"I claim this land in the name of Azguardia and whatever loser-country we may be affiliated with!"

"What are you talking about? You can't just claim this land for Azguardia-"

"Yeah, you fool! Claim it for ourselves! Our own planet! think of the glory!"

"No, I mean there are already people here-"

"Good, the Coalition has some stringent squatters laws that should help make some money of them."

"I like pie."

It was a scene common to every planet across the galaxy. Brave explorers and diplomats seeking out peoples they had never encountered before, to extend the olive branch of friendship and rally the natives to a common and heroic cause. And the people, bold representatives of their race, would help bring the travlers home safely, so that others might hear of their enlightenment.

It wasn't very common here.

What was common around here was four rather loud-mouthed scientists/substitute explorers fighting over a flag (and the last slice of pie) and occasionaly bumping into their Volt-wagner class inter-planetary transport ship.

Another common thing was gawping crowds. Nothing draws attraction like a bunch of aliens switching from claiming your land and arguing over who's had too much pie.

Yes, TARGET had comissioned... commishioned... comie... sent a team of four explorers to Cerea, but when they didn't return, they decided it wasn't worth risking any more lives to try and find out what happened. So instead they voted wether Azguards' four chief idiots counted as dead or alive, and then sent them on their way.

The people of Cerea were still oblivious to most of that. The Azguads were busy bickering. Let's watch.

"Give me that flag!" shouted Shlump, trying to yank it from Frelgrin's hands. Rolling around on the ground nearby was Yiffin and Freewater. Yiffin had foolishly tried to take the last slice of pie, dangerous in Freewater's presence.

Nearby, the knot of Cereans who had come out of their small town to watch the proceedings closed in. The crashed ship smoked badly, but that could be fixed later. The crowd ducked as the flag went spinning through the air past their cone-like heads. Finally, Frelgrin had put an end to the bickering, and after slappin Yiffin on the back of the head for trying to strangle Freewater, was able to compose the four of them into what appeared - to the casual observer - to be a diplomatic procession.

"Sirs and madames." declared Yiffin in a loud, authorative, and superior voice, along with hand signales. "WE COME FROM FAR AWAY AZGUARD TO MEET YOUR LEADER. PLEASE TAKE US TO HIM." Feeling confident he had made his meaning clear to this simple savages, he stood jauntily.

"Uh, he's right over there, eh?"

"Oh... You speak basic... all right then. Take us to him."

So the little knot went forth, passing several Maple trees, and guided the explorers to their town. It was a town of shiny, futuristic towery things. There was a lot of trees, for a town, and a store at the corner was selling what appeared to be beaver-tail-shaped pastries, liberally spread with maple syrup. The four Azguards huddled together at the back, scared stiff at what horrible prospects might lay ahead.

They needn't have worried. The Ceranians have a sacred temple in the middle of every city, town or village that was the center of their community. Little more then a disc of ice with seats at either side and a pair of nets, one on each opposing edge. The locals appeared to enjoy some sort of blood-sport here, with large Ceranians in woolly sweaters, skates, and wielding sticks bent at the end, charged at each other, while maneuavering a small, black disc around the "field". it was a most mysterious ritual, indeed.

Their leader seemed to be in the middle of it. His sweater was white, striped with black, and he seemed least protected, without even a stick to defend himself. Perhaps some arcane practice to prove his right to lead?

The leader came to speak to them.

"I see you have come to Cerea. That must have taken some time. But I hope you do not mind if I catch a play before I hear you out - it isn't urgent, is it? - good, in that case, come this way, eh?"

Perplexed, they moved to the edge of the ice, sat down with him, and watched while they brought out scenery and placed it upon the ice. Finally, two men on skates heaved a banner above the scene.

It said West-side Star Destroyer.

"What's going on?" Whispered Yiffin.

"Shush!" hissed Frelgrin, "the play's starting!"

And so it did.

The scene lifted on a space-station above the planet Tholotia. This was before the war, and evident was two groups of people.

A small boy, dressed in a Coalition uniform, is walking alone. Suddenly, two bigger boys, wearing Imperial uniforms, appear on the scene. They laugh, and hurl bits of fruit at him that they take from a nearby stand. The boy is chased off the set by them, only to reapear on the other side, this time with two bigger still boys, also in Coalition uniforms.

These bigger boys chase the Imps, until they run straight into two more Imps. Now outnumbered, the Coals and the Imps fight. More boys dressed from each side join the fray, until one shouts "Look out! a Guard's coming!"

The guard arrives, but he sees nothing suscpiscious. On the left, a group of youths dressed in Imperial uniforms. On the right, a roughly equal group dressed as Coalition members. They were both snapping, rather rythmically.

"Now, I don't want any troube from you guys, all right? It's a small space station and the last thing we need is Imps and Coals at each other, Ok? If I see any of you crossing the line, you're all getting the boot? Got it?"

He moves on.

The scene fades.

It raises on the Imperials standing in a group, near a fence. One of them, the leader (Jerico), speaks up.

"These Coals, they think they can go wherever they want. They think they're so tough, but we could show them a thing or two, right boys?"

There is a chorus of agreement. One boy, younger then most, steps forwards.

"Then why don't we? Lets' get 'em to rumble, and then we'd show these upstarts whos' the boss."

"Hey" interruped Jerico "These Coals, they're not like the Reps or the Rebels, they fight old-school style, they might go to Vibros, or even blasters."

"But we're not scared"

"I know that, but we still want to have the odds in our favour, don't we?" He smiled. "Why don't we get old Demoes on our side? He and I started this gang, and no one could fight better then Demoes."

"But he quit the gang, Jerico" says one of the taller boys "Who's to say he would want to help us?"

"Oh he will, once an Imperial, always an Imperial, right boys?"

"Right!" They chorused back.

Then they broke into song.

"When you're an Imp
you're an Imp all the way
Though your clothes are from Pimps
and your guns don't shoot straight."

"When you're an Imp
Let them do what they can
You got armies and warfleets
Your an Imperial Man."

"You're never alone
You're never disconnected
Your helmet phone
will be on just as excpected
And in white you are protected"

"Then the universe is yours
With a capital I
No one can take it
till the day we all die."

"When you're an Imp
You stay
an Imp!"

The song ends. Jerico speaks to them again.

"Trust me, with Demoes on our side, we'll cream those Coals and send 'em packing. Make sure you're at the Mess Hall by ten tonight!"

The song begins again

"When you're an Imp
You're the lord of the town
No more alien scum
while we're still around."

"When you're an Imp
You're the best @#%$ thing
Every soldier a lord
Every lord is a king."

The song pauses abruptly, for someone to add "But the Emperor is still the boss, or else you're shot."

"The Imps are prepared
Our trigger finger's itchin'
The Coals will steer clear
'Cause alien freaks are chickens!"

The backdrop changes, suddenly they are parading down the center of the Space station's hall.

"Here come the Imps
like a Tie-fighter's wail
Someone get in a way
They're going to hell
Here come the Imps
little world step aside
our ships will warm up
and waste your lousy hide!"

Jerico is now behind a cantina. There, a tall, muscular youth by the name of Demoes is stacking drinks.

"Come on Demoes, we need you. We can't take on the Coals alone."

"You sure about that? Listen, yer my best budy and all, but I got out of the Imps a long time ago. Now I stack drinks and like it, ok?"

"Listen, this is important-"

"Everything's important to you."

"-The coals fight hard. Badly, but hard. If we don't stop 'em now-"

"You might have to work for a living?"

"Exactly! And us Imps, we don't swing that way."

_____________________________________________________________________

I have, temporarily, stopped describing the play. Why? Because I can. Also, Freewater would like a hot-dog. He is happily wandering away, towards the food section, only to hear something he doesn't like to hear. Plotting.

"The President is watching the performance, and with no guards? This is ideal! I say we scrag him the instant he moves out of his chair!"

"Are you insane? We'd be seen! We have our orders, the Coalition representatives must be dealt with too, we don't want word getting out of our plot to take over Cerea, and place the Duke of Quebec in charge."

"Excuse me, can I have a ham-sandwich?"

The two plotters froze. Then relaxed. It was the idiot, they were safe."

_____________________________________________________________________

The play had progressed. Eama, the Calamarian girl and her brother Ura, leader of the Coals, both intend to show up to the dance as well. There are other minor characters, but if you want to know about them, watch the damn movie.

Sitting in the Audiance, watching the play, but not exactly enjoying it, was Yoimp. Yoimp was a Furen, but perfectly disguised as a Cereian... No one would ever guess that this Innocent-looking Cereian was really an evil spy, who planned to steal the scripts of the play and thereof (yet to be determained HOW) forever ruin the lives of all Cereians... FOREVER. So long as he pretended he was very small... And his fake cone-head didn't give him away... and he concealed his low-pitched voice... and he didnt *accidentally* eat any Cereians... His disguise was perfect, and he could continue on his plans successfully.

Yoimp watched the background of the play change... that was his cue... right? He never did get that part straight. How was he supposed to get the play from the Cereians anyway? No matter, he would think of a way.

Yoimp growled at the music, he didnt like it. But wait, he was supposed to be a Cereian... Did they really like that music? Of course they did... they were, after all, primatic idio- i mean... different.

So, to disguise his dislike of the music, Yoimp Laughed. Wait... no one else was laughing... wasn't this supposed to be funny?

Argh!!! In Frustration, Yoimp stormed out of the room... wait... how would he steal the play if he was gone?

Then it hit him! *BONK*... To get the play, he would need a SCRIPT! and a SCRIPT would be BACKSTAGE! Wasn't he just the smartest little Furen ever? Well, the DUIofF(Direct Underground Intellagence of Furens) wouldent have picked him if he wasn't.

So... to get backstage he would have to go back... behind the stage! wouldent he? Yep :) he was so smart!

He slowly sneaked down the left isle of the play house. He encountered a door.. He turned arounf and put his basck to the door like a good spy. He glanced to his Right... Wall... He glanced to his left... People. He went through the door.

He walked down an unfinished hallway with door all along it. He read the signs as he went by. " Props" ... no ... "Star Dressing room" ... no .... "Storage" ... no .... "Office" ... no ... "PLACE WITH SCRIPTS" ,,, no ...

Wait, what was that? Yes! That was what he wanted! a SCRIPT! HE enterred the room and looked around. What were all these papers?!

There were two distinct groups at the Mess Hall dance, the human Imps on one side, and the mostly Mon Cal Coals on the other side. They were sticking to their own kind, and one poor-looking Tholotian organizer was trying to convince the two groups to mix up a bit more.

Demoes was there, and suddenly, as he went to get a drink, he almost tripped on a dropped paper cup, and bumped lightly into Eama.

"Oh, I'm sorry-"

The background noise died, a spotlight fell on the pair... and Freewater, who had just got back from getting his snack, went to sit down, knew some soppy scene was about to begin.

Frelgrin leanded over to him and whispered "Where were you? We were concerned."

"I was hungry" he responded, then paused in thought "What's it mean to be dealt with? And when does that happen?"

"Huh?"

"Only I heard two guys outside talking about shooting the prime-rib of Canadia, and installing the dope of queer-bex."

Frelgrin slowly decoded idiot-speak, something he was skilled at, and translated.

"They intend to shoot the prime-minsiter of Cerea and installing the Duke of Quebec?"

"That's the ticket."

Frelgrin heaved a huge sigh. Just frackin' great, he was enjoying the play, too.

"Go get Yiffin and Shlump, and meet me at the snacks-counter."

"Ok."

__________________________________________________________________

Unbenknownst to most, there were two plots going on at the same time. One was the Nationalist Republicans Affiliction (NRA), that intended to shoot the Prime Minister at the same time of the climatic moment of the play, where the sound would be muffled.

The other was a lone Furen, sent to capture the script, which Furen High Command had mistaken for a military document.

The two plots ovveran one another at one crucial point - the script. The NRA's assassin was hiding out in the script room until the moment was right. Upon seeing the Furen, all he could do was gawp, and perhaps swear once or twice.

___________________________________________________________________

Shlump, Frelgrin, Freewater, and Yiffin had met togethe at the snack counter. Another song was starting, after Coals and Imps seaperated the love-at-first-sight pair. The two groups were to hold a council-of-war at Doc's Cantina in a couple hours, and in the mean-time Eama was berated for talking to "one of them". Now the Coals were on their housing-unit's rooftop, and split into two groups, men and women, arguing over the benefits of living on Tholotia.

Let's listen.

(Women)

Mon Calamari
My heart's devotion
Let it sink back in its' ocean
Always the wind is blowing
Always the population growing
And our credits owing
And the water steaming
And us women weaving

I like to be in Tholotia
Okay by me in Tholotia
Everything's free in Tholotia

(men)

For a small fee in Tholotia

(Women)

Not fighting here is nice

(men)

Yet Imps outnumber us here twice

(women)

I'll have my own R2-D3

(Men)

If only all our taxes were free

(women)

Skyscrapers bloom in Tholotia

(men)

Big speeders zoom in Tholotia

(women)

Technology boom in Tholotia

(men)

Ten to a room in Tholotia

(women)

Lots of defence ships in space

(men)

And getting in jail for our race

(women)

I'll get a terrace appartment

(men)

better get rid of your accent

(women)

Life can be bright in Tholotia

(men)

If you can fight for Tholotia

(women)

Life can be great in Tholotia

(men)

Except for our race in Tholotia

(women)

Here we are free and we'll see all.

(men)

So long as are ships are on call.

(women)

You forget we're at Tholotia!

(men)

Another bad thing about Tholotia!

____________________________________________________________________

"That's pretty good." said Yiffin.

"Hello? Evil plot?" Frelgrin said "Let's get going."

For a few moments Yoimp scratched his head and stared blankly at the peices of paper around him. Just for safety measure, he took one, folded it up until it was higher than it was wide, and put it in his pocket. What on earth were these things? Then he realized something, scripts were paper!!!! So could these be the scripts? He picked up another one and looked at it.

Interesting, there seemed to be 6 strange, bold symbols an the top. The first one was Curvey, like a snake. the second one was the left half of a circle. Then the next one a line upward with a horizantal line crossing it near the top. THen- Wait! Were these LETTERS?! YES! He had found it! he found the script!

As he turned to walk out, he noticed a strange someone in the corner. Furen stared at him blankly, like a cow looks at an oncoming train. The said,

"duh..... who are you?" He seemed to have trouble forming the words, this made him sound like a total idiot... a very accurate portrayal.

The assassin then viciously responded, "Who do you think i am?! fool!"

Uh... He thought that he was a....... a........ he had absalutely no clue. Then he remembered something that Furen High Command had told him, You must capture the Military document, clevery disguised as a script, and return, AT ALL COSTS. Interesting enough, this venture had been absalutely free so far. But the begining of the message had told him that it was a MILITARY uh.... thingy.

"You! You are a...... milAtary oficer" He said, haveing problems with the last two words. He put the emPHAsis on the wrong sylAble, but that didnt mattter... did it?

"and you gunna kill me? den i kill you!"

Simple Furenian logic. Killing was, after all, what they were best at.

The assassin and the Furen were wrestling on the ground, clawing and stabbing at each other. Scripts, torn into different forms of dissarray, flew around the room. Unusually, the actors in the next room didn't here, because at the same time a fight scene was going on on stage, so it was all pretty noisy. Let us listen in.

___________________________________________________________________

What did you miss? Well, the Imps and the Coals are going to fight, and Eama convinced Demoes to try and stop them. Unfortunately, as he arrives, Jerico and Ura are squaring off against each other with vibro-knives. Demoes tries to keep them apart, but Ura lands a knife into Jerico.

In his rage, Demoes stabbed Ura, and Jerico and Ura both die, right there in the middle of the fight. In fear, the two gangs break apart and run.

The Imps gather together in a nearby ware-house. Hype, the new leader shouts at them to keep calm.

"We can't let no one know what went down, ok? You think we'll get a fair trial in this city?-"

"But they'll find out!" shrieked one of the younger Imps, "They always do!-"

"Hey!" shouted Hype "What have I told you about actin' like that? Play it cool..."

Here comes another song. Duck and cover.

(Imp)

I wanna get even!

(Hype)

Get cool...

(Imp)

I wanna bust!

(Hype)

Bust cool...

(Imp)

I wanna go!

(Hype)

Go cool!

Imp, Imp! crazy Imp-
Get cool, Imps!
Got a blast in yer ass?
Just keep cool, Imp.

Don't get hot
cause Imps, we've got
Some good hard times ahead!
Just take it slow and then we'll go
We can finally live it up, and die in bed.

Imp, Imp, crazy Imp-
Stay loose, Imp!
Freeze it, crush it, easy does it
don't be so obtuse, Imp!

Go Imps, go
but not like that greedo
Imps-
Just play it cool.

Stay cool.

________________________________________________________________

At this time, others were not being so "cool". In a rushed panic, the four explorers were kicking in doors backstage.

"Try casting!"

"Eiiiiiik!"

"Any assasins in here? No? Sorry then, madame, go about your buisness."

"Look out for the catering trolley!'

*CLATTERYCLAT*

"Whoops, you can probably just hammer that out-"

"Quick, there's only two rooms left."

Standing outside the script room, the four listened to the muffled fighting going on inside. Craking the door open they saw the Cerian assassin and the Furen spy locked in a life-or-death struggle... over a play-script.

"Havn't we got one of those?" Ventured Yiffin.

"Yes, I picked one up from a vendor on the way to the play." said Shlump.

"Oh really? How much did that cost?"

"Oh, not much, he wasn't looking."

"Excuse my interruption." said Frelgrin, in a rather loud voice, "But what shall we do with these two?"

The fight between the two stopped. Words drifted to them from onstage...

..."Look out, Demoes! Chino's got an auto-blaster 5000! (sold at all good firearms stores)"...

"That's my frackin' cue!"

The assassin leapt out of the room and bounded down the hall...

Yoimp the furen starred blankly at the assassin as he ran away. With a dumb expression on his face, he then turned to the explorers.

"Aduh... hehe... i won" Said the furen stupidly in his low idiotic voice.

The explorers then looked at eachother, than to the furen, then to eachother, than to the furen.

"What in the blazes are you doing, you dirty little bit of furen filth!" Said the quickest-minded explorer, his eyebrows furrowed in a confused expression.

The furen then suddenly looked sad, tears in his eyes he backed backward and whined, "WAh!!!! he called me little! Wah!!!! i want my mommy!" he then burst out in a fit, fell to the floor and started yelling.

Apparently, the explorer had absentmindedly used the magic insult. "little" must have been the worst thing anyone could call a furen. But wasn't this one slightly over reacting?

Then the furen, still lying on the ground crying his eyes out realized something. The explorer had posed a question! He had actually been asked a question! This implied that he knew something that these people didnt. Which made him smarter than them!

The furen stood up and smiled, showing his rotting and decaying teeth, he strutted up to the explorers.

"And what if i told i have thwarted your primative security and accessed these highly improtant millatary documents? Heh? Oh, dont play dumb, you know what i mean! These 'scripts' contain your millataries deepest secrets, we know where you LIVE!"

Said the furen, using the many big words that he heard the DUI (of F) people using, wasnt he soooooo smart?

The explorers then stared blankly at the Furen, apparently they had insulted and complimented him at the same time? Or probably his stupid mind comprehended hundreds of things that they didnt say... Regardless, this furen seemed to be subject to large moodswings... of some sort.

"This is ludicrous" said Shlump. Reaching into his jacket, het took out a pistol, and squirted a line of eclaire cream at the Furen.

"Oh yeah, there was a pastry stand..."

There was a curious moment of standing around, and then Freewater jumped the Furen. It was an instinctive thing, two idiots locked together in a life-or-death struggle. The remaining three scientists remained mezmerized. Suddenly, Frelgrin pieced the information together.

"Quick! This way!" he shouted and, grabbed his associates by the collar, dragged them along behind him. The assassin was running along ahead, waving a pistol that could be described as "no prop", "Decidedly deadly-looking", and "Fateful" by lesser writers. I'd describe it as shiny.

On stage, Demoes was dying, after being shot by Ura's bitter friend. He held tightly to Eama, while all the Coals, Imps and Tholotian guards watched tearfully on. The original plan the assassins had concocted had involved the assassin firing just as the Mon Calamari did, so that no one would hear and he could escape before anyone noticed. The converging plots were playing hell with each other.

Pistol in hand, the assassin finally made it to a balcony overlooking the ice-rink set. He took aim, and would have fired, if not for the rather minor matter of a trio of large aliens barrling into him. He fired about a second later, except now his hand was pointing up.

There is a set of laws of science few people in the universe know. The few who DO know them know them as "Gurpy's Laws". They do things like ensure that no matter how large the explosion there will always be a smoking pair of boots left behind, or that every car crash will always end with a single tire-covered wheel flying free from the wreckage and rolling away.

This particulair law requires that every time something that WAS well-aimed is thrown drastically off-course, it HAS to cause a chain-reaction. The shot went up, cut the cord to the chandelier, which landed on a plank back-stage. On the other side of the plank, sat a brick, which was sent hurtling through the air. It hit a red button near the door to the rink, causing the security door to begin closing. The brik then landed and sent a dura-steel helmet rolling under the door. It caught there and jammed the mechanism, causing a power-outage. The energy field that helped support the balcony over the ice faded.

Well what do you know? Karma in motion.

The balcony fell. Like a meteor, it landed in the ice, throwing up a cloud of water-vapour and flecks of snow. It was silent for a few mintues, before a figure became visible. It was either Frelgrin, Shlump, or Yiffin.

"Aha! Take that, you maloderous assassin-cad! Huzzah!"

Shlump or Yiffin.

"What have we told you about the superiority of Azguard thinking? We'll always win in the end!"

Shlump.

The three Azguards dragged themselves clear of the wreckage, the ex-assassin in tow. He was causing quite a lot of noise, but it was mostly whining.

"This" said Frelgrin "Mr Prime-Minister, is the assassin that was sent to kill you!"

The PM leant in, and suddenly the assassin reached into his vest and took out-

-a banana cream pie. Damn that pastry shop, it was too inviting to pass up. Oh well, he shoved it into the PMs' face.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then the PM pulled back his sleeves. "Leave him to me."