Post by Thorvald of Lym on May 15, 2012 17:34:36 GMT -8
Onslow entered the atrium and looked around. "Chris?" he called, "Chri-is? Chri-is!" No reply. He walked into the kitchen, where Beryl was throwing cabbage into a pot on the stove. "Have you seen Chris this morning?" he asked.
"He said he had some things to do before he started today, so he left early."
"Did he take those two new gentlemen with him?"
"I think so," she replied, grabbing a ladle and stirring the mix.
"Well he'd better have those Brits in the embassy by mid-day, or there'll be hell to pay," he said, leaving the room.
Chris had only taken one of the gentlemen. Farnsworth piloted the hoverspeeder across the sands as Chris watched his BritfinderTM. "Look!!" he shouted, and Farnsworth winced, "There's a gentelman on the scanner dead ahead. That might be Jenkins!! hit the accelerator!!!!"
The speeder sped into the spare split in the surrounding canyon. From up above, a figure took aim with a hand-held grenade launcher. Before he could fire, a comrade ran up and shook his shoulder. "Uhh?" he asked.
"Ugh," replied his comrade.
He abandoned his vantage point and the two ran for an awaiting transport. All across the plateau, similar figures descended from the rocks, but the APCs lumbered off as soon as the drivers were aboard, thus defeating the purpose of mechanized infantry.
Meanwhile, Chris and Farnsworth had caught up with Jenkins. Chris ran up in front of him and forcibly brought him to a halt. "Were do you think your going??" he exclaimed.
Jenkins whistled. "Master Christos is your rightful patron now!" rebuked Farnsworth. "We'll have no more of this Alec Guinness gibberish!" Trill. "And don't talk to me of your mission, either! You watch he doesn't deliver a million spankings right here!" Chirrup.
"yeah," said Chris, "you behave or i'll conquer your country in IOT!!!"
Jenkins suddenly uttered a string of sharp notes, shuffling from foot to foot. "Whats wrong with him now" Chris turned to Farnsworth.
The man's face fell. "There are several creatures approaching from the south-east."
"Noob-tubers!!" exclaimed Chris, "Or worse!!" He ran to the speeder and picked up a rifle that... I don't think was there in the first shot. Let me check.
...
No, it was. Never mind.
"come on, let's to have a look," he said.
From a perch at the crest of a cliff face, Chris watched as two APCs kept driving into rock walls. "Well there are two apcs down tehre but i dont see any... wait there's noob-tubers, i can see one now." His vision was suddenly obscured as something jumped in front of his binoculars. He looked up into the derp face of a noob-tuber, grenade launcher brandished menacingly.
"HUURRR!! HUURRGH!!" he screeched. Farnsworth fell backwards, and— wait, did anyone hear that weird scream? It's like if somebody kneed Richard Simmons in the package. Maybe it's part of the music? Anyway, the noob-tuber tried to club Chris with the launcher as the boy rolled left to right.
Raspy shouts echoed through the valley. Jenkins watched from a rocky shelter as two noob-tubers dragged an unconscious Chris into view before the party approached the speeder. They started fighting with each other over who would get to drive when suddenly, a booming voice that seemed to emanate from everywhere thundered: "ENEMY AIRSTRIKE INBOUND." They looked up; a hooded figure in dark brown robes appeared over the horizon, arms flailing about. Shouting, the noob-tubers fled.
Jenkins watched apprehensively as the figure knelt down by Chris. It felt his wrist, then put a hand to his temple. Jenkins let out a soft whistle. The figure paused, straightened up, then threw off its hood, revealing the face of a bearded, grey-haired elder. "Hello, there!" he called, his voice that soothing and wise tone that makes one immediately love the guy. Love as in admire. Not, like, romantic attraction. Although I suppose that might happen too. Yeah, he has the sort of charisma for kiddie crushes. Wait, hold on, he's an old guy, that'd be just... Christ, where was I going with this?
Jenkins gave a short trill. "Come here, my little friend!" he said, gesturing, "Don't be afraid!" Chirrup. "Oh, don't worry," he replied, pointing to Chris, "He'll be alright." The boy began to waken, and the man put a hand to his shoulder, helping him to sit up. "Rest easy, son," he said, "You've had a busy day. You're fortunate to be all in one piece!"
Chris squinted at the figure above him. "Ali-G?? Boy am i glad to see you!!" Jenkins slowly shuffled over.
"The Junland Wastes are not to be travelled lightly." He stood up before helping Chris to his feet. "Tell me, young Chris: what brings you out this far?"
Chris sat down on a rock as he tried to get his bearings. "This little gentelman," he explained, pointing to Jenkins, who chirruped. "i think he's searching for his former patron. i've never seen such devotion in a gentelman before. He says he's the ajutant to an Alec Guinness de Cuffe. Is he a relative of yours?"
The man's brow furrowed as he took a seat opposite. "Alec Guinness de Cuffe?" he repeated, "Alec Guinness... Now that's a name I've not heard in a long time. A long time."
"i think my uncle knows him. he said he was dead."
"Oh, he's not dead." He rolled his eyes. "Not yet."
"You know him??"
"Well of course I know him. He's me." He tapped his chest for emphasis. Jenkins gave a little trill. "I... haven't gone by the name of Alec Guinness since oh, before you were born."
"Well then the gentelman does belong to you."
"I don't seem to remember ever sponsoring a gentleman," he replied. Chirrup. "Very interesting." The conversation was interrupted by a distant shout. "I think we'd better get indoors," he declared, rising to his feet. "The noob-tubers are easily startled but they'll soon be back, and in greater numbers."
Jenkins gave a whistle, catching Chris' attention. "Farnsworth!!" He slapped his forehead. Chris and Alec Guinness hurried over to where the man had fallen. Chris picked up the left sleeve of his coat, torn clean off. The retainer collar around his neck was broken by the fall. "Where am I?" he asked as they slowly lifted him up, "I must have taken a bad step." Jenkins let out a low note.
"Can you stand??" Chris asked, "We have to get out of here before the noob-tubers come back!!!"
"I don't think I can make it," wailed the man, "You go on, Master Christos! There's no sense risking your life on my account. I'm done for." Jenkins gave a sad whistle.
"Ok."
"Chris," scolded Alec Guinness. He helped Farnsworth to his feet.
They journeyed to Alec Guinness' house on the hillside—oh damn, I promised myself not to reference the re-releases. That's OK, as long as Han shoots first, I'll be safe from lynching. So; they went to his house. Jenkins finished sewing the sleeve back on to Farnsworth's coat.
"No, my father didn't fight in the wars, he was a navigator on a Spice frigate."
AUTHOR'S NOSE: Spice is capiutlizd cuz its malang frum DUN by Ffrank Hubbert wich is UB3RL33T PWNZ0RZ & Tatween is baskly leik Arrkaras cept poor & not l33t. DONT DO DRUGZ!!!!
"That's what your uncle told you?" Alec Guinness asked, with a hint of amusement. "He didn't hold with your father's ideals, thought he should've stayed here, and not gotten involved."
"You fought in the Fan Wars??" asked Chris.
"Yes," he chuckled. "I was once a Cheddar Monk, the same as your father." He leaned back, stroking his chin.
"I wish i knew him," he sighed.
"He was the best star pilot in the galaxy... and a cunning warrior. I understand you've become quite a good pilot yourself." Chris grinned. After a moment, Alec Guinness added, softly: "And a good friend. Which reminds me;" he rose to his feet and made his way over to a chest. "I have something here for you. Your father wanted you to have this when you were old enough, but your uncle wouldn't allow it... He feared you might follow old Alec on some damn fool idealistic crusade, like your father did."
"Sir," said Farnsworth, "If you'll not be needing me, I'll rest for a while."
"sure go ahead," Chris replied. The gentleman lay down on the bench and immediately fell asleep. Alec Guinness returned, holding a metal baton. Chris leaped to his feet. "What is it??" Jenkins chirruped.
"It's your father's plasma foil. This is the weapon of a Cheddar Monk." He handed it to Christos. "Not as clumsy or random as a blaster." Chris pressed a button, and a pillar of blue light shot out of the end with a sound like "PSHEEEWWW". Awestruck, Chris waved it around; it made humming noises as it seemed to ionize the air around it. "An elegant weapon," continued Alec Guinness, "For a more... civilized age." He reseated himself. "For over a thousand generations the Cheddar Monks were the guardians of peace and good reading in the Old Republic. Before the Dark Times. Before the Crapfics."
Chris turned off the plasma foil, and the column retreated into the hilt. He turned to Alec Guinness, paused, then sat down. "How did Star Wars die?" he asked.
Alec Guinness took a moment to answer, evidently upset. "A young Cheddar Monk named Darth Lackarse, who was a cohort of mine until he turned to evil, helped the Empire hunt down and destroy the Cheddar Monks. He betrayed and murdered Star Wars." Chris cast his glance downward. "Now the Cheddar Monks are all but extinct. Lackarse was seduced by the Dork Side of the Farce."
"the farce??" Chris repeated.
Alec Guinness smiled. "Now, the Farce is what gives a Cheddar Monk his humour. It's an energy field created by all living things; it surrounds us, it penetrates us, it binds the galaxy in laughter." Chris nodded, clearly understanding none of it.
Jenkins interrupted with a short tune on his whistle, and Alec Guinness rose to his feet. "Now, let's see if we can't figure out who you are, my little friend; and where you come from." Jenkins reached inside his coat pocket, and the holographic projection appeared on a table in front of him.
"I saw part of the message he w—" Chris began, then spun around.
"I seem to have found it," replied Alec Guinness.
"General Guinness," said Princess Kaiser with a short bow, "Years ago you served my father in the Fan Wars. Now he begs you to help him in his struggle against the Empire. I regret that I am unable to present my father's request to you in person, but my ship has fallen under attack, and I'm afraid my mission to bring you to the Doctor Whoniverse has failed. I have given information vital to the survival of the Alliance to this British gentleman; my father will know the password to retrieve it. You must see this gentleman delivered safely to him at the Doctor Whoniverse. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Alec Guinness de Cuffe, you're my only hope!" As before, she leaned forward, and the message terminated.
Alec Guinness leaned backwards, contemplative. Chris stared at the table, pupils dilated. After a moment, the man turned to the boy. "I wasn't ogling her!!" he said abruptly.
Alec Guinness leaned forward. "You must learn the ways of the Farce... if you are to come with me to the Doctor Whoniverse."
"Doctor who??" Chris repeated, rising to his feet, "i'm not going to doctor who, i've got to get home, its late, i'm in for it already!!" He made his way toward the exit.
"I need your help, Chris. She needs your help! I'm getting too famous for this sort of thing."
Chris stared at Alec Guinness. Alec Guinness raised his eyebrows. "Listen, I cant get involved!! I've got work to do!! its not that i like the empire, i hate it, but there's nothing i can do right now!!" He sighed. "And its such a long way from here," he muttered.
"That's your uncle talking," Alec Guinness remarked.
"My uncle," he sighed, striding over to Jenkins, "how am i going to explain this"
"Learn about the Farce, Chris."
The boy shook his head, returning to the entrance. "Look, i can take you as far as Anchorhead," he offered. "You can get a transport there to IOT or wherever your going......"
"You must do what you feel is right, of course."
Meanwhile, IN SPAAAACE!, a Star Destructor flew toward an egg-shaped space station with a large, dish-like depression in its upper half. Man, you thought that ship was big in the opening? This construction could eat, like a thousand of them and still have room for dessert. Yes, the DOOM SPHERE; not only did the architects fail at geometry, they went one step further and built the damn thing sideways.
Onboard, a collection of senior Imperial officers were seated around an oblong table, it, too, likely intended to be circular. One of the men, a perpetually drunk Englishman with a gravelly voice was addressing his fellow commanders. "Untiw thish bat'l'shtashion is fuw'y opewashonal, we ah' vu'ruble. Th'Alliansch ish too wew equipp'd; they're mow dangeroush tha' you rea'wishe."
"Dangerous to your starfleet, commander, not to this battlestation!" retorted Admiral Jimmy, a blond-haired boy about eight years old.
The man continued, somewhat louder: "Th'Alliansch wiw continue to gain shuppowt wi' th' Fanficshun Mod'ratowsch—"
"The Fanfiction Moderators will no longer be of any concern to us," interrupted a voice. Grand Mopp George I strode in to the room, chest thrust forward, Lackarse in tow. A balding man, George was dressed in regal attire and decorated with medals (mostly self-awarded), and sported a heavily waxed moustache. Although widely considered insane even by the Imperial inner circle, he was close to the Emporer, and even Lackarse, de facto second-in-command, deferred to him. "I have just received word that the E-E-Emporer has dissolved the council. PEHMANENTLY." The last word was punctuated by a Schwarzenegger accent. "Ze lahst r-r-r-emnants of ze Auld Rhepublik haff been SVEPT AVAW!" He sat down with a flourish.
"That'sh imposhibaw! 'Ow wiw th' Emprah maintain controw wiffowt th' adminsh?"
"Ze Emporer h-has ASSUMÉD DIRECT CONTROL of a-a-a-a-l-l-l-l site functions." He shook his head violently, spittle flying from his loose lips. "FEAR will keep the local forums een ligne. Fear of THIS BATTLESTATION!!!" His forceful exclamation was immediately undercut by a girlish giggle. Jimmy smirked.
"An' wot o' the' Reshishtansch? If th' Alliesh 'ave obtained a compwete technicaw weadowt o' thish shtashun, i' ish poshibaw, 'oweveh unloikley, th' they moight find a weaknesch, an' exshploi' it."
George looked at the man as though that was the dumbest thing ever uttered in the history of mankind.
"THE PLANS YOU REFER TO WILL SOON BE BACK IN OUR HANDS," Lackarse replied.
Jimmy stood up. "Any attack made by the Alliance against this station would be a useless gesture, no matter what technical data they've obained! This station is now the ultimate power in the universe!" he snarled, "I suggest we use it!"
"DON'T BE TOO CONFIDENT IN THIS EPITOMIC FAIL-CANNON YOU'VE CONSTRUCTED," Lackarse retorted. "THE ABILITY TO OBLITERATE A WEBSITE IS INSIGNIFICANT NEXT TO THE POWER OF THE FARCE."
"Don't try to frighten us with your sorcerer's ways, Lord Lackarse!" Jimmy shot back. "Your sad devotion to that ancient emotion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes—" Lackarse took a few steps toward the kid, "—nor given you clairvoyance enough to find the Alliance's hidden fort—" His tirade was cut short as Lackarse raised his hand, making a squeezing motion. Jimmy's hands flew to his crotch, and he clamped his legs tightly together. The officers looked at the scene with alarm; George with a bored expression.
"I FIND YOUR LACK OF LULZ DISTURBING."
Jimmy began bobbing forward, face contorted in anguish.
"Enough," said George, unenthused. "Lackarse, release him."
Jimmy let out a scream. "TOO LATE." Fighting back tears, the boy ran to the bathroom to clean himself up. Lackarse resumed his sentry by George's side.
"Actually," said George, "That was hilarious. Do it again." He looked around eagerly for a new victim, but after a minute of no response, he frowned and continued. "Now Lord Lackarse will pr-r-rovide us with the location of the R-R-Resistance forTREss by the time this STAtion is OPerAtionAL. We will then CRUSH the Alliance with ONE! SWIFT! STROKE!" The Grand Mopp promptly slammed his head into the table.
"He said he had some things to do before he started today, so he left early."
"Did he take those two new gentlemen with him?"
"I think so," she replied, grabbing a ladle and stirring the mix.
"Well he'd better have those Brits in the embassy by mid-day, or there'll be hell to pay," he said, leaving the room.
Chris had only taken one of the gentlemen. Farnsworth piloted the hoverspeeder across the sands as Chris watched his BritfinderTM. "Look!!" he shouted, and Farnsworth winced, "There's a gentelman on the scanner dead ahead. That might be Jenkins!! hit the accelerator!!!!"
The speeder sped into the spare split in the surrounding canyon. From up above, a figure took aim with a hand-held grenade launcher. Before he could fire, a comrade ran up and shook his shoulder. "Uhh?" he asked.
"Ugh," replied his comrade.
He abandoned his vantage point and the two ran for an awaiting transport. All across the plateau, similar figures descended from the rocks, but the APCs lumbered off as soon as the drivers were aboard, thus defeating the purpose of mechanized infantry.
Meanwhile, Chris and Farnsworth had caught up with Jenkins. Chris ran up in front of him and forcibly brought him to a halt. "Were do you think your going??" he exclaimed.
Jenkins whistled. "Master Christos is your rightful patron now!" rebuked Farnsworth. "We'll have no more of this Alec Guinness gibberish!" Trill. "And don't talk to me of your mission, either! You watch he doesn't deliver a million spankings right here!" Chirrup.
"yeah," said Chris, "you behave or i'll conquer your country in IOT!!!"
Jenkins suddenly uttered a string of sharp notes, shuffling from foot to foot. "Whats wrong with him now" Chris turned to Farnsworth.
The man's face fell. "There are several creatures approaching from the south-east."
"Noob-tubers!!" exclaimed Chris, "Or worse!!" He ran to the speeder and picked up a rifle that... I don't think was there in the first shot. Let me check.
...
No, it was. Never mind.
"come on, let's to have a look," he said.
From a perch at the crest of a cliff face, Chris watched as two APCs kept driving into rock walls. "Well there are two apcs down tehre but i dont see any... wait there's noob-tubers, i can see one now." His vision was suddenly obscured as something jumped in front of his binoculars. He looked up into the derp face of a noob-tuber, grenade launcher brandished menacingly.
"HUURRR!! HUURRGH!!" he screeched. Farnsworth fell backwards, and— wait, did anyone hear that weird scream? It's like if somebody kneed Richard Simmons in the package. Maybe it's part of the music? Anyway, the noob-tuber tried to club Chris with the launcher as the boy rolled left to right.
Raspy shouts echoed through the valley. Jenkins watched from a rocky shelter as two noob-tubers dragged an unconscious Chris into view before the party approached the speeder. They started fighting with each other over who would get to drive when suddenly, a booming voice that seemed to emanate from everywhere thundered: "ENEMY AIRSTRIKE INBOUND." They looked up; a hooded figure in dark brown robes appeared over the horizon, arms flailing about. Shouting, the noob-tubers fled.
Jenkins watched apprehensively as the figure knelt down by Chris. It felt his wrist, then put a hand to his temple. Jenkins let out a soft whistle. The figure paused, straightened up, then threw off its hood, revealing the face of a bearded, grey-haired elder. "Hello, there!" he called, his voice that soothing and wise tone that makes one immediately love the guy. Love as in admire. Not, like, romantic attraction. Although I suppose that might happen too. Yeah, he has the sort of charisma for kiddie crushes. Wait, hold on, he's an old guy, that'd be just... Christ, where was I going with this?
Jenkins gave a short trill. "Come here, my little friend!" he said, gesturing, "Don't be afraid!" Chirrup. "Oh, don't worry," he replied, pointing to Chris, "He'll be alright." The boy began to waken, and the man put a hand to his shoulder, helping him to sit up. "Rest easy, son," he said, "You've had a busy day. You're fortunate to be all in one piece!"
Chris squinted at the figure above him. "Ali-G?? Boy am i glad to see you!!" Jenkins slowly shuffled over.
"The Junland Wastes are not to be travelled lightly." He stood up before helping Chris to his feet. "Tell me, young Chris: what brings you out this far?"
Chris sat down on a rock as he tried to get his bearings. "This little gentelman," he explained, pointing to Jenkins, who chirruped. "i think he's searching for his former patron. i've never seen such devotion in a gentelman before. He says he's the ajutant to an Alec Guinness de Cuffe. Is he a relative of yours?"
The man's brow furrowed as he took a seat opposite. "Alec Guinness de Cuffe?" he repeated, "Alec Guinness... Now that's a name I've not heard in a long time. A long time."
"i think my uncle knows him. he said he was dead."
"Oh, he's not dead." He rolled his eyes. "Not yet."
"You know him??"
"Well of course I know him. He's me." He tapped his chest for emphasis. Jenkins gave a little trill. "I... haven't gone by the name of Alec Guinness since oh, before you were born."
"Well then the gentelman does belong to you."
"I don't seem to remember ever sponsoring a gentleman," he replied. Chirrup. "Very interesting." The conversation was interrupted by a distant shout. "I think we'd better get indoors," he declared, rising to his feet. "The noob-tubers are easily startled but they'll soon be back, and in greater numbers."
Jenkins gave a whistle, catching Chris' attention. "Farnsworth!!" He slapped his forehead. Chris and Alec Guinness hurried over to where the man had fallen. Chris picked up the left sleeve of his coat, torn clean off. The retainer collar around his neck was broken by the fall. "Where am I?" he asked as they slowly lifted him up, "I must have taken a bad step." Jenkins let out a low note.
"Can you stand??" Chris asked, "We have to get out of here before the noob-tubers come back!!!"
"I don't think I can make it," wailed the man, "You go on, Master Christos! There's no sense risking your life on my account. I'm done for." Jenkins gave a sad whistle.
"Ok."
"Chris," scolded Alec Guinness. He helped Farnsworth to his feet.
They journeyed to Alec Guinness' house on the hillside—oh damn, I promised myself not to reference the re-releases. That's OK, as long as Han shoots first, I'll be safe from lynching. So; they went to his house. Jenkins finished sewing the sleeve back on to Farnsworth's coat.
"No, my father didn't fight in the wars, he was a navigator on a Spice frigate."
AUTHOR'S NOSE: Spice is capiutlizd cuz its malang frum DUN by Ffrank Hubbert wich is UB3RL33T PWNZ0RZ & Tatween is baskly leik Arrkaras cept poor & not l33t. DONT DO DRUGZ!!!!
"That's what your uncle told you?" Alec Guinness asked, with a hint of amusement. "He didn't hold with your father's ideals, thought he should've stayed here, and not gotten involved."
"You fought in the Fan Wars??" asked Chris.
"Yes," he chuckled. "I was once a Cheddar Monk, the same as your father." He leaned back, stroking his chin.
"I wish i knew him," he sighed.
"He was the best star pilot in the galaxy... and a cunning warrior. I understand you've become quite a good pilot yourself." Chris grinned. After a moment, Alec Guinness added, softly: "And a good friend. Which reminds me;" he rose to his feet and made his way over to a chest. "I have something here for you. Your father wanted you to have this when you were old enough, but your uncle wouldn't allow it... He feared you might follow old Alec on some damn fool idealistic crusade, like your father did."
"Sir," said Farnsworth, "If you'll not be needing me, I'll rest for a while."
"sure go ahead," Chris replied. The gentleman lay down on the bench and immediately fell asleep. Alec Guinness returned, holding a metal baton. Chris leaped to his feet. "What is it??" Jenkins chirruped.
"It's your father's plasma foil. This is the weapon of a Cheddar Monk." He handed it to Christos. "Not as clumsy or random as a blaster." Chris pressed a button, and a pillar of blue light shot out of the end with a sound like "PSHEEEWWW". Awestruck, Chris waved it around; it made humming noises as it seemed to ionize the air around it. "An elegant weapon," continued Alec Guinness, "For a more... civilized age." He reseated himself. "For over a thousand generations the Cheddar Monks were the guardians of peace and good reading in the Old Republic. Before the Dark Times. Before the Crapfics."
Chris turned off the plasma foil, and the column retreated into the hilt. He turned to Alec Guinness, paused, then sat down. "How did Star Wars die?" he asked.
Alec Guinness took a moment to answer, evidently upset. "A young Cheddar Monk named Darth Lackarse, who was a cohort of mine until he turned to evil, helped the Empire hunt down and destroy the Cheddar Monks. He betrayed and murdered Star Wars." Chris cast his glance downward. "Now the Cheddar Monks are all but extinct. Lackarse was seduced by the Dork Side of the Farce."
"the farce??" Chris repeated.
Alec Guinness smiled. "Now, the Farce is what gives a Cheddar Monk his humour. It's an energy field created by all living things; it surrounds us, it penetrates us, it binds the galaxy in laughter." Chris nodded, clearly understanding none of it.
Jenkins interrupted with a short tune on his whistle, and Alec Guinness rose to his feet. "Now, let's see if we can't figure out who you are, my little friend; and where you come from." Jenkins reached inside his coat pocket, and the holographic projection appeared on a table in front of him.
"I saw part of the message he w—" Chris began, then spun around.
"I seem to have found it," replied Alec Guinness.
"General Guinness," said Princess Kaiser with a short bow, "Years ago you served my father in the Fan Wars. Now he begs you to help him in his struggle against the Empire. I regret that I am unable to present my father's request to you in person, but my ship has fallen under attack, and I'm afraid my mission to bring you to the Doctor Whoniverse has failed. I have given information vital to the survival of the Alliance to this British gentleman; my father will know the password to retrieve it. You must see this gentleman delivered safely to him at the Doctor Whoniverse. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Alec Guinness de Cuffe, you're my only hope!" As before, she leaned forward, and the message terminated.
Alec Guinness leaned backwards, contemplative. Chris stared at the table, pupils dilated. After a moment, the man turned to the boy. "I wasn't ogling her!!" he said abruptly.
Alec Guinness leaned forward. "You must learn the ways of the Farce... if you are to come with me to the Doctor Whoniverse."
"Doctor who??" Chris repeated, rising to his feet, "i'm not going to doctor who, i've got to get home, its late, i'm in for it already!!" He made his way toward the exit.
"I need your help, Chris. She needs your help! I'm getting too famous for this sort of thing."
Chris stared at Alec Guinness. Alec Guinness raised his eyebrows. "Listen, I cant get involved!! I've got work to do!! its not that i like the empire, i hate it, but there's nothing i can do right now!!" He sighed. "And its such a long way from here," he muttered.
"That's your uncle talking," Alec Guinness remarked.
"My uncle," he sighed, striding over to Jenkins, "how am i going to explain this"
"Learn about the Farce, Chris."
The boy shook his head, returning to the entrance. "Look, i can take you as far as Anchorhead," he offered. "You can get a transport there to IOT or wherever your going......"
"You must do what you feel is right, of course."
Meanwhile, IN SPAAAACE!, a Star Destructor flew toward an egg-shaped space station with a large, dish-like depression in its upper half. Man, you thought that ship was big in the opening? This construction could eat, like a thousand of them and still have room for dessert. Yes, the DOOM SPHERE; not only did the architects fail at geometry, they went one step further and built the damn thing sideways.
Onboard, a collection of senior Imperial officers were seated around an oblong table, it, too, likely intended to be circular. One of the men, a perpetually drunk Englishman with a gravelly voice was addressing his fellow commanders. "Untiw thish bat'l'shtashion is fuw'y opewashonal, we ah' vu'ruble. Th'Alliansch ish too wew equipp'd; they're mow dangeroush tha' you rea'wishe."
"Dangerous to your starfleet, commander, not to this battlestation!" retorted Admiral Jimmy, a blond-haired boy about eight years old.
The man continued, somewhat louder: "Th'Alliansch wiw continue to gain shuppowt wi' th' Fanficshun Mod'ratowsch—"
"The Fanfiction Moderators will no longer be of any concern to us," interrupted a voice. Grand Mopp George I strode in to the room, chest thrust forward, Lackarse in tow. A balding man, George was dressed in regal attire and decorated with medals (mostly self-awarded), and sported a heavily waxed moustache. Although widely considered insane even by the Imperial inner circle, he was close to the Emporer, and even Lackarse, de facto second-in-command, deferred to him. "I have just received word that the E-E-Emporer has dissolved the council. PEHMANENTLY." The last word was punctuated by a Schwarzenegger accent. "Ze lahst r-r-r-emnants of ze Auld Rhepublik haff been SVEPT AVAW!" He sat down with a flourish.
"That'sh imposhibaw! 'Ow wiw th' Emprah maintain controw wiffowt th' adminsh?"
"Ze Emporer h-has ASSUMÉD DIRECT CONTROL of a-a-a-a-l-l-l-l site functions." He shook his head violently, spittle flying from his loose lips. "FEAR will keep the local forums een ligne. Fear of THIS BATTLESTATION!!!" His forceful exclamation was immediately undercut by a girlish giggle. Jimmy smirked.
"An' wot o' the' Reshishtansch? If th' Alliesh 'ave obtained a compwete technicaw weadowt o' thish shtashun, i' ish poshibaw, 'oweveh unloikley, th' they moight find a weaknesch, an' exshploi' it."
George looked at the man as though that was the dumbest thing ever uttered in the history of mankind.
"THE PLANS YOU REFER TO WILL SOON BE BACK IN OUR HANDS," Lackarse replied.
Jimmy stood up. "Any attack made by the Alliance against this station would be a useless gesture, no matter what technical data they've obained! This station is now the ultimate power in the universe!" he snarled, "I suggest we use it!"
"DON'T BE TOO CONFIDENT IN THIS EPITOMIC FAIL-CANNON YOU'VE CONSTRUCTED," Lackarse retorted. "THE ABILITY TO OBLITERATE A WEBSITE IS INSIGNIFICANT NEXT TO THE POWER OF THE FARCE."
"Don't try to frighten us with your sorcerer's ways, Lord Lackarse!" Jimmy shot back. "Your sad devotion to that ancient emotion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes—" Lackarse took a few steps toward the kid, "—nor given you clairvoyance enough to find the Alliance's hidden fort—" His tirade was cut short as Lackarse raised his hand, making a squeezing motion. Jimmy's hands flew to his crotch, and he clamped his legs tightly together. The officers looked at the scene with alarm; George with a bored expression.
"I FIND YOUR LACK OF LULZ DISTURBING."
Jimmy began bobbing forward, face contorted in anguish.
"Enough," said George, unenthused. "Lackarse, release him."
Jimmy let out a scream. "TOO LATE." Fighting back tears, the boy ran to the bathroom to clean himself up. Lackarse resumed his sentry by George's side.
"Actually," said George, "That was hilarious. Do it again." He looked around eagerly for a new victim, but after a minute of no response, he frowned and continued. "Now Lord Lackarse will pr-r-rovide us with the location of the R-R-Resistance forTREss by the time this STAtion is OPerAtionAL. We will then CRUSH the Alliance with ONE! SWIFT! STROKE!" The Grand Mopp promptly slammed his head into the table.