A young woman shook her husband awake.
“It won’t stop. He won’t stop! Why does he have to work on that damn launch pad at this hour?
“I don’t know, Honey. Call the police if it’s bothering you that much.”
“You know they won’t do anything about it. They never have.”
“Just try to drown it out. Here, rest my pillow over your head.”
He handed her his pillow.
“Thank you,” she whispered as she smiled adoringly at him. “He’s so sweet,” she thought.
As the man rustled back into a comfortable sleeping position, resting his head upon the bicep of an outstretched arm, a series of loud bangs rang out. The woman screamed and the man fell off the bed.
Galen Leivold was a retired veteran of half a dozen wars. Some thought of him more as a washed up mercenary. He didn’t care. He had stashed enough credits to live the waning-half of his life in one of the more favorable neighborhoods of Mos Eisley and he was comfortable. That’s all that mattered.
He was a pilot back in his fighting days and when he quickly grew bored of retired life he went looking for hobbies. He tried Lugjack, Sabacc, even Blob Racing but each attempt to keep his aging mind agile eventually faded. Until one Dual Noon when he saw the most beautiful space vessel he’d ever seen.
It was a Mon Calimari scout vessel. The kind he’d once seen as a child over 60 years ago. It wasn’t a new model, but a classic. He’d dreamed about owning a ship like it and fixing it up.
He wanted to buy it. He had the money but no place to put it. He would need to have a launch pad installed. He could build it. He was handy and it would be another hobby of sorts.
With the shutdown of Tatooine’s government, the Mayor’s hours had grown long. No government employee was allowed to work, but he didn’t care. This was his city. He wasn’t going to let it fall apart just because some out-of-touch politicians couldn’t agree on evaporator regulations or blaster control.
Early in the morning the phone rang.
“Grrrrrrrrgumf?” The Mayor answered.
He slammed down the phone and ran out of the building. There was a disturbance of the peace, and he wasn’t going to let it slide.
Galen was laying down some of the thermo tiles for his launch pad. These were supposed to hold up under the extreme heat from the engines of even a mid-sized spacecraft.
Part of the fencing near the front of his compound shook then slammed to the ground. A giant bear charged through the opening. Growling and roaring. Saliva falling from it’s mouth like booze being thrown in a bar fight.
As the Mayor charged, he raised a blaster rifle from his coat. Then, becoming fully erect, pulled a rocketed projectile launcher from his fur.
*BANG* *BLAM* *BANG*
All three shots hit Galen. It burned. The blaster had scorched his chest and throat, and the rocket had removed his legs from his torso.
As he lay there, he imagined he was flying in is scout ship. Cruising through the galaxy, impressing those who had told him he was worthless. Galen could feel a tickling sensation in his stomach. It must have been the sand shrimp he had for dinner.
The young man and woman looked down through the window into their neighbor’s yard. A large bear was rummaging it’s nose inside the ribcage of their obnoxious neighbor.
“I’m glad I called the Mayor” the young woman said as she rested her head upon the man’s shoulder.
“No Sir. I didn’t put that on your desk. I don’t know where it would have come from. No one has been here.” Miss Baxter peed a little bit. She was scared.
The Mayor pawed at the envelope that had appeared on his desk. Something was fishy and it wasn’t just the sushi he had for lunch.
“No one came in while you were out, I swear. Did you check your windows? Maybe they-“ BOOM!
The envelope exploded. The small explosion knocked the Mayor back against Miss Baxter and slammed her against the wall but shielded her for most of the blast.
“Grrrraaaammmmrrr!” moaned the Mayor as he pulled himself half-way up off the floor. He hurt. All of the hair on his right arm and chest were singed and blackened. His skin was exposed. The sensation of even the lightest draft of air stung like a hot iron.
“Rrowwwrrnnnn?” he called to Miss Baxter.
“I’m OK. I think I’m OK. My head hurts but I think I’m OK.”
The room was creaking and settling. There was a new “window” in the lobby of the office. Dirt and ash covered everything. Just over the smells of gunpowder and Miss Baxter’s urine the Mayor could sense something foreign, something in the hall.
The Mayor burst through the door and into the hallway just in time to see a figure scuttle into the elevator. He bound toward the stairwell on all fours, though favoring his wounded arm.
1, 2, 9 flights of stairs he leapt down, slamming into the walls at each turn. His eyes were bloodshot. With each floor he became more furious, more ravenous.
The elevator slid open in the lobby of the government building. The figure peeked out, thin and green, a Rodian assassin. No one saw him because, as the Rodian stuck his head out, the Mayor crashed through the stairwell door, leapt over the lounge area, and pounced into elevator.
He raised his powerful paw and swatted the would-be assassin across the shoulder, knocking him down and tearing away green flesh. Serrating the muscle tissue that remained. From within his coat, the Mayor pulled out an overclocked blaster. It was something he had been tinkering with and he was more than pleased to try it out.
“Grrwwwarrrrrgggrrraaaahh?!” the Mayor roared. “Grrwwwarrrrrgggrrraaaahh?!!”
“NO! I won’t tell you who. But hear this. Hear this before you tear me apart, you monster!”
The Mayor had carved claws into the tip of the blaster so blood began to drip down the face of the Rodian as he pressed the tip against his forehead.
“This city will burn, Mayor. You say you’re changing this place for the better. You say you’re going to upgrade the public works and streamline the transit system. But no one wants it!”
The Mayor twisted the blaster, carving a blood-spewing circle into the Rodian’s head.
“This city is a hive of scum and villainy and it’s better off that way. It’s better off being worse. This city will burn, Mayor…and you will burn with it.” BANG!
The Rodian slumped over and the Mayor lapped up the blood from the floor. It tasted metallic but also sweet. Rodian blood was good.
He stirred his bowl of Honey Berry Crunch as he watched the evening’s fireworks. He liked the way the colors sparkled across the city. The smell of the gunpowder made him feel strong; reminded him how powerful he was.
The intercom spoke.
<<Mr. Allen from the Transit Authority is here to see you, Mr. Mayor.>>
“Gwrraaarrrrr arrg.” He grumbled at it.
<<Of course, Sir.>>
The Mayor set his bowl down on his desk and picked up his gun. A man in the forests of Jankok gave him the gun years before. It was a normal hunting rifle but he was drawn to the sheen and glisten of the barrel. The smell of the gunpowder made him erect.
As he stumbled upright toward the door, he drug the gun across the floor. It scraped against the tile as he burst out of his office.
“Grrawwwr grawwrrr” he growled, raising the gun toward Mr. Allen.
“Please! No!” Mr. Allen shouted as he slid out of the lobby chair and onto his knees. “It wasn’t my fault!”
“GWRAGGGLR!” The Mayor roared as he took steady aim.
“I swear! The budget has been so tight. We can’t afford to increase the bus OR train activity during rush hour. It’s just not possible.”
A horrible stench of shit wafted up from Mr. Allen and the Mayor shook his head in disgust.
“It’s a logistical Nigh–”
“Grraggrr Gwaaaaargr!” The Mayor barked as he pulled the trigger and put four rounds into Mr. Allen’s belly.
The Mayor leaned down. The dying politician could feel the warm breath of the Mayor as he pressed his nose against forehead.
Mr. Allen wimpered, “please.”
In one swift motion the Mayor bit off the face of the Politian and swallowed it.
He turned toward his secretary, “Grwwrrrrr?” he asked.
“Of course, Sir. I’ll bring you your salmon, right away.”
MOS ESPA, Tatooine – It’s a dirty job, and now Gunbear’s gonna do it.
An aide loyal to Mayor Gunbear said Thursday that his office will take over two waste-collection companies that are responsible for picking up garbage in Mos Eisley and dumping it in the Sarlacc Pit. In Mos Eisley, residents have long complained about inadequate trash collection.
Gunbear himself has repeatedly weighed in on the issue, criticizing city authorities for failing to get rid of the heaps of refuse, bodies, and droid parts that line the capital’s gritty downtown streets. “RAAAAWWWWRRRRR! SARLACC!” Gunbear said on Thursday.
Merle Tosche, the owner of Tosche Station and a self-proclaimed power converter enthusiast, blamed the problem on “the failure of the capitalist system, in which private interests were put above public interests.”
Mayor Gunbear’s office is also considering hefty fines for businesses that produce excessive amounts of waste, Merle said.
The waste-management companies targeted for takeover, Hutts2Sarlacc and Boba Fetch — did not immediately respond to Gunbear’s announcement.