Death Is a Funny Thing: SW humor

[clone1051]

This is a story I found on the Empire Reborn databank. The DB is closed to all non-Imperials, so I decided to share its awesomeness with SD.net. It was written by Line Captain Patrick Calder, ret. The three main characters are based on the role-playing characters of three high-ranking Empire Reborn members.

This is fiction, and as such, is NOT an accurate portrayal of the Imperial High Command. These officers would have been executed if this had actually occurred.

Chapter 1: Three Imperials Walk Into a Bar...

It was loud; that was the one thing Patrick Calder didn’t like about the place. He didn’t like loud noises. Apart from that, he felt pretty good as his friend Talek Rala sat back down with three mugs of Corellian ale. He pushed two forward – one to Calder and one to Tiberius Fel. The three were enjoying a long overdue leave on Braxis VI.

As Calder took his first sip from this most recent mug (it was definitely not his first mug of the evening) he watched Rala take a cylindrical object from his pocket. Calder and Fel watched in fascination as the ISB-General unrolled the plastic sheet to expose five or six mini-donuts that had been protected inside. After dancing his fingers across the selection for a moment, he snatched one up and put it in his mouth, washing it down with a good shot from his ale.

“I know you’re addicted to those damn things, but by the Space Fiend you seem to have them no matter where we go!” Calder exclaimed.

Rala mumbled. “’Cause they’re good.” He licked frosting off his fingers and then took another donut.

“Yeah, I know. Want another drink?” Calder asked as he drained his mug.

“Already? Jesus, you complain about my donuts but I have never in all my travels seen a man drink as much as you.” Despite his protests, Rala chugged the rest of his ale with some effort and slammed it on the table. “Bring me whiskey!” he cried as he waved his cowboy hat in the air. Calder spent half the time thinking about how obnoxious Rala was with that damned hat…but the other half the time he spent thinking about how funny Rala was with that damned hat.

Calder stood and took the empty mugs. “Want another?” he asked Fel. The rear admiral shook his head and Calder shrugged. “Okay, fine. More for me and Rala the cowboy…isn’t that right there ‘pardner’?” he asked turning to the General.

“Yippie kai-o!” Rala shouted in agreement. Numerous other patrons gave displeased looks at the rowdy Imperial officer.

Calder went to the bar and ordered a whiskey for himself and Rala. As he stood waiting, a man in antiquated Tasnican battle-armor approached next to him and ordered a Jahamian brandy. He nodded to Calder. Calder politely nodded back and returned to Rala with the whiskeys.

The man took note of where Calder went. He was the only one of his three targets that he recognized – but he assumed the others had to be Admiral Tiberius Fel and General Talek Rala. He had been paid a hefty price by a certain individual to make sure these officers did not return to their ship alive. He had to find a way to get them out of the bar so he could kill them without being seen. Then, it was a simple matter of getting off the planet and collecting the rest of his fee. The three had a reputation as being easy to talk to, so he planned on having no problems convincing them that he knew of other locations in the city that might appeal to their interests.

The old man who had given him the mission was clear: he wanted all three dead since they had been a thorn in his side for far too long, but if it was impossible then the bounty hunter could kill one or two if that was the only possibility. The old man would rather have a partial success then a total failure. The hunter would get paid either way.

As Calder went to sit down, putting the whiskey on the table, he noticed that Rala had conveniently put his feet up on Calder’s chair. With a strong swipe he knocked the booted feet to the floor.

“Get these damn fish boots off my chair.”

Rala was indignantly stunned. “They are not fish boots. They are made of a rare breed of stingray, thank you very much. And they were very expensive.”

“I don’t give a shit how much they cost; they’re still fish boots.” Calder replied skeptically.

“Stingrays…” Fel mumbled. “Does that mean you want us to call you Stingray?” He asked sarcastically. Rala nodded emphatically.

“Yeah, screw that.” Calder replied. “I’m gonna call him ‘Fish Boots’.” Fel laughed, but Rala said nothing – his response was the downing of the rest of his drink.

As the three continued to drink, the man watched them. The one he assumed to be Admiral Fel was the quietest of the three (he had had much less to drink than the others). He’d been shown a holo-image of Calder, so he knew which one the line captain was. That left the third and last officer – dressed in a bright plaid shirt and dungaree pants with the most outrageous and obnoxious desert fedora on his head – as General Rala of the ISB. The general seemed to be the most animated of all of them, jumping up from his seat often, and trying to throw bits of food into the air and catch them in his mouth (with minimal success). Several small pieces had in fact managed to land on the brim of his cowboy hat and remain there. The hunter decided to make his move.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Can I buy you a drink?” He asked politely coming up to their table.

Rala looked as though he were about to tell the intruder to get lost but before he could speak Calder had already replied. “Sure you can. I’ll take free booze.” Calder slurred. Spurred on by his friend, Rala nodded his agreement. Fel refused, still nursing his second ale. Calder and Rala had learned some time ago that Fel didn’t drink nearly as much as they did and in a way it was probably better that way – Fel stayed sober and kept them out of trouble.

When the man in the worn armor sat down with drinks for Rala and Calder, the two officers took them without delay. “Thanks,” Rala said as he took a sip. “Good stuff.”

The man nodded. “Only the best. Where you fellers from?”

Fel looked at the other two as if to say “What’s the harm?” He then answered: “We’re Imperial officers.”

The man nodded. “Ah, gotcha. Them kind o’ fellers. Whaddaya doin’ here on Braxis?”

“Vacation,” Calder snorted.

“You fellers don’t wanna go to yer homes?”

Calder snorted again and Rala rolled his eyes. The man had no idea what they were talking about and turned to Fel. “Well, I’m from Canada, which is quite a distance from here.”

“Oh, Canada, eh?” the hunter said. “They make some good parkas in Canada. It’s a cold planet – been there meself a couple or three times.”

“We make excellent parkas indeed,” Fel replied.

“Well, me I’m a merchant, see, and I deal in various things like that. Gots me some high grade stuff in my hangar not far from here. I got some good parkas if you’re interested.”

Fel laughed. “Maybe in a little while; I wouldn’t mind checking your stock out.”

Rala leaned close to Calder and whispered: “Parkas? You’ve got to be shitting me, man. Let’s go find some action.”

Calder grinned and pointed at a pair of women sitting at the bar: an attractive redhead and a fat blonde. “I call the redhead,” he said as he stood up and dragged Rala to his feet as well.

“Shit.” the General muttered. “I always get the fat one.” Despite his indignation he followed Calder’s lead.

“Yeah, you do donut-boy,” Calder said sardonically, “now come on.” He patted Fel on the back. “You boys sit tight. The General and I are going to do some hunting.”

Fel nodded, but the bounty hunter was nervous. Although he now knew for certain who was who, the fact that Calder used the word “hunting” worried him. Did they suspect him?

Calder and Rala did their best to seem charming to their prey – which was not hard for Calder and Rala…well…they thought Rala was funny, at least. Rala thought to himself: “My god, he can pick up any woman he sets his mind to but he can’t keep one to save his life.” Of course, Rala also knew there was a good reason for it.

Rala had sort of drifted off in his thinking while Calder told one of his stories to the woman he was trying to get. The blonde, who was supposed to be Rala’s, found the line captain as dashing as her friend did. Thus, Rala stood by while Calder regaled both of them with a witty story set in his youth. It looked like Calder could get both of them – if he chose anyway. Rala doubted he would. In truth, Rala assumed that like most other times, when it came down to it Calder wouldn’t have the heart to seal the deal. He was still very much in love with a dead woman. And, also as usual, Rala too would get nothing.

“Son of a bitch…” Rala muttered in resignation.

“What’s that?” the redhead asked him.

“He said his boots are made of fish,” Calder answered.

“They are not fish! They’re stingray!” Rala cried. “And I paid a fortune for them!”

Calder did his best to look surprised and disbelieving. “See, ladies? This is what a general in the Empire spends his money on.”

Now things were different. “Wait…you’re a General?” the blonde asked Rala.

Rala nodded. “That’s right: Director of Imperial Security.” The two women were very impressed. Rala noted Calder’s smug grin and wondered How does he do it? and then decided to repay the favor: “And though my esteemed colleague has not mentioned it, he is the Senior Fleet Officer of the Imperial Navy.”

The women swooned once more, and Rala noticed one of the redhead’s hands slide down under the bar. Calder’s eyes widened for a moment in surprise, but said nothing as a sly smile came across his face. Deciding to give him another boost, Rala added: “We’re war heroes too. We’re even part of the Legion of Palpatine.” Now the blonde was fawning over him just like her friend was over Calder. Oh well, he thought. Any loving is good loving.

Just as the two women were about to convince the officers to leave the bar with them, Calder cursed under his breath. “Damnit…Fel.”

“Screw him,” Rala said.

“We can’t leave him here with that parka guy.” Calder argued.

“Why not?” Rala asked.

“Did you see the way Parka Guy was looking at Fel? How well they seemed to be getting along? I’m worried, man.” Calder said. The redhead was still hanging onto his arm.

“Who’s Fel?” she asked.

“Oh,” Calder said turning to her and speaking as if he were explaining how gravity worked to a small child: “Rear Admiral Tiberius Fel, Commander of the Imperial Navy. The three of us make up half the Imperial High Command and we’re quite good friends…” Calder bit his lip. “I’m sorry, ladies, but we can’t leave the poor guy here. He doesn’t get out that much and…”

Calder was content to trail off but Rala elaborated. “And when he does we’re not so sure if it’s to the right kind of bars.”

For a moment the women said nothing, but then the redhead nodded and said “Oh” in realization. Her companion still didn’t understand.

Great, Rala thought. The one Calder gets is not only the good looking one but the smart one too. Damnit.

“You mean you’re leaving us?” the blonde said in a whiny voice as she pawed at Rala’s arm.

“Well…” Rala said thoughtfully looking at Calder. He thought it best to defer to the group’s unofficial leader on this one. Despite the fact that both Rala and Fel technically outranked Calder, it was no secret that the line captain was the one who called the shots in their small circle.

Calder shifted his eyes, which Rala knew meant he was deep in thought. After a moment he spoke: “Say, do you girls have another friend you might be able to set the dear Admiral up with? She doesn’t have to be anything fabulous…but you can tell her that he is an admiral, after all.”

The redhead nodded. “Yeah, we can do that. Let’s get your friend and go. The six of us can have a little party at our place…if you know what I mean.”

Calder smiled. “Yes ma’am. General Rala, let us fetch our noble friend from the claws of almost certain damnation.”

Rala said obligingly: “Certainly, my dear Captain. Let us make haste without further ado concerning our beloved Admiral.”

The girls – who were as drunk as the two officers – laughed at their mockery of high speech.

The four returned to the table that the three officers had originally sat down at just as Fel and the bounty hunter were standing to leave.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Calder asked skeptically.

“This guy has some great stuff back in his shop. I’m going with him to check some of it out. You know how one of my hobbies is tinkering with little things.” Fel replied with a happy smile.

Calder and Rala looked at each other in concern. “Oh, no you don’t.” Rala said grabbing Fel by the arm. “You’re coming with us.”

“What?” Fel asked incredulously. He tried to jerk free of Rala’s grip, but the General held fast with his drunken strength.

“He’s resisting arrest,” Calder muttered.

“By the Space Fiend you are correct, sir!” Rala said in mock surprise. Then, to Fel: “Sir, you must stand down! You are now in the custody of His Imperial Majesty’s Security Bureau! We will be taking you to a secure place with young women for your own safety!”

“Oh, that’s what this is about. Alright, I’ll go.” Fel said without a trace of indignation. “Sorry, buddy,” he said to the man who he had been speaking with. He tossed him a handful of credits. “Here…get yourself another drink on me. Good night.”

As the bounty hunter watched the five leave the bar, he was overcome at the absurdity of it all. He had been on the verge of luring Admiral Fel out to be killed, but had been thwarted by two drunk Imperial buffoons and the cheap bargirls with them.

By the time he had collected himself and realized all would not be lost if he followed them, they were already gone out the door. As he rushed outside to follow them, he stumbled into the street. Pausing to scan his surroundings and find the three officers, he looked over one his left shoulder just in time to see the air car speeding towards him. He saw the bright headlights and felt his body fly through the air. Then, just darkness.

The next morning the three returned to the Chimaera, in orbit of the planet. Fel never knew how close he came to certain death; since the man carried no identification his death wasn't even noted in the local news.

But who was it that ordered them to be killed? Certainly the Rebellion could have afforded a more capable bounty hunter – or one who was not afraid of doing his dirty work in public…

[clone1051]

Chapter 2: The Steaks Are Too High

“Are you sure this place really exists?” Rala asked skeptically. They’d been driving in the rented air car for what seemed like hours, and while one would think there was a rancor in the back seat, it was just the ISB-General’s stomach rumbling in hunger.

“Yes, I told you, it’s around here somewhere….I should find it in no time.” Calder replied as he changed lanes on one of the busy downtown streets of Fort Calais on his birthworld of Vlidden.

“Well we’ve been driving for hours and I have yet to see any sign of this ‘Imperial Steak House’ you keep talking about. I don’t think it exists.”

“Uh…Rala…we’ve been driving for twenty minutes,” Fel, who was in the front passenger seat, said glancing briefly at his watch.

“I’m hungry! It seems like hours!” Rala cried indignantly.

“Will you shut up already!” Calder snapped, catching Rala off guard. “Or so help me god I will turn this car around and take you home!”

“I’ll behave,” Rala said with a whimper.

“And besides,” Calder said softer, “this place is worth it. They have the best steaks you’ll ever eat. It makes the stuff on the Chimaera seem like wookie food.”

“You know, I ate wookie food once…” Rala started to say.

“I’m not surprised,” Fel muttered under his breath.

“What’s that?” Rala asked.

“I said ‘how did it taste?’” Fel said as Calder’s mouth twisted up in a grin and he looked at Fel out the corner of one eye.

“Wasn’t that bad, actually. A little grainy.” Rala continued to explain the intricacies of wookie cuisine as Fel and Calder secretly laughed at him.

Suddenly, Fel interrupted. “Hey, Calder, did this Imperial Steak House have a red-roof, sort of archaic looking?”

Calder perked up. “Yeah, it did!”

Fel pointed out his window. “Look over there.”

Calder and Rala followed the direction of his pointed finger to see a majestic looking building with red-sloping roofs, trimmed with black sides and an ornate golden door. Above it was a sign that said “New Republic Steak House”. Calder slammed on the brakes, causing the honking of horns behind him as other air cars swerved around the stopped Imperials.

“What the HELL is that?” Calder said as his face turned red almost to match the roof of the building. Rala tapped him on the shoulder.

“I thought you said we were going to the Imperial Steak House.” In one deft and sudden move, Calder backhanded Rala across the face. He didn’t strike him hard, but it was certainly enough to make the General cringe and swear. Rubbing his nose, Rala said: “Shit, what’d you hit me for? I didn’t rename it.”

“This is bullshit…” Calder was mumbling ignoring Rala. “Vlidden is still in Imperial space…this is bullshit.”

“Okay, well it looks like we’ll be going to Space King Burger Hut instead then.” Rala said. “I’ll have three quadruple death star burgers, two sides of Tatooine chili, and a bucket of Jabba fries.”

“We are *not* going to Space King Burger Hut,” Calder said emphatically. “We are going to the Imperial Steak House.” He smashed his fist against the dash of the air car as he began moving again and drove into the restaurant’s parking lot.

“But it’s not the Imperial Steak House anymore,” Rala said. “It’s the Rebel Steak House. They probably won’t even serve us. We are in uniform after all.”

“He’s right, you know,” Fel said quietly. “This is probably not a good idea.”

“Oh, you’re right about that!” Calder said through gritted teeth. “It’s not a good idea – it’s a great idea! We’re going to liberate the Steak House.”

Fel slapped his forehead. “Oh no, you can’t be serious….”

However as usually happened, Rala immediately fell in line with Calder’s plan. “Oh hell yeah! And once we liberate it, they’ll reward us with enough steak to feed a Sarlaac!”

“Oh no.” Fel repeated as the other two jumped out of the car. He could only follow and try to keep them from getting arrested – or killed.

As he stood up, Calder took his communicator out of his pocket. He turned it on and spoke into it: “Calder to Chimaera…Calder to Chimaera…come in, please.”

A voice immediately responded. “Yes, Captain. Lieutenant Commander Muscat here.”

“Ah, Commander. Patch me in to General Orzon, please.”

Fel put his head in his hands. “This is not happening…this is not happening…”

As Calder waited for Orzon, Rala patted Fel on the back. “There, there. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay. We’re just going to murder these people, steal their food, and burn their restaurant to the ground. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Captain Calder! General Orzon here, what can I do for you?”

“Orz, I need immediate reinforcements. Send down a platoon of stormtroopers to these coordinates…” Calder punched the data into the communicator and his the “transmit” button. “Just a shuttle full will be enough.”

“Sure, can I ask why?” Orzon said skeptically.

Calder casually replied: “Fel, Rala, and I just discovered a Rebel base.”

“WHAT?”

“Yes, that’s right. They’ve taken control of an Imperial facility and we intend to drive them out.” Calder said.

Rala was grinning like an idiot, and Fel was pacing back and forth still saying to himself “This is not happening, this is not happening…”

“Understood, Captain. I will personally be there with a squad as soon as I can.” Orzon said through the comm. unit.

“Thank you, General. Calder out.” Calder turned off the unit and clipped it to his belt. “Alright guys, ready for some steak?”

“Am I ever!” Rala exclaimed. “I’ve even got my ass-kicking boots on!”

“Oh Jesus…” Calder said, noticing Rala’s feet for the first time. “You’re wearing the fish boots.”

“STINGRAY!”

As Calder led the way into the restaurant, Rala followed him still loudly declaring his boots were expensive stingray. Fel, resigned to what his friends were about to do, followed silently.

[clone1051]

Chapter Three: Is There An Imperial Officer In The House?

The lights were dim inside. It looked exactly as Calder remembered it, so the new management must not have changed the decorum. There were many tables throughout the main hall. Each was “L” shaped, with a rectangular grill making up the corner to turn each into a full square. Each table thus had its own grill and its own chef who served up each course as it was ready. Calder had been especially fond of the eight-course deluxe meal. He had originally assumed that between he and Rala they would need all eight courses – and maybe some more.

A short woman with a red apron approached the three as they stood in the door way. She barely noticed what they were wearing at first, saying “Can I help you…” then she noticed “uh…gentlemen?”

Fel was standing in back, with Calder in the very front and Rala just behind Calder’s right shoulder. As usual (and particularly in this situation) Calder spoke for the group. “Why yes, Madam, we three IMPERIAL OFFICERS” (Calder practically shouted these words to be sure to attract the attention of everyone in the restaurant; the fact that everyone looked to the entry to see the commotion meant he was successful) “would like some steak, please. You see, I was telling my friends here about the delicious food I used to eat at the IMPERIAL STEAK HOUSE” (shouting, once again) “and I am curious if you still sell steak or if you only deal in bantha now. Or maybe you don’t serve our kind here.”

Rala was doing his best not to laugh, so he made a show of ‘whispering’ to Calder, despite the fact that he made it loud enough for *everyone* to hear: “Poor girl. She probably has to work to feed her whole family and their wookie slaves. The Rebellion is full of empty promises and false hopes, you know.”

The woman was definitely caught off guard. “Uh…no, we do not have bantha here, sir. We use, and have always used, the finest beef steaks available in the Galaxy. Right this way, please, and I’ll take you to a table.” She ignored Rala’s comment.

As Calder and Rala followed her, both grinning like fat monkeys, Fel followed sheepishly behind them. Every so often the Senior Fleet Officer and the ISB-General could hear their friend muttering: “This is not happening…”, to which Rala would reply with a sick and twisted smile: “Oh yes, it is.”

She took them to an isolated table far removed from most of the other customers. Calder, however, was not to be outmaneuvered. Before she could leave, he said “Excuse me, Madam, but this table is unsatisfactory. How dare you try to quarantine us like petty criminals…”

“How dare she!” Rala said to Fel.

“Why, we are members of the Imperial High Command. Now, please, kind woman, take us to a table that better suits our station.”

Normally, at this point the hostess would find the manager and have him throw such people out. However, she knew something about Imperial ranking, and could tell by the numerous blue and red squares on their chests that the tall one wasn’t bluffing: they probably were members of the High Command. She actually thought that the tall one and his friends were cute, until they opened their mouths. So, she had no choice but to comply with his request – demand would be a better word – and take them to another table.

Situated in the absolute center of the establishment, Calder and Rala were temporarily sated. Fel, however, was anything but. “I can’t believe how you treated that poor woman.”

Rala dismissed Fel’s complaints with a wave of his hand. “Shush. Remember what I said. Empty promises.”

“And false hopes,” Calder added.

Within a few moments, a chef arrived at their table and began assembling his utensils and whatnot for the cooking. He introduced himself as Juan Pedro de la Brock von Jimsonbob Riddersnatch. His accent was thick, and reminded Calder of one of the hard to understand provincial dialects. He also had an assistant with him.

Calder and Rala looked at each other, and their faces were aghast. It was Rala who got them back on track, when he said to Calder and the chef: “We’ll call him Pete.”

“Pete it is,” Calder agreed. “Who is your assistant, Pete, and why is she here?”

The chef was annoyed at the rudeness of the officers, but replied “To assist me, sir, and to retrieve any foods or beverages that you or I may require while here.”

“Excellent,” Calder nodded. “I’ll take a whiskey, my friend here will take a whiskey, and my other friend will have two pieces of lettuce – served on a slice of tree bark.”

Rala had to put his face in his hands to hide his laughter. Fel also put his face in his hands, but for a much different reason.

The assistant did not look pleased (and did look very confused at the tree bark and lettuce request) but nonetheless went to retrieve the drinks. She came back with the whiskeys, but said: “I’m sorry sir, but we’re out of tree bark.”

“Water is fine,” Fel replied.

As she walked away to get the water, Calder yelled behind her: “Make sure you put some lettuce in it!”

“Hey, I was just thinking,” Rala said to Calder.

“Really? No shit? What is that, twice this month?”

“Shut up,” Rala replied grinning. “But seriously, what are we going to do when Orzon shows up with those troops?”

“Oh yeah. Let me call him.” As the chef prepared the appetizer, Calder removed his communicator from his belt and turned it on, setting it to the stormtrooper’s standard frequency. “Calder to Orzon, come in please.”

“Yes, Captain. We should be there in about a fifteen minutes.”

“No rush, Orz. We’re eating right now.” Calder replied as he smiled at his friends. Rala made a motion for the comm. unit. “Hey, Orz, hang on….Rala wants to talk to you.”

They could hear Orzon speaking as Calder passed the communicator: “Eating? What are you talking about?”

Rala took the comm. unit and spoke into the speaker: “Don’t be interrupting us during dinner. I’ll kick your ass if you do.”

“Give me that!” Calder protested as he snatched his communicator back. “Orzon, when you land, you’ll see a big building with a red roof. It has a sign that says ‘New Republic Steak House’. We’ll be inside.” Before Orzon could reply, Calder shut off the communicator and reattached it to his belt. “Hey, Pete!” he then shouted. “Is that ready yet?”

Despite his indignation and frustration, then chef put a small amount of food in front of each officer. It looked to be a type of stir-fry; the first course.

Rala picked a vegetable up with his hand, pinching it between his thumb and index finger as he held it aloft in front of his face for the others to see. Then he loudly complained: “What the hell is this?”

The chef replied: “That, sir, is a water chestnut.”

Rala threw it at the chef. “We don’t need no stinkin’ water chestnuts! I want meat! MEAT!” He slammed his fist down on the table. “MEAT!”

Calder followed suit, slamming his fist down as well. “And donuts!” he cried.

Rala paused, and then echoed: “Shit yeah! And donuts!”

Fel scooped up all the meat off his own plate and dumped it on Rala’s. “Here, take mine…just behave.”

“I don’t want your food,” Rala said as he ate some. “But I’ll take it anyway.”

Calder ate some of his own. “This is good, Pete. Nice job. Keep it coming.”

Rala was busy chewing, but said between mouthfuls: “Pete, what kind of meat is this? Is this nerf?”

The chef was shocked. “Sir, we would *never* use such a beast as nerf in our recipes.”

Rala continued chewing. “Really? It tastes like nerf.”

“No nerf!” the chef protested, obviously offended.

“Calder, what do you think?” Rala asked as he put down his fork.

Calder continued chewing for a moment as his eyes shifted – showing he was deeply concentrating. After half a minute he replied: “Yeah, it’s nerf.”

The chef threw his hands in the air. “IT IS NOT NERF!”

Before Rala or Calder could cause more trouble, they heard a loud commotion behind them from the door. Fel turned pale. The ISB-General and Senior Fleet Officer turned around at the same time to see Orzon and a dozen fully armed and armored stormtroopers standing in the doorway. As Rala laughed, Calder raised his hand and shouted to the hostess: “Don’t worry! They’re with us!”

Unfortunately, the story was never completed past here.

[Sidewinder]

Can you provide short bios for the characters here, e.g., whether or not Tiberius Fel is related to Soontir Fel, how Calder came to boss around people who technically outrank him, etc.?

[clone1051]

Tiberius Fel is not related to Soontir Fel. I don't know why Calder is bossing around those who outrank him; he didn't really do that. I think it's mainly because he wrote it. I'll put up some background info for the characters when I can find it, but here's a little bit of current info for each:

Fel- currently Supreme Commander of the Empire Reborn
Calder- never advanced past his rank in the story; now retired
Rala- missing in action

[Satori]

Holy Cow! Christianity made it into the SW-verse!

(Maybe you could have him exclaim "force" or "Sith" instead of, you know...)

[Darth Wong]

I just thought I'd point out that the correct spelling is "Chapter 2: The Stakes Are Too High", not "Chapter 2: The Steaks Are Too High".

Steaks are pieces of cow which are cooked rare, medium, or well done (also known as rare, incorrect, and even more incorrect). Stakes are pieces of wood you drive into a vampire's chest, or an important interest in some venture.

[RogueIce]

I just thought I'd point out that the correct spelling is "Chapter 2: The Stakes Are Too High", not "Chapter 2: The Steaks Are Too High".

Steaks are pieces of cow which are cooked rare, medium, or well done (also known as rare, incorrect, and even more incorrect). Stakes are pieces of wood you drive into a vampire's chest, or an important interest in some venture.

To be fair, I'm guessing that was deliberate, considering they spent the chapter going on about a steak house. I like your descriptions about the differences in how they're cooked, though.

Unless my sarcasm detector is broken, in which case I lose.

On topic, I like these stories. Rather amusing. I'd love to think some really bored Imperials would go out and raid a steakhouse for affiliating with the wrong side.

[clone1051]

Yeah, it was spelled 'steak' on purpose.