Seasonal Shorts: Star Wars, Episode Four - A New Hopelessness

'That's no moon!'  Actually, it is...

  

  Martin hastily put his drink down and retrieved his daughter from the pram at his side.  'She's still clean,' he said, bouncing her on his knee.  'Do you want to hold her, Sally?' 

  'No way!  Not until she's much bigger.  She's still at the breakable stage.  If we ever have children, Danny will have to look after them when they're that tiny.'

  Daniel Appleby, who had finished sketching another prospective extension to Wayne Reynolds' eco-friendly country pile, was back at their table.  He seemed in no hurry to practice his parenting skills.  Lyn was about to offer when Terry stretched out his arms.

  'I'll look after her, nipper.'  He held baby Malala expertly and tickled her under her chin.  'Where's her mum today?'

  'Climate Change talks in Paris.  She'll be home tomorrow - unless they over-run.'

  'The news says that's likely,' Tom warned.  'Still, if this little lass wants to grow up in a green and safe world, a few more hours without her mum now might not be too high a price to pay.  I do worry about the future my grandchildren will face.'

  'I worry about the future all the time,' admitted Sally.  'But I think that's because I read and watch way too much sci-fi.  Then I end up having scary dreams, where I'm fighting for survival in a dystopian society, my every move is being watched by sinister agents of an oppressive state and I'm at constant risk of capture and torture.'

  'Everyday life under the Tories,' Martin noted.

  Sally shrugged.  'On the plus side, that's how I got to be so excellent at archery!'

  'I don't think I'd like to be in your movie then, luvvie.  What about you, Hilary?  What do you like to watch?'

  'My tastes aren't far removed from yours really, Lyn.  I like costume dramas too, though I prefer those with a social conscience.  The recent Suffragette film was really rather good.'

  'What do you like, Tricia?'

  'Steve and I don't tend to get to the pictures on our own - we're usually taking the girls, so it's the latest Disney or Pixar for us.  I tend to chill with the medical soaps - Casualty, Holby City...'

  'We could do a remake of ER with your George as Dr Doug!' Lyn suggested to Hilary.

  Toby groaned.  'Just what we need - Tom and Hilary playing doctors and nurses!'

  'That sounds rather fun to me!' giggled Hilary.  'What do you think, Tom darling?'

  'I've already been the star of one film,' Tom said, modestly declining the offer.  'I think Sally made a good point earlier about passing the baton to the next generation.  What about you, Danny boy?'

As a sweeping, slightly melancholic, symphony begins, the red-gold light of twin suns setting falls on the face of a wistful youth.  He blinks quickly and the double sun resolves back into a single glowing ball.   A light breeze tousles his dark hair and his brown eyes gaze forlornly across a landscape all too familiar - the desolate moors and steep fells of the Yorkshire Dales.

With a sigh, the boy wanders back into his step-father's garage.  There, beside a transit van with Alan Braithewaite - Landscape Gardener on the side, two robots are waiting to be cleaned; a bronze-coloured humanoid, soaking in an oil bath, and a squat, dustbin-shaped machine.  As the lad starts dusting the smaller droid, the other speaks - in a distinctly Scottish accent.

  'My name is CU M8 and that wee bin is my counterpart, Wi 11.  If you don't mind me asking, sir, where the bloody hell are we?

 'If there's a bright centre to the universe, then you're in the place furthest from it.'

The small droid makes a series of twiddling noises.  The youth looks blankly at it, unable to understand.  The bronze robot translates:

  'He says that we're in Skipton and that the Craven Valley regularly tops the Guardian poll for the best place to live in England, though as he's from Bristol I'm not sure he's in any position to pass comment.  Furthermore, in my humble opinion, anywhere south of the border is shite.  He also says that, by a coincidence of twenty-four-point-seven billion to one against, this is where Obi-Vaughan Kenobi is currently exiled and that he has an important message for him.'

  'Obi-Vaughan Kenobi?  Does he run the Chinese that's set up along the street from Mr Karim's curry house?'

The small droid warbles again before letting out a long whistle.  CU M8 sinks down into his oil-bath with a sigh.

  'You said it, pal!  We've got a right one here!'

The following morning, the droids have been loaded into a battered landspeeder and, driven by their new master, are heading for the isolated home of their former one.  Their journey is delayed by traffic lights at a swing-bridge on the Leeds and Liverpool Canal and, after that, they are stuck behind a sight-seeing coach touring the Yorkshire Dales.  Stopping to ask a lone figure the way, they are suddenly surrounded by identically dressed beings in Gore-Tex jackets, waterproof trousers and hiking boots, each armed with a pair of walking poles.  The creatures flee as an old man in a brown cloak approaches and guides the youth and the droids into the safety of his rather picturesque stone cottage.

  'Rest easy, son.  You've had a busy day.  I, however, appear to be having another bad hair and beard day and, yet again, find myself in a distinctly rustic costume of appalling cut and dreadful fit!  It would have been too much to find me a cameo role in the previous piece, I suppose?  Fine fabrics, shiny buckles, beautifully tailored breeches and coats of a flattering length for the taller figure?  I should be so lucky!'

He looks to camera, raising one eyebrow quizzically, before returning his attention to the boy, who has a question.

  'What were those hideous creatures, Obi-Vaughan?'

  'Ramblers, I'm afraid.  The hills around here are infested with them.  You should be careful venturing up here alone.'

  'I'm not alone.  I've got these two droids with me.  The little one has a message for you.'

Suddenly, a beam of light shoots out from Wi 11 and a hologram image of a young woman appears.  She is dressed in a flowing white gown, the hem of which almost trips her as she steps forward, and she seems to struggle to untangle the long sleeves as she stoops to slip something into the droid.  She stands tall - very tall - and speaks.

  'Many years ago, you fought with my father in the Clone Wars.  Even though I was against those, because there was no way Count Dooku had weapons of mass destruction that would be ready in 45 minutes, I need your help now.  My Thunderbird has been intercepted by Imperial forces.  Inside this droid are the plans of the Empire's deadly new weapon, which will destroy entire planets even more thoroughly than failing to invest in sustainable sources of energy and thermally-efficient building technology.  They must reach the Rebel Alliance via my father, who's installing a ground source heat pump-based central heating system in Aldershot.  Help me, Obi-Vaughan Kenobi - you're my only hope!'

The youth is transfixed.

  'Who is she?  She's beautiful - apart from that weird hairdo.'

  'She's Princess Sally Arcturus, a leading member of the Rebel Alliance.  She wears her hair like that to cover her ears.'

  'She's not my twin sister, is she?'

  'That's hardly likely, my boy.  She's five years older than you, four inches taller and she's a redhead.'

The small droid whistles and bleeps.  CU M8 translates.

  'He's says he's not exactly the brightest ewok in the forest, is he?'

  'There's too much of his father in him.'

The lad, who has been tapping and prodding the dustbin-shaped droid in an attempt to make it play the hologram again, turns round in amazement.

  'Did you know my father, Obi-Vaughan?'

  'Indeed.  He was a fine warrior and a good friend.'

  'What happened to him?'

  'Your father was seduced by the Dark Side.'

  'My mum said he was seduced by an old trollop called Yvonne Morton.'   

  'I think you'll find that amounts to the same thing, from a certain point of view...'

Their mission clear, the boy, the old man and the two droids cram into the landspeeder and set off across the moors, stopping briefly at the top of one scarp slope to survey the town below.  The old man has a warning for his young companion.

  'You'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy...'

  'Keighley's not that bad.  I went to college there!'

Entering the town, they find the local police are dealing with a security alert of some sort and there is a roadblock.  A young constable walks towards the landspeeder.  He seems to recognise the youth, who tries to hide his face by cowering down beside the old man.

  'Oh no!  It's Johnny Grimshaw.  He was a prefect at our school.  If he recognises me, I'll be in so much trouble.  My mum said I shouldn't pick up hitch-hikers.'

As the policeman comes to stand beside the landspeeder, the old man holds his hand horizontally before him, sweeping it gently from side to side as he speaks:

  'These are not the droids you're looking for...'

  'We aren't looking for droids, Mister.  We're looking for an illegal stash of bio-diesel that the Rebel Scum use to power their ships.  You haven't seen Ali Karim, have you?'

  'I don't believe so.'

  'You can go on your way, then.'

Leaving the landspeeder in a side-street, the youth, the old man and the robots enter a bar.  A quintet of alien beings are playing a snappy jazz number as diverse clientele, drawn from dozens of different planets and star systems mingle cautiously and jostle for drinks.  One particularly grotesque creature picks an unprovoked fight with the youth, only for the old man to unexpectedly produce a blade-like beam of bright blue light and cut off it's arm. 

The barmaid is unimpressed as she points to a sign above the bar.

  'Oi!  Can't you read, Obi-Vaughan?  No droids, no Jedi and no lightsabres.  I've been trying to clean this place up.  You're all barred!'

  'Sorry, Marie.  The boy and I are looking for passage to Aldershot.  I hoped to find the skipper of a suitable vessel in your excellent establishment.'

  'Try them.'

She points to a corner table where, behind a collection of empty pint glasses, two drinkers appear to be discussing the merits of yet another real ale.  The old man takes a seat opposite.  The youth hesitates before he too sits down, clearly disconcerted by the hairy creature who is the human's companion.

  'Don't mind Harry, pet.  He's only a Stookie.  He talks funny and he's got a proper temper on him if his team loses to lower-league opposition, but he's not a bad lad for all that.'

  'Your taste in men seems to be improving, Daphne.'

  'You can talk, Obi-Vaughan.  Who's this pretty young fellow?'

  'I'm Dan Skyscraper - and I'm not gay.  I'm in love with a princess, so we have to rescue her and then deliver the plans of a weapon of mass destruction to the Rebel Alliance.  We need a really fast ship to take us out of Yorkshire.  Have you got one?'

  'You haven't heard of the Lady Eowyn?  She's the vessel that made the Calder and Hebble run in forty-eight hours.'

  'Can she escape a tractor-beam?'

  'I cannot say, though we had enough power to get out of the current from the weir at Lemonroyd Lock.'

  'Can she travel at light speed?'

  'Unless we can fix the hyperdrive, it's strictly four miles per hour or six on the rivers.'

  'Why would you take a spaceship along a river?'

  'She isn't a spaceship, pet - she's a narrowboat.'

  'A narrowboat?  I can't save the galaxy in a canal boat!'

  'You'd be surprised.  Our author's got some pretty challenging missions drafted out for me.'

  'But I've got to destroy the Death Star, then be taught to use the Force by a Jedi master with no grasp of grammar or syntax, and fight an epic battle on an icy world.  Then I've got go to a planet inhabited by creatures who look like miniature schnauzers and help to destroy the Death Star - again - and finally, give my father Darth Vader the chance to redeem himself by sparing my life and killing the Emperor, even though he's been the most evil person in the Universe, and cut my right hand off, and the Dark Side of the Force is incredibly strong with him.'

  'What makes you think Darth Vader is your father?'

  'He fought in the Clone Wars with Obi-Vaughan - and my mum says he's a right bastard!  He is my father, isn't he, Obi-Vaughan?'

The old man hesitates.  The responsibility of what he is about to tell the boy hangs heavy on him.

  'Darth Vader is not your father, Danny.  Your father is a Civil Servant with the Department for Work and Pensions.'

  'Nooooooo!'