The Rebellion was on its last legs, thanks to the blundering of the incompetent Princess Leia, who led the Death Star straight to the Rebel base.
Only the bravery and skill of the great Biggs Darklighter could stop the Empire now. He knew the top brass had drawn up a ridiculous plan to have a handful of fighters zip through a heavily guarded trench instead of flying straight for the thermal exhaust port that was the key to destroying this monstrous space station.
His fellow fighters would be no help. Porkins’ girth guaranteed a fatal gravitational pull once they approached the Death Star. Other pilots had clearly slept through the briefing or were busy wondering what Princess Leia would look like in a metal bikini.
“Look at the size of that thing,” said Wedge Antilles.
“Ignore him,” thought Biggs. “Maybe he’ll be a useful decoy for a few seconds.”
The biggest problem, Biggs knew, was the kid he knew from Tatooine — Luke Skywalker. He immediately regretted vouching for Luke’s abilities back at the base when the reckless hillbilly blew up a cannon tower at such close range that he flew through the explosion.
“Not so hot without that creepy Kenobi guy, are you?” Biggs muttered to himself.
The attack was already running into trouble. Porkins, as expected, reported some sort of problem.
“Eject!” Biggs exclaimed.
Biggs immediately shook his head at his own ridiculous suggestion. Eject? To where? A one-man commando raid on the surface of the Death Star? Jek Porkins, Space Ninja. The stress of the situation was getting to him.
Fortunately, the Death Star had scrambled some TIE fighters, giving Biggs a chance to do what he did best — blast those poorly designed ships that exploded into a million pieces at the slightest touch from a hot laser.
While Biggs engaged a whole squadron of fighters, his neighbor from Tatooine kept making the battle all about himself.
“Blast it, Biggs, where are you?” Luke whined.
Biggs rolled his eyes as he blew up another TIE fighter. Hard to believe this kid was banging the princess.
The battle just got worse. Biggs had warned the generals of the futility of sending three fighters at a time down a long trench while the rest of the fleet sat idly “out of range” instead of picking off the TIE fighters who gleefully hopped in behind them.
Gold Leader led the first attack wave and didn’t even get a shot off. Red Leader, the Rebels’ second-best fighter after Biggs, let loose a promising “It’s away!” as he fired at the target, but the shot impacted on the surface.
“Maybe it’s time to bail,” Biggs thought. The X-wings had surprising interplanetary range. He could fly to Dagobah or Alderaan — oops, maybe not Alderaan.
“We’re going in full throttle,” Luke said. “It’ll be just like Beggar’s Canyon back home.”
Against his better judgment, Biggs hopped in the trench with Luke and Wedge.
“We’ll stay far enough back to cover you,” Biggs said.
Not that the X-wings could “cover” anyone. No one ever thought to put a rear-facing gun on these things.
“I’m hit!” Wedge yelled. “I can’t stay with you.”
“Get clear, Wedge,” Luke said. “You can’t do any more good back there.”
Biggs had enough. Wedge gets a little boo-boo on his X-wing, and suddenly he can’t play human shield?
And even though Luke said they’d go “full throttle” to keep the fighters off their backs, the TIE fighters were once again gaining on them. “Like Beggar’s Canyon,” Luke said, as if they were facing Jawas instead of the might of the Empire.
“Time to dance,” Biggs thought. Side to side, up and down. The TIE fighters couldn’t get a lock on him.
Luke, on the other hand, was flying in a straight line. Just as he turned off his targeting computer for some reason, the TIE fighters realized they could pick him off.
“Too bad, flyboy,” Biggs thought. “All up to me.”
With the skill that he alone possessed, Biggs evaded the fire from all sides and launched his photon torpedoes.
Down the hatch. Time to blow this joint.
On his way back to base, Biggs passed the Millennium Falcon going the other direction.
“Turn around, you dumbass,” Biggs said.
Too late. The smuggling ship flew right into the Death Star’s blast wave. Hunk of junk, indeed.
Back at base, the rebels swarmed Biggs’ X-wing. Finally, the fighter who had saved their lazy asses — again — would get the respect he was due.
In the days that followed, the Empire surrendered to the rebels. Biggs moved to a luxury apartment on Coruscant and pledged to rule the galaxy with a gentle hand, ushering in a new era of peace and love.
Best of all, there was no more talk of this “Force.” Leia occasionally had some dreams in which a wrinkled green dude said something like “restore balance you must,” but she got through it with therapy. A bunch of people on Tatooine reported a sudden ability to lift objects with their minds, but doctors on Bespin, thriving on funding from Lando Calrissian, found a vaccine for Midichlorian Disease. The galaxy would no longer be caught in the crossfire between a bunch of guys flipping between “dark” and “light.”
The “star wars” were over.