Saga Secret Service--An intra-rebellion humor vignette, inspired by Miatieska

DAY 1

"I hope it's that cute blonde from Engineering."

"You can have her. If I get anything that's not bipedal, I don't know what I'll do. I've got only so many ugly socks to give away."

"What if we end up with one of the brass? What do you get for the person who can court-martial you if they don't like your gifts?"

"A force-whip?"

The din that filled the officers' mess was not unusual, but the topic of conversation certainly was.

Of course, the High Command was never known for its morale-boosting activities, so the fact that there was going to be a secret service project base-wide came as something of a shock.

Most were eyeing the others suspiciously, obviously wondering if they would be victimized by that particular pilot or this particular sensor officer. Leia simply took up station next to Luke and let her gaze sweep the room.

"Unless I get Chewie and have to kill live animals to cheer him up," she observed, "I think this will be a good deal of fun."

"It reminds me of Tatooine," Luke admitted. "One year, in school, we had to do this for Life Day. None of us were very rich, so we all had presents that were either handmade or borrowed from our parents' old things."

"We don't even have normal food," Leia protested. "Finding gifts will take a great deal of creativity."

They hadn't been told much about the procedure, had been simply informed of the fact that they would spend four days in the secret service of one of their fellow Rebels. The message had further instructed them to select a name from the bin at the door of the officer's mess on their way back from dinner.

"I suppose," she mused, "that we should get this over with."

"Good luck," Luke said unnecessarily.

She led the way to the door and pulled a flimsiplast strip from the bin, then glanced at it before tucking it away in a pocket.

Oh, stars, not him!
*****
"You pick a winner this time?" Han queried as he fell into step with Luke.

"An unfamiliar face," he admitted, showing the strip. "You know her?"

"Sure," he grinned. "I might have even propositioned her once or twice. Me, on the other hand, this might be tough."

Luke grinned at the name on the card. "I'll give you ideas if you return the favor."

"Oh, really?" Han snorted. "What makes you think you know what she wants?"

Luke placed a finger to his lips as if sharing a secret. "Commander's prerogative," he confided. "I know things that you couldn't possibly flirt out of anyone."

"Ha," Han snorted. "Maybe I should get a rank."

"Fine," Luke teased. "I'll let Leia know."

"Don't you dare."
*****
"All assigned?" Mon Mothma queried.

"Unsure of that," Rieekan admitted, "but everyone has taken a name. This should be interesting."

"This should be what we need," she agreed.

"What we need is funding for a fleet and food for our people," he countered. "This is a diversion."

"It's a gift that we can't fund," she corrected. "It's rediscovering the joy in simple things."
*****
The package was small, but set against her door by the time she got off the late shift. Intrigued, Leia palmed open the door, then kicked off her boots and crossed to her bed, tucking her feet up beneath her as she sat down to keep them warm.

Tearing open the package, she found six pairs of socks and a candy bar. Untucking her feet, she frowned at the pair of threadbare, hole-riddled socks that she'd been wearing out for the last year.

Supplies were low, especially with the need to pack up and leave at a moment's notice several times a year, but the High Command had kept morale marginally higher than usual by going without certain comforts to keep their soldiers supplied.

The question was, since the High Command was not participating, who knew?
*****
Luke was about ready to climb into bed when there was a knock on his door.

By the time he got there, though, there was no one there. At his feet, however, he found a tray full of dustcrepes and nausage, his favorite foods that hadn't been served in the two months since they got t

 

This was inspired by Miatieska, who challenged me to write about ¨Secret santas¨ in the GFFA. Since my church did this sort of thing at other times of year, I figured there was no harm in doing it nonchristmasy.

 

Awww . . . that was cute. Thanks for clueing me in on it.

"Go on, but if you scrub down any of the important bits, it'll be your head."

Okay, so the Falcon's dirty. But it's *Han's* dirt, dammit! Don't touch it!!

My sister used to have the same attitude toward this ratty old blanket she carried around.

Er--not that her blanket could make point-five past light speed.

Wes Janson was found tied to his bed and left in the middle of the parade grounds.

Wedge Antilles found his X-wing's cargo hold filled with Corellian products.

These were both pretty funny, too . . . I'm scared to find out what "Correllian products" are. I'm wondering if they're similar to propane and propane accessories.

For lack of better ideas, most of the gifts today consisted of food, which was not necessarily a gift with the ration bars factoring heavily into most recipes, but the black market was brought into prominence by its ability to get something non-alliance-issue.

On a more serious note, I spent a brief time in the Soviet Union, back when it was the Soviet Union, and food--especially the kind that wasn't the equivalent of standard-government-issue--was very much a currency, and would have been considered a great gift. Actually, our interpreter knew a local kid in Moscow, and gave her a huge bag of bubble gum to take home to her younger brothers and sisters. The girl looked like she'd been given a million bucks.

There was a lockdown at 2200 hours, when someone was caught attempting to enter Janson's room, but no one knew who it was and the brig officer reported no new inmates. Whoever it had been, they were well-protected.

Ahh! Lockdown! ::hides under desk::

Sorry. Just got done working in juvie. "Lockdown" was the thing that used to happen just after "riot."

He reached out, pulling her into a quick hug. "You're the first," he confessed. "If I weren't saving myself for an Ewok, I'd marry you now."

I'm amused . . . yet scared. Actually, I don't know if it's scarier imagining Janson married to Leia, or Janson married to an Ewok.

He would see her at the briefing, but whether she would notice the long streaks of engine grease in impolite places on her jumpsuit was another matter.

Awww . . . that's cute. She's the only one allowed to touch Han's dirt. Anybody can hoist a guy on a flagpole, but dirt-permission is love, man.

A very sweet fic, all around.

 

Ophelia--Glad you found your way over here whne no one else would. Yes, Han's very protective of his dirt! And as you can tell, I was amused by your sister's blanket. The Wes in the middle of the base, tied to his bed, is something we did to my friend Meredith at Girl's Camp. She would never get up on time, so we carried her and her bed down to the flag circle one morning and didn't make a loud noise until we did the opening hymn. She totally freaked out with 150 girls singing "There is sunshine in my soul today" at the top of their lungs while she was trying to sleep, then noticed where she was... For "corellian products," read X-wing: Rogue Squadron. Interesting point on the Soviet Union. LOL at the lockdown bit. Poor dear. LOL, I think the scariness of Janson married in the first place is paramount, but married to Leia would be the worst. LOL at dirt-permission.

 

Best line!

Funny little piece, though without your usual PHLIBing. I guess phlib might upstage the rest of the story, though

 

Yes, the phlibbing would have taken center stage, so I kept it down to a minimum.

 

Very cute little story!