The Amazing Story of Dark Vader in the Alternate Universe 7

Supreme Jeli Knight, Dark Vader, once a power for good but turned instead into the universe’s eleventh most dangerous bad-guy by the power of the dark side, huffed and puffed and wondered why it was that they could build something as big and unimaginably destructive as the Darth Star, yet couldn’t provide him with a lung transplant.

Yes, they could blow up a planet – no problem. But find a cure for bad asthma? Forget it. It was the same with that nasty itch he had developed in his groin. Talking androids that could speak one thousand and forty-two different languages Sir? No problem. Jet across the galaxy in one parsec flicking in and out of hyperspace? Of course, Sir, right away Sir. But cure a simple case of thrush and they just scratch their heads and reach for a bottle of nanobiotics.

Dark Vader stood by the Darth Star death ray console. He couldn’t sit – the piles were especially bad today. The cream that the so-called medical officer had provided him with was useless. Firstly, it was almost impossible to put on himself and absolutely impossible to get anyone else to put on for him. And then, when he finally thought he’d done it right, he’d discovered that he’d used the toothpaste instead. Exctachloroform stipes all the way up his ass. Brilliant. He tried not to think about the unusual grittiness of this mornings toothpaste.....

“The time (huff, puff, huff, snort, huff) has come” he said menacingly. “Let us (huff, puff, puff, puff, huff, snort, snort, huff) test the full power of the Death Star Darth Ray” he growled. Or tried to growl.

“You mean the Darth Star Death Ray” corrected a little man with a big hat who suddenly found that his esophagus had completely disappeared into his intestines.

“(Huff, puff, huff, sigh, huff…..) whatever” said Dark Vader.

A replacement little man with a big hat moved two large levers, adjusted a neutron throttle control, slid back a large panel and pressed a big red button with an X on it. He then opened a twin-token logic gate, slid thirty-two slide gauges from zero to maximum, pressed seventeen light switches and looked at the large computer monitor.

“Are you sure you want to Delete Alderaan?” The display prompted.

The little man with the big hat clicked the ‘OK’ button.

There was a brief silence.
Followed by a brief hum.
Punctuated by (huff, puff, huff, snort, huff, snort, puff, huff, huff)
And then a short beep.

“Delete of Alderaan failed due to undisclosed error” said the display.

Dark Vader sighed. They couldn’t even get a simple destructor beam working successfully. Bugger!

Food for Thought

White jacket and straight jacket sat opposite each other. It could have been two business executives meeting for coffee. But it wasn't. It was psychopath meeting psychologist.

"Our first meeting" said straight jacket in a low, level voice.

"Yes" answered white jacket in a not-so-dissimilar voice.

"Our getting to know each other time." said straight jacket. "A time to get to know each other a little better".

"Yes" said white jacket. "A time to pick each others brains perhaps".

"Indeed" said straight jacket. "A little consideration of what each has to offer".

White jacket and straight jacket both leant forward and regarded the other.

"If" said white jacket, "If my arms were not tied behind my back, I would be pleased to pick your brain" and he licked his lips.

Straight jacket shifted uneasily and his jacket took on a lopsided look.

White jacket, whose hands were secured safely behind him in the arms of his jacket, licked his lips again.

The Psychopath

The psychopath said nothing. What was there to say? Speech was simply communication and communication implied interchange of thoughts and observations between two individuals of comparative mind state. But who on this planet had a mind state like him? No one, of course. He was unique.

Of course, he did speak sometimes. It was impossible to get by in the world without some level of communications. But it was only ever as-required - intercourse based on necessity. You might snarl at a dog to indicate displeasure but you didn't bark, whine and pant to them about the weather or what was on television last night.

Dogs. That was a rather good analogy he thought. The world was populated by two-legged dogs. Except that dogs had tails. And loyalty. And love. Characteristics sadly missing from the two-legged dogs that squatted about the Eden that should have belonged to him alone.

The psychopath watched. He liked watching. Although his faced showed little if any trace of emotion, internally he would smile to himself as he watched them scurrying about the street with their self-importance and tiny minded obsessions. Stupid, pathetic creatures - entangled in their own pointlessness.

He would watch the antics of the young as they frolicked and sexed each other up. He'd observe the old ones as they shuffled along like broken robots with all their gears seized up. He'd see the thieves and muggers hit their victims, the religious freaks peddling their gods, and the business men parading about in their suits like marionettes from some absurd children's puppet show.

The psychopath killed. Every one of them he killed. It would take time to get them all, of course, but he would manage it. Every one a death. And not just a death - there would be beauty in their deaths - perhaps almost Art. Yes, every one would succumb and die.

Death, the great leveler of inequities, the great despoiler of ego - this was his speciality and his gift. He would get around to all of them, sooner or later, bringing finality to a world in denial.

The psychopath drew his bony skeletal hand across his dark hood and the white of his skull seemed to vanish into some hideous eternal blackness. Time to start work.

The Reaper, grim as always, moved down amongst the two-legged dogs and chose his victim.

An Easter Story

1. Condemned

They say that my son is a criminal. They have locked him up in prison. They have sentenced him to death.

I don’t understand any of it. He did not murder anyone. He did not steal anything. He did not lie, or cheat, or rape. He did not start fires, or assault people.

But tomorrow, they are going to kill him.

They won’t even let me visit him. I tried to see him, but they wouldn’t hear of it. I asked the prison guards but they just laughed. I wanted to tell him that I love him. I wanted to tell him that I know he is innocent, that nothing anyone says can change my love. But they wouldn’t let me.

2. He is Dead

It is done. They have done it. My heart is destroyed.

They killed my son. They hung him up and he died. It was horrible. How could they do it?

He was a kind man. He helped so many people. He never did anyone any harm, but they killed him. They were frightened of him, because he wasn’t afraid of them. Because he knew that the world needed to be loved, not dominated.

They were afraid that their empire of fear might be toppled by one of love.

3. You Can’t Keep a Good Man Down.

You’ll never believe it. I can’t believe it, but I know it is true. What gladness, what happiness, what bliss.

When they came and told me, I thought they were mad. Then I saw and I thought I was mad. But I wasn’t mad - unless you can be mad with happiness.

Jesu, my son, lives!

Lost in an instant

The future full of promise, full of hope – lies bleeding on the floor – a corpse.

The betrayer of our future glints in my hand, the knife that has cut me adrift from all that might have been.

It was so sudden, so quick. I took the knife to the bread. We argued, as we often did. One glare too many, one sharp tongue that drew a sharper sword. One slash that cut more than a slice of home-bake. And the knife now held neither crumb nor butter, but blood.

All that was is gone.
All that could have been is gone.
Lost in an instant.

Happily Ever After

Alien Life.
We always expect alien life to be kind of like us. Rather strange idea, that, because if it is alien then it will likely be nothing like us.

This is a story of alien life.



Lieutenant Adam Tournier reflected on the planet visible in the ship's view screen and sighed.

He had left Earth - illegally - and set out to find a planet where he could spend the rest of his life without the interference or the stupidity of the human species. Considerable research had shown him the most likely location of such a planet, luck had guided him, and he had actually found it - a mere pinprick in the infinite reaches of space.

Earth had grown inhospitable. The hemispheres had fractured to extremes, cold in the north and hot in the south. Populations had blown out, there was war, violence, hunger - it was a disaster. The governments were reluctant to do anything except to build safe havens for themselves on the moon to retire to. It was a nightmare.

Even the space race - hope of mankind - had turned into a calamity of cost cutting and lip-service. They had ships to roam the galaxy it was true, but no way to fund them. The whole thing was about to be wound down to moon-shunting and the occasional ultra-rich joy flight to Mars. His was one of the last flights to be approved - a trip out to Pluto.

Only he didn't stop at Pluto. The ships were self-sufficient in power, water and air so longer journeys were quite feasible. Also, their speed was such that the old absolute of light-speed had long been forgotten. So it was that his routine trip to Pluto (remarkably well stocked with nutri-tabs for a mere ten minute trip) had continued on, and on, and on. Until now.

Lieutenant Adam Tournier reflected on the planet visible in the ship's view screen and sighed.

It was clearly uninhabited - a good thing.

It was clearly capable of supporting life - a necessary thing.

But he had hoped for something that looked a little bit more like earth had in it's hay-day - a blue, green, mountainous ball of potential and not a brown lump of dirt ball floating in space.

Still, the computer had confirmed that it could support him - it had water, it had edible grasses and it had gravity - albeit slightly less than 1/2 of Earth's. And it confirmed that there was no other life living on the planet. So it would do. He decided, with a certain amount of sarcasm, to name it 'EDEN'.

He punched in a few co-ordinates and settled back for the landing. The chair in which he sat reclined slightly and canned music softly filled the cabin. He closed his eyes and relaxed knowing that there was nothing to worry about. The landing would be smooth. Earth would not look for him. He would be just fine.

He awoke from a dreamless sleep to find that the landing had, indeed, been smooth - as silk. All the instruments blinked and hummed their happy way and every muscle in his body felt rejuvenated. It was a strange feeling which he'd not had before. Just the release of stress, he assumed, knowing that Earth and its troubles was far behind him.

He undid the regulation seatbelt and stepped out of the chair. The gravity seemed surprisingly appropriate - he punched in a sequence to the computer and it read back the gravitational pull. 1G. He scratched his head - it had been 1/2 G before - had the computers got it wrong? He didn't see how. He hoped they hadn't made any other mistakes - such as reporting the planet's atmosphere as oxygen when in reality it was methane. A quick tap at the keyboard reassured him. Oxygen, nitrogen - all the required gasses in exactly the right combination for the human respiratory system. The atmosphere was almost exactly the same as Earth - at least, the same as Earth's was before it was polluted by man's insidious quest for change.

At the end of the day (which the computer now had altered to 24x60x60 seconds) the only real test was to open the door and try it. He had nothing to lose - the chances of finding another planet were slim and he wasn't going back to Earth again. He'd either die here or in space. No, this was it. He flicked a switch on the wall and a panel in the spacecraft slid aside. Lieutenant Adam Tournier, Earthling, emerged from his shiny cocoon, wearing a t-shirt and shorts. There was no point in wearing protective clothes - if he was going to die, then he was going to die comfortably.

He didn't die.

He just stared.

And he wondered.

Had he somehow missed the planet and landing on some other? No, there were no others within at least 5 weeks travel. This had to be the same planet. It just had to be.

The brown dirt ball floating in space, now that he had landed on it, appeared to have undergone a radical change. Instead of the brown mud that had been shown in the computer viewer, there was sand - smooth, golden sand. Almost without thinking, he sat down and took off his shoes and wriggled his feet in it. It was soft and warm and although he'd never actually even seen sand other let alone wriggled his feet in it, he felt like he was returning home to some sort of childhood memory.

But it wasn't just a desert full of sand. There was a lake - or maybe an ocean - which lapped gently a few hundred metres away. It was blue and he could smell the salt in it. It invited him and he accepted, stripping off his t-shirt and shorts and underclothes and plunged himself into liquid delight. That evening, he sat on the spaceship's doorway, marveling at the golden sand and ocean blue that seemed to go on forever, watching the sun descend in the sky in all of its red radiance, until he slumped against the hatch, fast asleep.

The next day he got the surprise of his life! He had looked out on his Eden and nearly collapsed! He rubbed his eyes and looked, then rubbed them again. He must be hallucinating he thought. But there they were : trees! Large green trees shading parts of the beach where before there had only been sand. It was impossible - yet there they were, and had clearly been for years. True, he had never seen trees as such except in the special museums back on Earth, but he'd often spent time there as a boy, trying to imagine a world filled with trees. And here he was, in such a world. Suddenly, filled with trees.

That day he spent walking amongst them, delighting in the leaves that would sometimes come fluttering down, sitting propped up against their huge trunks, even climbing them and looking for miles across the trees, oceans and sands. In the evening he reclined a-top one of the smaller trees, the perfume of its leaves sending him gently into sleep.

The next morning he awoke suddenly with his heart banging. He had heard something. Something familiar that he'd heard only in recordings. He strained his ears and began to think that perhaps it had just been dream. But then he heard it again - and again. Soon, the sound was all around him and his heart raced with excitement. He looked now, straining his eyes as he searched each tree until he finally saw it. A bird. No, not a bird - a whole collection of birds, in every colour and every shape he could imagine. The trees were alive with birds and birdsong.

He climbed down from his perch lest he should fall down from sheer amazement, and sat at the foot of the tree, looking up at the creatures. And then one flew down a few feet away from him, ruffled its feathers, opened its beak and sung. He could hardly believe it - a bird. A real live bird with colours and voice and feathers. He could have reached out and touched it but didn't for fear that it might fly away. Yet, somehow he know it would not. So he held out his hand gingerly, and the bird cocked its head to one side, then hopped onto his hand. It looked its beady eye at him, whistled its tune, then hopped off and flew away.

Lieutenant Adam Tournier made his way back to the beach and lay back on the sand as naked of stress and frustration as he was of clothes. He didn't know why the planet which had presented in space as a brown dirt ball now was revealed as an Eden. He didn't care. He didn't know why there were trees one day when there were not the previous. He didn't care. He didn't know why today there were birds when yesterday all was quiet. He didn't care.

This truly was a garden of Eden and was his and his alone to enjoy. No one would ever destroy this one.

He closed his eyes and dreamt dreams as pleasant as the waking from them - from one paradise of the mind to another paradise that was his world.

He explored much in the first few weeks. He travelled by foot, partly because there was no other way but also because travel in such a place was sheer delight in itself. He explored mountains and valleys, streams and waterfalls - and every possible delight he could imagine was present on this wonderful world. If he walked a mile then it felt like only a few feet. If he climbed a mountain then it felt only like a hillside. Nothing seemed beyond him, everything was simply pleasure.

One day, while exploring a cliff face, he missed his footing and slipped. As he fell, he thought how wonderful to die in such an Eden. Even death here would be beautiful. But he didn't die. The 1G gravity that should have plunged him into the eternity of night seemed almost to relent at the last minute, and he fell to ground with just the slightest bump. It was impossible - yet perhaps he should have expected it. This was a place of life, not of death.

He did not fell trees to build a house, but returned when he would to the ship. Mostly he would sleep uncovered under the stars. No rug or protection was needed from the elements for the elements themselves were protection. If it rained, it did so like honey. There was no displeasure in being wet, nor in being dry. He felt no fear from the animals that now roamed about him. While there were very large beasts and plenty of what he, in his childhood in the museums, had learnt to be spiders, none caused him any harm. The bigger beasts would muzzle up to him and he would stroke them. Their great teeth would playfully pull at him, but never even break the skin. And when the spiders did chance to crawl across him, he was not frightened or disgusted, and their eight furry legs left only tiny sensations not unlike kisses.

As he lay, in the arms of pure bliss, in his Eden, Adam was at peace.

Yet peace never lasts.

For all of the beauty and the comfort, for all of the delight that Adam found in the animals of his Eden, he actually felt a yearning - a loss almost - for something that he'd never had, never known.

On Earth, Adam had had few friends. Mostly these were from the Space Academy. Some were male, some were female. They were good friends as far as friends go, but he had never had a real companion. Adam was always much of a loner and the absence of a wife or a lover had never really been felt. Others had such things of course, but Earth held no-one for whom he could hold any such feelings. Earth was full of despoilers - he knew of no-one else who felt like him and subsequently, felt no real feelings for anyone else. He left them all behind in the oblivion of a dark past and did not regret his decision to do so alone.

But yet, here in Adam's Eden, for the first time in his life, he actually realized that something was missing. Someone was missing.

In such a world, maudlin thoughts were easily banished by the beautiful colours, the aroma of pure nature and delight of the twinkling of streams and the melody of birdsong.

Banished but not destroyed.

Time and time again, he felt the ache of heart that he had never before experienced, and a yearning for 'her'. What 'her' in particular, he could not say - certainly, none of the women he had ever met on Earth. Perhaps it was just that living in paradise, it seemed natural to share it with that 'true-love' of which the songs and videos so often carol, but which he had never, ever, encountered.

And then, one day, he did.

He was bathing in one of the springs. The water was always cool and refreshing yet never cold. It was soft like honey, but clear like glass. And if he let himself sink, he would descend effortlessly to the bottom regardless of the depth, only with equal effortlessness, to re-ascend to the top again. There was no fear of drowning - it was not possible. The first time it had happened, he had panicked and started gasping for air but taking in only water. To his astonishment, he had not drowned - the water sustained him as if in some sort of dream. Through what wondrous properties he could not guess, the water seemed to be sufficiently rich in oxygen that he could just as easily breathe it as normal air.

On this occasion, he had just emerged from his bathing when he saw her. She was standing under a large and especially magnificent willow tree.

She was tall with long red hair which hung about her almost to her waist. Like he, she was naked, but in this place there was no shame or fear - to be naked was just a natural state. He stared at her as though fixed in a trance - and then, recovering, called out to her. She smiled, but did not move.

He made his way over the golden sand to her, and with every step her beauty and her purity was revealed more to him. Her eyes were the blue of the water, her hair the colour of the sunset. Her skin was the pale gold of the sand. As he reached her, she held out her hands for him to take and he did so. She looked into his eyes with the love that may be found only in Eden and he looked back into hers with that same love. They sat, together, under the tree, and he wanted to ask her where she had come from, who was she, to tell her that she was beautiful, that he loved her, that he was hers and she was his. But he didn't know where to start.

"I am Eve" she said simply. And in that, was carried the answers to all of his questions.

"I am Adam" he said - realizing perhaps for the first time the significance of being Adam in such an Eden.

"I know" she said and smiled and in her smile there were a million butterflies, the songs of all the birds and the gentle lapping of every wave on every beach.

"But, where did you come from?...." he began.

"I am" she said simply and waved her hand about her.

He did not understand what she meant. He did not need to understand what she meant. They were there for each other and they did - quite literally - live happily ever after.

Fung Glui Cried

Fung Glui had the sort of face that looked depressed. Even when he was happy, he had the countenance of one who was thinking that it was all going to go down the drain at any minute.

So when it was announced that the end of the world was coming, no one was surprised to see Fung Glui looking miserable. In fact, amongst the angst and distress that the forthcoming total destruction was bringing ahead of the actual event, it was quite easy to lose him in the crowd.

But Fung Glui was more than miserable. He was more than depressed. Fung Glui felt that his entire being was already dead. And he had good reason to feel that way.

He looked about the world around him and saw his family - moaning and wailing. "It's the end of us all" they cried. "We're all going to be killed" they sobbed. He couldn't really blame them, but ...

When he went out into the street, he saw a local shop keeper smashing jars of pickles on the floor. "All going to be destroyed" the man kept repeating, "All going to be destroyed. My business that I worked so hard to build" - smash a jar - "totally wiped out" - smash a jar - "My life savings gone" - smash a jar - "it's the end of my world". Fung Glui walked on past the man, keeping his distance. He couldn't really blame the man, but ...

A little further on a couple of young people were drinking and obviously out of control. "Fun before the end of the planet" they sang. They seemed to have lost their despair in their intoxication but Fung Glui could see the sadness that remained soberly in their eyes. He couldn't really blame then, but ...

Two very old men were sitting on the side of the road. They were talking of the past; of their lives; of their childhood. "I did so many things and saw so many things" one said to the other, "but now it's all going to be lost. My memories will die with the world" he said. "Mine too" said the other. "It's a calamity - it's terrible" and they both shook their heads. "It's the end of the world" they said together and put their heads in their hands. Fung Glui bowed at them with respect as he passed. He couldn't really blame them, but ...

A mother and father were cradling their children. The mother was sobbing, the children were crying and the father was ashen faced. "They'll never see the mountains. They'll never swim in our beautiful lakes" wept the mother. "They could have grown up to create beautiful works or art or wonderful machines" said the father, his voice breaking. He rocked his child in his arms and the mother clung to hers tightly as if to protect them from the unstoppable destruction. Fung Glui felt his eyes moisten. He couldn't really blame them, but ...

There was a hill where Fung Glui liked to sit. He thought he'd sit there now - it would be his last chance. He climbed the grassy slope to the top and sat down on the apex. From here, he could look down into the town at the villages weeping and crying, getting drunk, fighting and generally lamenting the loss of their village; their world; their lives.

But he didn't look down on them. He looked instead upwards. Up there, in the sky, was where the end would come - as certainly as this morning had come, as certainly as tomorrow morning would not. He thought of the villagers as he looked up - no, he couldn't really blame them, but ... they were so insular, so self-oriented. True, it was the end of their business. It was the end of their village. It was the end of their lives, of their children's lives. True, it was the end of their culture, of their history and of their world.

But it was not just their world.

For 'end of the world' was not the correct words - this was not what was going to happen. It was the end of the universe.

And, for the end of the universe, Fung Glui cried.

I hear the wind ...

I hear the wind in the dead of night, and on it a million voices ride,
A world is crying out for help; vainly crying out for help,
But will it be denied?

I hear the babies at the milk-less breast; I hear them barely breathing.
I hear their mothers frantic wailing, “Help my child” I hear them wailing,
And then I hear them grieving.

I hear the suffering of the sick; I hear their tired cough,
I hear their groaning, exhausted moaning,
That they’ve finally had enough.

I hear the shouts of angry families, torn by abuse,
I hear the violence never ending, the pitch of voices, all ascending,
And, after, the excuse.

I hear the echo on the streets, of footsteps through the night,
I hear the homeless search for shelter, anywhere offering secure shelter,
Who will ease their plight?

I hear the wind in the early morn, bringing sounds of war,
A world is crying out for peace, vainly crying out for peace,
With a voice we just ignore.

I hear the injured soldiers scream; I hear them as they die,
I hear their families broken hearts, shattered lives, and funeral carts,
I hear them as they cry,

I hear the rumble of explosions, of terrorist attack,
I hear the piercing shriek of sirens, the futile warning of the sirens,
My resolve begins to crack.

I hear the wind that rolls the waves and whispers in the trees,
The world is calling out for care; vainly calling out for care,
But, the consumer disagrees.

I hear the cracking of the earth, drying in the sun,
I hear the plaintive cries of sheep, as they lay them down to sleep,
The lullaby of the gun.

I hear the protestations of a planet under stress,
The mournful cries of hunted whales, of ducks, of rabbits, and of snails,
The painful end to human pest.

I hear the heartbeat of the planet, no longer strong and sure,
I hear the earth’s lamentations, victim of our own temptations,
Exploited to the core.

Oh, the wind that turns the sails of the windmills of our souls,
Hear it call and cry in earnest, screaming whispers in deadly earnest,
Silenced by opinion polls.

Harken to the praises of the foolish, for their paper gods,
Their frenzied babble of devotion, to plastic life and cheap emotion,
And wisdom built on winks and nods.

I hear the lost who call for succor, unsure where to turn,
Who blindly stumble through confusion, in the darkness of illusion,
Seeking truth they can't discern.

I hear the wind in the dead of night, and on it a million voices..... fail.
Each hope and prayer and expectation, mangled for media mastication,
Just Love 'em or hate 'em, 'till the news is stale.

Herod and the Dance

"Dance for me" asked Herod.

But the answer was always the same. No.

He'd asked many times - pleaded even, but always, everytime, without fail, the answer was the same. No.

He almost didn't ask again. Almost.

But he did ask just once again and this time the answer was YES. He could hardly believe his ears. The answer was YES. Finally, he was going to get to see the dance. He almost felt faint - the excitement, the anticipation - it was so great that he almost couldn't contain himself.

'Yes', the answer was 'Yes'!

He was sitting with his legs drawn up to his chest like a child. His eyes were sparkling like a teenager. His breathing was fast and furious and his pulse raced. It was going to happen - it was actually going to happen. And it was going to happen now.....

Herod felt his adrenalin literally spurting round his brain.

The lights went out. He drooled slightly.

The music started. He dribbled.

The scent of the dancer tingled in his nostrils.

And then the lights shone out and the dance began.

An enormous giant of a man gyrated before him, holding a large salmi in his hands. It was happening.

The dance of the salami.

Australia Day - Advance Australia Fair

Australia Day is coming (26th January) so I felt an update to the National Anthem was called for - one that encapsulated Australia as it is now rather than how it used to be.

Perhaps you'll hum along.....


Australians call out with one voice,
To all across the sea,
We value race and culture and
Rule with democracy.

   Black or white, we'll stand as one,
   So to the world we'll swear,
   To tolerate our Aussie mate,
   Advance Australia fair!

In human lives we shall not trade,
Nor human rights neglect,
We're all a part of this one world,
This globe we must protect,

   With terrorists we shall not deal,
   Nor give in to despair,
   Our calls for peace, will never cease,
   Advance Australia fair!

We've Muslims, Jews and Christians too,
Where all may choose their path,
Where elderly may walk the streets,
And little children laugh,

   Where spirits rise and friendships grow,
   Where people ever care,
   Where hate and fear are nowhere near,
   Advance Australia fair!

In joyful strains then let us sing,
"Advance Australia fair!"