Once, there was a small Death Star.
Perhaps it wasn’t small compared to a Tie Fighter, or even a Star Destroyer. But those things don’t generate their own gravitational fields. The Death Star was big enough to have a noticeable effect on the tides of any planets nearby, assuming it was near planets which had tides, which it was not. But that’s all it would have been: noticeable. The Death Star would have been more like a Moon, only it had been told, in no uncertain terms, that it was no Moon. So it felt very, very small, and fairly unimportant compared to even a medium-sized planet.
Sure, it could destroy planets, but being able to blow something apart doesn’t always improve your self-worth. Does it really help you to blast others to pieces, when you, yourself, will never become a fraction of what they are?
(It would help me. But this story isn’t about me.)
Every day, Mr. Darth would assure the Death Star that it was going to become the ultimate power in the Galaxy, and that it had nothing to fear.
But once in a while, when the Death Star had been bad, Mr. Darth would tell it about Jedi, a cult of illogical but tightly-knit fools whose belief system was an inconsistent hodgepodge of misunderstood bits of Eastern philosophy, and who were deeply infected by the serious neurosis caused by lifelong sexual frustration, as well as a permanent need to fight of Freud’s “Return of the Repressed”, as they constantly attempted to evade acting like human beings, without really substituting anything substantive in the place of those feelings and interests. This was clearly a terrible idea.
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Darth said. “There are no such thing as Jedi.”
And so the little Death Star grew and grew and got bigger and became fully operational.
Until one day, Mr. Darth came to the Death Star and actually brought a Jedi on board.
It was terrifying, of course. And Mr. Darth’s treachery was so great, in this regard, that the Death Star didn’t know if it would ever trust him again.
So it waited until it had an excuse and one of the horrible Jedi had done something which, while frankly insignificant, was believed to be of great import, for no discernable reason. It involved one of those adorably tiny starships which liked making lightshows around it once in a while. Nevertheless, the whole thing was tedious.
So the Death Star blew itself up, taking Mr. Darth and the terrifying Jedi with it. And thus, though it was destroyed, it had revenge on all of its enemies, and its ghost was forever contented.
Also, the silly people probably believed it was possible to blow up a Death Star. That would probably have some sort of unfortunate ramifications for the future.
(The end.)
