The ranch on Naboo nestled itself beneath the soothing evening sky. Ducks waddled to and fro from the salad bar and through the green pastures littered only by the pond. A gentle breeze swept across the flat lands and through the open windows of the ranch house, letting a refreshing chill wash away the heat of the day.
Zechs strode down the silky smooth stairs towards his private retreat, snacking on a piece of an imported Roche pie. The fork picked the crumbs and landed them into the salivating orifice that was Zechs’s mouth. The jaws crunched down on the crisp wafers tucked inside the fruity mix wrapped in a crisp crust with just the right amount of sugar dusted on it to give it a little zing.
He slipped into his retreat as the door closed behind him. Sealed as normal to make sure his “executive time” was undisturbed. Weapons wouldn’t clean themselves nor his figures dance across a desk on their own. Though in a galaxy with droids, he was surprised no one had done that yet. In fact, it was weird. But it was besides the point of pointlessness.
Clutter had become a slight problem down in his retreat. It was a private little vault where all his toys could be kept out of harms way. Armor had overrun its racks. Weapons were in crates and their shelves. A battleaxe had fallen onto the floor with its blade ready to kiss. This and that he thought might come in handy one day but probably not littered his workbench. It really needed cleaning. Then there was the other stuff that was just there for it had no where else to be.
Thrion was probably upstairs, making the bed. There was always more cleaning to do. More organizing. More stuff. But not in here. Here, it could be a little messy without remorse. This was his room. A room to just be and not worry about formalities, the right thing, or what day of the week it was. This was the chill room with more means of destruction then in any God of Destruction’s backpack.
Zechs strolled about. Doing his things. A few touch ups from his last visit needed attending first and foremost. The little chamber he had bought some time ago had been leaned against a wall. It needed a better home.
He popped the lid opened and questioned the wisdom of not giving the occupant an emergency escape button or latch or whistle. Zechs pulled out the raggy contents and packing supplies and threw them onto the bench with his spare grenades. They really needed to go into a locked crate. He didn’t need Deeth to come downstairs and think one of the concussion grenades was a flashlight.
Feeling hungers hug, Zechs went back towards his desk. He stepped up and over the axe to lick the plate clean. Roche was worth three Naboos when it came to cooking. It wasn’t surprising since the verpine lived on so many asteroids. They needed good cooking or at least their visitors did. He wasn’t sure what verpine ate. Probably each other at some point. Maybe the visitors. He wasn’t sure he had ever met a verpine before. They always seemed a little buggy.
Time trickled by as Zechs shuffled his figures around, taking a break from serious things. The jedi had gone on an adventure to free his blue lover from his captors on some unnamed planet. A dragon. A drunken master. The adventure had it all except good dialogue. Zechs wasn’t so good with that. It could be said he didn’t have a way with words and silence was his forte. Though he had loosened up some over the years. He had had some bad influences. Mostly the corporate kind.
He got up ready to roll out into the cosmos once more. There was just that chamber to close, rolling racks to push back into their corners, and lights to turn out.
Zechs tripped over the axe. His hand slipped off the pie plate, failing to brace him against his tumbled. He stumbled forward and bumped into the cart covered in rags and grenades. They scattered across the floor in magical pings. He tumbled back and collapsed. Collapsed right into the chamber that’s lid at that precise moment decided to have a sense of humor and closed itself.
The chamber burped and activated.
Zechs’s face turned to the stupidest shocked face ever not seen by anyone. A face that would be his for as long as the cryogenic chamber remained active and tucked inside his private getaway hidden on his duck ranch.
Who knows? Maybe the galaxy would be a peaceful piece of pie in a thousand years. The future awaited. (Or not. You could never know with anything in a galaxies that were so far away.)
The power base of the newly formed Galactic Alliance can be found here, struggling to oppose the tyrannical Empire.
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