Darth Vader: My omniscient perspective from the corner of the box tells me there is a lot of unsavoury business going on here. Grand Moff Tarkin seems more interested in that Storm Trooper than the fact that I am lurking creepily behind him. This is irksome.
And I sense droids in the room next door. They might have AI consciousness, but they certainly lack intelligence. To think that people used to worry about the genius robots of the future wiping out humanity. Those two bolt brains aren’t fit to weld their own shoes up.
Wait! I sense a disturbance in the staff lounge! Which workers took off their helmets? How dare they disobey HEALTH AND SAFETY! Do they not understand the consequences of improper cranial protection? Are those even steel toed boots they’re wearing? BAH. Now I have to hold a safety meeting and review procedure and protocol. What a waste of time. I could teach them a lesson remotely, but I think I’d prefer to hold them up as examples. Besides it looks like Han is about to teach them a lesson in lasers. Serves them right. I should probably buzz maintenance and let them know their cleanup services will be imminently required.
LUKE! LEIA! A WALKING 70s SHAG CARPET? I am so tired of family dropping by without notice. What if I was at the market buying cilantro? Like they assume I don’t have anything better to do but hang out 24/7 at the Death Star. Drop me a text at least. “Hey, looks like we’re going to be in your neck of the woods. Mind if we drop off this badly stained brown rug in your trash compactor?”
Probably all the fault of that Obi-Wan, always wandering around touching other people’s stuff. As if he even knows what those levers and buttons do. There’s a reason I only hire people with Death Star Level A Certification.
Wait. A. Second. What is that Imperial Trooper up to with the superlaser and why is that Protocol Droid standing around like he’s got his finger in a recharging station? Ahhh. A TIE Advanced starfighter. I would let out the sector’s largest sigh if it didn’t just sound like a broken coffee grinder crying out for help.
Perhaps what bothers me most is that without any kind of building envelope we are all going to die a horrible death. Or is it just invisible because I am viewing it in an all-powerful vision state? Sometimes it’s difficult being the guy with the big plan, a captain of industry. I wish people could understand this. It’s a lot of responsibility. All these details. Everyone seems to assume I must have a lot of really competent project managers on staff. Nope. Architects? You’re looking at him, bub. Engineers? All floating around in space because of their shocking incompetence. Someone’s got to pick up the slack. It’s like they think I enjoy the sound of my own voice. Seriously? Who wants to be constantly reminded that they’re basically one breath from a dead battery? I mean, I know I sound totally cool and in control, but we all have moments of doubt. If only they could see me as I wander around in the middle of the night. Watching them sleep. Looking down on whatever world we’re hovering around. Pondering how 24 different minifigures from Episodes IV and VI could inhabit the same physical plane of reality. Considering how from this perspective the Death Star seems to be about 16” by 16.5” and consists of just over 3800 pieces. It’s pretty sweet. No wonder everyone loves my ride.
I could use a coffee. Maybe I’ll call Captain Red Beard. He understands me. It’s hard being the boss of it all.
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