others preferred to drive in silence. If they thought about it at all on their short journeys home to their families, it would seem to them that they had only made a small change to the competition. It wouldn’t even make the papers.
Cloud City, in high planetary orbit 60,000 km above the surface of the gaseous planet Bespin, 49,100 light-years from the Galactic Core, Outer Rim Territories, Anoat Sector, grid coordinates K-18
Sophie was fighting Vader, with lightsabers, on the observation deck of Cloud City, the sun a livid purple as it set beyond the boiling gaseous clouds of the planet far below, when the alarm on her iPod went off. She woke slowly and killed the alarm. She ignored the weakness that weighed down her limbs. She knew what she had to do. This was a Jedi mission, and Jedis didn’t worry about being ill.
She switched on her battery-powered lightsaber. It glowed green. It was light enough to see by. She climbed out of bed and tiptoed into Mum and Dad’s room. She stood at the foot of their bed, with the light-saber raised so she could see them. It was fine. They lay close together in sleep, with her head resting against his chest, as was the custom on Earth.
She tiptoed back to her bedroom and leaned the lightsaber against the wall. Kneeling, she pulled the Millennium Falcon out from under thebed. She carried it perfectly level, so that the vomit would not slosh and leak.
“Easy, kid,” whispered Han Solo. “One false move and this old crate will tip out of control.”
“Hey, this is nothing,” whispered Sophie. “This is just like maneuvering my land speeder back home.”
She piloted the Millennium Falcon down the stairs, evading hostile TIE fighter patrols and stepping on the edges of the treads so that space-time wouldn’t creak. In the kitchen she docked the Falcon on the draining board, removed the top section, and tipped out the vomit carefully into the sink. The smell was awful, but she was very used to it. She turned on the cold tap and sluiced water through the model until all the vomit was gone and the action figurines were clean again.
“Are you done yet, kid?” whispered Han Solo. “This water is cold .”
Chewbacca just made his mournful noise.
“Relax, won’t you, you big ball of fur?” whispered Sophie. “Do you want the Empire to be able to track us by our smell?”
When the Falcon was clean, she ran water into the sink and swirled it round and pressed the last few chunks through the apertures of the plughole. Then she toweled off the Falcon and the figurines, clipped the top section of the model on again, and navigated back up through the asteroid belt to Cloud City. Halfway up the stairs, where the gravity was exceptionally heavy, she got space-sick and had to rest for a few minutes. She sat down in the dark, feeling the burning in her chest and the nausea rising from her stomach. After a while it subsided, and she stood up and carried on.
When she reached the landing, she made a mistake. She moved too quickly in the dark, and she stumbled. The Millennium Falcon lurched and scraped against the wall.
“Watch it!” said Han Solo. “She may look like a heap of junk, but she’s the fastest smuggling ship in the galaxy.”
Sophie froze. From her parents’ bedroom, she heard someone stirring.
Dad’s voice came, heavy with sleep. “Is that you, big girl? Are you okay?”
Sophie tiptoed the last few steps into her bedroom, tucked the Falcon under the bed, and slipped under the duvet.
“Sophie?” called Dad. “Is everything alright?”
“I’m fine,” she called back. “Everything’s fine.”
“That’s my girl,” said Dad.
She closed her eyes, made the jump to hyperspace, and headed back to Cloud City.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Flat 12, the Waterfront, Sport City, Manchester
Tom woke with the April light seeping through his curtains and the DJ on his clock radio announcing heavy traffic coming into town.
He stood, opened the curtains, and let the
Cloud City, in high planetary orbit 60,000 km above the surface of the gaseous planet Bespin, 49,100 light-years from the Galactic Core, Outer Rim Territories, Anoat Sector, grid coordinates K-18
Sophie was fighting Vader, with lightsabers, on the observation deck of Cloud City, the sun a livid purple as it set beyond the boiling gaseous clouds of the planet far below, when the alarm on her iPod went off. She woke slowly and killed the alarm. She ignored the weakness that weighed down her limbs. She knew what she had to do. This was a Jedi mission, and Jedis didn’t worry about being ill.
She switched on her battery-powered lightsaber. It glowed green. It was light enough to see by. She climbed out of bed and tiptoed into Mum and Dad’s room. She stood at the foot of their bed, with the light-saber raised so she could see them. It was fine. They lay close together in sleep, with her head resting against his chest, as was the custom on Earth.
She tiptoed back to her bedroom and leaned the lightsaber against the wall. Kneeling, she pulled the Millennium Falcon out from under thebed. She carried it perfectly level, so that the vomit would not slosh and leak.
“Easy, kid,” whispered Han Solo. “One false move and this old crate will tip out of control.”
“Hey, this is nothing,” whispered Sophie. “This is just like maneuvering my land speeder back home.”
She piloted the Millennium Falcon down the stairs, evading hostile TIE fighter patrols and stepping on the edges of the treads so that space-time wouldn’t creak. In the kitchen she docked the Falcon on the draining board, removed the top section, and tipped out the vomit carefully into the sink. The smell was awful, but she was very used to it. She turned on the cold tap and sluiced water through the model until all the vomit was gone and the action figurines were clean again.
“Are you done yet, kid?” whispered Han Solo. “This water is cold .”
Chewbacca just made his mournful noise.
“Relax, won’t you, you big ball of fur?” whispered Sophie. “Do you want the Empire to be able to track us by our smell?”
When the Falcon was clean, she ran water into the sink and swirled it round and pressed the last few chunks through the apertures of the plughole. Then she toweled off the Falcon and the figurines, clipped the top section of the model on again, and navigated back up through the asteroid belt to Cloud City. Halfway up the stairs, where the gravity was exceptionally heavy, she got space-sick and had to rest for a few minutes. She sat down in the dark, feeling the burning in her chest and the nausea rising from her stomach. After a while it subsided, and she stood up and carried on.
When she reached the landing, she made a mistake. She moved too quickly in the dark, and she stumbled. The Millennium Falcon lurched and scraped against the wall.
“Watch it!” said Han Solo. “She may look like a heap of junk, but she’s the fastest smuggling ship in the galaxy.”
Sophie froze. From her parents’ bedroom, she heard someone stirring.
Dad’s voice came, heavy with sleep. “Is that you, big girl? Are you okay?”
Sophie tiptoed the last few steps into her bedroom, tucked the Falcon under the bed, and slipped under the duvet.
“Sophie?” called Dad. “Is everything alright?”
“I’m fine,” she called back. “Everything’s fine.”
“That’s my girl,” said Dad.
She closed her eyes, made the jump to hyperspace, and headed back to Cloud City.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Flat 12, the Waterfront, Sport City, Manchester
Tom woke with the April light seeping through his curtains and the DJ on his clock radio announcing heavy traffic coming into town.
He stood, opened the curtains, and let the
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