Hard Truth

[Srelex]

I thought I'd post a short light-hearted fanfic I wrote some time ago, which I feel some people who concern themselves over minamilism would find interesting:

**

The planet of Carbone. A small, dusty rock in the Outer Rim notable mainly for its large mineral deposits and the small fact that under the direction of the Techno Union, the Confederacy of Independent Systems had constructed a network of droid foundries capable of spitting out thousands of war machines every hour. Naturally, under the orders of the Jedi Council, a Republic taskforce had shown up soon after a Geonosian engineer forgot to install a block during a HoloNet chat with his friend on the other side of the galaxy, and within an hour intense fighting was taking place in orbit and on the ground. Venator star destroyers and Separatist warships clashed in the upper reaches of the atmosphere, with unshielded vessels being utterly pulverized by gigaton-level blasts. The blazing wrecks of starships plummeted into the atmosphere every hour, destroying entire regions of the planet upon impact. On the ground, fields and forests were turned into wasteland as artillery and heavy armor exchanged fire, with masses of infantry clashed over defence points and other key structures.

Leading the Republic taskforce was a certain Jedi named Yoda, unfamiliar only to those on backwater worlds or mentally backward people. By the second hour of the battle, he was in the unfortunate position of being trapped in a seized Separatist bunker, as artillery volleys pounded the ground above, pinning him inside. The only person with him was a single clone trooper, the only survivor of the detachment attached to Yoda—CT-1940, or 'Larry', as his brethren had decided to christen him. With nothing to do except look at incomprehensible computer screens that seemed to display only random 3D grids and other such gibberish and listen to the booming of heavy fire above, with dust and small bits of masonry sprinkling from the ceiling with each noise, he had decided to have a chat with Master Yoda.

"Forgive my attitude, sir, but I do not feel all that great about being here with you." He said, as the Jedi sat watching what were presumably the holiday photos of some random Separatist engineer.

"Why is that, ask may I?"

"They say the Jedi do not care for our lives. That you treat us as slaves."

Yoda turned around. "This bull, where have you been hearing? Many times, Jedi have risked their necks to save your posteriors. Fought and won together, we have. Respect all life, the Jedi do."

"Well, you're not as honourable or as great as Mandalorians." Muttered Larry.

"Mandalorians?" thundered Yoda. "Mandalorians? What know you, about Mandalorians?"

"Well, some of the other guys said they were cool, and..."

"Then dumbasses, they are! Warlike barbarians, Mandalorians are. Burned and destroyed entire worlds and people, they did. If honourable that is, then some frakked-up sense of honor you must have!"

Larry took a step back. He must have said something wrong , for the Jedi to be like this.

"Well, a lot of my friends like them. I mean, given the numbers, out of three million of us..."

"Three million? Three million?" said Yoda, looking mortified. "By the Force, vapour have for brains, do you? Quintillions of droids, the enemy has. Really think three million clones could stop them, do you?"

"So...how many of us are there?"

"Taking in all the Grand Armies, eight hundred trillion, or so. Believe that one clone could take on an army of droids, some dumbkriffs do. And out of all that, only a few hundred, a crap give about your Mandalorians—about 0.1% that is, or so. When a calculator I have, more accurate percentages I can give you."

"Eight hundred trillion? Whoah. Suddenly, a lot makes sense." Said Larry loftily.

"Of which speaking, this bull, where have you been getting?" said Yoda.

"From this." Said Larry, holding up a holo-book. Yoda took a glance at the author.

"Ah, explains a lot, that does! Forgive your dumbassrey, I do. A biased hack, that author is. Probably responsible for most sales of death sticks on this side of the galaxy. In fact, a propaganda writer she may be, as depicts the enemy as utter idiots she does—although, now that think about it I do, with Mandalorian remnants still unable to get over the fact that handed their asses to them were. Get it, where did you?"

"From a newsagents on the last planet I was on. I needed some reading material during the standby periods."

"Hmm. Well, forgivable, your mistakes are. Just buy from that author again, do not."

"Understood, Master Jedi." They then looked up as both realised that the enemy guns had turned silent. Sunlight poured in as a hatch in the bunker ceiling opened, and friendly clone troopers rappelled in.

"Master Jedi, glad to see you're alive." Said a clone sergeant, walking up to him. "We've taken out the enemy guns, but we need your leadership and fighting skills to take the fight to them."

"More than willing to help, I am." Smiled Yoda. "A most productive battle this will be, once it is won. Not only a blow dealt to the enemy will be, but for some people, cleared some things up, I have..."

[AATC-86]

Love it.

[Setzer]

It seems more like a rant in story form then an actual fanfic, but it's OK.