A.A.R.P. #1: Meet the Farce

[Ben Merasska]

“This is really starting to get annoying,” Ben sighed, looking at the wreckage of the scouting ship he'd been given as a hyperspace route mapper for Wild Space. The ship had taken its fair share of beatings before, but two atmospheric entries without much shielding in the space of two standard months had rendered it almost completely junk-worthy.

Even though it was only the second time he'd crash landed onto a planet in the middle of what seemed to be a foresty jungle sorta place, he felt that twice was two times too many (for anyone really, but himself in particular, especially given it was his third crash landing in the last six months). The ship was lodged in the root system of a massive tree, and Ben was amazed that it still maintained its general shape after going through all those trees.

The R-4 droid had managed to survive as well mostly intact, though it sported a few warped sections that Ben figured meant that it would likely become just so much scrap. It puttered along unstably, as if it were getting its bearings.

“It could be worse,” Ben said conversationally to the droid. It stopped and turned its scanner toward him for a moment, before beginning to pace again and warble softly, the tones clearly mutinous, and perhaps even a bit panicked. But a droid couldn't panic, could it?

“You could be in pieces back with the foils,” he explained. Though perhaps that might have been a good thing.

When the droid started to menacingly approach him with one of its implements out and arcing electrical current, Ben realized he'd said the second thought out loud.

“Hehehehe,” Ben raised his hands in surrender. “Just kidding?”

BZZZT! BZZZT! BZZZZZZZZT!

“Ow! Hey! Stop it! I said I was sorry!”

[Ben Merasska]

The sound of the trains echoed throughout the station, and to most it might have been routine. Thousands – no, millions – passed through this particular station on a daily basis, and the sound of the trains must have been nothing more than routine. But for Ben Merasska, the sound of the train pulling in signified the beginning of a new life, and the end of a slightly newer life. Both of them were far, far too absurd to be normal, so Ben was hoping that this job proved to be the game-changer.

'That's right. No more weird stuff for me, thank you. Just some cushy desk job in the city, thank you very much!'

The train passed by, and Ben checked the board which flashed times, arrivals, departures, and destinations. His train wasn't due for another fifteen minutes, and he debated walking out and back to the mountains, only remember what awaited him there; his resolve firmed and his shudders of anxiety contained, he continued waiting, fingering the Security Forces identification card in his pocket.

After Yavin, everything had changed. Well, that wasn't completely accurate, it was after... after Alderaan that everything had changed. He'd lost everything. Nearly everything he'd ever known was destroyed by the Death Star, and when Princess Leia, with that smuggler Solo and the boy Skywalker had shown up and related all they knew, and the droid regurgitated the plans, he just... broke.

He was among the first shot down in the battle. A turret had sighted him and he'd seen his wing-man going down in flames... he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. As he heard Wen cry out briefly in agony, all he could think was, 'Did they scream like that when they burned up?'

The jolt of the fighter as the shields gave way to the power of the turret and turned his engines into slag woke him for a moment from his haze of grief. He'd shouted his situation into his radio, and heard the hurried voices all clamouring for attention, for help. No one had even said his name. Ben almost let it happen; he almost gave up on controlling the fighter, and let it burn up on entry. He almost let himself die.

[Ben Merasska]

The atmosphere hit the burning fighter like a wall, destroying the radio as the astromech droid exploded in its saddle. He felt fear burning in his stomach, and knew he didn't want to die, no matter how much it hurt to live. How he survived, he didn't remember. He must have hit his head at some point, because he woke in the wreckage of the ship, and slipped out of the harness, only to find that he had to climb down a tree.

By the time he made it back to Base One, it was deserted.

“All passengers waiting for Train 12 to Magera-ku, the train will arrive in a few minutes. Please gather your baggage and prepare to board.”

The generically pleasing voice over the internal PA system jolted him from his memories, and he stood, shouldering his two bags and stepping up to the platform. The train slowed, the magnetic wires sparking, and the squeal of the brakes on the wheels filling the station. All of it was completely new in how antique and ancient the technology was, mixed with the modernity of holo-programming and blasters.

After the train emptied of the few people on board, he stepped in and found a seat close to the door. It was surprising how few people were around, but then he figured that it was almost five in the morning, and few would be up around this time.

Ben pulled out and unfolded the documents he'd been given. It was the fifteenth time he'd done so that hour. 'Abnormal Activities Response Personnel,' he read, wondering about what such a place would be like. A brochure slipped out from the pages.

So You've Joined the AARP! It read. On the cover was a diverse group of men and women in uniform with what looked like a Rodian (or what a Rodian would look like if the artist had never actually seen one and had relied on second-hand accounts for the basis of their image) in cuffs.

Ben only had time to glance at the cover of the brochure before he was interrupted.

“Hey! You got one of those too, eh?” a friendly looking young man sat down next to him, dropping his duffel bag on the seat next to him. “Looks like we'll be working together! Name's Gaffa, Gaffa Maronniki.”

“Mah name's Ben. Nice ta meetcha. I'm not actually—”

“A country boy!” Gaffa said with a grin, interrupting him. “You must get some pretty hot chicks with an accent like that, eh? Playing the simple but honest hick? Damn, I wish I could pull that off.”

“What?” Ben asked, overwhelmed. Hick? Chicks?

“You haven't?!” Gaffa stared at him in wonderment and incredulity. “Why not? Sure, yeah most girls here don't really care for the whole hick thing, but all you need is one yes, am I right? Or at least an answer that isn't no.”

“There're more answers'n yes or no?” Ben asked.

The exuberant young man ignored his reply and nudged him with his elbow. He gestured down to the end of the cabin, whistled softly, and was even drooling a bit.

“Check her out, man! Look at those bazongas! And her legs! She's got like the perfect bod, man. She even makes that drab olive green colour to her suit look good!”

The woman in question was sitting in the corner of the car, looking through documents on a tablet. She wore a women's officer's uniform, and patch on her shoulder was emblazoned with a star, underneath of which was a wreath which reached halfway up the patch. The suit was form fitting, and accentuated her very feminine form, down to the blouse underneath the suit jacket, which Ben was almost certain was against regulation for how much cleavage was showing. The skirt was equally as well tailored, providing a sleek look and slitted just enough to show that the woman was in fact wearing stockings and not pantyhose.

Ben enjoyed the sight, but was still wondering who actually called breasts 'bazongas'.

“I'm gonna go talk to her,” Gaffa said, standing, a determined look on his face. He started to march down the aisle to her, but was stopped by a tap on his arm. Ben was looking at him intently. “Huh? What is it? My fly undone?”

“You might wanna wipe the droll offa yer chin there,” Ben said finally. Gaffa blinked and wiped his chin with his arm.

“Thanks man!” he said, flashing his red-haired colleague a thumbs up. “Time to get me a number!”