilities.

: Whatever. We're building our infrastructure in the Outer Rim. We'll work on taking over the Sluis Van system with diplomats. I'll send Han and Chewie there to work with the spies as soon as I can, after they drop off Luke and Leia to begin recruiting here. Crapflaps will let her death tell us they're on the move near Coruscant. Hell I might as well send her to a random Outer Rim sector, as far away from us as possible. Maybe she'll find some systems to build up later.

: Those are sensible moves, sir. I'm afraid now it will be a while before our plans finish their execution.

: That's right, it's like a month before anything'll happen. Might as well get drink on. Wait a minute...goddammit R2!

R2 stopped protesting my endless kicks, mostly.

: Wheeeeoooo...

: Wake me when something interesting happens. I'm gonna be in the bacta tank until my liver gets healed. If it doesn't heal, I'll have you made into a mobile toilet, R2.

Next time: R2 is made very sad, the long boring buildup reaches a middle, and...

Now you see it...



Now you don't.