Part 7: Days 88-101: Hurting Old Men.
DAYS 88-101: Nothing Much Happens.
The Alliance was partying.
I suppose we had a right to. Our abduction of Pter Thanas went completely under the radar. The Empire's spin machine hadn't yet begun pushing stories of the dastardly Rebels kidnapping kindly old men, but it was only a matter of time. This time those stories would be accurate, too, Pter is apparently a swell guy who looks out for the little people.
We're expecting Crapflaps to bring Pter here in about 50 days. Plenty of time for CTU to prep the interrogation room. Did you know you can shove a towel into a man's stomach, then pull it out to rip out their stomach lining? TV is awesome.
With the capture of Pter, we had come upon a new stratagem: Rough up and abduct helpless non-combatants.
: Hey Threepio.
: Yes, Master Meteor?
: Bevel Lemelisk...got any facts on him?
: Other than his brilliance, we know scarcely anything about his personal story.
: Ah. Well, I better invent one then.
: His mom used to call him "Little Bevy". She always would ask for a "Bevy of hugs" at bedtime.
: That sounds strangely peaceful, given the stories you typically tell.
: He would later create his own particle disruptor at the age of 18 for the express purpose of turning her into a "Bevy of atoms".
: And there is the shocking return to normality.
Things were busy, but little was happening. I was being consumed with the mundanities of paperwork, dealing with my subordinates and employers. I hadn't fired a gun, laser or otherwise, in almost a quarter-year. And they were about to get worse.
: Hello! Doo hoo hoo!
: Huh? What do you want?
: WHY ARE YOU HERE?
: Doo hoo hoo! I'm the King of Town!
: What? Honest to God man, I'm going to kill you if you don't make sense.
: My castle isn't here! Someone's stolen my castle!
: You don't have a castle!
: I know! Somebody's stolen it! I bet it was that round fellow that beeps. He's always whistling after me like I'm Mamie Van Doren herself!
My admiration of his knowledge of 20th Century bombshells from a galaxy he's never been to aside, I had to funnel his madness lest my desire to test out carbon freezing prove overwhelming.
: Your castle was taken to Xyquine, in the Corellian sector. Go there, make friends with everyone until they give it back.
: Oh! Goodness! I'm on my way!
He didn't seem to be moving. He just kept staring at me.
: Uh, you said you were going?
: Were you going to eat your shoes, or can I?
: GET THE HELL OUT!
Nothing like sending a frail old man into a sector dominated by Imperial agents. Many Vanden Willards will die getting us data about the capabilities of Noghri Death Commandos. First-hand data. It will please me.
Exploration continues. Booooooring. I wonder when those brave men will run out of food. I don't dwell upon such morbid thoughts too often, mind you, just those sad times when I need a hearty laugh.
The Bothans have been worked like slaves. They complain constantly of the high attrition and unreasonable missions to Vader's backyard. I give them a sympathetic ear and a heartfelt apology, just before ordering the training facilities to get cracking on replacements. I can't fight the war without them, they're just too damn necessary. The suicide missions shall continue.
: They ARE amazing! Even though Coruscant's about 60 light-days away from Sullust, they managed to nab up-to-the-minute info on the goings-on of the Empire's capital city.
: How do they do it?
: I'm not sure. As I said earlier I know little of Bothan intricacies.
: I'll tell you what it is. Magic. Witchcraft. Voodoo.
: Astute observation, Master Meteor.
The info wasn't anything special. Nothing new on Sullust, and nothing new on Coruscant since Crapflap's Pickett-esque charge.
Well, there was ONE new guy there...
You can always tell who got an Official Red Rider Carbine-Action Two Hundred Shot Range Model Air Rifle for Christmas.
Only one bit of news today.
Operation: Brutalize The Weak continues to be a smashing success.
: Sir, with the capture of the despicable Bevel Lemelisk we've reduced their research by 33% across the board!
: I like the sound of that. Say, think he could build us our own Death Star?
: Master Meteor! We went to all that trouble to blow up the last one!
: All that trouble? It took one shot.
: I fear you're grossly over-simplifying things sir! We lost ninety percent of our fighter pilots!
: Er, Yes, R2 got hit too!
: Dwee doo.
: Besides, sir, why would you want a Death Star? They are evil devices with the potential to kill billions.
: Nooo...you see, I'd use it only for good! I promise! Yeah, that's the ticket, only for good.
You also lack the raw materials and production facilities to construct one.
Bevel, missing several teeth and covered in yellow-purple bruises, appeared on the holonet monitor. He smiled.
: I suppose if you could acquire the necessary degree of materials, I could teach you how to build a Death Star with it. In fact, I could build you a better version. I've thought about it, and have come to the conclusion that there were several dozen design flaws that can be remedi-
: Han, punish the animal for speaking.
Han's punch to the solar plexus dropped Bevel to his knees, both hands wrapped around his midsection. He vomitted up a chunk of something after he finally drew a ragged breath.
: Now, put out a death stick on his forehead.
: I don't smoke.
: What? You're the bad boy of the Rebellion, why the hell don't you smoke?
: Perception and reality aren't always the same thing, y'know.
: I live pretty clean. Hell, I even do Tai Chi.
: Just rip off his fingernails until he tells you the status of their research progress. Don't call back without results. Then send him back here. We've got some hard pipe-hitting wookiees with pliers and blowtorches here to get Old Republic on his ass.
: Wait, I can help you! I'm useful! Let me out of here! I have diabeeeeeeeetes!
I didn't know it then, but if I had not been around to orchestrate his capture, Bevel Lemelisk would have devised and built the second Death Star for the Empire. By changing the future like this, I erased forever from the minds of the unimaginative the "It's a trap" meme.
I had unwittingly secured my eternal place amongst the Cherubims and Seraphims in the Heavenly Choir.
I had originally constructed 18 Bothan Spies (I stopped production of the last two to concentrate on infiltrators).
There are now 9 left.
Entropy is a beautiful thing. You know from the show Dinosaurs, "We're going to need another Timmy"? Replace "Timmy" with "gaggle of short-lived Bothans".
BOTHAN DEATH COUNT: 9
ON THE NEXT RIVETING EPISODE OF "Marshall 'METEOR' Sully: Kaff Tagon Ripoff", ANOTHER DODDERING OLD MAN IS SAVAGED WITH A CLUB, LEIA BARES IT ALL, AND A MONKEY RIDES A DOGGY LIKE A HORSEY.